Ends of the Earth

Sitting for ten plus hours a day in front of my computer, slogging away as a technical writer, my favorite escape fantasy used to be the perfect beach with the perfect boy, in the perfect state of mind. I often mused how long I could hypothetically go on in such a situation. I scoffed at people that said it would become boring eventually. But indeed, there is a limit to everything, and the one for the above-mentioned scenario can even be quantified: three weeks.

Oh yes, Kovalam was paradise. Every single evening, we had our ritual of putting gin in partially emptied tonic water bottles and climbing up to our lookout point for spectacular sunsets and our most moving conversations. This would be followed by sumptuous seafood dinners and plenty more to drink. We’d stay up late using the computer, listening to music, reading, and enjoying each other. I would get up earlier each morning to have breakfast with Nina at the German Bakery, sometimes over some good Kerala Gold. Then we would hit the beach.

I was intent on a tanning competition. I tan well, after a few initial days. That Mikael had two head starts (Andean origin and a week in Goa) didn’t deter me. At first I burned. Then even Nina pulled ahead, leaving me in third place. Undaunted, I realized that the goalposts had to be shifted slightly. I would be darker than Mikael’s original color. And at this, I verily succeeded.

For my birthday I was fêted in grand style at the German Bakery, with catch-of-the-day swordfish in three different preparations, a series of salads, and lemon sugar crêpes for dessert. I got a silver bracelet, which I still haven’t taken off, as well as another beaded bracelet, and the feeling from Mikael and Nina that I was dearly and truly loved. We partied into the wee hours until Mikael simply passed out.

The festivities went a long way in assuaging my distress at having my credit card number phished. Yes, I have been a victim of identity theft, and it was only brought to my attention when Fidelity called my Mom to alert her that my card was being invalidated on suspicion of fraudulent use by third parties. Well, good on them for catching it so quickly and not charging me a single penny, but in the ensuing three weeks, I have been without access to my money, and supported financially by Mikael. He’s been a great sport. But the question remained as to whether we would wait for the replacement card in Kovalam, or move on to Madurai, in Tamil Nadu, where Mikael had a Mission.

As it turns out, Fedex does not deliver to these parts. At all. DHL does, but it takes six business days. Upon hearing this, Mikael had a meltdown. We decided to have the card sent ahead of us to Madurai.

The next day, while walking on the boardwalk, we saw a postcard in a shop window of a beautiful scene in Kanyakumari. As a point of information, Kanyakumari is the southernmost tip on the Indian subcontinent, and for that reason alone, I was curious about discovering it. We were only 100 km away. We could go to Madurai via the one of the true Ends of the Earth. So we bought the train tickets.

Nina’s birthday rolled around right at this time, so it was only fitting that our last night in Kovalam be celebrated in the grandest of styles. Happy Birthday Dunce Caps were donned, presents were procured, and a most decadent dinner consisting entirely of tiger prawns in various preparations was downed with much gusto. This time we didn’t drink to (too much) excess, and on the morrow, we left.

Nevertheless, on that last night, I had my own emotional meltdown with the realization that not only was I leaving Paradise, but it was also one step closer to eventually parting ways. At the time of writing, I’ve been on the road, as it were, for eight months. Although a bit of a ways off, the end is in sight.

Mikael’s and his knapsack are really a sight to see. The bag weighs an astonishing 70 kg. He weighs 55. At one point in Trivandrum station, he keeled over backwards, just like a tortoise. It took both Nina and I, similarly laden, to get him back up. The boy is strong. On the train, he just crashed. I dozed for a while until a conversation in Hindi just below me caught my attention. Our Malayali compartment partner was talking to a Gujarati schoolgirl, and not only was it clear that both had learned the language in school, but I was able to understand almost everything. I got up.

You may have had enough of me patting myself on the back for this accomplishment or that, but I really must commend myself on having a level of Hindi that is not negligible. I can do introductions and quickly get the conversation onto movies (always a crowd pleaser). With some help and patience from my interlocutors, I can definitely hold my own. Most interestingly, this was not to be my last conversation in this way-cool language with reversed word order. And the great irony of it all was that it was occurring in Tamil Nadu of all places.

And so we arrived at Kanyakumari, where hoards and hoards of Hindu pilgrims, mainly from the North, congregated to see a monument built in honor of Vivek Ananda, a Bengali guru in the Shiva cult who walked from the Himalayas down to this point to meditate at the place where, in one of her incarnations, Parvati wooed Shiva. Then he started a multimillion dollar ashram.

Alongside this monument stands a gigantic statue of Thiruvalluvar, the great Tamil philosopher, who produced his moral code, the Thirukkural, in 31 BC. That the Tamils are uppity about their language and culture has always gotten my goat a little, being the Hindi devotee that I am. I mean, come on. I grew up in Canada. What’s the point of having an official language if you can’t force people to speak it? And yet, the oldest modern literary traditions in Europe hail from France and Portugal, clocking in at around 800 years. The Tamils can claim an unbroken chain of over 2000. That is something to crow about. In Europe, only the Greeks can assert anything similar. And here I was, with ample opportunity to speak Hindi, yet with a newfound respect for Tamils and Tamil Nadu.

And while Kovalam is now behind MANAM, it is the best documented relationship I’ve ever had. We have our home movies, the official soundtracks and playlists, endless photo slideshows, mine and Mikael’s corresponding blogs, and of course the memories. We still have Madurai ahead of us as well. Admittedly, it’s hard to do this with eyes wide open. But then again, that’s travel. That’s India. And that’s life itself.