The Confused Malayali

From one bubbly tourist holding forth about Kerala’s backwater wonders and vallam kali (boat race) to another talking excitedly about the Thrissur pooram (an annual temple festival); from one foreigner declaring vehemently her love for elephants and training to become aana pappaan (mahout) to another learning the art of Kathakali; from one outlander who talks knowledgably about Kalarippayattu, the state’s indegenous martial art, to another gushing about Kerala’s Ayurvedic massages and spas... Why, just yesterday on a television channel I even saw two foreigners expressing their views on the harthal (strike)! Amidst this melee of international opinions about Kerala’s culture and traditions, I find myself woefully inadequate. And I’m left wondering - What kind of a Malayali am I?!

All the above mentioned items (except our very own harthal, of course!) are just hearsay for me. True, I have seen vallam kali, pooram and Kathakali all on TV. But that was when my grandpa was there, that too when I was in a rare “generous” mood to give the remote to him. Even in those moments, I would either pretend to watch the spectacle just to give him company, or quietly slip away.

I am indeed proud to declare that I speak Malayalam fairly well, without those fake accents that we quite often hear nowadays. Comprehending what is written on film posters and buses too never really presents a problem. But my writing skills are... I’m afraid, slightly atrophied, to put it euphemistically. What’s funny is that I had learnt the written language upon my grandpa’s mild and concerned insistence well before the school curriculum demanded it. This, in fact, helped me score good marks in the language when it was finally inserted into the time-table for three short academic years; after which I promptly cleared my cranial storage space for “better” things.

A rude reminder of my incompetence came when I had to visit a government office. “Apekshakal malayalathil mathram” (all requests, letters, forms and the like in Malayalam only), the notice board boldly declared. I stood stunned. More was to come. One fine morning, I felt the need to update myself on regional news (mainly to see whether I could get a day off due to a lightning harthal that could strike at any moment). Unfortunately instead, I was reduced to running around the house, turning bookshelves upside down, frantically hunting for a Malayalam - English dictionary. All in an effort to understand what the great political leader was talking about. (I tell you, we can write a book if we had their vocabulary!)

A Keralite with nearly all cultural and traditional roots severed, with just vestiges of “Keralianess” hanging to me like a useless appendix. The long-forgotten family temple, ponds and tharavaadu (family home), mangoes, paddy fields and endless monsoons… Such dusty memories or a foreigner’s picture of “God’s own country” - coconut palms, house boats and Kathakali - that’s what Kerala is for most of us now.

But don’t blame us half-baked Malayalis for this woeful state of affairs. After all, this is a state where Manglish speaking TV anchors with strange accents and stranger outfits are gazed with undisguised awe and admiration; where our educational system deems world history more important than the state’s; where self-declared champions of the language and culture spare no words in condemning the younger generation and Western influence and yet do nothing about the matter…

We at least have the decency to look ashamed about it!!!