You won’t be able to take photos or watch the make up preparation, but to see the Theyyam Bagavathi Muttilotu is an experience not to be missed. She is one of the most powerful goddesses and the performer cannot eat meat, drink alcohol or have sex for forty one days beforehand. She stays behind a curtain and doesn’t come out until ready to receive the headdress. For some people it is scary because she can be unpredictable and start yelling and gesturing aggressively.

Kurian, my Theyyam authority, and owner of Costa Malabari Guest House in Kannur, explained this to me in an earnest tone. I have been coming here ever since I was first exposed to Theyyam in 2014.

Theyyam is an ancient ritual practiced in the Malabar region of southern India and is performed exclusively by men who manifest the deities and goddesses while in a trance-like state. The ritual started out as a practice of the lower castes and later became absorbed into Hindu culture as a way of communicating directly with deities.

Malabar village shrines are dedicated to a particular deity and an annual ritual or festival is sponsored either by a family or the priests, and is open to the greater community at large.Theyyam season is between November and May. The more powerful Theyyam deities can attract thousands of worshippers to the ceremonies.

At nine in the morning we started out for the first village. It was later than usual because the ceremonies, which usually start at sunrise, had been going on all night. Plastic tarps were set up as booths , carnival style, to sell the various trinkets- plastic toys, balloons,bangles and other assorted useful objects which the attendees would inevitably buy. Bollywood music, interspersed with adverts for travel agencies, hair growth clinics and “fancy dress” shops, bellowed out of two loudspeakers positioned just outside the kavu ( sacred area around the shrine). It was early and we were among the first to arrive. I always like to have time for the villagers to become comfortable with our presence.

My flip flops, already muddied with the moist red dirt, and traces of the many people who had trampled over them, were placed outside the entrance to the shrine, and I hoped I would be able to find them again after the crowds stormed through. I attempted (vainly) to sparkle as much as the Rajasthani women and wore my best gold dangly earrings, bangles and mangal sutra ( Rajasthani marriage necklace).

Gerald and Richard had set their backpacks on the red plastic chairs in the front row to save the best seats. It wasn’t until later, when an old lady snarled at him did he realize they were in the women’s section, and had to move.

I immediately rushed over to the costume/make up preparation area. Each one of the eight deities that would be represented has a unique costume and intricate face painting design which can take hours to complete. After four hours in the tropical heat,watching the six drummers feverishly lead the deities into trance, and the mesmerizing dancing of the Theyyam, I was exhausted. We had seen four deities and there were four more getting ready. As the sun baked into my skin, even with the sensory overload of these rituals I knew that I absolutely had to go to the next village where Bhagavati would be the grand finale.

As we arrived at the next shrine- a much bigger venue with hundreds of people already milling about in the temple grounds, the anticipation was palpable. As in the other village we were the only non-Indians and were given a place of honor so that we could to see better.

An old man with bloodshot eyes- probably from too much toddy-approached me.

Bagavathi is a powerful goddess, coming soon. She will make you cry, I do.

I was anxious for the finale after waiting almost two hours .We had rushed to get there by 2 pm and my eyes were glued to the curtain covering the place where Bagavathi was preparing, waiting to see some movement that would indicate an appearance. The only food I had eaten was a packaged ice cream bought from a vendor. Although we were invited to share the feast that was prepared for the masses at each shrine, I had politely refrained from eating and drinking, knowing that the toilet facilities would be suspect. But there was no way that I would even think of leaving before seeing what I had come for.

A bonfire had been smoldering for hours. Suddenly the temple priests and attendants started running over the hot coals and encircling the shrine. A swell of women and men charged across the temple grounds to the corner where Bagavathi was ready to receive her headdress. I didn’t know whether I should join them or stay put in my prime viewing position. The women next to me kept on squeezing me in in order to make room for a badly misshapen young man, lying on a mat behind me. They pointed to a woman standing nearby who I assumed was his mother, and she motioned that she wanted him to be blessed when Bagavahti passed by. I knew if I left there would be no returning.

Fearful that if I stayed I might miss the action, I ran over, just in time to see Bagavathi, in brilliant red headdress and huge skirt,flaming torches in both hands. Worshippers were pushing and shoving to get close enough to pass their arms through the flames, a sign of receiving her blessings.

And then just like that it was all over.

The car was quiet on the way back to our guesthouse. A small window had been opened , exposing one of the many sides of Incredible India.