NIRVANA @ 9°58’N 76°17’E

It was a great relief, to exit from a very rare Air India flight at Trivandrum which had flown in from Dubai. The great relief was in that the flight was not cancelled and that the temperature outside was twenty four degree Celsius, twenty degrees cooler than the hot and arid desert climate from which I have escaped. Getting out of the airport was rather hassle-free, and I moved to the cab which was designated to take me home. I opened the right side door only to realize that the passenger seat in India was essentially at the left side – some of the desert habits had rubbed itself on me, though my stay was rather short. The cool atmosphere around me soothed my ailing heart and the skin for that matter. Three months out in the desert was not a small feat in itself.

Dubai – Land of dreams, as the saying goes in numerous Mallu masala flicks, turned out for me soulless without any real life to it. All the glitter and glamour, for a lesser layman, could be amazing. It just turned out for me to be a piece of another wasteland where the oil money has built up huge lifeless structures with equally mundane people residing inside. These very simpletons could be characterized as the wooden pirouettes which dangle on the hands of their ARABAB – a new word that I learned in Dubai, which means the boss. There are many who call the Middle East their little piece of heaven on the earth. But I could not find even a single instance by which I could call that piece of sand, my nirvana. I called it quits before the desert could cast its spell up on me. The spell that holds you bound to it, not by means of liveliness, fascination or ecstasy, but by the glimmering piece of embossed steel that the mint churns out.

I loved the buildings for their architectural marvel. I appreciated the wide roads, boulevards and the automatic transit systems. It was heartening to see the trees standing tall in the hellish heat. But I hated the automatons scrambling about, their arrogance, and ignorance. I hated the way they treated you, impounding your passports, sponsoring you for their work. You had to live here being a parasite, feeding of your sponsor, practically under their supervision. They could make you or break you. It was a wonder for me to see the people denouncing their home land for the glitz and glamour of this never land. I could see people proudly embracing this country and culture, calling it their own, all the while conveniently forgetting that they will remain outsiders. Mammon can change a person, wringing him inside out, hanging out for drying.

Here in the midst of the lush flora and fauna, on the top of the light house at my favourite beach destination, in the air I breathe, in the water I drink, trough the chaotic traffic I despise, and the vociferous politicians that I hate, I could find my salvation, my love, my destiny, my little piece of heaven called Kerala.