I haven’t touched my short Underfell comic for a while, huh?
Welp... I’M TOUCHING IT!!! I’M TOUCHING IT!!!
Bara Edgy Teddy Bear Dad and his cubs Frisk and Flowey are still here. All I can tell you right now is that I’m proud of how the outline came out. I can’t wait to continue this story! Stay tuned! ;)
This is about a fragment of my mother’s memory I’m hoping to immortalize here. It takes place at her mother’s, at the time when she used to visit them during her school vacations. The words Muthassan (meaning ‘Grandfather’) and Muthassi (meaning 'Grandmother’) refers to my great grandparents here.
I’ve used some other words to sustain the eloquence of my first language and the rich play of dialects.
Every Sunday morning, the lanky paper boy would leave the weekly magazine along with the newspaper at the beginning of their driveway, way before the hamlet wakes up.
Muthassan would get up, walk the whole pathway, slowly, under the arching cashew trees, as they filter the morning sunshine into fine quanta of goodness, to see if the boy had left the paper for him. He’d get back way faster, as he could no longer wait to read the sequel of some classy Bengali novel on the magazine, which he said he adored.
After having breakfast, usually Idli with Muthassi’s Chutney, well seasoned with the red chilly, he’d read the paper and listen to the day’s briefing on the small transistor he owned, sitting candidly on his magnificent deck chair in the verandah.
The verandah was simply aesthetic.
It was built a bit high above the ground with two round poles on either side of the steps. Views from the deck of the verandah offered a picturesque sight of the garden and the backyard filled with the evergreen canopy of tall trees blocking most of the sunlight. The deck chair, made of mahogany, was positioned at the right side of the verandah, facing outside, allowing him to instantly spot anybody coming to visit him.
By midday, the skies above their heads would’ve turned spotless blue and Muthassi would’ve finished most of the works in the kitchen and have sat down on the deck of the verandah, carefully stroking her luxuriant hair.
Then Muthassan would start reading the magazine, The Mathrubhumi Weekly.
Loudly, but gently in his orotund voice, he’d read each line to his beloved, as his voice reverberate through the infinite time of the Ollukkara.
The kids would gather too, as it was only a weekly experience.
Sometimes, Muthassi would get complete lost in fixing her hair or in the voice of the wind, still he would read on.
It was his way of being grateful and an expression his unconditional love, it seems.
O, Lord of Guruvayoor, the supreme and the powerful,
letteth thy grace be with them,
forever.
The Vallejo Hell’s Angels section. Paid my respect by flashing them. . #cemetery #hellsangels #payingrespects (at Sunrise Memorial Cemetery Association Inc) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClFFzrRPfcO/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
Not done any writing yet today. But my daughter and I went to see my Grandad and give him some flowers. The gardener for the cemetery was working so hard to tidy up so we gave him an ice cream too ❤ #payingrespects #bekind #missyougrandad❤️ https://www.instagram.com/p/CRjcUfMrI2Q/?utm_medium=tumblr