Happy Pongal!

Who says chivalry is dead?

It was another sticky-hot day in Kerala. Every day hit broiling in the mid-afternoon and our day trip to Elephant Camp and the waterfalls outside of town was no exception. We melted away in the hired jeep while Rahul (every other person we've met has been named Rahul!) patiently drove us to the sites. There were five of us westerners in tow: Laura and myself, another honeymooning couple from the States, and our Dutch friend Eva.

There were elephants in the morning, then a long drive to the falls that afternoon down long and winding roads. The falls were relatively far off the tourist map, we were to discover, and we passed several water parks and Roman Catholic Churches on the way. Local tourism, a real "authentic" Indian experience. Ha, ha.

But we were all on tourist-time so our surroundings didn't penetrate our consciousness quite as much as they probably should have. We arrived at the falls and leapt out of the jeep-turned-roasting oven into the little market surrounding the entrance. That's when the Pongal pilgrims approached, shaking hands (with the men) and sharing treats.

"Happy Pongal," they greeted me enthusiastically.

It took me a bit to figure out what they were saying. But we recognized their garb: all black clothes with painted foreheads, part of a 40-day preparation for devotions at a local temple. Eva had met several of them on her journey to Kerala so between her and Rahul we got an account of their 5 AM baths, specific diets, etc. And, apparently, trips to waterfalls and waterparks. Hinduism is an inclusive religion. It just sort of takes things in stride.

But back to Pongal, the falls, and a group of out-of-place westerners looking for some water to cool off in. The falls were fairly nice, and the river that fed them was full of bathing families. (Laura has some great photos). Rahul suggested that if we wanted to swim we hike up the river aways to get some privacy.

And that, I think, is where the trouble began.

As we (very obviously) headed upstream away from the civilities of modest dress a loud series of hoots and hollars rose up from the river. Imagine in your mind's eye what those Indian men saw: 3 western girls looking to go for a dip and do whatever it is those crazy western women do. Rahul lead us into the forest to take a land path up there, but the hoots and screeches didn't subside. We were being followed.

By a group of men looking for a very happy Pongal.

We found ourselves at a nice quiet spot upriver, but the men were on our tails. We tried shouting to them to go away and leave us in peace, as such:

"Hey! Leave the ladies alone!"

But to no avail. Their leader innocently explained that they just happened to be hiking up-river at the same time as us, and the river was for everyone to share, etc etc etc. I frowned and looked at the girls. Laura shifted uncomfortably, but the other two shrugged.

"We were going to swim with our clothes on anyway." And into the cold water they went, shortly followed by the other American guy. I hesitated but it was hot out and we had driven all this way anyway, so I also dipped into the chilly, murky depths.

Now it was about this time that I looked around and noticed that quite a band of locals had come to join us. Hooting and laughing from the nearby rocks -- but not close enough to alarm us yet -- the men were having a grand old time. They were having such a good time that they were signalling more friends from downstream to follow.

I feel I should make mention of a curious affinity Indian men have for extremely tight Speedos. Somehow when thong-fashion crossed the world and came to Asia something was lost in translation, because the men enjoy flaunting their package-loaded, crack-backed Spandex. (Again, wait for Laura's photos.) So for as much as they were cackling and yucking it up on the sidelines, we were having just as much fun laughing right back.

"My friends, my friends," they were calling to us. So, for a lark, the other honeymooning guy and I swam over to joke around.

"Where you from?" the leader asked me, shaking a stick in the water.

"USA," I said.

"USA?"

"Obama-land." A sure-fire way to get people excited.

"Obaaaaamaaaaa!" the cheer went up across the waters.

"Condi!" another man called out. (She had recently visited Pakistan.)

"Cooooondiiiii!" another cheer followed, along with much hand-shaking.

"And where are you from?"

"Me?" the leader looked at me surprised. "Tamil Nadu. Governor. I am governor of Tamil Nadu!"

"Tamiiiil Naddduuuuuu!"

They were just pranking. Tamil Nadu has the reputation of being a backwards, stuck-in-the-Stone-Age state.

But then he added something disconcerting.

"I have two drinks!" he said.

"Two driiiiiiiinks!" the chorus echoed.

Two drinks? My mind put two and two together, just as I heard Laura yelling to me from across the water.

"Hey! Nick! Come back here!" The girls were huddled on a rock with a nervous-looking Rahul, surrounded by Speedos at an alarming distance.

I looked back at the "governor" and for the first time noticed his blotto eyes. Shit.

I high-tailed it back across the water.

"Rahul says it's getting dangerous," Laura hissed when I got back, physically placing myself between the girls and the Speedos. Crammed onto the rock with the girls and a growing legion of blissfully drunken men I smelled the alcohol, the eager delerium.

"Alright, get out of here," I said. Eva and Laura followed Rahul back into the woods while the American couple lingered on with me. One of the men tried to follow the girls -- he must have been twice my weight -- and I automatically grabbed his wrist, hard.

"Hey!" I shouted, but quickly reigned in my temper as the band of drunkards look curiously at me. "Photo?" I quickly added.

"Phooootooooo!" they hollared, and I assembled them around me, grabbing another lingering wrist and pulling the group into a huddle. Another man fumbled for a cell phone and lined up the shot.

I turned to the Americans. "This is your chance to RUN."

"Oh," they smiled, and followed the rest of the western group into the forest.

The photo shoot was over too quickly and more of the drunken band was arriving on the rock where I was perfectly placed to block their pursuit. They were probably having the happiest Pongal of their lives, and were eager for more. Taking my cue from a thousand school children I've met around the country, I stalled as best I could.

"One more photo? Just one more!"

Somewhere, someday on the internet you'll find a photo of me huddled in the middle of a group of beaming, highly intoxicated Indian men in tight Speedos trying in vain to look as relaxed (if not masculine) as possible.

The things we'll do for our women. Who says chivalry is dead?