Melam

Its an injustice. Depicting this phenomenon using a language so rigid compared to the brilliant fluidity of Malayalam. But the limitation of my knowledge restrictions me.

The heat. Yes, the infamous Palakkad heat. Let it take the back seat. The sweat, now that matters. The smell of sweat, the kind that’s from physical strain and not just the heat. You can always tell those apart.

The feeling of a crowd. A collection of people wouldn’t make a crowd, the same way a bunch of trees wouldn’t make a jungle. You can feel the invisible network that connects these strangers without anyone’s knowledge. The strings of energy webbing through their souls, silently flowing in and out of their consciousness. Those rare moments when everyone becomes part of a whole – Different yet undeniably the same.

Some stood out. The boy sitting on his fathers shoulders moving his arms in time with the beat. The pleasure on his face, the pride on his carrier’s. The old man who jumps higher than the young and healthy around him, eyes closed, face ecstatic. They caught your attention for looking rather different yet their face reflected yours, your neighbours’, every face in the crowd.

Melam is something almost every malayali can feel nostalgic about. It is a touch of home, a memory of being alive, a sensation so unique it can only be felt. The rhythm, the heat, the feeling that every heart around you beats with yours. It plays games on you, making you feel like you are with your people, with your family, when in reality it’s just a bunch of strangers – men you wouldn’t smile at if you saw them on the other side of the road. Yet, for this one moment, they are your people.

The jimikki though. Its dance catches minds. Its rise and fall, the to and fro that seems to own a consciousness. And its pair on the other side, mimicking its movement. Once you see it, it is hard to ignore. It is simply, beautiful. The way a single sapling in a dessert or a rose in thorny bushes might be.

The girl, I guess the jimikki freed her. The men, these young and old variations of a single being, had this lone creature hidden among them. It’s interesting how different they found this person, even though the dissimilarities were far from important. But today as the crowd found its soul, a tiny part was hers. She, for once, was part of the whole, accepted without question through the shear power of togetherness.

Maybe that’s what the world needs. A constant rhythm to remind them they are all the same. To help them accept everyone as their own, to bring together the weak, the strong, the young and the old. So that as long as the beat stays, they are one. But don’t we already have it? Dhak dhak, dhak dhak.

Jimiki

Adithya M

July 2020

I haven’t written anything in a long time. Reading back the old unpublished works I’m finding myself less critical. This sparked joy when i revisited it, hopefully it sparks joy in you too.