Driving through Kerala, glancing through the tinted windows of the Toyota Innova, I'd noticed many gaudy churches - I'd see a pristine white facade, a statue of a bearded saint, or a spooky Virgin, with a neon crown - women in blue saris would be streaming out of the mysterious nave -
A few yards away from a church, I'd see a mosque, or a Hindu temple - I might see a statue of a purple God or Goddess -
I pondered upon the legend of St Thomas - we'd seen, at sunset, where the Apostle had landed in Kerala - bats flew over the church built upon the site -
One morning, whilst we were still dreaming and feasting in Marco's house, we found that we needed a new breeze block of rupees -
After we'd visited the ATM, the auto rickshaw driver suggested we visit the church of Saint Gregorius -
We walked across a scorched compound - shiny doors opened onto a vivid interior - painted upon the ceiling, above the stilled fans, were billowing clouds, parting to reveal a colossal dove -
Gorgeous altar cloths caught my eye - the grave saint looked down at me from his portrait - oil lamps flared -
There were no chairs or pews - I felt the floor sway beneath me - I thought of the words from the 1662 Book of Common Prayer - Almighty God, unto to whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid -
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