Kodaikanal, Annotated
ANNE. Charming Sai Baba devotee and fellow Naramour Hotel guest. She has been following avatar Baba for years. She's seen, she says, what he has done for the poor. And the values people generally hold back in her native Denmark mean nothing to her any longer. She accessorizes her golden sari with muted, gold jewelry.
APRIL 28, 1999. Our party of three arrives at Indian hill station Kodaikanal on this date. April 28: birthday of actor Lionel Barrymore, talk show host Jay Leno, and dictator Saddam Hussein. April, also known as cruelest month. It is the second month of the ancient Roman, and the fourth of the modern calendar. It is a month of "opening," possibly related to Lat. "aperire," to open. The month was sacred to Venus, and perhaps Aprilis was originally her month, Aphrilis, from her Greek name Aphrodite. In ancient times, the twenty-eighth and four following days marked the riotous Floralia. England's patron saint St. George's day is the twenty-third of April. The birthday of George, acquaintance and fellow Naramour guest, remains unknown. Soap opera good girls named April are routinely saddened by their Jekyl/Hyde-like handsome husbands.
BOREDOM. One devotee claims Baba is "easily the most colourful and multi-faceted prophet that modern India has produced." Incredibly, he never gets bored. Every blessing he gives, of his thousands, is unique. I saw a picture of him holding a fawn. He stays busy flitting about, in visions and dreams, visiting his blessings upon the faithful. Anne explained how she'd once worked for the airline industry, but now does some kind of consulting, allowing herself the freedom to stay in India many months each year. Year after year she returns to the Naramour, for the view but also to check up on George, Irish mountaineer and retiree. She's concerned about his health. They're like cousins. They know a thing or two about each other's pasts.
BY THE LAKE. In Kodaikanal, current population about 32,000, the lakeside Carlton on Boat Club Road is the priciest and most splendid hotel available. Although we couldn't afford to stay there we twice enjoyed the lunch buffet. On both occasions we were treated to the house organist's interpretations of Lennon/McCartney, Burt Bacharach, and the like. Many wealthy Baba worshippers stay at the Carlton. They've got a snooker table in one of their bars along with an extensive collection of liquor and beer. The staff is amiable, mostly come from far-flung cities and living apart from their families. They like talking to foreigners; it feels liberating.
CHRISTMAS, CHRIST, CHRISTIANS. Christmas is a banner day for many Baba worshippers—it's on the calendar. On Christmas Swami dons his floor-length, white robe instead of the usual saffron. When he dies at age 96 he'll return as the next major avatar, Sai Prema. Projected images of Sai Prema resemble the Jesus Christ of many a Baptist or Methodist church Sunday school classroom—that dusky, straight-haired Jesus. Kodaikanal, where Baba resides every spring, is known for its high concentration of Christians and Christian institutions. In the mid-1840's American missionaries started a school for children of foreigners. Its descendent, the Kodaikanal International School, is one of the most prestigious private high schools in the country. Christian symbols might well reassure Baba visitors and contributors, make them feel more at home.
CORPSE. Walking along a country road in Kodaikanal we (John, Sam, and I) encountered a solemn procession of thirty or forty men. When we initially spied them from a distance we thought we saw crosses floating above them. These were large crosses, carried in the manner of placards in a protest or parade. The men carried the corpse of an old woman, high above them, also seeming to float, in a bed of flowers. Her face was exposed and open to the blue sky. This seemed like something we shouldn't talk about, so we didn't, not even with anyone back at the hotel. Back on the Naramour lawn, several young people, including a rare male American Baba-ite, were strumming guitars and singing.
DONNA. Also a Baba devotee and fellow Naramour guest. She's been following him for years, seldom returning to the United States, her home country. Her every move hinges upon Baba's hints and glances. In her words: I've seen him materialize rings and watches. But the true miracle is how he altered my mind. Back when I was in New York I was a child psychologist and I used to do a lot of coke and I drank a lot. I was working with abused children and there wasn't anything I could do to help them. My sister doesn't understand. My family. This last time in New York I saw my nephew. He walked into the restaurant and he didn't know me. He said you're a different person, aren't you. Donna isn't her real name.
EXPATRIATES. Not prevalent in Kodaikanal, nor India, compared to many countries. This is partly due to anti-foreign sentiment, expressed officially in spring 1999 by expulsions of many foreigners, for instance a young English man in Kodai who had been operating a restaurant. George manages to stay. He permanently resides at the Naramour. As a courtesy the management has even removed the number from his door, so it seems less like a hotel to him. His doctor and some friends at immigration arranged for him to stay in Kodai, despite regulations requiring him to exit India. He can't afford to leave, he tells us. With a wink, he explains how his friends convinced authorities that he was unfit to travel. A few times during our week there we saw him stroll outside the bungalow, venturing out to the terraced gardens, ten or fifteen yards beyond his creaky door. He seems not to realize that his doctor's assessment of his immobility is more than a ruse to help him stay. It's a fact.
FACTS. I can prove all of this. I took notes. I visited a temple full of monkeys. A car was hired. I met a young American man who wrote poetry and who claimed he was a member of some "upper class." Poets, we are the upper class. I also met a wealthy businessman from near Madurai who wanted me to come and talk to the women in his small town. I have his fax.
See METAPHOR.
FILM RATING SYSTEM. George meticulously applies his own rating system to the hundreds of films in his personal, self-taped collection. He displays a mania for using up every last centimeter of videocassette tape. One night he invites the three of us in for a film and we choose John Huston's Night of the Iguana. George shares his stash of Bagpiper, in his opinion the best local Indian "whiskey." From an unlocked wall safe, he ceremoniously extracts the bottle, which bears the face of an authentic looking bagpiper. This safe, George surmises, was installed by the bungalow's original well-off owner. Whiskey is George's pastime, and his sharing it with the three of us feels like a kind of intimacy.
GUINNESS. George had retired from Guinness. As a youth, he'd shown an aptitude for science that his father had urged him to develop. Instead, George went for a business career, securing a position at the beer-making giant, pursuing adventure wherever and whenever he got the chance. He managed to convince the company that he couldn't actually do much, business-wise. He did devise a scheme to help the company save money by offering early retirements. As soon as the policy became official, George promptly retired and, having no family left to keep him there, left Ireland almost immediately. One evening we play a game. George plays snippets of his favorite classical music pieces and we guess the composers and titles. Then we listen to the pieces in their entirety.
HOT FOOD SHOULD BE SERVED HOT. Once, late into the night, we heard George raving, repeating this directive, "Hot food should be served hot," over and over to the Naramour staff. He couldn't seem to make himself understood. Not surprisingly, George slept away the next day. The following day he wanted us to have dinner with him, which he'd ordered from a restaurant and had delivered. He lamented the skills of the hotel staff. He said it was just as well they didn't have a regular restaurant there, as he didn't trust the staff and their superstitions. He told us that they didn't believe in anything they couldn't see. Anne mentioned to us that many of the Naramour workers admire Baba. This is borne out by their behavior. They don't show even subtly any disrespect of the foreign Baba-ite customers or their beliefs.
IMP. Sai Baba has an impish look. Some devotees claim that before they meet Sai in person they've met him in a vision or visitation. After such fantastic first meetings they invariably are able to identify the avatar by his afro hairstyle. Sai's eyes are typically described as penetrating.
INSTINCT. George lives on instinct. Instinct led him to tool around Europe in a caravan and camp around the Mediterranean by boat before finally settling into frugal Indian retirement. Donna doesn't trust her instincts. She's praying that Sai will allow her—it's her one desire—to stay in India to do some practical work for the people here. Sam's intuition, if not instinct, was to travel round India by train or bus, not by plane, and he'd gone against this intuition already more than once. Kids in Kodaikanal International School explore their instincts in the manner of young people everywhere. We had lunch with the parents of two students at the school, missionaries by profession. The wife seemed starved for conversation and relieved to be talking with us. She didn't strike me as someone you'd expect to believe in God. We met other missionaries in India, but these two were the most unhappy, the husband rude in front of us, which really perturbed his wife.
ITINERARY. We fuss and ruminate over the itinerary. We've been criss-crossing India as if it were Belgium or New Jersey. We argue about whether to spring for first class. In first class we are fed excellent mother's food—mango pickle and curry. Sam always asks the people we meet what caste they belong to and eventually we start to get a sense of what kinds of people like to talk about this sort of thing and why.
JOHN. Identifies himself as teacher to most Indians he meets. To non-Indians, he's more likely to say he's a former teacher, and his instinct had been to come alone to India and stay in one spot and learn yoga but somehow he'd ended up being here with his spouse, V., and his older brother, Sam. Sam is John's elder by four years.
JOHN'S BROTHER SAM. Entry evolving; under construction. Political. Writing a screenplay.
KODAIKANAL. Nick-named Kodai, pronounced like "codeine" without the "n" sound. 1911 Encyclopedia entry: Sanatorium of southern India, in the Madurai district of Madras, situated in the Palni hills, about 7000 ft. above sea-level; pop. (1901) 1912, but the number in the hot season would be much larger. It is difficult of access being 44 m. from a railway station and the last 11 m. are impracticable for wheeled vehicles. It contains a government observatory, the appliances of which are specially adapted for the study of terrestrial magnetism, seismology and solar physics.
KRYSTAL, PHYLLIS. While browsing in a bookshop, a book happened to plunge from its shelf, nearly hitting Dr. Krystal on the head. Turns out this book recounted Sai Baba's life and work. Swami works in mysterious ways. So she reads it. Now she has penned her own book on Sai in which is recorded book-happening-to-fall event. Dr. Krystal is entirely on the level—she's a nationally known psychoanalyst.
LOUD NEIGHBORS. They are a hazard when you live in one place, drab or otherwise. You want to go upstairs and yell at them. Oh yes, now this has gotten personal. When you travel you find loud neighbors, for the most part, to be informative or even exotic. As a group, they are curious, multi-national, and talkative. You hear people bragging to each other about deals or jewelry. You hear them comparing their days spent astride flea-ridden camels. They make fast friends. You sometimes hear a spoken vulgarity. You hear someone leave and you know that you've overheard a permanent separation.
LOVE. "He is an Ocean of Love." Many Western women turn to Sai Baba because they have lost their loves, or at least their husbands. An ocean of women washes up at Sai Baba's feet here in Kodaikanal and at his other Indian residences and in large stadiums abroad. Once he shared his love in Ohio, riffing on the life of Abraham Lincoln.
MADURAI. As no trains run out of Kodai we hire someone to drive us down the harrowing hillsides. That way we get to see India. We're heading for Madurai, a city some 120 miles away, famous for its Hindu temples. We set off about 11 a.m. on May 12. About one hour into our trip the driver feels compelled to stop and confront a bus driver who had been forcing our Toyota off the road. The bus would try to pass us, forcing us close to the precipice at road's edge. The bus did this several times. At a slowed down, snarled curve in the highway, our driver cuts off the bus, halting it. He walks over and starts arguing with the bus driver. Bus passengers spill out and our driver gets back in. They surround the car, pressing their bodies and hands against the windows. More than one shakes a fist. The driver's had his say but, feeling menaced, starts off again. At least we get a few miles lead on the bus.
MADURAI BOUND. The taxi-driver asks, "Did you come to Kodai for Baba?" "No," we respond and he then tells us how once an African holy man had journeyed here to expose Sai as a charlatan. Almost as soon as the man arrived in Kodai he just vanishes. And Baba has links to police. The man just vanished. "Think what you like," sums up the driver.
See SAI BABA, OTHER AVATARS AND HABITS.
MANHANDLER. An Indian friend tells me that Sai is a real manhandler, known for manhandling young boys, and how this is all over the papers. These sorts of charges are strongly refuted on some of Sai's fan-sites. One defender states that since Sai is God and God is good then what Sai does is good. It is asserted that past lives will bring sufferings and cures into present lives. Sai brings what is good for people into their lives.
METAPHOR. My portable library was a metaphor for my life. My life was a metaphor for my journey. My journey to Kodai was a journey in observation. Reliance upon metaphor is reliance upon fate, or at least chance. Reliance upon chance is the opposite of horror. Horror is what we remember when we travel and we write about it. Living in hotels, while eccentric, is not unheard of, even among the general population. Keeping up one's voter registration, friendships, ideal weight, diary—need I say more—while living in hotels burdens a person with a vague responsibility. I tried to avoid the precious present tense but found this impossible.
NARAMOUR (1). Our hotel, a charming early twentieth-century stone bungalow. We think it must be a great place to write. We mainly identify ourselves as writers. Most tourists, here for the views, stay about two nights. When we arrive, April 28th, the hotel is occupied mainly by Baba devotees. There are adequate televisions. On a show aimed at children about animals I learn how the stray animals in Bangalore are enjoying expanded shelter facilities. We only get three or four channels but they keep me busy. One promising idea I'm working on is "Two-week Indian Excursions" so I've brought assorted guidebooks. I set up my portable library, which contains some essentials: Naipaul, Joyce, Dante, and Woolf. In Kodai I pick up a Penguin book of short stories, Indian modern. From it I learn about professions in India, animals in India, marriage and sibling rivalry in India, to name just a few key topics. I also read a relatively recent dramatic work—Harvest, by Manjula Padmanabhan. To quote the flyleaf, "It is an intensely gripping drama in which the sale of organs between rich and poor nations becomes a sly metaphor for other types of transactions between husband and wife, son and mother, lover and loved." These transactions, excuse the cliché, come with hilarious consequences.
NARAMOUR (2). The Freudian derivation: narrow love, slim abundance, expensive shell. An obvious reference to the lack of love from the mother, or the father. That or the elder brother's jealousy of the mother's love for the baby. That or the unwitting and shameful identification with the father who left the mother. Or an inversion: rumors of wars, and whisperings of wars. Place of disputed territories.
NIGHT OF THE IGUANA. John Huston film based on Tennessee Williams play about outsiders living in Mexico. Beautiful, aging people running from normalcy. You get that in foreign countries. Richard Burton's character is an apostate minister. Deborah Kerr's is an itinerant artist/grifter. George met Kerr, sat next to her on a plane once while traveling for Guinness. He recalls her niceness, her being lovely in a down-to-earth ordinary way.
See WILLIAMS, TENNESSEE.
OTHER AVATARS AND HABITS. Theosophist co-founder Madame Blavatsky, Sai Prema, Drugs, Money.
ROLLS ROYCE. Sai leaves in his Rolls, or is it a Mercedes? May 8. Word had spread rapidly the night before among his followers that Sai was intending to leave his Kodai compound. Many at the Naramour settled their accounts and made plans to join the motorcade. We're in the dining room with George and charming Anne pops in to say goodbye. She expects to return next spring, but possibly sooner. We can sense she's worried about George's health and he may sense it too. She says to him, I've seen you grow a lot over the years, grow as a person. Slightly drunk, George's eyes might contain tears.
SAI PREMA. After Sai Baba—now spry and in his seventies—leaves his body at the age of 96, he will come back as Sai Prema. Sai Prema's father has already been born. Sai Prema's body is already being formed. He will be male, born near Mysore.
See OTHER AVATARS AND HABITS and CHRISTMANS, CHRIST, CHISTIANS.
SUNSET. True blue Americans we prefer sunset to sunrise but both from the Naramour are exceptional. From our vantage at sunset, what appear to be empty plains suddenly are dotted with tens of thousands of lights. Likewise, human beings lurk in every corner of my photographs.
THEOSOPHIST MADAME BLAVATSKY, THEOSOPHIC HELL. American co-founder in 1875 of Theosophical Society. Her revelations are a crude compilation of vague, contradictory and garbled extracts from various periodicals, books and translations. It was an article of faith with her disciples that the outward and visible Helena Petrovna Blavatsky was on certain occasions the vehicle of psychic power of transcendent spiritual import. Theosophic hell, or, "Avichi" is described as a long drawn-out dream of bitter memories—a vivid consciousness of failure without volition, or the power of initiative—a dream of lost opportunities and futile regrets, of ambitions thwarted and hopes denied, of neglected duties, abused powers and impotent hate; a dream ending ultimately in the oblivion of utter annihilation. (Encyclopedia Britannica, Eleventh Edition, published 1911.)
UNITED STATES. During Raj era this country set up hill station Kodaikanal, altitude 7000 feet. The only Indian hill station connected to U.S., ever. Other U.S. concerns: Alabama, Alaska, Guam, Panama, Philippine Islands, Puerto Rico and so on.
V. One of party of three. Spouse of John. Well-traveled, tending toward spendthrift. She didn't want to go to India but she didn't want to be separated from John. She got all her shots. She brought along her portable library and read books by Indian authors while in India. She read a play about a poor family who was being supported by a rich Westerner for the purpose of his being able to use their bodily organs in case he needed them.
See JOHN, JOHN'S BROTHER SAM.
"WELCOME TO INDIA." Spoken by a young Indian man as we wait for the generator to kick in at the Internet access spot—not a café, no coffee in view. The electricity is down, typical any time of the day. Might as well be patient. "Welcome to India." The polite young man wants to cyber-check the status of his college applications. He has applied to Iowa, Michigan, and the like. He's hot for Middle America.
WHAT TO BUY. Usually I enjoy buying ordinary things in foreign countries. But I'm sick of the ever-present hard sell in India, and can't bear to make a single purchase, not even a single Sai Baba novelty. Anyway, I can get Sai Baba incense in health food stores back home. Later in Mumbai I buy textiles, silk and cotton saris, which I later use as photo-shoot backdrops. That happened because I had purchased quite an expensive camera for my Indian excursion and needed ideas for indoor shots and these textiles provided a wealth of color. Vivid red and green, with some golden threads: these also became the background for the installation I envisioned, called Night of the Iguana, about an ill-suited trio of outsider-types. A few months later I found myself creating my own little India in the comfort of my new home, Dallas, Texas. Nobody saw it but I took plenty of pictures. I pretended there were crowds of people there and pointed at the camera as if to ask someone's permission to take their picture.
WHITEFIELD. Near Bangalore, Sai has ashram there. He stays there before and after his May Kodaikanal visit. In one day at Whitefield he'll bless twelve or thirteen thousand devotees. At bucolic Kodai, the lines stretch only to three or four thousand, and a Baba-ite can hope for more time with Swami.
WILLIAMS, TENNESSEE. Liked to write in hotels. Died in one under odd, foolish, celebrity circumstances. Williams' cats' descendents multiply in Key West. Getting out of the war (WWII). Accident-prone Williams injuring himself falling off a motorbike or walking into a glass door. Young Williams sending his laundry home to mother Edwina for washing.
See NIGHT OF THE IGUANA, METAPHOR.
WILDLIFE. Large numbers of monkeys of unknown type or types. They tail us and make a racquet and start throwing things at us. We're hurrying up the hill, a shortcut to the Naramour. We're cracking up. These monkeys, what will they think of next?
This essay originally appeared in The Drexel Online Journal (2002).
Copyright © Valerie Fox 2007 - 2010