Things I love about India after one month: Hot spiced masala chai (tea), paneer cheese, the beautiful clothing, tropical thunderstorms, the plethora of friendly faces, the delicious Indian breads, the feeling of wet hair dripping lovely cool droplets onto my neck, the constant bustle of the city streets.
Things that drive me mental: Ants ants ants, howling barking stray dogs, the many many out-of-date items in the supermarket, the volume that music is played at... actually just the noise levels in general, and the ridiculous level of inquisition from the locals (Where are you from? Why are you here? Are you married? Where do you live? How much money do you earn? How much did you pay for that watermelon?).
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Floods displace millions, cut off entire villages
Over two million people have been displaced by floods in India as monsoon rains hammer the states of Orissa, Uttar Pradesh and Bihar.
Photo taken from The Indian Express
The worst-hit state is Orissa, which continues to suffer the result of one of the worst floods in recent history. Rising waters in more than 3,000 villages across 10 districts are responsible for 17 deaths so far. These floods come less than a week after the massive flooding from the Mahanadi river system, and have cut off over 1,100 villages. Breaches in river banks and embankments are responsible for villages being cut off; helicopters are now the only way to bring food and water to people stranded there.
The State Emergency Centre has declared that in the last 48 hours, five helicopters from the Air Force, the Navy and the State's own fleet have air-dropped 9,009 food packets in a number of cut-off villages. They have deployed 10 teams (over 300 men with 60 boats) for rescue and relief operations. These teams have started evacuating marooned people to safety; officials say that over 61,000 people have been evacuated so far.
Photo taken from The Indian Express
The worst-hit state is Orissa, which continues to suffer the result of one of the worst floods in recent history. Rising waters in more than 3,000 villages across 10 districts are responsible for 17 deaths so far. These floods come less than a week after the massive flooding from the Mahanadi river system, and have cut off over 1,100 villages. Breaches in river banks and embankments are responsible for villages being cut off; helicopters are now the only way to bring food and water to people stranded there.
The State Emergency Centre has declared that in the last 48 hours, five helicopters from the Air Force, the Navy and the State's own fleet have air-dropped 9,009 food packets in a number of cut-off villages. They have deployed 10 teams (over 300 men with 60 boats) for rescue and relief operations. These teams have started evacuating marooned people to safety; officials say that over 61,000 people have been evacuated so far.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Snapshot of a Sunday
Wake up horribly early. The people in the next building have clearly decided OH MY GOD IT'S 7AM ON SUNDAY LET'S PLAY ALL THE MUSIC WE HAVE AND INVITE OVER ALL THE LOCAL SHOUTING CHILDREN. Struggle out of bed and locate these beauties that my wonderful friend Marjorie sent over to me:
Sink back into blissful silent slumber, interrupted only by incredibly lucid dreams I blame on the anti-malarials, Malarone. Distorted dreaming is a widely reported side effect and I am getting it full force. A couple of nights this week I've woken up to find myself standing in the middle of the bedroom, trying to get dressed, apparently convinced I have to go out. Oh dear.
Up and at them after a cheeky lie-in. Say good morning to Martin; still get a giggle from this mafia-style photo. Miss him a lot this weekend.
Do the washing up and laundry and cook up some hearty sweetcorn fritters for brunch. No chilli at this time of day, can't bear it.
About to tuck in and get a phone call from one of the expats: do I want to join them for a free lunch in a nearby hotel? But when is this free weekend? And how much does it cost? And when IS this free weekend?
Can't say no to a free lunch so I shower and head out. Hotel is about 3km away which I end up walking, tuk-tuk drivers can't understand me today. Actually have a very pleasant walk with some welcome cloud cover and lots of shade. Feel like a celebrity with people waving madly and greeting me, it's odd but it makes me laugh so it can't be a bad thing.
Arrive at the hotel to find everyone in the rooftop restaurant. Before I even settle in, I'm presented with a beautiful refreshing mocktail. Never in my life had a mocktail before, first time for everything.
Lunch is a bizarre mix of pizza, cheese fondue, pasta with an Indian twist (chilli-heavy vegetarian lasagne, anyone?), iced coffee shots laced with whiskey and a hot chocolate brownie with ice-cream. All free! Not sure what everyone got up to last night to earn this free lunch but am delighted.
After lunch, have a potter around the bookshop in Pal Heights and treat myself to some colouring pencils, parers and erasers plus some cute books for my nephew.
Find myself in a camera shop looking at Samsung digital doohickeys - try to make a purchase to be told they don't take credit cards. Who carries around 7,000 rupees in cash? Will return.
Get a tuk-tuk to take me home, send him completely in the wrong direction, he laughs and finds the right way. The gentleman that he is drops at right at my door and doesn't charge me any extra for having to go the scenic route. Into the apartment, cold drink, feet up, Bill Bailey. Success.
Sink back into blissful silent slumber, interrupted only by incredibly lucid dreams I blame on the anti-malarials, Malarone. Distorted dreaming is a widely reported side effect and I am getting it full force. A couple of nights this week I've woken up to find myself standing in the middle of the bedroom, trying to get dressed, apparently convinced I have to go out. Oh dear.
Up and at them after a cheeky lie-in. Say good morning to Martin; still get a giggle from this mafia-style photo. Miss him a lot this weekend.
Do the washing up and laundry and cook up some hearty sweetcorn fritters for brunch. No chilli at this time of day, can't bear it.
About to tuck in and get a phone call from one of the expats: do I want to join them for a free lunch in a nearby hotel? But when is this free weekend? And how much does it cost? And when IS this free weekend?
Can't say no to a free lunch so I shower and head out. Hotel is about 3km away which I end up walking, tuk-tuk drivers can't understand me today. Actually have a very pleasant walk with some welcome cloud cover and lots of shade. Feel like a celebrity with people waving madly and greeting me, it's odd but it makes me laugh so it can't be a bad thing.
Arrive at the hotel to find everyone in the rooftop restaurant. Before I even settle in, I'm presented with a beautiful refreshing mocktail. Never in my life had a mocktail before, first time for everything.
Lunch is a bizarre mix of pizza, cheese fondue, pasta with an Indian twist (chilli-heavy vegetarian lasagne, anyone?), iced coffee shots laced with whiskey and a hot chocolate brownie with ice-cream. All free! Not sure what everyone got up to last night to earn this free lunch but am delighted.
After lunch, have a potter around the bookshop in Pal Heights and treat myself to some colouring pencils, parers and erasers plus some cute books for my nephew.
Find myself in a camera shop looking at Samsung digital doohickeys - try to make a purchase to be told they don't take credit cards. Who carries around 7,000 rupees in cash? Will return.
Get a tuk-tuk to take me home, send him completely in the wrong direction, he laughs and finds the right way. The gentleman that he is drops at right at my door and doesn't charge me any extra for having to go the scenic route. Into the apartment, cold drink, feet up, Bill Bailey. Success.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
The India Diet
It is horribly easy to lose weight in India, solely by virtue of getting sick from contaminated water and food. This is particularly true in the rainy season, from June - October. The India Diet, commonly known as Delhi Belly, is an unpleasant experience that can last from one day to one week. A common result is that your clothes will rapidly become annoyingly loose. One pair of trousers I brought from home used to sit comfortably on my hips; now they wallow listlessly around my ankles. Luckily they were the dodgy turquoise ones that I bought in a fit of madness for €3. No loss there really; they will make nice dusting cloths.
These were super tight on me leaving Ireland
Poor ridiculous turquoise pants
Here are the basic tenets of The India Diet:
- Thou shalt unwittingly consume dangerous bacteria from food and/or water
- Thou shalt not be parted from the bathroom for more than one hour
- Thou shalt not be in the slightest bit interested in food
- Thou shalt loll about pathetically in bed feeling sorry for thyself
- Thou shalt watch a godawful amount of Australian soap operas (this one might just be me)
- Thou shalt kneel before the magic of ORS
ORS is what will get you through the awful India Diet. ORS is Oral Rehydration Solution, a simple mixture of water, sugar and salt that will stop you fainting/ dehydrating/ dying etc. You will probably know it in the form of Lucozade, which would explain why it is such a popular choice for a hangover cure.
There is one more vital addition required to endure The India Diet: a kindred spirit who will look after you when you are clearly incapable of doing it yourself. Today my amazing colleague Ravi was that person for me. He drove all the way to his house where, unbeknownst to me, his wife had cooked me a lunch comprised of foods essential for curing a bad belly; boiled rice, turmeric-laced curd and coconut paste with chilli. Ravi spent the day bringing me freshly boiled water to drink and generally being a top notch gentleman.
Boiled rice mixed with turmeric curd - a bit like rice pudding
Coconut paste with chilli
My pot of boiled drinking water which was replenished for me during the day
Indian hospitality is just out of this world.
These were super tight on me leaving Ireland
Poor ridiculous turquoise pants
Here are the basic tenets of The India Diet:
- Thou shalt unwittingly consume dangerous bacteria from food and/or water
- Thou shalt not be parted from the bathroom for more than one hour
- Thou shalt not be in the slightest bit interested in food
- Thou shalt loll about pathetically in bed feeling sorry for thyself
- Thou shalt watch a godawful amount of Australian soap operas (this one might just be me)
- Thou shalt kneel before the magic of ORS
ORS is what will get you through the awful India Diet. ORS is Oral Rehydration Solution, a simple mixture of water, sugar and salt that will stop you fainting/ dehydrating/ dying etc. You will probably know it in the form of Lucozade, which would explain why it is such a popular choice for a hangover cure.
There is one more vital addition required to endure The India Diet: a kindred spirit who will look after you when you are clearly incapable of doing it yourself. Today my amazing colleague Ravi was that person for me. He drove all the way to his house where, unbeknownst to me, his wife had cooked me a lunch comprised of foods essential for curing a bad belly; boiled rice, turmeric-laced curd and coconut paste with chilli. Ravi spent the day bringing me freshly boiled water to drink and generally being a top notch gentleman.
Boiled rice mixed with turmeric curd - a bit like rice pudding
Coconut paste with chilli
My pot of boiled drinking water which was replenished for me during the day
Indian hospitality is just out of this world.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Puri
I have been here for three weeks now. Outside of work, my interactions with others have been limited to Skype calls home and nonsensical ramblings to the quick-footed geckos in my apartment. The geckos really aren’t such great company, so I figure it’s time to meet people and make some friends.
My lovely gecko friend
There are a large number of NGOs operating in Orissa, many of whom have either international staff or international volunteers. There is thus a wonderful little expat community here in Bhubaneswar, who were kind and generous enough to invite me to join them in the nearby beach town of Puri for a night of revelry. The occasion was the birthday celebration of a fellow Irish woman, Jane. It never ceases to amaze me how far one can travel on this earth and yet always be in the company of Irish people. We are a nation of breeders and we insinuate ourselves in every pocket of the globe. Sorry, globe.
The birthday girl
Puri is 60km from Bhubaneswar and easily accessible by bus. It was my first attempt at taking a bus here, though it was far easier than anticipated. My glaring white skin and shock of ginger hair ensure that everyone knows I am a foreigner and thus no clue of how things work. This meant I was only at the bus stop about 20 seconds before someone approached me and showed me on to a bus. My local pronunciation leaves an awful lot to be desired. You will think that a simple disyllabic word as ‘Puri’ would be easy to convey in the oral tradition. Goodness no. I managed to get it completely wrong. It’s not a laboured and lengthy “poor-ee”, but rather a staccato, breathless “poor-EE” spoken at top speed with a questioning inflection at the end. Lesson learned.
I reached Puri and was given a perfectly pleasant room in the Z Hotel for 250 rupees (about €3.85). I joined some expats on the veranda who had already arrived; another Irish woman (honestly, we are unbelievable) named Olive and a Chester chap called Richard. Both Olive and Richard are working with Gram Vikas, a few hours train ride south of Bhubaneswar. Later we were joined by another 20-odd friendly faces, all keen to trade stories and sip beer. I even got a few sympathetic laughs for some awful on-the-spot puns; I always appreciate being humoured.
Olive, with her beautiful skirt
Richard, delighted at the prospect of a 'gents to gents' massage
The evening was wonderful and hilarious and a real release. There was an incredible thunderstorm which ensured the electricity sputtered off and on all night. This created a magical atmosphere with flickering candlelight, dark spooky corners, and illuminating flashes of lightening. The downside was the ferocity of the local mosquitos. They saw me coming and invited all their friends to feast on my flesh. The Puri mozzies tore me to shreds all over. The results were pretty gruesome, as you can see.
The next day it was back on the bus to Bhubaneswar, slightly worse for wear. I hadn’t realised I was lonely until I had some company; turns out I was gasping for some banter.
My lovely gecko friend
There are a large number of NGOs operating in Orissa, many of whom have either international staff or international volunteers. There is thus a wonderful little expat community here in Bhubaneswar, who were kind and generous enough to invite me to join them in the nearby beach town of Puri for a night of revelry. The occasion was the birthday celebration of a fellow Irish woman, Jane. It never ceases to amaze me how far one can travel on this earth and yet always be in the company of Irish people. We are a nation of breeders and we insinuate ourselves in every pocket of the globe. Sorry, globe.
The birthday girl
Puri is 60km from Bhubaneswar and easily accessible by bus. It was my first attempt at taking a bus here, though it was far easier than anticipated. My glaring white skin and shock of ginger hair ensure that everyone knows I am a foreigner and thus no clue of how things work. This meant I was only at the bus stop about 20 seconds before someone approached me and showed me on to a bus. My local pronunciation leaves an awful lot to be desired. You will think that a simple disyllabic word as ‘Puri’ would be easy to convey in the oral tradition. Goodness no. I managed to get it completely wrong. It’s not a laboured and lengthy “poor-ee”, but rather a staccato, breathless “poor-EE” spoken at top speed with a questioning inflection at the end. Lesson learned.
I reached Puri and was given a perfectly pleasant room in the Z Hotel for 250 rupees (about €3.85). I joined some expats on the veranda who had already arrived; another Irish woman (honestly, we are unbelievable) named Olive and a Chester chap called Richard. Both Olive and Richard are working with Gram Vikas, a few hours train ride south of Bhubaneswar. Later we were joined by another 20-odd friendly faces, all keen to trade stories and sip beer. I even got a few sympathetic laughs for some awful on-the-spot puns; I always appreciate being humoured.
Olive, with her beautiful skirt
Richard, delighted at the prospect of a 'gents to gents' massage
The evening was wonderful and hilarious and a real release. There was an incredible thunderstorm which ensured the electricity sputtered off and on all night. This created a magical atmosphere with flickering candlelight, dark spooky corners, and illuminating flashes of lightening. The downside was the ferocity of the local mosquitos. They saw me coming and invited all their friends to feast on my flesh. The Puri mozzies tore me to shreds all over. The results were pretty gruesome, as you can see.
The next day it was back on the bus to Bhubaneswar, slightly worse for wear. I hadn’t realised I was lonely until I had some company; turns out I was gasping for some banter.
There is a mouse slash rat in my office
I can hear him now. He’s in the cupboard, gnawing on something. I suspect it is a human head, he looks the menacing sort. I caught my first glimpse of him last week as he boldly scurried across the length of the office, his little claws click-clacking off the marble floor. He was too quick and I was too startled to ascertain whether it was a mouse or a rat. If it was a mouse, I’m impressed; he was hefty. If it was a rat, which I do suspect that was it, then I have a problem.
The proof is in the poo-ding.
I queried a colleague about this rodent. Does he know we have rats? Should we do something to get rid of it? Is there someone we can call? These, apparently, are all very silly questions. Of course everyone knows we have rats. Pfft. No big deal. Was there anything else?
So it appears I have inadvertently acquired a roommate for my days in the office. I guess I should give him a name. Something unassuming and friendly, like Roger, or Terwilliger. Something that is silly enough to make me forget that rats carry numerous awful diseases and at any given moment he could explode out of the cupboard with super-rat strength and give my ankle a right good nip.
Terwilliger it is.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)