The writer says she remembers the traditional Indian bathtime rituals during her younger years and preparing to get a good night's rest with a heavy goodri (blanket) holding her down.
IF YOU were born into a South African Indian family in the 1970s or 1980s, chances are you remember driving into the Durban CBD once the Christmas lights were up. The trip had to be at night so the full glory of the lights could be seen. As the car pulled into West Street, wows, oohs and aahs could be heard from the back seats of vehicles carrying families from places like Chatsworth, Phoenix, Isipingo, Merebank, and even further.
I remember Friday evenings when my cousins, who had started working, would suggest a trip to Durban Fun World. For some reason, I called it Newtons. There was a Milky Lane nearby and, if I was lucky, I got a chocolate-nutty dipped soft serve. Then came the serious business of deciding which three rides my allocated budget would allow. I almost always chose the cable car. Seeing Durban from above remains one of the most magical memories of my childhood.
But before Fun World, Milky Lane and Christmas lights, there was home.
A childhood of bucket baths, chombus and coirs. Some days, the water was so hot you wanted to jump away as it was thrown in your direction. Sometimes you feared the scrubbing from the orange sack we called a coir, more than the hot water.
