Going home

There was a groove towards the right side of the pathway, that led to my home, and I remembered that my aunt's driver would manoeuvre their over-sized white Ambassador car through it. All the backseat passengers tumbled a little to the right side as the car slumped past the groove and rounded the long cow-shed. My aunt later sold the ambassador car. She told me it was as old as I was.
Today it was just me and my mother and we came in an Autorickshaw. The rickshaw driver wouldn't know how to steer through the groove, so we stopped in front of the gate and walked the rest of the way, keeping to the left.
Little white spiked flowers of the Elengi tree, that stood guard at the end of the pathway, had fallen down in millions all around its base. The sharp smell of it always reminded me of coming home. Some of the clay tiled lining on the roof were broken and the vast majority of it was covered in moss.
Kamalakshi opened the double doors to my mother's ancestral home, its hinges creaking in a rustic rhythm. For a moment I felt as though the familiar figure of my grandmother was silhouetted against the blinding afternoon sunlight, her small plump slightly bent figure waiting patiently for our arrival. But she had passed away four years ago and since then the home has been left to the care of Kamalakshi, who would occasionally come in to clean the home.
I took my bag and headed straight for the "Kochumuri". The peeling blue paint and the table fan that never swiveled, stood waiting for me. As I switched on the fan I smiled thinking back over the time when I sang into the rotating bladed to hear my voice get transformed into a robotic sound. The room was so small and it was crammed in by a huge bed that took up most of the space and the rest by  table over which the fan stood adamantly stationary

I sat down outside the blue cemented veranda and watched the trees sway lightly to the rhythm of the cool breeze, Kamalakshi came with a plateful of mango slices. I smiled at her. She said she was lucky enough to rescue three of them from getting too spoilt. I turned over the mango slices and bit into the middle where the mango had ripened into a golden honey colour. I savoured the sweet taste looking over at the mango tree, its towering branches stooping over the roof and a small jasmine plant snaking its way around it. The star-shaped jasmine flower shone like stars in the night amongst the thicket. I went over and plucked some of them, smelling its graceful fragrance and securing them safely between the strands of my hair.
I walked around home barefoot. Weeds that grew all around the courtyard cushioned my feet but I could see my toes getting speckled with dirt. The home was in the middle of a rural village and the surrounding landscape lay asleep in a soothing silence, which was occasionally broken by the cock-a-doodle dos of the roosters crossing mud paved boundaries

Innumerous trees bordered the home. I stopped in front of another type of mango tree and picked up one of the fallen small mangoes. As I bit into it, a golden coloured pulp oozed out of it and it ran down the length of my arm. I shamelessly traced my tongue over my elbow, tasting the ripe sweet pulp. I wolfed down the entire mango in seconds, my face smeared in its golden pulp.

Picking up another mango on the way I headed towards the coffee shrub, its branches shaped at odd angles, one particular branch that snaked its way horizontally. As I sat over it, the branch bobbed up and down under my weight. As kids, we would often sit in line over this same branch and jiggle the entire tree until our grandma came running at us with a narrow stick to beat us with. All of us would then dart in all four directions like skittering mice.

Grandma had always hired Kuttanpillai to climb the massive jack-fruit tree when we arrived for holidays. Kuttanpillai would very easily scale its massive trunk stepping over the gigantic jack-fruits and knifing down the ripe ones at the top, leaving the ones at the bottom for my grandmother to pluck by herself. The older kids stood at the base of the tree holding taut a blue tarpaulin to prevent the fruit from smashing into pieces.

Kuttan Pillai now stood at the veranda looking solemn. He smiled as I made my way back home. He told me I looked thin and asked me if no-one was feeding me properly. I laughed
He nodded and walked over to where he had tied his cow. He untied her and walked out onto the road. I stood where my grandmother used to stand and watched the tall frame of Kuttanpillai's dissolve into darkness.

Dusk was settling in on the swaying trees. As I sat on the verandah and reminisced about my childhood, Kamalakshi walked out with a little lit lamp. The flickering light cast an orange hue over her creased and hardened face. She walked past me into the darkness, walking down a narrow clearing bordered by the unwanted weeds. A glint of light floating in the darkness. I saw her stop under the large jackfruit tree and place the little lamp inside the smoke sooted slot. She straightened up and stood in front of it, closing her eyes. I strode over and stood beside her in silence.
After a while, Kamalakshi sighed and retraced her steps back home leaving me alone in the night under the large jackfruit tree with just the company of dimming lamp and my grandmother's ashes.
The silent night smelled of Elengi flowers