Having cleared the airport formalities we simply sat outside the airport waiting for the sun to come up. Chennai is not like the sleepy European cities I am used to - the sun doesn't rise slowly and reluctantly. Here it snaps over the horizon and the city jump-starts into life. It seems that this body of six million people is kept alive not by the circulation of blood, but of traffic. The persistent demand to be somewhere else has created a variety of species: white Austin taxis, yellow autorickshaws, cycle rickshaws of varying design, scooters, cycles, precariously overloaded buses, flashy "ac'd" modern tinted windowed cars; not to mention cows, people and dogs. I have been assured that the roads are organized into lanes, but if so these seem to have only a theoretical value. Scooters and autorickshaws weave in and out of the paths of buses, trucks and taxis while pedestrians swarm through the gaps.

To say that the streets are full of life is an understatement - many people live and work there too. Chennai traffic is more vocal than I'm used to - everyone seems to find it necessary to beep their horns all the time. But this is less an exasperated shout of "Get out of my way" and more of a courteous "Hello, I'm over here". As if anyone needed further encouragement, trucks even have "sound your horn" painted on their tailgates.

If the roads are its veins and arteries then Chennai's voice must be its billboards. They sprout from every conceivable space and shout slogans and logos to the circulating traffic. These sixty foot monsters had me completely fooled for some time. Even close up you'd think they had been produced by some fancy graphics software and a very big printing press. But no, I've seen the painters at work. These street furniture artists prop large wooden ladders against the billboards. The ladders themselves are incredible; they are nothing more than wooden poles 30+ foot long, bound together with rope. The gap between each rung must be six feet at least, and yet the painters are there, two storeys up, nonchalantly applying the paint with neither rope nor harness to protect them.

The past few days I have been attending Surya's wedding. Surya, and his impending matrimony, is indeed the whole reason I am in India. Were it not for him, I would have been heading straight to New Zealand leaving my bank balance enfeebled, but not in the crippled state into which I suspect it will soon descend. I was the sole representative of the Anglo-Saxon gene pool at the ceremonies and, dressed in a shirt freshly crumpled from my rucksack, and a pair of walking sandals, I can't say I did my race justice.

Still, for the past few days, I have been shuttled backwards and forwards between luxurious locations for ceremonies and delicious food invariably served on the ubiquitous banana leaf. The food is spicy - but not as hot as I expected. My current favourites are a kind of rice pancake filled with some spicy mixture (I think called a Dosai) and, of course, the bananas! India is to the banana what Italy is to the tomato. There are many types - but my favourite so far is a short yellow stubby variety. They are so sweet and full of flavour that I could easily live off them, however chilling a concept that might be for close friends. The fruit juices are good too - freshly squeezed pineapple juice has to be tasted to be believed! The wedding itself was quite spectacular, in particular the 'crunch a popadom in your new spouse's face' game! It was all great fun and I even got to wear a Dhoti - the traditional garb for male wedding guests.

Today I checked out of my luxurious hotel and am trying to head for the lusher west coast and Kochi in Kerala. Chennai itself has surprised me with its own, undeniably green, flora. Trees are everywhere as shade is paramount, and some of the largest - vast unidentifiable cathedral-like structures - cast welcome shadows from the heat of the Indian sun. But Kerala, where the monsoons hit land, and buffetted as it is by westerly sea breezes, will definitely be a welcome change to the dusty odourscape of Chennai.