Joyce Job's Blog

“What’s so special about a Natural History Museum? It’s just a place with a lot of geeky, boring stuff like fossils and dead reptiles in formalin, right?”

“You spend hours inside a museum? Didn’t you get bored? I skimmed through the whole building in 20 minutes.”

These are sample comments I get while ranting about my museum visits. Fair disclaimer. I’m not a nerd, geek, or dork. (No, I’m not being modest; I would have been flattered to be one.) Still, I love solo museum dates. 

Usually, when I visit a museum, I mentally role-play as a time-traveller from the past. Someone experiencing the modern world for the first time, and constantly comparing it to the ancient period she inhabited. 

But, inside a Natural History Museum, I play a different game. There, I imagine I’m a kid from the famous American movie ‘Night at the  Museum.’ A kid who knows that any moment now, these fossils and stuffed dead animals could come alive and wreak havoc. But it could also be a great spectacle and a hell of a lot of fun. 

Skeletal Gallery 

On September 23rd, 2025, Tuesday, my 13/30th day at Trivandrum, around 4 PM, I walked out of the Sree Chithra Art Gallery and rushed past the Children’s Park and Police First Aid Post to reach the Natural History Museum. I bought an adult entry ticket for Rs 40.

Glimpses from the Skeletal Gallery

First, I came across the skeletal gallery, where original human and animal skeletons are on display. Part of me wishes I had explored these places as a kid, but the more realistic part knows the truth – the kiddo me would have screamed and cried ugly tears on seeing these skeletons. 

As a child, I was scared of death, dead people, ghosts, skeletons, nightmares, and whatnot. I used to run whenever the skeleton popped up in the popular Malayalam mystery-horror film Devadoothan. Needless to say, any horror movie scarier than that, I proudly skipped. 

Skeletons of different varieties of deer.

The 30-something me was more tolerant of skeletons. In fact, I was fascinated to see a whale’s lower jawbone because it was as big as the wall. But the human skeletons still made me cower. 

The large skeletons of bison and deer made me wonder what killed them. In forensic studies, there are methods to identify traumatic signs in bones and trace them to the cause of death.   

Taxidermy 

There were hundreds of stuffed dead birds and animals in the museum. They made me wonder: were any of them still alive and thriving in the zoo when I last visited it? How many of the living birds and animals I saw in the zoo that day would soon be displayed on mounts inside this museum? Life truly is fleeting. 

The stuffed birds arranged on tree branches looked like art. This preservation technique is known as taxidermy. It’s a multistep process, starting with an incision in the bird’s belly and slowly peeling back its skin over the skull. 

The wings and skull are left attached, while the rest of the bones and internal organs are removed. The inside of the skin is treated with chemicals like borax for preservation. Then, a carved wooden or cotton body is constructed, using the bird’s exact anatomical measurements, to reconstruct the body.

Taxidermy on display.

If all those birds came alive at once, it would have been an astounding sight. Not to forget the ruckus, as well. 

There were also stuffed leopard, lion, and monkey skins. Landscapes of forests from various continents were constructed as backgrounds for these animals. They were named Asian,  African, and American zones. Wherever stuffed animals were unavailable, statues were used. It was funny how a stuffed crane was attached to even a concrete rhinoceros statue, like in real life.

One aspect of this museum that I loved was the motion-sensor lights. Like a spotlight following an artist on stage, they went on and off as I moved from one section to the other. 

Kathakali – different characters, costumes, makeups, and mudras.

Models of traditional Kerala temples, homes, kathakali forms, and women dressed in traditional attire from different states of India were exhibited at the end of this section.

I realised time was not on my side. The museum would close by 4:45 pm. So I had to rush through the remaining galleries. Still, I tried my best to make the most of the visit. 

Index Gallery

Up next, I came across a gallery with models of various fish and rays. There were also exoskeletons of many insects, tortoise shells, and reptile skeletons. Many dead reptiles were also preserved in jars filled with chemicals. The walls of these rooms displayed skulls and tusks of different types of deer. One section that particularly interested me was the preserved varieties of coral reefs. 

A K Antony Gallery

A K Antony is one of the seniormost leaders of the Indian National Congress party. He was a former chief minister of Kerala and the defence minister of India from 2006 to 2014. 

Gifts and momentos on display at A K Antony Gallery.

This particular gallery exhibited all the gifts and momentos Shri Antony received from across the globe while he was serving different ministerial positions in India. I felt he was setting a good example for his successors and also for the young aspiring politicians in my state through this gallery. 

Geology Gallery

The Geology Gallery exhibited igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic rocks, and different varieties of timber. 

I was also intrigued by the conservation laboratory that was out of bounds for normal visitors like me. 

Reflections

Overall, visiting this museum was a highly educational and enlightening experience for me. It made me wonder how different my life, especially my career choice, would have been had I visited this place as a kid. 

As someone who made a major career transition in her mid-20s, I highly recommend taking kids to places like this. We never know, they might become future zoologists, botanists, marine biologists, ornithologists, paleontologists, or even taxidermists by drawing inspiration from such a visit. 

Still waiting for all my toys to come alive when the clock strikes 12.

Introducing kids to a wide variety of career options helps them make well-informed decisions. We should also encourage them to choose careers that match their skills and interests, instead of blindly chasing money or market trends.  

Since I stepped out of the Natural History Museum by only 5 PM,  I missed my regular limited-stop city bus from the Museum Complex’s entrance, so I walked towards the PMG Junction, content and grateful for the eventful day. 

But within the crowds, I felt lost. The whole world was rushing home after a busy day at the office, and I struggled to keep up, like a fish swimming against the current. 

I had no clue that the day still had one last card to play. 

Author’s Notes

~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2026 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through Trivandrum, the capital city of my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Trivandrum | Kerala| India

It’s safe to say that I was bowled over by the Roerich paintings exhibited in the Sree Chitra Art Gallery in Palayam.  I stood rooted and stared at the pictures as if I were hypnotised. I highly recommend visiting the gallery and taking a close look at those pictures. 

I was excited to learn that the gallery also featured ancient Chinese and Japanese paintings, Tibetan Thangkas, and Indian murals. There were also modern paintings by renowned Indian painters such as Rabindranath Tagore (a polymath who also wrote India’s national anthem) and Dr P Chowdhary.

A Chinese Painting

There were scores of paintings that made a deep impression on me. I’ve featured a select few in this blog. This curation is based on my limited understanding of the respective cultures, their art forms, and the quality of the photos I clicked.

Chinese Paintings

Traditional Chinese painting style generally uses the same techniques as calligraphy. Here, brushes dipped in black ink or colored pigments were used to draw on paper scrolls or silk. 

A Chinese Painting – Destroyer of Evil

Flowers in bloom, women in traditional attire whispering inside courtyards or from open balconies, men atop horses, emperors flying dragons, and Ma Ku, the Chinese God of Mercy, were a few of the recurring elements in these paintings. 

Ma Ku – the Chinese God of Mercy

Japanese Paintings

The ancient Japanese paintings showed a clear influence of the traditional Chinese style, but were also easily distinguishable because of the ladies in kimonos, the distinct facial features of Japanese men, and the recurring sight of Mount Fuji (Fujiyama) in the background. 

Japanese Painting – An Old Man and a Lady

Images of Japanese deities, especially a Bodhisathwini intrigued me. 

A Japanese Bodhisathwini

“In Japanese Buddhism, a bodhisattva (known as bosatsu) is an enlightened being who, out of infinite compassion, delays achieving ultimate nirvana to remain in the cycle of rebirth and help all sentient beings attain liberation.”

Tibetan Thangkas

From the signboard, I learned that “Thangka painting is an ancient Tibetan Buddhist art form on cotton, silk applique, usually depicting a Buddhist deity, scene, or mandala. They are traditionally kept unframed and rolled up when not on display.”

A Tibetan Thangka – Rahula and the Tiger. Rahula was the only son of Buddha.

These paintings depict themes like the life of Buddha and the wheel of life – a visual representation of the Buddhist concept of Samsara or cyclic existence. The concept of death and rebirth is familiar to me as it’s also present in Hinduism. 

These paintings have a symmetrical composition – a central deity surrounded by many small figures. But what piqued my interest the most was this detail – the artists who created Thangkas painted the deities in very specific proportions, thus ensuring utmost beauty, as it is believed that the deities might inhabit these paintings.

A Tibetan Thangka – A Lama

Reading that detail gave me goosebumps – what if an ancient deity, inhabiting a thangka, was staring right back at me? 

Indian Murals 

An Indian Mural – Harihara: the dual representation of the Indian deities Vishnu(Hari) and Shiva(Hara)

Indian murals usually depict religious themes from Buddhism, Jainism, and Hinduism. They often portray deities and scenes from Hindu epic mythologies such as the Ramayana, the Mahabharata, and the Jataka tales, which detail the life of Gautama Buddha. These paintings can be found in various spaces, ranging from cave frescoes to temple walls, especially in my native Kerala. 

An Indian Mural -Bhadrakali

Above is a Mural painting of Bhadrakali – she is a fierce form of the Hindu supreme goddess Adi Shakti. In India, parents often affectionately name their daughters after Hindu Goddesses such as Lakshmi, Shakti, Saraswati, and Parvati. But many South Indian girls like me identify more with terms like Moodhevi (Hindu Goddess of misfortunes, poverty, and bad luck) or Bhadrakali (Hindu Goddess of War), because that’s what our parents used to call us when we dozed off lazily in the evenings or rebelled at home.

Playful Colours

By 4 pm, I exited the art gallery and walked towards another important building within the Palayam Museum Complex – the Natural History Museum, but my mind was still wandering in the colorful worlds painted on those canvases. The level of talent, hard work, and mastery at play in those pieces was mind-boggling. 

I, too, have a set of crayons hidden in the bookshelf at my home. At times, I take it out and draw silly pictures of a sunset or a flower. It’s so therapeutic. It reminds me of a certain three-year-old girl who used to draw bunny rabbits with a daisy tucked behind their ears for every houseguest in her grandma’s house. It also brings to mind a schoolgirl in a blue pinafore who used to stand in front of the principal’s noticeboard and ogle at the oil painting of fresh flowers in a vase, drawn by one of her painter friends. 

We don’t have to be good at something for it to be good for us, right? We can pursue art just for pure joy and childlike fun. It’s not just healing but also liberating, especially since we live in a capitalist world where the size of our paychecks, savings, and investments determines our worth and value. 

Author’s Notes

~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2026 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through Trivandrum, the capital city of my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Trivandrum | Kerala| India

Storm, a painting by Svetoslav Roerich.

“Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?

I have no idea.

My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,

And I intend to end up there.” – Rumi

Finally, I walked out of the spellbinding Raja Ravi Varma Art Gallery in Palayam and entered the white building next to it. From the staff, I learned that all these art galleries housing paintings of K C S Paniker, Raja Ravi Varma, and the final building hosting Russian, Japanese, Bengali art, and Indian murals come under an umbrella term – Sree Chitra Art Gallery.

Since I had already explored Ravi Varma’s art, I had this unconscious bias in my mind – “I’ve devoured the Master painter’s works. The rest might be basic; let me just skim through it.”

Oh, great artists of the world, forgive this wanderer’s ignorance. 

I was jolted awake by the Roerich paintings. These paintings were mainly soaked in different shades of blue. But what grabbed my attention was their trance-like quality. 

It reminded me of something profound and mystic. I couldn’t pinpoint it back then, but in retrospect, I know those paintings reminded me of Rumi’s Poetry. 

So, I couldn’t help but place a Rumi verse next to these pictures. But fair disclaimer, the photos don’t even give 10% justice to the original paintings. 

Manali Valley, a painting by Svetoslav Roerich

One of my favorite Rumi Verses:

“But don’t be satisfied with stories, how things

Have gone with others. Unfold

Your own myth, without complicated explanation,

So everyone will understand the passage,

We have opened you.

Start walking toward Shams. Your legs will get heavy

And tired. Then comes a moment

Of feeling the wings you’ve grown,

Lifting.” – Rumi

From the signboards, I learned a bit about the artists behind these paintings. 

Nicholas Roerich was born on October 9, 1874, in St. Petersburg, Russia, to a Baltic German father and a Russian mother. He was a polymath. That is, in addition to being a painter, he was also a writer, archaeologist, theosophist, philosopher, and public figure. 

(Now I know what my first wish to the Genie should be; I want to be a polymath, too. Sigh!)

In his youth, Nicholas was influenced by Russian Symbolism, a movement in Russian society centred on the spiritual. He was interested in hypnosis and other spiritual practices, and his paintings were said to have hypnotic expression. (I agree. I felt it, too.)

He was also a dedicated activist for the cause of preserving art and architecture during times of war, and was nominated several times for the Nobel Peace Prize longlist. His efforts led to The Roerich Pact, or the Treaty on Protection of Artistic and Scientific Institutions and Historic Monuments,  signed in 1935.  

Terraslavonica, a painting by Nicholas Roerich.

“If you cause injury to someone, you draw 

That same injury toward yourself. My treachery

Made my friend a traitor to me. This repetition

Must stop somewhere. Here, in an act of mercy.” – Rumi.

I wondered what his connection to India was. Apparently, he was a globetrotter too, who spent many years in India. In fact, he died here in India, at Naggar, Himachal Pradesh, on December 13, 1947. 

Meanwhile, Nicholas’ son, Svetoslav Roerich, had a longer bond with India. Born on October 23rd, 1904, he was a painter and trained architect. 

J H Cousins, a portrait by Svetoslav Roerich.

In 1945, he married the Indian film actress Devika Rani. After marriage, the couple moved to Manali, in Himachal Pradesh, where they got acquainted with the Nehru family. 

He mainly painted landscapes and portraits. His portraits of Nehru and his daughter Indira Gandhi, both former prime ministers of India, adorn the Central Parliament Hall in New Delhi. Svetoslav died in 1993. 

Shambala Dak, a painting by Nicholas Roerich.

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,

There is a field. I will meet you there.” – Rumi.

I was mesmerised by his portrayal of the mountainous terrains of Himachal Pradesh, especially the tranquil sights from Manali and portraits like the ‘Kulu Man.’ 

Kulu Man, a painting by Svetoslav Roerich.

“I have a thirsty fish in me

That can never find enough

Of what it’s thirsty for!

Show me the way to the ocean!

Break these half-measures,

These small containers.”  – Rumi

Oh, I can go on and on and on about this.

In Kerala, there’s a classic joke about people who deflect when caught off guard.  Imagine you asked these people to write about cows. Because they know nothing about cows, they would quickly point out that cows are usually tied to coconut trees and give us a speech about coconut trees. I fear my mind has played the same trick on you here. 

The Lake of Genneserat by Nicholas Roerich

“This is how it always is

When I finish a poem.

A great silence overcomes me,

And I wonder why I ever thought

To use language.” – Rumi

Author’s Notes

~ All quotes used in this blog are Rumi’s verses from the book The Essential Rumi.

~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2026 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through Trivandrum, the capital city of my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Trivandrum | Kerala| India

Ravi Varma’s Statue inside the Raja Ravi Varma Art Gallery.

After the Kathirmudi Trek, I went to sleep feeling like a king, but I woke up like a wounded soldier in a hospital bed, my whole body sore and aching. I rested the whole day, working on my write-ups, only leaving my bed for my bath and meals. My roommates couldn’t help but laugh when I walked around the hostel like a battery-low robot, sounding “ouch,” “ow,” “oh.”

But as the wise say, time and tide wait for none. I knew I had to hit the road again because the clock was ticking. So the next day, September 23rd, 2025, Tuesday, my 13/30th day at Trivandrum, after finishing some work and having my breakfast, around noon, I left my hostel and boarded a Kerala RTC ordinary bus to Palayam. The bus ticket cost me only ₹25. 

Palayam Sights

For the umpteenth time, I got down at the bus stop near the Palayam Church and prayed to Mother Mary’s statue for a safe and productive day. Some ceremony was going on inside the church.

Palayam is a place I can visit innumerable times; I can even imagine myself settling down there someday, as long as it never loses its secular and artistic essence. But as far as my ongoing Trivandrum trip schedule was concerned, I knew I had to wrap up my wanderings in Palayam within two or three more days. 

As I crossed the road and stood at the bus stop, awaiting a private bus to the museum, I couldn’t help but notice the R Shankar statue in the middle of the road and the street dwellers who had camped next to it. The children in the group looked hangry and were fighting over minor things. 

Chandrasekharan Nair Stadium

Behind me, the Chandrasekharan Nair Stadium stood in its majesty. I imagined how it would feel to be a sportsperson, beholding the stadium for the first time before an important match or event. I would love to revisit it when it’s filled with an ecstatic crowd. 

On the other side, I could see the Mascot hotel and a wall with the Bible Quote, 

“How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” – Isaiah 52:7

I wondered what it meant, but the smell of grilled chicken from a nearby hotel was too distracting. So the first thing I did when I entered the museum premises was to walk straight to the KTDC cafe and eat a veg biriyani and cold coffee.

There was an unfinished biscuit packet in my bag, so I was forced to keep the bag at the baggage counter for a cash deposit of Rs 10, to be refunded on return. 

Raja Ravi Varma Art Gallery

Raja Ravi Varma Art Gallery is part of the Sri Chitra Art Gallery Complex at Palayam

From a distance, the Raja Ravi Varma Art Gallery, with its white walls and brown-tiled roof, reminded me of the traditional “naalukettu” houses of Kerala. 

My dad used to buy us kids Balarama and Balarama Digest regularly. I remember reading one about Raja Ravi Varma and his paintings. 

Ravi Varma was born on 29 April 1848 at Kilimanoor Palace in Trivandrum as the eldest son of Ezhumavil Neelakanthan Bhattatiripad and Uma Ambabayi Thampurratti. Back then, Kilimanoor was part of the Travancore dynasty, and Ravi Varma’s family was very close to the Travancore royal family.

Ravi Varma Art Gallery at Palayam, Trivandrum.

Ravi Varma’s maternal uncle, Rajaraja Varma, was the chief painter at the Travancore Palace; he was a traditional-style painter. Like many toddlers, inspired by his uncle’s drawings, Ravi Varma began sketching on the walls of the Kilimanoor Palace with charcoal, mud, and leaves. Noticing his passion, Rajaraja gave Ravi Varma his first painting lessons.

When Ravi Varma was 14, his uncle took him to the court of Ayilyam Thirunal Maharaja of the Travancore Dynasty. Impressed by his skill, the Maharaja instructed young Ravi Varma to stay in Trivandrum to study painting.  When Theodore Jensen, the Dutch painter, visited the Travancore Palace in 1868, Ravi Varma studied Western-style painting and the oil-painting technique from him.

Thus, Raja Ravi Varma’s painting style became a fusion of European academic art with a purely Indian sensibility and iconography.  

Long corridors of Raja Ravi Varma Art Gallery

This particular art gallery hosts Ravi Varma’s 46 original oil paintings, 16 pencil paintings, 14 chromolithographs, and his artistic easel. It also exhibits pictorial and digital depictions of Ravi Varma’s life and the awards and accolades he received, and a collection of rare art books.

Since many of Ravi Varma’s original paintings are exhibited in other galleries across India, the gallery offers imitations of these paintings, purely for educational purposes. 

Ravi Varma rose to fame when his paintings, such as “Mullappoo choodiya nair sthree” (Nair lady adorning her hair), “Gypsies of South,” and “Sakunthala” won grand prizes in national and international exhibitions. He was also a pioneer in making his art accessible to the general public using affordable lithographs.

Long windows inside Raja Ravi Varma Art Gallery – colors, lights, and shadows.

One of my favorite things about Ravi Varma is that he was a traveller, too. He travelled all across India in search of subjects and sketched the sights that piqued his interest.

He painted the palaces and royal families of places like Vadodara, Mysore, and Udaipur. After witnessing the traditional elephant-trapping method called khedda in various camps in Mysore, he created a series of paintings named Mysore Khedda. 

Towards the end of his life, Raja Ravi Varma returned to Kilimanoor and lived a highly productive, creative life. He passed away on 2 October 1906, aged 56. 

His younger son, Rama Varma (born 1879), inherited his father’s artistic talent. Two of his paintings were also exhibited in the art gallery.   

Many Indian artists, including renowned filmmaker Dadasaheb Phalke, considered Raja Ravi Varma as an inspiration. 

Savoring Art

Damayanthi Talking with Royal Swan about Nala, a painting by Ravi Varma

I’ve heard many people complain that museums and art galleries are boring, that they appeal only to the intellectual minds, particularly those who work in academic or creative fields, actively engaging in critical thinking, research, and heavy-load mental work.  In Kerala, we call such intellectuals bujjis or budhi jeevies.

I don’t think museums and art galleries are boring, but enjoying them is not as easy as watching a sunset at a beach. They’re like shy and introverted people, who take their time to reveal their true selves. 

They need our love, time, and attention, not another spectator who rushes through them and overlooks them. Because when they finally feel safe with us and choose to unravel their thoughts, vulnerabilities, and secrets, our own lives become richer and fuller,  just by having witnessed it. 

A Collage of Ravi Varma’s oil paintings.

As I sat on a bench in front of a Ravi Varma painting, lit under a cosy yellow glow, examining its beauty in such proximity, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. As if I were living inside a spellbindingly beautiful and intimate dream. 

Looking at someone’s art or write-ups is probably the closest we will ever come to their heart and their soul. It’s an honor and a privilege. 

Ravi Varma’s pencil drawings

Ravi Varma’s graphite on paper sketches intrigued me as much as his final oil paintings. They showcased his artistic mind at work, even amidst trial and error. I stared at the paintings as long as I could. The lusciousness of their colors, the intricate detailing of even the ornaments worn by the women. What was I hoping to imbibe? At least, a shard of their beauty, soul, and essence, I guess.

The joy in my heart tripled when I saw a differently-abled man walking around the gallery in crutches, and admiring the paintings.  That, for me, is the true spirit and beauty of humans and their resilience. 

Ravi Varma’s Women

Ravi Varma’s portrayal of Hindu characters has become an integral part of the Indian imagination of the epics, especially his depiction of the stories of Dushyanta and Shakuntala, and Nala and Damayanti, from the Mahabharata. He often modeled Hindu Goddesses on Indian women, whom he considered beautiful.

The painting ‘Nair Lady Adorning Her Hair’ by Ravi Varma

At school, for the fancy dress competitions and tableaus, I’ve seen my friends and seniors dressed up as Ravi Varma paintings, especially ‘Nair Lady Adorning Her Hair, ‘The Milkmaid,’ and ‘Woman Holding a Fruit.’ 

I remember feeling excited to see the Malayalee actress Kavya Madhavan dressed up as Ravi Varma paintings in the song “Pinnakkamaano” from the 2005 movie “Anandabhadram”. Our social media buzzed when renowned South Indian actresses and danseuses dressed up as Ravi Varma paintings for photographer G Venket Ram’s limited edition 2020 calendar. 

The lusciousness of colors – Mrs. Ramanadha Rao, a painting by Ravi Varma

Becoming a Mani Ratnam heroine, or dressing up as a Raja Ravi Varma painting, is almost like winning a beauty pageant in South India. 

Maharani Lakshmi Bayi, a Painting by Ravi Varma

Ravi Varma’s women aren’t just pretty but also spirited. They have hearts, souls, and minds, and not just bodies. They don’t exist for men to ogle at; even a modern-day woman can resonate with them. Yes, he portrays women in majesty, like Goddesses and Royal queens, but he also depicts them in love, yearning, and daydreaming, or in pain, and looking desolate. 

Shakuntala, a painting by Ravi Varma

In the renowned epic painting, Shakuntala, the woman turns, pretending to remove a thorn from her feet, only to gaze at her lover Dushyantha, while her friends call her bluff. In another painting, the lovelorn Shakuntala writes a letter to Dushyantha, requesting him to return to her. 

Jatayu Vadham, a painting by Raja Ravi Varma

One of my personal favorites, Jatayu Vadham, depicts a pivotal scene from Ramayana. It shows the exact moment Ravana hacks at the vulture king, Jatayu’s wing, during the abduction of Sita. A terrified Sita covers her face in agony, unable to watch the brutal death of the noble bird. But she could also be praying for an escape, or disgusted by how Ravana was holding her captive.

I love how dramatic and impactful the storytelling of this painting is. Any artist is a storyteller, but Raja Ravi Varma had a knack for picking the exact moments that could best capture the essence of a character.

Harvester, a painting by Ravi Varma

Though he mostly captured elite women in his canvas, paintings like ‘The Harvester’ portrayed regular working women of his age. A few other interesting examples include Abhisarika (a prostitute), a vegetable seller, a Parsi woman, a flower gatherer, a Marwari woman, a woman selling local liquor or arrack, a young girl giving charity to an old woman, gypsies of South India, and a girl with a goat. 

A Flower Gatherer, a Painting by Ravi Varma

I understand the criticisms floating online about how underrepresented lower caste women are in his paintings, or that the fluid femininity aesthetic in his paintings is unachievable in real life. 

Rukmangada and Mohini, a Ravi Varma painting.

Growing up, I could imagine my mom as a Ravi Varma painting, but I never aspired to be one. That partly stemmed from the body shaming, colorism, and pretty privilege prevalent in my society, but also from the realisation that the beauty standards in my country are grossly skewed. Even in modern-day India, our movies don’t represent our women well. 

Tore Away My Gaze

I loved the overall ambience and curation of this art gallery. I loved the paintings softly lit by yellow lights and the long corridors of the building. Though the same light made it extremely difficult to capture decent photos without glare.

Judith, a Painting by Ravi Varma

It was my second visit to the gallery, but I knew there would be more, probably with friends or with my siblings, nephews, and nieces. I could spend a whole day there, just staring at the paintings, absorbing their spirit and beauty. I wished I could imprint them on my mind forever, and not click any photos at all.  Again, I wished my mom’s health permitted her to visit all these places with me. To me, she will always be a Ravi Varma painting. 

By 3:30 pm, I walked out of the Raja Ravi Varma Art Gallery to explore the nearby building, hosting Russian, Japanese, Bengal Art, and Indian murals.  

The painting ‘Lady with a Fan’ by Raja Ravi Varma

Just as I was about to leave, one of the staff members suggested I take another look at the large ‘Lady with a Fan’ painting. Like Mona Lisa’s gaze, the legs of the woman in the painting moved from left to right as I shifted from the left side of the painting to its right, and vice versa. I thanked the guy for telling me about it. I would never have noticed that optical illusion on my own, without his help.  

I remembered the Prophet Isaiah quote that had baffled me earlier. To me, beautiful are the feet of those who are loving, kind, and teach me new things. 

Author’s Notes

~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2026 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through Trivandrum, the capital city of my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Trivandrum | Kerala| India

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Why is love always a pain I have to get over?

Why can’t I ever have a happy ending?

But my child,

You are love-personified.

My living love-letter to the world,

The happy ending they deserve.

Everything you do

Is love-encoded.

An infinite reservoir of love

Awaits your beckoning.

Don’t guard it in vain;

Let it flow.

To love is to be loved.

To be loved is to love.

I’m no God;

I’m just a human.

Oh my beautiful love-child,

I’ve called you by my name.

You’re as divine

As I’m human.

You are mine,

As I’m yours.

You are me,

As I’m you.

The ocean and the pearl.

Kathirmudi Trek With Appooppanthaadi

In the middle of every trek, there’s a moment where you ask yourself: enikk enthinte kedayirunnu? Meaning: what the hell was wrong with me? I could have been chilling at my home now, watching a classic Malayalam comedy like Kilukkam or Sandesham, munching on some mixture or banana chips. Why the hell did I have to climb a hill? 

But if you ever push yourself out of your comfort zone and choose to go on that first trek, with a bunch of cool friends or complete strangers, no matter how physically challenging or life-threatening it turns out to be, I bet you will find yourself at the bottom of many more hills. You will be looking up at daunting climbs, ready to risk it all again, just for that sheer joy, sense of accomplishment, and adrenaline rush you feel at the top. 

It is in moments like those when our muscles and veins throb with pain, sweat trickling down our neck and back, our faces covered in dust and soil, that we feel the limitless potential of the human body, if only we show the audacity to try. It is in moments like those that mere mortals, aam aadmis, like you and me, feel INFINITE. 

Kathirumudi Hills

“Tucked away in the verdant Agasthya hills near the Neyyar and Peppara reservoirs, Kathirmudi is a hidden gem for hikers. This tranquil peak offers a moderate one-day trek through dense, pristine forests, making it a perfect escape for those looking to immerse themselves in Thiruvananthapuram’s untouched wilderness.” 

The trek starts at the Kottoor Ecotourism point in Trivandrum, covering 12 km round-trip. Since you need an entry pass from the Kerala Forest Department, we shared copies of our Aadhaar cards with the Appooppanthaadi team in advance to get everything sorted. 

Appooppanthaadi

Appooppanthaadi is a female-led travel group based in Thiruvananthapuram. It was founded by Sajna Ali, a techie from Kozhikode, whose wanderlust was sparked by her father, who used to take her on long rides on his lorry. 

Started as a small group of eight ladies with a vision to help women travel more and tick off destinations from their bucket lists, Appooppanthaadi recently celebrated 10 years in the travel business, having coordinated 1000+ trips and helped over 13,000 women live their travel dreams. 

My association with this group and its travellers started way back in 2017. This not only fuelled my travel aspirations but also helped me to venture into solo travel and adventure sports. In the past, I’ve explored scuba diving at Kovalam, night camping and tree jummaring at Yellapetty, and parasailing at Goa, all thanks to Appooppanthaadi.

September 20, 2025, Saturday

Back in August 2025, I had booked the Koonichimala trek with Appooppanthaadi. Unfortunately, the trip was postponed to November. So I opted for an alternate trip and joined the Kathirmudi trek in September. Eventually, this trek became the highlight of my one-month stay at Trivandrum.

My initial plan was to rest the day before the trek, but I ended up exploring the Kerala Lalithakala Akademi with my hostelmate. We walked more than 10k steps, stocked up on sugary sweets, and returned to the hostel only in the evening, exhausted.

Even while packing my bag for the next day’s trip, I had no idea how I would reach Thampanoor railway station by 6:30 am. I pinged in the trip’s WhatsApp group and enquired if anyone was traveling from the Technopark side. 

Luckily, two fellow trekkers, Fasi, who has a PHD in Environmental Science, and her friend, Shil, who works as a bank manager, came to my rescue. They were planning to go to Thampanoor by scooter due to parking issues, but to accommodate me, they decided to take their car instead. 

We often gripe that the world is an evil place and that all humans are inherently selfish. But honestly, do we appreciate people enough for their kindness?

September 21, 2025, Sunday

Prep

On the night before any pre-booked trip, I’m restless and barely get any sleep. Still, I felt okay when I woke up at 4:15 am on the day of the Kathirmudi trek, did quick warm-up exercises in the hallway, and freshened up with a bath. By 5:30 am, I was ready and waiting for the gang. 

I had already informed my family about the trip and warned them I may not be available by phone, as trekking spots rarely have network coverage. My dad was relieved to hear that I was going with the ‘panji koottam’ / ‘cotton gang,’ a nickname he has given to Appooppanthaadi, inspired by the literal translation of their brand name, Indian Milkweed or grandfather’s beard.

Darkness can’t scare away a girl on a mission.

I left my hostel at 5:45 am. It was dark outside, and the owls were hooting. I felt grateful for the streetlights and the stars in the sky. Some shops were open, selling tea, playing the news on the radio, and smelling of agarbattis and water sprinkled on the mud pathway outside. 

Within five minutes, I was waiting near the highway, at the Attinkuzhi bus stop. I felt both excited and nervous as it was my first hike in six years. Soon, Fasi and Shil picked me up. We introduced ourselves. They were excited to learn about my solo trip plans, and I was inspired by their fitness journeys – daily gym routines and regular treks. 

Parking Woes

Though we reached Thampanoor by 6:20 am, as anticipated, we struggled to find a parking spot. Both the corporation and railway parking areas were full. We considered going all the way to the Mascot Hotel, but one of the trekkers, a senior Chetan, whom we met on the roadside, suggested we try the paid parking areas. Sajna Chechi, our official buddy for the trip, called and asked us to hurry. 

Fasi suggested I leave the car and join the other trekkers, lest I miss out on the trip. Of course, I couldn’t do it. The only reason they were delayed was that they changed their plans to accommodate me. 

I didn’t want either of us to miss the trek. As I always do in helpless moments like those, I prayed to God for some help, even a tiny teeny miracle. 

Just then, a couple with a toddler in tow, who had just arrived at the station by some train, came to the paid parking area where we were begging the guards. Luckily, this couple loaded their bags into the trunk of a car and drove off, clearing the spot for us. 

You should’ve seen the joy on our faces. The typical “mone, manasil ladu potti” moment! Ah, I bet if you were an atheist, you would have believed in miracles just then.

After parking the car, we, three musketeers, ran to Thampanoor railway station and met the rest of the gang. We thanked the senior Chetan, who suggested we try the paid parking area. By 6:40 am, all of us were inside the tempo traveller, introducing ourselves.

Trekkers

The mandatory group photo before the trek begins.

There was a gang who worked together at a post office, a few bank officers, a few IT staff, and a vibe Mamma with her son, who studied in sixth standard. I was relieved to learn that, except for Fasi, Shil, and two guys, no one else identified as professional trekkers; it was my first level up from easy to moderately difficult treks. 

I was also inspired by the married couples and senior ladies who had turned up for the trek. I love people whose excitement about the world and life in general increases with age.

Sajna Chechi, the group leader, recognized me from old trips. I laughed shyly when she asked, “You are that techie who didn’t have WhatsApp back then, right? What changed?” “I quit IT and turned to writing and freelancing. WhatsApp is important for staying in touch with my clients and for networking,” I explained. In short, life happened. 

From Thampanoor to Kottoor, our Driver Chetan took the Malayinkeezhu-Papanamcode route because repair work was underway on the Venjaramoodu road. By 7:45 am, we reached the Kottoor ecotourism point.

We had an idli-sambar-coconut-chutney breakfast. After using the washroom and later collecting our packed lunch, we huddled to start the trek. Since Sajna Chechi had warned me against taking KP’s big, grandpa umbrella, I left it behind on the bus. Still, my bag was overpacked with an extra dress, 1L of water, lunch, and my sugary sweets. 

“Pack light” is important advice, trekkers. But some of us still choose to learn it the hard way.  

Trek Begins

Crickets creaked, and birds chirped all around us as we waited near the tempo traveller for the trek to commence. Their sounds were therapeutic. 

Sumesh Kottoor, a YouTuber, gave us a small introduction about the trip. He reminded us that Kathirmudi Hill is a plastic-free zone and advised us to conduct a silent trek as elephants and bison lived nearby. But the chances of spotting any wild animals were slim, as they usually graze early in the morning. 

Rubber trees at the start of the trail.

The trek started at 9 am. Every five trekkers were provided one guide each. The initial path seemed pretty flat and hence easy. There were rubber trees on both sides. The way sunlight seived its way through the trees was mesmerising to watch. 

The guides suggested we break off small branches from the nearby trees and use them for support. A few trekkers already held professional trekking poles. Though I was dismissive of the idea at first, within twenty minutes, I grabbed a small wooden stick.  I used it ineffectively for some time before my generous guide gifted me a stronger branch.

Rich Flora 

“All good things are wild and free.” – Henry David Thoreau.

The wild white mushrooms, ferns, grasshoppers, caterpillars, leeches, thick cobwebs, and wild flowers, especially the wild violet thumba poovu, caught my attention. Soon, the flat trail was replaced by challenging ascents. 

Staircase-like tree-root paths.

Some paths looked like a staircase from a distance; the steps were revealed as woody, tree roots upon closer inspection. For people like me, who hiked like penguins, those roots were a godsend, giving us the much-needed grip and support to ascend.

Fallen trees blocking the trail

There were fallen and slanted trees on the way. We climbed these trees to take photographs. Since one of the trekkers, Nithin Chetan, was also a photography enthusiast, we hijacked him in between for group photos and candids. Occasionally, he lamented, “da aarenklm enteyum koode pics edukane.” (Someone please click my photos also.) We took turns clicking his pics, as well. 

Rolling hills – a photo spot.

In between, we reached many photo points from which we could see the adjacent hills and glimpses of the Peppara and the Neyyar reservoir. We stopped at each such point longer than required, pretending to enjoy the scenery or taking photos, while honestly catching our breath or resting our numb calf muscles.

Another picturesque photo spot.

An Angel in Pista Green

As I was huffing and puffing my way up the hill, lean and fit teenagers, including couples, wearing salwar and slippers, ran past me. 

“Chechi, your face has turned red,” one of them commented, as if I needed them to tell me. I could feel the blood rushing into my cheeks. 

Just then, I saw a loose hanging tree branch and grabbed it for support. Unfortunately, it was hollow and came detached from the tree, making my feet lose their grip. 

A tangled, beautiful mess of tree branches, timber, leaves, and creepers.

I slipped and almost fell, but, like an angel, a hand came out of nowhere and grabbed my wrist. 

“Careful there,” he whispered, as he continued holding my hand tightly and led me all the way to the top of that difficult patch. 

There were boulders and trees in that particular curve, and the ascent was too vertical, so I was grateful for his help. 

Rock hills and boulders – as intimidating as they are welcoming.

He was wearing a light pista colored t-shirt; a teenager, I assumed. Once we reached the top, he let go of my hand and advised, “Always test before depending on things. Don’t trust anything so blindly.” 

For a second there, I wondered if he was giving me trekking tips or life/dating advice. I thanked him and rejoined my trekking group. 

Usually, moments like this, a girl slipping and a guy grabbing her wrist before she falls, only happen in Bollywood movies like DDLJ. SRK and those mushy movies have spoiled real-world romance for girls like me. Fiction sets over-expectations, while reality makes us crave even the bare minimum, like clarity and consistency. 

At the Top

At the top of Kathirmudi Hill. The view that makes the whole ordeal worth it.

By 12, we reached the top of the hill. By then, I was wearing my pink scarf to ward off the scorching heat.

Sajna Chechi was like, “Eh athaara namude kootathl oru thattam,” wondering if there was a headscarf-wearing Muslim girl in the group, and Nithin Chetan immediately clicked a funny candid to capture the moment.

I was happy to learn that Fasi and Shil were the first ones to reach the hilltop. By the time I reached the spot, they were already halfway through their lunch. 

We kept our bags under the shade of a tree; a few even took their shoes off to relax. The grass and the wind around were refreshingly cold. 

I had seen elephant dung on the sloppy paths, and even at the hilltop. This intimidated me. I wondered how a 3-to-6-ton elephant climbed up those paths. When I compared it to how much the ascend tested me, I was flabbergasted. 

I neared the edge of the cliff, soaking in the stellar view of candy cotton clouds, Peppara on one side, and Neyyar on the other. The snake-like blue coils of the water bodies made me wonder if they were celestial or Biblical rivers like the Euphrates or Tigris. 

We clicked photos of the view. We sat on the rocks and grassland and chit-chatted. We stacked small pebbles and posed behind them. Sajna Chechi was busy recording videos of the senior couples. In between,  she also clicked solo photos for me. 

At the top, while enjoying the view, savouring the adrenaline rush I felt, I couldn’t help but feel bad. My mom’s health issues would never let her complete this climb. But I wished she could see what I saw and feel what I felt. 

Downtrek

Downtreks are not for the faint-hearted.

After eating our packed lunch, we spent some more time at the top, enjoying the view, chit-chatting, pulling each other’s legs, and clicking photographs. The down trek started by 1:30 pm. 

I’m no professional trekker, but I know one thing for sure. Downtreks are harder than the climbs. It tests our calf muscles and grip, like gold is tested in fire. Besides, it takes a huge toll on our knees.

While the teenage crew and a few of our own professional trekkers ran down the hill in barely an hour and a half, for people like me, the downtrek was a test of both willpower and muscle power. 

At many a time, my jogging shoes slipped, almost making me fall. The steep descents intimidated me. In many such instances, either the couple in front or the senior ladies who were trailing behind me kept me company and motivated me to go on. At times, the guys suggested I run down a steep descent, while they waited at the bottom to stop me from falling. 

All the seniors and the couples in this group were an inspiration. While the former showed me how to live life bravely, the latter were Couple Goals in action. If you can survive a trek without fighting, I bet your marriage has double the chance of surviving.

By 4:15 pm, we reached back and waited inside the traveller for the rest of the trekkers to join. Fasi and Shil, who were the first ones to complete the trek, were sleeping inside the vehicle, exhausted. I learned Fasi wasn’t feeling well; she had vomited her lunch during the downtrek. 

Learnings

After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. – Nelson Mandela.

While Fasi learned the hard way that rice-sambar is probably a bad choice for a mid-trek lunch, I learned that I need to do more cardio and also build my calf muscles. Many times, my legs were shivering like a flag in a storm. I had to rest, drink water, and munch on some food to recuperate. 

The sugary drinks and snacks slowed me down. I didn’t need most of the food items I carried, since Sajna Chechi had already brought healthy snacks like biscuits and groundnut bars for us. And I didn’t need that extra dress or umbrella either. 

Anxious packing generally helps me to be self-sufficient during solo-travelling, but during treks, it weighs you down, like past baggage. So pack light, let go of unnecessary baggage, in life and in treks. 

Around 5:30 pm, we stopped at the Bhavas Hotel, a restaurant in Kottoor. We gorged on snacks and slurped down tea and fresh juices. Coincidentally, the gang of teenage trekkers, including the light-pista-green-t-shirt guy, who helped me when I slipped, also arrived at the restaurant. We exchanged smiles, but my introverted nature froze my legs, preventing me from walking up to them and making small talk. That’s one area I still need to work on. 

By 7:30 pm, we returned to Thampanoor. One of the trekkers, Sam Chetan, shared his experience of climbing the Agasthyarkoodam. That’s a trek I would love to explore, but keep procrastinating with the excuse – “You ain’t fit enough for that yet.” I hope to break that limiting internal narrative someday soon. 

We bid goodbye to the other trekkers. Fasi drove Shil and me back home, even though she was still exhausted from the trip. “You need to learn to drive,” a part of my heart mumbled, feeling guilty, but the cowardly other half mumbled, “Some day.” 

Reflections

Guess I still have a lot of growth arc left in my characterization. But at the end of the day, I chose to focus on my small wins rather than fixate on what I was lacking. 

Despite my fear of heights and down treks, I went on a hike after six years and completed it. I met a bunch of lovely strangers and made friends. 

I refused to be the frog sitting comfortably in a boiling tumbler of water. I sprang up, jolted, made a plan, got out of my comfort zone, and ended up having a fun day. Not a world-changing event, but definitely a small win for my procrastinating, perfectionist, anxious heart. 

So, Day 11/30 in Trivandrum? Done and dusted! And what a day it was! 

P.S. This is not a sponsored post. But if you are interested in exploring this trek, do check out the details on the online pages of Appooppanthaadi, Let’s Go for a Camp, or the Kerala forest department. Hope you have a day full of adventure and warmth, too!

Author’s Notes

~ Ownership of the group photos and the ‘Rich Flora’ collage images belongs to the individual trekkers or Appooppanthaadi. 

~ All content on this blog, other than the ones mentioned above, is the intellectual property of the author. © 2026 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through Trivandrum, the capital city of my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Trivandrum | Kerala| India

Kathirmudi Trek With Appooppanthaadi

In the middle of every trek, there’s a moment where you ask yourself: enikk enthinte kedayirunnu? Meaning: what the hell was wrong with me? I could have been chilling at my home now, watching a classic Malayalam comedy like Kilukkam or Sandesham, munching on some mixture or banana chips. Why the hell did I have to climb a hill? 

But if you ever push yourself out of your comfort zone and choose to go on that first trek, with a bunch of cool friends or complete strangers, no matter how physically challenging or life-threatening it turns out to be, I bet you will find yourself at the bottom of many more hills. You will be looking up at daunting climbs, ready to risk it all again, just for that sheer joy, sense of accomplishment, and adrenaline rush you feel at the top. 

It is in moments like those when our muscles and veins throb with pain, sweat trickling down our neck and back, our faces covered in dust and soil, that we feel the limitless potential of the human body, if only we show the audacity to try. It is in moments like those that mere mortals, aam aadmis, like you and me, feel INFINITE. 

Kathirumudi Hills

“Tucked away in the verdant Agasthya hills near the Neyyar and Peppara reservoirs, Kathirmudi is a hidden gem for hikers. This tranquil peak offers a moderate one-day trek through dense, pristine forests, making it a perfect escape for those looking to immerse themselves in Thiruvananthapuram’s untouched wilderness.” 

The trek starts at the Kottoor Ecotourism point in Trivandrum, covering 12 km round-trip. Since you need an entry pass from the Kerala Forest Department, we shared copies of our Aadhaar cards with the Appooppanthaadi team in advance to get everything sorted. 

Appooppanthaadi

Appooppanthaadi is a female-led travel group based in Thiruvananthapuram. It was founded by Sajna Ali, a techie from Kozhikode, whose wanderlust was sparked by her father, who used to take her on long rides on his lorry. 

Started as a small group of eight ladies with a vision to help women travel more and tick off destinations from their bucket lists, Appooppanthaadi recently celebrated 10 years in the travel business, having coordinated 1000+ trips and helped over 13,000 women live their travel dreams. 

My association with this group and its travellers started way back in 2017. This not only fuelled my travel aspirations but also helped me to venture into solo travel and adventure sports. In the past, I’ve explored scuba diving at Kovalam, night camping and tree jummaring at Yellapetty, and parasailing at Goa, all thanks to Appooppanthaadi.

September 20, 2025, Saturday

Back in August 2025, I had booked the Koonichimala trek with Appooppanthaadi. Unfortunately, the trip was postponed to November. So I opted for an alternate trip and joined the Kathirmudi trek in September. Eventually, this trek became the highlight of my one-month stay at Trivandrum.

My initial plan was to rest the day before the trek, but I ended up exploring the Kerala Lalithakala Akademi with my hostelmate. We walked more than 10k steps, stocked up on sugary sweets, and returned to the hostel only in the evening, exhausted.

Even while packing my bag for the next day’s trip, I had no idea how I would reach Thampanoor railway station by 6:30 am. I pinged in the trip’s WhatsApp group and enquired if anyone was traveling from the Technopark side. 

Luckily, two fellow trekkers, Fasi, who has a PHD in Environmental Science, and her friend, Shil, who works as a bank manager, came to my rescue. They were planning to go to Thampanoor by scooter due to parking issues, but to accommodate me, they decided to take their car instead. 

We often gripe that the world is an evil place and that all humans are inherently selfish. But honestly, do we appreciate people enough for their kindness?

September 21, 2025, Sunday

Prep

On the night before any pre-booked trip, I’m restless and barely get any sleep. Still, I felt okay when I woke up at 4:15 am on the day of the Kathirmudi trek, did quick warm-up exercises in the hallway, and freshened up with a bath. By 5:30 am, I was ready and waiting for the gang. 

I had already informed my family about the trip and warned them I may not be available by phone, as trekking spots rarely have network coverage. My dad was relieved to hear that I was going with the ‘panji koottam’ / ‘cotton gang,’ a nickname he has given to Appooppanthaadi, inspired by the literal translation of their brand name, Indian Milkweed or grandfather’s beard.

Darkness can’t scare away a girl on a mission.

I left my hostel at 5:45 am. It was dark outside, and the owls were hooting. I felt grateful for the streetlights and the stars in the sky. Some shops were open, selling tea, playing the news on the radio, and smelling of agarbattis and water sprinkled on the mud pathway outside. 

Within five minutes, I was waiting near the highway, at the Attinkuzhi bus stop. I felt both excited and nervous as it was my first hike in six years. Soon, Fasi and Shil picked me up. We introduced ourselves. They were excited to learn about my solo trip plans, and I was inspired by their fitness journeys – daily gym routines and regular treks. 

Parking Woes

Though we reached Thampanoor by 6:20 am, as anticipated, we struggled to find a parking spot. Both the corporation and railway parking areas were full. One of the trekkers, a senior Chetan, whom we met on the roadside, suggested we try the paid parking areas. Sajna Chechi, our official buddy for the trip, called and asked us to hurry. 

Fasi suggested I leave the car and join the other trekkers, lest I miss out on the trip. Of course, I couldn’t do it. The only reason they were delayed was that they changed their plans to accommodate me. 

I didn’t want either of us to miss the trek. As I always do in helpless moments like those, I prayed to God for some help, even a tiny teeny miracle. 

Just then, a couple with a toddler in tow, who had just arrived at the station by some train, came to the paid parking area where we were begging the guards. Luckily, this couple loaded their bags into the trunk of a car and drove off, clearing the spot for us. 

You should’ve seen the joy on our faces. The typical “mone, manasil ladu potti” moment! Ah, I bet if you were an atheist, you would have believed in miracles just then.

After parking the car, we, three musketeers, ran to Thampanoor railway station and met the rest of the gang. We thanked the senior Chetan, who suggested we try the paid parking area. By 6:40 am, all of us were inside the tempo traveller, introducing ourselves.

Trekkers

The mandatory group photo before the trek begins.

There was a gang who worked together at a post office, a few bank officers, a few IT staff, and a vibe Mamma with her son, who studied in sixth standard. I was relieved to learn that, except for Fasi, Shil, and two guys, no one else identified as professional trekkers; it was my first level up from easy to moderately difficult treks. 

I was also inspired by the married couples and senior ladies who had turned up for the trek. I love people whose excitement about the world and life in general increases with age.

Sajna Chechi, the group leader, recognized me from old trips. I laughed shyly when she asked, “You are that techie who didn’t have WhatsApp back then, right? What changed?” “I quit IT and turned to writing and freelancing. WhatsApp is important for staying in touch with my clients and for networking,” I explained. In short, life happened. 

From Thampanoor to Kottoor, our Driver Chetan took the Malayinkeezhu-Papanamcode route because repair work was underway on the Venjaramoodu road. By 7:45 am, we reached the Kottoor ecotourism point.

We had an idli-sambar-coconut-chutney breakfast. After using the washroom and later collecting our packed lunch, we huddled to start the trek. Since Sajna Chechi had warned me against taking KP’s big, grandpa umbrella, I left it behind on the bus. Still, my bag was overpacked with an extra dress, 1L of water, lunch, and my sugary sweets. 

“Pack light” is important advice, trekkers. But some of us still choose to learn it the hard way.  

Trek Begins

Crickets creaked, and birds chirped all around us as we waited near the tempo traveller for the trek to commence. Their sounds were therapeutic. 

Sumesh Kottoor, a YouTuber, gave us a small introduction about the trip. He reminded us that Kathirmudi Hill is a plastic-free zone and advised us to conduct a silent trek as elephants and bison lived nearby. But the chances of spotting any wild animals were slim, as they usually graze early in the morning. 

Rubber trees at the start of the trail.

The trek started at 9 am. Every five trekkers were provided one guide each. The initial path seemed pretty flat and hence easy. There were rubber trees on both sides. The way sunlight seived its way through the trees was mesmerising to watch. 

The guides suggested we break off small branches from the nearby trees and use them for support. A few trekkers already held professional trekking poles. Though I was dismissive of the idea at first, within twenty minutes, I grabbed a small wooden stick.  I used it ineffectively for some time before my generous guide gifted me a stronger branch.

Rich Flora 

“All good things are wild and free.” – Henry David Thoreau.

The wild white mushrooms, ferns, grasshoppers, caterpillars, leeches, thick cobwebs, and wild flowers, especially the wild violet thumba poovu, caught my attention. Soon, the flat trail was replaced by challenging ascents. 

Staircase-like tree-root paths.

Some paths looked like a staircase from a distance; the steps were revealed as woody, tree roots upon closer inspection. For people like me, who hiked like penguins, those roots were a godsend, giving us the much-needed grip and support to ascend.

Fallen trees blocking the trail

There were fallen and slanted trees on the way. We climbed these trees to take photographs. Since one of the trekkers, Nidhin Chetan, was also a photography enthusiast, we hijacked him in between for group photos and candids. Occasionally, he lamented, “da aarenklm enteyum koode pics edukane.” (Someone please click my photos also.) We took turns clicking his pics, as well. 

Rolling hills – a photo spot.

In between, we reached many photo points from which we could see the adjacent hills and glimpses of the Peppara and the Neyyar reservoir. We stopped at each such point longer than required, pretending to enjoy the scenery or taking photos, while honestly catching our breath or resting our numb calf muscles.

Another picturesque photo spot.

An Angel in Pista Green

As I was huffing and puffing my way up the hill, lean and fit teenagers, including couples, wearing salwar and slippers, ran past me. 

“Chechi, your face has turned red,” one of them commented, as if I needed them to tell me. I could feel the blood rushing into my cheeks. 

Just then, I saw a loose hanging tree branch and grabbed it for support. Unfortunately, it was hollow and came detached from the tree, making my feet lose their grip. 

A tangled, beautiful mess of tree branches, timber, leaves, and creepers.

I slipped and almost fell, but, like an angel, a hand came out of nowhere and grabbed my wrist. 

“Careful there,” he whispered, as he continued holding my hand tightly and led me all the way to the top of that difficult patch. 

There were boulders and trees in that particular curve, and the ascent was too vertical, so I was grateful for his help. 

Rock hills and boulders – as intimidating as they are welcoming.

He was wearing a light pista colored t-shirt; a teenager, I assumed. Once we reached the top, he let go of my hand and advised, “Always test before depending on things. Don’t trust anything so blindly.” 

For a second there, I wondered if he was giving me trekking tips or life/dating advice. I thanked him and rejoined my trekking group. 

Usually, moments like this, a girl slipping and a guy grabbing her wrist before she falls, only happen in Bollywood movies like DDLJ. SRK and those mushy movies have spoiled real-world romance for girls like me. Fiction sets over-expectations, while reality makes us crave even the bare minimum, like clarity and consistency. 

At the Top

At the top of Kathirmudi Hill. The view that makes the whole ordeal worth it.

By 12, we reached the top of the hill. By then, I was wearing my pink scarf to ward off the scorching heat.

Sajna Chechi was like, “Eh athaara namude kootathl oru thattam,” wondering if there was a headscarf-wearing Muslim girl in the group, and Nithin Chetan immediately clicked a funny candid to capture the moment.

I was happy to learn that Fasi and Shil were the first ones to reach the hilltop. By the time I reached the spot, they were already halfway through their lunch. 

We kept our bags under the shade of a tree; a few even took their shoes off to relax. The grass and the wind around were refreshingly cold. 

I had seen elephant dung on the sloppy paths, and even at the hilltop. This intimidated me. I wondered how a 3-to-6-ton elephant climbed up those paths. When I compared it to how much the ascend tested me, I was flabbergasted. 

I neared the edge of the cliff, soaking in the stellar view of candy cotton clouds, Peppara on one side, and Neyyar on the other. The snake-like blue coils of the water bodies made me wonder if they were celestial or Biblical rivers like the Euphrates or Tigris. 

We clicked photos of the view. We sat on the rocks and grassland and chit-chatted. We stacked small pebbles and posed behind them. Sajna Chechi was busy recording videos of the senior couples. In between,  she also clicked solo photos for me. 

At the top, while enjoying the view, savouring the adrenaline rush I felt, I couldn’t help but feel bad. My mom’s health issues would never let her complete this climb. But I wished she could see what I saw and feel what I felt. 

Downtrek

Downtreks are not for the faint-hearted.

After eating our packed lunch, we spent some more time at the top, enjoying the view, chit-chatting, pulling each other’s legs, and clicking photographs. The down trek started by 1:30 pm. 

I’m no professional trekker, but I know one thing for sure. Downtreks are harder than the climbs. It tests our calf muscles and grip, like gold is tested in fire. Besides, it takes a huge toll on our knees.

While the teenage crew and a few of our own professional trekkers ran down the hill in barely an hour and a half, for people like me, the downtrek was a test of both willpower and muscle power. 

At many a time, my jogging shoes slipped, almost making me fall. The steep descents intimidated me. In many such instances, either the couple in front or the senior ladies who were trailing behind me kept me company and motivated me to go on. At times, the guys suggested I run down a steep descent, while they waited at the bottom to stop me from falling. 

All the seniors and the couples in this group were an inspiration. While the former showed me how to live life bravely, the latter were Couple Goals in action. If you can survive a trek without fighting, I bet your marriage has double the chance of surviving.

By 4:15 pm, we reached back and waited inside the traveller for the rest of the trekkers to join. Fasi and Shil, who were the first ones to complete the trek, were sleeping inside the vehicle, exhausted. I learned Fasi wasn’t feeling well; she had vomited her lunch during the downtrek. 

Learnings

After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. – Nelson Mandela.

While Fasi learned the hard way that rice-sambar is probably a bad choice for a mid-trek lunch, I learned that I need to do more cardio and also build my calf muscles. Many times, my legs were shivering like a flag in a storm. I had to rest, drink water, and munch on some food to recuperate. 

The sugary drinks and snacks slowed me down. I didn’t need most of the food items I carried, since Sajna Chechi had already brought healthy snacks like biscuits and groundnut bars for us. And I didn’t need that extra dress or umbrella either. 

Anxious packing generally helps me to be self-sufficient during solo-travelling, but during treks, it weighs you down, like past baggage. So pack light, let go of unnecessary baggage, in life and in treks. 

Around 5:30 pm, we stopped at the Bhavas Hotel, a restaurant in Kottoor. We gorged on snacks and slurped down tea and fresh juices. Coincidentally, the gang of teenage trekkers, including the light-pista-green-t-shirt guy, who helped me when I slipped, also arrived at the restaurant. We exchanged smiles, but my introverted nature froze my legs, preventing me from walking up to them and making small talk. That’s one area I still need to work on. 

By 7:30 pm, we returned to Thampanoor. One of the trekkers, Sam Chetan, shared his experience of climbing the Agasthyarkoodam. That’s a trek I would love to explore, but keep procrastinating with the excuse – “You ain’t fit enough for that yet.” I hope to break that limiting internal narrative someday soon. 

We bid goodbye to the other trekkers. Fasi drove Shil and me back home, even though she was still exhausted from the trip. “You need to learn to drive,” a part of my heart mumbled, feeling guilty, but the cowardly other half mumbled, “Some day.” 

Reflections

Guess I still have a lot of growth arc left in my characterization. But at the end of the day, I chose to focus on my small wins rather than fixate on what I was lacking. 

Despite my fear of heights and down treks, I went on a hike after six years and completed it. I met a bunch of lovely strangers and made friends. 

I refused to be the frog sitting comfortably in a boiling tumbler of water. I sprang up, jolted, made a plan, got out of my comfort zone, and ended up having a fun day. Not a world-changing event, but definitely a small win for my procrastinating, perfectionist, anxious heart. 

So, Day 11/30 in Trivandrum? Done and dusted! And what a day it was! 

P.S. This is not a sponsored post. But if you are interested in exploring this trek, do check out the details on the online pages of Appooppanthaadi, Let’s Go for a Camp, or the Kerala forest department. Hope you have a day full of adventure and warmth, too!

Author’s Notes

~ Ownership of the group photos and the ‘Rich Flora’ collage images belongs to the individual trekkers or Appooppanthaadi. 

~ All content on this blog, other than the ones mentioned above, is the intellectual property of the author. © 2026 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through Trivandrum, the capital city of my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Trivandrum | Kerala| India

A wall painting inside the Kerala Lalithakala Akademi, Trivandrum.

September 20, 2025, Saturday

Day 10/30. Time seemed to fly. I couldn’t believe I had already spent one-third of my intended time at Trivandrum. Yes, I had covered some important spots in East Fort, Palayam, and Veli by then, but my three roommates, Di, Sou, and KP, and their friends kept on recommending new and exciting spots daily. So, like Arya Stark’s kill list, my to-visit list grew longer every day.

A friend to the rescue!

KP – yes, the same roommate who shared her Sreepadmanabha Swamy temple experience with me – is also a fellow reader/book lover. I had told her about my fantasy of living in Palayam, enrolling for membership in the Kerala State Public Library, and reading every day. So imagine my joy and surprise when she shared her plans to take a membership in the state library and accompany me on a Palayam trip. Hip hip hurray!

At that point, even a self-proclaimed loner and introvert like me had learned the hard way that while solitude can be beneficial, you shouldn’t take human connections for granted. After ten days of solo trips, I felt so grateful to go on a trip with a friend. 

An umbrella and a duckling!

On September 20th, around 10:30 in the morning, KP and I travelled to Kazhakkoottam together and got a few forms printed for her library membership. It was drizzling. KP, in her petite frame and long ponytail, holding onto a big grandpa umbrella in the rain, reminded me of a cute duckling. Here’s exactly how I saw her.

A cute duckling. Source: dreamstime

We boarded a low-floor AC bus to Palayam and visited the Zam Zam restaurant together. She had some biriyani, while I gorged on ghee rice, chicken curry, and ginger lime. The food was so yummy, we were silent until we wiped our plates clean and chuckled at ourselves.

Kerala State Library 

Later, we walked to the public library. The security staff at the entrance asked us to return after an hour or two, as their lunch break was about to begin in 15 minutes. I would have folded, but since it wasn’t lunch time yet, KP insisted that they should take her form. 

Not to generalize, but all the petite women I know are fierce, my elder sister and paternal grandma included. 

The staff accepted her form with a sigh but insisted we return after lunch break to complete the formalities and borrow books. KP agreed. We spent the next half hour exploring one of my favorite spots in Palayam, the row of second-hand bookstores near the library. 

Subscribe

Kerala Lalitha Kala Akademi 

Vylopilly Samskrithi Bhavan, Trivandrum.

We tried to walk to the next spot on my list, the Kerala Lalitha Kala Akademi. But when Google Maps and our combined navigational skills confused the hell out of us, KP and I took an auto to the Akademi. It turned out to be a wise decision, because we were walking in the opposite direction. 

“Kerala Lalithakala Akademi, established in 1962 to conserve and promote visual arts: painting, sculpture, architecture, and graphics, is an autonomous cultural organization of the Government of Kerala. Today, the Akademi is a centre for cultural, artistic, and educational activities, spilling over to other fields such as cartoon and photography.” 

A stone pavilion inside the Kerala Lalithakal Akademi, Trivandrum.

The Kerala Lalithakala Akademi has multiple branches in Kerala. Its Trivandrum branch is located in Nanthancode near the Vylopilly Samskriti Bhavan on Nalanada Lane. 

The auto easily covered the approximate 2km distance between the library and the Akademi in no time. The driver levied only Rs 40 as fare, which KP and I found reasonable. 

Art Exhibition

Painting ‘Nest of Dreams’ by Sriya Srinivas. Medium: watercolor on paper.

Luckily, I had already read a news article about an art exhibition, titled “When leaves rustle in cool breeze,” happening at the Chithrasala Art Gallery, inside the Akademi. It was the last day of the exhibition. 

I didn’t know then that ‘Fall and Decay’ was the central theme of the exhibition. Fall or Autumn is my favorite season. Even as mere colors, I gravitate towards the autumn shades of red, brown, and yellow a lot. Orange? Great color, but not so much on me. 

Smile that never faded, an art installation by Sumesh BS, medium: mixed.

A swan woman cuddling a swan, brown men and women working in brown fields, the textures and shades of charcoal paintings, the watermelon purse showing support to Palestine, a spiral of thick hair just like Rapunzel’s hair rope extended to her prince, the lavender flowers and chai stains, the orange-brown leaves around an eggless bird nest, and a wooden installation, burned and hollowed out to represent a smiling woman overburdened with household chores were a few of the paintings and other exhibits that grabbed my attention and heart. 

Artists in disguise

The painting ‘Jackfruits’ by Akhilesh DR, medium: oil on canvas.

KP and I stood in front of every painting and installation, stared for a while, and shared our views and ideas. Only then did I learn she was deeply interested in art. In fact, she was an artist herself. She showed me a few intricate sketches she had completed. 

“You’re so good,” I insisted, but she brushed it away, saying, “I take a lot of time to complete each sketch. With the IT work and adult responsibilities, it’s difficult to find time.” 

Oh, the number of writers, artists, musicians, dancers, and sportspeople India has lost to the IT field is unimaginable and so unfair. 

Koothambalam 

Koothambalam is a closed hall for staging koothu or dance.

Later, we explored various wall paintings and stone pavilions inside the campus. We clicked photos of each other, standing in front of these spots. 

In one of these buildings, the inaugural dance of many teenage danseuses was about to happen. We sneaked inside the half-auditorium-like, half-koothambalam-like space.

The cameras were set up; the stage decorations were in progress. Many elderly ladies in Kancheepuram silk sarees were sitting in the front rows. Some of them were renowned classical dancers and dance gurus of the girls performing that day. 

The dances didn’t start until much later. The students’ hair and facial makeup were in progress. The hall was slowly filling up with the who’s who of classical dance in Trivandrum, the students of the Kerala Lalithakala Akademi, their parents, relatives, and friends. 

Humble superstars

The stage awaits the danseuses.

Even though these people realized that KP and I were just strangers exploring the akademi for the first time, they offered us tea and snacks and invited us to stay back to watch the dances. We politely declined. But I thought it was such a sweet gesture. 

In Kannan Devan tea’s advertisement, Mohanlal, one of the GOATS of the Malayalam industry, says, “Uyaram koodum thorum chayayude swadhu koodum,” the higher the altitude, the better the tea. 

I wish we could say the same about all celebrities. Usually, the greater their fame, success, or wealth, the bigger their egos and arrogance. But imagine a world where all the superstars, even at the height of their careers, were kind and humble humans first. 

I smiled at those senior gurus, who were at the peak of their careers and lives, but still chose to be sweet to two unknown girls. That’s the kind of success and wealth I aspire to have. 

Another surprise? Turns out, KP’s mom is a classical dancer, too. Funny, isn’t it, how many new things we learn about our friends, just by going on a trip with them?

Vylopilly’s Mambazaham  

A wall painting depicting the Malayalam poem Mambhazham, written by Vylopilly Sreedhara Menon.

Before bidding the place goodbye, we checked out the paintings on the walls of the Vylopilly Samskriti Bhavan. It is a building constructed in honor of the renowned Indian poet of Malayalam literature, Vylopilly Sreedhara Menon. One of the paintings depicted Vylopilly’s famous poem, “Mambazaham” (Ripen Mango).

Many Keralites can recite the entire poem from memory. Just hearing the first line is enough to get us emotional. 

“Angana thaimaavil ninnadhythe pazham veezhke

Ammathan nethrathil ninnuthirnnu chudu kanneer.”  

“As the courtyard tree drops its first ripe mango, 

hot tears spill from a mother’s eyes. 

Context of the poem: For the mother, the fallen fruit is a painful reminder of her deceased son and a small argument they had four months back. She had scolded him for mischievously hitting the mango blossoms with a stick. In response, the tearful boy had sworn he would never touch the fruit. He passed away before the blossoms could ripen, leaving his vow tragically unbroken. The poem thrives on this devastating irony.”

We, Malayalees, are creatures of nostalgia. We find joy in romanticising little things like mangoes, monsoon rains, fallen flowers, old poems, playing cricket in paddy fields, and the film songs we sing aloud in toddy shops. 

An untitled painting by Anil Vasudevan, depicting themes like old age and loneliness.

Back to the library

When I suggested we walk all the way from the Lalithakala Akademi to the State Library, a distance slightly more than 2km, KP readily agreed. We took a short juice-and-snacks break before starting the return walk, but by the time we reached the library, she was exhausted. I cursed myself for the stupid decision to walk, as I had pushed her too hard.

Up until my IT years, I never really cared about my fitness. Working 9-14 hours daily, glued to my office desktop, stress and anxiety wrecking my sleep and food cycles, my 3.8 years in the IT field had left me struggling with physical ailments that necessitated exercise. My brother and cousins included me in their home workouts, but I gave up soon. 

Walking was my one redeeming quality. In the end, it was regular, long walks that helped me regain my health. 

KP, who also worked in IT,  was just like my older IT version. Her life was split between her AC room in the office and the small bed in our hostel room. The sun and the long, impulsive walk had taken a toll on her body. Her face was scarlet red, sweat trickling down, and panting by the time she entered the library. I wished I were more empathetic to her. 

Being alone pushes us to become more independent and stronger. However, spending time with people teaches us the importance of empathy, communication, and even compromise.  Both are important in life. Without solitude, we wouldn’t mature and grow. Without human connections, we would lose the soft side of our hearts. 

Winding up

An untitled painting by Viswathi Chemmanthatta, from the 2025 art exhibition When leaves rustle in cool breeze.

I sat on a bench outside the library, scrolling through my social media feed. I couldn’t browse or borrow books as I didn’t have a membership yet. To my surprise, soon after finishing the joining formalities, KP joined me on the bench outside. She was so tired and nauseated, she didn’t have the energy to browse for books. I felt guilty for her state.

This time, I didn’t even bring up walking; I knew better. We took an auto to the PMG junction. From there, we hopped on a bus to Kazhakoottum. Luckily, KP got a seat soon and was able to rest throughout the long bus ride. 

At Kazhakoottam, we entered a store and bought some snacks. I stocked up on glucose, a sanitizer, Snickers, and many sugary biscuits because I had a trek the next day.  KP pointed out that I was overpacking and the sugary snacks were not suitable for strenuous treks. But at that time, I was hyperfocused on the post-trek hunger my friends had warned me about. 

My initial plan was to rest on the day before the trek, as I scarcely sleep on the nights before pre-booked trips. But KP and I had ended up walking close to 10k steps. No wonder she was exhausted. 

I worried that I might become a liability to my trekking group the next day. I still had to figure out my transport to the Thampanoor railway station early in the morning, where I was supposed to meet the other group members. Luckily, one of the trekkers came to my rescue.

Author’s Notes

~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2026 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through Trivandrum, the capital city of my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Trivandrum | Kerala| India

A wall painting inside the Kerala Lalithakala Akademi, Trivandrum.

September 20, 2025, Saturday

Day 10/30. Time seemed to fly. I couldn’t believe I had already spent one-third of my intended time at Trivandrum. Yes, I had covered some important spots in East Fort, Palayam, and Veli by then, but my three roommates, Di, Sou, and KP, and their friends kept on recommending new and exciting spots daily. So, like Arya Stark’s kill list, my to-visit list grew longer every day.

A friend to the rescue!

KP – yes, the same roommate who shared her Sreepadmanabha Swamy temple experience with me – is also a fellow reader/book lover. I had told her about my fantasy of living in Palayam, enrolling for membership in the Kerala State Public Library, and reading every day. So imagine my joy and surprise when she shared her plans to take a membership in the state library and accompany me on a Palayam trip. Hip hip hurray!

At that point, even a self-proclaimed loner and introvert like me had learned the hard way that while solitude can be beneficial, you shouldn’t take human connections for granted. After ten days of solo trips, I felt so grateful to go on a trip with a friend. 

An umbrella and a duckling!

On September 20th, around 10:30 in the morning, KP and I travelled to Kazhakkoottam together and got a few forms printed for her library membership. It was drizzling. KP, in her petite frame and long ponytail, holding onto a big grandpa umbrella in the rain, reminded me of a cute duckling. Here’s exactly how I saw her.

A cute duckling. Source: dreamstime

We boarded a low-floor AC bus to Palayam and visited the Zam Zam restaurant together. She had some biriyani, while I gorged on ghee rice, chicken curry, and ginger lime. The food was so yummy, we were silent until we wiped our plates clean and chuckled at ourselves.

Kerala State Library 

Later, we walked to the public library. The security staff at the entrance asked us to return after an hour or two, as their lunch break was about to begin in 15 minutes. I would have folded, but since it wasn’t lunch time yet, KP insisted that they should take her form. 

Not to generalize, but all the petite women I know are fierce, my elder sister and paternal grandma included. 

The staff accepted her form with a sigh but insisted we return after lunch break to complete the formalities and borrow books. KP agreed. We spent the next half hour exploring one of my favorite spots in Palayam, the row of second-hand bookstores near the library. 

Subscribe

Kerala Lalitha Kala Akademi 

Vylopilly Samskrithi Bhavan, Trivandrum.

We tried to walk to the next spot on my list, the Kerala Lalitha Kala Akademi. But when Google Maps and our combined navigational skills confused the hell out of us, KP and I took an auto to the Akademi. It turned out to be a wise decision, because we were walking in the opposite direction. 

“Kerala Lalithakala Akademi, established in 1962 to conserve and promote visual arts: painting, sculpture, architecture, and graphics, is an autonomous cultural organization of the Government of Kerala. Today, the Akademi is a centre for cultural, artistic, and educational activities, spilling over to other fields such as cartoon and photography.” 

A stone pavilion inside the Kerala Lalithakal Akademi, Trivandrum.

The Kerala Lalithakala Akademi has multiple branches in Kerala. Its Trivandrum branch is located in Nanthancode near the Vylopilly Samskriti Bhavan on Nalanada Lane. 

The auto easily covered the approximate 2km distance between the library and the Akademi in no time. The driver levied only Rs 40 as fare, which KP and I found reasonable. 

Art Exhibition

Painting ‘Nest of Dreams’ by Sriya Srinivas. Medium: watercolor on paper.

Luckily, I had already read a news article about an art exhibition, titled “When leaves rustle in cool breeze,” happening at the Chithrasala Art Gallery, inside the Akademi. It was the last day of the exhibition. 

I didn’t know then that ‘Fall and Decay’ was the central theme of the exhibition. Fall or Autumn is my favorite season. Even as mere colors, I gravitate towards the autumn shades of red, brown, and yellow a lot. Orange? Great color, but not so much on me. 

Smile that never faded, an art installation by Sumesh BS, medium: mixed.

A swan woman cuddling a swan, brown men and women working in brown fields, the textures and shades of charcoal paintings, the watermelon purse showing support to Palestine, a spiral of thick hair just like Rapunzel’s hair rope extended to her prince, the lavender flowers and chai stains, the orange-brown leaves around an eggless bird nest, and a wooden installation, burned and hollowed out to represent a smiling woman overburdened with household chores were a few of the paintings and other exhibits that grabbed my attention and heart. 

Artists in disguise

The painting ‘Jackfruits’ by Akhilesh DR, medium: oil on canvas.

KP and I stood in front of every painting and installation, stared for a while, and shared our views and ideas. Only then did I learn she was deeply interested in art. In fact, she was an artist herself. She showed me a few intricate sketches she had completed. 

“You’re so good,” I insisted, but she brushed it away, saying, “I take a lot of time to complete each sketch. With the IT work and adult responsibilities, it’s difficult to find time.” 

Oh, the number of writers, artists, musicians, dancers, and sportspeople India has lost to the IT field is unimaginable and so unfair. 

Koothambalam 

Koothambalam is a closed hall for staging koothu or dance.

Later, we explored various wall paintings and stone pavilions inside the campus. We clicked photos of each other, standing in front of these spots. 

In one of these buildings, the inaugural dance of many teenage danseuses was about to happen. We sneaked inside the half-auditorium-like, half-koothambalam-like space.

The cameras were set up; the stage decorations were in progress. Many elderly ladies in Kancheepuram silk sarees were sitting in the front rows. Some of them were renowned classical dancers and dance gurus of the girls performing that day. 

The dances didn’t start until much later. The students’ hair and facial makeup were in progress. The hall was slowly filling up with the who’s who of classical dance in Trivandrum, the students of the Kerala Lalithakala Akademi, their parents, relatives, and friends. 

Humble superstars

The stage awaits the danseuses.

Even though these people realized that KP and I were just strangers exploring the akademi for the first time, they offered us tea and snacks and invited us to stay back to watch the dances. We politely declined. But I thought it was such a sweet gesture. 

In Kannan Devan tea’s advertisement, Mohanlal, one of the GOATS of the Malayalam industry, says, “Uyaram koodum thorum chayayude swadhu koodum,” the higher the altitude, the better the tea. 

I wish we could say the same about all celebrities. Usually, the greater their fame, success, or wealth, the bigger their egos and arrogance. But imagine a world where all the superstars, even at the height of their careers, were kind and humble humans first. 

I smiled at those senior gurus, who were at the peak of their careers and lives, but still chose to be sweet to two unknown girls. That’s the kind of success and wealth I aspire to have. 

Another surprise? Turns out, KP’s mom is a classical dancer, too. Funny, isn’t it, how many new things we learn about our friends, just by going on a trip with them?

Vylopilly’s Mambazaham  

A wall painting depicting the Malayalam poem Mambhazham, written by Vylopilly Sreedhara Menon.

Before bidding the place goodbye, we checked out the paintings on the walls of the Vylopilly Samskriti Bhavan. It is a building constructed in honor of the renowned Indian poet of Malayalam literature, Vylopilly Sreedhara Menon. One of the paintings depicted Vylopilly’s famous poem, “Mambazaham” (Ripen Mango).

Many Keralites can recite the entire poem from memory. Just hearing the first line is enough to get us emotional. 

“Angana thaimaavil ninnadhythe pazham veezhke

Ammathan nethrathil ninnuthirnnu chudu kanneer.”  

“As the courtyard tree drops its first ripe mango, 

hot tears spill from a mother’s eyes. 

Context of the poem: For the mother, the fallen fruit is a painful reminder of her deceased son and a small argument they had four months back. She had scolded him for mischievously hitting the mango blossoms with a stick. In response, the tearful boy had sworn he would never touch the fruit. He passed away before the blossoms could ripen, leaving his vow tragically unbroken. The poem thrives on this devastating irony.”

We, Malayalees, are creatures of nostalgia. We find joy in romanticising little things like mangoes, monsoon rains, fallen flowers, old poems, playing cricket in paddy fields, and the film songs we sing aloud in toddy shops. 

An untitled painting by Anil Vasudevan, depicting themes like old age and loneliness.

Back to the library

When I suggested we walk all the way from the Lalithakala Akademi to the State Library, a distance slightly more than 2km, KP readily agreed. We took a short juice-and-snacks break before starting the return walk, but by the time we reached the library, she was exhausted. I cursed myself for the stupid decision to walk, as I had pushed her too hard.

Up until my IT years, I never really cared about my fitness. Working 9-14 hours daily, glued to my office desktop, stress and anxiety wrecking my sleep and food cycles, my 3.8 years in the IT field had left me struggling with physical ailments that necessitated exercise. My brother and cousins included me in their home workouts, but I gave up soon. 

Walking was my one redeeming quality. In the end, it was regular, long walks that helped me regain my health. 

KP, who also worked in IT,  was just like my older IT version. Her life was split between her AC room in the office and the small bed in our hostel room. The sun and the long, impulsive walk had taken a toll on her body. Her face was scarlet red, sweat trickling down, and panting by the time she entered the library. I wished I were more empathetic to her. 

Being alone pushes us to become more independent and stronger. However, spending time with people teaches us the importance of empathy, communication, and even compromise.  Both are important in life. Without solitude, we wouldn’t mature and grow. Without human connections, we would lose the soft side of our hearts. 

Winding up

An untitled painting by Viswathi Chemmanthatta, from the 2025 art exhibition When leaves rustle in cool breeze.

I sat on a bench outside the library, scrolling through my social media feed. I couldn’t browse or borrow books as I didn’t have a membership yet. To my surprise, soon after finishing the joining formalities, KP joined me on the bench outside. She was so tired and nauseated, she didn’t have the energy to browse for books. I felt guilty for her state.

This time, I didn’t even bring up walking; I knew better. We took an auto to the PMG junction. From there, we hopped on a bus to Kazhakoottum. Luckily, KP got a seat soon and was able to rest throughout the long bus ride. 

At Kazhakoottam, we entered a store and bought some snacks. I stocked up on glucose, a sanitizer, Snickers, and many sugary biscuits because I had a trek the next day.  KP pointed out that I was overpacking and the sugary snacks were not suitable for strenuous treks. But at that time, I was hyperfocused on the post-trek hunger my friends had warned me about. 

My initial plan was to rest on the day before the trek, as I scarcely sleep on the nights before pre-booked trips. But KP and I had ended up walking close to 10k steps. No wonder she was exhausted. 

I worried that I might become a liability to my trekking group the next day. I still had to figure out my transport to the Thampanoor railway station early in the morning, where I was supposed to meet the other group members. Luckily, one of the trekkers came to my rescue.

Author’s Notes

~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2026 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through Trivandrum, the capital city of my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Trivandrum | Kerala| India

September 18, 2025, Thursday

Sagarakanyaka statue at Shankumugham Beach

The word Shankumugham literally means conch-faced. Shankumugham Beach is one of the most popular beaches in Trivandrum, partly because of its proximity to Trivandrum airport, Thampanoor railway station, and bus stand. But one cannot disregard the beauty of its golden sand, sculptures, and the stunning sunrise and sunset views. 

This was only my second visit to the beach; the first was a sneak trip with IT colleagues for a farewell celebration. One of those rare instances during my IT life when I wasn’t a tiresome workaholic/rulebook monster and took an hour off on a working day to be with friends.  

How to reach?

Once you’re in Trivandrum, catch a bus to Chackai, get down at the Chackai roundabout, and board one of the Veli side buses that has a stop at Shankumugham Beach. If you reserve a ticket on the city tour bus starting from East Fort, it will cover all popular spots in Trivandrum, including this beach.

Since I was already loitering around in Veli, I boarded a private bus, bought a Rs 12 ticket, and got down at the Shankumugham beach by 4:15 PM. By this time, my milk-bikis packet was over, and I was working my way through a packet of sharkarvaratti, a local sweet snack.

What not to miss?

Like all beautiful beaches, a leisurely stroll is a must. Try to time your visit around sunrise or sunset for the best experience. The mermaid statue, popularly known as Sagarakanyaka, made by the renowned Malayali sculptor Kanayi Kunhiraman, and the historical landmark – Arattu Mandapam, are important attractions in this spot. If you’re accompanied by kids, I bet they will redirect you to the roadside stalls selling balloons, plastic toys, and bubble liquid. There’s another newly added attraction to lure them. Look out for the game zone with VR games, toy cars, horror houses, the vertex tunnel, maze of mirrors, trampolines, and archery, too. If you enjoy street food, the rows of roadside stalls selling tea, pani puris, pav bhajis, vadas, cut fruits, and ice-creams might delight you. But do use your discretion, as the cleanliness and quality of food could vary from one store to another. If you’re more into fine dining, check out the famous and highly rated cafes and restaurants close to the beach premises.

Here’s a Collage of What I Saw …

The roadside food stalls at the beach’s entrance lured me, but I practised restraint as one episode of food poisoning could derail my trip plans by days, or worse, weeks.  

I stared at the mermaid statue. She looked gorgeous and sensual, but also surprisingly at peace and empowered… Like a deer grazing in a meadow, or a dolphin sunbathing in the sea, liberated and unshackled by the gender rules or societal expectations. I was happy for her. 

Beach Park at Shankumugham.

Kids leading their elders to the game zones and balloon sellers, youngsters munching on snacks, and a group of Ayappa swamis, clad in black shirts and lungis, flaunting the beaded vow necklace, making a pit stop in Trivandrum before going to Sabarimala, brought a smile to my face. 

A brown stray pranced to my direction, with a furious expression and guttural groan, but luckily, the noise of a toy gunshot at a distance scared the dog away. A middle-aged man, dressed in a khaki shirt and white mundu, advised me to be careful: “Usually, they don’t bite as they are always in human company. But you never know when they’re angry or irritated.” I nodded in agreement. 

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Small heaps of red and maroon kumukum on sale, school kids and college students traveling with their teachers, a man selling fancy earrings, the Ayappa swamis playing in the sea like kids, and a green parrot squawking inside the half-open cage of a fortune teller(a pakshishasthrakaran) made me feel I was inside an old 90s Malayalam song. Two kids with curious sparrow-like eyes gazed at rainbow bubbles and spinning tops in wonder while munching on popcorn. 

The renovation of the Shankumugham Palace was still underway, much later than its initial ETAs. The old Arattu mandapam, a stone pavilion used during the arattu ceremony of Sree Padmanabhaswamy temple, when the deity is brought to Shankumugham for a ritualistic bath in the Arabian Sea, lay strewn with litter. People, especially youngsters, used it as a hangout spot, without realising its historical or cultural significance.  

Though I smirked dismissively at the ‘Plastic free zone’ signboard and the heap of plastic deposited below it, I couldn’t help but notice two things in this visit. One, the beach was far more crowded and dirtier than last time. Unless the authorities implement stringent measures to improve my people’s civic sense and keep the beaches clean, water and land pollution will worsen. Two, the sea waves have significantly eroded the coast.

The Buddha Statue at the Old Coffee House Building

Close to the sea, signboards announced that the sea was rough and swimming was prohibited for the day. So I strolled closer to the road, gazing at the nearby buildings. Saw an Ayurveda Vaidyashala and Panchakarma Centre, Trivandrum air cargo terminal, a restaurant named Coastal Kitchen, the Buddha Statue in front of a building called ‘Old Coffee House,’ cafes playing the anthem song from the recent hit movie Lokah,  and Fish spas. In some areas, construction works were in progress. 

On the roadside, a few policemen were on patrol duty. A foreigner, wearing a sky-blue kurta and holding a navy blue umbrella, intrigued me. He was twinning with the sea and the sky. 

There were many makeshift stalls where people sold raw as well as sundried and salted fish. There were big, fresh lobsters, too. 

A stormy Shankumugham Beach. You can see the bridge-like structure at a distance.

I walked all the way to the end of the beach. I could see a bridge-like structure at a distance. Probably a ruin. Too far, even on full zoom, I couldn’t capture it properly in photos. The sea was rough, and that area was deserted. So I didn’t dare to get closer. 

…And How I Felt.

I realized I was going to be sick soon because of the cramps. Around five, I crossed the road and returned to the bus stop, missing what could have been an unforgettable sunset. 

A lady jogging in front of me, dressed in a white shirt and black pants, carrying a lot of food items in a big, white bag, entered a momo shop.  Two men in similar uniforms, inside the shop, were relieved to see her. Did they have a cooking mishap? Or were they simply waiting for her to bring the groceries to start the meal prep? I never found out. From their facial features, they could be from the Northeastern states.

On the way to the bus stop, I saw the  Shankumugham Devi temple. While I was clicking its pics, a city bus rolled off the bus stop. 

Shankumugham Devi Temple

I was also intrigued by the signboards for luxury hotels like Uday Suites Garden Hotel. Maybe someday when I’m damn rich, I shrugged. 

As I waited at the bus stop, two auto drivers asked me if I wanted a ride and where I was headed. When I told them I was returning to the city, they were like, “Ayyo! You just missed a bus.”

I smiled because there was no hurry. It wasn’t as if something or someone was waiting for me. This moment reminded me of a Charles Bukowski quote:

“… and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. What do you call it, freedom or loneliness?”

Pushing people away from your life actually works. At some point, they will actually stop checking up on you. Some stop caring, some believe you can handle it on your own, or even prefer life that way. For a second there, I wondered if I had pushed people away too hard.

“Oh, stop being a baby,” I scolded myself cruelly. “It’s just the period cramps and mood swings messing with your head. You walked a mere 6k steps today, compared to yesterday’s 16k. You just need a bath, some food, and a good night’s sleep. Don’t overthink life at every beach and bus stop.” 

Life is too long to live alone, but it’s also too short to waste on the wrong people and places.

I boarded a bus to Chackai by 5:30 PM, bought a Rs 15 ticket, took another bus to Attinkuzhy, and reached my hostel in an hour. 

“More adventures await you,” I assured myself. “And don’t forget. You haven’t met all the people you’ll love yet.”

Author’s Notes

~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2026 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through Trivandrum, the capital city of my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Trivandrum | Kerala| India