Hello to the Queen

When we were checking out Sevas, our "eco-friendly habitat" on Tuesday, an Australian woman we met assured us the place was wonderfully peaceful---it has been---except for the racket made by the birds. It's true that the birdsong of southern India competes effectively with the roadway hornsong. It's loud, ongoing, sometimes pretty, sometimes not.

Crows squawk all day long. In Periyar National Park, we heard birds that sounded like percussionists in a bassa nova band, and here on the coast there's one that seems to be playing castanets. Another bird sounds like a squeaky wheel in need of grease. One of the more agreeable ones is the bird that sounds like the guy who whistled "Heartaches" with Ted Weems and his orchestra in the late 1940s. It's a pleasant warble. Joe said in Kerala he ran across a crane that snorted like a pig, though I can't confirm this independently. I can report that when I wake up in the morning in our grass hut at Sevas I sometimes hear a bird that sounds like Elaine Stritch clearing her throat.

An Elaine Stritch joke---we must still be gay! You would hardly know it otherwise. The rainbow banner does not fly over India, and we are not about to hoist it. During our houseboat trip, I overheard Joe tell a rural villager who asked him if he had a wife, "Yes, I do."
"And do you have children?"
"Yes."
"How many?"
"Three."

This was not the old shame of a bygone era. It was a small social lie to spare the villager embarrassment or perplexity, and to ease our way through a country where homosexuality is illegal---an unaltered legacy of the British---and is widely considered bizarre and off-putting. Hinduism doesn't seem to be the source of the homophobia. It's more the colonials, the Muslims and the Christians. Homosexuality is also a threat in a place where marriage and family are so central to the entire social structure.

Which is not to say that homosexuality doesn't exist here. Nature goes its merry way in India, as elsewhere. But our impression from limited reading and observation is that lesbianism is largely repressed here, while gay men marry and then sneak around. More liberal attitudes are breaking out, too, in the cities. Mumbai (Bombay) has gay organizations, even an annual Queer Film Festival. Twice we have met Indian men (in social situations where we were unable to learn more) who described themselves as "not the marrying kind." We hope to find out more when we get to Mumbai in a week or so.

India, in this regard, is in disappointing contrast to Buddhist Southeast Asia. Thai gay life is pretty open and easy. We found discreet but lively gay scenes in Cambodia and Vietnam. And even politically repressive Myanmar is tolerant and accepting of its gays. India is chugging into the 21st century economically, but has a long way to go on some basic human rights.

Here in limpid Palolem we've been hiking around---to the little town of Canacona, 3 km south, where Joe can photograph the cows hanging out with the parked motorcycles, and over to the InterContinentalHyattMarriottRegencyFiveStarGrandResort, where we strolled among the topiary, golf course (with sprinklers spraying trucked-in water), manicured lawns, and across the gleaming terrazzo lobby, and then out the back door before we were gunned down or told to return when we were wearing long pants or at least had booked a room for US $375 a night.

We are eating well in Palolem and still not vomiting at all. The best food is always Indian, though we had a superb four-cheese pizza last night at a restaurant up the beach called Magical Italy. Another beachside place called Boom Shankar had a sign outside listing Thai specialties. They turned out to be okay, although Joe pronounced them inauthentic, and recited the ingrediants that were missing: galangal root, lemon grass, kaffir lime leaves. Boom Shankar did serve a luscious dessert made of ice cream, biscuits, chocolate sauce, and a warm banana cooked in a buttery liquid. The menu called this item Hello to the Queen. We bowed gratefully and may well return for another audience.