Krishna Bus Tour

Part 3 - Houston

"There's not a trace of nutrition in this." Kaliyapani's sixty-five-year-old lips curled as he pointed to his plate of noodles. He was the driver that introduced me to the bus the night before. "I need a proper meal."

He pronounced it "pro-pah" in propah British fashion.

He scowled at the noodles as if they were sawdust. "I cahn't eat this."

A hundred young people fueled by these very same noodles ran about, setting up chairs and tables in the Gauranga Hall. One of them slowed to offer us another serving.

"Uh, no thank you," I said.

I turned to KP, "What is a proper meal then?"

"You know very well—rice ... beans ... you know ... " He waved his hands to help me understand, "... food!"

I had a feeling he wouldn't last long on the tour. We needed him though. There was a lot of driving ahead.

"I'll ask around," I said, getting up from my chair, "... see if I can find something propah."

We were in the meeting hall of the Houston Krishna temple complex—a great big room with a high ceiling and a stage on one end. It could seat a thousand people. "I'll go check in the temple."

The Houston Krishna community had just completed their new temple structure. Every room had the sparkle of newness and construction dust. The temple room was clean, smelling like fresh teakwood imported from India, carved into fancy doors and altars for the deities.

Devotees in a small dining area for temple residents were happy to learn I was hungry. "Do you remember me?" one of the girls asked.

"Of course. But I can't remember where."

"Monterrey."

"Oh, yeah! That was our first stop on the Mexico bus tour. I remember someone made tamales for all of us ..."

"Yes! That was my mom."

"Your mom? They were so good! Is she here?"

"No, she's still in Mexico."

"Well, please tell her that was the best meal we had in all of Mexico."

"Really?"

"Yes! Everyone that was on that tour still talks about those tamales."

My Mexican connection loaded plates and bowls for me. "I need something for a friend," I said. "He really needs chapatis, but he's too hungry to walk. Are there any chapatis?"

"I'll go check." She ran into the back room and returned with a small stack. "Sorry, this is all I could find." She helped me load two plates with steaming hot rice, beans, vegetables, salad, and chapatis.

On my way out the door I said, "Don't forget to tell your mom."

"Yes, definitely. I'll call her right now." She waved her phone.

"Adiós, haribol!"

***

The British kids arrived from the Houston airport.

For one brief moment they appeared timid and out of place, carrying their luggage in the Gauranga Hall, until the Texans and Alachuanians welcomed them with hugs and shouts. Chairs and noodles were brought out, and things got loud again.

I learned that the youngest in the group was seventeen and the others were not much older. Radha Vinode had grown the biggest Afro I'd seen in forty years. "I'm glad they're back in fashion," I said.