2014-up-in-flames

We spent most of the 31st unaware of how lost we were, walking through the less touristy district of Fort Kochin trying to find the neighbouring district of Manticherry. While it might seem that we had done nothing special at all, it felt like quite the opposite. There was something about the way children, women and men…even the unsavoury ones, would wave to us from their doorways and shops wishing us a happy new year. Messages wishing the old year out and the new year in were written on every street in white chalk and every few blocks masses of men (women were prohibited) lined up outside liquor depots to stock up for both that evening and the 1st which was a “dry day” for the state of Kerala. The lines were definitely longer than you see at home on the day before a holiday, but perhaps not as long as a normal Saturday in Sweden when the state run liquor stores only open for 4 hours.

Our favourite encounter was with a group of drag queens proudly walking through the streets.  No one seemed to be bothered by them and they were equally happy to shake our hands as they passed us by. Transvestites appeared to be a third sex in India; they were not talked about a lot but their presence was not marked with anywhere near the controversy that liquor laws seem to be (read on). In a country that can feel like feminism has not yet made its mark, this degree of acceptance was a welcome change.

Ladies of the parade

Having spent the better part of the day wandering lost, we grabbed a tuk tuk to take us back to our homestay to get ready for a big night out!

Dressed in our finest traditional outfits we had picked up shopping in Coimbatore with Marg, we set out to a restaurant we had seen packed with foreigners the night before. We were therefore a little shocked and a lot disappointed when we discovered the menu was devoid of beer, as were the tables around us.  Two weeks sober, New Year’s was going to be the night we planned to indulge!

Being a busy night, and India, we ended up sharing our table with two Indian women, a nice change from all the men we seem to talk to.  We laughed about the fact that they were wearing fitted tops and skinny jeans while we were dressed in salwar kameez and dupattas. Ironically enough, one of the women had bought her shirt from the same store we had bought our Indian outfits, Fab India. We also particularly enjoyed when the conversation turned to food and one of them exclaimed “all foreigners love dosas!”, a perception we would soon find to be increasingly common.  With a tip that the thing to do on New Year’s was watch a large doll being burned at midnight, we said goodbye and headed down the beach.

Old Man Time

The smell of frying pakora, the blinking lights, the taste of masala popcorn, and the sound of Indian music and cheering crowds accompanied us as we headed to the epicentre of it all, a doll of at least 10 metres! Marieke smartly insisted it was Old Man Time, meaning 2014 was about to go up in flames! Offering to take a photo for three Australians with the doll before it was burned, we soon started chatting to the other travellers, and before we knew it, were continuing our search for beer. Of course our faith was well placed in the Australians, who despite having only been in the country for four days, already knew how to get around the prohibition currently in effect in Kerala. Five minutes later we were cheersing to a round of “special tea” (rather lukewarm, weak version of the already bland Kingfisher” in plastic mugs, ad ready to head back to the beach to ring in the new year.

Cheers to special tea

Luckily, someone had given enough forethought to realize that fifty or so foreigners combined with 30 000 or so inebriated Indians moshing to the band and screaming for the fire show to start was not the best idea, and we found ourselves in a safe, cordoned off area on the cliff, to what amounted to backstage.  While this meant we did not have a front view of what was happening, it did mean that we were so close to Father Time burning we could feel the heat of the flames.  A few minutes later there was a torrent of fireworks exploding directly over our heads, being launched about 3 feet in front of us. I have never been that close to so many fireworks going off.  It was amazing, if slightly dangerous. One of those situations that you know would never happen at home, and are kind of grateful for both the fact that you can experience, while returning home to a regulated place where accidents are not waiting to happen.

Goodbye 2014!

Eventually the large licking flames of the doll settled down and the police officers lifted the ropes that separated us from the crowd on the beach and we were soon swallowed by a sea of men reeking of booze. One man heading in the opposite direction grabbed Marieke’s side, and by the time she realized what he was trying at he had already disappeared behind us. Then I felt a hand or two where it shouldn’t be and managed to swat it away, but the culprit was gone before I sufficiently recovered from shock. The two Australian girls were also soon victim and began yelling too. The lone Australian man had too many women to protect at once, although he did try admirably. The most frustrating part of the whole experience is that our yells would go unheeded in the uproar of the festivities, and the crowds made it all too easy for the men to disappear. I would have loved to be able to take a swing at one of them, but I didn’t have the chance.

Above the crowd

When talking to our homestay host the next night she was surprised we had gone down to the beach, as local women generally avoided it due to inevitable problems. As is often the case in India it seems, the solution is separation, which in fairness worked reasonably well, but ignores the root of the problem. And even worse, local women were resigned to stay home while the men partied into the night.

The end of the night and lack of decent beer notwithstanding, that night in Kochi may just have been our best New Year’s Eve yet. It was certainly unexpected.