February 11, 2012
Yesterday I attended our neighbor's daughters engagement. It was held at place called Vellanad in the outskirts of the city. The last time I had visited this area was to invite folks for my sister's wedding. It was those pre-surgery days. I am sure the horrendous condition of the road that leads from Aruvikkara to Vellanad served to aggravate my condition then. The incessant plying of heavy water tankers in this route ensures complete disappearance of any tarring within a few weeks of road work.
This time we avoided this route and took the road via Peyyad. Here the condition of the road was bad only in scant patches. Otherwise, the winding, undulating road was neatly tarred. Rubber plantations and coconut groves frequently appeared on the side of the road. Kundamankadavu steel suspension bridge was constructed in 1898 under the British Raj. It is barely wide enough for the king's elephant and a couple of footmen. Successive governments keep promising the building of a new bridge but I guess bribes always fall short. The project remains a perpetual vote magnet during the elections and a cash cow after the elections. On the Killiyar under the bridge, there was boat that by itself covered half the span of the stream.
After passing through Peyyad, one gets to Vilapilshala, currently in news much, because of the popular agitation against the city's waste treatment plant located there. Driving through that area, even in an a/c car with windows closed, a stench similar to that experienced before entering Mumbai by train manages to waft in. The people of the area are absolutely right to protest against such an inefficient, environmentally harmful facility in their village. Since both the major political parties are involved in the administration of the plant, this popular uprising is giving the BJP party a rare chance to organize the opposition. After Vilapilshala, we drove by the Sarabhai Institute of Science and Technolog that forms the unfortunate sounding acronym of SIST.
The wedding hall where the engagement happened belonged to the temple. The square near the temple was the heart of the village. Right next to the temple was the milk society and its refrigeration plant. A rusted green board outside it urged the dairy farmers to grow green grass as cattle feed among their other crops. Across from the temple, a branch of the Syndicate Bank. Next to it a couple of grocery stores. On the other side, the school.
The wedding hall was a huge rectangular structure reminiscent of the Viking longhouse except that the wall to wall glass windowing made it unbearably hot. I wished curtains were used. Even worse was the condition of the bride and her beautician who were stuck in a windowless, fan-less wooden room next to the dais. The ceremony involved the bride's family senior handing her birthchart to the groom's dad and the groom's dad handing him the auspicious date and time of the wedding. While sitting down for the exchange, for some reason, these men traditional tie a 'mundu' on their head like a half-hearted turban. The bride and groom then exchanged rings. The bride is 21, the groom is 22.
A neighbor uncle who was sitting next to me asked when I wanted to get married. I said I am an agnostic. He immediately brought up the great insurance defense which happens to be the first argument in any such discussion. Apparently a man needs a wife so that she will take care of him in old age and sickness. I asked him if he is making that point because the nurses union in Kerala are currently on strike. I mentioned the randomness of death argument as well against his 'insurance of care" argument. Next he leaned over to me and hushed, "there are other things also you know! If a man needs to live respectably in this society, then he has to be married." This is what I like to call the 'prostitution' argument. It always follows the nurse argument. I am sure most of these husbands are much better husbands than they are debators. They just happen to fall back to these two ridiculous arguments while trying to convince someone else to marry.
The feast that followed the engagement was fantastic. There was a distinct village flavor to the aviyal and sambar. The use of vermicelli in the payasam was a tad disappointing.
Afternoon back home with the short stories of U.A. Khader. Incredible style of writing which unfortunately is impossible to translate in all its glory.
Evening of discussions at the Cafe Coffee Day. There is no sign of panic here about the entry of Starbucks into the Indian market. Met a producer who was sitting with a bunch of youngsters who were planning a movie. That group reminded me of the bunch of "assistant directors" I had met on the sets of Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani in the late 90s. Folks with jelled hair, studs on one ear, choker bead necklaces, tattoos etc. From the little discussions I have had with them, it always appeared that they wanted to make movies like the movies they had seen not about the lives they have known or their original fantasies.
Over black tea, couple of short film ideas and some theater gets discussed. I like the idea of discussions getting recorded onto a smartphone for later review. Next week, I will be back at IIST to get involved in some dramatics instead of engineering. With the drama happening in the top hierarchy of the ISRO, I guess a little stage action is warranted. But satire is off limits in this project, it needs to be strictly based on a Tagore theme.
I'll remember this Saturday for two reasons.Firstly, I met the person responsible for the prefix of 'kochu' (small/lesser/junior) in front of my pet name, Unni, after a whopping gap of 21 years. He is the original 'valiya'(bigger/senior) Unni, our old home neighbor. He has also baldened like his dad. We chatted for half an hour. He was my first friend and confidant. He was like an elder brother. Lot of memories. He now works as the sales head for a construction company. In the evening he came back with his mom whom I grew up calling "Appurathe Amma" (Amma next door). She worked as a nurse in the General Hospital. It was a good thing because I had a somewhat unhealthy childhood. I still remember being taken to the hospital for inserting an abacus bead into my nostril and enjoying the whistling sound it produced when I breathed. Now she is happy taking care of her grand kids. She had been worried for years because her daughter had signed up with Ravisankar's cult. Luckily better sense prevailed. Now she is settled in Sacremento and the latest member to her family was added seven months ago. Amma and the other amma recalled stories about their Attukal Pongalas together. More memories.
Secondly, this is the first day that I managed to draft two short stories.Ever since I read M.T. Vasudevan Nair's "Kathikante Panipura" (Writer's workshop) I had been wanting to do that. While going for the morning walk, twice round Kanakakunnu palace and once round the Museum campus, I tried to develop four ideas. May be it was all the Ayurvedic medicinal air at the Kanakakunnu palace,thanks to the global Ayurveda festival, that activated those little grey cells. I will try to type out one more of them in full draft before going to bed today. Will post them post the first editing stage, but that other pair of eyes which sees everything about me will, as usual, get an unedited view.
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