A letter from Phil and Jan on their experiences in India so far....
October 15th. Gatwick by 7am in the morning... for those of you who know me
well, I might get up early most mornings, but I am not a "morning"
person, so I decided on the other course of action - that of not going to bed
at all. There was a bonus, as I was able to complete most of the things I meant
to do previously but never quite got around to finishing. A kindly act, which
will not go unnoticed I am sure on that great day of Judgment, was Churchwarden
Barbara's offer to drive Jan and I to Gatwick, so by 5.30am we were on our
way.
All formalities over, we boarded our Emirates flight, and braced for take-off,
were somewhat disappointed to hear news of a computer on board in whose opinion
a hatch was open. One hour later, we were up, and already my hatch was open
to G & Ts and snacks, followed by a delicious lunch.
In a bid to be helpful to the rather delightful air stewardess, she and I managed
to tip red wine all down my cream trousers. I don't really know how to describe
the next half-an-hour, but there were many men eager to change places with
me as she proceeded to rub into my trouser-leg (with my leg in it) seven bottles
of white wine. On top of that she presented me with two helpings of chocolate
dessert - what could I do but accept all this lavished attention? The white
wine worked, but I smelt somewhat anti-social. On (late) arrival in Dubai,
we were whisked towards the Chennai flight, only to be informed that we were
to be upgraded to Business Class. I can assure you, that it is a preferable
class in which to smell like an alcoholic, as fewer people seem to notice -
not because they are alcoholic, but due to the fact that there was considerably
more room!
We arrived in Chennai (formerly Madras) at 3am in the morning. After doing
battle with Indian Bureaucracy (which the British taught India so well) we
emerged from the airport to find the outside temperature was already an unbearable
29C. Crowds of people were lying around the airport car park, doing nothing
in particular, but just beginning to stir themselves into action in the begging
bazaar, sometimes adjusting an amputated arm or leg for additional effect.
Add to that the familiar Chennai smell of exhaust, open-drained sewerage and
rotting piles of rubbish, a child or twenty trained to greet you with appealing
eyes and outstretched hands, and it was a recipe to daunt more hardened travellers
than Jan, including me!
As this was Jan's first taste of India, it all came as a shock to her, in spite
of the photographs and the descriptions others and I had passed on. Nothing
can prepare you for the real thing. As we drove to the Hotel in the usual "Ambassador" taxi
- a cross between a 1950s Morris and a World War Two tank, I could sense her
horror at the sight of the hundreds of people trying to sleep in doorways,
on pavements, even in the central reservation of the dual carriageway road,
along with cows, goats and pigs. She gripped on to me every time it looked
as though our taxi was aiming for yet another oncoming vehicle, or narrowly
missed a cow asleep on the side of Chennai's Inner Ring Road. She was quiet,
trying to take in what was obviously too awful for her to comprehend.
Stuck between an enormous expanse of strewn rubbish and an Air-Conditioning
suppliers with resident Palmist (the future for its business is hot, hopefully),
The Radha Park Hotel, gleaming blue-glazed western style in the exhausted Chennai
air, proved to be a haven, in which Jan and I were to be cocooned for the next
24 hours. We slept very comfortably; got up for lunch, e-mailed a bit, but
didn't dare venture into the over-real world outside, where beyond the confines
of the hotel people with elongated hands were waiting to catch the next dazed
guest in a guilt-charging grab for that little extra. Whether we are rich or
not, westerners look more prosperous, and are expected to have limitless pockets.
In comparison with many Chennai-ites, we have.
The following morning a small car arrived to take us the 150km to Vellore,
for Jan's first daylight drive on Indian roads. It was terrifying. The traffic
in Chennai was undertaking, overtaking, underneath or weaving around us, there
were traffic jams, we went through red traffic lights galore, and in the heat
we English Roses were wilting to smithereens..
"Aysee?" the driver asked.
"Esse?" I asked him, sure that this might be a Tamil word for petrol,
and made a grab for my wallet to find an undetermined number of rupees to help
him out.
"No. Aysee!" he insisted. The penny (or rupee) dropped.
"Oh! A.C. - AIR CONDITIONING. Yes please!" we gasped, and suddenly
it became Icelandically chilly. However the tinted windows didn't shield our
vision enough from a journey which was to become familiar both in scenery and
in effect. Three and a half white-knuckled hours later, we arrived at the "Suriba
Hotel International" in Vellore. As radiant as our Chennai hotel had been,
this was not. It looked reasonable from the outside, but it didn't take long
for us to realize that the cheapness of the room would be more than compensated
by the number of ten rupee notes that would be extracted from me by the staff
on the slightest pretext. At least we had a western-style toilet adjoining
our room. For our entertainment there was a wall socket, which doubled up for
an outsize fridge and TV, and sparked dramatically from time to time, at least
when there was not a power cut, of which there were quite a few.
That afternoon Jan broke down in tears - India was much more awful for her
than she had ever imagined. I felt so guilty for having brought her to a place
which so stretched her boundaries - the poverty, the mess, the broken-down
housing and broken-down people; the chaotic and frightening driving, the incessant
noise of car/coach/ motor-bike/auto rickshaw horns, the smells, the in-your-face
of it all.
We decided to eat in the Restaurant. We were the only ones there, and were
outnumbered six to one by the staff. The Head Waiter did an excellent impression
of Manuel in "Fawlty Towers", which was to set the scene for the
place over the next three days. The food was not good, the service bizarre,
and every mouthful watched and grimace noted.
Things brightened up no end as our dear friend Silas beamed into the Hotel
to greet us, staying to enjoy some Fawlty Food with us. Just as Silas left
the hotel, and as Jan was about to shower, he brought back with him another
friendly beaming face, The Revd.Christopher, who on our ascertaining that Jan
was able to be decent, was allowed into the room.
We had come to Vellore earlier than the group that I was to lead for "Christians
Aware", to confirm the details of the programme, to dot "i"s
and cross "t"s. It was early Saturday morning, and we ventured out
by taxi to meet various people at Vellore Christian Medical College and Hospital,
with whom previous arrangements had been made by many e-mails, telephone messages
and letters. It was so good to meet John Sehar the Public Relations Officer,
Dr Mary Jesudason the Hospital's Assistant Director, whom we had seen previously
in the UK three weeks before, and others who seemed so eager to help make our
programme a good one. Dear Ann Witchalls, who with her husband Brian stays
in Vellore for half the year, and Malborough for the other half, came to meet
us with her reassuring smile and knowledge of Tamil. As I know only three words
in Tamil - Wanakam (Hello); Nandri (thanks) and Pongl (Harvest Festival) it
was good to have someone near to hand who was fluent. I checked also with the
Administration Department concerning our accommodation arrangements at Karigiri
Leprosy Hospital, and once again we were overwhelmed by the helpfulness.
A lively youth service at St.John's Church in Vellore (English service, mixture
of European and Indian professionals, great music and testimonies from the
young people, but awfully long sermon goading the faithful to watch out in
case they hadn't repented enough. I felt the lick of hell-fire melt my shoe's
sole, but all else remained intact.
Repentance was necessary later as we sampled more Indian hospitality ALL day..
Large lunch (hot and spicy), large tea around the corner (hot, spicy and by
now monsoony as well), then large supper (hot and spicy). The previous night,
after a delightful display by the children of Latheri (Silas's) Church, we
were treated to a hot and spicy lavishment from the kitchen of Silas's mother.
Jan caught sight of the same kitchen. "What the eye doesn't see..."
We left Fawlty Towers in the early hours of Monday morning. We had to meet
the group off the plane scheduled to arrive in Chennai at 8.20am. That meant
another 5.30am start... what joy that was in heavy monsoon. The already-exciting
drive from Vellore to Chennai had additional shooting the rapids thrown in,
but by now Jan was acclimatized to the extent that overturned lorries and crumpled
rick-shaws she took all in her stride. By the time we got to the airport, we
felt ourselves to be old hands, and my "Mother Hen" instincts took
over as I looked for the British brood about to be placed under my care. I
enjoyed being part of the welcoming crowd. I felt as if I was "of the
place". Faces wearied by long travel, and dazed by the shock of Chennai,
came streaming out of the airport. Then our own group - it was so good to see
them. The weather dried up, and our drivers led us back to the (rather superb
by Indian standards) three chariots that awaited, known in these parts as "Qualis" -
room for four in each with luggage, with "Aysee".
Some three and a half hours later we arrived at Karigiri Leprosy Hospital Guest
House. The next ten days were incredibly powerful, and when I have had a little
more time to digest all that we did and saw, I shall write a further e-mail
from New Delhi. Suffice to say at the moment we have been hearing and witnessing
some pretty awful things regarding the future freedom of Christians here in
India, and can only pray for a wise electorate in the next elections. Much
more on all of this later.
Meanwhile, back in Chennai, we are getting ready to go our separate ways -
six back to the UK, two to Goa, Jan and I to New Delhi by India's own
"Jet Airways". So, hot in Madras, I write to you hot from Madras.
Goodnight from Phil and Jan.
