All Aboard the Tamil Nadu Express: next stop - insanity!
met a woman in the hotel, and was totally mad about her.
|It was a rock
and roll journey in India. Well, sort of; except there was no actual
music playing, little travelling involved, and it could have taken
place almost anywhere - it just happened to be in India. I was a
long-term inmate (or should that be resident) of "Broadlands
Lodge" in Chennai (Madras). I checked-in and couldn't be bothered
to check-out. During my stay I met a guy. He was a writer or something.
I felt that somehow I already knew him.
ever noticed when you order a drink in a cafe that the waiter asks how
many? For God's sake there is only me sitting there. How many does he
think I want?" He was full of anecdotes about the nuances of Indian
cafes and restaurants.
"And when he finally brings the bottle over, he gives you a blank
stare and asks - open? Like I'm going to order a bottle and sit there
looking at it or bite the top off myself with my teeth."
"And what about the waiters? These places are all over-staffed,
but if you are lucky you may attract their attention because usually
they just stand around waiting. If you can get them to place your order,
you wait an eternity for them to bring it. In fact, you are the waiter,
not them! And if you complain then God help you because - the customer
is always wrong." He was an expert complainer.
He had met a woman in the hotel, and was totally mad about her. The
moment he saw her he knew that she was a heartbreaker. He said that's
when Jimmy Page's mind-blowing guitar riff began playing inside of his
head with Robert Plant screaming "heartbreaker" over it. He
swore that if that classic Led Zeppelin track had not already existed,
he would have penned it the instant he set eyes on her. He couldnt
write music nor play any musical instrument but he was deadly serious.
I knew the girl in question, and yes - Lise could, would and probably
did break hearts, but, in all possibility, she did nothing. There was
no doubt that she was good-looking, but some would see beyond her looks
and also be attracted to her "energy" and warmth. They could
easily fall for her, but if she didn't feel the same then...heartbreak!
She turned out to be inspirational - but in a bad sort of way.
I could just about handle the first "head song" and take it
as a joke, but soon I began to get worried. I no longer believed the
situation to be just different; I was now convinced that it was strange
- very strange. Apparently, Elvis was now playing with "You were
always on my mind", because, quite simply, she always was. He moaned
that he didnt even like Elvis yet he couldn't get him out of his
I began to try to avoid him. He was draining. But avoidance was an impossibility.
I woke in the morning - he was there. I went to bed - he was there.
I looked in the mirror - he was there. I couldn't shake him off. There
was only one topic of conversation - her.
Things were soon to get worse - much worse. She wasn't interested, and
he was "free-falling toward the depths of despair." That was
unfortunate because its a long and tedious fall. He was a good-looking
guy. He had a lot going for him. I was at the communal sink cleaning
my teeth one morning and saw him in the mirror complaining that this
girl must be crazy not to like him, as he was good looking and had a
half decent personality - what was her problem? But she wasn't the crazy
one. The "problem" was that he had met her, and since then
appeared to have undergone a personality transplant, from articulate
and witty to something bordering on gibberish and insane.
U2 were now playing. It was the song "One" with Bono singing
that line about - did I ask too much, more than a lot, you gave me nothing
now thats all I got. He didnt like U2 either. It was relentless.
It all sounded like a bad acid trip in a music shop.
"Pink Floyd play Bangalore" was the headline in some newspaper.
India's hippest city seems to attract old has-been western artists for
some reason. In their heyday, he had quite liked that band, but he complained
that a twelve-hour sleepless train journey to get to Bangalore in dusty,
dirty sleeper class was the last thing he wanted. He can never sleep
on Indian trains. Lights being switched on and off all night, Indian
men seemingly competing with one another in the throat clearing stakes
with their endless rasping, and tea vendors crying "Chai, chai,
chai" along the corridors and from the platforms of every station
passed through at all hours of the night.
"Why would anyone want to be woken at three in the morning for
a cup of tea?" he groaned.
"The worse thing is the toy sellers who try to get parents to buy
tacky plastic guns or some other ear splitting contraption for their
kids. Yes, you just want to have some kid playing with that kind of
thing all night!"
When the morning comes, he awakes with bags under his eyes, bags beneath
the bags, hair matted with dust and feeling totally filthy. What makes
it even more frustrating is that Indians get up after a perfect sleep,
without a hair out of place, and are ready to go to work for the next
eight hours. The first thing he does is check into the nearest hotel
to sleep for nine hours
"Why is it that as soon as I check into a hotel that within five
minutes I want to check-out? I'll tell you why - because in half the
places I stay in there is on-going repair work taking place. The hammering
and banging begins at six in the morning and carries on until eleven
If there is a world championship for complaining, he would win it.
"If they are not repairing the place, then they are adding another
floor onto the top - a sixth or seventh floor on top of foundations
that were probably laid to take three or four...And what about the boys
who clean the place? They appear at your door at six in the morning
wanting to clean the room. What the hell is that all about?"
So with all of that in mind - and it was a lot - he wasn't moving. Anyway,
he was embroiled in a serious addiction problem. He was in trouble.
I was at the communal sink and yet again he was there. He looked awful.
His eyes were sunken and he was unshaven. He was actually beginning
to look like a junkie. His attitude had changed. He was mumbling and
rambling about her bad points in the hope it would make him feel better.
That kind of thing seldom does, and it never did.
He should have left long ago. He knew it. Even Indian trains had now
become an attractive proposition. He had to get away. He was sick of
making proclamations of undying love. I guess that normal people don't
act like that, but he wouldnt know - he was no longer one of them.
I never saw him again - well not until a few months later in New Delhi
Some time later I accidentally met Lise again. She was walking through
the mayhem they call the Main Bazaar, in Delhi. I glimpsed her through
a maze of people, cows and bicycle rickshaws. I remembered just how
fond I was of this girl. She still mesmerised.
We went to a restaurant. As usual, the waiters outnumbered the customers.
They hung around talking with each other. They waited and we waited.
Eventually our order was taken, and then an eternity later an unfriendly
waiter slams a bottle on the table and asks "Open?" I returned
to my hotel. The hammering and banging continued into the night, and
someone came knocking on my door at six in the morning wanting to clean
One week after, I went to the railway station to say goodbye. She was
returning to Chennai. It was eleven in the evening. The chai sellers
were already in full voice, accompanied by the incessant throat-clearing
racket. I fought my way through the crowds and boarded the train to
say farewell. I had always liked this girl - really liked her from the
minute I first saw her. But knew that Id never see her again.
The train moved. She was gone forever. I left my heart on the Tamil
Nadu Express - thats not a song is it? Jimmy Page kicked-in...heartbreaker
began playing once again. That girl drove me crazy!
© Colin Todhunter June 2002
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