DANCE OF LIFE
shop on the way and spend at least 10 minutes. I tell him that my wife has never appreciated any gift I bought for her and more importantly, she already has a wardrobe full of saris.
“Sir, if you spend 10 minutes there, I will get a fuel coupon from the shop,” he says.
We reach a particularly fancy shop. The driver stops his vehicle and turns around, “Sir, tell them you have come from Maldives. These shopkeepers like rich tourists from Male.”
In my entire life, I have never accompanied any woman to buy saris. Now I am the lone customer and two sales girls try to teach me about different types of saris available in the shop. This is like a student of ancient history appearing for a test in econometrics. After fooling around for 10 minutes, I call Ruchira to ask if I can indeed buy her something. She sounds suspicious: “You know very well that I rarely wear a sari. Then what are you doing there?”
I am unable to explain my position as I am not sure how many Maldivians speak Bengali.
Such woes of life can only be forgotten in a Kathakali theatre. Raju calls me to say that he has already reserved a seat for me for the evening show at the Kerala Kathakali Centre. “But please be there an hour before the dance actually begins,” he advises.
I reach the Kathakali Centre in time to see two men in mundus (Kerala’s version of dhoti) sitting on the stage and applying make-up meticulously. Over an hour, the two of them transform into mythical characters in flawless
WHEN YOU GET TIPSY AFTER SIPPING BEER NEAR THE BACKWATERS, YOU’LL KNOW IT’S THE EFFECT OF COCHIN – A CITY THAT’S GORGEOUS EVEN ON AN ORDINARY DAY
make-up and costumes.
Another man appears on the stage to explain the different mudras of the dance before he churns out the perfect notes of the background music. The performance begins and slowly the wooden stage turns into a mystic, astounding world of dance and music, leaving the crowd – mostly foreigners – to marvel at this excellent display of Kerala’s iconic dance form.
By the time I come out of the theatre, the streets are near-empty. A few eateries are buzzing with guests. The shops are about to close. The long road empties into a darkness where the waters of the
Arabian sea flow silently.
Next morning, I will see fishermen biking their way to the market. Egrets waiting to catch fish and a few ships on the horizon blowing their sirens of life. I will see a picture-perfect cityscape full of beautiful houses and a lush green environment. I will see more pedestrians and fewer cars.
And I will sit near the backwaters and sip a beer. And when I get tipsy, I will know for sure, it’s not the beer but the effect of Cochin – a city that’s gorgeous even on an ordinary day.