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Published: December 11th 2015
The Headless Santa
Right outside the entrance to the tomb of St. Thomas There's something about the first few hours traveling in a foreign country. I've felt it so many times--exhaustion from the long flight, unsettled stomach, a bit of anxiety, eagerness and excitement over embracing a new adventure. But these first few hours--the day after I landed in Chennai--were different.
It is, after all, my triumphant return to India. I first visited 40 years ago as a university student, hungry for a cultural experience, a bit naive and searching for some kind of personal enlightenment. Our group of 18 students from mid western US schools went straight to Madurai back then, to study Tamil and the culture, or at least that's how we started. That less-than-scholarly experience (most of us were not very disciplined students) somehow tied me to the place. I was drawn back twice since that time. And now, 40 years older, I'm returning again to reconnect to the people, the places, and most importantly, to my Indian friends from long ago.
My anxiety about negotiating this city of nine million people evaporated as I allowed Chennai to take me in. It started with the family members at Springhaven--the bed and breakfast place where I am staying.
They are all very kind, and cluck over me like mother hens.
"There's a wedding today, you can attend," one of the women said to me as I staggered into the sitting area before breakfast. Wedding? Less than seven hours after landing? I mulled this idea in my head, thinking about all the other things I wanted to do--change money, get my mobile phone set for action in India. And I was so tired, and battling a cold that had wanted to explode for over a week now. But how often does one get to attend an Indian wedding?
"I don't have any clothes!?"
"No problem, we'll put you in a sari."
Then as suddenly as the opportunity arose, it dissolved for some reason. So instead, I donned my favorite salwar-kameez outfit, and planned to do errands. Three family members then worked together to engage a tuk tuk for me--go to the bank, get the SIM card for the phone, go to the temple, the beach. All set--the driver understood everything, he would drop me at the temple at the end.
I told the driver in Tamil that I knew a little Tamil.
Gopuram in the Kapaleshwarar temple
Undergoing painting for the upcoming festival. The house host commented that I could speak Tamil--I emphasized "a little" and she said, well, that's more than enough to survive. I had said five words, and now I was fluent. I asked how to say "stop" in Tamil--the house host told me, then laughed and said the driver knows how to say "stop" in English. Then I tried to get in the tuk tuk from the wrong side--or the right side, if I were in the US, where they drive on that side of the road. The family gathered there laughed as I set off.
"I'm in the wrong country," I said.
And off we went, zipping around corners, weaving through vehicles, motorbikes--my driver was a master, making impossible turns and leapfrogging over obstacles. I'm having a blast, I thought, this is just perfect. I'm really back in India! My happiness grew as we careened among vehicles and potholes.
At the mobile phone shop, they made me hand over my passport, give a photo of myself, sign everything in triplicate, provide my father's name, and promise my first born son to them. All to get a SIM card so I can have a local phone
number. When my passport disappeared out the door, I was worried, just for a minute. It came back after they had copied the visa inside. I gave them about $1.50, they inserted the card into my phone, then told me it would not be activated for five days. Great. Within a minute of purchasing, the driver handed me his cell phone. It was the bed and breakfast host, saying my friend had phoned her and told her to contact me and say that he had a phone for me that I could borrow while traveling for my five weeks in India.
By this time I was marveling at how nearly 15 new people were suddenly involved in my life, trying to make things easier for me, trying to help me accomplish things, in a strange, round about fashion. That's travel in India.
Chennai just suffered massive flooding--the once in a century kind. I expected problems in moving about, but my first few hours spinning around the city in a tuk tuk were trouble free. Sort of. My driver dropped me at the bank, said he had to tend to a family emergency, then sped off. The bank didn't
Scaffolding behind a shrine
The white haired guide demonstrated perambulation of each little shrine, and many had scaffolding around them from the festival preparation. I had to duck.. change dollars, so I got the guy standing outside, guarding the entrance, to help me hire another tuk tuk to take me to another money changing place, then the temple. Off I went again, finally got dropped at the big temple. A white haired man latched on to me as I walked around, showing me how to pay respect to each deity enshrined around the grounds, guiding me around each building, ducking under scaffolding and walking through cow poo. He placed a strand of leaves around my neck and tucked it into my neckline. It felt like thorns, and I peeled off green leaves that had plastered themselves to my chest for the next several hours.
Another tuk tuk driver then took me to the beach, and St. Thomas Cathedral Basilica, dedicated to St. Thomas, one of the twelve apostles, who died as a martyr there. Outside the tomb where his finger bone fragment is enshrined, was a headless statue of Santa Claus. With his pants fallen around his "feet". So startled was I that I could not enjoy the museum where a fragment of the spear that killed St. Thomas is preserved. Thank goodness I saw the headless
I asked for a blessing
...I touched his trunk.... Santa after I enjoyed the impressive interior of the cathedral.
Then of course the tuk tuk driver threw me his pitch of visiting some shops so he could get free petrol.
"NO," I insisted. "No shops." I knew the drill. He then said he'd reduce the price of the ride if I did it. So soft willed me, I gave in, and spent five agonizing minutes--the minimum needed--in two shops while the people inside gave me the hard sell and followed me around like puppy dogs. The driver got his petrol.
I was barely conscious after my whirlwind tour.
I guess the headless Santa made it all worth it. That, and the tuk tuk pulling the cart selling "American sweet corn, riche testy steam corn."
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Joanne
non-member comment
Thanks for painting the scene
Dear Terrry, Thanks for painting the scene with such careful detail. I almost feel like I'm there with you. I can't believe you went all those places on your first day back after a very long flight. I agree, the headless Santa is rather disturbing!!!