The 7 sisters and time in a mental home

Day 46

For 5 days I have been on the road with my father. His presence does not seem to have cramped my style and fortune of slipping past the hotels and tourist hustlers into the homes organisations and families that are the more genuine India. Watching my father on his cycle is a strange out of body experience. His arms were burning up on the first day and he was holding us back. But I am in no rush. We realised his cycle is actually a lot tougher to power and slower but can't work out why. So I am now riding his to balance out the speed. After our first night above a volunteer hospital we continued on to Mandya where rotary had organised a hotel room. In the evening we went out in search of a beer. My father is having a bad influence on me. I convinced him we must have it in the bar with the locals rather than locked away in our hotel room. They were friendly drunks at our table. A bus driver, building contractor and chemist, who gathered together each evening for a couple of brandy's to relax. They seemed amazed to see father and son sharing a beer together and said that in India, alcohol and family are kept separate. I tried to explain how French and Italians share wine together at the family dinner table with etiquette and respect as you might have for a hot curry and yet in these countries there seemed to be little problem with alcohol abuse. The bus driver insisted on buying our beers and paying a restaurant to serve us dinner. He then rolled off home on his motor bike rather tipsy to share not the alcohol but its influence with his children and wife who had cooked him dinner. The brandy did not seem to make him too stupid or angry, but we were unsure how much of his salary intended for his family it had just caused him to spent on us.

Day 47

We rode through Srirungaputna the old fort town on a river island to see the temple and dungeon used to hold British prisoners of war, then on to Mysore.


A rickshaw driver helped us to find a lodge. When I offered to buy him a coffee for his time he replied, "Well if you want to help me, let me take you to a number of shops." He gets 100 rupees commission for each shop he drops us in, even if we buy nothing.  We agreed and were taken that evening to watch incense sticks being made and receive an aromatherapy demonstration where the smelly oil guru intoxicated us with lotus oil massages on the temples, musk up the nose and a well rehearsed voice of euphoria. All of which still failed in seducing us into buying his expensive oils. We did give a little money for the relaxing demonstration though.

Day 48

The next morning we had a wiz around the ornately decorated Mysore Palace before being put in a car and taken to a further 3 shops. The car was to make us look richer and more likely to buy. After an hour and a half of faking interest in gaudy stitched wall hangings we convinced our driver to release us back to the cycles so we could continue on to Nanjunguru before dark. Here every lodge seemed to be full, but asking for help at a catholic church proved very fruitful. We were directed to a convent to spend the night with the 7 sisters and their band of 62 mentally handicapped which they had plucked of the streets to care for.

Day 49

We observed convent life. Most of the handicapped inhabitants could not speak, but wandered around the grounds in a state of contented unawareness. Some lead calves on ropes, others helped to move wood, and the rest dozed in obscure locations like hidden Easter eggs, none seeming to interact or show awareness of the other inhabitants around them. They all had their quirky traits, sister Hillary told us. One liked to wear only red, one like to gift people with stones he had picked off the road, and another would often make running escapes to the tea stall across the road to snatch an unassuming tea drinkers glass to fuel his addiction. It was inspiring to see the courage and devotion of these sisters and the improvement they had made in the quality of these discarded peoples lives. We witnessed them enjoying a lunch donated by a local man as a way to celebrate his wedding anniversary  then took off to Gundulpet to spend the night in a dormitory with snoring truck drivers.

Day 50

An early start got us to the Bandipur tiger sanctuary by 8:30 am. We were told it would be dangerous to travel through on our cycles so flagged down a truck and were soon cruising through the jungle holding our cycles down on top of a giant bed or rice and spotting for wildlife. We saw deer and peacocks but no elephants and tigers as promised  Once safely on the other side of the sanctuary we lowered our cycles down and continued on the traditional way to Gudalore to spend the evening with Thomas's friend Jose, a battery salesman and his wife Asha.

Loved from the begining

Day 36 to 41

I spent 5 days with this friendly four storey family living in a Bangalore city apartment with the parents on the bottom flat and each adult child with their family on their own floor above them. The epitome of the Indian philosophy of keeping the family close together. With little more effort than a friendly smile, it seems I was loved from the beginning. For no other reason perhaps than that I was a novelty white dolly for the women to play with. The old mother and her daughter were adamant to cut my hair, die it black, smother it in coconut oil, send me out to buy clothes that weren't covered in cycle chain oil or ripped to shreds, force feed me chapattis until my stomach swelled to the size of a healthy pampered Indian male, sit me out in the sun until me skin turned black then marry me off to a nurturing Indian woman.  After one day of fending off their aggressive feeding habits, "One more chapati?", "Little rice?", I set off to find the infantry hotel to meet my father who had arrived late the previous night from the airport to serve as my new companion and camera man. After 18 months apart we reunited with timeless ease in this foreign environment. I was a little concerned to hear he had payed $170 US for a five minute taxi fair but led him out into the wilds of Bangalore for a 5km walk and 101 on Indian street warfare until we reached my Bangalore adopted family. As to me they welcomed him unconditionally to their home where they served and befriended us for the next 4 days. We were taken to Mama Sharda's Roman Catholic church service where it appeared Jesus was perhaps just an addition to the vast family of Hindu gods with his own plaster figurine to be touched and kissed in routine devotion. Sharda's husband was Hindu but the family shine had a space reserved for a photo of Jesus who was adorned in flowers each morning along with Rama and her 6 arms. When I asked Sharder what was most important in her life she responded with "To cook, sleep and pray. To live for my purpose"."So If I don't eat your meal does that mean your purpose is lost". "Yes". This explained the utter expression of emptiness when my father and I accepted budgie sized portions or her kitchen efforts in comparison to her husband who had had 43 years of marriage to allow his belly to stretch. We were taken to a christian Indian wedding. Joining the que with 1000 family members to shake the bride and grooms hands, eat the free meal of chicken biriani and file out the door on the other side, my father and I felt like blatant wedding crashers in this drive through stile wedding. We had another day to visit the country village home of Sharda's husband where he gave us a tour of his small comercial garden producing coconuts, and some breed of oranges that we honestly the size of basket balls.

We played with the children, drank beer responsibly with the men, accepted their boundless help in getting my fathers tricycle ordered and prepared then set off early towards Mysore.

I was one and now we are two. My cycle Ned and his new girl friend Kelly. Father and son. A vetran 3 wheeled explored and his fresh camera man. A couple of neurophen and a can of coke got my father through day 1 to the town of Doddamalur whear spontaniouse hospitality provided us with a room above a volunteer hospital and a tiffen dinner.

 

From Jesus to Krishna

Day 42

I peddled along the highway through stunning scenery to the home of brother Moses, an evangelist and family man living in a village near Krishnagiri coconut palms and a scattering of giant rock monoliths. He had only been in this home for two months to begin his missionary work with the local Hindu villagers. They were a lowly educated family living in a nice but featureless house, giving the impression that perhaps they were a tribal people suddenly plucked up and placed into comfort but unsure how to use it. All a family of 5 really need is a kitchen, bathroom and one room with a bare floor on which together they can eat, pray and sleep. The other rooms are symbols of wealth or spaces assigned to the mysterious activities of the rich or western. I taught crab tiggy to his children on the open rooftop then watched as his wife prepare dinner. The 5 year old son was adamant to operate the kitchen blender. This resulted in the room and all of its inhabitants being showered in samba. The mother accepted this mistake without anger or humour, but inate motherly Indian patience and sent us away to clean ourselves without any scolding. After dinner together on the floor we took turns to read through a chapter of proverbs and each share which one was our favourite.

Day 43

I had a beautiful hilly ride through yellow flower plantations used for the act of puja when the Hindus decorate their shrines. I spent the night with brother Joseph in Hosur in his small rented flat. His wife and children were living elsewhere. Despite his diploma in mechanical engineering he said his wage was still barely enough to support his family. He would not accept my payment in return for his hosting me. He was keen to show me his nicely published wedding album filled with happy colourful graphics around somber fearful faced photos of the bride and groom. We then had a tender conversation about western Christians drinking alcohol which Indian Christians did not agree with. He said Jesus did not drink and we are called to be like him. I'm not sure if Jesus drank or not but I believe anything we do for pleasure should be done in a way that's sustainable and does not lead to immorality. I feel perhaps he had a more text book approach to religion and found him to be a kind hearted yet frustrated man of faith.

Day 44

I spent the morning with Josephs Hindu land lord enjoying a a philosophical and theological conversation. It was my first opportunity to question a Hindu about details of their faith  and the reason for so many rituals. We came to the conclusion that rituals such as lighting an oil lamp in a shrine to gain enlightenment were not necessary but helpful as tools to engage the mind in prayer and meditation and promote discipline in striving to communicate with god. These rituals must be done with a conscious mind and heart or else they are like a mother feeding her baby but without nurturing or compassion. This was his analogy. The physical action took place but the spiritual or emotional potential was lost. We went on to speak of what is life. I shared my latest hypothesis or perspective of life being "click of the fingers" now. Unconscious of the movement of time but entangled in the current activity, thought or conversation. I was unable to get his definition as conversation turned to an awkward yet ego inflating expression him and his mother calling me great and seeing me as some kind of enlightened guru. "An Indian man your age would never think of these things" they said. Really I think most people just don't need so much space to think. Loaded with fruit and hugs I set off for Bangalore where 40kms and 48 hours from now I would be reuniting with my father who I had not seen in 18 months. The last 500kms would be done together. I am excited to share the journey with him yet wonder are the roads of India big enough for the two of us.

After a long crawl through bus wedging traffic I reached the home of Sharda and Krishnari, a Hindu man married to a christian women. I was relieved that they remembered me from 3 weeks ago when we met in a hotel in Trichy where they gave me their address and an invite to stay with them once I reached Bangalore.

Dreams from a concrete matrice

Day 29

The next weeks route from Chennai to Bangalore was to be a skip along the brethren trail. Each night I would spend in a new town with a new family from the christian brethren denomination. Each night the activities of Tamil Nadu Brethren family life were woven patiently between the hours of intermittent government electricity cuts, totalling at 14 hours per day. Cooking, a late dinner, family bible study, prayer and communal sleep side by side on woven mats for dreams from a concrete matrice were all followed with comforting text book reliability, only different people, different villages and different levels of wealth or poverty.

I rode to Shriperumbader to meet Brother Louis and his family. His son took me for an evening walk to see a memorial park for an assassinated prime minister. He was very much loved for his promotion of equality. By all it seems but the Tamil Tiger rebel group. The park was impressive with 7 stone pillars topped with gold symbols to represent the 7 virtues of something or other. One virtue was education but the rest were not important enough for the boy to remember. More interesting was to talk with the boy about arranged marriage. He was happy to have his father find his wife. When I told him I must find my own but will take her to my father for his opinion and approval, his response was that his father would beat him if he did such a thing. Perhaps figuratively speaking. In the night his father, him and I slept on mats on the church floor while the wife and daughter slept in the simple home.

day 30

A 30km ride to the temple town of Kanchhipuram. I met with another brethren elder in the night who took me to sleep in a tiny bus shelter sized church which held a modest congregation of 15

Day 40

On the highway to Vellore to stay with another brother. Tonight's bible study was in English with more well off educated doctors.

Day 41

I woke to find an old man poking around the lock on my tricycle. It so happened he was a wheel spoker and pointed out the pile of spokes and rims under a nearby tree ready for the days work. It turned out that these wheels were not destined for bicycles but would be taken to a nearby factory making hand powered tricycles. I followed him to the factory to see disabled workers at pressing machines and half made tricycles. One worker cruised around the grounds on my cycle while I tried his model. I found mine is more versatile for varieties of terrain and easier to control while theirs is more suitable and faster on flat even ground and much cheaper. The quality is perhaps less as is the seating support, ongoing patient assessment and compliance with world health standards. It was nice to see that they only employed disabled workers where possible.

I rode on to Vaniyambadi where the locals debated over my ragged piece of paper on which my destined address was scrawled. One man led me down a remote rode to a simple concrete home among the banana trees. I had been unable to contact the family to request their hospitality beforehand and was now confronted with a confused non English speaking woman unsure why this white man on a strange machine had arrived at her doorstep. A phone call to Nana Segal in Chennai cleared the situation and she welcomed me warmly. In the evening her husband Joseph collected a disabled boy in leg braces to try out the cycle.

I then played numerous games of chess with his enthusiastic 14 year old daughter who must have been happy to finally have an opponent. For the first time in my life I was a chess master and she happily accepted multiple defeat while I was happy for a new form of interaction and distraction from late dinner hunger pains as dinner is difficult to prepare by power cut and torch lite. After bible study we all slept side by side on woven mats. Husband, Wife, daughter, son and me an unexpected yet warmly welcomed white stranger. I lay uncomfortably on the concrete yet listened happily to the billowing of 4 differently sized dreaming lungs. Panting contentedly as one cam driven family machine at my side.

Thatch huts and hurricains

Day 21

Why don't you get a motor people say as if they have just informed me
of this helpful piece of new technology. I tell them that they have
missed the point. This trip was not intended to be a walk in the park.
It was intended to be a muddy crawl through the fiery pits of hell. No
just joking, I'm not quite that masochistic. It was intended to be a
test of human endurance. In body, mind, character and spirit. An
adventure with purpose. A pursuit of compassion. Why? To inspire.
Imagination, heart and wallet. To put a crack in a pane of monotony.
It is nice to feel that I am able to make a difference to those that
are disabled and unfortunate. But even just to see a smile on a child's
face, a look of disbelief in an old mans eye, a moment of question in
a business mans mind. My world is always moving. Or I am always
moving from one orbiting world to the next. As I pass through it is my
duty to smile. For perhaps on my journey I glimpsed what was at the
centre of it all, and what I saw was reason to smile, and perhaps
cause for spectators of small things to believe that yes maybe they
are all part of something great.

The result of too much time in the thinking chair. But this day saw me
in bed for some much needed recovery.

Day 22

I rode on to Cudalore, thrilled to reunite with the coast where the
beach was scattered with happy families and lovers enjoying nature and
ice cream like any healthy westerner. I spent the evening in a hall
with 40 middle aged rotary men to observe their 3 monthly meeting to
update on each clubs projects. When asked to make a quick speech about
my project, it seemed that impromptu speaking comes fairly easy when
your audience does not understand English. Actually most of them were
fairly educated so caught the drift and were very supportive as well
as eager for a photo with the cycle afterwards. They shared their club
meal with my newly recovered appetite and helped me to find a lodge
for the night.

Day 23

I cycled on to the town of Pondicherry, surprised by the sudden
appearance of white faces as a few thousand french nationals live here.
I cruised up the beachfront esplanade and enjoyed a western yet by
Indian standards expensive chicken sandwich. I continued up the coast
into no lodge zone, but happy to finally not be cranking towards a set
destination or time. I pulled down a side road to pass men drinking
after work whisky secretly beneath the palm trees, through small
fishing villages of palm leaf shacks and colourful boats to reach a
rough sea for a long promised swim. My mystery bedroom for the night
ended up being a mat on the floor of a workshop beneath a large lathe
with two teenager boys who's families must no longer have room for them.
They would have taught me Tamil language and script long into the
night but eventually I had to tell them I was tired.

Day 24

Progress up the coast was slow due to heavy rain. One man invited me
home to his thatch hut for lunch where lived his extended family all
congregated with goats and turkeys beneath a walless roof with a bed
and a table and an out of place lap top used by a small boy for
playing games. The home was simple with a kitchen, TV room and shrine
yet they seemed very content in what comforts and wealth they had and
with family at hand. The rain persisted so I accepted their invite to
spend the night. The afternoon cleared briefly to let us play
badminton on the road and cook some palm tree roots on a roadside
fire.

Day 25

I rode to Mahabalipuram, a town of amazing rock temples and relief
sculpures cut into bolders. It was a joy to hide my cycle and wander
the foreigner sprinkled streets like a normal tourist.



 
Day 26

Mahibalipuram

Day 27

I plowed on up to Chennai through a hurricane. The wind was in my face
the whole way and often pushed against my arm power to a point of
motionless equilibrium. Eventually I made it into the city without
being crushed by a falling branch or decapitated by a flying piece or
iron. My informative sign had blown off somewhere along the way. I
found a lodge and sent my wind swept body to sleep.

Day 28

I finally got the Mend patient forms for all of my tricycle recipients
filled in and emailed off to the distributors though multiple power
cuts meant I had to do this multiple times taking me all morning. I
had an uninspirng practice at using my legs for a walk around the cities
dirty Indian invaded colonial streets and a sit on the massive beach
transformed into a giant flee market before a short ride to stay with a
family in the outskirts. It was so nice to be back in a friendly home and given a list of families I could stay with on my next leg towards Bangalore.