Photographs of strangers.
Strangers who resembled family. Awkward conversations about unknown
blood relatives. Names of mutual acquintances get tossed
around to fill the silences. Trips to ancestral villages can be any of those
things. However they turn out to be- they eventually become
unforgettable memories!
Goats that wouldn't bother
breaking away from their normal routine of sleeping on the middle of
the road. Moss covered walls- giving a touch of bright green to those walls
that are otherwise faded. Bright yellow flowers blossoming on the roofs of
houses. Residents who were no strangers to the "visit" from the
"long lost" "sons and daughters of the land" from the
towns.
An ansestor who had become a
"saint" was apparently burried in this little village. This was a quest to
find the place where he was originally burried.There were two temples in
the village- a big one and a amall one. They shared a priest which meant
that the deities had to wait for their turn on a busy day!
The day we were vising the
village, there was another family who were performing rituals at the
temple. It tunrned out that they were related to us too. Only- no one could
remember the relation that related us.
Village deities are a
delight! There are so many stories of these deities rescuing the ones in
distress. They usually leave behind a long trail of miraculous adventure tales
that the ones involved liked to recount in detail- to whoever visited
the place. While the children waited for the food to land on their plates-
these tales kept growing longer and longer...
The saint happened to be
burried beneath shrubs and weeds that covered a slight mound of land. It's
a matter of faith and it was believed that he was burried right there.
A temple beneath a tree. The
tree that stood and saw the village grow. The tree which stayed behind
in the childhood memories of the lost cousins!
My father had often told me
stories about how he had to walk for miles to get to his school. There
were still those children in the village, who had to walk all the miles to reach
their schools...
And finally, like in all
stories, there are still those children, who like to have their picture taken by
the visitors from the town! Perhaps they'd never get a copy of those
pictures. Still, they'd insist that they be photographed. Years from
now- she may meet more of my kind... The lost sons and daughters of the
village... Perhaps one of them might even have her photograph for her!
The deities, the trees, the
flowers on roofs; goats, wells and the dust on the stone horse's hoofs- these
shall remain in the village forever! A memory of the time that paused for a
while- in that beautiful village called- Keeranur!
Trip: Nov 22nd-24th 2014
