Hi everybody,

One of the things I like about this travelling is that I can decide to change my plans as and when I like! I decided to stay in Chennai for a few days – I’d based myself in the central part of Chennai called Egmore. Lots of buses pass through here and I'm enjoying roaming and getting lost by jumping from one bus to the other, and stopping wherever I fancy. Yesterday I stumbled upon a Snake Park, which had hundreds of different snakes and a wide variety of crocodiles, alligators, iguanas and tortoises as well.

Today I’m 50 km south of Chennai in a tiny village called Mamallapuram. Right now, I am sitting at a restaurant called Seashore sipping papaya juice and waiting for a grilled tuna salad. There’s eight kilometres of golden coastline in front of me and a red line painted exactly eight metres over my head on a balcony with the words TSUNAMI WAVES LEVEL POINT. Chennai is that part of India which was affected by the tsunami last December: over 500 died here alone. Amid the usual sounds of children playing, crows crowing, dogs barking, beggars and the strange sounds of foreign languages I can hear the clanking sounds of contraction workers fixing what the tsunami destroyed. The tsunami had basically polished off this village where tourism and fishing are the main industries.

One thing the tsunami did not destroy, it seems, are the carvings that this place is famous for. Fascinating temples are carved in the rocks dispersed in the area, sculptors sit on pavements across dusty streets, carving out Hindu gods, elephants, fancy napkin holders… You name it they sculpt it!

A group of nine children playing with ropes, pieces of wood and a small red ball catch my attention. Then, just behind them I see a person who is an exact replica of me! He looks my age, my height, he has my blue shorts and white T-shirt, a brown hat like my blue one, long hair like mine, a reporter jacket with many pockets, exactly like the one I use when I go filming abroad and, he is even carrying a video camera and tripod! The only difference between me and him, (and oh how I love saying this) is: He is working and I don't work any more!

“Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, clink clink!” I ignored it at first, but 10 minutes of soft hellos followed by the clicking sound of coins has that kind of effect that climbs from your subconscious mind right to the centre of your attention! He is wearing a black sari, is over 70, short, wrinkled, bald, bearded, and seems to have a total of two teeth. I cannot tell you what colour his eyes are: I’m afraid to look as it would be too painful to ignore him! He shifts to the next table, and then the next. The hellos get fainter and fainter but I think they’ve made an imprint on my mind and I’ll be repeating “hello hello hello” to myself for days to come!

Barely had he disappeared when a new beggar appears on the scene. This time it is a young woman dressed in a bright blue sari, one blind eye and one sad eye, whose cry is “Hey, hey, hey, hey, psitt, my friend!” Pause. Move right hand forward. Lift right hand to mouth. And again “Hey, hey, Hey, Hey, psitt, my friend!” This sequence is repeated for five minutes at each table until the money is provided or the persons being addressed persist in looking away.

I stand up, pay for my bill, and wait for the change, and decide to give it to the lady with the blue sari and one eye. As I roam back to my hostel, my stomach rumbles. I realise that I never got the tuna salad!

Take care

Dery