On the Balcony

We had coffee on the balcony. Wicker chairs, a wicker table, potted plants. The balcony wall is solid and high. Above our heads were palm fronds from the neighbour's tree, and all we could see were the tops of our feathery casuarinas and gul mohurs, and eucalyptus.

Because everything was reduced to this small space, I sensed the texture of things more strongly than elsewhere - the incised design on the pottery mugs, the teapot's bamboo handle. The multi-layered paint on the white wicker furniture, the chip on the rim of the pot which holds a small fir tree. The palm fronds which bobbed just above me and seemed about to brush my face.

Beyond the balcony is the compound wall and the road. Beyond that is a construction site which used to be a marshy backwater, which stank once in a while in the dry season. Beyond that is a small cemetery. I went there one day, and asked the caretaker to open the gate. He stood with his dog barking beside him, and shook his head.

Beyond the cemetery is another narrow body of water, which stinks more than our backwater did, and beyond that is Foreshore Estates and the beginning of Santhome High Road, which is narrow and congested, full of shops and houses, churches and schools.

I took an American visitor to Santhome Cathedral once, to see the tomb of Saint Thomas the Apostle. It's probably not really his tomb, and the church is not very interesting, but this man crossed himself repeatedly, and touched the feet of a crucifix hanging on the wall, and put his fingers to his lips.

Camp elephants get a warm adieu -- Tamil Nadu's month-long R&R for elephants comes to an end.