The Perils of Periyar

Here's another series of emails from my trip to Kerala. I should mention that the power outages are not unique to Kerala; this sort of thing happens all the time all over the country, as far as I can tell. Also, I have not been having continuous back trouble since 2001-- that was a separate incident. Finally, kalaripayat includes traditional medicine as a facet of the martial art, much of it relating to sports injuries.

September 7, 2001

It had to happen. I wrote a page-long e-mail, and lost it when the power went out. Agh! Trying again...

When I first visited the CVN Kalari, I noticed two people training who looked American, or at least non-Indian. I was relieved when one came up after class to chat with me, because communication has been difficult. On the way there, my rickshaw driver said, "Beijing?"

"No!" I said. "CVN Kalari!"

I realized when we arrived that he had not offered to take me to China, but rather to wait at the kalari... "Staying?" If that's what I sound like to everyone, no wonder no one can understand me.

The foreign kalari student turned out to be... French. Agh!

#

Lost power again, also much of Part II. It's now the next day. Fill in your own foulest curses...

I did get to meet Sathyan, but as I was warned, he was very busy, with patients lined up, and I didn't get much of a chance to quiz him about kalari. I did, however, consult him about my back. He said it was strained muscles and gave me green oil to rub in for three days, and said he could give me a massage (also traditional for kalari) if it didn't improve by then. He also recommended that I refrain from strenuous exercise while he was treating me. Well...

I spent much of yesterday taking bouncy rickshaws around town in order to get a permit to Barakkad, the nearest wildlife refuge to the city. I finally got one from the Wildlife Warden. He suggested that I take a jeep to the Barakkad Refuge Office, and there get a guide to take me on a four-kilometer (round trip) to a waterfall.

So I hired a jeep, which didn't show up, so a hotel employee (Joseph) took me in a hotel jeep. Exquisite countryside, all palm tree forests and red-tiled, slope-roofed houses and rubber tree plantations. Horrible roads. Hairpin curves every twenty feet, parts of the road washed out, full of fallen rocks. It was strenuous just keeping in my seat.

Then we arrived at the Barakkad Forest Office. It was a hut. I asked if it had a bathroom, was informed that it had a forest. We got a guide, who spoke no English and carried a large machete. Joseph translated him saying that four kilometers was an estimate-- we would drve the jeep as far as it could go, then walk the rest of the way. Probably an eight-kilometre round trip. But what the hell. It's just walking. How tough could it be?

The machete was because the entire forest is one giant tangle of lianas. Also, it's pretty much vertical. Joseph and I were drenched in sweat after about ten minutes. Every step was a struggle. The machete guy was fine.

We didn't see any wildlife except for butterflies and a HUGE black millipede, wide as a bratwurst and longer than my forearm. The guide called it a "chana-ata" (maybe) which he said meant a hundred-wheeled king's chariot. He seemed quite amused by my and Joseph's efforts to get away from the thing.

By the time we got to the bottom of the huge hill, with a spectacular waterfall and creek, I had run out of drinking water. We had our packed lunches. Then we had to climb up.

#

Power went out AGAIN. This is on a generator.

Well, obviously, I survived, although totally exhausted, hot, scratched, sweat-soaked, dusty, and my water having run out at the waterfall. My back hurt, my shoulders hurt, my legs hurt, my feet hurt... actually, my feet hurt most, but only my back still hurts today. Oh, well. I'm glad I did it, but I'll never do it again. And I'm never climbing Mount Fuji.

We saw no animals whatsoever, not even any birds, though we heard lots of cicadas and spotted lots of wild elephant droppings. On our way back, our jeep disturned a quail. "Look!" said Joseph. "Wildlife!"

We stopped for tea (there's a tea plantation next to the refuge). A handful of gawkers, including a boy with a radio, showed up to gawk at the foreigner. The radio was playing a Malayalam drama in which an actor was dying at great length. I asked for a toilet, and was shown to a ditch behind the house. When I returned, the actor was still dying. Then he suddenly bellowed, In English, "I love you!!! OH, MY GOD, I LIKE YOU SO MUCH! AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! ULLLLG! GAAAAAACK! GGGGGLLLLLG!!!"

I presume he then either died, or else someone stuffed a pillow over his face, because he shut up and a chorus burst into a cheerful Malayalam pop song. I returned to the hotel and collapsed.

No way am I spending sixteen hours on Kerala roads, so I'm not going to Periyar in the hope of seeing a few deer. I am, however, contemplating a ten hour (round trip) to Kochi via train, and that will likely be the farthest north I'll get.

Kochi is the home of a historic synagogue in historic Jewtown (the site of many excellent antique shops), though most of the Jews immigrated to Israel long ago. Kerala is famous for religious tolerance, and I've seen several sites with mosques, temples, and churches next to or across from each other. This is not something you see elsewhere in India. If I was a Kochi Jew in Israel, I'd move back.

The Perils of Periyar

Here's another series of emails from my trip to Kerala. I should mention that the power outages are not unique to Kerala; this sort of thing happens all the time all over the country, as far as I can tell. Also, I have not been having continuous back trouble since 2001-- that was a separate incident. Finally, kalaripayat includes traditional medicine as a facet of the martial art, much of it relating to sports injuries.

September 7, 2001

It had to happen. I wrote a page-long e-mail, and lost it when the power went out. Agh! Trying again...

When I first visited the CVN Kalari, I noticed two people training who looked American, or at least non-Indian. I was relieved when one came up after class to chat with me, because communication has been difficult. On the way there, my rickshaw driver said, "Beijing?"

"No!" I said. "CVN Kalari!"

I realized when we arrived that he had not offered to take me to China, but rather to wait at the kalari... "Staying?" If that's what I sound like to everyone, no wonder no one can understand me.

The foreign kalari student turned out to be... French. Agh!

#

Lost power again, also much of Part II. It's now the next day. Fill in your own foulest curses...

I did get to meet Sathyan, but as I was warned, he was very busy, with patients lined up, and I didn't get much of a chance to quiz him about kalari. I did, however, consult him about my back. He said it was strained muscles and gave me green oil to rub in for three days, and said he could give me a massage (also traditional for kalari) if it didn't improve by then. He also recommended that I refrain from strenuous exercise while he was treating me. Well...

I spent much of yesterday taking bouncy rickshaws around town in order to get a permit to Barakkad, the nearest wildlife refuge to the city. I finally got one from the Wildlife Warden. He suggested that I take a jeep to the Barakkad Refuge Office, and there get a guide to take me on a four-kilometer (round trip) to a waterfall.

So I hired a jeep, which didn't show up, so a hotel employee (Joseph) took me in a hotel jeep. Exquisite countryside, all palm tree forests and red-tiled, slope-roofed houses and rubber tree plantations. Horrible roads. Hairpin curves every twenty feet, parts of the road washed out, full of fallen rocks. It was strenuous just keeping in my seat.

Then we arrived at the Barakkad Forest Office. It was a hut. I asked if it had a bathroom, was informed that it had a forest. We got a guide, who spoke no English and carried a large machete. Joseph translated him saying that four kilometers was an estimate-- we would drve the jeep as far as it could go, then walk the rest of the way. Probably an eight-kilometre round trip. But what the hell. It's just walking. How tough could it be?

The machete was because the entire forest is one giant tangle of lianas. Also, it's pretty much vertical. Joseph and I were drenched in sweat after about ten minutes. Every step was a struggle. The machete guy was fine.

We didn't see any wildlife except for butterflies and a HUGE black millipede, wide as a bratwurst and longer than my forearm. The guide called it a "chana-ata" (maybe) which he said meant a hundred-wheeled king's chariot. He seemed quite amused by my and Joseph's efforts to get away from the thing.

By the time we got to the bottom of the huge hill, with a spectacular waterfall and creek, I had run out of drinking water. We had our packed lunches. Then we had to climb up.

#

Power went out AGAIN. This is on a generator.

Well, obviously, I survived, although totally exhausted, hot, scratched, sweat-soaked, dusty, and my water having run out at the waterfall. My back hurt, my shoulders hurt, my legs hurt, my feet hurt... actually, my feet hurt most, but only my back still hurts today. Oh, well. I'm glad I did it, but I'll never do it again. And I'm never climbing Mount Fuji.

We saw no animals whatsoever, not even any birds, though we heard lots of cicadas and spotted lots of wild elephant droppings. On our way back, our jeep disturned a quail. "Look!" said Joseph. "Wildlife!"

We stopped for tea (there's a tea plantation next to the refuge). A handful of gawkers, including a boy with a radio, showed up to gawk at the foreigner. The radio was playing a Malayalam drama in which an actor was dying at great length. I asked for a toilet, and was shown to a ditch behind the house. When I returned, the actor was still dying. Then he suddenly bellowed, In English, "I love you!!! OH, MY GOD, I LIKE YOU SO MUCH! AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! ULLLLG! GAAAAAACK! GGGGGLLLLLG!!!"

I presume he then either died, or else someone stuffed a pillow over his face, because he shut up and a chorus burst into a cheerful Malayalam pop song. I returned to the hotel and collapsed.

No way am I spending sixteen hours on Kerala roads, so I'm not going to Periyar in the hope of seeing a few deer. I am, however, contemplating a ten hour (round trip) to Kochi via train, and that will likely be the farthest north I'll get.

Kochi is the home of a historic synagogue in historic Jewtown (the site of many excellent antique shops), though most of the Jews immigrated to Israel long ago. Kerala is famous for religious tolerance, and I've seen several sites with mosques, temples, and churches next to or across from each other. This is not something you see elsewhere in India. If I was a Kochi Jew in Israel, I'd move back.

Protons and Parakeets

Branna, who is about to defend her dissertation on particle physics, and I went to a Rosh Hashana party tonight at Raven's place tonight. Her six-year-old son, Robin, whom I often babysit, answered the door.

"Hi, Robin," I said.

He took one look at me, shrieked "AIEEEEEEEE!" and fled.

While the two of us were fixing appetizers in the kitchen, this oldish guy, Daniel, walked in with his girlfriend, who I hadn't met. He blinked puzzledly at me and started to introduce himself.

"We actually do know each other," I said. "Rachel Brown. We met at the Jim Henson Company. I used to have long hair."

"Oh, yes," he said. "I remember now." Pause. "I asked you out once."

"....." I said. Is there any possible reply to that, other than a silent stare of dumbstruck horror followed by a silent stare in the opposite direction?

Then another, even older guy came in when I was telling Branna how I'd visited Palo Alto during the El Nino floods when I was doing disaster relief for the Red Cross, and our hotel had been flooded on the first day.

"Incompetent government bureaucrats," remarked the old guy.

"The Red Cross isn't a government organization," I said. "Though it is pretty incompetent."

"It's like a government organization," he said.

"That may be, but it's completely private. So you ought to like it."

He then opined that in cases of widespread disaster, neighbors just ought to help each other and that would be better than any organizations doing anything.

I pointed out that your neighbors might all be flooded too.

Branna pointed out that some neighbors are better than others.

"That's true," I said. "I'm pretty sure one of my neighbors stole my laptop."

The old guy started talking to someone else.

At the end of the party, some of the women asked Branna what exactly her dissertation was about.

"Well, you know that atoms have neutrons," she said. "And you know that neutrons decay..."

Robin stuck a long stick with a blue parakeet on the end of it into my face.

"Uh, thanks," I said, accepting the parakeet.

"...And then it becomes a proton..."

A green parakeet flew into the room and began circling Branna's head.

"...So then a particle called a neutrino is created..."

"Catch it, catch it!" squealed a troupe of stampeding children.

"Cheep!" cheeped the parakeet, fluttering in the opposite direction.

"...And then it becomes a different element..."

"Can I hold it?" asked a small girl, regarding the blue parakeet. "Will it tickle?"

"No, I wanna hold it," said another small child.

The green parakeet made a break for the other side of the room.

"Catch it, catch it!" said the children who weren't begging for the bird in my hand.

"We're putting them away now," said a parent.

"...So then the neutrino..."

"Perhaps you should explain this with reference to parakeets," I suggested. "If the blue one is a neutron and the green one is an electron..."

"Not a bad idea," said Branna. "OK, imagine that the blue parakeet is matter, and the green one is antimatter..."

"IT'S GETTING AWAY!" shrieked a child.

"Does any of this have any practical application?" inquired the old anti-government guy.

Branna said, "As (someone I forget) said to Queen Victoria, "Madam, I cannot say what we will discover, but perhaps some day you will find a way to tax it."

On that note, we took off.

Protons and Parakeets

Branna, who is about to defend her dissertation on particle physics, and I went to a Rosh Hashana party tonight at Raven's place tonight. Her six-year-old son, Robin, whom I often babysit, answered the door.

"Hi, Robin," I said.

He took one look at me, shrieked "AIEEEEEEEE!" and fled.

While the two of us were fixing appetizers in the kitchen, this oldish guy, Daniel, walked in with his girlfriend, who I hadn't met. He blinked puzzledly at me and started to introduce himself.

"We actually do know each other," I said. "Rachel Brown. We met at the Jim Henson Company. I used to have long hair."

"Oh, yes," he said. "I remember now." Pause. "I asked you out once."

"....." I said. Is there any possible reply to that, other than a silent stare of dumbstruck horror followed by a silent stare in the opposite direction?

Then another, even older guy came in when I was telling Branna how I'd visited Palo Alto during the El Nino floods when I was doing disaster relief for the Red Cross, and our hotel had been flooded on the first day.

"Incompetent government bureaucrats," remarked the old guy.

"The Red Cross isn't a government organization," I said. "Though it is pretty incompetent."

"It's like a government organization," he said.

"That may be, but it's completely private. So you ought to like it."

He then opined that in cases of widespread disaster, neighbors just ought to help each other and that would be better than any organizations doing anything.

I pointed out that your neighbors might all be flooded too.

Branna pointed out that some neighbors are better than others.

"That's true," I said. "I'm pretty sure one of my neighbors stole my laptop."

The old guy started talking to someone else.

At the end of the party, some of the women asked Branna what exactly her dissertation was about.

"Well, you know that atoms have neutrons," she said. "And you know that neutrons decay..."

Robin stuck a long stick with a blue parakeet on the end of it into my face.

"Uh, thanks," I said, accepting the parakeet.

"...And then it becomes a proton..."

A green parakeet flew into the room and began circling Branna's head.

"...So then a particle called a neutrino is created..."

"Catch it, catch it!" squealed a troupe of stampeding children.

"Cheep!" cheeped the parakeet, fluttering in the opposite direction.

"...And then it becomes a different element..."

"Can I hold it?" asked a small girl, regarding the blue parakeet. "Will it tickle?"

"No, I wanna hold it," said another small child.

The green parakeet made a break for the other side of the room.

"Catch it, catch it!" said the children who weren't begging for the bird in my hand.

"We're putting them away now," said a parent.

"...So then the neutrino..."

"Perhaps you should explain this with reference to parakeets," I suggested. "If the blue one is a neutron and the green one is an electron..."

"Not a bad idea," said Branna. "OK, imagine that the blue parakeet is matter, and the green one is antimatter..."

"IT'S GETTING AWAY!" shrieked a child.

"Does any of this have any practical application?" inquired the old anti-government guy.

Branna said, "As (someone I forget) said to Queen Victoria, "Madam, I cannot say what we will discover, but perhaps some day you will find a way to tax it."

On that note, we took off.