Road trip to Karippur

Cousins and an uncle crammed in the back, back seat

Last weekend, I tagged along with Alphonse and oodles of brothers, sisters and cousins to his family village, Karippur, in the Tirvannamalai district of Tamil Nadu. Alphonse's cousin's daughter was getting married to a young man in a village about 25 kilometers away, and the festivities would last three days.

Perfect occasion for a road trip. In between wedding events, we would go "roaming" to Gingee Fort, Tirvannamalai and Sathanur Dam, all within an hour or so of Karippur. (Photos below) Got a car, got a driver and off we went, with snacks, songs, hand-clapping rhymes and rupees for tea and bags of boiled peanuts, known here as ground nuts. 

 As befits any road trip, there were minor calamities: someone was nipped by a (not rabid) dog even before we left Chennai. (For safety's sake, he saw a doctor at a government hospital the next day and received, as far as I could tell, a prophylactic rabies shot.) Also, en route, one throw up and then one on the return home. In other words, I felt right at home. 

 We arrived in the village Friday night as the bride was being enveloped by blessings, fruits, flowers, trails of prayerful incense and natural ingredients secret only to me.

Everyone would later feast on biriyani, but Alphonse saw to it that one of his many brothers, a chef, prepared an incredible meal for me of chicken marinated in a rich masala and then seared, fresh, spicy vegetables, fluffy rice, and sweetened milk straight from a village cow. As I ate with my hands on the rough kitchen floor, the meal, and the care with which it was prepared and served, brought me close to tears.  

 

The chef at work three days later at the wedding

Later that night, men from the bride and groom's families sat down to determine the terms of the marriage. Cash passed hands and transactions were meticulously recorded in a ledger. The negotiations were deadly serious. It was always a relief when the men laughed, which didn't happen a lot. Villagers and visitors watched every move. Both honor and fortune were at stake in this alliance. 

Over the weekend, Alphonse took me on a tour of the village, and showed me the fields that his family once owned and the simple graveyard where his parents, a brother and other relatives are buried. Christianity and Hinduism blend together within families, villages and  religious practices. 

I stayed with Alphonse and his immediate family in a small guesthouse on the grounds of the Pentecostal Church that he helped to establish. I didn't plan to go to church, although our visit coincided with a service held on the first of every month. When Alphonse's daughter woke up and found herself alone with me, she worked up to a wail. I dressed and led her to the church, so I sat down and followed along with an English-language Bible. The songs, the praises, the drums reminded me of the music pouring from Baltimore churches on Sunday mornings.  

Village friends 

More friends 

And more 

Alphonse with brothers, nieces and son

The view from Gingee Fort 

Alphonse's youngest children, Emmanuel and Blessy  

Big, bald rocks erupt amid the fields near the fort.

   

 Sathanur Dam on the Pennaiyar River is not just a dam; it's a whimsical park where Hindu gods and goddesses frolic side by side Adam and Eve, humble yet statuesque housewives and Gandhi, himself, overlooks the proceedings from a distant cliff. Sadly, a drought has left the dam useless for now and caused most of the park's water features  (one exception being the Old Faithful-like fountain that soaked Blessy and Emmanuel) to run dry. But we had fun. (And also visited a crocodile preserve, where all leathery creatures napped, lumbered and took a dip, when so inclined. Great sign at the entrance: "Don't hold babies on the ledge of the exhibition space," or something to that effect.)

 

Mango ice for all  

                              

On Sunday morning, we had home-made idli and dosa for breakfast in the home of yet another family with ties to Alphonse.

Our host with her son, who made it through village and district schools where only Tamil is spoken to graduate from Loyola College in Chennai where only English is spoken.  He's working on his MBA now. 

A hot corner in the home  

  

On Sunday, we hair-pin turned our way up a mountain road that leads through a protected forest where sandalwood grows. We hoped to see a waterfall, but it, too, was dry. At least, a tree supplied ropes to swing on.

Maybe there's no water, but day trippers can always have their photo taken with me.     

A bounty of tamarind, drying in a village near the forest.  

On Sunday night, the wedding party resumed with a parade through the groom's village showcasing the bride and groom on a spectacular float.  But first, in Karippur, villagers loaded a flatbed lorry with wedding gifts and then piled in themselves for the bumpy ride to the groom's village. Because it's wedding season, trucks brimming with brightly-dressed revelers are a familiar sight.



Cousins catch a ride with the betrothed. 



A drum line with syncopated licks mixed with alcohol  move the men to break out in an abandoned dance every few meters. We left before any fights broke out at Alphonse's urging.

It's 6:30 am Monday, an auspicious time to wed.   

The drum line returns  for the ceremony soundtrack. 

Sisters and friends shimmering in their Kanchipuram silk saris


And then, back to Chennai in time to teach.