Tales from a Wild Ride Through India

Nuggets from my sojourn through a colorful subcontinent. Not one shred of AI was used in this post; however, some creative license was taken with certain facts and much identifying information was changed for privacy.

Chapter One: A Strange Night in Kochi: Tuk-Tuks, Romance, and a Chance Encounter with an Experienced Local

It was 6:13pm local time in the heart of Kochi, Kerala when it was time to get rolling. I left the hotel Astro Marine shortly after 6:15pm, alone, walking toward the boardwalk bordering the local backwaters. The air was heavy and warm and wet. Usually hot and hazy, Kerala shuts off the sun at precisely 6:00pm every day, 365 days per year, leaving the city of Kochi in near-total blackness.

I had arrived to this place from nearby Thrissur only a few days before in a mad ride on the back of a tuk-tuk. A tuk-tuk, as it happens, is a three-wheeled mutant hybrid of a rickshaw and a motorized taxi that has all of the agility of the former but none of its natural limits to raw, crazed horsepower.

Under the right circumstances and with an adequately riled driver, the thing could have probably delivered me to Kochi in under an hour. Unfortunately, though, per an 1879 ordinance of the Ministry of Road Transport and Highways, official right of way on all of the country’s public thoroughfares belongs to bovines. So my journey had been frequently halted by half-ton beasts moving at a pace of 1 mile per hour in exactly the cardinal direction of their choosing, irrespective of existing infrastructure or signage.

In the absence of cattle, though, right of way is assigned to whichever road occupant has a greater quantity of primal aggression. Per this measure, my trusty driver was a legend. By jumping and stopping the tuk-tuk in erratic, jolting movements, he communicated dominance as well as a cool irreverence for deliberative compromise. Blasting through gangs of dogs, humans, potholes, livestock, and high-powered machinists like himself, we made our way in a frenetic haze down the semi-paved, multi-species highway that was Kochi-Salem. The exercise had taken hours but resulted in our arrival at the magical place that was Kochi proper — the perfect stopover to chart my next course in this mad journey.

As a foreigner who had done zero research on this country, I was in need of sound advice. In this year of our Lord 2024-almost-2025, the Kochi boardwalk in the dead of this bizarre, premature midnight was as good a place as any to seek wisdom. As I stood by the lapping water, I could make out by the light of dim street lamps the faces of staring locals all along the boardwalk — only brown as far as the eye could see. That was a good sign. They would know what to do. I had to assume that, even in the dark, my western appearance probably stuck out like a beacon, which would explain the staring.

Given this state of affairs, it wasn’t long before a seaside gentleman hailed me over, courteously offering me a smoke and a “Hey, where you from?” I declined the smoke but was happy to take him up on his inquiry. “The US,” I said.

“Ahhhh” he smiled widely. “The land of the free. The land of Michael Jackson. And, and… of Justin Bieber.” He was very proud of his knowledge. His eyes grew suddenly very wide. “And Ka-Ma-La! Did you vote for Ka-Ma-La? She’s Indian, you know.”

He continued without pause. “But you are in India. What brings an American lady all the way over here?”

“A wedding,” I said, “of a dear friend.”

“A wedding” he proclaimed with glee, “is the best reason to come to India. This is the country of love, did you know? Even I am married. My whole family — two kids, wife, we are from Kochi.” He suddenly got very serious. “Though… it is hard.”

“Hard?”

“Well, yes. There are… problems.”

“Problems? What type of problems?”

“Marriage problems. Financial marriage problems. See, Covid shut down a lot of my industry, which is tourism. It is hard to support a whole family on my present income.”

“What about your wife, does she work?”

He laughed. “Of course not. We are conservative Muslims.”

“Really.” I was fascinated. “So you are not okay with your wife working?”

“Oh, I am fine with my wife working. I would love for my wife to work. We would have more money — less stress. But my wife will not have it. She wants to stay at home with the kids. She is very conservative. Her parents are also conservative, as are mine. To be honest, I am not that conservative.”

“So you’re a black sheep,” I said. But something perplexed me. “How did you end up with this woman?”

“Arranged marriage. It was hard. I even had to break up with my girlfriend.”

“You had a girlfriend?”

“Oh, yes. Laila. We had been together for many years.”

“Why didn’t you marry Laila?”

“Oh, I tried. Laila is Muslim and everything. But our dads did not get along. So they forbid us from marrying or from even talking to each other ever again.” He looked out at the water as he took a long drag. “But of course we continued seeing each other — just in secret.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, a year and have half after we were banned from seeing each other, my Laila’s parents said she must marry another man. She wasn’t happy about it, but she did it anyway.”

He paused. “And a year after that my parents said I must marry another woman. I was not thrilled, but it was done. That woman is my wife and we have been together now for twelve years.”

He showed me a picture on his phone of himself — a somewhat balding but decently put-together man with an undeniable dad bod — next to a shockingly beautiful woman. “That’s my wife.”

I peered at the picture in slight disbelief. I then looked directly at him.

“Do you love your wife?”

He hesitated. “Well, sure… of course. We have been together for twelve years.”

“What happened to your girlfriend?”

He smiled. “My Laila.”

He gestured with his phone. “I just finished talking to her on video, see. As I have done every night for the past twelve years. We never see each other in person. Just video. But that’s why I come out here every night.”

“Holy smokes,” I said. “Does your wife know?”

“Of course not, never.”

“Can I see a picture of Laila?”

“Oh, no pictures of her on this phone… that would not be a good idea.”

I definitely needed more time to process this.

“But please,” he continued, “do not think my story is that of anyone else here. It is just my own. There are all types... You, fine lady, must explore. But I never introduced myself. I’m Suhail.”

“Dana,” I said. I thought of something.

“Suhail, if you were never pushed to get married… if none of that ever happened… if you somehow lived a completely different life in which you were truly free — where would you go?”

Suhail looked pensively at the bright stars over the backwaters. “Goa. I would go to Goa.”

Well, I had my answer.

To be continued…