Being Mallu, Being Me

The first time someone called me a mallu was… I don’t remember. I do remember not knowing what a mallu was though. Now if you don’t know, Malayalis aka mallus are people who hail from the southernmost state of India, Kerala. I’ve had numerous people ask me if I’m from Malayalam. No. I’m from Kerala and I speak Malayalam which makes me a Malayali. Does that make sense?

We’re known for our distinct traditions, just like any other state of India. We’re also one of the most stereotyped communities in India. And if you, by chance, don’t fit into one of the ‘mallu’ labels, there will be a lot of jaw drops, wide eyes and “You don’t look like one”. Wearing a hijab at the age of ten meant I had to witness a few of those wide eyes and jaw drops. Looking back, all of those precious memories make me laugh.

One such occasion arose in my 5th grade Islamic class. When the teacher asked me where I was from and I replied “Kerala”, a Pakistani boy stood up and claimed that there were no Muslims in India. He told me that I was hallucinating and that I’m originally from Pakistan. I remember my Indian genes getting excited and me giving him a much needed history lesson. I don’t exactly recall how the argument ended, but it was indeed hilarious.

People almost always assume that I’m from Pakistan. It’s very usual for me to meet people who start talking to me in Urdu while I stand there gaping at what they’re saying. “Oh, I thought you were from Pakistan!” When I respond in negative, I’m from Hyderabad or a North Indian city. Some even say I look Arab. And then I drop the bomb. “I’m from Kerala,” I say. They take a step back and examine me head to toe with the previously mentioned jaw drop and wide eyes. “But you don’t have the accent!” they exclaim. Well, do I have to?

You see, mallus come in all different colors, shapes and sizes. We’re not all cut from the same cookie cutter. And most of us are fiercely proud of our heritage. We love our kasavu mundu and white sarees. We’re also very diverse. Some of us Christian, some Hindu and some Muslim. The difference is also evident as you travel between districts. Next time you’re around your mallu friends, grab them and make them say a few random words. If you are listening carefully, you’ll see that they have different dialects (provided that they come from different districts). I myself get lost in my grandma’s colloquial Malayalam.

If you’ve been exposed to Malayali culture before, you’ve probably commented on our bananas and coconuts and chakka. Some of those comments might hit home, so go easy on them. As I type this out, I have a wide grin on my face. We cherish our bananas and coconuts dearly. They are both as essential as oxygen. But first, bananas.

We conjure our bananas into different forms. We deep fry them, stir-fry them, steam them and we bake them. Our banana edibility knows no parameters. You can even call it outside the box thinking. Pazhampori hits #1 on the list. I won’t blame you if you can’t pronounce it. Ask your trusted mallu adviser for guidance. Pazhampori is deep fried banana coated in a maida flour batter (SOURCE: Google). Pazham vattiyathu is another dish that comes to mind. I went to lengths trying to find a satisfactory definition and have decided to settle with my own. Pazham vattiyathu is stir fried banana in ghee. If you still don’t understand, please go watch a cooking tutorial. I could go on and on, but I am obliged to stop here.

Pazham Vattiyathu

Pazhampori

Moving onto coconuts, they are in almost every dish. Even in pazham vattiyathu! They play a major role in our curries and are unavoidable. We are emotionally attached to these floating fruits. The word Kerala, literally means land of the coconuts (WHAT?!!). Mallus make use of every single part of the coconut. Its water is used as an energy drink. The flesh is for curries and the infamous coconut oil. Coco husks are used as fuel and its coir is used to make ropes. We don’t let them go to waste, at all. I mean, how can you?

If I start talking about Kerala, I could go on and on. The accent, coconut oil and bananas are only the tip of the iceberg. We are much more than that.

Our accent might make you laugh and our obsessions might seem hilarious. But for me, that place and those people are everything. Every year, when I go back to Kerala, my grandma exhausts herself with telling me and my siblings stories. My late grandfather’s football obsession and my father’s antics. Stories of going to school by boat and my uncle hiding under the bed. I’ve almost by hearted the stories but I make her repeat them over and over again. They make me feel connected to a place I have to etch into my memory for another year till I come back. I can’t wait to go back. To the light evening breeze, annoying mosquitoes and my grandma’s cows. I’m finding my roots, rediscovering myself all over again.

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