They had insisted—almost pleaded—that I visit them, and so, with a touch of reluctance at first, I made my way to that quiet, unhurried village. In Kulathoor, the people have formed a small collective they lovingly call the “Changathikkoottam”—a circle of friends bound not by wealth or influence but by companionship, trust, and shared purpose. From a modest little room by the side of a pond—roofed with sheets and open to the sun, the breeze, and the laughter of its people—they run their modest but meaningful initiatives.

Within that unassuming structure rests the soul of the village. They have an ambulance, purchased not through abundance but through collective sacrifice. They have a tiny, carefully maintained library, whose shelves hold not just books but their quiet aspirations. Their way of life appears simple, almost fragile, yet it is deeply contented—woven with dignity, mutual care, and a humanity that modernity often forgets.

Coming from the city’s suffocating pace, I felt as though I was inhaling freedom itself—the pure, unhurried air of a........

© Mathrubhumi English