Fighters Against Tempests

It’s the monsoons that fisherman K.A. Varghese and his wife Beena dread the most. Surprising. For, rainy season is typically the busy time with plentiful fish to catch for Kerala’s small country-craft fishermen like Varghese, 43. However, for this couple, it’s a period when they wage an unassailable battle against the raging winds and the surging seas. The sea creeps past the sea wall erec­ted on the beach, overruns Varghese’s well in the backyard and floods their house in sandy Pallithode village of coastal Alappuzha district. The same sea that feeds them comes stealthily to devour them too.

The fear of the rising waters is compounded by the fear of their house falling on their heads. Or that the battering winds will push down the rotting windows. That will prompt them some nights to huddle together. All these, amid other woes like mounting debt, college and hostel fees to be paid for their daughter Josma’s engineering education, football gear to be acquired for their son Joemon.

In spite of all the odds, they remain undaunted, cheerfully determined to ens­ure their children complete their edu­cation. They pin their hopes on seeing their daughter an engineer and their son a football player. Varghese’s is not the only fishermen family in Palli­thode struggling to keep their children in college; the village has other gritty tales that yearn for a change from this socio-economic stagnation.

Pallithode in Kuthiathode panchayat adjoins Ernakulam district as one cros­ses into Alappuzha. The village, 27 km south of Kochi, has nearly 2,000 families of whom 95 per cent are engaged in fishing in valloms. This small country craft with outboard engines has its limitations: it can’t go far into the deep, but only move within 12 nautical miles of the Indian territorial waters. The village is devoid of big mechanised boats; that explains its residents’ modest incomes. As the backwaters narrow considerably here, monsoon is the only period when fishermen in valloms are assured of a good haul, as the state government customarily impose ban on trawling by big mechanised boats (for it is spawning season for the fish).

It’s another matter that the catch has been dwindling over the years and the small-craft fishermen struggle to catch fish even during the period of ban on trawling. Says 58-year-old Kuthiathode panchayat vice-president Mary Josy: “Over the years, there has been a considerable decrease in the size of the catch and this year has been particularly bad. And the central government’s reduction of subsidised kerosene restricts the bigger valloms from venturing into the sea. Many of the bigger country craft sit idle, for fishing has become unviable, while the smaller valloms with four or five fishermen come back empty-­handed most days.”

Earlier, when the catch was abundant, the women too were occupied: mending nets, drying fish and making coir ropes. But the decline of the catch forced them to find other means to survive. Almost 70 per cent of the women work as domestic help in Kochi. “In the last one-and-half decades,” says Mary, “to augment the fishermen’s incomes, the women from these fishing villages are heading to the cities to work as domestic help. They get anything bet­ween Rs 8,000 to Rs 15,000 per month. However, the younger generation is keen to study and break out of the stranglehold of economic slavery.”

Pallithode’s Beena rises at 4 am, a couple of hours after her husband has set out for the sea. The 40-year-old hurriedly prepares lunch and leaves it in the kitchen for him. Beena then readies herself to join the legion of women who take the bus at 7 am on its one-and-half-hour journey to the city. Though many of the fishermen houses in the locality are renovated with aid from the Kerala Fishermen’s Welfare Fund Board (KFWFB), Varghese and Beena have not been lucky enough to have a dwelling on raised platforms. They have app­lied for the scheme, but know too well that the fund will not suffice to rebuild their house. Besides that, they have to cough up Rs 4,000 or more to pay for Josma’s hostel fees every month.

Josma K.V, their older child, is a first-year electrical engineering student at Ettumanur’s Mangalam,  a private engineering college in neighbouring Kottayam district. Though Josma got in through merit, she opted for the private college closer home than the government college at rugged Wayanad, northeast of the state. That means the KFWFB’s education grant will not be adequate, so they have to shell out more for the tuition fee. “On Sundays,” says Beena, “the creditors come home and pestering us for the high interest.”

Fishing has been the traditional mainstay of the village. The fishermen’s families occupy the poorest section of the region. Most men over 40 are still engaged in fishing, but the younger generation is looking beyond the seas at other professions. There are no official records to ascertain how many children from the village are in professional colleges. The vicar of St Sebastian church Anthony Kattikattu tells Outlook that most of the children in the village take a degree course or go for nursing. “Only a handful of students are pursuing professional courses...maybe less than 20,” he says. “In the past, a few students had to drop out because they could not bear the burden of the fees or found the subjects difficult. The boys need to be in college and find employment or they will take to drugs. Alcoholism has already taken root in this village.”

The students in professional colle­ges that Outlook tracked down were from economically weaker backgro­unds, but had got into government engineering colleges through merit and perseverance. Three of them—­Albin Sebastian, Stephin P.S. and Anand V. Das—are doing their engineering in Government Engineering College at Mananthavady in Wayanad, while Josephine Sheena, 21, doing her second year at Government Engineering College at Idukki in southeast Kerala.

It is a narrow slippery path to Josephine’s house. Blue tarpaulins separate the compounds of the hou­ses and provide privacy from peering eyes. Josephine is away in college. Her father, George owns a fishing net and a small vallom (country craft). By the village standards, possession of such fishing equipment suggests a certain degree of prosperity. Perhaps, but fractionally so. George and his wife Mary have put two daughters through engineering college, while Josephine, the youngest, is still a student.

Mary says it was tough when her eldest daughter wanted to do engineering. “We agreed and then the second one insisted she wanted to do engineering in computer science too,” she trails off. “Those days I used to do a little bit of embroidery to supplement George’s income. We then gritted our teeth and lived thriftily Josephine had to take couple of years as gap before we could teach her.”

The eldest daughter is married, while the second daughter Stella Neethu holds a job in Kochi—and gives all her income to her parents. Stella observes that the number of children joining professional courses has increased after the KFWFB allowed the students to study in private colleges too. “It’s tougher to get into government colleges.” It was in 2009 that the education grant was exte­nded to meritorious students applying to the private professional colleges.

Yesudas Felix’s son Anand Das is a first-year mechanical engineering student in Wayanad. Yesudas says that the grant coming from the Fishermen’s Welfare Board, it is not enough. “We need to set aside at least one lakh per annum for Anand’s education. Since the college has no proper hostel, he is staying in a private hostel and needs around Rs 5,000 per month. They also need money for books and ind­ustrial visits which we had not thought about at all,” he adds. “Mary Gladys (the wife) goes to collect money for cable network operators. Since the income from the sea is no longer steady, we borrow money from local money lenders to keep him in college. Now my younger son says he is keen to do his engineering too.”

Albin Sebastian, 20, a second-year mechanical engineering student in Wayanad, knows there is no other way but to doggedly complete his education. And he must study hard to do so. He has cleared every paper till now. Fishing is no longer s a dependable occupation. He sees his older brother Abin, 22, struggl­ing to make money. Abin, who did not pursue a college education after class 12, is now a fisherman but for the past three months he has not earned anything. He even goes for flooring work in the construction sector. Abin now wants to go back to school, but his mother Mary aka Maggie, the sole breadwinner says she cannot manage to pay for the education of both her sons at the same time. Mary’s husband M.O. Sebastian, 49, fell on the boat and injured his back when he was 30. For the past 18 years, Mary has been working hard as a help in multiple high-rise apartments in Kochi to put food on the table. “Though my husband cannot go out to sea, he has not stopped helping me. I leave early morning and he looked after these children. He would even cook meals for them because I came back late,” she recalls. “Albin, from the start had an inclination for studies and used to study on his own. He has got scholarships in school. The annual college fee is Rs 8,225 and we get a grant of Rs 19,000 per year. His ind­ustrial visit and other college material cost him Rs 10,000. It’s the hostel fee that I am struggling to pay. He needs Rs 5000 per month. I can no longer work like before. I am tired.”

Albin chips in to say his mother has worked so hard all these years for him. “I am studying because of her. There is no other way but to finish my studies and look after my parents,” he says. “I want to do my MTech too. I plan to work for a while, save money and then join for my M Tech.” The children of Pallithode fishermen’s village must leave behind their sea, and row into a brighter future that is far from “the kiss of the spray and the dance of the wild foam’s glee”.

By Minu Ittyipe in Alappuzha, Kerala