Inland (BH:D257)

April 18, 2012

An afternoon of traveling around southern Kerala with Saiju. As we head to the auspicious land marking ceremony of a new house around 50km from the city, the owner calls to say that he would like it done before "Rahu Kalam", the most inauspicious time of the day according to the Hindu astrological calendar starts. I chuckle about his being a time-watching Muslim while the other guys in the car quickly figure out when is Rahu Kalam on a Tuesday.

One of them remembers a mnemonic he was taught in high school. "Eleven boys had a good football coach," he says. The calculation is not as simple as mnemonics are meant to be. We start with Monday. The starting letter for "eleven", e is the 5th in English alphabet. We take 1.5 times 5 to get 7.5. On Mondays, Rahu Kalam is from 7:30am to 9am. They always last 90 minutes. Similarly for Tuesdays, 'boys' gives b which is 2. Taking 1.5 times 2, we get 3, thus 3pm to 4:30 pm.

With the letters b, f and c available to make a mnemonic, I though it was a rather clean to have boys, football and coach. A much more entertaining obscene mnemonic was quickly made. Obviously it won't be taught in school. At least not by a teacher in a classroom. 

Back home, I was told a much simpler mnemonic to remember Rahu Kalam is "Mother saw father with their two sons". The first letters of the words in this sentence represents the days of the week that start with it. Here, one needs to remember that on Mondays, the time is 7:30-9am. Now we keep marching forward in 90 minutes chunk and figure out which day that would be from the mnemonic. So the next chunk 9am-10:30am would be Rahu kalam on "saw"=Saturday. 'Their' is for Thursday and 'Two' stands for Tuesdays. Wholehearted apologies for sharing this absolutely useless knowledge.

A property has been brought to road level by removing tonnes of soil 20-25 ft high. The exposed soil walls stand on two sides of the land with a sacred, sacrifical mix of yellow, red and cream hues. At the far end, the culling has cut through a well, revealing its cross section down the entire depth. The split well stands like a gaping, festering wound on the earth beyond repair.

Another site has two houses and a small shrine in it. Total area of 1.5 acres. One of the house is ancient and the other is an old one. The people belong to a caste called "Ambalavasis" who are traditionally associated with temple duties. Hence the shrine and its importance. "We want a new two storey house here," said the wife standing in the front yard of the ancient house. She gave specifications of all the rooms she needed. "But the darshan (front view) should be towards the shrine. Our budget is strictly 25 lakhs. After this is done, we need to conduct our first daughter's wedding. You know, how much gold costs these days!" 

"We can do a single floor home for that budget, " suggests the architect.

"But we have two daughters!"

Since the shrine is present, dividing and selling a part of the property to raise some more funds is out of question. I stand around listening to the conversation amused about the "way of life" that involves 'rahu kalams', shrines, gold and marrying off daughters. Millions in this land pass by never getting a breather from their 'way of life' to admire the beautiful planet? Is it not gorgeous enough to give them pause, to rethink, to reconsider?

At another upcoming home, as the architect, mason and the owner get busy over measurements, a little white lamb chomps down on a leafy wild plant near the unpolished new compound wall. The movement of his jaws are lightning fast. He is the Bruce Lee of feeding. Leaves disappear into his mouth in an unbroken succession. Once in a while, as if to change taste and revitalize its appepite, he munches on a piece of banana that is lying on the ground. His mom bleats intermittently from her tethered circle around a Jackfruit tree in the neighboring house. 

I wonder how despite such nonstop eating, this little dude stays so lean. He quickly illustrates. In one vigorous leap, he is on the parapet. Then back on the ground and in five spirited gallops he is back with his mom. The speed, agility and incredibly energy expending motion packs all his life in every leap. We have only accumulated the voracious grazing habit and conveniently skipped the animated bouncing.

We shuttle from one home site to another continuously feeding an ever growing desire to drink tea. We get stuck at a level crossing. By the time the train has passed, "intelligent" Indian drivers with their great civic sense have managed to choke the roads on either side of the gate. Impossible impasse. Everyone wants to get ahead. So nobody goes anywhere. Blaring horns. Showering abuses. A hoarding by the roadside guarantees "Moksha" (salvation) with the viewing of 12 Jyothirlingas in a traveling exhibition. Free Entry. Sure why not! We already know what hell feels like.

We sublimate the desire for tea into a conversation. How did Malayalees become so addicted to tea that was apparently introduced in India only in the 17th century by Rober Fortune after tricking the Chinese out of its secret? Or could it be that Chinese sailors to the Kerala shores brought tea centuries ahead of the British? Why didn't coffee become as popular except that universally Malayalees refer to breakfast as 'Kaapi'? What was the common drink before tea and coffee?

We realize that a lot of folks in our generation don't drink tea. Their parents never encouraged that habit. Even fewer in the younger generations drink it. Colas and other powder drinks have risen in popularity. It must have been the same dynamic that led to the succumbing to the tea. 

Graduating to drinking tea instead of milk was a great right of passage for me. I used to be disappointed when all the grown ups around were drinking tea and I was offered sissy milk. Sipping on tea was entry into the adult club. I can relate to folks who carry this a little further and take up smoking. 

Driving by relatively deserted section of profoundly peaceful Varkala beach and the green rippling carpet of Anjuthengu lagoon. As the sun sets, we pull into a highway side tea shack. As Saiju is catching on emails on his smart phone, a boy comes over to our table.

"Is that a Galaxy Note?"

"Yes"

"My daddy also has one!" He runs over to his dad who is busy ordering and comes back with a white version of the phone. 

"What is your name?" I ask

"Alan"

Cold batter destined to an ephemeral split lives in toroidal 'Vada' avatar in the small, dirty glass shelf of the shack, meets hot oil with a silencing hiss.