Kerala Bhraman- An Evening Over Coffee

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Shibu uncle’s house in Attingal, was situated about thirty kilometers from Trivandrum. The gates opened to a sloping driveway. A white kennel that resembled a small temple stood at the mouth of the slope below. Shibu uncles dog a four month old canine had a pensive look on it's face. Opposite to the kennel was the garage where he had parked his gypsy and his bike. He told us to wait in the porch above and he would open the door from inside. 
A tulsi mancha welcomed us on our way to the porch. The front yard was a salad of trees growing wild and awaiting a long time due reparation; the rains had left its mark.

“Are there snakes here?” My mother asked. Her expression evidently indicated her distaste for snakes.

Shibu uncle nodded his head; obviously and he shared the incident when he had encountered a cobra.

The cobra had injected the poison into a frog and was waiting for it to die. Watching it tremble and slowly turn blue while a malignant glare froze in its grey eyes. Shibu uncle hadn’t noticed it and had continued his chores in the garage. His dog on the contrary had kept a vigil look on the beast and had bellowed in an unusual manner. That must have cautioned Shibu uncle and the snake too. Unlike other men, uncle didn’t scurry but let the snake leave on its own which it did. But it left its prey behind.

Shibu uncle recalled that the snake had returned for its hard earned feast after he had left.

He said that he had no intention to bother the beings that lived in the wilderness of his house; “This is their land after all.”

Attingal, built about 800 years ago used to be the residence of the women of the Venad royal family. This was the time when only the Rani used to hold all the power. The Attingal Palace was constructed in 1305 A.D. 

The folks of Attingal were bitter about the liberty that was being given to the East India Company. The Britishers had penetrated the spice market and had begun playing with the black pepper price. The final blow was the sanction to build the Anchuthengu Fort in 1694 which pretty much alienated the Attingal public. We had come across the small squarish fort on our way to Varkala from the Trivandrum airport. 
In the aftermath of a repercussion of their deeds, Gyfford of the East India Company sought to present gifts to the Rani as an amend to the mess. 
The Ettuveetil Pillamar were noblemen from the Nair house at the time when the Venad family ruled and felt that they had the sole monopoly to present gifts to the Rani of the family; anyone foreign who intended to gift the ladies had to pass through these Lords of Eight Houses. 
But Gyfford was adamant and wanted to gift the Rani in person and not through any subordinate. So he marched with an army of 140 men from The Fort to the Palace. His display of force had irked the noblemen and the local people and they rebelled and killed each and every British on the road to the palace. They laid siege to the fort for six months until fresh British troops entered from Tellicherry.

In history, this rebellion came to be the first ever organised attack on the British in Kerala. While that might give us goosebumps on one hand, on the other it only turns into grief for the unfortunate turn of events. An agreement between the Company and the Rani gave the Company the sole monopoly to trade in pepper and the permission to build factories wherever the Company deemed fit. Not to mention that the crown paid for all the mess done by the attack on the fort. Sigh!    

Shibu uncle escorted us to his studio which had a lofty ceiling to facilitate him to paint larger works.  A canvas was set on a stand; a still of a doe and her fawn in making. A mirror was propped beside the still and another blank canvas stood beside the mirror; self-portraits where indeed fun to paint. Several oil paint tubes and palettes were strewn on the table alongside the canvases.

Shibu uncle in his studio

Shibu uncle's fondness of reading was evident from the several cupboards filled with books in English and Malayalam both in his studio and his living room. Along with the books arranged were records; a turntable sat on a nearby table along with a stereo. Shibu uncle had once told us that he painted by the day and danced by the night.

A rocking chair beheld the studio while a living room lay quiet in the dark behind it.

Shibu uncle’s cot was placed in the best way one could possibly do with the bookish cupboards at the head and the pantry at the feet. We sat in the living room where two luxurious couches shared a table on which lay a stack of books on various renowned painters. The room was well lit owing to the wide open windows overlooking the porch and the sunrise. Rains were a thrill through those windows; watching the tree leaves nod with the shower and the front yard get slowly wet.

A solo sound of Carnatic music was being played in a temple somewhere. Rest everything was silent. The house was in peace; located close to the road yet away from it.

Time flew in that room while talking at a stretch about politics, Tamil Nadu and Kerala, Raja Ravi Varma, Amrita Sher- Gill, Kumara Asan, Rameswaram, the ghost town of Dhanushkodi and the Jeeva Samadhi custom of Tamil Nadu over a cup of black Nilgiri coffee. We learned that Raja Ravi Varma used to live nearby and that his granddaughters were adopted by his sister in law who belonged to the ruling family of Attingal. As a change of topic, we discussed the initial planning for cross country road trips to Myanmar, Thailand, Cambodia and even Europe.

A Chat over coffee

Kerala’s main sources of income were the tourist, coir, tea, coffee and spice industries. Shibu uncle had revealed much to our amazement that most of the vegetables in Kerala were actually imported from other states; they weren’t very keen on cultivation. Most of the youth were off to the Gulf countries to find work and hence remittance was another source of foreign exchange.

An ironic revelation was that despite of the proximity to the ocean, a meager population of Trivandrum were swimmers. Shibu uncle giggled  while we had our hands over our heads.

The houses in Kerala were all surrounded by the vegetation that had naturally grown around long before the foundations had been set. Only the undergrowth that came in way of the area for the house’s requirements had been cleared, rest all had dauntlessly stayed, thus giving a wild appearance to each dwelling.
We concluded that the people in Kerala like to keep nature in its pristine form, the way it was meant to be, the way it had all began. It might be very well possible that they have been devout to the elements of nature and this was one way of showing gratitude. Live and Let Live!

There is nothing like the view from a terrace. It gives a different perspective of the place; only the birds get a better look. From Shibu uncle’s terrace everything up to the horizon were tree tops leaving some gigantic palms and teaks. We looked upon heaven that floated on trees, not clouds. Up above the heaven was a sky flocked by clouds bordered grey and a yellowish hue sprayed across it; merely a canvas of another artist. Only the birds called as they flew over the house and the distant sound from the temple persisted.

From the top, Shibu uncle named the trees in his property- Mango, palm, coconut, teak, betel nut, acacia, rambutan, bamboo, papaya and a lot many whose name I do not remember; nor him maybe!

Why does he not fetch the coconuts? The trees are beaming with a lot of them.

Yes, of course! If you have a coconut tree in your house it doesn’t compel you to be a brilliant coconut fetcher. Climbing trees, that to a coconut tree is not a cup of tea for anyone. The coconut fetchers know that very well! They know who would be the first man you would call if you are extremely thirsty and have the necessary source to quench it. You call and ask them to come home. There’s your first error in concept- you don’t simply call them and expect them to turn up at your doorstep. You need to bring them to your doorstep. Accepted!

Watch out!

The expert would then inspect your tree to check if it’s the right time to make the climb. They would accordingly make their schedule for the process. Needless to say, they will have a lunch break, but what good is any break when you are high up on a tree- your one hand firm around the tree trunk and another close to the fruit? Remember not to interrupt them in the middle of their contemplation. You are likely to ruin their plans and your thirst.

Anyways, you will get what you had wanted. No worries. You make the payment and then cut open two coconuts; one for the service. But that’s not it. The man is still waiting- his hands on his waist, his foot tapping on the floor constantly and his face in a half frown. “What is it?” you may want to ask but the clever reply from deep within would be “Don’t.” Just drop the man back home.       

It was getting dark and we had to start early next morning for Thekkady if we had to enter the reserve before five in the evening. It was almost past dinner time back at Varkala’s Marine Palace but we wanted to make it to the hotel anyhow. So, we immediately left for the hotel on Shibu uncle’s Fabia- leaving the windows open on the way letting the cool wind tousle our hair.

We reached the helipad soon after and bid Shibu uncle farewell until next time. The sky was so neat and clear that we could see the stars; like diamonds in the sky. The cliff was dark and so was the sea, its tides hitting the beach with gusto.   

Back in the hotel restaurant, we feasted on grilled Butterfish and coconut rice as the sound of the waves flushed our minds of everything, belittling every other sound.

Kerala Bhraman- A friend from Attingal

To catch up with our trip till now, scoot off to Kerala Bhraman- The First Touch under the Travel section of my blog.

We had planned to get up early next morning, hit the cliff and take some shots for a panorama while the sunlight was still low. But the last day’s exertion had left us tired and we snored till quarter past seven in the morning. The dogs in the backyard stretched as the days first sun rays touched the hotel walls. 

After a cup of tea made in our own pantry, we embarked upon the beach from the restaurant. The sand was wet and the kochuripana (hyacinth) leaves were green and fresh. The beach was coming to life with the flower lady setting her stall; washing it and reading the newspaper on the go. 

Morning read

Coconuts being set out by the roadside, ice cream parlors with their attractive colors looking upon the passersby. Pandits who sat on carpets under umbrellas with a pyre burning before them performed the last rites of the departed; their kins who sat there too, followed his every instructions. They were interesting subjects and had some stories to tell.

Readiness

Rituals

 Brahma having found Vishnu in his abode, prostrated. But he didn’t know that the Protector was lost in the melody of Narada muni’s veena and hadn't paid attention to the Creator. When Vishnu came around, he realized he had been in trance and had walked a long way from his residence. So, he left immediately leaving Brahma in the same position; face down before the sage who was perplexed to see him behaving that way. The Devas took it in a different sense and that angered Brahma so he gave them a curse to fret; each of them would take birth as humans on earth and bear the brunt. Panicked to have distressed the lord, they confessed to Narada and asked for his help.

Narada, in his usual coolness dropped a cloth made out of wood bark on earth and asked the gathering to pray for mercy where it had landed. With the assurance in their hearts, the Devas descended to the location- a seaside supposedly and worshiped for salvation; as men who passed it on to the men who came later and it has been going on this way for centuries. 

As "Tapioca" states under "Myth of Varkala," the Papanasham or the Beach of Redemption has been associated with ancestor worship. Ashes of the deceased are immersed into the sea and the place got a holy mark by virtue of its sacred history.    

So long! Dear Departed

Valkalam is what they call a cloth made out of wood bark and it is popularly said that Varkala got its name from the same cloth dropped millenniums ago by Narada muni. 

Yet another myth is that when Sita was abducted by Ravana and was being flown away to Lanka, she dropped her necklace- Varkalam so that Rama could track her. It is said that the trinket fell upon the beach and has since got its name Varkala.

The Janardana Swami Temple was built 2000 years ago and was dedicated to Vishnu. It is the cynosure of Varkala which has also been named as Dakshin Kashi- The Varanasi of South. 

With the breakfast dreams in our bellies, we returned to the Marina Bay Restaurant; again, all wood. It was separated from the beach by a small wooden bridge over a thin stream of water that came from somewhere and flowed into the sea.

The restaurant had the air of the joints by the beach where parties are hosted. The ones with a stage to perform to a wide audience seated at their tables. The men at the restaurant who were Nepalese offered a change in ethnicity. 

Marina Bay Restaurant

They served us watermelon juice and American breakfast (toasts, omelet, hash brown potatoes) and Indian breakfast (aloo ka paratha and dahi). The potatoes were a perfect brown and fit well with the omelet. A kingfisher ate his catch of the day at the bridge, while we had ours.

Shibu uncle, a friend of ours lived nearby. He was excited when he heard about our itinerary and insisted that we spend the day with him while he would take us around Trivandrum and to his house in Attingal. We had exchanged calls the previous day and had it all planned; our rendezvous was the helipad.

After quick bathes I and my father climbed up the steep road to the cliff. It was barren and hot. The sky was clear and the cliff was warm and red. We had expected to meet a long haired man standing by a gypsy on the helipad. But, Shibu uncle who waved at us from the far corner of the helipad had cropped his hair and a Fabia stood instead of the gypsy.

After a short chat we drove down the same lane and into the hotel compound. 

While the two men helped themselves to black tea, I dropped to the lower verandah to play the shutter. A group of women in blue with white bandannas hurled with large broomsticks on the beach with the sea waves going to and fro behind.

Shibu uncle

Cleaning the beach

An artist himself, Shibu uncle has an eye for beauty of the nature and proclaimed in the car after we had taken off, that he was taking us to one of his favorite places. A road; on whose one side there was the sea, and on the other a lake; Kappil beach and Kappil Lake. It was an awing spectacle. On one hand, the call of the waves; desperately bringing its arms nearer before gently shying away. Laying the mats to the deepest mysteries beneath the land. On the other, the quiet, rather coy and timid habit of the lake, glittering in the sunlight. Both worlds present at the same place yet separated by the road. It could be an artist’s muse and a poet’s inspiration.

A man in shades and white shirt and black trousers came over as we got off the car and asked if we would like to go for a boat ride in the lake. We said we wouldn’t and walked over to the lake; a pair of palm trees formed a gateway.

 

Gateway of palm

By the lake was a tree whose wood is used for furniture but I don't remember the name. In the lake just beyond the tree was afloat a big wooden boat waiting to quench its thirst and a black dingy lay on the shore under the shade of the tree.

The dingy on shore

The lake reminded me of the several movie shooting sets because it had everything- a wide open lake with dense and green palm groves and fishing boats rowing in the lake repeatedly to bring in the best for the day. It was mesmerizing and spell binding and I slipped into my usual reverie which was a casual affair. I wanted to be a part of anything and everything I saw. Maybe a drop of water from the lake, a leaf of the palm tree, the very molecule of nature.

Fishermen of Kappil Lake

But I could never. It was far from possible; an impractical dream. Something prevailed between us that made it look like a flying pig in the sky! Something big and unfathomable. Fear, perhaps. However, I was brought out of my daydream pretty soon afterwards as we returned to the car to proceed in our journey. 

The ashram of Narayana Guru was a new kind of venture. We saw his Mahasamadhi where he had been buried, the fact being that his body has been preserved in the exact position he was found in after the Samadhi. 

Samadhi of Narayana Guru

Although the place offered a pacifying ambiance, there was something quite unsettling about it. The guru had been a social reformer and a spiritual leader. He wasn’t keen on dividing people on basis of religion and had desired to be remembered as a man who toiled hard for a better place for the eternity to live. But there, in his tomb he lay. Silent. Sighing, as the eternity continuously crowns him with the image of a man with a glowing halo behind his head. Posters of brands of apparels, groceries and medicines and whatnots were displayed on the road unabashedly. The guru’s popular portrait printed on each one of them. Sadly, he had risen from the small niche he had preferably constructed to an urban plaything.

We saw ourselves driving on the same road we had gone by the previous day. On reaching Trivandrum, for the first time since the other day, we encountered the cityscape of Kerala. The roads seemed similar to those of Dehradun. As we walked on the sidewalks we caught glimpse of people waiting at the bus stop, a book store and an Ayurvedic product depot. It was well past twelve and we were hungry so Shibu uncle led us to a restaurant that served traditional Travancore cuisine where we hoped to try the famous Saadya. 
Lunch only got more fun as it was elaborately purveyed on a washed banana leaf. First, a lady served us the pickles; three of them. Then came a spoonful of a curd and cucumber preparation. Then the Thoran. Next was a preparation of mixed vegetables. On one side she put a pappad, and two bhujias. The rice which was puffier than usual was topped with sambhar. When we were waiting for more courses to arrive (enjoying the dexterous serving), Shibu uncle prompted that all was served and that we should dig in.

I couldn’t resist taking pictures before eating.

Bon apetit!

I buried my fingers into the warm rice and when I filled some in my fists, I felt the fine touch of the soft white; I was in heaven! The food was delicious and complete with every flavor and texture; salty, sweet, sour and spicy, soft and rough. Each course tasted different from the first. After we had gone through the main course, payasam was served as the dessert. We licked our fingers while they folded the banana leaves and took them away. Lunch was a delight! Later, Shibu uncle drove us to his place in Attingal where the remainder of the day awaited.  

What happens in Attingal? Watch out for the next chapter!