Young Ammini - Chapter 1 - The bathing ritual - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

 

image made using ChatGpt

Young Ammini lived in a village in Kerala. The year was 1943. Nestled in agricultural land, her family home was large and despite not having a lot, they had some land around their home. Kerala in the 1940s was lush green and bountiful and everyone who could was responsible for the upkeep of the house and the land that they owned. 

Ammini was 8 and a half now and had just finished all the chores that had been lined up for her in the morning. She looked at the clean courtyard that she had just finished sweeping. All the dried up leaves had been collected to the side of the boundary which was the least visible to the small path outside. She would have to deal with some of the weeds that needed removal when she got back from school. She knew that now she could go to the pond and have her bath. She called out to her younger sister Sati and they picked up the bark of the coconut fruit 'Chagari' and the 'Cherupayar Podi'- green gram flour that they would use to clean themselves. Ammini had seen some posters of a commercial soap in a local shop. The poster was partially torn but she'd noticed the 'rose' flower near the bar of soap. She wondered if she would ever hold a soap bar in her hand. She was brought back to reality by her sister who was tugging her hand while walking.

She turned her head and glanced at Sati. About three years younger, Sati was still generally happy and playful. Ammini asked herself if she felt playful anymore. Not really!, she decided. The times she had been chided by her older sisters and mother for running around the courtyard like a 'fearless upstart' had quickly calmed her down. She hadn't understood why she couldn't play when she had done all her chores, listened to everyone the whole day and obeyed all the rules of the house. She knew it was unfair but she also knew that she didn't want to be beaten. Everyone in her house had a temper and seemed to be on the lookout for an occasion to explode and a prey to pounce on. Ammini was just too young to understand that poverty and lack of education led to fewer opportunities and that led to an overall frustration that seemed to seep into every member of her family.

She smiled at Sati as they walked to the pond. It was already hot and the sun was shining bright and high. Sati held her hand as they walked down the wet and mossy steps to their pond. Ammini helped take off Sati's clothes and rinsed her body in water that was till their knees. She scrubbed her sister's body with the coconut husk and applied some of the flour on her and then assisted Sati to go into the pond and swim a bit. Living in the village meant that they were both excellent swimmers. So Ammini could now take her own bath. She pulled off her blouse but immediately covered herself with the 'thortu' or towel. Balancing it on her torso, she scrubbed her armpits and her torso with the flour and the coconut bark. She went lower into the pond to be able to wash her lower body. She was always worried about the presence of some peeping Tom who may have managed to get through all the wild plants and foliage at the back of their property where the pond was located. This was because one of her older sisters had seen a man look at her some years back when she was taking a bath at the very spot Ammini was now. Her sister had been slapped by her mother for not being extra careful. Ammini didn't get why her sister was to blame. But she'd lived enough to know that it was always the girl who was to blame. Coming back to the present moment,, she quickly looked around to see if she could spot a pair of prying eyes. Nothing that she could locate. She tried to listen carefully if the sounds of nature around her were disturbed by an alien presence. She finally stopped her imagination from going further and took a couple of dips to wet her head. Collecting her sister, they both quickly dried themselves off, wore the same clothes they had worn before their shower and walked back to the main structure of the house.

Ammini headed to the outside of the kitchen and picked up the coconut oil bottle. She scrubbed oil over her partially dry skin and hair and Sati copied her sister. They then went indoors and wore fresh tops and waist cloths and headed out towards their school. 

#childhoodtrauma #poverty #keralainthe30s #keralain1940 #girlslife #womanempowerment

#thechroniclesoftheyoungestchild

Like this story? 

You might like stories about Ammini as a woman listed below.

Ammini Amma - Chapter 1 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

and

Ammini Amma - Chapter 2 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

and 

Ammini Amma - Chapter 3 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

and 

Ammini Amma - Chapter 4 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

and 

Ammini Amma - Chapter 5 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

and 

Ammini Amma - Chapter 6 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

Dance like no one's watching

photo courtesy Johan De Vits

It had been five months since Shashi started going for salsa classes once a week. The classes were near her home, and she had always loved dancing. Now that she was separated from the children's father, she actually had some time for herself as he kept the children one week out of two. Moving her body had been something that had always kept her mentally strong, and she felt great after each class.

Sure, the transition from being at home every evening with her family to getting herself out there had been easier for her than for other people she met who were also divorced or separated. Indeed, she connected easily with most people, as she'd always been extroverted. She loved coming to the class, saying 'hello' to everyone and lining up with the women. The teacher usually would have his female assistant stand in the centre of the line of the women, while he stood in the centre of the group of men that faced the women. The dancers were being taught steps that would follow later in the right order. The men and women were just not yet touching each other.

Shashi knew that in a few weeks they would be doing moves that involved touch, and something in her wondered how she'd feel about those new sensations. She'd been loyal to her ex, and the idea of dancing close to another man hadn't even occurred to her in all the years she'd been married. Now, here she was in these new circumstances. Life had brought to her, or rather, she had chosen. Yes, she corrected her thought process. This was a decision she had made. A step she had taken to get to know who she was now. 

As the music played on and she heard the teacher count the steps, Shashi searched for herself in the mirrored wall that was behind the line of men. She smiled as she found herself amongst all the movement, fixed on her own gaze, and twirled to the beat. She revelled in the joy of the music and in her heightened self awareness.

As the music played on intensely, Shashi suddenly woke up in a cold sweat. 'Oh, that was a dream!' she thought. She sighed in relief, as the very idea of going and dancing in a couples dance studio worried her. She was afraid of all the eyes on her and all the fingers pointing at her. What the neighbours would say, what the relatives would say, and what she still thought mattered to her. She longed for the freedom to do what she wanted but found herself locked in her closed-mindedness. "Maybe it's time to change a bit," said Shashi to herself as she got off the bed and walked to the bathroom.It had been five months since Shashi started going for salsa classes once a week. The classes were near her home, and she had always loved dancing. Now that she was separated from the children's father, she actually had some time for herself as he kept the children one week out of two. Moving her body had been something that had always kept her mentally strong, and she felt great after each class.

Sure, the transition from being at home every evening with her family to getting herself out there had been easier for her than for other people she met who were also divorced or separated. Indeed, she connected easily with most people, as she'd always been extroverted. She loved coming to the class, saying 'hello' to everyone and lining up with the women. The teacher usually would have his female assistant stand in the centre of the line of the women, while he stood in the centre of the group of men that faced the women. The dancers were being taught steps that would follow later in the right order. The men and women were just not yet touching each other.

Shashi knew that in a few weeks they would be doing moves that involved touch, and something in her wondered how she'd feel about those new sensations. She'd been loyal to her ex, and the idea of dancing close to another man hadn't even occurred to her in all the years she'd been married. Now, here she was in these new circumstances. Life had brought to her, or rather, she had chosen. Yes, she corrected her thought process. This was a decision she had made. A step she had taken to get to know who she was now. 

As the music played on and she heard the teacher count the steps, Shashi searched for herself in the mirrored wall that was behind the line of men. She smiled as she found herself amongst all the movement, fixed on her own gaze, and twirled to the beat. She revelled in the joy of the music and in her heightened self awareness.

As the music played on intensely, Shashi suddenly woke up in a cold sweat. 'Oh, that was a dream!' she thought. She sighed in relief, as the very idea of going and dancing in a couples dance studio worried her. She was afraid of all the eyes on her and all the fingers pointing at her. What the neighbours would say, what the relatives would say, and what she still thought mattered to her. She longed for the freedom to do what she wanted but found herself locked in her closed-mindedness. "Maybe it's time to change a bit," said Shashi to herself as she got off the bed and walked to the bathroom.

 #dreams #salsaclasses #whatwillpeoplesay #thewallswebuild

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Resilience - poem written for open mic on Saturday night - How to keep your inner child alive

 

A cat has a lot of resilience, doesn't it?

I was walking on Life’s path, 

and I fell down hard

The route was dusty,

Lined with stones and shards

They tore into me

and I thought the end was near

but I got up and walked on, 

overcoming my fear

I walked on and Life was going

its wondrous way,

The challenges came again, 

to my deep dismay

I stumbled forward 

and lost my footing,

This time I thought

My lovely world 

was sinking

But again I gathered all my strength 

and got up,

and this time I promised to not 

always be on my guard

Cause Life’s challenges will will me to grow up,

be cynical and complain

and behave like an adult 

who has had it tough and out of the mundane

But now I get up 

and wail if I must,

I throw a tantrum if it’s hard

And then rise above 

The flying dust!

Like a pilot in a crash,

of a glider that’s fuming,

I walk out majestically

To see the World again, 

Unassuming

Cause the child in me,

Has never died.

Yes, yes, she has suffered,

Oh Yes, she has criedI was walking on Life’s path, 

and I fell down hard

The route was dusty,

Lined with stones and shards

They tore into me

and I thought the end was near

but I got up and walked on, 

overcoming my fear

I walked on and Life was going

its wondrous way,

The challenges came again, 

to my deep dismay

I stumbled forward 

and lost my footing,

This time I thought

My lovely world 

was sinking

But again I gathered all my strength 

and got up,

and this time I promised to not 

always be on my guard

Cause Life’s challenges will will me to grow up,

be cynical and complain

and behave like an adult 

who has had it tough and out of the mundane

But now I get up 

and wail if I must,

I throw a tantrum if it’s hard

And then rise above 

The flying dust!

Like a pilot in a crash,

of a glider that’s fuming,

I walk out majestically

To see the World again, 

Unassuming

Cause the child in me,

Has never died.

Yes, yes, she has suffered,

Oh Yes, she has cried

But today she’s again forgotten yesterday,

Today us a beautiful New page, 

that’s waiting for her to play..

Written for an open mic session with @m.orgazm at Poetic Babelier, Brussels 

But today she’s again forgotten yesterday,

Today us a beautiful New page, 

that’s waiting for her to play..

Written for an open mic session with @m.orgazm at Poetic Babelier, Brussels 

Watch me read the poem recorded live her on Instagram or Facebook, the link should work. Do follow me or encourage me on there if possible!

https://www.instagram.com/p/DXJUUPfjKUF/

https://www.facebook.com/reel/1638377820743201

Or watch me on here directly by clicking the 

This is the lovely sweatshirt I won at the evening from Morgazm for her theme 'Gangsta Slay'

#resilience #poetry #englishpoetry #openmic #englishpoetrylovers #resilienceagainstchallenges

#innerchild

Yours Truly - strained relationships - short story

 In 1980

Dear Son,

It’s been 12 months since we have spoken. 12 months since I’ve seen your face. It’s a very long time for a mother, don’t you think? I’ve written to you once or twice every month since you left the house angry, all those months ago. Yes, what I said was harsh. No, I didn't mean to offend you to this point of no return. Your absence has been felt by everybody. 

Your father & sister keep asking where you are? Why are you not even replying to their letters?

I’m now worried that something has happened to you. None of your friends from our town have any idea where you may be. I managed somehow to get this address from one of them but it seems like you aren’t there.

Please at least give us a sign that you are fine and that you’re not answering me on purpose. 

All I want is to hear from you. This anger that you have can be thrown back at my face. I’m ready to hear it.

Your worried mother.

 

The postman who has now delivered the letter to the address that’s on the envelope wonders what to do with the letter as he looks at the previous letters and envelopes collecting on the top of the post box. The thought of tearing open and reading one of the envelopes that have the same handwriting crosses his mind. But he knows he can’t and walks away.

 

 

In 1980

Today I stand on this railway platform and I’m about to embark on a long journey. I’ve just had a huge fight with my mother. I spoke to her about the feelings I’d hidden away in my mind for so many years. She always thinks I’m a small child, doesn’t she know at 19, I’m a man now? I’ve always listened to her and the only time I’ve expressed my true feelings, this is how she reacts. All I saw in her face was anger and near loathing. Yes, when she saw I got up to leave, I noticed concerns, fear and some small degree of empathy. But that had come too late. I’ll just go to the ticket office and take the first train away from here.

A month later Harish receives his mother’s first letter by post. Some time ago he had written to his best friend Madhu about what had happened that fateful day at home. Harish had believed that Madhu wouldn’t betray his trust but guesses his family got to Madhu’s kinder side and prised the postal address out from him.

Harish reads the letter from his mother briefly. He’s afraid his mother or family will show up at the rental room. He packs the few things he has into his bag and leaves. He takes the opened letter with him.

 

 

 A year or so later

Harish is lying in bed after a week of illness. He dreams about his mother. In this fragile state, he closes his eyes and remembers her at her kindest. She had skin that glistened in the Sun. Her odour was like talc. He remembers her feeding him the soup that he loved and being concerned about his health. Working to survive on his own this year had been hard on Harish. He doesn’t even have the energy to pick up a pen at the moment.

In 2020

Harish looks at his children’s photo in the frame next to his bed. He picks up the phone to look at the messages he hoped he would have received in the night. Lately, he found himself wanting to receive news from his children more than ever before. They were grown now and living their own lives. He thought he and his wife had brought them up well. It had been some months since his wife had passed away. He hadn’t noticed that his kids didn’t call to speak to him much when she’d been alive. They were constantly in touch with their mother. Or was it she who was constantly calling them? He wondered about it now. It was hard to understand why they didn’t call to ask about him. 

He sees a new message in the inbox of his phone. His daughter has sent him a long message. He gulps hard as he reads the accusations. There were things he hadn’t done right apparently. His joy on having received her message now turned sour. He closes his eyes in fatigue. The first person he thinks of and sees while he reels from the message is his mother. He can see her face as clearly now as he did when he’d walked out of their home.

#strainedrelations #toxicrelations #motherandson 

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The mystery of the pink curry - Chapter 13 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

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The pen is mightier than a sword -Chapter 14 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

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They say don't cry over spilled milk, yet I did - Chapter 15 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child