Paging Dr. Sunny

There were many things wrong with the place I moved into in Thiruvanthapuram. There was no fridge, no gas stove, and the flush didn’t work properly. Still, I could overlook most of this because the people renting it to us were friendly: a sweet young mother and her two kids. Then, there was my hilarious, laugh inducing roommate with a tragic present, in whom I saw an older sister. I’m in the mindset if the environment is good, then you can overlook all the little stuff. Some of my friends would beg to differ though.

So when I was asked by my friend G, “How’s the new place?”

I said, “it’s awesome” right off the bat.

She was like, “Girl, even if you lived in the gutter, you’d say it was awesome.”

I laughed along with her because it was true. I didn’t mind roughing it. 

It was around this time something strange begin to happen.

That night, long after everyone had fallen asleep, I awoke, startled. I had heard something. Something strange, horrible... Yet I wasn’t completely sure if I imagined it or not. As I pondered in the dark, the possibility of the sound being real or not, I heard it again. It was a strangled scream which echoed the style of theyam performers. I gulped and nudged awake my sleeping roommate. She leapt up, fearing the worst. When I described what I heard, I would assume she looked at my figure in disbelief and irritation. But then, the sound came again, and this time, we both jumped.

“Wha-what was that?”

We pinpointed the direction of the sound. It was coming from the neighbouring house. Their lights were on too. When we went to our landlady, P, she drowsily told us there was nothing wrong and to go back to sleep. By that time, the sounds had gone and the lights were off.  We grudgingly made our way to bed, thoughts focused on the screams next door.

The next morning we were told that it was a religious thing. Apparently, the next door patriarch has screaming matches and randomly starts spouting samskritam. It’s called anugraham (blessing). Since my roommate and I both were not Hindu, we couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Later, when I asked my co-worker A, he started laughing.

He was like, “Athu anugraham alla. Athu bhaathaya.” (That’s not a blessing, it sounds like a spirit.)

Needless to say, his explanation didn’t make things better. It only increased our anxieties at night. It reminded us of movies like Manichithrathazhu and The Exorcism of Emily Rose.

Things began to deteriorate when the neighbours continued to burn organic waste in front of the house. Our landlady has asthma and the smoke makes her really sick. She had continuously told them not to do it in front of the house, but to no avail. The funny thing is they actually have a bit of a lawn so they could totally make a compost pit. One evening, she caught them in the act and started asking why they would keep doing something which is not only detrimental to people’s health but the environment as well. They began to talk back and we were witness to the samskritam and theyam-esque screams again.

That night was what Malayalees would call a kaalarathri. The steps to their terrace were right near our room and we could hear him running up and down the stairs, screaming till one a.m. 

     

The fights continued as did the sleepless nights. In desperation, the police were called. The neighbours were disciplined like children, but threats soon followed. The neighbour patriarch claimed the Attukal Amma would help him kick us all out as soon as Pongala finished.

It so happened that my awesome roommate soon moved out due to some conflicts with P (a story for another day). And suddenly, I was alone. When someone is by your side, you can make jokes and ignore the crazy. However, when you’re all by yourself, everything seems a whole lot scarier. To keep my mind off the screams, I would stay up late texting friends, making funny facebook statuses with the hashtag #livingwithabaadhaneighbour.

One night, there were no screams and I had finally started to doze off. I was dreaming I was in a forest or something when it started raining. The dream rain woke me up in real life. For a second, I thought I was in Inception because it was raining in my room! I shook away my sleep and jumped out of bed. I thought the roof was leaking. Luckily for me, that particular night was Shivarathri and P and children were awake.

I open the door and literally freak out. The children calm me down and tell me that the maama (uncle) next door was watering the garden, and that perhaps the water accidentally came through the window.

“But the windows were closed.” I point out.

They come into my room and they see that. We look around and see that the only opening is the air hole which is way near the ceiling. There is no way he mistook his garden for the roof. There is no way. When I complained to P, she shrugged it off. I think she was tired of fighting with them. But I was also tired. For me, this was the last straw.

So exactly how long did I last in my first accommodation in Thiruvanthapuram? 8 weeks and 4 days.

Room # 5

When I first saw the room, I thought the chechi was showing us a place to put away our luggage. Small, dusty and clattered with old furniture, what else was I supposed to think? I would have never imagined that this was the home-away-from-home they had described. Then, she said something which made me question my whole idea of moving to a different country. Apparently, I had to share it with-

“Say what? Four of us have to fit in here?” 

Of course, I knew there would be roommates beforehand. It is a universal college experience after all. I believed I was mentally prepared, but that was before I saw the the room. 

Our room was on the ground floor. We were lucky since we didn’t have to trudge up the stairs constantly and because “the store” was right outside our room. I use the term store lightly for it was a book shelf filled with snacks, stationary, and bath items. And we weren’t so lucky because we got first dibs on mosquitoes and the pleasant odor from the toilets outside. 

Inside the room, there were four beds, a shelf, two thin racks for laundry, four tables and accompanying stools. The beds were all jammed together side by side to make this one big bed. As someone who valued her personal space, I just knew this was a nightmare waiting to happen. Later on, we moved the beds around in all sorts of positions and angles (well as much as we could with the limited space we had) only to finally put it back the way we found it. It turned out personal space could easily be sacrificed for relief from the heat.

In retrospect, the relief was a pretty lousy one. The ancient fan which towered over our four beds had literally one speed and sounded as if it would spiral down on us at any moment. The original cream color was gone due to the dust it had accumulated over the years. Initially, we were probably breathing dust from 1970. We ended up cleaning it by ourselves with a makeshift ladder: a wobbly stool placed on top of a bed. Boy, did the air smell sweeter then. Unfortunately, it did not do much for the heat and we had to resort to other methods for cooling. 

The strangest thing I found about the room was a little gap from the ceiling that seemingly connected us to our neighbors. What I thought was a lack of privacy turned out to be a saving grace. We ended up sharing a lot more than a dim light that year. And that is a story meant for another day.

But the worst part wasn’t the smallness, the lack of personal space and privacy or even the creaky old fan, the worst part was an annoying morning ritual. The hostel had an interesting way of waking up students. In my personal opinion, this routine could easily rival any boot camp. I still vividly remember waking up my first morning in the hostel.

First of all, it had taken me a long time to sleep the night before because of the different environment. The heat was torturous, the mosquitoes bit through our clothes and the mattress could hardly be called a mattress. It was this long, thin cushion. I mean, I could feel the wood underneath it. Not to mention, it was small. I was one of those people who turned clockwise in their sleep (Key word: was) so I was  making a conscious effort not to bulldoze my roommates since the beds were pushed together. Remember? One giant bed. And then, my mind just would not calm down. I was nervous, excited, sad, curious- a whole whirlwind of emotions. My mind couldn’t make up it's mind.  

Exhausted, I finally fell asleep around two or three am. The next thing I know some guy is screaming in my ear “POKAM, POKAM, JEEVAN.... POKAM!”  

And I promptly fall off the bed, tangled in my sheets. Disoriented, I’m wondering if it’s a earthquake drill or something until my roommate tells me it’s the wake up call. And we were especially lucky because the speakers were right next to our windows. Although I now know the lyrics of that particular Christian devotional song from the first morning, back then, I could’ve sworn the voice was telling me, "POKAM, POKAM, JEEVAN EDUTHONDU POKAM!”  

We soon grew immune to the loud blaring and the wardens had to come up with some other devious schemes to get us up at six in the morning. There was knocking, threats, turning on the lights and the one that worked for a little while was switching off the fans. That was the worst. The heat we could get over, the mosquitoes not so much. As soon as the fans slowed down, they swarmed us. 

Despite all of this, I was surprised how quickly I adjusted. Perhaps I’m an optimist? Is that where you see the beauty in everything? Or maybe it was the writer in me? Anyway, this was certainly not the place I imagined spending my first year in India, but I am so thankful that I did. This is the place where I transitioned from a shy, gullible, ignorant teenager to a young woman who is confident, opinionated and worldly. 

I believe everyone should at least once in their lives live outside their comfort zone, live with people outside their immediate social group, travel... It’ll allow you to learn about yourself, others, relationships, class, culture, religion, and life. It’ll do you a lot of good. 

The Keeper of the Smasana

The stench of death enveloped us even before we entered through the gate. It was strong, intruding. It made me want to vomit. Unable to control the urge, I began to breathe through my mouth. I wondered how she managed the job for the past three years. 

Her face reflected her struggle, her determination...

She was certainly an anomaly in the field: a woman, a Christian. When the last keeper fell ill, she took up the work that no one was willing to do and with no prior experience. She did it to support her family. Her husband left years ago and she singlehandedly raised her two daughters, educated them and now, married them. Yet in Malayalee society, a strong independent woman always becomes subject to talk. We saw this firsthand. 

As I started setting up the camera outside the gates to take the establishing shots, one of the men in the neighborhood approached our reporter. I signaled her to ask him to appear on camera. She shook her head smiling. He only had good things to say of course. It reminded me of the olden days when people would hover by the road or boat jetty to disrupt a possible marriage alliance by speaking ill of the prospective bride or groom. 

His claims which he would not say in front of the camera:

She is a horrible woman who drove her husband off.

She is making a lot of money.

She only uses only half of the wood required to burn the bodies. The bodies don’t burn properly and hence the horrible smell. 

What we saw and learned:

She is not given a salary from the corporation or any retirement benefits. 

She makes 1, 500 rupees for each body which turns up.

Out of which, 400 rupees goes to the corporation. It used to be 500 but she told them she was having difficulty running the place and they benevolently reduced 100 rupees. 

The rest of the money goes to buying wood (a lot is needed) and managing the building and land. 

What little is left over, she takes. 

She once requested the corporation to increase the rate for a body, but they dismissed it saying, “We cannot do that. This is a social service.” 

For religious and cultural reasons, families of the deceased are supposed to give dakshina to the keeper. However, the families who come give very little because they think she is getting paid heavily for this job.

The wiring of the place is ancient. There are a lot of loose connections and circuits tend to burst. Electricians are often afraid to come into the Smasana and she has to beg them. Majority of the time there is no light because of this. The light bulbs are difficult to replace because they are a different variety and can only be bought from somewhere in the city. They are also very expensive. She usually pays for it herself since the money does not add up. 

A body takes around 6 hours to burn and longer if the body has been induced with medicine for a long time. She will not take a body in the evening because of this. There is a lack of light because of the electrical problems, not to mention, she would be waiting alone. Yet people in the corporation who turn a deaf ear to her complaints and suggestions call her nonstop when there is a family important to them. They appease her saying, “do this and we’ll fix the wiring tomorrow itself.” She tells us that tomorrow has turned into three months now. 

For the past few years, when this job is up for grabs, no one raises their hand. No one wants to do it. 

Isn’t it sad that the only person who is willing to do the job is not given the support or appreciation she deserves?  

Gods of the East

Question: Why is it that Hindu scriptures are referred to as mythology and Gods as mythological while Christianity is a religion and the Bible is a holy book? I seen this referral in a lot in textbooks and documentaries... I can understand if no one practices the religion anymore like Greek mythology (er, at least I think they don't), but Hinduism (a way of life and a religion) is practiced by a wide range of people...

Her Eyes Were Watching God

"Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven."

Henry Ward Beecher

Postcards from the Heavens

"Look at the sky. We are not alone. The whole universe is friendly to us and conspires only to give the best to those who dream and work." Abdul Kalam

I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

After a surviving a harsh downpour, we stumble upon a beautiful walkway like bridge encroached by moss, mud and dead leaves. It is above roads, houses, railway tracks, and a vast body of water. We walked smartly at first, eager to find where it leads... yet it went on and on and we never did reach the end.