This Day ...That Year

Today, February 18^th was the day many many years ago (actually, not so many), that I was introduced into a world, after stepping into which there was no question of stepping out. This was the day in the year I was less than a year old that I was initiated into the realm of gastronomical panoply.

This was the day of my ‘choroonu’, the malayalee equivalent of ‘annaprasana’ wherein a baby is fed the first grain of rice along with tiny morsels of all items in the traditional feast served on a banana leaf. The rather inexperienced taste buds of the baby which was until then granted only milk and equivalents, on that day get to decipher and register for the first time a taste of all flavours from the hands of all the  seniors in the family.

 

This event of choroonu is so significant among most of the communities that it is most often held at some temple seeking the Lord’s blessings for the child’s healthy and everlasting appetite. Moreover, to leave no room for any chance of malnutrition in the child’s life, a most auspicious moment –the muhurtham- is chosen for the ceremony usually consulting some astrologer or a panchaangam (containing the astronomical data in tabulated form with their interpretations) at least. 

It was (is?) apparently believed that a child could be given his first grain of rice without seeking a muhurtham if it happens to be the birthday of someone in the family. It so happened that that year ( I believe you must have guessed by now that I am not going to tell you which year it was) February 18^th was chosen by mom to serve me my first official lunch, as this happened to be the birthday of not just one, but two elders in our family. That day, the birthday of my paternal grandmother by the Gregorian calendar coincided with the birthday of my maternal grandfather according to the Malayalam calendar. So the day was doubly auspicious for me. Now, you can’t blame me for nursing such a ravenous appetite.

My choroonu was special not just due to the date, but for the manner and place as well. My elder sister’s chorronu was held at a famous temple in a grand manner within my parents’ means on a very auspicious day according to the astrologers; but alas….she proved them all wrong. She has been reported to having been an impossible kid when it came to eating. A fuss pot, much to the desperation of my mother, who then decided that her second child’s choroonu will be according her own chosen manner, place and time. Let me, at this juncture, bring into your kind attention that my sister in her later years has successfully made up for all her lost chances reestablishing the credibility of the astrologers. Now she is as much a bottomless pit as I am.

Anyway, suffice to say that 18^th February was chosen for my choroonu without consulting any astrologer or panchaangam and the venue was our residence in the Naval Quarters in Mumbai. The same day was chosen for my naamkaran, i.e., naming ceremony as well. Here again my mom made the decision learning from her experiences in the case of my sister. It had so happened that she had chosen a name for her first born which was (mercifully) vetoed out by her brothers-in-law, our uncles. This hurt her mom-ego so much that she was well-determined to name her second one without consulting or informing anyone – not her in-laws, not her own family, not even her husband!!

Yes, my choroonu and naamkaran was conducted and attended exclusively by my mother without the knowledge of my father who was out at work and my sister who was away in the kindergarten. She happily and proudly informed him of the event when he was back in the evening. In case you are wondering how he reacted, I can only tell you that I am wondering the same, as I never bothered find that out from my mom. I suppose he must have just ignored the whole deal as a big joke, possibly laughing to himself over the fact, without the knowledge of my mom, he had already fed me tiny morsels from his lunch and snacks weeks before this big nautanki- a firm non-conformist that he was. So each of them had happily believed all their lives that he/she was the one who performed my annaprasana though I feel only God would know how long before that I must have grabbed something and had my fill on my own – a precocious eater that I have always been.

So, that is the story of how I was fed my first meal and named Surya…this day…that year.

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My Confessions - Part I

I must have been in the loo when God said: 
“Thou shalt not steal”. 

If I tell you that this episode of going against Him, committing a theft, occurred around the time when I was 4 years old, you might think that I was (am) a kleptomaniac or a juvenile delinquent. You may make your decisions as you read ahead.

This was when I was in the lower kindergarten in a school located about 1 km away from our house. My mother had entrusted a maid in the school, whom we used to call ‘ayah’ to take me to and from the school every day.  Besides me, there were a few more kids this ayah was herding back and forth every morning and evening.

I remember that I used to be the last one to be dropped at home after school. Oh!! How much I hated school!!! When ayah went to leave the penultimate kid, she would make me wait near a vegetable shop beside the street so that I wouldn’t have to cross that busy road. And here while leaning on the sidewalls of that shop was when I performed my first act of plunder.

What could be there in a veggie-shop that prompted a 4-year old girl to embark on the road of crime??? It was not as if I came from a famished family struggling to keep body and soul together. Thanks to God, ours was a well-fed family and I especially was more generously endorsed.

What interested me in the shop was a bunch of tender, delicate greenies, sticking out of the edge of the rack, just next to the wall, mere inches away from my tiny hands. From where I was standing, I couldn’t see what it was except that it was green. Normally, I was (am) never attracted by greens in the veggie-shop: I am more into the reds and oranges and yellows and browns and creams and whites in the restaurants and bakeries.

I suppose it must have been the curiosity that drove me into it the first time. One day, I pinched off an inch of the green wonder in an exceptionally inconspicuous manner. It looked like a piece of a leaf, and from hand to mouth the leaf found its path quickly. I bit and chewed half of my loot, clutching the other half secure (can’t recall why). It tasted okay. Not bitter, not sour, not sweet, salty or pungent, but had some distinct flavour which I liked. Could as well have been the flavour of success over my most adventurous feat.

At home my mom saw me smelling and inspecting the remaining half inch of the leaf and asked what it was.

“I don’t know”, I said.

Now that was an honest answer as I did NOT know what it was and she hadn’t anyway asked me how or where I got it. She smelled it and commented offhandedly that it was betel leaf.

“Oh! So, that was what it was!” I got thrilled. I knew what betel leaf is. I had seen my grandmother chew it and her lips and tongue become red. I had wanted to try that too, but at my first thought of it itself my dad had rolled his eyes at me saying it was dirty habit and no more was said on that ( though much was DONE on that….much later…..without his knowledge).

Excited, I immediately put the remaining piece into my mouth and ran to check in front of the mirror to see my lips and tongue go red. Nothing happened. “Maybe I must try harder”. And harder I tried. But alas, it was too small a piece of leaf to survive the torturous assault of my teeth. Soon, there was not even any green left, forget the red.

 I analysed the situation and deduced the reasons for the failure. The specimen sample was too small to give the desired result. 
“I must get a bigger one tomorrow”
 Plans were made for the next day and the Modus Operandi was well-chalked out in my master brain. For the first time I was waiting eagerly to go to school!!
 

If curiosity did it the first time, experience, confidence, passion and determination geared my repeated attempts after that.  But the tongue never turned red. I had almost become a pro and the pinch-offs grew larger by day in portions and number until one day, some other greeny had taken the place of the betel leaves. But I realised it only after it was too late, only after I felt my tongue burn. I turned to look at the stack where I took this stuff from and saw to my horror that in place of betel leaves was sitting a mass of fresh green chillies!!

                                                                 

Thus, finally on that day, though I did not see my tongue become red, I could very well  feel it become RED HOT!!! 

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