Trivandrum, Cochin, Mysore

24/9/78 Trivandrum, South India The people here in Kerala State seem reserved and cautious indeed sometimes openly hostile after the general friendliness of the Sri Lankans. They had just completed their elections resulting in a predictable victory for the Marxist Party - every wall, fence and free space was plastered with painted slogans and political symbols - even banana palm leaves.
For only 50 cents, I saw the late show of The Exorcist in an incredibly over-lush cinema with layback seats and gaudily lit fountains in the foyer - and there was a power failure just at the most critical part of the story. We were left in the pitch dark with the local youths uttering demonic cries around us.

An excursion to the famed Kovalum Beach with its surf and resort hotel. Good Indian food once more - hot chicken curry and borottas. An offer of a film part from a lady in the tourist office, but arrangements predictably turned out too vague. There was a lovely zoo in the green valley, but why oh why do Indians tease and torture their caged animals? - great delight taken in chucking stones at them - so I vowed that never again would I visit an Indian zoo.



Whilst writing this in a hotel in Cochin, I'm suffering from the following minor traumas:

• the hotel is the set for yet another melodramatic Indian movie, and there are hundreds of what can only be described as stupid locals milling around, waiting for a glimpse of their favourite fat movie star - which makes life difficult for a tired guest.
• there still isn't any power, and the portable generator seems to be drowning out most other noise - which I suppose is a relief.
• in this part of India, English is not very well understood, let alone spoken, and it seems that no-one gives a damn if you've got a problem, no matter how patient, polite, mime-acting you are. The best you get is a shrug, let alone being ignored totally.
• no wonder the Johnny Walker fetched such a high price - a glass of the questionable local whisky cost me as much as the hotel tariff - such extravagance could not be repeated!

Yet the gloom was brightened by the arrival of an unexpected visitor - the leader of the Congress (Indira) Youth Party, somewhat drunk, who entertained me with his fanaticism, and zealous rhetoric, but pleading with me that I must never reveal his alcoholism to his country - a habit which was no doubt financed by his party funds, some of which he wanted to give to me as measure of international goodwill.

Cochin has an interesting history as a strategic port and its highlights include a "Dutch Palace", built be the Portuguese in 1555 with its old murals and artefacts; a 1568 Jewish Synagogue (just think!) with hand painted azure blue floor tiles, Dutch glassware and scrolls of the Old Testament; fascinating Chinese fishing nets at the harbour entrance - huge counterweighted pole frames supporting beautiful delicate nets; the first European church in India, where Vasco de Gama was originally buried [Wiki: he contracted malaria not long after arriving in Goa and died in the city of Cochin on Christmas Eve in 1524. His body was first buried at St. Francis Church, Fort Kochi, Kochi, then later his remains were returned to Portugal in 1539 and re-interred in Vidigueira in a splendid tomb.]

Inspected a factory on an island manufacturing coir mats (foot-mats made from coconut husk fibre) where a weaver under shocking working conditions could earn, if he was really good, $1.20 a day;  

Bolgatty Island with a marvellous old palace (now converted to a hotel) surrounded by a splendid gold course - the site of yet another Indian movie. There are about 20 different major languages in India and each supports its own movie industry. Plots are predictable, with girl and boy running away and singing inane songs with plenty of costume changes and tons of jewellery - but love scenes are out - kissing has only just been introduced as perishable, but only between married couples.
This censorship can sometimes be quite infuriating when watching imported English speaking movies in this part of the world, as you may realise that much of essential plot details are often revealed during intimate scenes. I can only imagine the fate of those cut scenes - someone no doubt making a vast profit!

While waiting for the 10.30pm train to Mangalore, I was thrilled to watch with only two others the fabulous Kathakali folk dances - full skirted, brilliant costumes, head dresses and jewellery, elaborate and heavy makeup (often green), dramatic eyebrows, intoxicating drums and the ancient story of the Ramayana, combined to make an hour of superb entertainment.

At least some people smile when you smile in Mangalore - otherwise not a particularly inspiring city. A 1955 B&W movie - the type you'd expect on the late late show: Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn - I seemed to be caught in a time warp. It has as its theme a member or royalty disappearing into the public for a few days - exactly the same as the last film I saw in Sri Lanka - Seven Nights in Japan with Michael York. Far preferable was the older film. So, onto the late night bus to Mysore - a once powerful city in the time of the Raj.

30/9/78 Mysore. A few days in bed with general weakness and tumultuous stomach - the choice of food in this part of the world is not very exciting (nor nutritious). For clean and quality food, you need to join the wealthy Indians (and there a lot of wealthy Indians) in their outrageously lavish restaurants, and pay outrageously lavish prices, which unfortunately becomes a must when you are nursing stomach problems.

Alternatively you brave the throngs in the "eating halls" where queues form for a seat, and the average time to complete a meal is 5 minutes. Such strange names for the dishes, invariably vegetarian, most low in protein. Marsala dosa, a wafer thin pancake enclosing a potato curry, served with chutney is the most popular choice, and remarkably cheap. Later on returning to Australia, the equivalent would cost some 100 times the price !

Being brave, I chose a dish with a strange name and with the highest price at the top of the menu on the wall - this must be the most nourishing, I thought. A saucer with a small sweet was rapidly placed before me - it tasted sickly. Sweets are popular all over India and are comparatively expensive. They are made in the affluent shops that also sell them, and are displayed in all shapes, colours and textures, some swimming in syrup. Some are enclosed in extremely fine beaten silver paper which is also eaten. The displays are imposing and the vendor sits cross-legged on a platform high in the middle of his sweet mountain, often chewing betel, leaving his lips bright red. After you make your selection, it is thrust into a small smart cardboard carton, and tied with tape, both boasting the name of the shop. A very healthy business.

Some restaurants only serve sweets and chats - a cross between a cake and a spicy sweet, in varying combinations. Tiffin can comprise of chai (tea) and chats. A most refreshing drink is lassi - a mixture of yoghurt sugar and ice - nutritious, good for protesting digestive systems, and after a hot curry. People also take pan to assist their digestion, particularly after a large meal, or at celebratory feasts, consisting of betel nut, a vine leaf, maybe a dozen various sweet tasting substances. Pan vendors are delight to watch as they make to order. If you are reasonably satisfied with the cleanliness of the vendor, it is good to chew, inducing saliva flow, leaving the mouth somewhat red. I am assured that it is different to the intoxicating betel nut which can so disfigure the mouth and teeth of the chewer.
I decided to lash out and have an ice-cream and fruit salad on a Mysore road side cafe, but was shortly whisked inside by the worried proprietor when a large student demonstration chanted past. Student radicalism seems to be quite a problem here. While thus protected, I amuse myself reading the signs in the shop: "Please Refrain From Sitting Idly" and on the menu "15 Minutes Minimum Wait For Service" - ah! one of legacies of the British is that we must have our policy organisation and rules written down in the case of an argument. At a swankier restaurant, a BA graduate was my waiter. He earned 5 rupees a day (70 cents), no food provided, and lived 15 miles away. The average price of the dishes he serves costs 15-20 rupees.

Trying to track down a copy of the only English paper (containing the solution to yesterday's cryptic crossword) is quite a challenge. I was given all sorts of reasons, the best being ".. the editor died yesterday".

I attended an All-India Inter University Swimming Carnival - what a hoot! Compared to our own super swim kids, these boys (no girls) could only be described as emaciated - some barely able to complete a pool length. Swimming is not a strong sport in India - not like lacrosse, hockey, soccer and of course, cricket.

Here's a small article from one of the local papers:

"... 88 people killed in bus plunge, 23 injured" states the headline. ".. as soon as it took speed, the driver lost control and the bus plunged into the nullah. It was almost drowned. The local people rescued 23 with great difficulty. All the others met their watery grave..."

I'm glad I wasn't on that bus. No doubt it was officially licensed to seat about 40. But corrupt officials turn a blind eye to policing overcrowding.

After waiting 5 days for something special to happen in Mysore for the 10 day Dasala Festival, I was only rewarded in delighting in the architecture of the traditional and modern India, dreaming of the old regimes of the once noble Maharajas prompted by huge oil paintings showing processions of elephants and columns of old uniformed brown skinned soldiers, and witnessing the magnificent old palace light up with thousands of globes, lines of cake decoration pearls tracing the outline of the building of such aesthetic proportions. Each year, the crowd that gathers in the dusk, goes "ah..!"

I climbed a nearby hill to greet a huge black cow carved out of rock, and watched the Hindu devotees worship with fruit offerings, flowers, holy water, holy man, incense, bells, processions, bells, gestures, icons and other rituals that seem so foolish. But on reflection, every one of these things is found in the Christian religion, and most other religions.

It was time to leave Mysore - but where to? Calcutta and the north were suffering from disastrous floods, and trains and communication were disrupted. Goa and Bombay? Or back to Madras, via Bangalore? I chose the latter.