Brothers and Sisters

*Sorry this is so long. Hope it doesn't scare you away.
*Am I seriously the only one who thinks cold Chinese food is a really good breakfast??

“You’re wearing those wrong,” says Sandesh, the young manager of the Prince Inn in Fort Cochi where me and Alison are staying. "See that stripe, it’s supposed to be on the outside. You should tie the front first, and then the back."

I examine the fisherman-style pants I bought yesterday. They tie and flip in all sorts of weird ways. And for a newbie, it’s pretty complicated.

“Will people laugh at me if I wear them like this?”

“Yup!” He smiles. He lets me go behind the curtained area near the check-in to figure it out.

I come out. “Still wrong,” he says. I go back in.

On the counter behind the curtain are stacks of watercolor paintings. A messy palette filled with paint. Piles of brushes.

I come out. ‘That’s right.” He says.

“Good!” I say, finally wearing my pants right “Hey, do you paint?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see them sometime, maybe tonight?” He agrees, then asks where Alison and I are off too.

I’ve been traveling alone in Kerala (visiting museums, churches, beaches, bird sanctuaries, making friends with fishermen, getting engaged to rickshaw drivers, etc.) and Alison met up with me today in Cochi. It’s a really adorable coastal town with a boardwalk across the water littered with giant fishing nets. It looks about one-third tourist, one-third people working the tourists, and a third fishermen.

We tell we want to go to the beach and point to the map to show him one on the next island over.

“You should go to Lighthouse Beach instead,” he tells us. “Nobody’s there. No people selling stuff. It’s only seven kilometers away. That other one is 20.”

He’s been giving me good advice on where to go and what to do so far. He’s given me a room without a security deposit and sold me tickets to a sitar concert saying “you can pay me later.” He's lied to stalkeresque men who've waited outside the Inn for me. I have no reason not to trust him this time.

So Alison and I get on a two rupee ferry to the next island over then take a rickshaw down the coast. The driver stops at a long stretch of beach. A few canoe type fishing boats are lying around. A couple old fishermen too. There are some cows swimming in a small pond near the lighthouse. But for the most part, it’s empty.

We walk a bit through the water to avoid the endless knots of seaweed and litter washed up on the beach - shoes and small brown bottles mostly, and lay a towel in clear patch. I run into the water first thing. It’s beautiful here just like it is, waves smacking on the sand, clouds blanketing the sky in a tight, symmetrical pattern. I feel just fine here.

When I get out of the water and take a seat on the towel next to Alison, who’s lying out to get some sun, she says to me, “let me know if anyone comes this way.” Then she takes off her top. I only have to tell her one or two times to throw a towel over her.

Then it’s her turn to go swimming. Instead of tying back on her bathing suit top, she takes off her bottoms too and goes for a skinny dip. The girl’s got a lot off balls.

“I wish I could just do that,” I say.

“I grew up around people who were really comfortable with nudity,” she tells me. “When my mom and dad when to Israel before they were married, they got up to the Sea of Galilee, my mom strips off all her clothes and jumps in.

“Then, when she’s splashing around, a big group of terrified Hasidic Jews walks by…”

We hop a ferry back to Fort Cochi. This time it’s a gender segregated and we’re happy to join the women in the front of the crowded boat. It almost feels like a space full of sisters. I stand at the back of the section looking towards the bow. When I finally glance back, I see that all them are staring at the women’s section. I turn back to looking out over the bow – a much more pleasant view.

Back on shore, Alison and I want to get some lunch before taking a backwaters boat trip.

“I don’t know, I’m thinking we should go someplace nice,” Alison says. “We’ve been eating at so many hole-in-the-walls and street vendors. Let’s go all out.”

The plan sounds perfect to me and we end up at The Menorah (named because Jew Town’s on the island), order fish meals and a full bottle of good white wine, which we happily finish off together. It’s good to be getting close to another person in India – a person I didn’t necessarily expect to. We discover how easy it is to talk to each other about almost everything. Needless to say, the three hour ride through the back waters is nothing but enjoyable in the afternoon.

In the evening, Alison goes out exploring and I go to chat with Sandesh. He’s in back of his desk and next to him sits a rather large German man who’s been staying at the Prince Inn for three weeks. Every Sunday he and Sandesh rent bikes and go out together, to get away from the tourism.

“Can I see your paintings?”

He pulls out one of the thick stacks. There are oxen, birds, the ocean, storefronts and city streets. Some that are obviously art class assignments. There’re people working in fields, hunched over sickles or carrying baskets of grains.

Two standout the most. One’s a mountainous landscape with a story sky and a small row of houses. The other, the best by far, depicts the street where the Prince Inn is located. It’s full of colorful faceless people, and it’s obviously a sunny day.

“Do you ever sell your stuff?” I ask. These would be the perfect souvenir. Plus, I really like Sandesh. I just keep thinking about how he’s probably the coolest young Indian I’ve met so far.

“He does now,” The German man replies for him, eyeing my favorites. “You’re going to buy my favorite one.”

“How much for it?”

Sandesh doesn’t give me an answer yet. He wants me to make him an offer and I want him to give me a price. He says he’ll let me know a little later.

A little later, I hear a knock on the door and I think it’s Alison coming home for the night. But it’s not. Sandesh is standing there shirtless.

He whispers when he talks, like he’s being sneaky. “Shhh…can you come out?”

“Sure!” We go and sit on a wicker couch in the common room. It’s nice to just talk to someone. We chat for a little while about anything from our friends and hobbies to Cochi, America, and the differences between Cochi and America. Eventually he pulls out his cell phone.

“Want to see some movies?” He asks. He’s got a bunch downloaded on to his phone sent to him by friends and past lodgers.

“Are they bad?”

“Some. Some are funny. You want to see?”

“Sure, why not.”

The downloaded videos start pretty mild. Miss Universe losing her skirt on the runway. Things like that. Most of them I’ve seen on the internet back home at one point or another. He scrolls through the list of titles and I ask him about one.

“That’s kind of bad. You want to see? You don’t mind, though, you’re American. It’s normal.”

He’s right. It is.

“What the hell, show me them all.”

He plays one video of two young Indians fooling around in a taxi cab in North India, and tells me it’s a big trend now to do that and film it. Then he plays me another of an Indian husband and wife getting it on. By the time he gets to one where an elephant trainer is getting the shit beat out of him by his elephant, he’s cracking up.

“That’s not funny! These are bad!” I say.

“Shh…It’s OK. You don’t want to see?”

“No. It’s OK…I’ll see.” They are a little funny…

At first I’m a little shocked that my friendly, artist, Indian big brother who seems to always have my back is showing me these kinds of videos. But then it hits me: finally, a NORMAL Indian guy. My guy friends back home would eat this shit up. Why should he be any different? Finally someone who’s showing me all sides of himself – a complete, normal person. Tomorrow I'll buy those two paintings from him.

The best thing about having a sister in India is getting to make fun of our brother together. When Alison finally gets in for the night, I tell her all about Sandesh’s little picture show and we have a good laugh while packing to leave the island in the morning.

“Maybe we should have filmed you skinny dipping,” I say. “You’d fit right in on his phone.”

And this is how I’ll remember Cochi. Beaches, seafood, extinct Jew Town, artists. But mostly big brothers and little sisters.