Poll pourri: Indian election diary - April 22

Gulf News Foreign Editor Neena Gopal is in India covering the state elections.

In this web-only diary, Neena breaks away from the politicians and the soundbites to take an alternative look at the polls, and to find out what's really happening on the ground.

When Tamil Nadu Chief Minister Jayalalitha arrives even the flowers wilt

At the Residency Hotel in Coimbatore yesterday afternoon, the security apparatus had been installed. It's what is known as 'Z' security - the highest in the land. There was a metal detector at the gate, security guards swarming all over the entrance, body searches in the hallway, men with guns in their holsters positioned at two-way mirrors and even a dog squad.

Young Raneesh, who's here on holiday, was stopped from doing what he loves best: playing in the hotel lift, pressing all the buttons and sending it from floor to floor. "The CM is here, so I can't play,” said the portly eight year old from Chennai. His mother ushering him for a swimming lesson at the pool in the back shushed him into silence.

The tension was palpable. When she arrived Gulf News photographer Kiran Prasad was at the door, and despite all that security he sneaked a picture. He says a red carpet was rolled out over the polished granite and she walked regally down, as her subjects gawked, and the police looked on, glassy-eyed.

Getting permission to travel with Jayalalitha is the most difficult thing in the world. Unless you work for her private television channel Jaya TV of course or know somebody who knows somebody. In this case, an uncle who lives in Coimbatore came in handy. All the Superintendant of Police Manoharan wanted was a local reference. He called my uncle, asked him his address and telephone number. Two minutes later, my worried uncle called me back. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't been arrested or something,” he said, very nervous about this enterprise.

Only three passengers got off the aircraft at Coimbatore airport. Only three pieces of luggage came off. In the shortest possible time – ten minutes. The airport (unlike crazy Kozhikode where the message board is at the back of a vast hall - the seats facing away from it) is clean and airy, and you can easily switch from domestic to international. Kozhikode should be ready this year said one of the security staff, who yet again was a Gulf News fan, a former denizen of Dubai. "They keep breaking some walls, putting new staircases, then breaking that down. Now because of this election everything has stopped.”

And it's already April.

Communication breakdown
The first time I say Pinarayi, the officious woman at the Communist Party office, it's a tiny room on top of an unpainted stone structure with a narrow staircase,  looks at me strangely.

So I ask a plain faced woman whose name I discover is Shanta, whether she has a problem with the way I say Pinarayi.

Shanta, not the most diplomatic of people perhaps feels I'm trying to slander her leader Pinarayi Vijayan, which I am not. Pronounced the way it's written in English, its Pin-ara-yee. When said fairly quickly in Malayalam its 'Pann-ar-ay' which could mean a stack of cash because 'pannam' in Malayam is money. Aargh!

Everybody jumps into the discussion. I discover later that the fact that Vijayan has renovated his humble hovel, and that he sends money to his son in London every month has been used as an attack by opponents within the Marxist party and by the opposition Congress to attack him for abandoning his Marxist beginnings.

The house where Vijayan's mother worked as an agricultural labourer meanwhile always had two huge stone lions guarding the entrance. No-one knows what's happened to them. The question says one wag, whose home will they reappear in?

Marxists feast
It's probably one of the most interesting assignments I've ever undertaken. The hunt for a 'Theyyam' festival as Kerala's annual feasting for its new year is just about ending. In fact, it's the absolute last day.

Curious about how the Marxists live in two skins, keep politics and religion separate, we head some 100s of kilometers deep into the interior where men don fantastic costumes, make up, sixteen foot high headdresses and five foot wide skirts that stretch the imagination, as they dance to the frenzied beat of drums and cymbals.

Most of these dancers are Communist sympathizers. They are washermen, labourers, toddy tappers, tribals, forest dwellers. Each of their little shrines has a story. But all are card carrying members of the Communist party of India Marxist and there's a huge sign fluttering within the temple precincts that underlines their political commitment.

The lure of filthy lucre was all too evident. Instead of the divinity and awe that I expected to encounter, there was a fairground atmosphere. "It's the only way to keep the people coming," says Bhagirath who befriends us. People selling earthenware, gold encrusted plastic bangles, decorative bindis (stick ons for the forehead), oranges, crunchy nibbles.

This year at the Adhiadam temple at Palote, off the beaten track from Pazyangadi, they even had free food. And when the dancing, prancing fantastic creature spotted me, he zeroed in. I dug into my handbag and came up with the only rupee note I had - five hundred rupees. His eyes gleamed and he sprayed me with fistfuls of yellow powder that they call 'sornapodi'.

Gold dust? No, no, it's powdered turmeric said young Harish, a young accountant who's returned from Dubai after a five year stint and has a new job in Kuwait, who plays guide and mentor "This is where people buy their cooking vessels, vegetables, even fish for the year."

As for the five hundred rupee note, the dancer who was enacting the role of reigning deity of the shrine placed the note on his crown and pointed to it every time people placed coins in his hands in return for a blessing!

Worse, they wouldn't allow Gulf News photographer Kiran Prasad to take pictures. But as we left, one dancer Santhosh handed him his telephone number and said come back, come back, you can take pictures then. Incomprehensible.

Taking direction
If you're asking for directions to anything in Kerala beware. We went looking for an internet café in Tellicherry because Ayesha Manzil, its superb location and cuisine notwithstanding, does not have internet. So the lady of the manor Faiza asks someone who asks someone who asks someone else.

Just go down and there's a shopping complex near the bus stand and it's right there says the helpful Jasoo. We go down the hill and to the only structure I would have described as a shopping complex - Tellicherry City Centre - and of course there is nothing there, except a vast structure in the middle of nowhere.

We are running out of time but double back, and scale down the size of the complex and look for smaller collections of buildings near a bus stop. But with bus stops a plenty, it was impossible. And every one of my Malayalee brethren who was asked would ?korchungude mumbila aarikiyum' which means it must be a little ahead.

We go up, round and behind the hill. Nothing! Until I see the tiny sign stuck in a recessed doorway. Yes, there was bus stop close by and yes, it said broadband. And it's been there for five years! There are at least two more in the next street, the boy tells me. What was I? Blind? Or just bad at taking directions, Kerala style.