Delhi, India

Sam, 9.

Last week I went to Delhi which is a city in India. It is a very big city with lots of people I think less people than London but a lot more of the same people. It is a very loud and hot place.  I was more wet after drying myself after the shower than I was before drying myself after the shower.  Everyone in Delhi seems to be doing something and no-one stands still for more than a second. I got very tired looking at all the people buying and selling and selling and buying.  From fruit to bikes to car tyres to nuts and bolts everything is sold by someone to someone else.  Delhi reminded me of an ants nest as there seemed to be people everywhere down every alley and in every street. On the pavement and in the middle of the road people people and more people. 

On my first day in in Delhi I got taken to a shop where the man who said he was from the government tried to sell me ten days in a car with a man I had never met before which didn't seem like much fun to me.  He said the only way to see India was ten days in a car with a man I had never met before.  He tried to make me feel silly for wanting to get the train and not wanting to spend ten days in a car with a man I had never met before. I think he was silly. He said he doesn't like Delhi and he lives there so I am not sure I trust him.  Afterwards I got the train which is called the Metro to visit a famous mosque which is a place where Muslims go to pray.  The man who took me from the station to the mosque on the back of his bike which had a place for me to sit didn't understand English and looked annoyed when I gave him double what he had asked for.  I couldn't understand why he was annoyed so I walked off in a huff.  The mosque was very big and can hold 25000 people which is the same as a small football ground but I didn't say this as I think comparing religion and football would probably annoy some people.  In the mosque there seemed to be a lot of people who wanted my money for tickets for shoes for taking photos. I got very annoyed and I think they could tell.  I took some nice photos from the top of a very tall tower at the mosque. I liked it up high as you were far away from the streets with all the people shouting and all the cars beeping.  The cars in Delhi share the road with motorbikes and people and cows and dogs and no-one seems to care how fast they go or how close they are to all the other cars and motorbikes and people and cows and dogs.  The beeps and the smoke made my ears and my eyes hurt.  After the mosque I went and hid in my room.

The next day in Delhi I went and saw a fort which was very dull but was nice because it had thick walls which meant I could close my eyes and think that I wasn't in Delhi.  After the fort I went to New Delhi which is next to Old Delhi but is newer.  It is where the English people who used to live in Delhi lived.  When I got there it was a hot and dusty building site. This has something to do with the Commonwealth Games.  I really wanted to see some of the old houses designed by an Englishman called Edward Lutyens but I felt trapped with all the noise and dust and heat and people and building so I never did. Instead a man told me that I had something on my shoe which was true as when I looked down there was dog poo on my shoe. I know it wasn't there 2 seconds before as I had looked.  I think the man put it there himself as I don't think you can stand in dog poo but only get it on the top of your shoe.  I also think it is odd that the man collects poo to put on someone's shoe to then clean off of someones shoes.  I didn't let him clean my shoes. I used a leave and rubbed the shoe in some dust and that worked fine.

After cleaning my shoes I got my bag and got the train out of Delhi. I don't think I have ever been so happy to leave somewhere. I didn't like Delhi very much.       

Agra, India

A dedication to love?

- Can you talk?
- Quite the impossible question to answer in the negative. Saying no means yes.
- I don't follow.
- You lead then?
- What?
- Never mind. I can talk but I suspect you would rather I listen
- Yes.
- Ok.  My aural attention is centered on your oral outpourings.
- My girlfriend has left me.
- Oh dear.
- Yes.  I am very upset and was thinking I want to do something to get her back.  Something to show her how much I love her.
- A wise move?
- Thanks.
- On reflection I needed more inflection.  So pray tell by what method, by what means do you propose to regain the affection of the one you held so dear?
- I'm not sure - any ideas?
- One or two.  A poem perhaps? The evocation of love through words on a page.  Simple means, powerful ends.  Shall I compare thee to a summer's day...
- I'm not really into poetry.
- Quite.  Will a song perhaps fit the bill? Bringing about harmony through harmony as it were.  To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die...
- I can't sing.
- Then no supper for you.
- Sorry?
- Really no need.  We are not getting very far.  Have you any ideas of your own?
- I want to build something.
- Ah.
- Ah - good idea or ah  - bad idea?
- Ah with no opinion attached.  So you desire to build something? Some form of monument to love?  With these hands I prove my love for you. With my blood, sweat and tears I make emotion stand tall. Any reason for such a desire?
- I saw a photo of the Taj Mahal and thought it looked impressive.
- Undeniably so. A feat of many years and many hands. The anguish of the human soul taken solid form.
- Didn't some guy build it for his wife?
- Quite so.  Shah Jahan, ruler of the Mughal empire, was said to be so devastated by the death of his third wife and mother to fourteen of his children that he built the Taj Mahal in dedication to her.  A place for her body to rest and her soul to live on.
- Sounds pretty powerful.
- And with a sad twist.  Imprisoned by his own son in a nearby fort he could only watch as his dream became completed reality.
- Oh.  Well anyways - I want to do something like that.
- Ambition is a virtue.
- Isn't that patience?
- You have one I am losing the other.  Back to the Taj.  Are you able to marshal the wealth of an empire?  Are you able to call to hand the finest artisans, the greatest living artists?
- No but then I was thinking maybe something on a smaller scale.
- Perhaps wise. 

"Can I get you something else sir?"
"Coffee, black as the night."
"Certainly."
"I have no doubts."
"Excuse me?"
"Certainly."

- So, perhaps a new Taj is too much?
- I did really love her though.
- Quite but a building of a thousand bricks does not declare love with any greater force than one built with ten.
- Hmmm. So, what should I build?
- To persuade her of your love?  To pay fitting tribute to the power of your feelings for her?  To convey the emotion you feel in your soul?
- Yes.
- A snowman.
- Sorry?! A snowman?
- Yes, I can think of no more fitting monument to love than that. Here today, gone tomorrow.  Love is futile. Love is whimsy.  When the snow stops falling the snowman melts.  All that is left is a memory and a damp patch. 
- You are being cynical.
- I prefer clinical.

"Your coffee - black."
"My gratitude is extended."
"Can I ask you a question sir?"
"You just have but another I will allow."
¨Who are you talking to?¨
"My romantic side."

My father's advice

When my father caught me...

When my father caught me smoking my first cigarette he looked at me and said:

"Son, if you are to enjoy some of this life's many vices you must also learn the danger of excess."

And thus he proceeded to sit and watch as I smoked the entire packet one drag after the other.

When my father caught me drinking my first whiskey he looked at me and said:

"Son, if you are to enjoy some of this life's many vices you must also learn the danger of excess."


And thus he proceeded to sit and watch as I drank the entire bottle one sip after another.

Alas, he never caught me in a brothel...

Beep Glossary, India

To beep is human...

Hopefully this glossary will be of some use to anyone intending to drive in India. Allowing for slight regional variations in dialect and accent the below list should provide a good grounding in the basics:

All to be performed using car or other vehicular horn.

One beep [can mean any of the following]:

Turn left, turn right, slow down, speed up, I'm turning right, I'm turning left, I'm small and you're big and I'm next to you so don't crush me, I'm big and you're small and I'm next to you so don't let me crush you, get out of my way, hello, road hog!, drink later?, how's the family?, have you heard my new horn, I have a new t-shirt, listen to how peaceful it is here and finally sorry my hand slipped and hit the horn.

Two beeps (as above with emphasis).

Three beeps (as above with EXTRA emphasis).

Continuous beep:

All of the above.

Cochin, Kerala, India

A child of the empire

Many of us in our lives will stand on the edge of history, on the cusp of a change in the world in which which know. Sometimes we will be aware of the significance of the events which are unfolding around us, sometimes not.  From the first match won by a future sporting great to the declaration of war - events can be both small and also great both seemingly innocuous and also undeniably, incontrovertibly huge.

With these thoughts in mind it is with not less than a little moisture in my eye that I look back upon my time living in India.  In particular, of late, my mind increasingly turns to the last few days I spent in the country on whose soil I had been born and within whose warm embrace I spent the first blissful years of my life.  Looking back now in the dusk of my years as the day of my life turns to night and autumn turns to winter I can only reflect on the monumental changes being wrought in the years that led to independence and to our departure from India's shores to those of dear old Blighty.

I suppose I was aware of the shouts for independence becoming ever louder in those years.  200 years of the British Raj it was known to all would never see 300 not out.  The sun was beginning to set on the empire on which the sun never set.  Somehow though life in Fort Cochin remained the one of idyllic isolation it had always been.  At times a world apart from the rest of India its streets never thronged with more than an occasional motorbike and maybe an inquisitive cow or two.  For in the tangle of no more than 20 streets or so that I called home man was more common than machine and life reflected a pace of life borne of the heat and the fact that when everyone moves as slowly as everyone else then no-one falls behind.    

I spent my days wandering the streets, occasionally taking a houseboat down to the mile upon mile of Keralan backwaters to spend a worthwhile day doing absolute nothing other than laying back and letting the gentle waters gently lull me to sleep.  From restaurant to cafe I ate curry and drank chai with gleeful abandon - my time was my own (so rare in life can we truly say such a thing) and the wasting of that most precious resource has never since seemed less of a waste.  Occasionally I would dust down my notebook and scribe a few passages.  These days my early writings give me some cause for amusement.  A tendency for the prolix was my forte.  The syllables in the words, the words in the sentences and the sentences in the paragraphs stretched ever further into the distance, alas never quite reaching the point.  Cared for by the staff of our ample home as if I were there own never has a child known so many parents and so much love.  Rahesh our dear wallah would sit me on his knee as we sipped lime juice on the veranda and tell me tales of his homeland in the north.  A complexion of pure burnished leather the colour of the finest mahogany he was loyal to my father, his master, with a devotion and respect that still amazes me to this day. 

So, what of India now?  What legacy did the Raj leave?  Perhaps it is difficult to define.  The concrete and steel of the Indian railways stands as testament to the dedication of man - something tangible, something which still today carries daily a number of people so great and to be all but incomprehensible.  It seems odd to talk of India's democracy as a legacy of the empire and ultimately its foreign rule and ceding of independent, native power but perhaps it can be done.  Democracy surely breeds democracy with greater voracity than communism ever did.  Other examples truly risk - as indeed the above do also - a blurring of facts and contributions.  200 years of shared history does not lead to easy separation and allocation of what was of Indian origin and what was British.  India though stands today as an Independent nation in control of its own destiny and with an economy set to eclipse all and if such can be said to be truly a legacy of the British then I can look back with fondness. 

Alas I fear the case is far from so clear.  Empire as purely a force for good?  Few could honestly argue such.  As we increasingly close our borders at home to 'foreigners' it seems to be without irony that people talk of the sovereignty of our nation and the dangers of immigration.  A tiny island with grand ambitions our history of colonial crusaders means we have perhaps crossed more borders uninvited than any other nation.  Trade was our justification, boats and weapons our passports.  The dark skinned native was at most an easily quelled nuisance but more often than not a 'willing' (read controllable) worker to be 'employed' (as farm animals are employed) in the furthering of the aims of the empire's heart.  We now call that loose group of previously colonial nations the 'Commonwealth' - an ironic name I am sure.  Common was the natural wealth distributed throughout the empire but the financial wealth and power it created was ever anything but common.  The grand colonial homes now pored over by tourists and venerated as fine examples of this or that type of architecture surely hide a darker past than the guidebooks and brochures ever reveal.  Built through exploitation they are the trophies of men who so often took but never gave.  Arguments that the empire used the resources to their maximum extent ignores the fact that no-one will ever know what would have happened otherwise.





The Spanish?  There was never enough gold in India to interest the colonial descendants of Mr Pizzaro.

The Portuguese?  They tried - Vasco de Gama and his boats made some early inroads in India but they never had the b*lls or the barracks to have any truly grand ambitions.  That said; Madeira and Brazil undeniably make lovely holiday spots for the linguistically challenged Lisboner.

France?  No.  They can cook, they can design clothes but crusade. No.

Germany?  The empire building aspirations of the Germans came later than most but any dreams to begin their adventure in Europe before moving further afield were drenched in lunacy: "But mein herr, you yourself are not blonde?".  The might of the allies and some over ambitious military planning saving the world.  For no longer is the world one of one on one conflicts.  The crossing of borders brings ramifications beyond the invader and the invaded.  Rather the world has become one of gang warfare with the main two gangs, in simplified form, being 'good' and 'evil' though to which side one belongs is perhaps a complicated subject...

The India of today though is one I would recognise but with some noticeable changes.  The population explosion continues unabated soaring past 1 billion and ending who knows where.  The cult of commercialism and its most potent exponent the entrepreneur has taken hold with quite fervent energy.  From software to cement, from tourism to airlines many an India dreams of adding innumerable zeros to their bank balance.  The Western trait ever becomes the global trait.  The new cathedrals of commerce continue to dwarf their religions elders.  The hectic pace of life creeps into every corner - even dearest Cochin I fear - as tourism turns the tranquil into the crowded and families burst forth from every room in every building and from every inch of every pavement.  India though for all its well documented problems - poverty and how to deal with the byproducts of that mass of people being but two - retains its charms.  India is a country of experience - yes the Taj is beautiful but somehow sitting in the back of a flimsy Tuk Tuk in six lanes of traffic knowing only that you will end up somewhere, sometime always brings a smile...

I loved India.  I love India.  The British will forever be part of its history and it is my hope that in some way we will be part of its future as well.

A child of the Raj. 

Palolem Beach, Canacona, India

The taking of paradise: A bloodless coup...


No-one working in the Visa office really noticed the increased number of applications.  The stamping of passports had become second nature.  The dull thud thud of stamp into ink and onto passport had developed a hypnotic regularity. Barely imperceptible increases in speed - a little less ink on the stamp, a little more blur in the passport - kept the 'Waiting to be approved' pile at the regulation height.

"Our country most popular, sahib"
"Yes, most definitely'

No-one managing the Visa office really noticed the ever upward trend in the number of processed and approved applications. "Good weather, advertising campaigns and several good press reports" read the variance analysis submitted to head office.  "Nothing further to note" it concluded.  Investigations meant delays and delays meant wasted time and money - ever the Damocles sword to such an efficient set-up.

No-one really noticed the trickle turned flood of pale skinned invaders flown in week by week followed before long by day by day.  From all four corners of a small square they arrived, completely conspicuous in their surroundings they were thus completely inconspicuous as tourists. 

No-one really noticed as the beach slowly disappeared daily under a tide of towels.  Each nation sent forth it's finest to make the morning land grab long before the first rays of the sun could be seen or the first hint of its warmth felt.  Base camps were established in strategic positions each and every day and guarded with vigour from those who could not disguise their covetous gaze.  As the sun climbed in the sky so the bodies climbed the beach, a human carpet of lightly frying bodies.

No-one really noticed the two new bars, three new hotels and one shopping centre being built.  With architecture motivated by speed and cost, considerations regarding appearance came but a distant and really quite perfunctory third.   The complete incongruity of the new buildings ensured they blended in perfectly.  In a vista of unfinished concrete and peeling paint, several more blots on the landscape made no impact at all.

No-one really noticed as the English pub pulled its first pint and showed its first football match.  Alongside the German bakery and the French delicatessen helping to ensure home was never too far away.  Burger and chips replaced local fare and a heritage of sobriety gave way to a tradition of drink.

No-one really noticed as the opening hours grew ever longer and the closing hours ever shorter.  The excesses of the night before slept off the day after in the cool shaded interior of the hotel, a rapid recovery imperative for the next night's assault.  The base camp stood depleted but never unmanned.

No-one really noticed the broken bottles scattered on the beach, nor the blood spilled as friendships built on drink had turned to enmity borne of a drink too many.  Glances thrown with intense and strained indifference bore testament to the hollow moments of lust and empty proclamations of love made but hours before.

No-one really noticed that paradise just wasn't paradise anymore.

Panaji (Panjim), India

Not much to tell of Panjim other than it proved to be all that I hoped it would be.  Commentary on the City will be sparse I regret to say as my time was spent mainly ensconced in an air conditioned room, on a bed of clean sheets and under a solid ceiling with not even the whisper of a crack for a rat to slip through.  Perfection.

On my very brief wanders from the room I went all 'superior traveller' with a little bit of local patronage - lunch was a 30p 'mutton' (apparently goat in these parts) curry secured from the most dingy looking backstreet canteen I could find.  Eaten with chapati covered hands both flavour, experience and all too prevalent bone were enjoyed in equal measure (er, apart from the bone).  Returning to my room I lay down and began the uneasy wait that often succeeds an Indian meal to see if I had just made a serious error of judgement...

Raising my accommodation budget from 5 to 20 pounds a night (all that commuting had to be for something) I turned the TV on, turned up the A/C and turned down the [sort of] crisp [once] white sheets.  The desired outcome became the outcome and having smashed my previous Indian record of 15 minutes continuous sleep I awoke ready to resume the travelling lifestyle where luxury is blasphemous and comfort controversial.

Rucksack on back and rough directions in mind I emerged at 9am into the 30 degree heat of a South Indian morning.  Heading for the bus station which had seemed fairly innocuous (maybe 50 or so belching buses) on my arrival I began the process of trying to locate the bus that would take me part way to my next destination.

Deciding that where I had disembarked the day before may be a good place to embark the day after I began the following process (repeated circa 10 times):

'Margao?'
'Other side, over there.' A phrase combined with a point and a wave in a general 180 degree (sometimes more) direction.

Other side?  What other side? Over there?  Over where? Ah that other side!  Ah over there! My inquiries and repetitious following of pointing hands revealed that I had only previously glimpsed the scale of this particular bus station.  Stretching in all directions and with not a clear destination on the front of any bus in sight I asked again and again, triangulating the angles of suggested direction and zig-zagging between bus after bus.  A snail lost in a forest of human feet.  After about 20 minutes of such pantomime-like behaviour I found the bus I needed standing as an oasis in a desert of false hopes and wrong turns.  Simple.  And my what a bus - with the same number of passengers as seats this was travel of a most orderly nature.  The trip to Margao passed in restrained fashion - traffic jams and congestion inhibiting our speed and thus the worst excesses of the driver...

Margao obtained it was time to find the next bus - a far simpler process this time - as I sat and waited I stretched out over two seats surprised at how empty the bus was - I should have known.  The sign read '50 seated, 11 standing', I assume, with hindsight, that the driver couldn't read.  Stop after stop meant passenger after passenger joined the melee.  I gave up count post about 30 standing - the Central Line at rush hour is deserted by comparison.  Businessmen, families and the entire third grade of a reasonably sized district school stood shoulder to waist to shoulder to waist immersed in heat the like of which would be considered excessive for any self-respecting sauna.  Spending time equally between the left and right hand side of the road the liberal (read almost constant) use of the horn worked its magic once more as all in our path lost the game of 'chicken' our driver revelled in - an overladen bus with dubious brakes and, at times, a seemingly irresistible force of forward motion proving top trump against most other road users.  As we careered ever onwards the already tired suspension became overwhelmed and the bus lurched from side to side as our progress and speed made no allowance for corner or straight.  Acting as one the bus and its human cargo leaned from side to side in perfect resonance; with each extra mile of speed our collective lean gained an extra degree.  Never before I have regretted so much the choice of a window seat.  When the view from said window is invariably of tarmac or sky things are not as they should be...

After an hour which passed at great speed but with an interminable slowness we achieved our destination.  Like the nervous flier I stepped from the bus onto terra firma and thanked the lord of travel for keeping me safe once more...to the beach...