South India – Day 13
Monday, February 17, 2025
Fasten your seat-belts
The mission for today was to drive north to the district of Chikmagalur to meet Channappa (2006 ARI Graduate). The trip proceeded without incident, for which I give my gratitude to Wajid and his perfect driving. Despite travelers’ fears of exotic diseases or bug bites or getting swallowed by a python, the most dangerous part of travel abroad is the roads. That’s why I always wear my seat belt, even if no one else does, even if it offends the driver. Sometimes a driver will turn and say, “don’t you trust me?” to which I respond, “You, I trust completely. It is everyone else on the road that worries me.” Wajid wasn’t offended. He wore his seat belt too.
Before departing we carved up Muthu’s sweet papaya for breakfast. We also had a local dish of Coorgi Masala pork, prepared specially for me. Please note this is Coorgi pork, meaning pork from the Coorg district. It has nothing to do with the Corgi dog! I say this for the sake of all the Corgi owners out there.
As we sped through farm lands and slender coconut groves Roy told me that CORD was short on funding at the moment and they were busy creating a multi-year strategic plan for activities and funding. He also mentioned that begging had been made illegal in India, which surprised me, because of the numerous stories I had heard of tourists being constantly hounded by beggars. As I looked back at my days here, though, I realized I had not seen even one. By the way, the begging story had nothing to do with the funding story. It came up because I had encountered two ladies in saris who were walking around with a cow decorated in Hindu paints, discretely putting their hands out to me.
Coconut and sugar cane
During a quick stop for tea, I noticed a coconut seller, so we each refreshed ourselves with one of those. Next to the coconut stand was an impressive machine for pressing the juice out of sugar cane, which they serve with lime. It looked so good I couldn’t pass it up, despite the dangers of too many beverages during a road trip. We also bought a chombu, at my request. A chombu is a steel water vessel, an everyday item in Indian households that I find most elegant.
Among notable sites along the road were the occasional signboard with a skull and crossbones. I wonder what the warning is meant to be. I was impressed by the skills of the ladies in saris riding side saddle on the back of a motorbike balancing a baby on their laps. The same was true for the women driving motorcycles in full burkas complete with helmet and goggles. A number of farmers was out harvesting corn and if you wanted to buy fresh chicken that was available too, complete with feathers and squawk. That is, they were being sold alive, held in stacks of cages on the roadside.
As we neared our destination, Roy and Wajid began asking people along the way for directions, about every five minutes. Though they were in possession of a phone with GPS, they seemed more comfortable with human navigation mode. I can understand that.
Two thousand stone carvings
Channappa had recommended they take us to the nearby Hoysalesvara temple and I’m glad they did. Inside and out the walls were covered with hand carved stone statues, more than 2,000 of them. How did they build these things in the 12th century? Today’s engineers and artisans often don’t even know. I overheard a guide saying the labor to construct this temple was given freely to the Maharaja, but I am taking that with a grain of salt. I was too cheap to hire a guide myself, relying instead on the good acoustics of the interior to catch a fact or two from others.
Channappa and Chithra
It was already dark when we reached Channappa’s home with its entrance draped with flower garlands. We were warmly invited inside and given a hot meal of ragi mudde. I can’t tell you what it is made of, millet, I think, but it is spherical in shape and goes perfectly with the curry. I guess I was tired, or maybe it was because of the small glass of local whisky, but I don’t have many notes of the evening. I mostly remember the relaxing atmosphere of sitting on mats in their living room filled with family photos, enjoying our meal over friendly conversation, a tiny portion of which I could follow. Channappa’s wife, Chithravathi, or Chithra for short, offered me a spoon to eat with, but I didn’t use it. As per her culture, she did not eat together with us, but her presence in the room was strong and cheerful. I learned that, like her husband, she also works with the local community, and judging by the posters I saw in her kitchen, hanging beside the neat rows of metal cooking accoutrements, she likely teaches young women cooking and homemaking skills. At one point, she pulled out some coconut oil and began rubbing it into Roy David’s hair. When I gave this activity a look of intrigue, she offered me the same treatment, to which I obliged. The result was darkened hair.
