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.

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.

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.

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’.

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.

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*!!

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…

* 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.

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.

* I was that..close to crying!

*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!

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.

On Thursday evening we discovered that Friday was a public holiday. Hooray! Being at NID and having many generous friends has meant that our traveling experience has been a cotton wool affair, protected and censored for our enjoyment. I say “lose the cotton wool and bring it on!”, which is precisely what did. There was some fast decision making- destination ‘Palitana’ . First to the bus station- no buses to Palitana- so we opted to catch a bus to the nearest town and hopefully the world would take us from there, I love giving myself up to the mercy of the world. Bus tickets were booked, a 7 am trip, planned for the next morning. I was nearly jumping out of my skin with excitement, I hardly got any sleep on Thursday night, thus the bus trip was uneventful, traveling is the key to my sedation, I slept the majority of the way, waking momentarily to take a glimpse at the passing scenery and then straight back into dreamland. Reaching Bhavnagar we found that the world had sent Sanjay and his three wheeler taxi to transport us to Palitana and the glorious ‘Vijay Vilas Palace’- our final destination for the day.

I spent the journey having a stunted conversation with Sanjay who after his initial serious silence became very jovial and talkative, pointing out the temples and shrines as we passed them- I was able to understand about 50% of what he was trying to tell me. I’ve gotten into the habit of talking cricket, generally I hate the sport, Indian’s love it, as a rule of thumb once you get out of the city english is not so great, but all I have to do is say Ricky Ponting(?) smile, nod and I have an instant friend. The trip took a good hour and a half to go 40km, on a bumpy as hell road, the seats were hard as rocks and I’m sure we were ripped off as far as the price went, but nothing could wipe the smile from my face. I was the master of my own destiny, it felt so good being in control and answerable to no one. I had discovered a little hotel which used to be the King of Palitana’s country retreat, now run by his grand daughter and her son. The house was an amazing colonial building erected in 1906. What a stroke of luck, it was off season so we were only charged half the price, yup that smile just kept on growing.

The overnight stay there was bliss, the hospitality, food, amenities all 10 out of 10!! I’m in such a content frame of mind, I finally feel as though I have settled into my life in India. Saturday we left at dawn to climb the mountain, some 3000 steps up to the summit which is home to 900 Jain temples and still more are in a state of construction. It seems a little excessive, I just wonder where all the money is coming from. Jainism is about renouncing worldly possessions, so just maybe the followers give up their goods and their money goes into building more shrines. That doesn’t make sense to me- what about redirecting the money into building homes for the poverty stricken? There are over 230 million people living below the poverty line in India (hah just one of the many reasons I’ve dissed religion). It’s a bit of Fiona logic, though I’m not afraid to admit I could be well off the mark on my criticism of the excessive temples, I’m just a mere tourist making passing remarks. Now getting back to Saturday morning, we experienced the sunrise- spectacular, then on reaching the top of the mountain it was as though I had stepped through a port hole into a pure magical place. Arriving at the temples, mmmmm I had stumbled back in time to a lost civilisation, the mist hovered around the temples, an added sensory delight and when the mist evaporated the views stretched as far as the eye could see- breath taking, valleys, rivers and mountain ranges. As I’ve hinted at before, I’m generally not into religion, but I do think this is a spiritual place, so serene and peaceful. I’ve been filled with a sense of calm since visiting, perhaps it’s that blessing a monk bestowed on me. Food for thought, there is a Muslim temple just before the summit of the mountain and apparently couples visit it as a fertility charm, the village at the base of the mountain was full of children, they were everywhere and hardly an adult in sight- coincidence?

Never leave home without your pillow is my new motto (yes, despite the complications that can arise at airports). There were no private buses running back to Ahmedabad, it was time to brave the state transport. The trip was twice as long and a whole lot more colourful than the journey there. At the bus stop we attracted a crowd of giggling school boys who were beside themselves with the site of Kath’s bra strap which was peeking out from under her shirt. It took them an hour to gain the confidence to approach us and then it was as though the flood gates had opened, first the school boys, then more children and then the adults, we had attracted a massive crowd, all pushing in to get a closer look. To be honest it’s quite confronting, but god bless cricket, our saving grace, we were able to conduct some sort of conversation in a haphazard sort of way with the whole crowd- broken english and lots of laughing. Our bus was over packed, I missed out on a seat, still smiling I wasn’t phased, go with the flow. There was a hessian bag stuffed with something soft at the front of the bus, I was encouraged by the locals to have a seat on that, quite comfortable- particularly with a pillow behind my back. About an hour into the journey a seat for me materialised seemingly out of thin air as the bus was completely packed. This didn’t last long, at the next bus stop an elderly lady was left standing in the aisle, precariously stretched to reach the overhead handle bar and swaying dangerously along with the bus. I was sitting some distance away and much to my shock no one offered her a seat (granted it was a 5 hour journey which morphed into a 7 &1/2 hour trip due to a blow-out in one of the tires), much to her shock I offered my seat and opted to sit on my pillow stretched out over my bag in the aisle. I shared my kit-kat with the kids behind me and promptly fell asleep- perfectly comfortable. Apparently the kids were hovering over me the whole time I slept and when I woke, still 2 hours from Ahmedabad, they took it upon themselves to teach me Gujarati. Their english was quite good as was their parents- who were extremely lovely, I was completely entertained for the next two hours. By the end of the journey they had invited me to come stay at their home in Palitana, so a tentative date has been marked out in November. It’s rather random because earlier that day I had made the comment to Kath that it would be awesome to go spend some time in a village and experience village life.

The only thing I have to complain about is my poor jelly legs, oh the pain, I’ve been hobbling around campus like an arthritic nanna for the past few days. That’ll learn me not to stretch before tackling some 6000 steps. Since arriving back we’ve started our ceramics project, currently it’s group work and a lot of theory. The pace is slow, but I’ve learnt to accept it, it’s the nature of the beast, because the classes here run 7 days a week 1o hours a day they can afford the pace to be slow (in Ahmedabad there’s nothing else to do, it’s so unlike my chaotic life in Melbourne- balancing uni, work and play). It’s a new discipline we’re working in, so a whole new set of people, the slow working pace has afforded me the luxury of getting to know my classmates, which is nice.

This is a picture of the driver (Yes we were given a driver to take us around the city!) we lost on our solo venture into the city. A comedy of errors- all our phones stopped working for a variety of reasons. We had no idea that there’d be no ‘idea’ in Bangalore. Actually it appeared that no one had any idea of what ‘idea’ was, so we were sent further and further afield on the search for mobile phone recharge from a company which didn’t exist in Bangalore. I say “Go with the flow!”, but it was driving Kath crazy. It all turned out, although we didn’t make it back to the house until the next day. The important lesson I learnt was never leave home without the address of the place where you are staying, be it someone’s house or a hotel- you just never know what’s going to happen.

I have dubbed Bangalore spoilt-brats-ville, mainly due to the company we were keeping. Bangalore is India’s fastest growing city, IT central, one of the main attractions in the Lonely Planet Guide was Commercial Rd and that just about sums it up. I would be perfectly happy if I never stepped foot in the city again, ok so perhaps I’m just a little jaded by the possie I was hangin’ with. It was was all about going out, getting drunk, who could drink the most etc. I took a back seat in watching princesses competing for the most attention and boys with fancy cars drink driving stupidly fast through the back-streets of the city. I was hijacked once again and taken to another planet for three days, SOoooo hedonistic, SOooooooo boring, SOooooooo not my scene. But really you get that sort of behavior the world over, though what doesn’t exist the world over is the notion of arranged marriages. These girls who were around 20 years old were discussing how they’d be married by 23. “My daddy’s going to find me the most eligible bachelor in the whole of India!”. Soumitri said we should learn the ‘voice’ while in India, a singsongy voice used to address elders. Not a fan, I saw the voice in action when Prathima addressed the servants, shop keepers, auto drivers- so patronising/ condescending. Uncle this, Aunty that- spoken an octave or two higher than your normal tone while taking on an almost naive manner, seems like some sort of role playing- really Soumitri not me at all. In my last entry I touched on the servant culture which exists over here, now I was staying in a house where servants were used in full force. Very Surreal. The kids, actually no, they are young adults behaving like spoilt brats, ordering the maids and drivers around like crazy. Asking for food, drinks whatever they want- but they scream from one room to another until the maid emerged to be ordered around. Things are delivered and then the maid cleans up after them, and they don’t do anything. They wouldn’t even enter the kitchen to get a glass of water. I had a large piece of pizza and before I knew what was happening a maid was summonsed into the room and she proceeded to chop it into bite size pieces for me. I felt embarrassed by this, though it was not out of the ordinary at all. I felt completely shocked and disgusted by this behavior- these are people getting paid to do their jobs, they should be treated with respect. The maids were lovely. Below is a photo (forgive the poor quality) of me and Kath with the maids.

Finally back to the land of giant snails and mini apples, aka NID. The snails at NID are amazing- huge and beautiful, they come out in force after the rain. It is at night that they surface, which is a bit unfortunate because they are often trodden on in the dark and by morning sometimes the pavement looks like a tragic snail massacre. Mini apples are what they occasionally feed us in the mess if we are lucky, the apples are smaller than the snails. A friend told me that they are the variety of apples they feed their horses back home. “Mini fruit’s better than no fruit!”, that’s what I like say.

I’m going to start with the fat man. This incident I’m telling second hand as I wasn’t there, but I’m just so completely blown away by it. Kath and her friend were shopping on CG road, there was a piece of paper on the pavement- nothing even remotely unusual about this, in India there’s rubbish everywhere ( I was collecting rubbish off the beach and my friends told me to take it easy, “Hey Fiona, even in 50 million of your lifetimes you won’t be able to clean India up!”- seems a little drastic, though it is a country of close to 2 billion people). So back to this particular piece of paper- Kath stepped around it and Shibha walked over it completely disappearing down a hole. Luckily for Shibha she only fell for about 5 feet before hitting water, the hole was full of water, so deep that despite falling some distance Shibha didn’t even touch the bottom- even more amazingly the water was clean, apparently crystal clear. Kath was left screaming for help. This is when I can say that the Indian habit of staring came in handy, all eyes were on Kath so when this happened there was an instant crowd all trying to help. Now, the fat man, he was so eager to help that he tried to climb down the hole, only to get stuck and thus needed to be rescued himself. I have this vision of Shibha floating back to the surface to be greeted by two chubby legs kicking in the air. The fat man was pulled from the hole and then Shibha was pulled from the water with only a graze on her leg. So random, surreal.

The next story I would like to tell is related to driving, I’ve already spoken of my admiration for the Indian driver, it seems that the obtaining of a drivers license is a curious thing. I’m told in some cases you need not even go and do the test, you just make a call and man comes to your house, you fill in some paper work, hand over a photo and then bud-a-bing-bud-a-bang a drivers license is delivered to your door the very next day. My favorite story was told to me by Abir while I was visiting in Pune. He explained to me while he was at the register being interviewed the official pointed out the window towards a small blue car and said “So can you drive that car?”, “Sure!” replied Abir. “Ok, off you go… Take that car for a drive”. So off Abir went to drive the little blue car. The gentleman in the passenger seat was not the communicative type. The test which followed involved Abir asking leading questions:-
“Should I go left?”
“Sure.”
“Should I turn right at the next intersection?”
“Sure.”
“Should I do a reverse park?”
“If you want!”
The whole experience was a little disconcerting for Abir and when they arrived back, Abir inquired why the man wasn’t carrying a clipboard and didn’t appear to be marking him during the drive. “Oh, I’m not an instructor, this is my car. In fact I’m here to do my drivers test.”. Abir went inside and confronted the official about it:-
“Hey, that man’s not even an instructor!”
“Yes, but did you drive the car?”
“Yes!”
Happy ending, he was given his license and sent on his merry way. Only in India one could say!

Traveling in the luggage compartment.

So I busted the hell out of NID for a little holiday- destination Pune. The train was apparently full, and I say apparently because I’m never quite sure whether I’m being told the truth (often I’ve been told crazy things when people try to rip me off, also with the language barrier sometimes things are confused and I’ve been left misinformed). The bus it was, a 17 hour trip, not that I minded, I enjoy traveling by bus, if you have a sleeper you can stretch out, I packed a good book, a pillow, a blanket and I couldn’t be happier. There were seats as per a normal bus and then there were little ladders so that you could climb up into the sleeper compartments which were directly above the seats, the compartments had solid sliding doors, were quite poky and because you traveled with your luggage it gave the distinct impression of traveling in the luggage compartment. Oddly comforting, it reminded me of when I was little, I used to gather all my bedding and sleep on the top shelf of my built-in wardrobe. Arriving in Pune I had to solve the problem of contacting Abir, mobile phone systems are weird here and they don’t work out of state unless you have roaming which I was not organised enough to get, and I had to work out where to disembark the bus, Pune was a lot bigger than I anticipated. So I poked my head out of my cosy little compartment and tried to get the attention of the man sitting under me, it took awhile but eventually he noticed me peering down at him, he nearly jumped out of his skin and I had attracted all the attention of the men sitting beneath me. No one was able to help me as I had no idea of Abir’s address so I jumped off at the next stop and let myself be hijacked by the first auto driver. We found a phone, I had him talk to Abir and a drop off point was organised, me being the drop off goods. Hooray I had made it and I was welcomed into the bosom of Abir’s family.

Oh happy Pune- such fun times were had, I indulged in my fair share of silliness (actually there’s plenty more where that came from), I smiled, I laughed, I cooked, I played with kids, I explored the city and I even attempted to drive a scooter- basically it’s the best time I have had so far… I so enjoy imposing myself on other people’s families. I met Abir’s family, his friends, hung out with like minded people, it was interesting the conversations were stimulating- because NID is like a boarding school I’ve notice a lot of the conversations revolve around bitching and gossiping about other people and it just gets so tedious. Abir’s house was unlike any other Indian house I’ve been in so far, I could have been hanging out at a friend’s house back in Melbourne. His parents are architects so the lay out of the apartments ( Abir’s is down stairs and his sister and her family live up stairs, he doesn’t have a kitchen so all meals are eaten up stairs) is very open, thus letting in a lot of light and making maximum use of the space. Though in the kitchen it was a dead give away as to the Indian-ness of the house. The fridge a wonderland of dairy products stored in stainless steel vessels of varying shapes and sizes, fresh milk is delivered daily to the house where it is boiled, cooled, cream is separated from the milk, butter, curd and buttermilk are then made. I was more than a little fascinated by this process. A house cleaner comes for a couple of hours everyday in the morning 7-9ish and then he is off to his other job which he finishes late in the evening. This man is in his early 20’s he works seven days a week, keeps a little money for himself, and sends the rest home. He is saving for his sister’s dowry hopefully he will earn 3 lac (300,000 rupees a lot of money for a poor man). The theory is, he earns the money for his sister and then when he marries he’ll receive that sort of money for his marriage. I find this strange. The culture of household helpers/servants is a curious thing. Awanti (Abir’s sister) was explaining to me that she’s had a few lectures from her grandma because she doesn’t know how to treat ‘servants’, apparently you’re to treat them mean to keep them keen, if you are nice to them they are likely to stab you in the back and steal from you, it’s the old school servant culture. Get with the new school I say, Awanti is on friendly terms with her cleaner and often gives him paid days off. Haha I am side tracking. So I spent just over a week hanging with Abir in his hood, he is a sculptor and had a few works to finish off before heading to Australia, I got to help him out the best I could. My job involved using a blow touch to heat up the copper sculpture to rid the metal of any moisture and then it was all about waxing- wax on, wax off, it was extremely satisfying helping out. Time flew, that’s the cruel thing about time, it speeds up when you are having fun and alas it was time to leave Pune.

*Realtime interlude- I’ve turned the music up so load I can feel the base through desk and the computer… Hmmmmm I love it! I’m playing DJ and picking music for Quinny (aka Kath) it’s a beautiful thing.

Terrorist with a pillow

Kath had come to join me for my last couple of days in Pune and then we were both headed to Bangalore or as I like to say spoilt-brats-ville. I held a sense of foreboding about the Bangalore leg of the journey. We were to visit the girl whom I suspect took my money, but my tickets there were already a done deal paid for and sealed with a smile. We left Pune in the wee hours of the morning to catch the plane. My favorite traveling attire is comfortable tracksuit pants and casual t-shirt (very casual). This was my first domestic flight in India and I was totally amused by the biz-zillion security checks you had to pass through before boarding the plane, the amusement lasted until they wouldn’t let me on the plane. “What do you mean I can’t go on the plane because my pillow hasn’t been security stamped”. I had three people barking at me about the lack of security stamp on my pillow. “What do you think- I smuggled the pillow through security under my shirt? Of course it’s been security checked. How about I just shove it in this bag?” I said holding up a bag the pillow would easily fit in. A no go, no boarding the plane until the pillow had a stamp. It was too early in the morning for this- it would have been funny, but they were just so rude about it and treated me like some kind of criminal. I am 90% of the time a mild mannered person and since arriving in India I’ve been wondering if I’d be able to stand up for myself if I was in a situation where I was being unjustly treated, constantly people are a little rude and try to rip you off but I generally find you can defuse the situation by being friendly and standing your ground- works much better for me than getting angry. At 6am on the 16th of August 2007 I was being dragged around on the slippery tarmac, through the drizzling rain, back into Pune airport terminal with a flight attendant barking orders at me-it happened, niceness was not working for me, I snapped and spoke very sharply to the man. I’d been momentarily possessed by my mother, her tone of voice completely, as a kid you knew you were in Major (and that’s Major spelt with a capital M) trouble when that ‘tone’ was used. I had silenced the flight attendant, he was as sweet as pie after that. I was relieved, no one was going to walk over me- God bless my mother! The guard who stamped the pillow found the whole thing funny, finally someone who found the situation absurd. The rest of the flight was uneventful. On arriving in Bangalore we took an auto to meet our friend Prathima, who unbeknownst to us was attending an official parade for independence day. Prathima’s dad is an IAS officer (aka a very high ranking official in India) so she was seated in the official tent. We were dropped off at gate 2, the official entrance. Though we weren’t allowed to stay there for long, the police moved us on. Each time we stood still to try and make a call to Prathima we were moved along- this happened at least 5 times (the terrorist with a pillow strikes again!). What I found amusing is how they yelled “HELLO!” and then shook their hands at us. The right people were spoken too and we were allowed in- our bags were stored in a police car, all sorted. By this stage I was mortified by my choice of traveling attire- the tracksuit pants and my very ‘casual’ t-shirt, we were surrounded by these gorgeous women in exquisite saris. As a foreigner you can get away with anything. The parade was interesting, marches, a series of traditional Indian dances and a very random motorcycle troop performing crazy stunts.