Engal choice
For years, I’ve hated Bombay and the memories of its terrifying rains. On rare days though, I fondly remember Amma and our connection to Pepsi Uma’s Ungal Choice.
Everyday over the last three months, I’ve encountered at least one picture of a rainy Mumbai- either its heavy clouds, a dangerous looking sea or mere drizzles that tend to get annoying after two days.
These are pictures that I see and scroll past with ease now. However, up until a couple of years ago, I’d try to brush past it with active contempt, trying hard not to look and muting the words ‘Bombay Rains’ on Twitter.
I think it’s important to declare now in advance that I deeply dislike Bombay. I’ve lived there for eight years as a child and have visited it religiously every summer until 2018. Despite and maybe due to my active exposure to the city, I can count the reasons to like it on one hand. They are- my sister Manu, her dog Injee and maybe- just maybe- vada pav.
Bombay is where my father grew up. It’s the city he called his own. His entire life and family was rooted in the place.
Instead of sharing it with my mother, the beauty was shielded from her- allowing her only glimpses of the places she was permitted to go to. Relatives’ houses, rare Linking road shopping expeditions and dinners with my father’s friends. This is mostly what my mother has seen and barely any by herself. It was not all my father’s fault. I really do think he wanted Amma to be independent in the city. That way, I’m sure we would have had more fun there. But larger patriarchal elements in the family forbade her freedom and disallowed her from stepping out on her own.
This freedom was further oppressed during the monsoon season. In other months, Amma could attempt to take breathers and get out of her house by telling the family an excuse here and there. “Channa vanga marandutten. I have to go pick Sanju up from school. Anusha needs diapers”. These would be the times when my mother would buy us the occasional treat from the money she’d get from appa- a sev puri for me, a bhel for herself and two lassis for both of us. Anuchu was too young. She’d only eat the sev.
But the monsoon was tough.
Everyone could get into the house but it was hard to get out.
My clearest memory of my mother from that house in Airoli is of her standing in front of an oil-filled kadai, breading pakodas, coating bajjis or rolling puris on the side for the family to eat ‘hot-hot’ on such days.
She’d look so awfully defeated and sad. Her sarees would smell of nothing but food all day.
One rainy evening in 2006 though, the house barely had anyone. I don’t remember why. It was just Amma, Anuchu and me rushing to close all the sliding windows in the house as the rains poured. It was dark but we didn’t turn on the tubelight in the hall as usual. We instead depended on light from the kitchen and stared at the whiplash of rains, occasionally sticking our hands out in silence- another rarity. Amma then decided to change the mood.
That evening, we got access to the TV in the hall. Usually, it would be occupied by the family watching serials or sports on it all day. Amma, who loved music and dance, put on Sun TV as it was time for Pepsi Uma’s Ungal Choice.
We were 10 minutes into the show. Amma was in a good mood. She was tapping her feet, singing with a full throat and occasionally dancing along. Uma told several viewers to reduce the tv volume as usual, asked several kids what they were doing, mothers their favourite songs and lovers, their stories. Amma thought it was time to share ours too. “Sanju, you go to the landline, I will try to get the cordless. Do you want to try talking to Uma?”.
We decided on 3 songs to provide as options — one of her favourites- Saraku Vechiriken from the recently released Shahjahan, my favourite — Maatu Maatu from Thamizhan and finally, a common song- Chinna Chinna Aasai because we both liked Madhubala. We tried through the whole show patiently.
After trying for a bit though, we also got to understand that the calls would be charged STD rates for just connecting. Amma got terrified. What would happen to the bill and what if the house found out? We decided to abandon the operation. The attempt was good enough right? This one opportunity to seize a rainy day without any cooking, cleaning or family in a dark, silent house was a good enough memory to take back.
I tried one last time though.
“Hello, Ungal Choice ah? Ammmmmmaaaaa connect aayachhhhh!”.
