Kerala Bhraman- The Moment

If you missed the boat ride, you can still hop on to the next ride at Kerala Bhraman- The Sleeping Man

The next day, our rendezvous was earlier than the previous day. We set off for the information center where we had to be present at 7 am sharp. My parents had booked an early boat ride, in hope to sight more creatures. I on the other hand had been looking forward to my, would be first ever experience of a jungle safari on foot.

Needless to say, I had butterflies in my stomach and was highly anxious about the walk. I wished earnestly that the guide who was supposed to guide me and a bunch of other people into the forest would be heavily trained and vigil at all time. Yet, a part of me was at peace since I wasn’t going to be alone.

Nature Walk sign board

When I reached the information center, a guard pointed me towards the starting point of the jungle walk. Soon, I came across a flight of rocky steps that mingled with the wild grass of the forest and dropped down to a shut solitary hut.

The brown hut amidst the pelting rain cast an ominous spell and I felt a jolt in my tummy. I got a bad feeling about this. I heard myself speak.

If this is the starting point of the jungle walk, as I was told, shouldn’t there be a bunch of souls hanging around someplace nearby, waiting for the guide or perhaps chatting about the tremendous trek that was about to happen?

Am I going into the forest alone? The question unnerved me as drops of rain wet my head and seeped into my scalp. A jack fruit to the head is painful and surprising, but the raindrops, way more scary!

At that moment, when I was seeing stars around me, I caught a spontaneous glimpse of a wild boar. It was bouncing by the bank of the lake, a dirty black in color. The bristles on its back fluttered as it sprang and its head which strangely seemed larger than the rest of its body was motionless. His tiny legs took him into a nearby grove and it disappeared in the dark. 
The boar seemed like the last thing that could threaten me. I heard my inner self boosting me to go for it. 
The stars and clouds vanished as I found my confidence override the last specks of fear. I walked down the steps and sat in the façade of the hut, waiting for it to come to life.  

The sudden rustle in the bushes behind alerted me. What I faced now was a man walking towards the hut loaded with a backpack, his eyes fixed on me.

Who could this man be? Stay tuned!

Kerala Bhraman- The Sleeping Man

To read about our first glimpse of the evergreen forest, ride back to The Evergreen Forest of Thekkady.

"Reach the boat landing tomorrow morning at sharp nine a.m." the words of the receptionist the previous day occurred to me as I armed my jacket. When we made it downstairs for breakfast, the receptionist greeted us; it was morning and the hotel was lively. We strolled down the corridor to the restaurant. After a light breakfast on cut fruits and cereals we stepped outside the hotel. It was cold and misty outside and as we grabbed onto the massive iron gates which entered into the small garden that led to the boat landing, we let out some brisk puffs.
      

The boat landing was bustling that morning. Hundreds of tourists had flocked in the verandah. Some chatted while some took selfies of their troupe with the grand Periyar in the background. While I set off to click some myself, nature greeted me with a clout! It started with a startling thud on the tin roof above the verandah that scared everyone. Only a split second apart, something hit hard on my head. I was shaken as I quickly retracted my head. At first, I thought a monkey might have used my head as a ramp to hop off so I looked in the direction where it had gone and my eyes met with a small Jack fruit on the forest floor; It must have fallen off a tree above the roof.

The ghat as seen from the information center

The area was flooded with tourists and local families, all excited for the boat ride that awaited. In the last few days, it had been a relief not bumping into any Bengali or Gujarati families. It is pacifying when you are not in presence of people of the same lingo so that you can speak whatever you want to without anyone knowing it. A trio of a bespectacled man, a bespectacled lady and another man in shades in their thirties stood beside me, leaning on the railing of the verandah. The sudden jackfruit incident had shaken them too and the bespectacled man had stepped back well under the roof.

"Ave naa pare. It won’t fall anymore." The bespectacled lady told her friend in Gujarati. I turned my head with a start to face the group. Instantly I thought- Great! What’s next? A Bengali family asking me directions?

A small door in the information center led to the stone steps that ended at the ghat. There at the ghat, three boats were tied to the shore. Big boats with a lower deck and an upper deck. A dilapidated boat, I remember having seen the previous day lay under a tree far from the ghat; now that it had given its service, it was a part of another world, sleeping in the lap of nature. 

The dilapidated boat

Shooting

After a squeeze through a crammed single door toward the steps, we were on our way to our designated boat. A crew of two men from some local TV channel were busy shooting the lake while one of them stood before the camera and spoke out his script.

Jalaraja, literally the king of the water was a blue boat meant solely for the tourists who had checked into KTDC lodges and floated third in line. We walked up a ramp into the lower deck of Jalaraja. There were two rows of seats with four seats in each row and life jackets hung from the back of each seat. Our seats were in the upper deck. We took the narrow stairs to the upper floor where we faced another seating arrangement. Luckily, our seats were the first three seats of the first row. I claimed the seat by the railing and donned my life jacket as per the instructions.

At sharp half past nine, the three boats revved up their engines and a man untied the ropes from the stumps of wood on the shore. An elderly man with a steel container of tea climbed up the ramp to our boat at the eleventh hour. The other man then pushed the boat from the front till it was well into the lake, the greenish blue water. 

All aboard!

The sailor man began turning the boat till it faced the long expanse of the lake further, giving a perspective of the lake sandwiched between land on both sides which fused at the horizon and created a gush of verdant. The other boats had already begun their trip and we were left behind. So, Jalaraja in a feat of competition kicked the waters and dragged itself into the lake sending foaming water jets behind and waves sideways. 

Submerged

The boat steered close along the shore and the trees on our both sides swayed in the morning breeze. The front seat in the boat added to the benefit as I got a perfect view of the forest. A thrilling orchestra of birds, crickets and monkeys stirred up inside the cover. The floor beneath the dense trees was dark and every now and then tiny birds flew out from the cluster into the sky or over the lake. 

The short submerged stumps of wood that I had seen from the verandah last evening had grown into large tree trunks, bare and dead. They were green once; like any other tree in the forest. But that is history now. 

Passerby

Back in 1895, when John Pennycuick constructed the Mullaperiyar dam on the Mullayar River and its tributary Periyar; the longest in Kerala to send the water eastwards to the farmers of Madras, the lake came into existence. The bare stumps were a sad reminder of the past but they continue adorning the lake like any other element in the forest.

In action

Birds waded to their tops and spread their wings; some picked their feathers and looked aimlessly at the boats below while others glided into the lake to prey. At the edge of the lake, between half dipped tree branches, baby pan cowries practiced swimming; their parents blowing the whistle and rebuking them. 

Bird enjoying the breeze

Everything seemed to happen at the right time; so well placed, so natural it felt like it had all been rehearsed. Far off tribal men walked through the forest nonchalant of a tete-a-tete with a  tiger or a Dhole. 

A speed boat christened POLICE passed the trio of boats sending waves that made our boats sway. The sky had been a pale blue since morning and had later added on a hint of grey. A cool breeze had been blowing ever since the boat began moving; our life jackets proved to act as a cover from the cold. For the climax, it drizzled and the forest bathed for the first time since that morning.

It had been a good forty five minutes when Jalaraja slowed down close to what seemed to be another boat landing with the room for a single boat. A flight of wooden stairs landed at the boat landing from a small hill. from my seat I could see few deck chairs and a facade to a small cottage on the hill. This was The Lake view Palace. Another KTDC venture which was placed right inside the reserve. Its rooms served the novelty of the panoramic view of the lake and the elephants drinking, bison herd grazing, dholes chasing boars and tigers spying.

The old man with tea hopped off the boat onto the boat landing and climbed up to the resort and vanished. The boat immediately receded in the river and proceeded. Far in the green meadow, a bison herd was having breakfast. As soon as an accompanying guide on the boat announced it, riders got up from their seats convulsively and a melee followed. Look! Bisons! Look papa! Look mama! Look everyone!

The tea man

Soon afterward, in another meadow a pack of Dholes, wild dogs caught everybody’s attention. They looked at the boats with tongues lolling out of their gaping mouths, their canines glinting with an equal shine in their green eyes. The rain had ebbed for some time and a certain patch of cloud had cleared thus partially giving way to the sun. The sunlight embraced the leaves like a family reuniting after a long departure. The water with millions of tiny waves and its surface shimmering gave it an appearance of the slimy body of a slithering snake.

The boat cut through the lake, and reached a dead end. It slowed down and began turning towards right; the engine drone lowered. We had reached the part of the forest that we had seen from the ghat; trees and trees. They looked like a sleeping man with his hands on his belly. The forest once again moved into meditation as the clouds that were hovering above us gathered and the lake filled with the pitter patter. The tall trees that made up the sleeping man swung, a persistent rustle passing from tree to tree. The man was breathing, caressing his rising belly and his open long hair spread beyond his head shook with the wind.

The wind slowed and the rustling stopped. But it drizzled. The forest was quiet again, much like the sleeping man himself. The boat was now aimlessly moving along. The animals had returned; perhaps the play was done!  So as the boat turned at the end of the journey, where the lake was dominated by jagged rocks and only a thick row of trees divided the lead sky and the grey lake, it became melancholic.

Yet, in that sadness I found peace; a world far from us after all; a realm like nowhere. No language, no discipline, no rules and yet so peaceful. This was Paradise. Even for a layman who would be tired after a long hard day at work, Thekkady, with its signature lake and equally tempting vegetation would be a spot on treat. On that boat, sitting in my seat, my eyes behind lenses I felt envy in my heart.  

The horizon had now adapted a dark blue color fused with the clouds that had gone grey and the rains poured. When we reached the ghat and the boats brushed the ground, tourists were back on their feet. They walked down the ramp and stood by the lake on rocks posing for pictures and selfies. The forest guard arrived at the scene to take matters in his hand, he was handed a mobile instead. Take our photos will you?

An intrusion

As his pompous chest deflated, The guard blew his whistle and left. The pictures were taken and so was the guard!

When I reached the ramp, I took a photo of the boatman’s cabin- a cramped little space, a high wooden chair before the wheel, a talkie, a vase of flowers, a kettle and some papers. It was a small house, a boatman’s sansar.

Sansar

Tribal families fished by the lake, nodding and mocking the urban rush while they handled their rods, caught some fishes and cooked a succulent fish curry over a fire built by the lake itself. Waking up by the call of the birds, living with the roar of the tiger, walking beside the elephants and sleeping to the chorus of the crickets under the barely penetrating moonbeam.

On our way back to the information center and to the steps bordered by mahogany trees leading to our hotel, cherishing the memory of the boat ride we spotted a group of foreign men with stout sticks in their hand walking aside a forest guide. They walked past the tribal women washing clothes by the lake and disappeared into the jungle, behind a drapery of leaves. 

“Excuse me, which way is the information center?” a stout middle aged man asked me on my way to the stairs to our hotel.

“That way.” I promptly signaled which way the center was.

“Thank you very much. Baba, okhane jete hobe. Dad, we have to go there” The man called his father in Bangla. I was left speechless. What are the odds?

The thought of coming across a Gujarati family and a Bengali family on the same day hadn't left me. But, back in hotel the sight of tourists walking in the forest returned to me. The lovely receptionist who had attended to our inquiries before, quenched my curiosity by briefing me about the Nature Walk- a three hour trek through the jungles under the supervision of a guide. The mornings were ripe and the animals often came to the lake for their ablutions which gave the maximum possibility for their sighting. 
Hence, I booked the half past seven slot for the trek for next morning. A walk through the forest would be a total different experience for me and I would take back to my home Thekkady mud with me!

After the booking was done, I returned to our room while mom and dad retreated to the hotel spa where they were introduced to Shirodhara. 

When two Sanskrit words- Shiro meaning head and Dhara meaning flow combine, Shirodhara is born. Warm oil is gently poured on your head and is meant to impart a soothing effect to you after the entire process. What gets flowed on the temples depends on what is being treated and includes oil, warm water, coconut water, milk or buttermilk. 

When my parents returned back to the room visibly drenched in oil they declined to the bed and stayed there until snacks. We had had a hearty lunch downstairs earlier. The main attraction had been the crispy fried Tilapia fish which had a delicate aroma of curry leaves and tasted fabulous with lemon squeezed on them. The other dishes available on buffet were Puttu- steamed cylinders of ground rice layered with coconut, Dosa, Appam- type of pancake made with fermented rice and coconut milk, a spicy chicken preparation, and lemon rice. 

After an equally ceremonious dinner, and dessert consisting of vanilla ice cream topped on fresh cut pineapple, banana and papaya, I made a dart towards a group of waiters standing at the end of the hall.

"One plate of fresh cut fruits to go please." One of the waiters nodded in reply and turned in the direction of the kitchen door.
I realized that a plate of fruits won't be all that I would be needing the next morning.
"Excuse me! A bowl of salt too." I called out to the waiter who nodded without giving a second glance over his shoulder.

Salt. Salt I would need a lot tomorrow.

What will happen tomorrow? What adventure awaits in the rainforest of Thekkady? 
Stay tuned for the treat.

Kerala Bhraman- The Evergreen Forest of Thekkady

If you have missed out on the nail biting trip on the coiling road in the hill, rush to "The Farewell From The Jacketed Trees" and get yourself updated!

On entering Thekkady, the word of the tiger reserve was everywhere, making the town almost revolve around it. An array of hotels bearing lavish names- Cardamom County, Spice Garden and what not had a splendid look and emitted a spicy aroma to the after rain mist. The bumpy narrow road riddled with puddles led us to the check post outside the Periyar Tiger Reserve- a wicket gate stuck in half way was our gateway to the rain forest of Thekkady. A majestic tiger figurine looked upon the tourists through its cold painted eyes reminding them the very chilling truth that we may not see them but they see us. 

As we rode further, I kept dashing glances from window to window hoping to catch a drowsy elephant or a bubbly wild boar. But no, not the tiger. I wasn't up for that shock just yet! 

Damn it! I stress my neck and eyes and they don’t even sneak a peek! 

We saw tourists, mostly local families walked on the road returning from a trek. They looked exhausted yet exuberant. 

The car reached a huge parking lot, sultry with the crowd of tourists and their respective cars.  On our right we got a glimpse of a gigantic turtle figurine looking at the sky and need I speak about the customary selfie birds?

There we were halted at another check post where a forest guard asked us for the reservation receipt at our resort ahead. We were let through in no time and we drove past some posh resorts before landing at our destination. 

Hotel room foyer

Our car parked at the door of Aranya Nivas and its exhaust let out a sigh of relief. The ladies at the reception greeted us and briefed us about the activities that take place each day in Periyar while we completed the formalities. the receptionist briefed us about the elephant safari- a journey into the jungle on elephant back, the bamboo rafting- stout bamboo stems tied together and set afloat on the Periya Lake, Jungle Walk- a walk through the forest under the supervision of a guide, and finally the Boat ride- along the banks of the lake. We booked three seats for the boat ride for 9 next morning while a bell boy carried our luggage to our room upstairs.

The room- a deserving suite, entered into a foyer with two sofas and a glass top table. On the other end of the foyer was another door that opened to a huge terrace which formed an easy passage for the black langoors on the trees beyond. Opposite to the seats was the entrance to the bedroom- a huge bed and a divan. The television did not receive much attraction. Our luggage was put on a table outside the bathroom. The bell boy warned us not to open the window in the bedroom at morning time as 'monkey is coming.'

Black Langoor

Just few hours ago, we were being seen off by Mr. Bhaskar, the manager of Marine Palace Hotel and his great dog into our car, still lost in the charms of the sea beach of Varkala. While now, we were at the foot of the green yet mysterious dense forests of Thekkady at around 3000 ft above sea level.

Mr. Bhaskar and his dog

After freshening up and snacking on tea along with French fries, we planned to visit the boat landing area- the spot from where we would start our booked boat ride the next morning.

We slipped out of another gate to a stairway with gardens on both sides. A huge banyan tree guarded the the last step before a crossing and the information center which was going to be our starting point for the boat ride.

Stairway to the information center

The information center, true to its name, displayed all sorts of information regarding Periyar, the activities and the wide array of flora and fauna. 

"Robi! call maa. She has got to see this!" 
My father called me from the ginormous wooden verandah on the other end of the information center.
                                         But was I listening? I... I...

Periyar Lake

Aha! I was silent. My eyes froze at the lush green beauty before me. A Field with clusters of the evergreen trees and the lake, wide and still lay in the center- stumps of trees stood atop the surface of the water. Far off at the horizon of distinct color, the hills; lying cold and bathed in the mist. It had begun to softly rain. The forest seemed to lie in a deep siesta, breathing in and out. The creatures were returning into their abode beneath the trees from their work of the day’s attraction and entertainment and with the rain, the entire forest rose to a gentle applause. Oh! What works you have done Oh! God. 


The evergreen forests, only read of in textbooks in classrooms closed within four walls were seeping out of the pages, alive before me, extending out of the grasp of the menacing boundaries. Evergreen.

"Maa! You need to see this!" I called out with half attention.

For dinner, we had Roast Chicken, Chicken Ularthiyathu  and lemon rice. The fresh fragrance of the rice, the chewy roast chicken with a garlic flavor and the taste of curry leaves in the Ularthiyathu were a whole new experience on our trip to the south. But nothing that night could contain our excitement for the boat ride next day. My feet were eager to set foot on the forest floor. Especially after the brief teaser in the evening.


What will happen on the boat next day? Will we reach the landing on time? You will know it soon in the next chapter!

Kerala Bhraman- The Farewell From The Jacketed Trees

Did you miss the adda at Shibu uncle's house? Hurry of to the Travel section of my blog and get updated!


Hasta la Vista Varkala! Thekkady, here we come. We hit the road nine in the morning for the Periyar Tiger Reserve. The entry to the reserve closes at five in the evening everyday hence, our priority was to reach our destination before time. 
The journey was going to be five hour long and we were going to climb an elevation of 3000 feet ASL. Hence, a ride on a serpentine road up the Nilgiri awaited us. Our driver, Bijoy had told us before we had started that the road was going to be rough. Much to our dismay, Bijoy didn’t quite understand what we asked and we didn’t understand what he gave in reply. But the man was humble, always smiled in return and seemed to promise a good ride; fair enough. So, after a few moments at the cliff we left off for our journey. 

It was Eid on that day and we had crossed many open slaughter stalls by the road the previous day, customers crowding around a man chopping pieces of meat deftly. A queue stood waiting on the steps of a mosque, a festive glory surrounded them. 

Varkala Cliff

I sat beside the driver and was hence bestowed a daring job of staying awake at all times and keep Bijoy awake in turn. I wasn’t aware that I could get drowsy in the middle of our drive, however "cradle like" journey it would be. My eyelids wouldn’t stay put and I would often find my mother tugging at my shirt or my father calling me from the back seat trying to wake me up.

At half past one we reached a small town named Ranni where we stopped for lunch. The river Pamba flows through this town and we crossed it by a bridge. 

The celebrations were in the air in the restaurant when we ordered the only thing that could be served immediately. Chicken roast, rice and raita. Image of chicken roast is supposedly a dry chicken preparation. Well, hold tight onto your seats to behold the Roast chicken of Kerala- fried chicken pieces swimming in a thick gravy which tasted much like Chicken Chettinad.  The chicken was succulent and I took a spoonful of the gravy after I was done with the chicken; hot and tangy. The cold raita which had cucumber, onions and pieces of green chilly in it suited best with the side dish.

The drizzle had changed to a shower. Strong winds blew the drops down the road we were going to drive upon, densely covered by trees on both sides. The wiper was having a tedious time at the window, oscillating to and fro constantly as the rain drops impinged like small solid balls on the car window. Tiny worms of water squirmed out of the wiper’s reach to the top of the glass as the car sped ahead.

Valanjamkanam Water fall

We passed clusters of tall trees with slits on their trunks and a plastic bag wrapped around it. Agarwood. No infection like the one these trees get is a boon! The disease leaves the tree filled with an aromatic resin that is widely used for incense and perfumes. The resins were collected in a container attached below the slit itself. The plastic helped protect the incision from the rain. 

It appeared as if the trees had raincoats on- yellow, blue and red.  Besides, climbers with big leaves hung from the trees, giving them the appearance of men and women clad in shawls bidding us farewell as we moved on. 

Agarwood

The serpentine hilly road began with not much notice, and with increase in the jacketed trees on both sides. The driver let the car speed on the twisting road and with every few kilometers we rose higher in the hill and the road got narrower. The stepped hills made their appearance as we rode and bent round the corner, gradually dissolving in the mist. The clouds which we had seen from the plains below were drifting to the road beyond us forming an opaque white screen disabling our vision and forcing the driver to slow down and become watchful. 


The clouds had surrounded the road and the hills. The never ending evergreen patches that could be seen down below were cut off by the ominous white. The roads were narrow and hair pin bends were frequent. Our car blared its horn at every vicious bend that came, slowing down because cars suddenly appeared out of nowhere from behind the curtain of the cloud. One false move and the car could go off the hill into the abyss. The wild trees of the forest on the other side continued crouching over the travelers. Our friends who had been on this road before us had shared their sightings of elephants on the way. A rare sight in itself, elephants stroll down to the road from the forest.
'Ask the driver if we will see elephants' my mother whispered to me for the hundredth time.

I don’t think that Bijoy really understood when I asked him if we would get the opportunity to see the big eared creatures because he just smiled and shook his head. Yet, we had our eyeballs tethered to the windows for a lucky glimpse.

Alas! we weren’t as lucky as our friends.

The car sped on the coiling hill road to Thekkady where something awaited for us. What's it going to be? Stay tuned for the next chapter to know.

Kerala Bhraman- An Evening Over Coffee

In case you are missing out on our earlier endeavors, drive off to the Travels section of my blog and get updated.  


Shibu uncle’s house in Attingal, was situated about thirty kilometers from Trivandrum. The gates opened to a sloping driveway. A white kennel that resembled a small temple stood at the mouth of the slope below. Shibu uncles dog a four month old canine had a pensive look on it's face. Opposite to the kennel was the garage where he had parked his gypsy and his bike. He told us to wait in the porch above and he would open the door from inside. 
A tulsi mancha welcomed us on our way to the porch. The front yard was a salad of trees growing wild and awaiting a long time due reparation; the rains had left its mark.

“Are there snakes here?” My mother asked. Her expression evidently indicated her distaste for snakes.

Shibu uncle nodded his head; obviously and he shared the incident when he had encountered a cobra.

The cobra had injected the poison into a frog and was waiting for it to die. Watching it tremble and slowly turn blue while a malignant glare froze in its grey eyes. Shibu uncle hadn’t noticed it and had continued his chores in the garage. His dog on the contrary had kept a vigil look on the beast and had bellowed in an unusual manner. That must have cautioned Shibu uncle and the snake too. Unlike other men, uncle didn’t scurry but let the snake leave on its own which it did. But it left its prey behind.

Shibu uncle recalled that the snake had returned for its hard earned feast after he had left.

He said that he had no intention to bother the beings that lived in the wilderness of his house; “This is their land after all.”

Attingal, built about 800 years ago used to be the residence of the women of the Venad royal family. This was the time when only the Rani used to hold all the power. The Attingal Palace was constructed in 1305 A.D. 

The folks of Attingal were bitter about the liberty that was being given to the East India Company. The Britishers had penetrated the spice market and had begun playing with the black pepper price. The final blow was the sanction to build the Anchuthengu Fort in 1694 which pretty much alienated the Attingal public. We had come across the small squarish fort on our way to Varkala from the Trivandrum airport. 
In the aftermath of a repercussion of their deeds, Gyfford of the East India Company sought to present gifts to the Rani as an amend to the mess. 
The Ettuveetil Pillamar were noblemen from the Nair house at the time when the Venad family ruled and felt that they had the sole monopoly to present gifts to the Rani of the family; anyone foreign who intended to gift the ladies had to pass through these Lords of Eight Houses. 
But Gyfford was adamant and wanted to gift the Rani in person and not through any subordinate. So he marched with an army of 140 men from The Fort to the Palace. His display of force had irked the noblemen and the local people and they rebelled and killed each and every British on the road to the palace. They laid siege to the fort for six months until fresh British troops entered from Tellicherry.

In history, this rebellion came to be the first ever organised attack on the British in Kerala. While that might give us goosebumps on one hand, on the other it only turns into grief for the unfortunate turn of events. An agreement between the Company and the Rani gave the Company the sole monopoly to trade in pepper and the permission to build factories wherever the Company deemed fit. Not to mention that the crown paid for all the mess done by the attack on the fort. Sigh!    

Shibu uncle escorted us to his studio which had a lofty ceiling to facilitate him to paint larger works.  A canvas was set on a stand; a still of a doe and her fawn in making. A mirror was propped beside the still and another blank canvas stood beside the mirror; self-portraits where indeed fun to paint. Several oil paint tubes and palettes were strewn on the table alongside the canvases.

Shibu uncle in his studio

Shibu uncle's fondness of reading was evident from the several cupboards filled with books in English and Malayalam both in his studio and his living room. Along with the books arranged were records; a turntable sat on a nearby table along with a stereo. Shibu uncle had once told us that he painted by the day and danced by the night.

A rocking chair beheld the studio while a living room lay quiet in the dark behind it.

Shibu uncle’s cot was placed in the best way one could possibly do with the bookish cupboards at the head and the pantry at the feet. We sat in the living room where two luxurious couches shared a table on which lay a stack of books on various renowned painters. The room was well lit owing to the wide open windows overlooking the porch and the sunrise. Rains were a thrill through those windows; watching the tree leaves nod with the shower and the front yard get slowly wet.

A solo sound of Carnatic music was being played in a temple somewhere. Rest everything was silent. The house was in peace; located close to the road yet away from it.

Time flew in that room while talking at a stretch about politics, Tamil Nadu and Kerala, Raja Ravi Varma, Amrita Sher- Gill, Kumara Asan, Rameswaram, the ghost town of Dhanushkodi and the Jeeva Samadhi custom of Tamil Nadu over a cup of black Nilgiri coffee. We learned that Raja Ravi Varma used to live nearby and that his granddaughters were adopted by his sister in law who belonged to the ruling family of Attingal. As a change of topic, we discussed the initial planning for cross country road trips to Myanmar, Thailand, Cambodia and even Europe.

A Chat over coffee

Kerala’s main sources of income were the tourist, coir, tea, coffee and spice industries. Shibu uncle had revealed much to our amazement that most of the vegetables in Kerala were actually imported from other states; they weren’t very keen on cultivation. Most of the youth were off to the Gulf countries to find work and hence remittance was another source of foreign exchange.

An ironic revelation was that despite of the proximity to the ocean, a meager population of Trivandrum were swimmers. Shibu uncle giggled  while we had our hands over our heads.

The houses in Kerala were all surrounded by the vegetation that had naturally grown around long before the foundations had been set. Only the undergrowth that came in way of the area for the house’s requirements had been cleared, rest all had dauntlessly stayed, thus giving a wild appearance to each dwelling.
We concluded that the people in Kerala like to keep nature in its pristine form, the way it was meant to be, the way it had all began. It might be very well possible that they have been devout to the elements of nature and this was one way of showing gratitude. Live and Let Live!

There is nothing like the view from a terrace. It gives a different perspective of the place; only the birds get a better look. From Shibu uncle’s terrace everything up to the horizon were tree tops leaving some gigantic palms and teaks. We looked upon heaven that floated on trees, not clouds. Up above the heaven was a sky flocked by clouds bordered grey and a yellowish hue sprayed across it; merely a canvas of another artist. Only the birds called as they flew over the house and the distant sound from the temple persisted.

From the top, Shibu uncle named the trees in his property- Mango, palm, coconut, teak, betel nut, acacia, rambutan, bamboo, papaya and a lot many whose name I do not remember; nor him maybe!

Why does he not fetch the coconuts? The trees are beaming with a lot of them.

Yes, of course! If you have a coconut tree in your house it doesn’t compel you to be a brilliant coconut fetcher. Climbing trees, that to a coconut tree is not a cup of tea for anyone. The coconut fetchers know that very well! They know who would be the first man you would call if you are extremely thirsty and have the necessary source to quench it. You call and ask them to come home. There’s your first error in concept- you don’t simply call them and expect them to turn up at your doorstep. You need to bring them to your doorstep. Accepted!

Watch out!

The expert would then inspect your tree to check if it’s the right time to make the climb. They would accordingly make their schedule for the process. Needless to say, they will have a lunch break, but what good is any break when you are high up on a tree- your one hand firm around the tree trunk and another close to the fruit? Remember not to interrupt them in the middle of their contemplation. You are likely to ruin their plans and your thirst.

Anyways, you will get what you had wanted. No worries. You make the payment and then cut open two coconuts; one for the service. But that’s not it. The man is still waiting- his hands on his waist, his foot tapping on the floor constantly and his face in a half frown. “What is it?” you may want to ask but the clever reply from deep within would be “Don’t.” Just drop the man back home.       

It was getting dark and we had to start early next morning for Thekkady if we had to enter the reserve before five in the evening. It was almost past dinner time back at Varkala’s Marine Palace but we wanted to make it to the hotel anyhow. So, we immediately left for the hotel on Shibu uncle’s Fabia- leaving the windows open on the way letting the cool wind tousle our hair.

We reached the helipad soon after and bid Shibu uncle farewell until next time. The sky was so neat and clear that we could see the stars; like diamonds in the sky. The cliff was dark and so was the sea, its tides hitting the beach with gusto.   

Back in the hotel restaurant, we feasted on grilled Butterfish and coconut rice as the sound of the waves flushed our minds of everything, belittling every other sound.

Kerala Bhraman- A friend from Attingal

To catch up with our trip till now, scoot off to Kerala Bhraman- The First Touch under the Travel section of my blog.

We had planned to get up early next morning, hit the cliff and take some shots for a panorama while the sunlight was still low. But the last day’s exertion had left us tired and we snored till quarter past seven in the morning. The dogs in the backyard stretched as the days first sun rays touched the hotel walls. 

After a cup of tea made in our own pantry, we embarked upon the beach from the restaurant. The sand was wet and the kochuripana (hyacinth) leaves were green and fresh. The beach was coming to life with the flower lady setting her stall; washing it and reading the newspaper on the go. 

Morning read

Coconuts being set out by the roadside, ice cream parlors with their attractive colors looking upon the passersby. Pandits who sat on carpets under umbrellas with a pyre burning before them performed the last rites of the departed; their kins who sat there too, followed his every instructions. They were interesting subjects and had some stories to tell.

Readiness

Rituals

 Brahma having found Vishnu in his abode, prostrated. But he didn’t know that the Protector was lost in the melody of Narada muni’s veena and hadn't paid attention to the Creator. When Vishnu came around, he realized he had been in trance and had walked a long way from his residence. So, he left immediately leaving Brahma in the same position; face down before the sage who was perplexed to see him behaving that way. The Devas took it in a different sense and that angered Brahma so he gave them a curse to fret; each of them would take birth as humans on earth and bear the brunt. Panicked to have distressed the lord, they confessed to Narada and asked for his help.

Narada, in his usual coolness dropped a cloth made out of wood bark on earth and asked the gathering to pray for mercy where it had landed. With the assurance in their hearts, the Devas descended to the location- a seaside supposedly and worshiped for salvation; as men who passed it on to the men who came later and it has been going on this way for centuries. 

As "Tapioca" states under "Myth of Varkala," the Papanasham or the Beach of Redemption has been associated with ancestor worship. Ashes of the deceased are immersed into the sea and the place got a holy mark by virtue of its sacred history.    

So long! Dear Departed

Valkalam is what they call a cloth made out of wood bark and it is popularly said that Varkala got its name from the same cloth dropped millenniums ago by Narada muni. 

Yet another myth is that when Sita was abducted by Ravana and was being flown away to Lanka, she dropped her necklace- Varkalam so that Rama could track her. It is said that the trinket fell upon the beach and has since got its name Varkala.

The Janardana Swami Temple was built 2000 years ago and was dedicated to Vishnu. It is the cynosure of Varkala which has also been named as Dakshin Kashi- The Varanasi of South. 

With the breakfast dreams in our bellies, we returned to the Marina Bay Restaurant; again, all wood. It was separated from the beach by a small wooden bridge over a thin stream of water that came from somewhere and flowed into the sea.

The restaurant had the air of the joints by the beach where parties are hosted. The ones with a stage to perform to a wide audience seated at their tables. The men at the restaurant who were Nepalese offered a change in ethnicity. 

Marina Bay Restaurant

They served us watermelon juice and American breakfast (toasts, omelet, hash brown potatoes) and Indian breakfast (aloo ka paratha and dahi). The potatoes were a perfect brown and fit well with the omelet. A kingfisher ate his catch of the day at the bridge, while we had ours.

Shibu uncle, a friend of ours lived nearby. He was excited when he heard about our itinerary and insisted that we spend the day with him while he would take us around Trivandrum and to his house in Attingal. We had exchanged calls the previous day and had it all planned; our rendezvous was the helipad.

After quick bathes I and my father climbed up the steep road to the cliff. It was barren and hot. The sky was clear and the cliff was warm and red. We had expected to meet a long haired man standing by a gypsy on the helipad. But, Shibu uncle who waved at us from the far corner of the helipad had cropped his hair and a Fabia stood instead of the gypsy.

After a short chat we drove down the same lane and into the hotel compound. 

While the two men helped themselves to black tea, I dropped to the lower verandah to play the shutter. A group of women in blue with white bandannas hurled with large broomsticks on the beach with the sea waves going to and fro behind.

Shibu uncle

Cleaning the beach

An artist himself, Shibu uncle has an eye for beauty of the nature and proclaimed in the car after we had taken off, that he was taking us to one of his favorite places. A road; on whose one side there was the sea, and on the other a lake; Kappil beach and Kappil Lake. It was an awing spectacle. On one hand, the call of the waves; desperately bringing its arms nearer before gently shying away. Laying the mats to the deepest mysteries beneath the land. On the other, the quiet, rather coy and timid habit of the lake, glittering in the sunlight. Both worlds present at the same place yet separated by the road. It could be an artist’s muse and a poet’s inspiration.

A man in shades and white shirt and black trousers came over as we got off the car and asked if we would like to go for a boat ride in the lake. We said we wouldn’t and walked over to the lake; a pair of palm trees formed a gateway.

 

Gateway of palm

By the lake was a tree whose wood is used for furniture but I don't remember the name. In the lake just beyond the tree was afloat a big wooden boat waiting to quench its thirst and a black dingy lay on the shore under the shade of the tree.

The dingy on shore

The lake reminded me of the several movie shooting sets because it had everything- a wide open lake with dense and green palm groves and fishing boats rowing in the lake repeatedly to bring in the best for the day. It was mesmerizing and spell binding and I slipped into my usual reverie which was a casual affair. I wanted to be a part of anything and everything I saw. Maybe a drop of water from the lake, a leaf of the palm tree, the very molecule of nature.

Fishermen of Kappil Lake

But I could never. It was far from possible; an impractical dream. Something prevailed between us that made it look like a flying pig in the sky! Something big and unfathomable. Fear, perhaps. However, I was brought out of my daydream pretty soon afterwards as we returned to the car to proceed in our journey. 

The ashram of Narayana Guru was a new kind of venture. We saw his Mahasamadhi where he had been buried, the fact being that his body has been preserved in the exact position he was found in after the Samadhi. 

Samadhi of Narayana Guru

Although the place offered a pacifying ambiance, there was something quite unsettling about it. The guru had been a social reformer and a spiritual leader. He wasn’t keen on dividing people on basis of religion and had desired to be remembered as a man who toiled hard for a better place for the eternity to live. But there, in his tomb he lay. Silent. Sighing, as the eternity continuously crowns him with the image of a man with a glowing halo behind his head. Posters of brands of apparels, groceries and medicines and whatnots were displayed on the road unabashedly. The guru’s popular portrait printed on each one of them. Sadly, he had risen from the small niche he had preferably constructed to an urban plaything.

We saw ourselves driving on the same road we had gone by the previous day. On reaching Trivandrum, for the first time since the other day, we encountered the cityscape of Kerala. The roads seemed similar to those of Dehradun. As we walked on the sidewalks we caught glimpse of people waiting at the bus stop, a book store and an Ayurvedic product depot. It was well past twelve and we were hungry so Shibu uncle led us to a restaurant that served traditional Travancore cuisine where we hoped to try the famous Saadya. 
Lunch only got more fun as it was elaborately purveyed on a washed banana leaf. First, a lady served us the pickles; three of them. Then came a spoonful of a curd and cucumber preparation. Then the Thoran. Next was a preparation of mixed vegetables. On one side she put a pappad, and two bhujias. The rice which was puffier than usual was topped with sambhar. When we were waiting for more courses to arrive (enjoying the dexterous serving), Shibu uncle prompted that all was served and that we should dig in.

I couldn’t resist taking pictures before eating.

Bon apetit!

I buried my fingers into the warm rice and when I filled some in my fists, I felt the fine touch of the soft white; I was in heaven! The food was delicious and complete with every flavor and texture; salty, sweet, sour and spicy, soft and rough. Each course tasted different from the first. After we had gone through the main course, payasam was served as the dessert. We licked our fingers while they folded the banana leaves and took them away. Lunch was a delight! Later, Shibu uncle drove us to his place in Attingal where the remainder of the day awaited.  

What happens in Attingal? Watch out for the next chapter!