A Wedding in India
By the time I had to wake up early in the morning and start our day-long jaunt over to Mangalore, I was already feeling a longing for our days in Bangalore as a family, as a counsinhood. I was already nostalgic, feeling regret in my stomach. Or of course, all of those feelings could just be due to the lingering effects of seven straight days of partying, of imbibing, of just living life. That said, by the time we reached Mangalore, we were ready to go through the emotional part of the holiday. It didn't matter that the two days in Mangalore were "dry days" as declared by the government because of impending elections. My sister and I were in no state to complain, as our bodily governments had basically declared "dry days" as well. Mangalore was dry, but by the end, our faces were wet with tears, both sad and happy.
Mangalore was the city that really started everything. It was where both of my parents were born, and all four grandparents. It was where my mother lived for the first 20 years of her life. It was where I spent the Summers or Springs of my 2nd, 3rd, 6th, 11th and 13th years. Outside of my house in Plainsboro, I've probably spent more time in my grandmothers house atop Lighthouse Hill in Mangalore than any other. As someone who's permanent residence has been one home for all but 1.25 years of my life, Mangalore has really been by second hometown, the place where I first walked, and the place where I first ate a mango; both equally important. Mangalore is the Pinto family, it is our home, our origins. And it was a place I hadn't been to in nearly ten years.
Mangalore was a small port-town, home to many things, including the Pinto family tile factories, which my Grandfather, his brothers and parents, owned tile factories and set up camp. When last I visited Mangalore, it was still that, a small port town. I never understood how small it was (as until 2001, the last time I visited I was five and had little recollection of actually going there other than sleeping under mosquito nets) until my Mom told me, my sister and Andy that we had to be on good behavior because the local townies knew we were Harry Pinto's grandchildren. I scoffed at this idea, that us three kids who didn't know a word of Konkani (the local language) nor Kannada (the language of the state of Karnataka) would actually be recognized. However, little did we know that people actually knew that Harry Pinto's grandchildren were in town, and that we were those same people, and that my mother was Harry Pinto's daughter, and a person that every shop owner in the city seemed to know personally. Mangalore was a small town, and it was perfect.
Of course, those warnings from my Mom did little use, as we were joined by three of my cousins from my dad's side of the Family, and with them we basically had a spectacular summer together. The best prank was teh "Dick from Boston" where my two cousins Andy and Robin (my dad's brothers son) went over to a stranger in Mangalore's main Cafe Coffee Day (the Indian Starbucks, until there are actually Indian Starbucks). They pretended to know him as being "Dick from Boston" (where Robin used to live), and basically pretended to be long lost friends, meeting for the first time. The man was stunned, and repeatedly pleaded that he had no idea of Robin, of anyone, of Boston. It was great comedy. Later on in the trip, Robin went up to a metal-head on a date at the bowling alley (back in 2001-2003, Bowling Alleys were all the rage in India), and challenged him to a fight and got himself thrown out of the alley. Needless to say, the Pinto grandchildren were known. That summer was the perfect way for my Mangalore memories to end, and I thought it would, as my Grandmother moved the following year to live with my Uncle in Bangalore up until her death in 2007. Her house in Mangalore laid empty, standing tall on top of Lighthouse Hill. That is, until we all took a trip back, a trip that ended up ruining the memories that "Dick from Boston" was so instrumental in creating.
That house was so amazing. It was the home that my mom and her brothers and sisters grew up in, sure, but it was also the greatest gift to a curious child. There were tunnels and balconies, and spiral staircases, and bath houses, and coops. It was more like a castle to me when I was a child, a never ending series of rooms and alleys. There was everything except for the moat and the dragon. In 2001, I finally was consciously able to use all the house had to offer, with the upstairs reading room and the bath house. God, that bath house, where water was fire-heated in two giant couldrons used to hold bucket-fulls of water. Thankfully the room was really dark, as who knows what horrible creatures crawled the walls of that place (a dark, wet room? That is a recipe for a bug breeding ground), but even if there were cockroaches lining the walls, I would still probably use it. That said, I really had come along way too late, as I missed out on the balconies, the stables, the farms, the cots. I missed out on what that house used to be - a miniature world with chickens and cows and of course, people. In 2001 it was just a house, but an amazing house at that. A place where I played cricket with Andy in the verandah, and played cards in the study, and listened to Mummy (what we called our grandmother) tell stories on her bed. By 2011, I wish the house was just that.
I finally realized why my mom and her siblings were all so hesitant to go to the house (although other than my mom, they had all been there since my grandmother moved out). Having heard stories from Vikram that part of the wall dividing two bedrooms that at one point in time housed all of the sibling had fallen, and the roof in the room that was first occupied by their eldest brother Al had a whole it, none of them were waiting to see it. On the other hand, from the moment that Vinitha gave her wedding dates, I had decided I was making a trip to the house. Seeing what it had become, I might have stayed back. It was not as bad the picture Vik painted (although the walls between the two rooms had crumbled), but seeing that house in its dark state was as bad. The house that was once as lively as bright as any, the one that stood firm under the never-ending Summer monsoons was now broken and beaten.
Broken and beaten could have just as easily been used to describe my mom and her siblings at seeing their home in that state. They remembered the home as a miniature world, their world. I just remembered it as a house. However, just like it was when it was occupied, the house still held treasures behind, as it was mostly still full of furniture and curios. Mummies cabinet was still in her room, and after we unlocked it, what we saw left tears in my eye. Left where different things that mummy felt compelled to keep, all gifts from her grandchildren, my cousins. There was a picture of my sister as a kid. There was a stuffed Gund Bear from Marie. I finally got to my one, which was a leaflet about Leopards that I gave to her after Leopard's were spotted in the compound. In all, it was basically a whole time capsule of our family, of the very same people who I recently drank and partied with the week before. But it was a snapshot of a very different time, back when our grandmother was alive, back when Mangalore was a second home, and when this house was our house and not an abandoned museum of the Pinto family.
My sister and I were the only cousins who made the trip to Mangalore, as we were the only two in college, without the draw of an actual life and job to return to after the wedding in Bangalore, but with all these mementos from the lives of our cousins left in that house, we felt that we were all there together. All the living siblings were there, and that was truly amazing. They all came and went through Mangalore and the house through the years, but this was the first time that they all were in the house together since the 1980's. For the first time since then, the house in some ways was complete, even with the circle of life extending fully as Anthony's kids saw the house in some ways for the first time, as they were either 1 or not born when Mummy left the house behind for Bangalore. It was a moment to cherish, despite the fact that the walls were crumbling and the place was strewn with dust bunnies. Through it all, it was still are house. We all had different memories of the house, different reasons why it was so special, but in that moment, all those reasons came together to reveal the real one. It was a symbol of our family, of us being Pinto's. The only people who will carry on the Pinto name were the three young kids who had never the house as an occupied home. They finally saw the house, finally saw where it all began.
The rest of the trip to Mangalore was actually quite educational as well, in that it was a good look at the life cycle of a city. Mangalore now is where Bangalore was about 10 years ago. It is less crowded, less busy and more enjoyable from a purely aesthetic view. With the sea close by, it is more humid, but at that time of year, the weather was perfect. The infrastructure of the city itself has improved tremendously, and buildings taller than 100 feet are starting to pop up, which is something that would have been thought unimaginable ten years ago. Sadly, as my Mom often pointed out with depressed amazement, most of those tall buildings stand in the same ground that previously held homes of all the Manglorean families. Most of those homes were just like our family one on Lighthouse Hill, all beautiful, but all empty and finally sold to developers. That is the circle of life in Mangalore, and one day it will most likely happen to our house on Lighthouse Hill, the house my Mom grew up in, the house that in many ways all of us cousins grew up in. One day that house will be gone, but knowing that I was able to see it off, steal some momentos and say a family prayer to bless the house makes me at peace with the fact that that second home will one day be land or some tall building. But that is just the circle of life in Mangalore.
Next: Part 4, with the Wedding. (Yes, it will be more light and fun than this part).
