6th January
We arrive at Chennai airport. Warm night. An uncle and his daughter meets us; we are conveyed by taxi to the hotel. It's been a long time since I was here last. Roadside shrines to Ganesh. Advertising hoardings painted by hand. Construction sites. Argument with the night porter at The New Woodlands Hotel: we'd booked the Krishna cottages but they only have double rooms. In the hotel foyer, a map of South India and then a map of Chennai.
7th January
Masala Dosai for breakfast. Thinner and crisper than in London. Coffee sweet and milky. I read The Hindu and then we change rooms to the Krishna Cottages. Then the oldest uncle comes, and his son. I present my uncle with my book. We talk about it, briefly. We are given a car and driver, and arrangments are made to meet later. To Anna Silai through what seems at first the madness of Chennai traffic. But there is a logic to it; you have to work it out. No more people die on the roads here than in England. Business of the streets: bicycles, mopeds, rickshaws, cars. People run across the street. Horns constantly sounded: be careful, I am here.
Chennai pollution and chaos. I visit a bookshop and pick up Deleuze's Francis Bacon and Delanda's Intensive Science for £2.50 each and books about the future of India. In the evening, to the family's new block of flats. Happiness to see everyone again. My sister and brother in law married again, she in a sari, he in a veshti. Photographs, conversation.
8th January
With our car and driver to Mahabs. Tsunami damage along the coast. Resettled villagers. The Shore Temple by the sea, surrounded by granite sculptors. Wild dogs, hawkers and beggars. Great waves crashing in from the Bay of Bengal. Beauty of the landscape south of Chennai: palm trees, grass. Folk art on the trucks: written, Sound Horn Please, and then images of birds and animals on yellow and blue.
In the evening, dinner Bengali style as a guest of my cousin. He loves Oscar Wilde, and quotes from Earnest. We talk about film; he hasn't yet seen any Bela Tarr. We walk on the beach. 6,000 died here; the Tsunami came early in the morning. It was further along the beach that my father's ashes were scattered in the water, my cousin explains, and talks about the 13 days after death, as the soul finds its way to heaven. Above us, he says, the rishis are the stars. And so will our father find his place there, among the stars.
9th January
To another uncle's for lunch. A gift of gold sovereigns. Then to the school to which we have donated in memory of our father. A plaque by the door of the Chemistry lab: from the heirs of N. Ramakrishnan Iyer, Wokingham, England. Ceremony. Shawls placed on our shoulders, milky tea and biscuits in the classrooms. Outside, the children at drill. Seeing us on the balcony, they march towards us and hold thumbs aloft when we do the same. My mother stops in an embroidery class to look at the childrens' work. We feel rather like the Queen; beneficient guests who receive great hospitality. Later, in the car, my oldest uncle commends the school on the ceremony they arranged for us. A long conversation with my cousin: what is like to study and then work in America? He tells me of the tax reform of which his cousin in Delhi, with whom we will be staying, is an advocate.
10th January
To The Music Box and Landmark in the shopping mall in Chennai. Purchase of a good stack of Carnatic music. Western books and CDs readily available. Later to receive our gifts from the uncle who came with us in the taxi from the airport. I choose a big statue of Natarajan and a little statue of Ganesha, who is everywhere here. Then to a wondrous Sari shop. Beautiful fabrics, lined up in order of colour. Counters where the assistants spread saris before us. What magnificence! I buy a shawl for RM. Later, out for dinner, we eat talis on banana leaves, but I am unable to justice to mine. My sister and brother-in-law eat a two-and-a-half foot dosai.
Our last night in winter Chennai. We have been fortunate: blue skies, and as hot as our English midsummer.
11th January
To the airport to fly to Delhi. How cool it is in the North! What beautiful weather! A cousin to pick us up and the drive along the avenues to the Friends colony. My cousin lives in a luxurious flat with plants along the balcony. The same dogs as in the south everywhere, apparently ownerless. We stay in a hotel nearby, to which we return after a meal in a huge complex - more than a mall, more than an entertainment centre.
Conversations on the future of India. 50 years - we've been robbed of 50 years, says my cousin. Tax cuts; foreign investment; poverty to be wiped out by 2025 -but will the new wealth be redistributed? I think about our conversation all night. What has happened to Nehru's socialist India? What of Ghandi's dream of resisting industry and returning to small crafts and village life? The taxes were too high to encourage industry and investment, said my cousin. There is a great deal of work to do, he says, everyone realises that, he says, but there is a new self-confidence.
12th January
A long drive to the Taj Mahal, with one of my cousin's drivers. As magnificent as you would expect; evening thermals bear birds around the dome of the building, setting off its massiveness. I walk barefoot on warm marble. A low wall and a sheer plunge to the river: what beauty! Three mischevous boys follow us around. Other tourists ask to have their picture taken with my sister and brother-in-law. We would like to spend longer here, but we do not have time. Back through the gardens to the doorway through which we first saw the Taj Mahal, when it seemed without size, until you worked out those dots at its base were people.
On the way home, a policeman stops us: we are white tourists be driven by an Indian - is this an illegal unlicensed taxi? Of course not; he is looking for a bribe. All of this outside of sight of us, the passengers; we learn what happened later, from my cousin. Our driver in a jumper, like many of the locals here. How strange, for us, to have arrived in the middle of the coldest weather in the capital for 70 years! But still the mosquitos reach us.
13th January
We are to visit the attractions of Delhi, but it is the Cottage that holds us. Crafts from all over the country; I buy another shawl for RM. Then to the open markets in Delhi and then to the Kahn market, which I've been looking forward to all day. I buy Hindustani music and Sufi music - at last, I have a recording of Hamd in Raga Mishra Khamaj, which I know as Allah hoo. Illustrated books about the gods so I will understand their iconography. Then we visit a Kashmiri clothing and rug shop in the Defence Colony. We marvel at the shimmer of the silk-on-silk rugs and drink Kashmiri tea. Rugs spread magnificently on the floor before us! What splendour! It is an enticing as the Sari shop in Chennai.
We learn it is Lhodi and on this day, branches are burnt to celebrate the new year. We are invited to a party to celebrate, but go out as a family to eat Italian style near the Friends' Colony. My sister is in cahoots with my cousin's daughter. Across the table, I drink a Margarita.
14 January
My cousin drives us to the airport. He explains how many cities overlie one another in Delhi. We pass along the great avenues and he points out the great buildings to us. Here we are in Delhi! But we have barely explored it; Chennai is familiar to us by now, but not Delhi. Roadside temples once again - Ganesh, his palm pressed towards us, his round pot belly. How many kinds of Ganesha icons there are! Sometimes he sits, legs in the lotus position or perched on a mouse or a lotus, sometimes he lolls, and sometimes stands, each time with four arms, with his trunk (he has an elephant's head) to the left. Over his shoulder, the sacred thread.
Later, we see the Himalayas from our plane. Over the Black Sea and then grey Berlin, and then home to drizzle and clouds.
