Arrival in Chennai on the way to Mamallapuram.,

Landing into Chennai felt very surreal. Granted, landing anywhere after a 20+ hour flight feels surreal. Feeling the heat and the dust just after you exit the plane and you know, you're not in New England anymore, Mr. Jones. Someone who had been to India told me before I left, "The Indians are very nice people, there's just too many of them." Even the Indian-Americans who were on the plane with me had the same furtive look in their eyes. As did the crew from my flight, who I chatted with in line at the money changer. They also felt that Chennai was a bit two overwhelming a place for a vacation.

I was expecting very aggressive taxi-wallahs. It wasn't so. I only got very polite offers from taxi and rickshaw drivers in Queen's English, "Are you in need of a Taxi, sir?" The offers came at the rate of about two per second, however. I haggled two pre-paid taxi booths against each other and got a rate for a ride to the main bus station. Remember, that this is at about 1 A.M. and I've am seriously sleep-deprived. The ride thorough the streets of outer Chennai, even in the wee small hours make you realize how far over-stretched the infrastructure is. And the housing. People sleeping out side, as a matter of course.

The bus stand was a large dome-like affair with giant neon letters in Tamil and English. Moffusil Bus Stand. I had nothing smaller than a hundred-rupee note to tip the driver, a young man about 20. I felt I should tip him something. I felt this for two reasons. One, he risked both of our lives on half a dozen occasions in the 15 minute ride to get me there in a timely fashion. Two, he asked. I gave him the hundred, he smiled and touched the bill to his fore-head, as a sign of gratitude. A hundred rupees is worth little more than four dollars. I later learned this is the price of a three course meal at a touristy restaurant, with tip and drinks.

Inside the stations, I felt like I had entered some Dante-esque vision of limbo. There were, maybe, 300 people sleeping on the floor inside the dome. All the shops were closed. The lights were dimmed. A few street-dogs darted through the throngs of sleeping people. I'm always a little sketched out at big bus stations, but I felt very safe here, for some reason. After wondering around aimlessly, looking for a bus going to any town that I recognized from my guide books a man came up to me and asked, "For which bus are you looking, sir?" He pointed the way to the Mammalapuram bus and I found a place to wait.

Sitting there I began to make my first impression of the Tamil people. A handsome, dark, slight people, they are one of only a few cultures in the world who speak a still-living Classical language.
Very conservative, with women almost only wearing saris and about half the men wearing the sarong-like lungi. While I waited, two teen aged boys began to open the kiosk at my gate. One could not speak English but got his friend over to chat me up. The bus drivers began to wake up from their sleep on the tops of the buses at around 4 A.M. All of them were interested in my travel. I didn't feel unwelcome as they decided which was the best bus for me to take. It was the second one heading in my direction. A grimmy red and yellow thing decorated with pictures of doves. When It loaded the driver and conductor kicked every-body off so they could perform their puja to the small alter to Krishna behind the driver seat. They lit camphor, incense and played tapes of Hindu hymns. I'm glad they did this. With out help from Lord Krishna, I'm sure this thing wouldn't have rolled. The bus wasn't too crowded, thankfully. I even had enough room to put my bag on an empty seat next to me.

The sun came up just as we pulled out of the stand. This is when I saw India in the light of day. Before that, I could only asses anything out side my immediate surroundings by smell. The smells of burning garbage, and exhaust and feces, with subtle hints of incense. Now I could see. Again, the streets were already crowded beyond my level of comfort. Buses, motorcycles, rickshaws, cars trucks.

And then I saw them. Cows in the street. Small round things with asymmetrical horns, meandering down the lanes, holding up traffic and browsing through garbage heaps. The ride through outer Chennai let me see people beginning their day. Women were out side their houses sweeping, filling jugs of water, making sand paintings in their door-yards. Men sat, and talked or walked to work. Children began their chores and headed off to school (or work).

I relaxed in my seat as the city slowly turned to broad, wooded coastal country-side. It finally dawned on me that, for better or worse, I had finally made it to India, and my destiny was up to me.