Where the three seas meet...a Canadian

Kanniyakumari, the southernmost tip of the country („next stop Australia, sir“), probably boasts the most stunning sunrise/set of South India. Or that, at least, according to the guidebooks: an opinion supported by the hordes of Indian tourists crowding hotel rooftops each morning. This was the place chosen for strewing some of the Great Soul Gandhis ashes in the 1950s. For us, the whole point was to ditch the dusty temple trail and get some fresh air at sea. In fact, the Bay of Bengal, Indian Ocean and Arabian Sea all meet a few clicks from the shoreline (not that I made any notice of it). We braved our way southbound from Madurai by the cheap and cheerful means of second class sleeper tickets on the Indian Railways, a recommended means of transport compared to the local buses. While tickets were as tricky to get as changing TCs at the State Bank – note the bureaucracy – we had managed to haggle two tickets on the tourist quota: one of those local benefits that state officials, military folk and other allegedly handicapped travellers like ourselves are allowed to exploit. Our arrival corresponded neatly with the sunrise just past six AM. A wonderful sight, hundreds of lanters bopping in the black sea, lighting up the track of fishermen passing in the horizon. The peaceful scene was broken by the appearance of the first rays of red sunlight and, at that very moment, an explosion of cacophony with Christian and Muslim mantras bellowing out from loudspeakers across the sea, turning the wonders of nature into a battle of microphones. I joined in by cheering for Arsenal, Capitalism and the Swedish People’s Party, a silly rant that no-one registered. Later on, zapping for the morning digest of news, the appearance of Celine Dion on CNN’s Larry King show felt like a kick in the groin from the man upstairs. In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, Celine had joined Larry with a cadre of his celeb chums, seemingly upset by the fact that she had only been able to donate a million bucks but no fresh water for those stuck in New Orleans. Of course, between the tears and snot running down her cheeks, we soon realised that there was more to come: a song called „The Prayer“ she had released earlier this year...performed live...on CNN...yet another Canadian making Elliott Cherneski howl in disbelief. To this date, I cannot begin to imagine what went through her mind. But it was entertaining. At sunset, I raised a glass to a view ruined by dark clouds gathering at sea, and cheered for Chelsea, Marxism and the Social Democrats in the hope that the Dude could sort out Celine for an episode on South Park. Kippers!