Nelliyampathy – amongst the clouds

While I went in search of mountains, mist and forests to different parts of the world, I was guilty of overlooking a tiny hillock nestled neatly into a corner just two hours away from my home.

Nelliyampathy - a destination long forgotten and never explored - we picked this destination amongst the restrictions of pandemic, rains and bad roads. So after what seemed like a lifetime, here I was planning, debating, researching and packing for a trip out in the open….

We loaded our cars with goodies, family members, very little expectations and lots of vacation joys and set off into the hills. And that was also the opportune moment for the rains to join our little family picnic. Since we got into the car till we reached uphill, the rains followed us  - sometimes tame, sometimes coy, sometimes throwing boulders of water at us and sometimes throwing a fit of fury. And the rains then brought in the mist into the mountains – holding hands with the rain sometimes, throwing its white carpet over the mountains another and adding to the charm and beauty to the drive up the hills.

Waterfalls greeted us at every bend and curve up the road –some tame, some wild, some silent and some loud and after a while, we lost count of how many we had witnessed till we reached the little junction of Nelliyampathy ‘town’. And the little hillock’s junction and its (lack) of bustling commercial activity was a surprising end to our drive - it was unlike any hill station 'town squares' that we were accustomed to..A tiny little junction dotted with few tea stalls, essential stores, a few ‘homestays’ and an array of jeeps – that summarizes the extent and end of Nelliyampathy town square! Here was a place so devoid of the commercial buzz of souvenir shops, tourist guides and restaurants and hang-out places! A few steps more and the entire place unfolded itself – a beautiful canvas of tea plantations, mountain peaks and sleepy homes!

The foggy evening slowly set into the hills and we enjoyed the cold, the joy-riding, the exploring and downed it with a cuppa that was served by a smiling local tea stall owner! By dusk, the locales had retreated, the dark fog took over and we hesitantly returned to our guest house – a dwelling with a fancy name but did not live upto it’s name with its ‘less-than-fancy’ facilities! But when you are blessed with the misty mountains outside; and a packed group of uncles, aunts, cousins, kids and loads of food inside, your spirits are elevated and the mood of the hills completely takes over!

While rains, news of flooding and landslides disrupted our morning trekking plans, we still put on our walking shoes to explore the winding roads of tea plantations, stunning views of mountains and waterfalls that the local guest house person kindly guided us through. As we took in the views of clouds and skies - painted in whites and blues that were never seen before, we also encountered tiny little leeches that creeped into our skirts, legs and shoes! As we were grappling with the horror, the locales offered an easy solution to the menace – spraying a few drops of sanitizer – little inventions of COVID-era..! A tiny detail that was overlooked in the planning was the abundance of leeches at Nelliyampathy - they creeped through from tea bushes, tagged along into the guest house and after a while every creepy, wet tingle on our skin led us to frantically search for leeches!

Another downpour and more news of flooding reached us as we hastily made our descent into the plains. The roads snaked through the Pothundi dam where we had a good laugh watching a monkey relishing a cone of ice-cream (perils of junk food impacting animal kingdom as well) and it was destination home in a few minutes..the clouds and the spirit of the Nelliyampathy hills coming home with us..not to forget the little fear of leeches that we encountered for the first time at Nelliyampathy!  

 

Somewhere near Palakkad

Love happens

 

Amongst the fields green

Amongst the clouds a cotton white

 

Murmurs of the breeze

Peacock cries dissolved in the distant air

 

Perfect landings of white cranes

Brooding white-necked storks

 

Wild flowers and rainbows

Grass-crunching kids and goats

 

A mountain that supports the background

A road that slices the heaven into two

 

Beauty and love

A heady mix in my head

I hop, skip and smile

A little something that brightens my life

 

Fresh air, feminism and Malayalam movies

A string of new Malayalam movies brought in the much-needed dose of fresh air, feminism and perspectives into the entertainment space. The OTT platforms witnessed a set of movies that burst the moulds of blacks, whites and boldly tread the path of greys and stuck firmly to the authenticity of its characters. A path-breaking newness has slowly come about and the movie makers have not shied away from displaying the real greys of humanity, the deep purple of invisible abuses or the flimsy glitter of society’s ‘rights’…

Be it the slimy grimy smokiness of patriarchy that prevails through the ‘Great Indian Kitchen’, the undertones of hopelessness in ‘Nayatt’ or the silent greed of each character in ‘Joji’ – the movie makers have discarded the tropes of predictable cardboard characters and templates of good, evil and righteousness. There is no right, there is no wrong and no judgement and no holding back or ‘filters’- that I believe is the core of these movies and also paves the way for unexplored stories and emotions to the fore.

Every character has been crafted with thought, has a firm root in the plot and has a story each to tell and there is no superficial need to associate them to the ‘lead’, ‘comedian’, ‘item number’ and the other building blocks that make a blockbuster come alive. The so-called superstars have all gone home, the sun has set on stardom. Actors that get into the skin of the character now carry the story along- nothing holding them back, no expectation to adhere to ‘images’ or glamour that was expected of movie stars in general. Authentic stories told by truthful characters is the game and the tool that essays these narratives into magical ‘reel’ or should I say OTT movies.

What is equally commendable is the portrayal of women in these movies. From the far-cry of ‘sword-holding avengers’ or the ‘doe-eyed subservient housewives’ – the two extremes that movies have always played safe with – the women in these movies do not carry any burden of ‘diversity’ or any expectations or the ‘right’ portrayal- a trap that movie makers have fallen into. They are in a ‘normal’ space of their own, doing what any person would do – having their own mind and taking ‘actions’ in the thick of the plot . For once, the peripherals are not the cozy place for our women characters – they are influencing, visible and displaying ‘goods’, ‘bads’ of their characters without apology, revenge or remorse in the backdrop.

I do see hope, pride and freshness in these movies and a small reminder to the 100 crore -obsessed that you can still make good movies with just a good story and truthful portrayal.

Cheers to the accountants

Cheers to the accountants

The fitness gurus

Crunching numbers

Balancing cash flows

 

The mystic ones

Teaching ‘fairness’ and ‘integrity’

Unburdening tax woes

 

The inquisitive sleuths

Excavating samples and evidence

Trusting only ‘trial’ balances

 

These are an odd lot

Loving their disclaimers

Matching, balancing and measuring

Not stopping till they find completeness

 

 

 

 

Let them be..motherhood or not..

Maybe it’s time we shattered the epitomes of motherhood that we have created… take down our mothers from pedestals that we have built over the years…erase the tales of sacrifice, of valour that have been told and retold…

Without diluting all the goodness that mothers bring to this world, without disservice to the years of unconditional love that mothers give their children as a second nature..can we paint them as human first and simple women next without the wings that burden their flight?

Let our mothers and ourselves as mothers just “be”…be the human they are, with their own dreams, characters and selfish needs, taking as much as giving, being enough in their own ways….and stop the pontification….

Media, movies and more are replete with the heart-warming images of mothers who starve to fill a child’s tummy, who burn their hands to save their offspring, who sleep last after the family’s needs have been well taken care of…can we change the narrative to the mothers who walk with the fathers and provide a child with a “home” and a family? A bond that binds, strengthens and grows the children into humans…to let them fly high, experience their own highs and lows, learn their lessons as much as they can learn from their parents and create a cocoon that they can always come back to when they doubt, fail or crumble?

The ‘completeness’ that motherhood is so tied with is sometimes an overrated literary imagery…yes motherhood introduces you into a world unknown…where you stumble, crawl and stand up and chart out a journey that is unique between each mother and child…a part of life that defines and changes you…but as you give more, you also grow more and get to know yourself more…but it doesn’t mean you chisel away in parts such that you do not recognize the person you are at the end of this journey..

Can we keep ourselves honest to the aspirations, needs and desires that we have – motherhood or not? Can we take that extra slice of chocolate cake without guilt, can we indulge in that self-pampering moment keeping aside all your ‘motherly’ duties aside, can we chase our dreams in isolation without the legends of sacrifice that we want to take part in?

When we let our mothers flow their natural course, where they are not forced into ill-fitting super mother costumes that was tailored by ‘what people think’, where they choose their own rides, where they decide their ‘stop’ , their ‘wait’ and their ‘go’ – motherhood would take a whole new meaning..

 

Festivals and nostalgia

 As the festival season knocks at my door step, I can’t help but reminiscence of the festivities past – of the familiarity of faces that surrounded us, of the nostalgic memories attached to each ritual…

Vishu of childhood memories flood through my mind tonight…the feverish excitement that achan used to bring to the Vishu-previous-night preparations..his meticulous  ‘kani’ organization would start from dusk to the late hours of night…arranging, re-arranging of the various visually soothing items for the kani…a few precious shavings of konna poo that used to be shipped to Oman from India, a bit of rice, fresh vegetables, the coconut and the white kasavu mundu..a stickler for geometry and tidiness, he would move items around till the final output was to his satisfaction…And it was time to finally sleep and await the early hours of Vishu to break into the house…

I would lay awaiting the small shrug in the wee hours from achan amma as they led me to the ‘kani’ place…trying hard not to peek through my eyes as I was directed to the ‘right’ spot where the kani is seen to its best and greatest..and then of course the whole purpose of the festival – the vishu kaineetum…rounding off all the moneys received into my saving kitty for a precious purchase…Vishu was always about the diversity and modifications that the kani would undergo every year..and of course filling up my tiny pockets for some valued thing that I would eye ahead of Vishu…

As the years progressed, as you started counting and earning your own moneys, the kaineetum faded into a ritual..and the excitement of the kani and its artistic angles slowly diminished into a routine…but achan never grew out of his childish excitement for the kani…still pottering around to find the right bowl to fit the green gram and hunting for a little bit of konna flowers…house always abuzz with his childish festive vibes..and with him we lost that magic of the Vishu night..of the energy to put together the best kani..a festival slowly dissolving into a puddle of memories past…

It is almost as if age and departure of our loved ones chips off each festival and its thousand rituals and moods….the Vishus we celebrated with that tiny packet of konna poo (withered and wilted by the time it reaches our homes) was so much a magnum opus and today when the konna flowers are in abundance in my backyard, the loss of faces and people seem to belittle the festival into a small ‘tick-in-the-box’ that one must adhere to come April 14 every year..It isn’t the konna, the kaineetum silly – it is the soothing warmth of having our loved ones around us that maketh a Vishu!!

Roar of the sea

The narrow alleys of Chootad may not really look like the touristy streets of Goa, its simple fisher folks may not be your average ‘bead-and-beard’ hippy crowd, neither will you run into an array of souvenir shops nor ‘sea-facing restaurants’ anywhere in the vicinity.  But look beyond the coquettish veil and you will discover a private piece of white sandy haven that is yet to be eroded by tourist explosions and mass recreation.

An accident find in our little drives of exploration – Chootad is now a little secret family hide-out..a place of party, play, reverie and rejuvenation..a small opening that leads us to the mighty ocean, endless white sands and coconut trees.

A morning of ‘sunning’ and ‘sanding’ at Chootad is a morning well spent..the sea roaring a baritone, the waves whirling into frothy whites and the white sands extending it arms and almost softening into the blueness of the skyline above..Devoid of all the trappings of a ‘polished’ tourist hub, the sea at  Chootad is a mix of raw energy and soft humaneness, an authentic version of a beach that simply offers you the sea, sand and sun..free elements that you can experience without splurging on expensive ‘sea-side’ experiences and yet to be devoured by tourist crowds.

We sipped our morning tea as the salty breeze caressed our sleepy faces, watching the fisherfolks deftly guiding their boats into the sands…their faces beaming with innocent smiles amidst a happy display of their morning catch – a pail of crabs and two big sting rays…!As the sun brightened above, we waded into the waves and passed on the reins to the water that was ready to take control. We were rocked and rolled as per the mood of the sea..turning impatient at times,  a tantrum another and sometimes resting into a soft lazy murmur..

After an endless foray into the waters, we lay spent and sand-strewn in the waters - the sea brute yet calm ..teaching us a lesson or two on how little our ego and our being is – amidst its gargantuan strength..it’s mighty roar turning us timid but yet so playful that we were but forced to join the celebration by the sands…Little we could do as we surrendered to its might, mood, swings and more…literally ‘going with the wave’ as we bid adieu to the roar…a silent promise that we would be back for more..

 

Spare me the flower

Spare me the flower

Instead hand me the power

 

I don’t need no favour

It’s the freedom I savour

 

I don’t want to worry about my body and face

I want to dance, walk and rocket into free space

 

I hate to be split, spliced and rolled

To fit some rustic superwoman mould

 

I want my choice and my selfishness

Not to dissolve into tales of sacrifice and selflessness

 

I want to earn that crown and carrot but on a same yardstick

Not to simply meet a number and a statistic

 

I shall flaunt my wrinkles and my sag

Coz I define my own beauty and swag

 

I want to be my own legend

My own start and my own end

 

I may be a woman but still a girl

Loving a giggle, a skirt swirl and a pretty curl

 

 

 

A love of a kind

If you can love and give space

If you can love and yet respect

If you can love and let live

There is magic

If you can love as a child

If you can love the same forever

If you can love no matter the change

There is perpetuity

If you can love no pretence no tags

If you can love not heeding the creed

If you can love just the person

There is authenticity

If you can love without show

If you can love without tell

If you can love yourself as others

There is beauty

 

River, banks and the healing

 I am guilty of the blindness, deafness and ‘numbness’ that city dwelling systematically induces in the human in you…In the living where moments are dissolved into mundaneness, where time flits flippantly between tasks and needs..the ‘Bharatha Puzha (river)’ – the jewel that surrounds my home and nearby, stays forgotten and ignored.

A few misty morning walks and a few crimson sunsets later, I am now alive to the river, to its emotions, its inhabitants and the perfect symmetry that a bridge brings to a river..

My morning walks to the river started from a habit of health, steadily moved to a need and now dangerously reaching a borderline obsession with the magic of the river ..Love-struck and seduced – I keep going back for more – to witness the surrealness - when the sun rays start from the mountains, seep through the river and breaks over the bridge and the skies above. Each sunrise a different shade and each stirring something within me that I never knew I possessed..

And as the day and its responsibilities flood me, the river stays silent - sparkling a thousand sun pearls and laying quiet in anticipation of its visitors at dusk…Come evening, and there is a feverish activity in the house as we prepare our expedition to the river. There is nothing more rewarding than dipping into the river after a hard day at work and labour..to let go and experience the indulgence that follows …the murmurs of the river cleansing you of the stress that duties bring, the breeze cuddling you with its strength and the birds chattering, gliding and revealing a whole new life beyond your human existence..You are spoilt rotten by the time sunset comes calling – the sun and its brushstrokes of colours and patterns..the river equally skilled as it dazzles in a revelry that transforms shades every moment…you stay wonderstruck and humbled by the tableau and almost guilty of the pleasures that the evening brings..

There is more to the river than you imagined, more to the habitat of birds, swaying weeds and picturesque sunsets – a bit of pampering and a bit of healing….little by little it erodes your insensitivities and finds a place of comfort and yearning within you…The river also unsettles you – a haunting guilt – of the constant abuse, insults – be it garbage or mindless constructions..telling you of what we have lost and what more we will lose if we cannot stop the abuse…I sigh..…Mea Culpa…! Mea Culpa!