A Punjabi in Kerala
Tuesday, September 6, 2016
“Sheeja, keep this bottle of Jam in your suitcase. In case your friend can’t eat anything there, she can at least have bread and jam”, said Sheeja’s mother.
Sheeja and I were going to her Ammumma’s house in Kannur to enjoy the monsoons at her native place--Kerala. In fact, I had proposed to her that I wanted to see Kerala and she readily jumped at the idea. We were in college together, and we were in our final year of graduation. I had heard endless tales of the beauty of Kerala from her. We decided to visit God’s own country, when it was at its greenest best and the sweet scent of the wet earth filled the air. Her mother was sceptical, though—whether a Punjabi could live and eat comfortably in Kerala for a month. We were excited, nevertheless.
The journey in Netravati Express from Kurla Station was, a delight altogether. During our annual family trips to Delhi we were used to vendors selling poori-bhaaji at the stations; the cold milk at Vadodra; the Sev at Ratlam and the Pedas and Penthas at Mathura… This rail journey was different altogether. My joy knew no bounds as I bought and savoured Fried bananas, Dal Vada, Medu Vada, Idli and steaming hot coffee at many stations. I was thrilled. In general, those were the times when travellers in long-distance trains enjoyed their sojourns quite carefree; unmindful of the oil used or the hygiene standards. Coincidentally, I do not recall anyone of us ever falling sick because of consuming the fried and yummy snacks offered at the stations, whether we travelled up north or down south.
It was fun beyond measure, travelling in the reserved-for-ladies compartment and chatting and gorging ceaselessly with fellow girls. And then, as the terrain changed from orange and brown to green, green and green—it was as if one was stepping in heaven. The red tiles on the roof and the walls white washed in half white and half blue are etched in the memory till date. Again, it was an overwhelming contrast from the plains that we were used to, while travelling to Delhi. I was watching such dense cluster of trees, for the first ever time and was envious of the people who were blessed enough to live in such soothing shade and ambience.
The sight of men clad in checkered shirts and white Mundu, holding a Koda in their hands, was a novel sight for me. (The few words in Malyalam, I must admit I learned only after spending a month in Kannur). Sheeja’s Mama was at the railway station, with a big broad smile on his face. I was wonderstruck like a child and gaped with eyes wide open during the road journey to their house, through the plush green trees on the winding narrow roads, while it rained cats and dogs.
We reached home and there stood the cute and shrivelled Ammumma and Achappan at the door, flanked by nearly a dozen cousins of Sheeja who lived close and around. They were of all ages; some married and some as young as seven year old. Sheeja’s mother’s four sisters lived in close vicinity, with each having a sufficient patch of land and a nice lovely house. (And, I soon learnt that no two houses in Kerala resemble each other… each one has its unique style and design!!!) I was introduced to all—Raghu Attan, Ragi Chechi, Amrutha, Priya, Indu, Ponnu, Praveen, Reshma, the Cheriyachans, the Vellyammas and Vellyachans. Though I enthusiastically smiled and said Namaste and Hello to all present, in return I received shy smiles and little murmurs of welcome… Some of the younger cousins were too shy and tongue-tied to look directly at me, and were peeping from behind the door or behind an elder cousin. All the ladies and girls were dressed colourfully and traditionally, with a cute and tiny black dot as Bindi on the forehead and some with flowers adorning the oiled long braids.
From that first cup of steaming cup of coffee served with banana chips, tapioca chips and chakka chips-- the hospitality never just ceased. I do not recall ever having spent a month in my entire life-time, with not a single chore to do and just pure unadulterated fun and joy. From the time that the eyes opened in the morning, there was someone ready with the morning cup of coffee. Following the bath, Sheeja’s Cheriyamma (Priya’s mother) would call out softly for a yummy breakfast comprising either fluffy hot idlis with sambhar and chutney or Idiyappam or Rice Puttu and Kadala curry or Upama. I ate as heartily as would have made my mother proud of me and that too, with no coaxing whatsoever. It was amusing for me that after eating, one had to just fold the banana leaf and dispose off the same. The very first time, Sheeja’s Cheriyachan taught me that one had to close the top leaf side over the lower leaf side. With stomach bursting to the seams, we used to run out and explore the places as far and wide as we could. We used to visit all possible Aunts and Uncles; marvel at the temples and backwaters; start a race to climb hillocks and tree-tops. There was not a care in the world to spoil the fun and frolic. And precisely, at the lunch and dinner hours, we were found at the sitting table with a look of ravenous hunger on our faces. And yet, all that I exchanged with all the Vellyammas and Cheriyammas were smiles, a few gestures and some crucial signals with the eyes. Of course, in the teenages, one doesn’t worry about how our mothers and Aunts slog in the kitchen before and after every meal. And precisely as naughty teenagers, we behaved. Not for a moment did we worry as to who cleaned our rooms or or chopped endless variety of veggies or washed the utensils… We were the perfect guests!!! The varieties of delicacies flowed ceaselessly. Everybody flurried about trying to make my stay as comfortable as possible, with me not having washed my coffee mug, even once during my stay.
Despite the language barrier and our inability to exchange elaborate conversations, we developed bonds that we cherish till date. Guess, it was in Kerala I learned for the first time, that love needs no words. Sheeja, her cousins and I had the fun of a lifetime. All the umpteen houses we were invited to, took special efforts to cook special delicacies and make me feel welcome. Most of the delicacies I was already familiar with, having partaken the Onam Sadya annually at Sheeja’s and another Malyalee friend- Rekha’s house. The Thoran, the Pachadi, the Papadum, Rasam, Naranga curry… knew me well for I had gorged on them annually.
The bonds lasted… Ten years later, I went for Amrutha’s wedding at Telicherry; a few years ago, I went to meet Priya who is married and settled in Jodhpur; I fondly remember Indu who is settled in Surat and all the Aunts and Uncles too, who keep insisting that we visit again… I remember vividly the debates I used to have with Praveen on whether North Indians or South Indians dominate the music industry!!! After my own marriage, I knew we had to visit Kerala which had given me much happiness on two prior visits. We decided to visit during the monsoon and Onam and though could not visit Sheeja’s large family, we gathered as many happy memories as we could at Kumarakom, Thekaddy, Cochin and Kottayam.
Fortunately, one doesn’t miss Kerala (except for the soothing green sights) much in Kuwait. The hospitable and loving Malyalees are all around, and their focus on education, music, arts, and social concerns is admirable. Each year, we may not be able to visit Kerala but here in Kuwait, the invites come to us for devouring the Onam Sadya. May God keep His own country blessed forever…
And oh, by the way…the Jam bottle was never opened!!!
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Navniit Gandhi is an academic since 25+ years; a feature writer (300+ articles), and has authored 10 books.
Her 10th and most recently authored, published and launched book is titled: NOT MUCH IS AS IT SEEMS
Her write-ups can be read at
navniitspeaks.wordpress.com
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