Many, many apologies for the silence from this end; I haven’t been able to get into the blog for the last month or so - reason is still unclear. I’m now in Hyderabad.

We go home tomorrow.

We go home tomorrow..!

 I can’t describe how odd it feels to say that - a kind of distanced feeling, though: I can’t really get my head around the fact that the year is over. All the times at the start when I thought about “being finished” and how momentous it would feel, and now…I just feel a bit mushy-minded.

It’s also surreal seeing all the girls together for the first time since November. We’ve all had such disparate experiences - the two Hyerabad girls have been clubbing, would you believe. All very, very odd.

 Our farewell at the college was nice, if sad. In the last week or two I realised how attached the students actually were to me (and I to them), which induced much fuzzy warmness inside. I left with many very sweet (very cheesey, but nonetheless genuine) messages, several plastic keyrings and a wristful of friendship bands. All I could say to everyone is “I’ll see you again!” - perhaps a vain message but the thought of just disappearing into oblivion is rather depressing. I really feel like I have a responsibility to the girls, having realised recently quite how much they look up to me. I wish I had time to say more now, but, well, I don’t - however don’t go, because I will do a/some update(s) after my return..!

Aaah…So much to say, frustratingly little time. I can’t believe it’s suddenly started working the day before I leave. I did email an update home but it’s not up; as they say here (all the time) “No problem” - perhaps it can be post-posted, as it were…

 As with many of our Vijayawada goodbyes, this is ending up frustratingly rushed. It’s been fun. I think it’ll be weird not informing everyone of my life’s events; perhaps I’ll have to carry on…:P Thank you (I’ve said those words so many times over the last week) to everyone back home and over here who’s been reading and posting comments; I really appreciate it. I hope it’s been a little glimpse into the country and my year, although inevitably incomplete. All that’s left is some last-minute shopping, a meal together as the group, sleep, and then dragging my bag to the airport and balancing it on my toe when they weigh it at the check-in desk. I will be bearing bindhis and bangles.

 Again, I want to say so much more, and I will, but it’ll have to wait ’til I’m home. All the best to everyone (or rather, weesyooalldebess)  and, again, thank you. I will now be available for after-dinner speeches; fees available on request.

x 

Considering how quickly time is racing by, I thought I’d better get in a few
posts while I’m still here! We fly from Hyderabad three weeks today, and
it’s less than three weeks until we leave the College and Vijayawada (we’ve
booked an overnight train - 3-tier air-conditioned since we’re being
reimbursed - for the night of the 5th of August).

Unsurprisingly, my feelings are mixed: right now, the overriding one is
excitement at the prospect of being home, and to be honest I revel in
ticking off the days. At the same time, though, I know that it’s easy to
overlook how attached you are to a place and to people while you’re still in
the midst of it all. Undoubtedly there will be things - and particuarly
people - I’ll miss once I’m gone. Being able to get fresh juice, noodles,
chapatti or a cup of tea at the side of the road is a luxury for which I’m
sure I’ll mourn as I survey the limp, plastic-wrapped sandwiches in the
train station. I’ve also been loving having clothes tailored - again, I
somehow doubt that I’ll have the means to continue with this habit on my
return. Apart from anything else, I’m sure I’ll miss the students - their
inquisitive and sometimes naive questions, their constant joviality, and
their uncomplicated approach to life. Part of me feels guilty for being so
eager to leave - but it’s not because I haven’t enjoyed my time here, or
couldn’t stay longer, but rather because the year has made me realise simply
how much I like my home. As far as I’m concerned, that’s equally valuable as
all the revelations I’ve made about India.

Back to the present tense, however. My college classes are still going well.
That is, they’re going well, when they happen. Two of my classes have been
“re-posessed” to be used for other lessons. This is rather frustrating, not
least because it’s clear that no-one had any idea (or had thought to find
out) that I had already started teaching in those periods - despite the fact
that those in charge have copies of my timetable. Resultantly, I didn’t find
out until I turned up to take the lessons and (in the first instance), found
another teacher already there, or (as happened the second time) was
interrupted 10 minutes in and told that the lesson had been earmarked for a
different subject. The first time, I hadn’t actually started teaching the
class, so it wasn’t a major annoyance. With the other, however, I had
already taken them for several lessons and they had been enthusiastic,
cooperative and fun. It’s rather more irking when the class which is taken
away is one which actually wants to learn. When they were told they were to
have “Science and Civilisation” in place of Spoken English, they begged me
to stay (although whether this was because they enjoyed my lessons or just
thought they would be less taxing, I’m not sure). Some of them approached me
later and asked if it was possible to re-arrange the lesson, but since they
have no other free periods there’s not really any solution. Anyway, I guess
it’s nice to feel appreciated, even if only by the students themselves.

Last week I invigilated a Junior Inter History test conducted during the
ominously-titled “Zero Hour” (the extra study hour at the end of the day for
which all Intermediate students have to stay behind). At the end of the
test, I noticed that one of the girls was sitting at the back, surrounded by
her friends, crying. I asked if everything was OK, and one of her friends
informed me that “She’s crying because she wrote her own answers, not the
ones from the book.” She was afraid she’d fail.

Doing the same test were formerly Telugu-medium girls whom I take for
English classes. Their level of understanding is very basic, production even
more so. We’re still establishing the difference between a noun and a verb,
so quite how they’re expected to understand the first line of their textbook
- “History holds a mirror up to the deeds of Mankind” - and answer questions
on religious inscriptions, the Vedas or pre-history I’m not sure. Even so,
these girls had sat diligently throughout the test and scrawled out long
answers: ones they’d memorised, word for word, from the textbook. That this
other girl was miserable because she’d forgotten the exact wording and
resorted to actually using her brain, is sadly telling of the way the
education system often works here. It makes me so angry that students are
penalised for improvisation, for demonstrating understanding rather than
blind parroting of well-practised questions-and-answers. I told her as much,
and said that she must be intelligent to have written her own answers, that
irrespective of the exam she’d do better in life if she could think for
herself. At this, her friend gave her a friendly punch on the arm, so that
must be pretty much what she’d been saying, too. There are some very bright,
opinionated girls in the college, and I love talking to them. I just hope
the system increases their desire to think independently, rather than kills
it.

There’s another totally unrelated incident I’d like to share, because it
also reveals an aspect of the Indian psyche (such as there is one). While I
was supervising Zero Hour in the same class, a big black crow came and
perched on one of the shutters outside the window. Something dropped from
its beak: one of the little, spread-toed green lizards which cling to the
walls at night, tongues flicking. It scuttled across the floor, under the
desks. The screaming and jumping onto chairs which followed initially was
surprising only because of its magnitude. In the ensuing silence however,
the middle portion of the classroom having been completely deserted, one
intrepid student approached the terrified creature…and stamped on it.

Having escaped the clutches of the crow, the poor lizard had met a fate not
much preferable. Initially, I was amused at the hysteria a desperate little
four-legged creature could provoke; when I realised their violent solution,
I was appalled. Obviously, the sentimentality with which we treat animals in
“the West” is not really appropriate in a country where millions of humans
barely scratch out a living, but still, the treatment meted out on the
(mosquito-eating, non-poisonous, 5-inch long, heroically escaped) lizard
just seemed totally unnecessary. It had never occured to me to be frightened
or disgusted by them; they’re such an common sight and, like the nervous
chipmunks which inhabit the college grounds, I’m rather fond of them.

As we wind up the year, we run into the inevitable beaurocracy which, again,
is so very Indian. We’re off to the police station tomorrow to get our
all-important exit permits - without which we would run into serious trouble
at Hyderabad airport. I’m braced (from past experience) for a long few hours
of being passed around various officials in various offices, a lot of
waiting, signing things, pedantic questions and misspellings of my name. I’m
bringing a book.

Last night, the conversation turned to dowry, which, despite its theoretical illegality, is still the overwhelming norm. The pressure to marry off one’s daughters - which is still regarded as a necessity for security, financial at least - is so great that parents end up scraping together hundreds of thousands of Rupees (or fridges, scooters, TVs - whatever is demanded) to send with their daughters to the new in-laws. The stories - and the fact that they involve people whom I know - enrage and sadden me. Cultural sensitivity aside, dowry is one thing I don’t think can be justified. I’ve seen that arranged marriage (as distinct from forced marriage), despite my personal aversion, needn’t be an objectively bad thing; it can work. But the thought of my parents feeling that they have to pay someone to marry me is just offensive. In the context of the culture here, it’s also dangerous - there are stories almost daily in the papers about new brides found mysteriously burnt to death in kitchen fires or driven to suicide by dowry demands or abuse because of “insufficient” dowry. When this is considered along with the assertion by many people that marriage in India is more successful because it is based on mutual respect, rather than the volatility of love, it really gets the blood boiling. I’ve discussed these things with some of the girls, and while they all agree in principle, they clearly think such talk is the stuff of naivity and idealism on my part - no-one seems to think there’s anything they can do about it.

 Our volunteer friend Hannah was there, too. Talking to her highlighted how different the projects are to one another. She has had a far more “rustic” experience than I, living in a tiny village in her own hut, really getting to know the locals and becoming absorbed into the community. Her Telugu is embarassingly good. Listening to her impassioned descriptions and fond recollections (she says she really doesn’t want to leave) makes me a little envious. I kind of wish I’d been in a rural project like that, with a much better-defined “community” than a large college like Stella in a city such as Vijayawada.

 On the other hand, though, living in a situation like that, I would not have been exposed to the diaspora that is India. For some reason, this year has seen a large number of new students from “up North”: West Bengal and the “Northeastern States” which lie to the East of Bangladesh, as well as Nepal. The differences between these girls and their Southern counterparts are striking. For a start, they clearly come from completly different genetic stock: this is visible in their softer, more Oriental features, lighter eyes and paler skin which contrast with the darker skin, dark eyes are sharper features of the girls from the South. Culturally, too, they come from different worlds. One thing I noticed while travelling is that youngsters in the North (especially those of Tibetan descent, but also others) are far more Westernised than those here. In Himachal Pradesh and Darjeeling, it was rare to see a girl wearing churidar - those that did were generally tourists from the Plains. The locals were dressed in jeans and t-shirts, and fashionable ones at that (as opposed to the fresh-from-the-80s items on offer here). One of the new girls explained that she didn’t like her new college uniform - a pale pink churidar. It was the first time she had worn one (indeed, all the students I saw in the North were decked out in skirts or trousers, shirt, tie and blazer) and she found the chunni - the floaty scarf which drapes over the chest and across the shoulders - irritating, since it kept falling off. I have to say I have had exactly the same problem.

The Northern girls also tend to have had more exposure to other countries, through TV, films and music. Korea seems to be the “in” thing at the moment: apparently there is a popular Korean TV network and some of the girls talked dreamily of a certain singer called “Seven”. I asked if they’d like to travel anywhere outside India, and their immediate answer was “Korea!”.

I can’t help feeling more of an affinity with these girls than with the “locals”. I suppose the common ground is simply much more, and, after all, we’re both a long way from home (it’s a 3-day journey for most - longer than it will take me). Although in principle I disapprove of the the clamour for a Western-style life, the encroachment of jeans-and-pizza onto Indian soil and the gradual displacement of traditional culture until it becomes a performance for special occasions, I do find myself gravitating towards the more Westernised girls. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy talking to the less “worldy” students, but the difference in perspective is more pronounced.

Our friend Subha leaves today for Canada where she’s got a 6-month scholarship to study “Developmental Leadership”. Her family, the Goras, have long been involved with various social activites: her particular interest is in women’s rights, so undoubtedly the course will be valuable for her. It’s strange to be saying goodbye to her when we’d always assumed it would be the other way around! Her grandmother and the rest of the family have assured us that we’re always welcome to visit, which I certainly intend to - there’s always a nice atmosphere at their place, as well as coffee practically on tap. They’ve been very helpful throughout the year and have welcomed us into their family entirely. Although I’m looking forward to going home, I know I’ll miss people like them once I’m back.

We have now started our regular timetables and my classes (when they happen) have been going pretty well. There are the usual problems with disappearing students - again, nobody has been informed that we’ll be coming so it’s up to us to catch them before they disperse during their work periods. I had a really good lesson this morning with some second-year degree students: there were only around 12 in the class which made it much easier to properly interact with individuals and, even in that initial lesson, to build up a good rapport. In contrast, I took a class of around 50 last Thursday, and found it rather more difficult to hold their attention - not helped by the gale blowing and rain hammering down outside the open-sided classroom! It’s frustrating, in a way, that the classes we take have been chosen so randomly (based purely on who has free periods when). Obviously, being only two people, there’s a limit to the number of classes we can take, but sometimes I think some students would rather have study time, while I know of others who are desperate to have Spoken English but haven’t been allocated a lesson. I try to counter this by assuring students they can come and talk to me whenever I’m around, but this is not quite the same as having a regular lesson.

Due to our new timetable, our visits to SKCV have become rather irregular: I go on a Tuesday afternoon, Fiona on a Wednesday morning, and we’re both planning to go on Saturday afternoons. I have found it quite good being there on my own, however. It’s difficult to teach as a pair, and often I would find myself letting Fiona take charge of the little ones. I did sometimes take the older girls for an informal class instead, and have to say I enjoy this rather more than trying to keep the youngest in the same place for more than 2 minutes..! Last week I did an hour with the younger girls and an hour with the older ones, and that worked well. I have also come to realise that just interacting and speaking English with them is valuable in itself - perhaps more so than trying (generally in vain) to sit them down and do something resembling a “proper” lesson.

The monsoon has made a tentative start in Vijayawada, although today we haven’t seen a drop. It’s quite spectacular when it really gets going, although so far we’ve only had heavy showers. These tend to make things muggy and muddy rather than refreshed. We’ve been caught out a couple of times and have had to find shelter under trees or at tea stalls. The only thing to do is wait until it lessens - when it rains, it really rains, and you’re drenched in seconds.

Other exciting news includes a minor locust infestation in the Hostel bathroom (they all just appeared one day but are now dying out); my near-miraculous discovery of a mango man who didn’t try to rip me off and was positively friendly when I bartered him to a reasonable price; a new Assistant Warden Sister in the Hostel who is genuinely friendly, in stark contrast to her predecessor; a new, near-lifesize statue of the Virgin Mary and child next to the cathedral, painted entirely in gold (save for the pink faces) and housed in blue-and-white candycane pagoda; and the appearance of several frilly-necked lizards sunning themselves on the tarmac.

So, our epic Summer travels are now aypoendi, or, for those unfamiliar with the local tongue, finished. In all, we took in eleven states and survived eighteen train journeys (not to mention several ones by bus). I have to say it was only really during this trip that I got a proper idea of the stunning vastness and diversity of this country. The memories are now rather blurred, but colourfully: I saw rainforest, coast, desert, mountain, tea fields, massive metropolises and the most sacred river in the country. They were an educational, memorable and inspirational couple of months - not without stress and the occasional hiccup, but overall pretty amazing.

Returning to Vijaywada and Stella College on Saturday night brought with it a slew of jumbled memories. The smell of our room (which had lain untouched since our departure) reminded me of our first night at the College and our first, rather strange, meal. Having arrived tired, crumpled and somewhat disorientated, we ate sitting primly at a little table which had been prepared in the bedroom; the meal consisted of sweet bread, boiled eggs, jam, cucumber, marmalade and processed cheese. As with much of my initial experience, this turned out not to be a precursor to the rest of the year!

Indeed, the return and subsequent recollections have also made me realise how much has changed over the last nine (and-a-half) months. We now find ourselves the “old hands”, watching the new Junior Inter (the equivalent of AS-level or 5^{th year students) find their feet. Unsurprisingly, the two white faces were met with much curiosity - “Which [subject] group?” “Junior or Senior?” - and this did not dissipate once it had been explained that we were not, in fact, students at all. It’s interesting that the girls expected people to come all the way from distant “Foreign” (a catch-all phrase) to study at Maris Stella..!I know I’ve said this many times before, but meeting the new students also highlights the failures - or rather the short-sighted implementation - of the education system which values memorisation more than real understanding. Many of the new arrivals are now learning in English medium for the first time, and their standard - spoken, understood, read and written - is minimal. There’s a massive deficit between this and the material they will be using in class. That they will soon be learning about biological processes, ancient history or local administration from English textbooks frankly beggars belief. But then, I have seen this before: girls with whom a brief chat is a struggle, sitting revising for an English-medium zoology exam. The system has become twisted so that examinations are not a representation of knowledge and understanding but instead are of value in their own right. In fact, they are of absolute value, so that true learning falls by the wayside in the rush to memorise enough to pass with a respectable percentage.}

Bringing the new girls up to speed with their English understanding before they get bogged down in committing their textbooks to memory is an immense task. With a syllabus to cover, it’s impossible for the subject teachers teach English as well. So, hopefully, that’s where we come in. With the last academic year as experience, I hope to find it easier to streamline my lessons and make sure the content and activities are as useful as possible. Suggestions and tips are, as always, more than welcome!

This week, we started taking evening classes in the Hostel again, particularly focusing on the Juniors. Yesterday’s class, with those who have come from English medium, went especially well. We started with a game involving finding types of words and sentences in some children’s books (fastest gets a point), and then split into two groups. With mine, I had a really good chat, based on some “if…”questions from a lesson I prepared last year (what they would do in various far-fetched situations). It was so refreshing to talk to students who were enthused, talkative and more than happy to use their imaginations. It definitely gives me hope in the face of the uber-prescriptive education system! I hope to be able to have some good discussions with these students, as well as working on building up the confidence and vocabulary of the less advanced girls.

We now only have two months (as of yesterday - not that I’m counting) left in India. By the time the regular timetable takes effect (not until the 18th of June) there will only be around 6 weeks before we return to the UK. Short as it seems, though, I do think a lot can be done in that space of time, with proper planning. In any case, of course, there will be two brand new volunteers following on at the end of August. That we will soon be veterans, giving way to a whole new generation of just-outta-schoolers freshly selected and trained, is a scary thought. Although I feel like I’ve been in Vijayawada for ages, when I think back to the Selection and Training courses - even to the research I did before applying for Project Trust - it doesn’t seem that long ago.

However, I hasten to remind myself quite how much I’ve learned from my heady days as a newcomer (to teaching, Vijayawada, and India itself). It’s amazing how much fuller your understanding of a place becomes when you live here: it enables you to go beyond the superficial and really get to know the psyche of a country. One key part of this for me has been the relationship between the sexes. Although India is known in the West as a relatively conservative country, it’s more complicated than that. For a start, the contrasts are immense: in the “metro” cities such as Mumbai (which was, for me, a highlight of our trip - an energised, cultured, grubby, colourful place), unmarried couples, co-habitation and - gasp - being seen out with your other half are as normal in the UK. In somewhere like Vijayawada, those same things are unthinkable. Yesterday, walking back from a mango-buying trip (the streets being now lined with the things), a teenage boy started walking beside me, and enquiring after my name, country, where I live, and so on. After a minute I apologised and explained that “I can’t be seen walking with a boy.” “You are talking like Indian girl!” was his bemused response. While the line was partly just to shake him off (I wasn’t in the mood for that kind of conversation), eyebrows probably would have been raised had I, for example, met one of the sisters from the College.

There are, sadly, more sinister sides to the sometimes dysfunctional relationship between male and female. In Jaisalmer, a surreal but impressive old city carved intricately from sandstone in the Rajasthani desert, the young manager of our hotel began “pleasuring himself”, for want of a less twee phrase, while talking to us (and despite the presence of my male friend). When we made a scene and left, his parting shot was a threat to me - “You tell anyone, I know where you are staying. If you go on camel trek, you stay overnight, I know where you are.” What’s even more depressing is that similar things have happened four times on our various trips. I can’t put this down to anything but bad luck, since we are always careful to cover up and are never provocative in the least. After the initial shock and anger, incidents like that leave you reeling with questions - Is it due to the strap-top- and hotpant- clad Westerners who wander the tourist spots? Did he think it was acceptable? Or did he do it because he knew it wasn’t? Is it all just Britney’s fault? In any case, despite the unquestionable unpleasantness, it is somewhat comforting to know that it’s not uncommon - it’s just “one of those things”. On the other hand, that very fact points to something very wrong with the perception of sexuality among certain members of the population.

Our mammoth trip also amplified a few strains in the partnership. When we were travelling - even more so than at the College - there was little opportunity for privacy and time alone. Inevitably, then, minor irritations tended to stick in the mind until they came to the surface as arguments. Fi and I are very different characters, and although we generally complement each other, rather than clash, tensions do sometimes arise. To be honest, though, I don’t find this surprising: to be thrown together with someone and then to spend every day with them for a year is such an artificial situation (in fact, rather like an arranged marriage) that it’s bound to cause the occasional fracas. Simply feeling like a half, rather than an individual (”Where is other one?” is still a common question at the College) can get be frustrating: I am looking forward to getting home and having some space to myself again. Overall, however, I think we do pretty well; from what I’ve gathered we’re certainly one of the less volatile pairs..!

I pick out these lowlights only for the sake of balance and accuracy: the travelling was fantastic. We were lucky, even as tourists, to be able to get underneath the skin of many of the places by staying with locals, both through the online network Couchsurfing and through contacts from Vijayawada. In Mumbai, we stayed with someone who works behind the scenes in Bollywood (I even got an impromptu tour of one of the main studio sites); in Delhi, we found ourselves with his cousin who is in television; in the North, in Himachal Pradesh, we were put up in a small, highly traditional village. The latter visit happened to coincide with the marriage of two of the villagers, so we were able to witness - and, one night, take part in - the festivities (which lasted 5 days in all). I do feel very privileged to have been able to see things like that, which, for all the “non-touristic” activities on offer, are generally out of reach for the traveller.

Another place I found unusual and fascinating was the organic spice plantation in the rainforest in the South of Karnataka (which lies to the East of Andhra). We stayed there with my parents during their March visit. It’s run by two Canadian-Indians who are inspirationally passionate and knowledgeable about organics. Although it’s something I’ve long been interested in, it was an eye-opener and very uplifting to see such good work going on in a country where environmental awareness, as with so many issues, means holding conferences, roping in businesses to erect “Plant more trees” signs at the sides of the roads, and limply waving placards on annual early-morning marches. The recent walk to mark Environment Day was sponsored by none other than Coca Cola: the kind of surreal thing that’s really ceased to surprise me.

Much as I enjoy keeping this blog, the limitations (time, social sensibilities, powercuts) can be frustrating. I can only urge you to make a trip - although, given my previous rant, I could only condone a trans-Asia cycle-ride as a means to get here.

So, excuse me for using this site as a makeshift holding zone until I manage to send it on its way (or, in case anyone from Project is reading this, you could just copy it and send it to Laura…please…).

Anyway, feel free to read it.

YOUR COMMUNITY AND HOST COUNTRY

1. What have you found particularly stimulating/interesting about living in your country?

India as a country is stimulating just because it’s so vast, and therefore contains so many contrasts. As a “traveller”, this is particularly apparent: there are so many different ethnic groups, each with its own culture, language, food, architecture, and so much geographical variation that it’s stunning to think it’s all held together as a single country! At the same time, there’s always a distinctly ”Indian” flavour running through everything.

At the project, I’ve found people’s mindsets and opinions the most interesting things. My idea of “the Indian psyche” before I came was probably a product of magazine articles, television and primary school projects, so it’s been facinating to learn what people actually feel (and here, of course, there can never be any generalisations). Lofty issues contained under the banner of “development” I find especially interesting, and it’s surprising to find that they aren’t just constructs of the Western media: they actually are things people talk about in everyday conversation.

In particular, “women’s issues” has been a big topic for discussion. There’s no doubt that there is still vast inequality between the sexes, and this in itself has been interesting to see. However, the idea that all women necessarily subscribe to Western ideals of gender roles has been rubbished through conversations, for example with my students, many of whom are totally comfortable with a very traditional life. At the same time, I’ve also met several modern-minded, well-educated, ambitious, opinionated women who would be disgusted to think that validation comes in the form of marriage and childbirth.

I’m very interested in “the environment”, and being here has also been facinating from this perspective. India’s environmental problems are plain every day when you walk down the smog-choked, rubbish-strewn, over-crowded streets, and there is a lot of apparent awareness. However, with both these, and most big issues, the fact is that rhetoric can only go so far and is rarely translated into action. Indians are excellent at talking and holding conferences and roping in corporate sponsors to print placards proclaiming the importance of ”awareness”, but they often tend to stop here. I’ve found this immensely frustrating, but also motivating.

Along the same lines, the politics of the country has been interesting - from the most petty disaggreements between ministers to the world-changing issues that are debated. Again, the corruption and resultant lack of real progress is depressing but interesting all the same.

The overarching idea in all these areas is contrast and extremes: India contains the whole spectrum of wealth, health, education, opinion and belief, and this is what makes it an amazing place to be.

2. What have you found particularly difficult/surprising about living in your country?

The general Indian lackadaisical attitude can be very trying. I have got used to the relaxed way of doing things but at the start it was very frustrating, especially when we were trying to establish exactly what it was we were doing at the project. Even now, when you’re trying to get something done, the lack of urgency is sometimes exasperating.

As always, however, this is not always true, and contrasting with this is the sometimes extreme impatience of Indians. When waiting in a queue, walking down the street, crossing the road, they can be selfish, blinkered, stubborn, awkward and downright illogical, with everyone just trying to do what they need to do and with no regard for the person in front of them/walking down the pavement/trying to get past their car. This is frustrating.

The heat.

The mosquitoes.

The state of communal areas: the mindset seems to be that if something or somewhere is not the explicit property of someone, then it’s no-one’s responsibility to maintain. Hence the filthy streets (which generally double-up as pissoirs) and stinky washrooms (which also work as rubbish bins). If everyone just did their part…

3. In what ways have you involved yourself in your community so far?

Probably the most effective way is just through the banal activities of everyday life: going shopping, buying fruit, asking at the chemist for nit lotion, selecting fabric, getting a grape juice from that place on the corner. This is how I’ve got a handle on the area and the people in it (and them on me).

Our involvement with SKCV has also been helpful. Through the organisation, we’ve been involved in various community events like the city-wide Children’s Mela as well as all their “programmes”. Likewise, teaching the staff at another NGO, Navajeevan, has put us in touch with another sector of the community.

We are very friendly with the people at the Atheist Centre, who have provided much support and help to us.

In the College “community”, just talking to people (and being talked to) has been the main way of getting involved. I try to go down to the dining hall when the girls are having supper and catch up with them, and our evening conversation classes offer another opportunity to get to know the girls better. The Scottish Dancing classes, though short-lived (but perhaps to be resurrected) were also a really good way of interacting with the students outside of the classroom. Likewise, going to yoga with the degree students and attending the many College events reinforces our place in the community.

4. What ideas have you got for getting involved further in your community?

I’d really like to set up a regular slot at the local juvenile home, since this is something which really interests me. I’d intended to do this before the Summer but didn’t manage to (and am kicking myself slightly because of that), but I intend to look into it when we get back to Vijayawada.

At the college, I’d like to re-instate the Scottish Country Dancing club if there’s enough demand, and I also want to try to establish some sort of debating or discussion group. I’ve had some really good debates in my classes and would like to give those girls who would like to the chance to talk about those issues which interest them outside of the classroom (especially given the lack of opportunity for this in most of their classes).

5. What do you consider to be the main differences between your host culture and the culture back home?

Obviously, the position of women and relationship between the sexes is a major point; the contrast has been apparent both at the project and also while we’ve been travelling. At the project, the increased concern about young women’s security and resultant reduced independence has been challenging at times (but also interesting). While travelling, the very skewed perspective of some men has been likewise. At home, most of my friends are male; here, I find myself subconsciously suspicious of young guys unless either there is some “official” connection, or they are English-speaking, educated, world-exposed metro-dwellers. It’ll be nice to not be so conscious of the “I’m a girl, you’re a guy” thing: I think this is one of the main differences.

People’s generally laid-back attitude is, again, interesting and sometimes difficult: I’ve certainly adjusted to a more relaxed pace but when things actually need to be done it can be infuriating. There’s much less adherence to, and concern with, rules: people are more happy to sort out disputes or confusions between themselves than to engage lawyers or insurance people or police. This can be refreshing, but also frustrating when you realise it’s probably largely because of the ineffectiveness and corruption of those parties.

In the UK, there is much less of an extreme gap between the poorest and the best-off. Although there is inequality, we do have a system which limits quite how low people can go. In India, the whole range is there, from struggling-to-survive to chauffered-car-and-guard-on-the-gate. What’s more, these people exist side-by-side: there’s not quite the same geographical definition between the classes.

6. Briefly outline which areas of your community/ host culture you are going to explore in your community report . What are you going to do to investigate these topics?

Not sure yet. I’d like to look at people’s mindset (locally and then nationally), especially related to things like women and the environment and other issues which will affect the country as it “develops”- actually, I guess I’d like to focus on the whole “development” thing. What does it mean, why is it necessary (or otherwise), what evidence of it is there in the local area, what is/will be the impact, etc etc etc.

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THE LANGUAGE

1. What is the local language?

Telugu.

2. How confident are you at using it?

Not nearly as much as I’d like to be. I find it difficult to sit down and learn languages and since we’re working and living in a place where everyone wants to speak English to us all the time, I haven’t picked up as much as I’d expected. I can get by on the street and with everyday stuff but would struggle beyond that.

Speaking: (What depth of conversation can you have? Barter in the market, chat with friends, hold a discussion)

Barter in the market; very basic chat.

Writing: (Are you able to write in the language? Your name, a note to your headmaster, a letter to a local)

Nothing at all. But then it does have a totally different script.

Listening: (What can you understand? Announcements/ directions, listen to the radio)

Can understand basic words and phrases - again, enough to get by with everyday stuff. Can get the gist of things on the TV.

Reading: (What can you read? Posters, street names, newspapers)

Nothing.

3. How do you intend to develop these skills over the next 6 months?

I’m not planning to spend too much time sitting working at it. I’ll make sure I practice it in everyday situations but in terms of working at learning, I’d prefer to concentrate on Hindi instead.

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YOUR WORK

1. Briefly describe the main work related responsibilities that you have at your project?

At the college, we have a timetable of classes, each of which lasts around 55 minutes. We have about 2 college classes a day, and then do an evening class in the hostel. Recently we’ve also been supervising study for the younger students. We only have each class once a week since we’re slotted in to study periods. In addition to our college classes, I work three afternoons a week at the NGO SKCV and one evening at another NGO, Navajeevan.

2. What aspects of the work at your project give you the greatest satisfaction?

When students are genuinely interested in whatever it is we’re doing, that is by far the most satisfying thing. I do a lot of discussions and debates and exercises which try to get them to use their imagination, and it’s fantastic when they respond. There have been some really good classes when debates have got heated and the girls have been really keen to put forward their views - there’s so little opportunity for this is the general curriculum that it takes a while for them to get into it, but when they do, it’s worth it. It’s also nice when there’s a bit of joviality, some “banter” between me and the students. Basically, the satisfaction comes from being taken seriously by my students, when they respond positively to whatever it is I’ve cooked up for them to do and put some effort into it.

At SKCV, the same is true, but obviously the level of output is much lower. Getting the kids to focus can be very difficult so when we have a “good” day and they cooperate, then that’s satisfying. On top of that, when they pick something up - and moreover when they understand it enough to use it - and then when they remember it a few days later, that’s great.

3. Which aspects of your project do you/ have you found most difficult? Why?

General laid-back Indian attitude - trying to get things done, especially at the start, was rather trying. Everything can always be done “tomorrow” or “later” or after some time” (and this often means not at all). The blind focus on “getting the grades” also makes things difficult: even when things seem like a really good idea, it can be difficult to get students involved unless it relates directly to their final official result. Initially, the lack of agreement about our role was a challenge - we were trying to establish ourselves as some sort of teachers but in the context of living in student accomodation and being viewed by the staff body as students. Also working as a partnership - or, when things are specifically the concern of one partner, ensuring that this is clear and the other isn’t pulled in unnecessarily - has occasionally (unsurprisingly) been another challenge.

4. In what ways do you intend to develop your role over the next 6 months? e.g. Secondary project, extra contribution at your main project?

I’d really like to start going to the juvenile home - this was something I intended to do before the holidays, but didn’t manage to. At the college, I’d like to set up some sort of debating or discussion club since I’ve had some really good debates in class and would like to give those girls who are interested the opportunity to discuss the things about which they feel strongly, outside of a classroom setting.

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PERSONAL

1. In what ways do you feel you’ve gained personally from the last six months?

Uh…where to start? Without wanting to sound like a complete cliche, I have learnt a lot. I probably considered myself reasonably worldly-wise before I came, but I now have so much more perspective and understanding of the issues about which we hear in “the West”. I know a lot more strongly about the kind of field I’d like to go into, and why; my convictions about what I think is important have been strengthened.

Travelling has been great; my mind is just so filled with amazing places and cool people and colour…It’s given me more confidence and desire to travel in the future (although it’s also taught me when and where caution is a good idea).

I’ve met so many wonderful people - Indian and “Western”, with whom I’ve had some fantastic conversations and from whom I’ve learned a lot. Many of them I know I’ll never see again, but that’s how it should be; many I hope will remain friends for a long time.

Seperate from the whole India thing, I’ve had a lot more time to just read and write and think and generally be a brooding teenager. This, coupled with the vast array of people I’ve met and the beliefs I’ve therefore been exposed to, has helped to crystallise what I think. I’m not saying I’ve had any massive flashy-lights epiphanies, but I’m a lot more sure, and comfortable, about what I believe.

2. Is your year going as you expected? If not, how is it different?

I can’t really remember what I expected. India itself was rather unexpected and before I came - even after training - I wasn’t really able to entirely adjust my mindset into ‘going-to-India’ mode. The project was more problematic at the start than I’d expected - there was far less rigidity that I’d imagined. At the time this was frustrating and a little daunting, but I think it has also given us opportunities we wouldn’t otherwise have had. Being the first year of the project, it’s not surprising that things have taken a while to bed in, and hopefully next year’s volunteers will have a slightly smoother ride. That said, I am actually quite grateful that the lack of predecessors gave us more flexibility to make the project what we wanted.

We’ve had a lot more time to travel than I expected and this has been really good [see above for amazing people, amazing places rhetoric...]. It’s also meant my finances have been trickling away faster than I’d hoped, but I’m only here once, etc etc.

I think I’ve gelled better with people than I expected. On training I felt a little like the outsider, but I’m now really close to several of the other vols and have had some very good times with them…

I’ve learned less of the language than I expected - partly through lack of application and partly because I find it easier to learn when I’m “immersed”, which I’m not.

3. Is there anything in particular which has surprised you about the way you have reacted to the challenges you’ve met?

There have been many things that seemed major at the time and are now distant memories, and it goes to show that most challenges are surmountable, given time. I’d like to think I’ve generally been pretty diplomatic and level-headed when dealing with problems, although I know that this has sometimes instead been timidity and has meant I haven’t made my voice heard.

4. Which skills or personal attributes do you hope to develop over the next 6 months?

I’d like to “loosen up” a bit more: I think I’ve already come a very long way, but I do still find myself keeping quiet or not doing things that I’d like to because they might cause friction or present new challenges. Pick more daisies, as they say…

As a teacher, I’d like to just become “better”: more relaxed, better at improvising, more authoritative.

5. How do you intend to achieve this?

Just by having more confidence in myself. Looking at what I’ve achieved already and at the things I would’ve found difficult at the start which are now second nature.

We are in Varanasi, one of those cities that the guidebooks describe with adjectives like “bustling” and “grimy” and “colourful”. It is all of those, I have to say - the kind of place you’d see in an artfully-shot BBC documentary. Sitting on the bank of the Ganges, it’s one of the most holy places for Hindus, and is especially popular as a place to be cremated. The water’s edge is lined with “ghats” - platforms jutting into the river on which the bodies are placed in funeral pyres (cost having been carefully calculated and bartered in the log market just beside, according to the weight of wood required: Indians aren’t particuarly prudish about finances, at any stage of life).

Our walk to the hotel this morning - the streets were too narrow to let the auto through - was quite an experience. I was reminded strongly of Venice, with the addition (enhancement?) of several massive cows and bulls and their droppings, as well as the usual stray children, dogs and chai stalls. Having just come down from the mountains - and a former Raj hillstation at that - we’ve been plunged back into what might (inaccurately, but understandably) be termed “Real India”.

Having left Manali, we spent a couple of nights in Shimla, which, towards the end of British rule, was the Summer Capital. It’s a funny little place with the architectural remnants of the old occupants still very visible, including smart churches, grand hotels and schools. Of course, intermingled slightly surrealy with these now are the features I just described relating to Varanasi - though there are no autos, presumably because of the steep hills. Most of the visitors (of which there were hoards) were Indians families and couples up from the scorching plains to get their fix of the relative coolth.

Working backwards, we ended up staying in (or rather, just outside) Manali for rather longer than we’d intended. Our initial trek turned out to be rather more of a pleasant stroll (although I still managed to aquire an impressive collection of blisters) and so we did another two-day trek, this time right up into amazingly scenic snowy mountain landscapes. Having come to India prepared to live in a place where Summer temperatures are often around 45 degrees (yeah, I can’t wait to get back), I wasn’t exactly prepared for minus temperatures. However, with inventive layering, I managed to botch together something like a sensible outfit and, apart from being bloody freezing all night, was fine. The walk itself was fantastic - tiring at times because of the steep incline and thinner air but well worth it for the views and the “I’m walking through Himalayan snow!” factor. Photos will follow; there are quite a few.

In Manali, we were again lucky enough to enjoy the hospitality of people we’d never met - this time some friends of a woman we befriended while she was volunteering at SKCV earlier this year. Her friends - to brothers and their brother-in-law - run treks, among other things. For the first two nights we stayed down from Manali in a place called Kachnal (home of the brother-in-law, whose grandfather owns a guesthouse there) and we then moved to Goshal, the home village of the two brothers, further up the valley and unreachable by road (although not for much longer, judging by the work going on while we were there). It was a lovely place, surrounded on all sides by snowy peaks and totally untouched by the feet and cash of tourists like ourselves.

The houses were mostly built in the traditional Himachal style - wood-framed with stone and mud walls and massive great paving slabs as rooftiles. There’s a space for livestock below and a covered veranda around the first floor. Overall the impression is of a gingerbread house; they’re pretty cute. They are, however, also appropriately hefty: the oldest ones have doors no more than a metre or so high, and about 20cm thick. Suffice to say, they keep the heat in. Perhaps some of the East Lothian developers would like to come on a reckie? The climate’s pretty similar.

And a blog entry on the way, I promise..!

It was then on (via a stop at a company-approved cafe) to the Taj itself, where we gritted our teeth and approached the “Foreigner” ticket desk with trepidation and “the Letter”. The Letter is something we got the Principal of the college to sign before we left, stating that we are volunteers and so, please, would [insert name of tourist attraction here] be so kind as to admit us for the “Indian” price and not the extortionate “Foreigner” one.

The phenomenon of the Foreigner price is something across which I’ve come nowhere except India, and it’s the bane of our travels. The original logic is fair enough: the (relatively) wealthy Westerners who come to India on a month-long holiday should pay more, considering exchange rates, than the Indians. However, it fails to account for those oddities like us: Westerners who are not totally rolling in it. Bearing in mind that the difference between “Indian” and “Foreigner” prices can be over Rs700 (the Taj is Rs750 for us and, if I remember correctly, about Rs20 for the Indians), this pigeonholing is more than a little irritating.

So, we handed over the letter and smiled sweetly. Man-behind-the-counter read the letter with a look of typical disinterest, handed it back, and said “Rs750″. We abandoned the smiles, replaced them with our miffed-post-letter-rejection faces, and started digging in our wallets. To soften the blow, however, we did get a free 500ml bottle of water and some attractive disposable shoe covers (to spare our delicate Foreign feet the pain of the burning-hot marble floor).

Bitter irony aside, the place itself was impressive. It’s monuments like that which are always at risk of being anticlimatic, pictures of it having been tacked on to every vaguely India-related thing since forever. However, this was not the case: it really is (well, almost) worth the hype. It’s a very beautiful building, all graceful arches and soaring domes and intricate inlay-work, set in elegantly symmetrical gardens. Our visit was rather short, having left the bus with a strict instruction to be back within the hour, but we got the requisite cheesey photos.

To cut back to the present tense, we’re now in Manali, a ten-hour hairpinned bus-ride South-east of McLeod Ganj. Whereas McLeod Ganj is perched on a ridge, Manali is in a valley. I have no desire to make anyone jealous, but, walking along the road next to the gurgling stream with the dark, snow-capped mountains rising up all around and the odd cow wandering lazily alongside, it is all rather atmospheric. We’re lucky to be staying not in Manali itself (which kind of smacks of McLeod Ganj, which in turn was a similar scene to Goa, of which I was reminded in Kochi…you get the idea). Instead, we’re staying at a place owned by yet another friend-of-a-friend, who also does treks. He lives in a small village about 8km away, and it’s lovely to be out of touristland. We may actaully move further up the valley to an even more un-touristy village where a brother-in-law (and co-member of the trekking company) has a house.

We’re also hoping (again, no hard feelings, as you sit in your office/living room with the cars going by outside/washing in the machine) to go on a trek for a few days, which would take us into even more stunning terrain. I, for one (and, I think this probably counts for both of us) am horrendously unfit and a little apprehensive about quite what I’m capable of. Watch this space to see if I return.

 So. After months of “I can’t wait to get up North” and “I can’t wait ’til we get to the mountains”, here we are, in the mountains up North. To be precise, we’re in McLeod Ganj, in Himachal Pradesh. Places like this always feel rather surreal to me, like themeparks set up purely for the benefit of tourists. Everybody who lives here is employed in offering a service to visitors, or supplying those who do. Every shop either sells “Tibetan” souvenirs or an assortment of foodstuffs designed to appeal to the craving Westerner (baked beans, muesli, “German” baking, HobNobs). In between these shops are slightly suspect-looking places advertising Tibetan Massagees or (Tibetan?) Sonooker for only Rs60 an hour. It’s ceased to be a place which tourists go to, and has become a bunch of tourists in a place.

That said, you can see why they (Ok, ok, “we”) came here in the first place. The surroundings are pretty stunning. We’re not quite in snow-capped-jaggy-peak terrain yet, but the wood-clad hills are a refreshing change having been in the plains and cities. Throw in some gently fluttering prayer flags and it’s a picturesque scene, despite the hoards of dreadlocked Germans/British backpackers/middle-aged-hippies (if anyone’s read Atomised, you should know the kind what I mean).

Apart from being another branch of Touristland TM, McLeod Ganj (named, by the way, after the some British army bloke) does have added interest in that it’s the home of none other than His Holiness the Dalai Lama and the Tibetan Government in Exile. There’s a huge Tibetan community and, accordingly, a lot of pro-freedom stuff around.

It’s interesting to see what the exile community has made of itself. I wouldn’t have a Lefty leg to stand on if I didn’t agree that the Chinese occupation is unequivocally wrong and should be vehemently opposed. But I can’t help wondering - the principal of self-determination and freedom of religion aside, because I don’t question that - how many would jump at the chance to return. Most of the Tibetans here appear very comfortable: they wear designer trainers and Levis; they drive flash motorbikes. There’s a lot of wealth and an apparently high level of education. Obviously the same cannot be said for those left in Tibet itself, but it is good to get a more rounded perspective on the situation.

I’ve just listened to a conversation between two English girls on computers next to me. It went like this: “Was it the Chinese or the Indians the Tibetans were fighting against?” “The Chinese, I think, ‘cos they’ve all fled to India so I guess the Indians are alright.”

No comment.