George and St George

A song that we Kerala Syrian Christians sing only at funerals is "samayamam rathathil njan swargayatra cheyyunnu... (I travel on the chariot of time towards heaven, To see my homeland I go alone). I love it but on January 3rd when I heard it as the ambulance brought my dad's body home from the morgue, I was overwhelmed by grief. Close relatives and well wishers carried the coffin into the house, where bouquets of flowers, an ornamental cross and long candles made Chandanapally's first English professor's final journey a grand affair.

People had been visiting us ever since the hospital confirmed the news, and the day before the funeral being a holiday for Mannam Jayanti we saw a lot of mourners. His friends poured in, so did casual acquaintances he chatted with on his daily 4 km evening walk around the village and neighbouring villages until his prostate surgery in 2023. 

He was not an easy person to hobnob with, but he had his loyal companions too. In a village where a good many people had only basic education, dad stood out in the 1960s with an MA in English from Christ College Kanpur where his classmates included an Orthodox priest, who later became the Catholicose (pontiff) of the Malankara Orthodox church of Kerala. In place of the nearer Catholicate college run by our community, he chose to join an arts & science college in Kozhencherry further away from our home town, changing two or three buses to reach the institution. He did not ride a bike, but the relaxed timetables in Kerala colleges made the commute easy for him as well as for a female colleague who travelled daily by train from Kochi. The pit stop at his maternal cousin's printing press cum shop in Pathanamthitta town in the evenings - where professionals of his ilk discussed life and politics - or a late afternoon nap at his aunt's house made the journey less arduous. He would not eat until he reached home by 4 pm, saving every penny in times when life was harder and money less forthcoming. 

The savings helped him manage the family house and property as well as provide us a better higher education in Chennai, Pune and Delhi. In an era when people in my village went to Madras only to "learn computer", we went to do humanities in MCC along with the rich kids of Kottayam and Ernakulam districts. He let me and bro do English and Economics respectively at a time when science was the mantra for success. He reiterated that any subject was good enough to excel in if we had the passion and potential, and always gave great importance to language and communicative skills for success. He brought us books from his college library and subscribed only to Balarama (for kids) and Mathrubhumi weeklies at home, magazines that were a class apart from the Manorama and Mangalam weeklies that churned out pulp fiction for the masses.

His pride in us knew no bounds, as I graduated out of IIMC and Robs out of Reading Uni, and joined our respective careers in The Hindu and Sopac in Fiji. We moved places in the 20 years thereafter, but always returning to our roots and our parents every year. 

Mom, who always thought she would be the first to go, now has to grapple with the reality of a life without dad and the companionship they had even in their bickering and teasing. Her 80th birthday bash which he had looked forward to will now be a quiet affair. Chandanapally, a village best known for its churches dedicated to St George and his miracles, will be short of a George.

The best part about funerals, I must say, is the support, love and bonhomie that we experienced from cousins, friends and neighbours. Unlike weddings, which are also occasions for social gathering, funerals make us believe in the goodness of people and their allegiance for a departed soul and his family. I bow in gratitude to all especially Roychan who helped us with the funeral norms and church rituals, first cousins Rosemary, Renjith and Joji who flew down from abroad for two days to be at the funeral, dad's maternal cousins Sen, Susheela, Asha, Jose, Suba and Sunil, our MCC friends and dad's colleagues, and our many dear ones who called or messaged in the days before and after the funeral. 

We will try to console ourselves that he had a good "maranam" or death, not struggling or suffering from his lifestyle diseases. But the pain will linger, and a part of him will live in us giving us strength to move on.

Losing a loved one...

That was the beginning of a Unicef ad dialogue I heard most days on YouTube. Now it has touched my life too.

 My dad has left to celebrate New Year in paradise.... He passed away yesterday in hospital sometime after he fainted during his evening walk. 

I just feel it's not fair that he left so soon when he wasn't very ill or bed ridden. He had a few lifestyle ailments including diabetes and had slowed down after a prostate surgery last year. But I expected him to cross 90 and he left 5 years early.

Dad was dad, strict but fiercely loving and helping us bloom in the directions we wanted. He inculcated in us a love for reading, always bringing us books from the college library and while in Dar, the public library of Tanzania.

My only solace is that I spent 2 months last year in their home caring for them. But I grieve I didn't speak to him directly on the phone since mom answered the calls and dad just chipped in from the sides, staying away from video calls.

Grief wells up but doesn't overflow as tears.

Lighter than light

 When Mira came home on vacation two weeks back, her demands included watching two Malayalam movies in theatre - Sookshmadarshini & All we imagine as Light. 

The first was another comeback (she doesn't like the term) film of Nasriya Fahad after Koode and Trance, and with all the trappings of her cute and poke-your-nose-in-others-affairs self from Om Shanti Oshana. It was partly fine but her over-the-top detective ways wasnt entirely convincing and had the kiddishness of a Famous Five or Secret Seven adventure. Three neighbourhood Nancy Drews join in to unearth strange happenings in a new neighbour's house, and honour killings are not what we are used to in Kerala, so that makes for some novelty. But the movie was interminably long for post-Covid times and I was squirming in my seat after 90 minutes. Popcorns and nachos kept my kids busy part of the time.

We managed to catch AWIAL on the last day of its screening at the nearest VOX theatre's VIP screen. Since it is not the kind that enlists much viewers here, it was shunted to the limited seat screen. On a Wednesday (movies change here on Thursdays), there were just five of us in the theatre -- apart from the two of us, there was a lady who was probably non-Malloo and a man who walked up to the last row with a bag of snacks, and another guy who just didnt seem the type for a hi-funda movie like this. We suspected he was drawn to the movie by the nude scenes that it reportedly had. Unfortunately for him, they were censored and we didnt see anything beyond some smooching.

AWIAL, directed by a non Keralite with some French and Dutch collaboration, seemed made for awards and it had already bagged some. By depicting Bombay in all its starkness and roughness, it managed to show India in truly dirty and unappealing colours as the Oscar winner Slumdog Millionaire. Two nurses from Kerala - one the head nurse and the other a fresher - share a room; one is dark and quiet and the other is pretty and voluptuous. The first has lost her husband - he  has been missing or his whereabouts are unknown ever since he departed to his workplace in Germany where he is working in a factory, or that is what he made her believe (By the way, it would have been convincing if the husband was a blue-collar worker in the Gulf; I havent heard of Keralite men going to Germany for low-level factory jobs). The second has found new love - one expects this will turn out to be a 'love jihad' or a jilted case. But the chap seems earnest and is hoping her family will accept their love.

While the first half (we were warned there would be no intermission, so Mira ran to get a bag of popcorns) showed life in Bombay, the  second shifted to coastal Ratnagiri where the teaseller at the hospital where the nurses work  -- played by the gritty Chaya Kadam -- shifts after she is ousted from her Bombay shack by landsharks. The young women accompany her, and the boyfriend joins his love interest. We see the women dancing over a bottle of booze, and the trio and boyfriend are peacefully enjoying each other's company as the titles roll. We also see the missing husband -- or was the nurse hallucinating that the man she nurses is her man?

The movie is slow as award movies are meant to be. I didnt understand the end. Did the director not know how to end it or was it meant to be incomplete? Or were the old accepting the ways of the young? 

All We Imagine as Light did remind me of my days in Delhi sharing a room with a classmate who had a string of beaus and often didnt pay her share of the rent. The title is a play on the name of the main character Prabha which means light or brightness in Malayalam. But what is light in the lives of the women it portrays?

Down Under and back

We were in Brisbane, Australia, for 12 days in October to attend V's nephew's wedding. There was an English wedding and a Kerala Orthodox style wedding since the girl is European. It was a lot of fun. Also visited Sydney for 2 days apart from Gold Coast.

Lies, laws and the victims

Since we live in the vicinity of Novo Cinemas, it is our first choice for a last-minute movie plan. But most often when we go, we rush in after the movie starts playing on screen hoping against hope that the first 10 minutes would be advertisement time.

Dragging a near-reluctant husband who dislikes new-age Malayalam movies, we walked in to watch Kishkinda Kandam, the new Asif Ali movie that was receiving rave reviews online. We missed the opening scenes and were just in luck to watch the lead characters registering their marriage at a court.

(The experience was further spoiled by the usher's goof-up. Though we had paid premium for balcony tickets, he told us to go one floor down and we found ourselves in the front row seats. Since the movie had already started, there was no point going in search of him and we waited until interval to find our way to the balcony seats in the top floor -- the curious plan of the screen is such that balcony and first class seats are on different floors. I hope Novo employs staff who can read English alphabets and can distinguish between a W and an M!)

Back to the movie: A matronly and plump Aparna fits the role of the wife of a widower, played by AA, whose restrained acting does justice to his role as forest officer Ajaychandran who lives with his ex-service father played by veteran actor Vijayraghavan. The case of the missing gun of the Army man gets curiouser and curiouser; the monkeys that inhabit the canopy of trees, the grandson who has been missing for 3 years are the other mysteries that are unravelled as the story goes on. The climax and ending have an unexpected twist, and the audience is caught by surprise. No wonder the reception has been largely positive .

When a film is written by a cinematographer, nature and its breathtaking beauty has to be a character in it. Kallepathy forest, ex-naxals and wildlife seamlessly merge in the script but above all that, KK gives the audience an idea of dementia or Alzheimer's that is quite different from Mohanlal's portrayal in Thanmatra. Here we have an elderly man trying to combat memory loss in his own way, unwilling to bow down but willing to forget unpleasant truths.
Just a few weeks earlier, we had gone to watch Jeethu Joseph's (Drishyam fame) Nunakuzhi starring Basil Joseph and Grace Antony. Though the title literally means dimple, from the assumption that the hole in the cheek appear when you tell a lie, here it is a pothole of lies that Basil and Grace invent to save their skin. It is largely funny and worth a one-time watch. Jeethu's stories seem to revolve around characters who get on the wrong side of the law and navigate their way around it. Kooman on Prime is another JJ movie where a police man becomes a thief just for the heck of it.


The first half of 2024 has been a roaring success for Mollywood. Can it get any better?


p.s. A discerning audience is emerging, especially those addicted to OTT, and we are seeing parallel, offbeat films in other languages too.

Movie magic season

Laapata Ladies has made it to the Oscars from India, and I hope it bags some recognition. It was a cute film, made cuter by the innocent-looking Phool as opposed to the wily-looking yet determined second bride. 

As young Phool gets lost in an Indian railway station in the UP-Bihar landscape, one cant help feel a bit nervous about her welfare. Surprisingly, she gets into the company of two rail 'workers'/beggars who dont molest her as one would expect in India but gives her refuge until she is taken under the care of a matronly shopkeeper on the platform. Ironically, the brides get swapped because their heads are covered by veils and they blindly follow their grooms out of the train. Not very different from the veils (save for the colour) that women from certain other community wear but are targeted for adopting regressive medieval attire.

I watched the Kiran Rao movie a couple of months back and cant remember much except that it exhorts women to study, work, stand up for themselves or care for the environment. I would classify it in the league of The Lunch Box for its endearing and enduring message. 

The 8 AM Metro that I saw a couple of days ago seemed a bit boring - maybe because it had an overdose of poetry - and a bit over the top as far as the heroine's fear of trains is concerned. It had a little of the drama that one would expect from a Telugu story/ movie.

Netflix brought my way IC 814 and Sector 36 based on the Kandahar hijacking of an Indian Airlines flight and the Nithari killings. I found the former brilliant and engrossing, and watched it in one or two sittings (inviting the better half's ridicule for wasting my time). As for the latter, I skipped the gory killings and fast forwarded to watch it in less than half an hour. 

I meant to add a note on two Malayalam movies I watched in theatre this month. Will do it as a sequel.

The last teen year

Mira celebrated her 19th birthday today with her friends. She cut a cake she ordered on zomato, and got herself some KFC as a treat.

College and hostels can make birthdays fun and memorable.