Eat, pray and love

NJ Ravi Chander

IN the good old days, living in a joint family was an experience in itself. The kitchen would come alive even before sunrise. The clatter of utensils, chit-chat of women and the grinding noise of stone would wake up the entire household. There was never a need for an alarm clock!

The neighbourhood milkman arrived with his pail and battery of cows and proceeded to milk them in front of our gate, supplying fresh, unadulterated produce to us. After the milk was boiled and cooled in a cauldron, the little ones would scoop out the layer of cream that formed at the top and finger-lick them. Fruits and vegetables procured from the local market on bicycles were free of pesticides. Everybody dined, sitting on rugs spread across the floor, with the womenfolk serving food on plantain leaves. The meal would be rounded off with a tall glass of buttermilk. 

A wood-fired mud-and-brick stove in the corner of the kitchen served the purpose of cooking. The ration depot supplied firewood and every cardholder was entitled to a fixed kilo of logs. If a family ran out of wood, they could procure them from the depot at a premium. Usually, the quantity allotted for the family sufficed and rarely extra stocks were purchased. The women of the house ensured that the embers kept smouldering, huffing and puffing into them with metal blowers and refuelling them from time to time. The dense smoke emanating from the fireplace moistened the eyes and the children were, therefore, asked to keep a safe distance.

 The ooru habba or the village fair in celebration of Ramnavami that took place in the tiny hamlet of Bannergatta on the outskirts of Bengaluru way back in 1940 was an annual ritual.  The joint family would make a beeline to the village to join in the festivities.

 My octogenarian maternal uncle recounts that a group of women and children would set off in a covered bullock cart with provisions and water. The men would follow them on bicycles. The humble vehicle had a broad platform on very high wheels, and the three-hour journey made for a rough ride. The tour party would take a break to enjoy a snack or to lead the tiring bullocks to water for a much-needed drink and a refreshing feed. 

On reaching the destination, the group would visit the temple on the hill, go round the village and finally settle down to cook in the open fields. The villagers were glad to welcome the guests and provided free living space to spend the night. Pits dug up behind the bushes served as toilets, but one had to be wary of reptiles. 

 Living in a joint family had its merits. You received an extra dose of unconditional love from the elders, including your parents. Chores got divided, and things got done more efficiently. Vacations were  fun time as children sat in a group outdoors under a starry sky and listened to stories by family elders, some of them made up. Haunted by the fear of ghosts, the kids felt secure sleeping in groups. That was another era, indeed!