by Swetha Ramachandran
[box]As children, most of us would have visited various places, some of which may have left indelible marks on us, so much so that even as we grow up, the pleasant memories of these visits come back to haunt us. Swetha Ramachandran’s recollection of the places she has visited as a kid is sure to leave you feeling nostalgic. More than anything else, read it for the childish delight that pervades this article.[/box]Frayed edges and hazy outlines, memories lay stacked in my mind, in little albums. With fresh ones having replaced parts of older memories, some are nothing but vague recollections whilst others remain well preserved, having been dusted and polished from time to time. When I open the travel vault of my memories, dozens of images pop up in my mind, like bees flying out of a hive that has been disturbed.
Like little picture postcards, the memories from various trips align themselves, displaying many a happy, joyous and embarrassing moment. As I try to recollect, the oldest and most tattered memory is of the trip to Tiruvananthapuram alias Trivandrum.
I remember, I preferred calling it Trivandrum as the name Tiruvananthapuram was too complicated to pronounce for my six-year-old self. Except for the fact that this city was the capital of Kerala and that Malayalam was the regional language, I knew nothing about the place. But within days of arriving in Trivandrum, I observed that almost every forehead had a line of sandalwood paste and every head glistened with coconut oil. And Malayalam in no way looked or sounded like Tamil. If languages could ever be described as curvy and rounded, then Malayalam would perfectly fit this tag. It had a unique ring to it that made even speech sound like a song. In spite of observing all this, I was incapable of understanding the language. Consequently, I concluded that Kerala was entirely different from Tamil Nadu and that it was right to have separated this narrow, lengthy stretch on the bottom left of the Indian map into a separate state (in contrast to my previous opinion that it should have been joined with Tamil Nadu).
Like every other tourist, I did visit places in and around the city. But my memory here seems to be manipulated. I remember having visited the Kovalam beach, with my hands tightly clasped in my mother’s, scared of losing my feet beneath the layer of beach sand. I also vaguely remember going to some museum and a park that had an endless stretch of green lawn. Although the memory of my very first trip seems tarnished, some things still remain undamaged by time. As I leave this memory behind, my mind conjures its own collage of Kerala; of a canopy of trees, banana chips, mild evening showers, elephants, ancient wooden staircases, coloured drinking water, yummy jackfruits and lots and lots of relatives!
Memories of Bangalore, another capital city, rush in next. When I think of present-day Bangalore (now Bengaluru), vivid images of huge malls and tech parks come to my mind. But the Bangalore that I had been to was all about hydrogen balloons sticking to the ceiling, glasshouses at Lal Bagh, huge buildings of the Vidhan Soudha and the famous M.G.Road! I also remember visiting the Shiva temple on Old Airport Road that had such a huge statue of Lord Shiva. In fact, I can still vaguely feel the wonder I experienced way back then. And speaking of temples, the Bangalore ISKCON temple surely did surprise me with its most un-temple like atmosphere, what with pizzas and bondas being sold at the premises along with a cartload of expensive goodies. And with an avid Rahul Dravid fan for a sister, it was ensured that we passed by the cricketer’s house! From hopping about relatives’ houses (is there any trip exclusive of this ritual, I wonder!) to eating milky kulfi ice creams in the rain and learning ‘haalu baeku’ and ‘snaanu baeku’ (I want milk, I want to bathe) from my little cousin, the memories of Bangalore leave me feeling happy and nostalgic!
My train of memories moves on to a different terrain, further north along the Western Ghats to the city of Mumbai (then Bombay). And this memory originates much before the time I stepped into the busy metropolitan capital of Maharashtra. It begins with the beautiful scenery of Khandala and Lonawala, of the CST Express passing through innumerable tunnels with the continuous shouts of vendors selling chikki and vada pav in the background! I can’t recall anything more of the train journey and the memory shifts straightaway to the sight of the busy, crowded Mumbai railway station with slums alongside the tracks. And right from the time we got down at the Mumbai station, I could feel the lack of South Indian flavour. No jasmine wound long plaits, no vibudhi (holy ash) on the forehead and the women did not drape their sarees the way my mother did.
The city introduced the innocent, eight-year-old me to an entirely different world! I still remember how my family was in for a culture shock when we passed by a girl in a mini skirt, the likes of which we had seen only movie stars wear. The roads were perennially jammed with cars, bikes, buses and taxis. And having just started learning Hindi at school, the only thing I did was read name boards whilst my sister who was better off with the language went asking ‘Yeh kitna hain?’ (How much does this cost?) to shopkeepers.
Be it Bandra or Worli, Andheri or Thane (the various localities in Mumbai) there was some cousin’s aunt or uncle’s brother to be visited. Almost half my Mumbai memories seem to be occupied with these visits and those boring conversations (read monologues) associated with them. Thankfully, our trip was spread over quite a long period, giving us enough time to go sight seeing too. We visited the majestic looking Gateway of India and took the standard family photo in front of it, with pigeons flying in the backdrop. Time spent at the shore of the Mahalakshmi temple overlooking the sea was a welcome break from the perpetual Mumbai traffic. And I do remember seeing the grand Taj hotel opposite the Gateway of India and hoping that some famous personality would pass by (preferably the entire Indian cricket team)!
Mumbai, with its modern ways of living left an indelible impact on me. From the paan-chewing co-passenger in the bus to the pre-Ganesh Chathurthi festivities, the choc-a-block markets, the Marine Drive, the friendly people and the typical Mumbai chaats, a lot of things about this city remain fresh in my memory.
As I leave my Mumbai diaries behind, a group of the ‘hill-station’ memories come rushing, displaying the mist hidden mountains of Kodaikanal, the eerie suicide point of Ooty, the quaint little cottages of Munnar and the tea estates of Yercaud. Those trips that have always left me refreshed and rejuvenated and ready for the books–and-stationery-buying phase of the next academic year!
Meanwhile my mind also dishes out many short trips and recurrent visits-to-the-hometown, for a cameo. Ahmedabad, Cumbum, Coimbatore, Palakkad, Guruvayur, Hyderabad and Madurai; those places that have more than one memory in their name. They have so much to tell, a different story for every time I have visited the place.
And as always with every instance of a trip down the memory lane, the memories slowly get back to their covers. They go to occupy their shelves, neatly packed and stacked. As I lock the travel vault of my memories, I realize how every trip, every travel leaves a part of itself within you. It gives you the joy, the happiness and the excitement of unveiling a treasure. And ultimately, every trip is, but an asset gifted to one’s memory, to be safe guarded and well preserved, only to be browsed and relived, time and again!
Pic : all smiles – http://www.flickr.com/photos/77682540@N00/
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