India

Kaniakumari - Cape Comeron, the most southern tip of India.

The bus ride down here was a revelation. Looking out of the window the kaleidoscope of life unfolded in front of my eyes: so much joy. So much pain. Condensed in one place:

Air-conditioned ice cream parlours, three barefoot men, sweating and pushing, pushing really hard a wooden trolley loaded with bricks, a mother in a palmleaf shack brushing her daughters freshly washed raven hair, a saddhu in orange cloth with a monkey on his shoulder begging for alms, women digging holes for water pipes with massive hammers in the ground in the blazing midday sun, laughing schoolgirls with red ribbons in their hair waving and giggling, a disformed begger limping down the street until he stops for a few moments because the woman in a green sari gives him half of her samosa....

So it goes on and on and on. Life at is best and worst in India.

One minute you curse the heat, the dirt and the noise and the people that never give you a minute to yourself. The next moment you enjoy the sun, the hustle bustle and the school-children that all want to shake your hand and touch your hair.

Kaniakumari is one of the most sacred places in India and every Hindu should visit it at least once in his or her lifetime. It is here that three oceans meet which is regarded to be very, very auspicious. The pilgrims bathe here before sunrise to purify themselves. I joined them at four o’ clock in the morning, in complete darkness under a black sky.

After the bath you have to worship the Hindu gods in a 3000 year old temple. There was no day light in the temple and the lack of oxygen and rhythmic chanting hypnotised us and spiralled us further and further into a dark labyrinth of Hindu devotion. I emerged from the temple at dawn with a blessing from the old priest: the sacred sandalwood stripes on our foreheads and a sweet smelling Jasmine flower behind our right ear to see the spectacular sunrise above the sea with hundreds of Indians. The men in simple white loin clothes and turbans; the women in colourful saris - it could have been centuries ago at the very same place....

Later I journeyed with the ferry across to the rock in the middle of the ocean that faces India. On the rock is the "Vivekananda memorial".

It is dedicated to an Indian sage that taught spiritual practise to the poor people and who apparently gained enlightenment after meditating on this very rock for three days and nights non stop. part of the memorial is the amazing "OM ROOM"- a small meditation hall with subdued lighting and absolute silence. On the shrine is no deity but only a giant luminous OM-symbol. I sat and meditated and sat and meditated and sank into a deeper silence where all was OM and OM was all..

Another chapter unfolds:

I emerged yesterday from my magical backwater journey. Three days on a houseboat timelessly travelling through Kerela - A palmfringed peaceful paradise:
....Prickly jackfruits against the turquoise sky.
Purple Mangoes growing towards the sepia waterways.
Rice Paddies. Rice. The grain of life.
A canoe pulls by, filled with hay.
Smoke from the chimney.
Children pick flowers and throw kisses.
Fishing, washing, swimming.
The simple life.
As long as you have bread in your oven and flowers grow in your garden, you are rich....

I loved being on the boat. Seeing the sun and moon rise. Swimming in the morning and chanting in the evening. At night the lake a black mirror for Orion, mars and moon. I felt so full of joy and praise for the beauty of creation that these few lines in honour of the palm-tree came to me:

Palmtrees
tall and strong
and green
full of juice and oil and sugar
full of goodness and life

- the tree of life.
And India is blessed with them....

Now I am back in the hustling-bustling madness and magic of an Indian city: Trivandrum has hit me full force. One of these places where everything seems possible but nothing really happens.

It took me three days trying to sort out my flight to Bangkok. Two full days and one night, to be exact. A lot of phone calls, a few faxes and a lot of " baksheesh" only to discover that the tickets are exactly in the same state as when I gave them to the "trustworthy hands" of a "reputable travel-agent" who convinced me to relax with a magical mantra: "Don't worry, Madam. It will be OK. trust me. It is possible....."But: NO confirmed seat or sticker on my ticket at all. Nothing is possible after all. But the travel agent smiles and says: "BE HAPPY!"

Another example: Room service in my hotel this morning. I order:One steamed banana. One coffee. One orange juice.Two chapattis.The Room-service repeats: One steamed banana. One coffee. One orange juice. Two chapattis. Yes, Madam. OK. Correct.

BUT kitchen not available. Kitchen closed. Maybe tomorrow....!?

Well that's India for you, Indescribable: driving you mad and making you smile. There is only one way: surrender to the "do things as slow and inefficient as possible" law of Indian cosmos.

---------------------- Bananas grow above the door frame in saffron curves.

Six glass jars filled with coconut cookies and palmsugar sweets.

Chai, Hot, milky chai in my glass.
The smell of cardamom in my nose, the taste of cinnamon on my tongue.
At 40 degrees in the shade
I surrender to the sweat.....