my first glimpse of thrissur

all i can see from the sky are rows of velvet green palm trees forming a thick blanket over the city..

this after seeing the semi-thatched roofs of dharavi. big relief.
the heat hits me as soon as i disembark. it's like a blast of hot air and it acts as a revitaliser. almost!
i get into the a/c taxi.
trissur, i say, hoping i won't be asked to answer something in malayalam.
luck i see is on my side. he nods.
and we are in first gear.

the taxi speeds on. on and on. it's a never ending journey. where on earth is trissur? i wonder. my last trip was from blr and it didn't seem half as long.
the life size cut-outs of heros and heroines, both looking voluptuous from my position, stare down at the little a/c cab.
i look up and the sun gets into my eye.

the palm trees are multiplying by the minute, so are the beads of sweat on the pedestrians. though they don't seem to mind.
i feel guilty though riding in a/c comfort with my nose pressed to the window pane.
meanwhile we come upon a railway crossing. there's bumper to bumper traffic, but the cool dude driving me is not in the least bit ruffled. he just makes his way forward

along the wrong side of the road, and finds a suitable gap. again and again. how does he know he'll find a gap? only god's own country bumpkin knows between taking calls

on his cell and doing a Jim Carrey on a bulimic street.

and then it's off again. in the face of fast speeding trucks/buses, our dude doesn't budge an inch. i shut my eyes tight, i have been forewarned not to keep an eye on the

road since its bad for the heart. lesser known mortals have been known to pass out at the sight of an oncoming truck with no room for escape.

i enter thrissur, the rows and rows of shops, are full of the hustle and bustle of a saturday morning.
women with flowers in their hair and gold bordered saris are talking in high pitched voices.

the temple looks busy.

i reach the confines of my room. there i get ready to face the crowd. they all speak mal, i don't.

i make my way through the wedding hall, sit in my chair, and begin to stare.

first i stare at the stage, so many flowers... then i look at the musicians, very nice, then i look at the 700 faces... they all merge into one.

large kohl eyes are all around, as are men in mundus.

i catch sight of the one person i know, but he is very busy welcoming the guests so i look to the groom. his face is expressionless, he takes huge gulps of oxygen as he sees

more and more smiling faces.

the bride enters carrying her share of the flowers, and her share of the trepidation. what next looms large on her face...

the ceremony kicks off, i turn to look at the turnout. when i look back on the stage, the pair is already married. i blink once then blink again. goodness gracious me! this is

faster than a wedding in las vegas.

then everyone is happy, happy shining faces. some wipe away tears. these unions have a strange way of moving people. women of differing ages make their way towards --

oh no ---me? i smile. i say "malayalam areela". they remain unperturbed. not so i.

i am pulled away to wash my hands since i am about to embark on the banana leaf trail. i sit eyes wide open and watch as the leaf in front of me gets brighter and fuller. payasam heralds itself with a splash. i am too thrilled as i dive fingers first into the mounds of red, green, and mustard. my palate gets its first taste of authentic fare after a

long day of airline food. it is pleased. meanwhile i am getting full/fuller though the servers show no signs of stopping. they are merrily piling it up, and my stomach grins in the only way it knows best.

then it's over and out, as the next lot of hungry revellers amble in, hands washed, stomachs growling.

soon the couple leaves and the guests sit around waiting for phase 2, read, reception at the groom's house. for another round of appam and vegetable stew. and the ubiquitous orange crusted gobi manchurian which is fast becoming a national obsession...