MAY, GRANDMA & ME

Tony Fernandes

MAY, GRANDMA & ME (IN THE GOOD OLD SIXTIES)

Synopsis

Thoughts of an impending long monsoon hung in the air. There was this certain last minute urgency everywhere. In her schedule of things to be done before the onset of the rainy season, Grandma had to somehow fit the trip for her annual dip in the Arabian Sea.

Folks in Goa are busy around this time with a variety of chores on their hands. The monsoon season sometimes lasts three or four months of pouring rain beginning in June. Hence any repairs to houses have to be carried out before the end of May. Also grain, cereal, pickles, salted and dried fish had to be stored. Firewood and dried leaves of the mango tree are compacted into a rope-net and sparingly used mainly to heat water for bathing. In short, as the saying goes, literally everything was saved for a rainy day!

May, Grandma and Me

Month of May was round the corner,
Soon the holidays would be over,
The sunlit days would shortly disappear,
As a giant blanket of cloudy skies,
Would have the parched earth in full cover.

The impending sound of thunder,
Would frighten me with awe and wonder,
As I thought perhaps the gods above
Fought a battle for want of more power.

Month of May was fun,
Many in our little village
For a brief holiday
To their home they did return
After a tiring sojourn.

Rising as the cock crew,
Starting a brand new day anew,
Saw grandma in the kitchen
By the fireside
As under her breath
Heard her hum a holy tune;
Happy she seemed with things
Stocked in the storeroom
For a long monsoon.
Swooping down on the fencepost
The crow perches and caws while being told
“I hope the postman
Comes today with a letter from my son”;

The bristles of the besom,
In the sand formed a neat pattern,
As Grandma kept rhythm,
Her one hand on waist perched,
The other swung in a perfect arch;
The sun rose as it cast,
A long shadow crouched,
On the land so vast.

With defined neatness and everything in place,
Bent with her downcast gaze,
Deep into the earth she seemed to peer,
Seemed as though she saw through the dusty haze,
For a distant past or future
Of which I had no idea.

Grandma's annual dip in the Arabian Seas
For a her aging knees
She thought was good indeed,
So she took me along on a trip
To an idyllic place called Baga,
On the eight o'clock "Carreira"

Sultry were many a night,
Starlit skies a great delight,
As out in the courtyard on my back I lay:
After futile attempts to count the myriad stars above,
Lost my count and made a wish when a shooting star
That distracted me as it made a brief display.

"Grandma, tell me a very long story" I would banter
She told me the morning after
That she had soon found me in deep slumber.
Long before the tale was over.



Tony Fernandes
Author of  “Goa – Memories of My Homeland”
MISSISSAUGA. Ontario L5V2C2
Canada
May 13, 2005

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