"Every House Has a Doorstep"*

Imagine that you moved in to a house as a one-year old. Imagine that you are 71 years old now, and that you never really left it, except brief periods in your married life. Imagine your children being born, and their children being born in that house. Imagine that your mother (and in-law), and your father (and in-law) died there. Just imagine the empty nest, now that your children are all outside the country. Imagine the little things, the big things, the thousands of photographs, the old letters, the books with inscriptions, your children's rusting trophies, the antique chair, and ALL the stuff that 3 generations of a family could have gathered. Can you just imagine what memories - sad ones, happy ones; what stories - stories of success, stories of failure, the walls could tell if they could speak?

Now, imagine having to leave that house, leave the neighborhood, whose landscape has changed so much that even you, after 71 years, don't recognize it when your travel for a couple of months!

I wonder, if you sat on the swing, would you see an old scene playing out before your eyes? I wonder, if you sat on the bed where you gave birth to your first-born, would you remember the pain? I wonder, if you sat at your father's desk, would you hear his laughter?

For someone who doesn't have an anchor, a place to call home, because she was moved around during her childhood (definitely not as much as an army kid, or a diplomat's child), I have always envied Ramesh for being able to come home to "Sita Nivas" - "the dwelling of Sita" (his mother's name, and also Rajani's middle name). On many visits back to Chennai, we have slept in the very room he used as a boy. Even as we finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, chatting about what had, and had not changed, we would be awakened by blaring music from nearby temples - perhaps the same songs that he had heard 20 years ago! vinaayakane, vinai theerpavane! Lord Ganesh, you end all my troubles!

[Above is the famous 5552, classic "Ambassador," standing in front of a very changed front yard of "Sita Nivas." Ramesh is known at IIT, as the Prof., who comes in the "old ambi." ]

On the 13th, Ramesh's parents moved out of their home. The task of sorting through the things - what to keep, what to discard, the physical task of packing (even with help), and the emotional task of making decisions, are all taking their toll. Even today, after an afternoon of packing, Ramesh found his mother trying to gather all the jasmines she could reach from the creeper, that I had bought for the house many years ago. (I am such a basket case about the jasmine, that I had said it should grow in any house that I belong to.) It, among other bushes, creepers, shrubs and trees, except the "vilvam" (Ramphal) tree, will have to go. It is said that the Vedas took the form of the vilvam tree, the trident-shaped leaves of which are much favored by Lord Shiva. It is so sacred, that just to see it, is considered a blessing for seven generations.

Below is a picture of Rajani and Ramesh's mother in 2004,
offering prayers at the vilvam tree in the backyard.

The house will be demolished, after salvaging much of the teak doors and door frames, and in its place will come a more modern home. Why, you might ask? I refer you to my first post about how Chennai's landscape is changing with the arrival of multi-story apartment houses, needed to accommodate a growing population. Every house around this one is at a much higher level, leaving them with backing up sewage, storm drains that are not up to date, water lines that are ancient, and a typical "shot gun" house, which is 75 feet long, and the cause of enormous aches and pains for a couple of pairs of aging legs.

Below is a view of the back door, from the front.


Many of you have experienced the challenges of such a move for your parents, in the US, as they get ready to move in to assisted living, or in to smaller, more manageable spaces. It hasn't been an issue in the past, as extended families stayed together in large joint households. Today, Indian families have become smaller, and busier, and while a few "joint families" still exist happily, children find themselves looking for apartments near their own, so that they may be of some support as their parents age. "NRI parents" are truly left to fend for themselves, or end up commuting between "abroad" and India for as long as they physically can. [Tempting as it is, it is not my intention to digress to a side story of the major issue on the hands of 40 and 50-year olds in India, and its diaspora, on what it is going to do with its elderly parents.]

I should get to bed. Everyone else has. We've had another exhausting day packing, cleaning and organizing. Good night!
________________________________
* I have loosely translated a Tamil adage - veettukku veedu vaasal padi," which could mean that each house has it own story, even though it may look quite unassuming on the outside.