Memories of Home

I wake up to the sound of steady rain falling. It is only 4.00 a.m. Good! That means it has probably been raining all night – that’s just what we need, enough rain to fill up the reservoirs and defuse the tension between Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. Enough rain to water my parched garden, give it a good, long-needed drink. I dive under the duvet and go back to sleep listening to the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, what a welcome sound!

At 6.30 a.m. I’m fully awake. The rain has stopped and my walking partner, Chandra and my 9 year old son, Suman and I venture out for a walk. We avoid the wetter parts of Whitefield and do a good 40 minutes, round and round the area that is called the ‘Inner Circle’. The core of the Inner Circle is divided into a large park and play area – what really could be called the village green. The park has recently been beautified. The landscaper has done a wonderful job with a lovely play of colours, little rock gardens and interspersing of flowering plants and coloured leafy plants and varying shades green plants from grey-green to dark green. Yet, one does not feel that it is a ‘manicured’ garden. It is the first morning after the arrival of the welcome downpour, so although the temperature has come down, there is humidity in the air. I need to wipe off the steam on my spectacles from time to time. We return home feeling good about having ventured out and braving the mud and slush and doing our regulation 40 minutes.

There is much to do, send several emails, read as many pages of the book I am currently reading, write an article, etc., etc. etc. Alas! with the coming of the rain, as always, the power supply has taken off in a huff. "Major repairs" says the Karnataka Electricity Board. Worse still, we hadn't pumped water up to the tank last night. So there's no water - no washing up, shower or cooking. Mercifully, the garden has been watered, naturally. Perhaps I can get on with my writing, but alas there is no electricity of course - I prefer 'writing' directly onto the computer. 'Hello, there is always a good reason why this has happened, maybe the good Lord is telling you that you need to relax and be happy,' said someone inside me. I look up at the sky, it is so blue and the coconut palms are swaying in the breeze, the tree-tops are looking so green and lush. The air feels nice and fresh, the ground is not soggy, just nicely watered. On the ground is a fallen coconut branch, something triggers at the back of my mind and I pull the heavy branch towards the cemented steps in the backyard. I get a sharp, little knife from the kitchen and sit down on the steps. I pull away the green leaves from the coconut branch and start running the knife between each green leaf and its stalk. I discard the leaves and keep the stalks to one side as I work. This is so therapeutic, I am enjoying these moments, savouring them….

I see kind Malay faces - women smiling as they work in their backyards in the Kampongs (villages), often singing as they work. Some are making brooms out of coconut stalks, or drying coconut kernel. Some are out in the paddy fields and some are among the tapioca grove. Such a placid, fun-loving people. Such colourful sarongs and kebayas (long shapely tops) drapped round their shapely figures - they are generally very trim and know how to keep their waists small. The plumper and older ones of course go for the baju kurong (sarongs with long, loose tops). Distinct aromas waft out of their kitchens…perhaps lunch is sambal ikan bilis with nasi lemah (a hot dried anchovy sambal with rice cooked in thick coconut milk and flavoured with ginger and screw-pines leaves or lemon grass). This will be followed at tea-time by various types of 'keuhs' or malay cakes as we call them back home - the literal translation - made with rice flour, sticky rice or grated tapioca stewed in thick coconut milk and again flavoured with screw pine leaves and palm sugar. Or perhaps it's rice patties steamed in banana leaves and stuffed with fresh coconut and palm sugar, or banana fritters? - the list is endless.

"Padi, padi, padi potong padi", soft, lilting malay songs waft back from the paddy fields as the farmers and their women work in the fields. Malaya is a peninsula and so we are surrounded by the seas on 3 sides. The rhythm of the ocean is never far away and often finds its way into the heart of the Malay crooner. Traditional malay folk songs are often soothing and melodious, they flow. The language of the malay-speaking Malaysian is very idiomatic, unlike the Bahasa we all study at school as our national language. Often when two Malays speak to each other, you would not be able to follow them unless you are conversant with their idioms.

I've done about 40 to 60 coconut stalks - enough to make a small broom. I am very pleased with myself. A broom made at home with our coconut branch. It was a lovely and enjoyable experience, the Supreme Being, the Cosmic Force - call it what you will - gave it all free, a scenic view, garden fresh air and beautiful memories of my childhood …..I must do this more often.