Necropolis

Scenes of Kolkata are like the set of blade runner and I wanted to write something about this, about how the extraordinary becomes gradually normalized, but I was reading a book while here, and came upon this monologue delivered by a character in the novel.  Her words are an interesting place to start a dialogue about the city.

Would I be capable of giving up everything for something I believed, in something I wanted without thinking about the risks? Have I ever believed in anything or anybody intensely enough to do that? I realized that I never believed in anything seriously and that's why I never made a radical commitment. Does it have something to do with the fact of being more or less European and white and being born in that rich protectorate that is the north of the world, where everything is arranged so that nothing ever shocks you where life really ought to disgust one.

That is what many of us feel just shame or controllable anger. I feel ridiculous poor disgustingly poor in spirit. I feel infinite sadness having it all and at the same time having nothing. It is contradictory isn't it? 

The things that stifle me today are the result of wars and destruction and learned books and terrible peace treaties; many people have died so that we the grandchildren of the century can have what is crushing us today, as if we were on the verge of falling into a deep sleep and opium sleep. Coming to a place like this is a way of breaking up completely, opening your eyes and once they are wide open you can't let them close, Beyond the borders of our beautiful countries there is a terrifying outside world filled with life, a black sun that stretches over a number of continents only revealing its beauty after the first impact. What we see on the surface is horrible and cold but slowly the beauty emerges in this world. 

On the other hand our world has a surface that is lovely and everything is bright and shiny, But with time what we see is the horror. I do not want to go back to that Opium dream that is out paradise of the north. I'm staying here with real people and real problems, Where everyone has to go up on the trapeze without a net and the struggle for existence is real and not a metaphor; I've found life here, I've understood the value of that miraculous fragile thing called life and that's why I developed an overwhelming desire to live it to exhaust it to the last drop, what a miracle.

      (loosely or freely quoted from) Santiago Gamboa: Necropolis

Anil and Jeeva

Anil and Jeeva in their home

They are people of “good character.” Anil and Jeeva are in the business of navigating a changing India.  They run a small home-stay in Munnar the heart of the tea area in Kerala.  Munnar is a respite from the rest of India. Cooler temperatures and the orderly carpet of tea plants spread over hundreds of hectares of luscious green hills, are in stark contrast to life below. 

Munnar tea plantations

They are living their dream with two children and a small business as they they try predict India’s response to its interaction with modernity. Using their conversations with Europeans they have a small window into what is next. However theirs is an uncertain dream in the flux confronting India.

Anil worries about the enormous amount of time his son has to spend working in school.  Driven by hyper-competitive entrance exams their son attends boarding-school where he spends 7 days a week learning.  Anil says, “this cannot be healthy” and thinks his son will leave this system stunted socially and personally.  But what can you do in a country that demands competition for limited spaces to top flight universities.    

They are also watching Munnar’s transformation from a small hill-top hamlet to a significant tourist destination.  Responding to this avalanche of change they took an unusual course, they closed the travel shop in the town and sold their adjoining home “for tourist price” and bought in the small village 10 km’s out of town.  They built their dream home on the additional land they could now afford and bet tourists would seek a quiet, green, and personal holiday experience.  And they waited, and waited.  Friends said they were crazy, building on a site without tea plantation views, and the apprehension that they made a mistake grew.  But after two years the beautiful walk of the surrounding village, the 1 hour climb into the surrounding plantations, and the community of Chithirpuram worked out.  People came and their home became the number one listing on trip advisor. 

However, the view of the gorge below has eventually drawn others to share the dream.  A massive hotel is being built a block away.  The idyllic paradise has been shaken by a large mega construction.  Anil’s frustration is palpable and he sees this intrusive style of development as wasteful, environmentally and socially.  The money would be better used promoting people to expand their homes, create home-stay’s, and encourage a more equal distribution of social capital that would be sustainable that blended into the natural landscape.  They are frustrated with a culture of greed that is pervasive in this new India. 

View of Mega Hotel a block from their home-stay.  The pictures here are taken from another new construction just up the way at Chithipurum.

Then Jeeva’s sister is in Canada and says, why did you not come here, you would be so much richer.  Like many in modern India families have been wrenched apart as Indians have taken advantaged of a global economy and moved to North America, Europe, and the Middle East. But they are living their dream and it is too late for them. But they worry for their son.  Should he not be able to enjoy the privileges of a western education and life.  But he is 16 and they would miss him terribly and are concerned how he would manage on his own in a new country.  And then how could they afford this.  Although comfortable in India the money they earn would not go far in Canada.  That means his education would be prohibitively expensive and would require them to liquidate some of the investments they might rely on in the future. 

Tea plantation workers 

I also asked if this might create a suphocating link of obligation between father and son.  But Anil explains this is the way in India, families sacrifice for children, but with sacrifice comes with expectations. However, he is uncomfortable making claims on his son’s future he really just wants him to have the best in the world. Anil’s and Jeeva’s real concern is that they will not be able to visit him, touch him, and they might in the end lose him. How can they facilitate what is best for their son in a fiscally and personally responsible way?

“Daughters are not as expensive.”  They want their 12 year old daughter to be able to choose whatever she wants to study and be happy.  She tells me her favorite subject is Science, but Jeeva see’s an artistic talent that she hopes will remain. But they do not want to fuss about her art, “let her discover it on her own.”  Maybe there is an art school near Chennai, but for now they will see.

For girls there is not the same pressure to get to the best school and to be wealthy.  Marriage will ultimately define their future.  Yes, a dowry is still necessary, but for a boy to marry he needs to be well off and established and that requires the best education.  What about a love marriage? (they themselves fell in love at school the 18 year old Anil flirting and courting 16 year old Jeeva under the watchful eye of her father the Botany professor.) So a love marriage? Yes this Ok, but they will wait and see what happens in the future.  For Jeeva, as long as it is a Christian partner, this will be alright. 

pointing not to the future, but towards his wife who is "a hard worker."

So they watch and try to anticipate India changing landscape.  For our part, Linda and I were so privileged to be allowed to share their concerns, dreams, and views.  The greatest facet of travel is to be able to meet people and get to share their humanity.  Anil and Jeeva have given us that chance and we wish them well as we all make decisions about our respective futures.   

Paradise

Linda strolling along the beach

We stayed a week in Kunnar.  Wow.  Not much to say only one of the most beautiful stretches of beach in the world. What makes it remarkable is that life around the “Home-stays” goes on as before. No touts or honking or “what can I do for you mister” or “where you from” only an authentic curiosity from the locals who are fisherman, school children, and local villagers.

Paul pushing fishing boat into sea, the boats and fishermen

This cannot last. Ten more years at most.  An airport is being built nearby that should change things and then all the land along the shore will be bought up and hotels and guesthouses will spring up.  Roads will be pushed into the area (we had to walk down a steep hill and follow a 5 minute foot path) then another magical spot will be gone or at best shared. Although, this inevitability will be seen as development and progress.

But as a Canadian to spend a February looking out the window of my beach hut onto the ocean, in a bathing suite, 30 degrees, no clouds, swimming every 20 minutes, Frisbee, great food, sun-burnt, long walks along the beach or following footpaths through villages, this is paradise.

the beach

(Fun facts: Kerala has the highest literacy of any state in India. Kerala voted in the first Communist Government in the world and then voted them back out again. That the Muslims, Hindus, and Christians live in relative harmony with each other, there is no religious conflict.)

Morning Yoga for Linda (for Paul the 30 min Shavasana was like a long torture)
view from cabin window

Our cabin had a mosque right behind it ... so 5 times a day we heard this...

Tranquility

Tranquil.

At the end of the road Linda found a home-stay on a small island in the midst of Kerala's backwaters.  We spent a few nights on a riverboat with no engine, just two men pushing the boat along endless canals and open lagoons with long bamboo poles. 

Bliss.

The perfect antidote to a class of grade 11’s who have to learn Canadian history. 

Calm.

Equanimity found.

"buy some"

Magic moments are the epitome’s of travel.

On the first night in India Linda and I walked through the neighbourhood for the first time to stretch our legs and get our bearing.  We came across a religious ritual being performed on the side of the road and I stopped to take a picture.  I was quickly besieged by a man, then a woman, telling me to “by some.”

At moments like this when backsheesh is being demanded it is best to look stupid and walk away, but I stopped and thought “shit buying some might mean 20 rupees so what.”

I was ushered into the heart of the crowd, a chair was found, I sat, and the group proceeded to mix and share sweet gruel.

Yum?

So I slurped.  Then a spoonful of sugary fruit cocktail was put into my hand and I licked.  Constantly people would repeat “buy some” and as I finished I reached for my pre-organized 20, haven been separated from all the newly acquired  crisp 500 rupee notes in my pocket.  Finally getting up and asking how much for “buying some” they laughed and explained bisum was the name of the gruel I had just eaten and bid me off.  

Last photograph the "Guru" himself

for all those student essays ... renouncement

Renouncement, is a virtue of Indian religion. Going can be depressing leaving behind your home, dog, garden, cars, work, and families is difficult. But you tear it apart, wash it all, bleach, pack, visit, clean, and drop it all off. I had a dream I was packing up my classroom, the room was large and things were all being cleared.  The phone rang and it was the principal but I could not talk. The cords were all wrapped and interlaced and I was instructing someone to throw all the paintings away, and the hurt look of the students was palpable.  I then found myself outside the school hidden behind a bush and in the corner of my eye I saw movement. I threw my spear and it penetrated through a deer’s back, who then staggered away. I felt terrible, lost, and irreconcilable, I tried to call animal rescue but the shame of it woke me up.

My father tells tales of traveling to Africa from Germany in the early 50's. Day’s in the air: Rome, Malta, Nairobi slowly leaping towards Johannesburg. He met a woman along the way wearing leopard pattern clothing, a large landowners daughter, who took a liking for my father, in no small part because of the book he was reading, “The Love Making of __.”  For him and people of his generation flight still meant exploration the beginning of an experience that has changed from the exotic and romantic to commoditized and organized; a challenge for planners. It is in modern airports that you really sense this. Your unique adventure is shared by millions. Like you they are pushed, shuttled, herded, bused, checked, and scanned. Scenes from " Koyaanisqatsi" flood up to me. Those endless fast motion images of subways, highways, roads, and people being pushed through the body of life like so many cells, and you suddenly feel lost in a vast mechanism.

 

Freedom, that is what makes the idea of travel so amazing. Seven months to think only your own thoughts, to live a life of your mind, free!  Making things, even travel blogs, to be rushed by a sense of urgency to make  more pictures. That is the most exotic of thoughts. It makes the inconveniences of travel a joy, exhilarating, the total freedom to exist inside of yourself, authentically

For my father who has always criticized me for not writing.

"Write the great travel adventure. Paul ...”

“Make some money writing a travel book ...”

“How many people have taken their children to where you have, people want to read about this ..."

And the like.

My retort was always, “dad I am an artist, the travels eventually appear in photos or paintings.”

To which he would resort "bah" and most recently, the sensitive father that he is, "pictures don't say anything, you need words!" (Based on the number of paintings I have sold he is empirically right)

My Dad brought himself up on great travel narratives.  Edgar Snow who visited Mao and Gandhi in China and India, the writer who traveled to the Caucasus in Russia in the 1930's and fights with Tito in Yugoslavia, and Skorzeny the great German adventurer. In his mind these books lit up his own sense of adventure, they may have been the reason for his quest to leave Germany and explore Africa in the immediate post war world. 

So here it goes, words. I have made some small attempts at recording travels.  I made some small books "Annapurna" and "All the Rooms..." these being just photographs bound together thematically.  I also made a book of images of people more or less at work.  Beaten to it by Salgado and Burtinsky I still recorded my same fascination with the patterns of life in a small book titled (creatively ) "Asia."  But these were furtive attempts, Here I will actually use them, words.

Typically words elude me. I will obfuscate and certainly correct them. According to a recent student I also abuse them.  So to actually construct words is intimidating.   Construction is a difficult task. constant tinkering is needed and required. I probably lack the discipline for it. Luckily an on-line audience demands less of them, words.