Post-India

It's been a different Ramadan.

Considering that I didn't even fast on the first day, it was pretty different.

It all began about 4 months ago when my France-based uncle invited me to his house-warming function in his native hometown in South India. My mother (my uncle's elder sister) had to wanted to go, but she had the unenviable option of going alone, as none of her  kids could tear away from work, or had no interest in going, or experienced a combination of both.

I hadn't been to India in 10 years, and certainly wasn't about to go now. Especially not with two young kids, where they'd have to deal with humidity and the hotter-than-hot sun, sand/dirt/lizards/huge-ass ants/flies/mosquitoes/tonnes of relatives.

But my uncle's phone call made me change my mind quickly. Maybe it was the thought of seeing my very old grandfather. Maybe it was the "this will be my ultimate, last, final trip ever. Yeah." thought. Maybe it was the unspoken desire to reconnect with who I really am and where I come from, which is a perpetual gut-turner in my life. I decided to go, much to the surprise of my wife, the joy of my mother and the indifference of my two babies who were thinking that, like most of their overseas trips involving planes and airports, this trip also involved a nice, cool, comfy hotel room which they christened "Nice Room". Little did those poor fellows anticipate what was about to come their way.

During all my previous visits to India, we had landed at Chennai and had taken a 6-8 hour car ride to my mother's hometown of Kollapuram. This car-ride would rival any Universal Studio thrill-ride. Roads then were uneven at some parts, and non-existent at many parts. Combine this with a good old ride in a Tata Ambassador (see below), you get a full-body massage with your innards in the wrong places after 6 hours.

The Ambassador - built to endure pain

This time, things were different. Tiger Airways flies to Thiruchirapalli (or "Trichy" like the ang mohs call it), and from here it would be a mere 3-hour journey to Kollapuram. We stayed at the very excellent Hotel Gardenia (no bread there, hur hur, corny corny) where we spent the night, and took an air-conditioned Toyota Innova the next morning through the East Coast Road, a "beachway" or a highway along the beaches of Tamil Nadu. It was a smooth and fantastic drive, a completely different from the previous trips through Chennai.

During the ride, I thought and felt many things. In the last ten years, many things had happened in both Singapore and in India that would have changed how I would see and feel about the people in India. Both my father and grandmother were no longer around - that alone would change the entire feel a fair bit. My grandfather's house was no more - after my grandmother passed away, he gave it to his youngest son (my uncle), who decided to demolish it and rebuild a new one in its place. It was for this new house that the house-warming was about to be conducted. The old house, though, held many wonderful memories for me. True, I had spent many days and nights mired in diarrhoea and other stomach disorders, but I could not forget the retro flooring, the green painted walls, the smell of cows and burnt don't-know-whats in the backyard ("kollaipakkam"), the festive feel of having my cousins and other relatives in the house, hanging out with my spritely grandfather doing random things, visiting random relatives and drinking tea, tea and more tea and eating Britannia Milk Bikis, and going for random wedding lunches with briyani on a sahaan platter - the list can go on. These things would not be the same for this visit, I thought. Heck, the old house wasn't even there.

We eventually reached Kollapuram at about noon on a Saturday. I got off the car, and was greeted by my grandfather and two young men I had not see before - my uncle's sons, Rizvan and Niaz. I had bever seen them, as they were based in France and our visits to India never coincided before. Rizvan is the same age as my younger sister, and was a beefy, bespectacled and smiley guy. Niaz was a thin, smiley but shy teenager who took more time to warm up.

West Street in Kollapuram

We went into the house, and man, it was different. Nothing was the same, expectedly. Of course, what the hell was I thinking. My uncle arrived, and we spent some time chatting. He introduced this little girl of about 8 years, looking fair and French. He asked me to guess who it was, and of course, the goondu that I was, I couldn't. He told me it was his daughter Athilla, whom I'd never seen before. Later in the days to come, Athilla and Talha were to become best buddies.

Talha was not feeling well when we arrived,and he didn't take well to seeing many people in the house, all of whom wanted to carry and cuddle and kiss him. He threw a hissy fit, and he didn't want to hang with (or on!) anyone but me or my wife. Zayed, on the other hand, was taking the experience in his stride and making friends quickly. His favourites were Aadhil, another teenage cousin of mine, Rizvan and Niaz. Zayed was freaked about by the billions of insects in the house and the toilet in our room, but he was pretty cool when it came to mixing with the men and acting like a grown-up.

Talha only relaxed a little after our wonderful trip to the Karaikkal beach and night market near the famous Karaikal Amman temple. It was the "Mangani" festival at the time we visited, so the night market was full of life and full of small trinkets and toys that the boys kept on asking to buy.

Karaikal Amman temple

Night market

The same night, I managed to watch Billa 2, a scrappy MTV-inspired senseless Tamil movie starring one of my favourite actors, Ajit. The cinema I went to was a Ajit-fan stronghold, so response for the scrappy movie was still quite high. (He really shouldn't have done Billa 2 after doing a decent first one).

My father's younger brother, whom I call sinnaththa, invited us over to his house for both lunch and dinner. Overkill, yes, but we accepted his warm invitation because he hadn't seen us in a while. We travelled to my father's hometown, which is technically also my hometown, known as Kiliyannur. His daughter, my cousin, cooked us mutton briyani and quail kurma. It was unforgettable in more ways than one. Apart from the excellent quality of the food, the copious amounts he made us eat was enough to last us a week without food.

He gave us a tour of his house, the mosques in the village, a random school, the lodge he owned in Mayavaram and his small apartment near his lodge. Meanwhile, his grandkids had become quite fond of Zayed and Talha. 

The view of Mayavaram from the roof of sinnaththa's lodge

Very quickly, 5 days had gone by. We had wanted to visit Pondicherry for about 2 days, and prepared for our trip there on the 6th day. We packed up, and prepared to leave Kollapuram. It was tough for me. I had seen my cousins, how they enjoyed the company of my kids and vice-versa. I had seen and spoken to my grandfather and my uncle, whom I rarely called while I was in Singapore. I had come back to the house which, although was brand-new, held many memories of my roots in India. When the time came to say goodbye to my grandfather, I couldn't speak - my throat was knotted. I knew the time I had spent there was too short, compared to the 3 weeks/1 month we usually spent there. But with young children and limited vacation leave, this was the best  I could do and I hoped that he understood.

Pondi was fun. We had a lot of good shopping and good food, plus some sight-seeing. The kids loved it because they had arived at their holy grail - the "Nice Room".

The streets of Pondicherry

So we ended up missing the first day of Ramadan because we were enroute to Singapore on that day, which we'll have to make up eventually. But the start of this Ramadan was the end of this very special, memorable trip to India. I know for sure that this experience will never be repeated - all I have are memories. But I do hope to return to see my grandfather as many times as possible, and to keep in touch with all my cousins and uncles.