Hot Hot Hot…..

I’m sitting here sweating buckets under a fan, which is moving hot, fetid air around my living room. The temperature outside is ONLY 40C today and has been about this hot for a week. It was 41.2C on Sunday night. This was the day the local power company had a failure which plunged the whole of Kolkata into darkness for 6 hours. It also coincided with the first Kolkata Knightriders match in the Indian Cricket League (the one they are playing in South Africa, because the security couldn’t be provided for such a high profile tournament during the general election ( more of which later).). As the Knightriders got tonked, it may not have been a bad thing that 14 million cricket mad Kolkatians (?) couldn’t see it. However, the hottest April day in Kolkata for a decade was not the best time to have a total power cut.

Kolkata in a powercut- courtesy of the local Daily Telegraph

Gariahat in the same powercut....funny how their generators worked but my apartment ( no generator) was dark

We’ve had a lot of loadshedding power cuts lately. Basically there isn’t enough capacity to deal with the demand of the entire city switching their AC on to max to combat the heat. So, most areas get a cut of 30-120 mins at some point in the day. Even the Indians are fed up with this and many places have a back up generator so they can run limited services. Unfortunately the IICP doesn’t, so I left early today in the hope that Gariahat (my area) was cooler. I treated myself to a Rs5 icecream, sat in a cold room for an hour and then managed 10 minutes on the internet before the power cut out here as well. I found a café with back up electricity, slowly drank an icecream coffee and watched the Knightriders win their second IPL rain affected match through the Duckworth-Lewis rule. (I could explain it. Young Indian boys from the IICP have managed to do so to me on the school bus, but I won’t…go look it up if you really need to know).
I’m told it can’t get any hotter, but will get more humid and therefore unpleasant. This year there has been no Nor’wester storms that make everything more bearable for a couple of days (global warming for you). I go through 2 t-shirts and have at least two showers a day. I crave the mild Spring weather of the UK, and a dull chilly wet day would be positively wonderful right now. I suppose I’ll come back to a summer of them in June.

Electronic mishaps
It started with my watch conking out and it wasn’t the battery. As it was actually quite a nice watch, I wanted to keep it but getting it fixed in the UK was going to be 50 quid before I’d even started, plus I needed a watch for 7 weeks . Rather than buy a knock off from the market (they are more expensive here than Thailand), Shaori said he had a mate, who could take a look and lo and behold, for Rs600, (less than a tenner), and two bottles of beer ( I’m sure Shaori will share as well) I have got it back as good as new.
I love to hate computers। When we only had pieces of paper and a telephone things worked ok. Actually Indian bureaucracy shows that things work, in their own inimitable fashion and very slooowly. The computer has been a great lifeline for me here. I’ve blogged, skyped, cammed and surfed my way through this so far. My best friends in India are Kamal, the IT guy at the IICP, and Mr Prayar, who runs the internet café near me (I have my own booth as I am his best customer). The issue is that when the power goes, I’m helpless. When my computer started to get sick, I became even more pathetic. I have my music on itunes, my photos on Picasa and I watch dodgy DVD’s from Gariahat market on it. Fortunately, I did have it all backed up.

My best friend Kamal- although he hates me....

I don’t know what disc error means, but it sounds serious, and suddenly it took 10 minutes to boot up, and I couldn’t use skype any more, so I went to see a nice man at the Sony service centre, who ummed and aaahed, and said we’d need to send to Singapore for a spare part. The guy at the computer shop said he could fix it if I had recovery discs, or he could sell me a new computer. Eventually I gave it to Kamal who didn’t fix it completely (I still had a disc error), but made it like new, for now at least.
My new best friend at the computer store said he could totally fix the issue, and upgrade the memory. As the charge for the labour in India for 8 hours of fiddling with my hard disc was Rs400….. yep that’s a fiver, I said go for it (Now go to PC world and get them to charge you that!!). The he called me to say there was a “small problem”. It wasn’t the hard disc, it was the SATA cable to the hard disc…and he’d called Sony , who ummed and ahhed and said they’d need to send to Singapore for a spare part….( yes, you have heard that before). What was new was that it would take 10 days ( and I have no idea how much Sony labor will cost…methinks more than Rs400. I have no computer of my own, hence I have no cam, no skype, no itunes and no way to play Valkyrie, X-men Wolverine, Slumdog Millionaire or any of the other films I have on DVD. I can blag my way through work with memory sticks and the IICP computers but I am not the happiest bunny in the world right now. I am also concernbed that if 10 days becomes two weeks, Im getting periously close to the end of my time in Kolkata and I don’t fancy going home with no computer….
I usually put lots of pretty pictures in each posting, but so it was a major disaster when I managed to lose my camera. My introduction to Tollygunge club (remember Mr Ghosht? He gave me a particularly oily smile as he obsequiously welcomed me as a temporary member) was marred somewhat by this loss. The golf was fun, and I can brag about being a member of an Indian club, but losing my camera with ALL my pictures was more than I wanted to pay. Fortunately I have a back up of the pics, and I also have insurance, but this requires me to register the loss within 24 hours.
Thus, I went to the local police station to file an FIR (farcical incident report maybe?). Police stations in Kolkata are pretty much like those anywhere else in the world, only grubbier. There is a man with a gun outside, but inside there are corridors filled with policemen looking important, and probably keeping India safe, but doing it in a way that seems like they are doing nothing. They are pretty intimidating about it as well.
Fortunately I had my Auntie Subhra with me to yell in Bengali and make things happen.
In the first place we went, we had a long discussion about where the incident took place, and where it was detected. Two different police stations had jurisdiction here and so we had to go to my local to file the report. You never see that in “The Bill.” This was a mistake, as there had been a bank job in Gariahat that afternoon and so the rozzers had more important things on their mind. So, we managed to establish that we were in the right place, and suddenly everyone disappeared. Then I got pen and paper and could write my statement ( honest guv, I didn’t do it on purpose), but the man on the desk wouldn’t process my form without orders from his superiors (who of course, were out catching bad guys. They manage to do this sitting in their office smoking). I then had an interview with two of them, the duty officer disappeared with my passport (Subhra said this was the most worrying moment for her, and said never to let my passport out of my hand or sight again), and then everyone went away for an hour and a half. Finally, just as I was at the point of giving it all up, I got given my report, a copy and the man at the desk wrote something up in his book ( it didn’t actually look very official but I’m sure it was) and stamped everything in sight. I ran out joyfully. In the next thrilling installment you can read how I get on with my insurance company!

P.S….. We found the camera….dropped on the floor of the car en route to Tollygunge. The following are the pictures I took of my new golf club! We play some weird game that involves match play, automatic pressing and a maximum of Rs200. I have no idea how it works but after two rounds of golf I am Rs10 up….so it cannot be such a bad game after all.

A plane, some trains and no automobile

I hope my last post impressed on you just how hard Ive been working. This one is going to shatter any illusions you may have about Chris being a dull boy through lack of play. Having worked my way around Kolkata in the first few weeks, I thought it was time to travel a little further afield and get a taste of India.
Shantinetikan-
Only two hours from Kolkata, but a chance to get my feet wet in the madhouse that is Howrah station (think Waterloo with extra beggars and vendors trying to sell anything you might need for a train journey, and plenty you don't....who wants to buy water-pistols for a train journey???). The ticket cost very little, in fact the entire weekend cost about 15 quid all in, but after asking three different officials, all of whom insisted it was platform 8, the train showed up on platform 9....very Indian.
Once on the train, you can buy just about anything, and listen to all sorts of strange music (I hate buskers), or drink chai or eat weird stuff made up of puffed rice, chillies and oil mixed up in a plastic bucket with a grubby spoon and served in a newspaper cone. ( I had eaten lunch so I passed on this delight).
Howrah station


This is a town with a University founded by Tagore, India's first Nobel Laureate ( for literature- go on tell me you know all about him, and do it with a straight face and uncrossed fingers). The University is a bit faded and dilapidated now, but the place was peaceful and very tranquil after 5 weeks in Kolkata. Tagore's house is now a sort of museum; very informative but lacking his Nobel prize which got pinched...and its all bit tatty. This is a pity because if the 16 “guards” sitting around insisting I didn't take pictures and “guarding” the place had been gardeners, it could have been fabulous. A friend, Jayobrato Chatterjee, actually grew up in the house ( his father was one of Tagore's inner circle) and says he finds it most difficult to have to pay to look at places he used to play in.

I stayed in a guest house near to the Deer park (didn't see any deer), and took a cycle rickshaw up from the station. It was a most relaxing way to travel, for me at least, but the guy cycling had thighs of iron and not an ounce of fat on him. He earned every one of the Rs40 (about 50p) I paid him for 30 minutes of cycling. I had fabulous roast chicken for dinner, slept late on Sunday morning, and got back in time for tea on Sunday afternoon.
The guest house and view।


Bodh Gaya
This is one of the holiest Buddhist places. It is eight hours by train from Kolkata, and so time to sample the joy that is an air-conditioned sleeper train, leaving Howrah at 11.30pm on Friday night. As I'm usually tucked up in bed by 10.30, and was suffering from a wretched cold (almost man flu) I was starting to have second thoughts about this trip even at the beginning, especially as I didn't have a confirmed seat for the way back. I was assured that my waitlisted position (6) was safely going to get me home in time for work the next week.
I traveled with Suzanne, also a sleeper carriage virgin, and we started nervously by sitting onto the wrong seats. Once we'd found our places, we sat waiting for everyone else to make the first move- and show us the protocol for making the beds up. The 3 tier a/c carriage needs the seat to be lifted up to make the bed, and I just wanted to try and get my head down, hoping that someone would wake us up at the right place as the train was going on to Delhi (an extra 1000 km further on).
I didn't need to worry, I was wide awake at 5am and spent an hour watching the Indian countryside at dawn. It is flat, with lots of rice fields and very rural. I got an excellent view of lots of people squatting and doing their morning toilet. There was a sign in English announcing our arrival at Gaya, and a nice man with a sign met us at the train. (Auntie Ranu had arranged accommodation at the Sri Lankan mission and station pick up).

Buddha sat under a Banyan tree and got enlightenment. Every significant Buddhist nation now has a shrine in the town to honour this, and cater for the monks and tourists who come to see. Apparently in Winter the place is packed but it is now summer and stupidly hot. Buddhist temples are all the same layout, but each one had characteristics of its nation which made them all very different and interesting.
Shrines R'Us

I walked half the temples the first morning, and then retired to my room to sleep the afternoon heat away। I had a lovely air conditioning unit, that worked for an hour, then we lost the power and it next came on about 30 minutes before we left on Sunday।
I paced myself, a few more shrines before dinner and then next morning a trip to Gaya to see the Vishnupad shrine (built over Vishnu's footprint, and where Buddha apparently meditated for 6 years)। The success of this excursion was getting confirmation that we did have confirmed seats that night- I didn't mind too much that I wasn't allowed inside the shrine after that. (sacred to Hindus and even with my shoes off they wouldn't let me in).After another sleep Suzanne and I walked around the Mahabohdi shrine which was amazing as darkness fell. I was interested to see that the thermometer at 6pm was 36C, and it felt quite cool so I dread to think what it read at 1pm

.
The train back was an hour late arriving- not too bad as it had started 24 hours previously in Mumbai- and a two tier carriage with most people sleeping already was a welcome sight when it did arrive. 5Am at Howrah was just as mad as any other hour- this station never sleeps
Agra
This trip involved a 17 hour train journey and a 4am arrival with the promised car pick up nowhere to be seen। I called every mobile number I had for Mruseless travel agent and his car pick service but ended up taking a taxi from the station to reach the hotel। I don't think I got ripped off too badly but this was not the greatest introduction to Agra। It meant we could walk down to the Taj Mahal just after dawn and find that its closed on a Friday। I took pictures from the backside next to the river। Went back for breakfast and then spent the afternoon at Sikandra (the Mausoleum of Akbar, the biggest daddy Mughal ruler). It was impressive, (bloody huge) and relaxing as there were very few people around. Ivisited a temple (Samadh Soami) still in the throes of construction after 80 years। (it is said that it will never be finished, which I can believe)। It's another monument where photos are not allowed, they didn't sell postcards and I'm still confused by all the religions and gods and sects in India so have no clue who or what it is honouring॥ The building is going to be stunning at the end, a pity that its right next to a busy street and will never have the grandeur of the Taj.

Stolen from the internet.....so whats the point of no photos????
Tagore (he of the stolen Nobel prize above) described it as “a teardrop on the face of eternity।” Frankly, I thought it was the most magnificent edifice I have ever seen. You can look up the history yourselves but this is basically a monument to romantic love by Shah jahan to his favorite wife, after she'd given birth to her fourteenth child. (she did not die in a car accident, despite what they said in Slumdog Millionaire). Even with a thousand people milling around, and “official” guides and photographers buzzing around like angry flies fighting over a jampot, the place is serene and beautiful.

Agra's red fort is where Saha Jahan ruled and gazed at his wife's mausoleum and is also amazing. Every corner turned revealed another great view or cloister. Fattepore Sikri (Old capital city about an hour out of town along a very busy and potholed road) was almost disappointing after this, but was redeemed by my successful bartering of a chess set for Rs100 (and the kid admitted he buys them for Rs90, so I felt suitably good about the bargain).
I rounded off the day going back to the Taj to see it under moonlight (only allowed around the time of a full moon). Unfortunately we misjudged the hour of moonrise and so only saw a ghostly presence in the distance, but it was still the most incredible, special experience to see it that way. The security was also an experience. We had to check in a mile away, leave my mobile phone in a locker and then we were bussed in under an armed guard. There were two body searches, and only 50 people allowed at a time. This is totally understandable as it is arguably the most famous building in the world, and terrorism is a real possibility, but it still felt a bit weird after I'd wandered around only a few hours before with almost no security.

I came back via Delhi.....not a lot to say about it other than its a capital city, busy and grimy and the airport is a nightmare to get to. The Lodhi gardens were great.(huge tombs and very tranquil) ..and so was the icecream van at the gate. I was kind of glad to come “home” to Kolkata......and I'm not getting on a train for a few weeks....

A bit of work from time to time

I suppose Id better provide an update on what Im doing at the IICP, lest you all start to see that all Im really doing on my three months off is using Kolkata as a base to immerse myself in the local high society and see the country in preparation for the vacation of a lifetime when Rita comes out to visit.
(The photos of these trips are so much better than the ones in this post though!).
The fundraising strategy bit
As a total novice at this, and I HATE asking anyone for money directly, I am indebted to those of you who have engaged in my “open source problem solving” and provided contacts, templates, ideas, documents and experience (You know who you are).
I now have the following
-a problem statement।
- A couple of very specific project ideas for approval ( website redesign/ enhanced sponsorship)
-a snazzy powerpoint presentation that summarises the above and a SWOT analysis of the IICP।
Im hoping that the governing body agree with my recommendations, so that I can spend the balance of my time actually trying to push the projects forward, and look at other areas which can be neatly summarised in a business plan which can be actioned, or filed depending on what they really think of it. The advantage of being an unpaid consultant is that no-one will feel the same requirement for action compared to if a huge fee had been paid.
I have been assured that ALL volunteers feel frustration that they are not making a difference, and in only three months I can barely understand the organisation and how it works; let alone effect change.(The exception here is Suzanne- the Australian- Indian teacher from Hong Kong who showed up and in two weeks had helped create a curriculum for teaching English, demonstrated it with the kids and ran a workshop for the teachers on the best ways of using it. I sat in on the last bit and sorted out computer glitches for her, but was seriously impressed by how she engaged on all levels and I believe she has left a significant improvement for the school. She used to say she was “just” a teacher until I convinced her otherwise).

Suzanne in action with children and teachers

Everyone is friendly and I'm starting to get used to the way of getting things done। The staff all have day jobs, so giving me time is a burden- especially when there isn't an obvious link between what I'm doing and how it might help. I have been such a pain in the ass to Kamal in the computer department that he has actually given me a way to get full time web access just so I leave him alone!

In my efforts to be at least a little bit useful I am also engaged in a project to create a performance appraisal system for the staff, (It may look suspiciously like something those of you in P&G are familiar with- no reason to reinvent the wheel), and a code of conduct or training manual. I have also proposed a number of changes to the IICP annual report- based on searching through those of other NGO's. ( They are basically all about trying to raise money). As time goes on, Rena Sen- my IICP contact -is realising that I can be unleashed on all sorts of stuff and so I'm sure Ill be picking your brains on other “work systems” very soon.
The one area where I make a direct difference is in hydrotherapy. The rule is one staff member for every child, so me giving two hours a week allows two more kids the chance to wallow in the pool- and I get a hot shower at the end as well. Once I got over the weirdness, it's actually pretty good fun. With the smaller kids I actually hold their heads above water and help with their exercises- the buoyancy provided by the water makes it easier for them to relax muscles. For the older kids I just sit in the corner and watch whilst they swim. I had a moment of confusion when one of the staff told me I couldn't wear my swimshorts ( bought specially on Rash Behari market, but too baggy), and I wasn't going to risk my speedos ( possibly a bit too tight for Indian cultural norms). I suspect they are turning a blind eye and bending the rules for me.
Leahy trying hard not to drownchildren

I'm learning all about advocacy and the digital social networking phenomenon that is facebook. If you are actually reading this then you're familiar with the concept of the blog....and I've had a variety of feedback about it ( The post of the man with his head up the elephant's bottom was most popular for some reason..- maybe you hoped it was me- and I've been asked to put in more pictures of Ambassador cars!). At the end of the day it's a letter, and saves me the hassle of putting “dear so and so” 70 times when I send it to you all. I used to run a website called “lettersfromjapan.com” way back when the internet was a baby- and this is MUCH easier to use.
Facebook is another beast entirely-and I've been very reticent about engaging until now. I don't have many friends, and don't want 50,000 that I've never met. However, as a tool to help link people associated with Cerebral palsy, (sufferers, carers, workers and researchers) whereby they can share experiences, contacts (and ultimately try and get sources of money) this could be pretty useful. Hence, I've started the IICP group, and am going to work with the lady who runs the “rights for people with disability” group- Ankur to see if we cannot make connections globally.
Ultimately, this may all wither on the vine...Im not totally convinced if it creates anything but work after the initial rush of enthusiasm, but the key learning for me has been as follows.
There is a huge and widening gap between organisations where everyone has web access and uses it to conduct their work and life (and its real easy to do so- so I will never again complain about our IT help desk in the Philippines) and those one step behind. The IICP has e mail and occasional web access, but the flow of information is largely verbal, and its success is down to the personal networks built up over many years by the people. If there are new sources of funds, then those who can reach out fastest and have the widest network are likely to find them first. Hence I believe the IICP needs to be on a par with the biggest Western charities to maintain their funding.
Den
Den is another part of my time here. He has a very interesting story in that he was born with a condition ( not CP) whereby he was paraylsed and non verbal, but with a totally normal mind. In fact the only way he could communicate was using software that he could control with his tongue (EZkeys- the same one sir Steven Hawking uses). He then lost the use of those muscles and had to teach himself to do it with his eyes. The very thought of being like this makes me shudder, but for him it was life and he has gone through secondary education and hopes to graduate soon. Four years ago, a cousin was born with a similar condition, but being in the US, it was diagnosed as being doparesponse dystonia- a genetic disorder where the body cannot produce dopamine. This condition had not even been discovered when Den was born, but now with the right drugs he is transformed and can speak and do many things normally.
Den works with computers, and has friends with similar skills and interests. His dream is to run his own company doing this sort of stuff, but he's strugglinge as he hasn't yet got work that allows him to go to the government to get a small business grant. Their disabilities make it tough to get work in small companies that are not set up for disabled access, but ultimately he can do things online, and so we are working together to try and put together a business plan that might push him forward with his dream.
The benefit for the IICP here is that it would be a great success story, and it would also provide a place other IICP computer graduates can get work, hence creating a virtuous circle. Of course if he gets rich, he'll also be a new donor for the IICP as well. (I can find an angle anywhere!).

Three concerts and a movie- (slightly surreal ) Indian Cultural experiences

I have been very lucky in landing here in Kolkata. The ladies who run the IICP are all highly connected to Kolkatan society and this seems to be a town where who you know is important. I have not just been invited to Ranu's holi party, but met her family and friends and they have all been gracious in passing on invitations to galleries and concerts that I'd never have access to otherwise. In my second week, I was given an invite to a concert celebrating 60 years of cultural ties between India and Austria, and had the pleasure of seeing the Vienna chamber orchestra in concert.

This was surreal in itself, sitting in a concert hall in Kolkata listening to Viennese waltzes being played ( and jolly good it was too- even when they invited a local choir to perform with them and they went very ethnic). This resulted in the first half of the concert being extended by 40 minutes, and I was ready to slink out quietly if the full programme was to go on beyond 11.30pm. However, after a twenty minute interval, they played one short piece for the second half, decided that enough was enough and stopped, before deciding that a 30 minute encore was in order. There were BIG signs up about no recording, photos or mobile phones in the auditorium. These were of course totally ignored by everyone and the music was punctuated by constant flash photography and mobiles going off. I was also surrounded by children who had all fallen asleep within about 15 minutes of the concert starting.
Second up was a total fluke. I was just about to go and find the botanical garden one Sunday morning when I got a call from another lady who has been working with the IICP. Diboo is a medical student, staying with family in Kolkata and is also an Indian singer, and so had been invited to a day long festival of Indian music at the Birla temple concert hall. (very swanky..invite only...you just have to know the right people). So I, Suzanne (the other IICP volunteer) and Diboo sat listening to the absolute top Indian singers, timbala and sitar players all morning. Now I ain't an expert on ragas...Diboo explained some of the nuances to me, but at the end of the day (and I apologise to those who love them and I admit to being a total philistine)I didn't get it. The first movement sounded like the guitar player was tuning up and lasted a long time (a very long time- I popped out midway through to find the facilities and call Rita, and they were still tuning up when I got back). The second bit got kinda funky once the timbala payer had joined in, and by the time they got to the finale I was really into it- except the third bit was really quite short. I couldn't work out what the apprentice sitar players were there for because they just sat and meditated ( or slept) though the entire thing. They looked good at least!! The final one was a typically surreal Indian experience. I had seen a concert by a local Dance School advertised on the street and as it was Indianand Western dance it sounded liked fun. As I bought a ticket they looked somewhat surprised and unprepared for strangers to come in off the street but for Rs55 ( erm about 80p) what did I have to lose? The first challenge was finding the place- and it took two policeman to show me. It was below a distinctly dodgy looking ಇಂಡಿಯನ್ hotel, but once Id descended into the bowels there was a a fabulous statue of the guy who ( I think) had set up the dance school and a wonderfully atmospheric old style theatre ( a bit damp and musty, but it didn't smell as bad as the multiplex cinema I visited last week- more of which later).
The concert was actually the term end display of what the students had actually learned. The entertainment was the 20 minutes of setting up before each 3 minute performance. Anyone who has watched Roadies set up before a rock concert will know that shifting equipment, wiring up microphones and constant “testing testing 1...2...3..” can be riotous fun. Why you cannot walk on, plug in your guitar and play is beyond me. Did they really need an effects pedal to play “au clair de la lune”? I confess I didn't even last until the Indian dance section. I managed three sets of guitar solos, and gave up when they got to the concerto for 16 harmonicas- all tuned to just a slightly different tone. It was excruciatingly good fun, and the serried ranks of parents seemed to be enjoying themselves, although very few were paying any attention to the concert. Im sure you had to be there to understand it!!

My final cultural experience was “Little Zizou” (an english/gujuarati film), playing at the South City Mall. ( Big air conditioned western style place with Marks and Sparks, a Nike shop and mulitplex cinema- I go here from time to time to feel like I'm not in India, until I walk into a shop and get attacked by bored, extremely helpful shop assistants who have made it their mission to sell me something. Browsing alone is definitely not permitted in these places). There are only a few films in English, and they are 3 -6 months later than we have them so this was the first thing I hadn't seen and actually fancied. First the ticket booth test; which one to approach? I stood in line and then realised the sign said telephone bookings only. Then I went to the other line and watched as one couple seemed to be buying a season ticket- which entitled them to free popcorn or something. Whatever it was took 10 minutes and I am not a patient man. By the time I was at the front of the queue, it was almost past the time of the film, but I was of course in the wrong place and had to go back to the original telephone booking line to pay my 2 pounds for a ticket. The cinema looked like any big screen- except I had a numbered ticket, the usher showed me to my place in one corner where all 15 of us were sitting. A fetid smell of damp pervaded the air. Despite the heat, Indian people are fastidiously clean and unlike anywhere else in the world, I haven't smelt body odour as I travel around (except my own of course). This wasn't BO, it was just wet, as though mould was growing on the seats.
The film started on Indian standard time – about 25 minutes after the advertised hour., there was one minute of static adverts ( no Pearl and Dean stuff here, no trailers for upcoming features...). Loved the film – go see it if you can as the characters are hilarious and the story engaging enough. Wasn't so sure about the need for an interval...when they just stopped the film, put the lights up and a guy tried to force me to buy popcorn from a newspaper bag. He was still at it when they restarted the film, and 5 minutes later they remembered that films are generally more visible when the house lights are switched off!.
I'm sure I'll get to love this country. Its a wonderful mix of anarchy, bureaucracy and muddling through so things kind of come together, but not quite how I expect them. Everyone, except the West Bengal Tourist Office and Mr Ghost at the Tollygunge club, is friendly, even if sometimes their idea of help is infuriatingly close to, but ultimately short of what real help looks like. ( Ranu is excepted from this- I would have exploded in frustration by now if it were not for her smile, her lilting, laughing voice as she sorts out my little problems and sets me up for travels and travails).

Food and Haldiran

The food here has been great ( except the chinese restaurant I visited with Suzanne one evening where they brought out warm coke which tasted awful, and vegetable noodles laced with chicken। Oh and nowhere in my area serves beer...which isn't a major problem because the lassi and salted lime juice are great but some days I just feel like a long cool one to go with my curry). Everyone started giving me western food. I got a cheese and tomato sandwich my first day at the IICP- now they just serve me the regular meal everyone gets- which is always delicious. They do good catering here! My maid gave me boiled chicken for the first two weeks until I asked for something Indian. Now I get it with spices and dall (much better). I do seem to get the same each week- so Monday is always egg curry at the IICP and also at home. Its possibly just as well I have the place to myself!!

Jobba (okay it may be Jabba- but she doesn't look anything like Jabba the Hut from Star Wars) caters in the week, and weekends I go out. I have been invited out a few times, and I have found two or three really nice restaurants, plus Azad Hind, the local takeaway which does wicked chicken tikka rolls- freshly made as I wait. This is the closest I have got to street food and I'm not planning on going any further. My stomach is just about getting used to the local bacteria!
I did discover Haldiran – which is a vegetarian sweets and fast food joint, with a supermarket above which is a world of wonderful discovery. I have tried so many different fruit juices now. The Ley berry stuff did go in the bin even though it is supposed to be great for cholesterol. It went all silty and sludgy after a day and I decided that mango and guava nectars were much nicer.
I have had Dhosas ( paper thin rolled pancake with massala), and a number of other great dishes. None of them taste like “English Curry house fare.” and chicken tikka masala really does come from Bradford because you cannot get it here! Whilst spicy, nothing has been unpleasantly hot. I had prawns in mustard sauce- typically Bengali apparently- which is to die for. Ive also had Raj food ( chicken cutlets with a spicy breadcrumb coating and chips) which is also interesting. Not quite English, not quite Indian, but yummy! I also have the ubiquitous mailshot from Dominos pizza and so one night I promise I am going to try their “two for one on Large sizes” and gorge myself on some weird Indian Pizza flavours. I bet they won't find me in 15 minutes either so they may end up paying me for the privilege of my custom.

Communication and Abilympics

Communication
For those of you with kids- or especially stupid husbands- this may all be very obvious. I've been trying to create an image of what I'm experiencing as I talk to people with Cerebral Palsy. My job at P&G is all about communication. I've worked with people all over the world, and I understand the value of listening; seeking to understand as opposed to simply waiting for the next gap in the conversation so I can take over again. However, I am seeing a totally different set of challenges as I try and communicate now..
We all make jokes about call centres, following a menu of prerecorded choices ( If you want to order a takeaway, please press 1: If you want to take part in our customer feedback programme please press 2: To actually want to speak to a real person then please press 999 and we'll disconnect you). You wait (sometimes patiently) on the end of a line for “the next available assistant” and when you finally get someone on the end of the line, they are unfailingly polite but they follow a set protocol, which does everything except answer the question you need answering. This is of course worse when the call centre is in India because we struggle to understand their English. (I personally find the Scottish call centres a bit of a trial as well). Generally though, if you have the patience and speak very slowly, very clearly and really think about making the question as simple as possible, you can get what you need.(except the Amex system which is an invention of Satan and should be exorcised from any contact with humankind)
I spent a morning with two wonderful ladies (Barsha and Putul). They live together at a local Cheshire Care Home, but spend a couple of mornings a week at the IICP.. Both are non verbal, (they cannot speak) but boy do they like to talk. Both understand English and Bangla- (how is it that I struggle to master one language properly, and my best second language, German, is little more than beer ordering ability, whereas everyone here- irrespective of background, handicap or ability is bi- or even trilingual). Physically they have just enough control of their arms to use sign boards- letters or phrases on a board that they can point to to spell out what they want to say

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They would both ask questions of me by spelling them out, Barsha translating for Putul. In return, I could ask questions back, and slowly, sometimes frustratingly so, as they pointed to each letter we could decipher their responses. With Putul, I had to frame every question to be answeredYes or No- as she understands but doesnt write in English. Barsha is a poet and writes using a computer system that has been designed at the IICP. The programme is effectively an electronic sign board, and when a moving cursor is over a particular word or phrase, hitting a large mouse button can build up a piece of text.
The patience Barsha has to painstakingly type out what is in her head is amazing. She must find it incredibly frustrating having an active mind, without the physical capability to act on it. I have experienced a similar sort of frustration when trying to thread a needle. This maybe because I a boy...and needles and thread fall into the category of “pink jobs” so I'm not genetically programmed to be able to carry them out. I can do stuff with spanners and hammers, I do spiders in the bath and
disposing of the latest poor victim of the mouse trap. I have an innate knowledge of how to wire up a stereo system. (These are of course blue jobs). For me, trying to get that big fat hairy rope into that itty bitty little hole on the needle, keep it there, and then do something useful with it after that does not involve my finger bleeding ....lets just say that when I go to purgatory, Lucifer has me threading a needle for eternity.

Knitting at the abilympics.... sitting on the floor de rigeur..

Abilympics
Last week was the regional Abilympics, held at the IICP but open to all disabled people from the region. They ran over 40 competitions to test the “abilities” of the 210 participants in everything from furniture making and painting to computer programming. The week before had been general panic stations as final arrangements were made (the government department sponsoring the event had not actually sent a cheque because of the impending elections) , and it was all hands on deck for the actual competition. I was put to work as part of the awards team, to build a database of all participants and their events and then record the results as each one was completed. Hence I spent three days hunched over a computer trying to make sense of the names scrawled on the entry sheets- and marry them up with the often differently spelt names on the judges marking sheets. I fortunately had the help of one of the B.Ed students at IICP- Kavita- who was instruicted to work with me, and was not permitted to leave me without express permission from the boss- even though I kept trying to shoo her away when there was nothing to do. There is a great respect for authority here- something I rarely experience at work (and to be honest I'm glad about that- My guys all realise I know nothing and therefore make their own decisions. They indulge me from time to time..just to keep me sweet, but in general a healthy disrespect for authority and using common sense is the way I prefer to work)

The chess tournament was held between people with physical disabilites- and in this picture a visualy impaired guy (using a board that he felt his way around) was wiping the floor with his opponent ( his disability was physical but he could at least see what he was doing!)
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In addition to my duties at the computer I was also the judge for some of the computer courses (yep, I am a computer expert now.....), anfd also had enough time to wander about and see how good some of the work was. The winners of the events proceed to the national finals, and hence to the international finals in Korea.

The furniture making contst required these guys to make a computer desk in 3 hours....

elephant man

Repeat after me
I WILL NOT
complain
about my job

EVER AGAIN!!

with thanks to Rita and Maria Raczkozएक्क्य

कोल्कता-टूरिस्ट-साइट्स एंड होली

The tourist trail in Kolkata
Over the past few days I've had the chance to be a tourist. I have now had three weekends, and then two days off for Holi, plus three days of the abilympics ( more of which later), so I've actually worked five days in the last 16; not bad really :-) except that I only have a few weeks here and there is so much to do. I guess no-one actually pays me so if I didn't show up, they can't sack me, and I might take advantage of that in the weeks to come if I want to travel in India, but having this time off now was good to find my way about in Kolkata.
Firstly, what do most people think about when they hear Calcutta?? Id guess it is the black hole, a link to the British Raj and Mother Theresa. Sure, Kolkata has slums, and street dwellers but so do most cities in Asia, and increasingly so in the West. (The beggars in Leicester Square Tube are as insistent as any ive encountered here). I like the area I live because its a locals area, and no-one bothers me.
When I took a taxi to Dalhousie Square – the start of my walking tour, I was accosted by beggars immediately- but I'm the white guy and I do tend to stand out a little. Similarly, as I walked around the “backpackers” areas in Sudder street, I didn't feel like Id really want to come back having done them, I did see a bar, but not yet the ubiquitous Irish pub that seems to exist in every city in the world (and I have the footie on tv at home so I don't need a bar)- I'm a real snob about tourists, especially as I'm such a “local” now
The Centre of Kolkata does hark back to Raj India, when it was the capital of the British colonialism। As Kolkata only received minor bombing from the Japanese in WW2, and has never otherwise suffered invasion, everything is pretty well preserved, in that typical crumbling, dilapidated Asian style- the result of high humidity, and zero maintenance budgets. Hence the old Writers Building is now the centre of government, complete with communist slogans on the walls, but there is no evidence of any vandalism in any of the churches and whilst the museum of India may be crap (think of “preservation via piling stuff high in a corner of a room”, with no attempt made to bring perspective or illumination) the building is quite magnificent.
I was given a guided tour of St John's church by a small child who lives with his father in the grounds. He was very keen to tell me all about the history and show me everything, including the memorial to the black hole- the site of which was close by. His discourse sounded authentic (unlike the scene in Slumdog Millionaire where the kid acting as tour guide for the dumb Yanks claims the Taj was built in memory of the wife killed in a car crash...) The Governor's residence looks equally grand, although I didn't get too close as the soldier with the big gun looked menacingly at me as I walked past. (Do I really look like some extremist terrorist?). You can argue about whether the British brought or destroyed civilisation around the world but they left town planning which included grand open spaces and broad roads. The Indians figured it was a good place to put Eden Square (the cricket stadium), but it also provides a pleasant green area and everywhere are ad hoc cricket matches being played.
I noticed the police had allowed some form of peaceful protest about Bengali being the first language of the state, and grouped everyone right next to the public toilets- and in 35C heat, you need to be pretty passionate about your cause to protest through that smell. I will confess that the English bookshops, and the music store were as interesting to me as any of the sights...and I had a mean sweet lassi in an air-conditioned cafe. I was most put out to see that in celebration of International Womens' Day, all ladies visiting were getting a gift bag of shampoo and stuff and I managed to cadge some of my own so I can check out the competition. (the shampoo I brought from home won't last 3 months, and whilst we have production in Baddi, India- all the large size shampoo is imported from Iowa city and looks scraped and shabby. Yup, I can leave P&G for three months but Im still store checking).
The Park around the Victoria memorial is splendid, but seems to close at 4pm on Sunday...and so it was actually my third attempt at visiting before I actually got to see the magnificent building up close. The exhibition inside was much better, with a good overall history of Bengal and Kolkata and one room of bad paintings by British artists ( the school of “any daub is good” if it has a big sky) and some rather splendid pictures by Indian artists (Much more ornate and much more fun). The old photos of Calcutta were also fascinating to see how little has changed. Kolkata has one or two tower blocks, but no skyscrapers like many other Asian cities.
On another day I took a taxi to the Howrah bridge (busiest in the world apparently with 100,000 people carrying large loads walking across each day), broke all the rules about taking photos ( the sign was in Bengali, or Hindi.... honest m'lud) and then wandered the flower market ( amazing and it smelled pleasant for an Asia street market).
The Bazaar area is where all the entrepreneurs are located- and you can probably buy ANYTHING. I do wonder how one can survive with a shop that sells nothing except door knobs, especially when there were three such shops within a block of each other. I was offered an AK 47- but it appeared to be of the plastic variety that shot water- great for Holi- so I declined. The best thing about my stroll was that even though I know I was stared at, I never felt threatened (unlike markets elsewhere in the world) and was not hassled। Ive been out a couple of times with Suzanne, another volunteer. She is Indian born, but brought up in Australia, and lives now in Hong Kong. She looks Indian, dresses Western , and gets stared at more than me- possibly because she isn't wearing a sari, or because has been with me (the white bloke). She gets Indian rates at the monuments (Rs.10 vs 150 for me- the foreign tourist), and is treated as an Indian until she opens her mouth...(broad Aussie accent). She has “Indian days”- when she is happy to blend in, and “Australian day”s- when the general chaotic nature of the place, and the bureaucracy gets to her and she wants to scream. (I know this feeling so well...see below)

Holi...the festival of color
This is supposed to celebrate the coming of spring (or maybe summer- but its “only” 35C at the moment), and is a great excuse for everyone to throw dyes at each other। Ranu...my dearest local volunteer coordinator... invited us all to a party at her home, and we spent the morning generally misbehaving and getting colored. (The tee shirt is now officially retired). We had a private party, but I was warned that in certain streets, its considered a free for all and you can get dyed by complete strangers. I must confess that one of the highlights of the day was the chance to shower under a torrent of proper hot water afterwards: Much better than my dribble at home. The other volunteers included 4 girls just finishing a 2 month stint teaching at a local slum school. (At around 19 I take my hat off to them for doing something like this- I thought a couple of weeks Interrailing in Europe was an adventure at that age). The only issue with Holi is that EVERYTHING is closed. Come lunchtime it looked as though the only food would be the sweets I had brought (such a nice boy and so well brought up...always comes with sweets or flowers....hehe thank you Mother for teaching me how to ingratiate so well॥). However, Ranu- who is a genius, found a shop that did chicken kati rolls- scrummy flatbread with spicy chicken wrapped within. Now this is fast food I could get to like!

Tollygunge club- a lesson in Indian bureaucracy
An oasis of Expat. life that is famous worldwide, and has a golf course, so I thought I'd check it out. The first challenge was finding a taxi driver who knew where it was, and whilst getting to the neighbourhood was achieved without too much trouble- I had to shout at him twice as he started by taking me in totally the wrong direction as my English is not comprehensible to Indians- finding the club involved stopping ( in the middle of the street and creating a minor traffic jam) and asking first a taxi driver, then a passer by and finally a man in uniform (didn't look like police, may even have been a cleaner, but he had a uniform).
Driving up it felt like an oasis of Englishness amongst the Indianish that is Kolkata. Neatly mown lawn, with wizened men (wallahs even) crouching down and clipping stuff, a grand old building with another man in a splendid uniform at reception. A bar (God... it serves alcohol, unlike pretty much every other restaurant I've been to in this place so I like it already), and at least 3 restaurants. There was also a swimming pool (sans water.... very Indian) and I understand they also have a gym... but I have Karma.. a little room with an exercise bike and a rowing machine just two minutes walk from me...so tough luck boys I ain't getting sweaty at yours..unless you have great showers that is).
The next challenge was asking about membership. You can join for the day, for a fee, but I wanted to see about joining for the duration of my time here. I was directed to see a Mr Ghosh, who sat in the back office of what looked like a fully functioning bank. He was polite enough... but to say helpful in anyway whatsoever would be stretching the definition. Here is what I think I have established
-YES, I could become a temporary member but I needed to be proposed by a current member। No, he would not share a list of current members with me, on the off chance that I (in my first fortnight in Kolkata) have somehow run into a member already।
-Yes, it was definitely better financially to do temporary membership than to try and play golf on a day membership, but no, he was not prepared to tell me how much it would cost.
- Yes, I could play golf any time but no I couldn't be sure of getting on the course if I just showed up (and naturally he offered no help on how to call and book ahead)
-No, he had no literature to share with me, that would help introduce me to the club, its benefits or even an address ( useful to show taxi drivers)

-Yes, he had a business card, but he wasn't going to give me one- in case I wanted to ask any follow up questions।

He was obsequiously polite, but made it very clear that he wasn't going to offer any help whatsoever। Now in the words of Groucho Marx...”I wouldn't want to be a member of any club prepared to have me as a member.” They clearly don't want me as a member so I consider this a challenge. It might be cool to “entertain” people at my club sometime...hehe. I'm going to ask “my ladies” to see if they know someone who would introduce me. Mr Ghosh doesn't realise that I may have influential friends so this little tale is to be continued.......

The Races
I was asked if there were Race nights in Kolkata.(you know, you sit and bet 50p on film clips and make up the names of the horses and raise money for charity. Well, I went one better and paid Rs. 20 (yep 30p) entry to watch the Kolkata St. Ledger Race meeting on Saturday afternoon. I was disappointed when the taxi driver refused to drop me at the VIP entrance, and I had to brave the boy hawkers with race cards and enter with the plebs. The race stand is splendid, and the view across the Maidan towards the Victoria Memorial magnificent. I'm not a great one for the nags, but it was very pleasant sitting in the shade looking at the horses in the paddock, and then the people watching them (and watching me). I had brought my binoculars so I could track the race from its start and around the bend up to the finish line. Being (almost) the only white guy, I of course demanded a certain amount of attention. For the big race, I was “befriended” by some guy who had found the beer tent (I wish he'd told me where it was, the best I could find was a dodgy juice bar) and was a little worse for wear. He'd bet on number 4 and 5 ( Rs20 bets... clearly a high roller) and wanted me to have a side bet withmy choice of no 3. ( I pick my horses using the following rigorous system, tried and tested over the years to be foolproof and 100% reliable. 1. Cool name, 2. best colors, 3. smallest jockey, 4. horse that looks most feisty 5. longest odds. Lets face it- if you are only going to win your stake back whats the point on a Rs. 20 bet? I like 10-1 odds when they come in. Ah yes, my system is 100% reliable to lose money so if you ever go to the races with me, see what I'm betting on and pick something else.
Anyway... my mate..who by now had his arm around me and was cheering every part of the race then looked most despondent when number 5 romped home at the end..and I couldnt understand why. My horse ambled in about 5 minutes later- as expected. It took a good 5 minutes for me to explain to him that no 5 had won, and he was 150Rs better off- at which he hugged me- and everyone around him and screamed and shouted about how lucky he was. At least he finished the day happy- and im sure the bhang lassi ( lassi with majijuana in it) or beer tent was frequented again. I sloped off to look for some other way of entertaiuning myself- racing pundit I am not!