Day 32-33,
Sept. 11-12


Today was another travel day. Thanks to the patron saint of air travel, the flight scheduled for the early morning was switched to 1:30. Still, it was still raining pretty hard and there was a degree of difficulty getting to the airport. Sure enough, after some initial clear sailing, we bogged down in heavy traffic. We were stopped in ten lanes of gridlock. My driver was performing magic acts fitting us into holes too tight for a horse let alone a taxi. Still, all our extra time was being eaten up and there as danger we could be late. Uncharacteristically, I was at peace. I suppose it had to do with all the meditation. Maybe, some o it was sticking. I did pray tht the plane would be a trifle late.
Well, soon enough those ten lanes narrowed down to one. Teems of water turned the airport exit from an interstate quality highway into a broken down country road with the vehicles sorting out how to cross a torrent. We braved it and crossed into clear sailing. That put me in plenty of time for the plane – which indeed was late. When w boarded the pilot complained that he had arrived on time; but ground control delayed him for n apparent reason. Only I knew. But, the result was almost 3 hours of further delays.
All of that time was patiently absorbed by the folks waiting for me. Dr. Sagai Anthony MD, his wife and others were waiting to pick me up and show me the sights of Chennai. Christian Chennai (the former Madras) is highlighted by two places St. Thomas, the Apostle, was reputed to have been. One of those spots is a hill that was found to contain some relics; the other was a cave (on a hill overlooking the sea) where he spent time and on which he was martyred.
We barely made it to the first hill before dark. We couldn’t see the relics since Saturday evening Mass had begun in the church where they were kept. My lasting impression had to do with the high degree of commercialization. The parish seemed to be trying not only to be making converts but also money on St Thomas’ name.
We headed home where they had a rooftop room for me just like Elijah might have enjoyed. Then we settled down for dinner, a little walk and bed.

The next day was Sunday. I took the opportunity to concelebrate a Mass totally in Tamil. That meant I said nothing aloud only whispering the concelebrant’s parts in English. I did offer the Body of Christ in what I thought was Tamil. The people responded correctly; but I checked and what I thought I was to say and what I should have said were different. It was still a good experience. The Church was new and marble. The women stayed mostly on one side and sat on the floor. Most the men sat on plastic chairs. The responses were enthusiastic and the music as I’ve come to expect. The priest chanted most of the Mass.
After walking home we had a leisurely breakfast. Then, we took of to see the sites. I did get to see the other hill which was more important and less commercialized. Thomas had reputedly lived there and died near there. A mob, anxious to kill him, went to the cave where Thomas was located. Thomas prayed to be able to escape. Suddenly, an exit opened which s still there. It didn’t do him much good, though, because they soon grabbed him and killed him. Also in the well is a spring from which you can draw water.
Following this sacred place we drove further South to a beach. There was an interesting old Hindu Temple on the site and, the big attraction, a beach on the Bay of Bengal. I enjoyed the beach. I dressed with bathing trunks on. So, one more questionable article I brought for the trip was used. This was also the first time I used my ‘running’ shoes as well. My packing technique was vindicated.
The trail from the parking area to the beach was littered with kiosks all selling virtually the same things. Dr. Sagai and his wife wanted to buy me something to remember the day. We decided they could negotiate far better than I. There is a different price list for foreigners than for locals. We decided on an image of the god Gnassei. I had arrived on his feast day. They did do well shopping for it although it took a lot of time. But, they both thought I needed something more Indian to wear. Without my participation, they bought me a doothy. I was to put it on when I retuned to the house.
When the time came for my change of clothing they had to make sure I was OK with it. I said I was. Then, the men made sue I was wearing it with dignity (it was of very good quality). Then, I emerged with my long skirt. It really is masculine attire in India (most men wear it). I was told it looked very good. I had no reason to disagree. It was upper class. And I wasn’t the only man in the room sporting one.