2009-12-22

Looking back at Trichy

Written on December 18 - 19th

"Mind the cow dung!" Carolin shouted at me as we left the car for a moment to check the central bus stand. Oh yes, cow dung, I remind myself that the cows are actually everywhere in the city. Poor holy cows. I observe the pathetic emancipated creatures from a rickshaw. They stand in the middle of the street, not so much as flinching as the thousands of vehicles scream past, their eyes staring dully out into empty space. Nobody looks after them, nobody seems to even care. The cows stand seemingly abandoned in the middle of a crowd, in the middle of the heavily trafficated roads, on the central bus stand of Trichy.

I remind myself of this as we leave the car in central Trichy, avoid the cow dung and enter the station. Some men are squatting in a circle on the platform, eating chapatis and bananas. The cow is further away on the platform, a seemingly misplaced random object in the throng of people. Loud music blasts in the distance to the bright flaring signs announcing the somewhat hidden bars of the city.

No, we can't book a bus from Trichy for a journey between Dindigul and Trivandrum. In fact, there are probably not even buses from Dindigul to Trivandrum. Try Maduari. I could have figured as much but it was worth a try. We leave the station. I glance back at the random cow standing on the middle of the platform. Poor holy cow. I step over a puddle of what looks like blood and go back to the car. Next night, Nino, Jana and myself decide to go to the cinema to watch a Bollywood movie. On our way to the bus we, not very surprisingly by now, walk past a cow digging through the garbage which is covering most of the street. This cow might now follow the wretched destiny posed on many of India's holy cows. When in the good old days it was a good thing that the cows walked loosely on the streets eating all the garbage that used to be all organic material, it is now an ever growing threat to these creatures.



A lot of the garbage nowadays happens to be plastic material, especially plastic bags. And plastic bags don't decompose too well. So when the cow eats the plastic bag the plastic very easily gets stuck somewhere in the animal's digestive system which leads to a horrible, horrible death. Nino took photos of the cow munching away at the mountain of plastic bags.

At 10 p.m. we enter the cinema, quickly realising that we're the only women in the audience. This isn't your regular Bollywood movie. This is a Bollywood movie for men. Violence, cigarettes, gangs, alcohol and everything which is tacitly forbidden in Indian culture. And inbetween all the fighting the guys suddenly break into song and your typical Bollywood dancing. Awesome. We leave in the intermission though, to the smirking of all the men in the audience (they must have thought we were uncomfortable) but we left mostly because it was nearly midnight and we still had to get home before too late. Macho guys singing and dancing in shrill voices rock.

We leave Trichy the following day. Nino and I take the bus to Dindigul after settling our costs with the Kudumbam guesthouse. Many buses seem to be equipped with television sets that blast Bollywood movie after Bollywood movie throughout the journey. Nino gets off half an hour before Dindigul, somewhere closer to Sevapur. At Dindigul I am sent around in various different directions before somebody manages to direct me correctly to the Nilakkottai bus. Indians are somehow incapable to admit when they don't know something or when they aren't really certain. They'll just rather say anything off the top of their heads instead of saying "I don't know".

The road is bumpy and the Bollywood movies are nonsensical and loud. When I get off at Nilakkottai the little lady sitting beside me wants to help me find my way. I tell her that I just need a rickshaw and that I have the address to where I am going written on a note. Somehow she interprets this as, "please help me, I'm a little girl and I'll cry if I can't find my way". This quickly gathers a small crowd, everyone passing my note around, trying to figure out where I am going. And of course, when they don't know the suggestions start flying. Some young guys shout that I have to run and take the bus that's just about to round the corner. I refuse to take a bus that I don't know where it's going. Also nobody told me to take a bus. They specifically told me RICKSHAW.

All the fuss is eventually solved by a proper looking jewellry salesman with good english. Against my wishes he phones CIRHEP, speaks to Mohan (the coordinator. I pick up the words, "foreign girl"), hails a rickshaw, makes the driver speak to Mohan and then proudly watches me disappear in the rickshaw. Of course, I could have hailed my own vehicle 30 minutes ago... Safe and sound at CIRHEP! They have a wireless connection all over the area! Drool.



 The trainees for Framtidsjorden, Eric and Ylva take me around the area the following day. The day is awesomely started by observing the making of a biodynamic compost. I acknowledge the importance that agriculture has taken in my life. I like that the past three - four months of my life have in some way offered several times every week, signs or reminders about agriculture or other elements regarding the cultivation of the soil and the sustainable management of our earth. But by conscious or unconscious decision, the pattern that has emerged seems to point in only one direction. Do a biodynamic training, is there any knowledge in the world that is more important than learning how to live in balance with your surroundings, how to respect, nurture and cultivate the earth as our home. How to be self-sufficient and how to use the wisdom of nature in a way that doesn't damage the earth but rather, enhances it.

When I worked at Nibble, the biodynamic shop on the seminar an elderly man taught me a good way of explaining the difference between organic and biodynamic farming after having observed my feeble attempt at explaining it to a customer that had never heard of either ways of farming before.

With organic farming the farmer strives to mimick nature.
With biodynamic farming, the farmer enhances nature.



CIRHEP is mainly a training center, meaning that when they aren't hosting training seminars the grounds are virtually empty, save for Eric and Ylva. After having spent nearly a month's time being constantly surrounded by people in different contexts and countries, the serenity and the loud silence in nature was thus warmly welcomed. The mosquitos however, were of less likeability. They completely feasted on me. Hordes of them seem to thrive in this area, and while in my room at CIRHEP, I had to take cover at all times underneath the safety of my mosquito net. A must-bring to India: A GOOD MOSQUITO NET. Bring one or die a horrible itchy death.

Now I'm in Madurai after having been spoiled rotten by CIRHEP. Mohan insisted somebody accompany me to Madurai despite my attempts at trying to convince him otherwise. (I guess he wasn't too impressed about my arrival causing a near mob uprisal at Nilakkottai). So poor (I call him Dave, me being a stinking colonialistic westerner, that's what his name sounded like in my ears and thus that became the only name I could hold in my mind) had to take me all the way to Madurai, search hopelessly for a bus to Trivandrum, worry about the fact that the only bus would leave at midnight and then being half-heartedly convinced by me that I can survive a semi-sleeper bus journey for 6 hours.

I got a "lady's" seat in the very front, no.1.

So now I am waiting for midnight to the sound of the swishing of the fans in the ceiling. The mosquitos were driving me off the bat so I had a momentary spaz and covered myself in mosquito repellant. My clothes are gross anyway. I hope the bus isn't too full, that I won't have to use the bathroom, that I won't get hungry and that tomorrow is sunny.

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