Part I
(This memory is dedicated to my Mom who left for her heavenly abode on 5 April a couple of years back.)
I was remembering our childhood days when entertainment and purpose of life was limited to outdoor games and indoor Television (which relayed entertainment in the evening?)
A typical day in our home on a Thursday decades back, when the promise of Chitrahar (half an hour programme of film songs ) gave us hope of beauty, romance , entertainment and family time.
On a hot afternoon I and my brother would come back from school at similar times but often there would be no communication (due to a heavy fight a day earlier)between us as we walk in .
Our ruffled and dirty uniforms would invite Mom’s sarcastic comment as we walk in “looks like you both have been working in the fields instead of sitting on a desk”. My brother would ignore and instantly become the apple of her eye. With a tough day in Maths class at school and standing outside (punished for 3 periods talking and disturbing class), I had no patience for such remarks and would retort – yes it was tough work in the fields. “Adyaprasanghi” (malayalam for insolent) my mom would scream and mentally throw me down to hell. Over the years it grew to be my pet name for her.
During lunch our brains would work faster than the digestive enzymes. We had to somehow finish scribbling in our notebooks to demonstrate that homework was done. We could only go out at 4 pm ( earliest ) as per the ground rules and that too if homework was finished . My mother would inspect my brothers more considerately while she would pretend to scrutinise mine more efficiently. She was good at counting but would get lost in a sea of English . So quantity would work better here than the quality. I would write volumes in English and other Arts homework to ensure she does not reach to the Maths side .
It was natural that in the afternoon , mom would slow down and dream of the quick afternoon siesta , that she would trade nothing with. Before she retired for her siesta there were two important threats which were relayed loud and clear for even the rats hiding in the house.
Mom well nourished by the sambhar at lunch would let out a spicy scream “If I get to know that either of you went out without asking me – remember you will have to sit through tomorrow’s Krishi Darshan instead of today’s Chitrahar”. And if any of the savouries are even touched, remember dad‘s hot karchi treatment on your bums? And she will drift into a peaceful slumber that would make Anaesthists redundant
Part II
Mom’s siesta time was a perfect time to read through Chandamama and Lok Katha (Folk tales) stories .My brother would be busy either snacking or trying to pluck guavas through the toilet window of our Government house . If we were on talking terms, I would get one small one as benevolence and if we were not then I had to buy it off him, barter with marbles or do one household chore which was his responsibility.
Both of us siblings would be hovering around mum’s sleeping figure from 3:30 pm onwards as any delay in her waking up time would cut into our playtime. Very often to wake her up , we had to resort to a trick which worked almost always without serious consequences – a steel glass would be dropped from an exaggerated height. Apart from calling us chaitan (malayalam for shaitan) this never had any serious consequences.
Once the house doors were opened by the jailor we forgot the world. While we played Gulli Dhanda , cricket , marbles and tipi tipi tap , there would be romance in the air. All the teenagers would be in a good mood. There would be all kind of requests to the universe – “Yaar mazaa aa jaye Rajesh Khanna (RK) ki – Mere sapnon ki rani aa jaye”. The boys would be making exaggerated movements with their eyes and hands to ape RK their idol .
On the other hand many of us girls would sigh deeply and silently wishing for the sight of Dhamendar singing to Mumtaz – “Oh aaj Mausam bada beiman hai”. I can never forget the hours of rehearsing which I (and suspect many others) did in front of the mirror aping Mumtaz’s coy movements.
On days with no Chitrahar in the horizon my mom’s repeated shouting could not get us back into the nest before 8 pm. But on Thursdays we needed no coaxing. By around 7:30 we were bathed and ready for Dad’s verdict on our days antics. Mom would have religiously downloaded all our antics of the day, instigating him to action. Unlike our judiciary Dad even when tired from the days work would never sit on any cases. Without any hearing or delay he would just roll out punishment with no room for appeal. He had an equivalent to Capital Punishment (as perceived by us)- no watching Chitrahar. As if this did not extinguish all the life from within us he would further decree that we will have to sit through Krishi Darshan (one of the most boring programme on farms and farmers)the next day.
But luckily when all was well and one of the neighbours had praised mom’s Malayalee dish she would be gracious enough to give the judiciary a break. The Sunday confession in church never resulted in the behavioural change as brought in by the promise of Chitrahar on Thursday’s.