Stories by Marilyn Kerr

India Travels
These are my bits and pieces from India.

Tuck Tuck
Tuck Tucks are three -wheeled auto-rickshaws driven by touts who wish to gain every last rupee for every last km. I rode them everywhere all the time. The back bench seat, designed for two passengers, more often than not was filled with whole families, who squeezed in or hung out the sides.
Once I was riding in the country with three traveller friends. A man jumped on the back bumper ledge for a ride, saying he was just there for 'security.' He rode along with us on the dirt road 'till he got to where he was going which happened to be nowhere but the middle of a rice paddie.
He jumped off as we zoomed on. No problem.
So here I go now,on my TuckTuck ride through South India on hot winter days, up the western ghats and down to the coastal beaches, to the villages, and the wide green lazy rivers; into the backwaters, and around the bazaars; always in the company of swarms of people.
I squinted my eyes shut, for the driving skills while honed to motorcross speeds and turns, left me in terror of hitting cows or buses, water buffalo or bicycles, pot holes or ditches as we whizzed along with bumps and zest, The Tuck Tuck motors strained for the top of each gear change, always with that sound of impending breakdown but protected by the sacred shield of numerous idols which hung in the front windows with dangling fake flowers and ever twinkling lights to adorn the Vishnas.
In all the many many rides I had, we never hit a cow, nor scraped a passerby, Like black and yellow bees they swerved and parked, to take riders wherever there was a road. I never once saw a signal light used, nor a stop sign obeyed, the most I ever paid was about 80 rupees. ($2.00)
Ganesh
I loved the ganesh, the little idol for worshipping.
He was everywhere, in the temples in the TuckTucks and buses on the trains, in the houses, he was a busy deity, bringing good fortune to all believers.
With his little pot belly and navel, his long elephant trunk and human eyes, he sat serenely on his thone, kindly and benign casting goodness and prosperity with Hindu blessings.
He was beloved for as a youngster his father Siva, not recognizing him, had chopped off his head and then in remorse replaced it with an elephant's so that he would continue in godly duties.
One lovely large ganesh was in the temple at Udipi.
He was covered with orange cream.
People came to take a finger full of colour and place in on their forhead, a bindi of blessing from their very own chosen idol. I bought a small ganesh in a temple stand.
He sat among the other gods patiently waiting for me. The sign on the stand read 'Idols and Gifts' and I thought the ganesh was both!. I felt very prosperous in India, indeed I do even today. The ganesh reminds me of the gifts of my life.
OOty.
Ooty was a hill station in the Western Ghats, (a ridge of mountains, the spine of south India) developed in the time of the Raj, and still speckled with english cottages their tiny gardens and fenced yards protected with latch gates.
I went there for two reasons. One to cool off, south India is very hot and the hill stations were cool and pleasant, so for a few days I relished the freshness of the high breezes.
But there was more to Ooty than the air, I also wanted to visit the tea plantations. My old grey high school geography book had photos of the plantations and Indian women wearing head bands holding large baskets on their backs for the tea leaves and there they were in Ooty,
With miles and miles of fresh green tea plants, and newly sprouted leaves picked over every 7 days, packs of women roamed and harvested for as far as the eye could see, and piles of tea leaves were hauled off to the tea factory to be cut and dried and packed, ready for a brew in three hours.
The tea bushes were flat topped from the picking so that you could almost imagine walking over the tops, on a green carpet, growing up and down the slopes.
I trekked with a group across the nearby open land, stopping to admire the huge mimosa trees and the silvery barked stately eucaliptis, whose leaves provide soothing medicinal oil. We stopped in a village for lunch served in a dirt floor lean to, by an old man who made very strong black tea with boiled milk and a cotton strainer that looked as if it held enough steamed tea leaves to last all day.
We ate rice and dal on banana leaves with our handss as was the custom, then carried on up the hills.
I stayed at the YWCA in Ooty, a wonderful hillside place where I joined 12 fellow travellers around a table to eat supper together, each sharing their adventures with gusto.
One couple spoke 5 languages during the course of the meal, including mandarin. They were French from Paris and had driven their van across Europe, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, Kashmir,and now down through India. They parked the van in the yard and came in for supper.
I bought a small bottle of whisky in Ooty, the only woman in the the tiny liquor stand. Men came in with small empty bottles to be filled, some with shot glasses for one drink. The whisky, shared at the table was pretty rough.

Dhotis
The men wore dhotis. Long wrap around skirts overlapped in front and tucked into their underpant waistbands. They were cumbersome, protective, adjustable, sometimes elegant, as they flapped with the strides, and fluttered with the air. They never came undone, nor looked untidy, they were more useful than trousers because they were handy.
The construction and road workers wore dark coloured dhotis, but most wore white with a long coloured band down the side to enhance the effect.
I liked to watch the men walk in the dhotis, I never saw them restricted by the ankle length fabric, nor bothered by the walking upstairs or climbing into a car. But they did hoist them up in the midday sun. They lifted up the lower hem, drew the fabric around their waste and tucked them over,with a rather phallilc front bunching of fabric, which flopped easily into place. This allowed cool air around their legs, and a nice feel of free movement.I kept waiting for the whole thing to fall apart, for embarrassment to take over the look, but it never happened.
Those dhotis stayed in place no matter what the activity, they just hung on the bodies with careless abandon. Often the men would untuck the frontal lobe to let the skirt down again, or hold one corner out to allow the breeze to circulate aound the knees.
It was always a drama with those dhotis, up or down, tucked or released, the men seemed to enjoy the continuous tactile adjustments. They carried their wallets safely tucked in their underwear, and their straight cotton shirts hung outside.
I saw men with ties and briefcases wearing dhotis but I did notice they weren't so popular in Bombay.
I missed them. Trousers seemed so ordinary

Wedding sadness
Madura, a large modern city in the south of south India, had a most magnificent temple in the centre of the market. It took up a whole block and two days worth of visiting. The high carved entrance portrayed a myriad of gods and godesses in rows and rows of incarnations that reached up and up, a pyramid of deities.
I stood outside straining to find my ganesh and my vishna for fortune and protection. There they were up there and I found them so I was ready to enter. But first, off came the shoes and into a pile of hundreds of pilgims pairs. I tried to find a spot near the wall so that I could see my own 'Clarkes" when I came out.
Little did I know there were four exits and I would have to walk around on the hot paved streets to find my well worn pair later in the day.
The temple was designed with dark stony ancient passageways, which led to hidden candle lit inner sanctums containing strange multi armed androgynous idols with piercing eyes, and pleasant smiles.
People everywhere were quietly visiting their favourite gods with flowers and food for brahmin men who welcomed and guarded the sanctity of the monuments. With water blessings, face touches, and meditations, a prayerful parade of pilgrims wandered in and out of the many enclaves, each with a private purpose and I sensed an enjoyment of their hindu religion, while brahmins sat to sing soft vocal ohms and sacred elephants stood patiently in courtyards with painted trunks and mirrored colour sashes.
I watched fathers lift young children to touch their favoured idol, and smoky fires pass on silver trays for welcoming hands to push the sacred heat onto eager faces, A brahmin dipped his spoon to spill water on my hair, and a parade of drums came through the corridors with low tribal sounds repeated and repeated.
A woman told me I should see the diamonds. Puzzled, I joined a line of pilgims thinking I would see a sacred diamond. My turn came quickly, I peered in through several grates in, in, to a small grotto, and there was an unknown god, his vest covered with candle lit shining diamonds a blaze of glory. I filed past three times to take my turn at amazement.
But it was the wedding that turned my head away.
A cloister around the large lotus centred sacred reflecting pool was a coveted place to hold wedding groups, an important event for all hindu daughters. When I arrived, there was a wedding in progress (often a three -day event). Women were sitting in irregular circles around the bride, flowers and jewels bedecking everyone, and men gathered not far away to joke and nudge the groom who had taken a new yellow shirt out of a box to match his dhoti. The two groups were seperate and full of chat and humour.
The bride wore a lovely purple sari with flowers and head jewels in her hair and a large decorated nose ring attached to a chain which connected to her ear. It was the day she had been waiting for.
I saw her there in the midst of her family, a smiling child. She looked so vulnerable and unprotected, all dressed in expectation, too young to enter an arranged life.
Her smile was constant and full of fear.
Perhaps the groom was young too I thought. I went to look at him.
The groom was older. He was ready, and waiting.
The families brought the two side by side, They were festooned with wedding flower capes, as was the custom. There was much clapping and laughing.
Neither looked at each other. I saw only the haunting fearful smile.
I walked away. Her life, just begun, would now begin again, in her mother -in -law's house, the hindu way, and more children would be raised in the land of too many.

Matrimonials
Sunday march 15. 2009. The classified section of the newspaper 'The Hindu.' Bridegrooms Wanted. Brides Wanted. There were approx.1,000 advertisements for brides and bridegrooms on four full pages entitled Bringing People Together. Here are samples of the ads.
#1
Hindu Vilakkathala Nair girl 28 Allitam-4 slight papan M.com. M.phil. seeks educated employed boy from same caste. (tel. given)
#2
Caste no bar. Settled senior director in a reputed company seeks fair and educated girl from a decent family. (Box# given)
#3
Mother SalvaPilia, Father SC Arunthathiar, Son, 32/175 Fair Bsc. employed CTS Chennia.seeks fair graduate employed girl expected salary 20k age between 23-27 Caste no bar. (phone and e mail given)

I met Chetana and her 13 year old son, in a garden in Kanyakumari. We were staying at the same ashram Vivekananda Kendra.
We went together to watch the sunrise over the Indian Ocean at the southern tip of India, She was a lawyer and a a sanskrit scholar, and a hindu devotee. We travelled together for four wonderful days. I was able to ask her about her family and why she had agreed to an arranged marriage.
"I did not want to disappoint my father" she said. "And how has it worked out?" I asked.
" He is a very nice man" was her answer. They had lived with her bridegroom's family as was the custom.
She was hoping to come to Toronto in two years to attend a woman's rights conference.

Slumdog
I saw dalits, (formerly called untouchables or pariahs) begging or sweeping on the streets.
They had dark skin and wore saris. They found garbage. In Mumbia, they slept on sand piles at construction sites near the Taj. I saw a young mother and two small children sitting on the side of the road one morning with a paper cup of water. They were brushing their teeth with their fingers.