Thursday, August 4, 2011 at 10:36pm
The Qatar Airways Doha-Thiruvananthapuram flight landed 15 minutes late at 4:15am. It was a good flight. I was impressed when the captain announced before take off that there will be mobile connectivity from the flight. But for some reason, it never materialized. The no cellphone indicator sign remained perpetually on next to the seatbelt button. The repetitive staring down by my sleep deprived eyes did not induce it to blink.
Particularly liked the stewards and hostesses asking anyone coming out of the lavatory whether they had flushed and then doing a quick inspection. That proactive approach works.
The new international terminal at Thiruvanathapuram is truly world class. Young, energetic staff is probably the secret of the vibrancy. However, I was puzzled not to find any device to find the local time. Perhaps there is an overload of clocks on the departure section. Perhaps it is a subtle clue that you have arrived in ‘timeless’ India.
Amma had come to pick me up in a call-taxi. Santro: small compact car. The huge luggage needed some serious shoving. The smallness of objects is a repeatable observation. I had to have two and a half ‘Indian’ cups of tea in the morning to get to the American equivalent. On the positive side, this scaled down world should boost male confidence!
While waiting at the toll booth (again staffed by youngsters) to exit the airport, saw my first stray dog on its morning stroll. Saw another one dead in the middle of the road on the ride home. The final stray dog for the day was at Vellayambalam junction. The numbers have reduced much.
The re-acquaintance to the Indian bathroom with its wet floor was rather pleasant. Our home bathroom floors are made from black unpolished ‘kadappa’ stone which are noticeably reflective.
I will never understand why my mother bothered to buy a roll of toilet paper. Water instead of paper is a quantum leap in the level of intimacy.
By the time I had showered, the newspaper boy had delivered. Well, I assume it was a boy. I haven’t heard of women breaking into that profession yet.. Lot of stuff going on in the city as per the ‘local’ section of the papers. A film festival and a honey&dates exhibition caught my eye. I am not sure if the organizers of the ‘Honey & Dates’ were deliberate in creating that combination. Honey from Coorg tastes different according to the month of collection and plants in bloom at that period. So there is wheat flavored, ginger-flavored etc.
Neighbors had woken up by the time I was reading the papers. The level of sound percolation was slightly shocking. On the radio from the neighbor’s to our left, news broadcast of Akashavaani. Devotional songs were coming in from the right. There is a constant hum of conversations in the background. This level of hearing sensitivity would have spooked me the whole day had I not gone shopping and overloaded the sense completely. I am pretty sure as soon as we have cable at home, our TV sound will prevail in this neighborhood sound spectrum war.
Before 7am, a young man came down the street shouting ‘pichathi raakan undo, kathi pichathi moorcha aakkan undo’ offering his services to sharpen knifes. My mother had two knives that needed to be readied for the cooking she had planned. Our neighbor Rema Aunty had one of her own. Three knives, 3 minutes, thirty rupees. Same pedaling, same circular rotating sander, same flying sparks. Knives haven’t yet transitioned to use and throw part of the domestic consciousness here.
The knife sharpening was getting done in anticipation of the four fisherwomen who supposedly come by before 8am daily. I use the term fisherwomen loosely. They certainly don’t go out and fish. They are deliverers. I remember the names of two of them: Victoria and Mable and the army of neighborhood cats that follow them. But that scene did not play out today. The reason: full day agitation and strike by the state transport corporation bus drivers. The reason: A fellow bus driver was beaten to death by a lorry driver the previous night. The semantics of that sentence worries me more than the death. ‘Beaten to death’ conjures up a different image than the single blow that was involved. The reason: road rage. The reason:
Since fish delivery was not going to happen, we decided to go to them. ‘Matsyafed’, the state government cooperative runs a small shop near by. ‘Matsyafed’ would be a good name for the US Federal reserve: fishiness and stink!
The Vellayambalam-Sasthamangalam road is packed with shops and businesses. A few apartment skyscrapers are beginning to define the skyline. Before reaching the Matsyafed outlet, Amma picked up some vegetables for ‘aviyal’ from the Spencer grocery chain. Prices are comparable to their dollar equivalents in US.
The fish shop had standing room the size of two airplane lavatories. Yet more than half a dozen shoppers were busy ordering the cutting and packing. I decided to stay on the footpath and watch the traffic. A chauffer driven Honda parked by the curb and a sari-clad aunty added to the crowd in the fish shop. I think there were more two wheelers and autorickshaws on the street today because of the bus strike. The noise was intense but not overwhelming. I wasn’t intimidated. There is lot of horn blaring and tire screeching but the motion is rather slow compared to America. I wonder if most drivers sound the horn to refocus their own attention. I did not see a single driver pay attention to the horniness of any other driver. Yet they all toot.
While waiting outside the fish shop as the ‘avoli’ was being cleaned up for a lunch curry and fry, I saw a street sweeper walk by with her gigantic broom. Slouching, she seemed well over her 70s. She wore a deep blue sari which I think is a government-issued uniform. I did not know what exactly her job demanded. It is impossible to sweep such a busy street. She stopped by a lamp post and a storm drain where some paper and plastic had accumulated. She used her hands and the broom to gather them up, moved them 5 feet from their original location and walked onwards. Tool of the trade and a costume: these are important. The actual job is secondary. Everyone profession is priestly to a great extent.
A girl passed by me. From the sweaty odor she left in her wake, apparently, she was going home from the local gym: Power gym and spa! I watched her walk away. She needs to go more often. One year of gym, yoga and spa now at a discounted rate of Rs. 10,000.
Before going shopping, Amma confused me with an argument for the ‘lungi’ and against shorts. Why the well ventilated, folded-up-to-the-knees lungi was preferred over shorts, I did not understand. There is something inappropriate about the non-traditional, I suppose.
Walking back home, we tried to locate the Swiss café that appears on Google maps. Couldn’t find it. We must have missed the signboard. The deluge of signs drowns all individual signs here. You need someone who already knows to point the way. Hence, deluge of gurus!
Lunch was a smash hit. Aviyal was prepared in a dedicated clay ‘chatti’ (pot). Likewise, fish curry had its own dedicated chatti. Fish fry and ‘pulissery’ were also cooked. Rema aunty sent over a beans ‘thoran’ and a brinjal ‘mezhukkupuratti’. Out of consideration for my foodie friends (practically everyone on the friends list), I will not be posting food related images! Hoping to add some photos from tomorrow.
One of my uncles came over by noon with a drill to see if a wall hanging could be screwed in. The drill didn’t have enough power. The inability to finish the task was swiftly converted into an admiration session about the solid construction of the house.
Jet lag hit after lunch though I struggled to stay awake hoping for some rain in the afternoon. It was cloudy all morning. Nice to sit in the porch and watch leaves of the jackfruit tree fall. A small butterfly with black spots on its white wings spent a long time in the garden. I did not see its mate. It must be the black spots. May be it should use some ‘fair and lovely’! I wonder if there are fewer crows in Thirvananthapuram now. Saw only 3-4 today. Far fewer than the numbers I remember.
Another uncle came by in the evening. Heavy duty conversation on the harmful effects of internet and mobile phones on the youth ensued. Much venom was vent about facebook and orkut. ‘Mathrubhumi’ newspaper is running a 4 day series on the matter. Splendid scaremongering neatly packaged with sleazy tidbits.
One of Amma’s coworker came to invite us for his daughter’s wedding. I had met him once briefly in Chennai 7 years ago. He promptly made a statement about the necessity of my marriage. He is the first to bring up that topic. I bet the number of my wedding planners will be over a hundred by this month end. I will keep track.
The final visitors for the day were our neighbor doctor uncle’s daughter and grandkids who are here on vacation for couple of more days from Vancouver. The boy who I had seen last time pushing around his baby walker is now taller than me. He was present during the recent Vancouver riots.
There is a diversity of opinion of whether I have become fatter or not. Most seem to express a premeditated opinion. That is true in general for most Indian conversations. They are an exchange of clichés with the media generating new ones the common man can use to pack his cheap mobile minutes. Quantitatively, I weight 10-15 pounds heavier than my last India trip. I like those who see no change. In them, I see poets and dreamers. I like those who notice the change. I assume they have remembered!
It is a balmy night. Ceiling fan is loud but not loud enough to drown the sound of crickets and some other insects from outside and couple of lizards that seem to be talking to each other in morse code inside. Mosquitoes rule the outdoors.
Going to bed hoping to be woken up by the sweet sound of night rain.
The Qatar Airways Doha-Thiruvananthapuram flight landed 15 minutes late at 4:15am. It was a good flight. I was impressed when the captain announced before take off that there will be mobile connectivity from the flight. But for some reason, it never materialized. The no cellphone indicator sign remained perpetually on next to the seatbelt button. The repetitive staring down by my sleep deprived eyes did not induce it to blink.
Particularly liked the stewards and hostesses asking anyone coming out of the lavatory whether they had flushed and then doing a quick inspection. That proactive approach works.
The new international terminal at Thiruvanathapuram is truly world class. Young, energetic staff is probably the secret of the vibrancy. However, I was puzzled not to find any device to find the local time. Perhaps there is an overload of clocks on the departure section. Perhaps it is a subtle clue that you have arrived in ‘timeless’ India.
Amma had come to pick me up in a call-taxi. Santro: small compact car. The huge luggage needed some serious shoving. The smallness of objects is a repeatable observation. I had to have two and a half ‘Indian’ cups of tea in the morning to get to the American equivalent. On the positive side, this scaled down world should boost male confidence!
While waiting at the toll booth (again staffed by youngsters) to exit the airport, saw my first stray dog on its morning stroll. Saw another one dead in the middle of the road on the ride home. The final stray dog for the day was at Vellayambalam junction. The numbers have reduced much.
The re-acquaintance to the Indian bathroom with its wet floor was rather pleasant. Our home bathroom floors are made from black unpolished ‘kadappa’ stone which are noticeably reflective.
I will never understand why my mother bothered to buy a roll of toilet paper. Water instead of paper is a quantum leap in the level of intimacy.
By the time I had showered, the newspaper boy had delivered. Well, I assume it was a boy. I haven’t heard of women breaking into that profession yet.. Lot of stuff going on in the city as per the ‘local’ section of the papers. A film festival and a honey&dates exhibition caught my eye. I am not sure if the organizers of the ‘Honey & Dates’ were deliberate in creating that combination. Honey from Coorg tastes different according to the month of collection and plants in bloom at that period. So there is wheat flavored, ginger-flavored etc.
Neighbors had woken up by the time I was reading the papers. The level of sound percolation was slightly shocking. On the radio from the neighbor’s to our left, news broadcast of Akashavaani. Devotional songs were coming in from the right. There is a constant hum of conversations in the background. This level of hearing sensitivity would have spooked me the whole day had I not gone shopping and overloaded the sense completely. I am pretty sure as soon as we have cable at home, our TV sound will prevail in this neighborhood sound spectrum war.
Before 7am, a young man came down the street shouting ‘pichathi raakan undo, kathi pichathi moorcha aakkan undo’ offering his services to sharpen knifes. My mother had two knives that needed to be readied for the cooking she had planned. Our neighbor Rema Aunty had one of her own. Three knives, 3 minutes, thirty rupees. Same pedaling, same circular rotating sander, same flying sparks. Knives haven’t yet transitioned to use and throw part of the domestic consciousness here.
The knife sharpening was getting done in anticipation of the four fisherwomen who supposedly come by before 8am daily. I use the term fisherwomen loosely. They certainly don’t go out and fish. They are deliverers. I remember the names of two of them: Victoria and Mable and the army of neighborhood cats that follow them. But that scene did not play out today. The reason: full day agitation and strike by the state transport corporation bus drivers. The reason: A fellow bus driver was beaten to death by a lorry driver the previous night. The semantics of that sentence worries me more than the death. ‘Beaten to death’ conjures up a different image than the single blow that was involved. The reason: road rage. The reason:
Since fish delivery was not going to happen, we decided to go to them. ‘Matsyafed’, the state government cooperative runs a small shop near by. ‘Matsyafed’ would be a good name for the US Federal reserve: fishiness and stink!
The Vellayambalam-Sasthamangalam road is packed with shops and businesses. A few apartment skyscrapers are beginning to define the skyline. Before reaching the Matsyafed outlet, Amma picked up some vegetables for ‘aviyal’ from the Spencer grocery chain. Prices are comparable to their dollar equivalents in US.
The fish shop had standing room the size of two airplane lavatories. Yet more than half a dozen shoppers were busy ordering the cutting and packing. I decided to stay on the footpath and watch the traffic. A chauffer driven Honda parked by the curb and a sari-clad aunty added to the crowd in the fish shop. I think there were more two wheelers and autorickshaws on the street today because of the bus strike. The noise was intense but not overwhelming. I wasn’t intimidated. There is lot of horn blaring and tire screeching but the motion is rather slow compared to America. I wonder if most drivers sound the horn to refocus their own attention. I did not see a single driver pay attention to the horniness of any other driver. Yet they all toot.
While waiting outside the fish shop as the ‘avoli’ was being cleaned up for a lunch curry and fry, I saw a street sweeper walk by with her gigantic broom. Slouching, she seemed well over her 70s. She wore a deep blue sari which I think is a government-issued uniform. I did not know what exactly her job demanded. It is impossible to sweep such a busy street. She stopped by a lamp post and a storm drain where some paper and plastic had accumulated. She used her hands and the broom to gather them up, moved them 5 feet from their original location and walked onwards. Tool of the trade and a costume: these are important. The actual job is secondary. Everyone profession is priestly to a great extent.
A girl passed by me. From the sweaty odor she left in her wake, apparently, she was going home from the local gym: Power gym and spa! I watched her walk away. She needs to go more often. One year of gym, yoga and spa now at a discounted rate of Rs. 10,000.
Before going shopping, Amma confused me with an argument for the ‘lungi’ and against shorts. Why the well ventilated, folded-up-to-the-knees lungi was preferred over shorts, I did not understand. There is something inappropriate about the non-traditional, I suppose.
Walking back home, we tried to locate the Swiss café that appears on Google maps. Couldn’t find it. We must have missed the signboard. The deluge of signs drowns all individual signs here. You need someone who already knows to point the way. Hence, deluge of gurus!
Lunch was a smash hit. Aviyal was prepared in a dedicated clay ‘chatti’ (pot). Likewise, fish curry had its own dedicated chatti. Fish fry and ‘pulissery’ were also cooked. Rema aunty sent over a beans ‘thoran’ and a brinjal ‘mezhukkupuratti’. Out of consideration for my foodie friends (practically everyone on the friends list), I will not be posting food related images! Hoping to add some photos from tomorrow.
One of my uncles came over by noon with a drill to see if a wall hanging could be screwed in. The drill didn’t have enough power. The inability to finish the task was swiftly converted into an admiration session about the solid construction of the house.
Jet lag hit after lunch though I struggled to stay awake hoping for some rain in the afternoon. It was cloudy all morning. Nice to sit in the porch and watch leaves of the jackfruit tree fall. A small butterfly with black spots on its white wings spent a long time in the garden. I did not see its mate. It must be the black spots. May be it should use some ‘fair and lovely’! I wonder if there are fewer crows in Thirvananthapuram now. Saw only 3-4 today. Far fewer than the numbers I remember.
Another uncle came by in the evening. Heavy duty conversation on the harmful effects of internet and mobile phones on the youth ensued. Much venom was vent about facebook and orkut. ‘Mathrubhumi’ newspaper is running a 4 day series on the matter. Splendid scaremongering neatly packaged with sleazy tidbits.
One of Amma’s coworker came to invite us for his daughter’s wedding. I had met him once briefly in Chennai 7 years ago. He promptly made a statement about the necessity of my marriage. He is the first to bring up that topic. I bet the number of my wedding planners will be over a hundred by this month end. I will keep track.
The final visitors for the day were our neighbor doctor uncle’s daughter and grandkids who are here on vacation for couple of more days from Vancouver. The boy who I had seen last time pushing around his baby walker is now taller than me. He was present during the recent Vancouver riots.
There is a diversity of opinion of whether I have become fatter or not. Most seem to express a premeditated opinion. That is true in general for most Indian conversations. They are an exchange of clichés with the media generating new ones the common man can use to pack his cheap mobile minutes. Quantitatively, I weight 10-15 pounds heavier than my last India trip. I like those who see no change. In them, I see poets and dreamers. I like those who notice the change. I assume they have remembered!
It is a balmy night. Ceiling fan is loud but not loud enough to drown the sound of crickets and some other insects from outside and couple of lizards that seem to be talking to each other in morse code inside. Mosquitoes rule the outdoors.
Going to bed hoping to be woken up by the sweet sound of night rain.
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