Veranda Tales-Don’t stretch my sweater

Storytelling has been an integral part of my life since childhood. I grew up listening to stories during the hot summer evenings and nights with my cousins. Mothers and grandmothers would gather all of us children for story time. It was usually pitch dark except for a very faint light coming from the flickering candle. Power cuts were as frequent as the hot and humid summer days. We all spread out on a cool concrete floor or bamboo mats on the veranda intently listening to fascinating stories about kings, queens, princes, princesses, and peasants alike. Stories about love, life, families, and people entertained and taught us life skills. These stories transported us to distant worlds, strange yet familiar. Often the same story told by two people sounded different as storytellers added new twists and turns adding their personal style and flair to the stories.

Storytelling wasn’t limited to summer evenings and bedtime. I was surrounded by adults who didn’t pass up an opportunity to share their wisdom using the art of storytelling. These rich vibrant oral traditions include songs, poems, stories, and సామెతలు (Sametalu are proverbs in Telugu). Men and women sing songs as they work in the fields, grinding grains and spices and doing other daily chores at their homes. Stories are often used to teach important life lessons, interpersonal skills, and survival skills. These stories and the time spent listening to them made our lives richer leaving an impression on me. This series is all about reliving those memories as I share these stories.

పట్టు చీర అరువిచ్చి పీట పట్టుకొని వెనకాలె తిరిగినట్టుంది (pattu cheera aruvichi peeta pattukuni venakale thiriginattundi)

We all have been in a situation when someone asks us to do something or borrow something, we agree to it because we couldn’t say no. Many of us are reluctant to refuse requests at times. We lend books, tools, and clothes that are precious to us to others.

On occasion I raid my husband’s closet for shirts and sweaters. He brought a few nice sweaters when he first moved to America. Having been born and raised in a hot and muggy tropical place, I didn’t have any sweaters in my wardrobe when I was growing up. The concept of knitting sweaters, mittens, scarves or hats was a totally foreign concept to me. I find it fascinating to watch people knit effortlessly while they are waiting for their flight or commuting on a train. I tried my hands at knitting and failed without being able to put even the first knot in place. My husband, who has the skills to knit, crochet, needlepoint, sew by hand and use a sewing machine tried his best to teach me how to hold the knitting needles and be able to knit. I am guessing he was desperately trying to keep his sweaters out of my clutches.

I would borrow one of his sweaters on occasion. He would tell me to not tug at the sweater and be careful with it so it wouldn’t stretch. I was very careful with it trying to not tug and pull when I wore it. I kept wearing it while I was pregnant with my first child. He didn’t have the heart to tell me to not wear it and remind me to be careful with it when I was puking six times a day for the first three months of my pregnancy. My stomach kept getting bigger and bigger and the sweater followed suit. The sweater became mine by the time our little one made an appearance.

పట్టు చీర అరువిచ్చి పీట పట్టుకొని వెనకాలె తిరిగినట్టుంది (pattu cheera aruvichi peeta pattukuni venakale thiriginattundi) sameta aptly describes the tale of stretching my husband’s sweater. The meaning of this sameta is, “Keep running after a person with a wooden floor or stool after lending them a silk saree” so they don’t make the saree dirty. పీట (peeta) is commonly used in Indian homes for sitting down on the floor for doing household chores.

Once upon a time, there lived two women, మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma) and రావమ్మ (Ravamma), who were neighbors and friends. They helped each other out. When మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma) came to the door with an empty cup to borrow నెయ్యి (neyyi is ghee in Telugu), రావమ్మ (Ravamma) woundn't refuse to fill it. మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma) would return the నెయ్యి (neyyi) and a little bit of whatever she cooked with the నెయ్యి (neyyi) she borrowed. రావమ్మ (Ravamma) went to మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma) if she needed something. They occasionally lent clothing to each other. One day మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma) asked to borrow a silk saree for a special occasion. రావమ్మ (Ravamma) reluctantly said yes because she could not refuse. She was concerned about her saree getting dirty. She kept following మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma) around with a పీట (peeta is a floor wooden stool in Telugu) setting it down whenever మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma) was getting ready to sit down. రావమ్మ (Ravamma) created herself a lot of work because she just could not refuse to lend her fine silk saree to మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma). The story doesn’t tell us if they were still friends after this incident.

It is a common practice to go knock on a neighbor's door for sugar, salt, or ghee in India. I remember అమ్మ (amma is mother in Telugu) sending me to our next door neighbor’s place to borrow something and our neighbors stopping by to borrow things. The give and take of lending a hand or a cup of sugar or asking for a cup of ghee is important to maintain good relationships with your neighbors. On my recent visit to see అమ్మ (amma), I had to run from room to room at her senior care place asking for change to pay for an Amazon delivery package. I was able to secure enough change to pay in the end. Some things don’t change, especially in India and it is a good thing.

Hearing this sameta brings images of రావమ్మ (Ravamma) running ragged with a పీట (peeta) in her hand while మల్లమ్మ (Mallamma) walks around enjoying her outing comes to my mind. It also reminds me of పీట (peeta) at our house. We had our own పీట (peeta) reserved for each one of us including నానమ్మ (nanamma is paternal grandmother in Telugu). I felt very special when she lent it to me or asked me to bring it to her when she wanted to sit.

This sameta uses humor to remind us the importance of learning to say no. We find it difficult to say no when someone asks for help. At times helping could cost you more than you bargained for. It is far more important to learn to say no than yes, because it is so much easier to say yes. I am by no means  advocating for all of us to regress to our toddler age and keep saying no to everything.

One could learn to reserve the right to refuse to answer impertinent questions or refrain from agreeing to give a talk over zoom at 4 in the morning or at midnight. I am working on it. My husband learned to say, “No, I am not going to lend my sweaters. You are gonna stretch them”.