Oh dear – India – land of hidden extras. I suppose it serves me right for being a little smug. Everything consumed carefully, hygiene paramount. I awoke in the night with that sinking feeling, when you just know that things are shortly going to get really bad. Ten minutes later, when they’d stopped being really bad, and I was back in bed again, the sinking feeling returned, and I realized that really bad was going to be the norm for a little while. Something I’d eaten or drunk during the day had offended my delicate little English stomach. Frankly, I was in a spot of bother and this was the worst I’d felt in my life.
Unfortunately I was off to Ranthambore that morning, with a car coming at 9am. We left late – I couldn’t keep asking the driver to stop, and where would we stop anyway?
As it was, an hour and a half into the journey I was ill again, and spent the rest of the time in the back seat dozing against my rucksack. When the driver stopped on one occasion and left the car, the usual gaggle of street sellers came knocking on the window. I was being offered some trinket or other for Rs 20, and feeling really wretched I wound the window down a fraction and explained to the nearest and oldest,
‘Look, I’m sick’ and demonstrated with hand gestures, ‘I don’t want to buy anything. Rs 20 to make them go away and stop tapping’ and pushed two fingers holding a note through the crack. To my surprise the note was returned, and the elderly gentleman gently stroked my two fingers with his forefinger, and then the window glass where it touched my forearm.
‘Poor Madam’ and then he raised his voice at all the others, and they went away, while he gestured I should raise the window again. That was very touching.
5 May 2010
On tour - 2nd May, Sunday
Oh dear - India – land of the hidden extra. Whenever anything is described as ‘only’ here, there’s always a whole raft of extras. ‘8% government tax madam’, or ‘ 14% VAT madam’, or ‘only 6% tax madam and no receipt’ or ‘3% for card madam’ plus the inevitable tip. It isn’t that anyone minds paying, just that it would be nice to know the total price at the outset. This is a grumble from Indians too, as it happens. For example: Trip to Agra, no entrance fees included. The Red Fort - Rs 250 (+ Rs 50 tax). Tell the guide ‘no’. Tell the guide ‘no’ again, and hold your ground. So that wasn’t too bad then. Next, Taj Mahal – Rs 750 (+ Rs 50 tax). The car park is some way away, so you’re obliged to take another form of transport (although I may have been misled over this), in my case a horse and cart. Rs 100, and off we go. Oh right, Rs 100 there, and Rs 100 back. Tour guides hop on the back of the cart who say they are official government ones. ‘Look madam, my identity card’. They insist that to see the Taj Mahal without a guide would be pointless. Wits are certainly required – one doesn’t wish to appear mean in the midst of so much poverty, but there’s no need to be taken for a ride. I’m quite a target – single, white and female - particularly from guides. Groups of people don’t seem to suffer the pestering I’ve been having – something to do with half a dozen voices declining the service instead of just the one. On leaving the Taj, my cheeky boy driver told me it was Rs 500, as I had been a long time. I pointed out other people who had arrived with us, and said I’d been no longer than anyone else.
‘300 for tip’ he said.
‘Forget it, I’ll walk back’ I said and hopped off, offering him the 100 for the one way trip.
He changed his mind, I got back on, and we trotted back to the taxi.
‘300 for tip’ he said.
‘Forget it, I’ll walk back’ I said and hopped off, offering him the 100 for the one way trip.
He changed his mind, I got back on, and we trotted back to the taxi.
Sulabh International Museum of Toilets - 1st May, Saturday
Yes, there really is such a place. Quite an inspirational place believe it or not. Sulabh International Social Service Organisation http://www.sulabhinternational.org/ founded by Dr Bindeshwar Pathak in 1968 is an institution which operates on many levels. Dr Pathak’s primary objective was to restore dignity to the scavenging class, whose unsavory job it was to clean latrine pits by hand. His two-fold method of doing this was through educating the children of scavengers so that they could find other employment, and by providing the type of latrine where the waste could decompose into a soil-like substance, so eliminating the need of a scavenger. From this came the further objective of eliminating local pollution by persuading the population, both rural and urban not to use the great outdoors. This of course could only be achieved of the proper facilities are provided.
Those of you who do not want to know any more, look away now… This kind of pollution is an enormous problem in India. Yesterday at 6 am, as my train went through the slum suburbs of Delhi, I could just make out through the early morning gloom, the outline of many, many figures beside the track, in the familiar Indian squat, watching the train. I wondered what the attraction of the railway line was, and what they were waiting for. Then it dawned that they weren’t waiting for anything. This was the early morning trip, and I was observing the largest public convenience in the world. Mile after mile, where the slums backed onto the railway line, hundreds of squatting figures. (I very much doubt if it was any different on the outskirts of Victorian London, just a question of scale.) Finally, a use needed to be found for all this proposed waste, and Sulabh have done this through their biogas digesters.
It has been the most amazing day. They sent a gentleman, Mr Gaurav, with a driver to collect me, and we drove to the Sulabh International. I was greeted by Dr Pathak, and we were joined by group three other guests, and we went to where the School – pupils and staff were meeting for prayers. The sung quite beautifully the school prayer whilst I stood in a line on the stage with other members of the party. There were welcomes, speeches, and then we were introduced individually, ‘Carolyn Chandler, Churchill Fellow’. Being called first, I didn’t know what was expected of me, and for a brief second I wondered if I was expected to make a speech too. Instead we were honoured with a garland and a shawl. I must admit I was very touched. After prayers, I had a tour of the school; saw the different classes, academic, sewing, design, IT, electrical, beauty, fashion; anything which would help these children get on in life. Some of the students explained what they were doing, and I got to ask questions – a bit like being Queen for a day. ......‘And what do you do..?’
Then I had a tour of the Toilet Museum. Most entertaining. Don’t take my word for it – if you’re near Delhi – go. My wonderfully enthusiastic guide showed latrines through the ages, 5000 years ago to one from a spacecraft. Photos, maps, artefacts, facsimiles, and all done with great humour. Next I was given a tour of the latrine designs. Although still horrendously hot, I saw something I hadn’t seen since I flew over Eastern Europe. A cloud.
It has taken Dr Pathak decades to change public attitudes and he still feels he has a long way to go. Not only has he to remove the stigma of the ‘Untouchable’ but the centre makes amusing references to the culture of ‘no toilets please, we’re Indians’. His approach, as well as a steady drip, drip on behavioural change, employs techniques
....I interrupt this broadcast with breaking news….. it is 6 pm local time, there was a huge clap of thunder, which I thought was a major trauma in the kitchen, and it’s raining. How very unexpected. I told you I’d seen a cloud. I went down to enjoy the wet and relative coolness, and to find out how unusual this rain might be. Quite a phenomenon, I was told, you are honoured. I took tea at one end of the patio, under the verandah, and the rain from the other end slowly seeped across the marble tiles until the water reached my feet. Shirley Valentine is alive and well………
Outside the Sulabh International is a public toilet. It is this which feeds the biogas digester, which in turn provides gas for lighting, cooking and generating electricity. Next to the loos – a drop-in health centre. One fully qualified doctor, lots of educational material on health and hygiene, and medical advice – all free. It is the most amazing, integrated, holistic approach to any problem I’ve ever come across. When I first viewed their website, I really wanted to find out how one man could bring about such behavioural change. What a privilege to see him and his centre at first hand.
Those of you who do not want to know any more, look away now… This kind of pollution is an enormous problem in India. Yesterday at 6 am, as my train went through the slum suburbs of Delhi, I could just make out through the early morning gloom, the outline of many, many figures beside the track, in the familiar Indian squat, watching the train. I wondered what the attraction of the railway line was, and what they were waiting for. Then it dawned that they weren’t waiting for anything. This was the early morning trip, and I was observing the largest public convenience in the world. Mile after mile, where the slums backed onto the railway line, hundreds of squatting figures. (I very much doubt if it was any different on the outskirts of Victorian London, just a question of scale.) Finally, a use needed to be found for all this proposed waste, and Sulabh have done this through their biogas digesters.
It has been the most amazing day. They sent a gentleman, Mr Gaurav, with a driver to collect me, and we drove to the Sulabh International. I was greeted by Dr Pathak, and we were joined by group three other guests, and we went to where the School – pupils and staff were meeting for prayers. The sung quite beautifully the school prayer whilst I stood in a line on the stage with other members of the party. There were welcomes, speeches, and then we were introduced individually, ‘Carolyn Chandler, Churchill Fellow’. Being called first, I didn’t know what was expected of me, and for a brief second I wondered if I was expected to make a speech too. Instead we were honoured with a garland and a shawl. I must admit I was very touched. After prayers, I had a tour of the school; saw the different classes, academic, sewing, design, IT, electrical, beauty, fashion; anything which would help these children get on in life. Some of the students explained what they were doing, and I got to ask questions – a bit like being Queen for a day. ......‘And what do you do..?’
Then I had a tour of the Toilet Museum. Most entertaining. Don’t take my word for it – if you’re near Delhi – go. My wonderfully enthusiastic guide showed latrines through the ages, 5000 years ago to one from a spacecraft. Photos, maps, artefacts, facsimiles, and all done with great humour. Next I was given a tour of the latrine designs. Although still horrendously hot, I saw something I hadn’t seen since I flew over Eastern Europe. A cloud.
It has taken Dr Pathak decades to change public attitudes and he still feels he has a long way to go. Not only has he to remove the stigma of the ‘Untouchable’ but the centre makes amusing references to the culture of ‘no toilets please, we’re Indians’. His approach, as well as a steady drip, drip on behavioural change, employs techniques
....I interrupt this broadcast with breaking news….. it is 6 pm local time, there was a huge clap of thunder, which I thought was a major trauma in the kitchen, and it’s raining. How very unexpected. I told you I’d seen a cloud. I went down to enjoy the wet and relative coolness, and to find out how unusual this rain might be. Quite a phenomenon, I was told, you are honoured. I took tea at one end of the patio, under the verandah, and the rain from the other end slowly seeped across the marble tiles until the water reached my feet. Shirley Valentine is alive and well………
Outside the Sulabh International is a public toilet. It is this which feeds the biogas digester, which in turn provides gas for lighting, cooking and generating electricity. Next to the loos – a drop-in health centre. One fully qualified doctor, lots of educational material on health and hygiene, and medical advice – all free. It is the most amazing, integrated, holistic approach to any problem I’ve ever come across. When I first viewed their website, I really wanted to find out how one man could bring about such behavioural change. What a privilege to see him and his centre at first hand.
Culture day 30th April, I think its still Friday
Today I’ve been a tourist. I intended to go to my hotel to catch up on sleep, but ended up a Delhi day-tripper. New Delhi, Old Delhi, the seat of government, ancient mosques, modern temples, a light Punjabi snack, and an early night.
Not funny anymore - 30th April, Friday
That was quite a tough night. I know I slept at some stage because I was woken about 6 am by the catering staff bringing me tea and a Marie biscuit. I haven’t seen a Marie biscuit in Years! I sat up feeling as disreputable as anyone does when they’ve slept in their clothes – the grime on my white shirt a testament to my trip to Amhedabad Junction from the hotel in a tuc-tuc. I was glad to get up. Although the carriage went to bed around 10 pm by some unspoken mutual consent, there was a good deal of night traffic to the bathroom. That’s two door squeaks per head, per trip. Sometimes the door jammed partially open on the curtain of the 4 bunk section, and the hot night air poured in, sometimes it closed and a cold air-con blast blew over me. It was just bad luck to get the worst bunk in the carriage. I won’t swap next time – they can all hate me.
Swarmi J Raj, sleeper Train - 29th April
Now this really is surreal. It appears I have succeeded in offending the IRCTC. I’ve been sharing a compartment with a family; granddad, mum and two boys about 4 & 7. Each compartment on thye sleeper is divided into a 4 bunk section - the bunks going across the carriage, and a 2 bunk section - the bunks going lengthwise. The corridor runs between them. The family has been split up because I purchased my ticket first, selecting a bottom bunk in the 4 bunk part. To foster a spirit of international harmony, and because one of the little boys wasn’t happy with this arrangement, I swapped so that the family can be together. I’ve made up my new bed on the bottom bunk of the lengthways bunks. A train official is talking to me very loudly and waving his arms, but it isn’t helping. The grandfather has intervened on my behalf and the man has gone away. I have had no explanation of the problem. There is only one blanket for these two bunks and I think they are saying I have stolen the guard’s blanket. This lower bunk is formed by folding the seat backs down so that they meet in the middle. It flexes with the jolting of the train – it’s going to be like sleeping across Tower Bridge. It is also much narrower than the cross-ways berth I had originally – only as wide as the pillow which is around 18 inches.
Oh dear, the official is back. He’s now talking to the mother very volubly. It is worse than I thought. I haven't stolen his blanket, I’ve stolen the guard’s bed! I am now decamping to the top bunk.
The top bunk is under the curve of the carriage roof. The night light is on the wall behind my head so I can’t sit without leaning my back on it. Lying there, it really is only as wide as a plank. The two chains on which the bunk is suspended also stop you falling out. I can’t stop chuckling – or is it a wave of hysteria? The mother calls out to see if I’m ok; it seems she thought I was crying. The air-con vents blow over the top of my privacy curtain and my head is beside the carriage door, which squeaks. I still can’t stop laughing.
Oh dear, the official is back. He’s now talking to the mother very volubly. It is worse than I thought. I haven't stolen his blanket, I’ve stolen the guard’s bed! I am now decamping to the top bunk.
The top bunk is under the curve of the carriage roof. The night light is on the wall behind my head so I can’t sit without leaning my back on it. Lying there, it really is only as wide as a plank. The two chains on which the bunk is suspended also stop you falling out. I can’t stop chuckling – or is it a wave of hysteria? The mother calls out to see if I’m ok; it seems she thought I was crying. The air-con vents blow over the top of my privacy curtain and my head is beside the carriage door, which squeaks. I still can’t stop laughing.
Summary - week 1 29th April
I’m coming to an end of my first week in India. I’ve packed and checked out, but the hotel staff have kindly allowed me to sit in the foyer until time for my train. It’s too hot to be outside.
Several times I’ve had occasion to wonder what on earth I’m doing here. This apparently isn’t just me; my table-mate at breakfast and dinner in the hotel, born of army parents, ex-navy, travels the world installing generators, says he gets moments like that. Evidently the sense of wonder, or the surreal, never really leaves some people.
So – first week – aside from the shock of some living conditions and not being used to being pestered on the streets – All round friendliness and courtesy. The man whose job it was to sell hotels and taxis from a booth at the airport rang my hotel on his mobile and got my taxi to come back, even though it wasn’t one of ‘his’ hotels. The lady on Mumbai station who came back from her own carriage to check I was ok. Another lady outside Ahmedabad Station explained to yet another missing taxi driver where to find me because he and I could not understand each other. Finally, the manager of the President, whilst I’m waiting in the foyer for time to tick away, comes over to ask me if I’ve had my lunch. No? Then please, have lunch here, it is complimentary. His finally courtesy was to call a tuc-tuc and negotiate the price for taking me to the station. Don’t pay any more than Rs 50, he says, no tip.
Several times I’ve had occasion to wonder what on earth I’m doing here. This apparently isn’t just me; my table-mate at breakfast and dinner in the hotel, born of army parents, ex-navy, travels the world installing generators, says he gets moments like that. Evidently the sense of wonder, or the surreal, never really leaves some people.
So – first week – aside from the shock of some living conditions and not being used to being pestered on the streets – All round friendliness and courtesy. The man whose job it was to sell hotels and taxis from a booth at the airport rang my hotel on his mobile and got my taxi to come back, even though it wasn’t one of ‘his’ hotels. The lady on Mumbai station who came back from her own carriage to check I was ok. Another lady outside Ahmedabad Station explained to yet another missing taxi driver where to find me because he and I could not understand each other. Finally, the manager of the President, whilst I’m waiting in the foyer for time to tick away, comes over to ask me if I’ve had my lunch. No? Then please, have lunch here, it is complimentary. His finally courtesy was to call a tuc-tuc and negotiate the price for taking me to the station. Don’t pay any more than Rs 50, he says, no tip.
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