If you have read my ‘about’ page, you will be familiar with the excerpt “The Importance of Elsewhere” by Paul Theroux. That about describes how I felt growing up in the small port town of Mangalore. It felt…small and restrictive. I rued the lack of opportunity. My ruling obsession was to get out, to experience a ‘better’ more sophisticated world ‘out there’. I assumed home would always be waiting if I ever decided to return.
When I did leave, I spared little thought for this childhood home of mine. Built on the banks of the river Nethravathi by my grandfather when he started his (roof) tile manufacturing business, this wasn’t the typical ancestral house of our villages. This had not much architectural merit. Starting out with one little room and extended haphazardly over the years as he climbed the ladder of success and when he decided to move his wife and only son here. This was now home, and here, everyone lived happily…for some time.
The house was always full of people. Full of visiting cousins and aunts and uncles from every branch of our family. Mom seemed to live in the kitchen (except when she was obsessing about our homework!) although we had a retinue of servants, some that came with my grandmother from her ancestral home. And somehow, there always was enough food to go round – usually rice and wonderful, aromatic fish curry cooked on a firewood stove – even for anyone who dropped in unannounced. Even for any labourer that knocked on the kitchen door requesting a coconut shell full of curry for his dinner. Mealtimes were fun and noisy and there was much fighting and bickering and scolding. But laughter as well. Lots of laughter. What else could you expect with five children and four adults and as many guests at all times?
There were orchards at the back – mango, coconut, arecanut, cashew, even paddy for a while. And a bullock cart from the days before the advent of motor vehicles. Imagine that, just a few minutes from the centre of town! We kids never cut mangoes. We just bit off one end and sucked the juice out…oh the joy of it! And I bet none of you would know the joy of cooking real grains of rice in tiny tamarind pods. Or creating little figures and utensils from clay that we begged the workers to fire in the tile kilns. And oh, the sheer delight of playing marbles and seven tiles with the boys in the yard. And the exasperation of being chastised by my grandmother for such ‘unladylike’ behaviour.
Then there were the boats. Not these motor boats you see in the pictures, but old row boats once used to transport tiles up to the mouth of the harbour and onto Dhows from the Arabian gulf. We clambered onto them on occasion to head to the island across the river to have a picnic with friends on the beach facing the Arabian Sea on the far side. Those were good times.
But we know that all good things must come to an end. And thus it was that our idyll started unraveling. My grandfather passed away and took our laughter with him. My dad, overwhelmed by his legacy followed him within eight months. I found my escape through marriage. The older brother messed up, and then abandoned ship. And my grandmother succumbed soon after, to the stress of it all. Mom was cruelly yanked out of her haven in the kitchen to hold it all together; run the ailing factory and care for my kid sister and young brother. Within a few years, he was gone too, the victim of a tragic car crash.
Stricken but not beaten, mom plodded on. Ever smiling, never complaining, never once expressing a wish to get away from it all. Her faith never wavering even for a moment! She refused to let go of the property, despite our entreaties, till my sister was married. She was determined to give her away from ‘home’…which she did. She also leased out the factory, paid back every penny and singlehandedly turned her fortunes around. Mom certainly was special.
Through all of this, we – my older sister and I – kept flitting in and out of the house. For weddings and funerals, to have our babies, and whenever mom needed us. But mostly, we hid in our colonial plantation bungalows (both our husbands were managing tea plantations at the time), so far removed from home. Not because we didn’t care. But because there was little we could really do.
Mom eventually let go and sold the house she had stepped into as a young bride. She moved into a beautiful apartment high atop a building with a magnificent view. I like to think she was finally at peace and happy in a home she could call her own after a lifetime of living in the shadow of others. I helped her do it up and we all spent some good times there, before she left us too. But not enough. Not by far. Us girls were all reasonably successful by then and oh so busy…elsewhere.
On a recent visit, we were heartbroken to see the factory pulled down, the rear of the house demolished, and the space in front turned into a boatyard. Gone were the stone benches by the river where we had spent so many happy evenings. Even R, who had never lived here, was teary-eyed. We all regret not having been able to afford or had the desire to hold onto a small piece of this land. I don’t have many pictures of the house during happier times, but the memories are etched in our hearts forever. And every time I hear the strains of this melancholy ghazal, my eyes well up with yearning for the very things that I was in such a hurry to leave behind.
“Take away this wealth, this fame as well
Snatch away my youth from me, if you must
But do give back to me the monsoons of my childhood…
those paper boats, those rivulets of rain (water)”
~ Chorus (Translated from the original in Urdu) from the Ghazal “Yeh Daulat Bhi Le Lo” by Jagjit Singh
The Urge To Wander 
So many memories, Madhu. Some happy and some sad, but that’s the tapestry of life. Your mom sounds like an amazingly strong woman. The mention here of a coconut shell of fish curry, really made my mouth water. Such a lovely post. I enjoyed every word. 👏🏻🤗
Ah, Madhu- we always yearn for that which we don’t have. I’m back here after a lifetime of trying to escape. I guess I must like it really 🙂 It dimly registers from my previous reading, but someone else’s memories are never so easy to hold onto as our own. Two commenters stand out for me. Meredith, whose posts I still miss, and George. You know that she wrote she hoped you would write it while she could still read it. Well, my friend, I’m afraid it would be hard for you to grant her request. But it’s not given for us to know, is it? Hugs, my dear. 🙂
I miss Meredith too. And feel bad that I haven’t found time to visit George often enough. Hugs back Jo.
PS: You did read and comment earlier. You need to navigate back to the older comments to read them.
Dear Madhu, today on Mother’s Day I am reading your childhood story. I have to say that I am so moved by it, what you had to go through as a child at the same time I see you as a wonderful soul who is making her life in sharing wonderful stories from your travels.
Thank you Cornelia.
Oh Madhu this wonderful piece made my heart ache. Thank you for sharing your beautiful soul, it is a joy to know you.
Likewise Gilly 🙂
I loved it and it left me choked; your mum was certainly one special lady. What a marvellous book this would make
Mum was indeed special. Who knows maybe, I will pick up enough courage to write that book someday. Thank you for reading Dallas.
Thank you so much for directing me back to your river and your childhood, with all its pleasures and all the later pains. You’ve paid beautiful tribute to your mother, and you do indeed write beautifully. It’s clear from the comments that you struck a chord with many people, and that’s a tribute to the power of your writing. I am so glad Christine introduced us.
A belated but heartfelt thank you Meg. I am glad Christine introduced us too.
Loved the description and the photo – and then my heart got briefly ripped apart as I saw your pain expressed in the story. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reaing. Apologies for the belated response.
I’m glad I was referred back to this old blog of yours. Your story resonates. Childhood memories carried me through some difficult years when I was an expatriate but after returning to my roots many years later the scene had changed and childhood memories had to be replaced with the reality of the present. Loved those pictures. They look so familiar even though I’ve never visited that particular place in India. I guess it’s the general scenery and environment you project here.
Thank you for reading Ian. The landscape is similar to Kerala.
The words, pictures and emotions expressed here by you and your admirers, Madhu, unite to create timelessness. This post has a spirit of its own. Thank you again for sharing this tribute.
Thank you once again for reading Witt.
I am still catching up with your archives Madhu. This post brought tears to my eyes. A story of love, loss, longing, courage, hope, life… Beautifully told.
This was a very belated tribute to my remarkable mom. Thank you for reading.
you’ve composed a great tribute to your childhood home, Madhu! I like the boat-photos too, be glad, you left this graveyard, travelling around the world from Paris to New York etc….
I am so very glad Frizz. But some things bring on an unbearable longing for all that we once had.
I received the Jagjit Singh CD today. I don’t understand one word of the lyrics, but I am in love with the music. Thank you for the intro, Madhu! 🙂
I know what you mean. When we travel, we are constantly met with questions of “Do you live in London/New York?”! Guess there are stereotypes in peoples minds, that are very far from the reality of educated urban Indians 🙂 As for our story, who knows…..maybe it will write itself someday, quite like this post did!
Glad you enjoyed the Ghazal George. Jagjit is one of my favourite singers. He used to sing duets with his equally talented wife – Chitra Singh – until they divorced after the tragic death of their young son. You could google the song lyrics for translations. The lyrics are the heart of a ghazal.
Apologies for such a belated response. I tend to get bogged down with responding to more recent comments and neglect to check back often enough 🙂
Thanks. I will Google for the lyrics. I should have thought of that myself. Duh… Chuckle… 🙂
I suppose I am among those who stereotype. You recall that I thought you must be from the US because you sound like my daughter. I think I said that you very well might live down the street from me.
It’s funny how we reveal our biases without understanding that we hold them. The joys of blogging for me is that it has broadened my understanding of the world. And, you contribute mightily to that understanding. 🙂 I think when we all feel at home with each other, there will be peace. Not in my lifetime, but some day…
Amen to that George 🙂
Meredith said it far better than I could. And, she’s absolutely right. You really must write your story. I’ve told you before that I have to remind myself that you grew up in India. I asked you once. I thought you probably came from the West as R’s bride. You sound too Western. You could have grown up down the street from me as a friend of my daughter’s. You are the perfect ambassador for India to the West. Americans are almost “jingoistic nationals” who haven’t a clue about the rest of the world. You represent the “citizen of the world” that I fully expect in the future. I won’t be alive, but it must happen.
I re-read the original “home” post. I never tire of it. I loved this one too. And, you introduced me to the beauty of the ghazal. I will order a recording as soon as I finish here. I loved the one you linked here. I remember always the posts about your dining table, R in the market, the photo of you and your son. I am always impressed by your travel photographs and your encyclopedic knowledge of the places that you visit, but I want to know about your family and your life then and now. I know the story would be significant for Americans to read. And other Westerners too. I hope you write it while I can still read it! 🙂
What a beautiful walk down memory lane. very touching.
Thank you Amrita, it isn’t a very happy tale 😉
What an honest, touching piece, Madhu! And the photographs are definitely paint-worthy as well. I just might seek your permission to turn them into art some day.
Your sensitive ‘Memories’ made me nostalgic as well. I remember your home (it doens’t matter how haphazardly it was extended, it had its own charm), the hospitality of your gentle mother, the endearing company of your siblings and your warmth and affection at all times.
God bless your travels – the journeys to the past, the present and your future travels as well.
Thank you so much dear Ashu. Never meant for this blog to be personal, but this came pouring out after one of my visits ‘home’. You are welcome to turn any or all of these images into art 🙂
What can I say… my eyes are full of tears and I’m all choked up. I can see it happening before my eyes. Daughters shoudl never have to be given away in marriage I think. Your mother was a great great person – she must have a spine of stainless steel. To hold it all together can only be a woman’s guts and gumption!
Madhu, you should seriously consider putting these together in ebook format. I say, if nothing, at least your nearest and dearest ones will have a memeory to hold and cry over on a winter’s evening. Even our kids – smart and savvy and global and all – will one day come to our stage of life, and then the need for memories will come.
A big hug to you and a prayer for your wonderful mom.
Thank you for reading with your heart Meenakshi. Means a lot.
You ask for what we think? About this story and how we were touched? Your “memories” series, and their comments, are priceless. You may enjoy the thrills of travel, but when it comes down to what should finally be printed and bound in a book, here you are at your very best. Unforgettable.
Thank you so much Whitt.
Pain is obviously more inspiring than pleasure 🙂
A beautiful and sad story. Memories of my own childhood comes to me, and I miss my beloved grandmother so much. We couldn’t buy her house when she passed away – we had already bough a new house of our own, closer to the city where we worked. I loved her and I loved that house and the garden and the orchard and…I so much wanted it to stay in the family. I too returned to see it in . sorry state. She had always been so strong and kept it in total perfection. Now the house was reconstructed and the beautiful apple-, cherry- and plum trees withering down and dying.
You write well and make people see, feel and hear…that’s a good sign.
Thank you Ann Christine. Revisiting old memories is always bitter sweet. Sorry about your grandmothers house. Although I do believe that we make our own destinies, there are times when I feel some things were never meant to be.
I beleive so too.
amiga
after a long long day, i arrived back in ‘my’ town and stayed at a friend’s hostal. it was probably 11 p.m. before i opened the laptop and savored this post. thank you for giving us such a lovely glimpse into your family and this love story to your mother as well. i love that old house, and i easily slipped out of my surroundings and into yours. thanks for the out-of-body experience – how great to visit new countries and not have to bother with immigration!
z
Thank you Lisa. I enjoy the true taste of your adopted culture too 🙂
This brought tears to my eyes! I know somewhat what you are saying with regards to your childhood home. I recently drove by mine, and was surprised to see the changes, not all good. I guess it’s a common thing with the passing of time…
Yes, change is inevitable. Its the guilt that is harder to deal with. Thanks for reading Arnel.
I came here from George Weaver’s blog. Your stories are wonderful. I often look at old houses and wonder at their histories. You bring it all alive so beautifully through your blog.
Thank you Preeti. Appreciate your stopping by to comment
This is such a beautiful, moving post. I was especially touched by your mother’s unwavering faith, strength and love for her family. Thank you for sharing this with us.
My mother was a remarkable lady. Thank you for your feedback.
In a way, I saw myself in your story. I recently visited my hometown after 4 years and so much have change.Gone are most of the remnants of my happy childhood. There are times I swear I could hear the echo of the past where children’s laughter filled the halls of my old house. Like you, I can’t wait to get out of my city when I was younger, now that I’m older and have seen what’s out there, I wish I never left so I can hang on to as much familiar childhood memories as I can. Alas, it is too late. I can only make new ones of what’s left. Great post.
I knew you would relate to this. Every one of your posts convey that feeling. Thanks for taking the time to comment.
Do you think you’ll ever write the novel of which the whole bone structure is here, laid out, beautiful already?
Writing a short piece about something I felt so strongly about is one thing. Attempting a full length novel is quite another. I am not a writer, but all the supportive comments on my blog just might make me believe I am one after all 🙂 Do appreciate your feedback.
What a sweet and painful remembrance at the same time. This is a lovely post. Your photos are lovely too.
I know how it is to eat mangoes just the way you did. That was how we used to do it when we were children; and to cook rice and leaves in little clay pots. 🙂
Thanks for reminding me of those little pleasures.
~Imelda
Thank you for reading Imelda! Just went over to your blog for a peek and loved what I saw! Shall return at leisure to check out your post 🙂
What a touching story… I am still digesting the sad parts and the wistful memories… TY for opening that door to your life. Moving…
Thank you Eliz.
It was a really beautiful story Madhu. Loved it. SO heart touching. Great work.
Appreciate your taking the time to read Arindam
Wonderful photos, I like them!
Thanks Machisan!
nice variety
Thanks Joshi. Of emotions as well I guess!
Sad and Beautiful… I’m currently staying in the house I grew up in with My Mom (who is basically my best friend), and her boyfriend of 30+ years… She’s been retired for the last 5 years (though she hadn’t planned it, she’s just had some health issues on and off that she’s dealt with), and her boyfriend who is an Amazing Architect, but hasn’t had much work in the last year and a half or so, largely because of Our Economy… They both hit 70 last year, and are struggling to make the Mortgage anymore, largely because they had to Refi a couple years back in order to put in a $100,000 Septic System, raising their Mortgage above what to people Living off Social Security and Pension can really afford.
All Three of us are “Working Our A$$’s” off to try and stay here, but it’s very difficult… My Mom’s owned the House for close to 40 Fears, and it would just be a Shame for her to lose it at this point… So though Our House hasn’t been Partially Removed like your childhood home has been, I still understand what it is to Lose that Childhood Home.
Lovely Post, nice to know a bit more about you Madhu.
DarkJade-
Thank you for understanding DJ!
Yes, my brothers and sisters and I had to sell our family home in 2009 after our mom died. Thank you for lovely photos and your poignant memories. Maybe you’ll also enjoy my blog: http://www.themuseisworking.com
Thank YOU for sharing your thoughts Ellie! Your blog is lovely!
You’re at mangalore? I’m at Manipal!
No Preetam, I am a Mangalorean living in Chennai. I should have enlisted the help of your photographer friends to take these pictures 🙂
What an amazing life you and your family have led. And what I take away from this very heartfelt post is the fact that I want to be more like your mother. I don’t want to complain and I don’t want to dwell. I thank you for the inspiration my friend.
Sorry about the factory..I can’t imagine how hard that must have been to see.
Glad you found inspiration Ameena. Hers was a hard act to follow! But we try. Every time something seems like the end of the world, we step back and compare it to what she had to endure and our problems seem so very trivial. It is too easy to forget though.
This is one of the most beautiful stories I’ve read in a long time. It brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing your heartfelt memories. You are a wonderful writer.
Thank you so much for your kind words Susan!
I HAD TO REBLOG and Share ♥
You are most welcome!
Reblogged this on From The Pews and commented:
I have been fortunate enough to Travel Vicariously via Madhu’s Blog…
But THIS Post…Eerily, Painfully, Hauntingly Beautiful..
I HAD to share with you all…
God Love You ♥
You said you thought there was a Mangalore post coming on, but I’ll bet you were surprised by the loss of place that came pouring out!
It’s beautifully done, Madhu: spare, descriptive, unemotional prose that perfectly captures the bounty and community you shared, living together in your grandfather’s house. You youngsters so carefree, so vital and independent, and yet also so much a part of the community that is a family all living together under the expanding roof of the house by the river. I see you all like a hive presided over by your grandfather, and nurtured by your unfailingly well-organsied and unflappable mother.
And then the downfall: so sudden, so devastating, so final. And the ghazal, perfectly chosen to remind us of the universality of longing.
Well done, very well done:)
PS There’s a story in there, Madhu, if you wanted to tell it all. It’s the story of your family, yes, but it’s also a universal story, that knows no national boundaries, no timeframes.
You made me cry, again 🙂 I know there is a story there. Enough to fill a heavy tome, a couple even. I don’t think any of us are ready to tell it yet. I was wary of writing this, but those images dragged it out of my soul! Think it was a good thing. Cathartic. Thanks for taking the time to read it through and comment. Means a lot.
No dear, thank you for posting such a moving and interesting piece. But give some thought to fictionalising it a bit, maybe – as Madhar Jaffrey did in (oh dear, I’ve forgotten the name of her charming book about her family and recipes).
🙂
‘Climbing the mango trees’. Would work for our story as well 🙂
That’s it! It would Madhu, wouldn’t it? And that way it wouldn’t be so scorchingly personal if you don’t want it to be:)
What a Terribly, Hauntingly Beautiful Post…
Thank you for that glimpse of you and for reminding us to value what we have…
God Love You ♥
Thank YOU for reading and taking the time to comment.
Madhu, this is my first visit to your blog and what a fine, heart achingly evocative post to be introduced to. Despite the pain and loss, you have been able to see and hold on to the wonderful childhood memories. Your mother sounds like an incredible, strong, faith-driven woman. I’d like to say that I enjoyed your post, but somehow that sounds wrong. Yet, I am sat here with a lump in my throat. Never leave your pen lying down too long. 🙂
Incidentally, although I say I am Keralite, technically I am Mangalorean. A branch of a mangalorean family came over to Calicut about six generations ago, and put down roots. Both my parents are part of this community. My folks speak Konkani fluently, but never saw fit to teach us, which is something I am still very annoyed about!
What a co-incidence! Have you ever visited Mangalore? I know how you feel about not knowing Konkani. It is my greatest regret that the grandkids – not mine or my sisters – speak Tulu. I fear these scriptless dialects will become extinct in a few years 😦 Appreciate your stopping by to read this and thank you so much for the kind words.
I haven’t had the pleasure unfortunately of visiting Mangalore. The old, original family roots would be some discovery. I agree, it is unfortunate that the scriptless dialects are dying away worldwide, but that’s how the world turns doesn’t it? At least we have English to tide us over!!
What would we do without English 🙂
Dear Madhu,
Thank you for the well articulated narrations which, we are sure, can come only out of intense feelings. You took us back to those golden days of National Tile works when we had the previlege of staying and sharing our joy with you all. Your mother was the magnet that used to attract us there, always concerned about everybody including her sisters for whom she was no less than their mother. There was probably nothing in our minds that we did not want to share with her. As you say, all good memories must come to an end one day – not to say that it is easy to forget the roots. Nothing is permanent in this material world. Chikki was really in tears. Even I was moved.
Love,
Thiddi.
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts here thiddi. Means a lot. Love to you both
Beautiful pics! Thank you.
Thank you for reading.
I love this Madhu. So kind and straight forward. Thank you for sharing your story ♥
Appreciate that Anette.
hi Madhu,
I felt the same “Mangalore. It felt…small and restrictive. I rued the lack of opportunity. My ruling obsession was to get out, to experience a ‘better’ more sophisticated world ‘out there’!” … and the www / internet came to make us free from any location!
Oh no Frizztext! I haven’t yet reached that state thankfully 🙂
The sight of the boats with sea background is just so captivating!
Thank you!
hm……. i can smell Mangalore in this post….. and the Mangalorean heart of yours is very much visible in your writing…..
the photography is awesome…… often wanted to take the village photographs… its natural and fresh… but for my bad luck every time i get a chance to go to villages, i forget to take my camera…..sad. 😦
good luck on your travel…. have safe trips and post many such articles… its good to read 🙂
Thank you! Photography was not very high on my list of priorities till I started this blog. I intend to return and capture more of Mangalore, especially our ancestral homes and villages, at least whatever is left of them. Thanks again for dropping by, and all the best with your fledgling blog 🙂
ya photography indeed paints a thousand words……well check out this very blog…. http://manipalphotoblog.wordpress.com/
That is an awesome blog! I follow Preetam here and on FB and Twitter 🙂
I think the ‘importance of elsewhere’ is a very universal feeling that most people have. Right now, I’m living 2000 miles away from my childhood home. I feel like the distance and the space is both good and bad. Your entry was very touching.. got me a little misty actually. It made me glad I’m headed home for a visit. 🙂 Thank you for sharing!
Thank you for reading! Stay in touch with home. It night not be around forever!
I like the last picture, looks like someone got stranded there!
It does 🙂 Thanks for stopping by.
The beauty of childhood is that you believe it will last forever, that the lives and places surrounding you will never change, only you will progress forward as pushed. Beautiful tribute. Makes me glad that I’m going “home” in a few weeks.
Thank you so much! Appreciate your taking the time to read and comment.
What a beautiful post. I really enjoyed reading this.
Thank you so much Jessica.
What a beautiful post Madhu! I love your descriptions of your childhood home. It is always fun to look back isnt it. It sounds like you had a rather bittersweet childhood. Thanks for sharing!
Our childhood was wonderful. Things started souring much later. Thank you Nicole for taking the time to read.
Yes, these words are touching and people respond to them because they are true – and touch on something universal and essential. Kudos, Madhu.
Thanks Bumba.
Seven tiles..We used to call it Pitthuk…what fun days ..
Oh this post is just so awesome Madhu..so many memories..i loved the house specially cos its in front of a river..its strange how our parents always had food ready whenever someone used to come..I had 8 buas( fathers sisters) and whenever we used to go to our grandfathers house it used to look like a zilla in itself..
you post brought back so many of my childhood memories..
That abandoned boat seems such an interesting place..to sit and dream about being a sailor surrounded by pirates and fighting them off 😆
LOved it
Big hugs 🙂
Those were fun days indeed Soma!
The abandoned boat does not appeal to me though. Perhaps I am too old, but I only see desolation, evocative of what has happened to the house and our childhood 😦 But I admit decay does have aesthetic appeal!
Excuse me but who are you calling old !!
OMG did you not know women never grow old!! what is next….. Death!!
Madhu you have seen it in its prime….the boat ,the place so for you its kinda mourning for the beauty that was once there…
But to others its really so beautiful.specially people like me who live in concrete jungle
🙂
A moving post. Thanks for sharing your story. All of us should pause to remember where we came from and who loved and impacted our lives. Thanks for the reminder.
Thank you TBM.
Your gorgeous post made me cry, Madhu. Your childhood home looks beautiful ad I’m glad you still carry it around in your heart. Blessings.
I cried writing it. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment.
Thank you for sharing your story. It reminds me of the first time I had seen my childhood home in many years, bringing back a flood of memories and emotion.
Thanks Elisa. Our visit a few weeks ago had the same effect on me.
So beautifully written, Madhu. A wonderful tribute to aunty. she indeed was a dynamic lady. Happy Mothers day!
Thanks Rathika! We still miss her so much
Such a beautiful tribute to your childhood and to your mother!
Thank you Lisa!
Simply raw and beautiful, Madhu! Thank you for sharing your heart with us.
It was cathartic. Thank you for reading.
So quaint, so nice Madhu… beautiful:)
Thanks Ishita!
a wonderful heartfelt post Madhu
Thank you Mimo.
It must have been painful to relive all of that to come up with this post… and I can’t help agreeing with everyone’e comments… memories of home are always the best of them all… It has come from your heart and it shows through the entire post – beautiful 🙂
Thank you Kasturika! That was a baring of the soul for a private person like me. But I needed to do it for my Mom and my grandkids! Thanks again for the kind words!
This has got to be one of the best tributes to home and family that I’ve read ANYWHERE.
This is deeply moving, Madhu. You have elegantly and beautifully drawn for us a picture of your happy childhood, the strength of your mother, and your longing for what used to be your home. Wonderful.
Sweet of you to say that Tita! Glad I was able to convey all of those feelings. Especially about my mother. She was the most remarkable person I have ever known!
Thanks for sharing – a beautiful post… 😉
Truly appreciate the visit and comment
Thanks for sharing the memories of your childhood home, Madhu. It was lovely learning about you and your family.
Thank you for reading!
Hi Madhu….this post was sooo good I asked my Mum to read it. She thoroughly enjoyed it & it brought back memories of her own childhood in a village in Kerala.
Mangalore and Kerala are so similar, i can imagine why this stirred her memories! Please thank your mum for me.
beautiful, beautifully written post! when i was much younger, i used to be hemmed in too in my small town. twenty years later, after seeing the world, i moved back and have never felt happier
That is wonderful! You are fortunate to have been able to return!
Beautiful, warm & touching Madhu….thank God for the good memories I’d say.
Thank you Kavi! Yes, we are grateful for the good memories. The brain somehow softens the bad ones over time!
Lovely post. Our homes can have such an impact on how we view our lives and even live them.
I agree! Our experiences do shape our lives.
Beautifully written piece. Reminds me of my childhood in small town Allahabad
I believe quite a few of us in India had similar childhoods! And I guess it is too much to expect that way of life to survive globalization!
To end such a moving post with a quote so vast and enlightening is a summit of sensitivity. How is it that you can touch our emotions and tug our heartstrings with such seemingly simple prose? The result is that you have forced me to turn off the computer and go out for a ‘think’. Thank you.
I guess there are lessons there, although that was not my intention. I was just wallowing in a bit of nostalgia and guilt. The guilt is harder. Appreciate your taking the time to read it through Whitt.
No seriously, Madhu, your writing on other subjects has strengthened an ability to dive straight into the heart of the matter. It surprised me how well you transmitted that love, and doubt, and guilt we share for the people and places who live in our memories. The river flowing outside your window, the boats out of their element in the yard, you take us inside your soul, with the powerful images illustrating what you’re saying with words. It’s a very impressive treatment of nostalgia for me. We’re forced mull this one over, to compare it to our own feelings about family and places. It’s a story which sticks in the memory, and I’ll take it along with me.
Thank you for the kind words Whitt. Means a lot.
Madhu, everything you have written I can relate to….I left home and moved thousands of miles away…..each time I visit home and return, the ache deep down only grows more painful….you’re a strong woman to have endured so much loss in such a short time. Very touching post.
We had mom to lean on! She was the strong one! And yes the nostalgia seems to increase as I get older. Not the onset of senility I hope! Thanks for the visit Shaantz, and good to know you are well 🙂
Madhu, I did send you an email to your hotmail account – not sure if that works or not. Did you read it?
Yes I did! That is what I was referring to in the last sentence above 🙂
Thank you so much for sharing your story that is close to your heart! We learn as we grow and we grow as we explore the world. It’s a long journey… but, we can take a rest in dreaming of our youth before we go on. I know I often do.
Somehow, your story reminded me the movie – the “Best of Youth”. Have you seen it? It’s on Youtube, 6 hours long and well-film story. I did a small review http://shareandconnect.wordpress.com/2011/07/25/its-time-to-be-generous/
Your “Memories…” is a beautiful story and eloquently written. Thank you again!
Thank you Amy. Shall check out that movie and your review.
Great post Madhu. It is funny how we tend to look back on our life experiences and manage to remember long forgotten moments. One thing for sure, memories are deeply rooted in us to serve as reminders of where we are and where we need to go. They are what shape and move us forward; our parents and families stay within us whether or not they are still with us. I hang on to both my parents teachings and make every effort to pass them on to our children and grandchildren. Especially the happy and less complicated childhood we enjoyed.
Thanks for sharing a bit of you with us.
That was more than I meant to share Marcia 🙂 Our recent visit must have made me more nostalgic than I realised!
I am glad you did, I’ve had similar experiences; and sharing is cathartic. LOL
A story that needed to be told, remembered, treasured and passed on. Thanks for sharing your memories and I believed you are the person you are today because of the good and not so good things of your past.
BE ENCOURAGED! BE BLESSED!
Thank you for your kind words Francine!
That is very beautiful and very poignant. It is also wonderfully written.
Appreciate that Mike. Didn’t require half your courage to write this.
But it was written so beautifully.
Thank you dear Mike 🙂
Beautifully written and informative. My childhood home still stands. The past and the joys of my childhood remain fond memories for me. The neighborhood is gone. There is no going back. Walk on.
Walked on a long time ago Bumba! But everyone is allowed a little wallow in nostalgia 🙂 Thank you for reading.
And you weren’t wallowing either. It was a lovely piece. On my blog (in Short Pieces) I posted two nostalgic pieces that I had written a few years earlier: My Home in the Bronx and the Stickball Games which have the same tone as yours, except that maybe I indulged in a little wallowing.
“My memory of that time – of the ball games, the friends, the sitting on the benches at night, the catching of fireflies in the park, the joy we all had just to be kids and not to be wanting anything more in life than to play in that next stickball game”
Din’t think you were wallowing either. Your words really capture the essence of what I was trying to convey here.
A wonderful post Madhu – I could relate your “yearning, for the very things I was in such a hurry to leave behind.” I know that countryside that I one found boring and uninspiring somehow, in my absence, became charming and inviting.
I guess a lot of people can connect with that 🙂 Thanks for reading Lynne
Lovely to share this from your past. We often have to move away and look back before we can appreciate.
Very true! Thank you for visiting and commenting Jo!
Hi Madhu, I forgot to mention that, as I write to you, I am listening to the music you linked us to. Really beautiful, and the more so for the translation you provided.
Ghazals are based on the (urdu) poetry of the greats. The music can be monotonous, but the lyrics are usually very powerful.
Dear Madhu, this story and these photos are more interesting to me than anything you could tell me about a major tourist attraction. You are such a fine storyteller–you have captured both a moment in time and the passing of time, in one stirring piece. Thank you for sharing these beautiful personal memories with us. I am so sorry for the many losses you have suffered–too many, and too soon. It makes me want to run and hug my kids–and I expect that you feel the same way about your kids and your precious grandchildren. Thank you for sharing a very powerful and thought-provoking story.
Didn’t think anyone would be interested Naomi! I do want to run and hug the kids as well, and it is for them that I am now putting these together. They are true ‘global’ citizens with no understanding of their roots and all I want is to give them a peek into our past. To let them briefly experience their history.
It’s really a gift, Madhu. Too often by the time kids are old enough to ask questions, it’s too late.
Your wonderful post just drew me in, Madhu. That music is hauntingly beautiful. Thanks for sharing your story. I feel I know you so much better now. So sorry your mom, dad, grandfather and brother have passed away. Hugs to you on Mother’s day.
Thank you AD. Ghazals are a bit monotonous, but if you understand the lyrics – it is just poetry after all – it touches you deeply. Happy mothers day to you too!
THis post was beautifully articulated.. both text and photos are lovely! I could imagine everything.. you write very well and the photography too!
I can relate to every word. There’s talk of selling our childhood home too… and I just hope we can hold on. Too many memories, arent there?
Too many Mehmudah! Childhood homes are places we return to, to feel renewed. I hope yours never gets sold.
Very touching story, Madhu. When we were young, we were in such a hurry to leave, to explore the world. As we get older especially after having seen the world so to speak, we start yearning for the good old days. 😉
Very true Malou. The grass is always greener on the other side!
Madhu, all your memories, even sad ones, are a precious gift. Things change, buildings crumble, boats may rust, but love never dies. A beautiful post that will transcend time. Your Mom knew and understood, as mothers always do. Hugs. Rufina
Thank you Rufina. You are right, about the memories and about mothers!
Very moving…
Thank you Vlad
Madhu, that is such a powerful, moving story – I was holding onto every word. The photos were vivid and evocative as well. I hope they never pull down your childhood home.
It doesn’t matter now James. The insides are mostly gutted anyway.We don’t talk about it much, but I needed to say it. For my mother and for when the grandkids can understand. I feel sad that they will never know a life like that. Never have a connection with their roots. Thank you for reading and responding
A very beautiful post.
Thank you.
… a wonderfully told story, although tragic, your kids will one day enjoy hearing, as much as we all did! …
This was a long pending tribute to our old life. Thank you for checking it out.