Kerala, December 2006. Statement on a single post-it note stuck above my desk amidst several chits of medical mnemonics that needed to get acquainted with my hippocampus.
It was the elusive Neel Kurinje. The once in 12-year bloom that was meant to gloriously fill up the valleys of Munnar with its blue and purple hues. The flower of clandestine love. I heard this rare bloom would happen in December 2006, hence the post-it note. It was a call of the heart, but it was forgotten amidst the perils of the hippocampus working its way through medical exams.
Perhaps the Universe never forgets these calls of our hearts. Somehow, events naturally transpired, and sure enough there we were, on a family trip, to Kerala, in December 2006. Kerala, God’s own country- where one can traverse the land, the waters and the heavens. In our itinerary were the fascinating shores of Kochi, the serene backwaters of Kumarakom, the spicy hills of Thekkady, and, yes, heavenly Munnar was included too.
It was also at that time that Sadam Hussain had been captured and was to be assassinated by the US government, which led to several rallies in the communist-party led Kerala. Sure enough, as our Tata Sumo was just in the middle of its uphill drive to Munnar, along with several other tourist buses and cars packed with families escaping their daily lives to get some respite in the hills, we encountered a road block in lieu of the rallies.
This obstacle stranded us in the middle of nowhere, on that uphill drive to the popular destination of dreams. There were no detours to take and there was no turning back. We were stuck, along with the paltans of other escapees.
Everyone waited patiently for an hour, thinking we would be on our way soon. We were wrong. A few more hours, we heard. Naturally, things turned edgy.
Naturally, things also turned bladder-full. In this throng of tourists how could one even relieve themselves on the road-side? Some shameless men did, but of course it was impossible for women.
There happened to be a small village a few meters away, spotting just a handful of houses. There, in the middle of nowhere. We were directed to a bathroom that was an addendum to a petite pakka house with concrete walls that were the color of the sky and a tin roof that was doing its best to fend off the harsh rays of the afternoon sun. In this modest abode lived a family of six. On the narrow mustard veranda leading to the toilet were stationed large grey barrels filled with the family’s monthly water supply. Frequent water shortages drove the villagers to purchase this precious commodity from external sources. Yet, the family welcomed us with such warmth and allowed us touristy strangers to use their toilets… and their precious water supply.
My siblings and I began interacting with the four kids. We didn’t know Malyaalam but we were well-versed in the art of hand gestures (as we’d been blessed with a multi-cultural upbringing). The oldest teenager, a sprite 13-year old, clad in her school uniform - off-white shirt and coffee brown skirt- with her hair neatly tied in the classic two-sided chhotis, also spoke some English that she had learned in school and was doing a great job as an interpreter between us and the rest of her chirpy, zippy siblings, two 8-10 year-old girls and the youngest 6-year old boy. In those few moments of rapid bonding, they eagerly asked us if we wanted to see their farm and their river. Which were tucked away in the nowheres behind the house. Needless to say, this was feeling a lot more adventurous than being stuck in the Tata Sumo amidst complaining tourists, so we happily obliged and followed our new found dosts.
With so much pride they introduced us to their one pig who was loitering in his Lilliputian pen. They delightfully flaunted their vegetables that they were growing in the communal village garden. Then lot of wilderness. Through which we pranced downhill while battling the tallest blades of grass and bushes to a tiny stream.
This was their small world, in which the biggest hearts lived.
We spent some time gabbing with the kids, their stream, pig and vegetables. Then they excitedly took us back to their home, introduced us to their parents, who welcomed us with the warmth of a 100-year old friendship. They invited our folks too, who were, missing their afternoon chai a lot. This family, in their humble abode, where they pay for water, made our family some amazing chai even while neither of us understood each other completely.
They filled our hearts with their smiles and warmth.
In India there’s a saying, Atithi Devo bhava... guest is welcomed like God. We had a first hand experience of this, strangers made to feel at home, welcomed like family.
A couple of hours later, we bid goodbyes to our new friends, it was nightfall by then but the road block lifted. Buses, tourists and escapees, and our tata sumo resumed their uphill journeys to Munnar.
In that stark darkness of night we could not see anything on either side of the road, which was only eerily lit by the Sumo’s headlights. We really had to reign in all the bladdery urges for those few hours as there was no way we would stop amidst the torrid darkness of the unknown. Somehow we made it to our hotel, late at night and plopped on our beds exhausted.
In the morning, we stepped into our balcony, and gasped. So astounding were the views of the lush tea plantations carpeting the dunes of Munnar.
No, the Neel Kurinje weren’t there. They had apparently bloomed earlier in the month and disappeared by the time we got there.
But yet, somehow, this trip, this journey to that destination of dreams, had already touched our Souls, that even if Munnar’s already resplendent valleys were not replete with the Neel Kurinje, our hearts were replete with gratitude and love, in all hues of purple and blue.
As Douglas Adams wisely said, “I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.”
For that family and their humble home and one pig and some vegetables that were their farm, and one stream that was their river, had welcomed strangers into their home and hearts with astounding generosity that came so naturally to them, and made those otherwise-five hours of boredom into a lifetime memory and a renewed faith in the goodness of people.
Even when faced with obstacles and road blocks, life may surprise you with such treasures. And as The Rolling Stones sang, “You can’t get all that you wanted, but just sometimes, you may get what you need.”
