Day six and things are looking up.
At least from where my hamstrings are sitting (no pun).
Somehow things got around and after a blah-day yesterday when I felt totally wiped out by lunch, I was flying high from an incredibly invigorating workout on the mat. I also started getting the itch to shop for a hand-sewn yoga bag made by a lady from Karnataka, and got weak at bargaining with the big paunched old man manning the little books cum goodies-everything-you-can-imagine-you-need shop when it came to procuring my yoga mat. I hope I have better luck tonight negotiating the currency exchange for that cloth painting I had my eyes on but had been pretending my lack of interest during the entire stay here in Varkala, bore out of nothing but a strategy to lure the shop owner into thinking that an agreeable price may get me "interested" again. He's Kashmiri and known to be a tough, shrewd man. Nothing ventured nothing gained, hence may you wish the force to be on my side!
Update: The goonda next door finally ate humble pie, even if this was only for a few days. They threw an insane trance-themed party again and really got way out of line when the staff got drunk. Police reports were filed by groups surrounding the vicinity within an earshot and not even industry-strength ear plugs could save their grace this time. Pure heavenly tweetering of the birds prevailed throughout the day. Lunch was a breeze, afternoon tea became a nice walk in the park once more. Yes, they did open for business but not until later in the evening and though defiant in their choice of bad music still, it was much more subdued and endurable (is this a word?) for the rest of the world that didn't believe in sex, drums and rock 'n' roll.
I am soaking up the remaining 48 hours in this Utopian getaway. I will miss the hardened up, streetwise dogs on Hungry Eye's side, whereas I will miss equally the sweet-natured moggies on Sunshine Cafe's. I will miss my special faithful little one whose lower set of teeth protruded out like a set of funny knives. I will never forget the dolphins that came in pods of twenties, one even up close to the shore! I had my fair share of chocolate brownie to vow not to at least have another one for a while in order to let the memory sink in deep. Probably drank copious amount of mango juice to last a year. Ate my agreeable share of peanut butter home-made toast. Found my vegetarian pizza from heaven handed by the angels, the clouds parted and a light shone through to bless upon this feeble soul!
Without baring my weak soul at saying poor goodbyes - never had been good at them as I absolutely hate to get all teary-eyed - my mind ran along the little memory lane of making sure the "must-say" people that I need to at least thank and wish well before we proceed onwards to Kanyakumari. Sigh, here I was learning all about detachment and stilling the mind and when it came to crunch time, my walls come all crumbling down. Perhaps hard goodbyes were meant to make us appreciate something special that even more so? Maybe true, maybe I made that one up but it helped me to think about the wonderful time I had here without getting sad again...
Moving on.
Ever catch yourself going back to that irresistable cup of brew that you just got to have, come hail or shine? Particularly this morning, relaxing on the yoga mat after our 2-hour rally, my mind, completely out of its fenced up realm of serenity, bounced wildly off from my initial stop at the little corner Hakka eatery to order a bowl of zhoo geok chu. Succulent slivers of pork knuckles cooked lovingly in Chinese soya sauce, dripped the holy essence of old ginger, garlic and vinegar, all in the name of the nourishment of my celestial soul. Next my rumbling stomach went on to order a plate of steaming white rice, never mind it was polished beyond any form of nutrition, I would never have my Chinese wine chicken stir-fry without its snowy grain soaking up those precious liquid gold cascading down each perfectly chopped morsel balanced at the tips of my wooden chopsticks. And as my yoga teacher guided my thoughts to fly high onto the sky, feeling as light as a feather, I thought perhaps I would make a mental stopover at the roast duck stall. One whole leg piece for me, please. Oh yes, my sweet dear life. One has to get all fingers oily and stained from handling this satiating cargo. Bad to have before a yearly blood test but if this was the last day of my life, I would surely have this on my order list. Some even believed that the left leg was better.
Should this be the last day of my life, I will go for also the Seremban wet market's pork ribs dry noodles. Chewable, pale brown pieces stewed into biteable yet firmly sizeable cuts that sent your tongue running amok from the wild combination of textures as you popped a chopstick-full of those wanton noodles. A side order of salted Chinese vegetables brought back appetite sustaining memories of the day I sat by the old dining table, feet barely touching the ground, as a little girl, I drank those roasted peanut soup with lotus barks. Quieten down the heaty element brought on by the "fire" in meat. Anything goes, as long as the mind and stomach worked in unison, the soul is happy!
And as the grand finale for my exit, I would have nothing else except my mum's chicken herbal soup. The thing so uniquely indispensable and irreplacable about mothers, amongst many other qualities, is the ability to know all about your quirkiness and some beyond comprehension - such as my love for chicken necks (mum, remember when I humoured how life would be if chooks had two necks instead?) - plus still loving you no matter how or what? My mum's herbal soup will be poured into that particular bowl that would be the size of a "man bowl" that would be enough to hold at least 500ml of that carefully boiled elixir of youth, done over slow fire and at least for two hours. The chook's naked neck would be plucked off any fat and feather, laid underneath the surface, on the bottom of the bowl akin to saving the best gift for last in your Christmas stocking.
She would also pick the Malay kampung chickens instead of the commercially bred types for a firmer touch to the meat. This fine poultry would then be chopped and arranged amongst the pigeon eye-sized amber wolfberries, shavings of herbal barks and roots, a palmful of black and red dates thrown in for good measure with a glance of salt. This bowl of mine would hold the broth with a whole leg piece, gliding up to meet my soup spoon like the virginal thigh of a nymph, luring the senses and weakening the constitution of thought as you succumb blissfully to your first kiss of that caramel-coloured liquid. This would be the most sufficient meal that I could ever have.
The funny thing is that I had been privileged to be exposed to a myriad of meal selections during our travels here in India. Some of these were superbly good that they surpassed many expectations, if any were formed prior to our acquaintance. Yet, one thing hit home at a prompt time, which was the very thought that it was when you were granted the luxury of choices that you truly pondered and went back to the one true thing that you have always loved. The new experiences would be special, never to be forgotten. However, it's true that sometimes, you can take the girl out of home, but never home from her.
The even funnier thing is that, it won't be long that I will have mum's chicken herbal soup! You can be 13, 30 and beyond, but you can always bask in that space called mum's love forever.
Thankfully for choices, what would we not have known that we would have missed? Here's to your choices and what you make out of them.
