A Swan Song to Calicut

As I head back to Bombay, I look back on a happy month in this jewel of a city.

For years I had heard about the warmth, openness and hospitality of Calicut- this storied and fabled city that was once a gateway of India. Try the halwa there, eat the chips, pray at the Tali temple, I was told. Stand at the spot where Vasco da Gama arrived, drink coffee at the Arya Bhavan before watching a film at the Radha cinema…

I guess those who arrive in this city are ready for these experiences, but no one told me about how truly blessed this earth was! Rolling green hills covered with healthy coconut trees embrace the outskirts of this city, giving it cover from the sometimes unforgiving winds of the Arabian Sea. I was unaware of the abundance of flowers that grow in just about every single corner. The syncretic culture of the city and its melting pot that invites any visitor to dive in and enrich the mix are things I could have hardly known before I chose to come and spend a month here.

Calicut is the land of giants- M.T. Vasudevan Nair, Vaikkom Mohammed Basheer, V. K. Krishna Menon, I.V. Sasi and P.T. Usha. The land of the Samoothiris, the powerful kings that once ruled vast swathes of land in the Malabar coast. Home of the Mapillas, the Muslims who have Indianised Islam and enriched the culinary traditions of this region.

What is Calicut for me, though? It is the genius of a young architect who co-designed one of the most beautiful homes I have lived in. It is the energetic young woman who has decided to smash the patriarchy and build a community centre and safe space for Muslim and non-Muslim women. It’s the retired banker who warmly invited me to his hilltop mansion and then introduced me to some of the most cultured and intellectual people in the Malabar. Calicut is the coronary surgeon whose heart is bigger than all of those who he treats put together, and his wife- a hallmark of class. This city is the solitary Parsi family that is keen to make sure the community survives in a place it has called home for three centuries. Calicut is the two delightful young men from a traditional and rooted Iyer family who have thrown the caste system in the rubbish bin of history. The city is the 15 enthusiasts who turn up at 7 am on a rainy Sunday to walk and explore Kuttichira. It is the 76-year old tour guide who knows more about this city than the best of historians. Calicut is the honest auto drivers who suddenly turn into local experts when they know the passenger is from out of town. It is the old man who invites a non-Muslim to enter a 14th century mosque just before the breaking of the Ramzan fast.

On this cloudy May morning I look at those green hills and their tall coconut trees and think about all the people, food, experiences and impressions I had in Calicut….Of the night when I had to walk 4 kilometres to get an auto home from the city centre, the quiet time I had by some of its lakes, the desserts, biriyanis and tea shops…. I realise that Calicut is also me, or rather a part of me. Not something I will leave behind, but rather take with wherever I go.

I know for sure that I will be back here on a sunny late afternoon and make it to Mishkal Mosque in time to hear the Maghrib prayers. I will probably have another late-night misadventure or two here since the temptation of being on the sea shore after 9 pm (when it is virtually abandoned) is something I cannot resist. I need to be back here for day trips to Mahe, Thalassery, Ponnani and Nilambur… For a weekend in Wayanad!

The short flight home awaits me. Within an hour all this will feel like a dream, a fleeting moment in the journey of life. Or maybe not….I may just see, feel and sense a bit of Calicut every single day.

Until we meet again, you precious jewel by the Arabian Sea! Thank you for allowing this grandchild of Kerala to feel completely at home and to think that there has been no generational separation between us.