KOCHI: Kallu Vachu Kaadu is an oasis of calm in the sprawling metropolis. The 56-acre island off Thekkumbhaghom in Tripunithura is home to eight families who cherish the simple pleasures of life. Country boats ferry supplies and a touch of the outside world to this secluded haven.
Yet, for all its beauty and tranquillity, the island also poses its inhabitants with a set of challenges, particularly during the monsoon — flood, poisonous snakes, and treacherous waters.
For 53-year-old carpenter Murukesan K S, life is a daily struggle. Unlike others, he can’t afford a country boat to navigate to the mainland. He owns a modest house on a purambokke land, where he lives with his aged father, wife, and two children.
“We rely on other people’s boats to reach the mainland or to return home. While islanders are always ready to lend a helping hand, there are times when you come home from work and wait endlessly for a boat,” laments Murukesan.
“Eventually, you get tired and swim the backwaters, driven by the longing to be back with your family after a hard day’s work,” he adds.
Murukesan’s family can’t afford the Rs 50,000 needed to purchase a fibre boat.
Most families have children who study in schools on the mainland. Some row the boats themselves every morning and evening, while others rely on parents to take on the role of oarsmen. There are eight school-going children on the island.
“My 10-year-old son Adinath studies at the St Joseph English Medium LP School. Every morning, I take him in our country boat to the other shore, from where he walks to school. We always pray for the sun to come out from behind the clouds,” says Maya, 23, another islander.
The islanders lament the Tripunithura municipality’s inaction in repairing the ‘kadathu vallam’ (country boat for common use), which sank over seven months ago.
“The boat was taken out of the water and abandoned. Nobody has come to repair it. Most households now own small country boats, and every member knows how to row,” says Aneesh, 30, known as Appu.
The monsoon brings significant challenges for the islanders.
“The monsoon tests our resilience. Our houses were completely flooded in the 2018 flood. Water enters the houses here every monsoon. It gets hard if someone falls sick,” says Murukesan.
One time, he had to carry his father and row a country boat to the other shore before reaching the hospital.
“My wife is a heart patient. While I love the serenity and beauty of the island, I long to move out because of this. I’ve applied for a house under the LIFE Mission project,” Murukesan reveals.
There isn’t a single road on the island. Most of the stretches here are waterlogged. Residents have to wade through narrow embankments to reach the ghat and to the mainland.
The monsoon isn’t the only adversary the islanders face.
The invasive weed in the backwaters spreads relentlessly, creating a dense layer across the water’s surface, making it nearly impossible for country boats to navigate.
“We’ve made a barrier by tying bottles with plastic ropes across the waters as a shield against the weeds. However, it’s only a temporary solution and often proves ineffective,” rues Murukesan.
The islanders have been asking for a bridge for years. But since most of the property is owned by a trust, not much can be done.
“Even the promises of politicians who turn up once every five years are futile as soon as they are made,” he adds.
“A test piling was done five years ago for building a narrow suspension bridge. But nothing transpired,” says Aneesh.
Only two families own property on the island, appointed as caretakers by the trust. The rest live on purambokke land.
As the storm subsides and the sun’s rays once again paint the waters with light, the islanders emerge with renewed hope, ready to embrace the beauty and tranquillity of their home once again.
But many, like Murukesan, now long to move out, tired of battling nature’s fury each monsoon.