Kochi women 'fish in troubled waters' with bare hands, their catches are YouTube scroll stoppers

Kochi: Sitting on a country boat, 37-year-old Thamburu KK scrolls through her phone. She is hooked to the page titled 'Queen Fisher'. She owns it. Thousands of comments flood the videos she has posted on this page. This is where she documents the fishing practice ‘Thappi Meenpidikkal’, which involves fishing in rocky crevices with bare hands in muddy waters.

“I love exploring cuisine and used to post food videos casually on Facebook. Then people started mocking me. People made assumptions because I'm separated and living on my own,” said Thamburu.

She responded by showing what she actually does for a living – fishing. Millions have watched those videos. It not only changed her life but also brought rare attention to ‘Thappi Pidikkal’ – a waning style of hand-fishing practised for generations by families living along Kerala's backwaters.

As she wades into the water, she begins feeling her way through submerged rocks with bare hands. No gloves, no fishing rod, no net or no hook but just touch. Somewhere beneath the water, hidden inside a rock crevice, a fish brushes against her fingers. In one swift motion, she grabs it and puts it in a metal vessel floating in the water tied to her shirt.

For Thamburu, this is work and for her social media followers, it has become a spectacle.

At the rear of the boat stands 53-year-old Vanaja Murali, steering through the backwaters with practised ease. She has the company of her daughter Thamburu, 70-year-old mother Vilasini Krishnan and sister Ragini Madanan. Their island, Kattikkunnu Thuruth under Chembu panchayat at Poothotta, has barely over a hundred houses. Until a bridge arrived just four years ago, many residents simply swam across the water when ferry services stopped at night.

Fishing has shaped almost every part of their lives. The neighbourhood is filled with fisherfolk and clam collectors. For generations, families here depended on the backwaters for survival. Today, most have moved on to other occupations. Only a handful remain.

Learning the water
The journey to the fishing grounds often takes up to two hours. The women travel as far as Cheppanam, Thrippunithura, Petta, Nettoor and Kumbalam during low tide so that they can stand in the water. They carry food, tea, spare clothes, shampoo, coconut oil, medicines and emergency supplies packed inside plastic buckets.

The routine has changed over the years. Their motorised boat is only five-year old. Before that, every journey depended entirely on muscle power.

“We used to row everywhere. If there was a tea shop on any island on the way, we'd stop, have tea and continue rowing,” Vanaja recalled.

The boat they use today can carry seven people along with buckets and all supplies. Vanaja said they have spent heavily maintaining it. The engine alone recently required repairs costing ₹6,500 and the boat cost ₹50,000.

Thamburu started accompanying her mother when she was in Class 6 or 7.

“There were hardships at home. I am the eldest among five children. When I saw my mother struggling, I started going with her. I dropped out of school after Class 10,” Thamburu said.

The earnings from fishing educated her siblings. One became an Ayurveda nurse, another studied hotel management and others found different professions. Only Thamburu stayed.

She worked at a driving school, a garment factory, a photo-editing studio and under MGNREGA schemes. But no matter what work she did during the day, she returned to fishing at night.

“If we work somewhere else, we have to listen to another person's orders. Here we're our own boss. We get money too.”

Fishing by touch
The women fish according to the tides. When the water recedes, they dive into it and begin searching. It's all about touch – a tail brushing against fingers, a movement inside a crevice or even a slight vibration beneath mud. The hand reacts before the eye ever sees anything.

They target all fishes hiding in rocks, mud banks and submerged structures. Sometimes they push their arms up to the elbow into narrow gaps.

The work demands patience as the women often have to spend three to five hours continuously in the water, bearing the cold.

But even then nothing is guaranteed. On some days they return with fish worth ₹2,000. On others, barely ₹250. Sometimes there is no catch at all.

“There has to be a calculation for everything,” says Vanaja. “We know roughly how much we've caught by looking at the fish. I begin work with the aim of ₹2,000 worth of catch a day. Otherwise how will we manage expenses?” she asked.

A harder trade than it looks
The viral videos often show excitement and the hard work but they rarely capture the pain. Karimeen fins puncture skin and barnacles slice fingers. While crabs clamp down on hands inside a crevice, broken glass from liquor bottles dumped and hidden underwater causes deep cuts. A poisonous fish known locally as ‘Nachu’ can leave a hand swollen and throbbing for hours.

Thamburu, who suffers from asthma, carries an inhaler on every fishing trip.

“Our hands get injured in many ways,” she said, displaying old scars on her hand. “My daughter feels ashamed when I meet her teachers with scarred hands. I often cover them with sleeves. But I don't mind it. I will go fishing again,” she said.

There have been times when cuts became infected and forced them to stay ashore for days. Ragini recalled even a worse experience. One night near Perumbalam, strong winds struck while they were in the middle of the water.

“At the first gust the boat started sinking. At the second gust, mud and water came into the boat and the planks broke. We thought we would die that day,” she said. The women managed to steer the boat towards safety and survive.

Songs, tea and stories
For outsiders, the work appears exhausting but for the women, it is also companionship.

“It is fun when we go together. We drink tea, talk about movies, sing songs, tease each other,” said Vilasini.

The women carry packed meals and flasks of tea. Money is borrowed and lent here and their laughter often travels farther than the sound of the engine. Even Vilasini occasionally breaks into song while returning from fishing. The boat, in many ways, is their social world.

Omens of the backwaters
Vilasini carries something else from an older generation. The beliefs. The first fish touched after entering the water for fishing is called the ‘Kaikkara’.

“If we catch that fish, we'll have a good day. If we miss it, the catch won't be good,” she said.

When fish repeatedly slip away, the women sometimes spit on their hands and jokingly scold themselves.

According to Vilasini, fish start appearing soon afterwards. Thamburu immediately dismissed the idea calling it ‘superstition’.

Fame, validation and an uncertain future
Three months ago, Thamburu decided to upload a video of hand-fishing with the help of childhood friend Pravin Bijoy. She expected little.

Instead, the first video crossed a million views in a single day and eventually reached nearly 9 million. Today, her Facebook page has around

1.7 lakh followers and the recently started YouTube channel is getting popular fast.

“I wanted people to know about this work. Many people have struggled and even died doing this, but nobody knew about it,” she said.

But the recognition brought something else too. Validation!

“The hate comments stopped. Old friends who once mocked me are now among my biggest supporters.”

Her daughter, who used to worry whenever cuts appeared on her mother's hands, has changed too. “She once told me not to go fishing anymore. Now she's happy and proud as her friends are among my followers,” she said.

Yet the viral success may not save the tradition itself. Fish stocks have declined dramatically over the years. The younger generation has little interest in continuing. Thamburu already knows her children won't follow her into the water. But there is no disappointment in her voice. She is happy and unbothered.

As the boat returned to Kattikunnu, Vanaja said with a laugh, “If there are no ‘Thappukars’ after us, who will catch all these fish here?”.