The Colours of Kerala

The saree must be the most beautiful garment a woman can wear on earth. So colourful, so regal, and so gorgeous. If ever there is one reason why I want to live in India – it’s to wear sarees everyday!

Shamsu my driver took me to Kalyan Silk centre in Ernakulam – touted ‘’the world’s largest silk saree showroom’’, with seven floors of fabrics for churidars, shalwar kameez and sarees, as well as plain silks and cottons and all sorts of fabrics, not to mention ready-to-wear clothes.

I went mad there. Swooning with excitement and drooling over the glorious bales of fabrics, I bought six tops, two sets of fabrics for churidar sets and countless metres of cloth.

Shamsu was glad I enjoyed the shopping. ‘’This place has a lot of stuff and the price is good – it’s where all the locals go to’’. He was right – I was the only ‘’foreigner’’ in the mega mall.

And I am so grateful to Shamsu. He had earlier taken me to another boutique just to ‘’compare prices’’ and for me to get my big notes changed to smaller denominations; and had warned me not to get anything there as the shop is ‘’for tourists’’ and the price is high.

While in Cochin visiting the historical sights he had warned me not to get anything at the shops there either. Using his hands to point to the throat, he said, ‘’they cut like knife here!’’

Kashmir – the very name spells romance
Oh Kashmir – the name evokes political unrests, pains and conflicts. But it evokes beautiful mental images of magnificent mountains, valleys and rivers, cashmere wool, pashminas, exquisitely expensive saffron, natural beauty, Mughal gardens, quaint crafts and lifestyle. Even the pronunciation of the name is sensuous – the release of the ‘’k’’ followed by the ‘’sh’’ sounds is so soft and gentle, like a kiss in the breeze.

And in Kerala, I realised the men from Kashmir are handsome too (at least those I met)! At Trident Hilton where I stayed for the first two nights, I met the shop keeper of a gift shop.

I was admiring his necklaces at his window when he leapt out of his seat and invited me to go into the shop. I just gazed at him, and blurted out by way of reply, ‘’where are you from?’’ ‘’Kashmir,’’ he said matter of factly.

He looked so different, not just in his fair skin (in contrast to the Keralites), but in his deep set eyes and sharp nose, and very fine features. I went in briefly and promised to return to the shop after my city tour.

When I returned, I bought a few gifts, like paper mache boxes. They are from Kashmir, which is known for their paper mache crafts. He tried to interest me in some shawls but I was not keen at first. “’I have many at home,’’ I said.

‘’These are not too hot for Singapore, and they are from Kashmir – 80% silk and only 20% wool. Look at the flower designs – they are from the famous Shalimar Garden in Kashmir,’’ he replied.

Shalimar Garden – that grabbed my heart. Shalimar – what a soft, gentle, lovely name…. My imagination fired up, I started looking at the few pieces he showed me. It was tough choosing the colours. I almost decided on a green piece, but saw his unenthusiastic look, and decided to do the usual whenever I am undecided on colours – get a man’s opinion (they are usually right!). He picked out a brighter one for me. ‘’OK – I’ll get this one then!’’ I said happily.

No wonder women are easy targets for advertisers – just appeal to their imagination and sense of romance… and in my case, a name!

Regretfully, I could not follow a man’s opinion at Saga Dept Store (the boutique where I was brought to compare prices). As suggested by Shamsu, I was to ‘’look around and compare prices’’ but I was not prepared for the persuasiveness of one of the staff.

I have always been enamoured of India’s lovely moonstones. Again, the very name breathes romance. Good moonstones are so hard to come by in Singapore. At the store, I asked to see some.

I was shown four lovely pieces, unset ones. The man tried to sell me others that were set into rings, necklaces, ear rings. But I was not inclined to spend, only content to buy one loose piece.

After helping me pick a ‘’better piece’’ and explaining his choice, he tried to up sell me other stuff, like this pair of gorgeous emerald and diamond earrings, with a matching, ultra gorgeous pendant.

I gave every excuse not to buy them. I even refused (unsuccessfully) to try them on:

Me: (lying most unconvincingly) But I hardly wear such things
He: Sometimes you have to try something new; they are so lovely –
the current fashion – Victorian setting
Me: (again lying) But it’s not my style; I prefer something modern
He: Just try them on and see for yourself!

I put them on and fell in love ….

Me: Yes, it’s not bad (lying again – it was actually gorgeous) but I
can’t afford it, and I really don’t want to buy something I will not
wear.
He: These are not expensive because they are set in silver and it’ll
be so special when you wear them.
Me: No …. (running out of excuses)
He: M’am, they really suit you and look great… you can’t find
similar pieces elsewhere. Believe me, you will regret not getting
them… this pair suits you more, unlike the other pair you tried
earlier.
Me: (as firmly as I could) No, no, I don’t wear them, it’s nice, but no,
thanks.
He: You must try something different and get used to wearing them.
If price is an issue, I can give you a better price (and he gave me
a good discount…) but take it from a man’s opinion – they are so
lovely on you….
Me: Thanks, really, if I change my mind, I’ll come back tomorrow,
OK? I just want the moonstone cos that’s what I’ve always
wanted.
He: You are sure you don’t want these ear rings? When a man says
something is beautiful on a woman, you really must believe
him…. (I truly buy this philosophy but…)

Sigh… it was my first day in Cochin and I really had to watch my spending… so regretfully, I had to say no. I marvelled at my own will power. Strange, in Singapore, I have shelled out a lot more money on less deserving jewellery, but why did I decide to deprive myself here?

He walked me to the cashier as he gave me this most ‘’regrettable’’, almost heart-breaking look, still repeating, ‘’you must believe a man, it’s realty a pity, they really looked so lovely on you…’’

To change the subject, I asked where he was from, since he looked very charming. ‘’Kashmir, m’am,’’ he replied. ‘’Kashmir again? Why are there many people from Kashmir in Kerala? I just met someone this morning. Are all Kashmir guys so handsome?’’ I shameless replied.

‘’It’s for bread and butter m’am,’’ he laughed. ‘’The other guy who showed you the fabric earlier is also from Kashmir,’’ he continued. ‘’I heard it’s a lovely place; I would love to go there one day,’’ I told him.

‘’Yes, please come; it’s beautiful. See the pictures on the wall – that’s Kashmir! Come in May or June when it’s warmer… here’s my card, let me know when you come to Kashmir!’’ said my tall and handsome jeweller, Rafiq.

Ayurveda – a heritage of Kerala
I normally hate massages and ‘’spa treatments’’. I dislike the kneading, the pressing, and the physical abuse of my skin and body. I have yet to find a real, well-trained, qualified skin specialist or masseuse who knows what she is doing, no matter which renowned beauty salon or spa resort she comes from. (Except for one expensive ex-nurse from the UK, whose philosophy was, the harder and more painful, the better for you. She might know her science and anatomy, but no thanks, I am not into masochism.)

Surprisingly, I enjoyed Kerala’s ‘’rejuvenating ayurveda massage’’. Well, at least the relaxing massage bit, not necessarily the sesame and herb oil they used.

So much oil was poured onto me that I felt like a piece of chicken being marinated and ‘’tenderised’’ with all that kneading.

When I had to turn around on the ‘’operating table’’ so that they could knead my back, it took two women to hold me on each side, so that I would not glide off the oily table. I have not figured out why they don’t use a towel on the leather-cushioned table. Imagine the oil seeping into the leather.

For the steam bath after, I was led to a wooden contraption that looked like a be-heading equipment. I sat inside this wooden chest with my head sticking out of the hole as they carefully covered the chest to enclose my body and expose my head. The first time I did this, I had to ‘’crouch’’ a bit for fear the doors would close on my neck, be-heading me. Much later, I managed to sit tall and straight, phew!

At the Marari Beach, the ayurveda centre offers talks on ayurveda and walks around their garden and visits to their ayurveda kitchen.

I was the only eager beaver who turned up and had the full attention of the doctor on duty. He asked me if I had specific questions or topics to ask him, or did I want a general introduction?

I told him to start from the basics as I had very little knowledge on the subject. And so I had a private tutorial on the history, background, the three text books, the eight branches, the five elements, the three doshas, the seven datos and some strange practices.

It was mind boggling, first having to deal with his accent, the names and pronunciations and the spellings of the names. Even more mind boggling were the tales of ayurvedic procedures and cures that have been recorded. For example, he recounted how a man got his youth back by spending 62 days in a wooden chest, with layers of walls surrounding him and some other treatments. Soon his teeth fell off, hair dropped, they grew back, and he became a new man.

Wow. Women should take note – it’s only 62 days – think of all the money you can save on La Mer anti-wrinkle creams!

Yoga and Sun Snooze

Yoga Experience
At Coconut Lagoon and Marari Beach, yoga classes are offered in the mornings and evenings.

The yoga centre at Coconut Lagoon was hidden in an obscure secluded place. Finding it in the misty darkness (and dimly lit gardens) was a challenge. My bad sense of direction did not help. Both times, I had to ask several people enroute and had to be almost escorted there.

The first time, a huge lizard suddenly landed on my chest as I hurried to class, making me jump and gasp. In class, other creepy crawlies landed on me as I lay on the mat and tried to keep still. ‘’Be still,’’ droned the yoga guru. ‘’Increase your will-power, keep still,’’ he repeated.

I tried with all my might and will, despite the itch and tickle. ‘’Keep your facial expression still, relax’’ he said, as if he had read my mind (or face?).

The next evening, before class started, two American women were practising on the mat. ‘’Holy cow!’’ they screamed and laughed and panted heavily each time they did a tough routine or difficult jumping pose.

When class started, the guru asked them:

Guru: What type of yoga was that you were doing?
Woman One: Ashtanga yoga
Guru: What’s that?
Woman Two: Ashtanga; it’s from Mysore.
Guru: Oh? It must be so tough and difficult to do yoga – I see you huffing and puffing and struggling…
Woman One: It’s just our breathing… our breathing is not very good

It turned out that this guru strongly believes that yoga is not a physical exercise; it’s a form of meditation and relaxation. There is no competition or struggle.

The evening yoga at Marari Beach was also focused on meditation and relaxation. But the morning one was full of challenging asanas.

It was held at the open field near the beach. The session began with interesting breathing exercises and stretches but progressed to tougher poses. But the guru did them all effortlessly, weightlessly, while some of us struggled, stopped breathing, gave up and some men turned beetroot red in the face.

He got us to practise a certain kind of breathing and controlling of the abs muscles. It was amazing, the way he moved his abs muscles using his breath alone – he called it ‘’massaging internal organs with your breath’’! ‘’Practise every day and if you are lucky, you will get it… not everyone will,’’ he said.

Some of us didn’t want to try the headstand on the hard cement platform and hard mat (the mats were not the luxurious soft ones back home!). ‘’If you practise for 10 days here with us, you will achieve it,’’ he claimed. Alas, we were not there for 10 days!

At breakfast, one of the waitresses came to make small talk: ‘’M’am, you do yoga? I saw you this morning.’’ Oops, she must have seen me in my bright green T-shirt struggling with some poses. ‘’Yes, I am not very good though,’’ I told her. Are you flexible, she asked. No, I replied. ‘’You must practise everyday, you will get it, ‘’ she assured. According to her, she practises every day and is at the last stage, where she still can’t do the headstand.

Well, if I stayed at the Marari Beach and practise yoga every morning and evening, and go for regular massages and read by the beach, I will not only be very flexible, I will be very, very happy indeed.

Sun Snooze
The sun is wickedly seductive… it makes you do crazy things. It makes you want to lie under its warmth, slather sun block cream all over your face and body, and scorch yourself half naked. And if you are not careful, you wake up burnt, peeling, and painful.

In Kerala I succumbed to the sun’s seduction… and fell into sweet slumber. First it was at Coconut Lagoon’s pool: I put the book aside, and just closed my eyes….

I was woken up by the jabbering of a noisy French whale of a woman. She was the only loud shrew at the pool. A huge, hen-pecking one too. She sent her husband, one third her size, away to enquire about something, including the cooking demo in the evening.

He came back with the info but she still was not satisfied. ‘’What type of cuisine, how long is the demo, etc etc, ‘’ she demanded. The poor chap went away again and returned, ‘’it’s Kerala cuisine, and it lasts 45 minutes,’’ he told her.

Of course it’s Kerala cuisine they will demo in Kerala. What do you expect - a demo on fois gras preparation?

The second time I was awoken from my blissful slumber in the sun was at the Marari Beach. I had been lying at the beach, under a forest of coconut trees, lulled to sleep by the crashing waves. The mobile phone rang. My voice, though usually soft, sounded extra loud in the tranquillity. There seems to be a secret pact among all guests not to use mobiles in these two resorts!

It was my colleague telling me he will be leaving by Q1 next year. I was still dazed from the nap, not to mention the surprise. He is a veteran and ‘’founder’’ of the company in Singapore. It felt like a coconut had dropped on my head.

Dinner Chats at Coconut Lagoon

I ate a sumptuous lunch. I strolled lazily across the fields facing the huge Vembanad Lake. I sat contented on the swing, gently swaying with the breeze. Next to me, the near-extinct Vechoor cows that Coconut Lagoon had ‘’adopted’’ grazed contentedly….

A big carbo-laden breakfast and a big carbo-laden lunch. I could not think of dinner at night. I was contented to just sit in the garden, facing the restaurant, people watching.

A waiter came along and I ordered a lassi. How about dinner, he enquired. I am simply too full and could not eat a morsel, let alone your buffet, I told him.

He came back with the lassi and offered a sandwich instead. I hesitated and thought, oh well, why not, just a small bite.

The plate that arrived was anything but small – it had four pieces, some fries and a salad. I managed to nibble on one piece, slowly.

The supervisor came to enquire, ‘’m’am, are you OK, you are not eating?’’ No, I am simply too full for any more food, I told him.

The staff must have been trained to chat with guests to make them feel welcome. The usual questions – how’s your stay here, where are you from, what is your name…This particular waiter must have felt obliged to keep me company in the garden, for he asked many questions, like how many countries have I visited, do I prefer Malaysia or Singapore, is Singapore a nice village….

Suddenly he asked, ‘’parlez vous francais?’’ Do I look like I can speak French? Why did he ask? Has he run out of topics to ask? I said, ‘’oui’’ and he looked delighted.

I suspected he was just keen to practise his French on someone. He took up ‘’conversational French’’, to help him converse with guests, he explained, and hurried off to attend to other guests who had just ambled in for dinner.

He came back, and asked: how do you say ‘’have you eaten breakfast’’ in French? Then he left me, after I had given him the translation.

He came back again, and asked: how do you say, ‘’have you been to France?’’ Again, I gave him the translation and he left.

Then he came back, and asked:

Waiter: Kan partay vous a Singapore?
Me: Huh? What do you mean?
Waiter: When do you leave for Singapore? Is my pronunciation OK?
Is it “kan?’’
Me: Oh! It’s ‘’quand’’.
Waiter: Kan
Me: Quand
Waiter: OK. So, kan partay vous…
Me: Samedi
Waiter: (blank stare)
Me: Saturday
Waiter (sheepish smile): Oh I see, ze par peu de francais….Which
part of the village do you live in Singapore?
Me: A l’ouest. Et ou habites-tu?
Waiter: Ze aybit 80 km d’ici

And he gave a foreign sounding, almost French, name: Quilon. I thought he was pulling my leg or frenchi-fying his village name. Much later, I checked a guidebook and realised its modern name is Kollam (or Koilum as Marco Polo knew it).

Chef Bilal at Marari Beach

I met Bilal at the cooking demo. I was the only devoted attendee; no one else was there. He gave me an enlightening talk on korma and from the faint smile on his face I saw that he could tell what a novice I must be on Indian cooking, with all my silly innocent questions.

Then he proceeded to show me how to make Malabar korma – he whipped it up in a matter of minutes!

I asked him about masala and spices and he suggested that I buy the ready mixed ones from the Varkey’s supermarket (‘’not as super as in Singapore, but for us it’s super, ha ha ha’’) on my way to the airport. Imagine a chef suggesting ready made concoction – either he doubted my ability to make my own spice mix, or he goes for modern convenience! He wrote the names and brand – Eastern. ‘’It’s like Colgate for toothpaste you know, Eastern is a well known brand for masala. As for gravy paste, get the brand Sara. Just leave the hotel earlier and ask the driver to drop by the supermarket’, he urged.

He is a funny and cheerful chef. We started talking about Singapore, where his cousin is studying now. I told him we have ‘’banana leaf fish head curry there and he said animatedly , ‘’ya – that’s ours, that’s ours! Give me your email, I will ask her to email you…she is a good cook too and eats a lot and has put on so much weight. I told her to watch it, or you won’t be able to find a partner, ha ha,’’ he chuckled.

I asked him about a box of spices that I had bought from the gift shop at the resort. What could I use them for, I asked. What do they contain he asked. I named all three but forgot the fourth one. He asked, ‘’is the box heavy?’’

I said no, and would bring it to show him during dinner. As I left the demo area, I saw his staff busy setting up the buffet table and saw a plate of pretty coconut crisp. ‘’What is this, can I try?’’ I asked. ‘’Yes, go ahead and take one!’’

At dinner, I saw him behind the dosha griddle and I waved my box of spices at him. He waved his spatula at me and motioned for me to go over. He read the content and said, ‘’see – I told you the last item is either pepper or anise seed. OK, just roast the clove, cinnamon and cardamom and grind them together and add a little of the pepper and you get your masala. Now, would you like a dosha, m’am?’’