Priceless Onam

For one reason or another, having Onasadya at home had become a distant memory. I would often sit helplessly, watching the family enjoy their feast over lunchtime video calls. It’s not that sadya or Onam are rare in the UK—with so many Malayalees around, there’s no shortage of celebrations—but nothing compares to sharing the meal with parents. As the old Mastercard ads used to say, “There are some things money can’t buy.”

This year, though, we finally got the chance to celebrate Onam at home. My lady insisted on a family picture in traditional attire (though the fashion diva herself went for a Rajasthani saree—one world, no borders!). I tried to push the idea to next year—there’s always that selfish part of me imagining an improved fitness routine leading me toward the six-pack hero from the Pardesiya song. But then came her vajrayudha: “I’ve been saying this for a while, and see, Amma isn’t here anymore.”

Achan, to my surprise, was completely compliant—after all, apart from the 70s, the only other time he wore a proper traditional mundu was for my wedding!

Long story short: it turned out to be the best Onam I’ve had in years.

The Taste of Rajinikanth

Basha might have been the first Rajini movie I ever watched. It took me almost an entire evening and most of the night to finish it, thanks to the endless TV ads that popped up every few minutes. They were annoying enough that Amma gave up on the film much earlier. Rajinikanth movies, if I remember correctly, used to be a Diwali exclusive on Sun TV. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say I often preferred watching him on screen to bursting firecrackers with my family! My vocabulary back then wasn’t rich enough to know words like swag, but I was already hooked on his presence.

For someone who smirked at others’ film reviews and proudly declared himself a critic even as a child, I always suspended judgment when it came to Rajini. His larger-than-life aura and thunderous dialogues silenced the nitpicker in me—I’d just sit back, wide-eyed, pestering my cousin to translate the Tamil lines I didn’t understand.

Watching a movie is a personal experience, much like enjoying food—don’t let others’ opinions ruin it. Taste buds differ. I still remember queuing up to buy Hyderabadi biriyani from a “highly recommended” hotel during my college tour, only to realise it was nowhere close to the chicken biriyani (sans egg!) that Supreme Bakers back home in Kollam served.

Of course, there were a few Rajini films I couldn’t last through, but long story short—now that I’ve started living a solitary life in Cardiff (thanks to training-related hospital rotations), watching yet another Rajini movie, first day first show, brought back a flood of childhood memories. Clichés and plot holes aside—critics may devour Coolie—Rajinikanth was a feast to watch on the big screen. That said, films like Petta, Jailer, and Kaala were far more fulfilling for me as a fan boy.

Movies, like biriyani, are best judged by your own palate—and Rajini, to me, has always been that unbeatable Supreme Bakers’ chicken biriyani.

Vishukkani in a Foreign Dawn

As I woke up today, my phone’s gallery threw back a photo taken on this very day, five years ago—when most of us were asked to Stay Home, Protect the NHS, and Save Lives. Having moved to the UK, for the past five years, my daily Vishukkani has been my beautiful better half—except on days when one of us was on a night shift! She’s been my world for the past twelve years, and during the Covid era, she even became my personal hair stylist.

Growing up alongside a genuinely devout Amma and an ‘almost atheist’ Achan, I guess I could be branded a ‘neutral Hindu’. Without the slightest disapproval, Achan would always buy flowers to help arrange the Vishukkani, and it would always be there to greet me each year on this auspicious day. Though our display was never as vibrant or elaborate as those in other Malayali households, Amma would still wake me up and gently guide me to the Kani. It would brighten my heart (and indeed, fatten my wallet by the end of the day with all the kaineettams).

Amma isn’t here anymore, and Achan is 17 hours of flight away — but the memories stay, always.

Wishing all my dear ones a Vishu filled with light and love.

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For those wondering what on earth is Vishu, Vishukkani and Kaineettam:

Vishu: A traditional Hindu festival, like Kerala’s version of New Year’s Day, mixed with Thanksgiving vibes.

Vishukkani: A beautifully arranged display of auspicious items, set up the night before and meant to be the first thing one sees on waking.

Kaineettam: A custom where elders give money to younger members of the family as a form of blessing and to wish them prosperity for the year ahead. (Not sure if Gen Z has QR codes for this now!)

The first prize goes to

“Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood.” Pablo Neruda

Jawahar Balabhavan, Kollam.

(Can’t recollect the year, probably between 1988-1991)

The prizes get announced

തവളച്ചാട്ടം, first prize goes to Nithin Jayan

കസേരകളി, first prize goes to Nithin Jayan

ഓട്ടമത്സരം, first prize goes to Nithin Jayan

Prize distribution

And then the photoshoot.

This is one of the most priceless pictures that Amma had saved for me.

It features Amma teacher (Irene teacher) who passed away recently and Rasna, my first ‘best friend’. I lost contact with her once I left the nursery and have no idea where she is now. Hope she still remembers me.

I can hardly recollect the names of others except for Karthika and Manikandan. 

Myself, obviously the handsome lad, is fourth from the right, and Rasna is third from the right. 

The first prize was a stainless steel dinner plate :) I got three of them. Yoohoo.

(ശരീരം അനങ്ങിയുള്ള ഒരു ‘സ്പോർട്സ്’ പരിപാടിയിൽ ആദ്യമായും അവസാനമായും പങ്കെടുത്തത് ബാലഭവനിൽ വച്ചായിരുന്നു)

 

Nostos plus Algos

2005: It’s been hardly a week at Medical College Trivandrum and I call Amma, says that I’m badly missing home, that I’m quitting this course and I’ll take admission at TKM Engineering College so that I can stay at Kollam. 

2019: I’m searching for a place to stay at Liverpool. 

‘Moving away from my family to take care of my family’ will be the toughest decision I’ve ever taken in life. 

2005: Amma says a firm ‘NO’ to my ‘quit Medicine plans’ (Achan still in the Middle East taking care of us)

2019: Amma says ‘Yes’, not a firm Yes but a weak one. (Achan gave up his work to take care of his better half who bravely fought a cancer)

Thanks to this society for making it really difficult for Doctors to make a living, specifically the ‘young-growing up’ ones. 

NB: Well, this is just a random thought that drove into my mind while having dinner, and it isn’t a trigger for a debate of any sorts. 

(Latest thought that’s flashing right now: അമ്മേടേം അച്ഛന്റേം സ്നേഹം UK ഇലായാലും കിട്ടും, പക്ഷെ അവർ ഉണ്ടാക്കുന്ന ചോറും ചമ്മന്തിയും ചാള പൊരിച്ചതും ഒക്കെ എങ്ങനെ കിട്ടും?)