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.