(not that the title tells you much.)
Fergusson College. Very grand and all that. Collective society of the most motley bunch of people definable. Giving a quick preview, Fergusson College has a welcoming campus with ancient, archaic stone structures and a fair deal of greenery. Nestled between quiet green hills and contrastingly bustling sections of the city, the ideal location and the internal privacy inspite of it, makes it a lovely place to be, whether to introspect under a blossoming tree, or dwell in mutual boredom below oddly shaped structures (the Kimaya), or drink coffee at the canteen, or gape at bottles of live cockroaches in the zoology lab (not that that's a common pastime. That's just a portrait of me during zoology practicals).
Aside from the decorated description of appearance, I find it important to describe the human beings that inhabit the halls of the junior wing building as well. The junior wing building, or AC, itself is slightly leaky and rings with loud drilling noises (read: made by teachers and construction machines alike). The toilets are passably clean. The classrooms are big, looming, and intimidatingly large at first, arranged in levels from front to back with a row of metal benches at each platform. Approximate capacity reaches upto a hundred and fifty students. Which is about as many students there are in a single division anyway. And we have 10 divisions in all.
D division is supposed to be second best after C. What they mean by 'second best' is beyond me. I'm pretty sure it doesn't involve adamantly making sure we don't, even by accident, use our brains. We seem to be fully and dedicatedly not living up to it. And that's where the teachers come in. Or maybe not, but I need to wrap up and start introducing them anyway.
Our class teacher. I have comparatively considerable respect for her. Comparatively. Her motto is 'don't (be) afraid'. If I wanted to stretch my regard for her and be dramatic, I would say that she symbolizes woman power. Or just power. Or maybe that's just her bellowing, trumpeting, sonic boom of a voice. It's the kind of voice that, at it's best, would have you horizontal in midair, eyelids peeling, desperately clinging to your hat and groping for means to stop yourself from being blown halfway across the room. A warning for all stupid enough to induce use of her vocal cords: don't. There are probably people halfway across the intergalactic neighborhood who haven't heard her, and I'm pretty sure would like to keep it that way. Apart from being an indispensable contribution to national defense, she periodically tries to teach us Math. As I said, I have comparatively considerable respect for her; she knows, in the least, how to teach her subject. Comparatively.
Our Math II teacher is...interesting. His main ambition outside the classroom is to herd us in, and inside the classroom, to get himself out. He writes on the board like it's some kind of fire drill. By the time the class's collective mental activity overcomes it's inertia and we have actually started to register his presence, he has half the chapter chalked out on the board, and he's probably standing stylishly with his weight on one leg, twirling the chalk in his hand, asking through his nose whether we understood. Fifteen minutes later, three fourths of the class has given up trying to keep pace with him. On a rare occasion, somebody raises a hand to ask a doubt. He wags his eyebrows with a loud nasal "yes??". The student gapes stupidly at the board, where the subject of his doubt had clearly been written just a moment ago, only to find a whole new overwhelming set of confusing paragraphs and numbers he didn't know even existed. This, coupled with the distinctly nasal pitch of voice reverberating through the classroom that makes it humanly impossible to keep a straight face, is too much for the student and, stumped, he lowers his hand with a muttered apology. The rest of the class, curious onlookers to a sight uncommon to the Way Things Generally Work, resume their regular activities of snoring under the table or having a heated game of spitball.
I am not entitled to have any kind of opinion on my Physics I teacher, simply because he hasn't bothered to show up after the first day of college, and neither he nor his students see why he should change his ways now, nor do they even really care. There is a growing suspicion amongst students that he (or was it a she? No, it was a he...) ever existed. I personally think he died, but nobody bothered to check, and are now passing it off as an 'extended holiday'. For us, he will always be 'That guy who was supposed to be our physics teacher'.
Our other physics teacher, on the other hand, wouldn't miss a day of college if he can help it. On a good day one can find him skipping about, immersed in thoughtful, dignified musings, muttering to himself and oblivious to the weird looks shot at him. In class, he's pretty funny. His dillusion of possessing some kind of noble bearing compels him to tweak his accent and try innovative new techniques to improve the education system. He stated that he did not want to deliberately pick out students and force them to answer, but instead felt that we should have a healthy class discussion where we openly and vigorously debated on physics and it's wondrous implications. When he voiced his castle in the air, he was met with expressions of disbelief, skepticism and obvious indifference, which he chose to read as expressions of wonderment and awe at his awesomeness. As my friend points out, he spends his time pompously leaping about the class and importantly declaring the laws that govern our physical universe. He also has a habit of enacting all his statements. Once, when talking of pendulums, he cradled his arms and comically started swinging them about wildly. It took a good ten minutes before we could emerge from under the table without having to stuff our knuckles in our mouth.
A warning before I start on my English teachers. They don't know English. Other than that, they make wonderful English teachers. Actually, no, they don't. The first calls herself The Bhong. No, no...Bhong is her name. The article is just a display of her linguistic erudition. She knows how to read (thankfully). When asked the definition of monotonous, she scooted around the classroom a bit and told us she'd get back to us. As for our other English teacher. I think God just accidentally dropped a glutenous ball of human matter on Earth, which happened to develop a brain, wake up one day and say, "I think I'm going to teach English." She reminds one a lot of Umbridge. Except that she lacks the conniving ambition and cunning (remember. She's a blob of human material). Her voice is slightly high-strung, and thus she has a weird habit of squeaking mid sentence. Yeah, it can be a bit unnerving. "A slap from one nature's hand," being her most famous quote, it obviously has a lot of gyaan and hidden meaning, as does the rest of what she says. Sadly, none of us have been able to deduce much. Or anything at all.
The rest of our teachers are a lot more normal. An outstanding French teacher (no sarcasm here). A Biology teacher who jumped around in girlish excitement and nearly died of it at the prospect of teaching us the wonders of mitosis and meiosis. The other Biology teacher I'm too bored to talk about. A Chemistry teacher who can bend her elbow at oddly intriguing angles. Another Chemistry teacher who turns out to have quite a rude disposition and treats us like we're something unpleasant he happened to find in the lavatory. Just to be nice, we return his sentiments. A group of us have taken up laughing raucously with heavy sarcasm at his jokes. I strongly dislike him. Strongly.
Well, in a nutshell, our teachers are good at heart, but seemed to have lost whatever brain cells they possessed on the way. I don't mean to be unkind, but sadly, the above described people do exist. Really. Im pretty sure they see us in the same light. Its this mutual distaste for each other that has cemented the bond between our distinct species. And thus we awaken each day to the prospect of seeing each other (and avoiding interaction as far as possible).
Cheers!
I Want...Life
Nothing lasts forever..
I knew that. I knew that very well. Of course nothing lasts forever. Nothing materialistic, anyway.
Not even love...
I had gotten into an argument with my friend over this. Of course love lasts forever, I argued, of course it does! His one statement hung in the air and tossed and turned in my mind.
Love can last a lifetime. Not forever.
The argument had started over a harmless movie - Shrek 4. The underlying theme addressed the very fact my friend was trying to get through to me. That at some point of life, people get tired. Bored of life, even. That one needs a purpose to live. And so living forever, would be a curse.
Bitter at the fact that somewhere in the back of my mind I felt he was right, I strove even further to prove him wrong. I would live life forever, if I could, wouldn't I? Wouldn't I...?
That got me thinking about life in general. How very short it is, how, I keep feeling now, that at the end of the day, I'd always wish for just a few more years. How I could never really get enough of it.
And I thought of all the things I've done in life so far. My childhood. Swinging on the playground to the highest and then letting go, sailing through the air for a few precious seconds and landing with a thud on the soft grass. Skating at full speed down a gravel slope, heading straight for a wall, and swerving out sideways, last minute. Trying to make an omelet which ended up sticking to the pan. Playing dolls with my friend, during those hot afternoons, creating stories after stories in a make-believe world. Dressing up for Halloween. Creating timeless childhood memories with friends I can only call my brothers and sisters. Lying on the grass, breathing in the smell of the rain-soaked mud. Watching the tiny living creatures of this world, from the ladybug to the tulips. Camping out on the terrace, staring at the endless stretch of starlit sky, safe in the arms of my mother. My first day of school. The achievement of learning something new. The day I got full marks in my Math test. All those small things that count, not because they were of much significance, but because they make you smile in afterthought.
And then I thought of all the recent memories that have been created, all the ones that are in the process of creation and are fresh in my mind.
Living the high school days. Crying in front of the girls' bathroom. Passing chits around class during Biology. Sitting in class and laughing till my sides hurt. Dwelling on common secrets and new gossip. Watching the rain cover everything outside as the clock slowly ticked on in pace with the teacher's voice. Begging the van driver to stop for vada pav, just this once. Lazing around the playground during break, sharing a sense of mutual boredom. Playing basketball with the hot sun tingling our skin with it's warmth till we were hot and sticky and croaking for water. Sitting with my History book for hours and getting up at the end of the day with a sense of pride at actually having learnt something. Writing the boards. Waiting for the results. Celebrating over the fact that it's over...it's all over.
Sharing a sense of new found responsibility. Catching a bus and roaming across the city, just because you can. The anticipation of going to college, slowly building up, tingling the mind and exciting the senses. New friends, new things to learn, new experiences, and a new found confidence. I looked forward to it with such zealous joy.
And all that followed later. College, Graduation, Moving out. Finding The One, being in love. Asserting your independence. There were so many things I want to do. I want to step into a new college and call it mine. I want to live in a hostel, with other girls like me. I want to meet somebody, and fall in love, be kissed. I want to open the door to my unfurnished flat, my new home, and feel tranquil and settled. I want to pass out of college and walk with my head held high because I have achieved what I wanted. I want to start working, earn my first few dollars, savour them. I want to meet new people, create an image of myself. I want to have that feeling of knowing that I could do anything, anything in the world now, if only I choose to. I want to spend time with friends, family, and share my love and time with them. I want to pursue my career, earn a name, and do good to the world, contribute to all I can. I want to be the best. I want to sit in the hospital bed and bask in the eternal joy of being a mother. I want to walk my child through all the roads I've walked and help choose the best one. I want to watch my life unfold before me in my child. I want to see my grandchildren just as happy as I am. I want to die knowing that I did something in this world, knowing that I never let myself down, knowing that I am happy.
Then there are the other things, things that I wish I could do in life, but are kept away in a secret box till, either the time comes to live them, or else just look upon then as faded memories, ghosts of wishes. I want to become a dolphin trainer. I want to go into space and look at our Earth from the eyes of the universe. I want to visit Afghanistan. I want to learn to ride a horse. I want to write a novel, and publish it. I want to fly an airplane, want to experience the thrill of lifting the contraption off of the ground and into the sky. I want to save a person's live. I want to teach somebody a lesson, and learn one myself. I want to go paragliding across canyons and valleys. I want to take a road trip across the country. I want to visit exotic places. I want to sail. I want to help the suffering.
I want. So many other unnamed things I want, and I know thousands of other people want.
And that’s why I live. What I live for. The feelings, the emotions, the incidents, the memories... the desires, the experience, the thrill, the pain, the joy...the sights, sounds, tastes, smells and feel, the small things that matter…the beat of a heart, the warmth of a breath, the softness of a touch...so precious, so easily lost, so easily gained...I want it all.
I want…life.
And I have it. And I will live it to the very end because I am blessed to have what I want, be it for now or forever. Because waking up to see the rays of the new day’s sun is never a burden. And I will continue to wake up to this boon and greet it with my own shining smile and heart.
The Diaries Of the Keralan Traveller
Well...here's the post about my Kerala trip...hope you enjoy!
THE CHARACTERS:
Malu:- my best friend
Mickey:- the other maharashtrian friend accompanying us
Amma:- Malu's mother
Achchama:- Malu's grandmother (father's mother)
Ammuma:- Malu's grandmother (mother's mother)
Vellyama:- Malu's aunt (mother's elder sister)
Chechi:- Malu's cousin (Vellyama's daughter)
Kerala. One of India's smallest, pushed to the south-western corner of the map of the country. The only factual thing I knew about tht state was that it had 91% literacy rate and a favourable sex ratio. It also happened to be where my best friend was from.
They were a Malayali family settled in Pune for the time being. Malu and her parents would make a yearly trip to Kerala to visit the rest of their family; cousins, aunts, grandparents living there. And this year, they decided to take along me and Mickey.
That's not her name, of course, but as per their family tradition, everybody was assigned a nickname by birth, and since neither of us had had the honour of this ceremony, we felt it right to come up with our own. Of course, it was no compulsion, but somehow, nicknames appealed to our liking.
Once that business was settled, we took a plane from Bombay to the city of Kochin. The flight was two hours long, and a visible difference could be seen between the view of both terminals from above. Once the flight pushed off of Maharashtrian ground, one could see acres of flat grey rooftops huddled together as if cringing away from the surrounding grandeur. Large patches of one of the world's biggest slum areas were visible even from thousands of feet off the ground, rather, only from thousands of feet off the ground. The industrial city of Bombay has many colours, mostly grey from the smoke. Tiny cars, the size of ants, zoomed below us on the one centimeter wide roads.
Emerging from the clouds an hour and a half later, one could immediately tell the starking difference in ladnscape. Miles and miles of green canopy carpeted the earth. Trees, mainly coconut trees, stretched on as far as the eye could see. Contrary to the flat precision of Bombay ground, this place had largely undulating topography; a vast stretch of hills and mountains covered in dappled green that reflected the crystalline rays of the sun. It was quite a site to see, and I half wondered whether the flight had accidentally taken a detour to the amazon. Not a square of dirt ground could be seen below. As we glided downwards dipping into the thicket of trees for the landing, Malu turned to look at me with her eyes beaming with pride.
"Welcome to Kerala..."
Kochin was one of the nearest thing Kerala has to a metropolitan, yet the trees and not been compromised. Greenery seemed to be an intricate part of the people's lives. We loaded ourselves into a spluttering Sumo; Malu, her mother, her achchama, Mickey and I. The driver drove us through the pleasantly bumby roads, away from the city bustle, through the small villages in the midst of, you guessed it, trees. Lying in the seat with my head resting on Malu's shoulder, I watched the large houses and coconut trees speed by. I remember admiring the scenes flickering before my eyes, before surrending to the clutches of exhausted sleep.
It took us two or three hours to reach our base city, Thrissur. We first stopped by at a cousin's place, where I first saw what the houses there were meant to look like. It was a small one storey bungalow, with a front porch and about two bedrooms. A garden sprawled before it. I admit, at first sight, I immediately took a liking to it. I didn't do much there though, except toss grapes in the air and catch them in my mouth. I had somewhat perfected that art after having done it for hours on end during the swine-flu leave.
Next we moved on to her achchama's house. Achchama was a quiet lady, dainty and composed, with a serene smile on her face, and a religious gleam in her eyes. Coupled with a beaming face, she had a generally holy look about her altogether. Her house was similar to the first place we'd been, except that it had an upstairs and no garden. I liked that house too. Malu explained that she and her cousins would play football on the front cemented yard. Occasionally they would knock over a flowerpot and the maid would come flying in a frenzy to scream at the lot of them.
After we dropped her beaming grandmother there, we proceeded to go to her other grandmother's place. It was definitely a bit bigger, and more ancient, and in the heart of the city. But it had a very woody, homely feel to it. We entered through the back door and had our first sight of our base camp, with Ammuma standing at the doorway to complete the picture.
Ammuma was quite a personality. She was on the shorter side, with her hair tied in a bun behind her. Her eyes had a mischevious sparkle to them, as if she had something up her sleeve that she would through on you once you turned your back away. Her face had a childish expression owing to the wide grin on her face, not unlike that of a small girl. Spirited, lively, yet short-tempered, Ammuma was the life and soul of the house.
The next few hours went in a blurr. I remember sitting at the dining table as Ammuma taught me to say "vellyama" which meant older mother. It was what malu called her aunt. I remember talking to Chechi, Malu's cousin sister. I remember peeping out the forbidden window which, at that moment, I had not known was forbidden. Then I remember falling into deep slumber.
The next day we geared ourselves up for the first day in Kerala. We were to go to a waterfall that day, which was definitely fun, seeing that we got to go into waist deep. On our right was an endless river cutting through forestland. On our left, a few yards in front, was a waterfall.
I remember that day, getting news that the wedding was off, due to the unavoidable fact that the groom was stuck in London because of a volcano that blew in Iceland. I sumhow never imagined myself saying something like that. Malu was looking pretty muderous, Mickey was quite expressionless, well, she always is, and I, though a bit disappointed, shrugged it off with a smile. We'd still have fun, right?
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. Amu, Malu's other cousin, came over for dinner. She was quiet, but sweet, and happened to be taller than us. She was in sixth grade. I felt suitably dwarfish.
Malu was quite preoccupied in trying to reach her sister, the one I had talked over the phone with. She called her chechi, which meant didi, and so did I, at first in a respectful way, but later, she truly became an elder sister to me. She was to come sometime today.
In the evening we went to the back to wash our clothes. The clothes washin session turned into a water war, and ended with me sitting on the compound wall, saluting Malu who was bellowing out the nation anthem on top of the washing stone. It was a comic sight to behold, especially when Malu, with a sudden scream scampered to the door nearly knocking me over mid-salute.
A tall, slender, fair girl walked in on our proceedings, laughing musically as Malu crashed into her embrace. Both of them jumped up and down in joy, speaking rapidly in malayalam leaving me and Mickey watching curiously. Sensing that we would be called forth to be introduced, we walked over to them dutifully. The girl, who was about twenty, smiled kindly at us and we immediately took a liking towards her. Malu introduced her as her Chechi.
Vellyama was a nice lady as well, very beautiful even in her age. We all went out for dinner at their favourite restaurant, Elite. Malu had the urge to sit at a specific table; there were reasons, and pretty good ones, but on the race to claim it, another man, unfortunately the same one we had exchanged greetings with outside the hotel beat us too it. A fuming Malu spent the next half an hour devising plan revolving around chainsaws and deflated car tyres and fueled her anger into ripping apart paper napkins. It earned her glares from her Vellyama and the waiter alike.
---X end of diary entry 1 X---
The next day the whole lot of us piled into the Sumo at four in the morning on our religious quest across the temples of Kerala. Feeling nice and comfy in our slawar kameez, we yawned our way through the first half an hour in the trunk of the car and stumbled sleepily across temple steps. I doubt the gods were much pleased with our half-hearted mutterings. By afternoon, we all felt suitable holy, and exasperated at Chechi's enthusiasm and unexplainable love for forget-me-nots she would find outside on the lawns. Temple-visiting somehow got Malu high and she started bellowing out a Malayalam nursery rhyme that literally translated into a story of a man who got his dhoti pulled off in public. A half horrified, half amused Chechi plonked her hand tightly over Malu's mouth while the rest of us ungrateful folks blatantly ignored her.
Next that day we visited her ancestoral house. It was ancient and grey, but suitable ancestoral. Chechi showed us around the place, pointing at the grainery inside and the place were cattle used to graze. I spent a good fifteen minutes gawking at their family tree which was framed and hung neatly in the living room. We met a whole bunch of realtives there too, and later lay sprawled on the four poster bed in one of the interior rooms.
When it was getting time to leave, we walked the area around the house which was covered with dry grass and trees. I stared wistfully at the trees though, feeling a deep urge to clamber up their trunks, but I somehow thought that might not pass very well with her relatives. We stomped out way through the grass behind. Chechi kept stopping and squealing to point at a stray touch-me-not and giggling as it shrivelled at the touch of her foot. We marched towards the spot where her grandfather and another relative had been buried. Humbled by this piece of knowledge, Mickey and I stood politely nearby while Vellyama, Amma and Malu prayed with their eyes shut. Chechi stopped mid-giggle and abandoned her activity of pointing out touch-me-nots, taking up an angelic, humbled pose to pray with the rest of her family. As Vellyama and Amma opened their eyes amidst the peaceful silence and made to leave, Chechi whirled around destroying whatever mourning atmosphere that may have still lingered and screamed "look, another touch-me-not!" Vellyama and Amma glared ruefully. Malu burst out laughing. Mickey and I stared at her with polite alarm, not sure whether succumbing to hysteric laughing would be sinful to the rested spirits of those who lay buried in front of us.
After returning home at our base camp and freshening up, we took off to the hotel where the wedding was supposed to take place. It was a grand, nicely decked up building, and the lights blinking across its roof in the backdrop of a setting sun did nothing more than point at our faces in sadistic glee. We were there to meet the bride and her family, so we were forbidden to laugh, snort into our drinks, or make general sounds of merriment. We arrived there looking suitable mournful, which got easier and easier with the corresponding increase in grandeur and wafts of good food that mocked us as we walked in.
We didn't really keep to the anti-general-merriment rule. We did snort into our drinks, except we stopped when the bride actually entered. She was calm, composed and all smiles for her guests, and we were humbled on seeing the pain behind her soft eyes. We behaved like perfect guests the rest of the time.
After meeting the bride we were to go to dinner at and uncle's place, which was said to be located near a jail. There we were introduced to a super-hyper Dachshund, a few parakeets, and supremely good food. Sadly, Malu and I didn't last till farther then ten-thirty and the adults found the two of us soundly asleep on the bed upstairs with an unperturbed and decidedly unsleepy Mickey.
On the 19th, we left early morning for Coimbatore, where Malu was desparate to meet a cousin of her from Malaysia. It was a three hour drive to the edges of Tamil Nadu, which had an equally stunning scenery to watch out for. The house in Coimbatore was fantastic, in my eyes. It was two-storey, suitably grand with wooden steps, a porch, big bedrooms and a wide seating room on entering the house complete with a family portrait. In front there was a wide area before the main gate at the road, which had a circle covered in lawn. A huge tree loomed over the area in a very picturesque way. We spent our evening hours playing games with the cricket bat and football we found in the house and after we tired of that, we lay on out stomach on the lawn under the tree, enjoying the breeze and clicking pictures.
I lay down on the poky grass, having collected the necessary leaves, twigs and longs strands of grass required for what I was about to do. I recalled how, when I was small, I used to make twig dolls by tying two perpendicular twigs together in a somewhat cross. I'd wrap a big leaf around the top for her hair, and one below the second twig to make her dress. Very crude, but who cared, really. I wasn't going to auction them, was I?
So I sat there, minding my own business, thoroughly engrossed in wrapping a piece of grass around the twig. Mickey sat beside me, staring straight ahead, and looking so thoroughly bored that I swear she would fall asleep in that position. Malu loitered around the road, amiably kicking stones, hands buried in her pocket. She stooped down to pick up a particularly roundish object and tossed it around in her hand, as if considering her next move. I frowned as the piece of grass I was working with broke off.
A sudden disturbance in the air and a faint whizzing noise were the only signs I had, before something round and hard collided with the top of my head. I yelped and looked up in shock, only to see a pair of eyes looking back at me with an equally horrified look. The rest of the face was covered with Malu's hand. For a few seconds, we simply stared at each other. Then, instead of running towards me to ask if I was ok, she scrambled in the opposite direction towards the house. I gaped after her and suddenly became aware at Mickey gaping at me.
"It...it...bounced off your head!"
I stared. "Say what?"
Mihika stared back. "It just, one second she had it in her hand, and then something whizzed past my face, and then, well...bounced off your head!"
She imitated an object hitting my head and then flying back off before falling to the ground. I looked at the ping-pong-ball-sized nut beside me. "So why'd she run to the house?"
Mickey's wide eyes blinked. "I dunno. Maybe she thought you'd run after her with it?"
And then quite suddenly, we both were laughing hard, rolling on the ground, Mickey squealing over the hilarity of what she just witnessed and me chortling over what I imagined seeing had I been her. Malu came back a few minutes later with an ice pack and her Amma in tow, only to find us crying and panting on the lawn.
---X end of diary entry 2 X---
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I shall be leaving the town pretty soon, so I doubt I'll be able to update the diaries for quite some time. So don't be surprised if I finish this post a month later (sheepish grins).
THE CHARACTERS:
Malu:- my best friend
Mickey:- the other maharashtrian friend accompanying us
Amma:- Malu's mother
Achchama:- Malu's grandmother (father's mother)
Ammuma:- Malu's grandmother (mother's mother)
Vellyama:- Malu's aunt (mother's elder sister)
Chechi:- Malu's cousin (Vellyama's daughter)
Kerala. One of India's smallest, pushed to the south-western corner of the map of the country. The only factual thing I knew about tht state was that it had 91% literacy rate and a favourable sex ratio. It also happened to be where my best friend was from.
They were a Malayali family settled in Pune for the time being. Malu and her parents would make a yearly trip to Kerala to visit the rest of their family; cousins, aunts, grandparents living there. And this year, they decided to take along me and Mickey.
That's not her name, of course, but as per their family tradition, everybody was assigned a nickname by birth, and since neither of us had had the honour of this ceremony, we felt it right to come up with our own. Of course, it was no compulsion, but somehow, nicknames appealed to our liking.
Once that business was settled, we took a plane from Bombay to the city of Kochin. The flight was two hours long, and a visible difference could be seen between the view of both terminals from above. Once the flight pushed off of Maharashtrian ground, one could see acres of flat grey rooftops huddled together as if cringing away from the surrounding grandeur. Large patches of one of the world's biggest slum areas were visible even from thousands of feet off the ground, rather, only from thousands of feet off the ground. The industrial city of Bombay has many colours, mostly grey from the smoke. Tiny cars, the size of ants, zoomed below us on the one centimeter wide roads.
Emerging from the clouds an hour and a half later, one could immediately tell the starking difference in ladnscape. Miles and miles of green canopy carpeted the earth. Trees, mainly coconut trees, stretched on as far as the eye could see. Contrary to the flat precision of Bombay ground, this place had largely undulating topography; a vast stretch of hills and mountains covered in dappled green that reflected the crystalline rays of the sun. It was quite a site to see, and I half wondered whether the flight had accidentally taken a detour to the amazon. Not a square of dirt ground could be seen below. As we glided downwards dipping into the thicket of trees for the landing, Malu turned to look at me with her eyes beaming with pride.
"Welcome to Kerala..."
Kochin was one of the nearest thing Kerala has to a metropolitan, yet the trees and not been compromised. Greenery seemed to be an intricate part of the people's lives. We loaded ourselves into a spluttering Sumo; Malu, her mother, her achchama, Mickey and I. The driver drove us through the pleasantly bumby roads, away from the city bustle, through the small villages in the midst of, you guessed it, trees. Lying in the seat with my head resting on Malu's shoulder, I watched the large houses and coconut trees speed by. I remember admiring the scenes flickering before my eyes, before surrending to the clutches of exhausted sleep.
It took us two or three hours to reach our base city, Thrissur. We first stopped by at a cousin's place, where I first saw what the houses there were meant to look like. It was a small one storey bungalow, with a front porch and about two bedrooms. A garden sprawled before it. I admit, at first sight, I immediately took a liking to it. I didn't do much there though, except toss grapes in the air and catch them in my mouth. I had somewhat perfected that art after having done it for hours on end during the swine-flu leave.
Next we moved on to her achchama's house. Achchama was a quiet lady, dainty and composed, with a serene smile on her face, and a religious gleam in her eyes. Coupled with a beaming face, she had a generally holy look about her altogether. Her house was similar to the first place we'd been, except that it had an upstairs and no garden. I liked that house too. Malu explained that she and her cousins would play football on the front cemented yard. Occasionally they would knock over a flowerpot and the maid would come flying in a frenzy to scream at the lot of them.
After we dropped her beaming grandmother there, we proceeded to go to her other grandmother's place. It was definitely a bit bigger, and more ancient, and in the heart of the city. But it had a very woody, homely feel to it. We entered through the back door and had our first sight of our base camp, with Ammuma standing at the doorway to complete the picture.
Ammuma was quite a personality. She was on the shorter side, with her hair tied in a bun behind her. Her eyes had a mischevious sparkle to them, as if she had something up her sleeve that she would through on you once you turned your back away. Her face had a childish expression owing to the wide grin on her face, not unlike that of a small girl. Spirited, lively, yet short-tempered, Ammuma was the life and soul of the house.
The next few hours went in a blurr. I remember sitting at the dining table as Ammuma taught me to say "vellyama" which meant older mother. It was what malu called her aunt. I remember talking to Chechi, Malu's cousin sister. I remember peeping out the forbidden window which, at that moment, I had not known was forbidden. Then I remember falling into deep slumber.
The next day we geared ourselves up for the first day in Kerala. We were to go to a waterfall that day, which was definitely fun, seeing that we got to go into waist deep. On our right was an endless river cutting through forestland. On our left, a few yards in front, was a waterfall.
I remember that day, getting news that the wedding was off, due to the unavoidable fact that the groom was stuck in London because of a volcano that blew in Iceland. I sumhow never imagined myself saying something like that. Malu was looking pretty muderous, Mickey was quite expressionless, well, she always is, and I, though a bit disappointed, shrugged it off with a smile. We'd still have fun, right?
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. Amu, Malu's other cousin, came over for dinner. She was quiet, but sweet, and happened to be taller than us. She was in sixth grade. I felt suitably dwarfish.
Malu was quite preoccupied in trying to reach her sister, the one I had talked over the phone with. She called her chechi, which meant didi, and so did I, at first in a respectful way, but later, she truly became an elder sister to me. She was to come sometime today.
In the evening we went to the back to wash our clothes. The clothes washin session turned into a water war, and ended with me sitting on the compound wall, saluting Malu who was bellowing out the nation anthem on top of the washing stone. It was a comic sight to behold, especially when Malu, with a sudden scream scampered to the door nearly knocking me over mid-salute.
A tall, slender, fair girl walked in on our proceedings, laughing musically as Malu crashed into her embrace. Both of them jumped up and down in joy, speaking rapidly in malayalam leaving me and Mickey watching curiously. Sensing that we would be called forth to be introduced, we walked over to them dutifully. The girl, who was about twenty, smiled kindly at us and we immediately took a liking towards her. Malu introduced her as her Chechi.
Vellyama was a nice lady as well, very beautiful even in her age. We all went out for dinner at their favourite restaurant, Elite. Malu had the urge to sit at a specific table; there were reasons, and pretty good ones, but on the race to claim it, another man, unfortunately the same one we had exchanged greetings with outside the hotel beat us too it. A fuming Malu spent the next half an hour devising plan revolving around chainsaws and deflated car tyres and fueled her anger into ripping apart paper napkins. It earned her glares from her Vellyama and the waiter alike.
---X end of diary entry 1 X---
The next day the whole lot of us piled into the Sumo at four in the morning on our religious quest across the temples of Kerala. Feeling nice and comfy in our slawar kameez, we yawned our way through the first half an hour in the trunk of the car and stumbled sleepily across temple steps. I doubt the gods were much pleased with our half-hearted mutterings. By afternoon, we all felt suitable holy, and exasperated at Chechi's enthusiasm and unexplainable love for forget-me-nots she would find outside on the lawns. Temple-visiting somehow got Malu high and she started bellowing out a Malayalam nursery rhyme that literally translated into a story of a man who got his dhoti pulled off in public. A half horrified, half amused Chechi plonked her hand tightly over Malu's mouth while the rest of us ungrateful folks blatantly ignored her.
Next that day we visited her ancestoral house. It was ancient and grey, but suitable ancestoral. Chechi showed us around the place, pointing at the grainery inside and the place were cattle used to graze. I spent a good fifteen minutes gawking at their family tree which was framed and hung neatly in the living room. We met a whole bunch of realtives there too, and later lay sprawled on the four poster bed in one of the interior rooms.
When it was getting time to leave, we walked the area around the house which was covered with dry grass and trees. I stared wistfully at the trees though, feeling a deep urge to clamber up their trunks, but I somehow thought that might not pass very well with her relatives. We stomped out way through the grass behind. Chechi kept stopping and squealing to point at a stray touch-me-not and giggling as it shrivelled at the touch of her foot. We marched towards the spot where her grandfather and another relative had been buried. Humbled by this piece of knowledge, Mickey and I stood politely nearby while Vellyama, Amma and Malu prayed with their eyes shut. Chechi stopped mid-giggle and abandoned her activity of pointing out touch-me-nots, taking up an angelic, humbled pose to pray with the rest of her family. As Vellyama and Amma opened their eyes amidst the peaceful silence and made to leave, Chechi whirled around destroying whatever mourning atmosphere that may have still lingered and screamed "look, another touch-me-not!" Vellyama and Amma glared ruefully. Malu burst out laughing. Mickey and I stared at her with polite alarm, not sure whether succumbing to hysteric laughing would be sinful to the rested spirits of those who lay buried in front of us.
After returning home at our base camp and freshening up, we took off to the hotel where the wedding was supposed to take place. It was a grand, nicely decked up building, and the lights blinking across its roof in the backdrop of a setting sun did nothing more than point at our faces in sadistic glee. We were there to meet the bride and her family, so we were forbidden to laugh, snort into our drinks, or make general sounds of merriment. We arrived there looking suitable mournful, which got easier and easier with the corresponding increase in grandeur and wafts of good food that mocked us as we walked in.
We didn't really keep to the anti-general-merriment rule. We did snort into our drinks, except we stopped when the bride actually entered. She was calm, composed and all smiles for her guests, and we were humbled on seeing the pain behind her soft eyes. We behaved like perfect guests the rest of the time.
After meeting the bride we were to go to dinner at and uncle's place, which was said to be located near a jail. There we were introduced to a super-hyper Dachshund, a few parakeets, and supremely good food. Sadly, Malu and I didn't last till farther then ten-thirty and the adults found the two of us soundly asleep on the bed upstairs with an unperturbed and decidedly unsleepy Mickey.
On the 19th, we left early morning for Coimbatore, where Malu was desparate to meet a cousin of her from Malaysia. It was a three hour drive to the edges of Tamil Nadu, which had an equally stunning scenery to watch out for. The house in Coimbatore was fantastic, in my eyes. It was two-storey, suitably grand with wooden steps, a porch, big bedrooms and a wide seating room on entering the house complete with a family portrait. In front there was a wide area before the main gate at the road, which had a circle covered in lawn. A huge tree loomed over the area in a very picturesque way. We spent our evening hours playing games with the cricket bat and football we found in the house and after we tired of that, we lay on out stomach on the lawn under the tree, enjoying the breeze and clicking pictures.
I lay down on the poky grass, having collected the necessary leaves, twigs and longs strands of grass required for what I was about to do. I recalled how, when I was small, I used to make twig dolls by tying two perpendicular twigs together in a somewhat cross. I'd wrap a big leaf around the top for her hair, and one below the second twig to make her dress. Very crude, but who cared, really. I wasn't going to auction them, was I?
So I sat there, minding my own business, thoroughly engrossed in wrapping a piece of grass around the twig. Mickey sat beside me, staring straight ahead, and looking so thoroughly bored that I swear she would fall asleep in that position. Malu loitered around the road, amiably kicking stones, hands buried in her pocket. She stooped down to pick up a particularly roundish object and tossed it around in her hand, as if considering her next move. I frowned as the piece of grass I was working with broke off.
A sudden disturbance in the air and a faint whizzing noise were the only signs I had, before something round and hard collided with the top of my head. I yelped and looked up in shock, only to see a pair of eyes looking back at me with an equally horrified look. The rest of the face was covered with Malu's hand. For a few seconds, we simply stared at each other. Then, instead of running towards me to ask if I was ok, she scrambled in the opposite direction towards the house. I gaped after her and suddenly became aware at Mickey gaping at me.
"It...it...bounced off your head!"
I stared. "Say what?"
Mihika stared back. "It just, one second she had it in her hand, and then something whizzed past my face, and then, well...bounced off your head!"
She imitated an object hitting my head and then flying back off before falling to the ground. I looked at the ping-pong-ball-sized nut beside me. "So why'd she run to the house?"
Mickey's wide eyes blinked. "I dunno. Maybe she thought you'd run after her with it?"
And then quite suddenly, we both were laughing hard, rolling on the ground, Mickey squealing over the hilarity of what she just witnessed and me chortling over what I imagined seeing had I been her. Malu came back a few minutes later with an ice pack and her Amma in tow, only to find us crying and panting on the lawn.
---X end of diary entry 2 X---
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I shall be leaving the town pretty soon, so I doubt I'll be able to update the diaries for quite some time. So don't be surprised if I finish this post a month later (sheepish grins).
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