Backwaters of Kerala

The houseboat that’s carrying Paul and me down the backwaters of Southern India has a bedroom with a bathroom and a shower, a kitchen, and a living room. There are four crewmembers travelling with us. B.G. He’s the Captain. Chanderan is the technician in case something needs fixing. Binu is the chef, and Binesh is a trainee.

The houseboat is made of wood and bamboo. At first glance it looks like a miniature ancient explorer’s boat with the bough a symbol of some revered God or spiritual deity. From the carving to the steering wheel is a small platform. One of the spokes of the steering wheel is broken off. That doesn’t seem to deter B.G. at all.

The main area of the boat is living space offering several different types of chairs. There are chairs for sitting upright. There are a couple of loungers for reclining. Several stools and benches are available. The two chairs around the table are where we sit to eat our meals. There are no solid walls in the boat.

At first glance, the bedroom seems perfect. It has it’s own bathroom with a shower. There is enough room for a big double bed with newly placed clean sheets. The fan hanging from the wall close to the ceiling, we later discover doesn’t really work.

People have told us that taking the backwater trip is an experience not to miss. The Lonely Planet said it’s an absolute must. Debra Ekclove, a friend from our synagogue community, made us promise we would accept the extravagance and do it. We did.

I love being out on the water. The gentle breeze caused by the smooth passing through the water is calming for me. I am intrigued by life underwater. I view it as a whole layer of existence. There is another (underwater) world going on and I become a small part of it.

The scenery as we glide is dreamlike. Rice paddies cover entire peninsulas of land. I had never seen rice paddies before. They are truly gorgeous fields, neatly organized in what seems to be lakes of water. Some time I really want to walk through those fields to get a better idea of how they actually grow.

Lining the coast are the homes of village people. There are all kinds ranging from shanty shacks to cement, painted homes. Inevitably each home has a garden and backs on to the rice paddies. Periodically you can see temples. There are many, colourful and vibrant.

The villages we pass on both sides of the lake remind me that in India, there is life everywhere. It is almost impossible to escape from civilization here. There is no solitude. Even in the middle of this huge lake (Vembadnad) there are whole communities of people. Virtually they live together relying on each other for their everyday needs and extraordinary events.

Survival in these villages is basic. Rice, coconuts, bananas, cashews and various spices grow almost wildly. Fishermen leave their homes in canoes early morning to try their luck for daily meals. Local markets help villagers by providing space for selling what grows in their own land. Most villagers, it seems, stay pretty close to home for sustenance. In each village there are schools, temples, basic store kiosks and mosques. Occasionally I see a small wooden ferry transporting schoolchildren to another small island. That is their local ‘school bus’. Each village seems to be self -sufficient.

Life is simple and yet, quite complex. The emphasis is on basic survival needs. Role definitions among family members make it easy to know what to do. Women are strong. We’ve seen small frail elderly woman carrying 30 kilos of assorted fruit in a basket on her head. We’ve watched women at rivers and lakes beating laundry with muscle and vigour until the load is clean. They are totally responsible for meals, and for childcare. This seems pretty typical throughout India. In the backwaters, however, the quiet calm that exists makes women even more conspicuous in their homes.

Children are at school. When they’re not in school, they are helping at home and playing with each other.

Men….I’m not always sure what they do. In the cities many work in shops, push carts with merchandise for selling, run homestays and cook in restaurants. Many work in construction and there is a lot of construction going on throughout the country. In the cities, you can find boisterous crowds of men hanging out on the streets drinking chai and laughing with their buddies.

When I have asked why there are seldom any women out in the restaurants and hanging out in the streets socializing, the answer is “They are home taking care of the house.”

In the backwater villages, men seem to be at home too, in the fields and helping to take care of the immediate family needs.

Music plays conspicuously through loudspeakers in the different villages. We hear various prayer music throughout the day, and sometimes, sweet women’s voices accompanying workers in the fields. By 4:30 am there was chanting playing loudly, melodically droning through the speakers. Not particularly welcome at 4:30 am, but definitely an experience to hear.

Life here is simple. Each day seems the same; wash, pray eat, love, teach, pray, clean, play, pray etc. Festivals devoted to deities and Gods break up the monotony and enhance routine. There seem to be no grandiose dreams of travel, no plans for big purchases, no thoughts of premium bottles of wine or dinners out at the local gourmet restaurant. Emphasis seems to be on having enough to eat for oneself and one’s family, devotion to God and celebrating life and love with family and friends.

And again, as I ride through these villages, I know I have to let go of those biases. Unless I get a chance to talk directly to people I couldn’t possibly even guess what’s going on for them. Any of those ideas come from my own biases created from a lack of information and enhanced by input from others who also lack first hand information.

I can hear my father as I ride through these villages. “Tsk”, he would gesture. “I can’t imagine what type of life they live. How can they live like that? There’s so little for them to do. Such poverty.”

I wish my father could have seen through his own preconceptions. How did he even know what “that’ was. Knowing my dad as well as I did, I actually think he would have preferred that type of life.

P.S. Lest you think that all is rosy, I want you all to know that our night on the houseboat was a disaster.

The potential for wonderfully romantic experience, with catered meals, and a perfect natural world around us, with absolutely everything we could want at our fingertips was there.

As the darkness started to set in, the lizards began to congregate above our heads. That was manageable. Afraid that they would loose their grip from the ceiling and fall on me or my dinner, I simply moved my seat every time one was above my head. That was easy.

What wasn’t easy was when the cockroaches (more like mini buffalo) began to scurry around. That was a huge challenge. And there were many of them too!

Freaked out, we came into our room, is also the one section of the houseboat that is covered with rattan roof. It was brutally hot. That didn’t stop me, however, from covering my entire body including my head, with a sheet, every once in a while coming up for air.

I never sweated so much in my life. I probably even lost some weight that night. Our first disaster!