A Kerala adventure

The writer marvels at Kerala’s charming simplicity amidst life’s many complexities.



WARM smiles. Clogged roads and much honking. Beautiful horizons. Svelte bodies in colourful saris. Ayurvedic massages. Kathakali’s menacing eyes. The cool, gentle dab of pottu on my forehead.

A heady onslaught of images flash through my mind like some television broadcast gone berserk. How does one make sense of Kerala, often referred to in tourist brochures as “God’s own country”? Well, it does seem as if this huge swab of land on the southwest coast of India, with kilometres and kilometres of beautiful beach and swirling waves, is blessed on many fronts.

For one, the innocence of its people is tantalising. Children and adults alike jostle for a picture, the prospect of the occasional tourist stopping for a bit to reward them with a click of the camera almost irresistible.

And, needless to say, warm smiles are ever-present, except perhaps in rare instances as when a fisherman, his livelihood crushed by the monsoon rains, stretches out his weather-beaten hand for some money, his eyes defeated of will and purpose, an empty shell of emotion, shamed at the humiliation.
In general, however, the populace is a busy and contented lot. The day begins early, with the sky turning a lighter shade of blue at 6am.

At Cochin, where my adventure begins, the city stirs with almost a perceptible yawn and a quick jump out of bed.

Streets fill quickly with cars, motorcycles and buses, their incessant honking drawing little anger, mostly quizzical stares. With the morning sun soon reaching maturity, schoolchildren can be seen walking briskly in groups, their presence a welcome sight for photo-journalists eager for some colour to the drab city skyline, as are sari-clad women and men in dhotis.

From a broader perspective, Kerala is certainly intriguing for visitors. With the Arabian Sea in the west, mountains of the Western Ghats towering in the east and networked by 44 rivers, the Indian State boasts serene beaches, tranquil stretches of backwaters, lush hill stations, exotic wildlife, enchanting art forms and monuments, both historical and cultural. Yes, it does begin to sound a bit like heaven on earth.

For many who have not been to India, Kerala is probably the best place to start. To begin with, it boasts a literacy rate of almost 100 per cent. A higher stand of education normally equates a higher everything else, manners and cleanliness included.

At a village called Mararikulam near Marari Beach hotel in Alleppey district, 50km from Cochin, we visited a family whose livelihood depended on the weaving of floor mats on a flimsy loom. Yarns from coconut husks lined the floor, every centimetre of the sturdy threads a plodding and blister-inducing labour in the hands of the female old folk. Yet, for all their relative poverty, their young son, all of his 11 years, stood ready and eager to go for tuition class.

My guide tells me that almost everyone here takes pride in education, and much sacrifice is made to ensure every child goes to school. It’s a warm feeling that there’s a way out of poverty for the younger generation.

Kerala also boasts the highest physical quality of life in India, with the lowest infant mortality and highest life expectancy rates. It has also been called India’s cleanest state, which should put potential travellers’ minds at ease. I started my adventure armed with loads of medication for diarrhoea, fever and all other potential medical hazards. They remained untouched throughout.

Cochin (or Kochi), the commercial capital and the most cosmopolitan city of Kerala, is also known as the Queen of the Arabian Sea. With one of the finest natural harbours in the world, it was once a major centre for commerce and trade with the Arabs, Chinese, Dutch and British.

For us intrepid travellers after a restful night at the luxurious Taj Malabar, a day of sightseeing in and around the city is a balm. After all, we had endured a couple of flights (KL to Colombo and henceforth to Cochin) and half a day of waiting and trudging up and down the tourist van with much expectation.

So there we were soon ambling down the almost deserted street of Fort Kochi playing noisy (and nosy) tourists to view St Francis Church. It’s the first European church that was built in India, where the famous Portuguese explorer Vasco Da Gama was once buried. (His remains, however, were subsequently shipped to Lisbon.)

The Dutch Palace was another stop, a stuffy two-storey building with multiple rooms boasting intricate (but fast fading) 17th century murals depicting scenes from the epic Ramayana on its walls. It’s a magnet for visitors and students, with large crowds waiting to get in and us wanting to get out after a brief polite sojourn.

Then there were the Chinese fishing nets along Vasco da Gama Square, huge, towering cantilevered wooden contraptions that, I suppose, serve better as tourist attractions than trapping fish given the long, unforgiving monsoon season that plays havoc with the local fishermen’s livelihood.


The evening’s highlight – a Kathakali performance at an almost spartan primary school classroom-like setting – turned out to be an anticlimax. I blame it on my heightened expectations and the preceding hype.

In it, a sole dancer in heavy make-up takes on various roles based on themes from Hindu mythology, relying heavily on hand gestures and eye movements to convey his message. After 10 minutes, it quickly became apparent that such a performance will appeal mostly to enthusiasts.

But what did capture my rapt attention the next day on my trek through Kerala was the love for the environment by certain quarters in small but helpful ways. This in a country still noticeably Third World. I thought that with all their attendant problems of being such a populous country, going green would be the least of their priorities. How wrong I was.

At the Broadway (yes, you read right) market in Cochin, plastic bags were a no-no. Later, at Marari Beach Resort, located 50km from Cochin city where we spent the night, this “green” concept was practised to the hilt, from the use of paper bags to solar heaters. Almost everywhere one turned, there were reminders to reduce water usage and to keep the environment clean.

All this, of course, is quickly forgotten the day after when our party was plonked on a houseboat for a three-hour backwater cruise to the famed Kumarakom Lake Resort.

The houseboats may be a pretty draw, with yummy lunch served on board no less, but the living conditions of those who lived along the banks did not help with appetite. Women and children washed and bathed in the river, and their poverty was quite stark.

One family’s sole source of income depended on the benevolence of tourists who stopped to partake of a coconut drink for a mere RM1 per coconut. During the monsoon and heavy rains of the past few months, I dreaded to think how they could even put food on the table.

As my plane took off for Colombo from Trivandrum where we spent the night after a five-hour road journey, my hyperactive mind still could not stop the heady onslaught of images of my Kerala adventure: The little Indian boy who asked for a pen instead of money. The shy salesgirl at Kovalam who blushed at the sight of my camera. The skies which opened up as we were leaving the marketplace in Cochin. Packed buses everywhere with plastic sheets in place of glass window panes. The warm smiles of the fish sellers. My first Ayurvedic massage. Spices everywhere. The eerie yellow glow of my chalet. A grand view of the turbulent Arabian sea.

Truly I have gradually grown to appreciate India a lot more than just a week before. I definitely look at my Indian fellow Malaysians a little differently these days. Friends may jest that I have danced and sung around coconut trees in the few days I was there but truth be told, I think India danced to me and my heart sang heartily with it.

* The writer’s trip to Kerala, India, was sponsored by Sri Lankan Airlines and Kerala Tourism. The airline flies daily to Colombo from Kuala Lumpur, with regular connecting flights to Cochin. For more information, log on to www.srilankan.aero, call 03-2144-2139 or fax 03-2144-3278.

A defiant Kathakali, with eyes blazing

Here's the first of my stories on Kerala. It appeared on Oct 15 in the NST:


A Kathakali performance in Kerala, India sounds just grand. A pity all that stomping around in majestic headgear and elaborate makeup is just not drawing in the crowds, observes the writer.


SO who’s up for a little traditional Indian performance? With that, our guide led us down a little alleyway and up some stairs which opened up into a small classroom of sorts with a raised stage at one end.

The rundown nature of the place hardly befits the grand-sounding name that’s the Cochin Cultural Centre in Kerala, India. It may not look like much but never mind – it’s the performance that matters.

There to partake of what is known as a Kathakali performance, our group of 10 took our seats amongst a handful of foreign tourists. It’s a shame that this classical dance drama unique to Kerala hardly appealed to the locals anymore but I guess that’s progress.

I tried to maintain as open a mind as possible. What does it entail? My guide book tells me it’s a unique combination of literature, music, painting, acting and dance, with the dancer in a Kathakali performance taking on various roles based on themes from Hindu mythology.

Often referred to as “the stately dance of Kerala”, Kathakali literally means “story-play” and involves elaborate make-up and costumes.

With a tradition dating back more than four centuries, it is a highly stylish art, with some reviewers calling it “a deeply moving, immensely cathartic aesthetic experience”.

The makeup, grand costume, complicated hand gestures, exaggerated eye movements and feet stomping got my attention for all of 10 minutes before the monotony and the exasperation of not being able to comprehend anything of what the actor is trying to portray started to frustrate me no end.

But that’s hardly anyone’s fault. The themes are usually from Hindu epics and purana, with characters representing existence in the worlds of Gods, demons and humans. So unless you are a scholar or enthusiast of such epics, much of what is depicted will be lost on you, and quickly too!

Enthusiasts, however, beg to differ. “Once you master the art of viewing Kathakali, it’s very painful missing one, especially if the veterans are acting,”gushed one fan.

Kathakali makeup (using natural pigments like manayola) is a slow metamorphosis — of mortals into immortal deities and demons. A lengthy affair, the process takes two to three hours to complete.

We caught the end bit of the process just before the performance proper, apparently a not-to-be-missed part of any show. After another 10 minutes of that, and since hardly much had metamorphosised before my eyes, my mind started to wander, distracted perhaps by the thought that dinner will be very late that night. Well, the guide did warn us that some performances can last up to 12 hours!

But as the headgear was finally fixed on the actor’s head, he did become larger than life. I was transfixed when he jumped on stage and stomped around for a bit. His eyes blazed and his emotions lurched from one extreme to the next, expressing such volatile feelings as anger, sadness, love and frustration at will.

Much of what was communicated was through his eyes, which flicked up and down, right to left or just glared at the audience. A myriad of hand gestures added to the effect. Good thing there was an interpreter, for some expressions did look the same to me. Strangely, I started to empathise with his emotional outburst, and even marvelled for a while his ability to switch from one facial expression to the next.

Given his already fierce demeanour from all the makeup, costume and headgear, his most dominant expression must surely be anger. Well, looking at the near empty hall, this Kerala cultural icon has something to be angry about, doesn’t he?

The writer’s trip to Kerala, India, was sponsored by Sri Lankan Airlines and Kerala Tourism. The airline flies daily to Colombo from Kuala Lumpur, with regular connecting flights to Cochin. For more information, log on to www.srilankan.aero, call 03-2144-2139 or fax
03-2144-3278.

Wait till Dad gets home!

I wrote this article for Canaan Voices (Sept 2007 issue):


HOW not to be intimidated? I’m not talking about a domineering boss, bungee-jumping or even climbing Mount Everest. My concerns are more down-to-earth and ordinary but no less scary.

Okay, here goes. I worry a lot at being … wait for it … a Dad. It’s something that has terrified me for years. How (or why) do some people do it, I wonder.

With my two children long past the infant stage, you must think that I’m half way there. Actually, the worries mount. You know how people say that our children’s lives are like a white piece of paper when they start out? I shudder to think what it looks like at this stage in their lives.

A Dad is supposed to be a role model to their children. All the time. Not easy. When one is plain tired after a difficult day at the office (“go ask Mum!”), when you just want to let your hair down (okay, pig out), when you want to relive some crazy moments of your youth (playing an imaginary guitar riff to the accompaniment of rock music and gyrating nymphs on DVD), when you just want to curse (okay, this is bad)… in these vulnerable moments, Dad becomes A Bad Example.

Too harsh? Let me ease you into the intimidating bit first.

* You’re a father. Which means they look up to you for everything. You are supposed to know everything. And when you don’t, the look of disappointment in their eyes is crushing. It may be imagined but I tell you, it’s as real as can be in your mind.

* You’re a father. Which means you’re supposed to read to them/bond with them every night before they sleep. And when you don’t, because you had a very long day and you really, really want to catch C.S.I. (which you don’t allow them to watch because of the gore), they’ll have that sad puppy dog look again.

* You’re a father. Which means you are not supposed to be scared of the dark. But it’s midnight and that scene from Exorcist is still playing in your mind (yes, yes, I should have gotten over that by now). Your son wants you to get his stuff from the back room but you are acutely aware that the neighbour behind your house is having a wake. With strange sounds coming from there, do you gulp down your fear or show him just how much of a scaredy-cat Dad is?

* You’re a father. Which means what you say or do is etched in their memory… forever. So think twice before laying down a rule which you will never recall in the months ahead. One painful example: No reading papers or having the television on when dinner is served. You conveniently forget this silly rule when your favourite Hong Kong drama is aired. I can tell you it’s not easy getting through dinner with the children chiding you, the missus giving you dagger stares and you having to concentrate on the drama as well. As for reading while enjoying your meal, sigh, isn’t that one of the little pleasures in life?

* You’re a father. Which means you stand for everything that matter in their lives. Basically, this means you must plan, save, guide, chauffeur, love and protect them forever. It also means you must always give in, trust and leave everything to God if they grow up one day and choose to undo all that you have planned, saved and guided them to do. No wonder Dads have high blood pressure and little hair.

Okay, now for why being a Dad is good.

· Deep down, you like being a Dad. At the end of the day, when all the work’s done, when all the bumps have been smoothed over, when the noisy chatter and laughter of the house wind down, somehow being a father suddenly makes you feel privileged. You look into their trusting eyes as you ruffle their hair and kiss them goodnight and you know you have, for now at least, a special place in their lives.

· You get to lord over them. Occasionally, they protest but most of the time what you say goes. It’s a heavy responsibility but hey, someone’s got to hang on to the remote. As for other, more mundane life-changing decisions, there’s always the Missus.

· I get to buy stuff for myself under the pretext that the children will enjoy them too. Sure, Junior deserves his Gameboy but Dad gets to go a few rounds with the bad guys on the PS2 too!

So yes, despite myself, I’m actually enjoying the challenge of being a Dad. At moments of stress, I take a deep breath and plod ahead, knowing that, heh heh, there’s no getting out of this one.

I may complain loudly at having to turn back home for their buku kerja just as I am reaching the school gates, I may balk at having to give up my precious leisure moments to chauffeur them some place, I may feel financially pressured having to save for their education… but I tell you, nothing beats the warm glow inside when your little one puts his or her hand inside your palm so trustingly when you cross the street. So there!

Ephesians 6:1-4: Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. "Honor your father and mother— which is the first commandment with a promise— "that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth." Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.

Hello

I'm back... Yes, it has been a while. What happened? Lots. For now, it's just that my heart and mind are in all the wrong places. But I am glad to be back, though I had to change my login, etc... it is good to be here again.