Disclaimer for all those reading this on mobile: forgive me for this website is still a work in process, and I have yet to have the time to fix any odd occurances, especially with the mobile site menu and header.
The day earlier, I had attempted to remove a clump of nungu fruit from the palmyra tree right next to the building where I work. Vanita, our akka (Tamil word for sister, also used to refer to a maid) had urged me to help her with retrieving the tender fruit. Equipped with a long stick fixed with a sickle-like blade to its end, we went to the rooftop and hacked away at the treetop. Or at least we tried to. Initially, Vanita alone attempted to cut the fruit off from its stem, yet the blade was so miserably dull that it may as well been a chappal (‘chappal’ being the Indian colloquial name for sandals). She soon nudged me to contribute to the effort, and then together we wrestled with the tree. All we did, however, was just making the tree dance a little, and all that time, I was thinking that my colleague Madhi would be the appropriate one for the task, him being as strong as ox. Madhi could slap the tree and all the nungu would fly off and land before his feet. And yet here I was, being overly cautious to not fall off the roof, as nungu is not particularly worth risking my life for.
Rather than cutting, we did manage to bash a few of the nungus off through our sheer persistence. In this process I realised our tool was more effective as a cricket bat. With a few more futile attempts, the blade got caught in the branch. One too many awkward pulls flung the handle clean off its blade, leaving it wedged in amongst the nungu. We then spent the next minutes trying to dislodge it from its unwarranted resting place. In this we were more successful, and once it was removed – to clang against the pavers below – we accepted our failure and left the heat-soaked rooftop.
Nungu does not have a specific kind of taste that I can relate to other fruits. The outer layer, that is more shell than skin, is black, hard, and leathery. Often, it is hacked open with a bill-hooked blade, a favoured tool among local farmers (and a favoured weapon within Tamil cinema). Its flesh is white and transparent, with a light melon’y flavour. Its extreme juiciness and delightful texture are what makes it truly desirable, especially on a hot Indian summer day.
A week back while on a late afternoon walk in the forest, I took a moment to pause in a clearing scattered full of granite boulders and rocks. Besides the footpath lay hundreds of empty black shells of nungu fruit, having been cut from the treetops a month or so before. Pondering, I kept my focus towards the sky and traced my eyes over the surrounding canopies of palms and neems. Upon looking down, I was met with two familiar faces, Henrik and Ritu. Henrik I first met in late 2019, where he left India shortly afterwards. I wrote about some of his work in my blog post titled ‘A Steel Impression‘. He had returned from Germany a month back, just weeks before Tamil Nadu entered a new lockdown. Ritu I must have seen last about half-a-year ago, during a lunch break on my way to get a coffee. During this recent short meeting of ours, I was again reminded of my inactivity regarding this blog.
Contrary to my online activity, I have been writing plenty, but not so much concentrating on this blog, though it is often on the back of my mind. I have several personal projects in the works, on top of my regular job. Construction of the project I am involved in has slowed down considerably; a consequence of the strict lockdown limiting almost all activities. I have not been to the site for some weeks. Work is still going on, with a dozen workers (carpenters, masons, labourers etc.) finishing off the first nearly completed cottage. The last I saw of the building, its roof was in the process of being tiled. It must have been fully roofed in time for it to be inaugurated by the offshoot rainstorms we received from cyclone Tauktae, coming west from the Arabian Sea, and cyclone Yaas, coming east from the Bay of Bengal. Speaking of rains, I am keeping an eye and ear out for the monsoon that soon approaches.
Two months ago, I moved accommodation to a local school campus. I have not seen a single student because of the lockdown. My neighbours are mostly teachers, architects, and interns (one can never get away from architects in Auroville, there are as many of us as there are trees). I have been here long enough now that the local dogs stopped barking at me, every time I go out to fetch filtered water. Like everywhere in Auroville, the surroundings are lush and green. Nearby are two great Banyan trees, their presence being larger than most of the buildings. And a little further away is the main school building, designed by Poppo Pingel, some two decades ago.
My room is the best naturally ventilated room I have ever occupied, as for most of the day I do not require the use of the ceiling fan, and at night I receive the cool inland breeze. A big deal in this tropical climate. I get irritated sometimes when staying at a friend’s place and the multiple fans are on turbo mode. The numerous spinning blades make it sound as if I was on the top deck of an aircraft carrier, constantly surrounded by a fleet of helicopters. Much worse though is a television playing KTV, which is bound to happen if you have an uncle or auntie visit.
The only negative aspect of my new place is perhaps the washing machine, which at the beginning and end of each cycle, likes to shuffle violently around the room unless restrained in a bear hug. This little conflict is a small price to pay for the peace and quiet that belongs to this abode.
There are several topics I wish to write about for this blog in future, namely all related to architecture, which I have not delved into much of late. Since I first started this blog, just over a year ago, I now have a few more layers of practical experience, especially when it comes to designing with wood and metal. The thought about how much I have learnt in the past two years, makes me appreciate how far I have come.