My 70-year-old guide saw none of the squalour that hit me as I walked beside her. She is sharp - like the early morning sparrow that is busy chirping as it hunts for worms. She is sprightly and quick, her
eyes miss nothing. As I made the comparison I remained preoccupied, soaking in the bustle of Triplicane and the dated atmosphere
around me.
She was born and raised in an agraharam and only in the last 20 years has moved out of it. Her mother, who she told me was 85, is not as shrewd as my guide. She has definite ideas about the world around her. She is well-read, up to date with information and can speak fluently in English, with surprisingly no Tamil inflection. She amazes me.
As she fills me in with the way life revolves in an agraharam, we encounter three men, one in the middle must be really old and is literally being helped to remain on his feet by the two younger men. She approaches the younger of the three men and says, "Oru auto pidichu kuttindupongo".
"He lives in the agraharam. He must be older than my mother," she explains. Her mother butts in: "He is four years older than me. He has been ill for sometime. His son is taking him to the hospital." The younger one, who looks like a typical office-goer, is his son, I learn.
As we walk into the agraharam my guide opens up. She is excited as she recounts her youth. All the work that she did as a younger person helped her to remain robustly healthy. Her daughter-in-law, half her age, is constantly complaining of pains and aches, she tells me.
She hurries to add, "She is a modern girl. I scold her all the time but such a sweet-natured person she is that she never talks back." A trait every mother-in-law looks for in her daughter-in-law.
She doesn't have time for my comment as she moves on to explain to me the charms of the agraharam. She knows everyone in every house in the agraharam that has 50 families. Her mother lives in one of the houses. The women greet her with a smile, want to know what brings her so early in the morning and then go about their business. In one house, the woman asked her to feel free and look around while she went to bathe.
"Aei, inga va," she calls out to the little girl who was swinging her legs on the thinnai and watched us lazily. She had already assessed both of us, by the way she watched us walk past her.
I am amused for I hadn't realised that my guide could have missed the girl on our way into the agraharam. The girl turned around and glanced at one of the two portions facing us and pointed to the one diagonal to where she was standing.
My guide was satisfied. "Enakku maranthu pochu. Athaney parthaen."
The little girl was forgotten as another old friend called out to my guide. i tagged along as she went to her friend's house. This portion is occupied by an elderly couple with four children, all employed. They have bought apartments of their own. One of the sons lives in the U.S., the woman of the house tells me.
Another woman has renovated her portion to resemble a modern apartment minus the piped water supply. But since it is just she and her husband, the couple tell me that it is not a huge problem. I disagree silently but then it is their life.
By the time I take leave of my guide, I feel I know at least a dozen new people whose faces I may not recollect but whose lifestyle I am familiar with.
My guide reveals to me that one of her sons is unmarried, lives in West Asia and is the reason she has not let go of her portion in the agraharam. "He might need it when he returns home," she tells me.
It has never occurred to her that he would prefer to buy a modern apartment with better facilities.
For further explanation on agraharam visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agraharam
She was born and raised in an agraharam and only in the last 20 years has moved out of it. Her mother, who she told me was 85, is not as shrewd as my guide. She has definite ideas about the world around her. She is well-read, up to date with information and can speak fluently in English, with surprisingly no Tamil inflection. She amazes me.
As she fills me in with the way life revolves in an agraharam, we encounter three men, one in the middle must be really old and is literally being helped to remain on his feet by the two younger men. She approaches the younger of the three men and says, "Oru auto pidichu kuttindupongo".
"He lives in the agraharam. He must be older than my mother," she explains. Her mother butts in: "He is four years older than me. He has been ill for sometime. His son is taking him to the hospital." The younger one, who looks like a typical office-goer, is his son, I learn.
As we walk into the agraharam my guide opens up. She is excited as she recounts her youth. All the work that she did as a younger person helped her to remain robustly healthy. Her daughter-in-law, half her age, is constantly complaining of pains and aches, she tells me.
She hurries to add, "She is a modern girl. I scold her all the time but such a sweet-natured person she is that she never talks back." A trait every mother-in-law looks for in her daughter-in-law.
She doesn't have time for my comment as she moves on to explain to me the charms of the agraharam. She knows everyone in every house in the agraharam that has 50 families. Her mother lives in one of the houses. The women greet her with a smile, want to know what brings her so early in the morning and then go about their business. In one house, the woman asked her to feel free and look around while she went to bathe.
"Aei, inga va," she calls out to the little girl who was swinging her legs on the thinnai and watched us lazily. She had already assessed both of us, by the way she watched us walk past her.
"Entha athu penn nee?" my guide asks.
I am amused for I hadn't realised that my guide could have missed the girl on our way into the agraharam. The girl turned around and glanced at one of the two portions facing us and pointed to the one diagonal to where she was standing.
My guide was satisfied. "Enakku maranthu pochu. Athaney parthaen."
The little girl was forgotten as another old friend called out to my guide. i tagged along as she went to her friend's house. This portion is occupied by an elderly couple with four children, all employed. They have bought apartments of their own. One of the sons lives in the U.S., the woman of the house tells me.
Another woman has renovated her portion to resemble a modern apartment minus the piped water supply. But since it is just she and her husband, the couple tell me that it is not a huge problem. I disagree silently but then it is their life.
By the time I take leave of my guide, I feel I know at least a dozen new people whose faces I may not recollect but whose lifestyle I am familiar with.
My guide reveals to me that one of her sons is unmarried, lives in West Asia and is the reason she has not let go of her portion in the agraharam. "He might need it when he returns home," she tells me.
It has never occurred to her that he would prefer to buy a modern apartment with better facilities.
For further explanation on agraharam visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agraharam
