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Pakkadmane
avru
Rashmi Shenoy
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Rashmi Shenoy writes for OKC
in her spare time from Auckland, New Zealand.
Almost all of us would
have neighbors and also different kinds of experiences in
dealing with them. I’ve had neighbors that have treated me
like their own daughter to neighbors who are next to weird
on planet earth. I’ve also been robbed by some of the
greedy pakkad mane avru that has lead me to be a curious cat
at times. I’ve learnt to keep them at bay after learning
what “type” of neighbors they are.
With a Bank Manager for a
dad, we were traveling to a lot of places and people as and
when big boss (Dad) got transferred. However, Bangalore was
our official “base” as we were being educated there.
Moreover mum could not get a transfer outside Bangalore.
Malleshwaram was my complete world till I was 5 years old
and that is when I had extensive experience with my neighbors.
The building where we lived had four houses out of which one
was the landlord’s house. From the four houses there were
13 children.
There were other houses on
either side whose children joined us too. There were a lot
of social activities, some birthday party or some theme
party or combined studying, as most of us were more or less
the same age. We would generally cram up in the
“backyard” and play teacher – student games. We ended
up sharing our toys, our food, and hobbies, as we were a
pretty thick bunch of friends who stuck on to each other.
Mostly our respective mothers knew where to find us if we
hadn’t shown up at home at the appropriate time.
Celebrating Diwali was the
most eventful for all of us. We would meet up at our regular
place with our respective set of crackers and let the boys
have fun with the bombs n rockets and the younger ones burn
up the “kudre bala, pencil or colored matches”. We girls
would stay back and light the “nakshatra kaddi’s or the
nela chakras”. During any festival, we would all team up
to do the rangoli’s in front of all four houses. We would
have an exceptionally good time during Onam. Decorating the
rangoli with flowers and colored ricepowder would give us
all immense pleasure.
As we entered college, we
moved into our own house, in Malleshwaram itself but this
house did not really have neighbours who had children of our
age group. Either they were working or just entering school
so I made some non-traditional friends like the milkman,
postman, newspaper boy, or the meter reader. They were
pretty friendly who gave timely tips on various occasions.
Dad got transferred to
various places like Tumkur, Belgaum, Harihar, Davangere,
Mangalore, Mumbai and Ratnagiri. We, (My brother and myself)
used to spend our holidays with dad. Harihar was one of the
lousiest places that I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. The
bank quarters was .5kms away from the bank and was very
close to the commercial area. Opposite the house was a
tailor who used to play music on full blast from 7:00 am to
midnight, all 365 days of the year.
We always wondered how the
children around would do their studies. Thank god we were
there just for a couple of weeks at a time. We also pitied
our dad for being tormented in this environment. He lived
there for three full years. The worst animals in Harihar
were the pigs. Every morning I used to clean the front part
of the house with water. Within a few minutes there was this
big, fat pig, which would come to do the dodo right in front
of the house – especially on the area on which I had
toiled so much to clean.
Big boss managed to tackle
this menace by waiting right behind the door one early
morning and smacking the pig right on its bum with a stick.
The pakkad mane lady there was always in the habit of
finding out what we did in our house. At times, I would find
her right outside our door when I open it to go out.
Sometimes I think she would peer through the keyhole, but I
had no sufficient proof. We would find at least one of her
doors open at any given time. Probably that was her way of
keeping an eye on the activities around. I was almost
assured that she would be a good police officer when she
intimated us that there was someone in the hind part of our
house one day. Thankfully nothing was missing from the
house. In addition, she would make it a point to find out
where we were going and when we would return. Surviving this
kind of scrutiny was a mission for me.
Dad then got transferred to
Ratnagiri. His accommodation was in one of these new
colonies a bit away from the city. He had to travel around 7
kms to get to work. Although it is a very rich city, one of
the major inconveniences was reaching there from Bangalore.
One has to go there either via Mumbai or Kolhapur. Ratnagiri
also faces erratic power cuts at various times of the day.
The Pakkad maneavru here was an Engineer from Gulbarga who
had an account in dads branch – so his Bank was our house.
He would come home on Saturday evenings and handover a
cheque to dad saying he needs cash right away. “Ee cheque
na neev encash madkolri saar” My dad has a problem with
saying “no”.
When dad was away at work,
I had nothing to do as I was just spending my time with dad.
So I would venture out by myself to the library or any other
scenic place. I would generally return back from my outing
at 4:00pm each day. The Engineers daughter Shweta
accompanied me on her way back home. As we got a bit more
friendlier, my puzzle of who tampers with our newspaper was
solved as her dad would first read it and then place it
diligently back at our doorstep by 8:00 am.
In other places like
Belgaum and Harihar, my brother used to accompany me but
since he got into Medical College, he was not to be
disturbed. I used to miss him a lot in Ratnagiri – not
having him to talk to or not knowing what to do. Dad had
left his TV in Bangalore, which left me with just an option
of listening to the radio/tape recorder, read or do some
stitching. I passed on the first week with reading Sydney
Sheldon, Danielle Steele and Harold Robins. I had an over
exposure to reading and did not feeling like touching any
book for the next week or two. I decided to embroider my new
Salwar Kameez.
As I was doing it, Shweta
came in with her friend who was very impressed with my
embroidery and asked me to teach her. When I agreed to, she
asked me if she could get her friends too. Again I agreed
and she came back the next day with all the raw materials
and 5 of her friends. They all started calling me embroidery
teacher. Looking at the crowd coming in everyday, people
from the other buildings in the colony wanted to know
what’s happening. When they heard of the “embroidery
class”, a couple of other girls and some housewives wanted
to join in to.
I was surprised when the
total strength of the “class” had gone up to 15. The
crash course came to an end, the day before I was scheduled
to leave to Bangalore. All my “students” came up with
different mementos for me – which varied from a purse to a
shawl. When I refused to accept their gifts I was told that
I must accept it as I had imparted with my talent and
knowledge to them for free. I was so happy that these lovely
people had kept me company most day that I had not even
bothered thinking about the fees.
I was very touched with the
gestures of all my neighbors who were so very loving and
caring. On the day I left Ratnagiri, most of my pakkad
maneavru came to bid me goodbye. I have never set my eyes on
any of them after that day but I do remember them and most
of all I remember Shweta a lot, it is from her that I got
confidence in teaching what I had learnt.
Eventually lots of things
happened and today I find myself in New Zealand, writing out
this article for you. I’ve now started missing all these neighbors,
as there is no one who borrows sugar from us or no one to
share Diwali Sweets with. Although I do manage to have a
quick talk over the fence with our Kiwi neighbor, I do miss
the activities that used to happen back home in India.
Mostly I miss the neighbors who used to rumble up our
newspapers, who used to play loud music and the lady who
always wanted to know about my whereabouts. I miss all those
caring people out there. Probably this shows that neighbors
are the most essential irritating part of life that you
appreciate only when they are not around. One will know the
value of something only when you are deprived of it. Very
True, Indeed!!
- Rashmi Shenoy
Click
here if you would like to Contribute or send a feedback.
Click
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