If the concept of time machine was real, by now I would have traveled back in time and relived many moments in my life over and over again. But until that transpires, I will have to rekindle and relive those good old bygone days through remembrance.One such moment will be my summer vacations in Kerala during the late 80's.
Every other year, my family and I would fly down from Doha, Qatar to Kerala, India during the months of July and August. While summer baked the deserts of Doha, it was a relief to escape the desert heat and be invited by the Indian Monsoons.
Those days we flew from Doha to Bombay (Mumbai), and from there to Cochin (Kochi). Cochin Airport was operated by the Indian Navy during the 80's but permitted civilian flights. The fights that commonly operated between Doha - Bombay route were Gulf Air and Air India. Flying by the former meant guaranteed on time arrival at the destination whereas latter meant luck of the draw - you may reach your destination on time or you may reach your destination after a day or two.
Like with very vacation trip, we would look forward to our summer vacation in India with immense enthusiasm. This enthusiasm was hard to control while we lingered in the airport to catch the last leg of the trip. As the domestic flight touched the runway of Cochin Airport, one could hear the plane screech as the pilots braked continuously in a deliberate attempt to decelerate the plane on the short runway. When we exited the airport, my Ammuma, Muthasan and my uncle would receive us with beaming smiles and tight welcoming hugs, and Muthasan greeted us in his classic style, "Welcome to God's Own Country, dear".
Kerala is indeed God's own country. I always admired the lush green spread of coconut trees and thatched, sloped huts through the panes of the plane. It was a soothing sight from the sun-drenched, parched desert scenery.
When we reached my maternal home in Trichur, a royal pampering awaited us at every step. Ammuma would flaunt the canisters of fresh home made yogurt and bharanis (ceramic jar) of various pickles she prepared for us. And what more, those days my grand parents owned two cows and around six chickens. So farm fresh, organic milk and eggs were available right in our backyard. And of course, the orchard teemed with mangoes, coconuts, jack fruits, bananas and papayas. It was a fruit lovers haven. The orchard also had a very distinctive pink and white tiny fruit called Champakka (Rose Apple). My sister and I never good tired of feasting on the tropical fruits.
Muthasan owned a Bajaj scooter which was our main mode of commute. Dad rode the scooter while I stood on the foot rest, and mom made herself comfortable on the rear seat with my sister on her lap. Scooter ride was fun. Zillion times more fun than the car ride. Was it safe? No body cared. I helped dad with honking. I honked the buses, cars, pedestrians, stray dogs, goats anything and everything that dared cut across our Bajaj. It was a chaos - a chaos I had fun being a part of.
Muthasan always enjoyed organizing trips - to dams, hill stations, historical places or temples. It was his way of enlightening his middle eastern grand kids about richness of Indian culture, heritage and places. Those road trips were in ambassador taxis. There was something mysterious about ambassador cars. The car always seemed to enlarge to occupy the whole household. Occupancy rate of ambassador cars always perplexed me. Even to this day I am astonished how around nine of us fitted inside one car.
Doordarshan was the only channel available on the T.V. I enjoyed watching the Indian ads. My all time favorites are 'Washing Powder Nirma' and 'Mango Fruitti'.
Those days, we boarded train or KSRTC bus to visit my Achamma in Thripunithra. I adored the bus and train rides. In was fun to feel the gush of air against the face and to catch sight of the views.
In my paternal house our arrival was welcomed with equal enthusiasm. My Acchama made the best adamanga achar- dried mangoes smeared with spices. Karimeen is a fond fish in my dad's family. So a lunch with karimeen fry on the menu was a must.
Fish is a staple part of Kerala food. One could hear from a distance, the call of the fishermen on the bicycles, with baskets of fish, "oooye, chala, illa, moolan......oooye, chala, illa, moolan". Fish curry or fish fry prepared with local fish were served and enjoyed as a part of everyday meal.
Around Achamma's house stayed her siblings and relatives.There were many kids on our age too. We played hopscotch using tree twigs and pebbles. Monsoons made their contributions too. There were numerous muddy puddles around. We played with paper boats in the puddles. The paper boat that could float for the longest in the puddle was declared as the winner. It was fun to leap across the puddles while walking on those unpaved roads.
Every time when the first drop of monsoon touched the ground, I rushed into the veranda, to inhale the petrichor - the distinct earthy fragrance that the earth emitted. It was heavenly.
As the count down of two months of fun-filled vacation began, we were occupied with shopping and packing our bags for the journey back to Doha. And then when the day arrived, good byes were bid with heavy hearts.
Hope became our confidant. Hope of being back soon.And it was that hope I clinged to until I saw my grand parents again. I am sure that's what kept them going too.
Every other year, my family and I would fly down from Doha, Qatar to Kerala, India during the months of July and August. While summer baked the deserts of Doha, it was a relief to escape the desert heat and be invited by the Indian Monsoons.
Those days we flew from Doha to Bombay (Mumbai), and from there to Cochin (Kochi). Cochin Airport was operated by the Indian Navy during the 80's but permitted civilian flights. The fights that commonly operated between Doha - Bombay route were Gulf Air and Air India. Flying by the former meant guaranteed on time arrival at the destination whereas latter meant luck of the draw - you may reach your destination on time or you may reach your destination after a day or two.
Kerala is indeed God's own country. I always admired the lush green spread of coconut trees and thatched, sloped huts through the panes of the plane. It was a soothing sight from the sun-drenched, parched desert scenery.
When we reached my maternal home in Trichur, a royal pampering awaited us at every step. Ammuma would flaunt the canisters of fresh home made yogurt and bharanis (ceramic jar) of various pickles she prepared for us. And what more, those days my grand parents owned two cows and around six chickens. So farm fresh, organic milk and eggs were available right in our backyard. And of course, the orchard teemed with mangoes, coconuts, jack fruits, bananas and papayas. It was a fruit lovers haven. The orchard also had a very distinctive pink and white tiny fruit called Champakka (Rose Apple). My sister and I never good tired of feasting on the tropical fruits.
Muthasan owned a Bajaj scooter which was our main mode of commute. Dad rode the scooter while I stood on the foot rest, and mom made herself comfortable on the rear seat with my sister on her lap. Scooter ride was fun. Zillion times more fun than the car ride. Was it safe? No body cared. I helped dad with honking. I honked the buses, cars, pedestrians, stray dogs, goats anything and everything that dared cut across our Bajaj. It was a chaos - a chaos I had fun being a part of.Muthasan always enjoyed organizing trips - to dams, hill stations, historical places or temples. It was his way of enlightening his middle eastern grand kids about richness of Indian culture, heritage and places. Those road trips were in ambassador taxis. There was something mysterious about ambassador cars. The car always seemed to enlarge to occupy the whole household. Occupancy rate of ambassador cars always perplexed me. Even to this day I am astonished how around nine of us fitted inside one car.Doordarshan was the only channel available on the T.V. I enjoyed watching the Indian ads. My all time favorites are 'Washing Powder Nirma' and 'Mango Fruitti'.
Those days, we boarded train or KSRTC bus to visit my Achamma in Thripunithra. I adored the bus and train rides. In was fun to feel the gush of air against the face and to catch sight of the views.
In my paternal house our arrival was welcomed with equal enthusiasm. My Acchama made the best adamanga achar- dried mangoes smeared with spices. Karimeen is a fond fish in my dad's family. So a lunch with karimeen fry on the menu was a must.
Fish is a staple part of Kerala food. One could hear from a distance, the call of the fishermen on the bicycles, with baskets of fish, "oooye, chala, illa, moolan......oooye, chala, illa, moolan". Fish curry or fish fry prepared with local fish were served and enjoyed as a part of everyday meal.
Around Achamma's house stayed her siblings and relatives.There were many kids on our age too. We played hopscotch using tree twigs and pebbles. Monsoons made their contributions too. There were numerous muddy puddles around. We played with paper boats in the puddles. The paper boat that could float for the longest in the puddle was declared as the winner. It was fun to leap across the puddles while walking on those unpaved roads.
Every time when the first drop of monsoon touched the ground, I rushed into the veranda, to inhale the petrichor - the distinct earthy fragrance that the earth emitted. It was heavenly.
As the count down of two months of fun-filled vacation began, we were occupied with shopping and packing our bags for the journey back to Doha. And then when the day arrived, good byes were bid with heavy hearts.
Hope became our confidant. Hope of being back soon.And it was that hope I clinged to until I saw my grand parents again. I am sure that's what kept them going too.
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