“The narrator comes from a happy, cultured family "state that.
I was born into a middle-class Tamil family in the island town of Rameswaram in the erstwhile
Madras state. My father, Jainulabdeen, had neither much formal education nor much wealth;
despite these disadvantages, he possessed great innate wisdom and a true generosity of spirit. He
had an ideal helpmate in my mother, Ashiamma. I do not recall the exact number of people she
fed every day, but I am quite certain that far more outsiders ate with us than all the members of
our own family put together.We lived in our ancestral house, which was built in the middle of the 19th
century. It was a fairly large pucca house, made of limestone and brick, on the Mosque Street in
Rameswaram. My austere father used to avoid all inessential comforts and luxuries. However, all
necessities were provided for, in terms of food, medicine or clothes.I normally ate with my mother, sitting on the floor of the kitchen. She would place a banana leaf
before me, on which she then ladled rice and aromatic sambhar, a variety of sharp, home-made
pickles and a dollop of fresh coconut chutney.
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