An eerie silence enveloped the forest, despite the roar of a waterfall gushing down the steep slope on which I sat feeling both exhilarated and anxious, as any good adventure will make you feel. It was the calm before the storm. Soon after we were plunged into the darkness of a forest so thick that seeing an ounce of open sky would’ve been the greatest joy. Regardless, we hiked on, as our machete-wielding lungi-wearing guide cleared a path through the thicket. He burst crackers often, to scare away elephants yet there was nothing to be done about the leeches sucking blood from our legs. Night fell swiftly, we were still lost in the jungle, trying to climb up a mountain so steep that you wouldn’t be wrong in imagining it is trying to shake you off the slope. That night we collapsed under tarpaulins, barely held up under pouring rain, in a small clearing within the otherwise impenetrable forest, on wet mud imprinted with hoof marks of several Indian Gaur who had scoped out the place before us. The next morning, the race to finish continued in the wilderness with many many thrills and it ended with beef parotta in the small village at the edge of the mountain in northern Kerala. We were hiking up to a mountain called Vellarimala in 2010, it was the first of my many adventures in Kerala.

In the years that followed, I hiked with my cousins to a gorgeous heart shaped lake in Wayanad. I soaked up the monsoon fury and elegance of Munnar. I took a trip to the ancient past in Marayoor’s dolmens. I cycled over 150 exhausting kilometres through tea gardens of Chinnar to the forests of Thekkady. In short, I had made countless memories in God’s own Country but Kerala was wilderness to me. Kerala was pristine beauty. Kerala was glorious mountains, teeming with wildlife, enveloped in lush green forests. Kerala was a riveting adventure.

Hiking in Nelliampathy Hills in Palakkad

And then four years ago from today, I remember walking on a muddy foot trail cutting through endless fields of paddy coloured in a fluorescent green brought on by monsoon in Thasarak. Old ladies with toothy grin, wearing colourful plastic wrapped as shields were harvesting the produce under a stormy grey sky ready to burst anytime. That morning we went in search of the famous idlis of Ramassery, where I walked on clean village roads lined with pretty houses and village ponds with near perfect coconut tree reflections. Later we stopped at a nice little Toddy shop in Kinassery, drinking the famous palm sap out of colourful mugs. There I was traipsing in unknown villages, far away from the tourist hubs meeting people of Kerala, after years of chasing its wilderness. How would the experiment go?

Lamp lighting ceremony at Sree Randu Moorthy Temple, Thiruvalathur

I remember having heated debates with a friend in my early “traveller” years, where I insisted with the confidence of a clairvoyant that my interest in humans would never measure up to my fondness of empty landscapes. But life is nothing if not unpredictable and humans are nothing if not changeable. It was during this major shift that I happened to visit Kerala yet again, this time tracing the path and cultural influence of River Nila with The Blue Yonder across three northern districts of Thrissur, Palakkad and Malappuram (See the journey video here).