“Sri Rama Rama Ramethi Rame Raame ManorameSahasranama Thatthulyam Rama nama varaanane”feeble sounds I could not decipher rang in my ears, as I woke up at 4am. I tip toed to open the front door that scr-ee-tched enough to wake up the neighbors but surprisingly, it did not even change the rhythm of the loud snores in this house. I sat on the verandah steps staring at the dark sky, front gate and the dense neem tree in the corner of the front yard. Cool breezes, rhythmic movements of the neem branches, soft sounds of birds chirping, it’s a familiar morning. A morning I left 9 years back…
I wrapped my shawl tighter watching the neem tree and the cement base around it.
“The ghostly old man will take you into the branches if you don’t finish your dinner” I smiled recalling the stories Amma(mom) created and the times when I used to run around this tree in an attempt to avoid my meals until a fresh neem cane made its mark on my back.
“Tring-Tring Tring - Tring” bicycles with heavy milk cans zoomed away into the dark. Amma came out and sat next to me. For a long time, we just gazed into the dark as if the other was not present.
“After we finished our home works in the evening, your Ammamma (grandmother) told us stories of Ramayan under this tree” Amma recalled her childhood with moist eyes, which I could not see in the dark but could picture from my heart. I held her arm with both hands and put my head on her shoulder. Though no words said, her head bent on mine comforted us both.
It is a very quite morning today. I could hear the cooker whistles, servant maids never ending stories, Teja news on the TV, amma running around to give Neha her bath, dad on phone with some collegues, I still couldn’t hear something…Something that tied all of these together.
“Sri Rama Rama Ramethi…” I heard it a bit clearer this time but before I could register,
“Chinni its 7’o clock, get ready soon, we are late for the temple” Amma’s holler from the kitchen made me run into the bathroom.
***
“Prayers for you are held here every Tuesday and Saturday” Pujari
(priest) explained to me when I was startled at how he knew my date of birth and other personal details.
“Your Grandmother signed up for special poojas for you… for almost 10 years now” he laid it out answering my confused face.
I circled around the temple some odd number of times before I came out with chakkara pongali
(sticky rice made with ghee,jaggery, sugar and dry fruits)- my favorite
prasadam in my right palm. I found amma engrossed in a conversation with some women I hardly knew, but with her hand movements I figured amma was proudly presenting them her granddaughter. Without disturbing them, I walked outside the temple to the banks of river Krishna.
I saw a 7-8 year old girl walking towards the temple with her younger brother looking back proudly at the cave they built with the wet mud. I could see them walking towards me and mumble something to each other. When they came close enough,
“You built a big cave!” I said. They proudly looked back again at the cave and the younger one enquired
“So does everyone in Aamerika has a motor car?” I was little surprised to see that even a kid of that age knew my whereabouts.
“Do you like Cars?” I asked.
Before he jumped onto me to share all he knew about cars, his sister interrupted saying
“Your grandmother told many stories about you. If we studied well, she said we can go to Aamerika too like you did”. I met these kids for the first time in my life, yet I felt they were no strangers.
***
Remaining day passed very quickly with
idlis(Steamed rice& lentil patty), sambhar and filter coffee for breakfast,
Rasam,
Gongura pappu(toordal cooked with leafy veggies),
Avakayya(South Indian mango pickle) for lunch and
masala vada with filter coffee for evening tiffin.
I sat with Amma on the verandah watching Neha play on her tricycle. Strangers came in asking how I was, Neha’s broken yet fluent telugu grasped their attention so quick that I didnot have to answer their questions. Amma took every opportunity to market her grand daughter to them.
After awhile I found it hard to concentrate between the “How-Where-What” questions about America and the soft sounds of the devotional songs from the temple speakers…
“Sri Rama Rama Ramethi Rame Raame ManorameSahasranama Thatthulyam Rama nama varaanane”I heard it clear this time, I heard it amidst 4 other people chatting about America, I heard the lines from
Vishnu Sahasra namam loud and clear in my head.
It is these sounds, sounds of Ammamma reciting prayers that woke us all for a perfect day. It is these slokhas that were missing from all the other regular house hold sounds in the morning. It is these chants, the smell of agarbathi and dhoopam that made this house a home. A home that just remained a house for us now.
“Can we never hear her again?” I thought for a second.
“She can recite the complete Suklam Baradharam without taking a break” I heard Amma brag about Neha to some more new faces.
It is in the poojas performed in the temple on my name, in the kids to whom I was marketed as an icon, in the Ramayan stories that Amma now narrates to Neha during her bed time and in Amma’s love for Neha,
She will be heard, I answered.
