Pondatti Oorukku Poyachu

 Back to the Future – A Day in Thrissur

It was truly a “Back to the Future” day for me in Thrissur.

Unfortunately, the audio of my videos didn’t come through. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise—because when you’re alone, the mind starts speaking louder anyway.

To escape the heat (and perhaps my own thoughts), I followed my better half’s advice. I landed at Sobha City Mall and watched Bharathanatyam—a proper slapstick comedy. Light, silly, and exactly what the doctor ordered.

Post-movie hunger kicked in, so I walked into the iconic Indian Coffee House—probably one of the oldest and most character-filled places in the country. Ordered a dosa and a beef cutlet. Simple joys.

Then came the real story.

A father and son joined my table. The boy ordered an omelette, the father stuck to a dosa. As always, the “Maharaja-style” service came with knife and fork—an idiosyncrasy that refuses to die. Founded by the great A. K. Gopalan to generate employment, this cooperative still carries traces of British dining habits—alive and well in Kerala and Bengal.

The boy, however, had other plans. He started eating with his hands—unbothered, unapologetic.

I couldn’t resist stepping in.

I told him how my elder brother and I started using knife and fork in the very same place almost 50 years ago, thanks to our father—an alumnus of Madras Christian College. I even suggested they learn the “technique.”

And then, the irony hit me like a well-timed punchline.

I remembered my dear Rajettan—who could eloquently explain seven-course meals and the correct placement of forks and spoons at a naval dinner—but at home? Fried rice and chilli chicken… eaten with hands… and with full sound effects. (Not belittling—just observing the great Indian duality!)

From there, I drifted into the Thrissur Pooram Exhibition at the Thiruvambady Grounds.

And suddenly, I was 50 years younger.

Memories flooded in—Rajettan, Gayathri, Preechi, Kavita, Ajith… sometimes Pappachechi, Shyli, Pramod… all of us wandering through the exhibition like it was our personal kingdom.

Two things stood out from those days:

A treasured group photo

That magical toy boat—with oil, thread, water tubes, and a tiny flame—that would come alive in water, making that putt-putt sound just like a boat in the Kochi Backwaters

Today? Those gems are missing. Everything else is there—Rajasthan, Punjab, UP, Bengal… all represented. Except Kerala. (We’ve clearly graduated to bigger entrepreneurial dreams!)

The joy rides? Still there. Still risky. Still run by “outsiders,” with safety being more of a suggestion than a rule.

But here’s the truth—we Malayalees enjoy watching it from the ground.

There’s a strange psychology at play. We enjoy fear… as long as it’s someone else’s. There’s a quiet thrill in watching panic—from a safe distance. Maybe it’s our way of feeling in control.

And when peace doesn’t come naturally, we manufacture it—through gatherings, drinks, substances… sometimes at the cost of disturbing the very family we seek comfort from.

Subjective? Yes.

But familiar? Also yes.

All in all, it was an eventful day.

A little cinema. A little philosophy. A lot of nostalgia.

And the quiet freedom of being temporarily single…

“Pondatti oorukku poyachu!” 😄