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As a Malayalee who’s grown up in Hyderabad, a question I have often had to answer is where I am ‘originally’ from. I invariably fall into the, “…from the Shoranur-Kulapully-Palakkad side, but my father’s family is settled in Cochin” routine.
And so it was that the 10 days I spent in Kerala during my summer vacations had the family board the Shabari Express from Secunderabad station and disembark at Shoranur station to spend the first five days in the sleepy Mannengode where my maternal grandparents would do all they could to keep us, city-bred girls, entertained.
The next five days belonged to Kochi and how happy I would be to hop on the passenger train that took me to the land that promised trips to the beach and heaps of parotta-beef fry! Back in the nineties, Kochi to me, meant shopping at Varkey’s and gorging on the delicious food my paternal aunts whipped up.
As I veered towards teenage, our visits to Kerala were increasingly limited to attending family weddings and then, Kochi became a place where we would wear heavy, festive clothes in the midst of all the maddening heat and humidity. Of course, our stay in Kochi was also laden with movie-watching marathons: a Mammootty movie for the morning show, a Jayaram film at home and a second show Mohanlal flick.
That was all Kochi would have been if not for my father’s recollections of the Kochi he grew up in. The one that was home to what was perhaps the only KL Saigal fans’ club in the country, back in the 50s and 60s; the one that was more cosmopolitan and tolerant than most places of the present and the one where Usha Uthup was a real singing sensation and not a sobbing reality TV judge.
The term ‘Willingdon Island’ is enough to bring that misty look on my father’s face and to this day, my sister and I cling to every word he has to share about his island days! While my mother’s upbringing in rural Kerala made her conscious of the rampant caste system in God’s own country, my father claims that all the island boys would come together in the evenings to play football, blissfully unaware of who was a Muslim, who was an Anglo-Indian, who was an Ezhava and who a Brahmin.
I know he is not exaggerating because once in every few years, when the old island boys meet, I can see the camaraderie between them as they hug and laugh and chat like the decades between the 70s and the present never existed!
If it hadn’t been for my father, Cochin would never have been Kochi to me and I could never have enjoyed Annayum Resoolum with the awe that the opening credits inspired in me. Thanks to him, Kochi is more than just Lulu Mall and the silk and gold shops of MG Road.
Kochi, to me, is Willingdon Island, Elite (pronounced Aelight) Bakery and Jew Street. It is also the place that has the best ghatiya-chutney alongside the brilliant chemmeen fry and the most interesting Malayalam accent.
Kochu Kochi from Orange Balloons on Vimeo.
My limited visits to Kerala are now mostly centred around Aluva, where my Uncle owns a beautiful river-facing bungalow that serves as the family wedding capital, but every time I land in Nedumbassery, I do wish I could be a six-year old again, getting off at Ernakulam station and going straight to Peta to have coconut oil-fried pazham pori and start pestering my parents with, “When are we going to watch a movie?”
Parvati Mohan is a Hyderabad based media professional.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
