India Diary, con't.

[Guest guest]

Tues. Jan. 14, 1997

 

M., who moved into our room while I was in Calicut,

got up and helped me with my luggage, as did dear T.

The tide was apparently high because the last 20

feet or so of the dirt lane to the jetty was under

water. M, bless her heart (!) came back because she

didn't want to get all wet, wished me a safe trip

and we hugged. One of the really good parts of the

trip has been getting to know M! T (bless her heart!)

told me she was paying the 50 paise for my boat trip

and going across with me and coming back alone. (It's

pitch black, I might add.) By the time I got to

the jetty, she had waded out in water up to her

calves, and helped (along with the two brahmacharins

who were there on time as promised) put my luggage

in the boat. Then she helps me into the boat for

the last time and we begin crossing the stream in

almost total darkness. Suddenly the man in front

of me in the boat requests my "torch" (flashlight).

I ask why and he says there's a boat coming. He

signals to the boat and finally I see it, a motorized

craft (like a barge) three times larger than our boat.

We cross in front of it and arrive at the village.

 

As I start to get out of the boat, my grief about

leaving comes up again and with T holding me, I wail,

"I don't want to go! I don't want to go!" T tells

me to be sure and let my grief out, then gets out

and heads for the return boat, only to find out that's

not the return boat. The brahmacharins load the

station wagon, manage to turn it around in the narrow

street, T comes back to wave one more time, and then

we are gliding rapidly through the dark streets,

iinterestingly enough, using the dimming and

brightening of the headlights instead of the horn at

this early time in the morning. The brahmacharins

talk between themselves in Malayalam at first, then we

are all silent.

 

Far sooner than I expect, we pass the road

construction area where I had hoped to give a new

pair of sturdy plastic sandals to the guy in thongs.

No one is about at this early hour. Later we stop

for gas and I ask the young brahmachai on the left

(M) if he will give the shoes, as well as the pair

of thongs I brought, to someone poor who has no

shoes. He nods solemnly.

 

A while later, the "boys" as I begin to call them,

M and G, ask me if I would like to stop for chai

and I say "Yes!" I figure I'll buy theirs because I

have been told they are given absolutely no money.

But I don't say that because I'm not sure if I

should just shout it out or wait until we stop.

So we drive for another 45 minutes,

chatting, talking of Amma and having fun.

I've decided they WERE waiting for me to offer (so

I'm not a morning person!) so I said, "I was going

to buy you boys some tea!" So--wonderful India--

we pull up in the street literally at the counter

of a tea stall and get to watch the operator pouring

(mixing?) hot chai from one glass to another in

long, steaming hot streams. It's an art form! I

hand G a ten rupee note and he gets us all chai and

me a cookie-type thing that is not sweet. I urge

them to have one too (not being sure how far a ten

rupee note goes) and they do, then also get me a

sweet muffin and another cookie-type thing that looks

fairly Scandinavian, intricately cut out and

apparently deep fried. It's all very tasty.

 

As soon as chai is finished we are merrily on our

way, tongues further loosened by the good "breakfast."

At one point they show me a huge elephant chained

beside the road, for tourists I guess. I exclaim,

"Oh, I like elephants!" and they nod at each other,

smile and say, "You were probably in India before."

They are both hoping to come on the U.S. tour

sometime, and I hope they do! At one point, G pulled

over (to the left side, of course!) and started to

get out, saying, "I go do number one!" I just

cracked up because I was so surprised to hear him

say that. We all laughed heartily together, but

while he was out of the car I did say to M, "You

know, with ladies it's probably better to say

'Please excuse me'." M (the more quiet of the two)

nodded with downcast eyes. I just thought that if

these boys were going around the world with Amma,

the more formal approach might serve them better,

especially with the fairer sex. (I'm sure some

guy or guys TOLD them it was okay to say that!)

My comment wasn't meant as censure and I hope it

wasn't taken that way. Actually, I thought it was

pretty funny!

 

Much, much too soon we are skimming through the

coastal villages I remember from our taxi ride the

first night. The fishermen make a picturesque sight

pulling on the nets with their symmetrical rows of

very black legs moving against the background of

white sand and turquoise sea. This is a scene

unchanged for centuries, and I am once again

frustrated that I have some exposed film hopelessly

jammed in my new camera. (I would have liked a

photo of the elephant, too.) And again, much, much

too soon, we are pulling into Trivandrum airport.

I suddenly burst into tears and cry out, "I don't

want to go! I don't want to go!" G yells out,

"That's okay, Mother has said for Jyotsna to come

back!" and M agrees. I'm still crying as they

are telling me how to get out and get a luggage

cart. I get one and they load it. We all pronam

several times, me through tears, and I make my

way into the terminal building, wiping away tears.

My India adventure is over.

 

Tomorrow: Final Thoughts on Leaving India

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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