Claustrophobia

Same time as I was in the village school, my father was serving as Administrator in the most famous Krishna temple in Kerala. He didn't expect the posting to last, this is why he left mother and me at our ancestral home. He didn't want to avail the palatial residential quarters the administrator was eligible for; instead he stayed at a two-room suite in a semi-private guest house very close to the temple. Being a man of spiritual inclination he enjoyed the proximity to the temple and his tenure there. The temple town was just about an hour and a half from our hometown. Father would come home every weekend; on others mother and I went to stay with him. I too enjoyed the time in the temple. My father had already narrated Krishna stories to me. More than a religious center, the temple and its deity were a major influence in the folklore and culture of the region. Tales of the deity appearing in person to devotees who lived a couple of centuries back abounded. Some of these devotees were poets, scholars and artists of renown while others were simple women from different walks of life. The stories radiated love and compassion of a god who cherished a simple song from the heart above a scholarly work from an arrogant man; of the same god playing pranks on a stern sanyasi and a childless woman in the guise of a small boy; of accepting love from an untouchable woman and more. It must be the stories, for I too felt his presence all over the place. Thus Krishna became my invisible childhood friend. Another added attraction was the Krishnanattam performances. The epic stories narrating Krishna's stories were arranged into eight pieces of dance drama set to a Sanskrit work and performed in a manner very close to Kathakali.. I already had a fascination for dance and here was a chance to witness the story re-enacted. A child's mind cannot fully discriminate between fact and fiction; thus every time the story was performed, it was being in the time and place of Krishna, or maybe Krishna was in my world. This was the happy part of the visit to the temple. On the other hand I was scared of the bus rides there and back. Buses were few and far between and crowded. The heat, dust and urine stench of the bus stand nauseated me. Worse was my tiny frame being trapped in the crowded bus. We didn't always get seats. On one occasion I remember vividly, we got the seats, but the crowd even squeezed into the space between the seats. There I was, sitting on my mother's lap, with very little space to move; the nightmare of it was that even the view to the window was blocked. I had a sensation of very little air left to breathe. I struggled to catch a glimpse of the space and air outside- I felt I would die otherwise. It was animal fear I couldn't articulate as everyone else around me including my mother looked so calm and unperturbed.And here I was, choking! When I look back I can recount many such instances, not so severe but when I felt queasy, trapped in small spaces. When I picture myself, I always see me against the backdrop of vast spaces- open vast rocky plains, rivers and mountains and the sea and big houses and hallways.