Sunday, December 31, 2023

Sights and Seasons of Paradise : 2. The Backwaters and the Changing Indian Families

 Let me start with a fun question: what is something you’ll find in every nook and corner of Kerala, from glitzy malls to scenic hilltop viewpoints—and no, it’s neither a coconut tree nor a jewellery shop?

If you’ve spent even a few days in Kerala, you’ll know the answer: Gen Z and their unstoppable digital content creation. It’s impossible to miss them—youngsters striking poses for selfies, filming reels and vlogs, crafting Instagram stories, or professional photographers coaxing couples into elaborate (and often hilarious) poses for pre-wedding or post-wedding shoots. Walk through any town or market, and you'll spot numerous wedding photography studios, each with samples of couples contorting into dramatic poses—some bordering on the surreal. (As I write this, I’m vividly reminded of a viral image of a couple draped in flowing white sheets, posing amidst the misty tea gardens of Munnar.)

But beyond the occasional comedy, there’s something genuinely delightful about these photo shoots. As an outsider, I’ve found these reels and snippets to be an unexpected treasure trove. They’ve helped me discover places I would have otherwise missed—hidden streams, little-known hiking trails, and wetlands frequented by migratory birds. It was, in fact, through one such viral pre-wedding shoot during the COVID years that I first stumbled upon the breathtaking sight of pink water lilies—Nymphaea stellata, or ambal as they're called locally—blooming in the serene village of Malarickal.

(PC:https://www.facebook.com/keralaweddingphotographi)

The awe-inspiring photos of deep pink water lilies stretching out for miles, with a boat gliding through them and a shy bride gently playing with the petals, left a lasting impression on me. It was a picture-perfect scene—equal parts romantic and surreal. I remember telling my friend Archana back then, “One day, I’m going to visit that place and click my own photo with those water lilies.”

That long-awaited day finally arrived—in October this year.

When life throws you in muddy water, bloom like a waterlily- Follow the light, rise above the dirt and smile at the world

As anyone who has seen my blog design can tell, water lilies and lotus flowers fascinate me. I think it's a cultural thing—these blooms are deeply embedded in our classical literature, mythology, and art. Their symbolism is everywhere: purity rising from murky waters, beauty untouched by chaos.

During my travels in Southeast Asia, I saw them blooming almost everywhere—from upscale resort ponds to quiet roadside ditches. But, curiously, in North and West India, these flowers are a rare sight—unless you count the few passionate gardeners like me who grow them at home. So when I found myself in this part of the world, I was immediately reminded of the famous fields of Malarickal, known for their breathtaking carpets of pink water lilies (Nymphaea stellata, or ambal in local parlance). Inspired by that memory, I decided to visit Kumarakom in hopes of catching a glimpse.

Much to my disappointment, I was warned that the ambal season had just ended, and there were only a few flowers left. Still, I went ahead—and I’m so glad I did. When I reached the serene backwaters of Kumarakom, I did manage to find some water lilies. While it wasn’t quite the sea of blossoms I had envisioned from the photos, the sight was still enchanting in its own quiet way.

Hopefully, next season, I’ll get lucky enough to witness the full bloom—the endless pink expanse I’ve long imagined.

However, water lilies were just one of the many reasons I was drawn to the enchanting backwaters of Kumarakom. Nestled along the shores of the vast Vembanad Lake, this quiet, rustic town is a serene escape just beyond the bustling market hub of Kottayam—right in the heart of Central Kerala’s lush, affluent belt of rubber plantations.

Kumarakom is a treasure trove of natural beauty and tranquility. It’s home to a renowned bird sanctuary that welcomes both native and migratory species, offering birdwatchers a true paradise. The lake itself is a canvas for stunning sunrises and sunsets—every hour casting a different shade on the waters. Winding through the landscape is an intricate network of backwaters, dotted with small villages and bordered by emerald-green paddy fields. It’s as picturesque and poetic a place as one can imagine—like a postcard that’s come to life.

My visit to Kumarakom reaffirmed my belief that “God’s Own Country” is far more than just a clever tourism slogan. If I were God, I think I’d choose to live in a place as breathtakingly beautiful as this.

It’s fascinating how each of us imagines paradise, and what elements we instinctively include in that mental picture. For me—even as a child—paradise has always meant lush greenery, glistening waterbodies, birdsong in the air, and flowers blooming freely. Kumarakom offered all of that, and more.

There were rain-soaked evenings that painted everything in deep emerald hues, and soft golden mornings where the light tiptoed shyly through the mist. Gentle daytime drizzles gave me the perfect excuse to slow down and simply take it all in—watching the vast landscape of Vembanad Lake come alive. Bee-eaters and kingfishers darted playfully over the water, their colors flashing like jewels. To my delight, I even spotted two Black-hooded Orioles chasing each other through the branches, their bright yellow bodies slicing through the grey drizzle like sunbeams in flight.

My stay in Kumarakom turned out to be enlightening for an unexpected reason—it confirmed something I’ve long believed: Indian families are changing, in subtle but powerful ways.

Traditionally, holidaying in India has meant either nuclear families—married couples with children—or large extended families with parents, uncles, aunts, and cousins in tow. So I was pleasantly surprised to find that my resort offered a special package exclusively for solo female travellers. It intrigued me—not just that such a category exists, but that it has grown big enough for commercial hospitality chains to take notice and tailor offerings specifically for them.

But the real surprise came at breakfast. In the resort’s dining room, I struck up a conversation with a graceful lady in her sixties, who was travelling with an old friend. The two had worked together for over three decades and had known each other for forty years. Now retired and settled in different cities, they had chosen to travel—not with their husbands, children, or families—but just with each other. It was just the two of them, laughing and chatting their way through peaceful days.

Seeing my curiosity, the lady smiled knowingly and said, “We tried meeting at each other’s homes, but you know how it is. At home, a woman is never truly free. There’s always some duty waiting. The grandkids are visiting, or the husband needs something. So I told my family—this time, I’m going on vacation with my friend, away from all the lists of chores.”

Her words struck a chord—and, to be honest, made me feel a little ashamed. How often do we, in our families, fail to give this kind of space to the elderly women in our lives? We expect them to remain in the background, always available with a hot snack or a comforting word. Even those of us who consider ourselves progressive rarely think about our mothers’ or grandmothers’ me-time. We talk of equality but often overlook how invisible we allow their personal joys to become. There is still a long way to go in how we view the lives—and the emotional freedoms—of older women in our families.

There were other interesting guests at the resort as well: a group of male friends from Bengal planning a hike, two families with kids on a joint vacation, and a father-daughter duo who caught my attention in particular. The daughter had secured admission to a university abroad and was due to leave in two months. Her father had taken time off from work for a road trip—just the two of them.

“She may decide not to come back once she’s there,” he told me. “I just wanted us to share some conversations and make a few memories—something that’s hard to do at home in the middle of daily chaos.”

That small gesture was deeply heartwarming. It reminded me of how much things have changed. The image of the distant, emotionally unavailable father—seen only when providing money or delivering the occasional scolding—is gradually fading. Today, many fathers are emotionally invested, nurturing, and active participants in their children’s lives. My own father was ahead of his time in that regard, but I find every such small act from the newer generation of fathers—including many in my own office—deeply reassuring.

It’s no coincidence that such modern expressions of relationships and family bonds are finding space in a place like Kerala. Despite its own challenges—alcoholism, gendered violence, and crime—Kerala remains one of the safest and most socially progressive states in India. A solo female traveler or a young couple posing for a photoshoot in public are far less likely to attract unwanted attention here than in many other parts of the country.

Of course, this isn’t the whole truth. For every expression of progress, there are still ten examples that reinforce old stereotypes. But that’s the thing about revolutions—especially the quiet ones within families—they unfold one small, defiant step at a time.

Another quiet revolution is also brewing here—in the stories Kerala chooses to tell through its cinema. Many new films are boldly exploring themes of changing family dynamics, gender roles, and personal identity. But that’s a story for another post.

Thursday, December 28, 2023

Sights and Seasons of Paradise: The Beginning

 Sometimes you have to let go of the picture that you have thought it would be like and learn to find joy in the story you are actually living.

-        Rachel Marie Martin       

Life, as John Lennon said, is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans. My plans got unsettled in a very poetic way this year. I was gazing at Cleopatra’s pool at Pamukkale, Turkiye on 12th September and the alignment of stars changed somewhere for me.

Cut to scene two. It was mid-October, and I was in “God’s own country”. Thousands of miles away in a part of the country where I have not been for last twenty years and language and ways of which I was blissfully ignorant of. Well, the common wisdom says that mortals have no control on the invitation from Gods. It is supposed to be sudden and so it was. But again, can a mere mortal resist the invite- I could not and so here I was- in the city of Padmanabh Swami. A city which has seen an amazing milieu of history. A city where at different points of time – artists, traders and intellectuals took refuge and got settled. Also a city, where you come and leave only with the divine will.


It did not take me long to get lured by the sights spread out before me. The colourful floral tributes outside temples for Navratri puja, tall trees of jackfruit, coconut and more, the heritage buildings with their wooden roof and ex-royal emblem – they were all very inviting and I gaped like a tourist. It rained every now and then and the weather was warm. The entire scene was so unlike north that on some nights I got up just pining for the familiar sounds, tastes and sights.

My welcome was amazing and the gestures for help- a plenty. Yet it took me time to push back the fear of unknown from my mind. Once in routine, my mind wandered on what I would like to fill my days with. Luckily, it was just then the state festival started. Criticized by some and attended by all, it was a crash course of state culture and mindset for me. I was floored with the variety of events and exhibitions, discussions, and debates. But first impressions barely give you the full picture. The depth of the issue often hits you much later. My introduction to Kathakali masks, for example, came in the most unusual way.

Building of Fine Arts College, Trivandrum

It was just an art exhibition at the Fine Arts College. I went there just for curiosity and to admire the college building. I saw some strange exhibits (as usual) and some good ones. But what I found most creative was a re-creation of Da Vinci’s The Last Supper, with Kathakali artists. 

I marveled at the art and creativity of the photographer (Vivek Vilasini), took and shared pictures of it with friends. It was only the day after, when a learned acquaintance pointed this out that I realized what these masks actually represented! The photograph was not only creative, but it was also provocative as Jesus and his apostles were wearing masks meant for negative characters. It was an interesting first introduction to city’s love for breaching the line of social sensibilities and rules in all aspects of life. Well, I guess, that is how they are a city of thinking people. Where classical arts and radical Marxism thrive side by side. Where, as a colleague pointed out to me – even Christian and Muslim communities have a Vidyarambha ceremony and the child is supposed to write” Om shree ganapataye namah”, where all communities happily enjoy dishes made out of beef (while rest of the country can’t dream of that) and where Virgin Mary in some village churches merrily dons traditional Kerala cream saree with golden border.

Arattu Procession on the Runway

But then, I should not be surprised about the contradictions and incredibility of things in this state. Certainly not after I came to know of Arattu procession, which happened just days after my coming here. The day when international airport suspended services to give way to a temple procession. Well, I have seen enough number of Mazars and temples inside public institutions, but this was a first for an international airport. As it turned out, twice every year, the beloved deities of Padmanabha temple of Trivandrum, take their ritual bath or Arattu . The idols are taken from temple to the Shangumugham beach for this purpose, following an ancient path. This is going on for last few centuries as per record. Now in 1932, when the airport was to be constructed and the runway design fell on the traditional route of this procession. The land belonged to the temple through the Royal Family of Travancore. Temple happily gave the land ( you see, Indian Gods are never in the way of progress and modern ways) but the condition was -  twice every year, planes will halt to give way to the Gods. Even now this continues. This, for me was very symbolic of the soul of this city and this land of Gods. Always open to progress and new ways and yet deeply rooted in the traditions of history.

So that is how it began, I in the divine land. Much like the fabled ships of King Solomon landed in a port called Ophir (now Poovar) in Thiruvananthapuram in 1036 BCE, my ship has landed here. The thought of chronicling the experience came couple of days back while enjoying a golden sunrise surrounded by lush green tea gardens of Munnar- but more on that in a separate post. Hopefully I will try to capture the sights and seasons of this amazing place regularly for a year.