Memory is unpredictable . One never really knows what we will remember and what we will forget. Which is why nostalgia arrives in unpredictable waves, highlighting something and skimming over others. Recently, I have found myself thinking of how memory works, as I was assailed by nostalgia over a trip to Varanasi, a city I prefer to think of, as Kashi. The nostalgia hit right as we landed at Varanasi airport. The last time I was here, it was 1988, I was 13 years old, the airport was brand new… regular flights hadn’t started yet (I think) … flights landed about once a week, and for the rest of the time, everything was open to those of us who lived in the airport quarters nearby. There were fields everywhere, vast expanses of green… I have vague memories of corn and sugarcane… and being overwhelmed by the vastness of the fields (this was the first time I was in such close proximity to them), and the warm hospitality of complete strangers who lived and worked amidst these fields. I h...
The Mattancherry Jetty was busy, crowded, and lined with shops. A horde of tourists had just arrived, and amidst all the chaos, we couldn’t figure out where was the palace. It was our auto driver who pointed out the arched doorway, urging us out, obviously in a hurry to be paid and find his next customer. Walking inside, the first thing we saw was the temple of Pazhayannur Bhagavathy, and we wondered once again, if we were indeed at the right place. Thankfully, an ASI board pointed us to the staircase, which led us up to the first floor, where a wearied looking caretaker sold us tickets to visit the palace, which is now a museum.