Tea: A Day in the Life of my Bellippa

Bellippa with his grandkids circa 2006

The earliest memory of my maternal Bellippa (Granddad) goes all the way back to the 1990s. Our family used to come down to Calicut from Muscat for our annual vacation. Uncles, aunts, cousins – all of us huddled up at our ancestral home just off the main road in East Nadakkavu. Those were the days when nuclear families and homes were almost unheard of. I loved the fact that almost 20-30 of us stayed under one roof at any given time.

My Bellippa would be up at the crack of the morning azan, starting up his Kinetic Honda on his way to Fajr prayers at the old West Nadakkavu mosque. If the middle schooler me was up, I would ride pillion or would stand in the space between the handle and the seat of the scooter. We would finish prayers, and he would go to the nearest tea/milk parlour and get a couple of packets of milk. He would return home and make tea, which would be poured into a flask and then boil the milk in another container and keep aside. The tea and milk would be placed on the dining table at the front, along with glasses for anybody who would like to begin their day with a fresh cup of tea. Incidentally, the tea dust used to be brought from my Bellippa's shop in Valiyangadi.

He would then proceed with household chores – from clearing weeds out of the garden, watering the plants, adding manure to the coconut trees, clearing open sewers at the back, getting dried coconut leaves or wood for the kitchen fire, peeling coconuts, among others. Sometimes, us kids would reluctantly join him, more so often to get to play in the dirt than to help him. I used to be a particularly naughty one who would try to sneak in the dirt all over the place, only to have my Bellippa hose me down when watering the plants. The three or four-year-old me had a field day when he used to be out in the courtyard.

After his daily chores, my Bellippa would get cleaned up and wear the whitest mundu and light coloured shirt over the white vest before clipping on his Seiko watch. He would then have his breakfast, before starting up his Kinetic Honda for the second time in the day, to head to work. Work to him was his tea dust business in the single store opposite the Town Police Station - Mahe Tea Mart - that he had begun after migrating from Mahe to Calicut in the 1960s.

Teenage me, who had moved back to Calicut, accompanied him quite many times on his trip to Mahe Tea Mart. The market would be just waking up, and the clickity clang of the shutter would reverberate around us as we opened for business. It was from here that I first learned the ABC of trade – buy and sell. I would help him pack tea for those who came looking for it. People came from the mountains of Wayanad to the islands of Lakshwadeep and even next-door neighbours or Calicut natives, to buy their favourite Monica, Suryanelli, or myriad other brands of tea dust. Sometimes, when he had to attend to some urgent matter, he would leave the cash register with me, and I would sit fixated on arranging all the notes in perfect order in the single drawer table. Once in a while, a customer would come in, and I would have to hand them the right amount of change, while the helper packed the tea for them.

He would make it a point to come later, and by evening, the chaiwala from the nearby Rangoli hotel would come. He would get us tea and ask us if we wanted any snacks. The Rangoli chaiwala would open his aluminum tin and show us the specialty snack of the day, and Bellippa would buy it for us. We would sit there, eating and drinking, while he got to tallying the accounts for the day.

At dusk, he would switch on the lights inside the shop but never stayed for long. Before the call of the Maghrib prayer, he would shut shop and make his way to the nearest mosque. While making his way back he would get fruits or his favorite murk (rice crispies) or bakery items for himself and his grandkids.

At night, my Bellippa would be back busy doing chores at home or sitting in the veranda with a cup of suleimani, up until he had to go to bed. The three-year-old me would be sitting quietly on the sofa adjacent to his room in anticipation of something, and he would give me a lovable laugh on his way to bed and ask me – “What happened, boy? Didn’t get your Boost?”. I wouldn't budge until I got my whole bottle of chocolate milk energy drink.

At times, my Bellippa would call some of his grandkids and ask them to give him a head massage or press his legs for him. He loved being playful with his grandkids, and a lot many of us would giggle away (and later get annoyed) when we were tickled by him lovingly.

Years passed, and Bellippa's mode of transport changed from the Kinetic Honda to a couple of Suzuki’s. Later on, the Suzuki too ceased and he made peace with being driven around by his kids and grandkids. While the kid me met him at least once a year, courtesy of annual vacations, the adult me had a harder time being next to him, with work barely allowing a handful of days for me to be in town.

Earlier this month, I met my Bellippa again. At first glance, he thought I was my dad, but I think he recognized me when I mentioned my name. A few days later, he asked me to sit by his side and hold his hand. That is all he asked. And I did, one last time, sans the scooter rides, playing in the dirt, helping out at the shop, the tickles that made us giggle and tea.

Rest in peace Bellippa.