Where is Lyds?
1st Mar 2007Day I've-lost-count-already, Chandausi, in a cardigan I am in Chandausi today, a little town about 20km from APK. In addition to my red flowery kurta (tunic thing), red salwar (trousers, which today I have rolled up around the waist a little so that they flap attractively around my ankle bone - not, I assure you, to give the passing fellows an enticing glimpse of my ankle, but in order to keep the trousers out of the puddles that are littering the street since the unseasonal monsoon and hurricane yesterday), and red chunnee (scarf - made from chiffon, that most attractive of fabrics) I am wearing an attractive beige cardigan which is a little too big, with interesting stritching along the seams and is made from almost 100% acrylic. There is no wool in this garment. It was a bad choice for today, which I discovered on the way into town on the bus - just like Londoners, the people here refuse to move down the vehicle when people get on, with the inevitable result that more than a few are left dangling off whatever support they can find near the doors (and, more alarmingly, steps) at the front. I was one of those unlucky and precarious people this morning, clinging on for dear life and hoping for no sudden braking. In addition to the clinging, I was having to hold my Indiana Jones bag up high to avoid the heads of the giggling schoolgirls who had elected (sensibly I suppose) to share a seat directly in front of me: one of them was on the lap of the other which lifted her head up to a level with my bag, and to avoid giving the girl concussion I had to hoist my bag and ubiquitous water bottle up at shoulder height. I carry a lot more in my bag than Indiana Jones did (I doubt he bother with a first aid kit, for example, and I`m pretty certain he didn`t carry a digital camera and Hindi phrase book and waterproof either) and so it was a pretty uncomfortable pose. My left bicep is now bigger than my right. Anyway, as a result of the heat on the bus, the hoisting of the bag, the clinging to the rail and the indignation at the obvious intention of the bus conductor to charge us double and not give us any change, I was rather warm, and when you are rather warm a mostly acrylic cardigan, beige or otherwise, is not what you want to be wearing. So I arrived in Chandausi flushed and with a sore arm, but otherwise intact. Today is my two week anniversary of arriving at APK. I am pretty settled into the life here now, and ready to move onto somewhere new. However, this weekend is a festival called `Holy` (I have seen it spelt Holi in one of the papers but quite frankly I don`t see how that can be correct) and I`m definitely staying for that as it sounds like fantastic fun. Apparently everyone goes out into the streets and throws paint at each other. I fully anticipate being one of the unlucky targets of a childhood prank such as burying stones in the paint, and am not entirely sure whether my insurance covers being blinded by paint throwing when entered into voluntarily, but I am willing to take the risk. We were advised to wear old clothes for the occasion as the paint doesn`t wash out (genius) but rather than sacrifice any of the tiny selection of clothing I whittled out of my wardrobe to bring with me, I have instead purchased an utterly heinous set of salwaar kameez in a very unfortunate shade of lilac, for the occasion. I pick them up tomorrow. All I need now is a set of flip flops to match (or not) and I`m all set. Hurrah! The monsson and hurricane yesterday were in fact (of course) neither, but a very sudden and heavy thunder and lighting rainstorm did erupt at about 4 in the afternoon when I was pottering around the market in the village. It was all very exciting and pretty until I got back to our room and realised that the windows and door were leaking. I sacrificed one of the back issues of Grazia which one of the other girls had left behind, and stuffed sheets of it into the window cracks, but the water kept on coming and started creeping across the floor. Claire (girl I`m sharing with) came running in and we spent a hectic 15 minutes trying to get all our stuff off the floor, pulling the beds away from the walls, and generally rushing about. Luckily the electricity went after about 5 minutes, so we had to do most of this in the semi-dark. I wasn`t really worried about drowning (see how brave I am), more about the hassle of having to fit everything back into my rucksack in a hurry and decamping to a dry spot, and about how long everything would take to dry if it all got wet, and about my books being damaged. Priorities, you see. On a serious note it made me think very soberly about the plight of the people in the village, most of whom do not have a complete roof over their heads, and live along muddy tracks without drainage so that any volume of water is likely to wash through their homes together with whatever filth it washes up from the ground. No state of emergency was declared, however, and I later thought that they must deal with more water than this, for longer periods of time, during monsoon. What was a momentary hassle for me could have ruined a farmer`s crops, spread some really nasty stuff through someone`s home, caused kids to get sick with a cold or worse, or even destroyed someone`s house. When we emerged from our room, I found to my delight and Englishness that afternoon tea was ready, so I regrouped and headed back out to the market to get some nibbles (raisins and cashews and coconut, for those interested). The guys on the market were still trading, despite most of their stalls being surrounded by several inches of water - I headed to the stalls on higher ground, unwilling to risk my feet and sandals in the mire and not entirely confident of my ability to balance on the stones which some enterprising soul had positioned through the puddles for people to balance on. Negotiating an Indian market is fun enough without having to do it standing on one leg balanced on a slippery brick. I had my first emotional crisis yesterday, which I actually think was overdue considering I thought the first 2 weeks here would be the toughest. I had one `English practice` conversation too many and for various reasons was left feeling very fragile, pathetic, cross and desperately in need of privacy, which is well nigh impossible to get here. I sat down to lunch in a bit of a state and then got up after about 5 minutes to have a moment in my room. I was really surprised by it, because the situation itself had been pretty banal, but I suppose it was simply a build-up of whatever strain I`ve been feeling (however unconciously) over the past couple of weeks and this conversation had just tipped the balance. However a few deep breaths and some pacing in my room helped me recover, and I was not too distressed to note that my overriding thought about how long I was taking in my room was not `the others will notice / worry` or `come on pull yourself together` but `my lunch is getting cold`. I did feel a bit shaken for an hour or so, but reflected that it`s hardly surprising given how `apart` this experience is from anything I`ve done before, and I tripped off fairly calm to my session with Mr Sandal. Mr Sandal is the English teacher in the school, and is a legend. I meet him for an hour a few times a week, and so far we have discussed our own interests in books and the world (he asked me what my ambitions are, which stumped me); a WH Auden poem called `Shield of Achilles`, and the preface to `Look Back in Anger` (I had to explain why Helena slaps and then `passionately kisses` Jimmy at the end of Act I, which was a little awkward, until Mr Sandal said `Ah yes, women are very complex`. `Nuff said). I find it very relaxing and engaging, and actually really enjoy the opportunity to read and think about poems and writing as I haven`t done since University [vomit vomit]. What a swot. The other exciting thing this week has been the monkeys, who have been engaging in illicit flea-picking and other naughty things (yes that`s exactly what I mean) on the roof of our room and on the terrace. There is an air rifle (blanks, blanks) and a big stick always lying around which are for the purpose of scaring the little (big, actually, some of them) blighters off, as they have been known to attack and certainly run off with people`s washing and biscuits. The Indian girls I mentioned in the last post don`t like them at all, however I, with my vast experience of wildlife and the Natural World, reason that they`re unlikely to attack unless you threaten them or are holding a biscuit. It`s pretty cool having them wandering around the place, must better than pigeons or stray cats. However they are likely to give you a nasty disease if they scratch or bite you, so perhaps some circumspection is advisable. One of the things that is very strking about being here is that when someone does something kind or thoughtful, you notice and appreciate it so much more than you might at home. For example, the other day I came out of the bathroom to find the terrace littered with monkeys. One of the kitchen boys noticed that I was looking a little timid, and grabbed the monkey stick and walked between me and the monkeys all the way back to my room. I hadn`t said a word or uttered a sound. Another thing was yesterday, I went up to the road to phone G (it`s a very funny experience, I sit in a booth with one local guy and chat away to G for about 300 rupees or 15 minutes, and have no idea whether the guy understands me or not. Either way he manages to look incredibly bored). But yesterday the guy who was in there lit a candle for me, as it was getting dark, and let me off 3 rupees because I didn`t have change. Yoga continues as normal; discussions are winding down because we`ve covered most of the things that Babuji (project leader) wanted to discuss. I have a couple of probably inane questions to pose, based on having recently finished `Freedom at Midnight` which obviously I have taken as absolute gospel, and will probably put my foot in it at least once more before I leave. Hindi classes are also finished: I can say some very useful things (hot water, this salad is not fresh, is there any tea) and some very useless things (when I go to the market I wear my good clothes, who can understand how she makes such excellent porridge, I like guavas (useless, because I don`t, a recent discovery: they taste alarmingly of cheese)). Next week I am heading south, not to Kerala but to Gwalior, Orccha and Khajuraho, where there are temples and old things to look at. Lots of love to everyone, thanks so much for the emails and messages. I will reply as soon as I can. Take good care.
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