Padmajav’s Weblog

When I was five or so, I was spending my summer holidays in Coimbatore. One fine day, my aunt decided to take us to Ooty. So she somehow got hold of an address from my mother’s family, (I still don’t know how she did this. Nobody had phones and snail-mail would have taken days) bundled us all in a bus to Ooty. The journey is too hazy for me now, but I remember knocking at a door of a distant uncle who was stationed in Ooty then.

Not only they were not expecting us, but they had no clue who we were! He was(is?) my mom’s brother’s wife’s brother(phew!). He’d have probably met my mom during his sister’s wedding years ago. But he was nice enough to take us in for the night, arranged for a sight-seeing trip the next day and sent us back on our way in the evening. His wife cooked us tasty meals and his kids played with us and even came sight-seeing. And after that, I never saw them again.

Now I try to imagine opening my door to complete strangers who want to shack up with me for a couple of days to see the city. My first reaction would be to shut the door on their faces…

Maybe for people living in holiday spots like Ooty, its an everyday experience. But I still squirm to think how we actually barged in on that poor family!

 Or is it just that we’ve been fed too many western notions about having our own space and privacy?

In the past the doors of the houses were always open. People dropped in for meals without any prior intimation. And the kitchen was always equipped to feed a few extra mouths. So much so that there’s a saying that an uninvited guest is God in disguise…

People had all the time in the world to chat up with distant cousins or aunts or uncles. Normally a visit to a relative’s place meant a few weeks or sometimes even months if its a parent or a sibling.

Now we hardly have the time to talk to our own parents. Sometimes living under the same roof! The pace of our lives is scaring me at times. I  look back at those far away days spent in either my grandad’s farm or in  my mom’s village, where summer holidays meant endless days stretched with so much to do. There were no summer camps, no movies, no television.

I spent morningspicking flowers in the garden or in the communal lake, and aftenoons learning to stitch or draw kolams with my grandmother. Late afternoons were for exploring the place with a handful of kids when the elders were dozing. Evenings were fun when the entire household got together for coffee in the open courtyard (or some such spaces) as the sun went down.

During those idyllic  days, anybody dropping unannounced were welcomed warmly, given something to eat or drink and exchanged family news with genuine interest.

Now my 4 year old shuts himself in his room when someone drops in for a visit. Whatever I do to make him share a few moments with the guest is thwarted with ‘I don’t want to!’

I suppose he’s so used to being in a nuclear family that he does not need the warmth of  bonding with people outside his immediate circle.

Whatever it is, these days, an uninvited guest is never a God in disguise!

I love get-togethers. Not the flashy-poolside-party where my-clothes/trinkets-are-superior-to-yours kind, but the informal meeting-up-in-a-friend’s -place-for-a-meal types. I enjoy the sense of bonhomie which comes when you totally relax with a group of good friends.

I recently organised an informal cake-cutting for my spouse’s parent. I invited all the aunts & uncles living nearby and a whole load of cousins…

All of us had a great time. The cousins got together to rag the younger ones. The kids fought over toys.

The older generation enjoyed it too. They bonded together over Kolangal or some such melodramatic serial and sang “Happy Birthday to you” heartily and had a great time chatting up with each other, enjoyed the meal and waved goodnight and drove away to their various homes.

A month later, a friend asked why I did not organise the same thing for my own father whose birthday happened to be round the corner.

Coming from a non-tambrahm culture, she just didn’t get it.

Tambrahms are not the partying kind. Formal or informal. (This is my inference from all the tambrahms I’ve observed during my growing up years. There may be exceptions!)

Especially in my family circle, affection is generally expressed by shouting at each other.

Having married into a non-tambrahm family, the peace the house exuded hit me like a thunderbolt during the first few days of my marriage. No one shouted at anyone. No one called anyone names. Everyone wanted to live peacefully with each other.

Light years away from my own cantakerous home.

So a small birthday party was openly welcomed in my husband’s household.

But my friend’s query set me thinking.

I just imagined the same scenario in my parents’.

The images which popped up were downright comical.

My father would have been extremely self-conscious and would have masked this by being grumpy and barking at anyone who happened be within a 5 feet radius.

Any two of my aunts would be bellowing at each other about something as inane as the recipe for a dish being served.

Someone’s son-in-law would be sulking because he did not get the respect due to him.

His wife would be stage-whispering to someone how badly he was treated by the hostess (that’d be moi) by not saying”Vaango!” the proper way.

My brother would have shut himself in his room because he hates all the drama and hates polite conversation with anyone who’s not his colleague.

And I’ll be caught right in the middle of the fireworks, trying to please everyone around, including the birthday boy…

And various members of the older generation would constantly interrupt my juggling of egos by asking me “Where’s your brother?” or “Why is your father so rude to us?”

There might not be a cake-cutting after all.

Oh, I forgot! I’d have got scathing asides from various people present about serving something made with eggs in a shuddh, brahmin household.

And after everyone has gone home in various stages of sulking, I’d have had an earful from my brother about how unnecessary the whole thing was and how it ruined his peace.

Thanks, but no thanks! I’ll probably need weeks of therapy to get over the trauma…

I’ll just make do with a breezy “Happy Birthday” to my father on the phone interjected with my query on a recipe of pacchaimavupodi upma!

Peace unto the tambrahm household!!