Veranda Tales-Where is that time machine?
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.
వచ్చేటప్పుడు తీసుకురారు పోయేటప్పుడు తీసుకుపోరు (Vachetappudu theesukuraaru, Poyetappudu theesukuporu)
Growing up in India is grounding and enriching. Life’s joys, trials, and tribulations are in full display on the streets of India. A short walk could bring you face to face with joyous moments of life and the sorrowful ones. On my way to school I would see a household getting ready for a wedding building పందిరి (pandiri is a canopy in Telugu) in front of their house with bamboo poles to support a roof made out of తాటి చెట్టు (thati chettu) leaves. తాటి చెట్టు (thati chettu) is a Asian palmyra palm in Telugu). Walk a couple more steps, you would come across a funeral procession of family and friends carrying their loved one for final rites on a bed made out of bamboo sticks. A few steps down the road, you would find a house celebrating a new addition to their family. You will encounter men and women heading to work, children walking to school, men and women praying at a roadside temple, mosque or church.
When I go for a walk in the morning I get to see people harvesting bananas from the farm, loading them up on a two wheeler and riding off to the market. You can hear the tring, tring noises of bicycle bells as people navigate the busy streets carrying milk cans, vegetables, and fruits, from house to house. You can see men and women in colorful clothing walking down the streets with baskets full of vegetables, fruits, and flowers on their heads. Indian streets are buzzing with people from all walks of life. Streets are noisy and chaotic with students walking to school in their uniforms, men and women heading to work in cars, scooters, bicycles, autos, and rickshaws. You can spot washer men and women with bundles of dirty and clean clothes as they make their rounds to deliver clean clothes and collect dirty ones from their customers’ houses. Streets are home to cows, dogs, cats, and other animals. All dimensions of human life and life in general are on full display day and night. Time keeps ticking as people laugh in happy moments and cry in sad times as they navigate their lives.
Lives in India are transparent. There is no attempt made to hide the bad and showcase only the good. I watched the chaos that ensued at each of my younger cousins’ births. It was a busy and anxious time for all the adults, especially my paternal grandmother who was the matriarch of the family. She supervised every aspect of the birthing process and caring for the newborn and the mother. She would make sure water was boiled with turmeric and neem leaves for postpartum bath. With five daughters and daughters-in-law, there was at least one child born every year and three in a few very productive years. She was always busy either caring for a pregnant woman or a new mother and newborn.
Just as I witnessed the start of life from an early age, the end of it was also plain to see. I was just nine years of age when I had to face the death of a loved one. I watched my maternal grandfather lying in state on the veranda of the house he built to share with my grandmother, raised his children, and watched his grandchildren play. I remember people coming to visit and pay final respects. My paternal grandfather came for the funeral. I remember running to him as he approached the chaotic house full of people along with my grieving mother and my father attending to her. The very next year, I lost my paternal grandmother. I remember her lying in state in the hall, which served as the family and living room, with a ప్రమిద (pramida) burning close to her head as a sign of respect. I remember her being bathed to get her ready for her final journey and నాన్న (Nanna) breaking into tears as he was getting to ready to accompany her on her final journey resting on her funeral pyre, a bed made out of bamboo sticks.
I was about fourteen years of age when I had a lucid dream about me dying. I floated up above watching my body lying flat on the bathroom floor. It was the summer after the 11th grade and we just moved into a new house. The house wasn’t close to any water body. In fact we had to struggle to get water for drinking and bathing. The house had a boundary wall with a small gate in the front which led to a flight of stairs to get up onto a veranda. There were three rooms behind the veranda and a kitchen. A flight of stairs from the kitchen led to the backyard. It was in this house, in the front room right behind the veranda I spent numerous nights laying awake, scared to death about me dying while I slept. Soon after my dream about watching my dead body lying on the bathroom floor, a neighbor passed away in his sleep. I never met him and didn’t actually see him while he was alive or dead. My dream and this incident of someone dying in their sleep set off a fear of death for a few years. I was afraid to fall asleep thinking that I wouldn’t wake up. I didn’t talk to anyone about the fear. Every single time I woke up in the morning, my fear kept dwindling down until it finally disappeared.
It reared back up a year later when my father was very sick and I thought I would lose him forever. This time it wasn’t the fear of me dying, it was fear of losing a loved one. I coped with it by burying myself in school work and leaving chores and నాన్న (Nanna is father in Telugu)’s care to అమ్మ (Amma is mother in Telugu)’s shoulders. అమ్మ (Amma) switched into a mode where she brushed aside all her anxieties about a future without నాన్న (Nanna). She was calm and collected as she cared for him. She rushed him to the hospital for critical care at the right time and saved his life. I was sitting at school buried in my books when నాన్న (Nanna) was rushed to the hospital. It wasn’t my proudest moment as I couldn’t get out of my head to recognize that అమ్మ (Amma) needed my help and support.
It all ended well in the end as నాన్న (Nanna) came back with stories of his hospital stay. నాన్న (Nanna) was sporting his unshaven look and his beard turned white while he was sick. నాన్న (Nanna) told us how people kept asking him if అమ్మ (Amma) was his daughter. He made us all burst out laughing by telling us how these comments were like, “మూలిగే నక్క మీద తాటిపండు పడినట్లు (muulige nakka meeda thatipandu padinatlu)“. The sameta means “how a groaning fox in pain feels when an Asian palmyra palm falls down on him”. I had the good fortune to enjoy several more years of his humor, listen to his belly laughs as his face lit up with joy, and his gentle eyes comforting people around him in an instance. It was ironic that several years later, I was flying at cruising altitude when he took his final breath while I was rushing home to see him. I was strangely at peace with his passing and accepted it. He makes his presence known as I keep his memories alive.
My fear of death had two dimensions. The first one was just plain fear of death which I overcame for the most part. The second one was a sense of missing out which can be described as Fear of Missing Out (FOMO). I missed out on the things that happened before my birth. I am thankful for the vast amount of stories written in words, art, and sculptures for me to get a feel for the time before me. I imagine sitting in ancient libraries of the world reading manuscripts. What was life like for students who attended Nalanda and Takshashila? Did their professors give assignments and did they stress out about their final exams and grades? Did they worry about what they would do after they got out of college? What was life like for people who lived during the ancient times when large temples and pyramids were being built? Did they complain about these large structures ruining their ocean view? When I come across 100 or 200 year old trees, I wonder what the world was like when they were saplings. What stories would they tell if they could speak?
As for the world after I am gone, I will miss out on events and lives as the world continues without me. This thought of missing out on the exciting new discoveries and events of great magnitude of love and compassion gives me a pang in my heart. The one power I would love to acquire is time travel so I can observe the ancient times and future ones after I leave this planet.
వచ్చేటప్పుడు తీసుకురారు పోయేటప్పుడు తీసుకుపోరు (Vachetappudu theesukuraaru, Poyetappudu theesukuporu) sameta and the wisdom it offers is comforting to combat the fear of death. It is also comforting to put world events in perspective. This sameta means, “We don’t bring anything when we come into the world and don’t take anything when we leave it behind”. So why do we all care to acquire things that we might never use? Why do we hang on to stuff and want to buy more and more? Why do we go to wars for wealth and power? Why don’t we use our time on this earth well, making our time with people we care about count, so we can leave them with lasting memories.