A journey to Wayanad is always a great escape from urban frenzy. There is something calming about the mist here.
Perhaps that’s why in remote corners, the election ‘fever’ feels more like a slow-burner. In the quiet stretches of Mananthavady, the usual visual clutter of democracy — colourful posters and flapping banners — is largely absent.
The subdued mood in Panamaram, Vellamunda and Koyileri could easily be mistaken for a lazy Sunday morning. But local traders insist otherwise.
In Panamaram, a traditional IUML stronghold, the campaign is only beginning to gather momentum. Inside the Safa Hot N Cool bakery, owner Mammootty Kizhakkayil wipes down a counter while weighing in on the contest.
“The UDF’s Usha Vijayan is an apt candidate. She knows the ground, having served as Edavaka panchayat president and in the district panchayat. The community has been busy with Eid and the Valliyoorkavu festival, but the election fever is just heating up,” he says.
A short drive away, on the banks of the Kabini River, the ancient Valliyoorkavu Temple stands as the district’s spiritual heart. Here, politics feels like an afterthought.
The festival draws what seems like all of Wayanad into its fold. Dedicated to Goddess Durga in her forms as Vanadurga, Bhadrakali and Jaladurga, the temple is a rare space where Brahmanical rituals and tribal traditions coexist seamlessly.
Tribal chieftains lead the flag-hoisting, and the nightly Kalamezhuthu Pattu draws thousands. Historically, the Valliyoorkavu market — held during the 14-day festival — was a site where landlords hired tribal labourers, with agreements sanctified in the presence of the deity.
Today, the market functions as a large trade fair, where tribal communities and other local residents gather as equals, and the communal feast (annadanam) is shared across caste and tribe lines.
Murmurs of the election surface in tea shops and bus stops here. The name most frequently heard is O R Kelu, the minister for welfare of SCs, STs and backward classes.
Bangle-seller Ammu Choottakadavu, a member of the Adiya community, smiles when asked about the polls. “Kelu wins here. He is a minister now, right?” she asks, before continuing her chat with community members who have arrived for the festival.
Further east, in Sultan Bathery and Pulpally, the narrative shifts to a grim struggle. While urban centres debate the Brahmagiri Society scam or allegations against the UDF’s I C Balakrishnan, farmers along the forest edges are frustrated with escalating human-wildlife conflict.
“My phone doesn’t stop ringing with calls from farmers in tears, but I am powerless,” says C P Kuriakose, an empanelled animal-control shooter and farmer with five acres of spices in Kalanadikolly.
“My gun has been taken into custody as part of the election code of conduct. For us, the election isn’t about scandals — it’s about survival. Political rivalries feel like afterthoughts when one’s livelihood is being destroyed.”
The electoral ‘vibe’ shifts noticeably in Kalpetta. The bypass road is lined with towering hoardings. Campaign offices of all major fronts are buzzing in the town.
Conversations here revolve around the Thamarassery Ghat Road and the rehabilitation project for survivors of the Mundakkai–Chooralmala landslide.
At the site where houses for 410 families are nearing completion, visitors gather in clusters, debating the pace of the project. When some label the quick handover of keys an “election stunt”, a few survivors push back. “Which government completes work in such a short time? We are willing to wait until May for the final touches,” one of them says.
The return journey offers a final reminder of Wayanad’s logistical challenges. A KSRTC bus stalled near the eighth hairpin bend on the Thamarassery Ghat Road triggers a three-hour traffic deadlock.
Watching the line vehicles, Mathew Pezhathinkal of the Janakeeya Karma Samiti says: “The tunnel road is a good idea, but we need the Poozhithode-Padinjarathara road. It has been delayed for decades. It requires less forest land, and is far more practical.”
As traffic clears, I start missing the mist of Wayanad — a district caught between poll promises and the grounded, urgent needs of its people.