RENDEZVOUS Suvidutt M. S.

(This article was written as a travelogue to the writers best friends home) Sreeja, my unparalleled buddy who empathize my feelings; who appreciates my eruditeness, and prays for my colourful future, is one of the superlative human that I came across in my life. Many years passed by in the Govt: Law College, Thrissur enhancing the extent and insight of our friendship but never a day came to visit her sweet home. The voyage of understanding materialized in a travel of thirty miles, but too extensive is the experience to explain. The rendezvous was with a purpose but very accidental and was persuaded by our fondness between each other: doubted as destinys recital. The dawn of the New Year 2007 was sanctified by the spree to Sreejas domicile, surfacing a dream, symbolizing trust and strengthening familial ties. What more blessed reason than this for my bliss? On 5th Jan, 2007, the march to Panampatta Tharavadu The Heritage Mansion was my maiden trip of the year that became the longest in the streets of my memory. Near was Sreeja to me yet so far was Cherupalasheery for me. Disregarding the distance, devoting to the deepness of our relation, enduring exhaustion, and discovering a new direction to our resemblance and resonance, I landed on the countryside of Chalavara The Greenland Village with unique beauty unexplainable and unblemished, so pure and profound that it oxygenates life to an eternal and spiritual feel. Though it was a Toddy Shop on the gateway to the address where my friend resides, it was completely serene unlike other intoxicating cottages, without any folk songs emanating from any corner of it. However, the muddy passageway from there to the house was very forlorn, adjacent to which was a slender canal with stagnant water at sporadic spaces, and on both sides of the path were lush green paddy crops bending in obedience to the wafting wind. In the wide panorama, far I could spot two or three houses delimited with shrubbery and bamboo hedges. I was sure, that was my destination. Withstanding more than a centurys changing climes and times, the Panampatta

Tharavadu stands as a hermit amidst the verdant sea of paddy field: that was my first notion. Next to the ruralist marvel was a building under construction: the contemporary version of Panampatta villa which would be the new abode of Sreeja and family in the near future after its completion. Hope I may be there on the house warming. For demystifying the ways I felt may be intricate, but the domestic splendor and native narrative is coherent to express as it is indelible from the rooms of my mind. The sinless scenic wonder cascades often in front of my eyes and the unadulterated ethnic whisper still echoes in my ear. The chilling ponds in many numbers, petite fishes swimming under, kaput cadavers of crabs lying over small rocks, the flowing graceful streams cutting across paddy bunds, white swans soaring above in search of their prey, cows and goats grazing on the bottle-green pasture, the shamanic ghost hill surrounded with multiple myths and legends, the aura of Ganapathi temple and other small place of worships, and numerous other facts and fictions about the folks, flora and fauna there add to the elegance enveloping the very old Panampatta dynasty. Charm of rustic Chalavara never stops here. The remoteness of its esthetics unravels and traverses to the remotest of our senses. Its beyond imagination; with no pollution, no pretensions, no parochialism, no hectic schedules, nor any sort of sophistication present. It was unlike other concrete jungles, metros and cities which stains in poisons and sustains pollutions, lives in mechanical and mundane routines, coloured communally and camouflaged in ostentatious attitudes. Fairly, the pastoral territory was greenish, hygienic, lively, simple, spacious to breathe, and secular-thinking people ruling and being ruled thats the bona fide Chalavara. Diverse caste and community inhabit with calmness, comity, empathy and mutuality; when on one side the temple bell tolls, on the other the prayers of the mosque resonates through amplifiers. The religious synchronization, multi-cultural incorporation, cooperation of local people in their all civic activities, social interaction and the division of labour without discrimination, contributes to the peaceful welfare of the idyllic Panampatta soil a holy geography seen in heavens!

To remind the reader, its love that makes events and experience emboss in the heart of humans perpetually. More to the healthy and harmonious ambience of the place, it was the Sreejas family warm welcome, homely care, candid conversation, bottomless modesty and respect-sans-vanity that made a tremendous impact upon me. The toasting of wine before lunch was done by Sreejas dad Prasannan in an incredible customary style. Though there was a slight hesitation regarding that matter on the face of Sreeja and on he mother, it got vanished by the help of discussions while lunching which ranged from mythology to theology. Awesome was the chicken fry, spicy the fish curry, and the dish of tapioca tasty and savoury. The credit of the culinary art goes indisputably to Sreejas mother Shailaja my dearest and loving aunt. Hope that the tricks of the kitchen trade may get inherited by Sreeja as well! Okay, I cant miss in the mentioning: the serving of ice-cream rose milk and even chocolates one after the other by Sreeja in compassionate tenderness. It seemed like esculent amendments to the Constitution of my abdomen. Gratitude aplenty for the love unlimited! Now who will burn off my plumpness? That may be possible, but not the swabbing of the pretty good things happened there, from my memories. Following the lunch, after a speck of quiescence and personal chatting, Sreeja took me to her new erecting house that was in its naked form. Then she introduced me to the family pool and its fishes, and said that she do swimming and fishing there; made me familiarized with her space of study the gurukul shiksha in the shade; got me acquainted with the local ponds being used and unused; then habituated to the wild flowers and its fragrance, frogs and crabs, butterflies, breeds, seeds, thorns, dirt, dust etc. When sun was showing a slight mercy by attenuating its burning radiation, we both went over a bridge of the Kanjarapuzha Canal near by and sat over it for few minutes. In a while, both of us walked down in between the flanked green paddy fields, romancing the nature and nature doing the same to us. She was escorting and guiding me and I was just like a tourist imbibing the newness of everything gathering the information that I could. Then by strolling we zeroed in to a temple situated beside a pond. Unlucky enough, no one was there bathing! Finally, we returned back as both of us were tired and even time was counting short. But my mind wasnt weary as it voiced to stay there for more span.

Time eluded quickly and cruelly. What could I do? Birds were returning to their nest; it was turning murky as the orange sun sighed sayonara; men were homecoming after the days hardship, and the lamps got lit on the portal of houses. It was 6 O clock the time to depart. While I was about to leave, Uncle gifted me a copy of his-own-written book of poems titled Apriya Satyangal penned in Malayalam. That was a voucher of remembrance a souvenir for eternity. Expressing my thanks, as a piece of etiquette, though too small for their care, comfort and hospitality given, I said a good-bye to all before parting. Now, when I may come back was the question that lingered in my mind. For refreshing the things that I sensed; for another rendezvous more memorable, and for re-stepping once again on the early footprints left behind, I anticipate, a day is in the making.