Mala Vaishnav embarks on a journey without a destination and romances the river on board the Oberoi Motor Vessel Vrinda, in the picturesque backwaters of Kerala.

I am in the elegantly appointed Vrinda suite of the Trident Hilton, looking out through a large picture window at a swimming pool, rippling with langourous shapes and a cobbled courtyard, flush with foliage. But since the sun's rays are already dimming into gentler hues of orange and the town's palm-fringed silhouette begs for attention, we grab our cameras and leave the joys of luxurious living for later. Kochi (formerly Cochin), the principal port on the Malabar Coast, is moist with fresh rainfall and at Fort Kochi, the erstwhile European Quarter, we are just in time to watch the billowing Chinese fishing nets, being 'anchored' to the shore against long, slim logs. A trail of kiosks on the seafront hawk shell artefacts, miniature wooden elephants, even fresh slivers of the catch of the day which deftly move from 'you buy, we fry' stalls. A distinctly novel snack from the bhel and bhutta on Mumbai beaches!

Mattancherry, home to the antique bazaar, spice market and the 400-year-old Jewish synagogue, is bustling with western tourists bargaining for traditional, brass urlis (circular water containers) and the ubiquitous silver armband. The synagogue, a lonely sentinel of a prosperous past, when Kochi boasted a sizeable Jewish population, still preserves scrolls of the Old Testament and about 300 exquisite, hand painted Chinese tiles, each unique from the other. Then, caught in a sudden downpour, we hastily head back to the hotel that rests on the man made Willingdon Island and shed all inhibitions in the Ayurveda Centre for a good, old, Kerala oil massage

Dinner is feasting on fiery Malabar prawn curry, fluffy appams and a khus seekh kebab at the multi-cuisine restaurant, The Travancore. My colleague, flag-bearer of no-nonsense vegetarianism, sighs with resignation in her usual fashion at my carnivorous tendencies and settles for an 'international' meal of Mediterranean salad and a vegetable noodle nest.

The next morning, the romance with the river begins. Sleek, black vehicles transport hotel guests to the Vembanad Lake jetty in a matter of an hour and a few minutes, where we board the Oberoi Motor Vessel Vrinda for a two-day sojourn into the tranquil backwaters of Kerala.. Vrinda, a neatly turned out cruiser with eight deluxe air-conditioned cabins, all overlooking the water, is sailing into its second season and already proving popular with honeymooners, small intimate groups and tourists, who are to the nature born.'

Refreshed with cool sips of coconut water, served on the lower deck, we glide along the narrow waterway, privy to life as it is lived on the 'edge'. Women scrubbing brass urns, look up and smile and children in school uniforms, wave and shout. Bare-backed men, toasted brown by the sun, tap toddy from palms or race about in their little boats, casting their nets far and wide. On these strip-island villages, nudging the backwaters, life moves on at a languid pace, in the giant shadow of waving palm fronds and clusters of banana leaves. There are even rows and rows of lush paddy fields, yielding their produce some metres below sea level.

As the cruiser enters the Alleppey (Alappuzha being a mouthful!) canal, lunch is served. And the chef has done himself proud. Avocado and crab salad, gazpacho, barbequed chicken with caramelised shallots, steamed grouper, topped by apple-cinnamon tart and saffron crème brulee, that puts a momentary halt to the high-decibel chatter of the Americans on board. The dining room, all warm tones and wood, is geared for holding intimate conversations and forging new friendships.

In the evening, sailing along the Pamba River, as we watch the gentle rays of a setting sun and black herons dry their outstretched wings on floating water hyacinths, I revel in the stillness and silence that envelops us in this, the Land of Arundhati and Ayurveda. The Land where turmeric plants glisten in the sun and pepper vines wind their way around wild trees, where the heady aroma of cardamom and nutmeg fill the air.

Breakfast at eight is sinful gorging on waffles, pancakes, Australian bacon and freshly brewed South Indian coffee (dosa and aloo paratha for my colleague). So this is what one does on a cruise, she smiles, 'eat and chill, eat and chill,' and before she slumps weakly in her chair, we are bundled off the craft into an authentic kettuvalam (rice boat) for a ride into a narrow stretch of lagoons and canals, intriguingly marked with poles sticking out of the water, warning sailors to keep left. Rice boats, originally used to transport grains and spices, are today a tourism option to experience life on the lake. Fashioned entirely of wood, coconut fibre and bamboo, many of them boast a bedroom or two for overnight stays. Here too, the Oberoi service comes into play with gloved crew handing out glasses of chilled watermelon juice, even as the local driver holds an enormous umbrella to shield him from the midday sun.

We 'dock' at Karumadi to reflect on the half-statue of Buddha, a desecration caused by a stampeding elephant; at Chambakulam we visit an 18th century Syrian Christian church and then, step off to see at close quarters, the famed snake boat - 131 feet long, fabricated from angel wood, manned by 120 men - of which there are only 18 in the state which make their presence felt on festive occasions, especially the boat races held during Onam.

Dinner, as the night before, is an extravagance of food and wine and chef Akhilesh Singh - modest to the core - receives compliments with shy embarrassment. My colleague, expectant of a Kathakali performance on board, in a sequel to the Mohini Attam (dance of the enchantress) rendered the previous night, is a trifle disappointed (and retires to her cabin with a DVD classic) but as in all memorable sojourns, there must always be something left to savour for another time.

For now, there is the mosaic of vignettes we take back with us to Mumbai - fleets of ducks being herded together like sheep; double-storied heritage homes hugging the rim of the lake; a boat-building yard, where the hammer and the nail is the lowest option; coconut palms, almost like a tree of life, for every part of it is used….and best of all, the Motor Vessel Vrinda, which makes a 'no speed breaker, no traffic light, park where you please' ride completely possible.