Finding Kannada in Kish

In Bengali we say, “Jodi jao Bongey, kopal jaye shongey”, i.e. if you go to Bengal, your fate too will follow you. I left Bengal 40 years ago and made Bengaluru my home. I found out later that Bengaluru and Karnataka would follow me even to Kish island, a heavenly picturesque spot in Iran, called the “Pearl of the Persian Gulf”.

In torrential rain, I flew from Shiraz to Kish. A well-built young man of about 25 greeted me at the Kish airport. His name was Fazel, my guide and host for the next 24 hours. It was past midnight as we drove through the empty roads. Fazel said to me, “Is my pronunciation of your name correct, sir? Cha-tter-jee. I practised with the internet.” “Perfect,” I said, “Where did you learn such good English?” “In Mysuru, sir. Been there twice, for three months each time. Visited Bengaluru. Mysuru is so charming, sir.”

My God! Bengaluru never seemed to leave me! I felt the touch of Karnataka, even in this tiny island of Iran. I may have been Karnataka’s only representative there at that moment, and may remain so for many more months to come!

Next morning, at the appointed time, 7:30 am, Fazel came to pick me up. In this sparsely populated tiny island (population: 25,000, area 91 sqkms), we drove at a high speed even during “office time”. Kish is a sandy island, with cactus, palm and a few coconut trees. “People here may be of Arab descent and speak a language that is a mixture of Arabic, Persian and other dialects,” said Fazel.

After the day’s sight seeing, we were joined by Fazel’s wife and her brother. We sat on the carpet laden “takht” (divan) in a “chai-khane” (tea parlour), lazily puffing “tambaku” (tobacco) on the hookah — an inevitable part of one’s Iran visit.

Fazel chose Darjeeling tea in my honour and said, “Come again, sir. Anytime. Kish is a free island in Iran, you will get visa on arrival, only for Kish; reaching is easy — Bengaluru to Dubai and then to Kish. I will receive you, sir; you and your family.” “It is your turn now to visit me in Bengaluru, you with your family,” I said in reply. “I wish I could,” said Fazel. “My sister and her husband were there in Mysuru. They both did their PhD in electrical engineering from Mysore University.”

“Do they have a small daughter named Sara, who speaks Kannada?” I asked. “I had met them in a seminar in Delhi and Sara spoke to my son, in fluent Kannada.”

“Is the world really so small!” Fazel remarked, “They have now shifted to France.” He immediately rang-up his sister and what a joy it was! Next, Sara came on the line and I asked, “Sara mari, channagidiya? (Sara, dear. Are you fine?)”. A shy voice replied, “Channagiddini uncle, adrey Kannada maratu bittidey. (I am fine uncle, but I’ve forgotten Kannada)”.

My flight was delayed. But Fazel said that he would not leave until I had boarded. He asked me to see my mobile screen, for a memento, after I was seated. I did. It was a picture of Sara and I taken by her parents, five years ago, in January 2010, in Delhi. Fate thus wills such wonderfully pleasant things. Yes, it follows you in most unexpected ways. Trade sanctions cannot stop them.