The burning hot lump.

September 28, 2007 at 10:24 am (Uncategorized)

So much happening, so little time.

4 days till we leave NID. Trying desperately to finish my ceramics assignment, haha maybe I’m attempting the impossible. Not being a ceramics buff I have to rely on the expertise of the technicians (who are amazing, they’re traditionally trained potters), though their English is not so great and I have spent a couple of weeks waiting around for hours- I get ten minutes attention and then they run off. I suspect the language barrier has a lot to do with it, rather than struggle with the frustration of it, it’s easier to ignore me. Kath and I have the distinct feeling that our work is not being taken seriously, by faculty and students alike. Faculty are blasé and students are pushy and rude about the equipment. Not to worry, we leave soon.

Snippets from the last two weeks…

We went with the ceramics students on a factory tour. 21 hours of hell, seriously the worst day I’ve had. The factories were incredibly interesting, due to the intensity of the heat, I feel I only absorbed a fraction of the information which I was being bombarded with. By the evening my stomach had swollen, hmmm I felt I was carrying a watermelon around and the pain was intense, swollen legs- through the day my jeans got progressively tighter (God how I wished I could rip them off). Perhaps I was suffering from heat stroke a little. Amusing in retrospect, but at the time nightmarish (an endless bus trip in a tin box, no air conditioning, broken seats and windows which wouldn’t budge). We were exposed to a range of ceramics factories, very small to large scale. In the smaller factories it seemed to be a whole family affair, even the children were helping out. In the large factories it was a different story, OH&S regulations seemed to be in place, the environment was cleaner, better lighting. Though what struck me about one tile factory in-particular, was how modern the complex and machinery appeared to be, mostly men working throughout except right out the back. Here the lighting was poor due to the dust content in the air, the air heavy dank and humid because of the wet clay, a room where women appeared to be doing the most labour intensive task in the whole factory. They were bent over shifting through the wet clay, removing clumps, then they would carry the waste in buckets on their heads to a truck, all the while a couple of men stood around supervising.

Factory Lady

The trip was intense, it was extreme and it was horrible, but I’m so glad I went. I saw things I’m only vaguely aware of, it gave me a greater appreciation of the conditions people exist in. The fiery heat of the day; part weather, part emanating from the ceramics factories (firing the ceramics products generated an intense amount of heat and there are hundreds of factories in the Morbi district). The heat rendered me useless and here people worked in it seven days a week.

Factory

Man

I’ve been bitten by something… I have a large lump on my leg which is burning hot. Dr Quinn, medicine woman has given me some cream for it. How I love organised people.

We went for my friends birthday, surprised her with a cake at the restaurant and taught a beggar on the street to play happy birthday on his home made string instrument. We paid him and gave him and his son some of the birthday cake. It was a little dicey when we took them into the restaurant- the manager tried to throw them out. But the happy birthday moment won over, I think the musician was completely shocked by the series of events. A fun night.

I’m feeling a little sad, I’ve cemented friendships and now I am leaving- the nature of the travelling beast. Juggling school work and friends always a dilemma in Fiona’s world.

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Trip to Mt Abu Success, Yay or Nay??

September 13, 2007 at 2:14 pm (The Men)

Chased by an army of paddle boats on Lake Nakki, felt up by a young lame armed boy on a horse, followed by a group of men on my way to Toad Rock and crushed in a crowd at the Dilwara Temples…

Situations have arisen to bring Kath and myself infinitely closer, and by closer I mean in the physical sense of the word. We took a bus trip to Mt Abu, the double sleeper was the size of a single bed… perhaps smaller(?). The journey was all about spooning, we were trying to maximise the use of the little available space, sooooo cosy.

Beware of the men in India, beware of the pubescent boys in India, beware of the crowds in India. Beware, BEWARE, beware. I don’t mean to hit you over the head with the ‘BEWARE’ stick, no, actually I do mean to hit you, someone should have given me a good hard whack. Kath tried, oh she tried, she’s just finished a book ‘The Indians’, which is an psychoanalytical look at the Indian culture. She’d been reading me tid-bits from the book and it paints the men as sexually depraved and consequently perverted. I have to say I need to read the book, work out what sort of credentials the authors have and then I’d like some more opinions before I draw to many harsh conclusions. Kath on the other hand has attracted heaps more male attention than me, she was even flashed and followed at the mall, the security guards did nothing for her and it wasn’t until a shop keeper yelled at the man and gave chase that the he disappeared. She has every right to be more than a little cynical. I had my first real taste of the sleazy men in India at Mt Abu. For most of our stay there Kath was confined to the bed with a nasty stomach bug, her first bout of serious sickness. I was left to my own devices when it came to discovering the town.

First stop Nakki Park where a couple of times I was asked to join family photo’s- locals wanting their photo taken with a whitey. Initially I thought this was strange and it made me a bit self conscience, now having time to think about it, it’s really no different to me asking politely to take photos of the local people, they take a photo of the foreigner, I take a photo of the local who is foreign to me. We are all fascinated with the ‘other’.

Men

I’m flattered that they are polite enough to ask, on many occasions I’ve notice men busily snapping away at us, taking photos on their mobile phones. After the park I was off for a stroll around the lake. Halfway round the lake I was bailed up by a cute young boy with a bandaged arm offering me a ride on a horse, I declined. But he was a persistent young thing “Auntie, Auntie, 10 rupees only!”, so I caved, it was after all “10 rupees only”- how they make a living I don’t know. I felt a little uneasy when he jumped up on the horse behind me. This sense of unease grew when he turned the horse around and trotted past a group of young men who I’m sure were yelling out obscene comments, it’s moments like these that I’m glad I don’t understand Hindi- I think I’m better off not knowing. Once we were past them again he turned the horse around and galloped back, cheeky monkey was parading me around like a trophy. I asked to be dropped off and he just sped the horse up, now I was getting angry. At this point in time we came across two men on a horse who started to yell at us and give chase, hmmm wasn’t I feeling like a goose for accepting the horse ride. Next thing I know the boy, wham-o, grabs my breast with his bandaged hand. Gross. I slap his hand hard and yell at him to stop. My outburst shocks him into submission and he halts the horse, I jump off with him demanding his 10 rupees, this I throw at him. I only handed over the money because the two men who’d been chasing us had caught up and I really didn’t feel like being chased by men on horseback for a measly 10Rs. Disgusted I stormed off, leaving them all giggling like school girls. I knew to watch out for the men in India, mental note- watch out for harmless looking young boys. Aside from that incident the stroll around the lake was majestic, there’s something about the fresh mountain air which is so invigorating and everyone else I met along the way was lovely. In the evening Kath still wasn’t well enough to leave the room, so I ventured out to investigate the night markets and had me a nice little dinner at Neelam, a restaurant in the heart of town. I didn’t stay out too late as I didn’t want to make trouble for myself. It’s amazing how men loiter around the streets, groups of men everywhere. When Jules(Kath’s boyfriend) gets here in a few weeks time I want to do some travelling by myself, now was the prime time to test the waters, did I feel safe being by myself.

On Sunday Kath was feeling better, so it was time to do some hardcore sightseeing- Dilwara temples. It was our first really touristy destination and despite being warned about the crowds, we reeaallllly weren’t prepared for it. I can deal with being crushed in a crowd, but not by men who have been leering at me and really squeeze in closer(way closer) than is necessary. We were badgered constantly and the entire time felt eyes boring into us from every direction. What should have been a relaxing stroll around the temples left us feeling dirty and gross. The afternoon wasn’t any better, we went for a paddle on the lake. Yes, I admit we took a large white swan which simply enhanced the spectacle we already were. We were happily paddling around until Kath noticed one of the sleazy men from the Temple following us with a video camera, then on turning around we discovered a whole army of boats(ok there were only six) in hot pursuit of us. In retrospect comical, at the time very surreal/disconcerting. We couldn’t shake them, the faster we went- the faster they went, it was men, women and families, so weird.

Kath on the Lake

The next morning Kath was again sick, so I went to climb Toad Rock by myself. I had a attracted a group of men who started to follow me in town. On the way up the hill I stopped at a cute little temple, they also stopped. I wasn’t going to move until they had left. The priest at the temple gave me a tour of his garden, really sweet. Even though we couldn’t communicate with words, we were still able to have a conversation of sorts using exaggerated arm gestures. It was a really special moment, for that I have the sleazy men to thank. Once they had gone I tagged along with a family to the summit. No more man troubles*!!

Holy man

Temple

The garden

On reaching Toad Rock I discovered a chai shop in a cave, so I treated myself to a chai. I felt good about myself, it was a beautiful morning and I had out-manoeuvred that nasty group of men. It worries me a bit, but I think I can deal with it. The key is being careful, I’ve taken to wearing baggy clothes and being very covered. Seems to work. In the afternoon we headed back to Ahmedabad. For part of the bus journey a young girl sat next to me- we had a stunted conversation, her English was really bad. She insisted that I have some of her jewellery, despite my protests, how could I tell her I would never wear it. In return I gave her some Australian money, causing much excitement for a group of people siting around us- the money was handed around and closely examined. What I found most surprising was when she placed the necklace over my head she kept repeating “MIND BLOWING!”. For someone whose grasp of English wasn’t so good, it was such a random phrase to come out with. I love bus trips for the random encounters! I think yay to the success of Mt Abu…

Me on the mountain

Chai

* I’m going to get some of my friends at NID to teach me a few ‘choice’ phrases, so next time I run into trouble with the men I’m better prepared.

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Bubble Girl.

September 13, 2007 at 10:41 am (Bubble Girl.)

Pale Fiona
I’m always amazed at how pale I look when I’m sick…

Bubble girl is a nick name I’ve had for years, it’s a reference to my weak stomach. Yesterday, once again I was stuck down with the tummy blues. Totally my fault. The pervious day for lunch I had taken Kath to Tib-market, a tiny restaurant run out of a house in the slums. I was taken there last week with some friends from NID and was mightily impressed, the food was awesome. You walk down a tight dusty alleyway with a convoy of children running after you yelling “Auntie, Auntie, Sooooo beautiful, Auntie!”, you duck through a door designed for a midget, the smell that greets you- delicious, two men are cooking up a storm and a sweat catering for the packed inner room (packed full of NID students, escaping from the mess food), you leave your chappals by the door and squish inside. The two Tibetan chefs come down to Ahmedabad for half the year, operating the restaurant and saving, the other half of the year is spent in Tibet with their families. They are famous for their Mo-mo’s (dumplings), in particular their beef Mo-mo’s, scrumptious (beef, a rarity in the land where the cow is considered sacred)! In retrospect it was kind of stupid eating at the slums with my reputation for a weak stomach, last week I must have been dinning out under my lucky star- no problems (instilling in me a false sense of confidence), this week another story. I may be a bubble girl, but I sure as hell don’t like confining myself to a bubble (haha- an exchange to India is certainly no bubble existence), my sister calls me ‘Fiona living-on-the-edge Buchanan’. So I enjoyed Tib-markets finest, planting a time bomb in my gut which was to go off 14 hours later.

Not one to do things by halves, that evening Kath had gone on a shopping extravaganza and we feasted on her booty- three kinds of cheeses, blue, gouda and brie, accompanied by fresh fruit, bread, crackers and fancy jam, the only thing that was missing was a bottle of fancy red. Did I mention I’m lactose intolerant, cheese is one of my weaknesses, I can eat it as long as I take it easy. Three rich cheeses after months of abstaining is not taking it easy, I was just ensuring that if I got sick it was going to be memorable.Kath went to bed and I pottered around doing uni work, concept development for my ceramics project, at 1 am I forced myself to bed- I’m trying to break my bad sleeping habits. For the next three hours I lay in bed wide awake, over heating, slightly uncomfortable, more than anything just completely awake. It was the calm before the storm.

At 4 am it hit, an explosion on the inside and out, I spent the better part of the next two hours sitting on the toilet. By 6 am the vomiting began, you know you’re in trouble when when you rush to the toilet and you can’t work out what’s more pressing the urgent need to vomit or shit(I’ve thought about and there’s really no delicate way to put it- poo, excrete, exit all matter from bowls). Kath was up at 6:30 on her way to the gym, I could still put on a cheerful face despite the internal turmoil, the worst was still to come. I called my mum between toilet bouts, I was desperate for some mum love, there’s not a lot she can do on the other side of the world, though just hearing her voice makes me feel a bit calmer. Mum always the voice of practicality asked where I had eaten and went on to drum into me the importance of hygiene and avoiding places that could potentially be unhygienic, particularly in the heat. Flash back- to the cramped room where we had left our shoes and in which the men were preparing the meals, large bowls of uncooked uncovered food perched on every available surface, nothing which even remotely resembled a refrigerator and it was the hottest day in ages. All details which had washed over me at the time, didn’t I feel more than a little sheepish when I relayed this to mum. The call came to a rather abrupt end. Whatever had gripped me just kept growing in intensity, I was puking every ten minutes, I was the vom-inator, expelling everything- absolutely everything from my body. The pain, oh the pain, pain killers weren’t an option, they wouldn’t last two seconds in my stomach. I tried all kinds of positions to make the pain stop, curled in a ball on my bed, stretched out on the mat under the fan in the front room, sitting on a chair hunched over with my head in my lap, lying on a towel in the kitchen on the hard cool tiles, the only thing which seemed to give me any sort of relief was kneeling in the bathroom with my head under the shower. The cold water on my hot feverish head seemed to numb the pain*. Not very practical, I didn’t want to waste water, so I would only do it in short bursts. Kath came back to find me looking like death warmed up, she was a gem, she really tried to make me feel more comfortable. The campus doctor was meant to be in at 8:30, between 8:30 and 9 I dragged myself to her office three times, no doctor. The assistant warden took pity on me and called to find out what was happening, apparently the doctor was on leave, then she kindly called a doctor in for me, he arrived an hour later. I was given two courses of antibiotics and told to eat lightly for the day.

I think I got off lucky, in the grand scheme of things it was only about six hours of hell followed by a marathon sleep. I slept the day away, got up for three hours and then slept for another 13 hours.

fiona-in-bed.jpg

* I was that..close to crying!

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The Smell…

September 12, 2007 at 12:35 am (The Smell)

The smell is back, Eww the ssmelll, how I hate it, how we both hate it, so RANK! It’s become an in-house joke, have you ever noticed how many horror films begin with ‘The’ – ‘The Exorcist’, ‘The Ring’, ‘The Haunting’, ‘The Birds’, ‘The Reaping’ etc. ‘The Smell’ is horrific, it’s assault on the senses is worse than any horror film I’ve seen, it starts to waft in and then ‘BANG’ so incredibly overpowering, all you can do is laugh. It took me awhile to pinpoint the source of the smell, once I started to put the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle together it became all too obvious. ‘The Smell’ appears after the rain (it’s monsoon, so it rains fairly often), the campus is surrounded by slums, it’s not uncommon when walking down the street to see people doing their ‘business’ on the side of the road. In the heat it dries up pretty fast and the smell doesn’t linger, but when it rains (and when it rains it really rains, a couple of times I’ve been outside the campus and driven through a foot and a half of water) all the excretion(human, there’s hundreds of people living in the slums, and animals, cows who wander the city and the mangy dogs you see everywhere) is disturbed, so ‘The Smell’ is the smell of excretion drying out. Sickness and epidemics are rife during the monsoon season, now I see why, on smelling ‘The Smell’ you can almost visualise the nasty bacteria spreading in the puddles, making it’s way through the air ready to pounce on the weakest target. I knew before coming to India that hygiene was an issue, but it’s not until you see it, smell it, do you realise the extent of the problem. Many of of the NGO’s working in the slums put a huge emphasis on teaching people the importance of good hygiene, they target the children- the next generation, catch them while they’re young- before bad hygiene habits get ingrained. More than a couple of times when travelling and I’ve been forced into a situation where I’ve had to use the public toilet( and believe me I try desperately to hold on), the odour omitted from the door metres before I’ve reached it nearly knocks me off my feet, once inside I’ve been greeted with the sight of women squatting in the vestibule, the floor’s all wet, there’s little brown surprises in the corners of the room and no running water. My western need for privacy forces me to wait for the next cubical, I hold my breath, arch my toes up and my internal monologue is “Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it! Don’t think about!”. The hideous platform thongs* so popular over here make complete sense, feet are well out of harms way. “Why go in the toilet when you can find a tree to squat behind?” I almost feel you wondering. Well again it’s that need for privacy, men/leering men are everywhere and one could say they follow you like a bad smell, I’d rather take a stinky suffocating toilet cubical than flash my skinny white arse at a crowd of ogling men!

*Thongs- please when in India remember to call them sandals, I’ve foe-pared a few times mentioning thongs, I’m mistaken for talking about underwear, with hilarious reactions I must say!

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I think god needs glasses…

September 4, 2007 at 5:14 pm (I think god needs glasses)

Pick your god, pick your prescription… In India alone the choice is mind boggling- thousands, perhaps millions to choose from.

God needs glasses

It’s Krishna’s birthday today and we’re having a celebratory drink, it’s a royal challenge* with thumbs up*, I royal challenge anyone to suggest a better way to shake the cabin fever blues… So how would you spend Krishna’s birthday? Me, I chose to stay in bed all morning watching some Hollywood dribble that’s not even worth naming(if I named it, out of some perverse urge you may just be tempted to watch it, and really, it is a complete waste of time), followed by ‘Snatch’- now that’s a film which makes me smile. For dinner we ventured into the old city to eat at ‘Luckies’- yes, we were feeling lucky. It’s on the Muslim side of town- a restaurant built over a Muslim graveyard- the tombstones feature throughout the restaurant, anonymous and bright(bright-BRIGHT) green, even they’re festive, and why wouldn’t they be, come one come all, lets all celebrate Krishna’s birthday(I think Krishna is smiling on me, even though I suggested some optical improvement, I’m sure he loves the thought of a multi-denominational birthday celebration, one that transcends all forms of religion!). Even the mosquitoes are celebrating, feasting on yours truly- Fiona ‘A la blood smorgasbord’, generally it’s kath they prefer, But today being a holy day (I like to think there’s something special about me) it’s me they want. I’m playing Russian roulette with our annoying little friends, I’m not taking malaria tablets because the medication upsets this delicate little flower’s system….

Getting back to ‘Luckies’, it would be the perfect place to be buried, daily there is life around you, the bustle of people, the enjoyment of food(I love food) and ooolala fresh flowers every morning! I had this romanticised vision of what ‘Luckies’ would be, crumbling gravestones, I pictured rust somewhere, a small, dimly lit, dinky room and even some grass poking through the cracks around the graves, but it was more like a truckers stop- Fluro lighting, booths, bench seating- nothing romantic, still a fantastic dining experience and disgustingly cheap- about $3AUS for both me and Kath. I’ve been neglecting my Indian friends for the greater good, trying to drag Kath out of the ‘exchange heavies’, she’s one unhappy cookie. Not so sure it’s working- she’s in bed, not half finished one drink and I’ve downed half the bottle, ha, once I’ve been royal challenged there’s no stopping me. Having said that I would like to dedicate this blog entry to Racquel Bactan the whisky drinking master who took me under her wing and made me what I am today.

Uni life has been uneventful, so I don’t really have much to report- steady progress with ceramics assignment.

*Royal Challenge- a blend of rare scotch and matured Indian malt Whiskies
*Thumbs Up- a sweetened carbonated beverage, think Coke-a-cola only less sugar(I think) and without the secret ingredient. After Independence from the British in 1947, India stopped most imports- thus no coke-a-cola, but they became masters at imitation, imitation everything. Thumbs Up was the answer to that multi-national drink(which I like to call the devil’s drink!). Since the nineties the international market has opened up, but Thumbs Up is still more readily available than Coke-a-cola.

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