Men in Black, Ladies in Red, Umbrellas in Yellow

My last post from India encompassing some final observations of South Indian Pilgrims as my own passage nears moves eastwards.

We left lovely Varkala then returned, yo yo style like in Goa bouncing back to the beach life baby. Last days on the Arabian Sea with coastal walks watching the fishermen bring in the morning catch and afternoon beach lounging – amused by the lifeguards huddled together, 5 under an umbrella erratically blowing whistles. Cheap ajurvedic massages and dodgy pedicures and nail treatment for the girls.  

We take a final trip to town to get my moustache pruned by the experienced old barber and we find bus loads of pilgrims in yellow milling about. Curious, we follow the singing line of yellow umbrellas towards the ashram..and another festival....established by the social reformer Narayana Guru...rows of pilgrims listen to speakers talk of equality and breaking down the caste system.

A trip to the elephant festival to watch the parade of glorious elephants, floats with kitsch Hindu gods and theyyem dancers weave through the villages. The villagers wait eagerly outside their houses with tables of incense and offerings of bananas which they feed to the passing holy elephants for good luck. Village boys appear at our sides to accompany us, part of the spectacle.

Leaving Varkala Beach behind, we journey south accompanied by hordes of boisterous men in black, Ayappa devotees, feels like an illicit lad's weekend away, carrying packages of blankets and belongings lop sided upon their heads, en route to the Sri Ayappa Temple in the Western Ghats. Apparently the largest pilgrimage in the world with 40-50 million flocking there each year (last year 300 or so devotees were killed in a stampede) – compared in my guide to English football fans.

Into Tamil Nadu and we land at the end of India, the subcontinent's cape and the busy seaside getaway of Kanyakumari, an Indian Blackpool with candyfloss, ice cream and tat. Village women, perhaps seeing the sea for the first time, jump into the waves, waist deep shrieking delightedly. Kanyakumari marks the famous meeting place of three great seas: Arabian Sea, Bay of Bengal and the Indian Ocean - perplexing as the sea and the bay are surely part of the wider ocean, but I am being pedantic. Unsurprisingly this is also an auspicious place of Hindu significance with the engraved footprint of a goddess visible on the rocks (under a glass case, housed within a temple).

The main activity for the thousands of Indian tourists is to queue for 2 hours for a ferry to go 150 metres to the rocks marking the southerly point. One rock has a temple,the other a towering statue of the Tamil saint Thiruvalluvar. At boarding time the orderly queue turns into a chaotic charging at the boat. I see this mental free for all behaviour repeated in Tamil Nadu when I'm trying to get off the bus faced with a rabble (the old women seem to be the worst) clambering onto the bus. Stuck on the bus steps and unable to bear this behaviour I cry out in horror and with the throng momentarily stunned by this screeching strange white man I make my descent. 

For our final 15 hour train ride to take us to the heart of Tamil Nadu we booked to travel comfortably in AC 2 Tier, the highest class of carriage available. Boarding the train at 2 am the train conductor accosts us and correctly observes that our ticket was for the day before and explains that the date changes at midnight (noted). In the face of our bewilderment he enquires “And what do you now propose to do about this?” (Troubleshoot!) The AC class all booked up, in my dreamy valium induced state (I'd intended to pass out) I venture through the jungle classes (a term coined by Indians for second class) to Sleeper class (mid way) to explain our erroneous train escapade to the next officious conductor. Waving my ticket in the air: “this is a worthless piece of paper. You must pay a penalty.” (thanks for the understanding). I press him and he sells me new tickets on Sleeper, not without first fining me £6 for my foolish behaviour.

I awake to the sound of singing and giggling ladies in red, another group of noisy pilgrims, a jolly village get away which has the added bonus of bestowing religious merit. IBalaji, the grandson of a pilgrim, appears expectantly beside me and I enquire about the pilgrimage, tales of far off important Hindu sites and temples, the more I learn the more confused I get.

We reach the flat plains of Tamil Nadu, our final destination. We've travelled thousands of kilometres across the Indian subcontinent from the mighty Himalaya down to the Gangetic plateau, across the deserts of Rajasthan, through the dry state of Gujarat to the sea, transition zone of Maharashtra, drunken Goa, lush, tropical Karnataka and Karnataka to exotic Tamil Nadu. The stone bungalows of Kerala and rich towns give way to mud huts with palm thatch and dusty poor towns like in the Northern states. The ancient Dravidian races of Tamil Nadu, chiselled shades of black, even some curly hair, proud of their Tamil culture and its far distinction from the Hindi heartlands of the North. My Hindi is now forgotten and I attempt a few Tamil words with the help of Balaji my chosen teacher.

The mystical charm of the ancient Chola temples of Tamil Nadu is enforced by their continuing usage by thousands of Hindus today. Compelled to visit at least one, to checklist, from the many famous temple towns we choose Chindambaram and finding the temple alive with activity our temple interest is awoken again. On Monday morning the holy site where Lord Shiva was enthroned as Lord of the Cosmic Dance is littered with the debris of a weekend festival. Four huge colourful gopuras surround the temple site which is administered by Brahmins of the Dikshitar Caste. These friendly, chubby brown skinned guardians with interesting hair arrangements (shaved fronts and buffon knotted buns) perform the daily ritual ceremonies in the inner sanctum where there is a great energy...incense and fire are wafted in front of Lord Shiva as pilgrims crowd eagerly in front of the shrine. 

We bus across the plains towards the Bay of Bengal and Puducherry (Pondy) observing the devastation reeked by last week's CycloneThane. Precarious thatched huts crushed and forests of palms lying on the ground, pushed over like matchsticks. Pondy is sombre in its recovery from the frightening attack from the heavens, seafront buildings boarded up and avenues lined with timber debris. The curious French colonial town of Pondy with its melange of French and Indian, its Hotel de Ville, Indian men playing boules, policemen with French hats teaching the youth to march and the continued presence of French institutes and cuisine.

Fatigued after the travelling and after a blazing domestic row in a tuk tuk, we treat ourselves to a nice hotel....overjoyed to have a modern room with flatscreen TV, cable, internet, air con, a fridge, room service and complimentary toiletries (amazing what £15 per night as opposed to £5 awards). A haven/ office to take stock, eat croissants and forward plan.

A penultimate stopover at Mamallapuram with its wonderful rock carvings, streets echoing with the chipping away at stone and its ancient craftsmanship. We have a final thali in the village dining hall, luncheon restaurants which feed a cheap, all you can eat with your hands thali to fill up the people for the day. The Tamil thali is served on a palm leave, which we first need to rinse and then later efficiently folds over to tidy away the thali debris. 

And Chennai, our final destination, India's fourth largest city, which boasts the world's longest city beach - a huge dustbin. Happy to be moving on but a little sad, 75 days' phlittering has been a great amount of time to get a good flavour of India and time to adapt and appreciate the people and culture but I realise I have become quite attached to the Indian way. I have conquered the Indian way to my current satisfaction and now time for eastern climes. My nervous apprehension on entering the country back in November was rewarded with hectic North Indian towns, filth and hassle, it took weeks to relax into it, adapt and feel some control and then enjoy the rhythm of dealing with people. All the time my fascination of such a rich diverse country sustained and grown; having only peeled a few layers I am coming back one day to continue, meet more people, learn more lingo, learn more Hindu philosophy, appreciate the country further and travel the distant northern state of Kashmir (and of course Punjab)...this can wait a while. As we have heard Indians say, “something is better than nothing.”