Pazham, Vaazha
After more than two decades of marriage
You’ll say there’s no need-
To learn my husband’s language
Its not like I didn’t try in the beginning
when I felt the need to explain,
or wanted to please,
or do more than smile
with his side of the family
but I stopped and it no longer mattered
For I found a common tongue,
with eyes and hands and forehead.
But I’m no quitter
So, I gave it another try the other day
I pointed to a dish at lunch
and asked my husband’s mother
” What is this called in Malayalam?”
“Paḻaṁ” she said, and I repeated after her.
Making her sake her head vigorously
and say the word again, this time, slowly
Like there were marbles in her mouth.
I strained my ear to hear
the phonetics, I heard a ‘La’
and a ‘R’ and the sound like from a cave .
“Pazham is how its spelt,” she said
with patience, I had earned
And opened her mouth again
And folded her tongue
like a slice of bread or a handkerchief
in two. “Touch your tongue to roof of your mouth,” she said
“Like this,” she said and I tried
and spat the word out
Like a fishbone in my throat,
and looked at her for approval
Like I had done twenty-odd years ago
She turned to the children
Who thought it was a game-
One their mom was no good at.
They tried, stuttering at first
then trying again and again
until the word vaulted out
of the hollow of their mouth
and made a perfect landing
It pleased her greatly
and she said, “Very good!
“Now try saying, ‘Vazham’ and ‘Mazha'”
And they did, making her beam
and I think, ‘It’s in their genes!’ and clear the table.
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