Morning walk in Jagir Ammapalayam

On my business trip to Salem (in TN and not USA), I stayed in a swanky 5* hotel, right on the highway to Kanyakumari. The hotel was swamped by men in white as their leader, heading one of the lesser Kazhagams, was camping on the eve of the PM’s visit to the steel city. The hotel wasn’t short of creature comforts, save one – a decent walking track. I couldn’t afford to miss my morning walks, come what may. So I crossed the busy highway and started walking along a narrow road into a territory that my phone referred to by a name that was quite a mouthful – Jagir Ammapalayam.

The road began unimpressively with a huge CBSE school on my left, the office of an NGO and a bus-body workshop on my right. But the habitation began very quickly. It was not yet 7, but people were up and busy. Women with their wet hair wrapped in white thorthus were drawing kolam (rangoli) with rice flour on the doorway to their households. They ranged from the Spartan to the ornate and many in between. The aroma of freshly brewing coffee was all-pervading. It was mixed with the fragrance of jasmine. I was intoxicated.

Every 20 metres there was a small eatery getting ready to roll out the traditional breakfast. Every 20 metres, households had put out wooden tables laden with fresh flowers for sale. Every 50 metres there was a store displaying fresh vegetables, where men were shopping. Suddenly I froze in my tracks. The courtyard of a house had been transformed into a mini factory to spin ropes out of coir. It was quite an effort to peel my eyes away and continue my walking.

I had reached the end of the road, where it merged with a busier thoroughfare. Near the junction was a branded tea shop and I stepped in more out of curiosity; but ended up tasting ginger tea out of the half a dozen flavours they had on offer.

I began my return walk after the tea break. Halfway through a quartet of drummers slowed me down. The tempo was quick but their faces were expressionless. I instinctively understood the significance and moved on. A few steps away I noticed a flex pinned to a doorway. It had the portrait of an old woman. The garland on the portrait was already withering. She had passed away yesterday.

Further along on the road, clay artefacts were out on display for sale in front of another house. 

A kaleidoscope of images and emotions was already swirling through my head. It was slowing down my walk. A bus had come out of the bus-body workshop. It was a cherry on the top of my morning walk.