We are like this only

TRAVEL

I can't stop my head from wobbling. It took a splash dash trip to my native Kerala to get it going. It came upon me, this visit, that we Malayalis don't have a word for greeting. There are no namastes, no "hey", no "it's good to see you buddy".

Very often, it's a simple wobble of the head, accompanied by an inconclusive "aaah". We have the equivalent of "how are you?" of course, to which you reply with another wobble, "aaah... fine".

The conversations that follow are normal, by the way, in case you think Malayalis are socially inept. We are actually very sociable creatures "" births, weddings and funerals are all in a day's work (my aunts do all three in one day, often confusing congratulations with commiserations).

Anyway, when saying bye, you usually ask, deferentially "" "With your permission, may I?" The reply? What else... wobble wobble "aaah."

Cultural differences often manifest themselves in social behaviour that might, if not put into perspective, seem, well, unusual. On the same trip, one morning, I was summoned to my grandfather's living room. Others were summoned too, with a similar sense of urgency (the house was full "" a family celebration).

An 18-year-old girl was preparing to launch herself into song. A pretty voice she had too. Amid the frisson of approval and appreciation that went around the room, the proud mother said, "My other daughter sings well too."

Surely she would refuse being put on show, I thought. But no, she politely solicited song requests. No sooner had the claps died down did they both resume their polite silence. Not a word out of them till they took their leave.

In most other cities such compliance and conformity from teenagers is rare, but in Kerala it's commonplace, most often extending to choices in career and marriage as well.

Girls are meant to be seen and not heard, my disciplinarian grandfather would tell us growing up, only half joking. I remember announcing, during a visit to his friends' when I was 12, completely out of turn, that I wanted to be an airhostess.

"What a rebellious choice," said the host, adding, "My daughter wants to be a doctor," directed at my family I had just disgraced.

While I amused myself, that weekend, with the ways of my people, my young cousins sought out more conventional forms of entertainment. They, thankfully, didn't care much for the lustful limericks expounded by my octogenarian uncle. So they were dispatched to the local aquarium, which claimed to have recently attracted sizeable investment for expansion.

Two hours later they were back. "The big fish were eating the small fish," said one mournfully. "The shark was as big as its tank," added another. The third moaned about how the piranha had no teeth.

The next day, they optimistically set off for the Calicut beach, landing place for Vasco da Gama. Turns out, there was a single stone to mark the event, no more did it warrant.

It's curious how, in India, we've rarely been able to provide for standard tourist attractions, like a well developed beach promenade for example, or an aquarium, and most of our planetariums are languishing in neglect.

The kids spent the rest of the weekend watching television... nobody blamed them.

I felt a distinct tug at the heart strings when I left my grandfather's home for the airport, what with periods between family get-togethers at the hometown getting longer, and childhood caretakers getting older. I was jerked out of melancholy by the cabbie in a hurry.

They all are in Kerala, turning steadfast Ambassadors into speed demons. No matter how many times I return, I will never get used to the obligatory hairy chase on the wrong side of the road. Now is that a cultural thing? Or just plain insanity?