The Chain of Memories
My memories of Kerala begin with a (train) journey to Goa from Ernakulam. I was hardly three, and you know how much geography mattered to one in that age. What I still remember is a huge ring of yellow light with its rays scattered over the silvery rails coming towards me in the darkness. We (my dad, who was with the Indian Navy, and mom) got into the train.
The days in Goa were memorable. I sensed a spectacular setting around me: The sea, abandoned aircrafts, stray dogs, cattle, prawns and ice creams with the colour of the setting sun. But the days didn’t last, we had to return to Kerala after a year. Though Goa evoked in me a sense of feeling about the place I live in, Kerala taught me the basic principles of life. Memories are always interconnected. So do my Goa and Kerala.
I was born and raised in Attingal, a sleepy town 33 km from Thiruvananthapuram. As a child, I liked the place. But once I grew up, I began searching for bigger canvases. I joined University College, one of the most prestigious colleges in Kerala, as a literature student. It was really a temple of learning. At the time I joined the college, it had already lost its charm. But the ‘aura’ remained. There was a full-fledged creative atmosphere around me. Reclining on one of its verandahs, I thought there won’t be anyone to teach me in life, and I have to learn everything by myself.
The three years I spent in the University College had a mixture of “good, bad and ugly.” An SFI activist, poet, and an active member of the BBC (Bad Boys Club)…there were many roles. Most important things in my life I learnt from outside, not from the classrooms. There were discussions based on the works of Kafka, Sartre and Kazantzakis. I read Kafka’s The Trial without even knowing who Kafka was and what was his Existentialism really meant for. There were more books and more reading. Those days I used to spend nine hours a day reading literature, mainly poetry and novels.
For me, things were happening outside. The main sources were the literary camps organised by various universities. I still remember a 3-day journalism camp organised by the Kerala University at Veli, a beautiful beach-village in Thiruvananthapuram. In the dead of night, we were taken to different newspaper offices to witness the scene there. There was another one, held at YMCA, Perumbavoor, which is situated by the banks of river Periyar. We, a group of young writers, spent the night by the banks of river Periyar -- sometimes reading from our own works, and sometimes looking at the silent-flow of Periyar. The movement of Periyar was inviting.
And now, after many years of journeys and many rounds of Old Monk, I am in Chennai. I like every place I visited. But it was in Thiruvananthapuram where I first published my story. It was in Thiruvananthapuram where I first broadcast my story over AIR. And it was in Thiruvananthapuram where I first learnt how to swim against the flow.
The days in Goa were memorable. I sensed a spectacular setting around me: The sea, abandoned aircrafts, stray dogs, cattle, prawns and ice creams with the colour of the setting sun. But the days didn’t last, we had to return to Kerala after a year. Though Goa evoked in me a sense of feeling about the place I live in, Kerala taught me the basic principles of life. Memories are always interconnected. So do my Goa and Kerala.
I was born and raised in Attingal, a sleepy town 33 km from Thiruvananthapuram. As a child, I liked the place. But once I grew up, I began searching for bigger canvases. I joined University College, one of the most prestigious colleges in Kerala, as a literature student. It was really a temple of learning. At the time I joined the college, it had already lost its charm. But the ‘aura’ remained. There was a full-fledged creative atmosphere around me. Reclining on one of its verandahs, I thought there won’t be anyone to teach me in life, and I have to learn everything by myself.
The three years I spent in the University College had a mixture of “good, bad and ugly.” An SFI activist, poet, and an active member of the BBC (Bad Boys Club)…there were many roles. Most important things in my life I learnt from outside, not from the classrooms. There were discussions based on the works of Kafka, Sartre and Kazantzakis. I read Kafka’s The Trial without even knowing who Kafka was and what was his Existentialism really meant for. There were more books and more reading. Those days I used to spend nine hours a day reading literature, mainly poetry and novels.
For me, things were happening outside. The main sources were the literary camps organised by various universities. I still remember a 3-day journalism camp organised by the Kerala University at Veli, a beautiful beach-village in Thiruvananthapuram. In the dead of night, we were taken to different newspaper offices to witness the scene there. There was another one, held at YMCA, Perumbavoor, which is situated by the banks of river Periyar. We, a group of young writers, spent the night by the banks of river Periyar -- sometimes reading from our own works, and sometimes looking at the silent-flow of Periyar. The movement of Periyar was inviting.
And now, after many years of journeys and many rounds of Old Monk, I am in Chennai. I like every place I visited. But it was in Thiruvananthapuram where I first published my story. It was in Thiruvananthapuram where I first broadcast my story over AIR. And it was in Thiruvananthapuram where I first learnt how to swim against the flow.
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