Sitting in bed with Matt. Him typing away at the computer, "tak-a-takka-tak." I'm damp haired and hanging onto consciousness like a limp rag. It's a fulfilling time. Cleaned off and full after a long day. I lay in bed, toes achey, my neck protesting the weight of my head, bones lying heavy in my skin. On some days, I'd trot home and climb into bed. Asked what I did, the day deserves a simple: "not much." Technically, today would be one of those days.
Up, shower, quick breakfast, off to the tailor for new pants. Then to lunch, car, airport, nearly miss our flight. Chennai to Madurai. Emergency bathroom bolt. Another car to the hotel.
The hotel is terrible. Terrible death smell in the lobby, terrible creaking door to the room. It's stale and damp inside like a midnight subway car. Or old cleaning products. I'm terrible sick too: spinning from low blood sugar and diesel fumes. I pee in the dark when I can't find the bathroom light. Squat: pull up my toes in my socks. Slop, slop. Something wet on the floor. Please be water.
We decide together: this hotel is terrible. Terrible and we are leaving. We pack up our stuff, give back the key and walk the length of two allies to our new hotel. We receive the grand tour. Fresh linens, ac and clean towels. The appeal of a safe, warm bed is irresistible. On the elevator ride down, the Royal Taj Manager informs us this "a Muslim establishment" adding that this translates into no alcohol. Matt turns to me and mouths, "they'll have meat!" Even without sound, I can hear the exclamation bounce in his voice, and I mirror my happiness with an ear to ear smile.
A wonderful buffet of meat on meat, we eat in near silence, too tired to talk, just happy to be together. Happy to be here. The meal is wonderful, a carnivorous welcome after a few days of traditional Tamil vegetarian. You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I've got a pancreas that burns like a diesel engine. Just veggies and in a few hours, I'm running on fumes.
Tamil food however is still a delight. Light and flavorful, we ate thalis for lunch and grilled kale for dinner. Thalis are a traditional Tamil lunch served on a big tin tray with small tin cups filled with spices, sauces and curries. They sit atop a banana leaf, piled high with rice. The rules are simple: mix it all together, pour on the melted butter, a powdered ginger and onion spice. Then left hand in the lap, right hand in the food and shovel like you've got something to live for.
Each new tin is it's own shining and mysterious present. Spicy, sweet, curried and candied, color and texture never letting on the true flavor before it reaches one's lips. Indian cuisine here deserves it's own blog. A shrine to flavor and feast. My secret desire to loose weight was abandoned as easily as my second helping was welcomed. Why would you not watch the sunset? Why not try it all? There will be consequences at the elliptical, but I'll run off the calories while I run though the dishes in my mind and know without a doubt that life is for the savoring.
Again, here we are. My mind wondering off in dalliant directions, a sign of exhaustion. The ceiling fan above spins in lazy, off centered rhythmic humms. Matt's taka-a-tikka-ticks beside me and my pen scratches softly. My eyelids grow heavy the soft sounds lulling me to sleep. I think about today, "not too much," ------ just enough. Soft smile. Surrender to sleep.
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