Lest We Forget

It is the first monsoon season in our newly built house. The Rain 
God seems to be in a benevolent mood as it is raining copiously this year. To have a house of your own, and to enjoy the rains, sitting in the balcony, had been a dream, cherished deep down in our hearts. So when the dream finally became true, and as we sat in the balcony, drinking in the beauty of the monsoon showers, we felt overwhelmed with gratitude towards the blessings of the Almighty. It was also the time we felt indebted to our Kunjettan.

For years, the thought of constructing the house had been gnawing at our minds and everytime we tried to make a move forward, it would invariably meet with a hurdle. And then Kunjettan came into our life, literally becoming the Hands of God to give shape to our dream.

Kunjettan was my husband's cousin brother. But the love he had for his cousin was more than that of a sibling. For, what else could make a person take up a work, that would keep him away from his house for nearly two years, and which would consume his time and energy so much that he would hardly be able to enquire, leave alone care for his aged mother as well as his wife and children. In that respect, kunjettan was quite a mystery for everyone who came to know of his role in building our house.


Kunjettan, lost his mother at a very young age and was brought up in the house of his relatives along with his younger sister. As a teenager, he was later taken to Trichy by his father where he grew up under the loving care of his second mother. 

Kunjetten soon became associated with the construction field and he became a construction engineer by profession without attending any professional college, other than hands-on experience. His expertise was so well known that every newly recruit engineer in the state Public Works Department was asked to take apprenticeship under him before undertaking any independent work.

 For years on, Kunjettan became the layman's architect in building dream homes for people belonging to all sections of the society.  When the rich sought his guidance again and again for undertaking extension works or for newer projects, the poor looked upon him as a messiah who had fulfilled their 'never-likely-to happen" wish.


 Kunjettan would often reminisce about how he would take the initiative in first instilling confidence in these people and then take a token advance from them. Very often he himself would finance the expense for the foundation. After this, he would take a loan from the bank in their name and built a one-room house so that they can shift. The monthly rent thus saved is collected and then step by step the construction is completed over a period of time.   

Kunjetten returned to Kerala and settled in his hometown Wayanad, a few years ago after winding up all the projects and disposing off his assets in Trichy. His children, two sons and daughter were all settled and it was time to enjoy the retirement period. But it was not long before Kunjettan began to feel restless sitting idle at home. A person who has been active all along is suddenly beset with all sorts of illness when there is no other engagements and Kunjettan was no exception. It was at this juncture that the idea of taking up the construction of our house was mooted and Kunjettan was only eager to do so. 

When Kunjettan came to Cochin to inspect our land, it was with a child-like excitement that he went about enquiring the details and seeing this excitement we felt assured that Kunjettan had taken up the task with cent percent willingness and not out of any obligation.


 He readily agreed to stay with us though the two bedroom flat was hardly spacious enough. We soon came to understand why he was so confident of managing  himself, for his wants were much too less than we could ever imagine. He would be  up in the early morning and by 7 he would leave for the construction site to return only at 7 in the evening. His only demand was for a two-wheeler to move around and his enterprising nature took us by wonder for he was so much at ease in a new and crowded city like Cochin, finding his way through the nooks and corners which we never knew existed.

Kunjettan was so simple a person in his outlook that one would have expected him to be soft in the site also. But there he was such a stickler to perfection that he would brook no laxity at all and the workers soon came to recognise this and started cooperating. Whenever a problem came up he would find some ingenuous way to overcome it and thereby ensured that not a day passed without any progress in the construction. Each day we would eagerly visit the site and see our dream home coming up so fast that before we knew it, the construction was complete and that too with a much needed financial savings. 


He knew how little spare time we had to supervise the works and  never complained about it other than pulling our leg by addressing us as the guests of the house and not the owners! He also knew that if any work is left incomplete, it is likely to remain so for years. So he took care to finish all the major works and even cajoled us to shift to the house soon enough, unmindful of the little works pending, so that he could go back home contented. 

As the life in our new home moves on, we often pinch ourselves in disbelief that we are truely staying in a house of our own.  So when our "Indeevaram" house get ready to become drenched in another spell of rains, we silently thank the Almighty for this  Kunjettan's varam.

Kashmir: Some fond & painful memories

          After months of anticipation, we were finally on our way to Srinagar. Though we had enough feedbacks about the "calm" state of affairs in Kashmir from those who had just returned from there, the human psychology is such that we need firsthand experience to believe anything. So we masked all our reservations in the "martyr-to-be" attitude and set forth on the journey. As our flight neared Srinagar airport, the so-called fears began to disappear as the beauty of the snowclad mountains unfolded beneath in full splendour. The vast expanse of the Himalayas stretched itself out with the snow gleaming here and there.  The joy that this soothing sight gave was enough to mitigate whatever reservations we had about the decision we had made.

The Srinagar Airport turned out to be a small airport, after having seen the infrastructure giant that the Delhi Airport had become thanks to the GMR group. Whilst enjoying the slight chill that had begun to envelope us once we landed in Srinagar, we were surprised to see how little formalities there were, considering the security aspects, before we got on into our van enroute  our  hotel.

The  city of Srinagar is a quiet one, retaining an old world charm about it. A clean city, the result of a strict ban on plastic, giving the visitors an idea or two on how to keep it so. It took a while though before we could come to terms with the insecure feeling that had slowly found its way back into our minds. All through the journey which took almost 45 minutes, we anticipated one bomb to go off under the van but no one had the courage to show it in their face.

In the afternoon, we reached the famed Dal Lake, which was located at the centre of Srinagar City. The entire city was built around this placid lake which extended to a Km or more. Before we could enjoy the beauty of the Lake, we were ushered into the Shikaras which lay resplendent in rows. The rate, we were told, was fixed and so we just had to hop onto one and get moving.  While enjoying the Shikara ride, it was as if we had overcome the first hurdle in conquering our fears and it was writ large on everybody's face. The coy Sharmila Tagore and the tame Shammi Kapoor suddenly came alive as we glided on and let the feeling sink in that we are really in Kashmir.  

The next day saw us trooping out to visit the famed moghul gardens in the Srinagar City.  There were four famous gardens and all were located nearby. As it was a Sunday, we could see the natives in large numbers enjoying the beauty of these gardens. The people were as beautiful as the roses that seemed to grow in abundance in the households there and we couldnt help but feel a bit jealous thinking of the pains we take to nurture a rose plant back home. These gardens dating back to centuries were carved out from hill tops giving them the tag "terraced" gardens.  The greenery, broken only by the colourful flowers in vibrant hues vouched for the avowed beauty that Kashmir had come to signify. Nature surely had blessed this place.

Our plans to visit Pahalgam the next day was altered in the last minute as someone had suggested Sonamarg to be a better place for a single day visit. So we found ourselves  driving to Sonamarg with anticipations of seeing snow in close quarters. Now, whatever fears we had had was chucked away, with a quiet assurance of nothing could happen in this beautiful place.

The way to Sonamarg took us to the interiors of Kashmir, a quiet countryside with fields and farming. As we moved on to the hilly areas, the sight afar of the snowclad mountains whetted our spirit of adventure. The first stop was at Snowpoint where laymen like us got the first hand experience of Snow in all its purity. The child in us overtook our inhibitions and almost everyone scrambled atop the snowy hilltop. The slippery terrain took us unawares and there were many a trip and fall amongst us, adding to the fun.The snow had started melting there and we saw how a mighty river is born. The angst of seperation was encapsulated in the swirling waters that thundered down.

At Sonamarg, we were surrounded by a huge crowd besotting us to take their horse for the ride atop. These hardy men clammering for a client was a sad reminder of the poverty that the terrorism hit tourism had granted them. But, the horse-ride was quite an experience. The chilly winds blowing into your face was both soothing and seering in turns. Like the characters in the movie Ice-Age we moved ahead slowly in the winding pathways. Sonamarg does not have any winter sports activities. So the whiteness of the snow, at times had an eerie loneliness about it. A sort of vacant dullness that could make you gloomy.

After reaching Snowpoint no.2, we had a halt. The gentlemen of the group went ahead to enjoy the sledge-ride on the wooden sledge that our escoters carried with them. Having seen pictures of modern equipments used in winter sports, this wooden sledge seemed  a bit primitive, once again a grim reminder of the stagnation  that the tourism industry was facing. But enjoyment is measured in the minds and there it got cent per cent marks.

On our way back, in between various stages of dozing, I caught a glimpse of a soldier standing guard hidden amongst the trees lining the highways. At first, I thought I was imagining things, but on keen watching  I found more and more sentinels, yet another pointer to the ground reality.

In fact this led us to seek new meanings into ordinary things, like, why is there a road block everyday and at the most unexpected time? You can never return in the same road that u took while going. Was it a technique to ensure that nothing remained the same everyday and thus foil all bids to plan an attack. Or why is it that the room attendent make all sorts of reasons to barge into your room after you come back at night. Are the tourists also under scanner and if not, why would the Police Chief come to dine in your hotel, the food of which has nothing extraordinary to boast of. These were but some of the silly thoughts that fortunately did not take root for long, for, the beauty of Kashmir has such a magical effect.

Gulmarg, a name synonymous with Kashmir itself, was awaiting our arrival it seemed. For, the day we went there it was teeming with people enjoying the pleasant climate. Just the day before that, it was raining heavily and people couldnt even get down from the Gondolas ( ropeway) after reaching there. Nature can be fickle at the most inopportune time. But we were lucky.

Gulmarg epitomised the beauty of Kashmir. Be it the freshness of the snow clad mountains reaching out to the blue skies or the richness of the green valley that simply rolled out downhill, the place seemed  ethereal. That such a place really existed on earth was hard to believe. It was indeed that Paradise on Earth as they say, for nothing could be more enchanting than this.

The tourists thronging Gulmarg allayed all our fears of what doom may befall Kashmir one day, for such was the tourist activities going on that it kindles a ray of hope. A hope that Kashmir will one day be able to get off the shackles that tie her down.

But that day is still a long way off was evident when we reached the Srinagar Airport the next day on our way back. As we neared the Airport, we felt as if we had strayed into a military camp. For such was the military ensemble there with army men and armoured vehicles. Before entering the airport, we had to put our luggage for security check and once inside, the routing checking was again carried out even more strictly. All the handbaggages were checked inside out and even before we had overcome the bewilderment at such stringent security measures, we are once again put through personal body checking before boarding the aircraft!!

This was a pointer to the real state of affairs in Kashmir. A reality check. And it pained us a lot. As our aircraft arose over the snowcapped mountains again, it was with a lump in the throat that we looked down to bid adieu to our beloved Kashmir.   

The Royal Journey begins

The famous Arattupuzha Pooram is an assembly of Gods in Arattupuzha, 15 kms from Trichur, which is chaired by the Lord himself i.e. Lord Sree Rama the presiding deity of Triprayar Temple. And this beautiful photo captures the beginning of the royal journey to attend this Pooram.  The Triprayar Temple is situated on the banks of a river and what strikes you is the fact that the river is unusually calm and pristine in the temple precints.The river flows by right in front of the Temple. Therefore whenever the Lord embarks on a royal journey his tour begins in this humble manner. But it speaks volumes about how the real culture gets merged with the festivities of a land.  When I first saw this photo I was bowled over by these very thoughts and what better way to start off my blogging than with this photo of the royal journey.

The Lord continues his journey on reaching the banks, on the mighty tusker. There are no accompaniments other than a few on the traditional "Chenda". But a sea of humanity accompanies him on foot and what a sight it is..The Lord amidst these ordinary folks is awe-inspiring and as he  moves slowly ahead, each household welcomes him with fireworks timed to such perfection that people from far across can really identify as to where the royal journey has reached.

The Lord returns the next day in the same manner, with the sea of humanity following him albeit a bit tired, having walked miles.  But this ritual undertaken every year gives them more strength to come back the very next year. Such is the power, the charm and the gratification that this Pooram provides.