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.

Round 2: Interpreter Training in Kolkata

The first course was in Delhi and was our tester. This was Kolkata and this was for real. We had our Deaf trainer to lead the course for the first 2 days teaching Deaf history, community and culture delivering in Indian Sign Language (ISL) so clear and wonderful that most participants couldn’t take their eyes of him. After talking to our contacts we realised the impact we were already making. It seemed West Bengal had never seen sign language like it.

We had 13 people turn up who consisted of 4 members of staff from a Deaf organisation, 3 teachers of the Deaf, 3 parents and 3 people who already were interpreters. The staff of the organisation told us about a dire lack of services in the state for Deaf people. For example Kolkata has around 4 schools for the Deaf, all of which use the oral method of teaching, which means using speech not sign language. Famously in 1880 a conference of educators for the Deaf banned the use of sign language in schools. This was a decision which caused much discrimination and took education of the Deaf back to the middle ages. Anyone who is Deaf or works with Deaf people will tell you stories of Deaf children having their hands caned, tied behind their backs or sellotaped together. This is the equivalent of gagging someone. We happily reported that the ICED had formally rejected the 1880 resolution after 130 years opening up a new era for Deaf participation and respect for sign language in education. Two of the teachers of the Deaf, who depressingly didn’t know ISL, didn’t come back the next day. I’d like to think some of the teaching got through to them. This is one reason why Deaf Way will be doing a survey of Deaf education in India soon.

After the first 2 days of teaching and working out the results of our language assessments we had a core number of participants who were either already interpreters or had good enough ISL to start a course of interpreting. Arun Rao, ASLI’s president and trainer supremo, and I led the next 7 days of intensive interpreter training. The number was less than we wanted but it was a sad fact that our course was five years ahead of its time for this state. We ploughed on though and took on the challenge. One of the students bought in a figurine of Saraswati, the goddess of education, culture and knowledge so we put her on the front desk to give us all good luck. I was really buoyed up by the willing attitude of the participants to get involved and learn. We had great fun again doing the role plays and putting people through their paces. We had 3 local Deaf people who helped us with role plays and assessments. It was essential to have their input and their assistance as users of the Bengali dialect of ISL. It was so much fun watching them act out scenes as parents or shoppers to Arun’s dour shopkeepers or angry school principals. All of them deserve Oscars.

We had one more hiccup, a typical Bengali Bundh. This is apparently a monthly occurrence of an all day strike where the city shuts down including shops and transport. The police are out so anyone breaking the strike is fined. We couldn’t hold the course as people were coming from too far away so we agreed to have longer days. This meant I could get on with some work and spend some time relaxing by watching some lapdog TV.

After those long days and enjoying some great Bengali fish it was time to wrap up the course. There was a marked difference in attitudes, skill and competence by the end of the week and again it was a real pleasure to be there to see these improvements. One person said she didn’t know how we could possibly teach that much about interpreting in 9 days but we had made her realise it was a complex process that deserved more follow up courses.

I’m now armed with more changes to make before the next course which will be in Coimbatour in Tamil Nadu. After a break in Bodhgaya, the good work will be continued...

Dharamsala and The Dalai Lama

After the nine days of interpreter training in Delhi it was time for a break. I went straight to the hills to Dharamsala, the site of the Tibetan government in exile. After a queasy 12 hour bus ride round altitudinous mountain roads, my friend and I arrived. We were welcomed by a cool breeze and a rickety taxi van.

Upon arrival at McLeod Ganj, otherwise known as Upper Dharamsala, the taxi pulled over and I wasn’t sure the handbrake would hold on the incline outside the guesthouse. After freshening up it was delicious Momos for lunch. It would be sacrilegious to come here and not eat them. We chose a roof top hotel restaurant. We could see the monks chatting on the street below outside the temple opposite. The highlight of lunch was seeing an elderly woman walk round the whole temple turning every prayer wheel as she passed. A beer or two later was enough to ensure relaxation was kicking in which meant we then went to the beer shop to pick up some fruity local apple and plum wines. We supped on the balcony in the early evening watching kestrel-like birds hovering over the trees passing in front of the many coloured buildings on the slopes of the town. It was all reminiscent of Sorrento in late autumn not that I’ve been there.

The main attraction was being able to listen to teachings of the Dalai Lama. You register the day before with your passport and two photos. You’re given an ID badge that gets you into areas outside the temple in the Tsuglagkhang complex. Once in you can sit yourself in the different cordoned off areas with signs that say English 96.0 FM and Spanish 95.4 FM. The Dalai Lama speaks in Tibetan which was translated simultaneously into Korean as the teachings were requested by Korean Tibetan Buddhists. Breaks were taken every ten minutes or so the listeners could tune in to the consecutive translations into six different languages. It was quite impressive being amongst so many people of different backgrounds and countries all with the same purpose. The monks come round serving bread and Po Cha (butter tea). As the Dalai Lama swept in and out of the hall amonst the assmebled Tibetan Buddhists you could see  their faces light up. He has an amazing presence and it was an honour to be able to be there.

The Tibetans are in exile, forced out of their homeland by the Chinese with a history of atrocities committed against them. The Panchen Lama was kidnapped 14 years ago when he was six, a fact the Chinese government still deny. Many people travel here to work with refugees. Despite their treatment Tibetans are a happy lot and make Dharamsala a lovely place to be walking beside the monks and taking in the mountain views. I’ve checked out the Dalai Lama’s schedule and I’m sure I’ll be back for more.

The Dalai Lama's Trust: http://www.dalailama.com/office/the-dalai-lama-trust
Free Tibet: www.freetibet.org
Save Tibet: www.savetibet.org