Kannur is close to my heart, for undisclosed reasons. I have spent many childhood summers tearing across its red laterite hilltops and endless cashew groves with the local kid brigade. I had written a few lines in my old blog about this piece of heaven I was fortunate to spend a few weeks every summer, cut-pasting it below..... (I am running short of writing fuel that I have to resort to rehashing my old stuff.) I was planning to post a movie and a book review, both set in Kannur. But from the length of it, the reviews will have to wait, here's the prelude first.
Kannur is one of the northern districts in the southern Indian state of Kerala, on the west coast of India. Here's Kannur's Wikipedia page.
a post from Oct 17, 2009 Paradise in those days of bruised scabby knees and wild hair was set in red laterite country. It had grandmothers who moved around in an ether of Ayurvedic oils handing out admonitions and sweat-meats with equal ease. The main citizens of this nation were a mob of tanned and rowdy cousins who would crawl out of the woodwork the minute we city-dwellers landed. Within the next few weeks we’d map every nook and cranny of the wild farmlands to the last earthworm and the last dragonfly (Dragonflies were particularly useful as these when tied with a string on their tails could be used as backhoes for picking up stones.) Our feet would tear fields and playgrounds to shreds as a determined sun watched on while vaporizing an occasional itinerant cloud.  …..and what you see above is a piece of that paradise. If it was a human this photo will be eligible to purchase and consume alcoholic beverages by this year. It doesn’t know what it is missing. But you know. You are looking for 72 virgins, swaying palms and cool emerald water that are notable by their absence in my dated version of paradise. Instead what you see on either side of the mud road are rice fields getting roasted in ample solar radiation typical of April in South India. A river which could’ve salvaged the otherwise dry and dusty frame hides a couple of hundred meters behind me, the photographer. I took the picture with my trusted Yashica. A few of my cousins and my sister are in the photo. The two men in lungi are passersby. The photo has been tickled a bit by my funny photoshop bone. I couldn’t help but contribute to the mutilation of the photo already warped by time, weather, scanning conditions and a 13 year old amateur camera aficionado. The only person untouched in the picture is the man wearing thoppikuda (thoppi= hat, kuda = umbrella.) It is my homage to an extinct age when thoppikudas could travel inconspicuously in public without eliciting puzzled glances and when I was at an age, like the one perfectly summed up in this song, It was always summer and the future called We were ready for adventures and we wanted them all And there was so much left to dream And so much time to make it real Earlier in the day this song (or rather the refrain, I do not know any song beyond their chorus) was making rounds in my brain. Sung by the beefy bard of modern rock ballads a line from it was adopted by automakers world wide and affixed on many rear-view mirrors. The automakers might claim it was the other way around. But I wouldn’t doubt the ingenuity of bards of any kind, from anywhere, whether from New World or Old Country. I’ve unstuck a line from the lyrics and have pasted it on the photo. The rest of it is here. ..There are times I think I see him peeling out of the dark I think he’s right behind me now and he’s gaining ground But it was long ago and it was far away, oh God it seems so very far And if life is just a highway, then the soul is just a car And objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are And objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are Like Kenny in the song this photo has a cousin of mine who is with us no more (you can only see his brown legs, not his face) and there are times I think I see him peeling out of the dark…..I am thirteen again and it is summer blazing up in the lost paddy fields in far-off Malabar. |
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