The other day we took off on Air India to God's Own Country. Unfortunately the flight was uneventful. It took off the expected one hour late. There was as always, nobody to tell you when estimated time of departure was. And passengers uncomplainingly waited and watched the rest of the world hook off on Jet and Kingfisher. Once aboard though, most of the aircraft kept peering cockpit-wards to check whether there was any hope of a raised voice and an assaulted air hostess. Most disappointingly, there was not even a sign of the pilotsu00a0minus that disembodied voice telling the crew to get their butts to their places. Just when you want some entertainment, there were no mid-air skirmishes from the hired help. Really! Air India always manages to fall short somehow! Once in Kerala though, the flight was quickly forgotten in the un-smogged air, the swaying palms and the resorts cunningly hidden behind groves of green. Goa may have its shacks and cheap booze. But Kerala boasts cleaner beaches, pristine roadsides, an amazing lack of concrete and a peaceful sleepy air that lulls your soul and unwinds all those knots in us stressed, metropolitan types. (And this before the Ayurvedic massages!) A universe away from Kerala's rabid Marxist politics, the high suicide rates and the death-wish bus drivers of Kerala, lies the tourist paradise of God's Own Country. In this gentle land, you're asked whether you want chilled 'Cock' with your rum, the men wear pink sarongs with even more aplomb than Paul Smith models, and life is a balmy beach-stretch.u00a0 The peace lasted until we entered the resort's dining room. Where raucous Bengalis and galumphing Gujaratis were single-mindedly destroying the groaning buffet tables faster than their wide mouths could talk and eat. We thought they were bad enough. Until a group of Marathi manooses walked in. And their badly behaved, screaming children went careening unchecked, across the restaurantu00a0even while their parents blissfully ignored them. The Sena may claim Mumbai, but there's really, absolutely no need to lay siege to peaceful Kerala. These Northie typesu00a0 (Just to repay the 'Madrasi' non-compliments we overheard about the Malayali staff) were united in their behaviour of loud decibels, a general tendency to act like they've been starved for the last couple of weeks, and their horrible progeny. Why is it that they'll never understand that only they find their kids cute, and I definitely don't want Munna, Sweety or Chintu coming up to my table and banging on it, while I'm mid-squid.u00a0 Call me a snob. But Kerala tourist brochures really need to warn one of these inclement pests too.

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The other day we took off on Air India to God's Own Country. Unfortunately the flight was uneventful. It took off the expected one hour late.

The travelling bugs - Kerala's nightmare

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The travelling bugs - Kerala's nightmare

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