Gurukulam
The word alone paints a picture—a wise guru sitting under a tree, sharing knowledge with eager students gathered around. It’s an ancient way of learning, where students live with the teacher, serving the gurukulam while learning from them. It didn’t matter if you were a king’s child or a commoner (according to the stories I have heard)—the rules were the same. There is a level of submission to the guru that borders devotion. It has always fascinated me.
When I read that Athma Kalari Village is set up like a Gurukulam, I was immediately intrigued. Could something like this still exist today, in an age where teachers are hesitant to discipline students even when they deserve it? I had to find out for myself.
When I arrived at Athma Kalari Village, I saw students of all ages practising Kalaripayattu with such focus and dedication. Some had been here for years, watching the gurukulam grow from a small group of kids in an empty space to a proper setup with two Kalari pits where people from all over the world come to experience this martial art form.
It wasn’t the idyllic Gurukulam I’d imagined in my head, but the essence was there. For the kids here, it wasn’t just about learning Kalaripayattu; it was about being part of something bigger. The older students weren’t just practising—they were teaching too, helping beginners like me with so much patience. It was humbling.
Also read: A Journey into Kalaripayattu at a Gurukul in Kerala
What stood out to me was how involved these kids were in every part of the Kalari’s life. On weekends, they cleaned the space and helped with chores. This wasn’t about being told what to do—it was about respect for their Ashan (teacher) and their practice. You can see how naturally they took ownership of it all.
Their bond extended beyond the Kalari. As I walked through the village, I realized how close-knit their lives were. Their homes were clustered together, and their world revolved around this shared space. They grew up together—playing sports, making dance videos, performing at festivals, and of course, training in Kalari. It wasn’t just about mastering an art form, it was about growing up in a community that felt like an extension of family.
Curious about what kept them so invested, I asked one of the students: “Don’t you get bored doing this for years? Do you expect to make a career out of it?”
Their answer floored me with its simplicity: “This is how we grew up. The Kalari is our safe space. It’s not just where we train—it’s where we come for guidance, for fun, for everything.”
For someone like me, who is used to city life where every effort is tied to ambition, fame, or money, this perspective was refreshing. But here, the joy wasn’t in where they were headed… it was in being here, together.
As an outsider, I know I’m only scratching the surface of what life is really like here. Every place, every community, has its own challenges, and I don’t get to see those in the short time I’m here. But from where I stand, what I do see is beautiful—a way of life where learning is shared, responsibility is embraced, and connection is at the heart of it all.
