I’ve been in the south of India for just over a week now and this land is in stark contrast to my husband’s home-town of Jaipur, further north in the arid yet vibrant state of Rajasthan.  The vast difference really struck me on my previous trip here, nine months ago.  Alex, myself and his goldsmith Ashis, caught a train direct from Rajasthan to Kerala; 48 hours in a rocking, chugging locomotive, spent stuck in a variety of sitting positions that made the body feel like a coiled spring ready to suddenly leap out of itself.  It’s always a relief when those long journeys finally end and you can step off the carriage onto terra firma, finally able to move and exercise your body.

So it was when we arrived during the soft light of dawn into Varkala and caught a taxi to the house where the rest of Alex’s friends lived.  I couldn’t get over the landscape around us.  I had left Jaipur feeling the harshness of life in this big Indian city like a heavy weight on my heart.  Poverty and struggle seemed so inescapable there and I felt the merciless nature of the dry land affecting me deeply.  So many people, so so many humans, most barely keeping their heads above the poverty line, many unable to climb their way out of the dark hole that their lives had always been, probably always would be.  And the barren land around them providing next to nothing to nourish or sustain these struggling souls.

I felt the dryness of this concrete jungle like a rope around my neck, restrictive and choking, like the dust in the air that left a thin layer of grit in your nose and your throat….

Coming straight from this to the tropical climate of Kerala felt like removing the noose from around my neck.  I breathed in the warm, wet air and felt my heart soar as my eyes soaked up the rich abundance of nature, all the nourishing plants in a delightful array of greens and flowers that offered the occasional splash of pink or orange or red…  Kerala is the mother who feeds her children with the sweetest, most delectable foods til they’re ready to burst and yet still she has more to give.

The garden surrounding our house freely offered us punky pineapples poking out of their bushes, swollen papaya hanging heavily from skinny branches, clusters of bananas almost hidden by the canopies of their plants giant leaves and the tantalizing, soon-to-be-ripe mangoes, sprinkled throughout the mango trees like green Christmas baubles.  The land felt full, rich, bursting with foods to sustain and nourish the people who lived here.

Nine months later, back again and it hasn’t changed!  For Kerala is a sweet mix of delicious tropical fruits and air that’s thick with moisture.  Armies of mosquitoes patrol the thick vegetation like miniature whirring helicopters, ready to attack the person who innocently sits out in the evening to enjoy a spectacular, kaleidoscopic sunset.  Monsoon is lingering on – it’s early October and heavy showers and overcast skies are still a regular occurrence.  This makes for a refreshing cool breeze when perched on a scooter, whizzing along quiet, country lanes, passing ornate, candy-coloured mansions in a wild palette of barbie pinks, vivd lime-greens and neon-oranges.  No ‘fifty shades of grey’ like back in Ireland!

The local women wander about in patterned, shapeless, light dresses, with thick, black, oily hair reaching down their backs, no hurry or urgency to their movement.  Plump, dark-skinned men in folded-up, white-cotton ‘skirts’ (known as a lunghi) strut their stuff, chatting to each other in a strikingly foreign, nonsensical language that my husband aptly describes as a collection of stones rolling over each other.  It’s an ancient, complex tongue whose ever-present sound is as synonymous with this region as the endless coconut trees that decorate the land.

The natives of this state have their own name for Kerala, and when I think about it, it seems quite appropriate, for they call it “God’s Own Country”.  And truly, in a land like this, you could believe in angels and fairies and a life of ease and plenty.  A life light years away from the one so many others must endure, in lands as unyielding and unforgiving as a loveless mother’s cold, empty embrace… When it comes to India, Kerala has always been and will always be the soft balm to my weary traveller’s soul.  The gentle respite from the hard reality of life that awaits me each time I return to my husband’s home and family in Jaipur.  I am deeply grateful to the land here.  However life is a delicate balance of ease and challenge and I recognize and respect the depth of soul-searching that Jaipur asks of me every time I’m there.

For now, as I sip my fresh pineapple juice and glance out at the Arabian Sea, I’ll take this moment of ease and respite, with gratitude infusing every cell in my body and a gentle smile on my face as the men at the next table chatter and gossip loudly, sounding something akin to two xylophones played simultaneously.  Dear Kerala… it’s good to be back.