It was a nice little home…we were five brothers (well I was their cousin) and two sisters….an uncle, aunt, sister in law and a kid. A very happy family with a nice comportment. But all this used to change, come Sunday morning. It used to represent a battleground…..lots of strategizing, disussing the tactical issues like how to go about doing it? When to assemble, whom to delegate responsibilities to…would be doing the rounds…for what??? Ahem…..to cook…….i used to get reminded of the Satte pe Satta brothers…if it was Sunday, it had t be murungai keerai….and palaakkai kurma….and kathrikkai varuval and murungakai sambar…..and since all of us-brothers-were decently voracious eaters…the quantum of cooking required all of us to give a helping hand to my poor aunt (a great lady-whose only worry used to be IF she could finish her cooking in time). And so – we used to down a drumstick tree…(whose life cycle of regeneration of leaves was such that we had sufficient quantity every Sunday despite our raping it stark naked of all its leaves)…and then heaping it on to the floor we got into the process of keerai aayaradhu…..doing this also won us a round of sooooperb filter coffee. As this was being done, two of us (depending on who was in mood) oiled our hands for the forthcoming job – of slitting and cutting that darned sticky jackfruit…..and our sisters would be on the job of cutting brinjals and cooking them….
Aprom enna??? Elaam samaiyalum pannittu nalla saaptutu thoonga poiduvom…..
Waking up at 4 to sweet aroma of a coffee…we used to drink sleepy eyed watching some crap in the tv. Refreshed with caffeine, I made my way to thaatha’s abode…spent the rest of the evening gossiping only to come back at 7.30 to witness the next battlefield scene – this time I am welcomed by a cleanly washed floor (whats this??? Washing the floor on Sunday???evening??? well……) then my aunt used to unload few kgs of atta on to the floor (ohh yeah..forgot to say.if its snday evening its gotto be rotis J ) why on the floor? Else she cant knead all her requirements of flour….
Those were the days…carefree cycling…carefree eating…..sleeping like an oaf….always having somebody to look after you…… a nice bhaai who used to torture me by not giving me any of his home cooked briyani ( he mistook me for an orthodox vegetarian) and I out of compulsion couldn’t disclose my carnivorous tastes to him….a great street where almost everyone knew everyone…..that made my life in karaikudi…..