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.