We reach Trishur railway station at half past 2 (one and half hour late) and start for my maternal home in an ambassador. This time we go through a new route, where a new bridge is built over one of the zillion backwaters in the green country... The ferry service is discontinued and preserved as a heritage in the name of Urbanisation. Ferries were always fun to commute moving at a steady pace giving an awe filled view around the lake within it and a growing urge to dive into it and feel the sharp chillness of the water slapping the senses clogging the nasal passages and ears; floating over the water weightless separated from the thoughts, emotions and the tangible life, floating around aimlessly and ultimately sinking into the blue. But I am in complete peace with the ambassador jolting ahead through the newly built bridge after an arduous 24 (plus 1 and half) hour journey in Sabari Express, which is by no means an Express halting at every other station, making way for every other train... and it so happened that three fourths of the adjacent compartment was reserved by a women's college excursion party.. compartments and grass is always greener and lusher on the other side... no use abusing my luck there...
After having spent majority of the sabari express journey time in a wistful slumber the transformations I witnessed out through the window of the ambassador were sudden and aching; tall buildings turned taller slanting coconut trees pregnant with coconuts tender ones full of refreshing and popular coconut water ready to hit the ground any moment and everything blue black red white yellow turned plain green... coconut green banana leaves green ripened jack fruit green backwater green.. greenery lead us, accompanied us to our destination...
Last time I went to Kerala was when my cousin got married (
Trip to God's own country (Part I))This time another cousin another marriage; same bland style, the proceedings set on a dais clouded by photographers and cameramen quickly filming whatever little is happening up there ( (no posing for the cameras and surprising sense of urgency in everything!!) and at the blink of an eye you are munching on the delicious
sadya sitting opposite to the newly wed who are supposedly enjoying theirs under the limelight(spotlight?).
In the midst of all this my mom would call me to meet her cousins, friends, aunts, uncles...
'Deepu come here... This is my son.. No no not my daughter.. my son....'
'You have grown.....' gleefully staring at the apparition surrounding my head..
'Yeah.. Its.. Something different.. Wanted to...' a wide grin...
And off we go home...
This is the story of marriages at my place.. Sooner or later sometime in the distant future (when? perhaps when I show prominent signs of balding... for now I only have the looks of a bride!!) it would be my turn to tie the knot but I wouldnt possibly do it this way...
My marriage would be a grand spectacle.. The groom adorned in sherwani and a turban would come galloping on a black horse (not white.. I always had a crush on black horses.. fascination may be a better word for the dirty minds...) to the marriage hall and the bride on a palanquin (if she wishes to). There would be Punjabi style bangras and Andhra style jovial post-marriage games followed by a grand feast.. And finally...
'
you may now kiss the bride' Richard Gere style after which we, groom and bride(if she still wishes to) would ride back on the black horse... Thats when I get married... Things often have never quite been the way I wanted it to...
Post Marriage we had nothing much to do and so.. we, my cousins and I the boys gang, decided to play cricket... I was extremely jubilant to step into the playground, for the last time I rubbed the ball on my trousers in the course of the run-up was in may 2005. A long time for the cricket loving mind to get excited and certainly longer for the cricket suppressed and forgotten body to return to action... Despite the worries of possible injuries I set forth, Akthar like, long hair, long run-up putting the maximum in every delivery... I was their strike bowler (they striked me all over the ground) and a classy batsman playing textbook shots, Dravid like, very well received and applauded by the opposition... My cricket was like that of the Hyderabad Deccan Chargers.. Great expectations and dismal performance... Why is Deccan Chargers way down in the points table?? Lack of players?? Gily, Gibsy, Afridy (Afridi) are not called players then who are???
What DC lacks is good looking cheer leaders and a brand ambassador.. Every team has got one.. What is Mega Star and Balayya doing?? Star players dont get you victories and points... Collected team and an aggressive captain does.. like the Rajastan Royals.. Thats about cricket.. IPL has commercialized cricket... we have big stars and celebrities involved and even '
Santoor Mummy' has started smacking the cricket ball onto the windows... We played till we could play no more and then rode back home on an antique piece..
A motorbike supposed to be donated to Salar Jung Museum, on which both rider and pillion rider had important roles to play. Rider would drive this thing through a narrow bumpy lane laid elevated between the water clogged fields and the one behind would lighten the path with a torch and also ensure all the musical spare parts would run along with the 10 year old bike (the foot rest unfortunately gave away to rest in peace on the ground and couldn't complete its journey with the others)
The next day we were admiring a herd of elephants after paying visits to Lord Krishna, standing in a queue for hours at the Guruvayoor Temple, bare footed, bare chested, cladding a silky smooth Lungi strapped tightly to the waist with a belt to prevent further embarrassment. The Lungi languorously lingered on to my modest self until I was among the elephants picturing them in my trousers and at my heels at their slightest movements... There were so many of them...
Komban (the male one with tusks),
Piddi Aana (the female counterpart),
Kutti Aana (the calf) and they had big personalities and even bigger and full names...
Keshavan, Shankaran, Padmanaban, Narayanan... (not Deepu, Dee...)
Elephants got a personality and as
Samuel L Jackson says in Pulp Fiction...
'Personality goes a long way...' and it certainly does...
Cant help quoting one of the interesting conversations between Vincent (
John Travolta) and Jules (Samuel Jackson)
Vincent: Want some bacon?
Jules: No man, I don't eat pork.
Vincent: Are you Jewish?
Jules: Nah, I ain't Jewish, I just don't dig on swine, that's all.
Vincent: Why not?
Jules: Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.
Vincent: Bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.
Jules: Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy ********er. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eat nothin' that ain't got enough sense enough to disregard its own faeces.
Vincent: How about a dog? Dogs eats its own feces.
Jules: I don't eat dog either.
Vincent: Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?
Jules: I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy but they're definitely dirty. But, a dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way.
Vincent: Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules: Well we'd have to be talkin' about one charmin' *******kin' pig. I mean he'd have to be ten times more charmin' than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm sayin'?
Too much of elephants, greenery, cricket, pulp fiction and digression in this post... But they were all part of my trip...
