The Backdoor VIPs

Rural Kerala is discretely chauvinistic. Even the houses. Even modern, upper middle class houses. But these houses only gave the woman of the house much more personal space than other normal houses. Let me explain.

Every home (unless they are the unimaginative new apartments that are mushrooming everywhere!) has a boundary wall (varying from mud mounds lined with the thorny pineapple plants, to imposing structures with spikes and electric lamps) with a gate (again varying from little bamboo strips to iron), which then leads through a pathway into a front door.

The front was a signature for most homes - this was where the man of the house would spend most of his 'thinking' time. Morning teas to after dinner debates were all held at the veranda of the front door. One could often see a worn out easy-chair that usually belonged to the patriarch of the house.

Looking closely at the pathway, one could see another smaller path winding itself towards the back yard of the home. Usually in close proximity with the kitchen or the wash-up area, the back door was a little less glamorous than its pompous brother. If one overlooks this minor superficial point, the back door had much more character - maybe because of the colorful variety of  visitors that door saw through.

In my home, the back door was always open, unlike the front door, which was more anglicised. The front door was of carved wood, with a fancy door knob and an even fancier door bell. Traditionally, all houses in Kerala had open doors. But then, what was the point of keeping a fancy door bell if one did not have to summon someone to open the door? So, the front door evolved into being the 'closed' door, while the back door had sunlight, random noises, and happiness streaming in throughout the day.

After much prodding, my mother relented and allowed a net door to be placed, which could be closed without interrupting the senses. This also meant a stop to the stray visitors who flew in along with the sun - little sparrows looking for the rice that managed to sneak out along with the husk while Mom had sifted the two; or little lost squirrels who suddenly discovered that the floor was a lot cooler than the one outside.

But other visitors were not dissuaded by the net door - my Mother's "VIP"s (as we all liked to call them). The old lady servant who had, in her better years, bathed, powdered, kohl-ed and trudged the little kids of the household to a school many kilometers away; the neighbour's mother who did not hear too well anymore; the slightly deranged schoolteacher who was once a freedom fighter, but was hazy on the difference between fantasy and reality; and many more such interesting old folks - the ones who have the time to pause and admire the drawing of a child; or the ones who have the time to sit and tell you fascinating stories of kings and queens.

Every day, there would be one or more of these visitors. They came just to chat sometimes; or just to have a cup of tea served to them with a smile. They came because they saw in Mom, a connection to the good days they had witnessed; or maybe because they were hungry and wanted a few bites without seeing a frown. As young children, we were fascinated, sometimes scared, and yet sometimes, entertained, by Mom's VIPs. This then changed to irritation at the perceived loss of privacy, and then to just plain indifference.

As we moved on in life, we saw them only once in a few months, and then heard news of them moving on to a different world, one which, in all probability, would treat them much better than this one did.

Why do I write about them today? I don't know. Maybe I seek pardon for having been irritable and indifferent to people who really did care without a reason. Maybe I realize that life does mean all about little pleasures - like the sparrows and the squirrels who mistook the back door balcony for their homes....