... include samosas, banana bhajis and parapuwadai (not sure of the spelling but they're patties of gram flour and sweetcorn, fried to a light brown crisp) and black tea from a wee stall just across the border in the Tamil Nadu part of Kumily.
Amongst the intangibles, a fairly high one is being given the address of the beedi stall next to the food stall and the owner's name. I have no idea why she gave me this: we'd hardly spoken. Yet again I wish I had taken the time to learn some Tamil!
Among the low spots, a significant one is this morning's disagreement with my hotel over the number of items of laundry they are due to return, partly because I was implicitly accused of not being able to count past 4. It got more insulting when the laundry bloke discounted the list he'd watched me write and agreed with as I put the items into a bag for him to take away.
Today I'm going to carry on mapping and photographing Kumily. It's very interesting to see what lies behind the 'tourist facade' - I'm always curious about what is 'really going on'.
Later in the day I dived out of the rain into a little chai stall made of wood and plastic sheeting. A tourist taxi driver sat next to me and we began talking. To get the conversation away from my personal life, I started mentioning that I was interested in some of the colourful posters I'd seen around. This led us to talk about politics and I mentioned that I approved of a left-wing government being in power here. The taxi-driver told me he was a communist but that he was no threat to me: he saw tourists as a people to treat well in the hope of repeat business and maybe friendship.
When the rain stopped, he invited me to just sit in his car and chat: I was a little apprehensive but agreed. He told me that he had worked at a tea factory until eight years ago. Then a 'political' issue had arisen and the factory had closed. So now he drive for a living and made he 'cultivated' his 'crop' well.
He began inviting me to visit and eat at his house, saying it would cost me nothing (in reaction to my obvious reluctance). He also repeatedly grasped my hand and said that we weren't friends but brothers and therefore I was in no danger. Despite this presumably being intended to reassure me, it didn't - it made me feel even more uncomfortable and determined not to go with him.
So I refused hospitality from someone who was keen to give it to me and, at least apparently, had the financial resources.
Contrast this with my acceptance of hospitality from some lads with whom I later paid cricket in the street. After watching for a while, I was invited to join in and had a fantastic time until the rain became really strong. I was given shelter, coffee and jackfruit pieces by a few lads in a a family house: two sisters came into the front room to eat jackfruit and giggled at my presence. (They eat small pieces of the seeds' inner coating while extracting more coated seeds for later use.) The lads and I chatted on about school, education, their jobs, personal jokes and and were really, really genial hosts.
However, in a way, I feel I forced or obliged people who may have had far less income to give me hospitality by choosing to go out without waterproofs on a day it was bound to rain. I think I only took inconsequential amounts of their resources and repaid by taking some photographs of them which I hope I can print and send to them.
The last photo on this page is of people who live in Noor Jahan house. We had an impromptu cricket match yesterday. While I was fielding, I let their ball slip and fall into a shit-ridden sewer. Today I saw a stall selling balls and so replaced the one lost to the rolling turds.
© (except the blatantly ripped-off bits) Random Bozo 2006