tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27017372011-06-08T06:10:22.669ZAmarpurkashinow you've seen me in two places/ now my secret's yours to see/ must you put aside your graces? / won't you spend some time with me?Woodnoreply@blogger.comBlogger401100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1120381873600321792005-07-03T08:11:00.000Z2007-03-20T20:32:26.190ZYesterday, I went to the 6th INTAF world assembly. You can find the report here.Incidentally, if there is anyone in the world still reading this, you really should check out the blog I have running, which will be updated far more than this one: john heron projectWoodnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1103132650951746142004-12-15T09:54:00.000Z2006-10-24T05:27:58.310ZLanguage
Someone pointed out to me that renal damage was indeed kidney failure.
Well, dammit, Jim. I'm a freelance writer, not a doctor.
Anyway.
One of the things that my all-too-brief time in India taught me was that even if your own language is the lingua franca, that doesn't mean you should expect to understand it. In Delhi, they fire it at you like a machine gun. Even when they speak Woodnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1103104275864100922004-12-15T09:46:00.000Z2004-12-15T09:51:15.863ZThe Marvels and Mysteries of Science
Paul's photies from APK Science Fair.
Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1102070678162227752004-12-03T10:42:00.000Z2004-12-03T10:44:38.163ZThe New Adventures of Pablo
Paul's travels continue.
Woodnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1102070540926179412004-12-03T09:38:00.000Z2004-12-03T10:42:20.926ZPain in the Ear
Yeah, I know. No excuse for not having updated this for a while. Lack of motivation, mostly.
Anyway, this last week, I've had earache. Actually, it's called Infective Otitis Externa, and I've had it six years. I picked it up from sleeping in a damp tent at a festival back in 1998. Usually, it just means that my ears get itchy every so often. Every once in a while, it flares up Woodnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100858895256228642004-11-19T10:08:00.000Z2004-11-19T10:17:33.903Z
Prados Kumar Pati. Also from Orissa, also with a wife and kids left behind, just like Anil and Araja, and, just like his colleagues, dying to get home to his family for Diwali.
Prados is an interesting chap. He is actually - as well as being a lecturer - founder of his own NGO back in Orissa, called SSUD (Society For Social Unity and Development). He showed me a report one day - they do Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100858044298599802004-11-19T09:54:00.000Z2004-11-19T09:54:04.296ZAraja Kumar Penthoi. A lecturer like Anil, he lived along the hostel row near me, Paul and Tracy. From Orissa (note: capable of smiling in photos), Araja had left behind a wife and two children. He shared a room with Prados. The two of them cooked together, mainly because they found the food in the canteen unpalatable (no comment), and most nights, and most mornings for that matter, there would Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100857409319032722004-11-19T09:43:00.000Z2004-11-19T09:43:29.320ZDr. Anil Kumar Seni, lecturer in political science, posing beneath my underpants. Originally from the South of India, Anil came from a much more liberal background - he married for love (unthinkable in the APK corner of UP), was a big film fan (actually quite normal in UP, but not talked about so much among teacher types) and is capable of smiling in photos. His wife and children are back in the Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100856651495141482004-11-19T09:07:00.000Z2004-11-21T09:13:59.476ZEdit 21/11/4: I decided to pull my long essay from Thursday. In retrospect, It wasn't helpful. There were good bits in it, though which I will probably post later on sometime.
Gandhians and Projects.
Gandhians rock. In the last week at APK there was a conference of grass-roots development workers who were part of the India chapter of INTAF (the INTernernational TAsk Force for the Rural Poor), Woodnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100604059035171322004-11-16T11:20:00.000Z2004-11-16T11:20:59.036ZChhotelal (AKA Lala-ji), the head chef at the project. A sweet-natured, accommodating guy, he would grace you with the most serene and benevolent smile you had ever seen as you entered the canteen area. However, like most male Indians in this corner of Uttar Pradesh, the moment you point a camera at him, he goes all po-faced and stands to attention. I ask you. Also, note the big scary tumour on Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100601825785436922004-11-16T10:43:00.000Z2004-11-16T10:43:45.786ZMy lovely wife, looking radiant as ever, even at breakfast. Bless. Woodnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100601677306085762004-11-16T10:41:00.000Z2004-11-16T10:41:17.306ZSome of the team (and one of the project residents) at lunch. Background: Mohid the Kitchen Boy; Seated, L-R: Mukesh, Claartje, Paul, Roger, Becci. I can't remember to whom the knees on the left hand side of the picture belong, but they may well be mine and Stephanie's...Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100601416001968022004-11-16T10:36:00.000Z2004-11-16T10:36:56.000ZToday, we're going to be talking about food. So, here's a picture of Tracy and Stephanie eating lunch.Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100603914660184262004-11-16T10:30:00.000Z2004-11-16T11:18:34.660ZFood
Having arrived at Amkarpurkashi Rural Polytechnic at the end of Day 2, we were greeted by Mukat, the director and his wife Jyoti, given a tour of the project by Pushpa and Bhavana, shown our rooms, given a brief lesson in Hindi, introduced to the wonders of chai (eugh), and finally, after a cooling off period, fed.
The meal on that first day consisted of Aloo Gobi (that's potato and Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100599985556594632004-11-16T10:07:00.000Z2004-11-16T10:13:05.556ZNotes and Queries
An anonymous reader asks: what did the mosquito repellent taste like? Well, Michael, I think it's fair to say that not having brushed my teeth with all that many external-use-only medicinal products, I'm not really qualified to say. I think your best bet is to get hold of a tubeof Odomos and a toothbrush, in order to experience its unique flavour for yourself.
Michael (AKA theWoodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100513884537102472004-11-15T10:18:00.000Z2004-11-15T10:18:04.536ZGovinda practices his dance moves, and Bhavana is amused at something. Harry is in the background. Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100512604595312192004-11-15T09:56:00.000Z2004-11-15T10:02:03.106Z
The team. Left to right: Roger, Paul, Becci, Stephanie, Claartje, Tracy (face obscured, but I know what she looks like, so that's OK), Sophia, me, Harry (short for "Angharad", since you asked).
I don't want to say that we were a bunch of stereotypes or anything, but we numbered: one old hippy, two politically clued but dissatisfied twentysomething professionals, one person on a spiritual quest Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100510548652334482004-11-15T08:50:00.000Z2004-11-15T10:52:22.616ZFlashback
So this morning I pulled out my journal, and started reading back the entries.
Good Lord, I thought. I'm supposed to be doing this kind of thing for a living.
Still, I managed to salvage a few nuggets of atmosphere from my deathly prose. Edited (and oh, how they're edited - be thankful) extracts from the Diary of Wood will be in a different font for ease of recognition or something.Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100507152450481962004-11-15T08:20:00.000Z2004-11-15T08:25:52.450ZPaul got himself a diary. Good stuff, particularly the "day in the life" bit, which sort of means I don't have to write one.
I'm also kind of glad the poem about the river is available for the world to see. It caused us much merriment at the time. Of course, you probably had to be there...
Oh and Paul? Yes, of course I bloody confessed the Odomos incident. What, you think I'm going to let you Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100258409278727532004-11-12T11:20:00.000Z2004-11-12T11:20:09.276ZA great photo of Bhavana at the registration desk on the first morning of the INTAF-India conference. Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100257835084111022004-11-12T11:10:00.000Z2004-11-12T11:24:34.316Z
The children of Mr Gupta the project accountant and Mrs Gupta, headmistress of the primary school.
From left to right, then: First, Dipika, AKA "Dipu", prefers wearing boys' clothes. She's 14. Many of us thought that Dipu was a boy when we first met her.
Govinda, the lone boy, is 9, and a bit of a handful. He has some mean dancing moves, and isn't afraid to use them.
Leikhni ("Leiku"), in Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100257311169122482004-11-12T11:01:00.000Z2004-11-12T11:29:48.643Z
About to head off to Bilari to see the doc on Day 10 (a story I'm going to have to relate in more detail - it turned out to be a wild ride), Paul and I found ourselves descended upon by the Gupta sisters. There are worse ways to kill a few minutes.
L-R: Leikhni, Bhavana, Dipu, me and Paul.Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100256884797168032004-11-12T10:34:00.000Z2004-11-12T11:21:19.840ZAnd speaking of comments...
I received a very nice note yesterday from Estrid and Andrew Heron, parents of my fellow Project Visitor and sometime room-mate, Paul (Estrid: it's at this point that I mention that Paul asked me to send his old mobile to your house, so don't be confused if a small package from Swansea turns up on your doorstep in the next day or so).
Paul Heron is possibly one of theWoodnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100255652340624562004-11-12T10:31:00.000Z2004-11-12T10:34:12.340ZComments
Just a quickie to say - yes, you can leave comments on this blog, even if you're not registered. When the comments box appears, click on the radio button marked "anonymous"; but don't forget to leave your name in the message.
Woodnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100169607857882582004-11-11T10:40:00.000Z2004-11-11T10:40:07.856ZThe main street at a quiet moment. No cows, unfortunately. Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100169489686482572004-11-11T10:38:00.000Z2004-11-11T10:38:09.686ZMoradabad. Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100169441082978522004-11-11T10:37:00.000Z2004-11-11T10:37:21.083ZSince I already mentioned Moradabad, I thought I'd start with some shots of the streets. This one was taken from the back of a rickshaw. The driver is the guy in the bottom right hand corner. Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1100169189672321262004-11-11T08:48:00.000Z2004-11-11T10:33:09.673ZChanges
I was asked this morning in my comments (first comment - yay!) if, apart from my frustration with haggling, my trip had elicited any change in me. Good question.
Answer : dunno.
I have to admit that before I went away, I didn't care about India all that much. I originally decided to take the trip because Tracy had for years wanted to return to the place, having been there on a project Woodnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1099992604092563572004-11-09T09:02:00.000Z2004-11-09T09:30:04.093ZOn the take
Travelling through Delhi both ways, it becomes apparent to any Western tourist that the shopsellers of Paharganj, the DVD stalls, the cabbies and the autorickwallahs are all trying to rip you off.
Most Indians earn 50 Rupees or less (about $1 US, or 65p Sterling) each day; this is sort of enough to live on , if just managing to stay above starvation floats your boat. So when rich Woodnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1099905999672096342004-11-08T08:25:00.000Z2004-11-08T09:26:39.673ZI got back on Friday morning, after having travelled for much of a 32-hour period, in which I slept for precisely no minutes. It did indeed mean that I got to see the in-flight movies, namely Aliens vs. Predator (and what an absolute minger that was) and recent Bollywood hit Shart: The Challenge, which was, since it was the first time I've seen an actual Masalla movie, a weird experience.
To Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1098693596256130312004-10-25T08:38:00.000Z2004-11-08T10:05:16.270ZMonday. Day 14.
Back in Moradabad (about which I had been misled - it has only one million inhabitants, but, hey, what's a couple dozen lakh between friends?) with my temporary sisters Stephanie and Claartje - a necessary deception when you have women with you in non-tourist areas of India - for the purposes of connection and PIZZA, we found ourselves turfed out of the internet cafe by a very Woodnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1098002648758014682004-10-17T08:41:00.000Z2004-10-17T08:48:51.503ZSunday. Day 6.
So many observations, so many things to write. Better bullet point. I'm in an internet cafe in Moradabad today. We have Sundays off, so I'm here on a day trip with my wife and my two "sisters", Stephanie and Claartje, a couple of Dutch year out students. Around here, it's not good for single women to be alone.
1. The 21st century intrudes in the weirdest places. I met a local boy Woodnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1097561622228037542004-10-12T06:07:00.000Z2004-10-12T06:13:42.226ZTuesday. Day 1.
Yesterday, because it was spent mostly on an aeroplane (coolest thing about plane: Indian stewardesses in BA sarees), was Day Zero.
OK. In an internet cafe in Delhi. Connaught Place is bizarre: a clash of two worlds, like a little old show-shine guy outside TGI Fridays, beggars next to Nike. Odd.
Hot, sweaty, air smells of petrol, constantly. Hooked up with Paul, another Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-1097222141283880772004-10-08T07:51:00.000Z2004-11-08T09:48:26.076ZWell, so much for the alternative apocalypse.
I'll be using this space to record my adventures over the next month, while I am in India, visiting Amarpurkashi Rural Polytechnic.
I have no idea if I'm going to have the chance to get on the web more than a couple times, but if I do... here's where I'll be.Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-896406592003-02-24T13:27:00.000Z2003-02-24T13:27:42.390Zit's all still here. i can see the lake from my window. the birds are still there.
except i can see through them.
that can't be right. Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-793496092002-07-24T15:22:00.000Z2002-07-24T15:22:14.043ZIn the botanical gardens in Singleton park, the flowers have grown so fast and so thickly, it has become difficult to walk around. There are, on the sides of the disappearing paths, benches, which have been left untouchd by the greenery. Every single one carries a plaque in memory of someone. Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-791826112002-07-20T07:45:00.000Z2002-07-20T07:45:34.413ZI was, to tell the truth, a little disappointed when the world went and ended.
I was expecting a couple of angels, at least.Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-791415062002-07-19T07:59:00.000Z2002-07-19T07:59:27.290ZAlthough the bin men and council refuse workers are nowhere to be seen, there is no rubbish on the streets. Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-789779052002-07-15T16:23:00.000Z2002-07-15T16:23:25.250ZNobody seems to understand. They simply ignore that the world has gone away, pretend that it hasn't. You explain it, they nod, blank-eyed, failing to actually take in what you're saying. Colour me frustrated.Woodnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2701737.post-789001122002-07-13T10:41:00.000Z2002-07-13T10:45:09.000ZBuildings sometimes vanish, replaced for a time by those which were there before they were built. For example. The day before yesterday, I saw that the nurses' college where many of my friends used to be had come back; yesterday, the housing estate which was built there after it was knocked down was back again. No one else seems to notice. Woodnoreply@blogger.com0