It stands on the road named after a family who did not live there anymore…. the sprawling grounds and house taken over by a school. A little further… the little shop grinding your rice and uzhunthu into idli maavu has shut shop. A little ahead is the typing cum sewing school run by an enterprising family… the clickety clicks of the Haldas and Remingtons ring happily in tune to Usha sewing machines. Speed tests that mingle with the sewing machines going chuk-chuk as the needle punches through the fabric. Right at the corner is the wholesale vegetable market. Where ripe tomatoes, vendakkai whose ends break with a snap, luscious cauliflowers, tall drumsticks, round brinjals, golden ripe nendrans and other vegetables and fruits are unloaded from trucks thrice a week…  After which they are retailed to a swarm of ladies haggling in Malayalam, Gujarati, Tamizh and Konkani – the vendors soothing them with a sprig of coriander or a few green chillies thrown in. The juice shop stands as if precariously on edge, partly careening onto the main road. Home-made ice creams for Rs.3 and ice-cream sodas for Rs. 2.

And as you saunter along, you soak in the familiarity of the place… its people… a hi here… a ‘enthondu vishesham’ (how are things?) at the other…

I want to be enveloped in the warmth of those memories… and be a child all over again!

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2 thoughts on “Street tales

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