Today was the last day that M and I spend together for a while. Since Sai Baba was in Bangalore (instead of his compound in Puttapatti) we decided to get up early and check his shit out.
After two buses and a long walk we ended up at the gates of Brindivan, his Bangalore Ashram at 8:00AM. Sai Baba's cult is one of the richest religious movements in India today, so we were anxious to actually see him and witness his magnificence.
I really wanted to believe that he was the manifestation of all things good. I did, I swear. I was focused on not letting my predisposition to cynicism and hating shade the experience. M and I have met several guru-heads on our trip and found them all to be good people, if not a little odd.
I offered Sai Baba and his flock an entry into my heart, although I was certain that I'd find them all dupes. I was ready to see their points of view, and I'd forgive them of their blind faith and over-generous contributions if SB put on a good show.
I left with no pity. My heart was black. I hated everyone involved in the process of the Sai Baba sound and light show. Maybe before, I would have wanted the sai-heads to fly and be free of their awful oppressor. But after the morning "Darshan" - I wanted the ashram to burn.
The darshan, as M so eloquently descibed was nothing but a group sing-along and staring session at a crazy old guy, dressed in orange, sitting in a wheelchair and flying a powerful afro. He sat and stared and the entire group seemed to act as addicts at the crack house. People were on their knees, they were crying they were jumping up and down, climbing over each other just to get a glimpse of him staring.
Crazy indians, europeans, isrealis, and I'm sure more than a handful Marin county and other US freaks. They looked like they'd been kept in a closet for 20 years worshipping posters of SB. Before and after his viewing (completed in 20 minutes) they meditated on what his presence meant to the universal conscious.
I wanted to smack them and scream "Get a frickin' life you losers!" I suppose I've also got some issues (anger) to work out. But what a waste of good people's time and resources. I kept thinking about how many starving villagers the sale of SB's least favorite Mercedes feed.
I know that I'm being harsh, but I don't know what to say to these people. These believers, who spend lakhs and lakhs of rupees just jockeying to touch his hand or glimpse his teeth. I'd like to think that his obvious relying on assistive technology would be a boon for people with disabilities everywhere. However, looking back at the dead-pope's time on wheels... I doubt it.
I just have to wish SB and his flock of crazies eternal salvation, in hopes that I'll never have to deal with them in any of my future reincarnations. Amen. I'm going to miss M.
5/30/05
5/26/05
Mall Mayhem
I have a warning for all of you planning on attending a movie in India:
Be very aware of the balcony.
Last night we saw a Tamil Movie called "Mumbai Express." The movie has an English title, features dialog in Tamil and was shot in Mumbai (where they speak predominantly Marathi)... Only in Bollywood.
As far as we could tell, the movie was a comedy about a kidnapping and featured a stunt motorcycle driver who has a hearing disability of unknown origin. Apparently, the misunderstandings that result from his difficulty in hearing lead to much comedic mayhem. He uses a hearing aid that is a headphone earbud attached to a small amplifier unit (We've seen adults and kids all over India and Bangladesh using them). He spends most of the movie saying "Ki?" or "What?" and holding the amplifier up to his cell phone. There were some great sight gags, but no dancing - M was very dissapointed.
We walked into the theater an hour after it started (Now wait a minute! 1. The movie is in Tamil and we don't enough speak Tamil to really get the dialog 2. The movies here are never less than 3 hours long, so missing the first hour is similar to missing the first 10 minutes of a Western movie... No, not that type of western). We sat down and began to work out the details of the plot. After 10 minutes into our sitting, I hear a hawking loogie-esque noise from behind me.
Ever get sick of our repetitive bitching, moaning and smug-ass traveler inside jokes? Here are two additional travel-blogging India voices for you to enjoy:
PlannetMars.blogspot.com
Our friend Marcella from Spain. She's a self-proclaimed "Meher Baba lover", but don't hold that against her. We hung out with her in Kochi, she's really a sweet person and takes great pictures. I took the picture of her and the elephant that looks like it is actually going to rip her head off. He's actually a boy... But be careful with your n's and try not to visit planetmars dot blogspot dot com. Please avoid it.
Chart and Waters
Yes, dear friends, it is the long lost Gabriella Marcus. And she's ripping shit up in the subcontinent. Gabi is the bestest writer I know besides me, but she is slightly crazy. We love her anyways and so will you. M and I are threatening to take over her blog's comments section... but she hasn't written us back yet. I can't imagine why.
Don't forget the old favorites:
Monica in the WorldOur friend Monica is "In the world," so looky out all you metal poles. We miss you Mon! Good luck rocking things in Thailand and Laos and China.
Debra in India
Debra (like Zebra with a D) is a film-maker in Bangalore. She and her French mad-scientist husband Giles like it there. They infrequently post about frequenting pizza hut and fixinating macintosh computers.
Yes, somebody spit on my arm during the movie. I am not easily enraged, but this time I turned around in a fury and pointed to a drunk looking guy a few rows behind us. I pointed to my arm and at him. I shook my head, wiped the spit from my arm and attempted to throw it in his general direction.
During the intermission I stared at him and gave him a "mean mug." Then hit him with the patented "gas face." I was on fire. I had to cool down with a bag of Mysore Masala popcorn and a cold drink to suppress urges of returning the favor.
As we walked back in to the theater I looked up a the balcony. Below the balcony, the 4 to 5 rows of seats were empty. As the second half of the movie began, I grabbed M's hand and lead her to the occupied front of the hall. I heard spitting noises and waited for the landing of someone's spit on my head, but I was right. I followed local customs and sat out of spitting distance from the assholes in the balcony.
This tale is just another caste system refuge case. Balcony tickets are RS 35 and floor seats are RS 25. The brahmin in the balcony think that they can just spit on the dalits on the floor. I wish I could have apologized to the drunk guy. He looked like he needed a hug.
Be very aware of the balcony.
Last night we saw a Tamil Movie called "Mumbai Express." The movie has an English title, features dialog in Tamil and was shot in Mumbai (where they speak predominantly Marathi)... Only in Bollywood.
As far as we could tell, the movie was a comedy about a kidnapping and featured a stunt motorcycle driver who has a hearing disability of unknown origin. Apparently, the misunderstandings that result from his difficulty in hearing lead to much comedic mayhem. He uses a hearing aid that is a headphone earbud attached to a small amplifier unit (We've seen adults and kids all over India and Bangladesh using them). He spends most of the movie saying "Ki?" or "What?" and holding the amplifier up to his cell phone. There were some great sight gags, but no dancing - M was very dissapointed.
We walked into the theater an hour after it started (Now wait a minute! 1. The movie is in Tamil and we don't enough speak Tamil to really get the dialog 2. The movies here are never less than 3 hours long, so missing the first hour is similar to missing the first 10 minutes of a Western movie... No, not that type of western). We sat down and began to work out the details of the plot. After 10 minutes into our sitting, I hear a hawking loogie-esque noise from behind me.
Ever get sick of our repetitive bitching, moaning and smug-ass traveler inside jokes? Here are two additional travel-blogging India voices for you to enjoy:
PlannetMars.blogspot.com
Our friend Marcella from Spain. She's a self-proclaimed "Meher Baba lover", but don't hold that against her. We hung out with her in Kochi, she's really a sweet person and takes great pictures. I took the picture of her and the elephant that looks like it is actually going to rip her head off. He's actually a boy... But be careful with your n's and try not to visit planetmars dot blogspot dot com. Please avoid it.
Chart and Waters
Yes, dear friends, it is the long lost Gabriella Marcus. And she's ripping shit up in the subcontinent. Gabi is the bestest writer I know besides me, but she is slightly crazy. We love her anyways and so will you. M and I are threatening to take over her blog's comments section... but she hasn't written us back yet. I can't imagine why.
Don't forget the old favorites:
Monica in the WorldOur friend Monica is "In the world," so looky out all you metal poles. We miss you Mon! Good luck rocking things in Thailand and Laos and China.
Debra in India
Debra (like Zebra with a D) is a film-maker in Bangalore. She and her French mad-scientist husband Giles like it there. They infrequently post about frequenting pizza hut and fixinating macintosh computers.
Yes, somebody spit on my arm during the movie. I am not easily enraged, but this time I turned around in a fury and pointed to a drunk looking guy a few rows behind us. I pointed to my arm and at him. I shook my head, wiped the spit from my arm and attempted to throw it in his general direction.
During the intermission I stared at him and gave him a "mean mug." Then hit him with the patented "gas face." I was on fire. I had to cool down with a bag of Mysore Masala popcorn and a cold drink to suppress urges of returning the favor.
As we walked back in to the theater I looked up a the balcony. Below the balcony, the 4 to 5 rows of seats were empty. As the second half of the movie began, I grabbed M's hand and lead her to the occupied front of the hall. I heard spitting noises and waited for the landing of someone's spit on my head, but I was right. I followed local customs and sat out of spitting distance from the assholes in the balcony.
This tale is just another caste system refuge case. Balcony tickets are RS 35 and floor seats are RS 25. The brahmin in the balcony think that they can just spit on the dalits on the floor. I wish I could have apologized to the drunk guy. He looked like he needed a hug.
We get Letters
From my mother:
good to hear from you. Please be careful. stay away from movie theatres in someplace. I read they were being bombed. also i think it adds nothing to solving any handicap/gov't issues to make fun of a sick old man. Is it going to make the person who had to drag himself/herself up the court house steps feel any better?
I thought India was all about mediation and positive feelings.
5/24/05
An Injury to One
It is unfortunate that US Supreme Court Chief Justice William H. Rehnquist has a accessible path to his office in the supreme court. It would have been nice to see him crawl up the steps. It is fitting to see him roll up to work in a wheelchair as it was a little less than a year ago that he dissented on the Tennessee v. Lane decision ("... which involved a criminal defendant who used a wheelchair and was forced to crawl up steps or be carried to get to his trial in a State proceeding, and other issues around access to State courthouses" - From AAPD and Station504).
His championing of states rights over individual civil rights and his striking down key provisions of the ADA in 2000 have won him few fans on this blog.
Quoth the Nation:
Yes, we will dearly miss him, not because of the real estate boom in DC secondary to a John-Paulesque deathwatch, but because any replacement sent up by the current administration will certainly be worse.
His championing of states rights over individual civil rights and his striking down key provisions of the ADA in 2000 have won him few fans on this blog.
Quoth the Nation:
Rehnquist said that the law in question was ill-conceived because he didn't agree with Congress's evaluation of evidence on the subject, saying it was based on "unexamined, anecdotal accounts" that did not qualify as "legislative findings.
Yes, we will dearly miss him, not because of the real estate boom in DC secondary to a John-Paulesque deathwatch, but because any replacement sent up by the current administration will certainly be worse.
5/22/05
Nose Punches 75 Rupees
I've been carrying a black notebook full of graph paper for the bulk of our journey. It is now getting towards the last of its pages, so I'm trying to write small and conserve space. It is a bible of mobile numbers, email and street addresses, sketches and notes that essential to helping me remember this trip. Conversations, phrases, phonetic guidelines, directions and unfinished blog entries drip out the spiral binding.
Sure most of the information makes sense only to me. The chickenscratch writing and scattered diagrams don't translate well to the outside reader. This is most unfortunate, for you dear reader as I'm sure you value my meanderings quite highly.
The above picture is followed by:
Incense... oil smoke... lemon... jasmine... dirt...
Sunlight in shafts filter the smoke, creating the illusion of a protective cage around temple carvings - lions, elephant, gods, etc. The stump (although not necessarily a stump - an old branch or black knotty piece of timber?) is caged this time by more solid metal bars and adorned with signs forbidding something.
On the floor, huddled groups of women are praying to ________(Diety Sri Sidhar?). Pentagrams (see diagram) and "Tamil Universe" diagrams in chalk clutter the granite floor. They use prayer tiny prayer pamphlets. Grand-daughters, daughters, mothers, nervous waiting boys talking, reticent fathers (OK - I'm officially projecting now), surround the diagrams and dig through plastic tote-bags of puja supplies. They are not messing around.
A sign says:
The description was followed by a list of Tamil vowels and a phone number. Like the phone number's origin, I do not know any of the 41 Tamil consonants.
When I'm not arguing with M or applying sunscreen or bug spray, I contemplate the future of blogging and note-taking. In several years we'll just carry computer-book sketch pads with wireless connections. We could do so now, but I'd hate to throw my $2000 laptop on top of the bus, or use it to cushion my tired ass while lounging on the train platform. I think that these devices need to become more durable and cheaper for us to really use them.
Of course, I see people toting laptops, scanners, digital cameras and cell modems all over the subcontinent - but not me. I can hardly be trusted to carry sunglasses or a watch without breaking or misplacing.
The forgetful and clumsy (along with the poor) need better technology options! I should know. We'll have to make due with the book until we find better options. With the non-linear, non-specific functions that the book offers in such durable casing... we will be waiting for a while.
M and I passed a jewelry shop in the Fort Cochin area that offered "Nose and Ear Punches." In an instant, I was bargaining with the owner over the cost of the punches. I tried to buy one for M, as she was due for a good nose punch. When the sneaky owner changed his song to "piercings, not punches" we kept walking towards the dusty antique stands, spice warehouses and synagoge of Jew Town. As we walked away, M punched me in the shoulder.
Sure most of the information makes sense only to me. The chickenscratch writing and scattered diagrams don't translate well to the outside reader. This is most unfortunate, for you dear reader as I'm sure you value my meanderings quite highly.
The above picture is followed by:
Incense... oil smoke... lemon... jasmine... dirt...
Sunlight in shafts filter the smoke, creating the illusion of a protective cage around temple carvings - lions, elephant, gods, etc. The stump (although not necessarily a stump - an old branch or black knotty piece of timber?) is caged this time by more solid metal bars and adorned with signs forbidding something.
On the floor, huddled groups of women are praying to ________(Diety Sri Sidhar?). Pentagrams (see diagram) and "Tamil Universe" diagrams in chalk clutter the granite floor. They use prayer tiny prayer pamphlets. Grand-daughters, daughters, mothers, nervous waiting boys talking, reticent fathers (OK - I'm officially projecting now), surround the diagrams and dig through plastic tote-bags of puja supplies. They are not messing around.
A sign says:
Beyond this limit
1. No cameras allowed
2. Lungies not allowed
3. Non-Hindus not allowed (in RED)
Order of Deputy Commissioner / Executive Officer
The description was followed by a list of Tamil vowels and a phone number. Like the phone number's origin, I do not know any of the 41 Tamil consonants.
When I'm not arguing with M or applying sunscreen or bug spray, I contemplate the future of blogging and note-taking. In several years we'll just carry computer-book sketch pads with wireless connections. We could do so now, but I'd hate to throw my $2000 laptop on top of the bus, or use it to cushion my tired ass while lounging on the train platform. I think that these devices need to become more durable and cheaper for us to really use them.
Of course, I see people toting laptops, scanners, digital cameras and cell modems all over the subcontinent - but not me. I can hardly be trusted to carry sunglasses or a watch without breaking or misplacing.
The forgetful and clumsy (along with the poor) need better technology options! I should know. We'll have to make due with the book until we find better options. With the non-linear, non-specific functions that the book offers in such durable casing... we will be waiting for a while.
M and I passed a jewelry shop in the Fort Cochin area that offered "Nose and Ear Punches." In an instant, I was bargaining with the owner over the cost of the punches. I tried to buy one for M, as she was due for a good nose punch. When the sneaky owner changed his song to "piercings, not punches" we kept walking towards the dusty antique stands, spice warehouses and synagoge of Jew Town. As we walked away, M punched me in the shoulder.
5/17/05
Backwater Plug Tuning
Our houseboat journey was the bomb. We lucked out on the boat and crew that we were directed to from the tout at the Allepy bus stand.
The good book says that for close to RS 3000 per day you should be able to get a houseboat for 24 hours (including 3 meals and overnight accommodation). Through our friendly tout and houseboat pimp we arranged a fare of RS 2500. We were happy until we learned that the pimp takes RS 250 from the boat crew.
Keep that in mind fellow travelers! Do not follow the touts. Do not wander into travel agency offices. Just wander down the street, cross over the footbridge and start bargaining directly with the houseboat owners and operators.
It was quite possibly the best two days that we've spent in Kerala. I felt really guilty about the quality and quantity of food that we enjoyed. There is really nothing to do on the boat except eat, drink and stare at kilometers and kilometers of beautiful lakes, canals and tributaries lines with coconut trees, rice paddies and villages.
The boat that we had moved at a leisurely pace... if you didn't hear the put-put of the outboard yamaha, you would think that you were drifting. It had a big veranda above the driver's seat and an open-air lounge area. Sorry! There's no shuffle board or skeet shooting.
It was like being pushed through a neighborhood in a stretch limosine, except that the limo has no doors, sides or top. I occasionally can enjoy a pimped out ride, but I don't to flaunt the luxury. Unfortunately on the houseboat, you live large on the backwater and rub it in folk's faces. There is no low-key cruising, as the canals are too tight and the houses and villages are 20 feet away. Eventually numbed by the comforts and bored by the beautiful scenery, I burrowed into my book and hardly looked up - Despite M's attempts to engage me.
So if you are thinking of checking out Kerala's backwaters, please look these guys up when you get to Allepy:
The good book says that for close to RS 3000 per day you should be able to get a houseboat for 24 hours (including 3 meals and overnight accommodation). Through our friendly tout and houseboat pimp we arranged a fare of RS 2500. We were happy until we learned that the pimp takes RS 250 from the boat crew.
Keep that in mind fellow travelers! Do not follow the touts. Do not wander into travel agency offices. Just wander down the street, cross over the footbridge and start bargaining directly with the houseboat owners and operators.
It was quite possibly the best two days that we've spent in Kerala. I felt really guilty about the quality and quantity of food that we enjoyed. There is really nothing to do on the boat except eat, drink and stare at kilometers and kilometers of beautiful lakes, canals and tributaries lines with coconut trees, rice paddies and villages.
The boat that we had moved at a leisurely pace... if you didn't hear the put-put of the outboard yamaha, you would think that you were drifting. It had a big veranda above the driver's seat and an open-air lounge area. Sorry! There's no shuffle board or skeet shooting.
It was like being pushed through a neighborhood in a stretch limosine, except that the limo has no doors, sides or top. I occasionally can enjoy a pimped out ride, but I don't to flaunt the luxury. Unfortunately on the houseboat, you live large on the backwater and rub it in folk's faces. There is no low-key cruising, as the canals are too tight and the houses and villages are 20 feet away. Eventually numbed by the comforts and bored by the beautiful scenery, I burrowed into my book and hardly looked up - Despite M's attempts to engage me.
So if you are thinking of checking out Kerala's backwaters, please look these guys up when you get to Allepy:
Harilal, Sunillal and Ani
Ph: 0477-2724849
Mob: 9447174849
Boat: Bhagya Leksmi / Sriaukuttan
Daily Rates: RS 5000 (in season) to RS 2250 (off season)
Hari and Sunil are brothers and have named the boat after their children. Next time, Sunil will charge us extra for Keralan cooking classes.
5/16/05
The White Sadhu was Deeply Confused
On the train from Madurai to Trivendrum, I met Prasanth and Das, two wonderful individuals from Kerala. They were in their mid-twenties and were returning from a short holiday to the Sri Meenakshi-Sundareshwarar Temple. They loved the temple but found Madurai a little too dirty and congested.
They asked many questions about Michele and I and the US. It turns out that they were studying furiously to pass the IATA examinations. An excellent score on the IATA (Indian Airlines Ticket Agent) will make it easier for one to find a job as a ticket agent. India has a uber-competitive examination system for almost all trade positions. I wouldn't doubt that Indian airline ticketers are the most competant and highest qualified in the world.
P and D and I stayed up all night talking about culture and politics. The rest of our fellow travelers must have certainly enjoyed our roaring and snorting and shouting. It was one of my fonder memories from the trip - a good honest dialogue, no drugs, no alcohol. Afterwards, they wrote:
As you can see they were very sweet and hospitable. I on the other hand was not.
I was supposed to call them, but I couldn't. I wished and washed and gave them a weak email filled with weak excuses about how I was too sunburned and too tired to meet up. My sunburned body is somewhat better now. I'm leaving a trail of dead skin for us to follow on the way back down the mountain from Kumily.
As an apology to my boys P and D, I've included this classic "Action Caption Game" from the Annabelle, Michele and Jamie archives. I hope that they appreciate it:
They asked many questions about Michele and I and the US. It turns out that they were studying furiously to pass the IATA examinations. An excellent score on the IATA (Indian Airlines Ticket Agent) will make it easier for one to find a job as a ticket agent. India has a uber-competitive examination system for almost all trade positions. I wouldn't doubt that Indian airline ticketers are the most competant and highest qualified in the world.
P and D and I stayed up all night talking about culture and politics. The rest of our fellow travelers must have certainly enjoyed our roaring and snorting and shouting. It was one of my fonder memories from the trip - a good honest dialogue, no drugs, no alcohol. Afterwards, they wrote:
hai,
do u remember me?how r u ? hope u fine.i think now u r in kovalam and really enjoying your trip.i like u so much bcoz u r the only one american love indians .so i am very glad 2 invite u 2 my home.will u accept my invitation?please let me know when u r coming.i will be waiting 4 u.
Reply me at the earliest
with love & prayers
Aneeshdas
Hai,
Do u remember me ? How r u ? Hope u fine.I think now u r in Kovalam & really
enjoying there. I know u r very busy with ur journey.
U told me u r planning 2 go 2 kollam 4 boating.That time i forgot to told u
about the boating facility available near 2 my home. You can go 4 boating frm near 2 my home . I think this place is more beautiful than Kollam.
If u come 2 my home i will show u some good places near 2 my home.
I like u so much.u are a good person with high thinking. so i am very glad 2 invite u 2 my home and spend a few hours with me and my friends. Will u accept my invitation? Please let me know when u r coming.After reaching VARKALA inform me.Then we can reach there and meet u. call me after 10 PM then i will be at home.
Waiting 4 your earliest reply.
With love and prayers
Prasanth.
As you can see they were very sweet and hospitable. I on the other hand was not.
I was supposed to call them, but I couldn't. I wished and washed and gave them a weak email filled with weak excuses about how I was too sunburned and too tired to meet up. My sunburned body is somewhat better now. I'm leaving a trail of dead skin for us to follow on the way back down the mountain from Kumily.
As an apology to my boys P and D, I've included this classic "Action Caption Game" from the Annabelle, Michele and Jamie archives. I hope that they appreciate it:
5/12/05
Post sunburn afterglow
We slipped and hit the beach at Varkalla at the wrong time. Now Michele and I are basking in that fuzzy warm, post sunburn glow. God how I yearn for the good old days where we were whining about baby powder and diaper rash. We are now approaching Kerala's backwaters in Kollam (Quilom).
According to a friendly local "economist" who was working as a carpenter, the town planners and developers have killed the golden goose of Varkalla in the past 5 years. The place is paradise with a clifftop view, but with an absurd shambling of restaurants and guesthouses that bump house and techno all night long during the main season. Besides the sunburn and increased temperatures, we are glad that there are not too many annoying Euro-disco package tourites.
More later...
According to a friendly local "economist" who was working as a carpenter, the town planners and developers have killed the golden goose of Varkalla in the past 5 years. The place is paradise with a clifftop view, but with an absurd shambling of restaurants and guesthouses that bump house and techno all night long during the main season. Besides the sunburn and increased temperatures, we are glad that there are not too many annoying Euro-disco package tourites.
More later...
5/4/05
Bye Monica!
As you've noticed, we've been lucky enough to be joined by Monica G. for the last two weeks on our travels. She has taken ill of our inane banter and stupid games and has thus decided to hit the high-road. As such, she will be visiting Kodaikanal, a hill station set up by friendly 'muricans in 1840. We miss her already and wish her well.
You can follow her travels via her blog - monicaintheworld.blogspot.com.
Note: We were joined by M's friend Annabelle in our early weeks of traveling. Even though AB is too cool to have a blog, we miss her and hope that she has good luck on job interviews. AB recently wrote M to request that she put a link to FabIndia on our fair blog (This is a complete lie). Thanks for the reminder AB - Consider it done.
Today we dug Chola Bronzes at the Thanjavur Art Gallery. I don't know how many we saw - My head was spinning after the first hundred. They were all intricate bronze sculptures, ranging in size from two inches to 4 feet. These sculptures were designed to be portable worshipping tools, for hindoos on the go. Since the temples were too heavy, Brahmins would shuttle the sculptures through town and perform drive-by worshipping services. It seems very convenient. I'm continually impressed by our host country's efforts to improve efficiency.
Most CBs featured my boy Shiva, the Nataraja dancing machine, high stepping on a crying child (or evil monster) and surrounded by a ring of fire. Shiva's hair is flying like medusa-snake dreads. We also saw lots of tasy bits of shivas chief consort Parvothi. She's a hot little number! When I suggested to M that her backside resembled that of Shiva's other consort Uma, she smacked me and wished aloud that I had gone to Kodaikanal instead of Monica. You can see why I like traveling with M.
You can follow her travels via her blog - monicaintheworld.blogspot.com.
Note: We were joined by M's friend Annabelle in our early weeks of traveling. Even though AB is too cool to have a blog, we miss her and hope that she has good luck on job interviews. AB recently wrote M to request that she put a link to FabIndia on our fair blog (This is a complete lie). Thanks for the reminder AB - Consider it done.
Today we dug Chola Bronzes at the Thanjavur Art Gallery. I don't know how many we saw - My head was spinning after the first hundred. They were all intricate bronze sculptures, ranging in size from two inches to 4 feet. These sculptures were designed to be portable worshipping tools, for hindoos on the go. Since the temples were too heavy, Brahmins would shuttle the sculptures through town and perform drive-by worshipping services. It seems very convenient. I'm continually impressed by our host country's efforts to improve efficiency.
Most CBs featured my boy Shiva, the Nataraja dancing machine, high stepping on a crying child (or evil monster) and surrounded by a ring of fire. Shiva's hair is flying like medusa-snake dreads. We also saw lots of tasy bits of shivas chief consort Parvothi. She's a hot little number! When I suggested to M that her backside resembled that of Shiva's other consort Uma, she smacked me and wished aloud that I had gone to Kodaikanal instead of Monica. You can see why I like traveling with M.
5/3/05
Ceiling Fan Pooja
One of the many constants throughout our trip has been the never ending hum of the ceiling fan. We must be followed by flocks of them. In every restaurant, temple, hotel room we go - there they are hovering in the center of the room and pushing air down on the people below.
AC is nice, but it most cases not really sanitary. The cooled air sits, then recycles itself through stagnant filters. Does anyone actually clean AC filters? I think in certain parts of the world AC gnomes travel from high-class joint to high-class joint wiping clean the filters of dirty AC machines. In India this in just not so. Along with being five times the normal ticket price, AC train compartments in India also have the added benefit of sharing your bacteria and viruses with the other passengers. Dust, bacteria, viruses, mold, fungus, mildew and gases all stew around with you and your compartment dwellers. But please don't believe me, ask your local HVAC expert.
The ceiling fan repairmen should have their own caste - Just below the Brahmin and above the businessman. Continually in motion they are the engine that runs things in the indian subcontinent... particularly between the months of March and July. I suggest some form of flywheel mechanism to use the kinetic energy of the gajillions of spinning blades. Arundati Roy would be so happy, just think about what that would do to the India and the World Bank's dreadful Hydroelectric Scheming!
I will not faint when I see the first temple constructed to the ceiling fan. I will lean forward and embrace the air as it evaporates the sweat on my pointy head. I will close my eyes and feel the air lift the remains of 2:30's bottle of mineral water from my elbows (It is 2:35 as I write). I will be at peace with the creator.
When we return to SF, the first thing we do is equip our ceiling fan-less apartment with several. Luckily, in my past life I was a CF repairwallah, so I can fix a wobble in a jiffy.
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