Blog: A Tale of Two Rainbows ft. Thangasserry Lighthouse

July 6, 2025

Sun-soaked Thangassery Lighthouse.

As it was a Sunday, I was in a great mood. When I say “great”, you’ve to assume the level of I will “go-get-it”, “change-the-world”, “stop-global-warming”, “remove-all-plastics-from-earth” kind of high-octane mood. Yes, I know I can be delusionally optimistic at times. What’s life without hope and dreams?

Anyway, I was brimming with energy and raring for a highly productive and adventurous day. So I grabbed my pending household chores and reading lists with a newfound enthusiasm. I worked so hard that by 3 pm, I had completed all my work for the day and even dressed up to visit the next place on my itinerary – Thangasserry Lighthouse. Tadaa! 

How to Reach Thangasserry Lighthouse?

If you reach Kollam Railway Station, Kollam KSRTC Bus Stand, or Kollam Chinnakada Private Bus Stand:

→ Board a Thangasserry-bound private bus and get down at the last stop (approx fare Rs 13-15). From there, you can walk to the Thangasserry lighthouse. 

→ Alternatively, you can board a Chavara bus and get down at Ammachiveedu (approx fare Rs 13-15). From there, you can board a Thangasserry-bound private bus or take an auto to the lighthouse. 

Please note that, based on the day and timings, the frequency of the Thangasserry buses may be impacted. 

Thangasserry Lighthouse Entry fee: Rs 20/-

Working Days: Tuesday to Sunday. Not open on Mondays.

Open Hours: 10:00 am – 1:00 pm, 2:00 pm – 6:00 pm. 

Holidays may impact working days and hours.

Resuming my trip details… I have this bad habit of procrastinating for a few minutes before I leave the house, which I did as usual, as if it’s a pre-trip routine. By 3:30 pm, I finally walked to the nearest bus stop and boarded a bus to Ammachiveedu. I reached the spot within 10 minutes and stood near the side road to Thangassery, awaiting the next bus. 

Google Maps warned that the timings of public places and vehicles could be impacted as it was Ashura, the tenth day of Muharram. On top of that, an auto chetan(chetan means elder brother/male in Malayalam; auto chetan is a colloquial way to respectfully address someone who drives an autorickshaw for his living), who was standing at the nearby tea shop and sipping tea, warned me, “Moley(Daughter), since it’s Sunday, Thangasserry buses may not be available.”

I checked Google Maps, and it showed a distance of 1.6 kilometers to the lighthouse. As I was feeling energetic, I decided to walk to the lighthouse. Within 15-20 minutes, just as I neared the Kaval junction and had covered more than three-quarters of the distance, I heard a bus’s horn from behind. Sure enough, it was a private bus plying to Thangasserry. My exact thought at the auto chetan was “Muthalali”. 

‘Muthalali’ means Boss/Master in Malayalam. A still from the famous Malayalam Movie Punjabi House. Credits: Commentphotos.

[It’s an inside joke for us Keralites. The word “Muthalali” literally means boss/master in Malayalam. In the above scene from the popular Malayalam comedy film Punjabi House, the character Ramanan (played by the iconic film actor Harishri Ashokan, whom you can see in the GIF)  was scapegoated by his boss to escape from a sticky situation. So, in playful situations, when someone we like (for example, a friend or acquaintance) plays a prank, or takes a slight advantage of us, say by stealing our food, we call them “Muthalali” to mark our affectionate displeasure.]

I wasn’t angry at the auto chetan or anything. The frequency of buses was low on Sundays, as he warned. Besides, I could’ve taken his autorickshaw, but I chose to walk. 

As I reached the Thangasserry arch, I wanted to click a proper photo of it, but I got nervous as passersby glanced at me. So this is what I managed to take. Hopefully, I will get a better snap next time. 

Thangassery Arch. One day, I’ll master the art of taking photos in public without freezing under someone’s stare.

I reached the lighthouse by 4 pm. The lady at the counter gave me an entry ticket in exchange for ₹20. I checked how long we can stay at the top. She warned me that the lift wasn’t working and the guard at the top won’t allow us to stay for more than 10 minutes. As the space at the top of the lighthouse is limited, the previous visitors had to leave and make space for the new ones. I was okay with both constraints. 

Again, overspiked by my enthusiasm, I didn’t stop to catch my breath and immediately started climbing the stairs inside the lighthouse. The curvy black-granite steps looked so beautiful. So did the small, rectangular side windows that opened up to the sea. But after the first 10 or 20 steps, I was sweating and huffing and puffing so badly. Neither did I have the energy nor the patience to pull out my phone and take good pics. 

Soon, my mask was soaked in sweat. Despite the irritation and struggle to breathe, I didn’t dare to take off the mask. Compared to falling ill and facing more delays in my trips, I didn’t mind this small inconvenience at all.

I looked longingly at the transparent, oval-shaped lift. My health-and-fitness-related ego wouldn’t have allowed me to cave in and take the elevator. But God, still, it would have been great if the lift were functional and I had an option to take it. 

As I reached the watch room just before the final flight of steps, the guard asked me to wait as the gallery at the top was crowded with people. As I waited, a group of seniors also joined me. They appeared to be in their sixties and gave me the vibe of friends or retired colleagues more than family. 

I had seen them at the bottom of the lighthouse before I started climbing and had worried about their health. At that time, seeing them, I had also unconsciously made a mental remark that I must complete my major travel dreams before I turned sixty, otherwise I would struggle with health issues. 

But looking at them now, waiting excitedly in the watch room with me, I was surprised by their stamina and spirit. Yes, they were tired and breathing heavily too. But God, if I looked as excited as they did to climb the last flight of stairs to see the top of a lighthouse when I’m in my sixties, I would call my life a huge success. 

I reminded myself not to judge people’s capacity by their grey hair or wrinkles. They might be aged, but they didn’t grow up with mobile phones or social media, and surely may not be a homebody like me. Maybe they exercise every day, or go to a gym, or are part of a sports team. You never know. Don’t judge a book by its cover! I chided myself. 

Soon, many people descended from the gallery, making space for new visitors. I was glad to see a group of migrant laborers among them. We often hear stories about how they’re toiling to support their families in their home states like West Bengal,  Bihar, Assam, Uttar Pradesh, Odisha, etc.

As a Keralite, I can relate to their situation. Many Keralites/ Malayalees work in foreign countries or other Indian states to support their families, too. In fact, foreign remittances, especially from countries like the UAE, form a major part of our GDP. 

Fun fact. The global presence of Malayalees has sparked some hilarious comments. Take the 2007 T20 World Cup final between India and Pakistan. When S. Sreeshanth, a Malayalee, caught Misbah-Ul-Haq’s scoop at fine leg to seal India’s win, the media joked:

“Misbah thought he’d placed the ball safely,  but he forgot there’s a Malayalee in every corner of the world.”

Anyway,  I was happy to see the migrant workers taking some time off for themselves, to relax and enjoy the scenic places around. When the guard whistled, finally giving us the green signal to ascend the last set of stairs, I let the senior gang overtake me, more out of respect than out of courtesy. 

The Thangassery Sea Bridge, also known as Pulimutt, as seen from the lighthouse.

The view from the top was nothing short of breathtaking. On one side, there was the mighty Arabian Sea, and on top an ever mightier and bluer sky. I could see the Sea Bridge or Pulimutt, which is part of the Thangassery Breakwater Tourism Park, and a fleet of fishing boats docked nearby.

There were a few young couples in the gallery. My familiar senior gang. A father with a salt-and-pepper beard, with his three or four-year-old daughter clinging to his fingers.  A trio of teenage girls who were busy clicking photos. Every time they clicked a selfie, if I were in the vicinity, they kept reassuring me that they were not clicking my photos. For a split second, I feared that I was giving them boomer or Karen vibes and thereafter tried my best to stay out of their camera angles. 

Fishing boats bobbing over the waves.

On one hand, it seemed like a perfect sunny day, but on the other, the tumultuous sea, the sky pregnant with rain, and the drizzle were hard to miss. In Kerala, we call these sunshowers ‘Kurukkanum Kozhikkum Kalyanam’ (A Fox and Hen’s Wedding). 

It was also too windy at the top. As my frizzy hair went haywire, I was forced to untie my half-ponytail and pull it all up into a bun.   

And then out of nowhere came a girl’s squeal, “Look, a rainbow.”

“Not one, but two,” a male voice corrected her. 

And sure it was, like a colorful arch in the sky, not one but two rainbows. One was brighter, and the other a dimmer version. 

Nature’s quiet gift – A Double Rainbow! What more could I ask?

Every time I visit a tranquil spot in nature, I wonder if nature is happy to see me or would have preferred if I didn’t come at all. It’s usually the plastic littered all over the scenic spots that makes me worry about this. When the COVID-19 pandemic happened and all of us were forced to stay indoors for months, I pondered if nature had finally thrown the towel in the ring and had decided to keep us away forever. 

But today, as I saw the double rainbow in the sky, my lips curved into a smile, and my eyes shimmered with delight unconsciously. I know a double rainbow is not a rare phenomenon in nature. It occurs when the sunlight is reflected twice inside a raindrop. The secondary rainbow will always be dimmer than the primary, and its colors will be in the reverse order. 

However, as much as I love and respect Science and Technology, I also enjoy creating fictional scenarios in my head. So I am gonna believe this double rainbow is nature’s way of expressing her joy and appreciation for my effort to show up here today. Not just for me, but for everybody else who was in the vicinity, who cared to look up at the sky at that moment, and witnessed the double rainbow, too. 

Soon, it was time for me to step out of the gallery to make space for the next visitors. But unfortunately, it started raining heavily just then. The next visitors had to wait in the watch room until the rain passed. 

The sky, pregnant with rain, moments before the downpour.

As I climbed down the stairs, the father-daughter duo whom I had observed earlier was in front. The child insisted that she would climb down the stairs by herself. Her father felt guilty for delaying us, but we were happy to wait and give them time. These are all memories a child might remember all her life. Not just this duo, but another father who carried his screaming toddler daughter to the top also brought a smile to our lips. I wondered what all antics and tantrums I might have thrown at my parents as a kid. 

As I reached the bottom of the lighthouse, the rain eased for some time. So I walked around the children’s park on the premises, clicking photos of the fountain and various animal statues. One particular gorilla statue reminded me of my younger brother. In our childhood, we had a phase where we both called each other King Kong.

Rain-drenched Gorilla statue at the children’s park near Thangassery Lighthouse.

Just then, I got a call from my brother, asking if I had any plans to attend the Church mass at 5 pm. I told him yes, so he said he would pick me up in his car. As I waited for him, I watched the father-daughter duo again. Now he was helping her into the swings. I liked that he was letting her play in the swing even though the drizzle had not stopped fully. He reminded me of my father. 

Being single in my thirties, a freelancer, an aspiring writer, and a wannabe India-trotter, I know I’m no piece-of-cake daughter for my father because of the societal expectations. Still, I don’t think he considers me a “burden”, as daughters are often labeled in my culture, since I’m not dependent on him. But does he consider me and my crazy ideas a nuisance? Absolutely. But he and I both know I’ve no plans to change. 

As I walked towards the parking space to meet my brother, all I could think of was the smell of hot, fried groundnuts wafting from the roadside stall outside the lighthouse. One of my greatest weaknesses. “Control, lady! No impulsive purchases. You’re still in your hometown. You’ve got a whole country to see.”  I argued with myself. 

Author’s Notes

All content, including images, on this blog is the intellectual property of the author. © [2025] [Lirio Marchito]. All rights reserved.