Chettuva -- [ Nostalgia ] -- Icarus.
Icarus
Sitting in the guest room that had been converted to a
library, looking up from the old tattered copy of Dr. Zhivago
that I had found by accident among my uncles books, I
am lost in Lara and her way of holding her hands while she
helps Yuri clean the carpet as they fought off the russian
winter holed up in a cottage somewhere near moscow.
There are photographs on the wall.
All the marriages that have been held in the family since
photographs came to kerala are documented in painstaking detail.
Mother, Aunts, Uncles and the usual funeral photographs with the
whole family gathered around the coffin, tearful and uneasy.
Black and white, touched with the sepia of age and neglect.
I remember when we would visit my mothers house, so far away
it would seem in those days, in engandiyur, on the other side
of the chetttuva puzha, a beautiful lagoon that divided the
cultures of our people.
We would travel in a private bus from guruvayoor to chettuva,
rolling from side to side, sitting in one of the last seats,
because mom would never walk all the way to the bus stop,
but insisted we stop the bus in front of our house, with a
wave of the left hand. I secretly practised this wave alone.
I noticed that some people waved better than others. Dad could
make any bus stop with a slight flick of his hand. While
my cousin would have to stand in the middle of the road to get
some attention.
Not that my cousin found standing in the middle of the road forcing
a bus to a standstill a perturbing task. He did it every week or so
with his friends in the S.F.I. when some student in Trivandrum
was slapped by some irate bus conductor. Sometimes of course they
did it even if there was no one slapped, just in case they would
forget how to do it if they stopped for too long.
I would watch the "Mala", the necklace, that would be hung around
the picture of the presiding deity for that trip, swing from side
to side as the driver forced the bus through narrow ravine like
passages taking abrupt turns, from memory.
When I had the chance, I would watch the drivers face.
When he frowned there must be another bus trying to overtake him.
When he smiled, one could look over to the side and watch some
hapless lady dressed in white splattered with the fine paste of mud that
collected in the potholes and on the sides of those broken down
weary roads.
I remember Gopi in the celebrated film "Kodikeyyettam", which means
"the flag raising" , take his newly wed wife to the temple,
walking along those treacherous roads. A jeep comes racing down the road
and splashes muddy water all over the couple. And Gopi in a perfect
portrayal of a childs mind can only look at the fast receding jeep
and say with a admiring smile on his face, "Enthoru Speedah",
--- "What incredible speed !", while his wife is nearly in tears.
When John and I went to church we always spent the time discussing
fish bait and the horrible things we would do to those who opposed
our plans to raid the kitchen cabinets for Achchapams and related
goodies. Later of course we graduated to arguing about the merits
of one chastely dressed woman or the other.
But once when we were in a heated discussion about Bruce Lee and
his exploits the priest, now well into his sermon, suddenly said
"John !", and my cousin stood up in the middle of the whole
congregation that had been long seated, and the priest continued
"paranjyatandeh", -- John, has said -- referring to John the
Baptist of course, while my cousin scratched his knee and pretended
he was shifting positions. To this day, even though he is a tough
guy in the army, he flares when I mention this to him.
We would arrive at chettuva and there would be a tremendous rush to
get off the bus. There was a ferry at chettuva that carried people
from one bank to the other. And if the ferry was on the side of
the arriving bus, there would be a stampede, even though no
one could remember an occasion when anyone was left on shore because
the ferry was too full. For twenty paise you bought a ticket and
hopped on board. The ferry had a plank attached to it, supported by two
vanjis, -- canoes ---, that would take on cars and motorcycles and some
times even vans.
It was only when you were on board that you looked up at the other bank,
and saw it for the first time. Kerala would seem like a paradise.
The coconut trees grow so thickly along the bank that from far it appears
as a solid green curtain. And the water flowing rapidly but calmly past
you, as the cars that came on board sunk the boats a few more inches into
the water. The clumps of hyacinth that floated over the calmer parts of
the lagoon and clogged the ponds came bobbing out to sea. Those waters
would make a gurgling sound, flowing past the ferry while it made the
two right angle turns in mid stream to allow for the plank that carried
the cars to be aligned with the bank.
One never notices the barnacles that grow into the concrete blocks
that guard the bank against erosion, until the ferry makes the last
turn and cuts its engines, the landing ropes thrown and fastened
on a huge granite post, and the bank glides in to meet the ferry.
And suddenly you are back on land and the friendships that you have
made during this twenty minute ride dissolve and you make a run for
"Babu Mon",the bus that has been waiting to whisk you away into the
cashew laden glades that have begun to throw long shadows in the
six O clock sunset.
Ramu Kariayat, the man who made "chemmeen", the movie that starred
Satyen and won the Presidents award and international acclaim, had
an obsession with the Chettuva puzha and wanted to film "Chettuva"
but he died in mid project.
It wouldnt matter anyway. A bridge was constructed 4 years ago and
crossing the chettuva has been reduced to a mild five minute thrill
in a bus.
2] Critiques welcome.
3] Stay Cool.
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. ~ ~ .
. o o signito ergo sum. paul chemmanoor. .
. | i sign therefore i am. Computer Science department. .
. = Univ. of Colorado, Boulder. .
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H.P. Ramachandran
man, you really have a flair for writing. Let more memories pour in!
Regards,
-Hemachandran