Kayees is the best place in town for a biriyani, and was our choice for
our final lunch in Fort Cochin. It's a shabby joint, on a bustling
junction that crosses the Gujurati Road. Every day Kayees is packed out
with mostly men sitting a long tables in the cramped rooms, or waiting
around in the entrance for biryani to go.
There is effortless colour coordination, with black laquered dining
chairs set against a retro jade green wall. Stainless steel plates
piled high with rice are slapped down on the table with a smaller plate
of poppadoms, a jug of water with stainless steel cups. It's no frills
all the way, but the biryani is just perfect.
As it was our last day, I asked if I could take some photos out at the back. The rice is cooked in huge vats, four or five were on the go, but they run out most days by about two o'clock. The kitchens and storage area make good photos, but I couldn't bring myself to take a picture of one corner which was literally crawling in rats. It kind of spoilt that last biryani, the thought of rats running over the vats of veggies.
Seth happily wolfed it down!
With all our running around (finishing up jobs, packing, tea at Kashi owners, Dorrie and Anoop's amazing home, goodbyes at Sui House) we'd worked up another appetite, in time for dinner at Dal Roti with our good friends Cristelle and Ravi, and baby Ishaan. Bo had even more attention than usual from owner Ramesh, and it was a really happy way to end our time in Cochin. We ran back to Delight Homestay in the rain to catch a few hours sleep before our early flight out.
I'm ashamed to say I left India in a really bad way - shouting at a security guard. Six months of frustration vented on some poor chap. Mumbai airport finished me off though. There were so many silly little rules and all the security staff were so incredibly unhelpful it was like they'd sat down and planned how to make it as inconvenient as possible. I was totally exhausted by it. I was through to the last stage and unloaded all our handluggage onto the security belt, collapsed the pushchairs and added them on, while holding Bo. Seth wandered off somewhere, so I was told to go and get him (men and women are separated for the security checks, and children go with the mother), then they added that I'd put my things on the wrong belt. Why they couldn't have told me that as they stood watching me unload them? Seth was now running all over the place, so they told me I had to hold him as well. So there I was, holding a boy on each hip as I lugged our stuff over to another belt which was crowded with people, none of which would let me in. I asked the staff (there was a group of them hanging around) if someone could help me please as it's very hard to move everything while holding two children. Blank faces. Please, can't you see I'm struggling here? The it's not our job answer came back..... ok, fine. I fought back the tears as I bent down with Seth and Bo and picked up our things one by one.
Seth's last chapati and Bo after falling asleep while eating spinach curry. The food on Jet Airways was great.
I went through the body check to the final stage. One of my bags had been stopped and put on the floor for checking, and they just left it there. I asked if they could check it so I could go and get some food for the boys. Nope, they did everything else but attend to my bag. That's when I started to get annoyed. I really, really needed to go now and they seemed to be just winding me up. Eventually a guy came over and asked me to empty the contents. It was a big bag of kids stuff for the flight, cars, puzzles, toys, books. Loads of stuff. He went over ever single item, turning it over in his hand, asking me what it was, doing it so slowly, as if in slow motion. I was getting agitated and asked if he could please hurry up as our flight was now boarding. He replied 'You are irritated'. I felt like screaming YES I AM IRRITATED!!! In fact, maybe I did actually scream that. It all got a bit messy then as he kept repeating to me that I was irritated and with each time he said it I became more and more irritated. Ollie, meanwhile was standing around the corner, praying that I wouldn't get thrown into a Mumbai prison! He'd had his moment earlier, getting onto the bus between the domestic and international airports. It inconveniently has steep stairs, and then a tiny narrow gap between the row of seats for passengers and their luggage to squeeze down. He was lifting our bags up, and pulling up the boys in the Maclarens. There was a man standing there by the entrance to the bus watching this spectacle, not helping of course, and Ollie, frustrated, said loudly to him (so the whole bus could hear) what is your job exactly?'. He turned out to be the driver.
Not a very graceful way to end our India trip.
