Madurai, in southern Tamil Nadu, dawned moist, misty, noisy and dirty. It's a pilgrimage town for Indian Hindus. We took a tuk-tuk (auto rickshaw) to the Meenakshi temple while inhaling much of India's earth. A traffic jam, and I do mean jam, landed us amidst cars, motorcycles, buses and people arm to arm, nose to nose. Yikes. It broke up like logjams do after a lot of beeping and pushing. Never heard a word of swearing or yelling though. Never saw a middle finger raised!
Misty, our resident scholar, says that Meenakshi was an old mythological princess who ruled Madurai for awhile and married Lord Shiva. She became part of the Vedic tradition and is special to Madurai--in her temple the goddess is worshipped before the god. Her temple is the epitomy of South Indian architecture.
The Meenakshi temple turned out to be closed from 12.30PM to 4PM. Who knew? So we went and I had lunch. Misty still wasn't eating much. I chose a large place chockful of pilgrims. People's eyes stick to us. My blond hair and green eyes catch attention, which usually ends up costing me. Waiter tossed down a banana leaf about 12" by 18" then the next guys came with stainless steel buckets full of dal, sambhar, pickle, rice and sometimes a vegetable. There is always a place to wash hands. Then the fun begins: right hand only--I get to mix and smear my food and eat with my hand--and suck my fingers. It was sort of icky at first but now I don't want to bother with utensils. It's polite to slurp and burp. My kind of place.
After lunch we teased the shop keepers a little by looking but not buying. With over an hour left, Misty decided to go back to the hotel and rest, then return later. I wandered. Finally sat down on a bag I bought for my shoes (have to take them off in the temple and I won't leave a size 10 pair of Mephistos to walk away--even though they are covered with Indian grime) and decided to people watch until the gates opened. Very few Westerners around and they never seem to look at you.
Two Indian families traveling together came over to me. First the darkly handsome, but dissipated father with paan (betel nut) blackened and eroded teeth shoved his 8 year old son over to say hi and get a photo together. Why they'd want a photo with an almost 60 year old lady I had no idea, but played along, feeling entertained. The dad offered me paan. I politely declined. Then the next three kids came one by one ending with the 18 year old daughter who spoke passable English. I had my bag tightly zipped, no money in pockets etc. It did cross my mind that something was up. The 18-year old wouldn't answer my questions, she had a very dark and devious, but beautiful, look about her. No one smiled at me and the women didn't speak or look at me much. Though they all laughed and joked with each other while I couldn't understand. My senses were abuzz. I knew they didn't have good intentions, but I was locked tight as a vault and they would have had to take me kicking and screaming. Not their choice while visiting a holy site I guess, smile. They got up and abruptly left. Sigh. Misty said that it's common for the women in a thieving family to surround you and pickpocket...
I waited for Misty and then just went in...she arrived by a different entrance than the one we'd agreed upon, but we stumbled on each other anyway. The temple is amazing. Hewn from granite, the floors beneath our bare feet (yes they spit there too) felt almost soft. Each "hall" opened to another; it was like going through a park or museum. Westerners aren't allowed into the inner temple with Meenakshi so we wandered to a hall that led to an huge open air amphitheatre. Misty says it was a "tank", which fills with water during the rainy season and in which people bath--it was painted all white and red and had a golden lotus on the bottom. My foot went into a cramping spasm for about 20 minutes. Hurt like hell and it twisted my toes. So I got to sit in that space awhile. Walking on granite isn't so soft after all. The dark, ancient, carved granite beauty of that place is still with me. I hobbled a bit but then miraculously my toes straightened.
Next morning, 31 December, I left for Chennai, happy to move on. On the way to the airport in the cool and fresh AM I saw the village doorstoops of homes washed and a rice paste or colored powder or chalk design (kolam in the south, rangoli in the north), a women's tradition passed from grandmother, mother to daughter--102 different designs are used--same number as rudrakasha--strings of beads used in puja or ceremonies. Kolam bring good luck. Misty stayed to video the site and came to Chennai later that evening.
Sandy and Field Carden told me about Field's cousin's daughter, Rachel, who teaches at the American International School in Chennai. She's 30-ish and has been here for 1-1/2 years and signed up for another 2 years, Rachel and I emailed and she invited Misty and me to "couch surf" at her place for four nights. Rachel and I were together on New Year's Eve. For lunch, Rachel took me to the best iddli shop in India (supposedly) and wow it was so good, the steamed iddli are light and appetising; the big brown, crisp dosa filled with spiced potatoes (dosa masala) was great; I went back to that place twice more. We whirlwind shopped. Trying to keep up with a thirty something, I tripped on a very crowded and bumpy cement sidewalk and sprained my ankle. If it wasn't for a small boy on whom I fell (but didn't crush thank the gods), I'd have broken the ankle! We ate at a sensational North Indian restaurant that night--I had a tender chicken kabob marinated in spices and grilled. We had a biryani, black dal and a vegetable curry, along with several Indian breads.
After the ride home the ankle started to swell and throb. By the time I went to bed the pain was so bad I couldn't sleep or get comfortable. Misty gave me an extra strength aspirin and I fell into a fitful and hot sleep. Rachel has two cats and I am allergic so that was hard for me. Swollen eyes, hoarse throat and throbbing ankle. I wanted to go HOME. But the next day 1 January dawned and I didn't want to miss Mamallapuram!, about an hour from Chennai. The monument is about the heroes of the Mahabharata, the most famous of the Hindu epics. They are five heroes who are brothers, married to one wife Draupadi. The five rathas, monoliths carved from one piece of stone, are temples to the five heroes. It is one of the oldest Hindu monuments still existing in India, Misty thinks from about 6th century AD. It was intricate and beautiful--even the "butterball", a huge round rock. I hobbled around following forty steps behind Rachel, Misty and our guide, sweating. I finally bought a stone carved Buddha there. Like buying a Jesus. In a sacred Hindu place.
Next morning Rachel took off to Sri Lanka to hike and rest on the beach before her school term begins again. Misty and I decided to go to Pondicherry. It's a beautiful French colonial town on the sea, about 3-1/2 hours south of Chennai. We hired a taxi and drove--Rachel had reserved it for us the day before with an agreed price. It's a beautiful green tropical and ocean viewed drive down the coast. When we got to the hot, sunny town the driver informed us that the fare was not R2000, but double that if we wanted to get home. Highway robbery. We argued. Upshot was I grudgingly gave him his choice, no money and leave us to find our way home or R3000 (split the difference) and he takes us home. He wanted money for petrol. I wouldn't budge. So he decided to wait for his money and take us home for R3000--but kept arguing for more. Geez. First time that happened.
I walked around Pondicherry looking for a good south Indian restaurant for over an hour, sweating buckets. Misty had gone to eat muesli and yogurt for her ailing stomach. After meeting and talking with two friendly British women I finally found the place they'd recommended. It was among the best meals I've had in India in a restaurant. It was a traditional thali--a stainless plate with small stainless bowls filled with different dishes which get filled as much as you want. Rice, a spinach paratha, a pappadum and lots of interesting vegetables and dals made this delightful. One cabbage and coconut thoran, one slimy soupy green vegetable, maybe okra, seasoned with fennel, yum yum. After the meal the waiter brought me a small triangular banana leaf packet on a small plate. Paan. Waiter said, "very refreshing, to end your meal." I said, "oh, I don't want to blacken my teeth!" They had a hearty knowing laugh over that one.
Today I hired a tuk-tuk driver, put on my mask, and went to eat and shop in Chennai by myself. Misty stubbed her toe and didn't want to go out. It was fun to immerse myself in the crowds and noise and hubbub of rich and poor Indians doing what they do daily. Even the poorest folks wear the most amazing colors--men's shirts or a casually tossed scarf and women's saris or salwar and dupattas are cheerful and uplifting. Their colors and shapes bring grace and dignity to even old bones and scrawny limbs. After over two weeks here I see the city life of India differently--not comparing to the West, but rather seeing it on it's own terms, poverty and wretched sadness and all.
I found some amazing West Bengali silk shawls for Emily Mitchell with these intricate hand stitched silk applique designs in colors that only the Indians seem to know how to do. Tomorrow very very early we leave for Delhi and the last leg of our trip. I told Emily that I'd be willing to come home now--I'm tired, but the last leg involves Varanasi and Sarnath, holy sites that I'd love to see, a day long cooking and market shopping class plus probably a trip to Agra to see the Taj Mahal.
My sister in law Barbara Grannemen and her son Joe Fish and his wife Hannah Lily Won are meeting us. So exciting.
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