Sukriti Iyer 1 The morning air in Alleppey carried the scent of wet earth and the distant sweetness of jasmine as Ananya stepped out of the rickshaw with her suitcase in tow. The sun had only just begun its slow climb, painting the canals in gold, and the backwaters shimmered with the stillness of a mirror. She adjusted the strap of her leather satchel, where her notepad and voice recorder were safely tucked, and looked ahead at the traditional kettuvallam moored to the wooden jetty. Its thatched roof curved gracefully like an arch of woven palm, and lanterns hung along…