Kandathil Santhosham

Wednesday December 4th

We started the day with a delicious breakfast of coconut chutney, sambar and idli. I'd slept well the night before, briefly stirring when the nearby Syrian Orthodox church blasted its worship music from the speakers at 5am. Ajay and Bindu had forewarned me this would happen every morning, so my only thought at the time was, Hmm, that sounds foreign, and then I went back to sleep. No Sovereign Grace or CityAlight here.

Over breakfast the lights flickered a couple of times, and some turned off entirely. Thankfully the ceiling fans stayed on; the humidity was already high. Abhi explained that electricity supply could be patchy, but the house had an inverter which could supply some of the circuits when the power went out. Apparently Kerala is the only state in India which is 100% hydo-powered - most of the time.

At that time I heard some clashing of pots in the kitchen. An older woman emerged from the kitchen, and Bindu introduced me to the family's maid of fifteen years, Shalomi Aunty, 'the most important member of the family'. She had a warm, welcoming demeanour and a bright smile, and she interacted with the family with ease and familiarity. I learned that she'd been up until 2am the night before to make part of our breakfast - gooey banana sweets - as a special welcome. Speaking in Malayalam, Shalomi Aunty asked if I liked the food. I asked Bindu how to say yes in Malayalam, but apparently there are different answers depending on how the question is asked, so their advice was to just nod and smile, which I enthusiastically did.

After breakfast we made our first home visit to Appacha's brother and his wife, Sunni Chechen and Anu Aunty. Suni Chechen is the youngest of the siblings, Appacha being the second out of eight. Appacha's father had owned a large piece of land which was split between his three sons. According to the custom, Sunni Chechan, being the youngest brother, had inherited the ancestral home. So we only had to walk across the back garden to reach their house, past a well, the old cow shed and an outdoor toilet - now no longer in use.

Sunni Chechen and Anu Aunty welcomed us in and showed us around the house. In many ways it was similar to Appacha and Ammachi's house, with tiled floors, timber doorways and window frames, and walls made of either rendered brick or cement, I couldn't tell which. They pointed out the parts of the original 1957 construction: dark timber panelling on the ceiling and around the doorways, along with the butler's kitchen. Then we sat around the table while they served us grape wine and cake, all the while chatting in Malayalam with Abhi, his parents and grandparents. Vivek and I couldn't understand what was being said most of the time, but we watched their body language and listened to the foreign sounds. I felt thankful that I have a resting smiling face which made it easy to have a pleasant expression despite feeling pretty clueless. Sometimes the conversation would shift into English so we could answer questions and join in the laughter, but so easily it slipped back into Malayalam and we'd be lost once again.

At the end they presented a gift to me and Abhi: an ornate hand mirror of solid bronze - even the reflective part was made of polished metal. The mirror, called Aranmula Kannadi, is made in a village called Aranmula, which is the only place in the world where they craft mirrors out of metal. The brochure described the manufacturing process as 'a zealously guarded secret'. When they presented it to us, I felt their love deeply. As we left, Bindu encouraged me to say one of the Malayalam phrases I'd learned prior to the trip: 'kandathil santhosham', which means 'nice to meet you', or literally, 'in seeing you, it brings me happiness'. Sunny Chechen and Anu Aunty seemed pleased. It would be the first of many times I'd pull that phrase out, hoping to bridge the culture gap just a little.

 Aranmula Kannadi gifted to us

Abhi making friends with the stray cats which hang around the house

I was pleasantly surprised to find the home visit experience fairly easy, despite the language barrier. Sunny Chechan and Anu Aunty seemed happy and kind. Sometimes the conversation had lapsed into comfortable silence which no one felt obligated to fill, and the whole visit took no more than half an hour. I could see there was no ill intent behind their speaking in Malayalam instead of English; they just weren't as familiar with it.

We went back to Appacha and Ammachi's house for a lunch. The house was nicknamed The Retreat, although the full name was Perringatuparambil - used in place of a street address as the road has no official name or numbering. But apparently there are plans to officially name it after Bindu's grandfather because of his roles as both Principal of the school and Priest of the Syrian Othodox church, both of which come off that road. I joined the family in eating lunch, using my hand to squish the rice and curry into small clumps and then scoop it up with my four fingers pressed into a spoon shape. I'd somewhat adjusted to this method of eating through attending Indian events with the family back in Brisbane.

That afternoon we drove an hour from The Retreat to Kochi city to visit Ani Uncle and Suzi Aunty, the parents of Bindu's brother-in-law. The traffic was exhilarating: the centre line was used as a guideline only, or more like a mild suggestion. Cars, pedestrians, and motorised scooters (including up to three per scooter) all shared the same narrow spaces, often coming within centimetres of one another. Overtaking by driving towards incoming traffic was common, including right before blind corners at times. If a driver could get away with driving in the wrong lane, they'd often just continue on that side until forced back into line by an incoming truck or bus. I quickly learned that honking the horn could - and should - be used not only for Hey look where you're going, but also I'm about to overtake you, and I'm coming around a corner so incoming traffic beware, and sometimes just for the heck of it. There seemed to be a common understanding that as long as no actual collisions occurred, everything was fine, regardless of how close to the limit it got. The whole thing felt like a giant game of chicken, or some massive high-stakes negotiation. But while our driver, Shebi Uncle, did plenty of overtaking and squeezing between other vehicles, he was sensible and made me feel mostly safe most of the time, which I guess was pretty good for the context.

Finally we reached the house. Ani Uncle and Suzi Aunty came out to greet us, along with their daughter-in-law whose name I've forgotten, and their youngest granddaughter, Deepika. Just as with the morning's visit, they invited us into the formal living room near the entrance and served tea, grape wine and cake. While the preparations were being made, Bindu requested that I help her and Suzi Aunty in the kitchen while the men continued to chat. With the other women scurried around, I stood to the side in the kitchen waiting for instructions because I felt unsure how I could be helpful and didn't want to get in the way. They must have realised I wasn't going to be useful because pretty soon I was politely invited back out to the living room. So then I spoke with Deepika and learned about her experience in 10th grade at school, and she showed us a purple top she'd knitted on her own.

Once the tea was ready we moved to the dining table, where the other adults chatted for around twenty minutes more. After that we said our goodbyes and walked next door to meet Kochachen (Ajay's paternal uncle), his wife Anitha Aunty, their daughter Liya Aunty who was visiting from Dubai, and granddaughters Carol and Ruth. By that time by brain felt so full of new information that all the new names and family relations kept falling right out of it.

Again we were seated in a living room and served grape wine and cake (the combination of the Christmas season, I was told later), and they spoke a mixture of Malayalam and English. Their manner and body language was friendly, but to me it seemed a shame to come all this way and then be unable to engage in 70% of the conversation. I wanted to get to know them and embrace them as my family, and I was starting to feel frustrated at being held back by the language barrier. The few times I tried to start a conversation in English, I had to keep my questions simple so they could understand despite my Australian accent. That made it really difficult to build any momentum in the conversation, even if we were able to make a start.

I ended up befriending Carol, the 6-year-old hyperactive granddaughter, who was super shy at first, but soon warmed up. She showed me all around the house, pointing out her favourite things like the books, bedspread which her grandmother had hand-stitched, and the family photographs. By the end of the night she hugged me tight and didn't want to let go. She and her sister Ruth both really liked my blonde hair.

We moved to the living room and were served an amazing meal with many different dishes. Most of it wasn't too spicy for me thankfully. When I was almost full I asked to try a bit of the biryani, which turned out to be a mistake because Suzi Aunty served me three spoonfuls even when I said it was enough after one, and unfortunately it was too spicy for me anyway so I had to quietly set it aside. All the while I made sure to only drink from the bottled water I'd brought in my handbag.

The night almost ended badly when I went to use their bathroom. They had a sitting toilet thankfully, and I'd brought my own toilet paper so I didn't have to use the bidet. But after, when I went to open the lock, it was stuck. I had a moment of near-panic when I realised that there was no way for anyone on the outside to get the door open, since it was a sliding bolt. And since the door had no gap above or below, I would be in that room until the day I died if I couldn't pull the bolt open myself. Fortunately it slowly slid open after a few more tugs, but it was a stark reminder that a few slight design changes can potentially have significant consequences!!

Me and the family after I escaped from the bathroom

By the end of the dinner, I was quickly fading. It was 8pm in Kochi, which meant 12:30am in Brisbane. We moved back to the living room for cake and to recite the Lord's Prayer. By the Lord's provision, I felt peace despite being exhausted. Even so, by the time we got back into the car to go home, I was just too tired to hold it together any longer. I had to take the middle seat at the back, which had no headrest and no seatbelt, both being optional extras in India. The thought of contending with Indian traffic for an hour without a seatbelt pushed me over the edge, and I cried silently against Abhi's chest for a few minutes as we left. Still, by the grace of God I was able to recognise even then that everything would be alright, and really I was okay. Soon after, I noticed that all three passengers sitting in the middle row - Bindu, Appacha and Ammachi - were not wearing seatbelts either, despite two of the seats having them available. That actually made me feel a little better. I rested my head against Abhi, opening my eyes every now and then, sometimes to the sight of oncoming headlights approaching in the same lane, but I was too tired to feel bothered and we always made it through safely. At once point we overtook an auto rickshaw which was already overtaking a truck, and I made a sleepy mental note that it was kind of a crazy thing to do.

Finally we arrived back home. Anddd... there was no water available for a shower. The water pipes are not pressurised, so the pump had to be activated to get the water to flow down from the rooftop tank. Once that was done, I took another cold shower until the pressure ran out and then collapsed into bed.