I think one of the most amazing things about India is that,
no matter where you go, you’ll find something completely different—different
food, different language, different customs, different people.
My tour of the South including, Cochin, the capital of
India’s southernmost state, Kerala. Cochin is a sleepy town that had once been
occupied by the Portuguese. With picturesque (if not-so-clean) beaches, lovely,
musty churches, and an eclectic old synagogue, Cochin has its own special brand
of exotic old-world charm.
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| Chinese Fishing Nets in Cochin |
The assortment of antique shops were my favorite. Each one
seemed like a dusty old mystery novel, crying out to be opened. From the bright
heat of the narrow streets, I could barely make out stone idols that loomed out
of the cool, dark storefronts. Granite Buddhas and brass crucifixes lay side by
side, having been equalized by the march of time. Gleaming maritime devices stood
in lines like proud golden soldiers. Tattered silk hangings adorned the walls.
I loved looking into those stores, poking my head through the peeling teak
doors and waiting for my senses adjust to the peace and quiet within. I loved
squinting through the mystical gloom to see the imposing shapes take form as
items from Cochin’s rich past. I loved those little antique shops as though
they were individual people because, to me, it seemed like they could tell me
the history of the world.
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| Houseboats on Kerala's Backwaters |
I also got to see rural Kerala, famous for its
‘backwaters’—an intricate web of rivers that wind through dense jungles dotted
with villages and rice paddies. We were fortunate enough to take a luxury
houseboat along the rivers themselves, floating idly past the most verdant,
jewel-bright forests I’d ever seen. The water was murky and green, but it
smelled fresh. Nets of leafy plants spanned the water, dotted with fat purple
blossoms. A few cheery little bungalows, painted in shades of lemon and lilac,
squatted by the riverside as though they were sari-clad aunties doing their
laundry. As our boat made its way further into the wilderness, the sunny
weather gave way to the fading monsoon. I felt immensely peaceful watching
empty green fields and thick forests roll by in the rain. After a long, quiet
evening docked by an empty rice paddy, I saw a single man walk along the
riverside slowly, his umbrella aloft. I hope he appreciated the serenity as
much as I did.
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| Shanti |
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| This is where your tea comes from. |
Hairpin turns filled the narrow jungle roads that led up to
Munnar, one of Kerala’s most famous mountain towns. Our driver drove with the
kind of reckless abandon exclusive to Indian roads, and the morning’s breakfast
churned in my stomach. The wild ride up was worth it, however. Munnar is a
stunning town tucked high, high into the Western Ghats. In spite of being at a
mere 8000 feet, cool, misty clouds enshrouded it, making me feel much further
from the rest of the world. Orderly rows of meter-high tea bushes blanketed the
steep, lush mountainsides. After four months of harsh Mumbai pollution, the
cold, clear air refreshed my lungs. For the most part, blankets of fog
obstructed my view, but one day, I found a viewing platform that overlooked a
vast, fertile valley. Tiny white chapels mingled with the small marble temples
that dotted the dense green forest, and I could barely see the narrow dirt
roads connecting them. A slim brown river cut its way through the vast floor of
the ravine. Even more mountains lumbered out of the mist like gigantic ships on
a pale grey sea. In spite of the fact I live in a country of 1.2 billion, the
world felt so uninhabited for just a moment.
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| The World |
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| Palace in Tamil Nadu |
I had the privilege of visiting one of the most famous Hindu
temples in the south—the Shree Meenakshi temple located in Madurai, Tamil Nadu.
I felt that this majestic, colorful structure was one of the greatest physical
metaphors I’d ever seen for the spirit of India. This temple is unlike any
other—massive, sprawling, and so, unbelievably full of life and color. Six
towering pyramids rise up around the temple structure like ornate sentries.
They are carved and painted with every scene imaginable from Hindu lore. The
rainbow itself seemed to roar down their sides like a waterfall. The inside
assaulted my senses like a wild carnival. Indian brides and grooms, heavily
adorned and breathless with joy, stood with their backs to the walls as excited
tourists snapped photos of them. Priests, pilgrims, tourists, men, women,
children, animals, and statues lurched towards me from every direction. Grim,
basalt sculptures of the Hindu pantheon contrasted beautifully with the
brightly-painted walls and ceilings. Incense wafted out from shrines, barely
masking the scent of a thousand sweating bodies pressed together in such a
small space. While one might think a temple should be serene, the voices of The
Shree Meenakshi temple can only be described as a wild tornado of culture and
color.
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| Kanyakumari |
Kanyakumari is the quintessential South Indian village—a
hodgepodge of vibrantly-colored bungalows speckled with bright white marble
shrines to Catholic saints and Hindu deities alike. However, the view is unlike
any other. Kanyakumari is located on the southernmost tip of India, meaning
that, in its waters, three bodies of water converge: the Arabian Sea to the
West, the Indian Ocean to the South, and the Bay of Bengal to the East. From
our hotel’s rooftop terrace, we could see the sun rise over the water
which shimmered in three different colors.
The last night of our trip took us to one of India’s most
popular beach areas, Goa. I remember getting thrown into a pool wearing jeans
and a t-shirt, beach-combing against a grey sky, and swinging from the vines of
a Banyan tree near the hotel’s restaurant. Our beach faced west, and as the sun
sunk into the sea, its dying light cast my friends in magnificent black
silhouettes against a sky of pink and gold. It was the perfect ending to my
trip.
