Sunday, 1st December

The great countdown has begun, just twenty-five days until the birth of Our Lord. Fab. We've been invited to the Rev's native village for a few days after Christmas, some real India experience! It's off to the fields for us! Kumar is dead chuffed with us and thinks that it's hilarious that we are going.

I have developed a dreadful voice when I'm talking to people and get frustrated with trying to explain things. I must watch myself, I could start to sound really condescending. C. loves pointing things like this out to me, the hypocritical bastard. He sucks up to Kumar whenever I'm in a strop and then criticises me when he's having one of his own little moods. C. is a great sulker and has some really bizarre opinions. He is one of those people whom my Grandfather would say hasn't got a scientific mind. He is illogical, doesn't like to think about things and is totally unpractical. I like to think that I am a perfectionist, unfortunately, and I have an attention for detail that he can't stand.

Example:

Nic is going to come and stay with us for the weekend, and in our letter to her, giving her directions for our house, he said that it is 'light blue with red gates'. It isn't. It is white, the inside is light blue and the gates are definitely brown rather than red. Anyway, C. got pissed off and when I said "Alright, calm down" in my best Harry Enfield voice he started going on about there being no need to be petty. Pah. He is ruled by instructions. If the flit gun says don't inhale, sane advice of course, C. is out of the room before I've got the cap off!

But he is still a great teacher so I can't knock him too much. It's communal living, don'tcha just love it?

This morning we sat in on the Sunday class (Sunday School), with lots of small children singing Tamil worship songs, instead of going to church. I taught them We Are Marching while C. pretended to sing. It was much more interesting than sitting through babble for two hours, I must think of some more songs... The Rev. gave us an official welcome afterwards, more towels for our collection, and gave out some Bible Study and RE prizes. The pretty nurse from the hospital was there, is it fate? Is it meant to be? Or does she just go to church here because it's the only church here. Make up your own mind...

After that thrilling interlude, we spoke to some strange evangelist who is part of the Holy Spirit movement! He invited us to his house, I played some songs – though only because he asked me to – and we talked about Things. The professor would like him; he is very much against the CSI style of worship and of course it's the fault of the missionaries who, incidentally, were English. Therefore we must also be boring types who don't like to clap and dance when we are in worship. It took us a while to get him to stop evangelising us... He was a nice enough chap – gave me some tapes and a sticker – and C. a dodgy American magazine full of highly dubious stories of the laughing churches in Mexico.

Food is still a big problem; we're going to see if we can get someone to cook meat for us because vegetarian meals just don't work.

We had a choir practise tonight; it was quite good, but went on for two and a half hours! When I got back, C., Kumar and Yesu were playing cards and Arun was sitting on the bed looking very sorry for himself. He said that he'd had a fight with his girlfriend¹ and wrote her a letter to make up:

"Dear Esmerelda,

Sorry

You don't angry

I love you

R. Arun."

If that doesn't work, nothing will...

Tuesday, 3rd December

Yesterday was Hellishly overcrowded - one of the school governors died so they declared a holiday in all three schools. This meant that Yesu, Arun and all their friends came round to see us and we spent the day playing cards, chess, music and on rare occasions, trying to work. We went to the dreaded Surya for lunch and had garlic chicken, one of the few things we can eat! In the evening we had tomato soup (no Chilli!) and salty biscuits. Indian bread is sweet and disgusting, but we can't find any 'normal' bread anywhere! They don't know what cheese is! Some things never cease to amaze me.

We found some cornflakes! Your actual Kellogg's too, but we have to eat it with powdered milk. Still, the stuff is absolutely gorgeous and it should sort our bowels out! With cornflakes and boiled vegetables we might well be on our way towards normality of a sort. I'm not running away from Indian food, I still like a lot of what we have been given – biryani is lovely – but the stuff they have with dosai is foul. And they have it for breakfast! I think our contact with Indian food should be occasional, not constant.

Arun came with us to the hotel on Sunday night and had chicken! He is a Hindu so should really be strictly vegetarian, he begged us not to tell his father or girlfriend. Bad boy. We don't think his letter worked because his girlfriend is called Onita now!

Yesterday we saw the biggest mosquito in the world – it was about two centimetres long and had stripy legs. I envisaged my diary being found next to a bloodless corpse... So we killed it.

We have become majorly stressed out and overworked with petty things. Today I spent the morning doing my washing and two hours making lunch. After lunch we had a grand letter drive, went to Schwartz (no one turned up) and then I had to worry about dinner. C. tried to prepare a lesson for St. Andrew's which he eventually gave up on and we just talked instead. The girls don't like Florence and hate grammar (who likes it?), which cheered C. up a bit. They kept asking us about our Christmas dress – I think it's some kind of tradition – we must ask Rev. Fenn next time we're in Madurai. I showed off my Tamil:

• "I am going to England tomorrow," – "Nan naliku Englandu pohirain."
• "Appa" - "Father"
• "Amma" - "Mother"
• "Akka" - "Sister"
• "Thambi" - "(Little brother)" "
• "Nanban" - "Friend"

I got rather carried away and wrote my name on the blackboard for them, remembering afterwards that C. can't write his (in Tamil). Well he'll know how I felt when we first came and he was showing off his vowels. Everyone thought I wasn't interested in learning Tamil so they all talked to C.. After this, the girls started throwing days of the week at us. I can remember "Sunny," (Saturday), "Dingal" (Monday) and "Gossu" (mosquito).

So. We're going to hire a dhobi to do our washing and teach Kumar how to prepare and cook vegetables so that we can get on with more important things like worrying about what the hell we're supposed to be doing, and sitting about not doing it. Kumar found some butter today, it was dam' fine! He told us that he wasn't being paid by the Rev, and wanted to work for free as our friend. While being wary of offending him, we explained that we wanted to go on paying him and would sort it out with the Rev later. The thing is, if we stop paying Kumar, he will inevitably stop working and then we would be overworked again.

Wednesday, 4th December

I learned two new songs today, We Three Kings and a prayer. I will be playing them for the choir at the Schwartz Matriculation school. They've also given me another song to learn for tomorrow! And it's all for Sunday! I forgot to go to the church choir practice yesterday and everyone thought I was ill again – that's usually my excuse – the Feeble Englishman card. I've asked the choirmaster to write out the Tamil songs in English letters for me so I can at least learn to sing them, or try to look as if I am anyway at least my musical involvement is looking up...

At four o'clock we went to the St. Andrew's Christmas day event, more dancing, speeches etc. they put on a nativity play which had more emphasis on talking into the microphones than doing any actual acting. Like a radio play or something. There was the token Dear Little Angel – always last and never doing anything special – just staring at the crowd! The prefects all wear white and stand in corners looking glum, watching the couple of thousand of small girls while a huge teacher beats supposedly bad people with sticks! She is a bit of an ogre, all butch and physical, probably a PE teacher or something. I wish I could intervene... It's funny because she is in the church choir and appears friendly and jovial, quite a different person. After this we had a meal of egg parrotta¹ at which all the teachers got presents of steel buckets and cooking pots, but we didn't.

Back home again, we played cards until the church choirmaster, Mr. Gnanaraj, came round to whisk us off to his pad, a flat down the Jewellery Quarter. We met his young wife, who cooked us some lovely chicken mank, fried some fish and watched our enjoyment closely. I refuse to eat fish! It's disgusting and when it's dried, tough and spicy I just don't have the stomach for it. Eventually we fed them the old line about English people not eating much (we don't – the food's so horrible!) and it seemed to work but I don't think they believed us!

...

C.'s been a bit of a knob today. (Warning: Rant Alert, if you don't want to hear it, please skip the following few paragraphs...) He is quite happy to remain shallow and narrow-minded for the rest of his life. He's been really arrogant, going on about My Girls and My Class and how he hasn't got any letters recently (he's had about fifteen, I've had two and two postcards – from my family!). He never stops complaining, but has at last apologised to me because Kumar's got to him now. That'll teach him to suck up to Kumar whenever I'm in a mood with him.

Kumar has got really attached to C. and keeps trying to hold his hand, clinging on to him because he's nice and I'm a bastard. But it does give him something new and uninteresting to complain about. I think that after six weeks I'd know that C. doesn't like Indian food. I know we spend too much time doing washing and cooking and I know that food is a constant headache so stop going on about it! Nothing miraculous is going to happen, we are doing all we can, so shut up! I'm sick of him being so petty and trying (and succeeding a lot of the time) to best me in things rather than doing the same, or doing whatever he wants to do. He always has to go one higher.

Crap example: showing off his vowels... now that I've learned a fair bit of Tamil C.'s got the books out. He says airily, oh yes, I've got all that written down, I must read it sometime. Stop it! It's not worth the breath! Maybe it's me. Maybe I don't get enough sleep these days. But I don't think I'm the one who needs to lighten up. His depressing sense of doom is a nightmare to live with, but it's great when he is actually happy. Racism is a big worry, we have indulged in quite a few Raj jokes but I'm worried it's becoming slightly too common. A lot of things that C. says are racist although purely in fun. There's culture shock, light relief and tasteless anti-Semitism. Stages of offensiveness, that sort of thing...

We got to the 'I really hated you in Madurai but you're alright now', stage in our relationship yesterday and I surprised myself by admitting to my tendency to talk down to people. I even managed to apologize! It's easy, you just say sorry and everything's all right, but I didn't think I'd manage it!² C. said that I am a complete bastard a lot of the time and people keep asking him why I'm so miserable. But, he also said that he wasn't used to living with a man (I'm so macho!) because all his friends are girls and girls are much more sensitive. So he is much more sensitive because of this and I don't realise how much it hurts. I found this quite insulting because my self-image has me as quite a decent understanding bloke.³

He seems to think that I'm some kind of animalistic rugby lad with more testosterone than sense. No capacity for love, that sort of thing. Ooh, I almost laughed. It's funny, because while he was going on about his femininity I just sat there thinking Oh stop being such a girl and have some backbone, man! Good job I didn't say it out loud really, then he really would have the power. I mentioned what I think is the fundamental difference between us – I have a scientific mind and he doesn't. Okay, so I nicked the idea off my Grandpa, but what better origin, and it fits! It explains why I've taken over the accounts... To be fair though, I didn't have to but C. wouldn't have dared.

I'm sick and tired of his constant referral to anything vaguely electronic I listen to as Drugs Music. It does have the stigma attached to it, but I listen to it because I like it, pure and simple. He doesn't like it because of drugs. I'll never understand what he's actually been through, but I hate the comments every time he walks in and I'm listening to it. I'm sick of bending to his every whim, knowing that he'll just go all moody and sulk if I don't. Maybe I'm a walkover like it seems everyone else is around him. He knows that if he asks for something I won't say no and it is exactly this sort of liberty with our friendship that drives me mad. He'll say Oh, but Dave likes it, don't you Dave? forcing me to say No C., it's alright, do whatever you want, please don't suffer on account of me. It's all very subtle, but I Have Noticed. He knows I can't do it back to him, because he'll just make an issue out of it.

...

But I don't want to go to bed feeling all cross, so *breathes* ...I love him really and accept him with all his imperfections just like he doesn't with me.⁴ I'm sure I'm going to change more than him, mainly because I'll have to otherwise he'll get more and more confrontational and destroy the remains of our friendship. I should never have told him that he was a good teacher...

Thursday, 5th December

I've got myself a list of Tamil music to buy in Madurai, most of which is written by this bloke called A.R. Rahman and is all film music. Apparently Mr. Rahman is a sprightly nineteen year-old who is just excellent. He wrote the music for Indian, which is fantastic. It still sounds like it has all been written on a dodgy keyboard at home, but I suppose that's the price we pay for trying to develop the world. Not many tablas involved, but a lot of strings and carnatic scales. Speaking of which, here is the carnatic scale in C:

ShaReeGhaMaPaThaNisSha C DbEFGAbBC
 

It's the Schwartz Matriculation Christmas Bash tomorrow, a nativity in the morning and afternoon for the juniors and seniors respectively. I am playing guitar in four songs now, I learned another one today! I've got the words in English letters for the church choir now, so at least I can make a feasible pretence of singing on Sunday! Nic's coming to Ramnad tomorrow! Arun is going to take us to Rameswaram on Saturday, which should be excellent. We'll introduce her to the girls tomorrow evening. The Rev. has been making a big fuss about getting her a room. She would be fine here, but he has insisted that she sleep at St. Andrew's because there is no fan here. It'll be good to show her around, now that we've settled in.

I went to a choir rehearsal tonight and missed St. Andrew's so C. will have done some more bonding with His Girls to oust me out a bit more. I guess now I'm just being paranoid, but I think it's gone to his head. He has begun to come out of his shell (at last) and I think that my being ill when we were supposed to start teaching has helped. It threw him in at the deep end and being forced to cope with crisis is always a good way to induce change. I'm not sure it's a change that I like, but I suppose I'll have to adjust accordingly. He can't read or write and have music on at the same time. So he just works in the kitchen. Today it was 'am I going to have to go into the kitchen or are you going to be nice and turn the music off?' Why can't he just say 'I'm going to work now, so can I switch it off?' Why does he have to whine his way around the point? Why, why, oh why Mr. Stevens do you always have to pretend?

He's really worried at the moment because he has accepted a place at Cardiff University for a course that he doesn't really want to do. They don't do English and Art, so he's doing English and History. There's no point in doing something that you don't want to do, so I said he should phone round and see if he can't get some other offers by June so he can do something that'll give him a sense of purpose. He isn't brave enough to go and try again, even though his A and two B's would probably get him in anywhere. I think I managed to alleviate his misdirected resignation to a life of tedium by giving him hope. UCAS isn't law, we can always change.

We tried to get Japanese chicken masala for lunch, but they didn't have any so Kumar brought plain old chicken masala (burn baby, burn) instead. It was all right really, with our boiled vegetables it actually tasted good! C. doesn't agree with masala and potatoes, it has to be rice, or it isn't right. A slight disagreement ensued, during which I said that C. was opinionated and narrow-minded (my actual words were: 'that's just the sort of narrow-minded, wrongly opinionated thing I'd expect you to say'... Ouch).

Mr. Gnanaraj's wife's mother's sister's son was at the choir rehearsal tonight, and he told me that his cousin was very worried about the food she gave us the other day and hoped that it hasn't made us ill. Nah, just tasted like it had already been through several people before we got to it... She was very nice though, so I just spouted lots of platitudes and hoped he understood. His English is very good and he is studying engineering at Coimbatore, I think. He said that we should visit him on our way to Ooty in March.¹

I wasn't lying when I said that the food didn't make us ill, in fact, as I announced triumphantly this afternoon, 'squidge probability factor 1:1, we have normality. I repeat, we have normality!' I hope for all our sakes that this is true because I'll be very upset if it isn't... anyway, we've found some loo-roll in Ramnad so nothing can worry us now. Apart from dysentery, that is...

Friday, 6th December

A very busy day all round, I think. I played my guitar for the two nativities, morning and afternoon. The morning session was completely crazy, for First to Fifth Standard (Four to ten year-olds). The choir seemed to forget that I was there at all and began to explore their own interesting variations on We Three Kings, leaving me jumping around the fret-board like a madman. The teachers sang their songs very well, of course, well but loudly. I'm slowly getting used to the style of singing, to the untrained ear it is just a lot of shrill shrieking that seems to have more emphasis on the volume and enthusiasm than any sort of tune. But it is the enthusiasm that is important, especially at Christmas.

C. sat on the edge (at the front, naturally, so anyone who was bored could watch him...) with my camera – I hope he's got some good memories for me. The discipline is along St. Andrew's lines again, very attractive young teachers attacking small children with wooden rulers and we know them! It's so strange being us, you get to see both sides of the staff. The kids only seem to see one side – the bad one.

There was a near riot when Father Christmas turned up, did a lot of funny stuff (I think – it made Them laugh anyway – he had a translator and spoke gibberish) and threw some sweets into the audience before the staff could stop him. It was reminiscent of some of the more embarrassing rugby games I have been involved in. The power went off a few times and once when a little girl was trying to dance. She was really nervous and seemed to be terrified when the power went off, she didn't know whether she should carry on or stop, or what (Aah!) But everyone was very kind to her. The afternoon performance was much more sedate with the seniors on much better behaviour...

...

Nic's here! We waited for an hour or so and she got here okay. Everyone came round for a good stare and to ask each other what her name was. They're Indian men, remember – don't like talking to girls. We took her to meet the young ladies at St. Andrew's (who incidentally, I think like me better now that I've shaved off the dreadful goatee I was experimenting with. It looked stupid – my dad says it makes me look gay, but I had to try it, didn't I? They talked to me a lot more tonight!). We taught them Shalom, a basic round - Shalom, my friend; Shalom, my friend; Shalom, Shalom. Until we meet again my friend; Shalom. It means Peace, don't you know - well I taught them really, but C., Nic and I sang it through first.

We seem to have got ourselves an established way of sitting, C. with his little group of infatuates and me with the rest. We divided them into two and tried Shalom as a round. My side was good and strong, but the others got lost ('Ah, smug mode!'). It also worked when I divided my gang into two, but I think C.'s crowd found it difficult. I offered to swap sides, but they weren't very enthusiastic so I didn't labour the point. Hopefully I will eventually get them on my side, C. reckons it's because he's spent more time with them. We'll see, I think he's probably right but I might be able to get a choir out of them before long.

More Surya food for us tonight, I think we'll be okay! I'm not sure I like Nic's English For Foreigners, she has an Indian accent! It sounds so weird. We try to pronounce things clearly, but not to change the sound. She has been here for two months and has hardly learned any Tamil, but I think that is more a result of living with Europeans all the time than any lack of effort on her part. We are forced to try and learn some things, especially when they talk about us all the time! We are immersed in Tamilians, there are no foreigners in Ramnad at all apart from us.

Sunday, 8th December

Yesterday we embarked on our epic journey to Rameswaram at seven in the morning! Arun hired a car, which cost Rs800 for the day. As soon as we reached the three-kilometre bridge to the island it started raining and didn't stop until we were back on the bridge going home. It stayed sunny in Ramnad! We visited most of the hundreds of temples and watched the mad Hindu devotees washing in the sea, in the rain.

At the huge Ramalingeswara temple¹ we made ourselves unpopular by refusing to have red ash smeared on our foreheads before we entered the Inner Sanctum, which got us the privilege of being closely watched for the rest of our time there. Before anyone else can enter, they have to be drenched from each of the twenty-two holy wells, so the place was full of wet people running about, having a great time. Being a seaside town, there are a lot of boxes with shells stuck on them and the usual crowd of mad people trying to sell you things.

It was a lazy afternoon, we came back at lunchtime and went shopping down the bazaar, which is a great experience. Lots of vegetables in the house... I went to the choir rehearsal an hour-and-a-half late and needn't have bothered because I was so ill I couldn't go to the service anyway! C. and Nic went and left me to the mercies of visits from small children. They kept me entertained with songs and dances and Tamil until someone's mum came to take them away.

...

After everyone got back, I was visited by a gorgeous teacher² who said that the choir wasn't the same without me and I really had to fight not to give her a big hug! C. saw her as she was leaving and said, will you marry me? but she didn't hear, which is probably just as well. Another teacher came round a bit later and said they were fine.³ I thought they would be, after all, I joined them, not they me. She also offered to help us with our food, and I said that we really needed someone to tell us what spices to use, so we can be authentic... Nic is going back to Madurai tomorrow and she has lent us Rs1000 to get us by until we can get to the bank on the Fifteenth. I have got lots to write, but I'm feeling very ill so I'll do it tomorrow...

Monday, 9th December

Got up at about eight to ten o'clock-ish this morning, posted our Christmas cards, cooked lunch, put Nic on the bus, didn't go to Schwartz, went to St. Andrew's, cooked dinner and here I am now.

It has rained all day, and has been quite wonderful. None of the girls turned up at St. Andrew's, so we searched them out! The power went off and while a delegation disappeared to find some candles I was regaled with cries of sing brother, sing! Florence decided to sit in on the lesson which totally ruined it because the girls don't talk when she's there. As a result of this, she decided the lesson was boring and asked me to tell the class about my violin. I said, It's this big, has six strings and you play songs on it, a little excessive, perhaps, but she annoys me.

As is often the way, we started talking Tamil and Florence interrupted us again to say, there are no students here, only teachers! how fascinating. Talk about killing the conversation. She is quite rude really, showing no interest except when she has something irrelevant to say. Now that we have been through all the mundane information about ourselves, we are progressing naturally towards conversational work. The girls are improving and if Florence hadn't been there, they'd have been much better tonight. From Wednesday they have exams, so tonight was our last session until January and it wasn't a very happy note to end on. Oh well...

We had a chicken casserole for lunch, sent Kumar out to buy us some chicken (so fresh it was still warm), and made him take all the bones out. Then we made him take out the heart/lungs/liver, etc, and I still had to go through it myself to remove any other unnameable mank. Onions, lemon, garlic, masala powder, potatoes, carrots, beans, tomatoes and the good old condiments, salt and pepper. Who says you can't eat well? It was gorgeous! We could do with teaching Kumar to cook, English style, though – it took two hours! We also need to teach him to wash up properly/be tidy/stop trying to do things we're already doing and reminding us of obvious things. You've got ant powder on your hands, don't eat it.

Tuesday, 10th December

There was a suicide at the TTS a few days ago when one of the students hung himself. A bit of intrigue has arisen around his death and the people who found him think that he was murdered. Apparently he had a lot of scratches on his face and hands. The TTS have covered it all up and he was buried the next day so that an autopsy was impossible. The family wanted it kept quiet as well, because suicide is a punishable crime! Excitement, suspense, intrigue! But Nic was glad to get away from it all, as were the other European students that weekend. I think she found it hard staying at St. Andrew's with next to no privacy at all, the girls wouldn't leave her alone!

Three English people in the same month, how often does that happen? They must be ecstatic! She was surrounded by girls pushing the windows open, walking in, saying what is your name? and running away again. They would be there at five in the morning and eleven at night, without fail. What exciting lives they must lead. A far cry from the TTS, anyway, staying in a hostel with other Europeans and the chance to retreat whenever you want. she did manage to read three books while she was here and I think she enjoyed herself. Next week she's going to take us out a lot and we'll check out some of the restaurants in Madurai.

It has been raining solidly for two days now and is generally wonderful! It is almost cool and will hopefully stay that way now until February. According to Florence, anyway. Yesu and a friend of his called Parthasarthi have been here for most of the morning, just watching us have our breakfast, watching C. doing his ironing and me writing my diary. Those exciting lives again... We asked Yesu to tell us when his mother is cooking/washing/ironing or watching telly so we can go round and see how Indian people do it. I think he got the hint. It may seem cruel, but we have been here for four weeks now and are washing, etc. almost all the time. I asked Yesu if he was having fun, and he said no! They've got an English exam this afternoon, so they don't have any lessons. Why aren't you revising? Oh dear, I seem to be turning into a responsible teacher, I'd better go and play cards for a bit.

At about eight this morning the leader of the choir at Schwartz Matriculation, Mrs Juliet, paid us a visit. She has got an MSc in maths and medicine. She was going to do an MPhil but her husband persuaded her she didn't have time and had to look after their children. She is a bit of a star, and used to teach at an international school in Kodaikanal. She said that she used to meet a lot of 'internationals' and enjoyed talking to them but despaired of this when she moved to Ramnad. So she's well pleased that we're here and wants to develop a 'relationship' that we can continue long after we've left. She came round to find out for herself what we are doing here and I think that since she was so interested, she was able to understand our purpose. She promised to teach us all about India and was telling us about the corruption in power here, and how they could bribe the examiners to give the children good grades. It shows up well on the teachers, you see.

We need to write to the Bishop to find out what, if anything, the church actually does in Ramnad. Our tiny connection with it – the Rev. - looks after us, but isn't particularly satisfactory. We want to be involved and do something in the community. Somehow I don't think we're making much impact at the moment. After January 3rd we are going to be very busy so we need to find out what we can do. After then, the time will fly and we'll be home before we know it.

...

To date, I have had six letters (counting postcards from Gran A. and two faxes). This should really annoy me, especially since the other two are from Ali and Gran B. Have I got no friends? No real ones anyway. It only really annoys me when C. gets post, on Saturday he got three huge parcels full of books and food (semolina, hot chocolate!) and couldn't resist the oh, is it all for me? that I love so much. Who needs it? Kumar feels sorry for me which is even worse. I'm going to have to write to as many people as I can and make them feel terribly guilty when I get home. The trouble is that if I do get some post, C. will say, oh I'm so glad you got some post, oozing innocence, sounding incredibly condescending. No, he can't win so he would be better off not even bothering. Sorry C., it's psychological, I'm sure I won't be severely mentally damaged, just distraught.

We had to virtually swim to St. Andrew's on our way to see the HM about coming back in January. We were expecting all sorts of conversation like,

How are the girls doing? I hope they're alright. are you enjoying it? Yes, they've got exams so will you come back in January? Good. We'll look forward to your return. Happy Christmas!

We got an expectant look and an, Okay?! Perhaps she is overworked. It was fun going though, we are both wearing our sensible warm clothes, even though it is not that cold. I have had to lend my jacket to Kumar a few times. That'll teach them to wear dhotis! It must be awful for the builders living in our garden though – I don't think those palm roofs offer much protection.¹

So we are enjoying the weather, even if no-one else is. Our hostel isn't very waterproof – apart from the windows our walls are covered in damp patches where the rain has soaked through. Even around our fuse box! The front of the house has gone a dirty grey colour as it has become saturated... Marvellous.

Wednesday, 11th December

The Rev. has given us a thousand rupees each as some kind of tax return, I'm sure it's not enough. We went to see him anyway, because he hasn't paid Kumar yet. He told us that our bills came to Rs 8,100, and we gave him Rs 12,000. Where's the rest? I don't think the dhobi costs 2,000 Rupees! But enough financial rubbish, he says he'll bring the bills to me and then we'll see.

I had a lazy day (for a change) and while C. resolved to do some work I had to do the entertaining. Yesterday I was quite antisocial so I had to make up for it. C. delighted in telling me that Yesu had said he didn't like me because I was so serious and C. was always fun. I prefer to think that they know when to leave me alone when I want to work. C. is constantly being disturbed and it drives him mad. I do think that I am seeing a side to C. that a lot of people wouldn't know existed. He is so nice, but is reacting against a lot of things that I couldn't really care less about. I am very laid back about most things, and thus save myself a good deal of stress.

It is the uptight doesn't-stop-complaining Englishman attitude that gets me the most. We are not in (Kansas) England anymore, we are in India and we aren't here to change the culture but to join it. So I don't try to make people accept what we do, but rather I say 'sorry but in Enland we don't stare and it makes me very uncomfortable.' Very New-Agey perhaps, but that's how it is. To be fair, I have indulged in a certain amount of complaining but I would like to make it clear that it is mainly for C.'s benefit (how patronizing does that sound?).

Okay, so I have enjoyed eating English food but I do intend to learn to appreciate Indian food more. I am going to get lost in this culture and if I have to leave C. in his little island of England then that is what I'll do. I sound pretty fundamentalist, but that's my intention. I want to learn as much as I can about what makes these people tick, to use a well-worn cliché. I want to learn to think like them, act like them and even eat like them, although that will probably take a bit longer! I want to wear the clothes, paint my nails at festivals and stop worrying about the homosexuality in male closeness. I am beginning to get used to it, but C. is suffering from his over-generosity to Kumar! Kumar is forever holding his hand, linking arms etc... Of course now Kumar has got up C.'s nose as much as he did mine a while ago. It is fairly amusing, I have to stop myself from saying, 'Yes I know, in fact I had the same problem two weeks ago and you thought it was me being over-sensitive'. 'You bastard'. Lord knows what that would spark!

Kumar woke us up this morning, banging on the gate because he'd lost his key, brought us coffee, came round at lunchtime, peeled two potatoes, slept for two hourson my bed, got us some fruit at six o'clock and now (ten past ten) is doing yesterday's washing up. He has been incredibly sulky and everything is such a trial and effort for him. It has become an unpleasant task asking him to do anything and he usually sulks then ignores us anyway. As soon as we have resolved one problem, another one springs up. However, I do think they are becoming less frequent now.

This evening we visited the maths teacher's house, had some treacle-sponge things called Jalums or something and talked about Indian herbs. They use coriander, turmeric and cardamum in masalas. Not forgetting the chillis of course. C. found some mint, and no-one knows what tikka is... Very strange. We can also get hold of mushrooms¹ and this morning we got the baker to make us some bread without sugar, which was gorgeous! Indian bread is sweet and horrible. But anyway, the maths teacher is going to teach us how to prepare and cook burri, dosai and other Indian delights.

Tomorrow morning we are going to her husband's college to meet some teacher trainees and 'give a one-hour lesson'! He said that we could use it to learn a bit more about India. We'll see, I suspect C. will take over and they'll wonder why I'm there, but maybe I can be assertive. We will do all the 'my name is...' stuff again and I'm going to try and go a bit more in-depth on what we're doing. Speaking of which, C. wants to teach and I don't, so I'm going to be his faithful assistant – less work, stress and I can spend all the working time doing things for Rajesh – music and my cultural awakening. Mrs Juliet wants me to teach her the keyboard after the exams so I have another pupil! They're coming thick and fast now. I want a flute...

Thursday, 12th December

Now this may come as a bit of a shock, but we have actually done something today! We went to the maths teacher's husband's teacher training college (and we have learnt her name now: Esther Kiruba, so she is relieved of the 'that maths teacher' label). At the college we talked with the students and stayed all day. We weren't allowed to talk about religion because it is a government college (rules – I don't know). The government also rules that the college can only have one hundred students (fifty in each year). All the students are our age and above, having finished their plus two's (A-levels). They are training to teach up to eighth standard (14 year-olds). You have to take a degree if you want to teach above this. We talked about the usual stuff, and I sang 'Jerusalem' for them.

At the moment I have got lots of mud on my left hand to stain my hand and nails red! It is done for festivals so I am using Christmas as an excuse. C. predictably didn't go for it, afraid of what they'd say at home. Esther put it on, and I have to leave it over night. It's a plant they use, probably Henna, ground up leaves mixed with mud. She is going to put some more on on Saturday so that my nails go really red! It is a deep red, and lasts until your nails grow out. I think I'll have to get it done again before I go back home.

...

Now then, back to some more pontifications on The Life Of The C... He doesn't *see* things in the same way as me. I'm not surprised at this difference, but he simply doesn't appear to be aware of the world around him. Part of this is due to the fact that he can't see too well past about two metres (and never wears his glasses), but it's also just him. If I say Oh look at that bus, C. will look around him vaguely and generally be too late to see the huge decrepit old bus with its engine falling out that just drove past. Most people I know would have noticed. I am used to being able to say look at that without having to point and people know what I'm talking about (it's not really as psychic as it sounds, just simple connections).

This evening he watched me take out my paludrine (anti-malarials) and leave two on the table for him. Two minutes later, he took some out of the bottle! He either forgot or simply just didn't see. This incident struck me because I watched him watching me when I did it. I'm not experimenting on him, I just happened to notice. It's very strange for me and he does get offended when I talk about it, but that isn't that surprising because I get frustrated when people don't get me so I'm probably not the most tactful person in the world. At the Rev's house his doorbell is a light switch with a relief of a bell on it. When we visited today, I suggested ringing it (call me crazy). C. looked around and said what doorbell? (In case you're wondering, there is only one switch next to the door).

That one, I said, pointing.

That's a light switch, he said, and waited - no it isn't - oh – well it's by the door and it's got a picture of a bell on it. C. didn't hear this, so I repeated it louder and in the tone of 'that's the Gents, the door marked G-E-N-T-S'. He still didn't hear however, and went up to investigate. Oh, so it is – Yes, it's by the door and it's got a picture of a bell on it. Now I'd said it three times and I had his attention. He turned to me and said DON'T talk to me as if I'm stupid, David! Sorry, you're just deaf. If he had trusted me in the first place the doorbell wouldn't have become such an issue - it's a doorbell, for goodness' sake. It's simply an awareness thing, C. doesn't hear you talk unless he sees your mouth move. I have no idea what he thinks about, but it must be dam' important to use up so much of his brain power.

Now I know it looks like I'm trying to make out that I'm dead good and C. is self-absorbed, but it does show how different we are. Oh it was a brilliant idea of USPG's to put us together, a superb challenge of our psyche's sensibilities and self-control. Thanks a bundle. We are on completely different wavelengths and have to explain what we mean to each other all the time. I do think about what I say and if I use incorrect grammar I will correct it (comedic effect you see: look how stupid I am!), and C. will get completely lost. I also seem to have a very wide knowledge of books, films and plays and will use references in conversation that I think are famous, but C. has never heard of them. If I thought I was intellectual I would use this as the reason, but I don't want to be too self-appraising.

We are different, think differently and feel differently. I want to broaden my perceptional horizons (hippy talk!) and C. is happy with the way he is. This is the reason I read so much, watch so many films, like such a wide range of music. I don't want to feel that I've missed anything. I try to absorb everything and adapt, the EEP's awareness session has made me even more conscious of this. I like to think there's nothing I won't try once, apart from chicken hearts, fish eyes and sheep's brains!

I've got an actual real bona fide friend! In fact it's one I I thought I'd neglected and forgotten. Big John from Greenbelt festival! I had his phone number but but never phoned and he's taken the trouble to find my address! I feel really guilty now – and will have to write lots to make up for it. And C. didn't say anything – big surprise there! Maybe he was cross because his harem of friends haven't written for Two Whole Weeks!

But I'm just bitter. We went to see the 'bat tree' this afternoon – the hangout of hundreds of huge fruit bats. They're enormous and really sinister, just hanging there like the Count himself. I think some photos of them in flight might be in order.

The Rev. has got to write a report on us to send to USPG! We've asked for a copy, but he says it's confidential. I hope I can get one sometime though, it should be interesting.

Friday 13th December

I wasn't going to write today, but - well it's only superstition isn't it? We've got some more lovely sugarless bread and I think C. finally trusts me to cook! His I've tasted your salad no longer works because he's had my chicken casserole and fry-ups now. Kumar keeps bringing disgusting fruit round for us to try. One had the texture of raw fish and smelt like cheesy feet,¹ one was hard and compost-y and today's fruit reeked of fish! I think it's a case of eating them because they don't kill you, a result of poverty rather than culinary values.

C. has very strict ideas about food, like you can't have chicken masala with potatoes and veg. Why not? Next he'll be saying you can't have peanut butter with ice cream...

Mrs Juliet's keyboard is causing more trouble than it's worth (she sent it to me until the exams are finished), everybody wants to play it and it's just like being back at school with all the talentless noise-merchant fighting over it! Today it's been Yesu and Muthu assaulting the ivories. Now Yesu's playing a twentieth century atonal version of a Tamil song while Muthu is imitating traffic noise on the guitar. I'm quite tempted to put some industrial metal on and sing loudly out of tune to complete the cacophony. I've been trying to teach Yesu the concept of notes and 'C Major', but he's blissfully unaware, as most Indians are when you want them to concentrate.² It's a slow process and I've forgotten how difficult it is to start learning music. I just take scales, notes and playing by ear for granted. It's so frustrating when they play something you've taught with a consistent wrong note and they can't work out what's wrong. I'm going to teach C. to sing as well – that'll be fun! I'm trying to teach him the tune of Jerusalem, but it's pretty difficult.

Who'd have thought (I wonder to myself at about 7pm) that I'd be sitting here with a kilo of recently chopped up chicken (still warm) and a pair of nail scissors. Not me, that's for sure! C. won't touch it so the job falls to me. We watched the man hacking it up! Anyway, I took out all the best bits and should have given the rest to Kumar and the watchmen but we threw it away instead. Imagine it; luscious pieces of chicken, fried in onions and garlic, left to simmer in a mix of tomatoes, garam masala, chicken masala and lemon juice, served with potatoes and carrots! Delicious. I still think it was a bit hot for C. – even one spoonful has 'too much' chilli in it!

Since it's Friday 13th, everyone's gone carol singing tonight. We had our biscuits and cameras ready, then joined them on their rounds. I was talking to to this chap for quite a while and he suddenly said you must come to my shop, I'm a tailor! even while spreading the goodwill of the season they're out looking for custom. The singing was raucous, the guitar out of tune and the company jovial. We left when we came round the back of our house – they're going on until 2am!

Mrs Juliet's going to Madurai on Sunday so we'll probably travel with her. C.'s really over-enthusiastic about her and I sometimes find myself thinking selfishly, she's MY friend and I found her and we're musical so STAY AWAY! Oh dear. A touch of jealousy perchance? Just a smidgen? I must train myself not to be so self-immolating.

I'n't life brilliant! It's been very good to me so far, and I hope it'll continue along the same vein. We've been in India for eight weeks now, and I'm starting to react against the Western lifestyle in favour of the Indian. We've been told that Tamil Nadu is very Western in style, the shops etc aspiring to that ideal. But other states like Kerala and the Northern states still have a lot of old Indian traditions from their folk roots. We sort of took what we are experiencing here as an example of the whole, when it is in fact completely different to the rest of the country. What we would call 'white trash' is taken as a part of life here – plastic plates / cups / jugs / chairs, hideous porcelain ornament / Madonna's / crucifixes etc. we had plastic tablecloths!

We're using some unused curtains now – though not tasteful, it is more pleasing to have anything at all in the windows. So as the Bishop said, Ramnad is one of the most backward towns in Tamil Nadu and we're right in the thick of it. We will be becoming Tamilians really, not 'Indians' and when we travel we'll have to be careful about what language we speak. Apparently Tamilians aren't that popular up North because they don't bother to learn Hindi. So it might be wise to learn some Hindi before we go! We'll have to anyway, because no-one speaks Tamil outside Tamil Nadu. It's amazing how most states have their own language, but I suppose Spain has five so it's not that uncommon (what's Black Country in England?).

Saturday 14th December

It's raining again! It's a real downpour this time, huge sheets and buckets of the stuff! It's great for us, but all the Indians are cold. Never mind. I've been thinking of New Year resolutions - a bit early but I figured I could start the new book positively.¹

• I'm going to try and always have time for visitors, no matter what I’m doing at the time.
• I'm going to become Indian, insofar as that’s possible, doing what they do, etc.
• I'm going to rise above
• In England we do this
• Indians can't do this
• Why can't we get...
• Why can't they...

I think that this is a pretty good start, though time will tell how successful I've been. I'm sure if it works I'll be able to get the most out of my stay, even if it makes it harder to leave in March. It would be easier to 'become' (for both of us) if we were alone, but all things considered, we've had a valuable outlet for all our fears and prejudices through each other. But we have to be careful, I'm sick of the Western detachment that has kept us apart from the people and their culture. It would also have been easier and solved a lot of problems if we had stayed with a family (not that anyone would want to stay with us!). it doesn’t help that the culture here revolves so much around film music and Western tack. Where’s the folk music and dancing? Maybe in the villages...

I'm reading CS Lewis' 'Letters to Malcolm' at the moment, giving me some valuable hints as to what may have been wrong in my spiritual life all this time – namely, not praying! I've been a very lax Christian lately, giving very little time to God. There is no doubt that I believe and when I sing, I really 'feel' the meanings, but I have made very little store for prayer. I have behaved in an 'arrogant Christian' sort of way and the only times I have prayed properly have been those times when I was really ill. That old syndrome of using God only when I think I need him. I must stop this and sort myself out. Instead of reading or writing about it I should DO it! Yet again I’m procrastinating. I want to study mysticism – India's probably a good place to start – and learn a bit more about that 'True Love' stuff A.D's² always going on about. Well maybe tomorrow.

Gnanaraj came round this evening and I sort of gave him some tuition and useful tips. He wanted to know if his five yr-old daughter was too young to learn and when I said any age is a good time he wanted to know how to teach her! I did the best I could, teach her to play by ear first, then introduce notation, names and the art of reading music. Playing by ear is very important though, you can't play anything if you're tone deaf! Except for Beethoven of course, damn. Gnanaraj was also hoping that I could play the violin – he's teaching himself and wants some help. I haven't played for about seven years but I can still remember the important stuff like how to hold the bow and the proper wrist action. So I'm a violin teacher as well, without a tune to my name! It's all good fun though and I'm using my skills, which is why I’m here.

Sunday 15th December

We're back in Madurai and it feels like we never left! C.'s being a bit like Kumar, everything's such a trial! I know you don't like the food dear, stop being such a martyr.

Family service in the evening with dodgy songs and five minute breaks between scenes. There were going to be 'carol rounds' this evening but it's rained solidly since six, so no chance. Nic's doing fine, getting prepared for going home – we're going to go out to eat lots this week!

I'll write more tomorrow – it's late!

Monday 16th December

I must remember what I'd decided to buy – being me, I left my Things To Get In Madurai list behind! Apparently there's a blind man who sits opposite the Taj restaurant (one of our favourites) in the evenings playing and selling flutes. I must go and see him. Also opposite the Taj is a cassette shop where I can get Indian traditional music! It's good to know these things because I'd be lost otherwise. I want to buy two new sets of clothes, a dhoti, lots of those film tapes, some notebooks, a haircut and countless other things I'll never remember.

It's mum and dad's twenty-third wedding anniversary today – I'm glad I remembered, must send them a fax later.

Tuesday 17th December

Looks like my stomach isn't going to take kindly to dosai instead of wheat flakes in the morning! I've got The River Ganges In Flood again and I've thrown up once (three-thirty am). I thought I might have malaria at one point because I had a fever but was shivering like anything. I've been in bed all day with this temperature and one of the worst headaches I've ever had. I've sort of got up for a bit at the moment because my bed is intolerably lumpy and I'm covered in aches and pains.

Yesterday was quite fun, we went to the bank, looked for a rug, I got a haircut (not bad – I'm fairly impressed for 30p!) and we found the music shop. The bloke there was very nice, told us what was good and what wasn't. so I bought two tapes of flute music, a tape of violin and one of sitar. I also got Indian, Kadal desam and Kaadhalan. Indian and Kaadhalan have two other dodgy films on the B-Sides so I figured I can record some of Arum's music over them.

In the evening we went to the 'Ruby Lodge' – a garden restaurant recommended by Nic. and probably the cause of my illness. There was a new waiter there who listened to our order then brought us two portions of the standard South Indian Chicken Mank we've come to recognise so well! It's a kind of masala with three ingredients. The worst bits of chicken available, chilli and something that turns it the colour of the Thames. Naturally we re-negotiated our order with the minimum of fuss (quite a lot) and used 'Nandri' as much as we could because the place was full of nasty tourist types.

It's been quite unsettling coming back here and turning into faceless cash dispensers again. We want to cry out that we're not tourists, we're visitors. We've changed our response to 'we're from Ramnad. Are you a tailor?' Something that unsettles them somewhat. We're not so gullible anymore. We know what prices things are meant to be and we can bargain properly. You get a bit carried away sometimes and forget that you're arguing over just 10p. I usually try to stop at about five rupees difference.

After Ruby's, we wandered for a bit and found the flute seller. Not the blind man, it was his day off or something. I sat down and the lad showed me lots of flutes, playing away and finally I bought a big deep one for 75Rs and a small one for 30. they're lovely bamboo flutes, incredibly simple and beautiful sounding (when he played them at least – I sound awful!). So give me a few months. We found a shop with some drums in, they're about one thousand Rupees. I think I'll wait until I get to Madras though, where I'll have more choice and less far to carry it! Nic. told us that our souvenir allowance is £32! I'm planning to spend about £200 so I think a lot of cunning will be required. I'm sure it's not that little, but we'll have to wait and see.

I was talking to C. earlier (there's a turn up for the books!) about our dreams. It would seem that we've both dreamt about going back to England and both had to get back to India somehow. What doth it portend? It's good that we're dreaming about India – it means our subconscious has adjusted to the fact that we're here. In the first month we were still only dreaming about England. I'm still dreaming of white people though, t'other night I found myself wondering why there weren't any coloured people in India! How bizarre. Still, they're only dreams. This morning I had an extremely vivid picture of dad's face, grinning away. Then I started thinking about watching him drive away at CS's house. ¹ Not much fun, but I enjoyed the memory-photograph while it lasted. The same thing happened last time I was ill, with mum's face. Just the face, but that's all I need. I wish I had some photos, it's so frustrating relying on memory.

I think I know why God sent me here rather than Africa and why I'm with C. I would have failed completely if I'd had to cope with such a major event on my own. I was so unprepared (I don't think there was any way I could have been) and as for teaching – I'd have fallen apart! There's always music, and I know that I'd have loved the music in Africa and the people. But music isn't everything (though it is for me!) and I would have needed more. Probably.

With C., homesickness is alleviated slightly and because of the vast differences between us my whole personality is challenged. All good stuff I suppose, and if I'd been on my own I might have turned into a right… well you get the picture. I'm glad C.'s here to keep me in check. And to do all the teaching! He's getting quite stressed out about it, trying to prepare lessons etc. he's got to try and use language and examples that they'll understand, ie. Not obscure European cities. I'm sure he'll be fine, but he's getting very worried about how useful his lessons are going to be. Keep it informal and chatty is what I say. It could be difficult as the kids at Schwartz Matriculation are so used to strict rules that any leniency might turn them into riotous animals... we'll have to invest in a cane!

So I'm back on bread and coffee, thankfully! Nic. Has been quite ill lately, she's only eaten a packet of crisps and a jam sandwich in the last three days! The sandwich didn't stay down.

It's awful really, being ill in your last week here. She's going home on Friday so I'll have to write to mum and dad. The railway line is flooded as well so she's got to spend fourteen hours on a bus! What a nightmare. She promised to visit my parents when she gets back, I hope she does - they'll like that.

Wednesday 18th December

I forced myself to get out of bed this morning and took some immodium - it means a day of discomfort but at least I'd be able to get around!

We went to the tailor with the Sexton - to a posh shop for the material then to the tailor. The Sexton's English is really bad and he seemed to know even less about Madurai tailors than we did! He dragged us off to get my trousers done and when we got there, he said we could have had it done at Rev Fenn's house! I don't know, we stuck with the tailor we knew in the end - J. Ismail - and ignored the Sexton. By the time a tailor came to the vicarage we'd be back in Ramnad anyway.

By this time it was 1:30 and we got rid of him by persuading him to go home for lunch. He was supposed to go with us to buy some dhotis but we didn't trust him very much anymore. Maybe tomorrow. We then kind of wandered around looking for knives / forks / real plates (not plastic), all of which we found. Eventually. C. went to get a haircut and I tried to sell off some of the novels I bought. I was glad to see the last of Wilbur Smith's Rage - too much 'Mills and Boon' and not nearly enough rage. Don't read it. Ever. However it did use up some otherwise wasted sick-time.

I failed to sell any of them and gave them to the TTS instead.

We met up with Nic at six o'clock and went to a blind school (for girls who are blind). It was their evening prayer time (thank goodness Nic's a priest - it got us off the hook!) and we¹ sang some songs. There was one girl there who will haunt me for a very long time. She had a lovely smile and I think her eyes just hadn't developed. It was so painful to see. All the other blind girls had twinges of frowns and looks of concentration but she was calm, serene and when a frown did cross her face it was heart-rending.

So, deeply touched by this vision of sighted girls volunteering to help blind girls study - while doing their own studies at the same time - we went off to the Pandyan for dinner.

Thought Nic deserved to go before she leaves tomorrow. I ate very little and have been waiting for the floodgates to open / the dam to burst for some time now. Forget a few hours - Immodium lasts for days!

Thursday 19th December

I just don't like the way you talk to me sometimes David. I don't know if I misunderstood you, but I'm sensitive and you just don't realise it.

That's how it was, word for word. There's more, but it'd make you reach for the bucket. It's what C. said after I told him to shut up when he started complaining about a picture I've got of him. Imagine whiney voice: Oh why did you take that it's horrible… etc ad tedium. Give it a rest will you?

I find you so hard to live with sometimes. Are we married? Are we supposed to like everything about each other? Or are we supposed to try and find out about each other's failings and learn to adapt ourselves around them? Is it wise to bring them out into the open, creating more friction between us and fraying the already thin rope of friendship still further? Is it sensible to assume that if he uses this kind of, you're a git, be nice to me or I'll cry attitude to force an apology from me, I'll then think, oh yes, you are right and there's nothing about you I wouldn't change?

In fact there's precious little I would change about C. except his constant complaining, seriousness and eagerness to point out my failings. In a very 'outsider's viewpoint' kind of sense, it's good to see when I've been insensitive but, like today, I often realise as I say it what I'm doing. Believe it or not, I have a conscience and it bugs me. I don't need you pouring vinegar into our wounded friendship.

This is now addressed to C. I'm sure he's dying to know what I really think of him, what I like and what I don't like so here goes.

Dear C.

[…] ¹

We are so different... Not everything said in anger is rage. It's like Indians who don't know sarcasm. Lighten up! Nothing is as bad as you make out. Yes we do virtually nothing and get tired. Yes the sexton cocked up. Yes I told you to shut up but don't cry about it. Laugh! What's wrong with being happy? ...I've learned myself that you will never survive like that. You have to look on the bright side, rise above the thorns and smell the roses. Can't you joke about the food, mosquitoes, people? I'm not a Samaritan and you'll get no sympathy from me... You suck... Get a life. Get a six-pack. Don't think that by complimenting me (he does you know - 'ooh your so trim and you're a healthy colour - I'm just horrible') you'll get any back. I won't indulge you. I don't like your compliments... I don't like your nonchalant whistling when you're cross and I don't like the fact that you take an instant liking to things that I don't like.

You think that by telling me what annoys you about me, I'll be glad they’re out in the open and change. Even do the same to you. I won't / don’t want to and if I did, one of us would be moving to Delhi. We are not married. Our relationship is not the same. We don’t have to share our problems wabout each other with each other. Some things are best left unsaid. Why are you so desperate to be English in the middle of India?

I don't want us to hate each other in April.

I'm not going to try and justify myself against all this. It's what I feel, and some of it may be a result of my own conditioning. I doubt that C. would find any of it at all thought-provoking – he’d possibly dismiss it as the ravings of an egotistical stubborn maniac. I can't go into it anymore, we'd be into the realms of arrogance and I'm not that.

I was 'short' with him today, exasperated with his lethargy and then his explosion of complaints. I'm sorry, but he could easily have laughed it off instead of going all sensitive. At the moment I'm afraid there's not much about him that I like and I'm sure he’s written the same about me.

It's a sorry state of affairs, but yet again I've got to swallow my anger and pretend that everything's alright. I'm sure it will be later, but it'll come back. I'll think on change for a while, and see if I can avoid spilling red wine on his favourite cat.²

Friday 20th December

Five days to go before Christmas and I'm still ill! This time it's gastritis and very painful!¹ Aunty Fenn has pumped me full of pills which haven't worked. It's the food here, they think that if they give us rice plus mank without chilli we'll be alright. In the past four days I've eaten very little and, quite frankly, I’m happy to keep it that way!

C. isn't ill.

We saw Nic off yesterday, had a meal at the Hotel Supreme – veg restaurant – with all her European friends from the TTS. There were two German blokes called Mark and Stefan, a Catholic priest from somewhere in India called Julian² a Swiss girl and a lovely Swedish girl whose names I failed to discover.³ we got on very well, the Swede and I (I hope she won’t mind! Oh well, that's this friendship over...) and I reckon C. got a bit left out. Well he should have made the effort, I mean there were other people to talk to and I was so glad to be able to talk to fellow foreigners who weren't him. We're going to swap addresses (no, not with C.) because she's leaving in January so we won't be able to see each other again. It would be good to have a correspondence with someone – maybe a trip to Sweden in the very distant future! If I want to see the world, I've got to have somewhere to stay!

So anyway we saw Nic onto the bus and chatted and sang songs to her through the window until it left at ten o'clock. Fourteen hours to Madras, then fourteen home! Lucky girl, at least she'll get some decent English cooking and be home for Christmas.

Julian was telling us about Varanasi, we were talking about Hindu cremation for some reason and he told us how they do it there. Apparently they have a huge procession and then dump the body into the Ganges. There are supposed to be loads of bodies around and people go there to bathe! These Indians are crazy! There are a lot of Eunuchs there as well and if you don’t give them money you're in trouble, because most of them are in the 'flesh trade' – ie. They'll carve you up and sell you in pieces. Nice.

But I still want to go there.

Saturday 21st December

Spent most of today shopping, had lunch with the TIM team – very interesting, went to the family service – very nice – and it's late so I'll divulge much more later.

Maybe tomorrow...

Or Monday...

Sunday 22nd December

Right.

To start with yesterday morning, got up and had breakfast (at 9 am). came back at 9:30 and guess what? C.'s in the shower. I pounded on the door, no reply. At 9:55 I called to him to remind him that we had to go to the bank and were leaving with the TIM team at eleven. I hate reminding C. about things, I never know if he's already thought of them or not. I get really annoyed if he does it to me. So at 10:15 he comes out, I rush in (still feeling a bit dodgy) and we zoom off to the bank. I am fuming by this time and the speed in the heat of the morning did me no good at all. On the way back (11:15) C. said something about me being quiet.

I said I just don't like rushing around when I'm ill. He said, Oh, so I'm not allowed to have a shower now am I? No No NO it's not that at all please don't start again please please please... Anyway, later he said sorry he should have thought and I said it was okay but I was really thinking Yes, you should.

So everything is alright again.

The Bishop came at 11:30 with a minibus full of TIM's. There was someone from England, Korea, Madagascar, Jamaica, The Netherlands, Zambia, Papua New Guinea, Kiribati, Guyana and a huge bloke from Samoa called Hendry. We had to sit through some Tamil diocesan meeting during which Bishop David Eames was called away for an emergency. We sat with the TIM's, were introduced with them and sang a song with them called 'Thuma Mina Somandla' (send me Jesus, send me Lord). I must remember the tune! I spoke most to the Zambian chap, Benny about the culture, England / Sellyoak (they had three months there) and Zambia. He told me that the Indians in Zambia didn't respect the Zambian culture. They don't really in England either (English culture, not Zambian) preferring small cultural pockets – both a result of the Home Office and safety in numbers I suppose. It's interesting really, when we're here trying so hard to join theirs. So the TIM's are here for six months as well, doing all sorts of interesting churchy things.

We bought Aunty Fenn a Sari and six metres of cassock cloth for Uncle, which the Bishop said would make a good gift.

The family service was in the evening, it was pretty good considering the choir were together after only one practice. I didn't join in, but enjoyed watching!

We were visited by a chap called Anandaraj whose wife was at Sellyoak last year, where C. had met them. We went to their house today. She recognised me from my guitar playing after the Commendation service at Sellyoak. She spoke to me back then, telling me about her son in India who also played guitar. Apparently I also met Anandaraj then and had told him no, I'm not going to India, that's C. – he's over there! Their house is right on the outskirts of Madurai, with fantastic views of the countryside from the roof.

There was a big Christmas party-type do here tonight, starting at four-for-seven-ish. Fun and games, a bonfire, songs, mutton biryani and a strange Scottish bloke called Tom who spoke like Sean Connery. It was all good fun and we met some more wonderful people who've invited us to lunch tomorrow. They've promised us roast chicken and mashed potatoes! We'll see...

Everyone's been so fabulous here, they keep trying to get us to stay for Christmas – one woman wants us to stay in Madurai permanently and forget about Ramnad!

Monday 23rd December

Lunch today was undoubtedly the best meal we've had in India so far. This guy's mum cooked roast chicken, roast potatoes, veg and baked beans!¹ It was gorgeous and not a hint of Indian anywhere near it. I can't for the life of me remember his name but his wife's called Karen and he's the brother of the guitarist from the Divine Patience². Their aunt has lived in Wolverhampton for thirty-six years! Wonders never cease. They have a very large, well-travelled family, which is spread across Canada, England and India. They basically make up the entire congregation in Madurai, doing the choir and running events.

So that was great, afterwards we had a long wait for Pastor Fenn (he didn't show in the end) and we gave Aunty her sari. She seemed to like it, but she could have just been being polite!

...

We're back in Ramnad now and will probably have to wait until tomorrow for our post, if there is any.

More discussions about what we're actually going to do in January, I've said that if I end up being a sack of potatoes in a corner of the classroom I'll go and find something more constructive to do. A pretty good idea, I think. I'll be able to try me hand in something useful and I want to find some sort of community work I can get involved in. this teaching lark's all well and good, but I don't really think it's why I'm here. I want to help people.

If I go to the schools, it'll be just that – going to school. It's okay in the games, but I think the teaching will just become a chore. I'd much rather try to start a choir, or go and work in some church projects. There is so much more for us in Madurai, but we are here and here's where we've got to make our mark and leave a lasting impression. The bishop seems very happy with what we're doing, but we don't feel as if we've done anything yet! In our training at Sellyoak people were talking about starting youth clubs, societies and things for the community that would last longer than the six months after we'd left. My music will do that, it can be passed down and used all the time. Teaching English will only really benefit those we teach and their immediate peers. If I can get a school choir singing in parts, I will be satisfied. I hope I'll find a gap somewhere that I can fill, something the community needs. I've only got two and a half months to do it in – wish me luck!

Tuesday 24th December

It's time to find out just how the Indians celebrate Christmas. They've all treated it just like any other day so far. Even the Christian shopkeepers were running on normal hours. Yesunesun's got a cricket match in the afternoon and no-ones getting drunk. How can you celebrate anything without a drink? How can you play cricket on Christmas day? How can you work on Christmas Eve? I suppose poverty is the answer to this last, but the others? They don't have a midnight service, because so many people have to cook early in the morning so they've done the sensible thing and moved the service to four o'clock. In the morning.

This enables everyone to celebrate the great day and still have time and energy to cook iddly'sand dosai afterwards. These Indians are crazy! It's the only service they have, so we've got to go to be part of an Indian Christmas. We're going to Esther and David's for Biryani – our favourite! C.'s got some crackers which we'll take as we couldn't find any wine anywhere. They probably don't drink anyway. The Rev's going to his village tomorrow, so dinner with him is off. So is going to his village on Boxing Day. It'll have to be Saturday instead.

Today was mainly uneventful, except for the tons of post we got this afternoon. C.'s a bit cross because his best friend wrote to me and I didn't tell him. Do I have to tell you everything? He found out when he was sticking the letter back together after Yesu had cut it up while getting the stamp off the envelope.

Indians have no taste, it's official. The card man shows you the worst cards. The tailors, the worst shirts. The shopkeepers, the most tacky plastic rubbish they have. The Indian buyers aren't much better with plastic everything in their homes. 'Good Taste' things are available at the same price, but you have to really search for them!

Tomorrow we're going to wear our new dhoti's.

Wednesday 25th December

Christmas Day!

Christmas Walthukul! Christmas Greetings! We got up at three o'clock this morning after three / four hours sleep and dragged ourselves off to church. The church was decorated with these strings of little white flowers that you see everywhere. Jasmine, I think. We got a lot of funny looks and giggles with our dhotis, but they gradually wore off as the monotony of the two hour service set in. The address was well over half an hour, covering everything from Plato and Aristotle to Christ in India today. That's what we were told anyway – for all we knew it could have been a shopping list! We stayed for communion and as everyone seemed to be leaving by this time we left. The service was just like the normal Sunday one, with hours of repetitive sung psalms and responses, prayer and hymns. They did 'Hark the Herald' and some other Tamil hymns we didn't know. We joined in one song and a couple of 'amens'.

We experienced the Indian service alright, a two-hundred year-old SPG liturgy conducted in a sombre 'trying to remember the words and or tune' kind of way. It drags and all the women sit on the floor while half the men have chairs. The younger men and children sit on the floor too. The organist must have been told some time that he only needs to know two notes and he can play any hymn. He does this with such aplomb that the congregation often stumble, wondering if they've got the tune wrong. We had some bloke behind us who sang so loudly and out of tune that no-one else could get going. During the address everyone fell asleep, people were snoring all over the place!

We waited around afterwards, to try and spot Esther and David so we could find out about lunch and someone said they'd gone to Madurai! Our fears grew as we waited and failed to see them. They escalated to such a point that we were against anything to do with Christmas in Ramnad and started planning to go of to Madurai instead. Our list of problems ran thus:

We are in India to be Indian, and therefore to celebrate Christmas (and other festivals) in an Indian style. Without any invitations (if Esther and David had indeed turned out to e in Madurai), how can we do this? Without being with an Indian family there's no scope for any of this. This would never have happened in Madurai. The church there is so friendly and the invitations are given freely and frequently. We've been going to this church for a while now and still no-one talks to us afterwards. Even with our dhotis, there was very little interest.

The only people we could truly say are our Indian friends are Esther and David, because we’ve been to see them most. Rev. Athisayam is a big disappointment, if we'd had no other invitation what would we have done today? He gave no thought to our programme, had nothing arranged and left without giving us dinner. He hasn't helped us at all in anything and still hasn't given us a tour of Ramnad. So we found ourselves with Yesu and Jerry (H.M. at S.M.'s son) trying to solve our problem. They offered to make us a Christmas tree, bring their friends round and give us an Indian Christmas of our own. It was very kind, but that's not the point lads, you're all aged between thirteen and fifteen and now we've become a charity. It's the grownups who are supposed to be responsible. Jerry said we could go to his house for lunch – thanks but how would it look if we went because he's invited us because we had nowhere else to go?

It is nice the boys being around, but where's the real conversation, that spark you need but don't get because they're all so young? It's so much effort to keep track with them all and there's no way I want to spend Christmas like that.

The Rev had asked us to be here for Christmas and we're here but he's left us. Left alone and neglected on Christmas day. It does not feel good, let me assure you. We can't do everything ourselves, but he seems to think we can.

Thursday 26th December

In the end, Esther and David turned out to be in Ramnad so we did have lunch with them after all. The whole family was there, including the Brother in law (David's) and his clan. They brought some mutton down from Madurai (3 hrs on the bus to keep it fresh and warm), which went into the mutton biryani we had for lunch. We ate on the floor off banana leaves and it was great! She didn't put any chilli in the biryani and not so much cardamom or whatever it is that makes it taste like perfume¹. C. hates biryani in any shape or form and even he said it was okay.

There was no big celebration though and after I'd been on the roof to take some pictures we found ourselves back on the 'normal day' routine with little to talk about. So after a real Indian=style lunch we came ack to the hostel to face Yesu and everyone again. I threw them out and went to sleep for a couple of hours.

The lack of a party atmosphere was what really got me down – in England, the party starts in earnest on Christmas Eve after the Christingle service. We go to the pub until midnight mass. In the morning, the service starts the day and it's a big family celebration until Boxing Day. Presents, mince pies, lots of food and decorations everywhere. Everyone's happy² and festive even though it's freezing cold. There's such a big build up starting with the shops in November, television in December and lights in the streets. It's England's biggest festival and is fantastic.

Here, there are stars outside the Christians' houses and only the rich people have Christmas trees. Because there are so many festivals and so few Christians, it's just yet another one. Nothing special. I thought Indians were incredibly social people but there were no real get-togethers. Yesu spent the day away from his parents, with his friends. Deepavali (The Festival of Lights) is one of the biggest festivals, almost like bonfire night (which of course, is exclusively English).

We went to watch Yesu playing cricket out on the marshes in the morning, we sat in the shade and still got sunburnt. It was so hot yesterday that I almost got sunstroke and half of C.'s face and neck are burnt.

I woke up at seven and C. gave me some gorgeous cappuccino he'd been sent from England. Rajesh, Kumar, Muthu and Arun came round for a bit and we were grateful for some almost adult company. At ten o'clock we went to phone home and I talked for twelve minutes, which cost twelve quid! Apparently dad had faxed me on Monday,³ having finally managed to suss out the system. It was wonderful to talk to them all, I even enjoyed J's Cello playing in the background! C.'s parents weren't in, which was a real downer. But he got through today so it's okay now. Just any normal day. New Year should e good but I refuse to get my hopes up after Christmas.

C. said last night that he was beginning to wonder if we're not perhaps too young to participate in the EE Programme. Seeing as we've effectively wasted our first two months here as far as teaching goes. But was it wise for us to have spent three weeks of 'Orientation Time' in Madurai instead of Ramnad? We then had a week getting used to Ramnad during which time we discovered how much they wanted from us and how little had actually been organised. We were forced to buy ourselves more time and here we are. The only place we're actually getting anywhere with is St. Andrews, teaching the girls and attending the various functions. I've had some involvement with Schwartz Matriculation doing music, etc.

Why didn't they know we were coming? Why doesn't anyone know who CC is? Why didn't USPG try to find out more about what we'd e doing? C. knew he was coming do India in January, twelve months ago. Surely the Bishop could have come here to prepare the way, to find out what they wanted and even just to say we're coming. Or he could have got Athisayam to do it. Instead, we got a fax that said they'd be glad to have us. Who? The Bishop? Or had he told anyone at that point? Why didn't anyone tell us anything? We've come here blind, we knew of two of the schools, neither of which we can do very much in and they didn't know about us.

So is it our fault – are we too young, inexperienced and ignorant to do anything here? Is it like this for everyone else? Let's look at cases. There's A. in Zimbabwe, she knew about the school, there are two missionaries there already who sent her loads of information. The school knew about her and began to plan in advance. Remember that I nearly went there so I know I could almost draw the place from memory. She's got a counsellor in Bulawayo, only twenty minutes away and B.'s there as well. So she's busy. S. in Zambia was told what age group she'd be teaching! We knew there were two and a half thousand girls and one and a half thousand boys.

We don't have a counsellor! I thought it was almost unheard of for USPG to send EEP's into the field without one. Thus we have no-one to turn to but ourselves. Not much help, really. Athisayam would just say yes, yes and go do something else. The bishop's too far away. Athisayam said he'd come here every day and as he's the nearest thing to a counsellor that we've got it would have been ideal if he had. He doesn't even come ONCE a week! Sometimes we only see him on Sundays – in the pulpit. What does he think we are? Experts on India? We're learning the hard way and that's a fact. His brief must have been to find them somewhere to stay, introduce them, then leave them.

What can we do? We're going to write to the Bishop and see if he does anything. I'm going to try and find somewhere to work, to do anything, not just musical which is all that the Rev. seems to think I can do. When we first came he told everyone that C. was English and I was Music. Talk about first impressions, that buggered up everything before we started. I could have taught physics but no matter what I say now, they have this idea that I only know music and that's all they think about. Never change the subject when you're talking with an Indian, they just don't follow it. We can't do anything until New Year anyway.

It feels as if out of all of the EEPs, we've got the toughest assignment. We knew so little and we're in it up to our necks. We've no-one to talk to and our only form of communication is the post, which takes a week at least to travel both ways.⁴ We didn't realise how wrong things were going to be until it was too late – how could we? All we could do was to trust in our organisers and hope that they knew best. We couldn't start organising ourselves and dive in before we knew what they were trying to do. We came here in blind faith, lived here in blind faith and now have nine weeks out of the six months left to actually do something. Bunch of arse.

Friday 27th December

I'm a bit happier today, but the problem still remains.

We had dinner at Jerry's house with his mum the lovely, slightly deaf headmistress from Schwartz Matriculation. Her sister and her family live with her as her husband died last year. She is the niece of Rev and Aunty Fenn! Everyone's related. We ate Burri with fried mashed potatoes, then dosai and samara, then banana custard! Papaya, apples and grapes. We felt slightly full I can tell you! On the way out we spoke to the HM's father who told us that they speak Tamil here and Tamil Nadu is at the bottom of India surrounded by the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean, Kerala, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh. Enriched with this new and hitherto undiscovered knowledge we came back and had a discussion about God and which bits of the Bible are actually literally true.

C. said that we shouldn't say some bits are true and not others, but obviously the New Testament is more true than the Old. It all stemmed from the question of homosexuality. C. says it's all wrong and I say it's alright. Wouldn't do it myself, but gay people are okay. I also don't think you can pin God down with something as human as a personality, which C. says you can. We know the nature of God, but that's different. Anyway C. laughed at me a lot and spouted all this fundamentalist stuff about the Bible being a set of rules which you can't pick and choose from. Then he said he doesn't like talking about this kind of thing because you get all lost. He might – I thrive on things like that, even though I know so little.

So today we did very little, writing letters, eating, that sort of thing. This evening we went to Kiruba teacher's house to get our lunghis sewn up and watched this bloke making parottas. He's the Parotta King, apparently and we ate them later with a chicken that they killed especially.

The brother-in-law was asking us about alcohol and how English people are all drunkards aren't they? My own theory is that no-one drinks in India so those who do, get blind drunk and so no-one drinks in India. I would think that because we do drink an incredible amount and at any excuse. We were saying ooh no, we only drink a glass or two at mealtimes, and C. said that it was only wine because wine is nice. I had to put a stop to this – don't ask someone who doesn't drink about alcohol – and just before he launched into the 'some people drink beer and whisky and give everyone a bad name' malarkey, I dove in. I said that liquor is usually drunk in moderation and beer is social. It's true isn't it?

I didn't want C. to get on his high horse about it like he keeps doing about his 'adult' college where he took easy examination boards and had all open book English exams. He did it again this evening and made me look really lazy because he had a job over the summer and I was going to bed at two and getting up at nine. I had two weeks, then Sellyoak, then two weeks, then Bosnia, then I was learning to drive, then preparing for India. Of course I didn't get a chance to defend myself and by now they'd all written me off as a lazy drunkard. C. has got absolutely no idea how the Indians take things. I can spot it a mile off now, but he's still surprised.

On Christmas Day he gave Kiruba a Jelly. It became clear that she thought it was for her so he went and asked her to make it. Of course now she was thinking Oh no, I thought they'd given it to me and they only brought it because we've got a fridge and now I look really stupid I'd better go and make it, even though I've been cooking all morning. I watched this going on in her head and had my face in my hands when C. came back all innocent and pleased with himself. When I told him, he went back and said she didn't have to make it now, any time will do. So she's our slave now? I don't know how he can't see these things. He's got no idea what the culture is here and is almost as unaware now as when we first came. But I've said all this before, about him 'seeing'. I won't waste more precious ink on the subject.

Kumar's back, and he's going to take us to his village tomorrow morning at five thirty, then bring us back with the Rev in the evening because they've only got one toilet. It's mad, we're supposed to stay until Sunday but the Rev's crazy and at least we'll get our post earlier.

Saturday 28th December

NOT! Forget that last line, he's gone to his sister's house, the swine.

The trip to the village was fantastic, even though we nearly died several times on the way. It's got about three hundred families, all harijans¹ or dalits. It's very poor, only one house has a toilet – I can only assume everyone else goes in the fields. Mind you, a lot of people have stereos so it's obviously a selective kind of poverty. We met the pastor, who told us all about the high-caste Hindus up the road who are constantly at war with them. In 1957 they attacked the village and shot two men. All the women and children were hiding in the church where they were attacked and the Hindus shot through the door. The bullet holes are still there, and there's one in the altar where it passed without hitting anyone! The conflict's still going on, mainly about land – no-one works in the summer for fear.

The whole village is Christian, which is quite amazing in itself and it's an SPG Church. Still carrying on the tradition as they are in Ramnad.

We spent the morning meeting all the various members of Kumar's huge family including his cousin Jasmine-Violet who I struck up an instant rapport with. We also met a girl called Josephine who they said was Kumar's future wife! The Rev took us out into the country (the entire family came too) and we took hundreds of photographs. The whole day was wonderful and very relaxing, no noise / smells / Westernism. In fact, it was the closest to the 'real India' we've come so far.

The Rev wouldn't let us stay the night because of the lack of toilet and the Mosquitoes. We're going to try and explain to his again why we're here. He made me really angry when he told us that they'd celebrated Christmas in the village with all-night Indian drama! He made us go to church, saying we had to see how Indians celebrate Christmas, then went off to his village to celebrate like a 'real' Indian. Without us. The people who were here to see…

Oh I give up.

We virtually demanded to be invited to the New Year celebration! He's got no idea, what did the Bishop tell him? It can't be his fault and he's now told us that they never actually celebrated anything in Ramnad. A fine Indian Experience this is turning out to be. We need to get his arse in gear. Tomorrow we'll ask him to get us invited to anything cultural that goes on. I doubt it'll work but we'll try. We've got to stop him being so over-protective about our Western sensibilities.

C. said he wants to become Indian today, that's a laugh. I'll believe it when I see it. He also took pictures of virtually everything and everyone I did, which was very annoying. I found myself trying to snap things before he saw me. Jasmine only talked to me though, I don't know – maybe she fancied me or something. I hope so, she's lovely! She shook me hand as well, which is more than any other Indian female has done! What fun, shame she's probably already married to someone else (not yet, but it must be on the cards – she's seventeen).

Enough of this, we came back and the dream is now over! I'd much rather be in the village than here, it's exactly what I was expecting to come to as opposed to this urban 'tries so hard to be modern and doesn't quite make it' sprawl. The village is all mud huts and children among the paddy fields and palm trees. So much better,² but here we are and it's our job to make the most of it. We've (well I have) got a lot of work to do!

Sunday 29th December

Finally we've got our post! He gave it to us before the service, so we had to look at it all the way through then carry is round the bazaar as we went shopping. I told the Rev that we wanted more culture out of our stay. I asked him to find out all he can about any cultural events. He said that he would, and he goes to some villages every third week of the month so we can go with his. I sincerely hope it works this time.

We met Mr Gnanaraj this evening and he asked me if I could play guitar in church because their organist has no sense of time! He should play really, but there's committees and things to go through and tradition! He's such a nice man and wanted me to play on New Year's Day but I can't.

There's a chap called Sake (pronounced that way) who is really interested in music.¹ He's actually interested in Western music and styles of drumming. He wants to know everything there is to know about keyboards, drums, computers etc! He's also got a friend who makes Indian drums who will make me one for cheap and he also knows someone who can decorate my flutes for me. I've taught him the two most important chords on the guitar, F and Bb. Once he's learned them he'll be able to play anything. It takes time though. And pain.