Today I sit on a train facing backwards.
Every once in awhile I must resist the urge
to turn my neck to discover what lies ahead.
The climbing rocks of the Western Ghats,
the fluorescent green leaves of rice patties,
the man riding his bike on a narrow dirt path
with no village in sight for kilometers,
the dancing field of sunflowers,
the lush coconut fields,
the rising tree with no green leaves
but gorgeous flowers like orchids
gracefully resting on each of its dainty branches,
the cow with its rope tied through its nose
exchanging glances with me,
the sporadic Hindu temple
claiming ownership of a rocky pyramid shaped hill.
All these things I see contentedly looking backwards
resting my eyes on what has already past.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
The people keep coming.
The second-class train car is full when Chandran, Prabath and I get on in Coimbatore. All seats are over occupied with sleeping babies strewn across laps, holy men sleeping in luggage racks and steel food containers rolling about on the floor. More people have followed us on, so standing room only has turned into merely space available. The train creeps from platform one and a few brave stragglers jump into the open doors, which are protruding with bodies. Chandran leaps into the luggage rack to create a seat and Prabath and I cling to the rail. The arms of the standing passengers cling tree-like to the rail of a forest that I look through. People stare curiously at me. In my narrow space I read in my newspaper about Cricket, Pakistan’s new coalition government and the Obama-Clinton race. I look up and yes, many are staring, some smile.
The first and only stop on this express train before we reach our destination is Tirrupur. A few people get off but dozens more get on. Silly me, I thought the train was full already. I decide to seek my fortune in sitting in the luggage rack with a small space created by Chandran. I take off my sandals, and pull myself and sit, yes, Indian style. This bird’s eye view sees that space available has turned into wherever a human body will fit. The holy man in the luggage rack behind me has awoken and is now chanting. He is wrapped in brilliant yellow and orange. His soft chants are the delicate chorus to the harmony of cell phone ringing, the ping twang of Indian music, crying babies and a hundred people speaking Tamil.
My western idea of personal space now fully challenged, I now hear the delicate cry of coffeeeey, coffeeeeeeey. This familiar cry peppers every train stop. The coffee man carries a bag of paper cups and a large, hot metal tub of coffee and plys his way forcefully through the crowd. Where there was no space, enough is found for the coffee to make it through. I sip coffee for 5 rupee (about 13 cents). Meeting the coffee man from the other end of the compartment is the sound of Modigaal, Modigaaaaal- roasted peanuts in small cones of newspaper selling for 2 rupee. The peanuts sell well to the thick crowd and the frail woman selling them has a large grin on her face. As I munch on peanuts the air is soon full of peanut shell chaff, floating about from the wind rushing in from the windows. The chaff swirls like snow through the forest of arms and lands gently on the sleeping babies’ faces. I look around and perhaps now the train is full, at least for a few minutes.
The first and only stop on this express train before we reach our destination is Tirrupur. A few people get off but dozens more get on. Silly me, I thought the train was full already. I decide to seek my fortune in sitting in the luggage rack with a small space created by Chandran. I take off my sandals, and pull myself and sit, yes, Indian style. This bird’s eye view sees that space available has turned into wherever a human body will fit. The holy man in the luggage rack behind me has awoken and is now chanting. He is wrapped in brilliant yellow and orange. His soft chants are the delicate chorus to the harmony of cell phone ringing, the ping twang of Indian music, crying babies and a hundred people speaking Tamil.
My western idea of personal space now fully challenged, I now hear the delicate cry of coffeeeey, coffeeeeeeey. This familiar cry peppers every train stop. The coffee man carries a bag of paper cups and a large, hot metal tub of coffee and plys his way forcefully through the crowd. Where there was no space, enough is found for the coffee to make it through. I sip coffee for 5 rupee (about 13 cents). Meeting the coffee man from the other end of the compartment is the sound of Modigaal, Modigaaaaal- roasted peanuts in small cones of newspaper selling for 2 rupee. The peanuts sell well to the thick crowd and the frail woman selling them has a large grin on her face. As I munch on peanuts the air is soon full of peanut shell chaff, floating about from the wind rushing in from the windows. The chaff swirls like snow through the forest of arms and lands gently on the sleeping babies’ faces. I look around and perhaps now the train is full, at least for a few minutes.
The Banyan Tree
The Banyan tree is by far the most fascinating tree we have seen in India. It is considered a holy tree and wherever a Banyan tree grows there is often a temple right next to it. Or the tree becomes the center of a village where people live amongst the branches. As the branches of the tree grows, it shoots down tendrils to the ground which then take root. This system of growth allows it to take on immense size and live to 500 years, as the tree below has lived to. The tree is mentioned a lot in Indian literature- Salman Rushdie, Arudhati Roy and R.K Narayan all use it as a metaphor of growth, human possibility and as a centering agent.
Andrea drinking tender cocunut juice- very good to prevent dehydration.
The Tomb of St. Thomas
The apostle Thomas was martyred in roughly 70 A.D. around the south Indian city of Chennai and his remains are supposed to now reside in Chennai. Though apparently they had been moved at least four times to different parts of the world. The most interesting thing about the tomb was that the electricity was off and it made for an evocative environment. I tend to think only of Thomas as a doubter, a skeptic and not as a strong believer who went to South India to spread the gospel. So a brief candle in a large room seemed quite apt.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Mahabilapuram- Temples of Living Rock
So I stole that term- temples of living rock from a magazine, but I it has struck me as a very apt description. We visited this place in half a day- two main sites and at the time it was very cool, but later, a week or so, it struck me how profound that place was. The fact that around 600 A.D. a group of individuals carved these temples out of giant granite boulders that were lying near the ocean, and that they are still intricately composed- that speaks volumes to me. The Pallavas people, connected to the early Dravidian culture of India carved these in honor to the Hindu gods Vishnu and Shiva.
Mita and Nittan, our host Mrs. Williams' grandchildren
striking a pose.
The shore temple. There are seven more of these submerged beneath the ocean. Apparently, when the tsunami struck here and then receeded, some of them were visible.
An interesting sequence in that all the animals have come to witness the Ganges river being poured down from heavan.
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