tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50644372225532831942024-03-14T09:44:57.418+05:30Two Million GodsA British expat's life in DelhiChrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-15292242827342636702013-01-26T16:11:00.000+05:302013-01-26T16:11:08.955+05:30Decadence and dummies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Some friends and I decided to go to the movies the other day. I haven't been much while I've been in India, mainly because it's mostly Bollywood films that are shown and they're just not much fun for me without subtitles (though I can admire the groovy dance moves as well as anyone). However, the big blockbuster movies from abroad to get a showing, so we decided to troop off to see Les Mis. I was probably about 15 when I first saw the stage version, and having gone through a phase of being utterly obsessed with it I can still pretty much sing it from end to end. So the movie version was obviously going to be a must. It helped that this particular group of friends are a laid-back, creative-type bunch who could be expected to be a little more tolerant of the occasional irrepressible burst of singing-along.<br />
<br />
So off we went to the mall. I've blogged before about the slightly surreal experience of going to the mall in Delhi. It's not just the sparkling, glass-and-chrome contrast with the chaotic streets of the city, but the fact that malls here take the concept of high-end retail and multiply it by 10, achieving a level of swankiness that most shopping centres in the UK could only dream of.<br />
<br />
I wasn't prepared, though, for the experience of "gold class" cinema ticket at a Delhi mall. Les Mis had two showings, one at 10 pm (gold class) and one at 11 pm (regular). Gold Class was, naturally, shockingly expensive for India, but still only about the average price of a cinema ticket back home. I knew it was a long movie and I'd had a bit of a long week, and having had a little bit of a windfall courtesy of Mr Taxman back in London I decided to treat us so that we could get home at a reasonable hour.<br />
<br />
There were 35 seats in the cinema. We had four; two others were occupied. "Seats" doesn't really convey it though. These were the most comfortable things I had ever sat on in my life. Each of them had enough foot room for a giant to stretch out, they reclined to pretty much horizontal, and they seemed to have about a foot of padding across their whole surface. I wanted to take them home with me.<br />
<br />
We all got a little bit excited and giggly at the ridiculousness of it. I mean, with six people in the cinema how on earth could this possibly be making money? So my friend Subhashani's camera came out as we lounged around and called out orders to imaginary minions (apologies for the picture quality).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tjKw38lEdqk/UQOr57q1fgI/AAAAAAAABJM/LL41n0kcnsw/s1600/lesmis3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tjKw38lEdqk/UQOr57q1fgI/AAAAAAAABJM/LL41n0kcnsw/s400/lesmis3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Varoon and me. Overexcited.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LzyveH28T-4/UQOp1psagSI/AAAAAAAABIg/tkx-MTAkZus/s1600/WP_000526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LzyveH28T-4/UQOp1psagSI/AAAAAAAABIg/tkx-MTAkZus/s400/WP_000526.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Subhashani and me. Overexcited.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sz9K3oizBi0/UQOr41ytBaI/AAAAAAAABJA/w2Gq4NNCRVo/s1600/lesmis4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sz9K3oizBi0/UQOr41ytBaI/AAAAAAAABJA/w2Gq4NNCRVo/s400/lesmis4.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Vini. Vini is way too cool to get overexcited.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6TrDYfhJnV8/UQOr5rFKxJI/AAAAAAAABJI/O0pjt8O4zKM/s1600/lesmis2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6TrDYfhJnV8/UQOr5rFKxJI/AAAAAAAABJI/O0pjt8O4zKM/s400/lesmis2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Me looking especially taken with the complimentary blankets.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Once we'd actually calmed down enough to watch the movie, it turned out to be a bit of a mixed bag. But I'm not here to write a movie review. Suffice to say that when the other two people in the cinema left at the intermission, this was pretty much our cue to get overexcited and giggly all over again (and in my case, to sing along to Do You Hear The People Sing while wondering at the capacity of my friends for extreme tolerance). </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I have to admit that for all the ludicrousness (and apparently lack of a sensible business model) it was more enjoyable than your average cinema trip. Even despite the occasional burst of Indian-style sensitive customer service - in this case, showing up to shine a torch in our faces and present the bill for soft drinks at the very moment that Eponine was about to expire in Marius's arms. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I can't help wondering though whether the lack of other attendees was down to an unwillingness on the part of well-heeled Indians to spend extra money on a luxury cinema seat or the movie itself (though you'd think that a film consisting almost entirely of singing would go down well here. No dancing though. Maybe that's it). I'm sure places like this exist in the UK too, but who would bother forking out the extra on a regular basis? Is there really a sustainable market for this kind of thing?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
As we were leaving through the underground parking we came across one of the most terrifying things I've seen in India. The photos don't do it justice, but heaped against a wall of the car park was a pile of shop window dummies (I really, really hope they were dummies) looking for all the world like the victims of a massacre deposited, Laura-Palmer style, wrapped in plastic. Presiding over them was a horrific yellow giantess. I'm not kidding, it actually struck dread into my heart.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7fKZ7rMmnj0/UQOxC_g8IJI/AAAAAAAABJo/vj43Z9vwMbk/s1600/lesmis5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7fKZ7rMmnj0/UQOxC_g8IJI/AAAAAAAABJo/vj43Z9vwMbk/s400/lesmis5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Of course, once the brain had made sense of the information provided by the eyes and the initial horror subsided, we obviously had to get out and make a dramatic scene out of it (as those who've seen my play at the Short + Sweet theatre festival will know, I have something of a latent phobia about shop mannequins anyway):</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ROHu7G95k7E/UQOxDAFgNII/AAAAAAAABJs/7vSr55RGBg0/s1600/lesmis6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ROHu7G95k7E/UQOxDAFgNII/AAAAAAAABJs/7vSr55RGBg0/s400/lesmis6.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
I think I capture a terrified pose a bit better than Varoon, who looks more like he's doing a funky dance moved of the aforementioned type. I can't imagine what shop would have actually used the yellow giantess in a display, or why these poor dummies had been abandoned so unceremoniously in an empty car park. But it seemed like a somehow fitting postscript to a slightly surreal evening that managed to be rather more memorable than the movie itself.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-46722061821724581472013-01-20T18:52:00.001+05:302013-01-20T18:52:15.990+05:30No, that's not it<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last year I <a href="http://twomilliongods.blogspot.in/2012/03/indian-workplace-relationships.html" target="_blank">posted a cartoon</a> that I thought nicely encapsulated a lot of the dynamics of the Indian workplace. Being the only non-Indian in my office has given me plenty of opportunities to observe these dynamics at close hand and I continue to find it fascinating and frustrating. I'm no stranger to cultural hierarchies, but there are few places where they are more starkly on display than an Indian office.<br />
<br />
A couple of days ago, for instance, we were called from our desks for a prizegiving ceremony. One of my colleagues from another team, a fairly senior chap, was getting an award for Excellence, and for "going above and beyond". We all shuffled into the board room and dutifully attended while the award was presented by a senior colleague, a nice old gentleman with silver hair and an avuncular air.<br />
<br />
He handed over the award, we obligingly applauded, and then he asked the recipient what "Excellence" meant to him. Well, the chap said, I suppose it means that I always do that extra bit to make sure that what I produce is of the highest quality and meets customer needs. I was squirming at this point - I'm all for taking pride in one's work but I have an inherent allergic reaction to corporate-speak - but it was a decent enough answer. We thought.<br />
<br />
Then the silver-haired gentleman interrupted. "No, you're wrong," he said. "That's not what Excellence means." He then launched into his own explanation of the <i>actual</i> meaning of Excellence, while the poor old recipient of the award (the award for, you know, excellence) was forced to smile and nod and say "thank you, Sir" for the sharing of this wisdom.<br />
<br />
I couldn't meet anyone's eye. Half of me wanted to tell him to shut up and let the man have his moment - if you're getting an award for excellence, you should at least be allowed your own definition of what it means - while half of me was fighting back giggles at the ridiculousness of it. Of course all human societies have their hierarchies of status and we all constantly engage in communications, subtle and unsubtle, about where we fit and whether we are superior or inferior to those around us. It's just that in Indian offices, from what I have seen, those with the upper hand make no effort whatsoever to mask their claims to higher status. As a rule, senior people nakedly make their claims to not only give their subordinates any instruction they fancy and to castigate them for transgressions, but to have a superior understanding and knowledge of any subject under discussion.<br />
<br />
I've long been critical of this, because I've seen people with good ideas to contribute be shot down because they are not considered sufficiently senior to have any ideas at all, and because it tends to discourage any initiative-taking or innovation among junior members of staff. But on the other hand, it is at least honest. There are plenty of managers back in the UK who squash people's contributions, but they tend to hide it behind nicer words and "feedback". At least Indian managers are straightforward about it.<br />
<br />
Still, arguments about management styles aside, there does seem to be a greater willingness here to use public occasions to emphasise these points of hierarchy. I don't think I would appreciate being told in front of my colleagues that I don't know what "Excellence" means, and I think - hope? - that this would be unlikely to happen in quite this fashion back home. Hierarchy simply permeates everything in India in a way that is hard to appreciate until you spend some time here.<br />
<br />
And that famous British class system? Well, it's still alive and well, and anyone who tells you it's not is living in a dream. Some of its manifestations are obvious - check the educational background of the current Cabinet line-up - but actually it's mostly a much more subtle system of coded behaviours that often need interpretation for non-Brits. Indian hierarchies - built on a system of detailed codification, multiple strata, and roles and expectation defined to an intricate level of detail - are out there for everyone to see. It's a fascinating contrast.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-68297029109119701162013-01-11T21:00:00.001+05:302013-01-12T00:36:11.014+05:30A reflection we don't want to see<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's taken me a while to write this post. I admit it, I have been putting it off. This is a blog about life in Delhi, and in the past few weeks there has been one thing, and one thing only, that everyone has been associating with the city I currently live in. That thing is rape.<br />
<br />
I hesitated for a lot of reasons. Because a young woman is dead. Because a family has lost a daughter, in horrific circumstances. Because a young man has lost a friend and been viciously beaten. Because I am a man. Because I am a foreigner. Because the depth of pain and outrage in this city makes this a scary place for any blogger to tread. But I couldn't in good conscience avoid writing about it, since of all the events that have happened in this city in my short time here, this is the most dreadful and perhaps the one that speaks loudest about the conflicts within today's India. And not just India. The assault and its aftermath shed light on disturbing aspects not just of Indian society, but of human nature and of attitudes to women that can be found pretty much anywhere.<br />
<br />
In the days after the attack, when the victim was still fighting for her life, Delhi went pretty crazy. Massive demonstrations called for the death penalty. Young women who have lived with fear their whole lives took to the streets to protest; men accompanied them, often speaking of their concern for their wives, sisters, and daughters. The government's repressive response was shameful and is something that I anticipate they will greatly regret.<br />
<br />
One of my colleagues attended several demos. She told me about this one day, not long after the attack occurred, before things got really out of hand. She would be marching, she told me, to demand that the rapists be hanged. She was quite surprised, I think, when I told her flatly that I disagreed with her standpoint.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to use this post to argue about the death penalty. I am opposed to it - in all circumstances - but that's not the point. The point is that the people marching with placards demanding death to the rapists were spectacularly off the mark - not only that, they actively obscured the real issues. Hanging the rapists may bring a brief sense of satisfaction; a catharsis that perhaps only violent revenge can achieve. But it would do nothing to address the underlying reasons why sexual violence is so prevalent here. Nothing to help tackle the reasons why <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/today/hi/today/newsid_9741000/9741747.stm" target="_blank">India has been ranked as the worst place to be a woman in the G20</a> - a group of countries that includes Saudi Arabia.<br />
<br />
As the initial outrage died down into disgust and weariness, more reasoned voices began to emerge. There are, after all, people who are prepared to look deeper and ask: why did this happen? Why has it happened before? Why, in many cases, have those previous instances now been forgotten? Why does it happen so much? And why, above all, are so many women raped who never even manage to attract the attention of a police officer, let alone the world's media? (For a much deeper analysis of all these issues than I'm capable of producing, I recommend the recent blogs at <a href="http://indianhomemaker.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">The Life and Times of an Indian Homemaker</a>).<br />
<br />
It's not simply a case of the existence of mediaeval attitudes towards women in India, though they certainly exist. A few months ago, <a href="http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2012-10-10/india/34362764_1_marriageable-age-khap-leaders-sachhakhera-village" target="_blank">a former state governor argued that women should be married off younger in order to prevent rape</a>. A few days later, <a href="http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2012-10-16/india/34497488_1_khap-panchayat-haryana-khap-haryana-s-jind" target="_blank">a local politician said that eating Chow Mein was to blame for the rising number of rapes in his state</a>. And, notoriously, a religious leader <a href="http://in.reuters.com/article/2013/01/09/india-delhi-gang-rape-asaram-bapu-views-idINDEE90809L20130109" target="_blank">went on record saying that the victim in the latest case shared the blame equally</a>, arguing that she should have begged her attackers to have mercy on her. Another said that rape was a problem in "India" but not in "Bharat" - that is, it occurs in the "Westernised" cities (essentially, code for "places where women wear more revealing clothes"). It's not just the men, either: before the news broke about the death in Singapore, the female leader of the BJP party <a href="http://kafila.org/2012/12/23/to-the-young-women-and-men-of-delhi-thinking-about-rape-in-delhi/" target="_blank">expressed the view that the victim's life was "now worse than death"</a> because of her lost "honour" - a staggering insult to rape survivors and a horrifying statement about the value of female life.<br />
<br />
Where people of influence have such noxious views, it should not surprise us that misogynistic attitudes prevail. I think it's fair to say that these views tend to be particularly characteristic of certain parts of rural north India (such as Haryana, the source of both the "Chow Mein" and "teenage bride" views mentioned above). At least part of the problem is that these are the parts of the country from where a great deal of migration to the cities has occurred in the past decade or so. The clash of cultures should not be underestimated - in terms of education, culture and background, new arrivals in Delhi are often as far removed from the city's elite as a refugee in London is from a Sloane Square socialite. When the two come together, the lines of conflict will be many.<br />
<br />
I am not saying that migrants are the problem. Migration creates many challenges, but migrants are also driving this city's growth; the right to live, work and settle where one wishes is also an important one. Besides, as <a href="http://www.sify.com/news/we-are-all-part-of-the-rape-culture-news-columns-mmsxrUdgfed.html" target="_blank">this article forcefully argue</a>s, rape occurs where there is social support for it - and that means all of society, not just a sub-set. But we seem to be in collective denial about this. The protestors' denigration of the rapists, the demand for them to be removed from society in the most absolute way possible, reflects the desire to characterise them as something alien from society, an aberration, not a product of the milieu in which they live. But this is patently untrue. There were six men on that bus, who came together by chance. By the law of averages, these were not "aberrations", but fairly ordinary members of society. Acknowledge that, and you have to acknowledge that something is wrong with a society that produces instances like this not just once, but over and over again; and where, in the majority of cases, very little or nothing is done about it.<br />
<br />
What particularly comes out of this - and this is where I think we should all take a hard look at our own societies - is how rape is simply the most extreme and vicious expression of the ways in which men seek to control women (I'm aware that men are also raped, and that hijras in particular are vulnerable to it in India, but I'm in danger of writing a dissertation with this post already). This captures it for me:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">"We need to stress the continuum between people who rape, people who judge those who get raped, and people who try to protect the women in their lives from getting raped by imposing structures of control. The portrayals of the rape of women allow for those men who want to understand themselves as protectors or avengers to do so, they allow for patriarchal structures of control to strengthen themselves and, crucially, they create women as the ‘legitimate’ subjects of rape."</span><br />
<br />
Quite. Demanding that women change or limit their behaviour to prevent rape simply perpetuates the idea that rape is a norm to which women must adapt by accepting male control. Those men who demand death to the rapists because "we too have sisters, wives and daughters" are really just participating in this structure of control. It shouldn't matter if a raped woman is your sister, your wife, or your neighbour's cousin's physiotherapist. You are not what's important. She is.<br />
<br />
And maybe this is why so many rapes are ignored, both in India and elsewhere: because in so many instances, the woman is seen as legitimately subject to the man. Because she is his wife; because she is a sex worker; because she is of low caste; because she had consumed alcohol. For lesser sex crimes, the range of categories is even wider. A woman can be groped on public transport in Delhi without any real fear of retribution: it is seen as a natural part of life and trivialised with the awful moniker "eve teasing". All of this contributes to a culture that produces the horrific kind of incident that happened on that bus. To scream for vengeance against the perpetrators forgets this.<br />
<br />
Some Indian commentators have discussed this as a uniquely Indian problem. <a href="http://indianhomemaker.wordpress.com/tag/understanding-misogyny/" target="_blank">Our mythology is misogynist</a>, some have pointed out (and certainly the story of Ram and Sita is pretty squeamish in parts). The practice of dowry payment and tales of associated violence reflect deep-rooted hostility to women. We are deeply patriarchal. There is some truth to all of this, though as a foreign blogger it's difficult for me to say it. It's equally true to say that these are global issues as well as Indian ones, as <a href="http://www.cnbc.com/id/100368113/Focus_on_Rape_in_India_Ignores_Gender_Violence_as_a_Global_Tragedy" target="_blank">this article points out</a>. Sometimes it seems that Western commentary on the matter divides between those who rush to condemn India's misogyny, and those who equally rush to point out the plank in our own eyes.<br />
<br />
It seems to me that, while it's completely wrong to speak as though the UK and other countries don't have huge problems with misogyny, sexism and violence against women (because we absolutely do), it serves no-one if we pretend that there are not some deeply ingrained problems that are particularly prevalent in India. What I think is needed, though, is the courage to look honestly at those factors that enable rape in any culture. In India, that means acknowledging the relationship with other lines of social divide. Caste and poverty are two. Another is the social stratification prevalent in the cities, with privileged elites living insulated from public spaces, and the consequent erosion of trust. And an ongoing social dialogue that characterises women as objects of control, even in benign ways, is another. (I found <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kk6Bi23Q7-E" target="_blank">this award-winning ad against "eve-teasing"</a> a real eye-opener. Notice how the woman doesn't even get to say anything - she has to be defended by a man. This really speaks volumes about how even messages against sexual violence can feed into a patriarchal approach). In the UK, similar discourses manifest themselves in different ways, particularly along the lines of social class, sexuality and race.<br />
<br />
Let the courts decide what happens to the alleged rapists. Let women decide, as men do, what to wear and what (if any) self defence measures to take. What deserves our collective attention, in every country, is how everyday attitudes, everyday language, everyday occurrences towards which we turn a blind eye, contribute to a culture that culminates in horrific acts like the one that took place on that bus; and how a rainbow of prejudices - not just sexism - determine who is seen as a "victim" and who is dismissed. It's not a pretty picture. But we all have to look in the mirror.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-74092187108053320622012-12-16T19:32:00.000+05:302012-12-16T21:37:47.078+05:30A month of thankfulness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The title of this post might seem a little strange, given that some of the things I'm going to talk about are not things that, at first sight, one might be thankful for. It's been a month of highs and lows, joys and stress, conflict and love. At any rate it's certainly been a memorable time to cap a memorable year. And that alone gives me plenty of reason to be thankful.<br />
<br />
There are basically three reasons why I've been quiet for a while. Firstly, in mid-November I went on my first proper holiday since I came to India: two weeks in Nepal, including an eight day trip rafting down 170 miles of the Sun Kosi river. Secondly, while I was in Nepal my grandma passed away, so I flew back to Delhi early and got on a flight to the UK to attend her funeral in Bristol. Finally, my return to work after a longer-than-expected absence coincided with the conclusion of two major projects, including publication of our key report for the year, which has meant that the usual pre-Christmas wind-down this year has been anything but.<br />
<br />
So thankful? Yes, my main emotion as I come to the end of this emotional month is thankfulness. I feel I don't spend enough time being grateful for what I have and the people in my life. This month has brought it home to me.<br />
<br />
To start with the most obvious reason for gratitude: an extraordinary trip to Nepal. I'm sure I don't have to explain to you why I feel thankful to have such opportunities in my life (and particularly to be able to go on such a trip after a one hour flight, as opposed to the long slog from the UK that my fellow-rafters faced). I'll hopefully put up a post dedicated to Nepal in the near future - it was wonderful, and if I write about it in detail here it will take over this post.<br />
<br />
For now, though, I'll just say that one of the best things about the trip was spending a full eight days without access to the internet or telephone. I was pretty nervous about this beforehand. I've spent the last 18 months building up a new initiative and a new team within my organisation, and I'd never been out of contact for longer than a flight journey from Delhi to London before. It felt rather like I was handing over my baby to someone else for the first time. And I've become quite tech-dependent in India, particularly the internet which has been my main means of keeping in contact with my family and friends back home and elsewhere.<br />
<br />
As it turned out, those eight days were eight days of tech-free bliss. It made me realise quite how screen-addicted I have become in the last couple of years. I've always used computers for work, but since in Delhi they have come to play an ever bigger part in my life outside work too. And my regular visits to HMV at Heathrow Airport have ensure that even though I don't have a TV connection at home, that screen also regularly features in my day. I don't really want to think about how many hours a day I spend looking at a screen, even though I deliberately avoided getting a smartphone here precisely because I didn't want to become completely square-eyed.<br />
<br />
In the absence of the ubiquitous screens that dominate modern life, I had to find other things to look at. Like these things:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3ZFFz6Slytc/UM3JuwlNlRI/AAAAAAAABHU/aE-_S2yTV7Q/s1600/blog+shot+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3ZFFz6Slytc/UM3JuwlNlRI/AAAAAAAABHU/aE-_S2yTV7Q/s400/blog+shot+1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dppltsLt6rM/UM3LhHq-CdI/AAAAAAAABHc/CL74d3vAIRw/s1600/blogshot2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dppltsLt6rM/UM3LhHq-CdI/AAAAAAAABHc/CL74d3vAIRw/s400/blogshot2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--A2BUe_dEOE/UM3Li8n4LvI/AAAAAAAABHk/o-eeYiN2NUc/s1600/blogshot3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--A2BUe_dEOE/UM3Li8n4LvI/AAAAAAAABHk/o-eeYiN2NUc/s400/blogshot3.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9hWPxV7Gpuk/UM3LlLJqAAI/AAAAAAAABHs/8V-H0UNDgc4/s1600/blogshot4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9hWPxV7Gpuk/UM3LlLJqAAI/AAAAAAAABHs/8V-H0UNDgc4/s400/blogshot4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
As you can see, we camped every night on beaches alongside the river. Luxurious it wasn't, but beautiful and tranquil it certainly was. And I didn't miss my phone or my computer one little bit.<br />
<br />
My second reason to be thankful: my grandma. It may seem odd to say that my biggest emotion after the death of someone I loved dearly is gratitude. That certainly wasn't my initial reaction: she played a huge part in my life and I will miss her enormously. It wasn't until I attended the service of thanksgiving for her life, where I gave the eulogy along with my mum, that I realised that I was indeed thankful.<br />
<br />
Being asked to give the eulogy was terrifying. Would I say the right things, would the rest of the family feel I had hit the right note, would I reflect everyone's experiences of her? But in the end it was rather wonderful. It gave me a chance to talk about my grandma, to say the things I've always thought but never had the chance to share with others, and to celebrate her. What a privilege.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to get too sentimental on here, but I loved my grandma for her strength of character, her sense of humour, her quick wit and her forthright character. She wasn't always easy but she was never, ever dull. I was proud of her. And I'm thankful to have known her for so long.<br />
<br />
This is possibly my favourite photo of her, taken almost exactly a year ago just a couple of days after her last Christmas. As you can see, she never lost her sense of fun.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OHx-L0JYR20/UM3PvyUa4FI/AAAAAAAABIA/IpmXcCqb5lc/s1600/grandma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OHx-L0JYR20/UM3PvyUa4FI/AAAAAAAABIA/IpmXcCqb5lc/s400/grandma.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And my final reason to be thankful this month: my brilliant team at work. In the end, what with Nepal, the funeral and my jetlag on return, I was effectively out of the picture for three weeks (though I did what I could while I was in the UK). Two weeks after my planned return date from Nepal we were due to launch our report on the recognition of prior learning (the research phase of which <a href="http://twomilliongods.blogspot.in/2012/07/a-building-site-in-bangalore.html" target="_blank">I blogged about in July</a>). A week later, we were due to submit a separate research project to the ILO. Not surprisingly, when I got back to the office there was no time to gather my thoughts.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Nevertheless, apart from a couple of minor hiccups, things have gone brilliantly since I came back. The launch event went off successfully, the report is great, and all the wheels have stayed on the wagon. I can't describe the sense of satisfaction derived from the fact that not only did our project complete successfully, but that it was carried through in the final stages not by me but by the team I put together. A project that I hope will really have an impact - however small - on improving livelihoods in this country.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I'd been worried, when it came to recruitment, that it would be hard to find good staff who could take the initiative and assume responsibility, but I've yet again been shown that I needn't have worried. They are hard working, talented, dedicated and a joy to work with. I hope they realised how grateful I am to them.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
There are just five days until I take a break for Christmas - it feels rather decadent coming so soon after my Nepal trip. This year has been a very mixed one. There have been great highs and testing lows. I have seen some extraordinary places and yet sometimes felt stuck in a rut. I've felt loved and lonely by turns. Work has been more central to my life than ever before, but I feel I'm doing something genuinely worthwhile. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the experiences I'm having in India, sometimes I feel guilty that I'm not making more of it or that I'm not coping with it as well as I could. I find myself simultaneously being more encouraging and supportive of my team, but more prone to irritation and temper in other contexts. Less jealous, but more prideful. More relaxed about my future, but more concerned about the future in general.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It seems this is a good moment for re-evaluating a few things in life. The simplicity of that week in Nepal was healthy - the lack of distractions and the peace may have opened a bit of a door. I don't know where it leads to, and I don't know where I'll be this time next year or what I'll be doing. But I feel like starting from a position of thankfulness is a good thing to do.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-29711474362846908562012-11-08T23:33:00.001+05:302012-11-12T15:42:03.975+05:30An Indian education<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last week I was in Bangalore for a week's training. I'm a policy wonk by background, and that's very much my focus in my job here, but I am also a member of the management board of the UK-Indian joint venture company I work for. Which means, horror of horrors, that I have to show some kind of insight into business matters as well as making earnest statements about evidence-based approaches and public goods.<br />
<br />
Most of the time this isn't a problem. I actually quite enjoy switching from policy to business mode, thinking strategically about business issues and spotting where the new opportunities are (clue: in the skills business in India, they are everywhere, but finding the ones that will actually allow you to break even is trickier). Besides, in my line of work the line between business and policy is very blurred: education businesses have to keep public benefits at the heart of what they do or they quickly lose the faith of their customers; conversely, they have to be businesslike or the market will simply eat them alive. So policy affects business, and business affects policy. That's even more the case in India, where training is just taking off and the gold rush is just beginning.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I digress. My point was that I was mostly fine tackling business issues, except for one rather important point: numbers.<br />
<br />
I don't mean I can't do maths. My maths is actually pretty OK, although algebra beyond x=2y can still sometimes induce mild hysteria if I don't take some deep breaths first. What I struggle with is finance. As soon as those enormous spreadsheets appear on the power point, with lots of months and decimal points and terms like EBIDTA, something tends to switch off in my brain. I know I should follow it. I know the numbers aren't that difficult. But the spreadsheets are just so <i>big</i>. And there are so many <i>columns.</i> And can't we just talk about how policy fails to incentivise enough employers to offer apprenticeships? Please?<br />
<br />
So to cut a long story short I decided I needed to find a course on finance for people who will never - god forbid - actually work in the field, but who need to be able to go to a board meeting and talk intelligently about performance against AOP and so on, without being reduced to a quivering pile of jelly. And so it was that I spent last week putting in 11 hour study days at the Indian Institute of Management Bangalore.<br />
<br />
If you want to see how serious India is about business, go to IIMB. I went to a pretty good university and I have some very, very clever friends, but this was some of the best teaching by some of the smartest people I've ever come across. It was intense, it was exhausting, it left me feeling like my eyes were propped open with sandpaper - but god, it was good. And to my enormous astonishment, it also managed to be really, really interesting. I can't say I can now confidently reel off all the principles of financial management, but I am fairly sure that the next time I'm in the board room it'll be with my head a lot higher than before.<br />
<br />
Let me just say this again: these people made me find finance interesting. That's rather like managing to convince Ann Coulter that actually, Barack Obama isn't such a bad old stick.<br />
<br />
Sitting in classrooms like those at IIMB it's hard to imagine that India isn't following a manifest destiny to become the most successful and largest economy in the world. But the fact is that, on current trends, it isn't. The pockets of superb quality education like IIMB exist in a sea of educational underachievement; the brilliance of the faculty (and some of my fellow students) has to be set against a system where vast numbers complete their education without sufficient capabilities to be employable. India excels at excellence, but it currently fails at adequacy.<br />
<br />
In my last post I commented that some of the social patterns in India remind me of some of the damaging trends seen in my own country and in the USA, trends that are associated with high levels of inequality. This strikes me as another one: in all three countries there are pockets of academic brilliance, with truly world class people and incredible results, but swathes of the population are left behind completely. And the problem is that academic brilliance alone isn't enough. Sooner or later all those people will need people who are brilliant in other ways. The people who probably won't ever lecture a room full of businessmen about macroecnomics or create innovations in nanotechnology, but who will make sure the people that do those things live in a world that <i>works - </i>and will do so by achieving high level skills that may lack glamour, but that are sorely needed.<br />
<br />
All three countries are committed to developing skills at all levels and to offering opportunities to all. But sometimes I wonder if that's enough. In a world that idolises a privileged minority of celebrities and business leaders, and emphasises material gain as the way to happiness, who'd want to become a hotelier or a plumber? Who'd want to settle for just being an ordinary, successful person? And who, when they realise they'll never earn a seven figure salary or appear in <i>Hello!</i>, wouldn't be tempted to just throw in the towel altogether? Policy commitment to diversity of skills and opportunity may not be enough in the face of a modern culture that sometimes seems geared in entirely the opposite direction.<br />
<br />
The more unequal we get, the more aspiration is narrowly defined, the more the middle is hollowed out, and the less liveable our societies become. And that's a challenge India has in common with a lot of places that, superficially at least, it looks nothing like.</div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-67191265531274280932012-11-06T18:59:00.000+05:302012-11-12T10:22:52.061+05:30Wheels and class<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There are many visible indicators of class and wealth in India. You can see it in the way people move, their body language towards each other, the clothes they wear (not just the quality or costliness, but the aesthetics), and in their faces (a browse through the faces on <a href="http://milaap.org/">milaap.org</a>, a brilliant site that facilitates micro loans to needy people in India, will show many people for whom the daily toil of life for millions of Indians adds decades to their appearance). And you can also see it in how they get about.<br />
<br />
Transportation may not seem a particularly important marker of class or power, particularly in a country where millions identify themselves as poor by proffering a begging bowl. But as any country's economy develops, the need to move about - and the desire to do so in comfort - grows inexorably, and this puts massive stress on infrastructure and inhabitants. In Delhi, with its crowded roads and might-is-right traffic rules, traffic and transportation are becoming one of the most visible battle lines of class conflict. As the city grows, so does its inequality, and this battle looks set to go for a good while yet.<br />
<br />
Take <a href="http://www.hindustantimes.com/India-news/NewDelhi/Cop-beats-up-IIMC-alumnus-and-blogger-rickshaw-puller/Article1-954561.aspx#.UJjc0Rj2y2I.facebook">this story</a>, for instance. Gaurav Jain, a 26 year old journalist, researching the lives of cycle rickshaw pullers by doing the job himself, was assaulted by a police officer for 'blocking the road'. Before I say anything else I want to say: kudos to Mr. Jain. Most of the time, Delhi seems to consist of a million or so "important" people and countless millions of others who get ignored. The cycle rickshaw pullers, the street hawkers, the <i>hijras</i> tapping on your car window at the traffic lights. Your average car-driving Delhiwalla barely seems aware of the existence of these people, never mind having such an interest in how they live that they'd be willing to take on a tough and - let's face it - demeaning job in order to understand it.<br />
<br />
I don't say this to be critical. Anyone who has lived in a big city will understand that urban survival depends on an ability to act as if you're the only person walking down the street, standing on the train, driving to work. There are just too many people. We can't acknowledge them all. And the ones we do acknowledge tend to be those most like us, the ones to whom we can relate. So in Delhi it's no surprise that the aspiring middle classes pay scant attention to the poor guys slogging their guts out dragging a family of five on the back of their bike for 15 rupees. It's the way things are, and after living here a while you find your blinkers tend to come on pretty quick.<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to Mr. Jain's story. Following the attack he went to the local police station to make a complaint, but was ignored. "It's strange how much a person's professional standing or profile can affect the way the law treats him", he said. Quite. Somehow I don't think his rickshaw puller colleagues would find it all that strange.<br />
<br />
That the rich and privileged can expect better legal redress than the poor and excluded is no surprise. What was interesting to me was the reason for the attack: "blocking the road". Read: getting in the way of the car drivers, who are far more important than you.<br />
<br />
This reminded me of <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-india-19572583">another story</a> that came out a few weeks ago, about the ongoing saga of Delhi's bus lanes and the objections from car users that they are causing delays. The quoted comments in the article lay bare the stark class divide here, and the assumptions made by the privileged about the millions of dispossessed Indians (on whom they depend for everything from domestic cleaning to shoe shining). "People" are being delayed by traffic jams because of the bus lanes, argue campaigners. "How does it matter if a peon reaches his office five minutes before time?" asks one. The apparently radical idea that "people" should also include those who use public transport has to be specifically pointed out by a professor from the Indian Institute of Technology.<br />
<br />
It should be obvious that when only 10% of a city's inhabitants drive, yet the streets are already clogged to all hell, public transport has to be at least a part of the solution. But the fact that the bus lanes are fighting for their survival is testament to the disproportionate power held by those 10%. Of course, while they appear to be fighting for their own benefit, if they get what they want it will simply ensure a miserable future for everyone: a city even more gridlocked, fume-choked and cacophonous than it is already.<br />
<br />
And this is what worries me most about the emerging battles around Delhi's transportation system. It seems to encapsulate a situation where growing inequality leads to class-based battles that belittle ordinary people and lead to the privileged taking decisions in their narrow benefit, rather than recognising the need for development to work for all, not just the "wealth creators".<br />
<br />
The result, it seems to me, is usually a set of outcomes that are worse for everyone. There are parallels to be made here with the increasingly unequal societies in the UK and the US (among others), which in the past 30 years or so have become massively richer, massively less equitable, and arguably a good deal less happy, healthy and secure. Repeating those patterns in a city the size of the Netherlands - let alone a country of 1.3 billion - is a scary prospect.</div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-68265511208381462542012-10-23T23:21:00.000+05:302012-11-12T10:21:35.862+05:30On surprises, elephants and counting oneself lucky<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My last post was a bit gloomy, so I'm putting up a quick one to reassure everyone that I don't hate Delhi, honestly. In fact I'm feeling quite well-disposed towards it just now, largely because it's finally, finally starting to cool down a bit. In fact today we had an unexpected afternoon rainstorm and when I walked outside my office it was actually lovely - cool, crisp, with that post-rain tang in the air...just perfect. I stood there breathing deeply for a good three or four minutes (breathing in goodness knows how much particulate matter, but let's skate over that), no doubt making the security guards think I am completely barmy.<br />
<br />
Well, actually they already think I am completely barmy, due to the ongoing saga of The Foreigner Who Can't Make Up His Mind When He Wants His Lunch, but I'll save that for another day. Anyway, the point is, beautiful, cool, refreshing evening ensued. It's been a very long time since I've been able to say that. So that was a nice surprise.<br />
<br />
Delhi does spring nice surprises on you every now and then. Like this one, which was outside my front door when I left the house a couple of weeks ago:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bs4ZZtsSD1w/UIbUopBAlnI/AAAAAAAABGw/IfKOcTn3YFc/s1600/P1040416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bs4ZZtsSD1w/UIbUopBAlnI/AAAAAAAABGw/IfKOcTn3YFc/s400/P1040416.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
In case any of you are thinking that elephants are an everyday sight in Delhi, they're not. As evidenced by the fact that the cluster of locals on the right of the photo were every bit as fascinated as I was (which made me feel a bit less like a gawking foreigner). I think this was perhaps the third one I've seen in the city. They're still used as beasts of burden, but it's not surprising that these days the alternatives seem rather more practical. Still, no JCB was ever as photogenic as this.<br />
<br />
If elephants are a rare sight in the city, its animal life is still quite extraordinary for someone like me (for whom "urban wildlife" consists of mangy pigeons, the odd fox and the dead rat I had to scrape off my patio a couple of summers back). In Delhi you're as likely to see parrots as pigeons, and while I'm sure there are rats aplenty they get less attention than the frankly vicious monkeys that inhabit the trees and rooftops. I count myself lucky not to have seen any snakes, and the worst thing I've had in my flat (apart from the notorious termites) have been a few medium-sized cockroaches. Alas, my resident population of geckos have vanished (I hope they moved out, but I suspect the pest control methods used to get rid of the termites may have been somewhat apocalyptic in nature).<br />
<br />
And if none of those beasties appeals, there are always Delhi's stray dogs, who seem almost as numerous as the people. I was a bit intimidated by them at first, but they are in general surprisingly docile. The worst thing is the fact that so many of them are missing a limb - the consequence, I presume, of their rather foolish habit of going to sleep at full stretch by the side of roads down which Delhi drivers hurtle on a regular basis. One of them has been adopted by the security guards at our office and regularly plonks himself down at the bottom of the steps at the entrance; I've got used to taking a big stride when leaving the building to avoid treading on him. Indeed it seems like most of the city's injured canines are adopted by someone or other - it's hard to imagine they would last long against the competition if they weren't - which is a rather endearing feature of city life.<br />
<br />
It's easy, when you are busy with your working day and regular routine, to focus on those aspects of the city that frustrate and irritate, and to overlook the things that make you smile. But no doubt when I come to leave here, I'll look back on the time when I found an elephant outside my front door and reflect that it's not a circumstance I'm ever likely to experience again. It may seem a silly thing, but it does remind me how lucky I am to have the chance to experience a place so completely different from my home, even with all its challenges.<br />
<br />
Anyway, autumn is here, the days are warm, and the streets of Defence Colony have acquired a sun-dappled hush (in between the honks). It's a good time to be in Delhi.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-23666969672157405622012-10-16T19:00:00.000+05:302012-11-12T10:22:28.788+05:30The summer that never ends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Readers in the UK might see the title of this post and think "how lovely". Make no mistake, this is not going to be a lovely post. This is going to be a big old moan about Delhi's climate. Yes, I know I've been silent for two months and it's not good form to return on a whinge. I don't care. The weather in Delhi is to a large degree to blame for my failure to write anything since August, and it's about time I just said it out loud so we can both move on (hopefully, into a nice chilly winter).<br />
<br />
I am sick and tired of this summer.<br />
<br />
It is now seven months since the temperatures rose to what I would term largely uncomfortable. Admittedly for some of that time I was out of India, thanks to visa complications, but for the sake of rhetoric I will disregard that. Seven months of being perpetually sweaty. Seven months of attempting to sleep to the lullaby of my geriatric AC system or else lying spreadeagled on the bed feeling beads of moisture trickle down my forehead onto the pillow. And seven months of getting gradually, progressively, inexorably, more and more exhausted.<br />
<br />
I don't know how people do this every year of their lives. I've never been so tired. OK, my job is fairly responsible, involves a lot of multitasking and a fair amount of travel, but on the other hand I'm not exactly working 18 hours shifts in the Emergency room. I shouldn't come home at the end of the working day with barely enough energy to open my front door. I shouldn't wake up in the morning after 10 hours of sleep feeling like I've had three. Doing something I love (recently, singing with my choir or making a short mostly-Hindi-language film with friends, which involved standing around on roadsides a lot and not understanding anything about the plot) shouldn't feel like an impossible demand designed to wring out the very last drop of enthusiasm from my mangled get-up-and-go. But that's how I feel right now.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's not just the weather. Maybe it's Delhi - the traffic, the crowds, the pace of life, and all those other things that you have to deal with here. Maybe I just need a holiday (a proper one, rather than snatched long weekends which, although terrific fun, are not all that effective as a restorative). But my heart says that I just need to spend some time in temperatures well below 30 degrees C for a while.<br />
<br />
I've lived through the Delhi summer before, but when I arrived last year it was already mid-June. This year, breaks aside, I've been here for the entire seven months. I think my body's just caved in. I'm not designed to cope with these temperatures for this long. Hell, I don't think anyone is.<br />
<br />
So, the last couple of months have been marked by a feebleness unmatched by anything I've experienced since I was hooked up to a dozen medical machines as a 4 month old with meningitis. Since this has coincided with the recruitment of my team (finally!) and the corresponding increase in my workload (I'm sure that's not how it's supposed to go, but it has) it's left me unfit for much in the evenings beyond staring open-mouthed (and quite possibly dribbling) at YouTube videos of 1980s English cooking shows. I wish I was kidding about this.<br />
<br />
I exaggerate but a little. To be honest, I've actually spent a lot of the last couple of months thinking about a whole ton of things and how India has changed my perspective on them. I haven't yet reached a sufficient degree of lucidity to blog about them yet. I hope that the cooler weather just around the corner (please, Lord, please) will let me do so. But for as long as summer keeps its gnarly hands grasped round October's throat, my productivity is more or less confined to the working day.</div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-41434367691533542252012-08-10T20:43:00.003+05:302012-11-12T10:23:53.792+05:30India at altitude<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Once again I've been very tardy about posting following a jaunt out of Delhi, for which apologies. Anyway, about a month back I hopped on a flight up to Leh, in Ladakh up in the high Himalaya. This is a corner of India quite unlike any other - it really does feel like you've stepped into another country. The culture, the scenery, the people are all decidedly closer to Tibet (which I was lucky enough to visit a decade or so ago) than they are to the Ganges plains. Leh itself doesn't really feel like an Indian town (apart from the incessantly honking horns - I'm not sure there's anywhere in India, apart from maybe the smaller islands in Lakshadweep or the Nicobars, that doesn't feature that). The usual hustle and bustle, the overwhelming <i>activity</i> that you seem to find pretty much everywhere else, is absent. In its place is a laid-back, relaxed atmosphere quite at odds with the fact that the place is in Jammu and Kashmir state - one of the most unstable trouble spots in the world - and hosts a huge military presence.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My time in Ladakh was all too brief - just four days, which was just enough time to adjust to the altitude, do a little bit of trekking, see some fascinating monasteries and buy a rather nifty rug. My friends Nick and Alex, who are travelling round India for a few months, had rather more time to appreciate it. But it was a wonderful place to escape the heat and the crowds of Delhi for a little bit, and kicking back with a cup of chai and watching the sun set over the mountains from a cafe seemingly squeezed into someone's attic was heavenly. Less heavenly was our trip back to Leh after the trek, which involved an ill-advised attempt by our guide to ford a stream in our little minivan. It took a couple of hours to rescue the minivan, and we had to get the army involved. Fun!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So here are some photos from the trip. I hope you enjoy them.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YikJZhHBD2E/UBvdzxgxwfI/AAAAAAAABB8/DbOgwS1x9Uc/s1600/IMG_2898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YikJZhHBD2E/UBvdzxgxwfI/AAAAAAAABB8/DbOgwS1x9Uc/s400/IMG_2898.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Minaret in Leh. The dominant culture may be Buddhist but the city has seen significant immigration, and now hosts quiet a diverse population including a significant number of Muslims. I did think this was a particularly graceful piece of architecture.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g3458JYkGqg/UBvd10DFfoI/AAAAAAAABCE/9GpYEbYgtYo/s1600/IMG_2905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g3458JYkGqg/UBvd10DFfoI/AAAAAAAABCE/9GpYEbYgtYo/s400/IMG_2905.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Looking up from Leh's old town towards the palace, perched on a ridge above the city.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-35cSyxQaa1A/UBvd6nGXykI/AAAAAAAABCM/5VXE-iK3i5w/s1600/IMG_2910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-35cSyxQaa1A/UBvd6nGXykI/AAAAAAAABCM/5VXE-iK3i5w/s400/IMG_2910.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Typical view in Leh</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sgNqLvMWHqc/UBvd88brQFI/AAAAAAAABCU/yKryK_zN3aw/s1600/IMG_2913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sgNqLvMWHqc/UBvd88brQFI/AAAAAAAABCU/yKryK_zN3aw/s400/IMG_2913.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The marketplace at Leh. This is pretty much about as busy as it got while I was there - this would be the slowest of slow days in Delhi.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BVl9KJAvpgs/UBvd-2H3qjI/AAAAAAAABCc/kScWl_i83Ww/s1600/IMG_2915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BVl9KJAvpgs/UBvd-2H3qjI/AAAAAAAABCc/kScWl_i83Ww/s400/IMG_2915.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
New hat. Ahem.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pk_eRUMJlUY/UBveHmRuJOI/AAAAAAAABCk/td0SY6oPY9o/s1600/IMG_2918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pk_eRUMJlUY/UBveHmRuJOI/AAAAAAAABCk/td0SY6oPY9o/s400/IMG_2918.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The Red Temple, high above Leh. Getting there was a struggle but worth it.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VMmx6r_1iG4/UBveNGl1ftI/AAAAAAAABCs/dpOxN9Rl124/s1600/IMG_2938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VMmx6r_1iG4/UBveNGl1ftI/AAAAAAAABCs/dpOxN9Rl124/s400/IMG_2938.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
View between the prayer flags from outside the entrance to the Red Temple. I was really quite pleased with this photo!</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gw5Tv6bTfxg/UBveTmtcraI/AAAAAAAABC0/QpE9A-0fCu8/s1600/IMG_2939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gw5Tv6bTfxg/UBveTmtcraI/AAAAAAAABC0/QpE9A-0fCu8/s400/IMG_2939.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Nick And Alex outside the red temple</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rOBo05NkVn0/UBvgA0WydRI/AAAAAAAABC8/Ix4O1pb8RxI/s1600/IMG_2944.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rOBo05NkVn0/UBvgA0WydRI/AAAAAAAABC8/Ix4O1pb8RxI/s400/IMG_2944.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And Alex and me! As you can see my legs have entirely failed to notice that they are exposed to the sun.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pR0JncB5HJA/UBvgClNUzEI/AAAAAAAABDE/PFghttz8g3E/s1600/IMG_2947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pR0JncB5HJA/UBvgClNUzEI/AAAAAAAABDE/PFghttz8g3E/s400/IMG_2947.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Nick and Alex horsing around. Leh in the background.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O_DrjUVYzQI/UBvgE2gOpfI/AAAAAAAABDM/5F8S9ffY3so/s1600/IMG_2962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O_DrjUVYzQI/UBvgE2gOpfI/AAAAAAAABDM/5F8S9ffY3so/s400/IMG_2962.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Typical view of the valleys in Ladakh. It's amazing how the barren mountains give way to the lush green valley floor, which looks like a carpet or even the surface of a lake. The Ladakh irrigation systems must be superb - literally nothing grows beyond the confines of the valley.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oNwji4BqMtY/UBvgH5H62FI/AAAAAAAABDU/nYSBtgNxdZc/s1600/IMG_2969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oNwji4BqMtY/UBvgH5H62FI/AAAAAAAABDU/nYSBtgNxdZc/s400/IMG_2969.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Prayer flags tethered to an outcrop, Red Temple, Leh</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N7c4IrNucHw/UBvgJOcYJcI/AAAAAAAABDc/yVOXMpPRk9I/s1600/IMG_2982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N7c4IrNucHw/UBvgJOcYJcI/AAAAAAAABDc/yVOXMpPRk9I/s400/IMG_2982.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This is the confluence of the Indus and Zanskar rivers. The scenery in Ladakh is majestic: all sweeping panoramas of mountains in various shades of brown and grey, punctuated by pockets of green, and sitting underneath skies that seem almost unnaturally blue. I have to admit though that after a while in the mountains I did start to miss the greener environs of lower altitudes!</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s8EMFqHSEig/UBvgQs8ghzI/AAAAAAAABDs/O-HqApnx0JM/s1600/IMG_2991.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s8EMFqHSEig/UBvgQs8ghzI/AAAAAAAABDs/O-HqApnx0JM/s320/IMG_2991.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
One of the few photos I took inside one of the monasteries we visited. We were told that photos were fine, but I still felt very uncomfortable taking them. Just to my right there were about 100 monks chanting in prayer, and I felt like a coarse and vulgar intruder. I took this one shot and then stopped. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s1AgmDh4hCg/UBvgSTaB0QI/AAAAAAAABD0/EdEfWAd2XSg/s1600/IMG_2995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s1AgmDh4hCg/UBvgSTaB0QI/AAAAAAAABD0/EdEfWAd2XSg/s400/IMG_2995.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I love that the temples and towns of Ladakh make up for the lack of colour in the environment by making everything they can colourful.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wTD_89K5ViI/UBvgYbR6DhI/AAAAAAAABD8/Nl-hyHH5mSw/s1600/IMG_2998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wTD_89K5ViI/UBvgYbR6DhI/AAAAAAAABD8/Nl-hyHH5mSw/s400/IMG_2998.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Monks at Lamayuru monastery. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rjfbz_fFjI8/UBvgaofuaAI/AAAAAAAABEE/dxlz60s7lIQ/s1600/IMG_3000.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rjfbz_fFjI8/UBvgaofuaAI/AAAAAAAABEE/dxlz60s7lIQ/s400/IMG_3000.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Yup, it's a seriously big Buddha.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6LiVaiPI5B4/UBviQX3pHrI/AAAAAAAABEM/qWFUWUjkyMc/s1600/IMG_3010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6LiVaiPI5B4/UBviQX3pHrI/AAAAAAAABEM/qWFUWUjkyMc/s400/IMG_3010.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I'm not sure what the significance of the headgear or the percussion is (if anyone can enlighten me I'd love to know). But taken together they certainly create an impression.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N6mx7D3Exos/UBviYBTglEI/AAAAAAAABEU/kIiF3dFPbNo/s1600/IMG_3013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N6mx7D3Exos/UBviYBTglEI/AAAAAAAABEU/kIiF3dFPbNo/s400/IMG_3013.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
There was a large pile of firewood stacked up outside the monastery - I guess they get supplies in during the summer for the long and hard winter.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-79z43z0heOY/UBvibbeZRSI/AAAAAAAABEc/ne9zJdjJlxA/s1600/IMG_3043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-79z43z0heOY/UBvibbeZRSI/AAAAAAAABEc/ne9zJdjJlxA/s400/IMG_3043.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This was possibly the highlight of the trip - at Lamayuru monastery we came across a group of monks creating a mandala out of coloured sand. It's a painstaking process but they had achieved this in less than 24 hours. Temple was filled with the sound of them scraping their metal tools together to deposit tiny amounts of sand in the exact right position to create the intricate and beautiful pattern, chatting quietly as they did so. Outside the mountains were bathed in bright sunshine and birds flitted around the windows. It was a world quite apart from anything I've ever experienced, and it was breathtaking.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2nB7OJlfDbI/UBvidQFdHRI/AAAAAAAABEk/c_uJMLDskPc/s1600/IMG_3044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2nB7OJlfDbI/UBvidQFdHRI/AAAAAAAABEk/c_uJMLDskPc/s400/IMG_3044.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Close up of the tools used to create the mandala.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-teaYY6cs3Wk/UBvifZbM7cI/AAAAAAAABEs/QUxwOHT4JZ8/s1600/IMG_3052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-teaYY6cs3Wk/UBvifZbM7cI/AAAAAAAABEs/QUxwOHT4JZ8/s400/IMG_3052.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QfK1wc7dOMI/UBvikyG5aPI/AAAAAAAABE0/lfUx_ZMhcc0/s1600/IMG_3053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QfK1wc7dOMI/UBvikyG5aPI/AAAAAAAABE0/lfUx_ZMhcc0/s400/IMG_3053.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zFIrg_hslIw/UBvinNsLLeI/AAAAAAAABE8/galkf195O_E/s1600/IMG_3062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zFIrg_hslIw/UBvinNsLLeI/AAAAAAAABE8/galkf195O_E/s400/IMG_3062.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I like this picture because it tricks the eye. He is actually standing on a broad, flat roof (the white part) but it looks like he's perched on a narrow ledge. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qsC-vyoV3ds/UBvipkvqocI/AAAAAAAABFE/kYGIIFgsYw8/s1600/IMG_3066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qsC-vyoV3ds/UBvipkvqocI/AAAAAAAABFE/kYGIIFgsYw8/s400/IMG_3066.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Young monk taking a rest from work</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k_hRIsPH2Ds/UBvitkR95uI/AAAAAAAABFM/zCweasFMkPQ/s1600/IMG_3094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k_hRIsPH2Ds/UBvitkR95uI/AAAAAAAABFM/zCweasFMkPQ/s400/IMG_3094.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FIRsxhJJoeY/UBvixDf7LhI/AAAAAAAABFU/nc3POsL9TXM/s1600/IMG_3105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FIRsxhJJoeY/UBvixDf7LhI/AAAAAAAABFU/nc3POsL9TXM/s400/IMG_3105.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I like the combination of banality and grandeur in this photo.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Mt52W7i77I/UBviy5FnBSI/AAAAAAAABFc/eJ4RBMqk0ls/s1600/IMG_3109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9Mt52W7i77I/UBviy5FnBSI/AAAAAAAABFc/eJ4RBMqk0ls/s400/IMG_3109.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Life is hard in Leh. I spotted this lady coming with her heavy burden as I was gazing out from the monastery wall. It's sometimes easy to focus on the picturesque monasteries, monks and prayer flags and forget that people have to earn a living up here in the barren mountains.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ysU9QMOi4wY/UBvi5NMuBVI/AAAAAAAABFk/AQlqXQSGIuU/s1600/IMG_3112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ysU9QMOi4wY/UBvi5NMuBVI/AAAAAAAABFk/AQlqXQSGIuU/s400/IMG_3112.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Wood stacked up in Lamayuru village. I liked that it was so neatly arranged by type of wood - I presume each has different properties, so they need to be kept separate. But it also created a textural contrast that I thought was really beautiful.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZwRfrj-Ko8w/UBvi8HwOBsI/AAAAAAAABFs/6v2BFk55c5s/s1600/IMG_3130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZwRfrj-Ko8w/UBvi8HwOBsI/AAAAAAAABFs/6v2BFk55c5s/s400/IMG_3130.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The village at Lamayuru.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ykMuy3eglbk/UBvi99dH-XI/AAAAAAAABF0/-Jq98dRGWdw/s1600/IMG_3142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ykMuy3eglbk/UBvi99dH-XI/AAAAAAAABF0/-Jq98dRGWdw/s400/IMG_3142.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Looking back towards Lamayuru after setting out on our short trek.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YJs1_2hd8RA/UBvi_6Kqr2I/AAAAAAAABF8/zrCqEDuxV10/s1600/IMG_3158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YJs1_2hd8RA/UBvi_6Kqr2I/AAAAAAAABF8/zrCqEDuxV10/s400/IMG_3158.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Three sweaty people.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B86cQ17pCl0/UBvjCVDX3NI/AAAAAAAABGE/bXaGESx4NrU/s1600/IMG_3176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B86cQ17pCl0/UBvjCVDX3NI/AAAAAAAABGE/bXaGESx4NrU/s400/IMG_3176.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Early attempts to rescue the minivan after the afore-mentioned incident in the stream. Needless to say pushing the thing was never going to work. Ultimately we had to flag down an army truck, then find a length of chain, and then have about eight people pushing before we could get the thing out of the water. I got to push, and felt all butch. For a second.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
All this is just a couple of hours' flight from Delhi, and it feels like another world. It's a cliche to say India is astonishingly diverse, but - well - it is. </div>
<br /></div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-3529032320967811672012-07-31T22:26:00.000+05:302012-11-12T10:24:36.267+05:30Dark and Dry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If you're reading this outside India, you've probably already heard that we've been having some power problems of late. On Sunday night, somewhere around 2 a.m., I was awoken by the unmistakable sound of my AC unit clunking off with a finality that can only mean "power cut". Believe me, it's not a sound you want to hear on a Delhi summer night.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To be fair, Sunday night was only slightly sauna-like, positively mild by Delhi standards, and anyway I was too dog-tired to have much difficulty getting back to sleep. To my surprise, though, the power was still off when my alarm went off five and a half hours later, and hadn't returned an hour after that when Anil came to pick me up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Turned out, as I'm sure you're all aware, that I wasn't the only one having problems. In fact, everyone in Delhi, Uttar Pradesh, Rajasthan, Haryana, Punjab and Himachal Pradesh had apparently also lost their juice. The whole northern-central part of the country - millions and millions of people - had been affected by the Great Northern Grid Failure.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Only we can't call it that, because it happened again today, this time in the afternoon. Or at least that's what I'm told, because our office generators did sterling work and we didn't even notice (a colleague spotted it on the BBC news). But it's all quite worrying. India has creaky power infrastructure and supply shortages, but a failure on this scale hasn't been seen for about a decade. So I'm thinking two in one week is not a good indicator of things to come.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As if that wasn't bad enough, it's looking like the future is going to be increasingly dry and hot as well as dark. Delhi is parched right now. Last year, when I got <a href="http://twomilliongods.blogspot.in/2011/07/two-sides-of-delhi-humayuns-tomb-and.html">caught in a downpour at Humayun's Tomb</a>, it was the start of a couple of months when it rained almost every day - not constantly, but reliably there was a pretty hefty dumping of water every afternoon during the monsoon. This year, there have been three serious bouts of rainfall that I can think of. Days and days go by during India's famous rainy season without a drop. I'm told the last few monsoons have been late and capricious. This year, the monsoon just hasn't bothered at all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The rains fail every now and then and it's unpleasant for the city's residents, worse for the farmers who depend on the monsoon for their livelihoods. But there is now serious talk of a permanent change in the monsoon patterns. That's a truly terrifying prospect. One drought can be weathered without significant social change; take away the monsoon, and you lose a key part of what makes this much life possible in such a relatively small amount of space. The majority of India's population is still rural, and the majority of <i>them </i>still farm. And all of them, of course, need to eat.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This week feels like a rather alarming foretaste of things to come, if India's stressed climate does not get some relief. A hotter, drier, hungrier Delhi with paralysing power shortages and ever-more people moving in from the parched fields? It's a scary vision indeed. </div>
</div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-40227882745836003892012-07-29T18:32:00.000+05:302012-11-12T10:27:39.151+05:30Lady in Red (and blue)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The main Olympic story in the UK at the moment may be the opening ceremony (which I didn't see, being ensconced in bed trying to get over my recent bug) and Mark Cavendish's ongoing Olympic woes, but over here the focus has been on a hitherto unknown individual. Here's a picture of her with the Indian delegation, marching into the stadium on Friday night. Can you spot her?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JeR9aSjVYnU/UBUhBxH9_mI/AAAAAAAABBE/d3ep16XIxGI/s1600/india+olympics.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JeR9aSjVYnU/UBUhBxH9_mI/AAAAAAAABBE/d3ep16XIxGI/s400/india+olympics.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
If you're thinking that someone forgot to tell an Indian athlete what the dress code was, you're being over-generous. Turns out that no-one had any clue who the lady in red top and blue trousers, looking rather, ahem, distinctive against the yellow-and-navy tones of the delegation, actually was, and still less clue what she's doing there. She's since been<a href="http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/sports/london-olympics-2012/news/Mystery-woman-identified-Indian-contingent-still-clueless/articleshow/15255070.cms"> named in the Indian press</a>, but no further details about what she's doing walking next to Sushil Kumar seem to have come out.<br />
<br />
The Indian acting chef-de-mission in the UK has unsurprisingly demanded an explanation from the organisers, saying that the incident had 'embarrassed us in front of the world'. Fair enough, but I think the only people who should be embarrassed by this are woman herself and the security team at the opening ceremony.<br />
<br />
I can't imagine what was going through her head when she decided it would be a good idea to tag along with her country's sporting elite on one of the biggest nights in global sport, at which they had earned their attendance through years of dedication and hard work. I can only assume that she is not someone who thinks things through very much.<br />
<br />
The security question, though, is different, and there are some serious questions that need answering. As many have pointed out in online comments, we are lucky that this person appears to have been nothing worse than a vain and thoughtless individual with rather poor dress sense.<br />
<br />
The Indian 'online community' is predictably up in arms. Most of the ire is directed, quite reasonably, at the breach of security, but the incident has opened up old wounds too. There was a lot of resentment towards the British media at the time of Delhi's 2010 Commonwealth Games, when a slew of programmes about poor preparation and the construction of the athletes' village brought attention of a rather different nature from what India wanted.<br />
<br />
At the time, there was a good deal of feeling here that this was a deliberate attempt to sabotage India's image. At the same time, of course, Indians quite happily lambasted the Commonwealth Games organisers themselves, and the general feeling among my Indian friends is that the Games were a shambles. But, as<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-19025484"> Mitt Romney recently found out</a>, the only people who are allowed to criticise the organisation of a major sporting event in any one country are people from that country. This seems to be a general rule of humanity.<br />
<br />
It does seem to be an extraordinarily sensitive area. Normally, for instance, I find that Indians don't much care about the colonial history between our countries. It's accepted as a part of Indian history, and certain legacies, principally that of the English language, are widely recognised (others, such as the creaking exam-based education system, are too, but in a less positive way). But it doesn't go much beyond that, either in terms of lingering fondness or lingering resentment. India's key foreign relationships are in its neighbourhood, and with China and the USA; the UK is really just one of a dozen or so "oh-yeah-they're-vaguely-important-too" sort of places.<br />
<br />
This story has really brought out the cranks though. Here are some of the comments on the Times of India's original reporting on the incident:<br />
<br />
<i>"This is a serious issue. This could be a plan by the Brits who try every possible opportunities to damage India's image."</i><br />
<br />
Some people here really do seem to believe that us Brits spend every waking moment dreaming up new ways to belittle and attack India (actually, guys, we're more concerned with attracting investment, boosting trade and benefiting from the massive economy India is destined to be...you see the logic?).<br />
<br />
<i>"If this has happened in India on any international event for the contingent of any foreign country, each and every TV and media channel will continuously broadcast it and everyone will be demanding a CBI enquiry and resignation of minister and official concerned. Now nothing will happen to anyone in UK. Every one will hail the games a great victory and praise the successful conduct of the games by the administration, which will bring benefits to their country."</i><br />
<br />
This made me chuckle, partly because of the idea that the Indian media would consider something like this the main story around a major sporting event taking place in India, but mainly because it gets the British character so totally wrong. We don't like to hail great victories and praise our administration, or welcome great benefits to our country. We like to moan. We might have temporarily put this aside for the opening ceremony, but trust me, we'll be back to complaining about the Olympic price tag and delayed tube trains before too long.<br />
<br />
<i>"What is the big deal particularly as a foreign woman has gate crashed to run the country!!"</i><br />
<br />
This was actually the thrust of most of the popular comments. Yup, there is no connection so tenuous that it can't be used to make a dig at Sonia Gandhi.<br />
<br />
But I'll give the final word to a Canadian commenter, who I think makes a very sensible point:<br />
<br />
<i style="font-style: italic;">"I want to be very honest with my beloved Indian friends. I am not Indian, but I love India dearly, as well as Indian culture and Indian history. I have grown up with Indians my entire life, but there is something I must say to the people of India. India is a strong, mature, democratic state, and as such, Indians need to stop overreacting to events like this. Much of the world views Indians as having an inferiority complex, who constantly overreact to any situation where their 'national pride' might SEEMINGLY be violated, regardless of how small and harmless it is. India is much better than this and Indians have no reason to feel slighted or insecure - you are praised and held in high regard around the world and as a mature democratic state, you need to display this confidence and not be upset over something as superficial and insignificant as this."</i><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br />
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">I may not quite agree on the insignificance point - this was a serious security breach, clearly - but the rest has a lot of substance. I recognise that, as an incredibly diverse place with a relatively short history as a unified, independent country, India's national identity is still fairly formative and fragile; I recognise, too, that its history of attacks and occupations by external forces can make Indians peculiarly sensitive on issues of national pride. So it's no surprise that there may be a tendency to overreact to things like this. But shrill conspiracy theories rarely help the people who make them.</span><br />
<br />
I'd just like to hear what the lady herself has to say for herself...<br />
</span></div>
<i>
</i></div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-62058205940256105702012-07-28T07:15:00.001+05:302012-11-12T10:28:36.184+05:30A Building Site in Bangalore<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Spending all day on a building site in Bangalore may not be most people's idea of a reason to feel grateful for life's opportunities. But that's what I did on Wednesday this week and that's how it made me feel.<br />
<br />
I was down in Bangalore supervising the pilot stage of a research project we are doing at the moment. I won't bore you with the details, but it involves evaluating an initiative undertaken by a local NGO to assess the skills of labourers working in the informal construction sector. There are a lot of people doing this kind of work in India - putting in long, hard hours - and they live a fairly precarious existence, traveling wherever the work is and with no contractual protections. They've very rarely had any kind of formal education and the skills they have have been picked up on the job, with no formal recognition at all. So the idea of the project is to recognise and certify their skills, facilitating access to work and further training, as part of India's wider efforts to train its population. As a policy specialist, most of my work is done at a computer or in meetings; it's not all that often I get to see what's happening at the ground level. This was a rare exception.<br />
<br />
Building sites in India are, by and large, hot, dusty, noisy and relentless. There's often very little shade. The workers slog under the sun before squatting in the unfinished buildings to eat their lunch. Underfoot is pretty much a mass of rubble; strange struts of metal stick at random angles out of bare concrete staircases. Mechanisation is usually minimal; bricks are either carried up flights of stairs on people's heads, or hauled up by pulleys. This is not an easy existence.<br />
<br />
In Bangalore, there was a girl in a red outfit with a toddler hoisted on her hip. She looked about seven or eight at most. My colleague from the local NGO asked why she wasn't in school; she ducked her head and wouldn't say a word. Her father explained that he couldn't afford to send all of his children to school. Some would get an education, some wouldn't, he said. She was needed to take care of her little brother. Like her parents, she will probably remain illiterate.<br />
<br />
We interviewed a number of workers for the pilot. Of course I couldn't understand what was being said, but a translator was to hand. At one point, one said that "the big people" had come and asked him to take the assessment. Big people, I asked? He means the NGO folk, I was told. But we are all big people to him. We have an education.<br />
<br />
I didn't feel like a very big person at that point in time; I just felt like a very lucky person. I wanted to ask, does that mean he sees himself as a small person? Is that just accepted? But I felt foolish. There's no way I can understand the perspective of someone whose start in life has been so utterly different from my own. And no amount of liberal hand-wringing about inequality or caste can change the fact that, for him, that's just the reality of his world.<br />
<br />
Our research partner commented that he thought it was impressive that I was willing to come to places like this; most people wouldn't bother, he said. I tried to explain that I see it as an extraordinary privilege. In my work I've had the opportunity to meet village women in Ghana, labourers in India, policy makers and researchers from countries across the world. Every one brought fresh perspective to me and enriched my world. I know that the villagers and labourers will never have the chance to broaden their horizons in the way I have, and that their lives will likely be hard until the day they die. Meeting them, even briefly, is humbling and something for which I'm incredibly grateful.<br />
<br />
Back home, my friends are posting about their excitement at being part of the Olympics, and I have to admit to feeling a twinge of regret at not being there to participate in the spectacle. But on the whole, I'm glad I'm here instead.</div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-57386776964476691132012-07-27T16:59:00.002+05:302012-11-12T10:29:30.086+05:30Oh it all makes work...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have a very nice apartment. It's big (way too big for me, in point of fact); it has a roof terrace; it has three bathrooms (all of which I have tried); and it's located in a spot just far enough removed from the Delhi traffic to be something approaching peaceful. However, as with many things here, you don't have to scratch very far beneath the lovely exterior to find workmanship that, well, won't be winning awards at <a href="http://twomilliongods.blogspot.in/2011/10/this-is-why-im-proud-of-what-i-do.html">WorldSkills</a> any time soon. The third of the above mentioned bathrooms features an unconventional hole in the wall above the shower head; the power sockets are installed in an entertaining variety of positions and efficacy; and a number of the balcony doors have to be bolted permanently because they don't shut on their own otherwise.<br />
<br />
I'm not too fussed about any of this. I've yet to be electrocuted, and the other things are pretty much irrelevant to my life here. Plus, the flat is so big that I've kind of got used to just inhabiting those bits of it that are more or less functional and aesthetically pleasing.<br />
<br />
So when, on my second day in India, the door fell off one of my kitchen cupboards, I wasn't too fussed. Again, it's a big kitchen, and I could never fill all the cupboards, so I just haven't used that cupboard. Unfortunately, since then, the same thing has happened to another three cupboards. Faced with a kitchen full of lean-to detached doors, I finally gave in and got my landlord to call in the local carpenter. Re-fixing four cupboard doors, I thought. Half hour job, tops?<br />
<br />
24 hours later, my kitchen looks like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vQv_nAVM8iY/UBJ59SdmgDI/AAAAAAAABA0/_vWJkddCJMQ/s1600/IMG_3186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vQv_nAVM8iY/UBJ59SdmgDI/AAAAAAAABA0/_vWJkddCJMQ/s400/IMG_3186.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
<br />
Now, I'm the last to claim I have any skills in carpentry (or indeed any practical skills whatsoever) but this strikes me as a little excessive. I've been home sick today (having endured a flight back from Bangalore last night while in the midst of a raging fever, chills and sweats) and have witnessed an inordinate amount of coming and going, involving at least four people and a quite impressive amount of dust. None of the workers speak English and my Hindi is certainly not up to "um, you know you're only supposed to be replacing the doors, right?" So I've been curled up on the sofa in my dressing gown listening to the bangs and the crashes and wondering if I haven't ordered a complete re-fit by mistake. Every now and then one of the workers comes out of the kitchen and stares at me. Which is not a nice feeling, given that I feel like I've been hit by a bus right now and am even pastier than normal.<br />
<br />
Compare and contrast: my recent discovery (I don't know how it's taken me this long) of roadside, mobile coconut stalls that, using an ingenious set of pipes, spikes and whatnots, get you from raw fruit to glass of chilled coconut water in less than 30 seconds. Efficiency is a rather selectively applied concept in India.<br />
<br />
Update: I am chastened. It turns out that my collapsing cupboard doors were due to termites, which I had somehow failed to notice. So now half of my kitchen is being replaced, and the whole flat treated to prevent the little buggers coming back. I take it all back!<br />
<br /></div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-87252820726611546432012-06-20T21:59:00.000+05:302012-11-12T10:30:04.013+05:30A very English take on India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm finally back in Delhi after nigh on a month in the UK, which arose because of an issue with my visa (don't ask) which meant that I had to reapply for it rather than renewing it. So my first anniversary in India was actually spent in London. It was frustrating to have to be away so long, but I have to admit it was nice too - especially escaping the June heat. But in general I just feel I've spent far too much time this year hopping from pillar to post, and particularly between Delhi and London for work. Happily there are no more trips scheduled for the rest of this year (though there will certainly be some in-country travelling to be done) so I'm hoping I can focus a bit more on India for my remaining time here.<br />
<br />
Anyway, on the flight back I finally managed to do something I'd been planning for a while: watch The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. If you don't know it, it's a recent film featuring a gaggle of British pensioners heading off to Jaipur for retirement, and it has a cast list that reads like a Who's Who of every English period drama you've seen in the last fifteen years (Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, Bill Nighy, Penelope Wilton, Tom Wilkinson, Celia Imrie...) as well as Dev Patel of Slumdog Millionaire fame. Obviously I had to watch it, since the basic subject matter is the culture shock experienced by new arrivals in India from the UK, albeit of a rather different generation.<br />
<br />
The film is very, very British. It has a gentle, understated humour, it is populated by amusing eccentrics, it has an undeniable warmth to it, and like most British films it's ever so slightly smug about how gentle, understated, amusing, eccentric and warm it is. Of course with a cast like this you can't go far wrong with this material and it was a pleasant dose of escapism on a dreary flight. But did it speak to me as someone who's been through the settling in period in India?<br />
<br />
Well, yes and no. Movies are simplistic and in this one everyone reacts in a fairly linear and straightforward way to their new surroundings. Penelope Wilton is horrified; Judi Dench is wide-eyed and keen to explore; Maggie Smith is repulsed; Tom Wilkinson rediscovers his youthful energy. Celia Imrie and Ronald Pickup, meanwhile, barely seem to notice they are in India at all and just seem to carry on as they were. With the exception of Smith's character, none of them seem to experience much conflict or fluctuation in how they react to the country.<br />
<br />
This is where it really didn't ring true for me, because I've been through every one of those reactions and a dozen more in my year in India. You can't have a simple reaction to a place like this; it doesn't let you. There have been days when, like Dench's character, I've been brimming with zest to get out and see as much as I can; equally, I've had Wiltonesque days of wanting to stay indoors with a glass of wine and pretend I'm somewhere else.<br />
<br />
Of course this is an ensemble piece so the filmmakers can be forgiven for not probing individual emotions too deeply; there just isn't time. But the broad brush approach also has the effect of making the film curiously uninformative about India. Some old stereotypes are wheeled out, like India the place of spiritual discovery (though thankfully this is not over-played), and some new ones (a call centre features heavily). Caste issues are briefly touched upon, and one character remarks how Indian people "see life as a privilege, not a right" (I'm not totally sure what that means, to be honest). But overall, the film's gaze remains firmly on its British protagonists. Some great visuals of the teeming crowds of Jaipur aside, the story could have been set pretty much anywhere.<br />
<br />
There were some elements that were rather more surprising - Tom Wilkinson's story arc, in which he searches for the Indian man he fell in love with 40 years previously, in particular - the film generally sticks to safe territory. The Indian characters - likeable but naive young man, overbearing mother, mostly-silent-but-ineffably-wise old man - have been seen before and Dev Patel is on very familiar turf. I was a bit uncomfortable with the ending, in which the fate of the eponymous hotel is resolved in a manner that hints at a somewhat neo-colonialist attitude. But maybe I'm just being over-sensitive.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I certainly enjoyed the film and the stellar cast do exactly what they are very, very good at: engaging their audience. But they stay firmly centre stage, and India is decidedly playing only a supporting role.</div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-91694546372373518562012-05-22T22:50:00.002+05:302012-05-22T22:51:29.345+05:30Dust to dust<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Delhi is about as hot as it gets right now. Today was 43 degrees and we are set to hit 45 on Friday. This isn't the first time I've experienced these temperatures here - this time last year I was in Delhi looking for a place to live, and when I moved in mid-June it wasn't much cooler. I can't say I enjoy it much, but it's better than Delhi's meanest climate trick, which it saved until the very end of my first year here: the dust storms.<br />
<br />
This time of year, as the city burns like a furnace, the broiling air rises rapidly and creates a vacuum into which some pretty strong winds can sweep. When those winds come from the South West, from the deserts of Rajasthan and Gujarat, they come laden with dust that can transform a merely uncomfortably hot day into a swirling tornado of misery.<br />
<br />
I was in Green Park market when the latest one hit Delhi. It's a surreal experience watching the approach of the storm: a distant blurriness on the horizon transforms into an advancing brown wall, gradually obscuring the buildings until suddenly it's upon you. The air suddenly becomes thick with grit and particles; the dust whips your skin and creeps into your ears and eyes; breathing becomes a matter of sucking a minimal amount in through clenched nostrils; when you clench your teeth you can feel the grit grinding between them. The streets empty as everyone seeks shelter wherever they can. The polluting effects, several newspapers noted, are even worse than those caused by the insane quantity of fireworks let off during <a href="http://www.twomilliongods.blogspot.in/2011/10/diwali-lights-and-frights.html">Diwali</a> (which says a lot about just how insane that quantity of fireworks is). The dust gathers in great swathes on any horizontal surface, which dance and morph into new patterns as the wind sweeps over them. Vehicles, balconies and pavements are caked in the stuff. It becomes inescapable.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6GvnecoYftU/T7vE6s_cHmI/AAAAAAAABAg/uzzf5fGH4-Y/s1600/delhiduststorm2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6GvnecoYftU/T7vE6s_cHmI/AAAAAAAABAg/uzzf5fGH4-Y/s400/delhiduststorm2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo taken from The Hindu website</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This isn't my first time dealing with this; Seoul's infamous "yellow dust" comes from the deserts of Mongolia at a similar time each year and blankets much of Eastern China, Korea and Japan in choking squalls. Maybe it's just the luxury of distance, but I don't recall the experience being quite so unpleasant as Delhi's dust storms though.</div>
<br />
Apparently these storms are set to get worse as desertification increases across Asia, including North West India as well as Mongolia. Already the storms - rather than the dust - are deadly; India's often-sub standard infrastructure is vulnerable to severe weather and buildings frequently collapse under the high winds. But the health effects of the dust itself are also becoming severe, with rising cases of asthma and other respiratory conditions.<br />
<br />
There's not much that can be done about the storms themselves, which will continue for as long as the deserts do. But it seems that the job of cleaning up the dust is currently something that is beyond the city authorities. Outside of the squeaky-clean, embassy-heavy areas around India Gate and Chanakyapuri, Delhi's streets are constantly dusty and dirty, and walking for any length of time here will leave you needing a shower. I suspect that the May storms are the origins of a lot of this dust (though the non-stop construction work must also play a significant role). Contrary to popular belief, despite the crazy traffic, <a href="http://www.hindustantimes.com/India-news/NewDelhi/Blame-industry-not-cars-for-pollution/Article1-651549.aspx">vehicular emissions represent only a small percentage of the total particulate matter in the city. </a><br />
<br />
For the most part I haven't found Delhi's pollution to be half as bad as you might suspect, but the figures speak for themselves. The city has made successful initiatives on the environment in the past (particularly its much-ballyhooed initiative to LPG fuel. But it's already too big to manage easily, and continues to grow at a breakneck pace; and there seems to be more pressures for new malls and new roads than for environmental improvements. Delhi's dust is probably not going anywhere any time soon.</div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-62076203673606503772012-05-19T23:58:00.003+05:302012-05-20T00:00:28.519+05:30Cartoons, class and political insecurity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For the outsider, Indian politics is a mind-bogglingly confusing mess. A multitude of institutions, individuals and social groups seem to be locked in a permanent battle with an infinite number of fronts; the states and the centre perpetually tussle for power, with the current swing being decidedly towards the states; competing interests lead to paralysis until, quite inexplicably, everything happens all at once and you're left reeling in confusion. Democracy in India makes the tortuous, ludicrously long US Presidential election look like a primary school egg-and-spoon race.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This makes it difficult for a foreign blogger, in the country for less than a year, to write anything vaguely intelligent on political issues, which is frustrating for me as someone who's followed politics in one way or another for may years. Every now and then, though, India's politicians throw me a bone by embarking on a squabble that manages both to dominate the headlines and yet be so silly that I feel like even I can get a decent grasp on it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The current furore on the Indian political scene concerns cartoons. As Denmark knows well, cartoons have an extraordinary ability to upset people. Normally, though, the cartoons that cause offence are ones that are produced by bold, some might say reckless, modern artists who are willing to take risks to push the boundaries of what is acceptable. In this case, the cartoonists are not young. They are dead. And the the cartoons are not modern. They were drawn 60 years ago.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It all started with the inclusion in school textbooks of the following cartoon:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cs1XADI5-JA/T7fdo-_eu1I/AAAAAAAABAU/K-xiUml6RV4/s1600/ambedkar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cs1XADI5-JA/T7fdo-_eu1I/AAAAAAAABAU/K-xiUml6RV4/s400/ambedkar.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For those outside India scratching their heads, the man on the left is Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of independent India. On the right is BR Ambedkar, a quite extraordinary man who was born into a Dalit caste but became a renowned scholar and jurist, and was largely responsible for the drafting of the Indian constitution. He is, with a great deal of justification, regarded as an icon of modern Indian history and in particular as a hero by Dalits. As the cartoon shows, however, he was not immune to criticism.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When it came to light, however, that this cartoon had been included in school text books, all hell broke loose. An insult to Dalits; a slight on a national hero; derogatory; offensive; inappropriate for "impressionable young minds". Most of these howls of protest seemed to emit from the two houses of the Indian parliament. There were calls for the resignation of the Minister of Human Resource Development, who has responsibility for education in the country.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Not only that, but it transpired that there were other cartoons included in the text books featuring political figures who were portrayed in a demeaning or insulting way. The protests reached new levels of shrillness; now, the cartoons represented a "conspiracy to malign the political class"; young children were being "poisoned" by such images. Faced with such a cacophony, the Minister eventually announced that all "offensive" cartoons would be removed from the textbooks.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At this point I think I should add some context by sharing the text that accompanied the original cartoon in the textbook. It ran as follows:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Cartoonist's impression of the 'snail's pace' with which the constitution was made. Making of the constitution took almost three years. Is the cartoonist commenting on this fact? Why, do you think, did the Constituent Assembly take so long to make the Constitution?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In other words, the point of including the cartoon is to encourage students to think about a key period in India's history and the writing of the nation's founding constitution, and to do so through the eyes of a contemporary political observer. The text book's use of the cartoon seems solely aimed at bringing an otherwise dry issue to life; giving students an accessible entry point into discussion and understanding of a remote but crucial point in India's past. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I studied politics at school and remember our textbooks, and our teacher, making frequent use of such cartoons precisely because they bring issues to live in a vivid and engaging way. This, for me, is the strength of cartoons wherever they appear. Yes, they are often also used to mock and ridicule persons in positions of power. But this is secondary to their power to engage the reader in political issues. I don't recall my "impressionable young mind" being "poisoned" by all this. I do recall being made to think.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It would be easy at this point to sneer at India's politicians and their thin-skinned reaction. Good grief, says the cynical Brit in me, try being a politician in the UK, which has a tradition of mockery of its politicians that is probably unrivalled in its savagery anywhere in the world. If India's politicians find the image above so revolting, God help them if they ever remake Spitting Image over here. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The general public seem a bit bemused by it all. I don't know if there are armies of Dalits out there outraged at the treatment of the man who did so much to raise them from subjection, and I could hardly be totally unsympathetic to them if there are. But judging by my friends' views, and those on the comments pages on the internet, this whole affair is simply political trickery; a distraction from the real issues that India faces and an example of a privileged class at the top of the hierarchy demanding not just power and prestige but also obsequious respect.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There's something in both of these accusations, I think. The sight of politicians, who live a life of unimaginable luxury compared to the average Indian, complaining about "conspiracies" against them does stick somewhat in the gullet. And of course the old watch-the-rabbit trick is a favourite of politicians everywhere (though manufactured crises are not usually based on such nakedly flim-flam material).</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I have a slightly different perspective on this, though. Power in India is like a sand dune: it's constantly shifting, and while it might look as solid as a mountain it could be a completely different shape in a short length of time. Lower castes and other excluded groups are asserting themselves more; new alliances are springing up; the once all-powerful Gandhi dynasty is looking vulnerable. For all their privilege, members of the political class know that their position depends on being able to navigate this rapidly shifting terrain and stay on top. There is, in other words, a reason why they sound so insecure: they are.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Compare this to the UK, where an extraordinary number of our political leaders come from a very, very narrow background of Eton and Oxbridge (though the assumption that the UK is becoming more elitist is not correct, the degree to which this kind of privilege has remained in place since the war is remarkable, as<a href="http://blogs.lse.ac.uk/politicsandpolicy/2011/03/11/political-class-public-school-oxbridge-resilience/"> this article</a> points out). Our political class still has a sense, not of being in danger of losing their position, but of having a right to it: of it being their natural place in the order of things. As a white, male Oxbridge graduate myself I have come across this attitude a good deal - deny it though they of course would.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So maybe this explains why British politicians don't get hot under the collar when they are portrayed as a slug, a poodle, or a fascist dictator on national television. They don't need to. They can afford to be complacent. And although I pity the schoolchildren whose textbooks have been left drier and less effective by this ludicrous affair, I can't help but feel that it reflects something that makes India so exciting: in political terms, it's a big and increasingly level playing field, and no-one really knows who's going to win the game.</div>
</div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-18758317106347248052012-05-10T00:30:00.000+05:302012-05-10T00:30:04.056+05:30Looking the part<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Last time I did a concert with my choir, I cheated a bit on the outfit. Maybe I hadn't quite got the confidence up yet, but I took advantage of the black colour scheme to take a decidedly half-hearted option: long black kurta over ordinary black trousers and a pair of suitably unobtrusive shoes. I felt like a bit of a fraud to be honest. So when I was told that the colour scheme for the spring concerts was off-white with blue or gold, I decided this was my cue to make amends.<br />
<br />
Off-white doesn't give you much to hide behind. The closest thing I had in my wardrobe was a pair of beige slacks, which would stand out a mile with everyone else in full Indian get up. So there was no choice for it: not just a new kurta (yes, I now have two) but pyjama and juttis too.<br />
<br />
In case anyone's confused at this point, I'm not talking about the pyjamas your mum used to put you in before bed. This is the <i>original</i> pyjama, and the whole reason why the word is familiar to English speakers at all (it entered the language during the colonial period). It's a curious, lightweight leg garment that is <i>very</i> baggy at the waist, tapering to a tight tube around the calves. The first time I encountered the thing in the changing room at the wonderful FabIndia store) I was genuinely bemused. I'd never seen anything remotely like it and I wasn't entirely sure how it was supposed to match a human body shape:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q6Azk1qveNo/T6q3EMrbKlI/AAAAAAAAA_s/Lmgin0RU-vM/s1600/509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q6Azk1qveNo/T6q3EMrbKlI/AAAAAAAAA_s/Lmgin0RU-vM/s400/509.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Just to clarify, that's a 1 litre bottle of mineral water at the bottom. Those legs are <i>very</i> far apart. This is because of the crazy amount of material at the top. When you struggle into the things and pull the drawstring tight you look remarkably like a Tudor gentleman who's decided to combine his doublet and hose into one odd-looking garment. For those of us of the lankier and not-so-young-anymore persuasion, it manages to perfectly show off our spindly legs at the same time as emphasising our incipient middle-age spread. Needless to say I didn't spend a great deal of time admiring myself in the dressing room mirror.<br />
<br />
Happily, they're not designed to be worn alone, so I was able to hastily throw my matching kurta over the top and try to erase the image of the pyjama-clad me from my mind (it didn't work, so I'm sharing the pain with all you lucky people). But of course the trickiest thing was footwear. Slipping on a pair of brogues or converses was clearly not going to work with the pyjama. So it was back out to the shops to get my first ever pair of juttis.<br />
<br />
Juttis are traditional Indian shoes. They come in two main types: Punjabi (flat) and Rajasthani (which curl up at the toe like the shoes from the illustrations in the copy of the <i>Arabian Nights </i>I read as a kid). I've discovered a number of things about juttis:<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>They are surprisingly difficult to find, especially if you're a bloke</li>
<li>When you have found men's juttis, 95% of them will look like they are supposed to be for women, and hard cheese if you're not fond of gold or silver</li>
<li>They are possibly the most uncomfortable footwear known to man.</li>
</ul>
<div>
Anyway, after a lengthy search I found a pair that were towards the acceptable end of the gaudiness scale. And here they are:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ypV9lTLjwXM/T6q6AgvD0OI/AAAAAAAAA_4/ivQw06CTwtg/s1600/507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ypV9lTLjwXM/T6q6AgvD0OI/AAAAAAAAA_4/ivQw06CTwtg/s400/507.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Yeah, I just can't get away from the fact that they look like they belong in my sister's wardrobe, not mine.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Anyway, despite all my misgivings I have to admit that the sum total of all this finery is actually quite nice to wear and (shoes aside) comfortable. Here's me and fellow chorister Johannes in all our glory:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l-CtP1c2LvY/T6q7ZMOsBiI/AAAAAAAABAA/KfcZfrmkpZc/s1600/504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-l-CtP1c2LvY/T6q7ZMOsBiI/AAAAAAAABAA/KfcZfrmkpZc/s400/504.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div>
Not too bad, right? At least I don't feel like a complete idiot as a white guy wearing Indian clothes, which I probably would have if I'd ever gone in for the traditional dress in Korea:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ziIiOU4DEts/T6q8V4C3A7I/AAAAAAAABAI/R4Zop3TEJNY/s1600/man-hanbok.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ziIiOU4DEts/T6q8V4C3A7I/AAAAAAAABAI/R4Zop3TEJNY/s400/man-hanbok.gif" width="210" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Or, indeed, in Holland (actually now I come to think of it, even juttis are pretty comfortable compared to clogs. Wooden shoes - how was that ever a good idea?).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, the ladies of the choir assure me that the outfit looks just fine, and it does make a nice change from a suit and tie (it's great to feel like you've dressed up but that you can also breathe). Not sure what I'm going to do with all these things when I leave in India (costume parties? get my theatre society to stage <i>A Passage to India</i>?) but in the meantime: when in Delhi...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-15181117430094324532012-05-07T23:20:00.000+05:302012-05-07T23:20:10.170+05:30Shopping and segregation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm not usually a mall kind of person. This is maybe because instead of growing up in, say, Houston, Texas (where the malls are sparkly, the clothes are cheap and they sell interesting things like Dead Sea salt rubs which then leak all over your suitcase), I grew up in suburban Manchester in the 1980s. In Stretford, we didn't use the word "mall" to describe our local shopping centre; we called it "the precinct", or - more often - "the preccy". It was built of yellow public-toilet bricks and concrete, and had an increasingly pound shop-occupied interior that was scarcely less depressing. After I left Manchester, the place was indeed rebranded as "the Stretford Mall", but they weren't fooling anyone.<br />
<br />
This wasn't a great introduction to the mall experience, though I've undoubtedly had a somewhat better experience since then. I retain, though, a healthy dislike for these places and their soulless capitalism, divorced from the civic and artistic life of the city centre. So I've pretty much avoided the various huge establishments that have sprung up in south Delhi in recent years, and done my shopping in the various family-run, stick-out-your-elbow-and-knock-over-an-entire-exhibit little stores in the various local markets.<br />
<br />
Every now and again, though, needs must. This last weekend I needed to go shopping to buy a new outfit for the concerts my choir is giving this week. <a href="http://www.twomilliongods.blogspot.in/2011/12/entertaining-madam-president.html">Last time</a> the dress code was black; this time it is off-white, so I had to buy another kurta (yes, I now have two garments that I'm going to wear maybe four times in my life). I decided this time I'd go the whole hog and get the matching pyjama and juttis too (that's a whole other post) so I met up with a couple of friends at the Vasant Kunj mall to do the needful, as they say here.<br />
<br />
Vasant Kunj mall is actually a set of three interconnected malls, that sit by the site of an enormous dusty highway somewhere amid the south Delhi sprawl. The location seems bizarre to me. As a non-driver I find the idea of putting commercial outlets miles from anywhere where people would naturally walk to be inherently weird; for those used to getting everywhere by car, I guess the perspective is different. But anyway, the view from the malls is of said dusty highway, a few sad patches of grass, and a lot of Indian style pavements (cracked stones, random gaps, even more random lumps of concrete stuck in the middle of the path). And that's it. You can't see any human habitation or other commercial activity, even though logically they can't be that far away. It's just the malls and the wasteland. It's very post-apocalyptic.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6F7MId0E4Q/T6gBeMxGbyI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/xM7A-I9NKlo/s1600/ambience+mall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z6F7MId0E4Q/T6gBeMxGbyI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/xM7A-I9NKlo/s400/ambience+mall.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
(I feel I must add at this point that I didn't take my camera with me, so the above photo is not my work. I hope I would have managed to get a reasonably horizontal shot...)<br />
<br />
Talking of the apocalypse, like any self-respecting horror film fan (and I am one, though that seems to surprise people quite often) I can't go to a mall without my thoughts turning to zombies. And Vasant Kunj could indeed be modelled on the <i>Dawn of the Dead</i> mall. Once you've left behind the broken concrete, cooking under the 42 degree sun, it's definitely more Houston than Stretford: sparkling clean, completely sanitised, and shamelessly dedicated to shallow consumerism (in which, of course, I would NEVER indulge. Oh no). And like such places everywhere, it's populated by people who, in the main, are mindlessly in pursuit of exactly that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-19YFBBil9t0/T6gDvMrCa0I/AAAAAAAAA_g/I3ivUzn90U0/s1600/dawn-of-the-dead-zombie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-19YFBBil9t0/T6gDvMrCa0I/AAAAAAAAA_g/I3ivUzn90U0/s400/dawn-of-the-dead-zombie.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">We want Gucci saris, new iPhones, and fresh masala brains please.</span></div>
<br />
Actually, though, I was more reminded me of a more recent Romero outing, Land of the Dead. You know, the one where the survivors of Z-Day are walled up in an idyllic prison while outside chaos rules? Vasant Kunj mall feels a bit like that - a slightly surreal, too-perfect world that bears no resemblance at all to the noisy, hot, churning city outside. And while this may sound like I am drawing a comparison in the mall's favour, I'm not. For a couple of hours it was nice to escape the dirt and the heat, breathe in the air-conditioned goodness, and eat caprese salad in a sports bar complete with pool tables. But it gets old pretty quickly, and anyway, it feels as phoney as those impossibly handsome shop mannequins you see these days.<br />
<br />
I'm not sniping at India for having malls, or romanticising the "real India" as something under threat from these developments. As I said, I don't much like any malls, and I think they do have a destructive effect on the vitality of the cities where they spring up. But I understand their attraction, particularly for Delhiites between May and September, when the weather is at its most intolerable. I can't blame people for wanting some cool air, some space, and some respite from the traffic cacophony.<br />
<br />
If, of course, you have the money to afford it. Indian malls have tight security, and routinely turn people away if they look like they can't afford to shop there (which, of course, the vast majority of Indians can't). At least in UK shopping centres anyone can come and window shop; in India, part of the appeal of these places is that they are exclusive to a small number of well-off people who are desperate to escape the seething masses for a while.<br />
<br />
And this is what I find a bit unnerving about them. Generally, markets in Delhi are quite equalising places. Yes, you have more exclusive ones where stores cater to people with large budgets, but to get to them you can't avoid rubbing shoulders with shoe shine boys, cycle rickshaw wallas, and all the others, hustling for a few rupees. The streets of Delhi simply don't allow for much segregation between different kinds of people.<br />
<br />
So the mall seems symptomatic of a wider change in India, seen also in the proliferation of gated communities in cities like Delhi and Bangalore. A degree of exclusivity - in leisure activities or education, for instance - has always been a feature of being rich; but India's increasing wealth (and its concentration in the hands of a few) seems to be leading to a place where rich people's <i>entire lives</i> are becoming removed from those of their poorer countrymen.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'm exaggerating. The markets at Lajpat Nagar or Sarojini Nagar remain, after all, melting pots of Delhi society (and despite the lack of air conditioning or piped music, a more rewarding experience for the visitor). But I think the trend is there - the same trend that, for instance, South Africa has seen (though for different reasons, I think). Is the future of urban India one of stark polarisation? Will tomorrow's rich Indian kids have any idea at all of the poverty existing on their doorstep?<br />
<br />
More to the point, is the only option for an increasingly rich India a future of increasingly bland consumer environments and the decline of the vitality of the street? And is that just a patronising Western perspective on the inevitable changes taking place in a country that rightly wants a chance to experience the kind of living standards I've been able to take for granted?</div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-17917917257488705352012-05-01T23:23:00.000+05:302012-05-01T23:24:21.298+05:30A rocky patch<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yup, it's been a long silence from me. Thanks to those of you who have continued to check in despite the dearth of new material. I hadn't dared to look at my blog stats until today, but they were a pleasant surprise.<br />
<br />
The fact is, India and I have not been getting on too well of late. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say that our relationship has been through a bit of a crisis. And for various reasons that's meant that the last thing I have felt like doing is sitting down to write about the experience.<br />
<br />
It all started when my mum went back home (mum, if you're reading this, this doesn't mean that this is your fault!). I don't think I realised it at the time but I had got quite accustomed to having her around, quite quickly. And when she went back to England it triggered a wave of homesickness that, if not quite tsunami-like, would certainly give surfers something to get excited about.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, that also added to some ongoing work-related stresses and the exhaustion induced by a heck of a lot of travel (which has also had an impact on the blog - hard to write about India when I seem to be spending half my life in London of late), and I went into a major down turn. Nothing I couldn't handle - eventually - but enough to keep me away from much productive activity outside of holding down the job and keeping up to date with my study (which I have barely managed to do, and we won't talk about my most recent assignment grade).<br />
<br />
I honestly believe that when expat life feels miserable, it is 99% about internal factors and what's going on in one's life than the country itself. If I had been in Switzerland, Angola or New Zealand, the last month would have still been awful. Similarly, the lowest point of my life to date - the first six months in Korea - were almost entirely about my feelings about myself and things that were going on in my personal and family life, not about the country itself.<br />
<br />
But the thing is, that's not what it feels like <i>at the time.</i> At the time, all you can see is that you're feeling miserable and that <i>everyone around you is trying to make you feel worse.</i> All the things that are normally the stuff of humorous anecdotes become very personal attacks on your own sanity and well-being. The restaurant that doesn't have the dish you want (about half the restaurants I go to, it sometimes seems); the driver who frightens the crap out of you by pulling up behind you and blasting his horn; the shop where the security guards insist on checking your receipt despite having seen you make the purchase three feet in front of them; the airport security guys who arbitrarily change the rules every time you board a plane; the pizza delivery place where <i>everyone </i>thinks you've said "three" when you've said "two". They're all out to get you. And you find yourself saying the dreaded words: I hate this bloody country!<br />
<br />
This is where one of my least favourite creatures in the world, the Moaning Expat, starts coming into being. Anyone who's spent any time overseas has come across them: they've lived in the country for at least a couple of years, probably have at least a couple to go, and spend their <i>every waking second</i> moaning about it. They tend to huddle in self-sustaining small groups, which delight in swapping the latest tales about how bloody awful everything is here while slurping down the proceeds of their (or their spouse's) highly paid job in a local bar. The only thing they seem to enjoy more is swooping on some wide-eyed, excited newcomer and punctuating their misguided optimism with some harsh realities about the hell hole they've just moved to.<br />
<br />
As you can probably tell, I don't want to become a Moaning Expat. But I've come perilously close this last month. I think the kicker was when I was getting deeply impatient with a taxi driver in Bangalore who didn't know how to get to where I was staying (admittedly, right by one of the biggest hotels in the city, so he <i>should</i> have known, but everyone knows that taxis in Indian cities are largely driven by migrants who don't benefit from much training, so you just have to be patient). I had a slight out of body experience and saw myself: mouth pinched tight at the corners, eyes rolling, saying things like "it's one of the biggest bloody landmarks in the city, for god's sake!". It wasn't pretty. I didn't like myself very much.<br />
<br />
(In my defence, I had at this point been travelling from London via Dubai and Delhi for something approaching 22 hours. But still.)<br />
<br />
So I decided enough was enough. Yes, I'm still a bit homesick, and yes, I still have to do lots of work travel, and yes, there remain significant challenges at work (given that I'm trying to set up a whole new team, that's hardly surprising - and one of the reasons I took the job was the challenge). But I found myself wondering when I got so <i>angry</i>, and more to the point what I really have to be angry about (answer: let's face it, not a lot). Stuff that. When I got back to Delhi I got a good night's sleep and then went back to the gym, started eating better, and met up with some friends. Because if I've learned one thing about warding off depression, it's that physical and social well-being go hand in hand with mental contentment.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I haven't suddenly turned into Pollyanna and India remains a place that would test even her sunny disposition at times. But like I said, it's 99% about what's happening inside. And I feel like I may just have turned a corner that very much needed to be turned.<br />
<br />
And maybe - just maybe - that means I can get back to regular blogging again.</div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-16516415892540733262012-03-30T19:24:00.000+05:302012-03-30T19:24:49.448+05:30Indian workplace relationships explained<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A friend of mine posted this recently on Facebook and I thought it deserved a share.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vKADNS11TH4/T3W435KsQZI/AAAAAAAAA_M/we0loZXvi9Y/s1600/India+workplace+relationships.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vKADNS11TH4/T3W435KsQZI/AAAAAAAAA_M/we0loZXvi9Y/s400/India+workplace+relationships.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>For a simple little cartoon, this tells you an awful lot about workplace relationships in India. Note for instance:<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The over-usage of the word "sir". This is not an exaggeration. People really do use it in every single sentence when talking to their boss.</li>
<li>The complete lack of stress on the face of the late employee (reading back, that sounds like he's dead. But you know what I mean). He knows he's late, he knows his boss will be angry, but it's just how things go. He may even suspect the truth of the matter and know that his being late doesn't actually matter so much. But even though he's happy as Larry, note also:</li>
<li>The crucial need to make a show of repentance, even if you're blithely sitting on your scooter enjoying a few minutes more of the illusion of freedom.</li>
<li>The equal need on the part of the boss to make a show of "bossiness".</li>
<li>The clearly far greater stress levels being experienced by the boss, even though it's the employee who is getting a dressing down. </li>
<li>And finally, the completely unexaggerated depiction of Indian traffic at its worst. Though the idea of there being this many stationary vehicles in one place without anyone trying to sell anything is somewhat fanciful.</li>
</ul><div>Hierarchies are really, really important in India (and that's from someone from the UK). The need to maintain the outward appearance of those hierarchies can lead to some pretty surreal situations. I'm sure this one has happened in reality more than once.</div></div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-22636646745552446002012-03-19T22:52:00.002+05:302012-03-19T23:05:15.550+05:30Guest blog: Mum's Indian adventure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cm5_Iixyl9o/T2dpAsnnDKI/AAAAAAAAA-E/KgHMmDC-VFw/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cm5_Iixyl9o/T2dpAsnnDKI/AAAAAAAAA-E/KgHMmDC-VFw/s200/019.JPG" width="130" /></a></div><i>Mum's off back to England tomorrow, having recently returned from a six day tour of Kerala with Jenny. So I asked her to do a guest spot on the blog about her travels. As you'll see, she's had a memorable time!</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Chris has invited me to write a 'guest' blog, as a short stay visitor with a different perspective (being both female and older!). Well, here goes...<br />
<br />
When we first arrived, it was definitely sensory overload - just so much and so many of everything! This has made it very difficult for me to process and analyse my experience, so here are just some impressions, roughly categorised.<br />
<br />
<u>Clothes</u><br />
As a woman, I had to start with that, really! The sheer variety of colours and textures available, both for men and women, is staggering. It's partly this incredible array of hues that adds a vibrancy to almost any situation, however drab and dusty the surroundings.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K-n_Kqd_wdo/T2dgnc36GPI/AAAAAAAAA8U/pV13nAiLCow/s1600/SAM_0057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K-n_Kqd_wdo/T2dgnc36GPI/AAAAAAAAA8U/pV13nAiLCow/s400/SAM_0057.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
In Delhi, more women seem to favour salwar kameez, with their cleverly blended colour schemes and their long, flowing dupattas. There seem to be many ways these can be worn, but I haven't yet worked out the secret of keeping them in place! (My friend, Jenny, and I had salwar kameez made for us here in Delhi.) In Kerala, more women wear saris. How wonderfully elegant they look, too, especially as very few seem to expose midriff! They all seem to have such good posture.The traditional Keralan sari is a warm creamy yellow, with a variety of border patterns.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jJrpOyerjxk/T2dg1l5r9AI/AAAAAAAAA8c/bbR1pa2Ewx4/s1600/SAM_0290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jJrpOyerjxk/T2dg1l5r9AI/AAAAAAAAA8c/bbR1pa2Ewx4/s400/SAM_0290.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
Many men dress in western fashion in Delhi, whereas in Kerala most wear a western style shirt with the traditional lungi. This can be full length or tucked up into the waist or folded in on itself. I don't know how they keep them up!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pVN8oLFqVHQ/T2dhUv_7IBI/AAAAAAAAA8k/xcKfGyvZe84/s1600/SAM_0313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pVN8oLFqVHQ/T2dhUv_7IBI/AAAAAAAAA8k/xcKfGyvZe84/s400/SAM_0313.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<u>Traffic</u><br />
Well, Chris warned me! It is absolute mayhem in Delhi: <u>everyone</u> beeps their horns all the time, people overtake on the inside, outside, from a side street, or wherever they feel like. They create four lanes where there are only meant to be three and what are lanes anyway?! It is chaotic and frightening, especially when you see young children in the middle of a busy street, but mostly, it seems to work!! All I can say is, with my thirty years' driving experience, I would be hopelessly underprepared for coping with traffic here, where they seem to be able to judge a gap to within a cm.<br />
<br />
I do think motorised rickshaws are a great idea and a really economic way to travel. Jenny suggested they would work really well in London.<br />
<br />
<u>My worst experience</u><br />
Fatehpur Sikri Mosque!!! I hated every minute of it.<br />
<br />
We were pestered even before we got to it, by a young man saying he didn't want any money and just wanted to improve his English. Chris made it clear we didn't require a guide, but he and his older 'brother' dogged us the whole way round. To make matters a hundred times worse, we were plagued continuously by people (including young children) trying to sell us things. They would not take no for an answer and followed us the whole time we were on the site. I was unable to concentrate at all on enjoying the architecture. At the end, our two self-appointed guides showed us their 'family' products. We each bought something, but the younger one wasn't satisfied with that and wanted money as well. Needless to say, he didn't get anything!<br />
<br />
In fairness, I need to mention that the palace here was quite spectacular and we were left alone to enjoy it. And we also met some lovely local people - I enjoyed negotiating with a lady in the local market for some beautiful decorative ribbons!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KkUscXF0i7Q/T2dtimoGb8I/AAAAAAAAA-c/ZgEKQwot0ss/s1600/125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KkUscXF0i7Q/T2dtimoGb8I/AAAAAAAAA-c/ZgEKQwot0ss/s400/125.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><u><br />
</u><br />
<u>My best experience(s)</u><br />
The most unusual was probably our elephant ride. I must admit I was rather nervous, especially when we were going up and down slopes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3VEHMRNyp0I/T2dhv7pI9-I/AAAAAAAAA8s/GP7Oqrv3z-M/s1600/SAM_0147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3VEHMRNyp0I/T2dhv7pI9-I/AAAAAAAAA8s/GP7Oqrv3z-M/s400/SAM_0147.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
The most relaxing: on the houseboat in Kerala, where we were treated like royalty, with a driver, cook and waiter all to ourselves. It was wonderful sitting in the open air, surrounded by beautiful scenery and being served breakfast. In the evening there was a spectacular lightning display, which lasted about four hours.<br />
<br />
We were also able to unwind when we took a rickshaw ride in Keoladeo Ghana National Park. The guide we had with us was a naturalist and extremely knowledgable and it was really peaceful.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kpZ_Ffw_4zM/T2ds9I5pgnI/AAAAAAAAA-U/HrrMbu-C_60/s1600/295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kpZ_Ffw_4zM/T2ds9I5pgnI/AAAAAAAAA-U/HrrMbu-C_60/s400/295.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br />
And one of the most fascinating experiences was definitely Holi, which Chris has <a href="http://www.twomilliongods.blogspot.in/2012/03/holy-holi.html">already blogged about</a>. It was lovely to spend the day with the local community who welcomed us into their festivities. It would be lovely to see this sort of community event happening more often in England!<br />
<br />
<u>Kerala</u><br />
This is a truly beautiful state, full of lush greenery. It is also a land of contrasts. Around Cochin there are some magnificent villas and it is relatively flat.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C2P1fjQXdBE/T2diF9WunUI/AAAAAAAAA80/id_JY5UhSNo/s1600/SAM_0135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C2P1fjQXdBE/T2diF9WunUI/AAAAAAAAA80/id_JY5UhSNo/s400/SAM_0135.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PUwK_oAiPF8/T2diNH4HzbI/AAAAAAAAA88/8zRzhkhE52c/s1600/SAM_0357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PUwK_oAiPF8/T2diNH4HzbI/AAAAAAAAA88/8zRzhkhE52c/s400/SAM_0357.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Then you begin climbing up into the mountains, where you come across isolated villages, where people are obviously much less well-off. The roads are a veritable switchback, often with really steep drops on one side or sometimes both! Around Munnar are slopes blanketed with tea plants. They cover every available inch, including some pretty steep slopes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EJ6DX5TTTnI/T2dimekge-I/AAAAAAAAA9E/zAR3mh7n80A/s1600/SAM_0191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EJ6DX5TTTnI/T2dimekge-I/AAAAAAAAA9E/zAR3mh7n80A/s400/SAM_0191.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XvrjsWmVW9Q/T2djnsVqbjI/AAAAAAAAA9M/hFgQ1bSx8Io/s1600/SAM_0206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XvrjsWmVW9Q/T2djnsVqbjI/AAAAAAAAA9M/hFgQ1bSx8Io/s400/SAM_0206.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Next you have the backwaters, which are completely different again - mile upon mile of waterways, which make our canals look tiny. Some of the people here live on narrow strips of land and rely on long, narrow boats or water taxis to get around.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2tbewOCLByE/T2dkIIgsvxI/AAAAAAAAA9U/u9-HoEKbQs4/s1600/SAM_0320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2tbewOCLByE/T2dkIIgsvxI/AAAAAAAAA9U/u9-HoEKbQs4/s400/SAM_0320.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PjgxbtnNbVA/T2dkOSFpVnI/AAAAAAAAA9c/fL1dIK2lueQ/s1600/SAM_0307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PjgxbtnNbVA/T2dkOSFpVnI/AAAAAAAAA9c/fL1dIK2lueQ/s400/SAM_0307.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SbmvHJUFJHA/T2dkfcSHibI/AAAAAAAAA9k/xG6rtSvBntM/s1600/SAM_0315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SbmvHJUFJHA/T2dkfcSHibI/AAAAAAAAA9k/xG6rtSvBntM/s400/SAM_0315.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Kerala seems to be less poor than some other areas and the pace of life is slower. People are very friendly and seem happy. The land is fertile and mango, coconut, jackfruit and papaya palms abound.<br />
<br />
The other thing that was very apparent was the flourishing of Christianity. There are so many wonderful churches, many of which are of recent construction. Their architecture is so very varied and often quite beautiful.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YhFoNZcNOF0/T2dkyQe4uoI/AAAAAAAAA9s/Sc4yZ6J1R80/s1600/SAM_0296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YhFoNZcNOF0/T2dkyQe4uoI/AAAAAAAAA9s/Sc4yZ6J1R80/s400/SAM_0296.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cVyj1-c3N2Y/T2dk6qtyWiI/AAAAAAAAA90/rrBhuCRxkjY/s1600/SAM_0254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cVyj1-c3N2Y/T2dk6qtyWiI/AAAAAAAAA90/rrBhuCRxkjY/s400/SAM_0254.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WG5Ghzz--q8/T2dlCuehSHI/AAAAAAAAA98/cGT0F2M7_DI/s1600/SAM_0252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WG5Ghzz--q8/T2dlCuehSHI/AAAAAAAAA98/cGT0F2M7_DI/s400/SAM_0252.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
All in all, we've had a wonderful time, seen some really contrasting areas of India and have some amazing memories to take away with us.</div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-62306927887986698592012-03-09T00:01:00.001+05:302012-03-09T00:09:09.795+05:30Holy Holi!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Welcome to my 100th blog post! It seems quite fitting that it should be about an event that I've been eagerly (and a bit nervously) anticipating for a good while now: my first Holi festival.<br />
<br />
And what a crazy, fantastic day it was. My friend Gaurav, who sings in my choir, invited me, my mum and my mum's friend Jenny to his local neighbourhood, where the community was gathered in the central park to pelt each other with water and paint and generally let loose. We were all a little bit nervous to start with, not really knowing the rules or what to expect, but we'd followed closely the advice we'd been given: wear old clothes, oil your hair (my mum really didn't enjoy slathering her head in olive oil), and come well armed. I'd been shopping the day before for water pistols, water balloons and coloured paints - lots and lots of coloured paints.<br />
<br />
Just as well really, since after a slightly apprehensive beginning, the local kids (and some of the local adults) of Som Vihar decided that pelting the foreigners with as much water and paint as they could throw at us added immensely to the enjoyment of the day. We gave as good as we got, naturally, but I think on balance I probably have to give the victory to the locals. In return, they cooked us some chicken biryani and Gaurav's grandmother graciously allowed us into her flat for tea even in our paint-covered states.<br />
<br />
What makes Holi (at least in Som Vihar) so special? The innocence, the exuberance, the sense of a community coming together for simple fun. The breaking down of social barriers and hierarchies for a day. The sheer pleasure of a holiday without any of the pressures of Christmas. And, of course, getting to pour buckets of coloured water over total strangers.<br />
<br />
My mum commented that it would do kids in the UK a lot of good to have one day in the year when this kind of misbehaviour and silliness is not only tolerated, but encouraged. I think it does adults a lot of good too. I've been pretty stressed with work of late and I felt a huge chunk of that fall off me the more the paint was piled on. We don't have holidays like this back home. Ours are full of pressure - where do we have Christmas lunch, did we get the right presents, is our New Year the Best New Year Ever, can we get off the M25 before the bank holiday is over? Holi felt like the exact opposite - the release of pressure by licencing mayhem of the best kind. And I can't think of a single day in the British calendar that brings local communities together so effectively - the closest being Bonfire Night, or at least Bonfire Night as I remember it from my childhood.<br />
<br />
On Holi, tradition has it that normally rigid social structures are broken down. The roles and relationships defined by caste, age, gender and family structure are loosened for one day. I wonder if this is what April Fools' Day or Halloween used to be like in the UK, before they morphed into something less socially vital.<br />
<br />
Anyway, a million thanks to Gaurav and the people of Som Vihar for such a wonderful day. I don't think my mum could have found a better way to spend her first full day in India than being warmly welcomed into a community like this. And I had an absolute blast.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8EvuzK9xPyk/T1jyPI-hq_I/AAAAAAAAA40/FzQmklsBbwM/s1600/024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8EvuzK9xPyk/T1jyPI-hq_I/AAAAAAAAA40/FzQmklsBbwM/s400/024.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me and mum, looking colourful.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jN_FuMC1QIk/T1jyTRqMBZI/AAAAAAAAA48/s05Knidx1uA/s1600/023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jN_FuMC1QIk/T1jyTRqMBZI/AAAAAAAAA48/s05Knidx1uA/s400/023.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mum and Jenny</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cXY6vMf3prA/T1jyXYZRPBI/AAAAAAAAA5E/GS1YGy-MQOg/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cXY6vMf3prA/T1jyXYZRPBI/AAAAAAAAA5E/GS1YGy-MQOg/s400/025.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When water pistols just don't cut it any more.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bbGbW-Pbi4A/T1jybZ7NcaI/AAAAAAAAA5M/wwp4OOVUZKU/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bbGbW-Pbi4A/T1jybZ7NcaI/AAAAAAAAA5M/wwp4OOVUZKU/s400/029.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Gaurav, before he got pinker.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vXecsNqRcbU/T1jyfPqxxZI/AAAAAAAAA5U/uTOfoHW580E/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vXecsNqRcbU/T1jyfPqxxZI/AAAAAAAAA5U/uTOfoHW580E/s400/030.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Mum clearly loving India so far!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zz0D7rviTbY/T1jykpUlewI/AAAAAAAAA5c/YtFupMp7Blw/s1600/039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zz0D7rviTbY/T1jykpUlewI/AAAAAAAAA5c/YtFupMp7Blw/s400/039.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">An average-sized water pistol.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-weW5BDCQ4jI/T1jys_NL4YI/AAAAAAAAA5k/J5doxn3I7Zw/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-weW5BDCQ4jI/T1jys_NL4YI/AAAAAAAAA5k/J5doxn3I7Zw/s400/040.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Som Vihar locals enjoying the day.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ksHOQjq81pM/T1jzJstl4CI/AAAAAAAAA5s/0tarmFYmTAI/s1600/042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ksHOQjq81pM/T1jzJstl4CI/AAAAAAAAA5s/0tarmFYmTAI/s400/042.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ia9ce8bo8r8/T1jzUxS0eaI/AAAAAAAAA50/0kPvt03_m38/s1600/043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ia9ce8bo8r8/T1jzUxS0eaI/AAAAAAAAA50/0kPvt03_m38/s400/043.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Px0h8idvBw/T1jzeIqIxII/AAAAAAAAA58/i0bPp0x-Me4/s1600/044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Px0h8idvBw/T1jzeIqIxII/AAAAAAAAA58/i0bPp0x-Me4/s400/044.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lO_sK3bl1iw/T1j0Ml7WrVI/AAAAAAAAA6M/un4fscJYhMA/s1600/045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lO_sK3bl1iw/T1j0Ml7WrVI/AAAAAAAAA6M/un4fscJYhMA/s400/045.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Gaurav with a Delhi-based German family we got chatting to - the only other foreigners there.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AeKu9xcSorM/T1j0SDjroyI/AAAAAAAAA6U/uitYgC-Eb3s/s1600/049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AeKu9xcSorM/T1j0SDjroyI/AAAAAAAAA6U/uitYgC-Eb3s/s400/049.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Gaurav looking mean and intimidating (except for the primary-colour plastic gun)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xWB4eznYR7w/T1j0ePeg_kI/AAAAAAAAA6k/O_SedPgSF-c/s1600/051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xWB4eznYR7w/T1j0ePeg_kI/AAAAAAAAA6k/O_SedPgSF-c/s400/051.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3ndxNEpiqUE/T1j0ko8GOsI/AAAAAAAAA6s/_nH-z964u-c/s1600/053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3ndxNEpiqUE/T1j0ko8GOsI/AAAAAAAAA6s/_nH-z964u-c/s400/053.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iFDNFfIL93E/T1j0ptg14uI/AAAAAAAAA60/WYD8ZYBaXHc/s1600/054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iFDNFfIL93E/T1j0ptg14uI/AAAAAAAAA60/WYD8ZYBaXHc/s400/054.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tbECMStFdNc/T1j0vHcHlaI/AAAAAAAAA68/Osqkc8st13o/s1600/055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tbECMStFdNc/T1j0vHcHlaI/AAAAAAAAA68/Osqkc8st13o/s400/055.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m__F8DTtgsA/T1j023m3axI/AAAAAAAAA7E/35-pLKBmZJE/s1600/061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m__F8DTtgsA/T1j023m3axI/AAAAAAAAA7E/35-pLKBmZJE/s400/061.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4Yn5pGLjUcc/T1j09HHRV_I/AAAAAAAAA7M/2sWNVecW1IU/s1600/065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4Yn5pGLjUcc/T1j09HHRV_I/AAAAAAAAA7M/2sWNVecW1IU/s400/065.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yup, Man Utd get everywhere...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xSzgUbSHvws/T1j1KHGIXwI/AAAAAAAAA7c/2PrtgPVOKnY/s1600/073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xSzgUbSHvws/T1j1KHGIXwI/AAAAAAAAA7c/2PrtgPVOKnY/s400/073.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Enjoying some chicken biryani put on for the occasion. Someone had very recently yellowed me.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8gRNGucUZqE/T1j1WACNr7I/AAAAAAAAA7k/eSGSZapYwcE/s1600/072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8gRNGucUZqE/T1j1WACNr7I/AAAAAAAAA7k/eSGSZapYwcE/s400/072.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h3eNuSGwHiI/T1j1Z12I89I/AAAAAAAAA7s/AKh6a7Q-H4M/s1600/075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h3eNuSGwHiI/T1j1Z12I89I/AAAAAAAAA7s/AKh6a7Q-H4M/s400/075.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5IbxURdTN6A/T1j1eC2dveI/AAAAAAAAA70/FAdTPcRNIaM/s1600/076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5IbxURdTN6A/T1j1eC2dveI/AAAAAAAAA70/FAdTPcRNIaM/s400/076.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W9-wAt_rsyQ/T1j1kjSJ8AI/AAAAAAAAA78/opYWCFNj_dE/s1600/081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W9-wAt_rsyQ/T1j1kjSJ8AI/AAAAAAAAA78/opYWCFNj_dE/s400/081.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Gaurav checking his paint is in place.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3_EgZkFx_eQ/T1j1ogRmfJI/AAAAAAAAA8E/CgtdZLxlmlM/s1600/083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3_EgZkFx_eQ/T1j1ogRmfJI/AAAAAAAAA8E/CgtdZLxlmlM/s400/083.JPG" width="298" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The back of my head (showing evidence of aforementioned yellowing)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MDolrFxfDEU/T1j1uTfCkFI/AAAAAAAAA8M/8h62zaTtaM8/s1600/087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MDolrFxfDEU/T1j1uTfCkFI/AAAAAAAAA8M/8h62zaTtaM8/s400/087.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The aftermath of Holi on one of the local park benches!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
</div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-29953489220469819262012-03-07T14:48:00.002+05:302012-03-07T14:51:44.951+05:30A poetic interlude<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I don't do this very often (and perhaps I should do it more) but I had to share this blog post about the poetry of Southern India. The poems quoted are gorgeous and the detail about the poetic traditions of the region is fascinating.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://delhimagic.blogspot.in/2012/03/love-poetry-of-ancient-south-india.html">http://delhimagic.blogspot.in/2012/03/love-poetry-of-ancient-south-india.html</a> <br />
<br />
I particularly liked this one:<br />
<br />
<u>What she said:</u><br />
<br />
No-one was there but he,<br />
the Thief.<br />
If he denies it, what shall I do?<br />
Only a heron was witness<br />
its thin gold legs like millet stalks<br />
it was eyeing the <i>araal</i> fish,<br />
in the gliding water<br />
on the day<br />
he took me.<br />
<br />
Very simple, very evocative, very timeless. And considering the age of the poem, quite remarkable to read something on this subject from a female perspective. It reminds me a little of Song of Songs, though more concerned with the fears and doubts that surround relationships (as well as the differing pressures on men and women) than with their joy. Beautiful, though.</div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-20110819210698762042012-03-05T20:57:00.000+05:302012-03-05T20:57:21.156+05:30An Event of Some Importance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I'm a bit on edge at the moment. This is partly because of work deadlines but mostly because of what's happening on Wednesday: my mum is coming to visit.<br />
<br />
Of course I'm looking forward to seeing her. My mum and I get on very well and spending time with her is always fun. But I have to admit I'm more than a little bit nervous about how she's going to react to India.<br />
<br />
My mum's traveled quite a lot, especially for someone of her generation who didn't have access to cheap international travel until relatively late in life. She's been to New Zealand, Australia, the USA, Oman, Korea, and a clutch of European countries. But I can safely say she's never been anywhere quite like India before.<br />
<br />
Of course it's every son's job to be overprotective of his mother, so I've done my best to prepare her for the most obvious challenges. Most particularly the roads - she's not a big fan of bad driving at the best of times, so I have advised her just to pretend she's on a beach whenever she's sitting in the car, and that she can't see or hear anything but the sea, the sand and the sky (a technique I've employed myself when the honking and the crazy manoeuvres get too much). And I'm in the happy position of being able to provide a driver for her, so she won't need to worry about getting about. But of course that's not stopping me fretting about how she'll manage the food, the crowds, the heat (it's warming up very quickly) and the poverty.<br />
<br />
As if India alone weren't enough of a culture shock, she is arriving the day before <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holi">Holi</a>, the festival of colours, which habitually involves people pelting each other with coloured paints, water cannons and water balloons. I've asked a couple of Indian friends if we are likely to be particularly targeted as foreigners. They all just sniggered.<br />
<br />
So I'm quite nervous. I am really excited that she has this opportunity to visit India, something that not many people do at this point in their life, and I really want her to enjoy it. But I think realistically that it's going to be a challenging trip for her as well as (I hope) an exciting one.<br />
<br />
I'm probably not giving her enough credit. After all this is a woman who survived both the two year old me and the 16 year old me, and she deserves an award for the latter alone. But like I said, it's my job to be overprotective. She's got an hour and a half massage booked for the first day in the country (she's flying economy class via Helsinki, so I think she'll need it).<br />
<br />
Anyway, the impending Maternal Visit has prompted me to do some stuff around the house that I've been meaning to do for about six months - like connect up the gas to my hob and actually put my pictures up on the walls (in my defence, both required the services of a local handyman and it's not always easy to know how to find such services here. Though it's not much of a defence as mostly it's down to my procrastination). So my flat is looking a little bit more like a home now, with a few touches from home that are so important when you relocate:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JCAlgxcuU5g/T1TZ3mMOVCI/AAAAAAAAA4U/aElm1LqAxT0/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JCAlgxcuU5g/T1TZ3mMOVCI/AAAAAAAAA4U/aElm1LqAxT0/s400/002.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_td1LRWuH4/T1TZ57RJvNI/AAAAAAAAA4c/5x0RH5Ku1Dc/s1600/004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--_td1LRWuH4/T1TZ57RJvNI/AAAAAAAAA4c/5x0RH5Ku1Dc/s400/004.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_EtSpZDKqZE/T1TZ9FGXZZI/AAAAAAAAA4k/FdwCBwF4YLU/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_EtSpZDKqZE/T1TZ9FGXZZI/AAAAAAAAA4k/FdwCBwF4YLU/s400/008.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DbEWIFK_ODE/T1TZ_jgZPjI/AAAAAAAAA4s/fBFDDDg7cqY/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DbEWIFK_ODE/T1TZ_jgZPjI/AAAAAAAAA4s/fBFDDDg7cqY/s400/006.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br />
So, a visit from my mum has once again been the major impetus behind me getting my lodgings in a respectable order. Some things never change, no matter how far you travel.</div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064437222553283194.post-35890929416900350182012-03-04T22:33:00.000+05:302012-03-04T22:33:57.050+05:30A less than warm welcome<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Writing this post makes me a little bit sad, because I really want to be more positive than I am going to be. One of the things I'd been meaning to do for ages is visit the Jama Masjid, India's largest mosque, which lords it in serene magnificence over Old Delhi. I had a few friends in town for a couple of days, so it was a good excuse to take a morning off from the daily grind and tick this particular box.<br />
<br />
I'm never totally comfortable visiting places of worship as a tourist. I'm very aware that entering a place of such deep spiritual significance, while not being able to fully understand that significance, is a dangerous thing to do and something that requires great sensitivity. I think most people approach visits to religious buildings in the same way, anxious not to cause offence, aware that one might very easily do so through sheer ignorance.<br />
<br />
Of course not everyone subscribes to this common-sense caution. We've all heard tales of the topless guys and the bikini-clad girls trying to access this or that holy site. I am sure that the folks at the Jama Masjid, which is maybe only surpassed by the Golden Temple in Amritsar as India's most-visited religious site, have seen plenty of such indiscretions in their time. Which may help explain why the welcome we received there was, frankly, the rudest and most hostile I've experienced in India.<br />
<br />
It didn't start well, when I was (literally) yelled at to take my shoes off even while I was still on the steps up to the mosque. I'd been observing the locals, and saw that they climbed the steps, took their shoes off at the top, and then carried on inside. So it wasn't as though I was about to march in in my shoes; my ignorance just seemed to be assumed. There then followed an unpleasant exchange about the 200 rupee camera charge. I don't have a problem with paying this - a building the size of the Jama Masjid takes some maintenance and it's only fair that non-religious visitors should contribute to that - but I did object to the bullying manner with which it was demanded of us. This included it being re-demanded after we were deemed to have taken too long looking in our wallets for the required notes (about five seconds).<br />
<br />
Once we'd run this gauntlet we were able to get inside and appreciate the gracious, wide open space of the interior of the mosque, and climb the tower for some impressive (if smoggy) views of Delhi. But again the visit was marred by being interrupted about eight times by scowling men who growled "ticket!" at us as if we were schoolkids caught in the corridor during class time.<br />
<br />
By the time we left we felt thoroughly unwelcome, and I'm sorry to say that this rather overshadowed our appreciation of a remarkable building. To make matters worse, hidden charges emerged, including "shoe charge" (which we paid) and a charge for borrowing a sarong for my friend who was wearing shorts (which we didn't, since no mention had been made of a charge for this at the time). Again, these were demanded with a brusqueness that verged on the outright aggressive.<br />
<br />
I think it was the first time in India that I've felt so very unwanted, and I think I can honestly say this was not down to any behaviour on our part (given the general caution towards visiting religious places I mentioned above). Maybe it is just down to the fact that so many hundreds of tourists come through here every day. On the day we visited most of the people at the mosque seemed to be foreign tourists. And I can see how this might be vexing, given that we are talking about a place of worship, not a tourist attraction. Of course tourists' needs take second place to people visiting the mosque to worship, and of course a financial contribution is entirely reasonable. But since tourists are - happily - able to visit, a smile or two would make the whole thing a far more pleasant experience - for both sides, I think.<br />
<br />
Anyway, that aside, here are a few shots I took during the visit. As you can see, it's a beautiful and peaceful place. When you're not being growled at.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-obIgijAjAAM/T1ObED1JVJI/AAAAAAAAA10/WP35dG3h_hU/s1600/042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-obIgijAjAAM/T1ObED1JVJI/AAAAAAAAA10/WP35dG3h_hU/s400/042.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The mosque is drenched in sunlight and is apparently a good (though I imagine rather hard) place for a nap. Not sure what the American ladies made of it though.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KWyu7ZXtsrA/T1OcdinLbVI/AAAAAAAAA3k/zVjJAXbT0tw/s1600/090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KWyu7ZXtsrA/T1OcdinLbVI/AAAAAAAAA3k/zVjJAXbT0tw/s400/090.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Another good spot to sleep in the sun.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nmQWMqeuS3k/T1ObbnEb1QI/AAAAAAAAA18/Luhi2FNxxDA/s1600/026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nmQWMqeuS3k/T1ObbnEb1QI/AAAAAAAAA18/Luhi2FNxxDA/s400/026.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">On the main steps up to the mosque</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eYysutlqIrg/T1Obe29pqLI/AAAAAAAAA2E/TcbpMHla1eY/s1600/028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eYysutlqIrg/T1Obe29pqLI/AAAAAAAAA2E/TcbpMHla1eY/s400/028.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ladies gathered under the call-to-prayer loudspeaker</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wnibz9kXBRU/T1ObiWf0IEI/AAAAAAAAA2M/4AsjnPMx1eg/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wnibz9kXBRU/T1ObiWf0IEI/AAAAAAAAA2M/4AsjnPMx1eg/s400/029.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Plenty of space to play</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QX2LV10ZCqU/T1ObnDTZgfI/AAAAAAAAA2U/W7Wd8qn37Iw/s1600/040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QX2LV10ZCqU/T1ObnDTZgfI/AAAAAAAAA2U/W7Wd8qn37Iw/s400/040.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Young mosque-goer</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jBlBeTPVAAs/T1ObqQ6j8NI/AAAAAAAAA2c/zN3Hm6O66qE/s1600/041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jBlBeTPVAAs/T1ObqQ6j8NI/AAAAAAAAA2c/zN3Hm6O66qE/s400/041.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Chatting in the shade of the mosque</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tOV4UXjtT1M/T1ObuzZ8k-I/AAAAAAAAA2k/7_8fOAM_mcs/s1600/045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tOV4UXjtT1M/T1ObuzZ8k-I/AAAAAAAAA2k/7_8fOAM_mcs/s400/045.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Gathered round the central pool</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gLNDwTJvFwQ/T1Obzs6wkDI/AAAAAAAAA2s/UPgAQCTLrOs/s1600/059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gLNDwTJvFwQ/T1Obzs6wkDI/AAAAAAAAA2s/UPgAQCTLrOs/s400/059.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The impressive main gate of the Jama Masjid, with the Red Fort in the background</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kvekbbe7aUU/T1Ob4ICDmVI/AAAAAAAAA20/cn8MhHS97cc/s1600/074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Kvekbbe7aUU/T1Ob4ICDmVI/AAAAAAAAA20/cn8MhHS97cc/s400/074.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There's a lot of floor to sweep.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dX_Y-93oEew/T1Ob9DGZf4I/AAAAAAAAA28/b4LuzutkOCg/s1600/077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dX_Y-93oEew/T1Ob9DGZf4I/AAAAAAAAA28/b4LuzutkOCg/s400/077.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Minaret of the Jama Masjid, Old Delhi in the background</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vuieFhgpg4Q/T1OcChCAA3I/AAAAAAAAA3E/nTBIaapk_-I/s1600/081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vuieFhgpg4Q/T1OcChCAA3I/AAAAAAAAA3E/nTBIaapk_-I/s400/081.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Birds' eye view of the mosque's main courtyard</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YRgmuHGw--k/T1OcGx45CZI/AAAAAAAAA3M/8LvUagJor3I/s1600/084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YRgmuHGw--k/T1OcGx45CZI/AAAAAAAAA3M/8LvUagJor3I/s400/084.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Posing with the main gate in the background</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PR8oDC7pwHc/T1OcL8OMiLI/AAAAAAAAA3U/wJ21F8b3GE0/s1600/085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PR8oDC7pwHc/T1OcL8OMiLI/AAAAAAAAA3U/wJ21F8b3GE0/s400/085.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">While the courtyard is an open, calm oasis, on the other side of the wall is the more familiar frenetic city.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YO4kNX1jFNA/T1OcUiHFWdI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jEEBgLmm6sc/s1600/091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YO4kNX1jFNA/T1OcUiHFWdI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jEEBgLmm6sc/s400/091.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sleepy in the sunlight</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And here are some from the Meena Bazaar, just outside the Jama Masjid, which always presents lots of interesting photo ops.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-APIJiR1aBmU/T1Odw_mmXlI/AAAAAAAAA3s/UeIrz8GW_sY/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-APIJiR1aBmU/T1Odw_mmXlI/AAAAAAAAA3s/UeIrz8GW_sY/s400/021.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8BpRP9xZIcQ/T1Od5EN2wdI/AAAAAAAAA30/vaHuOraOwE0/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8BpRP9xZIcQ/T1Od5EN2wdI/AAAAAAAAA30/vaHuOraOwE0/s400/012.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3Ij-2QBGBp0/T1Od-tanctI/AAAAAAAAA38/L54o__Z2GCI/s1600/093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3Ij-2QBGBp0/T1Od-tanctI/AAAAAAAAA38/L54o__Z2GCI/s400/093.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EfbLArPnjEk/T1OeGU6K_oI/AAAAAAAAA4E/3r1VQsb7HeA/s1600/096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EfbLArPnjEk/T1OeGU6K_oI/AAAAAAAAA4E/3r1VQsb7HeA/s400/096.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b-iun3vvRuw/T1OeOG7HiTI/AAAAAAAAA4M/5fskbKBpzdg/s1600/098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b-iun3vvRuw/T1OeOG7HiTI/AAAAAAAAA4M/5fskbKBpzdg/s400/098.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So altogether, not my favourite experience in Delhi. But you learn to take the rough with the smooth. It's a naive traveler who expects to be welcomed with open arms everywhere, and I got to enjoy some glorious architecture and some space to breathe in this normally shoulder-to-shoulder city. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div>Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15050692040792761349noreply@blogger.com0