wintering in india

photo album

2006-03-08T12:49:00.000+09:00

Finally! I got organized enough to post my photos from the entire trip, and here they are.

Enjoy :)

ringtones and delays

2006-01-27T19:34:00.000+09:00

Thanks to unprecedented flight delays, I am able to type out some last words before I take off. Our flight was supposed to leave Bhubaneswar at 3:30 and arrive in Delhi about 3 hours later. We called the airline today and naturally the flight schedule has been changed to a new one, now leaving at 5:45. Now with this new schedule, we had to find out by how much time it will be delayed. The plane will naturally be arriving by 6:45 and leaving back for Delhi at 7:30. This is apparently all caused by fog in Delhi. One has to love how delays in India are simply a part of life, here.

Being occasionally incredibly organized, I finished all my packing last night, with a bit of room to spare, leaving me free to go with my aunt this morning to the "Big Bazar" at the Forum Mart, Bhubaneswar's one and only multi-floor mall. We tried to go yesterday, but because it was big holiday in India, they had a major sale going so the place was so swamped with people, they shut down the place, locking people out and others in, until much later in the evening!

We arrived at the Big Bazar at around 9:45 to find that they were opening only at 10:30 and we had to form a queue, something Indians are generally horrifically bad at. My aunt and I got to stand in the "ladies' queue", which was a much better behaved queue than the men's one. Finally, we were allowed in and my aunt and I did our last minute shopping rather efficiently.

It has come to my attention that India must have the most obnoxious ringtones in the world. They have all kinds of ringtones for not only cell phones but for the "backing up" sound of all vehicles. You can set your ringtone to the latest hindi film song hit, cheesy renditions of "Happy Birthday" or "She'll be Comin' Round the Mountain", or just about anything, and loud. Cell phones go off everywhere and anywhere, there really aren't any "please turn off your pagers and cell phones" rules that I have encountered.

On that ringtone, and without further delay, I'm going to bid all a proper goodbye. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all in the occident.

time to pack it all up

2006-01-26T19:09:00.000+09:00

This will probably be my last chance to write before we start the long, long journey home, so I thank you all for being such a willing audience for all my adventures in India. It's been great to be able to recount it all to you.

Last night, we invited a few close family friends out to a fancy resturant that served such tasty, tasty food. Since it is wedding season, here, most other hotels and restaurants have already been reserved for wedding parties. Everywhere, you'll see floral arrangements outside halls and hotels exclaiming "Dupu weds Lipi" or "Chimpi weds Bablu". It's a normal thing in India to have a "call name" that is completely from one's "good name". "Bablu" could easily be short for "Dharmendra". and "Lipi" short for "Rajeshri". I got a rather good chuckle out of all the ridiculous name-pairs I saw in the city.

I have unfortunately come down with a full-fledged bout of the flu, as has everyone else in the house including Runa in Bangalore who is purportedly planted in bed with a hot beverage, India's equivalent of Tylenol and all the Harry Potter movies on her dvd player.

I do not look forward to travelling while sick, but what can one do? My father and I will be leaving for Delhi tomorrow afternoon, staying the night there, and then flying out to Dubai in the morning, then London, then Toronto where my mother will hopefully have a big lasagna with an almost uncomfortable amount of melted cheese on top. Then I will have an incredibly long and steamy shower, and in the morning, hop on the plane again to land in Montreal on the Sunday.

So I suppose this is it and I'll see you all in Canada! A full photo collection will eventually follow.

lazing around Bhubaneswar

2006-01-24T21:28:00.000+09:00

My raging cough has still not left me, so I am at home resting up, wrapped in a shawl, sipping tea and sitting a little irritated since having heard that Stephen Harper is now our nation's leader. Great, just great. Beh.

Happy belated Chinese New Year to all, by the way. Mike, Jetset, Paul, you will be interested to know that the other evening at a department store called the Big Bazaar a Lion Dance troupe paraded rather pathetically through the store accompanied loudly by a guy on the cymbals. I shook my head and clucked my tongue, wondering if these guys (probably store employees) knew what a real Lion Dance actually looked like. Still, they got good points in my book for their Sino-enthusiasm.

Here are some interesting items:

Things ones hears on the train:

"Chaiiiii chai-chai-garam chaaiiiiiii!" (hot tea!)
"Kawpeeeeeeeeeeeee kawpee-kawpee-kawpeeeeeeeeeeee!" (coffee)
"Ess kreeeeem. ess kreeeeem madame? ess kreeeeeeeeeeeeemm" (ice cream)
and my favourite which I am NEVER tempted to try:
"Taw-mah-to sooooooooooooooooouuuuuuup taw-mah-to sooooooooooooooooouuuuup!!" (tomato soup)

Versions of my name I have encountered on plane tickets and train rosters:

Ulka Mohan (twice)
Vika Mohan
Ulka Mohanti

Sigh, even in India they don't get my name right.

Cutting it in Calcutta

2006-01-24T21:11:00.000+09:00

Once again, back in Bhubaneswar. I had been invited by Sudarshan Chakravorty of Sapphire Dance Creations Workshop to come and give a dance workshop/demonstration at his studio in Kolkata if I could make it. Neato! We had met a couple months back in Montreal through common dance circles. I wasn't going via Kolkata in any way, but at the excited insistence and advice of my cousin, I decided to take a day and just go. I was in India, for pete's sake, and Kolkata wasn't that far. I booked a flight for the morning of the 23rd from Bhubaneswar and booked the night train back on the same evening.

I arrived after an hour's flight at Kolkata's domestic airport and looked for someone holding a sign with my name on it. I have ALWAYS wanted to be greeted at the airport like a VIP delegate of some sort. Sure enough, there was a sign saying "Sapphire welcomes Ulka Mohanty" held by a tall, good-looking youth. I walked up to him and smiled and he led me to the awaiting car and chauffeur.

His name was Gaurav and he was a model-slash-aspiring actor, he told me petulantly as he puffed on a cigarette looking out the window with some degree of affected ennui through a pair of funky shades as we whizzed through Kolkata traffic. He was getting some dance training with Sudarshan since to be an actor in Indian movies you had to know how to dance and he didn't yet. He was hopefully in line to secure a movie gig in the next couple of months, so I wished him luck in this.

We pulled up at Sudarshan's house and dance studio in the Salt Lake City of Kolkata and Sudarshan and I greeted each other excitedly. He had prepared a lovely breakfast of orange juice, cornflakes, omlettes, fresh puris stuffed with green peas (a bengali specialty, I understand), potato bhaji (sauteed with turmeric and minimal spices) and endless cups of tea. We talked about each other's dance work and he wowed me with endless press releases of the last thirteen years of work that Sapphire Dance has done. They were even listed as one of the top five contemporary dance schools in all of Kolkata.

I was not a little shocked to hear of the level of harsh criticism and sheer difficulty his dance company has come across. The fact that they perform in leotards or in other tight-ish or simply non-indian clothing is still considered scandalous and in "ill taste". Even more shockingly, though not wholly surprisingly is the hardship they have encountered with doing performances on same-sex issues and AIDS or HIV awareness. They have had posters torn down and dancers chased and beaten!!

They have been told in no uncertain terms by various conservative organizations or politicians or art critics that "this sort of topic" is "too controversial" and "not tasteful". Amazing, when India is apparently about to become the world's largest HIV affected country. Hopefully, the days of sweeping sex, drugs and std's under the durri and notions of "these things only happen to other people, bad people, never us" are coming to an end. Commendably, dance companies like Sudarshan's have ignored the criticisms as much as they can and have managed to not only make the controversy work for them at times, but have also managed to turn many of their critics to their side. Good dance will always win out, I say.

At lunchtime, we were delighted to receive a visit from Mamata Auntie and Bans Uncle, of the Kala Bharati dance school in Montreal. They are staying in Kolkata for a few months and will be doing some dance networking and projects during their stay. We all went out to eat lunch and talked excitedly about dance things.

Most impressive, I found, was the fact that the majority of the conversation was in pure Bengali and I found myself able to understand about 90% of it. Bengali is very close to Oriya, similar how Italian is to Spanish and I had also been exposed to it as a child through one of my aunts who is Bengali, so when I'm immersed in it again, a lot of it comes back to me.

After lunch, we returned to Sudarshan's place and four of his male dancers had arrived. Each of the dancera hailed from different backgrounds; two were trained in Bharata Natyam, one in Kathak, another was from an athletic background, and a female dancer who was unfortunately not able to make it had a very strong base in yoga. Sudarshan himself has a base of Bharata Natyam, some training in Kathakali and also in a north-eastern martial art called Thang-tha which is similar to Kalaripayattu (martial art of kerala) but relies more on "short power" and has movement phrases similar to Tai Chi.

The workshop was about to begin. They went through the types of warm ups they do, what their practice and rehearsal schedules were like, and they showed me some of Sudarshan's choreographical work, much of which is based in improvisation, which was exciting to see. I really enjoyed the dance they do, and the level of innovation and discipline that contemporary dance schools like Sapphire Creations has.

Following this, I spoke on my dance experiences, mixed in with the movement insights my own theatre and martial arts training has given me, the experience of being a Indian classical dancer in Canada trying her hand at becoming professional, audience expectations, and my choreographical forays with my dance colleagues. Following this, I performed part of a work-in-progress choreography and then an improvised bit that clearly was a mix of indian classical and martial art. We had a great time sharing ideas and just spending the day dancing, I couldn't have been happier.

In the evening, I was dropped off at Kolkata's Howra station, which boasts the longest railway platform in the world. I was warned that it was a crazy place, and indeed it was. Sudarshan's house helper, who had come with me helped me to find my train and car with little problem, picked up a fluffy mag and made myself comfortable. My train mates were all men, one of whom insisted on changing right in the train into a new shirt and pants and then drenching himself in horribly cheap nauseating cologne. Another rather tubby moustachioed gentleman who wore an undershirt and a "karate kid"-esque headband snored and talked in his sleep from time to time. Now an afficionado at travelling solo in India, I made myself cozy, helped another guy find his seat in the car, ordered dinner in Bengali and slept semi-comfortably in stages, making sure I woke up before the train (bound for Chennai) reached Bhubaneswar.

At Bhubaneswar around 4am, my father, Runa's dad and Rajendra uncle were waiting to pick me up. They had just dropped Runa off a half an hour before on her train back to Bangalore, we had said our goodbyes in advance. I went home, had a quick shower and slept until noon the next day.

Puri Pilgrimage

2006-01-20T20:00:00.000+09:00

Yesterday I went with my father and my uncle Rajendra (here on vacation from California) to visit our somewhat ancestral city of Puri. Puri! That Holy City, the city that never changes in spite of the times, the city of open sewage, and the famous temple of Lord Jagannath (Lord Krishna in the traditional Oriya form) which unfairly only allows entry to those who look Indian. It is a city packed full of bold travellers, mendicants, beggars, holy men and hari krishnas.

We arrived by a comfortable train that took an hour and a half from Bhubaneswar. The Orissan countryside in this part of the state looks a great deal like Kerala, filled with forests of coconut trees and other lush greenery. The only difference is that the signs are all in Oriya and not in Malayalam. We arrived at the Puri railway station and got into an auto-rickshaw (I don't remember there being so many before, there used to be a time when there were only cycle-driven rickshaws) which took us directly to my late grandfather's old house. The directions are quite simple and I remember them well: "Near the horse bazar, across from the Buddha temple, on the way to the big water tank." All this to be said only in Oriya, of course. Though no horses have been sold in that bazar for over a century or two, I'm sure, people still call it just that.

My father's cousin is living in my grandfather's house now with his family as well as my highly eccentric great uncle whom I call Saana Oja, younger brother to my grandmother. They greeted the three of us as we stepped into the house and already had had lunch prepared. Saana Oja was thankfully wearing more than usual this time; he had dressed his wiry and skeletal self in a threadbare lungi (a lengthier piece of cloth swathed and fastened about the hips, not unlike a sarong) and a threadbare undershirt. We ate lunch heartily, which comprised of fish and shrimp curry, fried whole small fish, rice, daal, battered and deep fried eggplant, bean curd and tomato curry, paneer (homemade cheese) and potato curry and potato and onion shoot stir-fry.

My father and Rajendra uncle were planning to stay the night in Puri and return the next day, but I had decided to stay only for the day and take the train or bus back to Bhubaneswar in the early evening. After lunch, I roamed about the house and grounds remembering the previous times I had spent here before. A new family dog "Jackie" growled low in his throat at me from a chained distance as I walked past the old water pump I remember having a bath under when I was young. I peeked into my grandfather's old bedroom which was kept as neatly as it was in his day. The colonial bed, the bookshelves, the stacks of travelling trunks, one of which I knew still housed my grandfather's tiger hunting rifle.

In the spare bedroom, I flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling and the ceiling fan. I think someone had fixed the fan since my last visit, it used to spin much more precariously, but the ceiling was ever the same. It was a ceiling I knew every intimate detail of, I had stared at and studied it and had played mental tic-tac-toe in the wooden grid many, many times over the years, especially during those hot, hot summer afternoons when the power would shut off and all one could do was stare at the ceiling, not move for fear of evaporating and wait for the fan to turn back on.

I blinked out of my reverie when my father and grand uncle walked in. We chatted for a bit as Saana Oja asked how I was and what I was up to and what my plans were for the day. I told him I planned to go visit Runa's paternal grandmother down the road, then visit the beach, the temple and then hop back on the bus to Bhubaneswar. He grinned and then whipped his neck around to ask my dad forgetting that I was still within complete earshot: "Okay, and have you fixed her marriage? What's happening on that front? Is there anyone?" My dad confessed that no one had been "fixed" for me as yet. "Ah, waiting for one to come down from Gopa? (i.e the Land of Lord Krishna where all the excellent ideal men are secretly living)." My father then quipped: "Why that's why she's visiting the temple, today." (i.e. to ask god in person to grant me a fine husband). My grand uncle's eyes lit up and he clapped me heartily on the back exclaiming "Ah!! The temple!! Of course!!" and all was well.

On the way out, Saana Oja, encircled me with a rail-thin arm, bent his head to mine, wiggled my chin and spoke to me in whispered conspiracy: "Why don't you get married here, then you and he can live here with me in Puri. There is no worry, I am here!!" I thanked him, laughed politely, said I'd think about it and said my goodbyes.

We visited with Runa's grandmother, whom I call Jeje Ma. Her late husband and my grandfather were best friends, living just a couple addresses down past another house, the Telugu slum shacks and an empty lot where boys often play cricket. A daughter-in-law and one grownup grandniece were there, also. The daughter-in-law remarked at how good my Oriya was and Jeje Ma sharply turned, cocked an eyebrow and mildly barked with some irritation "Of course she does! She always has, of course." We spoke about various things over tea and biscuits and then we were off again.

We stopped by a plot of land that we own and haven't done much with as yet. Land in Puri is at a premium right now and the large plot that we have is rather the envy of others. My dad's cousin has a grocery shop set up on the edge of it, so he can guard it for some of the time against squatters, people who decide to steal part of the wall, etc. It's a nice strip of land, I really do hope we do something with it, my dad has dreams of running a bed-and-breakfast. We then sped off again to the sea and beyond.

On the not-so-clean Puri beach one can find the standard stray dogs, free roaming cattle, and horses and camels trussed up for along-the-beach joyrides. "Madame!! Camel ride?", I was offered several times. There are food vendors, vendors selling obviously fake strings of pearls that they insist on passing off as genuine "I found these myself in the ocean!", local people going for a stroll, and of course the necessary hordes of beach-going extended Bengali families with their picnic baskets, all mostly down from Kolkata. I walked up to one incredibly bored looking camel who seemed to be lost in thought probably thinking: "How did I get to this level? My ancestors were war camels, dammit, I wasn't born to wear gaudy material and fake flowers and cart noisy, giggling Bengalis up and down the beach. How did it come to this indignity?..."

I naturally dipped my feet into the Bay of Bengal and we hopped back into our auto-rickshaw and sped off towards the Bada Daanda ("Big Processional Road"). Through the hustle-bustle of the crowds of people, vendors, cattle and autorickshaws, I had my satisfactory gaze at the Jagannath temple and we were off yet again.

There is a bus that goes back to Bhubaneswar apparently every 10-15 minutes or so. One has to shout to ask if this is the right bus, and there is a great amount of fuss and hurry getting on the bus. People are shouting everywhere, the bus with its growling engine is threatening to leave at any second, and one of the bus employees will occasionally whap the side of the bus several times. This is done usually to signal the drive to continue on, but the whapping while the bus hadn't left yet seemed a bit random to me.

Once I found myself a rather comfortable plush seat on the bus, it waited ten more minutes and then tore off evading people, cattle and other vehicles at a pretty good clip. The ticket vendor came by to collect money from the pasengers. Somehow I managed to understand him despite the fact that his mouth was packed full of chewing tobacco and its juices which he tried mostly successfully to keep in his mouth and talk at the same time. Rs. 25 for a ticket. The man next to me spoke only Hindi, so I actually translated a bit for him, how novel!

Two hours later the bus pulled into Bhubaneswar and I got out at the "stop" (i.e. road edge) where my aunt and cousin said they'd meet up with me. I was about to hop into an auto-rickshaw and make my way home when I finally spotted my aunt. We sped on home and I recounted my puri adventures. I promptly fell asleep after a simple dinner of ghuguni (chickpea curry), rotis and a raita (yoghurt dish) with grapefruit and spices.

two nights on the train to Bhubaneswar

2006-01-18T20:36:00.001+09:00

I am now writing to you from the eastern coast of India, Bhubaneswar, Orissa. My cousin Runa and I boarded the Yeshwantpur-Howra (i.e.e Banglore to Kolkota) Express train that left at 6:45pm on the 16th. The train ended up arriving four hours late, so the journey took 30 hours instead of 26. Oof. Runa and I were cosily installed in our own 2-tier A/C with another male passenger, who eventually moved to another berth to chat with a newfound friend in another berth. I must say, it is quite comfortable to sleep on the train. The ride was pretty uneventful; we slept, chatted, had numerous cups of tea from the train tea vendor, read a little, napped, grabbed some Andhra Pradesh style Biriyani (slow-cooked rice with delicious pieces of meat inside), napped some more and eventually arrrived in Bhubaneswar, the city of temples.

My dad and Runa's mom and an uncle were there to pick us up. At home, I went straight to the shower, as did Runa and the both of us slept in blissfuly until mid-morning the next day.

some enticing video clips

2006-01-18T20:36:00.000+09:00

My good friend Tarun of tarun music has been ever so kind to lend me some webspace to upload some of the little videos I was able to take with my camera. They're a few megs each in size, so those of you with faster connections will be happier with these.

Enjoy the following:

Kathakali performance in Kochi/Ernakulam
Backwater boat trip from Kollam to Allapuzha
Fishermen unloading their fishnets at Fort Kochi
Traffic sights and sounds in Ernakulam

More to come when I have more time to upload. I really do miss truly high-speed internet.

quick shopper

2006-01-14T20:58:00.000+09:00

I'm now writing from the Bangalore Central mall. There's a loud guy in a loud pair of orange pants and cool shades on a microphone downstairs trying to get people to join some promotional store contest of some sort. At least the internet connection is swift, here. I just managed to return a couple items I bought in a place where they apparently have no return policy. "No ma'am, only exchange, ma'am." After some manouvering with customer service the manager was kind enough to oblige my foreign self anyway. Excellent.

Before coming here I stopped by an Ayurvedic clinic a friend of my cousin's had recommended I go to for any medical ailments. The doctor was in at 4pm and so I took a number and waited along with the other patients, reading through the only reading material available: today's Matrimonial section of The Hindu. Born-again christians looking for nice boys, purportedly nice handsome boys looking for pretty, light-skinned girls,... the usual.

Following a loud "BEEP" my number appeared on the screen above. I walked into the doctor's office and a Dr. A. R. Santosh greeted me with a toothy smile. "Miss?" he guessed as he wrote down my name. Yes, I confirmed. He invariably asked my age and when I said "31" he naturally wrote down "21". "No, thirty-one," I corrected him. He flashed his smile again, muttered what I hope and believe was a compliment on my youthful looks and said, "Ah, chronic bachelor?" Sigh. Ah yes, here we go again, yes I was, for now anyway, and I smiled back. We went through my symptoms and he prescribed me the appropriate ayurvedic concoctions he divined that I required. "Come and see us again next time you are in India," he grinned Dravidianly, "but next time, married, yes?" I gave him my best "Oh, maybe", flashed my own Aryan smile and left for the dispensary counter, mostly convinced he wasn't a quack.

That's India for you; they have matrimony on the mind 24/7. And now I'm off to go and pick up my cousin. We might go to a pub/lounge tonight, but more on that sort of thing later.

Absurd Signs of India

2006-01-13T18:50:00.000+09:00

Here are a few amusing signs and billboards I thought I'd share with you:

An anti-porn message on the side of a computer: "Young man, quit that page/ See not such nasty site..."

For those men who secretly use ladies' skin whitening cream (you know who you are!)

"Ma'am, excuse me, ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to leave the coconut at the door. Ma'am... ma'am?"

I'd let Dr. Mohiuddin practice his dentistry on my teeth any day...

The Deccan Plane

2006-01-09T18:42:00.000+09:00

This weekend, my cousin and I did something rather spontaneous. We decided to book a couple of cheap domestic flights to visit a very good friend in Vishakhapatnam (two states over on the eastern coast of India about 1000km away) with whom we had been trying to coordinate a visit of some sort. We caught the extremely early Air Deccan flight to Hyderabad, the capital of Andhra Pradesh.

After an hour's pleasant flight, we had four hours to kill before our next flight to Vizag (the British name for Vishakhapatnam) so we decided to explore the city of Hyderabad. First things first, we got ourselves a nice authentic south indian breakfast of upma, idli, sambaar, coconut chutney and piping hot chai, all for mere pennies, of course. Excellent. We then headed out to the pristine white marble Birla Temple up on the hill. Beautiful and with heavy security making sure we did not take in any cameras as taking photos in the temple complex was prohibited. We chatted and relaxed on the marble steps.

Andhra Pradesh is the state just below Orissa and above Tamil Nadu, the language spoken is the south indian language of Telugu and Hyderabad is the state capital. The city itself has a very high muslim population, which is evident in their architecture, food and culture. It is a bit of a rougher town than Bangalore or the places I visited in Kerala, and we felt the difference.

After our peaceful time at the temple, we pushed on to the Shopper's Stop mall complex and had a tea while we waited for the mall to open. We window-shopped and then headed to Hyderabad's famous Karachi Bakery and picked up some fruit cookies and made our way back to the airport. We boarded the flight and laughed at how ridiculous it was that we were having hopping cities, having a different meal in each one.

The flight was again a short one-hour flight, and we were attended by an attractive "nazi" stewardess. Before landing, my cousin was slow in raising her seat back into the upright position and was thusly admonished with a terse "Seat upright!!" As the plane was rolling to a stop, the back door of the plane opened to lower the attached staircase. Unfortunately, an impatient man has gotten up from his seat and was making his way to the open door only to be hollered down with a barely polite no-nonsense "Excuse me sir!! Please be SEATED!!" The man shuffled back sheepishly to his seat.

Vishakhapatnam/Vizag is a very quiet, beautiful beach town. On one side you have rising red earth hills and mountains and the other side is pure blue ocean. This type of scenery stretches on for miles. Our friend greeted us happily at the airport and there was much reunionary rejoicing. He drove us directly to our very posh hotel, The Park, that he had booked on our behalf. We freshened up and explored the grounds. To my excitement there was a huge chessboard on the lawns, so we had a go at a game.

We went for lunch, walked all along the beach, went for a drive and saw the whole countryside. Very beautiful, very peaceful. We ran into a group of brick-layers and one of the women really wanted her picture taken. She kept laughing and told her buddy to pile on lots of bricks. She didn't smile for the camera because she wanted to make it look like she was "working hard". So I obliged. She burst into peals of laughter after the photo. :)

We decided not to do too much, and like a bunch of spoilt teenagers, we ended up smuggling beers (Kingfishers, a pretty nice Indian beer) into the hotel room ordering room service food. We chatted and giggled and listened to music well into the night. My cousin and I slept blissfully that night.

In the morning, I decided to avail myself of the hotel's perks and booked myself for a morning massage. My masseur's name was Venkat (VENG-kut) and he proudly proclaimed himself as the hotel's aerobics instructor cum lawn tennis instructor cum weight trainer cum ping pong instructor cum masseur. The massage was pretty good, but I sensed that this was not the most kosher massage session I had ever had. It was a dead giveaway when Venkat at some point said "Ma'am, I am having very strong legs. Want to see?" "Uh, sure," I said. He pulled up his track pant to show me his calf and sure enough, it was a well-developed calf. He then flexed his biceps at me and I said "I see," and smiled benevolently mentioning lightly that I was heavily trained in martial arts. "Ma'am, I am also having the six-pack," he offered generously. "That's nice," I said, and then I really did change the subject to something more mundane before he started voluntarily taking off his shirt. The massage ended and I thanked Venkat for his time and got out of there. One has to be a little careful about these things in India.

I met up with my cousin and our friend and relayed them my "Venkat the Masseur" story. Our friend had seen the guy in the halls and exclaimed, "That little guy?? Are you sure he didn't draw on his six-pack with a pencil?" Heh.

We had brunch and then set out on another drive to the beach. We went on a small boat ride out into the ocean. I'm sure the local fishermen must be laughing as they rake in the cash by taking these bright-eyed city-slicker tourists for 20-minute rides on their fishing boats. Nonetheless, we enjoyed ourselves, so that's what counts. Of course, the price of the ride changed once we were out on the sea and could only swim back if we didn't agree. Oh well, we bit that bullet.

We set out on another gorgeous drive to the latest musical hindi beats and were going to go visit the Buddhist caves and temples up in the hills. Unfortunately, once we got there, our friend's father called him saying that the train we were on was leaving one hour earlier than we thought, so we had to rush back and pack our things and rush to the train station instead. Ah well, next time, we'll be able to see more of the town.

The train, originating in Kolkata was a good 15 hour trek to Chennai. Our seatmates happened to be all Orissans, funnily enough. This included a man who let his orange peels fall to the floor, awarding himself with a glare from my cousin; a sullen hotshot 23 year old kid who was whining that he had to move to Chennai because his dad wanted him to work in the family business for a year while he figured out what he wanted to do in life; and another man who when he was not talking to the orange peel man simply stared rudely at me. We chatted a bit with these characters. Hotshot Kid whined on about how he missed a really good new year's eve party in Goa because his dad wanted him home with the family and how he and his dad always fight. Orange Peel man asked if my marriage was fixed yet, and whether it was fixed here or in Canada. "It would be in Canada," I said and no, it wasn't fixed yet. He then wanted to understand what happened to my apartment when I got married, how would it be with the groom? What would happen to the apartment? My cousin politely but firmly informed him that buying real estate was a sound investment and had nothing to do with complicating marriage matters. Orange Peel Man nodded, not really understanding as he was still trying to grasp the whole idea of whether or not it was a good idea to let women have careers. As for Staring Man, I stared back at him with minimal politeness.

Dinner was served on the train, a delicious chicken curry, rice and roti. We had had many cups of tea, previously. Everyone then arranged their berths for sleeping mode and I woke up as we approached Chennai at around 5am.

We had to get from the train station to the airport to catch our flight to Bangalore. Chennai, I have to say, is as I remembered it 10 years back: dirty, depressing and a tad unfriendly (apologies to my fellow Madrasis). We de-trained and walked through the minefield that was sleeping people littered about on the floor of the station waiting for their next train, presumably. We heard a terribly shrill voice chanting slokams in Tamil over a screechy loudspeaker from a makeshift temple somewhere in the middle of the train station. The air was muggy and it took us forever to find the pre-paid taxi stand. Finally, we secured ourselves a taxi and were soon on our flight back to Bangalore. My cousin went to work, and I made some phone calls and went out shopping. What a crazy trip that was, but worth it.

Montezuma and the way out of Ernakulam

2006-01-06T18:51:00.000+09:00

I'm freshly back from the beauty salon my cousin likes to frequent. I got a manicure, pedicure, threading, waxing and coconut oil full body massage for the bargain sum of 1200Rs which comes out to about $30 Canadian. I feel so incredibly relaxed and replenished now. Ahh. Now where was I with my adventures? Ah yes... Ernakulam.

In the morning in Ernakulam, our first task was to secure transport back to Bangalore. My dad had a train to catch to Bhubaneswar on the 4th, so timing was of the essence as it was already the 2nd and it took about 12 hours to travel by bus. We walked to the Kallada luxury bus office and asked them if they had room for two on one of their sleeper Volvo buses back to Bangalore. "Absolutely, sir," the man said bobbing his head in a circular manner that means both yes and no. "When you wish to go?" Tomorrow night. His head bobbed again, this time to mean an emphatic "no" as all buses were booked solid; we could only catch one maybe on the evening of the fourth, which would not suit us at all. "High season, it is new year, yeverything is booked."

Slightly panicked, we auto-rickshawed it over to the railway station only to find that all trains to Bangalore were completely full and there wasn't even space on the waiting list. Eek. We tried another bus station, and then the city bus only to find that there was no way out of the city. A nice man suggested we take the morning bus to Coimbatore and then take the train from there back to Bangalore. That would still be cutting it way too close to my dad's departure time. We decided to go back to the Kallada bus office and ask if they had room of any kind on the next bus out, even if it was the 3rd of January. Finally, he managed to find two seats available on the second AC sleeper leaving at 8pm. Whew. We breathed a sigh of relief, paid and went back to our hotel to book our hotel room for an extra night. Then, we then set out on the town.

Relaxed, (by the way, the radio is blaring loudly in this internet cafe and I have just been informed by the DJ that tomorrow is Hrithik Roshan's birthday) we took the ferry over to the old city of Kochi, or Cochin as is its old British name.

We walked all the way to "Jewtown" which is a curious part of town home to the oldest synagoague in India. There are apparently a handful of jews who still live there. The street all the way up to the synagogue was lined with souvernir shops with extremely pushy Kashmiris selling Kashmiri products. They've come down to sell their wares in other high tourist zones in India as their own land is still too dangerous for tourist to go to. "Madame, why not come inside? No need to buy, just look. See this beautiful carpet, where you from? Jewelled earrings?" We ignored them and stepped in the small but well-kept synagogue. We set off again, this time to see the St. Francis Basilica, founded by the Portugese when they were here. Unfortunately, the opening hours were already over, so we admired the grand outside and left.

After ferrying back to Ernakulam, we popped in to the tourist office and bought two tickets to a Kathakali dance performance that night. We went to a small air conditioned theatre on some little street off a larger one. We got very nice seats and watched the artists start applying their elaborate make-up, which is also part of the show. I noticed that everyone else had program notes, so I went down to the entrance to see if I could get some. An elderly, rotund, grumpy woman asked to see my ticket first, which I showed her. "This is not ours!!" she barked with indignation. "This is Art India, you have to go to See India Foundation, and they are not having A/C!!" I asked where the other place was, and she disgustedly waved her hand in what I could guess was the next little street over. I ran up quickly and tapped my dad on the shoulder who was amicably involved in a pleasant conversation with the man next to him. "Bapa, we have to go.. now. We've got the wrong place!" We gathered our bags and shuffled back down and outside successfully avoiding the old grump.

The See India Foundation was easily found and we got good enough seats there. I sat beside an indo-franco couple from California and chatted with them for a while. This Kathakali place was famous for its "world-class" narrator Devan, who ran the school, as did his father before him and his father before him. I had to switch on my "indian-english" internal dictionary in order to understand a blind word he said, but he spoke mellifluously and cleverly. He explained the art of applying the dance makeup, how it was all make up based in herbal concoctions which were actually healthy for the skin and also how it was a meditative experience for the dancer.

Following this, he introduced the dance style with the help of a wiry older dancer. He explained how each part of the body was used to express which things and how. Devan spoke of how the make-up, the costuming and expressions were all exaggerated to portray the superhuman as opposed to the human, an abstract form of portrayal which provides a way to help describe attributes of and to worship that which is greater than the Self. With this ample introduction to the dance style, the performance began.

It was a rather amazing performance. One dancer portrayed a prince who is approached by a demoness (also danced by a male) who disguises herself as a beautiful woman in order to seduce him and keep him in her power. Due to the prince's sheer presence of mind and his adherence to his principles, he manages to resist her. She eventually becomes impatient and turns back into the demoness, shrieks in fury and runs away. Good has triumphed over not-so-good once more and all is well. We thanked Devan personally for his fine wordistry, exchanged emails with the California couple, found a good spot to have some very spicy fish curry and hit the sack.

The next morning, we awoke leisurely and set out to a nearby internet cafe to do some quick emailing, and I then realized that my luck had run out and Montezuma was about to start taking his revenge. It was only a matter of time, it's quite impressive that I had lasted as much as a week. My eyes widened, and I ran back to the hotel.

When I returned, we set out for Kochi city once more. Hopping on and off of ferries came as second nature, now. We took a long walk along the beautiful seashore which was littered with clothing, cheap jewellery stalls, the famous Chinese fishing nets, fishermen bringing in the fish and shops that sold the fish which you could then take over to a restaurant and have them cook it for you. Naturally, we did just that. Yum.

We made our way back, checked out of the hotel and made our way to the bus office. We got there with ample time to spare, and I had a niggling feeling that something was wrong. It certainly couldn't be this easy. It wasn't. We confirmed our tickets with them and were told that the bus was for the night before, not tonight!! They had called us last night as the bus was leaving to find out where we were, but of course my cell phone was off while as we were at the Kathakali show. Great Scott, it was impossible to get out of the city! It turns out that we misunderstood the date, and that the guy had found us seats on the night we originally wanted. And of course there was no room left on the current bus. Crap! We pleaded and asked if there was ANY way at all we could get on that bus. In the end, a speck of light showed as he said he could probably ask the driver's companion to give up his berth, but that we'd have to share one to the both of us. We agreed and paid again. So much for a good night's comfortable sleep.

My dad and I slept squished like sardines for the next 12 hours, but we made it. Finally, we were back in Bangalore and boy did I need a massage. My father made his train and I showered and relaxed like never before. And oh, by the way, my luggage had finally come in and my cousin and I went to the airoprt to pick it up from two different airlines. Everything arrived intact and I was happy. MY cousin, more so since half the suitcases had gifts for her in them!

a cruise to Allapuzha

2006-01-05T17:10:00.000+09:00

Morning brought in the new year and an easy booking on a backwater boat cruise. Kerala is famous for its 8 hour and multiple day cruises along the backwaters parallel to the Lakshadweep Sea (part of the Arabian Sea, it seems). You can book a luxury houseboat equipped with personal chef, and just travel up to the next town. We took the eight hour cruise, which fits about 40-50 odd people.

We took the hotel ferry off the dock of our hotel and crossed to the awaiting cruise boat on the other side of the lake (I'm getting used to taking boats and ferries as a means of normal transportation). We got very nice seats on the upper deck and then we were off! I hope to be able to post some pictures of all these things soon, but suffice it to say that Kerala is indeed very lush and I have never seen so many coconut trees in one place. Orissa is very similar to Kerala in terms of lush greenery and coconut trees, but I think Kerala's got the edge, here.

As we lazed along the waters, we saw trees, the occasional church, villagers who yelled out "Heppy New Year!!" and who never seemed to tire of waving and smiling. We stopped for lunch at about halfway at a tourist hut-restaurant and we ate lunch off of banana leaves. This included fresh fish sauted and spiced in the very spicy Kerala way. Mmm. I enjoyed this, thoroughly, of course.

The boat stopped again for tea at another spot later on in the afternoon. Nothing like fresh, hot, milky-sweet chai with tropical birds singing amongst the coconut trees along the river's edge. There was a group of seven or eight men seated near the shore involved in a serious game of afternoon cards as they sipped their respective teas.

We re-boarded the boat and pressed on again northward. The sunset over the Keralan landscape was spectacular. (Wow, this image took forEVER to load). We sailed into Allapuzha, "The Venice of India" (the waters sure smelled like it, too) by 6:30 in the evening.

We dismounted the boat, a bit culture-shocked to be in a bustling, noisy city again after the clean, calm and quiet boat ride, and proceeded to look for a way to get to the next city north, Kochi. We were directed to take a city bus, not a few steps from where we were and to get the bus to Kochi/Ernakulam. Kochi and Ernakulam are basically the same city, just separated by a body of water.

At the bus station, we asked a long-haired man in a mundu and a shirt who seemed to be in charge of something when the bus to Ernakulam would be coming. "Just now, only" he said, "Coming now. Ernakulam Superfast bus." And he wasn't kidding. Sure enough, a moment later, a green and yellow bus with the words "Superfast" painted on the front came careening at top speed around the corner from a universe free of brake pads. It screeched to a halt as people clamoured on as fast as they could. We got on successfully. The bus shot off again, having waited perhaps a whole 30 seconds in total.

The thing with Indian buses is that you have to ride them with a great deal of faith. Faith that the bus will hold together for the duration of the voyage, faith that you will survive the experience and faith that the bus will not collide with any other buses, cars, or cattle also on the road. The ticket master combed through the bus collecting ticket fares from everyone, now and then rattling something off in Malayalam (which I realize sounds very much like one has a mouthful of pebbles and is trying to get words out around them at incredible speeds) which I took to mean "Seats to the ladies first! Seats to the ladies first!" I let the rhythm of the speeding bus lull me into a small nap.

We pulled into Ernakulam an hour later and then took another half and hour to battle the evening traffic to get to the bus station. Finally, we arrived in the glitzy, busy commercial city of Ernakulam (apparently there was a gold jewellery festival going on at the time). After many phone calls, we finally found a hotel that had a vacant room - very difficult as it was New Year's and high season - ate a very good meal in the hotel restaurant and went directly to sleep.

adventures in Kollam

2006-01-05T15:06:00.000+09:00

I am now back in Bangalore (what an adventure it was just getting back to the city, but more on this later) writing from an internet cafe near my cousin's place in the Jayanagar district of Bangalore. In the middle of writing, the power of course went out for about half an hour, but it's back now.

Kerala was a wonderful trip, though a bit rushed; it's definitely a place I'd like to go back to visit. After my last entry, my father and I walked around the town and then took an autorikshaw down to the beach in a quiet part of Kollam called Thangassery. One thing I have noted about Kerala is the distinct lack of abject poverty. Kerala is a working communist state, it boasts 98% literacy and parts of the society are even matriarchal. The people are very friendly and very laid-back which is a far cry from the downright unsafe and hooligan behaviour (from men) I am used to encountering in the north of India.

My father and I were definitely the only non-locals in Thangassery. We were let off at the lighthouse near the beach, where a gaggle of schoolgirls waved en masse shouting out things like "Hallo! How are you! What's your name?!" I responded to these, but then realized that the extent of their english only went so far as to know what questions to ask, not to continue a conversation. They let me take their picture, right before an elderly woman started yelling at me, trying to claw at my camera. I quickly pocketed my little Canon ELPH out of sight and started to feel a little uneasy about the crowd around me. This was made slightly worse by my dad's unbending insistence on speaking in Hindi to the Malayalis, which may be the official national language, but has nothing to do with the Dravidian culture in the south and well, it's a political sore spot in the south. We went down to the beach, where I dipped my feet in the Lakshadweep sea and then got a little nervous as a local boy started casually throwing rocks towards us from a distance. Time to leave, I think?

As we walked back from the seashore, we suddenly heard a distant drumming coming from down the road. My dad and I left the lighthouse area (which neither of us were in the physical mood to attempt to climb in the afternoon heat). The drumming became louder and we heard shouts and cheers coming from the road. It was a good group of 30 men, young and old triumphantly carrying a very tall uprooted palm tree with a drummer at the head of the procession. I could only assume that they were going to plant it somewhere else. A youth whooped joyfully as he passed by me. Crazy Malayalis. :) I was too trepidatious to take my camera out again and my father was still trying his Hindi out on the local bystanders. I finally tugged at his sleeve and said, let's please go before we get beat up by the locals.

My father wanted to find the bus back to Kollam proper, but we didn't speak Malayalam and his Hindi was making our case worse. Finally, a nice lady who ran a rose garden attempted to help us find the bus. She spoke to my dad, encountered his blank looks, ignored him and spoke to me in Malayalam at breakneck speed. I managed to understand that it was not worth taking the bus, just pay an autorickshaw 20 Rs and we'd be back in Kollam. Excellent. We did just that.

Tired from our adventures, we went back to our hotel, had a very nice dinner on the lawn overlooking the lake. We also unfortunately provided a nice lakeside feast for all the mosquitoes, as well. I fell into bed and was asleep almost immediately.

a kwick note from kochi, kerala

2006-01-03T13:59:00.000+09:00

Hello all!

I won't have time today to write a full synopsis of my adventures, but in brief, we saw a memorable Kathakali performance, went on a Kerala backwater cruise from Kollam to Allapuzha, risked our very lives on a "superfast" bus to Kochi, dipped my feet in the Lakshadeep sea, visited an old synagogue and basilica off the Malabar coast and ate a substantial amount of fish.

I am having a nice time in Kerala but I look forward to putting an end to the backpacking and heading back to Bangalore tonight.

Until next the installment I'll be dreaming of hot showers and comfy beds...

it's hot in Kerala and I have but 2 pairs of underwear

2005-12-31T17:25:00.000+09:00

Finally, an internet cafe! I am now in Kollam, near the southern tip of Kerala, the south-west coast of India.

So let's recap my adventures over the last little while. First off, when I got to Dorval/Trudeau airport at 12:30pm in Montreal I came to know that my 2 o'clock flight was cancelled. Great. I managed to get on standby for the 3 o'clock which was now overfull, but was guaranteed for the 4 o'clock. My luggage was checked in accordingly all the way to Chennai. I had to catch my international connection to London in Toronto at 6:30 which meant I had to be there by 5:00 at the very latest. This was cutting it way close. In the end I got on the 3 o'clock and met up with my dad in Toronto. We caught our flight without incident. I read for a bit, watched the movie for a bit, ate the somewhat okay Air Canada fare, and slept uncomfortably for the rest of the flight.

(travel note: 2.5hrs wait + 1hr fly + 2hr wait = 5.5hrs)

In London, we made our way to the Emirates ticket counter and got our boarding passes. At Heathrow, we had some time to shop around. I found myself in some polite boutique dedicated entirely to scotch (too much choice!) As my cousin is getting married in a month, I ended up buying two bottles of standard Johnny Walker as customary gifts to give to the groom's wedding party (the menfolk do love their "Janny Vakkar").

The emirates flight was lovely. Personal movie screen, helpful staff and some really really excellent arabic-spiced lamb. Still, one cannot escape the uncomfortable sleeps. We landed smoothly in Dubai to the lyrical sounds of the arabic language spoken over the loudspeakers. I managed to find a free internet terminal and mailed off one or two emails, but there wasn't time to blog since we had to rush off again to our next connection.

(travel note: 5.5hrs + 2hrs wait + 7.5hrs fly + 2hrs wait = 17hrs)

Somehow, my father got bumped up to business class so he graciously gave me his seat to sit in. Definitely comfier seats and a smile broke right across my face when the stewardess came by with a tray of refreshments saying "organge juice, apple juice, champagne?" One can only guess which one I chose. :) I slept a little better on this flight.

(travel note: 17hrs + 2hrs wait + 4 hrs fly = 23hrs)

Finally, we arrived in Chennai! After a lengthy wait, I came to know that while I was finally in India, all my luggage was blissfully sitting somewhere in London. Blast it! I blame Air Canada! Great. Fortunately, I had all the bare (extremely bare) essentials in my backpack including my digital camera. All my clothes, gifts and my manual SLR camera were in my luggage. We managed to register with the airline about the missing luggage and they assured us that it would be flown over to Chennai and then air-taxied over to Bangalore as soon as possible. I had their number and they had all my cousin's contact numbers in Bangalore. I was to speak to "Sandhya or Priya" if I were to call. Great. Okay. Onward and westward.

(travel note: 23hrs + 2hrs sorting out stuff + 1hr to train station = 26hrs)

We got to Chennai's central railway station in the hopes of making the 6am train to Bangalore. I was so beyond tired by this point, I was actually feeling pretty chipper. We managed to get somewhat scammed by some ticket scalpers who claimed that the train was full, as it indeed did say on the billboard. Fine, whatever, we were tired and needed to be on that train. We hired a red shirted "coolie" to take our heavier luggage (i.e. my dad's luggage, since I was forced to travel light) all on his head and we got on our train.

The seats were a tad more comfortable than the airline ones and the train took off as we saw dawn break across the landscape of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka. The train in India is great. First, they serve hot and milky-sweet tea or coffee, which is followed by a light south indian meal: fresh vada, idli, sambar and coconut chutney, and then later on with another spot of tea or coffee. Ah, excellent. It is by far much better than the regular coffee and any tea one can get at home. Finally, we reached Bangalore.

(travel note: 26 hrs + 1hr wait + 5hr train = 32hrs of TOTAL travel!)

My cousin pulled up in a chauffered car (perks of her job) and there was much merriment. Runa's eyes widened considerably when she noticed that I didn't seem to have any luggage to speak of, and not without reason since she knew most of the things in my luggage were gifts for her! I told her of the current situation and we then hurried off to her apartment in Jayanagar. Finally, I bathed, brushed, and changed - into Runa's clothes, which wasn't so different from normal since I usually borrow her clothes when I'm visiting her anyway. We had a nice lunch my cousin had cooked up and man... I remembered in those mouthfuls just how good the food is in india. Ahh.

My dad and I had great plans to tour the city a bit, after a small nap, of course. Naturally, we both passed out well into the evening, so we only ended up taking a walk in the evening. Bangalore, I noted is much more relaxed than Delhi, you don't have to be on your guard nearly as often. They have a lot of greenery which I supposed is counterbalanced by the horrendous traffic jams and pollution and general city noise and grime.

The next day, my dad and I went in search of a bank that would cash his traveller's cheques and an ATM that would accept my bank card. After some frustration - Bangalore like any big indian city doesn't have things like street signs or clear indicators of where things are, you're just supposed to know, or at least ask someone who knows - we managed to get the cash necessary, but by that time it was mid-afternoon and we were tired again. Also, we had a bus to catch to Kollam, in Kerala.

Catching a bus in India is a whole experience in itself. First of all, Bangalore doesn't seem to have an actual bus stand. You go to the general area where buses are, and hope to find one that is going to the place you want. It helps if you and the person who knows actually speak a common language. :) If the bus is not found, you then sort of mill around where the ticket ofice is and manage to get the bus number of the vehicle from a ticket person. And you wait. So we waited.

Finally, our non-AC semi-sleeper bus to Kollam came. Again, somewhat uncomfortable seats. We hopped on the bus, said goodbye to my cousin and began our long 12 hour journey which actually took 15 hours. I slept some, ate and drank very little as there were no bathroom stops to be had on the way, excepting one near the start. I slept through the night, and watched dawn break again over India as I watched the shop and advertisement signs change from Kannada to Malayalam and the countryside become more lush with coconut trees. Ah, we had arrived in the state of Kerala and finally Kollam.

We took an autorickshaw to the Yatri Niwas (traveller's lodge) and managed to get the very last room available. Our extremely spartan 350 Rs a night (just under $10) room faces a gorgeous view of the Ashtamudi Lake. I was happy to take a shower, albeit a lukewarm one as the water heater wasn't quite working and we had lunch on the patio over looking the lake. Very spicy, very south indian and very delicious. Ah. We took a ferry across to the other side of the lake where I finally found this internet cafe.

Tonight, I am very happy to sleep in a bed again. Tomorrow, we set sail along the backwaters of Kerala all the way up to Allapuzha on one of the famous day-long backwater cruises. I am rather looking forward to that. Until the next blog entry!

bon voyage

2005-12-27T10:00:00.000+09:00

I leave today for India, going through Toronto, London, Dubai, landing in Chennai, and taking the train to Bangalore. Needless to say it will be a rather lengthy journey and I am naturally wearing my most comfy and yet stylish trackwear for the occasion. My bags are packed, I have both the book I have great intentions of reading on the plane as well as the book I know I will actually end up reading instead.

I'm off!