‘Kiddu’ – The Fort Kochi Connection

I am a little dated when it comes to the latest slangs my nephews use back in Kerala. One that regularly comes up especially in comments on Facebook pictures is ‘kiddu’, I now understand it is short for ‘kiddilan’. The closest synonym in English will be ‘awesome’, though it barely covers the power of the word. I have been waiting for an opportune moment to use it and today I did.

So let me say it like it should, ‘Lunch at The Fort Kochi Connection was ‘kiddu’. A dash of subtle mallu humor, the aroma of spices and delicious Syrian Christian food…may be I should say ‘Suriyani Christiyani’ to make it even more authentic.

The Rib-Tickling Mocktail Menu

The humor starts with the Mocktail List – the names are typical of mallu humor – Kalipu Machane, Pacha Parishkari, Kumari UDC, Alambu Scene, Oru Jathi Gedi, are some of the names of the mocktails. The mallus will understand the humor, trying to translate it will kill the fun. Even the main menu has some funny names – Grandma’s Country Captain Chicken Curry, Railway Lamb Curry, Achayan Pothularth.

The menu starts with a peep into the history of Kochi and the influence of the Chinese, the English and the Dutch visits over the centuries and the menu is divided under these cuisines. But then why would I go to an authentic mallu restaurant and have Kung Pao Chicken or Shepherd’s Pie or Bitterballen? And so we ordered the Syrian Christian Erachi Cutlet and I bit into childhood memories of my mother making cutlets when I got home from school. The Suriyani Christiyani cutlet is generously spiced, we make minimum use of potato and the meat is well minced. We serve it with fresh onion rings mixed with green chillies and crushed curry leaves, not for us the newfangled ketchup and the sauces.

The next was kappa biriyani (tapioca biriyani) again the ingredients were fresh and perfectly cooked. The kappa had a slight nutty taste and the beef was soft and well cooked, the dish was nicely spiced. We also ordered the Malabari Biriyani which was equally good. I looked around and people on other tables seemed to be smiling and nodding so I am guessing the other dishes found favor as well. I had Nalini giving me good company as I dug into the food, next time I will ask for Tholasie. And before you draw conclusions, Nalini was one of the mocktails.

My advice to non mallus, there are dishes beyond aappam, stew and fish moilee in our repertoire, you know. Go on experiment and your palate will be richer for the experience.

The only drawback with place is parking and with footfalls only going to rise, this is going to be a serious concern in the not so distant future.

You went to a mallu restaurant and didn’t have sea food, you ask? Well, now I have reason to drop in again with foodie friends. I will sum up my experience at The Fort with an older mallu adjective that we used back in the day – Ugran.

Resolutions For Here And Hereafter

It’s the time for resolutions and I have been quite irritated with the resolutions of one particular tweet I follow. His first resolution was that he would blog regularly, that touched a raw nerve, not to mention that I have been guilt ridden by PB’s constant pleas. And what better way to start than to list out resolutions, some of which I have no intention of keeping, however it may rid me of my blogger’s block. So here go my resolutions for the year ahead; actually make that for the decade, I have no intention of indulging in this excruciating exercise every year. 

1.  I will continue to believe in God and his infinite mercy despite everything that goes in the name of organised religion. The intolerance, the caste wars, the desecration of holy places. What happened to – love thy brother, turn the other cheek? Well, the lines stay in the Holy Books, God is in the Heavens and all is well in the world.

2. I will take up the cause of load-shedding. Err, not my flab; I am not FAT, just pleasantly plump. I will do my bit to save on electricity, switch off lights and airconditioners even if they are in adjoining workstations. 

3. I will defend Bangalore as the best city in the country on several factors none of which will include infrastructure, tolerance, security and openness. I will make a song and dance about the biggest blessing we have – the climate.

4. I will learn another language – French probably. Cursing at traffic tyrants in Kannada or Tamil is not effective any more. I tried Malayalam but the BPO cabbie nearly caused an accident laughing at me.

5. I will not vote if there is no candidate I can support. Its all humbug, one vote less wont make any difference. The corrupt will still win.

6. I will keep my friends close and my foes in the closet. That’s where they belong.

7. I will heartily join my Mallu brethren to proclaim that we hail from the most literate state, I will vehemently deny that we are the most illiterate in progress.

8. I will be tolerant to all other genres of music including the organised cacophony that have no rhyme, rhythm or reason.  And if I hear them being played while I am engrossed in James Last or Paul Mariat, I will take the ultimate step in toleration – I will don my earphones.

9. Money is the root of all luxury and I will shamelessly hold on to every bit of it. That Lazyboy will surely make a good retirement present to myself.

10. I will ensure that my favorite brand Louis Philippe will not go bankrupt. I will buy all of their special editions, 10th, 10 1/2, 10 3/4 year editions. I will buy all their new ranges especially the ones that are landmark and so different from the previous ones – like the changes in the thickness of stripes or the minute changes in the checks. 

Well, with that, my dearies, here’s wishing you all the very best for the year ahead.

All is not lost, some of us still have a sense of humour.

Compulsory Confessions

It is Passion Week again and this is the season we Syrian Orthodox Christians really let go – short of crucifixon we do everything possible to purge ourselves and to partake of the tribulations of Christ. And I am fine with the Lent (letting go of beef and beer for 50 days is not the easiest thing for a true blue mallu), attending mass at 4am for Passover and Easter (its not easy to doze off leaning against your dozing neighbour with bells clanging), all that kneeling (by the time the week is over you can do an Appu Raja with ease). I am willing to even take on self flagellation, the one thing I cant take is the compulsory confession.  It is so compulsory that we have to sign a register after the confession. Can you beat that?

For the uninitiated it is mandatory for us to confess before we partake of communion. What’s the big deal, you ask?

How would you like to bare your innermost secrets to a man you meet practically every week if not more? No go I say. I hated bumping into him after Passion Week trying to decipher if he remembers all I told him.  The most trying time is when you passed him during offeratory and he looked at you and your friends nudged you and whispered, ‘see? he remembers’.  

And so I created this messaging strategy (I should have zeroed in on communication back then and not wasted my time on other career options). It was pretty simple but quite effective. I classified sins into broad categories and so a standard confession would go like this –

Achen (thats what we call our priests) – Since your last confession do you have  anything to confess? If you do please say so in the presence of the Lord.

(Sure, I mean what a question!!! My last confession was a year ago.) 

Me – Yes Acha, I have lied on occasion. (I always hoped the guy before me had more lurid stuff to confess, besides it is better to steadily increase the heat.) 

Achen – Hmm? (In a tone, that says you can do better, go on.)

Me – I have not been regular in my prayers and at times have missed Sunday mass. (Another safe one. I mean, I can’t be the only one doing that)

Achen – Hmmm? (Go on, you are warming up.)

Me – I have been rude and hurt people (that’s such a motherhood statement.)

Achen – Hmmmm? (getting a little irritated)

Me – I have had bad thoughts (I almost can see him licking his lips)

Achen – Hmmmmmmm? (now we are getting there)

Achen – Hmmmmmmmmm? (come on son, easy does it, we are almost there)

Achen – HMMMMMMMMMMM???? (what???? that’s all???? you cheapo!!!!)

With that he grudgingly gives advice,  counsels and blesses me. All’s well that end’s well   

Listen, I have seen movies where a character confesses to a priest about a crime he is about to commit and the priest spends the entire night praying and pacing the floor debating whether he should warn the authorities. After all he cannot reveal what is said to him in secret.  

Why put the dear old padre through such torment?

Reny And His Children

This year we decided to move away from the usual year end Christmas celebrations and do something more meaningful. We decided to revisit Precious Children’s Home like we did about two years ago. This is a charitable project under the aegis of Prison Fellowship. Prison Fellowship focuses on the rehabilitation of released prisoners besides helping victims of crime. Precious Children’s Home is targetted at children of prisoners, victims of crime and abandoned children and is run by Reny George.

Reny’s past is a story that most malayalis especially those from Central Travancore are well aware of. There was even a movie made that was loosely based on this terrible tale starring Mohan Lal. I remember passing by Karikeneth Villa near Tiruvalla and peering into the house and recalling the story. The house is some distance away from the road and is surrounded by big dark trees, it had that eerie aura around it.  Most often someone in the vehicle would say, “That is Karikeneth Villa, you remember Madrasille Mon?”

The story goes that Reny was studying in Chennai (Madras then) and got into bad company, drugs and alcohol.  His friends and he came to visit his uncle and aunt, the owners of Karikeneth Villa. Reny demanded money to buy drugs and there was an argument which turned fatal for the issueless couple. Reny murdered his uncle and aunt and fled the scene. The police were at a loss in identifying the killers as the couple kept to themselves and did not have ties with neighbours. The case dragged on and it was a chance remark by one of the maids that got the police in the hunt. The maid said that the aunt had mentioned that Madrasille Mon (literally tanslated – son from Madras) would be visiting the next day.  Reny was arrested alongwith his friends and was sentenced to prison. (This was one of the versions I had heard as a child). While in prison Reny turned to Christianity and started working for the welfare of prisoners. Post his release Reny set up the Precious Children’s Home.

I remember meeting Reny two years ago during our first visit. I had mixed emotions when I saw him, I did not know what to expect. The stories were larger than life, in my mind I had this image of a scary man with scars and frightening looks. I was nervous and a little apprehensive as he walked towards me and introduced himself. A very pleasant man with an infectious smile his demeanour put me at ease. We talked about his work with children, the challenges he faced and his plans for the Home. After a while he asked, “Aren’t you from Kerala?” I replied that my parents are from Kerala and that I spent most of my life outside Kerala. He then said, “Haven’t you heard my story?”  I nodded nervously and murmered, “Yes”. He then said that there was a lot of half truths floating around and that he was writing his autobiography for the world to read.

Meeting him this time around was like meeting an old friend. He remembered our last visit, we talked a lot. I asked him about his book, he said that he was sewing up the last chapter. I queried him about how his plans for the Home had progressed. He pointed to a young lad and said proudly, “That boy passed out of this Home and now has a steady job.” He looked at his wards as they sang a song for us and told me, “I am sure there is a future Abdul Kalam or a Mother Theresa in that lot of children. My job is to set them in the right path.”

As we drove away that evening, I kept thinking about the Reny’s incredible story and his selfless work. But does that balance out his transgression? Well, who am I to judge him?

The last time I passed Karikeneth Villa almost a year ago, the house had been repainted and the board had been changed. It looked bright and welcoming.

We Dont Need No Elocution

The tragedy is numbing, the nation is still smarting from the audacity. Is it the audacity of the attack or our guilt that the blame lies with us at some level? We elected our leaders, we are incited by their harangues (Raj Thackeray, scared to step out?), we protest when convicted terrorists are sentenced (Arundhati, whither art thou?), we complain when we are frisked. We shout from the rooftops about our democracy, what are we talking about? Strange and ironic it may sound, but this tragedy has its positives. We have been through some painful divisive strategies mapped out by our politicians recently – the anti North Indian stir in Mumbai, the Khandamal violence, the Singur fiasco, the Malegaon probe – this terror attack can be the catalyst that might rouse us out of our slumber.  We were in need of heroes, and we got several from the NSG Commandos, to the Police and as importantly the hotel staff who risked life and limb to protect their guests. The stories about the selfless acts of the staff at the Oberoi and the Taj are numerous.

However, in my esteem the biggest heroes are Mrs. Kavita Karkare and Mr. Unnikrishnan.

Here are two typical middle class Indians living lives not very different from ours. But they stand out with their defiance and their ability to take a stance in the face of tragedy. Mrs. Karkare’s refusal to accept Narendra Modi’s reward was a stinging slap in his face. Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan’s father was as resolute when he nearly threw out VS Achutanandan from his house. His stand was that the Kerala CM came because of the clamour in the media back home, not out of any real feeling and for political mileage. It was four days late as well. One can’t but applaud the two for standing up with no fear of reprisals as both politicians are from parties that are not new to intimidating tactics. It warms the heart to see such courage and the intelligence to see through these dramas. Unnikrishnan apparently even slammed the phone on AK Anthony. Bravo!!!

And what does the shameless ‘Achu mama’ do? He shows his true colours once he is back at Cliff House licking his wounds. His response is low and crude. What do you expect of a man who is barely literate? Isn’t it unfair to think that even peons in government offices need to have minimum educational qualifications while our politicians need nothing of that sort. And we wonder at the quality of leadership that we have? And who is responsible for getting this caricature into office? WE.

I am disgusted that I have my roots in a state that is ruled by such a low human being.

Bottle Recall

R and K, my classmates from college were in Bangalore recently en route Valankanni. I didn’t get to spend much time with them since they were in a rush and we met in Garuda. To top it, the Shopper’s Stop sale was on, the ultimate red herring. No mallu worth his or her salt can resist a discount sale. Between them selecting shirts and shoes and shaking their heads at the price tags, we did a bit of catching up.

And like only the mallus can, without the slightest discomfort, K asked, ‘So are you still with that company that pays you that x amount?’ (for various reasons I am not specifying the numbers). That kind of caught me off guard. Is that how success or failure is measured?  There probably was a time when I wouldn’t have felt offended, even a tad, like I do now. I mean its been over a decade since we last met and we have never been in touch but she had gleaned this information from someone and stored that away for future reference. I mumbled something in return and I realised that we have changed so much.

I got to know that A has become a priest and R said in awe, ‘Guess what? He is building a huge mansion. Kochu? How many floors is A Achen’s house? Three, no? (Kochu is her hubby, Achen is what Syrian Christians call priests). I would have expected her to say that he is building his house in Paradise than in Pathanamthitta. She also said that he has landed a stint at a wealthy parish which is near his house and that he is quite close to the Bishop. I don’t know about his proximity with the Lord. Strange.

SL is a teacher in the UK and has two children. B and RM have moved to Muscat and Qatar respectively and again are raking in Dirhams, Dinars or Riyals. I remember B’s first tryst with the bottle, bunking college and coming with us to the toddy shop near college surreptiously. And when he had bolted a few he was livid with his father. ‘Let him get home today, I am going to ask him why he cannot buy me a few bottles and stock it at home?’ The four of us on a Bajaj 80 and the only one who could stand was yours truly and I was given the honor of driving it though I had not touched a geared vehicle until a day before. B screamed, ‘Brake, brake’, as we hit a speed-breaker and I couldn’t remember where it was as we took flight. As we landed on terra firma, B was on my shoulder.  

I wonder what happened to the rest of my classmates.  There was A who was so well behaved, U who giggled so much, B who was an excellent mimic. R and B knew only about the successful ones.

Olympic Winners From Kerala

We need to something about doing so miserably at every international sports meet. We fixed the Asian Games with one event that ensures we get atleast one gold medal – kabbadi. Then again our neighbours are increasingly giving us a tough time with that sport. We can’t push 2020 Cricket either, because who knows if the Bangladeshi women’s team will beat our men in blue. We need to push for sports that play to our strengths. I have been thinking that after Usha’s miss by a whisker, its been a while since anything worthwhile has been attempted by mallus. So here are some sporting events that assures us of top honours.

The Hartal Hurdle – this is definitely a sure winner, as we are experts at this – ‘minnal panimudak’ or lightning strike. The setting needs to be a small town. We need teams of eight split into groups of two, the groups have to ensure a complete lock out within the least time possible. Each group has to perform different tasks – one group has block traffic using stones, water pipes, tree trunks or creatively use whatever they can lay their hands on. Another has to go around shutting shops, threatening people, breaking windows and create as much discomfort as possible. The final group of four will shout slogans – here the slogans have to be creative and innovative. Points will be awarded for the totality of the strike, creativity with the slogans and the speed at which it is achieved. Where do we get athletes for this? West Bengal and Kerala will set up training camps across the country and impart this refined skill to all states.

The Nocturnal Obstacle Race – we call it the ‘chetta pokki kali’. It is said that if the sun rose at midnight in Kerala, you will see several people scampering away from nocturnal farming activities. We believe that there is no fixed time for sowing wild oats. The setting again has to be in a rustic setting with enough trees and bushes. And it is not as easy as it seems, one has to contend with stones, walls, protruding roots, trees, snakes, dogs, etc. Contestants will be given torches but marks will be added for optimum use. The ideal gear for this sport is the ‘kaaili’ or the lungi and the white cotton towel to cover one’s face from mosquitoes and flies but above all from being recognised if caught. Kitex has expressed willingness to sponsor the contestants.

Twenty Eight – which mallu worth his salt does not know ‘erupath ettu’. This is our favorite pastime and we carry it across the seas to every country that we migrate to. This is a card game that can be played by four or eight players. Ideally the players should be provided kallu or toddy and beedies. This can be a big money spinner, just think of merchandising the ‘kunnuku’ the punitive ear-rings made of tiny unripe coconuts, the garlands made of leaves, etc. Imagine hosting zonal NRI matches across the Gulf, USA and the UK.  

The Fastest Slug – this is a sport that is quite popular in Kerala and is called the ‘nippan’ and no it did not originate in Japan. The inspiration for this came from watching the bars in Kerala where passerbys duck in quickly and down a ‘large’ even before you can say – ‘inquilab’. This is the art of downing the most drinks quickly while standing while dipping into the pickle bowl, technically called the ‘touchings’. The winners will be adjudged on speed, the number of drinks and the least number of licks of the pickle. The good part about this game is that by some cosmic design the leading players at ‘Twenty Eight’ are pretty good at this as well. 

We have tried playing these games wherever we go, we tried the Hartal Hurdle even in the US and Saudi. Several of our leading players have had to face beatings and exile for attempting the Nocturnal Obstacle Race outside Kerala. The Twenty Eight has been our most famous export and is doing exceptionally well all around the world.

The Party’s View on Abhinav’s Gold

This is a forward that I got today and I have translated it for the benefit of non mallus as best as i could. It is but natural for the Party to take offence to the slight by Abhinav Bindra.

CPM Calls for Hartal Tomorrow

As a sign of protest against India beating China in the Olympics shooting event, CPM has called for a bandh tomorrow in Kerala and Bengal. The Party President alleged that this was part of a larger conspiracy by the Congress and the BJP to destroy the party. Abhinav Bindra won the gold in the Air Rifle event. This is the first ever gold medal India has won in an individual sport. The last time India secured a gold medal was 28 years ago. The Prime Minister Manmohan Singh and President Pratibha Patil congratulated Abhinav.

In the meanwhile  State Party leaders are flying to Delhi to meet the CPM Central Politburo members to discuss the Party stand on this move against China. In response to Abhinav Bindra winning the gold for India, Party President said, “Listen Abhinava, do you think that China’s heritage can be destroyed by the machinations of one Bindra? Do you people think that China’s communist heritage is so weak? That anyone can participate and shoot and win gold?  China is the home of a disciplined and smooth running political system. How dare you pit against the mounds of gold that we secure with your measly gold medal?”

An infuriated Party Secretary stated clearly that Abhinav Bindra will be known in Olympic history as the China Cheater. As a marksman Abhinav has cheated both China and the Party, he said. The Chief Minister demanded that Abhinav be expelled from the Olympics Team as a punitive measure for the naked hostility against Party diktats. There will be disciplinary action against Abhinav as a result of the decision taken by the Central Committee and the Politburo, he added. 

Abhinav, who cheated the Party, is a mere puppet and the DYFI will handle him, stated the Deputy MInister. If he were the shooting coach, he would have broken Abhinav’s ribs, he added. There is a strong mafia movement in the Indian Olympics team that is working against China and the Party and unless this mafia is wiped out the country will not prosper, he stated.

Showcases and Showpieces

Showcases, one of the most important aspects of an Indian home. Was it invented in India given the pride of place it occupies in our homes? There is no standard procedure manual or rules on how it is used. People use it to show creativity, display mementoes of their foreign trips or just keep things that tend to get misplaced elsewhere. 

I remember the one we had in our home in Kerala. It had a whole lot of stuff that we gathered over the years and had some memory or significance attached to each. Of course being mallus with some historical Persia connections it had to have standard gulf displays. There was this globular vase with optic fibre strands that would rotate slowly with the ends of the strands lighting up in different colours. There were a few Gulfair aircraft replicas, 3D pictures of the Crucifixon and Last Supper, miniature cars. There was this red plastic car that was a rewind and fast forward device for the VHS tapes that was kept along with the tapes – Ben Hur, Ten Commandments, Bible, Quo Vadis, Sound of Music and My Fair Lady. Not to forget our Christian heritage, we had English and Malayalam Bibles, the hymn books and the Namaskarakramam (the Syrian Orthodox prayer book), the palms from Hosanna Sunday that formed the bonfire during the midnight Christmas Service. We had those ugly oyster shells that had etchings of a sea front with coconut trees and a boat; a picture of the sunrise between two mountains that had a stream running out with a house on the side made of pieces of straw pasted on black cloth (these were gifts).

How can I forget the medals and trophies that we won for singing competitions. The biggest trophy was what Amachi got for a ‘bun eating’ competition in our church. No, no, it was not for the most buns she ate. It was this contest for mothers where they hung buns by threads from a rope and tied the hands of the players behind their backs. You had to eat the entire bun, which was not easy given the constant shaking of the thread. Amachi was a clear winner despite being the shortest in the event. She told us later proudly about her strategy – she found it difficult to get bites of the bun so she bit the thread and cut it and ate the bun while balancing it on her shoulder. The amusing thing was that it was the biggest cup in the show case so visitors used to ask who won that and for what. We would proudly narrate Amachi’s victory and her winning strategy as she blushed. The insensitive person that he is, my dad converted that into a candle holder (given the constant power cuts in Kerala). The last time I saw it, it was filled with wax and the lid was missing.

In my aunt’s house, another gulfie of course, they also had those miniature whisky bottles. My cousin’s friends emptied them during one stay-over-night. Fearing uncle’s wrath he filled them with local arrack coloured by a tea concoction. My uncle who is not a regular drinker tasted one the next time he had a visitor. Cuz swears uncle said, ‘if you pay good money you get good stuff, that is why imported stuff is so good.’ He pointed to the amber liquid and narrated the intricate way it was brewed in Scotland.

Mallu Chechis – A Fantasy?

Some dude out there wants to satiate his fantasy involving his middle aged mallu neighbour. I have had over 40 searches in the last one month saying ‘Kerala Aunty and Neighbour Stories’ leading up to my blog. Though it sounds like a very interesting title for an erotic novel, I am not planning to write one in the near future. However, this man’s constant quest makes me ponder about the image conjured up by the term – mallu aunties. Is it real or is it the fantastic creation of adolescent hormonal overdrive?

I remember cringing as a student when the gang stated that mallu movies were all soft porn, this was post a slew of movies that starred either buxom Seema, Jayabharati or Unni Mary. Which mallu can forget the poster of ‘Avalude Ravukal’ (Her Nights) with Seema wearing an oversized shirt? And where did it play? In Opera of course. (Opera was apparently an opera house and a dance hall that the British haunted. I remember watching some old Prem Nazir movies there. It had fancy drapes and tassles and seating boxes like in old western theatres. Over the years it fell on bad times and became synonymous with sleaze in Bangalore. The last time it was put to any use was when it had make-shift shops selling cheap tee shirts and pirated CDs. It is currently under some legal dispute.)

Over time any actress who made it big (pun unintended) in C grade mallu movies was seen by the non mallus as the proverbial horny mallu chechi. It didn’t matter if they came from Tamil Nadu or Andhra – Silk Smitha, Anuradha, Nylex Nalini and Shakira more recently. For the non mallus they are all stereo typical  hungry, amazonian mallu nymphomaniacs. The ladies will bite their lips suggestively, flutter their eyes and sigh if a man even looks at her. There has to be a kulli scene (bathing scene), a sweeping scene (Shakira sweeping the floor is quite a sight) and a rape scene for the lady to exhibit her acting prowess. 

The effect of the gulf has also added another species to the mallu aunty classification – the gulf aandy (aunty). The characteristics of this genus as created by bachelors or students is of a deprived aunty who while waiting for the annual visit of the Gelf Ungle latches on to young virile neighbours to satisfy her physical needs. 

I have shared my limited knowledge on the subject. Dude if you get beaten up in the course of your advances with your neighbour Chechi, I will not be held accountable.

A cold shower should be a good cure.