India's Dancing Eyes

Instead of Chennai’s cacophony of horns and roaring motorcycles, the sounds of laundry being slapped against smooth, flat rocks fill the air of Kerala’s backwaters. The oppressive heat of the city is replaced by soft breezes and the cool shade of the thatch and wood awning on our houseboat. Chennai’s main river is an open sewer that almost gags me as I cross its bridges in an open-air auto rickshaw. The lake, rivers and canals of the backwaters of Kerala aren’t exactly pristine but I didn’t cringe when I saw people swimming and bathing in them. Yes, I made the right decision when I chose to escape the port city and spend most of my time in India on the southwest coast.
The state of Kerala is noted for the political dominance of the Communist Party since the 1960’s; red flags featuring the unmistakable hammer and sickle are commonly displayed, especially now with national elections coming up in April. Its culture is matriarchal and its people are highly literate, the rate reaching 100% in some areas. A region full of strong women who are leftist and well-read – now that’s my kind of place!
Before this SAS voyage even started, late last summer, I volunteered to organize an independent trip to Kerala for my Spring 05 faculty friends, John and Faye Serio, and myself. We were joined by another Life Long Learner, Joan Walters, who proved to be a wise and gentle traveler and delightful companion. I originally got interested in visiting this part of India after listening to my sister Susan, who is a frequent visitor, tell stories of how beautiful it was. Arundhati Roy sealed the deal when I read her lush and intriguing tale, The God of Small Things, which is set here. Despite some ordinary difficulties in making arrangements through a foreign travel agent, the trip itself went off flawlessly and was a great success. We have been quite the envy of many of those to whom we have been telling our stories since returning to the ship – they all vow to go to Kerala on their next trip to India.
Kerala is most widely known for its extensive network of lakes, streams and canals that stretches from the Indian Ocean easterly across a broad alluvial plain. Many Indian tourists, as well as foreign visitors, explore the region by traditional kettuvalum, one to three bedroom, teak and mahogany houseboats. Ours was staffed by a gracious and capable crew of three: captain, engineer and chef/guide. They provided us with a tour filled with marvelous sights and fed us well with traditional Keralan dishes of curries and masalas. For dinner, we had huge prawns, the size of small lobsters, we bought from a fisherman along the way. We spent an afternoon, overnight and morning gliding gracefully through green water filled with water lilies and a rich variety of birds such as egrets, ibis, fish eagles and cormorants. The fishermen, rice farmers and their families sometimes waved but usually paid little attention to the passing parade of boats and looky-loo passengers. Women washed cooking pots and laundry, as well as their bodies, still modestly clad in their colorful saris. The children went for frolicking swims, as children do all across the globe when they are lucky enough to live on the water. We read, took photographs and napped but mostly rode quietly along, soaking up the serenity and beauty of the place.
Our boat trip ended in the morning at a lovely resort in Kumarakum, on the shores of Lake Vembanad. I was pleased to discover that the other hotel guests were all Indian, leaving me feeling we had chosen a vacation destination popular with locals, not just catering to tourists. Lush, manicured gardens and buildings of local stone and native wood gave the setting a beauty and tranquility unmatched anywhere else I have traveled in India. We visited the nearby bird sanctuary, opting for a small boat tour that took us back out on the water for close-up views of the myriad water birds. Outside the resort grounds, small village lanes beckoned to be explored, where we were met with eager smiles from the local residents. While I took advantage of the hotel’s Internet, John and Faye toured a rubber plantation that John remembered from the Roy novel. Joan experienced an Ayurvedic massage, which turned out to be quite the adventure - she spent most of it in a tiny g-string perched on a low stool!
I must admit to some guilt over the fact that much of my time in India was spent in rest and relaxation. This voyage is not a vacation, but the occasional “pause that refreshes” is very welcome. However, our time in Kerala included one experience that steeped us in local tradition and proved to be both educational and enjoyable. We attended a kathakali dance performance at the Cultural Center in Kochi. The audience was invited to arrive early to see the actors put on their make-up. We sat entranced for an hour as three actors applied dramatic colors, including an almost neon green for the male lead. All the paints were made from natural substances and were contained in traditional stone or wooden pots – no plastic tubes in sight. After finishing his green face, the hero character laid down with his head in the lap of a man who turned out to be the musical accompanist. Two white paper flanges were applied to his cheeks with layer after layer of paste, glue and small torn strips of white cotton fabric – fascinating!
After all the make-up was finished, we were ushered into the thankfully air-conditioned theater where the executive director of the center told us the story and symbolism of the performance we were about to see. One of the actors came out to demonstrate the nine emotions that would be portrayed. His dancing and gestures were accompanied by astounding and dramatic eye and facial muscle movements. The audience oohed and ahhed as he went through his repertoire, including unbelievably rapid movements of just one cheek! By the time the two dancers appeared for the performance, they had donned elaborate costumes and headdresses, transforming them from our new friends playing with colored paints to magical characters in a story from an ancient epic, the Ramayana. Unlike every other cultural play or dance I have attended in my travels, this presentation had been made so understandable and accessible that I felt I could follow the story and appreciate quite well the ancient art form.
Some of you may remember my post about India from my previous voyage,”The Elephant that is India.” (See the blog index to the right.) In it, I used the old metaphor of blind men exploring an elephant, each grabbing a different part and coming to very different conclusions about the creature. The stench and filth in Chennai will forever remind me of being behind the elephant, stepping in fresh dung. We actually had to navigate around some of that material as we strolled through the villages around our resort, but that’s not the part that will hereafter remind me of Kerala. On this my third trip to this incredibly diverse and fascinating county, I finally felt as if I were seeing its true essence. I stared into the elephant’s beautiful, dancing eyes and fell in love with India.