We were staying in a resort near the Golf Club in Mysore. At six in the morning, I decided to go for my morning constitutional. The road wound its way to the little hills beyond. The world seemed deserted. The mist hung low over the hills; the air was fresh and invigorating.
On either side of the broad well-tarred road grew wild flowers in profusion. Yellow daisies, the white datura flower, the passiflora creeper with its raised centre, magenta petunias, blue ipomoea and the white-starred jasmine vine which scented the air. I gathered some in my handkerchief for my granddaughter.
There were some early morning stragglers. A woman carrying a stainless steel kuja to get milk, a couple of men in police uniforms doing sit-ups in front of their gate, the odd motorbike punctuating the silence with its roaring, a couple of women carrying grass on their heads. All of them wished me with hand to heart in typical Kannadiga manner.
I fell into conversation with a man who wanted to know the time. I replied to his English with Kannada, and although he must have known from my accent that I was not a local, his face lit up. He asked me, in Kannada this time, where I had learnt it. He was very polite and waited patiently when I struggled for the right word.
A couple of young boys were herding a mother goat and her kid. They whistled aimlessly. My mind went back to the insouciant melody of the whistling thrush on the balcony of the High Range Club in Munnar. Whistling, singing, chanting.
And as I was returning a contingent of 40 policemen were running. I stood aside, watching with pleasure the in-step movement, and the last man bringing up the rear smiled and did a sketchy salute.
The famed Mysore courtesy – thumbe maryade – seemed to extend itself to the stray dogs. They merely stood still, allowing me to pass, unlike the more aggressive ones I try to avoid in Langford Town.
I remembered the words of the palace guide the previous evening. “We in Mysore believe in quiet, politeness. We are not like Bangalore where everybody is shouting and the traffic is unmanageable.” I know I bristled at the allusion to the city I call my own now, but maybe he had a point.
