Veranda Tales-Precious jewels from ancestors

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 on 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 which were 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 that didn’t pass up an opportunity to share their wisdom using the art of storytelling. The rich and 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, grind grains and spices and 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.

చచ్చినోడి కళ్ళు చారెడేసి (Chacchinodi kallu charedesi) Dead person’s eyes are big)

When somebody passes away, people feel uncomfortable saying anything negative about them. Furthermore, they talk the person up. Overnight the person becomes drop dead gorgeous, taller, smarter, compassionate, and gentler than they ever were while they were living. Even the people that hated their guts will hesitate saying anything negative. It plays out in everyday life and in the media. A person becomes a saint overnight, and becomes virtuous. All their negative qualities and deeds evaporate into thin air along with their last breath. A grumpy, ill tempered person becomes a gentle soul even before their body gets cold. An arrogant bombastic person will be described as a confident person and the life of the party. One has to be exceptionally evil for people to skip the ritual of singing praises of a dead person.

This sametha aptly illustrates this phenomenon. "చచ్చినోడి కళ్ళు చారెడేసి (Chacchinodi kallu charedesi) mean “A dead person's eyes are big". Big eyes are considered beautiful, hence this sametha says “A dead person is beautiful”. It is a good thing to refrain from speaking ill of a dead person and it shows the softer side of humans.

అమ్మ (Amma is mother in Telugu) says చచ్చినోడి కళ్ళు చారెడేసి (Chacchinodi kallu charedesi) whenever she hears someone singing praises of a dead person who wasn’t a good person in her eyes. There is more to this sametha than its literal meaning that talks about singing praises of a dead person. The sametha illustrates the power of humans to move on and leave negative feelings behind. It also illustrates that us humans are nostalgic by nature and we like to romanticize the past. It is all too evident in the numerous Civil War and Revolutionary War reenactments. I used to work with people who made an annual pilgrimage to Gettysburg reenacting the battle between the Union and Confederate sides. It appears we forget the casualties, blood, and tears shed during the battles and march right into another war. We seem to suffer from collective amnesia. It is a bit strange to understand romanticizing wars though.

I can relate to this sentiment of nostalgia and longing to find out more about people who came before us. I romanticize what life would have been like back when my great grandparents, grandparents, and parents were growing up. When I hear stories about my maternal great grandfather's adventurous journey through forests along the East Coast of India from Machilipatnam to cities along the coast. He was a precious stone (gemstone) merchant who routinely traveled to places as far as Burma (present day Myanmar) to sell his merchandise. When he reached a nearby port after a long walk along the coast, he got on a boat that took him across the Bay of Bengal  to Yangon (Rangoon during his time). Machilipatnam, Vodarevu, Chennai, Visakhapatnam, Kolkata, and other port cities along the East Coast of India were well connected by shipping routes in those days. Machilipatnam was home to a thriving business community of precious stone and Kalankari cotton textile merchants during that time. Once he sold his merchandise, he retraced his way back home.

His journeys would have taken several months. I imagine him walking with his sons through the lush green forests along the coast full of large fruit trees. In my imagination they are all mango trees laden with juicy mangoes. I imagine my great grandfather in traditional attire of the day which would have been a తెల్ల పంచ (Tella Pancha is white Dhovathi Telugu), తెల్ల లాల్చి (Lalchi is a long shirt in Telugu), and కండువా (kanduva is a Scarf in Telugu).

He wore కుండలాలు (kundalalu), కడియాలు (kadiayalu) on his hands and feet, gold rings on his fingers, and కుంకం (kumkum) on his forehead. కుండలాలు (kundalalu) is a Sanskrit word for solid gold earrings worn by men in India. కడియాలు (kadiayalu) Sanskrit is a word for solid gold or silver bangles worn by men in India. He probably wore leather చెప్పులు (cheppulu) for his journey through the rough terrain. చెప్పులు (cheppulu) is a pair of sandals in Telugu. This journey would have been treacherous as these forests were inhabited by tribal people who didn't like strangers trespassing through their lands. I heard family stories about how he had to hand over his కుండలాలు (kundalalu), and gold rings to dacoits and tribal people to save his life and valuables. Him and his sons would have carried precious stones, clothing, and supplies on their backs and in bullock carts. I wonder if they encountered wild animals, poisonous snakes, and other dangers along the way. They would have been armed with sticks and knives to defend themselves. Their long journeys weren't walks in the park. Even if I think about these possibilities, their travels during the late 1800s to early 1900s still sound exotic and fascinating to me. Their business declined along with all other Indian precious stone merchants when precious stones from Yangon (Rangoon during his time) flooded the Indian market. Their adventurous travels came to an end.

As I think about their travels, I am excited about juicy fruits that could be foraged along the way. I wonder if they found juicy మామిడి పండ్లు  (Mangoes), నేరేడు (Neredu is Indian blackberry), and జామకాయ (Jamakaya is Guava) to eat. I ask if they carried rice, dal, and other grains to cook meals.

I wonder how beautiful, quiet and dark the nights would have been without the incessant noises in the house. I look around and hear the refrigerator making noise, the furnace fan making its presence known, all the electronic devices binging and buzzing. We have learned to tune out all these noises that would have been off putting to our ancestors. They would have slept under dark starry skies watching the glorious milky way. Maybe they stayed silent to listen for any noises of wild animals. They would have had a fire going to ward off wild animals at night. I am sure it isn't as romantic as the narrative in my head. I am positive I would bail out after a few hours. 

I also think about how my great grandmother coped when her husband and sons were away on a long and dangerous journey. Did she worry about them constantly? It is hard to imagine not hearing from a loved one who is traveling. We are so used to being connected and staying in touch even when we are flying 36000 feet above the Earth. We immediately call or text people as soon as we land. We dutifully take selfies and pictures to share with our loved ones all day long. My great grandmother didn’t hear from her husband and children after they left home until they came back. There was no guarantee they would come back safely.

The precious stone business included sourcing the unpolished stones, cutting, and polishing them. The polished stones are ready to be set in jewelry. My great grandfather sourced raw precious and semi-precious stones and hired stone polishers to polish them at their home. My great grandmother would have overseen the precious stone polishing work while her husband was away, in addition to running the household and taking care of her younger children.

నానమ్మ (Nanamma is paternal grandmother in Telugu) told me that in her days, women were either pregnant or nursing during their reproductive years. Nanamma and her mother had children around the same time. Nanamma’s little sister is younger to my father who was Nanamma’s eldest son. Women either died during childbirth or wore out giving birth to 9 or 10 children.

My great grandmother had several children before అమ్ముమ్మ (Ammumma is maternal grandmother in Telugu) was born. Ammumma was their last daughter.  My precious stone merchant, great grandfather, his wife, my great grandmother along with their sons doted on Ammumma. Ammumma went on to have three sons and four daughters and doted on all of her children. My great grandfather and great grandmother lived with their daughter taking care of their grandchildren. Amma has fond memories of her maternal grandmother and heard these stories about her maternal grandfather from her. He passed away a year before Amma was born. I can picture my great grandmother sitting on the veranda relating the stories from her past to Amma as she walked down her memory lane.

We are nostalgic and think and look at events in our past as positive. It is a good thing. As a mother, I know nostalgia all too well. I remember pregnancies and childbirth fondly. I have forgotten the terrible morning sickness, sleepless nights, and waddling around without being able to see my toes for months on end. Walking like a zombie for the first year of children’s lives barely registers. Even if I remember them, my mind doesn’t linger on these difficulties. I cherish numerous good memories amid the mad rush of taking care of my precious kids and all the good things that are a result of a few months of discomfort. The memory making continues as they build their lives. It is now my turn to dote on my children following in the footsteps of my mother and grandmothers. These precious memories are the real jewels worth passing down to the future generations.