Weather pattern suddenly took a turn for the worse. As November arrived, we were in the bone-chilling cold days, and started seeing sky-full of snowflakes. Sometimes, we got snowstorms. I, along with my friends from India struggled to get used to the new realities. I remember we made mass exodus to Woolworth department store to purchase winter clothing. Some of us looked like Eskimos when we wore thick winter parkas.
I joined the India students’ association and forged valuable friendship with my countrymen. Our friendship created a home away from home. We used to go visit Indian families in town. We were like an extended family. The closeness was practically a result of the huge distance that separated us from India.
Heavy snow in the winter transformed the landscape to Canada’s winter wonderland. One day we were taking a stroll over a field of snow driven by a snowstorm, when my friend Babu suddenly disappeared, because five feet of snow in an invisible ditch swallowed him. We pulled him out to safety, promising ourselves that we would never venture out in the snow alone.
Dormitory parties on Fridays and Saturdays were something new to us Indian students. Some of us had barely talked to a girl while in India. Dancing with a girl during university parties was a totally novel idea, something unheard of back in India. My friends and I huddled together during the parties and gave each other moral support in a strange gathering of boys and girls having untold fun. We earned the nickname “odd bunch” from our Canadian friends, thanks to our predictable gathering at the corner of the dancing hall, holding beer bottles, and staring at the girls, as if we were in a staring contest. Other than staring, we did pretty much nothing, not daring to ask a girl to dance, and pipe dreaming that they would approach us for dance. My friend Babu was afraid that the girls would beat him up if he asked them for a dance, since, according to him, the girls were much bigger than him, and they would be insulted to be asked for a dance by a dwarf.
We, the miserable bunch, would keep on standing there like fixtures, consuming untold bottles of Canadian beer, and peeing a lot. We admired the vitality of the Canadian girls and their courage to dance with boys, a far cry from the Indian girls we used to know back home. We were surprised that some of the boys had more than one girlfriend, which was possible in India only to gods. Indian god Krishna was reputed to have had ten thousand and eight girlfriends. We started calling our Canadian friends with more than one girlfriend as lord Krishnas.
The band would play the most popular pieces of the sixties and the seventies, such as those from Beatles, Bee Gees, and Abba. The music alone would take us far away from India, a land where we grew up listening to Carnatic music, Hindustani music and the Bollywood movie songs.
We were all gathered as usual in the corner one Friday evening when the party was in full swing, the band playing “Lucy in the Sky with diamonds,” the drug-induced song from the Beatles, and the crowd dancing to the tunes as if they were stoned. As a matter of fact, we would learn that drug was readily available in the campus. A number of boys and girls gathered on the dancing floor were not on earth, but in the sky with Lucy who was adorned in diamonds.
It was while the said Beatles song was blaring that we noticed that Babu was missing from our group. We searched around for him, being afraid that he might have fallen into a snow pit and disappeared from the face of the earth.
Suddenly, Babu appeared. He looked like he was dazed. We shouted for him, beckoning him to our midst, happy that he was safe after all. He decided to ignore us for some reason. He walked straight to the dance floor, as if he was possessed. He approached the tallest girl in the group, who was dancing with her even taller boyfriend. She was six foot two inches tall and he, easily, a six and half footer.
While we were anxiously watching what he was up to, Babu told the girl: “I dare you to beat me up; I am asking you for a dance.” The girl was shocked to hear this challenge from a dwarf and she stopped dancing, looking puzzled. Then she looked at her boyfriend and he looked at her and together they burst into spontaneous laughter.
The girl’s name was, unbelievably, Lucy. Her boyfriend was Steve. He crouched down on the floor and lifted Babu off the floor, stood up, and handed him over to Lucy, as if Babu was a packaged present that Steve was giving Lucy as a gift—a boyfriend to girlfriend gift on a Friday night. This done, he left the floor to be seated nearby and to watch the unfolding drama.
Lucy resumed dancing to the tunes of “Lucy in the Sky,” bear-hugging Babu. He dangled down holding on to her pendulous breasts, unable to wrap his arms around her wide shoulders; at least that was how it appeared to us, the spectators. There were wild cheers from the merry crowd who stopped dancing and stepped out, giving the floor to the sole use of the romantic pair. The band switched gears and started playing Elvis Presley’s “Can’t help falling in love with you.” The crowd cheered on. That was Babu’s very first dance ever since he was born, and that was the very first time he would lay his hands on a pair of Canadian breasts.
We, his friends, could not believe the unimaginable sight. Some of us were shocked, but most of us were jealous, very jealous.
As Saturday morning rolled in, we all met in the dining hall for our breakfast, including Babu. He revealed that he took drugs Friday evening prior to coming to the dance. His roommate had arranged drug supply for him. He snorted so much that his small structure could not handle it and he was stoned. On the top of it, he filled himself with beer and was too drunk to know what he was doing. He did not remember that we had beckoned him to our midst while he walked into the party previous night.
Lucy was tall enough to be called Lucy in the Sky. It became a common sight during subsequent dance parties that she would carry Babu and dance. She then started carrying him to the dormitory dining hall and around the campus! She left her boyfriend and started dating Babu. They would be married within one year of that memorable dance episode.
The course work and the research were the integral part of the graduate school and this took up most of my time. Weekend parties would soon be followed by a serious workweek. I remember many days of serious study listening to the Carpenters “Rainy Days and Mondays” that my roommate blasted out of his stereo. He was one of the lord Krishnas. His girlfriends used to visit him often, interrupting my studies. I thought how unfair it was—here, he was crawling with girlfriends while I had to make do with no girlfriends at all. Life was unfair.
The grand ceremony of Christmas would come toward the year end, as a fitting conclusion. The festive atmosphere amid serious study for the semester finals was an unusual mixture. The song “Silent Night” heard in the perfect stillness of the Canadian snow was, and still is, an unforgettable experience. The sound waves got trapped in the snow, and so the Canadian nights were perfectly still, and therefore it appeared appropriate that some of us commented that “Silent Night” should be the Canadian national song. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” was another appropriate song for Canada, because we always had white Christmases. The song reminded me and my friends that we were in an ideal land to have days merry and bright and to have all our Christmases white, just like Bing Crosby sang.
Christmas would lead to the New Year and its celebration. Come April, spring would arrive and thereafter summer. The spectacular greenery of the lawns and the trees was a totally different sight from now-familiar snow-clad Canada.
We were all invited to Babu’s wedding in the summer. All of us were relieved that Lucy did not carry him to the altar where they were married by an Anglican minister. The church allowed a band to play “Lucy in the Sky with diamonds” just after the wedding vows were exchanged. That was a special song for both of them, bathed in sentimentality.
Babu gave her a diamond ring.
I, along with my friends from India, treasured the friendship which we made with our Canadian friends. We were amazed at the uninhibited and unconditional friendship that many of them offered to us. They considered each of us as one among them, even though we were poles apart from them in tradition, culture
and outlook on life.
I would say that it was those invaluable friendships that eased by blending with the western culture. I especially treasure the memories of my life in the Canadian university dormitory during the initial years of my stay in Canada.
Even though many Canadian winters with evergreen trees covered with snow have gone by since I came to Canada, even though many rainbow colored leaves have fallen in many Canadian falls since I came here, even though many Canadian summers with their emerald green meadows have passed by me since I arrived here, I still maintain contact with my friends whom I met during my initial years, and would always gratefully remember how they extended bouquets of friendship, easing my transition into an unfamiliar culture.
***
I returned to Kerala in 1981 for a visit.
When I boarded the plane from Toronto en route to Kerala, I was full of anticipation and was looking forward to seeing Kerala after six years of absence. Kerala’s coconut palm trees would once more be fluttering for me, the tall areca nut trees would once more be beckoning me to their elegant presence, and the restless rivers would once more be flowing for me. I was excited.
I left the Toronto airport, which hosted a sea of huge Air Canada jets that resembled resurrected red dinosaurs. At London, I was met with an ocean of British Airways’ carriers. One of them carried me to Mumbai. The flight from Mumbai to Chennai was by Indian Airlines. A train carried me from Chennai to Amballore. Finally I was at my new home in Amballore.
When I reached Kerala, I was greeted by all in the family. It was one of only a few occasions when all ten in the family were assembled under the same roof. Some of them had gotten married since my departure. Rita and her husband, Tim, were there to greet me. Kareena came from Rajasthan, and it was a pleasure to see her.
While enjoying mouthwatering Kerala cuisine, I was reminded of the bland Canadian food such as hamburgers, French fries, and soft drinks that they served in the university dorm cafeteria. While eating at my home in Amballore, I could not help thinking that back in my university, there would be long line of students holding food trays, heading toward the counter to order the kind of food he or she liked and filing out to sit in the sprawling dining room, after they were served. It felt strange sitting in a small dining room in Kerala. I felt out of place. However, the meal was appetizing enough to put those uncomfortable feelings behind.
One of the main highlights of the trip was visiting a prospective bride who happened to be Kareena’s friend. Kareena had arranged for me to meet the girl to see if we matched. This was an age-old tradition in Kerala—paying a visit to a prospective bride to gauge if she and the prospective groom matched and to see if their astrological signs and stars were on an amiable and non-collisional course. This custom—called pennukanal or “seeing the girl”— was integral part of the time-honored custom of arranged marriage still followed in India, though not as vigorously as it used to be.
I must say, that I was forced by Kareena to meet the girl, since I had my own reasons not to be drawn into a marriage proposal. I had a girlfriend in Canada. That was the first time that I revealed the news to my family. All my siblings were surprised to hear of this news. In my mind, that was reason enough not to initiate any wedding plans. However, my family, especially Kareena, would not hear of this and they insisted on proceeding with pennukanal.
“We want you to marry an Indian girl, preferably a Malayalee girl,” Kareena insisted, talking on behalf of everyone in the family.
“What is wrong with marrying a Canadian girl?” I asked her.
“Listen, you Canadian,” she mocked me and continued: “Even if you live away from us for a hundred years, you will always be one among us and we all insist that you do not sever the family ties. We want to see you continuing to be one among us, by marrying a Malayalee girl.”
Her argument had finality to it and I gave in, against my better judgment. I was torn between my own conviction that I should not jeopardize my friendship in Canada and my sister’s forcible argument that family ties should be honored, however far and however long one stayed away from one’s siblings. Curiosity also got the better of me and it propelled me to check out the possibility that a Kerala girl could be a better soul mate than a Canadian girl.
I was invited to the bride-to-be’s family for a social gathering. Typically, this gathering would be attended by extended families of the bride and the bridegroom.
The girl’s name was Latha. Her sprawling, luxuriant long black hair reminded me of a miniature Amazon forest. She was dressed in a sari. Her forehead was adorned with a huge, red bindi. Two ear rings the size of cathedral bells hung from her ears.
Kareena put all of us at ease, since she was the girl’s friend and knew her family well. They also liked the proposal, because I was Kareena’s brother. She introduced me to the girl and her family. I was in a group of my siblings: Kareena, Number-Six, Number-Eight, Number-Nine and Number-Ten. A lavish lunch was served by the bride-to-be’s family for us. The lunch had multiple elements of typical Kerala cuisine. I was seated across from the girl. Visiting a girl at her home and eating a lavish meal was part of the arranged-marriage ritual.
Her beauty transfixed me. Instead of enjoying the culinary delight of Kerala, I was staring at her, with my half-opened mouth that refused to close, while my siblings were voraciously gulping down the fried fish, with their mouths gyrating in unison, as if acted upon by motors that refused to shut down.
Kareena, sitting by my side at the dining table, elbowed me in the ribs sharply and said, “Don’t stare at the girl; it is rude.”
The half-chewed rice spewed out of my half-open mouth by this sudden stabbing at my ribs, pain radiating out from the point of contact. My mouth contents landed on the girl’s forehead near her bindi. The mushy rice blobs then descended and landed on her cream-colored kanjipuram sari. This last act put a lid on my hopes of marrying the girl. She screamed and left the dining hall in disgrace and took refuge in the kitchen. She was followed by her concerned mother and younger sister. Her father stared at me hard and left the dining table in protest. I was in the company of just my siblings who merrily kept on chewing.
The rapidly chewing crew of my siblings was not aware of the rib-stab that I received from Kareena. They were surprised that I dared to spit my food at the host. They liked the food and were looking forward to having the girl as their future sister-in-law so that they could enjoy mouth-watering food she would cook in the future, just like the one they were having. Their plans just derailed.
My siblings were so taken aback by my unexpected and violent act that all of them stopped chewing simultaneously like synchronized swimmers, their half-open mouths frozen in mid-action as if someone hit the pause button of a remote control. Their mouths refused to continue chewing. This immobilization was the first of its kind ever since they started munching on the lunch. They were surprised and puzzled.
The ice was broken when someone in the group helpfully suggested: “You should not have spit at the girl for bad food.” He immediately resumed chewing.
Kareena offered me another stab at my ribs, winked at me, smiled slyly, and continued eating.
Even though I was transfixed by the girl and even though I was disarmed by her beauty, I was rendered a zombie of inaction with a frozen mouth, which resulted in a Kerala-cuisine projectile making impact with her forehead and sari. This eventually shut down the prospects of a marriage. I was nevertheless thinking of a Canadian girl intermittently during the disastrous lunch. No doubt, it was an untimely time to ruminate over my romantic interlude in Canada; it was like double-crossing the girl I went to meet. However, those memories seized me and took control of me while I was desperately trying to act decently. Shame on me!
As you guessed, Latha told Kareena that she was not interested in marrying me. She did not want to spend a lifetime with someone who refused to eat with his mouth closed. Bad manners, case closed. Kareena conveyed the message to me.
I did not blame La
tha.
I think that I owe it to you to explain what kind of Canadian memories gripped me during pennukanal and made me helpless in proceeding whole-heartedly in the pursuit of a Kerala romance.
***
It all started on a brutally cold Canadian day. If you were with me in my living room on that day of days, you would appreciate what I am about to reveal.
I am going to take you to a world supernatural and beautiful beyond comparison, a world as fascinating as it is mysterious, a world where your spoken words can freeze in the mid-air, and a world cool and tranquil as the arctic ice. I am talking about where I live, the great land of Canada.
This land is dear to our hearts. As Canadians, we are blessed to have the very first encounter of the laws of nature. In the profound silence that is so much characteristic of our lives, we get revelation of the innermost secrets of the universe. God spits out the laws of physics to us and to us only. We spit them out to the United States and the rest of the world. We play Moses to distribute the ten commandments of physics. If you live here, you are bound to get enlightenment on the meaning of life. You do not need to meditate under the Bodhi tree to understand life’s riddles, as Siddhartha had to do once upon a time in India.
Living at the footsteps of the North Pole, we look down upon our good neighbor, The United States. We then wish she turns into a snowflake if only to form bondage and kinship born of snowfall camaraderie. If you want to disprove theories on global warming, you do not have to do research; just look at us. We hope to get the USA to join us to lead the world in the new ice age; we hope that our alliance, though frozen in nature, would be warm forever.
Amballore House Page 8