Juhu Beach on a Sunday evening ....
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Three months and still smiling
Last week was my three month anniversary here in India and it feels more like six! Its difficult to summarise the last three months of my life but here are some memories that stand out from the rest:
Highlights:
Riding on the back of my boss' bike, up and down the expressways, to business meetings
Taking Seb to the Taj, its just stunning even in 42 degree heat
Praying in the Golden Temple in Amritsar, and receiving a special blessing and a bright orange turban cloth
Eating Indian food with my hands
Watching the sunset from the Matheran hill station just outside Mumbai
Swimming in the outdoor pools of the posh 5* hotels when friends visit on corporate business
Travelling 24 hours by train and bus to remote villages and being one of the few foreigners ever to visit.
Sleeping under the stars in remote rural villages
Singing Radio Head at 3am at the leaving party for a Philipino diplomat to the entire Delhi philipino population
Jogging on Juhu beach in the morning, dodging the cricket balls
The rickshaw drivers in Mumbai, they go by the meter, and give you your one rupee change
Lowlights:
The rickshaw drivers in Delhi, they never want to take you, and they never go by the meter
Having to clean of the poo (and its not from a dog) imbedded into the tread of my trainers, after a morning jog on Juhu beach
A dodgy tummy from eating Japanese food at a very expensive restaurant in a 5* hotel, I could have had 1,000 “vada pavs” for the same price. Vada pavs is my favourite street food, a very yummy potato patty in a burger bun with spicy relish
Impoverished street children asking for food, and me getting use to ignoring them
The 14 year old electrician who worked for three hours on stuff in my flat and gets only £15 a month
A mouse running over my foot on a dirty Mumbai train
Been woken by women mourning someones death in the shacks outside my bedroom window
Arriving in one India’s biggest and liveliest cities in the world and feeling very alone
Having no clean clothes and no desire to do handwashing in a bucket ...
And here’s some memorable stories ….
Getting gas – some things are so easy here and some things are not, and there is not rhyme or reason way. It’s usually the things you really want which are not easy. Getting a gas cylinder was one of them. It was my first experience of pure unadulterated corruption. Before I could buy a certificate, which enabled me to buy gas cylinder, I had to buy a pressure cooker and 5kgs of rice (both of which I didn’t want and gave away to the women who collects my rubbish). I also had to donate a monetary gift to the chief in charge. Then after waiting for two hours post the pre-arranged visit for my gas to arrive, I went back to the centre to enquire. Their response was “give us 300 rupees and he will come in 5 minutes”. Of course I donated a further 300rs to their cause, and my gas cylinder was delivered in 5 minutes. Won’t I don’t understand from the whole fiasco was why didn’t they tell me 2 hours earlier?
Realising my hatred for cockcroaches - Visiting a volunteer my organisation had placed in a remote rural village 12 hours bus journey out of Mumbai. Due to limited space I slept outside on a terrace made smooth by spreading a mixture of water and cow dung, which is then baked in the sun. Thankfully I took onboard my colleagues advice to wrap my “dupata”, which is a long Indian scarf, around my ears and over my head, like a huge bandage. A wise move as I woke up in the middle of the night with a 2 inch cockcroach crawling in my hair, the scarf was to prevent it from getting into my ears!
Porshe, anyone? - On arrival in India I spent my first 6 weeks in Delhi. My last night in Delhi was as memorable as my first. It was spent drink champagne along with 100 of the richest men in India, at the launch of Porshe. Until this event a Porshe could not be legally imported into India. How does a VSO volunteer get an invited to such an exclusive event … well I was invited by my well-heeled Sikh Bollywood dancing partner. On arrival in Delhi, taking seriously the goal of becoming an extra in a Bollywood movie, I jumped at the chance of attending Bollywood Dance Classes at Golf Links Community Centre. The class consisted of 6 primary school girls, two middle-aged Indian mums, and Kirat, the community’s centre president. Golf Links I soon realised, is one of the most affluent suburbs in South Delhi, and so is my Sikh, turban wearing dancing partner.
Highlights:
Riding on the back of my boss' bike, up and down the expressways, to business meetings
Taking Seb to the Taj, its just stunning even in 42 degree heat
Praying in the Golden Temple in Amritsar, and receiving a special blessing and a bright orange turban cloth
Eating Indian food with my hands
Watching the sunset from the Matheran hill station just outside Mumbai
Swimming in the outdoor pools of the posh 5* hotels when friends visit on corporate business
Travelling 24 hours by train and bus to remote villages and being one of the few foreigners ever to visit.
Sleeping under the stars in remote rural villages
Singing Radio Head at 3am at the leaving party for a Philipino diplomat to the entire Delhi philipino population
Jogging on Juhu beach in the morning, dodging the cricket balls
The rickshaw drivers in Mumbai, they go by the meter, and give you your one rupee change
Lowlights:
The rickshaw drivers in Delhi, they never want to take you, and they never go by the meter
Having to clean of the poo (and its not from a dog) imbedded into the tread of my trainers, after a morning jog on Juhu beach
A dodgy tummy from eating Japanese food at a very expensive restaurant in a 5* hotel, I could have had 1,000 “vada pavs” for the same price. Vada pavs is my favourite street food, a very yummy potato patty in a burger bun with spicy relish
Impoverished street children asking for food, and me getting use to ignoring them
The 14 year old electrician who worked for three hours on stuff in my flat and gets only £15 a month
A mouse running over my foot on a dirty Mumbai train
Been woken by women mourning someones death in the shacks outside my bedroom window
Arriving in one India’s biggest and liveliest cities in the world and feeling very alone
Having no clean clothes and no desire to do handwashing in a bucket ...
And here’s some memorable stories ….
Getting gas – some things are so easy here and some things are not, and there is not rhyme or reason way. It’s usually the things you really want which are not easy. Getting a gas cylinder was one of them. It was my first experience of pure unadulterated corruption. Before I could buy a certificate, which enabled me to buy gas cylinder, I had to buy a pressure cooker and 5kgs of rice (both of which I didn’t want and gave away to the women who collects my rubbish). I also had to donate a monetary gift to the chief in charge. Then after waiting for two hours post the pre-arranged visit for my gas to arrive, I went back to the centre to enquire. Their response was “give us 300 rupees and he will come in 5 minutes”. Of course I donated a further 300rs to their cause, and my gas cylinder was delivered in 5 minutes. Won’t I don’t understand from the whole fiasco was why didn’t they tell me 2 hours earlier?
Realising my hatred for cockcroaches - Visiting a volunteer my organisation had placed in a remote rural village 12 hours bus journey out of Mumbai. Due to limited space I slept outside on a terrace made smooth by spreading a mixture of water and cow dung, which is then baked in the sun. Thankfully I took onboard my colleagues advice to wrap my “dupata”, which is a long Indian scarf, around my ears and over my head, like a huge bandage. A wise move as I woke up in the middle of the night with a 2 inch cockcroach crawling in my hair, the scarf was to prevent it from getting into my ears!
Porshe, anyone? - On arrival in India I spent my first 6 weeks in Delhi. My last night in Delhi was as memorable as my first. It was spent drink champagne along with 100 of the richest men in India, at the launch of Porshe. Until this event a Porshe could not be legally imported into India. How does a VSO volunteer get an invited to such an exclusive event … well I was invited by my well-heeled Sikh Bollywood dancing partner. On arrival in Delhi, taking seriously the goal of becoming an extra in a Bollywood movie, I jumped at the chance of attending Bollywood Dance Classes at Golf Links Community Centre. The class consisted of 6 primary school girls, two middle-aged Indian mums, and Kirat, the community’s centre president. Golf Links I soon realised, is one of the most affluent suburbs in South Delhi, and so is my Sikh, turban wearing dancing partner.
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