KID KOCHI

CAUGHT A FISH TO FEED A VILLAGE

There’s this place on the southwest coast of India that Google Maps will tell you is called Fort Kochi. But the locals all know it as ‘God’s Own Country.’  

Initially I wasn’t sold. See I’d been wandering the old town when I bought a bottle of water on the side of the street from a man sitting on an eski. After handing over my coins, the man pulled out a bottle, drunk half of the water, and handed it to me. An hour later, a table of men invited me to sit with them. They told me Fort Kochi was called ‘God’s Own Country’ because of the variety of faiths accepted. But all six of them were Hindu, and when I said I was Christian they threw their heads back in laughter and waved at their friend to get me a drink. It was also a big day in the Jewish Quarter as the last Jewish family on the island was, as one man said, "getting the hell out of here.” 

Everything sat, I thought as part of the furniture of Kochi's tourist-orientated branding. From the faded posters of Eden-like greenery that hung from shop windows, to the basilicas, churches and synagogues that dotted the streets.  

My opinion changed a few days later when I met one small boy who tried to feed thousands with one small fish. That’s when I knew, this had to be God’s Own Country.   

I was walking down the street when someone pulled me back by the elbow. Standing there behind me was a young boy, red in the cheeks, trying to catch his breath after having chased me down. Because I never caught his name, we’ll call him Kid Kochi.  

“Dinu, Dinu,” he yelled to another boy who was lagging behind in the distance. “Jaldee karo.” That means hurry up.  

Dinu was walking slowly towards us. Kid Kochi couldn’t wait. He outstretched the arm he had hidden behind his back and reached in front of me a plastic bag with a small silver fish inside. Then he started talking fast in Hindi before he had to stop, take a few more breaths and wait for his friend.  

Dinu reminded me of the type of child who is raised on oatmeal cookies and insect encyclopedias, but thank goodness for sensible boys like him who are taught to be bilingual at the age of eight.   

Dinu sighed and rolled his eyes as Kid Kochi snickered and ordered him to tell me something.  

“My friend birthday,” Dinu said. “He want you to come eat. His house.” 

Dinu went on to say (in the broken English you'd expect from an eight-year-old who has another first language) that Kid Kochi wanted to have a party, though his mum wouldn’t let him because she didn’t have enough food for any guests. So Kid Kochi spent his entire birthday down by the fishing nets trying to scavenge a meal. When he finally caught something, the fisherman at the wharf all cheered and gave him a bag because the small silver fish was flapping all over the ground and Kid Kochi was screaming as he tried to catch it in his hands.   

Dinu laughed as he told me the story.  

“They think he’s crazy,” he said. I think he translated something else to Kid Kochi about what he’d told me, as Kid Kochi was still holding his catch up to my face, as chuffed and as proud as ever.   

Again, Dinu said if I wanted to come over for the party, I could. I wouldn’t need to bring any food, because of course, Kid Kochi had it covered. Then Kid Kochi pointed his finger, which I assume was directing me to his house. Though the directions were never translated because Kid Kochi grabbed Dinu by the wrist and dragged him to the next party guest.  

I stood there and watched as Kid Kochi ran from one person to the next. To a woman cooking corn over coals on the side of the road who smiled and nodded at the invitation. To a group of men loading coconuts into trucks in their colourful lunjis, who laughed at the invitation and sent him off with a jovial scruff of the hair. To some other children who scrunched their faces and pointed at the fish, who I guess responded with something like, you’ll never feed us with that. Still, under the blue flags that swung in the breeze between the washed-out buildings, Kid Kochi carried on inviting every person he passed.   

While I never found the party where the feast was held, Kid Kochi still gets a badge — and not for throwing himself a party or for catching himself a feed. Kid Kochi gets a badge for having faith the size of a mustard seed, that an entire village could and would crowd into his house to share a three-centimetre fish.