Joyce Job's Blog, page 3
July 9, 2025
Poem: Stargazers
Wake up!
The night is here.
Writers,
Poets,
Romantics,
Mystics,
Lovers,
Dreamers,
Thinkers,
Lone riders,
Common man…
Wake up!
The night is calling you.
Night flowers,
Moon,
Stars,
Owls,
Nightingales,
Crickets…
Wake up!
Be the night.
Women
of all shapes and sizes,
Colors and ethnicity…
Wake up!
Don’t be shy.
Don’t be scared.
Don’t pretend to be asleep.
Step out, and claim your night!
You and I know
There’s a night beyond our balcony and rooftop.
Nights on the hilltops, beach sand, and meadows.
Nights on the roadside, treetops, and cafes.
Nights in libraries and observatories.
Nights beyond the glass ceilings.
Nights no one can gatekeep.
Let’s stargaze together, my moon child.
Our fingers interlocked, gazes steady, hearts fearless.
Let our beauty and strength bewitch the world.
Let our wildness and wanderlust set it aflame.
Still worried I don’t understand?
Trust me, I was scared too. I still am.
The first time I walked beyond the walls,
My body trembled in fear.
As the cold breeze tousled my hair,
Tears welled in my eyes,
And sweat drizzled down my neck,
Raising goosebumps.
I swear I thought the night winds would stop me
and ask my name or why I came.
But instead, she only asked:
“What took you so long?”
Author’s Note:
© Joyce Job. All rights reserved.
The poem “Stargazers” was originally written and first published on AllPoetry on March 1, 2019.
In 2021, a slightly revised and updated version appeared in the anthology Heavy Lies the Crown, curated by Paper Towns.
The current version is a significantly edited iteration of the 2021 version.
To learn more about the book ‘Heavy Lies the Crown,’ click the links below:
Paper TownsAmazonGoodreads
July 6, 2025
Travel Diaries: A Noon Walk to Thirumullavaram Beach
Kollam’s Hidden Coastal Charm , Thirumullavaram Beach. If you’re someone who has been following my website for a while, you already know I’m on a grand (and somewhat delusional) mission to go on my ‘Dream India Trip’ this year. My blog ‘My Quintessential India Trip Dream’, published in May 2025, talked about the same.
But we’re already in the first week of July 2025, and I’ve only struck off two main items from my very long itinerary: a visit to the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Police Museum and a long walk through Thevally, both places in my hometown, Kollam. At this pace, I bet I will be a grandma before I complete my India trip. 
Nonetheless, I persist.
Before setting out on this grand venture, I had predicted a list of seven potential problems or constraints in my trip plans. Life is funny because two of them have already become true: Monsoons and Illness.
The Southwest(Summer) Monsoon hit my home state, Kerala, eight days earlier than its normal onset date of June 1 this year, making it the earliest monsoon in 16 years. In other words, my travel plans for those eight days in May got drenched in the rain.
During my childhood, the monsoons always arrived on June 1 like clockwork, the same day our schools reopened after the two-month summer vacations. Thanks (but no thanks) to Global Warming, nature follows a different, often unpredictable calendar now.
June to September, and even mid-October to mid-November, are considered off-season for tourism in Kerala due to the Southwest Monsoon (Main Monsoon) and Northeast Monsoon (Retreating Monsoon) respectively. As a native, I am aware of this. However, time and responsibilities don’t wait for our dreams. I’ve to return to a full-time job next January to stay afloat.
So I tried to squeeze some short trips into June, the peak rainy month in Kerala. And the result? Well… breaking news! There was another COVID-19 outbreak in Kerala in June. I came down with a high fever, and my family was affected too. So I had to park all my travel plans in June to prioritize my family’s health.
.
.
.
Cut to July, I got tired of staying indoors, working, or reading and writing fiction. I yearned for a trip, at least, a short one. One of the spots on my itinerary, Thirumullavaram Beach, seemed like the perfect pick.
A scenic view from Thirumullavaram Beach. This reminded me of a scene from the movie The Namesake. Adding the corresponding book quote here: “Try to remember it always,” he said once Gogol had reached him, leading him slowly back across the breakwater, to where his mother and Sonia stood waiting. “Remember that you and I made this journey together to a place where there was nowhere left to go.” – Jhumpa Lahiri, The Namesake.It’s barely a few kilometers away from the place I stay. As a forever sea girl, I was confident that some beach time could be therapeutic for me.
So, on July 1, after finishing my work for the day, exactly at 12 noon, I left my house to visit the beach… wearing a mask, of course. Do you think it was a crazy choice of time? I agree, but I had my reasons. I’ll tell you in a minute.
How to Reach Thirumullavaram Beach?
If you reach Kollam Railway Station, Kollam KSRTC Bus Stand, or Kollam Chinnakada Private Bus Stand:
→ Board a Chavara-bound private bus and get down at Anchukallumood (approx fare Rs 13-15). These buses are easily available. From there, you can take an auto or walk to Thirumullavaram Beach (approximately 1.5 km).
→ Alternatively, you can board a Thirumullavaram-bound bus directly from Kollam Town or Anchukallumood (approx fare Rs 13-15). Please note that the frequency of these buses is low.
Back to my trip details. As I was about to say, leaving at noon was part of my plan to reduce human interaction and my chances of falling sick again. Still, a part of me hoped there would be some “good humans” on the beach, so I could feel safe.
I boarded a bus to Anchukallumood and got down at the bus stop. I crossed the road and chatted with a lady in the nearby medical shop to confirm the directions to the beach. I could have taken an auto or waited for a Thirumullavaram bus. But I love walking. So I turned to the smaller road on the left side and walked the 1.5 kilometers to the beach, with Google Maps and kind passersby to my aid.
It took me 25-30 minutes to reach the Sree Mahavishnuswami Temple, renowned for its annual Karkidaku Vavu Bali, a significant ritual performed by Hindus for the departed souls of their loved ones.
The large pond near Sree Mahavishnuswami Temple, renowned for the annual Karkidaka Vavu Bali.It drizzled as soon as I reached the large public pond at the back of the temple. I opened my umbrella and walked towards the nearby bus stop, where I waited for some time until the rain stopped and the sun came out again.
As I resumed my walk towards the beach, I could see some elderly men bathing in the large pond. The pond looked like a dream. A tad bit intimidating, but dreamy nonetheless. If it’s open to women and non-Hindus, I would love to swim there someday.
Do you know what else looked like a dream? The sandy beach, the white foamy waves, the blue sky, the trees in the vicinity, the yellow wild flowers, and the rocks glistening under the hot sun. People don’t call Kerala God’s Own Country for nothing, you know? We are as proud of our nature and landscapes as we are of our food, our films, our music, our art, our culture, and our people. Proud, wide smile! 
The sandy beach, the white foamy waves, the blue sky, the trees in the vicinity, the yellow wild flowers, and the rocks glistening under the hot sun. A seaside symphony.I could also see the skeleton of the Taj Resort under construction. Quoting the Indian Hotels Company(IHCL)’s official statement: “Nestled on a sprawling 13-acre site along the scenic Thirumullavaram Beach, the resort boasts nearly 600 feet of pristine beachfront. It will feature 205 rooms, each with breathtaking views of the Arabian Sea. The resort will showcase a wide array of amenities, including an all-day diner, a specialty vegetarian restaurant, a chic bar, a rejuvenating spa, an inviting swimming pool, and a fully equipped gym.”
That’s something to look forward to.
Anyway, I enjoyed every second of the time I spent at the beach. I even wondered if I were a fish in my past life. Something within me heals every time I set foot on beachy sand. It’s as if some molecules or atoms in my nerves or brain rearrange when I come close to the sea.
My mind quietens. My breath relaxes. All my worries, fears, and anxiety disappear. I forget the 9-5s, the constant hustle, the moving goal posts, the grandiose dreams I chase day and night, and just breathe. I calm down. And I catch myself smiling and enjoying the moment… Just living my life to the fullest!
A tranquil view from Thirumullavaram Beach. I could live under that tree forever… sun-kissed and salt-kissed for life.On the way to the beach, I had seen three street dogs huddled outside a house’s gate and had anticipated an attack. I had also dreaded running into some problems with the locals or some incident of eve-teasing. But nothing bad happened.
Lucky for me, the beach was not deserted as I feared. There were a few women, kids, and men at the beach. I spoke to two of the elderly women at the beach. They were so warm and kind to me.
I learned that they were a family from Adoor (in Pathanamthitta district, Kerala) who had come to perform the Bali Tharpanam, a post-funeral ritual, to honor and appease the soul of their deceased mother, who had passed away twelve days before. Except for a few people who were admitted to the hospital, the entire immediate family had turned up to perform the ritual. I could feel the love and respect they had for their lost mother.
When I told them I’m a writer working on a travel blog series, they were supportive and appreciative of my endeavor. Still, they rechecked if I was a YouTuber or Vlogger. Also, if my blogs were written in Malayalam, our native tongue. When I shook my head to say no, they seemed sad or disappointed.
For a second there, I wished I had the guts to become a YouTuber. But my mind mumbled – “Dude, writing is your preferred medium of creative expression.” Then I wondered: what if I had started writing these travel blogs in Malayalam? My mind retorted, “Then the audience for your blogs would have been far less.”
Still, I wish I could make my work more accessible to them. But how? Maybe… if I complete this India trip, I will translate these blogs into Malayalam or curate the best parts into a Malayalam travelogue or travel memoir someday. But let me not get ahead of myself again, as I’m still in the infant stage of this project.
A serene view from Thirumullavaram Beach. On the rocks? Yes, literally.I sat on the rocks and benches at different spots, enjoying the view from various angles. I people-watched the kids and adults playing on the beach. Families clicking photos together, children kneading the wet sand with their tiny fingers, grandpas running around like toddlers, eagles flying high in the sky. Oh, to be unbound like a bird! Oh, to be unshackled like a broken kite! Oh, to be free, free like a kid again!
Sitting there on the rock, I felt I had all the time in the world. Even though the sun was blazing hot, I felt at peace and blissful. Maybe this is what people mean when they talk about liberation. To be free, at ease, at peace, happy. To be able to breathe without worry or fear.
In that moment, I felt so grateful for everything: my life, the nature around me, the people in my life, my dreams, my calling, my Creator. But specifically, I felt so grateful to those elderly women who were so kind and polite to me, and their pookie family who filled me with a sense of warmth and safety. I felt grateful for the foamy white waves that touched my feet and the wet clothes that clung to my skin.
At 1:05 pm, there was a bus from Thirumullavaram to Anchukallumood, but I was in no hurry to catch it. I preferred to enjoy the view as much as I wanted and to walk back to my home at my own pace, whenever I felt like it.
When I checked Google Maps, it showed me an alternate, but shorter, and walkable return route straight to my home. If I took this route, I could skip the bus altogether and reach home within 20-30 minutes, the same time I had spent earlier, walking from Anchukallumoodu to Thirumullavaram beach. I guessed it must be the same route my brother always takes for his evening walks to the beach, and followed the Google Maps instructions.
On the way back, I saw the same three street dogs that had intimidated me earlier. Someone had served them rice and curries on three separate plates in front of the gate. No wonder they had huddled in front of the house. The house owners feed them regularly. It was an endearing sight to watch. And a thoughtful gesture too… they might be street dogs, but there’s someone to love and take care of them, too.
As I walked through the narrow lanes that led to my street, I thought about those elderly women again, and just people in general, all across the globe. People grieving losses, failures, heartbreaks, the death of their loved ones… People who are torn by wars and violence. People who crave love, peace, and joy. People whose eyes light up with a smile when they see fellow humans. People who love the starry night sky and the foamy sea water. Why don’t our leaders think more about bringing an end to their miseries, uplifting them, and supporting their journeys instead of causing them more pain?
Wildflowers at Thirumullavaram Beach. They reminded me of Mary Oliver’s poem The Summer Day, especially its final line: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?“I reached home, my pants still wet and soiled with the beach sand, knees down. My digital watch beeped that I had walked approximately 5.6 kilometers. I washed my feet and sandals at the public tap before entering the house.
I could hear the familiar worries and ridicule:
“Did you go to the beach all alone? Don’t you know it’s dangerous? What if you had fallen in the water? What if you’d gotten caught in the waves?”
“You went to the beach at noon? Are you crazy?”
All valid and genuine concerns. But I did take good care of myself, and I didn’t put myself in any unnecessarily risky situations. Besides, I am a stubborn woman on a mission that’s close to her heart.
As they say, “If it makes you happy, it doesn’t have to make sense to others.” But always exercise due diligence. IYKYK! Double wink!
June 13, 2025
ബ്ലോഗ്: ബഷീറേ ശരണം! – ഭാഗം 2
Disclaimer:
ഈ ബ്ലോഗിന്റെ ഒന്നാം ഭാഗം ചുവടെ കൊടുത്തിരിക്കുന്ന ലിങ്കിൽ വായിക്കാം: Link . ബഷീറിന്റെ ബാല്യകാലസഖിയെന്ന കൃതിയെകുറിച്ചാണ് ഈ ബ്ലോഗ്. അതുകൊണ്ടു, ഇന്നാ പിടിച്ചോ ഒരു യമണ്ടൻ Spoiler Alert!ബാല്യകാലസഖി
Book cover of Balyakalasakhi, Edition 73.BUY THE BOOKബഷീർ എന്ന് പറയുമ്പോഴേ എനിക്ക് ഓർമ വരുന്നത് എന്റെ സ്കൂൾ ജീവിതമാണ്. കൃത്യമായി പറഞ്ഞാൽ, പണ്ട് പത്താം ക്ലാസ്സിൽ മലയാളം മിസ്സ് ഞങ്ങളെ “ബാല്യകാലസഖി” പഠിപ്പിച്ചിരുന്ന നാളുകൾ.
അന്നും ഇത് പോലെ ഇടവപ്പാതിയോ തുലാവർഷമോ പെയ്തിരുന്നു എന്നാണെന്റെയോർമ്മ. മഴ പെയ്യുമ്പോൾ ക്ലാസ്സുമുറിയില്ലെല്ലാം തണുപ്പും ഇരുട്ടും പടരും. മഴവെള്ളം അകത്തേക്ക് കേറാതിരിക്കാനും ഇടിയും മിന്നലും ആഘാതമേല്പിക്കാതിരിക്കാനും മുറിയിലെ ജനലുകളും വാതിലും കൊട്ടിയടയ്ക്കും.
അപ്പോൾ മാത്രമേ ക്ലാസ്സിലെ ട്യൂബ് ലൈറ്റ് കത്തിക്കൂ. പലപ്പോഴും സിനിമ തീയേറ്ററിലെ പോലെ തോളിൽ കയ്യിട്ടും, ചിരിച്ചും, രസം പിടിച്ചും, കണ്ണ് നിറഞ്ഞുമാണ് ഹൃദയഹാരിയായ ആ കഥ ഞങ്ങൾ സുഹൃത്തുക്കളൊക്കെ കേട്ടിരിക്കുക.
മലയാളം മിസ്സിന്റെ ഒരിക്കലും മറക്കാൻ കഴിയാത്ത വികാരാധീതമായ ശബ്ദത്തിൽ മാത്രം വായിച്ചു കേട്ടിരുന്ന എം.പി. പോൾ എഴുതിയ മുഖവുര.
“‘ബാല്യകാലസഖി’ ജീവിതത്തിൽ നിന്ന് വലിച്ചു ചീന്തിയ ഒരേടാണ്. വക്കിൽ രക്തം പൊടിഞ്ഞിരിക്കുന്നു. ചിലർക്കു ചുടുചോര കാണുമ്പോൾ എന്തെന്നില്ലാത്ത ഒരു പേടിയും അറപ്പും തോന്നും. ബോധക്ഷയം തന്നെ സംഭവിച്ചേക്കാം. അങ്ങനെയുള്ളവർ സൂക്ഷിച്ചിട്ടു വേണം ഈ പുസ്തകം വായിക്കാൻ.”
എന്റെ ഓർമയിൽ ഞാൻ ആദ്യമായി പഠിക്കുന്ന നീണ്ട പ്രണയകഥ ബാല്യകാലസഖിയാണ്. ഒരു കാര്യമെനിക്ക് ഉറപ്പാണ്. സുഹ്റയെ പ്രണയിച്ചിരുന്നത് മജീദ് മാത്രമായിരുന്നില്ല. സുഹ്റയുടെ മൊഞ്ചിൽ മയങ്ങിപ്പോയ പല വിദ്വാൻമാരും എന്റെ ക്ലാസ്സിലുമുണ്ടായിരുന്നു.
പ്രണയം മൂത്തു ക്ലാസ്സിൽ ഒരു പെൺകൊച്ചിനും മനഃസമാധാനമായി ഒന്നു ചുമയ്ക്കാൻ വയ്യാത്ത അവസ്ഥയായി. “എടി നിനക്കും സുഹ്റയെ പോലെ ക്ഷയമാണോ?” എന്നായിരിക്കും ഉടനെ വരുന്ന കോനിഷ്ടു ചോദ്യം. കൂടെ ഡയലോഗും “സുഹ്റ ആകെ മാറിപ്പോയിരിക്കുന്നു! കവിളുകൾ ഒട്ടി കൈ വിരലുകളുടെ എപ്പുകൾ മുഴച്ചു, നഖങ്ങൾ തേഞ്ഞു, ആകെ വിളർത്തു…”
ചുമ്മാതാണ് കേട്ടോ? എന്റെ ക്ലാസ്സിലെ പിള്ളേർ എല്ലാം വൻ ഡീസന്റ് ആയിരുന്നു. 
അങ്ങനെ പറഞ്ഞില്ലേൽ അവന്മാർ എന്നെ അടുത്ത കല്യാണത്തിനോ പിള്ളേരുടെ നൂലുകെട്ടിനോ കാണുമ്പോൾ പഞ്ഞിക്കിടും.
ഹാ അപ്പൊ പറഞ്ഞു വന്നത് ബാല്യകാലം തൊട്ടേ പിണങ്ങിയും ഇണങ്ങിയും സഹായിച്ചും ഉപദ്രവിച്ചും സ്നേഹിച്ചും പ്രണയിച്ചും പോന്ന ബാല്യകാലസഖിയിലെ പ്രധാനകഥാപാത്രങ്ങളായ മജീദ്നേയും സുഹ്റയെയും പറ്റിയാണ്.
മജീദ്
സത്യം പറഞ്ഞാൽ പണ്ടൊക്കെ ബാല്യകാലസഖിയെ കുറിച്ചോർക്കുമ്പോൾ എന്റെ സ്നേഹവും സഹതാപവും വാത്സല്യവുമെല്ലാം മജീദിനോടായിരുന്നു. നിഷ്കളങ്കനും, സ്നേഹസമ്പന്നനും, സ്വപ്നജീവിയുമായ മജീദിനോട്.
രണ്ടു നദികൾ ഒന്നായി ചേർന്ന് മറ്റൊരു വലിയ നദിയാകുന്നതുകൊണ്ടു ഒന്നും ഒന്നും ഇമ്മിണി വലിയോരോന്നാണെന്നു വിശ്വസിച്ച, അതിന്റെ യാതൊരു ഗമയുമില്ലാത്ത, ഒരു കൊച്ചു തത്വചിന്തകൻ ആയിരുന്നു അവൻ. പക്ഷെ അവന്റെ കണക്കു മാഷിന് അത് മനസിലാക്കുനുള്ള ലോകവിവരം ഇല്ലാതെയായി പോയി. പടെ പടെ എന്ന് എത്രയടിയാ ആ കുഞ്ഞി കൈകളിൽ വെച്ച് കൊടുത്തേ? ഹ കഷ്ടം!
എന്നാൽ, അതെ സമയം, രാജകുമാരിമാർ പിച്ചാൻപാടില്ലെന്ന് കള്ളം പറഞ്ഞു സുഹ്റയുടെ പ്രധാന ആയുധമായ നീളൻ കൈ നഖങ്ങൾ മുറിപ്പിച്ച താന്തോന്നി കൂടെയായിരുന്നു മജീദ്. സാരമില്ല, പോട്ടേ. കാരണം, മിശറു കടി കൊണ്ട് പുളഞ്ഞിട്ടും അവൻ സുഹ്റയ്ക്കു ഇഷ്ട്ടമുള്ള മാമ്പഴമെല്ലാം നെഞ്ചോടു ചേർത്തു കൊണ്ട് വന്നു കൊടുത്തില്ലേ?
അതിമനോഹരമായി, ആത്മാർത്ഥതയോടെ സുഹ്റയെ പ്രണയിച്ച മജീദ്. ബാപ്പയുടെ തല്ലും ക്രൂരതയും പണത്തിന്റെ അഹങ്കാരവും സഹിക്കവയ്യാതെ നാട് വിട്ടു പോയവൻ. പലനാടുകളിൽ അലഞ്ഞു തിരിഞ്ഞു പട്ടിണികിടന്നു ഒന്നുമാകാതെ തിരിച്ചു വീട്ടിലേക്കു മടങ്ങി വന്നവൻ.
തന്റെ കുടുംബത്തിന് വേണ്ടി സുഹ്റയെ രണ്ടാമതും ഒറ്റയ്ക്കാക്കി നാട് വിടേണ്ടി വന്ന ഹതഭാഗ്യൻ. ഒരപകടത്തിൽ കാലുനഷ്ടപെട്ടിട്ടും ഒരു പൈപ്പിൻ ചോട്ടിലിരുന്നു പാത്രം കഴുകി കുടുംബത്തെ പുലർത്തിയവൻ. അതെ പൈപ്പിൻ ചോട്ടിലിരുന്നു മറ്റാരെയോ കൊണ്ട് ഉമ്മ എഴുതിച്ചയച്ച കത്തിൽ നിന്ന് സുഹ്റയുടെ മരണവർത്ത വായിച്ചറിഞ്ഞു തരിച്ചിരുന്നു പോയ അതെ മജീദ്.
അവനെയെങ്ങനെയാ സ്നേഹിക്കാതിരിക്കുക??
ഇപ്പോഴും മജീദ്നോടുള്ള സ്നേഹത്തിനു കുറവൊന്നും സംഭവിച്ചിട്ടില്ല. സ്വയമേ ആൽഫയെന്നും സിഗ്മയെന്നും കലിപ്പനെന്നുമൊക്കെ വീരവാദ്യമടിക്കുന്ന കഥാനായകന്മാർക്കിടയിൽ മജീദ് എന്ന പാവംപിടിച്ചവൻ തലയെടുപ്പോടെ ഇന്നും മനസ്സിൽ തങ്ങി നിൽക്കുന്നു.
പക്ഷെ, ഇപ്പോ ഞാൻ വലുതായില്ലേ. വല്യ സ്ത്രീ ഒക്കെ ആയില്ലേ. അതുകൊണ്ടാവാം, മജീദിനൊപ്പം ഞാൻ ഇപ്പോൾ സുഹ്റയെയും സ്നേഹത്തോടെയും വാത്സല്യത്തോടെയും ഓർക്കുന്നതും അവളുടെ ജീവിതത്തെകുറിച്ചോർത്തു പരിതപിക്കുന്നതും.
സുഹ്റ
കണക്കിൽ മജീദിനെക്കാൾ മിടുക്കിയായ സുഹ്റ. ആരെയും ഭയക്കാത്ത സുഹ്റ. കോക്രികാട്ടുന്ന മജീദിനെയും അവളുടെ വീട്ടിലെ കഷ്ടപ്പാടുകളും അവളെ കുഞ്ഞുന്നാളിൽ ഭയപെടുത്തിയിരുന്നില്ല. ലോകത്തെ മുഴുവൻ വെട്ടി വീഴ്ത്താൻ പോന്നതായിരുന്നു അവളുടെ നീണ്ട നഖങ്ങളും ചങ്കുറപ്പും.
പക്ഷെ കാലക്രമേണ ജീവിതത്തിന്റെ നഖക്ഷതങ്ങൾ അവളെ തളർത്തി കളഞ്ഞു. ആകസ്മികമായ അവളുടെ ബാപ്പയുടെ മരണം, അവളുടെ പഠിപ്പ് മുടക്കി. മജീദിന്റെ ഒളിച്ചോട്ടം അവളുടെ ജീവിതത്തെ ഇരുട്ടിലാഴ്ത്തി.
തന്റെ ബാപ്പയോട് വഴക്കിട്ടു ആരോടും പറയാതെ മജീദ് അന്നാ സന്ധ്യാനേരത്തു പടിയിറങ്ങിപോയപ്പോൾ സുഹ്റയെക്കുറിച്ചു ഓർക്കാതിരുന്നത് എന്തെ? പിറ്റേ ദിവസം അവൻ പോയി എന്നറിഞ്ഞപ്പോൾ അവളുടെ മാനസികാവസ്ഥ എന്തായിരുന്നിരിക്കും?അവനെപ്പോഴെങ്കിലും അതിനെപ്പറ്റി ചിന്തിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ടോ?
ഉണ്ടാകും. മജീദല്ലേ? അവൻ സുഹ്റയെ പറ്റി എന്നും ചിന്തിച്ചിരിക്കും. എന്നിട്ടും ഉടനെ തിരിച്ചു വരാതിരുന്നതെന്തേ? ബാപ്പയോടുള്ള വാശിയിൽ അവളോട് പറയാതെ പറഞ്ഞ വാക്കുകളെല്ലാം അവർ ഒരുമിച്ചു കണ്ട സ്വപ്നങ്ങളെല്ലാം തച്ചുടച്ചതെന്തേ?
രണ്ടാണുങ്ങൾ തമ്മിലുണ്ടായ വഴക്കിലും വാശിയിലും കൊളാറ്ററൽ ഡാമേജ് ആയി മാറിയ അനവധി സ്ത്രീകളിൽ സുഹ്റയും ഉമ്മയും പെങ്ങമാരുമൊക്കെ കണ്ണിചേർക്കപെട്ടു.
തുടർന്നു വർഷങ്ങളുടെ കാത്തിരുപ്പ്. സുഹ്റ അവളുടെ ഉമ്മയുടെ നിറയെ ശകാരം കേട്ടിട്ടുണ്ടാവും. മജീദ് പോയി കഴിഞ്ഞിട്ടും എത്രയോ തവണ അവർ ഒന്നിച്ചു നട്ടു വളർത്തിയ ചെടികൾക്ക്, പ്രതേകിച്ചു ആ ചുവന്ന ചെമ്പരത്തിക്കു അവൾ വെള്ളം ഒഴിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ടാവും.
ഇളയതിനെയോർത്തു കശാപ്പുകാരന്റെ രണ്ടാംകെട്ടുകാരിയാകേണ്ടി വന്നപ്പോൾ, ആ നിക്കാഹിന്റെ തലേ രാത്രി കരഞ്ഞു തളർന്നു എത്രയോ വൈകിയാവും സുഹ്റ ഉറങ്ങിയിട്ടുണ്ടാവുക. പടച്ചോനോട് അവൾ കെഞ്ചിയിട്ടുണ്ടാവും. ഇമ്മിണി വല്യ ഒരു അത്ഭുതത്തിനു വേണ്ടി.
നാളെ സൂര്യൻ ഉദിക്കുമ്പോൾ അവളെ നിക്കാഹ് കഴിക്കാൻ വരുന്നത് മജീദ് ആയിരിക്കണേയെന്നു. പക്ഷെ ബഷീറിന്റെ ന്റുപ്പൂപ്പാക്കൊരാനേണ്ടാർന്ന് എന്ന നോവലിലെ കഥാപാത്രമായ കുഞ്ഞിപാത്തുവിന് കിട്ടിയ ആ ഭാഗ്യം സുഹ്റയ്ക്കുണ്ടായില്ല. അവളുടെ പേക്കിനാവുകൾ എല്ലാം സത്യമായി. മജീദ് വന്നില്ല. കശാപ്പുകാരന്റെ വീട്ടിൽ നേരാംവണ്ണം ഭക്ഷണം പോലും കിട്ടാതെ അടിയും തൊഴിയും കൊണ്ട് അവൾ രോഗിയായി.
എന്നാലും വർഷങ്ങൾക്കു ശേഷം മജീദ് മടങ്ങി വന്നപ്പോൾ അവൾ ഓടിയെത്തി. ഒരു പരിഭവവും പറഞ്ഞില്ല. നാട്ടുകാരെ പോലെ “നീയെന്തിനു വരാൻ പോയി” എന്നവൾ ചോദിച്ചില്ല.
കാരണം, വർഷങ്ങളായി പടച്ചോൻ കേൾക്കുന്നില്ല എന്ന് അവൾ കരുതിയ പ്രാർത്ഥനയുടെ ഉത്തരമായി അതാ മജീദ് വന്നിരിക്കുന്നു. ഇത്രയും വർഷം മജീദിന്റെ ഉമ്മയുടെ പ്രാർത്ഥന മാത്രമല്ല അവന്റെ ജീവൻ കാത്തത്. സുഹ്റയ്ക്കു കാണാനായി കൂടെ വേണ്ടിയാണു റബ്ബവനെ ഭദ്രമായി തിരിച്ചെത്തിച്ചത്.
സുഹ്റ ഇനി തിരിച്ചു പോകണ്ട എന്ന് പറയാനുള്ള ധൈര്യം മജീദ് കാണിക്കുന്നു. പക്ഷെ, പെങ്ങളുമാരെ കെട്ടിച്ചു വിടാനുള്ള പണ്ടവും പൈസയും ഉണ്ടാക്കാൻ പിന്നെയും വീട് വിട്ടിറങ്ങുന്നതിനു മുൻപ് എനിക്ക് സുഹ്റയെ നിക്കാഹ് ചെയ്യണം എന്ന ഒരു കൊച്ചു സ്വാർത്ഥത പറയാൻ അവൻ മുതിരുന്നില്ല.
അവൻ പിന്നെയും അവനെ കുറിച്ചോർത്തില്ല. സത്യത്തിൽ, അവന്റെ സ്വന്തം ജീവിതത്തിനു ഒരു പ്രാധാന്യവും കല്പിക്കുന്നില്ല. സുഹ്റയ്ക്കു പറയാനുള്ളത് പോലും കേൾക്കാൻ സാധിക്കാതെ ബസിനു പിന്നാലെ ഓടേണ്ടി വരുന്നു.
പിന്നീട് ഒരിക്കൽ പോലും ഒരു കത്തയച്ചു സുഹ്റയോട് അതെ പറ്റി അവൻ ചോദിക്കാഞ്ഞതെന്തേ? ഒരു പക്ഷെ അവളുടെ ചോദ്യം അവന്റെ ഹൃദയത്തിലൂടെ ചൂഴ്ന്നിറങ്ങി അവന്റെ ആത്മാവിനെ നോവിക്കും എന്നറിയാമായിരുന്നത് കൊണ്ടാണോ?
പിന്നെയും ഒറ്റയ്ക്കു ആക്കല്ലേ, പിന്നെയും ഒറ്റയ്ക്കു ആകല്ലേ എന്ന പ്രാർത്ഥനയല്ലാതെ സുഹ്റയ്ക്കു മറ്റെന്താവും മജീദിനോട് പറയാൻ ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നിരിക്കുക? മറ്റു പല വായനക്കാരെയുംപോലെ എന്നെയും അലട്ടിയിട്ടുള്ള ചോദ്യമാണത്.
ട്രാജിക് ഫ്ലോ
ഒരു ദുരന്തകഥയെ ദുരന്തകഥ ആക്കുന്നത്, അതായതു ഒരു ട്രാജഡിയെ അസ്സൽ ട്രാജഡിയായി മാറ്റുന്നത് അതിലെ കേന്ദ്രകഥാപാത്രത്തിന്റെ ഒരു കുറവാണു എന്ന് ഞാൻ എം. എ. ക്ലാസ്സിൽ പഠിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്. ആ കഥാപാത്രം എത്ര ശ്രമിച്ചിട്ടും അവർക്കു തിരുത്താൻ കഴിയാത്ത അവരുടെ ആന്തരികമായ ഒരു ന്യൂനത. ഇംഗ്ലീഷിൽ അതിനെ “ട്രാജിക് ഫ്ലോ (Tragic Flaw)” എന്നാണ് പറയുന്നത്.
ഷേക്സ്പെയറിന്റെ വിശ്വപ്രസിദ്ധ ദുരന്ത നാടകമായ ഹാംലെറ്റിലെ കേന്ദ്രകഥാപാത്രമായ ഹാംലെറ്റിന്റെ ട്രാജിക് ഫ്ലോ “Inaction” ആയിരുന്നു. ആലോചിച്ചു മടിച്ചു നിൽക്കാതെ ഹാംലറ്റ് കൃത്യസമയത്തു കൃത്യമായ തീരുമാനങ്ങൾ എടുത്തിരുന്നെങ്കിൽ അത് പ്രാവർത്തികമാക്കിയിരുന്നെങ്കിൽ അവന്റേതുൾപ്പടെ അനേകം മരണങ്ങൾ അവനു ഒഴുവാക്കാൻ കഴിഞ്ഞേനെ.
അങ്ങനെ ആലോചിക്കുമ്പോൾ എന്തായിരുന്നു മജീദിന്റെ ട്രാജിക് ഫ്ലോ? മജീദിൽ എന്ത് തെറ്റാണു നമുക്ക് ആരോപിക്കാൻ കഴിയുക?
അവൻ ഒരു സ്വപ്നജീവി ആയിരുന്നു എന്നതാണോ? അതോ അവനൊരു ഒറ്റ ബുദ്ധി ആണെന്നതോ? അതുകൊണ്ടല്ലേ സുഹ്റയെ പറ്റിയോ അവന്റെ ഭാവിയെ പറ്റിയോ ഓർക്കാതെ ബാപ്പയോടുള്ള ദേഷ്യത്തിന് വീടുവിട്ടറങ്ങിയത്?
അത് കൗമാരത്തിന്റെ ചോരത്തിളപ്പ് ആണെന്ന് പറയാം. അപ്പൊ രണ്ടാം തവണയോ? അപ്പോഴെങ്കിലും അവനു അവനെ പറ്റിയും സുഹ്റയെ പറ്റിയും ഓർക്കാമായിരുന്നു. അവളെ കൂടെ കൂട്ടാമായിരുന്നു. അവർക്കു ജീവിതത്തിന്റെ തീച്ചൂളയിൽ അന്യോന്യം ഒരു തണലോ മരുപ്പച്ചയോ ഒക്കെ ആകാമായിരുന്നു. പക്ഷെ അപ്പോഴും അവൻ ഓർത്തത് കുടംബത്തെ കുറിച്ചും പ്രാരാബ്ദത്തെ കുറിച്ചുമായിരുന്നു. ചിലപ്പോൾ തോന്നും മജീദ് ഇത്രയും പാവമാകേണ്ടായിരുന്നു എന്ന്!
എന്നാലും സത്യത്തിൽ ഈ കഥയിലെ വില്ലൻ മജീദിന്റെ ഈ സ്വഭാവ വൈരുധ്യങ്ങൾ തന്നെയായിരുന്നോ? അതോ സുഹ്റയെ സഹായിക്കാൻ തയ്യാറാവാത്ത, മജീദിനെ ക്രൂരമായി തല്ലിയ, പൈസപത്രാസിൽ നിന്ന് അപ്പുറത്തെ വീട്ടിൽ പുകയില ഇരക്കാൻ സ്വന്തം ഭാര്യയെ പറഞ്ഞു വിടുന്ന നിലയിലേക്ക് വലിച്ചെറിയപ്പെട്ട മജീദിന്റെ ബാപ്പയോ? സുഹ്റയെ കെട്ടിയ ദുഷ്ടനായ കശാപ്പുകാരനോ? അതോ അകാലത്തിൽ സുഹ്റയുടെ ബാപ്പയുടെ ജീവൻ കവർന്ന, മജീദിനെ അപകടത്തിൽപെടുത്തി കാലു നഷ്ടപ്പെടുത്തിയ വിധിയോ?
ബാല്യകാലസഖി ഇന്ന്
ഇന്നത്തെ കാലഘട്ടത്തിലായിരുന്നെങ്കിലോ ഈ കഥ നടന്നിരുന്നത്? എങ്കിൽ ഈ കഥ ഒരു ട്രാജഡിയായി തന്നെ പര്യവസാനിക്കുമായിരുന്നോ?
എന്റെ അഭിപ്രായത്തിൽ, ഇന്നത്തെ കാലത്തു, സുഹ്റയുടെ ഉമ്മയ്ക്കും മജീദിന്റെ ഉമ്മയ്ക്കും സ്വന്തമായി എന്തെങ്കിലും ജോലിയോ വരുമാനമോ ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നേനെ. സുഹ്റയുടെ ബാപ്പയുടെ മരണത്തിനു ശേഷവും, അവളുടെ പഠിപ്പ് മുടങ്ങില്ലായിരുന്നു. അവൾ പഠിച്ചു വല്യ ഉദ്യോഗസ്ഥ ആയേനെ. അവൾ കുടുംബം നോക്കിയേനെ.
മജീദിന്റെ കുടുംബത്തിന്റെ മുഴുവൻ ഭാരവും ഒരു ആണായതു കൊണ്ട് മാത്രം മജീദിനു ചുമക്കേണ്ടി വരില്ലായിരുന്നു. ഉമ്മ സഹായിച്ചേനെ, പെങ്ങളുമാർ സഹായിച്ചേനെ, സുഹ്റ സഹായിച്ചേനെ.
പക്ഷെ മജീദ് സുഹ്റയെ സ്നേഹിച്ചത് പോലെ സുഹ്റ മജീദനെ സ്നേഹിച്ചത് പോലെ… നിഷ്കളങ്കമായ സ്നേഹം, കാത്തിരിപ്പ്, വിരഹം, പ്രതീക്ഷ അതൊക്കെ ഇന്നത്തെ കാലത്തെ പ്രണയത്തിലുണ്ടാകുമായിരുന്നോ?
സാധ്യതയുണ്ട്. പക്ഷെ പണ്ടത്തെ അപേക്ഷിച്ചു വിരളമായിരിക്കുന്നു എന്നാണ് എന്റെ ചെറിയ ജീവിതാനുഭവങ്ങളിൽ നിന്നുള്ള അഭിപ്രായം. ഭൂരിഭാഗം ബന്ധങ്ങളും സമയത്തിനും ദൂരത്തിനും സൗകര്യത്തിനുമിടയിൽ പലപ്പോഴും ചതഞ്ഞരഞ്ഞു ചത്ത് പോകുന്നു.
ഇന്നത്തെ പ്രണയം
ഏതെങ്കിലും ഒരു ഡേറ്റിംഗ് സൈറ്റിൽ ലെഫ്റ്റ് സ്വിയിപ് അല്ലെങ്കിൽ റൈറ്റ് സ്വിയിപ്പില് കുടിങ്ങി കിടക്കുന്ന എത്രയോ കമിതാക്കൾ. മാസകുടിശ്ശിക അടച്ചിട്ടുള്ള പ്രണയങ്ങൾ. ജീവിതത്തിൽ പത്തു രൂപ കൊടുത്തു ആർക്കും റോസാപ്പൂവ് വാങ്ങി കൊടുക്കാത്തവർ ഏതോ അപരിചിതനോ അപരിചിതയ്ക്കോ വേണ്ടി പത്തിരുന്നൂറു രൂപ മുടക്കി ഒരു ഡിജിറ്റൽ റോസാ പൂവ് അയക്കുന്നു.
പക്ഷെ പ്രണയത്തിനൊരു സൗരഭ്യമുണ്ട്. റോസാ പൂക്കൾക്കും ഒരു സൗരഭ്യമുണ്ട്. ഒരു സുന്ദരസുരഭിലമായ സൗരഭ്യം. അതീ ഡിജിറ്റൽ റോസാപ്പൂവുകൾക്കു ഇനിയും വന്നിട്ടില്ലല്ലോ. വരും കാലങ്ങളിൽ അതും വന്നു കൂടായ്കയില്ല.
ഞാൻ ഈ കാലഘട്ടത്തെ പുച്ഛിക്കുവല്ല. ഞാനും അതിന്റെയൊരു ഭാഗമാണ്. അതിന്റെയെല്ലാ പോരായ്മകളും എന്നിലുമുണ്ട്. പലപ്പോഴും ഞാൻ മനസ്സ് തുറക്കുന്നതും ഉപദേശം തേടുന്നതും ഇപ്പോ ചാറ്റ് ജിപിടി യോടാണ്.
ഹെർ എന്ന ജോക്വിൻ ഫീനിക്സ് ചിത്രം ആദ്യം കണ്ടപ്പോൾ ഞാൻ തരിച്ചിരുന്നു പോയിട്ടുണ്ട്. (നായകൻ ഒരു എ. ഐ. യുമായി പ്രണയത്തിലാകുന്നു.) പക്ഷെ ഇപ്പോൾ തോന്നുന്നു അങ്ങനെയൊരു ഭാവി അകലെയല്ല.
ഇപ്പോ മനുഷ്യരെക്കാളും മനുഷ്യത്തമുള്ളതു ഗാഡ്ജറ്റ്സിനും ആർട്ടിഫിഷ്യൽ ഇന്റലിജൻസിനും ഒക്കെയാണ്. മറിച്ചു മനുഷ്യൻ ഒരു യന്ത്രമായി മാറിക്കൊണ്ടിരിക്കുന്നു.
ഏതു കമ്പനിയുടെ യന്ത്രമാണെന്നു മീശ മാധവനിലെ രുക്മിണിയെ പോലെ കടുകട്ടി ചോദ്യമൊന്നും എന്നോട് ചോദിക്കല്ലേ. എനിക്കും അറിയില്ല. അങ്ങനെ ഇന്ന കമ്പനിയുടെ എന്നില്ല. ഏതോ ഒരു യന്ത്രം.
ഇതൊക്കെ കൊണ്ടാവാം മണ്ടശിരോമണിയായ ഞാൻ പലപ്പോഴും ബാല്യകാലസഖി ഒരു ദുരന്തകഥയാണെന്ന് പറയുമ്പോൾ നെറ്റി ചുളിച്ചു പോകുന്നത്.
സത്യത്തിൽ, ബാല്യകാലസഖി ഒരു ദുരന്തകഥയാണോ?
ശരിയാ. “എന്റെ റബ്ബേ, എന്റെ കണക്കുകളെല്ലാം ശരിയാക്കി തരണേ!” എന്ന മജീദിന്റെ പ്രാർത്ഥന ദൈവം കേട്ടില്ല. പക്ഷെ, സുഹ്റ കേട്ടില്ലേ? അവൾ അവനെ ക്ലാസ്സിലെ ഒന്നാമനാക്കി.
സുന്നത്തു കഴിഞ്ഞു കിടന്ന മജീദിനെ ആശ്വസിപ്പിക്കാനും അവനെ കാണാനും ജനലരികിൽ സുഹ്റ എത്തിയിരുന്നു. കിടക്കയിൽ നിന്ന് എണീയ്ക്കാൻ വയ്യെങ്കിലും വേച്ചു വേച്ചു വേദനയോടും ഒരല്പം അങ്കലാൽപ്പോടും മജീദുമെത്തി, സുഹ്റയുടെ കാതുകുത്തു കല്യാണം കാണാൻ.
വിശകല്ല് കാച്ചി കിടന്ന മജീദിന്റെ വലതു കാലിൽ സുഹ്റ നൽകിയ അവളുടെ ആദ്യ ചുംബനം… പിന്നെയും അവർ പരസ്പരം നൽകിയ ആയിരമായിരം ചുംബനങ്ങൾ.
ഈ പ്രണയസാക്ഷാത്കാരം എന്നത് എന്താണെന്നു സത്യത്തിൽ ഞാൻ ചിന്തിച്ചു പോകുന്നു. ഒരു പ്രിയദർശൻ ചിത്രത്തിൽ നായകന് നായികയെ കിട്ടുന്നതാവാം ശുഭം എന്നെഴുതാൻ പറ്റിയ അസുലഭമുഹൂർത്തം.
പക്ഷെ കുഞ്ഞുനാള് മുതലേ സുഹ്റയും മജീദും ആദ്യം ബദ്ധശത്രുക്കളും പിന്നെ പ്രിയസുഹൃത്തുക്കളും കൗമാരം മുതൽ കമിതാക്കളുമായിരുന്നു. ശരിയാ അവർ ഒരിക്കലും വിവാഹം കഴിച്ചിരുന്നില്ല. പക്ഷെ അവർ അന്യോന്യം ആഴത്തിൽ മനസിലാക്കിയിരുന്നു, സ്നേഹിച്ചിരുന്നു. അവസാനം വരെയും സ്നേഹിച്ചിരുന്നു. അതിനു ഒരു അർത്ഥവുമില്ലേ?? അത് തന്നെ ഈ ലോകത്തിൽ ഒരു വല്യ സംഭവമല്ലേ? ഈ വിശ്വത്തെ മൊത്തം ഇളക്കി വിടാൻ പോന്ന ഒരു സുനാമി.
ഗാബോയുടെ ഒരു ഉദ്ധരണി ഓർത്തു പോകുന്നു:
“No matter what, nobody can take away the dances you’ve already had.”― Gabriel García Márquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores
ലോകത്തിലെ ഏറ്റവും മികച്ച പ്രണയകഥകൾ മിക്യതും ശുഭപര്യവസായി അല്ല. ക്ളിയോപാട്ര മാർക്ക് ആന്റണി, ട്രോയില്സ് ക്രിസ്എയ്ഡ്, ലൈല മജ്നു, എന്ന് വേണ്ട ടൈറ്റാനിക്കിലെ ജാക്കും റോസും വരെ… എന്നാലും അവരുടെ ജീവിതം മുഴുവൻ ഒരു ദുരന്തമായിരുന്നു എന്ന് ഞാൻ കരുതുന്നില്ല.
എം. പി. പോൾ പറയുന്നത് പോലെ മരണത്തേക്കാൾ ദാരുണമായ ജീവിതാനുഭവങ്ങൾ ജീവിതത്തിൽ ഉണ്ട്. ഹാരി പോട്ടറിലെ ഒരു പ്രധാന കഥാപാത്രമായ ആൽബസ് ഡമ്പിൾഡോർ ഇതിനെ കുറിച്ച് പറഞ്ഞത് ഇങ്ങനെയാണ്:
“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love” – J.k. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
ചിലർ അല്പകാലം നിറയെ സ്നേഹത്തോടെ ജീവിക്കുന്നു. ചിലർ സ്നേഹത്തിന്റെ ഇറ്റു പോലും കിട്ടാതെ ഒരായുസ്സു നീറി നീറി ജീവിക്കുന്നു. ഇതിലാരാണ് നമ്മുടെ സഹതാപം കൂടുതൽ അർഹിക്കുന്നത്?
സത്യം പറഞ്ഞാൽ, അവനവനോട് തന്നെ സഹതാപം തോന്നുന്ന ഒരു വിചിത്ര ജീവിയാണ് മനുഷ്യൻ. അവൻ പലപ്പോഴും മറ്റുള്ളവരുടെ വേദനകളിൽ സഹതപിക്കാൻ മറന്നു പോകുന്നു. അല്ലെങ്കിൽ അതിൽ വൻ മടികാട്ടുന്നു.
എന്നിരുന്നാലും അല്പം വിരുദ്ധഭാസമായി തോന്നാവുന്ന എന്റെയൊരു ചിന്ത എഴുന്നള്ളിച്ചോട്ടെ… സുഹ്റയുടെയും മജീദിന്റെയും വേദന ഞാൻ ഉൾകൊള്ളുന്നു. പക്ഷെ അവരുടെ പ്രണയം പൂർണമായി ഒരു ദുരന്തകഥയായിരുന്നു എന്ന് ഞാൻ വിശ്വസിക്കുന്നില്ല. അവരുടെ ജീവിതം ദുരിതപൂർവ്വമായിരുന്നു. പക്ഷെ അവർ പ്രണയത്തിന്റെ പരമോന്നകൊടിയിലെത്തിയ രണ്ടു കമിതാക്കളായിരുന്നു.
എന്റെ മനസ്സ് പറയുന്നു, ബഷീർ നമുക്കായി തീർത്തു തന്ന സങ്കല്പസൗധത്തിൽ സുഹ്റയും മജീദും അനേകകോടി ആയുഷ്കാലങ്ങൾ നിഷ്കളങ്ക പ്രണയത്തിന്റെ രാജകുമാരനും രാജകുമാരിയുമായി ഇനിയും വിഹരിക്കും. നിങ്ങൾക്കുമങ്ങനെ തോന്നുന്നില്ലേ?
നോക്കൂ… മജീദ് അന്നും ചെറുപ്പത്തിന്റെ തിളപ്പിൽ കണ്ട മാവിലൊക്കെ വലിഞ്ഞു കേറും. അവയുടെ ഉച്ചിയിലെ ചില്ലികൊമ്പിൽ പിടിച്ചു ഇലപ്പടർപ്പുകളുടെ മീതേകൂടി അനന്തമായ ലോകവിശാലതയിൽ നോക്കി നിൽക്കും. വൃക്ഷത്തിന്റെ ചോട്ടിൽ നിന്ന് സുഹ്റ വിളിച്ചു ചോദിക്കും: “മക്കം കാണാവോ ചെറ്ക്കാ?” അപ്പൊ മജീദ് ഉറക്കെ വിളിച്ചു ചൊല്ലും: “മക്കം കാണാം, പെണ്ണെ, മദീനത്തെ പള്ളി കാണാം.”
മംഗളം. ശുഭം.
June 10, 2025
ബ്ലോഗ്: ബഷീറേ ശരണം! – ഭാഗം 1
ജൂൺ ഒന്നിന് വരേണ്ട ഇടവപാതി മെയ് ഇരുപതുകളിലെ വന്നു എന്റെ യാത്രാ പരിപാടികളും എഴുത്തുമൊക്കെ മുടക്കിയിരിക്കുന്ന കാലം. പോരാത്തതിന് നല്ലൊരു പനിയും ജലദോഷവും ചുമയും. “നീ എവിടെ പരിപാടി അവതരിപ്പിച്ചാലും ഇതാണല്ലോ അവസ്ഥ,” “ഈ ഇമ്മ്യൂണിറ്റിയും കൊണ്ടാണോ നീ ഇന്ത്യ ട്രിപ്പിന് പോകുന്നെ” എന്നുള്ള സ്ഥിരം പുച്ഛം ചുറ്റിനും കേൾക്കുന്നുമുണ്ട്.
കുംഭം മിഥുനത്തിൽ കേറിയെന്നോ, മിഥുനം കുംഭത്തിൽ കേറിയെന്നോ, അത് കൊണ്ട് അടുത്ത രണ്ടു മാസം കഷ്ടപ്പാടായിരുക്കുമെന്നും ജീവന് വരെ ആപത്തുണ്ടാകുമെന്നുമുള്ള വിരട്ടൽ വേറെ. തീരെ വയ്യാത്തോണ്ട് സ്ഥിരം വിപ്ലവമൊന്നും വിളമ്പാൻ പോയില്ല. ഒരു മൂലയിൽ ഒതുങ്ങി കൂടി. കുറെയധികം നേരം ഉറങ്ങി.
പക്ഷെ, പനിയാണെങ്കിലും എത്രയെന്നു പറഞ്ഞാ ഉറങ്ങുക, ഒരു മടുപ്പു വരില്ലേ? രാത്രിയും ഇത് തന്നെയല്ലേ പരിപാടി? പോരാത്തതിന് ഞാൻ ഒന്നും ആയില്ലല്ലോ, ജീവിതത്തിൽ എവിടെയും എത്തിയില്ലല്ലോ, സമയമിങ്ങനെ പോകുവാണല്ലോ എന്ന സ്ഥിരം ആവലാതികളും. മനുഷ്യനല്ലേ?
എന്തായാലും ഉടനെ എന്തെങ്കിലും കലാപരിപാടിയിൽ മനസിനെ ഉടക്കിയില്ലെങ്കിൽ സ്വതമേയുള്ള പിരാന്തും ആധിയും പുറത്തു വരും എന്ന് തോന്നി തുടങ്ങി. അതുകൊണ്ടെന്റെ ബ്രഹ്മാസ്ത്രം പ്രയോഗിക്കാൻ തന്നെ ഞാൻ തീരുമാനിച്ചു.
കുറച്ചാഴ്ചകൾക്കു മുൻപ് വീട്ടിലെ മറ്റാരും അറിയാതെ ഞാൻ കൊല്ലം ഡിസിബുക്ക്സ് സ്റ്റാളിൽ നിന്ന് വാങ്ങി എന്റെ പുസ്തക ഷെൽഫിനുള്ളിൽ ഒളുപ്പിച്ചു വെച്ച സാക്ഷാൽ “ബഷീർ സമ്പൂർണ കൃതികൾ!” മൂന്ന് പുസ്തകങ്ങളിലായി ഏകദേശം മൂവായിരം പേജുകളുള്ള ഒരു ബ്രഹ്മാണ്ഡൻ കളക്ഷൻ.
അതിലെ ഒന്നാം ഭാഗം മാത്രം പുറത്തെടുത്തു, ആ വിടവും, അതിനു മുൻപിലെ വരി മുഴുവനും മറ്റു പുസ്തകങ്ങൾ കൊണ്ട് മറച്ചു, പഴുതുകളെല്ലാമടച്ചു, വെടിപ്പായി ഞാൻ എന്റെ കുറ്റകൃത്യം ചെയ്തു തീർത്തു. ഹാരി പോട്ടറിലെ ഫ്രഡിന്റെയും ജോർജിന്റെയും ഭാഷയിൽ പറഞ്ഞാൽ – മിസ്ചീഫ് മാനേജ്ഡ്!
എ ആർ റഹ്മാൻ ചിട്ടപ്പെടുത്തിയ കുൻ ഫയാ കുൻ എന്ന പ്രശസ്തമായ സൂഫി ഗാനത്തിലെ ഒരു വരിയുണ്ട്. “മുജ്ജ്സെ ഹി റിഹാ.” എന്നെ എന്നിൽ നിന്ന് തന്നെ രക്ഷിക്കൂ. എന്റെ തന്നെ ചിന്തകളിൽ നിന്നുള്ള രക്ഷപെടലാണ് എനിക്ക് എഴുത്തും വായനയും യാത്രയുമൊക്കെ. മഴ യാത്ര മുടക്കിയസ്ഥിതിക്ക് ഇനി വായനയെ ശരണം. ബഷീർ കനിഞ്ഞേ മതിയാകൂ.
തുടരും…
May 23, 2025
Travel Diaries: Exploring Thevally – Part 2
Disclaimer
Please read the first part of the blog
here
to understand the full context.This blog reflects my personal travel experiences and thoughts. All opinions are my own and not intended as factual or political commentary. I’ve taken care not to share any sensitive or restricted information. 
Thevally BridgeThe Thevally Palace
As I crossed the Thevally bridge, I could see the Thevally Palace from behind the trees. I had already read about it online. The palace was built between 1811 and 1819, when Gauri Parvati Bai ruled this region. Kollam was part of the princely state of Travancore then. The colonial influence is evident in the palace’s architecture, which blends British, Dutch, and Portuguese styles.
I was disappointed when I found out that, despite being an important historical monument, the Thevally Palace was no longer a tourist location. Now, the building belongs to the PWD (Public Works Department) and the Indian Army, so it’s not even open to the public. It was repurposed as the NCC (National Cadet Corps) Group Headquarters of Kollam District.
As I reached the building, I talked to the security officer at the gate in broken Hindi (our conversation gave me a major reality check that if I want to navigate India on my own, I must improve my Hindi speaking skills ASAP). The officer politely explained that the place is not open to the public and photography is prohibited. He inquired about my job, place of residence, and purpose of visit. He was kind enough to let me see the building from the outside and appreciate its architecture. However, since it was a time of military conflicts and security threats in India, I didn’t want to be a nuisance to the officer or waste his time. So I thanked him and left soon.
Responsible Tourism in Times of Conflict
If I had visited the palace at any other time, say in a more politically peaceful climate, I would have written a paragraph lamenting the repurposing of a heritage site for military uses. Honestly, I still believe such historical sites should be earmarked as tourist locations and made open to the public. However, compared to what I saw at the police museum recently, I would support ‘repurposing’ over neglect any day.
Conversely, in the current state where war is a reality in my country, and the only reason I sleep peacefully at night or even dare to go on these trips is because we have an army that safeguards us from terrorists and enemy invasions, it somehow feels wrong to have such a discussion. Personally, I’m so relieved and grateful for the ceasefire agreement between India and Pakistan declared on May 12th, because I don’t believe there are any winners in wars, only losers. But I fear how long this ceasefire will stand. “Will the bordering states go into jeopardy again?” is a thought that keeps bothering the citizens of both countries, including me.
In other news, the government is pressing espionage cases against Indian vloggers who helped Pakistan by passing on critical information and locations to them. Arrests were made based on suspicions and evidence about the funding of these vloggers’ travels, their recent visits to Pakistan, and one instance where a lady vlogger was in touch with a Pakistani intelligence operative who groomed her to become an “asset” for Islamabad.
This sent me spiraling into thoughts about how I can travel and blog more responsibly during this turbulent time. How much restraint should I exercise in the kind of photos and content I share?
I want to travel all across India, document the experience, and share it with those who would be interested in reading it. But in the process, I don’t want to create a security threat for my country. So, my current decision is not to post any photos or details about any governmental or related buildings, unless it’s a popular tourist location.
Meen
Nameboard before the restaurants Meen and Asado.After walking out of the compound of the Thevally Palace, I crossed the road and walked down the side road that led to the premises of the restaurants Meen and Asado. Meen (meaning “fish” in Malayalam) is a restaurant owned by the famous Chef Pillai. Though I have heard rave reviews about the restaurant’s seafood dishes and ambiance, due to the costly menu, I prefer its neighbor, Asado, with the open-air seating, old music, and affordable dishes. Having said that, I’m looking forward to visiting Meen someday with my family.
Restaurant Meen by Chef Pillai in Thevally, Kollam.Asado
Night view of the restaurant Asado in Thevally, Kollam.As I walked around Meen, the smell of melting ghee wafted out from the restaurant. I paused for a moment, relishing it, before walking towards Asado. On my right, the beautiful Ashtamudi Lake flowed like a celestial stream with its heavenly breeze.
I occupied one of my favorite spots in Asado, an open-air table, and ordered an Oreo shake worth ₹80. I messaged my siblings and gave them my trip updates.
A nighttime glimpse of vibrant art adorning the walls of Asado.I asked the young bearded man who served me food if biryani was available, as I had not had my lunch, and also because my brother had inquired about it. We are biriyani fanatics. But the man said they had cancelled it from the menu, as sales were less. Grilled items and wraps were still their best sellers.
I’ve met this young, bearded man in my previous visits also, but I had never noticed that he has a unique spacing between his teeth and a beautiful smile. I also observed that they have started growing guppies on the premises. Guppies are a weakness for me. During the COVID-19 pandemic, I had loads of guppies as pets. But as my work became more hectic and the pet fish population in my house exploded, I had to give away most of them to my nephew, who has big tanks in his house.
Milma Dairy Plant
Nameboard of the Milma Dairy Plant.Next up on my list was the Milma Dairy Plant. But on the way to Meen/Asado, I had asked a lady at the Thevally palace bus stop for directions to the Milma Plant. She warned me that only the shop is open to the public now. If I want to visit the plant, I have to revisit in November.
“November 26th is National Milk Day in India; celebrated annually, it commemorates the birth anniversary of Dr. Verghese Kurien, who is known as the ‘Milkman of India’.”
This news was a bummer for me. Still, I walked to the Milma plant and rechecked with the security person. He confirmed that unless it’s a trip from a school or college, outsiders are not allowed now. I must wait till November to visit the plant. To make up for my disappointment, I went to the Milma store on the premises and bought one bottle of mango-milk juice, two sip-ups: one chocolate-flavored and another strawberry-flavored, and one packet of sambaram (buttermilk), all for ₹60.
Retracing
Just then, I remembered that I had forgotten to buy the sweet-and-spicy snack mix that my brother had asked me to get from the church premises. So I retraced my steps all the way to the church where I had started my journey, and bought some ginger jaggery and the snack mix from the festivities-special, newly cropped up snack shops.
I chit-chatted with the vendor for some time. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that he lived near my old school. We talked about the school, its lost splendor, the locality, the old teachers, and the students who made it big. He even inquired if I was working. When I told him I was, he looked confused… probably wondering why I was roaming around the church grounds so early on a Friday evening, if I had a job. I smiled at him, said goodbye, and caught a bus to High School Junction, and another to my home.
Lessons Learnt
Craving for more – I was hoping to strike off a lot of items from my to-visit and to-experience lists with this India trip. Though I could strike off the much-awaited ‘Kayalvaram’ visit from my to-do list, a few new items also got added to the list.
Go fishing someday.Boating in the Ashtamudi Lake again (I’ve done it once during childhood).Revisit the Milma Dairy Plant in November.Dine at Meen someday.Start working on my Hindi.Visit the Ornamental fish hatchery in Thevally. Visit the Quilon Aquaponics Training Centre in Mathilil, Kollam.It seems like there is no end to human wishes. Accomplishing one dream or goal will only lead to more. 
Again, I talk to myself. Whenever you find companionship, you can revisit these places with them and create cherishable memories. But right now, this is an endeavor, a vast project that’s only valuable to you. It is unfair to expect anyone else to accompany you to every place you visit. They have their own lives and timelines to keep up with.
Besides, the whole point of this trip is to get to know your country better, from your perspective. As a byproduct, you could also get to know yourself better, heal your wounds, become wiser, and gain more courage and clarity to face this life with grace. Don’t worry. Do it alone. Do it at your speed. Do it, messy and imperfect. Just do it.
Journey Home
As I walked home, I noticed that the bandage on my foot was almost giving away. My watch showed that I had covered 6023 steps, an approximate distance of 5 kilometers. Would my blister get worse? I worried for a second. But more than the blister, it was the loneliness and hopelessness that were weighing me down.
Just then, I noticed the migrant laborers working in the workshop nearby. Their faces looked tired, and their hands were greasy. I also observed the people working tirelessly in the row of small shops that led to my place.
A melancholic thought started swirling in my mind: “Maybe we are all just travelers in strange lands, walking around with unhealed blisters in our hearts.”
Still, we trudge along. We persevere. We don’t give up when things get hard, no matter how distant or lonely that finish line seems. That right there is the beauty of human resilience.
May 20, 2025
Travel Diaries: Exploring Thevally – Part 1
16 May 2025
A Blister
Whenever my non-Malayali friends ask me what they should keep in mind while exploring Kerala, I tell them that carrying a bottle of drinking water and an umbrella, applying sunscreen, and wearing light clothing can never go wrong. But I’m learning the hard way what can go wrong, even if you get the above list right. My foot. Yes, literally. 
On May 12th, I had to travel to Alappuzha to attend my younger cousin bro’s wedding. I’m so happy for him, his lovely wife, and both families. But for me, personally, it was a daredevil act. I was nervous, thinking about how I would dodge the constant influx of “when are you getting married” questions. But, contrary to my fears, my relatives showed much restraint and maturity, impressing even a critic like me.
Other than the occasional “So now that you’re working, what are your future plans?”, nobody went on to give me unsolicited advice about the female reproductive system or fertility. Neither did I get the regular “you will only get marriage proposals from the divorcees and widowers now” jab. I mean, what’s wrong with that? They might be lovely people. As long as they’re not alcoholics and abusers, the two red flags that are personally too scary and triggering for me, I’ll not run. (Oh! Emotional abuse counts, too.)
Anyway, that night, my father and I returned home late after attending the wedding. I sighed in relief, thinking I had escaped the event without any casualties. But the next day, I woke up with a blister on my right foot. It has become a regular issue this year. My immediate response to any minor injury is to dab a little bit of aloe vera gel on it. But in this case, it made things worse. The wound became septic, and I had to see the doctor.
“Did you go to Sabarimala on foot?” was the doctor’s first question, before he broke into giggles. How can he ask such a controversial question in Kerala’s current political climate? I wondered. As a Christian, I will be allowed to climb Sabarimala, but as a menstruating woman, definitely not. Is he attempting to toe that narrow line of social commentary and criticism? Careful there, doctor. Before you know it, you could offend someone.
Meanwhile, the nurse cleaned my wound, bandaged it, and the doctor ushered me off with antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medicines.
I rested for two days, planning to give the wound ample time to heal. However, on May 16th, my nerves got the best of me. I decided to catch up on my itinerary and made a plan to explore Thevally.
But first, my brother drove me to the hospital, where the nurse again dressed my wound, and a different doctor, a lady this time, approved my decision to switch to a softer sandal and confirmed that my wound is healing well. However, she went on to remind me that I’m too young for wounds like this and advised me to take good care of myself. She also gave me an ointment and antibiotics for three more days.
After the hospital visit, my brother dropped me at St. Casimir’s Church, Kadavoor, one of the places on my list, and advised me not to walk a lot before he left for his work. He and I both know I’m not sensible enough to follow that sound advice.
A Backup Plan
Growing up, I was someone who liked to face life impulsively. But as societal expectations grew bigger, my list of failures grew longer, and my anxieties grew louder, I picked up the habit of making lists. Daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, to-read, to-visit, to-do, grocery, household chores – you name it, and there’s a high chance I’ve already made that list.
So, obviously, the first thing I did before setting out on this series of trips was to make a list of places I wanted to visit. But my recent visit to the Saradar Vallabhbhai Patel Police Museum was an eye-opener for me. I learned that it’s not enough to have a list of the main places I want to visit, but I must also have backup plans and secondary lists of nearby places to visit if the original trip doesn’t pan out the way I intended.
My initial plan for Thevally was to visit only the “Thevally Palace.” But I found out online that the place is no longer a tourist attraction and is closed to the public. Still, I decided to try my luck by showing up at the place, but this time I wasn’t ready to leave everything to luck. So, I also made a list of nine other small spots close to the palace that are worth visiting, based on my areas of interest.
How to Reach Thevally?
By Train
By Bus
St. Casimir’s Church
The first spot on my list was St. Casimir’s Church at Kadavoor. There’s a small shrine for St. George on its premises. I have been to this church and shrine many times in the past. Still, I entered the shrine, sat on the floor, and prayed for some time.
I say rosaries every day now. Unlike in my childhood, nowadays I don’t pray for any grand wish to come true, just for mental peace. Praying helps me to relax and self-soothe in difficult days.
There were the occasional stares at my bandaged feet, but I deflected them with a smile, and they smiled back at me. One of the helpers came and gave me nercha; in this case, some puffed rice blessed by the priest. As it was a month of festivities for the parish, many devotees visited the shrine that day.
Pallikadavu
Then I walked to the backyard of the church, where there’s a gate that opens up to a flight of steps that can take you to the bank of Ashtamudi Lake, a spot known as Pallikadavu (rough translation – the bank near the Church) or simply Kayalvaram (a lakeshore).
The gate was locked. The security chetan explained that they don’t open it until 4 p.m. I checked the time on my watch. It was just 3 p.m. then. “There’s another way, outside the church compound. Just walk down the small road on the left side of the Kurishadi (St. George’s shrine),” he told me. I thanked him and followed his instructions.
I walked down the road he pointed to and came across another shrine, a smaller one, with a statue of St. Sebastian this time. A few young men were napping there. One of them woke up suddenly and looked at me, and I got nervous. I pulled out my phone and clicked a random picture of the nearby small cliff-like formation.
I guess the guy randomly woke up and was planning to leave on his own accord. Having a stranger like me on the premises, clicking pics of random grass and rocks, might’ve accelerated his decision to leave. Anyway, he got on his scooter and left soon. And I walked towards the bank and watched the lake for some time.
I know my siblings have been to this place many times in the past, with cousins or friends. Would you believe it if I told you it was my first time here? I know, I was living under a rock for the last three decades. Sure, sir. 
During my childhood, I was a bookworm, and I still am. Whenever someone asked me if I liked to go somewhere, say to Thevally Palace or Kayalvaram in this case, if I was in the middle of reading a book, I had this bad habit of saying no. Look where it has got me now. I hope I will correct many such mistakes with this India trip.
Standing there at the lake’s shore, I thought about the many instances when I felt like visiting this beautiful place everyone kept praising. Out of some fear, I just never got around to doing it until today. Now watching the few men around me – one of them was still napping inside the shrine, many fled as soon as I walked in (Honestly, I have no idea what that was about 
. Am I a man-repellant? If so, in this case, I’m happy I’m one.), and the rest were busy fishing – I even dared to think why I had feared so much. So many years lost to fear and overthinking!
Honestly, I didn’t feel like leaving the place. After snapping a few photos for the blog and recording a short video of the lake, I kept my mobile phone and umbrella inside my handbag and stood there under the sun, just watching and savoring the scenic beauty and the blissful wind all around me.
I bet that wind can mend a broken heart or two, or at least make you forget your sad life for a while. Standing there, I could feel it in my gut that humans are not meant for the 9-5 cubicle life. No one can convince me otherwise. I thanked God for the heavenly wind and murmured, “kaatu oru rekshayumilla”.
Then I gawked at the nature around me. The clear, blue sky with the occasional stripes of white. The molten blue waves of the lake and their gentle lapping sounds as they collapsed on top of one another. The odd houseboat filled with tourists in yellow life jackets, sailing at a distance. I reckoned they must be guests from the five-star Raviz Hotel or the four-star All Seasons. Honestly, I’ve never been to both hotels, so I cannot give a review yet. Maybe someday, when I visit the place for some celebratory event, I can talk about it.
I looked longingly at the fishing boat parked at the bank. When I had just arrived here, the boatman tied the boat to a tree stump and walked away. The houseboats, though beautiful, are too costly for my budget. (Yes, I’ve a shoestring budget for this trip. In fact, the budget is thinner than a shoestring. ) Maybe when I go to explore Alappuzha someday, I will splurge on a day’s houseboat trip. Let me see.
I also looked longingly at the father-son duo fishing on the bank. The boy was barely ten or twelve years old, but he was handling the professional fishing rod very well. I know it’s a professional one, because the last time I went to Decathlon at Pallimukku, Kollam, I did ogle at a few. And I ogled at a few trekking shoes, camping tents, and swimsuits too. But who am I kidding?
From the opposite shore, I could hear the Tamil song Idhuthaanaa playing. I assumed it was playing from Asado, one of my favorite hangout places in Kollam now. My siblings and I try to go there on the weekdays, preferably after 6 p.m., to grab an open-air table, next to the lake, to enjoy the view and the Varkala-like vibe it gives us. Idhuthaanaa is a romantic song, but as soon as I heard it, all I could think about was the grilled items, wraps, and shakes in Asado.
It took the school of fish in the water to drive away my food thoughts. They were too small, almost looked like tadpoles. And the big white stork dived so low to catch them on its beak. There were also some pigeons on the bank, and an odd full black-bodied stork-like bird. It wasn’t a kulakozhi (a White-breasted Waterhen) because it flew across the water, just like a stork. But it didn’t have the reddish beak or legs of a Black Stork. Maybe it was a black heron or an egret. I don’t know for sure. How I wish I had the bird-spotting skills of my twelve-year-old nephew. He can tell their names just by hearing their sounds. He doesn’t even have to see them.
Overall, standing near the Kayalvaram, soaking in the sun and my lust for life, was the highlight of the trip. The only thing that irked me, as usual, was the plastic and empty beer bottles casually tossed aside on the bank and in the water. When will we ever learn that safeguarding our water bodies is paramount to preventing a mass extinction in this world?
Reluctantly, I walked back to the premises of the church again. A white flower on the way puzzled me. It had the texture of a Mussaenda, but the ones I was familiar with always had more petals. But once I got home, a quick Google search cleared my doubt. It’s just a different variety of Mussaenda, alright.
I enquired about my next spot with the local vendors. A chechi who was selling tender coconuts and a couple who were heating the oil to fry yum snacks like pazhampori (Banana Fritters), parippu vada(Kerala Lentil Fritters), uzhunnu vada (I don’t know the English name. In Tamil, it’s called Medu Vada or Soft vada. Maybe Black Gram or Urad dal Fritters because that’s what it is made of), mulak bajji(chilli fritters?), and mutta bhaji (egg fritters or egg bonda?). Well, jotting this down is making me hungry.
Anyway, they told me my next spot – the much-awaited Thevally Palace is on the other side of the bridge. I thanked them and walked across the bridge. In the middle of the bridge, I stopped for some time and stared ahead, soaking in the images of the sky, the trees, the lake, and the fisherman on a boat. The lake, like the broken glass of a mirror, was glistening in the sun.
Is this what the poet William Henry Davies (or W.H. Davies) meant when he wrote Leisure:
“ WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?”
To be continued…
May 14, 2025
Travel Diaries: A Visit to the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Police Museum – Part 2
The gap between what’s promised online and the on-ground reality .
Disclaimer
This post is a continuation of my previous blog. Please read the first part here to understand the full context.9 May 2025 – My Second Trip
I listened to the latest news about the shelling and aerial attacks at the India-Pakistan bordering states. With Pakistani troops resorting to numerous ceasefire violations along the Line of Control in Jammu and Kashmir and western borders of India last night, India repulsed their attacks at first, then retaliated, and things have escalated on both sides. The news of another Nipah outbreak in Malappuram district also raised concern.
I got ready for another visit to the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Museum. This time, I didn’t take my shortcut. I boarded a bus to Kacheri, then took an Iravipuram bus, and got off at the Kollam railway station stop. I walked to the spot where I saw the police museum board last time. It was around 11:50 am, and the gates were still locked.
In the nearby shop built for disabled people, I found a frail, shirtless man resting. I asked him about the museum. He confirmed that the museum was not functional at the moment. But he went on to correct the main mistake I had been making.
What I had been looking at was only the side gate to the museum, next to the Sree Puthiyakavu Bhagavathy Temple. To find the main entrance, I had to go back to the NH’s side, take a left, and walk a bit. The police museum is located inside the compound of the East Police Station, Kollam.
So, I thanked him and hurried to the location. I was a bit hesitant to enter the police station compound. But sure enough, this time, I saw a much better board saying “Police Museum”.
I saw the nameboards of the Ladies’ Cell and the East Police Station as well.
I snapped pictures of the two statues on the premises. One was of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, popularly known as the “Iron Man of India,” first Deputy Prime Minister and Home Minister of India. The museum was named after him.
The second, smaller statue, located at the entrance of the station was of Gandhiji, and the plaque read: “This statue was unveiled by Shri. T.P. Senkumar IPS (IGP, South Zone), On 25th January 2006.”
The police station was on the right, the museum was in the middle, and to the left, there was a canteen. Many men and women were gathered before the police station. I wondered what issues they were going through.
I entered the porch area of the museum and found the door locked.
I snapped a few pictures and read the engravings on the wall.
I lingered around the statues for some more time and inquired about a few details from the people standing nearby. They confirmed that the museum was closed, but didn’t know when it would be reopened or if there were any plans for renovation.
I wondered… Why were they letting a once well-curated and well-run museum become a ruin? The spot and building looked apt. The images available on Google looked interesting and informative. Wikipedia even mentioned that the initial collection included bullets, guns, machines, various other weapons, information charts on DNA tests, human bones, fingerprints, snapshots of police dogs, and a variety of medals awarded to policemen of different ranks.
I also felt that the current state of the museum was sending a wrong message – about how paying homage to the police and martyrs is only for a namesake in our country, and such projects are deprioritized after the initial inauguration and photo-ops.
Maybe it wasn’t just the neglect of the authorities and lack of funds. Maybe the lack of enough visitors and support from locals like me was also part of the problem.
But I genuinely hope the authorities will renovate the place and reopen it soon. Until then, I think it’s best if the Kerala Tourism Department marks the place as ‘Closed’ on its relevant sites, to avoid disappointing tourists.
As I returned home by bus, I made a mental note not to let my shyness and introverted nature cause similar mistakes in the future. I can’t afford to visit every place twice. I don’t have the time or budget for that. I have to make the most out of each trip.
Last time, I inquired about the place from only one person; this time, I talked to more than four people. Communicating and asking questions is one crucial way we can learn from our travels.
Situational awareness is another key skill that we need when we go exploring a vast country like India. I hope to develop these skills more as I visit more places.
I also think about how we citizens can support the historical and cultural landmarks of our country. How can we rejuvenate similar landmarks that have been lost to neglect or lack of funds?
Currently, my country’s priority is reestablishing peace at the borders, deescalating tensions with Pakistan, and fighting its terror groups. But once peace is restored, what can we do to ensure some financial aid for this small museum?
Or am I being too optimistic about a democratic country with over 1200 museums and 4,000+ forts to safeguard? Well, a part of me is delusional enough to believe that once the peace is restored, if enough people asked the right questions enough number of times to the right people, it could still make a difference.
Travel: A Visit to the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Police Museum – Part 2
The gap between what’s promised online and the on-ground reality .
Disclaimer
This post is a continuation of my previous blog. Please read the first part here to understand the full context.9 May 2025 – My Second Trip
I listened to the latest news about the shelling and aerial attacks at the India-Pakistan bordering states. With Pakistani troops resorting to numerous ceasefire violations along the Line of Control in Jammu and Kashmir and western borders of India last night, India repulsed their attacks at first, then retaliated, and things have escalated on both sides. The news of another Nipah outbreak in Malappuram district also raised concern.
I got ready for another visit to the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Museum. This time, I didn’t take my shortcut. I boarded a bus to Kacheri, then took an Iravipuram bus, and got off at the Kollam railway station stop. I walked to the spot where I saw the police museum board last time. It was around 11:50 am, and the gates were still locked.
In the nearby shop built for disabled people, I found a frail, shirtless man resting. I asked him about the museum. He confirmed that the museum was not functional at the moment. But he went on to correct the main mistake I had been making.
What I had been looking at was only the side gate to the museum, next to the Sree Puthiyakavu Bhagavathy Temple. To find the main entrance, I had to go back to the NH’s side, take a left, and walk a bit. The police museum is located inside the compound of the East Police Station, Kollam.
So, I thanked him and hurried to the location. I was a bit hesitant to enter the police station compound. But sure enough, this time, I saw a much better board saying “Police Museum”.
I saw the nameboards of the Ladies’ Cell and the East Police Station as well.
I snapped pictures of the two statues on the premises. One was of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, popularly known as the “Iron Man of India,” first Deputy Prime Minister and Home Minister of India. The museum was named after him.
The second, smaller statue, located at the entrance of the station was of Gandhiji, and the plaque read: “This statue was unveiled by Shri. T.P. Senkumar IPS (IGP, South Zone), On 25th January 2006.”
The police station was on the right, the museum was in the middle, and to the left, there was a canteen. Many men and women were gathered before the police station. I wondered what issues they were going through.
I entered the porch area of the museum and found the door locked.
I snapped a few pictures and read the engravings on the wall.
I lingered around the statues for some more time and inquired about a few details from the people standing nearby. They confirmed that the museum was closed, but didn’t know when it would be reopened or if there were any plans for renovation.
I wondered… Why were they letting a once well-curated and well-run museum become a ruin? The spot and building looked apt. The images available on Google looked interesting and informative. Wikipedia even mentioned that the initial collection included bullets, guns, machines, various other weapons, information charts on DNA tests, human bones, fingerprints, snapshots of police dogs, and a variety of medals awarded to policemen of different ranks.
I also felt that the current state of the museum was sending a wrong message – about how paying homage to the police and martyrs is only for a namesake in our country, and such projects are deprioritized after the initial inauguration and photo-ops.
Maybe it wasn’t just the neglect of the authorities and lack of funds. Maybe the lack of enough visitors and support from locals like me was also part of the problem.
But I genuinely hope the authorities will renovate the place and reopen it soon. Until then, I think it’s best if the Kerala Tourism Department marks the place as ‘Closed’ on its relevant sites, to avoid disappointing tourists.
As I returned home by bus, I made a mental note not to let my shyness and introverted nature cause similar mistakes in the future. I can’t afford to visit every place twice. I don’t have the time or budget for that. I have to make the most out of each trip.
Last time, I inquired about the place from only one person; this time, I talked to more than four people. Communicating and asking questions is one crucial way we can learn from our travels.
Situational awareness is another key skill that we need when we go exploring a vast country like India. I hope to develop these skills more as I visit more places.
I also think about how we citizens can support the historical and cultural landmarks of our country. How can we rejuvenate similar landmarks that have been lost to neglect or lack of funds?
Currently, my country’s priority is reestablishing peace at the borders, deescalating tensions with Pakistan, and fighting its terror groups. But once peace is restored, what can we do to ensure some financial aid for this small museum?
Or am I being too optimistic about a democratic country with over 1200 museums and 4,000+ forts to safeguard? Well, a part of me is delusional enough to believe that once the peace is restored, if enough people asked the right questions enough number of times to the right people, it could still make a difference.
Travel Diaries: A Visit to the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Police Museum – Part 1
The gap between what’s promised online and the on-ground reality.
Disclaimer
Please read the full blog before jumping to conclusions. Context matters!If you’re in a hurry or prone to jumping to conclusions, just make sure you’re jumping to the right part. Read the second part of the blog here.The first time one of my friends mentioned the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Police Museum, I was baffled. A renowned police museum situated in Kollam? My hometown, Kollam? And not just anywhere, but near the Kollam railway station, the same place I’ve used for my commute for years? How did I miss that?
I checked the Kerala Tourism and DTPC websites’ links to the museum, and sure enough, there it was, with captivating images and the promise of a well-curated space.
“A unique museum showcasing the history of Indian law enforcement, featuring historic artifacts, a Martyrs’ Gallery, and insights into the evolution of policing.”
I realized that, like most people, I too have blind spots in my hometown, and added the place to my to-visit list.
How to Reach?
It’s located opposite Kollam Railway Station in Kollam, Kerala, India.
Or, from Kollam KSRTC stand or Chinnakada, take a Kottiyam(or Iravipuram)-bound bus, and get off at the Railway Station stop (Approximate Fare: ₹10–13).
(Additional details: The museum is situated inside the compound of the East Police Station, Kollam.)
The Police Museum was inaugurated on 10th May 1999 by B.S. Sastry IPS.The statue of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel was unveiled on 25th January 2006.
Main Attractions
A Statue of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel A Martyr’s GalleryPolice Arms & Artifacts from 18th & 19th C
No entry fee
(Additional details: Initially, the museum charged an admission fee, but it was later removed.)
7 May 2025 – My First Trip
Amidst the rising tensions between India and Pakistan following the recent Pahalgam terrorist attack, worrisome discussions about the Centre’s decision to conduct civil defence mock drills across 244 districts in India (including all 14 districts of Kerala), panicked declarations of “Yudham, yudham, mahayudham” (War, war, great war), and the breaking news about Operation Sindoor, I boarded a bus to Chinnakada to visit the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Police museum.
Though the restraint India showed during Operation Sindoor was reassuring, striking only nine high-value terrorist facilities belonging to the notorious organisations Jaish-e-Mohammed (JeM) and Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT), located in Pakistan and Pakistan-occupied Jammu and Kashmir (PoJK), the possibility of retaliation and an all-out war between India and Pakistan still loomed in the air.
I couldn’t help but think about the worst-case scenario of a barbaric war and extremists taking over one or both countries. The visuals of Taliban-ruled Pakistan in Malala’s writings, the genocide in the Gaza Strip in Motaz Azaiza’s photographs, the plight of the Yazidis in Nadia Murad’s memories, Iran in Marjane Satrapi’s graphic novel Persepolis, the aftermaths of wars portrayed in Ghibli Studio movies like The Grave of the Fireflies, the heartbreaking World War photos from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and a million other snapshots flashed through my mind in a fraction of a second.
I don’t want India or Pakistan to start a war or to become war-torn countries. But I know that tolerating intolerance, communal hatred, terrorism, and extremism is detrimental to the welfare, progress, and long-term peace of a country.
I got down at Chinnakada but didn’t board a Kottiyam-bound bus to the railway station stop. As I have been through these places multiple times in the past, I knew an alternate walkable route to the railway station.
Chinnakada is a busy junction where 5 city roads and one National highway interconnect at a traffic roundabout. If you walk past the Chinnakada clock tower and the bus stop, you will see a level crossing on your left.
I waited at the level crossing for a few minutes as the gatekeeper, a lady, lifted the gate and let the vehicles and pedestrians through. When you cross the railway tracks and walk straight ahead, you will be on YMCA Road. As you continue, you will see the YMCA building on your right, followed by the Kollam Public Library, also on the right, and the District Police Training Centre on your left.
When I reached the first turning to the left that led to the railway station, I asked an autorickshaw chetan for directions to the museum. He creased his eyebrows in doubt for a second, then smirked at me and said, “Moley, just walk ahead; it’s on the left side. To be honest, there isn’t much to see. After the first few years, people stopped caring.”
I thanked him and continued my walk. I know museums or art galleries don’t draw crowds like movie theatres or religious festivals in India. I assumed it would be empty, with maybe just one or two bored staff or security personnel, possibly even covered with some dust and cobwebs.
As I walked through the side road, I saw the Pranavam theatre on the right, rows of motorbikes neatly arranged at its front. Mohanlal’s Thudarum was playing there. And, on the left, I saw the board of the police museum.
Nothing prepared me for what I saw there.
No wonder I had missed this place before, I thought. The paint on the nameboard had peeled off; only a few letters were still visible. The museum’s rusted gate was chained and locked, weeds had taken over the entire structure. A few corroded vehicles were abandoned within the compound. The building itself looked like a forgotten ruin.
I looked around in confusion. The few people who were around didn’t seem to care. I took another lap around the road and returned to the spot again after a few minutes. Now the coast was clear. I snapped a few pictures. I couldn’t hide my disappointment. I walked to the bus stop, gulped down some water from my water bottle, got on the next Chavara bus, and took a ₹15 ticket back home.
Something didn’t add up in my mind. The place has a ⅘ rating on Google reviews, and I did see a few comments from history enthusiasts raving about the place. But as I scrolled down, I found some sour 1-star reviews from one or two years back complaining about how the place is not well-maintained and about the lack of guides/staff.
Some complained that the staff closed the building by 12 noon, even though the online timings showed the place was open until 6 pm. There were a few articles online complaining about the lack of funds and neglect of senior authorities, which led to the degradation of the museum. You can read them here: Manorama Online or NewIndianExpress.
Still, the images I saw online didn’t match the building I saw. And the fact that I visited the place after 2 pm, not before 12 noon, also nagged my mind. I don’t want to write a half-truth.
To be continued…
Please read the second part of the blog here.
Travel: A Visit to the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Police Museum – Part 1
The gap between what’s promised online and the on-ground reality.
Disclaimer
Please read the full blog before jumping to conclusions. Context matters!If you’re in a hurry or prone to jumping to conclusions, just make sure you’re jumping to the right part. Read the second part of the blog here.The first time one of my friends mentioned the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Police Museum, I was baffled. A renowned police museum situated in Kollam? My hometown, Kollam? And not just anywhere, but near the Kollam railway station, the same place I’ve used for my commute for years? How did I miss that?
I checked the Kerala Tourism and DTPC websites’ links to the museum, and sure enough, there it was, with captivating images and the promise of a well-curated space.
“A unique museum showcasing the history of Indian law enforcement, featuring historic artifacts, a Martyrs’ Gallery, and insights into the evolution of policing.”
I realized that, like most people, I too have blind spots in my hometown, and added the place to my to-visit list.
How to Reach?
It’s located opposite Kollam Railway Station in Kollam, Kerala, India.
Or, from Kollam KSRTC stand or Chinnakada, take a Kottiyam(or Iravipuram)-bound bus, and get off at the Railway Station stop (Approximate Fare: ₹10–13).
(Additional details: The museum is situated inside the compound of the East Police Station, Kollam.)
The Police Museum was inaugurated on 10th May 1999 by B.S. Sastry IPS.The statue of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel was unveiled on 25th January 2006.
Main Attractions
A Statue of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel A Martyr’s GalleryPolice Arms & Artifacts from 18th & 19th C No entry fee
(Additional details: Initially, the museum charged an admission fee, but it was later removed.)
7 May 2025 – My First Trip
Amidst the rising tensions between India and Pakistan following the recent Pahalgam terrorist attack, worrisome discussions about the Centre’s decision to conduct civil defence mock drills across 244 districts in India (including all 14 districts of Kerala), panicked declarations of “Yudham, yudham, mahayudham” (War, war, great war), and the breaking news about Operation Sindoor, I boarded a bus to Chinnakada to visit the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel Police museum.
Though the restraint India showed during Operation Sindoor was reassuring, striking only nine high-value terrorist facilities belonging to the notorious organisations Jaish-e-Mohammed (JeM) and Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT), located in Pakistan and Pakistan-occupied Jammu and Kashmir (PoJK), the possibility of retaliation and an all-out war between India and Pakistan still loomed in the air.
I couldn’t help but think about the worst-case scenario of a barbaric war and extremists taking over one or both countries. The visuals of Taliban-ruled Pakistan in Malala’s writings, the genocide in the Gaza Strip in Motaz Azaiza’s photographs, the plight of the Yazidis in Nadia Murad’s memories, Iran in Marjane Satrapi’s graphic novel Persepolis, the aftermaths of wars portrayed in Ghibli Studio movies like The Grave of the Fireflies, the heartbreaking World War photos from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and a million other snapshots flashed through my mind in a fraction of a second.
I don’t want India or Pakistan to start a war or to become war-torn countries. But I know that tolerating intolerance, communal hatred, terrorism, and extremism is detrimental to the welfare, progress, and long-term peace of a country.
I got down at Chinnakada but didn’t board a Kottiyam-bound bus to the railway station stop. As I have been through these places multiple times in the past, I knew an alternate walkable route to the railway station.
Chinnakada is a busy junction where 5 city roads and one National highway interconnect at a traffic roundabout. If you walk past the Chinnakada clock tower and the bus stop, you will see a level crossing on your left.
I waited at the level crossing for a few minutes as the gatekeeper, a lady, lifted the gate and let the vehicles and pedestrians through. When you cross the railway tracks and walk straight ahead, you will be on YMCA Road. As you continue, you will see the YMCA building on your right, followed by the Kollam Public Library, also on the right, and the District Police Training Centre on your left.
When I reached the first turning to the left that led to the railway station, I asked an autorickshaw chetan for directions to the museum. He creased his eyebrows in doubt for a second, then smirked at me and said, “Moley, just walk ahead; it’s on the left side. To be honest, there isn’t much to see. After the first few years, people stopped caring.”
I thanked him and continued my walk. I know museums or art galleries don’t draw crowds like movie theatres or religious festivals in India. I assumed it would be empty, with maybe just one or two bored staff or security personnel, possibly even covered with some dust and cobwebs.
As I walked through the side road, I saw the Pranavam theatre on the right, rows of motorbikes neatly arranged at its front. Mohanlal’s Thudarum was playing there. And, on the left, I saw the board of the police museum.
Nothing prepared me for what I saw there.
No wonder I had missed this place before, I thought. The paint on the nameboard had peeled off; only a few letters were still visible. The museum’s rusted gate was chained and locked, weeds had taken over the entire structure. A few corroded vehicles were abandoned within the compound. The building itself looked like a forgotten ruin.
I looked around in confusion. The few people who were around didn’t seem to care. I took another lap around the road and returned to the spot again after a few minutes. Now the coast was clear. I snapped a few pictures. I couldn’t hide my disappointment. I walked to the bus stop, gulped down some water from my water bottle, got on the next Chavara bus, and took a ₹15 ticket back home.
Something didn’t add up in my mind. The place has a ⅘ rating on Google reviews, and I did see a few comments from history enthusiasts raving about the place. But as I scrolled down, I found some sour 1-star reviews from one or two years back complaining about how the place is not well-maintained and about the lack of guides/staff.
Some complained that the staff closed the building by 12 noon, even though the online timings showed the place was open until 6 pm. There were a few articles online complaining about the lack of funds and neglect of senior authorities, which led to the degradation of the museum. You can read them here: Manorama Online or NewIndianExpress.
Still, the images I saw online didn’t match the building I saw. And the fact that I visited the place after 2 pm, not before 12 noon, also nagged my mind. I don’t want to write a half-truth.
To be continued…
Please read the second part of the blog here.
