Blessing of the Bus

The hotel buffet was similar to yesterday, but the dining room was not as crowded. After her experience the evening before. Mary rushed over to the grill to order up a breakfast dosa. I stayed with a more traditional breakfast. We met the last member of the group, a single woman who had missed a flight connection and was thus delayed.

The ride downtown was slow going due to morning rush hour traffic. Minneapolis commuters would have nothing to complain about if they experienced this. Our destination was a Hindu shrine, that we almost would have missed had our tour leader not taken us to it. Hindus have nearly 3 million deities (most are various incarnations -- "avatars" -- of three or four big names), so there are shrines everywhere. This one was a hole in the wall with a wrinkled tin roof. There was quite a crowd, however.

 

We first encountered a number of women, along with some of their children, who were all decked out in their best, most colorful saris. They were cooking food on pots over open fires, however this was not their breakfast. It was food offerings for the god of the shrine.

We were told that these were generally thank-offerings. Sometime earlier these women or their families had made some specific request to the god, and because the request was answered, they were giving thanks. After making the offering, the food is taken home for a family meal so that all who partake can share the blessing of the offering. Because this shrine is to a god of protection, it is likely that someone came home safe from a trip, and so thanks were due.

Immediately in front of the shrine there were lots of motorcycles — a primary means of transportation here. People who had just bought a new vehicle, or those who were about to set out on a journey, came here to have their vehicle blessed. There were several steps: First, the priest walked around the vehicle with a bright yellow vegetable paste, making symbols on the front, then splashing some on the tires and bumpers.

 Next, a coconut was brought, and a block or three of camphor was stuck to the shell and lighted on fire. The smoking coconut was walked around the vehicle and waved in the faces of the owners or travelers. That done, the coconut was smashed on the pavement — a clean break into two equal halves is very auspicious, and the priests seemed to have the knack for making that happen every time. Finally, a fresh lime was place under each tire, so that when the tires moved forward there was a squished lime under each.

After watching one car and several motorcycles being blessed, and chatting a bit with a young couple who were having their new motorcycle blessed, it was time for the blessing of our tour bus. The yellow paste had already been applied, and a garland of flowers was added to the front grill.

We all got camphor/coconut smoke in our faces and the priest touched each of us on the forehead. One of the women in the group was asked to smash the coconut — we appear to be in for bad luck. And it took a lot more limes for the bus than for a motorbike, but there was no bump as we pulled forward. Those little limes didn’t stand a chance under bus tires.

We drove a short distance to an area called “Georgetown,” due to the fact that the original British trading fort here was called Fort Saint George. Georgetown had two parts — White town, where the British lived, and black town, where the native Tamil Indians lived. We first had a coffee/tea/bathroom break at a local tea shop. Then we set out on foot to tour part of black town. The streets were much too narrow and cramped with traffic for a bus, or even for a car. Nothing here but pedestrians, motorbikes, tuk-tuks, and the occasional ox cart.

We stopped to chat with a woman making flower garlands. She spoke no English, but our tour leader translated. She lived with her husband and two children in the makeshift shack she was sitting in front of. It is one room, with no running water. She was born in black town and has lived here her whole life, as had her parents before her. Her daughter, age 16 (the woman didn’t look old enough to have a child that age, so she must have started young), and son, age 11, go to school while she makes garlands all day and her husband is a day laborer.

They get water from a tank truck that comes every other day, and use a common toilet at the end of the block. She said they are happy and satisfied with their lives because the children are able to get an education and they have enough to eat.

It was water day, so we got to see the tank truck. The water looked clean, but I wouldn’t have wanted to drink it (we are advised not even to brush our teeth in the tap water here, even in the hotel, and certainly not to drink it).

Along the way we encountered many others in front of similar shacks, cooking, selling vegetables or flowers, and otherwise living hand-to-mouth. Most seemed pretty happy and eager to talk to us and have their photos taken.

Soon we moved into areas with even more narrow streets lined with something like storefronts, probably with families living above. This all went on for blocks and blocks, with merchants selling nearly everything.

Along the way we encountered a couple Hindu holy men, out doing their begging. Our tour leader chatted with them, translating for us, and they posed for our photos. But the tour leader was generous in putting bills into the pots.

The longer we walked the hotter the sun became. Finally the bus rescued us, but traffic was near gridlock, so it took awhile to return to the hotel. We snacked for lunch and visited the hotel gym briefly, then met the tour leader and a few others from the group for an optional trip just a few blocks away to the National Museum of Tamilnadu (Tamilnadu is the Indian state of which Chennai is the state capital). The collection’s treasures are bronze statues of Hindu gods dating back as much as 2,000 years.

A rice broker. Who knew there were so many different kinds?

In the evening we had our official OAT welcome dinner. It was a traditional Tamil meal, other than being mild on spices. It consisted of four different chutneys served on a banana leaf, and 6 or 7 dishes to be dipped into them, along with a bowl of rice and some curry. The restaurant manager spent a good deal of time at our end of the table, explaining the dishes and how to eat them — which in most cases included using fingers. It was a good meal, and we returned to the hotel quite full.