Ti ti thara thai thai thom, ti thai thag tai tai tho…
Ti ti thara thai thai thom, ti thai thag tai tai tho…
The chants were getting louder and louder. The expressions on faces of the onlookers varied from anger, disgust, shock and thrill to sheer ecstasy…. Screams, shouts, jostling for space and an absolute exuberance was the order of the moment, as the long serpentine shapes rushed over the waters with tremendous speed and energy. And then there was a huge roar, thunderous claps, whistles and screams….
This is not an account of any riot scene – but the tremendously popular boat race of the Chundan Valloms or the Snake boats of the backwaters of Kerala, India. We were witnessing the Nehru Trophy Boat Race that was being organised like every year, on the second Saturday of the month of August. These 130-odd feet long speeding boats with their sterns raised like the hood of a snake were powered totally on adrenaline, each manned by over a hundred trained rowers. They were egged on by fierce competitive spirit and thunderous spectators. Motivating them further was group of highly vocal singers on board each boat with their traditional instruments, loudly chanting ‘Ti ti thara thai thai thom, ti thai thag tai tai tho…’ and other highly rhythmic notes called Vanchipattu. The oars seemed to keep pace with the fast chants and so did the tempo of the team.
While only one team was destined to win the race, the competition itself truly reflected excellent team spirit, integration and amity of the people. These races for centuries have added colour, song and splendour to the celebration of Onam and have now become inseparable from the life of the community, which is so dependent on boats.
It is ironic that these same vibrant waters are otherwise absolutely tranquil and peaceful through the rest of the year. These waterways, also known as the backwaters are formed by many of the 41 west flowing rivers that criss-cross the state to drain into the Arabian Sea. Three other rivers however refuse to obey the dictum and flow eastwards instead. The great floods of 1866 created large inland water-bodies like the Vembanad and Ashtamudi lakes. Necessity became a mother and the invention of the concept that boats made the best modes of transport in such conditions, took root. Soon a maze of canals, or mudis as they are called was prepared, connecting the rivers to each other forming an intricate water transportation network for Kerala. It was the day after the boat race. The celebrations and despairs that went long into the night seemed to have drowned in the spirits. Life was back to its normal self and the chores continued from where they were punctuated by the livewire action of yesterday.
Morning light produced interesting reflections on the placid waters and the kingfishers resumed diving for fish. Small boats started taking people closer to their work and away from their waterside homes. Oxen and their human partners started toiling away in the rain flooded paddy fields. Women in colourful sari-like contraptions walked briskly carrying bamboo baskets on their heads. And children on bicycles with white shirts and well oiled hair were reminiscent of our childhood days, when we hurried off, not to miss the morning school prayers.
After a sumptuous breakfast, we started off on a journey that went on to defy all the modern day madness of noise, rush and speed. This area is nick-named ‘the Venice of the East’ for its famed palm-fringed canal network. Our home till the next morning was to be an old rice ferrying boat refurbished into a floating luxury called Kettuvallom or Houseboat. These country boats were used for the transportation of goods in the earlier times. But with new roads, bridges and ferry services, gradually Kettuvalloms went off the scene. However, now they are back again in this new avatar, which has become one of the main tourist attractions of Kerala.
Our Kettuvallom had a fully furnished bedroom with sundeck, private balcony with comfortable chairs, kitchen and toilet with WC. But the most important feature which differentiated it from all the other luxury homes was the awesome ambience that came complimentary with it. Added to this was the hospitality of the crew comprising of Prakash and his two colleagues, which put to shame many of the leaders in this sector.
Once on board our Kettu, we ‘switched off’ all the watches of the world and let time come to a standstill. There seemed to be no hurry as we very gently floated through coconut palm grooves that hid beautiful tiny homes and their people – there was the grandmother applying what could only have been coconut oil into the lovely long locks of her teenage grand daughter, a few old women sat in a verandah probably discussing the rains of the yesteryears, a cat sat patiently next to an old woman with her basket full of large fish, young women in ‘rin’ white saris laughed pointing at us as they carried basket load of shrimps to the local market, egrets and herons squabbled over a fish that was pulled out of its watery home, a graceful brahminy kite circled over the waters waiting for its’ meal, mauve flowers of hyacinth suddenly looked so inviting in the green carpet, football on a rain soaked field replaced cricket that is so omni-present elsewhere, smiling men rowed their tiny boats with material ranging from vegetables to bricks and sand…
Somewhere in between, Prakash steered the boat near a group of small houses amongst banana, betel nut and coconut trees. We followed a colourful ‘desi’ hen with a gang of tiny chicks wandering amongst the grass searching for food. Two goat kids were tied to distant trees and yet managed to reach each other to engage in a head-banging duel. We reached a tiny house and were greeted by a young woman dressed in a white cotton sari with a beautiful red border. Mother of two school going boys, she was Prakash’s better half. One of the boys quickly climbed a coconut tree and brought down five tender thirst quenchers..
The western skies had by now turned into a painters’ inspiration. Rain clouds were visible but didn’t seem menacing yet. And flocks of birds were flying back home. We had requested Prakash for a pure Kerala style dinner with local fish et al. The aroma of the cooking had already tickled our hunger pangs. Just as we were tempted to raid the tiny kitchen, the cook made a divine appearance. Prakash had picked up fresh fish from his home especially for “madam”. Karimeen Pollichathu is a local delicacy when prepared in the ethnic style with herbs and spices. He gently removed the fish from the tender banana leaf in which it was wrapped while cooking. I simply could not stop myself from helping him in quickly getting the temptation into our plates. Ummmmmm…. I had never tasted a better fish before. The garlic, ginger, local spices and the raw mango slices all went to complement the preparation. He had prepared a few other dishes too. But I preferred to try them some other time.
As we were enjoying the dinner, a heavy downpour enveloped the backwaters. The pale lights of the tiny homes on the shore became invisible. Sound of the water drops hitting the roof had already added to a romantic ambience of the evening. The dim lights in the Kettu and softly playing Rajesh Khanna’s ‘Aradhana’ songs… But of course, it was the Karimeen that was the centre of attention presently.
It had stopped raining and we stepped out on the open deck in the front of the boat. It was not an eerily silent pitch dark night. In fact, there were a few million bull frogs trying to impress their better halves with their croaking, there were cicadas and crickets chatting away and a few night herons debating in their hoarse dialect. All of a sudden that I felt my hand gently pressed and pulled to the right of our Kettu. The trees on the shore, it seemed were illuminated. Millions, probably billions or even trillions of fire flies performed a psychedelic light show, to the tunes of all the sounds of the backwaters.
Next morning, it was the chirping of birds and the lusty call of a magpie robin that woke us up. Sun had already woken up before us and was busy climbing up. Prakash had laid out the tea and biscuits… suddenly reality struck… it would soon be time to leave this dream and get back to the chaos of a ‘civilized’ world. The journey back was difficult. The tiny home “Kettu’vellom had already become a part of our lives. Prakash and his family were our new found friends. Birds, frogs, cicadas and the fireflies had become our co-travellers in this short journey. The smile frozen on Prakash’s mother’s face in the picture would become a memory for ever.
With a promise to return to this enchanting land in a near future, we drove off in a noisy car honking on the congested and dusty streets - to a ‘civilized world’ as they called it...
