Untouched
I realize that what I am seeing that
morning has always been here, and
remains untouched, little or nothing in our
surroundings are indicative of this day
and age... that is until Lou makes her way
on her stand up paddle. I am not sure
whether it is the never before seen vehicle
or the fact that a blond little girl is
standing on top of it, but all eyes turn her
way and smiles light up. I jump on my
board to join her and go over to meet this
crowd of locals, going about their business
along the banks. What an extraordinary
way to meet people and not just be a plain
spectator to these scenes of daily life.
These are the moments I had hoped to live
on this journey along the backwaters.
Carine is calling me from our boat. She rigs
me with a baby carrier in which she
comfortably installs Shadé, who is
delighted at the prospect of a morning
cruise. The four of us paddle along until we
run into a temple on the riverbank. A few
worshippers welcome us as we approach
and one of them, rapidly and with great
precision, applies a mark on each of our
foreheads. It is a vegetable powder, usually
sandalwood, applied as protection on what
the Hindus call the ‘third eye’ or ‘sixth
chakra’. It is the eye of self-knowledge
centred right above the eyebrows.
After being blessed, we penetrate the openair temple, made of several small alcoves
where offerings are placed at the feet of the
multiple deity represented there. Today’s
ceremony celebrates the first day of the
monsoon cycle or rainy season, putting an
end to several months of drought. We pray
that it will bring fertility to the fields. The
worshippers are chanting prayers; the
sounds, colours and smells are a journey
within the journey. Lou is in awe of Ganesh,
the god of intelligence, with his four arms
and elephant face. We leave the temple
taking care not to turn our backs to the deity
and slowly go about our way. There is no
motive to be hasty here, neither on the water
nor on land. Life unravels in such slow motion
and with a certain nonchalance that seems
to defy the course of time. I notice, as I often
do when I travel, that slow pace has much
more to reveal than speed. Being so close to
the coast and standing over the water like we
do on a stand up board, turn this cruise into a
beautiful way to discover the coastline, and
miss nothing along the way.
Pollution
The start of the monsoon is also the start
of the low touristy season. There are few
houseboats left, many are out of the water
for repair and maintenance. Built almost
entirely from natural materials, the
houseboats have a very low environmental
impact. A great advantage considering the
ecological condition of the backwaters,
often criticized for the pollution of its
water, where almost all of the local
household waste is dumped. Indeed the
water here is not inviting and is advised
against for swimming, although locals
here bathe in it daily. Carine cannot resist
the urge to freshen up a bit and Pierre, our
photographer, joyfully dives in with his
camera housing. They are both still in
great health to this day, maybe it’s from
not swallowing the water...
One evening, atop of my stand up, as all I
could distinguish through the milky white
light were shapes and contours, a
fisherman calls out to me from his
outrigger canoe.
A few paddles later and I am sitting on my
board conversing with this elder man, with
a thin white moustache. We slowly paddle
together into the dusk and I understand
that he is taking off to go fish for the
night. I watch him speed up until I see
him motion me to start racing. I happily
play along, but can feel him struggling to
keep up, and as a respect to his older age I
decide that I should slow down, when
suddenly he catches up and I am now the
one making an effort to stay level with
him. He stops suddenly out of breath and
shows me his heart with his hand. After a
short moment of worry we find ourselves
sitting next to each other once again and
finally we arrive back at the houseboat.
With a sparkle in his eye, he reaches below
his bench and pulls out a small bottle of
local rum, pours a generous glass that he
downs in one go before lighting up a
cigarette!
“I am 74 years old and I need a little pick
me up to last the night on my canoe” he
tells Sinju, who translates for me. I am
amazed and still trying to catch my breath!
Open-air theatre
The backwaters are like an open-air
theatre between land and water, where
daily life scenes are constantly played out.
Their perfect aesthetics could be mistaken
for a made up setting, a staging that the
spectator would never tire of admiring. If
he is unafraid, like Carine, Lou, Shadé and
I, to jump in the water and stand up on a
board, then he becomes himself an actor
in this real life play. The most beautiful
one there is.
To embark for these islands, one has to
resist the song of the sirens – not the one
Ulysses and his men had to fear – but the
overwhelming warnings against
everything and everyone.
Carine is calling me from our boat. She rigs me with a
baby carrier in which she comfortably installs Shadé, who
is delighted at the prospect of a morning cruise.
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