In my defence, I was riding the night train from Chennai to Mysore and shared close quarters with this group (who shared two words of English amongst the five of them). I did it the Indian way in a sleeper carriage with no air-conditioning. I was the only white man on this train other than a few Siberian Buddhist monks who preferred to discuss the Australian-Russian boxer Kosta Zu than Buddha’s three teachings (So much for non-violence). Unfortunately, the conversation was stifled by my lack of boxing knowledge.

This was my maiden voyage on India Rail. The rail company is the world’s largest employer in the world with 1.6 million workers, half of whom were busy giving me instructions about where I can or can’t sit on this 11-hour journey. That said, all in all it was a great experience I am hoping to repeat.

Today I discovered the reincarnation of Michael Jackson in the form of a break dancing Indian youngster who was showing of his moves on the stairs to the temple of the Goddess Chamundeswari – who is said to protect the Mysore region for evil (proving once and for all that Jackson was not evil). For the thousands of followers of the Jacksonian faith, fear not – the lama has been found.

At nightfall, I went to Marina beach where tens of thousands gather in a carnival atmosphere every weekend – horse back riding; sugar cane juice; fairy floss; rifle shooting; fortune telling robots and a hundred stalls with every knick and knack. As the sun set, hundreds stood where the water met the land as the tide let water beat earth in this battle of the elements. At the other side of this ocean was my home.

I purposely left home without a shaver or a watch as part of a grand sadomasochistic experiment. In the past 24 hours, I came close to buying a watch on three occasions and a shaver on one. I only now realized that both instruments constrain time to an extent (hair growth like sunset is but a measure of time). So in this timeless day, I spent half of it at the railway station (where I am at present) trying to buy a rail ticket; photographing strangers and having a blast. Something I would have never done happily if I had a schedule to follow.

Time takes on a different dimension when it is unmeasured. I think it was Einstein who said: “Time is an illusion, albeit a persistent one”. On cue, I have Bob Dylan singing in my ear “the future for me is already a thing of the past”. He too must not have worn a watch.

 Observe the following discussion:

Traveli: Is this bus going to Cochin?

Indian: [responds with said headshake]

Meaning #1: The bus is going to Cochin

Meaning #2: The bus is going to Hampi / Rishikesh / Varanasi

Meaning #3: What is this guy on about?!

Initially, I was labouring under the misapprehension that the headshake was the only thing I knew to combine ‘yes’ and ‘no’ – the ‘maybe’. But having the wisdom of a month in this land, I note the errors of my ways, for the term ‘maybe’ has far more certainty as it guarantees one of two results – it may be or it may not be, whereas the headshake is quite different and promises no result whatsoever. It serves nothing more than a vague acknowledgement of the question (and its right to remain unanswered), and its only useful contribution is a lesson in coping with uncertainty.

And so I board the bus and let it take me to my destination – wherever that may be.

Praise the one who owns the hills green and turns her leaves to drink.

Praise the one who brings forth steel and modes of getting here to there.

Praise the one who lets word travel and hears our laughs and cries.

Let us sing in unity and all hail Tata

It seems that Kerala’s communism has rubbed off on me with this rare admission to my friends on the left.  The Tatasation of India was most apparent when I was driving for hours in the hills surrounding Munaar, knowing all this beauty is owned by the almighty conglomerate.

If God was trying to woo me, she would do this for me.She would paint a canvas luscious green, with flowing hills and waterfalls, and invite me to jump in.

She would dazzle me with colour, blue skies and lakes, green hills and leaves, and wildflowers of the rainbow.

She would warm me with her sunlight tender, and cool me with her softest breeze, then conduct an orchestra of leaves dance and whisper just for me.

She would feed me mandarins, tease my taste with cardamon, then hand a sugar cane to me and pleasure me with sweetness.

And on the day she did just that, perhaps I’ll notice her a little. I’ll cast a glance at her direction and stop playing hard to get.

Dedicated to Kerala and her and Her beauty

I created a dot on my map, a lonely blot in a lesser lonely planet, and confirmed to myself what this city’s inhabitants long knew: they exist!

Shirts, trousers and underwear,

Yes mom, I remembered.

Shoes, socks, a comb for your hair,

That too I recollected.

And don’t forget your bathers on your holiday.

Same with your Pajamas, your towel and your sheet.

And what about a sweater for that rainy day?

By the way, your coat won’t fit, you’ll just make do without it. 

And don’t forget your medication, disinfectant and repellent,

A book or two, a pack of cards, your camera, phone and compact flash. 

And just in case another pack or two of this and that,

And don’t forget your toothbrush, your passport and your cash.

And so the backpack and its packer reach their destination,

And on one day upon a climb with beads of sweat as testament.

Short of breath, with an aching back and on the verge of resignation,

The traveler comes to see a child’s eyes widen in amazement.

And as the child sees the man, he turns to ask his mother

What is this weight he is carrying that is heavier than man? 

And the mother smiles back and answers to her son, 

That is all that he posseses when he travels for the moon.

And looking at the smaller pack, the child asks once more

Of that small bag upon his side, what does he need that for?

That is what he takes to live on until morn.

But mother, all that I and you both have could fit into that bag.

And so the young man travels on with one more burden on his shoulder.

1. Man
2. Motorcycle
3. Rickshaw
4. Car
5. Bus
6. Tata truck
7. Holy cow

I will thus begin my way back home.