Every evening the synchronized chants start echoing through the trees.
A group of men start pulling the many ropes in unison, lifting the heavy chinese fishing nets into the air.
As soon as the giant net is heaved out of the water, Josef and his two colleagues run to collect the catch. If there is any.
The exhausting practice seems futile. The nets are mostly empty. A few tiny fish are caught, but fall prey to the many seabirds that lurk on the nets. Another worthless catch for the market.
The waters are becoming too warm. During the dry season its a somewhat normal situation, and men like Josef anxiously wait for the monsoon to arrive. But over the past years the temperatures in the waters around Kochi have been rising constantly; dry season or not. Combining the temperatures with the pollution from the industrial harbour on the other side of the bay, the giant fishing nets are losing their viability.
“I’ve been doing this for thirty years and its never been this bad” he says, showing his bruised hands.
For a few rupees, Josef and his crew now allow tourists to come on board, hoping for a bit of an income, trying to help ends meet.
While the 8 headed crew will continue working through the night, several dozen fishermen have taken a more simplistic, yet equally draining approach.
Next to the giant structures of the Chinese fishing nets, they wade into the eerily warm, shallow water to throw out their carefully crafted throwing-nets. Heavily weighted by lead, they heave the nets into the water and perform a discus-throwing technique for precision and maximum distance.
Yet they are also struggling – not only in the dry season.
Throughout the evening and the night, the arduous repetition continues. Lifting the nets, throwing them out to sea. Hoping for a catch or two.
Every morning, when the small boats come in and the catch is assessed, a group of several dozen men come together for a makeshift market; buying and selling the nightly goods.
Thrown on plastic sheets on the floor, the fish, calamari and shrimp are categorised, sorted and bargained for. Loud shouting ensues. The biggest and best usually go to the nearby hotels and restaurants, while the small ones are bought by the local vendors.
Presenting them in their small stalls along the beach, they hope for the weekend tourists, who can buy them and have them cooked in the adjoining seaside restaurants.
And while the fishmongers and restaurants are busy, the fishermen return to repairing any damage on the nets, wait for the evening shift and the setting sun.
The humidity increases by the day. The clouds thicken. Their hope lies in the approaching monsoon.
