Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, India

Do I have a fresh perspective on Thiruvananthapuram (formerly known as Trivandrum)? Nothing that hasn’t been said before; except maybe the one aspect that is so immediately striking – especially, when fresh in from the chaos and clutter of Chennai, India’s only first-tier city in the south where I currently reside. Yes, one is instantly aware of the studied order of Kerala that is particularly evident in Thiruvananthapuram: no litter, no garbage; no stray dog(s), no oxcarts, no random cows roaming the streets - the list could go on and on. I was born and spent a good part of my childhood in Trivandrum.

Situated in the southern-most part of Kerala - and not far from Cape Comorin (Kanya Kumari) - is the state capital. It is a staid town when compared to effervescent, commercial Kochi, 200 km to the north. Thiruvananthapuram is comprised largely of bureaucrats, administrators and academics.

Its name is derived from the fabled temple of Sri Padmanabha (Vishnu) in the center of the town that enshrines an awesome image of Vishnu reclining on the coils of (time) the serpent Ananta. It can only be partially viewed through one of three doors. Only one day a year (Vaikuntha Ekadasi) are all three doors thrown open to reveal the entirety of this spectacular idol.

There is an elaborate protocol for visitors to the temple that can be quite irksome as it requires having to wear just the right kind of dress (dhoti for men, and sari for women). In this day and age this seems quite unnecessary. Of course, it goes without saying that rigid orthodoxy forbids entrance to non-Hindus, a strange contradiction in a communist state.

Located near the temple is the Kuthiramalika Palace Museum which houses the exquisite collection of paintings by Raja Ravi Varma. The Museum is not far from the zoo which is set in a wonderfully landscaped garden. As a child my trips to the zoo - when my father came on his whirlwind visits - were always high points in my otherwise uneventful life.

Of course, how could I forget the Arabian Sea? That was the ultimate outing for all of us, piling into cars to go to ‘the beach’. It meant exciting adventures on the pristine sands of the exquisitely kept Shankhumukham (beach). Seen forty years hence, it is still that way, and the same goes for the tiny ocean front restaurant which, even back then, dished out the most scrumptious vegetable cutlets that I would ever know.

While he lived, British architect Laurie Baker, was one of Thiruvananthapuram’s most famous ex-pats. Of all the places in the world, he chose this city as his home. His imprint remains forever emblazoned there in the form of several utilitarian, eco-friendly, yet attractive red brick structures. The Coffee House in the center of town, a tower containing a spiral interior and the entire campus of the Centre for Developmental Studies come to mind as some of Baker’s more dramatic achievements.

Thiruvananthapuram still retains that slightly aloof and formal manner which goes well with the big houses behind high walls on quaint streets that are swept clean of litter everyday. My earliest memory of Thiruvananthapuram’s streets are the ‘STICK NO BILLS’ postings on walls which somehow remain symbolic of a town and its residents.

Parvathi Venkatraman, Chennai