Okay, okay … One could call me lazy. Kind of. Booking a tour to Kodaikanal instead of taking the public transport. Na, well at least I have a bit of sightseeing and coffee stops on the way. Easy and relaxed journey. My first journey can be an indian comfortable one. 400 Rupees for the lot. I book a 'One Day Package Tour' with 'Sight Seeing Places'. Hip Hip Hurray! Let's go and see the 'Dum Dum Falls' and the 'Silver Cascade' and the 'Green Valley View' and the museum. Hip Hip Hurray! The Dum Dum Falls? Spectacular! Attention! Joke! The 'Silver Cascade'? What a rubbish dump! The Green Valley View? Well, would be really nice with clear sky. The museum? The SHOCKER!!!
FRANKENSTEINS MUSEUM
The best of the trip. The most scurrilous of the trip! A SHOCKER! In a small old brick building in the idyllic green mountains of Tamil Nadu. I feel … what do I feel? Disgustedly fascinated. Stuffed dead animals on high shelves. Impaled butterflies and moths. … and the best of all … Frankensteins personal collection of preserved dead creatures. Lined up in categories and glasses. Cobra embryos not bigger than my fingers. Like slippery worms with a transparent skin and huge black misty forming eyes. A pale white lamb with such an peaceful beautiful smile. It hasn't built up fur jet. The eyes closed. A six month old human embryo with a deformed head or brain tumour, that makes his face like a flat pressed monkey face. A lizard with a cut off stomach and pouring out 6 fertilized eggs. Her facial expression is painful. A monkey. Dead and once alive? An embryo? I have no clue. His skin looks wrinkled, some parts hairy, some not. The whole monkey looks wrinkly, like too long soaked in water. An embryo 'Taken from a cow during postmortem 5-7-1986. Vetenary Asst. Surgeon Key villas abbacks Kodaikanal.' The calf sticks its tongue out. The skin seems soft and silky. Eye presses against glass. Closed. Goats in different stages of embryonal development. I am walking with open eyes and open mouth through this bizarre and grotesque room.
… and than …
I had to take pictures.
See for yourself.
I just couldn't help myself. I felt the urgent call to capture this unreal place on photo. I felt like an unwelcome sensation hunting paparazzi disturbing the peace of the dead. I … I … I just had to. I know … it's wrong … and I still had to. The camera was taking over. …and with my first picture, the human greed for sensation celebrates its triumph! The flashes are thunder-storming. The most grotesque shelfs surrounded with the most camera headed humans. Oh god! … and I started it. The only white, female and lonesome traveller.
Life goes on and on – and for me in Kodaikanal. A busy town in the mountain ranges of the Western Ghats, Southwest of Tamil Nadu. It's called the 'princess of the hills' and uses to be a honeymoon paradise. I don't know why. The town itself has nothing to offer that gives any clue why fresh married young Indian couples are so eager to come here. It's busy, full of horning cars in a wide range of melodies, full of rubbish in an even wider range of colour, kind and state of decay and full of even more running and chattering around Indians. There is nothing honey. There is nothing moon.
Well, it's a hill station high up in the mountains. A welcome change of heat storing small alleyways – they call streets here in India -, dusty, smokey and busy roads (okay that comparison doesn't work well, I see) and the tremendous noise bigger cities have to offer. Maybe just an scenic change? They don't have as much cows running around the streets, tho. And rickshaws are missing, too. And one local holidayer told me it is not as dirty as Chennai. Well, compare to Madurai, my only other Indian city experience so far, I can't see a difference. Mountains, Forests, Waterfalls – well, that for sure offers Kodaikanal.
… beautiful walks through the landscape which presents you with one magnificent view after the other over the Western Ghats valley, let you stumble into beautiful silent places of nature, where you can listen just to the pleasant sound of one of the many waterfalls around this area or finding yourself suddenly in the middle of an uprising cloud. You can fell the air change. It's fresh. It's kind of moist. It's cooler.
But well, on none of those many walks you meet Indians. For sure one of the other lost local who is on his way to work, at least it looks like it, crosses your way. But that's it. So, where can you find all those honeymooners? Stuffed into busses, they let them drive from one scenic look out to the next. And the ones accessible by car are numbered: There are 3 in total.
… and that's how it works ...
Imagen a wide curve, packed with at least 200 meters of those typical indian one-meter-stalls, who offer massala tea and coffee, food and souvenirs and even more souvenirs. Some sell local made products like cloth, scarves, carvings and jewellery. Most of them extol plenty useless and needless stuff made in China. In between those stalls there is somewhere a small one meter wide pathway with a tiny sign saying 'Scenic view' in faded letters (yes, in english). A couple of locals standing around. Lost. Waiting. Than the game begin. From both sides of the curve travel busses arrive – almost at the same time, like if they have waited for each other just to arrive at the exactly the same moment in the middle of the curve with screeching wheels, accompanied from hundreds of Indians hanging out of the open bus windows whistling, yelling, somehow noise making. The bus stops. The sound stops. All Indians at once spill out the busses, running as one bunch of motion towards the tiny look out gate, squeezing through it – and come back, just to invade one stall after the other – and than leave. The whole spectacle takes less than five minutes. Silent again. A couple of locals standing around. Lost. Waiting. Just to welcome seconds later the next mob of busy tourists.
I just sit and look and be astonished. For hours. No, not really. Don't come up with the idea to cross the curve while the Indians are there. There is no get through. Anyway, sitting there is like being an other attraction. Group after group stops right in front of you, taking a memorable picture. I am a white statue. Head shaking. Some even come and sit next to me. Funny. Putting their arm around my shoulder, like we are best friends and know each other for years. They don't even bother asking you or trying to engage you in a conversation. They come, sit, smile and go. Somehow the whole scenario has a surreal touch.' Well, I just sit and be and watch and observe … okay, half an hour. That's enough.
The good thing about those bus spoilt and foot lazy Indians is, you know where you can find them. That means for me, knowing the places to avoid and that they are hidden corners of silent places in the infinitely of the forests. 
… and those silent places are pleasure. You have to find them. More: You have to walk to them. Walking in Kodai is hiking hill up and down, up and down, up and down … shall I continue, or can you feel the uprising pain and muscle ache in your calves? But if you walk along the Fairy and Silver Falls, lay on dolphin's nose looking down to nowhere, sit on the pillars rock like you are sitting on a cloud – you certainly know the muscle ache is worse it.
… and what would you expect, when you hike for a while in a forest, over uneven natural ground, roots and stones far away from civilization? Of course, a massala tea stall with cold refreshments like Coca-Cola, 5-minutes terrine and Nestle coffee. Well, there is just one thing to say: 'Ein Hoch auf die Globalisierung!' Okay, this stall was a table under a blue plastic plane but, hey, the owner separated his rubbish and honestly it was one of the cleanest stalls I have seen so far in India – in 2700 meter high.
Quite charming and entirely idyllic looking are the unexpected homesteads of the villagers along your walk. Taken in the mountains, painted in lovely soft pastel colours, each of them a unique piece of art. They look so weeny and cute how they just appear around the next serpentine. Mostly three or four of them. Never more. All of them have an even more lilliputian garden of flowers and succulents at the front. I don't have any clue, how many people life together in one of those one-room-buildings. That's the shadow of the idyllic look. The clothes on the washing line lets assume many. I haven't seen any people there.
I walked around Kodai a lot. The main part of the city is a noisy and dirty conglomeration of hotels and tourist shops. For sure Kodai is suppose to be mainly one thing: a holiday destination. That's the main business of the town. That keeps the town running and alive. But if you leave the inner circle, you see more. You see 'real' Kodaikanal, or something close to 'real'.
… and than Kodaikanal becomes somehow different. A multicultural quirky town of different religions and way of thinking, all living together in peace and harmony (joke). Kodai spreads into the Ghats like pigeons in Paris. As many pigeons are in paris as many small little villages you find around the centre of Kodai. And those villages are different. There is one 'suburb' Vattakanal, that is run mainly from Israelis and an other is mainly moslem dominated. Others are living together in the old christian tradition. For a small town like Kodaikanal, a hill station, with 32 000 citizens it's quite astonishing how many churches, temples and mosques you can find here. For me it mainly means a culinary journey of the special kind. Arabian breakfast, Indian lunch and israeli dinner. Jammy! And, of course to complete this multicultural picture, we can't forget to mention the two over the whole town spreaded international schools, Both schools are run since at least one century. Both well known and big in history. One of them – the Presentation Convention Kodaikanal – was my reason to go and visit Kodaikanal. But thats an other story. …
Well and sitting now in my small little bathroom, taking a foot bath as relaxation from the long hike and writing, while smoking … well that's an other surreal moment of life (and for sure not just one for Indians).
Namste …
… or wannekam, how it is more usual in tamil speaking Tamil Nadu.
Well, there is an annual anniversary in London happening from Jeannes old school mates. What a coincidence. That makes me travelling back to Kodaikanal. Just to stay for a couple of days on the main estate of organic brooklyn, get the school stuff sorted and than hiding back to Sri Lanka. Thats the plan …
… well, and than everything changes again. Here begins the story of 'THE UNITED FEDERATION OF GREAT ENGGER MANYLAND and THE FINGER OF LOOOOOOOOVE'. But before we open up a new chapter, lets finish this one with the final visit at the Presentation Convent Kodaikanal.
Back on the track
A rainy cold day in Kodaikanal and I am on my way to the PCK – a school, built almost 100 years ago founded by Nano Nagle, 'the champion of modern catholic Education' like she is also called.
Well, I don't know how the school was running in the 1940s, when my friend Jeanne was a student here, but what I can say for sure is, I would have expected something different visiting a catholic school run by nuns. Well, I know Jeanne and if you suggest, that the school years are those years who are with the most influencing and forming years for an individuals personality, it seems quite believing, that it must have been a somehow different catholic school run by nuns. But thats just a suggestion and I want to come back to the facts and my impressions.
The feeling and atmosphere was astonishing for me. The over dimensional gate in between all those typical small little houses and shops of India. The long in dusty clouds laying pass way, the old huge brick buildings who appear after a curve, still covered in clouds and smog, the holy maria statue in bright colours, the view over the valley on both sides, the dark alleyways in between the buildings. There is this feeling of past and history in the air, that the body just becomes aware of, streaming from the old brick houses, mixed with the flavour of shift and transformation, coming from the bright, shindig, happy voices of the students.
When I arrived it was break and play time for the students. All needly dressed in white and dark green uniforms. But still all just children running happily and freely around. As soon as the break bell rung they became silent and happily serious. They don't know yet what's out there, how the world ticks, but they are eager to learn. They learn for living and being. They love to learn. But what they learn, will it them prepare for life? The students belong to four different houses. It's like Harry Potter just in smaller. The students select although a house leader and they form a parliament, that is also presented through selected members at the general meetings of the teachers. It is a small school but somehow they try to teach them the structures of democracy. Something that isn't happening like it right now in India. But is that maybe the point where the change begins? When this young generation grows up and it's time for a hand over of generations? They learned the way, the just know this way and they can change and transform the system.
… Well, I am loosing track. That's mind bubbling. Haha. Funny! …
The PCK is not an international school anymore. Years back, the current principal Sister Ophelia, a young, impassioned woman, who believes more in spirituality rather than religion, couldn't tell me exactly when they had to close the school for international students. Hard times for the PCK, that told me Sister Maria, who has worked for the PCK for almost 20 years. Sister Maria was there, when they had do close the school for international students. Before it was up to her to look after the needs of the boarders. Do you know her, Jeanne? If so, than it must have been her 'rice pudding' recipe, that you still eat today. She is still involved in the daily routine of the school, even if she doesn't teach classes anymore. But whenever possible she coaches the slow learners of the school with keen interest, passion and attention. Still, two international schools in small Kodaikanal back in the days were just too much. The American International School, former High Clerc stayed on, the PCK had to change it's course.
… and how well it did. It became - for indian circumstances - a flourishing school for locals, with passionated young female teachers, small classes and lots of creative ideas. They established a school especially for those children and students who have to take the blame of a government, who doesn't like to spent money on education. Well, school life in India means although the children beg for pencils. The school material is old. There is not for each student a book. Hard benches. Open dusty rooms. Even calk is rare. But here at the PCK it is slightly different, a bit better. There are still hard wooden benches and cold dark class rooms but with here and there colourful paper art of the students showing Indians history, important historical people, the seasons, recycling tips and tricks and about the eco system of the world and so on. There is stuff going on in this small forgotten school. They have although new learning material, printed in 2011. Each of them has there own books. They look after them – very carefully.
They just finished there environmental week, which highlighted in a walk of all students, families and although villagers through town with colourful posters about the interaction of humanity and nature, how we have to look after our planet and environment, how bathing in the river effects the environment and so on. The students hold public speeches over speakers and mic's, the fire guard had a public practise and the whole village came together for this event. Thats the spirit of the PVK. They believe, they create, they share and they show their voice. Here at the PVK grows the next generation of responsible, educated and carrying members of India. Here comes the change. Slowly but pushing.
The school houses 437 students. For those 437 young souls and spirits Sister Ophelia, who runs the school for two years now, and 26 other young and creative teachers are doing their best with what they have. The medium is english. … and the english even of the very small children in class one and two is quite remarkable, when you think about the fact, that Tamil is still the main spoken language by adults in Kodaikanal … and so the mainly spoken language of the students parents (Sister Ophelia spoke a lot about the language problems. She for herself was born in Kerala where she grew up speaking and learning the local dialect but no tamil. Than she has to move to the PVK in Kodaikanal, Tamil Nadu without knowing a single word tamil. … and she has to lead a school of mainly tamil speaking teachers, parents and children. In her first month she need a translator. Even today there has to be a translator if Sister Ophelia has to talk to some of the parents.) The students leave the school at 4 o'clock in the afternoon, they bring their own lunch and they wear dark green uniforms. All students are substituted into four houses – yellow, green, red and blue – to support team work, leadership qualities, friendship, empathy and more – like Harry Potter (sorry to come up every time with this unnecessary comparison, but it suits … and somehow even the surrounding of the school, how it was covered in clouds and fog, the huge brick buildings, the slope down vegetable gardens … even if it isn't Harry Potter, it's magical remarkable. …by the way … all those Klammerkommentare is my favourite hobby and profession called mind bubbling ) The students of the houses form a parliament and are included in the main decisions for activities, project work and after school activities. What they learn here is one thing: They have a voice and they voice count. That's for me very modern. Not just for India.
I arrived at the school and got welcomed with love, time and passion. In Sister Ophelia I met a friend, who fights for the same values against institutional and structural borders in the education system as well as encouraging every single student in their personal skills and needs to get the best out of their personalities - for themselves and for the society. This lady is not a typical indian woman, if I can allow myself this 'assessment'. Apart from her there are just three other nuns who teach, all other teachers are young creative enthusiastic minds with a passion for education and teaching. I could take part at the dancing class as well as I had one lesson just for me and myself with 12 grade ten students. They were shy at the beginning and than didn't stop asking. Very clever questions. We laughed a lot. They sang, they danced, they told me about their future ambitions. Talking later with Ophelia, she told me, that it still will be hard for those students to find a job and built up their future. Kodaikanal doesn't has a lot of jobs to offer. Most of the will have to leave for the bigger cities. To built the fundament with good skills and knowledge is her goal to help the next generation to encounter India – with love, passion, good values and will.
… and with the words of the founder Nano Nagle:
“It's up to you …...................
One song can spark a moment,
one word can frame the goal,
one vote can change a nation,
one heart can know what's true,
one voice can speak with wisdom,
one life can make the change.”
And she is right... but the school is also faces problems. They are run on an aid basis, the class rooms are simple and somehow bleak. The rooms are small, the tables out of wood and tiny. Some rooms can't get used because of broken floors. It's raining through the roof of the auditorium. But the books are new and every single student has their own. They have paper and pens and material for creative art work as well as sport and music gear. They are having a library and internet access.
The students have to pay a fee of 21000 rupees a year, the cheapest fee in Kodaikanal and surroundings. They have dancing classes, and music and sports. They just finished a week of 'ecological awareness', that included whole Kodaikanal.
The staff changes every year. A lot of young woman get married and have to stay at home. It makes it difficult to keep quality and structure, it opens the door for new creative income. The Presentation Convent Kodaikanal is today a school that develops, with enthusiastic young teachers and students who are eager and willing to learn.
The Convent itself is still part of the school, but managed separately. They have a big vegetable garden run by Sister Maria 'who is blessed with the green thumb', that supports the convent and also partly the school with fresh good quality vegetables. Their is also a tamil medium school belonging to the PCK. At the moment their boarders are '12 female students from remote Tamil Nadu'. The only opportunity for education and a chance of a 'better' life. The Convent Sisters organize also self help groups for abused woman, cooking for homeless people and look after children, who lost their parents. Those ladies are active and young and full of energy. They know how to keep themselves busy.
That's why the Presentation Convent Kodaikanal with its active, loving and caring nuns is an important institution in Kodaikanal. Valuable and needed for the better of a social life of the citizen.
I expected something different, I got totally surprised.
I have to say thanks to my dear friend Jeanne. Without her, I would never have made such an experience. I wouldn't know about the PCK for sure, maybe I even haven't heard about Kodaikanal itself. I would have never met Sister Ophelia and a lot of other people who, since than, crossed my way. Thank you so much, Jeanne. With all my heart and love, thank you!