Layover in Goa

We had to shut the windows of the car as we drove out of Puttaparthi to Bangalore. The wind coming in was so hot it was like a blast furnace. I left behind a town that was already three quarters shuttered down. Baba was rumoured to be leaving in just two days so all the Kasmiri merchants in particular were champing at the bit to race off to Kashmir despite numerous phone calls from home telling them that the massive late season snow dump of the week before had people paddling boats in the streets of Shrinegar.

Bangalore was much cooler, my little thermometer only got up to 30 while I was there. I had to go in on the Friday to get the crowns installed on my back molars, so that left me with nothing to do after I found a post office and mailed a parcel but lounge in my large, comfortably airy and cool hotel room reading "The Last Mohgul" by William Darymple for most of Saturday and Sunday. First time I have ever actually had a relaxing visit to Bangalore. Stayed at the Race View Hotel, my favorite Kashmiri shopkeeper sugested it. Great value for 600 rupees, butI woke up too late both days to see the horses excercising in the morning.

Anyways, did a very short flight to Goa, arrived early evening as the sea breeze was banishing the heat of the day. Ah what a delight. Lots of people still enjoying the balmy evening air, shops and restaurants and even computer shops open till 11 oclock. Felt like a grown up again after Puttaparthi's 9pm lock down. That place is getting more cultish and treating people more like children every year.

I spent a lot of time talking to Kashmiris while I was in P. They have a very nervous existance in town. The local Telagu speaking Hindus who run the small convience, home furnishing and repair shops and man pushcarts out on the streets are pretty hostile to the mutton and chicken eating Muslim shop owners who occupy the prime real estate directly outside the Ashram walls and sell expensive luxury goods like clothing and jewelry. Muslim merchants go directly from their shops to home, no walking around on the streets alone after dark for them. The Kashmiris like to stay up late and eat and watch television till after midnight. The Hindus like to be asleep by 9 and start singing bajans at 4 am. The Baba devotees from all over the world are getting more and more insistant that the whole town, not just the Ashram toe the line in matters ranging from diet; pressure from the Sai Trust got rid of the only two non-veg restaurants in town and decorum; the police told one shopkeeper to get out of town because a German lady accused him of fooling around with some Russian women. As I said, it's all getting pretty cultish. Too bad it's a so much more economical place for a lengthy stay than Goa.

The Darymple book was interesting in that it described very much the same sort of differences in daily routines between the Mughal courtiers in the Red Fort and the Hindu merchants in Delhi at the turn of the century. And there again you had a third group, Christian Britishers taking administrative control with a totally different time table and agenda again. In Puttaparthi the foreigners are not quite so overwhelminly British, but there is a very strong Northern European presence and public morality emerging. Interesting to see that these dynamics are not new in India. The Russians don't seem to be toeing the line though. My friend Manzoor in Calangute tells me that some Russians have just arrived in Goa complaining about their stay in P. Wonder if they are the same bunch rumoured to be caught in naughty activities with the Kashmiri who was told to get out of town?

Three billion people and small town politics can still cross the width of the continent at the speed of an airliner.

I'm heading up to Delhi on Friday, suposed to meet my friend Remi there and continue on to Shrinegar the next day. He invited himself on my Kashmir trip last year and insisted on when we had to go this year. (I would have prefered to hang out another week or two in Goa to let the late winter early spring stuff blow itself out, but he had to get out of P before Baba, didn't want the expense of a layover in Goa and Delhi is also sweltering right now, so he doesn't want to stay there any longer than necessary). Now he tells me that he may not be able to make it to Delhi because there was a bad derailment on the mainline from Bangalore to Delhi that he is suposed to take in two days. I think the stories of people boating in flooded Shrinegar are spooking him.

I don't care, I have my winter boots and coat from my January arrival from Canada. Arrived in Canada during the last of the winter downpour in BC this time last year, by the last week in April it was beautiful, so I'm not worried about a little early spring mountain weather in Kashmir. I may indeed be going up there alone after all. That's ok. Got an invitation to a wedding in May and recomendations of good cheap guest houses rather than houseboats so I'm looking forward to the experience alone or with company. Meanwhile Goa is beautiful, a little bit hot during the middle part of the day, but beautifully cool and fresh morning and evening, especially out on the beach. And the food, as always, absolutely wonderful. Those Goans sure know how to cook.

Winding down in Puttaparthi

The dying season has begun. Three times in the last three days the thrum of flat hand held skin drums. Twice a flower mounded body with tiny wizened face poking out of the flowers paraded past on the way to the Hauneman Temple. It's getting hot. Up around 38 C to 40 C every day. Old people are dying. I feel very sorry for those impoverished oldsters, sweltering in tiny dark places with no electricity. Two and a half more months of heat to go for them.

My flat isn't too bad. Put up foil coated mylar sheets, sold as "space blankets" to Canadian drivers in the winter for emergency protection, on my south and west windows. Switch on my ceiling fan before the lights when I get home. Keeps the place around 34 C. Jump into the bathroom every time I get home. The warm water in the shower around noon that was such a delight two months ago comes out of the tap too hot to stand under any more. I fill a bucket with cold water every evening and mix the hot into my pouring cup for a nice tepid sluice and a dry off under the ceiling fan. The walls stay slightly warm all night now.

I've got two more weeks to go. Getting on a plane for a five day visit to Goa the Sunday after next, then on to meet Remi in Delhi and the flight to Shrinegar up in the mountains of Kashmir. Looking forward to some cool mountain air.

Puttaparthi is emptying out. The once crowded restaurants are almost deserted at night now. Many close early. During the daytime the streets are quiet and dusty.

Baba is supposed to be going to Whitefield on the 22nd, the whole town will shut down then, shopkeepers are packing goods away, getting ready to roll down their shutters for the two months or so Baba is expected to be away. I'm going up to Bangalore on the 23rd to finish off my dental work and catch a plane. Remi isn't booked out till the 28th, it will be an interesting experience for him to be in a completely quiet Puttaparthi. His friends Denis and Sherrie will be around all summer so he will have a place to hang out until the train leaves.

I'm getting my business sorted out, organizing receipts for customs, indexing, pricing and cateloguing goods I picked up during my stay.

Had a hilarious day, (in retrospect, wasn't all that much fun while I was in it) in Bangalore on Friday. I went in on the early train for a dental appointment and had with me a claim form I am sending back to Canada that needed to be notarized. Things started to go bad at the train station. The train was three quarters of an hour late. Got into Bangalore an hour late at the beginning of the afternoon rush hour. Fidgeted all through the crawl across town. Arrived an hour and a half late for my appointment. The dentist had just gone home. She was very nice about it, I apologized profusely, her resident poked at my tooth, no pain anymore, filled up the hole with a temp dressing, made me another appointment. No more trying to do this same day thing. Next time I'll come in on the Friday and get to the dentist early Saturday morning before the streets fill up.

On my way to my second assignment. I have to find a notary to stamp this document. Someone in Puttaparthi had suggested going to a police station and asking there. Police have a lot to do with lawyers, seemed logical. Got a rickshaw, the driver looked scared when I asked to go to a police station, any police station. Around and around and around we go, must have passed the same damn park three times, asking, asking, asking for directions. Maybe the driver was just trying to find a station where no body knew him by sight. Eventually we found one, and after many false attempts I finally connected with someone who could tell me where the lawyers hang out. Mayo Hall looks like an old courthouse out of a forties movie. But the halls were lined with desks with signs saying "Notary" So and So. Ah ha, just what I have been looking for. A short wait and I have what I came for, half a page of brightly coloured stamps and an impressive big red seal. These Indians know how to do it up right. Had to laugh when the notary told me that he was going to charge me 150 rupees but he was only going to put 15 rupees on the receipt. The guy who is verifying that I have sworn to tell the truth is lying himself. So India.

Anyways, back into the traffic, mad dash to the railway station in hundred yard bursts between jam ups. It's almost train time and I still have to stand in line for a ticket. One short angry burst at the taxi driver who is trying to gouge me for another 300 rupees. I've already given him twice what shows on the meter to pay for wait time. That train is getting ready to go, I have no time for this. I push a hundred rupees into his face and say, "take 100 rupees or take nothing, I'm leaving." He took the hundred rupees. So back on the train again with seconds to spare before the station starts to roll past. I realize I'm becoming an Indian. Other people are running across the platform to leap for the handrails of the slowly moving train. Beginning to understand how this happens. I have no small bills, I haven't eaten all day or stopped for a minute. I can't get a snack from any of the vendors because I know none of them can change a 500 rupee note.

Then the conductor comes for the rest of my fare. He doesn't have change for 500 either. A nice young man sitting beside me offers to change my bill and shares a spicy omelet wrapped up in a chappati with me. Also so India. Turns out he has a very English name to go with that unusual accent. What do you know, another Anglo Indian. They seem to like letting westerners know that they share some heritage. My Great grandfather served in India, didn't marry anybody over there though. Interesting encounter, neat to know that the descendants of those few marriages still value the western side of their heritage also.

Up and about again

Well, hi everyone who is still looking me up. It's been a while.

Have had a very tense month in Puttaparthi. Got my banking stuff sorted out, income coming into a bank that can't eat it without a court order. That was very scary because Ram didn't get back in time for the Canadian pony express mail service to get word to my income sources to change banking info before they fired off March's cheques. Luckily the "no entry" command I requested on my accounts at the first bank held and they were sent back to sender. So they are a bit late but that's a much better outcome than just gone.

Then I went to see a dentist in Bangalore to get a cavity filled. That turned into two root canals and three crowns, seven hours on bus or train and ocasional overnight hotel stays for each appointment. Still chugging my way through that. Did two trips into B'lore last week. Spent most of Sunday sleeping to catch up with my sleep deficit. Getting it done in India is the only way to go. I have enough dental coverage in Canada to get the root canals and fillings done, but not the crowns. That's $2400 dollars right there, about a $350 cost in India. Pretty much justifies the cost of the airplane ticket over here. And the office where I am getting the work done is in a very modern, totally state of the art facility. I like the dentist too, a very gentle, considerate and thorough lady, Dr Rita. One nice thing about going into Bangalore regularly is that it is about five degrees cooler than Puttaparthi, very refreshing break.

Now I'm working on how to get the hell out of here. It's getting very hot, up over 36 C pretty much every day now and rising. I guess it got up to 55 C in May one year. However, I still have to get to Goa to do some business and Remi wants to come to Shrinegar with me also. So I'm trying to explain to a travel agent that we need tickets for two separate itineraries that end up on a plane bound for Shrinegar on or about March 31st.Have to see how that all works with the number of appointments I need with my dentist. Will probably have to change my Singapore Air flight back to Canada in the middle of June also. I thought it would be easier to fly from Shrinegar to Delhi then home than come all the way back to Bangalore. But I didn't count on the two huge suitcases of Indian stuff I would have to lug all the way to Kashmir and back to Delhi to do that. I'm going to cost the difference between changing my Singapore Air ticket and paying excess baggage rates on Indian domestic airlines.

There are times when Indian beurocracy can drive you nuts.

One example. I want to get a Commissioner of Oaths to notarize a claim I am sending back to Canada under a class action brought against the Alberta Government last year. I go to this guy who has a sign on his door saying he is a notary. He wants to vet the document and keep a copy of all sorts of my private data for his files, to make sure I'm telling the truth. Such bullshit, he only has to witness that I am swearing that I am telling the truth, not investigate me. He wants to charge thirty dollar to boot, and refuses to give me a receipt for the service. That's a frigging fortune in India. I'm pretty suspicious that he isn't even the notary, didn't have a stamp to do the deed right then, wanted to send it to my home by messenger. Got to wonder what some people are up to. Anyway I'm going to try to find someone else.

And then back to Bangalore for more rooting around in my mouth on Friday. Got a busy week ahead of me.