This morning Shoba has decided she must go and visit her husband Ramchandran. They are estranged: he living in a rural setting between Ootapalam and Shoranur working the land - she living and working in Kuwait as a school nurse in an international school there.
She feels torn about her relationship with this man from whom she has grown apart. They share two sons now grown up, one (28) recently married. Kerala society does not approve of divorce and families splitting up but Shoba lives in a much more Western influenced world and feels her needs are not met. The latter is a foreign concept in India.
She loves people, shopping, good food and drink, gold jewellery, dressing up and going out, dabbling in business ventures, travelling and chatting. She has two mobile phones on the go at all times, one for business and one for personal friends - one or other goes every five minutes. She enjoys excitement, laughter, joking and distraction.
Her husband, is a more serious solemn man, dedicated to managing his estate, his house surrounded by trees bearing coconut, banana (3-4 kinds), mango, jackfruit, papaya, tapioca, pepper (as in ground black pepper), various ayurvedic plants and more. He has staff who work with him not only at the house, but also on another piece of land where there are rice paddies and a banana plantation. This is a man who enjoys manual labour and harvesting the fruits of the land, taking any surplus to market. He believes in ayurvedic cures for his ailments and enjoys a simple life. He is also very kind and takes care of the many female relations who live in adjoining compounds, several of them widows. They keep him busy. The only fly in the ointment is that his life is entirely financed by his hard working wife, Shoba.
The whole trip to Ootapalam is charged with this conflicting energy.
Shoba and I have many discussions. She asks me to accompany her to her "home" as an ally but also as a buffer, posing as a work friend from Kuwait doing research in Trivandrum. We dress up in saris and head off in a land rover for a 30 minute journey into the countryside. Bad roads and scruffy housing finally give way to beautiful valleys carpeted with rice paddies, banana plantations. Perched here and there some old architectural delights. We finally arrive at Peace Cottage.
We are welcomed with open arms. Over breakfast of congee (homegrown rice) and home made pickle her husband and I talk about the estate, power and water supplies, the well, how he occupies his time. Then I am given a tour of the two storey house. Shoba is obviously proud of her house and all the arrangements she has paid for. She has even installed A/C in her bedroom! Quite a luxury in this remote spot.
I am taken to visit the relations' houses next door and meet the mother-in-law, sisters-in-law and a dozen nephews and nieces, all at home on holiday so all playing together in an upstairs room. I shake hands and speak to all of the children one by one and ask them about school and studies. Their English is halting but they are happy to practice. We take pictures and bid goodbye.
In the true Indian way, I am treated like an honoured guest and must never be left alone. When we get back to Shoba's house, I sit and watch TV with the younger son Ajhit. This counts as company so Shoba can go about her business. Ajhit is a good looking tall young man applying to the Indian Police service but he is the silent sultry type. The whole time I was there I think he uttered four phrases and was reluctant with his eye contact.
After a while, I wander off and go walkabout on the estate, taking pictures of plants and trees and views. I even walk along the road past the adjoining houses and see a little old man in a field watching a cow and slowly picking up some cut grass. This is a slice of the real India.
When I get back, I sit quietly on the verandah where there is a breeze blowing. It is restful and I have my thoughts for company. The whole idea is that Shoba and Ramachandran should have time to chat privately without me in the way.
She is uncertain of what to do. She wants her husband to take a strong stand and show that he wants her and is prepared to go out of his way to please her. He is reserved and seems uncertain and depressed. It looks like he would like her to be there with him, content to live in this quiet backwater, but somehow knows at a deep level that the gulf is too great. He doesn't know how to approach this boiling confident and active woman.
Shoba busies herself unpacks her bulging suitcase full of gifts she has bought for her family and treasures for her house. She asks Ramachandran to help her and chat. He follows her but 2 minutes later disappears into the garden.
Shoba rings her mother in the Cochin area, whom she has promised to spend Christmas with, and asks her mother to speak to Ramachandran inviting him to join them. But he demurs and says he is too "ill" to travel.
Meanwhile the land rover taxi driver is still hanging around waiting to take us back to Ootapalam.
The deep meaningful chat with Ramachandran is not happening and time is marching on. Shoba pretexts appointments in town and we prepare to go. The deaf and mute house servant looks sad we are going. She is obviously fond of Shoba and will miss her.
The tension of the situation has been constant but as we start the bone jarring return journey we shake this off. I insist we stop every now and again and take pictures.
The scenery is rural and bucolic: rice paddies, banana plantations, people going about their business in the fields, cows chewing the cud, totally white egrets flying around here and there.
Eventually we get back to town, and meet Babu for a late lunch. The special of the day from our favourite vegetarian cafe - a banana leaf meal "onna sadhya" which is very tasty. Plenty of poppadoms so I am happy. Apparently this menu is in honour of a Hindu god called Mahabili. And can be eaten only once a year.
We have a long drive ahead. I promptly fall asleep. We retrace our steps heading South.
When we reach Thrissur (pronounced Trichur) we look for a famous KHADI shop. This is a government run cottage-industries shop. I find some Jubbas - long men's pure cotton shirts handmade. Shoba cannot resist a few items herself. We finish shopping in record time and hit the road again.
We are apparently racing against time because Babu has lined up someone for us to meet in Ernakulam (the sister city of Cochin). "Mathen" (pronounced like "Martin") will have dinner with us at the Gymkhana Club. Babu is a native of Cochin and lived much of his life there, only recently moving to Trivandrum to take care of the volunteers.
We check in to the Ernakulam YMCA, a perfectly salubrious hostelry with decent AC and good bathroom facilities. Our rooms have been pre booked by Mathen, one of their benefactors and board members. It is good to have contacts!
We shower hastily and jump into some "nice" clothes. I over-calibrate and dress up in my blue cotton sari? Never mind, it's good to use all these clothes I have so enjoyed buying.
The evening is pleasant, we sit on the grassy terrace and drink and eat. Most other people are in jeans and T- shirts! Sheesh! I really didn't read the sartorial signs right this time!
Somehow the club manages to be on a tributary of the river that flows in and around Cochin out to the sea, so we can walk to the water's edge and admire the moon's reflection.
Of course, there is the usual chat, "Where do you come from?" "What are you doing here?" etc? The evening takes an interesting turn when I pick Mathen up on the fact that he is a bit actor in Indian sitcoms (what they call serials). He doesn't elaborate too much on that, but I simply cannot resist. I ask him if there is any opportunity for non-Indian actors in his circle. He doesn't take long to pull out his mobile phone and gets Unni on the phone. He hands his mobile to me and I restate my whimsical request. Unni is a producer in Trivandrum and sounds quite charming, a little taken aback by the request, but compliant! We agree that I will contact him when I have a free moment after I get back to Trivandrum. That sounds promising!
As we leave, in the car park, a duty free bag is unpacked and handed to grinning Mathen. Indian society seems to have a conflicted attitude towards the stuff. More or less a dry state for religious reasons, people are extremely secretive about it outside, but many individuals are very fond of it. Hard for a foreigner to work out the protocol.
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