THE BIG BANG

Fireworks light the sky and thunderous explosions fill the night, every night.  It's the Wedding Season !  Venues for weddings are lavishly decorated and a million lights adorn every corner with elaborate entrance gateways and fabulous flower decorations.  The festivities go on for days and no expense is spared in the celebration.  Street processions include dancing troupes and horses as the couple are welcomed into the state of marriage.

An astrological chart is drawn up when you are born, based on the place, year, day, hour and minute of your birth and when marriage negotiations between families take place, these charts are carefully studied in order to find the most suitable match.  Although 'love' is a factor, it is by no means the most important factor and emphasis is placed on marrying into the right family and cast.  Brahmans, the highest cast, would not consider marrying into the lowest cast.  In choosing a husband, girls place emphasis on the character of the person and that he should respect them and their beliefs and respect their parents.  Food, also plays a part, and a vegetarian would not find it practical to be married to a non-vegetarian, as meals could not be shared.  Strangely, although there is such strict control regarding cast and family conventions, they are very accommodating about religion and accepting of each other's gods and religious practices.  The community is such a strong aspect of Indian Culture, for us Westerners, it is strange to think outside of the individual and individual needs - consulting ones parents on the choice of a suitor would be practically unheard of, but in India the whole family is involved and it is in the interests of the whole family for the marriage to work !

CHRISTMAS

A palm tree transformed with red bows, the table was laden with sliced turkey, cranberry sauce and a number of salads, french bread, fruit punch and chilled white wine - one was transported home by the sight.  This was the International Women's Club Christmas Lunch.  India is good at celebrating and if I thought Diwali was difficult to beat, then they are not doing too badly with Christmas.  Shops are draped in Christmas lights, Artificial Christmas trees are for sale, wrapping paper and decorations.   The children's party will include Santa with a bag of presents and party games !  The amount of preparation and devotion to the cause of the Festive Season is more concerted and the care with which the image of Santa was prepared for the 'Pin the beard on Santa' game, was remarkable.  Having limited artistic skill, but in the quest for authenticity, Santa was required to lie on the piece of calico, so that his outline could be drawn to achieve the right proporations for the image.  Children, be impressed, you don't know how much, has been done by so few.

LILY OF THE VALLEY

Lily comes in every morning to clean my floors.  She's a village woman of indeterminate age, but like all village women, she's cast in a different mold to the rest of us.  For a variety of reasons, probably poor diet and general lack, they are a race of pygmies - tiny, about 4' and weightless, they bend in a number of directions - floors are swept with a long swishing handle less broom.  Wielding this piece of home equipment requires a full bend from the waist best suited to stick figures, so Lily manages this with dexterity and ease.  Floors are then washed, which requires equally unique gymnastics.  Floors, like all floors in India, are made of the most beautiful marble squares, creating a brilliant, shining surface on which to walk.  Shoes, of course, are never worn indoors.  India is always full of surprises and the lavish use of marble is one of them.  The other surprise is stainless steel.  Everything is made of this material - dishes, bowls, mugs, cups - they shine from every corner, even in the villages.

JETALPUR ROAD

You haven't lived until you've resided on Jetalpur Road.  It must be the heart and soul of the town - it has character in every pothole.

Getting up at 6 a.m. to go power walking, is one way to see life begin on the road.  As the dawn breaks, you hear the chorus from the mosque, a dark shadow on the street corner, turns out to be a woman selling plastic packs of milk.  "Is it safe to drink", I ask my companion, a Canadian,  "Only if you boil it" is the reply.  Packs of dogs are also shaking off the chill of sleep and beginning their quest for food, marking out territory with growls and snarls and  full-blown fights.

On the walking track round the field, other walkers have started their peregrination in the half light.  With a polite 'good morning', we ignore each other, as we repeatedly pass on the circuit.  One elderly man is sitting cross legged on a bench and doing his yoga breathing exercises, pinching a nostril and exhaling loudly.  It's getting lighter and the full moon is beginning to fade.  We've done our 20 laps -  back to Jetalpur Road....the chai wallahs are setting up shop, auto rickshaws are taking children to school and I pass a man who is on his haunches shivering and washing himself in cold water under a garden hose, his hair lathered with soap !

Jetalpur Road, is under permanent reconstruction, with new holes and ditches being dug along its course every day and now the gangs of sari clad women are arriving to begin their labours.  Missing my footing in the ups and downs of this problematic road, I land up in the chaiwallah's basin of washing up water - and am helped to my feet.  Shops open at 11 a.m., but until then, life on the road  is dominated by the breakfast canteens gearing up for business.  Groups of men gather round them, some read newspapers, some smoke, some stare at nothing much.  Poha is made, samosas and pakoras are deep frying in deep  pans on portable gas cylinders and spring onions are being cut up, to be added to the rice.  Cows snuffle through the rubbish heaps - the early light is being replaced by another sunny day.

ROAD RAGE

Google Earth was a tool used by an artist I met recently to provide the underlying idea for a huge canvas he is preparing - it's roughly square and covered with small abstract rectangular blocks, representing city life seen from an aerial perspective, but what transforms this art work, is the network of red lines, representing roads, which he called 'lines of rage', as the towns, without facilities to support a growing population, become clogged with traffic of every description - auto rickshaws, cows, carts, dogs, bicycles, motorbikes, lorries, cars, all hooting - a stream of life jostling for an inch of space, elbowing the other person out of the way, no time to stop and think, everyone getting there no matter what.

Adding to the confusion are the ubiquitous road works which dismantle whole lanes of traffic as a million workers, mostly women in saris, dig huge holes in the ground with their hands and then traipse along with a wide basin of earth sitting elegantly on their heads, to be gently lowered onto a heap somewhere else.  Finding the road completely blocked by an impromptu mountain of earth, the traffic shudders to a halt for a second before the intrepid at the head of the line go over the mound, others follow and after half-an-hour the mound has been firmly trodden down by a million feet and vehicles, until it is a makeshift road again.  Money, to keep these projects in an endless state of incompleteness, seems to be no object.

As India builds a new global image with her burgeoning economy, concrete is being poured not only in the cities but in the countryside too and a Mumbai artist was particularly stricken at the loss of green meadows that she had known as a child.  Now steel rods project from concrete casings in the middle of nowhere,  like the flagpoles of medieval turrets, proclaiming territory, civilization and progress, as India gears up for a transition from a rural to an urban culture.  But is there a guiding hand in all this development ? 

For Mahatma Gandhi, the spirit and the soul of India rested in the village communities. He said, "The true India is to be found not in its few cities, but in its seven hundred thousand villages. If the villages perish, India will perish too." 

THE TAJ HOTEL

MUMBAI

It's big, the population is huge, the slums are huge, the skyscrapers advertise the huge corporate wealth.  People pour into Mumbai with expectations high.  The capital of Bollywood, the purveyor of dreams, hopes are high, the sky is the limit, but too often dreams end in the cramped slums, where existence is eeked out.  Taxis are part and parcel of this coming and going.  In fact many of the taxi drivers have come up from the south of India to work and make a living.  Their yellow and black cars become little homes, the upholstery crudely covered with cheap fabric and decorative items added to give personality, pizazz and a certain unique quality, even though they are all identical.  I photographed one such taxi which paused at a street corner and the light transformed it into burnished gold, a dream machine, the only reminder of reality was the exterior meter, which said 'For Hire'.

KINDLY WAIT

Half way through my booking of a seat on the Rajdhani Express to New Delhi for travel the next day, the clerk, said that he had to go to lunch and he would be back in 20 minutes and with that, he turned a little wooden board around, which said in gold lettering 'Kindly Wait'.  Having waited in a queue for 50 minutes, I couldn't believe that I was near and yet so far !  As the line built up behind me, like Chinese Whispers, the message was passed along: 'he's gone for lunch'.  Twenty minutes later, true to his word, he returned, brushing his mustache with a napkin !

The Rajdhani is a sleeper from Mumbai to Delhi and I found myself in a compartment with three men.  We were provided with sheets, blankets, pillows and towels.  Then a bottle of water arrived for each of us.  We were a mixed bag - one man was a diamond cutter, returning to Seurat, home of the diamond industry in India, one was a business man going north and the other passenger was a Nigerian who plied between Mumbai and New Delhi buying clothing and exporting to Nigeria - the mix of languages, as everyone continued their business on mobile phones, was interesting and the habits of people, for instance, the diamond cutter found it necessary to apply underarm deodorant after his meal - admittedly it was hot work !

HIGH TEA ON THE SHATABDI EXPRESS

A carton of fruit juice, two toffees wrapped in silver paper, a little packet containing a hot pastry, a sandwich, a little box with a cake and a large bottle of water with paper cup !  Later we were each given a packet which contained tea bags, sugar and milk and a thermos flask of boiling water so we could brew a quick cupper as we watched Gujarat streaking by the train window.  This was the Shatabdi Express to Mumbai.  Our carriage was air conditioned and plug sockets were provided to recharge mobiles and computers !!

Later dinner was served, this was equally surprising !  First we were given a small tray with a mug of tomato soup and Italian bread sticks and butter.  When we were finished this course, our trays were whipped away and about half-an-hour later, we were served with a larger tray, this time with little individually wrapped cartons containing a curried paneer dish, a bowl of rice, a bowl of dahl, a bowl of salad, a bowl of curd, a small amount of mixed pickle, a packet of mints, a hand wipe and a packet of tear-off soap sheets and to finish this banquet off, a little while later, delivered with the flourish of a Father Christmas, the steward gave us each a huge tub of ice-cream !  No wonder my companions were burping and letting rip !  I'd go again just for the meal - who wants to fly when you can spend the journey time of 5 hours feasting !?

A' LA CARTE

He had quite the whitest teeth and a wonderful grin - I'd buy from him any day.  His cart was laden with the most colourful array of fruit.  I called to him from my second floor balcony and placed my order for bananas, pineapple and paw paw - watching while he carefully weighed things in a scale, with the clink of weights as he made adjustments.  Crab apples are in season at the moment - they are strange looking fruit, quite different to anything else.  Similarly there are veggie wallahs who bring produce round on their carts and you hear their cry as they look up for customers.  The fruit wallah was so pleased with my order that he offered me a coconut - they lop off the top with a serious looking knife to reveal a little hole, into which they put a straw and you can then drink the coconut milk.  Afterwards, they fashion a spoon and you can eat the paste from inside the fruit !

But a few nights ago, returning home in the evening after dark, I found an 'ironing wallah', busy ironing a pile of shirts on his cart.  How could the electric iron work out on a cart in the street, you might ask?  He didn't have to worry about the length of the electrical cord or where the socket was, because there wasn't one.....  The base of the huge, heavy,  iron was filled with red hot coals which glowed in the dark - and with gushes of steam and heavy thumps, he was ironing a shirt collar with the authority of one who knew what was what !  I couldn't help wondering how you would put the iron on cool for synthetic fabric - remove an ember I suppose ?

PORTABLE ART GALLERY

India is full of surprises...like seeing a 'room' walking past.  Yes, absolutely - constructed out of a wooden frame with perspex walls on three sides being carried by 4 art students.  Every now and then they would set it down and you could walk into the 'gallery' for a quick look.  The art consisted of small postcard size pictures of trees which had incorporated their metal restraints into their living form - the concept of overcoming obstacles, no matter how life threatening.  The students explained that people don't think about things enough - they look but don't see, so the idea was to bring the art gallery to the people.  As I chugged off in my rickshaw, we passed the art gallery slowly making its way up the main road !

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

Privacy - we take it for granted.  Annonymity.  Keeping your thoughts to yourself and not revealing your emotions.  Minding your own business - funny Western traits.  Not so here, your business is everyone's business and the scrutiny to which one is subjected is quite remarkable.  The students have a point with that wrap-around headscarf !

Visiting the doctor in Italy was always a very sociable event - you walked into the waiting room and greeted everyone, soon everyone was chatting. Il dottore, mine always wore a bow tie, would then come out and invite the patient into his rooms.  In England, it was a case of strict annonymity and you didn't look to right or left - a beurocratic process and you were part of the system.  Here in India, you go in to see the doctor in pairs and a quick rotational system operates - he takes blood pressure of patient no. 1, while asking patient no. 2, what his problem is, says goodbye to patient no. 1 and starts examining patient no. 2, while patient no. 3 walks in and sits down, etc. etc.  Wonder if he ever gets muddled - books an ingrowing toenail removal for someone who has kidney stones ?

6 KGS.

India is full of surprises, like the gym I've just joined - it's quite the best I've ever encountered, with up to the minute equipment and loads of personal trainers - even water, between exercises, is brought to you on a tray !

Losing 6 kgs of weight, since I arrived here 3 months ago, has been effortless, since I eat to survive rather than with any sense of enjoyment - 'Have I eaten any protein today ?  No !  Better eat a couple of nuts' !   I think this is true for a lot of people who face  a radical change of diet.  The thing I miss most is a fresh green salad with rocket, virgin olive oil and a few olives.   I miss the market in Florence and the gorgeous smell of the fruit and vegetables and think longingly of the porcini mushrooms which must be on sale now, and the pleasure people take in food.  With damp Autumn, everyone will be out in forests with their sticks hunting for mushrooms and collecting them in wicker baskets and thinking up delectable recipes like risotto with funghi.  Good food and the delight people take in it, must be the great pleasure of Italy - the pride they take in a good bistecca or the flavour of excellent parmisan, the way a butcher will handle the meat cuts - yes, I do miss it !

TWO WHEELERS, THREE WHEELERS

I've decided that motor bikes are definitely the best way to get around.  The exhilaration of traveling on the back  and hanging onto the seat bar is quite unbeatable.  At first I was terrified by the idea of letting go my grip and falling off, or the driver misjudging the width of his bike and being squashed, but having traveled a few times now, I'm actually beginning to lean into the curve, lifting one hand free and loving the rush of wind through my hair - nobody here wears crash helmets.  In Italy, crash helmets became quite a fashion item and young Italians, wouldn't bother to remove the headgear when they dismounted, but would simply push it to the back of the head.   Of course, wearing jeans, I'm sitting astride the bike, unlike the Indian women in their saris, who sit side saddle.  You even see mother, father and kids riding along, one child in front, then father at the handlebars, behind him another child, sometimes two and then mother bringing up the rear - 5 on one bike !

The auto rickshaw is a more sedate option - again the air-conditioning is great, as they have a roof but no sides, but being three wheelers, if the front wheel misses the rut in the road, the two back wheels will certainly find it and on one journey, the bumps were so violent, that I returned home with a headache and suspected whiplash damage to my neck !   As for stuffing people into a rickshaw, which will comfortably seat two,  I have, on occasion, counted as many as twelve passengers !

UNDER AN INDIGO SKY

It was an open air gathering in the long courtyard of a school.  White plastic chairs filled the area and people were hushed and intent - you could have heard a pin drop.  I looked up at the indigo night sky, the sickle moon and a single star and then let my gaze drift back to the stage - a huge white backdrop, beautifully lit and a young Indian girl singing a sanskrit prayer.  In the centre sat the swami dressed in saffron robes against a blue cushion.  The last notes of the hymn died away and there was perfect silence for a while.  Then the swami began to speak in a strong clear voice.  His philosophy bubbled out effortlessly and humorously, as he teased his audience, while at the same time dealing with the concepts of belief, logic and the creation.  The audience remained in rapt attention for the hour and a half.

CHAI

I have just discovered that the word 'chai' is the Hindi word for 'tea' !  To me, chai means one thing and that is 'Masala chai' - a very hot spicy drink.   Tea grew wild in Assam from antiquity but was treated by the locals as a medicine (the Italians still regard tea as a medicine) and it was only until the British turned it into an industry to supply the home market, that it was taken seriously in India itself.  The British encouraged factory owners to give their employees tea breaks and so it gradually caught on - now chai wallahs are ubiquitous and are seen on every street corner dispensing their brew and are an essential part of train travel.

Of course it is quite a different drink to the one we all know -  tea without milk and sugar and sometimes with a little lemon.  But here they simmer a mixture of water, milk and tea leaves to which a lot of sugar is added and the all important spices - cardamom, cinnamon, ginger, peppercorn and cloves.  It's served in little glasses too hot to hold and the tea itself is so hot you can't drink it immediately.

Everyone has their own theory about what makes the tea special - they'll say,   'oh it's definitely the black pepper'   or   'ginger is the best ingredient'.    Even the expats have strong views about this and the mortar and pestle will be brought out, as they set about grinding the best combination of spices to be added to the brew.

Indians believe that the Western palette is not attuned to their spicy food and need constant reassurance that in fact it's the spices which make it all so interesting.  After all, that was the basis for the spice trade long ago.  In medieval Italy, people spiced their food so much that it was believed at one time, that the spices themselves, had caused the plague - indirectly, it was true, for it was the trading ships returning to Genoa, which brought the disease with them.

HENNA

It's very relaxing sitting back and watching someone applying a henna design to your hand.  Henna is sold in cones, like a small thin ice cream cone, for about five rupees.  The end is snipped off to create a hole through which the henna is squeezed and then the artist can apply the paste, as if icing a cake.  Traditionally it is used on Brides the night before the wedding, as a goodluck symbol and their hands and feet are decorated with some complex patterns - the first letter of the Groom's name is hidden in the design and he is given the task of finding it!  The longer the paste is left on, the darker the colour.  It dries as a raised pattern, and drops off leaving an orange stain which darkens over the next few days into a brownish colour.  It's all because of lawsone molecules migrating from the henna and bonding with the outer layers of the skin, so I'm told.  The artist applying the henna design said that it was as relaxing to create the pattern as it was to be at the receiving end ! 

Good way to celebrate Diwali - everyone is wishing everyone 'Happy New Year' and buildings are draped from top to bottom in coloured electric lights - a mood of festivity pervades every corner.  This will usher in the wedding season, from November onwards, when there will be singing and dancing and elaborate processions through town as the celebrations go on for days.

FOOTPRINTS?

SUNSET OVER THE ARABIAN SEA

Walking along the beach the first evening, I was hailed by two young guys who told me that they were born in Goa and lived in a shack near the beach, 'Aren't we lucky to live in this paradise' they commented.

It could be Hawaii, Goa has some superb beaches - mile upon mile of fine, white, powdery sand - stretches of flat beach, no rocks and the Arabian Sea, exotic and as warm as tepid.  The tidal range is huge - the high water mark is impressive and low tide sees you walking out quite a way to catch the waves.  A canopy of coconut palms, protects the beach shacks, which are made of woven bamboo.  The whole place is closed during the Monsoon months, when rain falls in sheets, then the huts are wrapped up in plastic to keep them dry.  But come October, the wraps come off -  but many of the structures need work, so there is much activity as the woven bamboo is reinforced with wooden slats to keep it firm and new roofs are hoisted into place. The sound of rain on woven matting is quite special.   The bridge across the lagoon  is also made of bamboo and provides quick access to the beach.  Stretches of sand seem vast - an infinity of space and just a few people identifiable as silhouettes in the distance.  I have just watched the sun set  over the sea - a perfectly round orange ball slipping into quicksilver, the shoreline dotted with starfish and wooden dhows making their way back after a day's fishing.

GOA

Goa, the destination of so many Europeans over Christmas, reminds me of the South Coast of Natal in South Africa, except that the Goan coast is fringed by thousands of coconut palm trees. The heat and humidity hit you the minute you emerge from the Terminal.   It rains here for four months of the year, so everything is lush and green and the rivers are wide and full of water and there are natural inlets and coves all along the coast.  The seafaring Portuguese must have loved it when they arrived in the early 16th century, aiming to control the spice route.  Old Goa became their stronghold and the churches they built here, still stand as relics of a bygone age, when the town had a population bigger than London or Lisbon.  As a Goan resident explained to me, the Portuguese ruled Goa for 400 years and intermarried with the locals and so their influence has remained.  About 30% of Goa's small population of one million, are Roman Catholic.

An old Indian lady offered to show me where I could catch the bus for Old Goa at a fraction of the cost of the auto rickshaw.  It was quite a long way and she pulled her sari veil over her head and clucked at me for not having a hat.  On the way we stopped for a drink - two young boys were operating a machine for extracting the juice from sugar cane - they put the bunch of cane through  the crusher about 7 times, added a couple of limes and then poured the juice into glasses with a couple of ice blocks !

From Panaji, the journey on the local bus took about 30 minutes.  I visited the church of St Francis first - huge and full of sunlight and an interesting floor made of carved gravestones.  But I had really come to see the other church the Basilica of Bom (Good) Jesus - again huge, the biggest in India, with a vast gilded reredos and the tomb of the mid-sixteenth century St Francis Xavier whose uncorrupted body lies in a silver casket. The simplicity and naivety of the sculptures in the churches and the squat proportions of the architectural features, were in stark contrast to the refinement of Italian sculpture and architecture.

I stopped for a Fresh Lime Soda on the way back - the limes are cut and squeezed, a spoonful of black salt is added and then soda water is poured very slowly, to stop it frothing over - it's quite the most delicious drink I have ever tasted.

LABOUR INTENSIVE

With  mechanisation everywhere in the West, machines are taking over a whole variety of jobs - cinema tickets are available from a machine, automatic drycleaning, internet banking, even passport control is now being done by machine.  But not so in India.  With its huge population, people are in constant supply.  At the hairdresser for example, one person will hold the hair dryer, another will hold the brush and two people will just watch.  But on my journey to Goa recently, I was amused to find that at Mumbai Airport, rather than make an announcement regarding flight departures, staff patrol the three huge floors of the Departurres Terminal, individually finding passengers for flights !  I was hailed by a whistle from an official on the gallery of the floor above me, who then used sign language to tell me that my flight was departing from Gate 5 and the direction in which I should go.  That must be the great strength and novelty of India, the personal touch,   A far cry from Europe, where interacting with a person is becoming increasingly rare in an impersonal society.  In India, a smile really does reach the eyes.

RANGOLI

Diwali celebrations are under way - fireworks are easily available on the street corners, unlike Europe where the sale of fireworks is strictly controlled for safety reasons.  The streets are full of loud bangs, as everyone gears up for the celebrations.  There will be special Diwali sweets and family parties.  The Old Town is full of colourful confusion with carts displaying neat pyramids of brightly coloured sand for rangoli sand art, all part of  Diwali activities.  A little plastic bag of sand will cost about 2 rupees,and the essential plastic 'sand pen' a little more.   Every colour imaginable is on display, from deepest blue to palest green and everything in between.  The sand is poured into the 'sand-pen' and a pattern can then be drawn freehand, or a stencil with perforations can be used - the sand is lightly brushed over the surface and then the stencil is lifted off to reveal the design underneath.

There are also stalls of brightly painted terracotta oil lamps and candle holders, hand painted with dots and flower motifs, by women in the back of the shop.  On the counter, was a tumbler of water with an inch of oil on top and a floating wick, lit, to provide a very home made lamp.

Shops stay open during Diwali, because, as someone explained to me, this is the best time to make money !

UNITED AIRLINES

The Business Class Complimentary Air Travel Kit Bag - all in capital letters to indicate its importance, is in a very reassuring sturdy brown plastic zip bag about 7" x 5".  Originally, it had the usual things like, toothbrush, toothpaste, various moisterising creams, mouth freshner, ear plugs, sox, mask and a large linen napkin with buttonhole.  I have now added to this nucleus survival kit - sewing thread and needles, pins, tapemeasure, - very useful item, scissors, again irreplaceable, Cussons Soap, for a bit of luxury and a loofer !  Of course now, it is a bulging Air Travel Kit Bag, with a much higher profile and cannot be carried in my hand luggage, but must go into the hold, when I travel !  

POHA

Breakfast is a very different meal here, but I have to say Poha is a tasty way to start things off.  It's made from rice flakes with added basil leaves and nuts.  The first time I had Poha was in the canteen at the University and I took my little saucer of flakes to a table under a ceiling fan - mistake !  The rice flakes are so light that half of it blew away onto the laps of my friends !   Two South Indian dishes are also served for breakfast - Idly - a rice cake in the shape of a flying saucer, served with dahl and dosa, which looks like a Christmas Cracker made of rice pastry, with  a parcel of potato in the centre.  You fold the ends over to make a square shape and then eat it with dahl.  Guajarat, is known for its heavy food, a lot of oil and also sweet flavours, but in the South of India, the food is often steamed and the emphasis is on subtle spices. The life style too is different, the South of India more relaxed, festivals celebrated with prayers, whereas Gujarat, the commercial hub of India, is more dramatic, with the emphasis on dance to celebrate their major festivals.

ALTERNATIVE UDAIPUR

It's on everyone's 'have-to-do' list, a tourists' paradise - full of spice shops, jewelery shops, silks and cottons. Given the opportunity to travel with friends in their Scorpio, I jumped at the chance, looking forward to seeing interesting palaces and a fascinating culture.  We were to travel through the night because it's cooler and there's less traffic.   After a strange journey, stopping at '24-hour chai wallahs' alongside the road every now and then, we finally arrived in the hills surrounding Udaipur at 6 a.m. in the pouring monsoon rain.  It took us an hour to find the hotel in the hills because there were no signposts and the few we saw were written in Hindi.

After a couple of hours sleep, hearing roars of laughter coming from the lounge, I wandered through to find the other guests, a group of Gap Year students from the UK, plus our host, Piers, playing parlour games - a cornflakes box was set in the middle of the floor and you had to bend down giraffe style and pick it up with your mouth, hands behind your back - after everyone had had a go, the box was torn to make it lower and we all had a go again.  After this unusual start to my first visit to Udaipur, it was off for a picnic in the rain near a lake.  Everyone in two cars.  But that's when the fun really started because one of the cars got bogged down in the acres of mud - it took us 4 hours to get it out, eventually sending a party of volunteers out to find a tractor - !  So that was day 1 of the itinerary.

Day 2 -  went horse riding !  Horses in this region, Marwari Horses, are descended from the war horses of the Mughul Kings of centuries ago.  They are quite different to ordinary horses because their ears are crescent shaped and point inwards.  I hadn't ridden for ages so I was faintly apprehensive.  Her name is 'Noo Ranni' I was told, as I gingerly mounted my horse, which could be described as pink in colour, with matching pink eyes.  Comforted, I thought that probably meant she didn't like running, but, no, on the contrary, it actually meant, 'Beautiful Queen' and this was her first outing away from her foal of a couple of months and..she was damn sure it was going to be a short one! 

Day 3 - All aboard, next stop Jaipur ! I wonder what those bazaars looked like ?

RAJASTHANI MOUSTACHE CONTEST

THE GUEST HOUSE !

Oh to have a hot shower !  The bathroom provides a shower but no hot water - so it's the bucket wash system and depending on energy levels, I boil a kettle and add it to the cold water in the bucket.   I think of pictures by Degas of women washing themselves in the 19th century - it looks so romantic !  Occasionally, without any warning, perhaps twice a month, suddenly there is hot water and with whoops of joy, like some shipwrecked mariner, clothes are stripped off and even hair is washed on these occasions.  I have discovered that at midday, when it has been very hot, the water is sometimes tepid, having been warmed by the sun and one time, for some reason, the water was red hot and dangerous, so the bucket was filled with hot water and cold was added.

It's an interesting place, visiting academics from all over the place, sometimes spend a night or two here - one a dental geneticist, from California, told me he had found a tribe from Africa, in Karachi !  They had been marooned there in the 17th century and never got home !  It reminds me of the Canterbury Tales - interesting stories are told by unlikely people,  hurriedly over breakfast and before you can ask them anything more, they're gone again, to the next place.

LADIES LUNCH

They arrive for the weekly get-together-lunch in large air-conditioned cars with drivers.  Their husbands are employed by multi-national companies and are posted to Baroda for a few years.  This is the expat. wives club.  Every week it's a different restaurant and the conversation invariably revolves around feminine issues like where to have your hair cut.  "They can't cut layers", somebody wailed.  Of course Indian women have beautiful long hair which they don't cut, so there is not much demand for fashionable cutting - a trim is as good as it gets.

To my horror I found that my favorite Dior Nude Make-up, bought at Selfridges in London, has finally finished.  I'm left anxiously squeezing the bottle, trying to scrape out the last of the contents onto my finger.  Someone said they'd bought some Lancome make-up at duty free and I could use that - but what about the shade ?  It won't exactly match my skin tone and furthermore the texture is important ! 

The Ladies come from all over the place - Australia, Germany, Italy, Canada, U.K., Finland and some Indian women too, who have lived abroad but whose husbands have been posted back to India.  When the lunch bill came, we found that we'd been shockingly overcharged, so with collective lady power, we decided what we thought the lunch was worth, put that on the table, and walked out !  A neatly staged revolt !

EXPRESS HIGHWAY TO RAJASTHAN

The roads offer a variety of challenges, especially if you travel at night.  Road surfaces vary from poor to good and from dirt to tar and concrete.  But even on the Express Highway to Rajasthan, you had to be prepared for anything.  Traveling at night has the advantage of being cool and there is always something specially exciting about setting off on a long journey at midnight.  Once through the toll check point, we found that traffic was quite heavy and lining the route were all-night roadside stands offering tea, coffee and cold drinks.   Heavy trucks thundered past us - they seemed larger than anything I'd seen before, with towering loads strapped on with rope, brightly painted with patterns and the reminder written on the back to 'hoot' when overtaking.

Even on an Express Highway, you encounter herds of cows, single cows, flocks of sheep and goats, people and silent pilgrims walking through the night to a shrine.  Even a few wild animals like jackals and fox.  The driving can be unexpected as when we saw the lights of a truck bearing down on us on our side of the highway, looking for a gap to get back to the other side.   After a few hours' driving, we thought we had seen it all, when suddenly the headlights picked up the shape of a child standing in the middle of the road.  So many unanswered questions - why ?  And then there was the truck towing a car with barbed wire !  The occupants were highly amused at our astonishment and especially as we pulled alongside to film them.

The razzmatazz of the Express Highway is not to be missed, but driving is not for the faint-hearted.

MOTORCADE FOR A CHIEF MINISTER

The busy dual highway which runs past the Guest House was completely silent - I was walking up to our University Freshers Party and it suddenly struck me that there was something undeniably wrong.  A street usually teeming with hawkers, rickshaw drivers, cars, buses and bikes, all with hooters blaring, was now completely silent.  Earlier I had seen someone with a wheelbarrow scattering white lime in a wide line along the side of the street, but then one sees so many things which are odd, I thought nothing more about it.   Cleared of all traffic, people walked silently down the street.  When I got to the University gates, I asked what was going on - was our Freshers Party a threat to National Security ? ' No, no', I was told, the Chief Minister of Gujarat will be passing on his way into the city.  Well I had to stay and watch.  After about 15 minutes the silence was broken by a motorcade of jeeps, ambulances and a variety of cars, driving at top speed.  A few minutes and it was over.  They had completely cleared the roads from the airport into town for the event !

ROOM WITH A VIEW

Arriving at Aurangabad Station at 5.15 a.m., it was staggering to see an array of people sleeping out on the street - the lucky ones were on the floor in the station and the rest spread out from there - tiers and tiers of folk lying closely spaced, wrapped in a blanket, sometimes just a foot protruding !

I was catching the 6 a.m. train to Mumbai, the Express and I was traveling chair class. Waiting on the platform I was joined by a porter who spoke quite good English - he asked where I was from and when I said Italy, a smile creased his face and he said,' so is Sonia' ! We chatted for a bit and then he said, 'the trouble with India is that there are so many very poor people who have so little and sleep outside and only live to the age of 60, whereas the very rich live to 120 and do nothing for the poor - and nothing ever changes'. He went on to say that important people speak about India in the UN and say everything is going well, but 'they don't talk about the plight of the poor'.

Traveling chair class was very comfortable. India always has surprises up its sleeve and the journey was no exception. A steward came through the carriage and offered us 'omelette sandwich' - someone else with a large urn offered us 'chai '- very sweet and with milk, this is served in a small glass. At the next stop a child, about 6 years of age, crawled through the carriage on hands and knees cleaning the floor around our feet and holding up a hand for a rupee - she scuttled along like a crab, her arms flying in all directions.  Her world must be shaped by pairs of shoes and dusty feet.

Arriving at Mumbai station, two taxi drivers spotted me as I descended from the train and ran at top speed in my direction - a fight of amazing ferocity then ensued, as they decided who would get the prize (me). With banging, slapping and shouting, I stood aghast, wondering what I should do, when a man in a bright emerald green shirt arrived on the scene and guided me away - take a local train instead, he said, it'll cost you a minimum amount. With that he showed me the right platform, told the conductor I didn't have a ticket and they quickly agreed that I should get on anyway as the train was about to leave. He put me into a 'women only' carriage and told them to get me off at the right stop - I was guided and helped every step of the way - a long chain of kindness.

THESE SEATS ARE RESERVED

On a Govt. Bus from Jalgaon to Aurangabad, a journey of about 100 miles, I was interested to see that, on this, filled-to-capacity bus, men occupied the seats and women stood in the aisles, clutching onto children as the bus swayed round bends or crammed on brakes or careered down hills. Old women sat on the floor. Many traveled with amazingly heavy sacks, which were dumped in the aisle, and which inevitably became a seat for some. This is the way it is, so there was no rancor - I saw patience and resignation on their collective face. The journey took about 5 hours, as we stopped at every watering hole en route, to take on water and allow hawkers to come aboard to sell food. An old crone got on at one of these stops to beg, before I could respond, she had pressed my head with her hand, in a blessing or benediction, whether I gave her money or not.

The Conductor sat in front and worked in perfect harmony with the driver - he, the driver, like many men in India, had henna on his hair - this is to hide the white hair, the henna turns it red and the sun turns it orange - they also apply this treatment to their beards ! I found the sight alarming at first - it's still a bit unnerving The conductor, with a whistle, indicated to the driver when to stop and when to start, he also used his metal ticket clippers for the same purpose and he would bang on the metal rail in front of him, already heavily scarred from so many commands over a period of time ! For the business of guiding the driver who had to reverse the bus into a bay at a bus station, the conductor would use a language of blasts on his whistle which said 'a little more to the right' or 'go forward' or a long blast for 'STOP' !

SLUM DOGS

The dog of the movie did become a millionaire and now lives in Canada, but the rest of his brethren are roaming the streets of every town and village in India - they all look rather like him - sandy coloured and thin, but the funny thing is they run along, intent on 'getting there', glancing neither to left nor to right, looking for all the world like business commuters in a London rush hour. But one wonders where these dogs are going - what are they thinking ? One thing is for certain, their destination is not a large bowl of dog food !

HAND MADE IN INDIA

She lifted the wide basin gracefully onto her head and set off down the road - to my astonishment it was full of hot molten tar and I watched fascinated as she lifted it down and poured the contents onto the road she was building along with the rest of the construction gang. She looked just like a Grecian Water Bearer. No concession was made to the work she was doing - she should have been in overalls with light reflecting strips - but instead she was in a sari ,with veil over the top of her head and glinting bangles on her wrists.

Women are a part of heavy construction work in India and I recently watched them carrying the same wide basins on their heads, this time filled with sand, and pouring it through the sifter for cement mixing. And again carrying tall towers of bricks neatly balanced on their heads. One can only marvel at their strength, balance and poise. But to someone from the West, it was a shock to see women employed in this way.

SATURDAY, 19TH SEPTEMBER - NAVRATRI

They dance for 9 nights - it all began at about 9 p.m. Area had been cordoned off and the sand sprinkled with water. A platform arranged in the centre for the musicians. People selling drinks, sweet lime, tea and coffee were on hand and crowds began to drift in. Passed some girls dressed for the dancing - I liked the way they had co-ordinated their skirts and tops in different colours and then the colourful and glittering dupatta draped gracefully over the shoulder and tucked into the waistband of the skirt. What I was unprepared for was the nudity !! Most wore backless tops down to just below the waist. The men wore a variety of different things with colourful shirts.

At first a few people drifted into the arena and began dancing the garba slowly - the line became progressively longer as more and more people joined in - the musicians were beating out the rhythm slowly at first and then louder and faster, joined by percussion instruments and the dancers, perspiring and girating began shouting and clapping their hands in time to the music as they danced. Sequins and mirrors on the costumes glinted in the light and the whole scene glowed like something out of Bollywood. All were bare foot because it is a religious dance - the first three days you shed your impurities, the next three you gain in spirit and the next three in wealth.

Seeing the girls with their backless tops, was such a contrast to the way they dress when they are on their mopeds - there they wear scarves completely covering their heads and faces so only their eyes show - this has become a fashion but is also to protect their skin from the sun. I couldn't help thinking how much control they were demonstrating - revealing themselves or covering themselves completely, as and when they wished. Surely a sign of emancipation ! Open to the peer group but closed to the world at large.

SHOPPING IN THE NAVA BAZAAR

Today, the students persuaded me to go shopping with them into the old town to the bazaar to look for Gerber dance dresses. The old town is a mass of little streets and shops displaying a dazzling array of skirts and skimpy tops, all bedecked with beads and mirrors. What a buzz they created choosing jewelery and clothes. Some of them wrapped up with scarves to prevent sunburn. This is one of the things that has struck me here - watching these girls flying along on their mopeds with scarves entirely covering their faces - showing just a pair of eyes. Some even wear long gloves to protect their arms from the sun. Funny when you think how we in the West pay so much money for a few minutes of UV light.

The other thing which is amusing is the ability of the local population to sleep. You see sleeping forms everywhere - I keep a look out for unusual supports for sleepers. The other day is was 3 petrol cans, lined up together, with a man draped over them, fast asleep - it reminded me of Salvador Dali's soft clock, his head drooping over the first can and his legs over the last !

One comes across surprises every day. A man riding a bicycle with a veritable tower of artificial flowers balanced on the handle bars ! The other night someone carrying a tray on his head with a lit torch ! It looked some strange version of a miner's helmet !

15TH SEPTEMBER

With the Ganesha Festival over, we now prepare for the Navratri Festival of 9 Nights of Dancing - the students have been practicing for weeks - every afternoon. I admire their dedication and energy. Freshers Party was a blast - break dancing like you've never seen it before - great music - great food with village women rolling the rhotis on the spot.

Have just had a lesson in Gerber Dancing - wow - it's energetic ! Students are amazingly enthusiastic in sharing it. Great excitement in planning the attire - some of the braver ones will wear the backless top - funny, they are quite prudish about this garment which is simply tied at the back. Tribal women in Kutch of whatever age, wear the backless garment without any self-consiousness.

GANESHA

3rd September - the final day of the Ganesha festival and the streets full of singing and dancing while Lord Ganesha travels slowly towards his immersion - the river being the destination.
I hope Lord Ganesha can remove some of the obstacles which a newcomer to India faces. Being a student here isn't easy. The language is a big problem both the local language and the English which is very difficult to understand because of the accent. Trying to sort out a minefield of accommodation problems.
Studying here is very different to the West which is far more empirical. Here everything is weighted down with philosophy and theoretical texts. For a subject like History of Art it is strange to find that no class deals much with images but the focus is far more on critical writing and theories. Reading an art work, is not discussed at all. The interest is in the politics and philosophies of the time.

ITALY TO INDIA

So here we are about to celebrate the Ganesha Festival - it begins on Sunday and lasts for 10 days when the Ganesha God is immersed in water. I saw a troop carrier yesterday tearing down the road at high speed with 8 life size plaster Ganesha statues in the back, facing each other and looking just like a small platoon of troops being re-located.

So what are the similarities between Italy and India ? Actually there are many - far more than you would imagine. For instance, in both, the family plays an important role in the social structure. The citizens of both countries are traders with an emphasis on entrepreneurship. Both have a strong visual culture and musical tradition. In terms of character, both are emotional, extrovert in their feelings. Although informalities exist, both place an importance on ritual, both have a very highly developed hierarchical social structure. Bureaucracy is an aspect of both cultures.  BUT, Italy has the smallest birthrate in Europe and it's falling, leaving an aging population, whilst India with 1.2 billion people will soon overtake China with the biggest population in the world, with a huge proportion being young people.

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AUGUST 2009

This blog has been created to celebrate a unique event. I arrived in India 3 weeks ago to start an MA Degree in History of Art and Aesthetics - the first student from Italy to do this. I will record my impressions as I go along - contrasting these two fascinating countries.