2006-01-08T04:28:00.000-08:00

India Postcard –

6 October 2005

It is good to be back, back to the old familiar smells, noises, heat etc. some things never change but everywhere is different!

We have spent the past two days exploring the city on foot. The streets are wide and there is a lot of greenery. Crossing the road can be a bit unnerving but the traffic is less hectic/suicidal than Bangalore. We even took a stroll across Howrah Bridge for old times sake and Dad treated me to a cup of tea at the Railway Station - he is pulling out all the stops for this holiday. (joke)

We had a bit of an incident yesterday, we took a walk that ended up at the river Hooghly, we were on the bank just before the sun went down - it was a piece of bank tucked behind a railway line, where a lot of broken pottery had been dumped. There were people milling around watching an Indian woman smashing up the pots. She looked around and saw Dad and started shouting and gesticulating at him, then she ran up to him and tried to hit him with clay pots. This drew quite a crowd - anyway he didn't get hurt and the woman took off and walked into the river.

Today we took a ride on the ancient tram system. We visited St Paul's Church which has a stained glass window designed by Burne Jones. When we got to the Church they said it was shut and would open later in the afternoon. We decided to wait, as Dad really did want to see the window. We waited undercover which was lucky as it started to tip down with rain. It was worth the wait, the window was stunning.

It seems to be an interesting time to be in Calcutta as a festival is about to take place, it is called the Durga Puja. People build huge constructions containing replicas of the Hindu gods; these constructions are eventually judged as to which one is best. I suppose it is a bit like their Christmas because; people frantically spending money on flowers, food, presents and trivia and everywhere is lit up with thousands of coloured lights.. We have booked a ticket to take a boat ride on Sunday, to see some of the festivities.

This morning we had breakfast at a strange hotel called the Fairlawns, it is run by a very friendly 83 year old Armenian woman who was married to a Major in the British Army (he has since died). He left her the guesthouse and it is very quaint. The rooms are too expensive for us at $60 for a double but non-residents can eat there.

16 October 2005

Today is Saturday, so they say, it is easy to lose track of time. We have been in India for 11 days and arrived in Puri at 5.00 am yesterday, after taking the all night train from Calcutta.

Let me tell you a little about Calcutta “the city of joy”. Largely a British creation dating back 300 years. Trade in the east was almost monopolized by the Dutch and the Portuguese. The British East India Company, wanting to get a foothold in the eastern market, developed the city from three villages on the banks of the Houghly river.

It was in 1756 during an attack on the British that a number of prisoners were taken and packed into an underground cellar where during the night many suffocated in what became known as “the black hole of Calcutta”. Thus conjuring up an image of darkness, suffocation, overcrowding and oppression.

Our first brush with Calcutta in 1987 did nothing to dispel this myth. We had to change trains and had a few hours to spare so we walked across the famous Howrah Bridge. The bridge was crowded by beggars from end to end, all shapes and sizes of disfigurement and disease. We were told babies were often disfigured at birth because a sufficient living could be made as a beggar. Walking through the streets was difficult because they were so crowded – like a crowd leaving a football match.

Now the bridge has been cleared of beggars and is freshly painted. On the east bank under the bridge is a colourful and bustling flower market, roses, lotus buds, greenery, jasmine, garlands of marigolds – the beauty, fragility and perfume of the flowers lie alongside the filthy mud underfoot and the pungent stench of urine.

Quite by chance, our visit this time coincided with a big Hindu festival called the Durga Puja. Durga is a female goddess representing the victory of good over evil. In the run up to the festival hundreds of “Pandals” (marquees) are erected, made out of bamboo and cloth, they end up looking like little palaces and with a great deal of detail. They are lit by chandeliers on the inside and have paintings on the walls. On a dais stands a representation of the goddess and her companions, Ganesh, Laxmi, Saraswati and Kartick. Puja (prayers and blessings) take place throughout the day – incense, bells ringing, drums banging and, of course, money being collected. At the end of the festival the idols are taken to the river and immersed in the water.

We watched a procession of idols being taken to the river, what a spectacle. A man at the head of the procession pulled a cart carrying a huge generator (oh so heavy) he was followed by many carts holding the goddesses some of which were 3 or 4 metres high. Men with long poles went ahead to hold up the electrical wires and. As the goddesses progressed down the streets they knock into the trees waking the bats that flew around our heads in protest (and they were big bats).

Getting around the city was pretty easy (if you are a tourist and not in a hurry), there is an ancient and I mean ancient tram service (fare Rs 4 Rs76=1 GBP), numerous buses if you can squeeze on, and a metro which is just one line north to south of the city also at a fare of Rs 4. But we also did a lot of walking as it helps to get your bearings and see things you might otherwise miss. It does get pretty tiring due to the climate being about 33 degrees and 97% humidity and nowhere to sit despite there being wide expanses of green open land. You can’t sit on it, as it is too muddy.

We are catching the end of the North East monsoon and nearly everyday there has been heavy rain or thunderstorms and the streets have regularly been flooded. This is when the rickshaw wallah gets his best trade. Thin wiry men pulling two wheeled traps. Calcutta is the only city in India that has these rickshaw men – elsewhere there are cycle or auto rickshaws.

Due to the rain and humidity everything was damp and mildewed including clothes and especially the room in our guesthouse. We stayed at the Salvation Army, an old rambling decaying building occupied mostly by volunteers, of varying ages. The young tend to volunteer for a few days at the Mother Theresa homes for children who are waiting to be adopted. Apparently it can take up to seven years for these adoptions to be processed and most of the children go abroad! The older volunteers offer a stronger and more long-term commitment, often returning year after year.

In the South of Calcutta is an area called Kalighat where Mother Theresa first started working with the poor. Here we visited a temple dedicated to Kali, a fearsome female goddess of destruction and creation. Every morning a goat is sacrificed to appease Kali. I try not to think about what or who may have been sacrificed to Kali in the past. Another offering to the goddess seems to be an obligatory “donation” from tourists of Rs 2,000 for a bag of rice to feed the poor. I later found out that rice can be purchased for as little as 17/- per kilo mmmmm.

We left Calcutta on the nigt train on Thursday evening (it took two days to get a ticket but that is another story). I was curious to see a long, long queue at the station being held in check by police with rifles. It turned out that these were third class passengers who were released to board the train so many at a time - possibly to avoid fatal crushing. We were in a second-class sleeper with reserved berth. 600 kms South to Puri, a small town in the state of Orissa on the East coast.

We are staying in an ex-Maharaja’s Palace – clean, airy, wonderful gardens, views of the ocean. Birdcall has replaced traffic hum. Our guesthouse is not licensed to sell beer but does so listing it on the bill as fish - so we are now fish drinking vegetarians!

23 October 2005

Two weeks and four days into our adventures – it seems much longer, so much happens each day.

Puri was quite a contrast to Calcutta; a town as opposed to the large, sprawling and frenetic capital of West Bengal. The town grew up around the ancient Jaganath temple - the fourth holiest place in India. Unfortunately it is out of bounds to non-Hindus and we had to be satisfied with walking on the outside of the perimeter wall. For a donation of Rs 100 you can climb to the top floor of the library where you get a slightly better view. But our pleasure was watching the sunrise from the beach and praying for the fishermen as they headed out to sea, struggling through powerful surf. Such hard work and very dangerous.

Apparently there are regular cyclones in this area. One major cyclone claimed the lives of 15 fishermen and 12 tourists this year. Sometimes the tourists go out with the fishermen – I admire their courage but despair at their foolhardiness at the same time. If the boat turns over, which they sometimes do, there is no rescue launch, no helicopter.

There are a couple of lifeguards who assist the Indian tourists to take a dip. Very few Indians swim; they go into the water fully clothed and splash around. The lifeguards have a couple of heavily patched tyre inner tubes for rescue purposes but the waters are dangerously strong.

The people were friendly and the pace of life gentle. We made friends with a number of people, one chap in particular named Babuli even turned up at the station to wave us off when we left.

We were invited to the local fishing village for a meal by another young man called Bijay. Bijay is 25, married with 2 children – he is the head of a household of 11 people which include his elderly parents (his father is crippled) and his younger brothers and sisters. They all live together in a small mud and thatched home. The family is Christian. Many Hindus from the lower castes turn to Christianity as it preaches equality. The village is in desperate need of water pumps. The government promise pumps before an election, votes are cast but the pumps don’t come. It is possible to buy a pump and have it installed for as little as 50 pounds sterling. We did quite a bit of research to confirm this and it is bona fide. If a pump was being installed inland, on higher ground it would be much more. So we have agreed to pay for a pump.

We left Puri on the 18th heading inland and north into India’s poorest state, Bihar. The journey took 18 hours by train. We are now in a very special place called Bodhgaya, famous all over the world for Buddhists. It is here that Siddhartha sat under the Pipal/Bodi tree until he gained enlightenment. It is a very small place, full of Buddhists from around the world: Japan, Taiwan, Tibet, Bhutan, Korea, Thailand, Burma, China, Bangladesh and the West. Each with their own temple except the West.

It is rather interesting to note that at the famous Taj Mahal any semi-precious stone within easy reach has been picked out by the Indian tourists. But visitors to the temples here cover the statues in gold leaf and the only thing they take away are the fallen leaves or seeds from the Bodi tree.

Early in the morning as the sun comes up, young boys head to the temple gates with armfuls of lotus blossoms hoping passing devotees will purchase them as offerings.

The main Mahabodhi Temple draws crowds of devotees from down to dust, chanting in small groups or sitting quietly in contemplation. With so many bad happenings and natural disasters occurring throughout the world it is good to know there are prayers of peace being offered everyday.

We will languish in this tranquillity for another couple of days before heading off to the razzmatazz of Varanasi.

30 October 2005

Varanasi is THE holiest place in India for Hindus. It lies on the banks of the river Ganges. It is the place where every devout Hindu dreams of ending his days.

We are once again staying in the old city, at the Shanti Guest House, which has a balcony restaurant on the sixth floor overlooking the river and all its activities.

At breakfast, a couple of days ago, we met two Canadians in their 50s who had just completed a six week trek across Zanskar, a Himalayan valley in northern India near Kashmir. I have always been fascinated by Zanskar and was able to hold a sensible conversation with them about the place, having just read a book by Michel Pessell about his trek in 1975. It doesn't see as if much has changed since then. It is a very remote area, cut off by high passes for 8 months of the year.
The people practice a school of buddhism related to the yellow hat sect in Tibet which also has associations with a large settlement of refugees in southern India near Mysore. I hope to visit there after Mick's return to the UK.

Yesterday at breakfast we spoke with a young man from Portland, Oregon, who had just cycled across Pakistan with his girlfriend. He told us of a wise Guru he had met in Mumbai, an ex-banker aged 88. I wonder who we'll meet at breakfast today.

The Shanti is located just behind the main burning ghat which is in operation 24 hrs a day. On busy days they burn up to 150 bodies. The ritual is as follows:

the body is given a massage then wrapped in red and golden cloth
it is then carried through the alleyways to the river on a bamboo pall by four male relatives who chant 'Ram Ram' as they go
when they get to the river the body is immersed in the Ganga and is then placed on the bank while the pyre is built
if the deceased is male, the eldest son has his head shaved and takes a purifying bath in the river, he then dresses in a new white lungi
the body is placed on the pyre
the son collects fire from the sacred flame at the temple gently carrying the flame on some tinder, he touches the deceased's mouth with the flame and then circles the body five times, once for each of the elements from which we are made: earth, fire, air, water and spirit
he then fans the tinder to increase the flame and sets it to the pyre (which has been generously doused in ghee - or clarified butter)
at some point, after an hour or so, the son cracks open the skull with a small hammer to allow the spirit to leave the body
later he lifts the sternum from the fire between two bamboo poles and takes it to the river (if it is a woman, it is the pelvis that is taken to the river)
if the family can't afford sufficient wood to totally cremate the body, what is left is deposited in the river to be devoured by buzzards, dogs, fish or passing dolphins (we saw three dolphins the other day)
female members of the family are not permitted to attend a) because they may be too emotional and thus upset the mens' composure b) due to the abolition of 'sati' when widows threw themselves on the funeral pyre to be consumed in the flames with their husband - this practice was banned by the British during the time of the Raj.

Yesterday we saw a whole body floating in the water, face down, very bloated. We were curious and asked what this was all about. Apparently there are six situations for which cremation is not permitted: children under 10, pregnant women, lepers, smallpox, snakebite or Holymen. These bodies are taken to the centre of the river and have a heavy stone attached to them so that they sink to the bottom. We were told fish sometimes eat through the packaging releasing the body to the surface.

Everyday thousands of Hindus bath in this river and drink the water believing it to be pure, we are told they don't get sick! I asked someone about this and he said God purifies the holy Ganga so Hindus won't get sick but if Westerners bath in it they do get sick - but surely there is only one God I replied ...........

As I mentioned earlier, we are situated just behind the main burning ghat and if the wind is in the wrong direction we get a fine coating of ash in our room and it makes our eyes smart.

But we are loving every minute - this place is so alive.

It is Diwali on Tuesday, the festival of light. The river will be covered with thousands of floating candles. The kids are already setting off fireworks. Whilst walking the other day, one little gang of boys asked us for a light, we didn't have one but they got one from somewhere and we watched with amusement as they set off a firework bomb having placed it in a wet cow pat!

Ganga means holy river, it also means holy weed or the substance smoked in chillums by the Sadhus (holymen). Ganga is legal in various parts of India. It can be purchased from small Government outlets. You can also take it in Lassi, a yoghurt drink. I tried it once in Rajasthan - it didn't taste too good so I didn't take enough to become enlightened.

The children never cease to amaze me. By the time they are 8 years old they can speak enough of several languages eg. French, German, Japanese, English, to hold lengthy conversations, the ultimate aim of which is to get you to part with money - here I am a fairly seasoned 56 year old being hustled by an 8 year old - magic.

We didn't meet anyone to speak with at breakfast today but were visited by two male Macchaus (spelling ?) large male monkeys with very large teeth - they were discharged by the waiter with a plastic chair.

And so the adventure continues....

13 November 2005

Here I am, once again, in Bangalore and already a week has flown by. I flew by Air Deccan from Calcutta the day before Mick returned to the UK. It was good to catch up with Sheila. As she was due to leave for the UK within two days of my arrival I waited until she left before making any house calls.
First I went to see Dr Nagaraj and his wife Deepa, they told me what had been happening since I left at the end of May and then took me on a tour around the new hospital. It is looking very impressive. The construction is complete and consists of: a reception and waiting area with an attached pharmacy, a consulting room which can double up as a minor ops room, an x-ray and ultrasound room which may be used as an additional ward until funding is available to buy x-ray and ultrasound equipment, a ward to hold 10 beds which will be partitioned to segregate the sexes, a small laboratory and a kitchen on the roof. Although there have been a few hiccoughs during construction due to insufficient funding, the builder in charge of the project is conscientious and is giving good value for money. The original plan was estimated to be completed for 15 Lakh approximately 18,000 GBP but due to some modifications to the original plan the final price could have risen to 22 Lakh but it is still coming in at 15 Lakh. Due to Sheila’s mammoth efforts and with the support of family and friends (which includes some of you), over 7,000 GBP has been raised so far. Dr Nagaraj is hoping to take a loan for the rest. The most pressing thing at the moment is the flooring (estimated to cost 6-700 GBP, then the plumbing and electricity can be connected. Sheila is hoping to raise more funds during her visit home to Newcastle where she will be giving 4 presentations. During her tireless efforts at fund raising she met a young Indian journalist and film maker who shot a 15 minute film telling the story of a young girl with HIV. It is very moving. The film includes a short presentation by Sheila giving an outline of the HIV/AIDs situation in India and what she hopes to achieve. It is on VCD. It’s a tough journey she is making and I admire her grit and determination. If any of you wish to contact her directly I am sure she would love to hear from you, her email is: sheilaabennett@hotmail.com. It was good to see my friend Mary and her family. Mary lives in a slum area, under a fly-over, with her husband Robin and her two boys, 10 year old Lambert and 8 year old Eliya. We spent a great afternoon cooking chappattis, puris, chutney and bitter gourd pickle. She also showed me how to make chaat – a snack made by frying cooked rice until it puffs then adding spices and lots of chillie (of course) – no chance of losing weight. While I am here in Bangalore, Sheila has kindly given me the okay to use her flat. The timing of my arrival couldn’t have been better because she was about to leave for a 3 week stay in the UK and she now has a young flat mate that needs care and attention – his name is Henry and he is an energetic ‘into-everything’ 9 week old, ginger and white kitten. Sheila’s neighbour found him in a very poor state and brought him round to her for her advice. He appeared to be paralysed, possibly from having been dropped by his mother when she was trying to remove him to a place of safety while being chased. Sheila took him to the vet who told her to give him a chance as his back did not appear to be broken. He was then 4 weeks old. She had to feed him with a dropper and he cried with pain for several days but slowly he improved and now he’s full of life and so curious. The other day he jumped into a bucket that I was filling with water, he got quite a surprised when he landed in it. He is great fun and just like a small child, he plays hard for a while: chasing, jumping, getting inside bags etc., then crashes out and sleeps – I just wish his teeth and claws weren’t so sharp.
I was reading in the paper today about a 3 year old boy that is being trained up to run marathons – his father died leaving a wife and 4 children. His mother earns Rs 250/- per month (about 3.50 GBP) doing washing. She found jobs as maids for her two older daughters but she sold her young son to a street vendor for Rs 800/- (just under 10 GBP) and now just has one daughter at home to look after. The boy was rescued from the vendor by the president of a slum dwellers’ association. The boy’s ability to run long distances was discovered when he was told to run round a hall as punishment for swearing – 7 hours later he was still running! He now runs for over 6 hours a day covering 50-60 kms….. Mary invited me to join her and her family on a trip to the Sathanur Dam. Sathanur is in the next state, Tamil Nadu. It was quite an adventure. We took a 3 hour evening train, arriving at the station at midnight. Mary, the boys and I travelled in a ladies only coach at the back of the train and Robin sat elsewhere in a mixed carriage. At the station, we slept on the floor of the waiting room but before settling down, I had to go to the toilet – a bit of a nerve racking experience, as a large rat’s tail was poking out of a broken manhole cover; I had to cross the manhole cover to get to the toilet – I stamped my feet but it wasn’t going to take any notice of me. When we woke up in the morning Mary told me she had been woken in the night when a rat had chewed a hole in the bag that she was using as a pillow. It wanted the nuts she’d brought along as a snack. We got up at 5 am and had tea. Three bus rides later, we arrived at the dam. The countryside was very beautiful. We passed through clean villages of mud and thatched houses and past fields growing rice, turmeric, ragi, bringal …. coconut groves, stretches of water with pink, white and yellow lilies. Teams of oxen turning furrows in the mud. Everything looked luscious due to the quantity of rain that has fallen over the past couple of months. We are just catching the end of the north east monsoon season which has been exceptionally heavy this year. Because we got to the dam early, we had the place almost to ourselves. The children were so excited by the beauty of the place – they live in such a small dark place and crave open space and natural surroundings – every insect, caterpillar and butterfly was ‘cooed and ah’d’ over. Eliya picked a little plant and found a plastic cup to carry it in. He carried that plant for the next 12 hours whilst sleeping on buses and standing for 3 hours on the train, while being jostled and pushed. I’m sure it will grow if he doesn’t love it to death! At the dam is a crocodile farm. The eggs are taken from the dam and hatched on the farm. There must have been a couple of hundred crocs. They grow up to 30 metres long and can live for 300 years. The oldest one there was 30 and he was BIG. Robin had a chat with one of the keepers who asked if I would like to touch one. I can’t say it was at the top of my wish list but when an opportunity arises you have to go for it – so I agreed. It was, of course, totally against the park rules so we had to be very clandestine about it. Five minutes later I am standing in a pit full of crocs holding one by its tail and grinning into the lens of my camera as Mary takes a shot. After that we crossed the top of the dam taking in the amazing views while munching through a stick of sugar cane, another first for me – it’s not easy! We took lunch by the river and the boys played in the water until they were cold. After they got dressed I spied a large cat fish floating upside down in the water. Eliya tried to catch it and fell in fully clothed …. It was a beautiful fish weighing about 1 kg. It was still alive but only just. The children held it gently in the water and said a prayer over it. We had quite a tedious journey back, missing bus connections, waiting for long periods then a mad rickshaw dash to get the last train of the day which was rammed. I was the only ‘whitee’. Some poor guy got stuck in the loo which caused quite a commotion. Mary and I were squeezed together on an aisle seat. I had Eliya on my lap (minding his plant of course) but as it was stuffy I thought I would stand by the open door. Lambert then joined Mary and Eliya. Moments later they all joined me at the door – the conductor had taken a bribe from a male passenger and had ousted Mary and the children from their seat. I was not amused. I went and retrieved our bags from above his head and made a point of wishing him a happy journey! We stood for the rest of the journey. 9 December 2005 (message home)

Sorry I haven't been in contact as promised - I decided to confirm my flight and check the arrival time before making contact - okay, how difficult can that be I hear you say. Well I won't go into the whole story now but it has taken me three days, many frustrating phone calls, a long rickshaw ride and the assistance of friends. Finally everything is confirmed: I will be flying to Calcutta tomorrow Saturday at 3.30 pm arriving at 06.00 pm - my Friday Air Deccan flight was cancelled. The BA flight is the same as the one you took Mick - it leaves on Sunday morning 11 Dec at 04.45 am and arrives in the UK the same morning SUNDAY at 10.35. I am so looking forward to seeing you both. I know Jessica is working on Sunday so I won't expect her at the airport. Jess asked me which terminal - I think BA uses terminal 4 anyway my flight number is BA 146 so you could check. Maybe you thought I was arriving on Monday and not Sunday because you went into work on the Monday and it was your day off so you didn't actually start work until the Tuesday. Sheila and I have just paid a visit to Dr Nagaraj - I went to say goodbye and he asked me a favour - could I quickly put together a one hour slide presentation on Home Based Care taking information from a 50 page manual - he must think I am some kind of magician! It would take at least 6 hours. While I was in Bangalore earlier in the year, I retyped the manual making corrections to the English and the layout so thought it would be just a matter of cutting and pasting text from the document but unfortunately it had been deleted from the computer …….. (frustration, what frustration).

Air Deccan only just got me back to Calcutta in time to catch my BA flight as they rescheduled the Bangalore to Calcutta flight 7 yes seven times but it actually worked to my advantage as my luggage was over weight because Mary and Robin had loaded me down with presents: food for Mick Uncle and pickled mango for me – yummy. I asked if I could have the extra weight free of charge in compensation for the inconvenience.

Well Kathleen this is really just a glimpse into a couple of months in India. So much more I could say but it is slowly slipping away, being filed into the memories section of the brain.

I will write and tell you details of little episodes at some later date.

Lots of love to you all.

Eileen

Eileen's journey