Bougie in the Backwaters - a Tale of Self-Discovery

These days when people ask me where I’m from, like where I'm really from, I tend to say something like Reno or Nevada. Sometimes the answer is meant to be genuine; other times, especially when the asker is obviously referring to my ethnicity, I say it just to watch a gratifying look of confusion, bewilderment, and reluctance to push for clarity emerge.

I'm mean. I know.

There was a time, however, when I was more accepting of Eurocentric norms in North America, and I understood the prompt should be answered with Kerala, India. And I am from Kerala. I was born in its capital city, Trivandrum, but immigrated with my parents to the United States before I could spell its full un-anglicized name, Thiruvanandapuram.

Growing up, I had made several trips to sunny, tropical Kerala with my family, but recently returned to experience it for the first time as an adult. This trip also involved my first stay at an Indian resort. Though I generally stayed my grandparents or other extended family on these trips, I had heard, from non-Keralites nonetheless, about the legendary hospitality, mouthwatering food, and treasured natural beauty to be found in these resorts. I was still skeptical. I felt about it how a Nevadan would feel about a stay-cation in Lake Tahoe. It sounded...indulgent? Excessive?

Reservations aside, I arrived one warm December afternoon to Coconut Lagoon. It's worth mentioning I arrived there by boat, the only way to get there. The ride provided a first peak at the immense, overbearing beauty of the Kerala backwaters--the set of interconnected rivers, lakes and lagoons forming the western border of the state. As I "frickin' love" boat rides, this quickly put me in a good mood.

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As I stepped off the boat, I was adorned a with floral garland, blessed with a traditional kumkum placed on my forehead, and serenaded with peaceful flute music played just for arriving guests by a local musician. While my parents took on some onboarding docs, my sister and I were whisked away, seated on a wooden swing, and given young coconuts to sip on.

The rest of the stay passed in a similar manner. Each day at Coconut Lagoon was filled with delight. I cheerfully woke up before the sun to attend yoga, and rushed out from one of several exciting activities to attend evening meditation. In between bird watching, butterfly garden visits, and sunset cruises (set to flute music played by the same human gem from reception), I lounged in a pool under roosting brahminy kites and fruit bats or sipped tea from the porch of my own personal cottage and watched vechoor cows, whose size is that of the average calf, grazing on the lawn.

While I thoroughly enjoyed the comforts and thrills of my luxurious stay, those were experiences I predicted I would have. What I never saw coming was a deeper understanding of and connection to my heritage. The cottage I slept in was built in an architectural style particular to pre-colonial Kerala; in other words, it was designed by my ancestors. The tunes played by a lovely flautist who who greeted us probably scored my grandparents' childhood memories. The cultural performances I saw, while very special to me, were normal parts of my extended family's life. The food I ate, the Malayalam language I spoke, and the clothes I wore were created for me over thousands of years by my people. In another turn of events, they could have been my daily reality and it would have been beautifully different.

While I am thankful for the life I lead in another hemisphere, this brief and intense cultural immersion made it clear that I've been denying a rich part of myself. And that there are certainly benefits to being a tourist in a place you think you know.