Sometimes it feels good to see a tourist, it gives the impression of having found allies, not being alone in this overcrowded country. And sometimes there is the strange feeling of being a Kafkaesque prisoner and unable to get away, in a place that is strange and loud and smelling, and where one feels like an foreigner on an forbidden planet.
A strange Planet
And in the end, it's indeed a strange planet, and even if we take a close look and understand, everything remains incomprehensible and alien. It is only clear that everyone here fights for his life, day after day, as a waiter, as a rickshaw driver, as a shoe-maker on the pavement, as a beggar, as a taxi driver, as a bus driver, as a controller, as a vegetable and fruit seller, as tailor, as something else ...
A constant hectic hustle and bustle, exhausting, beguiling the senses in a good as in a bad sense, an incessant tangle of life.
Dark moments ...
These thoughts pass and return. At some point you sit in the next bus or train and it goes on, on and on, to the next location on the map, which initially looks so foreign and dismissive until a nice hotel room, a good meal, a walk makes everything okay again, and the stranger feels at home.
But then there are those horrible hotel rooms (as in Kanyakumari), where everything is uncomfortable, where there is no security, no comfort, where everything is alien. These are the difficult moments when you would rather be at home wondering why you are here, although old insights have pointed out, these moments will come again and again ...
... and those of supposed clarity
But there are also the moments of supposed clarity, where everything looks bad or everything looks good. Where the heart sinks into something uncertain, but cries for joy a few minutes later.
Every journey is different, this one is not the same as the last one, and when I return to my old life, the view of things will be different. For a while the realization will prevail that we all have a good life with everything we need and that more of it it would be a burden. And for a while I won't feel the emotional emptiness, because life is back, nothing is missing ...
A plain ... far away
And then... I'm sitting in the bus that's supposed to take me over the beautiful Western Ghats to Tenkasi. There I will change to the train to Madurai in the evening. Kollam stays behind with good memories, even if later I will only remember the unbelievable chaos on the streets and the cockroach in the hotel.
A fucked up local bus
It is truly a fucked-up local bus, replete with locals, families, children. I sit in the back row as usual, in front of me a metal crossbar, which will cost me with guarantee all my front teeth in case of a collision.
And it becomes another hell ride, the ultimate one this time, up a winding pass and later (unfortunately) down again. I get thrown around just like any other passenger, my battered back is painful every time it's been hit, but I have to admit it's a hell of a lot of fun.
Only once I lose my composure when a girl spits out of the window in front of me and the result flies directly into my face. Unfortunately neither she nor her mom understands my nagging, and so I have to apologize with something sweet at the end.
The Western Ghats
The mountain range runs for about 1600 km through the states of Maharashtra, Goa, Karnataka, Kerala and Tamil Nadu almost to the southern tip of the Indian subcontinent. The mountains represent a natural obstacle to the western monsoon, which means that its water-rich rain clouds rain down on the slopes, as the clouds that rise up the slopes can no longer hold their stored water due to the cooling.
The dense forests also contribute to a humid and warm climate. The western slopes of the Western Ghats benefit from it, while the East with the Dekkan is relatively dry. They also represent the main watershed of the Indian Peninsula.
Tenkasi
Later on an impressive temple-like building appears in the distance, apparently belonging to Tenkasi.
There a miraculous city welcomes me. Strangers are still marveled like miracles (nobody visits Tenkasi?). I leave my luggage in the stationmaster's office and make my way to the city.
Through lanes and streets, I calmly and relaxedly go to the center, carefully avoiding motorbikes and bicycles and cars until I stand in front of the temple, which I have seen from the distance.
It is overwhelming (although similar buildings in Madurai will be even more impressive, but I do not realize that at the time). Monkeys sit on narrow gutters, colourfully dressed ladies pump water out of a fountain while casting shy glances at the stranger.
The dark platform
And then I stand on the dark platform and wait like hundreds of others for the train to Madurai.
And finally I'm sitting on a full train to Madurai, Indian families around me (I only caught one AC 3 tier, so the lowest level, but it's okay for just three hours). I'm the only one ordering something to eat (a mistake?) and later causes a mild sensation.
I firmly refuse to eat by hand.
Looking for a spoon
This results in one of the wonderful stories that can only play out in India. It will be remembered forever.
The passengers around me acknowledge the severe problem. The task is to find a fork or something similar for the funny stranger. The waiter in charge sets off and disappears into the back of the carriage.
Everyone chats and giggles while giving me astonished, pitying, amused looks. I have become in a short time the highlight, an object of interest aboard the train. But then, after an endlessly long time (my food has long since become ice cold), someone has indeed found a spoon, which is now passed from hand to hand (!). I accept it with a lot of friendly and grateful nodding.
And I make a big mistake out of courtesy.
For a moment I consider cleaning it (the many hands!!), but then decide against it. I don't want to offend the friendly people, especially the ones who have tried so hard to solve my problem.
While ten thousand eyes are on me ( the people have gone quiet as a mouse), I stuff the cold, rather bland rice into my mouth and throw approving nods into the round. I think I can hear the people breathing a sigh of relief.
But that's not the end of the story. Just as the last remnant of rice disappears into my mouth, the Waiter turns up. He has been looking for a spoon all the time and finally found one. He proudly offers me a tiny plastic spoon, about the size of the spoons given to the sundaes. I'll never forget his disappointed face, but his mood immensely improves when I give him a generous tip at the end of the journey.
Madurai
Shortly after ten we reach Madurai, the station concourse is full of people stretched out on the ground, as well as on the square in front of the train station, where the people prepare for the night camp.
After a short drive I finally end up in the hotel, a good, orderly, clean hotel, in which I will feel okay during the next days.
P.S. Matching Song: Andy Mackay - Trumpets On The Mountains Off To Work
And here the journey continues ...
