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...
Poring over Google maps to figure out the distance from Sankarankovil to Kovilpatti, the name ‘Kazhugumalai’ jumped out. The chance to visit this ancient site, on our way to the station was too good to pass. And that is how we found ourselves rushing over rickety roads, headed to Kazhugumalai, our luggage rocking in the back of our auto! Kazhugumalai, with the Murugan Temple in the foreground