Christmas Capers

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.

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.

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.

'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.

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 (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.

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.
 

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.

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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.

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.

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.