The Road East to India

by Devika A. Rosamund

  I walked through the streets until I came to the Water Temple, a brightly painted temple in the middle of a large square moat surrounded by concrete steps. It is quite common for temples to be surrounded by a moat in India – I have seen it before. Many young boys in loin cloths were swimming in the moat and diving off the temple walls. The area became crowded and at eight o’clock the ‘chariots’ of gods were carried through the streets followed by a man riding an elephant that lives in one of the temples. It might have been the one I saw in the afternoon. It was adorned with rich colourful cloths and flowers and looked so beautiful. What a gorgeous creature it was – I love elephants. I wonder if it is happy living there. I hope so. I would prefer to see elephants living free in the wild with their families.

  The flowers and petals surrounding the idols lying on the platforms were given away to the people in the crowds and the gods were taken on two boats decked out with flowers and floated around the temple amid cheers from the crowds standing and sitting around watching. The temple was lit up and so were the many palm trees around it on the other side. It was quite a spectacle.

  Because I was the only westerner around last evening, Indians stood around me in a circle gaping at me. I seemed to be the second attraction − the first one being the gods in their chariots! When I bought some bananas, I turned around to see a whole crowd of young boys curiously following me! One of them, who had spoken to me previously, started leading me around. I sat down with him on a bench to await the coming of the chariots and was surrounded by about twelve boys of all ages, the youngest being six or seven, merely standing gaping at me in silence as though I was a lifeless model! When I laughed and poked at them in fun they smiled but otherwise were perfectly serious. It was so funny. At last I bought the three smallest boys (all about six years old) a balloon each, and they smiled and turned away. That broke up the party!

  I wish I could have seen some westerners at the festival. I did not see one, although I know there are quite a few of us staying here in Puri. At last I walked back in the evening and returned to the house on the beach where I am now staying with some other westerners.

  Yesterday I had to move out of the youth hostel because it was fully booked with a party of people, and I was invited to stay in this house on the beach. The room here costs only one and a half rupees a night. It is merely a large stone shelter with archways and steps. We slept on the platform facing the beach last night. There was a breeze but it was still hot and sticky, and I missed not having a cool shower – still, it was all right. This morning I came here to this cafe with the other people to have breakfast and drink coffee, and that is where I am now writing this diary.

  Some westerners here smoke marijuana or take illegal drugs. One woman here asked me if I would like to take some with her, but I refused because I know how dangerous they are. After trying marijuana once in Amsterdam, I have made a vow to myself that I will never take drugs again. I am so glad I made that decision. Who knows what could happen to me here? I take so many other kinds of risks as it is!

  Madras

  Wednesday, 19th May 1976

  I am now on my way down south to the ferry where I can get the boat across from India to Jaffna in Sri Lanka. I have heard that the mangoes are wonderful there. I have a large gap to fill in about my adventures after leaving Puri. I want to write about Madras in south India because I had an eventful time there.

  I travelled on the train from Puri with a Swiss guy whom I met at the station. Towards the end of the journey which took about thirty-six hours, I started talking to an Indian man sitting in the same compartment. He invited me to stay a couple of nights with him and his wife and family, saying he would take me to visit an Indian classical dance school. As it was already evening, I decided to take a chance and go and stay there – I could always leave if I suspected trouble! We took the bus in Madras and arrived at his house – a pleasant, ‘middle-class’ (I hate that term) home in a nice area. His home was actually a top apartment in a two storey house. Below his flat was a doctor’s surgery. His wife – a typical, sweet, docile-looking lady in a sari − came to the door and I met his daughter, a fifteen-year-old girl also in a sari, and his eleven-year-old son.

  The family welcomed me heartily, although only the husband could speak English. The son and daughter spoke a little broken English which they had learned at school, but they were very shy.

  The wife set out banana leaves as plates on the floor of the dining room and brought in a meal that she had cooked. It was rice and curry of course, with some vegetables – all very spicy. I have discovered that south Indian food is spicier than the traditional food of northern India. The curry was made with a coconut-based sauce – very delicious. They eat rice instead of chapattis. The family sat cross-legged on the floor, and invited me to sit with them. We all ate with our fingers. They were genuinely interested in me, but of course, as always, the usual question came up: “Are you alone?”

  The daughter said in her language, Tamil: “She should come with her parents.” I told them that my parents did not want to travel. The husband translated. I know they disapprove of women travelling alone, but anyway, they were still very nice to me.

  I tucked in straight away with the husband and son and then realised that we were the only ones eating. The wife and daughter sat and watched us. When I asked why they were not eating, I was told that it is customary for the wife to wait until after her husband has finished his meal and she will usually serve him with several helpings of rice and curry. By that time I saw that the food was cold! Later, during other meals, sometimes the daughter would eat with us (but I felt that that was just for my sake) and at other times she would wait for her mother.

  During my stay in that house, the husband wanted to take me around – too much! First he took me to Madras beach in the evening. There were many stalls and stall holders selling their wares on the beach.

  The husband told me he owns some rice fields, and rents out some property. Also, he said he has been a journalist and has written and published a book that is going to be made into a film in Tamil. He said he would invite me to act in it when the time comes. I take everything people say to me here with a pinch of salt! He was an interesting character but I could see that he was taking too much interest in me as a woman, and I suspected that it was not a rare thing for him to be unfaithful to his wife when he is away from home. In fact, he told me that he would be if the opportunity came his way, and I found out, none too soon, that he hoped to have the opportunity with me – even with his wife there! That to me, reflects the Indian husband’s attitude towards women – that they are the passive, docile, less important sex.

  After I went to the beach with him, I made the decision that I would not go anywhere else with him alone. I told the husband that if he wanted the sort of payment that I was not prepared to give, then I had better leave then and there and find somewhere else to stay. He would not hear of that. He asked me if I would contact some Indian shops in London for him, give them his card, and ask if they would like a business arrangement with him. He said he could send handicrafts to shops there and I would get a cut of the profit. However, I know that there are so many Indians living in England who are already importing things from India.

  That night and the other nights I was there, I slept in the sitting room with the two children. The daughter slept on a bed and the son slept on a mat on the floor. I also slept on my sleeping bag on a mat on the floor. In the morning, the wife presented me with the most delicious cup of south Indian coffee I have ever tasted, and probably ever will.

  The next morning I went to book my train ticket for the next lap of my journey. The son seemed to like me and accompanied me there, but I discovered that there was no train for another two days. The family insisted that I stay with them for the next three nights until my train journey.

  The husband took me to visit a dance school as he had promised. I watched a
class of girls learning the classical dances – it was so beautiful. The husband suggested that I could learn Indian dance at the school and stay with his family in their house. I would love to learn Indian classical dance, but now is not the right time for me, as I am going back to college in England in September to finish my university degree course.

  In the afternoon I went sight-seeing and shopping for lungies to sell in Sri Lanka, as some travellers have advised me to take lungies and saris there to sell for a profit. I have decided to try it just for fun.

  It was lovely staying with the family, but the husband started to bring up the subject of sex with me more and more, discussing the difference in attitudes between East and West. He even did this in front of his family, knowing they could not understand. He told me of another English girl who had stayed with them. Later, when I asked him, he told me she had slept with him. I wondered if she had felt obliged to, in return for her food and lodging. He was not going to cajole me into doing that! I offered to pay him money for letting me stay there but he would not take any. He said to me, “That’s not what I want from you but you won’t give me what I really want.”

  In the husband’s eyes, he was doing nothing wrong in making sexual advances to me – but what is right and wrong anyway, and mere custom? I did not approve of it since he had such a sweet wife and lovely family, but then they also disapproved of me as a lone woman traveller, yet they still accepted me as I am. So in the same way I accept these people for their attitudes, some of which I dislike.

  The husband saw himself as lord of his house. He was a Hindu, but Muslims have many wives and are not faithful to just one woman. He told me that his wife knew that he liked young girls and accepted the fact that he might sleep with one if he were away from home. He told me that if I liked, he would get his wife’s permission to sleep with me. He said she would give it. I said, “Yes, but she would not be very happy, would she?” He agreed on that but the idea did not upset him much. It would be easier all round to do the thing without telling her. “We could go in the other room at night,” he said. “It would be easy.”

  I laughed it all off as a joke, but I said to him, “If my husband did that I’d divorce him. I would not put up with it.” He said, “I know you would, but my wife could not do that to me.”

  I told him I would never have any relationship with him as a married man on principle, for his wife’s sake. I told him I hated the Indian attitude of men towards women as second-class citizens who are inferior. I said that for me, men and women are equal. I even said that his wife was too good for him. He said to me while she was standing there, “Look at my wife, she’s like a rhinoceros.”

  She was on the plump side even though she must only have been in her early thirties. The wife smiled sweetly when he said that, as if she understood. Good thing she didn’t! I said to him, “You have a very nice wife.” Sometimes I wondered if the children understood anything or suspected but they all acted as if they liked me very much.

  I tried to show my gratitude to them for letting me stay there, by buying a little thing each day for the family, like fruit or sweets.

  My reason for coming to Madras was to visit a poor Indian boy of twelve years who lives with his family in a thatched hut in a fishermen’s village on a beach near Madras. I have sponsored him for the last two years with an organisation, paying a few pounds a year to help with his education. While in Madras, I contacted the office there to find out where the family live so that I could go and see them. A woman working in the office gave me directions, so I set out on the bus to find them. I asked what the family would like as a gift and she suggested plantains (bananas). Bananas are so cheap here. I was surprised but I realised later that she must have suggested that because they are cheap, just to be polite.

  I bought some bananas because I thought she was serious, but I also bought the boy a T-shirt. The boy has several brothers and sisters and I met them all. They and the parents all live in the two roomed hut together – it is made of woven palm leaves. The hut village is scruffy-looking. His father was a fisherman but he has been injured in an accident. His mother cooks on a tiny stove inside the hut. They all seemed to be so nervous of me. Perhaps they have never met anybody from Europe before. I took the boy out and bought him an ice cream. It was a lovely experience to meet him and his family. I am glad I have been able to help them a little, although I feel that my small amount of money cannot do much. They all need sponsors.

  Afterwards I went back to the house of my other Indian family as they insisted that I stay there. On the night before the last, the husband woke me up in the middle of the night. I told him sharply to leave me alone and he went back to bed. I was considering leaving the next day but my train was booked for the morning after. I was to have only one more night there. It did not seem worth the bother of looking around for a new place to stay for one night, and anyway, the rest of the family would wonder why I was leaving suddenly when they knew the date for which I had booked the train journey.

  On the very last night the husband was really troublesome. I think probably I had not sounded fierce enough in my rejection of him before, but I find it hard to show aggression to people by raising my voice. He would not leave me in peace there on the floor. I was afraid his children would wake up. At last I threatened to get up and tell his wife, and when I got up to do it, he eventually went back to bed and left me to sleep. Next day he was friendly towards me as though nothing had happened, and urged me to stay there again when I return from Sri Lanka – which I shall not!

  On the last day I bought them a bottle of mango juice which the children like and I took their son with me to the swimming pool and bought him a drink there. I had bought them small presents every day, but the mother said I had bought too much. I hoped I had not offended them. She went out and bought me a set of gold coloured bangles and a necklace. The daughter bought me a string of sweet-smelling flowers (jasmine, I think) for my hair. This is a lovely south Indian custom – to wear flowers in your hair – all the women do it. There are so many street sellers selling blossoms on chains with pink and white flowers. They have such a wonderful perfume.

  When it was time to leave, the husband called a rickshaw to take me to the station as he was going that way. He insisted on paying. He said to me, “Don’t keep in mind anything about last night. You were very silly.” I replied, “So were you.” I was somewhat cold with him, but still I thanked him for having me. I was glad I had bought them things while I was there.

  Chapter Ten

  Sri Lanka – Island of Serendipity

  Thursday, 27th May 1976

  Too long I have waited before writing in here once again. Several times, especially the other night, I had a strong desire to write, but then I was too tired, and too happy. I didn’t want to waste precious moments. I am in Sri Lanka, an enchanted tropical island. I call it ‘paradise island’. It is so beautiful here.

  To continue with my story…. At Madras railway station I met an American called Len. We travelled to the ferry point together and took the ship across to Sri Lanka. The ship anchored close to the island, and we and some other passengers climbed into the small boat taking us to shore. When we landed, there were people waiting and as soon as I got off the boat I was asked if I had any saris to sell, so I straight away sold the sari I had brought for 140 Sri Lankan rupees (90 Indian rupees). In India I had paid 49 rupees so I was quite pleased.

  We went for a walk along the beach which quickly became deserted after the boat had left. That night, Len and I camped on the veranda of a little half-ruined and deserted palm-thatched hut that we found there on the sand. It was idyllic. Next morning we took the train.

  I fell in love with Sri Lanka immediately I stepped onto the island, so perfectly serene, exotic – it was a tropical paradise. Never have I seen such tall, slender, swaying palm trees, or so many in one place, or such lovely curving beaches as you might find on a los
t island in the Pacific. I have seen such places only in films before. The people that live in that little town on the coast, with its small railway station and chugging steam train (two a day to the capital), live mostly in one or two roomed, palm-leaf thatched huts on the sea-shore or in the village and sell their giant pineapples for one Sri Lankan rupee each (or 10 paisa for a large slice) and their luscious coconuts for 25 paisa each. They also sell beautiful necklaces made of shells. There are tiny cafes with friendly owners selling pieces of sweet fudge made with jaggery, a very sweet juice which comes from the coconut tree. It is all so very clean compared with India.

  We had been told that we would only be allowed to stay in Sri Lanka for one week because there is to be a Government Conference here this summer and tourists must leave during this time. We decided to travel to Colombo, the capital, to get a visa extension. It is the best capital city I have seen so far on my travels east. While in Colombo I went to a market and sold four lungies that I brought from India. If I had bought better quality lungies I could have made much more money, but still I was very pleased to sell them so easily and make a profit.

  After Colombo we travelled to Kandy, also a pretty town, and the railway stations are so much cleaner and prettier than those in India. They look cared for.

  In Kandy we visited a famous Buddhist temple called ‘The Temple of the Tooth’. Supposedly the tooth of the Buddha is kept as a holy relic in a shrine inside the temple which is surrounded by a lake. In the evening we saw a religious procession from the temple – monks with shaven heads dressed in orange robes carrying baskets of burning coconuts on long poles; others were beating drums and were followed by two monks on the back of an elephant. It was quite a spectacle.