Veranda Tales-Mud conchumences

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.

అడుసు తొక్కనేల, కాలు కడగనేల? (Adusu tokkanela kaalu kadaganela?)

When we knowingly make a mistake, we could end up spending time and energy trying to correct it. We drive ten or fifteen miles above the posted speed limit to save precious two minutes only to get stopped by a traffic police. After smooth talking to get out of trouble only to drive away with the freshly written ticket in hand after the officer sarcastically says “You have a good day now!”. The officer’s parting words feel like rubbing salt in a fresh wound or throwing sand in the eyes. Alas, it is too late to turn the clock back and refrain from speeding to begin with.

This sameta conveys this sentiment of the futility of knowingly making a mistake and suffering the consequences. It questions, “Why do you step in the mud and clean your legs later? If you are careful not to step in the mud, you could avoid the trouble of cleaning up”. అడుసు (adusu is mud in Telugu), తొక్కనేల (tokkanela means steeping in or stomping the mud), కాలు (kaalu is leg), and కడగనేల (kadaganela means why clean leg?). This sameta humorously cautions us that if we don’t make a mistake knowingly, we won't suffer from the consequences.

When I hear this sameta what comes to my mind is my trek to school and back in the rainy season. I lived in a small farming village during my 9th and 10th grades. Our school was very large for a small village and the only school within the 20 mile radius. Students came from smaller neighboring communities. A small APSRTC bus station and an Indian Railways station on the Howrah-Chennai line were located on the main road of our village. Our house was on one of the main side streets which started at the main road and ran perpendicular to it until it forked into two streets that circled the oval shaped village square. At the other end of the oval the two forks of the street merged back and continued to the school. The village square was full of activity with a limestone mill powered by bulls under a large tree and a small roadside stall that sold delicious drinks. The drink stall was owned and run by my classmate's family. They sold soft drinks made out of club soda and their delicious homemade సుగంధి పాల వేర్లు (sugandhipala verlu is sarsaparilla roots in Telugu) syrup. The syrup had a heavenly taste and smell to die for. We would buy their syrup to make soft drinks at home. Villagers would gather around the large tree. I would take in the activity in the village square as I walked to school.

Our house was very close to the bus station, just a few houses down the side street. We had to climb up several steps to get to the main door. On either side of the stairs were two large raised verandas. We could step onto them from the top stair. నాన్న (Nanna is father in Telugu) had to bring the scooter up the stairs when he came back home and take it down the stairs when he went out. The scooter was parked in our front yard. A seven feet long and two feet wide wooden ramp with a strong two pronged iron hook helped get the job done. నాన్న (Nanna) had the ramp made by a local carpenter. This ramp was very heavy and we had to carry it and set it down over the stairs with the two pronged hook fitting over the threshold to keep it in place. Bringing the scooter down the ramp was just as challenging as pushing it up the ramp. I would push the scooter as నాన్న (Nanna) steered up the narrow ramp. I would hold the scooter from the back, so it wouldn’t roll down the ramp fast when నాన్న (Nanna) was taking it down the ramp. We were triumphant  with zero runaway scooter incidents while taking it up or bringing it down.

As soon as you crossed the main threshold and stepped into the front yard, you could see a water tap to your left and bathroom and latrine to your right. A large bougainvillea tree shaded the water tap area climbing all over the front wall to the left of the main door area. The tree was covered with beautiful papery pink flowers and fallen pink petals covered the ground beneath the tree. One of the first things that would catch your eye as you stood in front of the house was this tree covered with flowers and a few green leaves trying to peek through the flowers in bloom. The tree was crawling with గొంగళి పురుగులు (gongali purugulu are large black caterpillars in Telugu) feasting on its leaves. On warm summer nights, we slept outdoors watching the stars as the flowers glowed brightly as they basked in the moonlight. The nights were serenely peaceful and quiet. We would look at the constellations and stars matching them up with the star chart నాన్న (Nanna) gave me. The star chart is still with me to keep the sweet memories alive.

The large front yard was covered with నాపరాయి (naaparayi), blackish gray natural stone, a common flooring in Andhra Pradesh. These stones aren’t black, they are light gray like cement with black streaks. These stones are widely available in Andhra Pradesh and much cheaper than granite. Large 2x2 feet నాపరాయి (naaparayi) pieces are laid down with cement grout in between to make a strong, durable, and easily maintainable indoor and outdoor flooring. Almost all of the houses I lived in had నాపరాయి (naaparayi) floors. They were great for chalk art, jump roping, other fun activities, and for sitting down to do mundane household chores.

As you walked down a few feet, you could see a detached kitchen on your right and you could continue to stairs leading to the terrace behind the kitchen and a veranda. Two large rectangular rooms the same size as the veranda served as the main living quarters. There was no backyard. The musty windowless backroom served as our parents’ bedroom and pooja room. The room right behind the veranda was the kids bedroom and this was where our green meat safe stood in one corner. The veranda served as our dining area, study area, and general hangout area. We could see a tailor shop next door from our veranda. There was a constant traffic of men and women stopping by the tailor shop to drop their clothes off for stitching or pick up their stitched blouses and shirts.

I would sit cross legged on a reed mat on the veranda to do homework. Our green dining table sat on the right of the veranda as you looked out from the living quarters. We would carry prepared food from the detached kitchen to the dining table. I have fond memories of eating and sharing delicious food with my family at this table on the veranda. Our clothes lines stretched from the bougainvillea tree to the veranda in the back. నాన్న (Nanna) would iron his clothes and అమ్మ (Amma’s) silk sarees on this green table. Our iron never failed us even though it was rather old and heavy.

The black fertile soil in the village was great for growing three crops a year. Farmers grew rice, black gram, and then turmeric. This crop rotation puts back the nutrients the previous crop depleted, getting the soil ready for the next crop. The rotation was carefully chosen over several centuries ago and is still in practice. The soil was great for growing, but not for walking. All the roads in the village were dirt and became impassable after a rainfall. Walking involved pulling one foot out of the mud and putting another one down as it promptly sank in the mud. It was a slow slippery sinking trek all the way to school. I tried wearing sandals once or twice before giving up on wearing sandals to walk to school after rain. There was no way you could pull your foot up with the sandal still attached to it. Straps would break and the sandal would get buried deep in the mud. My classmates and villagers who saw me struggle with sandaled feet in mud, would kindly advise me that the sandals were better left at home. By the time I made it to school, I was covered in mud knee high. Did I mention trying to hold books and skirt up while I walked trying not to sink and slide in mud? Whenever I hear this sameta, the memories of my muddy walks to school come to my mind immediately. In my case, there was no choice but to step in the mud  to avoid the consequences in this case.

These memories are pleasant compared to the others that follow. Our detached kitchen was a challenge during the rainy and cyclone season. I remember walking back and forth from the kitchen to the veranda in the middle of the devastating 1977 cyclone. The rain felt like needles on my face as I ran from the front yard, or from the kitchen back into the safety of the house. The 1977 Andhra Pradesh cyclone was devastating. It killed tens of thousands of people, wiping out entire communities on the island of Diviseema. We lost power for several months after the cyclone. We hunkered down waiting for the eye of the storm to pass over us. We woke up to fallen trees, destroyed crops, and damaged houses. The damage to crops and livestock was devastating to farmers in the village. Our school’s tin roof caved in and the school stayed closed for two months. I remember the outpouring of support coming from neighboring countries, including the USA and other western nations. After enduring the cyclone, watching the devastation around my immediate surroundings and reading about the lost lives in newspapers, walking to school in mud didn’t bother me one bit. I was happy to have a roof over my head and a school to go to.

A new pleasant memory from recent times has joined the previous unpleasant memories of mud walks. When my older son was three months short of three years, we went on a hike during spring time. The trails were snow covered and icy in spots, wet, and full of muddy puddles. My son was having a ball stepping in the puddles and splashing muddy water on his and my clothing. He was enjoying sliding on the snow and icy spots. As he slipped, he would fall and get mud on his bottom.  By the time we turned around to head back, his legs were covered in mud and so were his favorite shorts and shoes.

At one point, he looked at me and said, “Mommy, my shoes and shorts are muddy”. I told him, “Hey that’s what happens if you step in the muddy pools” and joked about the consequences of stepping in the mud.

After that he continued stepping in the puddles and splashing muddy water while repeating, “mud conchumences” at the top of his voice. He couldn’t pronounce the word “consequences”, and “conchumences” was what he could manage, even though he knew the meaning of the word. We received smiles from parents with little kids and a mix of amused and annoyed looks from others. We finally made it back to the trailhead full of laughs and covered in mud. We found water to get cleaned up. After this incident, when I hear “అడుసు తొక్కనేల, కాలు కడగనేల? (Adusu tokkanela kaalu kadaganela?”), my heart warms up and my face brightens with a smile with the memory of my son splashing muddy water all over me while singing, “mud conchumences” loudly.