Pallivasal Diary: A Morning Wrapped in Light and Solitude

 

A slow morning in Pallivasal, wrapped in sunlight and silence. The forest behind me felt alive, breathing its quiet wisdom into the day.

Pallivasal, Idukki

Pallivasal, Idukki — the hidden green cradle between Munnar and Vattavada. A place where the hills whisper and time moves gently.

Pallivasal is more than a green patch hidden in the folds of Idukki. It carries a quiet but significant place in Kerala’s history. Pallivasal was the site of Kerala’s first hydroelectric power station, built in the late 1930s during the erstwhile Travancore kingdom.

But Pallivasal is not defined by industry alone. Long before these modern feats, it was a region of dense shola forests and tribal settlements. Communities like the Muthuvan people lived in harmony with the land, moving with the rhythm of seasons, cultivating small patches of hill slopes, and protecting sacred groves. Many of the forest trails we walk today were originally their paths.

Pallivasal, Idukki — A Quiet Moment from December 2016

Albums: Trip to Idukki and Vattavada
Date: 23–24 December 2016

There are some journeys that don’t fade with time. They stay suspended inside us like a fragrance we remember long after the flowers are gone. My trip to Idukki and Vattavada in December 2016 was one such chapter, and today, while revisiting old photographs, I found myself transported straight back to those quiet hills of Pallivasal.

I still remember that morning clearly, the way sunlight filtered through the tall, slender trees, painting everything with a gentle gold. The chair beneath me was cold from the previous night, but the air around was warm and comforting, carrying the scent of damp earth and wild greenery. There is a special kind of peace you only find in these forested corners of Kerala, where the world slows down and you finally start hearing your own thoughts again.

Pallivasal sits quietly between Munnar’s well-known viewpoints, but it has a personality of its own. It is where the forest feels ancient, untouched, almost sacred. Sitting there, surrounded by endless green, you get the sense that nature is not just scenery, but a living, breathing presence. The breeze rustling through the leaves felt like a conversation, as if the hills themselves were telling their stories—of monsoons, of centuries of silence, of life that thrives without noise.

Those were the moments when I felt deeply, almost painfully aware of how far we drift from ourselves in everyday life. In that stillness, I could feel my breath slowing, thoughts settling, and a strange clarity emerging. Travel does this to you. It breaks your patterns, rearranges your feelings, and reminds you that life is larger than deadlines and routines.

Looking at the photo now, almost nine years later, I see more than just a snapshot of a trip. I see a pause. I see the version of me who was learning how to rest, how to listen to nature, and how to rediscover joy in simplicity. Idukki and Vattavada were not just destinations; they were gentle teachers.

Sometimes, I go back to these old pictures not to relive the past, but to reconnect with the parts of me that places like these bring out. Pallivasal, with its whispering trees and sunlit silence, will always remain one such place.