her family. I was in a group of my siblings: Kareena, Number-Six, Number-Eight, Number-Nine and Number-Ten. A lavish lunch was served by the bride-to-be’s family for us. The lunch had multiple elements of typical Kerala cuisine. I was seated across from the girl. Visiting a girl at her home and eating a lavish meal was part of the arranged-marriage ritual.
Her beauty transfixed me. Instead of enjoying the culinary delight of Kerala, I was staring at her, with my half-opened mouth that refused to close, while my siblings were voraciously gulping down the fried fish, with their mouths gyrating in unison, as if acted upon by motors that refused to shut down.
Kareena, sitting by my side at the dining table, elbowed me in the ribs sharply and said, “Don’t stare at the girl; it is rude.”
The half-chewed rice spewed out of my half-open mouth by this sudden stabbing at my ribs, pain radiating out from the point of contact. My mouth contents landed on the girl’s forehead near her bindi. The mushy rice blobs then descended and landed on her cream-colored kanjipuram sari. This last act put a lid on my hopes of marrying the girl. She screamed and left the dining hall in disgrace and took refuge in the kitchen. She was followed by her concerned mother and younger sister. Her father stared at me hard and left the dining table in protest. I was in the company of just my siblings who merrily kept on chewing.
The rapidly chewing crew of my siblings was not aware of the rib-stab that I received from Kareena. They were surprised that I dared to spit my food at the host. They liked the food and were looking forward to having the girl as their future sister-in-law so that they could enjoy mouth-watering food she would cook in the future, just like the one they were having. Their plans just derailed.
My siblings were so taken aback by my unexpected and violent act that all of them stopped chewing simultaneously like synchronized swimmers, their half-open mouths frozen in mid-action as if someone hit the pause button of a remote control. Their mouths refused to continue chewing. This immobilization was the first of its kind ever since they started munching on the lunch. They were surprised and puzzled.
The ice was broken when someone in the group helpfully suggested: “You should not have spit at the girl for bad food.” He immediately resumed chewing.
Kareena offered me another stab at my ribs, winked at me, smiledslyly, and continued eating.
Even though I was transfixed by the girl and even though I was disarmed by her beauty, I was rendered a zombie of inaction with a frozen mouth, which resulted in a Kerala-cuisine projectile making impact with her forehead and sari. This eventually shut down the prospects of a marriage. I was nevertheless thinking of a Canadian girl intermittently during the disastrous lunch. No doubt, it was an untimely time to ruminate over my romantic interlude in Canada; it was like double-crossing the girl I went to meet. However, those memories seized me and took control of me while I was desperately trying to act decently. Shame on me!
As you guessed, Latha told Kareena that she was not interested in marrying me. She did not want to spend a lifetime with someone who refused to eat with his mouth closed. Bad manners, case closed. Kareena conveyed the message to me.
I did not blame Latha.
I think that I owe it to you to explain what kind of Canadian memories gripped me during pennukanal and made me helpless in proceeding whole-heartedly in the pursuit of a Kerala romance.
***
It all started on a brutally cold Canadian day. If you were with me in my living room on that day of days, you would appreciate what I am about to reveal.
I am going to take you to a world supernatural and beautiful beyond comparison, a world as fascinating as it is mysterious, a world where your spoken words can freeze in the mid-air, and a world cool and tranquil as the arctic ice. I am talking about where I live, the great
Her beauty transfixed me. Instead of enjoying the culinary delight of Kerala, I was staring at her, with my half-opened mouth that refused to close, while my siblings were voraciously gulping down the fried fish, with their mouths gyrating in unison, as if acted upon by motors that refused to shut down.
Kareena, sitting by my side at the dining table, elbowed me in the ribs sharply and said, “Don’t stare at the girl; it is rude.”
The half-chewed rice spewed out of my half-open mouth by this sudden stabbing at my ribs, pain radiating out from the point of contact. My mouth contents landed on the girl’s forehead near her bindi. The mushy rice blobs then descended and landed on her cream-colored kanjipuram sari. This last act put a lid on my hopes of marrying the girl. She screamed and left the dining hall in disgrace and took refuge in the kitchen. She was followed by her concerned mother and younger sister. Her father stared at me hard and left the dining table in protest. I was in the company of just my siblings who merrily kept on chewing.
The rapidly chewing crew of my siblings was not aware of the rib-stab that I received from Kareena. They were surprised that I dared to spit my food at the host. They liked the food and were looking forward to having the girl as their future sister-in-law so that they could enjoy mouth-watering food she would cook in the future, just like the one they were having. Their plans just derailed.
My siblings were so taken aback by my unexpected and violent act that all of them stopped chewing simultaneously like synchronized swimmers, their half-open mouths frozen in mid-action as if someone hit the pause button of a remote control. Their mouths refused to continue chewing. This immobilization was the first of its kind ever since they started munching on the lunch. They were surprised and puzzled.
The ice was broken when someone in the group helpfully suggested: “You should not have spit at the girl for bad food.” He immediately resumed chewing.
Kareena offered me another stab at my ribs, winked at me, smiledslyly, and continued eating.
Even though I was transfixed by the girl and even though I was disarmed by her beauty, I was rendered a zombie of inaction with a frozen mouth, which resulted in a Kerala-cuisine projectile making impact with her forehead and sari. This eventually shut down the prospects of a marriage. I was nevertheless thinking of a Canadian girl intermittently during the disastrous lunch. No doubt, it was an untimely time to ruminate over my romantic interlude in Canada; it was like double-crossing the girl I went to meet. However, those memories seized me and took control of me while I was desperately trying to act decently. Shame on me!
As you guessed, Latha told Kareena that she was not interested in marrying me. She did not want to spend a lifetime with someone who refused to eat with his mouth closed. Bad manners, case closed. Kareena conveyed the message to me.
I did not blame Latha.
I think that I owe it to you to explain what kind of Canadian memories gripped me during pennukanal and made me helpless in proceeding whole-heartedly in the pursuit of a Kerala romance.
***
It all started on a brutally cold Canadian day. If you were with me in my living room on that day of days, you would appreciate what I am about to reveal.
I am going to take you to a world supernatural and beautiful beyond comparison, a world as fascinating as it is mysterious, a world where your spoken words can freeze in the mid-air, and a world cool and tranquil as the arctic ice. I am talking about where I live, the great
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