Deshadana Pakshikal

Recently I read a blog about migration . The blogger worries about the future of migration,the economics, the infrastructural inadequacies and the like. I donot know about the future but I definitely know the present. It is painful. When I got married and ‘migrated ‘ to a far off city I missed all that was Kerala….the flavours of Kerala curries, my relatives and friends. Suddenly I felt trapped in a strange city where people spoke a language which I could understand but didn’t have the courage to speak. A couple of times I did make a brave attempt and the look on the face of my listeners were enough for me to understand my limitations. It took about 5 to 6 years for me to ‘walk Hindi,talk Hindi and eat Hindi ’. (although my children still make fun of my Hemamalini accent.) Somewhere along the way I was unknowingly getting the hang of the place and Kerala became a distant dream …which came alive only during Onam or Vishu. To avoid feeling guilty I joined the Malayalam film Club, a passport to the Mallu crowd .We spoke Malayalam at home with a vengeance with a minimum sprinkle of English words.The annual visits to Kerala to see my parents ensured that my roots were firmly grounded in ‘God’s own country’. Or so I assumed and planned my next move . To shift to my home town after retirement. My friends and well wishers were not sure if I was doing the right thing. From the dazzling metro to a remote town ? But I was adamant and happily bid farewell to the city where I had spent the best part of my life, the city where I grew up from a 20 something bride to a grand mother, the city where lay buried much of my laughter, heart aches, happiness and disappointments. Where life rolled out its many hues of splendor ….I did feel the pangs of separation as I started packing my stuff…

As I stepped out of the aircraft I was tempted to kiss ‘my’ soil like a war –hero returning home. I was humming to myself an old Malayalam song ” varunnu njan, varunnu njan ,janma deshame Keralame……..” and got into the waiting taxi.

After the excitement of the new house and the hassles of settling down wore off, I looked around. The place has changed beyond recognition. Every inch of the earth is now covered with buildings .Mostly shops. It has become an extremely consumerist society. I noticed that Bhakti and other related rituals and superstitions were on the rise. Where is the Kerala of my youth where people were skeptical, agnostic if not atheistic where everything was questioned and analysed ? Communism prevailed all right but then it was not the same. The culture also has changed. It is a mix now ,thanks to cable TV and internet exposure. People are honest but lazy compared to their north Indian counter parts. On the slightest pretext a hartal will be announced and life comes to a standstill. This must be the only town where shops were shut down and a procession taken out when Saddam Hussain was hanged.

To add to the misery all my cousins and other relatives had moved to nearby towns where better facilities were available. I started feeling a bit lost. People were friendly and warm but there was this ‘let’s see how long she will last here’ kind of look etched on their faces. The funniest part was the language. It behaved like a jilted lover, neither giving in nor giving up completely. I was looking forward to get back to reading some of my favourite magazines . But alas, the new script was a hurdle. The speed of reading slowed down considerably. Moreover I could no longer identify with the issues they were writing about. Nor did I have much knowledge about the local political scene. One vegetable vendor asked me “ Aunty where are you from ?”. I thought I didn’t hear him properly and so asked “What ?”. “ You see your Malayalam is different , so I thought..”, he answered sheepishly. I was stunned . For heaven’s sake don’t tell me to attend a refreshers’ Course in Malayalam ! It didn’t stop there. I was invited to give a talk by an NGO. After the preliminary discussion, the Director asked me if I can speak in Malayalam .”But, of course “, So far the discussion was in Malayalam. So what the hell does he mean ? “You see it is one thing to have a conversation . But it is quite another to speak from the podium.” I was exasperated and with all the patience I could muster told him that I will not disappoint him. The D-day came . I saw the Director sitting in the front row, drumming the desk nervously. Poor fellow! After I spoke for a few minutes our eyes met and he nodded approvingly. By then the drumming had also stopped.

The roots have a way growing without your ever noticing it . It is quite challenging to uproot and plant yourself in a new soil .More so when you are no longer young. You will enjoy it if you still have , what they call, fire in the belly. If not, God bless you !