“There’s always room for a story to transport people to another place”. Joanne Kathleen Rowling aka J.K. Rowling, the household name among fantasy writers, has exemplified her dictum by immersing the readers in a realm of imagination, fancy, and fiction. Well! I too have created the faint footprints I have already criss-crossed during the pages and stages of my life. I too have heard many stories ever since my childhood that fashioned wings for me to soar across the fictional sky. I do not know where and how to begin my affiliation with the wonderland of safaris. I am extremely flummoxed. So, let me take a walk down the shadow lane of remembering things past. In my creative smithy, there lie the soft shadows of a zillion stories. The vast treasure trove of memories made me get down in front of Padharo Mhare Desh! For me, it is always the land of forts and deserts; the depictions made immortal by the high school history textbooks that still echo the grandeur of Rajasthan in my recess. An array of musings straddles across the terrains of my sparkling experience.

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Nothing in life exhilarates me like travelling and reading as they transmute me to a new realm; at times I get lost like a mayabanobiharini- the elusive wanderer of the forest humming ‘Odni’ yearning for a ‘Piya aah vo toh’. I am not sure of it. The words of Ashok Ganguly, the protagonist from my beloved novel, The Namesake never fail to enthuse me to embark on the roads unknown, unseen, and less traveled by me. I too wish to pack a pillow and blanket and see the whole world as much as I can. These moments and movements leave me no room for regret. Rather they remain with me as the scars that shaped me amidst the crests and troughs of life. Everything we encounter and experience in life knowingly or unknowingly creates a myriad of impressions and they do add to our persona. In a way, a journey to create, rewrite, and relive many things! One such trip to an unaccustomed land, familiar to me only with the creative landscapes of Meera Bai, and Vijaydan Detha, Mount Abu, Ajmer, Pushkar, and Chittorgarh forever remains special to my heart. Although my home state of Kerala and the shadows of Hawa Mahal remain geographically different and distant, I could always sense a strange and striking family resemblance. The rich and varied heritage of scintillating Rajasthan did reinvigorate a new vigor in me. A hodgepodge of thoughts and sanguine emotions recollected in tranquility became alive in the verdant of my creative smithy.

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It was indeed a journey with two trolleys weighing more than me and above all a solo three-day trip to Ajmer via Marusagar Express way back in 2014—a trip to join the PhD course with too much excitement and anticipation. When my parents and Chittappan (Grand Uncle) came to see me off at Ernakulam Junction, I tried to pretend to have the confidence to explore a dream world.  I have travelled nowhere out of state alone and now I have to cross many states coming under the Konkan region. The train started in some time and three days felt like three months. I was a bit relieved to see a lot of Malayalis who were on the pilgrimage to Ajmer. I befriended those families within no time-sharing stories, food, and jokes. Days and hours passed like a smooth breeze with the repertoire of Malayalam films, and Malabari snacks. The difference in the terminologies used by a Southern Keralite like me turned out to be fascinating as well as funny to them. Neither did I feel lonely, nor did I feel uncomfortable in the company of the newly made friends. The stories and the adoration they have for Ajmer’s Khawaja Gharib Nawaz made me feel like going there. My dreamy sky was bustling with the beauty and majesty of the forts and mahals I have visualized only through my history books.

 

My dreams surpassed the barriers of caste, race, and region. I was yearning to explore the world unseen and untouched by my kith and kin. Ending all speculation, it was confirmed that the much-awaited Kishangarh Junction would be reached only after six more hours. It did make me nervous as I would be reaching the station by 10:45 or 11:00 PM. Travelling to a remote location at late night did shake me for a while. I dialed again the phone number of the trustworthy autowalla of our Central University of Rajasthan, Sabir Chacha. His assurance to come and pick me up late at night made me relieved.  The warm gesture of the train friends in waving hands, unloading my trolleys, and the best wishes directed me to the Auto. I assured them that I would be visiting Ajmer Dargah with my friends soon. The train slowly made a move and the waving hands began to disappear slowly from my eyesight. It was time to start the auto safari. Chacha loaded the items and began the slow and steady drive to Bandarsindri. I was a bit scared of passing by this area as it was quite remote.

 

Chacha’s optimistic chat and smile made me feel better. He handed over me to the safe hands of hostel B1 warden Manju Aunty. As it was late at night, she tried to accommodate me to some room. A Hindi walli and Hindi PhD student out of curiosity came to ask my haal chaal. She was surprised to ask whether I was a Madrasi seeing my dark complexion. She was kind enough to give me a bucket and mug to freshen up. I slept in a room half-loaded with luggage. I was allotted the room as well as the roommate. The curious Khalbelia dancing classmate I was familiar with through Facebook came to meet me. She escorted me to the department and introduced one and all. I met all my six classmates and tried to develop a rapport within a short span. The seventh one who was the last to join created a lasting impression on me by becoming a very good friend of mine, my Munna Bhai. He never fails to ring me up at least once a year. The Odiya guy whom I affectionately addressed as my Big Brother made me feel happy as well as irritated by the immature pranks of school students. It was Big B who made me happy talking about his passion for dancing in chicken and introducing me to the movie Mary Kom. I always yearned to have an Onler by my side. Who says dreams don’t come true?. When everybody cracked jokes in their Hindi language and used this official language for ‘baath-vaath’, I tried to comprehend and make myself comfortable. Everything happens for a reason and even in the wildest of my imagination, I never thought Hindi was going to be a part and parcel of life as the wife of Mike November Sujeeth.

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I was a Diaspora Malayali, a South Indian, non-Hindi speaking misfit in North India. The mess rotis started replacing my choru, avial, and fish curry. My broken Hindi and the mockery of the other Hindi speakers made me feel Hindi ‘seekna zaroori hai’. A time span of four years was never too small to learn, unlearn, accept, follow, and unfollow many things. The coinage of kaali or English-speaking girl put me down at times. The ascribed status began to fight with my achieved status in my mental scape. Zero size and fair skin are always appealing and dark remains quite unfair. Above all, a surname did matter a lot. It was capable of establishing our creamy or non-creamy layer status. I never had a surname and I found it hard to satisfy the queries of those who wanted to know whether I was a Jat or Rajput. For me, Rathores and Rajputs remain as the identification marks of my batch mates. At times, I felt like quitting and going back shattering the dreams pinned on me by my loving family. I felt I was vulnerable to go ahead with my personal and professional realms. Still, the empire in me was all set to write back all the lost territories through my sheer perseverance and immense belief in myself. People don’t look like me, talk like me, dress like me and they don’t even accept my food habits. Many people used to ask whether we ate Chicken and Mutton every day back home. Non-veg was not that pleasing for many like my dark skin colour. I fell in love with the Rajasthani cuisines and dishes in no time. Gone were the days I waited for the mess time in search of dal and Aloo sabji. Never could I have imagined that potatoes can be cooked in countless styles to serve the platter. Masala chai and the coffee with the fragrance of that decoction still make my mouth water. Hanging out with pan-Indian friends, chit chatting about dozens of topics of day-to-day life bestowed a new outlook on anything and everything that passed by me. Sam Uncle’s canteen was a funny destination to throw birthday treats to all of us. The colors of the Holi festival sparked feelings of oneness and happiness. I still recollect that holiday of Holi celebration with the Architecture gang, Tino, Meera, and Tahir. We danced to our best albeit Malayalis like Meera and I was familiar with the rhythm of Mukkala, Mukkabala. What’s the need for words and meaning when one knows to enjoy to the fullest in music and beat? Over time, I realized that my Rajasthan Journey needed no filter. It shattered all my comfort zones. I tried to locate myself and reclaimed my agency. I roamed around aimlessly exploring places and people unseen and attended conferences and seminars across the country. I nurtured a sort of contentment and self-realisation.

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I find it hard to say adieu to all the cold and harsh treatments I come across in life. Worst experiences are always the best teachers and I am in love with those experiences. They lie in me as the scars as deeper as the marks of C-section delivery. I have encountered a lot many phases cum faces in my life. The aching joys and hushed feelings in the verdant of my daily life have made me think that I have transformed into a curry leaf in many places. People did smile and were on talking terms especially when they needed some help regarding studies. I was a doctoral student and I had the rare fortune to take care and enquire about many juniors from my land. Once they got familiar with the place and campus, they even forgot that I existed there. Curry leaves are needed for that curry’s flavor. Once the purpose is served, the leaves can be thrown at any time. This has happened a lot in my life. I felt like an exile in my home country thinking the world was unfair to me because I am not fair. I lacked a surname as well to please and appraise others. Time changes and so do the people. Many familiar faces alter like foreigners within a fraction of a second and they become strangers forever. People do come into our lives as miracles and means. The Viva Voce Day turned out to be a remarkable day of appreciation and achievement. Finally, I was bestowed the prefix Dr. from the royal land. I still remember the day I left the hostel after my submission. It was quite coincidental that I had a sumptuous daal baati churma lunch from mess. I was honoured. The day I left after the submission and the viva voce; it rained again in the land of desert. A rishyasringa has come to lure me as well as the land. My bed and pillow, the passive sufferers of emotions made me fall for Meera Bai. Her devotion empowered me to break the manmade barriers and break out as a woman. Being married to a Diaspora Malayali without having the looks or the so-called ‘typical looks’ of a Malayali makes me feel Rajasthani platter has added to my daily platter.

 

My passion for Hindi and Roti continues. I have become an expert in presenting Aloo in multiple forms to satiate the taste buds. I am yet to master the art of making Phulkas from Jeeth, my better half. The announcement of pleasant mornings with a cup of masala chai gives the scent of the royal city. The dessert scar has grown within me and occupied a part of my dark recesses. I do not know how many times I have been to Ajmer Dargah Shareef. The day of my Ph.D thesis submission was auspicious with the Dargah darshan. I was in a hurry to reach Ajmer and submit the thesis as I wanted it to happen before my Father retired from service. I could make my parents happy and excited. I had to wait for thirteen months to get my degree awarded. It was a grand wait compared to the durations I spent waiting for airplanes, trains, buses, and auto rickshaws. I turned out to be the first Malayali woman/girl to receive a Ph.D degree from Central University of Rajasthan.  The awarding of my Ph.D and the prefix came soon after my monsoon wedding. As a newly married couple, we visited Dargah for the blessings of the Khwaja Sheriff.  I tried to relive and recreate my desert days in those lovely ten days with my Onler by my side. “Travel far enough, you meet yourself”, says the British comedian and actor, David Mitchell. I have travelled far away and was perhaps the one who discovered Rajasthan on my family’s map. I tried to meet myself. I don't know whether I have evolved out of the umpteen unknown miles I have skimmed through in the liminal space.

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A part of royal Rajasthan remains in me like the lovely Ram Ram, Khamma Ghani, roti sabji, and theek hai. The ocean of my passions and actions is as dear to me as the city of lakes unfurling human emotions. Six years have passed by now. What has happened in my life within the span? My life has translated me into a wife and mother of a toddler. The vocabulary of my little one is a platter brimming with English, Malayalam, and Hindi words. A part of me remains in Rajasthan or a part of me still exists in Rajasthan. I earnestly hope that I will cross the same Pink City with my darling baby and husband someday soon.

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Padharo Mhare Desh -  A traditional Rajasthani greeting that means ‘Welcome to my land’

Piya aah vo toh – A Rajasthani song beckoning the beloved one.

Chacha – Uncle

haal chaal – Enquiring about one’s well being

Khalbelia – Rajasthani folk dance

baath-vaath – chit chat

Hindi ‘seekhna zaroori hai’ – Learning Hindi is a must

Kaali – one in a dark colour

Mukkala, Mukkabala – A cinematic dance song

Dal – a dish made from lentils

Aloo sabji – vegetable curry with potatoes

Phulka – chapati made of wheat flour

Theek hai – alright

Khamma Ghani – Namaste/ greeting someone in Rajasthani