thiruvananthapuram felt like a half-remembered dream after too many cold brews

i was supposed to write this post in my underwear last night. instead i spent 3 hours tracking down a working wifi spot near the kashi viswanath temple. turned out the only signal here is from 7279600 which might as well be a code for ‘do not disturb.’

arrived here exhausted. the streets smell like fried plantains and hope. or maybe expired batteries. not sure. locals kept asking if i needed help finding the ‘spice market chaat’ but i kept nodding like i was weighted down by shopping lists. turned out the market’s basically a plumbing store disguised as food stalls. someone told me the last time they bought curry from here, the vendor tried to sell them a bag of ‘mango chutney’ made from actual mango pits. i laughed but i think i might’ve blushed.


quick answers

q: is this place worth visiting?
a: only if you love chaos. the chaos is good if you don’t mind getting lost in a place that hates maps. i saw a guy here juggling rockets last week. he didn’t tell me his name or why. i don’t think he had a name till then.

q: is it expensive?
a: it’s a budget trap. yes. but not in the way you think. water costs 3x more than it should. taxis refuse to take you to places without a 3-song break. ask for a ‘commissioned dinner’ and you’ll get a plate of stale dosa sold by a guy in a coconut husk hat.

q: who would hate it here?
a: people who like quiet. the beach at 2am is a rave. even the mosquitoes party. i heard a local warned me not to walk past the old bridge after sunset. didn’t ask why. just nodded and kept walking.

q: best time to visit?
a: 4am. that’s when the street food stalls close and the echoes of karaoke start seriously. i once heard someone sing about a lost relative in what sounded like a mix of tagalog and tamil. made me cry. didn’t ask if they were okay.








another part of me keeps wondering why the humidity here doesn’t kill me. it’s 94% right now and i’m writing this with sweat pooling at my ankles. yet i feel less alive than when i’m in ac. maybe it’s the salt. or the way the air clings to your skin like a second layer. locals don’t complain. they just add more spice to everything. even the tea. i tried a cup today and it tasted like regret. or maybe just aggressive chai. can’t tell.



here’s the litmus test for authenticity: if someone mentions the word ‘kathakali’ without whining, you’re probably in the right place. i asked a dancer about it and she said it’s ‘too touristy now.’ asked why and she just grinned and showed me a TikTok of her performing in aensorflow sweater. that’s how you know.





the closest city is kochi. 3 hours by bus if you count the time spent staring out the window at cows doing yoga. i heard kochi has better empanadas but i don’t trust anyone in kochi. their version of modernity is a café with a thought bubble saying ‘kthxbye.’








safety vibe? mixed. old town is fine during daylight. after dark, people disappear. i got told by a barista that if you’re lost, just follow the ice cream truck. it seems to guide lost people to cafes or worse. i’m still not sure which.








food? it’s a scam. the pepper is wild and the rice is holy. i bought a bag of bananas for ₹10 that looked like they’d been through a war. the vendor said they’re ‘saved for emergencies.’ i don’t know what that means. either way, it tasted like victory.













i also used to be a consultant. this place reminded me of that. you come in with a plan and leave with a story. no receipts. just questions. like why there’s a traffic jam outside a closed temple where a guy is convincing everyone he’s a prophet. i didn’t ask. he kept quoting scripture. i just walked away. my bones still ache.


















someone online said this place smells like a used library. i’d pay to verify that. another person swore the tap water here is blessed. i tried it. gave me hiccups. now i’m 80% sure the deity in the nearby shrine is a bartender.












































well. i’m leaving. my left foot is numb. i think it’s the humidity. or maybe i stepped on something sentient. either way, i’m writing this from a rooftop with a view of the sea. it’s 2am. someone told me there’s a ghost market here at 3am. i might check it out. if i don’t come back, don’t worry. i’m sending my shoe. i heard it’s good luck.

map

p.s. if you’re reading this, i might have found the person who sells ‘authentic’ kathakali costumes. they’re on a rooftop right now. smoking a chili-infused cigar. ask for the one with a umbrella made of discarded newspapers. he owes me a story.