Kupasta Mandukam finds an ocean

గుంతకల్లు (Guntakallu or Guntakal), one of the major railway junctions in Andhra Pradesh was home to a large number of people who worked for the Indian Railways. Railway employees lived in Railway Colony housing provided by their employer. It was a large colony that spanned several streets and was close to the train station. The community was diverse with people from various states in India. There was a large Anglo-Indian community of people of British and Indian ancestry in గుంతకల్లు (Guntakallu). They had a distinct culture derived from their two ancestries which I learned about during my time in Guntakal. We stayed with our relatives who lived in Railway Colony for the first week when we moved to గుంతకల్లు (Guntakallu). Walking around the colony and meeting people from all over India was a new and exciting experience for me having lived a sheltered life thus far.

We moved into our new home at the other end of the town. We rode a జట్కాబండి (jatka bandi) to our new home. జట్కాబండి (jatka bandi), also known as a Tonga or Tanga is a small carriage drawn by one horse. Tangas have a canopy covering them and a pair of large wheels. Passengers sit in the back climbing a steep step and driver sits in the front talking to the horse in front of him and passengers sitting in the back of the carriage. It was a unique experience for me to ride in a Tanga. గుంతకల్లు (Guntakallu) was the only place I got to ride in them. It was so much fun to sit in the back dangling your feet, hearing the clickety clack of the horseshoes and the జట్కాబండి (jatka bandi) driver talking to the horse. He would make clicking sounds with his tongue as he directed the horse. The horse neighs in response shaking his head, swaying back and forth to regain his balance. His majestic mane and tail sway along as he pulls the carriage. The driver was usually a very skinny man dressed in a తెల్ల పంచ (Tella Pancha is white Dhovathi Telugu) and తెల్ల లాల్చి (Lalchi is a long shirt in Telugu), and a bright color తలపాగా (talapagaa) adorning his head. తలపాగా (talapagaa), also known as a Pagri, is a turban or headdress worn by men and women in India. A long piece of cloth called కండువా (kanduva is a scarf in Telugu) is tied around the head manually to make the headdress. కండువా (kanduva) doubles as a తలపాగా (talapagaa) and a scarf.  తలపాగా (talapagaa) also protects the head when a person carries heavy items on their head. A red కండువా (kanduva) with a yellow border was a common color of choice for the drivers. Maybe their horses like the color red. It was indeed fascinating to watch a skinny driver controlling a majestic and strong horse. Stepping up onto the carriage itself was hard for me and my little legs. Once you sat in the back of the జట్కాబండి (jatka bandi), it can be a bit unsettling as the carriage sways sideways and up and down as it goes over the bumps and potholes on the road.

A majority of roads in గుంతకల్లు (Guntakallu) were dirt roads back then. We stayed in a house on one of the dirt roads that was perpendicular to the main street that ran the entire length of the city. At the corner of the main street and our street, there was a movie theater where I watched the movie Mayabazar with my sister. This was the first time my parents allowed us to go to movies by ourselves. I had a mix of conflicting emotions of excitement and anxiousness. I was excited to be allowed to watch movies by ourselves as it was a rite of passage and acknowledgement that I was old enough to do so. I was very anxious and nervous to be alone in a theater full of strangers without our guardian angels with me. I missed నాన్న (Nanna is father in Telugu)’s expert commentary during the movies when I asked a question about some scene I didn’t understand.

Watching movies in India is an experience in itself. The audience was very engaged and very vocal. The chatter and whistling at appropriate times when the hero flirts with the heroine, loud laughter during comedic scenes, appropriate amount of crying during sad scenes, and shouting during the fight scenes. నాన్న (Nanna) and అమ్మ (Amma is mother in Telugu) started leaving us at home by ourselves to go shopping, or visit friends and family by themselves. They also started sending us minions to go early to stand in line to get movie tickets and wait for them to show up closer to the movie start time. Buying movie tickets was yet another uniquely Indian experience. There was a special line for women which was invariably shorter than the regular lines. If you are standing in the ladies line, men would pester you to buy tickets for them. Stories abound about how men would pretend like a woman wearing a burqa over their clothing to take advantage of the ladies line. They would hold up their fingers to communicate how many tickets they want when they approach the counter instead of speaking out aloud. Ticket booth guy would press for them to use their voices. Some women insist on not speaking and just show their fingers more emphatically. I for one never saw any evidence of this happening. Must have been fake news circulated via the grapevine much like a click to share. It wasn’t as effective I might add. It was like snail mail.

There was another movie theater very close to our house. We could see the theater from our veranda and hear the dialogues very clearly. The movie Sholay was playing in that theater when we moved into the house and it continued to play for another several months. We could hear audio tracks of the movies that were playing in that theater from our veranda every single day, once during the first show from 6 P.M to 9 P.M and during the second show from 9 P.M to 12 A.M. In India all movies at a theater start at the same time with morning shows starting around 10 A.M, matinee starting at 2 P.M followed by first evening show and a second late night show. For a small town Guntakal was home to several movie theaters. There were two movie theaters on our way to school. నాన్న (Nanna) would ask us to check if movies changed on our way to school.

Everything was different in గుంతకల్లు (Guntakallu) including how the rickshaws looked and how Telugu was spoken. The Rayalaseema Telugu dialect is different from the Andhra and Telangana area dialects even though the script is the same. Rayalaseema dialect is influenced by Kannada, the official language of the state of Karnataka due to its proximity to it. You would address somebody అప్పా (appa) respectfully in Rayalaseema whereas అయ్యా (ayya) is its equivalent word in Andhra. The rickshaws were shorter and smaller and I suspect they were designed that way to make it easier to go up and down the hilly areas. We didn’t ride rickshaws much in గుంతకల్ (Guntakal). We walked to school in the morning, walked back for lunch at noon, went back to school for the afternoon session, and walked back from school at the end of the day. Our walk to school was very eventful as we had to walk by a large and vicious looking pack of wild pigs and stray dogs in the middle of a road on our way to school. These pigs hung out in a large muddy pit in the middle of the road and were drenched in mud. They would grunt and hiss at us as we were trying to walk past them gingerly. We would try to sneak by to avoid getting mud stains on our uniforms and avoid annoying the pigs so they would not charge at us. It was an adventurous trek to school for sure. These wild pigs were indeed powerful. Pedestrians, rickshaws, bicycles, vendors with their carts, and tangas worked around them and their muddy kingdom as they passed by them.

I loved the school and my teachers in గుంతకల్లు (Guntakallu). The school had 6th through 10th grades and each grade had two sections, A and B. I was in section B in both 8th and 9th grades. We had a good rivalry going with students in section A. A few teachers taught just one section and they had a competition going at our expense. They would brag about their top students. I made two very good friends, రేఖ (Rekha) and శాంతి (Santhi) at school. We were the three amigos sitting together and hanging out together during recess and lunch. I kept in touch with రేఖ (Rekha) for several years after we said our goodbyes when I left గుంతకల్లు (Guntakallu) in the middle of 9th grade. I met her again when we both were at the same institute for tutoring getting ready for our College entrance examinations. She was very kind and affectionate. Her father passed away when she was little and she lived with her mother and two brothers at her maternal grandfather’s place.

We didn't have desks at this school. We sat on the cool concrete floor with our school boxes or bags in our laps serving as lap desks. My aluminum school box served me well doing double duty to carry books and as a lap desk during those days. Since we didn’t have desks, taller kids sat at the back of the room and shorter kids in the front of the room so we could all see the blackboard clearly. About 80 of us sitting in పద్మాసన (padmasana) with our school boxes in our laps learned from our teachers. We had to navigate the tightly packed rows dodging fellow students when we were asked to come to the front to get our homework graded, solve math problems on the blackboard up in the front of class, and get our graded tests. We did it without running into each other and stepping on each other.

Our school compound had a boundary wall with a large solid iron gate in the front. The front gate was open during the school hours. There was no need to sign in and out when we went home for lunch. When we entered the gate the office building was to our left and all ten class rooms were housed in a very long rectangular building with a long veranda on the right side.  You could walk from one end of the building to the other on the veranda walking from 6th grade rooms closer to the front gate to 10th grade rooms in the back of the school.  It was a girls’ school and all of the teachers were women. The teachers’ room was at the back of the office building with its door facing the left boundary wall and a staircase with 4 or 5 steep steps to get up to it. It was a short walk across the volleyball court and playground that doubled as our outdoor lunch area to get to the teachers’ room. All our teachers shared this small room that had desks for all of them. Our teachers prepared to teach, graded our homework and tests, and had lunch in this room. We would walk gingerly to the teachers’ room and climb the steep staircase if we were called for a private conversation.

Our English and Math teacher was very reserved and had a serious demeanor. She wore white printed sarees with a dark colored blouse. She never cracked a smile, laughed, or chit chatted with us unlike our Telugu and Arts and Crafts teachers. The only thing that gave away was the expression in her large beautiful black eyes and a slight smile which quickly faded before you could notice it when she was pleased with a student’s performance on a test. We started to tune into her facial expressions as she handed us our graded tests back and had gotten very good at guessing who did well and who didn't. She was my favorite teacher at this school. Our Telugu teacher was bubbly and all smiles yet very tough when it came to expecting us to do our best. Our Arts and Crafts teacher also taught us Social Sciences. She was very friendly and used to catch me when I cracked my knuckles, and helped me get rid of this nervous habit.

Sadhana, my classmate and row mate, was nervous and anxious when she was called on to answer a question or read aloud in language classes. She would rock back and forth on her feet as she stood answering questions or reading aloud. Rocking on her feet helped her with focus. I can still picture her gently rocking back and forth on her feet as her whole body rocked. She was called on a lot for sure.

రేఖ (Rekha) and  శాంతి (Santhi) sat in the row behind me as they were taller than me. I shed my Hindi woes and got good at it. My math skills had improved considerably since 6th grade. I learned to make bead purses and plastic reed baskets in my Arts and Crafts class. I enjoyed beading and weaving handbags and baskets using brilliant colored plastic reeds. Most baskets used one or two colors and had handles.

నాన్న (Nanna)’s rule on family movie outings coming first continued even during midterms and final examinations. His thinking was that if you didn’t do your work all year long, studying the night before the test wouldn’t help. I ended up  running into my 8th grade Telugu teacher at the movies the evening before the Telugu finals. She paid extra attention to my test when she graded it. She handed it back to me with a smile saying “Not a bad performance after having watched the movie the night before the test!”. This rule continues to help me manage priorities in my life, however I chose to not carry this rule forward into the next generation. My kids manage their priorities, pulling all-nighters as needed and refusing to attend family events they can’t afford to do so.

I made friends from various backgrounds at school which was a first for me. My classmates came from various cultural and economic backgrounds ranging from railway and other government employee families, working class families and very rich business families. In addition to friends at school, I had a school walking buddy who came by to meet me at the front of our house every single morning to walk to school. We walked back from school together. She would share school news and look out for me when people talked about how I dressed. We had to wear uniforms every single day except on Saturdays. I would wait all week long to wear my favorite red skirt with white lines in an abstract and random pattern with a long white blouse on Saturdays. The economic inequities were on full display on our casual attire Saturdays. Girls from rich families wore beautiful dresses and jewelry on Saturdays. They would ask my walking buddy if our family was poor because they saw me wearing the same skirt every single Saturday. She advised me gently to switch up my Saturday outfit every now and then. I loved my red skirt and didn’t concern myself with what people thought about my economic situation. That hasn’t changed even now. I still wear what I want to wear and don’t worry about what others think of me.

Another important change had taken place during this time in my life. I was close to my sister and as the only big sister I was expected to look out for her. I took this responsibility seriously. When she was punished for her misbehavior by confining her to a room, she would continue her behavior as I stood outside and cried the whole time until she was set free. I would be on her side when her misbehavior alienated our mutual friends. This continued as I turned eleven and well into my 8th grade and she in 6th grade. Whenever she got sick I walked back from school with her missing school only to find her miraculously getting better and running off to play with her buddies as soon as we got home. I had to catch up on the  missed school work.

On a school trip to a nearby museum, she sneaked away with a couple of her friends to climb the stairs to the terrace. They were running around on the terrace waving to people on the road. I noticed her heading towards the stairs and then she went missing. I was very concerned about her getting in trouble with her teacher and went up there to get her back. రేఖ (Rekha) and శాంతి (Santhi) followed me to help me. I wanted to save her. Our teachers noticed we were all missing and disciplined us when we got back to school. They gave me a pass because I was helping my sister. రేఖ (Rekha) and శాంతి (Santhi) and were punished for following me to the terrace. They had to stand on the veranda outside our classroom for an entire hour enduring the glaring stares from teachers, classmates and other students. My friendship with రేఖ (Rekha) and శాంతి (Santhi) didn’t change one bit due to the goodness of their hearts. They moved on like it never happened and continued to be my friends. This incident crushed me as I put myself and others at risk rushing in to save my sister from trouble of her own making. It dawned on me that my sense of responsibility that was driving me to save my sister from trouble wasn’t helping either one of us. I stopped rushing to save her and give her the opportunity to learn to take responsibility instead. This incident taught me to be a better sister.

I was very sad to leave గుంతకల్లు (Guntakallu) and to say goodbye to friends. I continue to cherish the memories and experiences from one of my favorite places I lived in. I started to make decisions for myself and questioning what I was told. Thankfully my parents had a lot of patience to explain and acknowledge when they learned something new that changed their opinion. Living in గుంతకల్లు (Guntakallu) for me was like కూపస్థ మండూకం or బావిలో కప్ప (Kupastha Mandukam or baavilo kappa) finding an ocean in a way. కూపస్థ మండూకం or బావిలో కప్ప (Kupastha Mandukam or baavilo kappa) are the phrases that are used to describe a person with limited experiences and knowledge beyond their immediate surroundings. They are also used to describe a closed minded person who refuses to embrace change and new ideas. A frog living in a well has limited experiences and opportunities to learn and expand its world. The frog doesn’t know the world beyond the small confined space in the well. In this context, I am using these phrases to describe myself as a person of limited experiences whose world and experience with it expanded during this important phase of my life. The journey of a కూపస్థ మండూకం or బావిలో కప్ప (Kupastha Mandukam or baavilo kappa) is a never ending one. It is now my children’s turn to question me, teach me new ideas and keep me on track with my journey to the next ocean.