Polysyllabic unpronouncablity

The south of the country prefers long words. Far from the urban centres of Mumbai, Delhi and Jaipur, the further you head south, the higher the possibility you can not pronounce the name of the town you are visiting. Mamallapuram, Chidabaram, Thiruvanathapuram. Today I am in Thiruchirapalli. But I can't say that.

Next there are the languages of the south. Tamil dominates, and it is beyond my understanding how anyone could master this tongue as a second language. Vanakkan (Hello) seems easy enough, but 'When does the next bus arrive' demands 'Eppozhutu atutta perunta varum.' I cannot memorise this. Who can?

To make things more interesting for the traveller, few signs are in English and few people speak the language of the colonisers well enough for more than very basic communication. However, Southerners are a particularly friendly bunch, and to make youself understood, you need but master one thing: the Indian head wobble.

While Australians - and the British are to blame for this - are as animated as a lump of plasticene, Indians have somehow inherited distinctly Mediterranean characteristics. They cannot whisper. They prefer to shout. They point profusely, wildly gesticulating like lunatics. When speaking, you must do the side-to-side head wobble and intermittently utter the nasal 'aah'. Try it for yourself.

With your neighbour, in your best Indian persona, ask for directions to a hotel. See, easy. I bet you even said something along the lines of 'Can you please be telling me ..' And it works. I've mastered it.

Long ago I dispensed with such verbal caresses as 'Excuse me' or 'Please'. They are as pointless and unproductive in India as waiting in a queue. Just as you need to push your way to the Information and Ticket-cum-Full Time Refund Counter [sic] at the train station to be served before late next year, a bullish approach to linguistic intercourse is mandatory.

Study the two examples below (between myself and shopkeeper at bus stand), noting subtle differences.

Case 1

'Where is the Hotel Diamond?'

'Ah'

'Hotel Diamond?'

'Ah' [Produces packet of Marlboro Lights]

'No. Hotel Diamond.'

'Ah'

Case 2

'Where is the Hotel Diamond?' [Head wobbling and left-handed palm-flipping action]

'Ah' [Enthusiastic wobbling of head]

'Hotel Diamond?'[Exaggerated head wobble]

'Ah' [Emphatic head wobble, displaying packet of Marlboro Lights]

'No. Hotel Diamond' [Involuntary jerking of entire cranium]

'Ah' [Single head wobble combined with outstretched arm pointing to mass of seething traffic]

The system is eons old and highly effective. It opens doors.

On my (forever hopeful) way to the (possibly imaginary) Hotel Diamond, I was lucky enough to step ankle-deep into an open sewer-cum-repulsive-collection of muck. Why I was wearing socks with my sandals that day was beyond me, but I kicked off whatever sludge clung to my right foot, and checked the rising bile in my throat.

After a few more moments of congratulating myself on another successful communication barrier broken by a former language student, I slumped into my room at the Hotel Anand.

Unfortunately, I've still no idea where the Hotel Diamond is located.