childhood memories

Through this blog, I want to take you to yet another beautiful location in Attapady. Today, Ruth’s friends (Dr. Febin and Liz Maria) had come over, and she wanted to take them somewhere special. Initially, we thought of visiting our plantation, but plans quickly changed. Ruth suggested a place, while my brother mentioned Maranatti Falls. The idea sounded perfect, so we packed ourselves into two Mahindra jeeps and set off. Ruth thoughtfully carried a parcel lunch for all of us, which added to the excitement.

**Some beauty is meant to be felt, not just captured**

Before heading out, my brother called up a local friend, Saneesh, to check if the jeeps could make it all the way to the falls and whether it was raining in that area. He gave us the green signal, reminding us once again that it is always best to have a four-wheel drive when planning a trip to Maranatti.

**Some wonders are for the heart, not the camera!**

The roads leading to the falls are narrow and can be tricky, especially if a vehicle comes from the opposite direction. And just as we expected, we had one such encounter. Luckily, Saneesh happened to be driving behind us. He stepped out without hesitation, guided us patiently, and made sure the oncoming jeep crossed without any trouble. Moments like these always take me back to my childhood, when the locals around our village were our first and strongest support system.

**Good samaritan Saneesh helping us cross the tricky spot**

There was a deep sense of community then people never thought twice before lending a helping hand. If a tree had fallen across the road during the rainy season, someone would step forward to cut and clear it. If a jeep got stuck in the slush, men would rush to push it out, never mind soiling their clothes in the process. Helping was second nature, and selfishness never seemed to exist. Sadly, many of those families have since sold their land and moved to cities in search of better education for their children. but those memories of unity and community spirit still stay with me.

Our family, too, had lands around Maranatti, including my father’s brother. Driving through that familiar route again was nostalgic and brought back so many childhood memories. This time, though, we had to park the jeeps about 200 meters away because the locals had blocked the road to the falls. It was a sensible decision since constant tourist vehicles on the muddy road would make it difficult for the residents.

**Roads on pause! Locals protecting the path from frequent jeep traffic**

From there, we walked. As we got closer, the roar of the falls grew louder, and finally, the breathtaking sight appeared before us. Words simply cannot capture the beauty of Maranatti Falls. A few homes stood nearby, and I couldn’t help but think how blessed the people living there are, surrounded by such natural splendor. Of course, life there comes with its challenges, but for the moment, I chose only to admire the beautiful side.

**A house nestled among arecanut trees near the falls – Lucky souls living close to nature**

Ruth’s friends and family happily got into the water and had their share of fun. Ruth, a little uneasy with heights, chose to stay back, and I too decided not to step into the water but simply take in the beauty around me. The sound of cicadas filled the air, instantly transporting me back to the vacations in my plantation. That familiar screech often marked the end of a workday, when the labourers would leave and a quiet sadness would linger over the plantation. The same sound here stirred memories of that stillness, sadness, and silence, yet it blended beautifully with the steady gush of the waterfall, creating a mix of nostalgia and peace.

**Ruth in her own world, soaking in the calm**

A few young boys had also come to enjoy the falls. The moment they arrived, their phones were out, and they were busy clicking pictures from every angle. Sometimes I feel people travel more for photos than for the view itself. The “boomer aunty” in me could not help but think this way. Maybe old age is finally catching up with me! We soon settled down to enjoy the lunch Ruth had packed, and food always seems to taste better when shared in the lap of nature.

**Me judging Instagram models like a true boomer aunty… but still clicking their pics**

On our way back, we visited a friend’s farm, and the view from his hilltop house was absolutely breathtaking. We spent some time soaking in the scenery before making our way home. The day ended perfectly with a stop at Goolikadavu for tea and an easy round of chit-chat.

**Nature at its best – The neighbouring hill seen from our friend’s farm**

As I drove back, I realized days like these are not just about the destination but about the memories we make along the way, the laughter of friends, the kindness of strangers, and the quiet reminders of the past that nature so effortlessly brings back. Attapady has a way of slowing life down and making me appreciate the simple, beautiful moments that stay with us long after the day ends.

Your Turn to Reflect

What small acts of kindness from strangers have stayed with you during your travels?
If you had the chance, would you prefer living close to nature with its challenges, or in the comfort of a city?
When you travel, do you find yourself reaching for the camera first, or do you take a moment to simply soak in the view?
Have you ever had a place stir up childhood memories the way Maranatti Falls did for me?
Do you think we sometimes forget to “be present” in our travels because we are too focused on capturing them?

Quick Guide for Visiting Maranatti Falls

Best to go with a four-wheel drive
Roads are narrow, so be ready to wait for oncoming vehicles
Avoid rainy days, as the trail can get slippery
Carry food or snacks, as options nearby are limited
Respect the locals and their land, and follow their instructions
Carry back your food packets and avoid leaving plastic or waste behind. Keep the place as beautiful as you found it.
Stay safe at the falls and do not attempt tricks or risky stunts, as the waters can be unpredictable.
Travel with a local guide to make the most of your visit and learn about the area from those who know it best.

It was October 26, 1990, a date that remains etched in my family’s memory. I was not there when it happened. I was staying at my uncle’s house in Coimbatore and going to school from there. Everything I know about that night is through the words of my mother and father, pieced together like a story that has been told many times but still carries the same weight every single time. That day was like any other. No warnings, no dark clouds, just a quiet day near the banks of the Siruvani river. My parents were at home, a small thatched roof house nestled close to the water. It had not rained heavily, nothing unusual, just the kind of drizzle that one hardly pays attention to.

That open coffee drying yard is where our house once stood before the flood washed it away. If you look closely, you can see just how close the river flows

Around 10 in the night, my mother heard the sound of water rushing past and woke my father. He stepped out with the light of a petromax lamp as we did not have electricity back then to check the water level in the the river. It was higher than usual but still looked safe. They went back to bed. A couple of hours later, around midnight, my mother woke up again. This time, she said it was the sound of boulders being dragged through the water. Maybe it was fear, maybe instinct, but she felt something was wrong. She woke up my father again.

Once our home stood here. Now, a humble kitchen rests on the same ground

The moment he opened the door, water rushed into the house. The river was overflowing. There was no way to escape through the front, as the river had already swallowed the path. The only option was to climb out through a window and head up the hill behind the house. They quickly woke up the nearby worker’s family who lived close by and told them to escape too. My mother waited near the cardamom plantation, drenched in cold rain and shivering in the pitch dark. Suddenly, she felt a presence beside her. It was our pet dog, Jacky. She had no idea how he managed to escape the house. For a moment, she even thought it was a wild animal. But Jacky was there, silently standing beside her in the dark.

This is the hill my father climbed in the dark and rain to find help. The house at the top gave them light and hope that night. You can spot Palathingal house across the river. Home to one of our kind neighbors who swam over the next day to check if we were safe.

My father climbed up the hill to the closest neighbor’s (Sunny chettan) house. He came down with a torch to help them. They left the petromax lamp glowing inside the house and escaped into the darkness, wet and cold. The next morning, my father and Sunny chettan walked down to check what was left of the house. There was no house anymore. The river had taken it all. Everything was gone. The clothes, money, documents, gold, a big tape recorder, torch, cardamom, memories and so on… all washed away in a single night. And yet, what remained was surprising.

One basket full of eggs. Not a single one broken.
One gold bangle, found tangled in a bamboo.
A sari, pulled from the debris.
One hen.
One horlicks bottle and a bournvita bottle.
Muram (winnowing basket) – A kind soul cleaned it and returned it to us.

This Horlicks bottle was found in the debris. It once had a cap with a holder, but that was lost. Even now, we joke that mum might give away the house deed, but not this bottle.

There were no phones or social media back then. Just kind neighbors who showed up when it mattered the most. Two of them (Plathottathil Sunny chettan and Palathingal Madhu cheetan), swam across the river the next day to check if we were safe. Another neighbor, Kaavipurayidathu Jose chettan, carried the news to my father’s elder brother since we did not have landlines or mobile phones. Back then, every piece of news had to travel from one person to another. My father’s brother, Maatha Pappan (P.M. Mathew), came as soon as he heard and brought clothes for my parents. Rajamma chechi, who worked for us, turned up the next morning unaware of what had happened. She was the one who picked up the sari from the debris, cleaned it, and gave it to my mother, so she had something to wear that day.

A newspaper clipping of the incident that appeared in the daily. Amma had saved a copy and kept it safely at home.

My mother’s brother (Jose Karottupulolil) came. So did my father’s brother (Jhonny Mathew) from our native place. Benny chettan, my dad’s good friend, fondly known as Kalkandi Benny or Mulaku Benny ran a small textile shop in Kalkandi, Attapady. He kindly brought fresh clothes for both my mum and dad after the flood. My mother even remembers making omelette from the eggs that survived, serving them to those who came to visit.

A certificate from the Tahsildar, Mannarkkad, documenting the loss of our family home and belongings in the Siruvani floods.

Looking back, my mother says she was not scared. She believes it was God who woke her up that night. That quiet nudge, that inner voice. We lost everything that night, but somehow, we had enough. And more than anything, I am proud of the strength my parents showed that night and in all the days that followed. The struggles they went through are something I can only imagine. But I know this, if I am here today, it is because of them. I owe my life to their courage, resilience, and faith.

The day it made the news — October 28, 1990

Sometimes life does not come with a warning. It arrives in silence, in the dark, and takes away what you thought was permanent. But even in those moments, what stays back is the warmth of people, the strength of instinct, and the quiet miracles that remind you to carry on. In the end, it is not about what you lose. It is about who stands beside you, even in the dark.

This old Bournvita bottle, now holding a plant, once survived a flood. The cap is broken, but its story is still intact. I had no idea it had lived through so much.

We have had growth since that day. We have gained more than we lost. God has been kind. Sometimes I think what if I had lost both my parents at that young age? Who would have taken care of me? It is a thought that chills me even now. But I am here, and they are here, because something greater was watching over us that night.

As I reflect on this story that shaped my family, I am left with a few questions that may speak to you too:

Have you ever experienced a moment that changed everything without warning? What did it teach you about strength and grace?
When life swept things away, what stayed with you?
What stories do your parents or grandparents carry that shaped who you are today?
Have you ever felt protected by something bigger than you, a quiet nudge, a gut feeling, or a timely voice?

Home between the hills

Memories from the land I call home

A Day at Maranatti Falls Attapady: Nature, Memories, and Reflections

Washed Away, Yet Held Together