Moi and Mine

…are over for now. Margo is back in Brisbane, Australia and Joy in formerly sunny, California. Yes, it’s raining. But, the quality of light is still fantastic, when it peeps through the rain drops. What can I say? It’s the San Francisco Bay Area in CALIFORNIA! Eight lane freeways, 300 restaurants to choose from (Persian, Afghan, Thai, Indian, burgers and fries), 100 movie theatres plus Netflix, 8 enormous shopping centers and also discount malls, the ocean not far and house prices still soaring. In our backyard, in suburban Mountain View, it is quiet while we watch the birds and squirrels. Farmer’s Markets run all year round--fresh fruits and local, organic vegetables are always available. We can drink the water from the Hetch Hetchy Valley straight from the tap!

Something in me will always love India. Ooty, Coonoor, Mudumalai (even Coimbatore), Bangalore, Port Blair in the Andamans and Chennai (aka Madras). They each hold a place in my heart. Crazy Bangalore (pop. Over 5 million) with people scurrying, roads dug up, trains being put in, new airport being built, one-way streets and high rises going up everywhere. Madras (pop. 4 million), a city I spent over ten years in, has improved. The pavements are smooth and wide now, the roads have lanes, the traffic is less than Bengaluru and the people seem less frenetic.

In Madras, we stayed at the trusty YWCA where I had lived as a student in the sixties and our great aunt, Dr. Esther Chase, had owned the main bungalow and practiced medicine in the 1930s. It still has the vestiges of a lake and a new chapel in the middle of the grounds.
Home to the aged as well as students and working women it has an International Guest House. Simple housing, in restful surroundings with big trees. I picked up some red, shiny Gundamani seeds on a path.

We met with cousin Timmy and his wife, Pinx and their beautiful baby, Diya.

Cousin Sharon and her two girls and husband Saji took us to a grand buffet which even served egg-hoppers. It was good to talk about my cousin, Dorothea (their mother), who I missed as she had died over a year ago.

Nice to make the connection again with Ranjini (a friend from school-days) and see her beautiful home.

The days went fast. Soon, I was on the train back to Bangalore.

A word about that journey back: 51 hours, door-to door. Madras to Bangalore by train, all day in Bangalore (great to spend more time with cousin Sean and wife, Vicky, cutie Lollie and Uncle Len).

Night flight to Singapore, all day in Singapore. A night and a day flying back via Hong Kong to San Francisco. Good to see Bill!

A big thank you to Sheila and Natala, who took care of Brizzy and the cats and our house while we were both away! Back to work at Evergreen where the semester starts on Monday. And, to more adventures of a different sort…

The “marigold sun” of the Andamans beats down unrelentingly all afternoon but the early morning hours when we went to the jetty were cool-ish and filled with promise. We now have a room facing the bay but initially had a room on the other side where I enjoyed the green canopy in front of us: tall spreading neem tree, pencil thin Asoka with their silvery leaves shaking in the sea breeze, a tall mango and a huge tamarind tree laden with fruit. Of the 572 and counting islands, we have visited South Andaman whereupon sits Port Blair, Ross Island complete with Japanese bunkers from WWII and ruins of churches and buildings from the British before. We saw the son et lumiere at the Cellular Jail in Port Blair, famous for its incarceration of the freedom fighters of 1857 and on—in Hindhi. Yesterday, we took the ferry for over two hours into the black water (Kala Pani) of the open sea to Havelock Island. There, I walked on a pristine beach with the water pleasantly warm, lapping at my feet and the rough coral sand smoothed by the ocean waves. We visited the Barefoot Resort at Radhanagar beach aka Beach #7 and borrowed their mats and umbrellas. Margo promptly fell asleep under the jungle canopy of mahua trees and was lucky to be only bitten by one ant. We heard peacocks and other jungle birds but saw few. Scantily clad Europeans smoked cigarettes, I even smelled some weed. They spoke a plethora of languages none of which are understood here where people speak four languages as if they are one, dipping in and out of Hindhi, Tamil, Malayalam and English easily. At another end of the beach were some Indian families, screaming as they entered the water fully dressed, all six yards of their saris, too. MK Sunny (who has an MA in counseling) and Selvakumar (a drama major) need a medal for getting us tickets, hiring taxis and dropping us off at 5:30 in the morning and picking us up from the jetty after dark. It is hard to imagine this glassy sea embroiled with huge waves lashing the shores as it did during the tsunami in 2004. We met the children, earlier, at the Tsunami Shelter at Bamboo Flats where Sunny and Selvakumar (who lives in Great Nicobar Is—the most southern) have a work imparting lively songs and bible verses to keep these relocated peoples' spirits up. One little girl who had lost her parents was being raised by a couple who had lost all their siblings. They called her Tsunali, as she was too little to know her own name. Selvakumar himself had rescued his children and returned to find his wife up to her shoulders in water. They were hard times and all the Andamanese seem to have a bond beyond what most people share. Margo shopped at a sari shop in the market where fresh vegetables from the fields were sold in a big square while I popped in to a roadside center owned by Qutubuddin who spoke perfect English, having studied at Baldwin’s Anglo Indian boys school in Bangalore. I had a great Ayurvedic foot massage there.

We drove to the top of Mt. Harriett in Port Blair and listened to the siren sounds of cicadas coming from the jungles below. Many parts of these islands are protected and conservation is on the rise making it difficult for locals to build because they have to buy even wood and sand from Burmah and Chennai. It is much quieter than Bangalore here with the waves crashing softly on the rocks nearby. It is easier to ignore the piles of garbage, the wandering cows or the random pie dogs everywhere. The balmy Andamans (we saw the scene on the Indian 20 rupee note) are worth a visit if you want to get really, really far away!

This incredible enormous bustling and alive city broke into the New Year last night with screaming motor bikes roaring foward and young men shouting in the streets. We are in the heart of the cantonement and from our thrid floor room could hear the fire crackers and see the fireworks exploding all over the city at midnight. Happy New Year, Bangalore!

We took the heritage Blue Mountain train down the Nilgiri ghats with views of deep gorges and big trees. The steam engine that had pushed it up to Ooty acted as a brake to take us down to Metapalayam. Sivan was there with his trusty Chevy to take us to the best dosai place on the way to the Residency hotel in Coimbatore. Surprse! For the New Year's evry bush, tree and leaf was decorated with strings of lights. About an acre. In Coimbatore, the city of my birth, the towels were perfumed with cardamom. Very nice.

Bangalore is what it has become. 27 restaurants, 5 Internet cafes, umpteen shops all on Church street parallel to MG road (poor Mahatma scrunched to two letters of the alphabet). A narrow one-way street, it leads to St. Mark's cathedral from St. Patrick's via Brigade Rd and Residency (roads whose names have not been changed). My uncle Len lives here, he remembers when you could hear the organ from the churches playing from here. It was a very long time ago! But, at the Taj West End, we had a quiet Vietnamese meal in an oasis of the past alive still by the Turf Club of Bangalore. A good start to 2008.

Now we can return to contemplate illusion. Is all of life an illusion? And, what really is maya? Why Benazir? Why now. What does her death mean for all of us? Meanwhile, my mother reports: "I got into bed at nine thirty and woke up at a few minutes before twelve so I thanked the Lord for all that was passed and trust Him for all that is to come, and I went to sleep again. " She will be 87 in February.

May 2008 bring joyful days filled with the most beautiful illusions. Joy