Shifting time...

This week we are moving offices and it’s got me feeling all nostalgic about our current office located in Hauz Khas.

Firstly I think I’m going to miss my commute. My 50 minute walk to and fro is a daily adventure. It starts off with saying good morning to all the neighbourhood dogs by the park. It then involves using my survival skills to dodge rickshaws, eager men and obstacles on the pavements that include rubbish, burning rubbish, cows eating rubbish, sleeping dogs and large holes. Some parts I won’t miss, for example, crossing what I’ve affectionately nicknamed ‘Sewage Stream’ everyday. It has got a bit worse in the hot weather, as well as the simmering stench of methane, it has turned into a breeding ground for flies. So as well as having to hold my breath, I look vaguely possessed as I use my arms to swat away swarms of beasties that favour European flesh.

I’m also going to miss the area where the office is based in. Hauz Khas has a laid back arty feel and reminds me a bit of Greenwich. Our office is near the National Institute of Fashion & Technology, so I love seeing what all the Trendy Wendys are wearing and their curious looks as I rock past in a traditional salwaar kameez instead of skinny jeans. I’m going to miss the snoozing security guard that I always pass on my lunch time strolls, past the mini temple, along pristine shady pavements to the market. I love the smell of all the fruit stands, the fancy chemist where I spend time perusing the Himalaya range of beauty products (organic and affordable, on a VSO budget it’s a winning combination) and the newspaper stand where I get my fortnightly copy of TimeOut Delhi.

Most of all I’m going to miss our office. It really is unique and has a certain amount of charm to it. Located in a basement, it regularly floods during monsoon (I will be sadly missing out on the ‘electric waterfall’ come the rainy season, where we have a regular water feature next to the fuse box) and has damp patches that have a contemporary modern art feel to them. It’s a hub of activity and technology. If 24 had been shot in 1982, the set for Jack Bauer’s HQ would have been identical to our office. Most of my colleagues have screen reading software on their computers and phones, so there is constant background sound of mellow robotic chatter going on. Mixed with this is our Talking Book production department, so you will regularly hear clipped snippets of Huckleberry Finn from an Angela Rippon sound alike.

But I really can’t complain, our new office will have AC and it’s next to an infamous paratha wallah (thin, stuffed, fried mini naan bread) and my favourite Tibetan restaurant that serves momos (steamed dumplings) that are to die for. So that’s lunchtimes sorted then.

Highlights: The power of direct marketing - returning from our work trip in the North East to receive the first donation for Rs50,000 from our Annual Report DM campaign (it was a team effort but I think this means I’m officially a fundraiser now), having a very fun London weekend with the London Massive – dressing up in heels, clubbing until the wee hours on Friday night, ending the night with ice cream at India Gate at 2.30am and then hitting the air conditioned shopping mall on Saturday for some retail therapy – heaven, discovering the local outdoor Olympic size swimming pool - one swim costs the same as a month of yoga with Yoga Guru-Ji, but when it’s still 38° outside at 5.30pm you’ve got to speculate to accumulate...

On the road with George...

Six months ago if you had mentioned the words, “work trip”, I would have rolled my eyes, sighed and strapped myself in for endless nights of PowerPoint slide creation, early starts and late arrivals on the Eurostar and a world of pain. How life changes...

I’ve just spent the last 5 days with my boss, George, on a work trip like no other. I’ve been lucky enough to visit one of the most beautiful and remotest parts of India and learn more about disability, the rural situation and insurgency which is a part of everyday life for many who live in the North East of India.

Firstly let me explain why we were headed off to Assam and Meghalaya, which is nestled between Bangladesh, Bhutan, China and Myanmar. I am volunteering for an organisation that is a knowledge resource for people with visual impairment. We fulfil a roll that in the developed world most governments and health authorities would do. We empower, inform and inspire the blind and visually impaired through various channels of our Project Eyeway www.eyeway.org which include a radio programme, website, helpdesk, SMS service, talking books library, workshops and cricket camps.

Until you live in India you can’t really understand the frustrating lack of information that is available to do the most basic of things. I myself have experienced it trying to even register as a foreigner. So you can imagine what it must be like if you are, or become blind in a society where blindness can be through malnutrition, is seen as punishment from the gods therefore a sin on your behalf, you are considered worthless and are stuck at home with little or no opportunity for independence. This situation is even worse in rural areas and in the North East. It is a particularly deprived area, with poor infrastructure, home to over 200 tribes, many dialects and infrequent insurgencies. So we were off to complete a research project to find out what life with blindness is like there, find organisations we could partner with to provide a bespoke Eyeway programme.

We started off in Assam. We spent two days in Guwahati the capital. We touched down at the airport, skimming past a group of boys playing cricket near the runway and it seemed as if we had landed in the Caribbean. Lush jungle hills, palm trees and the huge Brahmaputra River dotted with islands which could have been the sea. The place was so relaxed, people were even wearing shorts, including the girls – I’ve never seen so much leg on display in India. There we met our contact who we nicknamed ‘The Don of Disability’. Having managed the research project, he has more connections than a telephone exchange, which was reinforced by the fact we rode around in his pimped up white jeep the whole time.

We had a successful partner meeting and then moved onto Shillong in Meghalya. The 3 hour drive involves winding up a very narrow jungle pass, which is a truckers bypass and based on our taxi drivers skills, also a local Formula 1 track. It was amazing how quickly the landscaped changed. Palm trees were replaced with bamboo, the air became cooler, and we passed a Mediterranean like lake and arrived to Shillong’s colonial charm. It felt like being in South America, with timber clad chalet like buildings with tin roofs, wide open streets with pavements (believe me a serious luxury in India) and amazingly no rubbish. Sleeping without a fan at night was a novelty, it was so ‘cold’ compared to Delhi, George and I went shawl shopping . At this partner meeting we found out more about the rural situation, listening to blind students who had grown up in the Khasi tribe. One girl explained how as there was no information on blindness, her mother did not know what to do and treated her with traditional medicine of an alcohol, black pepper and spice mix. Luckily she had access to information about a blind school through a visitor to her village, she attended and is now working for a local NGO.

After an 11 hour journey we returned to Delhi last night to be greeted by 36° heat and I think it was the first time I had ever returned from a work trip invigorated and looking forward to writing up the meeting notes.

Highlights: it’s still only spring but it’s got up to 38° in the last few days – it’s hard work sleeping but your washing dries in seconds, enjoying a cold beer from the fridge – when you are constantly drinking water it’s so good after a day at the office and a dusty walk home, a package arriving from another wonderful friend full of chocolate and a copy of Grazia – a girl needs her fashion and WAGs gossip to keep in touch with life at home, work – by seeing another part of India, spending time with my boss and meeting so many interesting people I really feel like I’m understanding the world of NGOs, disability and India so much more - VSO really is a privilege.

Sun, sea, sand and sixty hours on a train…

Last week I escaped Delhi for the VSO Annual conference. Location wise it could not have been much better, this year we hit the jackpot as we were off to Puri by the Bay of Bengal in Orissa, for some well deserved sun, sea and sand (alongside fighting global poverty of course).

Nothing in life is of course perfect, so in order to get there we had to endure a 31 hour train journey on the ironically named ‘Puri Express’. Leaving from Delhi at 06.30 on the Saturday we were due to be sipping fresh lime sodas with the sand between our toes by 13.00 on the Sunday. Or so we thought. I’d travel before in India on the train on short journeys and was always impressed with how efficient it was. So I approached my first overnight trip with naive excitement.

My excitement started to wane on boarding the train. We ended up getting the bum berths which basically were in the corridor. The one advantage was that you had a privacy curtain but this was frequently nudged into by corridor traffic, elbows and prying eyes at any opportunity. We settled down for the long haul and with a steady stream of omelette sandwiches and watery dhal coming our way there was not too much to complain about. The view outside was slightly tarnished by the fact our window was fogged up with enough condensation and dirt that the view had a sepia touch to it. But after a while it added a certain amount of charm as the East Indian countryside whizzed past which tended to be an endless scene of paddy fields, rural towns, piles of rubbish and a combination of humans and animals relieving themselves near the tracks. Not much different to Delhi really.

By 30 hours in we seemed to be fairly on time. With only an hour to go, the cramp in our limbs seemed to ease from being cooped up in the carriage, with hope the end was nigh. Then we reached the slow boat to China moment. It took 3.5 hours to travel the final hour, at one point it was tempting to get out and push. But it was worth it in the end.

We had a blissful few days before the conference embracing our inner tourist. Ice creams at every opportunity, a boat trip on Chilika Lake to watch dolphins, a visit to the World Heritage site of Konark temple, walks on the beach and endless games of Frisbee in the hotel pool – heaven. It was so great to catch up with all the other volunteers that are now scattered across India. Everyone had the chance to share their highs and lows so far, which is something you need to do to keep sane. It was great to know that I wasn’t the only one having those days at work where all you really feel like all you have achieved is a chat with a colleague over chai and your contribution to helping fight global poverty is pretty minimal, but every little helps as they say and it’s all part of the experience...

Highlights: catching up with rest of the Volunteer Crew - now missing everyone lots but plenty of trips to be planned across India for our next catch up, the Stare Factor – nearly causing a minor RTA yesterday as an Indian motorist did a whiplash inducing double take at me, causing a cyclist to do a comedy veer (I’m not sure it was my blondish locks or the fact I was being highly risqué by wearing a short sleeved kurta to beat the heat, there’s something about my pallid glow in the dark arms it seems..!), seafood (I overdosed on prawns, retoxed on fish and gorged on crab it was so good to eat some non veg protein), the highlight of the conference had to be meeting a partner organisation from the state of Chhattisgarh and learning about disability in their state, levels of corruption and their limited rights (so many people have a story that never gets heard and we really don’t know how lucky we are).

What a jolly Holi day...

On Monday we celebrated Holi, the Festival of Colours, which has to be one of India’s messiest celebrations.

The pictures really say it all. It involves throwing a) lots of coloured powdered paint b) lots of water and getting very, very messy. It’s like Art Attack on acid. Our original plan was to go to Varanasi for the weekend, but chatting to colleagues one day over lunch they told me this would be the worst place to go. In true bank holiday style apparently everyone, well mainly young males, tend to have a few too many drinks of ‘special’ lassi and go a bit bonkers. This mainly involves applying coloured paint to ladies private parts and severe cases of ABG (Actual Bum Gropage).

How bad can it be I thought? So I had a look on Google, the words ‘carnage’, ‘clothes ripped off’ and ‘surrounded by packs of men’ tended to crop up. I had visions of sprinting through the empty streets of Varanasi, that would be akin to Pamplona in the bull running season, in a frenzied state like the Incredible Hulk, green skin and torn clothes complete. Not a good look, so decided it was best to stay at home, particularly as we have the perfect water bomb throwing position courtesy of our terrace.

Preparations started early with buying suitable supplies. Water pistols, water bombs and the famous ‘Cock Gold’ semi organic powdered paint for maximum rainbow effect. We started the day by applying a protective layer, which involved slathering on a bottle of coconut oil to avoid permanent hair and skin staining. Smelling like Malibu and greased up to the nines, we set up a highly efficient water bombs production line, made our own special lassis with brandy, then the mayhem began. I’d like to think we maximised our position with the water bombs but lame girly throws limited our ability. We probably got one cyclist and someone’s toe wet, but we had fun. The main event actually turned out to be getting totally soaked by an eight year old girl.

Whilst sipping our drinks on the terrace after a mass colour throwing session, we suddenly realised we were being attacked from above and little hands were making light work of us as we got a serious pelting with water bombs. We went up onto the roof to find our landlord and his niece playing with our neighbours. Armed with buckets of water we tried hard to fight back. We failed and again got royally soaked, little girls are not made of sugar and spice it seems, just a mean aim and the right height to get you soaked at crotch level.

So what of the after effects? The next day the streets were still covered with a psychedelic splotch of colours, the occasional dog or cow still had the odd purple patch. Despite three showers, some serious exfoliating, it seems the coconut oil did not provide the protective layer we had hoped for. I am sporting a rather delightful pink eyebrow and have some beautiful purple highlights to my hair that give me a slight wannabe Goth look that are still yet to disappear. Good times.

Highlights: Indian festivals really do rock, so simple but effective a day off work to throw paint the ultimate stress buster (the Tories won’t get my vote unless Holi get’s imported, a bank holiday in February - brilliant), afternoon tea at The Imperial Hotel (again those dangerous words ‘eat all you can’, let’s just say there was Tupperware involved, we’re not ashamed just resourceful), a 2.6kg package arriving at work full of new books to devour (thank you to my lovely Literary Goddess friend, you are an angel), getting ready to go to Puri for the annual VSO conference (it’s 34 hours on the train to get there, it’s all about the journey they say...) and I hate to rub it in for those in colder climes but it went up 5° in 3 days last week, it’s now 31° by lunch time (I’m enjoying it before it reaches daily double Mitchum applications!)