Writing for Fun
July 2016
The Long Journey - Joan Bond
My son called to me one day from France and said, ‘Would you do me a favour – I have been paying £500 a year for five years now for drugs to keep Myandi Pandi alive after a liver transplant from his father and while I don’t begrudge it I would like to know the fella exists. I can’t spare two weeks away at the moment so would you go with Katrine, his wife?’
We arrived at the airport in Trivundrum after eleven hours travel and they welcomed us by collecting all our passports, later bringing them all back together, 130 of them and walked round trying to give them out by recognition of our photo on the passport – it took a very long time. Unfortunately my daughter in law did not get hers, there was a query, her passport date looked as though it had run out. It was assured by a letter from the government agency that it wasn’t the fact and it was ok but the notification was written in French and there were not many Indians in a small airport at that time that spoke French so we had to wait for verification from a higher authority.
Anyway this is just a summary so I will not dally. We were taken to the hotel recommended by my doctor, a family friend of hers had had it built and she had paid for our stay but wasn’t yet open so a lovely young man had made our beds produced a lovely meal and went home to return in the morning. After another full breakfast we set off for the water boat on our journey to Seva Nilayam.
We did eat mostly from the stalls as everything was cooked in boiling fat and was delicious although it was always a surprise when taking the first bite as we didn’t speak the language to ask what it was. It was a good area of India though as it was first discovered by the Portuguese and strange to see all the kids, well the rich ones going to school in uniform and learning from English books, this meaning that most people had a smattering of English.
My daughter in law was a bit of a tightwad as she was proving to Robert that this holiday was going to be inexpensive, so we slept each night in hostels where she checked that we had a clean sheet on the beds as one normally used your saris for this purpose but we hadn’t acquired one yet. You were also given a padlock for the door and a candle as all lights in the town went off for two hours in the evening as it saved electricity. We did have a few meals in cafes, one in particular we were given a large banana leaf and little boys came around with buckets of curry and rice which were spooned onto the leaf and the same little boys went around when you were finished and tipped the remains in yet (I hope!) another bucket.
Another time entering one were immediately shown out as it was for men only but he guided us to another. I have to say they were all so charming and inoffensive. Also if we ever stood in the street looking at a map we were instantly surrounded by interested offers of help. Two women traveling on their own was so unusual and when they found out it was mother in law and daughter in law being friends they were so amazed. When the question asked was where is the husband to be told he was at home looking after the kids they would fall about laughing. Finally, after many adventures of traveling on the river bus which stops at all villages where this old man turned in his seat all the time watching me as I caught up with writing the log of our journey I said to Katerine, ‘I feel uncomfortable.’
A student near us said, ‘Don’t worry it’s your fountain pen he is interested in.’ It was true, all the kids we met wanted pens, but not biros only good ones.
There were a lot of friendly young students on the boat traveling and had many tips about hostels etc. and advice of different services we might use. One being that you could wash out your spare set of clothes and having it dry overnight you could have it ironed for a rupee by the guy with a wheelbarrow in the street.
When we arrived from the bus to Tamil Nadu where the hospital was situated we tried to enquire of the whereabouts of the place but being in different area they didn’t speak English but we were directed to the local vicar who did his rounds on a motor bike. He was huge and charming and insisted in taking us to his home, an old concrete house his wife and her sister were preparing a meal, which was delicious and he said it wasn’t far to walk but because I was old he arranged a ride for me on the carrier of a rusty old bike that this tough lad used and we chased along with a short cut along the railway lines and it was bump, bump over the sleepers all the way. They were very welcoming at the hospital. We ate sitting on the floor as they did, washing up our plates when finished and met the English lady Dora Scarlett who had started the place long ago after going around the streets on her bicycle with medicines to help people. She was now ninety and recently won the OBE but they had to bring it to her she wasn’t going to make the journey to the palace. And they did.
We also met the guy who had been the recipient of the drugs and was doing well. In India poor families can only afford to educate one member, a boy of course of the family, who then works to keep the rest. All the family were gathered to meet us. He wanted to kiss our feet but we didn’t allow that, however we were given a sari each and back at the hospital a nurse showed us how to wear them. I have to say they sort of made you walk tall, or perhaps you had to, to stop it falling apart.
There was a rather worrying day when there was a crash at the banks on the dollar the currency Robb had sent us out with and we tried banks and hotels who wouldn’t help, but Katrine found a bloke who knew a bloke and she had to follow him around the back streets with me following ten steps behind to ensure she was alright. He changed the money and she made sure she got a good exchange, but it proved to me that people didn’t want to diddle you. I suppose it was nearly twenty years ago and I understand from Rob who actually made the journey this year that it has changed and not for the better. We had to travel at the back of the buses as the front was for the men but we had food shared from the families traveling even if it meant we had to have the baby to mind on our laps and they only had a bit of rag for a nappy. Met and talked to all and sundry as Katherine wanted to know how much they earned and had to manage on. We went on a night trip on a flat bottomed boat which we all had to lean on one side to get it going off the mud that was supposedly to see the animals come down to drink but we didn’t see any and the night train, which Katrine thought would be a treat and I ended sleeping up in the luggage rack with the knap sack for a pillow and my by then so necessary sari for cover and she was down with three men and a cockroach. When we arrived back to the station to get the bus it had rained and the buses didn’t have windows so wet bums all the way to town.
We booked into a beach flat for the last few days and saw most of the travellers who came out on the plane and had just been there for the two weeks. What a waste. It really seemed an awfully long journey home to be met by my other son who had forgotten the coats we had left with him and it was freezing February.