A Calimere Christmas

... at MGR's shrine and at a bird sanctuary

I bent over to look out at some salt pans. The bus chose that precise moment to hurtle through an especially large pothole. I was thrown what had to be several feet in the air, coming down hard on my behind. As I rubbed my aching back ruefully, I thought to myself for the 73rd time since we left Vedaranyam 15 minutes before: "This better be worth it!"

As it turned out, it was. But bouncing along in that bus, it seemed nothing could ever compensate for the wear and tear on my spine. By the time we got to Koddikarai -- a half an hour bus ride -- my nerves were shot as well from waiting tensely for the next bump. Thank God we had only the peace of Point Calimere to look forward to for the rest of the day.

Or thank MGR. At the end of the road in this tiny fishing hamlet was a small temporary shrine to the late Chief Film Star of Tamil Nadu, his portrait festooned with black and white AIADMK party flags. The bus circled reverently around it before letting us off. Here we were finally, at Point Calimere after two days in buses, finally somewhere in Tamil Nadu where Puratchi Thalaivi Dr J Jayalalitha signs and pictures and cutouts did not grace the surroundings -- here we were, only to be greeted by MGR.

With that auspicious start, I just knew we were going to fall in love with Point Calimere.

Off in the distance, a large number of birds circled and wheeled in the sky. After a last fond look at MGR, we strolled towards them, much as three wise kings might have followed a star nearly two millenia earlier -- it was Christmas Eve, after all. That took us to the beach, where a crowd of fishermen stood under the birds, haggling over the day's catch. Beyond them, bobbing in the waves, was a fleet of dozens upon dozens of fishing boats. Other boats came in over the horizon, bringing more fish home. The sea stretched away, a restless smoky grey on this overcast day.

And on the jetty immediately in front, beckoning sternly to us, stood a small man with a machine gun and a Maruti Gypsy. Now I don't often argue with machine guns, so I went over dutifully, while Vibha sat down to rest her own aching back. The man and his buddy in the Gypsy were from the Navy. While he checked my entrance ticket to the sanctuary, I realized why they were here. Sri Lanka, that bellicose war-mongering nation, lay perhaps 30 miles away across the Palk Straits. Thank God -- or MGR -- the Navy was here, protecting the country from the dire threat of invasion from Sri Lanka. These two men, their Gypsy and the machine gun were the absolute front line of our defences. I felt immediately safer.

"Coming all the way from Bombay, couldn't you find any more interesting place in the entire country to visit than Point Calimere?" asked the small man. I looked around at the strange sea, the gulls lined up on the shore, the handsome brown and white Brahmini kites wheeling overhead. I had my answer, but I don't know if it was the one he was expecting.

Skirting the haggling fisherfolk, we walked along the beach. Gulls sat, as gulls do, in several large flocks, all facing the same way. As Vibha walked towards one group, I knelt down, hoping to get a spectacular shot of her among hundreds of flapping gulls. They just muttered a little, and a few hopped away gently. So much for spectacular shots. Why were they not more wary of us?

Sketch by Dominic Xavier