Friday Feb. 12, 2010

It is still Feb. 11 in the US, so I would like to wish my grandson, Owen, a happy 10th birthday. There is nothing 'tupid about this boy. He is as bright as a shiny new penny.
On our last day in Chennai, we tried to visit St. Thomas Mount. After Jesus died the apostles scattered here and there to spread the gospel. Thomas, the doubting one, came to Chennai and founded a church here. He was later killed and buried here. There is still a thriving Christian community here. About 10 years ago we visited the mount. On top is a small church and a few buildings. JP and Jai had gone ahead, and I was wandering around when a door of one of the buildings opened a crack and a tiny nun surreptitiously motioned for me to come inside. I guess she could smell my 16 years of Catholic education. She then showed me two things. One was a piece of St. Thomas' bone. The other was the spearhead that killed him. I no longer call myself a Catholic, but seeing a bone of one of Christ's 12 apostles was amazing. The auto rickshaw driver had no English or Hindi so we had about a zillion people explain where we wanted to go. Unfortunately the message did not get through, and we ended up at the Cathedral of St. Thomas. We should have gone in but, at this point, were pretty bummed so went to the beach instead. We will have several more days in Chennai later in the trip and will visit the mount and cathedral then. The beach was crowded and the water was much farther than we thought, so we were exhausted when we got back to the hotel. One thing I noticed on the beach were many groups of Moslem women. They were in their black burkas but had their faces uncovered. They certainly did not look oppressed to me. They were laughing and having a great time. I smiled and waved to as many as I could. They giggled.
I had been observing this family who lived on the other side of the street from our hotel. Their home WAS the street and the sidewalk along it. When I first noticed them, the father was wrapped in a blanket sleeping on a small ledge. There were three little boys, ages about 7, 4, and 2. The older boy was entertaining his brothers by flicking water at them. The mother was eating her dinner of rice after having fed her family. The next morning, as our bags were being placed into the auto rickshaw that was to take us to the train station, the two year old boy crawled into the auto rickshaw. The driver and staff of the hotel knew this child well and all were playing with him. The child was dressed in a shirt and small scarf. Nothing else. When they tried to remove him from the auto rickshaw, he complained loudly. So, he came along for the ride, standing between the driver's arms, bare bottom and all.
Chennai is where the British first established a post in India in the mid 1700's. That was the beginning of the long occupation. JP insists that had the Brits not set their sites on colonizing India, they would have never let America go.
The train station was crowded with people sleeping everywhere. Strangely, there was not a coolie in sight, so we had to lug our own suitcases. I noticed several groups of nuns waiting for trains and was again reminded of St. Thomas. By the way, Indian history says that Jesus was here for at least part of those lost 30 years. I trust Indian history as accurate. The 9 hour trip from Chennai to Madurai was miserable. The only seats we could get were uppers and mine was on the side of the train with single seats. Luckily, the woman who had the lower bench did not want to lay down, so I was able to sit on the lower seat the whole trip. This was one very narrow hard seat, with no way to move around. This did not help my poor right shoulder one little bit.
We passed a Christian cemetery, the first I had seen. It reminded me of the Spanish cemeteries in Taos, minus the plastic flowers. I wonder why I have never seen a Moslem cemetery. I also noticed commuter trains marked as MEN and LADIES. India has many customs in place to protect woman. One is the custom of young women always covering their heads in the presence of a man not her husband. When the bahoos were young, I used to watch them automatically flip the end of their saris over the top of their heads when entering a room where men were. Bindu, my expert on all things dealing with Indian women, said that a girl child is never left alone with a man, even her own father. There is always an adult woman present. The explanation given is that some men are prone to "fevers". Indians may have their minds on their gods, but their feet are firmly planted on the ground.
Our hotel in Madurai is nice. They have the spray next to the Western toilet but have added another cool feature. The seat of the toilet is on a wide porcelain base. If you flip up the plastic seat, you can stand on the base, turning it into a squat toilet. There is also a TV that actually works, sometimes. I watched a few minutes of an Indian movie last night. Musical of course. It is odd, kissing is not allowed in Indian movies, yet I find the dance moves vulgar.
JP still wants me to add pictures. I still refuse. I think that the proliferation of digital cameras has taken the meaning away from pictures. Now, instead of one cherished picture, we have hundreds, and all get lost in the avalanche. I think of two examples. One is a song by the Judds: "A hundred year old photograph hangs down from the wall.......I may not know where I'm going, but I'm sure where I come from". The other is a 28 year old black and white picture of three one-year-olds: Gaurav, Surbhi, and Jai. Two fairy children and one baby Godzilla. JP's whole family remembers this picture and it is laughed about on every trip.
All the women here have long strands of fresh jasmine in their hair. You see women stringing and selling them. JP wanted me to by one, but I deferred. It would be a waste in my short white hair. Last night we ate in a rooftop hotel restaurant. Almost all were Westerners, dressed casually in pants and loose shirts. If an alien looked down on the Western women compared to Indian women with their saris, gold bangles, flowers in their hair, and gangling silver anklet bracelets, whom do you think he would judge the wealthier? And I wonder, in the great scheme of things, who is the wealthier?
I do not feel well today. The digestive problems and too many train rides have done me in so I am going to rest.

Peace,
Nadine