Part 2 of Surabhi Diaries by filmmaker Suhail Tatari continues his vivid recollections from the iconic cultural series Surabhi—this time travelling through Kerala, capturing its people, traditions, and the enduring spirit of India’s most literate state.

Surabhi, one of the most celebrated culture magazines on Indian television, aired on Doordarshan through the 1990s and became a household name across the country. Anchored by Siddharth Kak and Renuka Shahane and produced by Kak himself, the show beautifully explored India’s diverse traditions, art forms, and heritage. It was known for its engaging storytelling and interactive postcard segment, which connected millions of viewers long before the age of the internet. In Surabhi Diaries II, filmmaker Suhail Tatari revisits one of his earliest shoots for the programme—his unforgettable schedule in Kerala, where culture, nature, and humanity seamlessly converge.
The Journey Begins: Kerala Beckons

My first schedule outside of Mumbai was to Kerala, the God’s own country. One had heard so much of Kerala’s rich culture: the Kalarippayattu, Kathakali, yoga, Ayurveda, and its abundant natural beauty with backwaters, coconut forests, wildlife, and most importantly, being the most literate state in the country, with a 95% literacy rate.

In my first outdoors for Surabhi, I realised travelling sometimes meant roughing it out.
The production informed us that the AC booking wasn’t confirmed, and we were going to be travelling from Mumbai to Cochin—a two-day train journey—in the 2nd class. My DOP for the schedule was Alok Upadhyay, an FTII alumnus.
I envied FTII graduates as their knowledge and exposure to world cinema were immense. I had been interacting with some FTII graduates and realised my lack of theoretical knowledge and cinema exposure, especially to European cinema and its directors. The reason for this envy was also the fact that I had applied for the Direction course once and failed to clear it. For me, making mistakes and learning was the only option left.

The journey to Kerala was long, strenuous, and exhilarating. After entering the Konkan region, I realised how much natural beauty there was in our country. The region was one of the most picturesque and scenic I had seen. Exotic waterfalls, mountains, and greenery as the train went by were nothing short of breathtaking. One forgot the discomfort of a non-AC coach.
Although the Konkan Railways was still majorly under construction, several portions had been completed. This belt spread across Maharashtra, Goa, and Karnataka.

After the second night, one realised that one was perhaps in Kerala as the topography, language, and food began to change. I had my first egg Appam at a station for breakfast. By afternoon, we had reached Cochin after nearly 45 hours of a train journey.

History, Heritage, and Humanity
By the late evening, we decided to go to the famous Jew Town for a recce. It was dark by the time we reached there. We met an old Jewish gentleman who was extremely candid about their history and its inhabitants. He told us enthusiastically about the relationship the Jews had with the Indian community over centuries and how they had assimilated into Indian society, yet retained their identity. He spoke sadly about the dwindling population of the Jews and shocked us with the information that the average age in that town was 65 years.
The next morning, the shoot was to begin.

It was drizzling when we reached Jew Town, which added to the mystery and mysticism of the place. It wasn’t much more than a lane, with a signboard. We were witnessing a piece of history that had perhaps started nearly 500 years ago.
It needs to be understood that most foreigners who came to India entered from Kerala in the early part of 1000 AD and not through the plains in the north, as is the popular perception. Spice trade was an extremely important reason for the flourishing economy in Kerala that brought in traders from the Arab world, Europe, China, and even South America.

Jew Town, located in the Mattancherry area, was the land granted by the King of Kochi (Cochin). It had a beautiful synagogue, with exquisite blue tiles on the floor, colourful chandeliers, woodwork, and a Torah—the religious book of the Jews—written in Hebrew. It was silent and serene in its inherent nature. The lane outside had the symbol of the Star of David at several places. The significance of it lies in its role as the central, powerful symbol of Jewish identity, faith, and heritage. It even features on the flag of Israel.

Jew Town had a few antique and curio shops which sold jewellery, wooden boxes, carvings, and vintage photographs. It was a popular destination for tourists who visited in large numbers. However, the most noticeable feature was that one barely saw young people in the area, which the old man had referred to obliquely. There were perhaps fewer than a hundred Jews living in that area. Apparently, most young people had migrated to Israel after its formation, as the government had sent invitations all around the world for them to return to their homeland.
The place felt as though it were breathing its last. The nearby burial ground symbolized a civilization fading into history, while the clock tower above the synagogue—its hands frozen for years—stood as a poignant reminder of time halted. For me, the story was deeply melancholic: the quiet witnessing of a dying culture that must once have thrived with life and colour in this modest lane of the city.

Learning, Discovery, and the Spirit of Kerala
Making of coir was a must story if one was in Kerala. We shot that story in the Coir Board office, which looked after the interests of the farmers and promoted and marketed its uses. What was most fascinating in the entire process of making coir was how the green coconut, after being consumed for water and giri, the shell which is usually thrown away, becomes the primary ingredient for making coir. The empty shell is buried beneath the ground for about two weeks for it to ferment. Once removed, the shell becomes completely soft. It’s pounded by wooden bats for a bit, and you can see threads of coir coming out of it. This process looks extremely fascinating.

The coir is kept in the sun to dry. Later it is rolled in the palms for a bit. You can then see it turning into a kind of long thread. Like woollen balls, coir bundles are made, which are used for making various products—ropes, rugs, mats, baskets, mattresses, lamp shades, coco peat, etc. Coir is a major source for several handicrafts and allied industries.
Cochin is also home to the fascinating Chinese fishing nets. They are fixed land installations for fishing—stationary lift nets in India and Indonesia. They are among the most picturesque sights one can photograph in Cochin and are a common feature in calendars, brochures, and hoardings promoting Kerala Tourism. And yes, no Kerala tour is complete without the meals…the typical rice with chicken curry, prawn curry, idiyappam, and papadam!

However, what I was really looking forward to was my visit to Alleppey—the backwaters, popularly known as the Venice of the East. We hired boats and began filming in the morning after one more exotic breakfast.
Alleppey was an eye-opener, as the boat glided through the backwaters. It was impossible to fathom an entire city with houses, schools, offices, and hospitals on either side of the water. However, I was about to have the most overwhelming experience of my life. As our boat continued to move, I saw a bunch of kids running parallel to us, saying something enthusiastically that was difficult to comprehend. I looked around for someone to explain what they were saying. Suddenly, our DOP Alok stopped rolling and asked if any of us had pens. He collected as many pens as we all had and threw them toward the kids. I was completely baffled and asked him what he was doing. He told me that these school kids belonged to poor families and since they all went to school and loved studying, they asked tourists for pens so that they could write.

Despite being young and from economically weaker sections, they didn’t ask for money or toffees—they had their priorities cut out. To me, that one moment defined the character of a state and culture that encouraged literacy and schooling.
In fact, on my very first day, when I stopped to buy a notebook, pens, pencils, and an eraser from a tourist shop, the person gave me a cash memo which he filled in meticulously, with all possible details, as he had attained the power of writing and education. The act which was getting me a bit irritated then was making sense and falling in place now.

Laurie Baker was one of the greatest exponents of low-cost housing in Kerala. A British-born architect, he came to India in the late 40s and made India home. He met Gandhi, who asked him if he could design low-cost housing as India was extremely poor and an average man could ill afford a house. Laurie Baker felt that he had found his calling and worked on designing sustainable and environmentally friendly structures.
Baker’s designs have traditional sloping roofs and terracotta Mangalore tile shingling with gables and vents allowing rising hot air to escape. Laurie Baker, known as the 'Gandhi of Architecture' and the 'Master of Minimalism', gave India low-cost building design with maximum efficiency and just the right amount of aesthetics. “Always study your site: its soil, topography, water, climate, and neighbours,” was another of Baker’s principles. Among his many buildings, he designed the Chitralekha Film Studio at Trivandrum Centre for Development Studies, Ulloor, St John’s Cathedral, Thiruvella, Fisherman’s Village, Poonthura, Indian Coffee House, Thiruvananthapuram.
The last story was to coincide with the traditional boat race of Kerala held every year in September. The boat race is a tradition that started over 50 years ago when Nehru, the first Prime Minister of India, visited the event and thereafter presented a silver trophy to the winner. The preparations for this event go on for months.

The 100-odd-feet-long boats need to be looked after and repaired every year as they are expensive. A month before the race, the practice starts on them. An army of nearly 85 people are on either side of the narrow-shaped boat, also known as the snake boat. The excitement for the race was palpable as we saw hundreds of spectators queuing up on either side of the land, on small ships and boats. It is estimated that nearly two lakh people witness the event. This was exactly what one had witnessed at any cricket match in a stadium. The formation of the rowers is interesting on every boat, with five standing at the end with long oars, two people thumping, whistling, and singing to a rhythm to carry the momentum, and two people removing the water collected by splashing oars to keep it light.
We perched ourselves on a high vantage point from where we could get a clear view of the entire race and the endpoint. As the race started, we began rolling.

The excitement among the spectators knew no bounds as one could hear loud cheering, whistling, and drums for their individual teams. The coordination among the rowers was immaculate on all the boats. It was rhythmic like the beat of a well-coordinated army. The energy of the rowers was stupendous, and the two people conducting the beat were nothing short of an orchestra led by a well-oiled conductor.
I realised very soon that we were perhaps short on cameras as it was impossible to cover an event of this magnitude and speed with just one. My DOP tried his best to capture it with virtually no assistance. Within two minutes, the race ended. There was euphoria for the victorious team. However, I felt there were no losers in this event. The atmosphere was just overwhelming. We had witnessed one of the most exhilarating events where an entire society had participated—it was more of a community event wherein people of all religions and castes had come together. The spirit of Kerala, God’s own country, was very much visible in this event.
My schedule to Kerala was one of discovery, learning, and knowledge.