Lost Weekend: Finishing up in Delhi

Ok so it wasn't a lost weekend but where did it go? In fact the last 4 weeks just went. In training they tell you the last month of a VSO placement will be gentle. Tidying up loose ends, saying goodbye, eating cake. That sort of thing. Not here.

I was busy trying to squeeze in training for the Delhi Half Marathon (I haven't yet got sick of dropping that into conversations). I had a visitor over from the UK then I remembered the strategy plan for ASLI. There was the flat to finish up and furniture had to be sold and belongings packed. An unbelievable amount of stuff vomited itself out of my wardrobe and the flimsy cane bookshelves yielded a bumper crop of jewellery and brass Hindi mini-Gods. I started the clearance. There was four or so bin bags for VSO volunteers to rifle through. This is a benefit of someone leaving - you get hand-me-downs for your usually sparsely equipped cupboards. Judging by the amount I was getting rid of I must have done well over the last year. The remaining went to the cleaner and there was an inordinate amount of stuff to be posted and couriered back. Frightful. I clearly can not travel light.

After the house sale I had my leaving party. We made a profit from the goods we bought last year so that provided the beer for what was to be the last party in the house. Arun of ASLI/Deafway fame (i.e. the wonderful man I have had the pleasure to work with over the last year) provided the food and manned the barbeque in exchange for being fed with Kingfisher. The Deaf Way staff created amazing canapes and took over food preparations. I concentrated hard on drinking and saying my goodbyes. I had an amazing time and it was a wonderful send off after an unbelievable year.

It was back in the office on Monday after partying, moving out and dealing with a hangover of proportions not seen yet this year. I managed to finish some final bits and we had the obligatory pizza (Puneet, the IT and English teacher, was leaving too). After lunch I said my goodbyes and there it was. I blubbed. Totally unexpectedly. Anyone who has kept up to date on this blog will know how much I have enjoyed being here. And that is a gross understatement. I've lived, worked and breathed Delhi. Anyone who knows how dusty it is here can imagine the hardships I may have had to endure.

'Will you be back?' is the question du jour. I hope I have given some idea of how much the Deaf community is still being discriminated against here. Interpreting services are just one part. Education where sign language is virtually banned, not being allowed to drive, a total lack of equality when it comes to employment, no mental health services, a lack of academic sign language and interpreting qualifications...it goes on. I'll be offering any assistance I can from the ether. And I have some plans afoot but I'm not done in India just yet. It's all about the R&R and taking some time out to consider my next steps. It's the beach for me for now. 

Tourist India

Tourist India is, to my mind, a bit exhausting. I recently had a colleague and friend over to visit from the UK. As the person who has travelled around the country it falls to me to be the responsible one; ensuring plans are feasible, trains are booked and boarded and nothing goes wrong. But this is India so things do go haywire occasionally. Travelling around regularly makes it a bit easier and luckily nothing went wrong. Most things aren’t too tiring apart from the struggle to communicate and the continual fight for a fair price. You see it’s the skin tax thing again. 

There are, generally, two tourist India’s. The five star luxury where you don’t see much of the real India at all. You pay through the nose for this and if you ventured into your hotel’s kitchen you might get the idea you weren’t in a decent hotel at all.

The other India is more real but they still try to make you pay through the nose for what you get. I’m off travelling soon as my placement ends. I’ve decided to head somewhere, stay with friends I’ve met. When I need to venture further I’ll hunker down in a half decent hotel and limit the contact I have with tourist India if I can.

For anyone coming here it is fun but you have that same old fight on your hands to not be seen as fair game. In fact if there weren’t so many people coming to India who allowed themselves to get ripped off it might help but in some cases it keeps families afloat so we shouldn’t begrudge. Pay over the odds sometimes to someone who needs it more than you. Don’t be the back packer or foreigner that treats everyone like crap and haggles over every rupee.  

I’m off soon and I’ll be the tourist again. I’m hoping the receptipon I get in Kerala will be more like Amritsar where everyone was friendly and out to help rather than Varanasi where everyone just wants your cash. After a year of working here, I’ve loved it n’ all but I really don’t want that tourist fight. I just want a nice little beach, a massage and a glass of chilled white wine please.

How very Vipassana

Recently I went on a Vipassana meditation course. I was expecting 10 days of no speaking but as it sometimes happens in India what is supposed to happen just doesn’t. You can read about what should happen on fellow vol and friend Izzy’s blog! We both agreed I was a bit unlucky though in the end the result was pretty much the same.

I arrived at the centre and immediately hit it off with S. who like another 5 Western women on the course lived in Rishikesh and hung out learning all about yoga and other spiritual practices. We wondered if we’d be able to remain incommunicado for 10 days and we agreed we’d have to avoid eye contact. We drove out of town through the hills behind Dehradun and arrived at the centre. After Chai and chatting we proceeded to take instructions and started our silence.

Up at 4am the next morning we started the regime of 10 hours meditation a day which was to become strangely enjoyable after a few days. What was not so much fun though rather entertaining was one woman screaming in the mediation hall amidst the rest of us concentrating on our breath. This happened again on day 3. Also one elderly woman had been admitted who chatted to herself throughout and clearly wasn’t in a fit state to participate. On day 5 after the constant talking of some participants got to me I talked to the onsite doctor. I was informed the elderly woman was dropped off by her husband. With a lack of welfare services here he probably just wanted a form of respite care. By the end of the 10 days the women were all looking after her and I suspect she was suffering from Alzheimers.

The mediation went well despite the lack of silence. On day 5 I tried really hard to have a quiet day. It worked until 8:05am when 5 minutes into mediation the doctor passed me some decongestant pills I’d requested. Wait until perhaps I had my eyes open? Not here in India where rules are all so important but in reality always broken. Ho hum.

The evening of day 5 saw a change in the group dynamics when so much talking was going on the old Western students who had done courses in the US and Europe also gave up. We all happily talked to each other outside of meditation sessions in snatched conversations. One who understood more Hindi than I told me the screaming woman thought she had been possessed by demons and on day 3 they had left her body through her nose. By day 6 amongst the insanity I’d given up on silence too. A shame considering I was really enjoying any quiet time I actually got. By then I was getting it and we’d been given mediation cells in the pagoda on site. A relief as every time we had leafy greens for lunch the men would fart their way through the afternoon.

Around this time the hours of cross-legged concentration kicked in and clarity struck. Vipassana can reveal spooky sensations. Things come up from your past that you had forgotten. The smell of the local library’s highly polished floor at aged 8. The dress you wore when visiting the senior school on an open day at age 11. Amongst the inconsequential, the stuff you wanted to forget comes up. The idea is you meditate so deeply the feelings you dealt with using logic can be felt at a deeper level. The trick then is to deal with them at this level of subconscious and truly get rid of them. It sounds a bit pop psychology but it works. It's what makes 10 days of insanity all worth it. Each person has a unique experience and people who attend regularly report feeling differently each time. It’s reported that often people leave with a changed world view or a heightened perspective of the world. They’ve even tailored a special course for executives enabling people to rid themselves of pointless negativities and subsequently enhancing their performance. What is clear is only the brave or the mad do this but we all come out the better for it.     

 

Fever. In the morning, fever all through the night…

Out of 15 volunteers currently in Delhi, 7 have been struck down with mysterious fevers and illnesses. That’s nearly a whopping 50%. 

Dr H., our resident VSO doc must be chanting a new mantra: a volunteer a day keeps the bill collectors at bay. Although I like to think he doesn’t charge to see us VSOers as he is so lovely. One doctor he referred me to said that he’d retired and made his money so he was happy to help out those who were helping others. 

Of the 7 that have been struck down, we’ve had cases of Dengue (2), Chikungungya (1), unidentified fevers (3), a strange rash and unknown vomiting (2). No Malaria yet but it could just be a matter of time.

My fever came and went with joint pain in 24 hours. I was in Tamil Nadu. Back in Delhi three days later it came back with a vengeance and I couldn’t move my arm or see very well. I freaked out when one of my eye balls started clouding over and rang the doc in tears. Not very good at being ill me. He reassured me and I went in for a check the next day. Fever had dissipated and mobility in the arm had come back to the point where it was hard to tell I’d been ill apart from the clear lack of sleep.

I was sent off for 4,000 rupees worth of blood tests. That’s nearly £60! Hard to imagine when you’re used to the NHS. You can see how doctors and hospitals get accused of sending people off for random tests in order to make some extra cash. People tend to be in favour of a government hospital as although basic they tend not to overcharge. I say hospitals are basic but one volunteer here when admitted with Dengue had a plasma TV. I obviously don’t envy the Dengue though.

£60 later and I got to check my results on the internet within 12 hours. I called the doc and said I don’t know what it was then and he said, 'well neither do I!'. The mystery remains and thankfully it looks like I and my fellow vols here are all on the mend…

Let the Games commence…

I missed out on my swimming ticket due to a rescheduling of the Coimbatore interpreter training. I’d had a few emails whilst I was away asking if the atmosphere in Delhi had changed due to the Commonwealth Games and what it was like. I wasn’t expecting major changes in the city though I’d read news of the special CWG lanes causing havoc for drivers and the venues not being ready on time. I was expecting even more overinflated auto rates and more tourists but that was about it.

I was lucky enough to return by plane rather than endure another 42 hour train journey (ok once but not twice in two weeks). I booked my taxi then headed over to the chaos that was the pre-booked taxi stand. I’d never seen it like this before. Tourist wandered round like lost sheep and the taxi men were barking numbers and herding people into their cars. There was nearly fisticuffs as one local was about to lose it. I took matters into my own hands and flagged down the car with my number on it. Once in I had to listen to the CWG theme song on repeat for 45 minutes. Still, I didn’t even think it was as bad as the critics say.

I wasn’t sure if I was mistaken but Dilli looked a bit cleaner. Recently the plastic hoardings they’d put up to make the roadside look better had been ripped. They’d fixed that and there was a definite increase in shrubbery.

At the docs the next day there were definitely more cargo pant wearers and people in silly hats that scream tourist. Strangely though, when I got to see the Games I saw comparatively few tourists at JN Stadium but then I was in the cheaper seats. I happily sat amongst screaming families as they cheered on the brilliantly entertaining men’s triple jumper Maheshwary and no less than 3 Indian javelin throwers. When England won both the men’s and women’s 100m relay there was no doubt as to which country I came from. We went on to win a few more medals and I’m glad India did too, the stadium atmosphere was electric.

A few days later and it was time for some badders. With every match featuring either England or India it was going to be a good day. It ended with two golds for India with the brilliant Saina winning the women’s singles. England ended up with 3 silvers surprisingly as in two matches they looked close to being able to win.

I had a good conversation with a gentleman who was telling me that good sportsmanship was important and everyone should be clapping both sides. I think he was trying to negate the fact that the couple behind me were shouting at the England player that he should hurry up and lose. Charming. They did get confused though when they realised his first name was Rajiv. They wondered for an instant whether they should be supporting him then went back to cheering on the freakishly fast Malaysian Chong Wei Lee. This is a man who has lost something like one match in his last 60. Rajiv, you did brilliantly.

One teenager kept walking in front of me when crucial points were being played. I held him off with one hand as Anthony Clark hurled himself onto the floor then turned and calmly stated that you should wait whilst points are being played. Hmmph. Many of the crowd turned up half way through and popped out during matches. It was obvious they were only there to see Saina in the last match. Shame the people in my row weren’t more like my gentleman friend and there for the sport not just the Indian players.

Needless to say the venue went wild with all the police and volunteers coming inside for the last game. Saina was pretty brilliant and absolutely deserved the gold. Thing is if everyone was inside who was left outside? Not many by the time I snuck out as she was doing her lap of the crowds.

The excellent organisation of the whole games wasn’t that surprising. Even the new metro line was open enabling me to use my CWG ticket to get to the games for free. This is how it rolls in India. It all seems like chaos. All the naysayers are baying that it’ll never happen on time, things will be a mess and everything is a disgrace. Then it all comes together at the last moment and you wondered how you ever doubted it all.

Look at South Arica and the World cup. There’s nothing like hosting a world sporting event to boost your country’s credentials, the economy, employment and a sense of national pride. It just a shame that corruption meant the toilet rolls were being charged at 4000 rupees and the price of a treadmill rental was reportedly more than the cost of buying it. But the CWG has highlighted to the world the controversies of India. The ‘shining’ India, the one capable of being on the world stage with its growing economy alongside the poverty, the way slum dwellers were dealt with and the corruption that pervades everything political. Now the games are over, let the investigations commence…

Coimbatore - Interpreter Training Course Number 3

There are always some ups and downs in the first few days of the interpreter training. You rock up in a strange new town, unpack and prepare yourself and the trainers for what is to come. You take a long look at the list of names, their backgrounds and talk about their potential.

Some of the people that you thought had promise and you were excited about just don’t turn up on the day: illness in the family, changed minds, live too far away, think because they have done a sign language course they don’t need to learn about interpreting. The last reason is the most disappointing. The primary aim of the training is giving specialised interpreter training to those that have language skills whether they are bilinguals by virtue of having Deaf family or friends or because they may have learnt some sign language already. Sign language and interpreting skills: two different things people.

It’s great when you get random people turn up, those that you thought may never come and they transform over the week into knowledgeable, committed and passionate people. Being in an immersive environment for 9 straight days with members of the local Deaf community, learning from Deaf and interpreter trainers about linguistics and Deaf perspectives makes people’s ISL skills and use of specialised signs shoot through the roof.

We’ve had tons of people having light bulb moments. The guy with a Deaf friend who thinks that Deaf people don’t know very much – he’d only met one Deaf person who’d had a terrible education. A couple of days with our brilliant Deaf trainer and he was a changed man. The teachers are often the best to see. In Coimbatore we were lucky to have three teachers of the Deaf attending. All had worked for a few years and some had a basic level of signing. One broke down and cried on day one. She said going through the sign language assessment that she realised how difficult it is to understand in a different language and how bad it was that she hadn’t used signing with the children for four years. I’ve found that these light bulb moments are the turning point for people. They improve dramatically and often go on to be the strongest advocates of Deaf people and sign language.

As this was the last course I’ll be attending I have spent most of my time refusing to deliver or facilitate sessions in order to watch and play a more supportive role. I’ve been in the background watching, advising and providing input where necessary which gratifyingly has been hardly at all. I was struck down by fever one day and took to my bed in the Deaf Centre in the next room. From there I could hear them all happily role-playing away. When I popped my flushed bedhead into the room to see if everything was ok I was sympathetically told to go back to bed!

After two previous courses and an evaluation process it seems the changes we have made have left ASLI with a course that can be delivered for months to come to many potential or existing interpreters in India. I’m chuffed and really proud of the course content. Dramatic changes occur to participants over the nine days and it amazes me every time I see it. I can’t wait for the day when India gets much longer interpreter training programs. Just imagine the results that will be possible then.

10 Down, 2 to go

As is usual on the old blog, I feel the urge to reflect on what has happened and what the coming months will bring. A VSO placement often feels like it is broken up into a few stages. There's the strange first three months, the last few and the long bulk of it in the middle. At 10 months in, it certianly feels like I've been here a while. Now I'm on the final stretch it's the right time to look back and more importantly look forward to what is to come.

I look back and in some ways I feel I’ve been here forever. I can’t remember what it’s like to walk into a Tesco’s and be confronted by a range of cheeses. The common thing that’s said about India is it’s an assault on the senses when you arrive: the colours, the smells, the noise and general chaos. Thing is after months of shopping at vegetable stalls and small shops when I get into a fully-stocked supermarket I think I might feel consumed by the smell of the bakery and overcome by the salamis. I’ll be freaking out at the choice. Once I’ve recovered there is a chance I’ll be shocked by all the consumerism and will never venture into such an establishment again.

Work wise I’m currently on the third interpreter training program and writing this from Coimbatore in South India. We’ve ran out of time to do course number 4 and 5 so ASLI will be doing this after I’ve gone. This means I need to ensure everything I need to do is completed before I go, everyone is happy with what they are doing and everything is sustainable by making sure any skills and knowledge have been passed on. I’ve seen the course develop over the months and I’m really happy with the progress we’ve made. I won’t be needed at the next now it’s all up and running. There’s no relaxing yet though as there’s a few more things to keep me busy until the end of November.

I’ve had my final placement review, I’ve started catching up on reporting, I’ve planned my last few working months, have a vague idea of where I want travel afterwards and I’ve booked my flight home. In the middle of all this reflection and the tidying up of ends I just want to get back. By the time I get there three of my friends will have new born babies and people keep emailing me amazing news. Before I came, friends and family all reassured me that nothing would change in a year. They all lied. As much as I love it here and want to come back, it’s time to finish what I came here to do, plan my future then go and see all the lovely folks back home.

Pics from:
http://www.billboardmama.com/wise-construction-c-4_30.html
http://www.flickr.com/photos/63695821@N00/1327862465

All Aboard...

I was 5 hours into a train journey last week when I managed to get my battery starved laptop on, cranked up the internet and tweeted: …another 37 hours to go. 42 scheduled hours from Delhi to Coimbatore in Tamil Nadu. A cool 2611 km away. That’s nearly two and half times the entire length of my home country, Great Britain.

These long train journeys in India are renowned for running late. As I stood on the platform at New Delhi relishing the freedom of the outdoors several announcements came across the loud speakers: We are sorry to announce the Shatabdi Express is running late by 10 hours and 37 minutes. We regret any inconvenience caused. We are sorry to announce the Puri Express is running late by 8 hours and 23 minutes. We regret any inconvenience caused. The train name usually becomes a bit of a misnomer.

I was lucky though. I left on the morning of the 28th at 11:30 and was due to arrive almost two days later at 05:10 on the 30th. I actually arrived a little after 6am but what’s another hour between friends.

Several snacks, some chatting with my fellow travelers, one of whom was traveling to Kerala and would be on the train for 52 hours, waving at small children who were looking up to my upper berth, a lot of reading and sleeping and it was all over. If you want to see the inside of an Indian train I took a video last year on the Puri Express and it’s up on YouTube. That journey was a monster 34 hours so nothing really.

The most amazing thing about train travel in India is you might lose a couple of days in comparison to the 4 hour flight but the damage to your pocket for over 2500km of travel in 2AC, i.e. air conditioned carriages with only two berths per space (upper and lower) is the equivalent of ₤30. Bargain.

Bodhgaya: Finding some peace

After the delivery of the Kolkata interpreter training over 9 days including two weekends it was time for some R&R. I had one day to explore Kolkata with one of the volunteers there who showed me round. We had a laugh in the planetarium where the 70-something schoolmarm shouted at people if they had their mobiles on and told us that Pluto was no longer a planet and had been demoted. As India’s old capital city, Kolkata has a lovely historical feel to it and is certainly more cultured than Delhi which feels clinical and functional (or dysfunctional) in comparison. The Park Street cemetery was a little slice of calm and told of young British deaths due to Malaria and Typhoid. India is as mad as a box of frogs, what must have it have been like in the 1800’s?

After the whistle stop tour it was off to Bodhgaya for me and my friend who hadn’t been out of Kolkata for 6 months. A remarkable achievement for a place that although lovely was packed, had crazy traffic and few green spaces. Bodhgaya seemed a good choice as the site where Shakyamuni Buddha gained enlightenment under the Bodhi tree.

We arrived at Gaya and got an auto the 13km out to Bodhgaya through a few villages and fields. Ruralshire was a welcome sight. We found our guesthouse complete with some monks and sorted ourselves out after the night train. We discovered a tiny town with temples dotted along the sides of one main road. Monks mingled with mainly Indian tourists and the stalls were selling tourist tack. I’d heard reports this place had been ruined and after having breakfast in a dirty restaurant accompanied by cockroaches I’d wondered whether I was even going to like it here. The cheap eats we got at a Thai restaurant redeemed the place and the next day we had found a good travellers cafe and a quality dhaba for chai and chaat.

The reason for coming was confirmed once we entered the Mahabodhi temple complex. This Indian Buddhist temple was built by King Ashok to preserve and commemorate the site of the Bodhi tree. I’ve been practicing Buddhism over the last year or so but whether you practice or not you can really feel the power and serenity of the place. We sat under the tree with monks, lay Buddhists and tourists from all over Asia. Some meditated, some chanted, others sat in peaceful thought and contemplation. Over the three days we chatted to a few Sri Lankan Buddhists, sat under the tree with others and watched Korean Buddhists chanting with some monks.

The other temples in Bodhgaya all have different characteristics and decorations depending on their region. The Tibetan Karma temple had the most amazing depictions of Buddhist scenes such as the moment Buddha gained enlightenment. The main Tibetan temple had monks listening to a talk by the Dalai Lama and the Bhutanese one was atmospheric replete with a monk banging a drum and chanting. The Chinese temple took me back to travelling China last year with its script inside and the large stone dragons adorning the doors. The Japanese multi-denominational temple was peaceful and spacious with its understated wooden features and open spaces.

We saw many others but were drawn back to the main Mahabodhi temple every day as somewhere you could spend time in peaceful solitude. The town is similar to other Indian tourist spots with the hawkers selling tat and a willingness of some locals to rip off foreign tourists. Hey that’s just the downside of India. Another problem we had was being a few weeks ahead of the main tourist season we were two of only a handful of foreigners. We got rather more attention than we wanted with cameras thrust in our faces and being constantly asked where we were from. It was easier to escape inside the complex and take refuge. Apart from that, anyone spending time here in the presence of Buddhists cannot fail to feel peaceful and happy. Three days was enough to feel refreshed and get back to Delhi ready for a potentially painful visa extension process and preparations for the next interpreter training course.