India takes time

Creeping from a netherworld of thesis-writing I travel through the night to the dusty bustle of South India; time for a break.

Forced awake by the travelling buzz, by beeping horns, and the crazy lurching of our bus over speed-bumps and potholes – we pass construction sites which resemble a post-earthquake zone. Despite our passage in the dead of night, dim lighting reveals families with young children moving about the dusty broken streets; time seems an irrelevance.

Early filtered light uncovers more of the colourful contrasts as we roll along; elaborate decoration and dilapidation in close proximity. First impressions seep into consciousness; time drags.

 

 

Ancient traditions underpin communities. Aching poverty drives chaotic innovation at every level.  Small businesses throng bustling towns, street vendors lurking in the shadows with nameless wares. Hard lives lived in tough places. From morning to night the drive to simply survive consumes time.

 

We reach our air-conditioned hotel and wait for a simple breakfast- juicy chunks of papaya, pale cornflakes, sweet milky coffee, omelette, crusty toast and red jam. Constant external noise cannot disturb a desperate snatched sleep; time stops.

We rouse ourselves to properly begin two weeks of cycling in a small group with our local guide. The route takes us from city to town, from village to open country, nature reserves and finally we thread our way down a balmy coastal strip, riven with inlets and dotted with ferry crossings; time to unwind.

 

We grow accustomed to the habits of the road, mixing more confidently with industrious tuc-tucs and ambling ox-carts. Away from the beaten tracks, we ride through villages and rural areas sucking in the sights and sounds, musty smells and smiling greetings. Our meagre spending makes us welcome guests as we taste local specialties; crisp fried snacks, aromatic curries, fresh baked breads, spicy sauces and soothing fresh coconut milk. We relax in the saddle, pedalling at a comfortable pace; time sings.

 

Daring to cycle through the tiger reserve, we slip past some wild elephant and deer but the tigers fail to appear. Many fine birds cross our paths; kites and eagles soaring overhead, white ibis and herons hunting in rice-fields or slender cattle egrets nonchalantly close to tethered cows. The flash of a kingfisher, drifting terns and flapping fruit bats; time is precious.

 

A cyclone darkens the skies and the rain which falls is thrown upwards to soak us again. After a lung-bursting climb, mountain tea plantations hide beneath a sheltering canopy; vivid, fresh, cool, and peaceful. With a distant shout a farmer chases his cow on a steep slope, a dog barks and chickens scatter. A pile of sodden clothes by a roadside stream. Life in the hills moves slowly; time trickles slowly here too.

Temple towns draw the devoted. Tiny dancers gyrate to entertain pilgrim visitors while others slumber on bare concrete. We watch their movements but we cannot penetrate this world; this slice of time has removed to another dimension.

 

We explore the backwaters on a houseboat, drifting through a web of canals laced with small houses, criss-crossed by laden wooden canoes and spanned by ancient concrete foot-bridges. A blast of Bollywood signals location filming of ‘coolie-style’ dancing among growing rice. In the early light young men wash in the shallows, soapy bodies splashing as we pass. Heavy loads are punted by old men and women thrash laundry; time floats gently.

 

 

Spice houses and relics from colonial eras add to the attractions of Fort Cochin as we encounter tourists stranded without independent transport. A crowded beach turns to watch a brilliant orb sink into the ocean at the end of the weekend then drops back to embrace what remains of the dying light; time pauses.

 

 

On the western coast we follow a partially repaired road between a strip of houses and recently deposited granite blocks on the inner shore, intended to provide some protection from future tsunami waves. Strange to think that on this idyllic indented coast, life and property was suddenly swept aside. With time and re-building they are hiding the scars.

But time flies and flings us back to a bigger world. And, resisting the tugs of this time, we must re-frame, re-focus and get back to what we do.