A House with a Courtyard

Also published on Women's Web at: A House with a Courtyard

© myoki.in

When home is not a place but a family, house is also not just brick-and-mortar but another member of it. Where the drawing and the dining rooms were the elderlies, who took care of all the guests and comforted them with love and warmth, the bedroom was the love which locked plenty of secrets inside. It was like a safe in an already secured house, keeping sound a lot of things unsaid. The bedroom was the epitome of ‘haya,’ reflecting modesty and decency, while keeping the needs satiated. The kitchen was the mother who was akin to ‘Annapurna,’ fulfilling the most basic need of each member of the house – hunger. The mother knew what would suit everybody the best and, thus, served accordingly.

The kitchen was surely the most favorite of elders and younger ones alike, for it combined nutrition and flavors to serve them with sumptuous meals and healthful snacks. This was the fuel, which kept the clan running with a purpose through the day until the night when the doors would open their arms to receive each and all back. Each room fit like a glove, as did each member of the family, and life seemed to be fine when the question arose where the grandma was.

There she is, in the courtyard! Yes, she is the courtyard. She has gone astray finding a meaning to her existence; the beloved granny has gone missing from the house. The granny symbolized the place meant for soaking up the sun, playing in the wee hours, sitting together by the clan to cherish sunrises and sunsets, feeding the sparrows and talking to them for hours, taking in the freshness the plants gifted every morning, reading the newspaper and letting the spices out to dry. Sadly, the granny has been replaced by a part-time nanny, the balcony. The nanny tries so hard to cover up for our beloved grandma, but no matter how much efforts she puts in, she still ends up being a mere cheap copy. The nanny doesn’t greet the guests the way grandma did, leading them to the entrance while giving a glimpse of the ‘muggu’ decorated at the main gate. She doesn’t even let the ladies from the neighborhood flock together while bidding adieu to their family members and, then, feeling relaxed for the rest of the day. The grandma breathed in the traditions and talked about the customs; the nanny will take a long time to learn.

While all other family members continue to run in the mad race of life, there is no courtyard now, standing still, waiting for them to stop and enjoy the sweet nothings of life. The shady, airy and the most natural, the nucleus of the house, which lovingly gave the peace of sleeping under a tree during the summers  or taking in the sunlight during the winters and let the fresh air inside the house, has just been forgotten in the mundane, urban life. Sadly, the grandma is not even missed. 

Where are All the Good Women at?

They say everything goes redundant with time, but the flavor of the past remains as classic as that of a vintage wine. The generation which usually bears the brunt of the passing time is most often the one which has seen the old and the new enough to be able to compare.

Back in time, unlike the twenty first century, a woman would grow manifolds having passed any age milestone. The wisdom in a young, a teenage, a married, a mother or the eldest woman in the family would eventually ripen with time. You could always bank on any advice you would receive from a woman who read good books, including mythology. They commanded respect, never having to demand it. Seldom they would have been fit for the corporate world, but running a house was no less an art that they excelled in.

In my late twenties now, I miss meeting that breed of women. The gravity they acquired in their persona with time, the influence they had on anybody they met and the unique life manuals they designed around their existence was akin to bible for anybody looking for an inspiration. Having learnt from life first-hand and developed a judgment powerful enough to be challenged, these ‘ammas’ or ‘akkas’ belong to a genus close to extinction.

There was a lesson with every experience, a reason behind every custom, a practice for every ritual and a discipline set by that woman in the house – this discipline was what kept the family running like an institution, a clear role for each member.

Two viruses, in my opinion, contaminated the DNA of the new generation, low thinking and shallow living. This is where we lost the battle – blame it on the reasons like social media, a mockery called equality or a habit of changing skin with the modern time – the character is now open for sale. Modern women need to catch up with what the benchmark foremothers have set, for the damage has already been done by the estrogen-fueled, post-feminist mess and the result is out for everyone to witness – frigging women are laughing over serious issues and crying over petty matters. Where have all the good women gone? 

Read more here: That One Lady in the House

That One Lady in the House

The pains, the cures, the worthies, the vains,

The master effects of acceptances and blames,

The stories, the truth, the untold lies,  

The excitements, the fears, the stomach full of butterflies,

The lasts, the firsts, the middles that come and leave,

The successes, the failures, the laughter and the grief,

The secrets buried, the facts never unveiled,

How does she know, my every emotion being trailed,

No less than a word, never more than an emotion,

She silently watches as if perceiving every commotion

This lady in my house, that one lady in everyone’s house,

Taps the pulse of the walls and the people living within,

The no-nonsense life, the let-me-know-when-you-need-me vibe,

The love which never falls less, the love to jibe,

She must be supernatural, for no one, I believe, could look through soul,

She is the head, she’s the mother, she’s one enough for the family, the whole.