Veranda Tales-Daydreaming at a traffic light
Storytelling has been an integral part of my life since childhood. I grew up listening to stories during the hot summer evenings and nights with my cousins. Mothers and grandmothers would gather all of us children for story time. It was usually pitch dark except for a very faint light coming from the flickering candle. Power cuts were as frequent as the hot and humid summer days. We all spread out on a cool concrete floor or bamboo mats on the veranda intently listening to fascinating stories about kings, queens, princes, princesses, and peasants alike. Stories about love, life, families, and people entertained and taught us life skills. These stories transported us to distant worlds, strange yet familiar. Often the same story told by two people sounded different as storytellers added new twists and turns adding their personal style and flair to the stories.
Storytelling wasn’t limited to summer evenings and bedtime. I was surrounded by adults who didn’t pass up an opportunity to share their wisdom using the art of storytelling. These rich vibrant oral traditions include songs, poems, stories, and సామెతలు (Sametalu are proverbs in Telugu). Men and women sing songs as they work in the fields, grinding grains and spices and doing other daily chores at their homes. Stories are often used to teach important life lessons, interpersonal skills, and survival skills. These stories and the time spent listening to them made our lives richer leaving an impression on me. This series is all about reliving those memories as I share these stories.
ఆలు లేదు, చూలు లేదు, కొడుకు పేరు సోమలింగం (Aalu ledu, chulu ledu, koduku peru Somalingam)
Door to door vending. a common practice in India is still alive and well to this day. There is no need to step out of your house to get fresh vegetables, fruits, and other household goods. Some vendors bring fresh vegetables on a cart pushing it from door to door in a neighborhood. Some vendors carry a basket filled with their merchandise on their heads. You can get your hands on freshly harvested vegetables and greens in a cornucopia of colors right at your doorstep.
You can haggle with the vendor and buy tender పాలకూర (paalakura is spinach in Telugu), తోటకూర (thotakura is Amaranth leaves in Telugu), and other vegetables you feel like eating that day. The art of haggling to outsmart each other to get the best deal for themselves is a time honored tradition and skill in India which has been healthy and thriving for thousands of years. Completing the transaction on even a small bunch of మెంతికూర (menthikura or fenugreek leaves in Telugu) or కొత్తిమీర (kottimera is cilantro leaves in Telugu) leaves both the vendor and the buyer dissatisfied as it robs them of the fun of doing business. మెంతికూర పప్పు (menthikura pappu) just doesn't taste good when మెంతికూర (menthikura) buying is devoid of haggling.
I remember watching అమ్మ (amma is mother in Telugu) haggle with door to door vendors and vendors at fish markets when we make the trip to the market to buy fresh fish or prawns. Vendors don’t bring fish and prawns door to door. When I visit India, I am strangely comforted that people can still make a living without restrictions as they have done for thousands of years. I get to watch the art of haggling which is still alive and well even though I no longer have the skill to take part in it.
Street vending is truly a free market economy at its best. Street vendors are an integral part of the Indian economy. The Indian Parliament enacted the Street Vendor (Protection of Livelihood and Regulation of Street Vending) Act in 2014, to prevent harassment of street vendors and to regulate their livelihood.
Once upon a time, there lived a young man who made a living by selling flour, rice, and other household items. He would travel from one village to the next on foot to sell whatever he was selling that day. Once he reached a village he would go door to door to sell his merchandise.
Once he was done selling, he would find shelter under a tree with his merchandise secured by his side as he rested. As he rested he would think about his future and daydream. On one occasion, he was carrying flour in కుండ (kunda is clay pot in Telugu) to sell. He set down the కుండ (kunda) full of flour close by as he rested. His mind started wandering as he visualized the profit he would make by selling the flour. He thought he could expand his business with the profit to buy more flour and save some money. He could keep saving the money to buy a cow and a small piece of land to grow vegetables. He then could build a small house. He would then marry and bring his wife to his humble abode. He and his wife could work on the farm together to grow vegetables and sell them. He would not be lonely anymore.
His mind envisioned a son being born. His son was adorable and cute. He would name him సోమలింగం (Somalingam) after his grandfather. He would play with his son, teach him how to till the land, plant seeds, water the plants, and harvest vegetables at the right time. He would teach him the art of haggling and the best places to sell vegetables for a good profit. He would teach him how to save for a rainy day. He would take good care of his wife and his son.
He then remembered his mother and father disciplining him when he misbehaved. He remembered how they would admonish him at times. He didn’t like the idea of admonishing and yelling at his adorable son. He thought about what he would do if his wife admonished and yelled at his son. That thought made him angry and as he straightened his legs all of sudden, he kicked the clay pot full of flour. The pot broke and the flour spilled on the ground. Our poor vendor had a rude awakening from his daydream as his future he had just dreamt followed the spilled flour on the ground.
He was very sad and lamented aloud saying, “ఆలు లేదు, చూలు లేదు, కొడుకు పేరు సోమలింగం (Aalu ledu, chulu ledu, koduku peru Somalingam)”. He was sad that his active daydreaming destroyed his present prospects. This sameta means, “There is no wife, there is no pregnancy, and the son’s name is Somalingam”. Another variation of this sameta is “ఆలు లేదు, చూలు లేదు, అల్లుడి పేరు సోమలింగం (Aalu ledu, chulu ledu, alludi peru Somalingam)”, which means, “There is no wife, there is no pregnancy, and the son-in-law’s name is Somalingam”. In this variation of the sameta, our vendor has an adorable daughter. He would raise her, take good care of her, and marry her to a man named సోమలింగం (Somalingam). If his son-in-law mistreats his daughter, he would kick him. This extends it further in the future where his daughter was all grown and married. Either way, this story has a sad ending.
“ఆలు లేదు, చూలు లేదు, కొడుకు పేరు సోమలింగం (Aalu ledu, chulu ledu, koduku peru Somalingam) or “ఆలు లేదు, చూలు లేదు, అల్లుడి పేరు సోమలింగం (Aalu ledu, chulu ledu, alludi peru Somalingam)” is used to illustrate a situation or scenario where someone is making plans for the future without a basic foundation. This sameta conveys a similar sentiment as the proverb in English, “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch”.
This sameta brings back memories of my graduate school days. I would walk back to my apartment late at night in bitterly cold temperatures after working on a school project. I would invariably be hungry and tired as I walked back knowing fully well I might not have food in my refrigerator. I would take stock of what food I might have at my small damp basement apartment.
As a student with limited resources, I couldn’t afford to buy a warm coat, leave alone springing for a taxi. There was no chance of owning a car with below minimum wage jobs working on campus. As I stood waiting for the walk sign at a traffic light on my way, I would watch people driving by. I would daydream about how one day I would save enough money to buy a clunker to drive so I wouldn’t have to walk two miles in bitter cold weather on snow covered sidewalks during a snowstorm. It was great dreaming about getting into a warm car as I stood alone freezing while waiting for the light to change at a dimly lit street corner. It got me through many more trips in bitterly cold weather to school and back to my warm humble abode with a comfortable bed to sleep on even if there was nothing to eat. I was thankful for a roof over my head with hopes for a better future.
Unlike the vendor in our story, my daydreaming stopped at my immediate need of much needed transportation. It did end on a good note when I was able to save enough money to buy a clunker during my second year of graduate school. Finding enough money to fill gas in it was another story. The car was in a bad shape and needed repairs I couldn't afford. That was the start of another dream about being able to afford a reliable car.
This sameta is apt to describe how people spend more than they should in anticipation of an upcoming tax refund or a pay raise. I have been guilty of convincing myself to spend money I didn’t yet get two times over, before I got wiser. This sameta cautions us against wanting unattainable things and being sad about not being able to get them. It tells us, “ఆకాశానికి నిచ్చెన వెయ్యద్దు (don’t expect to reach the skies using a ladder)”.
Daydreaming and imagining a better life and future is good. You can’t build what you can’t imagine and dream. We humans have the amazing ability to transport ourselves to far away places. I am going to keep dreaming for a better tomorrow and a better world.