Nothing changes the old river

Back here in Kerala nothing has changed in six months. I know it is a very short period of time. It is not even a year. But there are things that amuse me. Which I look for every time I come here in my hometown Chalakudy. Things that I wished changed. People who I know act as they are opposite pole of change. Sights that pain me have not changed.

The invalid who lives by the drain canal has not changed. He made a beautiful Christmas tree and a miniature crib by his dingy house. I would be happy if the drain water does not take away the crib with it. I know he would be sad. The drunkard by the shopping complex has not changed his position by an inch. He still sits on the mounted rubber tyres by the shopping complex. He smokes beedi. Bloodshot eyes. He still wears his old check shirts. The funny cashier in the shopping complex has not changed. She stills cracks boring jokes with customers. I always used to wonder if she had a little problem handling money. She gives me more or less money every time. My friend is still working on the same play which he was working on before I left for Bangalore. He says he didn’t get time to work on it. Another of my friend still visits temples by night for the celebration. He says he knows the name of all the elephants in Kerala. I know that he has not changed a bit. The medical shop guy whom I befriended in course of time buying medicines has moved on into another shop. He still hides the fact he is a gay. He lives a normal life. He eyes the crotch of some teenage boy once in a while. He offers them beer. My grandmother still chants prayer when I watch English movies on Star Movies. She chants louder when women come in short and scarce dress. I know she is a dedicated devotee. Esther, the girl I love has not changed he mind. She is still confused and trying her best to avoid me. My little brother still shouts out secrets into my ear. He still does not understand the concept of secret. My mother still asks me to shave. She has not changed a bit. Nor has her television soap serials. I still understand the story, even though six months have passed since I last saw them. My father is the last person I had wished to have undergone any change. He still doesn’t talk to me.
The half built flyovers have not changed for me. It still looks like half built even though they say it is almost finished. The white lilies on the road side have not changed. They still bloom and spread fragrance in the night. My neighbours still burn plastic and gather around while it’s burning. I still hate them for doing that. The Communist Party building has not changed. They have flex board against globalization. The hoardings have not changed. They still show the face of actress for gold ornaments. The magazines have not changed. They still write about how hero came out of the blue and rescued the heroine and salvage her from the hands of the ruthless lustful villain. What more even the stories in soft porn magazines have not changed their trend. They still write about the landlord molesting the maids in the house. The dhoti pattern has not changed. They still are wearing the white or ochre or dark blue ones. I was wondering what Andy Warhol would have made of the dhoti. The electric pole paintings of Che Guvera have not changed a bit. He still wears the cap with a star on it. A black and white painting. The habit of changing cars has not changed, or building new house. Big ones. I know Laurie Baker would have died once again if he heard the cost of the house. The government offices have not changed the still do not look into your eyes if you talk to them. The banks have still the old counting with saliva system. Some use water and some other the machine. I would also add, I love the coin they give me to hold when I am waiting for my withdrawal amount. Those have not changed.
The river in which I learned to swim has not changed. It still is murky green in colour. The smell of the water is still the same. Empty beer bottles float in water, as if they are in for a grand voyage. Men still go and watch the womenfolk taking bath in the river. The women leave huge bars of soap by the river bank. Children come and feed the soap bar to the fish. I watch the fish die.
Everything is the same. Even the silence in my bedroom after eleven in the night is same. If you ask me, how do I feel about it, I would say, “You would never know.”