If you are a Malayalee and most of all, a Malabari at that, this is not a tough one. As a Malabari, there is really only one major festival we celebrate - Vishu. While the rest of the country and even other parts of the state choose to celebrate many festivals, like Deepavali or Onam, in much grandeur, the North Malabar seldom partakes in them. Because we chose one festival, and that is all we need in full grandeur.
I am not religious. Never been and never will be. But I am spiritual. I love the grounding it brings me.
So it was with extreme joy that my heart leaped when my oldest two asked me yesterday - ' Amma, when is Vishu?' I was not expecting that. Not from the two who have absolutely no visual recollection or memory of the Malabari roots in them. I basked in the glory that all my years of effort have finally paid off - I have them excited for a tradition that I, as a kid, have absolutely fond memories of! There has not been a year in my memory that I have not woken up to the Vishu Kani in the wee hours of Vishu morning. Or waiting eagerly for all the coins and money bills that the elders give us throughout the day. Turns out my kids were also excited for the very same thing! They needed money and figured Vishu was the safest way to ask for it without being lectured by me!!! Small win. I will take it!
As a kid, Vishu was always special. Summer holidays. The annual trip from Trivandrum to Kannur. Sleeper class train tickets. Fighting with my brother for the upper berth. Meeting all the cousins at ammamma's house. Overjoyed that this meant two whole months of nothing but eat, play, and make merry. Devouring the ripe mangoes, jackfruit, and chikku directly from the trees. Hours of playing non-stop cricket. The many, many days of festivals and theyyam in every temple in the area. Staying up late nights in the temple grounds to see the fireworks. Spending every cent from the Vishu Kaineetam on Kuppi Vala (Glass Bangles) from Deepa fancy store and the utsava shops. (My fancy for Kuppi Vala is as old as I am!)
So, I was very upset when this yearly routine was disrupted, one fine summer. My dad decided that instead of taking the night train directly to Kannur, we would take a day train to Guruvayoor and then head to Kannur. I was mad. I hated daytime train journeys, especially in Kerala. They are hot, humid, cramped, and stinky! I love the night trains. Waking up to see the dawn. Cracking open the window when everyone is asleep. So, in my usual way, I threw all the temper tantrums I could, but they went unheeded. Against my (tiny) will, I was made to join them in their new routine. My first ever trip to Guruvayoor. The trip that changed me. The trip that made me. The first time I ever fell in love. My first love.
So if you are not familiar with Guruvayoor of yesteryears, then a little recap helps. It is one of the few temples that enforced strict dress codes and held all surrounding areas to an extremely high code of conduct. Thus, after a much detested train ride, when I stepped out of my cramped train compartment and set foot onto the newly laid platform, I was hit with the smell of incense. Subtle and yet sublime. Pure bliss. I am a sucker for incense. Not any kind. The really pure ones. The ones that hit you and instantly transport you into a spiritual trance. And the smell of jasmine..the pure, divine smell all around me. I believed I had just landed in heaven. Earnestly, I looked around and took in all the sights. Devotion all around, wherever I looked. In the outfits worn, in the multitude of sandalwood pastes on the different foreheads around me, in all the jasmines that adorned every beautifully braided hair carried, even in the names of all the establishments around me. I decided not to sulk any longer.
For a teenager who had spent most of her life in stiff, much-detested school uniforms and an endless rotation of hand-me-down casuals, clothes had always been practical, predictable. But then, in that quiet hotel room in Guruvayoor, something shifted. My mom handed me the most breathtaking silk half saree I had ever seen. Rich, luminous, and impossibly elegant - in red and blue, two of my favourite colours. My very first grown-up outfit. Jumping in glee, I draped myself in that fineness and couldn't stop looking at the mirror over and over again. It was a quick trip down to the store just outside the hotel lobby, to complete my ensemble - Matching glass bangles and tons of jasmine flowers for my braided hair.
I didn't walk to the temple. I skipped. With joy. On how beautiful I felt. I was definitely sure that this is what true love felt like.
But then came the disappointment.
Three long hours in a winding, restless line, waiting for that one sacred moment in the inner sanctum. By the time I inched closer to the idol, the magic had worn thin, replaced by irritation and exhaustion.
I was acutely aware of everything that had fallen apart.
The once-elegant silk half saree, now hopelessly crumpled.
My hair, damp with sweat, clinging stubbornly to my neck.
The delicate string of jasmine, slipping loose strand by strand.
Glass bangles, some shattered, their sharp edges pressing into my skin.
Kohl that once framed my eyes, now streaked across my cheeks.
And the sandalwood paste on my forehead… long gone, erased by time and heat.
Ugh. I was fuming. Inside and out.
And then, there wasn’t even a moment to gather myself. No graceful walk toward him. Just a sudden surge. A wave of people pushing, pulling, elbowing, and carrying me forward, whether I was ready or not. It was chaos. No stillness, no serenity. Just a blur of bodies and breath and impatience.
But in the middle of all that madness, for just a fleeting second, I looked up.
And there he was.
My Kannan.
The very first time I saw him.
And I could swear. He was smiling.
That infuriated me.
I had no prayers ready. No gratitude to offer. No sense of peace or surrender. Instead, I met him with anger. Raw, unfiltered, unapologetic.
While a hundred others around me stood there, melting into devotion, hands folded and eyes brimming with reverence, I stood there doing the exact opposite. In that brief, chaotic moment, we had our first meeting and our first disagreement.
I complained to him.
I told him how unfair it was.
I had spent hours getting ready, only to stand before him looking like a complete mess.
How everything I had carefully put together had unraveled before I could even reach him.
And in that fleeting exchange, I made him a promise. One fueled entirely by frustration.
“I’m never doing this again,” I told him.
“Never again am I showing up like this on a Vishu day, just for a glimpse of you.”
It wasn’t devotion.
It wasn’t surrender.
It was defiance.
And somehow, that became the beginning of something much deeper than I understood at the time.
I wish I had enacted that day differently. I wish I had told him how much he means to me.
With all the excitement I carried as a child, one thing has remained unchanged, year after year, I celebrate Vishu with the same quiet devotion. Time has moved on, life has evolved, but this ritual, it has stayed sacred.
And over the years, one place has come to hold my heart in a way I can’t quite explain - Guruvayoor.
It isn’t just a town to me. It’s a feeling.
I long for the simple joys it offers. The crisp, golden masala dosas, the endless rows of bangles and tiny knick-knacks I can never resist, the comforting ritual of hot, piping coffee house cutlets paired with a strong cup of coffee. These little things have become traditions of their own, woven into my memories of the place.
But more than anything else, I go back for him.
I have walked into that sanctum countless times since the very first visit. Some days, I’ve stood there whole. On others, I’ve arrived completely broken, tears streaming, words failing, yet somehow knowing I was heard. I have wept without restraint, surrendered without explanation.
And then there have been days of quiet pride. Like the time I dressed as a bride and stood before him, still seeking his approval, still that same girl at heart.
Over the years, I’ve made promises there. Some I’ve kept with conviction. Some I’ve gently postponed, tucking them away for a future I have no vision of.
But one wish continues to rise above the rest - to see him as my kani on a Vishu morning.
To wake up to that divine first sight.
To return, just for a moment, to being that wide-eyed teenager again, filled with excitement, discovering herself, falling in love with who she was becoming.
And somewhere in that journey, realizing she had already fallen for him.
Completely. Quietly. Forever.
I penned this a few years ago and posted it on my social media page. But the words hold true. Even today. And until the day I breathe my last.
Where I call home, I am called an alien
Where my heart feels at home, the time away has made me feel alien
You are the only place where time stands still for me
The only place, my head and heart has always felt at home
The only place I never feel alien
In your presence, I am ME again
Always my first and forever love
Without you, I don't exist
Ente krishna ❤!
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