Joyce Job's Blog

The Great Bombay Circus

September 11, 2025

After exploring the main tourist attractions of East Fort, such as Chalai Bazaar, Gandhi Park, Sreepadmanabhaswamy temple, and Methan Mani, I was on my way to Thampanoor when I noticed that the Great Bombay Circus had set up its tents at the Putharikandam Maithanam. Ignoring the groans of my thin adult wallet, with childlike glee, I bought a 250-rupee ticket for the 1 PM show and secured a middle-row seat inside the circus tent.

From the announcements, I learned that the Great Bombay Circus first started in Sindh, in current-day Pakistan, back in the 1920s, 27 years before India gained its Independence and the India-Pakistan Partition. They were featured in popular Indian movies like Amitabh Bachchan’s 1971 Don, Hrithik-Priyanka starrer Krrish, and the Tamil flick  7 Aum Arivu, starring Surya. They generally ran four back-to-back shows in a day, each packed with around thirty-five short acts, including juggling, acrobatics, trapeze, trampoline, aerial dances, hula hoops, cycle tricks, sword-swallowing, and whatnot. 

When the MC announced that photography and videography weren’t allowed, I felt relieved that I hadn’t bought a more expensive ticket. I made a mental note to memorise as many acts and intricate details as possible. Soon, the lights came on, and carnival music played in the background. 

Flying Trapeze

In the middle of the main stage, I could see a safety net stretched and tied tight, and above it, suspended from the ropes, rope ladders, and a trapeze. Soon, five trapeze artists, four males and one female, and one man dressed in a clown’s clothes and makeup, entered the stage. 

All male trapeze artists were dressed in white bodysuits and blue knickers, except the gang leader, who wore red knickers. The female artist wore a white bodysuit and a pink leotard. They waved cheerfully, bowed before the audience, and started climbing the rope ladders. 

While the other artists waited at the take-off boards at the top, the gang leader climbed onto the trapeze at the centre and began swinging, upside down. His hands were stretched out, invitingly towards his team members, but his legs secured him to the trapeze. One by one, the other artists jumped onto the gang leader’s outstretched hands and started swinging with him.

In between, they increased the pace so much that as soon as an artist let go of the gang leader’s hands, he had to catch the next one. To pepper the act with humour, the Clown jumped to the gang leader’s hands, only to lose his pants, hat, and dignity, before falling to the safety net. 

Honestly, every time an artist leapt to the leader’s hands, or during that tiny fraction of time when the gang leader paused to take a breath before catching the next artist, my heart skipped a beat. My rational mind knew they were trained professionals with decades of experience. But as a lesser mortal who struggles with hard breaths while climbing stairs and thinks twice even before jumping puddles, I couldn’t help but worry about their lives. 

Joksters

“All people are sad clowns. That’s the key to comedy – and it’s a buffer against reality.” – Bob Odenkirk.

I don’t like the word ‘clowns,’ maybe because it’s often used in a derogatory way. I prefer the more amiable ‘jokesters’ or ‘comic performers.’  But I love and respect ‘clowning,’ the art and the artist. 

A Malayalam movie named  Joker, which I watched as a teenager, left a lasting impression on me. This movie depicted the harsh realities of a circus company drowning in debt and the sacrifices and hardships the artists endured backstage. No matter what – financial struggles, illness, heartbreaks, deaths – the owner insisted that the show must go on. 

In one of the playback songs in the movie, the hero dressed up as a clown sings: 

“Kanneer mazhayathu njanoru chiriyude kuda choodi…”

(“In the rain of tears, I held up an umbrella of smiles.”)

My eyes were drawn to the stage as four comic performers, or clowns (for lack of a better word), dressed in funny-looking, multicoloured clothes, entered the limelight and waved at the audience. A few of them were dressed in the popular polkadots, and others in the newbie paint-splattered designs. Two of them were average-sized adults; the other two were people with dwarfism. All their faces were painted in white, and their lips red. Their entrance and mannerisms reminded me of Heath Ledger’s and Joaquin Phoenix’s stunning performances in Joker for a split second, their external experience, not the intensity or darkness. 

More Trapezists, Gymnasts, Jugglers… 

This was followed by a female trapeze artist, dressed in a pistachio-green dress, doing manoeuvres on a swing. She was replaced by a magician-juggler duo. While the magician, dressed in the trademark black pants, white shirt, black blazer and black hat, performed cool magical tricks, the other amped up the show with his immaculate juggling skills. 

This man was always juggling three things at a time: three plastic balls, three plates, three colourful rings; never once missing a beat. He also balanced a ball at the tip of a stick held with his mouth. But my favourite part was when he juggled three hats, skillfully wearing them on his head in between the juggles.

Clowns on Stilts 

Gymnast ladies in vibrant pink dresses with pistachio green streaks, accompanied by clowns, walked around the stage, holding flags. While the clowns waved to the audience, the kids in the stands got excited and waved back.

When more clowns walked in and danced, but this time on stilts, making them look like ten-foot-tall men, I could hear kids shouting “oohs” and “aahs” and “wows” around me. I bet their innocence, curiosity, and imagination painted the circus as a scene straight out of their fairytales. 

Sweet Sellers 

Talking of kids, some were trying to cash in on them too. In the middle of the acts, many sellers entered the arena with boxes of ice-creams, chocolates, popcorn packets, biscuits, cold drinks, and fried snacks, obviously luring the kids. When the parents shooed the sellers, it led to pretty dramatic shrieks and tearful protests from the kiddos.

Father-son Duo

Up next, two gymnasts, dressed in tight black-and-white polka-dot clothing, entered the stage. One of them was a middle-aged man, and the other a teenage boy. They seemed like a father-son duo. Their smiles were so warm and striking. 

Their main prop was a stool placed in the middle of the stage. The man lay on the stool, with outstretched hands, and the boy balanced on the man’s hands or legs. The boy was often thrown into the air, twirled mid-air, but he always landed back gracefully on the man’s arms.

The wide smiles on their faces, the glint of joy in their eyes every time the crowd cheered for them, but above all, the trust they had in each other was so endearing to watch. I realised it was no blind trust. It was the result of probably hundreds of hours they spent in each other’s company, practising these same acts, over and over again, until they perfected them. I couldn’t help but think about the numerous times they must’ve made a mistake  – missed a catch, fallen, and hurt themselves or laughed till their bellies hurt during the practice sessions. 

More Buffoonery 

A clown blowing a loud whistle broke my reverie. Mimicking the risky rope-walking on the streets, the clown started walking over a rope, trying his best not to trip, his face painted white, as scared as he had seen an apparition. But of course, the rope was just lying on the ground, so his antics and scared expressions raised bouts of laughter from the crowd. 

More clowns approached the audience and encouraged the kids in the arena to join them. Back on stage, the clowns demonstrated Double Dutch rope jumping to the kiddos, who picked them up so fast. The joy on their faces as they jumped over the ropes was so palpable, we knew they were forming a core childhood memory.

My Wonder Woman

The female artist in a green velvet dress who walked onto the stage with two big steel rings on both her hands arrested my attention. Just then, a clown threw a third, a fourth and a fifth ring to her arms. Not only did she catch it with such grace, but she also started balancing and spinning those rings around her waist, arms, and legs. Her bubbly nature and her charming smile, even as she upped the number of rings step-by-step from five all the way upto ten, was a sight to behold. 

Often, when we talk about women’s empowerment, it’s either the most accomplished women in STEM fields or the most popular celebrities from the movie, music, or sports world who get the limelight. But this artist, spinning those ten rings around her body with that ethereal smile, deserves to be celebrated as a beacon of womanhood, too. 

For me, her act challenged what I thought a female body was capable of doing. Of course, I never believed the misogynistic discourses about the limitations of a female body. But it is one thing to believe in the limitless capabilities of a female body theoretically, and a totally different, spellbinding, mind-boggling, soul-shaking experience to watch a majestic woman demonstrate her out-of-the-world capabilities on stage and charm an entire arena full of people. She was definitely a Wonder Woman to me. 

Who Let the Dogs Out

Up next, three men in black hoodies stood on a ring-like stage, performing gymnastic acts, balancing on extreme postures and formations. As soon as they dismantled their formations and left the stage, the song ‘Who Let the Dogs Out’ performed by the band Baha Men played from the speakers. 

Female artists in a shiny blue dress, accompanied by dogs, walked in with poise. The dog lover in me was smitten by the sights of trained dogs, labradors, golden retrievers, and many mixes in between, rolling drums, dancing to the rhythm of music, walking zig-zag around rows of sticks and jumping through loops and barricades. In short, I got to watch a little dog show during the circus. 

In the past, circuses in India used many trained wild animals such as lions, tigers, gorillas, chimpanzees, monkeys, giraffes, and even macaws in their acts. Thanks to the consistent protests of animal lovers and the stringent implementation of animal rights laws, wild animals are no longer used in circuses. I wondered how long until dogs, too, vanished from such performances. 

More Breathtaking Acts…

Two young women glided onto the stage. Their movements were so fluid and magnetic. The way they stretched into unbelievably difficult poses made me wonder if their bodies were made of rubber bands.

More breathtaking acts followed. To jot down a few: an artistic couple dance on roller blades, a female artist who walked upside down on rope hooks suspended mid-air – an act known as the Chinese Skywalk, the girl who hooped a ball on the basket of a giant tower using its spokes to direct the ball to the net, a man of short stature who stacked five chairs in a zig-zag fashion – balancing each chair on the hand rails of the other, a group of =young artists walking inside a big, rolling hamster wheel – a few even in pairs, more jugglers but this time changing positions and also mixing gymnastic acts in between, a dog picking the number shouted by the crowd, female artists juggling and hula hooping while standing atop a roller, two young women dressed in beautiful black tops and red skirts performing acrobatics and spinning colorful cloth wheels with both hands and feet, the crowd watching with bated breath as two male artists slided to both sides of an aerial swing and even balanced atop the swing on their head without holding onto the ropes…

An Aerial Dance

Later, a beautiful couple performed an aerial shawl dance to the soulful melodies of A. R. Rahman’s Roja, making me wonder if they were two birds in flight. They were so in sync, effortless, and mesmerising that they fooled me into thinking I could do it too. “So skilled that the act felt deceptively simple!” 

Technicians: The Backstage Magicians

That’s when I noticed six people struggling backstage, clutching the tail end of the rope holding the two dancers in the air. When we watch a movie or a circus show, we don’t worry about how much work is going on in the background. But I couldn’t help but notice the technicians who moved the heavy props in and out of the stage, managed the ropes and swings during the aerial acts, adjusted the lights, changed the songs, and even cheered on the artists when the crowd reaction was lukewarm. 

Knife-swallowing

The aerial dancers were replaced by four shirtless men, holding knives in their hands. I held my breath in disbelief as they balanced their bodies on the tip of the knives arranged on a board. One of the men touched and bowed to the knives before swallowing the blades of three knives together. I’ve seen videos of such knife-swallowing acts before, but seeing it live makes you question reality and also understand the level of risk some people take to earn a livelihood. 

Death Well 

Those who watched Hanumankind’s viral ‘Big Dawgs’ MV  might already be familiar with the perilous circus stunt named ‘Death Well’ or ‘Maranakinar.’ In this act, the stuntman drives a vehicle up a vertical column in circles. 

“A Death Well operates using high-speed circular motion to generate intense friction and centrifugal force, allowing vehicles to defy gravity on vertical walls.” 

I’ve always known that it was a risky act. But when the stage echoed with the vroom-vrooms of two bikers accelerating up the death well, I could feel the tension and excitement in my heart. These sounds intensified as the bikers moved from slow circles at the bottom of the well to the high-speed circles at the top of the well.

It took me a while to recover from the adrenaline rush of watching this stunt. I wondered how hard the hearts of those stuntmen were thumping. Were their bodies still shivering from excitement? Or have they already gotten used to these risky moments? I don’t think anyone can be chill about a ‘Death Well’ act, not even the stuntmen who have performed it a zillion times. If they’re chill about it, I’ll have to name them ‘chill monsters.’

Awara Hoon

Soon, colourfully-dressed clowns riding cycles, performing acrobatics and the people in gorilla costumes took centre stage. Kids stood on their heels to watch this act. I loved it when the Gorilla played on the swing and did a full 360-degree swing.

People dressed up as big red bunnies, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, and polar bears also danced onto the stage, winning the cheers and joyful shrieks of children. I wished I were a kid watching the circus for the first time with her parents, too, not an adult in her thirties just crossing off these moments from a to-do list, all alone.

I got nostalgic when the song, Awara Hoon (meaning I’m a Vagabond), from Raj Kapoor’s movie ‘Awaraa’ played in the background for this act. I haven’t even seen the movie or memorised the lyrics, but I always think about Raj Kapoor as a creative, free spirit in my mind and hence feel nostalgic about this song. For some strange reason, I even feel we could have been friends, had we met in normal circumstances. 

The Last Act

When the MC announced the last act, four female artists on a trapezium, ending this grand show by 3:22 pm, my mind filled up with a lot of thoughts. 

I had a fairly good time at the show, even though I was acutely aware of its limitations – the shortage of funds was evident in the state of the props. The Hindi jokes by clowns were not landing, as the audience was not fluent in the language. I felt the self-deprecating, physical shaming, and physical bullying jokes amongst the clowns also don’t have an audience now. But overall, circus shows do have an audience among the kids, and also among adults who still listen to their inner child.

One of the most endearing sights during the show was how fiercely the artists, especially the clowns, supported other team members. Not just during the act as co-artists, but also from the sidelines. They were always the first ones to cheer for their team members when the crowd was silent, and also the origin of the loudest claps.

I walked out of the show, thinking about the insane skills of these circus artists, especially that Wonder Woman who hula-hooped with ten rings. These circus artists made me realise the infinite potential of human bodies once we put them to proper training. They made me want to hit the gym and push my body beyond its current limits, too. 

At my last full-time job, I had to read and review a lot of fantasy novels where ‘progression’ or ‘levelling up’ was a common trope.  These artists, who were pulling four 2.5-hour shows a day with just an hour of rest in between, were definitely top-level performers who had already unlocked their master level physical skills. Their hard work, discipline, and camaraderie were a true inspiration. 

I just wish they made more money through this work. More people should show up, support them, and cheer for them. That sad, vacant look on their eyes when the jokes fall flat, or the arena is silent, prompting the team members to clap and cheer on each other, is something no artists want to experience. 

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

You can read the first part of this blog here.

After wolfing down my second breakfast, I walked out of the restaurant, caressing my imaginary pumped-up muscles and roaring mentally like a war hero, fully charged for the rest of my trip. Imagine Popeye, ready to take on the entire world, after gobbling down a can of spinach, but wearing a purple kurta and sporting shoulder-length ponytail hair. 

Sreepadmanabhaswamy Temple

The Sreepadmanabhaswamy Temple at East Fort, Trivandrum.

I crossed the road and walked towards the East Fort private bus stand. I could see the East Fort arch painted in white behind it, and farther back, the gold-plated gopuram of the Sreepadmanabhaswamy temple. It’s a renowned Hindu temple, dedicated to Lord Vishnu, and is considered one of his 108 holy abodes in the country.  There’s a majestic statue of Lord Vishnu in anandhashayanam, resting on the coils of the cosmic serpent Ananta, in this temple.

The temple is also famous for its six underground vaults, out of which five have been opened so far, revealing an immense treasure of gold ornaments and precious gemstones. The Vault B, the largest and most mysterious vault among the six, have never been opened. It’s feared that this vault is sealed by a serpent spell, cursed, or guarded by supernatural powers. Obviously, the public doesn’t have access to these vaults. 

There were police and military officers at the temple entrance. Since it was noon, I wondered if the temple was open for public darshan. I could see some VIPs being escorted inside the temple by the officers. 

My friends often arrived at the temple at 5 in the morning and queued for half a day for these darshans. I had heard that the queues were notoriously long and tiresome. Unsure whether non-Hindus were allowed inside, combined with the rush and the fact that I was not dressed for the occasion, I had already made up my mind not to venture inside.

Methan Mani – a historical, mechanical clock tower.

Instead, I roamed around the temple observing its gold-plated gopuram, which was covered in scaffolding that day, the large and serene temple pond with a signboard reading Padmatheertham Punyatheertham, meaning it’s a sacred pond, and a historical, mechanical clock tower in one of the buildings called Methan Mani; mani means bell in Malayalam. 

Water Thoughts 

The sacred pond near the Sreepadmanabhaswamy temple.

Since I learned to swim(a newly acquired skill, still an amateur at it), every time I see large ponds, I wonder how liberating it would be to take a dip. The next second, my anxiety kicks in, reminding me of the pond’s depth and the suffocating feeling of water filling my nostrils. 

During my swimming classes, what helped me to tide over these fears was the goggles. Wearing the goggles, I gazed underwater, staring at the bottom tiles of the pool, and reminded myself – “It’s not that deep; it’s just a pool.” 

The uncertainty of not knowing enough is what makes me anxious. Experiencing the world more and facing uncertainties every day are how I’m trying to overcome my fears. My family always wants me to be in a safe and protected place. But I believe, being naive, scared, and lacking basic skills necessary to navigate this world and life is a big risk too. 

Mr Han: Just tell me, Xiao Dre, why? Why do you need to go back out there so badly?

Dre Parker: Because I’m still scared. And no matter what happens, tonight, when I leave, I don’t want to be scared anymore.

As the young Jaden Smith says in the movie, The Karate Kid, I also “don’t want to be scared anymore.” I have wasted more than enough years being scared of the world and feeling not good enough to live in it. Now I’m trying to face it with courage and live it on my own terms, even if there’s a high chance I’ll make mistakes and fail in this journey.

Temple Sights

Padmatheertham Punyatheertham – a sacred pond near the temple.

I walked around the temple and the pond, admiring its beauty. I saw shops selling khadi clothes, handloom sarees, traditional home decor, fruits, and bangles. Snack shops with rows of colourful halwas were my favourite. I also walked past an Aryavaidhyshala that sells ayurvedic medicines and potions, and smaller temples with banyan trees and serpent statues like the Sree Bala Krishna Swami temple. 

Small temples near the renowned Sreepadmanabhaswamy temple.

From the east side of the temple, I walked all the way to the west side, soaking in the sights on the way. I didn’t know then that the Puthenmalika or Kuthiramalika palace and the Sree Uthradom Tirunal Marthanda Varma Art Gallery were just towards the left of the temple. Also, I didn’t realise that towards the temple’s western side, there was an artistic and cultural hub called Margi Theatre, which hosts free Kathakali performances a few times every month. I heard about these only many days later, so I had to revisit East Fort to check them out.

My Friend’s Experience

Many days later, when I recounted the day to one of my hostel roommates, expressing my disappointment that I couldn’t enter the Sreepadmanabhaswamy temple or see the renowned Lord Vishnu statue inside, she narrated her visits in detail.

My friend is a native of Thrissur district. Her first visit to Sreepadmanabhaswamy temple was years ago, when she came to Trivandrum to attend an exam, accompanied by her parents. At that time, they stayed at her cousin’s ISRO quarters. They visited the temple in the evening, or had an evening darshan rather than the widely preferred morning darshan. 

Unbeknownst to them, it was some auspicious occasion. There were many dancers in Bharatnatyam costumes in one of the stone pavilions inside the temple, either performing or waiting for their turn. The pathways, the engravings on the stone pillars and wooden roofs, the lamp-shaped lights lit for the occasion, everything made the temple look mesmerising. Since cameras were not allowed inside the temple, my friend could only soak up the beauty with her naked eyes.

The Sreepadmanabhaswamy temple and its sacred pond at Trivandrum.

Only men wearing mundus and women wearing sarees or skirts are allowed inside the temple. Additionally, men also have to take off their shirts. Women wearing churidhars often bought a mundu from a stall outside and tied it around their waist, over their dresses, to enter the temple. Even my friend had to purchase and wear a kasavu mundu to enter. 

There were two queues for the darshan: one for the general public and the other for the VIPs. Usually, these queues are notoriously crowded. However, maybe because it was an off-season(wasn’t mandala kalam) or because it was an evening darshan, there was only a moderate rush that day.

My friend and her family were standing in the regular queue. But by some lucky twist of fate, as they neared the darshan, the security staff mistook their receipt for a VIP pass and moved them to the VIP queue. Soon, they reached the front of the queue.

Usually, the black statue of Lord Vishnu, in his majestic anandhashayanam pose – reclining on the hooded serpent Anantha, with his head resting on his hand, placed inside a dark chamber, has to be seen through three doors,  in the dim glow of the gold ornaments adorning his body. 

But since it was an auspicious occasion, the chamber where the statue was placed was lit with lights that day. The pujaris were adorning the statue with gold ornaments, a ritual often called ‘anicharthu‘ in many parts of Kerala.

Thanks to the VIP queue and the lights, my friend had more proximity to the statue and a clearer view. Quoting her words, “We were able to see the statue of Vishnu Bhagwan with HD clarity.” She recalled that the statue looked huge and majestic, to the point that it scared her.

The first door opens to the upper portion, revealing the statue’s head, hand, and chest. The second door reveals the statue’s belly area and a lotus, on which Brahma, the creator God, is seated. And the third opens up to the leg of the statue. 

When my friend peeked through the door number one, the first thing she saw was the statue’s big hand. Its size and aura scared her. 

This reminded me of the scene in the Bible, Exodus 33, where Moses requests God,  “Now show me your glory,” but God warns him, “You cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.” So God offers him an alternative: “When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand, and you will see my back; but my face must not be seen.” It is believed that Moses trembled in awe and fear at such a fleeting sight of God, too.

Then my friend saw the statue’s face and later its legs. She recalled that the statue’s face looked so handsome and heavenly. Thanks to the well-lit room and less rush, she was able to see the statue in its grandest form, pray well, feel that divine presence, and enjoy serenity and bliss. 

I’m glad that my friend was able to see the statue in all its grandeur. Because of her detailed and emotional narration, I felt I had seen the statue with my naked eyes, even though I had seen it only in my inner eyes, as painted through her words and my imagination. Coincidentally, this friend’s name means ‘the one who is dear to Lord Krishna.’ Krishna is an avatar of Lord Vishnu. 

After moving to Trivandrum for work, my friend again visited the temple 3-4 times. Caught up in the overcrowded regular queues for morning darshan, pushing and shoving, sweat trickling down her brow, short of breath, she said she always mentally gave up before the darshan, even praying to end her ordeal ASAP, and often felt relieved to just be out of the queue. She could never again see the statue in all its grandeur or feel transcendence. But she hopes to experience the statue in HD clarity again someday.

Her retelling made me wonder how different a common man’s experience of India is from a VIP’s. It reminded me of a dialogue from the Jerry Maguire(1996) movie, where the heroine commented about the business class: “It used to be a better meal. Now it’s a better life.”

Heading Towards Thampanoor

After walking around the temple, from its Eastern entrance or nada, to the Western nada, I retraced my steps back to the East Fort. From there, I walked towards Thampanoor, following Google Maps. 

Entrance of Putharikandam Maithanam

On the way, I saw the Putharikandam Maithanam, a public ground, closed with scaffolding. Intrigued, I asked a grandpa what was happening, and to my sheer delight, he said – Circus. Earlier, when I went to the Asramam Maidan at Kollam, I saw the Gemini Circus tent, but I couldn’t visit it. So I decided to watch the show here. 

As I entered the ground, I saw some labourers decorating the E.K. Nayanar Park on the side. In the middle of the ground, a huge tent of the Bombay circus was raised. There were many boards with images of clowns and gymnasts to lure the crowd in. 

The ticket rates ranged from 150 to 250 to 400 to 500, depending on how close to the stage we wanted to be seated. Of course, the premium experience costs more. I chose the 250 rupee ticket, which allowed me to sit in the middle. 

With a child-like enthusiasm, I entered the circus tent. Like Alice, who went down the rabbit hole, I looked at everything in wonder. The ropes holding the tent in place, the lights falling on the chairs and the stage in the middle. 

To be continued… 

Author’s Notes

~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2025 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

BUY THE BOOK

Hours before pitching her first book, The Platform Ticket, a railway memoir, at Bangalore Literature Festival’s LitMart, Sangeetha Vallath had the good fortune to run into one of her favourite authors, Shashi Tharoor. A lifelong Tharoorji fan, she sought his blessings for the pitch. When he asked her to sell the book to him with just one line, she quoted:

“As a ticketing staff, I have seen a gazillion hands – stubby, manicured, burnt, albino, with chipped nails or an extra finger, dark, fair, gnarled, wrinkled, calloused, deformed…”

One of the biggest strengths of this book, much like the above quote, is how easily and effectively it humanises and sensitises us to the lives of railway employees, especially the ticketing staff. Needless to say, the book has not only won over Mr Tharoor but also the judges at the lit fest, numerous publishing houses, and scores of readers. However, it was the Express Lady herself who charmed me first, prompting me to read her book.

An Unusual Meet and Greet 

On October 17th, 2025, the first day of Kerala’s travel literature festival – Yaanam, I slipped out of the main hall of the venue, Rangam Kala Kendram, to visit the bookstore on its premises. Half-drenched in the rain, my cyan jogging shoes splattered with the red mud of Varkala cliff, the last thing I anticipated was to run into a bestselling author at the bookstore, or the author herself to start a conversation with me. 

Believe Sangeetha Ma’am when she says she can start a conversation with ANYONE, because she sure did with me. A casual “So what kind of books do you read?” was enough to lure even an introvert like me into a full-blown conversation about books, favourite writers, publishing dreams, pitching, editing, and whatnot. 

I enjoyed her cheerful, friendly nature, and the candid, non-judgmental conversation we had. So when she told me she had written a memoir about her railway days, naturally, I was excited to read it and grabbed a copy. 

A few thoughts that ran through my head when I bought the book:  “How did such a happy, candid person survive a decades-long job in railways?” “Maybe a railway staff’s life is not as mundane as everyone makes it out to be. After all, most people have no idea what their lives are like beyond the brief responses, exchange of money, or fleeting glances they catch through the glass walls of ticket counters.”

Book Review 

In 1991, the Indian Railways launched a job-linked vocational course at the plus-two level in schools. They trained selected youngsters in the workings of ticketing, parcels, and goods booking, and later employed them as Commercial Clerks or Ticket Collectors. The author and her friends were part of this programme’s pilot branch. 

The book follows the author’s railway life, from her twenty-year-old self, landing the job as a Commercial Clerk, to her training and employment days in various remote villages of Mysore and Chennai. However, the book neither follows a linear narrative nor is it solely about the author’s experiences. 

The chapter divisions give the feel of a short story collection with an underlying theme of railway life. Along with funny, quirky, heartwarming, and at times heartbreaking stories from the author’s fourteen-year career as a railway employee, we also get to experience the lives of her batchmates, coworkers, seniors, and even the Hamals(Porters), sellers, beggars, and strangers that she encounters at various railway stations. 

This means, even as we empathize with the author’s struggles navigating a new job, straight out of school, in remote railway stations, as the sole lady staff, picking up local languages, braving graveyard shifts, and at times, even dealing with dead bodies on the track… we also get to read about her batchmate Jotheeswaran(Jo)’s funny mixups with Kannada language, her niece’s naively comments on five-legged donkeys, her friend Bharti’s early morning walks guarded by a stray dog, or her friend Ilayaraja’s attempts to meet a Yaksha or Mohini under a banyan tree.

Like R.K.Narayan’s Malgudi Days or the recent delight of a movie, Laapta Ladies, ‘Platform Ticket’ also presents grounded, deeply rooted Indian imageries, places, people, and stories. The book, though written in English, cleverly incorporates dialogues in regional languages like Malayalam, Kannada, and Tamil, along with railway-speak, and uses illustrations in its storytelling.  

Just like the author’s real-life persona, her writer’s voice also comes across as real, honest, and funny. So the characters and their stories easily jump off the pages and create an emotional connection with us. The book is well-paced and engaging; the chapters are crisp. So it’s an ideal choice for readers looking for a quick, yet interesting read,  especially if you’re trying to get out of a reading slump.

For me, the most emotional and precious parts of this book were the author’s account of her own personal grief, the tale of three beggars she witnessed on a railway platform, and the incident in which a stranger she once sold a ticket to sheltered her in his home. The book also offered many valuable lessons on work ethics, the author’s own personal morals, and examples of how to tactically deal with people’s egos and emotions in a service sector job like railways. 

I also loved that the author didn’t shy away from discussing sensitive or grey areas like brushes with corruption, crush on a senior, or incidents of harassment from strangers. Just like the railway tracks of our country, her narrative also bears witness to various natural hazards and socio-political issues that disrupted our peace, like the Cauvery water dispute, tsunami, bomb blasts, Covid-19 pandemic,  floods, hurricanes, and demonetization.

Two areas where I felt the book could improve are: One, the chapter titles. Though the chapter names Platform No. 1, 2…, are apt for a railway memoir, while skimming through the book on a second or third read, these titles fail to give us any hint about the chapter’s content. I wish the author had also added a subtitle for each chapter, innovatively using railway lingo apt for the chapter theme, like entrain, detrain, tatkal, etc.

Two. This might be a personal qualm. Maybe because I met the person before the book, I felt the author withheld from talking about her personal moments in detail, like her marriage, how she balanced work-life after marriage, her personal tragedies, or the loss of her loved ones. Even the areas where they were briefly mentioned felt a bit disjointed or like an afterthought. 

One could argue that the author kept the personal moments short, as this is a railway memoir. From a reader’s or editor’s point of view, I felt it created an emotional hole in the book. But as a fellow human being, I can completely understand if the writer chose to keep those moments brief for privacy or out of grief. 

Or maybe we could read about it in her future book about her life in Dubai, along with her husband, after relinquishing her railway career. The author also mentioned that her second book will be the biography of a war veteran. I’m excitedly looking forward to her upcoming books. 

Reviewer’s Notes

~ All quotations used in this post are from the reviewed book Platform Ticket by Sangeetha Vallat.

~ All other content on this book review is the intellectual property of the reviewer. © 2025 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ You can read all the blogs in the Yaanam 2025 series here: Yaanam2025.

You can read the first part of this blog here. 

‘Tibet is the preoccupation of my life from childhood; freedom of Tibet has always been my dream.’ – Tenzin Tsundue. 

A Risky Journey to Tibet

As I mentioned in my last blog, my friends and I were looking forward to Tenzin Tsundue’s session about his risky journey to Tibet. Unfortunately, on the final day of Yaanam, October 19th, 2025, due to rain, the open-air events had to be moved indoors. The venue and timings of all other events had to be reshuffled to accommodate this change. Bad luck! Tsundue’s event coincided with the time I had chosen to leave the venue with my friends to have lunch. 

However, one of my friends, Prasanth, who attended the session, was kind enough to share a summary with me. He recalled, “At the beginning of the session, Tsundue talked about his parents, who were exiled to India along with the fourteenth Dalai Lama during the China-Tibet conflict times. Tsundue was born in Manali, in North India, where his parents worked as road construction workers. Since it was a chaotic time, his parents couldn’t even record his birthday. Tsundue says he was a restless kid in his childhood; his mother often had to tie him with a rope to stop him from wandering off. 

Tsundue completed his graduation from Loyola College in Chennai and his Master’s from Mumbai University. It was in his restless youth, soon after his graduation, that he ventured on a life-changing trip to Tibet to join the freedom movement.

The session was mainly about Tsundue’s journey from India to Tibet, through Ladakh, trekking through the Himalayas and crossing the border. He hoped to learn about the state of his countrymen under Chinese rule and to contribute to the Tibetan freedom movement through this passage. He wandered through kilometres of unpaved roads, camped at lonely sites, and survived severe weather thanks to the help of many kind strangers on the way. Even though he didn’t follow a proper plan or route, he was able to reach Tibet safely. Unfortunately, what awaited him in his country was more unpleasant experiences.

Upon reaching Tibet, the first man Tsundue met, a local Tibetan, tried to rob him of all his money and belongings. When Tsundue threatened to seek the help of Chinese military men from a nearby army camp, the local man promised not to rob him and took him home. However, this man falsely reported Tsundue as an Indian spy to the Chinese army. 

Soon, Tsundue was put in Chinese custody, where he was questioned for days. Since the army knew only Chinese, a language Tsundue couldn’t speak, he struggled to communicate his version of the story to them. Tsundue recollected how ironic this incident was. He was in Tibet to join his country’s independence movement against the Chinese, but a fellow Tibetan ratted him out to the Chinese army.

After interrogating him for many days, the Chinese army realised that Tsundue wasn’t a spy of any country, nor was he part of any revolutionary gangs. They reckoned he was just a Tibetan, born in exile, who tried to return to his home country.  

The Chinese army ordered him to write an apology. Tsundue wrote a 24-page letter in English, but it was not an apology. Instead, it was a recollection of the sights he saw on the way from India to Tibet, and a mix of scenes from various Indian movies he had seen before. The Chinese army mistook it for an apology, as they couldn’t understand English, and let him off the hook.

Tsundue knew, upon returning to India, he would have to face serious consequences as he illegally crossed the Indian border to reach Tibet. So once he was back in India, he directly reported to the Indian army camp and confessed to his journey to Tibet. In the camp, again, he was interrogated for many days before they let him go.

Tsundue’s protests didn’t end there. 

In January 2002, while Chinese Premier Zhu Rongji was addressing Indian business tycoons in Mumbai’s Oberoi Towers, Tsundue scaled scaffolding to the 14th floor to unfurl a Tibetan national flag and a FREE TIBET banner. In April 2005, he repeated a similar stunning one-man protest when Chinese Prime Minister Wen Jiabao was visiting Bangalore.

Tsundue claims that, since then, he has been under the constant observation of Indian intelligence. Whenever a Chinese president or any officials from China visit India, they arrest Tsundue on a precautionary basis, almost like a protocol. So far, he has been arrested 16 times, including the one time in Lhasa, Tibet.”

Hearing Tsundue’s story made me realise the extent of things we take for granted. Ever since I was born, I have called India my home and country. My parents and I always lived under the safety of four walls and a sheltered roof. India’s struggle for Independence was just something I had to read and learn for my exams from textbooks, not something I had to actively participate in or strive for. But Tsundue and his fellow countrymen have been struggling for years to win back their country’s freedom and  write that part of Tibetan history. 

Tenzin Tsundue’s Poetry 

My face lit up with a smile when I realised Tsundue had one more session at Yaanam –  the Poetic Trail. In that session, Tsundue, along with other poets Pramudith Rupasinghe and Madhu Raghavendra, read out their various poems inspired by travel. I attended the session with my new friend Latha, a Mysorean on her sixth visit to Varkala.

All three poets who participated in the session were amazing. But maybe because of the conviction in his voice, the subtle power of his simple word choices, or perhaps just because I was already aware of his story, Tsundue’s poetry disturbed me the most. To be honest, it gave me chills. Even Latha, who claimed to be a newbie at poetry recitations and literature festivals, was deeply moved by his poetry. 

Like the poem ‘When it rains in Dharamsala’ where he talks about the torturous monsoons beating against the tin roof of his room and flooding it, but also about the tears and despair flooding his eyes and heart:

“When it rains in Dharamsala

raindrops wear boxing gloves,

thousands of them

come crashing down

and beat my room.

…

I cannot cry like my room.

I have cried enough

in prisons

and in small moments of despair.”

Or the poem ‘space-bar A PROPOSAL’ he wrote for his professor: 

“your walls open into cupboards 

is there an empty shelf for me? 

let me grow in your garden 

with your roses and prickly pears

i’ll sleep under your bed 

and watch TV in the mirror…”

You don’t even have to be a refugee or homeless person to resonate with his words. Even an immigrant, or someone who has lived in hostels, rented houses, or at a relative’s place, would understand that state of never fully feeling at home. A raised voice, a heartfelt laugh, or switching ON an extra bulb could invite the owner’s wrath. At our own homes, it would only lead to a scolding from our parents or grandparents, but in a rented place, you could be evicted for a simple mistake like that. Or you might receive a sermon on how you’re overstaying your welcome. That state of living under constant scrutiny, feeling guilty for our mere presence, for just existing… Tsundue wrapped all these complicated feelings and thoughts into simple but profound lines like ‘I will watch TV in your mirror.’

The 45-minute session was not enough to satiate our interest in Tsundue’s poetry, let alone all three of these incredible poets. So at the end of the session, I rushed to the bookstore with Latha and bought the only Tenzin Tsundue book that was available. A short 60-page book named Nang Nowhere to Call Home, written in English and sold for just Rs 50. As Tsundue lives solely from the earnings of his book sales, I wished I could buy more of his books, especially his poetry collection Kora. Later, while exploring his personal website, I stumbled upon a link to download this book for free. 

Nang Nowhere to Call Home

“Home is not a house but the purpose that takes us places, and sometimes away from our own home.” – Nowhere to Call Home. 

This book is a collection of a few of Tsundue’s essays, poetry, stories, and one interview. 

Tsundue’s Political Essays

In Tsundue’s essays in this book, he explores his broken identity as a Tibetan in exile, a refugee in India, and someone with no passport, nationality, or a place to call home.

“Losar is when we the juveniles and bastards

Call home across the Himalayas

And cry into the wire”

On the Tibetan new year, Losar, Tsundue watched his brethren wait in a long line outside a phone booth in MCLeod Ganj, to call their loved ones in Tibet. One by one, they entered the booth, made the calls, and came out, crying and emotionally wrecked, then paid and left. So Tsundue started calling it the Cry Booth, only to realise they were fortunate to have a family to cry to, and a house to call home.  

Across the essays, Tsundue talks about the hardship of his countrymen back in Tibet… 

“Tibet is now a police state. To mine lithium, copper, gold and rare-earths, China’s mining in Tibet is pushing Tibetan nomads and farmers off their ancestral land, coercing them to relocate to alien and artificial villages, much like how White American colonists transplanted Native Americans into fenced plots called ‘Reservations.’”

…but also about their resilience. 

“In seventy years, Mao Zedong’s China became an economic superpower but, in the process, killed its own Buddha. Tibet has lost one sixth of its population and almost all its monasteries, but the People’s Republic couldn’t change us in seventy years. Today, Tibet’s Buddhism may be quietly changing China itself.” 

Tsundue also uses his essays as a strong political tool to criticise India’s One-China policy, calling it absolutely lopsided in terms of diplomacy. He claims:

“India has to remain silent on sixty per cent of the contested area under China’s territorial control, and also Hong Kong and claims over Taiwan, while China has to stand with India only on Kashmir. And it does this, too unfaithfully…”

Tsundue also points out that

“It(India) can’t validate its claim over Arunachal Pradesh without recognising the historical independence of Tibet.” 

“The Tawang region, the birthplace of the Sixth Dalai Lama, was part of Tibet until the agreement in 1914 resulted in the McMahon Line. This bifurcated the entire region of Tawang and made it a part of British India, with maps redrawn and documents signed. 

…

Against this backdrop, how does India hope to validate its claim over Arunachal Pradesh without recognising Tibet, which gave away Tawang to India?”

Tsundue also reminds us that India never had any borders with China, but with Tibet.

“India never had any borders with China; it was only after the Chinese occupation of Tibet that China appeared over the Himalayas. Neither the media-crafted narrative nor the organised education system gives any clear picture about Tibet – what lies behind the Himalayas, the real civilisational neighbour with whom India shares a 4,085 km border.”

Most of his political essays were enlightening, but I found myself vehemently shaking my head ‘no’ while reading the essay ‘Not Playing With Fire: Acts of suffering for the awakening of others,’ in which he talks about self-immolation as an act of protests among Tibetans. 

Tsundue’s Short Stories

The book also contains two heartwarming stories written by Tsundue. 

In ‘Zumki’s Snowlion,’ we meet a young girl named Zumki who wants to meet the snow lion. “It is believed that only the most kind and those with the purest of hearts can see a snow lion.” It made me wonder: Will a snow lion ever show up before me? Are we pure and kind enough for that?

In the short story Kora, we meet a young Tashi who accuses a Tibetan elder: “You were the people who gave away our country into the hands of the Chinese.” But when the elder retorts, “If my son had been alive, he would have been older than you. But he died fighting the Chinese. He died in my lap. … You tell me what you have done for Tibet up to now?”, just like Tashi, we fall silent too.  

Minimalist Lifestyle 

Apart from Tsundue’s writing and protests for Tibet’s Independence, what inspired me the most was the simple lifestyle he lived. Quoting his friends:

“He lives in simplicity – living in two sets of Tibetan shirts and jeans, and always carrying this worn-out backpack, stitched and patched, and adorned by old stickers and trinkets. In that, he carries his daily tools and his cherished poetry books. Behind this minimalist existence lies a deep well of strength, integrity, and commitment. While many seek comfort or recognition, Tsundue has chosen a path of sacrifice. He makes do with his simple life, a vegetarian and teetotaler, solely out of the sales of his self-published books.”  

– Tashi, Jana, Mata Gyamtsi and Alfie, from Prague, Czech Republic, Preface, Nang Nowhere To Call Home. 

Tsundue’s Longing For Home

Though there was so much to learn and be inspired by Tsundue’s life, the realist in me couldn’t help but doubt how practical his dreams were. We live in a world where not just the governments, but also individuals serve their own selfish agendas over the common good. A selfless and peace-loving community like Tibetans are no match for the economic and military superiority of China. Even India, despite being the largest democracy in the world and providing refuge for the Tibetan exiles for decades, cannot be expected to risk the peace and safety of its 1.46+ billion people to officially recognise the independence of Tibet, and thereby anger China further, especially given the existing tensions between the two countries.

The pessimist in me, for a split second, even equated Tsundue’s longing for Tibet as Hiraeth. Hiraeth is a Welsh word that means homesickness for a home that never was and never will be. I was thinking along the lines of… Tsundue has never been to his home in Tibet. Will the Tibetan independence movement bear fruit in his time? Will he be able to build a home there someday? Does Tibet stand a chance against the powerful China?

But Tsundue has sharp replies for such pessimists, too: 

“Home for me is real. It is there, but I am very far from it. It is the home of my grandparents and parents left behind in Tibet. It is the valley in which my Popo-la and Momo-la had their farm and lots of yaks, where my parents played when they were children.”

And he retorts:

“Gandhi too must have been asked the same question: ‘Gandhi, do you stand a chance?’ Looking at the British Empire ruling two-thirds of the world and arrogantly saying ‘The Sun never sets on the British Empire’. Today the entire UK can fit in Rajasthan, only one of 28 states of India. EMPIRES COME AND GO. For India, it took 200 years…”

“…Our country(Tibet) may not be free today, but we are, in our hearts. And one who has freedom in the heart will remain free. Of course, Tibet will be free, Inshallah.”

When an entire nation in exile is putting its hope on this freedom movement, who are we to discourage them with our own cowardice and pessimism? I commend their audacity to hope, their daily sacrifices for the cause of Tibetan freedom, their willpower and courage.

As the old man says to Tashi, we can only hope and pray that the younger Tibetans will ‘complete the work left incomplete, will be successful in the struggle and take His Holiness the Dalai Lama back to a free Tibet.”

Personally, I made a mental note to correct my own misconceptions. What Tibetans feel towards Tibet is not a homesickness for a home that never was and never will be. Tibet was, and Tibet will be. And Tibet still is in the hearts of every Tibetan who calls it their home. 

Author’s Notes

~ All quotations used in this post are from Tenzin Tsundue’s books Kora and Nang Nowhere to Call Home.

~ All other content on this book review is the intellectual property of the author. © 2025 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ You can read all the blogs in the Yaanam 2025 series here: Yaanam2025.

BUY THE BOOK

യാനം 2025

കേരളസർക്കാർ സംസ്ഥാനത്തിന്റെ വിനോദസഞ്ചാര സാധ്യതകളെ ലോകത്തിനു പരിചയപ്പെടുത്താനും, 25 കോടിയോളം രൂപ മുതൽമുടക്ക് വരുന്ന വികസനപദ്ധതികൾ ഈ മേഖലയിൽ പ്രഖ്യാപിക്കാനുമായി  വർക്കലയിലെ രംഗം കലാ കേന്ദ്രത്തിൽ ഒക്ടോബർ 17, 18, 19 തീയതികളിൽ  ഒരു സഞ്ചാര സാഹിത്യ ഫെസ്റ്റിവൽ സംഘടിപ്പിക്കുകയുണ്ടായി – യാനം 2025. ലോകമെമ്പാടും നിന്നുള്ള 48  സ്‌പീക്കർസിനൊപ്പം പരിപാടി കാണാനെത്തിയ 150ഓളം ഡെലിഗേറ്റസിൽ എനിക്കുമൊരു ഭാഗമാകാനായി. ഈ പരിപാടിയെകുറിച്ചു ഞാനെഴുതുന്ന ഒരു ബ്ലോഗ് സീരീസിലെ രണ്ടാമത്തെ കണ്ണിയാണ് ഈ പോസ്റ്റ്. ഈ പരിപാടിക്കിടെ ഞാൻ യാദൃശ്ചികമായി പരിചയപ്പെട്ട ഒരു എഴുത്തുകാരിയെയും അവരുടെ ഏറ്റവും പുതിയ പുസ്തകത്തെയും പരിചയപ്പെടുത്താനാണ് ഈ ബ്ലോഗ്. 

എനിക്കീ   പുസ്തകം കിട്ടിയ കഥ!

യാനത്തിന്റെ മൂന്നാം ദിവസം ഒക്ടോബർ 19, 2025, ഞായറാഴ്ച,  ഒരു സെഷന്റെ ഇടയ്ക്ക്, എന്റെയൊരു സുഹൃത്ത് നാട്ടിലേക്ക് പോകുന്നു എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞതുകൊണ്ട് അവനെ കാണാനായി ഞാൻ പുറത്തേക്കിറങ്ങി. അപരിചിതരായ ഒരു കൂട്ടം ചെറുപ്പക്കാർ അപ്പൊ രംഗം കലാ കേന്ദ്രത്തിന്റെ മുൻപിലായി നിൽപ്പുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. ദൃതിയിലായതുകൊണ്ട് അവരെ നോക്കി ഒന്ന് പുഞ്ചിരിച്ചിട്ടു ഞാൻ പുറത്തേക്കു പോയി. യാനത്തിന്റെ സംഘാടകരോ, അല്ലെങ്കിൽ ഏതെങ്കിലും പത്രത്തിന്റെയോ ചാനലിന്റെയോ മീഡിയ ടീമോ, ഇനി അതുമല്ലെങ്കിൽ ഒരു കൂട്ടം പുസ്തകപ്രേമികളോ ആകും എന്നെ ഞാൻ കരുതിയുള്ളൂ. 

അൽപനേരം കഴിഞ്ഞു ഞാൻ തിരിച്ചെത്തിയപ്പോഴും അവർ അവിടെ തന്നെയുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. അതിലൊരു ചെറുപ്പക്കാരൻ എന്നെ വന്നു പരിചയപ്പെടുകയും എനിക്കൊരു പുസ്തകം തരാനുണ്ടെന്നു പറയുകയും   ചെയ്തു. എനിക്ക് എന്താ ഏതാ ഒന്നും മനസിലായില്ല. കിളി പോയി നിന്ന എന്നോട് പൈസ ഒന്നും വേണ്ടെന്നും, ഈ പുസ്തകം ഇന്നാർക്കെങ്കിലും കൊടുക്കണമെന്നുള്ളത് പുള്ളിക്കൊരാൾ കൊടുത്ത ടാസ്ക് ആണെന്നും പറഞ്ഞു. ആഹാ! വളരെ രസകരമായ ടാസ്ക്! ഞാൻ മനസ്സിലോർത്തു.

പല തവണ യാനത്തിന്റെ ബുക്ക്സ്റ്റോറിൽ കേറിയിറങ്ങി ഒട്ടുമിക്യ പുസ്തകങ്ങളെയും തിരിച്ചും മറിച്ചും വായിനോക്കിയെങ്കിലും ഉടനെ കുറേ യാത്രകളുള്ളത് കൊണ്ടും, പൈസ പിടിച്ചു ചിലവാക്കണമെന്ന ദൃഢപ്രതിജ്ഞയിലായതുകൊണ്ടും ഞാൻ അതുവരെ ഒരു പുസ്തകം മാത്രമേ  വാങ്ങിച്ചിരുന്നുള്ളു. അപ്പോഴാണ് ഒരാൾ വന്നു എനിക്കിങ്ങോട്ടു ഒരു നല്ല പുസ്തകം സൗജനയുമായി തരുന്നത്. സ്വാഭാവികമായും ഞാൻ ഹാപ്പിയായി.

പുസ്തകത്തിന്റെ പുറംചട്ടയിൽ നല്ലഭംഗിയുള്ള ഒരു പെൺകുട്ടിയുടെ ഫോട്ടോ. ഞാൻ പുസ്തകത്തിന്റെ പേരും, എഴുത്തുകാരിയുടെ പേരും വായിച്ചു. ചിത്രശലഭങ്ങളെ വിട, ദിവ്യ വേലായുധൻ. ഞാൻ എടുത്ത വായിൽ ചോദിക്കുകയും ചെയ്തു, “ആരാ ഈ ദിവ്യ?”

“ഞാനാണ്” എന്ന് ആ കൂട്ടത്തിലെ ഒരു പെൺകുട്ടി പറഞ്ഞു. ശ്ശെടാ! സെയിം ഫേസ്. പുസ്തകത്തിന്റെ പുറംച്ചട്ടയിലെ അതെ മുഖം. എന്നാലും ഞാൻ നേരത്തെ ശ്രദ്ധിക്കാതെ പോയല്ലോ! അമളി പറ്റിയത് പുറത്തു കാട്ടാതെ ഞാൻ ചിരിച്ചു. 

ഒരു പുസ്തകം എഴുതുന്നതും അത് പ്രസിദ്ധീകരിക്കുന്നതും ശ്രമകരമായ ജോലിയാണെന്ന് അത് ചെയ്തിട്ടുള്ളതുകൊണ്ടു എനിക്ക് നന്നായി അറിയാം. ഞാൻ ദിവ്യയോട് എന്റെ അഭിനന്ദനങ്ങളും പുസ്തകം തന്നതിലുള്ള നന്ദിയും അറിയിച്ചു. പുസ്തകം വായിച്ചിട്ട് അതിനെക്കുറിച്ച് എന്റെ ബ്ലോഗിൽ ഒരു വായനാസ്വാദനം എഴുതാം എന്ന് ഉറപ്പുകൊടുത്തിരുന്നു. അതാണ് നിങ്ങളീ വായിച്ചുകൊണ്ടിരുന്ന പോസ്റ്റ്. 

രണ്ടു പുതിയ അമളികൾ

പുസ്തകത്തിന്റെ പേര് ‘ചിത്രശലഭങ്ങളെ വിട‘ എന്നായതുകൊണ്ട് ഇതൊരു പ്രണയ-വിരഹ കഥയായിരിക്കും എന്നായിരുന്നു എന്റെ മുൻവിധി. കുറച്ചു ദിവസങ്ങൾക്കു മുൻപ്, കൃത്യമായി പറഞ്ഞാൽ നവംബർ ആറിന് ഈ പുസ്തകം വെറുതെയൊന്നു മറിച്ചുനോക്കിയപ്പോഴാണ് എന്റെ പുതിയ രണ്ടു അമളികൾ ഞാൻ തിരിച്ചറിഞ്ഞത്. 

ഒന്ന്… ഞാൻ വിചാരിച്ചിരുന്നത് പോലെ ഇത് ദിവ്യയുടെ ആദ്യത്തെ പുസ്തകമല്ല, അഞ്ചാമത്തെ പുസ്തകമാണ്. മാത്രവുമല്ല, Divyaverse പബ്ലിക്കേഷൻസ് എന്നൊരു പുസ്തകപ്രസിദ്ധീകരണ കമ്പനിയും അവർ നടത്തുന്നുണ്ട്. 

രണ്ടു… ഞാൻ തെറ്റിദ്ധരിച്ചതു പോലെ ഇതൊരു പ്രണയകഥയല്ല. ദിവ്യ എന്ന മുപ്പത്തിമൂന്നുകാരിയിൽ തൈറോയ്ഡ് കാൻസർ കണ്ടെത്തിയതിന്റെയും തുടർന്ന് അവർ ആ കാൻസർ അതിജീവിച്ചതിന്റെയും കഥയാണ്. നേരത്തെ ഇത് മനസിലാക്കാതെ പോയത് എന്റെ മാത്രം മണ്ടത്തരമാണ്, കാരണം പുസ്തകത്തിന്റെ പുറംചട്ടയിൽ നല്ല വെണ്ടയ്ക്ക അക്ഷരത്തിൽ “Beyond the butterfly scar… A cancer story…” എന്ന് എഴുതിയിട്ടുണ്ട്. കൂടാതെ പുസ്തകത്തിന്റെ പിന്നിലെ സംഗ്രഹത്തിലും  ഇതിനെ പറ്റി വിശദമായി പറയുന്നുണ്ട്. 

“നിന്റെ കഥയെഴുത്തല്ല ബുക്ക് റിവ്യൂ. നിനക്ക് ആ പുസ്തകം എന്തുകൊണ്ട് ഇഷ്ടമായി, മറ്റൊരാൾ ആ പുസ്തകം എന്തിനു വായിക്കണം എന്നുമാത്രം എഴുതി നിർത്തിക്കോണം” എന്നാണ് എന്റെ വീട്ടിലെ ഹൈകമ്മാണ്ടിന്റെ ഓർഡർ. അതുകൊണ്ടു അഭിപ്രായം ചുരുക്കിപറയാം.  

പുസ്തക നിരൂപണം 

“വേദനകൾ പതിയെ ഞാനറിയൂ. എന്റെ മുഖത്തു വിഷമം കാണില്ല. എന്റെ വാക്കുകളിൽ പ്രയാസം ആരും അറിയില്ല. ഞാൻ ഒരു കള്ളിയാണ്. എനിക്ക് എളുപ്പത്തിൽ ഞാൻ പോലുമറിയാതെ പലതും മറയ്ക്കാൻ പറ്റും. പലതും. ഒരുവേള എന്നെത്തന്നെ പറ്റിക്കുകയാണ് എന്ന് സ്വയം മനസിലാക്കുക പോലും ചെയ്യാതെ ഞാൻ ജീവിച്ചു കളയും. അതാണ് ഞാൻ.”

ദിവ്യയുടെ തൊണ്ടയിലെ ഒരു കരകരപ്പു  Papillary Carcinoma എന്ന തൈറോയ്ഡ് ക്യാന്സറാണെന്നു ഡോക്ടർ സ്ഥിരീകരിക്കുന്നതും, ജീവിതത്തിലിന്നേ വരെ തൈറോയ്ഡ് സംബന്ധമായ യാതൊരു അസുഖങ്ങളും വന്നിട്ടില്ലാത്ത തനിക്ക് ഒരു പക്ഷെ ജോലിസ്ഥലത്തെ mineral   exposure കൊണ്ടാവാം അസുഖം വന്നതെന്ന നിഗമനത്തിൽ ദിവ്യ എത്തുന്നതും, തുടർന്നു ശസ്ത്രക്രിയയിലൂടെയും Radioactive Iodine തെറാപ്പിയിലൂടെയും ക്യാന്സറിനെ അതീജീവിക്കുന്നതുമാണ് ഈ ഓർമ്മകുറിപ്പിന്റെ  ഇതിവൃത്തം. 

വിഷയം ക്യാന്സറും അതിജീവനവുമാണെങ്കിലും, വളരെ ലളിതമായ, എന്നാൽ ഹാസ്യവും സിനിമ ഡയലോഗുകളുമൊക്കെ ചാലിച്ച രസകരമായ സംസാരഭാഷയിലാണ് ഈ പുസ്തകം എഴുതിയിരിക്കുന്നത്. അതുകൊണ്ടു തന്നെ എല്ലാത്തരം വായനക്കാർക്കും ഈ പുസ്തകം പ്രാപ്യമാണ്. 

ആലങ്കാരികമായ ഭാഷയിൽ എഴുതിയാൽ മാത്രമേ സാഹിത്യമാകു എന്ന് വിശ്വസിക്കുന്നവരോട് പറയാനുള്ളത്, ഭാഷ ലളിതമാണെങ്കിലും എഴിതിയിരിക്കുന്നതൊക്കെയും തീക്ഷ്ണമായ ജീവിതാനുഭവങ്ങളെകുറിച്ചാണ്. അത് എന്നെ പോലെ നിങ്ങളെയും നല്ല ഇമോഷണലാക്കാൻ സാധ്യതയുണ്ട്.

“ഈ കഴിഞ്ഞ ഇടവത്തിൽ മുപ്പത്തിമൂന്നു വയസ്സാണ് എനിക്ക്. മൂന്ന് സ്കൂളുകൾ, രണ്ടു കോളേജുകൾ, മൂന്ന് പ്രണയങ്ങൾ, ഒരു വിവാഹം, ഒരു വിവാഹ മോചനം, പല പല ജോലികൾ, രണ്ടു രാജിക്കത്തുകൾ, അങ്ങനെ മുപ്പത്തിമൂന്നു വർഷങ്ങൾ കൊണ്ട് ഒരു അറുപതുവയസ്സ് ജീവിച്ചത്പോലെയായി. എന്നാലും ഒരിക്കലും മടുത്തിട്ടില്ല. ഇപ്പോഴും പ്രണയമുണ്ട്. പുതിയ ജോലിയുണ്ട്. എല്ലാത്തിലുമുപരി എന്റെ പരിഷ്കരിച്ച പതിപ്പ് വളരെ മനോഹരമാണ്. ഇപ്പോൾ ഞാൻ കടലുപോലെ ശാന്തവും കരപോലെ ദീർഘവുമാകാൻ കഴിവുള്ള ഒരു മനുഷ്യനാണ്.”

ആരെയും കൂസാതെയുള്ള തുറന്നെഴുത്താണ്‌ എഴുത്തുകാരിയുടെ ശൈലി. അതിൽ പ്രിയപെട്ടവരോടുള്ള സ്നേഹവും പരിഭവങ്ങളുമുണ്ട്, പ്രണയമുണ്ട്, വിരഹമുണ്ട്, സാമ്പത്തികപ്രതിസന്ധികളുണ്ട്, ജോലിസ്ഥലത്തെ മേലധികാരികളോടുള്ള ദേഷ്യമുണ്ട്,  ആന്തരിക മുറിവുകളുണ്ട്, കാൻസർ അതിജീവനമുണ്ട്, പക്ഷെ അതിനെല്ലാം ഉപരിയായി ചെറുത്തുനിൽപ്പുണ്ട്, പൊരുതലുണ്ട്, പുനർവിചിന്തനത്തിലൂടെയും പുനരാവിഷ്കാരത്തിലൂടെയുമുള്ള  വൻ തിരിച്ചുവരവുകളുണ്ട്. ആ കാലഘട്ടങ്ങളിലൊക്കെ  കൂടെ നിന്ന ഡോക്ടർമാർ, നഴ്സുമാർ, ലൈഫ് കോച്ച്, പാർട്ണർ, കുടുംബാംഗങ്ങൾ, സുഹൃത്തുക്കളോടുള്ള നന്ദിപറച്ചിലുണ്ട്. 

ആദ്യം വായിച്ചു തുടങ്ങിയപ്പോൾ, ചില ഭാഗങ്ങളിൽ കുറച്ചു പരിഭവംപറച്ചിലും സ്വയംപൊക്കലും കൂടുതൽ അല്ലെ എന്ന് തോന്നിയിരുന്നു. ഞാൻ മെയ്യഴകനെ പോലെയാ എന്ന് പലയിടങ്ങളിൽ പരാമർശിച്ചപ്പോൾ അല്പം ആവർത്തനവിരസതയും തോന്നി. പക്ഷെ പുസ്തകത്തിന്റെ അവസാനമെത്തിയപ്പോൾ വളരെ നിഷ്കളങ്കമായ, ഒരുപാടു സ്നേഹമുള്ള, കുറച്ചധികം സത്യസന്ധയായ, inspiring ആയ ഒരു വ്യക്തിയുടെ ജീവിതം അടുത്തറിഞ്ഞതായാണ് തോന്നിയത്. 

എനിക്കീ പുസ്തകത്തിൽ ഏറ്റവും ഇഷ്ടപെട്ടത് ദിവ്യയുടെ unapologetic ജീവിതവും തുറന്നെഴുത്തും തന്നെയാണ്. കാൻസർ കാലഘട്ടത്തിൽ to-do ലിസ്റ്റുകളിലൂടെയും ദിവസേനയുള്ള പോസിറ്റീവ് affirmationsലുടെയും നിരാശയിൽ വീണു പോകാതെ പിടിച്ചു നിന്നതും, സ്വന്തം ശരീരത്തോടും മുറിച്ചുമാറ്റിയ ശലഭാകൃതിയുള്ള തന്റെ തൈറോയ്ഡ് ഗ്രന്ഥിയോടും കൂടെ നിന്ന പ്രിയപെട്ടവരോടും നന്ദി പറഞ്ഞുകൊണ്ടെഴുതിയ കത്തുകളും ഒരു വായനക്കാരി എന്ന നിലയിൽ എന്നെ വൈകാരികമായി സ്പർശിക്കുകയും അല്പം കരയിപ്പിക്കുകയും ജീവിതത്തിന്റെ ഏറ്റക്കുറച്ചിലുകളെ സധൈര്യം നേരിടാൻ ഒരു പ്രചോദനമായി മാറുകയും ചെയ്തു. 

ഈ പുസ്തകത്തിൽ പലയിടത്തുമായി ദിവ്യയും പാർട്ണറായ അജീഷും പറയുന്ന ഒരു കാര്യമുണ്ട് – “ഞങ്ങൾ വെട്ടൊന്ന് തുണ്ടു രണ്ടു പാർട്ടീസ് ആണ്. അതായതു കാര്യങ്ങൾ വേഗത്തിൽ ചെയ്തു തീർക്കും.” അതിനൊരു ഉദാഹരണം പറയാം. 164 പേജുകളുള്ള ഈ പുസ്തകം ദിവ്യ എഴുതി തീർത്തത് രണ്ടു ദിവസം കൊണ്ടാണ്, അതും കാൻസർ ചികിത്സയുടെ ഇടയിൽ. ഇതെഴുതുമ്പോൾ എന്റെ മുഖത്തൊരു ചമ്മൽ ചിരിയുണ്ട്, കാരണം ഈ ബ്ലോഗെഴുതി തീർക്കാൻ ഞാൻ 2-3 ദിവസമെടുത്തു.

ഇത്രയും വലിയ ചികിത്സയുടെ ഇടയിലിരുന്നു ഒരു പുസ്തകമെഴുതി തീർക്കാൻ കാണിച്ച മനഃസാന്നിധ്യത്തിനും കരളുറപ്പിനും ശുഭാപ്തിവിശ്വാസത്തിനും എത്ര അഭിനന്ദിച്ചാലും മതിയാകില്ല. ഇനിയും ഒരുപാടു ഉയരങ്ങളിൽ എത്തട്ടെ എന്നാശംസിക്കുന്നു.

എഴുത്തിലും ജീവിതത്തിലും എല്ലാവിധ ഭാവുകങ്ങളും നേരുന്നു. എന്തിനും ഏതിനും കൂടെയുള്ള ആ സുഹൃത്തുക്കളുടെയും പ്രിയപെട്ടവരുടെയും സ്നേഹവലയം എന്നും ചുറ്റിനുമുണ്ടാകട്ടെ എന്ന് പ്രാർത്ഥിക്കുകയും ചെയുന്നു.

ഇനി പറയാനുള്ളത് സഹൃദയരോടാണ്. ജീവിതത്തിൽ ഉയർച്ചതാഴ്ചകളും ജയപരാജയങ്ങളും സാധാരണമാണല്ലോ? പക്ഷെ എന്തുകൊണ്ടോ ചില വീഴ്ചകളിൽ നമ്മൾ തളർന്നിരുന്നു പോകുന്നു. ചിലപ്പോൾ ചെറിയ തെറ്റുകൾക്കും കുറവുകൾക്കും പോലും നമ്മളോടും മറ്റുള്ളവരോടും ക്ഷമിക്കാൻ കഴിയാതെ എത്രയോ നാൾ നിരാശയുടെ പടുകുഴിയിലോ ദേഷ്യത്തിന്റെ മുഖംമൂടിക്കുള്ളിലോ നമ്മൾ സ്വയമൊതുങ്ങുന്നു.  നമ്മളുടെയിടയിൽ ഇപ്പോഴും അത്തരം മാനസിക സങ്കർഷങ്ങളിലൂടെ കടന്നു പോകുന്നവർക്ക്, കാൻസർ ചികിത്സയിലായിരിക്കുന്നവർക്കു, കാൻസർ അതിജീവിച്ചവർക്കു, അവരുടെ പ്രിയപ്പെട്ടവർക്ക് എന്തുകൊണ്ടും ദിവ്യയുടെ ജീവിതം നല്ലൊരു മാതൃകയും,  ഈ പുസ്തകം അതിജീവനത്തിന്റെയും, ചേർത്തുപിടിക്കലിന്റെയും മികച്ചൊരു വായനാനുഭവവുമാകും.

Reviewer’s Notes

~ All quotations used in this post are from the reviewed book Chithrashalabhangale Vida by Divya Velayudhan.

~ All other content on this book review is the intellectual property of the reviewer. © 2025 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ You can read all the blogs in the Yaanam 2025 series here: Yaanam2025.

Yaanam 2025

Recently, I attended Yaanam, a one-of-a-kind travel literature festival organised by Kerala Tourism in Varkala. The event brought together writers, journalists, photographers, musicians, chefs, content creators, and fellow travel enthusiasts from across the globe. 

It was conceptualised and curated by Sabin Iqbal, a novelist, journalist, and literary curator native to Varkala. Along with the renowned 48+ speakers, including Booker Prize winner Sri Lankan Writer Shehan Karunatilaka, to Malayalee’s very own K.R. Meera and Benyamin, the event was also open to 150 delegates. 

Though the event’s online registration closed early, I was able to attend through spot registration. I’m glad I showed up at Ranga Kala Kendram, the venue of the event, on the inauguration day, October 17th, 2025, and grabbed that opportunity. I met many like-minded people, made new friends, discovered inspiring writers and travellers, listened in awe to their stories and activism, learned valuable lessons, and above all, had a wonderful time.

This blog is to show my love and appreciation for one of the most compelling writer voices I heard during the event – Tenzin Tsundue.

Tenzin Tsundue

View this post on Instagram

Consumerism and Overtourism

The first time I noticed Tsundue was on the Inauguration Day of Yaanam, after the first interactive session, “Conversation – In Search of Stories and Characters.” He is hard to miss as he sports a striking red bandana on his head, but I didn’t know its relevance then.

The panel consisted of writers Shehan Karunatilaka, Pallavi Aiyar, and K.R. Meera, with Sabin Iqbal as the moderator. During the session, the authors discussed their travel experiences, how travel is an indispensable part of their creative writing process, and passportism, the privilege and displacement associated with travel. 

This was followed by a Q&A session, where Tsundue, who was part of the audience, raised concerns about how consumerism and the Social media influencer culture often lead to overcrowding and overtourism in Himachal areas, including Dharamshala, where he is based. He also pointed out how it often causes environmental and social issues, where tourists become a nuisance for the locals. He stressed the importance of promoting a slow and more sustainable form of tourism.

At that point, I thought he was a fellow travel enthusiast, someone who was deeply concerned about the environmental and sustainability aspects of travel. But soon, to my surprise, while skimming through the programme schedule, I ended up reading his bio on the speakers’ list.

Tenzin Tsundue is a Tibetan poet, writer and activist, born and raised in India, and is regarded as one of the most prominent voices for Tibetan independence.  He is instantly recognisable by the red bandana he wears, a symbol of his lifelong commitment to work for Tibet’s freedom. His speaking tours have taken him all over India and to twenty-five other countries, while his protest actions landed him in jail sixteen times, including once in Lhasa, Tibet. 

Tsundue supports himself entirely through the sales of his self-published books: Crossing the Border, a book of poems (1999); Kora, a collection of stories and poems (2002); Semshook, essays on the Tibetan freedom struggle (2007); Tsengol, stories and poems of resistance (2012); and Nang / Nowhere to Call Home (2023). In 2001, he received the Outlook-Picador Award for Non-Fiction. He lives in Dharamshala, in Himachal Pradesh, India. (Source: Yaanam 2025 & Tenzin Tsundue. )

After learning about his writing and protests for his country’s independence, my friends and I were excited to attend his session –  Borders Within: A Journey to Tibet. (Tenzin Tsundue takes us on his harrowing journey from Dharmshala to Tibet, the land of his ancestors.)  It was scheduled to happen the next day, on October 18th, 2025, but due to unforeseen issues, it got postponed to the 19th, the last day of Yaanam.

Envy for Cuba

View this post on Instagram

The next day, under the pala tree, one of the key spots of the event, I was listening to N P Ullekh‘s session “My Cuban Days”, moderated by Faizal Khan. Ullekh recounted his Cuban sojourn, pointed out the similarities between Cuba and his native district, Kannur in Kerala, elaborated on Malayalis’ nostalgia for Cuba, and discussed his latest book, ‘Mad About Cuba: A Malayali Revisits the Revolution.’ 

At the end of the session, Tsundue, who was again part of the audience,  added his perspective. He said he felt envy for Cuba. He wished someone would speak about Tibet the way Ullekh was talking about Cuba. Ullekh responded that he would be happy to visit, provided someone granted him the visa. However, Tsundue expressed that it was too late, given the current political climate and brewing tension between India and China.

As a spectator, I felt the whole scene was a bit ironic. The Kerala government organised Yaanam 2025 and chose Tenzin Tsundue as a guest and speaker. I’m glad they did because he is such an important voice of dissent in our times. But it also made me wonder how Tsundue felt speaking in Kerala, where a communist Government is in power, with its people romanticising the likes of Che Guevara and Cuba’s 60-year defiance of the capitalist superpowers. Meanwhile, China, another communist power, conquered Tibet and forced its people, including the fourteenth Dalai Lama, Tenzin Gyatso, into exile in India. 

I sighed, realising life is full of ironies. Ideally, every political ideology should stand for equality, freedom, and justice, just as every religion must teach love, peace, and brotherhood. Yet, most followers rarely live up to these ideals. In other words, the way we interpret and practise religions and political ideologies makes all the difference. 

Venchamaram

In the preface of Tsundue’s latest book, Nang Nowhere To Call Home, Tashi, Jana, Mata Gyamtsi and Alfie, from Prague, Czech Republic, wrote:

“His activism is not driven by anger or resentment, but by a deep love for his homeland and a profound sense of justice.”

True to their word, Tsundue broke our thoughts by pointing out an endearing trade link between Kerala and Tibet in the past. He explained that Venchamaram, the white, flowing tufts used to fan Thidambu atop elephants in ceremonial processions and temple festivals in Kerala, such as Poorams, was originally made from the fur of Tibetan yaks. This fur was reared only after the natural death of yaks.

He brought a smile to the audience’s faces with this trivia, but the pain and yearning in his voice for his homeland also tugged at our hearts. I looked forward to hearing more about his activism and journeys in the next day’s session. 

At every check-post and office

I am an “Indian-Tibetan”

My Registration Certificate

I renew every year with a salaam.

A foreigner born in India.

I am more of an Indian.

Except for my chinky Tibetan face.

“Nepali?” “Thai?” “Japanese?”

“Chinese?” “Naga?” “Manipuri?”

But never the question – “Tibetan?”

I am Tibetan.

But I am not from Tibet.

Never been there.

Yet I dream

Of dying there. – Poem ‘My Tibetanness,’ Book Kora 

To be continued… 

Up Next: Yaanam’25 – Tenzin Tsundue’s Poetry and His Latest Book, Nang Nowhere To Call Home

Author’s Notes

~ All embedded Instagram posts are the property of Yaanam and Kerala Tourism.

~ All other content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2025 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ You can read all the blogs in the Yaanam 2025 series here: Yaanam2025.

September 11, 2025, Thursday – Day 2, Exploring East Fort in Trivandrum

After a good night’s sleep, morning walk, bath, and a light idli & coconut chutney(chammanthi) breakfast, I was raring for a long, adventurous day.

Did I mention I made new friends? Yes, of course, my three hostel roommates, who were juniors working at Technopark and native to different parts of Kerala, such as Thrissur, Kottayam, and Kollam. But I also said ‘hi’ to the tabby cat that made our hostel its home, the tiny squirrel that hopped on the fence and kept me company during my morning walk, and the part-whitish, part-light-brownish pariah dog with a black leather collar on its neck that put an end to my walk with a single growl.  

Every cat that adopts itself into an Indian home – 80% charm, and 20% sly rascal!

Bus to East Fort 

Once the morning office rush was over, I hopped on a bus to East Fort, from Attinkuzhi, the bus stop nearest to my hostel. The bus ticket cost Rs 28. 

East Fort and Thampanoor are two central hubs in Trivandrum. They are just one bus stop away from each other. To catch long trains or buses, we often have to visit the Trivandrum railway station and the KSRTC bus stand in Thampanoor. Whereas East Fort hosts the central private bus stand and also the renowned Sreepadmanabhaswamy temple, nearby Puthenmalika or Kuthiramalika Palace, Methan Mani, and Margi Theatre.

Since I was seeing that bus route after six years, the familiar sights made me nostalgic, and the new sights made me realise how much Trivandrum had changed in the past years. I used this bus ride to refresh the Kazhakuttam – Bypass Road – East Fort bus route and relearn the names of all the important bus stops in between. I also jotted down the interesting sights and building names on the way so I could visit them later.

Here’s the list of bus stops and building names I jotted down: Kazhakuttam – Techno Park – Lulu Mall – Chackai – Petta – Pattoor, famous for its church – Regional Institute of Ophthalmology – State Mental Health Authority – Government Stamp Manufactory – Indian Red Cross Society –  General Hospital Junction – St Joseph’s Higher Secondary School – University of Kerala – Kerala University Library – Palayam –  Chandrasekharan Nair Stadium, where I once ran a 2K women’s night run with my IT friends – Palayam Church – A temple and a mosque sharing a wall – Sree Shakthi Vinayaka temple – M G Road – Statue – Government Secretariat on the left – Ayurveda college – Pazhavangadi, famous for its temple – Sreemahaganapati temple – Thampanoor – Trivandrum Railway Station – KSRTC bus station – Gandhi park – Famous textile shops like Jayalekshmi, Pothys, etc – East Fort. 

Trivandrum City Bus Tour 

The transport bus I boarded dropped me off at East Fort. I enquired about the city bus tour at the bus stand. KSRTC Swift’s Nagarakazhchakal ride is an open bus tour that covers the main roads and tourist spots in Thiruvananthapuram city. It runs hourly services between 3 p.m. and 10 p.m. The upper deck costs Rs 200 per seat, whereas the lower deck costs Rs 100. You can book the tickets online.

As it covers many important locations in Trivandrum, such as East Fort, Palayam, Airport Road, Shanghumugham Beach, and Lulu Mall, I would recommend it to anyone visiting Trivandrum for the first time, especially on a short trip. Since I counted myself a local and had a month at my disposal, I chose to explore the city at my own pace. 

Bustling Chalai Bazaar

I walked to the nearby Chalai Bazaar. This market street has a lot of history. It is the oldest and busiest marketplace in Trivandrum.

“The narrow, crowded road starts from the East gate and ends at Killipalam. The Diwan of Travancore, “Raja” Kesava Das, established this ever-vibrant market during the closing years of the 18th century. During the rule of Karthika Thirunal Rama Varma (1758-1798 AD), Padmanabhapuram was the capital of Travancore. The king, who wanted to spend his life near the renovated Padmanabha Swamy temple, shifted the capital from Padmanabhapuram to Thiruvananthapuram. Kesava Das realised the importance of developing a market for the supply of goods in the capital city, which led to the genesis of the Chalai market.”- Chalai.org

Bustling Chalai Bazaar

Even on a Thursday morning, the lanes of Chalai market were bustling with activity. The small roads were congested with autorickshaws, two-wheelers, stalls on the sides, and people walking in both directions.

A few of the shopkeepers looked at me with surprise. Maybe, a woman in a purple kurta, holding onto a purple umbrella, strolling through the streets of Chalai Bazaar, with a clueless expression half-hidden by the sky-blue mask over her face, was a funny sight to them. Or maybe, my school-kid-like shoulder bag made them wonder if I was skipping school, college, or work. I wonder if anyone guessed it right: that I was skipping life, just its conventional side, though.

Meanwhile, many other shopkeepers heartily invited me to their shops. Speaking of which, like Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans in Harry Potter, there were shops of all kinds in this bazaar. Shops that sold gold and silver jewellery, brass and aluminium vessels, to ones that sold bathroom fittings and plywood. Not to forget, restaurants, textile shops, shops selling kitchen utensils, gas stoves, furniture, mattresses, mats, mirrors, clocks, perfumes, mud lamps, incense pots, brass trophies, lamps, and even paintings, traditional home decor like wooden snake boat sculptures and nettipattoms– an ornament worn on the forehead of elephants during temple festivals, artistic locks called manichithrathazhu, golden trishools and silver utensils.

Chalai Mutharamman Temple

But my favourites were, of course, the stalls that sold flowers: roses, jasmines, pink oleanders, and yellow and orange chrysanthemums. I watched in awe as the seller dipped gorgeous red rose garlands in and out of a bucket full of water to keep them fresh. 

There was a temple named ‘Chalai Mutharamman Kovil’ and a mosque, ‘Chalai Juma Masjid,’ in that lane. Stalls that sold flowers and incense for the pooja or temple services were also nearby. A wedding card shop named Chinthamani also caught my eye. 

I walked all the way to Aryasala and returned to my starting point at the entrance of Chalai market. On my return stroll, as I reached the Mosque, I could see the renowned Sreepadmanabhaswamy temple at a distance. In a country scarred by the communal tensions between its two main religions, sights like this fill me with hope. But the hateful comments and political and religious intolerance we witness every day on social media and news make me fear for my country’s future, too. 

Social media is not a good representation of reality. It’s easy to end up with hatred, jealousy, low self-esteem, racial prejudice, and religious intolerance if your only source of the real world is the lies, filtered photos, polarised opinions, and stereotypes propagated through social media. That’s why it’s so important to explore the real world, interact with real people, and listen to their life stories, not just the curated photos in their Insta grid. 

Gandhi Park

Even before hopping down at the KSRTC bus stand, I had seen the Gandhi Park nearby. So soon after exploring the Chalai Bazaar, I walked through the park. There was a raised platform with a Gandhi statue. The engraving under the statue read “My life is my message. Mahatma Gandhi. Father of the nation. 1869-1948.”

“My Life Is My Message.” – Mahatma Gandhi

Under the shade of trees, there were many benches where people sat reading their morning newspapers, making calls, waiting for a bus or train, or simply passing the time. Behind them, there were photo walls, depicting key moments from Gandhi’s life, like his birth, studies in London, protests in South Africa, Satyagrahas in India, the Dandi March, the Quit India Movement, and his assassination.

While I was photographing these walls, a few uncles and youngsters sitting on the nearby benches turned around and gazed at the walls too. I couldn’t help but smile. 

Gandhi’s life as depicted at Gandhi Park, East Fort.

Many people think fine arts is a waste of time and money. Some have said this to my face regarding my writing as well. Here’s my two cents about it. Irrespective of how my life will pan out in the future, I believe this world needs more artists and writers. 

When a photographer focuses his lens on a war scene, the entire world will take notice, too. Without such witnesses, politicians could easily hide war crimes and genocides from our view. When an artist takes up a social cause, their work can create ripples in society. A good writer, driven by truth and freedom, is not only a mirror of society but also a powerful voice for human rights.

Second Breakfast

By the time I finished my stroll, my simple idli-coconut chutney breakfast had been digested. I had to call for reinforcements. So I went to a nearby small restaurant and had a big glass of Sharjah shake and an uzhunnu vada (urad dal fritters) with some coconut chutney. I badly needed it because I had so many more spots to cover that day. 

To be continued… 

Author’s Notes

~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2025 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]Pexels.com" data-medium-file="https://liriomarchito.com/wp-content/..." data-large-file="https://liriomarchito.com/wp-content/..." src="https://liriomarchito.com/wp-content/..." alt="" class="wp-image-4122" style="aspect-ratio:1.500418643594753;width:670px;height:auto" />Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

September 10, 2025, Wednesday – Day 1, Moving to Trivandrum

I bid a funny goodbye to my family before my brother dropped me off at Kollam Railway Station. My parents were like: “After exploring Trivandrum, come straight home. Don’t take any deviation to Goa or the Himalayas.” Well, in my defence, they were the ones who put the idea into my head. All the more reason to take a deviation.

I wasn’t expecting my train journey from Kollam to Kazhakuttam to be eventful. After all, it was the same train I took on September 8th for my hostel hunt in Kazhakuttam – the Kollam-Kanyakumari MEMU at 11:35 am that reaches Kazhakuttam by 12:47 pm. But something important did happen. Something that will probably stay with me for a very long time. 

At Kollam Railway Station

I reached the station early. The railway authorities had yet to announce the platform of my train. Since it was bound to the Trivandrum side and platform 1 was occupied, I assumed the train would come on either platform 3 or 5. So I climbed the overbridge with my suitcase in hand and laptop bag on my shoulder and waited at the top for the announcement. 

The bags were quite heavy. Along with my clothes and laptop, I had also squeezed in my two journals and the two books I was reading at the time: The Personal MBA by Josh Kaufman and Samarathinu Idavelakalilla by V.S. Achuthanandan, a former Chief Minister and one of the most popular Opposition Leaders of Kerala. P.S. I’m not a light packer when it comes to books. ‘Cause I need books for all my moods.  

A Malayali-Tamil Couple

There was quite a crowd at the top of the bridge.  Just next to me, a couple also waited. They were speaking in a mix of Malayalam and Tamil, probably an interstate couple. They were both much taller than I and well-built. Seeing them, I wished I had their physique so I could carry my luggage much more easily. The lady gave me the vibe of a strict and serious person.

After some time, everyone around me ran to the third platform. I looked at the screen showing updates of the trains and noticed that the authorities had assigned platform number 3 to my train’s number. A train had just arrived at that platform. So, carrying my heavy luggage, I climbed down the stairs and ran to the train as fast as I could. 

I noticed that the Malayali-Tamil couple was sitting on the window seat of a coach. I confirmed that it was the right train and got inside. There was an empty seat opposite them. 

I smiled at them and kept my suitcase under the vacant seat opposite them, and then occupied the seat, still holding the laptop bag and my phone in my hand. 

Paapa 

Suddenly, the Tamil Chetan from the couple asked me, “Paapa, paiiya mela vekkattuma?” meaning “Child, shall I put the bag at the top(on the rack)?”

I’m 32 years old. Both my paternal and maternal grandparents have passed away. So there are not many people left in this world who would call me a child or a baby. Naturally, his words touched me.

I wanted to accept his help right away, but a part of me was worried about how I would take the bag from the luggage rack later, since it was at quite a height. Still, since he asked so nicely, I said yes and gave him my bag. 

Luckily, he was not a bad person and did not run away with my laptop. In fact, he carefully put the bag at the top and reassured me with a smile.

A Phone Call 

Everything was going on smoothly. But in between, this Chetan got a brief call from someone. The caller informed him that they had mailed him a medical report. After disconnecting the call, Chetan soon forwarded the medical report to a doctor and got on a call with him. They talked about medical reports and scans for a while. Once he got off the call, he took a deep sigh. Then explained the matter peacefully to his wife.

Apparently, her Thyroid values were high. Around 11, instead of the normal 4.5 or 5. The doctor warned that if she conceived at that point, there was a high probability that the child might suffer from brain damage. So the doctor advised them to spend the next few months concentrating on reducing the thyroid levels first, before conceiving. 

The Chechi (the wife) listened peacefully for some time, but soon her eyes teared up. Despite Chetan pulling her into a hug and reassuring her with comforting words, she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. 

Teamwork 

Motherhood is such an emotional rollercoaster for women. Especially for those who have been craving or waiting for it for a while, it can be a completely vulnerable area. Even though I’ve never had a baby, as a woman in her thirties who contemplates motherhood occasionally with my own personal set of worries, like the ticking biological clock, I could completely understand her meltdown.

I didn’t want to make them uncomfortable, so I concentrated on the sights outside. But I couldn’t help but hear their worries. 

Contrary to the worst-case scenarios my anxious mind was predicting, there was no fighting or shouting. They spoke politely and treated each other with gentleness. They planned as a team to follow a diet and exercise regimen to reduce the wife’s thyroid levels.

Her husband reminded her that it was not about rushing and having a baby just because they wanted to. They both needed to get fit and maintain a nutritious diet… not only to ensure their baby would be born healthy, but also to have enough energy to care for the child in the years to come.

Reflections

They reminded me of something one of my Geography teachers had advised us girls years back. He said, “Choosing your life partner is one of the most strategic decisions you will ever make in your life”. 

When we creased our eyebrows in displeasure, he explained: “If you ever decide to get married, in this patriarchal world, it is crucial that you choose a man who supports your dreams and will work as a team with you to get there. Choose someone who treats you as an equal and a friend, with love and support, even on the hardest days, especially on the hardest days.” 

Looking at that couple, who were handling a sad moment with so much love, understanding, and tenderness, I realised what my teacher was trying to say that day. There was no blaming involved. Both of them took responsibility, made a plan, and were determined to face the problem head-on as a team. 

A Prayer

The couple got off a few train stops before me. But as they rose to leave, that Chetan stopped in his tracks, turned to my side, and asked me: “Paapa, bag eduthu tharattuma?” (“Child, shall I take down the bag for you?”)

I was so overwhelmed by their care and thoughtful gesture. I said I would take the bag by myself when I reached my stop and thanked them both. 

I’m no God or seer, but I wished in my heart that those two would resolve their medical issues and have a happy and healthy baby before the end of this year. I wanted to hold their hand and tell them the same, but of course, I didn’t; they would have thought I was a lunatic, a weirdo, or a fake fortune teller trying to scam them. 

Remember that scene in Friends where Chandler talks about Monica to Erica, the mother of their adopted twins? 

“I really want a kid. And when that day finally comes, I’ll learn how to be a good dad. But my wife… she’s already there. She’s a mother… without a baby… ” – Chandler Bing

That was what I wanted to tell God that day. “I would love to have kids someday. And I promise I will learn to be a good parent. But that young couple… they are already a father and mother… two good parents… without a child. Please listen to their prayers and grant their wish ASAP.”

A New Couple & Their Baby

As soon as the couple got off the train, two young girls occupied the vacant seats. So when another couple with a baby in their arms approached our seat, the middle-aged man who sat next to me and I got up reflexively. Maybe because we were both still in the hangover of the meltdown we had witnessed. 

This new couple’s adorable baby kept babbling all the time, bringing smiles to all of our faces. When the train left the Kaniyapuram stop, I tried to pull my luggage from the rack. Seeing my struggle, the child’s father helped me with that. I thanked him and walked to the door, carrying my suitcase and laptop bag.

A Grandpa

A grandpa in a lungi and white shirt, with a big, grey moustache, who was standing near the door, worried about the weight of my luggage and said he would help me when I got off the train. I assured him I was fine and that I could manage the weight of my luggage. We chit-chatted until I reached my stop, and I learned that he was going to Nagercoil. He reminded me of one of my maternal grandpa’s friends. 

Hostel Life Begins

Because of the heavy luggage, I took an autorickshaw from the Kazhakuttam railway station to my hostel. At first, the autorickshaw driver was irritated when he found out that my destination was nearby. But I chit-chatted with him, and he soon opened up about how apps like Uber and Ola got on his nerves, by creating high competition. 

Even though I struggled to remember the path or recognise the buildings on the way, thanks to Google Maps and the auto-chetan’s help, I soon reached my hostel safely.

Overall, it was a lucky day for me. Everyone was trying to help me, maybe because of the heavy luggage. I hoped luck would stay on my side throughout these trips, at least for the next 30 days.  

When was the last time you packed up and moved to a new city? Was it a pleasant experience or a challenge? Also, have you ever come across someone unforgettable during your daily train or bus rides? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments!

Author’s Notes

~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2025 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 big shoutout to my friend Vijaya Raghavan for helping me with the Tamil transliterations used in this blog. If you read Tamil and enjoy thrillers, do check out his Tamil novel பிரதிமை. I’m still waiting for that English translation he promised ages ago.

Kazhakuttam railway station, Trivandrum. kidseye.jpg

Thiruvananthapuram (or Trivandrum) is the capital of my home state, Kerala. If you’re a family member or close friend, you probably already know that I worked there for four years during my not-so-fulfilling IT days, before quitting the field altogether to pursue my love of literature and creative writing.

Going on an India Trip, pursuing a Master’s in English Literature, and publishing my first book were my three immediate goals after quitting IT in 2018. With God’s grace and the support of my loved ones, I was able to cross off the last two from my to-do list. But the first dream still eludes me. 

First Failed Attempt in 2019

Like I mentioned on my blog, ‘My Quintessential India Trip Dream,’ I did make a vague plan and set out on a solo trip back in 2019. However, due to some personal issues that I faced in the middle of the trip and safety concerns raised by my family, I had to wrap it up after spending two to three days exploring Trivandrum and return home. 

If you’re from Kerala, then you might understand when I say travelling was not on any of our priority lists in the years that followed. Kerala suffered from adjacent years of floods and landslides in 2018-19, even as we were recovering from the aftermath of Cyclone Ockhi in 2017 and the Nipah virus outbreak in 2018. And then the entire world got hit by the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020 and went into a partial hibernation/full-on self-preservation mode till 2023. Like humans all across the globe, I also focused on staying alive, ensuring my family’s safety, finding a job, and then keeping it during that challenging phase.

Trivandrum Plan 2025

As you might already know, I’m chasing my travel dreams again this year. My initial plan for Trivandrum was to visit only a few familiar and touristy places, such as Kovalam, Palayam, Varkala, and the new Vizhinjam Harbour. Since many trains ply between Kollam and Trivandrum daily, I reckoned I could easily catch the to-and-fro morning and evening passenger trains for these trips. 

But the extremely slow pace at which I tackled my Kollam itinerary and the way the itinerary grew longer during the process put things into perspective for me. I learned I’d have to hyperfocus and set clear deadlines to increase the pace and efficiency of this travel project. So, scrapping my initial plans, I decided to stay in Trivandrum for a month to explore it in detail. 

September 8, 2025, Monday – Day 0, Hostel Hunting in Kazhakuttam

So, after my six-year hiatus, I landed in Kazhakuttam, the tech zone of Trivandrum, on September 8, 2025, to hunt for a hostel.  When I say I returned to Trivandrum after six years, you must know there were negligible exceptions like the one time I landed outside Technopark early morning for a 3K run and the once-in-a-blue-moon night car rides to the airport. 

Of course, these short errands didn’t prepare me for the vast changes Trivandrum and especially Kazhakuttam had gone through in the last six years. 

When I landed at Kazhakuttam Railway Station and effortlessly traced the old paths back to Technopark and the nearby Le Arabia restaurant for lunch, paths I used to walk regularly with my IT and train friends, I thought this visit would be a piece of cake. But, nothing prepared me for the labyrinth of a six-lane configuration, with two additional service roads, and a 2.7 km long four-lane flyover at the  Kazhakuttam roundabout. 

To say that I was intimidated by this sight would be an understatement. It took me a while to figure out which was which and where to go to reach a particular spot. But I asked myself to push through because being scared is never the right way to live our lives. Besides, navigating all the states of India by public transport is, anyway, not for the faint-hearted. 

Hostel Selection Criteria 

I was on the lookout for an affordable hostel, preferably with a monthly rent in the range of Rs 5,000-6,000. I wanted both food and accommodation, so I knew I would have to check for three or four sharing rooms.

Actual Hunt

I had already called a few hostels and inquired about their rates. The first one was a premium accommodation with no food. Single rooms were available for Rs 1,000 per day, and a total of Rs 8,000 per month. Obviously, it was too expensive for my budget, so I didn’t visit it.

There was a ladies’ hostel close to the Kazhakuttam bus stop. The location was definitely an advantage. One vacancy was there in a 4-sharing room for Rs 4,500, requiring an advance payment of Rs 2,000, but food was not available. We had to cook by ourselves. I didn’t opt for this place since the rooms looked too congested and untidy. The bed was also only available for exactly one month, which meant I wouldn’t have the option to extend my stay if required.

Eventually, I ended up walking all the way from Kazhakuttam to Attinkuzhi, the bus stop between Technopark Phase 1 and Phase 3, and then towards the Kallingal service road to visit Mini’s Home Stay. This ladies’ hostel had a lot of positive reviews on Google. Many praised the friendly nature of the owner, that it was run entirely by women, and the quality of the food. When I visited the hostel and spoke with the owner myself, I felt that the reviews were genuine. She was so warm and friendly. And also so chill, a quality I’ve seen very rarely in hostel matrons. 

The dormitory room with four members costs only around Rs 4,500, while a three-sharing bedroom with an attached bathroom costs Rs 5,000. The matron told me that they had three buildings in total. The one I visited that day was their oldest building. They had two more buildings, where three, four, and five-sharing rooms were available in the price range of Rs 5,000-6,000. 

Eventually, I chose a four-sharing room in their second building (the semi-new one) and ended up spending the last one month (September 10 – October 9, 2025) there. I had a wonderful time with my affectionate roommates, hostelmates from other rooms and buildings whom I met and interacted with during meal times, Chef Sabitha Chechi, and the owner, Mini Aunty. A big hug for their love and support over the past month!

Why Kazhakuttam?

I chose Kazhakuttam and the Technopark area for my stay because I was familiar with the place and the roads remained well-lit and active even at 10 p.m. Since many employees worked night shifts, the hostels allowed us to return as late as 10:30 p.m., which was convenient for me whenever I came back late from remote locations or after strenuous treks.

Places & Mode of Travel

In the morning, I had travelled to Kazhakuttam from Kollam on the 11:35 am Kollam-Kanyakumari MEMU train. The ticket cost only Rs 15, and I reached by 12:50 pm. As planned, I didn’t take autorickshaws or buses for all my other errands. I walked to various hostels and eateries. I had my lunch from  Le Arabia near Technopark, and a yummy Sharjah shake from the Chayapranthan shop near Attinkuzhi in the evening. Similarly, I caught the evening 6:20 pm Kollam passenger train to return home, after a quick visit to the nearby St. Joseph’s Church at Kazhakuttam, the one I used to attend regularly during my IT days. 

This became my modus operandi for navigating all of Trivandrum as well: travelling by public transport and eating at budget-friendly yet clean local restaurants.

Notes on the People I Saw

I reached Kazhakuttam in the afternoon around 12:50 pm, so at that time, the repeating sight on the way was people hurrying off for lunch or resting in their drowsy moods. 

On my long walk from Kazhakuttam railway station to Le Arabia, I saw Al Saj Convention Centre on my left. In the nearby open spaces, a few people were sleeping in the open luggage storage areas of big Volvo buses, probably the drivers after a long, tiring trip. 

I saw a house with a beautiful garden where a running hose was left abandoned. I had the urge to walk into the property and turn off the tap, but chose against it. I didn’t want to trespass. Besides, what if they had dogs? 

Inside Le Arabia, while I was having my half biriyani and lemon juice alone, most of the people around me were employees of the Technopark. Men and women in formal or semi-formal clothes, their company IDs tucked in their shirt pockets or still dangling around their necks, discussing meeting updates and bugs while eating fried rice, or grilled chicken with kubooz and mayonnaise. It reminded me of my IT days, our team outings, and parties. 

Again, in the evening, as I was waiting for my passenger train to arrive, many buses from Technopark arrived at the station, stacked with IT employees. Seeing the crowd in the railway station at 6 pm, I asked one of the employees: “Is there some curfew now that all employees must leave the Technopark campus by 6?” She shook her head and said, “No, different companies have different timings. Some have shifts too.” 

Anyway, I felt so happy to see so many employees leaving the office at sharp 5:30 or 6 pm, setting clear boundaries at work and prioritising their personal time. During my IT days, I never saw such crowds at 6. Probably on weekends or at 8 pm, but definitely not at 6 pm and especially not on Mondays. I realised there were other factors at play, too. The total number of employees working in the Technopark and commuting to work must’ve drastically increased in the last six years, especially after the COVID-19 pandemic and the rise of remote and hybrid work cultures. 

Reflections 

Some days, I do wonder how my life would’ve turned out had I stayed in the IT field. Maybe financially and career-wise, I would’ve been much better off than now. But I’m extremely grateful for the slow pace of my current life, my mental health, the quality time I get to spend with my family, the books I read, the places I travel to, the scribbles that turn into blogs, every penny I make from my writing, the food on my table, the freedom and artistic joy I enjoy every day, every good person I meet, and every good memory we create together. 

Anyway, I felt super excited to move back to Trivandrum, even if it was just for a month. I couldn’t wait to explore all the places I hadn’t visited before, revisit my favourite spots like Palayam, and see how much Trivandrum had changed over the past six years. I wondered what hidden gems of people and places time had quietly saved for me to discover on this journey. I hoped for the best!

Stay tuned for more Trivandrum stories.

Are you someone who walked away from the comfort of a stable job to chase a dream? Looking back, do you feel it was worth it? Please share your experience in the comments. Your story might just inspire someone else to take that leap, too.

Author’s Notes

~ Big thanks to my friend, Deepak Swamy Murugesan, a.k.a Captain, for letting me use this snap of Kazhakuttam Railway Station in my blog! Check out his awesome creative works at kidseye.jpg

~ All content on this blog, except the above-mentioned photo, is the intellectual property of the author. © 2025 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

Mangrove trees near Sambranikodi Island

You can read the first part of this blog here. 

A Sudden Camaraderie 

Even as I wiped my brow with a tissue and settled onto a window seat, I was still feeling embarrassed by my mistake. My mind was overloaded with the could-have-been and would-have-been scenarios:

“I should have called the staff yesterday and confirmed my seat. Then I wouldn’t have missed the boat at 10:30 a.m.” 

“Maybe I should just go back to sleep. When I wake up, there might still be enough time to catch that double-decker boat.” 

Just then, a mother-daughter duo rushed into the boat and sat on the seat behind me. I heard them inquiring about Mundrothuruth and Sambranikodi to the boat conductor. Long story short, they missed the ‘See Ashtamudi’ boat too. Not just them, a young married couple with a toddler, and a middle-aged Chetan, too.  I immediately felt less guilty about my mistake, and as I chit-chatted with these people, a sudden camaraderie grew between us. We decided to explore Sambranikodi together. 

A Blessing in Disguise

A gentle drizzle caressed the waters of Ashtamudi

The friendly conductors in khaki uniforms gave us detailed instructions on how to explore Sambranikodi. From them, we learned that our mistake was a blessing in disguise.

For starters, a ticket to Sambranikodi costs only Rs 20 in the regular passenger boat, compared to the Rs 400-500 fare (lower vs upper decks’ fares) in the double-decker boat. Even if we had boarded the ‘See Ashtamudi’ boat, we would have to pay an extra fare at the Sambranikodi boat terminal to enter the island, for the meal provided by Kudumbasree workers, and for the rides in the smaller boats. 

Of course, there are demerits, too. The regular passenger boat only went to Sambranikodi and did not explore the other islands, such as Mundrothuruthu or Kaakkathuruth. 

Boat Ride Begins

Like a swan, the boat glided through the water, away from the Kollam boat jetty. Close to the shore, the stink of Ashtamudi Lake and the sight of floating plastics distressed us. But then, it drizzled, and raindrops pelleted the otherwise serene lake.

Raviz Hotel, situated on the shores of Ashtamudi Lake

As we moved farther and farther from the shore, the water became clearer. In Malayalam, we say, ‘thelineer(clear water),’ or ‘kanneer poley(as pure as teardrops).’ 

The distant sights of mangroves and new shores filled me with hope and joy. Thanks to my recent wanderings, I could easily recognise the Adventure Park, Raviz Hotel, All Season Hotel, Kadavoor Church, and Kayalvaram on the opposite shores. I felt like a local guide when I shared my knowledge about these places with my fellow passengers. 

All Season Hotel as seen from Ashtamudi Lake

Goddess of Light

After a while, we came across the Valavila family estate. On its premises, there was a big, nude statue of a woman bearing a torch – Vilakkamma (Goddess of Light). 

Vilakkamma, or the Goddess of Light, on the premises of the Valavila family estate.

I could hear chuckles and a few murmurs of disapproval from the passengers: “Why does every female statue have to be nude? Why so much prominence given to her breasts and buttocks?” 

I wondered if it was just the artist’s gaze or the male gaze. I would love to see a modern woman or a gay artist’s interpretation of female figures such as mermaids, goddesses, and yakshis. 

Swan Boat

As the boat wafted through the lake, the water splashed sideways, exposing fish and attracting birds. Soon, a flock of seagulls and black cranes chased our boat. 

Cranes drifting gracefully on Ashtamudi Lake

The way they gracefully glided through the air and landed on the water with flair was nothing short of magical. Then they sailed behind our boat, their elegance making me feel as though they were princesses from a fairytale, cursed by a witch to become swans.

When we looked behind our boat, we found many seagulls and cranes chasing houseboats, full of tourists, probably visitors staying at Raviz or All Season hotels who booked the luxury cruise. The sight of the houseboats surrounded by these birds reminded me of Devasena’s swan boat in the Bahubali 2 movie.

Malayali Chill

Craving that Malayali chill? Flow smooth like our backwaters.

By then, all of us passengers were in a chill mode. Yes, the renowned Malayali chill.

Many indulged in photography for a while, but later, some kept their phones away, just to lie back and enjoy the enchanting lake with their naked eyes. 

Families, especially those with children, were thoroughly enjoying the trip. I could hear laughter and clapping from their side. 

Scenes on the Way:

Small houses and boat jetties along the shore of Ashtamudi Lake

As the journey progressed, we saw many small and large houses on the way. One spot even hosted a wedding reception. There were many small boat jetties or kochukadavukal too, such as  JK Flamingo Kadavu and Vanjipuzha boat jetty. 

Chinese Nets

Chinese fishing nets dipping in Ashtamudi’s waters

The sight of Chinese fishing nets dipping in the water and glistening in the sun mesmerised me. While I was staring at these nets and the crane-sages meditating on a single foot on the nearby wooden stumps, I overheard an interesting conversation between two passengers: “These nets are not as profitable as before. The fish have become tricky and intelligent. They’ve learned to avoid these nets.”

“Or maybe it’s because the fish population is declining due to overfishing,” another commented. 

A Free Rider

At the Vanjipuzha boat jetty, a white crane entered the boat and nonchalantly walked to the other side. Hearing the conductor’s chant “ticket… ticket…,” the passengers pointed to the crane and jested, “A free rider. Catch him!”

Fishing Boats

Fishing boats docked near the Kavanad Bypass Bridge

Apart from the houseboats, there were also many fishing boats in the vicinity. Soon, we came across a fleet of fishing boats harboured on the lake. The boats were so big. One of the passengers explained that, since these boats will be at sea for months as part of their fishing expeditions, they need large freezers to store and preserve the fish. 

Kavanad Kollam Bypass Bridge

We moved past small resorts named Paro and Ripples. Soon, I could see the Kavanad Kollam Bypass Bridge close by. There were fishing boats on both sides of the bridge. I loved it when our boat passed beneath the bypass bridge.

Lunch With Strangers

Kerala is all kinds of green: the soft green of tender leaves, the bottle-green of deep forests,
the shining greens of palms and coconut trees, and the mirrored greens that ripple across the water.

As the boat conductors had informed us, we reached the Sambranikodi Boat Terminal by 12 p.m. There was a DTPC office and many small shops with cool drinks and snacks nearby. I checked the signboards in the place and realised we were in Thrikkaruva Grama Panchayat. Sambranikodi belongs to Ward 13 of this panchayat. 

I could see speedboats plying from the terminal towards the direction of Sambranikodi Island. All the boats were full. 

The boat conductors led us through a small walkway and up a flight of stairs to reach a small restaurant named “Sajeev Tea Shop.” The signboard outside the shop said meals were available for Rs 80. I thought it would be a simple vegetarian meal, so I was delightfully surprised when the owners served us meals with fish fry, fishy curry, various thorans(dry, vegetarian dishes), and boiled tapioca(kappa).

New Friends

While gorging on the food, all of us introduced ourselves. One of the conductors was from Haripad. He was half-bald, but he had a charming, dimpled smile.

The second conductor was from Parassala, Trivandrum. He said he’s a graduate and talked about his brother, who is a  PhD holder. I could see the pure elder brotherly joy and pride in his eyes as he talked about his sibling. He reminded me of Mammotty’s elder brother character in the movie Vatsalyam. I hope I will make my siblings proud of my hard work and achievements, too, someday.

The middle-aged Chetan in our group, a family man, was a native of Kozhikode who worked in Trivandrum. Since it was tiresome to travel from Trivandrum to Kozhikode every weekend, he often used his free weekends and holidays for short trips like this. 

Whereas, the mother-daughter duo from Paripally explained how they made an impromptu plan to visit Sambranikodi in the morning, as the rest of their family had gone to a wedding. They didn’t have a reservation on ‘See Ashtamudi,’ but when they called the staff in the morning, they said if the duo could make it to the Kollam ferry by 10:30 a.m., they would let them ride along. The daughter was a graduate in Physics and was working as a teacher in an engineering entrance coaching centre in Trivandrum.

I told them I’m a writer who loves solo travelling. When I asked them their favourite local spots and requested them to recommend a few must-visit places in their native places, all of them were happy to help. They also enthusiastically inquired about my work life and travel experiences so far.

By 12:30 p.m., the conductors had to hurry off to the boat for their return journey. They bid us farewell, saying we will meet again when the boat returns at 3:15 p.m. 

Meanwhile, the rest of us walked leisurely to the DTPC office at Sambranikodi to take a Rs 150 ticket for the speedboat ride to Sambranikodi Island.

Onto the Sambranikodi Island

Boats docked near Sambranikodi Island

By then, the mother-daughter duo, the family man Chetan from Kozhikode, and I had formed an invisible travel bond that the staff started counting us as one family. We felt excited as we bought our tickets and entered the speedboat to Sambranikodi.

The boat rushed us to the island. From a distance, Sambranikodi looked like a tiny landmass, full of mangrove trees. The small, red flag, hoisted on a bamboo stem in the island, flying in the air, made me feel like we were an excavation gang that stumbled upon an exotic island by accident.

Sambranikodi Island as seen from the speedboat

Soon, we got down on the island. It was a tiny area, full of marshy land and mangroves. Most of the tourists and sellers were standing in knee-deep water of the Ashtamudi Lake. There was a ‘I Sambranikodi’ photopoint too.

As soon as I landed on the water, I felt the slippery, marshy ground under my rubber sandal. Soon, my sandal got stuck in the clayey mud, so I removed it and held it in my hand. Sree Chechi, the mother from the Paripally duo, warned me – “Moley(Daughter), there are a lot of oyster shells under the water. Wear the sandals. Don’t get hurt.”

I followed her sound advice and wore my sandals again.  Whenever I was on the verge of slipping, she and her daughter Appuz gave me a hand to keep myself steady. Since I’m not that tall, my two-sided shoulder bag was getting wet in the water, so Sree Chechi held it while I explored the island.

Before we could explore the island properly, a few guys approached us and asked if we were interested in exploring the more remote areas of the lake and mangrove forests in a small boat. The boat ride cost only Rs 100 per head. 

I was sceptical at first, because we had just reached the island in a speedboat, and these strangers were asking us to get on another boat. But one of the guy’s remarks, “if you don’t like the trip, you don’t have to pay us,” won me over. And I’m glad I succumbed to his persuasion, because it was the most magical part of the trip.

An Ethereal Boat Ride

It looked like a boat painted over shimmering molten glass.

Since the boat riders mistook us for one big family, we got one boat for ourselves. I sat at the front, followed by Sree Chechi, then her daughter Appuz, and Mani Chetan from Kozhikode. 

As the driver started rowing the boat, for the first few minutes, we passengers complained about how thoughtless people were for throwing plastics in the water or how the sun was at its peak. 

Fish & Prawn Farms

Then we spotted the chemeen(prawns) and karimeen(Pearl Spot fish) farms. Sree chechi commented on how she had last seen such farms in the Malayalam movie Ponman.  

A Prank

Small uninhabited islands near Sambranikodi Island.

Mani Chetan videocalled his family in Kozhikode and pranked them by lying that he was in Thailand. He laughed heartily as he revealed the truth and showed them the mangroves in the vicinity. 

Mangrove Paradise

Soon, we went deeper into the lake and into the mangrove paradise, and the whole mood changed. The clouds, forming ethereal patterns in the sky, wrapped us under their shade. I think my favourite weather in the world is a cloudy but not rainy day, with an occasional peek by the sun. 

Like a place straight out of the National Geographic Channel, right?

The sound of clashing waves felt like a sacred chant. The several varieties of mangroves thriving in the small, uninhabited islands intrigued us. Oh, we can’t call them uninhabited.  There were cats and dogs even there, and we wondered how they found food to eat. But of course, we knew: nature always provides. 

Seeing Mangrove saplings all around the islands filled us with hope.

Mangrove Warriors

I Mangroves.

Near the marshy shores, there were many new saplings of mangroves with just roots and the start of thick shoots, with no leaves. Sree Chechi reminded us of the mangrove warriors of Kerala: Kallen Pokkudan, T. P. Murukesan, and Mariamma Kurien, and how mangrove trees can prevent soil erosion and reduce the impact of natural calamities like tsunamis. 

Since mangroves grow in marshy, salty areas, they act as breeding grounds for many varieties of fish and also host many rare animals, reptiles, and birds. Some fish breeds use the thick roots of mangroves for laying their eggs. So, schools of fry swimming close to the roots of mangroves and cranes dipping their beaks low to catch these hatchlings are a common sight around Sambranikodi Island.

Jumpers

As I was lost in thoughts and the beauty around me, the boat slowed. The boatman told us that it was a shallow area. 

Sunlight dancing on the Ashtamudi Lake

Have you heard of stoneskipping? Tossing a flat stone across water, making it bounce multiple times before sinking. 

Many little fish around us were jumping on the water’s surface like a tossed flat stone. First jump, second jump, third jump, and gone, creating ripples all around. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I wondered if it was a natural phenomenon or if some wizard had cast a spell on the fish. 

Serenity

As if the mangrove trees were playing peekaboo with us.

It was so quiet and peaceful. I felt I was in a space where time was still, and worldly pleasures, pressures, and pain couldn’t permeate us. Other than the occasional caws of birds and the sound of waves, nothing broke us from our tranquil states. 

A place where the sky, lake, and forest meet must be heaven, right? Totally.

Beyond this point, we simply stopped talking. We had even forgotten that mobile phones and social media existed. Why take away from a blissfully beautiful moment, recording it, when we could simply live it? 

Soon, our boatman, Shaji Chetan, safely rode us back to Sambranikodi. When he dropped us off, he asked if we enjoyed the ride, and we told him we absolutely loved it. 

Gliding through the heart of a Mangrove forest

The whole ride lasted somewhere between 40 minutes and 1 hour. 

Back at Sambranikodi:

Photography 

After landing back at Sambranikodi, we spent some time posing before the photo points and atop the mangrove trees. I photographed the sellers who sold cut fruits, such as mango and pineapple, and their half-submerged stalls. 

Oyster Sellers

Oysters on sale!

I met another Shaji Chetan among them, who sold oysters. Initially, I mistook it for mussels or what we Keralites affectionately call ‘kallumakkaya.’ 

Like a Child

I loved climbing the mangroves and watching the school of fry swimming close to their roots. A few kids were trying to capture these hatchlings using their little hands, but failed. I followed their lead and tried, but I failed as well. 

Mangrove roots are nature’s nursery for countless fish

I found it hard to follow their lead again when they were soaking in the water and swimming around. I didn’t dare to try, partially because I was shy, and also because of the recent reports of amoebic meningoencephalitis or brain-eating amoeba in Kerala. 

After wandering around for another hour, we waited for the speedboats to return. I felt my skin was sun-baked and my hair sun-toasted by that point. 

I learned from a boatman that there are three boat terminals or boarding points to Sambranikodi. We came from Terminal 1 – Sambranikodi Boat Jetty. The other two are Manalil and Kureepuzha Boat Jetty.

Back to the Sambranikodi Boat Jetty: 

Soon, the speedboat that dropped us at Sambranikodi returned and took us back to the main boat jetty. There was a short wait for our initial passenger boat to return. We thought we might get bored. But the weather was so pleasant. So our gang sat on the benches, chit-chatting with each other, and admiring the waves crashing on the shore. 

Deep Conversations

Sree Chechi sat next to me. We talked about our shared love for travel. I felt so happy and lucky to meet her and the rest of the gang because humans with wanderlust are my tribe. She told me how her parents’ ancestral homes were close to each other, so she couldn’t travel much during her childhood. So when she got married, her only demand was that she wanted to get married to someone who lived far from her native place and would be supportive of her travel dreams.

Her husband has always been supportive, and they have gone on many impromptu trips. But with kids and professional responsibilities, a lot of their time was tied up. Only now, with their kids all grown up and independent, have they started exploring their travel dreams in full swing. They will be travelling to Delhi soon.

Sree Chechi suggested that I add her favourite spots, like Athirapally, Aryankavu, and Azhimala beach, to my Kerala trip itinerary. I diligently jotted down all the travel-related suggestions, directions, and learnings she shared with me.

Elusive Boat

As we were talking, the big double-decker ‘See Ashtamudi’ boat docked near the Sambranikodi boat jetty, and Chechi and I burst into a chuckle.

Both the upper and lower decks of the boat were fully packed. Security officers stood on both decks, guarding it.

See Ashtamudi — the double-decker boat that eluded us all day.

Chechi and I wondered out loud how different the day would have been if all of us had caught the double-decker boat on time. Surely, we would have had a more comfortable trip, but would we have had as much fun and adventure as we did? What were the odds that all four of us would’ve even said hi to each other inside that packed boat, let alone had deep conversations? For that, I’m nothing but grateful for the twists and turns of our fates.

Just then, our old passenger boat arrived and docked at the other side of the ‘See Ashtamudi’ boat. We had to walk through the double-decker to reach our boat. We met our familiar boat conductors. They greeted us and inquired about our day before hurrying off for their tea break. Once the double-decker boat left for Kollam, our boat was moved close to the jetty.

Return Journey: 

Spotted more Chinese nets on our way back.

We started off from Sambranikodi at 3:30 p.m. On the way, we saw the familiar small boat jetties, hotels, Chinese nets, seagulls and black cranes flying in unison, and men trying to catch fish with their long fishing rods. A group of young boys, probably part of the NCC cadet group, were practising canoeing on the lake.

Vanishing Trees – The grandpas sitting next to me talked about the medicinal values of Portia trees (Cheelanthi or Poovarasu in Malayalam), which they spotted on the shore, and lamented how their numbers were decreasing day by day.

Inauguration – Midway, the conductors told us that the Kollam MLA would inaugurate the evening service of ‘See Ashtamudi’ at 4:30. If we stayed back until then, we could watch the ceremony. The grandpas chuckled and commented sarcastically, “The same MLA we see now and then, right?” Not a bad comment for an MLA at all; much better than people lamenting, “Where is our MLA?”

By the time we reached the shore, the ‘See Ashtamudi’ boat was decorated with balloons. Why conduct a separate inauguration for a boat that has been in service for three years? Does the start of a second trip need such celebrations? I wondered. I guessed the authorities were also celebrating the successful three-year run of the boat. 

But one question asked by the grandpa still rang in my ears: “Ethra naal, or how long?” As with my experience at a few of the touristy and historical sites in Kollam, we have a reputation for starting great tourism ventures but not maintaining them well enough.

Goodbyes

Mangroves on my mind, forever.

As our boat reached the Kollam boat jetty, the rest of my gang huddled near the tea shop. We bid each other goodbye, hoping our paths would cross again on another trip. I walked away, feeling like a part of my heart was still wrapped around their fingers.

I realised that out of all my recent wanderings through Kollam, Sambranikodi was my favourite, not just because I had an adventurous day, but mainly because I got to share it with this lovely bunch of people. It was crazy how close I felt to those people I had only known for a day.

Like I said, people with wanderlust are my TRIBE. I feel most alive and happiest when I am around them. Every time I meet one, I have this sudden intrusive thought: like Pokémons, I gotta catch them all and try to keep them in my life forever. Silly me!

After bidding my fellow travellers goodbye, I visited the “See Ashtamudi” office again and inquired if there were any direct boats from Kollam to Mundrothuruth. To my dismay, they told me that the only such boat departed from the Kollam boat jetty at 5 a.m. I figured I would have to rely on passenger trains for that journey. Slowly, I walked to the nearest private bus stand, wondering where my next trip would take me, and about all the wonderful people in this world still left to meet.

Have you ever visited Sambranikodi? I’d love to hear about your experience.  

Author’s Notes

~ All content, including images, on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2025 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.

~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through my hometown, Kollam, a beautiful district in Kerala, India. You can read more posts from this series here: Kollam | Kerala | India.