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A charming Cruise Through The Backwaters of Kerala to The Beautiful Island of Perumbalam
When the travel bug bites, there are occasions when one cannot even scratch, (the days are so full of deadlines and routine) let alone pick one’s knapsack for the dream destination. When you are able to leave, the hundred and one hitches connected with the journey makes one wish that one remained in the office, dealing with the more predictable bottlenecks.
So, when the bug bit me hard, I chose the most predictable journey I could; to my father’s village, in remote Kochi. A beautiful island, Perumbalam is barely 50 square kilometers situated on the famous backwaters of Kerala on the Vembanad Lake. There were barely any pre-travel preparations as I just packed a change of clothes, bought some “city” sweets for the cousins and boarded the chugging train, later disembarking at Ernakulam South railway station.
Even the most predictable journeys have their element of unpredictability. Here it was in the form of a lightning strike by the private bus operators, which is a common incident in Kerala. My idea was to take a bus to the boat-jetty at Poothotta and take the 20-minute boat ride to Perumbalam. The government buses looked like scenes of an exodus, so I was left at the bus stop, racking my now non-existent gray matter on how to reach my destination with minimum damage to life and property. There were quite a few people around, in similar predicaments; but none headed in my direction. Soon loose groups were formed in common interests, and though my inherent caution made me keep a little aloof, I found myself listening to a conversation. It was about how the group envied those people living on the several backwater islands, as these were accessible by boat. Everything changed in a second, and my plan fell into place. In full view of the gaping crowd, I scampered into an “auto” as auto-rickshaws are lovingly called here, and headed towards the Ernakulam boat-jetty.
Luck was waiting for me, in the form of a transport motorboat with the welcome board “Perumbalam”. n a jiffy I was inside the boat, scouting a vacant seat. A half-hour’s wait, and the ceremony of departure of the boat began. The bell sounded in right earnest, the “srank” jumped on the jetty and untied the thick rope that bound the boat to it. Then the bell again and the boat came to life, setting off full throttle into the “ kochi kayal” i.e. the backwaters of Kochi.
The sights of a dusty afternoon in the Ernakulam city went past me, and soon the conductor came to me jingling his bag. When I said “ One (for) Perumbalam”, he looked me over once, then said “Ten rupees”. I handed over the specified currency and returned to my previous pastime of watching the receding shore. He probably mistook me for a crazy tourist, who had lost her way.
The boat was quite crowded but there was sitting space for everybody. Soon we were in the thick of the backwaters, cutting cleanly through the foam. My companions were a varied bunch. There was a college student in her teens, sporting a midi dress looking coquettishly at a guy, who was not immune to her attentions. A fisher vendor woman was tiredly stretching her feet at the end of a long day. A government office clerk dozed through the journey, probably having left early with the excuse of the bus-strike. A few minutes of scrutiny later, I turned back to the water-path, and was taken aback by the change in scenery.
We had left the dusty city neighbourhood and were passing through the wide pathway between two islands. The shores were a swim-able distance away. The Chinese fishing nets spread their wings toward the sky. Coconut trees bowed low, offering the choicest tender fruit. The odd fisherman was on the shore with a fishing rod, dabbling in the shallow waters. The narrow canoes passing by, moving to the side in deference to the bigger boat, the dark muscles of the rustic on board, battling with his day.
It was green in the prettiest possible shades. I remembered what my mother told me about the first trip she made to my father’s place on a boat. Boats were used much like taxis then and there was a boat just for the marriage party and several canoes followed. The scenery continued to be enchanting and even the “African payal”, the green weed that floats along the backwaters, looked so attractive. The waves were rocking the weed in a regular rhythm that was music to the eyes. I leaned back letting the wind blow through my hair and wished the journey would never end.
Well, it did end an hour later. Perumbalam slowly came into view, a glorious repetition of the scenery that had had me in raptures. We docked at the west end first and then made a half circle to the east end of the island where I was to alight. I sighed in joyous anticipation of the culinary delights awaiting me, freshest fish made into the choicest Kerala delicacies, with the rarest ingredient, love.
The srank had begun the ceremony of docking and I stood up in deference and also to stretch myself. The conductor then came towards me and I fished in my handbag for the ticket. He ignored the gesture and asked me, “ aren’t you Gopan’s cousin from Trivandrum?”. I grinned, swung myself on to the boat jetty and then nodded in assent. He grinned and as the boat chugged away called out, “ Chechi! (elder sister) I am Manikuttan, remember me?”
I walked away with a wave thinking of the thousands one would spend on a one hour cruise of the backwaters and feeling immensely richer for spending just ten rupees for the experience.
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