My christmas day began at an eye-watering 4am. This wasn't because I was too excited about my presents, because I didn't get any. Even if I had been a good boy and been sent a big stocking through the post, it apparently '80%' wouldn't have reached me because some genius at India Post decided to only employ thieves as postmen. Nope, whilst the whole of England was still in the pub at 10.30pm, I was woken up to go to a special super-early-5am morning service at the local protestant church. God, if you're listening, I think that makes me exempt from attending mass for a year. Ok? Cheers. Much to my surprise, it was a full house and everyone had come dressed to impress. The service lasted 2 hours and it was in Tamil but even I could tell that the guy was chewing over old fat when it came to the sermon. Communion (first meal of the day) lasted a record-breaking 30 minutes; so long, in fact, that they ran out of hymns for the second half of it.
We then went for breakfast at the house of a couple of people who I think were relatives because they were known only as 'Uncle' and 'Aunty'. Although i'm called 'uncle' at school by all the children so, as a culture, they play pretty fast and loose with the terms. Breakfast was a bottomless plate of Idly (round thing which feels and tastes like compressed rice), Dosai (flat savoury pancake), Vadai (Savoury, very dry donut-type snack) and various spicy accompaniments. Over breakfast, we enjoyed a lovely carol service on The God Channel which was apparently being broadcast 'live' (I reckon about 2001 is more realistic) from Birmingham. This almost made me feel homesick but then again, I don't live in Birmingham and I thank God for that everyday. (controversial).
After a three hour nap, I was woken up for a Christmas lunch of Goat Biryani, Onion Raitha and a Banana for Sweet served on a Banana Leaf. I wasn't very hungry after breakfast but I managed two portions because of the not-so-gentle persuasion of the women of the house. Before I sound ungrateful, the food was lovely and probably nicer than turkey. However, there is a balance to be struck whilst in this country between being polite and turning yourself into a tub of lard. This Christmas weekend, I found it particularly difficult. The food just keeps on coming. I haven't cried over having too much food since Mrs Keegan the dinner-lady (also Dermot Murnaghan's mother-in-law but i'm not the sort to name-drop obviously) forced me to finish my spaghetti bolognese on my 7th birthday, but I wasn't far off on this occasion.
Soon after lunch, Joel took me on a borrowed bike to a city named Kodaikanal in the mountains. The drive was 3 hours and I learnt the following things during the climb:
1. Sitting on a motorbike for lengthy periods of time is a real pain in the arse.
2. If you're bored of the open road, try and find a reflective surface. In my case, it was the back of Joel's motorbike helmet, where I played a three hour long game of 'What would my hair look like in a ponytail?'.
3. India can be cold, embarrassingly cold if you've been giving it the big 'un about being British and not needing to wear a jumper until it gets way below 10 degrees.
After the long journey, we stayed in some sort of of Methodist lodgings and had my first hot shower in two months. Thankyou Methodists, i won't ignore you in the streets from now on.
Kodaikanal was an excellent place to visit but uneventful and all that struck me is that it was bizarrely like a town in the Swiss Alps. Of course, i'm not sure if i've ever been to the Swiss Alps, but you get the picture.
Thursday 30 December 2010
Monday 27 December 2010
The Christmas Special. Part 1: Little Miss Sunshine
About a week before Christmas I agreed to spend the festivities with Joel, the school administrator who is doubling as my host, somewhere near to his hometown. As Joel had left a few days earlier to attend to some shady meetings somewhere in the massive Tamil Nadu region, his cousin Jeeva picked me up on the 22nd December before being handed over to some other family i'd never met at the ungodly hour of 3am on the 23rd.
Jeeva, a hulking 21 year old competition weightlifter and personal trainer was an interesting character with a below average grasp of English. He kept asking me to call him something that sounded like 'machamp' (which I think just means 'mate') and would repeatedly go through his repertoire of about 6 handshakes with me, which included one of those fist-taps as well as that casual one with the thumbs that is normally only reserved for tennis players and dickheads. Having said that, he was a lovely chap and he took me to a terrific tandoori chicken place which he was fascinated to see that I was enjoying. Little did he know that, being English, I was virtually born with tandoori chicken stains around my mouth.
After just an hours sleep, I was dropped off at another cousin's place; the Pastor John Lee's house. John Lee then drove me the 11 hours to our destination, Dharapuram, in a little Ritz brand car with the company of his wife, mother and two small children. Of course, this didn't matter because as the guest, I managed to secure the front passenger seat without having to resort to shotgun rules or crying. The journey was mammoth and I passed much of the time by indulging in my new favourite game of listening to music completely inappropriate to my surroundings. Stuff like Art Brut in the middle of a palm tree forest never fails to completely confuse the brain.
We were staying slap-bang in the middle of nowhere at their recently finished holiday home which was obviously nice and peaceful, but it didn't leave me with much to do. Also, everyday at 6 o' clock, night falls within about 5 minutes.
So, I found myself a bit bored and by 6.30pm on the first day I was having a sensationally Emo moment on the roof terrace of the house listening to 'Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying' by Belle and Sebastian in pitch black. Little did I know that my disappearance had caused a bit of a frenzy downstairs as I was listening to my music at level 14 (why on earth the volume on my phone is out of 14 is anyone's guess). When I eventually took my headphones out about half an hour later, there was a whole gaggle of Indians shouting 'Andrew' at the top of their voices with torches in their hands. Oops.
Jeeva, a hulking 21 year old competition weightlifter and personal trainer was an interesting character with a below average grasp of English. He kept asking me to call him something that sounded like 'machamp' (which I think just means 'mate') and would repeatedly go through his repertoire of about 6 handshakes with me, which included one of those fist-taps as well as that casual one with the thumbs that is normally only reserved for tennis players and dickheads. Having said that, he was a lovely chap and he took me to a terrific tandoori chicken place which he was fascinated to see that I was enjoying. Little did he know that, being English, I was virtually born with tandoori chicken stains around my mouth.
After just an hours sleep, I was dropped off at another cousin's place; the Pastor John Lee's house. John Lee then drove me the 11 hours to our destination, Dharapuram, in a little Ritz brand car with the company of his wife, mother and two small children. Of course, this didn't matter because as the guest, I managed to secure the front passenger seat without having to resort to shotgun rules or crying. The journey was mammoth and I passed much of the time by indulging in my new favourite game of listening to music completely inappropriate to my surroundings. Stuff like Art Brut in the middle of a palm tree forest never fails to completely confuse the brain.
We were staying slap-bang in the middle of nowhere at their recently finished holiday home which was obviously nice and peaceful, but it didn't leave me with much to do. Also, everyday at 6 o' clock, night falls within about 5 minutes.
So, I found myself a bit bored and by 6.30pm on the first day I was having a sensationally Emo moment on the roof terrace of the house listening to 'Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying' by Belle and Sebastian in pitch black. Little did I know that my disappearance had caused a bit of a frenzy downstairs as I was listening to my music at level 14 (why on earth the volume on my phone is out of 14 is anyone's guess). When I eventually took my headphones out about half an hour later, there was a whole gaggle of Indians shouting 'Andrew' at the top of their voices with torches in their hands. Oops.
Tuesday 21 December 2010
Troublemaker
I caused quite a stir in the supermarket yesterday. My fatal mistake:- trying to buy a single onion. The girl at the till looked at me like she was John Anderson and I was Wolf from Gladiators or maybe a bit like if i'd just used her family toilet and missed. The computerised till, for some reason, went into meltdown over my request. She said that if I bought two then there wouldn't be a problem, but I decided to stand my ground. After all, I was cooking for one and too much onion might destroy the balance of my carefully planned Curry Powder Curry. So, after she had attempted numerous different oniony combinations to try and out-fox the technology (a different onion. two smaller onions. an onion in a bag etc.), I was told I couldn't have this particular vegetable in singular form even if I paid over the odds for it.
The only reason I'd made such a fuss about wanting this single onion was for a degree of revenge against the greatest evil of Indian culture; Faffing.
Time doesn't really seem to be an issue in Chennai. Arranging to meet at a certain time is completely pointless over here because of the faffing. The 24 hour clock might as well be changed to morning, afternoon and evening because the lack of urgency towards life is incredible. I haven't made an appointment for anything yet but i'd be surprised if the word even exists.
The supermarket is the most frustrating example of living life at Chennai pace. You can stroll up behind a queue of just one person who is carrying just a small basket of goods and easily be waiting for 10 minutes to be served. Nobody seems to care about the time that is being eaten up as both staff and customer has a chat about the price and merit of each item. Nobody seems to care as they work out which one of 40 different methods of payment to use. Nobody seems to care about the long conversation they have about the benefits of getting a Reliance clubcard. Nobody seems to care that there are, as with every business in India, at least double the amount of staff to the amount of customers and still only one girl on the tills. Nobody seems to care that I am going very red and am saying 'for fack sake' as loud as I can without being completely obvious.
This is 'Chennai Time'. It is something I have to deal with and be open-minded about. It is a constant struggle.
They also don't seem to have been taught the ancient art of forming a queue over here, but that is a story for a different day which I can have another mini-stroke over.
The only reason I'd made such a fuss about wanting this single onion was for a degree of revenge against the greatest evil of Indian culture; Faffing.
Time doesn't really seem to be an issue in Chennai. Arranging to meet at a certain time is completely pointless over here because of the faffing. The 24 hour clock might as well be changed to morning, afternoon and evening because the lack of urgency towards life is incredible. I haven't made an appointment for anything yet but i'd be surprised if the word even exists.
The supermarket is the most frustrating example of living life at Chennai pace. You can stroll up behind a queue of just one person who is carrying just a small basket of goods and easily be waiting for 10 minutes to be served. Nobody seems to care about the time that is being eaten up as both staff and customer has a chat about the price and merit of each item. Nobody seems to care as they work out which one of 40 different methods of payment to use. Nobody seems to care about the long conversation they have about the benefits of getting a Reliance clubcard. Nobody seems to care that there are, as with every business in India, at least double the amount of staff to the amount of customers and still only one girl on the tills. Nobody seems to care that I am going very red and am saying 'for fack sake' as loud as I can without being completely obvious.
This is 'Chennai Time'. It is something I have to deal with and be open-minded about. It is a constant struggle.
They also don't seem to have been taught the ancient art of forming a queue over here, but that is a story for a different day which I can have another mini-stroke over.
Thursday 16 December 2010
'I've lived my life like an international popstar'
Living in an area that isn't so heavily populated by tourists (0% approx), it's only natural i'm going to attract a little bit of attention. Sometimes it's a bit like being the Queen, what with having to say hello and give a royal wave (that easily turns into a w**nker sign if they're taking the mick).
This weekend (after the YMCA) Peter, who is the social worker from the school, took us to visit his home in Tirupattur which is about halfway to Bangalore. His house doubles as a Church at weekends and his two older brothers are the pastors so I had my first dose of religion in a good long while. Most of it was in Tamil and my knees took a pounding from kneeling so much but I got the gist of it (especially after a particularly vigorous rendition of 'Holy God We Praise'). Afterwards, the foreign visitors were presented with lovely flowery necklaces, with my fetching number given to me by a tiny 7 year old child going by the name of Gilchrist, who I was told was named after Australian cricket hero Adam after some smashing performances at the 2003 World Cup. He and his less interestingly named sister had just returned home with their mother after she decided to abscond for 6 months, I was told very casually whilst shaking both the mother and her unfazed husband's hands.
A little later, standing upstairs on the terrace, I was beckoned over to say hello by a couple of 8 year old likely lads on the adjoining terrace. I felt obliged as a visitor so I went over and had a brief conversation which nobody gained anything from because we were speaking different languages but it was nice anyway. I hope that it was about cricket because I definitely started performing batting and bowling motions in front of them. However, within the next few minutes word seemed to spread and suddenly there was a mob of about 20 well-wishers (or naysayers) trying to say hello. There are photos of this incident which wouldn't be out of place in a museum.
The best thing was i'd done nothing. Not a tough crowd.
This weekend (after the YMCA) Peter, who is the social worker from the school, took us to visit his home in Tirupattur which is about halfway to Bangalore. His house doubles as a Church at weekends and his two older brothers are the pastors so I had my first dose of religion in a good long while. Most of it was in Tamil and my knees took a pounding from kneeling so much but I got the gist of it (especially after a particularly vigorous rendition of 'Holy God We Praise'). Afterwards, the foreign visitors were presented with lovely flowery necklaces, with my fetching number given to me by a tiny 7 year old child going by the name of Gilchrist, who I was told was named after Australian cricket hero Adam after some smashing performances at the 2003 World Cup. He and his less interestingly named sister had just returned home with their mother after she decided to abscond for 6 months, I was told very casually whilst shaking both the mother and her unfazed husband's hands.
A little later, standing upstairs on the terrace, I was beckoned over to say hello by a couple of 8 year old likely lads on the adjoining terrace. I felt obliged as a visitor so I went over and had a brief conversation which nobody gained anything from because we were speaking different languages but it was nice anyway. I hope that it was about cricket because I definitely started performing batting and bowling motions in front of them. However, within the next few minutes word seemed to spread and suddenly there was a mob of about 20 well-wishers (or naysayers) trying to say hello. There are photos of this incident which wouldn't be out of place in a museum.
The best thing was i'd done nothing. Not a tough crowd.
Tuesday 14 December 2010
It's fun to stay at the
This weekend, myself and 5 others were taken to stay at a YMCA in the hills. I wouldn't call myself an expert on the history of the YMCA, in fact i'm definitely more familiar with the occupations of each Village Person than the origins of the organisation. Luckily, on hand to tell myself and 16 year old Sathish the story was 42 year old Claus from Hamburg, "I think it was started by gays, for gays about 20 years ago. Now they let everyone stay." The alarming thing was that he wasn't even joking. Anyway, we were fed ginormous amounts of curry by the 'gays' and the place was more like a 3 star hotel (that sort of phrase normally ends with '4 or 5 star hotel' but that would just be lying) than a hostel.
The first day we climbed up a big hill pretty much 'as the crow flies' with our guide (I wanted to type Sherpa but that might be construed as offensive and it was, after all, only a big hill) cutting our way through the bushes with a big knife. There was also a shocking amount of rock-climbing involved, which had me envisaging my 'Byker Grove Moment'#. When we reached the top, whilst the view was certainly better than a kick in the nads, everyone quickly realised we had to get down again and I had inevitably become the sweaty lad that nobody sits next to on the bus.
A bunch of other stuff happened too but i'm tired. To summarise, we went to the boating lake where:- we got on a pedalo, pedaloed around a lake, got off the pedalo.
The End
#A Byker Grove Moment is a moment that only happens to idiots who get themselves into situations they're not cut out for. Like trying to pull a plug out of a socket in a flooded basement, or running around having a game of 'it' on a small roof with no sides.
The first day we climbed up a big hill pretty much 'as the crow flies' with our guide (I wanted to type Sherpa but that might be construed as offensive and it was, after all, only a big hill) cutting our way through the bushes with a big knife. There was also a shocking amount of rock-climbing involved, which had me envisaging my 'Byker Grove Moment'#. When we reached the top, whilst the view was certainly better than a kick in the nads, everyone quickly realised we had to get down again and I had inevitably become the sweaty lad that nobody sits next to on the bus.
A bunch of other stuff happened too but i'm tired. To summarise, we went to the boating lake where:- we got on a pedalo, pedaloed around a lake, got off the pedalo.
The End
#A Byker Grove Moment is a moment that only happens to idiots who get themselves into situations they're not cut out for. Like trying to pull a plug out of a socket in a flooded basement, or running around having a game of 'it' on a small roof with no sides.
Thursday 9 December 2010
The (not so) Open Road
I never expected the traffic in this city to be anything other than heartbreaking so whilst I am inevitably getting hot in long tailbacks, it is a bit stupid getting bothered as well. My favourite traffic jam so far has to be waiting for a blockade of cows to be removed from the main road of this MEGACITY. There is also a regular occurrence of finding a big lorry full of housebuilding materials taking up the whole width of the road and seemingly ready to dump its load (horrible, sorry), only to quickly realise that this lorry won't actually be moving until they've built and subsequently sold the house.
On the way home tonight, Joel was engaged in the usual game of Toca Touring Cars with the rest of the traffic when we pulled up behind a van (much like a Citroen Berlingo) with no doors on the back and there must have been about 10 people crammed in the back. Although what caught my attention was a lovely little old woman having a sleep in the middle of all these sweaty men, who also happened to be dancing and singing at the same time. Before I could be truly envious of her ability to nod off anywhere, I realised that she had long since fallen into a deep sleep. A deep sleep that had resulted in death. This was her funeral procession.
A funeral procession in India normally means a bunch of men carrying an uncovered dead body to the river whilst singing and dancing; and then burning it. But if you aren't situated near a river, by all means get a mate with a van involved.
On the way home tonight, Joel was engaged in the usual game of Toca Touring Cars with the rest of the traffic when we pulled up behind a van (much like a Citroen Berlingo) with no doors on the back and there must have been about 10 people crammed in the back. Although what caught my attention was a lovely little old woman having a sleep in the middle of all these sweaty men, who also happened to be dancing and singing at the same time. Before I could be truly envious of her ability to nod off anywhere, I realised that she had long since fallen into a deep sleep. A deep sleep that had resulted in death. This was her funeral procession.
A funeral procession in India normally means a bunch of men carrying an uncovered dead body to the river whilst singing and dancing; and then burning it. But if you aren't situated near a river, by all means get a mate with a van involved.
Tuesday 7 December 2010
Rain
The guidebooks to Chennai all say that monsoon season runs from October to December in Tamil Nadu and, true to form, there has been constant rain for the last 4 days. So whilst this snow situation in England has supposedly caused chaos (i'll believe it when I see it), a few spots of rain in Sunny India has meant that schools have been closed last Thursday as well as on Monday and Tuesday this week. There's a possibility my particular school won't be educating for the rest of the week because its location is a little bit 'in the sticks', meaning there's little to no drainage and therefore the only way the flooding can subside is through good ol' evaporation.
This is, of course, excellent news. It could be argued that these kids are underprivileged and most of them are already playing catch-up with their education. And yes, most of these kids do seem to genuinely enjoy school. However from what they've told me and also just plain common sense, it seems pretty clear to me that most of the children will be lapping up this obscenely long weekend that could take us right up until Christmas. Plus, it is also noticeably cooler at around 25 Celsius. Oh, and all this water is also pretty key to making sure the population don't die of thirst next summer.
I've been using my time off productively, mind. The Swedes have given me every single episode of the classic American sitcom 'Vanner' to add to all the pirated Simpsons I bought from Sathish, so i can keep up my crap telly levels. Furthermore, i've been able to come to some important conclusions such as The Simpsons having followed a very similar career path to that other 90's superstar; Ryan Giggs. Think about it. Bursts onto the scene in 1990, enjoys adulation from all corners, hits peak in late 1990s, experiences a bit of a backlash when newer and more exciting alternatives come along (Family Guy, Wayne Rooney), takes a back seat and then finally returns to the glorious limelight to collect their Sports Personality of the Best TV Show Ever Award in their final years. No?
I should not be left alone with my own thoughts.
Sunday 5 December 2010
disco
Went out ('out' out) in Chennai for the first time last night. The club was in the five star Park Sheraton Hotel and it was called Dublin's, although there was nothing Irish about it so maybe Dion has something going on with the Sheraton family. The music was terrible and the drinks were very expensive but the Indians don't have the same sober restraint to dancing that we do so they were still going for it. Also, by Indian standards, some of the dancing witnessed was virtually pornographic. Appalling.
The person who had taken us to the club was a chap named Avik Biswas (excellent name) from Kolkata (Calcutta to you, me and Mother Teresa). He's in computers or something but I have made loose plans to visit Goa over New Year where he said we should 'grab some girls'. An unfortunate turn of phrase.
The night ended with 60 year old Donal from Kilkenny introducing the slightly ropy looking Finnish woman he'd met at the bar to me as 'his wife from Lapland'. I shudder to think what happened next.
The person who had taken us to the club was a chap named Avik Biswas (excellent name) from Kolkata (Calcutta to you, me and Mother Teresa). He's in computers or something but I have made loose plans to visit Goa over New Year where he said we should 'grab some girls'. An unfortunate turn of phrase.
The night ended with 60 year old Donal from Kilkenny introducing the slightly ropy looking Finnish woman he'd met at the bar to me as 'his wife from Lapland'. I shudder to think what happened next.
Friday 3 December 2010
youtube isn't working
so here's a typical day in my Indian life! List format, of course.
7.15AM: Alarm goes off. Press snooze at 5 minute intervals.
8.45: Get up, wash myself in outhouse.
9.15-11.00: Joel picks me up on't motorbike. School starting time is 8.45.
9.00-12.40: Look at timetable and largely ignore. Wander round school high-fiveing children, sometimes stopping to pick up, swing around and put down based on strength of request and size of child.
NB: on a Wednesday and Friday the sports master Dalroy is in during these hours. So I sit and listen to him talk about his career in Indian football whilst he flirts with every single one of the teachers from his chair and points a stick at the children barking instructions. He's my idol.
12.40: Lunch. Rice.
1.20-3.30: Knackered. The kids aren't concentrating anymore, neither am I. More high fives and then the boys in the first standard maths class usually have a fight over a pencil which ends in tears all round. I ignore this because boys don't cry.
3.30-close: occasionally take the bus home. Health and safety rules out of the window, kids are piled in there like you would pile a dishwasher. internet,food,bed.
7.15AM: Alarm goes off. Press snooze at 5 minute intervals.
8.45: Get up, wash myself in outhouse.
9.15-11.00: Joel picks me up on't motorbike. School starting time is 8.45.
9.00-12.40: Look at timetable and largely ignore. Wander round school high-fiveing children, sometimes stopping to pick up, swing around and put down based on strength of request and size of child.
NB: on a Wednesday and Friday the sports master Dalroy is in during these hours. So I sit and listen to him talk about his career in Indian football whilst he flirts with every single one of the teachers from his chair and points a stick at the children barking instructions. He's my idol.
12.40: Lunch. Rice.
1.20-3.30: Knackered. The kids aren't concentrating anymore, neither am I. More high fives and then the boys in the first standard maths class usually have a fight over a pencil which ends in tears all round. I ignore this because boys don't cry.
3.30-close: occasionally take the bus home. Health and safety rules out of the window, kids are piled in there like you would pile a dishwasher. internet,food,bed.
Secret Santi
I've been roped into a Christmas game amongst the staff and volunteers at the school called 'Krishma, Krish(insertforgottenendinghere)' which is just Secret Santa with the twist that you have to buy your randomly selected member of staff a small present every school day leading up till Christmas and then splash out on a biggie on the last day before we break up.
The name I picked out of the hat was the only adult involved with the school that I've had no form of communication with. Not even 'hello'. So I won't be showering her with gifts.
The fun part of the game is to leave notes and anonymous gifts lying around in places where you'd expect your chosen person to find them. This is why Leela, who is organising the game, today asked me to send a message from my phone to a woman named Suda so that she wouldn't recognise the number.
The message read as follows:
come in yellow sari on monday without fail
After lunch she asked me to send the same message again but with some additional material:
come in yellow sari monday otherwise you will face the consequences. Then go to each class and bark like a dog.
Wasn't comfortable writing those at all. I really hope she's familiar with the game being played this aggressively.
The name I picked out of the hat was the only adult involved with the school that I've had no form of communication with. Not even 'hello'. So I won't be showering her with gifts.
The fun part of the game is to leave notes and anonymous gifts lying around in places where you'd expect your chosen person to find them. This is why Leela, who is organising the game, today asked me to send a message from my phone to a woman named Suda so that she wouldn't recognise the number.
The message read as follows:
come in yellow sari on monday without fail
After lunch she asked me to send the same message again but with some additional material:
come in yellow sari monday otherwise you will face the consequences. Then go to each class and bark like a dog.
Wasn't comfortable writing those at all. I really hope she's familiar with the game being played this aggressively.
Wednesday 1 December 2010
Wildlife on One
Before school today, I went for my morning wash which is a refreshing bucket-and-cold-tap affair. There's nothing strange about that but after going to dry myself with a towel I was a little bit disturbed to see that my brown towel was malting on me. A bit strange, considering it's about 3 years old and been washed more times than a month old baby's had hot dinners. I was however, thoroughly disturbed though to see that the hundreds of brown bits of towel all over me were actually red ants that had decided to nest in my towel (the perfect camouflage). For a second I completely understood how Macauley Culkin felt in My Girl with all those murderous wasps. Anyway, after soiling myself, I set about killing this unruly shower of bastards (who really like to bite...everywhere) with cold water. In hindsight, one silver lining is that at least I basically had two showers today. I will arrive home soon with an army of ant-killing products (that'll be 2 products) ready to kill some more. I don't care what anyone says, God was having a laugh when he gave us ants.
I have also had a gecko named Geoff living with me since Monday. He doesn't do much, in fact I never see him move, but he's always in a different position so he's definitely a living thing. He likes basking in the limelight a lot so we've got that in common.
Oh, and bought a new phone today which has all the usual features plus quite a large database of Christian, Muslim, Hindu and Sikh prayers for when you're on the go. Far more useful than bluetooth, that's for sure.
I have also had a gecko named Geoff living with me since Monday. He doesn't do much, in fact I never see him move, but he's always in a different position so he's definitely a living thing. He likes basking in the limelight a lot so we've got that in common.
Oh, and bought a new phone today which has all the usual features plus quite a large database of Christian, Muslim, Hindu and Sikh prayers for when you're on the go. Far more useful than bluetooth, that's for sure.
Monday 29 November 2010
Holidays²
I spent four beautifully rain-soaked days in Mahabalipuram (or Mamallapuram, it doesn't matter; Although they need to make their mind up if you ask me) this weekend. Although we were visiting a historic temple site, culture didn't play a pivotal part in the holiday. Admittedly, I spent most of the trip scratching my head as to how i'd ended up in this bizarre situation: on holiday from my DAYJOB in the South of India with just 8 Swedish females for company.
I managed to catch most of the first Ashes test which completely bemused the Swedes. I think they were just jealous their climate isn't, and never will be, ready for cricket. Being a half-arsed cricket fan means i'm in a win-win situation anyway because I don't really care that much when England are crap but lap up the glory when we're good.
The rest of the trip was spent eating Western food because, after 5 weeks of nothing but the stuff, rice can piss off back to the rice farm as far as i'm concerned. How anyone can live without at least 3 potatoes a day is beyond me.
I managed to catch most of the first Ashes test which completely bemused the Swedes. I think they were just jealous their climate isn't, and never will be, ready for cricket. Being a half-arsed cricket fan means i'm in a win-win situation anyway because I don't really care that much when England are crap but lap up the glory when we're good.
The rest of the trip was spent eating Western food because, after 5 weeks of nothing but the stuff, rice can piss off back to the rice farm as far as i'm concerned. How anyone can live without at least 3 potatoes a day is beyond me.
Sunday 28 November 2010
Reasons for being here.
1. Find self.
2. Get a tan.
3. Try to be a nice person for 6 months,
4. OK, pretend to be a nice person for 6 months. Acting Practice.
5. Save 2010-11 from being the Chinese Year of the Cock-up.
6. Work out what 1. means.
7. Oh no, it doesn't mean anything.
8. Make many, many lists.
9. Help others. (I died writing that).
My flat is in a place called Villivakkam, which is about as geared up for tourists as Batley or Penge. This makes the 10 minute walk to the shop a bit of a tiresome task because I would hazard an informed guess that i'm the only non-Indian within at least a miles radius and this means I get a lot of unwanted attention from people on the street. I no longer make the mistake of stopping for everyone anymore because answering the same three questions (Country? How long in India? Father's job?) is a bit repetitive. If i'm feeling generous i'll shout the answers to them as I walk past but most of the time my mind is so focused on the task in hand (buying instant pasta) that I ignore them completely.
The question that proves a bit of a poser is 'what are you doing here?'.
'pfft, I dunno' and 'shit happens' are popular answers.
Having said that, apparently there's snow in Britain and that's a headache best avoided. Oh, and enjoy hearing Shakin' Stevens for the 48th time by December 3rd.
p.s. I am actually having a fantastic time, it's just moaning fits me like a glove.
2. Get a tan.
3. Try to be a nice person for 6 months,
4. OK, pretend to be a nice person for 6 months. Acting Practice.
5. Save 2010-11 from being the Chinese Year of the Cock-up.
6. Work out what 1. means.
7. Oh no, it doesn't mean anything.
8. Make many, many lists.
9. Help others. (I died writing that).
My flat is in a place called Villivakkam, which is about as geared up for tourists as Batley or Penge. This makes the 10 minute walk to the shop a bit of a tiresome task because I would hazard an informed guess that i'm the only non-Indian within at least a miles radius and this means I get a lot of unwanted attention from people on the street. I no longer make the mistake of stopping for everyone anymore because answering the same three questions (Country? How long in India? Father's job?) is a bit repetitive. If i'm feeling generous i'll shout the answers to them as I walk past but most of the time my mind is so focused on the task in hand (buying instant pasta) that I ignore them completely.
The question that proves a bit of a poser is 'what are you doing here?'.
'pfft, I dunno' and 'shit happens' are popular answers.
Having said that, apparently there's snow in Britain and that's a headache best avoided. Oh, and enjoy hearing Shakin' Stevens for the 48th time by December 3rd.
p.s. I am actually having a fantastic time, it's just moaning fits me like a glove.
The Internet
Had a few people suggest i'm on the internet too much whilst i'm here. This is a fair assessment, i'm on here all the sodding time.But for, i'd argue, very good reason. I'm not, as some might expect, on here to check whether someone I met once is still in a complicated relationship with another person I had a brief exchange with at the same party. Nope, the number one reason for pissing hundreds and hundreds of rupees away in an Internet cafe is: Death. (Well, aside from mind-crippling boredom as well.) More specifically, the death of minor celebrities. All the time my attention is being diverted onto Indian things, I am scared of missing their deaths and being able to tick them off my checklist.
Let's say, for instance, that Patricia Routledge (of Keeping Up Appearances and Hetty Wainthropp Investigates fame) died tomorrow and i'm away from the internet for the next 2 days. Now, the poor old bird hasn't been in the limelight much for the last 10 years (Probably those ageist BBC scum at work again!) but that doesn't change the fact she's played a big part in my Sunday afternoon viewing habits whilst growing up. It also means that her death will probably only receive 24, maybe 36 hours of press coverage before it enters the news vaults forever. Then there's a good chance I won't have a conversation about the woman for anything up to 10 years. So, the year's 2020, i'm sitting in the pub and the conversation turns to classic sitcoms and suddenly i chime in with, 'oh my god, I can't believe that Pat Routledge is still alive'. To which another customer,Old Tommy, replies, "what planet are you living on mate? She died on November 28th 2010 peacefully at her home in Chichester, West Sussex." After this, there could be no recovery. I would have so much egg on my face that I would have to leave 3 quarters of a pint for the drains and make a hasty exit. Also, the year will be 2020 so pints will probably cost about a tenner.
And this is why the internet is a force for the good.
Let's say, for instance, that Patricia Routledge (of Keeping Up Appearances and Hetty Wainthropp Investigates fame) died tomorrow and i'm away from the internet for the next 2 days. Now, the poor old bird hasn't been in the limelight much for the last 10 years (Probably those ageist BBC scum at work again!) but that doesn't change the fact she's played a big part in my Sunday afternoon viewing habits whilst growing up. It also means that her death will probably only receive 24, maybe 36 hours of press coverage before it enters the news vaults forever. Then there's a good chance I won't have a conversation about the woman for anything up to 10 years. So, the year's 2020, i'm sitting in the pub and the conversation turns to classic sitcoms and suddenly i chime in with, 'oh my god, I can't believe that Pat Routledge is still alive'. To which another customer,Old Tommy, replies, "what planet are you living on mate? She died on November 28th 2010 peacefully at her home in Chichester, West Sussex." After this, there could be no recovery. I would have so much egg on my face that I would have to leave 3 quarters of a pint for the drains and make a hasty exit. Also, the year will be 2020 so pints will probably cost about a tenner.
And this is why the internet is a force for the good.
Tuesday 23 November 2010
Campaign for the Reinstatement of the Cane
I tend to be very tired every morning by about half ten. This is probably because I haven't had a routine for over 3 years and my sleeping patterns have become so nocturnal that at no point in the day will both a milkman and myself be awake. Anyway, for some reason today I was in a real stinker of a mood which meant that reading with 2nd Standard (Year 2 plus some older kids of lesser ability) wasn't high on my to-do list. In charge of a group of 6 boys and 1 girl, it almost definitely wasn't the best option to sit them next to a drum kit but there was a chair next to it and my seating options were limited. The girl was good as gold, but the majority of the other 6 had clearly decided amongst them to 'fuck things up' for good old AndrewUncle. I gave them some loud verbal warnings to button it but to no avail, so when John Rai decided to keep having his mother's meeting with Rahul it pushed me over the edge and I snapped.
In one pretty aggressive 'shut up' to a couple of little children, I think I may have seen inside the mind of a teacher. I now understand why Mr Johnson, our old music teacher at school, was a borderline psychopath. I understand why Ken Barlow punched that naughty lad in his English class in the face. More worryingly, I think I may be starting to understand that parental classic of, 'you'll thank me in years to come'.
Bollocks
In one pretty aggressive 'shut up' to a couple of little children, I think I may have seen inside the mind of a teacher. I now understand why Mr Johnson, our old music teacher at school, was a borderline psychopath. I understand why Ken Barlow punched that naughty lad in his English class in the face. More worryingly, I think I may be starting to understand that parental classic of, 'you'll thank me in years to come'.
Bollocks
Sunday 21 November 2010
Catholic Guilt
Bumped into Abraham The Puritanical Landlord on the way out to the shops this morning and he asked me something I didn't understand, so I shrugged my shoulders (the international sign for 'huh?'). He then indicated that he was asking if I was going to church because he put his hands together in a praying motion. It's funny that we have to resort to basic body language when we speak the same language day-to-day but worse still that they seem to have a harder time understanding my accent than I do the Indian accent.
Anyway, the church question could have been easily batted off with a couple of answers.
Option A: 'Yes'. Which would have been a lie. The upside is he would have been very happy and none-the-wiser as to my real plans:- Eat crisps and watch lots of goals on youtube. Also, I have form for lying so it would have been a piece of piss.
Option B: 'No'. A non-starter. He might not have cared, but I didn't want to take the chance. Better to play it safe and appear religious than him open a big can of whoop-ass on me. After all, the man has 6 of Christ's crosses on the gates of his house. That's more than 5 for heaven's sake.
Option C: 'Sod off you Nosy bastard.' My first preference but a bit rude.
Back in reality, I panicked and went for the worst possible answer of 'maybe'. I know this is bullshit, he knows this is bullshit, God knows this is bullshit, even little Tiger the dog can smell something a bit funny coming from my direction. It implies that either i'm a half-arsed Christian, a liar or 'not quite sure yet'.
Either way, i'm still not going to church. I have a very busy itinerary for the day. I have to guide Partick Thistle to promotion to the SPL whilst seeing off a multipack of kitkats and a pot noodle equivalent. It ain't easy being me.
Anyway, the church question could have been easily batted off with a couple of answers.
Option A: 'Yes'. Which would have been a lie. The upside is he would have been very happy and none-the-wiser as to my real plans:- Eat crisps and watch lots of goals on youtube. Also, I have form for lying so it would have been a piece of piss.
Option B: 'No'. A non-starter. He might not have cared, but I didn't want to take the chance. Better to play it safe and appear religious than him open a big can of whoop-ass on me. After all, the man has 6 of Christ's crosses on the gates of his house. That's more than 5 for heaven's sake.
Option C: 'Sod off you Nosy bastard.' My first preference but a bit rude.
Back in reality, I panicked and went for the worst possible answer of 'maybe'. I know this is bullshit, he knows this is bullshit, God knows this is bullshit, even little Tiger the dog can smell something a bit funny coming from my direction. It implies that either i'm a half-arsed Christian, a liar or 'not quite sure yet'.
Either way, i'm still not going to church. I have a very busy itinerary for the day. I have to guide Partick Thistle to promotion to the SPL whilst seeing off a multipack of kitkats and a pot noodle equivalent. It ain't easy being me.
Friday 19 November 2010
I've decided to become a vegetarian.
Only kidding. Today rubber-stamped what i've suspected for quite a long time; I can quite happily watch the torture of defenceless little animals as long as they end up a tasty treat on a plate ready for my belly.
On the way to school today (about an hour late as normal, which i'm definitely not complaining about), Joel stopped off at the poultry shop to grab us a couple of chickens. The smell of rotting chicken was pretty enticing so I followed him in to see what all the fuss was about. They had a brief conversation in Tamil which of course I didn't understand but, as usual, it sounded like there was going to be a fight instead of a transaction. Then the butcher went out to 'the back' and came back with three live birds (we'll call them olly, dolly and molly). I must have looked interested because the butcher, who was an old man with a Captain Birdseye beard, invited me round to witness the brutality straight away. He didn't mess about, he put some water on their necks and went straight for the jugular with a knife. I at least thought he'd go for a neck-wringing but each to his own. He claimed to be a chicken zoologist, which I nodded vigorously to at the time because I didn't want to appear stupid. Looking back, he was probably spinning me a line. He then put the chicken in what must be called a chicken-plucking-spinning-thing, then chopped, bagged and double-bagged the Mother up. 3 chickens for less than 6 quid by the way. And fresh ones too. Very fresh.
Two hours later I was tucking into coriander rice and chicken curry. Finger licken'. By the way, the chickens looked pretty happy to me and they weren't all cooped up so I think they died happier than most.
If this is offensive to vegetarians, cluck off.
On the way to school today (about an hour late as normal, which i'm definitely not complaining about), Joel stopped off at the poultry shop to grab us a couple of chickens. The smell of rotting chicken was pretty enticing so I followed him in to see what all the fuss was about. They had a brief conversation in Tamil which of course I didn't understand but, as usual, it sounded like there was going to be a fight instead of a transaction. Then the butcher went out to 'the back' and came back with three live birds (we'll call them olly, dolly and molly). I must have looked interested because the butcher, who was an old man with a Captain Birdseye beard, invited me round to witness the brutality straight away. He didn't mess about, he put some water on their necks and went straight for the jugular with a knife. I at least thought he'd go for a neck-wringing but each to his own. He claimed to be a chicken zoologist, which I nodded vigorously to at the time because I didn't want to appear stupid. Looking back, he was probably spinning me a line. He then put the chicken in what must be called a chicken-plucking-spinning-thing, then chopped, bagged and double-bagged the Mother up. 3 chickens for less than 6 quid by the way. And fresh ones too. Very fresh.
Two hours later I was tucking into coriander rice and chicken curry. Finger licken'. By the way, the chickens looked pretty happy to me and they weren't all cooped up so I think they died happier than most.
If this is offensive to vegetarians, cluck off.
Wednesday 17 November 2010
Spencer's Plaza
Went to the big shopping 'facility' in the centre of town today for the first time. It was pretty naff, although its' naffness had quite a lot to do with the Roman gimmick some genius had decided to launch it with.
Bought on trip:
Shorts
Jake 'The Snake' Roberts T-Shirt
Headphones
4 Postcards
Illegal Dee-Vee-Dee's
Lost Between Counter and Bag:
Headphones
4 Postcards
Doofus.
The DVD man Sathish convinced me his copies of The Simpsons were genuine by telling me that, 'I am having lots of English customers who are very happy with the quality. There's Craig, there's John. Very Happy'. His knowledge of bog-standard English names was incredibly reassuring and therefore good enough for me. Sold! to the pasty English boy in the shorts.
Also shunned the more traditional options for a Pizza Hut because ah'm English and ah do what ah fackin like.
Bought on trip:
Shorts
Jake 'The Snake' Roberts T-Shirt
Headphones
4 Postcards
Illegal Dee-Vee-Dee's
Lost Between Counter and Bag:
Headphones
4 Postcards
Doofus.
The DVD man Sathish convinced me his copies of The Simpsons were genuine by telling me that, 'I am having lots of English customers who are very happy with the quality. There's Craig, there's John. Very Happy'. His knowledge of bog-standard English names was incredibly reassuring and therefore good enough for me. Sold! to the pasty English boy in the shorts.
Also shunned the more traditional options for a Pizza Hut because ah'm English and ah do what ah fackin like.
Tuesday 16 November 2010
Thought for the day.
Can you go blind if really, REALLY hard rain goes in your eyes?
Of course not. Although it did cross my mind in the midst of another feck-off downpour this morning. However, I was particularly fragile this morning after yesterday's 'Children's Day'. Now I am all for public holidays; in fact they're fantastic. But I really don't understand how the Indian economy isn't in absolute freefall with the amount of time they get off. Anyhow, my position for the day at the school was as Chief Sandwich Judge (caps emphasising importance) for the sarnie-making competition that each child got to have a crack at during the day. Now, they don't make a lot of sandwiches over here, (I spotted an Indian in a cinema with one once but I think he was a bit odd.) so making the sandwiches was a bit of a novelty for the kids and the teachers told them to bring in their own vegetables and we'd provide the bread. Of course, everyone knows that vegetables are disgusting but I let them off because, as teachers, they had to be seen to be promoting the 'right thing'. Having tasted around 50 sandwiches, I decided the winning sandwich had to be Vassant and Sonya's creation which was much the same as all the others but they'd had the ingenuity to chuck a fried egg on top.
Vassant and Sonya's Recipe:
1 Carrot (chopped)
1 Red Onion (chopped)
1 White Radish (chopped)
Mint Leaves (???)
1 Egg (fried)
Butter (spread evenly)
Bombay Mix (Obviously not called that here)
2 Slices White Bread
Ketchup (Spread evenly)
It was pretty nice, actually. Although the same cannot be said for a Carrot, onion and strawberry jam bap that I had to tuck into a bit later.
The rest of the day was a success save for having to dance in front of the school with the other volunteers at the end. I plumped for a mixture of riverdance and twostepping in order to avoid looking a total chump.
I have another day off for a Muslim fest called Bakrid tomorrow. Obviously i've no idea what that entails and to be perfectly honest, i'll probably choose to ignore the nitty gritty unless someone shouts an explanation directly into my ears.
Of course not. Although it did cross my mind in the midst of another feck-off downpour this morning. However, I was particularly fragile this morning after yesterday's 'Children's Day'. Now I am all for public holidays; in fact they're fantastic. But I really don't understand how the Indian economy isn't in absolute freefall with the amount of time they get off. Anyhow, my position for the day at the school was as Chief Sandwich Judge (caps emphasising importance) for the sarnie-making competition that each child got to have a crack at during the day. Now, they don't make a lot of sandwiches over here, (I spotted an Indian in a cinema with one once but I think he was a bit odd.) so making the sandwiches was a bit of a novelty for the kids and the teachers told them to bring in their own vegetables and we'd provide the bread. Of course, everyone knows that vegetables are disgusting but I let them off because, as teachers, they had to be seen to be promoting the 'right thing'. Having tasted around 50 sandwiches, I decided the winning sandwich had to be Vassant and Sonya's creation which was much the same as all the others but they'd had the ingenuity to chuck a fried egg on top.
Vassant and Sonya's Recipe:
1 Carrot (chopped)
1 Red Onion (chopped)
1 White Radish (chopped)
Mint Leaves (???)
1 Egg (fried)
Butter (spread evenly)
Bombay Mix (Obviously not called that here)
2 Slices White Bread
Ketchup (Spread evenly)
It was pretty nice, actually. Although the same cannot be said for a Carrot, onion and strawberry jam bap that I had to tuck into a bit later.
The rest of the day was a success save for having to dance in front of the school with the other volunteers at the end. I plumped for a mixture of riverdance and twostepping in order to avoid looking a total chump.
I have another day off for a Muslim fest called Bakrid tomorrow. Obviously i've no idea what that entails and to be perfectly honest, i'll probably choose to ignore the nitty gritty unless someone shouts an explanation directly into my ears.
Monday 8 November 2010
Abraham
Sitting in my flat reading Jimmy Greaves's autobiography got very boring very quickly on Saturday, so I went to the internet cafe down the road to check everything and stream the very painful Palace match. There's no need for anyone to know that whatsoever but bear with me. I left the cafe at 10.40pm and arrived back to my flat at 11 to find the front gate padlocked. This isn't a massive problem in itself as the gate is only about 5 foot high. So I thought i'd climb it. My only problem was that the landlord of the building Abraham (who lives below me) has a little yappy dog called Tiger. (Abraham is a puritanical protestant, so the decision to name his dog after the world's greatest golfer and lover has backfired on him somewhat.). Anyhow, the little yappy dog starts yapping and yaps away for a good 10 minutes until Abraham wakes up and comes and finds me looking a little bit pissed off with his lot in life. 11pm seems to be very late in this part of the world. He's also the sort of bloke who just wears a loincloth when he's round the house. To cut an even longer story short, this half naked religious nut gives me a severe dressing down about my extreme lateness and warns me that I have to be back on the premises by a 9pm curfew.
So I've basically got an ASBO for going on facebook too much. Great.
So I've basically got an ASBO for going on facebook too much. Great.
Friday 29 October 2010
I got ill
Probably deserved, i've been pretty happy-go-lucky with all the street stalls. That's enough detail about that.
What I can say is that Chennai is a mad place and i've barely seen any of it yet. The flat i'm living in for the next 2 months was given to me by the school administrator called Joel, who has incredibly given me his flat for two months while he sleeps on his cousin's floor. To compound how terrible I felt about this fact, he actually didn't have a bed until he got a carpenter to make one two days before I arrived. That seems to be what Indians enjoy though; they bloody love doing things for other people.
Every morning, Joel 'Carl Fogarty' Rajesh picks me up on his yamaha motorbike and drives at what is constantly between 60-80 km/h. Now I have never liked putting my body on the line at the best of times, but in Chennai I fear for my life every morning and afternoon. I cannot describe how chaotic the roads are (tried and failed) and there's no helmet involved at any stage of the game. Anyway, on a positive note, it does wake me up and dry my hair. (Oh and it's superwickedfast).
The school's an amazing place as well in all the ways you'd expect. But i'll talk about that another time in small detail or probably not all because I can't talk about it for too long without sounding like a nob. Suffice to say, i'm Billy Connolly.
What I can say is that Chennai is a mad place and i've barely seen any of it yet. The flat i'm living in for the next 2 months was given to me by the school administrator called Joel, who has incredibly given me his flat for two months while he sleeps on his cousin's floor. To compound how terrible I felt about this fact, he actually didn't have a bed until he got a carpenter to make one two days before I arrived. That seems to be what Indians enjoy though; they bloody love doing things for other people.
Every morning, Joel 'Carl Fogarty' Rajesh picks me up on his yamaha motorbike and drives at what is constantly between 60-80 km/h. Now I have never liked putting my body on the line at the best of times, but in Chennai I fear for my life every morning and afternoon. I cannot describe how chaotic the roads are (tried and failed) and there's no helmet involved at any stage of the game. Anyway, on a positive note, it does wake me up and dry my hair. (Oh and it's superwickedfast).
The school's an amazing place as well in all the ways you'd expect. But i'll talk about that another time in small detail or probably not all because I can't talk about it for too long without sounding like a nob. Suffice to say, i'm Billy Connolly.
Sunday 24 October 2010
Toy Story 3
Was a triumph. I had a leg spasm whilst sleeping an hour into a seven hour flight and knocked my table tray over an Ossie woman. A mixture of coffee and coke. Awkward.
Saturday 23 October 2010
This is a blog. A TRAVEL BLOG
I'm off in three hours.
Pre-Match Thoughts:- It feel a bit like i'm on The Truman Show and they've just built India. Packed a joblot of Imodium so fingers crossed on that front. Grimy. Definitely going to frazzle.
Righto, I won't go on.
tata.
ps. i'm currently 77th in the world at fantasy football.
oh, and tell all your friends
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