| Sunny Side Up May 26, 2004 �2004, Kathleen Gibson All the way to Esther's house The sun barely up, our two drivers, Ernest and Suri, and Eldonna and I clambered into the Jeep. Headed east for the second day running. East to Esther. Finally. We wove our way out of the already teeming city, past ox and bullock carts heaped with produce and wares for the market. And auto and cycle rickshaws, and countless permanent squatters as they emerged from their shelters of canvas, palm leaves and bamboo, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Others still slept on beds of pavement, oblivious to the cacophony of horns. Some stood at open public urinals. Many more squatted over the edges of sidewalks. Indian cities, no matter the time of day, keep few secrets. I'd already been in India ten days. Long enough to recover from the shock of the sensory assault India foists on the unaware traveler. Long enough to learn to like the food and speak a few phrases of Telegu. To get used to the heat, and the multitude of brown hands reaching for mine. To Eastern toilets, bucket showers, and no hot water. To checking my shoes for vermin, and to tucking my left hand into obscurity. Now I couldn't wait to meet my friend for the first time. Out of town we chugged, through herds of goats and sheep, and straying cattle. Past countless grass and concrete huts, and villagers huddled around small fires, preparing their breakfasts of roti and rice. Over far too many river beds, dry as chalkboards. Emaciated water buffalo wandered their sands. Searching, searching, for wet. The monsoons have failed for five years or more, we heard, over and over. They didn't have to tell us. The un-irrigated fields lay like brown talcum powder beside the road. The few irrigated ones, in contrast, spread out lush and green. Chilis, rice, sunflowers. The day before we'd driven through the Nalamala Tiger Forest, tangled miles of neem, teak, and banyan trees. Pythons, too. Past gift-laden pilgrims, making their way to offer sacrifices at the statue of Lord Shiva in Sri Salem, fifty miles away. Barefoot, mostly. "Where are you now?" Esther called our cell phone four times to give directions. Ernest repeated them in English sometimes, before lapsing back into Telegu. "Cross the bridge, yes, okay?" We entered Esther's city in mid-afternoon. I remember seeing live monkeys scampering across a fence. We stopped for water and a smiling stranger got into the Jeep, just hopped up front as though he belonged. Ernest greeted him like an old friend, so I assumed he'd made some arrangements in Telegu. I was right. Moses helps at Esther and her husband's orphanage. He'd come to lead us 'home.' We stopped finally at a small, parrot-green, concrete house. A woman in a mauve sari rushed at us, arms extended. I hopped out and they made a tight circle around me, those brown arms. Esther, of course. Behind me, Eldonna snapped a photo. And God grinned. I'm positive. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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