Those missed spider silk are like the Indian that reside somewhere in me..You know how much every you try to remove it..it is still there..
As a child I hated India and everything that is Indian. I couldn’t cope with the extremes..the rich and the poor, the opulence and the abject poverty. the tradition and modernity.Kamasutra and edicts for female behaviour.. There was no middle ground and I couldn’t wait to get out of India.
A very good friend of mine calls herself a banana.. She is Chinese..but doesn’t identify herself as a Chinese. She thinks she is a Banana ..yellow on the outside and white inside.
I don’t really know what I am any more.
But on certain days like today the sticky spider silk takes me back home..and I can see myself on the oonjal.. which was built using the coir rope that was tied to the bucket to draw the water from the well..the seat was made from the stem of the coconut leaf ( I am sure there must be a word for it, but can’t really think of it) and you have to hurry and enjoy riding the swing before Ammachi finds out that you have taken the rope from the bucket..Sometimes Ammachi was generous and bought a new rope for the well and the greedy pig that I was tried unsuccessfully to trade with her to continue use the old rope for the bucket and give me the new rope for the oonjal.
And the smell of banana chips being fried in the coconut oil and the hissing sound when Ammachi sprinkles water mixed with turmeric and salt on to the chips in the oil..
Then there was the sadya..the only time we sat on the floor to eat a meal..
and then laying down on the parapet after eating a heavy meal..and listening to the sound of wind as the leaves rustle and dance..and then you sleep..peacefully..blissfully till someone wakes you up and and ask if you want to play “sat”…
And as the evening sky grew dark..the cousins depart to their own home..the birds back to their nest..
And soon it was time to bring the cows back to the shed..close the chook cage..
And upadeshi appachan would start his sermon..
But those few hours..from morning to evening..they were magical..to be repeated the next year..they gave a meaning to life..
Wishing you all a very happy Onam..may the magic continue..