Month: November 2007

  • There is such a thing as too much Victorian Gothic Architecture

    Honestly.  Walking round Mumbai is like walking round the V&A and the Natural History Museum, with the worst excesses of the Natural History Museum in Oxford, plus St Pancras Station thrown in for good measure.  I'm almost thankful for the bomb damage in London...otherwise, London too could be similarly overwhelming.

     went on the Guide Book's suggested walk today (2.5km, allow three hours: I detoured, and it's taken me closer to seven.  What with the stop at the museum, and all.  Museum was like a wannabe V&A.  I think I've been spoilt by London).  I started off at the Gateway to India, which was built to commemorate George V's visit.  I feel it shows a distinct Lack of Interest on the part of the monarchy that no King or Queen visited before George V, but Victoria had been Empress of India since the mid 1850s.  I think Edward, Prince of Wales (Edward VII) made it out while he was Prince of Wales, but I'm not entirely sure.  Can't remember when the Queen last visited: fortunately, Ken Livingstone has now gone home!  The Gateway to India was full of people who wanted me to go on a trip across the bay to Elephanta Island - a four hour round trip and definitely not without my seasick pills - as well as who wanted to take me on a tour round Mumbai.  Got caught by a holy man, and am now sporting a painted on bindi, and red cord round my wrist, which is dyeing my skin a lovely shade of saffron, so won't come off until that's worn away.  I have no idea about the staying power of the bindi, but it's stood up to an awful lot of sweat so far.  He also gave me something that looked like popcorn, but isn't, and, since it's been in my purse, I'm not even going to consider tasting it, and a purple flower, since squashed.  I gave him 6 rupees, which was the first change that came to hand, and he blessed me again.  I have no idea as to the significance of all this, but I think I went beyond the going rate....
     
    I skipped the Royal Bombay Yacht Club.  There was far more interesting stuff to see.  All up and down Coloba Causeway, there's stalls.  I gazed at brightly coloured silks, but couldn't think what they could be made into, so didn't buy, and bargained down a wall hanging from 750 rupees to 500 rupees, merely by looking disinterested and wandering off.  There were some Little Black Sambo money boxes like we found at Great Aunt Ella's, on sale which was interesting: I'm not sure if they were reproductions or not.   It's basically a bus, with arms, you put the coin on the thing's right hand, and there's a lever at the back, press it, and the money is tipped down the thing's gullet.  They're all painted up the way the Black and White Minstrels were. Given how the political situation has changed, and how racism is definitely condemmed, I can't think that they'd still be making them.  Apparently, some Bollywood Stars were on the receiving end of racist remarks while they were in London, and this has caused a huge debate with various people in Mumbai saying how non-racist they are (so, consider why Jo was spat at when wearing western clothing?  She's back in Salwars all the time now - she says she gets stared at less).  Meanwhile, someone wandered up and asked if I'd like to be in a Bollywood film.  The answer was no, thank you.
     
    The museum - high Victorian Gothic architecture, a cross between the V&A and the Natural History Museum, smaller, with local Rajastahni and Hindu and Muslim influences thrown in for good measure.  I think it might have been Luteyns, but I'm not sure.  (Have checked their site.  Chap called George Wittet - and it does look very like the GPO here, which he also designed).  They wouldn't let you take in water, so I nearly expired, and repaired to the cafeteria and had a Mirinda.  Mirinda is like the fizzy orange I used to have when we went on holiday when I was small.  It has a printed warning 'contains no fruit', and it definitely perks one up.  I think my insides may be a garish shade of orange now.  It's ever so yummy though.
     
    Further up the road, and a visit to a blue painted synagogue (bit paint-peeling), a quick stop by the Cathedral of St Thomas - honestly, looking at all the memorials in there, one would think that the British merely came to India to fight and die, and not do anything else.  Well.  Apart from have memorials put up, generally by their brothers in arms.  Either they were fighting, or it was cholera, or the ship sank.  Over to the High Court, where they still wear the same silly white flappy things under their collars, apart from lady lawyers in Sarees.  Lady Lawyers in Sarees wear a black choli (blouse) and a creamy white saree that's edged in black - it can be a sort of pattern or plain.  The younger lady lawyers have adopted western dress, with trousers, and shirts with high collars.  I think the older ones look more picturesque.
     
    By this point, I was fed up with Victorian Gothic Architecture, but I found a monument put up by the Mumbai branch of the Rotary, and then went to watch the cricket matches on the Oval Maiden, which is a big dusty green space.  They were also playing Kabaddi, which is a game that is played by two teams of seven, on a pitch divided into two halves.  You take it in turns to send one of your players into the opposing side, and he's got to tag one of the opposition.  The opposition, meanwhile, form a chain.  You have as much time as your lungs will hold out - the players mutter 'kabaddi, kabaddi' under their breath to prove that they're not breathing in.  They used to show it on Channel 4, and it's utterly fascinating.  So I stood and watched that, and then wandered back home, via a slightly different route.  Failed to find anywhere that I wanted to eat - they all looked a bit FULL of men, so I'm going to have room service.  This is somewhat uninspiring, but safe (at least). Showed just entirely how English I am by failing to cross the road in anything remotely resembling a safe manner as I headed back home.  Mumbai roads are terrifying (Jo and I wondered whether we were actually insured for crossing them, as it's a bit of an extreme sport).
     
    I have to go home tomorrow.  I'll be back, for sure, for sure.
     
    xxx

  • Sticky and grimy

    I spent today wandering round Mumbai: or, rather a small part of it.  It goes on rather.  I started off going to Banganga Tank, which is a great big tank of water (which was an odd shade of green), set deep in some winding side streets.  I had an argument with a taxi driver, who wanted to charge me 400 rupees for going there.  I found another taxi driver, who was prepared to go 'by the meter' and it only cost 70.  Much better.  It was ever so nice and peaceful at the tank: it was a bit like a lido, but without any swimming going on in there (and, given the murkiness of the depths, I'm not particularly surprised!).  There were a few tourists, and some families, and a group of small boys who wanted to make friends with me, because they thought I might be a source of pens (I wasn't), and some chickens.  Wandered further into town, found Mahatma Ghandi's house, and had a lovely wander round that: it was full of tourists, including some extremely fat Americans who arrived by chauffeur driven air conditioned car.  I learnt that Ghandi used to spin, and felt that by taking the manufacture of cloth goods out of the factories, and back to the villages, India's poor would become less poor, and it was the only way to ensure their survival.  He was very keen on spinning himself, and there's examples of some of the cotton he spun.  It was a really cool museum, and I spent ages in there.
     
    Had lunch in the same restaurant Jo and I went to last night (well, it was simple, and the food was quite nice, and the service was reasonable), and then went off hunting for the antiques stalls which were supposed to be about a mile away.  Didn't find them.  I found shops selling motor spares, polishing materials, concrete, musical instruments, sewing machines (and spares), electroplating, embroidery threads, material, lunghis, sweets, Chinese food, bangles (I bought 12 bangles for 20 rupees, but I find that Indian ladies have smaller hands than I, so half of them shall be given to Eff), flowers, leather by the yard, plasticised fabric: pretty much everything but the shops I was looking for.  It was a very interesting sort of walk, and nicely untouristy.  Hundreds and thousands of people all jostling about, and lots of noise in the road - if you took away an Indian driver's horn, he would not be able to drive.  I also found the Mumbai Royal Opera House.  It's a fabulous building, and disintegrating completely.  I doubt there's been an opera there for at least 20 years: apparently it got modified so that it could be used as a cinema, but even that wasn't enough to keep it open.  It's a shame.  You can just see the remnants of the etched glass in the doors, and the carvings at the top of the building are stunning.
     
    I meandered back to Chowpatty beach, to watch the sun go down (again), and ignore the hawkers.  It got more and more crowded as the evening went on.  I debated going down to the Royal Bombay Yacht Club, but I really need a good clean before I can show my face there, as I'm terribly dusty.  I think I'll go for a fizzy pop tomorrow morning, after the Gateway to India.  I'm looking forward to tomorrow: the Prince of Wales Museum (it's not called that anymore, but it's far easier to spell!) is open, and that sounds rather fascinating, in a lots of glass cases full of random objects sort of manner.  I think I prefer all these odd museums, with glass cases full of things to discover: I'm obviously getting old and more patient with it!
     
    xxx

  • Things that we will not mention to my Mother

    • That I felt the need to buy & use disinfectant on the lavatory in my bathroom in Pune, and that on the last night, not only did I not have towels, but there was a turd sitting in the bottom of the bowl.  Definitely wasn't mine, as I'd been constipated for two days...
    • In retrospect, I wish I'd used my sleeping bag liner at the same hotel.  I think it was clean dirt, but there was the oddest stain on a pillow case.  I turned it so I wasn't resting on that side of the pillow.
    • There was a mouse scuttling round the floor at the supposedly 'clean' restaurant (according to the Lonely Planet) near the station.  Mind you, it was a reasonably clean looking mouse, very sleek and evidently well fed.  Kinda grey, rather than the sooty blackness of the mice on the underground in England.  It didn't run over my toes, therefore I did not scream.  I feel I showed great restraint, considering what happened last time there was a mouse, and I screamed and jumped onto the sofa.
    • That the tour bus round Agra had a very broken windscreen (and it wasn't safety glass - you know how windscreens normally shatter into many small pieces, but remain intact?  Well, this had great HUGE cracks running across it).  It also had a very broken sign above the windscreen, and some extremely broken seats, and lots of insects...
    • I appear to have bruised myself round my bites by scratching, and they look a most odd shade of purple.
    • My feet will never be clean again: and I felt the need to take a tissue to my elbow creases while sitting on the beach, as I've never seen so much dirt collect there.  I am not entirely clear as to how it got there.
    • I've had to use my inhaler more in the past week than the past year - but hey!  I have an inhaler and it functions properly.  Much happiness.
    • I have managed to get myself scarily lost while wandering round Pune at night.  Indian maps tend to miss out vital roads - rather like those sexy little postcard-sized folding maps of major European cities.  Indian maps also locate important places where they don't actually exist.  How we never exported the Ordinance Survey I know not.  This is entirely the fault of the British!
    • Many things are the fault of the British, and occasionally it's a little uneasy as a result.  But only occasionally.  I keep wanting to apologise about the mess that got made with Partition.
    • Auto rickshaws are the most ennervating form of transport known to mankind, and I always get the one who wants to overtake Everything.  That's assuming he knows where he's going.  Frequently, he does not, and has to stop en route to ask one of his mates.  London Taxis, with The Knowledge, have spoiled me something rotten!
    • Five minutes after leaving the filthiest bus stop in Pune™ the tour bus collided with an autorickshaw, and nearly took the thing out.  This happened just below where I was sitting.  I had an excellent view.
    • There was no lifebelt under my seat for the internal flight.  On the other hand, I don't think we flew over the sea.
    • The guy sitting next to me on the train home from Agra kept grabbing his crotch and staring at me.  I could tell he wasn't well brought up, as he ate his food with his left hand...  You do not use your left hand for eating food in India.  It is for wiping after a loo break.
    • I saw a goat being disembowelled.
    • Indian drivers use their horns indiscriminately, and are just as likely to turn left when they signal right as they are to go straight on, or to turn right.  This is assuming that they have learnt how the indicators work, which is debateable.  Crossing the road is always challenging.

    xxx

  • Back to Bom!

    I'm back in Mumbai: I've got a lovely old hotel, from 1922.  Proper colonial, from the twilight of the Raj.  Even better, the internet here is free, and it's five minutes walk from the glorious old Victoria Terminus (but it's not called that any more) train station.  I've just waved Jo off back to Pune.  I'm going to miss her, but I have some nice plans for the next couple of days.  There's a walk to go on tomorrow, with a bazaar to look round, and then, on Tuesday, I shall go museuming.  I've been to two lovely museums in Pune, full of all sorts of interesting knick knacks and curios in glass cases: one had some really beautiful sarees, and embroidered children's clothes, and a whole room done up like a mughal's palace.  The other was full of entirely random things: the odd motheaten looking seal; an elephant's scull; a portrait of George V done in 'nail art' on a giant piece of paper in an elaborated carved wooden case; Edward VII in embroidery; examples of pottery; and several scary looking posters inveigling one to avoid Alcohol and Tobacco on pain of lowering one's academic achievements!
     
    Yesterday, we went to the Taj Mahal.  It was absolutely beautiful.  We finally got there as dusk was beginning to fall (we were on the state organised tour - the problem with state organised tours is that there's an awful lot of being rushed and an awful lot of eating lunch!), and the dust and the low light levels made it magical.  I just managed to squeeze into the dome itself - it was pitch black in there, so I had to let my camera do the seeing for me, with its flash.  Despite all the crowds and crowds of people, it was a peaceful sort of place.  And there were lots of children running round, and climbing up and down, and laughing and playing.  All the men looked such a drab lot - they've mostly adopted western dress (with some of the foulest knitted sleeveless jumpers - I forget the technical term - knitted with love, but out of horrible wool).  The ladies, in their brightly coloured sarees and shalwar kameez made a contrast.  They love acid bright colours: colours that really glow!  The trip was worth getting up at 6 am, and a three hour train journey (we were very lucky - the guard let us have his reserved seats: I think because we didn't argue about being in the corridor.  We had 'waitlisted' reserved seats, which bought us the right to sit down if someone else cancelled, and were far down the list), and much bumping on a bus, and then a four hour journey home. I'm not sure why the train was so late, but I was very glad that we'd got seats on the way home, even if the gentleman two seats down was snoring fit to wake the dead!  He sounded positively adenoidal!
     
    I've more or less solved the horrendous poverty problem for myself: Jo and I bought a box of sweets on the platform at Agra.  They were local sweets, made from pumpkin, and rather sickly after one or two.  So we gave the rest of the box to the little children who were begging, dishing out one sweet at a time.  There were some very sticky small beggars after that, but they looked so pleased!  And we could see them eating the food - it's a much nicer way of dealing with things, because then we know they're getting something rather than being controlled by someone else.  Still, I intend to get the Brownies onto fundraising for them, perhaps as something to do for Thinking Day (when we Think about all the Brownies and Guides and Girl Scouts round the world).  That would be more practical and helpful in the long term.  I do long, though, to take some of those children off and give them a hearty meal and a good scrub!  Doubtless, they'd be filthy again within the hour.
     
    It being Sunday, there were lots of impromptu cricket matches going on in the streets round here when we walked out to find a bookshop (I've had to buy books, I have run out of reading matter - they are so much cheaper than in England, I shall have to be restrained.  Was very pleased to see that 'What they don't teach you at Harvard Business School' is still in print - Dad has had a copy since it was first published, and there is salient information in there!).  Jo is really rather good at fielding errant plastic balls and returning them to their owners.  I rather wanted to join in, but no girls were playing, and there was nowhere safe for my bag to go....
     
    Have managed to be bitten, three times: but my super-strength Jungle Formula anti-mosquito repellent is evidently working.  Jo hadn't been so diligent, and has managed to be bitten several times more.
     
    We spent this evening on Chowpatty Beach, which is, like the rest of India, rather more rubbish strewn than one would like: but safe, and full of families, and hawkers wandering round and selling windmills, and nuts, and candyfloss in lurid shades of pink and orange.  There were some chaps with plastic toy cars and a motorbike, and they were trundling round the toddlers in these things for 10 rupees a go.  Some brave souls were swimming, which I don't think I'd do - the water looked like Southend on a bad day, and was miles out.  We avoided tar, as there didn't seem to be any.  Hurrah!
     
    I'm enjoying myself and I'm in no huge hurry to come home quite yet.  So far, I think this is the best trip I've been on!
     
    xxx
     

  • Navel gazing

    I had a very great navel gazing session last night: I was feeling somewhat disgusted with myself and my attitudes, and it all rather hit.  I don't have any concrete solutions.  However, I feel that I'm more aware... and no, I didn't come to India to 'find' myself.  I came to India to visit my flatmate Jo who is at KEM Hospital, in the obs and gynae wing, and who is looking at the differences between British and Indian Maternity care as part of a final year medical degree project.  Apparently today will be full of lapriscopic sterilisations - there are always more when the kids are off school and their older siblings can look after them.  The day before yesterday she missed out on seeing an inner labial reduction, which is apparently quite rare.  Normally in the UK it's an entirely cosmetic procedure, which they avoid doing because it can damage the clitoris (now I'm going to get odd sorts of search results popping up!).  In India, though, it's more common: Jo wanted to see this one, as she's never seen overly large labia before.  Apparently they can ulcerate if they're too big - friction while sitting down.  Anyhow, faced with that, losing sensation in other parts of your lady bits seems a small price to pay.  Either that, or Indian Ladies aren't so bothered about that area in the first place.  Anyhow, the maternity system seems to be about 40-50 years behind the UK.  There's a labour ward, very noisy, and when the baby crowns, they have to walk to the delivery room, where they're laid flat on their backs with their legs in stirrups.  No other option.  A cut is de rigeur: no-one in India will be allowed to tear (it's much easier to sew up a cut on everyone than it is to deal with multiple layers of tears on a few), and once the baby's born, it's whipped away to be checked out, and it can be hours before Mum sees it again.  Mind you, by that point, it will be nice and clean rather than kinda bloodstained: however, the babies don't necessarily get the colostrum in a timely manner, and must be very hungry by then.  All the nurses, apart from the Mother Theresa nuns, are in old fashioned uniforms, with caps, and the doctors where white coats.  Cleanliness is a bit hit and miss.  The hospitals are spotless - much less MRSA.  But they use the same razor to shave all the ladies before they give birth.  Yuck!

     Right, everyone still got brekker inside them? Or was that just a bit too much information?!

    I'm not going to be interesting today: I'm going to go and look at some caves in the city, and then a museum next them, and then relax at the Poona Club.  There's a website http://www.poonaclubltd.com, so you can see.  I feel faintly guilty about going, because there's just so much poverty: on the other hand, my presence there helps keep people in work, and in this country, you have three people doing what one would do in the UK.  For example, at museums, you buy your ticket and then, about five steps later, someone checks your ticket and tears a bit off it.
     
    I feel very annoyed with myself: a little beggar girl came up to me last night, and put her hand on my arm, and she had the coldest fingers: I've not had cold digits since I arrived here, so she must have been frozen through lack of food.  What did I do?  Pulled my arm away.  I can't work out if giving her money would help, hinder, make no difference or what.  But I intend to have a couple of rupees in my hand next time I go round that corner at night, just in case I see her again.  Because, after tonight, I shan't see her again at all, and I feel that I've acted in an unfeeling way.  Who's to say that the money won't go for food?  I hope it does, if I see her again.  I've got a beggar in Camden who's the only one I give some cash to on occasion.  Irish lass, talks like there's no tomorrow, and is always terribly grateful and says thank you - although I haven't seen her for a while.  Hope that's because she's found her way off the streets.
     
    I"m not sure what to do about the poverty question in general: apart from making sure that what I spend is spent locally if possible.  I rather wish I had a pair of shoes for the roadside shoe repairmen to work upon: it's fascinating watching them.
     
    xxx

  • Not a good start to the day...

    Any day which begins with a sulky stomach and a nosebleed does not begin well.  And I couldn't find anyone at the breakfast room at the hotel, so retreated to have a flapjack in my room - much shame, as I was looking forward to my cheese omelette: by the time I'd eaten my flapjack, the breakfast room was heaving.  I, however, had to be at the bus stop for 8.30.  I was there by 8.15, and the bus left at 8.45.  Not too bad, really.  Still, I was well rested, well fed, well watered, and cannot complain.

    I went on the Tourist Bus Tour round Pune. To be honest, it wasn't that interesting, despite starting with a literal BANG <exclamation mark - the keyboard won't do them>, as we nearly took out an autorickshaw, just below my window: I had a wonderful view of it all.  Much irate arm waving and yelling went on, then they rolled the rickshaw back a big, since they don't have reverse, and we were on our way.  It was nice to see the palace, and the 'Lal Mahal', which is where one of the kings grew up, and there were some very lovely temples, but they drove us miles out of the city for lunch, so we didn't have half enough time at the Aga Khan's palace, which is where Gandhi was imprisoned.  I can now, however, say that I've seen Gandhi's sandals, which is rather comforting.  A lot of social reformers appear to have been connected with Pune: chap called Ambedkar, and another called Tilak, as well as Gandhi.  Gandhi's Great Grandson has entered into politics now.  The name is very strong<exclamation mark>. I've taken plenty of photos, and made friends with Soneel 8, Chiatra 15 and Amandam 7 ish, and like a monkey.  They taught me how to say 'what is your name in hindi', which is 'Am Param Chia Ram'  I think.  Showed them some English money, and tried to explain about Brownies.  Ended up showing pictures of my Brownies still on my camera.  They were lovely, smilely, and shy, and I felt shy too, so we did much smiling at each other.  Rather wish I'd worn flip flops, as I spent much time removing and replacing my terribly stout sandals.
     
    I intend to spend tomorrow being very lazy at the Poona Club - I have run out of sights, and I've bought all I want to buy: some presents, and a second shalwar kameez to make laundry over the next few days easier. I've no huge desire to meander down Laxmi Road: it's vibrant, and gorgeous, and full of colour, and I think it would make for great photos.  Well.  Maybe I'll detour there...but it's not the nicest area, and I'm not sure I want to walk down it alone.  Caution is my watchword.   I'll leave both the shalwar kameez I've bought with Jo, as they are 'free' size, so she can make use of them during the rest of her time here.  I am well aware that spending the day in a privileged enclave is a complete cop out, but, this is also my holiday.  I do not need to hare around the place.  Besides.  It'll give me a chance to work out how to solve the poverty question, bearing in mind just how dire the infrastructure is here.
     
    I am very much looking forward to some supper. I'll walk down to the hospital, and meet Jo, and we'll find somewhere, and plot what to do next about the trains for the Taj Mahal.  I think we are on the waiting list at the moment, but I'm sure we'll get a seat by hook or by crook.  I am getting there somehow, even if it means taking a taxi.  The Anthropologist has given me the number of a Good Person in Delhi, so I have Much Faith.  I discovered how to beat the queues at the train station.  Head for the window labelled 'Credit Card'.  Once again, I feel disgusted with myself for being able to take this option.  However, were I to live in India, I'd be working in an IT job, somewhere in the IT enclave outside Pune city, and would be doing much the same.  Hmmm.  That doesn't help.
     
    Must find the Save the Children Website.  And work out how to set up stand pipes in all slum areas, and how to wash all the grubby little children.  Was very pleased to see that there is an animal orphanage here, particularly after the wee small kitten and wee small puppy I saw yesterday.  I'd like to think they'll make it there if they need to.
     
    xxx

  • Sangam, nosebleeds, and taxis

    Sangam, the World Guiding Centre for Australasia, is in a world of it's own.  Just over the road from appalling slums: first time I've had children coming up and patting me on the arm, to say hello and beg.  In Sangam, you could be anywhere in the world: and that's the problem I have with World Centres.  Pax Lodge is just the same.  It's Guidey.  Not that Guidey is a bad thing, but, it is Guidey to the extent that almost anything native is pushed out of existence.  Yes, it's India, so we say Namaste to lots of people as we go past, but, it's international, so we feel Canadian, and Venezuelan, and Irish, and Australian and British.  Still, it was wonderful to visit: even if I did end up meeting scadloads of elderly Guiders from Bucks, including the lady who was my Division Commissioner when I was a Brownie...  It's a small world, after all.  Sangam does better than Pax Lodge: a local Guide Group meets there on Sundays.  Sign, though, that they don't interact much: there was only one Indian Guide handbook in the place, and I've got it now, because I wanted to work out where the badges I bought go on the Indian Guide uniform Jo and I bought on Sunday night.

    This morning, I headed out to Sassoon Road, to the PMT office (Pune Municipal Transport).  Got to the road.  Walked its length.  Could not find it.  Stood.  Blew nose.  Began nose bleed.  Floundering, dupatta totally out of control, I fetched up in the garden of the local police station - which looked like it might have been the PMT office, and sorted out my nose, and asked a police man.  PMT Office was small hole in wall completely obliterated by a bus stop.  Still, I am booked onto the Tourist bus at the unfeasibly early hour of 8.30 tomorrow morning, which means I'll have to leave my billet at 7.50 in the morning, and let's not even think what time that is in English, since I've more or less adjusted my bodyclock.

    This afternoon, I spent being gypped by taxi drivers.  I cannot summon the wherewithal to argue with them in this heat.  Having fallen asleep in the Poona club (it was very soporific in there), I went into the Peths.  The driver insisted on waiting while I meandered round the museum and, you know, I spent so long in there, I don't really begrudge him the second 100 rupees he persuaded out of me, but I will be FIRM tomorrow with them.  Jo is much better.  I am a pushover.  Loved the Peth area.  It was properly Indian: I tended to lean out of the rickshaw and take random photos, and I've got some that I'm very pleased with.  A mass of teeming streets, small, pokey, quantities of corners (I swear there's something flying around this internet cafe, I hope it's a butterfly), noisy and smelly.  Vibrant, and colourful, and amazing, and full of old buildings.  It is amazing that they haven't fallen down: India follows the Italian model.  Puts up building.  Fails to maintain it until it's almost falling down....

    Ah yes.  The smell.  Generally, sewers, or wee, or excrement, or incense.  Very little spices.  Alas.

    Got very upset by the station; the tinest baby I've ever seen, suckling, its Mother lying flat on her side, looking as though she'd run out of energy and could not care at all what happened to her.  I have no idea what to do about this, but it can't go on.  I should do something, but I'm not sure what yet.  I think I begin with finding a local charity to donate to, and then, go onwards from that.  Because I don't know enough to do anything particularly practical myself this instance.  And that was upsetting.  I couldn't do anything practical.

    xxx

  • Went up mountain. Saw goat disembowelled.

    I hear it's snowing in England... no precipitation of any sort here.  It's still lovely and warm, but cool enough at night not to need the aircon (which is just as well, given the ballywhacking racket it makes!).
     
    Yesterday, we went hiking up into the mountains, to see some impressive man made caves, from 200BC.  THere was a festival going on by one of them, and thousands of pilgrims.  Very noisy and colourful, and a bit smelly.  We got stuck in a traffic jam next to the goat slaughterhouse.  Most of the goats outside seemed pretty unmoved, apart from one who was being dragged along unwillingly by the foreleg (mind you, I'd have been unwilling if it were me!)  Saw a chap skinning a goat, another disembowelling one - by that point, it looked more like meat in a butcher's shop.  He was very efficient when it came to looping up the intestine.  I have no idea how my bladder held out, but it did, from 9am to 7pm....was I glad to find the loos at Pune station!   We saw two sets of caves.  The second was much nice.r  Fewer people, less climbing, more rooms to explore. 
     
    Today I'm off to Sangam, to the Girl Guide World Centre (yesterday, Jo and I bought an Indian Guide uniform, to use in the Division.  It cost 5quid for dress, hat, badges, name tags....).

     
    This keyboard is a bit weird, but it's taken me an hour and a half to find a functional internet cafe, although in the middle of that, I meandered into a very good museum.  Wel.  It was interesting.  Marble statue of Edward VIII, Prince of Wales, a 'nail art' picture of George VI, Edward VII done in silk tapestry, models of ground nut oil plants, some very moth eaten looking african lions, an elephant's skull, 'useful items made of clay', 'artistic items from laquer', relief maps, models of watering systems, lots of daggers, guns, knives, and posters inveigling one against the perils of alcohol abuse!  Such a mish mash, and in ebony/sandalwood/all sorts of other wood cases.  I rather liked it, and it cost the princely sum of 5 rupees (about thruppence).
     
    Tomorrow I intend more museums, and a little light shopping.  Perhaps a trip to the Poona club.
     
    xxx

  • Glove miscalculation

    Apparently only 94 latex gloves, and they have been more or less safely delivered.  They're still sitting in my hotel room, but only until Jo goes back to her hotel for the night. With great organisation, I have managed to book a hotel that is halfway across the city from her...

    Mumbai (suburb of) was a jumble of noise and colours and people and dust and lots of people sweeping up and splashing around water as though they were high priests ready to annoint the quick and the dead.  Native clothing is definitely the way to go: I would say I've got the hang of my dupatta now, but I actually think that today's dupatta (cotton) is just more grippy than yesterday's synthetic effort.  It's ridiculously warm, and I spent most of last night not sleeping properly - having fallen asleep entirely randomly, at 8pm, with the light on, and no earplugs against the noise (and the noise my dears, is almost excreable.  Thousands of auto rickshaws with horns that are strident and blaring, or simply expiring and making a noise like a dying duck in a thunderstorm owing to overuse), I then woke equally randomly an hour or so later, and remained awake fretting about work, Guides, Brownies and Other Things over which I have no control.  Tonight will be better.

    We got up terribly early, and had intrestingly eggy breakfasts (I am a firm fan of upattams, which don't involve wheat but in this case involved something oddly spicy at random intervals, much onion, the odd cashew nut, and raisins) before taking a taxi to Victoria Train Station (the really big famous one) and the train out to Pune.  The man in front of us wanted the fan on, the gentleman behind wanted it off.  Piggy in the middle here had control of the switch.  Fortunately, they settled it between them before, once again, I fell asleep in an entirely random fashion!  Pune is highly geeky, and I'm staying in Deccan Gymkana, close to the university.  There are all sorts of intriguing adverts for IT conferences and events.

    It's very bizarre: there is an unreal quality to where I am at the moment.  It doesn't seem quite real.  Partly because this is a culture of which I have no experience, and, partly I suspect because I've seen so much of India on the television (what with all the programmes to celebrate 50 years since Partition) and in films.  The films are very sanitised.  No disintegrating pavements there, and the sweepers have always been past recently.I keep wanting to adopt stray dogs: there was a beautiful dark brown cur with ginger eyebrows, and I thought that she was utterly huggable.  I might have difficulties with customs.  I do not yet feel strongly enough to emigrate, set up a dog sancturary, and drive around in a little auto rickshaw looking for strays to castrate.  I'm also allergic to dogs, which is another good reason for not going in for that as a line of business.

     

    xxx

  • To India, with 100 latex gloves

    Goodness only knows what Customs and Excise will make of that.  Apparently, Jo, in the hospital, is in need of the things.  Along with two memory sticks and the Travellers' Cheques she mistakenly sent home with her parents.

    Her parents have given me 200 rupees to play with.  Which will buy lunch.  Bless.

    I'm excited and fidgety, and don't want to be at work, and want to be flying now now now.  I am also full of about a litre and a half of liquid, in a mad, pre-flight attempt at hydration.  This is all the Anthropologist's fault.  It means I keep needing to bob up and down and go to the lav.

    Til next we meet.  Whatever happens, it's an awfully big adventure.

    xxx