Vedanthangal Bird Sanctuary
Bodies just seem so disposable in India. Bodies and each body’s time. Physically, it feels to me that life isn't worth much. I'm sure it's because of the strong faith in one's religion. Which ever religion one follows. Walking down the street is an obstacle course. And it’s a real threat to one’s own life. Cars and rickshaws and scooters come at you from the wrong direction and do not hesitate to run you over. I repeat, Do Not Hesitate. As a pedestrian in the Financial District, I usually have the view that no car really IS going to run me over because it’s just too darn expensive for them to do so. Here, it’s scary to be walking on the sidewalk. And to actually be on a scooter? I’ve seen three crashes happen in front of my eyes in the last week and no one was wearing a helmet.
And
one’s time. My time is very valuable. I just don’t have enough. Not enough
hours in the day. Not enough days in my life. I think this is why I’m
so stunned when I order a taxi at 4am and find that the taxi driver has
come and spent the night beforehand at my hotel. Yet, I’m only paying
him for the physical distance he drives me.
My alarm went off at 3:45am on Monday morning to catch the cab to take me to Vedanthangal Bird Sanctuary. Fingers crossed, I was hoping that the birdies from Siberia had already made the trip down to their winter residence just South of Madras. I couldn’t get out of the courtyard of my hotel because the doorway was locked. Panic. But there was a body sleeping just below the door and I woke him up. The guard told me he always sleeps there, lying on the ground outside. At the foot of the door. He went to go wake up my taxi driver.
My driver and I stopped for chai and coffee. The coffee is really a mini cappuccino but without the froth and a heap or two of sugar. The drive to the sanctuary was peaceful. I think the key to a quiet drive is having a stunned driver who is still very sleepy. Note to self. No need to talk. Or answer questions.
The bird sanctuary was free to get into because most of the birds, in fact, had not arrived. But I didn’t really care. It was quiet and still and miles away from cars. And there were plenty of birds to keep the ignorant like me content. Herons of all varieties, pelicans, ibises, cormorants, storks and flashes of kingfishers.
On the drive back towards the train station, the driver asked if he could stop. Of course. He pulled out two big bags from his trunk and began to fill them with soil from the roadside. He said he wanted the soil for his garden.
I took a
train from some unknown town back to Madras hoping to then head to Bangalore
later in the day. There was a women’s carriage. I found a seat in it.
There is often a women’s carriage; it’s the bottom class but it’s usually
fairly hassle free. Two girls rushed to sit across from me. Was I married?
Where did I live? 
Did
I have a camera? I took photos. Could I give them money? I said no. Just
as they disembarked, a group of boys got into the train car and came and
sat in my carriage. They started to climb all over the carriage. Monkey-like.
Super noisy. Not threatening. Just like any 12-year-old boys on their
way to school. And with one girl to show off towards. I didn’t pay much
attention (good book). Until a woman from next door came throttling into
the carriage and started to smack them with her hand. All of them. And
hollering, and shouting and yelling and screaming she was going to report
them to the station master at this stop. They pretended to snore. She
hit them harder. And pointed towards me and then grabbed one or two by
the scruffs and pulled them down to the floor from up in the suitcase
wracks where they were hanging. They got off at that stop, just like she
ordered. So did she. And then the minute the train moved, they hopped
back on. And another woman came to yell and holler at them.
I caught the train from Madras to Bangalore. I felt strangely exhausted. Sick-tired but not sick. I woke up five hours later. The conductor told me I had sat in the wrong class, First Class, A-C, special special special class and therefore I had to pay $20. Rip off. But I paid because I couldn’t move. I needed to sleep more. Towards the end of the ride, the three carriagemen came and sat in my carriage. They said they weren’t going to leave until I gave them money. I gave them a dollar each. And they left.
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