Boat rides amongst backwaters

This is entirely a nostalgia trip, perhaps owing to the fact that I am now in Kerala, surrounded by swaying coconuts palms and the smells of coconut oil cooking. It has taken me back to the days, when as kids, on our annual vacation spent in Kerala, we used to spend time at our maternal grandparents house, which curiously enough faced the river, and not the road. My father explained to us that this was due to the fact that there used to be times when Kerala had more waterways than roadways and travel up and down these serpentine twists and bends was prevalent. Most well-to-do families owned boats and employed oarsmen and the number of boats owned by a family was considered a status symbol.

So, my grandmother’s paternal home being better connected to ours (in those days) by river rather than by road, when the time came for us to visit, my grandfather brought his now-seldom-used boat out from its resting place amidst the river algae and bulrushes, attached a palm-leaf matted roof, summoned the oarsmen and off we went, on, what was to us city-bred kids, an exotic adventure.

It is said, that, to experience a place fully one must travel on foot, your whole being immersed in the place, travelling at a pace that is comfortable to you, savouring each experience in its fullness. Travelling in a car or bus boxes you in and offers only a rectangular view of the outside world somewhat like a TV screen, and it is a bother to stop and stare every time something demands your extra attention. Boat travel is a happy and fascinating middle path. Travelling at a pace that is at best languid, on a road that moves and flows constantly, browned by the sun, cooled by the breeze, catching glimpses of life being lived out along the riverside, and all your experiences tinged with that sharp, unique scent that the river exudes. As if, not content to just flow, it has to make deep inroads into memory and flow into them, so that whenever I open the pages of these memories, the scent of the river always wafts out, tantalising and captivating.

For us kids who didn’t know swimming, the dark blue-green depths of the water itself was a great source of fascination and my heart always started to pump the minute I stepped on to the boat. From then on, my mind worked as a camera, taking shots with every glance. The river that looked so placid from the bank, suddenly took on a frightening immensity, its waves conspiratorially lapping against the boat as if telling tales of things that happened under the placidly flowing surface, secrets it wants to share if only I could understand its language. The prow cutting effortlessly through the water, leaving behind a small wake that closes quickly and smoothly, showing us, if we would bother to look, the way to live.

Hands trailing the water savouring its molten, magical feel, keeping a lookout for water snakes of which I was terrified (until I found out only later that they were equally scared of humans and were totally without poison), I drank in the sights - kids gambolling, women washing, tradesmen plying - fish, vegetables, household items. Other travel parties passing us by, racing us till the next bend. And the ever-present benignancy of the coconut palms, lining the banks, blotting out the horizons, swaying delicately, sometimes leaning to touch the water, like green, tall, elegant guardian angels, showering us with blessings of safe journeying.

The things that floated by the boat were varied, but all had one thing in common - they had come to their watery grave, a grave that does not encompass, but is never ending and flowing and playfully carrying them around until their bodies melt and dissolve into its fluid body. Such an eco-friendly waste disposal system.

Looking back, it is fascinating to recall how much of a woman’s life was spent on the banks of rivers - washing clothes, utensils, kids, themselves, buying and selling, discarding waste, travelling - the river flowed through her life, an indispensable lifeline. No wonder whole civilisations flourished on the banks of rivers, unlike now, where the flow of money in banks determines flourishing.

Boat rides amongst the backwaters were once a way of life, now they are an exotic tourist attraction. Back then, the river was a member of the family, placid, playful, unpredictable, furious, cranky and yet loved, respected and indispensable. My heart bows with gratitude that at a time when the pace of life was much slower and my heart was innocent and open, I was able to ride upon its molten, shimmering body and partake in slivers of life along its green and verdant banks.