It’s the last day of my South India sidetrip and the last trip I will take in India before I leave in a mere four days. Its unreal I am going to be in the First world again, and I am also going to be bored out of my mind after so much daily stimulation in hectic India. The bus pulled into Tirupathi at around 4am. I eagerly checked my bags in the cloak room (I wish I would have known earlier that all substantial airports train stations, and bus stations have left-luggage facilities, because I have been using these almost every day of this last trip, and its awesome because I hate lugging around the dead weight of my side bag, thus confirming to everyone: yes, I am a tourist, please rob me). Then I bought a ticket for the bus and pushed my way on, and it screeched up the hill to Tirumala. The hill in Andhra Pradesh is probably the biggest and busiest pilgrimage center for Hindus in the world, and actually even more people come here than Mecca, Rome, Jerusalem, Amritsar, or Salt Lake City. Apparently there are 20,000 temple workers to administer the rituals (but more likely, the CHAOS), and there are tens, if not, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims at Tirumala at any given time. So, I of course had to check it out. It was dark when I was dropped off in my shorts and t-shirt in the freezing 50-degree winding bazaar. I tried getting chai, just to keep warm along with the other devotes, who were huddled in blankets, wool shawls, and ski hats. But the chai was a mirage because I saw mice running around at peoples’ feet, and when I placed my order, the guys never served me. Its weird, either they push way too hard, or they don’t serve you at all. I think this guy was just an idiot with no common sense, though. I guess that’s what happens when people don’t get an elementary school education. I hiked around the hills, which was probably not a good idea. But one thing about India; I feel a lot safer here than I do in the United States. The only crime in India is communal violence, domestic violence, or petty theft, which are all rare. In the US, it seems that everyone is scared of and hates each other inherently; why else is our crime rate dreadfully high in comparison to other nations of our similar structure and demographic? And why do Indian parents let their kids run around wherever they feel like it while American parents are telling their kids ‘Don’t talk to strangers’? And why would Indians put their home numbers and address their business signs and cards, while Americans pay not to be listed in the phonebook? And why do Indians always invite you into their homes and serve you tea and food, while Americans push the power lock button on their cars when a dark-completed person approaches? Anyways, it was so cold I had to huddle in a ball next to homeless kids while their mothers took the youngest of the bunch in order to illicit donations from the hordes of pilgrims. The sun began to rise and I began to cry for happiness because I was frozen solid. It never got cold, and was miserable the whole time, except that it was such a spectacle, waves upon waves of devotees came walking up to the temple. Well, actually the snaking line of the temple, which takes over five hours to get to see the deity. If you pay 50 Rs, you have to wait only maybe two hours, and then at 100Rs you have to wait only for the 30-person line to get a ticket to “the cellar”. But I was too impatient, and instead decided just to people-watch. I was literally the ONLY Westerner there, which was cool to begin with. The whole hill is supposed to be “Hindu-only” and any non-Hindu behavior will not be tolerated. So much for the Hindu idea of respecting all paths to god. The presiding deity at the main Venkateshwara temple is the Venkateshwara god, an incarnation of Vishnu, whose darshan is said to grant a wish. He also likes it when hair is removed, which represents shedding of the ego. Therefore, I would see whole groups of people completely bald men, little boys, and even Hindu women. It looked like a cancer-ward, or some Native American tribe. When the stores opened up, some were tea stalls, bangle shops, and Hindu souvenir stores, but most common were, ironically, hat stands. I witnessed some outdoor offerings to Vishnu, by breaking coconuts and placing the hands over ritual flames. The Venkateshwara Temple wasn’t that big or noticeably more beautiful than any other South Indian temple, but its significance and devotion is clearly apparent. All the bald men, and some being out and shaved on the streets, also applied the Vaishnavite symbol on their foreheads, which looks like a white tuning fork. I finally learned what the bindi and tikka powder is for. The uneducated people say, “ we just do it as a religious thing “more apprehensive people have told me its because white is cooling in the not South Indian sun, and a married woman wears it to divert attention from the beauty of her seductive face, distracting non-husbands. After being cold though, I took the bus down and caught a bus to Chennai, which went through many backward areas of Andhra Pradesh’s Western Ghats Foothills. Tamil Nadu suddenly gave way to baking heat and well-paved roads. Chennai is the capital and largest city of the state, a conglomeration of many little villages that today forms the fourth-largest metropolitan area in India, completing the Golden Quadrilateral of India’s largest cities; Delhi in the north, Chennai in the south, Kolkata in the east, and Mumbai in the west. Chennai, at seven million, is the heartland of Dravidian civilization, but the city formerly known as ‘Madras’ boasts nothing that the other three don’t have. It’s a centre for IT outsourcing (but third to Banglore), it has a Tamil film industry (nowhere near the scale of Bollywood), it has no historical monuments like Delhi, has not produced any really great artists or thinkers except the poet whose name is the shadow of Tagore, and it has bad pollution and traffic and weather (except when it’s under ten feet of water during the monsoon). That’s why I am only spending half the day here; plus the guidebook basically says there are no sights, and doesn’t have a Chennai-specific tab, like it does for Delhi, Mumbai, and Kolkata. I equate this city to the United States equivalent of Houston, Texas; not, sprawling, crowded, the capital of a state that is often considered a different country altogether and lost behind NY, LA, and Chicago. As we drove though, it was actually pretty fascinating. Modern sleek call centers and IT office buildings rose up next to squatter towns, dusty old chai stalls, and run-down steel workshops. It did have one very redeeming quality, though. That was, that Hotel Saravana Bhavan, probably one of my favorite restaurants of all-time, was absolutely everywhere; 21 of them in total in Chennai alone. It’s what Starbucks is to Seattle. However, I did see a slough of copies, like Hotel Saravana, and Saravan Bhavan. Sketchy. I got off the bus at the enormous (the size of an airport) interstate terminus, serving the entire city. I hopped on a crowded local bus, which winded through clogged streets to Hotel Saravana Bhavan. This branch was even better; twice as much for half the price as the Delhi one, and with free refills on rice and curries. I still got two thalis. After that, it really didn’t matter what else I did in Chennai because my one and only goal had been fulfilled; pigging out at any one of the millions of Saravana Bhavan restaurants, in the motherland. I hopped on another bus that headed down to Marina Beach, the “Pride of Madras”, which was a busy hangout spot on this Saturday afternoon, and had a huge uninterrupted stretch of sand and beach, which disappeared two years ago during the huge tsunami. People were shopping, swimming in the filthy Bay of Bengal water, and taking pictures with cut-outs of moustached Tamil film stars on the sand. It was pretty nice weather. I stumbled upon the University of Madras job fair, basically where all the BPOs came and met students to give them jobs, which is a huge deal to these students. It war interesting to see, especially because Chennai is a leader in BPOs. The women were all in salwar-kameez, while men dressed in nice western clothes. After that, I walked along the wide avenues. Under an overpass a rat scurried across my path, so I panicked and so did it, running from side-to-side as I aimlessly ran towards it, yelling with flailing arms. I would have paid someone to video tape it. Then this crazy rickshaw driver, who was foaming at the mouth, shouted at me to come in his rickshaw, following me down the street, which again caused me to aimlessly run down the street yelling with flailing arms. I caught the efficient suburban train to the airport (20km for 6 Rs) and talked to some nice engineering students, who finally gave me a real answer for why South Indians don’t eat dinner meals. They have a lot of diabetes, so eating carbs before sleep is bad, and also, they are most active during the day, so they need the energy then only. I got to the really nice, modern Chennai airport and was handed a boarding pass which was hand-written, thanks Indigo airlines. Also, the flight was delayed 30 minutes, thus perfectly keeping intact the record that 7 out of 7 flights I have taken in India have not been on time. Indigo has nice new planes, but felt like I was just taking a nice charter bus, You have to pay for food or drinks, its dirt cheap ($70 for a 5-hour flight, $20 of which was government luxury tax), I heard the flight attendant say to the other, “I am scared”, they take literally ten minutes to board and take-off, and they don’t pressurize the cabin so I passed out and woke up with my ears really hurting. It’s really weird being in the same crowd as the bourgeois, educated, new-money, English-speaking, Lacoste-wearing, alcohol-sipping, McDonald’s-eating Indian people. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act. Do I talk to them in Hindi? Do I push my way ahead and not apologize, or do they normally make lines? Do I try and bargain? Do I have to keep toilet paper in my pocket, or do they have it in their bathrooms? Is the water safe to drink? Is it appropriate to yell at them and question if they’re ripping you off? Should I wear name-brands? Am I right to feel bad about talking about how much things cost in the United States?I got to Delhi, so I took a prepaid cab to Connaught Place, and did the unthinkable; checked into Janpath Guest House, night above Fayaz Travel Agency. It’s expensive but extremely centrally-located. Delhi is freezing, probably 50 degrees now.
