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.
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| 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.
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| Readiness |
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| Rituals |
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.
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| So long! Dear Departed |
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.
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.
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| 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.
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| Shibu uncle |
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| 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.
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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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.
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| 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.
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.
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.
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| Bon apetit! |
What happens in Attingal? Watch out for the next chapter!
