Ancestral houses - Burden or blessing ?

S Balakrishnan *

The ancestral houses are a century and more old and hence fit to be called “heritage buildings”. By ancestral houses I mean not only both my grandparents’ but also that of a few of my relatives. They are so vast that such houses are not built anymore; hence they are century and more old.

Of course, with nucleus families and just one child or, at the most, two children, such vast houses are not only needed but also impossible to build and maintain. One would not even dare dreaming of building such a house now. Those were the times of joint families when all the sons lived in the village itself depending solely on agriculture.

Later on, in the next two generations, as they sought employment outside and moved out one by one to cities & towns, the ancestral houses have turned to be ghost houses with only the aged couple living there. A few have changed hands; some have taken new avatar as wedding halls; a few have been modernized to the extent possible, while some have even been razed down.

These houses follow a similar architectural pattern. They have open courtyards with pillared halls running all around. This is called ‘kattu’. It was essential that there were at least two ‘kattus’ in these houses. One ‘kattu’ would measure a minimum of 35 ft x 50 ft with a courtyard at the centre that opens to the sky. 16mm iron bars provided safety.

My maternal ancestral house, believe me, initially had three such ‘kattus’! As my great grandfather was the only child, his parents decided to pull down the third ‘kattu’ as the house was found to be too unwieldy for the tiny family. A three ‘kattu’ house silently but loudly declared the family’s status and pride.

A low verandah followed by a high verandah forms the frontage. They are called ‘aalodi’ and ‘thinnai’. The frontage is secured from rain & shine by a high-rise pandal done with coconut tree fronds. The passenger bullock cart, a status symbol of that age, was parked here. Slender and stout wooden pillars line these verandahs respectively. The lower verandah is not crossed by outsiders unless invited into.

The ‘thinnai’ is the space for the men folk to sit & chat, sleep or relax chewing paan or playing cards. Casual visitors are disposed of here itself. Usually, the high verandah will have two rooms on either side with entrance from the first ‘kattu’. The main door at ‘thinnai’ leads into the house. This immediate area is called ‘rezhi’.

Here is where male visitors are seated. Again, unless invited, male visitors (other than relatives) do not go beyond this ‘rezhi’ into the house. Rezhi is also the space reserved for the male head of the family – as his study and for his siesta. As it is at the main entrance, he also keeps a watch on the entry and exit of people.

Then the first ‘kattu’ with sunlight pouring through the open courtyard welcomes the visitor. The open courtyard (‘muttram’) is surrounded by pillared space. This, again, is divided into two spaces – the one closer to the ‘muttram’ is called ‘thaazhvaaram’. This has slender pillars surrounding the ‘muttram’, because the sloping tiled roof converges here.

So, when it rains, all the rain water from the roof of each ‘kattu’ will pour into the ‘muttram’. One can enjoy the rains from within the house itself! But this could be a nuisance when it rains continuously during monsoons. The whole ‘thaazhvaaram’ gets wet and slippery. The next level surrounding the ‘thaazhvaaram’ is called ‘koodam’ (hall).

This is slightly raised (say 3-4 inches) than the ‘thaazhvaaram’ and also has massive pillars that rise to 10 ft or so, to bear the beams of the tiled roof. A wooden swing is a must in this koodam with the iron chain hanging from the beam high up. Wherever necessary, wooden partitions will separate the koodam and thaazhvaaram, both for privacy as well to protect from the rain and cold wind pouring in through the open courtyard.

In some houses, the muttram is covered with a pandal, either permanently with tin sheet roof or temporarily with palm frond roof. This is so built to draw the southerly wind into the house, as the first ‘kattu’ is also the sleeping space in the night. This ‘kattu’ will have four rooms in all the four corners; of these, two will be at either end of the ‘thinnai’ (as explained above).

Some of these rooms will be the private space for the sons. The safety locker with multiple locks will be securely placed in one room. The locker will be so heavy that even four people can’t move it. One of these rooms will be used as a delivery room, as childbirth was then only at home. These rooms are called ‘camera’, as in Latin language, meaning room / dark chamber! The Hindi word ‘kamra’, meaning room, also has its origin from the Latin camera.

The second ‘kattu’ houses the kitchen with built-in multiple mud stoves that were wood-fired, dining area, puja room and store room. The ‘ukraanam’ (store room)is a conglomeration of huge brass/copper vessels used during ceremonies/functions, big wooden boxes for storing small vessels, tall porcelain jars with assortment of pickles, and tin boxes full with varieties of papad. As this ‘kattu’ is linked with cooking, it is the space where the women folk ruled.

The third ‘kattu’, again with an open courtyard, is used as a space for storing cattle feed, for heaping coconuts, and for storing paddy in high-rise wooden granaries called ‘pathaayam’, for drying paddy / clothes, and for other odd needs.

This is also where the servants pound / grind the grains and take a nap in a corner. A bathroom is either built here or in the back verandah, while the lavatory was far behind in the vast backyard, away from the well. In some houses the door of the backyard led one to a common pond.

The thick walls (2 ft) will have niches (called ‘maadam’) for holding oil lamps. The doorways are also flanked by ‘maadams’. The tiled roof has a few glass panes here & there to allow sunlight. Each ‘kattu’ will either have a brick tank or brass drums for storing water that will be brought from the well by servants. Nowadays pipelines have been laid.

A common drain connecting these ‘muttrams’, concealed in some places, drained the water into the backyard garden. The floors are laid with brick tiles or cemented and coated with smooth & shiny red/purple oxide colours.

In all, a house with three ‘muttrams’ (open courtyards) could roughly measure 10,000 sq ft. I am wonderstruck at the amount of material and labour involved in raising such a house; so many tons of wood, limestone mortar and mud, lakhs of bricks and tiles and with so much of love and involvement! My maternal ancestral house has seen seven generations.

My paternal ancestral house was pulled down three decades ago as it was too old and dangerous to live in. It was actually a choultry turned into a house by my grandfather who bought it. The burden of owning an unwieldy ancestral house could be changed as a blessing by converting it as a home stay and thus preserving it as well. Easier said!