In the canvas of my mind, childhood's tender brushes paint stories of homes that I loved. Gundumalai appears first, where Das uncle carried me up the hill for worship, Thangaraj uncle Appa's friend, Judy akka's treasured moments with the Nehrujis, and I, a tiny tot, in Appa's workplace - a tableau of obedience.
Next house is one in a row of three, in Munnar where Albert uncle and aunty petted Judy akka, where we shared joy with James Edith uncle's kin, and from where Appa could easily reach the station steps, crossing the club and the football ground. Memories, like the mist-kissed landscape, linger although I was still an infant there.
Our next home was in the enchanting backdrop of Gundalay, where echoed the joyous chuckles of Kumar as a baby. My education became a tale paused in paternal warmth. Amidst the heap of memories, I appear carrying home-made, hot lunch, packed in a carrier, to Sreedharan uncle who lived next door all alone. We always had the support of the labourers, and in the quietude of dawn, we used to traverse the sea of tea plantations, along with the labourers brandishing "pantham" to ward off elephants, to catch a bus for the plains where our well-wishers lived. A vivid recollection is an elephant's majestic flight that stirred my senses in broad daylight. This beastly giant, a source of fear, became the catalyst propelling me beyond the comforting walls of home. This incident led me from the cozy haven of Gundalay to the pursuit of knowledge in Marthandam, along with my two elder sisters.
Back in Munnar from Gundalay, by the river's side, our home painted stories against the backdrop of the church, workshop, school, hotel, theatre, and the two bridges on either side. Events flowed like a river, leading us to the plains, ascending the academic ladder, and savouring carefree holidays. Relationships with the "divine majority" blossomed; horse races thrilled us; flower shows mesmerised us; and walks in chilly weather enthralled us. Ever fresh is memory of the little girl Rita going to the school across the river and also, the departure of the Whites, and the land and the company passing on to Indian hands. Within the family, marriages happened, children were born, until Appa's retirement led us to the family house in Ringeltaube Street.
Homes became transient then - in Kurusady, Paul Daniel Street, Housing Board and Kesari Street, as we encountered busy days and struggled through life's trials. Finally, settling in Holy Cross Nagar, within the sanctuary of the house named "Jeeva," memories found their resting place, frozen in time.
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