“In an age of speed, I began to think, nothing could be more invigorating than going slow. In an age of distraction, nothing can feel more luxurious than paying attention. And in an age of constant movement, nothing is more urgent than sitting still.”
― Pico Iyer, The Art of Stillness: Adventures in Going Nowhere
September 17, 2025, Wednesday
Airport Road
Like a drunkard tied to a rocket, the green private bus raced to Veli. After buying an Rs 18 ticket, I settled into my seat and held onto the window bars for my dear life. I realised we were speeding along the Airport Road only after recognising the high, barbed-wired compound walls of the Trivandrum Airport and the Brahmos Aerospace nearby. Photography-restricted signboards on both sides made me feel like the clueless MC of an action flick, being abducted into some secret government warehouse.
I made mental notes of the intriguing places I saw on the way: Brahmos Aerospace, Shanghumugham Art Museum, Air Force Station, Shangumugham Beach, St Peter’s Church Kannanthura, St Antony’s Shrine Kannanthura, Vettucaud church, and St Joseph’s Church Kochuveli. Brahmos Aerospace was off-limits to the general public, and the Shanghumugham Art Museum was under repair, but I did visit the beach and churches another day.
Catastrophizing
The bus slowly emptied, leaving me alone with one other passenger, the bus driver, and the conductor. Incidents of women getting assaulted in Indian public transport, especially the brutal 2012 Delhi gang rape case, flashed through my mind. I was shocked by my own catastrophizing thoughts. Though I quit IT long back, I guess my programmer brain never stopped looking for worst-case scenarios.
By 2:15 PM, I reached the Veli tourist village. There were many college kids and families at the ticket counter. I don’t know if the college kids and the adults were bunking classes and work that day. But I’m glad they showed up; their presence and their laughter made me feel safe and soothed my anxiety. I felt like a puppy curling up on the hallway carpet, soaking in the smells and sounds of her hoomans nearby.
Veli Tourist Village
Just like most Indian movies, many Indian tourist places are designed to entertain family audiences, especially kids. Here too, the space was well-curated, containing a children’s playground with the usual swings and slides, a garden with well-trimmed bushes and flowering plants, peppered with large statues and benches where families chilled, lovers strolled, and a pond with a big conch shell sculpture, where loners like me could stare and ruminate.
Veli Miniature Railway Station
In my humble opinion, the highlight of this tourist village is the Veli Miniature Train and railway station. The front part of the train reminded me of the Hogwarts Express, while its rear looked like the metros in Ernakulam.
The toy railway tracks running through the garden piqued my interest. The excitement of kids and the senior citizens as they boarded the train and waved to strangers like me was contagious.
The Garden & the Sculptures
I contemplated buying a ticket (Rs 50 for adults and Rs 30 for kids) and boarding the train, but eventually decided against it. Instead, I strolled through the garden, watching the passengers enjoy the train ride, staring at the garden sculptures, listening to the growls of stray dogs, and ogling at the Veli Lake and the bridge over it.
I sat on the granite-paved steps near the lake, close to where the boats were docked. I thought about the only other time I had visited this place. I had come with a friend. We were both at a crossroads in our lives. I had just quit IT, and my friend was moving to Chennai. We were both sad, a bit angry and irritable too, and unable to reach a consensus on the things we were discussing that day. We crossed a floating bridge together. Did we also get caught in a storm? I think we did.
Strange, isn’t it, how certain people and events get infused in our memories of a place?
People Watching
A few staff members were eating their packed lunches under the shade of the tree and on the steps near the water bodies. Three stray dogs waited near a khaki-clad Chetan for his leftovers.
I was hungry too. So I bought a small packet of Milk-Bikis biscuits and sat under the shade of a tree, munching on them. Just then, a three-legged mumma dog came near me. She reminded me of the disabled dog from the recent hit movie Lokah.
The dog was hungry, too. I wanted to feed her, but I’ve heard some strays become ferocious when we stop feeding them. So I scooted from there, but she followed me all the way to the playground.
Many school children in maroon uniforms were playing on the ground. It seemed like a one-day trip from their school. Their teachers sat on nearby benches, watching them play. I sat next to these teachers and parents, watching the kiddos. I loved that moment. For a split second, I imagined I was a parent watching her kid play, too.
A Floating Bridge
I walked towards the beaches, navigating bushes of oleanders and jungle geraniums in bloom. The floating bridge, with its sky blue side bars, wooden floorboards, and the lake invaded by water hyacinths, filled me with nostalgia. I gazed longingly at the wooden houses on the other side. A signboard nearby said visitors are not allowed to cross the floating bridge and visit the beach after 6:15 pm. I wondered why.
The floorboards of the bridge rose and fell and shivered as I walked through it. My heart felt an ache… of regret or the grief of good times long lost, I don’t know for sure.
Shops and Game Zones
As I crossed the bridge and plodded through the beach sand, I saw many interesting sights on the way – fish spas, ice cream stalls, toy shops, local tea shops, restaurants, and game parks. Many schoolchildren queued up to try their luck in ring-tossing games. For Rs 10, you get 5 chances.
I realized jogging shoes are not beach-sand-friendly. There was a small amusement park for kids with limited slides and statues. I chuckled, seeing a dog chilling under an Air Force plane statue. Two horses – one fully brown, and the other, a mix of brown and white – saddled up for rides, waiting for customers, along with their owners under a blue tarpaulin shed, caught my attention. But no, I’ve sworn off riding animals, unless it’s some life-and-death situation.
Missing Estuary
The view of the lake glistening under the afternoon sun, the heap of beach sand in between, and the sea on the other end looked ethereal. A staff member told me, “This is not how it’s supposed to be. If you come during the rainy season, the lake will be fuller, and it will meet the sea as an estuary.” I smiled, “I know how beautiful it can be. I’ve watched this place in a storm,” I wanted to say, but remained silent.
Just then, a religious song floated from afar, and the church bells tolled loudly. Eeshoyude athi dharunamam…. It’s a Malayalam Christian devotional song about the passion of Christ. It soon became the melancholic background track for the rest of my trip.
The spell broke when the stinky smell of coconut shells and fibre, soaked and decaying in water, wafted through the air. It’s a crucial step in the coir-making process. If you visit any of the coastal villages of Alappuzha, you will get used to the smell and the entire process. There was a women-led coir-making unit just next to our place in Arthinkal.
Beach
The time was around 3:15 pm. The sun was not too hot, and there was a lot of wind. It was a high tide day. I knew this because the waves had come all the way up to the sandy areas with big rocks, steps, and where the boats were docked.
Despite being native to two coastal villages, on both my parents’ sides, the sea never fails to fascinate me. But at times, the beaches look so similar and familiar that my memories overlap. I mean, I could swear the Veli beach and Kollam beach looked the same.
As time passed, crowds got thicker. My phone battery moaned at 35%. I switched it to power-saving mode. I wondered if I had enough time to visit the Shankumugham beach, or if I should just wrap up the day by visiting the Mall of Travancore.
On my way back, I saw more school children pouring into the beach and park, some even speaking Tamil. Many adults played on the swing, laughing loudly. I remembered something my dad says often: Manushya jeevitham ellayidathum oru poleyanu (Human lives are the same everywhere.) Sure, the surface-level sights might differ, but deep down, fundamentally, human lives are the same everywhere.
An Autumn Tree
I saw an Indian almond tree slowly turning its colors to orange. “Are you in autumn too? What are you letting go?” I wanted to ask.
I was still confused about where to go next, but I knew I needed a breather first. So, I sat on one of the garden benches to rest for five minutes. Stay still, my mind, stay still, even if it’s just for a minute.
To be continued…
Author’s Notes
~ All content on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © 2026 Lirio Marchito. All rights reserved.
~ This blog is part of a series exploring my travels through Trivandrum, the capital city of my home state, Kerala, in India. You can read more posts from this series here. Trivandrum | Kerala| India
Lirio's Wanderings 