Closing time in Kerala

That8217;s Kerala for you, a beehive of intense political activity where experiencing bandhs is as commonplace as seeing the sun! It is true that on a rainy day when the sky is carpeted with clouds, you would not expect to see the sun. But a Keralite must anticipate a bandh every day of the year, rain or shine. A bandh-free day dismays many a Keralite. Small wonder that once I heard an old man ask children who were chattering and giggling their way to the school, with a sense of disbelief, 8220;What, no bandh today?8221;Legend has it that Kerala was reclaimed from the sea by Parasuram, an incarnation of Lord Vishnu, to house the brahmins. Standing atop a high mountain, the Sahyadris, he hurled his axe westwards. It sailed in an arc, over the rolling sea, quite a distance, before splashing into the water. And when it did, there emerged from the sea a long strip of land 8212; Kerala. But despite this divine derivation, it is the devil that rules the roost in Kerala. The devil as personified in her politicians, her bane.

In Mumbai, the only politician who can call a halt to the city is none other than Bal Thackeray. But in Kerala, any politician who has the gift of the gab and a handful of men about him can hold the state to ransom. He is adept in inventing excuses for bandhs, which often turn out to be flimsier than the absurd drop of a hat8217;. There is something appallingly comic about the way a bandh materialises at times. I fancy that a politician wakes up from his afternoon siesta with a start, in a foul mood. As he casts a glance around, idly, a wall calendar catches his eye and he shudders. What, he thunders, the month has almost come to an end and my party hasn8217;t had its full quota of bandhs? So, there should be one tomorrow, he decides. The prospect of a bandh crippling normal life appalls you and being a responsible citizen, you may try to dissuade him. But he is not one to budge an inch! Declare a bandh at any cost I must, he roars. And he does.

My several vacations in Kerala have been systematically ruined by bandhs. Once my family and I found ourselves stranded at Malambuzha, a tourist centre of sorts in south Malabar, deprived of all means of travel, thanks to a bandh. We found ourselves spending almost a whole day in a snake park in the vicinity of our hotel, which mercifully remained open, defying the bandh call. They say in Kerala that once you start talking of snakes you will find the topic inexhaustible. The demonstrator in the park spoke endlessly about snakes, and also of politicians. He waxed eloquent as he treated the visitors to a graphic account of how some politicians laid waste a well-maintained snake park in north Kerala, not long ago, to spite their rivals. Pointing to a couple of king cobras that slithered in a glass cage, he said, 8220;They are the most poisonous snakes but, of course, no match for our politicians. These creatures become harmless when you knock off their fangs. No such dental toppling will make our politicians harmless, as they have no poison fangs, but only poisoned minds.8221;