Friday 1st November

Another day of doing nothing. I completely failed to get through to home last night and it is getting quite worrying. The phone rings and rings but there's no answer. Where are you, Mum and Dad?

I ought to write down some Tamil words now, so here we go (fonetiklee, of course):

- Vannakam – Hello/Good Day To You, Sir/Hi!
- Nanri - Thank You (with rolled r)

So it's been more than a week and I've learned two words but just think; by the end of six months I'll have learned 48!

GOT THROUGH AT LAST!!! Finally I've managed to phone home! Of course life wouldn't be as interesting had I not phoned the local Hairdresser (in Sedgley) first and had then been told that my home number didn't exist...

Saturday, 2nd November

14:20: we're waiting for Henry Joe to take us to meet some University professor who is also a dab hand at inter-faith dialogue. We're becoming very apathetic now, C. with his flu/rash/squits and me with... well, just apathy. C. is wallowing in major self pity and illness at the moment and it's so hard for me to keep my spirits up when he doesn't want to do anything. The Rev.'s expecting me to do a song tomorrow morning but he's got all my music. I can't practise because C. will get pissed off. He won't let me play the guitar, let alone sing. I don't know what he likes or does or anything. He has an incredibly low self image and there's nothing I can do to change it, but he keeps dragging my own confidence - which I think annoys him – down.

I think that I am fairly well adjusted to India now, although I still have so much to learn. I am quite comfortable with the way we're living, even if it is a touch on the hot side and have begun to look ahead now, trying to plan our next move. We still haven't contacted the embassy. In Ramnad we are going to be staying in a new guest house for just a pound a night. I am planning a shopping trip before we venture into what the Bishop called 'one of the most backward parts of Tamil Nadu, in the most backward state of India'. I want to get a good stock of novels, writing paper, camera films, anti-malarials and insect repellent.

On Monday we are going to Ramnad for a couple of days to see the schools and meet the staff. Hopefully they'll be able to shed some light on what we'll be doing. The Rev. said that it'll be grammar, pronunciation and spoken English. I think I can handle that, but I'm still scared of teaching a class. We're going to be spending Christmas and New Year in Ramnad, but are coming back to Madurai for a short holiday beforehand. They have exams in December and March, so we'll be on holiday then.

It might be an idea to visit some wildlife places before Christmas so we can go to other things at the end. We're thinking of starting our 'round trip' when the March exams so that we can have four to six weeks before we go home. At the rate we're going it looks like we won't have to change our return date, not that I think I'll be able to pursuade C. to change his mind! You never know, in six months time he might have a radical rehaul of thought. He's keeping himself going with constant quoting of Cecil Rhodes' 'Bladdy Savages' (The series was on TV just before we left). It has occurred to me that to the native Indian we simply appear as dollar signs. We were asked today if we wanted a shoe-shine. With fabric sandals? We declined.

...

18:20: What an overload of long words and theory that was! I'm going to try and unravel some of his notes now. Not really knowing what we were there for, C. and I decided (very cunningly, I thought) to find out what it was the professor did in the hope that it might throw up some ideas for us to grab onto. Having ascertained that he was a great believer in Ghandiji with his philosphies on religion and solving all the world's problems with love, we moved on to Evangelism. It seems that when the first missionaries came to India, they Westernised those whom they converted. This isn't really on, and our friend the Prof. is working to pursuade the Indian Christians that they need to remain Indian, even though they are Christians... This threw up that old chestnut: Whose God is He/She/It anyway? The reasoning went something like this:

• If Christianity is true, other religions must be false...
• If this is true, then God is only revealed in Christianity, not in others...
• If this is true, then God's revelation is limited...
• BUT God is infinite!
• So if God is not only here, but also there, I must accept other religions as true.

This is the basis of the argument, reminding me of a Sikh I met in Birmingham who said 'there are many paths up a mountain, but they all reach the top.' The upshot of this is that the question becomes 'if all religions are true, where is the need for mission?' A widespread view of mission, being to spread the good news of man's salvation through Christ, is made somewhat redundant by the acceptance of all religions. If we accept others' beliefs, what need have we to evangelise? The old missionaries teachings of 'this is the only way' is now invalid as an empty gesture. Do we believe that God is mutually exclusive? Are we monopolising what is in fact a vastly more complex subject? Does it really matter?

Today, given the multi-faceted view of God's revelations, mission becomes pluralistic – not simply a matter of 'give', but 'give and ye shall receive'. It is mutually enriching. I can share one view of revelation which I know, ie. The Jesus model, but at the same time remain humble enough to receive the other facets of God's revelations. So while evangelising, I am allowing myself to be evangelised.
Another ages-old question is thrown up, namely 'who is being spoken to when they (whoever said it) said: "if you want to have eternal life you must believe in God?"' Who is this 'you'? Is it mankind, or is it the group to whom it is addressed? Ie giving unicity – applicable to all or different applications for everyone.

"No-one comes to the father but through me." What does he mean by me? When he went up the mountain to pray and the disciples saw the prophets Elijah and Moses with Jesus, how can they have got to the kingdom of heaven when it wasn't through him? What were they on? The 'me' must be the Mystical, the Logos, the Alpha and Omega, not the historical Nazareen.

"He died on the cross to take my place." As a Christian I believe this, I'm not sure what it has to do with the above arguments, but it is not 'He died as a substitute for me.' It is a challenge that charges us to be brave in the face of death. Seeing God suffer because of our sins is a great symbol, giving us courage to face the inevitable. In the context of shared evangelism, while Krishna enjoys music and has fun, the same God is in our faith, but suffering. It then becomes a matter of which means more to you...

Sunday, 3rd November

I had to sing in the service this morning – I didn't want to do 'Father God I Wonder' or 'I Believe in Jesus', so I did something completely different. It was a bit short, but I was caught short at the time so it suited me fine! The speaker was this chap who is working with some dodgy evangelist called 'Willhelm Wonky' or something. He has 'played' all over the place and now they're evangelising Madurai at the racecourse, of all places.

C. was asked to say a few words and was introduced as The Thought For The Day. Having resolved the inevitable microphone crisis, he went through the usual paces of Introduction To Dave And C.. It was good enough, if a little lacking on the thought provocation front. They never tell us what they are expecting from us, like we are going to spout these amazing pearls of wisdom from our perfect Western Church. Just say anything at all, they say... perhaps this adds an element of excitement to otherwise banal proceedings.

Communion is good though, with the congregation singing 'real' songs of fellowship accompanied by Marky on the guitar. I've definitely found my favourite form of worship and it isn't the liturgy et al, it's the quasi-Happy Clappers that reach me more.

It was incredibly hot afterwards (I was forced to change my shirt because of the sweat – nice) which shouldn't really be a surprise, but I guess I'm not quite used to it yet. Now someone else wants me to record the parts of some Mission Praise songs – the leader of the family choir. She's got the books and the music, but obviously that's not enough.

Henry Joe was so sentimental when we parted yesterday... I will go and tell the Bishop that my ministry with you is over... not if we can help it matey! I'm still reeling from the oh-so-inspiring meeting with the professor and there's still another page of notes I need to sort out, so let's dive in again:

The next topic on the table was cultures. Western culture is wasteful, using unrenewable sources to advance in the name of progress. Based on dichotomy, with the body and the spirit as separate entities, irreconcilable in this life. Greed is made valid as an essential component of human existence by market economy. So the Professor says.

Indian/Asian culture however, is cyclic (with nowhere to progress to, presumably) and doesn't destroy rainforests or wasteland because of greed. The idea of Globalisation is wrong because it is a monologue of evangelisation. The influx of Western culture is destroying the Indian way of life. Our consumerism, always plugging the bigger/better/more efficient/more digital product is filtering into India before they can afford it.

It costs Rs15,000 for three seconds of advertising and chewing gum is being advertised every five minutes. This shows that there is a big market for a useless sweet, before the majority of the population have enough money for the basics of life. In short, he says, tell your Western friends to stop thinking about what they want. If you can afford a cappucino machine, forget it. Save someone's life. Feed others' needs. All this is fair enough, but now the Prof. wants us to take responsibility for:

• Two world wars,
• The massive industrialisation and therefore dehumanisation of our society,
• And the impending ecological disaster...

It was getting pretty heavy for two little ex A-level students who have no influence in the world. Okay, so Westernisation is bad but without it, India would remain poor. Admittedly it was us who milked her for everything she had and dropped her as soon as she realised, but to blame our culture? Does India not fight? Is there corruption and money obsessions everywhere or is it just me...

I think that greed is a basic human emotion and to blame the West for it is a bit out of order. We are an individualistic crowd, while the Indians are group-orientated. In the end though, the overriding point was that we should all share and the West has little interest in what India has to offer. In other words, we've seen it all before.

Monday, 4th November

Ramnad: I'm suffering from guilt pangs about what I've said about C. lately, but I'm on a higher plane today. We are in Ramnad now, staying in the strangest of places in the grounds of St. Andrew's Girls' school. We are here for one night, meeting people. There are three schools here: girls', boys' and a co-ed. Funny, that: in the information pack M. gave C., it said that there were two schools; St. Andrew's Girls' (English medium) and St. Martin's Boys (Tamil Medium). The girls' school is actually Tamil medium and the boys school doesn't exist, not by that name anyway! No-one knows that we're here, or that we're supposed to be teaching! Cheers, M.! (I know it's probably not your fault but we need someone to blame and hey, wadda ya know – IT'S YOU!)

This is no bad thing. It means that they don't have any unrealistic expectations of us, and we are therefore able to almost dictate what we will do. We visited the co-ed school, and are going to see the other two tomorrow. They want me to teach the harmonium! Well it's the same as an organ only different and you can play the piano. I could teach music theory and am interested in teaching physics – the level is much lower than ours and it's from a syllabus anyway. C. expressed our desire to teach in a more informal situation and the Headmistress suggested discussion groups. They are quite worried about how much the children will be able to understand, as they are used to each others' English.

We will have to learn their accent – like speaking Jive on Airplane. We were proudly shown round their computer room, with ten ancient PCs and no mice. They use LOGO and Dbase and other 'unable to use anywhere else so let's give it all to India' software. Maybe we'll get the chance to do a bit of touch-typing. C. said he wanted to learn so we'll probably be forced to! Indians' hospitality is incredible – say you like something and they'll give it to you. You have to be so careful about what you say.

I can't handle all these servants and women calling you 'sir' and being so damn respectful all the time. There is a guy here called Winston who is much older than us but he even pours the water for us to wash our hands in. I can't stand it!

We met two other priests (as well as the one who showed us around – Rev. Athisayam, Pastor of Ramnad), one who bears an uncanny resemblance to Delboy and our next door neighbour. The latter has a gorgeous daughter who is brilliant at painting. No formal training, we were told by her proud father as she displayed her stunning oil studies. C.'s found a companion in art. (hurrah!) At last, someone he can share interests with. I'm going to join the choir for Christmas and there's also a music fanatic here who they are going to arrange for me to meet, so it looks like I'll be pretty sorted too.

Our future accommodation looks good, a brand new building with a courtyard and all the facilities, I'm told. At the moment we're staying in an office with all the bare essentials (squat toilet, walls, roof, that sort of thing). It's a really nice place. When the priest said that no-one knew we were coming my heart died a little, but now we've met the neighbours it's becoming more human. I think we're going to be alright.

Tuesday, 5th November

It's going to be some time before we get used to the concept of Indian Time. It's about an hour and a half later than Spoken Time, and infuriating for Westerners like us. We met the Headmaster of Schwartz Boys' school and he seems to be the most together of all the people we've met so far. His idea is to get us the boys who want to learn English so we'll have willing pupils. I think we're going to have to take some of the teachers as well! They are all queuing up to talk to us – it's so great to feel wanted.

...

Madurai, 21:20: We're back, and in a bit of a mood with each other. We've been arguing all day, mainly about how bald isn't pronounced the same as bold (my point, C. thinks it is), and I'm not entirely sure that it's healthy. What is really pissing me off is how C. is trying to remain so English. He asks me to leave the room (ie. Face the mosquitos) whenever he takes a dump and I really don't see the point. He's still homesick and I can't be sympathetic because I'm very independent, and to top it all off he's terribly ill (the bastard) and won't admit it.

He's waved goodbye to his flu and just has an awful cough instead. I almost feel guilty because I seem to be unaffected by the change – I have no quarrel with the food, and apart from one occasion (halfway through church on Sunday), I haven't had the dreaded squits yet. I'm very lucky. I have an advantage in the fact that I like Indian food. C. doesn't. Just don't ask, okay? I think our relationship needs a bit of work, though, and as it's probably my fault I'll see if I can hold back my tongue.

I've stopped thinking in terms of English time, my body clock seems to have sorted itself out (along with my brain-clock saying 'go to bed! Go to bed!' all the time), which is a good sign, I think. As we sat in anticipation of our first meal in Ramnad, and were greeted by a variety of delicious smells, I suddenly realised that these were the same smells that I'd hated so much on the train to Madurai. I think I'm starting to fall in love with India just as C. is beginning to hate it.

Wednesday, 6th November

The latest: Do Metal Bands Idolise Death?

A great rift of disagreement here. C.'s opinions are formed by a distant view. Like saying that Moss-Side is just like anywhere else before you have walked the streets at night. Being an artist, C. reads into their violent, grim imagery as an unhealthy obsession. I see it as part of a culture. I like some of the things. I don't know why, but maybe it has something to do with the fascination people have with horror, or accidents. When you start talking about the real death metal bands, like the Crowley followers in Scandinavia, I agree. But saying that all metal bands are like that? I like Iron Maiden's Eddie and Megadeth's artwork because it's cool.

Well, C. says, with a name like that... He's obviously never heard them or had any desire to, which is why his ideas are so wrong. C. seems so – not ignorant – but uneducated in general knowledge. So unaware of what is going on in the world, yet so strongly opinionated. I hate when people have such ideals and try to argue myself, only when I know (or think I know) my subject. Music, especially metal, is one of my specialties. Mainly because of what I went through with B. and Metallica. (got me into an unhealthy obsession!)

It's really stupid how C. and I end up arguing so much. It's usually my fault because I always rise to the challenge. It's frustrating with C. because we never conclude or even peter out, he just changes the subject. He's also very good at winding me up, so I'm afraid my vow strke resolution of yesterday hasn't been holding out too well.

...

We went to the Tirumalai Nayak Palace, not for the first time – we went with Henry Joe to see a 'Sound And Light' show last Friday. I forgot to mention it because I was too tired. It was basically sitting on the palace courtyard (at 6:45 pm – suppertime for mosquitos) listening to a badly recorded tape of the history of the Pandyan Kings. In short: Some King punished this guy unjustly so the guy's wife burnt his palace down. At strategic points in the narrative, coloured lights came on, accentuating the palaces outstanding beauty. It did get somewhat tedious, but was cut short (thankfully) as half the lights weren't working. Anyway, we went today to get some pictures in daylight...

Bishop David Eames came to visit at lunchtime with his 'cabinet'. He is a lot more together than Bishop Pothi, and wants us to minister to every school in the diocese! He said that there is only so much one can do and when we've exhausted our resources in Ramnad we should move on to another place, etc. This doesn't appeal to me very much, but he also said that we should be given a tour of the diocese and the churches so that we can find out about The Church here, which sounds a lot more promising. He said he'd look after us anyway, and as he is the real Bishop, I don't think he's lying.

A very strange and scarey man from Rev. Fenn's congregation talked to us as we were going into town this morning. He was very keen to tell me how Bishop Pothi didn't resign, he was fired for fiddling funds! Hmm. And apparently our dear old Rev. Fenn is a tyrant who bad-mouths his congregation and extorts money from them. Not to us he doesn't. My impression, from what he has told us, is that he just quells their attempts to manipulate him and finds that they are falling over themselves to help. I mentioned this and the fact that Rev. Fenn has started Bible-Study Groups, a Sunday School, Family Services, Family evenings of songs and games – not to mention building the Blind School which is run by volunteers and a bare minimum of funds. Ah! said the strange little man, But with whose money? I really do despair sometimes. Let him write to his MP.

Thursday, 7th November

Independence Day comes out tomorrow (in English, with Tamil subtitles), I think we'll go and see it as C. hasn't been yet. We were going to see Daughters of Dracula, but discovered that it contained more eroticism than horror, so decided against it. Anyway, we might have bumped into the Bishop there!

It has been another great day for laziness, I bought a couple of books and got my second film developed...

This evening we went to see Reinhard Bonnke the German evangelist, fascinating stuff. All about The Power of the Blood of JESUS CHRIST!!! Spoken with a much too excitable voice. The guy never stopped shouting and frequently interrupted himself with Amens and Hallelujas. He told a few stories, which I suppose one could call parables, that were impressively effective. Of course this was after he had done his PR bit for the next day, Ven I vill giff a FIERY sermon!

He'd been asked to appear on national television in a discussion programme with a professed atheist. It went something like this:

"...and this atheist said to me, 'Reinhart Bonke,' he said, 'you preach about the power of the blood of Jesus Christ, but I tell you there is no power in the blood of Jesus Christ and I'll tell you why, it's because the blood of Jesus Christ is two thousand years on this Earth and instead of being better, there is more sin and evil now than there ever was so tell me how can there be power in the blood of Jesus Christ, tell me!'

(James Brown would be a good comparison).

"So I said to him, 'STOP! Let me answer you. Let me tell you about the Power of the Blood of JESUS CHRIST!' So I said 'My friend, the blood of JESUS CHRIST is like soap. It's like soap,' I said 'and let me tell you why. Let me tell you how soap works. There is lots of soap in the world and there are still a lot of dirty people.'

(Pause for effect)

" 'If you stand next to a bar of soap, it will not wash you. People work in soap factories and can still be dirty! Let me explain how soap works. If you want to get cleaned you have to reach out and take the soap and wash yourself. That is how soap works! You can't see the Power of the Blood of JESUS CHRIST even though it is right next to you! You must reach out and wash yourself clean with His Blood and then you will FEEL THE POWER!' "

Then follows the atheist's wonder and praise of Reinhart Bonke, saying that all other evangelists were amateurs and he was a true professional. Of course Reinhart demured saying that he was simply full of the Power of the Blood of JESUS CHRIST, Halleluja, Amen.

Another story was about how we are marked as God's people. Where Moses marks Aaron and his descendants forever with the blood of the ram on the ear, thumb and big toe, we are also thus marked. So when you are walking through Madurai late at night, singing happily to yourself, safe in the knowledge that you are chosen, there are three demons waiting in the shadows. One big, two small. One senior, two juniors. They hear you coming and jump out. You can't see them, but they can see you and the mark of the Blood of JESUS CHRIST! Halleluja. The senior demon says 'Wait! Do not touch that person, because if you do, a hoard of Angels will come after you!' (Cheers, applause, Halleluja, Amen.)

Yet more followed about his time in Africa and how he annoyed the witchdoctors by stealing their customers. We had to leave before the rush – there were thousands there.

Reinhard Bonnke? Reinhard Bonkers more like. Halleluja, Amen.

Friday 8th November

Now that we are nearing the end of our stay in Madurai, I think it's about time I attempted to evaluate my feelings about our first two weeks.

Intermission

At first, naturally I was scared and lost as we struggled to make sense of this alien world. With the symbolic reality of the train journey taking me deeper into poverty and unknown territory, I very nearly got the first train back to the airport! When we met Bishop Pothi at Madurai station, the oppressive atmosphere caused by the thick humidity of the air made me want to wake up from the nightmare...

Back then the smells were detestable, the heat overpowering, the people mystifying and the prospect of actually learning to like it laughable. I remember very vividly the powerlessness in Madras as two porters found our seat for us, packed our bags, dragged me outside and demanded fifty rupees. In much the same vein, a porter in Madurai grabbed my case even before I'd alighted.

Being unexpectedly assaulted, and with no intention of releasing my grip on the case, I stumbled the two feet off the train and landed on his bare feet with some considerable force! He cursed me and I think it must have been for his and the other locals' benefit because I had no idea what he was saying. He didn't try to take my bags again.

It was exactly this sort of forceful behaviour as people imposed themselves on us time and time again that I found most horrifying. In England they wait until you ask them for help. Here, they've charged you before you realise that they've done anything. Just the other day C. was approached by a coconut woman who cracked open a 'nut, scooped out the juice, stuck in a straw and charged him five rupees before he knew what she was selling!

It was a source of much distress during the first week with tailors accosting you and auto drivers,¹ taxi drivers, rickshaw drivers after your money. (You don't understand, we're English! Our country is so small we walk everywhere. If we don't, our legs stop working! No, really...) With beggars, children, pushers (hasheesh, drrugs!) at every turn and everyone staring at you, there appears to be little option but to react with hate, fear and disgust. And that is what I did.

Knowing that Nic was here, and had been for two weeks was our lifeline and we held on to it with both hands. Our priority became to find her so that she could tell us how bad it really was. Through observing her when she took us into town, I learned a great deal. In our first ventures I'd kept my eyes open, trying to take in too much information and becoming confused and lost as a result.

With Nic, we were going to the tailor's and that's where we went. It seemed to be a case of putting the proverbial blinkers on.. this worked for a while as I learned to cope with the barrage of attention and I've gradually become used to it, behaving - I hope – as most of the locals do while we walk the same streets. I still feel overdressed, even in my Indian-style clothes, because the colours are so outrageous. The men here don't usually dress up, but when they do, they wear white. Their concession to colour is to wear awful brown Hawaiian-type shirts and tablecloth dhotis.² I think I'll have to stay different.

So I think I've got over the initial culture shock and have begun to adapt to this new lifestyle. My taste for the food has helped no doubt and as for homesickness, I said goodbye on the train and have resolved to look ahead. C. has yet to do this and is dwelling at great length on the benefits of English cuisine. Yesterday we had some appalling fish for lunch, the leftovers for dinner and it looks like it's fish on the menu tonight. In Ramnad we had catfish which was fresh and very tasty, but here it's old and tough. We are three hours of Indian sun away from the sea after all. I wonder which one of us said they liked fish – it couldn't have been me, I can't stand the stuff...

(...end intermission...)

Right then, back to the old me and C. debate.

C. has tried to turn the tables, probably sick of me backing out and is now saying things like I'm rising above it and I won't be drawn in. This doesn't usually work, mainly because I'm not starting anything.

It seems like everything he says is a challenge to me. Maybe that's my argumentative disposition. Just now it was; 'Which is better – school or college?' it started out innocently enough but then C. (rather bitingly I thought) said, well that was School though, wasn't it? I can't remember the details, but this cut me sufficiently to reply. I don't agree with his condescension when it comes to his going to college.

So you're allowed to smoke. That's the only difference as far as I could ascertain. He said that he went to college to get away from the rules and the uniform.

I felt compelled to prove that my school was worthy and not at all oppressive. Not because I was showing off, but because it's another assumption on his part that my school is the same as his and therefore wrong in every way.

Loyalties, I don't know. Even though my (admittedly stereotyped) assumption that college was all lectures (in the 'bloke at front talks – students take notes' sense) was wrong, it just proved further the similarity between our educations. I didn't mind the rules that we had, and I had a great time.³ I was allowed to do what I wanted and be who I wanted.

It was only people who, like C., felt that the system was geared towards oppression who had problems. His retort to the suggestion that my lessons were just as informal as his lectures sound to have been, was nothing short of arrogance. Didn't you have discipline problems? ...and there weren't any in a college with no rules? It's exactly this sort of narrow-mindedness that I hate, especially within the state/public school debate. I can't blame the lad, he found something that worked for him and I commend that, but he has to try and get me to agree that he is right, my school was crap and that's why I got an A and three Bs. Confused? I know I am.

He said today that he asks himself 'who am I?' and doesn't know the answer. Since his problem with drugs (apparent),⁴ he has no self. With no self-confidence, no daring, no sense of a challenge and chronic depression where does he start? I mentioned my own complete turn-over of my life in the lower-sixth form and my rejection of depression and self-deprecation.

It's this that has got me where I am today and why I am able to take things as they come with a bare minimum of stress. (I didn't get where I am today by being depressed and self-deprecating...) The concept of laid-back is an impossible dream for C. (not that he'd ever take the challenge and try it). Similarly, there's no way he'll dare to think of himself as being worth more than the mess he is.

Positive Mental Attitude is what he needs and he ain't got it. He needs to look ahead, live a little, surprise himself and come out of that useless home-spun shell he's too scared to leave. Okay, so maybe that's a little harsh, but I think this spell away from home will do him good. We are so incredibly different that we're bound to rub each other up the wrong way and maybe that's why God put us together. If I (or India) can break C.'s wall down, maybe he can help me with my own insecurities.

Saturday, 9th November

While I remember, when we were talking to the professor last week I posed him this question:

"There's a caveman who is about to die. He is a very good caveman, has never done anything wrong – not even dragged his woman around by the hair. The only thing is, he has no concept of God. The idea simply never occurs to him. The question is this: when he dies, is there a place in Heaven for him?"

Not my own idea I'm afraid, but it was asked of me by my driving instructor, Roy, who was great for talking about weird and wonderful things. The professor replied with this story from Tolstoy:

'A Bishop was taking the Word out to some islands in his diocese, and found a village where they'd never heard of Jesus. In all his finery, the Bishop was taken to three men who to all intents and purposes were regarded as Holy Men. They listened with interest to his story and said,

"We have a God in whom we believe and who we believe to be the only God. So our God and your God must be the same." The Bishop asked,

"How do you pray?" The men looked confused, so the Bishop went on, "You must have a prayer to confirm your faith and ask forgiveness for your sins." Before they had the chance to say anything, he enthusiastically began to teach them the Creed.

'As time went on, the three Holy Men tried to learn the Creed, but as soon as they'd learned one part, they forgot another. When they got the beginning right, they forgot the end. When they remembered the end, they forgot the beginning. When they were right with the beginning and the end they missed out the middle. Eventually the Bishop decided to go back to the mainland and bring back some prayer books so they wouldn't have to learn the prayer by heart.

'So he set off across the sea back to the coast. As he proceeded, he saw a light coming from the island. It grew bigger, and he realised that something was approaching the boat! It appeared to be floating in the air above the water and as it drew nearer he found that he could make out three distinct shapes – humanoid, and yet bathed in some glorious light. He soon recognised them as the three Holy Men from the island! He stood up in amazement as they stopped by his boat, standing on the water.

"We wanted to ask you," One of them said, "what comes after 'I believe in the holy spirit'?" the Bishop was too stunned to speak and stood agape for a moment before saying,

"What had you been saying before I came?"

"You are Three and we are three, have mercy on us." They replied. The Bishop said,

"Keep that prayer, I have been using mine for years and I have never been able to walk on water like you!" It was just fun for them, and he saw no reason to force them to learn something that might lose them that power.'

Does that answer my question? I don't think so but hey, it's a story!

Sunday, 10th November

It's the Hindu festival Divali, or Deepavali today, the festival of light overcoming darkness. There's a story attached to it, about an ambitious giant who wants to burn people with his hands. He finds a small God and asks for this power.

The God (the fool) grants it and the giant goes off to have some fun. But the God becomes scared and realises that the giant could burn him if he put his mind to it. He goes to a bigger God and explains his predicament and the bigger God calls on the giant. He offers unlimited power and all the giant has to do to get it is put his hands on his own head. He does it. He burns. We laugh.

The festival is celebrated with fireworks, especially bangers – the bigger the more fun. These have been exploding constantly since yesterday, all night and today. We went to the TTS for an evening service and it was terrifying walking there with the fireworks going off right, left and centre.

They light Catherine Wheels on the floor with bare feet! I ask you. Rockets flew sideways, one right in front of us, manned by five year-olds, naturally there are no regulations. It was chaos. The service was in Tamil so we understood nothing and with the no fans in the church it was ridiculously hot. The fireworks all around made it seem like there was a war going on, a bizarre experience to say the least.

We said goodbye to Nic, had a delicious biryani, watched the European students entertain the locals with some Dutch folk song and dance, then braved the bangers home. Back at the Divine Patience we were given another meal. We did phone to say we were going to be late, but they'd already cooked it. Being Westerners, we eat very little and the policy here is 'if it ain't coming out of your ears you're not eating enough.'

Monday, 11th November

Part Two: Teaching Shock

"Ramnad (a shortened form of its longer name Ramanathapuram which means Rama's gateway), is a rural town and local centre with a population of about 75,000. It is approximately twenty miles from the coast and is situated on the main road and railway line from Madurai to Rameswaram.

This is an important route for pilgrims because both Madurai and the small island of Rameswaram with its temple town have major Hindu temples. It is important for transport because Rameswaram is the ferry port for crossings between India and Sri Lanka (although the present troubles in Sri Lanka have put a halt to this). But besides being relatively unimportant, religiously speaking, Ramnad remains a busy town and an important centre for the surrounding rural area.

Although Christians are a small minority, they form a significant proportion of the population, as European missionaries of various denominations have long been active here. The total number of Christians regularly worshipping in Church of South India congregations in the diocese of Madurai-Ramnad is about 50,000."¹

Ramnad: We've moved house! We've got a huge room with shelves and everything.² They've given us the run of the house. Some rooms are locked, but we've got showers (four of them), toilets (another four), acres of space and access to the roof! The bus journey was frightening, the sexton came to fetch and accompany us on the three hours to Ramnad. I needed more eyes than God gave me to watch my case and guitar, C. just thought I was being paranoid...

I managed to get a photo of the OM girls with the lovely Lydia (by far my favourite – be still my beating heart. etc... etc...)! I've got their HQ address and their leader has got my home address – she wants to write to my mum and dad! That'll surprise them!

Rev. Athisayam³ has assigned his nephew to work for us. Having an unpronounceable name, we call him Kumar.⁴ He speaks very little English, just single-word sentences. The Rev. seems to think we can teach him! Oh well, we'll be doing it soon enough. He's very friendly and I think we'll get on well, but we need to get him out of the faithful servant role and we can't emphasise this enough. He comes round to serve us our meals and is very useful generally, but we've got to cultivate him as our friend.

It is doing our Western sensitivities no end of harm living in the Shadow of the Empire 'n' all. As I joked to C., they are getting their own back now by not giving us our independence! The Rev. is so incredibly nervous that he's forgotten to ask us what we want or think. I think we're the first Western visitors that he's had and he isn't sure how to play it. He seems to think we come from the Arctic or something and need to be sheltered from the sun at all times, have the fan on all the time and drink hot drinks. All the time.

I opened some of the shutters to let some light in and he closed them with a frown saying, "The sun is too hot for you, I think." When we turn the fans down, he turns them up! He is so concerned about doing things right that he can't realise that we might be slightly different to what he is expecting. I think it's partly the Bishop's fault though, because he is supposed to have briefed the Rev. on how to look after us and has probably scared him with bizarre tales of English life. Bishop Pothi. has been to England a few times, but you know how people like to exaggerate...

Although his English is very good, the Rev. is a little unused to 'real' English speakers and as a result he just doesn't get what we're saying.⁵

Example:

• "We were shown around the temple by Henry Joe," says C.
• "Who?"
• "Henry Joe, do you know him?"
• "No, who?"
• "Henry Joe" (with rolled 'r' and shortened 'o')
• "No – Henry Joe – no, I don't know him."
• "Henry Joe" I say, slowly and precisely, desperately trying not to sound like an Englishman abroad, although of course, I am.
• "Oh yes, I know him well." He says as if we are foolish to suggest he doesn't.

Example:

• "We want to pay in advance each month for the room and food," says C.
• "Yes, yes. Can you pay now?"
• "No, we'll have to go to the bank."
• "Yes, yes. You pay by day?"
• "No, by month," we explain patiently. The Rev. frowns and looks at his shoes. His face lightens and he looks up.
• "How much do you want to pay?"
• "How much does it cost?"
• "What did you pay in Madurai?"
• "Two hundred and twenty rupees per day"
• "Yes, yes. So two hundred rupees per day?"
• "Okay, that's fine." The Rev. looks content with this, but then concern shadows his otherwise benign features.
• "Can you pay now?"
• "No, we'll have to go to the bank. But write down how much you want and we'll get it for you tomorrow."
• "Yes, yes. Do you want to pay by day?" Etc, etc. But communication problems aside, it's great here.

In the afternoon some kids came round to stare, and some to talk. Eventually the conversation petered out and the boldest child with another unpronounceable name,⁶ challenged me to a game of chess. So the competition began. I won, but then lost to a much older lad. Then the extrovert played C. and won, so with victory in his eyes he played me again and lost.

Not that I'm showing off or anything, it's probably bad karma to win all the time. Some weird bloke came in and made straight for our room! He didn't speak to us, just looked around. We managed to convey a simple message: get out or we'll brain you with this hammer, and I'm glad to say he left without fuss.

Tuesday, 12th November

They expected us to start working yesterday, can you believe it? And the bloke who had organised it, the so-called Correspondent had no intention of coming round to tell us where or what we would be doing! Politely but firmly we explained to the Rev. that we felt it would be better for us to rest for a day, and if the correspondent of the Schwartz Matriculation School¹ cared to indulge us with a timetable, then today would appear to be a good time. At least we've now got ourselves a bit of breathing space to prepare ourselves for the kids. If it's at all possible!

We had told the Rev. that we didn't eat very much, it was one of the first things we told him, after our experience with food in Madurai, but I reckon he took Kumar on one side and said,

You know they said that they didn't eat very much? Well forget all that, feed them more! Needless to say, I'm still loving (most of) the food to bits.

C.'s teaching Kumar poker dice at the moment – I'm glad I brought them, I just wish I hadn't lost my cheap cards at greenbelt festival in August. Kumar comes over quite a lot and we've got nothing for him to do, which is a good excuse for getting him out of the 'humble slave' mould.

Wednesday, 13th November

I sent my second circular home yesterday, and got a fax back! It's made my day... and guess what? The bank in Ramnad doesn't cash traveller's cheques! Bloody marvellous. Now we have to go up to Madurai whenever we want any money! Three hours on a crowded bus just to go to the bank!

The teaching situation is worsening by the second. I think the Headmistress at the Schwartz Matriculation school wants us to teach from the syllabus for the exams! We're dropped right in it. At St. Andrew's we're starting tonight with a group of the boarders at six o'clock. I'm not looking forward to it at all! We're going to have to explain to the kids that we're not qualified, as the teachers don't seem to get it.

Maybe simply being English is qualification enough. Maybe it'll work out. Yet again, the boys' school looks like the best bet, we've actually been introduced to some of the kids, talked to them and they are so incredibly interested! I have never been able to comprehend this kind of attention. We are starting on Monday for an hour each evening. It's a quarter to six now, so wish me luck!

Thursday, 14th November

Absolute chaos is the only way to describe life's tribulations at the moment. We went to the school last night and discovered that it was in fact tonight that we start. Of course C. and I had to have an enormous argument about it, on the way there too! I think it was me who thought it was tomorrow, but we went round in circles so I've forgotten the detail. What I do remember is C. stopping and asking if he was going mad because his memory is crap, or did I tell him that his memory was crap? I said that my memory (which is very good) is very good and I'm sure I could remember that Rev. Athisayam told us it was last night. He did. It's just that the Deputy Head at St. Andrew's, who knows much more than the Rev, told C. we would start tonight. The Rev. said that the Deputy Head told him, she said she didn't. So who's really going mad?

My money's on the Rev. I think I've gone on long enough...

So we took Kumar to see Jumanji instead. The cinema in Ramnad is huge and the back speakers only work in the loud parts so we had to move to the front of the balcony (the expensive seats – Rs10/20p!). Indian cinemas aren't just for films, oh no. They are a social outing, a chance to smoke weed in the dark, to throw chairs around when the projectionist messes up the reels or the electricity goes off, they are an experience and no mistake. But it shows English films in English, which should be a welcome escape from India. We'll go again, no doubt.

This morning we got the seven-fifteen bus to Madurai, got money, bought books and loo-roll and other items of little interest, and returned. So far I've bought about six novels, all easy reading but that's really all I can cope with. In the evening we went to the girl's school to meet our prospective students at last.

We met another English teacher who didn't know anything about us! The Headmistress obviously keeps to herself as that makes three members of staff in the dark since we came here last Monday. The woman we met tonight is called Florence and she acted as a translator while we introduced ourselves and explained about what we hoped to achieve. She turned into a mediator however, asking all the questions and explaining our answers.

We were lucky that she was there, because we would have floundered a lot with the girls being as shy as they were. We explained our predicament and how we need to know what they want to know or learn, etc. I said that they should ask us if they have any questions about anything and we'd try to explain. We emphasised the fact that we are not qualified teachers. We talked about England; its size, counties, cities, towns and how it takes only nine hours to travel from top to bottom. Florence must have been quite shocked because she asked if we had enough material for five months. I said no, but we'd muddle through since we've been dropped in it ourselves! Preliminaries over, we start on Monday, every weekday night until we leave. Excluding holidays of course...

I'm missing Pastor Fenn and his long talks about nothing at all. The day before we left, C. and I were being ridiculously philosophical about the universe, combining physics and biology to argue for the non-existence of life. Matter is made up of quarks and leptons, which make up the components of atoms, which are components of a cell. On their own, they are proteins and lifeless, but together the cell is alive. Pastor Fenn came in about have way through, mulled over it all night and told us over breakfast that he thought the scientists must lead very empty lives without God.

He told me a story from his time in Malaysia: He found a girl at the airport speaking desperately to people in Hindi. No-one knew what she was talking about, so he went up to her and discovered that she had married a Malaysian without her parents' permission. The chap in question couldn't afford to take her back with him, so he returned home alone. She left home and flew to Malaysia without telling her parents, trying to be with her husband.

What's his name? Rev. Fenn asked.

Gupta (or whatever it was), and he's a doctor. That's all I know.

Rev. Fenn invited her back to the Rectory and checked around all the hospitals looking for Dr. Gupta's. he found a few and finally one of them said yes, he had married a girl in India, but was now remarried and couldn't possibly take her back.

But what about her? Rev. Fenn said. She can't go home and has spent all her money coming here. You married her so she's your responsibility.

Oh alright, she can come and live with me and my wife, if she doesn't mind. She didn't, so the doctor said he'd be down in half an hour. Then the Rev. realised something.

Hadn't you better tell your wife?

Oh yeah. So he did and she left him.

Problem solved!

We bought a chess set and a pack of cards. We're teaching Kumar to play Rummy. Between C. and myself, the chess score is C. two, me six and three stalemates. C. isn't very happy about this. Kumar loves C.'s Walkman and listens to it whenever he can.

Friday, 15th November

We spent the morning at the Schwartz Matriculation school, sitting in and seeing if there was anything we could pick up from their English lessons. It's great meeting the teachers and being stared at by the kids (just pretend we're not here – as if you can!).

One of the teachers kept asking us if she was doing it right, but I think she probably knows more about English than we do! We sat in on one of the H.M.'s Geography lessons as well, teaching XIIth Standard (the last year before they go off to college – seventeen year-olds!). She says is'n'it ('isn't it' for anyone who doesn't get it) a lot, often when it doesn't make sense! But she is a great teacher and is very stern with her class.

The lesson was about the two monsoons and what causes them, which direction they come from, where they go and when. In the afternoon we went to St. Andrew's, flushed with activity and that old 'getting-somewhere' feeling, to see if we could observe some lessons there, but they were all busy so we couldn't. Well, we stood around for a bit and weren't really noticed so we ran away.

The evening was spent playing chess (C. – six, me – twelve and five stalemates). We did have a bit of a tiff because I let C. play on after a stalemate so he could beat me and then wouldn't let him claim that he'd won. But that's the way with chess...

Saturday, 16th November

We sorted out a timetable at the Schwartz Matriculation school this morning, so from now on we've got to work! We have six lessons to plan each day, making a total of thirty lessons a week, four and a half hours a day, twenty-two and a half hours a week. Easy street. When we expressed our concern at the loss of real teaching time, the HM assured us that the children will be having extra lessons to make up. Of course, we had to write it down before she understood, as she is a little deaf and it is even harder for her to understand us.

Schwartz Matriculation School, (Mornings: 9:30 – 12:30): Days1234 MondayVIII AVII BVI AVI B TuesdayVIII AVI AIX AVII A WednesdayVII BVII CVI BVIII B ThursdayVIII BVI CXIVII C FridayVI CIX AVII AIX B
 

St. Andrew's Girls' School: 1830 – 1900

Schwartz Boys' School: 1630 – 1730

C. and I are feeling ever-so-slightly let down by USPG. Firstly, Our greeting in Madurai, though friendly, left us none the wiser as to our future, and the following two weeks were much the same. In Ramnad, no one had heard of us or C. Cocksure (the stunningly misinformed gentleman who gave M. all the wrong info. on Ramnad), and no one had any idea what to do with us. It would have occurred to any sane person that a meeting with the Heads and the English teachers together would have proved infinitely more profitable than the haphazard way we were handled.

We've had to go round each school (admittedly originally accompanied by the mad vicar Athisayam who is no help at all – everything he volunteered on our behalf being wrong in every sense) explaining who-what-why-when-where etc. And again when we eventually moved here for good last Monday. We have food brought to us, for which we are grateful, but have been left to do everything ourselves. We don't even know where the church is and we are expected to attend tomorrow!

We asked the Rev. to explain to Kumar that we can't eat the vast quantities of food he's supplying and don't want to keep wasting it. Less food means less cost, so it would also help us to get back on budget. He said that the food isn't wasted, it goes to feed the workers who are helping us. Naturally we shouldn't mind paying for people who are being paid, fed and housed by the church...

Of all the stupid things I've done in my life, the biggest blunder must be my coming to India to teach English with no experience, no idea of how to do it and no materials. How I'm going to manage for four months I'll never know.

Tuesday 19th November

Well I have no idea how it happened, but I have been possessed by something horrible for the last couple of days. Maybe it was the fish that Kumar gave us on Sunday. Or just the inevitable, notorious illness that I had hitherto successfully evaded finally catching up with me. Whatever it was, I started throwing up on Sunday night and only stopped after an injection from a dodgy doctor last night. The Rev. bundled me in my tender 'no don't move me' state on to the back of his scooter for a wonderfully nauseous Indian-road ride to the Doctor's.

After he'd injected me in the bottom I got up and discovered the used needle in one of my sandals! He wasn't a very nice man at all, I think Athisayam took me to see him because he is a Christian, but he treated me like a stupid foreigner who shouldn't have got ill in the first place. Imagine cramps contorting your insides and throwing up bile every few minutes and you're only half way there. Everything I drank came straight back up and in the last two days I've eaten one-and-a-half jam sandwiches. I remember promising God at one point that I'd love Him forever if He made me better and I remember being very homesick.

C. bravely stepped into the breach and took lessons yesterday, getting more stressed as the day progressed. He ran through the usual Hi. My name's C. and I come from England. Does anyone know where England is? Yes, it IS very small... At St. Andrew's and Schwartz Boys' he did the same but their standard of English is so poor I fear he didn't get very far.

Wednesday, 20th November

I went to school with C. today, having vaguely recovered from my bug and I dragged myself to Schwartz and St. Andrew's last night, a chance to see how C. shapes up as a teacher. I'm sure he must have been born to it, he has done the same lesson about ten times and still manages to keep it interesting. There wasn't really anything I could do, so I just sat watching and looking silly. I don't mind though, I'm terrified of teaching! I'm fine with Schwartz and St. Andrew's because we're cultivating informality there. The Headmaster at Schwartz said: Just be with my boys. Talk to them, be their friend. That is enough. He still thinks that it's utterly preposterous that we are expected to teach classes at Schwartz Matriculation.

Today however, we decided to be assertive, went to Schwartz Matriculation and put our collective feet down. We laid down our demands and I think she got the message. We're going to teach in January, we said, and you can't make us change our minds. So she didn't try. C. has got a book with him called The Practice Of English Language Teaching and it's a regular fountain of ideas. We've bought ourselves some time, as everyone has exams in December. We can actually try to prepare! We've written a letter to M. detailing everything that has happened so far, with all our gripes hidden behind carefully worded sarcasm and innuendo. I hope he doesn't take it too personally...

Kumar is presenting us with some problems. He doesn't understand that we're not fat like most Indians and don't therefore eat much (that old chestnut). This morning I didn't want any breakfast so he brought me a jam sandwich. I didn't want any coffee so he brought me some. We asked for just burri, no dosai¹ for dinner last night and guess what? He brought us both! Now far be it for me to suggest that anyone is at fault here, but as we have joked, our slave is slacking. In some respects. He doesn't tidy up, sweep the floor or anything that we pay him to do. But if we try and do anything he will insist on taking over and doing it for us. He is trying to force us to eat and his attempted motherliness only makes us angry. No means fucking no, all right?

When I was ill he tried to stop me drinking water and make me drink the O.R. salts the doctor gave me. I tried to explain about only taking the salts after I'd thrown up or diarrhoea but didn't get anywhere. Doctor drink. Doctor eat. It made me want to scream. Our floor is filthy with spilt food that's just been left to stain and mank it up. We need to wash it.²

The food situation... At last Kumar has brought us the menu from the hotel he is getting our food from, the Hotel Surya. Now we can avoid crap and at least try to eat properly. They do Chinese food! It's good to know that we have more avenues for escapism. I really am getting quite sick of being served my food though. The novelty has worn off and we need our independence, not to mention the eccentric Englishman's personal space. He has started buying our water in packets, which tastes awful, but is a lot cheaper. They must be making a healthy profit off our budget. He's been washing our food in tap water! I rest my case.

Friday, 22nd November

And it all comes together in the end. We've actually seen our hotel bills and they are less than Rs100 a day! A rapid rehaul of budget later, I discover that the Reverend Athisayam would have been making a profit of thirty pounds a month! This may not seem much, but it is almost a month's wages for most people here. And for us, it's (120 that we'd rather keep ourselves, thank you very much. Maybe M.'s original estimate was right after all. We had Chinese last night (we asked Kumar to get us noodles or fried rice, he got us both) and it was delicious. At last, food we can eat!

At Schwartz last night we were flooded with 12th Standard boys who had discovered that if they came to us they could skive their private study. Luckily, after a few minutes of failed communication we were rescued by Mulder (An English teacher who really does bear an uncanny resemblance to the agent of the same name, hence the nickname), who sent them out for being too noisy. It was very hard work. We tried to play Noughts and Crosses¹ which we had gone down well with St. Andrew's on Wednesday but the boys don't even know what a sentence is, let alone how to form one. So we settled for answering questions about our favourite colour, Indian food, cricket and other subjects of similar fascination. The girls at St. Andrew's, although below Schwartz Matriculation standard, played Noughts and Crosses so well that we decided to move on to twenty questions. This proved somewhat more difficult as all the questions revolved around 'Is it a flower?', 'Is it a tree?' We are going to try again tonight and see if we can't move the game on a little.

Now I've got the flu that C. had in Madurai. I think it must have abated a little when I was throwing up on Monday, but it's come back with a vengeance. I think it's an English flu, because C. had it less than a week after we arrived. I hope we're not going to be responsible for the sudden demise of several million Indians! What the country needs, some might say...

There is a boy who lives straight over the road from us called Yesunesun. It means 'Believe in Jesus'. In fact he is the same boy who was attacking us with chess on our first night here. He is in 9th Standard, is fifteen going on twelve and is proving to be a valuable contact between the other children and us. He is a great kid. His English is excellent and we are also using him as a mediator between Kumar and us. He is going to take us to the Ramnad palace tomorrow and has promised to tell us when there's an English film on.

The invitations have started, on Tuesday we were invited to the house of one of the St. Andrew's teachers to meet her family. Her husband is very eager to learn how to speak English 'properly'. They were all good people and asked us to go to their house every night! We managed to negotiate them down to twice a week ("but we couldn't possibly come every night," "Why not? What are you doing?" "Erm – we need to see other people," "Oh yes, Who?" "er- just friends..." "What friends?" Are they better than us, of course you want to spend every night here with the same people for six months. There's no one as interesting as we are and anyway, what would we tell the neighbours?) The day after, a boy called Arun invited us to his house where we met his family who also wanted to learn English. They are a Hindu family and we are hoping to learn a great deal from them about the 'real' India. They gave us a meal, with the detestable iddly's and I spilt water down my front. Great move, but they don't touch the receptacle with their mouths because it's dirty. Or they're mad. They took lots of photos, making us feel like tigers in a zoo and invited us back on Sunday for a proper welcoming and 'liquor'! They also want to present us with a gift, about which I was doubtful - having nothing to reciprocate - but Arun's father said that only when he came to our house in England should we give him something. It's being told these things that stops us making fools of ourselves. When we left, Arun gave C. a small sandalwood Ganesh,² and told him to keep it in his pocket because it is a powerful 'Shakti' (power, or something). Okay...

I have started collecting music, Yesu has been bringing me a wide variety of stuff. Unfortunately most of it is well dodgy Eighties drum-machine noise, but I have found some good songs. I will have to buy the soundtrack to Indian and another film, Kadalan. Traditional music appears to be hard to come by – I'll have to wait until I'm back in Madurai with Henry Joe. One of the boys at Schwartz has offered to teach me carnatic music. He has a tiny two-octave keyboard that's impossible to play, but it seemed rude to say no. Anyway, I want to learn something and I've got to start somewhere.

Our Tamil learning is progressing, we now know:

"How are you?" (ni nalumar?),

"I am fine" (nan nalum),

"Stupid" (mutard),

"Pig" (pandri),

"Goodbye" (poite varukirum),

"Have you eaten?" (sabding la?) ...and all sorts of fruit. I can also write my name in Tamil:

I don't think that learning the Tamil alphabet is a good idea – they've got two hundred and forty-seven letters! Why they can't use twenty-six like most sane people I'll never know.

Saturday, 23rd November

It was St. Andrew's School sports day today and we were invited as guests of honour! At last, some kind of welcoming ceremony! About time... there was a lot of fun and games - sack races, fancy dress competitions, a slow bicycle race, various dances and an old favourite, the folding of the five saris. This last is a tense game as those who have shot to the lead can still come a cropper at the slightest slip! The dance was great, some real traditional Indian routines as well as the obligatory film songs. One girl was specially selected to dance for us, which was embarrassing for both parties I think! The dances make a lot of use of the famous Indian head movement, something that I'll never learn. It rained half way through the afternoon, and our shelter gave us an interesting view of the mayhem that followed.

Later on in the afternoon we took Yesu and some of his friends (Jerob – son of the HM at the Schwartz Matriculation school, nephew of the Fenn's! & two others) to see The Mask at the cinema. It was very noisy, as usual, and I think only men go downstairs. The projectionist needs a bit of practise as well – he kept cutting off the ends of the reels! They have an annoying tradition of a twenty-minute break in the middle, presumably so the projectionist can find the other half of the film, which cuts in anywhere it wants to. Still, we enjoyed ourselves and managed to avoid the pot smokers.

On the way home we stopped at the Hotel Surya for a late lunch (4pm). We have moved on to Chinese food because we can actually digest it. Kumar could never understand why we wanted less chilli in things, so we've stopped having Indian food.

As I have mentioned before, we have been having a lot of problems with Kumar, the main one being that the Rev has run orf to Madurai so he can't sort it out. He has been scolding boys who have come round to see us, like Arun and his three friends (Majik, the musician and the other one). We've tried to explain that they are our friends but to no avail. Kumar thinks they are casing the joint and it's partly the Rev's fault. We have been paying for Kumar's meals, and this is the Rev's responsibility. He isn't looked after and is sleeping in a shack at his office in the Schwartz Matriculation school (He works in the Vocational Training Centre). Yesu has helped us a lot in getting everyone to understand this and it seems that the best option is to sack Kumar, shout at the Rev, get our money back and go to the hotel for meals. Tomorrow will see...

Sunday, 24th November

Church was another great bore, I had been invited to do some music at the Sunday School, but we went to the service because the Rev told us that he was going to give us a felicitation. Guess what? He didn't. We went to see him after lunch and he said he'd do it next week. I'm doing Sunday School next week. He can just fuck right off.

We told him what we had decided about the budget and I think he understood. It would appear that Kumar is earning Rs500 a month and is expected to buy all his own food! That's one dosai a day. The Rev just laughed and said, I know! when we said that it wasn't enough. Sometimes I just want to hit him.

At the moment I am waiting for C. and Kumar to come back with my dinner. The Rev is going to give us a stove so that we can cook our own veg. We bought a kettle and some tea (Chakra Gold) but the plug doesn't work. There are just some aspects of English life that we can't live without, ie real tea! There is another lad here, Rajesh the musician chap. I've given him a sheet of guitar chords and he is trying to learn them. He keeps asking me to work out and teach him bits of Tamil songs, which he then fails to learn. He speaks very little English, just odd words like Kumar so conversation is slight. I don't know why he doesn't just go, he can't be enjoying himself. Tori Amos is on the machine – I don't know what would have happened to me without music. Now that constant exposure has taught me to like some Tamil songs, our consistent playing of Western styles is less. But still important...

Arun didn't come to take us away tonight, which is why we're still here. Yet another example of Indian reliability...

I'm beginning to be able to recognise when Kumar has misunderstood us, and can work out what he thinks we've said.

Example: Ordering lunch we say to him:

• - Kumar, you eat
• - No, no he says
• - Yes, have some biryani.
• - Biryani?
• - Yes, have some.

Kumar turns to the waiter and babbles in Tamil. Oh no, I think and say to C. that I bet Kumar thinks we want two biryanis. Sure enough, the waiter finds someone lower ranking than him and asks for two biryanis. Oops! We have to be careful about what we say...

Tuesday, 26th November

The remains of the Palace in Ramnad are attractive, from the outside. Inside, it's all held together by wooden struts and is mostly given over to a tatty museum. The walls are covered in faded paintings from floor to ceiling. It would have been fantastic (in the time of the Raj), but is now only a shadow of what it once was. Only a small part of it is open to the public so we didn't get to see the rest.

I took my guitar to Schwartz and St. Andrew's yesterday, C. and I sang some Christian songs and English pop songs. After doing the ones we know best, we just play anything we can think of. Schwartz was an absolute nightmare, the boys' attention span of nil started them talking halfway through all the songs. They kept on asking me to play Tamil songs and thanks to Rajesh I didn't look too stupid. They showed no real interest in the English pop, the only response I got was for Help. No one has heard of The Beatles! After about half an hour they asked to learn Noughts and Crosses, so C. tried again.

Five minutes later they were with me again wanting more Tamil music. I don't think we're going to last until March with them, most of them only come because it's a skive. They don't listen, but look out the window and talk. It's almost as if they are expecting some kind of miracle teaching from us. I must say I'm surprised, Yesu said it's because they're village boys but I would have thought that there would be some kind of interest in us. Maybe it's the language, or they are really apathetic.

On the other hand, the girls are really good: attentive, enthusiastic, communicative and they Get Involved. They enjoyed the music and I even managed to get them singing 'Sanna'.¹ They sang for us again, one English and one Tamil song. I must get Mum to send my some English folk music – I can't believe I didn't bring any! At lunchtime we visited the Schwartz Matriculation school to talk to people and they have asked me to play guitar for their choir on Sunday 8th December. They also want me to teach them some Christmas songs, like what? Again, I'll have to get my mother to send me some.

In the evening we went to this St. Andrew's teacher's house again, for burri and a chat. They showed us their photos and some of them are so funny! A lot were of this birthday party and it looked as if their daughter was trying to prise a cake off the table! Expressions, actions – I guess you had to be there. C. got a bit cross because I kept making him laugh.

I actually managed to teach one of the Schwartz boys a word this afternoon! Most of them had gone home because of the rain and with the few we had left we attempted yet again to play Noughts and Crosses. Yet again it deteriorated after two very bad games and C. ended up talking to Arun while I tried to explain a question and answer they'd copied out of a book. The main concept of the question was lost, as they didn't know what go outside meant. ('May I go outside?', 'no you may not go outside'). Eventually I made one of them actually go outside and he finally understood. I'm a teacher! One word, one boy, but he definitely learned something!

We've got a stove! At last we'll be able to have enough veg in our meals, without spices! It was bliss just having boiled potatoes, carrots and cabbage with our chicken today. We got a lovely new paraffin stove, and lost our electricity. Actually a fuse blew yesterday and Kumar swapped them round so now we can see to go to bed, but we have to visit the loo by candlelight. Call an electrician? No chance matey! By the time he finally got here we'd have left. We have also discovered that we've got a water heater, after two weeks of cold showers. Cheers, Rev!

Thursday, 28th November

At last we've done something that USPG would be proud of! Arun and Yesu took us to the palace for a proper look round (Arun skived, Yesu had a day off because one of his teachers was getting married) in the morning and told us what all the Tamil in the museum meant. Apparently it was built in 1912 and was abandoned in the sixties because it was unsafe! Forty years isn't really a very good life-span for your average palace, but as we have often remarked, Indians can't build.

Even the huge palace in Madurai was unsafe. The last Raja's son lives in a part of the palace that is surrounded by dogs and golden lions! We want to meet him – well I do, I think C. was only joking. After all, you'd have thought that he would be interested to know what two white people were doing living in Ramnad. Arun says he knows him so we might get lucky. Or he might be lying. The Raja died a while ago, but his wife is still alive, living in a small house next to the palace. We went to the palace temple and took some illicit photos from the back. It's very small and picturesque.

Yesu was funny – he doesn't like temples like any good Christian and kept saying things like, "this is a piece of stone" really loudly. We went on to another Shiva temple and stopped to see the Raja's elephant on the way. Apparently it cried when the Raja died, and looked very sad all chained up in a big barn. It must be so bored! They only take it out for festivals – all quite horrible really. At the other temple we took some more secret photos and some which were permitted. We had picked up quite a crowd by now, mostly Arun's friends, but all good fun. The main part was closed so we had to go back at four-thirty and by this time it was raining hard, soaking us on the way home.

My stomach isn't very happy again, playing up all of yesterday and forcing me to come home early. I've got the shits quite badly but at least I'm not throwing up again. It seems to have dissipated now, I'm just left with the stomach cramps and a dehydration headache. We went to Arun's house on Tuesday night and had chicken masala (probably what my stomach has been objecting to) even though they are vegetarians. We took a lot of photos and I got some more music titles to look for. Our evening of welcome and liquor hadn't worked because Arun had gone off to the temple and forgotten about us. He has promised to give us a tour of Rameswaram so I think we might find it in our hearts to forgive him!

There is a nasty man around – I think he is a warden or something – who chases the children away from us with a big stick (like Kumar with Arun and his friends). They seem to quite enjoy the excitement, but it is annoying the hell out of me. He went round our house and closed all the windows because (as he motioned) the children can throw stones through them. They can, but they don't. He visited us last night going on about a 'choir practical' at the Schwartz Matriculation school. He near as dammit dragged me there by the hair even though I felt terrible. So I went to hear the church choir. They are rehearsing for the Christmas service on the eighth – the singing is good, but the songs are a bit dodgy! Yet another tiny keyboard accompaniment, it makes me realise how lucky I am to have a five-octave keyboard with full sized keys! The Schwartz Matriculation teachers have asked me to play for them on a song they have learned off a tape. At last, something musical! I'm going to go to work on them and hopefully after Christmas I'll be able to teach them some Mission Praise stuff.

While I was at the choir practice C. went to St. Andrew's with no plan for the lesson, we'd been so busy. He told me that it had been going all right just chatting until Florence turned up and had a go at him for not teaching. We can't get her to acknowledge that we don't really know anything about grammar ("Of course you do, you're English!"). I don't know. He went to the teacher from St. Andrew's's house (I really must find out her name!) while I languished in stomach cramps and pain.

There was a lot of horrible screaming going on t'other day, and on looking out to see what it was, I saw some people tying up a pig. The pigs are big and black and they roam wild around here. Every now and then they are rounded up by Dalits to be exported. Who eats them? We eat white pigs! There were about ten animals left all trussed up outside Yesu's house for most of the day until a lorry came to take them away in the evening. It wasn't a very nice sight to see them treated like this and I had a slight tiff with C. about whether it is nicer to treat them well before killing and eating them or to let them know well in advance that they are going to die, make them want death. I'm not really adamant about either of these standpoints, I was just arguing for the sheer intellectual fun of it.

Saturday, 30th November

Yesterday was just One Of Those Days again. C. got the same bug I had and I was laid up with stomach pains, Arun came round in the evening and taught me some Tamil and we took C. to the hospital in the evening. The Pioneer (Muslim) Hospital, not some dodgy Christian doctor that Rev Athi-stupid took me to. After waiting an hour (spent happily grinning at pretty nurses) he was seen and the doctor told us, as Arun had before, that it was probably the Hotel Surya at fault and not our feeble English stomachs.

In short, we had food poisoning. Another big thank-you to the incompetent Reverend! I told him today and he laughed. He Laughed! The best solution appears to be to cook our own food, and avoid meat. We found some corn flakes! It's amazing that something so Western exists here. We had to cancel our classes, I sent my apologies to the HM of the Schwartz Matriculation school for not going to play guitar. We have been inundated with calls to see how we are and are more exhausted from confirming our health than from any illness!

It is St. Andrew's day today and we were invited to the school of the same name's celebrations. We missed the morning service – due to our tiredness from illness. I took some Imodium before sleeping so I managed to get some rest. I took another when we went to St. Andrew's and it hasn't worn off yet (9:15pm)! I'm desperate to go, but I can't! You can't win.

Anyway, there were a lot of boring speeches and prize-givings (academic prizes for the pupils and the teachers), then some more great traditional dancing and sketches written by the girls. This bit was fun, even though we couldn't understand a thing. Some of the sketches (we were told) were about dowries, mothers-in-law and equality of the sexes. Just the sort of thing you'd expect from fourteen to sixteen year-old girls, really.

They made us stand up while they welcomed us again, putting towels around our shoulders, as is the custom. Five minutes before this the Rev asked me if I wanted to sing! Ha. Maybe next time, I don't think. The Rev did his usual food thang with C., when C. told the girl who was serving him 'podum' (enough). The Rev frowned, an event that unfortunately makes him look very comical, and told her to give him more. Look, Rev, NO MEANS NO, ALRIGHT?