In God’s Own

The moment I got off the bus at Koyilandi, a small town in Kerala, the humidity usurped my body and I was dripping in my sweat. No wonder people wear mundus (lungis) in Kerala; jeans are the not the most preferred attire here and later I realised that it was not only because of the weather.

The cold water bath at the lodge did help get some heat off us but after about five minutes it really didn't matter; we were sweating just as bad.
Dressed in a pair of jeans, a kurta and sunglasses I thought that it would take some heat off me; instead I attracted it.

There were people and children pointing out at me on the road like I was some weird creature parading during the annual village festival. I was quite uncomfortable and walked close to Santhosh, my husband, who was oblivious to the surrounding environment.

We were there for a wedding, Santhosh’s cousin's actually. By habit I avoid over packing and carrying too many clothes. I landed in Koyilandi with two kurtas, a kanjeevaram sari, pyjamas, two t-shirts, underwear and a pair of high-heeled footwear to go with the sari.

Our first mission was to have some good breakfast. Outside our lodge called Rainbow Gate which was painted in rainbow colours of course, was a restaurant called Hotel Victory. It didn’t look enticing enough so we walked ahead.

On the side of the road we spotted a cart which sold soda sorbets made of lime and a particular root; the root is actually a cooler. And though it had a weird taste it did cool my body.

After the cooler we walked ahead in search of breakfast. We stopped an auto-rickshaw driver and asked him if he could tell us if there was a good restaurant around. “Hyatt!”, pat came the answer.
The Hyatt? Really? I was a little confused at first. Sandip, my brother-in-law said, “Are you actually expecting to see the Grand Hyatt in this small village? There isn’t even a Grand Hyatt in Bangalore.”
So we hired an auto-rickshaw and asked him to go to the Hyatt. It was about three kilometers ahead and the auto stopped in front of a huge sign which read “HAYATH RESTAURANT”. Our local Hayath did serve us some yummy parota and mussels’ curry; I was happy and content when I left the Hayath with a bill of only Rs.152.

The wedding is usually hosted by the bride’s family. And we had to pay a visit to the bride’s family that day. So we took a bus ride to the bride’s house.

The bride greeted us at the entrance; I had to admire her composure and calm demeanor. At what I thought was 120 degrees, she was dressed in a silk sari with heavy jewelry, greeting guests and making sure they were comfortable.

At about 11:00a.m everybody was directed towards a dining area created especially for the occasion.
Tables and chairs were laid out in the compound; the whole area was covered with sheets above and at the sides. Temporary hand-wash areas were available on either sides of the area, lined with coconut leaves. It was a simple but effective arrangement.

People only ate in the dining area, clearing the area once they were done, for the other guests who were waiting.
We were served kappa and meen curry (tapioca and fish curry). After that heavy Hayath breakfast it was impossible for us to eat but we didn’t want to offend our hosts, so we took tiny helpings of the mid-day meal. Then, I regretted having the heavy Hayath breakfast; I wanted more of the kappa and meen curry, but my stomach and jeans just did not allow me.

For the next two hours we went about exploring the place. It was absolutely lovely and so green. Houses were on top of small hills; most of them had goats and cows. We found a steep flight of stairs going downwards, with high walls at both sides, which led to a path way; in the rainy season it would be impossible to down those stairs. The water flow trail was clearly visible; it would probably look like a water fall during heavy rain.
It was suddenly cool in that small path way; it ultimately stopped at a field. There was a sudden burst of sunlight and greenery at the end of it.

Once we were back at the house it was time to eat again. There was rice, sambar, meen curry, upperi (a dry vegetable side dish), buttermilk and pickle on the menu. Food was served on a banana leaf and I wiped mine clean.

It seems that when a wedding takes place in the village, it is not a celebration confined to the household but a celebration for the whole village. The cooking was done by all the neighbours and make-shift kitchens were set-up for the purpose. The women were grinding the masalas while the men were stirring the curries. The young adults and children served the food.
In between, a group of guys came in with a banner which had photos of the bridal couple and read “Renjitha weds Sanjay”. They put this up on the roof of the house for all to see.
The whole organization was amazing. At no point in time did I see anyone shouting out orders or getting exasperated. Also, if we wanted a second helping of a dish it came to us instantly, with a smile.

At 3:00p.m high-tea was being served. It is the high-tea and dinner which is considered part of the reception. About a 1500 people were expected.
Throughout all this I saw the bride’s parents so relaxed, moving around and meeting people. I could not differentiate between who were neighbours and family. It was just amazing to see how everything was taken care of and efficiently managed.

For tea we were served unniappams, a biscuit and a banana with tea. Out of greed all of us had two more than our quota.
There was nothing much to do around there really. Santhosh’s relatives were all talking to us and I was just smiling back because I didn’t know the language. I had to rely on my translator, Santhosh, to tell me what they were saying, so after some time it was just easier to smile and nod.

We excused ourselves after a while to go back to our lodge and also do some shopping; I had to get myself bangles, because I didn’t have any and in Kerala, married women are not supposed to keep their hands bare.
So when none at the gold shop fit me, the guy at the counter said that he never had customers with hands like mine, he wanted to be tactful but just didn’t use the right words, I went to the nearby fancy store and bought shiny cheap bangles that matched with my sari for 60 bucks.

At the lodge the cold bath was again a relief for only exactly five minutes. I changed into another kurta and I regretted not having brought some “weddingy” clothes with me.

Back at the bride’s house there was a swarm of people. At 6:00p.m people were still being served high-tea.

After about an hour there was sudden crowd of children around where I was seated. One nervous one suddenly shouted out, “What is your name?” I smiled, told him my name and held out my hand, he instantly shook it. They kept talking animatedly in Malayalam amongst themselves and all of them wanted to shake hands with me.
There were some shy ones who were cajoled and pushed by the ones who had already “done it”, to shake hands with me. I don’t know now whether this was what a celebrity felt like.
One little guy perked up the courage and said, “America?” then in Malayalam to my Santhosh, “Is she from America?”
Santhosh and Sandip immediately said, “Yes! She’s from America.” I threw a few words of Malayalam at them and they seemed a little confused. Then a boy said, “Nah, she’s not a malayalee. She’s from America.” It was as if I was trying to fool them into thinking that I was a Malayalee, but clearly my accent could not fool them. It’s not that my accent was American, it was just not malayalee.
Santhosh then humoured them and said, “If you want to shake hands with her you will have to pay 10 bucks each.” Two of them who stood by my side instantly shook my hand and look at Santhosh triumphantly. They had managed to shake my hand without paying up.
Sandip was getting irritated by this whole episode and said to them, “Will you get me a stick?” When they asked why, he said, “To hit all of you with it.” They suddenly walked away in a single file and each of them returned with either a stick or long leaf. All cheeky little guys, I tell you. That was my fifteen minutes of fame and throughout I just could not stop laughing.

After dinner we headed back to the lodge and took another shower. It had rained but the room was like an oven. It was quite cool outside and I perched myself on a chair outside to read my book. At eleven in the night it was so calm and peaceful, we could only hear the insects. I eventually went to bed and tried to get some sleep in the heat, the fan was at its maximum speed but to no avail.

The next morning I was woken up by Santhosh who tricked me into thinking that everyone else was dressed and ready to go for the wedding. I reluctantly woke up, grouchy and all and headed for the bathroom.

My next task was to drape the 6 metre sari around me. After tucking in one side into the sari skirt I called for help. Radhika chechi came to my rescue and draped the sari for me. Once she was done she looked at me and said in Malayalam, “You look beautiful. This is how you should be. You look so nice. Yesterday’s dress was ok but you look more beautiful now.” I blinked trying to understand what she was saying, then she spoke slowly and added a few English words in between and I finally understood what she was trying to say.

After putting on my make-up and forcing the cheap bangles into my hands we were ready to go. The cheap bangles left that shiny thing all over my hands, my sari and Santhosh’s hands.
There was a mantap set-up in front of the house. It was adorned with flowers and banana leaves. There was a fat namboodiri sitting in the mantap; he would conduct the wedding.

While waiting for the bride and groom to arrive I was wiping away the sweat from face and along with it all my make-up. Walking with my high-heels and the long sari was not making things easier for me. My ears hurt from forcing the earrings into my ears the previous night; I needed sleep and wanted to rip off my sari.
Suddenly there was some music and I assumed the bride and groom had arrived; I couldn’t see a thing from where I was sitting. In about ten minutes the wedding was done. I think malayalee weddings are the best. Like my friend used to say, if you blink or sneeze you’ll miss the wedding.

Instantly after that we were guided to the dining area for the sadya. Served on a banana leaf, came an elaborate meal. I was eating lunch at eleven in the morning.

There was nothing more to do really. We had to pose for photographs with the bridal couple and I got introduced to some more of Santhosh’s folks. It was nice really; they were all so sweet and were very accommodating even though I didn’t know their language. They would tell Santhosh to translate it for me.

The brats who crowded me the previous day obviously didn’t recognize me with the sari or maybe they were just behaving themselves and suspecting that I was indeed a malayalee because I had worn a sari with all the right Indian accessories.

It was time to go home. A part of me was a little relived and part of me wanted to stay. It was quite an experience.
I reached the lodge and ripped off my sari, had a cold shower and changed into a pair jeans and a t-shirt.

We had to go to Calicut to catch our bus to Bangalore. All of Santhosh’s folks were sad to see us go and asked us to come to Palakkad in Kerala, where they are from.

As we left Koyilandi I felt like I was leaving behind another world, where I was an alien yet made to feel so welcome; a world in which I was not a perfect fit but accepted the way I was; a world which is truly God’s own.