Remember, Remember, the month of December

Of all the months in a year, it is the month of December that I always long for in Madras (India). The month of Marghazi as known in Tamil fills my mind with nostalgic memories of the days that I spent. Snuggled up comfortably to the warmth of a comforter in the cold days of the month, the aroma of the hot coffee that my mother brews, tantalizes and stirs me to my feet. Since bed coffee is an anathema in our home, I rush to the decontamination chamber, pep my teeth with Pepsodent, purge my body with saturated fatty acids and come out drying my hair.

Starting with the first sneeze of the day, I follow the trail of my mother to the street, where the artistic display of her Kolam (Rangoli) becomes the envy of our neighbors. Sipping my coffee and teasing my mother of her art portrayal, I stand in the street –allowing myself to be drawn into the essence of the holy morning. The cold fangs of morning breeze while sketching goose pimples on my body, brings along with it a waft of the cow dung that no axe can compete.
While the morning suprabatham from the nearby temple lulls me into a sublime state of mind, the rhythmic clinging anklets of my neighbor girl, who passes by carrying a pot of water, puts me under a trance. As my head involuntarily follows her trail, my eye catches a glimpse of my father at a distance carrying the morning milk and I turn the other way sulking.

Filled with images of the morning procession of Marghazi troupe singing Thirupavai, the small kid rolling the bicycle tire with a bamboo stick while competing with the guy launching the morning newspaper like missiles, the next door lad falling helplessly after losing his balance in his bicycle and engineering grad students carrying their drafter and hurrying towards their college bus, I walk into the kitchen to find a platter of steaming idli drenched in Kothambali speckled sambar, seasoned with few drops of Ghee. With coconut chutney to add to the proceedings, my mom transposes me to an island of heaven.

Rejected many a times by the towering Indian Institute(s) of Technology, here I am 15,000 km away from the paradise munching granula bars and cornflakes for breakfast, competing against myself to get better everyday. But till my next vacation to my country, the memories of small yet special moments in my life will still linger.