It is 6.30 and a Sunday morning . My husband and I are sipping hot filter coffee. We love its taste, I like it very hot and my husband not so hot. My paternal grandfather too loved piping hot coffee. He used his towel to hold it and said one should not drink coffee but sip it. 😊
Long back during summer vacations at my maternal grandparents’ home my grandmother made ‘bellada neeru’ in a big vessel. She took water in that vessel, added a little jaggery to it. After the water boiled a little milk was poured into it. It was so refreshing, whenever we wanted a break from our games, we ran to the kitchen to drink it.
My grandfather’s plot of land was at two levels. The house was at the lower level . At the higher level there were plenty of trees and I remember there was big pit . We sat on its edge, played and talked. I don’t remember how many times we ran up and down in a day.
My mother was the eldest of ten children and my elder brother and I were in the same age group as her sisters. Other cousins too came during vacations and the house was full. Thinking back I wonder how my grandparents managed. My aunts helped in the cooking. The middle room in the house was called ‘kaisaale’. My eldest aunt herded all of us into it after lunch and made sure we rested for some time. We did not want to, but I suppose the elders needed a little rest 😃. The room was very cool. My grandfather slept on one side, it was his place. There were no cots in those days. We slept on the floor, on cotton mattresses. In the morning we rolled them and piled them near the wall.
As I am writing this I can see my grandfather lying down on the bed. Sometimes when he felt some pain in his legs he would ask my brother or me to stand on his leg. It must have eased the pain. My elder brother and I were his first two grandchildren and we were a part of our grandparents’ lives from when they were in their forties till their deaths.
My aunts and cousins had summer vacations in April and May. We lived in Delhi and had summer vacations in May and June. There was a huge mango tree in the yard with delicious fruits. In June the rains started. The tree was very tall and it was difficult to pluck the mangoes. But they kept falling when it was windy and all of us would run to pick them. My grandfather loved them. He ate them with his lunch. They were not the sort of mangoes to cut into slices. We had to bite and suck the pulp. It was wonderful. Even now, after all these years I remember the taste with a thrill of satisfaction. Those days are gone but memories remain. Thank God 😊.
Linda’s prompt in her Stream of consciousness challenge is run.