Vibes

I am the alumnus of one of the oldest educational institutions in Chennai, namely the Convent of the Good Shepherd. This institution was started in the year 1923 and is in its 86th year. What prompted me to write this article now is the fact that I joined a group of Good Shepherd Alumni on Facebook last evening. It thrilled me to know that this group had a membership of over 500. This may not seem a large number considering the fact that thousands of students have passed out of its portal. However one has to take into account the fact that it was only in the last 15 years that the computer has pervaded our lives and hence only a very small percentage of the alumni are tech savvy. Anything to do with GSC gets me all geared up. The reason could be the wonderful time I have had in the school. Even now I walk the grounds of the school with the same enthusiasm as I did in my school days which were from the year 1963-1973. I joined school in January of 1963 in the third term of Standard One. Mrs. Heart, was the class teacher and she surely had her heart on her sleeves. She was the epitome of all things good and kind.

Those were the days when GSC was a family institution. If the eldest child of a family joined Good Shepherd, then it could be taken for granted that the whole brood including all siblings and cousins would go there. Those were the days when seeking an admission for your brother (there were boys till Standard Four) or sister was not at all difficult as there was an unwritten rule that admission would be granted. I remember clearly approaching the office at the end of my third standard for an application for a seat for my sister. When the filled in application was submitted, the admission was assured. The same procedure I repeated in the eighth standard for my youngest sister. This being the case, we were sure to know most of the children in the school as they would be your classmates’ sisters or cousins or your sisters’ classmates. I never thought much about this familiarity till much later in life. It goes without saying that this great seat of learning would definitely leave an imprint on its students. There is a certain something that can be sensed among those who have passed through its portals. It could be a combination of what we learnt along with our teachers’ attitude or the sprawling campus or the games we played or the numerous ice creams we shared at the Buhari Ice cream cart or the visits to the chapel just prior to the exam or the good time picking tamarinds that fell from the trees and so on and so forth. Whatever the reason my antenna is up on hearing the name Good Shepherd Convent and surely I feel an ESP when I bump into another Good Sheperdian.

While visiting my sister in Boston Massachusetts in the summer of 1994, we went to the Hindu temple at Ashland. Like in most places in the US, situated at a stone’s throw from the temple was an Indian Grocery. It was customary to round of the temple trip with a visit to the Indian store. It was while walking the aisles, that I saw this young Indian couple enter the store. On taking a second look, I realized they were from South India. A third look and I confirmed to my sister that the girl was from Good Shepherd. My sister was not as excited as me and said a very vague, it was possible. On telling her that I was dead sure, she told me that I could go ahead and confirm. She did not want to have a role in the embarrassment that followed, if it turned out any other way. (I guess living abroad does take away the effusiveness or is it curiosity that is so pronounced in India.) I had nothing to lose and so went ahead with my query. How right I was, she was indeed from GSC and was about 4-5 years my junior. She knew my other sister very well as she had done her medicine in the same school as my sister. It also turned out that her husband and my sister and brother in law were class mates in the medical school. Telephone numbers were exchanged and the relationship continues between the friends. There was this other time in 2000 when I was traveling by train in Kerala. I saw this family in the next bay and again had this gut feeling that the lady was from GSC. How right I was proved when she answered in the affirmative. The rest of the journey just whizzed past as there was so much to talk. This lady lives in the US and I had to up date her on so many happenings in the school. She again happened to be my junior by 5-6 years. There have been many other instances when I have been correct and a few when I have goofed up. However that has not tampered my enthusiasm.

That certain something of which I mentioned earlier is what I call VIBES. I don’t need to see a Good Shepherdian to experience this vibe, just a hand written envelope is enough to set me thinking as to which of my classmates have sent it. Like the many imprints left by this Great Institution, our hand writings are one.

PS. May our tribe grow in the virtual world. Since I know most of my sisters’ friends and their siblings and also have with me addresses of more than eighty of my batch mates, I am really intent on getting them to join the Facebook group. The next time I visit a city or another country I hope to have a page full of addresses.

The Verdant Haven

The island city state of Singapore is situated at the tip of the Malay Peninsula and is home to 4 million people. It has one of the highest per capita incomes in the world. The impression one carries on a visit there is that of a prosperous, modern state where people live in harmony.

My first trip to Singapore was in December of 1980. It was a welcome change from the sands of Arabia. The road leading from the airport to the city was lined by trees on either side. There was nothing fancy or frivolous about the trees as most of them were fruit trees and had fruits in various stages hanging from them. I was impressed by the fact that no passer by was laying a hand on the fruits. I remembered the Jamoon tree in my house back in India and as to the number of hits it received when laden with fruits. It made me realize that there was discipline and purpose written hard in the minds of the people. What made that trip memorable were the visits to Jurong Bird Park, Zoological Park and the Tiger Balm gardens. Sentosa now the main attraction at Singapore was still in a very nascent stage. It was another twenty years before I made my next trip. Since this trip was with my daughter, like all tourists, we made sure that we did not miss any of the sights and sounds of the city Sentosa included. Being a keen observer of everything that meets my eye, I quickly realized that the scenic beauty of the city was evolving and changing. When most of the countries of the world were losing out on their natural wealth – trees and water, here was Singapore slowly but steadily increasing its green cover and thus making sure that there is plenty of greenery and thus water. I had pictures of the Jurong Bird Park taken on my earlier visit and when I saw the park during my second visit, I could see a world of difference. Earlier the birds were in cages like in most aviaries the world over, however this time the authorities had made miniatures of the rain forests and other jungle atmosphere in the park and thus presented the visitor with a feel of seeing the birds in their natural habitat. I also realized on this trip that the kind of trees that were lining the streets were all not fruit bearing ones. Flowers too seemed to have found a place. By the year 2000, Singapore had become a first world country and had left behind its third world country status. The authorities had decided that they could indulge in some beauty as well unlike the earlier years when importance was laid on utility alone. What a wonderful way to evolve!!

The third trip I made to Singapore was in the year 2007. I did the usual rounds of sight seeing and for the first time went for the much acclaimed Night Safari. It deserves every accolade heaped on it. What impressed me was the setting and the re-creation of the natural abodes of the animals. The authorities have surely gone through extensive research to create this wonder. As for the rest of Singapore, the green carpet was all over. With the exception of the buildings, roads and side walks, I could say that every other available space was rolling in green. I won’t be wrong if I say that even the English countryside (my favourite destination) cannot boast of so much greenery. With the constant equatorial rains, the greenery was so lush as if laden with dew and was a treat to the eyes. The humidity and heat of the region was well balanced by this canopy all around. I was told that for every resident of Singapore, there were four trees planted, providing them with fresh and clean air to breathe. It is an amazing ratio which I wonder even if the regions around the Amazon Basin can equal. I was awestruck at the consideration of the authorities on the welfare of the people. Wonder whether even an iota of this will rub off on our leaders!

Lee Kuan Yew, the first Prime Minister of Singapore had foreseen way back in the 1960’s that greening and gardening ones surrounding would gladden the heart and thus give a competitive edge. In his memoirs “From Third World to First: The Singapore Story 1965-2000” he says "To achieve First World standards in a Third World region, we set out to transform Singapore into a tropical garden city." This agenda was fulfilled with the forming of the National Parks Board in the year 1976. In the last 33 years this Board has achieved far more than was expected in keeping with all things Singaporean. In India on the other hand our leaders have worked their way into converting a Garden City to a concrete jungle!

I am no authority to write about the economic, industrial and other over all growth of this City state. Realms have been written by experts on all these subjects. As a novice I was stuck by the greening of the country and have not failed to mention this to who ever was willing to listen. What amazes me is that in the short span of 34 years a country with absolutely no wealth or resources could change its profile and become a leader. On hindsight, I am sure that Tunku Abdul Rahman would have regretted the decision he and his Parliament took on August 9th 1965. That was the day as Prime Minister of Malaysia; he decided to expel Singapore from the Federation.

Well as they say “After all it was ordained.”

The Quest

If you were to ask me if I am a foodie or a gourmet, I would undoubtedly go with the former. Not for me the epicurean taste of the gourmet who only believes in having the best, from the best place in town. (Cost inclusive). I enjoy food (as is evident from my physical disposition) and would love to try out whatever is new in the market. I keep track of all the latest restaurants and other eateries that open shop and at the first opportunity make it a point to patronize it. This is true whether it is the local Murugan Idli Shop or the ones in the very specialized genre like Benjarong or Cedars. For me to term a visit to a restaurant as being memorable, it needs to meet with most of the under mentioned criteria, (i) it goes without saying that the food should be good, (ii) the staff should be pleasing and the interior should be clean and should give a feeling of freshness; (iii) the company at the table should be to your choice and (iv) the meal should be value for the money spent. If I look back at the various dining experiences I have had, I can proudly say that 99.9% of the time, it has fitted the bill and thus been truly memorable.

With my husband’s penchant for Indian food, we have got ourselves into some tight spots when it came to Indian food outside the country. Like a fish to water, an Indian Restaurant name board draws him into the interiors and we have come out having hilarious experiences at times. Being a bigger foodie than me, (of spicy Indian cuisine) he has really left the waiters and the chefs in a quandary on more than one occasion. He expects a Saravana Bhavan style idli vada at an Indian Restaurant in Lucerne Switzerland, little realizing that the weather there does not allow for the batter to ferment. The fermentation of the batter is the secret to soft flower like Idlis. Food apart, the experiences at these eateries have always been very pleasant and we have come out wiser as to what we should order on our next visit to an Indian restaurant in a far off land.

Considering himself to be a veteran on tackling issues connected with food in Indian Restaurants abroad, he decided to take the whole brood, (me, my siblings and their spouses) to a said restaurant while on a trip to Italy. Little did he realize as to what was coming his way. He was forced to remain a mute participant and came out being a lot less of a veteran. Having enjoyed all the sights and sounds of the Eternal City of Rome, I could say that all of us were on a high. Imagine seeing something from the times of Julius Caesar and imagine kneeling on a step which is blessed with the blood of Christ. We had had so many memorable experiences on a single day and my husband thought he would end it on a high note with a visit to the Indian Restaurant. This restaurant was recommended by our friend who said that his friend was known very well to the owner who if I remember right was referred to as RR. It was also mentioned to us ladies that RR dealt with Italian Corals. Although there wasn’t complete consensus from the group, we still went ahead what with the corals giving an additional incentive.

Two taxis were flagged down and we braved the brazen Italian driving and almost heaved a sigh of relief on reaching the destination. The restaurant was a far cry from the local tea shops that we see in most parts of India. It was not air conditioned (July in Italy can be very stifling) and the only fan was mounted on the wall. Having seated ourselves, an old man in a lungi (checkered cloth worn around the waist like a sarong) and with a pronounced limp came to our table and laid out some plates and glasses. We enquired if the owner was available but it seemed to fall on deaf ears and he continued with his chores in a very very slow motion. After a wait of about 15 minutes, some bondas (batter covered potato balls) were placed on the table. Then after a long gap we were served poori and potato. Since no questions were asked and choices given, we assumed that the whole meal may be on the house. (We felt it must be the work of the elusive RR). If I remember right, I think the meal ended with a sweet made of semolina which we in the south call kesari. It is common for small way side eateries in India not to have a menu card. The bearer just reels out the names of the dishes available and the patron gets to choose. This joint in the heart of the developed world did not think anything about not giving a choice to its patrons. It was shocking as it was bizarre. As for the bill, well what can I say; it was a clean rip off. The taxi drive back to the hotel set us thinking about how we really were taken for a ride by someone whom we had never even seen. It dampened our moods and only a night cap in the room restored some of the earlier elation. Kumar I think felt defeated, and during the remaining days of THAT TRIP, there was no mention of another Indian Restaurant.

Both of us being foodies our quests are intertwined. We are always on the lookout for good food and most times concur on a specific address. However his leanings are still Indian and for him nothing can beat the feeling of having an Indian meal in the most exotic of places. As for me the cuisine is never an issue. I am looking forward to our forthcoming trip to Hong Kong and China. When I go to Landmark (the local book shop) to get a copy of Fodor’s (for what to see) you can be sure that there will be a copy of Michelin Red too (for where to eat). I hope that the Indian restaurants in China will only have Chinese name boards!!!! Cannot have another RR spoiling the quest.

A Rattled Juggernaut

Of the many things that the English gave to India what remains the most successful is surely the game of cricket. No where else in the world does the game enjoy the status that it does in India. Cricket began as a boys’ game in England in the middle of the 16th century and slowly became an adults’ game in the beginning of the 17th century. This makes the game more than 400 years old. However, it was in the last thirty eight years that the game began getting the present day viewer ship as it was in 1971 that the limited over version of the game was first introduced. Once the ODI’s gained popularity, there has been no looking back for the game. This is especially true in India as it coincided with the arrival of the Television broadcast. In the early days of television in India, the whole family was hooked to the screen (as there was only one channel the good old Doordarshan) and thus the popularity of the game of cricket soar. One of the fall out of this popularity was the conversion of good cricketers into Heroes, Super heroes, Royalty and finally to Demi Gods and Gods. Of all the Cricket Governing Bodies in the world it is said that the BCCI (Board of Control for Cricket in India) is the richest and hence the most powerful. The ICC (International Cricket Council) cannot move a finger without the consent of the BCCI. This being the case the elections to this body is closely contested and the one in the driver's seat considers himself to be the God of Gods. Nothing is impossible in their lexicon and like a juggernaut they crush what comes in their way.

This being the mindset of the rulers of the game in India, it came as a rude shock to them when the Home Minister stated that he was apprehensive about providing security during the second version of the Indian Premier League which is to be held in the months of April and May. The Home Minister had his reasons for saying so as the event coincides with the 15th Lok Sabha elections. With almost a billion people ready to cast their votes, it is indeed a very extensive and at times difficult exercise. The Home Minister requested the authorities to reschedule the dates or to hold the tournament after the elections. The BCCI was in no mood to relent. They did an eye wash of changing a few dates and venues to which the Ministry was not agreeable. And so suddenly out of the blue they announced yesterday that they were taking the tournament outside India. They are yet to confirm the venue. I call this attitude of the organizers as being very callous. By taking the tournament outside India, what are they trying to prove? That they are capable of hosting the event anywhere in the world with their money power? To them security means just looking after themselves, most of them have their personal security guards to whom they pay a king’s ransom. As for the owners of the eight IPL teams they live in their own worlds and have no contact with the man on the street. I sometimes wonder if they consider themselves as being part of the country. Yesterday I heard them say on TV that it was fine with them to move the tournament. Would any other body in the world hold a national sporting event outside its own country or would they be involved in some mega endeavour outside their country when the elections are happening in one’s country. To the BCCI and the IPL owners the security of the common man and the elections are of absolutely no importance. I wonder how many of them will even bother to exercise their franchise. To me casting the vote is one of the most important duty of any citizen. Definitely it will not be possible for the players to cast their votes, if the voting date coincides with their game. Looks like the organizers consider a game of cricket especially the IPL what with its shrewd business aspect, to be more important than exercising one’s basic rights. It is a well known fact that the summer of 2009 would herald the general elections. The organisers should have given it some thought before planning their IPL schedule for the year.

I was happy to read that Sachin Tendulkar termed it sad that the IPL was going outside India. As for the others no body has opened their mouth. They dare not open because they are afraid of what the outcome would be. Much as I know that there is more than what meets the eye in this confrontation, what makes me happy is the fact that the Home Minister stood his ground and got the juggernaut to rattle. I am now eagerly waiting for the day when the Juggernaut would be stripped down.

The Magical 52

Today is my 52nd birthday, but well I am not talking about my age as there is nothing magical about it. What I am referring to is a deck of playing cards which contains 52 cards. If you were to ask me which game has had the most reach, I would definitely say it is a game of cards. The games played would vary from place to place and people to people however everyone knows to play at least one card game. If Flash is for the gambler then Bridge is for the intellectual and between the two there are thousands of card games that can keep everyone engrossed and happy by their pursuit. I am yet to come across a person who has not touched a pack and played some kind of card game. Among all the games played on the computer too, I think the card game of Solitaire would be the most popular. The pack of cards that we use now is called the French Deck. This consists of 13 ranks of each of the 4 suits namely, Hearts, Diamonds, Spades and Club – the magical 52. It is said that the playing cards like most other things originated in China and India around the 7th century AD. I wonder if any of the earlier games are still in circulation.

My association with the pack started pretty early in life. My parents enjoyed playing cards and the arrival of any house guests meant that an hour or two after dinner was devoted to the game. The first game I have heard of was called Pontoon. On keenly observing the players, I had learnt how to play it. I remember vaguely that the number 21 was of great significance in this game. Also there was some petty change involved. As kids we never got to play it. By the time we were in our late teens, Pontoons seemed to have gone forever in our family’s scheme of things to be replaced by Rummy. Rummy for those who enjoy it can become very addictive. Luck and skill play equally important roles when playing Rummy. Again to spice up the game small change was involved. Rummy on a professional level means big money and it is said that men have become paupers playing Rummy. This is a setback to any kind of gambling but sincerely I feel that this should not go against the game. We all know that anything in excess will have a negative effect. In Tamil there is a saying which when translated means; even the nectar churned by the God’s when taken in excess can turn into poison. So where does a poor game of cards stand a chance!!! Alongside Rummy, a game of twenty eight was also popular in our household. As for this game, I really don’t know how international or for that matter national is its reach and appeal. I have heard of only Malayalis playing this game. Since there was no money changing hands (at least when we played), the youngsters were allowed to play it. It was a game where intelligence was involved. It sharpened your memory and helped you to focus a lot. Since it was played with partners, there was good rapport among the partners and this also led to bonding and friendships. I really wish the children of today would play some of these games as it would do them a world of good. It is sad that their only interaction is with cards of the virtual variety.

Much later I was introduced to a game called Fifty Six. This I am sure like the game of Twenty Eight mentioned earlier is confined to the Malayalis of the world. This is one of the best card games I have played. It is a game which requires very good skill, concentration and memory and the nuances are far too many. To master this game would surely take a very long period of time. Once you get hooked to Fifty Six, any other card game will seem like child’s play and the interest to play them would also wane. A game of Fifty Six needs six players who form two teams with three members in each team. My association with the game was very short lived. I have tried many a time to organize an evening of Fifty Six but my attempts have been futile. I am still on the look out for five players. Any takers please let me know!!! A game of bridge, it is said can be truly obsessive. The popular Casino card games like Poker, Black Jack and Baccarat have their own following.

With the proper company, any card game can be a pleasure. The power of the 13 cards while playing Rummy or that of the 8 cards while playing Fifty Six is truly amazing. I think these cards weave a magic spell on the players and keep them totally mesmerized. Thus is the magical charm of the 52 pack which no other board, indoor or outdoor games can match.

The Photograph

A photograph as we all know is a record of a happening which is preserved for posterity. Family photographs fit this bill perfectly. It was very normal in most Indian households to have the family photographs framed and displayed. The photos were mainly captured when the whole family met at the time of a wedding or other auspicious occasions. In most of the photographs, all the members are dressed in their Sunday’s best. There was a period when these photographs were pulled down and stored in the attics. Now people seemed to have realized their value and once again the photographs are out in the open for all to view.

It was the summer of 1991 and it was a very special one for my family. This was the first time that the whole family meaning the three sisters with their spouses and Father and Mother were together under one roof. It was also the first time that my parents were making a trip abroad. Much as I had wanted them to come and visit me in Saudi Arabia, it was not possible due to government restrictions. Latha was in Manchester, England and obtaining a visa was far simpler. The first leg of their journey was to Bahrain, were Kumar and I joined them. We were in Al Khobar at that time and had to just drive on the causeway. It made us happy that they could at least travel in our car. I accompanied them to the UK and later Kumar joined us. Geetha and Unni were stationed in Brussels and they took a week’s break and came over to Manchester. The last reason for elation was the fact that Latha was in the family way and the next generation of Variyath/Hebbar was on the way. All this must have gone through my mother’s mind, for out of the blue she said that we needed to take a family portrait. A lot of deliberation went into the subject and we decided we would go ahead with her thinking. There were cries of not having formal wear and proper shoes to pose in a portrait. Since the venue was England, we had to dress accordingly!!!

Latha fixed an appointment for a Monday at a studio in Timperley which was 2 miles from her house. On Saturday we came to know that she would be on call and hence there was a possibility that she may not be able to make it for the schedule. This upset my mother the most. Unlike in India were the neighbour would just come across and click a couple of pictures, this was not possible in the UK. Our worry was short lived because our friends from Birmingham called up to say that they would visit us on Sunday afternoon and would join us for dinner that day. So it was decided that we would get Mb to click a few pictures, just in case the portrait session did not happen on Monday. Being the unofficial cook at all the family gatherings outside India, I made some lamb biriyani for lunch hoping to carry it over for dinner. After a sumptuous meal of beer and biriyani, the men had just gone in for an afternoon nap, when the bell rang beckoning Mb’s arrival. He being more of professional on these matters said that the picture had to taken right away as the sunlight was perfect. He gave a well known lecture about the English weather. So with sleep written all over the face all of us got into whatever finery was available and arranged the seats on the patio and Mb clicked on three cameras as if there was no tomorrow.

Monday dawned and Latha could make it to the studio on time. We were in the same outfits as in the previous session and the professional being what he is got us to juggle around until he got the best pose. A couple of days later Geetha and I walked the distance to the studio to collect the proofs. The result was to all our liking and we zeroed in one particular picture and got the same enlarged. This picture finds a pride of place in all our homes. Had we procrastinated, and waited for the next occasion, I think it would have never happened. The truth is that in the next 18 years the eight of us were together only on two occasions and both were not conducive to take a family portrait.

Every time I look at the picture I treat it as history. To me it is one of a kind and something that can never ever be reproduced.

PS. Much as the family makes fun of me and calls me “Japanese”, I never miss clicking a picture. The things we take for granted may turn out to be just a fleeting moment.

Latest Contribution

Kerala’s contribution to the mosaic that makes up all things Indian has been enormous. History tells us that all the major religions of the world have found their way to India through the shores of Kerala. In the first century AD, St. Thomas landed at Kodungalloor in Central Kerala and in the 7th century AD, Islam reached Kerala through the Arabs who had flourishing spice trade with it. Surprisingly the Arabs too landed first in Kodungalloor. It is said that the Jews reached Kerala 2,500 years ago and settled in and around Kodungalloor. Vasco Da Gama the Portuguese traveler set foot in Calicut, Kerala in the year 1498 and as we all know the rest is history. All the above contributions have been noteworthy and historical. It must be the tolerance of the people to accept and try out something new that must have provided a fertile ground for the growth of these ideas and religions.

What made me write this article is the conversation I had with a friend a couple of months ago. While discussing trends in clothing, she suddenly came out and said, well, the Set Mundu/Kachimundu,Patturumala/and Chattayum Mundum seems to have been shown the back door in Kerala and it has been replaced by not the sari or the salwar kameez but by the maxi. It seemed really difficult to accept and digest. The mundu had started giving way to the sari about half a century ago however it was prevalent along with the sari. Today the set mundu has become a fashion statement among the youngsters. As for the traditional clothes of the Muslims and Christians it has I can say almost become extinct. In my childhood when I visited Kerala (read Calicut) we could see so many Muslim women wearing their Kachimundu and Patturumala and how graceful and beautiful they looked. The attire brought out the poet in you. It blended with the beauty of the landscape and was a visual treat to the eye. My trips to the Central Travancore regions were practically nil at that point and hence have not seen the Syrian Christian women in their Chattayum Mundum. However I am sure they must have looked really regal in these costumes along with their wonderful accessories.

Calicut is an overnight journey from Chennai and we usually go by the night train. When we wake up at about 6 am in the morning the train is normally at Shoranur (Valluvanad, the seat of Malayalam literature and culture and the land of the famous Bharathapuzha) and what greets us is the sight of the women moving about their daily chores wearing the maxi. This scene is repeated all over the state. The maxi seems to have invaded all the households like the rampant growing algae which destroy the water bodies they spread on. No one has been spared from this maxi culture as all strata of society have willingly become its captive. Nowhere else in India has the maxi made such strides. To see a lady in typical Kerala attire in the early hours of the morning has become a rarity and a treat. The maxi actually takes away a person’s personality as it leaves the wearer looking like a moving sack. The grace and the beauty are totally lost. I wonder what the Tamizh poet Bharathiar who sang paeans praising the beauty of the Malayali women will have to say if he sees them in their new avatars.

The origin of the maxi I think is somewhere in the Middle East. It is not a fall out of the Muslim culture as it has been around for a much longer period. Why I say this is because all the female Biblical characters in the Hollywood movies are shown wearing something similar to the present day Kerala maxi. Since Hollywood does a thorough research of what they portray, I affirm that the Middle East must be its place of its origin. Most concepts and ideas be it religious or otherwise emanating from the Middle East first set foot in India on the Kerala shores. The same I think goes for the maxi too. The only difference being that the maxi unlike the religions which set foot in Kodungalloor, has come in through Karipur, Nedumbaserry and Thiruvananthapuram!!(Three International Airports of Kerala)

PS. India can soon witness a maxi revolution. Manish Malhotra, Sabyasachi and others what are you waiting for?