Saturday, October 16
Trivandrum, Kerala
I'm moody today. Every single thing is making me want to scream. Ah-low! Ah-low! Each little boy and girl under fourteen is yelling that from their window. It's worse than someone flicking their fingernails. Or jerking their leg. At least the boys who are older give up after a blank stare but these kids continue, insistently. Their pitch becomes higher and more frantic. And I'm certain that the men are hurling more spit than normal today. It sounds more globular. It's coming from deeper in their chest. Leaving big bubble gum patches on the pavement.
All roads are being worked on in Kerala. They've turned into red, silty, sloppy messes. In between my toes I can feel crumbly bits of red mud. Along the edges of the road are piles of large rocks. Women crouch down to chop them up into chunky gravel. They smack the rocks with an ax hurling the blade between their spread legs. In their saris. I think each household (woman) breaks up the rock pile in front of their house to repair the road. Short-term income. They don't wear any eye protection.
The rickshaw drivers are asking far too much money to go 5km. Three times today I've argued over 10cents. And three times I've walked the 5km. And I think it's them, not me, that are all messed up.
I went to the palace in Trivandrum today. I felt like I needed to go see something historical and cultural. Kerala is low on the old history department largely because of the wood architecture. In comparison to many other parts of India, the buildings here are new-ish. The palace is in awful condition inside. It was impossible to see anything because no lights were working. In the "very special Dutch chandelier" only two bulbs out of sixteen were not blown, and with full power they were 25W. I couldn't see anything that the guide was pointing to except for two items which were fully illuminated with strip lighting and hidden behind glass, each in their own room: one was a throne made entirely from crystal and the other was a throne made from 25 elephant tusks. The latter was graced with electric green and Patagonia orange velvet cushions. Towards the last ten minutes of the tour, the guide kept repeating how the palace was privately funded rather than being owned by the government. I was very slow to understand what he was asking. Eventually, as I put my shoes back on he simply asked if I would give him some money. When I began to inquire about a preservation society, a trust, etc. his English deteriorated and no longer was he able to understand me. Instead he kept repeating, You like tour. Very good tour. You give me money. I gave him some money.
The walls along the sides of the roads here are plastered with Communist graffiti motifs. And ladies sell bouquets of jasmine. Women wear them in their hair. They all have long hair.
Other recent India stories:
Kerala: Backwater boat trips, 100% literacy rate, and Communists
Hot and dusty in Coimbature plus a few unnecessary things in the backpack.
On safari at Bandipur National Park
A day and a night on the Indian Railways
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