It is 1952. India’s first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, is in Alleppey, the site of Kerala’s most famous backwaters. The locals have gone all out to make this visit special, organising a boat race for the occasion. Nehru was so excited that he actually jumped in to a boat along with the rowers, and later, announced that this race should be made an annual event, for which he even donated a rolling trophy.
Cut to 2015. The Nehru Trophy Boat Race is in its 63rd year, and is just one of the many events that make up Kerala’s annual boat-racing season, or Vallam Kali (literally, “boat game”), held during Onam. The air is charged with the excitement of thousands of spectators, who have travelled from villages and hamlets across the backwaters. They crowd the water’s edge to get the best view of the race, the more agile perched on coconut trees and rooftops. Groups of people belt out the vanchipattu, the traditional rhythmic boat song that sets the pace for the rowers.
This year, 63 boats, including three with an all-women crew, are participating across different categories. The majestic Chundan snake boats and the smaller Veppu, Iruttukuthy and Churulan boats have been practising since morning now. The classic Chundan is the cynosure of all eyes. About 100ft long, its ends taper into an elegant whorl, its prow rising like a snake poised to strike. The brass-studded stern is decorated with colourful flags and banners.
The rowers gleam with coconut oil and perspiration as the drumming starts, accompanying the first few notes of the vanchipattu. It is vital that the music is on key and the rowers keep to the beat; one wrong note, one unsynchronised move spells instant disaster. Oars collide, and the drag caused by the wrong dive of an oar can even capsize the boat.
The teams from village clubs have been training for months, and the boats are prepared well in advance. A special blend of oils is used to give them a rubdown, which reduces friction and water absorption, helping them glide effortlessly through the water. If the boat is new, it is given a thorough smoking to remove excess water. Then, the hull is rubbed and smoothed with palm leaves and dried with the heat of high-wattage bulbs.
Vallam Kali, possibly the largest team sport in the world, is unique in that men of all castes and religions compete together, and sit with each other for the celebratory meal later on as well. The teams, often sponsored by the local church or temple, have members of all communities training and working together for months, in close proximity. Over the years, many teams have added rowers from the army and migrant workers from other states, showcasing a true camaraderie and spirit of community. The task of feeding this massive motley crew of hungry atheletes, during practice sessions and on the day of the festival, is taken care of by the villagers or by a wealthy patron. The men of each village help in the training and preparation, while the women contribute tea and snacks.
Just before the big day, the captain and crew visit a local shrine with the stroke and the largest steering oar. The oars are officially handed over to the oarsmen in a solemn ceremony and with that, its showtime.
It is with some misgivings that we sit in the Rose Pavilion, close to the finish line, as we have been warned that things might get a bit rough. But although the spectators are animated, except for a few skirmishes, tactfully handled by the organisers and a very restrained police force, all goes well. The alcohol ban has, thankfully, not dimmed the spirits of the young members of Davidaputhran, a rowing club from the backwaters, here to cheer their home team, Nadubagham. Seated directly behind us, they keep us entertained with lively commentary, boisterously cheering the rowers. One leans over to correct my notes as another enthusiastically declares, “THIS is our World Cup”. Another man seated next to us educates me on the intricacies of the racing season; he and his friends have never missed a race.
As the heats take place, I reflect on how the boat races have come a long way from the rural water carnivals of the past. Today, drone cameras, CCTVs and selfie sticks are the norm. A helicopter scatters marigold flowers over the waters, and after a few obligatory speeches and a dramatic boat parade, the finals begin. The majestic chundans are the clear showstoppers, rowing to the beat of the boat song, but the smaller boats present a gorgeously colourful sight, too. In a flash, the finals are over and the winners declared. The victorious team lifts the coveted trophy engraved with Nehru’s signature. But the real prize is the traditional victors’ feast that will follow.