It's almost time for me to leave this place....and people have most unfairly labelled me anti-all-things-mallu-and-necessarily-beautiful. Hmmm...I wonder if it has ever occured to any of them that the fact a woman keeps ranting on and on without deviance about a particular subject...even if she's whining or strongly antagonistic....is generally a sign that she loves it. Or at least that the subject has that something that forces her not to be indifferent. I really can't make generalizations, but I have always assumed that to love something you must learn to hate it, at some point. The two emotions coexist in oxymoronic harmony till kingdom come. So it is with Kerala. Hell, do you guys think I really hate all the loons who call themselves my relatives? Do you think I detest driving school? Do you think I am repelled by my sister's antics in public(or private for that matter)? Well yes I am. But believe me when I tell you I love it too. That I worship the earth my sister treads on; that I can't imagine life without my interfering relatives; that i enjoy every minute of the driving school instructor's yapiness....because it's what I stay alive for...the colour, the variety, the vibrancy.
Absence of emotion is my greatest fear and Kerala is ambrosia for a person who lives with such a phobia. A brief jolt from the anaesthesized existence one is forced into in the four walls of the modern day nuclear family or the drone of semester schedules and reality...thats what Kerala always meant to me. Once the plane rumbles it's way on the familair runway,my heart skips a beat,the first time you catch sight of those familiar coconut trees, trying desperately to see your cousins from an impossible altitude while below perhaps they are chasing your flight across the greens as far as they can keep track of it....the feeling of belonging somewhere, the first tear on your grandfathers cheek, the warmth of granny's kiss, her trying to make sense of your younger sister's anglicized wail for attention, the fact that it's always raining when we have to load or unload our luggage....the long lines of laundry the first few days, on the roof, under the fan....relatives trying to remember what we looked like the year before and trying to draw a comparison, always wrong, always desperate. My cousins trying to teach us cricket, hockey or when it rains carroms and cards...the smell of the powder they spray on the carrom board, the faint dissapointment on their chestnut brown, perpetually cheerful faces when the tin is empty, the scramble for the red coin, the deck of cards where the jack of diamonds and the ace of hearts was always missing, thats what my earliest memories are made of. While we're playing hide and seek Uncle comes in with patties and plum cake, the mad rush to take the packet from him, the youngest child, then forced into an early reckoning of his place in the family heirarhy, the bottom,wails. Paper boats in the rain, stealing our fresh-from-Bangalore-student-uncle's film magazines coz they made better boats, swinging under the mango tree, eating unripe tamarind and falling ill, being forbidden to play and consequently the nickname "saipinkutty"(foreigner's child). Kerala is what I am, what I am forced to return to no matter how hard I try to tear myself away...every inch of me is infused with her spirit...every coconut oiled strand of my hair, every bit of me fed on puttu and appams, every inch of my soul that cries out amma when I'm tired and need a guiding hand...I am a mallu and proud of it. And my critisizing her and teasing her and caricaturing her people....what do I say...love has funny ways of expressing itself...you have yours, don't grudge me mine.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Behind the wheels...
The title sort of explains what I do at driving school...sit behind the wheels. Thats it, the moment I ever so much as try to steer the vehichle or even touch the accelerator a torrent of the most fluent malayalam floods my ears, most of which i can't and really don't want to understand. I wonder if the woman knows my history with manipulating modes of conveyance.
My earliest memory includes my roller blades and me hurtling right into my fat instructors heaving 50th-anniversary-of beer-drinking-belly. The memory of that event haunts me to this day. In most of my abduction-by-freakin-aliens nightmares, green,blue or red, the aliens always had a disproportionate belly.
For most children cycling is a relatively simple affair involving imbalance and a few falls at the beginning. Nooo! The Zog is different. Besides starting trouble, the Zog simply cannot cycle straight. no-o. The Zog requires acres of leeway on either side, in front and at the back. Besides ramming into the side-walk every now and then. A million twisted ankles later, someone took mercy on her and stole her cycle.
I thought i could get away with being a pedestrian for the rest of my life. But it was not to be. For a woman to survive in the world today, she has to know how to drive. All other means of transport are unsafe. When is it that my dad started approving of suicide I wonder?
Okie so I try learning how to ride the scooter first. My 13 year old cousin is my official guru. And his Activa the test vehichle. We try in the gully between our house and his. Hah! I can do this it's easy. I beam at everyone around me. Thats when he let go.
I ram into the wall on the left. I want to stop the monster from running up the wall but my hand refuses to let go of the accelerator OR clutch the brake. There I was my hand acting like it had a mind of it's own just poised to kill me. But help was at hand and I didn't land up on the other side as I imagined.(Yes I am capable of thinking up such absurdities. If you watch cartoon network after you reach a certain age, it happens)
Next stop driving school. Man this place is a whole new dimension. The car they use doesn't have a single part thats actually still in working condition and the female refuses to let you touch anything for fear you find out. Man these losers! To make things worse the woman imagines the extended history of her and her family is of vital interest to all her students. So there she goes yappety-yap on your left while you sit behind the wheel trying really hard to touch anything that makes the baby move.
What really beats me is her reverse concept. She totally insists on making us do it in this old guy's lawn when he's looking. Soon enough it rains tea on me as he sprays every possible abuse at us in the middle of the road. The female is...a female. She keeps screaming back. When both of them are done, I feel seriously disoriented and to top it she tells me,"Tomorrow we'll turn here itself. That old fool should learn a lesson." Ouch!
H-classes on wednesdays are a nightmare. Suddenly there's a guy teaching me who actually expects me to drive. And we are expected to do so in a trekker. And I'm 5 ft tall. Sitting on the edge of the seat I can barely make it to the brake or the clutch or anything. The accumulated strength of 10 Zogs cannot get the gear to change or the stearing wheel to turn. At the end of it all I feel like my arms have been cut off. Oh well...
I've 5 days to my license test and I still have'nt got to touch the steering....oh well...the guy would be smart if he didn't pass me.The way things are now I'm on the way to becoming the serial road killer.
My earliest memory includes my roller blades and me hurtling right into my fat instructors heaving 50th-anniversary-of beer-drinking-belly. The memory of that event haunts me to this day. In most of my abduction-by-freakin-aliens nightmares, green,blue or red, the aliens always had a disproportionate belly.
For most children cycling is a relatively simple affair involving imbalance and a few falls at the beginning. Nooo! The Zog is different. Besides starting trouble, the Zog simply cannot cycle straight. no-o. The Zog requires acres of leeway on either side, in front and at the back. Besides ramming into the side-walk every now and then. A million twisted ankles later, someone took mercy on her and stole her cycle.
I thought i could get away with being a pedestrian for the rest of my life. But it was not to be. For a woman to survive in the world today, she has to know how to drive. All other means of transport are unsafe. When is it that my dad started approving of suicide I wonder?
Okie so I try learning how to ride the scooter first. My 13 year old cousin is my official guru. And his Activa the test vehichle. We try in the gully between our house and his. Hah! I can do this it's easy. I beam at everyone around me. Thats when he let go.
I ram into the wall on the left. I want to stop the monster from running up the wall but my hand refuses to let go of the accelerator OR clutch the brake. There I was my hand acting like it had a mind of it's own just poised to kill me. But help was at hand and I didn't land up on the other side as I imagined.(Yes I am capable of thinking up such absurdities. If you watch cartoon network after you reach a certain age, it happens)
Next stop driving school. Man this place is a whole new dimension. The car they use doesn't have a single part thats actually still in working condition and the female refuses to let you touch anything for fear you find out. Man these losers! To make things worse the woman imagines the extended history of her and her family is of vital interest to all her students. So there she goes yappety-yap on your left while you sit behind the wheel trying really hard to touch anything that makes the baby move.
What really beats me is her reverse concept. She totally insists on making us do it in this old guy's lawn when he's looking. Soon enough it rains tea on me as he sprays every possible abuse at us in the middle of the road. The female is...a female. She keeps screaming back. When both of them are done, I feel seriously disoriented and to top it she tells me,"Tomorrow we'll turn here itself. That old fool should learn a lesson." Ouch!
H-classes on wednesdays are a nightmare. Suddenly there's a guy teaching me who actually expects me to drive. And we are expected to do so in a trekker. And I'm 5 ft tall. Sitting on the edge of the seat I can barely make it to the brake or the clutch or anything. The accumulated strength of 10 Zogs cannot get the gear to change or the stearing wheel to turn. At the end of it all I feel like my arms have been cut off. Oh well...
I've 5 days to my license test and I still have'nt got to touch the steering....oh well...the guy would be smart if he didn't pass me.The way things are now I'm on the way to becoming the serial road killer.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Welcome to Zogland
Of the many things that seriously screw my life, I'd rate going on a road trip with my family number one. Who am I kidding? Living with them is an art.
Imagine a lazy Sunday afternoon. My mom's classmate from her good ol' CUSAT days is coming over. (Disclaimer: This is not a comment on the CUSAT student community, just on my family and how CUSAT has no effect on it)
My mom's friend asks for directions to our house.
Momsy replies helpfully," It's the house with the remote-controlled gate."
And puts down the receiver.
I can't believe this is happening.
Well the thing is, it's not over, yet.
Of the many things that puzzle me to this day am why my parents took their vows? They take the most sadistic pleasure in annoying each other.
For example, to the above exchange daddy darling comes up with the very helpful comment," Do you want me to stand outside with the remote, dear?"
I force myself to believe my life depends on reading the Hindu in 5 minutes flat.
So when we travel long distance, I really dunno why my dad insists my mom give the directions, given her amazing orientation skills, which rival only mine.
But he does.
After 7 fruitless round trips around the same cupola my mom claims, "Now I remember, I've seen this shrine before."
Duh...like all of us have in the past 1/2 hour. Lots of times.
But noooo, she's sure now. Just as sure as the hour before.
Things get really heated up when you have a younger sibling of an IQ below 20.
"Why is the sky blue?”,"Why did mommy wear a red sari today?”,” Why does that granny have a hunchback?" EVERY 5 minutes can drive anyone nuts. Besides, laughing at a joke an hour after it was cracked and while daddy finally condescends to check out the road map.
Uggghh!
At this point, when daddy is fuming purple, someone digs an elbow at the Zog's side. It's funny, after an hour, even four people in a Scorpio can get stuffy. And I'm a peaceful thing really; my nose stuck in a book all along, but touch me....and its war! The Zog proceeds to unleash enough physical violence on her sister, and create enough mayhem to cause the driver to miss THE VITAL TURN. On your visit to a long-forgotten relative's house this is a carnal mistake. It's consequences are worse than death. If you turn right, you'll get there and get back home before dusk. If you miss it you float perilously in a place called the "no cell phone range and I dunno where I am" land. To make things worse, the place has not been populated by humans yet. And if any do pass by they lead you deeper into its misty, murky interiors regions...till there is no way back....except....the most long-winded and undiscovered route back home.
Of course if you are on the right route, further perils await you, like maternal instinct for instance.
When we are nearly there...as in a nanosecond away, momsy claims, "This is the wrong way. We went this way last time and we ended up on the national highway."
Your dad, who has been bestowed by the almighty with all the common sense in the world EXCEPT the sense to ignore his wife in critical situations....no points for guessing...agrees with her!!! That’s when you begin to understand what the book of Genesis was all about. Eve=dumb, Adam=dumber.
That’s not it. Owing to the relative being the Zog's relative he can give priceless directions like, "The Street that we live on has a tuition centre where my daughter goes for entrance coaching." Or better yet, "Our house is not on the same street as the Carmel hospital.” “There is a beautiful pool behind our house over which there was the loveliest rainbow yesterday. You felt you could walk on it and reach St. Peter and my father, may he rest in peace." The last guy is mildly poetic and I love a poet, so excuse him.
If we do get there we generally go through the infinite torture of "smile that smile till your jaw falls off" routine. Small talk rules. Gems like, "Ah! Babu two girls, no boys?" You asked us the same question for the last 15 years you jackass, and my dads 60 now. "Oh dear Sonia's grown so thin/dark/short/eyes are sunk/looks so tired."
Hellooo! Travelling for 30 days non-stop doesn't exactly give you glowing skin and sparkling eyes darling.
"Oh! So and so got married, whose turn is it now?"(Significant smile in my direction)
Get a life woman! And who the hell got the turn thing started? Is it like this ride in an amusement park that you queue up for? What’s with these people?
"Oh Sonia has taken after her father, you should have seen Laly at this age."
My mother is a beautiful woman, but I can't imagine life without my dad's eye-brow lift. Momsy can't crush people in the dirt with the "look" like my dad and moi.
If ever we get back home after all this crap and cheerful to boot, my ever inquisitive house-maid awaits us. “Where did you go? Who did you see? Why didn’t you go there?”
Sometimes she reminds us of those super moms. She owns the house more than we do, if you get what I mean, Hell when does it end?
Imagine a lazy Sunday afternoon. My mom's classmate from her good ol' CUSAT days is coming over. (Disclaimer: This is not a comment on the CUSAT student community, just on my family and how CUSAT has no effect on it)
My mom's friend asks for directions to our house.
Momsy replies helpfully," It's the house with the remote-controlled gate."
And puts down the receiver.
I can't believe this is happening.
Well the thing is, it's not over, yet.
Of the many things that puzzle me to this day am why my parents took their vows? They take the most sadistic pleasure in annoying each other.
For example, to the above exchange daddy darling comes up with the very helpful comment," Do you want me to stand outside with the remote, dear?"
I force myself to believe my life depends on reading the Hindu in 5 minutes flat.
So when we travel long distance, I really dunno why my dad insists my mom give the directions, given her amazing orientation skills, which rival only mine.
But he does.
After 7 fruitless round trips around the same cupola my mom claims, "Now I remember, I've seen this shrine before."
Duh...like all of us have in the past 1/2 hour. Lots of times.
But noooo, she's sure now. Just as sure as the hour before.
Things get really heated up when you have a younger sibling of an IQ below 20.
"Why is the sky blue?”,"Why did mommy wear a red sari today?”,” Why does that granny have a hunchback?" EVERY 5 minutes can drive anyone nuts. Besides, laughing at a joke an hour after it was cracked and while daddy finally condescends to check out the road map.
Uggghh!
At this point, when daddy is fuming purple, someone digs an elbow at the Zog's side. It's funny, after an hour, even four people in a Scorpio can get stuffy. And I'm a peaceful thing really; my nose stuck in a book all along, but touch me....and its war! The Zog proceeds to unleash enough physical violence on her sister, and create enough mayhem to cause the driver to miss THE VITAL TURN. On your visit to a long-forgotten relative's house this is a carnal mistake. It's consequences are worse than death. If you turn right, you'll get there and get back home before dusk. If you miss it you float perilously in a place called the "no cell phone range and I dunno where I am" land. To make things worse, the place has not been populated by humans yet. And if any do pass by they lead you deeper into its misty, murky interiors regions...till there is no way back....except....the most long-winded and undiscovered route back home.
Of course if you are on the right route, further perils await you, like maternal instinct for instance.
When we are nearly there...as in a nanosecond away, momsy claims, "This is the wrong way. We went this way last time and we ended up on the national highway."
Your dad, who has been bestowed by the almighty with all the common sense in the world EXCEPT the sense to ignore his wife in critical situations....no points for guessing...agrees with her!!! That’s when you begin to understand what the book of Genesis was all about. Eve=dumb, Adam=dumber.
That’s not it. Owing to the relative being the Zog's relative he can give priceless directions like, "The Street that we live on has a tuition centre where my daughter goes for entrance coaching." Or better yet, "Our house is not on the same street as the Carmel hospital.” “There is a beautiful pool behind our house over which there was the loveliest rainbow yesterday. You felt you could walk on it and reach St. Peter and my father, may he rest in peace." The last guy is mildly poetic and I love a poet, so excuse him.
If we do get there we generally go through the infinite torture of "smile that smile till your jaw falls off" routine. Small talk rules. Gems like, "Ah! Babu two girls, no boys?" You asked us the same question for the last 15 years you jackass, and my dads 60 now. "Oh dear Sonia's grown so thin/dark/short/eyes are sunk/looks so tired."
Hellooo! Travelling for 30 days non-stop doesn't exactly give you glowing skin and sparkling eyes darling.
"Oh! So and so got married, whose turn is it now?"(Significant smile in my direction)
Get a life woman! And who the hell got the turn thing started? Is it like this ride in an amusement park that you queue up for? What’s with these people?
"Oh Sonia has taken after her father, you should have seen Laly at this age."
My mother is a beautiful woman, but I can't imagine life without my dad's eye-brow lift. Momsy can't crush people in the dirt with the "look" like my dad and moi.
If ever we get back home after all this crap and cheerful to boot, my ever inquisitive house-maid awaits us. “Where did you go? Who did you see? Why didn’t you go there?”
Sometimes she reminds us of those super moms. She owns the house more than we do, if you get what I mean, Hell when does it end?
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