Pride

The other day I was having coffee at Le Cafe in Pondicherry. This is a wonderful place, open 24 hours that serves real espresso coffee. It is right by the Bay of Bengal. It is a good place to sit, out of the heat, and watch the world go by. In teh midday heat, the old saying that "Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun" is truly apt. It is important to drink lots of water and take a break until the cooler part of the day emerges - mid afternoon.

At the beach, you can tell when that is. Activity increases. The incessant noise of boys ringing bells as they walk past to entice to you buy cotton candy announces that the time for acivity has returned. At the same time, the ice cream vendors will return and hang about with their carts until the sun goes down for the evening. Then another group of vendors arrive selling trinkets and trash that appeal to children and tourists.

There is, like all tourist areas, the sheisters out selling. In this case, it is often young gypsie children who have a collection of small sewn bags that they try to sell. They can be quite persistent. If that doesn't work, they will look longingly at whatevere you are eating and obviously seek that. Should that fail, they will then try t engage you in conversation - anything to hold on in the hope that they can loosen something from you. Firm No and go away are the tourists only denfence.

While watching the beach, I became aware of an exception in the vendor community. This was an older gentleman who was setting up for the afternoon. He sells flavoured beans. While his was not a pretty cart, he took great pride in it. He cleaned it thoroughly and then, very carefully, laid out his offerings. The piles of beans needed to be in properly laid out stacks which he carefully prepared.

The bean vendor spicing his wares for the afternoon sale

There is also the pride of the street. He is a beauty that wanders the neighbourhood with his couterie in search of food. On this occasion, a lady took pity and dumped out food for them which they quickly gathered up.

The cock of the walk

We also had the opportunity to visit Hope which is one of the very early communities in Auroville. The name was given by the "Mother" who is one of the two spiritual founders of Auroville. Here, they take old furniture that is found in various places. The locals have been taught to restore it which they do quite well.

Worker starting to refinish a piece

Infant Mortality

During my visit to Sadahana Forest, I was told that one of the major causes of infant mortality in the thirld world is mothers holding their children while they cook over wood fires. The infant is chronically exposed to the smoke breathing it in for long periods. Wonderfully, I was told, there is a solution. This is a stove built with bricks that insulate the fire and increases the heat. The smoke does not surround the baby.

The insulated wood burning stove

The other advantage is that it reduces wood use. This is imporant given the degree to which deforestation occurs in some patrs of the third world.

One drawback is that the stove costs R2000 or $46 CDN. To us that does not seem like a lot of money but to people here that is a lot - patricularly for those who are living close to poverty or below it. These are the people who are most affected by the smoke as they can only cook in these open ways.

Might be a good NGO project.

Medical Dental

We have used medical services a couple of times since coming here. I had an infection on my leg from bashing my leg on a bike pedal. April had a mild eye infection from getting dust in her eye. So off we went to the medical centre to see the doctor - a western trained lady who was quite accessible. Show up at 9 a.m. and you are done and gone by 11. The cost to see her - R100 or $2.30. each. Add the cost of prescriptions and we were out of there for under $10.00

We also had teeth cleaning done today - R800 each or a total cost of $42. It was done at a well equipped dental office here in Auroville.

I asked the lady who manages here if she goes there. She says no that she goes into Pondicheru to the new hospital. With her government card, she gets her teeth cleaned in what she dscribes as an equally modern dental office for R75 or $1.73. For her, this is very affordable and she considers the R800 that we paid outrageously expensive.

The clinic that we went to has dentists that come on a volunteer basis from various parts of the world. They go out to the villages here within about a 20 km radius and offer free dental care as well as teaching personal dental care. Thus, my fees helped to fund that activity so I feel ok about the "outrageous" amount that we paid.

Western locals here do say that if you develop a serious medical problem get back to your country of origin as fast as possible. Routine and minor care here, they tell us, is quite good most of the time. So far, we have been quite satisfied.

Looking at the average ambulance here, however, they bear no resemblance to anything you are used to in the West. They have virtually no equipment of any note. Hope not to have to rely on them.

Labour Relations

Labour relations here are perhaps different than might be experienced back home. The fracas amongst the staff started late yesterday afternoon - over what is quite unclear. But it was intense amongst the female staff. It blew up in a moment. It led to physical altercations. As we were walking along the path, it followed us with an intensity that made it clear that there were insults being tossed. You didn't need to understand the language to know.

The next morning as the staff arrived the fight was still on. One of the women committed the major faux pas of bringing along her husband who engaged in the physical contact along with the ladies. Quite ugly.

There is no sense of labour relations here as we may know it. There is no written warning; no formal cautions - just - do it again and you are out - period! No unions here. Also no union rights either. However, this group of employees has largely been together for several years except for the one who brought the husband. She is new. Change the members than you get new dynamics - just like the rest of the world.

Farming

Today we wandered through some of the farming communities nearby. A great deal of the work is done in traditional fashion. This is physically hard work. Here, teh crops that are seen include peanuts, cashews, rice, corn and hay in particular. The peanut crop has been in the ground a few weeks and will be ready in about another 5 months. The corn is being planted now with evidence that rice is about to go in. Hay is being harvested now.

This lady is planting corn. Her husband is using basic irrigation to get water into the field

Farmers in India are under some tremendous pressure. The Monsanto story which has had such a pervasive impact in North America is beginning to repeat itself here. The papers are full of stories about farmers commiting suicide. Here is one example:

"Here's the way it works in India. In the central region of Vidarbha, for example, Monsanto salesmen travel from village to village touting the tremendous, game-changing benefits of Bt cotton, Monsanto's genetically modified seed sold in India under the Bollgard® label. The salesmen tell farmers of the amazing yields other Vidarbha growers have enjoyed while using their products, plastering villages with posters detailing "True Stories of Farmers Who Have Sown Bt Cotton." Old-fashioned cotton seeds pale in comparison to Monsanto's patented wonder seeds, say the salesmen, as much as an average old steer is humbled by a fine Jersey cow.




Part of the trick to Bt cotton's remarkable promise, say the salesmen, is that Bollgard® was genetically engineered in the lab to contain bacillus thuringiensis, a bacterium that the company claims drastically reduces the need for pesticides. When pesticides are needed, Bt cotton plants are Roundup® Ready -- a Monsanto designation meaning that the plants can be drowned in the company's signature herbicide, none the worse for wear. (Roundup® mercilessly kills nonengineered plants.)



Sounds great, right? The catch is that Bollgard® and Roundup® cost real money. And so Vidarbha's farmers, somewhat desperate to grow the anemic profit margin that comes with raising cotton in that dry and dusty region, have rushed to both banks and local moneylenders to secure the cash needed to get on board with Monsanto. Of a $3,000 bank loan a Vidarbha farmer might take out, as much as half might go to purchasing a growing season's worth of Bt seeds.



And the same goes the next season, and the next season after that. In traditional agricultural, farmers can recycle seeds from one harvest to plant the next, or swap seeds with their neighbors at little or no cost. But when it comes to engineered seeds like Bt cotton, Monsanto owns the tiny speck of intellectual property inside each hull, and thus controls the patent. And a farmer wishing to reuse seeds from a Monsanto plant must pay to relicense them from the company each and every growing season.





The cycle of debt continues into a downward spiral. And to be sure, water problems are adding to the crisis. In this most recent instance dam construction nearby was a significant contributor. While changes in water availability may be the jumping point for some farmers in India, it has been the globalization model of agriculture hyped by companies like Monsanto and Cargill that have led farmers to the cliff in the first place.



As renown physicist and anti-globalization activist Vandana Shiva (who has also fought against big dam construction) said in an interview with Democracy Now! in 2006:



A few weeks ago, I was in Punjab. 2,800 widows of farmer suicides who have lost their land, are having to bring up children as landless workers on others' land. And yet, the system does not respond to it, because there's only one response: get Monsanto out of the seed sector--they are part of this genocide -- and ensure WTO rules are not bringing down the prices of agricultural produce in the United States, in Canada, in India, and allow trade to be honest. I don't think we need to talk about free trade and fair trade. We need to talk about honest trade. Today's trade system, especially in agriculture, is dishonest, and dishonesty has become a war against farmers. It's become a genocide."

There are also weather patterns affecting the crops.

I am impressed with Indians who I see working hard in rural India daily. It is sad to see how western culture is seeping in. While some of it is good - not all is. Values are changing and the materialsm and commercialism so pervasisve in the West is more and more evident.

Muslim Community

We wandered the side streets of Pondicherry today and came into the Muslin quarter. There are two mosques both looked after quite meticulously. The one above appears to be the larger of the two.

The neighbourhood was also quite fascinating with a variety of restored homes. The French influence was evident. If you have ever visited the French quarter of New Orleans before Hurricane Katrina, it feels architecurally like that.

This is the entry to Professor Illam's house. He announces that he has been awarded teh Legion d'Honneur de France.

All of this one discovers in the best way possible while travelling - wandering the back streets away from the tourists. By doing this, you are in the world that the people who live here inhabit. It is not always pretty. Poverty is real. We observed a nun from the same order as Mother Theresa working with chidlren on the streets.  There is raw sewage floating down the sides of some streets and the smell is obvious.

There is also a lot of garbage. One of the worst things to happen to India is plastic. The people would throw garbage out the window and the animals that roam would clean it up - cats, dogs, cows, goats and so on. They continue to throw it out the window and door but the plastic now lingers. Regrettably, some of the animals are eating it which is destroying their digestive system and setting them up for long, slow deaths.

Today there was a street market that went on for blocks. We were the only whities to be seen most of the time. It is mainly household items, clothing and so on for locals to purchase.

There are also lovely moments. We came across this boy who had made a kite. He was determined to make it fly and was running up and down the street trying to do so. There was one handicap - no wind!

Sadhana Forest

Lasy night we toured the Sadhana Forest which is an attempt to accomplish two big objectives. The first is to plant trees in an area that had become barren. They have been quite successful in the past several years. They now manage about 170 acres. The program is led by a former Israeli who I believe is called Avraham.

They have also managed to introduce water conservation within the area. Thus, they have improved the ater table significantly and are able to store water within the ground.

They live quite spartanly. They are in a dormitory arrangement with virtually no privacy from each other. They are very energy efficient using solar power, generating power throgh stationary bikes and using ovens surrounded by heat saving bricks. It is a real "kibbutz" style place with children roaming and people acting as a group of parents.

They live in open grass and bamboo construction. This is a very basic lifestyle that creates a great deal of turnover in all but the most dedicated. There are some who have stayed for a few years but the vast majority are transient youth. Given this, it has been truly amazing what has been accomplished. A barren landscape is now a small forest with ample water supply. The power of a passionate man with an idea.

Bathroom Issues - warning - human functioning included

There is no trip to India that, at some point, does not have to consider the experience of the Indian toilet. While the one that we are used to at home is becoming more often seen here, the mainstay in any public situation is the Indian squat toilet.

This is not my picture but it illustrates the point. For men, it is often easier as long as taking a peeis your aim (pun intended). But, if you have to let go of the bowels, that is another experience. In essence, you need to squat into position an hope that your aim is ok. Now most of us Westerners have never had to think much about such things - we just sit down and let happen what needs to occur. Not here - you must contemplate your angle and the aim of your desires. If you miss, as Westerners do when they go through the learning curve, you then take the bucket and begin attempting to get the missed contents down into the toilet.

Another feature of this experience is that gravity is what causes things to go down. Thus, when you go in, it is not uncommon to see floating at the top of the hole that previous entry.

Now, on occasion, the aroma can be less than desireable - think of that childhood outhouse experience on a particularly hot day - how long could you hold your breath?

There is also no toilet paper - bring your own and do not put it down the toilet. Place it instead in a separate bucket where, at some point, the person responsible for keeping the place usable will empty the bucket. If you are lucky, you get to use the place shortly after that bucket has been emptied - if not - well I leave that to your imagination. If you forgot something with which to wipe - then you just have one option. The water that you notice at the bottom of the picture - again - I leave that to yoru imagination.

Spiritual Day

One of the obvious themes in India is spirituality. Here in Auroville is a large strucutre called the Matrimandir.

This structure has at the very top a glass panel that shines light into a Zeiss globe which then reflacts the light straight down through the structure to a similar but smaller globe at the bottom. In the room where the large globe sits is a meditation chamber which has white marble pillars. The room is a wonderful place to meditate. It is very quiet and peaceful.

The rules to get into the room are a pain but April and I went through the steps last time were here. So I got to meditate there for about 45 minutes. After that I went to the globe under the structure where there is also water flowing over tiles shaped as flower petals. This is also a wonderful place to meditate.

The grounds around the strucutre are peaceful (albeit currently undergoing some construction). There is a large Banyon tree under which you can meditate. I managed to spend about 2 hours here. April and I will be going back on Saturday.

There is apparently a history to the tree:

"The Banyan tree to the side of the Matri Mandir was to be cut down during its construction. It is said that the soul of the tree protested to The Mother in a dream and the location of the temple was shifted." The Mother is a French lady who, along with Sri Aurobindo is the founder of Auroville. Such stories abound here. She is a revered legend with pictures of the two of them all over the place.

This place is the spiritual centre of Auroville. It was specifically part of the original thinking about this place but it would take almost 40 years before it would be built. It is meant to be the soul of the city.

Later in the day, April and I went to 90 minutes of spiritual chanting. This is the second time that we have gone there. It is pretty good although tonight was a bit chaotic as a father brought his Autistic son. I have seen him around several times. I am impressed with how calm and patient this father is with this boy. Thus, he was not a dramatic interruption save a couple of moments.

One thing about being in a single area is that you start to recognize people.and begin to feel a part of the community as you begin the hellos and recognition in various places. I am in the process of trying to understand how social work is done here. More on that to come.

The Bargain

Shopping in India has a common theme that is experienced in many parts of the world - the asking price is just the beginning of the discussion. This is true whether buying a shirt in a market or getting a rickshaw (the staple of local tourist transportation). Never accept the initial price.
Some believe that the customer's first offer should be as low as 50% of the asking price. That's can be a bit brutal. There are merchants who will just essentially tell you to go away at that point to see if you are really interested. Others may try a bit of bargaining.
One of the lessons is that there is almost nothing in the markets that some other mercahnt doesn't have. Therefore, don't get to attached to the item you are bargaining for. I have even seeing a customer bargain for two very similar items at stalls side by side. She was playing the merchants off against each other (although never doubt that the merchants are friends and no just how far they can go without offending their friend).
Now and again you come across places where there is no bargaining. These are either stores or services run by ashrams or similar places or operate as a fairly western type store.
The bargaining on smaller items gets silly - chasing R10 or the equivalent of about $0.22. Sometimes it is just the principle that as a Westerner, you won't be gouged.
There are new scams of course. I got hit with one today when I wanted to get pictures copied onto a disk. I was told R100 ($2.20). Then when the copying was underway it became R200. We battled at that blakcmail and settled at R150. I had to go to a different place than I have been using because the owner of the other shop wants me to come to a family wedding this week to photograph the event - no way am I trying to pull that off.
Food is not an area of bargaining. We had chocolate croissants and latte at Le Cafe on the beach by the By of Bengal. Magnificent. At lunch, I again had thali and ate myself silly for R40 ($0.90). I had too much food!
I cannot believe how much of my day is consumed around planning food.

The coffee and croissant possibility exists because the City of Pondicherry was once occupied by the French. There are remnants in Le Quartier Franciase.

Funeral

We came across a funeral procession today. The body is laid on a garland decorated cart. Leading the procession is a man lettng off fireworks to clear the energy as the procession proceeds. There are musicians at the frotn as well.

As the cart moves away from the neighbourhood, the the flowers are pulled off the cart and thrown to the ground. This appears to be leaving the legacy behind.

Pongol

This is Tamil New Year. It seems to be a major festival that involves the gods as well as cow racing. First the gods.
As we wandered into the village with our bikes, on a back road, we found  a very small temple - about the size of a small backyard shed. In it was a priest engaging in a purification ceremony. This involves beating the drum, passing the purification smoke around the statute of the god and of himself. Then he offers a purification blessing to those around. As I write this, I have a black smudge in the middle of my forehead from being purified. At my age, anything that offer me some purity for my sins should be welcomed.

The purification is done at a couple of temples. The main one also has loud music blaring while at the others, firecrackers are set off time and again.

The cows are brought out with various decorations - their horns are coloured, their backs may have coloured powder sprinkled on them and they have things like bananas strung from horn to horn. A sort of offering I gather.

In the village, the women have done elaborate chalk powder drawings on the streets in front of their homes. They are elaborate patterns that are done in detail. The woman bends down and draws these with her hand dropping various colours onto the pavement. They are beautiful, colourful and completely impermanent.

As the morning comes to a close, the cow racing begins. They charge through the crowd heading from the main road back into the village. The paces go from thundering down the road to needing constant coaxing to move at all. To call it a race is a misnomer. I only saw the one injury which is a boy who fell and was dragged a few feet by the cow. Injuries appeared to be superficial.

As all this goes on, the main road is at a virtual standstill. That does not deter the honking which there appears to be a cultural belief will cause the traffic to magically move. It does not but the honking carries on. There were numerous police officers in brown khaki crisp uniforms around who would wave a stick now and again at the traffic - not absolutely no benefit at all.

The morning concluded with us going to one of the Auroville eateries for Indian lunch of Thali. Sadly no masala chai.

The crowds here are not as inetnse as the major cities but you do get to a point where solitude and silence is needed. Thus, I am writing this in the quiet courtyard at our guest house.

India is a country that fills your senses. There is always something going on around you and there are times when it is hard to take it all in. Everwhere you look there is something that touches you - the people, the scenery, the colours, the smells, the contradictions, the garbage, the poverty, the richness. It never lets up.

More on traffic

I have described the traffic but - as they say - a picture is worth a 1000 words. Here is a shot from the inside of our taxi heading towards Pondicherry which is 6 fascinating km from where we are staying.

We also had the opportunity to watch a solar eclipse yesterday. The sun reached a point where the entire centre was black being a ring of fire from the sun around it. The light really changed here to a soft one where there were no shadows. In another part of the provicne we are staying in, it became quite dark in fact. It was fun to wtach people in the streets with various ways to watch while protecting their eyes.

Today we are off to the village for Tamil New Year celebrations. I will post tomorrow on this.

The traffic caste system

Of course anyone familiar with India will have heard about the caste system ranging down to the untouchables. It remains a topic although it certainly doesn't have the power that it once did. Yet you can see it operating not so much as a caste system but more as a class system.

In traffic, there is a caste system in traffic. At the top is trucks who essentially own the road. They get whatever space they seem to want. Next are the buses who rhunder through, horns blaring and daring anyone other than trucks to take them on. Truck drivers are an intrepid lot who are not afraid of anything apparently. Well, there is one exception and that is the royalty of the road - the sacred cow. Traffic can truly come to a halt for the cow.

Below the bus comes the large vehicles (SUV type things) then cars and taxis, mtorocycle and then the auto rickshaw. To be a drive of these rickshaws, which are really powered by something akin to a lawn mower, requires a fearless willingness to weave through traffic, spotting even the tiniest opening, and, like a thread through the eye of the needle, occupy the space. That is unless a motor cycle has whipped up the side and taken the space away.

Bicycle riders such as April and I occupy a lowly position on the caste scale with only the pedestrian and non sacred animals below us.

Despite the obvious chaos (which as a passanger you are better to ignore) it works. Why is not obvious to a western eye. As a cyclist, however, there is a nerve required as vehicles come up behind you blaring their horn. You know that they intend to avoid you but the horn blaring leaves you wondering. But alas, I am still here (I think the greatest threat right now is the mosquitos)

Food

Being in India one would expect that we would be eating only Indian food. Not so. There is quite an industry here serving the many cultures that visit the area. At breakfast, the international community here spoke of the various places to eat. While we haven't gone there yet, there is apparently an excellent Tibetan restuarant, several good Thai restaurants and some outsanding thin crust, wood fired pizzas.

Yesterday, we had lunch at an Indian restaurant where we ate Thali - this is a dish served on a banana leaf with several sauces and small dishes which you mix into the rice at the centre of the plate. In true Indian fashion, you use one hand to do the mixing, create a little pile of the food and then with yoru fingers scoop it into your mouth.  I brag that I have developed a workable style. The food was maginificent and cost about $3 for a full meal.

At the other end of the spectrum, we had dinner at a local pizza place but did not have pizza. Instead, had pan seared calamari to start followed by grilled fish (the whole fish) along with salad and roasted potatoes. The dinner finished with fresh strawberries. All this for about $9 per person - expensive on Indian standards.

In town yesterday, also stopped at a chai stand to have a proper vendor masala chai - he heats the milk on a little gas burner, throws in some magical spices and then holds the mixture in a hot boiling pot up over another container where he, with a long pour, moves it back and forth between the pots and suddenly it appears in a glass in front of you. Magical, wonderful and taste that cannot be replicated.

Food starts to occupy a central part of the day because there is so much to experience.

It is hard to describe the environment where the street vendor was that we bought the chai as it is full of sensual experiences - sounds, people, movement, smells - all in a blend that needs the other for the real feeling. A picture cannot describe it. Everwhere you look, there is something happening. Crossing a street requires your full attention.

Buddha overlooks our meal times

Mosquitos and other realities

We have had a lot of rain since coming. There are days that April and I have been out biking when the rain started. We became soaked. Then there are days when it warms up and this brings bthe mosquitos out. As I wrote this, I am continoulsy slapping the little buggers whe are so aggressive they will even bite through your clothes.
The other neagtive is that the air is so humid, nothing really dires. When you go to sleep, the bed clothes are a but damp.
One of the guests here the other nught went to bed only to find  a small green snake sharing his space. He jumped quickly feeling the snale had priority.
Every day they deliver the Indian national paper as well as the regional one. Change the names and you would think you were back at home - headlines about incompetent politicians; people being charged with crimes; latest celebrity gossip along with racey pictures (at least racey on Indian terms) even the usually qualified celebrity offering marriage advice. Could be the Calgary Sun although there is no sunshine girl but maybe they haven't thought of it yet.
The dominant cultures visiting in this area are French and German. These are the languages from outside India you will hear the most. Not that many North Americans.
There is a delightful 19 or 20 year old Italian girl here who grew up in Bali with her father and step mother along with hal sibs. She is in her third year of travel around south asia. She is truly a wandering soul who has no plans to settle down to anything other than wandering and doing volunteer work at various NGOs. She leaves here today to go to a forest where she will plant trees for a month in exchange for food and lodging. There are many such young people here. There are also many who just wander from beach to beach.
There is also a little boy here of International prentage, about 10 years of age who appears quite bright but I am sure he is a future client of some therapist. He is the most obnoxious kid, no boundaries who boasts of killing a crow because he was dared to do it for R10 (or $0.02). Completely ineffective mother who refers to hi as darling. A Case Study.
By comparison there is a family from Belgium. The father is a professor of Film Studies and the mother is doing her PhD. He is returning to university in a few days where he will have 150 oral exams to give. She and the children stay as she is doing her research here. She does school with teh children daily with materials that their school e-mails regularly.
Spent yesterday at the beach with an Australian who studies cities, a German social worker, a Dutch university adminstrator and dance instructor - such are the groups that you meet here.

The modern Indian bike

Rain and Oil

When it rains here, the term really means downpour that will turn all routes into muck. The roads are full of puddles and you get soacked to the skin. There is nothing for it. You just get very wet and then in due course you will dry. Getting dry depends on the level of humidity. I have washed some clothes that 2 days later are still damp.

Rain is does not chill however, It is like having a warm shower with your clothes on. I will post some pictures later. The internet connection is slow so it can take up to 10 minutes to upload a single picture. But at least there is internet.

I also had an ayurvedic massage yesterday. Think of this as being soaked in herbal oils ( I do mean soaked) and then massaged as you slide about the massage table. He even puts it in your hair. There is no orifice in your body that is absent of oil by the end. Then he towels it off the body. Even with that, you need to shower throuoghly afterwards.

As many of you know, I came to do some writing. Getting to it is a challenge when faced with such important decisions as to where to wander off to lunch. Hmmm!

Power and haggling

This is something that we take for granted. Not here. The morning announcement was that there would not be power today from 0900 - 1700. That is just the way it is. It is taken for granted as being daily life.

So we went into town and had a fabulous lunch and then haggled with the shop owners. If you have never experienced haggling, you must take lessons to accept the challenges that come with the Indian merchant who has any number of creative lines about the quality of their goods - all not true but attempts to justify highly inflated prices. Thus, you start with offering 50% of what is being asked and go from there. If they won't bargain, you walk out. About half the time they follow you and then haggle with you on the street. Very unlike North America and you just have to get over the guilt.

There are also the children who are sent out onto the streets to beg - it is their job and you do no good giving them money but they sure make it hard when you look down in their eyes - something they are taught to do. The "manager" can be seen in the distance if you take time to look.

My butt is in pain from these Indian bike seats - my massage is booked for Saturday.

Bike on a good single track in India through the jungle

Time

Time is an interesting concept that we don't think about often - who has the time. There is always so much to do and so little time to accomplish it. Here in India, time is different. For thos of us visiting, time is about deciding what to do today usually wrapped around where to have lunch, will we go to the chanting (as we did last night) take a bike ride, read or nap. While I recognize that this is totally artificial, it does cause one to reflect on how much of life is consumed by things that have little to do with one's own emotional well being.

I am also given a lesson though, that time can be about survival. A taxi driver will work to sheer exhaustion for what we would consider relatively small amounts of money. He (and they are always he) will wait for 2 hours for R150 which is equaly to about $3. These men work insane hours that would be outlawed in Canada.

On Indian standards, that I would have the time and money to come away from home for three months of quiet, contemplation, reading and writing is evidence that I am truly a rich man. One of the staff here marvelled at the computer and could  not imagine buying one. So many of us take them for granted. These comaprisons are not unique to India - look at many neighbourhoods back home.

Speaking of my daily drive for a good lunch, we found this amazing place where we had chai teas (best so far) olive salad and an omelet with cucumbers, peppers and tomates that was a gourmet delight - all for about $8 for the two of us. We are spoiled.

I discovered Indian bike single track yesterday as we took a small trip into town through the jungle. Great fun.

Bicycling in Auroville

As many of you know, I consider the bicycle an essential of life. Without it - is there a purpose to life. Thus, when offered a bike to get around Auroville, I thought that a magnificent idea. Then I was introduced to the Inida bike. It is upright, single speed with basic, albeit functional brakes. It is heavy and quite top heavy. Thank heavens there are no significant hills here as that would surely mean getting off and pushing this tank up. I can't imagine that you could ride up.
Yet this very basic transport tool serves a large number of the population quite well.
Many tourists to Auroville take up scooters and small motorbikes. I having no experience with this have decided that would be testing the limits of life. Motorbike instruction here amounts to showing you the gears, where the brake is, where the gas goes in and off you go. Apparently, there is a fairly high rate of of new user injuries here.
I have been reintroduced to the joys of masala tea. There is really nothing like it in Canada - not even in Indian restaurants. Part of the challenege here is to wander the better chai shops in search of the perfect chai - it replaces my otherwise well known addiction to lattes - a rarre phenominon here. I have also returned to drip coffee (those who know me well will understand that is almost miraculous) but bif you want coffee that is the way it is - period!
We are presently planning a side trip to Mumbai for a few days late in the month.
Once the internet connection is strong enough, I will upload some photos.

En route and arrival in Auroville

I think I am somehwat addicted to travel. This is good because the security forces of the world have conspired to make the process of getting there - not - half the fun. There are the inevitable line ups while the humourless and nosey decide if your carry on is worthy of extra attention. Even if you don't get it, you will be held up by those who do get it. It is amazing the degree to which travellers have just accepted that is the way it is and indeed that is the way it is so get used to it. Certainly, if your eestination was the United States you were going to be subject to intense inspection. I am so glad my routing to India took me through England instead.

Whilst en route Calgary to London, I had the pleasure of being on a very full plane that was mainly acting as an international day care. Being New Years day, many families were retourning home from Christmas vacations. The children were actually quote amazing considering 9 hours in tube with little room to roam. I also had the joy of sitting next to a rather large weight lifiting male who, when falling asleep, felt that my right shoulder was just the perfect pillow. I think he also suffered from a very bad case of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder as he was in constant motion. Each time I drifted off he slid on to my shoulder and then proceeded to wiggle. It was an absolutely perfect tactic to ensure that I did not sustain any lack of alertness.

In London, I had the amazing pleasure of an afternoon and evening with Derek and Chris. We had coffee at Monmouths - a wonderful coffee shop located in a market. We wandered the market and I sampled some cheeses including a creamy brie like goats cheese that came in a small round, a delightful Baklava. We went to a Pakistinian restaurant, Tyyabs which was packed to the ceiling. There was an hour line up if you came without reservations - and people stayed in the lineup wiating patiently for what is just amazing food quite reasonably priced. It was such a joy to spend the time with Derek and Chris who gave up their bed so I could have a good night's sleep. I was also exposed to their own version of the apple store - apple Ipods, apple computers, apple backups, apple TV.

The trip to Chennai the next morning had the best possible feature of airplane travel - on time and delightfully boring. The trip in the taxi from Cennai to Auroville was also as expected - terrifying and operating with road rules that make no sense. There is an almost guarentee when taking an Indian taxi that you will be subject to various moments when you llok at the palm of yoru hand to ensure that your life line does indicate that you will make to the next day.

While sleeping I was visited by a 3 cm little centipede / scoropin creature who fet it necessary to take a chunk out of my left leg. I presume this is mother nature welcoming me.

It is April's birthday so we sang Happy Birthday in the courtyard and so begins my first day in India.