It was a plan, an unfamiliar one. I was accompanying a friend to a visit to her Grandparent’s home after years. To reach Thiruvalla, we had no train reservations. We knew the train number, its name and the time it would leave Bangalore City Station. So we found in on a platform and hopped on to the last compartment- the unreserved one, for women only. It was already full as we hesitantly got in to it. We were possibly very lucky to find a little space next to the door. So we kept our bags and sat on them as I refused to put my ‘Bob Marley- One Love’ spreadsheet on the floor and we had conveniently forgotten to carry newspapers. For a compartment that has a capacity of max 60 people, under normal circumstances, this one had more than double the number of people in it. An old woman sat next to us, embarking a 15 hour plus journey to Kanyakumari sitting next to the wash basin. As the journey progressed, our irritation grew. It was a fight for space. Every inch counted. You find it, you stretch yourself on it. It did not take long for Asha and me to realize that we were losers. We were clueless about the mechanisms and tactics one had to practice in these situations to succeed. So we were gradually pushed in a corner as everyone else stretched and found enough place to lie down to have their sleep. At every station, we refused to open the door so as to avoid loss of space. For it, we obviously faced verbal insults in Malyalam, an alien language to me.
Asha was counting the worst nights of her life and we were hoping that this would add to it. Other women saw our miserable state and made a little space for me to sit, which actually was more uncomfortable as everyone kept stretching themselves on me. I hoped that these would be the fastest 12 hours of my life. Everyone had a little space and almost everyone slept leaning onto each other. Against hope, I hoped that at dawn we would arrive at Ernakulam and everyone would move off. Phew! So much for hope! I sat near the door and had to move every now and then for our fellow passengers to use the toilet and wash basin. Bugged to the core, I just moved from there and pushed a Nun sitting at the corner seat to find some place for myself. We finally got a place on the upper birth to share with young girls from a Nursing College who were probably going home for a weekend visit. The view changed as we reached Pallakad, I could see only green fields and small water bodies around us.

At Thiruvalla, Central Travancore, Lalji waited for us anxiously. It was a small station with only two rail tracks. When we opened the car’s door to throw our bags two smiling faces greeted us. Asha’s cousins. Melvin and Merlin seemed delighted to have us and chatted me up on the way to ‘Lovely Cottage’. The ride home reminded me of a hill station with small roads that curved sharply and greenery that smiled on our faces. At home, Appachan welcomed us and Ammachi was ready with hot Mallu meal. We washed our hands with a soft smelling home made soap made by Lalji. Everyone sat down on the table for lunch that was bliss. Rice, fried fish, chicken, beans and a whole-mango pickle- simbly Mallu, simbly awesome. We were fed, really well. Melvin showed me the house cat, two dogs, the cow and its calf and the kittens in the backyard. I peeped in the well that was ‘well’ covered. Trees, plants, flowers and jackfruits were around in plenty. Ammachi was a teacher who traveled on a boat everyday to reach the Government school she taught at. She explained how one flower blooms only at night as Asha talked fondly of her growing up days around the house. It was a lovely house with so much around it. Appachan served in the army for years and after his retirement bought a piece of land and built a house on it with trees and many kinds of plants around it. The flowers smiled at the windows and trees surrounded our room’s pane.

After a much needed bath we were on the road to Kumarakkam, to see the much celebrated ‘Backwaters’. Lalji drove us through small towns, small water bodies, Asha’s school, paddy fields, Anne’s Bakery, big houses on the road sides of Gulf returns and even an elephant. The ‘sighs’ were well in place. The backwaters were serene and enthralling. The boat cruised along the silent waters only to be disturbed now and then by the passing boats that played television or music for tourists. As we left the small settlement behind and entered the open area, the water became clearer, coconut trees lined up on the ends and a feeling of respite occurred from deep down. All that life could ever hold comes to still when one is surrounded by nature and its beautyin such close proximity. Different kinds of Birds came into view and the children excitedly kept telling me their names in Malyalam. The sky was calm with a few rays peeping from the clouds. Far away, we could see fisher men casting their nets. Life and people around it was more out of the ordinary. Life on the edges of the backwaters was divided between washing clothes, playing cricket, building boats, chatting with neighbors, waving at the passers by, catching fish and traveling on water. Usual, yet fascinating. I wondered how much the small town’s life was attached and governed by the backwaters alone.
Every time we would get home, there was a meal ready for us at the table and Ammachi and Appachan waiting eagerly for us. After stuffing myself with soft chapattis I was ready to crash. Lalji showed us videos of his wife who was working in the Gulf as a nurse. The children told me that she visited them about three months back. I remembered my mother’s friends from her office who were working in Muscat and foreign land, remembering my promise to visit Anice aunty in New Zealand. While I was growing up in Delhi and Mother would come home, we would often visit her friends who cooked fried fish and gave us banana chips and jackfruit halwa. How I crave for them now! I remembered the cakes and achappam sent to us at Christmas. Merlin was the perfect image of her beautiful mother.

Sunday saw us drive to PARRA. It is an independent church Asha used to go to when she was in Thiruvalla 5 years back. Even though I studied in a Protestant school all my life, grew up next to a Cathedral of North India, was regular at St. Stephen’s Chapel in my undergrad days, this was my first time at a worship. I was told that this was a different type of church and followed customs due to which they were thrown out. As we entered, I saw a curly long haired guy setting up the drums and others around him were tuning in their guitars. It looked like a band ready to perform. We hurriedly looked for seats as they were few and filled up fast as the Church was located at a small terrace at the Pastor’s house. The band stated jamming and everyone around gathered for ‘quieting of the hearts’. It was followed by heavy metal rock hymn singing. Even though I did not know many hymns, the beats kept me grooving. With mild head banging and closed eyes, the people around me, i realised, were in trance. This continued for a while as I looked around, unable to comprehend if this was a rock show warm up session or worship in progress. Asha had mentioned how her church was a 'different' one and the followers were ‘believers’. They were mostly Gulf returns or the more comfortable in English language for communication- mostly very young. The testimonies followed where a young man mentioned how his family treats him as the Black sheep for following a different path to reach God and how he thought that what he was doing was what he would always follow. Sudden, the pastor was a chubby smart looking fellow, dressed up casually in jeans and shirt. He did not take the podium but moved around and talked of young couples who were expecting new borns. The atmosphere was totally casual and participant. Almost everybody was responding and interacting, individually or together. I just watched in wonder and surprise. All through the emphasis was on ‘being born again’ and reaching Him through believing in Him. A very animated reading session by Vinod, one of Asha’s old friend, followed just after the prayers and bread and wine practice. As the session came to a close everyone moved to the small area outside for a simple Mallu lunch of 'kanji-payar'. As I got introduced to others and interacted with them, I realized that they were very simple and forthcoming. The straightforwardness and the ease that the people practiced for communication with Him and others around them was what stood out at Parra, that also means ‘rock’.

We hurried from the Parra to reach Asha’s family house. Lalji gave us some fresh coconut water from the tree in the compound and leechi. In a few moments we drove to Lovely Cottage and Ammachi packed some banana fry and tapioca chips for us. Soon after we were on a red colored KSRT Super Fast bus to Ernakulam (Kochi). The ride took us through beautiful curves and small towns. We swiftly crossed small and big churches, rubber trees with plastic bags around them, colorful houses, beautiful ancient temples and curious onlookers. At Kochi tasting beef cutlets is a supreme mission. The ones on a road side bakery are delightful. As the Sun was departing, it seemed like perfect time to be on ferry that took us to Fort Kochi. Princess Road looked like a smaller but cleaner version of Pahar Ganj at Delhi. After dinner, we crashed. Early next morning we walked around with a map to visit a Syrian church. Another one we saw was highly influenced by Portuguese architecture. We sat next to the sea watching the Chinese fishing nets, boats, crabs and the crashing waves. Even though the Sun was strong and humidity at hand, watching the Sea is like forgetting all that surrounds us. Peace.
At the fag end of the road in the Jewish town lies the Synagogue, one of the prettiest sights Kochi can offer. Carefully protected and extremely strict, the place takes you through the history of the Jews in India a la visual style through paintings. One should avoid some of the shops around as most of the artifacts and fabrics are said and seen to be fake. Some shops and the walls have their names written in Hebrew also.

The bus ride back was long and tiring as it was not a 'Super Fast Bus'. But hang on, we both slept and got up every ten minutes due to screeching brakes or bumps on the road. As I had read earlier, that a close kept secret of God’s Own Country is that everyone drives madly at alarming speeds, I found it entirely accurate. At every small town on road sides I noticed that the game of ‘lottery’ was hugely popular. A handicapped fellow came to sell the tickets in our bus and there wee many who eagerly try their luck and kept the change in his pocket. Back at Changnacherri , we were picked up by Lalji and we drove to the Anne’s bakery to stuff some chicken patties, marble cake, banana chips and of course my favorite achapams. Asha eagerly talked of the newly sprung up malls, the one sky scraper and the newly expanded commercial side of Central Travancore. Bakeries and shops selling gold seemed hugely popular.

And then it was time to leave. Before that Ammachi made sure and made up eat up lunch with more chicken and fried fish followed by jackfruit and coconut water. We picked up the children from their school, a Syrian Christian one, as they wanted to see us before we left. With quick tatas we left Thiruvalla to pass through the beautiful Nilgiri ranges. Later we munched on the snacks and as I planned of returning to God’s Own Country to see much that was left. This journey was filled with so many ‘sighs’ and the remembrance of Mallu hospitality and generosity will always remain in me heart. As I had contemplated earlier, this would be a unusual experience, unfamiliar to me and it truly was.