7 Mar 08: Naani's mansion

Ahh, yes, my Naani's “mansion”. It is a big compound, a main house for herself and my oldest uncle and then various satellite houses for various generations of second sons. There is a half finished, half fallen-apart wall that starts off from the main wall, runs towards the center of the grounds and then peters out halfway, steadily losing height brick by brick until the last one is buried in the packed earth somewhere near the geometric center of the compound - the whole thing like some “concept architecture” my design friends would be proud of. The wall is a result of some fraternal feud over inheritance that ended only with the death of my younger grand uncle due to “natural causes”. I suppose lifelong rancour over birth-order is a natural cause of death. The main house is large, with many rooms, but as I remember it, all stuffed with musty furniture and once expensive things in various stages of decay and protection. My dream is to find an emerald wrapped in newspaper rolling around in the bottom drawer of one of those roll-top desks. My eldest uncle lives there, living off his volunteer work on various committees, I mean other than his inheritance I don't see what else is bringing in cash.

I used to hate going there as a kid, we young kids had to shit out in dirt at the end of the garden. Someone had once stolen bricks from Chhote Mama's wall and placed them in parallel pairs, providing us at least with an elevated place for our feet as we squatted. Winters were horrible, the skin on your hands cracked and bleeding from the aridity and cold, having to drop your woolen pants and long woolen underwear bundled under your knees as you squatted, trying not to pee on your pants or shoes, puzzled by the rising steam. But at least the cold served a purpose; summers, the moment the sun hit that part of the compound the stench would be unbearable until Bhighu came around in the afternoon with his goatskin waterbag. The rest of the day I would really enjoy, but that morning part I detested winter or summer. For a few years we didn't go to Jaipur for the holidays, then when we did go back, I was old enough to be “promoted” and allowed to use the bathroom in the main house. Soon after that they finally built more toilets in the main house as well as in the surrounding houses. Except for the magnificence of the fruit trees and flower plants that grow in that area now, you would never suspect what it used to be.

So yeah, my Naani's mansion.

At least the crazy grand-aunt -- the one who would force me to pray thrice daily and who would extol the virtues of “simple food” (and very little of it) – is dead! Whenever I visited as a child I would be fed by Ranjan's mother next door, but can you imagine forever being hungry in your own house?