Cocknut Oeel and Lungi Lifters - a journey.

It was 9 'o' clock on a Friday night, and nobody had turned up yet. Silenty cursing myself for listening to P, i bided my time in my ex-office, with Khats keeping me company. 9:30 came and went, and still there was no sign of anyone. 9:45, 9:5... My phone rings. P is downstairs with a couple of friends. Phew.

I go down, meet the rest of them. Shouting, screaming, Machcha, Vatta, and plenty of laughter. Captain comes from the party he was attending, R arrives on his Enfield and with him, the guy whose send-off party it was. The minibus meanwhile circles M.G Road and reaches office. There's some more screaming, shouting, exchanging news and gossip, till we decide to put a stop to it and make a move instead. So we board the minibus - 7 of us. And we start our journey to Kerala.

Thrissur, more precisely. Where beefeaters are on the loose, toddy is as free-flowing as the little springs on the forest-covered mountains, and the men are mighty horny. No matter, P and I had been through worse; besides, we had plenty of men in our friend circle to keep us out of trouble. Men who were primarily Mallus themselves, men who were both calm and agressive depending on the situation, men who were protective of the women who were with them, men who were...smashed out of their skulls right now and utterly incapable of putting a sane finger to their foreheads. I decided to get to sleep after a while, considering that the next day we were going to explore Thrissur, its little toddy shops and authentic delicacies. My last thought before falling asleep was that tomorrow morning, we would be meeting the rest of the gang at the hotel where our accomodation had been arranged.

Fat chance.

I woke up at 6:30 the next morning to the news that Calicut had a bandh going, and no vehicles were allowed to get through. No four-wheelers, that is. We stopped at a chai shop in Sultanbathery, had a glassful of sweet tea and coconut biscuits (i should have guessed its ingredients were harbingers of what was to come in the following days) and discussed our woeful situation. The bandh was going to be on till six in the evening, and any vehicle attempting to move around then was being stoned. Depression hit us hard as the bus moved on so we could try our luck anyway. Mountain greenery whizzed past us, rubber plantations with plastic bags pasted on them to collect the adhesive stood tall and silent, tea and coffee plantations smiled their fresh leafy smiles. But none of it could cheer us up.

Abruptly, we came upon a clearing. Curiosity made us look out, and the beauty of it left us gasping for air.

Spread out in front of us was an endless sea of clouds, enveloping all land in sight. Mountains peaked out here and there, creating tears in the white fluff. Like an army marching forward, the clouds moved on slowly, reflecting the little rays of sunshine that could penetrate the layers high above. It's the kind of thing you see when you look out of an aircraft window, not on a road trip. But it was beautiful. A quietness embraced the entire place, the only sound coming from the rustling created by monkeys jumping around on the trees lining the slope.

We would have stayed longer and marvelled at the phenomenon, but we had to move on to try our luck at getting past Calicut before the bandh started.

Just as we reached the beginning of the road that led to the town, we were stopped by a bunch of very serious-looking men. Uh oh, trouble. But they were only warning us not to go further. We did, though, and got stopped again. It was the story of our lives that day, being stopped multiple times. Finally giving in to circumstances, we headed back the way we came to eat breakfast at a hotel in Kalpetta. Feasted on dosas with masala curry, puttus, idiappams and fish curry at 7:30 in the morning. Authentic Kerala food. Delicious. Deciding on exploring Wyanad (more out of force than choice), we headed to Pookod Lake. Pedalled around a bit, was fascinated by the dragonflies in various colours, tried shooting a very attractive water snake, gave up and went to eat lunch. For the first time in my life, i had fried rice and omelettes made in coconut oil. Uhh, no comments on either.

It started raining cats and dogs, and we sent up a silent prayer. The torrent meant that all those hooligans blocking the road and stopping our progress would be seeking protection from the lashing. So we could try our luck again.

And we did. We got stopped a couple of times, but that was it. The worst part of it was, the guys who were stopping us were not a day older than 25 and absolutely clueless about what it was they were doing. It was fun for them to threaten vehicles with huge stones in their hands all ready to be hurled at the windscreen. At one stop, the boys were in their early teens, and that much more aggressive in their youthfulness.

We were able to reach Thrissur only at 7:30 in the evening. The effects of alcohol had all worn off, our tushes were sore from sitting, our faces shrunk and our state-of-being positively uncomfortable. P and I were allotted 206 at Hotel Casino. We met with the rest of the gang in 312, freshened up and headed to K's for dinner. There were still eight strangers, there to attend K's wedding, and i don't think i spoke to any of them that night.

The party began at K's place, and continued at the hotel but i wasn't part of it - the desire for sleep outweighed all others. Sunday was going to be a long day. And a longer night.

We missed the main part of the wedding on Sunday, and reached in time to witness the endless chanting of prayers by the bishop and pastors (or were they fathers?). It was 3 before they decided to take pity on us standing-upright souls and wrap up for lunch. The food was great - there was appam, fish in coconut milk, fish in spicy-sour gravy, beef, pork, baked lobsters, salads, avviyal, rice and for desert...black forest cake with ice cream.

In a state of inebriation, we headed back to the hotel. Some wanted to hit the bed, others wanted to hit the beach. The latter bunch won - i guess it was more so because us women were quite adamant about it, and nobody had the strength to argue. Fixing the time of departure to the beach as 5, we headed to our respective rooms.

P and I were all charged up and couldn't get to sleep. So in the true (but warped) spirit of "When in Kerala, do as the Keralites do", we took some really cheap Mallu magazine-kind pictures, and made crank calls to 312 - where A, A, R and S were trying to get some sleep. Once in Kannada, once in pseudo-Malayalam, and once in a husky-ho voice. They gave up, they did. And came down to our room to have some chai, and then leave to soak up some sun.

Except that there was no sun. We reached the beach at 6:45 - by this time it gets pretty dark in Kerala. How we stumbled all the way up to the water in the dark, i don't know. But once there, we went berserk. I was at a distinct disadvantage - being short, overweight and half-blind. The result was that i was really slow to react, so constantly in the firing range, sometimes even surrounded by five people trying to semi-drown me. Like the women in Pirelli and KF calendars, we posed for some 'sexy' pictures. In the dark. The waves broke the ice for me, and by the end of the beaching, i was pretty familiar with the eight people whom i hadn't spoken to till then.

The next question was: Stop at a family BnR or get back to the hotel and party? We were smelling of the sea - an odour that smells pleasant only in dreamy novels and our imaginations - and coated in a thin layer of fine-grained sand, so the choice was pretty clear.

Back at the hotel, the party started at 9 and went on till the wee hours of morning. I was a madwoman that night, probably the maddest ever. But i had fun. And a cussing match with H, who i think was pretty stunned with my ability to hurl abuses with such ease. (Well H, to tell you the truth, i was sort of stunned myself.)

I had to wake up three hours after i got to sleep to attend another wedding. This one was in Kochi, and was going to take me 1 1/2 hours to get to. At least, that's what they told me.

Two and a half hours later, i was still on my way to the wedding. I was pissed with myself, the car driver, the day (it was Monday, and everybody was in a mad rush to get to work, schools and colleges), the whole world basically. I experienced a feeling of Deja Vu when my tushie started hurting. When i finally got to the wedding hall, i had missed the wedding. Great.

I saw the garlanding ceremony, and was part of the welcoming party for the bride and groom as they entered the mantap for the garlanding. I was highly embarassed because i had reached late, and Ash - the friend who got married - had taken great care to see that i wasn't left alone in the sea of strangers, and was fed and kept company. She also fired me a little for being stupid enough to leave my luggage back at Thrissur and not bringing it along because the airport was half an hour away from the wedding hall. Thankfully, it was her wedding and she got distracted quite easily from giving me any more grief.

So it was that i stuffed my face rapidly and embarked on my journey back. I was even more pissed now because i had just screwed up, true Nabila style - i had rushed to the wedding, i had rushed through the wedding, i had rushed out of the wedding and had still not managed to say bye to A, A, R and S who had a 3:30 p.m flight to Hyd. My flight was at 6:15 and i was still on the way to Thrissur at 2 'o' clock. And i hadn't packed before i left for Kochi in the morning.

I managed to make it back to the hotel by 2:45 and pack. Now it was time for Rush Hour 2 - i went to J and M's room - where M was trying to induce vomitting so he could bring down the alcohol levels in his body. J was panicking on my behalf and calling up the rest of the guys who had gone for a Kerala Ayurvedic Massage, to ask them to come back quickly so we could leave and i could catch my flight.

Poor guys, i quite rushed them. But they had their bit of revenge...at the bakery!!! Banana chips, that's all they were. But you should have seen these guys go at it - as if it were El Dorado, and they had to pick a sample of each and every gold nugget they could. They mused over which packet to buy: the 250 gram one on the left or the 250 gram one on the right? Siiigh...

4:30, and we were about 10 kilometres away from the airport. I was sitting coiled like a spring, while H beside me tried to make me feel better by saying, "Don't worry, you'll reach in time. I always rush in the last minute too, chill."

I didn't let them stop for toddy even. And good thing, that. Because their flight was delayed, and while i rushed to check-in and get my boarding pass, they zipped off in search of 'refreshments' without even saying bye. Except for J, who joined me at the check-in counter and then left to meet his cousin.

I landed in Bangalore exhausted but full of funny memories. Every minute was worth it. Here's a list of some of the things that have stayed with me:
- The sliced pineapples, raw mangoes and amlas soaked in salt water with chopped-up chillis. Very yummy.
- Coconut oil omelettes. Still can't get over it.
- Palam puri - sweet bananas chopped in half, coated with maida batter and fried. In coconut oil.
- Urli vada - onion pakodas, excpet they were flat as a mini-chapati and quite different in taste. Was it the coconut oil?
- Lungis everywhere - all males, except for the self-conscious odd young fellow, wear lungis which they proudly kick up and fold (sometimes) high over their knees. Doesn't leave much to the imagination. (Apparently, the lungis are colour-coded. As in, Hindus from different castes wear a particular colour of lungi, Muslims wear coloured ones, Christians wear another colour, and so on and so forth.)
- The clouds covering Calicut, the ones we saw from one of the winding roads at Wyanad.
- K getting married. I still can't believe it.
- The madness that happened at the hotel on Sunday night. And some.
- The new bunch of friends i made from Mumbai, who'd come for K's wedding. Surprisingly, we all got along instantly. No frills, no frowns, and best of all, no snobs.
- Kochi Airport. Everybody's so... chilled out. Even the security check people. They're all smiling and nice to the people flying. Even the air hostesses seem friendlier.

I'd love to go back again. To explore everything that i didn't have the time for in this trip.

Blooper consequences.

He called back! He called back just now! Phew!

Oh no. No no no no no.

What did i do? What did i bloody do????? I just called him after years, and i feel like scum!!! I shouldn't have, i shouldn't have! Blame my passport application for it!

I turned my room upside down, inside out last evening in search of my degree et al certificates, and found a couple of things from a phase of life that has never actually left me. It got me thinking yesterday, for the first time ever - how did i manage to do something like that? Where did the courage to do those things i did all those years ago, come from? And as always, i wanted to find out what he'd thought i was like then, what sort of an impression of me had i left with him. So i got to office today and shot out a mail to him.

Like that wasn't enough, i had an urge to call him. So i did. And his wife picked up. And it was awkward, not so much because well...it was a woman calling, but because it was a strange woman. Strange, since he didn't have my number stored on his phone!! I don't even know if the phone belongs to him or his wife!

He came on the line (i heard whispers in the background, something like him groaning at the thought of having to talk to me) and i could hear the place echoing, and a bit of traffic. So he comes online and says, "Hey i'm in traffic. Can i call you in some time on this number?" Oh God, it was so awkward. So, so, so awkward. I feel like the earth should split and i should get swallowed right now. I'm thinking his lie was fairly obvious, thanks to the echoes and the pause during which his wife communictaed to him, his voice replying in the distance. I'm taking it that he doesn't want to talk.

I feel miserable. More like, ashamed. I think i have this sado-masochistic streak in me that makes me do these things.


(I generously copied this from a friend's blog. It is exactly what i feel like right now.)

A for Abuse. (Statutory Warning: Parental Supervision required for people below 18.)

Isn't that something most of us have experienced in our childhood? Things that we repress for so long that they feel like a figment of our imagination? And that come back to us one day as we dwell and dwell on an incident of the past for no apparent reason?

I have been through abuse quite a few times in my growing-up years, and those times were pretty traumatic. They were all by complete strangers; in time i learnt to treat each as just another episode in life, and move on. These experiences are not something i am proud of because they have taught me something, yet i think about them from time-to-time as a third person would about a friend who's been through it. It was during one of these sessions that it came to me that i had experienced one such incident in all its severity when i was...oh, a toddler maybe. Around 3 or 4 years old. And my neighbour had put me through it.

The funny thing is, i never told my parents about it. Because it didn't feel like abuse then. I wasn't even old enough to think such thoughts. We moved out of that house and i met the guy 12 years later at another neighbour's wedding. Let's just say he completely avoided me, and by then i knew why. Even then, i never told my parents about it. What was the point then?

I was reading a book - Listening Now. I don't quite know how to describe it, but it's full of thoughts of female characters who play different roles - mother, wife, lover, daughter, daughter-in-law, sister... and the funny thing is, each one of them has been through some form of abuse or the other. All, in their formative years. Some, after they have turned into full-blown women. I think that's when it's the worst - because you feel the shame, the pain, the hurt and the desolation in full force. It's not something you can talk about then, because you will be held responsible for everything that happened to you. As a child, it's easier to deal with these things because these emotions are not fully formed then, and yet those incidents have an uncanny ability to taint your perspective about certain things forever. Like a dear, dear friend of mine was telling me.

She's been through some in her childhood, and she never realised these things had happened to her till she was in her late teens. They came back to her in her sleep. The night it struck me, she said, i cried till morning. After all those years, i couldn't remember anything except that this man took me to his room and the lights were switched off. I guess i understand now why i hate being touched. The good thing is, those scars have been blunted by the passing years, and she's been able to carry on with life.

Not so with another friend who seems to have had it very, very bad and refuses to talk about it. What rankles about him is his attitude - 'I have been through so much, i have seen so much' - a sort of justification for everything he does. Or doesn't do. To him i have just one thing to say - Buddy, move on. The severity of our experiences might be different, but when it comes to feeling violated, torn and dirty, we all sail the same hole-infested boat. We just chose to swim when the time came to get out of the flotsam. You should too.

Us abused but moved-on-in-life ones still have mechanisms to avoid further incidents - mechanisms that i shared with a friend yesterday, and discovered - to my amusement - that they were quite common. Like spotting a man walking the other way on the footpath, and moving as far away as possible; or slowing down to let the man behind you pass up to get ahead. Little, comforting security measures. My young cousin had one too. She'd just begun to feel the weight of womanhood upon her slender shoulders. When she walked, it was like she would cave in to stop people from staring at her sprouting chest. It distressed me, because she was letting the world get to her - a man's world, a world created by society, by everything her elders held sacrosanct. So i did to her what a man i completely love to this day did to me - told her on the face in all frankness that she coulcn't help what was happening to her, or what she had. So why not be proud about it? I remember it worked wonders for me, and i think it did for her too - i've never seen her slouch after that. I'm hoping that this incident sort-of broke the ice for her to come and talk to me whenever she feels like something wrong's happening to her. And that it helped her feel better about being a woman.

I do have plenty of other growing-up cousins too, many of them girls. And i constantly live in the fear that something might happen to them some day, and they might not be able to talk about it. I constantly worry about what i can do to make it easier for them, how i can watch them always without intruding on their privacy or their life, protect them. And then i think, i'm being a parent already. And i understand, for once, why there are so many rules and regulations garrotting a baby girl's growth into a woman.

P.S: I'm okay with talking about incidents from my life because i'm able to distance myself from them. They are extremely personal, yes. But they are used in this piece in an effort to reach out to all those who've experienced things of this sort, and to tell them, you're not alone.

...

Hunger's playing tricks with my mind. HELP!