Experience the of Alleppey

It all begins with the rain.

When the skies burst open and the backwaters swell, we know it’s time for the Nehru Trophy Boat Race. For weeks before the big day, you can hear the pulse of the chundan vallams—the snake boats—gliding through the canals during practice. I remember as a boy, how we’d line the banks, my uncles yelling out names of teams they supported like they were cricket stars. On the much-awaited day of the race, the atmosphere turns electric. Flags flutter, drums beat loudly, and the water roars with the fury of synchronized oars. Men row with all their might, the spectators cheering in zest and zeal, the race being a symbol of their cultural pride. 

The thrill on the water gives way to a celebration of the spirit of the land, complete with temple festivals, or Poorams. Come to our Ambalapuzha Temple during festival season and you’ll feel it too. Caparisoned elephants stand in regal stillness as percussionists unleash rhythms that stir the soul. Fireworks light up our nights, but it’s the daytime processions that leave me awestruck—ornate umbrellas, ceremonial parasols, and devotees walking barefoot, some in silence, others in song. The air thickens with jasmine and incense, and amidst the chaos, there’s a strange, sacred order. I’ve walked that path with my family more times than I can count, the ground warm underfoot, the sky blazing or pouring—it doesn’t matter. We walk for devotion, for memory, for joy.

But Alleppey isn’t just temples and boats. Church feasts are just as grand, just as deeply woven into our lives. Every year, the feast at St. Mary’s Forane Church in Champakulam draws thousands of people, who gather to celebrate the festival in reverence and joy. As a child, I’d stare wide-eyed at the statue of the Virgin Mary adorned with flowers and surrounded by candlelight. We’d follow the procession in reverent silence, broken only by hymns and the occasional cry of a child on someone’s shoulder. There’s something deeply moving about those moments—a unity in faith that transcends caste and creed. I’ve seen Hindu neighbors light candles with us, just as we join in their pooram dances.

Then comes Christmas, and the Christian processions take on a celebratory note. The narrow lanes of Alleppey glow with stars, cribs, and string lights. Our parish youth go door to door singing carols, collecting offerings not just for the church, but to help those in need. Christmas is the time of year when my heart is the happiest. The whole town smells of plum cake and fish curry, and every home, no matter how modest, hangs a star at the door. Even the houseboats wear lights like jewelry. One Christmas Eve, I remember sailing under a sky full of fireworks with my cousins, our boat gliding quietly between two processions on either bank—one Hindu, one Christian. The drums, the songs, the candles… it all blended into one big hymn to life.

You see, in Alleppey, we don’t separate festivals by religion or region. We float together, row together, dance together. Our identity is layered—like the banana leaf meals we serve on feast days—each element separate, yet complete only when shared.

So if you ever find yourself in Alleppey, don’t just look for the postcard backwaters. Come find us in our finest hour, when we’re dressed in color, echoing with song, and wide open to joy. Festivals here aren’t spectator sports—they’re invitations for cultural immersion.

And once you’ve danced barefoot in a temple ground, clapped to the beat of chenda melam, or followed a candlelit procession into the night, you’ll never forget the way Alleppey celebrates life.