For most of us, we first experienced "lockdown" during C-19. Many might've known the word beforehand, but the feeling of living in a lockdown was new for most of us. I however, experienced the first lockdown around a year before C-19 struck.
Earlier that day, when we stepped into Trivandrum, our driver greeted us with a wide smile. We quickly loaded our luggage into an old Toyata and reached our guest house. It was a cozy guest house, surrounded by a lot of trees and peaceful vibe.
But something was not right with the elders. Turned out, there was no cook in the guest house. We tried ordering food online, but failed because apparently, there was a lockdown.
Sabrimala.
Our area was under local lockdown because the Sabrimala issue had gained a lot of steam. Less then a week ago, women in the state had made the forth-largest human chain ever, in demand for gender equality. There was fear of issue escalating into an uncivilized form so isolated areas were observing local lockdowns in order to restrict non-essential movement.
There we were. No meals, no major snack, stuck in a guest house with no nearby hotel accepting new check-ins. We satisfied ourself with whatever packed snacks packets we had (not much).
In the evening, my friend (who's family came along with us) and I went out on an indefinite walk. We decided, we'll walk further down the road, for as long as it took us to find something worth eating. I put on my slippers instead of shoes, thinking it won't be a long walk. Wrong decision.
The sun was shining rather bright that day. Perfect for a late afternoon walk in winter. There was solace in the winds, not laden with sounds of vehicles. We seemed to be the only ones out in the empty locality. Once every few minutes, we managed to spot a local out on the road, but they were just locals. No vehicles or outsiders to be seen far and wide.
We first went past a large groove, with what I presumed were coconut trees. More than just majestic, it felt like an entry to a peaceful haven, where away from the world you could hear nothing but the rustling sound of leaves and the birds who called that place home. But we decided coconut isn't something we could fill out stomachs with. So we went on.
We walked a reasonably long time. A few times, I contemplated calling it a day and returing to our guest house. After all, who wants to be out alone in a new state where there's a lockdown imposed? Other times, my friend contemplated giving up and returning. However, we never thought of it at the same time, thus could never reach a consensus to return. So we trodded further.
I think we had reached a major crossing. There were (closed) shops around us. How bad I wished for at least one of them to be open. A few steps further, at a trisection, we spotted a policeman on a chair, drinking tea. Who gave this person hot tea in midst of a lockdown? No wonder, the shop just beside him was open and it seemed to be open just for his pleasure.
He looked at us with a slight eye of suspiscion. We pretended to be regular people looking for an open shop. We went to the shop and realized, we simply can't act. There was a language barrier.
The shop was run by an old lady. The shop itself was very tiny and modest. She understood we were tourists. She removed the wooden plank at entry of her shop and let us come inside. With barely enough place for 3 people, we quickly picked up the stuff we wanted - mostly biscuits - and laid it out on the counter neatly, along with a banknote. She did the math and handed us the change along with the biscuits.
I was young back then and considered Oreo to be an acceptable idea of food. Thus, our search for the day was called completed and we returned carrying a poly bag with biscuits.
On the way back, we again stopped at the groove. It was beautiful; indeed, God's own country.
Oreo wasn't an acceptable meal menu for our parents however.
Later that evening, we managed to get the morning driver to take us out somewhere. He wasn't hopeful of finding a decent place to eat at. And indeed, he was right. No restaurants were open. Hotels were not accepting any guests.
After much driving, we stopped at a roadside dhaba which even in this lockdown was bustling with energy. It seemed to have expanded and with the large shed, it felt more of an open air restaurant. We grabbed a table, but when it came to ordering, we stumbled upon the classic roadblock: language barrier. Again, the dhaba owner was very polite and welcoming. He let us come near the cooking area and showed us the stuff that was available. We pointed at whatever we wanted to eat, which he then transferred into our plates. And thus, we had what I will call a hearty meal.
Long after I left Kerala, I kept wondering about how it was near magical that amid an order to lock the area down, there were people, willing to feed even a stranger who's language they can't understand. Even if I may not remember the faces, I remember the people and the stories they gave me.
6 years since that day, the Sabrimala issue still remains a case pending in the apex court. Despite me not having anything to do with the matter, it happens to be a reason that led us to have that experience which, most likely, nobody - even I - will ever have again.