Midnight knock in Madurai

It was midnight. I was alone in my hotel room. Someone knocked on the door. I said, "Who is it?" There was no response. I was in Madurai, on my way to Kodaikanal in south India.

The weather forecast said that the temperature in Chennai (formerly known as Madras) was soon going to reach 46C (115F). I checked the weather in Kodaikanal (commonly known as Kodai), a hill station about 500km away. It was 23C (73F). Half of that of Chennai! I decided to go to Kodai for a few days. I had a club membership which gave me access to stay in their property in Kodai. I just had to pay for the food and liquor that I consume. The easiest way to go from Chennai to Kodai by public transport is by taking the night bus. It's a comfortable, air-conditioned bus that reaches Kodai the next morning. But I wanted to travel during the day. I wanted to sit by the window, look out and daydream. So, I decided to take a day train from Chennai to Madurai. I would stay overnight there. The next morning, I would take a bus to Kodai, which was about three hours away. 

The train to Madurai was packed. Every seat was taken. Sitting next to me were a middle-aged couple from Patna in north India. They were on a pilgrimage tour of the south. Paul Theroux writes in 'The Tao of Travel': The rail traveller is often companionable, talkative, even somewhat liberated. Perhaps that's because he or she can walk around. This person, this mood, is what psychologists call 'untethered'. "We are going to Madurai to see the temple," they said. "Why didn't you take the night train to Kodai Road?" they asked. I had booked a window seat. I pointed to the window and said, "I want to daydream." They stared at me. "Where are you going to stay in Madurai?" they asked. I said that I will stay in a hotel, near the train station. "The hotels next to the train station are cheap hotels," they said. I said, "No problem." "You shouldn't check into a cheap hotel wearing Nike shoes," they said. They had noticed. I remember landing in Patna airport a few years ago and I was waiting for my bags. Two men, who were airport workers, were staring at my shoes. I looked into their eyes and felt that they would have chopped off my legs to get the shoes. "It should be okay. Madurai is perhaps the safest place in India," I replied.

I stopped daydreaming. The train had reached Madurai. Auto-rickshaw (tuk tuk) and cycle rickshaw drivers surrounded me. All of them said that they would take me to a hotel for the cheapest price. I said, "No" and walked down the road. There were several cheapies, next to each other. The cheap hotels were called lodges. I walked into a lodge and asked for a room for the night. I then asked the receptionist, who is usually the owner in a cheap hotel, "From which bus station, would I get a bus to Kodai?" There were three bus stations in Madurai. He said, "Oh, Kodai! Do you need a hotel there?" "I already have a booking," I said. He said, "Where?" I mentioned the name of the hotel. He exclaimed, "Fancy hotel! By the lakeside." I realised that I probably shouldn't have said it. I said, "My office is paying for it." "Of course! Of course!" he said. 

The area near the train station was full of cheap restaurants and bars that were open all night. I walked into a restaurant and ordered a couple of parottas (south Indian layered flatbread, made with all-purpose flour) and egg curry (two whole boiled eggs in a spicy curry). I then walked into the bar, next door. The bar was dim, dark and full of people. All men. All drinking. Some of them were passed out on the cement floor. The tables and chairs were made of cheap plastic. In terms of social hierarchy, the bar was one step above the government run TASMAC bars, where you had to fight for your liquor. There was no music playing. Just the noise of people talking. There was a man sitting behind an iron grill and through a small opening in it, I paid him the money. I walked a few steps across to another opening in the grill, where another man gave me an empty glass, a carton of rum, a bottle of Thums Up (a cola made by Coca Cola India) and a bag of peanuts. The rum was a cheap rum, sold in 180ml (6 fl. oz.) cartons called tetrapaks. I had to pay a deposit for the glass, which would be refunded when I returned it.

I stepped over some people who were passed out and found an empty table and sat down. A well-dressed young man took the chair across mine. He had a carton of cheap whisky and a bottle of soda. He took one sip of the liquor and almost choked. The harshness of the cheap whisky burnt his throat. He said apologetically, "I am not used to drinking this." "You should have gone to the bar in The Gateway (a luxury hotel). They have excellent whiskies there," I said. He said, "That's where I am staying." "Then, why didn't you go there?" I asked. "I recently got married. My wife doesn't know that I drink," he said. I said, "Why don't you tell her?" "I can't. I had marked myself as a teetotaller in shaadi.com (an Indian matrimonial website)," he wailed.

I opened my bag of peanuts. There were exactly ten peanuts. I offered it to him. He took three of them. I had seven left. He said, "It's dangerous drinking from these glasses. They should give disposable glasses." He continued, "My friend got tuberculosis drinking in a cheap bar. He suffered for one year. He almost died." I said, "I tested positive for TB. I am a carrier." He shot a shocked look at me, pushed back his chair abruptly and stood up. I had to take the test in Los Angeles to get my U.S. Green Card. Being a carrier meant that my daughter had a high chance of getting affected with tuberculosis. A lot of Indians and Pakistanis are tuberculosis carriers. He stared at my bag of peanuts. He had eaten three peanuts from it. 'Would I get TB?' was what he was thinking. I tried to make myself heard above the noise, "I am just a carrier. I am not infectious." He just threw up over a man who was passed out and ran out of the bar.

I returned his glass too and got back his deposit. I walked back to my room in the lodge. In the room, there was a single bed with a thin mattress and a single pillow, a wooden table and a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. As I was getting ready to go to sleep, there was a knock on the door. I checked the time. It was midnight. I asked in Tamil, "Who is it?" There was no response. Another knock sounded. 

A few years ago, I was in Montreal, Canada. I was staying in a cheap hotel in central Montreal. There was a knock on my door at midnight. I opened the door. There was a young woman wearing almost nothing lounging against the doorway. She asked in French, "Do you have a cigarette?" I replied, "No." She pouted, came close to me and said, "Do you need company?" I just kept quiet. She brushed her chest against mine and said, "It won't cost you much." I gently closed the door on her. 

This time, I decided, I am not going to open the door. The knocking became more urgent and repeated. I then heard voices. Two people were talking to each other. They were male. I once again asked, "Who is it?" Instead of replying, they tried to smash open the door. The door did not open. I dragged the table in my room and put it against the door. I held the table against the door with all my strength. They tried to smash open the door again. But they realised that a table had been put across. They tried to peel open the panel on the door, so they could reach the bolt inside. I decided that I would bite their fingers or hand, if they broke open the panel. I checked. I stretched forward across the table. I could reach the bolt with my mouth. My mind screamed, 'Madurai is the safest place in India.'

I stayed the whole night with the table jammed against the door. I thought of the couple on the train, 'Never check into a cheap hotel wearing Nike shoes.' They were there for quite some time. I could hear them. The alcohol took effect. I needed to pee. I had had 180ml, six pegs of rum with Thums Up. I peed in my pants. A urine puddle formed at my feet. I stood there with the table jammed against the door. At 6am, I pushed the table aside and opened the door. There was a cleaning lady mopping the floor in the corridor. She smiled at me and said, "Good morning." I asked her for a garbage bag. She looked puzzled, but she gave me one. I closed the door, stripped off my pee-stained pants and put it in the plastic bag. 

I packed my bag and walked down to the reception. I had one look at the receptionist and knew that he had known about what had happened. I threw my room key on the counter and walked out.

Have you ever had a 'scary' experience in a 'safe' place? If so, where?

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Have you read my previous blog? Click here to read, 'The old man in Orchha': https://kodavarthi.blogspot.com/2021/02/travel-orchha-madhya-pradesh-india.html

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