Sandia

“Another power outage!”, says the woman who lives downstairs. “Does this happen also in your country?” “No, not really”, I reply. “Only when the weather gets vicious!”

The village is in complete darkness except for the few battery-operated lights sporadically evident in homes and shops. Big batteries are designed for those who can afford them, to take over power for refrigerators and televisions and larger electrical appliances. The tailor across the street like most residents, lights a candle, to continue his work. He has been there since 8:00 this morning.

I park my bicycle on the front porch for the night. Our homestay, while we are living in Fort Cochin, is owned by a lovely family. Benson, his wife, Shainey and their two sons live across the street. There are several rooms rented daily to travellers, as well as the family who rent the apartment downstairs. Our room is one of 3 accessed by the stairs from the front gate. A small kitchen allows us to keep basic foods refrigerated, and makes it is easy to prepare simple meals. We usually eat breakfast and lunch at home. We make tea whenever we want.

Sandia is the woman who takes care of the travellers’ accommodations. She arrives at 9:00 and stays until 5:30. A young boy, Raoul, comes in the evening and, when everyone is settled down for the night, he lays his mattress and sheets on the floor of the common area, and sleeps until morning. It is wonderfully safe, and we feel well protected and secure.

We’ve been here now 2 ½ weeks, and developed a close relationship with Sandia. She is eager to hear about life in Canada and is interested in learning about us in every way. She knows our children from photographs, has heard our backgrounds and we often have serious conversations about the differences (and similarities) that our lives share.

Yesterday, Sandia invited us to her home. After work we walked over there together. For gifts we brought packages of Uno for the children, a cake for the family and a rattle for the new baby. The entire family waited eagerly at the entrance as we approach. The cement home, encased within a solid wall is old and worn. A ladderlike staircase leads upstairs. Though I didn’t go up, I assume that is where the family, 7 members in all, sleeps.

As we enter we are immediately directed in to the main room of the house...the puja room. Covering the walls are pictures of various sizes and colours depicting numerous deities. A puja lamp burns in the centre of the main wall, and incense burns continuously. The new baby, 6 months old, is asleep in an oversized blue clothe sling that is fastened by a rope and dangles from the centre rafter. He is definitely the focus of attention!!!

 

We question the black make up painted on the baby’s face. The black makes him look a bit scary to me. “That is to make the baby look ugly so he will not get a lot of attention, and will avoid getting sick or stolen.” Sandia explains. It is a somewhat primitive mentality, seriously embraced and practised.

As we sit on the wooden bench, facing the sleeping child, Sandia’s sister in law offers us delicious dosha with coconut chutney and hot, sweet chai masala tea. They watch us with huge smiles as we eat. No body else is eating...just watching and smiling and eager to talk. They want to hear about how much we love India, and also about our lives in Canada. It seems to be the custom here that while guests eat, others do not. I don’t understand it, but it seems to happen often!

 

We take many pictures and I am excited to make prints to present to them. The naïve gaiety that is expressed during the photo takes makes us all laugh. They are so thrilled to be in pictures! Cameras are definitely a luxury here, and it is unusual to see photographs in peoples’ homes. They giggle and joke as they run to see picture of themselves each time the camera snaps.

Ravesh, Sandia’s grown brother in law invites us to hear his concert at the local Kathikali Centre. The centre is committed to presenting traditional Kerala culture. 365 days a year, some form of music and/or dance is performed there. Ravesh is a tabla player, and last night he performed with his uncle, Raghuraj, a vocalist, and another musician playing the harmonium.  It was wonderful to hear him play and to connect with him after the concert. There is an enormous sense of pride for the culture. Ravesh offers to give us both tabla lessons. Paul is even considering it!

As we leave for the concert we are sent off with joyous waves and promises from us that we will return to their home. “We must.” We say. “We have to bring you all the pictures!” Plans for Sunday night dinner are created. Everyone is happy!