Koottunkal K M Varghese a sketch by his grandson
This sketch was drawn by Boby Mathews in the year 1994
A boatyard at Pallippuram
Not far from NSS College Junction, there is a house boatyard on the bank of the eastern branch of Vembanadu lake. Here one can see house boats under repair and maintenance. This is a lucrative business in Kerala. The yard rent, repair costs, electricity etc are exorbitant in a common man's perspective. But of course, the business of tourism itself is very lucrative, isn't it?
It is a beautiful locality that gave me these snaps.
A coir mill on the shore
Nalpathenneeswaram grandpa tree
On the way to Nalpathenneeswaram temple near Poochackal, this wonder-tree stands tall bearing a history of many centuries. Taking refuge under the tree from the torturing summer heat, Velayudhan, a local from the neighborhood, said a few years ago forest department had conferred upon it the title of Grandpa Tree as it was the oldest tree in the district.
In those days when Velayudhan was a boy, there were only village pathways. No proper roads as we have today, he recollects. In their childhood, he and friends used to climb the tree for plucking punnappazham, its fruits. The tree had long hands-like branches that reached out to the ground. Anyone could easily climb up the tree through them. A few decades ago, these branches were cut off to pave way for the Panchayath road. The tree still has marks of the brutal attacks on it as one can still see stubs protruding like a war veteran's missing limbs.
Not surprisingly, the area has a sprawling population of punna trees, obviously the progeny of the grandpa tree. One of them has its branches spread over a field. It would be fun when the field is filled with rain water when one could dive from the tree and swim.
Silent spectators of time these trees are! A very long time and silence! What secrets would they reveal, if they could talk! What stories would they narrate!
The roads are still narrower here, and let us hope the development mantra will not be chanted here, lest these living monuments of an eventful past will be gone forever!
The grandpa tree
In those days when Velayudhan was a boy, there were only village pathways. No proper roads as we have today, he recollects. In their childhood, he and friends used to climb the tree for plucking punnappazham, its fruits. The tree had long hands-like branches that reached out to the ground. Anyone could easily climb up the tree through them. A few decades ago, these branches were cut off to pave way for the Panchayath road. The tree still has marks of the brutal attacks on it as one can still see stubs protruding like a war veteran's missing limbs.
Standing next to the tree is Velayudhan
Not surprisingly, the area has a sprawling population of punna trees, obviously the progeny of the grandpa tree. One of them has its branches spread over a field. It would be fun when the field is filled with rain water when one could dive from the tree and swim.
Silent spectators of time these trees are! A very long time and silence! What secrets would they reveal, if they could talk! What stories would they narrate!
The roads are still narrower here, and let us hope the development mantra will not be chanted here, lest these living monuments of an eventful past will be gone forever!
From Nalpathaneeswaram Temple compound
A beautifully nurtured Neem tree at Nalpathaneeswaram Temple compound.
This temple used to be one of the temples in Kerala in a scenic natural setting.
The temple pond (still very natural)
What makes this place ugly today is the later additions to the original beautiful temple structures. Look at the concrete jungle! The use of plastic sheets (though temporary)! The original temple structure built based on Kerala temple architecture is still there behind this commotion.
Development!
It is that time of the year again
It is that time of the year again,
when we had pockets full of nuts,
played 'Andi'*,
longed for big 'pootty'*
and enriched our language with 'Munni', 'Nadu' and 'Otty'*
It is that time of the year again,
when we had crackling bonfire and roasted nuts
that made moms go nuts,
when we had juice that stained
our knickers that stank.
It is that time of the year again,
when we made wine and feigned drunk.
when we had pockets full of nuts,
played 'Andi'*,
longed for big 'pootty'*
and enriched our language with 'Munni', 'Nadu' and 'Otty'*
It is that time of the year again,
when we had crackling bonfire and roasted nuts
that made moms go nuts,
when we had juice that stained
our knickers that stank.
It is that time of the year again,
when we made wine and feigned drunk.
*Andi: A striker game with cashew nuts
*Pootty: cashew nuts shell filled with lead and tar, which is used as a striker in 'Andi' game.
*'Munni', 'Nadu' and 'Otty' : Terms used in 'Andi' game to indicate the positions of scattered cashew for the striker to strike.
*Pootty: cashew nuts shell filled with lead and tar, which is used as a striker in 'Andi' game.
*'Munni', 'Nadu' and 'Otty' : Terms used in 'Andi' game to indicate the positions of scattered cashew for the striker to strike.
At Koottunkal Vadakkethara - a heavenly place!
If there is a heaven on Earth, I guarantee that it would be a house on the remotest shore of Vembanadu lake in Kerala. Koottunkal Vadakkethara family lives in heaven! This calm serene place lies at the end of a long winding village road in Pallippuram. Currently, octogenarian Thommankunj Vadakkethara, his son Babu and family live there. In the midst of this dreamlike idyllic scenic heavenly place he runs a coconut processing and a coir-mat manufacturing units. The people here lead a simple life. Here they have everything a nature lover can dream of. Many different varieties of mango trees, farm trees, vegetable garden, a beautiful lake and a huge Peepal tree surrounded with thousands of coconuts. You will not forget their lovable dog who would not let you go once you befriend him! The breeze, aha! You will spend time there without a clue how it elapsed so fast. No resort can match this experience.
Koottunkal Vadakkethara Thomankunju, family head
Greeshma, Babu's daughter
Gribin and Gribson, Babu's sons
Coconuts Land!
Rosmi at the lakeside
This dog is so adorable!
Karondukadavil Siby and Tessy
Today I attended a wedding. My cousin Kelamparampil Newmann chettan's daughter Neenu married Joe Wilson of Chungath family. At the wedding, I met Siby Karondukadavil, after a very long period. We used to play cricket at NSS College ground three decades ago. He is from Karondukadavil family which has its roots in Koottunkal. His wife Tessy is my maternal cousin. On the way to church I grabbed them both and captured this moment.
Of Pets and Koottunkans
It began with a cry — a thin, desperate howl drifting through the evening air like a thread of sorrow.
Aleykutty Varghese Koottunkal followed the sound, uneasy but determined, until she spotted a shallow pit, barely noticeable under the dry soil. There, struggling for breath, lay a newborn puppy, eyes still sealed by birth. Ants had already begun to gather around its puffy eyelids, drawn to its helplessness. Its mother was nowhere in sight. The earth was quiet, save for that soft, almost human whimper.
With a swift yet gentle motion, Aleykutty scooped it up. Turning it over in her hand, she noted with a quiet satisfaction that it was a male. A short tail — rare in the local breeds — and a rich red coat with not a single spot; she took this as a good omen. Local lore warned that a dog with spots on all four legs and the forehead was untrustworthy. This one, at least by tradition, was destined to be loyal.
Gripping the frail creature by its neck, she carried it home — unaware that this tiny being would soon fill the silence of many evenings.
His name was Kamaan — a name never heard before, suggested by her husband, K M Varghese, a quiet man who loved animals almost as much as he loved naming them. In a time when dogs were called Tippu or Kaisar, Kamaan sounded like a whisper of rebellion.
He grew strong, and with time, fearless. Kamaan became a leader, guiding a pack through the tangled by-lanes of the village. At home, he was not a pet — he was kin. Every family member saved a bit of food for him before placing their plate in the wash. If he wasn’t around, a call of “Umbo Umbo!” would ring out — and like clockwork, he’d arrive, eyes gleaming, tail raised.
Sundays were a ritual. No matter how sternly they warned him, Kamaan followed the family to church, causing no small stir among other dogs along the way. He wore his stubbornness like armor — and earned respect for it.
Then came the crack in their world — the sudden death of K M Varghese in 1977. Grief struck like a monsoon wind, flooding everything. Aleykutty stood firm — barely — balancing sorrow and survival. She had children to raise, a home to hold together, and a future to secure with trembling hands.
And amid all this, Kamaan suffered silently. Food became scarce. Attention waned. He shifted base to the home of K M Mathew, Varghese’s younger brother. But one “Umbo Umbo” from his old home, and he’d dash across the fields like no time had passed.
In that house too, he was loved — until one day, he didn’t return.
The Panchayath had hired dog catchers. Kamaan, leader of the local pack, was among the many rounded up and killed. He was over ten. No one said goodbye.
Among the Koottunkans, three households shared a strange, unspoken reverence for animals — Varghese, Mathew, and John. Varghese loved both cats and dogs; Mathew, mostly cats; and John, obsessively dogs. None allowed them inside, but they were family nonetheless — fed, named, warned, loved.
After Kamaan, many followed — Blackey, Mridulan, Icy, Gillette — each one met an unnatural end. A neighborhood butcher, obsessed with his hoard of bones, laid out poison laced with glass and Othalanga. The dogs would disappear at night and be found stiff and lifeless by morning. Sometimes they were never found — just a stench in the air and silence on the doorstep. I buried them in the backyard, each time breaking a little more.
K M Mathew, meanwhile, raised cats like kin. Biju, his favorite, was a warrior. Only Mathew could pet him. From Biju came a long line of fiercely loyal cats — Binu, Ponnu, Anu, Katherin — names echoing through generations of whiskered grace.
Tippu. When you visit Koottunkal K. M. John's house, it would be this guy welcoming you. He is ferocious to strangers, but friendly and excited with others. He is very camera shy and I had to persuade him a lot for a pose.
Those were different days — when homes rang with life, paws padded over courtyard stones, and mealtimes were shared across species. It was an ecosystem, a delicate harmony of love, duty, and companionship.
Now, the houses stand mostly still. Pets are gone. The courtyards are quiet. Elderly hands wait at the doorstep, hoping for visits that come less often and stay too briefly.
What remains are memories — of names called into the wind, of dogs who never left, of cats who ruled silently — and of a time when home meant more than wall.
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തവണക്കടവ് ജെട്ടി (Thavanakkadav Jetty)
Whenever I visit Thavanakkadavu Jetty (Pallippuram), it is an obsession for me to take lake photos if my camera is handy.
It is a relief that this Jetty is ever young withstanding the progressive urbanization in Pallippuram that was taking place in the last many decades.
The great Gulmohar, the local rickshaw stand, the line buses awaiting the boat loaded with people, and the ever deserted waiting shed still paint the same picture of the 80s.
It is a relief that this Jetty is ever young withstanding the progressive urbanization in Pallippuram that was taking place in the last many decades.
The great Gulmohar, the local rickshaw stand, the line buses awaiting the boat loaded with people, and the ever deserted waiting shed still paint the same picture of the 80s.
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