I know the stars are far above
I know my feet rest on the ground
I trust, someday, I will be free

Climb to the Stars!

Scribbled Travel Notes - Adventures in India

This is a "raw" version of my logbook. You might want to use this if you are thinking of printing it. I recommend the pretty version if you are reading online.

Arriving in India: first weeks in Pune

Bombay domestic airport; July 20, two hours to wait

Before India

Start of my troubles: Saturday, just a day before leaving, a wicked cash machine swallowed up my VISA card. Impossible to confirm my hotel reservation in Bombay. Travel to Paris and pick-up for the night goes smoothly. Still no news from my hotel, that I had informed of my VISA troubles...

Next morning, before departure, last e-mail check: no success. While writing down the phone and e-mail address of the hotel, I notice a link on the Internet page: a "traveller's notice" about my hotel.

Click of the mouse, and I learn about confirmed reservations that ended up in no airport pick-up and a full hotel, and e-mail reservations unheard of at the reception desk... "Well, I had better consider I have no hotel reservation!"

I just managed to catch a chat friend on the Internet who gave me one of his friend's phone number in Bombay - just in case everything else failed.

Arrival in Bombay

Take off was a little late, and a very sweet Bombay-bred and New York-married girl was my seat neighbour. She gave me her number to write down too and a few tips about the town.

Safe flight, safe landing, hunt for luggage. The zip of my suitcase had burst open in one corner - hope I didn't lose anything vital! - not to mention the broken pull-handle and the missing strap.

I did quite well until I got out of the customs (that must have added up to about 30 metres), and then a member of the airport staff simply jumped at me and proceeded to drag me to a hotel reservation counter. I tried to brush him off and finally realized he was probably more official than what I had thought at first.

My hotel was not on their "tourist recommendation" list, had "no style" and was a rather "hanky panky place" (sic). Adding this to the fact that my flight neighbour had already told me Juhu was not a nice area... Gosh. Hesitation. What should I do? In the meantime, a member of the airport staff comes back saying there actually is a guy from the hotel waiting for me. Even though the plane is an hour and a half late!

I am impressed by the efficiency of my e-mail reservation and embarrassed by the thought of cancelling it. I'm quite certain I don't want to go to that hotel anymore, but after all the fuss I made by e-mail to maintain my reservation, I feel quite bad. Finally I decided that putting my safety possibly at risk for a question of politeness would be a bit silly.

The official tourist-helper was nice and indeed helpful - and obviously he didn't seem to be after an oversized tip; he just wanted to give me his phone number for the next time I passed through Bombay ; ).

He packed me into a (free) van heading for the hotel they had chosen for me - same range of prices as what I was ready to pay. First whiff of Bombay night-air and honking traffic - awesome.

Hotel in Bombay

The guy in charge at the hotel was helpful too. Arrangement was made to care for my ticket to Pune, with free shuttle to the domestic airport.

Air-conditioned and mosquito-free room. Deafening sound of the fan and the "fridge" (I mean the air-conditioning device). Old and a bit scruffy by my standards (nothing awful) but seemingly clean (I decided all the same to use my sleeping-bag instead of the freshly pressed but non too white bedsheets).

I tried to compose myself a little, had a shower and proceeded to spray myself with mosquito repellent (fun, I hadn't turned off the fan...). There were quite a few flies in the room and I couldn't be sure one of them wasn't a malaria-carrying mosquito. I must say my brain wasn't functioning too well at that moment - so I decided to apply "health-rules" blindly (I started by brushing my teeth with tap-water - strictly forbidden!).

After having turned off the fan, the air-conditioning and the TV, there was relative silence. Continuous buzzing from somewhere in the building (too loud to be called a hum) and traffic noise unheard of in Europe (especially at 2 a.m.).

Gosh, it was so hot in that room. I had felt the heat on the journey to the hotel (27 C had said the airport) but it hadn't bothered me too much as I had been rather cold on the plane. But trying to go to sleep, I did find it a little disappointing to feel hot and sticky only minutes after my shower. At least I was clean.

Sleep at last, one middle-of-night wake-up ("Damn! I wish it were morning!").

I got out of bed around 7 a.m. without having the slightest idea what time it was. With the jet lag and without a watch, it could have been 11 a.m. for all I knew.

Busy streets.

I waited through the morning with breakfast, TV, shower; I sorted my papers and tried to learn how to use my camera. I remembered to take a snap of the room - for history, my first Indian night. By midday I had my plane ticket just about sorted out (including the trip to the airport) - of course, nothing had gone exactly as expected.

To the domestic airport - about tips

After dinner, another helpful guy put me in a car with one of the hotel staff.

The man who had carried my suitcase asked for his tip. First time. I had tipped the hotel boys once or twice rather awkwardly (to tip or not to tip, and how much?). I had a vague idea that a tip for these circumstances should be something like Rs. 5-10, and I could choose between Rs. 10, 50 and 100 banknotes. I had this impression that I had been systematically tipping the wrong people. Guess I'll learn more about it as time goes by : ).

Travel agent. Now that I have seen the desk at the entrance of the airport where you can buy tickets, I'm not so sure why I had to go through a travel agent. Especially as it took 45 minutes instead of the five or ten scheduled.

The hotel guy was nice and friendly until he dropped me in front of the airport and asked for his tip. Two porters had already rushed up to us and looked almost ready to run off with my luggage. I fished a note out of my pocket for the driver - Rs. 10.

Enough? Not enough? I had already paid the hotel Rs. 150 for a trip which was supposed to be free at the start.

When he saw the banknote the driver became somewhat aggressive. That was not enough! He had waited one hour for me! (as if it was my fault the ticket guy was slow - *he* was the one who had been doing the negotiating).

He wanted Rs. 100. That sounded a bit exaggerated even to inexperienced me. Without taking into consideration it would have freed me of just about all my remaining local cash. As I protested he went down to Rs. 50 (the porters had sided with him). Anxious to get into the airport as fast as possible and get rid of him and the porters who were fluttering about my suitcase, I fished out enough notes from my purse - porters peering into it at the same time. Sensing what was about to follow I told the porters I could push my trolley alone. As they insisted more than I did I finally found myself in front of the ticket counter without having won back my luggage.

The airport employee at the counter told me to go inside to check in - and for that trip I was firmly decided not to accept any help. The porters charged in again but that time I won the battle - with a little help of a lady behind the counter who shooed them off.

All that got me rather annoyed. I had never seen anybody insist so much when you have already said no half a dozen times, and I do get irritated quite easily when I am stressed and have had little sleep.

I hadn't got ten metres into the airport that it started again. Another porter approached me. "No thank you! I can do it myself!" Oooh... but he was official - airport employee - I saw his badge. OK, OK. Let him do his work *prepared to give him a reasonable tip - by my standards*.

Check-in. But there he was again! I was supposed to put my hand-luggage in his trolley. No way! I like doing things myself. "Little money, little money..." Oh OK, he wants his tip. I fished out Rs. 20 (that I mistook for Rs. 10!) just when he was telling me something about 10 DOLLARS!

He got away with Rs. 30 - and I felt all of a sudden very grumpy about Indian helpfulness in hotels and airports...

Pune; July 22

Arrival in Pune

The flight to Pune went OK. It felt good to find myself in a familiar environment again (the clean airplane). Radha, my contact in Pune, was there to pick me up and greet me in her home. After Bombay, Pune was cool, less crowded, cleaner.

I took a little rest and then a shower (a "bath", as it is called in India). She lent me some Indian clothes so I could change.

We went to one of her friends' for an "international supper" - it was very nice. Food was delicious.

The next day we went to buy me some clothes - beautiful and incredibly cheap for me, of course (and it was the sales, half-price!). A rickshawallah got us lost in town - he didn't know the way but had taken us because he had heard us talk French, according to my host. I noticed she seemed to have to argue a lot (at the shop, with the rickshawallah) - and that seems normal in India.

We had another nice meal at her home (that I ate with my fingers). In the afternoon, we went to visit the place she had found for me to stay in. A bit out of town (in Aundh), near the university. Calm and green. Enormous. And very posh by my European standards - almost too much.

I'm starting to feel more at ease - at least with my host's family. I haven't ventured out alone yet, and it does scare me a little. The simple thought of taking a rickshaw alone is surreal - and I'm really not a scaredy-cat at home.

Sick : (

In the evening we went out to eat. I had already been quite bold with my health by eating salad and brushing my teeth with the tap-water, so I was starting to feel a bit (too) confident. I ordered a lassi. Drank some - it tasted strange. Must be the yogurt. All the same, I didn't finish it.

We got back home and about an hour later I started feeling sick.

I went to bed hoping I would wake up the next morning feeling better, but instead I woke up at 3 a.m., sicker than I had ever been in my whole life. One hour and a few painful moments later I went back to sleep.

I didn't feel very well the next morning, but tried to nibble and drink some tea. Bad idea. A couple of hours later I was sick again. I decided to go for a straight fast. I slept just about all day, and in the evening felt thirsty enough to drink a little.

The next morning I felt quite well, and hungry. I ate some toast and my temperature dropped.

This episode put me off masala dosa (the main thing I had eaten that evening) for nearly six months...

Pune; August 1

Pay-guest

After having been sick, I was bundled off to the pay-guest place Radha had found for me. Nice at first, it soon became unbearable. It seemed impossible for me to do things the right way. The climax was when I found myself waiting two hours in front of the gate because I had come back early and the old lady still hadn't given me the keys to the house.

It seems a couple of things had disturbed her. One of them was the fact I hadn't yet paid her (even though money didn't seem to be an important question at all when we discussed my accommodation). And I think she didn't approve of the way I was coping with getting inserted into my new Indian life (God knows why).

In any case, she "suggested" that maybe I should look for another place after my trip to Rishikesh. And seemingly she had already done a bit or phoning and organizing behind my back to make it possible.

I didn't need more than that to decide that I was about to spend my last night in her custody, and I found a hotel the very next day.

Nevertheless, during my short stay there I had managed to get myself finally into town. I registered at the Police Commissioner's office (exhausting experience, including running all over town to have photographs and multiple Xerox copies made of all sorts of documents, getting a bona fide certificate from my university and taking a blood test for AIDS). I did some shopping. I took a rickshaw - more than one, in fact! I got acquainted with the university catering and library.

I was helped a lot in all this by Mithun, one of my Internet contacts and by Madhav, the boy who was staying as a pay-guest at the same place as me.

Pune; August 7

Living at the hotel

The hotel I moved into was quite nice, and people there were friendly and helpful. But I knew that I could get better for the same price. Unfortunately, the hotel I wanted to go to could not tell me for certain if they would have a room for me.

I phoned and dropped in there for about four or five days in a row, each time hoping I would get a chance to move in. Finally I asked Madhav to go and enquire, and miraculously I was told I could have a room two days later. But until the last moment I was expecting things to go wrong.

I went into town a bit more. I must say I found the Deccan area very pleasant to be in. I ate out. Met a couple of Internet contacts. I visited a few libraries and found my heart's content (or the nearest I could get to!) at Deccan College.

I also met a Japanese student from England, and it was a great relief to be able to share my feelings with somebody who had lived in the same world as me. Of course my Indian friends had all been very understanding, but I guess that you cannot really understand how distressing India can be for a foreigner if you are not a foreigner yourself.

Trekking

On Sunday I went out for a trek to Sinhagad with a group of Law College students, friends of Madhav.

It started with an hour's waiting at the bus station (I'm getting used to waiting in India!) and then a forty-five minute bus ride. It was like being on a roller coaster! I also enjoyed feeling the usual excitement of going out on a field trip. I was slowly starting to enjoy being in India, and was happy to find myself in a known environment: a group of boys and girls going out together on a trek.

This was my first expedition out of town in India. I found it so beautiful!

The bus dropped us in a little village at the foot of the big hump we were going to climb. It was steep and we climbed with hardly any pause. I have heard Indians joking about stressed Europeans before, but there it was roles reversed. I almost thought we were going to run up the whole way! It rained quite a lot while we were going up, and I couldn't make up my mind whether to keep my jacket on or off. ; )

We passed an old fort and stopped in a little place where we could get something to eat. Tea and delicious pakoras. I must say I was starving.

It was really quite delightful to feel part of a group of people my age. But little by little I had to come down from my pink cloud. Although everyone was being very friendly and accepting with me, there *were* differences in the way people interacted with each other. I was not at home. Gradually I started to feel uneasy. I had probably been less wary and had been caught by the culture shock unexpecting.

But that didn't prevent me from having a really refreshing day.

After the snack we proceeded to the top. It was amazing. The place was one of the windiest I had ever encountered. What was particularly impressing was that the wind was vey local. You could find a calm spot but a couple metres away be nearly blown off your feet. A little stream dropped off down a cliff creating a little waterfall. If you stood next to the stream, the water from the waterfall would be blown back into your face - a free shower. Unfortunately we were in the clouds, so there was not much to see. Only to feel.

We had lunch on the way down at the same place. I thought I would break my neck going down, it was so steep and I was starting to be really tired. So I just played safe and walked extra carefully, tiring myself out a little more. It is much more demanding to walk without taking risks than simply running down!

Judo

One of the things I had wanted to get done for days was find a place to do some judo. This trek had drawn my attention to how much I needed physical activity to really settle down in my Indian life.

I had an address and went to enquire. In five minutes I discovered I was a judo expert from Switzerland looking for somewhere to teach. I was nevertheless shown a place where I would be able to train.

First surprise: women were accepted. Second surprise: the class was actually mixed. Third surprise: the majority of people there trained every day.

Before I actually managed to free myself, I was shown the whole PE centre (or was I the one being shown around?). The manager seemed very keen on my contacting him as soon as I had a moment - I'm not sure exactly why.

Back at my hotel, I decided to try out the gym mats that were used as tatamis as soon as possible

So, the very next day, training. That was tough. After more than a month without judo I was really out of practice. And as I expected, the training was rather rough compared to the kind of judo I am used to, and not very technical.

For me the worst part was having to go without a shower after training. I guess I'll get used to it : ) - in fact, there is no changing room; the boys change in the dojo itself and the girls have a kind of closet on a balcony...

Delhi; August 19

A normal week

Before leaving for Delhi I spent a rather "normal" week.

I ate at Mithun's place and got to know his sister and family. I went shopping. I ate out in various places with various people. I thought I had found a flat - but it just slipped away. I spent a lot of hours arranging my web site - mainly to keep myself occupied: I had just learnt that my cat had died and was feeling a little depressed about it. I jumped on the occasion to start learning HTML and think a little about web designing (which by the way decided me to think my site all over again...). I had a stomach upset followed by a couple of digestively painful days. And - for a change! - I waited.

Just before taking the train to Delhi, I had to get some papers and medicine out of my safe. Unfortunately, the bank was closed (national holiday!), and I had to leave without them...

Off to the capital: hope lost and found

Journey to Delhi

The trip to Delhi was awesome. Madhav picked me up at my hotel at 9 p.m. The train would be leaving at 4.30 a.m. Five of us were going to Delhi and a couple of others were there to see us off. First we ate, and around 11 p.m. we went to the station. And waited!

I have to mention a scene that left me quite shaken. An old man got beaten up by some soldiers in front of my eyes. From what I understood, he was a bit crazy and had said something to the soldiers that they did not like. And there he was, on the floor, with those people kicking at him. Nobody budged. I myself was frozen. Luckily a railway employee arrived and the beating stopped. It ended up with this official taking (dragging) the old man away (after hitting him a couple of times with his stick to make him stand up). I don't really understand what happened. And what astounds me most is that the soldiers got away with what they had done.

Apart from that incident things went quite smoothly. We found our names on the reservations list - luckily, mine was next to my friends', otherwise I would never have recognised it, mutilated as it was!

I tasted railway coffee and found it very nice. (I don't like coffee. This probably explains why I appreciated the drink you can buy under that name in railway stations.)

We got on the train, slept, read, talked, ate, watched the countryside and before I had realized what was happening the 27 hours of journey were behind us and we had arrived in Delhi.

I really enjoyed that journey. As we were five, we had nearly a compartment to ourselves (except the second night). I slept surprisingly well, despite the noise - I guess the train rocked me to sleep. The only drawback in this affair was my painful and persisting tummy-ache.

First contact with Delhi

I spent a day and a half at Madhav's parents'. A place you could nearly call paradise - and which serves some of the nicest food on earth. The next day I moved into the YWCA hotel where they had helped me obtain a room. Nice place, not too expensive and in the heart of Delhi.

At that moment I was suddenly overcome by the feeling I was perfectly alone in this unknown town - I had even forgotten to take Madhav's phone number. The stress of the last weeks had been gently adding up and I was feeling quite miserable.

I nevertheless decided to get moving and withdraw money from my bank account, as I was "a little" short on cash (understand: I couldn't pay my first hotel night). Unfortunately the transfer of money from Pune to Delhi would be long and the bank was about to close. I hunted for an Internet cafe - without success.

As I walked around Connaught Place, I had the impression that every ten metres somebody would jump at me to offer help, assistance, or transport. I'm exaggerating, of course - but just a bit. It was quite scary at first, and I did my best to take the "I Know Where I'm Going" look.

Out of all the undesirable encounters I made during those next days, one surprised me. A young boy who wanted to talk and that I had brushed off like so many others. I bumped into him an hour or so later, and realized that he *really* wasn't after my money. From what I gathered, this young teenager went to a Hindi medium school, and practiced his English by chatting with people like me. Dreams of studying medicine abroad. Incredible - but true?

In any case, the heat, rickshawallahs and other guides, added to the non-success of my enterprises found me walking into - guess! - a McDonald's. Would you believe it? It was nice and cool (cold) inside, hassle-free, and I could open my map without attracting ten greedy people around me. I drank an over-expensive Fanta and prepared to face the non-AC world again.

Back at the hotel, I did some planning to cheer myself up - yeah! Let's go to Amritsar and Dharamsala! - ate a tasteless thali and finally went to bed.

Ill, alone, and pennyless

I had an awful night, waking up alternatively freezing (turn off that noisy fan) or in a bad sweat (switch that noisy fan back on). Each wake-up brought me closer to accepting the evidence I was catching a cold and my sinuses were starting to be in a very nasty state.

One of my zombie expeditions out of my (clean!) bed brought me face-to-face with a giant (5 cm) bug in the bathroom (a cockroach in fact). Even in my sleepwalking state, I managed to open the locked cupboard, catch my camera and take a picture for posterity.

The thermometre's verdict in the morning left no doubt. I stopped measuring at 38.9 C (something like 102 F) and inquired about a doctor at the reception. Payment was to be made in cash, which meant I had to run to my bank first. And I was really not in a state to go out alone - I didn't quite fancy the idea of fainting in a rickshaw or on the pavement.

I waited a couple of miserable hours in the hotel lounge, feeling physically and mentally at the very lowest.

Finally I rang up the teacher of my Rishikesh Hindi course. It was the only number I had in Delhi (though the woman I had been introduced to at the YWCA would certainly have helped me if it had come to that). I knew that Nicola, the Swiss student organizing the course, was coming to Delhi - and I hoped he would be there already.

He was. That saved me. He lent me some money (at that moment I did not know that I would have to wait for a whole week before seeing my own money) and took me to the doctor's (no, it was neither malaria nor meningitis!). Then we ate and went money hunting in the afternoon, another piece of fun.

Money hunting

The Swiss money transferred to my Indian account had not yet arrived, so it was impossible for me to get any cash, even by going through the complicated procedure of withdrawing money from the New Delhi branch of the bank while having an account in Pune (which involves faxing checks and sample signatures).

We bounced from bank to bank trying to find a place where I could get cash using my VISA credit card. Without success: we ended up in the bank we had started with...

I found an Internet cafe at last, costing about four times the price I pay in Pune - but at least I could communicate with the rest of the world.

Delhi; August 20

After a rather peaceful night and a useless trip to the medical centre in the morning (they had misread my lab results!) I went out money hunting again, with no more success than the day before. That was to become a habit in the next few days - the money hunting and the lack of success.

I found a place where I could withdraw cash with my credit card - and the reply ("funds insufficient") left me disillusioned. Especially that the man in charge wanted Rs. 100 to try again with a lower amount...

Rishikesh; August 23

Before going back to my hotel I spent Rs. 125 in the Internet cafe to send a couple of desperate e-mails (to my parents - where they on holiday? Had they forgotten to pay my VISA bills? - and to VISA - who never reply anyway). It wasn't wasted money. In my chatroom, I bumped into a chat pal's friend whose mother was living in Delhi.

I spent the evening watching TV at the hotel and talking away with some South Indian Singaporeans.

Morning. Another unsuccessful visit to my bank. But at least things got moving: we managed to find out that the money was stuck at the Bombay Treasury, "because the account information given by the Swiss bank for the transfer was incomplete". You bet.

In any case, I was told that the money should be arriving by the beginning of the next week.

After another lunch with Nicola, (how nice it is to be able to speak with somebody of your own culture!), I called this chat pal's mother in Delhi. She had rung me up the previous evening in reply to my e-mail, and had invited me to drop in. I took the bus to go there (alone!); half an hour's journey.

I spent a really nice evening, talking, eating, and walking around in a green park. Having been married to a diplomat, she had travelled in an impressive number of countries.

Bus to Rishikesh for the week-end

The following day, departure for Rishikesh with Nicola. He was going up there for a couple of days to arrange the last details before the students' arrival, and had invited me to join him.

Before we left we were lucky enough to take part in a puja that was given for the second birthday of our Hindi teachers' daughter, Ekta. That was my first contact with "religious stuff" in India itself. I used up a whole film of slides while Nicola took notes - a real journalistic operation...

As we were walking down to the bus which would take us to the ITDC Depot, Nicola did comment on the fact that I attracted a little more attention than him alone... It was nice to hear somebody admit at last that I was a particularly "visible" foreigner.

We got to the ITDC Depot, ate a very greasy and not too tasty aloo parantha, fought our way through people who desperately wanted us to climb into busses to various destinations, and caught one to Haridwar (larger town not too far from Rishikesh - we could get another bus there).

One noticeable thing about these busses is that their frequency is rather high - every half-hour or so. You don't have to book (even though it is a five-hour-plus journey). You simply get on the bus and then buy your ticket. In fact, if I had to compare I would say the Indian bus system is closer to the Swiss rail than is the Indian rail (which in some ways reminds me of taking the plane).

The journey was nice (I'm starting to like travelling here!). I must say I was glad to have a male companion with whom to swap places when my Indian (male) neighbour started squashing up next to me more and more. By the way, this same neighbour, (by then Nicola's neighbour, and very impressed by his Hindi!) wanted us to help him get a job in Switzerland (!), and of course invited us to stay at his home in Haridwar...

I forgot to mention one little detail: by the time we had got on the bus and it was starting to creep out of the station, we realized we had both forgotten our newly bought bottle of chilled mineral water. Talk of bad luck! We decided we would survive the next three hours without water, but that we would avoid digging into my thirstifying Indian snacks.

We finally arrived at Haridwar, having found some water, eaten part of my snacks, talked our lives away and enjoyed the beautiful countryside (especially at sunset). I also had the great honour to receive an Indian baptism when the man in front of me was suddenly sick and I was not quick enough to shut my window in time... but it was just a drop or two, nothing deadly.

Night had fallen. We got off the bus, brushed away a couple of touts who wanted to get us into this or that hotel, and walked for about thirty seconds. Suddenly Nicola spotted a bus for Rishikesh. It was leaving! We ran after it like madmen and jumped into it "on the move". Common thing in India, where busses seldom come to a complete stop, but I hadn't done it yet.

The crowd in the bus was obviously less urban than in the previous one - and it was more crowded. The journey lasted three quarters of an hour. I spent that time heavily compressed between my two neighbours (sides) and my rucksack (front). I could also mention that being at the very back of the bus (seats with the less leg-space) and being for the least of non-standard height and leg-length in India, I was quite happy when we finally got out of the bus.

Although I may seem to make this bus journey look like a terror ride (amidst sick, drunken or "interested" people), I really did enjoy it. The fact that I was not alone helped: I am getting used to being very defensive with strangers (Delhi...), and travelling with somebody allowed me to relax and be more "myself". A great relief. And as I have already said, there is nothing like being able to talk with a friend from your own culture after three weeks spent "alone" in an alien country.

A pleasant day in Rishikesh

If in Pune and Delhi the monsoon seemed to be reaching an end, in Rishikesh it was absolutely pouring. We took a rickshaw and sprinted the last hundred metres to the hotel under buckets of water.

We had a nice meal and slept in an equally nice room, lined with cedar wood (at least that is what my still ill nose identified it as) and provided with a noiseless fan as well as a non-functional TV set.

Rishikesh; August 25

I woke up late and spent some time outside, fascinated by a group of monkeys on the hotel walls just in front of our room - my first "wild" monkeys. I was to see a lot more in the village.

Nicola fixed the accommodation details for the arrival of the rest of the party, and we spent a good part of the day wandering abound Rishikesh. What a change from the India I had seen until then! Being in a holy place, there was of course an incredible concentration of "sadhus", more or less authentic (even a couple of white-skinned ones). But that was not all the difference. The "normal" people were different too. It is hard to explain in what way. More traditional looking, maybe? I think that what I saw there was closer to what I had expected to see coming to India - even if it is a tourist place (for Indians).

The attitude of people was much more pleasant. In the centre of Delhi, I already mentioned it was impossible to walk ten metres without being hassled. In Rishikesh, either people didn't seem to care about our presence, or if they did, they would in most cases simply stare at us in astonishment.

We stopped a few minutes on a ghat, watching people dip themselves in the Ganga. The river was muddy brown and the current very strong. People bathing would hang on to chains to avoid being carried away by the current.

As I mentioned, the monsoon had not reached an end in the mountains, and we spent the greatest part of a rainy afternoon writing and resting in our pleasantly smelling room.

Back to Delhi: Deluxe bus and shoe-shine boys

For the journey home we planned to catch a Deluxe bus from Haridwar (the type of bus we intended to pack the other students into). Unfortunately we had about an hour to wait. We had enough water with us this time, but we were both longing for fresh fruit.

The bus departure area is quite busy and tiring for the poor foreigner (beggars and touts). Hunting for bananas was not much better. After a couple of "baksheesh, baksheesh!" we hastily bought some bananas (said Nicola: "too many!") and made a beeline for the bus station's waiting area.

No sooner had we taken a seat that I began to feel painfully visible. A couple of young "Shoe-shine! Shoe-shine!" and beggars had spotted us.

As Nicola had "shineable" shoes the situation was quite bad. After a couple of "abhi nahin", "bilkul nahin", "bas!" and "kuch nahin", one of them finally accepted a banana to leave us in peace. I turned into an automatic banana distributor for a minute or two, as we were swarmed by beggars and shoe-shiners who had suddenly changed their mind on the acceptability of the banana as baksheesh. A bit over half our stock disappeared into various stomachs. The remaining bananas were deftly stuffed back into my rucksack. Finished! Kele ho gaye!

Just as we were enjoying our dearly bought freedom, two more boys arrived to try to "shine" Nicola's shoes. They had missed the banana distribution and Nicola felt a bit sorry for them. "OK, let them do it (Rs. 5), like that it is done!"

They grabbed a shoe each and set to work. Payment time. Between the two of us we managed to gather enough of our precious change to give half of the price to each. But to our astonishment, the money I put into the smaller one's hand simply trickled into the elder one's, and off he went!

The small boy simply stood there, forlorn, waiting and mumbling, expecting his pay. None of Nicola's explanations (in Hindi of course) that his "bhai" had got the money would make him budge.

He vaguely said something about being hit. OK. One case of common racket. We decided to give him a chance, remembering too that the sum of money involved was not much in absolute, and gave him Rs. 5. To be kept out of the other one's view, as was clearly said!

But then, the first thing he did was run up to the elder boy and hand the money over to him. It all looked like a perfect plan to cheat soft-hearted people like us!

Well... If we had lost five rupees, we had at least gained a little wisdom...

The Deluxe coach was indeed a pleasure. Fans that turned on when the bus stopped (stopping which caused the refreshing wind caused by the speed of travel to disappear). Music including a couple of my favourite Hindi songs. Seats that allowed you to doze off without getting killed at each bump. Add to that a very "select" crowd of Indians (no lubricious looks or sickly-sweet hellos from those guys...). We also fancied imagining the driver had probably had a little more sleep or training than in the "normal" busses.

But apart from all that, "Deluxe" in India has little to do with what you would expect of the same label in Europe. Old, rumpled and half-clean (?) seat-covers (remember that most Indians put oil in their hair!), dirty windows, dirty luggage shelves, screeching music (playing too fast and going on and off at irregular intervals - no wonder westerners can't stand Hindi music!), dare-devil driving (Haridwar to Delhi in less than five hours!) and no extra frills... In fact, AC and non-AC make more difference here than normal, Deluxe, first or second class.

Some thoughts about India

During these last days with Nicola we had many occasions to talk about India and reflect upon the differences with the west. I have mentioned (or will mention) some of them in my "culture shock" section, but there are a couple of little details I want to mention now. Particularly because I am getting so used to them that they are starting to be normal to me. I won't pretend I've "understood" India. This is just where my thoughts lead me.

For example, take the number of "sirs" and "madams" an innocent foreigner is served by the average Indian employee. A couple in each sentence for the very severe cases.

Another example is fans hanging from every ceiling. Windows and doors that are not "outside-tight". Dust everywhere. Buildings more or less ramshackle. Things that never look quite finished. Clothes that are never quite clean. Scorching heat. The gaze of people as you pass by...

One conclusion we arrived to - not a very original one, I'm afraid! - is that India is a world of contrasts and extremes, often to be seen side by side. You will see people living in slums next door to big banks and expensive restaurants.

The people's attitude is also quite paradoxical.

Indians will often be very friendly, polite and helpful - but how "genuine" is their friendliness? Are they simply doing their duty by giving you a hand? You can find yourself being helped to a certain point and then almost dumped on the side of the road as if you suddenly didn't exist any more.

The famous Indian hospitality has an ambiguous side to it too. People are bound to offer you shelter and accept you, as it is their duty. The way it is done can seem strange to us. I may be wrong, but I have the impression that in Switzerland the host would always tend to tell the guest to stay longer, to the point where the latter will refuse to be a burden any longer and leave - in a way, making it the guest's decision to put an end to the hospitality. I admit I might be a little idealistic here.

Individualism is another of those paradoxical topics. The west is supposed to be individualistic and self-centred, but I have come upon a few "Indian" attitudes which seem to me more individualistic than the corresponding western ones.

For example, you are expected to fight for yourself more often than in Switzerland, where lots of people will always coax you into taking your place. At the counter, in the bus, anywhere in life. You are supposed to make your own place and ask for yourself. Seldom will one wait for you to take your turn if you do not take it yourself, or ask you what you need. When I say this, it sounds wrong - people keep asking me to take a seat and tell them what I want. But in Switzerland nobody would ever go past somebody who is obviously waiting at a counter. Nor would somebody be left at a counter without being invited to make his inquiry. The rules are different here. You are supposed to talk first.

While I'm at it, there are common ideas that I've heard over and over again propounded by Indian residents. About marriage, family, and domestic help as a sort of social structure, a help to the individual. They certainly have truth in them. But they do not seem to make the lacking social services and infrastructure unnecessary.

What about all the miserable people in the streets? Do they have no family to take care of them? Or do they all belong to family-gangs of beggars?

Of course, I know things are not that simple.

A couple of days in Delhi

Let's get back to our travels after this little digression.

On our return to Delhi we booked the next trip with a private company (not a very good idea, as we were going to see). It all looked perfect - maybe a little too much!

We went to our Hindi teachers' place (I had to pick up some of my stuff there). There had been a water shortage since morning, and they were also experiencing a rather long power-failure. Poor Nicola was dying for a shower, so we went back to my hotel to deposit my luggage before eating, and I smuggled him into my room for a quick bath - such a relief after a day's travel.

I spent a good part of the evening washing my laundry (with soap, for a change). Imagine my dismay, when the next morning, once my clean washing was hanging all around the room to dry, the dhobi came knocking on my door!

I went money hunting again and this time met with success. At 1 a.m., I had withdrawn money from my Pune account and managed to get cash using my VISA. Hurray!

After an expensive meal at the Embassy hotel (both Nicola and I felt we needed a treat and I was longing for some chicken) we got a couple of details fixed for the Swiss students' arrival.

When I look back at the last week it seems I spent all my time money hunting and wandering around Connaught Place with Nicola. I had a rather good time on the whole - but to be honest I must say it was due more to Nicola's presence and to our conversations than to Delhi itself. That might very well be the detail that counts!

Rishikesh; August 29

On Thursday (the next day) I went sightseeing. Finding myself in an AC bus with a bunch of other (mostly white) tourists was quite a new experience to me.

The guide took us to most of the "tourist spots" in Delhi: Humayun's Tomb, the astronomical sundial, Qutab Minar, Birla Mandir, Lal Qila, Baha'i Temple, Gandhi and Nehru's memorials, ityadi, ityadi...

Travelling in an AC coach gave me a queer feeling of distance with the town. We would stop, rush through a curtain of everythingwallahs, listen to the guide's speech, click a few pictures and retreat into the cool dustless bus, already hot and sticky from our 20 minutes of contact with the "real" world...

Switching from hot to cold all the time is awfully tiring - punishment for the use of AC.

Rishikesh: Hindi classes and Swiss students

Fresh foreigners in Delhi

After a few hours rest and a meal I went to the airport with Nicola to pick up our fellow students. They had arrived safely, all but one who had stayed stuck in Frankfurt - plane delay - and joined us 24 hours later. He got to spend a night in a very good hotel over there...

Seeing them all clean and fresh and bewildered reminded me of my own arrival in India over a month ago. In the space of a few hours I suddenly realized how much I had learnt and how well I had got accustomed to this new country. I was no longer lost and ignorant. I knew my way through town and public transports, hotels and restaurants. I had acquired much more knowledge than what I was aware of. It was quite a soothing feeling to be the one "who knows" - even though, of course, I don't know that much.

For the next day we had hired a French-speaking guide and a mini-van (AC). The guide knew his job, which also consisted of taking us into a "silks" shop he knew - slight disappointment that he hid reasonably well, because we didn't buy anything - and taking us to a restaurant which was a bit more expensive than what we wanted (but the meal was delicious).

In addition to some of the monuments I had seen the day before, we visited Jamma Masjid (very impressive) and the Jain Temple with its bird hospital. The inside of the Jain Temple was beautiful, miniature-like paintings all over the walls. We were lucky: had we arrived ten minutes later, we wouldn't even have been allowed into the temple.

We got back to the hotel and I had but one desire: to lie down underneath a fan and doze off (a recurring kind of desire those days - running around Connaught Place in scorching Delhi while still convalescent was killing me).

I had a small nap and a nightmarish wake-up (the kind you have when you open your eyes, have no idea where you are, what time it is and what was this important thing you had to wake up for).

I then took the two other girls of the party to Connaught Place by rickshaw (the boys had set off some time earlier). I deftly negotiated the price of the ride upwards: "Connaught Place, how much?" - "What you want". Disbelieving, I suggested ten rupees. "Ten rupees, fifteen rupees, what you like." - "OK, fifteen!" said I, glad to get out of the bargaining so easily (I hate bargaining...). I must add that this guy was our "favourite" rickshawallah, and maybe I was feeling thankful I bumped into him at this crucial moment.

We had a nice (and cheap!) South Indian dinner ending with a mitha paan. Half our party simply swallowed it up. I chewed at mine conscientiously but I didn't really enjoy it that much. Too many strange tastes mixed up together. So I spat it out on the pavement a bit prematurely.

The journey back to the hotel was fun. In the end we decided to use our feet, but at one point we considered hiring two or three rickshaws. Poor Nicola found himself trying to negotiate in the midst of about fifteen to twenty rickshawallahs! Utterly hopeless situation.

After a well-deserved AC night and a final YWCA breakfast (I had almost started liking them!) we set off for Rishikesh.

Journey to Rishikesh

We got to the bus station without too much trouble (a cramped and sweaty journey in jeep and rickshaw with luggage piled up on top of us). I mentioned earlier that we had booked our journey with a private company. You shall now learn why we regretted it...

It had all seemed too perfect. When we had got back to Delhi after our speedy Deluxe ride from Rishikesh, Nicola and I had asked the driver if there were any similar busses for our journey two days later. He told us the only Deluxe busses to Rishikesh left at 8 and 9 a.m. (too early for us). We found ourselves talking with a guy who could hire places for us in a bus better than this one, at the time we wanted, from where and to where we wanted - and at a fair price.

Half-aware we might be stepping into a tourist-cheater trap, we climbed into the rickshaw to go to the booking office. We fixed a few more details, the price rose a bit as the initial misunderstandings were cleared (yes, we wanted to go to Rishikesh, not Haridwar!) and finally bought the tickets.

Obviously the two guys who had touted us got quite a comfortable commission - they almost refused the ten rupees we had arranged to pay for our rickshaw ride!

We had silenced our doubts until the departure. We were in any case relieved to see that there was indeed a bus, although it had neither fans nor music and the seats were somewhat plainer than what we expected. Only problem: the bus would leave when it was full. One by one we saw some other passengers arrive. Finally we left by quarter past twelve (instead of eleven, not too bad).

At mid-ride Nicola went to check that they would drop us at our hotel and not at Rishikesh bus station. We learnt the chauffeur intended to leave us at Haridwar and put is in two Vikrams for Rishikesh (was he going to pay them?)... arrangement which we politely but firmly refused. At Haridwar and again a little later the driver tried to pressurize us (especially our Hindi teacher, as he "spoke no English") to get out of the bus. We did not give in but all the same, we had to finish the last few kilometres of our journey by jeep.

Needless to say we learnt a good lesson from this. I think that in future both Nicola and I will stick to the government-financed transport - unless we have a very good reason not to do so.

Arrival at the hotel - the feeling of being treated as VIPs was even stronger than the time before. Nice meal "a volonte" and another good night's sleep.

Rishikesh; August 30

More thoughts and stealing monkeys

After two days of "rest" I am starting to get over my Delhi tiredness, and my appetite has become monstrous. I guess I'm compensating for my consecutive illnesses.

Hindi lessons have started and I feel a surge of motivation for languages - I want to finish polishing up my English really seriously, catch up my German before it runs away, learn more languages.

So little time and so much to do in life... one thing at a time!

I'm reading "India - A Million Mutinies Now" by V S Naipaul. It is fascinating to receive answers to many of my unasked questions - mainly about the slums, the Dalits, and everyday life for a good part of the Indian middle-class during the last decades.

As I read, I realize that a couple of the things that have moved me the most have not been mentioned here. Of course, I can't talk about everything. I already have the impression that a good part of this "logbook" must be a bit boring.

One image I cannot chase from my head is that of a small boy who came running after us at the Lal Qila in Delhi. Another beggar, like so many you see in the city. This little boy - how old was he, six, seven? - was carrying a tiny baby, thin and either sleeping or unconscious (though his thinness seemed to indicate the latter), his head lolling from side to side as the young boy ran. Maybe another set-up for cabbage-hearted people. Maybe not.

I have seen so many miserable people, especially in the centre of Delhi. And yet I have probably not seen the worst. The sick and the injured lying in the streets, those hands eaten by leprosy stretched out before me... What can I do for them? Will a rupee or two save them? I feel helpless but also a little uneasy. Is all this misery genuine? I have the feeling that some of these people may actually be dying there, before my eyes. And I do nothing. I retreat into my shell, shut my heart and walk straight through. All this human suffering would simply tear me apart if I let it in. Raw helplessness.

Rishikesh; August 31

There is also Manoj, the girl from the slums who works for our Hindi teachers. She lives with them and helps in the house, looking after their little daughter Ekta.

She must be about 16 and her father wants to marry her - it is already late for a girl of her caste, I am told. That will probably mean the end of the decent life her "host" family is now offering her.

They avoid leaving her too long in her real family, for not only does she work there like a slave, but another Indian could come along, offer more than them to her father, and they would lose her. And who knows how she would be treated in her new home, either.

The father was reluctant to let her come with us to Rishikesh. He feared our teacher might sell her there.

For her this journey is quite an adventure. Probably her first big journey, I am guessing. She is amazed by the mountains that surround us - "how do people get up there?" - and afraid to sleep alone in a room of her own. What we call "privacy" and treasure so much in the west is unknown to many people - and I can easily imagine it can be terrifying if you have never been alone.

Nicola told me that what astonished her the most was the fact that he actually filtered the tap-water before drinking it. For her tap-water is already such a miracle.

She has never gone to school, "of course". Our teachers tried to teach her how to write. She painfully learnt the letters, but putting them together to make the words was beyond her.

Apart from the domestic work that she does, her life seems to revolve around TV and dreaming about her wedding: life will be like a Hindi movie...

As I was writing this, an army of creamy-brown, short-tailed and red-bottomed monkeys (bandar) of all sizes were taking possession of the hotel garden. About half an hour before, I had chased one of them, which was about to enter an open room. My room was open too, but I was in it - it didn't seem "dangerous". In fact, one of those cheeky beasts entered this very room and stole a lime from the table next to me. Barely a metre away. I didn't even see him.

Stealing monkeys are far from uncommon. A few hours later I saw another one deftly grab two packed sandwiches from a shop and retreat just out of reach to enjoy them under the shopkeeper's eyes. He knew what he was taking - it wasn't washing powder or toilet paper.

My Hindi teacher also told me of monkeys in Agra that will tug at your trousers begging for food, and others (I can't remember where) who would steal washing and give it back in exchange for food.

Rishikesh; September 1

Life in Rishikesh

Today is the third day of intensive Hindi. I can see my progress already. Our teacher is drilling us without mercy - my head is full or girls and chairs and tables all dancing around together.

The weather is nice; sunny, but the heat is bearable - apart when the hotel people switch off the electricity because they are cutting down trees. No electricity means no fans - it is then that you realize a little breeze makes life so much nicer over here. Power failures are common - in Pune and Delhi too, though they are usually short there.

This afternoon we went out to Rishikesh bazaar - our practical Hindi lesson consisted in asking prices for fruit and vegetables.

Rishikesh; September 4

The end of the week went on just as it had started. Lots of Hindi, lots of laughs at the dinner table and a couple of expeditions in town.

I found some edible chocolate, bought a lungi to wear while bathing in the Ganga and started to understand still a bit more about the Indian way of thinking - mainly following a couple of conversations with my religions teacher from Lausanne.

Rishikesh; Thursday, September 8

On Saturday we went to see a movie: Hogi Pyaar ki Jeet. I'm really making progress in Hindi - or is it in Hindi Movie Script Decoding? Even though the movie was supposed to be a flop, I enjoyed it. I'm not a very difficult customer with movies.

The next day we went to Haridwar for the afternoon, by train. We took part in a big (popular) arti there in the evening.

On the way back I stepped into a shop to take a look at a salwaar kameez. The streets were crowded. I got out of the shop after a few seconds but the others were already out of sight. Lost for lost, I stayed a little longer and finally bought the salwaar kameez - a good buy by the way.

I then ran to the railway station, hoping to catch up with the others who were planning to take a Vikram (in fact it seems I overtook them). I wanted to buy a railway timetable. After a while of hectic running around in the crowded station (I forgot to mention that it was quite hot and that as I had run I was dribbling with sweat) I finally found the right counter. Of course there was a queue. I spotted a fellow videshi near the beginning of the queue and managed to have him get the book for me. He didn't look very fresh.

I then headed for the bus station, tired and sweaty and decided to go straight back to the hotel.

Guess who I bumped into over there?

My lost friends!

We took the bus and arrived at the hotel just in time to have supper (omelette and cheese sandwich).

During that week I had my first conversation classes and noticed again that I had really made some progress. I also started to have the impression that I was finding the correct way to deal with Indians and India - feeling a little bolder, acting a little bolder and getting better results. I began to think about the moment when my Swiss friends would go back and I would find myself "alone" again. But being alone in a country that you are starting to be at ease in is nothing compared to what I went through on my arrival in Pune or Delhi.

Janki Chatti; September 18

Two weeks of intensive study went by in a flash.

I had found a nice place where two girls gave me a rather important number of ayurvedic massages. Life went on quite smoothly, without being boring (too much studying to get bored!).

One day nevertheless, we were going to the other bank of the Ganga (by the Ram Jhula, the bridge that sways with your steps) when we noticed an unusually large gathering on the bridge - and the presence of the police.

Looking down we saw a half-blackened corpse, which seemed to be clinging to the rocks on the river bank. The police were obviously trying to get it out of the water (there was a small cliff at that place). No idea about the background of that corpse. It could be anything. It must have been in the river for some time - the part below water was white, the part above, black.

During the second weekend we went to Nilkanth, a colourful temple about 15 kms from Rishikesh. We wanted to walk there but unfortunately woke up a bit late, so we took a Jeep.

About halfway there we spotted the two girls of our group who had courageously stuck to the initial plan. We stopped the jeep and compressed them in (we were already somewhat tight).

After a few minutes the driver got out and told Nicola to go on the roof (he had been clinging to the back of the vehicle). As there was a second "seat" up there, and as I was also starting to feel a little cramped - no leg space (always that same problem!) and somebody sitting on my knees - I took place next to him.

Riding on the roof is fun, and it also lets you enjoy an incomparable view. People would stare as we drove by - and when it started raining and we huddled under an umbrella with my raincoat over our legs, people started smiling widely.

I had a great time even when jumping off the jeep, my judo reflexes made me begin a backward roll (it was a little higher than what I expected). I stopped just in time - only my bottom landed in the muddy puddle.

We visited the temple and walked about a little in the hills before coming back.

A woman in the jeep had been miserably sick during the whole journey. I had heard - and seen - that in this country it was particularly women who tended to be sick while travelling. It reminded me that in Europe we are car-trained from birth; maybe this woman stepped in a car only once in a blue moon. On the other hand, we are always amazed at how Indians (those who are not sick, I mean) manage to sleep in busses or simply anywhere.

If you look around, you will see very few prams in India. Mothers carry their babies and toddlers around all the time. And of course, they sleep in their arms - while the mothers walk, talk, shop, and do all kinds of activities. Is there a relationship?

During the night, in Rishikesh, I arrived face to face with a couple of oversized insects (by my standards). Five-centimetre-plus cockroaches (two of them: one died under Nicola's foot and the other under mine), and a spider big like the circle I can make with the thumb and forefinger of both my hands (and I have long fingers). Neither Nicola nor I being very brave in front of eight-legged beasts, we got our Hindi teacher (who was staying in the room next door) to chase it out. That episode made quite an amount of adrenaline flow into my veins.

One day, Nicola and I went for a "check-up" at an ayurvedic doctor's (the father of the girls who gave the massages). We went there because he claimed to diagnose by taking the pulse, and both of us were quite interested by this technique. If the result seemed quite correct for Nicola, it was less convincing as far as I was concerned (I was supposed to have the same basic problems as him - and I was totally unaware of them!). In any case, we left the shop with a box of tablets each...

Appreciating India: from Yamunotri to Pune

Trek to Yamunotri

Saturday morning we left for our trek to Yamunotri: a place on the bank of the Yamuna, with hot water sources which guarantee you a painless death if you bathe in them (Yamuna being the sister of Yama, god of the dead).

We were due to leave at 6.30 a.m. (the organizers wanted us to leave at six!). At twenty to seven we were told the jeep would be half an hour late. We left at eight, after another demonstration of Indian efficiency at getting things done on time.

Surprisingly, I'm even starting to find that normal.

We had a guide and a cook with us. The latter was sick during the whole journey (we prayed his cooking wasn't at fault) and the former was in fact the organizer, who was replacing the guide who had run off with another group, as they had understood we were doing the trip a week later, and had had to put everything together in two days when they suddenly realized their mistake. Are you still following me?

; )

We drove through Dehra Dun (where our driver ran over a dog), Mussoorie, Kempti Falls, and the breathtaking scenery or the valleys surrounding the Yamuna. They were illuminated by this end-of-afternoon-on-a-stormy-day light... I didn't have the courage to stop the jeep to take pictures, and I definitely regret it. We passed several groups of nomads, accompanied by herds of water buffaloes. I wish I had taken some pictures!

Two blocked roads and one nightfall later, we arrived at Hanuman Chatti, our halt for the night. We had to walk the last bit because of rocks which had fallen across the road.

Our cook made us some delicious food. Such a nice change after three weeks of the same hotel meals! After a good night's sleep (a second giant spider, no running water in my room, no hot water in any case, a roaring generator and a couple of bugs on the bed-sheets - how glad I was to have my sleeping-bag with me!) we set off for our next destination under the rain.

Eight kilometres further and five hundred metres higher, there we were, at Janki Chatti. The temperature had got quite cold - hard to imagine the scorching heat of Delhi up here in the mountains. One of our party had some ball-point pens and started a distribution amongst the village children (and a couple of adults). We were escorted to our hotel by a crowd of smiling - and eager! - children.

Pune Camp; Saturday, October 2

We set off the following morning for Yamunotri. The climb was hard for a few of us (out of practice or sick).

At Yamunotri we bathed in the spring water. Must I mention that the women's "pond" was ankle-deep and that the men's was chest-deep? We had rice cooked in the hot spring-water, did a little puja, and ate on the riverbank.

On the way down, I noticed that my judo-injured knee was slowing me down quite a lot - more than I had imagined (I hadn't really had a chance to do any walking since I had got hurt about two years ago).

In the evening we went to a village lying on the other side of the valley (a twenty-minute walk).

It was an old-fashioned village with houses made all of wood and stacks of hay hung up to dry everywhere. We had seen the people cutting grass during the day, high up on slopes so steep you wondered how they got up there, sometimes above sheer cliffs.

There was an old temple in that village, so old that the oldest living person in the village did not know when it had been built. We were allowed inside. Dark. Wooden steps. Three floors. A little altar. Down and out again.

The kind of village you would like to have the opportunity to stay in for a couple of weeks.

In the evening we made a little campfire at the hotel and chatted with our neighbours.

I took a pony for the way down. Quite a painful experience for my behind, but altogether positive, and cheap enough for me to afford it... That is of course one nice thing about India for a foreigner: even if you live normally, you could afford almost anything if you wanted it. So every now and then you can go to eat in a luxury restaurant... or hire a pony if you feel too lazy to walk.

Pune Camp, Sunday, October 3

Our guide had asked us if we had any special desires for lunch. Most of us were longing for some non-vegetarian food, so we asked for fish.

He took us to a small place where we were served "fish". That is, a kind of soup in which were floating heads and tails (I was one of the lucky few who managed to fish a central part out of the pot).

We were a bit perplexed. Is this the way people eat fish in India? What do they do with the fillets?

In fact we had been served leftovers. To make up for that, the guide bought us some real fish in Dehra Dun. And it was good!

Going back home to Pune

It was nice to be in Rishikesh again. I went for a massage (even stayed for supper there with Nicola), and at last got a chance to bathe in the Ganga. Ever tried swimming in a lungi? Well mine got undone, so I had to catch it and put it back on underwater...

We found a good bus for Delhi, and settled back in the YWCA for a day.

I went to the railway station to buy my ticket to Pune (got touted there by the way: the guy managed to lead me to the travel agency, making me believe it was the railway's tourist office, but he didn't manage to get me in... growing wise with age!).

During the night I saw my Swiss friends off, apart for one of them who was staying a bit longer in India. One of his friends was arriving at the airport the same night, so we greeted him and escorted him to our hotel.

I spent the next day packing, and window shopping in the Central Cottage Industries Emporium (a "fixed-price" place). In the evening the three of us went to have a meal at the Embassy hotel *licking lips at the memory of the meal*.

The train journey in AC two tier was calm. I had a compartment to myself, as the carriage was more empty than full, and I read all the way along.

I had the opportunity to stay at my Internet friend Mithun's place for a little while, until I found a flat. His sister Mili came to fetch me at the station.

The next morning (goodness, I'm starting to get used to that!) my temperature was 102 F. I stayed two days in bed before coming alive again (thanks to the antibiotics).

Finding a flat

Once I was back on my feet again, the flat-hunting thing started. Mili found a couple of interesting ones in the papers. After one missed appointment where we went through half the town on the scooter under pouring rain (and when I say pouring, I mean what I say!), I visited my first flat. What a shock!

In Pune, you have one-bedroom, two-bedrooms etc. But that is exactly what you get! If you ask for a one-bedroom flat, you get a flat with one bedroom, in addition to a big hall or dining room, whatever you may call it.

Up to then I had been looking for a two-bedroom flat, with the idea of sharing it with a friend. And suddenly I realized that a one-bedroom flat was quite big enough for two people!

Let me explain. In Switzerland (at least in my town), you count the rooms in a flat, considering that a room is a space with windows, where you could imagine sleeping. So I had been translating a "one-bedroom flat" into a one-room flat!

Yesterday evening, I ate my first Indian pizza, and I was positively surprised. It almost tasted Italian!

Calcutta; October 16

So, after two nice weeks including a couple of flat visits, a baby dog expert at chewing various items (particularly toes during breakfast) and making puddles all over the house, a scooter trip under buckets of rain, a shopping evening on Main Street where I ended up walking 200 metres to find a place to get off the pavement without going knee-deep in water (shoes take four days to dry in the end-of-monsoon dampness), I finally found a flat and started taking Sanskrit reading courses.

The flat is in Kothrud - on Karve Road. Although it had been "cleaned" for me it took me three full days of sweating and panting to make it acceptable - and I'm far from finicky as far as cleanliness is concerned (by Swiss standards of course).

I chased four or five big cockroaches from the bathroom drains, dislodged a pigeon's nest from the loft, scrubbed doors and windows to remove years of grime, got dust and cobwebs off the ceiling and walls, and poured concentrated hydrochloric acid on the floor. (When I bought that acid, I enquired about its concentration. The answer left me open-mouthed: "Oh, acid concentration, Madam!") As I had just one litre of it, I only succeeded in producing a few white (understand: clean) blotches on the black (understand: dirty) tiles. It turned out to be a rather strong concentration...

Buying cleaning items here is quite an eye-opener. "What is this brush supposed to be used for?" Buying socks was interesting too: they come in two sizes, "ladies" and "gents". What do you do if you want ladylike socks in gents' size? But the real surprise is that you can try the socks on (believe it or not, "trying" clothes before purchase isn't such an obvious thing - ever imagined the fun of buying a bra without being able to try it on first?).

Moving into a flat put me in a position where I might buy a whole lot of unexpected things - buckets, bed sheets and a sweeping brush, for the start. The flat has no hot water. Should I get a geyser or a heating-rod? Obtaining a gas cylinder for cooking takes ages - should I get an electric stove instead? Oh, and 40 Watt light bulbs aren't enough.

In Switzerland, you can just walk into one big store, and with a bit of luck find just about everything that you need there. In India, you go into lots of little, specialized shops with non-specialist salesmen most of the time, and it can really be worth the trouble of comparing prices (not to mention taking an Indian friend along to protect you from an abusive skin tax).

Aleika

A couple of days before moving in, I had gone to Juna Bazaar (second-hand items of sometimes-doubtful provenance) with Mili and Mithun's mother, to get some cheap, minimal furniture. So on Tuesday, I went to collect my furniture.

There, I bumped into another foreigner. "Hi, what an unlikely place to meet a foreigner!" We would most certainly have gone our own seperate ways if the tempowallah (tempo: three-wheeler transport vehicle) hadn't arranged to transport the furniture for both of us (without consulting us, and even though we did not live at all in the same area of town). So we ended up in the same rickshaw for the first part of the journey, to her place, where she invited me for a cup of tea.

On the way to my flat (I left the rickshaw and sat in the tempo) I experienced my first (and hopefully, last?) Indian road accident. At the top of a hill, I suddenly realized the tempowallah was trying the brakes a little anxiously. In fact, they were broken. He slowed down as much as he could by changing gears, and I was actually getting ready to jump out of the slowed down tempo when he drove it against a side-road tree-stump to knock it over. I survived with just a scratch, and not even a tear in my pants, lucky me!

Aleika is my age, has a one-year-old baby, and her husband is a professor in IUCAA (Inter University Centre for Astronomy and Astrohpysics), in the university campus. At that moment, he was on a three-month trip to England.

The next day I went over to her place for lunch. Before the afternoon was over I had been invited to go with her to Calcutta - she was seeing her in-laws for her son Akirno's first birthday and the Durga Puja festival. The plane was taking off the next morning. We spent the end of the day getting my ticket and finalizing things for the departure.

Living with Aleika: Calcutta and Pune

First days in Calcutta

The flight to Calcutta went smoothly (I'm not mentioning the unavoidable plane delays). We must have looked quite a weird party: two foreigners, one wearing a light brown baby, the other one a salwaar kameez, and a small maharashtrian woman in a nine-yard sari (the type that comes up between your legs at the back and that you cover your head with). Aleika's in-laws were at the airport to greet us.

We had a room in one of the four blocks occupied by the very large joint family, scattered on the different floors in different rooms. The Durga Puja festival in Calcutta is the occasion for the whole family to get together during four or five days - so there were even more people than usual staying in the house.

The day after our arrival I went sari shopping for the first time. After having eaten a couple of Chinese chicken rolls (both Aleika and I had trouble with the sweet Bengali daal and nasty rice served at her in-laws) we sat in a sari shop and had a certain number of saris unfolded for us - until the moment when I looked at the pile aside of me and decided I absolutely had to stop buying. I got a ready-made blouse and a petticoat to be able to wear the more expensive sari I had bought that morning for the evening gathering. I loved it!

Calcutta; October 22

The four or five first days were those of the Durga Puja. Big family gatherings ("family" in a very wide sense), deafening drumming and numerous pujas.

The food we were served in the house was unfortunately very bland. Add to that the general lack of cleanliness of the kitchen as well as the plates, the 1998 butter we once found on the breakfast table, the blackening fruit covered by a net that simply prevented the flies from escaping, and you will easily understand why we took on a habit of sneaking out to eat delicious chicken rolls, street food and other "momos" (a kind of Asian ravioli), drinking chay in small earthen disposable cups.

I tasted the joys of travelling by taxi (almost no rickshaws in Calcutta), going sari shopping (which means usually staring mouth-open at very expensive and very beautiful saris, in most cases without buying them) and "parading" about draped in pretty cloth.

One day as we went out, we were stopped by a flooded junction. The rainy season was not yet quite finished in Calcutta. We went as far as we could without dipping our saris in the muddy-coloured, knee-deep water and finally hired a man-pulled rickshaw (the only "vehicle" available). If I am not mistaken, Calcutta is one of the only places where they still exist.

There ricksaws are made for two people. Aleika and I could barely squeeze inand we managed to balance the baby as well as Taramai on our knees. Of course, when we got off about fifty metres later, the rickshawallah asked us for Rs. 300, a bit sheepishly, though. We gave him Rs. 60, which I now believe was the correct price.

During this stay, for the first time in my life, I had a glimpse of the life of a one-year-old baby. It was an instructive experience (I'm not even mentioning that Akirno is the most adorable little person...). Nurse, sleep, crawl around, stick fingers into people's noses, grab the same noses, put hand in mouths, spread biscuits and different kinds of food gleefully on the bed (and on Mummy's clothes, of course), clear surfaces by chucking down on the floor everything within reach, and play "psycho baby" at night, when everybody wants to sleep. The "psycho baby" mode means speed-crawling around the bed while making various gurgling laughing noises, as well as pinching, tasting, pulling and testing various parts of the various bodies lying in the same bed.

Pune, October 31

Glimpses of Calcutta life

My stay in Calcutta has not much of a story to it. Nothing really "happened" there. It was more a case of catching a little of the flavour of everyday life in a context I am not used to, as well as getting to know three people (Aleika, Taramai and Akirno) who were going to play an important part in my "Indian adventure", although I did not suspect it then.

I mentioned the poor quality of the food served at Aleika's in-laws. The rice was bland and bad, the daal watery but chilly-hot, and the fish or veg served with it not much more exciting.

Needless to say the helpings were all but generous. Aleika's mother-in-law had the disastrous habit of arriving at the beginning of our meal to ask "More? You want more?" in a pressing tone. A "yes, please" would add a tiny spoonful of rice or veg to the plate, followed by another helping of "More? You want more?" two minutes later. So if we wanted more in our plates, it had to be gained by lots and lots of "Yes, please"... We gave up and ate chicken rolls.

Taramai once counted that the daal had lasted five days. No wonder it wasn't very tasty in the end! We had chicken once, spread upon three days. After a week, I could hardly swallow anything in the house.

We ate piles of Bengali sweets. I must have put on weight, even if the family diet didn't seem to encourage that. We also lived on Britannia Digestive biscuits and Cadbury's Picnics. I bought a bunch of those one day, and they turned out to be inhabited by little six-legged beasts - luckily I had been greedy and the problem was discovered before we left the shop.

While sari shopping, we encountered the "first customer" syndrome a couple of times. For most shopkeepers, it is inauspicious if the first person to enter the shop leaves without buying anything, so the lucky "first customer" is provided a fair amount of pressure by the sales staff. One morning, we were "first customer" in one shop after the other, and as we were not in a buying mood, we left a row of angry shopkeepers behind us (we were quite irritated too, and decided to put the shopping on hold to give others a chance to be "first customers" in the next shops).

Another irritating phenomenon we encountered when sari shopping is the concept of "same" in the average Indian mind. Ask for the same sari but a different colour, or the same colour with a different pattern, and see what you get. I was simply amazed that people could point at two things so blatantly different and say "Same, Madam, same". I almost went nuts.

The house we were staying in was nothing near to baby-proof, and it was really not clean enough to have Akirno crawling around everywhere. So one day, Aleika and I started to do some spring-cleaning, to Ma's great dismay, and to the great amusement of Baba. We even cleaned some black windows which became transparent once again, and changed the water filter (the inside of it had some resemblance to a pond - fauna, flora and all). We did something similar in the train on the way back to Pune, Aleika scrubbing on her hands and knees to make a portion of the corridor "crawlable" for Akirno.

I liked the wide streets of Calcutta, the old English buildings with coloured walls, the trees and the men going around in dhotis and lungis.

There were lots of street dogs, as in most Indian towns. Just next to our house there was a mother dog with eight little puppies. When we left, only one had survived - all the others had died.

Journey home and nasty fainting

For the journey home we had AC train tickets. It took us nearly forty-eight hours to get to Pune. I asked for the AC to be switched off at least twice, as we were freezing. Aleika and Akirno were falling ill, I was just getting better, and Taramai seemed as if she was simply going to die of cold.

In the morning of the last night, I suddenly woke up with the feeling I was about to be sick. I got down from my bunk, vaguely told Aleika I was sick, put on my chappal, fainted, got up and rushed in direction of the toilets.

I fainted again at the end of the corridor, and must have bumped my head quite badly. I woke up to see an unknown and concerned face above me, and had the presence of mind to say in Hindi that I was sick. Aleika arrived, helped me get up.

I fainted again two metres later, and when I regained my senses I was feeling simply awful and sitting in a puddle. After a few minutes my mind had cleared up a bit and I convinced Aleika to help me get into the toilets.

I got up, fainted instantly, and when I woke up I was in such pain that I screamed in terror for a few seconds. Aleika told me I had been in spasms while I was unconscious.

In less than a minute I was suddenly feeling much better, not sick anymore, but very weak.

We later figured out that I had probably woken up because I was a little sick, but that the big problem was most certainly that I had bashed my head against something when I fainted for the second time. I realized that a few hours later. when I discovered I had quite a painful bump on my head.

Markal; December 22

Living in IUCAA

I haven't written in ages - on the one hand I was waiting to find a place to rehost my site, and on the other my life here has started to be less adventurous.

Since I came back from Calcutta, I have been staying in IUCAA with Aleika - and a little routine of shopping, reading, TV, sleeping, Sanskrit lessons, baby-entertaining and chatting away settled down. Urgency and stress had left - and the material side of life was suddenly not a problem any more.

But most of all, I wasn't alone anymore. Being able to live with a friend of western culture was very welcome. I vaguely tried to move back into my flat after coming back from Calcutta. I considered buying some household items (fridge, TV, washing-machine) but finally decided it was not worth the expense, considering the short time I would be living here - especially as I had the possibility to use Aleika's facilities if I needed them.

I also considered buying or renting a scooter. But again, even if rickshaws are not cheap, a scooter would be even more expensive. It is of course more practical. But what mainly made me give up the idea was the risk.

Pune roads are dangerous. I have noticed that Indians face risk everyday that we do not accept as part of life in the west. From here, it could seem as if westerners wanted to rule out any chance of accidental death (or even injury; but most injuries heal one day - death doesn't). I have yet to see somebody here alter a behaviour for safety reasons. If one wears a helmet, it is most certainly to protect oneself from pollution or rain. And a lot of the responsibility to avoid accidents is left in others' hands.

All this to say that I wasn't ready to increase my chances of dying on Pune roads. Especially as my western driving habits could turn out to be very dangerous here.

My attempts at shifting back to my flat was unsuccessful. It was definitely nicer to be living at Aleika's with all facilities, including a friendly cat (Bagha) and a neurotic three-legged dog (Cali - equally friendly). And as Aleika was alone too - with the baby of course - we kept each other company.

Weeks sped by like days, and before I knew it, December was there. I had got to know a few of Aleika's friends in the IUCAA campus - and especially two of them: Nisha and Shinde, happy owners of two big licky dogs.

I learnt to go with the flow. Fighting against the rhythm of life here is a hopeless battle. You have to accept that your plans will change, that your dinners will be cancelled at the last minute, and that you go to sleep without knowing what you are going to do the next day. You also have to accept to make your "urgent stuff" wait, and do it when an occasion comes up. You become more dependent on outside circumstances for the way you lead your life. In fact, you let yourself be lead instead of leading. Understanding that made life much easier for me.

I spent a lot of time reading - about things that did not necessarily directly pertain to my studies. I discovered an author I liked a lot: Oliver Sacks. His book on the Deaf and Sign language is fascinating ("Hearing Voices").

We went shopping for cloth - I had to get blouses done for my saris, and Aleika needed some clothes to wear in England. We went to look at a couple of old wardrobes and settees for Aleika's home. We ate in and ate out. It was something that very much resembled a normal life to me.

As I had already mentioned about the trip to Calcutta, living with a soon toddling baby was quite a new experience to me. And actually, I loved it. Seeing Akirno discover the world around him is of course quite intense - and he is actually real fun to play with.

One evening we went shopping with Aleika's car. As we came back late and Aleika had to drive, I ended up with a sleeping Akirno in my arms. As he was sleeping on my right shoulder, my right arm went completely numb. But that didn't matter a bit. It was great to be holding him. I was to walk or dance him to sleep quite regularly after that (he is quite easy to dance to sleep), and Aleika says he must find me comfortable.

Maybe an equivalent to Christmas in the west, Diwali takes place in the beginning of November. It didn't mean much to Aleika and me, but the poor animals were scared stiff by the huge amount of firecrackers. I can't say I liked it much either. And I had yet another occasion to note the little concern most people seemed to have about safety (children playing with big crackers...). A wonder I didn't see any accidents!

I had the chance to attend the Tulsi Vivaha (celebration of the wedding between Krishna and the Tulsi plant). For that occasion I wore one of my saris - the first time in Pune. The people organizing the Tulsi Vivaha felt honoured at my presence and of course I can't help feeling embarrassed about that. I'm slowly getting used to the fact that I am at times a bit of an attraction, particularly for people who are not used to receiving the attention of foreigners (in this case, the Tulsi Vivaha was taking place in the IUCAA servant quarters), but I am still not comfortable about it - and in a way, I'm glad I am not.

I went to my first wedding (my research subject). I enjoyed it (and it was a nice excuse for me to wear one of my pretty saris) although it was quite stressful to be taking photographs, listening to explanations, taking notes and watching what was going on all at the same time.

Alone: weddings and parties

House-sitting in IUCAA

Aleika left for England at the beginning of December (she was going to stay there one month with her husband Somak before they both came home).

I tried to shift back into my flat again. With no more success than the last time. I spent one night there, froze because I had no blanket, was woken up by the factory siren nearby, gathered a few possessions and went back to IUCAA, the dog and the cat.

At first I read, chatted on the Internet, watched TV quite a lot, and did a few medical trips that had started to become necessary. About ten days after Aleika's departure, Shinde left for an eight-day retreat at Markal, a little village near Alandi, where his Guru lives.

There was an important celebration for the birthday of the god Datta. I thus had an official excuse to stay at Aleika's (not that I really needed one). As Nisha would be doing the trip to Markal each day, I would feed Cali (Aleika's dog) and keep her company a little. During that week I ate a couple of times with Nisha and got to know her a bit better.

Yesterday I was introduced to a woman who is inviting me to her daughter's wedding. She also told me there was a wedding in Bombay that I might go to. As I mentioned that I also looked forward to weddings as excuses to wear my saris, she suggested that I change mine at various occasions during the wedding. (That would mean using about six saris in two days!)

Going over there on the bus, I realized how much I liked Indian public transport. It has something thrilling that you do not find in rickshaw-riding. I decided it was definitely time for me to find out which busses I could use for my regular trips. Needless to mention that in Pune there are no real timetables or "bus maps". You just have to know when your bus comes.

Religious festivity in a village: Markal

Today I went to Markal with Nisha - draped in a sari again. We took various six-seater rickshaws (the same vehicle as the Rishikesh "Vikram") and a jeep to get to our destination. I kept thinking I should do this more. Going out of town by cramped means of transport is really great!

We finally arrived on the place of the gathering. At first I felt very ill-at-ease and self-conscious - sticking out as usual, all the more as they were obviously not used to the presence of sari-clad foreigners carrying big cameras and speaking an approximate Hindi.

I was introduced to Shinde's guru, and after a while of walking around barefooted on sharp stones, taking photographs and trying to communicate, I started feeling less out of place. I went for a stroll in the village, and befriended two girls there who were eager to practice their English. I must say I was also eager to practice my Hindi, which had been rotting away during the last months.

One of the girls would be getting married in a bit less than two weeks, and I was promptly invited. We had a nice talk - as usual, I tried to explain a couple of things about my country (like the fact that we don't have servants, that life is expensive, and that people don't necessarily get married). I postponed an invitation to go to see their fields and the farming - but I'll definitely go!

Pune; December 26

As I mentioned, I attracted a considerable amount of attention in the village. I was told they hadn't seen a foreigner around in years - though it might be a bit of an exaggeration.

I don't particularly like having people staring at me, especially when I am just "standing there", or worse, trying to eat. They actually came over with the video camera at that moment. Maybe people are curious to see how white-skinned people cope with hot Indian food and eating with their fingers...? and of course, I always perform very badly when under surveillance.

I mind attention much less when I am talking to somebody and a group slowly gathers round. I enjoy talking, and I also appreciate the chance to speak Hindi. Probably this difference of attitude on my part has something to do with the difference between attracting attention because of what I look like, and attracting attention because of what I am saying... ; )

After a few hours in Markal my feet started aching like hell. All I could do was hobble around, wincing every now and then when a badly-placed stone dug into my foot.

It was in that state that I took part in the procession to the god's temple. I spent the duration of the procession running (literally - a little adrenalin does wonders to ease the pain!) back and forth to get some photographs. It was night, and I depended on the big projector used for the video camera - but I didn't want to miss out anything.

There was a troop of dancers and drummers, and - I just couldn't believe my eyes (and my luck) - the "dancers" were actually fighters. Here I was, unexpectedly facing one of the subjects that interest me the most: the meeting of religion and fighting tradition.

Shinde's guru (at that moment, living God, so I wasn't allowed to take any photographs of her) was transported triumphantly into the temple. There was again some fighting before leaving the temple - and as I had already noticed at several occasions, people are very tolerant when I want to take photographs. Place was made for me so I could have a good view of what was happening.

On arrival back to the village, dancing and rejoicing again. I was invited to do phugadi by one of the women. Phugadi consists of holding hands facing one another (left holding left, right holding right), putting your feet close together, leaning out and turning around the centre faster and faster. It is quite impressive to see your partner's face in front of you and the rest of the world spinning around like mad in the background.

If there was any chance of the village people ever forgetting about me, I think it was lost at that very moment. I spun from phugadi to phugadi, feeling my hands grabbed round after round by different people.

After an Arti, a meal (I can't say I ate much of it, my tolerance to weird and hot Indian food being very low at that moment) and a very short nap in Shinde's rickshaw, we headed home. Needless to say that the next day, I could hardly walk!

Millennium

Christmas just wasn't Christmas. No snow, no mad shopping - and simply, nobody I knew was celebrating! I didn't have the feeling I was missing out much - it was maybe more of a relief to have a year off of Christmas shopping.

Lots of plans suddenly loomed up for the beginning of the New Year. A wedding in Alandi, two in Pune, one in Bombay, and a trip to Chennai with Shinde. The fun was just starting.

Alandi; January 1

In a few days I had suddenly got the feeling my life was accelerating. During the last weeks I had actually started fearing that I wasn't going to "make the most" of my Indian experience. And now it seemed at last as if the "real stuff" was finally going to happen.

As it turned out, I was going to spend about three days rushing from one wedding to another, just before leaving for Chennai (Madras). So I spent the last days of the "millennium" doing some frantic shopping (compensating for the Christmas shopping I had been exempted of?), all the more as I had accepted an invitation to a New Year's party and had nothing to wear.

I had quite a few second thoughts about going to this party. I just vaguely knew the friend who was inviting me, and I was told there would be three to four thousand people there, and lots of alcohol. To top it all, I would be wearing a velvet "party dress" that was quite short and tight-fitting, even by European standards.

The last straw was when I went to the university main gate to meet the rest of the party. If I had needed it, I had confirmation that I wouldn't go unnoticed. Luckily Shinde came and waited with me.

In fact I had a very nice time. I quickly got acquainted with some friendly people (including the couple who's wedding I would be attending). We waited (!) a lot and finally got "in" (in fact the dance floor was outside - a nice idea considering how stuffy discos can be). The music was a little boring but it didn't prevent us from having fun.

Two very different weddings

I got home from the millennium party quite late and didn't wake up the next morning for the wedding in Alandi. I arrived after the preliminary ceremonies, but in time for the wedding itself. Just an example of how private life (necessary for one's mental health) gets in the way of research.

During the pause between the smearing of the bride and groom with turmeric and the wedding proper, I went to a nearby temple with my (new) friend Usha and some of her own friends. I really don't like waiting in front of temples. It's most unpleasant: beggars, starers, and "can-you-take-my-photograph"ers.

At the wedding hall I had lots of intrigued people prod at my camera, but even more (surprise) at the book I was taking notes in... Of course, everybody wanted his or her picture taken - and at one point I had to stop accepting (I would have finished all my rolls of film).

That "incident" made me notice again how ambiguous the foreigner's place is. One moment you are in the centre of the show, but as soon as you seem to want to cool down the game your popularity comes crashing down. In a matter of minutes, I found myself nearly totally ignored.

Around mid-afternoon Usha, the girl who had invited me to the wedding in first place, told me quite abruptly she was leaving. I enquired about her offer to show me the fields her family owned, and she uneasily retracted it. I didn't insist. It wasn't very clear whether she had understood or not that I wasn't expecting to see the fields that very day.

She told me to come to the fair on the 8th, and I answered that I would be in Chennai - on that, she said "Bye, nice meeting you" and left. I guess I still have "disappointments" of this type waiting for me - even though I know that lots of invitations are not to be taken too literally.

Chennai; January 8

I left quite hurriedly at the end of the wedding. For one thing it was getting late and I was tired, and for the other, the bride in tears was starting to upset me too.

I know brides are supposed to cry at weddings. This girl was eighteen years old, and was being married to an older man that she had obviously not chosen, who had led her round the fire holding barely two of her fingers (instead of the whole hand).

I am not saying she was doomed to an unhappy marriage, but there was enough for her to be a little distressed. I'm not blaming the groom either, he was probably as uncomfortable as she was.

I think that in the long run, there is not so much difference in making an "arranged" marriage of a "love" marriage work. But a "love" marriage definitely makes things easier at the start.

After having waited at least half an hour for the jeep from Alandi to be full enough to set off (that means, packed with at least 13 passengers - number to be compared to the eight that could sit in it comfortably), and having learnt that it is much more efficient to express your dissatisfaction in your own language (English), even if it is not well understood, rather than in a foreign tongue (Hindi) which is understood but with which you are unable to convey much meaning, and after having walked half an hour because no rickshaw would take me on the last part of my journey home without charging me at least double price (how stupidly stubborn I can be!), I finally arrived near the university grounds, only to feel suddenly very faint - a kind of faintness I was starting to know too well: the one that announces that you might be sick any moment.

I clenched my teeth, put in the second gear, and moved on, having terrible thoughts about some local water I had drunk at the wedding. I had used a purifying tablet, of course, but I know those magic pills do not necessarily deal with all types of water "bugs". And that water had tasted *really* nasty.

I made it home and finally wasn't even really ill. But the thought of possibly fainting and being sick like I had been on the way back from Calcutta, alone on the road at ten o'clock at night (even if the road is familiar), was a bit spooky. I wouldn't say it is these parts of my "Indian experience" that I prefer, even if they might make good tales to tell my grandchildren, if I ever have any...

I got a bit of rest the day after, before going to my next wedding in the evening. I have mentioned already that one of the characteristic features of India is contrast. Well here it was again.

After the simple arranged village wedding of the day before, here was the rich love-marriage of a couple who would be settling down shortly in the USA.

A few people I had met on the 31st were at this wedding, so I wasn't totally lost (even though most of the people I knew were part of the family and as such, quite busy during the whole wedding).

My "working conditions" (for taking pictures and getting to see what was going on) were also very different from what I had experienced the day before.

In Alandi, I was a VIP - status which comes with a whole lot of disagreements, and the embarrassment of unwanted attention, but which does allow you an "automatic" best place for photos and viewing the ceremony.

So during this wedding, if I was freed from the hassle of being an attraction, and for once treated as a "normal" person, I did at times have a harder time getting to see the ceremonies. Not that the people around were unhelpful - more because I am still shy about asking people in front of me to move so that I can see (a thing Indians seem to do all the time without any trouble). I found it quite funny that each time I had managed to find a good viewpoint, the official cameramen (one with a video) would come and stand precisely in front of where I was.

The next day, the ceremonies were due to start at 7:30 a.m. (the auspicious wedding time had been fixed at 9:52 a.m.). I overslept and missed the beginning. Heard that before?

Of course I was a little disappointed (I'm waiting for a wedding with an afternoon auspicious time!), but that was largely made up for by the chance I had to see the entrance of the bride in the bridegroom's house, as well as the Laxmi Puja that followed.

During the day and a half that this wedding lasted, I think I ate the best food I had ever eaten in India. It reminded me (in nicer) of Indian food I had eaten in San Francisco or in some places in Switzerland. I have found nice places to eat at in Pune, of course, but in most restaurants the dishes seem to have been prepared with the same set of spices. Nothing of this sort at the wedding - each delicacy had a very distinctive taste.

Chennai and Belgaum: travelling with Shinde

Going off to Chennai

I had barely started enjoying my rest the following day when I realized I would be leaving for Chennai the day after - and I did have quite a few things to do before I left. So there I was, in a stress again, until the very last minute.

Taramai had popped in to see if Aleika was back, so I asked her to show me how to drape a nine-yard sari. I was planning to wear one for the train journey - it is quite a comfortable and practical dress. After she left, I checked that I could put it on again, but changed back to "normal" clothes. I did feel a little self-conscious about running all over town wearing that sari. Getting used to novelty does take a little time.

At the end of the afternoon, I had dealt with all my chores and had finally finished packing my backpack amidst sudden stomach cramps that kept interrupting my work. At one point I was almost afraid I might have to cancel the trip.

I am not writing about this just to make a display of my digestive health (or absence of health), but because with a little distance, it is quite funny to imagine how you can pack for a ten day trip in little slices of three minutes each. I had already gone through the experience when I was leaving for Delhi...

Mercifully my cramps left me early enough to allow me to be on time at Shinde's for the departure - but I got so tangled up in the nine-yard sari that I gave up my brilliant idea and slipped on my salwaar kameez instead.

The train journey was quite normal. Compared to my first train journey to Delhi (we were also travelling in sleeper class, the cheapest one) I was feeling much more relaxed.

I had confirmation that sleeper class brings you a much wider variety of beggars than AC class - they come in all shapes and sizes, most of them cripple or mutilated. I was particularly stricken by a poor chap who had a hand larger than his head (I don't know what could have caused it). I had got used to the fact that beggars often have limbs missing - and the sight of that man was quite frightening to me.

For the record, I noticed one beggar on a platform (he had most probably just descended from the train we were in) produce an important pile of coins from his pockets (about the amount that can be cupped in two hands, at least 30-40 Rs worth, I would guess). It was mid-morning.

We didn't exactly know which hotel we would stay in; we had a few names, and a man travelling with us gave Shinde a couple more.

Shinde had the pleasure to experiment going through a railway station with a desperately visible foreigner, and we finally checked in at the cheapest hotel our fellow traveller had recommended to us. We had to fight a little to get the room, as the hotel didn't have a license for foreigners (whatever that is). As Shinde is Indian and took the room under his name, we got it. Speaking to the manager is always useful, even if the desk staff find it a great joke when you ask for him!

In fact, we were really lucky with the hotel. Quite new, clean, with a nice restaurant (even if after a few days I was really tired of South Indian food for breakfast!), and it cost Rs. 195 a night for the double room... Of course the staff didn't lose much time before asking Shinde if I was his wife, or his girlfriend. I suggested he tell everyone I was his sister, but we didn't really have a chance to try that out. The concept of sharing a room with somebody who is not your lover doesn't seem quite common around here... not that it surprises me much.

Chennai is much warmer than Pune (which is 22 to 29 C these days), but it is windy and slightly overcast. That didn't prevent me from getting my first real Indian sunburn during our first day at the dog show - it'll teach me to have sari blouses with very open backs. I had to explain to Shinde what a sunburn was, and why it hurt so much...

That evening, we decided to try out a restaurant recommended by the Lonely Planet.

It was an utter disaster. The service was slow. The food was not very nice. Added to that, it was not a pure veg restaurant.

As Shinde is a very strict vegetarian, and usually sticks to pure veg places (since the day he was served (and ate) non-veg rice in a "mixed" restaurant, and had to fast for a month after that...). They assured us that the veg and non-veg food was cooked in separate sections of the kitchen. But all the same, Shinde was having more and more second thoughts about our choice, fuelled by the low quality of service - it made us wonder if there was more than one cook in the kitchen - and the raw egg that came in my "French onion soup".

When the main course arrived, it was subjected to a suspicious examination (by both of us) and Shinde decided he would rather be safe than sorry. I ate all I could (it was nicer than the soup) and we went off somewhere else so that he could eat...

Bangalore; January 13

Dog show, shopping and tourism

The next day was very calm, sitting in the University Union Grounds during the dog show (for the third day), writing and chatting.

I was often asked if I was a journalist or a researcher. And quite a few people simply came behind me and started reading what I was writing! (Something nobody would ever dream of doing in Switzerland.) One person asked me what I was writing, and when I replied it was just personal stuff, he said: "Oh OK, but what is it, then?".

I was mainly working on my web site - sitting down in a nice green space, with nothing much to do: those were ideal circumstances for me to do something I am always putting off because I have more urgent affairs.

We went shopping in the evening with some people Shinde knew. In fact, we landed in a kind of "fakes market" where you could buy plastic cameras supposed to look real and functional, but that you could barely manage to open. In my opinion, it was doubtful whether they would take any photographs at all.

Obviously, Shinde's friends had no experience whatsoever of shopping with foreigners. I quickly introduced the subject to them : ). My presence in that market was hopeless! Prices would not come down low enough, and needless to say I was harassed all the way along. But finally, somebody did manage to find me a 150 Rs sari that I could wear the next day.

The last day of the dog show was a seminar. Two of the conferences were good, the two others left me indignant (once again) that such bad presentations should ever be allowed, and the food was very nice.

I found myself wondering, during those days, if I was "making the most" of my stay in Chennai (I had already had similar thoughts about my whole trip to India). I had seen the University Union grounds quite a lot during the last three days, I had walked up and down a portion of Poonamallee High Road umpteen times.

Was I really seeing less of "Chennai" than if I had been to visit all the monuments in town in an AC tourist coach? Well, I decided it probably was the case (the dog show wasn't typically Madrasi, either!), but I did get to rest, to do something which requested time and calm, and that is an important part of going on holidays, isn't it? In any case, that did set me thinking about what it really meant to have seen, or visited a town - or even been to one.

On Tuesday, we caught the bus to Mahabalipuram, a village famous for its beach temple and stone carvings, situated about two hours south of Chennai.

We walked, and walked, and walked during that day (not that we hadn't walked the previous days in Chennai). We saw different types of temples and Dravidian monuments carved out of the stone, I dipped my feet in the sea, and we also did a little "tourist shopping".

It was very instructive for me to see Shinde bargaining (I had already been able to see him at work with the rickshaws - nobody uses the meter in Chennai).

Being in a tourist place and mistaken for a "normal" tourist was fun at some moments, irritating at others. What is a "normal" tourist?

Coming back after that long day, we treated ourselves to supper in a rather expensive restaurant. The lunch we had been served at the seminar as well as the food I had eaten during the last wedding in Pune had reminded me that there existed a different kind of Indian food than the one that I ate everyday. I was really tired of South Indian food (although it was very nice) and the break was welcome. I am not used to considering myself a fussy eater - but I think my tolerance is decreasing.

After a couple of days of getting up early in the morning, we allowed ourselves a little sleep, and spent a good part of our last day in Chennai shopping in a gigantic sari supermarket. I thought I would go crazy. Just about every single kind of sari was available, from very cheap (Rs. 65) to very expensive (Rs. 70000). Most interesting for me, some very cheap but very pretty and fun ones.

My intensive sari-wearing in Chennai had made me even more enthusiastic about this type of clothing. Saris are really not as unpractical as it is said (we were almost rock-climbing at moments in Mahabalipuram), and I must say I do feel less like a tourist in a sari (I hate feeling like a tourist - even when I am one!).

After coming back to the hotel with our pile of shopping, we ran out to buy an extra suitcase (I'm almost starting to get used to this!).

Leaving Chennai in a rush

While packing, we suddenly realized some of Shinde's saris were missing. We sped back to the shop (it had taken us about an hour to get there by bus). The train was due to leave in less than three hours.

The rickshaw we caught was asking far too much. With some patience on our part, he came down to something a little more reasonable, and as we were in a hurry we accepted. He put on his meter, so that we could be convinced that his price was too low (!). And to convince us more (this was so predictable), he took us for a ride. It was really not what we needed, and everyone got quite irritated.

In the shop, we had to choose the saris again, as the pile we had forgotten was nowhere to be found. We were both washed out, and Shinde was upset about his squabble with the rickshawallah.

We finally got back to the hotel. We had less than one hour left to pack, have a bath (the last one for two days), eat (we had had almost nothing the whole day), check out and get into the train.

Fifteen minutes before the departure of the train, I had finished my meal, and ordered Shinde a bit briskly to find a rickshaw while I fetched the luggage out of the room. There wasn't really enough time to do things differently, and he seemed so unaffected by the urgency of the situation that I wondered how he ever managed to catch a train - and honestly thought that we were going to miss this one.

I ran upstairs, communicated the urgency of the situation to the lift-boy, who laughed with glee but helped me stack the luggage into the lift. He also helped me run out of the hotel (we were both laughing our heads off - me probably out of anxiety); Shinde was nowhere to be seen. I had really been expecting to find him waiting outside the hotel with an auto (as they call rickshaws in the hindiphobic south).

Ten o'clock. We had a five-minute rickshaw drive left to get to the station.

I packed all the luggage on my little self. I must have really been quite a sight. Running (hobbling) along, I saw Shinde coming calmly in my direction. I nearly yelled at him to hurry up, and we rushed to the auto.

As I was telling the driver to hurry up because of the train, he asked when it was due. And when I heard Shinde answering "Half past ten", I understood everything. "Not 10:30, 10:10!!!"

How we ran through that station! Adrenalin really can do wonders! We didn't even know which platform our train was leaving from, and I didn't dare stop to take out the ticket to see the train number.

Nevertheless, at 10:10, we were in the train. I had but one desire: to strip and stand naked under the fans - not a desire to carry out, you will understand. The clothes I would be wearing for the next thirty-six hours were soaked through. And I had just had a bath...

The train left ten minutes late. We woke up at 5:30 a.m., Bangalore.

After having left our luggage at the station cloakroom, we set off for our day in town. We walked and walked; we shopped; we had snacks in numerous restaurants; we strolled through the Lalbagh botanical garden and took a quick nap there (Shinde hadn't slept a wink in the train). And at the end of this long day told in a few words, I was in a barely functioning state. My whole body was aching, the cold I had almost succeeded in driving away was back in full strength, and my brain was totally spongy. I will make no comment on Shinde...

Pune (IUCAA); January 17

Our second night on the train went fine. Let us simply note that I vowed never to accept a "corridor" bed again (they are shorter that the normal berths and offer no stretching space whatsoever).

Belgaum, cockroaches and back home

We spent two days in Belgaum, at Shinde's elder brother's house. I was exhausted and ill, so I spent quite some time napping and just taking rest.

I liked the place. They stay in the outskirts of the "city" (a small town with narrow streets and no foreigners).

I will note one memorable event during those two days.

I had been in bed five minutes on the second night when I decided to turn on the light and kill a few mosquitoes. They are big and vicious in that place, and although I was wearing my mosquito repellent I had been joyfully feasted on the night before. I knew that the safest thing to do was to eliminate physically as many blood-thirsty beasts as possible. I am not a gleeful murderer of living beings, but there are some limits to my respect of life: mosquitoes and cockroaches in tropical countries fall outside those limits.

I don't think I have mentioned it, but the mosquito family has a very strong attraction to my skin (it is already the case in my own country, so imagine here!). Put me in a room with ten other people and one mosquito, and the mosquito will find me without hesitation.

So I got out of bed and walked across the room to switch on the tube light. I glanced over to the wall next to the bed, expecting to see one or two fat mosquitoes squatting there, but before I could complete my examination I found myself propelled in the middle of an Indiana Jones nightmare.

The floor was alive with healthy cockroaches (version 4.5 cm), barely a hand's length apart from one another. The light set them scuttling off in every direction.

Before I could do anything sensible, I found myself standing on my bed (I don't know how I got there!) having let out a little scream or two. Those who know me will confirm that I have little in common with the typical shrieking female portrayed in films, but too much is too much.

As Shinde and his brother came into the room, vaguely amused once they had understood what was going on, I was staring helplessly at an isolated cockroach scuttling across my sleeping-bag. Even the bed was not a secure place... I watched in dismay as cockroaches disappeared into the half-packed luggage and into the walls, wondering how on earth I was going to be able to sleep again - and where.

After Shinde's brother had shaken my sleeping-bag I migrated into the room where everybody slept. It is the only room with a fan, and in India, lots of people simply can't sleep without a fan, even if it is cool enough to do without. I prefer sleeping fan-less if the temperature allows it, particularly as the wind aggravates my cold.

I was getting into my sleeping bag when another scream announced that I had caught a glimpse of a shiny brown body in my sleeping quarters. There I was, standing on the bed again - to the now great amusement of the rest of the household. The sleeping bag enlisted for another inspection.

I zipped myself up in the bag and proceeded to calm down, but I wasn't really sure why the cockroaches should confine themselves to the neighbouring room if they so much enjoyed partying at night. Needless to say the temperature was not at all meant for people who wanted to zip themselves up in feather sleeping-bags - I had to abandon some of my mummy-like security.

The cat woke me up. I peered down at Shinde who was sleeping on the floor next to my bed, only to see a dark thumb-shaped oval silhouette running over his back on the white bedsheet - the unmistakable sign of cockroach presence.

I courageously decided to stay awake for the rest of the night. I didn't have the faintest idea what time it was - only that it was dark and probably before six o'clock (as Shinde's sister-in-law would be up by then to get water from the pump in front of the house).

I petted the cat to keep him from meowing too much. He was *full* of fleas and had a major skin irritation and infection (probably from the fleas), and spent almost all his non-sleeping time calling out (crying?). I had wanted to take him to the vet myself but unfortunately it was holiday during my stay. So all I could do was attract the owner's attention on the fact their cat needed medical attention fast. They had simply been thinking his scabs and bald patches were due to fighting...

In any case the cat calmed down when I stroked him and it gave me something to do while I waited for morning (whenever that would be).

Around three o'clock, the light came on as somebody in the next room decided to feed the meowing cat, so I was able to see the time and a few fat cockroaches running on the floor - and on the pillows of the people sleeping on the floor.

Pune (IUCAA); January 18

The next day Shinde and I caught the bus to Pune, after having freed our luggage of any undesirable six-legged hosts (we weren't very sure whether the importation of Belgaum cockroaches to Pune was legal). My cold made the ten-hour bus ride really nasty - I promised myself to remember this day the next time I was tempted to travel by bus. Bus travel is fine when you are in good shape - but when you are ill, you are far better off in a train.

Anyhow, I survived, and we reached Pune around 9 p.m.

Silent meals with Shinde

I have probably mentioned previously that Shinde has taken up serious religious practice. As a part of that, he is subject to restrictions (amongst others) about menstruating women. And as it was my case during the latter part of our journey, it gave rise to some interesting situations.

The main restriction that involved me was that he must not hear any sound produced by a menstruating woman while he is eating (of course, that is valid only if he knows or suspects that she is menstruating). That is quite feasible - though I found the idea of silent meals a little dull - when all you have to do is remember not to speak and keep your bangles under control. It is more difficult when you have a nasty cough and a very runny nose that requires regular blowing. We therefore found ourselves eating at different ends of the same restaurant, or eating one after the other, with me going for a walk while he gobbled down his meal as fast as possible.

And to make matters a little more complicated, he could not eat the food from his brother's house, as he can only accept food prepared by a woman who stays aside and obeys certain restrictions during her monthly period. I must say that I didn't mind the situation too much, as it also gave me an excuse to talk with him about his religious practice.

The day after that was devoted to resting and preparing for the return home of Somak, Aleika and Akirno. Nisha had already tidied up the house from top to bottom while we were in Chennai, so we bought some garlands of flowers to decorate the house and I made sure all necessary household items were available.

Back to Bombay and surrendering a flat in India

Bombay; February 9

Aleika, Akirno and Somak back home

Aleika, Akirno and Somak arrived as scheduled, around 5 a.m. I hung around for a few days as they settled down, and Somak quite rapidly agreed to "keep" me. That was a rather big load off my back.

It was nice to find myself in a house full of people. Akirno, who had been able to walk upto nine steps before crashing to the ground when I had left him, was now a real little toddler, walking and running. He didn't "recognize" me straight away, but after a few days we were good friends again.

I was expected to go to Bombay for a wedding on January 29, straight after another wedding in Pune on January 25-26. Unfortunately, the cold I had been dragging along for the previous weeks (nearly two months, in fact, on and off) did not seem ready to leave me, and I was starting to be concerned about my health. I decided it would be wiser to cancel my trip, stop running about and take some rest - which I did with much pleasure.

Therefore I can't say I did much during the last few weeks. Life was very normal (whatever that may mean for a foreigner living in Pune). I did my first extended baby-sitting with Akirno: a two-hour nap, incredible feat!

Surrendering my flat

I was invited by Nisha to go to her best friend's wedding in Bombay on the 8th (departure: 7 a.m.) and I wanted to empty my flat and settle my last rent before I left.

I had given written notice of my vacating for February 22, one month in advance, as indicated in the contract. As my rent was to be paid from 7th to 6th of each month, all the people that I consulted agreed that I should pay a half-rent for the last month.

Everyone, that is, except for the owner of the flat.

As I was to learn a little later through the broker, there seems to be an Indian law hidden somewhere declaring that rents are to be paid by whole months. During two long conversations with the owner of the flat, the second of which included the broker, I was granted yet another brilliant demonstration of Indian logic.

As I explained the chain of thoughts that lead me to the conclusion that I owed him half a month of rent, I got some surprising reactions (not mentioning that he seemed to nod with approval during my whole demonstration). First was the blunt "You will pay until 6th." Then, "You can keep the flat until 6th", when I expressed that I would not pay for a flat I had no right to occupy anymore. And finally, came the great conclusion: "You can vacate on 22nd, but you pay until 6th". Very frustrating when this comes in answer to a lengthy explanation of yours which the other had seemed to follow and approve.

The presence of the broker didn't get me much further. I kindly pointed out that I did not need his authorization to remove my belongings from the flat and stop living there (not that I had ever really lived in it!), that the contract allowed me to leave with one month's notice and that it was exactly what I intended to do - he had no right to force me to keep the flat any longer.

As you may imagine, the conversation was stale, hopeless, and I was slowly but surely preparing to tear my hair out. As the law seemed to be on his side and his English was not that good, I finally had to give in. It was useless to insist.

It was mainly a matter of principle (at least as far as the half-rent was concerned), but there was nevertheless a financial issue for me: I wanted my Rs. 25000 deposit back on the 22nd. And if he was right about what said the law, then he was not necessarily entitled to give it back to me until the legal date of my vacating: March 6th. So I told him I would abandon this half-rent question as long as I got my deposit back on the 22nd - he agreed.

Between those two maddening meetings, I was in Bombay - and I was quite satisfied when I realized that I had forgotten to give him back the key to the flat (he wanted to let somebody visit it).

IUCAA; March 25

Rickshawallahs and cats

This episode reminded me of these rickshawallahs with whom I argue at night when I need to get driven home. As I am staying in a rather remote place, they are not keen on going there, and usually want Rs. 10 extra.

I always bring the price down to Rs. 5 extra, because I know that on the way, they will realize that it is even deeper inside the university campus than what they had expected, and ask for more money.

That way I end up giving them the maximum I was prepared to give them (Rs. 10 extra), which was also what they wanted at first (so that is supposed to make them content), and avoid finding myself deep in the dark university forest with a rickshawallah who is demanding an incredible Rs. 15 extra. I know I have to pay a skin tax, but there are limits.

I have found myself walking half an hour because no rickshaw would take me for the regular price - even though the total amount was ridiculously low for my Swiss purse. I find myself giving Rs. 10 extra or even more to drivers who were not asking or expecting it, simply because they did not complain during the trip - when all their colleagues wanted to charge me tourist rates.

Cheap rickshaw psychology. I know.

The conversation with my landlord also reminded me of something Aleika had told me some time back. Just before Somak left for England (that is, a couple of weeks before I met Aleika), they were being harassed by some people in IUCAA because of their cat, Bagha. You see, the greedy fellow has a habit of breaking into people houses and kitchens (he can open the fridge), and he also likes wandering around in the office building.

Of course, he insists on spraying generously the places he visits (that stinks!). So anyway, Aleika was telling me about this conversation she had once with somebody who was telling her to keep her cat out of the offices. She explained that a cat's whereabouts cannot be controlled like a dog's. She explained that a cat cannot be kept locked up. She explained that a cat cannot be easily trained to avoid certain places. That it cannot be kept on a leash. And each of her explanations was greeted by a very understanding "Yes, yes. But you must keep your cat out of the offices." Talk about non-communication.

Bombay; February 9

Bombay with Nisha and Shinde

So, between my two maddening conversations with the landlord, I went to Bombay with Nisha and Shinde. The wedding we were supposed to go to was canceled the evening before our departure (the groom's father had died), but we decided to go there anyway.

The following day, after a freezing dawn in Pune traveling to the station, a sleepy train-ride to Bombay, a short irritating walk through Dadar station (foreigners are the only people who are expected not to know there is a queue for taxis in front of the station, taxis who will take you where you want, by the meter and without discussion) we arrived at Shinde's sister's house, where I would be staying. Nisha and Shinde would sleep at Nisha's sister's, as it is not suitable for a man to stay at his sister's once he is married: she "belongs" to the groom's family.

We did some window-shopping in the evening. It was a bit disappointing, as I was harassed by the vendors and the salwaar kameez sets they sold were all too short for me (I've already mentioned I'm slightly "oversize" by Indian standards).

What I saw of Bombay that day was far less terrifying than my first experience of it. The city smells, there are quite a lot of people on the roads, the traffic is almost exclusively made of yellow-roofed taxis (and they drive fast!), but it is not more frightening than Pune. The dreadful memories I have of my landing there must owe their existence more to the shock of arriving to India than to Bombay itself.

Alibag; February 21

Day trip to Elephanta

Elephanta is a small island in the bay, famous for its temple-caves, and sculptures. I particularly wanted to see the one called "Ardhanarishvara", a representation of Shiva as half-male, half-female. We decided to go there the next morning.

As we were walking around the quay near Indiagate to find an official booth where we would buy our tickets, I was faced once more with the chore of having to deal with touristwallahs. Being accompanied by two local Indians and wearing the typical native dress (understand: a polyester sari!) didn't change a thing, of course. Everyone wanted to sell me tickets or useless junk.

It was Nisha's first trip ever by boat. I was surprised at how calmly she took it. (And this was not the last time that Nisha would surprise me.)

Seen from the bay, Bombay hardly looked like an Indian city, with its white towers sticking out everywhere. To me, it looked more like a dwarfed American town.

We didn't stay on the island very long. With the bus ride to Indiagate, the waiting for the ferry and the trip to the island itself, it was quite late, and apart from the main cave and its sculptures, there wasn't much to see.

Shopping, cinema and back home

Back in Bombay proper, we went shopping in the Victoria Terminal station area. I was interested in buying a dictaphone, and Shinde took me behind the famous Crawford market. Stall after stall of illegally imported electronic devices, brought one at a time by travelers who declare them as their own property and then sell them once in India.

The presence of a foreigner between those stalls caused a certain commotion, and I didn't find anything interesting - apart from a hair-brush with a vibrating handle (!) which I did not buy.

We ended up in a Muslim perfume shop. Jars and jars of the most exquisite scents. I came out of the shop with about twenty different smells on my arms and hands, and wondering if I should start an import business in Switzerland...

The next day I went shopping alone, as Nisha and Shinde had gone back home. The area between VT and Flora Fountain is a dreadful touristy place, and that is where I spent my day.

I have really reached a point where I find if very funny to have people jump out of their stalls as I pass by, or run out of their shops as I peek in the window. I think I cannot be indifferent to this behaviour, and I would rather laugh about it than get irritated. All the same, I still burn with impatience at times when I have a certain task to accomplish (e.g. buy a certain item) and I need the sales staff to be efficient. Never be in a hurry in India!

At the end of this tiring day I had a new crack on my foot and very tired legs, and I had only bought a couple of overpriced books.

Shinde's sister showed me her press-book. Amongst other things, she has acted in a couple of Hindi serials. The photographs in the press-book really make her look like a movie-star - but in real life her skin is far from perfect and she isn't half that glamorous, although she is rather pretty.

We went to the cinema that evening, to see "Kaho na Pyaar Hai". Her husband had to buy a ticket on the black market. As the places are numbered, he had to swap places with our neighbour to be sitting with us.

During the process I saw they were talking with a bunch of people - I wonder how many of them swapped places so that everyone could be satisfied.

Interesting information: the cinema hall manager runs the black market...

I didn't really like the movie. Neither the actors, nor the plot, nor the music really appealed to me. But it was "OK".

I left Bombay at the end of the following day, after stopping in TIFR to see a friend's lab. When I got off the train in Pune, I had the very pleasant surprise to see Shinde waiting there to drive me back! I could have hugged him, I was so glad not to have to fight me way home...

Pune; March 20

Back to Bombay - conversations with the driver

My friend Danielle was arriving on the 15th, very early morning, a few days later. The cheapest and most comfortable solution was to hire a jeep and driver to go and pick her up.

On the way, I chatted a little with the driver, but he wasn't very talkative. Plus, we were talking in Hindi.

When we stopped for supper I invited him to eat with me. I do not feel comfortable about the Indian habit of making drivers eat in the restaurant's "driver's section". H was very silent and didn't lift his face out of his plate much.

I finally asked for the bill. They had given me butter naans instead of the plain naans I had ordered (it is more expensive!) - but of course they hadn't given the driver butter rotis. ; ) They just charged me one extra.

I protested and the bill was deflated.

Back in the car, the driver decided to talk a little more. In fact I discovered his English was far better than my Hindi (he had studied in an English-medium school). The first thing he told me was that this was the first time he was actually talking with a girl.

I was astounded. And I needed a few explanations to accept to believe him.

In fact the poor chap was very shy, had no sisters or cousin-sisters, and had always avoided talking to girls at school because it would make him break into a sweat... No wonder he hadn't lifted his head up much during the meal!

He told me that his sister-in-law had called a few days back from Delhi to say that she had a possible match for him (marriage). He would be going to Delhi a few days later to meet the girl and her family, and he was quite anxious about it. If he had never even talked to a girl, I can imagine the thought of getting married to one scared him off!

He was a nice person and luckily for me, he got less and less uncomfortable as time went by.

Bombay airport looked enormous to me. On my arrival in India, I had seen only the terminal I came in, and I hadn't realized that the whole building was of respectable size.

I had already noticed on my previous trip to Bombay that the town was far less terrifying than what I remembered. Nevertheless, it is more dirty, smelly and "stressed" than Pune.

The driver and I walked up and down the building during an hour or two. I was trying to find the place I could remember as what I first saw of India. I had airport security asking questions to the driver because of my weird behaviour (peering into windows).

Unfortunately no place I could see matched my so vivid memories. Considering I have a very good visual memory, I was surprised. After quite a bit of investigating, I concluded that they had probably modified the geography of the airport since my arrival.

Danielle arrived safely, and we chatted all the way back to Pune (three and a half hours, that was quick!). It was great to see her. She confirmed that my French had deteriorated and that my English was somewhat indianized.

Danielle

Pune; March 23

First days with Danielle

Danielle was quickly adopted by the whole family, including the dog and - especially - the baby. He had an immediate crush on her.

We spent the end of the first week shopping around a bit (if she wanted to buy a sari and have some clothes tailored, we had to get moving).

One day we walked to the nearby chowk with Aleika and Akirno to look at some upholstery (Aleika had bought a naked sofa set some time back). As we were sipping a cold drink before going back, we heard an explosion coming from the shop fridge, just as Akirno had run behind it.

I had never seen Aleika move so fast. In a fraction of a second, she had caught an astonished and Pepsi-covered baby.

He hadn't done anything; in fact, the shopkeepers had stacked some big plastic Pepsi bottles on the top of the fridge, which was also occupied by a generator or a transformer of some sort. One of the bottles was touching it and had exploded under the heat, covering Akirno in Pepsi from head to toe. It was quite funny once we were certain that no harm had come to him.

A few minutes later a second bottle exploded, and we decided it would be wise to retreat and take the Pepsi-baby back home. He was very sticky and sweet.

Alibag

On Saturday we left for Alibag, a seaside resort just west of Pune. Danielle wanted to see the Ocean. We hired the same jeep - a last minute decision, we made our minds up the day before. As "our" driver was in Delhi to meet his possible fiancée, the jeep arrived with his younger brother (slightly less ill-at-ease, as he was in college and probably had many occasions to interact with the opposite sex).

We went past some beautiful green places - a nice contrast with Pune which is now yellow and dried up. We also ate some non-veg raisins (understand: inhabited).

We found a reasonable hotel which served very nasty food.

A trip at the beach convinced us that we would not try and bathe there. The water was fine, the sand was fine, but the only people in the water seemed to be packs of young males - lots of them.

Forget about swim-suits and lying half-naked on the beach; they were bathing in their clothes. Aleika had told me one day that women usually go swimming in their salwaar kameez, and that the IUCAA swimming-pool had had to ban them for hygiene reasons. People here don't like showing their body to strangers too much.

The next day we walked over to a fort lying a couple of hundred metres out at sea. When the tide is down you can walk there (almost) dry-footed.

I was wearing a sari and didn't bother to hold it up very high (you are not supposed to pull a sari up). The sand was very soggy, but we weren't exactly walking in water.

After a couple of minutes I understood that I had made a terrible mistake. The wet sari and petticoat were catching on my legs, and the sand was burning me at each step. Indian women know what they are doing when they haul their sari up to their knees. Unfortunately it was too late for me.

We walked around the fort. It was a fun expedition, even though there was not much to see there.

On the way back we did a little detour to reach the water. As we were getting there, two guys stopped and asked if we could take a picture of them together (with their camera, for a change - that was nice). As we accepted they promptly added that one of us should come on the picture with them, as a souvenir. Souvenir of what, may I ask? Of having us take a picture of them? Or maybe to show their friends who they had met during their week-end... we refused, and they didn't insist, which was nice.

I don't really mind people "stealing" my picture, as long as I do not notice. It isn't very comfortable to have strangers (especially young males going around in packs) shoot picture upon picture of you.

Pune; March 27

Half of the following day was devoted to lazing around, and the other half brought us back to Pune.

Osho ashram and AIDS tests

We spent about a week running around in town. Danielle bought a couple of saris and salwaar kameez suits, so there was some stitching to do. She stayed mouth-open before the price that silver jewellery was sold for.

By that time I was nearing a state of complete exhaustion. I hadn't realized how much my life rhythm had slowed down, adapting to my new environment. And Danielle had arrived fresh from Europe, with a European speed of life, and limited time in India.

We went to visit the Osho ashram one day. I found it quite scary. Their "spirituality" seemed more like some cheap "psychotherapy gone wild" trip to me. what our guide told us during the half hour that our visit lasted could be summarized as follows (Danielle will testify).

• No guide needed, no constraints. One does not need a spiritual master, and one is free to attend the meditation sessions or not.
• The modern man has become too complex to reach liberation through meditating in a sitting position. He needs the Osho formula to get there.
• Even if lots of people come to the Commune to flirt with the opposite sex, meditation wins in the end (even though you do not have to attend the meditation classes, remember?).
• You can't go in the bookstore now, but will be free to do so as soon as you have signed in. They recommend a minimum of three days to get a "feel" of the place. Signing in implies getting an AIDS test done.

There we are. Danielle and I had a hard time staying serious during the presentation - not that I don't respect other people's beliefs. I am not criticizing Osho's teachings - as a matter of fact, I haven't studied them, so I have nothing to say (and I have no negative predisposition towards the man). But the speech we were served as an invitation to enter the Osho Commune leaves me with some doubts about the "spiritual quality" of what goes on there.

The AIDS test you have to take to sign up with the Commune reminded me of the one I had to take upon registration with Pune authorities. Everybody knows that the source of India's AIDS problem is students coming over from abroad for a year. Not prostitution in Bombay.

Danielle was wondering how this place for spiritual development reacted to people who are HIV positive.

As far as the test I took with the local authorities was concerned, it was quite clear (though not officially mentioned) that I would have been politely returned to my country had the test yielded an undesirable result. Lonely Planet told me it was illegal (international conventions), but at that time I didn't have the energy and resources to fight more that what I did: request that the doctor use my sterile needle (imported from Switzerland) and demand that I be informed of the result of the test ("Not possible, Madam. You are sent to have this test by the police, so I must send the result to them. I am not allowed to tell you what the result is." I was so mad... and so grateful about Swiss laws and the Swiss health system).

To get back to the Osho test, Somak told me later that HIV positive people were allowed to enter the Commune. Their "Osho identity card" simply indicates their positive status.

We all thought it was rather revolting. I wonder if they ask women who are not using a contraceptive to indicate it on their identity card too.

As the Commune seems to advocate complete freedom in its walls (dress code apart), Suketu and I were thinking of going there to take advantage of the swimming pool, park. sauna and massage facilities. The only two obstacles being the AIDS test (neither of us were feeling over-enthusiastic about taking it - matter of principle) and the maroon robe one has to wear inside the Commune.

After the visit itself Danielle and I sat down in the German Bakery. The place serves you very nice fruit juices (I love their lemon-mint iced tea) and is populated mainly by hippy-dippy oshoeites.

I find myself staring at foreigners there with as much impolite interest as the Indians who sometimes stare at me.

We tend to think of this place as the "zoo" (a bit nastily, I admit). You see girls in petticoats and spaghetti tops. Petticoats are underwear in India - barely fit for wandering about inside the house. Indian women run and hide if they are seen by a stranger in that wear, and Indian men can spend time peeking at windows to try and get a glimpse of the neighbour in her petticoat. I won't comment on spaghetti tops. They were almost indecent a few years back in Europe.

You see people wearing "suits" made out of old saris (they sell the saris in a stall on the other side of the road - expressly for cutting up). You see men (and women) wearing long kurtas slit up the sides without the pyjama or salwaar made to go underneath (gracefully reveals often hairy legs).

You have a chance to witness the most incredible displays of affection between human beings: people running into each other's arms or even smooching in public - never to be seen in India. The only scene I witnessed that matches this in terms on cultural un-awareness could be the young foreign couple demonstrably kissing on the Ram Jhula (Rishikesh) for a photograph.

I'll stop being mean with these poor foreigners here. They probably would think just as much of me. But it does kill me to be associated to them when I walk around in Pune. Just a few days back, Aleika was mistaken for an oshoeite by the shopkeeper as she was buying tools like clamps and planes - even though she had talked about her baby, her different furniture projects, her house...

Ellora caves

Danielle and I made a last trip to Ellora to see the famous caves. We were driven there by driver number one, which we dragged around with us to see the caves.

On the way there we stopped at an important roadside temple. Our driver bought a garland of flowers which he placed before the hood of the car.

We didn't manage to convince him to sleep in a hotel room (not ours, of course), so he slept in he car (that is what drivers usually do).

We had a disastrous evening meal (this is the last time I follow Lonely Planet's recommendations for eating!), and a room in the renovated MTDC (Maharashtra Tourism Development Corporation) hotel.

The caves were nice, though one does get tired of seeing Buddha after Buddha facing the rising sun.

Pune; Monday, April 3

Inquiring about our driver's visit to Delhi, it turned out that he had met the girl's parents and family, seen her, but talked only to her father and brother. Now the two fathers would be meeting to decide whether the marriage should take place or not.

Asked what he thought about it, our driver expressed that yes, he would like to marry that girl.

Danielle was speechless. I was a little less surprised, as my current research project on weddings led me to understand a little better how this institution functions in India.

As we were visiting the caves, two middle-aged men had a short talk with our driver. He seemed amused, so we asked him what it was about (it seemed to be about us).

The man was complaining that he had brought his sons all the way here to see the caves, and they had declared that they were too tired and had stayed to sleep in the car while he did the visit. He was saying: "And look, these two old ladies - where have they come from? - they came all the way from Switzerland to see these caves! And my sons won't even bother!" We just couldn't stop laughing. I think the old man needed glasses. My hair is blond. Not white.

Bombay International Airport; February 3, near midnight

Danielle's departure

I have just come to accompany Danielle to the airport for her homebound flight, and I am wondering what it will be like when in less than four months from now, I will have to leave this country that I have learnt to appreciate. And more difficult, leave the people I have got to know here.

As Danielle and I left the house Akirno started crying after her. As I already said, he had from the start been very fond of Danielle.

I must say that I was not expecting him to "understand" the situation so well. He does understand lots of what we say now, but I guess that most of all he sensed that something was happening. It wasn't one of the usual "bye bye".

I'm finding it harder and harder to think of my departure. And as it approaches, I find myself thinking of it more and more often. Time has gone by so fast. It is going to be painful to say goodbye to the friends I have made in Pune, and especially to Aleika, Somak and Akirno - my family here. And Cali. And Bagha.

IUCAA; April 7

Driving in Pune

Shortly after Danielle's departure I started driving Aleika's car. Akirno was making it increasingly difficult for her to drive (screeching and crying and trying to climb onto his driving mother's lap).

I first did only short trips (inside the university campus) and gradually went out more, until a week or so back when I drove all the way to MG Road (20 minutes or Rs. 35 by rickshaw). I felt as stressed and concentrated as when I was first learning to drive.

Aleika's car has loose, wobbly steering and the gear-stick is attached to the steering wheel. And - of course - in India, we drive on the left side of the road.

Everyday life during the hot season

Holi

A few weeks ago it was Holi festival. That means that people smear colours upon each others faces while wishing everybody a happy Holi.

I was at first undecided whether to participate or not, and finally Aleika and I put on expendable clothes and went out. IUCAA was having its own little private Holi, which we joined happily.

When we arrived people had already invited each other to sit in the mud puddle created in the middle of the grass patch. The colours, made out of powdered dye (more or less permanent - I still have some reddish streaks in my hair) had already brightened up most faces and clothing. We felt very white when we arrived, but luckily it didn't last long.

Although Holi can get rough - I've heard of gangs who go around in Delhi pulling people out of rickshaws - it is overall a friendly "colouring ceremony". People will pat you on the head or rub your face and clothing with colored fingers - at the most encourage you a little to go and roll in the mud.

As I couldn't let this happen to me without opposing a little resistance, somebody broke all the glass bangles I was wearing by grabbing my arm. No big deal: I didn't get cut, nobody had his or her foot pierced by the bits and pieces of bangle swimming in the mud, and I was thinking of taking them off anyway - saved me the trouble.

Aleika made me notice as we were going there that during Holi, people who would never dream of touching you on other days (people do not touch in India) have full license to put their hands on you (though it stays very politically correct). I did observe however that the mud puddle seemed to be more popular with single young men than with married women. Maybe because of the "wet salwaar-kameez" scenes it creates?

Holi is also the day when consumption of marijuana is legal - but only as a component of bhang, the traditional drink for the day (mainly sweet milk and spices). As I was not exactly sure how I would react to it, I only drank half a glass - I had heard nasty tales of people feeling stoned for having drunk too much of it. It turned out that they had made it very weak this year - I didn't notice any effect.

I spent a very long time under the shower after the festivities. The hardest thing to get rid of was the grass in my hair. I was a bit worried about keeping purple teeth: while I was having my face rinsed (I had got some colour in my eyes) somebody dumped a whole bucket of purple water on my head. My mouth was open so that I could breathe, so my teeth came out purple. Luckily, it was only temporary.

I really had great fun, feeling like a little kid playing in the mud.

Injured cat - about vets

Two days before Holi there was a knock at the door at 11.30 p.m. Even in India it is an unearthly hour to try to get into people's houses.

It was one of the neighbours. Her cat Pingu had been attacked by a pack of feral dogs who had managed to get into our residential area through a hole in the fence.

Shinde told me later that Nisha had first witnessed the scene, but been unable to chase the dogs off until he arrived and stoned them. One dog had caught her back and two others were pulling on a hind leg each. I can easily imagine Shinde's intervention saved her life.

Aleika went over to see her. Bruised and cut, but not dying.

the next morning we drove her to Aleika's vet, who lives the other side of town.

There is a vet dispensary just behind IUCAA. Somak and Aleika had used their services at first. The vet would come at their home for vaccinations. The atmosphere was something like this: "Er... could you please lock up the dog? I'm scared of dogs! Oh... and hold the cat, or he will scratch me!".

It turned out that he had done a degree in chickens at Cambridge. So when Somak and Aleika came back from their first trip to Calcutta with an adopted chicken (Aleika had rescued it at the station on the way there: it had escaped from a transport box filled with lots of its brothers), they wanted to know if it was male or female. The "vet" suggested that they wait a little to see if it started laying eggs.

I'll just add that one of the cats in IUCAA died following bad neutering surgery, but I think that is enough to convince you that these people are totally hopeless, and that we prefer driving to the other end of town to find someone who loves animals and was doing heart bypass surgery on dogs before she left the States to come back to India.

Pingu did not seem to have any internal injury. The vet shaved most of the fur around the wounds (punctures), leaving her half-bald, so that she could see and disinfect them.

The main problem with Pingu after that was that she was lame (temporarily in any case) and thus unable to hunt, had four small kittens to feed, and was given a strictly veg diet by her owners. I guess she usually spends all her spare time hunting lizards and little rodents to supplement her diet.

After a few days she was getting really thin. Aleika and I gave her bits and pieces to eat every now and then (Aleika felt lots of sympathy for the lactating mother, being one herself). But we couldn't really "adopt" her too much as she fights with Bagha.

IUCAA; April 6

Everyday life

After having had to put up my mosquito net at 4.30 a.m. a week or so back because I was being devoured by mosquitoes, I spent the last two nights fighting with mosquitoes that had managed to get into the net. The heat at night is so bad that I have started going to sleep with an "anti-blanket", despite my cold. An "anti-blanket" is simply a damp bedsheet. It keeps you cool instead of warm. It is essential. As is the fan.

Akirno babbles all day long. I guess he will start saying real words any time now. He already has a couple of "words", like "ba" for the cat (Bagha), "bauw" for the ball, and "kaow" for the crows (an almost perfect marathi word). He also repeats a sentence every now and again. Of course all the consonants are missing and you can't recognize the words, but the melody is perfectly reproduced. And we caught him yesterday saying "aa ja" (come) and "bas" (enough).

Somak's parents will be arriving to live with us in less than a week. Aleika is busy emptying the downstairs room and preparing their beds (second-hand furniture can need some working on it until it is usable). She is transferring her used furniture "workshop" to the upstairs balcony. A couple of morning doves have built a nest up there and laid eggs, so it is not certain how soon she will really be able to use the place.

Today is Thursday. That means it is the "power cut" day. Aleika explained to me that Maharashtra did not produce enough electricity for the whole state. It is therefore divided into regions which each have a different "power shortage" day. We lucky people don't suffer much, as IUCAA has its own power generator which takes over when the government supply fails.

We also have water 24 hours a day. A few weeks back we nevertheless did have water shortage. That meant something like water from 6 a.m. to 10.30 a.m., 1 p.m. to 2.30 p.m. and 5.30 p.m. to 10.30 p.m. - all the wrong hours. It lasted a few days, and we weren't always sure whether the water would be there or not.

One morning Somak rang them up to know if he would have water before taking a late morning bath. By the time he was covered with soap, they had turned the water off. Suketu told us that the email announcing the cut came in 10 minutes before they actually did it. Serves Somak right for not taking his laptop under the shower...

IUCAA; Friday, April 7

Yesterday Aleika and I went grocery shopping at the nearby chowk wearing shorts. As I have already mentioned, the heat is starting to be unbearable, and inside the house (and IUCAA) we go around in shorts and T-shirt. I'm not sure I'll go back out in shorts again.

This was the first time I was showing my legs to the outside world since my arrival. And I swear I saw some women giving me disapproving looks. Maybe I'm simply out of habit now - I felt rather ill-at-ease. I wonder how I'll cope with returning to my Swiss clothing habits.

Akirno's new craze these days is running laps around the settee in the living room. He just runs and runs and runs. He did the same thing around Suketu's table this afternoon. And he simply loves being thrown up in the air.

Near culture clash

I put my finger on a near culture clash this morning. Suketu's wife-to-be and a couple of her relatives have arrived a few days ago. We met them on the day of their arrival and told them they were welcome any time.

We didn't realize that we were doing things "the Indian way" by just expecting them to turn up and ask for help if they needed it. But foreigners will not act on such a vague invitation.

When I arrived in India, one of the important factors in the culture shock I witnessed and one of the things that made my first weeks so painful is that I was expecting people to do a lot more for me, and help me a lot more without my asking. But that isn't how it works here. People won't usually come to you as easily as in the west to explicitly offer their help or invite you over when you haven't asked them to.

We were almost wondering at the fact that we had not seen them in the last days when it dawned on me that they would not come over "uninvited".

When talking to Suketu about this, he pointed out that in fact he was waiting for people to invite them over when in fact they had already done it. He was reacting in the "western" manner. Roles reversed!

Beggars

I would like to put together here a few things that I have learnt about beggars.

My first surprise was something my Hindi teacher in Delhi told me. It was about family gangs of beggars working at the traffic lights.

Say the minimum people give to a beggar is Rs. 1 (usually the smallest change you are likely to have). How much can they expect to earn in a day? The answer I received was Rs. 50 or 60.

Compare that to the Rs. 60 or 70 a rickshaw driver in Pune can expect to earn during the same time. And that rickshaw driver was saying that the amount was big compared to the Rs. 12 per day he could get with any other job he could find. Rs. 50 a day means Rs. 1500 a month. A young engineer coming out of school is considered lucky if he can get Rs. 2000. A university professor's salary is usually around Rs. 9000.

A few months back we were having a conversation on the topic with Somak. He told me that there was actually a "begging business" which makes big profit.

The people who run the business usually recruit beggars such as children or crippled people. Those who can make people give money out of pity. It seems they are offered food and shelter, and often put on drugs - at least the children. Their begging money is collected and of course they do not get any of it. Young mothers carrying inert babies are usually "employees" too. It comes to no surprise that the babies are drugged.

Suketu, who was taking part in the conversation, told us he had also heard - but it was so awful that he could only hope it was untrue - that there were even cases where children or babies would be voluntarily maimed...

Any money given to these people does not help relieve misery. It simply encourages this filthy commerce.

IUCAA; Saturday, April 8

More everyday life

Suketu, Ayesha, his fiancee and her family left today for Hyderabad. I will be joining them in two days. As I drove them to the station, I queued half an hour to get my ticket. I have a first place on the waiting list - but no return ticket (my position on that waiting list would have been 28th...).

I had a Sanskrit lesson this morning. This evening, we went out with a colleague (and friend) of Somak's to shop a little and eat at Rutugandh. Rutugandh is a place we go to rather regularly. They serve delicious Marwadi thalis. In other words, scrumptious and rather sweet pure veg food is piled up onto your plate until your stomach screams for mercy.

Akirno was really wound up this evening - he wouldn't go to sleep, even though he was very tired. Plus, the CD player is skipping more and more. And as one of the main ways to get Akirno to sleep is to dance him to Hindi film songs, it meant that we had one weapon less to deal with the situation.

That was just another day in India...

IUCAA; April 9

The heat is really scorching. But it is going to get worse. I take five or six cold showers a day - and I haven't used a towel for days. I guess that by the time I have to go back home, I'll be glad to get out of this heat.

Trip to Hyderabad

Mumbai-Hyderabad Express; April 11

Yesterday morning and afternoon were devoted to cleaning the house (Somak's parents are arriving tomorrow) and packing (I am presently on the train to Hyderabad for Suketu's wedding).

As my ticket was wait-listed, I left for the station rather early, even though I highly suspected that there would be no problem. Being WL number 1, that meant that there were only 8 people holding RAC (reservation against cancellation) tickets between me and a berth for the night on the train.

And true enough, when I arrived one hour before dparture, my ticket was already confirmed. There was nothing else for me to do but take posession of my seat on the train - that is, when the train arrived.

There was a power cut somewhere near Lonavala (between Pune and Bombay) and the train came in station three hours late.

I finished my book (The Diary of A. Mole) and spent a rather cramped night. No miracle, I had been given a corridor berth - they are barely six feet long. I got bitten by what must have been the only mosquito in my AC carriage.

Not that being bitten is exceptional. I get bitten almost every day in IUCAA. As for malaria, if I had to catch it, I guess that would already be done by now (as far as Pune mosquitoes are concerned). Either there aren't that many sick mosquitoes around, or I have somehow become completely immune...

The train arrived in Hyderabad five hours late. Luckily the wedding was taking place in the afternoon.

Hyderabad; April 14

I haven't done much these lsat days - apart from getting irritated against rickshaw drivers. They are really terrible in this city. They have been trying to swindle me more in three days than all the rickshawallahs of Pune and Delhi together in near to 9 months.

The hotel I am staying in is comfortable, cheap and very near to Suketu's sister's home. I just sleep in the hotel and then spend the day at their house.

Suketu and Victoria got married by an Arya Samaj priest - an intimate Hindu wedding ceremony, not too different from the weddings I have witnessed up to now.

I was lucky to get a return ticket for Pune out of the ladies' quota. I was afraid for a few minutes that I would have to fly home: I already know that the AC compartments for the 16th were full, but unfortunately it was not also the case for 15th and 17th. The waiting lists had about 60 people on them for AC 3-tier, and 30 for AC 2-tier. The clerk kindly did a little research and told me he could free a place for me on the ladies' quota. I was so relieved! And once back at Suketu's sister's, I even found out that I would be travelling in the same coach as Victoria and him.

We went to see two Hindi movies. Dulhan Hum Le Jayenge seemed a feeble remake of Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge - they fall in love abroad, come home, parents lan to marry her off, but he finally manages to win the heart of the family after all had seemed lost, and marry her.

Ayesha wanted to see Kaho Na, Pyaar Hai. I had seen that movie in Bombay, but after seeing Dulhan Hum Le Jayenge I had started thinking it wasn't too bad after all. Plus, I had heard that the hero of the film, Hrithik Roshan, had two right thumbs. As I hadn't noticed anything the first time I saw the film, I was curious to see if it showed at all.

We arrived 20 minutes before the film was due to start, and it was already showing house full (it is the super-hit of the moment). We got our tickets on the black market (in the open in front of the cinema) for the double of the original price. By the time the movie was due to start, the hall was half empty and the to guys outside were ovbiously still selling "last places" to late arrivers.

The movie started fifteen minutes late.

Considering the number of tickets sold on the black market (I wouldn't be surprised if they had sold out the whole balcony like that!) it was obviously another case of "official" black market.

From hearing the music of that movie over and over again during these last months I have come almost to like it. The story itself is surreal and the characters are rather shallow (the girl is really dumb), but there are some funny moments.

I definately enjoyed both of these movies much less than Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani (with Shah Rukh Khan) which I had seen while Danielle was in India.

Hyderabad; April 15

Suketu and his brother-in-law have both been ill for a couple of days. That didn't encourage anybody to go out on shopping or sight-seeing expeditions (if the heat wasn't sufficient).

I've started reading Mortal Questions by Thomas Nagel - stimulating reading - and I still haven't seen much of Hyderabad.

My departure from India is getting closer and closer. I'm really looking forward to seeing my country and family again - even if I dread leaving India. It's not like the homesickness I was feeling this winter, but I do miss Switzerland. And I wish I could take India back home with me.

For what I have seen, Hyderabad is a city of big roads, big buildings and shopping malls. Some streets could - almost - be European. I was told the famous "technology park" wasn't worth visiting. You can't enter, so all you do is go and see the building.

I slept an uninterrupted night. That was nice, after waking up every three hours because of the heat and noise of the airport the night before, and because of the mosquitoes the previous night. I killed about a dozen before going to bed - I hadn't noticed the window was ajar.

IUCAA; April 20

There is nothing much to note about this journey to Hyderabad and the return home. Aleika was at the station to welcome us and put garlands of flowers around our newly weds' necks.

Akirno had grown in a week and was obviously happy to see me. I was really pleased to be back home with my "family".

I realized during this trip that I am sick of visiting places and travelling. In Switzerland, I'm a very sedentary person. And during this year in India, I just haven't stopped running around (or so it seems to me) - even though there are so many places I would have wanted to see and that will have to wait for my next trip to this country (like Rajasthan, Amritsar, Kerala and the very south of India).

The temperature hit 40 C a week ago in Pune.

Animals

IUCAA; April 28

I'm tired of India and looking forward to going home. There is not enough time left for me here to make long-term projects, and I feel that my adventure here is nearing the end.

Here are some "animal bytes" the filled up the last week or so.

Pingu, the cat I was supposed to adopt, was taken almost secretly by its rightful owner to the veterinary dipensary behind IUCAA (yes, the awful place) to be neutered, when she had an appointment with the "good" vet only four days later. She blew up as if she was pregnant and her scar is still bulging out of her side. I was so mad, especially as at the time I still thought that she was going to be "my" cat.

It turned out this was another East-West misunderstanding. For me the matter was settled, but for the owner there was no problem in retracting her offer as she realised she was more attached to this cat than what she thought (though she is most probably not aware of this).

Luckily she seems to be doing better now, though Aleika and I still think she could benficiate from a check-up at the "good" vet's.

Bagha got beaten up again (or got hurt through trying to beat up somebody else?) and came back home one morning looking like Elephant-man, one side of his face all puffed-up. As it hadn't unswollen after a day or two we took him to the vet.

The "basket" we have for transporting cats is a rather small, broken, wicker vegetable basket, and Bagha is rather a big cat. After a couple of scratches on my neck and stomach deserved for trying to stuff him in it, we decided to try the "lap-cat" method. I sat in the back of the car with the panting cat, and Aleika drove.

By the time we were halfway through the return journey, he had settled down for a cat-nap under the front seat. Talk about a cool cat!

A couple or morning doves had built a nest and laid eggs on our balcony a few weeks back. The eggs had hatched and we caught some glimpses of an ugly baby or two.

One day however, Aleika started worrying because she hadn't seen any of the parents for the last day. Hesitation. To interfere or not to interfere? We couldn't be sure that the parents had really left.

Considering the fuss it is to raise a baby bird (Aleika has already done it) we watched for another day. The baby was moving and seemed quite big, so we concluded that the parents must be feeding it when we weren't looking.

The next morning, the disaster struck. From her bed, Aleika saw two crows come and steal the babies from the nest. Two babies. She saw one of the crows drop something, but no baby was to be seen when she had rushed out of bed onto the balcony.

As Aleika was commenting about the distressed parent birds who seemed to be fluttering around the balcony the next day, I went to have a closer look - and saw a baby dove walking around on the balcony floor! It looked quite grown-up already, and was obviously the one that the second crow had dropped.

I watched it as it stood on the edge of the balcony, looking down. It obviously decided it wasn't time to jump yet, and retreated to the inner side of the ledge. An hour or two later, it was gone - Aleika thinks the crows managed to get it after all. It was a nice little target sitting on that wall.

Vedic sacrifice in central Maharashtra

I am supposed to leave in three days for a remote and hot place called Gangakher (in central Maharashtra, near Parbhani) with my Sanskrit teacher. A whole day by train to get there, and the same to come back. There is a vedic sacrifice going on there (it started last May!) and he is going to attend a seminar.

He invited me to come with him, and of course I accepted. He also asked me to participate in the seminar - that is where it gets less fun. Fortunately, I can talk about the wedding project I am working on - but I'm really not excited about talking to a bunch of Sanskrit specialists (I'm a hopeless beginner) well-versed in vedic ritual.

From what I understood, there is a lot of "making it look good" in this seminar. He told me that it didn't matter if what I said wasn't good quality, but I had to say something. So that they can "officially" integrate the foreign visitor in the records? And I should take care to include references and citations to the original sanskrit texts, so that it looks serious (sic).

My teacher asked if I could do my presentation in Hindi. He obviously doesn't realize I'm already doing it in English instead of French.

It seems that I will not encounter any problems with the people I will be talking to (I've the feeling at times that my role is just to give them a reason to feel flattered about my presence). Apart from the scholars (who will understand English), most of the people there won't catch a single word of what I am saying. The other talks will all be in Hindi or in Sanskrit. The fact that lay people will not understand the Sanskrit either is not a problem: as it is a sacred language, simply listening to it will make them feel they are gaining something.

The problem is the standards that I set myself for any work I present. And I think that here I am setting them way too high, giving me a lot of extra worry and work. Luckily the work will not be lost, as I will have to hand in a paper on the topic when I get back to Switzerland.

Another point my Sanskrit teacher pointed out is that I should think about bringing something for the people organising the sacrifice (that's almost word for word how he put it). Fifteen minutes of digging later I gathered that an appropriate contribution would be to give some money (he was giving Rs. 1000) to the person organising the ritual. How he was expecting me to come up with that idea, I do not know.

In Switzerland nobody would ever dream of spontaneously offering money in a similar situation (at least, that's my opinion). If the organisers need outside money, there will be an entrance fee to take care of that. If you want to thank them, you bring some chocolates or a bottle of wine.

Here there is no entrance fee, but it is understood that visitors will "freely" contribute to the expenses of the operation. Often, more money is collected in this way than with an entrance fee - people are generous when they are not openely compelled to give (like me with the rickshaw drivers...).

Gangakhed; May 2

I spent a week in stress and procrastination (remember, I had to produce a participation for the sminar I was going to take part in). I finished writing it a few hours before the train left, and had to fight with the computer to get it printed. I swallowed my meal and packed my suitcase so fast I took way too many saris with me. And when I was finally ready, I still had to wait at least ten minutes for a rickshaw to turn up.

I arrived at the station just in time, but the train was late, so I had to wait - in company of the most insisting beggars I have met until now. I thought they would never go away.

The first-class journey to Kalyan (a place on the way to Bombay) went smoothly. Airplane-style seats and sufficient leg-space. Even though it was first class, there were some people with tickets who didn't get a seat - which led us to mention once again how much demand surpasses offer in this country.

The berths in first class are in little separate compartments, there is more space than in the other classes but they are still as stark. I slept well but a little jumpily. My sanskrit teacher is the type of person who stands up at Vevey to get off the train at Lausanne, so he woke me up way too early - and I really could have used a bit more sleep.

Once in Parbhani (late of course, so we had missed our train and had four hours to wait) we had some breakfast, and finally decided to take a bus. It was really very hot and I was longing for a bath.

IUCAA; May 7

Unfortunately, we arrived at a moment of water shortage and were unable to bathe until late afternoon.

Accomodation was dormitory-type, and really nasty. Luckily there were two rooms, and I immediately declared one of them "ladies' room", which allowed me to close the door and protest at times when too many people were entering it. We had fans, but I had to wait until the second night to have a cooler (I spent the first night pouring water on my clothes to keep cool enough to sleep). The food was OK, but the sanitary facilities were very Indian. Shower and toilet separate, no running water in the cubicles (that meant you needed to go and fill up your bucket beforehand), and badly closing doors.

In addition to that, it was immediately obvious that I was the uttermost centre of attraction. People kept coming into my room to peer at me. People wanted to talk to me. People waited outside my room to interview me. Others wanted me to come and tell a class of Sanskrit students how important it was to learn Sanskrit (in Sanskrit of course).

What I hadn't realized before coming was that the seminar would last three whole days. Three days of talking in Sanskrit and Hindi - I couldn't understand a single word of what was going on, but had to attend, be there, show that the most honoured guest was there, and I couldn't either start reading a book or sleeping. All I could do was sit on the floor and wait. I think I have never before experienced such boredom.

In India, there is a lot of "fuss" around such events as this seminar. The first morning we were all sat on a stage while different people discussed the importance of such a seminar. In public, of course. Each participant was introduced and presented with a garland of flowers. At one point I feared the whole seminar would take place on stage. Fortunately, it did not.

I reviewed my presentation with my Sanskrit teacher. I had to make quite a few modifications, mainly suppressing all the "apologetic" paragraphs in which I stated how little I knew and how incomplete my work was. It translated how uneasy I was about taking part in this seminar which included almost exclusively professors who babbled away in Sanskrit. To add to my uneasiness, I wasn't particularly familiar with the subject of the seminar (vedic shrauta rituals), and was going to make a presentation on my current research which was far from complete - in English.

Of course my presence and participation was hyped, and everybody congratulated me on my most interesting talk. I really don't know who was fooling who. In any case, I have once again had confirmation that I very much dislike being taken for what I am not (even if it is only on an "appearance" level). And I find that the respect and authority the foreigner enjoys just by being a foreigner is a very sad thing. I was expected to go and talk about the importance of Sanskrit to Sanskrit students who probably knew much more Sanskrit than me! And had I talked in English, they would have listened in admiration even though they didn't understand a word! - I did not go. I do not believe in promoting this faith in foreigners.

The seminar reached its climax for me when on the second day, we were supposed to go off to a place about an hour and a half away so that they could tell some important people how important it was to maintain these vedic rituals. I tried to sneak out, but being the "main guest", it was impossible.

The journey was hot and rather cramped. We stopped at a temple where most of the seminarists engaged in almost frantic recitations. It was quite impressive - but on the other hand gave me the impression that I was in company of some very devout theologians.

The terrace the conference took place in was surrounded with trees, so I tried to keep the mosquitoes out of my sari while they all talked away in Marathi and Hindi (too fast for me). We then had a meal.

I had been living on hot water for the last days. I could drink only mineral water over there, and since it was available only in the village, I bought a dozen bottles at a time. Don't ask it there was a fridge or any way to keep them cool - there wasn't.

The meal was accompanied by some very refreshing mango milk cream. I ate loads of it - it was my "cold water".

At 3 a.m. I started being sick.

This was the worst sickness spell I have had in India. A combination of the nastiest I had experienced until then in terms of loose motions, vomiting, pain and fainting. After the first bout of sickness in the morning, I was feeling bad, but not awful, and just stayed in bed. In mid-afternoon came the worst, and after fainting with a thud on the way to the bathroom, I ended up sitting on a bucket in my room - a very humiliating situation, especially when the room next door is starting to fill itself with curious people.

After getting rid of most of the mango milk I felt much better, but I had been in such pain that my trip to the local hospital was already planned. They were very nice to me, did not try to stick any needles in my arm, but insisted on making me drink rehydration fluid. Indian rehydration fluid is one of most undrinkable things I have ever met. Sweet and salt at the same time - it does nothing to rehydrate me because I simply cannot swallow it.

Seeing my state, my Sanskrit teacher made arrangements to get back to Pune as soon as possible. We took a night bus, and luckily by the time we were in it I didn't need permanent access to the bathroom. I slept surprisingly well (the seats are much more comfortable than first-class train!) and reached Pune yesterday morning, tired, dirty, weak and dehydrated. But alive and so glad to be home.

Gauri, Shinde's dog, had her puppies this morning. Three little white ones and two little black ones. They have really ugly faces.

Preparing to leave

The last weeks have run by like goats on the street when the traffic arrives. I have a week left in this country, so much to do, so little time to realize what is going on.

I took about a week to recover from my illness last month. The illness proper was dealt with quite fast, but the main problem was that I had become weak and dehydrated. As indian rehydration solutions make me gag (even the "very tasty" pineapple-flavored one I was given in Gangakhed) it doesn't speed up the process.

My room is strewn with things to pack and my head is trying to summarize my "Indian experience", as I call it. In vain. I guess I will have to wait a little longer for that.

As days go by, I try to fix in my memory all these now obvious things that I will soon forget. Small, daily, insignificant events that would have seemed incredible nearly a year ago. Preoccupations that will seem a world away when I am back in Switzerland, like that rickshaw driver last night who was asking for extra money even though I had already given him more than what we had agreed - which was already more than what he was supposed to charge.

The monsoon seems to have started. We have been having intermittent rain these last weeks, but for the last couple of days we have been waking up to find our garden half flooded. All this rain brings me back to my arrival here and the terror that I felt. If you can choose, the monsoon is not the best period to meet India for the first time.

A few years ago - or was it weeks? - we went to Khandala for two days. Khandala is a small but popular hill-station not too far from Pune. The type of place which is portrayed "paradise for eloping couples" in Hindi movies. Once there, both Aleika and I found ourselves wondering why this place was so wonderful. It was pretty, but from there to turning it almost into a myth...

The hotel was over-expensive. We were (in fact, IUCAA was) paying AC room prices for rather plain non-AC rooms. The food was dreadful and the swimming-pool none too clean (the one in IUCAA was much better). We went swimming all the same, and some of the kids staying in the hotel actually brought chairs to the edge of the pool to watch us, while the parents stayed (a little more discreet... or embarassed) at their fifth-floor windows.

In Khandala, Akirno opened his first door. Now he runs like a little man, almost jumps, and is really on the verge of talking. He knows "de" (give), "ye ba" (for the cat and the ball), and babbles gleefully to himself while "reading". He also participates in our conversations, especially when they are animated.

I think I have earned a degree in baby-care...

Bagha is coming with me to Switzerland. I need to have a travelling cage built for him, as the idea of carrying cats around as pets is not very common around here. Even this evening, as I was picking up the cat to bring him in for the night (lots of fights these days, and our domestic tiger tends to come back home with nasty infected puffed-up cheeks when he stays out), a girl in her early twenties asked me if I wasn't afraid of cats. The cat is a frightening, unpredictable, fierce and malicious animal in the common imaginary. My sanskrit teacher told me some of the "nasty cat" stories that children grow up with.

I guess that a lot of what has to be written but cannot be written now because I have turned too "native" will come rushing out once I get home. I have just finished reading a book called Desert Places, by Robyn Davidson. This woman spent over a year in Rajasthan to try and travel with nomad camel-herders. Though her experience was with no doubt much more intense and extreme than mine, I can recognize myself at each page. Especially when I recall episodes like Gangakhed or Markal.

Asbestos roofs, lead and mercury paints, polluting vehicles and human waste within toe's reach are part of everyday life here. Minor corruption (your speeding ticket is Rs. 100, but the cop will forget about it if you give him Rs. 50), closed shops that should be open, missing items that have been expected to come "tomorrow" for the last month, beggars who will almost climb into your rickshaw to get at you, but also smiles, generosity, and helpfulness that help you feel this sense of belonging that one needs to be "at home"... I will stop here - or I will become trivial, if it is not already the case.

Home is never exotic. And precautions like "never walk barefoot in India" are a mile away when you are strolling around your own garden.

Some random thoughts to keep us going, that I might expand later. More India stuff typed after my return to Switzerland.

Antibiotics. Academics. Laziness. Exams as an end. Separation of research and education. Slums, human misery, little lives lived on the side of the road. People breaking stones under the scorching sun. Women carrying loads of rocks for the road works. Tar. Piles of rubbish. Ill-treated animals - humans as well, of course. What future? what hope? Corruption. Birth-control. Education. Drainage. Water. Anarchy. You have to see to understand - even to believe. Where can we see the ideal India of osho-ites?

If you have read my logbook and have any feedback or comments, or if you simply liked reading it, please drop me a little mail to say that you were here - I'll be happy to receive it!

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