Jaipur Calling

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Photographs

I have now uploaded 95 India photos to the internet. You can view and save them at the following address: http://ladyinpink.smugmug.com/gallery/2612812#137848884.

Enjoy!

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Memories, looking forward tos and thank yous

As I write this, I am in an internet cafe at the international terminal of New Delhi's airport. My journey in India will end in less than two hours, and I wanted to post my thoughts.

Memories

The roads. The roads, with their cows and their bulls, their monkeys and their donkeys, their spitting and their urinating, their dogs and their dirt and their beggars. And never, ever will I understand how Indians can be so pushy in their driving, yet have no otherwise concept of time! Pausing at a red light, waiting for the green go ahead, a counter will tick down to 0. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, as motorcyclist upon motorcyclist moves into every spare gap, edging towards the start line. All have a foot a step ahead of legitimacy. Then WHAM!, the counter hits 0 - the motorcycle marathon begins. And God forbid you be crossing the road as this mob advances, for they will not halt for you. Unless, of course, you are the holy cow: India's ultimate traffic stopper. Ah yes, as a mere human being, I have no authority on India's streets. I do, however, have one small success: I managed to cross M.I. road. As one of Jaipur's busiest roads, I think I did quite well to escape with nothing worse than a small heart flutter.

Michelle. Coming home to her and chatting (or moaning!) about our days. Late night conversations about the men in our lives. Grumbling together when we had to wake up far sooner than we'd have liked to. Shopping in the bazaars (markets). Sharing good chocoate cake or a Smokin' Joes pizza. Getting ready together for parties and trainee dinners. Her calming reassurance that I did look ok!

Indian food. The breads - chapatis, rotis and parathas. Yellow dahl - a thick lentil stew that is dipped into for added flavour (it's delicious). Shahi paneer and paneer butter masala. Paneer, I am told, is cottage cheese, but I still refuse to believe this. It both tastes and looks like a chicken substitute, and comes cubed in curries. Ladyfinger vegetables, in the delicious sauce that Divya, my landlady, made them in. Jeera aloo and aloo tamator - potato curries (which formed my staple diet for quite some time).

The man in the art shop who bought my Mirinda Orange, and "mmmm-hmmmed" whenever I asked for something - regardless of whether he actually had it. Sumer Singh, my rickshaw driver, who told me to pay him "as I liked". How he told us that we were his children. His daily greeting of good morning when he took me to work, and his comment that he had "big experience" as a rickshaw driver.

The sweet man in the Barista cafe, an airconditioned Western haven, who grew to know my name and my regular order. (That would be a cup of Earl Grey tea and a slice of warmed chocolate cake.) The men in my most frequented bangle shop, who automatically knocked 10% off my bill (I bargained on the grounds of being a poor student). The man in the bakery who told me his life story on just our first meeting. My colleagues - Samidha, who always winked and gave a sweet laugh when I smiled at her, and who invited me into her home to cook dinner for me. Prayanka, who asked me to help her write a love letter. Anuj, who insisted on calling me over with a "hey lady!" greeting, thinking that he was being polite.

Looking forward tos

Watching Friends on the plane. Reading my goodbye book. The first glimpse of my family at the airport. The car journey to Northampton. Home cooked dinner, and MEAT! My lilac carpet. Making a photo album of India. Having unlimited internet access. Giving my presents to everybody. My birthday. Cold enough weather to wear my pink coat again. Oxford. Oxford at night. Oxford in the snow. My friends. Hot chocolate and real chocolate cake!

Thank yous

To my parents, for letting go of me and for giving so much. To my brother, for all our early morning MSN conversations. To my Gran, for such thoughtful postcards. To Will, for your ceaseless encouragement. To Chris, for your sweet email, and your promise of pizza. To Gemma, for keeping me sane with your wicked sense of humour! To Jan, for never failing to post frequent and thoughtful comments. To Hiba, for missing me so much.

To Divya, for taking care of me when I was sick. To the trainees in AIESEC Jaipur: Tessa, for your never ending good nature and your giggles. Cristina, for such faithful friendship, and for telling me to do nothing I'd regret - particularly if not doing something would form a regret! To Michelle, for being the most wonderful room mate. To Siri, for folding all of my shawls for me. To Hal, for your incredible laugh. To Patrick, for always being so friendly. To Owen, for taking such great photos. To Yvo, for a wonderful last conversation. To the AIESECers: Ankit, for always greeting me with a kiss - the "UK way"! Ankur, for always saying hello to me. To Godof, for pulling my hair and pretending it wasn't you. Sahil, for your email (!), and the lift to Geoffreys that drunken night. To Gautam, for the beautiful flowers. To Ajit, for our conversation about missing people, and for letting the boys drop me off yesterday. To Tabs, for your sweet smile, and for pretending the train was moving! To Himanshu, for always being late, and for simply being you.

I cried for you all when I left Jaipur: I feel so privileged to have met so many special people.

And finally, to my unknown blog followers, for being such loyal readers. Thank you for the 1000 hits ... thank you for listening.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Photo: Through the archway

Through the archway.

Photo: The Taj Mahal

The Taj Mahal!

Photo: Me by the Taj

Me by the Taj.

Photo: Me "holding" the Taj

Me "holding" the Taj!

Photo: Me and Michelle with the beautiful Olympian

Me and Michelle with the beautiful Olympian!

The Taj, an Olympian and a Suspected Transsexual

Last weekend I made my first official trip out of Jaipur. And where better to go than Agra? Home to the Taj Mahal, it was definitely on my list of “must sees”.

Michelle and I travelled there by train. Getting to the station was our first difficulty, having to wind our way through the sleeping bodies that littered the concrete entrance. Walking past “sleeper class”, I was reminded of a jail on wheels. There is no air conditioning, and so window holes are the only means of relief. Security demands three solid bars to cover each one. Hands and arms poke through them, writhing together in a chaotic cacophony. Thankfully we had chosen the 2nd class “AC sleeper” carriage, and did not have to join this crowd. Michelle had experienced a 20 hour journey in sleeper class, and told me that I would become ill if I attempted such a feat. I was willing to trust her judgement.

Our carriage was perfectly pleasant. From each wall hung three mattresses, which could also double up as seats (if you got the bottom mattress, that is – seats are preassigned). After years of gymnastics, Michelle deftly hoisted herself up to the top one, leaving a very grateful me in the bottom bed. We rested for some time, but the jerk of Indian trains is unavoidable in any class, so sleep was difficult. Michelle later rejoined me to sit on the bottom bed, when a very gorgeous Spaniard approached us to talk. His name was Jose. We learnt that he was touring India for three weeks, and always uses his work holiday allowance to travel. A wonderful idea, we thought! After further discussions, we were stunned to discover that he had been in the 1996 Olympics, playing water polo. More than that, he earned a gold medal. Finally understanding the reason for such a well built upper body, it’s safe to say that we were more than impressed. With great reluctance, we parted ways to go to our separate hotels. Giggling like school girls in our rickshaw, we cursed ourselves for not asking for contact details.

Our hotel was simple and clean, with a very pretty garden area. After a good night’s sleep, I enjoyed honey pancakes for breakfast, something I welcomed with great enthusiasm. After many final hair checks (I wanted good photos!), our driver took us to the palace. As we were walking to deposit our mobile phones, Michelle suddenly poked me. “Sam, is that him, is that him!” she whispered. No, it couldn’t be. He had planned to tour the Taj at 1pm, and the time was now 11am. Besides, there were thousands upon thousands of people here, and the chances were next to nothing. Deciding to try anyway, we shouted “Jose!” and were delighted when he turned round – it was him! We decided to tour the palace together.

The Taj was commissioned by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan, as a mausoleum (large stately tomb) for Arjumand Banu Begum, his Persian wife. Built in 1630, it took 23 years to complete. After stringent security checks and parting with the hefty “foreign tourist” fee of 750 Rs (Indians pay just 20 Rs!), we were allowed to enter. You first walk into a large courtyard, with a huge 30m tall red archway at the back centre. The arch way has Arabic lettering from top to bottom, and a clever optical illusion is incorporated – the symbols at the top are much larger than at the bottom, so that when looking up, the letters appear to be of the same height. (If they were actually the same height, they would appear to get smaller at the top.) My guidebook says that the Taj is so hidden you will almost wonder where it is, and it was exactly right. Not until we got close to the archway could we even get a glimpse. Walking through, you are struck by the luminosity of the white marble (it is said to “glow” at night time), and by the intricate elegance of the palace. It was absolutely faultless. You must remove your shoes to walk on the Taj, but the heat was so intense that my feet scorched on the marble. (It felt a little like hop scotch, darting between the cooler dark stones.) Our tour guide asked us to guess the height of the centre spire, to which we said about three metres. He informed us that it was in fact ten, which really put the height of the Taj into perspective! We were fortunate to have such good weather, and got some lovely photographs (including one with the beautiful Jose).

After some shopping, and making sure to get Jose’s details this time (he even had a business card, much to our delight), we caught our return train to Jaipur. Michelle slept as she was tired, so I passed the time by chatting to another passenger, an extravagant lady called Brenda. However, I wasn’t quite sure that she was a lady. She was very well built, six feet tall, with long nails and a voice deeper than that of any woman I know. Nevertheless, she was fascinating to talk to. She had a strange history of foreign men, informing me of a failed one day marriage to a Romanian and a just-ended engagement to an Arab. (She left the US for good when she realised Mr. Bush would win in 2000.) She was also a Buddhist, and we spent a good few hours discussing the religion. It is primarily logical, with nothing to believe that doesn’t make sense. It incorporates a very peaceful philosophy, underpinned by the principles of harmlessness and moderation.

Reaching Jaipur, I actually felt disappointed to get off the train. I had thoroughly enjoyed talking to Brenda and Jose (well, just looking at Jose was good enough), and I do believe that I have caught the travel bug. Where will I head to next, I wonder?

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Photo: Statue Circle

This is Statue Circle, in the middle of a junction in Jaipur. It's very beautiful! At night time, Indians gather here to sit and chat with friends.

Photo: My Class

This is the class that I teach each morning! I find it very hard to remember their names, but I'm getting there.

Photo: Cake Smearing!

Sudanshu turned 21 at 12am this morning, and this occasion was celebrated by lots and lots of cake smearing!

Photo: Me and Himanshu

We went on to a pub after the dinner last night. I could have been in England! A really lovely bar in a very expensive hotel. I'm with Himanshu in this one.

Photo: Me and a V Shape!

Tessa told me to make this V shape for the photo. I'm not quite sure what it's for, but I like it anyway!

Photo: Me and AIESECers at the Trainee Dinner

At the trainee dinner last night. Ankit is on my left again, with Godof on my right. All are AIESECers, and Ankit is VPOGX ... OGX, OGX, OGX ... ! (That's vice president of outgoing exchange, and the exclamations are because I hold the same position in AIESEC Oxford.)

Photo: Trainee Dinner

A photo to show the lively atmosphere at our weekly trainee dinners! All the AIESECers come too.

Photo: Pasi and Stephan

These two sweet guys are Pasi and Stephan. Both are a part of the HOPE project! Pasi is on my right, and is engaged to Laura (another trainee). Both are from Finland. Stephan works at Pratham with me, and is German.

Photo: Neighbours

Everybody celebrating Elin's birthday at the stroke of midnight! These are the people that live in the rooms next door to us. Elin is on the right with red hair, and Siri is leaning forward in the middle. Both are Swedish and share a room. Cristina (in red) is from Romania, and Mart (to her right) is Estonian. Mart shares a room with Hal, the Japanese guy to his right. Angeli is in the middle, and she is from the Phillipines. The others don't live next to us but came to join in with the celebrations.

Photo: Me and AIESECers at the Party

Myself and some AIESECers, in their Indian clothes at the party. Himanshu is on my left, and Ankit is on my right. My two most loved AIESECers!

Photo: Michelle and Me

Michelle and me before last Friday's "Indian Clothes Only" party!

Monday, July 25, 2005

Untitled

To: My loyal and healthy readers
From: Yours truly
Status: Sick

Many apologies for the length of time since I last wrote. I come, at least, bearing good excuses. After smugly declaring to Michelle that I was yet to become ill in India, I became ill. My poor body had to forget its fear of vomiting and do the deed twelve times in twelve hours. The silver lining, at least, is that the fear has now been eradicated. But no sooner had I recovered from my love affair with the toilet did I again make another smug declaration: I was not getting bitten. “My repellent’s better than yours”, I would secretly think as the others itched away. However, there must be something to that karma thing, as shortly afterwards I was inundated with bites myself. Big, itchy bites that at least deserved to be scratched. But the itchy and scratchy fun soon turned sour, as my foot got infected and doubled in size. It was so painful that for some time I could not walk and I have been hobbling about ever since. The doctor put me on antibiotics and bucketfuls of hot, salty water, which seem to be doing the trick. Nonetheless, just as I am able to shop again do I find myself with a cold. How such an ailment is possible in this heat I do not know, but trust me when I say that it is. Today has been no more eventful than sniff sniff sneeze sneeze, a game that I am already tiring of, and I have become far too good at virtual pinball and solitaire. Perhaps my religious friends can pray for a speedy recovery, as I’m pretty certain that my own requests are being ignored. (I reckon God no longer buys that I’ll live by him if he helps me out “just this one more time”.)

Due to my aforementioned (don’t you just love that word) status, this entry will be shorter than others. I do feel up to writing a little more, though, so I will explain about my work at Pratham. My time is currently divided between teaching, project devising and some much loved online surfing. I visit one of the slums each morning to teach English to children, an activity that I am growing very fond of. I never thought that I could teach, but I must admit that my sweet, eager pupils deserve more credit than I do. Discussing their motivation with Anuj, a colleague, he laughed and said that all children react that way to school. I told him that few children in England share such a passion for learning, and that most would have run a mile from extra language classes. He did not appear to understand why this was so.

My classes start with a review of the previous lesson, which they (thankfully) seem to remember each time. I then start with the very basics of what I have planned (I am following an excellent English course from about.com). For instance, in the first lesson I taught them to say I am [name], he is [name], she is [name]… and then is he [name1]? No, he is [name2], etc. I include a lot of repetition which they seem to thrive on – their chants, such as “SHE IS RENU! SHE IS RENU!” seem to grow louder as each class progresses. I was bemused one day, though, when I stood with a little boy and asked the children to repeat: “He is Manish, he is Manish …!” They copied, but with the words: “She is Manish, she is Manish!” I stopped them and said a clear no – “Manish … boy! He is!” Their teacher hurriedly pulled me aside and started to giggle. “Manish is girl, Samanta!” Oops. I quickly got them going again with “She is Manish, she is Manish!”, praying that they would have missed my hideous blunder. (In my defence, though, the little girl really did look like a little boy.)

Right, off to bed now for some serious sleep. Leave a comment with your thoughts and news – I really enjoy reading them all.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

A bull charge, searing heat and a marriage match website

My mosquito net feels especially protective tonight.

I just returned from eating dinner with friends. On the walk back, we slowed our walking as two cars passed each other, with several cows also taking claim to the road. This didn’t concern me – cows are a common sight here, and they are very docile. I was walking at the back of the group, and I suddenly looked up upon hearing a scream: Siri, a Swedish girl, had run across the road in terror. I saw one of the cows almost jumping towards her, and just assumed that it had become playful with the cars trying to pass them. Then I saw that this cow had horns.

Bulls are not a rarity here, and I often pass them with no worry at all: they are as calm and indifferent as their female friends. After tonight, though, I realised how naïve I had been. Yes, these bulls are frequently surrounded by people and so are not easily agitated. But they are still bulls. Once I realised what had happened, I stood back and refused to walk past the bull. (The majority of our group, Siri and Michelle aside, had already safely passed.) As it was dark though, and we weren’t sure of any other route home, I had to go forward. Still I refused, until Mart, an Estonian trainee, stood in the road with his bicycle between him and the bull for protection. He told us to walk behind him. The bull moved a little towards Mart, who bravely stood firm. I crossed the road to walk behind him, moving quickly – not sure if this would agitate the bull, but knowing that I couldn’t stand to walk any slower. The bull was looking directly at me, which filled me with anxiety. I averted my eyes, praying that it would do the same. I walked swiftly behind Mart, clutching the other girls. Siri was crying. So much for Himanshu’s motorbike being my greatest concern.

I would prefer to move on from what just happened, and so will now write a short account of my weekend. The AIESECers and the trainees had parallel conferences running in Jaipur. To travel to the venue, we had arranged a bus. A quick calculation told me that there were twenty seats available and about twice as many people preparing to go. Feeling smug (if a little mean), I chose to seat myself by a window whilst the others engaged in idle chat outside. Once all had got on, those standing could not move: we were quite honestly packed in like sardines. Himanshu, who had the privilege of travelling by motorbike, simply laughed and agreed that two buses would have been better. This is very reflective of the slap-dash attitude in India.

I was reminded that the journey would take forty minutes or so, and cursed at having packed my book in my main luggage. The smell of sweat was strong and repulsive; I fervently wished to get off the bus. Yet upon arrival, I soon longed to make the return journey. Perhaps it was the conference location, far from the centre and in the middle of nowhere, but the heat last weekend was unbelievable. I have become accustomed to sweating (as revolting as that may sound), but in the places one would expect: face, underarms, etc. However, at the conference, constant tickly sensations in my arms revealed that my forearms were actually dripping. The worst thing too was that this experience was inside and directly under a fan: there was no respite from the heat. The actual temperature was recorded at 37C or so, but the humidity from the monsoon forced it to feel like 42C. And I wasn’t even afforded the luxury of a sweet slumber. Yes, I went to bed late (after getting very drunk – my usual safe quantity had some very strange effects [far worse than your 21st, Chris!]), but after just half an hour or so the electricity cut – for the third time that day – grinding the fans to a halt. I would say that I tossed and turned, but I would like to coin a new phrase and instead declare that I “slipped and slid”: for all I knew, I could have been sleeping in a sweat bath, and achieved no sleep from that moment to the ridiculously joyful shouts of “MORNING PLENARY!” at 8:30am. The silver lining, though, is that I am now blessing the heat in the city, and never again will I moan about British summers. (You can hold me to that.)

I will now recount a conversation I held with one of my colleagues at Pratham. Sitting next to me in the office, she asked if I would like to read her profile on the website she was on. I said of course, and asked what the website was for. She simply said that it was for people to create profiles. I teased her, and asked if it was a dating website. She looked at me in horror, declaring that Indians do not date. I believed her: Indians are very conservative about love and romance. Reading through the website, though, I came across the following slogan: “Find your life partner here!” I wondered why she had not told me the truth; to me, it was clearly a dating website. I probed further, and once again she denied all charges: “it is not for dating”. She continued, though: “– it is for marriage”. Incredulous, I asked her to go on. She said that her profile was an advertisement for marriage, and that she had so far had 97 virtual proposals. She informed me that she wanted to marry soon, and that this website was a good way of meeting new prospects. I told her that in the West, no men that I knew would voluntarily sign up to such a website. She looked at me strangely, asking how that could be so.

Catching up with her again the next day, I asked how her marriage-matching was going. She told me that she had met three men in person, who were all very nice. “Hopeful, then?” I asked her. She shook her head: “They are nice, but their finances … no good.” I laughed – she wasn’t so dissimilar from Western women after all.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Nursery rhymes, mosquito nets and another tikka massala

My first entry written in relative comfort. I am tired of dirty internet cafes, and have no plan to try out next door as Michelle has found both lizards and mice (not the computer type) lurking in their grim quarters. So I am writing away in my room, enjoying the refreshing air from the water cooler. I will publish this tomorrow.

Work at Pratham is going well, although I find myself physically tired often. Probably due to the nature of this week’s work – we have been visiting the slums that Pratham holds classes in (hence the earlier photographs). Seeing them was a mixed experience. They were very dirty, but then even the rich areas of the city are plagued with litter here. I saw many flies, so hygiene standards were obviously poor. But otherwise, the children were well clothed and dressed, and we were told that they bathed daily. They were not in rags and they did not look starved. This was pleasing, but the issue of child labour still remains; parents are reluctant to send their kids to school, as the family income will fall. Pratham’s only option therefore is to work with the system, running schools for just three hours a day – so that the children can still be educated, even though they must work.

The pupils were initially shy when meeting us, but soon became more responsive. My understanding of our visits was that we would sit in on the classes, and then report on the conditions back in the office; I did not, however, realise that we would be asked to contribute to them (keep reading). The pre-school teacher asked us to teach the children some rhymes, with a smile far too warm to refuse. I looked meekly at Stephan (another trainee), only to be told that he didn’t learn nursery rhymes in English (he is German). Following this revelation, all eyes turned to me. I muttered some excuse about not being able to remember any – I honestly couldn’t when put on the spot – but they insisted that I must know something (as indeed I should). Think, Sam, think. Hmm … a sheep. A black one? Oh yes – that wonderful little song Baa Baa Black Sheep. Now, for those that have had the unfortunate experience of hearing me sing, you will know that I have no natural talent in this area. Yet as the only one who knew the words, I was forced to lead the class. I sang one line, they repeated, I sang another, and so on. I was glad that the ordeal was soon over: however, upon completion, I was asked to share another rhyme. Stifling a sigh of embarrassment, I again racked my brains. I suddenly thought of Old Macdonald, and felt very chuffed with myself; surely all children know animal sounds. And indeed they did, but it soon became apparent that the animals in India make different noises to the animals in the UK. Dogs do not woof, but make a piercing screeching sound. Cows “maow” and don’t “moo”. Cats go “me-ahhhh!”, not “miaow”. I ended up foolishly trying to imitate these sounds, and failed miserably.

The monsoon has arrived in Jaipur, and so I decided to put up my mosquito net. It is self standing, and looks very impressive. It is a shame that I can no longer jump onto the bed and just crash out when I come in, but instead have to unzip the net and very carefully climb onto it. (Failure to be gentle leads to the net falling down.) It is also strange when Michelle is here and I am within the net – it is a little like talking to her from behind the bars of a prison cell. Although, I do not so much feel trapped as I do feel safe and protected; I wonder whether I will feel exposed when I return home to an uncovered bed. However, I now have a far more pressing need to be protected in the bathroom, as several days ago I fell and sprained my wrist (sympathy please). A small wall separates the main bathroom from the shower area, and I was within this shower area washing my feet. (When it rains here, your feet become unavoidably muddy – it really is quite unpleasant.) I soon noticed a great big beetle, and with my fear of anything small and moving, was not pleased at the prospect of sharing the shower area. I climbed over the wall and lent down to catch it with a bucket; however, my wet feet caused me to slip and, in a panic, I put my hand out to stop my fall. It bent backwards and was very painful. I bandaged it for two days and my hand is still slightly sore, but feeling much better now. (My showers though, annoyingly, take twice as long now for fear of a repeat incident.)

Other than that I have been keeping well, and even got to eat some meat yesterday. (A large proportion of Indians cannot eat meat for religious reasons, forcing most restaurants to be vegetarian.) Yes, I had another chicken tikka massala! So excited was I at finding my beloved dish. And yes, it was very tasty, although I should have known that it would not be as mild as in England. (Nothing here is – I once ordered what was advertised as “French fries”, only to be presented with chips ruined by spices.) So I am managing to survive in India; I am keeping healthy, I have not yet been run over (although there have been some close calls) and I can effectively bargain with rickshaw drivers. I consider this a small success.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Photo: Me with Class

Me sitting with the Pre-School Class children.

Photo: Slum Girl

A young slum girl.

Photo: Slum Children

A photograph of children living in the slum. They are nearly all bare foot, as they cannot afford shoes.

Photo: Girl in Class

A young girl in another Akhar Setu class.

Photo: Children in Class

The Akhar Setu class at Pratham's community centre in one of the 76 "bastis" (slums) in Jaipur. The Akhar Setu classes are for working children, to allow them to still get some education.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Photo: Children Waving

Children waving at the roadside near our conference location. A very poor area.

Photo: Jaipur Market

Jaipur market at night. Ridiculously frightening - cars and motorbikes everywhere!

Photo: Cycle Rickshaw

Me and Tessa in a cycle rickshaw.

Photo: HOPE Group

A photo of the HOPE group, along with some AIESECers. Tessa is second from the left in the middle row, and Himanshu is on the back row.

Photo: Greeting

Being greeted by a child at the Orientation Conference (and given a bindi!).

Monday, July 04, 2005

Exhaustion

Typing this from a very dirty internet cafe near Tessa's house. We have finally moved into trainee houses, but we are living separately. Such a shame as we have become very close in the last few days. I feel quite sorry for her, as her room is small and her toilet ... is not a toilet as we know it. I have really been quite lucky. My room mate (Michelle) is only in Jaipur for another month and a half or so though (we think), so Tessa can come and live with me when she leaves.

We are finally left alone without the AIESECers. Tessa is with me, along with Stephan (who I am working with). We plan to drop me home in an auto rickshaw, and then they will return in it to their house. We have never caught a rickshaw without an Indian accompanying us, so I wonder how much they will try to charge us. We are tough now, though - it may seem strange, but being rude has become the norm. You bargain and you shout and you ignore, and all this just to keep us sane. The only thing that I am still afraid of is crossing the road: so far, Himanshu has had to hold my hand on every occasion. How embarrassing (but how so very necessary - failure to hold Tessa's hand left her turning circles in the middle of the road).

So, having now been here for almost a week, I can now make a more accurate comment on the heat. In Delhi, I finally realised what it was that it reminded me of: a sauna. A sort of stifling, short of breath sensation. This was relatively mild though in comparison to here; the monsoon is yet to arrive in Jaipur (as Rajasthan, Jaipur's state, is desert land), which means that the sky is clear and freely allowing the sun to shine on us. It is not terrible though, as nearly everywhere inside has fans. Fans are not as good as air conditioning, but they are better than being in the sun. The few occasions that we do venture out are uncomfortable, but thankfully short. I bought some light cotton trousers in the market a few nights ago, only to wear them today and find two 2-inch diameter holes located in the crotch area. Not ideal. My denim cropped trousers were difficult yesterday, but I am proud to say that I survived the 38C heat in them. I will have to find some others soon. (I did buy two pairs of the cotton trousers, but I am wary of the second pair incase they are destined to the same doomed fate.)

My other complaint (excuse this never ending list today) is that of time in the Indian culture. I read in my guides that life passes slowly here, and that Indians never seem to be in a rush. I misunderstood this - to me, India might well have been a relaxing break away from the hustle and bustle of Oxford. However, I instead find their concept of time most infuriating. Take Himanshu. Tessa has rather amusingly decided that Himanshu and I have a love-hate relationship, finding that we resemble an old married couple. The reason for this is that he has a heart of gold but, at the same time, drives me crazy with his time keeping. He tells Tessa and I that he will return in half an hour, and takes two hours. He tells us "hurry, hurry, hurry, we must leave in eight minutes", only to infact take a further thirty minutes. (Thirty minutes is precious when you've only had five hours of sleep.) This is not unique to Himanshu though, so I cannot place all the blame on him - this culture is everywhere in India. His sister had planned to take us shopping one afternoon, but instead slept through it due to the heat, deciding that it would be better to take us in the evening. (Shops are open here until 9-10pm.) However, she had failed to tell Tessa and I this, so we stayed in Himanshu's room all day waiting for her to wake up. When she finally did, she found it most odd that we had not napped ourselves.

I must stress though that these complaints are minor. Yes, things can be tough here, but I would not wish to be home (yet). I have made a wonderful friend in Tessa, and find myself fascinated by our education project. (I have not started work yet, but we had an orientation conference this weekend as an introduction.) The other AIESECers are very friendly, although I very much wish that I had not disclosed my identity as an AIESEC member myself. (I am also involved in the running AIESEC, as opposed to being merely a participant on the exchange programme.) This tiny slip of the tongue led to a flurry of well known AIESEC jives with yours truly as the star dancer. However, it does allow for a thoroughly interesting comparison with my own local committee at home, and I find myself happily chatting away about this outstanding organisation when it would be acceptable for me to not think of it again until October. The children here (when not begging for food) are the sweetest little people I have ever seen; just today, across the road from where we were working, were a group of tiny youngsters joyfully shouting and waving at us. The food is excellent, although I still have to use two hands to tear my chapatis. (This is not, though, the wicked taboo I first thought it was.)

I start work tomorrow, so I must end this entry here. Do pray for our journey home in the auto rickshaw.

Thursday, June 30, 2005

Made it to the pink city!

So here I am in Jaipur - finally. And I have found an internet cafe.

I arrived last night at 7pm. The flight was not cancelled and everything went smoothly. At the airport, I was met by my AIESEC contacts - Himanshu and four others. They brought me flowers and some water and juice - so lovely. Part of the reception package here is to have a 'home stay' for two days or so, where you live with an AIESECer and their family before being moved to the trainee house. So we dropped my bags off at Himanshu's house, where I also met his mother (she is very kind).

Afterwards we went straight to a trainee dinner. Every few weeks or so AIESEC Jaipur has a dinner for all the current Jaipur trainees to attend. Last night we ate in a place called Uncle Sam's Pizza - some familiar food! Himanshu keeps joking about how health conscious I am - alcohol handwash before all meals, etc. He promises me that I won't get ill, but I'm not sure whether I should believe him or not. I am, however, yet to meet a trainee who has got sick here - a source of great comfort.

After the dinner we left to meet up with the trainees that had already left, but were unsure as to where they had gone. We stopped off where we thought they were, only to be approached by some poor people. A little girl waved at me, and I made the silly mistake of waving back. She came closer and motioned for food/money, and was followed by a sister and her mother, carrying a tiny baby in her arm. Himanshu shouted at them in Hindi, and was quite harsh with his words. He says that if you give to one, they all surround you - and even though I'm working on a project called HOPE, I can't give anything to them. A further concern is that they could just be collecting money for a ringleader, and seeing none of it themselves - or that they use the money, but only to buy alcohol. My travel guides say that the only useful thing you can give is food, such as fruit.

We eventually found the pub, and stayed there for a short while. Then we dropped several trainees home, and I found out where I might be living. I will most likely stay in a guest house complex that is already home to a lot of trainees. It is very near to my work and close to Himanshu's house. I will probably share a room with an American girl called Michelle (which won't do anything to correct my accent), who I met at the dinner. She seems very open and friendly. Himanshu says that nearly all trainees share rooms, as it's cost effective for them and also gives them company, stopping them from feeling lonely etc. The room was very large, with a fan and an air conditioning unit, along with an ensuite shower and a real toilet! (No toilet paper, but that can be worked on. At least it wasn't a hole in the ground.) It seemed quite clean ... no mosquitos, and some ants outside but my repellent should be fine to stop them biting. The trainees say that the landlords clean your room for you and take good care of the tenants.

Sleep didn't come easily last night - it was cool enough, but the downside of the AC unit was that it was very noisy. I then woke at 6am to the troubling sight of people walking around the room - Himanshu and another girl with a large suitcase. It turns out that one of the trainees had arrived in Delhi at midnight, and had been conned into paying a lot of money to get a taxi to Jaipur. Luckily she had Himanshu's address. Although it was frustrating to be woken, it was expected that the other trainee would sleep until midday or so (as she had had no sleep so far), which made me feel comfortable to do the same. So I am no longer tired! Her name is Tessa, and she is from Holland. She is very friendly and this is her first time here too.

After waking today I had a blissfully cool shower (no hot water needed - I never thought I would be so happy to have a cold shower), followed by lunch from Himanshu's Mum. We had chapatis and ladyfinger vegetables (am I supposed to have heard of those?), and Himanshu showed us how to eat. You wash your hands, then rip off a small portion of a chapati with your hand (I still can't do it one handed, but he says not to worry), and use it to scoop up some of the food or curry that is on offer. It was very tasty. (I'm not sure I will lose weight here as easily as I first thought.) His Mum then gave us ice cream - something that I am not supposed to eat, incase it has been made with unpasteurised milk. However, it's so hard to refuse what you're being offered, and I do think I am far more health conscious than the other trainees who have so far had few problems. (The only one being a sore toe, from falling waist deep into some mud after the monsoon rain - I hope I don't get to try out that experience.)

I felt very contented today when I was told that we could go to an internet cafe. However, I had not realised how we would go to one: by motorcycle! Here, half of the drivers use them instead of cars. Ok, so here's the deal: I have never ridden on the back of a motorcycle before, even in England, where I consider the roads and drivers to be far safer than here. Never would I voluntarily choose to ride on the back of one. Yet Himanshu insisted that I would be fine (even without a helmet, another source of great concern), and as he was giving me a lift I couldn't really argue. It was both one of the scariest and most exhilarating things I have ever done. Himanshu has gone to the AIESEC office to do some work, and his friend that also came with us to the cafe is taking us back. We will probably go by cycle rickshaw - another new experience.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Jaipur still ... only calling!

I am now in India, but yes, you guessed it, not quite yet in Jaipur. Not even on my way, in fact - but I am, however, staying in a 5* hotel.

My flight from London to Delhi was trouble free (although not turbulence free), with a delicious lamb curry being served. Anybody about to book a holiday - fly with Virgin! I had my curry in the reassuring company of Friends and Will & Grace, presented to me on a flat screen in the back of the chair in front. I failed to get any sleep though (shallow leg room), so I apologise in advance for any contemplative ramblings.

The first thing you notice when descending into India is how dry the land is. Further up in the air, the patchwork fields could just have easily been my own England. But later on in the descent, it soon becomes apparent that these fields are not grass fields. Everything is made up of brown dirt with patches of hay here and there. It really was out of this world - I felt that I had landed in the middle of a desert.

Customs was a smooth process, as was exchanging money. The toilets, however, were an experience. (Note to all female travellers: bring toilet tissue to India). The relative calm ended here though; as soon as I had fully gone through arrivals, I was bombarded by offers for pre-paid taxis. People working in booths on either side, all shouting "Miss, miss, here! Excuse me, miss!". They called with such urgency that I thought I had done something horrendously wrong. Unfortunately though, this enthusiasm was only directed to their own line of business - for when I asked for directions to the Indian Airlines shuttle bus, they continued in the same manner: "Yes miss, pre-paid taxi here!".

After finally locating the bus I travelled to the other terminal, where I was due to make my domestic flight to Jaipur. However, as soon as I arrived it became clear that my flight had been cancelled. At first I wondered if I was being tricked, as every person who notified me of the cancellation immediately felt the need to add a "however I can get you a nice car, lovely car ..." line. After the frustrating realisation that I had not been, the airline offered me the choice of a taxi to Jaipur or overnight accomodation with a flight out tomorrow. I would have preferred to finish my journey today, but the Indian lady who had been advising me said that she herself would feel unsafe making the taxi ride alone. So, I chose the latter option, and here I am typing this from a 5* hotel called Ashok (http://www.theashok.com).

It is beautiful, and I feel very privileged to be here, although particularly shameful too. On the taxi ride over from the airport, a tiny girl of age 6, perhaps, tapped on my window in a traffic jam. She waved at me and I waved back, and then she pointed to some shabby newspapers in her hand. She held up two tiny fingers - she was asking me for a mere 2Rs. (100Rs is the equivalent of 1 pound 20 pence - you do the maths.) I shook my head in a very sorrowful no, to which she responded by putting her hand to her mouth in an eating gesture. She wanted money to buy food. Again I shook my head, but the surprising thing was that she did not seem upset. Not even discontented, in fact - she just started to suck on some fruit she'd been holding, and even waved me goodbye. My India Culture Smart guide tells me that a lot of poor people are not resentful towards the rich - it is simply karma. Hinduism, the chief religion in India, does not believe in the "seize the opportunity" ethos that most of the Western world does. They believe in karma, the notion of what goes around comes around. If Indians live in poverty, it's because they were bad people in an earlier life - it's simply bad karma, not a fault of the wealthy. I'm not entirely sure what my take on this is, but I'm definitely not in strong agreement with the notion. I certainly remembered the little girl when tucking into my lunch here, and especially when leaving so much to waste.

Moving on to the heat and other miscellanous musings. We were informed upon arrival that it was 35C in Delhi. Yes, it is hot, but it's not unbearable. The intense fog from the monsoon season means that I am yet to see the sun shining . I had to tie my hair back, but my fringe is fine left down. The rain, whilst warm, is still pleasantly cooling. Mosquitos are not ever present, as I thought they would be. (I'm not even sure that I can correctly determine what is and what isn't one yet.) The roads have lanes, but they are not respected - trying to relax in a taxi is unheard of, with horns blaring every few seconds or so. Men stand around in groups, appearing to do nothing. Little children sit on large mud mounds which resemble roundabouts. Street stalls and street sellars appear to be common. People are kind and friendly, although frequently this is with a purchase in mind. (Walking through the shops in the hotel here, the owners [nearly all men] stand outside, all poised to say hello and give a polite nod.)

Hopefully I should fly to Jaipur tomorrow evening. The flight was cancelled due to the monsoons, I think, so I hope that the same won't happen tomorrow. I shall write an update when I can next find an internet cafe.

Much love to all.

P.S. To those who wrote me letters (you know who are you are) - thank you so very much for them. I will reply to you all individually soon.
P.P.S. I think I've just discovered my first bite. I wonder how long I will find them exciting for.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Street scene

Browsing the Lonely Planet Images website, I stumbled upon this street scene image from Old Jaipur. So colourful!

Punctures, flights and a tikka massala

After much research on different vaccinations, I finally decided which ones to get: Hepatitis A, Hepatatis B , Rabies and Typhoid. (Note that all of these are on top of the recommended Polio, Tetanus and BGC immunisations that I have already had ... India doesn't ask for much, does she.) You'd think that having reached this decision, the only thing left to do would be to actually get the injections. Yes, I thought so too. However, the pharmacy at Boots decided to poke some fun, causing great amusement with the Rabies vaccination:

Nurse: Let me take the second dose from you, to keep it in the fridge for your next appointment.
Me: Were they meant to have been kept in the fridge?
Nurse: Yes, otherwise they're only 60% effective.
Me: I didn't keep them in the fridge.
Nurse: [PAUSE] Boots didn't tell you to?

No, Boots did not tell me to keep the £60 vaccinations in the fridge. The prospect of paying a further £60 and booking yet another appointment with the nurse was not appealing. Kicking up a big fuss at Boots, however, was. Unfortunately (well, fortunately really), they were very apologetic and quickly swapped the warm doses for their chilled equivalents. My hopes of a mini slanging match dashed, I finally got the injections (or "punctures" as my brother so aptly names them). Apparently, I am "one of those that bleed", and I was given two circular plasters to stem the flow - one of which my friend later confused with a nicotine patch. Not quite the sympathy-leading-to-a-free-drink that the nurse promised I would get. Two more on Monday, another two on Thursday and the final two out in India.

Checked my pigeon hole for post today, and was disappointed to find nothing that resembled flight tickets. On closer inspection, though, I found one of those very exciting cards telling you that something of importance is waiting behind the counter. Something that, today, had arrived by special delivery. Lo and behold, my flight tickets had arrived! An attractive cardboard wallet containing my cheque-book sized tickets. Lots of sheets of paper glued together on one side - I don't remember my Jersey flight tickets being this complicated. Must be an indication of a long journey.

I finished my day with one of Sainsbury's chicken tikka massala ready meals, in a poor attempt to bridge the gap from English to Indian food. Having failed to taste any flavour in the low-fat option, today I opted for the normal version. However, I think it must just be Sainsburys. This one was not particularly enticing either - long live Tesco, I say. Well, it was either a problem with Sainsburys or with my microwave heating skills. Perhaps I shouldn't assume it was the first.

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Flights, visa ... tick, tick

Two things done at last.

Flights were booked yesterday at the very reasonable price of £430 (reasonable for booking only three weeks in advance, at least) by the wonderful hoodaki.com. On second thoughts, perhaps I shouldn't call them wonderful until the tickets have actually arrived and my debit card has been correctly charged.

Today I went to the High Commission of India in London to get my VISA. The service was very efficient - only about an hour and a half in total. (Yes, that is efficient - the US embassy takes a full day, I hear.) Hot though, and a lot of hustle and bustle accompanied by the gentle wafts of incense. Like a little piece of India gone astray, perhaps.

Returning to my VISA. It's very cool! A giant sticker with shiny bits on it, that uses up a whole page of my otherwise blank passport. And what's more, they decided to give me a business one. I feel very important.

I'm spending my summer in Jaipur, India. I'm working for Pratham Rajasthan on education development projects for slum children.

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: Name: ladyinpink; Location: United Kingdom

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