Kerala Boat Ride and the New Dirt Road

Our five day trip to the southern most state in India included a day-long boat ride. We boarded our fabulous vessel with Rich and Marion Arnold about 1:30 one afternoon and were handed young coconuts that had had the tops cut off and a straw inserted. Coconut milk is a sweet, refreshing drink. The plan was to cruise through the canals, christened the “Venice of India.” The captain backed the boat away from the dock, threw the engine into forward, and…we drifted. The mount that held the motor to the boat had broken! An anchor was thrown overboard, calls were made, and within 45 minutes a small motor boat was pulling our large boat with a rope.

For five hours we plied the quiet waters of Kerala, and just enjoyed the pleasant breeze, the shade of the canopy on our craft, dozing, reading and the scenery. Among the many things we saw in or at the edge of the river were people bathing, women washing clothes, men loading flatboats beyond capacity, children going to school via boat, and many other of the daily activities of the local people.

At 6:30 we moored and were told that we needed to get off the water “for the fishermen.” We knew better. Within minutes there were several men in a small boat who had pulled along side our boat to see what could be done about the motor mount. We were escorted off the boat and told it would be pleasant to stretch our legs and take a little walk.

It just so happened that, just prior to our arrival, a new dirt road had been completed and the local officials were having a dedication ceremony. The celebration was about 50 feet from where we had docked. There was a sound system loud enough to be heard almost to Bangalore, and we listened to children singing,(audio) citizens giving thanks and politicians giving speeches for about 2 ½ hours. After just a few minutes of this at close range, we decided to take a walk along the new dirt road and discovered that it had been cut through someone’s rice field, but it ended at a main road that lead into a small town. It was a nice dirt road, but we wondered how well it would survive the first monsoon rains.

When we got back to the boat at dusk, the speech-giving was just about at its conclusion. We were glad we would be able to eat in peace and quiet. In the quiet before our next aural treat, we listened as a boat full of singing men (audio)slowly worked its way across the waterway. Shortly after this peaceful song, we were treated to three hours of a man and a woman on the other side of the waterway alternately singing songs on another excessively loud speaker system.

We did, however, have a tasty meal prepared for us. Nothing was so spicy that we couldn’t eat it. The bedrooms were equipped with AC so we slept well.

At 7:00 the next morning we disembarked the first boat and boarded a second boat which took us through the canals for another four hours. One sight that took us by surprise was the sight of another tour boat like ours with the cook crouched at the side of the boat, washing the dishes in the river. Marion and I looked at each other with wide eyes and mouth open, but we didn’t say anything. We knew.

Chamundi Hill

Chamundi Hill is the location of the temple to the Goddess Chamundeshwari (Durga Devi) who vanquished the demon-king Mahishasura. Mahishasura once ruled the area, but was defeated by Durga Devi after a humungous 10 day struggle. The remembrance of the battle became a festival celebrated to this day in September known as Navaratri. This legend, important in Hindu mythology, renders the temple of the Goddess Chamundeshwari an important place of pilgrimage.

Our visit to Chamundi Hill took us up steep mountain roads two kilometers southeast of Mysore. All along the way we saw signs that said, “No plastic zone,” and were surprised when we saw two young men pushing bicycles fully laden with all sizes of plastic containers. There also didn’t seem to be any less plastic refuse on the side of the road there than anywhere else in India. Upon arriving at the top, we were greeted not by the many open arms of Durga Devi, but a massive statue of the vanquished Mahishasura. Families took turns posing for a snap in front of the menacing demon-king statue. Go figure.

The temple to Chamundeshwari sits on an expansive hilltop. Many small stalls sell the requisite articles for worship, or pooja, such as coconuts, marigold flowers and lotus blossoms. An assortment of street hawkers occupies the grounds surrounding the temple. The atmosphere is carnival-like, but the worshipers were most devout. Durga Pooja is the worship of the divine power. In the struggle between evil and the good, the dark forces eventually succumb to the divine. This victory of good over the evil is also the inner struggle of human beings to finally rise to the highest level of consciousness. There was true devotion among the people about us.

Long lines formed to enter the temple. Crowds milled about outside, some conducting another form of pooja at a small location directly opposite the temple entranceway. Amid all this activity, bare-chested priests emerged from the temple and adorned an idol, placed atop a small pull cart, with garlands of flowers. Men with long horns, drums and other instruments began to play (audio). People clasped their hands in devotional worship and a procession was formed as people pulled the idol-laden cart around the outer perimeter of the temple. We could be here for a million years and never fully understand all that we see.

We briefly followed the procession then found our attention pulled to more recognized human behavior; two young boys were taunting a large black resting cow with a stick. Boys being boys! They mugged for the camera and we moved on. Shortly afterwards a young girl came up to us and asked “Pen?” Jay produced a pencil thinking she merely wanted a writing implement. “No. Not a pencil….a pen!” Clearly we had encountered a real go-getter with enough moxie to get want she needed to advance her schooling. A picture was taken of the little girl with her mom and we moved on.

As we drove down the winding mountain road back to Mysore we stopped to visit a five-meter high Nandi, or bull, the symbol of Shiva. The Nandi was carved from a single block of black granite in 1659. The Nandi was adorned with flower garlands and was attended by a priest. More mystery for us to ponder.

Mysore’s Great Palace

“Have you been to Mysore?” is a question we’ve frequently been asked by locals and expats alike. Evidently, when one is in the Indian state of Karnataka, one goes to Mysore. So on to Mysore we ventured. Mysore is one Karnataka’s largest cities and home to the Maharaja’s Palace. This enormous palace was constructed in the early 1900’s following the destruction by fire of the old wooden palace in 1897.

We hired a tour guide named Babu to help us navigate the sprawling complex. Babu indicated that the palace was designed to pay homage to the three main religions of the area. Distinctive Hindu, Christian and Islamic architectural features are included in the structure. Islamic red minarets stand in the foreground of the exterior of the building with a towering Christian gold-capped dome dominating the center of one of the building’s wings. Hindu architecture abounds in the interior of the building.

Unfortunately “No Photography or Videography” was allowed inside the palace.

The word “art” can only approximate the grandeur of the rooms, scale of the open atrium, the ornate gold-trimmed pillars and the quirky nature of the many wall-sized paintings that lined hallways. These hallway artworks were painted in a style that provided a three-dimensional aspect. As you walk past a painting while maintaining your gaze at it, the painting seems to follow you. For example, a long line of horsemen sporting long handlebar moustaches riding directly towards you will “move” to form a long horizonal line across the painting. Amazing! This style of painting was quite the rage at the palace. The eyes and footwear of former maharajas turned and followed you as did the painted eyes of many Hindu deities.

The other noted feature of the palace was the Elephant Gate. Built in the opening era of automobiles, the Elephant Gate welcomed the Maharaja as he was driven in his car back to the palace. The real spectacle of the Elephant Gate, however, is during festival time, especially Navarati, the celebration of good over evil, when elephants decked out in elaborate coverings parade in the town and enter the palace through these enormous portals.

The palace is also noted for its light show. Thousands of lights illuminate the palace in the evening, providing a spectacular sight.

Mysore has a centuries-old history that runs from being the ruling center of a vast empire and, not surprisingly, to defeat by warring factions. Deep in the history of Mysore is the mythological rule of the demon-king Mahishasura. The legend states that prayers offered to Lord Siva were answered and Lord Siva’s wife, the Goddess Parvathi who took birth as Chamundeswari, or Durga Devi, killed the demon-king. After the slaying, she took up residence atop Chamundi Hill where a temple has been built for her worship.

More on Chamundi Hill in another blog.

The Silk Road to Mysore

We went on a weekend get away to Mysore, completing our trifecta of the big cities in the state of Karnataka. The other cities are Bangalore, where we live, and Managlore on the west coast. Yet, unlike Karnataka’s other large cities, Mysore has retained its historic charm and elements of its glory-day silk industry. India’s output of mulberry silk is about 14,000 metric tons and the Mysore district accounts for more than half of that production.

The first stop was at the Government Cocoon Market in Armanagaram. The market was a bustling place where various types of silk cocoons were gathered for inspection and sale. There was no organized tour at the market, but we were very fortunate to catch the attention of an old, leathery silk worker who was more than pleased to share his knowledge. In the market, a zillion or so soft yellow cocoons and hard white cocoons were housed separately in large bins. In a caged area near the entrance, a large scale for weighing sacks of cocoons could be seen. Occasionally, voices would rise up in loud argumentative clatter. No doubt negotiations were underway over the price of this sack or that sack of cocoons.

Our attention was mainly held by our gracious guide. He shared that a single cocoon could yield 600 meters of silk thread. He cut cocoons open to reveal the live silk worms inside. Some cocoons were doubles with two silk worms inside. We later learned that in order to “unspin” the single thread of silk made into a cocoon by a worm, the cocoons are dropped into boiling water. Of course that kills the worms, but then the thread can easily be unwrapped and wrapped onto spindles or bobbins.

Our trip to the Cocoon Market only whet our curiosity. What was the process for turning these fuzzy cocoon homes into elegant silk saris? We learned a bit more about the process with a visit to the Karnataka Silk Industry Corporation (KSIC) Silk Weaving Factory.

The cocoons from the Cocoon Market had already been pre-processed into large wheels of raw silk thread. What was involved in that early stage of the silk process remained a mystery. Our knowledge advanced only slightly by what we could glean from our unguided tour of the weaving factory. After signing in and obtaining a chit from the office, a security guard simply opened the gate to the factory and we wandered about unescorted.

Once inside, we saw that the raw silk thread was wound two or three times into a fine thread by machines that could have been easily described in a Charles Dickens’s novel. Equally so were the silk looms that filled cavernous rooms and rattled with a pounding din that could shake teeth from the best set of dentures. OSHA standards for safety or noise control were nowhere to be found. We were surprised that we could wander about the factory while the machines were spinning, weaving and churning without the slightest concern for our safety or that of the equipment.

The whole operation was reminiscent of the Southern cotton mills circa 1920. Cheap labor, working under harsh, unsafe conditions for someone else’s profit. Not the stuff of a nation seeking the leadership in a 21st century global marketplace.

Why is Everything so Hard?

Many times we find ourselves wondering why it is so hard to do simple things. We have resigned ourselves to an Indian-like kismet that there is no straight line between where we are and where we want to be.

Each evening, going to bed involves a mini-ritual. Without much thought, we adjust the blankets we have hung outside our windows to deaden the evening road noise of honking horns, autorickshaws with broken “silencers” (mufflers) and a host of rumbles, roars and rattling from nearby Airport Road. The blanket strategy has been a smashing success. Yet, yanks on blankets are only part of the evening ritual. The bathroom doors must be closed to block both the noise streaming in from unscreened windows and to deny access to mosquitoes. Small mosquito repellent devices that plug into hip-high wall sockets are turned on to spew a chemical concoction to repulse mosquitoes, stave off the threat of malaria and, no doubt, fill our bodies with some vile carcinogenic. Surely no product like THAT would be placed on the market here in Paradise!

If the washing machine is operating and the electricity goes off, the machine stops and doesn’t start again by itself. More than once Helen’s gone to the back porch expecting to hang up clothes (no, we don't have a dryer) and instead found a washer full of water and wet clothes. Unfortunately, it’s not possible to just turn on the spin cycle. When the machine is turned on, it starts at the beginning every time. In order to stop it one has to keep an ear out and turn the power off at the appropriate time to keep the water from coming back on.

Flag down an auto rickshaw to get from point A to point B. Not so fast, Buckaroo. Although there are regulations regarding refusing service, auto rickshaw drivers are masters of their domain. If they don’t care to go to the place you wish to go, they just shake their heads and drive away. Luckily there are over 80,000 auto rickshaws in Bangalore. Another driver will come along with a more agreeable disposition.

Call a city taxi and arrange for a scheduled pickup. Odds on hitting the Power Ball in the lottery are better. We call, get a dispatcher, give a pick up time and destination. We wait. We call the taxi service at the pick up time. “Oh, there’s no record of your call.” At least we can flag down an auto rickshaw. Egad!

Our 256 Kbs Broadband service from Tata Indicom typically runs in the evening hours at 9 to 16 kilobits per second. We once saw a whopping 101 kbs …but that had to be an unintended engineering fluke. E-mails to Tata customer service return a polite form letter asking for our “patience” and reaffirm that they understand our “inconvenience.” Then nothing happens. We are still struggling with this problem. We hope to return to AirTel, our previous broadband provider.

We have learned, however, to adjust our expectations on predictions of future events. In January, AirTel indicated they would be in our area by February. That just means they will not be in our area in January. “It will be ready tomorrow,” only means it will not be ready today. Once you understand the language it's less irritating and frustrating.

Crossing the street, even at a traffic signal, is a high risk endeavor. Red lights are suggestions. When a light turns red traffic continues to stream through the intersection for another 5-10 seconds. We believe if a driver saw the light green at one time, he felt he had the right to proceed forward. Pedestrians do not have the right away here. Heck, two wheelers frustrated with the ever-present traffic grid-lock will simply ride up onto sidewalks and keep going. It’s hard for village ways to give way to urban disciplines. Another day on Planet Chaos.

Power Interruptus…..

There are many things we have come to expect as the norm here in Bangalore. Cows will gather and eat garbage tossed on the street in front of our apartment complex, trades people will inform us goods will be delivered “tomorrow” and never appear, power failures will darken our lives.

At the Salarpuria Splendor apartment complex where we now live there is an apartment-wide Uninterrupted Power Supply (UPS) in the basement. That UPS kicks in moments after a local power failure. When we were looking at new apartments UPS was an absolute requirement. In our previous apartment complex, we lived the full lifecycle of the frequent power failures that would sometimes last for eight hours. Fortunately we were assured on our maiden visit to the apartment complex that it had a fully operational UPS. On that cool evening, we were standing poolside when a loud boom from the adjacent neighborhood was immediately followed by darkened apartment windows and the nearby village tossed into utter darkness. Within moments, lights in the twin towers of our apartment complex began lighting up. Starting from the lower floor, we watched floor after floor return to a luminous glow. The village remained dark. Check UPS off the list…

After we moved in, we discovered that power restoration had its quirks. We live on the top floor. During a UPS restoration, by the time power is sent surging to our lights, microwave, broadband router, water heater (known here as a geyser, pronounced GEE zer) power has been surging to our lower neighbor’s lights, microwaves and whatnot. Sometimes our little apartment’s power demand is just too much for the system. Our apartment trips a surge protector in the UPS system shutting the power off only to our apartment.

All this knowledge of surging power, a basement-hidden UPS and tripped surge protectors does not come in a straight line. During a blackout, we had to explore this situation with a “what now” look as we gazed from our darkened apartment into the illuminated windows of our neighbors. A few trips to the basement, along with a helpful security guard willing to flip large red switches that looked dangerous, secured this invaluable knowledge.

So one sunny day when the power failed, all was expected to be restored shortly. Jay was at work but coming home to use the VOIP phone to call a colleague in the US. Helen was washing clothes and tending to other household chores. The normally allotted time for the UPS to kick in had come and gone. A trip to the basement and the flipping of dangerous-looking red switches seemed in order.

We arrived in the lobby and spoke to a security guard about our power situation. He motioned us to the small office of the Maintenance Manager. “Your power has been cut off by the State for non-payment of your bill,” was his brief and authoritative response to our situation. As with many facilities from airports, to water, to power, the State is the controlling interest. We informed the Maintenance Manager that we just paid the power bill five days ago. A bit more hassle was involved, but the flash of a paid receipt was sufficient to get the lights, microwave and other power-driven tools of modern life humming again. We have now come to expect foraging cows at our front gate, delinquent tradesmen and fickle power. Another day in paradise.