A fishing Day..

A fishing story..it was like hearing a bedtime story..narrated  while having spicy crispy fried mussels and king fish curry, the curry made him go back to his Mangalore  house, a sprawling haveli like mansion, teeming with cousins. Frank De Coelho,  a friend of ours had come home and while having lunch, the fish curry took him to his childhood home, and out came lovely memories.

He hailed from a Konkani Christian family , which was rooted in tradition. It was really surprising that Christians had such traditions. Frank’s parents were in Mumbai, and it was the done thing for families to arrive  at their large and spacious  ancestral homes in their hometowns  for the  holidays. In his booming voice in heavy Kannada accent, he gleefully narrated to me the family fishing day..his booming voice and his happiness of fond memories of togetherness cannot be put down in these lines,  but it captivated me so much that I had to share it and preserve it..the lucky ones get to read it, and can pass it on a as they are a slice of Konkani culture, and as all cultures, are fading away.. just doing my bit.

This was a time when rivers were full of six footer fishes, turtles and crabs. The kids have a splashy time, getting hold over the slippery silvery, slithery fishes, but when they get hold of them, the elders look at the fish and decides whether they could be eaten or not, if not they are let off..lucky them..The large turtles are cooked in their own shells..can you believe it?  the shell doubles as a cooking pot and a serving vessel too. I felt sad thinking of the poor turtles. Think on this…he was lucky to be a part of such a family which has gifted him the most precious of treasures…,good solid lovable memories of family togetherness..tales which he still narrates and make people like me listen to him spell bound. I thought nothing of writing about it then, but even hours after he left the story haunted me..I asked questions to myself.. and I realized I had to write it down. The colorful attire, the togetherness, the large ancestral house, and  the yummy curry revolved in my head..

Holidays in the past meant family houses brimming and teeming with family members all over the globe. ..no tutions come in the way..no piano lessons, no summer camps, but copy writing and and arithmetic problems were mandatory. When the last of the brood is home,  bag and baggage, excursions, and get togethers, family visits begin.  Fishing day is announced by his uncle…excitement in the air. They have special implements which are used to pierce the fish and then drop it into the net. The low tide help them catch hold of them easily, and as the river was full of shoals of every kind.

The men are all dressed in traditional clothes, all the little boys accompany the elders and the head of the family..his uncle, would have  kept ready little mundus (dhothis) for the little ones and they are all distributed and the ladies busily dress up their wards, and they themselves don their best  sarees.with jewellery and flowers. They assemble in the courtyard and the song starts..”a bard.. telling the ladies that they are going to catch fish, so that they can eat a good meal, and it is the duty of the men folk to provide food for the family, and so they are asked to pray for the safety of the men and also they be blessed with a good catch, the ladies sing back, seeing them off and assure them of their prayers for their wellbeing.

Singing all the way, the women folk see off the family men, all jovial and jubilant, the tides are low, the water is shallow and the menfolk  wade into the river and the women  return to their chores and laughter and chatter. The old ladies will be supervising and coconuts are split open, and chores are delegated..two to three ladies sit together to scrape the coconuts,  sitting on the slow stool like apparatus fitted with an iron rod  with a serpent like head with  sharp teeth at the end, where the coconut halves are turned with a swiftness that come with practice.  Spices are powdered and ground. Large vessels taken down from the attic as it is not always the whole family is here, the baskets to sieve the hot rice is washed and kept ready. The teenage girls are called in to pick the rice, and rid it of the tiny stones which, if bitten with the tasy rice dipped in the spicy fish curry,..all hell would break loose.. and anger the short tempered menfolk. The rice is then washed in the traditional kinnams(brass vessels used to strain rice) and up and down it goes with deft strokes, the stones make a sound and they are picked up and thrown away..the water would be boiling and in it goes to blossom like the thumba flower. It is then strained in large baskets, the water is stored and drunk with a liberal dose of salt..which gives them energy to last throughout the day, and the rest is used   to starch the dhothis  into crisp sheets, which lends an aristocratic touch to the attire. Tamarind pods are soaked, chillies are ground to a paste on the grinding stone plates, to and fro they go, to form a fiery red paste..then comes the grated coconut ..to and fro to and fro..until it becomes like sandal paste, then it is mixed with turmeric and salt and shaped into round balls and kept aside. Then comes the jeera and the onions and garlic..huge cauldrons of water would be boiling ..for a hot bath,( shikhakai and coconut husks kept ready to scrub away the dirt.

They hear the song announcing the arrival of the group, a bard announcing to the ladies that their husbands are here with the catch.. ..the ladies get ready and sing another song in return to receive them. The catch is ceremoniously handed over to the lady of the house and then there is arush for the bath..some draw water from the well and splash it on themselves, others with the hot water in the cauldrons.

By the time, the fish is cleaned and washed and dropped in the simmering gravy. All  are bathed and in fresh clothes, out comes the home made toddy… the fishes are boiling in the fiery gravy boiling in earthenware pots on stoves on stones, the firewood plays a part in enhancing the flavor, medley of fishes get tossed and turned in the creamy gravy, and they absorb the spices and the aroma floats in.. the straw mats would be laid in a rectangle on the cool red oxide floor..rice is served and small depressions  are made in the heaped rice, so that the gravy does not flow away..rice mashed in the gravy and made perfect round balls by tossing between the fingers and their palms..all smeared in the curry.. and in they go.. creamy balls of yumminess..

The toddy, the scrumptuous meal and the sun and the walk, the excitement,…all have taken their toll  and amidst a lot of love and camaraderie, they doze off on the straw mats. the women folk..no..surely they would not have time to rest their tired arms and feet..I asked him about it..he had never thought about it..ha ha. They would be clearing up, sweeping, swabbing, washing the heaped muddy clothes and then get ready to cook the next meal.