PRAYERS

The unattractive building was large and square and official - I hadn't enjoyed my previous visits.  For a start the stairs had a horrible odour, corridors were dark and unfriendly and the offices were either empty or occupied by bored officials, who seemed to have nothing to do and resented the presence of outsiders.

I found the right office, two women were sweeping out the previous day's accumulation of dust, with their charoos - I greeted them in Gujarati "kem cho" - "majama" they replied unsmilingly.  I was left in an empty room with a row of hard seats facing the Chief's desk.  I sat down and waited.  The room was filled from floor to ceiling with bundles of papers tied with official pink string.  I had once seen a mouse scurrying round the room and wondered where it was now.  The women had left one window open to air the room and it was a relief to see the world outside and the greenery of a large Neem Tree.  I waited nervously....I hated this building and always felt intimidated by the rudeness of petty officials and the glowering brusqueness of the Chief.

He walked briskly into the room - surprisingly, he greeted me with an off-handed 'good morning', then picked up a duster and began dusting the area around his desk, a colleague came in to talk to him.  I waited patiently.....when he had gone, the Chief continued with his dusting.  Then standing in front of his desk,  he raised his hands together in prayer, looking inward and upward, touched his forehead and then his chest and bent down and kissed his desk.  Sitting down in his chair, he looked over at me:  "And what can I do for you"  he said ....... I hoped my astonishment at his civility, didn't show on my face.....! 

KHANDERAO MARKET

TIGER COUNTRY

Her brother had arrived in town from Dehradun in Uttarakhand, far up in the north of India.  Brother and sister looked alike, only a few years between them.  He usually lived in Montreal but because there was a dispute looming over family property in Dehradun, he'd been summoned home as backup. "My brother should inherit the whole property even if he is younger than me - it's right that the males of the family should inherit property - I don't mind at all" said his sister.  They were of a minor royal family and she had the wide jawline which often seems to distinguish royalty in India.

I was reminded of the era of Jane Austen - the sister with her melancholy expression, could easily  have been a self-effacing character in an Austen novel.  Her brother was more difficult to place - he was not exactly a 'rake' nor was he particularly 'dashing',  but he would have been very much at home during the days of the British Raj.   He talked about tiger and leopard hunts in Uttarakhand with enthusiasm and spoke reverently of Jim Corbett, who wrote the book 'The Man Eating Leopard of Rudraprayag' .  Corbett was commissioned by the British to hunt  troublesome tigers and leopards in Uttarakhand.

He spoke idly of setting off back to Dehradun, in days, but stayed on and enjoyed his role as the favorite 'Uncle' to his sister's two children and attending the seasonal round of parties and playing tennis at the club.   Canada had been a strategic move for him ten years ago, for economic reasons, but now with the recession, many Indians were returning home to India, back to their origins - they swop countries,  but the constant in their lives is 'the family' - to which they owe their whole allegiance !

He seemed rootless and caught between centuries - his only option to return to the North to the mountains and valleys of Dehradun.  Would he become a wild life conservationist ?  I wondered idly what Jim Corbett would have advised.....

UDAIPUR IN THE LIMELIGHT

NARRATIVE

This mural, by one of India's leading artists, behind the Reception Desk of the only 5 star hotel in town is a fascinating commentary on local street life.  It is so typical of the Indian love of narrative.  The clock showing 2.25 p.m. and the sun no longer over head, sets the mood for the entire story - it's afternoon, a pause between the buzz of the day's beginning and frenzy of life as evening approaches.  The presence of animals and the way they interact with street life, the quiet interiors and people watching and looking out and the street barber quietly at work at the end of the panel, helps to create a slow rhythm.  And against this backdrop, the hotel receptionists move backwards and forwards and hotel guests book in and check out, so becoming part of the whole ambience - a constantly changing narrative !

LEARNER DRIVER

Cows wander the streets with complete freedom and it is often amazing to see the audacity of some of their jay walking.  Drivers, given the choice, would rather collide with a pedestrian than a cow - they are holy and enjoy divine protection.  They can be seen snuffling through the heaps of rubbish on the streets, their diet being just about anything including plastic bags, newspapers and other unmentionables.  Some shopkeepers throw them a banana and even the occasional rothi.  Milk is sold in plastic bags on street corners early in the morning but since it isn't pasturised, it needs a lot of boiling before it's safe to drink.

Waiting at the biggest and busiest traffic circle in town, the most absurd sight caught my attention - a cow and newly born calf entered the stream of traffic, the calf running on wobbly legs in the midst of the mayhem and without "L" plates, they made their way, with the largest volume of hooting, beeping, traffic into the circle and then took the second exit, going the wrong way up the motorway - talk about throwing your young in at the deep end !

FOOLISH DECISION ?

Matching the colour of the dupatta with the churidas/tights/salwas and getting them to complement the kurti is more difficult than it sounds, but Indian women put a lot of thought into matching these co-ordinates and wearing the appropriate colours for the appropriate occasions.

To shortcut these complications, I chose a beige kurti and beige leggings - now just to find a dupatta to go with this neutral layout - easy ?  "You can't wear a silk dupatta with a cotton kurti" she said with finality  Picking up a stole in iridescent turquoise and cream  with a thunderbolt from Zeus design, she said "this is perfect, it's quiet and sober and just right for your business meeting" - I looked at the alarming fabric - I had never worn that colour in my life - I wondered if the frantic pattern would energise everyone in the room and cause a rash of hasty decisions...

"What about this one" I said hesitatingly, choosing something in dull reds and blues of natural vegetable dye, which seemed to blend with my beige ensemble in an entirely sympathetic and unassuming  way..."Oh no - that's far too festive - you would wear that for a Diwali party"  was her emphatic reply.

Now I was in a very difficult position, having asked her expert advice, but how could  turquoise thunderbolts look quiet and sober ?   "I'll have to go to the meeting looking festive" I said.  With a disapproving snigger, she accepted my choice....but her look spoke volumes....."you're making a mistake madam" !!

SHADES OF JUSTICE - DIWALI LIGHTS UP NAYAY MANDIR - THE HIGH COURT

DIWALI - 26TH OCTOBER

Keats' 'Ode to Autumn'  ran through my head....'Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness'

Autumn in India is hot, at least 36C every day, there are no mists and nothing mellow about it, but there is fruitfulness !  It is Diwali, and all the sweet shops have extended their premises with plastic awnings to provide extra shop floor space for the boxes and boxes of gift wrapped dried fruit and nuts and hand made sweets covered in edible silver.  

Mobile carts line the streets offering bags of  coloured sand for sale at 5 rupees - a myriad of brightly coloured heaps of colour - irresistibly bright - it is traditional to decorate the floor in front of your door with a  rangoli design of welcome to your guests and also to the Goddess Lakshmi, the bringer of wealth.

Buildings are draped in lights, the smell of hot ghee is everywhere, streets are jammed with people, beggars and shoppers, cars hoot, auto-rickshaw drivers spit - this is the razzmatazz of Diwali - "will you be open on 26th October?" I ask, "Yes, of course, that is when we make the most money" comes the reply.  Diwali is followed by New Year and I know what everyone will be wishing !  May the Goddess Lakshmi be with you always !

EX PAT LADIES' WALK

If we'd had sunshades and gloves, we could have been a group of ladies from the last century.  We had gathered for a short cultural walk through the neighbourhood of Alkapuri, the oldest suburb and the most exclusive in Vadodara.  Largely dating from the 1930s, most of the old houses in the street, were in the style of Art Deco.  Keeping strictly to the point of our 'cultural walk', we looked at the typical geometric shapes and colours of the buildings, talked about the influence of cubism and futurism and pondered the history of India at this time.  Our conversation drifted to Gandhi and his Salt March in 1930, the growing Nationalism in India, the rise of Bollywood and talking movies, the influence of modernism in the world at large and the optimism which arose after the First World War and then went global.  After Miami and Shanghai, Mumbai has the most examples of Art Deco architecture in the world.

Pausing to look at a garden, made up largely of bonsai trees, we watched as the owner grafted different coloured flowers onto a 'desert rose', so that it would bloom in a variety of shades !  Our next stop was the Bishop's House.  A lovely shady garden and in the centre a marble Madonna and Child protected by a canopy and economy light bulb, for nighttime illumination !  Outside a sign said 'God is Love'.  We knocked and asked if the Bishop was at home.  Leaving our shoes at the front door, we were shown into his living room.  He told us of the difficulties of being Christian in a largely Hindu State - he talked of persecution & the difficulties of conversion, which requires special permission from local authorities and is not simply a matter of faith.  We sipped our glasses of water - the house was built in the 1950s - they had bought it for a song in the 1960s and it is now very valuable, as land prices escalate, and India forges ahead with its double digit growth rate.

Our final stop was the home of a local lady, who had lived in the area for 40 years.  Our hostess offered glasses of fresh orange juice, as we sank down gratefully on her soft sofas, under a large ceiling fan.  It was winter but the temperature outside was 36C.  She told us about the way the property developers were buying up land to build multi storey apartment blocks, trees were being cut down and replaced by a concrete jungle.  The large homes of 40 years ago, had been torn down and converted into shopping malls in the last 10 years and now the smaller homes were similarly being torn down to provide housing for many.

The riots in 2002, when there was terrible bloodshed and violence between Hindus and Moslems, seemed hard to believe, sitting in her serene sitting room, the cries of terror which came from the nearby slums and the curfew which was imposed on everyone at the time, seemed an alien idea.  "The curfew brought us together as a neighbourhood" she said "we couldn't go out at all and getting milk and eggs was very difficult".

Our two-hour walk had brought into focus, the past, the present and the future - shaped by ideology, politics and most of all, economics.

THE AGENT

Ravi, the agent, came from an area between Mt Abu and Jodhpur in Rajasthan.  They look different to the locals - perhaps because of their proud history of Royal Maharajas and their close links with the Mughals.  They are generally tall with refined features and upright bearing.

Ravi, was a big man in every sense, but somehow I could also picture him as a corpulent Regency Gentleman in a Jane Austen novel, dressed in pink satin breeches, ruffles at his throat, cut away jacket, stockings, leather shoes and buckles, appearing at soirees - the lovable duffer, saying all the wrong things and being scolded for his silliness.

Now I sat before him, asking with some curiosity about my elusive neighbour in the flat above, his perfectly round eyes were serious, as he looked at me intently, after a pause and with precise diction, as if he were going to tell me, that she had a PhD in Astro-Physics, or alternatively that she was employed by the CIA, he delivered this astonishing coup de grace, with the utmost gravity:  "she.....has.....a....small...cat".

CROSSED WIRES ?

THE GEM DEALER OF RAJASTHAN

The car could only get a certain distance down the road, as it became narrower and busier with the usual chaos of Indian street life.  A turn into an even narrower and busier street, full of beeping motor bikes and auto-rickshaws, led through a maze of shops, animals, and people, cramped and crowded.  A man appeared from nowhere - apparently our guide to Daya's shop - we followed him as he ducked and dived through the crowds.  We turned left through a gateway - a cow blocked our path - we manoeuvred gingerly past and into a small courtyard - could this possibly be the way to the famous 'Daya', gem king of Rajasthan ?  "Yes, yes" - our guide pointed to a small door with a curtain hanging in front of it.

Daya, had been a Brahman Priest, but had decided to become a gem dealer, in order to make money and realise his dream of building a temple.  His face was inscrutable and calm, he sat cross legged behind his counter and invited us to enter.  Shoes were removed, cushions brought out for us to sit on, tea was offered.  We wanted to see gems and he was a wholesale dealer.

Turquoises at first - beautiful stones which glittered in the light, then as he warmed to the task, packets of stones were unwrapped, strings of rubies, emeralds, saphires, then the lesser known stones spinell, topaz, lapis lazuli, peridot.  The heap of stones grew larger.  Two Italian designers dropped in and were soon engrossed in looking and selecting for their shops abroad.  There was a constant flow of customers and vendors - packets of stones, packets of money, millions of rupees in bundles - the counter became the stage in this theatre production of money and gems - the dialogue was clarity, size, purity, rarity and price......"I buy and sell all day, every day from 9.00 a.m. to 9.00 p.m." he said simply - "it's a passion"

JUST AS.....

"Just as the heavens should always be laden with rain,
So also, this stately building, the foundation of the Maharaja's longevity and wealth,
Be preserved from any kind of damage".

The generosity of this benediction, seemed matched by the beautiful flowing script on the plaque of the Fort, built in 1599.  

Someone once said that Rajasthan, was the one Indian State which truly expressed her childhood dreams and imaginings about India, because, here were the palaces, forts, turbans, camels, elephants, colours and desert heat. which evoked the thrill of an exotic culture.

'WELL I NEVER'

.....In my mind Bhopal, a large city in Madhya Pradesh, was associated with the world's worst chemical industrial disaster, in 1984, when a gas leak from a factory in the city,  caused the immediate death of 3000 people and many more deaths followed.   So, on the list of 'things to do in India', a visit to Bhopal was not one of them.

The invitation to an art exhibition to commemorate the 96th Birthday of India's most famous artist, M.F. Hussein, who died in London, earlier this year,  caught my attention.   I wondered what the connection was between the artist, whose screen prints, were on show and M.F. Hussein, a very controversial figure in the art world, because of his seemingly irreverent depiction of Hindu Gods and Goddesses.  India had a love/hate relationship with Hussein, who lived in exile in Dubai and had earned the title of India's 'Picasso'.

The present exhibition, had nothing to do with the art of Hussein - the colourful screen prints were filled with light and harmonious abstraction.   The artist had started his life as a textile designer and had a great affection for the calm, simple art of the tribal people - so what was the link with Hussein ?  "We both come from Bhopal" he said simply.  In a stroke, Bhopal took on a completely different significance - a centre for Contemporary Art ? !

SLUMS

The cacophony of sound from outside - banging, drilling and soldering, went on all day and curiosity got the better of me - by the afternoon, I decided to investigate.  They had built a shed around the water tanks, in the car parking area under the apartment block, with an aluminium roof and padlocked door.  This little building fitted in neatly, partly obscured by the supporting pillars of the building.   I was told that it was necessary because of the monkeys.  A few days later, I noticed that the "left-over" aluminium sheeting, had now been attached to the watchman's shed, also in the undercroft, to create a porch and a chair with cushion had been placed in this new extension to his shack.  I wondered how long it would be before his living space was enlarged even more and how many other family members would join him, at present, he and wife lived there with his two daughters and grandparents, but the population varied, according to necessity.

The interesting thing is the close proximity of slums to the expensive dwellings of the rich.  As you fly into Mumbai, the first thing you notice is the huge slum which abuts the international runway, with mile upon mile of aluminium roofs, forming a patchwork of poverty.  Mumbai has 4 of the biggest slums in the world - they dominate the city and impose themselves in an inescapable way, just as they do all over India.  Gandhi once said that if the village died, so would India.  But it would seem that the village triumphs, whether it is in town or country, because  you can take the man out of the village but you can't take the village out of the man.

MEETING THE MAHARAJAH

The old palace, built for the Maharajah's daughter, was now a crumbling shadow of its former self.  Constructed in the 19th century, by one of the finest architects of the British Raj, with a timber frame and red brick, the stone work detailing, overhanging balconies and courtyard filled with palm trees, still evoked a romantic echo, of an illustrious family, living a life of privilege and power.

The Maharajah once ruled the State, palaces were built for all his progeny and their collection of paintings, sculptures and jewels, was legend. The 'Pearl Carpet and Canopy', made of pearls and rose cut diamonds, was sold in 2009, so too the Baroda double-string, pearl necklace.  Diamonds like the famous Star of the South, English Dresden, Empress Eugenie, Akbar Shah and Moon of Baroda,  were now just names.   Time and necessity have eroded the stockpile of gem stones - and the palaces have either been taken over by the military, or lie in ruins, as discarded relics of the past.

Nevertheless, I felt some surprise, when I was told that the Maharajah could see me at 12.30 the following day.  The grounds leading up to the palace, which now serves as the family office, were a tangle of weeds and monsoon mud, which made the approach slippery.  The old wooden staircase creaked and at the top I found corridors of empty rooms.  His secretary's room was open and the usual supporting cast of one or two elderly men wearing caps, sat on empty benches outside.  I only had to wait 5 minutes and was shown into the Maharajah's office.  He was talking on his mobile phone and a barely audible 'namaste' was breathed in my direction, as he continued his conversation.  The room was dark, but not very different to the other empty rooms I'd seen.  He was a good looking man, who wore a faint air of disdain and ennui - I thought of his illustrious ancestors and their exotic lifestyle and now,  overtaken by history and change, this man was negotiating to turn the main family palace, which rivals Buckingham Palace in size,  into a hotel, with 18 hole golf course - the family would move into a small villa in the grounds.

I had come to talk about doing some research on an artist whose work was in the family collection.  As he spoke, the meerest twinkle lit his eyes and he immediately arranged for me to see the appropriate person.  Reflecting afterwards, I realised that despite his availability and his ready interest in my topic, the real work of actual access, getting past all the minor officials, still lay ahead and in India, that is like entering a maze and whether you ever reach your objective, is in the lap of the Gods, or the amount of baksheesh you are willing to pay.

THE RETURN....

"Have a nice day" he said....I looked at my watch....3.30 a.m. and I was collecting a cup of coffee from 'Coffee Day' in the Domestic Departures Lounge in Mumbai.  I reflected on whether you could wish anyone a nice day at that hour of the morning.....?

The impact of the return to Asia was making itself felt already.  In the West, nothing much happens after 11 p.m. - the West sleeps, but not so in the East - airports are more lively from 11 p.m. onwards - many flights departing at 2 in the morning !

More adjustments would follow, as the ordered clarity of Tuscany and its rows of vineyards began to fade from my mind - I was in the process of swopping the First World for the Third....Chianti, where it was cheaper to drink wine than water for Gujarat, with its prohibition against alcohol - even a sip of wine, could land you in prison for a couple of nights with a hefty fine to follow.....

A MONTH IN THE COUNTRY

Mary's Villa, nestling in a valley in Chianti, just outside Florence, with a view of the fabled villa of Mona Lisa in the distance, was an idyllic spot and so when I was invited to come and stay for July/August, I accepted unhesitatingly.   I had not been back to Italy for two years and as I packed my bags, a kaleidoscope of images ran through my mind - cyprus trees, grey green olives, ordered landscapes, a cup of coffee, images frozen in time - like a Renaissance painting, representing a life of refinement, of history and tradition.

Although I have reflected on the many cultural similarities between Italy and India, there are also fundamental differences.  Italy, with its aging population, represents a bygone age, whereas India, with its culture of youth, is vibrant and full of confidence, as it emerges in the new world order - a place of chaos, dirt, noise and energy - a seething mass of humanity.  Beauty, here is not found in what you see, but in what you don't see.  There is a beguiling rhythm of life, which is enveloping.

Yellow turmeric, red chili powder, masala, tea from Assam, a small piece of hand embroidered tribal patchwork, block printed pashminas from Rajasthan, papier mache ornaments from Kashmir, floral kurtis from Gujarat decorated with tiny mirrors.....small gifts to take from one culture to another.

A FAREWELL

Hannelore was leaving - we couldn't believe the news.  She and her husband had been in Gujarat for 4 years - he had come over from Germany as CEO and Managing Director of a German start-up company in India.  They were doing well and expanding fast and so we assumed that they'd always be here, for some reason.  Hannelore was a key member of the expat club - tall, vibrant, positive and athletic - always beautifully dressed, whether in Indian clothes or western dress, she had embraced the colour and exotic dash of the Indian culture and combined it with German cut and polish to create an immaculate image.  For company events she wore wonderful saris with flare and was often out and about in shalwar kameez.

Although so many European economies are in the doldrums, the German economy is growing, fast, largely due to their expansion in developing markets, like India.  They are combining and blending what India has to offer with German precision and organisation.

But now they were going back to Germany and we were saying goodbye at a specially arranged lunch.  We felt a little sad - an image of  Gericault's  'The Raft of Medusa',  crept into my mind,  as I thought of the small expat group, with their common ground, in the midst of a huge foreign culture.

Hannelore arrived with a flourish - the 4 x 4 pulled up outside - instructions called to the driver to unload the van - two enormous industrial size packages were offloaded and dragged into the hall - "they are for you" she told us dramatically !    "Siempre 10 x 160 blatt - Federweich und flauschig"  -  could it be toilet paper ?  It certainly was - imported from Germany !  Ten rolls for each of us !  Now that was some farewell present.  The indigenous toilet arrangements in India are very particular - no paper - instead a small hose or tap and water jug, is most common and so this was a luxury beyond one's wildest expectations !  "160 blatt" is of a softness and refinement unimaginable !

She left a month ago, but we think of her...... every day.

BUILDING BRICKS AND CORNER STONES

"He's a hard core Gujarati", Meera remarked and I wondered what that might mean....Devendra, who speaks only Gujarati brought his young nephew along as a translator - they were taking me out to see their brickworks.  India is the birth place of brick-making and 50% of all structures are made of this basic material.  Gujarat, being an alluvial plain,  is ideal for the industry, whose history goes back to the Indus Valley Civilisation, some 2500 years BC.

The bricks are hand made and kiln fired - 200 workers make 40 000 per day and are paid per brick.  We were sitting under a 'lean to' sipping 7-up and watching the monsoon rain falling.  The industry comes to an end during the monsoon months, as you cannot make mud bricks in the rain - so it's a cyclical industry.  "We'll reopen at Dussehra, a festival in late October celebrating the triumph of Lord Rama over the demon, Ravana - there'll be a puja and fireworks" explained, Devendra.

"Hand made in India" means just that - every brick is hand made by someone who has been doing it for a lifetime, from a family who have been doing it for a lifetime - the bricks are taken to the kiln for firing by donkey.  But their main revenue comes during the monsoon months, when contractors rely on the stockpile of bricks, to keep the building industry going and then the price goes up five-fold.  Devendra grinned, as he remarked that it is an industry which does not require any education, but it does require start up capital, which many don't have.  Workers have to be paid in advance, or they take their labour elsewhere and regulatory officials, too,  have to be paid....!

The key players of this little business were all present - his father aged 82, who had the foresight to buy the land 20 years ago at a knock down price,  Devendra himself, who manages the show,  Atul, his trusted store keeper and caretaker and Bashir, who provides the labour !  "He beats them if they don't work properly" explained Devendra.  Well I guess you need to have some motivation, apart from a tot of the lethal liquor they make illegally from the Mahuda Tree ?

MONSOON

The monsoon has arrived in Gujarat, like some long awaited visit from a distant relative - looked for,  hoped for, waited for and then on arrival chaos with unexpected hiccups, as the deluge drowns everything.  Streets transformed into dams, children splash and swim in the deepest parts, grinning and cavorting and cars aquaplane through roads, sending up bow waves of water.  Whole streets become impassable as they turn into lakes.  Auto-rickshaws erect canvas flaps to the side of their vehicles, creating cosy interiors.  Everyone grins, there's a sense of camaraderie - "the monsoon has arrived",  prefixes every conversation.  Dry, arid Gujarat, the last State in India to receive rain, is awash with water - cleaning, scouring and renewing and the joy is palpable.

JUNGLE WARFARE

My heart was pounding.  I stood watching from the little wrought iron balcony overlooking the vacant land surrounded by tall mango trees.  A pack of young feral street dogs were chasing a large monkey down below, I urged the monkey on, sure that it would be faster than the lead dog, but the hound suddenly made a leap and I was stunned to see his jaws clamp down - he had the monkey - flashes of grey and black as the dog tried to secure its grip on the downed monkey - I feared for the worst and then over the wall, came unexpected help, two monkeys, teeth bared, all tales and legs, came to rescue their fallen comrade.  The dog startled, let go his grip, the backup team of dogs too slow and the monkeys leapt away to safety.

Watching these primates from my window every day, I marvel at the bond and social cohesion between them !  The playful mischievousness of the little ones, the petting and grooming of the older ones and the care of the females, for their young.  The dogs clearly weren't expecting a united and fearless group response, to the dilemma of one !

THE ART OF MEHNDI

MONSOON GONE MISSING ?

The CNN weather report showed that the Monsoon rains are drowning China and causing chaos in Mumbai and the east of India but here in Gujarat, not a drop.  Everyone is waiting for the deluge with baited breath, the sky is a uniform grey, but not a drop of rain.  Perhaps it's the cyclonic conditions over the Bay of Bengal, some say.  It might be sucking the rain away from western India.  We consider this anxiously.  Funny how the rains are looked for so longingly and yet when they come, they bring mayhem, as roads fall apart, dams of water build up because there is no drainage and flooding occurs.  Traffic grinds to a standstill.  Livestock, cows and donkeys come flooding into town to avoid the soggy fields and clouds of mosquitoes emerge.  But despite everything, we search the skies every day for a sign of rain, after all, it's been a year of blue sky and unimaginable heat !

HOW MANY MANGOES MAKE A SUMMER?

Mango mania - they are displayed in neatly packed rows, for sale on every street corner...but in this hullabaloo, the very old man, who sells only bananas, lies quietly on his wooden trolley, on the side of the road,  one leg crooked against the other, like a deckchair, reading his book of prayers, unconcerned about the passing traffic, head resting on his hand.  When I stop to buy a hand of bananas, he hardly raises himself, as he fumbles for the lead weights and lifts the bananas onto the old metal scale and holds it up to weigh the fruit..... then stretches for the curved knife, its blade blackened with age, to slice a banana off, to get the weight exact.  Perhaps one day I should surprise him and buy every banana on his trolley and send him home early ?

SUMMER

He selected one long, thick, piece of sugar cane, about 5' in length and then set the mangle whirring while he pushed the stick of cane through, with the expertise of long practice.  The pale green juice came pouring out through a muslin and into a waiting pot.  I watched fascinated as he bent the stick in half and put it through the process again. Still there was a steady stream of juice....choosing a fresh piece of cut lime from a bowl, he tucked a couple of quarters into the flattened sugar cane stick with a little piece of fresh ginger and put it through the mangle a third time !  Satisfied that he had extracted all the juice, this was then poured into a beer mug, with a straw and handed to me.  It's kind of sweet and peppery and half the fun, is watching the technique for 5 minutes before you get to taste it - with no additives or colouring, this pale green brew is delicious at the end of a long, hot, day in Gujarat.  Since this is a 'dry State' with a prohibition against alcohol,  sitting on his old wooden bench on the side of the road, is the next best thing to a 'Bar Culture' !

BAMBOO

                           The many uses for bamboo....the love story of Krishna and Radha....

WIND, SAND AND RAIN

44 C - Sunday afternoon was hot and sultry as usual.  The electricity had been out since early in the morning and without  the overhead fans you could feel the constant prickle of sweat.  The wind arrived without warning - ferociously blowing up clouds of dust - palm fronds waved wildly, the mango trees bent in every direction - the sky was grey with sand, as the wind veered this way and that and seemed to smack everything, as if this was some huge climatic temper tantrum.  Everything was sent flying, as it  ripped through the beakers and cooking pots of  the pavement dwellers - shrieks,  as chaos reigned....

Following on its heels eventually came the rain.  The first drops were as hard as pellets, then grew in strength, as it established a pent-up rhythm - the first rain of the year !  Windows were quickly closed as curtains leapt out of control....but the coolness of the air was like balm.

And then it stopped, the long hot summer days had been interrupted and Nature had fulfilled her contract, this was a foretaste of what was to come - the Monsoons were on their way and in this cathartic moment,  the monkeys came out to play scampering here and there, chattering with excitement, as they chased each other, up and down and over - a large one contentedly eating a rain washed mango high up in a tree nearby and down below,  girls ran out giggling, to see how many windfalls they could retrieve. 

CROC POT

WE, RATHER THAN, I

He had been a Corporate Executive in the IT industry in India, handling business with top companies, around the world.  But now he had decided to give his time and expertise to managing a Centre for the local Tribal Communities, in the depths of Madhya Pradesh.  "The tribal people think in terms of 'we' not 'I'......and that is a profound difference between them and us"  he explained.  "They are not competitive and they don't seek to blame or exploit - they have a collective mind.  It's so refreshing, after the Corporate world and I never come away from one of these trips, without feeling renewed"!

The countryside we were driving through was as dry as a bone.  We had set off from Vadodara at 7 a.m. and it was a two and a half hour journey. We crossed wide river courses baked by the sun and bleached white, vast expanses of sand.  The Monsoon rains arrived in the South of India two days ago, so in another 2 weeks, this would be a changed scene, but this was hard to imagine.

The Tribal Community Centre, had been set up in this arid terrain, at a point where three of India's biggest and driest States meet - Rajasthan, Gujarat and Madhya Pradesh, at the base of a rocky hill, where there also happened to be ancient cave paintings - so the site must also have been attractive to people thousands of years ago

The main purpose of the Centre was to provide some basic training in health care, education, art and culture and to encourage the local tribal people to maintain their cultural traditions.  "There are 1600 languages in India", I was told "....and in Gujarat, alone, there are 45 different languages, each with its own oral tradition, stories and folk lore, some of it passed by word of mouth, all completely different.  We are trying to write it all down, so that it is not lost"..  

"If there are so many differences in the folklore of all these groups"   I asked..."do their stories have anything at all in common?"   After some thought, the Executive Director said with a smile....."yes, the triumph of good over evil" !

The Museum at the Centre housed contributions from various tribal groups, which they had brought from the villages and donated to the Centre.  There were wooden Deities, carved with crude power, which seemed to have a certain presence, clay pots, robust in shape, the change in angle marked with simple incised patterns, bamboo arrows, woven baskets.  No matter how simple the object, the proportions had an innate harmony.  These were decorated artifacts - art for art's sake, would not feature in their rural life, for they themselves were the embodiment of art, their simple lives so much a part of nature.

ART DECO

The building had recently been 'done up'.   What was surprising was that it was Art Deco and the date, 1935, was emblazoned on the front facade.  This part of Vadodara has many houses dating from the period and one by one they are being pulled down to make way for multi-storey high rise, feature-less, apartment blocks.  Mumbai has the largest number of Art Deco buildings outside of Miami !

The style sprang from France, but quickly took off around the world, as the epitome of new world elegance and geometric refinement, daringly favouring colours often considered brash and the outlines of buildings proclaiming a new world... of ocean going liners and faster cars,  exploring new materials, such as plastic and glass.  Windows and doors with geometrically curving shapes, celebrating the rhomboid, hexagon and cube or starbursts such as the Chrysler Building and Empire State in New York.

What motivated this extraordinary global style of radicalism - never to be seen again ?  Coming after the First World War, it seems to be a tribute to hope and celebration, which sadly declined again in the 'Forties.  And its heirs - what has again expressed this kind of joy and giddy unconventionalism with a radical asymmetry .......the glass and steel structures of Dubai and the Middle East ?

THE BUILDING OF INDIA

In every part of the country, multi-storey buildings are being erected with breathtaking speed and the skyline seems to change by the day as workmen do a balancing act, their lives dependant on the strength of the bamboo and rope under their feet ! 

VAASTU SHASTRA

"She looked a bit odd, but it was good to have her assess our home - I was worried about bad vibes and magnetic currents"  she said.  We were sitting round a lunch table at Mainland China.  This was the Expat. group lunch - she was from the North of India but had lived in the U.S. for some years.  With the downturn in the economy in the West, she and her husband had returned to India - he.... to work for the family company.

I had always thought their house had a somewhat gloomy air about it, one always felt on edge and never quite comfortable - too much furniture crammed into rooms which were small and dark - the effect was cloyingly 'cute' and I wondered who she had consulted.  It turned out to be a Vaastu expert.  According to the revered art of Vaastu, written about in ancient Indian texts, a house should be orientated in a certain direction and beds should face in a particular direction - even the position of doors and windows is important.

Talking to an architect about the science of Vaastu, he maintained that there was a lot in it, but he also declared that if you took into account the climate and adapted your house design to best fit in with this and the position of the sun, neighbourhood, etc., your house design would automatically fulfil the criteria of Vaastu.  In India, being an exceedingly hot country, a house should not face East or West, because the full brunt of sunshine would then heat the house like a microwave oven.   Being sensitive to your environment, is what Vaastu is all about. According to Vaastu, beds should face East.....towards the rising sun !

But what advice would be given to someone whose house was wrongly orientated ?  What if the axis of rooms was wrong ?  Move ?

CONTEMPORARY HOUSE FOR LIVING

She was a well known and successful artist, he was a colourful and well known architect.   I was to have tea with her and look at her house, as an example of contemporary architecture.  She and her husband had collected antique features from houses in the Old City and had them incorporated into a modern structure....

I gave the address to the driver, knowing that it would take a long time to find the house in the warren of streets.  We drove down one lane after another without any luck - in desperation, seeing a man on a street corner, we stopped to ask directions for the umpteenth time - to my surprise he wore a cap with a slogan in bright red,  saying "I love Jerusalem"!  Just another of the non-secqueters which enliven a day in India.

The artist's paintings are filled with stoical women, locked into their own private world of suffering, who look out at the world uncompromisingly.  They are set within an easily accessible pattern of design and colour and one can observe them from this more palatable vantage point.  Her style is unchanging and each painting presents a variation on this theme - an unquestioning balance - which seems to be the crux of life in India.

The architect had cleverly used this concept in his design for contemporary living.  The antique features of wooden cantilevers, corbels, balconies and staircases from a bygone age, had been placed within a modern framework of exposed brickwork which was used to create its own rhythm of patterns.  The old idea of courtyards letting in light and air had been used to enhance the main living space and the bedrooms upstairs, too, had their own balconies which looked across at each other and overlooked the main courtyard.  With a canopy of green trees, this was an oasis for contemporary living, a secluded corner in a hot and dusty city.

WHERE THERE'S SMOKE....

Smoke rose up and filled the air.  Wood was piled on each individual fire and the faithful threw in their libations of ghee and spices.  The smoke from so many fires, filtered up through the bamboo structure and rose as a huge cloud, filling the air of the neighbourhood and beyond, with the unmistakeable aroma of cooking fat.  "It's very auspicious, it purifies the air"  he said with satisfaction.  I couldn't help wondering why the odour made me feel physically sick and induced a headache.  I wondered afresh at how they could spend so many hours in the heat and dust, tending the fires.  But then, here, in this culture,  I am struck every day with the triumph of man's spirit over material hardship and the will to survive against all the odds.  Their devotion to a concept beyond physical reality, is what defines them.  

POOJA ON A GRAND SCALE

The structure, entirely made of bamboo, had gone up over night.  It's sheer size was awe inspiring and added to this is the fact that it is temporary and once the pooja is over, the entire creation will be dismantled.  The apex is important for it's religious significance and even the smallest family shrine will have this feature, because, as it was explained to me, Hindus believe ultimately in one God, but because this concept of infinite power, is difficult for the average person to comprehend, their mythology is filled with many different aspects of the one divine power, in the shape of thousands of Gods and Goddesses.

Despite the heat of the summer sunshine, the masses converged on the scene - boys carried large pieces of wood for the individual fires deep within the structure.  The pooja was in honour of Laxmi, the Goddess of Wealth.  Smoke rose up in clouds, as the many fires were fed with ghee and spices.  Chanting filled the air as people walked round the structure in a clockwise rotation - the more times the better.  Its objective is purification - ridding the self of negativity and drawing wealth and good things into your orbit - definitely a cause for celebration.

LAST CHRISTMAS......

"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart..... but the very next day... you gave it away....."  the familiar tune resounded around the shopping centre....it was April and 46 degrees and this was India....but this '80s tune by George Michael and 'Wham', dealing with love in a ski resort, in the middle of winter,  seems to transcend all barriers and is one of the most popular Western tunes in India !

The theme of love and separation, in 'Last Christmas',  is the backbone of Ghazal music - much loved by most Indians.  When I asked the Indian students about ghazals, they directed me to the husband and wife duo, Jagjit and Chitra Singh and urged me to buy one of their CDs.

Ghazals were derived originally from Arabic poetry in ancient times and came to India in the 12th century.   Once the preserve of sufi mystics, the pure poetic form, developed into song, in the 18th c.  In the 1960s, Jagjit Singh, is credited with transforming the classical ghazal and giving it mass appeal, to be enjoyed not just by the educated elite, but giving it a melodic format, which everyone could sing along to.  Jagjit has performed in parliament for India's most prominent politicians and this musical art form has become part of many Bollywood film scores.

The Ghazal lyrics, of course, have layers of meaning - love for the sweetheart, love for mankind, love for life.....I wouldn't say that the 'Wham' classic goes quite that far....but it's a damn catchy tune, even in the blazing sun in April..............."this year to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special....."

CUCKOOS AND MANGOES

The mango trees are all laden  - the oval fruit, which range in size, from small to large, dark green, through mottled to yellow, hang heavily, like ornaments on a Christmas Tree and the sound of cuckoos is everywhere, especially in the morning before the clammy heat of the day has really set in.  The cuckoo call is unmistakable - it's more of a shriek, than a call and seems to rise in intensity and velocity, as a vocal protest against the hot air which radiates off everything.  The panic stricken sound seems to expresses my own feelings, as I am overwhelmed by the inescapable heat.

Returning to India, after a month away, sharpens one's perception of things, eliminating unnecessary detail, like a quick graphite drawing.  It intrudes in an uncompromising way - like the cotton mattresses, which are as hard as a slab of marble - you know you can't win and you must go with the flow, because, it is the only solution.  Woe betide you if you try and eat apples, when mangoes are in season.  India reminds me of a very wise, very old woman, whose motto is.......... 'anything which makes life easy, is bound to be bad for you'.

IN THE TEMPLE GARDEN

"My father is the first person in 150 years, to build a temple with his own personal money in this town"  she explained.  ".....So the temple is not owned by the priests, which is usually the case, but is independent, which means that it will enjoy complete autonomy and the priests will not have any say in how it is run".  Her father had made his money out of building contracts and this was his latest project.  We sat on chairs in the attached garden.  It was 6 p.m. and some of the heat had gone out of the day - a low wall separated this green space from the dusty streets  Her little pug puppy, Romeo, tore round the huge expanse of lawn, as fast as his short legs would carry him.

The three storey temple overlooked the garden and was complete, except for the interior finishing.  She had given me a guided tour and explained that the statue of the God would be installed next month.  "This room here is where the God will sleep - he will be washed and put into his nightclothes and this is where his food will be prepared.  Once the main statue is enthroned, it will be fixed and kept behind a screen except for specific times of day when it will be revealed..  But our family god is small and portable and will represent the main god, in the day to day activities of the temple".

As we sat in the welcome cool of the evening, with the pink oleanders and yellow tackoma bushes, in the background, I listened to her describing the rituals which would take place and the procession at the temple's inauguration in April, with elephants, camels and other animals.  It was difficult to believe that she had lived in Los Angeles for 17 years and had only just returned to India with her two children.  I marveled at how deeply rooted the Hindu culture is and how it is accepted with such faith.  I struggled to find a rational explanation for what she described..

The importance of patronage, reminded me of the Florentine families during the Renaissance, except that Catholics owed allegiance to the Pope, whereas here, the relationship between the God and the family was direct.  "Only a few of us will be allowed to touch the statue before it becomes fixed and has the life of the God instilled into it - after that nobody may touch it - it will be sacred and inviolate"

In the lengthening shadows, I wondered at things visible and invisible.  The pug raced back and pulled at her dupatta and so we threw his ball and watched him joyfully race and retrieve, in a tireless game.

THE PAAN MAKER

THE MAHARAJA

The Museum was an unremarkable building, situated in the Palace grounds - it used to be the school house for the princes and princesses of the Ruling Dynasty of the State.  They would travel to school in a small model train, with a little steam engine and open carriages behind !

The Maharaja, the patron of the museum's art collection, had an interesting story....after the presiding Maharaja died in the 19th c,  after a sudden illness,  his young wife, who was pregnant at the time, gave birth later, to a daughter - with no male heir to the throne,  to succeed him,  she invited members of the extended family,  to present their sons at court so that a suitable successor could be found.

Kashirao, walked the distance of 600 kms, to present his three sons for consideration, but,  although he was of the Royal House,  he had married a commoner from a small village and therefore, their sons should not have been contenders.   Nevertheless, each boy was asked why he had come....the second son,  aged 12,  replied unequivocally,  'I have come to rule'.   Everyone was so impressed,  that he was duly selected.  And so he was adopted by the Maharani and came to live at the palace, where he was given an excellent education.  On reaching his 18th birthday in 1881, he was fully invested with the title of Maharaja and became ruler of the state.  He proved to be an inspired leader, ahead of his time - he founded a Bank, a University, a Park,  he cleaned up the water supply and introduced irrigation schemes.  He carried out social reforms and outlawed child marriage, the purdah system and encouraged education for women - he was also a great patron of the arts.....

Acquiring the services of a foreign architect, he built a palace of huge size and invited artists from Italy  to help in its decoration, commissioning sculpture, paintings and fine furniture.  He employed an unknown young artist from the south of India, Ravi Varma,  to be his court artist, and to paint portraits of the ruling family - this young man, came to be known later, as the 'Father of Indian Art'.

The institutions, founded by the Maharaja, still exist and give the city its inherent shape and character and here in the school house, some of the Maharaja's art collection, was on display, an enduring legacy of a wise man.  

VIEWPOINT

Liz had come from the Isle of Skye in Scotland - her first visit to India.  She had applied for a 'Residency' and been successful.  She had just graduated from Art College and was here for a month to teach print-making.  The studio cum flat was situated in a small gaited Society, in a new part of the town.  It was small and sunny and the upstairs had a small balcony.

This was a short 4-day course in print-making - a chance for local Indians to learn something from someone from the West.  She had travelled through Rajasthan for a few weeks, before coming to Gujarat and her sketch books were filled with her first impressions of crowded streets, women in saris and turbaned men sitting on their haunches, in characteristic style.  "What has made the most impression on you"?   I asked......thoughtfully, she replied..."the layering - the way the new is pasted on top of the old, without removing the original - the constant layering - it provides a slice of history"

CORPORATE EXPATS

Our host  was the CEO of a German Company, fast expanding in India.  In four years, the company had increased from 60 employees to 600 and more investment was planned.  They had recently migrated from a small office in the most exclusive neighborhood of the city, to a huge new corporate office in the newly developed outskirts.  The reality of the world economic situation is palpably obvious, as India doubles its gross domestic product and surges ahead, with a growth rate in double figures.  All around, are the echoes of a country under construction and at the expatriate dinner parties, this view is reinforced by top executives flying in and out of the country, from Europe.  Unlike, Ireland, Portugal, Spain and Italy, the German economy is showing an improvement, based on its investments and expansion in emerging markets.

But tonight was a special occasion.....their home was some miles from the city, out in the countryside, of this part of Gujarat.  The moon was up and the sky was clear and dark,  the air felt fresher, cooler, than the city.   After a half hour drive,  along dark country roads, we arrived at our destination and passed through the double gates, as the armed guard waved us on.  Immediately, one entered a different world - coloured lights decorated everything -  Las Vegas style.  Shallow steps, led up to a wide open porch and entrance way,  which in turn led into a huge hall of enormous opulence.  The CEO and his wife were there to greet guests.  She, dressed from head to toe in scarlet, was the 'belle of the ball', diamonds glittered from her jewelry and sparkled from her high heel sandals!   This was her official Birthday Party,  but it was also an opportunity to show off their Corporate image in India and in Gujarat.

Their vast mansion glowing with lights, led out onto a vast lawn, whose perimeter was also encircled with lights, bright enough to rival an airport runway.  Enrico Englesias songs were piped from hidden speakers - drinks, from a well stocked bar, were served to the mixture of expats from a variety of European countries and local Indians, who ran high profile businesses in the town.  The host and hostess, being foreign nationals,  had a license to consume and serve alcohol on their premises.  Otherwise, Gujarat is a strictly 'dry' State, and imposes a two-day prison sentence and heavy fine,  on anyone breaking the law.  Foreigners are allowed a certain number of units of alcohol per week and their licenses are stamped accordingly,  in a carefully monitored system.

Speeches were made,  fireworks went off with precision, at just the right moment and the buffet dinner was provided by the best restaurant in town.  Here was Indian entertainment, colour, romance and emotion,  executed with German efficiency. A match made in heaven.  "It's difficult for us to understand their way of thinking"  said the visiting German Executive from Dresden.  "We expect them (Indian employees) to think like us,  but they don't - and so it's a challenge, as we aim to expand the company ...the potential is vast....but when I go back to Dresden, I appreciate what we have in Germany - it's taught me not to take things for granted back at home."

THE PUJA

Her sms read "I'm organising a prayer ritual at my place at 4.30 p.m. - please come"  She lives in the US and comes to India for periodic holidays.  Known as NRIs, (non-resident Indians), these expat. Indians, own farms and apartments in India, which they leave empty, to await their return, sometimes just for a week or two in a year.

Her apartment was on the second floor.  I emerged from the lift to find the front door open and as I looked into the living room, I was startled to see an immense blaze, flames shot two feet into the air - it was so incongruous in this elegant sitting room.  The fire was contained within a low cauldron, a group of seven sari clad women sat around it - an image of the deity presided over the proceedings.  She, Mata, the mother of all gods, sat enthroned with many garlands of flowers around her neck.  The women were chanting a mantra and throwing seeds and spices into the fire, as well as spoonfuls of ghee.  Every now and then the oldest lady would reach behind her back for another branch of wood to place on the fire.  The heat was immense and I wondered how they could sit so close to the blaze. The mantra went on for half-an-hour, 101 incantations, I was told afterwards and then suddenly it stopped.  The rhythm changed -  a tray with little lit lamps was slowly turned around in a clockwise direction - we were all invited, one by one, to participate in guiding its revolution - feeling the warmth of the fire, as we did so.  And then it was over - the food which had been offered to the God, known as prasaad (sanctified food) consisting of fruit, nuts and sheera (sweetmeat) was handed out to all present - we were being ultimately included in the blessing and purification of the home.

This religious ceremony did not need a priest - it was an emotional and personal family event.

THE GLOBAL PATEL CLAN

The value of networking was so clearly demonstrated - here was a clan who had globalised their family and in this way their business interests.  Where 'Body Shop', McDonald's, Kalvin Klein, etc. have a globalised commodity, the Patels had done the same with their family, which is continually diversifying and adapting to change.

I was struck by her interesting story of the resilience of a family.  It reminded me of a line from J.R.R. Tolkien's poem, from 'Lord of the Rings' ....."not all those who wander, are lost"

"I was born in Kampala, Uganda' she told me...."but because of the troubles there at that time, Idi Amin was in power, we left and came back to India, when I was very little.  We settled here, my mother, six sisters, two brothers and I.  My father secretly remained behind in Uganda and went into hiding, keeping the business going.  I was educated here in India and met my husband here.  He worked in the family business, but when they decided to open a new venture in America, about 30 years ago, we set off for Los Angeles. We settled down there and now 180 of our family are based in California.  My husband worked hard to make the business a success.   But we always returned to India once a year on holiday.  Years before, we had bought a farm, when we were just married - land was very cheap then and we planted flowering trees there every year.  It was a way of de-stressing - we'd go out early in the morning - there was a rustic cottage on the farm and we'd make tea.  Now it's a haven of tranquility.

When we return to the U.S., it's like changing gear, instead of the servants and the slow pace of life that we have here in India, I do everything myself at high speed.  Even though I come from a big family, we have only two daughters, who are studying there - they will marry in the U.S. and settle down" 

Despite changes of continent and hemisphere, the essential elements of this globalised Patel community were unchanging, first and foremost their loyalty to the family and their close contact with each other through family marriages and other celebrations and then their emphasis on entrepreneurship and hard work.   They now span Africa, India, Europe and the USA - a cat's cradle of relationships, a network, for younger members of the clan to use, in establishing themselves.

'But what happened to your father ?'  I asked....."He remained in Africa, he loved it so much - he wished to be buried in Uganda.  Now one of my brothers continues the family interests there" !

KITES

Happy Sankranti - always falls on the 14th January - one of the few festivals which is always on the same day.  It marks the sun's ascendency into the Northern Hemisphere and is highly auspicious for Hindus.

She smiled as she described what they would be doing on Friday 14th:  '

"We'll get up late, seeing it's a holiday...eat breakfast...then we'll prepare our kites and go up on the terrace to fly them - all those lovely colours.  I'll wear gloves because the powdered glass in the strings cuts your hands - there'll be music, we'll dance, there'll be firecrackers and we'll eat special sweets made from groundnuts and jaggery - we only ever eat these sweets at this time of year".  With that she produced a jagged piece of candy from her bag for me to taste....she exuded pleasure and the joy of anticipation.

OP Road was lined with people selling kites of every colour, so delicate and gay....the balls of string were sold separately.

I watched as the kites flew overhead - effortlessly floating in the air currents, yellow, white, brilliant purple - they flew so high, attached as they were to an enormous ball of brilliant pink string - a child was desperately trying to get his kite up in the air, his forefinger already bound with plaster from grasping the lethal string too tightly....his parents had  elevated theirs and were gently tugging on the strings, the kites so high up, they appeared as little fragile wisps of coloured paper against the fading blue of the late afternoon sky - everyone gazing upwards craning to watch their progress......

JUXTAPOSITION !

A melodious little jingle rang out - the cycle was complete!  It had taken just 28 minutes.  The Samsung Diamond Drum, Fully Automatic, Washing Machine with Silver Nano Technology is a wonderfully compact top load machine, about 3 ft tall, waist height for convenience and offers different water level options, air turbo choices, odour removal and sanitisation, wash, rinse and spin.

Outside,  in a concrete space, about 5 ft square, you could hear the dull thud of the wooden paddle, rather like a cricket bat, as wet clothes were rhythmically beaten, 'bam, bam, bam', a cake of soap applied, scrubbed with a scrubber,  a handful of water thrown over,  folded,  beaten again,  dunked,  held up for examination,  beaten again,  soaped,  rubbed,  rinsed and thrown aside for the next item - the whole operation about 28 minutes !

CULTURE

"Bham" !!   The sound ricocheted around the enormous aircraft hangar type space - it was huge, 45m x 45m, the dingy walls were dotted with iron reinforcing bars - this was a studio used by film makers, but now it had been turned into a makeshift gallery for an exhibition by an artist who had left India at the beginning of his career and become famous in the West.  This was his first major exhibition back in his country of origin. 

"They're getting ready to fire the canon again",  she said...  I went over to watch.  The canon was aimed at the confluence of two walls, which were already heavily layered with huge, solid clay coloured wax pellets and their detritus.  A large clod was loaded into the canon and with a terrific retort it darted, like a missile, towards the wall, landing with a splatter of dark red, against the white background.  It's fired every 15 minutes, so this picture-making changes and evolves through time.  It reminded me strongly of the paan spitting, which is so much a part of Indian culture.  Paan, a mixture of betel leaf and areca nut is chewed as a digestive, this produces a reddish spit which they aim at walls, anywhere and everywhere - the stair wells of even the smartest office blocks,  are stained with red spit in a variety of patterns and auto rickshaw drivers can project a ball of spit, several feet, from the side of their mouths,  as they drive along.

The other exhibits were variations of large spherical stainless steel discs, presenting a mirror-like surface which created patterns of reflection and distortion - under the large spotlights.  It was reminiscent of the decoration of rural bhungas, the traditional round houses, in the remote district of Kutch in Western Gujarat.  Mirrors are used in their interior and exterior decoration, to catch the light and please the eye.   But here,  the exhibits were shown in a different context, to be admired as high art, in this artificial setting.