Our first full day in India, we decided to recruit our driver, a small man by the name of Chandran, to drive us into Tamil Nadu, Kerala’s neighboring state. We planned several stops in route to the southern most tip of the country, Cape Comerin, where three main bodies of water meet: the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea. Having slept most of my first day overcoming jetlag, I was anxious to get exploring. It is difficult to describe what I experienced while driving shotgun sitting to the left of Chandran, but in summary, it was sheer sensory overload. There were people and cars and buildings everywhere. No order, no streetlights, no sidewalks. Everyone was coming or going, in rickshaws or bicycles, mopeds or by foot. The scariest vehicle, however, was the lorries, huge flatbed Mac trucks painted in vibrant colors and florid designs with some religious word or person painted above the windshield. I gripped the seat frequently, every time we switched lanes into oncoming traffic and missed the approaching cars by mere inches. There was constant, incessant, blaring horns beeping. Beeping as in “Watch out, I’m coming, get out of the way!” No stop signs, no traffic lights, no street names. Nothing except for constant bobbing and weaving. What occurred as strange to me was that no one was upset or cursing or flipping the middle finger. Everyone was calm and relaxed yet I was the one terrified, fearing that an accident was imminent and unavoidable. Having been living in the city for almost a decade, I foolishly assumed New York taxi drivers were the craziest of all but they pale in comparison to Indian drivers. I was even more concerned when I saw signs for “Accident Prone Areas” and warnings not to “Drive Rash for Your Own Safety.” After almost an hour of my heart racing, dripping sweat, sheer terror, I began to settle down and realize that this chaos somehow all works, not organized chaos like what I am accustomed to in the city. There is absolutely no order here, no rules, and no road etiquette. I sensed that I needed to make an adjustment because I would never survive the drive unless I learned to relax. Its difficult to believe such clamor and disarray works, for I would have never believed it would until I experienced it firsthand.
I was also amazed at the diversity of people, the beauty and allure and intrigue each one possesses. Men with scarf’s wrapped around their waists or their heads sat on floors vigorously fixing some broken item, or carrying a bundle of goods, or conversing about what I assume would be the daily happenings. Women with bulging bellies visible through the most exquisitely colored saris carried babies or baskets or both, walking with intent and purpose. School children dressed in neatly pressed starched button down shirts and knee socks and overstuffed backpacks strapped onto their fragile frames waited anxiously for the arriving school buses. Old, wise men with straggly white beards and emaciated redwood skin, walked crookedly along the roads as the blazing sun glistened off their striated shoulders. All of this animated energy and movement occurred against the backdrop of crumbling buildings, two or three stories high in faded shades of pinks, blues, and beiges. Everything was broken, battered, chipped. Posters of Bollywood stars or political leaders or advertisements for new products scattered on every available space. There was missing windows and doors, garbage strewn in piles, dirt and dust covering everything. Little boxes of space were utilized to sell everything from fresh fruits to building materials to plastic buckets and used appliances. The lack of and efficient use of space was astounding. Stray dogs with protruding ribs, small packs of goats, cows being lead on frayed ropes, and even small elephants mixed into the surroundings, adding another layer to this whole dynamic. As we drove, fleeting smells permeated the car first of rotting sewage than of spicy meat then of burning incense. I received the “ST” from almost everyone we passed, men, women and children alike. At first, it made me feel uncomfortable, as this was the first time I really remember being a true minority. But the more people we drove by, the more I found that if I smiled at them, the awkwardness diminished, the uneasiness and questioning looks faded, the intense gaze softened. We were able to connect, if only for a moment. Barriers no longer existed, as I got the sense they realized I was no different from them, just another living, breathing human being.
Our first stop along the way was to the Padmanabhaparum Palace, where the first kings of Kerala lived over 400 years ago. Surrounded by a lush garden and rolling hills, it was luxurious in its simple manner, stately and strongly constructed of teak wood.
There were banquet halls and the Queens quarters, council rooms for meetings, and a stone dance hall with mirrored floors for entertaining guests. Touring it resembled transversing through a maze, each room leading into another nook that lead into another hall. It was incredibly spacious, with carved ceilings of lotus flowers and dragons of Chinese influence.
Next, we visited the Suchindran Temple, visited by Hindu worshippers for over a thousand years. The temple was constructed in rows of white carvings to tell the epic story of ancient India. It was erected to honor Hanuman, a monkey god, for protection in battle, and offerings of rose water and butter leaves stacked around his feet as a sign of respect and admiration.
Lastly, we arrived at Cape Comerin, commonly referred to as Kanya Kumri by the locals. Standing literally at the southwestern most tip of the country, I was in complete awe at my surroundings. Crystal clear blue water shimmered as the sun’s rays sparkled against the surface.
The air was fresh and charged with energy, with divine presence, with life. We decided to take a short ferryboat ride to two small landmasses out in the sea.
Our first port of call was the Vivekananda Rock, built in the 1970s to honor the visit of the great spiritual leader. It was there that Swami Vivekananda went to meditate and achieve enlightenment, later becoming a reformer and philosopher. Ironically, last year during a visit to Woodstock, I met a Swami of my own who suggested I read one of Vivekananda books and now nearly a year later, I stood at the very tip of India at his memorial site. Life certainly is amazing. As I sat on the steps leading up to the small room, I began to clearly see how each phase in life prepares you for what is to come, how life is always serving your highest good.
Our next stop was the Thiruvalluar Statue, a monstrous 133-foot high marble statue of a Tamil poet and saint. It was completed in 2000 and dedicated to the millennium as a beckon of light to guide human life.
We then took the boat back to the mainland and visited the Gandhi memorial. Reconstructed after the 2004 Tsunami, the memorial pays respect and homage to India’s great leader, as his ashes were spread in all three bodies of water. It was interesting to learn about the story of his life and how is nonviolently attempted to improve this country.
We retired for the evening at the Convent of the Daughters of Saint Mary, run by Mother Mary Monica and Sister Piuslia, located on a beaten down, barely paved road a few miles from the Cape. For a small donation, we scored a room (with separate beds of course), two home-cooked authentic meals, access to their garden for picking fresh fruits, and a very needed, air-conditioned night’s sleep. I laid in bed content, under my thin cotton sheet on my small cot, thankful to have lived such an incredible day.
