Navinal

It has been a month since I returned from Navinal, but the sweet memories which fly at me have not ceased. The warm evening wind gushing through the cracks of the door and ajar window pane take me back to Navinal.

I was there on an archaeological exploration. The sun was harsh and even the hot air currents declined to befriend us. But with the scorching heat, what I found was warmth. In a group of over forty Malyalis, I was learning to communicate, commute and be composed as well as content. 'Vellam Venam'(i want water) was to my constant assistance. In the Kutchi land, I was thus turning into a Dravida tongued damsel.

My project in Navinal was to document and study the memorial stones or the 'paliya' as called locally. 'Sura-pura' or the war and hero memorials which skirt the landscape in each Kutchi village was my focus. And with the stone memorials, I indeed met memories kept alive by the people and these stone edifices.

Carrying my paraphernalia and two Malayali scholars to help me, I would set out as a woman-on-mission. The lengthy shadows with the rising sun would hide under us in the hot afternoons, the villages would seem vacant and no soul would be in sight... just my broken Malyali and the mute Sura-pura or the memorial stones. Some days would be different. We would be surrounded by excited children and youth and would be escorted through the tiniest of streets to the treasure trove of paliya waiting to be seen. I would assume the mimicry role of a foreigner then for I was too tired explaining I was very much Indian, and could speak impeccable Hindi. “Bhale”, the Kutchi greeting attracted a riot of laughter and bewilderment as I uttered it and would invite more smiles and sweetmeats in the group. My 'foreign'ness was so endearing to many that it would open doors to houses and talathi offices as would not to a commoner. Navinal had labelled me as a foreigner, but had endeared me more than its family member at the same time... quite an oxymoron!

On the other hand, back in the rest house, the cooking sessions with the Keralites was an out of the world experience. The zest with which they cooked and involved each member, making it an endearing cooking ritual rather than a chore was something which touched my inner chords. I could have never fathomed cooking for forty odd people over ten dishes per meal from scratch. In the Gujarat heat, they churned out elaborate delicacies of coconut milk, soft rice dumplings, prawn pickles, turmeric chutneys and so on. Every day would be like a feast! I learnt to cook here, I'd say.

With these soft hearted Malyalis, in the Gujju land, I would take my trips to tiny villages with the Kutchi Bhimsi-kaka. Bhimsi bhai was more than just our chauffeur or guide. He was our eyes to Kutch. Mandavi that he has shown me. Would've eluded my senses if it wasn't for him...

(to be continued)

The daily 'feasts'

Typical morning at Navinal