Nestled somewhere in southern Tamil Nadu, on the banks of one of Cauvery’s distributaries, imagine a small rustic village. The river gushing past with a lazy elegance, the water fresh and sparkling - showing no signs of the long tiring journey. Lush green fields envelop the village in perfect contrast to the red of the evening sky. The temple bells ringing and birds roosting noisily to announce the sunset. The village slowly winding down to a halt for the night. A little wooden bridge across the stream is crowded with kids lining up for a dive and a dip into the river before they are summoned back home.
This village could very well be my dad’s native place, near Kumbakonam. I have been there a few times. And every time I was there I brought back memories. Memories of the river, the fields, the streets, the people and the temples – There is a famous Amman kovil there. We still have some people we know out there. Not relatives – some long standing friends. And in the last 6 years perhaps they moved out too – leaving behind nothing but memories of that beautiful place. But then there is something I come across often in my life that reminds me of this place. What is this something? You will know as you read on.
Out in a corner, right by the fields is a small farm house with tiled roof and pillared halls. Standing next to a well, the water as sweet as the water from the tender coconuts from the trees lining the garden. Ten or twelve of them standing in rows. A little coir cot lying amidst those trees. A breeze strong enough to carry with it the fragrance from the nearby jasmine gardens. One could hear the cuckoo’s solitary call above all the hubbub. Is he searching for his mate? Oh wait! There are two of them calling out to each other!
My great-grandpa’s house used to be on the main street. A house that stretched out to a little stream being fed by the Cauvery. If one was to peep in to the front door, he would see corridors and hallways – all the doors in a straight line – leading out to the back yard. There were granite pyols on either side of the front door. I would love to lie down on those pyols lazily gawking at the street vendors and school kids walking up and down the street all afternoon. The backyard was full of coconut trees climbing into the sky and all I had to do was to walk a little further to get a dip into the stream. I don’t recall it much, neither do I have photographs of that house – all I have is a vague mental image of what I saw years and years ago.
A faint odor of smoke is lingering in the air. The sun is down and the village is immersed in darkness. Only briefly. And as the clouds scatter, a far more brilliant light – one that’s as white as a new born pearl fills the expanse. The moon, is shining in all its splendor. A man and his wife are talking a different language out there – a language of smiles and meaningful glances - as they go over their dinner on that coir cot out in the open. A language of love and sharing. In a blissful state, they talk, laugh and sing together – oblivious to the surroundings – unknowingly creating the sweetest of memories – a story they will tell their children and grand children from nothing but memory. This would be a tale of two people – a tale of love. Zoom out slowly and you see these lovers, the house, the farms - this perfect setting and in the back ground you could see the temple gopuram towering over the village offering that unfailing sense of security and reassurance. A dream realised!
Whose dream? Your dream! My dream! Everyone’s dream! That day – the day when the dream comes true - I will look into the sky and will search for a star caller Bharati – and tell him - “Don’t worry sir – your dream has been realised”.
It is this dream in the form of a song that keeps my memories fresh. For those who wonder what this dream is or what the song is – here it is.
“Kaani nilam vendum, parasakthi kaani nilam vendum,
Angu thoonil azhagiyathai nanmaadangal thuyya nirathinavai,
Andha kaani nilathidaiye ore maaligai katti thara vendum,
Angu keni aruginile thennai maram keetrum ilaneerum.
Pathu pannirendu thennai maram adhan pakathile vendum,
Nalla muthu chudar pole nila oli munbu vara vendum,
angu kathum kuyil osai satre vandu kaadhil pada vendum,
endhan chitham magizhnthidave nanraay ilam thendral vara vendum.
Paatu kalanthidave ange oru pathini pen vendum,
engal kootu kaliyinile kavithaigal kondu thara vendum,
Andha kaatu veliyinile amma ninthan kaaval ura vendum,
entha paattu thirathaale ivvaiyathai paalithidavendum.
Kaani nilam vendum, parasakthi kaani nilam vendum!!”
This village could very well be my dad’s native place, near Kumbakonam. I have been there a few times. And every time I was there I brought back memories. Memories of the river, the fields, the streets, the people and the temples – There is a famous Amman kovil there. We still have some people we know out there. Not relatives – some long standing friends. And in the last 6 years perhaps they moved out too – leaving behind nothing but memories of that beautiful place. But then there is something I come across often in my life that reminds me of this place. What is this something? You will know as you read on.
Out in a corner, right by the fields is a small farm house with tiled roof and pillared halls. Standing next to a well, the water as sweet as the water from the tender coconuts from the trees lining the garden. Ten or twelve of them standing in rows. A little coir cot lying amidst those trees. A breeze strong enough to carry with it the fragrance from the nearby jasmine gardens. One could hear the cuckoo’s solitary call above all the hubbub. Is he searching for his mate? Oh wait! There are two of them calling out to each other!
My great-grandpa’s house used to be on the main street. A house that stretched out to a little stream being fed by the Cauvery. If one was to peep in to the front door, he would see corridors and hallways – all the doors in a straight line – leading out to the back yard. There were granite pyols on either side of the front door. I would love to lie down on those pyols lazily gawking at the street vendors and school kids walking up and down the street all afternoon. The backyard was full of coconut trees climbing into the sky and all I had to do was to walk a little further to get a dip into the stream. I don’t recall it much, neither do I have photographs of that house – all I have is a vague mental image of what I saw years and years ago.
A faint odor of smoke is lingering in the air. The sun is down and the village is immersed in darkness. Only briefly. And as the clouds scatter, a far more brilliant light – one that’s as white as a new born pearl fills the expanse. The moon, is shining in all its splendor. A man and his wife are talking a different language out there – a language of smiles and meaningful glances - as they go over their dinner on that coir cot out in the open. A language of love and sharing. In a blissful state, they talk, laugh and sing together – oblivious to the surroundings – unknowingly creating the sweetest of memories – a story they will tell their children and grand children from nothing but memory. This would be a tale of two people – a tale of love. Zoom out slowly and you see these lovers, the house, the farms - this perfect setting and in the back ground you could see the temple gopuram towering over the village offering that unfailing sense of security and reassurance. A dream realised!
Whose dream? Your dream! My dream! Everyone’s dream! That day – the day when the dream comes true - I will look into the sky and will search for a star caller Bharati – and tell him - “Don’t worry sir – your dream has been realised”.
It is this dream in the form of a song that keeps my memories fresh. For those who wonder what this dream is or what the song is – here it is.
“Kaani nilam vendum, parasakthi kaani nilam vendum,
Angu thoonil azhagiyathai nanmaadangal thuyya nirathinavai,
Andha kaani nilathidaiye ore maaligai katti thara vendum,
Angu keni aruginile thennai maram keetrum ilaneerum.
Pathu pannirendu thennai maram adhan pakathile vendum,
Nalla muthu chudar pole nila oli munbu vara vendum,
angu kathum kuyil osai satre vandu kaadhil pada vendum,
endhan chitham magizhnthidave nanraay ilam thendral vara vendum.
Paatu kalanthidave ange oru pathini pen vendum,
engal kootu kaliyinile kavithaigal kondu thara vendum,
Andha kaatu veliyinile amma ninthan kaaval ura vendum,
entha paattu thirathaale ivvaiyathai paalithidavendum.
Kaani nilam vendum, parasakthi kaani nilam vendum!!”
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