Joyce Job's Blog

Standing in solidarity with the students peacefully protesting the NEET paper leaks at Jantar Mantar, Delhi.

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The day after my Amboori trip, I was returning from Trivandrum to Kollam with my school friend, Bhagu. I was chilling in the passenger seat, listening to old Tamil songs on the car radio, and watching my friend drive. We had just had breakfast from the Indian Coffee House at Sreekaryam. 

Bhagu asked me if taking the longer, beachside route was okay. I nodded as I didn’t have any plans till evening. It was obvious that she loved the long drives. 

On the way, she pointed to one side and said, “This place has a great restaurant. The food is good, but the night vibe is stellar.” 

“Oh, the Great Chatsby, isn’t it? I’ve been there before. One day, I went for a long, solo walk from Kazhakkoottam till Muthalapozhi harbor. In between, I was so hungry I had lunch from that restaurant.”

“What are you saying, Jo? That’s crazy. Muthalapozhi is close to my relatives’ place, Chirayinkeezhu. That’s at least 15km from Kazhakkoottam. Don’t tell me you walked all the way?” Bhagu asked, flabbergasted. 

“Oh, I didn’t walk the entire route. I took a bus or two in between. And it wasn’t one long walk. There were many pit stops. I explored the beaches and churches on the way. I rested and had food, too.”

“Still! What are you, mini Santhosh George Kulangara?” She teased me, worried for my safety and health.

I swear I’m a normal person, but on some days, the inner David Goggins overpowers me. That’s exactly what happened on that October day last year.

October 5, 2025, Sunday

My month-long stay in Trivandrum was coming to an end in three days. I woke up at 3 in the morning, in the middle of a beautiful dream. In the dream, I had access to the best library in the world. If only!

Outside my hostel, it was raining heavily. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t. So I daydreamed about becoming a librarian. It’s a fascination I have carried privately in my heart ever since I read Haruki Murakami’s celebrated book Kafka on the Shore. 

Since the weather reports predicted an average temperature of 26 degrees and a 35% chance of precipitation in Trivandrum, I assumed it would be a stay-indoors kind of day. So I spent the next few hours working on my Sambranikodi blog. 

But when I climbed the tin-roofed terrace to exercise, I saw immigrant workers in the nearby construction site toiling in the rain, wearing yellow safety caps. I felt bad seeing their state and realized I shouldn’t take my opportunities or time for granted. So by 10, I walked out of my hostel, determined to explore the Perumathura route. 

One of my hostel mates, Eesha from Madhya Pradesh, who worked in the Techno Park, had told me about her visit to the Thumba Beach. She and her friends had taken a rapido to the beach, as it was just 3km from Kazhakkoottam. I, on the other hand, was determined to find the bus route. I assumed there would be buses every few minutes from Kazhakkoottam to Menamkulam, where the Thumba Beach is situated. 

Where are you going?

As I walked out of my hostel, a bag on my shoulder and my purple umbrella in my hand, envisioning myself as a grown-up Dora Buji, an unexpected question from the hostel caretaker stopped me in my tracks: “Where are you going?” 

To the naive ear, it might sound like an innocent question. But every grown-up woman in India knows it’s part of the social and moral policing. Guess I didn’t realise how much I was enjoying my last 25 days of freedom, of not being questioned or stopped, until it was revoked. 

“There’s a new rule,” she explained. “Anybody leaving the hostel for matters outside of work must jot it down in the register.” 

This new rule, introduced by the owner’s daughter, irked me on many levels. First, travel writing is part of my job, so my solo travels are not exactly “matters outside of work.” Second, such rules are not in practise in men’s or boys’ hostels, as far as I’m aware. Third, I’m an Indian citizen; I’m a working adult woman pursuing her dreams; I see myself as an empowered and liberated human being; I don’t like unnecessary questioning and checks like this. 

But hiding my irritation, I just scribbled “Menamkulam” on the register against my name and left without any argument. Patriarchy is so deep-rooted in my society. Decades of verbal arguments with people who happily stay ignorant of gender inequalities have exhausted me. Living my life on my own terms is the only way I’m resisting it now. 

Kazhakkoottam

Even if your tongue stays silent to avoid a fight, your mind won’t. All the way from Attinkuzhi to Kazhakkoottam, I was running through the could-have-been arguments in my mind, even as I bought the Rs 12 ticket from the bus conductor. 

Maybe I was too pissed to notice it sooner. Even after waiting at the Kazhakkoottam bus stand since 10:20 am, I couldn’t see any Menamkulam buses. I couldn’t figure out the route with Google Maps either. So I asked around— an autorickshaw chetan offered to take me to Thumba Beach for Rs 72. But the wanderer in me was not ready to accept defeat. 

Menamkulam 

A tall, lean senior Chetan, in white mundu and shirt, who was a shopkeeper in Kazhakkoottam, came to my rescue. “Moley (daughter), you see that banyan tree at the Kazhakkoottam bus stand. Behind that tree, there is a route to the market area. It’s a busy area with many sellers. Take the road to the right; then reach its end. There, take the road to the left and walk till its end. You will come across a bridge. There will be a railway crossing underneath it. If you walk straight ahead and keep at it for about 30 minutes, you will reach Menamkulam. But mind you, it’s going to be a long walk.”

I thanked him profusely before venturing on the path. His smile was so affectionate.  I love knowledgeable people like him. He didn’t ridicule me even once for not taking an auto. Only a fellow wanderer can remember such intricate details and appreciate another long-walker. 

A long walk to Menamkulam Junction

Long story short, I walked the 2.5km to Menamkulam Junction. Everything was exactly as the uncle told me. I saw the crowd in the market area. At the bridge, I paused for some time, staring at the railway crossing. Then I came across the Kazhakkoottam Nalumukk Junction, later the KTDC beer parlor on the left, and finally reached Menamkulam Junction by 11 am. 

The gulmohar tree shedding its yellow flowers felt like a crowd cheering for me at the finish line of a marathon. I mentally raised my hands, punched the air, feeling like Ronaldo after scoring a World Cup goal. There was a tiny teeny-weeny catch, though. There was no beach in the vicinity. 

Perumathura

On an average day, Google is not a bad guy. In fact, he is the only person who has accompanied me on all my trips. But that particular day, he was nothing but a cruel prankster.

I don’t know why Google marks the location of Thumba Beach and its adjacent Thumba Arattuvazhi Beach (also known as Golden Beach Thumba) as spots in Menamkulam. I had to walk TWO MORE KILOMETERS from the Menamkulam Junction to reach the beaches. 

Menamkulam Junction

Had I known that at the beginning of the walk, I would have absolutely taken an auto. 2km is the threshold I have set for my long walks. A 4.5 km straight walk is a definite no-no. I assume Eesha and her friends took an alternate shorter and easier route in the rapido. 

While walking past the Marian Edu City building and KINFRA International Apparel Park, I caught the first glimpse of the sea’s blue waves in the distance. Humbled and overjoyed, I felt like a pilgrim catching the first glimpse of the Kaaba in Mecca. 

When I looked at the signboard, it said in bold letters PERUMATHURA, and not “sigh” Menamkulam. Like we say in Church, my mistake, my mistake, my most grievous mistake!

Golden Beach 

It took me almost an hour to walk from Kazhakkoottam to the Golden Beach in Thumba. My immediate thought was – “Jo, please learn to drive or at least find a travel partner who can drive. An EV would do if you’re so worried about using fossil fuels. We will keep it sustainable.” Finally, in my 30s, I have drawn a conclusion most people know by 18 or 25 – the cons of rejecting everything regular and conventional outright.  If my knees had a mind of their own, they would have knelt and begged for their deliverance. 

Maybe because of the struggle involved, the path leading to the Golden Beach looked extra cinematic, with the blue sea in the distance and the red hibiscus and pink bougainvilleas in bloom on both sides.

I reached the beach by 11:30 am. Since it was a weekend, there were many families, friend groups, and couples at the beach. I sat on the dry beach sand, catching some much-needed rest and sipping some water. A group of teenage boys was swimming in the sea; a gang of middle-aged men was playing cards in the shade. 

At a distance, a young lady in a golden-yellow dress was posing for a photographer holding a DSLR. After some time, they swapped their positions. Thereafter, the photographer guy in the light-blue shirt became the muse, as the girl snapped pictures, and their mutual friend, a guy in leopard-print pants, watched them fondly. 

The usual beach sights surrounded me – the foamy white clouds and waves in an otherwise blue sky and an even bluer sea, the row of coconut trees swaying in the wind, boats docked on the shore, kids playing in the water, teenagers enjoying ice creams, and families immortalizing the memories as selfies. 

There were also the not-so-eye-candy regular sights: plastic covers, beer bottles, soft drink cans, newspaper shreds, and whatnot strewn on the beach sand. Of course, we can erase this garbage from our photos, but our nature will continue to suffer. 

We get defensive when foreigners berate our whole country as dirty and ridicule our civilians for lacking basic civic sense. But it’s high time we admitted our shortcomings, learned the best methods from across the globe with an open mind, built appropriate systems, and put those lessons into practice. Japan is one country I admire in this regard; they respect their surroundings and never litter. In a state like Kerala, where the tourist outflow is massive, stringent measures must be taken against littering. 

Thumba Beach

Around 11:45 am, I left the beach and walked back to the crossroad. Autorickshaw drivers looked at me expectantly. But Thumba Beach was just 550m to the right, so as usual, I walked. 

First, I reached Pallithura; ‘Palli’ means church and ‘Thura’ means beach. There was a shrine of Jude Thaddeus the Apostle nearby. I sat on a plastic chair in the shrine and prayed for a few minutes. 

Do you know that historically Christian believers have hesitated to pray to this saint just because his name is similar to the apostle who betrayed Jesus Christ – Judas Iscariot? As a result, Jude Thaddeus was invoked in prayers only as a last resort. Eventually, he became the patron saint of impossible causes. Since I, too, have a few impossible causes I was striving for, one of them being this India trip, I mumbled a few prayer requests before leaving the shrine. 

Just to the left of the shrine, before reaching the Fathima Matha Pain and Palliative Care Centre, there’s a road to Thumba Beach. As I ventured on this road, I could see a cemetery on the left, and St Jude L P School, Thumba, on the right. I learned all these buildings are part of  St John the Baptist Church.

Thumba Beach looked pretty much like the Golden Beach. Obviously, they are just half a kilometer apart. Duh! The only difference I could find was the rows of Kattadi Marangal (or whistling pine trees). God save the young lovers and that one senior husband-wife duo who unknowingly kept me company on the beach.  

My feet burned when they plunged into the hot sand. Thereafter, I treaded the beach with more caution, staring at the peacock blue fish net drying on the sand and the docked navy blue boats, one of them named ‘Jesus.’ 

Since I’ve lived in coastal villages most of my life, I know how close the fishing community is to the church and God. I’ve heard them talk about how risky and lonely their journeys into the deep sea are. They pray not just for good weather, a profitable catch, and the safety of their own lives, but also for the well-being of their families who await them on the shore. 

Around 12, I left the beach. My digital watch beeped, announcing I had walked 10k steps. The first 2k must have been the morning walk on the terrace. It was a bit concerning because I still had a long way to go, and many more important stops to cover. What do I do? Will I collapse by the time I make it to the Muthalapozhi Harbour? 

To be continued…

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

[image error] Rain-kissed trees, muddy forest paths, grounds sponged with decaying leaves, and the quaint temple .

Generally, once I come back from a trip, I stuff all my memories and photos into a jar of neglect and wait for at least a few months before sitting down to write about them. Like the crushed grapes stored in earthen jars by my grandpa, I want my memories to sediment, decay, and ferment before jotting them down as a blog.

Because, wise men say, time is a great editor. It filters out the irrelevant and the superficial, until only the distilled essence remains. But this time, I didn’t have the patience. Maybe because even plucked straight from the vines, grapes were fresh, tender, and sweet.

One of my close friends, whom I’ve only known for a bit over half a year now but with whom I share a sibling-like bond, suggested we visit the Iringole Kavu in the Kunnathunad Taluk of Ernakulam district in Kerala. It’s one of the 108 temples in Kerala, dedicated to Goddess Durga, and is located in the middle of a forest. 

A Monsoon Trip

Even before reading the lore surrounding Iringole Kavu, my friend had bowled me over with the photos and Insta reels of its lush forest. Rain-kissed trees, muddy forest paths, grounds sponged with decaying leaves, big, black stone lamps (deepasthambhams), the cement steps leading to the temple, and the quaint temple itself piqued my interest. But there was a catch. 

Any Kerala trip you plan in June is by default a monsoon trip. Despite the local knowledge, we were intimidated by the heavy rains, fatal lightning strikes, and orange alerts in Ernakulam and postponed our initial dates.

On 28th June, 2026, I hurried from my apartment to catch the 5:45 am private bus to the Kollam railway station, and groaned as the drizzle fell on my face and already wet hair. Like the red smoke in Neville’s rememberall, a mockery ran inside my head: “Dude, how can you forget your umbrella in peak monsoon?” Not one of my proudest moments. 

There was only one other woman in the private bus. Any other time, I would have blamed the weekend and early hours, but I knew it was because of the newly announced Priyadarshini Free travel scheme for women in ordinary public transport buses. 

Rain Scenes

By 6:15 am, I was hopping over the railway tracks towards the second platform, a hand over my head to shield myself from the raindrops. I settled on a drenched iron chair, waiting for my Venad Express, which was expected to arrive by 6:30 am. 

I passed my time watching other people. Their umbrellas, pants, and shawls dripping, and rubber chappals and suitcase wheels squeaking as they walked through the wet platform or ran behind trains, determined to catch a particular coach or seat. A lean, tall senior lady who slipped on the opposite platform and the middle-aged men who casually covered their heads with white kerchiefs made me wonder if they had forgotten to carry their umbrellas, too.

A barefoot walk through the sacred grove.

Kollam-Aluva is a 155-kilometer, 3-hour-long train journey via the Kottayam route. Since my train ran late, I reached Aluva station only by 10:15 am. 

My friend had boarded the same train on the way. While we were walking towards the exit, he accidentally slipped into a hole on the platform. Luckily, he wasn’t hurt. An elderly lady rushed to our side to enquire if he was okay. I was concerned too, but as is customary between friends, I had to troll him first.

We quickly enquired about the route to an autorickshaw chetan, before taking a detour to the nearest restaurant. After devouring two rolls, tea and a glass of Horlicks, we walked to the nearest transport stand. Walking from one end of the terminal to the other, we finally found a Perumbavoor bus. 

Bus Journey

Since it was an ordinary bus with free travel for women, I warned my friend that we would never get seats. But I had to eat my words, as he scored the seat and even dozed off comfortably, while I stood for most of the route and had to settle for the free ticket.

There was a North Indian family on the bus. The two young women wore skirts and shirts, and had their faces covered with scarves. They had toddlers latched to their waists and carried two bulging school bags. They tried to shove a big sack beneath a seat, but eventually left it near the driver’s seat. One of them called her husband, not by his name, but as “Rahul ka papa,” her son’s father. 

Once my friend and I got down at Perumbavoor, a grandpa who stood next to the lottery seller directed us to catch a Kothamangalam bus. The sweet pardha-wearing grandma who sat next to me on the Kothamangalam bus, the conductor, and the stranger who stood next to my friend, all alerted us when we reached our destination – the Pattal post office stop. We got down from the bus, crossed the road, and walked towards the Iringole temple. 

On the way, we ogled at a European-style house named ‘Manchester.’ In the middle of discussing workplace dramas, the plot of an old Malayalam Dracula movie titled ‘Kalpana House,’ where the Dracula asks the local priest played by Oduvil Unnikrishnan to come back with more confidence, and debating whether shaving our heads bald will help to grow better hair next time, we reached the entrance of Iringole Kavu. 

Spellbound

We stopped in our tracks, swallowing our words, awestruck by the beauty of the place. There was a symphony of creaking crickets, chirping birds, and rain drizzling down wet leaves all around us.  

Cement steps leading to the Iringole Kavu temple

Unarguably, one of the most beautiful and soul-calming places I’ve been to in recent times. Like a master painter at play, God has thrown a hundred varieties of brushstrokes and even more hues of greens into his canvas. 

The sky peeked through the densely packed tree roofs like a shy child. The woody tree branches were entangled like mating snakes. 

Pond

The dark green pond had cobbled stone walls and cement steps strewn with fallen leaves and moss. All the clayey groundwater and rainwater must have seeped its way through the mud and tree roots to reach the pond, making it so pristine. 

Iringole temple pond strewn with fallen leaves and moss

Why did the authorities have to lock the gates to the pond though? Maybe they worried the visitors might slip on the wet steps, get hurt, or worse, drown.  After my last swimming fiasco at Chengannur, I wouldn’t have dared to enter the water. But I would have loved to sit on the last step, with my feet dipped in the cold water, watching the ripples. 

Temple 

We took off our sandals before entering the temple premises. As expected, the Iringole Sreebhagavathy Temple was closed. We had already seen a board mentioning the daily ritual timings as 5 am. 

The cream walls, the brown-tiled roof, the tulsi plants, and the stone lamps made me wonder how the deity and the temple would look during deeparadhana (traditional Hindu ritual where oil lamps are lit at dawn or dusk for prayer). 

Iringole Sreebhagavathy Temple and the shanthaswaroopini inside

Since we couldn’t enter the temple, we decided to walk till the end of the sacred grove. Young ladies in ethnic wear, risking their saree pallus and skirt hems getting soaked in clayey puddles, and barefoot couples were either posing for photographers or exploring the forest.

Navigating the waterlogged, clayey footpath, with stones and pebbles, barefoot turned out to be uncomfortable. We groaned when we realized there was an alternate path to reach the forest area, without entering the temple premises. We could have worn our sandals. 

Sacred Grove

Nonetheless, we walked all the way to the end of the grove, marked by a deepasthambham. On the way, we watched seniors in mundus and kasavu sarees praying to a pala tree, believed to host yakshis and gandharvas. 

I collected a few panamkuru – seeds of the palm trees – in my bag. I usually collect kunnikuru and manjadis, but this was my first time truly noticing panamkurus, so I felt I had to commemorate it. 

Glimpses from the Iringole Kavu forest temple

I zoomed my mobile camera lens on leeches curling on fallen wooden trunks and tiny ferns growing in the cracks of walls.  I couldn’t help but laugh at my own contradictions. I chased a lot of big dreams and societal expectations for three decades, only to feel happy at the sight of silly mosses and grasses. How random and unpredictable is life!

The song that was running through my head at this point was ‘Akale oru Kaadinte’ from the Malayalam film ‘Ramante Edanthottam.’ We could easily shoot a music video or short film with a romantic theme in this location. 

But the big headless tree that stood right in the middle of the main path, the dense forest around us, the isolated pineapple farmland on the side, and the snake pits also made it an apt location for a horror or even time-loop themed sci-fi short film.

A Pineapple farm near the Iringole Kavu

In between, my friend got hijacked by a lovely couple to take their photos and videos. He thoroughly enjoyed the assignment, experimenting with all his favorite camera angles and reel ideas. Meanwhile, I spoke with Sadhanandhan Chetan, who introduced himself as the temple committee president and a lover of E.M.S. and Kerala history. 

Lore of Iringole

In Hindu Mythology, Kamsa, the tyrant ruler of Mathura, imprisoned his cousin Devaki and her husband Vasudeva, fearing the prophecy that their eighth son would murder him. Determined to save their eighth son, Lord Krishna’s life, the young parents shifted the baby boy to Vrindavan and instead kept a baby girl in the cradle. 

Realizing the mix-up, Kamsa furiously lifted the baby above his head to kill her. Miraculously, she glided out of his hands, turned into a supernatural power, and stayed suspended in the air. 

Legend says the same power resides(Irinnole) in this temple, and other gods and goddesses surrounded the temple in the form of trees and plants to worship her. Later, this place grew into a thick, beautiful  forest and got the name ‘Iringole.’ 

The lore claims the deity is an incarnation of the illusory Maya or Yaga-Nidra, and that it exists in not one, but in her original three forms of power – as Saraswati, or the Power of Knowledge, in the morning; Vana Durga, or the Power of the forest, in the afternoon; and  Bhadrakali, or the Power of Fury and termination of evil, at night.

Worship

Sadhanandhan Chetan mentioned that the temple and forest, comprising around 56 acres of land,  are part of the Nagancheri Mana and run by the Devasom Board. I was intrigued when he mentioned it’s one of the largest sacred groves in South India, that too, located within a municipality. 

Sacred groves are generally biodiversity hotspots for flora and fauna. But sadly, there are no wild animals in this semi-evergreen forest. Sightings of snakes are also rare. But it does host varieties of trees and plants.  Chetan pointed out wild peppers and the shrubs of Chittamrutham(Giloy) to me. 

Since I couldn’t enter the temple, he painted a picture for me. There’s only one deity inside the temple – the Goddess – and no minor deities or Upaprathishtas. Since the Goddess is a shanthaswaroopini – in her calm and graceful form – people offer her flowers like chethi (Jungle Geranium), thamara(lotus), and thulsi. I could see torn banana leaves on the steps with sandalwood paste and flowers. 

Mana 

By that time, my friend was back, and Sadhanandhan Chetan suggested we explore the Nagancheri Mana before leaving. He showed us the path through the forest and suggested we wear footwear before venturing on it.

On the way to collect our footwear, we saw red pagoda-like flowers. While photographing it, my friend mentioned that its local name was Krishnakireedam(Lord Krishna’s crown). I chuckled, forming a conspiracy theory in my head.

What if these plants were Lord Krishna himself, guarding his sister, in return for her sacrifice? What if the other gods and goddesses, in the form of trees and plants, were staring back at us and even judging us with their mischievous, all-knowing celestial eyes, as we walked through the forest and photographed them? Eerie, isn’t it?

To be continued…

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 Ernakulam, one of the 14 districts in my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Ernakulam | Kerala| India

Please read the first part of the blog here.

What would have been an average visit to the Kerala Chalachithra Academy turned out to be a memorable experience for me, thanks to the warmth and support shared by three of its important staff members – the then Chalachithra Academy Chairman, Prem Kumar sir, a young Librarian named  Athira, and Nithin, who worked as a project assistant.

Past Luminaries

Iconic Malayalam Film Directors – Lenin Rajendran, Padmarajan, Lohithadas, and Bharathan.

I had just climbed up the stairs to the first floor of the academy, taking my sweet time, exploring the photos on the wall. Tribute sections honoring past luminaries made me emotional because death is often too cruel to the artists. 

I say this not just because death often steals artists at young ages, before their artistic journeys could hit their peak, or we, as an audience, could enjoy their craft or charm to the fullest, but also because it sometimes takes them right when their years or even decades of struggles were finally starting to bear fruit.

The void left by the untimely death of the legendary Irrfan Khan, or Malayalees’ very own Salim Kumar, or writer-director Sachy, still stings.  One of my close friends’ college seniors passed away due to health issues before the release of his first directorial venture. 

In Kerala, we say, “Maranam rangabodham illatha komaliyanu.”   Death, like a clown with no sense of timing or stage presence, often arrives when least expected, interrupting life’s most ordinary or even happiest moments.

A Film Meeting

Leaving the Obituary section, I approached the photo wall of Kerala State Awards Best Actress winners. Just then, Athira, the then librarian of the academy, tiptoed out of the hall and informed me, “Sorry, there’s an important meeting happening inside the library now. Could you please wait in the lounge for a few minutes?” 

I had no issue waiting at the lounge, since it hosted the photo wall of the Kerala State Film Awards – Best Film winners. By the time Athira returned,  I was staring at the stills from movies like Thanmathra, Adaminte Makan Abu, and Manhole. “They’re wrapping up the meeting. You can enter now, but please remain silent for the time being,” she cautioned. 

Lounge Area on the First Floor of the Kerala Chalachithra Academy

The introvert in me didn’t mind waiting until the meeting was over and all the staff had left the library. Compared to making a sudden entrance and momentarily interrupting the meeting, I didn’t mind waiting another day or even a week. 

I could hear the voices of some politicians and academy members discussing a film event and its allocated funds on the speakers. I opened the door hesitantly, scared they would be angry or irritated. But everyone’s initial look of surprise soon turned into a warm, welcoming smile, especially Prem Kumar sir, who gestured to “come in” with a friendly hand wave. 

Like Harry Potter in the Chamber of Secrets movie, I returned the smile and entered the library hall as noiselessly as possible, pretending I didn’t exist. I wished I were invisible or camouflaged on the wall or the bookshelf. 

Ammava!

Once the meeting was over, Premkumar sir enquired if I was a film student or researcher. When I told him I work as a freelance writer and book editor, we chit-chatted a bit about work. 

As usual, I didn’t dare to ask for a photo, but everyone at home was excited when I mentioned this encounter. Who can forget his iconic “Ammava!” in Aniyan Bhava Chetan Bhava as the character Sundaran, or his Ganabhooshan Sathish Cochin from Puthukkotayile Puthumanavalan, to name a few. 

Library 

As a forever lover of books, libraries are one of my favorite places in the world. Even in my recent good dreams, the thirteen-year-old me, clad in my navy blue skirt and white shirt uniform, with hair braided on both sides, keeps climbing the long, windy staircase to my school library. 

Kerala Chalachithra Academy’s Enviable Collection of Film Books

Dreamworlds aside, I must gush that Kerala Chalachithra Academy has an ENVIABLE collection of books on filmmaking and film personalities, classic literature, archived film magazines, film scripts, and dissertations on film studies. 

Not to forget the shelved and boxed collections of hundreds of Audio Cassettes, CDs, VHS tapes, DVDs, and about 200 legendary original film reels. Apart from movies, these storage devices also contained behind-the-scenes footage from various movie sets, film photos, movie interviews, and archived television programmes. 

In frame, books about Satyajit Ray and Akira Kurosawa.

I held scores of Satyajit Ray and Akira Kurosawa books in my hand, reluctant to let go. Athira, the librarian, was sorting and reorganizing a shelf at the moment. We ended up talking about almost every subject under the sun: films, career, books, travel, food, and whatnot. When I told her I had recently visited the Raja Ravi Varma Art Gallery at Palayam and was planning to visit his birthplace – the Kilimanoor Palace – she showed me a big book about him, with beautiful photos of his paintings and their detailed descriptions. 

Geographical Restrictions

Kerala Chalachithra Academy’s library section comes under the category of a ‘special library’ with geographical restrictions. This means we cannot borrow the books or films outside the building or premises. However, for an annual subscription fee of just Rs 500/- (as of 2025), we can spend endless hours in the library reading books or watching movies on the desktop.

Glimpses from Kerala Chalachithra Academy

For a fee of just Rs 2000/-(as of 2025), we could also rent the projector room and watch a movie with our friends on the big screen. Imagine organizing a 40-member, or even 20-member gang; you could watch a classic or one of your favorites on the big screen for a mere Rs 50 or 100 per head. When I visited the academy, the screening and jury selection for the Kerala State Film Awards were in progress, so I couldn’t see or use this facility.

I couldn’t help but wonder out loud why such a cinematic treasure trove remains hidden or underutilized. Upon hearing my nonstop queries, Athira introduced me to Nithin, who was handling the IIFK-related works as well as the digitization of the film archives. 

Academy’s Objectives & Functions

I asked Nithin why, despite every cinephile in Kerala raving about the IFFK, very few people know or use the free film and study resources in the academy. As an ex-IT professional, I imagined at least a hundred cinephiles from Technopark using these facilities regularly.

CIFRA – Centre for International Film Research and Archives

Nithin explained the academy’s overall objectives and functions to me: helping the Government to formulate film and television-related policies, setting up an audio-visual library and film and video archives for academic purposes, organizing film festivals such as the IFFK and film study camps, providing financial support, such as subsidies, and promotions to movies of aesthetic and social importance, to name a few. 

Objectives and Functions of the Kerala Chalachithra Academy

Obviously, driving more visitors to the academy is not a priority on their huge pile of work. But the doors of the academy are always open to the cinephile Santiagos who come in search of its treasure. 

When I asked why they can’t promote visits to the academy on IFFK’s social pages, he said they don’t do such integrated or overlapping promotions. Somehow, this conversation deviated into other film topics. I ended up asking him about even taboo topics like state censorship, the casting couch, and the credibility of awards. I loved how refreshingly honest yet hopeful his answers were.

Film Dissertations & Script

Nithin showed me the bookshelf with film studies dissertations. The academy offers a one-year-long fellowship grant to those interested in film research. There are no age restrictions and minimal eligibility checks. But the academy’s board must approve the research synopsis before the grants are allocated. Unfortunately, the last time such submissions were invited was in 2020. I hope the academy resumes this. 

Since I’m a creative writer, I asked him if the academy maintains the printed copies of all Malayalam film scripts for academic purposes. I was disappointed to learn that they only have the film scripts published in book form by any publisher due to copyright issues. As a writer-in-progress, I want at least the digital archive of all Malayalam film scripts, and regular movie recommendations, from the academy. 

In frame, Malayalam Film Directors K. R.Mohanan and John Abraham.

Nithin doesn’t believe in must-watch movie lists, as every viewer is different and their taste in cinema is individualistic. He wants everyone to embark on their own unique journeys in search of good movies: asking a friend for their favorite movie, exploring movies from their own favorite genres, outside their comfort genres, movies from different languages, different countries, looking for the underrated gems, not just the award winners or popular ones.

When I said, as someone with only a layman’s knowledge of movies, I wouldn’t mind Kerala Chalachithra Academy social media handles being that cinephile friend who introduces me to great movies, he chuckled and admitted that they have plans to publish the digital catalogue of all movies available at the academy. I requested they also publish a catalogue of all film books available in the academy’s library. I know it would be a gem of a list.

Friday Screening

Nithin also introduced me to a WhatsApp group named ‘Friday Screening,’ maintained by the academy. They organize free, weekly screenings of award-winning and film-festival-screened movies from across the globe at Bharat Bhavan, in Thycaud. 

He suggested I join the group to get updates on the international movies screened every week. I joined the group, but since I moved out of Trivandrum soon, I have yet to attend the screenings. Hopefully someday!

Archival Storage Room 

Since I mentioned that I was only visiting the academy for the day, Nithin suggested I see the archival room also before leaving. Like a toddler who was offered a box of chocolates, I followed him to the second floor, speeding to catch up with his long strides. 

We entered a long, hall-like room where boxes full of VHS tapes, CDs, files, and photos were kept. He explained that he was digitizing all the data in those archaic storage devices. I was intrigued to see boxes full of vintage MiniDV tapes containing the videos of 60-minute episodic television programmes, and old photos of many Mollywood celebrities. 

Famous Musicians Who Have Worked in the Malayalam Film Industry

Nithin mentioned that only about 10% of the archival contents have been digitized so far. Since they were understaffed, he had taken it upon himself as a personal project. It was difficult to get help, as others found working with analog devices a chore. 

He reminded me so much of one of my IT day friends. Both of them have a tall, lean frame and this shared love for the analog world.  I told Nithin the same, “I know someone who would have sat on the floor right next to you and finished it for you.”

Film Vault

The real cherry on the cake was the film vault. Forgive the blurred details since I’m writing this blog a year late. I remember the vault as a shuttered room. Unlit, but definitely visible; cool, but not cold. I’m sure I had the same joy on my face as the child in Cinema Paradiso when I first saw the black film reels on the shelf. There were hundreds of them. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference, but since I was in a light-sensitive area, I didn’t click any photos. Besides, for a cinephile, a film vault is a sacred space that demands respect. 

When we were small, my brother and I used to watch the Beyblade series and even had toy Beyblades to play with. In the tale, ancient beasts like dragons inhabited the  Beyblade. I felt those film reels had souls inside them, too. All the creative energy, hard work, struggle – the blood, sweat, and tears – of the thousands of people who worked on those projects were stored in those film reels, for future generations to experience. 

Visiting the vault was the best climax to the most cinematic day in my life. 

Current Reality 

Cinema is not just an artistic place but a melting pot of glamour, power, fame, money, and controversies. 

The Malayalam film industry has been producing artistic and cult movies since the 80s. However,  it took the closure of theatres during the COVID pandemic and the rise of OTT platforms to finally cultivate a global viewership and fan following for our cinema.

Though our industry continues creating great movies and has no plans to slow down, it pains me as an audience that recently Mollywood has been in the news for the wrong reasons – like the 2017 Actress Assault Case, the Hema Committee report, and the recent Ansiba Hassan-AMMA case. 

Victims speaking up about the crime is a healthy sign in any society and is definitely not what is tarnishing our industry’s face, but the actual crime, abuse, or assault is. While we continue creating magic through our films, we must also strive to become a safer workplace for all its members, irrespective of star value, power, money, gender, religion, or caste. 

I hope our film industry will become a reflection of Malayalees’ humanitarian values, not our moral lapses, and win hearts across the globe, just like our movies.

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

Kerala Chalachithra Academy

If there’s one thing that can distract an average Malayalee from the magical world of books and literature, it’s the allure of cinema. I’m no different. My family is no different. Even my close friends are no different. We are all movie aficionados who love catching the latest releases in theatres, before the spoilers from social media posts destroy the experience. 

So, it ain’t any surprise that visiting the Kerala Chalachithra Academy, located inside the KINFRA Film and Video Park campus in  Kazhakoottam, was a priority item on my Trivandrum itinerary. The place is open Monday to Saturday from 10:30 AM to 5:30 PM. But do call ahead to inform the staff about your visit, and carry a valid ID for security check-ins.

A Rainy Start

September 24, 2025, my 14th day of a month-long stay in Trivandrum, was a rainy Wednesday. I woke up at 6:30 am, worrying if it was going to be a stay-in kind of day. So, I spent an hour on my hostel’s terrace, pacing and exercising, while listening to both the pitter-patter of rain on the tin roof and a YouTube video of Anupama Chopra interviewing the core trio of the superhit Malayalam movie, Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra.  – Director Dominic Arun, Actor-Producer Dulquer Salmaan, and Lead Kalyani Priyadarshan.  At that time, that film was a rage in theatres, and like the rest of Kerala, I was also impatiently awaiting its sequels. 

Bus Route 

By the end of the video, the rain stopped too. The sun shone not just on the muddy paths outside my hostel, but also on my travel plans for the day. 

I quickly freshened up, devoured my idli-sambar breakfast, and caught a bus to Kazhakoottam. From there, I boarded another bus to the Venjaramoodu route and bought a Rs 15 ticket to KINFRA. Since it was my first time on that route, I asked the bus conductor to give me a holler when my stop arrived. 

2.3 kilometers away from my destination, barely a 6-minute distance by bus, the traffic came to a standstill on the waterlogged road. But the police officers soon cleared the congestion and let the bus pass. The bus rolled past the Sainik School, where the famous Malayalam actor-brother duo Indrajith Sukumaran and Prithviraj Sukumaran studied. Around 11 am, I reached the KINFRA campus entrance. 

Entry Procedures

KINFRA – Film and Video Park

I had already contacted the reception desk of the Kerala Chalachithra Academy. When I told them about my Kerala blog series, they were happy to help. 

At KINFRA’s entrance gate, the security officer checked my ID and entered my details in the register before letting me in. I had to repeat this procedure again at the academy’s gate and reception desk.

Premises

The security guard told me to walk straight to the roundabout and to find the nearest red building. On the way, I saw the L V Prasad film laboratories on the left, and a company named Systrome on the right. 

Soon, I reached the Kerala Chalachithra Academy building. Honestly, it was hard to miss. The whole building gave artistic vibes; maybe because of its rustic, brick-orange color, the art installations outside, or even the lush trees.

Art Installations  

Right at the entrance, I was greeted by an art installation featuring a stylised figure from Tholpavakoothu (traditional shadow puppetry).  I know this detail because it’s also the official logo of IFFK – the renowned International Film Festival of Kerala, organized by the Kerala Chalachithra Academy. 

Art Installations on the Premises of the Chalachithra Academy

I’ve never attended it, but it’s on my list. My cinephile friends claim that Trivandrum turns magical during the IFFK days – not just because of the movies they screen and celebrities who visit, but also because of the crowds it draws and conversations it starts. 

There were more art installations outside the building, mainly one showing a cameraman and a sound recorder at work. I wondered what their story was. All these art installations were made of bearings; I could see the occasional gears, too. When I showed these photos to my dad later, he immediately spotted the bevel gears.

Reception 

Sameer Chetan from Nedumangad was the security guard that day. Jaya Ma’am was at the reception. Luckily, she was the same person I spoke to over the phone. So after a chit-chat, a general introduction of the academy, and going over a few do’s and don’ts, the crux being not to disturb the staff at work, she encouraged me to check out the photos on the walls, awards and books on the shelves, then to take the staircase to the first floor, and to explore the library and archives. 

J.C. Daniel & Vigathakumaran 

J.C. Daniel – the Pioneer of Malayalam Cinema

My exploration started with the J.C. Daniel image, featured right above the reception desk. It was constructed from electronic items such as the motherboard, capacitors, and resistors. 

J.C.Daniel, who lived from 1900 to 1975, is regarded as the pioneer of Malayalam cinema. He produced, directed, wrote, edited, and acted in the first Malayalam feature film, Vigathakumaran (1928).

The 2013 Malayalam biographical drama film Celluloid portrayed the story of J.C. Daniel, focusing on the making of Vigathakumaran and the tragic life of its heroine, P. K. Rosy.

Synchronizer

Up next, an old synchronizer on the ground floor caught my attention. In the film world, it’s a device used to align multiple film strips in a replay or editing device. 

Super Simplex Film Projector used in the Sapna Theatre in Thrissur to screen movies such as Nalla Thanka and Snapaka Yohannan during the formative years of Malayalam Cinema.

Much to my delight, there were also other yesteryear film equipment next to it, such as a splicer, Moviola – an iconic editing device, an old Arriflex camera – the same camera Adoor Gopalkrishnan sir used to capture his film Swayamvaram,  and a film projector. 

One other detail that brought a smile to my lips was that each staff member’s room name was written on a clapperboard.

Awards & Photo Walls

Every wall of the building on the ground and first floors was turned into a photo point, with separate sections featuring National Award, State Award, and J.C. Daniel Award winners from the Malayalam Film Industry. 

Seeing Mammookka (Mammootty) and Lalettan (Mohanlal) featured in the National Film Award Best Actor section, along with the stills from their winning performances, sent a chill down my spine. Who can forget Mammookka in Oru Vadakkan Veeragadha, Mathilukal, Ponthan Mada, Vidheyan, and Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar, or Lalettan in Bharatham and Vanaprastham?

Malayalam film artists have always been celebrated for their deeply authentic and natural character portrayals.

Apart from the Best Actor or Actress sections, there were also areas dedicated to Best Debut Director, Best Director, Best Films, Best Technicians, and Best Critics. There were also ‘tribute’ sections, displaying photos and character stills of legendary actors like Prem Nazir sir and Sathyan Maashu and iconic filmmakers like John Abraham, Padmarajan, Bharathan, and Lohithadas. 

As a bookish person, I was elated to see homages to some of my favorite Malayalam writers. They were also renowned scriptwriters/ lyricists in Malayalam cinema, such as Vaikom Muhammad Basheer, Thakazhi Sivasankara Pillai, O.N.V. Kurup, Kavalam Narayana Panicker, Vayalar Ramavarma, and M. T. Vasudevan Nair.

The shelves on the ground floor also exhibited a few gold and silver medals of National Award winners, the Kerala State Film Award Sculptures, film magazines, and published works of various film personalities. 

A Fellow Dreamer

In the film Celluloid, there is a song that starts ‘Enundodi Ambili Chantham, Enundodi Thamara Chantham (Do I have the beauty of the moon? Do I have the beauty of the lotus?).’ I remember having goosebumps the first time I heard the song. 

Sithara Krishnakumar’s unique rendition, plus the raw portrayal of the joy and curiosity an amateur actress feels on landing her first gig in cinema, made it unforgettable. I bet any aspiring actor, filmmaker, or writer will be similarly motivated upon visiting the Chalachithra Academy and seeing these photo walls and awards. Just imagine yourself holding one of those awards or your work being featured on its prestigious walls.

I was not the only visitor that day. A bearded young guy in a black T-shirt was also exploring those photo walls, a few steps ahead of me. We never spoke. I just observed him from afar. But I wondered if he was a fellow dreamer on his own unique creative journey, too. I wondered what his aspirations and struggles were. 

Was he imagining his name on the walls of Kerala Chalachitra Academy and mentally lifting the State and National Film Awards too? Was he doubting his talent, too, or was he confidently and consistently working on his craft every day? I never found out. 

To be continued… 

You can read the second part of the blog here.

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

Please read the first part of the blog here.

Madasseri Waterfalls

Our next stop was the Madasseri Waterfalls. Even from the roadside where our traveller was parked, we could see the stream overflowing. Buddy expressed concern that we wouldn’t be able to cross the stream and see the actual waterfall, due to the rising water levels and strong currents. 

Madasseri Waterfalls

Sadly, her suspicion turned out to be true. However, at the spot where they usually crossed the stream, we took off our shoes, folded up our jeans and pants, and played in the water for some time. The water was so cold and refreshing; we even washed our faces with it.

Plankudikavu View 

By 12:40 pm, our stomachs were already growling in protest. So when our traveller headed to another hillside, we couldn’t help but moan, “No, we can’t climb another hilltop.” Luckily, the traveller rode all the way to the top of the hill, where we were surprised to see other cars and vehicles parked. 

Koonichimala as seen from Plankudikavu View 

Without much physical exertion, we reached the viewpoint atop the rocks called Plankudikavu Vew. From this point, we could see some areas of Tamil Nadu in the front. Behind, we could see the famous hills like Koonichimala, Kondaketti, and Thekkan Kurishu Mala, hidden beneath a ribbon of fog or cloud.

Sumesh Kottoor, a YouTuber whom I met during Kathirmudi Trek, was also there. He gave us a brief of the place and explained how he has been helping to conduct various treks and hikes in the Amboori area. He also recorded our video reviews. Though it was not part of our original itinerary, he suggested that we visit the Narrow Bridge and the Kumbichal Kadav Bridge before visiting the last stop on our itinerary – Mayam Kadav. But of course, all this had to wait until lunch.

Lunch – A Homely Meal

Close to our next spot, Narrow Bridge, the traveller left us before a gated house. Sumesh Chetan and Saji Chetan handed out a packed meal and a bottle of water to each of us from the backseat of the car they were travelling in. A sumptuous homemade meal of boiled rice, beetroot thoran, curd, coconut chammanthi, moru curry, kondattam mulak, pickles, and a fluffy egg omelette. 

There was a shortage of chairs, so when the first bunch of people had lunch, others waited for their turn. Some simply sat on the floors, too hungry to wait.  

Eyeing the Leftovers!

Leftovers were placed in two waste baskets: plastic and paper in one, and the food waste in another. A troop of monkeys and their infants soon arrived,  eyeing the leftovers in the wastebasket. Saji Chetan had to shoo them away. I sent pictures of the monkeys to my bestie, and we ended up trolling each other.

Narrow Bridge

Even from a distance, the Narrow Bridge and the pristine, greenish water underneath it looked ethereal. The purity of the water made me wonder if I was still in Kerala or in a foreign country. 

Amboori Narrow Bridge

Sumesh Chetan explained that the area under the bridge was fully empty and dry two days ago. But got filled up by the heavy rains. That explained the quality of the water. If you looked closer, you could see wild plants with yellow flowers submerged in the water and tadpole-like insect larvae swimming over them. It looked like an enchanted garden caught inside an aquarium. 

True to its name, the bridge was so narrow that only two-wheelers and barely an autorickshaw could pass through it. Every time a vehicle came, we all had to move to one side and stand in a row to let it pass. I couldn’t help but wonder, since they put the effort into building a bridge, why couldn’t they build a slightly bigger one? Why so narrow?

After exploring the spot, we had to wait for our driver to arrive. He wasn’t confident enough to reverse the vehicle on the narrow, curvy, and steep road near the bridge, so he drove it to a side road to reverse it.

Not just him, many other vehicle tyres were screeching their way through these roads. If Amboori becomes a more popular tourist spot,  the narrow, steep roads would definitely be a problem. Too many vehicles could easily choke the roads on this route, too. 

Kumbichal Kadav

By 3 pm, we left the Narrow Bridge and boarded the traveller. This time, it sped to the Kumbichal Kadav. To an ignorant visitor like me, it came across as a simple, concrete bridge. But the pristine, green water, and the view of the Thekkan Kurishu Mala on one side made the trip worth it.

View from Kumbichal Kadav Bridge

If our buddy Reshma had never told us the backstory behind this bridge, I wouldn’t have understood why Sumesh Chetan or the other natives insisted we visit this bridge. She wrote on her status: 

“Kumbichal Kadav Bridge may look like just another bridge to many, but for the people of Amboori, it’s an emotion. Opened in 2026, the bridge ended decades of isolation for over 1000 families across 11 tribal settlements. Until then, residents depended on country boats to cross the river, facing immense difficulties during monsoons, at night, and in medical emergencies. More than a structure connecting two riverbanks, this bridge connects lives, hopes, and opportunities. Combined with the breathtaking beauty of Amboori, Kumbichal Kadav Bridge stands as a symbol of progress, resilience, and human connection.” 

Moottil Pazham

While Bhagu and I were exiting the Kumbichal Kadav Bridge and walking towards the traveller, we saw a few teenagers, possibly from the tribal community, selling wild berries on the footpath. Saji Chetan explained that it was three varieties of the same wild berry, known as Moottil pazham (scientific name: Baccaurea courtallensis). It’s a fruit native to the Western Ghats in Kerala. They grow directly on the main trunk of the tree, giving it the name; “mootil” means “at the base,” and “pazham” means “fruit.”

Moottil Pazham

As small as gooseberries, these berries have a softer outer shell and a gel-like inner core. They tasted sweet and sour and were available in three colors – cream, light pink, and dark red.  We tasted both the red and white varieties and felt that the reds were more sour than the others. Bhagu bought half a kilo of red ones and half a kilo of white ones, for Rs 100. She was hoping to make pickles with them. But later, I came to know that her entire family found it “too sour.” Still, I thought it was pretty yum, especially if you have a sour palette. 

Mayam Kadavu

Mayam Kadavu

Up next, we were on our way to the most anticipated spot in the itinerary – Mayam Kadavu. In the hopes of bathing and swimming in the water, we had even carried extra clothes. 

Unfortunately, on the way, villagers warned us that we won’t be able to swim. Due to the heavy rains in the previous days, the water level had risen, all the way to the area where vehicles are usually parked. Sadly, this water was also polluted. 

Still, since we had come all the way, our buddy suggested that we try our luck. Despite the rows of parked vehicles and tourists, our driver was able to find a spot to park the traveller. Unfortunately, the water was as polluted as the villagers had warned us.

Though a part of me was disappointed that I couldn’t play in the water, the other, lazy part was happy to unwind and gorge on some food again. Bhagu and I had chocolate cone icecreams and salted lemon soda from the nearby small shop. While Bhagu was busy collecting fern leaves and wildflowers to make a tiny bouquet, Saji Chetan offered me a pazhampori(banana fritter), which I devoured in no time.

Neyyar Dam

Though none of us travellers griped about the Mayam Kadavu disappointment, it was obvious that our buddy felt guilty about the missed opportunity. Even though it was an unforeseen incident caused by the rain, she took the initiative to arrange alternate spots for us to visit. It was decided that we would quickly see the Neyyar Dam up close and have an early dinner at Lambodaran Thattukada, en route to Thampanoor. 

Neyyar Dam with all its four shutters open

So, we got down at a bridge from which we could see the Neyyar Dam and the foamy water pouring down its four open shutters closely. We noticed an entrance that could get us closer to the dam. However, for that, we had to pay an entry fee. Since we didn’t have the time to explore the dam in detail, we decided to enjoy the view from the bridge. 

Our team of guides

Sumesh Chetan and Saji Chetan bid us farewell at this point, as their houses were nearby. We clicked photos and shook hands with them. We felt grateful that they took the time and effort to share their knowledge of the Western Ghats, especially the hills and water bodies of Amboori, with us. 

Sree Lambodaran Thattukada

Since we had covered the last spot and were on the way to have more food, I was super excited. At Hotel Lambodaran’s, we ordered boiled kappa (tapioca), coin parottas, and chicken perattu. 

Sree Lambodaran Thattukada

The chicken dish, with its crushed peppers and masalas, was so spicy that I ended up drinking two glasses of hot karinjali water right away. Karinjali water is made by boiling normal water with the dried heartwood/bark of the Cutch tree. Though it sounds like an ayurvedic health drink, it’s a common drink in most Malayalee homes.  

Since we were still fanning our tongues after gulping down many glasses of water, we decided to order some cool drinks. The fact that the hotel sold the nostalgic goli soda piqued my interest, and we ordered lime-and-litchi-flavored ones. No wonder the hotel made its non-veg dishes extra spicy. That’s a good business trick to sell more sodas. Anyway, the drinks finally calmed down our spice-kissed lips and tongue. 

Back to Thampanoor, and Dispersal

By 7 pm, the traveller reached the entrance of Thampanoor railway station. On the way, a few of us had already gotten off at bus stops close to their homes. The visitor from Ernakulam, who had a train to catch, rushed to the railway station, while the rest of us took our time bidding goodbye to each other. Bhagu and I took an Uber-Auto to her place. 

The next day, she drove me back home on the way to her parents’ place. On the way, we listened to songs, discussed family, careers, friendships, and dreams, and made a pit stop in Varkala to meet another school friend. 

In between, I couldn’t help but worry about something our buddy Reshma had mentioned. Sajna Chechi, the founder of Appooppanthaadi, had considered closing down her company many times. Why would a flourishing travel group with a 4.9/5 rating on Google ever consider closing down? 

I understand it’s difficult to run a business, especially to keep it afloat financially. But considering what a boon this group has been to the average Malayali woman who loves to travel, I sincerely hope Appooppanthaadi will resolve its issues, scale up, and even venture into more countries and premium travel. I hope they never stop being a safe and happy place for women wanderers.

As the red Suzuki S-presso sped through the coastal roads of Varkala, Bhagu broke my reverie and asked, “Jo, will I have to wait another year to read your Amboori blog?”

I couldn’t help but burst into a chuckle. I couldn’t blame her. I had taken close to nine months to catch up and write about the Kathirmudi trek. 

“Soon,” I promised her.  

Fair disclaimer: This is not a sponsored post. But if you are interested in going on this trip with Appooppanthaadi, you can book a slot here.

Author’s Notes

~ Ownership of all group photos and nature images belongs to the individual hikers or Appooppanthaadi. 

~ All other 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

Two school friends at Amboori!

Since my travel and write-ups mainly focus on less-in-vogue local spots in Kerala and slow, sustainable tourism, I don’t expect any of my friends to read my blogs or to get inspired by my experiences. So imagine my surprise and joy when one of my school friends, Bhagu, read my Kathirmudi Trek blog and asked if she could accompany me on my next trip. 

Even though we have known each other for more than 20 years, we had never gone on a trip together, except for the short, shared car rides to our friends’ weddings.

Since it was the time of the Southwest Monsoon, or Edavappathi, in Kerala, we decided to go on a monsoon walk organized by Appooppanthaadi, a travel group based in Trivandrum known for its budget-friendly trips for women. We zeroed in on their one-day trip to Amboori, a lusciously green village located at the southern tip of the Western Ghats. A part of the Kattakada Taluk in Thiruvananthapuram district, this small village is famous for its hills, dense forests, quaint waterfalls,  adjoining Neyyar Wildlife Sanctuary, Neyyar Dam, its reservoir, and tribal settlements – especially the Kanikar community. 

What I Packed

Since it was a monsoon walk, we were advised to carry an umbrella/raincoat, an extra dress, a towel, a sanitizer/salt to ward off leeches, energy bars, a bottle of water, and to wear clothes and footwear suitable for wet, marshy terrain. 

A Rainy, Late Start

I was supposed to reach Trivandrum by June 12th, 2026, Friday, and stay at B’s place. However, due to work commitments, I had to push my Kollam-Trivandrum journey to the next day, that is, June 13th, 2026, Saturday,  the day of the Amboori trip.

The night before the trip, it was raining cats and dogs, and my anxiety ensured I tossed and turned on the bed till 2 am. At 3:30 am, my sister, my favorite and most reliable alarm person, gave me a wake-up call. By 5 am, I sneaked out of my house with my backpack and umbrella in hand. 

Sneaking out at 5 am – darkness, rain, and non-stop buses!

Unfortunately, I made the mistake of waiting at the wrong bus stand. Neither did the Trivandrum fast or superfast buses stop there, nor did any ordinary or private buses come for the next 30 minutes. 

Waiting at the wrong places gets you nowhere, literally. So I gave up and walked to the nearest main bus stop, Ramankulangara. Luckily, by 5:40 am, I boarded a Trivandrum Fast Passenger bus and bought a Rs 99 ticket to Thampanoor, relieved by the driver’s speed and the lady conductor’s assurance that the bus would reach my destination by 7:45 am. 

Travel Buddies 

The trip kick-started at 8 am sharp from the Thampanoor railway station entrance. Thanks to the bus driver’s diligence, I made it on time. I was so happy to see Bhagu after over a year, and to make the acquaintance of 15 other lovely ladies who joined the trip. Most of them were from Trivandrum, except for one or two who were based in Ernakulam and Thrissur. 

Travel Buddies a.k.a Appooppanthaadis at Amboori

Our coordinator for the day, whom Appooppanthaadis affectionately calls “buddy,” was Reshma, an IT professional who worked remotely for a Bangalore-based company. She is a native of Thalassery, in Kannur, now settled in Trivandrum with her family.

As soon as we boarded the traveller, Reshma gave us a brief of Appooppanthaadi’s journey. All of us clapped when we learned that it was their 1035th trip. She also mentioned the hardships the founder, Sajna Chechi, and her team had to tide over in the last ten years to keep the company afloat. 

During self-introductions, I learned that many of the travellers worked in highly sought-after fields such as IT, Marketing, Banking, and Medicine. There was also a mom-school-going-daughter duo and a fellow Malayalam language expert in the bunch. 

Though there was a young woman who had gone on 30+ trips with Appooppanthaadi, and another who had been to every Indian state except two, the majority of others had a common sad tale to share. Stories of how their parents or partners curbed their travel dreams, citing safety concerns and financial limitations, or simply by being consistently discouraging and uninterested. 

I couldn’t believe that grown-up, educated, working, financially stable women like them were still restricted from pursuing travel for leisure. Then what would be the state of women from low-income families, who are financially dependent on their parents or partners? I hope the new Kerala Chief Minister V. D. Satheeshan’s decision to provide free travel for women in ordinary buses increases the socioeconomic progress and mobility of Keralite women.

A Local Guide Joins

I noticed that our traveller was passing through the Karamana-Kattakada route. At  Kattakada, Mr Saji, our local guide, joined us. By 9:30 am, we reached the first stop on our list – Kalipara. 

Kalipara

A steep half-kilometre climb to the top of Kalipara intimidated most of us at first. However, it turned out to be manageable thanks to the handrails, ropes, stairways, and occasional stone-cut steps. Not to forget the support of our buddy, guide, and the camaraderie among the travellers. 

Scenes from Kalipara in Amboori

Still, the rain left slippery spots on our track that we had to be extra careful about. There were small statues of Lord Ganesha, Murugan, and Nagas on the way that piqued our interest. The view from the top, at a height of 1200 feet, was the cherry on the cake.

Neyyar Dam – Shutters Opening 

From near the Murugan statue, we could see a stellar view of the Neyyar Dam.  It is a gravity dam constructed over the Neyyar River. The water from its reservoir flows to the Karamana River and many other water bodies in Trivandrum. While resting at that spot, clicking photos, munching on biscuits, and slurping down water to replenish our energies, we heard the alarms blaring from the dam. 

Waiting for the Neyyar Dam’s shutters to open!

Saji Chetan informed us that two days of constant rain had filled the dam, so when the third alarm blares at 10 am, all four shutters of the dam will open. Since it was just ten minutes away, all of us settled down on the rocky surface and awaited the third alarm.

Due to the bus fiasco, I had arrived at the hike empty-stomached, so my body was drained of energy. While the rest of my gang was camera-ready for the anticipated moment, I was busy stuffing biscuits into my mouth. 

Suddenly, the third and final alarm blared, opening all four shutters of the Neyyar Dam one by one. Water rushed down, gurgling so loud, like a beast unchained. From where we sat, it looked like a waterfall of foam. 

Agasthyamuni Cave 

After watching the glorious shutter opening, we resumed our steep climb to the cave areas of Kalipara. Once we reached the area, we had to walk through a narrow passage between big rocks. 

Cave Areas of Kalipara

For a moment, the path suffocated me, forcing me to look up at the sky for reassurance. The height of the rocks intimidated me further. For a split second, it reminded me of the Guna Caves in the blockbuster Malayalam survival thriller movie Manjummel Boys. Of course, it was just my anxiety exaggerating my fears. 

Another thing that made me uncomfortable was the swarm of black beetle-like insects resting on the cave walls. From a distance, they seemed like wet, black patches of mold. But if you looked closer, you could hear them buzzing. While passing through the narrow way, we had to be careful not to disturb them with our bodies or shoulder bags.

Agasthyamuni Statue

Outside the cave area, there was a statue of Agasthyamuni. On one of the holes in the cave’s surface, there was a padduka, a wooden sandal, and a stick, a danda, symbolic of Hindu Sanyasis or monks. 

Despite all the discomforts, this cave area was my favorite spot in the entire trip because of its element of adventure.  

The Sree Kalipara Lokambika Temple

After exiting the cave, we retraced our steps back to the Murugan statue. Instead of descending, we climbed an alternate path on the side to a temple at the top.  Saji Chetan told us that the deity in the temple is Lokambika, and that the temple opens for prayers on every Sunday and the first day of every month. According to local lore, the Kani tribe, who dwelled in the mountains, used to worship this deity.

Sree Kalipara Lokambika Temple

While we were enjoying the view and busy clicking photos, the wind started blowing harder, and the clouds turned darker. Expecting heavy rains, we quickly put on our raincoats, but, fooling us, the sky settled for a short drizzle. 

During the down trek, we scrambled up more rocks and posed for pictures. As we struggled to descend, our buddy turned our scared attempts into funny reels with the comic voiceover of Malayali actor ‘Suraj Venjaramoodu’ saying “Eda, ithu anganeyonnum allada” (Bro, that’s not how it works!) and “Namuk veetl ponde?” (Don’t we want to get home at some point?)

To be continued…

Author’s Notes

~ Ownership of all group photos and nature images belongs to the individual hikers or Appooppanthaadi. 

~ All other 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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On May 5, 2025, I wrote about my grand dream of exploring India in a slow and sustainable manner. Some of you might’ve read the original blog, My Quintessential India Trip Dream. One year down the line, I think it’s only fair that I share an update on the humble progress I’ve made so far.

Long story short, I’m still slow-travelling my home state, Kerala. At this rate, it might take me years, even decades, to live my dream of exploring every state and union territory in India. Nonetheless, as someone who firmly believes in the mantra – “progress over perfection” and constantly strives to be “1% better every day,” I have no plans to give up on my dreams, especially the ones that give me genuine joy, and fulfillment.

Here’s a list of the places I’ve visited so far, and the links to the blogs I’ve written about those journeys. I will keep on adding to this list as my journey progresses. I hope it helps new readers navigate my site better and also to keep track of my journey. Thank you for being a part of it.

I also have another selfish motive behind writing this. If any fellow dreamer stumbles on this blog , I hope it will give them the courage and motivation to continue pursuing their goals that are work-in-progress, too. Keep fighting!

Kerala

Kollam

I started my journeys by exploring my hometown Kollam.

Sardar Vallabhai Police Museum – Part 1, Part 2Thevally – Part 1, Part 2Thirumullavaram Thangasserry: Lighthouse, Breakwater Tourism Park, St Thomas FortAsramam Maidan: Sculptures, Rainy Walk, Sunny & SonderAsramam: Children’s Park, Adventure Park, Eight Point Art CafeBritish Residency, Cheenakottaram, Chinnakada ClocktowerKollam BeachSambranikodi – Part 1, Part 2

Trivandrum

I spent a month in the capital city of Kerala, Thiruvananthapuram, or Trivandrum, exploring its touristy spots and hidden gems.

Kazhakuttam: 30 Days in Trivandurum – Chasing an Old DreamA Father and Mother Without a ChildEast Fort & Chalai BazaarSreepadmanabhaswamy Temple & Methan ManiBombay CircusThe Simple Joys of Life – Waiting for a Stranger’s BusPalayam: Napier Museum, Sreechitra EnclavePalayam Church & Connemara MarketTrivandrum Zoo: Aren’t We All Wild Animals Living in a Caged World?Trivandrum Lulu MallAakulam Lake & BridgeVeli Tourist VillageMall of TravancoreVettucaud ChurchShankumugham BeachKerala Lalithakala AkademiKathirmudi TrekPalayam: Ravi Varma Art GallerySree Chitra Art Gallery: Roerich Paintings & Rumi’s Poetry, Indian Murals & Foreign ArtPalayam: Natural History Museum, CSI Mateer Memorial Church

Pathanamthitta

Kottayam

Alappuzha

Ernakulam

Thrissur

Palakkad

Kozhikode

To be continued…

The CSI Mateer Memorial Church

If you are a fellow Palayam lover, I bet you’ve stood in front of the CSI Mateer Memorial Church at least once and admired its old-world charm. I wish I knew enough about buildings and architecture to pinpoint what exactly made it so beautiful. 

Honestly, I pinged many of my architecture friends and asked them to describe its beauty. Many said it has a colonial Gothic revival style. That’s too technical for me.

So, here’s my personal take on its beauty: The brown brick walls that look like freshly baked crumb cookies… The red terracotta roofs reminiscent of Tuscan architecture… The bell tower with its cute green-shutter windows and the Celtic cross on top, made of cut stone.

The slanted trees, thriving on both sides of the church. And the sheer fact that such an adorable, quiet church exists just next to one of the busiest streets in Trivandrum. 

~

Though I had ogled this beauty from afar many times, it was only on my way back from the Natural History Museum in Palayam to the PMG Junction, on September 23rd, 2025, that I finally had the time and courage to explore it in detail.

Since it was a weekday (Tuesday, after 5 PM), I didn’t expect the church to be open. So, when I walked into its premises, I was pleasantly surprised to see a congregation of sorts.  

The church was closed, but a group of ladies, mostly middle-aged women in sarees and a few young women in salwars, were huddled on plastic chairs on one side, discussing something. It seemed like a committee meeting. 

The CSI Mateer Memorial Church, in Palayam, Trivandrum.

A few of the ladies were kind enough to walk up to me and talk to me. When I asked them if I could see the interiors, they apologized and informed me that the church would be open only on Wednesday and Thursday evenings for mass at 4 PM. 

I read that it’s a Protestant Church, more than a century old. It was built way back in 1906 and named after an Irish missionary, Rev. Samuel Mateer. 

Its interior architecture follows a Hallenkirche (hall church) style, and its roof has Gothic arches. Like Apostle Thomas in the Holy Bible, I’m a ‘seeing is believing’ kind of person, so I will await the day I attend a mass inside this church to vouch for its interior details.

Nonetheless, what a charming little church!

~

The Mascot Hotel

Leaving the church behind reluctantly, I walked forward and came across the massive Mascot Hotel. It’s a five-star business heritage hotel run by KTDC(Kerala Tourism Development Corporation). 

I remembered the morning of my Kathirmudi Trek. When my friends and I were scrambling to find a parking spot, we considered parking the car at the Mascot Hotel and taking an auto back to the railway station. Luckily, we were able to find a spot close to the station itself. 

I chit-chatted with the security chetan at the entrance of the Mascot Hotel. He was friendly. However, fearing for his job, he politely refused my request to click a few pictures of the hotel. 

He clarified that only those staying at the hotel or dining at its restaurant could enter its premises. I did contemplate visiting the restaurant, but he warned me that it was super expensive. Some other day, in a few years maybe, I manifested. 

PMG Junction

I resumed my walk to the PMG Junction. On the way, I stared at the Subash Chandra Bose statue for a while. The first thought that popped into my mind was – His death is one of the unresolved mysteries in Indian history. Random? I know. 

A Statue of Subash Chandra Bose at Palayam, Trivandrum

When I reached the PMG Junction, I saw the Priyadarshini Planetarium on the left. Since it was already past 5 pm, I couldn’t visit it then. 

The office of the Chief Postmaster General was also nearby. I was distracted by the yummy smell of bakery items wafting from a nearby shop. 

Only by 6 PM, I realised I was standing on the wrong side of the street. A lady standing next to me reconfirmed my suspicion. So I crossed to the other side of the road and caught the next bus to Kazhakoottum. 

9-5 People

The office goers entering and exiting my bus caught my attention. Though I aspire to be a globetrotter and my own boss, I only have respect for people who work 9-to-5 jobs to support their families. Seeing their hard work, I vowed internally to write every day and to work more passionately for my dreams. 

One of the main reasons I can afford to pay for my travels and survive on freelance projects is that my family is not financially dependent on me. It’s also because of the 9-5 jobs my family members and I pulled, at least at some point in our careers. 

Breaking my reverie, a lady with a toddler in her arms entered my bus and occupied the vacant seat next to me. The child had a small wound on his chin that was bandaged. Probably from a fall, I presumed. He looked so adorable with his long eyelashes and cute, curly hair. He could easily crack a baby model interview. 

I couldn’t help but judge the universe for this coincidence. “Of course! Just when a woman finally gives up on dating and focuses on her career and dreams, the universe must throw another googly at her – Baby fever!” I sighed.  

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

“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