Friday, July 1, 2011

Edda Ouseppe

There was no more corn-flakes left in my flat, and the Quaker Oats tin too was empty. The new month had began, but the thin ladder of my kitchen was not replenished. I was feeling hungry, but then it was already late to office and I didn't have enough time to catch up some grub en-route. Kick-starting with a feeling of emptiness inside, I feel I heard "Edda Ouseppe".

That is a common occurrence from days from my college life, when I used to live couple of houses from my grandma's place. I would step on the brake, when I reach in front of  her  house and stops for a second listening to her "to get" things for the day. Invariably the conversation seemed to follow these lines:

Grandma: Edda Ouseppe ( Hey Joseph)
Me: Entha Amme ? (What grandma?)
Grandma : Nee varumbam, 2 packet paal vangannam. (You should buy 2 packets of milk while you come back)
Me: Alright.
Grandma: Nee vykummo varaan? PDDP thanne vangannam. Marakarudhe. (Will you be late to come back? Buy PDDP milk and not from any other diary. Don't forget.)
Me: Njaan vykkilla. Sheri. (I wouldn't be late. Alright.)
Grandma: Paisa undo? (You have money with you?)
Me: Oovu. (Yes, I do have.)
Grandma: Nee kerri vaa.. Njaan paisa tharaam. (You come inside, I will give you the money.)
Me: Enniku vykki ( Its getting late for me.)
Grandma: Nee valathum kazhicho? Appavum muttem undu.. Nee vaa. ( You had anything to eat? There is appam and egg curry for break-fast. You come inside)
Me: Illa, njaan kazhichilla. (No I didn't have)

Some days I take of my helmet and walks in, the scene was repeated time and again throughout my college. Now when I am hungry and rushing of to someplace, there is no grandma left to cajole me to eat. There is no home cooked food awaiting me in some kitchen. My parents know I wouldn't be coming home for breakfast, there would be no purpose getting something made for me. I stay far away. There are no expecting relative of mine, who is waiting with his kitchen filled with food for me. And there is no longer my grandma, who used to make something extra for me everyday in breakfast, though she knew, I didn't have a pattern of eating or not eating and many a days, it had to be eaten up by Grandpa at the time of tea, coz I said I didn't feel like eating.

Some people in life, their absence comes striking on the face, when you realize the void they have left in your life. I missed Ammachi terribly driving to office and the Hyderabadi special biriyani I had for lunch no comparison to her appams, puttu and dosa. The latter was always made with love, for me, while the former just mass produced meals, which gets served in square plates or the round ones.


  1. I am lost for words. When people are with us, we take them for granted. Its not that we dont realize that; yet we act indifferent.

    Your conversation depicted here - I could visualize the entire thing - the care, the concern, the love...your impatience.

  2. One by one they will go, leaving sorrow and your heart, hollow. We tend to shrug away sentiments and love, but by the time we realise that nothing else matters, it would be too late.

    On a slightly different note, do read this:

  3. The conversation was reminiscent of many such similar instances.

    I can see the misery of loss that you feel.
    I guess I mentioned somewhere in the Blog or in the comments sometime that I read some where,that it is said that even after our dear and near ones leave the world their bearing stay around. The taste and aroma of a grand ma's , mother's or aunt's dishes stay in the air.They take you back to a specific moment in the past

  4. Insignia - the void that lasts never gets replaced and it makes the realization of indifference a little sad..if only the hands of clock could have been wound and waited to enjoy those moments all the more..

    Mr B - they all leave and we too leave.. but unsure what lies ahead.. the quest to know beyond, all crave so well.. wish along with the puttu, i could have a peek of that world through her eyes as honest woman i met, my grandma.. and I read your are so lucky that I aint in Trivandrum..or you surely would have been burdened with my frequent presence..But sure i am doing it this time I come are the perfect blend of tenderness and adventure.. your post made me think about dad's special beef curry, on sundays, when amma had work.. dads sure are amazing cooks, when they have the heart to do it :)

    Anil - You told about the aroma that stays in the air.. that is so very much truthful..the presence remains, maybe in the heart or the conscious..and the proximity that you are missing makes you realize the void all the more..little instances which were never cared for, suddenly becoming a lot more important

  5. Very much true- you never understand someone's value until they aren't around anymore.
    But we do have to get over the pain.

    Cheers! I Am!


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