3 days ago
No warning, no return
For Mary Meglin, 60, April 29 and 30 will forever remain etched in pain. Her husband, John Fernandes, died at sea on April 29 last year—just a day before his birthday. At 65, John was the most experienced fisherman on his boat.
When it capsized near Muthalapozhi, he saved five others before the sea took him.
'My husband was a hero,' Mary says, steady despite her grief. 'He didn't hesitate. Everyone else came back alive because of him. But he couldn't save himself.' John was their sole breadwinner. 'The govt gave us Rs 4 lakh, but it's not enough. We're drowning in debt,' she says. 'We're pleading for a house, some support. This is our life—fishing is all we know.'
John had promised he'd return before sunset. Instead, the sea returned his silence. Born and raised in Muthalapozhi, he had learned to swim before he could write. But on that day, unscientific dredging and silt accumulation created violent undercurrents. He was pulled under, just minutes from shore.
Their daughter, 40, remains unmarried due to financial hardship. Their son Lijo, 34, abandoned his dreams to return to sea.
by Taboola
by Taboola
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Muthalapozhi in Thiruvananthapuram's Perumathura, an estuary where the backwaters meet the sea, has become a place where beauty and tragedy coexist. Once a giver of life, the sea has turned deadly. In 2024 alone, 12 boat accidents claimed four lives. The previous year saw a spike in incidents during July and August. Since 2013, 74 fishermen have died here. The village is exhausted from mourning.
Lathika, 40, lost her husband Robin on July 10, 2024.
'He kissed our son goodbye and said, 'Keep the rice ready,'' she recalls. 'By afternoon, someone ran in with the news. The boat flipped near the channel.' Their son, Ryan, is only eight. Lathika now works as a school cleaner, earning Rs 7,000 a month. 'It's not enough to live,' she says.
For Malasha, the sea claimed her husband Kunjumon, 42, during a monsoon storm in July 2023. 'I was cooking when someone came running. I didn't expect death.'
Only two of the five onboard survived. Now, she supports their children, Kiran, 17, and Anupama, 13, by running a small tailoring shop.
'I don't know what I'm waiting for anymore. Maybe just peace,' she says softly.
The survivors carry scars that don't show. Najeeb, 45, clung to broken boat parts after an April 2024 storm. 'We didn't think it was that bad,' he recalls. 'Then it turned on us.' He held onto a floating net pole for two hours before rescue.
'I saw John Fernandes disappear in front of me. He was shouting my name. I couldn't reach him.'
Naseeb, 30, survived a sudden capsize last year. 'The water just rose. No warning. It was like the sea decided to swallow us.' He now panics every time he nears the shore.
Veteran fisherman Anwar, 52, survived an accident in 2013 and has since raised concerns about the harbour's construction. 'The breakwater is flawed. Dredging is irregular.
The channel's too shallow. One mistake, and you're gone,' he says.
Fishermen blame these deaths on years of unscientific interventions—poorly designed breakwaters, irregular dredging, and unchecked siltation. These changes have disrupted the sea's natural currents, making even experienced swimmers vulnerable.
Kabeer, ward member of Kadinamkulam panchayat, says the danger intensified in 2018 when the Adani Group began cutting 130 metres of breakwater for the Vizhinjam Port construction.
'They brought in a barge and started dredging. It worsened the undercurrents. Since then, 34 people have died,' he says. After each death, the state govt promises action—then forgets. But the people of Muthalapozhi, Puthukurichy, Anchuthengu, and Perumathura persist.
They've formed informal rescue teams, share warnings over mobile alerts, and support grieving families however they can. Amid heartbreak, there is resilience.
But also rising anger.
'I don't want pity,' says Lathika. 'I just want to make sure the next woman doesn't lose her husband like I did.' As the sun sinks beyond the horizon and fishing boats return—fewer now, more cautious—Muthalapozhi glows golden. But for many, the sea, once a cradle of life, is now a restless threat. Still, the people stay. They have no choice. The sea is their only livelihood. Their only inheritance. Their only hope.
