Thursday, October 05, 2006
Dengue fever
Anyone heard of Dengue? I hadn't before I came over here but this morning 2 of the prime minister's grand children were diagnosed with this potentially fatal disease. Like malaria, it's carried by mosquitos and rife after the monsoon when there is a lot of stagnant water around. YIKES. Apparently they only bite during the day. More than 400 people have been treated at public hospitals for Dengue - nearly double last year this time. This doesn't include the statistics from all the private clinics!
Dussehra
Monday was Dussehra; the day that Ram rescued his lo
ve Sita from the evil Ravana in Hindi mythology. It was also a public holiday and Gandhi’s birthday which was great. We went to watch the festivities in one of the markets. Had I been 10 I probably would have wet my pants. I’m 24 and I was completely frightened. Dance companies acted out the story of Ram and Sita impressively covered from head to toe in adornments and face make up. At the end of the show, they burned enormous 10 metres effigies of Ravana and his brothers. They were stuffed with straw and strained at guy ropes holding them in place. I was fully prepared to watch them burn gradually to the ground. I was not however prepared for the 16 million fire crackers secreted in the chest of each of the effigies to go off simultaneously. I think the locals found the height I jumped from fright far more entertaining than the burning of Ravanna.
ve Sita from the evil Ravana in Hindi mythology. It was also a public holiday and Gandhi’s birthday which was great. We went to watch the festivities in one of the markets. Had I been 10 I probably would have wet my pants. I’m 24 and I was completely frightened. Dance companies acted out the story of Ram and Sita impressively covered from head to toe in adornments and face make up. At the end of the show, they burned enormous 10 metres effigies of Ravana and his brothers. They were stuffed with straw and strained at guy ropes holding them in place. I was fully prepared to watch them burn gradually to the ground. I was not however prepared for the 16 million fire crackers secreted in the chest of each of the effigies to go off simultaneously. I think the locals found the height I jumped from fright far more entertaining than the burning of Ravanna.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Lou’s Top 5 Indian reads
I hope that some of you will be joining me in India in the next few months. I have not had too many confirmations thus far but I remain optimistic. With this in mind I have included my top 5 India related books.
- Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts
A crazy but true auto biography of an escaped Australian convict. You’ll be booking your ticket as you finish the last page.
Lou’s Barry Ronge Rating: A Noteworthy Nine - Q&A by Vikas Swarup (the deputy high commissioner of India in SA incidentally)
An illiterate and uneducated boy from the slums wins the Indian show “Who wants to be a billionaire?”. The outraged show organisers accuse him of cheating. The story unfolds as he explains why he knew each of the answers. A delightful* read. *I’ve always wanted to say that – does it sound like something Barry would say?
Lou’s Barry Ronge Rating: A Superlative Seven and a half - Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
The auto biography of a women in her mid thirties who escapes the claustrophobic pressure of real life by running away for a year. She spends four months in Italy eating in Rome, four months in India praying at an Ashram and the final four months in Indonesia - yes, you guessed it – loving.
Lou’s Barry Ronge Rating: A Scintillating Seven - Shalimar the Clown: Salman Rushdie
A harrowing tale of love and betrayal set in the foothills of war-torn Kashmir [hey, I am really getting into this].
Lou’s Barry Ronge Rating: An Enigmatic Eight - City of Djinns; a year in Delhi [from whence this blog name comes]: William Dalrymple
A beautiful portrayal of Delhi and its history. This
is the man that helped me to understand Delhi traffic. I’ve included my favourite passage.
“Balvinder Singh [Dalrymple’s taxi driver], son of Punjab Singh, Prince of Taxi
Drivers, may your moustache never grow grey! Nor your liver cave in with
cirrhosis. Nor your precious Hindustan Ambassador ever again crumple in a
collision – like the one we had with the van carrying Mango Frooty Drink.
Although during my first year in Delhi I remember thinking that
the traffic had seemed both anarchic and alarming, by my second visit I
had come to realize that it was in fact governed by very strict rules. Right of
way belongs to the driver of the largers vehicle. .. On the road, as in many
other aspects of Indian life, Might is Right. ”
Lou’s Barry Ronge Rating: An Evocative Eight
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Moving house
I'm moving house. I've found this great little place in Old Delhi. I've included a picture.
Just kidding! Hee hee.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Monkey business
I had my first experience with Indian textiles. I bought a beautiful brocade bag from the Paragang market. Coreen warned me that it might not be colour fast but I stubbornly ignored her. My water bottle was in my bag and leaked a little and now there is a large and indelible red mark on my cream linen pants. The experience reminds me of a floral overdyed top I bought at Green Market Square in Cape Town about 10 years ago that dyed my skin blue everytime I wore it. Lesson learnt: No matter where you are in the world, market merchandise is never colour fast.
We went to check out the monkey dance at India Gate yesterday afternoon. Two monkeys act out an entire play in full costume. Unfortunately they
were nowhere to be found. Apparently they have been banned because the monkeys (!) were pick pocketing the audience.
We went from there into Old Delhi to the Jama Masjid mosque which is the biggest mosque in India and can hold up to 25 000 people. We arrived there just before evening prayers so we weren't allowed in. Undeterred, we sat on the stairs to soak up the atmosphere and almost jumped out of our skins when the cannon sounded announcing sunset - typical paranoid tourists. It was an awesome experience to be surrounded by people praying and the voice of the muezzin booming over the loudspeaker. We watched as all around us people broke their fast. I don't know how Muslims cope in India in the month of Ramadan. It is so hot and humid during the day (which is why my running training is going so incredibly badly) and nothing is allowed to pass their lips, not even a sip of water. RESPECT. I can't even go half an hour without drinking about a litre of water.
We went to check out the monkey dance at India Gate yesterday afternoon. Two monkeys act out an entire play in full costume. Unfortunately they
were nowhere to be found. Apparently they have been banned because the monkeys (!) were pick pocketing the audience.We went from there into Old Delhi to the Jama Masjid mosque which is the biggest mosque in India and can hold up to 25 000 people. We arrived there just before evening prayers so we weren't allowed in. Undeterred, we sat on the stairs to soak up the atmosphere and almost jumped out of our skins when the cannon sounded announcing sunset - typical paranoid tourists. It was an awesome experience to be surrounded by people praying and the voice of the muezzin booming over the loudspeaker. We watched as all around us people broke their fast. I don't know how Muslims cope in India in the month of Ramadan. It is so hot and humid during the day (which is why my running training is going so incredibly badly) and nothing is allowed to pass their lips, not even a sip of water. RESPECT. I can't even go half an hour without drinking about a litre of water.
Lost in translation
Did you know that Laura pronounced in the Italian way (Low-ra) means penis in Hindi? European Laura that is staying in my guest house did not know that small but relevant piece of trivia either. She figured something was up by all the tittering every time she introduced herself. It was left to the owner of the guest house, a very proper women in her mid 60s to enlighten Laura. To add insult to injury her surname is Kok which bilingual English/Hindi speakers find hysterical. Laura is here for 3 years as a refugee protection officer. As you can imagine, 2 weeks ago she changed her name to Lauren.
No one can understand me on the phone no matter how slowly and clearly I speak. Last week I was speaking to a woman from an affiliate organisation
. I had to repeat myself about 6 times and she still didn’t understand what I was saying. Eventually I got in the car and drove all the way across Delhi to meet her in person. The meeting took ten minutes and she didn’t ask me to repeat myself once.
It would be more accurate to say that I was driven. I have a driver; Nerinder. We have a special way of communicating. He speaks Hindi and I speak English, neither of us understands what the other is saying but we both smile and nod. We use lots of charade type hand movements. He picks me up in the morning and takes me the hour to work in West Delhi. He sits and waits for me the whole day (he does not leave the car) and then when I am ready he takes me back again. It’s more affordable to hire him for the day than for the two separate trips to and from work. As you can imagine, this gives me serious working class guilt.
Yesterday I found myself in a situation that highlighted the challenges of not speaking the same language. Before I went to work I moved back to my old guest house - October is a very popular tourist month and my lack of foresight means that I didn't book far enough in advance thus have to move around a bit. Another driver took me to the guest house in a beautiful old Ambassador and then Nerinder picked me up and took me to work. When I got to work I realised that I was without my phone. Why do I always have to be so loskop? I retraced my steps and realised that I had probably left it in the first taxi. However it was on silent which is a very unusual concept in India. Caller tunes are HUGE here and noone wants to go unheard. So, try explaining this to someone that does not speak English. Not easy. It took me about 2 hours to hunt down the original driver and then search his car. To my great dismay, it was nowhere to be found. As I was about to resign myself to the fact that it was gone for good, I felt a vague but distinct vibrating under my hand. It was my phone! It had slipped into the seat lining.
No one can understand me on the phone no matter how slowly and clearly I speak. Last week I was speaking to a woman from an affiliate organisation
. I had to repeat myself about 6 times and she still didn’t understand what I was saying. Eventually I got in the car and drove all the way across Delhi to meet her in person. The meeting took ten minutes and she didn’t ask me to repeat myself once.It would be more accurate to say that I was driven. I have a driver; Nerinder. We have a special way of communicating. He speaks Hindi and I speak English, neither of us understands what the other is saying but we both smile and nod. We use lots of charade type hand movements. He picks me up in the morning and takes me the hour to work in West Delhi. He sits and waits for me the whole day (he does not leave the car) and then when I am ready he takes me back again. It’s more affordable to hire him for the day than for the two separate trips to and from work. As you can imagine, this gives me serious working class guilt.
Yesterday I found myself in a situation that highlighted the challenges of not speaking the same language. Before I went to work I moved back to my old guest house - October is a very popular tourist month and my lack of foresight means that I didn't book far enough in advance thus have to move around a bit. Another driver took me to the guest house in a beautiful old Ambassador and then Nerinder picked me up and took me to work. When I got to work I realised that I was without my phone. Why do I always have to be so loskop? I retraced my steps and realised that I had probably left it in the first taxi. However it was on silent which is a very unusual concept in India. Caller tunes are HUGE here and noone wants to go unheard. So, try explaining this to someone that does not speak English. Not easy. It took me about 2 hours to hunt down the original driver and then search his car. To my great dismay, it was nowhere to be found. As I was about to resign myself to the fact that it was gone for good, I felt a vague but distinct vibrating under my hand. It was my phone! It had slipped into the seat lining.
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