Do forgive my absence. We drove to Tirupati. I did a stand-up job of packing for this trip, with an exception: the dvds we brought with us for the children to watch on the 6 hour drive. No problem for me though, as I occupied myself for the duration by cursing and trying to find a loophole to blame Raja for this oversight.
No such luck.
Yesterday morning, as we were preparing for our departure, it became apparent that Teja had once again treated herself to water that is meant for washing only and not human consumption. And the stressful time increased exponentially as her gastrointestinal distress became obvious. All over the floor obvious. Nothing a handful of baby-wipes couldn't take care of. If only she would keep her lips closed while bathing.
Some people would have cancelled their trip in this instance. Raja and I are not some people. I strapped my three and a half year old into one of her baby sister's diapers and Raja fetched her a bowl and we hit the road.
We arrived at Raja's cousins' house and were greeted by four kind faces, two buckets of KFC and zero mosquitoes. Bliss, I tell you.
We went to a lovely park at dusk. We had to pay to get in and then pay some more to bring in the camera and then pay some more for the horsey rides. It was very nice.
After some great food and intriguing conversation we retired for the night and arose early to drive up to the tippy-top of the mountains to the famous Hindu temple where so many arrive with a head full of hair and depart as baldies.
The Mr. of the house had set up for a police officer to accompany us so we could skip past the inspections and the vast majority of the lines.
We had to remove our shoes before leaving our vehicle. Cameras too. I was in a foul mood. I was overtired, my allergies were going bananas and my stomach felt queasy. There is such thing as too much deep-fried chicken, you know.
Someone asked me to pose for a picture with them. I guess they must have read my last post about me knowing the famous actress.
Totally kidding.
The constable lead us past the majority of the lines of people, pilgrims who had travelled from all over, many of whom had walked up the mountain in bare feet for four hours (it would have taken me twelve) only to wait in line for eighteen hours in order to worship an idol in a golden temple for approximately four seconds. Eighteen hours. 18. Eight plus ten. (!)
When we arrived at the mandatory line up (no getting around this one) I became so very uneasy. I could see that the people ahead of us were standing a bit close to each other. I started feeling claustrophobic. A mild panic set in. I felt there was not enough oxygen.
Then I started on what would be my first of many episodes of begging Raja to get me the bleep out of there.
I didn't understand it myself. I'm usually not so......verging on hysteria. There was no visible trouble ahead. The kids were behaving and there were enough adults available that I didn't even have to carry any of them. You might think I'd be a bit uncomfortable as a Christian, entering into a temple where people worship their gods in the form of idols and gold, but that wasn't it either.
And though I prefer to only wait in a long line-up if there is a roller coaster at the end, I acquiesced to my husband's insistence that we proceed.
We continued in the line for quite some time. As we got to the steps of the temple. It became increasingly obvious that this queue would not be an orderly one. Bodies pressed against each other, pushing, oblivious to gender or age.
I went to a Pearl Jam concert in Hamburg, Germany in June, 2000. I pushed my way to the front of the concert-goers, because Eddie Vedder and I, unbeknownst to him, were betrothed. My vision started to go black. I fell down but the crowd pulled me back up before I was trampled to death. Another person was not so lucky during this tour of theirs. They were crushed to death. I receded to the rear of the crowd drenched in sweat, missing a shoelace, my bra undone. It was a great concert, but my last.
With this memory at the forefront of my frame of reference, I proceeded to flip the frick out. The kids. The baby. Dear God, (literally) get us out of here. This is definitely when we should have bailed. I was ready to hop over the 4 foot fence separating the entrants from the exiters. I think my husband realizes now that he should have listened to me, but so much kindness and effort had gone into making this excursion possible for us and I do believe he didn't want to offend and that he truly did not know how bad it would get. He had Vera on his shoulders. Maya and Teja were being carried in turns by the three cousins, the constable and even our driver. Ammon's hand was held the whole time. We kept our elbows out. The throng pressed against us, separating us at times until we aggressively forced our way back together. There was a drum and a prayer incessantly being spoken over the loudspeaker. The pilgrims were droning their prayers between shouts of "Govinda! Govinda!" That's my father-in-law's name. Also a god's. And it's supposed to pep you up when you grow tired.
One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, I counted my children, reaching for their cheeks, asking them if they were ok. They were all doing much better than I was up until the very end. If there had been a souvenir shop, I would have requested a t-shirt emblazoned with the words "I went to a famous Hindu temple, lost my damn mind, cursed audibly a hundred times, and all I got was this crummy t-shirt." In green, because that's my favourite colour.
Raja did his best to keep people off of us but it was a losing battle. Just fifteen more minutes. Just ten more minutes. Five minutes, we be at the god, the constable told us.
As we reached the idol, there were rows of temple-employees in blue smocks on either side, pushing us along. With 200,000 visitors a day, we couldn't idle.
At the idol.
Drum-beat, drum-beat, cymbal.
The constable was trying to do me a favour by negotiating a longer stay at the idol, but the employees weren't hearing it and a burly female employee grabbed my left forearm and yanked it. My response" "Don't touch!" with the universal hand gesture for stop, plus hostile glare.
Finally, it was time to get the bleep out of there. The crowd dissipated into the inner courtyard of the temple. People were lying on their bellies and faces, worshipping. We all sat on some stairs and were offered sweet rice. In all seriousness, I could see that Maya and Ammon were traumatized. My transformation from the freak-out lady, into a Mother comforting her children was immediate and effortless. I had a quiet talk with Ammon, while stroking his hair and back. I cuddled and kissed Maya. I told them how sorry I was and how proud I was of them. Ammon didn't want to talk about what happened. He was so emotionally fragile at that moment. Maya said, "I don't want them to yell "Govinda" anymore. "Ammon plugged his ears to the yelling, the droning, the 24/7 prayer speaker and that frickin' awful drum.
After I felt Ammon was in a healthier frame of mind, I reminded him that these cousins wanted to do something special for us and didn't know what a bad day it would be and how would he feel if he gave someone a gift and they hated it so much.
Raja said he's been here many times before and never seen it like this; no pushing and shoving.
I shared some harsh words.
Our drive down the mountain and back to the house was blessedly uneventful. We enjoyed cookies, brownies, granola bars and snapple, all purchased for outrageous prices by our benevolent hosts.
I guess writing this blog is helping me process what happened. I've been to the Auschwitz museum. I know that true horror would be my family marching to our deaths and not to an idol and then out to our SUV for snacks and the air-conditioning switched to high.
We are ok. Everyone is fine. No one got hurt, just scared and uncomfortable.
I'll guess I'll reassure myself with the same words I used for the kids: It was a mistake and we'll never, ever do that again.
If you've made it this far, your eyes are probably fatigued.
Thanks for reading.
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