DEC 27 --- JAN 2
Varkala becomes ‘home’ for a week….In my need to unwind, I submit to the scene and fall into an easy routine. On my first visit to India in 1982 Varkala was so remote and unknown it was a nudist beach…. Now it’s very different but once I accept it for what it is the scene is quite curious in itself. Late afternoon the beach is crowded , scores of gringos lapping up the sun, playing frisby, buying carefully cut pineapple from the fruit sellers or sugary white poison from chai walli’s giant steel tea cannister. (sadly served in nasty plastic instead of the earthenware cups of yore) Around sunset, the dogs, who all look related, and have been lazily curled up on the beach all day begin to stir ….. ‘right chaps!’ says the Top Dog, ‘time for some grub!’ and off they trot in single file, to the clifftop. Pretty soon, but with less sense of purpose, the touristas follow suit. The clifftop restaurants display the most magnificent array of fish you’ve ever seen. … Swordfish as long as your arm, ‘ butterfish’ , Red Snapper and enormous tiger prawns. All vie with each other for your custom. One evening a tall self-assured Indian man in a brightly coloured orange shirt persuades us, with his big smile and friendly, easy-going manner, to take the front seat at ‘Dolphin Bay’. Ziraj has a big presence and a large wingspan, which he frequently uses as he waves his arms around to the music like huge albatrose in flight. It turns out this happy-go-lucky chap is the owner, and also, as he casually informs us, a film-maker too. As we wait for our food he bounces back and forth between soliciting new customers and seranading us with Malayalum songs! As we wait for our food he pulls up a chair which, like his english, he uses intermittently and by way of introduction tells us silly jokes about arranged marriage …. one can be almost sure this young man is dodging the draft! As we wait for our food, it’s hard to imagine what kind of films he makes? he seems committed, writing 4 hours a day in his native Maliyali, his last one was called ‘The Stranger’ and he admits it was strange!
As we wait for our food, we overflow our frothy Lime Sodas with a teaspoon of sugar, as we wait for our food, we are promised a Jamaican Firedance, yes dancer coming soon (like the food!) Dancer or no I am getting hypoglycemic and irritable and about to jump up and take a bite from the raw fish display when finally …. at long last the food arrives “so sorry, all fresh, takes time!” (did they catch the fish themselves?) “Yes my father is a fisherman” says Ziraj, whose family turns out to be in big construcion business! Of course it is mouth wateringly delicious, how could it not be, a fried roach would have been tasty at that point. Maybe it is all a ploy to keep us sitting in the front seats waiting for the “Fire Dance”…. Coming soon, (all the way from Jamaica?) A flaming torch is lit and stuck on the pathway dangerously close to the papier mache nativity scene. At around 10pm the fine featured, long haired, lanky young man standing behind the counter gutting fish and squering prawns disappears. Moments later the music pumps up and he re-emerges bare chest glittering with gold and sparkling red. He starts gyrating Michael Jackson style to the smoothe deep techno beats occasionally blowing fire from the torch stuck precariously behind him on the pathway….. I have visions of New York’s hip-hop boys in Times Square. He’s a nutty spaced out hindu kid called Dibou and he’s a good dancer, soon he’s joined by his muslim friend Shah, and the 2 of them dance crazily on the path infront of the restaurant as astounded onlookers try to get by, and their sensitive christian co-worker Thomas, picks up the slack. As with everything else, religion seems at ease here in Kerala, these boys all work side by side and are good friends. They’re all poor boys with aspirations, Dibou wants to be an artist and dancer, he loves Tupaq, although he’s never heard his music! Thomas is a writer and wants to act, Shah, well, he’d be the DJ.
We spend most evenings at Dolphin Bay …. I get used to waiting long hours for my food and playing with my lime sodas! Their cheerful company adjusts my attitude! I talk to Ziraj about the Gandhigiri project, he smiles when I mention Munnabhai but seems to dismiss the film quite quickly. I press him on it but he doesn’t have much to say and I realize he is more interested in his own Malayali films. I begin to see that here in Kerala where the native tongue is Malayalum they have a very strong culture of their own and the Hindi films of Bollywood are not seen as much. Nonetheless I still manage to get some interesting reactions to my project.
THE LITTLE MAHARAJA
At breakfast one morning we are next to a table of well dressed young Indian men. I recognize the clipped sounds of Hindi and guess they are ‘tourists’ from Bombay, “here to watch the girls!” I joke…. the good looking one invite us to join them. His name is Omar, alias Mark, he’s young, dapper and very flirtatious with the self assured confidence that only the wealthy possess. His cousin lives in Tokyo, the friend lives in Bangkok and he is based in Paris, all in the family business, gems…. he is the boss of course. With a playboy’s casual ease he braggs about his visits to Buddha Bar on the Champs Elysees and with an eye on Corinne’s silky blonde hair hints at his adventures with western women! He shows us photos of himself wearing enough bling to sink a ship, the enormous heirloom emerald necklace is usually locked up in the vault! Yes his great grandfather was commissioned by the Maharaja of Jaipur to find gems for the Maharanis necklace and gems had been the family business ever since. Omar hints there is enough in the coffers for the next few gererations.
When I mention the Gandhigiri project it causes quite a reaction. He seems to vehemently dislike Gandhi! He tells us the story of Bhagat Singh and his 2 fellow freedom fighters who were hung in the 1920’s for lobbing a bomb into a British Government office, Omar and his friends seem to think Gandhi could have intervened to save their lives.( I make a mental note to investigate this further online.) He blames Gandhi for ‘hindering’ the industrial development of India by focusing on rural developement, he is intensely nationalistic and proud of the global recognition India is receiving today.But I can’t help thinking altough Omar (alias Mark) os singing the praises of this newly developed India, he does not live here! He lives Paris and wears European designer clothes and Swiss made watches. Even if he did live here he is a ‘King’ to whom nothing is denied, he is the decendant of the private jeweller of the Maharaja of Jaipur. I later remember that these ‘Princely States’ received special privaleges under the British Raj and had some of the worst poverty in the whole of India. Even today, Rajestan, home of the Rajputs, remains one of the poorest states with a literacy rate of only 38% almost half the national average. Gandhi fought to get them to join the campaign for an independent and unified India, but ultimately with Independence the Maharajas had to relinquish their extravagant riches and eventually lost their sovereign status, power and prestige. Or did they? perhaps much of their wealth ended up in a Swiss bank account....those riches never seem to reach the lower classes. What has been most evident to me on my return to India is that even today, although there has been a massive increase in vehicles, cell phones and technology in general, the poverty seems unchanged. The increased wealth in the cities does not seem to be signigicantly reaching the lower castes or classes.
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