3rd Installment

Chapter 4 - Beware all ye who enter here

With barely a perceptible wink Kerala had abandoned us, or we her. The night of the world was upon us dear reader and its name was Tamil Nadu. The extremities of our consciousness has been wrested from warm embrace. This is India friends.

Mamallapuram is a haven for New Agers. Immediately upon entering this wretched village the air became thick with cordiality and suspicion. It's a paranoia akin to drifting through the Trafford Center and wondering if one fits in. Contrary to a jaunt through a shopping center however the eyes that spy you here are happy to extinguish their desire and replace it with a blank piety. I would be lying if I wrote that the psychic dynamic had not changed, it had and i was glad of it, for a time. But to be embroiled with people for whom you care little can be tiresome. Lost in a half world between a traveling community and the home-stay staff who seem intent on making you feel neither at home nor making you want to stay. The boisterous hospitality of Kerala now seems a lot more than a 16 hour bus journey away. The perimeter is not secure, repeat not secure. Gaseous toxins have permeated the ego.

At a meeting of the high council (with the exception of the Honorary Member for Dudley South) it was decided that we must plunder Pondicherry in search of our sanity, tomorrow we ride. The plan had been decided upon. An early morning evac was the only option. Leaving the rat in alcoholic slumber we hit the road jumping the bus South. I slipped in and out of consciousness as the vast expanse of paddy fields and palm trees merged into a tangerine blur punctuated only by the crimson and black flag of Tamil Nadu. The flag stood still in the breeze. Staring back at us with ghostly silence, a single black strip of the Tamil flag presided over a portal to a void of space and time. In our Universe the question remained, why is there something rather than nothing? Through that gateway neither something nor nothing could be heard, spoken, written or thought. A non space and time before the universe was torn open with the tears of man.

Chapter 5 - The events surrounding the absence of The Honorary Member for Dudley South in the Mamallapuram evacuation

As we decided on the early morning evac, news filtered through from the young Tamil men that worked in the home-stay that the young Dutch lady staying two doors down was, and I'm paraphrasing here, "A cockicidal maniac".  As Mick and myself laughed this off and packed our bags for a smooth exit Craig's hangover mysteriously became worse and he decided to remain an extra day. As i write this somewhere in the Tamil wastelands between Mamallapuram and Pondicherry we do not know what fate has befallen our Dudley compatriot or perhaps of more concern is the fate of the young Dutch lady.

2nd Installment

Chapter 3 - Burning, Looting, Raping, Shooting

Three boys had gone in search of something, themselves perhaps or gold.... fools gold. Nothing twinkles so brightly as the empty object of desire constantly reminding us of who we are. Oh how we seek. Search no more friends i have grasped something tangible.... the meaning of life.
 

For 6 short years before this trip i meditated daily trying to lay my  desire to rest, giving up on my desire as it were. Bequeathed of all that was once myself I wandered without investment of any kind, a pilgrimage to the grave in a barren universe. Happening upon a brightly decorated home-stay in the provincial town of Kumily (Kerala) we decided to down our sacks and don our slippers, for it was here that the magic would occur. After my initial repulsion for the agglomeration of shops, traffic and dirt that often grips the pampered western tourist, I became somewhat acquainted with the place. 

On arrival on a new town it is possible to revert from a traveler to a tourist in the sense that "A traveler doesn't know where he is going and a tourist doesn't know where he is" - (David Lee Roth circa 1984).  It was amidst this fluctuation of spirit and the celebration of Mohamed's birthday that the holy grail made herself known. When a boy grasps the doughy grip of a Suzuki 100 Max for the first time something incredible happens. A rite of passage. A boys root Chakra can be opened more in 30 seconds on a Suzuki 100 Max than in 6 years of contemplation. From that moment forth life had regained meaning and momentum. We were born to ride. "Burning, Looting, Raping Shooting duh na na na na, duh na na na na" - (Bad News - Warriors of Genghis Khan).

All hail the 3 boys who became men under the banner of a new biker clan - The Kumily Demon Seeds.

1st Installment

Dear Reader, this installment will proceed towards the events to which many of you will respond with cold indifference, or more likely with disgust. Due to the nature of this trip, it seemed inappropriate to give a dispassionate account of the infinite beauty and variety that India has thus far produced. Instead I shall plot a course through the oddities of Kerala and allow the reader access to the dark catacombs of our sun bent minds.

Chapter 1 - First they come with Bayonets, then they come with backpacks

I could not help but find it amusing how the second colonization of these shores was lead by the overfed narcissistic hordes from Europe armed only with backpacks and wedges of cash. The Indian shopkeeper smiles graciously as the grasping pig white fist is all to eager to ply an Indian palm with what would no doubt be an obscene amount of money in local terms; smiles graciously that is, as he remembers that it was the ancestors of these heathens who drove the might of the British empire across the land, brutalizing the population whilst lining their own coffers. Perhaps it is the guilt of the European hordes which motivates their sanctimonious endeavor to attain 'peace'.

Varkala, the 2nd stop so far was filled to the rafters with westerners attempting to outdo one another with the fascistic dictates of a holistic spiritual life. Never have i seen so many solemn, pious gaits adorned in tie-dye and white flannel trousers. It was against this background, and with the aid of the local Indian brew that we began military maneuvers under the cover of darkness. New Age philosophies and the like preach the virtues of balance and harmonious being but Varkala was far too hippy-dippy and so we corrected this imbalance by playing armies at night through the palm groves. We have since added a Swedish and Australian militia and have begun urban combat operations in the back streets of Allepey.

Chapter 2 - Jerk 'n Spice

Kolam bus station at first glance seemed no different than any other provincial Indian terminus. A writhing mass of commuters hounded officials as buses departed in no particular order. Amidst the melee two of our party Martin (Swedish) and Craig (Dudley) made their way to the inconspicuous toilet at the far side of the station. To their bemusement the Indian gentleman's toilet etiquette is somewhat different to that of the European gentleman's. First Craig stepped up to the urinal, uncoiling his length. With gusto he issued an amber flow of suitably dehydrated urine into the pot. Some have said that this is a man's greatest pleasure, a pleasure however until micturition is interrupted. Suddenly a nervous rush caused Craig's urethra to snap shut, choking the dynamic flow across the porcelain. To his horror he spied the gentleman in the next urinal gazing at his baby's arm. Although inappropriate it would not be unimaginable for the sub-continental gentleman to catch a glimpse and compare the Dudley rolling pin as it has become known. However on a second inspection of the man in question Craig realized that a more odious game was afoot: Onanism.

The Indian gentleman pounded his meat with complete disregard for the object of his desire, and indeed the other people using the pissoir. Having suitably remonstrated the gentleman for his "lack of manners", Craig returned to the group where a gravely silence fell upon him. By this time even if Craig could have warned Martin of his impending doom, it would have been too late as the Swede was already skipping across the bus station towards the toilets..........

An Introduction

A long goodbye to Elliot's Wastelands

England is ill dear reader. Stained and embittered, Britiannia has set about herself. A people so immeresed in human affairs they have squeezed the irridescent joy from the night sky. Winter groans on and on. The earth hardens and cracks as the heart stiffens and beats... barely. Blood creeps slow, viscose.
A weary misty morning eye surveys the Englishman's demand to do something, feel something, but no, nothing. Empty hours waiting for the end. Pour something in, striate this vacuity. Another meaningless job? A pointless checklist? A birthday celebration? And so it rolls on and on.
There must be something worth fighting for? A child's smile perhaps or redemption from the claws of capital, but where to find this sweet release?
Trafford Centre? Arndale Centre? Sun blessed shores of Kerala?
Trafford Centre? Arndale Centre? Sun blessed shores of Kerala?.........