A little dream Once Upon the River
The word maram (meaning tree) is filled with nostalgia for the Malayalee psyche that’s beyond a certain age. Memories of afternoons that stretched and droned with the sticky, somnambulistic hum of a fruit fly. Clothes smelling of tree sap, spilt fruity smelling patches. Assuringly thick boughs to hang a swing from and palms bruised with rope burns. Palms with that husky smell of rope. Spindly legs with coconut shell knees, scraped and sporting archipelagoes of clotted scabs in varying degrees of freshness, hang from tree branches, swinging like clothes strung on a line.
The echo of bird calls and the false echo of childish mouths mimicking the bird. The indignant cuckoo, the brash crow, the enquiring who-who-who of the inquisitive kakathamburan otherwise known as the crow pheasant .
Once Upon The River, a veritable secret garden with its many marams, reminds me of summer holidays and playing with my cousins. It sits like a sleepy, contemplative tortoise on the banks of the Periyar River, its many trees hushing-hushing, keeping their voices low like it was permanently siesta time. A place made for endless cups of tea fragrant with clove and cardamon accompanied with piping hot, crisp snacks fried in coconut oil. This river knows no lullabies but hums a thick, vague tune dredged from its muddy memory. The Periyar is a stoic river, a ruminating ascetic that barely gives you a glance.
Once Upon The River sits on three acres of a lush, fat brushstroke of green made of leaf-shaped pixels, where ancient buildings and new ones sit with easy companionship. The oldest building, a typical ancient Kerala 116-year old homestead or mana complete with terracotta tiles contrasting against stark white walls, wooden gables and rounded pillars is now an ayurveda centre. The rooms are thick with soft shadows, dark corners. Every thud of the narrow wooden staircase resonated deep in the recess of my heart, taking me back to my grandparent’s now-nonexistent home, where I prowled as a child, my ever-terrified spine tingling with alarm whenever curiosity got the better of me and made me wander into the dark spaces. I was and always will be a fraidy cat, albeit a nostalgic one. And I found myself getting sentimental about this half-light that once held many terrors for me. The jewelled panes of the attic windows have a sense of longing; wistful eyes fixed unwaveringly at the river bend, as if expecting someone long-awaited to come along.
Outside, the wind tiptoed through the leaves like it was trying to sneak past a snoring nanny who fell asleep on the job. Each tree is a story. The waxy leaves of the jaadhika or nutmeg tree try in vain to protect the modesty of its misbehaving fruit that insist on running all the over place with their tantalising rumps literally hanging in the air. Spindly arecanut trees enthusiastically lean into the wind, their lean, long barks dancing at every given chance. Tamarind leaves twirl their baby fingers inviting you under into its generous shade. Clumps of moss loll in the moist tree-shadow where the wet mud still holds onto the memory of the last rain. And then there is this feeling with the whole place that makes you feel like you’re digesting a heavy, delicious meal.
If I could bottle this up, this tree balm, this komorebi, I would. The chef has done this to moderate success with the welcome drink which is an unusual and delicious mix of gooseberry and nutmeg. Aluva is so close to Kochi and yet is a world apart. It makes for a quick getaway when the traffic and the jarring city gets to you. So quick a getaway, that you could make the decision to go there, when you hit that one red light too many.
Night comes with the softest of footfalls, almost like a panther stalking prey. You are so lost in the dusk’s purple spell that you don’t notice it’s late until the walkway lights suddenly come on. You look up and the sky drops a handful of star shine on you. And you know you’ll remember this for all of time, this moment you had, once upon the river.
How to get to Once Upon The River
Kochi airport - 16 KM
Aluva Railway Station - 5 KM
Kochi to Thuruth -34.6 KM
