Here was my chance to prove it.
It starts with a train trip. My first one back in India. It is a double-decker train. Yippee. At the Bangalore Cantonment station we are greeted with a board on which to match the coach number on our ticket with the place on the platform at which to stand. With only two minutes in which to board and with a clutter of colour in saris ahead of us, struggling to heave themselves up onto the train – we make it in time.
and the window is a beautiful woman discovering Angry Birds. I am pacing myself through Dancing in the Glory of Monsters which tells the story of the wars in Congo. Knowing that refugee camps housed 1000 people in a
space the size of a football field makes being an unruffled elephant in India much easier. On arrival, we find our way to the YWCA Guest House. The two single beds adrift from each other are, as usual, a little short and a little hard – but the subsequent merger allows me to be the diagonal to which I have grown accustomed.
car at around 9.00 does not materialise until 11.00 – but finally we are on our
way to an area called George Town (where, in the Invercargill version, I had been a pastor). Our agent, Kasturi, takes us through a room with a sea of
desks and mountains of paper and on into a little office.
At close to 4pm, and with government offices closing at 5pm, Kasturi enters the room with the curl of a smile on his face. ‘Come on, now we can go and see the Deputy Commissioner’. Off we go, walking
in the third lane of the traffic coming toward us – as the footpath is fully
occupied with extraneous items. Into Custom House we go. The reception area has three elevators. A cavernous hole exists where one once was. A second is out of order. The third seems stuck at the third floor, with the arrow pointing up, and a small crowd awaiting its arrival which appears to be far from imminent. With time against us, I suggest that we walk to the third floor instead. The offer is accepted! Into a packed corridor we walk. Oh dear! But I am greeted with an
outstretched arm of a warm uniformed man – and a belly that
reached me not so long after his hand. On it was fastened a buckle the size of a number plate from which gleamed the words ‘India Customs’. I could see I was in safe hands.
This is a question about religious affiliation, not TV viewing habits. A
little later, after 4-5 efforts, it was ‘What is your salary?’
many children?’ came, I had my opportunity to show-off photos to the entire
corridor. For a brief moment in time Micah-worship rivalled the Sachin-worship which has gripped this nation. Headlines proclaiming ‘God-bye’ are not spelling mistakes, as for so many he is ‘The Light of Their World’.
the beach’. The famous Chennai beach is wide and long. We
overshoot the start and walk back along the beach, with the sun setting
behind us, colouring everything just how I like it. The camera on the smartphone gets a
workout. [NB: Don’t miss the towers of floodlights at Chepauk, the cricket ground – the only thing I knew about ‘Madras’ in my childhood].
shops the width of the beach. Being world famous in my family for long urban walks in
India, off we set again – this time in and through Chennai. Rural train trips and urban
walks are the only way to see the real India. After a wee while(!), it is dark and we are in the midst of clogged traffic. It is time to eat. The moment overtakes me. No more elephants and camels. It is time to be raja and rani (king and queen). Plus, so much has been happening in our lives (and we hadn’t celebrated my birthday, five weeks earlier, because we had spent it in a Catholic convent on a staff retreat). Rationalising reasons for a little luxury is such fun.
A check on google for ‘best restaurants in Chennai’, as we walk, reveals that we were not far from the Taj Coromandel hotel. What a delightful confluence of our India and Kiwi identity (NB: ‘Coromandel’ is a favoured holiday destination in NZ).
waiter, Lokesh, has his mobile phone out showing me photos of him standing
Tussaud-like, next to every Kiwi IPL cricketer that has ever graced this country. Jimmy Franklin is his favourite. ‘We are good friends’. Lokesh and I get on well – until I realise that he never asks to have his photo with me. The food is sumptuous. All the usual suspects. Dosa. Aloo Jeera. Tandoori chicken. Naan. Sweet
lime soda. Lokesh keeps bringing things we didn’t order … and it all amounts to NZD50.
About Me

the art of unpacking
After a childhood in India, a theological training in the USA and a pastoral ministry in Southland (New Zealand), I spent twenty years in theological education in New Zealand — first at Laidlaw College and then at Carey Baptist College, where I served as principal. In 2009 I began working with Langham Partnership and since 2013 I have been the Programme Director (Langham Preaching). Through it all I've cherished the experience of the 'gracious hand of God upon me' and I've relished the opportunity to 'unpack', or exegete, all that I encounter in my walk through life with Jesus.
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Nice one, Bob. I loved reading this blog. You write so well!
We look forward to the news of the arrival of the books, etc.
Love from us, Boz
Thanks Paul for this! It reminded me of soooo many experiences I had in Pakistan from the banks to the Government Offices! Frustrating as it is at times, it's also very refreshing to live in the world without time. – Congrats to be appointed to the Global Preaching! Bless you both. Lea
WHAT a fun post! Compulsory reading for anyone heading to Asia 🙂
Thanks, Boz, Lea and tkr – oh, what eclectic friends I have!
It was fun.
I understand(!) that our local agent cleared our things on Thursday – so maybe it will be this week. The 5 weeks has extended to 12 and I've managed to teach an entire module without my books – but I don't think anyone has noticed (least of all me, which is a worry), so I shall keep it a secret.