Chronicles of Nariyal*

What happened was the stuff the befits serious art cinema - An overworked, disillusioned software engineer, caught in the rot of material bliss, fights with his conscience on an especially sleepless night (caused by gastric than moral issues) and resolves to return to his roots; decides to go back to his family home in a sleepy little town in kerala after (about) half a dozen years.

The names are revised, the contact list refreshed, numbers punched and stored (and mapped to mental images, stories and current affairs - fodder for "how is the little wart in your toe" talks over coffee). Tickets checked on land, rail and air and (against all hopes and prayers) found available. Itenerary checked and rechecked with parents and the local astrologer. And armed with a week's schedule, rapidex's best selling "learn malayalam over an overnight bus journey" and a digital camera, I set out to criss cross the district of cannanore and around.

--*--

No one's exactly sure who named me. It's more an anonymous voice that forged the destinies of my self and my name together till death does us apart. But one reason that could have gone in favor of the name is my half namesake in the fairer sex. She's called Rathi (which in the waft of coconut oil transforms into Rethi with an especially nascent flavor) . And in these all years, she's among those very few people who I have a relationship that goes beyond the ties of blood; someone I can have a real conversations with, about issues that matter to me; someone I truly, genuinely love listening to. She has the unique distinction to be among the chosen few who find their place in both my brother's and my list of favorite relatives (talk about chalk and cheese).

Why am I telling you all this? Because, she deserves special mention in the present context of my trip. Uthara is a three month wonder, my most recent niece and a toothless fairy who has a darling for a mom. And I was curious to see her in flesh and blood, hoping that the apple never falls far from the tree. It hasn't.

--*--

Family etiquette (which includes gift buying, small talk and table manners) is a very tough deal. "A 5 year old gets a tom and jerry game. The current middle school fad in the north part of kerala are the cricket stats cards. Girls prefer dresses. Babies look good in pink. In case of doubt, buy sweets. Maha lacto is not cool anymore (Was it ever!). Never volunteer to take the (plantain) leaf off the table (in case of close relatives). Always volunteer to take the leaf off the table (in case of distant relatives)" And this whole argument about how much do we know a person (in the orbit of relatives we have no idea how we are related to)? Do we know them enough to go meet them? to sit and have coffee? Lunch perhaps? Stay overnight? Phew!

--*--

I am going to write a book now, for I know the perfect secret to break the ice with relatives. Forget the diapers for toddlers, the tom and jerry and the packet cake (a speciality of cannanore). Bring on the Digital camera baby! Everyone, I mean EVERYONE, loves being on the camera. And to see how they look in the snap, as soon as it is taken is like the icing on the cake. And that's where sony's digital camera comes in. From the most reticent to the most vivacious, from the most elderly to less than an year olds, it's amusing watching them getting ready, and bringing out that flashing this-is-how-I-look-best smile on their faces.

And kids, there's nothing lovlier than watching them opening up, and pampering you with their little acts of love [grandma's affection is a close second]. You know you have made the cut when they start showing you their karate costumes, their notebooks (and the miraculously get your attention to the occasional v.goods) and slip into your rooms in the early hours of the morning (when the mothers scream to wake them up) and snuggle by your side under the special blanket you get.

--*--

And you always thought, such places are in a time-warp where nothing changes or ages. Where edifices and the people who inhabit them remain the same across the axes of time for that's how you remember them. And then you grow up, get busy, travel all around and forget how it feels like to climb those trees again, and walk on those cluttered pathways through paddy fields. And one fine day you are swept back and you realize that nothing's spared by the winds of change. The houses have either been painted afresh or left to creak and crack. The people have aged, lost hair, gained wrinkles. Kids have grown up, have a vocabulary, can express themselves. Some have flown away, defiant and independent. What are left are faint traces of places you remember and faces you can recollect.

You also realize how much you have grown up. In the last six years, I have traveled right till the other end of the country and then made my way to the countries I never dreamt of seeing, speaking dialects I still don't understand. And I have survived. But those back home are not sure whether I can make it to my uncle's house an hour away in a land that speaks my mother tongue. Coz for them, I am still the gawkish, absent-minded, bookish teenager who will anyday prefer to retire into a room with a book (which I admit I did, but VERY rarely - TWICE!). The kids look at me like a cartoon character whose stories have been fed to them since infancy ("Eat this or I will leave you with Rathish Chettan" or "If you don't do this, you will also start looking like Rathish maman")

And there sitting through those uncomfortable silences, you realize it's not just the language (damn those rapidex courses!). It's also that you have drifted away to other lands, other endeavours that don't hold the interest of people you "belong" to. Talking to them is surfing channels in a foreign country. You flip along first looking for that common channel (BBC) and settle onto harmless stuff like weather, politics and daily news. You soon get bored, flip to other topics you either don't understand or are not interested in and finally, a white noise fills the room. A monotonous drone. Pause. Silence.

But amidst all these are those few conversations, those few faces you wanted to see so badly, those little glances kids give you when they think you are not noticing just as you walk away for another half dozen years and this feeling of belonging somewhere (that's truly precious to a wanderer like me) that make it all worthwhile!

* Written between the 29th and 31st of december 2005.