Panam Poyee (money gone)

I am back in Kerala and it’s costing me a fortune. Old friends are welcoming me back with open arms and empty pockets. Jillmon; mustachioed driver with a look and a drinking habit of an early Oliver Read; was 1st in touch. He appears shortly after 8 a.m dressed incongruously in dirty white jeans pulled up over his burgeoning stomach a white shirt is tucked into this and foreign made black trainers complete the look. He is ready for an interview that morning for a job in the Middle Eastern. After shoveling down his breakfast paid for by me he explains his “house money problem, you are my ATM” 1500Rs swap hands with an explanation that he would give it me back after the next tour. No problems.
Next up Sanjay who had borrowed a large sum last year to buy his 1st car. He can’t drive but the plan was to employ a driver as is common here and take tourists both domestic and foreign. He had given a vague promise before that the said same alleged car would take me back to the mountains the following morning. He phones, the possibly fictitious car has had a disastrous and untimely brake failure so I am back to asking Jillmon to organize transport for tomorrow. Sanjay meanwhile can still make it for tonight’s pre season staff complimentary booze up. I assume he will turn up with an explanation and a draught repayment scheme. In the steamy, dark, tomb like conditions of Cochin’s Embassy bar no mention is made of either, brandy is poured down with abandon, Jillmon is mixing his with super strong beer now. My boiling beer takes on the consistency of syrup in a syrup sponge; the bill comes, its time to pay up.
Kuttikanam. I am back. The trainees are summoned. Bikes are brought along. The Kona has survived well at first sight, while the Trek 4500 looks like a house has collapsed on it. Nothing has survived. It appears that every child and adult in the village have twiddled with the now demolished shifter pods, the grips look like they have been laid over with 6 inches of tarmac, the front mech is at a right angle to the frame and completed seized up, wheels are egg shapes and all the cables are missing. I ask Chippy if he thinks he has looked after the bike well this summer he looks sheepish and turns to Sinoj for encouragement “Yes”.
Nighttime and we are Devas’s restaurant for more brandy. Lucosh has been dispatched by me in his auto rickshaw for a bottle of brandy and a box of beers. 1 litre of Mansion House Brandy is returned, opened and poured down in an hour. I stand outside with Devas as it starts to drizzle ‘ very healthy, jump” he says as he kicks his heels of the ground giggling manically.