From God’s own country to the Golden Vale

From God’s own country to the Golden Vale: Leena is a theatre nurse in South Tipperary General Hospital. She has lived in Clonmel with her husband and three children for 15 years.

Mahabali, the Asura King once ruled Kerala, the Spice Garden of India. King Mahabali was beloved and his people were happy in this land nourished by the monsoon.
Mahabali worshipped Vishnu, ruler of both the netherworld and heaven. Other gods were jealous of Mahabali and asked Vishnu for help. Vishnu appeared as a dwarf and Mahabali offered him gifts. Vishnu asked for just the land he could cover in three paces, remarking that one should not take more than one needs.
As soon as Mahabali agreed, Vishnu quickly increased his size so one foot covered the skies and earth, and the other the netherworld. Seeing that Vishnu would destroy the world with his final step, Mahabali told Vishnu to place the final step on his head, thereby saving the world. With that, Mahabali would be pushed into the netherworld. Impressed by Mahabali’s humility, Vishnu granted him one wish; Mahabali wished to return home, to Kerala, once a year to ensure that his subjects remained happy and prosperous. The wish was granted.
To this day, Keralites all over the world celebrate Onam as the day that Mahabali comes home. We dress in the Kasavu Saree, or silk shirts and the mundu. We eat Sadhya, a feast of vegetarian dishes served on banana leaves. Onam transcends religious beliefs, reminding all Keralites of their culture and heritage. For 15 years, I have celebrated the harvest festival of Onam in Clonmel. Sometimes I feel like Vishnu, with my feet in two different places: India and Ireland. My name is Leena, and this is my story…
I was born Catherine, named after my grandmother, according to tradition. My father was George and so I became Catherine George. Leena was a pet name; I ended up being Catherine in church and Leena in school. I had a happy childhood in Kerala. My father George was a farmer, and my mother a housewife and they worked hard to give my brother and I a good start. Now, I tell my children to appreciate their good life. My daughter worries about those less fortunate in India and I smile to hear my words leave my little girl’s mouth. My two girls are named Anna and Agnes after their grandmothers, and so it goes.
When I was 18, I took the train from my village to Hyderabad to study nursing. It took longer to get to Hyderabad than it did to get to Clonmel. We, my chaperone and I, travelled 1,516 miles to another world. As the train lumbered out of the sleepy station that morning, rolling by lush green hills and majestic rubber trees, I had the feeling I was being transported to a new life. I felt the train’s pace quickening along the route through dense forest, passing village after village just like mine.
After three days on the train, my surroundings started to change, and I knew we were approaching the city. Sounds took on a new timbre, a new urgency, as we reached the outskirts of Hyderabad: car horns and bicycle bells sounded out as we hurtled along, whipping dust in its wake. The landscape transformed at the city’s edge, tents and shacks blurred by, faded colours glimpsed through dust clouds on the tracks. The train’s horn warned those on the line “get out of the way, get out of the way, get out of the way”. I was excited, my heart pounding to the rhythm of the train.
When I disembarked, the next wave of passengers surged forward over the white and black tiles, eager to start their journey. Shrouded figures on benches, or cross-legged on the tiles, observed silently. It took days for the sounds of the engine and the sway of the giant train to leave my body.
I spent five happy years in Hyderabad, sharing my dormitory with other student nurses, giggling and carefree. From there to New Delhi, then to the Gulf, each place a steppingstone.
Back home, my parents were busy talking to the marriage bureau. They had found a husband for me. Although his village was only 30 km from mine, James may as well have been from another planet. We married one month after we met and I became Leena James. Soon we had our first son, Joseph. An arranged marriage seems strange to my children, but that was twenty-one years ago and here we are.
My time in the Gulf ended with selection for a position in South Tipperary General Hospital. We returned to Kerala, and I left my husband and son to come to Ireland, hoping to go from there to America. Ireland was just another steppingstone, or so I thought.

“Are you certain there is a hospital there?” my brother asked me when I said I was coming to Clonmel. He looked it up on the internet. “All I can find is trees and a road!” he laughed. “Surely you will not go to such a place”, but he need not have worried. Now, that tree-lined street is home to my family. I hear birdsong and church bells and my children attend school in the town. This is our place.
Last time I returned to Kerala it was monsoon season. People ‘give out’ about rain in Ireland, but if you really want to see rain, come to Kerala. There, the rain is relentless, and it falls hard. In Ireland the rain is soft, like its people. I always felt welcome, my presence here appreciated. When I arrived, I spent two months in Waterford completing my induction. Even then, the wheels were in motion. The nursing superintendent in Clonmel worked hard, stopping other Indian nurses in the supermarket and asking if they knew of anyone looking for a house mate. By the time I got to Clonmel, I had somewhere to live. That’s how the wheels turn in Ireland, they take you in, make you one of their own, get you ‘sorted’ in that soft way of theirs.
At first, I could not tell the difference between one Irish nurse and another, they all looked the same. And the names were so difficult! We were all strangers to each other. In Shamrock Hill, one old lady told me that when she was young, she never knew there were people with different-coloured skin. I wonder how people in my village would welcome an Irish nurse just as I wonder if anyone in Clonmel knew where Kerala was before I arrived.
I love my life here, in the shadow of the church bells. I love the people; they are so kind-hearted, their friendship priceless. In 2010, James was ill in hospital. It was the worst winter for decades, freezing temperatures, snow, and ice. James was discharged for Christmas, and we arrived home to bread, milk, and firewood at our front door. We soon discovered we had no water and no heat. There is something about being in trouble at Christmas isn’t there? My friend Toni cooked our Christmas dinner, let us use her shower. After a couple of days, she arrived at my front door and said, “Give me your washing Leena, I will do it. Just give it to me.” Such a simple gesture from her meant the world to me. I cried at her kindness. She took my dirty laundry and returned it, washed, dried, and folded. I couldn’t believe that someone would do that!
Trouble is a great equaliser in Ireland. A consultant in the hospital was especially kind to me when I was ill, even though he did not need to be. He was a very busy doctor, but the time he spent with me taught me so much about respect and appreciation for others, regardless of status or position. This Irish way of helping silently, quietly, selflessly, surprises me still to this day.
Irish devotion to family is unshakeable. As a nurse I see people at their best and their worst. I bear witness to unfaltering love and dedication for those who would be abandoned elsewhere. When babies are born and there is bad news, or a family has a loved one who is broken or special, I see the love, the care. People look me in the eye, shrug, “It’s family” they say. The people of Clonmel have taught me so much, I admire their simple, unwavering humanity.
The Irish take a particular view of money. In Irish, there is a sean fhocal, an old saying: Is minic a bhí fear maith i seanbhríste - There’s often a good man in old trousers.
I worked with a consultant who drove a thirty-year-old car, the same car as me. I looked at my little car and thought how could he drive the same car as me? He even repaired it himself. He could buy ten of that car, but he was happy, he told me his car was good enough for him. I think if he didn’t care, why should I? It makes me feel good because what does it matter? I have learned from this humility; you do not see it elsewhere.
One family friend, Mathúin expresses the wisdom of Vishnu, that he should not take more than one person needs. He told me, “Leena, I am fortunate, I have a good job, but I should not be greedy. That money is not just for me”. The people are the wealth, the golden vein of this place.
A few years ago, I travelled to Dublin and became an Irish citizen. All around me there were shouts of joy, people hugging and crying with happiness, but my heart crunched in my chest as I replaced one passport with another, replacing the dharma chakra with the harp. I felt like I was no longer Indian, but my soul and my bones will always know I am Indian.
For centuries, Kerala was a hot spot for trade, the lure of precious spices beckoned. The disciple St. Thomas, who famously doubted Christ, was one such visitor to Kerala. He preached the gospel, baptised my ancestors and now there are 1,000s of churches bearing his name. Eventually, the people of Kerala themselves began to travel, taking our faith, heritage and culture with us. Now a thriving population of St. Thomas Christians, including my family, has spread across the globe. Once a month we celebrate mass in the native language of Kerala, Malayalam. They say that Kerala is God’s own country, but my God has travelled all the way with me to Clonmel.
The world is changing, it is much smaller than when I left India. Children are now global citizens, they can travel anywhere, do anything, but they still need a sense of place.
My son is now a young man, and I cannot imagine how he will find a wife. Will he find a nice Indian girl? What if he doesn’t? All parents worry in the same way. I can find a nice girl for him, but it is his journey. We must wait, like the people on the platform in Hyderabad. I have the same aspirations for my children as my parents had for me. There is comfort in these aspirations that travelled with me from Kerala. I am happy that my children are Irish, but they are also Indian, and the dharma chakra and the harp are now entwined.
My family has a sense of place in the Golden Vale. In my house on that tree-lined street, I hear the Angelus bell every day at 6pm. The bell will ring tomorrow and my faith, my friends and my family will still be the points on my compass. I think about Onam and Mahabali. I smile because I too wish, once a year, to return to Kerala.

Clodagh Conway

Clodagh Conway lives in County Tipperary at the foot the beautiful Slievenamon mountain. Originally from County Waterford, Clodagh is a lifelong lover of the written word in all its forms. This is her first foray into published work, and she hopes not her last...

Hard working Ukrainian lady has made Tipperary her home

Opening a patisserie business is the icing on the cake for Alla

Staying true to herself- Edyta's mantra helped her overcome life challenges

Clonmel - Our Sense of Place

Rinta is very happy in her 'forever home' of Clonmel

Remarkable life: an amazing young mother who has already lived through many experiences

Kriti and Atul have found a real sense of place in their new home of Clonmel

Our Sense of Place

Maria has found happiness, fulfilment and 'her little piece of heaven' in Ireland

Our Sense of Place

From Busko to Clonmel: maria Boduch was born in 1987 in Busko, Poland. Maria moved to Ireland in 2011 and now lives outside Clonmel with her husband Wojciech and two childre, Maja and Nel.

Romanian nurse and mother who appreciates her family's new life here is much better

Moya Coplica talks to Aislinn Kelly about her journey from Romania to Ireland and how her wonderful work ethic and love for children has fulfilled her life

Marathon man Sergiu's journey from Moldovan wine to Clonmel Honey

Our Sense of Place