I was born
(during the early hours of the dew-filled morning during Kaarthikai on the day
when the last leg of the Mirugaseeridam group of stars was in juxtaposition to
earthly eyes along the earth-moon straight line) at the house of my maternal
grandparents in Aiyanarkoilady, Jaffna.
My father had
gone to fetch the mid-wife when my mother told of her delivery pains. I could
not wait so long that I was already breathing earthy air when the mid-wife
arrived.
Possibility of a Japanese invasion of
Jaffna was looming large. Second world war had earnestly brought bombings to
the then Ceylon. Since towns were the Japanese targets, my father decided to
move to Maravanpulavu. I was brought to Maravanpulavu probably as a
babe-in-arms.
The smell (of
the medicinal oil smeared all over my body) emanating from the couch (that was
hung on the lower beam of the cadjan
thatched roof) remains intact in my nostrils even today. I remember vividly
turning inside the couch with oil irritated eyes. Few soft swings will not stop
my scream. Holding the couch near me, the swings would become faster so that I
will lose my being and probably I went to sleep thereafter.
Another smell
was that of the cow dung smear on the mud flooring which fills my nostrils even
today.
My mother
knew few lullabies, one of them rings my ears now is Saanjaadamma
Saanjaadu, which she recited swinging the saree-couch.
I started
recognizing the father probably when I was two years or so. He comes in the
late evening to pick me while I was crawling. He will try to give me some spicy
fries which I will spit after munching. I remember my mother rushing to wipe my
face with her saree.
Then I
recognized my sister, who mostly had a running nose and neatly combed long hair.
I was mostly
in the lap of my grandmother when I was two or so. She loved me. We will look
at each other for prolonged periods. She would pinch my cheeks frequently. Her
ears had heavy earrings hanging on long holes. I used to play with them. (No
wonder that I like long earrings even today dangling down from the ear of
Sivakami, the replica of my grandmother in facial complexion and in caring for
me). She would giggle me at times.
I started
liking to eat a particular taste when I was three or so. My mother would bury
fried plantain slices inside rice so that I will eat the rice also. I will take
the plantain fry to eat it separately. To this day a half fried plantain slice
is the tastiest food for me.
Being in the
lap of my grandmother in the shade of the neem tree staring upwards at the
waving green leaves, the piercing beams of yellow sun rays, gentle flow of the
breeze, the crying black crow; this is how my grandmother introduced colours to
me.
She
introduced me to the noises of the crow, hen, the fowl and the calf.
Thus I began sensing
to feel the smell, noise, sight, taste and the lovable pinches of my grandmother.
