‘Gelf’ Return

The last time I went to Kerala I was surprised about how things have changed. The positive effects of IT are definitely showing, albeit very very slowly. The infatuation with the Gulf is definitely on the wane. Earlier when you went visiting you heard about sons and daughters doing very well in Dubai or Saudi. Today one hears either about children working in IT companies in Bangalore and in the US or about nurses working in Ireland. It took me back to a time not too long ago, when Persia was our Promised Land. 

The first thing that a Mallu boy did as soon as he passed 18 was to apply for a passport, just in case Shaji or Reji or Jiji ‘could do something’. And these characters could range from immediate kin to neighbours or even distant relatives.  We read the needs of the sultry land so well that a majority of youth took up ‘AC & Refrigeration’ on passing ’sixth’ (the older generation still refers to the 10th standard as sixth, they have an explanation I dont understand. My apologies). For the ladies it was nursing. 

There was something seriously wrong with your family if you did not have atleast one member working in the Gulf. I have heard stories of grooms flashing passports to prospective in-laws saying that the visa just needs to be stamped. There have been cases where people have lost their jobs and moved back to Mumbai and would continue to send letters home in aerogrammes to keep up the appearance.

The home coming was a grand occasion, festive and loud. Two or three cars would go to the airport and bring the dignitaries home. The luggage carrier atop the Ambassadors would have brown carton boxes branded National or JVC TVs or VCRs and the boot would be crammed with Samsonite suitcases that would have the lid tied with neon coloured plastic ropes. The Gulfie kids would be complaining about the heat and the parents would say, “There everything is AC.” The whole neighbourhood would gather at the house and vie for attention of these demi gods. The neighbours also counted the number of suitcases and other luggage to gauge how succesful the visitor was. The kids would be grabbed by grand moms, aunties or neighbours and have their cheeks pinched and the kids would wail. Over the days there would a steady stream of visitors who needed to be gifted, the men would ask secretly, ”Enna koodunne?” (when are we meeting? Read - when are you going to open those bottles of Johnnie Walker?). I think there were standard pre-packed suitcases that people could pick off the shelf in the supermarkets before they left for Kerala. It would have the standard issue of 555 cigarette boxes, dark Ray Ban glasses with gold rims, Seiko 5 watches and Brut perfumes (Brut was used more in Kerala than any where else in the world). 

While the parents ate the traditional Kerala fare with gusto, the children would hate the fried fish, morre curry and chorr. The mummy would say they are so used to ’Maakdonaalds, pissa (pizza) and cokk’ (coke) and they always eat while watching ‘Tom and Jerry’. And on goes the festivities, the dining invitations, the visits to churches, weddings to attend till it is time to go.

Often the family gives away most of their possessions like watches, sunglasses, perfumes and clothes and return with bare minimum. The eve of the return would see people dropping by to handover letters, pickles, chutney powders or coffee powder to be given to relatives in the Gulf. There would be a prayer before the journey which some distant Appachen would recite, while in the background there would be sniffing and tears followed by the hug and embraces.   

And like those sad partings the Gulf party has almost ended in Kerala.