Finding Philo
Angamali is a name G. and I know from a Malayalam movie we greatly enjoyed, but it holds no other significance for us. However, the names of places carry such enormous power in the imagination, that I am thrilled when our train halts at Angamali. It stops for a longer while than it should, perhaps because the rain is getting heavier and the shades of green are getting richer. I feel as excited as I did when I woke up in Kuala Lumpur one morning exactly ten years ago, rolling the name on my tongue, incredulous that I was actually there. It took me a few decades to get to Kerala, which means that I greatly appreciate every chance I have of visiting the state.
The elderly men who boarded the train at Vellore the previous night had tried to strike up a conversation with us in Malayalam. G. responded in a mix of Tamil and English, foreshadowing what was in store for us over the next three days. We were to ask for directions, be misguided and dropped off at Ernakulam South instead of Vyttila, thanks to an overzealous bus conductor. In the process, we were to experience Kochi’s traffic challenge to Shozhinganallur Junction and Silk Board. We were to be treated to Malayalam film hits from the 90s. We were to get on a bus with only standing room, that then took us back through Vyttila, because a clean bus stand is a sight to behold. And now that I look back at it, I have reason to know the names of two more towns fleetingly.
But I digress. As we settled into our berths, one of the men switched off the lights, promptly to be reprimanded by his companion because I was reading a book. Notwithstanding the odd incident of overt zeal, the kindness of strangers is unparalleled.
The train lurches out of Angamali after a good twenty minutes. Swathes of green are relieved occasionally by houses with tiled roofs. Garish colours are few and far between; thankfully, many structures in Kerala continue to retain their traditional architecture, immune to the inexplicable charm of cold, hard grey or vivid, blinding colour. What results is a very pleasant combination of red and green, set off by the blue or grey of the sky. Even Kochi, stirring from a rain-drenched night, is not much the worse for wear at that hour of the day. However, that doesn’t mean there are no sore spots anywhere.
The train stops for a while at Ernakulam. A group of girls piles in, the fragrance of talcum powder and deodorant filling the compartment. They cram into any vacant spots they can find, tuck their backpacks away, and promptly plug in their headphones. The girl in the opposite seat, having found herself a window, now proceeds to look frantically for her friend.
“Philo? Where is Philo?” she calls, jogging the elbow of the girl next to her, who nudges the girl next to her. The third girl, already in deep conversation, eyebrows furrowed in concentration (bearing a passing resemblance to Nazriya Nazim), can’t be bothered with finding Philo. A few anxious moments pass.
Meanwhile, a gentlemen in white, his mundu tucked up, is making his unsafe way across the railway tracks to Platform 1. He carries no luggage and has evidently set out shopping for something he can’t find on our platform. We watch eagerly as he clambers onto the first platform, heads to the Mathrubhumi stall, and buys a newspaper. He scrambles back across the tracks, and as he approaches the train, a smile hovers on his lips. Perhaps he does this every day — maybe it is the most exciting part of an otherwise streamlined, organised life. Or he looks forward to his tea and news, embodying the 100% literacy statistic so dear to school quiz-setters of the 90s. I almost hope that the train will threaten to move (not actually move, of course) for some drama, but our friend is probably halfway through his paper before the train resumes its journey.
Philo also arrives in time to be reunited with her friend, who looks up at her delightedly and immediately makes room for her. Both the girls are wearing identical shirts. It is almost endearing, this flush of college togetherness. The first girl looks at me and laughs, happy to have found Philo, to have offered her one of her headphones, and to be young. G. and I almost feel like chaperones.
Very soon, Thrippunithura arrives. G. and I grab our luggage and step into the drizzle and look over the green-cloaked palings of the platform. We are very excited. The tiny station swarms with people of all ages. It is our turn to be young.
