Skip to main content

The Untold Charm of a Village Life

Yes, there’s no denying that village life has its own unique beauty.

The greenery, the fresh water, the crisp air—these are treasures you can truly experience only in the suburbs and villages. I’m not sure if all the villages across India share the same charm, but the villages in Kerala certainly stand apart. They have a magic of their own.

Recently, I came across a picture of a playground nestled among thick trees. The caption read: “It’s not the Amazon Rainforest. And it’s no ordinary cricket ground either. This is Palapilly Ground, Thrissur, in Kerala.” Honestly, an aerial view of almost any village in Kerala would show you something just as stunning, if not better.

And when it rains—oh, that’s when Kerala truly comes alive. The greenery deepens, the air smells richer, and the freshness seems to seep into the very soul of the land.

But when I say Kerala comes alive, I don’t just mean the plants, rivers, and skies. I also mean the buzzing, creeping, hopping creatures that emerge in full force.

Let me take you into that side of the story—one that people often forget to tell you.

Eezhal

This one belongs to the wasp family. By day, they vanish—who knows where they go, maybe to their secret hideouts. They come with the rain and stay as long as it does. They appear only in the dark and are completely enchanted by light. Leave your lights on, and they’ll flock to them, piling over in huge numbers. By the next morning, they would have met their untimely death, and every woman of the house is left with the chore of sweeping heaps of these flies from the verandah or portico. Leave them unattended, and they stink—oh yes, they stink terribly.

Frogs

Where do they hide all summer? The moment the rains arrive, you’ll find tiny thumb-sized frogs to massive ones, happily playing high jump in puddles and fields. At night, they fill the air with their loud kra kra calls, as if announcing that more rain is on the way.

Vandu

Beetles, that is. They don’t just visit—they invade your home. They watch you from the walls, ceilings, floors, furniture, even your food. Name it, and they are there. The moment you switch off the lights, they descend on you like a summer shower—minus the refreshment.

Atta

Spineless, sluggish, and downright disgusting. They ooze across the floor like they have all the time in the world, leaving behind a shiny, slimy silver signature wherever they crawl.

So yes, when someone says, “Wow, I love villages and village life!”—just don’t forget these little realities that come as part of the beautiful package.

Nisha Kurian (O'Rodha)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Alumni Meet: Celebrating Love Beyond Achievements

Now, a month after returning from Jammu, I find myself missing everything I experienced during that visit — the warmth, the laughter, the sense of belonging that only comes from going back to where it all began. I’ve attended most of these first-time alumni meets — from school through college. The excitement of those initial reunions is indescribable: meeting old friends, hugging your favorite teachers, walking through familiar hallways — the classrooms, the library, the canteen, the playground. It fills you with something deeply profound. But often, the magic doesn’t last beyond that first meet. Over time, these gatherings can subtly shift into platforms for showcasing personal achievements. And let’s face it — some accomplishments are more “celebrated” than others. These are the people who grace the stage, the ones everyone wants to take selfies with. That’s why my recent experience at an alumni meet — at the school where I studied from KG through Grade 8 — felt so refreshingly...

I ran from religion and sports, but they found me anyway

I’ve consciously kept away from two things my entire life — religion and sports (especially football and cricket). The unnecessary hype, the mass hysteria, the blind fanaticism — it just never made sense to me. When I was pregnant with my eldest, I was told I’d become a mother by August. Like any typical mother (fathers usually aren’t as invested in this part), I set off on an excited, determined hunt for a unique name — something rooted in Sanskrit, something that reflected my values, my philosophy, and the kind of person I hoped my child would grow to be. But life had other plans. In July — much earlier than expected — I was rushed to the emergency room, and my son was born almost a month ahead of schedule. By the time I fully regained my senses, my son had already been named — after St. Thomas. Why St. Thomas? How was this connected to my pregnancy, my delivery, or anything I stood for? I had never known the significance of July 3rd for Indian Christians until my son was b...

The Curios Case of a Little Virus

No rain. I was lying malnourished and sick. Finally, it started raining, and soon there was water everywhere. They say I am a pluviophile because I love rain so much. When rain first mixes with dry soil, the smell it gives off—no perfume can beat that. I would splash myself in the roadside rainwater, my excitement never fading. I would play in the rainwater, follow its flow wherever it led me, and stop only when I couldn’t move any further. One day, while hopping in the rainwater, I slipped into a well. I cried loudly, but no one heard or saw me. It was dark inside. I feared there might be deadly creatures in the water, but before I could look around, I heard a chug-chug-chug sound and was suddenly sucked through a narrow pipe into a water tank. Soon, whoosh! I was pushed through another pipe and landed in a water can. Someone shouted, “Babu, fill the mineral water can!” A man quickly picked me up and poured me into the can. From there, I could see a small, busy bus stand. P...