February 2018
Times Remembered
Growing up, every two-to-three years, I would go with my parents on holiday to south India - namely to my mother’s hometown, Kothapeta, in a state called Andhra Pradesh. We would visit various relatives - my favourite being my maternal grandfather.
My grandfather, whom I used to call ‘Tata’, was a truly wonderful person. He was a kind, well-mannered, pious, philosophical and intellectual man- loved and respected by all who knew him. He stood at six feet tall: majestic, with a creamy complexion, medium brown eyes and thick silky hair that had prematurely greyed. He lived and worked in Kothapeta for most of his adult life. He was a Professor of English and principal of the local university (which was referred to as a 'degree college').
I remember Kothapeta as being a small town but busy and bustling with life. Yet it was not overcrowded or over-polluted, and traffic was manageable. There were a variety of shops and restaurants open late into the night. The cinema halls were very popular with daily openings and late night shows. There were several temples and shrines throughout the town. Daily prayers and rituals were conducted there and devotees would say their prayers and give offerings to the Gods. These temples and shrines were a place of solace and succour for many Hindu worshippers. Like most towns, there were also schools, banks, a bus station, auto- and cycle- rickshaw stands, a police station and most importantly a small district hospital- the chief doctor of the hospital being an old student of my grandfather.
My grandparents’ home was in an estate which was known as ‘The State Bank Colony’. Their house was a large whitewashed building. It was one storey high with a large rooftop terrace. The house was surrounded by a compound wall with iron gates at the front. There was a front and a back yard with a large garden to the left of the house. The garden had coconut trees, banana trees, and several rose, jasmine and lily plants. My grandmother would pluck some of the flowers and use them in her daily prayers. Also in the front of the garden, stood an iron water pump, with a scroll-shaped handle. This pump gave access to fresh, clear, ice-cold water from deep underground. This water was used to water the plants and the garden; washing the patio and the veranda; and for visitors to wash their hands and feet before entering the house - a custom still followed by my grandparents. We as children, were fascinated with the water pump, and used the water for water fights and various mischievous activities.
Every time I went to visit, my grandparents would eagerly wait for me. As my taxi approached the house, I would see them both in the veranda- my grandfather would be pacing up and down it. As I got out of the taxi, my grandmother would approach me giving me a hug and a kiss. My grandfather, who by then would have stopped pacing, would stand at the entrance, bright-eyed and excited. Putting his arm around my shoulders he would ask, “Rudrani, my child, how do you do?” I would reply, “Fine.” Then he would say, “you’re fine? Very good.” I spent my time with cousins, who, would usually come and stay with me at my grandparents’ home. We would spend hours and hours chatting, play games, go shopping, go to the cinema, visit temples, visit other relatives, etc.
I spent a greater proportion of my holiday with my grandfather. He would sit in his large wooden armchair with a wooden board placed in front of him across the arm chair, to rest upon while writing. I called this equipment his ‘throne’. He would read works of literature to me and explain the subtle meanings, as well as answer my queries. He would teach me English grammar, read and correct my writings, which, according to him were always good and bound to get better with experience and practice!
He was always so proud of my efforts and of me. I remember on one occasion when I was a child, he took me to his university and I sat and listened curiously to his lecture. He then showed me off to his colleagues and students. After he retired, he used to give small groups of students extra coaching at home. Once again he would proudly introduce me to the students and I would even listen in sometimes, keen to learn more. He was especially proud and ecstatic at my wedding: it was after all his first grandchild’s big day.
He would talk to me about so many things such as his childhood days; how my mother, aunt and uncle were as children; and funny tales and jokes about my grandmother and her ways. His favourite tales were of how he met my father, whom he thought to be very handsome and charming - perfect for his perfect daughter; and how on the day I was born, he hosted a grand tea party for all his colleagues to celebrate the joyous occasion.
I remember one time, while on a family day out, we were climbing some steep temple steps. Holding onto my arm for support, he said he would never need a walking stick because he had me. I shall never forget those touching words or that scene.
I adored every conversation, every moment spent with my grandfather. But like all good things, the holiday soon came to an end - I returned home with my parents and it was back to school, homework, coursework and exams- the usual monotonous life.
But as the time passed by things began to change. Like myself, my cousins too got married, had families and jobs: most moved abroad. So the younger generation left the country - scattered across the globe: we now seldom meet. The elderly have left this world - now sadly, we will never meet.
The biggest change or rather the greatest tragedy was on the 24th of August 2012: the day my grandfather took his last breath. I could not fathom this- to me he was immortal. I felt a profound sense of loss; the pain was insufferable. But it is said that time is a good healer- I am almost there. Those holidays were so memorable; his conversations- invaluable.
Now, whenever I go to Kothapeta, the town is still the same busy, bustling place unaffected by any loss or tragedy. My grandparents’ house still stands in ‘The State Bank Colony’. My grandmother still comes down the veranda steps to greet me lovingly, as I get out of my taxi. But my grandfather’s absence is sorely missed. I can still picture him pacing up and down the veranda; I can still feel his arm gently across my shoulders; and his words echo in my ears.
Inside the house, his books and pens have been removed, yet his ‘throne’ still remains, but is vacant leaving an air of emptiness about the house. It is no longer the same house, it is no longer a holiday but a nostalgic trip down memory lane.
I will cherish all those beautiful memories and treasure his words of wisdom, until, I take my last breath.
By
Dr Rudrani Kadiyala
Copyright © 2017 by Rudrani Kadiyala. All rights reserved. No part of this article may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying without the written permission of the author.
Times Remembered
Growing up, every two-to-three years, I would go with my parents on holiday to south India - namely to my mother’s hometown, Kothapeta, in a state called Andhra Pradesh. We would visit various relatives - my favourite being my maternal grandfather.
My grandfather, whom I used to call ‘Tata’, was a truly wonderful person. He was a kind, well-mannered, pious, philosophical and intellectual man- loved and respected by all who knew him. He stood at six feet tall: majestic, with a creamy complexion, medium brown eyes and thick silky hair that had prematurely greyed. He lived and worked in Kothapeta for most of his adult life. He was a Professor of English and principal of the local university (which was referred to as a 'degree college').
I remember Kothapeta as being a small town but busy and bustling with life. Yet it was not overcrowded or over-polluted, and traffic was manageable. There were a variety of shops and restaurants open late into the night. The cinema halls were very popular with daily openings and late night shows. There were several temples and shrines throughout the town. Daily prayers and rituals were conducted there and devotees would say their prayers and give offerings to the Gods. These temples and shrines were a place of solace and succour for many Hindu worshippers. Like most towns, there were also schools, banks, a bus station, auto- and cycle- rickshaw stands, a police station and most importantly a small district hospital- the chief doctor of the hospital being an old student of my grandfather.
My grandparents’ home was in an estate which was known as ‘The State Bank Colony’. Their house was a large whitewashed building. It was one storey high with a large rooftop terrace. The house was surrounded by a compound wall with iron gates at the front. There was a front and a back yard with a large garden to the left of the house. The garden had coconut trees, banana trees, and several rose, jasmine and lily plants. My grandmother would pluck some of the flowers and use them in her daily prayers. Also in the front of the garden, stood an iron water pump, with a scroll-shaped handle. This pump gave access to fresh, clear, ice-cold water from deep underground. This water was used to water the plants and the garden; washing the patio and the veranda; and for visitors to wash their hands and feet before entering the house - a custom still followed by my grandparents. We as children, were fascinated with the water pump, and used the water for water fights and various mischievous activities.
Every time I went to visit, my grandparents would eagerly wait for me. As my taxi approached the house, I would see them both in the veranda- my grandfather would be pacing up and down it. As I got out of the taxi, my grandmother would approach me giving me a hug and a kiss. My grandfather, who by then would have stopped pacing, would stand at the entrance, bright-eyed and excited. Putting his arm around my shoulders he would ask, “Rudrani, my child, how do you do?” I would reply, “Fine.” Then he would say, “you’re fine? Very good.” I spent my time with cousins, who, would usually come and stay with me at my grandparents’ home. We would spend hours and hours chatting, play games, go shopping, go to the cinema, visit temples, visit other relatives, etc.
I spent a greater proportion of my holiday with my grandfather. He would sit in his large wooden armchair with a wooden board placed in front of him across the arm chair, to rest upon while writing. I called this equipment his ‘throne’. He would read works of literature to me and explain the subtle meanings, as well as answer my queries. He would teach me English grammar, read and correct my writings, which, according to him were always good and bound to get better with experience and practice!
He was always so proud of my efforts and of me. I remember on one occasion when I was a child, he took me to his university and I sat and listened curiously to his lecture. He then showed me off to his colleagues and students. After he retired, he used to give small groups of students extra coaching at home. Once again he would proudly introduce me to the students and I would even listen in sometimes, keen to learn more. He was especially proud and ecstatic at my wedding: it was after all his first grandchild’s big day.
He would talk to me about so many things such as his childhood days; how my mother, aunt and uncle were as children; and funny tales and jokes about my grandmother and her ways. His favourite tales were of how he met my father, whom he thought to be very handsome and charming - perfect for his perfect daughter; and how on the day I was born, he hosted a grand tea party for all his colleagues to celebrate the joyous occasion.
I remember one time, while on a family day out, we were climbing some steep temple steps. Holding onto my arm for support, he said he would never need a walking stick because he had me. I shall never forget those touching words or that scene.
I adored every conversation, every moment spent with my grandfather. But like all good things, the holiday soon came to an end - I returned home with my parents and it was back to school, homework, coursework and exams- the usual monotonous life.
But as the time passed by things began to change. Like myself, my cousins too got married, had families and jobs: most moved abroad. So the younger generation left the country - scattered across the globe: we now seldom meet. The elderly have left this world - now sadly, we will never meet.
The biggest change or rather the greatest tragedy was on the 24th of August 2012: the day my grandfather took his last breath. I could not fathom this- to me he was immortal. I felt a profound sense of loss; the pain was insufferable. But it is said that time is a good healer- I am almost there. Those holidays were so memorable; his conversations- invaluable.
Now, whenever I go to Kothapeta, the town is still the same busy, bustling place unaffected by any loss or tragedy. My grandparents’ house still stands in ‘The State Bank Colony’. My grandmother still comes down the veranda steps to greet me lovingly, as I get out of my taxi. But my grandfather’s absence is sorely missed. I can still picture him pacing up and down the veranda; I can still feel his arm gently across my shoulders; and his words echo in my ears.
Inside the house, his books and pens have been removed, yet his ‘throne’ still remains, but is vacant leaving an air of emptiness about the house. It is no longer the same house, it is no longer a holiday but a nostalgic trip down memory lane.
I will cherish all those beautiful memories and treasure his words of wisdom, until, I take my last breath.
By
Dr Rudrani Kadiyala
Copyright © 2017 by Rudrani Kadiyala. All rights reserved. No part of this article may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying without the written permission of the author.
JANUARY 2018:
Diamonds are Forever
Sleeping, dreaming; developing
I was snug and warm in my cocoon; a womb of ancient rock
Then ripped from my roots by menacing mining machines
Disturbed, disrupted and elevated into the bright sunlight
My protective marquisette shell shattered and I lay bare
Naked; revealing my breath-taking beauty
Brilliantly reflecting the rays of the sun
Flawless, clear and perfectly pure
Contrasting starkly with the faulty stones that simultaneously surfaced
To the sense of sight as the sound of the clearest tinkling silver bell to the ear
Experienced hands cut and crafted; experts faceted and polished
Designers of distinction fashioned my shape to decorate a royal skin
I sparkled; outshone the lesser gems in the multi coloured choker
The warm satin pearls reflected my brightness
I put the fire into the rich red rubies
The glint into the glass green emeralds
And illuminated the blue of the darkest sapphires
In response, they lent me their light, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colour
I reigned, magnificent; a jewel of merit,
Photographed, catalogued, and listed in record books
Famous for my perfection
A diamond outliving the royal necks I’ve adorned
Mary Berry
Diamonds are Forever
Sleeping, dreaming; developing
I was snug and warm in my cocoon; a womb of ancient rock
Then ripped from my roots by menacing mining machines
Disturbed, disrupted and elevated into the bright sunlight
My protective marquisette shell shattered and I lay bare
Naked; revealing my breath-taking beauty
Brilliantly reflecting the rays of the sun
Flawless, clear and perfectly pure
Contrasting starkly with the faulty stones that simultaneously surfaced
To the sense of sight as the sound of the clearest tinkling silver bell to the ear
Experienced hands cut and crafted; experts faceted and polished
Designers of distinction fashioned my shape to decorate a royal skin
I sparkled; outshone the lesser gems in the multi coloured choker
The warm satin pearls reflected my brightness
I put the fire into the rich red rubies
The glint into the glass green emeralds
And illuminated the blue of the darkest sapphires
In response, they lent me their light, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colour
I reigned, magnificent; a jewel of merit,
Photographed, catalogued, and listed in record books
Famous for my perfection
A diamond outliving the royal necks I’ve adorned
Mary Berry