Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running stream.
In big black letters I write my name on them and the name of
the village where I live.
I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and
know who I am.
I load my little boats with shiuli flowers from our garden, and hope that these blooms of the dawn will be carried safely to land in the night.
I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky and see the little clouds setting their white bulging sails.
I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down the air to race with my boats!
When night comes I bury my face in my arms and dream that my paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars.
The fairies of sleep are sailing in them, and the lading is their baskets full of dreams.
Though I don't remember many details from my early childhood, I have vivid memories of several unforgettable incidents. They feel like dreams I once had, as every person in their life will have beautiful stories from their childhood to narrate – unforgettable memories.
I spent my childhood days in Eliat House, our family's little home where my roots emerged. ELIAT is the name of my ancestral house. It stands facing fields and large paddy fields, covered with coconut and mango groves and other trees. The house has a beautiful old and rustic charm. From the veranda, one can see the faraway mountains and valleys, and when looking upwards, the blue bright sky adorned with clear white clouds. The voices of my grandma and the children always echo along with the chirping of little birds and the chit-chats of squirrels. There's always a sense of calmness in the village atmosphere. All these features make Eliat look esteemed in its pride and beauty, as if it exists somewhere in the always-silent valleys, far away from earthly clamors and city noises. Eliat remains calm, quiet, and tranquil. This tiny little home has witnessed generations, from my father to grandfathers who grew up there, and elders who breathed their last in the same little home. Its history travels back to the most ancient times, with tales and stories that are untold and unheard of by those outside. Behind the house is a large canal, with the stream always flowing...
Eliat was my heart's desired place. Sometimes my mother's family would come and pick me up to go to my mom's house. But I wouldn't stay there long; I would cry and fight to go back to Eliat. There, I had my rollers and tires, my kotties (marbles) and Pala (adakka tree leaf where a kid sits and another one pulls to ride on), friends and playmates. The days went by playing 'Kotti' and 'thalama,' those village games. As it got dark, Ummama (Grandma) was seen in the Veranda reciting her prayer and recitations. I would sleep with grandma beside her bed. She mostly told us stories while sitting on the padappuram (large raised sitting area front side of house) with her legs stretched out. There in was a joint family with all the children of my uncle.
There was a wooden bridge across a small stream in front of Eliat house and a small lake beside it. We would sit for hours fishing with sticks and hooks. The most adventurous incident was when, once while crossing the wooden bridge, a dog came from the opposite side. I too was crossing from the other side. I kicked the dog off the bridge, and I accomplished my task. Of course, it was a daring thing to do.
At night, we slept on the floors over mats made out of coconut leaves with no pillows. The first thing kids would do in the morning was rush to the mango trees to check if anything had fallen overnight."
