Musings of a "Kunnamkulam Christiani"

Kunnamkulam is a small town where both my parents were born and raised.

Kunnamkulam in vernacular means land with ponds and hills. This is really a misnomer as there are few hills in the area and not many ponds either. Over the years, it has gained a bad reputation as the 'duplicate capital' of the world. Fakes for goods ranging from Rolex watches to toilet soaps are readily available at most stores in 'Paara' or downtown Kunnamkulam. Most of the counterfeiting rackets have their base in this place. Due to the overwhelming presence of business minded Christian community, considered completely anathemicto culture and arts, this small town is a far cry from its near door big town of Thrissur, the place I call my hometown, known as the cultural capital of the state. Another reason for notoriety is the presence of several Z grade movie halls that screen X rated flicks.
I used to be ashamed to say that my roots lay in that town which represented nothing but greed and lust. Until last week. Until my mother told me that my uncle sold her ancestral home.
My mom's voice was breaking as I told her it was for the best as the house was unattended and slowly being infested by termites. She reminded me that it was where I took my first steps. My grandparents who were living in that house in 1977 took care of me for a few months when my mom was working in a different town. Last night, the storm and heavy rains that swept across New England caused power outages everywhere including the city I live in. As there was nothing I could do inside my room, I decided to take a stroll and the memories about my childhood came flooding to my mind.

I used to be at Kunnamkulam almost every weekend till I was like 10 years old. The main activity other than re-reading the pile of comics books was to hang out on the front porch with my cousins.All of us never missed the cheap thrill of mocking the fishmonger Johnny by imitating his calls - 'Aila, Chala, Avoli, pooooey!'. And when he would stare at us in mock anger, we would all flee indoors in unison. Late evening before the play on radio started, we would watch all the drunks totter up the street. The grown ups would also be there, discussing everything from politics to soccer games. On festivals, there would be elephants adorned with embellishment with the marching band playing popular songs. During the harvesting holidays, my grandpa would take us fishing, and we would walk back with the tiny fish that we caught like victorious warriors returning from a battle. During summer it was cashew picking time. We would always steal some seeds ignoring the pleas of the poor men who leased the orchard. The jamun tree in the church yard would turn the ground purple and you could spend the whole morning, picking the fallen fruit.

A mile or two from where my mom's house was, stood a colony where poor people from the lower castes lived. Kizhoor, as it was called was a communist bastion. During election times men with bulging muscles and chiseled bodies marching on our streets with flags with the sickle, hammer and star. Their chants still ring out in my ears
"Inquilab zindabad
Rakthasakshikal zindabad..."
Well, their efforts often went unsuccessful, as it used to be a certain seat for the Congress party. K. R. Narayanan won twice from this place.

Culture had its share here..The bard of Kerala, Vallathol Narayana Menon, lived in Kunnamkulam for many years and composed many of his poems while strolling on its streets. In fact it wasMukunda Raja a local princely chieftain was his host and helped him with establishing Kalamandalam now considered the seat of Kathakali and other performance art forms of Kerala.
As I grew up, visits to Kunnamkulam became rarer. First, it was only for holidays, later it would come down to weddings or other unavoidable occasions. I fell in love with Thrissur more and more. Many people left the town and the almost every house on the street was occupied by old and lonely people waiting for death to arrive. It was more than 7 years ago that I last went to that place.

Next time I visit India, I'll have to go to Kunnamkulam. I hope to see the short hedges where flowers grew that were boundaries of yards haven't turned to tall stone and brick walls. If the new owners are friendly, I would ask permission to see the backyard, where my uncle created a miniature golf course for us kids that we played with pieces of coconut branches and ping-pong balls. If it hasn't turned into another concrete jungle, I would go visit the old 'Sarppakkavu' to where we kids would sneak into, hoping to see cobras mate.

To all the people who ask me why even after all these years in the U.S., I still call myself an Indian all I can say is you would probably understand if you had spend your childhood in Kunnamkulam.