Kerala, part I: train & Fort Cochin

The moments before I stepped back into my room after the 9 day self-prescribed vacation to Southern India I just returned from, all I could think about were the critters who undoubtedly had moved back into my abode during my absence. While readers are, I am sure, sick of hearing about Frank and the rest, in addition to the fact that I am growing more accustomed to the ideas of sharing my living space with other animals of the world, I just don't feel right, posting without at least some reference to the fact that, yes, Frank had taken back his corner, and yes, ants were making their way through the cracks in the walls. I think what I like the most about the situation is the fact that I knew they would all be back because I've come to realize that without constant assertion of my presence as head of the food chain (so to speak) in my room, the animals of India are always at the doorstep (literally) of all human areas, ready to take back the spaces that were once trees and forests, but now are filled with these strange new structures, also known as houses.

I get ahead of myself completely however, because this post is actually about my recent travels, the wonders of Southern India, and how much I love living and being here right now. After turning in my (first) paper (of the semester), I left Hyderabad Central Univeristy campus around noon on Friday 29 February. (yes once more, Leap Years are fun). The process of getting to the train itself requires taking other trains and is tedious and taxing and only worth mentioning as an example of how getting around Hyderabad is more difficult than getting to the other coast of India. I don't like cities very much in this country, is really the point that I've come to realize from all this. Anyway, we boarded our train ready and eager...and then we sat. And then we ate. and sat some more. and ate some more. and sat. and slept. then we got bored. and so we practiced yoga, to the amazement of those around us and ourselves. And we flossed. and we played word games. and the Embodiment game (the form of transportation my personality best embodies is, according to Jordan, simultaneously being at the front and back of a line of people.) and we learned more about trash systems in India: coming to terms with the reality that there is none and it's actually worse to keep garbage by our seats because of ants. Instead, out the window it all goes. It breaks my heart. And frustrates me more than I can say. But much more on this later.

And so we sat and then we slept. Olga's purse was almost stolen in the night. and we ate some more. and we were asked by a man on the train, "are you communists?" no, sir, we are just friends. "oh but are you communists also?" and 27 hours later we all got off the train and we were in the hot, humid, dirty and populated city of Ernakulam, Kerala. (which, incidentally, is a communist state.)

After walking in confusion and becoming lost, we found our way aboard a ferry, headed to the island town of Fort Cochin. And, just as the Rough Guide (or Lonely Planet, if you care to make the distinction..hmhm), says, we could feel the collective sigh escape our beings, just to find ourselves in a place of relaxation. Fort Cochin is adorable. It is pretty much exactly what I think most of us had all envisioned when we pictured ourselves studying abroad in India. It is clean (by Indian standards) and is surrounding by water. It is a wonderful mix of truly feeling like a vacation spot, while still maintaining its pride and distinction as a part of the country of India. Instead of hotels or hostels, there are dozens of home stays, where families rent rooms out to travelers. It's a great system because not only did we get the homey feel of a family, we were immediately set up with a set of activities and things to do through our short-term host father (who, amazingly was named Das, which is also the name of our figurative father on campus back in Hyderabad). So the second Mr. Das was our first father figure (first in a long string of wonderful men we met on our adventures) of the Kerala trip; he gave us a tiny room (for Rs600) with only one double bed, and two extra mattresses. but only a fan and no screens and it was HOT and stuffy. Five people is a lot of bodies in one small 150sqft (?) room. In the middle of the first night I moved out into the hallway and slept on a couch, blinded by the street light outside and the flashing shrine dedicated to Jesus that would not turn off. (Besides being communist, Kerala as a state in India is also almost entirely Christian). That first night, it was Saturday night, we went walking around the town, which is the perfect size for walking and exploring. We got Aryuvedic massages (fully naked, which was definitely surprising. but, true to the sign out front "men for men, and women for women") and we bought fresh pineapple and mangoes and ate them in a park using my wonderful leatherman knife. (fyi: my two most prized processions in India from back home are my sleep-sack and my leatherman.) Nearby, the All-India National Badminton Tournament was being played inside a blue-tarp gym. I mean, why not?

Sunday we woke up early to board a bus full of white tourists (organized by Mr. Das, thank you), and headed for a day of touring the backwaters of Kerala, one of the attractions that draws tourists (both foreign and Indian) to the state. The backwaters are a series of streams and rivers that rise and sink with the tides (I think) of the oceans. They filter throughout the state and you can take boats and canoes to explore them. We spent the day at first riding in canoes through tiny streams in the middle of the jungle basically, which felt like taking a walk through someone's backyard because we were constantly passing by homes and families just leading their normal lives. The backwaters there, we were told, are used for transportation. We went on a few excursions into some of the homes, to see string being made from coconut fibers, and toured a forest to find spices and roots which are used in all the dishes we have been eating for the last 2 months. (For those interested, the green papaya is used in Aryuvedic medicine for "menstruation and the abortions." so take that, planned parenthood.) We stopped for lunch, which we ate off banana leaves, and true to both our status as Americans and as college students being offered "free" food, we ate a lot, I think to the surprise of the other tourists (who were all Germany related. And by Germany related, I mean, of course Swedish and the like. Whatever, they all have blond hair and blue eyes, and all look like they are siblings.) After lunch we spent the rest of the day sitting on a houseboat, gliding around the bigger lakes and rivers. The boats are propelled by two men, one on each end, who have long long poles, which they use their entire body weight against to pry the boat forward. Near the end, Jordan and I decided it was high time for a swim, so we jumped in. Only to discover a) only about 2 feet of water below which lay endless feet of silt and mud and grossness, and b) a super fast current. So we swam/i tried to swim to the boat, and made a big commotion (how American of us), and made it back on board. And it was so much fun. After the backwaters, we went to a local performance of the traditional Kerala dance form, called Kathakali, in Fort Cochin. The dance is a whole story told through direct hand, body, facial and leg movements that each depict specific words. It was weird, creepy even, because mostly the focus is on how the face of the performer changes from displaying one emotion to another. It was unnerving how drastically he could switch between elation and tears; yet the whole thing was so contrived and weird. i didn't like it. Afterwards, walked around Fort Cochin, discovered a coffee shop that sold iced coffee and chocolate cake. and had dinner. It was a great day.


The next day, being Monday, we decided we all wanted to just walked around the town and do whatever we wanted. Jordan and Davita, accompanied by the Russian Olga, reached out to their heritage and visited the Jewish community in Jew Town, part of Fort Cochin. Apparently it was very sad because there are only 5 Jews left in all of Cochin, and this one very old lady thought they were coming to rescue a the dying community. Meanwhile, Mallory and I spent the day painting in the studio of an artist named Desmond. We had met him the night before, on our walk around the town. Unable to resist the pull of his reggae music that floated through the warm night, we had all gone into his studio to talk with this strange, middle aged, grey bearded and long curly haired artists. Mallory and I returned to his studio that day, and sat and talked with him--about his life, and what its like being an artists and how we both want to screw the idea of a real life, and come live with him and paint for the rest of our lives. He had some really interesting things to say on the subject, not the least of which was the advice that whatever we decide to do, we must be committed to. He reminded me of that Goethe quote I love so much about commitment and hesitation. I can't remember it now, but I'll find it later.

*
Desmond paints while he smokes another joint. He shows me a window into a life of colors among heat. His studio is only about 12 sq ft. It's his gallary too. The floor is littered with paint tubes, unfinished pictures, drawing boards. On a small table close to the ground are a collection of odds and ends; including large black framed oval glasses, a single maraca, and various brushes, scraps of paper and trinkets. Light years away, Peter Tosh and Bob Marley once jammed together on a hot evening like this one. Their recorded pumping rhythms vibrate the exposed and painted (in primary colors) support beams of the ceiling. Tonight, today, those rhythms pump inside the four walls of Desmond's tiny studio; a haven of reggae and color amid the dirt and pollution of India. And that day Desmond gave us a piece of paper and some pastels and we paint a joint picture of whatever comes out of the motions of our hands. We gave the painting to Desmond, but I have a photograph of it. At the end, we spend 20 minutes all three of us looking at it from different sides, deciding what each angle looks like. We see a mermaid, and an octopus. and from one side, all we can see is a fire breathing horse jumping straight out of the picture's boarders.
*

That night, we had more chocolate cake and coffee, continued to search for the cheapest meals we could find (lowest breakfast was Rs120, which is about $3, for all five of us). And then began the sessions of joint poetry, which have filled up our time for much of these past days. Alternating writing lines, and giving only the last word of the previous line, Mallory and I (and occasionally Jordan and the others) spent hours and hours writing poems; and it doesn't matter who wrote each line. What I love about the act of writing a poem with someone else, is that it allows you to be creative, and yet surrender that creation which you produce to be affected completely by the creativity of someone else. It is a chance to produce something, and yet be totally detached from it as necessarily belonging to you--or to belonging to what you originally intended it to mean. Mallory and my creative word-plays were vibrating on the same wavelength this week. The first one we wrote, is typed out below:

There was nothing left
light-shadows filtering between faces and limbs.
Her fingers curled into my skin
a patchwork of fabric making up a being.
"Can't we stay one second longer?"
vertical thoughts pull suns from galaxies
I remember his funky shoes with the silver laces
Back down, full circle, inside of me.
I forget that I'm not supposed to forget
patterning a purple memory of sunsets.
The bell sounded and the birds dispersed.
If the birds dispersed, would the bell sound?
Yes! Those cobwebs filter through my nose.
The view from the window is beautiful
And so we sit, breathing; and we are.