Onam at my ancestral home

Onam today is a lot different from what it used to be. So they say. For me, it has always been more or less the same. My Onam memories have a common beginning- First Term Exams or Onam Exams. That even something as festive and uplifting as Onam, should have a suffix as depressing and discouraging as ‘Exams’ was something I never pondered upon then. The only thing on my mind used to be getting over with the damned thing so that I could enjoy my ten-day Onam holiday at my home town.

Onams were celebrated at my father’s ancestral home in Aravoor, Thrissur. It is a truly rustic little village. My father remembers the place being almost the same from the time when he was a little boy in shorts, a time when vehicles were a rare sight, and little boys chased jeeps with loudspeakers till they were out of their vicinity.

Now the roads are tarred and wider, houses have a pucca roof above them; the temple has a loudspeaker fitted on to the majestic Banyan tree; handsome Illoms (traditional Kerala houses) with no successors stand in shambles and the ones with heirs have buried them under concrete houses with no attics to hide in, no spooky rooms with spookier locks and no stories to tell.

The greenery is intact. Some places have foliages thick enough to give you the shivers. The paddy fields are lush as ever. The water of the temple pond is cool and clear. The people are conservative, concerned and loving. The lull that blankets the place since time immemorial hasn’t changed one bit. It is soothing and irritating at the same time, especially for people used to a faster pace of life.

My sister and I used to enjoy the Pookkalam routine starting on Atham, ten days before Thiruvonam day. There was a dearth of flowers at times but we settled for Mukkutipoo, Chemparathy (Shoe flower), and a variety of leaves. On some days when our creative juices were parched, the Pookalam ended up looking like the nest of a bird who decided to go all green. The Onasadya was an elaborate affair prepared by my mother and grandmother. But we had eyes only for Payasam (Kheer, a warm dessert) that was served at the end of the meal.

Cousins settled outside Kerala seldom came down for the festival and the initial excitement soon gave way to boredom while we waited impatiently for the holidays to end. My father however, had the time of his life during these holidays. He and his childhood cronies cracked up over Onam memories, anecdotes, etc. One would think that my father would have plenty of tales to tell since he is the only one among his peers (there) who moved out of the rural setting, got higher education and a career. It surprised me how he remained an amused listener in the group, while the ones that had never explored the outer boundaries of the village had huge accounts to narrate. Talk of the sprightly village soul!

Things changed a few years ago, after my grandmother passed away. There were no more Onams at the ancestral home. We stopped by when we could, just to dust and mop the place so that it wouldn’t look abandoned. Slowly we started forgetting that routine too. But roots beckon and how! My sister’s engagement was solemnized at our ancestral home and the wedding was held at Thrissur too. The house was jolted out of its long slumber and it came to life again. Thanks to my father’s love for his home.

We celebrated this Onam at our residence in Cochin. It was my sister’s first Onam after her wedding and it was bound to be special. I terribly missed her while making the Pookkalam but my parents lent their support and creativity to the process and it turned out to be fun. Amma prepared the sadya with a penchant seen never before (to please the son-in-law, possibly!) and amidst all the excitement, the ancestral home once again, closed itself into the forgotten chambers of our mind.

Pookkalam and Sadya we had at home this year