I woke up at 6:00 a.m., but got out of bed before then. I finished most of my packing last night, and today is the day I say goodbye to Rishi and this room, which has been my home for three weeks, where I spent two weeks working on embroidery and writing texts back and forth. I really appreciated the environment where I could concentrate, and the foods Rishi cooked for me were always truly delicious. Above all, the most rewarding thing was that I was able to assure myself that the future of agriculture is bright.
Ten minutes after my scheduled departure time of 8:00 a.m., the rickshaw arrived to pick me up. I thanked him for his hospitality and departed. From my first rickshaw ride, I took in the view of the slopes I had walked on many times and the mountains filled with tea trees. The rickshaw shook violently, leaving no room for sentimentality. Not only did it traverse the meandering road from side to side, but it also jumped up at every step, its buttocks floating and its head lifting just above the ceiling.
After about half an hour, I arrived at the bus stop in Kotagiri. The old driver asked someone in the area, “Which bus stop is for Kotagiri?” He was very helpful. There were several bus stops, but they all looked the same, with no signage of any kind, not even letters in English characters. Next to the bus stop, I found a small teahouse and ordered a cup of chai and a fried doughnut, which was a little spicy for my empty stomach in the morning.
I thanked the old man and got on the battered local bus. It was hot and cramped, but I didn't feel the slightest bit bored as I examined the fresh breeze blowing in from the windowless bus that was whizzing by. The road widened, the elbow turned urban, from trees to buildings, and we approached our destination, Coimbatore. I thought about getting off at the bus stop I used on the way there, but decided to ask someone just in case. I asked the old man next to me across the street.
"I want to go to the airport!" I said,
He looked at me with a kind look and said,
“I'll take care of it, just follow me.”
He was so kind. We got off the bus at a place that looked like the center of town. My luggage was heavy and it was hot, so I walked through the unknown town, desperately following the back of the old man who was moving forward at a brisk pace, until I arrived at a place where many people were standing. It looked like a bus stop. The old man quickly told me to get on the number 4 bus and disappeared into the crowd of people.
You can rely on the majority of people in the world to be nice. I don't thank my phone every time I rely on it, but I always thank people when they helped me. Shake hands rather than touch screens.
Without waiting for a counterpart, a bus with the number 4 down approached from the other side. I jumped on through the front mouth. I looked around and saw all the women around me, all looking at me. As I stood there with a look of “Yes, I'm Japanese,” visually looking for a place to put my baggage off my shoulder, my eyes met those of the woman in front of me.
She said, “This is the women's car, so go to the back!”
I went to the back of the bus and took a seat.
The entire bus had been blasting music from the speakers embedded in the ceiling.
"Is this a party bus that runs through the city? “
The sound was so loud that it was impossible not to listen to it or not to pay attention to it. The old man sitting in his seat was beating a rhythm with his fingers in time with the sound.
At first I couldn't help but listen to the music, but as I swayed erratically in the hot car, I began to wonder, and I heard a number of songs that I couldn't tell if I was under the illusion that they were good songs or if I really felt that way. As I swayed to the Indian pop hit medley, 30 minutes passed like 5 minutes, and I arrived at the side of the airport. Even though it was on the side, it was still a 15-minute walk. I figured I had plenty of time and it would be a waste to use the rickshaw, so I started walking down the scorching road, but I was sweating by about the fifth step. I stopped at a café along the way to refuel with a Maggi and a banana shake, and we set off again. By the time I reached the airport, I was soaking wet.
I checked my backpack at the counter, hung up my shoulder bag, and headed for baggage screening. After the scan, I was told to wait for my baggage to be inspected, so I waited my turn. For some reason, time seems to slow down at times like this. When I finally got to the point where I thought,
“I've been waiting for quite a while already,”
the inspector finally called me in. She turned over all the contents and examined them one by one. She opened the lid of my sewing kit and told me to throw away the needle and scissors because I could not bring them in.
This was not possible. I had protested every time that I was allowed to bring them on board, but she seemed to throw them away without question, so I decided to check them in, even though it would be quite a hassle. I didn't want to throw away any of the contents of my familiar sewing kit. I went back the other way down the aisle, returned to the counter, went through the same procedures as before, and finally passed through the gate.
From there, the three-hour flight was seamless. The plane arrived in Delhi around 19:00, just before sunset. The heat had abated, but the humidity was still high, and I was once again drenched in sweat. I was surprised by the huge crowd. Remembering the news that the roof of the airport had fallen off recently, I looked for the entrance to the subway. Moving around the city is tiring. I had to go to the counter every time to buy a ticket in cash because I could not use the smart phone payment system, and I had to walk for about one stop to change trains, which took twice as long times as it took on Google Map, and I arrived at the South Extension station where my hotel was located around 9:00 p.m.
A couple was flirting next to a beggar, a food truck was lighting up a fly-collecting vagrant, and all sorts of people were spending the night sitting around. After a 10-minute walk from the station, I arrived at the spot indicated on the map, but was this really the right place? Perhaps it was the night, but there was nothing in the air from the exterior of the building that resembled the picture. The building faced an alley wide enough for cars to pass by, but it was pitch-dark and looked more like an old company housing complex than a hotel.
I walked up the stairs to the third floor, using the light on my phone to shine on my feet, and found a lazy-looking young man sitting at a desk that looked like a receptionist's. I turned on the light and showed him my phone. I showed him my phone with the light on, and he seemed sure I was in the right place. He seemed unfriendly, but I paid, received my room key, and inserted the key into the door of my room. The plate on the doorknob was half off and the key would not turn easily. It was a bit tricky. I shifted the door to just the right position and the key turned.
The room is nice until I saw the dirty concrete walls, a large bed, a rather soft and torn sofa, and a closet. The air in the entire room is heavy and oppressive. There is not a single window. No matter where I look, I can't find one. The back of the sofa is hidden by a curtain, but even when I turn it up, I can only see an exposed wooden board stretched on the wall, but it is not a window. The picture showed a pretty bed and sofa in a beautiful room lit by natural light. Where is this room? Tired from the morning's travel and not having the least bit of energy to look for another place to stay from now on, I had no choice but to give up, regretting my naivete in being fooled by the fucking photogenic image of Booking.com.
I thought I had taken a reasonable amount of time to choose, but I forgot that a photograph is only a two-dimensional image, and I was at fault for not having been able to discern the difference. Thinking about it, there was no way I could find a private room that was cheap, clean, and cute. When I opened the bathroom door to take a shower, an unpleasant smell punched me in the nose along with a dingy toilet bowl. I thought it would be a good opportunity to reset myself from the clean and comfortable environment I had become accustomed to at Rishi's house, so I stood under the trickling water shower and slowly worked up a sweat.
It was past 10:00 p.m., and I hadn't eaten anything except for a spicy doughnut and a sweet doughnut. I decided to go to the nearest North Indian restaurant. I ordered rice and curry and started eating. It wasn't that the food tasted bad, but it was greasy and the spices seemed to add to the unpleasant taste. I was hungry, but my appetite was sorely diminished, and I couldn't eat at all. However, I knew I couldn't leave the rice in front of me, so I managed to finish two-thirds of the dish.
The liquid curry and rice combined on a silver platter and would normally go down my throat as smoothly as rice porridge. But today's was something different. Either I am feeling bored with the toothless, baby food-like texture, or my spice tolerance has gone over capacity. Suddenly, a feeling of not wanting to eat spices any more arose. Not being able to eat spices in India is like not being able to eat soy sauce or miso in Japan. Is it really possible to keep away from spices? I said to the waiter,
“That was a lot of food. Sorry.“
I apologized to the waiter and left the restaurant full of anxiety.
For the time being, I would take a break from curry tomorrow.
The next morning, I opened my eyes, but the room was as dark as the night, and there was no sign of morning. Except for one centimeter below the door, the room was almost completely blocked from light. I decided to go to the bathroom first, so I opened the bathroom door with half and more half of my eyes, and the morning sun shone in. First of all, I was surprised to find a window in the bathroom.
"Was the other side of the curtain hanging over the toilet a window instead of plywood?" The freshness of the morning sun was competing with the stench that filled with the unit bathroom. With mixed feelings, I did my business with shallow breathing, got out of the bathroom as quickly as possible, and closed the door. It was back to night again. I turned on the lights in the room, but of course the light was exactly the same as in the night, and I felt as if I was in another dimension where time had stood still. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be an astronaut. Fortunately, I was on land, and I could get out by opening the window. I quickly prepared myself and left my room for the night.
I decided to go to the center of the city to do some necessary shopping, such as money exchange, cigarettes, a battery charger, and toilet paper. I happened to see an EV rickshaw and decided to take a ride. It goes smoothly and quietly like a Prius. Nice. On the other hand, the air on the boulevard filled with rides was the worst ever and made me hesitate to breathe. The ride was a balance of both discomfort and comfort, and I arrived at my destination, a currency exchange. I asked the rickshaw to wait for me and went to the money exchange, but it was closed and empty. Then an uncle came out of the building next door and showed me another location.
After that, I asked the same rickshaw to accompany me on several errands. I decided to have lunch and looked for a non-curry restaurant in a nearby location. I found a Subway right there, so I decided to go in. Expecting Western food, I ordered a National Company sandwich, but I was not sure if the waitress did not understand my English properly, or I seemed to have seen her pouring a sauce with a sticker saying “spicy” on it over my sandwich. Was it just my imagination?
With great anxiety, I took the tray with the sandwich and fries, sat down, and took a bite. The standard mixed spices and chili, if not curry flavor, enveloped the taste and texture of all the ingredients. But at 100 paces, the sandwich was much chewier than the curry, and ignoring the taste, I focused on the feeling of chewing and swallowed it down, thinking it was delicious.
In the evening, I went to a Chinese restaurant. The price was almost three times that of an Indian restaurant, but I decided to spoil myself with an occasional treat. I had mushroom and vegetable soup and stir-fried greens. It was expensive and not that tasty, but for some reason I felt extremely relieved and enjoyed it. The Chinese flavors completely soothed my spice fatigue. I felt the urge to eat Chinese food for a while, or rather, to eat only Chinese food, but I quickly put it to rest. If I did that, I would go bankrupt. But for now, let's have Chinese again tomorrow.
I decided so, and just after I left the restaurant, the aroma of spices on the wind hit my nose, and I hurried back to the evernight burrow.
As I passed through the inn's gate I caught the eye of a dog that looked a lot like my beloved Kuro, and I missed my home inexplicably.
