The Steamy memories

Steam has already started emenating from the cylinder, heralding the readiness of the "wheat puttu". This time we tried puttu with wheat powder instead of rice powder. It was raining cat and dogs outside. The ambience was nothing different from a monsoon day in the month of Karkidakom . 

The smell, the steam carried had already floored me. The wheat flouor was home made and it did carry the natural flavour. I was slowly melting. Melting into the sweet memories of yesteryears. No stopping. Even the slightest provocation like the smell of puttu, takes me over to those innocent days we happily spent like butterfles.

Kamalakshi's chayakkada had everything that needed for a rustic tea shop. The woodden almarah with glass doors always had Vadas, Idlis, Dosa and of course puttu. Shelf life of the items displayed there need not be disclosed. No one wanted to know that. Manorama, Kerala Kaumudi and Desabhimani dailies were always present on the benches of the tea shop. 

The wooden benches always had customers. Sipping a glassfull of tea - some times kattanchaya, the black tea- or crushing a full length of puttu and mixing it with a banana by the visiting down to earth customers was a daily routine there. Not only the smoke from the kitchen but the beedi smoke too filled the entire ambience. As a practice, high tempered political discussions accompanied the act of taking food. Everyone had his own views on every happenings in the world. Every newspaper had its own politacal colours to paint in its columns

Wheat Puttu from Kamalakshi's chayakkada was a very tasty item. Though we were not allowed to take food from this chayakkada, that was located just a few meters from our home, we surely had a taste of it at times. Whenever, I get an opportunity to eat "wheat puttu" the nostalgia takes me to that unassuming Kamalakshi's  chayakkada in my village. This tea shop had her adjoining little house, where she along with her husband and five children lived. Now the chayakkada no longer exists in its place, but the house, reminding of an interesting humble past stands there unattended by anyone.

Kamalakshi's wheat puttu was very tasty. For me, wheat puttu always hooks me up to that old lady. But, come "Karkidaka vaavu" - the new moon day in the month of Malayalam calender Karkidakam. This is the day when the living souls pay their respects to the dead ones. Memories of the ancestors were renewed on this occassion, at least symbolically, through different kinds of rituals. One among them is the feast offered to the dead ones in the night.

Our excitement starts on the fisrt day of the month itself. This is the month we read Ramayanam in our home. So, for us, it was a month of happenings. This is the month our grandpa takes the centre stage.Normally he keeps low profile, leaving everything to our beloved Grandma.  He sits quietly in his room, listening to our Ramayanam recital and corrects whereever we go wrong.Though we could not read in the rhythm in which the Holy Text is to be read, we could surely read it with less mistakes. Ramayanam is read in front of a nilavilakku - the traditional lamp. This lamp gave more light than the incandecent lamp invented by Edison.

Pankiyamma, the elderly woman who lived opposite our house could read it with good rhythm. We could hear her voice sitting from our house. Sadly, now, that house is in a deserted condition. It is almost gone. Memories of the blissful past cries for "moksha" there. Some one listening? No way, all needs only Gandhi. All are on the run.

Pankiyamma's three out of four children were our cronies. We always enjoyed the loud noise coming out from their home every day while Vinod and Cinimol fought. Minikumari was my classmate till secondary school. Now, we hardly meet each other. We have no time to sit up and reminisce those exhilerating memories. Memories do not fetch e-class sedans, high end mobiles, air-conditioners, elegant furniture, club memberships, world tours. They simply weave a web of illusions around us. 

Back to the Karkidakavavu. On this day our grandpa takes the lead in offering food to the dead ones. Preparations start in the morning itself. Meenakshiyamma under the stewardship of grandma starts making rice powder. No machine is used. From the husked rice grains to the powder, every process is manually done by Meenakshiyamma. The puttu made of this powder is the one our ancestors "devored" for long. No doubt, they were all very happy through out the year.

 By evening, rice powder is fried and is ready for the final process. As the cycliderical magic is slowly being unvailed, the tasty "kadalakkarry" (channa masala) will be getting ready in another stove. Grandma makes this using black grams. Coconut with coriander and other masala items are fried in a little bit of coconut oil and then ground to paste. Along with this, small pieces of coconut, fried in ghee were also added. The Kadalkary is ready.It was really a big task to keep the temptations under control till grandpa finished the rituals. 

Another Karkidakom is round the corner. I hardly get a chance to be a part of all these rituals now a days, as I will be roaming around in some part of the world. The relics from the past still follow me. I have no life without these memories. May the simple smell of puttu floor me, the tiny thumpappoo make me so nostalgic, the notice of the Jayan movie pump adrenalin to my veins. I enjoy every bit of it