Kerala Part II. How it all began.

I'm in Kerala - of course I said so already. Up until this morning I wasn't in any particular mood to share. But then I lost my temper day before and settled into a quiet sulk to think all of yesterday. So today, I feel like I could share some of what this last month has been.

It's not as bad as I make it sound, though I'm reminded daily of Gerald Durrell and his menagerie of people and animals in a strange land. Sometimes I'm amazed at how diverse the subcontinent is. Especially since I'm talking mostly in hand signals and facial expressions. It isn't as difficult as people would imagine it to be. I'm really not that much of a talker. That's probably why I talk so much shit. It's this live and let live and do not interfere with human beings because they're not half as nice about interruptions as animals are policy that I've formed after much consideration. But enough about me. More about the travels.

We reached Kurla station [in Bombay, for our train to Tellicherry] an hour early. The train was still being cleaned. I thought it was pretty fucking handy that we confused the train timing. We get nowhere on time. And almost never with an hour to spare. Movies always get watched with the first fifteen minutes gone, meetings always begin hurriedly with glares shot from the latecomer and the meetinger-in-waiting. I am almost certain I’d be late for my own funeral. Kurla station is the epitome of filth I thought [from past memory, and confirmations of the present]. How wrong I was. There are greater, more prudent epitomes of filth, which I shall get into by and by. We got onto our seats, all our backpacks and one suitcase full of enthusiasm for the journey. I looked forward to twenty hours in a south-bound train, Smit looked forward to the end of it, and Dangles looked forward to sleeping through it. As train journeys go it was pretty uneventful, save our frequent smoking trips to the loo [the smell of grass can drown out even the strongest stench of filth in closed train compartment toilets], Smit’s outburst at hardly getting enough hits and the TTE asking us to not smoke in his watch. We didn’t listen to him.

Arriving at Thalassary was a relief of sorts, and we were rested, filthy and craving some filter coffee. Be advised that the wonderful folk of north Kerala don’t give proper respect to their tea and coffee. It’s weakness makes me feel like WonderWoman with superhuge biceps. However, the Indian Coffee House in Thalassery [with branches all over Kerala] deserves gratitude for the welcoming whiff of filter kaapi that does such wonders for the soul. Arrival at Valsan’s Shilpapaddiam was met with sighs of wonderment. And the absolute pleasure of a shower. Shilpapaddiam is beyond my ability to describe. To put it most simply, it is welcoming, rustic, built in shades of the earth. Laterite and wood serves to keep you cool in the tremendous heat that is Kerala in the summer. I didn’t know at that time the weather was just readying everyone for some ecological drama. With sweat trailing us wherever we walked, we had breakfast, dragged our assortment of luggage up to our attic house [it sometimes feels like living in a treehouse in The Swiss Family Robinsson], and beelined for aforementioned shower in the outhouse. The outhouses are circular, built in laterite and some lovely bath fittings from Crabtree. The roofs are dried palm leaves. The water is cool and fresh. There are bedets for those used to modern convenience. That bit surprised me. We met the six dogs and saw no cats for our first three days here. We dragged up an extra fan from the office. We combated mosquitoes with Kachhva Chhap and Odomos. But the urban warriors were at a loss at what to do with the rusticity and the ants. Dang fretted and fumed over her Mid-Day page which needed writing while Smit and I combated with clay and laterite respectively. This we did for 2 days. On day four, we trooped to Kottayam, only to find there was pretty much nothing there to do. We walked in lanes, smoked to the intrigued stares of various Keralite men and women and ate some smashing chicken biryani and gulped very good sweet and sour veggie soup. It was almost like cheating, having that soup. If you want a decent stay in Kottayam I’d recommend The Homestead. For a ride through the backwaters, I’d say go to Dolphin Tours.

Getting into that little motor boat [we hired it outright for Rs. 2000] to go to Allepey was the best decision. No matter that we realised after getting to Kottayam that none of us really wanted to go to Kottayam, and the only one of us who even knew of it before was Dang, having read of it in The God of Small Things. This is why I never trust writers who write nostalgia. It’s a pointless waste of time to go look for someone else’s memory a couple dozen decades later. The Kottayam we saw was nothing as described. And we bought the last packet of Wills Classic Milds that existed for sale in all of Kottayam. Also bought were utterly cheap mundus, at Rs. 24 a piece, from Seematti. Chainstore, Kerala. Capitalists exist, under the cover of economy division shopping stores, even in communist states.

What strikes me the most is the local intolerance of, or the lack of interest in tolerating difference. That no matter what you do [or don't do], you will get stared at. Size, shape, gender, age, none of it matter. If you're not from there, you're not from there. And that gives those who are from there the permission to stare. Sometimes even touch. It's just seen as a fact of life. Repetition: Shorts, sleeveless shirts, tank tops, dresses that show cleavage or ankle or any such forom of skin, are considered invitations. If you want to traverse this land, get used to it. Also largely not tolerated are female/s travelling any distance without men. I don't think I've met any unattached women here, and it disturbs me just a bit. By unattached I mean, going to the market by themselves. Every other minute, sometimes, is a giant eyeroll. Luckily, the boat people are so used to tourists, they welcome it. For most part, they ignore it.

If you want to take a boat to Allepey and not come back, you’d better make it clear that you want your 6 hours on the boat and then get off at Allepey. It’s also wise to get into the bloody thing on time. At maybe 10.00 AM. It occurred to me that the earlybird behaviour at Kurla Station was total fluke.

[soon: part 3: Backwater Pirates.]

Kerala Part I : The Summary.

have been in kerala [a small village called pattiam near thallassary (telicherry)] since the 31st of march. email sent to some of those that want to know.

hello All.

this is not a personal letter, so don't get stressed if some parts of it have you go wtf.

it's been a lovely ten days so far. kerala sucks. come here only if you want to go in AC gaadis to hill stations and look at green things from the distance. the place is gorgeous. every other minute is meant to take your breath away. the backwaters are so much fun. the weather's been total drama for the last three days. thunder, lightening, rain, other such ecological tantrums. heat also. i've turned black already. which is awesome because no one will ask to get me married at my cousin's wedding next month. i look like i've been dipped in charcoal. the people here, however, deserve a prize. in cuntgiri. no one wants to give ANY info. i'm telling you they just hate you on principal. and women can't talk to men here. they can't travel alone. they can't smile at strangers without extending an invitation to get groped or stared at. and god forbid that you dare to wear shorts. or sleeveless. or tank tops. or anything which does not cover you completely. i think i'm finally figuring out why that weirdo Kamla Das changed to islam - she lives in one of the shittiest parts of the country, especially if you're female.

as i might have mentioned before, the place i am, is awesome. the weathers full drama. my house has only one room, the attic. downstairs is for work. :) so far, i play with laterite. smit and dingles, there is form now. wheee. :) :) there is also some charcoal type drawing things happening hurrah. yesterday, i was made to sit in a chair for 4 something hours while valsan and sukeshan tried to make portraits of me. i'm happy to note none of them look like me. on the other hand, the artists' consensus is, i'm too young and too old for them to get a fix on me. i am also a gypsy. :) not the maruti one. the people you know? they asked me at the synagogue if i was israely, and i thought, desraili better. [see, kerala fucks up one's humour, so please not to feel raa.]

right, so back to that single room house - i caught my resident mouse, only to spend hours trying to save him from a cat. and then to spend an hour following the cat to save it from the six mad dogs that live here. other than that, my house is now inhabited by a snake also. very pretty he is. or she is. hangs around at the higher level, i come in, and it fucks off. good type roommate. :) too bad dang and smit missed that.

other than that, absolutely nothing to report. i don't miss bombay one bit. you guys, sure i miss youuuuuu. so if you get bored, you should call me. i'm at 099470xxxxx. you know, just in case anyone misses me back. mumble mumble.

also, i managed to find awesome coffee. which i finally make, because everyone here drinks such weak tea-coffee. i'm waiting for the lappytoppy, then i will send some picshurs. hokay?

much love,

been a while, and i don't know what to talk about. except i had this feeling that maybe i want to come back. i thought of jazz, because my phone beeped, and i was asked in a text message, 'what is jazz p? i mean, what is it to you?'

i was in the tube-lit kitchen in my house, playing with tea leaves, waiting for the water to boil before i put them in. 2 AM it said, and i thought, hmm. jazz. in the night, everything seems much warmer, when you think of it. the cold white glare of the tube light is not important, except it gives you a headache. i hurry hurry hurry the tea, and i feel like my mind's fractured enough to imagine another person, who is probably me, and who loves me too. i feel that now, a quiet combustion of atoms, as they swirl warmth around me. what are we if not chemical reactions with ourselves?

with jazz, everything seems so much more. much darker, much warmer, much moodier, it's an in-between moment. i can't listen to it in the morning. in the morning it makes me restless, and in the night it makes me wish for company that can never be.

but in the space between evening and night, what some people call late evening [just the way they say 5 pm is late afternoon]. it's when the evening light is fading, shadows lurk between orange-gold sunlight, and lamps are being lit by the beaches, and the roadside cafes are readying to tap into a more enthusiastic service routine, jazz could live inside me, and my feet will fall on the wooden floor in exact time. laughter will be heard floating over it, and again, floating over the laughter will be the the music. not like grand mountain ranges rising in crescendo, but an ebb and flow of waves around rocks. sometimes it changes, and crashes into the rocks with a ferocity you were not expecting, and then it murmurs and soothes your nerves by stroking your skin with its warmth.

it's the moment in your affair when it occurs to you that something is just right, and enveloping you in a warmth that is all chemical reaction, but you just created it out of nothing but some jazz. some throw-your-head-back-and-laugh laughter. some touch me and we'll combust moments. smiles slanted in the afternoons that lead to them. glasses clink around you, quiet laughter floats up over the smell of whiskey.

that's jazz. it's whats in between evening gold and night black. it's twilight. it makes sense.