Down Malabar Hill

As I first looked over a map of Mumbai, I spied a word that held a strange magic for me – Malabar. In my childhood, HMS Malabar was the name of the Royal Naval station in Bermuda; the last remnants of its dockyard were part of a boy’s paradise of real and imagined dangers, amongst the abandoned buildings and rusting cranes, deep moats and empty magazines of Britain’s fortress of the Atlantic.

The view South East, to Old Mumbai.

So, before I even really knew what it was, I was determined to visit this other Malabar and discover what might have linked the two places. I have to say that I haven’t yet discovered that link – it may after all have been no more than (navy) gin fuelled whimsy – but my afternoon walk provided some intriguing glimpses of life in one of the oldest parts of greater Mumbai.

The “Hanging Gardens” lie close to the summit of Malabar Hill, which turns out to contain the highest natural point above the city. Here, young and old stroll through flower beds and winding paths that give haze filled glimpses of the heart of the former capital of the Raj, below. The first steps away from these summit views took me through a children’s playground – there were certainly children around, but the swing area was entirely occupied by a group of young women, thoroughly enjoying an afternoon amongst friends.

Girls on the swings

A roadside cobbler – to his left the entrance to the Government guesthouse – a huge palace.

The main road down the hill is a broad avenue between huge buildings, each with high gates and very serious looking security guards. Aware of how tense city police still after the terrorist attacks in 2010 and the riots in 2011, I refrain from transgressing public rule number one – no photographing government buildings. So, I have no pictures, save for this of a roadside cobbler.

But, with the help of a passing cab, I eventually reach the entrance to a narrow alley that I am told leads to the Banganga Tank, a large, open fresh-water reservoir, reputed in some local stories to be the centre of the earth, itself.

This gave me another small set of photos, making too many for this single posting, but see my second post of this series – “By Banganga Tank”.

Then, as I skirted around the side of the tank, I saw this small alleyway off to my left, through which I could just see the sea. As I walked down it, an older man, sitting with his family, caught my eye. Instinctively, I performed a Namaste, bowing slightly. At first surprised, he returned the traditional greeting to the spirit, and then rose to shake my hand, welcoming laughter in his eyes.

The alleyway to the sea

This mutual ceremony of dignity respect was, I think, the reason why no further heed was paid to either me or my camera as I took these last shots in the failing light of my first day here.

Sunset at the bottom of the hill

West along the shore

Faces

I had a lot of great times in the six weeks I spent in India and Nepal and there are still a couple of blogs I want to write about places that I went, but this one is a selection of some of the pictures I have of some of the people I met on my travels. Enough said.

A workman who passed me on my morning walk to the office.

A stall-holder in Pedong market

Mother and child in the main square at Bhaktapur.  A little while earlier, they had been begging on the steet corner.

Making a point – the daily debate at the monastery in Lava.

Preparing a rice paddy in Chitwan

A car workshop in Kalimpong

My regular supplier of snacks and soft-drinks – a roadside shopkeeper in Kalimpong

Wash day in Kathmandu – just three more buckets out of shot.

 

Pictures of dedication

My visit to the Nepalese city of Bhaktapur coincided with the country’s New Year celebrations (it is now 2070 in their calendar) and the nine day festival of Bisket Jatra. As a Northern European, used to private and quiet religious celebrations conducted oncwe a week, this was a bit of an eye-opener, on all three fronts.

The chariot of Bhairab at rest in the main square.

We arrived in the city on New Years’ Eve (13 April’ this year) which is also day 4 of the Bisket Jatra celebrations. Initially, it seemed like nothing more than the usual might be going on – we strolled around, took a couple of pictures, exchanged pleasantries with the flute peddlers and generally relaxed. But then the crowds started growing and moving and we with them. I have no pictures of that evening, so I shall just have to do my best with words.

Bisket Jatra is a nine-day celebration around a romantic story involving a couple of gods, a king’s cursed princess, several dead suitors and a hero. Intertwined with this story is one another, mystery tale, of the principle God and Goddess of the city being the wrathful aspects of Shiva (the destroyer) and his consort. Okay, so far? During the festival, the Gods are placed in great big wooden chariots that are dragged through the streets by groups of young men, who win the privilege in a giant tug of war that is held at the start of the festival. Moving these things on the cobbled streets is no easy task, either to do or control. Our hotel manager told us that the day before we arrived, two people were crushed to death under the wheels of Bhairab on his way to the upper square. He seemed quite excited about it.

The erect “pole” – the crosspiece is supposed to represent an evil snake that has been speared before it could prevent him rescuing the princess. Um.

That evening, we went to see the fourth day of ceremonies in the lower square. Here, literally hundreds of young men, surrounded by a crowd of thousands, worked to erect a 20m (60′) tree trunk on a plinth in the main square. I am afraid my picture from the morning after gives only a slight impression of the size, but imagine, if you can – around 200 men, dragging on eight ropes that are tied to the cross-piece. Their efforts are timed to the beat of a separate tree trunk being lifted and then dropped on the plinth (it takes three men to do just that) amplified by the shouts of the crowd. “Urah! Urah! Urah!” X frames built from the branches of the same tree (and held together by hand-made rope) are pushed into place to provide support, between bouts of effort. But with no guide ropes the pole frequently swings sideways, threatening the mass of onlookers who run away, screaming and laughing, returning in a few minutes when the panic has passed. True; there are armed police attempting some crowd control but any health and safety officers have quietly crawled away to be sick in a corner.

All I can say is that the excitement generated by this event made it clear that our English Maypoles and Morris Dancers have a thing or two to learn about Spring fertility rites! Especially, given that none of these things seemed to be organised in any systematic way. This is a festival of and by the people – while Hindus have their priestly caste, the Brahmins, their Sadhus and temple attendants, the life of their religion is carried in the blood and the dedication of the people. As demonstrated by these other scenes from the day after.

The throng around the base of the pillar, doing puja.

A plate of offerings to the gods.

Morning offerings – take on New Years’ Day, but something you might see at any time.

Boys, meantime, do what they do.

A shrine in the middle of the main square.

And if you need a nap, well, take it – and where better, but in the lap of the God.

In closing, this one 24 hours probably taught me more about the true nature of India (and Nepal) than I could ever have expected. What unites these places is not their national boundaries or their politics, or even the religion. There are two main features I keep returning to. There is this irrepressible quality of eagerness and an appetite for living that is quite capable of sweeping all and everything before it; it runs throughout their society – vibrant, wilful, open; unmoderated and therefore dangerous, but exciting and captivating. But there is also this deeper seam of quiet, insistent and persistent dedication which expresses itself in the daily rites of puja that I witnessed everywhere I went – a core of value that seems to speak of something truly ancient and universal in humanity.

Mission update 3; hand-over time

Now back home, and after a few of days to get over the jet-lag, I sent off my hand-over report to my English MondoFoundation coordinator. I am pleased to say that it is all looking pretty good. Six weeks was always going to be too short a time to see any material effects (did you know that it takes at least three months to grow a carrot?) but work has properly begun on the first site and the first departures from plan have been 2/3 positive and only 1/3 unnerving…[1]. Next week, I will meet with my coordinator and successor to discuss the practical ramifications of all this, and that will be that, at least for now.

Writing the report has helped me to summarise the business side of the experience, but I am struggling to know what to say about the wider trip. The experience has certainly affected me more deeply than I had imagined, let alone articulate. Staying with Jiwan and his family and working withh them and the schools, this was less of a visit and more of a complete immersion in a very different culture and way of living. At the very least, I do find that I am able to look at my western cultural surroundings with both more value and less attachment.

It has also been one of the most uplifting and satisfying experiences of my recent years; everything about it was new for me – working with schools, working with agriculture, working abroad. And doing it in the vibrant, emergent chaos of northern India; such a contrast to the apparent quietude of my rural English village.  So, there is a lot that I shall miss – not least because I wasn’t there for the first poly-houses go up and won’t see the first crops go into the ground. I’ll get reports of course, not just from Jiwan, the project manager, but from the next Mondo ambassador who will be starting his visit in mid-May. I guess I shall just have to see whether I can get out there again.

And if you want to know more about what I was doing and who with, here are some links –

A video interview in two parts, with Mondo founder Anthony Lunch, about the work of the foundation.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5E_iOQjEyI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_gc22d4DAo

And links to the MondoChallenge website and its sister volunteer organisation, Vanilla – Generation.

http://mondochallengefoundation.org/

http://www.vanillaventures.co.uk/generation/

I’ll be publishing some other posts from Kalimpong and Nepal in due course, but in the meantime, here are some more pictures of the project, the schools and the team

One of the parents

Meeting Mala, the MCK agricultural advisor

Prayers at Pioneer school

Me at lessons…

Jiwan looking more relaxed than I’d seen him all visit.

Me (bottom left) being grilled by the three particpating headmasters.

And breaking news………

The first poly-house under construction!

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[1] In business as in war and life, the whole point of a plan is to help you marshal your resources and get prepared. Generally speaking, if  having got going, you think everything is going completely according to plan, you either weren’t being ambitious enough, or you are about to suffer a rude shock!

A village break

While this project has taken up most of my time, I have managed to get away for the odd break. Last weekend, Jiwan took me on a short village walk – these are usually done over a couple of days; a great opportunity to combine a bit of hill walking with first hand experience of local village life. I had a bit of an off day with the camera, so the outdoor pictures weren’t worth putting you in, but here are some of Sillery, itself, and the family we stayed with.

The evening sun as we approached the village – altitude about 2,000m.

Our cabin – Jiwan and I shared the room to the left.

The above photo was taken the morning after. Despite having a complete set of electricity lines which have been in place for over a year, the village has no electricity, except what comes from diesel generators. This family shares a generator with ten other households. For economy it is run for just 3 hours a day – 6.30 to 9.30pm. Hence the scene below –

A paraffin lamp for light, but most important – tea!

Our hostess, by the wood fuelled hearth, preparing dinner

The same scene without the flash.

In this high country, fuel is cut direct from the forests for both heating and cooking, and this range, built from concrete is fed from the front by hand. Burnt fingers appear to be an occupational hazard.

One of the older houses.

Although basic, dwellings are built to a very practical pattern, usually comprising one building each for the sleeping quarters, eating/living room, and kitchen. A separate outhouse, usually at least ten feet away,will house the toilet. The above is one of the older ones in the village, built entirely from wood. Later houses, like the one we stayed in and the one below in mid-construction, are built of  concrete shaped to a wood frame – the concrete replaces the traditional mix of mud, cow-dung and straw.

And one of the new.

The sharp ones among you may have noticed that chimneys are not much in evidence. Some houses do have them, but the traditional cook-houses were  reed thatch affairs  and open at the eaves. The consequent build up of  smoke at te level of the eaves is fine if you are of Nepalese height, but not, as I discovered, at dinner that night, European height.

And my closing thoughts? To Western eyes, the conditions I describe seem primitive and certainly, lives here are harder and more demanding than we are used to. There is little concept of holidays and leisure time, and children start to do work within the family from as young as five. And yet, over 80% of India’s 1.2 billion people live in rural villages like these, as do billions of others, world-wide. For all the undoubted sophistication of our lives, are not the lives of the people of Sillery closer to normal than ours? In which case, I think we have to ask what we  think life is for and what development – in any context – really means.

Namaste Nation

Not my pic, unfortunately – its just very difficult to hold the camera and namaste at the same time

Like many Europeans, I think I first encountered “Namaste” in a Thai restaurant; in my case, somewhere in North London.  Even then, without even knowing its meaning or history (it can be traced back more than 4,000 years) it made me pause; momentarily stilled in my quest for culinary sensation and satisfaction.

Here in India, and especially in this hill region, I see or receive this greeting very frequently, virtually everywhere I go, and have learnt to use it myself as an alternative to my more usual “hello, how are you?”

Make the comparison –

When we say “hello”, in English, we are using a word derived from an anglo-saxon term which roughly means, ”Oi, you there”. It is a straightforward demand for attention which, coincidentally, starts with the name of a place we’d all prefer not to go . Of course, like me, you may suspect that you are already there and are looking for a way out).

Whereas “Namaste” carries a delightful spectrum of meanings. It can be delivered with full formality, bowing, hands pressed together, below the chin, but eyes always up; as you might be welcomed into someone’s home – or one handed, with a nod to an old friend, as you walk across the road. At its most basic, the expression means,”I see you”, an acknowledgement rather than a demand. At its most profound, it translates as “I greet the inner spiritual intelligence that you are”. (Where you are in that spectrum is sometimes, but not always, indicated by the positioning of the hands and the depth of the bow – the higher, the deeper, so to speak.

Any direct transposition of tradition between cultures is a tricky thing. There are many features of  Indian culture that are very attractive, but you can discover quite a lot of connected features that aren’t; the same is true of Western culture, too. But I wonder what we could do to to try and bring a bit more conscious acknowledgement of other human beings into our western ways, and what it might be like if we succeeded.

Mission update 2 – Smoke and mirrors?

School-children on the way home in Kalimpong

I am at that stage where questions of purpose, value and sanity have risen – i.e. “What is the purpose of this?” “Just who is it benefiting?” and my personal favourite just at the moment, “Why me?”

Events that have prompted these questions include; the night-time chorus of two fighting cats and five stray dogs that tends to kick off hourly between 9.00 pm and 2.00am most nights; the alternating and intermittent supply of electricity typical of the area; a five day bout of flu, which has effortlessly segued into a chest infection. But most of all – the increasing evidence that this agricultural project that I described in Mission Update 1 is facing more challenges than a Ku Klux Klan man falling in love with Will-I-Am.

So, I ask myself, ”Is this all just a game of smoke and mirrors? In which case, who is fooling who?”

But it’s reassuring to know that I am not the only one wondering that – here is my long-time friend Frances’ comment from facebook –  “That’s quite a project, James. Is this your area of expertise? Is the climate and soil conducive to turning this into a viable commercial proposition…?” And a few others of my friends have also made comments like “interesting….” and “challenging…..” and “how long did you say you would be out there…… ?”

And just to rub it in, here are some pics from three of the other schools, showing the quality of the land, etc.

First up, we……..?

Well, my idea would be…

How about we ask in there?

A local expressing their opinion.

Oh, and did I forget to tell you that the government officer from the local agricultural development department just told me that, whereas the report I read about this region being pretty fertile was true, this “region” that I had read about included the whole of the state of West Bengal, ignoring the truly calcium-boron-magnesium-nitrogen depleted soils of the uplands, which is, of course where I am….

And, of course, Frances has made another equally valid point – I personally have absolutely no knowledge or experience of farming, growing vegetables or testing soils. So,never mind the fun I am having, – isn’t my decision to volunteer for this job somewhere between irresponsible and insane?  As unlikely as it may seem, I think the answer is going to turn out to be “yes”.

Two of the schools have kept up a good attempt at a subsistence garden for about three years, which means they  know to do the basic stuff. Three more have found land of better quality to start with. A Japanese agricultural team has offered to include the school teams in a 5 day intensive education course. That government guy I just told you about has just confirmed he is free to take the teams on a one day focused workshop for our specific crops and greenhouses. And then there is the discovery that an expert on soil fertility and diseases, who advises the Japanese team I just mentioned, is the brother-in-law of the best friend of the head-master of one of the schools – And he is sitting right next to me in the store run by my host’s sister….

Now, I’d like to claim the credit for being a wonderful researcher to put all this together, but mostly that just comes from a well-developed ability to ask stupid, obvious questions and keep asking until I get to better ones. Plus, I have found that if combine confidence and persistence it’s amazing what you can achieve. But all of this would be as nothing but for working with people whose essential nature is open and helpful (and patient, too, as you may imagine) and believe that there is a new future waiting to be won.

Which brings me back to the first two of my opening questions….

Children at Alpha school

Through the rails

Teachers at Alpha

Mission update 1

Two days in, I finally met my project – the reason why I am here in northern India – up close and personal, so to speak. I had received plenty of information before making the journey here,  but now I was to see the existing project in operation.

It began with Jiwan Rai (the local manager of Mondo Challenge) and I walking up the hill into town to meet a group of the charity’s local trustees – we were all going to travel together to the village – them to a PTA meeting and me to meet the headmaster and talk about his fields. We all piled into a shared 4×4 taxi, but as we set off, I couldn’t help but be concerned – I had been told this was about a 10 mile trip there and back, and we were due to arrive at 12.30. So, why were we leaving at 10.15…..?

“Ah,” said I, about 40 minutes later, “The road”. I am sorry I don’t have any pictures, but this is because I spent most of the journey hanging on to the seat in front with both hands. Doing a hairpin turn on a 1:5 slope with a 300m drop to your right is an interesting experience, even on a proper road. Large sections of this one are rough cobbled and all of it is unfenced. If the driver had tried to go any faster, I would have got out and walked.

One of the village houses – the prayer flags indicate a buddhist family

Anyway, we eventually arrived in the village of Baranumber, a place of roughly 100 houses; the homes of workers on the local cinchona (quinine) plantations. Here, the people live on an income of some R4,000 per month (roughly $2.20 a day, plus whatever they can earn from a little farming on their half-acre plots. Half an acre may seem quite a lot, but it shrinks considerably when it’s made up of terracing that is 3m (10 foot) wide at best.

The view up-hill, terraces to left and right

But here’s the thing. In the middle of this village, one above the other, are two schools – the privately run, fee paying school that I was visiting and a government-run free school. The government school isn’t just free of fees – the uniform, school books and even a midday meal are all free. Yet the government school has just three pupils; the private school has 72. This is because the disparity in standards is so great that the villagers will try to scrape together the R300 per month (plus uniform, etc) to send their child to the private school, rather than rely on the government one.

One of the children outside a classroom

and one of the teachers

And that is what my project is about. The fees from the villagers are really not enough to sustain the headmaster and his six staff on a decent wage. And that means they have nothing to spend on maintenance or development, leaving them dependent on donations from the Mondo charity. Both the school masters and the charity want to take effective steps to end that dependency. My mission is to help turn an existing garden vegetable project designed for the children’s education into something that is commercially viable and financially robust.  While I continue to find my way into how to do that, here are some more pictures of what I saw on this first visit.

The headmaster of Alpha school – NB Rai

Parents at the PTA meeting

The school’s terraced plots – a total of 650 sq ft. I guess that’s why it’s called Mondo “Challenge”.

If you want to know more about the project, stay tuned, and/or look up the Mondo Challenge Foundation at www.mondochallengefoundation.org/trustees.html

Kalimpong first impressions

The first couple of days here have been an avalanche of new and exciting experience; too much to yet make sense of, let alone write about – but here are a few pictures to give a sense of where I am and what the scenery looks like –

At the river’s edge, on the way up to Kalimpong

My driver, guide and patient host – the indefatigable Jiwan Rai

First morning view, down the “hill”-side

Pretty by the roadside

A glimpse of Kanchenjunga after the mists have cleared.

More in the coming days about Kalimpong and the project and also the city of the birds.

Bengal or bust!

Follow the blue arrow.

So, there it is. My trip to India has just taken a massive step on the journey from intention to realisation! Three months in West Bengal and Nepal, beginning in February, most of it working in a group of schools that are supported by a British charity! Today, I met with Anthony, who started the Mondo Foundation some twenty years ago and Hirsh, one of the Trustees who has special responsibility for the work in West Bengal. Both are charming, committed and articulate – our lunch-time meeting in a Nepalese restaurant by Euston served up a feast of anecdotes, character sketches of key personnel, stories of successes (and failures) and some pretty quick corrections on any of my ideas which they deemed unhelpful.

And I have to say that I really admire and am very inspired by what they are doing. It’s all about providing funds and help for specific projects that support the growth and improvement of locally run village schools in the Himalaya foothills, on both sides of the India/Nepal border. (e.g. new buildings for the schools, teacher training, work-packs for the children).

And what will I be doing? Yes, I will be doing some teaching – more on that in a later post – but most of my time will be spent on establishing an agricultural programme to provide extra, independent income for the schools and a new stream of educational opportunity for the children.  By the standards of Oxfam or Save the Children, it’s very small, but the assistance it provides to the villagers in their commitment to their children’s future is massive.

And of course, I will also get opportunities to explore and get to know the area and visit local places like Kathmandu, Darjeeling and Sikkim, as well as the cities I am likely to travel through – New Delhi, Poon and  Kolkatha over the three months I will be in India. It looks like being a very exciting time, with lots to do beforehand, the wonders of which I will blog, on the way.