Port Blair

Indeed the Andamans are a quiet and peaceful place. Even Port Blair, the territorial capital, is sleepy and crime free.

There are no beggars at all. Unlike Bombay, nobody makes any nevermind about foreigners. There are no traffic lights; instead, traffic circles, occasionally manned by a police constable in the busier areas, are judiciously used and mostly heeded. Shopping and restaurants are wanting. But Port Blair is set in the most stunning location. Lush vegetation abounds.

Port Blair is also a prosperous place, generously endowed with a number of Federal ministries and agencies, as well as many schools and NGO offices, including some that arrived to rebuild areas and lives damaged in the 2004 tsunami. Houses and buildings in general are of a very good standard for India, and urban development was clearly planned.

I had the good fortune of being taken around by a young man, whom I had met during the few days he had worked at the DVDs and weak weed guesthouse in Havelock. His name was Vikram Singh, and when I told him about Skye Frontier, he asked if he could be in it. This is for him.

The name Vikram Singh is typically North Indian, and there are probably as many who answer to it as there are Robert Smiths in the English-speaking world. Of medium stature and slight build, Vikram had a motorcycle, and a number of gashes and scars to prove it. At 21,he still sported the aura of invincibility common for people at that age. I’m a great motorcycle passenger, totally flexible on bending curves, as well as for quick starts and stops. With such a handsome face and gentle demeanor, I was inclined to trust him intuitively.

Sightseeing was punctuated by frequent visits to his many friends. Being a small town, with not a lot for youngsters to do, they enjoyed each others company and smoked chillums, more or less nonstop. And yet these were all good boys. I also realized that Indian men don’t just love their friends; they fall in love with them.

The boys were invariably thrilled by my stories of having been in three Bollywood movies, and I suppose there was also the cachet of a new face in a relatively slow-moving town, as well as the novelty of being able to speak about topics close to their heart even with a foreigner. My Hindi took a nice little leap forward, with the noteworthy increase in the number of curses in my repertoire. Laughter is a stupendous teacher.

To wit, chudh, means fucker. The most common prefix to it is mada, which means mother. Bahinchudh, or sisterfucker, is also liberally used. Employing some other words I knew, under the influence of the constant chillum smoking, we had ourselves doubled up with laughter as I coined:

Bhaichudh – brotherfucker
Dadichudh – grannyfucker
Saurachudh – pigfucker

And so on and so forth. Such is Island Life.