Finally, the blog continues.
Because I continued moving too.
I honestly couldn’t have made better use of my time.
Today is my last day in Kerala.
The gate is open.
There was one thing I didn’t mention yesterday: Hari and I still had to practise late at night.
Practise what?
Names.
Whose names?
Lakshmi’s relatives.
Why?
Because today, we—the Puthankattils, Hari’s family—had been officially invited to visit Lakshmi’s family.
This meeting is basically the occasion where the prospective bride and groom, together with their families, officially meet for the first time. Afterwards, the families decide whether the answer is yes or no. Normally, there are several such meetings before a final decision is made.
And since Hari isn’t exactly gifted when it comes to remembering names, he wanted to learn them beforehand.
This was once again one of those very special occasions you normally don’t get to witness.
I found the timing almost poetic.
On one side, potentially the official beginning of a shared story.
On the other, my final day in this lush tropical wonderland.
For me, being invited was an enormous honour.
For Hari, as it turned out, it was a relief.
Surprisingly, we actually arrived on time this time.
Beforehand, we had stopped to buy gifts: a mountain of fruit, sweets and chips.
Hari was visibly nervous. And the moment he entered the house, he was immediately assigned a seat.
Between two uncles.
Alone.
On the other side of the room, opposite us.
We looked at each other.
We both agreed:
This could go very, very badly.
But it didn’t.
Because even though Hari and Lakshmi were technically supposed to be the centre of attention, Lakshmi’s family apparently found me more interesting.
I felt slightly uncomfortable when one auntie after another asked for a picture with me and the men were determined to have conversations with me.
Not because I didn’t understand them—and I really didn’t understand much—but because this gathering wasn’t about me.
Lakshmi’s family didn’t seem bothered by that in the slightest.
Soon they waved us over to the dining table, which was covered with all kinds of homemade treats: coconut delicacies steamed in banana leaves, bananas, variations resembling halwa, meatballs, and on and on.
And naturally, we had to try everything.
Everything.
Anyone who still claims eating can’t be exhausting has clearly never been in this situation.
And God forbid you don’t like something.
Apparently, every female family member, no matter how distant the relation, had prepared some kind of dish.
For reasons I still don’t entirely understand, the dangerous question kept appearing:
“Which one do you like best?”
Asked with huge, hopeful eyes.
Luckily, there are enough positive adjectives in the English language to survive situations like that.
The time around the dining table was also when Hari was asked a few questions.
Nothing dramatic.
In my opinion, everything remained surprisingly relaxed.
Until Achan stood up and loudly called Hari over to him.
The air in the room suddenly became heavy.
Everyone seemed to stop breathing.
For a few seconds, somebody had apparently pressed the mute button.
Then Achan announced:
“We are obliged to speak officially.
From our side, the bride is accepted.
Does anyone present have any objection to Hari as the groom?”
Nothing came.
And just like that, it was settled.
Hari and Lakshmi were actually going to get married.
Only one question remained:
When?
After discussing it with Hari, Achan suggested July or August 2027.
Nobody objected to that either.
And with that, the official part was over.
And, actually, so was pretty much the entire gathering.
Everyone was extremely happy on the drive back.
And once again, Kerala showed us just how beautiful this place must once have been everywhere, before trees increasingly had to make way for roads and buildings.
In the car, Hari summed up the situation at Lakshmi’s family’s house like this:
“If they’d had another daughter, they would have offered her to you on the spot, Felix…
And your wedding probably would’ve happened before mine.”
For Hari, though, my presence hadn’t just been funny.
It had actually been a blessing.
The whole situation was such a relief for him because he hates being the centre of attention and didn’t want to be bombarded with questions.
With me sitting there, completely different topics came up.
Perfect distraction.
On the way back, we made another short stop at Achan’s ice factory.
The factory produces the ice that allows local fish sellers to keep their catch fresh for longer.
I had wanted to visit once more because I wanted to give a small gift to the hardworking people whose work had helped make it possible for Jayu and Hari to come to Germany.
Each of them got a slice of mango cream cake.
Back home, after I had packed my things, I got to do something else rather fun:
Learn how to ride a scooter.
Just in case I might need one in Ladakh.
There was only one slight problem.
I was completely exhausted.
I could barely think.
Barely stand.
Let alone operate a vehicle.
Still, I learned the basics.
After a good hour of riding around the courtyard, though, I was simply too tired to continue.
So I went to bed.
After all, we had to get up at 3:00 in the morning to reach Prabhu on time.
And only now, while writing this, do I realise something truly unacceptable:
Not once did I eat Pazham Pori.
Unacceptable.
Those things are addictive.
Pazham Pori are banana halves coated in batter and deep-fried, so the outside becomes crispy while the banana inside stays wonderfully soft.
Especially with chai, they’re almost impossible to resist.
Anyway.
With that, the green chapter of Kerala was almost complete.
See you in the next one.
