This is my last day at Saccidananda and I am reflecting on
my experiences of the three weeks here. If you’re interested in this ashram’s
original twist on Christianity, you’ll find I’ve written about it in my
spiritual blog.
On a practical level, we’ve had virtually no internet for
the past few days while the builders have been working on enlarging and
redecorating the office. I’ve been obliged to take an auto-rickshaw to the
village, and squeeze into a tiny booth at an internet shop-front, where they
rent web access at 20p/hour. Not the perfect environment for composing business
emails in connection with my training assignment next month, so when possible
I’ve drafted everything out back at my room and then pasted it into an email
when I went to the village.
Happily, my cellulitis is just about under control now. I
wear flight stockings each night and this stops the skin blistering. The snag
then is that when I remove the stockings my skin itches terribly and if I
scratch my leg, the skin tears. When I get back to Mattindia I have some
emollient cream which will sort that out and I’ll be none the worse. Apart from
that, I am in fine form: a bit of a summer sniffle and a dusty cough, but
that’s all par for the climate. The enforced slow pace and strict regimes have
made me take things gently and spend time on reflection, and that’s done me a
world of good.
You learn funny little anecdotes when you travel. I learned yesterday
that Indians used to identify the denomination of missionaries by their
footwear. Catholics were mostly from Spain and Portugal and wore sandals;
Protestants came from Northern Europe and wore shoes. These days you want to
wear slip-on mules or loafers whenever possible, because you are forever taking
them off, every time you enter a building.
I’ve worn my old sandals every day for three weeks and while
most sandals have smooth soles, mine have a big swirling pattern. Over the
three weeks I’ve retraced my steps in the dust time and again, and now there’s
that big swirling pattern wherever I walk. Over the coming week that imprint
will gradually disappear, unless there’s a thunderstorm, in which case all
trace of R J Harvey will be gone in ten minutes.
Tomorrow it’s the slow, stopping train to Trichy. One class
/ third class, single ticket 20p, so that will be interesting – but it’s only
an hour, so I’m not worried. Then I have a 2-tier A/c sleeper compartment,
window seat with “pantry service” for the 3-hour journey from Trichy to
Madurai. That’s a 4-person compartment,
with the top bunks folded up in the daytime. Having sneaked into that class of
carriage from Varkala to Trivandrum I know how very comfortable that will be
and I’ll enjoy it. The fare is £4.30 with my senior citizen discount, and
pantry service means that the pantry-wallah will be up and down the train with
pots of tea, lunch and snacks for sale.
I get to Madurai around 4.30 on Monday afternoon, and I’ll take
a rickshaw to the YMCA where my single room is booked, (fingers crossed.)
Strange as it may seem, I am not yearning for a change from vegetarian food,
and I haven’t missed alcohol. On the other hand, I might feel different if I
smell grilled prawns or see a bar.
And yes, you’ve all spotted the deliberate mistake I’m sure.
My plan was originally to spend Christmas in Kerala, but I changed my route
after I’d started the blog and had already titled it “KeralaChristmas.” I’ve
been in the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu since just before Christmas, and
I’ll be back in Kerala next week, after the Pongal festival in Madurai.
It’s a wonderful journey.
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