Hidden beyond a treacherously long climb through winding curves and tricky turns is an unassuming hilly terrain with rocky paths and precarious slopes. A drive on a 21km stretch takes you to Kuttikkanam, around 1,100m above sea level, and serves as a gateway to Idukki from its eastern end. From here, State Highway 13, better known as the Kottayam-Kumily Road linking two districts, wears a bleak look.
On this uneventful afternoon with most of the locals cuddling up indoors, the sleepy town is witness to just a handful of isolated election gatherings. Shops have their shutters down and only a few loiter on the road. A few inter-state traders can be seen returning after selling their wares in the wake of the Sivaratri festival. Kuttikkanam, which forms part of Peermade constituency, is surprisingly an otherwise known tourist spot.
Rising mercury levels seem to have made little impact on an array of womenfolk walking down the hilly path with sacks of freshly-plucked tea leaves. Ever ready with tidbits of local gossip, politics seem to be a myth for many of them. These serene hillocks of Idukki are yet to fully wake up to the heat of approaching elections, so it seems. But beneath the passive silence simmer the real politics of peasants and labourers.
What’s Idukki without its lush tea gardens, enormous plantations and sturdy farmers with a never-say-die attitude? Behind the prop of these vast greens lie hidden the travails of thousands of plantation workers who have been living in penury for long. With many tea plantations closing down, each morning is an awakening to uncertainty.
Trudge a few kilometres up the hill towards Wagamon, you arrive at Bonami, where you are greeted by scores of erstwhile workers of closed down plantations, hoping for a better tomorrow. Most layams — line houses — are dilapidated shacks that tell a tale of poverty. With downcast eyes, they walk around as ghostly beings of a happier past.
Still, they are quick to greet you with rustic charm. Pointing to his house, P Jose, a former plantation worker says, “See, V S Achuthanandan sat on this very same verandah, when he came to meet us way back. He had lent a patient ear to our grievances. It must be more than 10 years now.” Jose still nurses hopes of his company paying him his arrears. An array of trophies won by his kids Jijo and Bijo greet you, as you step into a barely furnished shack he calls home. Whatever little possessions that are seen are arranged neatly, lending you a glimpse into an almost disciplinary approach to life.
At another layam sits Pakyam, 65, gazing into the horizon. “You have come to write about us? Good! Look around, there is no dearth of stories here,” she quips, showing us the thatched roofs and wide cracks on walls that seem to be on the verge of collapse. “Oh, you have come looking for an election story! We haven’t been paid our wages for long, and now they want us to move out of these shacks. They have offered some vacant land. But who will pay for registration? Does this make for a good electoral tale?” mocks an unnamed laid-off worker.
With mounting debts forcing them into starvation, many have already left.
Asha, a nurse who lost her job at a Chennai hospital during the pandemic, is set to leave for the Gulf, leaving behind her tiny toddler. “It may sound weird, but I worry about snakes falling through the broken roof,” she shudders. Problems are aplenty, from pending wages to water shortage. There are many who survive solely on distributed food kits. Ironically, there is no dearth of trade unions. In fact, this was what had led to the widely-publicised ‘Pembilai Orumai’ collective in Munnar. Having lost their sole source of income, all of them are unanimous in their view that trade union leaders do little to mitigate their suffering.
With a weary heart, you make your way to Kattappana. On the way up, there seem little sign of upcoming polls, other than a few CPI posters here and there. Kattappana, part of Idukki segment, is set to witness a keen contest this time. Enter the town and the electoral undercurrents are evident, with all and sundry eager to chip in with their own share of political wisdom.
A chance meeting withThomas Joseph, 84, the first MLA of Udumbanchola, once the biggest assembly constituency in India, gives you a delightful peep into an older generation perspective. Sipping some home-made wine with the staunch K M Mani loyalist, you gear up for a brief chat with him. But then that would be a tale for another day!