More than a decade ago, when I was with The Times of India, I used to write a regular weekly column called True Lies. The column—which still continues—was mainly about gossip surrounding Gujarat government bureaucrats, though I occasionally wrote about ministers as well. In that column, I would often refer to what IAS officials described as their informal weekly Monday morning tit-a-tat over tea.
The Monday tea meeting wasn’t a formal gathering. Hence, many officials holding key posts wouldn’t attend—one reason it came to be nicknamed SOTC, or Sidelined Officials’ Tea Club, an allusion to a prominent tourism company. During my Sachivalaya days, all I knew about SOTC was that it was an international company offering tourism packages in India and abroad. Since I didn’t have the wherewithal to go on what I assumed were costly tours, I never cared to know much about it.
A few days back, my NRI family friends, a lovely couple, on their annual visit to India, asked us—my better half and me—whether we would like to accompany them on a tour of Kerala. We reluctantly agreed. We were taken to the SOTC office in Ahmedabad. Since the package offered was affordable, we decided to join them. This also prompted me to finally look up what SOTC was all about.
This is what I found: SOTC stands for Sind Oriental Travel Company, later renamed SOTC Travel Limited. It is a leading travel and tourism company in India, established in 1949, and now operates as a subsidiary of Fairfax Financial Holdings through Thomas Cook (India) Limited. The company specialises in leisure travel, business travel, escorted group tours, customised holidays, and incentive travel services.
While still waiting to board at the renovated Ahmedabad airport, I decided to check for myself whether there was a direct flight to Kochi. And lo! I discovered there was a daily direct flight that would reach Kochi in a little over two hours. I couldn’t understand whether the SOTC person who booked our tickets was so unprofessional that he didn’t even bother to check.
Later, in an informal conversation, a former Gujarat government official from Kerala wondered why we were flying to Kochi via Mumbai. Indeed, it spoiled our night, kept us awake throughout, and we reached Kochi utterly exhausted. All of us were around 70 years of age, yet our spirits were high, and we roamed around the town the entire day in the taxi booked by SOTC, which stayed with us for the next one week.
This is what Yatra.com, a leading travel portal, says: Ahmedabad and Kochi are connected by multiple daily flights. Airlines such as IndiGo, Air India Express, and others operate this high-demand route, with departures spread across morning, afternoon, and evening slots. Fares typically range from ₹3,000 to ₹15,000 depending on season, demand, and booking time, with cheaper options often available mid-week. Via Mumbai, our IndiGo flight cost around ₹10,000—much higher than what we would have paid for a direct flight.
One week is, of course, too short a time to truly know a state known for its achievements in health and education. I was particularly curious about a state whose infant mortality rate is reportedly better than that of the US—five per thousand compared to the US figure of 5.5. Despite our hectic schedule, I noticed that Ayurveda appeared to have taken deep roots in Kerala. Ayurvedic gardens were everywhere. I was told that Ayurvedic research is at an advanced stage here, unlike in other states.
At one Ayurvedic garden, named after the well-known Tamil social reformer E.V. Ramasamy Periyar, the guide claimed that Kerala was 99 per cent literate. When I asked him why, he pointed to a particular plant, saying its medicinal use since childhood explained the high literacy. I later asked our driver about the literacy rate. “Above 90 per cent,” he said. Interestingly, neither the guide nor the driver credited this to what the ruling Communists often claim—their literacy campaigns.
What really surprised me was the sheer number of school buses across Kerala. They appeared well-maintained and in good condition. I initially thought they were run by private schools. I was wrong. Almost all the yellow school buses belonged to government schools, even in rural areas—not just in cities like Kochi or Thiruvananthapuram. They were free for economically weaker sections. This was startling. In Ahmedabad, government schools offer no such facility. Even private schools often use Maruti Omnis, with children crammed in unhappily. Only elite schools operate proper buses.
After landing in Kochi and checking into an excellently run hotel by the Abad Group, we took a quick tour of the city—an old church, a synagogue, a museum, and the seashore. Everything was so green. Trees and meadows were everywhere. This held true across most of Kerala, except perhaps Thiruvananthapuram, which felt more like a concrete jungle.
Another interesting observation was the relative absence of police personnel. In Kochi, I saw none, not even at crossroads. In Thiruvananthapuram, they appeared mainly during peak hours to manage traffic. When I asked our driver about this, he explained that AI-enabled cameras had been installed at several locations. If you drive without a seat belt in the front seat, the camera catches you and a notice follows.
In Alleppey, we spent about two hours on a shikara-type boat. The boatman, Sebastian, aged 68, didn’t understand much English, but we managed to communicate. It was a lovely, memorable ride that took us into the vast backwaters. We even stopped for coffee at a small shop along the lake. Sebastian told me he had studied only up to the sixth standard, but his two sons were engineers. One of them, recently married, was working in Dubai.
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