chartandwaters

I just walked under a ladder. And bought a packet of Fruitella, India's answer to Starburst. (I hear my mother saying, "That was the answer to a question nobody asked.") The main difference is that Starburst isn't multi-fruit flavored; for example, mine are "blackcurrant flavored chewy sweets." I am trying to make up for the fact that I can't tell you about food in India.

Yes India! I had scheduled my flight for Friday so that I would get into Chennai in time to catch a six-hour train to Bangalore to see Venkatesh receive an award on Saturday, as I'd promised him. On Thursday night, still in Sri Lanka, I raced from a visa fiasco that had kept me in Colombo two days too long to get my bit of large-Buddha-seeing in---I thought, if I can just see one of the large SLEEPING Buddhas like I'd seen in my guidebook, I will feel complete. I don't know what it was about the sleeping Buddhas that so appealed to me, but I suppose it's their humanness; for the most part the Buddhas I'd seen in Sri Lanka are in the cross-legged meditating position, and it's lovely to see a sculpture that refers to even the Buddha's need for sleep. There must be a further symbolism to them. There are several in the three main towns that make up the "cultural triangle" of inland Sri Lanka.

But first I wanted to see Sigiriya, which is one of the most popular sites in Sri Lanka. It's a fort built around 400 A.D. on top of one of those weird enormous rocks that sometimes appears in the middle of nowhere. Probably this one once looked more like a mountain--like Shiprock in New Mexico--or maybe it's still technically a mountain (what makes something a mountain? am I a mountain?)--but it now looks more like a large rock (picture at http://sigiriya.org).

And so a king decided it would work as a palace and fortress, so he built waterways and gardens at the bottom, swimming pools and living quarters for himself and his 500 concubines at the top, and 1200 steps for the slaves to carry him up.

The night I arrived, it's a long ATM story, but I wouldn't have the $20.00 I'd just learned the ticket to Sigiriya costs foreigners until the next day. $20.00!? I went to the ticket counter anyway, hoping for an unobtainable reprieve, but one of the 25 unemployed guides nearby convinced me to come on a smaller journey to a "rock temple" with a Buddha statue. He said it would cost 500 Sri Lankan rupees (5.00$)--($5.00!?)--but before we started off he showed me the ticket he'd supposedly bought for me--without my having given him money--and I realized it was a scam, the temple probably didn't cost anything. If you don't realize this you would also tip him so he'd get maybe 700 Rs. But I knew there was an actual temple and he was an actual guide, so I let him take me up to the statue set high up upon a rock with no steps, only boulders, so it was basically a small rock-climbing expedition (which explains the lack of fee). And there, at the top, lo and behold was, aside from some small ancient meditation coves for monks, one big sleeping Buddha, about 15 meters long, resting peacefully on a pillow. When it opened its eyes it would see Sigiriya. I felt like God was laughing at me. I took a thousand pictures of my sleeping Buddha, the Buddha only those people see who are willing to allow a cheating guide to help them climb the rocks for 500 Rs and, probably, only those who didn't have the $20 to get into Sigiriya. Hence a very special Buddha.

The Buddha's top half had lost a lot of its white plaster cover, so the face was mostly carved masonry. I'd never seen clay bricks sculpted into a form.

(My guide was actually very good and smart, toting my large bag without complaint and diligently providing information in great English. Once back at the ticket counter I confirmed that it had been a scam. I'd still given him no money but he'd offered to drive me free to my hotel, which is a 300 Rs ride, so I told him that I knew he was cheating me but if he drove me all the way, I would still give him the money but no tip. He pretended not to understand but drove me all the way home.)

By the next morning I had nearly decided that no giant rock was worth $20 when you can see so many sites in India for nothing, when, with the persuading of hotel staff that I had "plenty of time" to do it and still arrive at the airport at 1:05pm, two hours before my 3:05 flight, the tides of my mind turned, as they so easily do, and I hurried to Sigiriya with my cash. And I climbed the rock, and it was yes pretty cool, but it took too long even at a rush and I hurried down part-way through. I was only a half-hour behind schedule when I hopped the bus for the supposedly 2-hour busride to the airport. Which, two hours in, after a calm tea break and at a steady, unrushed speed, the bus attendant explained would be four hours, getting me in 30 minutes after my flight. I explained my predicament and the busdriver kindly sped up, but finally I lept off and had an autorickshaw race me 30 minutes at a breakneck 35mph to the airport, where I stepped across the airport threshold at 3:03pm and wondered what would become of me.

The plane had been delayed an hour. I felt relief combined with some sort of neutral shock. There are many stops at the airport where guards want something from you: your boarding pass, your embarkation card, your passport; I dug through my bag, losing each thing each time I put it back in. The airport attendants were wonderfully calming; they ushered me past with kind smiles and gentle questions like, "Are you tired?" At the gate, I noticed that other foreigners looked equally frazzled; perhaps that's what the employees are used to, the disorientation of passengers who have just gotten off a four-hour busride they were told would take two.

At the gate I eavesdropped on a group of upper-class passengers comparing notes on the struggle to find any worthwhile souvenirs, first in Sri Lanka (I can't comment), and then moving on to other countries:

"In America, the hand-blown glass is quite lovely but otherwise there's really not ANything."
"Yes, it's all made in China."

I admired the stewardesses in their saris and the sign in the bathroom that instructs Gentleman, who really can't be trusted about anything, to "Please Lift the Toilet Seat UP". I appreciated the beer served automatically with the meal, and credited my life to the fact that they served a meal in the 45-minute ride, spicy and strange tasting as it was.

I had just finished a popular bestseller (I don't want to ruin the book for someone) the night before. It contains a long scene narrated by a man struggling on the point of starvation and exhaustion, so, his voice deep in my mind, I seemed to feel every one of my measly struggles at that pitch of emotion and severity.

I arrived in a Chennai downpour and hurried to get the train to Bangalore--sold out--so rushed to a bus and departed 10:30pm in pouring rain which continued inside the bus as the roof had several leaks--one over my legs, and then when I switched seats over my right eye. I draped the stinky but somewhat waterproof window curtain over my face and napped. Got off train at 7:30am, found hotel with hot water an hour later. The shower was a few thin light streams all directed at different parts of the bathroom, but I filled the 4 liter bucket provided for the bucket bath and tried to get my whole body in the bucket; had to content myself with the feet and stayed there till the last possible second; got out dressed and fled to the World Disability Day celebration in pretty Cubbon Park to see Venkatesh get his award.

The celebration was great simply to arrive at; often at the level of "those poor things", disability actually seems to get a lot of attention in India--from NGOs and religious sectors--but on the streets I haven't often seen people with disabilities other than those who are begging. So it was really good to see so many people coming from all kinds of disability backgrounds and income levels to share in something that seemed healthy and strengthening for the cause. (I say "seemed" because the presentation was all in Kannada and no one was really translating for me.)

Before the ceremony began a man who had a mobility disability that meant he crawled rather than walked (and also he did not have hands, his arms ended at his wrists) started to climb up the podium steps; police tried to stop him, he struggled and in the struggle managed to break some of the pots of plants gracing the front of stage. And with that a small but loud, angry and seemingly well-organized protest began.

I was just a row away from the pot-breaking and was very startled and excited by the whole thing; it had seemed like such a peaceful, simple event and then someone just busted it up with all their might, and very effectively. I guess I especially liked that he broke some pots (he probably did too). The photographers and policeman gathered around and the policeman were obviously struggling because they didn't want some horrible photo of them battering a disabled man. Then someone started protest chants while he struggled with the police, and slowly others gathered sitting around him. Eventually he was permitted to read the group's demands to the press, the Deputy Chief Minister (like a Lt Gov) responded, and then the police insisted the pot-breaker return to his seat but he refused. The protesters watched peaceably from the floor in front aisle, and the rest of the ceremony was quiet except for a couple of hecklers behind us. Most notably when a woman announced that [a law like the Indians with Disability Act] had been passed in 1995 but not all of its demands had been met, the hecklers cried out "Not one!" and for a moment I felt like I was at a protest in America and a discussion on the ADA--although the comparison can't be fair.

I don't usually see people who crawl rather than walk or use a wheelchair, and you see many very poor people who have managed to get a modified wheelchair that they use on streets. But there were several people at the celebration who either could not get a wheelchair or didn't want one, maybe since it's not conducive to travel on most Indian streets.

Indians know how to bestow honors; the 12 awardees were each garlanded, given huge plaques, glass trophies, and a giant fruit basket, then made to hold all of them at once while they were photographed with the deputy Chief Minister (like Lt. Governor) of Karnataka. Venkatesh is a very, very hard worker, and he was excited and truly honored and humble; it was exciting to see his work rewarded and especially his eager, humble response.