Namaskaram!

That’s the local greeting that I’ve got used to after shifting to Wayanad from Bangalore. Moving away from the erstwhile garden city, when the pandemic started was one long-overdue decision!

Don’t get me wrong, I loved Bangalore – once upon a time. No, I’m not going to shed nostalgic tears on a time long gone. Everything changes doesn’t it?

And so I wound up my violin repair workshop in Bangalore and decided to try farming in Wayanad. Making this move, knowing absolutely nothing about farming or even the local language, Malayalam, was like doing a bungee jump – without the lifeline.

But hey, it’s been two years now and my sugar pumpkin, Latha, (who by the way chucked her steady job for the adventure), and I are having fun!

Folk here are pretty friendly. Even unfamiliar people on the road will nod and smile as you slowly drive by, enjoying the scenic beauty of hills and tea estates. My daughter Joy calls it the wayanadian nod. You won’t find it anywhere else  – a slight Bharatnatyam movement of the head with a smile that barely conceals the curiosity that is burning in their eyes!

Neighbours and friends call me phillipe, philipeta, chetai, saare, and many other variations. I don’t mind. Actually, I quite like it because it makes me feel like they’ve accepted me as one of them. It’s only when elders who are easily ten years older than me address me as ‘ungle’ (uncle) that I bite my teeth while doing my wayanadian nod.

“And how is the cardamom farming doing?”

I wish you hadn’t asked! They say that you have to look after cardamom plants like little children. To be honest, I haven’t given Jasiel and Joy, half the attention that I do with my cardamom babies. And the results are not too encouraging, to put it mildly.

I’ve learnt that farming is not only about watering the crops. Controlling the myriads of pests and viruses that ravage these tubers is a constant (and futile) activity. Applying fertilizers in the right quantity at the right time is just as important as regulating sunlight for moderation in summer and then lopping shade trees to allow more light during the monsoon. Spending tons on improving the quality and quantity during the market lows, in the hope that the next season will see a better market, is something that keeps my farmer fingers and toes crossed most of the time. The six months of continuous rains can get depressing, and not just for the plants!

“So is it really fun?”, I hear you ask.

hmmm…I guess my idea of fun lies in the process, the uncertainty, the experiment of change.

Philip Peter