Dragonflies

  This trip has required that I sit in various modes of ground transportation for many hours each day.  We are bounced and jolted through cities choked with traffic, and villages chock-a-block with carts and cattle.  The road surfaces vary from poorly maintained highways to one-lane, flooded tracks whose length sometimes seems endless.

  I spend most of this travel time with my nose pressed to the window taking in sights that are often difficult to understand as “reality”.  India has been like a cosmic can opener that has taken off the top of my head and rearranged my perspectives on life. 

One of the more mundane yet fascinating things that I’ve noticed is the swarms of dragonflies in the countryside.  Often, as the bus slows to a crawl to navigate a water-filled pot-hole of indeterminate depth, I can clearly see these delicate, gossamer insects with their flashing metallic-tinted wings, gliding over and hovering above the flowering vegetation that line the road.  Their wings vibrate with colors as they imperceptibly touch down on a flower for only an instant, as if it was too hot to light upon.  Hover, touch down, move on; this sequence is repeated a million times by the innumerable swarms.  Such a rhythm gives an appearance that they have no real interest or bond with the ground they fly over.

  At some point during my observation of this phenomenon, it suddenly struck me that I was very much like these insects.

  For the past few weeks I’ve been hovering and flashing over India in sanitized, air-conditioned (though often rickety) coaches and vans by day, and at night, looked down upon the sprawling chaos from my windows safely ensconced in the rarefied air of five-star hotels.  I’ve flown in pressurized comfort at icy altitudes over measureless kilometers of the steaming slums of the great cities of India in mere minutes.  I too have only imperceptibly touched down; but I have made contact.

  It only required one step out from my glass bubble of privilege and into the street.  It only took a moment; the length of time needed for my senses to process the onslaught of the paucity, the unfamiliar, the “unsavory”, and for my eyes to dare to meet those of the unfortunate.  

  

  Hover, touch down, move on.  My travels continue, but each moment of contact is a gift of the knowledge of God’s grace to me.  I understand and am so grateful for how much of heaven I’m already living in. 

Chennai

The heavy thunderstorms that pounded through the night had dissipated this morning, so after an early breakfast, I ventured out into the neighborhood around my hotel.  At 7:00 am it was already (or still) 90 degrees and the humidity nearly equaled it in percentage.  I soon found that the area is not “downtown” Chennai.  I’m not sure how to classify it since I don’t have much of a perspective of Indian neighborhoods yet.  I do know that it is not Kansas.

In the few short blocks that I walked through, trying my best to remember my way back to the hotel, my every sense was challenged and surprised. “What is this like?” I would ask myself.  “What is that smell?”  “What is that sound?”  Every question begged for an answer, so I just stopped wondering, and instead, tried to take it all in. 

Chennai, which was formerly known as Madras, is the fifth most populous city in India with an estimated population of 6.5 million.  I think I ran into about 10% of them before I walked two blocks.

I did my best not be conspicuous with my camera, but every time I stopped to take a photo, someone was always flashing a smile.  Rather than try to describe anything further, I’ll end with these few shots.

 An Auto Rickshaw

I'll leave you with this last one.   I kept seeing walls with painted slogans on them, so I asked the hotel concierge about them when I returned.  I was told that one of Chennai's lovely quirks of public space is these series of "inspirational and motivational" wall slogans that are found all over the city.   I'm not sure why this particular one found its way to a wall in India.  Nonetheless, words of wisdom?

Meanwhile, in India ......

Looking at the date from the previous post you'd think that I'd been letting the dust of time settle upon me back in my office in California; not the case.  My blog provider, Mr. Google,  had some issues with the PRC, so I wasn't able to bring you along in my virtual valise during my last two foreign forays.  But here I am, and here you are; back on the road together for another "adventure".

A day and a half of air travel and airports finally got me to India.  There wasn't much left of me when I arrived in Chennai.  In fact, I almost left the airport without picking up my luggage.  I was made aware of this when I got to the customs officer at the exit who asked me if my carry-on was the only baggage I had.  A good five seconds past as I presented a befuddled look at him.

"No, I have a checked bag as well" I finally croaked (too many hours of pressurized oxygen) .

"Den you vill need due gollect id, sir!"  he politely but sternly informed me.  

I found my bag, went back through customs, and moved toward the exit.

Upon reaching the exit doors which automatically slid opened, two things struck me; a rush of hot, humid air, and a crush of human bodies waving hands and signs.   Several thousand people awaiting arriving passengers had formed a gauntlet behind barricades shouting and crying, trying to get travelers' attention.  It was overpowering for me in my state of exhaustion.  I willed myself to remember my arrival instructions; ... Look for the Linden Tour sign that will have your name on it ... ...  Given the scene, it was like trying to make sense of Where's Waldo? while on heavy medications.  

I stumbled on, half seeing, mouth dumbly agape, down through this corridor of chaos.  I began to think that I was lost, or had forgotten the instructions, when a hand suddenly began to pull on one of my sleeves. A young man, holding a sign as big as the side of a small truck with my name emblazoned upon it asked; "Dr. Jeffrey?  Is id you, sir? You valked ride by me and my golleague!"

"Sorry ... thank-you ... yes; I'm Dr. Jeffrey ..."  (Saved from a fate that I was sure would have been greater then death ... )  "How did you know it was me?" I astonishingly quarried.

"You ver de only vide person goming oud from de derminal, sirl!" 

A half hour's bumpy ride through the darkened streets of Chennai (of which I have no real recollection) brought me to the Taj Coromandel Hotel, at last.

It's a fine hotel.  The service is impeccable, and the staff is doing it's finest to help me rest and make the transition to this place and space that is, (I am finding), uniquely India.