Calliographic Ode to a Kanakambaram Flower
“Vatsa stop watering rose pot. Too much water would drain the nutrients, water these tomatoes instead” shouted Sarala Paati (my grandma). I was playing with garden hose, experimenting different water fountain patterns with thumb. I must be 7 or 8 years old then. “Bring me that chisel and dig right here” she ordered. I was always the chosen minion amongst the bunch of cousins spending summer at Sarala Paati’s home. I would dig until my hands pained and dirt crept up under my finger nails. I longed to go back to playing and asked “Is this ok? “, every few seconds. Invariably, without lifting her eye from pruning the plants, she would reply “dig a little deeper”. She must be awfully bored to do this, I thought. By afternoon most of the adult napped providing us enough time to do unsupervised activities. We did everything from shooting vegetables to setting fire to the trash pit with powder from old fireworks. I made a bow and arrow for shooting vegetables. The stri...