Here, and through much of India, you drive at full speed or not at all. There seems an unwritten rule that overtaking is only attempted on blind corners. I casually mention that I am agnostic and I regard this life as the only one, and not as a waiting room for the next. We pass burned-out trucks and traffic accidents that will probably haunt us for the rest of our days. Our ears sting from the constant horns.
Tolerance is big here, no doubt due to centuries of contact with foreign spice dealers.
Hindu, Christian and Muslim live side by side. The ceiling fans are on, the droplets of condensation are running in rivulets down our lime sodas, the table is laid. As you might expect from a land that is predominantly paradise with occasional flashes of hell, the kitchen culture is built around the fruit of the coconut palm, seafood and spices and generous use of small, eye-wateringly hot chillies. Kerala's cooking is fragrant with the flesh and juice of the coconuts that line the state's highways, side roads and beaches. Each time our truck had been caught in heavy traffic, young boys would run alongside offering green coconuts, shorn of their skin, a straw in the top to suck out the cool juice.