Standing in solidarity with the students peacefully protesting the NEET paper leaks at Jantar Mantar, Delhi.
~~~
The day after my Amboori trip, I was returning from Trivandrum to Kollam with my school friend, Bhagu. I was chilling in the passenger seat, listening to old Tamil songs on the car radio, and watching my friend drive. We had just had breakfast from the Indian Coffee House at Sreekaryam.
Bhagu asked me if taking the longer, beachside route was okay. I nodded as I didn’t have any plans till evening. It was obvious that she loved the long drives.
On the way, she pointed to one side and said, “This place has a great restaurant. The food is good, but the night vibe is stellar.”
“Oh, the Great Chatsby, isn’t it? I’ve been there before. One day, I went for a long, solo walk from Kazhakkoottam till Muthalapozhi harbor. In between, I was so hungry I had lunch from that restaurant.”
“What are you saying, Jo? That’s crazy. Muthalapozhi is close to my relatives’ place, Chirayinkeezhu. That’s at least 15km from Kazhakkoottam. Don’t tell me you walked all the way?” Bhagu asked, flabbergasted.
“Oh, I didn’t walk the entire route. I took a bus or two in between. And it wasn’t one long walk. There were many pit stops. I explored the beaches and churches on the way. I rested and had food, too.”
“Still! What are you, mini Santhosh George Kulangara?” She teased me, worried for my safety and health.
I swear I’m a normal person, but on some days, the inner David Goggins overpowers me. That’s exactly what happened on that October day last year.
October 5, 2025, Sunday
My month-long stay in Trivandrum was coming to an end in three days. I woke up at 3 in the morning, in the middle of a beautiful dream. In the dream, I had access to the best library in the world. If only!
Outside my hostel, it was raining heavily. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t. So I daydreamed about becoming a librarian. It’s a fascination I have carried privately in my heart ever since I read Haruki Murakami’s celebrated book Kafka on the Shore.
Since the weather reports predicted an average temperature of 26 degrees and a 35% chance of precipitation in Trivandrum, I assumed it would be a stay-indoors kind of day. So I spent the next few hours working on my Sambranikodi blog.
But when I climbed the tin-roofed terrace to exercise, I saw immigrant workers in the nearby construction site toiling in the rain, wearing yellow safety caps. I felt bad seeing their state and realized I shouldn’t take my opportunities or time for granted. So by 10, I walked out of my hostel, determined to explore the Perumathura route.
One of my hostel mates, Eesha from Madhya Pradesh, who worked in the Techno Park, had told me about her visit to the Thumba Beach. She and her friends had taken a rapido to the beach, as it was just 3km from Kazhakkoottam. I, on the other hand, was determined to find the bus route. I assumed there would be buses every few minutes from Kazhakkoottam to Menamkulam, where the Thumba Beach is situated.
Where are you going?
As I walked out of my hostel, a bag on my shoulder and my purple umbrella in my hand, envisioning myself as a grown-up Dora Buji, an unexpected question from the hostel caretaker stopped me in my tracks: “Where are you going?”
To the naive ear, it might sound like an innocent question. But every grown-up woman in India knows it’s part of the social and moral policing. Guess I didn’t realise how much I was enjoying my last 25 days of freedom, of not being questioned or stopped, until it was revoked.
“There’s a new rule,” she explained. “Anybody leaving the hostel for matters outside of work must jot it down in the register.”
This new rule, introduced by the owner’s daughter, irked me on many levels. First, travel writing is part of my job, so my solo travels are not exactly “matters outside of work.” Second, such rules are not in practise in men’s or boys’ hostels, as far as I’m aware. Third, I’m an Indian citizen; I’m a working adult woman pursuing her dreams; I see myself as an empowered and liberated human being; I don’t like unnecessary questioning and checks like this.
But hiding my irritation, I just scribbled “Menamkulam” on the register against my name and left without any argument. Patriarchy is so deep-rooted in my society. Decades of verbal arguments with people who happily stay ignorant of gender inequalities have exhausted me. Living my life on my own terms is the only way I’m resisting it now.
Kazhakkoottam
Even if your tongue stays silent to avoid a fight, your mind won’t. All the way from Attinkuzhi to Kazhakkoottam, I was running through the could-have-been arguments in my mind, even as I bought the Rs 12 ticket from the bus conductor.
Maybe I was too pissed to notice it sooner. Even after waiting at the Kazhakkoottam bus stand since 10:20 am, I couldn’t see any Menamkulam buses. I couldn’t figure out the route with Google Maps either. So I asked around— an autorickshaw chetan offered to take me to Thumba Beach for Rs 72. But the wanderer in me was not ready to accept defeat.
Menamkulam
A tall, lean senior Chetan, in white mundu and shirt, who was a shopkeeper in Kazhakkoottam, came to my rescue. “Moley (daughter), you see that banyan tree at the Kazhakkoottam bus stand. Behind that tree, there is a route to the market area. It’s a busy area with many sellers. Take the road to the right; then reach its end. There, take the road to the left and walk till its end. You will come across a bridge. There will be a railway crossing underneath it. If you walk straight ahead and keep at it for about 30 minutes, you will reach Menamkulam. But mind you, it’s going to be a long walk.”
I thanked him profusely before venturing on the path. His smile was so affectionate. I love knowledgeable people like him. He didn’t ridicule me even once for not taking an auto. Only a fellow wanderer can remember such intricate details and appreciate another long-walker.
Long story short, I walked the 2.5km to Menamkulam Junction. Everything was exactly as the uncle told me. I saw the crowd in the market area. At the bridge, I paused for some time, staring at the railway crossing. Then I came across the Kazhakkoottam Nalumukk Junction, later the KTDC beer parlor on the left, and finally reached Menamkulam Junction by 11 am.
The gulmohar tree shedding its yellow flowers felt like a crowd cheering for me at the finish line of a marathon. I mentally raised my hands, punched the air, feeling like Ronaldo after scoring a World Cup goal. There was a tiny teeny-weeny catch, though. There was no beach in the vicinity.
Perumathura
On an average day, Google is not a bad guy. In fact, he is the only person who has accompanied me on all my trips. But that particular day, he was nothing but a cruel prankster.
I don’t know why Google marks the location of Thumba Beach and its adjacent Thumba Arattuvazhi Beach (also known as Golden Beach Thumba) as spots in Menamkulam. I had to walk TWO MORE KILOMETERS from the Menamkulam Junction to reach the beaches.
Had I known that at the beginning of the walk, I would have absolutely taken an auto. 2km is the threshold I have set for my long walks. A 4.5 km straight walk is a definite no-no. I assume Eesha and her friends took an alternate shorter and easier route in the rapido.
While walking past the Marian Edu City building and KINFRA International Apparel Park, I caught the first glimpse of the sea’s blue waves in the distance. Humbled and overjoyed, I felt like a pilgrim catching the first glimpse of the Kaaba in Mecca.
When I looked at the signboard, it said in bold letters PERUMATHURA, and not “sigh” Menamkulam. Like we say in Church, my mistake, my mistake, my most grievous mistake!
Golden Beach
It took me almost an hour to walk from Kazhakkoottam to the Golden Beach in Thumba. My immediate thought was – “Jo, please learn to drive or at least find a travel partner who can drive. An EV would do if you’re so worried about using fossil fuels. We will keep it sustainable.” Finally, in my 30s, I have drawn a conclusion most people know by 18 or 25 – the cons of rejecting everything regular and conventional outright. If my knees had a mind of their own, they would have knelt and begged for their deliverance.
Maybe because of the struggle involved, the path leading to the Golden Beach looked extra cinematic, with the blue sea in the distance and the red hibiscus and pink bougainvilleas in bloom on both sides.
I reached the beach by 11:30 am. Since it was a weekend, there were many families, friend groups, and couples at the beach. I sat on the dry beach sand, catching some much-needed rest and sipping some water. A group of teenage boys was swimming in the sea; a gang of middle-aged men was playing cards in the shade.
At a distance, a young lady in a golden-yellow dress was posing for a photographer holding a DSLR. After some time, they swapped their positions. Thereafter, the photographer guy in the light-blue shirt became the muse, as the girl snapped pictures, and their mutual friend, a guy in leopard-print pants, watched them fondly.
The usual beach sights surrounded me – the foamy white clouds and waves in an otherwise blue sky and an even bluer sea, the row of coconut trees swaying in the wind, boats docked on the shore, kids playing in the water, teenagers enjoying ice creams, and families immortalizing the memories as selfies.
There were also the not-so-eye-candy regular sights: plastic covers, beer bottles, soft drink cans, newspaper shreds, and whatnot strewn on the beach sand. Of course, we can erase this garbage from our photos, but our nature will continue to suffer.
We get defensive when foreigners berate our whole country as dirty and ridicule our civilians for lacking basic civic sense. But it’s high time we admitted our shortcomings, learned the best methods from across the globe with an open mind, built appropriate systems, and put those lessons into practice. Japan is one country I admire in this regard; they respect their surroundings and never litter. In a state like Kerala, where the tourist outflow is massive, stringent measures must be taken against littering.
Thumba Beach
Around 11:45 am, I left the beach and walked back to the crossroad. Autorickshaw drivers looked at me expectantly. But Thumba Beach was just 550m to the right, so as usual, I walked.
First, I reached Pallithura; ‘Palli’ means church and ‘Thura’ means beach. There was a shrine of Jude Thaddeus the Apostle nearby. I sat on a plastic chair in the shrine and prayed for a few minutes.
Do you know that historically Christian believers have hesitated to pray to this saint just because his name is similar to the apostle who betrayed Jesus Christ – Judas Iscariot? As a result, Jude Thaddeus was invoked in prayers only as a last resort. Eventually, he became the patron saint of impossible causes. Since I, too, have a few impossible causes I was striving for, one of them being this India trip, I mumbled a few prayer requests before leaving the shrine.
Just to the left of the shrine, before reaching the Fathima Matha Pain and Palliative Care Centre, there’s a road to Thumba Beach. As I ventured on this road, I could see a cemetery on the left, and St Jude L P School, Thumba, on the right. I learned all these buildings are part of St John the Baptist Church.
Thumba Beach looked pretty much like the Golden Beach. Obviously, they are just half a kilometer apart. Duh! The only difference I could find was the rows of Kattadi Marangal (or whistling pine trees). God save the young lovers and that one senior husband-wife duo who unknowingly kept me company on the beach.
My feet burned when they plunged into the hot sand. Thereafter, I treaded the beach with more caution, staring at the peacock blue fish net drying on the sand and the docked navy blue boats, one of them named ‘Jesus.’
Since I’ve lived in coastal villages most of my life, I know how close the fishing community is to the church and God. I’ve heard them talk about how risky and lonely their journeys into the deep sea are. They pray not just for good weather, a profitable catch, and the safety of their own lives, but also for the well-being of their families who await them on the shore.
Around 12, I left the beach. My digital watch beeped, announcing I had walked 10k steps. The first 2k must have been the morning walk on the terrace. It was a bit concerning because I still had a long way to go, and many more important stops to cover. What do I do? Will I collapse by the time I make it to the Muthalapozhi Harbour?
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
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