The End of an Era...Adieu!

I've held back on my last post as I didn't want to jump in when the first two weeks back have been manic. It's been a bit weird to say the least. I amazingly made it back into Heathrow on the day my flight was scheduled (though postponed by 9 hours). Many others were stranded. On my arrival the ground was covered with snow which made for a very lovely Christmassy atmosphere and I was met by my parents who in their outstretched arms held a blanket and a warm flask of tea. It was good to be back.

But the first few days were odd. I had to eat about four bacon sandwiches over the first few days in order to satiate my cravings. I had to remember to put toilet paper into the loo and not in the nearest available wastepaper basket. I spent a lot of time emailing, calling friends and visiting. 

I had an odd moment when on Xmas eve I made a mad dash round a nearby town to see if I could get a last minute present for my brother which was a DVD he'd requested and I'd forgotten to get him. After visiting six shops I was forced to enter the ASDA. In a big nameless town in Essex, ASDA is the last place you want to be on Xmas eve. My senses were assaulted not by spices and horns beeping but an altogether different kind of mania. My companion pushed me stupified onto the travelator to get up to the first floor. Looking at my screwed up face she said yes it's full of common people in here isn't it? It wasn't the people it was the bananas. The veg aisles (note the plural) were stuffed full of enough produce to feed an rural Indian village for weeks. I hadn't seen anything like it for months. Then a woman's screechy voice with an undeniably Essex brogue screamed that the turkeys were half price and we should all rush to the meat counter to purchase her extra meat. Jeez. Coupled with the grabbing of merchandise going on around me, I nearly passed out at the cacophony of materialism going on inside the store.

At home I pretty much didn't leave the house for two days over Xmas and slowly returned to normality in the UK via the TV (there's one bonus of the old set you know). Well travelling Kerala and diving in The Andamans for three weeks helped too. I have since completed my rehabilitation and after two weeks in the UK I am settled right back in, I'm back to work and behaving normally. Well I say normal but I'm definitely more Indian now. I stand closer to people on the tube and personal space is less of an issue these days. I occasionally burp out loud and realise I am in so-called polite company. but at least the toilet paper goes where it is supposed to.

I'm looking forward to this year. I think bigger, I want another challenge, I have plans and I have new interests. It's all good and I'm still in contact with Deaf Way and VSO and here to assist with anything they need. The internet is a marvellous thing, eh? I miss my colleagues but I know I won't be losing contact with them. No need to be sad, I just gained some very good friends. Will I go back. Hell yes. In some way or another.

The other thing of note is I have enjoyed blogging and YouTubing immensely. It has sparked off a writing hobby and I now regularly turn my musings into short stories. I am putting a natural end to this blog in order to spend time on the world of fiction. 

To complete these musings, here are the things I wished I'd written about and didn't have time:

The shockingly high incidence of sexual abuse of Deaf children

The lack of a decent bilingual education for Deaf children

Rubbish, (the lack of proper) recycling and ragpickers

Climate change in India

The levels of corruption in the Government

The experience of practicing Buddhism in India (eye-opening)

Why people get involved in development work (cos we're lovely?)

How development work changes your perspective of life back home (it really does)

There are obviously many other things that never would have reached this medium but that's me to know and you to find out. For now...Adieu!

Cleaned Out

One plus of living in India is having hired help. You feel slightly embarrassed you’re paying someone the equivalent of £15 a month to clean every morning but you obviously get used to it surprisingly quickly. It’s a relief to have help as Delhi’s dust gets everywhere. Surfaces have to be wiped and floors swept and mopped daily or everything gets covered in a layer of brown.

Our allowances don’t cover luxuries but for me a cleaner is a necessity that gives me more time to relax, exercise and keep in touch with home. I like to go with the old argument that you are contributing to the local economy and spreading moolah around. One friend here has a huge house shared by 5 adults, 3 children and requires around five hired help, each with specific tasks, from drivers to maids to cooks. In these larger households, each domestic aide has their specific duties and they operate to a clear pecking order. That’s a creation of one job per adult. Our landlady tells us it’s harder to get the staff these days. They want more money, they know they can get more and they take long periods of leave to visit their families back home in the rural areas of Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and Orissa to name but a few of the poorer states.

Our old cleaner was a cheeky 25 year old man-child. We thought he was about 17 until he said he had a wife and child. Trips to the bathroom meant you weren’t following him round the house. He would then miss out on the sweeping and wash the dirt round the floor instead. On the days he finished in 20 minutes flat you knew he had skipped on a few chores. The landlady would tell us we had to be firm with him and follow him around. They had known him since he was a teenager and use to work for them in Uttar Pradesh. Apparently since moving to Delhi he had been mixing with other cleaners and was no longer the obedient boy they once knew.

We’ve had a new cleaner for a month or so now. She is an older lady who chats away to me in Hindi that I only vaguely understand. She knows I don’t as I have a random vocabulary and little grammar. My responses when I do understand tend to be of the two word variety. Still she chats away and I love her for it. It’s much better than moody version one. We even giggle when she can’t get doors open as she is so slight. Mostly there seems to be a mutual respect that was woefully absent with the last light-fingered cleaner. He used to pick things up and look lovingly at them until told off and once it looked like he was trying to pinch a cell phone.

With our new cleaner it’s very simple. She cleans, we pay her. If she wants time off she gets it. I do my best to understand and shake my head apologetically when I don’t. If she needs something, she’ll say. After months of struggling with the other one it’s a relief that we have a cleaner who fulfils their part of the bargain and we are once again supporting a small part of the local economy.

A Million Dollar Success

You may have seen my Twitter or Facebook updates already in which case you’d know: I have had a pretty damn good week.

The main aims of my VSO placement was to set up interpreter training and deliver this in a few cities across India. The other was to develop the Indian Association of Sign Language Interpreters (ASLI) and the interpreting profession in general.  

For the last three months I have had my head down creating the training which we start delivering tomorrow to our master trainers in Delhi. They’ll be a few more dates round the country including Kolkata in West Bengal and Coimbatour in Tamil Nadu. One pressing issue was to get the training certified. I wrote my first government proposal a few months back. This was delivered in person as Arun and I went to meet the ministry concerned. We explained the course had the highest content of interpreter training that India had seen so far. Many courses have so far concentrated on ISL skills. I had word on Wednesday that the training should be confirmed next week as receiving accreditation which means interpreters passing the ASLI course will be eligible to register with the government. There is still much work to do on registration and standards but this is an incredible first step to improvements in the current system. This was this week’s first bit of good news.

The second came on Saturday morning. Followers of this blog will have seen an update at the end of July concerning work being done for the proposed ISL academy. I stated then that the proposals I helped to develop were well received by other organisations and the Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment. Since then there have been a few meetings of the new advisory committee and budgets were firmed up. There was an all day meeting that Arun attended. On Saturday he phoned: the centre has been awarded 80 Crore ($20 million dollars).

This will mean the centre houses one of the biggest Sign Language Linguistics departments in the world. There will be research and training on bilingual education for Deaf children. In a country where very few teachers of the Deaf have any knowledge of ISL this is an incredibly important step. There will be funds to encourage ISL poetry and film production. There will be research and training of sign language interpreting. There will be more employment of Deaf people. The icing on the cake everyone is hoping for is that ISL becomes the 19th official language of India.

I am so proud to have been involved in this project and to have made an impact. For anyone that thought I was on a jolly and didn’t want to donate to VSO, you may do so now by clicking here!

It’s no rest for me though. There’s the Delhi course next week for 15 new interpreter trainers. In between the Kolkata and Coimbatour courses, I have a few weeks to complete my next big job. I will be writing another proposal for the government on providing interpreters nationally. We’re talking about a service for anywhere between 4 – 10 million Deaf people. As the census has never had a separate category for Deaf people, nobody knows exactly how many people are Deaf and use Sign Language.  Those that are need access to medical, legal and financial appointments. School, college and university students need interpreters. The courts and police stations need to be able to call on interpreters at a moment’s notice. With scant provision now, mostly through Deaf organisations, there is no information with which to start. 

After consultations and research I’ll need to work out the logistics of setting up interpreter provision in a country 14 times the size of the UK. I’m finishing up at the end of November and it’s going to be a busy few months. Watch this space. Soon there'll be reports of another million dollar success!

Blogpost for VSO: My Story So Far

So I've been at it again: blogging for others, this time for VSO.

They asked me to write of my experience so far. Now it's been a whopping 9 months it was a good chance to reflect and summarise the work I have been doing and what I am expecting of my remaining few months.

It was great having the VSO UK media team visiting. We had lots of fun taking pics with staff and as it was my first day back from holidays it was a nice way to ease myself back into work and being back in India.

 

You can see some more pics and read the VSO blogpost summarising my antics here.

Wot choo looking at?

So I’m more used to the auto drivers now. I even have a bit of a laugh with them when negotiating in Hindi. I still occasionally jump when car horns toot but mostly not. There are things to do for fun and places to relax. I’m settled and happy.

So why does the staring get to me sometimes? It’s like there is no one around who isn’t Indian other than me. And it’s not just men, its women too. Even when I’m going to work and my clothes are more Indian, it doesn’t make a difference.

Granted sometimes you can tell that the person staring may not be a Dilliwallah and could be from a rural village. You see everyone comes to Delhi to work. That’s why some sleep on the side of the street. Construction workers often build tent-like homes from bricks on a spare bit of pavement. You see whole families cooking, washing and living their lives side-by-side with the traffic.

So what gives me the right to get wound up? On the rare day that it does now I have a little chat to myself and think...ladyee, you are rich in comparison. Just deal with it.

Pic from http://blogs.sacbee.com/photos/2010/04/indias-national-census.html 

Lingua Franca

Learning two languages has been a challenge and one fraught with usual faux pas. In Hindi if you don’t roll your R enough in Kurta (shirt) it sounds like kutta (dog) and everyone giggles. I mostly use Hindi for auto drivers and vegetable shopping so I find that it hasn’t developed as much as I’d have liked though at times I sound quite good.

The other language I’ve been learning is Indian Sign Language (ISL) and it is one of the languages of my work here. In the UK we use British Sign Language (BSL) and I’m fluent. It’s a common myth that there is a universal sign language. Pretty much every country has its own sign language due to communities developing their own just like spoken languages developed. Sign Languages have been researched by linguists as early as the 1960s and proven to be full languages in their own right. As many different sign languages have similar grammatical features once you learn the vocabulary of another sign language it can become much simpler.

But there are still complications. As one of my first encounters with ISL was an international sign linguistics conference in Delhi I met many Deaf people from around the country. Trying to learn a new sign language is a bit difficult when you’re meeting people using five different dialects of ISL from as far apart as Delhi, Mumbai and Kolkata. Also some Deaf people prefer using the American finger spelling system. In Delhi they mostly use an alphabet similar to the British system. Finger spelling is used for spelling anything that doesn’t have a sign or does but you just don’t know it! It’s more complicated than that but I won’t go into that here. I find it gets interesting when people fingerspell Hindi words to me. Luckily these tend to be about food so I’ve obviously learnt all those words.

It was really hard at first trying to remember to stick to very visual elements of the language and to pick up the Indian signs along the way. Sometimes I have to work hard to decode the language if I don’t know what the subject is. Once I know the context it’s much easier and I just get it. I find myself wishing I could just sit around the office chatting to the Deaf staff and students but it’s a mix of Deaf, hearing interpreters and sadly, laptop time as work must be done.

The hardest things to learn are the real cultural signs that have been adopted into ISL. Many of these are slight head nods or certain movements of the hands. Some of these signs are used by hearing people on the street gesturing to each other that something isn’t possible or when they are agreeing to something. But it’s great when it all fits in and I love it when I sign in ISL without coding from the BSL first.

And just like Hindi I’ve had a faux pas in ISL. In my first month I asked a Deaf member of staff what the sign for toilet was. I spelt it out and asked for the sign. I wondered if it was appropriate but thought that’s an important sign to learn and I really wanted to find one at the time. He held out his first two fingers palm facing upwards and pulled them back. Not many people use toilet paper here which is why eating with your left hand is taboo. So in my naivety and surprise I thought the sign was a graphic description of what Indian people do in the bathroom. Anyway a month or so later whilst chatting with staff over lunch about travel arrangements I realised what the man thought I had spelt: ticket.     

Here’s some info is you want to know more about Sign Languages:

World Federation of the Deaf – Factsheet on Sign Language

Learn Indian Sign Language

UCL Mini-lecture: The truth about sign language

UCL Video - A visual people and a visual language

 

Pics:

Hindi Alphabet from Google Sites

International Women's Day from The Deaf Way Foundation

Video Killed the Radio Star

Not content with my own You Tube channel: www.youtube.com/jenpenwen

I've got in on VSO-UK's. See the clip of a few volunteers talking about why we love it and why you should volunteer too: www.youtube.com/user/vsomediauk#p/a/u/0/lkCBX8lhTFk

Another clip on my channel to come soon: Staff leaving lunch in the office. I'm subtitling in three languages again so it always takes a while.

The Heat is on...

I didn’t think it could get much worse: 47 degrees, trying to stay indoors anytime between 10 and 6, going for a run only after 6.30pm and drinking 6-8 litres of water a day. Reports say it’ll go up to 50 next week. Every time it goes up a couple of degrees I’m not sure how I’ll cope but then I just do. It just gets less enjoyable.

I’m pretty bored of drinking water and I’ve been know on some days to drink up to 10 litres. If you have some alcohol it has to be weighed up against how much water you can drink in the time left in the day. I had two beers the other day and got a dehydration headache. I pretty much stop at a few beers these days.

Today I found it hard to concentrate at work. If the water coolers don’t work in the office the sweat immediately starts. These are contraptions that suck in water from the tap, sprinkle it onto squares of hay at the sides with a big fan in the middle that blows out the water-cooled air. Air con would be nice but it’s too expensive. Someone in the office took pity on me one day and put a fan on my desk. The staff think it’s hilarious and call it my personal AC. It can be a life saver though. If it gets really bad I splash water on my face and sit there with it on the hurricane setting. I don't get big wind-blown 80’s rock video hair though, it's usually stuck to my neck. Make up you can also forget. I don’t think they sell it in sweat-proof.

Keeping up with yoga is fine providing you can summon the energy to get back out of the flat once you’re home. Swimming is ok between the hours of 7 and 9am only. Any later and the hoards of kids appear and sun burn is a strong possibility. I tried the local running track last Saturday at 8am. It must have been over 35 degrees already so it was more of a run with walking water breaks. My companion and I are aiming for 7am this Saturday. I don’t think I can do any earlier.

But here’s the thing. Does this all mean when it gets to 50 I’ll end up house-bound? Not wanting to venture out into the oven-like breeze I might end up planted in front of the AC that I splashed out on. My savings have never been spent on anything better. It used to make my room a freezing 22. Now on max it’s about 30 and my fan is whirring away. Dilliwallahs talk of escaping to the Himilayas in June. A local friend tells me to get up at 5am every day. I might have to take this advice next week. If it gets bad you might see me doing the monsoon rain dance on the terrace at 5am every morning. You never know, it could become a local attraction.

It's The Final Countdown

On my way to the doctors last Friday I was unceremoniously dumped out of my auto at the bottom of Sansad Marg. I didn’t know this at the time but a demonstration was taking place and the road was blocked. I looked up and I was outside the office of the organising committee of the Commonwealth Games. A big notice board stated there were 156 days left until The Games start.

It’s a hot topic in the news as Delhi seems to be mostly under construction. I see the extension works of the Metro by Kailash Colony on my way to work every day. Not sure it will actually be complete by October. As I went over the flyover last week I could see the reconstruction of the Jawaharlal Nehru stadium. They are just putting up the little tent-like roof sections on the outside (see pics from Treehugger). Who knows what the progress is on the internal sections? It’s a controversial building too. Recently in an imported UK copy of Grazia just a few pages away from the Haute Couture 'Travellers pants' selling for £650 there was an article on child labour at the Commonwealth Games sites in Delhi. Oh the irony. The working conditions are terrible but actually the children aren’t employed, they come with their parents' from afar to work and live on the building sites. There is no child care and the pictures show them helping their parents. The journo (if you could call her that) had completely missed the wider issues of poverty, labour violations and the problems faced by migrant workers who travel far for employment.

There were two announcements in the Times of India on Saturday concerning completion times of works. Firstly the Municipal Corporation of Delhi (MCD) who are responsible for the maintenance of parks and roads have stated they will complete all works by the end of the this month. Secondly, Chief Minister of Delhi, Sheila Dikshit (an unfortunate sounding name where I come from), has stated that all works must be completed by June in case the monsoons come early.

153 days left now. I can’t wait to see what Delhi will look like come October. With 100,000 visitors due to arrive it will be hopefully a lot less messy than now. Now does anyone know how I can get my ticket to see Usain Bolt? 

A Recipe for Successful Weight Gain

Weight yoyo-ing is apparently usual in Delhi due to the change in temperature between winter and summer. Mine may have been a little bit more extreme. Gillian McKeith watch out, here’s how I did it:

Ingredients:

Lashings of Ghee 

Butter naans 

Karti rolls 

Anything with paneer 

Greasy but available Western food: burgers, pizzas, fries

Sundaes

Cheap local chocolate: 5 star bars are ideal

VSO volunteers

New surroundings

Sugary Chai

First take a change in surroundings and embark on a VSO in-country orientation programme in Delhi. Mix the following ingredients in a big pot: boring hostel food such as watery dahl and rotis, the same rice and pickle every day and soggy toast every morning. Simmer for a while. Chuck in a new set of colleagues and put around 18 in tiny shared rooms for 4 weeks. In order to make sure the ingredients cook correctly attend the really intense Hindi lessons.  Ensure all bonding sessions are done over food and meals out.

Once the broth has simmered for a week or two, add the greasy but available Western food at Eatopia and McDonald’s. At this point be careful of your morals when it comes to globalisation, you may have to discard these for the sake of your mental wellbeing. Continue to add a smattering of fries and McAloo Tikki burgers every few days. Stir occasionally.

At the end of the second week add in the plentiful local supply of new, cheap and tasty food at Gulab’s and other restaurants in Mehar Chand market.  Be liberal at this point. Don’t spare on any of the Butter Naans, Karti rolls, paneer or anything with ghee.

You will find this result reinvigorates your tastebuds and your appetite. Take at least one portion of the meal daily and add in some comfort chocolate such as the local 5 star bars if you wish to have quicker results. After 4 weeks, add the start of a cold Delhi winter, some accommodation issues, two extra weeks in a guesthouse and plenty of warming sugary Indian Chai.

After a few months you will find the recipe has been successful. If followed correctly you could gain anything from 5 – 10 kg.

Next instalment coming soon: Recipe for Successful Weight Loss

 

Easter in Varanasi – Bodies, bulls and bacteria

In Delhi they say travel before April when it really hots up in India. Two other volunteers, B and N, and I decided on a last trip to Varanasi before the summer months. On the day we arrived at New Delhi train station in good time. The boards weren’t showing our train and the enquiry desk had a queue of people that snaked almost out of the station. We went up to the bridge that crosses all platforms and each board above each platform was showing different information than the boards downstairs. Dodging porters with three suitcases apiece on their heads and the occasional sleeping body we traversed the bridge looking at each board. None showed our train number. We went downstairs. The boards were stuck over an hour behind at 5.30pm and we were due to leave at 7pm. We had 20 minutes to find our train. Panic was going to set in soon.

After another few runs of suitcase dodging and body hurdling we were getting desperate. We eventually found three men that looked like they might know. Platform 9 they said and we ran. T minus 5 minutes and counting. People trundled along in the heat, toddlers sprang out of nowhere and huge families blocked our path. On the bridge we reached platform nine. No train number was apparent as we hurtled past and down the stairs. We checked the charts plastered on the carriages. It was the right train but we were another six carriages away from ours.

Suddenly the train started moving. Luckily the health and safety rules that exist in other countries don’t in India. We ran to the nearest open door and jumped on the moving train. We walked down the train sweating and laughing to the amusement of our fellow passengers. Two carriages down and the door to the next carriage was locked. A passenger told us the door would be opened after five or so minutes. After ten minutes the door was still locked and the train had stopped at another station. We made another run for it.

I shouted to the other two that we’d reached our carriage and to hop on at the next door. I heard a shout back as the train started to move, ‘It’s locked!’ We ran back screaming and laughing with our rucksacks on. It must have been great entertainment for the usual passengers strewn around the platform waiting for their delayed trains. ‘Quick get on, get on!’ ‘Hurry up and get out of the way!’ Spectators wouldn’t have needed English to understand what was happening.

We finally found our seats. As we were in different parts of the carriage we decided to take three seats in one berth and hope we wouldn’t be moved on. We spoke in pidgin Hindi and English to the man in the remaining bunk. He later laughed at us bored playing The Name Game and told us there is an Indian equivalent called Antakshari meaning last letter.

We had the usual staring from male passengers but our friend was gracious and friendly. Helping to find out what had happened when we didn’t get blankets and there was no food service. It was a new train, named the ghost train by B. No wonder it hadn’t existed at the station. I was grateful for his presence when I woke up in the middle of the night to a man sat on my bed as my friends were sleeping soundly in their upper bunks. I sat up speechless upon the sight of the stout greying man dressed all in white. The apparition spoke to me in Hindi and prodded my rucksack which had been jammed behind my head. Baggage thieves are notorious on Indian trains. I said ‘Kya?’ (what?) It was all I could muster but it was enough to wake my fellow passenger who firmly spoke to him. I could make out he was saying this is not your compartment, go and find your own. He floated out backwards with a monologue moan, ‘sorrisorrisorri’. I half expected to hear a rattle of chains as I thanked our friend before rearranging my baggage and settling down to what was then a fitful sleep.

We arrived to the usual barrage of touts and phoned our guesthouse for our pick-up. We did not disembark from our auto at the guesthouse but outside the tiny streets that lead to the ghats. With baggage in tow we trundled after our guide in 40 plus heat dodging cowpats, hawkers and temple-goers until we made it to the Ganges and our guesthouse. After dumping our luggage we went to explore the ghats and the tiny maze-like streets.

Whilst walking past a stall, we noticed a Deaf guy signing to his friend. I said hi and we got chatting to him and his three friends. We took them up on the offer of being shown round the next day and some sari shopping. I love how the Deaf community is so small. When you bump into anyone in the world you find out they know the same people. They’d all met the Director of my organisation at campaign rallies for the rights of Deaf people. In the heat we let our new friends and moved on to find lunch and much-needed shade.

Shortly after, we nearly got run over by a dead body under a colourful cloth being carried aloft on a stretcher by six men. Draped with garlands of flowers they made their way between the piles of wood for cremation down to the ghats where the body would be burnt on a pyre. Rumours are rife of body parts being seen floating down the river as poorer families can’t afford the more expensive wood needed to fully burn a body. On a sunrise boat trip, we saw the strange sight of people sifting ash by the funeral pyres for jewellery and gold teeth.

Varanasi was a strange delight and our eventful train journey should have been an omen of what was to come. A fun afternoon was spent marvelling at famous Banares Saris with our new Deaf friends. It was relief to get off the streets where the goats munch garbage and buffalos wait to be milked. A particularly grumpy one had seen my red kurta and tried to go for me. A local man had to lead me back shielding me from the bull to get back to my friends. When I thanked him he broke out into a grin and charmingly said, ’You do not need to thank me. It is my right and my privilege to help you in my country. I spent the next few days wondering how I had managed to pack what seemed to be everything red in my wardrobe.

We ended our last day by having a lassi with our Deaf friends. As I was signing away I could see passers-by forming a small crowd until they got bored and moved on. I could hear the lassiwala say to B and N, ‘she knows their language?’ It strikes me as ironic that this humble man who lives with a buffalo outside his shop understood immediately that sign language is another language. How is it possible that some members of the government fail to comprehend this when they suggest ISL is merely a set of gestures relating to Hindi?

Unfortunately that lassi was what probably gave us the bug that left N ill on the train home that evening. B wasn’t feeling too great either. We didn’t get our waitlisted tickets for our original train back causing more chaos at the station. The one we got instead went to East Delhi forcing us to get a Metro back into town. Lucky for us we had got chatting to a passenger who led us to the Metro station. I’d explained that B and N were ill. He marched me to the front of an hour long queue for tickets. When the man behind me protested he responded, ‘These are guests in our country. You should treat them as such.’ I was received with a gesture to move forwards to the ticket window which I gratefully accepted under the circumstances. When we parted at the Metro interchange he made sure we got to the correct platform and I shook his hand vigorously marvelling again at the kindness of strangers. Thankfully my bacteria decided to strike only after I’d gone home and been to the shops for supplies. I’ve been pretty much hunkered down since we returned two days ago and have been swallowing antibiotics regularly ever since. I’m definitely heading back to explore more of Varanasi in the cooler months. Next time I think they’ll be no ghost trains, no lassis and definitely no red clothes.

Queuing at the Delhi Counter Part II - A Legal Alien in New Delhi

The visa process is painful. The expat forums are full of queries and no-one knows what the processes are or what the different types of visa mean. As volunteers we sort out our own visas and must sit around for hours in strange government offices. It is a rite of passage one must go through to be allowed to stay in India. Here’s the rather strange story of my experience:

DAY ONE

10:07 Arrive at the Ministry of Home Affairs reception and use elbows to obtain a number. This is slightly different from buying Gouda at Sainsbury’s.

11:03 My number shows up on the LCD. Elbow way to front to hand in form and be given slip of paper that allows me inside visa facilitation centre.

11:05 Queue at visa centre reception. No one is at the desk. After ten minutes a group has gathered and a man rocks up. Elbow in, hand over form and sit down for the long wait.

12:41 Called for interview where there is much staring at paperwork from official. I’m told to come back at 16:30 to collect letter which must be handed in tomorrow, still sealed, at the Foreign Registry Office.

16:40 Return and wait for an hour and a half alongside irate European who seems to think that if you complain about the system it will immediately improve. Collect letter and leave having wasted a day of work.

DAY TWO

07:30 Arrive at Foreign Registry in auto. Realise I need to pay 80 rupees and have only 60. A passerby takes pity on me and gives me 20 rupees. The kindness of strangers. Resolve to hunt him down later and pay him back. Put name on list. I am number 10. This feels like a good number to be.

09:38 Return after breakfast at a nearby hotel to a long queue of pushing Afghani’s on the left and perturbed other where-esles on the right. Push way to front as I am number 10. As I wait two British men push their way into the queue behind me. The one at the front asks if I am British. We have a conversation about queues and what reason we are all here. They require exit stamps in their passports so they may return to India after they have been to Dubai. I tell my new companions that the Afghani queue is for refugees. European woman in front of me turns round and offers a pitying but withering look. She tells me they are not refugees but medical tourists as the doctors in Afghanistan are supposedly not as good as India. Feel slightly stupid and apologise. Get to front and I am told I am late. Get given number 20. Dammit.

10:01 Inside the building clasping our numbers we all queue again to see the man on reception. I chat away to my two new British friends. Number one is the slightly older of the two and is very jovial. We chat about India and the UK, about colonialism and the British influence here. Number two is thinner, slightly younger. He is probably in his late 40s/early 50s with lovely demeanour. Number one chats away with me. He tells me he has a franchise in automatic pizza making machines and he has been trying to sell them across India but this hasn’t worked well so far. Number two says that I shouldn’t believe anything number two says.

10:05 I have by now discussed why pizzas cannot be sold on university campuses yet in India as the food is all subsidised in canteens and delicious. I have also told them both all about VSO, my placement and when asked what I will do when it ends I joke that I may return to the UK, settle down, find a husband. I get a strange look from both of them. Remind self that some of my humour should be reserved for friends.

10:07 Still chatting I ask number one a question. He mishears and says, ‘Our names? I’m Nick and this is Gordon.’ We talk about the length of the queue again. They need to catch a flight to Dubai and have to leave in one hour. I call up my flatmate and get advice from the FRRO guru, Nikki-ji. She has been here many times. I tell her about the two men and tell her my number. She tells me it took her three hours but it all depends on what is in my envelope. I relay this to my companions. As they are here for a different reason there is a small possibility they can get out in time to get their flight.

10:09 OMG! It dawns on me that number two is Gordon Sumner aka international superstar and amazingly talented one: Sting. Realised I’ve been trying to give them insight on India and pizza machines. Cringe and try not to laugh. I can’t look up and fiddle with my paperwork for 30 seconds to regain composure. Breathe.

10:10 Tell number two, aka G/S, quietly that I have figured out who he is. Exchange knowing glances all round. Ask number one who he is as he looks as if he may be familiar too. I have a laugh with them both that he is not in fact a pizza making machine seller and is in fact a BBC journo or something. He tells me his name and tells me I probably won’t find him through Google.

10:12 Ask them why they don’t have a handler. Point to man just in front of us who hands over seven visa application forms causing us to wait another 10 minutes. We agree you probably have to come in person for a visa stamp.

10:13 Tell G and N they probably get asked this all the time but can they donate some money to VSO. Write down my Just Giving website address and my blog address. He reads out Jen Does Delhi. I tell him that it is a play on the title of the famous porn film of the 1970s entitled Debbie does Dallas although state that is definitely not what I am doing here, it's just that the title just makes me laugh.

10:15 Get to front of queue. Man dismisses me and says I do not need to renew my visa until April when it runs out so I should come back then. Tell him I am here to register with police as well. He doesn’t even look at me and waves me away. Say my goodbyes to G and N. N says he will hunt me down and marry me at the end of my placement. I tell him that it would be lovely thank you. G wishes me luck earnestly. Feel amazingly lucky and humbled. What a day and it is only 10:15! Who cares if FRRO have dismissed me?

10:18 Call FRRO Guru-ji. Realise in all the excitement of meeting G and N that I didn’t give the receptionist the unsealed letter I got from the MHA the day before. Tell her that I met Sting and she unknowingly gave him FRRO advice. Inform her that this takes her to new levels of FRRO guru-ji-ness.

10:20 Convince security guard that I need to go back in very quickly as I forgot something. He points back to the queue outside. Wave around letter frantically and look slightly maniacal. Plead. Beg. Get let in again. Phew.

10:22 Barge my way to front of inside queue and plead with man to open my letter. He points to queue and again. Plead again and stand still refusing to move. Thrust envelope into his face and put on my best feminine helplessness face. This never usually works.

10:23 It works! Wonder if famous lovely superstar, G, and future husband, N, are watching this pitiful performance. He opens the letter and tells me to go home. The police will visit my home to check I live there at some unnamed point in the next few weeks.

10:25 Look around to say goodbye to G and N. They’ve been swallowed up by the frantic medical tourists and frustrated Europeans. I head off hoping they get their stamps and enjoy their holiday when they return to fabulous India. Wonder if they’ll be any tickets in the post soon?

(pictures from - http://www.askmen.com/ and http://www.matteoandmathilde.com/2009/10/i-remember-during-my-times-at.html)

Travels, Touts and Trauma

After my recent conference my guest speaker and friend, over from the UK, stayed on for a tour of Delhi, Jaipur and Agra. He has Usher Syndrome which means, in his case, tunnel vision as well as being Deaf. For someone with this condition it can be pretty tough getting around. Imagine then visiting India: a place with few pavements, mentalist driving, little awareness of disabilities and a general level of what feels like chaos. There were incidents right from when he arrived at the airport all the way through to when he left.

To start with, we arrived at a hotel round the corner from my house where my guest would stay. I am not allowed male overnight visitors at my flat and this has been written into the tenancy agreement. My landlord is part of a lovely but rather conservative India family who live on the ground floor. The hotel staff looked perplexed to see their new guest arrive. As the two of us chatted in Sign Language they stared. The staff asked many questions and were horrified when he explained that they cannot knock on his door as he will not hear. They didn’t get it at first but then started to realise the implications of his being there and panicked. As I walked back to my pad at 4am, I wondered how this was all going to work out.

Over that week the staring I usually get went to a whole new level. A white woman, using Sign Language and guiding a man around when pavements are bumpy i.e. most of the time, attracts a lot of attention. We had a few near misses with motorbikes and a few occasional collisions with Rickshaw wallahs, a few stumbling off kerbs and autos trying to drive off whilst my friend was attempting to get in. There were some funny moments and some that were pretty stressful.

The Indian ASLI conference went very well. In India the Deafblind community are not so well integrated into the Deaf community so I had to show a few people how to communicate with our honourable guest. Once people had seen hands-on signing or were told about tunnel vision, they just got on with it. Having my guest at the conference proved to be an awareness raising exercise. In fact that is how the whole trip turned out.

With the conference over we headed by coach to Jaipur. It was impossible avoiding touts whilst being a communication guide. I shouted ‘Jao!’ (go away) more times than I have had to so far. When we got to the hotel however, the receptionist started signing away. Turns out he had a Deaf friend. Bingo. A bit later on one receptionist said my guest couldn’t go out alone until we put him straight. Later that evening he successfully went out on his own in the company of a Rickshaw-wallah. Being forewarned about gem scams in Jaipur, he returned safe.

Whilst visiting the City Palace, my guest had his first haggling experience. Later a Deaf man approached us as he worked in the shop and had seen us signing. If you’re Deaf you meet other Deaf people all over the world. It’s a known phenomenon. Some people had no patience but then you can get this wherever you go and whoever you are. Many more though watched our interactions then would try to make gestures so they could communicate directly. Some helped with the job of guiding once they knew how.

We travelled onto Agra to see the Red Fort, Agra town and the infamous Taj Mahal. A place famous for touts and con artists, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I was lucky to find an auto driver to stay with us for the whole day saving us the hassle of negotiating a price each time. He was very patient and helped out whenever he could. A conman got my guest into the Taj for free as he wanted to take half our entrance fee afterwards. We went in for the cost of my ticket alone and left him outside penniless. There was more being bumped into by passers-by, more stares and logistical nightmares. When you have the beauty of the Taj in front of you though, nothing else is important.

After a late trip on the train back to Delhi we had a day of tourist fun there before my guest went home. Straight to the Red Fort where my guest got another free entry. I declined to go shopping at Janpath. The security guard looked horrified when I said it was just him going in. I told him I would happily accompany my guest if I got in free. This was declined so off I went much to the consternation of the guard.

Later we headed to Old Delhi. My guest got followed, grabbed and no amount of Jao-ing got rid of one man so we ducked into a street food place for a samosa and a lassi. Once replenished I negotiated a rickshaw so we could be cycled around the chaotic streets. When we got out our Rickshaw wallah tried to rip us off and wouldn’t give me my change. We were suddenly surrounded by ten young men who fought with him to return the cash. We ended up getting our ride for half the price I had negotiated and one man told us to leave as the argument continued. I whispered my thank yous and got my friend out of there with relief and gratitude at the kindness of strangers.

Many disabled people here are stuck at home, isolated or just not visible in public. Society here rarely sees positive role models as India has far to come in accessibility, understanding and awarding people their rights. One man told him that he was amazed as my friend was far better off than many here such as the many illiterate and destitute living in poverty. I think my guest, in his short time here, gave many people food for thought and did more than he knows for raising awareness of how it should be in India.

The Three Month Meltdown?

A few days ago, I crossed the infamous three month mark. Infamous in VSO terms and amongst volunteers here. It’s sink or swim time. If you’re going to get it bad the likelihood is it’ll happen now. A mild depression maybe, hating the country you are in, thinking about your friends, missing family, wanting to go back home. Perhaps not washing (apparently).

There’s no upset here though. That’s right...I still shower. Yes, I miss my friends and family in a way that I didn’t before. Well if you’ve only just arrived you miss people but you haven’t been gone that long. You’re so busy taking in all this information and your new surroundings. You’re in contact with people back home regularly. Maybe it’s because it’s around now that it hits home. You won’t see people for another nine months. It’s a pretty long time to miss people. Skype and emails are good but no substitute. I'd love to share a glass of wine with friends. It’d be good to see my flesh and blood in the erm...flesh.

I’ve noticed how everything just feels easier. My placement is still a challenge. I love it though and it’s much easier now I better understand what is needed. I get along with people at work and really enjoy getting to know them. My Indian Sign Language gets better for every day that I set aside time to chat to colleagues. Even my Hindi is better. On a recent trip to Janpath market, the stall holders were congratulating me on my ‘thori thori Hindi’ (literal translation: 'little/small' Hindi). Life is a little better now I can hold my own more in a negotiation with an auto driver.

I no longer haul back Kingfisher from the supermarket. We get it delivered when we need to wind down. I still get lost now and again. Who doesn’t in Delhi? The house numbers and streets defy logic. I love yoga in my local temple. I cannot describe how amazing it is to do yoga to the sound of temple bells with Yoga guru-ji. He contorts himself into assans most of us cannot do but have a laugh trying. The laughing yoga is one of the best bits. This is no stuffy yoga class back home.

I have a social life. A mix of local friends and other volunteers makes for a great support network and all together they make up an amazing bunch of people. We’ve sourced the local nightclub. Ladies night, free drinks all night is much better than it sounds. It’s a proper club, with great people. No line dancing or bad taste decor here. As long as you keep your eye out for people slipping roofies in your drink it’s pretty safe and fun.

So in answer to two people recently who said I sounded stressed from my blog. I’m not. I may write about the stresses of life here: getting parcels delivered or arguing with auto drivers. These are just observations on life here and things that have happened. Cliche alert: Overcoming these challenges and being here is one of the most rewarding things I’ve done in my life. Yes I miss people and get stressy every now and again. I like to have a trip in the diary to know I’ve got fun planned. I like keeping up with people. I treat myself to the odd shopping trip, market visit or pedicure. Cheesy I know: I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now.

(The Pic of the Taj is to show what a terrible life it is here!)

Jaiho Jaipur

At the weekend a few of us went on a trip to Jaipur for a break out of the chaos that can be Delhi. We went to a literary festival at the Diggi Palace hosted by William Darymple. In it's 5th year, the festival was pretty well attended. As I'll be back in Jaipur in two weeks, I didn't see so much of the famous 'Pink City'. I did get time to find out about the Camel Festival in March with an Elephant Festival later on in the festvial season. Only 6 hours away from Delhi, it was a good escape and the bus was cheap. Even the deluxe version was good and nicer than the train.

Other writers in attendance were Roddy Doyle, Hanif Kureshi, Niall Ferguson, Shoma Chaudhury (Editor of Tehelka magazine), Ayaan Hirsi Ali (living under a Fatwa for speaking out against Islam) and many others. There was a special focus on Dalit literature, also known as the 'untouchable' caste. At times it felt like literature was the new Rock n' Roll for the middle classes.

The cars still honked. There were still no pavements. We were treated like tourists. It was all somehow different though. We swanned around pretending we were on holiday. We ate dinner and drank beer in rooftop bars. We shopped and took photographs. Coming back I felt different about Delhi. A sort of calm resignation that this was where I lived and it wasn't so bad at all. Perhaps it is because Delhi may be starting to feel like home.

Bollywood: Aquafresh on Acid

Coming up to three months in India it was about time I went to see my first Bollywood movie. The film everyone is talking about here is The 3 Idiots. This is modern Bollywood but it’s indisputably Bollywood all the same. The Indian cinema experience is strange. No laptops, cameras or chewing gum. You get turned away or these things get taken away if you have any on your possession as you go through the airport style security. Ladies to the left, gentlemen to the right.

Inside, the reclining seats are pretty plush for what amounts to less than a few quid. Once I’d tuned in to some of the Hindi, I started to relax and enjoy the film. I got the gist of it. With the visual gags and the occasional bits of English dialogue it was easier to pick up the clues. Some was lost on me in the nuances of language but having done my research I hung on in there. Of course the songs and dance routines were entertaining. Seeing grown men dancing around in towels, breaking into song whilst brushing their teeth was a bit like watching the 1980s Aquafresh advert on acid. The next morning in my kitchen I was waiting for the kettle to boil. I couldn’t place the strange lyrics that seemed catchier than an S Club 7 hit. It took me a while to realise what I’d been singing but then I’m never that good in the mornings.

Bollywood films are famous for not displaying sex. Too taboo in India. This is a country where apparently no-one has sex before marriage but the numbers of teenage abortions are sky-rocketing. On screen, in the 1970s, there were apparently careful visualisations instead. Just when you’re expecting the main characters to get it on, a flower may appear instead to blossom or be pollinated by a bee before normality resumed. I was a bit surprised then when the main couple broke out into song and suddenly had on flimsy clothes. They were dancing, it rained. Soon they were bouncing around and their clothes went see-through. Easier to imagine what could happen next then without the Chelsea Flower Show type display.

The storyline was pretty diverse and epic. There was the whole gamut of emotions: birth, illness, death (not just one), a funeral, a near marriage and lots of men crying. The main character was nearly superhuman. He saved several lives. This included saving a baby and its labouring mother by building, A-Team stylee, a vacuum pump from a Hoover to suck out the stuck child. In nearly three hours the audience had the entire spectrum of the human experience.

The film may have been cheesier than the Stilton I crave but it was all fun. The scenery was stunning and I’ll definitely be jetting off to Leh soon. This is westernised Bollywood and I loved it. That, folks, was what you’d call entertainment and it’s currently showing in 53 cinemas in the UK.

Shut up and Drive

(Pic from: http://rickshawchallenge.com/blog/)

It’s official, auto drivers have become the bane of my life. I’ve spent three patient months trying to understand but they are an alien breed to me. You think you’ll get there for 40 rupees. They want 80. But then there’s the 100% mark up to factor in. It’s the skin tax. A local friend told me his wife, having lived here for 25 odd years still pays it.

You think if you speak Hindi you might get say, a discounted 50% skin tax. They think you’re cute. The next question is inevitably, “Shaddi-shudda hai?” No I’m not married but I am sane. I don’t know this in Hindi so the last time this happened I ended up married with 10 children.

I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt. Not anymore, it’s war. No more ‘Yes your medicine costs 200 rupees’ knowing I’ll get asked at the end to pay for it. Note to self: learn Hindi for: ‘I won’t be paying for that’.

Most people in my office use Indian Sign Language and English. Everyone in Delhi speaks some English. My Hindi improves slowly due to lack of use. I’m from the UK too, I like pavements and walking. Neither are seen as necessary in Delhi so I have to get in an auto now and again. When I do, I find myself putting on the don’t-mess-with-me-face. It doesn’t work. Within thirty seconds it’s ‘where are you from?’ Reply in Hindi, they think I’m cute, they ask if I’m married. See second paragraph. The first few times I played along. Once I got assaulted. Well he did that thing that boys used to do in the playground at school to make you feel sick. They shake your hand then wiggle their index finger on your palm as an indication they want to have sex. I nearly threw up on the spot and the driver couldn’t stop laughing at my face which had ‘No!!!’ written all over it.

In the UK we chat to our taxi drivers. We talk shit and banter. We swap stories. They tell you about the celebrities they had in their cab last week. Not here. Not that Bollywood celebs would be seen dead in an auto anyway. It’s no more Hindi practice in autos now. It’s no more Mr Nice Guy. Charge me skin tax? You can shut up and drive.