Anjana Menon has written a charming book about her experiences in Kerala
By Shevlin Sebastian
Kerala may be the only place in the world where the nightgown (or nightie, in short) is used as a public garment. So, you will see women in their nighties at grocery shops, in fish and vegetable markets, in religious places, inside ATM counters and even at vaccination centres.
So, how did this garment, worn at home and usually in the bedroom, become the dress of choice to wear outside?
There are no clear-cut answers, although author Anjana Menon in her non-fiction book, ‘Onam in a nightie—Stories in a Kerala Quarantine’ makes an attempt. She writes, ‘The heat that builds at the top of the chest escapes effortlessly from the bottom of the dress. It’s the dress of ventilation gifted to the Kerala woman.’
As I read this, I felt the traditional attire of paavada and blouse, such a sensual dress, would have provided far better ventilation. So, this remains a mystery.
Unlike in the West, where a nightie might mean a plunging cleavage and skimming the thighs, the Kerala nightie begins from the neck and goes to the floor, covering every bit of skin along the way. All we can see is the woman’s face and the area from the elbows to the fingers. Or, as Anjana put it, ‘Seduction is impossible in this garment. It destroys the shape of the shapeliest of women.’ Men have no option but to curse the tailors who make these tents.
This is a charming book. Written in a simple style, the book is divided into two parts. The Delhi-based Anjana had come to Thrissur, in July, 2020, to spend a couple of months with her parents during the COVID-19 pandemic. In the end, she stayed for seven months.
So, the first part is about her experiences during the quarantine: the friendly cop and health worker enquiring whether she remains in good health, and her experiences having different dishes, which her mother conjures up. She talks about driving in Kerala and going to the beach to get a breather from all the tension.
Anjana has an original descriptive style. To describe the impact of high humidity, Anjana writes, ‘water in the air oppressing the water in our bodies’. I learnt a new word: lurgy. It means an illness or disease, especially one that is not serious.
The second part of the book is about the unique characters she meets. Like Shivankutty, the labourer who works in their garden, and Mariamma, who had worked in Anjana’s house in Delhi and is now a government worker in Kerala. And she writes with insight about her parents who lived and worked in Delhi for decades.
‘Kerala is full of retirees like them. People who emigrated to big cities when they were young, worked hard and gave their children a good life. Once they return to their ‘native place’, the friends of their youth, the familiarity of the neighbourhood they spent their middle age in, the relationships of the city they thrived in, are all left behind. The voids are too many to fill.
‘I see it around me every day, in the multitudes of aunts and uncles whose children live in another city, mostly another country that is thousands of miles away, chasing their own life and building their future.’
But it is not only loneliness that these parents suffer from.
Sometimes, it is ill health. As Anjana writes, ‘They are the living dead, fed up with being sick, waiting to die and yet hoping that when they do, their children will be at their side.’
Anjana also writes about the impact of alcoholism, which afflicts a majority of the men. ‘Alcohol hangs in the narrow lanes of the villages, on the face of distraught families, along footpaths where the drunks lie, and in the serpentine queues at toddy shops. It piles up as household debt, violence against women and destitution. You don’t have to look much to find it. It’s everywhere, thriving between resistance and a resigned acceptance.’
Anjana, a former journalist who now runs a Delhi-based content strategy consultancy, had also lived in London and Singapore. So, she makes thought-provoking comparisons between these cities and Thrissur. This book will appeal to all those who are curious about Kerala, and to the children of the lakhs of Non-Resident Malayalis who live in West Asia and North America. They will read and find validation of their experiences.
Like Anjana, they come once every one or two years to spend time with their grandparents and get a feel of their roots. This book will also appeal to those who have come to Kerala for a holiday. They will get an understanding of the inner life of Malayalis.
Finally, a note about the illustrations. Anujath Sindhu Vinaylal, 16, has done the illustrations. An award-winning artist, since the age of 12, he lost his 42-year-old mother to a heart ailment in 2019. But he continues to work hard. His illustrations are simple, yet eye-catching. What is remarkable is that the people drawn seem to emanate emotions. It is imperative for the elders to nurture this talent. One of the founders of the Kochi Biennale, Bose Krishnamachari, with his extensive contacts, can help Anujath make a mark at the international level.
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