The Indian family sitting opposite me are staring again. When I read they stare, when I sleep they stare and when I eat they stare. I am one of only 3 Westerners on the flight from Kuala Lumpur (I have just been on holiday in New Zealand) to Kochi in Southern India, and as yet un-used to the continual staring that will accompany me on this recce.
As we come close to landing in Kochi, Kerala, I see a carpet of shaggy coconut palm forests, tangled rivers, canals and lagoons.
I am at the airport by a man in a cream 1950’s-esq “Ambassador” car. “You from?” The taxi driver asks. I would be asked this question 1000 times over in the coming weeks by rickshaw drivers, taxi drivers, shop keepers, hoteliers, waiters and often people just passing me in the street.
Kerala is one of India’s wealthiest states, and as we drive through the outskirts there is a sense of wealth I was not expecting – bill boards advertising luxury flats, gold jewellery and wedding shops flash past. In 1957 Kerala was the first state in the world to freely elect a communist government which has been in and out of power ever since. This democratic form of communism has led to equality in land distribution as well as a focus on health and education. Today 30% of the state’s wealth is ploughed into education and Kerala has the highest literacy (91%) and life expectancy (73) of any Indian state.
The next day, stepping outside into India in daylight for the first time I soon realise Fort Cochin does not really have much to do with India. The town is on a peninsula connected to the mainland via a bridge. The real Cochin city is on the mainland and behaves much like any other hectic Indian city, but Fort Cochin seems like a piece of India sectioned off just for tourists. The majority of the people on the narrow streets of this tiny port enclave are westerners, and not only that, western package tourists! Every single shop is a tourist restaurant, souvenir shop or travel agency. It’s easy to see the appeal of the town: narrow atmospheric streets lined with white medieval buildings, ornate white catholic Churches, a Dutch palace, wooden roof top restaurants, quaint art galleries and a general air of times past make a lovely place to wander. All this is courtesy of a 600 year history which includes Portuguese, Dutch and British traders along with Chinese fisherman who brought their now infamous enormous spider-like fishing net contraptions to Cochin’s port.
Down to business. My first task, (other than searching out some muesli and green tea of course) is to research the hostel situation. I attempt my usual game of “how fast can you recce a hostel” but soon found that in India this game is almost certainly lost before starting. After a long conversation, I am shown around the first hotel by the very proud owner and then I attempt my first escape. Ah no. Before I knew it I am on the back of a motorbike ((full on the ground risk assessment conducted of course) whizzing my way to his second hotel, which I already know before arriving will be unsuitable for our teams. Half an hour later after many discerningly flattering comments about Mr Singh’s hotel we are back at hotel number 1. “Come in and sit down” he pines, gesturing me back into the office. I make my excuses and scarper, my first lesson of India learned.
It’s during my visit to one hostel that I come across the Indian art of head wobbling for the first time. Somehow I have managed to live all my life without knowing about this typical Indian trait. The receptionist seems to wobble and shake her head in different directions whatever I say. She can be answering “yes” to a question but still shaking her head and I begin to wonder if she has some sort of facial/head wobbling tick. “How many rooms do you have here?” I ask.
“12” she says as she wobbles her head ferociously.
“So you can sleep 24 then”. I say. More vigorous head shaking follows and I am seriously confused. That is until the next day I begin to notice it more and more in almost all conversations with Indian people. Basically the head wobble can mean “Yes”, “No,” or “I don’t know” which makes for a confusing first few days.
I visit as many hostels, tour agencies-posing-as-tourist-information and money changers as possible. Many Chais, long winded discussions about how many people can be squeezed into one home-stay and foot-mileage later I manage to make it to see Fort Cochin’s tourist spectacle of the sun setting over the local giant sized Chinese fishing nets. Getting that elusive picture however demands finding a rock which isn’t already taken by an over- weight German package tourist, which somehow ruins the moment for me.
The next morning, feeling like a VIP I get into the landrover which has been sent to collect me by our in country agent. On arrival at their offices, it is obvious that this isn’t going to be just any first-meeting-on-recce with a normal agent. Rather than the usual cafe in some dodgy neighbourhood, here are the agent sparkling shiny offices situated amongst mansions.
I am lead into the board room where 3 middle aged men and 2 younger men are already seated and looking ready for me to lead some sort of World Challenge summit. The older men introduce themselves as the Directors, they are ex Naval commanders who feel the need to keep their titles even though they are now working in tourism! Their staff address them at “Sah”. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, I begin the usual endless round of ‘Thank Yous’ for their work in 2009 before starting on the review points and plans for 2010 teams. A short time later, the formality is suddenly gone and replaced by a jolly atmosphere in which I am heartened to realise that sarcasm is alive and well in India, and moreover, here even company director’s love to take the micky out of themselves! I had had my first taste of the true warmth of Indian people and there was much more to come.
The agent had scheduled a mere 2 hours for this meeting. Often the first meeting with an in contry contact can last for a full day and so I am not surprised when nearly 5 hours later, we emerge for a very late lunch. After much insistence on my part that World Challenge would like to pay for this lunch I have to submit to defeat. Clearly me paying for their lunch is not an acceptable way to do business here.
Later that afternoon I meet with a potential project contact from an NGO, which provides extra curricular English classes to under privileged children at various orphanages around the city. Not long out of Uni himself, he could talk for India and takes me through the organisation, staffing and mission of the NGO without stopping for breath at breakneck speed. By the time he has stopped talking its early evening and we head for an orphanage for disadvantaged girls where classes are taking place. Supported by the Catholic Church, the orphanage itself seems fairly well off, but all the girls here are from a background which includes some sort of trauma. Families who don’t have enough money to look after them, abusive parents, or absent parents. The girls are grouped into 5 classes according to age and are listening attentively when I enter the first class. Hands shoot up with enthusiasm at each question. Their passion for learning touches me. As soon as I pop my head into the classroom the children begin firing questions at me and control is lost. They only settle down again after being promised they can talk to the foreigner at the end of class. The girls form a circle around me and ask several million questions. After the ubiquitous “what is your name”, comes “what is your mother/father’s name, what religion are you and do you have mosquito bites” which I find an odd combination!
I arrive back at my room late in the evening and myself and the recce laptop take ourselves out for a nice Dahl.
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2. A Priest, an elephant and an asylum
Slightly disappointingly, it’s a bog standard small hatchback which picks me up at 6am today. I am surprised to see that Anil who will be accompanying me on a 4 day trip inland, is not driving, and in fact we have our own driver, again a luxury never afforded on a recce before.
Our first stop is an elephant rehabilitation and training centre outside of the city. I am expecting hoards of camera clicking tourists for the daily spectacle of elephant washing in the river, but I am pleasantly surprised to find only small group there. I paddle into the water, get stuck in helping to wash the elephants and narrowly avoid being stood on by a very lively baby elephant. Risk assessment complete!
Today I learn something very important about Kerala; that it really does take 2 hours to drive 45km! We amble along at the speed of the M25 on a bad day on the one lane winding roads, up into the Western Ghats. The scenery changes to palm trees, sweeping vistas, spice and tea plantations and huge colonial "planters" houses. Driving here is a real art form and one with luckily our driver is well versed in. Towns and cities are a constant symphony of horn blasting, every vehicle has a horn of a slightly different tone, and most drive with their fingers almost constantly on it. The horn has several uses. The first is to tell the many pedestrians sauntering in the road (who can blame them since pavements are a luxury item here) to move out of the way and quickly, which most people tend to ignore until the very last second of their lives. Pedestrians are at the bottom of the food chain, closely followed by cycle rickshaws, motorised rickshaws, cars, trucks and then buses who career along at the speed of light, beeping away, and who will absolutely not stop or slow down for anything or anyone is their path, except perhaps a cow. Secondly the horn is there to tell a vehicle you have more power and therefore it must surely move out of the way or crash into you, and thirdly to tell another vehicle you are definitely going to overtake at whatever cost. The ambition to overtake is constant and ubiquitous, regardless of whether you are a rickshaw, motorbike, car, bus or truck. To do this effectively you only need one instrument on your car, the horn of course, which you must beep every time before, during and after overtaking. It’s irrelevant if there is another car coming the other way, as long as you beep as loudly as possible, rules state that you will not meet that car in a head on collision. The same rules apply to driving around hair pin bends on single track roads: no need to slow down, you simply beep, the vehicle coming the other way beeps even louder, and within a millisecond of meeting head on the driver expertly dodges the other vehicle. Deep Breaths.
Late in the afternoon we finally arrive at a town on the edge of the Periyar wildlife reserve. We go straight to Anil’s parents house where we are warmly greeted. Anil’s father who is a semi-retired clergyman who is now heavily involved in many projects within the community as well as working as the hospital chaplain. Apparently this area has among a very high suicide rate and a part of his role is suicide counselling. I soon realise he will make an excellent project contact. Time on his hands… tick, highly philanthropic… tick, not in the last bit driven by money… tick, a key figure in the community… tick and involved in absolutely everything… tick. Bingo!
2. A Priest, an elephant and an asylum - continued...
I get taken to a high school which he thinks would make a good project. We look around and discover there is a whole nursery building which is ripe for a World Challenge makeover, things are looking up! The Headmaster spends a lot of time explaining that if the team could teach some English it could be a very special opportunity for his pupils. After much protracted discussion, it appears to me that our visit is over, but as is becoming the norm I am completely wrong. The Head wishes us to see a karate lesson which again demonstrates to me that the children here have opportunities far beyond those at state schools.
Anil’s father insists we take an impromptu trip to an “outreach centre”, one of his many philanthropic interests run by two sisters. I am not quite sure of the purpose of this visit, but interested to see whatever he wants me to. The centre is along a windy dirt track towards the hills and consists of a 2 storey orange and cream painted building with a square courtyard in front.
The main large square living area consisted of a few old chairs in which the residents sit nodding, smiling or many in silence. We are greeted by several of the “inmates” (as they are referred to), who were undoubtedly excited to see visitors. I soon learn that those in the main living area are the lucky ones as the sisters show me into small bare rooms each housing several residents who simply sit or sleep on their small iron beds all day every day. Many don’t move at all, some smile and understand when the sister explains I am from England. As we move around room after room I become increasingly disturbed. The patients have nothing to stimulate them, nothing to bring them out of their stupor, their decline, and certainly no hope of ever leaving this institution. The sisters apologise for the putrid smell as we enter a men’s room explaining that the patients are only cleaned once each morning. It is in this room where a man reaches out to take my hand and shakes it furiously. He smiles to reveal only two yellow front teeth and asks my name in Malayalam. I use my rudimentary knowledge of the phrase “my name is” and the room erupts into excitement, now they think I can speak Malayalam and begin to ask me more questions! I explain though that I only know two phrases! I notice that Anil is outside; he obviously finds this place disturbing and is itching to leave.
As we start the long leaving process one of the sisters offers accommodation in an adjacent building for the teams, which I have to tactfully decline, this is no place for teenagers to stay. However I do promise that our teams can visit for a day and entertain the patients. As we turn to leave a young male patient points several times to a photo on the wall and talks quickly and excitedly. This is a picture of the inmates when they first arrived here, the sister explains. “He was begging on the streets when we found him. He lifts up his trouser leg to reveal a horrifically deformed foot. I leave realising that there is no place for these people within the Indian health system and without the Church they would very probably be beggars on the street or be dead. Religion aside, it’s a moment where I see that the Church supports many people here – schools, hospitals and homes like this would not exist if it weren’t for the riches of the oldest organisation on the planet.
3. The Tribal school
That evening, over a veritable banquet of Keralan cuisine prepared by Anil’s mother (who interestingly doesn’t sit down with us for dinner or breakfast the next day), his father attempts to explain the intricacies of the history of Christianity in India, now known as the Church of South India. Having lived all over the world as a missionary and studied Theology he is clearly a highly knowledgeable man. He explains that it’s due to Kerala state’s emphasis on education that Hindu’s, Christians and Muslims can live peacefully side by side here.
I wake at dawn the next day to the sound of the Muslim prayer call. Later as the birds starting singing their tropical song, I hear a second call of prayer, the Hindu prayer call. Shortly after that the Church bell chimes and I hear Indian music blasting from a stereo somewhere. I know I am definitely in India! When I look out the window at the forests of swaying palms and the tropical hills of the Periyar sanctuary I realise why Kerala has such a huge tourist industry.
Breakfast consists of traditional "Dosa" served with Dahl based dish called Sambar and coconut type chutney. Straight after it’s off to risk assess an elephant camp. Next on our hectic schedule we visit a local school for Tribal children. I am amazed at the difference between this school and the last one. The school buildings are old and crumbling and could do with a lot of work. This is a Malayalam language school where children had have far less exposure to English or western people, in fact despite being situated near to the tourist area of Periyar, I doubt these kids have ever seen a Westerner. Their smiles are as wide as their faces when we enter the first classroom, apparently the only English class at the school attended by the brightest kids. I have to address the children and I am bombarded with the few English questions they know which are mainly limited to “where from” and “what your name?” which I begin to ask back to the more timid members of the class. “Teach them an English song”, I’m told, almost as excitedly as the children. Luckily I remember the ever reliable “heads, shoulders knees and toes”. They learn quickly and before long they are singing at the tops of their voices. Seeing Anil at the door reminds me that we have at least 5 hours of travel to reach the next project and we need to leave, but the children have other ideas. As I get to the door I am mobbed by little girls who crowd around me with their note books held high in air begging for me to write in them. I try to write in as many as I can, but the crowd gets bigger and soon I have so many books literally pushed into my face that I can’t see to write, they are quite aggressive! Anil extricates me and off we go.
3. Blue horned cows and a lot of humility
I watch the sunrise over the mountains before the long day’s drive ahead. Today we are heading into the bordering state of Tamil Nadu. We snake through the hills climbing higher and higher before dropping into a reserve where we spot wild elephants in the distance. Finally the roads are straight and we can pick up speed and cross the border. Almost instantly the scene from the window changes. Now the houses are thatched huts or simple concrete or stone dwellings. The cars of Kerala are replaced by Ox carts, motorbikes, push bikes and herds of wandering cows. We stop for lunch at a restaurant which is jammed with lunching workers who eat rapidly with their hands, large banana leaves are used as plates. By now I am used to the constant stares that follow me, but in this restaurant I am the only woman and I feel the men’s eyes burning into my back as I walk to the “toilet”, the usual disgusting squat hole with a terrible stench. Anil orders for me and I eat another spicy south Indian dish which he describes as “mild”, but I am as yet unable to get the hang of eating with my hands and have to beg for a spoon.
As we leave the small towns behind, we enter a new world in which animals are the key to survival. Goat herders and herds of cows own the road here. We pass a small village and turn onto a bumpy track road which will lead us to the farm house we are heading for. A man on a bicycle coming the other way stops and makes a sign with his arm above his head. “Elephants” the driver says, he has seen an elephant on the road and he is warning us, he slows down and shifts uneasily in his seat, craning his neck to see into the distance. The threat of wild elephants here is more real than anywhere I have ever been. Recently a man was killed in the forest because he was in a storming elephant’s path. It’s quite common to see their “bums” on this road we learn later, but apparently they usually mind their own business. Anil and I have a long protracted conversation about elephants and risk assessments. A few miles on there are monkeys all over the road, but no elephants. We make it to the farm elephant free and the mood lightens.
A mild mannered man with a kind, gentle face greets us and escorts us into the farm house. He is our project contact, moved here from Bombay 25 years ago, over the course of the next few hours we gradually learn how he has devoted this time to try and transform this poverty stricken district. This region is in no man’s land between the borders of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka states, it is described by Mani as a “lawless, wild”, the nearest police station is 2 hours away and the village people speak a mixture of Tamil (the language of Tamil Nadu) and Karnnada (the language of Karnatika state). He has tried to empower the surrounding communities by teaching sustainable agriculture, improving educational opportunities and medical facilities. In fact we discover that his presence has had a massive effect on the economy and educational opportunities of the region. In a place where each family has up to 10 children, education has never been high on the agenda; parents need their children to help support them in farming the land. Each village has a small primary school but a lack of teachers willing to live in such a remote area means that staffing, as well as student uptake, has always been a problem. Through a series of initiatives he has succeeded in changing local attitudes particularly to educating women, improving the literacy rates and generally exciting the population about the values of education.
Meeting the Children
We jump into the jeep and head over the dirt tracks to the nearest village a few miles away in the hills. We are on the edge of a huge forest, thousands of hectares of untouched reserve and the scenery is beautiful. We stop at the village of Kadatty and walk towards the school. Our presence attracts a few hangers on who tag behind us, curious as to what we are up to. Although its school holidays due to a local festival there are a few children playing in the school playground. Rather than the usually mobbing and question firing as in Kerala, these children just stand and stare, the smaller ones hide behind their siblings. I see both fear and curiosity in their eyes; they have never seen a white skinned person before. The school itself makes even the tribal school in Kerala look like a palace. It’s a small simple building with orangey coloured dirt for a playground. It’s not painting they need, or a basketball court, its plain and simple running water and food. There is a tap at the school fed by the village bore well, but 2 water tanks and some pipes could make the world of difference, giving them running water into the school “kitchen”, a blackened room with a hole for a fire pit and the toilet. As I am taking down notes and details of the school, I look up and see that the children and a few adults have arrived and are gradually crowding around me, my every move fascinating them. I smile at them all and say Hello, and gradually, losing their initial fear the children grin at me. When I do the obligatory taking a picture of them and showing them on the digital camera screen their hands cover their faces and their eyes shine with astonishment. They ask for another picture, and another and another and everywhere I move to take pictures of the school they run after me, I feel like the pied piper. “Over here” I say and they scuttle after me, repeating my words with incredible accuracy! By now so many people have joined in and the “photo brigade”, that I have to split them into groups. Mothers and grandmothers, and a teenage girl with a baby as well as children all clamour for more photos. After I finally manage to escape the photo shoot extraordinaire, we walk down the road into the village which consists of a few shacks, small concrete rooms and wooden animal shelters. Everyone is standing at their doors looking inquisitively at us, a smile and a wave always results in a smile and a wave back. Cows wander around apparently without owner or purpose.
We are taken to the village clinic where a team could paint HIV awareness pictures on the walls. HIV and tobacco chewing and worms (!) are the major health problems here he says. Inside there is a small room with a bed. He introduces me to the nurse and explains that for a long time there was no nurse since government criteria for one was not met, after witnessing many tragic deaths, he agreed to pay a nurses salary. The nearest Doctor would be a couple hours away and this one tiny clinic serves over 2000 people in 12 surrounding villages. He explains that before the nurse, the clinic was unfortunately home to regular deaths, particularly those of young teenage girls. Girls are married as young as 12 or 13 here and when they become pregnant their bodies struggle to cope. Very often girls would be brought to the clinic and would spend 2 whole days in labour with their families helplessly looking on. The parents didn’t realise that the girls needed to be sent to hospital and would wait. Typically after 3 days the girl would be carried to the nearest “check point” where transport can be found, about 14 km away, but would usually be dead on arrival. Now the nurse can insist that girls having a difficult labour are sent immediately to the checkpoint.
Finding it hard to take in what he has just said we get back in the jeep, trailed by more “fans” and continue to the next village. Our path is halted by decorated cattle parading around the road and then we reach a small lake where hundreds of people are gathered along with their cows and goats. Each of the cows has had their horns painted blue or yellow and a decorative pattern painted intricately on each horn. At the top of each horn there are silver bells and the cows wear garlands around their neck. Even the tiny horns of the goats have been painted and the herders parade them around like trophies. It’s a pretty unique sight, like some sort of psychedelic cow show. We have happened across a Pongal Festival, a Tamil festival which celebrates the end of the harvest season. Apparently today is the day of celebrating the animals and their part in the harvest and thus cattle are adorned and fed special dishes prepared by the women. Cows are pretty high up in the chain of things in the Hindu religion, highly revered and worshipped. Considering this though the poor things still have that anorexic look! As we drive further we are stopped several times by lines if dried palm leaves across the road. The leaves are set alight and then the poor, blue horned cows are forced to cross the hot coals, apparently to cleanse their souls. I have to say that unsurprisingly, the cows didn’t look to be having the time of their life!
There we are again the centre of attention as we look around another school and nursery which is desperate for running water. As we discuss the roof needs and the broken disused water tank supplied by UNICEF many years ago, I turn around to discover a 40 faces peering at me from the wall behind, it seems the entire village is here now. We are offered us a cup of Chai and as we wander away from the school to the house where the Chai is being made the 40 faces follow us. When we stop, they stop, we move, they follow. As we sip from tiny metal cups we chat to the men that hei will pay to help our teams when they arrive, and to some of the village men.
4. Backwater peace with extra elephant..
Early the next morning we leave feeling humbled by the last 24 hours. Today is a trying day but one which is not unusual on a recce. By tonight I need to be in the coastal town of Kollam, many hours away. The fastest way to get here would be by train. We drive 6 hours to the nearest city but the trains are all full and eventually, to cut a very long story short, I have to continue by road.
At one point in my journey I am dozing when I hear some extremely loud Indian music. I look up and see an outrageously Indian scene: an open backed party lorry! Around 20 people are squeezed into the small truck they are wearing bright coloured clothes and head scarves. 3 men sit squashed onto the back with their legs hanging down and 3 more are standing up next to them. Music blares and coloured lights flash, and florescent lights inside the truck are draped in coloured fabric. There are bits of dried flowers and hay hanging off the back. All the people I can see are singing along and using whatever they can find to act as percussion: one man bangs a saucepan, others bang plastic bottles and another tin cans. We try to overtake the party truck several times, finally swerving to avoid an oncoming vehicle and causing the party truck to also swerve and narrowly miss us, but the party continues oblivious. Later I find out that the ‘party truck’ would have been on their way back from a pilgrimage to a famous temple in Kerala which open opens for a few weeks a year. They would have driven for days to reach the mountain on which the temple is at the summit of and then climbed uphill 4km to place their offerings. They could have been travelling for 24 hours but their spirits were still definitely high! It’s a great Indian moment.
I arrive in Kollam at 10pm, 16 hours after setting off from Tamil Nadu, to be met by our hostel contact there. He is keen to know how many teams will be coming this year and how long for. By the time I get to bed I am pretty exhausted.
The following morning I find myself with some backpackers floating along the famous Keralan backwaters in a canoe, being gently punted along by a very smiley guide whose English is near impossible to understand. This is an R&R (ahem, sorry, Rest and Relaxation) activity which many teams do and needs and R&R form. I am very excited to realise that since the water is only waist deep I won’t need to start harping on about buoyancy aids, and thank god there are no helmet conversations to be had either!
As we glide silently through the tiny canals we are able to watch backwater village life unfold on the banks. We pass dogs chained outside tiny thatched and concrete houses, lines of washing drying in the sun, chickens wandering, fisherman standing in the water using large rectangular nets, boat builders intricately stitching together traditional rice barges using coconut husk thread and even a Hindu wedding! Everyone we pass waves and smiles at us as if we were the first tourists to do this. A group of little girls run along the banks after us shouting “what your name” as their brightly coloured silk dresses flowing behind them and some little boys shout to us from a bridge. The narrow channels are decorated by overhanging palms and we often see Kingfishers perching on the branches and snakes slithering through the water. The peace is only broken by the guide shouting “down” as we approach tiny, extremely low, concrete bridges, we literally have to lie on the floor of the boat at this point!
It an intensely relaxing experience after sitting in a car for almost 4 sold days.
When its time to head back to my hotel I choose my rickshaw driver from the 324 who are vying for my business. I jump into the coolest one whose seats are covered in plastic leopard skin which is hard to ignore. Stylish way to travel, I think. The driver waits the obligatory 3 seconds before he asks the golden question “where from?”. We hurtle off at the usual speed, dodging the potholes and all other vehicles by very few inches. “I take you to elephant festival he says, only 25km! I take you. He is so sweet, and smiling so hard, that I am almost tempted, but just 5 km is a long way to go in a rickshaw even if I had the time, so I politely decline, taking his number and promising I will call him if I need a rickshaw.
Ironically, later I do end up going to an elephant festival in a rickshaw. The hotel owner had told me there was an elephant festival happening nearby that evening and said he could arrange for me to share a life there with some other guests. The other guests are a rather large middle aged couple and the “lift” is a very small rickshaw. The journey is thoroughly worth it. The atmosphere is electric and the crowds enormous. There are people lining all the streets of the town and crammed onto the upper levels of every building. Soon I can hear Chenda drums and symbols banging. A group of 30 or so men marches and dances with the drums which get faster and louder and the crowd begins whooping and shouting.. This is part of Kerala’s annual Puram festival. The heat is intense and there is a smell of sweat hangs in the crowd. The river of people moves one way and then the other and its too easy to get caught and swept up in the crowds of revellers. The air is thick with anticipation and then suddenly the moment everyone has been waiting for arrives. One by one 49 tusker elephants saunter down the street in a long line. They are sumptuously decorated with gold headdresses and ornaments. Each elephant is ridden by 3 men dressed in white, Brahmins, who hold objects which symbolise royalty such as coloured silk umbrellas fringed with silver pendants. The elephants often munch on coconut leaves and are seemingly oblivious to the crowds. Giant colouful Hindu figures bob through the crowds and a variety of weird and wonderful floats also pass.
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