Karma sutra in Khajuraho

Before I came back to Bhawanipatna I went on a quick jolly to Khajuraho in the central state of Madhya Pradesh. The town is considered to be one of the “seven wonders of India” as it has some of the best examples of medieval temples which are particularly famous for the erotic sculptures. It’s a difficult place to get to – one train a day leaves Khajuraho Station but there are no scheduled in-bound ones – how the outward one gets there in the first place is anyone’s guess. I went with another volunteer, Judith and, as with Varanasi, Jharkand and Rajasthan last year, it was nice to be a tourist again. We ambled round the beautifully tended grounds that the temples are located in and I was grateful to Judith for pointing out the famed sculptures of the various karma sutra positions – they look huge in the pictures but in reality they are nestled amongst a multitude of other intricately-carved figures. There are many stories of why such explicit representations were incorporated, including showing the population what they shouldn’t do, but the story I was given, by my self-appointed personal guide, was that the local kings felt it was important for the population to understand how they could achieve spiritual enlightenment by incorporating such activity into their daily lives. There are various levels of difficulty portrayed - each one designed to bring you and your partner closer to achieving the perfect state of mind and body. My guide was keen that I also experienced such enlightenment. Maybe he could give me a hands-on, practical demonstration? I declined - not least because he couldn’t have been more than 18 - and, having extricated myself from that little proposition, we cruised round the touristy shops – I bought another carpet that I don’t need – and then had supper over-looking the floodlit temples in the main site. It was well worth the journey and as I proceeded to Orchha for a conference, I felt relaxed and … well … enlightened if not spiritually then at least personally. Click here to see where Khajuraho is. Click here for more photos

Home and Away

I haven’t written my blog for a while. The main reason is I went back to the UK for three weeks but also I’m slightly out of practice. The trip back to the UK was great. I had a chance to see everyone and, despite some people saying they find it difficult to adjust, I slipped back in to my previous life with no effort at all. It was lovely to have a glass of wine with my meal, to sit and chat about nothing in particular, to know where to buy things etc. My first impression when I arrived was the quiet and the orderliness. My father picked me up from Heathrow Airport and, as we joined the M4, I felt as though I was in a 1970s sci-fi cartoon – everyone knew their place on the road and we travelled in complete silence. In India, the mirror, signal, manoever matra is replaced by horn, louder horn, even louder horn and without the noise it felt like travelling in a self-contained bubble. There was also a distinct lack of cows wandering all over the road which here are a major feature in even the largest cities. Whilst I was in India, I struggled to decide what I missed most – maybe I was just enjoying myself so much – but I discovered on my return that it was bread – the crusty, home-made type of bread. So I have returned with packets of yeast and a commitment to buy a counter-top oven. I haven’t made bread since cooking classes at school but once the oven arrives – it’s currently on order as they’re not in great demand here - I’m looking forward to sinking my teeth into a slice of warm, freshly baked bread. In the meantime I’m searching for a shop that sells butter – anyone know how you make the stuff? Settling back into my life here, though, was as easy as my return to the UK. The gangs of pre-school children who I shake hands with every morning were genuinely thrilled to see me again – jumping up and down and screaming “Hi sister” - language barriers had made it difficult to explain to them that I was going away but I would be back. My colleagues and neighbours also seemed pleased at my return although they expressed it in a slightly less exuberant manner and, on a personal note, I felt as though I had come home – albeit to a slightly different life - but one that is now is comfortingly familiar.

Tying the knot

One of the main thrills of coming to India was the opportunity to get close to and understand another culture and, as a result, the last couple of days have been a highlight, if not the highlight, of my time here so far. Two of the boys who live in my household were up for their Threading Ceremony – Upanayanam – the Hindu equivalent of Christian confirmation but just for boys and only for the Brahmin caste. The preparations had started days before with the construction of bamboo scaffolding on my roof terrace to support the awning over the "dining hall" and slowly the walls in the courtyard were painted with the names of the boys – Lokhi and Rinko; the stage was built, covered with red mud and decorated with floor paintings and people started to arrive from far and wide. Yesterday morning it all kicked off and I was woken at 7am by the loud clanging of pots – the cooking had begun - and on opening my windows, I discovered an army of cooks, six gas burners had appeared and were warming huge cauldrons of food and there were mountains of vegetables in the process of being chopped up – and this was only for the lunch on the first day. One of the great things about the whole occasion was that it was a truly family affair – with women playing as big a part as the men albeit at different times. Mothers, aunts and grandmas started off the proceedings with a puja and then, preceded by the band, they made their way to the local temple with their offerings – coconuts, bananas and the like. On their return, mother and son stepped onto the stage where they were both daubed in an orange paste made from turmeric by various female relatives amongst much teasing and hilarity. Meanwhile, up on the roof terrace the cooking continued apace – there were now around 100 people to serve for supper. Preparations were also being made for the next day and I went to bed last night accompanied by a 4-foot cauldron of fried fish heads which had been put inside for safe-keeping!

This morning, mother and father joined their respective sons for a service that preceded the head-shaving. This seemed to be an extremely laid back affair – they stopped for a banana milkshake mid-flow and the priest thought nothing of answering his mobile phone during the ritual – "Sorry dear can't talk – in the middle of performing a Threading Ceremony". At head-shaving time, however, the family disappeaed and left the boys to the mercy of the barber and the photographers. Rinko seemed to take the cut-throat razor in his stride but Lokhi looked far from thrilled about losing his hair despite the auspicious occasion. Suitably bald, the boys were now back on stage for the main event – this time only accompanied by their fathers. The sacred thread is folded three times – each strand representing the goddesses of mind, word and deed - and is worn for the rest of their life - replaced once a year in separate ceremony. There were a few more rituals that followed but by this time I'd lost the thread so to speak. The final ceremony, however, brought the women back onto centre stage with offerings to the newly formed "saints" who took on the role of beggars. Following this we, by now around 500 of us, retired upstairs for lunch. I think it was a rare privilege to be part of such an occasion which, despite the numbers, felt very private and intimate at times. To see more pictures click here.

Sand and seafood

Last weekend I fell in love … not, unfortunately, with a man but with a seaside town called Gopalpur. A three hour train ride from Bhubaneswar, it reminded me of a 1950s seaside town – Filey springs to mind – which in reality it is. A strategic port for the British from the mid-18th century, it was abandoned after the World War II when trade with Burma dried up and now depends on fishing and tourism. It’s long “pristine” beach has started to draw in the tourists but it remains a sleepy little place – well in low season at any rate. We stayed in a hotel that had balconies with a sea view – strangely the more modern and expensive Western hotels don't include a sea view - and in the evening we sat sipping beer bought from the bottle-shop next door and watching the spectacular electrical storm taking place out at sea. During the day we wandered up and down the beach, paddled in the sea and tried to catch the numerous little crabs scuttling in and out of their holes. We also climbed the lighthouse whose owners had clearly worked out that tourists equal money – Rs250 to get in, you have to go barefoot but there’s Rs4 charge to leave your shoes outside, Rs40 to take a picture etc but somehow all the niggles didn’t in any way affect my enjoyment of the place. Another big highlight was the food. At the Krisha Restaurant I had the best meal I’ve eaten in nearly a year – garlic prawns and chips with not a chilli or a grain of rice in sight - and in the evening I feasted on a delicious grilled fish in a small restaurant lit only by the flashes of lightening that had caused the inevitable power cut. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to see the fishermen pulling in their catches as there was a fisherman’s puja (festival) but, although it will take me 16 hours to get there from Bhawanipatna, I’ll definitely be going back and may even take my swimming costume next time so I can for a dip. Click here to see where Gopalpur is. Click here to see photos.

Reasons to be cheerful

Sometimes life in India can be very frustrating particularly when it comes to shopping. I've written down the word in Oriya for what I want but I just get a blank look when I ask for it; although most groceries are priced, as a "foreign-madam", I'm seen as fair game and some shopkeepers think nothing of inspecting the price and then adding 10-15% - sometimes I point out their "mistake" but sometimes I'm just too hot and bothered to care; Omfed, the milk store, only sells milk, butter and cream but on asking for each individually and pointing to the helpful pictures you just get "Na'in" ("Not have") leaving you wondering why they bothered opening in the first place. However, sometimes things take you completely by surprise. I decided last week that I wanted to buy a charpoy bed – basically a wooden frame with webbing wound round it – so I would have something other than my bed to lounge on. First you have to buy the frame and these are only available at the Weekly Market - which in fact occurs twice a week. The frames are made by the local tribal communities and are carried (sometimes miles) down the mountain to be sold – each stall has about three or four on offer. They all looked the same to me so I pointed randomly at the first one I saw and we agreed on a price – hand signals were used in the negotiation – you can always find a common language when it comes to money! However, having found a cycle-rickshaw to take it home, I was called back to the stall. The one I had chosen had a crack on the underside and that clearly wouldn't do. Personally I wouldn't have noticed or though to look but I was grateful, if surprised, by her concern that I didn't get the faulty one - not sure who she planned to sell it to though. Was I ripped off – well the hand-made frame cost me less than £5 (US$7.50) so, if I was, it didn't feel like it.

Yesterday my air-cooler packed up – no, I don't think it had anything to do with my assembly skills – so I went heavy-hearted back to the shop. From my UK experience I imagined I would have to wait days or even weeks until someone was able to come and fix it. But no – someone would accompany me home there and then and have a look at it. Unfortunately, on arrival there was a power cut – some things never change – so he wandered off and I assumed I would have to spend another hot and sweaty night without it. Wrong again - I'm not sure where he went in the intervening two hours but within minutes of the power returning he was back, had found the problem, replaced the faulty part and it was blowing out cold air again. Service or what!

Tiffin at the Falls

When a VSO colleague, Liam, came to stay with me, I decided it was an ideal opportunity to visit to our local picnic spot – the Phurli Jharan Falls. I still haven't mastered the art if Indian cooking, so I did a deal with Baijayant and Gita - we would pay for the car (about £7 for the day) and they would provide the picnic or, as it's called here, the tiffin. The car was due to turn up at 9am which I thought was a tad early for a Sunday but in the end Gaida, my maid, was so keen to view my houseguest she had turned up 7.30am which put paid to any thoughts of a lie-in. Round at Baijayant's house there was the usual chaos that precedes any such excursion. Soyem, B & G's three-year old son, was racing round the house shouting "Chello, chello!" (Let's go, let's go); the car had turned up but Gita was still making the roti – she had got up at 5am to prepare our feast; there was "crockery" to locate – they don't do plastic here, the plates and bowls made out of leaves; and shoes and shirts to find. Finally we piled into the car and glided out of Bhawanipatna with Soyem standing up in the front helping the driver to steer. I suppose when children ride on the front of motorbikes as a matter of course – strapping one into a car seat must seem a bit superfluous. The Falls, located in the Karlapat Sanctuary, aren't particularly high but are in an idyllic location. After a quick shower from the waterfall's spray we went a bit further down the hill to sit by the river. For men, a trip to the river includes a ritual bath and Baijayant had brought soap as well as lungis- a kind of skirt that a lot of men here wear - for himself and Liam. Whilst they had their bath, Gita and I sat on a rock and cooled our feet in the water. She was surprised to learn that I could swim - no-one she knows can, male or female, despite childhood visits to the seaside etc. "You're so lucky – you get an opportunity to try everything". I offered to teach Soyem but, on hearing his loud protests floating upstream as he was dunked head first in the water by his father, we decided he probably wasn't a natural water-babe. Suitably refreshed we sat down to lunch. Like all Indian meals they don't do anything by halves. We had roti, curry, a mango chutney you would die for, home-made sweets, fruit and tomato ketchup that you suck out of the sachet rather than putting on your food. Everything bio-degradable was then chucked into a ditch which made me feel a bit uncomfortable given the pristine surroundings but, whilst we were having a quick swing on the trailing branch of a banyan tree and a final paddle in the river, I noticed that the cows had moved in for their share of the picnic and were busy demolishing our rubbish. Click here to see more photos.

Indian Elections with Orissa focus

Tomorrow the largest democracy in the world starts voting. Parts of Orissa and some other states will go first and the rest will do so on six further days between now and 13 May. The count for all states takes place on 16 May. It has taken me quite a while to get my head round Indian politics but here goes (with apologies for anything I’ve inadvertently got wrong).
There are three levels of government – the Parliament, the State Assemblies and the Panchayat Raj –village level government. The Parliament comprises:

• the President - currently Mrs Pratibha Devisingh Patil - who is head of state and is elected once every five years by both houses of parliament and the state assemblies
• the Rajya Sabha (Council of States) – essentially the second house made up of members elected for a six-year term - a third of whom retire every two years. 233 Rajya Sabha members are elected by and from among the State Assembly members under a proportional representation system; and a further 12 are nominated by the President and are an eclectic mix of the great and the good
• the Lok Sabha (House of the People) – for which the current election is being held - comprises up to 550 members elected directly by the public (based on a first-past the post system) plus, and I must say I was amazed when I found this out, 2 Anglo-Indian members who are nominated by the President of the Anglo-Indian Association. Currently, the Lok Sabha is a coalition government collectively called United Progressive Alliance (UPA) of which Indian National Congress (Congress) holds the leading majority but which also needs the support of non-coalition members for an overall majority. The main opposition party is the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) which leads the National Democratic Alliance (NDA) coalition. In addition, there is the emerging Third Front – locally focused parties who have come together to form a credible fighting force – but which is often dismissed by their more nationally focused opponents.

The State Assemblies – state governments – comprise members who are also elected directly by the people in separate elections at different times in a five-year cycle. Orissa is also voting for its State Assembly – so we have we have a double helping of electioneering.

In Orissa there are 21 constituencies (10 of which are voting tomorrow with the rest on 23rd April), 31,617 polling stations and 217,000 voters. 8 constituencies are reserved for candidates who are either scheduled caste or scheduled tribe although Kalahandi (where I am) is not one of them. There are 6 major parties standing in Orissa and a number of smaller ones. Three are national parties:

• Congress – the dynastic Gandhi-led party of Indira, Ranjiv, Sonia and Rahul fame - a major liberal political party which led the Indian Independence Movement and has dominated Indian politics since. It is the largest democratic political party in the world. They are fighting on the platform of finding the middle-path to address the global recession; a balance between the public and the private sector; building a modern economy; promoting and protecting employment and livelihoods; and providing equilibrium between regulation and the creative spirit of entrepreneurs.
• BJP – who claim to represent the country's majority community, are centre-right in nature and advocate conservative social policies, self reliance, robust economic growth, foreign policy driven by a nationalist agenda and strong national defence. They are standing on a platform of putting the poor first, economic growth, security, empowerment of women and the environment.
• Communist Party of India (Marxist) aka CPIM (not to be confused with the CPI below). The CPIM held the balance of power for most of the tenure of the current UPA coalition but withdrew support in July 2008 over foreign policy issues. Their election manifesto puts forward pro-people economic policies; provision of social equity; consistent secularism; genuine federalism; a complete halt to the privatisation of profitable state firms; and an independent foreign policy.

The remaining three parties standing in Orissa are more regionally focused – their influence at national level resting on which coalition they decide to support.

• Biju Janta Dal (BJD) - the party of Orissa’s chief minister Naveen Patnaik - currently rules Orissa in coalition with the BJP but has recently broken ties with them – a subject which has been much discussed in the local newspapers particularly whether they will join UPA or the Third Front. They are promising to create of 1.5 million jobs in industry, disburse agricultural loans at a 3% interest rate and the exemption of electricity duty on power used by farmers.
• Communist Party of India (CPI) – has a strong presence in Kerala, West Bengal and Tripura. They state they will provide a non-Congress and non-BJP alternative to carry forward the glorious tradition of anti-imperialism, secular polity and independent economic development ensuring economic and social justice to all.
• Jharkhand Mukti Morcha (JMM) – is based in Jharkand, Orissa and West Bengal and actively supports the UPA. In Orissa they say the environment will be their major focus and that they will oppose the state government's decision to allow mining activity to begin in two tribal dominated districts.

Across the country, there are numerous other regionally focused parties standing.

Not surprisingly, the main themes seem to be tackling the economic downturn, security and the poor. As well as discussions on policies, there has also been a lot of press coverage on the suitability of candidates including false statements on nomination papers, discoveries of previous criminal convictions and accusations of embezzlement. At a more personal level the 30,000 citizens of one town near Chennai (Madras) have said they will support any party that guarantees to stop the local crocodiles from eating them. Who will win? A lot seems to rest on who joins which coalition as no one party is predicted to gain sufficient support to govern independently. From the few people I have spoken to here, the feeling seems to be that there will no clear winner in Orissa (with BJD, BJP and Congress leading the pack) but that UPA/Congress will win nationally. Only time and the 714 million voters will tell.

Preparing for summer

For me preparing for summer used to involve fishing out my T-shirts, washing the windows so I could see out of them if the sun did actually come out and hoping it would get warmer. Well, the weather has certainly got warmer - it's currently about 90°F (32°C) – and it's still only spring. "This is cool compared to May", I keep being told. There are some nice things about the change in season though, you get more lassi (a yoghurt based drink) served in the office; mangos have come into season; and the quality and the variety of the vegetables in the market has improved significantly - I even found some spring onions last week. Despite the enhancements on the food front, I get the feeling that summer in Bhawanipatna is greeted with a sense of foreboding rather than relief or joy. The first thing you notice is that everyone is lining their windows with polystyrene sheets to prevent the heat of the sun coming through - I'm having some installed later this week. The other thing is the arrival of air-coolers for sale on every street corner. These are essentially boxes with leaves of straw inserted down three sides, a fan at the front and a tank of water. The idea is the water wets the straw which evaporates and then the fan forces out cold air which in turn expels the hot air out of the room. Having sweated my way through the last 10 nights – the ceiling fan just seemed to be blowing hot air at me – this evening I trotted down the road to buy one. Although they're clearly all the rage, they're not as simple as they're made out to be. The main problem is that Indians just don't seem go in for instructions. Having taken it out of the box (which was for something completely different so didn't even a sport a helpful picture), I spent most of this evening putting the thing together on the fly. First, I removed a random screw from the base – which I'll inevitably lose before I find out what it's for. I then poured a couple of buckets of water into the base - assuring myself there really wasn't anywhere else it could go - and in the process submerged something electrical that I think is the pump and sincerely hope is waterproof. Should I have removed the plastic strap that was holding it down? I didn't. Next I spent a good hour forcing an arbitrary array rubber tubes into the only places they seemed to fit and finally I switched on all the knobs – Pump, Main and Swing – heaven knows what Swing does - and ... well ... it hasn't blown up yet. It does, however, sound like a plane taking off so now I'm left with two options – hot or deaf. I have sneaking suspicion that I'll be choosing cool over quiet as we approach May unless of course it does blow up because that screw really was important or the plastic strap is to keep the electrical thing above the water not in it.

Happy Holi

One of the reasons I haven't written my blog recently is that I have been immersed in my Managing Rural Development course but I took the day off last week to celebrate Holi - one of the main Hindu festivals which honours Prahlad's miraculous escape from a fire due to his unshakable devotion to Lord Vishnu. The main event took place last Thursday when people come out onto the streets and daub each other with powdered paints which are traditionally made of medicinal herbs that are believed to chase away fevers and colds. Baijayant and his son, Soyem, arrived at my door at 8am armed with plastic bags of "colour" which they proceeded to daub all over my face and head - fortunately, I also had some so was able to return the favour. We then proceeded downstairs where my landlord, Surendra, was preparing a festival drink called thandai made from bananas, yoghurt and chopped nuts. I then "played holi" with the household children who definitely had one up on me as they also had water pistols filled with coloured water. Bizarrely, soon after breakfast most men decamp for the morning to have picnics with their male friends leaving their wives and other female relatives to celebrate on their own – and Baijayant was no exception - so I went across the road to his house where I took part in a more civilised paint daubing exercise with his wife, Geeta, his mother and his father. On my return home I walked into the exhuberant fray that had been taking place at my chez Surendra. Although in the more conservative places like Bhawanipatna, you rarely see women on the streets during the festival, it was clear that behind closed doors some women were determined not to miss out on the fun and all Surendra's female relatives were covered in paint of every colour under the sun although pink is the predominant holi colour. The proceedings end at mid-day on the dot – even though it's India, they're pretty punctual about this – and everyone wanders home to clean themselves up. It took about an hour to get the colour off my face and out of my hair and ears after I which I proceeded back to Geeta's for lunch. In Bhawanipatna, holi is the day you start eating pakhala bhaat, otherwise known as water rice, that is traditionally eaten in the summer months. To prepare the dish, water and yoghurt are added to cooked rice which makes it a much lighter affair than the boiled rice you normally get and I rather liked it. The meal ended with Orissa cakes which to be honest I could have lived without as they taste like fried stale pastry. Mid-afternoon, I wandered back home for a quick snooze – it's started to get quite hot and I can see myself becoming a fan of the afternoon nap in between the studying. Click here to see more pictures.

Life in the raw

Although life may seem basic by Western standards, compared to most people I live a fairly privileged existence. When travelling by train I pick the top class, which costs over 6 times the bottom class, and I have running water. Last week, however, I had a brief taste of how the other half (or more accurately the other 80%) lives. Returning from a weekend jolly to Raipur, I had to travel General (or cattle) class because there were no seats available in any other. To say it was packed would be an understatement and one look at the carriage we'd crammed ourselves into told us we had no hope of ever getting a seat for the 4-hour journey. The picture doesn’t do the actual conditions justice – we had to wait until we stopped at a station and people had got off for a breather before we could attempt to get anywhere near the carriage to take a picture. Even if we had got a seat, it would have been a choice between a hard wooden bench or sitting cross-legged on the second-tier. Somehow, the hawkers force their way through the melee of people selling bracelets, tea, snacks, and even complete meals. We were also “treated” to a visit by some Hijra – men who dress as women who are considered the third sex in India. They make their living by begging and often attend weddings etc demanding money with menaces. They were quite fascinating with their deep voices and flowing saris but I decided to keep my observations low key as they can also be quite aggressive. The journey turned out to be 6 hours although, to be fair, there had been a major rail accident further down the line in which 15 people had died and I think it was a credit to the Indian rail system that only three or four trains had been cancelled and ours was only 2 hours late. On my return I discovered that there was a three-day scheduled power cut - so whilst everyone else knew and had filled buckets of water in preparation - water requires electricity to pump into the tanks that feed the taps - they had forgotten to tell me so on Monday morning I found myself at the local hand-operated water pump. I have, however, made several new friends amongst the local population who have to use it on a daily basis and who were highly amused that I was there and even more so that I was struggling - it's hard work I can tell you! With the electricity now back on, I have water flowing out of the taps again and, whilst I wouldn’t refuse to travel cattle class, I’ll certainly appreciate the soft, pre-reserved seats in the air-conditioned carriages of the upper classes the next time I travel by train.

Bring on the bridegroom

According to Hindu astrology, now is an auspicious time to get married and as a result there are numerous weddings. Most people, of course, have their partners chosen for them by their parents although the happy couple do apparently get a chance to meet their intended and an opportunity, in theory, to say if they don't like the person chosen for them. As well as dictating the day you get married, astrology plays a big part in the selection of your wife or husband. Not only do you have a star sign based on the month you were born, you also have one based on the day you were born and both of yours have to match your future partner's for it be considered a good match. You also have to be from the same caste and your family has to be considered a "good" one - the family history is studied and discussed at length. Unfortunately I don't know anyone who is getting married so I haven't been invited to any weddings. However, India is a place where life is lived on the street so you don't actually have to be invited to enjoy the fun. I haven't seen a bride – I think they're kept under wraps at home - but the groom is paraded through the streets preceded by a live brass band (amplified by numerous speakers tied to a cycle-rickshaw) and a gang of his male friends and relatives carrying large electric lanterns. There are also numerous fireworks set off in amongst the procession and, from what I can work out, at the venue itself. If there are, say, three weddings going on the near vicinity as there are tonight, you really do feel as if you're in the middle of a party and as we're currently half way through a scheduled three-day power cut it provides ample entertainment to while away the dark evenings – the music does, however, go on until about 3am but, as I'm not going to work at the moment because there's no power, I can always sleep in tomorrow. Click here to see more photos.

Acquiring a drawer

It has taken me a long time to realise what exactly was missing in my flat but finally it dawned me – there are no drawers. For storage you get deep stone shelves but I had nowhere to put all those small things that you would normally shove in a drawer. I had wanted to buy a wooden dining table but this had proved impossible to procure in Bhawanipatna. To be fair tables aren't in great demand here as people eat their meals sitting on the floor. You do, however, see computer tables and as these sometimes come with a drawer I decided to resume my search. The first hurdle was finding a furniture shop. You can buy plastic chairs and mattresses on almost every street corner but, it appeared, nothing else in the way of furniture. As it turns out, the furniture shops are all located in the same street which is on the edge of town and, in Bhawanipatna, they are more akin to mini warehouses than shops. With tables, chairs, wardrobes etc all stacked higgledy piggledy floor to ceiling, you have to squeeze between the gaps and crane your neck until you spot something that might be what you want - only it's upside down and five feet above you. I finally found one that looked suitable and a boy was summoned to dismantle the "display" so I could look at it more closely. When it was finally laid down in front of me, I realised it didn't have a drawer – sh*t! This, however, didn't turn out to be a problem – one could be added and they would deliver it to my home at exactly 1 o'clock the next day. So today, I rushed home early to await its arrival. I've been here long enough and I really should have known better. One o'clock came and went, as did 2 o'clock and at 3 o'clock I made my way back to the shop to find my table sitting upside down in the street – the drawer had been added but they still had to re-attach the cupboard door and this would, apparently, take two hours to complete. I guess he didn't appreciate that I am an expert at building flat-pack furniture and could have constructed the whole ensemble in less than two hours. Back at the flat, I cleaned everything until it shone and then re-arranged all the cupboards - several times - but when at 6 o'clock the table still hadn't arrived I started to make my way back to the shop – more bored than frustrated to be honest. I hadn't gone very far, however, when I spotted a cycle-rickshaw approaching with a trailer tied precariously on the back on top of which was ... you guessed it ... the table complete with drawer. Whilst re-arranging my cupboards I have, of course, found far more small things than will actually fit in the drawer – but hey I also got a cupboard with a door that took over two hours to screw on.

Power and politics

Last week I went to the 30^th Anniversary Party of Gram Vikas, an NGO we work alongside and I must say they certainly knew how to throw a party - it was 2-day affair which included speeches, stalls, competitions and cultural extravaganzas and was attended by over 1,000 people. Even Muralidhar Bhandare, the Governor of Orissa, pitched up and it was fascinating to watch the layers of security that preceded his arrival. Sniffer dogs ran under and over everything and everybody; no-one was allowed to go near the stage he was to use; the audience (apart from those of us in the VIP party) was made to sit cross-legged behind a double row of fencing; and, as the tension rose, ambulances, fire engines and dozens of armed police arrived. Finally, a stream of Ambassador cars screeched to a halt and, to the sound of drums and tribal wailing, the Governor emerged and made his way onto the stage. He can't speak Oriya and the majority of the audience couldn't understand the speech he made in English but he seemed a genuinely nice man - or maybe he was just a very good politician. Acknowledging that his position made things happen, he told us, with a wry grin, that roads to isolated villages are often built because, when he's told somewhere is inaccessible by car, he frightens the establishment by saying he will walk it. Either because he's important or because he is 80 years old, the requisite roads magically appear! He also has a great taste in shoes and was wearing exactly the same green Crocs as I had on.
As a VIP, I got to eat with the other "distinguished" guests and listen to them discussing Indian politics. One Communist Board Member was affectionately questioned on his party's contribution to India. "You were opposed independence in the first place and have voted against many ground-breaking pieces of legislation. What exactly have the Communists done for India?" By way of reply he pointed out that Kerala, India's only Communist state, is widely recognised as the best educated and least corrupt in the country. Whatever the politics, I realised that these people and their like had created the present day India. They weren't, however, entirely pleased with the result. A 75 year-old man lamented the demise of traditional clothing amongst metropolitan Indians which he put down to the onslaught of marketing by Western fashion houses. He went on to tell us that, although his family had been members for over 100 years, he had recently been refused entry to his club in Bangalore because it no longer admitted people wearing traditional Indian dress - a rule not even the British had thought necessary to impose. He wasn't anti-Western or even anti-British, just sad that India's ancient culture (including the way they dress) was being superseded by the homogenised global one and that no one in India seemed to be creative or interested enough to stop it.

Bhawanipatna Fair

After my rather short visit to the textile fair in Koraput, I had been really looking forward to the Bhawanipatna one and it was ... well ... fantastic. It was held in the Stadium which is a stone's throw from where I live – in fact so close I can hear the entertainment (rather monotonous speeches interspersed with Indian classical music) loud and clear as I type this. The official entrance was some distance away but, along with everyone else from our part of town, I squeezed through the gap in a loosely chained gate under the watchful eye of the priests in the temple opposite. Once inside, it was remarkably similar to an English agricultural show - maybe not quite the Great Yorkshire Show but certainly a large district one. You could buy anything from a tractor to a trinket and a lot else in between; they also had displays of the latest agricultural techniques and produce although there didn't appear to be any show jumping or livestock judging. It all had an Indian flavour of course. For starters it takes place at night. I think some things go on during the day but the fun doesn't start much before 6pm. On the stalls side, instead of laces and linens you could buy tribal textiles and saris; there was no WI stand but the local branch of the Lions were out in force; and instead of the hotdogs and burgers you could feast on samosas, dhosas, curry and rice all served on a leaf plate. There was even a Members Area which for some reason was called the Officers and Ladies Club. And of course, like any such event, you find things that you've never heard of or seen before but wonder how you ever managed to exist without. After two visits on successive evenings, I've come home with a jar of forest honey, a bottle of amla juice, two saris and a battery operated lamp. The pièce de résistance, however, is the portable giza boiler. The box – needless to say there are no instructions – says it will produce 3 litres of boiling water a minute and you've no idea how much I'm looking forward to being able to wash with hot rather than cold water. Unfortunately on my return home we had another power cut so, whilst the battery operated lamp came into its own immediately, I haven't been able to test out the boiler but as soon as the lights flicker back on I'll be producing hot water like it's going out of fashion – or in India coming into fashion far too slowly for my liking. Click here for more pictures.

Christmas at Castle Bijaipur

Continuing with the tourism theme, I made my way to Rajasthan for Christmas. As I chugged my way from Delhi to Chittaurgarh on the train, I was joined by two Canadians who had never been to India before and I felt like an old-hand as I explained that it was quite normal for a family of 5 to occupy the one spare bed in our curtained pod and that the army of cockroaches crawling up the wall really wouldn’t kill them. Castle Bijaipur – owned and inhabited by the local maharajah - was everything you imagine a Raj palace in Rajasthan would be. Over 800 miles from Orissa, it felt like another country. The Castle was set in a very fertile valley parts of which reminded me of East Yorkshire (or was I just homesick?), the vegetation was different in both type and colour, the men wore turbans which you don’t see in Orissa and whilst the women wore saris they were tied in a completely different way to those of their Eastern cousins. Most of the people who were part of our group had come from the UK to avoid Christmas but fortunately for me there were some injections of the festive season. On Christmas Eve we were treated to a display of fireworks around a tree lit with fairy lights and decorated with blobs of cotton wool to represent snow and when I retired to bed I was thrilled to see that Santa had found his way to India and left me a Christmas stocking. During the four days I stayed at the castle, I cycled the surrounding hills, went riding on Marwari horses - indigenous thoroughbreds who sport rather strange ears that are turned inside out and meet in middle - and sat by the pool sipping the G&Ts I’d been dreaming about. We also visited an opium growing area. Supposedly strictly controlled by the government, there seemed to be enough floating around for us to be offered an opium-cocktail made from water filtered through the crushed seeds– which, as I’m sure you’re dying to know, tastes metallic, doesn’t give you a high (or at least not in the quantity we consumed) but does make your lips a bit tingly. I probably wouldn’t rush back for seconds but, as they say, you should try everything, except incest and Morris dancing, at least once. I finished my stay sitting round a camp fire in the jungle sipping whisky and singing Christmas carols. All in all a fabulous way to spend Christmas in India – a great mixture of the exotic and the traditional. Click here to see where Castle Bijaipur is. Click here for more pictures.

Jharkhand jolly

Ranchi, as expected, is nothing to write home about but Jharkhand, of which it is the capital, was really beautiful. The scenery is quite different from where I am living - wide open spaces, lakes, pretty waterfalls etc. You also saw people riding on the tops of the buses which you don’t get down our way – probably because the roads are so bumpy they’d bounce off. The VSO team in Ranchi treated us to a two-day tour of the area prior to the conference and I started to feel like a tourist again which I really enjoyed. We climbed down to a spectacular waterfall and, as I huffed and puffed my way back up, I made a mental note to try to do a little more exercise. The night was spent in a convent and, on arrival, we watched some carol singers set off on their rounds. Everyone was wearing woolly hats and scarves but there the similarity ended – tuneful Indian ditties were sung but nothing that remotely resembled Away in a Manger. We had supper round a camp-fire - the feathers from our recently-slaughtered meat course wafting round our heads - and then we joined in some tribal dancing. It was quite easy to follow but it went on for hours. As I whirled my way round in a never-ending circle, each arm firmly grasped by my neighbours, I realised that ducking out wasn’t going to be an option but also that I didn’t need to go jogging to keep myself fit, I just needed to be a tourist a little more often – much more fun. The next day we visited a rehabilitation centre for trafficked children who put on a show for us. It was all rather sweet and uplifting until you remembered why they were there in the first place and that the toddlers amongst them were the result of systematic rape by their mothers’ former “employers”. We ended the tour with drinks on the roof-top of our hotel in Ranchi after which I re-acquainted myself with the delights of a shower that delivers hot water. Whilst, I wouldn’t put Jharkhand amongst my top-10 places to visit in India, in its own unassuming way it was rather charming. Click here to see where Ranchi is. Click here to see more pictures

Christmas drinks

Orissa isn't a dry state but drinking is very much frowned upon in Bhawanipatna. I've never hidden the fact that in the UK I drink alcohol saying that most people do - including women. I have also said that part of the pleasure is meeting with friends and drinking with them – it's not the same drinking on your own – and I wasn't really interested in locating the local bottle shop. People here are very concerned that I miss my lifestyle in England and at times I dreaded someone buying some for me and then watching me consume it whilst they sipped their water - I couldn't think of anything worse. I have also been asked a lot of questions, recently, about what Christmas is like in England and in amongst describing a Christmas tree, introducing them to the concept of Santa Claus and trying to explain exactly what a mince pie is, I have mentioned that there a lot of parties which involve standing around, eating peanuts and drinking. So I really shouldn't have been quite so surprised when I opened my door this evening to find two very sheepish-looking Indian friends asking if they could come in. As the first withdrew a bottle of whisky from under his jumper, the other explained that, as I was leaving for my holidays on Monday, they thought we should have a Christmas party before I left. The door was bolted, the shutters locked and, while I rustled up a bowl of Bombay mix, the bottle was ceremoniously opened and we sat down round my formica table. They thought they should stand but I explained that for a small party it was perfectly acceptable to sit. A very small shot was then poured into each glass which was filled to the top with water and we toasted Christmas, England and whisky. They were not impressed with my taste in music – but then not many people are - so I switched it off and we listened to the Indian music blaring out from the garden next door. Once I'd recovered from the shock, the whisky kicked in and I started to relax and feel very touched by their gesture. The only problem now is how to get rid of the evidence. I think I'm going to have to pack it in my suitcase and take it to Ranchi where a stray whisky bottle will, hopefully, cause less of a stir.

Cricket in Cuttack

I've never been into to cricket but when Ryan said he had some tickets to watch England play India in Cuttack I jumped at the chance. The first challenge was to sort out transport. The easiest way to get to Cuttack is by bus and, whilst obtaining a ticket for the outward journey was straightforward, getting a return ticket turned out to be a challenge. The people in Bhawanipatna refuse to liaise with their colleagues in Cuttack because "they not good peoples" so I had to rope in my erstwhile friend, Baijayant, who spoke to a friend, who knew someone, who had a cousin, who would arrange a place for me on a bus coming back – no ticket but I was assured it would be OK - so off I set. The overnight journey takes 12 hours but some of the buses have a row of beds above the seats so you get to lie down and at least try to sleep. The only problem was the rather narrow beds didn't have any form of barrier to stop you falling off so I spent the night clinging to the bars on the windows petrified I'd be jettisoned 5 feet to the floor by one of the numerous jolts and bumps. I managed to arrive unscathed however and by 7am I was sitting in a hotel having breakfast with Ryan and his wife Claire. After several cups of rather disgusting coffee – I really must remember to stick to tea – and some cornflakes served with hot milk – it's how they like them in India – we made our way to the match. It was easy to find an auto-rickshaw – one look at our white faces and the driver set off to the Stadium without needing to ask where we wanted to go. On arrival we stood, for a couple of hours, in one of the most orderly queues I have seen anywhere in the world before we finally made it to our seats. We'd decided to go for the full experience so had bought the cheapest seats on offer – about £4 each – which turned out to be a concrete step. It was great fun sitting amongst the entirely Indian crowd. There were about 22,000 people and we appeared to be the only English people our side of the stadium although we did spot a lone Union Jack on the other side. The "Barmy Army" was noticeable by its absence. Everyone was fascinated by us being there and, in a truly sportsman like way, the whole crowd clapped when our batsmen made a good hit – not very many I'm afraid – and stood and cheered when Petersen scored the first century by an English player in India for over 6 years – Millwall v Tottenham it certainly wasn't. Unfortunately, I didn't get to see India bat as I had to make my way back. Somehow, I managed to find the right bus and, although nobody actually asked who I was, they all seemed to know – ticket or no ticket – that one of the seats on the packed bus was reserved for "madam" and I made it back to Bhawanipatna this morning with just enough time to have a shower before I went to work. Click here for more pictures.

In Ushamaska with the UN

Set deep inside the Karlapat Forest Reserve, Ushamaska is one of the tribal villages where Antodaya has been encouraging women to form self-help groups. Membership is Rs10 (~12 ½ p) a month and this money is put in a communal bank account together with income derived from selling brooms etc and donations from government bodies. It is then used to buy food and other essentials when times are hard. These initiatives are designed to cut out the money-lenders and make people more responsible for their finances and in development lingo it's called micro-finance - micro it certainly was, few communal accounts had more than £30. Karen had been sent from the UN to look into how these types of accounts were run as part of an investigation into best practice amongst uneducated communities - in Ushamaska very few of the women could count let alone read the numbers in their pass-books. I had been invited to accompany her because I am the only female-Westerner in town and, by default, we must have a lot in common! Fortunately, Karen turned out to be really nice woman from Germany, although you couldn't tell from her perfect American accent, and in between her work we discovered we did, in fact, have a lot to talk about. We set off at 6am for the bumpy four-hour journey on what were mainly dirt roads and travelled through the forest where, apparently, wild elephants and the odd tiger roam. Needless to say I didn't see either but then I never have had much luck when it comes to spotting wildlife. Ushamaska was much smaller than I had imagined but it was in an idyllic location set half way up a mountain and surrounded by forest. On arrival we were met by the women from Ushamaska and also those from "nearby" villages – some of whom had walked 10km to attend the meeting. There were some feisty individuals amongst the crowd - the work that has been carried out to make them aware of their rights and give them a "voice" certainly seems to be working! They also had a wicked sense of humour and laughed out loud at my attempts to speak Oriya and gave me an impromptu pronunciation lesson – their continued giggling indicating that I still haven't quite got it. I'd give the bumpy ride a miss if I could but I'd love to go back and it was great to meet the people I'm working for face to face. Click here to see more photos.

Not the Koraput Fair

Women are often treated dismissively in India but I had not been ... until yesterday that is. A colleague of Dillip's invited me to accompany him to the Koraput Tribal Fair after I mentioned I was interested in textiles. The day started really well. Sarnath showered me with an eclectic array of gifts – a fresh flower, a Hindu rosary, a baseball cap and a book on tribal development. We set off with a random selection of his family, who were hitching a lift part of the way, and our first stop was for a small snack – 7 samosas, heaps of rice, dhal and a slab of cheesecake. When we dropped off the family, I was invited in for tea but, before I had chance to reply, Sarnath declined the invitation on my behalf. My hackles rose slightly but I let it go. Our next stop was an agricultural research centre where he "had a bit of business to do but we would get to Koraput at 3 o'clock". I was foisted on some poor, unsuspecting researchers who were told to take me on a tour of the place while he conducted his business. It was a pleasant way to pass the time even though I was invited to inspect each and every one of the 89 types of rice grown in Orissa - it's amazing how many things you find to say about rice! At 6pm, with no sign of Sarnath, I started to get a bit annoyed - the researchers were going home and I knew the return journey would take 5 hours. He pitched up finally and, on arriving at Koraput, we went to the Jaganath temple. It was rather beautiful but I wasn't that interested because I could see my time for browsing tribal textiles slipping away. As we left the temple, I was informed that, if I still insisted on going, I could spend no more than 10 minutes at the fair. Insisted on going ... it was the only reason I had come. I was marched there at break-neck speed and to hurry me up, he turned and clicked his fingers at me in an attempt to bring me to heel – at this point, I lost patience. Looking him straight in the eye, I did an 180 degree turn and made my way to the first interesting looking stall. I managed to buy something I actually liked but only because the stall-holder clocked who was holding the purse strings and chose to talk to me about what I wanted and ignore the instructions issued by my minder. I'm not entirely sure what made me so angry. His business meetings were certainly more important than my shopping but there seemed to be no requirement to explain why the plans had changed so drastically let alone apologise. The finger clicking episode certainly didn't help. Apparently there's a similar fair in Bhawanipatna in January – I'll pick who I go with carefully.