ENTE KERALAM ETHRA SUNDARAM?

05 Feb 2014

For over four decades, I was an early riser who didn't need an alarm to prod him awake and I can vouch that my arm never shot out to quell the snooze button. But after my retirement more than a year ago, my wife suggested that I had no reason to get up that early. She had a  point, but old habits die hard.  However with much mental re-conditioning, I got used to the new rhythm and discovered the joys of waking up as late as 7 am.  Many may dread retirement - especially if you were into high profile, high-stress banking - but I loved my retired life. Life is blissful!

Perhaps, my resolution to read all those books I had collected over many years was not carried out in the right earnest. But  I loved the long drives on the much improved but still potholed roads of Kerala - through the woods, along the beaches, amidst the mountains and through the narrow driveways with backwaters on either side. The rains provided relief from the moderately high temperatures and humidity. We enjoyed the early morning movies in the newly sprung up malls. We started enjoying some of the classical music concerts in the Fine Arts Hall and the light music events at Changampuzha Park besides the painting exhibitions at the Durbar Hall and yes, the Kochin Musiris Biennale. The delicious meals at Frys Village Restaurant, poori masalas and omelets at the Indian Coffee House and the seafood delicacies in Oceanos at Fort Kochi kept us going on all cylinders. At that point, when you digging into a fluffy parotta and egg roast, you feel as if you are the king of the world.

There were hardships too. The visits to the Akshaya Seva Kendras for getting Aadhaar cards and the indefinite wait on the hard wooden benches was a painful, frustrating exercise. But it was a minor blip when compared to the visits to the village office to get a residency certificate or a possession certificate or even pay land taxes you are expected to pay. There were not even hard wooden benches; one had to wait behind a small crowd in front of each table till the man or woman behind the table noticed you and decided to attend to you rather than the crowd. There were multitude of reasons why your request cannot be granted - You should have brought the original for verification; you need to affix a court fee stamp etc. etc.  This basically meant getting the originals or affixing the stamp and be back behind the crowd. Who said life was ever going to deal a fair hand?

Having said that, I do not know whether it was my salt and pepper hair (but I am no George Clooney)  or my wrinkle-free attire (I am no Mammootty) or a gracious woman (invariably it was my wife and no one else, I swear) on my arm which was a catalyst. I felt one of these elements were a factor in moving things along or did my threshold for patience amplify after retirement?

I could deal with these bumps on the road, but what I couldn't get over were the people I encountered. In all honesty, I am not being racist here, but I want to get it off my chest.  I have a problem with Malayalis and the way they treat each other.  It's no  fun to watch.  They prefer talking to you without looking at you. Be it the clerk at the village office or the salesman in the grocery shop they would prefer to say NO and may even indulge in a monologue on why they cannot do what I had requested for. They make no effort to tell me what I should do to get my work done and prefer directing me to the man at the next table or to the next shop. Over the eighteen months in Kerala, I also learnt to be wary of all those  who seem to "really care for you". They would knock at your door the next day for a loan of a few hundred rupees.  The best way to deal with that is to loan them the money and forget about getting it back. Who said life wasn't easy?

The most detestable part was the domination of politics in Kerala. Every electric post is adorned with the flux boards of at least one politician with folded hands and flashing a corny grin. There are boards of temple festivals, church perunaals, uroos makahms, god-men and god-women offering instant nirvana, beauty saloons and computer institutes, forthcoming niraaharams and road blocking strikes. The traffic rules are no hindrance for the men who erect such boards and the policemen around possibly have better things to do. The right wing wearing the white khadar mundu and shirt with a newspaper tucked in their arm-pits talk about democracy and look for the next man whom they can con into paying a few rupees to get things done. The Red is always on war path killing someone who objects to the dictums of the district or state committee. Fortunately the saffron brigade who also talk loud and clear is yet to get a good base in Kerala. Processions, strikes, hartals, bandhs happen at regular intervals and keep you indoors on at least two days in a month leaving you to watch television. And the umpteen news channels quote almost everyone and ask others to comment on it filling the airtime with worthless debates. Who said life is a bed of roses?

Now eighteen months into retirement someone wanted me to assist him and I have started working again in Dubai. It was a difficult decision to make. How much I yearned all the forty years to return to Kerala and spend a leisurely life here?

Back in Dubai I can at least dream about the tranquil life in Kerala.