A Kerala adventure

The writer marvels at Kerala’s charming simplicity amidst life’s many complexities.



WARM smiles. Clogged roads and much honking. Beautiful horizons. Svelte bodies in colourful saris. Ayurvedic massages. Kathakali’s menacing eyes. The cool, gentle dab of pottu on my forehead.

A heady onslaught of images flash through my mind like some television broadcast gone berserk. How does one make sense of Kerala, often referred to in tourist brochures as “God’s own country”? Well, it does seem as if this huge swab of land on the southwest coast of India, with kilometres and kilometres of beautiful beach and swirling waves, is blessed on many fronts.

For one, the innocence of its people is tantalising. Children and adults alike jostle for a picture, the prospect of the occasional tourist stopping for a bit to reward them with a click of the camera almost irresistible.

And, needless to say, warm smiles are ever-present, except perhaps in rare instances as when a fisherman, his livelihood crushed by the monsoon rains, stretches out his weather-beaten hand for some money, his eyes defeated of will and purpose, an empty shell of emotion, shamed at the humiliation.
In general, however, the populace is a busy and contented lot. The day begins early, with the sky turning a lighter shade of blue at 6am.

At Cochin, where my adventure begins, the city stirs with almost a perceptible yawn and a quick jump out of bed.

Streets fill quickly with cars, motorcycles and buses, their incessant honking drawing little anger, mostly quizzical stares. With the morning sun soon reaching maturity, schoolchildren can be seen walking briskly in groups, their presence a welcome sight for photo-journalists eager for some colour to the drab city skyline, as are sari-clad women and men in dhotis.

From a broader perspective, Kerala is certainly intriguing for visitors. With the Arabian Sea in the west, mountains of the Western Ghats towering in the east and networked by 44 rivers, the Indian State boasts serene beaches, tranquil stretches of backwaters, lush hill stations, exotic wildlife, enchanting art forms and monuments, both historical and cultural. Yes, it does begin to sound a bit like heaven on earth.

For many who have not been to India, Kerala is probably the best place to start. To begin with, it boasts a literacy rate of almost 100 per cent. A higher stand of education normally equates a higher everything else, manners and cleanliness included.

At a village called Mararikulam near Marari Beach hotel in Alleppey district, 50km from Cochin, we visited a family whose livelihood depended on the weaving of floor mats on a flimsy loom. Yarns from coconut husks lined the floor, every centimetre of the sturdy threads a plodding and blister-inducing labour in the hands of the female old folk. Yet, for all their relative poverty, their young son, all of his 11 years, stood ready and eager to go for tuition class.

My guide tells me that almost everyone here takes pride in education, and much sacrifice is made to ensure every child goes to school. It’s a warm feeling that there’s a way out of poverty for the younger generation.

Kerala also boasts the highest physical quality of life in India, with the lowest infant mortality and highest life expectancy rates. It has also been called India’s cleanest state, which should put potential travellers’ minds at ease. I started my adventure armed with loads of medication for diarrhoea, fever and all other potential medical hazards. They remained untouched throughout.

Cochin (or Kochi), the commercial capital and the most cosmopolitan city of Kerala, is also known as the Queen of the Arabian Sea. With one of the finest natural harbours in the world, it was once a major centre for commerce and trade with the Arabs, Chinese, Dutch and British.

For us intrepid travellers after a restful night at the luxurious Taj Malabar, a day of sightseeing in and around the city is a balm. After all, we had endured a couple of flights (KL to Colombo and henceforth to Cochin) and half a day of waiting and trudging up and down the tourist van with much expectation.

So there we were soon ambling down the almost deserted street of Fort Kochi playing noisy (and nosy) tourists to view St Francis Church. It’s the first European church that was built in India, where the famous Portuguese explorer Vasco Da Gama was once buried. (His remains, however, were subsequently shipped to Lisbon.)

The Dutch Palace was another stop, a stuffy two-storey building with multiple rooms boasting intricate (but fast fading) 17th century murals depicting scenes from the epic Ramayana on its walls. It’s a magnet for visitors and students, with large crowds waiting to get in and us wanting to get out after a brief polite sojourn.

Then there were the Chinese fishing nets along Vasco da Gama Square, huge, towering cantilevered wooden contraptions that, I suppose, serve better as tourist attractions than trapping fish given the long, unforgiving monsoon season that plays havoc with the local fishermen’s livelihood.


The evening’s highlight – a Kathakali performance at an almost spartan primary school classroom-like setting – turned out to be an anticlimax. I blame it on my heightened expectations and the preceding hype.

In it, a sole dancer in heavy make-up takes on various roles based on themes from Hindu mythology, relying heavily on hand gestures and eye movements to convey his message. After 10 minutes, it quickly became apparent that such a performance will appeal mostly to enthusiasts.

But what did capture my rapt attention the next day on my trek through Kerala was the love for the environment by certain quarters in small but helpful ways. This in a country still noticeably Third World. I thought that with all their attendant problems of being such a populous country, going green would be the least of their priorities. How wrong I was.

At the Broadway (yes, you read right) market in Cochin, plastic bags were a no-no. Later, at Marari Beach Resort, located 50km from Cochin city where we spent the night, this “green” concept was practised to the hilt, from the use of paper bags to solar heaters. Almost everywhere one turned, there were reminders to reduce water usage and to keep the environment clean.

All this, of course, is quickly forgotten the day after when our party was plonked on a houseboat for a three-hour backwater cruise to the famed Kumarakom Lake Resort.

The houseboats may be a pretty draw, with yummy lunch served on board no less, but the living conditions of those who lived along the banks did not help with appetite. Women and children washed and bathed in the river, and their poverty was quite stark.

One family’s sole source of income depended on the benevolence of tourists who stopped to partake of a coconut drink for a mere RM1 per coconut. During the monsoon and heavy rains of the past few months, I dreaded to think how they could even put food on the table.

As my plane took off for Colombo from Trivandrum where we spent the night after a five-hour road journey, my hyperactive mind still could not stop the heady onslaught of images of my Kerala adventure: The little Indian boy who asked for a pen instead of money. The shy salesgirl at Kovalam who blushed at the sight of my camera. The skies which opened up as we were leaving the marketplace in Cochin. Packed buses everywhere with plastic sheets in place of glass window panes. The warm smiles of the fish sellers. My first Ayurvedic massage. Spices everywhere. The eerie yellow glow of my chalet. A grand view of the turbulent Arabian sea.

Truly I have gradually grown to appreciate India a lot more than just a week before. I definitely look at my Indian fellow Malaysians a little differently these days. Friends may jest that I have danced and sung around coconut trees in the few days I was there but truth be told, I think India danced to me and my heart sang heartily with it.

* The writer’s trip to Kerala, India, was sponsored by Sri Lankan Airlines and Kerala Tourism. The airline flies daily to Colombo from Kuala Lumpur, with regular connecting flights to Cochin. For more information, log on to www.srilankan.aero, call 03-2144-2139 or fax 03-2144-3278.