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Last Updated Wednesday November 25 2020 07:07 PM IST

Meet the only Malayali woman who goes fishing in open sea

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Rekha Photo: Sonichen P Joseph

Stepping into the fishing boat, I said, “Other than me, no one in this group can swim”. Rekha smiled and said, “neither can I”. We were in the company of the only fisherwoman in Kerala, who, as per the records of Central Marine Fisheries Research Institute, goes out fishing in the open sea. The Malayali woman from the coastal village of Chettuva in Thrissur, recently obtained a license to venture out into the open sea. The central government’s decision to adopt the term ‘fisherwoman’ vouches for the sea change that Rekha has brought to our marine parlance that considered ‘fisherman’ a linguistic sovereignty.

The Chettuva coastal village lies about 28 kilometers west of Thrissur, a little way away from Chavakkad. Our four-member team had reached Thrissur from Trivandrum the day before and headed to Chettuva at 4.30 am. Our proposed sea cruise in the fishing boat owned by Rekha and her husband Karthikeyan was to begin at around 5.30.

Rekha Photo: Sonichen P Joseph

Going by the instructions given to us by Karthikeyan, we would need about half an hour to reach Chettuva. Our driver Radhakrishnan was not familiar with the interiors of the coastal village. Our car sped past the Chettuva bridge when we decided to call Karthikeyan and check if we were heading in the right direction. As it turned out, we didn’t need to cross the bridge. Though delayed by that initial hiccup, we made it to the couple’s tiny house on the coast in time to join them as they set out for work. Their four girls were already up. We parked the car in front their house and walked to the beach with Rekha and Karthikeyan.

As planned, Karthikeyan had rented out a smaller fiberglass boat for two of us who would wield the camera. The rest of the team, my friend and I , along with Rekha, Karthikeyan and a helper, climbed into the fishing boat. Rekha unlatched the boat from the tree to which it was tied. Karthikeyan poured in kerosene and fired up the single Suzuki marine outboard motor. The bi-fuel motor is popular in the third world, especially in Asian countries with Kerosene subsidies and most engine manufacturers have come up with a variety of kerosene outboards. Rekha took charge of the driving seat and we were off. To our relief, the sea looked calm, although riding out on to the open sea in a tiny fiberglass boat spurred by single-engine did give us the jitters.

Rekha Photo: Sonichen P Joseph

As we bobbed along on the reassuringly serene waves lit by the soft light of dawn, we waited to hear Rekha’s musings on heading out for work each day into the wide open sea. “It is not practical to go out to the sea without a helper in the boat. These days, it is hard to find people to for this job. Chettan (Karthikeyan) looked out for someone for a long time and finally I decided to give it a try. We couldn’t afford to not go fishing; we have four girls to bring up and there’s never enough. Two were better than one and I was determined to give it my best if it would help him stay in the job. Now I am as good as any fisherman in casting the net, pulling the net in, steering the boat and so on,” says Rekha with a triumphant smile. “Of course, we faced the wrath of the village as tradition stops women from going to the sea. Now they have reconciled to the fact. The superstitions never scared me. Why would I be, when the sea is like my mother? I know I have nothing to be afraid of when I am in her lap.”

The boat had reached the fish farm some distance from the shore. “We’ll feed the fish and then go,” she said. I asked what the fish were fed. “Chopped sardine”, said Karthikeyan. The CMFRI gave the couple around 2000 ‘kalanchi’ fish seeds for fish farming. “The fish are now five-and-a-half months old,” says Rekha. The helper in the boat helped them feed the fish and soon we resumed the journey.

“How far into the sea are we going?,” I asked. “About 10 miles,” said the helper. “We should be around 15 kilometers out in the sea to cast the net.”

The boat was going quite fast now. Rekha was obviously good at it. Though the sea remained calm, the boat rocked to either side with force and we held fast to the seats to keep our balance. We were heading west and the sun was beginning to dot the eastern horizon. Fish leapt up from the sea now and then and seagulls circled the sky.

Rekha Photo: Sonichen P Joseph

“How much does an engine cost?,” I asked. “Something around 1.25 lakh,” said Rekha. “But this one is old. We got it when it was about 15 years old. That was 10 years back. We paid close to one lakh for it. The boat is also old. A new one would cost around 10 lakh.”

Karthikeyan added, “When the engine is old, it will take up more fuel. This one needs 30-35 litres per day. We are hoping that CMFRI will help us buy a new boat and engine.”

Rekha slowed the boat’s speed to a near crawl. Karthikeyan instructed the helper to get the flagged anchor bouy to which he tied one end of the net. A long wooden pole with thermocol attached to it serves as the bouy. “The flag will mark the place where the net is set. The indicator is useful for us and other fishing boats,” said Karthikeyan. That set me off on a series of questions on nets which the couple answered patiently. “The one we now set is a sardine fishing net. We need to use specific kinds of net for each fish species. Mackerel, tuna and other common fish varieties need different kinds of net,” said Rekha.

“The fish will swim into the net and get trapped in it,” she continued. “How big is the net?” I persisted, determined to get to the bottom of fishing in the sea. “Almost 500 meters”, she replied while peering down at the water and dropping the stones used as weights to keep the net suspended in the bowels of the ocean. It took about 15 minutes for the net to completely submerge in the blue water. Then the wait began. We sat chatting in the middle of the open sea for over an hour, all the while hoping that the fish were swimming into the net.

Rekha Photo: Sonichen P Joseph

“The net should be cast before sunrise. Only then you will get a good catch,” said the elderly helper. Karthikeyan dropped a plastic rope into the water and my interest was piqued. “This is a tool to measure the depth of the water,” said Karthikeyan while pulling the rope back. “Nearly 22 meters,” he said, sending a chill down my spine. Just then, a huge troller boat went by at a distance, rocking our confidence in the tiny boat and the calm sea. Rekha cheered us up by pointing out that none of us had been affected by seasickness. “You are lucky the sea is especially calm today. The first time I went out on the boat, I was doubling over with nausea. I just lay on the floor of the boat exhausted and wondering if this was going to work at all,” she said.

That steered the conversation to the challenges of eking a living out of fishing in the open sea. “What is it like to be out here when there’s storm or rain?,” asked my friend. “Oh, it can get really bad, like it did one of these days,” Rekha began with the panic still raw in her voice. “The engine of our boat crashed when we were out here in the open sea. It was still the wee hours of morning and quite dark. We floated about for a long time. We were carrying a lamp which we left burning in the hope that someone will notice. Luckily, another boat spotted us just before daybreak. They helped us tow our boat along and by about 8 in the morning we reached the shore,” she finished in one breath as we listened in silence.

Rekha Photo: Sonichen P Joseph

Another small boat passed by. “They seem to have got a good catch. They had left for the sea at night,” she said. We saw Karthikeyan preparing to pull the net up and eagerly waited to see how we had fared. He veered the boat to a more convenient angle and killed the engine when we got close to the net. “We don’t need to keep the engine going when pulling the net out, that will save us some fuel,” he explained. As the net was drawn in inch by inch, Rekha and the helper untangled the mesh and shook the fish out on to the floor of the boat. It took about 30 minutes for the net to be completely drawn from the water. The catch for the day now lay in a heap on the floor. It was not much, hardly around 3-4 kg of sardine. If it’s a big catch, the net is drawn to the shore before it is hauled on board, he said.

Rekha Photo: Sonichen P Joseph

It was nine in the morning when we made our way back to the land. As the boat neared the coast about 30 minutes later, the couple spotted their youngest daughter Lakshmipriya waiting on the beach in her school uniform. The nine-year-old was worried that she was late for school and wanted her parents to accompany her.

As we walked down the beach towards their home, Karthikeyan said, “We had fallen in love and decided to get married despite belonging to different castes. Rekha’s house was in Koorkenchery in Thrissur. Both the families were opposed to the marriage. We had to support ourselves from the beginning. But it was not easy. People were not even ready to rent out houses to us. A few friends stood by us, they were only ones we could turn to for any help.”

Rekha Photo: Sonichen P Joseph

Their four daughters are attending a nearby school – Maya is doing her plus two, Anjali is in class 9, Devipriya in class 5 and Lakshmipriya in class 3. “Who takes care of the food and other things when you leave for work so early?,” I asked. Rekha flashed a proud smile and said, “Maya can cook really well. She also takes care of her younger sisters and helps them get ready for school.”

Rekha disappeared into the small house and returned with a trophy which she gave us along with some newspapers and magazines. The trophy was presented by Sudarshan Bhagat, then minister of state for Agriculture and Farmers’ Welfare. It carried the pictures of Rekha and Karthikeyan. The newspapers and magazines carried the story of the country’s only fisherwoman. Her resolve to ensure a better life for her family, even it if meant stepping into a male space and proving that she was capable of owning it, wouldn’t have received so much as a nod if the CMFRI staff had not stumbled on her.

Lakshmipriya, only beginning to understand how much of a superwoman her mother is, brought us a recording of an All India Radio program on Rekha. The program ended with Rekha reciting a poem. Surprised at the chaste language and flawless recitation, I asked her about her education. She has passed a diploma course in Hindi conducted by the Central Hindi Directorate. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said.

Rekha Photo: Sonichen P Joseph

Shaking off the wistful tone that had creeped into her voice, Rekha added more cheerfully, “these days fishing is done with GPS and compass; and here we are dreaming of buying a new boat and fishing net. We are chasing only modest dreams.” We left the family to get on with their day and walked back wondering what it takes to stay afloat when at sea.  

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