Day 80. Kerala to me is a nameless bridge over a nameless waterfall. Kerala to me is sipping cardamom-flavoured coffee at a roadside shop. Kerala to me is the aroma of vanilla that lingers long after I have taken the cake out of the oven.
The Kerala trip had been a dream holiday for both of us. Yes, we did do the usual Munnar- Periyar-backwaters-Kochi circuit. Yes, I did love the rain-kissed lush green of Munnar in monsoon or walking into the mist at Eravikulam National Park or the view of the city from a roadside guesthouse run by a church. Yes, I did love the boat ride in the backwaters of Ashtamudi or the walk on one of the village islands or just sitting by the water doing nothing all evening. Yes, I did love the early-morning safari at Thekkady or shopping for spices and yummy homemade chocolates. Yes, I was mesmerised by the breathtaking and head-spinning (quite literally) view from atop Quilon Lighthouse. Yes, I did love the old-world charm of Fort Kochi, the taste of the fresh fish fried for us at a sidewalk eatery and the sound of rainwater falling into metal buckets at our hotel in Bolgatty Palace.
But what I loved the most was a nameless bridge over a nameless waterfall in Munnar. We had done all the usual sightseeing and still had some time in hand. So we requested our driver (by then I had mastered the way to communicate with him by only uttering key words and not full-formed sentences in English) to take us somewhere. He drove us up to a bridge, parked the car, and gestured to us to walk across it. It was raining and we had our raincoats on. We walked to the middle of the bridge and took in the most beautiful view. It was quiet, except the sound of the water. The cascading water, the clouds, the rain, the rickety bridge… at that moment we knew why Kerala is God’s own country. We absorbed the quietness for a while, taking in the surroundings, before we fished out our camera. But to our dismay, the shutter wouldn’t click. After a few futile attempts, we gave up and walked to the other end of the bridge for cups of steaming coffee at a solitary shack.
On our way back to the hotel we looked in vain for a camera repair shop before finally buying a film camera and a Kodak roll. Next morning we left Munnar but not before going back to the spot for a few clicks. It had stopped raining, but the moments we had spent there were still there, flowing with the water, sailing in the clouds.
Kerala to me is also Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things, the book that made me fall in love with it. Kerala to me is a friend I turned to at my loneliest moments in hostel and who acted as my alarm every morning. Kerala to me is a friend I met after more than a decade recently and who embraced me with a warmth that brought tears to my eyes. Kerala to me is a lady, an aunt, who gave me her home for a month. My Onam sari today carries the warmth of all of them.
This Kasavu belongs to Ma, a gift from my sister-in-law Sarmistha. My own Kasavu, which I wore towards the beginning of the pact, is too gorgeous to wear to work. So, I borrowed this one. Sarmistha had got her former colleague to bring a few Kasavus from Kerala, one for her mother, one for mine and one for our mother-in-law. But none for herself. So on her birthday that year, I gifted her a Kasavu bought from the Kerala emporium in Calcutta.
The jhumkas are from Fab India and the bangles a gift from Achintya. He bought them for me from a shop at Chowmalla Palace in Hyderabad.
Feeling a bit out of sorts today but decided to wear a sari nevertheless. Happy Onam everyone:-)