Saturday 1st March

Today was very busy, we did 'We Shall Go Out' because if we'd done anything else it would have been too much. I got C. to take a full choir picture and most people are smiling, although Devi is very sad. In the first two periods we sat in the staff room and then I joined C. with 8b, visited 5th and was fetched by my angelic choir girls for an impromptu sing. I was so touched and the whole choir came running when they heard us singing! Again, people were weeping but it was generally a much happier occasion than yesterday.

I talked to the girls through lunchtime again and took loads of pictures, all of which are wonderful. They wanted lots of photos of me and their favourite was one with Muthu in the background!¹ Never mind, I won't have to look at them. It was a very sombre day even though I was putting on a brave face. The function for the leavers (12th Standard) was in the afternoon, I played 'Father God' and 'Mustafa'.

We took our cameras to St Andrews in the evening (C.'s at least - I'd run out of film!) and took loads of portraits which the girls want by Monday. We had fun explaining about Sunday closing and I've no idea what we're going to do! Leaving is horrible. I can't wait to be travelling when I don't have to think so much.

Jerry's mum said that Jerry wants to come to England and would it cost 1lakh rupees? It would of course be marvellous if she's serious, he could stay with me and we'd have a great time. Of course 1lakh is probably too much, half that would be ample (I think).

...

Life is but a melancholy flower and I'm the rain washing away into the river. Next week will be so different, but I'm always going to have an empty hole where my choir used to be. I sincerely hope that I'll come back, even just for a holiday but with university you never know. The worst thing is that most of the girls will get married off to fat ugly Indian men who only want them for sex and cooking.² I'm going to rock the boat on this one, with Devi especially - I couldn't bear to see her sentenced to a life with someone who doesn't really care about her. If they write to me that is, which I'm sure they will. I'm satisfied that I've made some impact here but I can't abide the thought of not being able to come back. Next time it will all be different because they will be separate.

I'll stop now, because I want to go and cry again.

Sunday 2nd March

Our last day here, and I was so depressed as I packed and people came to say goodbye, asking for photos that we've already promised to other people. In fact I didn't really cheer up until Miss Shanti sent word at about five o'clock asking if I wanted to borrow Sunny (her scooter, called 'Sunny-Zip').

I went for a spin and she said I could have it until eight! I fetched Yesu because C. was busy with two girls from 8b, and we scooted off to the reservoir. After some time there, we visited one of Yesu's classmates who showed me around while Yesu messed about on Sunny. His village is really small, with a tiny temple and gorgeous houses. I met some of his family, most of whom were crammed into his front room watching some awful Tamil film.

When we got back, C. had gone out so I went to talk to Miss Shanti (the beautiful, intelligent, witty) until he arrived with Muthukumar who had been looking for me. We dropped lots of hints about food, hoping that Miss Shanti (the exquisite) would offer, but we ended up going to the Abiraami with Muthukumar instead. She let us take the scooter and said we could have it all night so I took C. out for a hair-raising tour of Ramnad. Now I know why Indians drive so dangerously - it's fun!

The All-India Tour 1997

From the first moment I decided to go on a GAP year I wanted to go to Africa. I wasn't particular about where, but my five years (83-87) in Zimbabwe had fuelled my desire. The main reason I had for going was my love of the music, the clear harmonies and spirituality of African song. I set my heart on teaching songs to a choir and learning about their own Musical Mind in return.

But this was not to be. 1996 marked some of the biggest events in my life. A-levels, leaving school (finally!) University worries and now this. My five rejections and one offerDeclined - from London Guildhall, Guitar Making and Piano Tuning. Music Technology my arse!) via UCAS, combined with three failed attempts by USPG to get me a placement to make me radically change my ideas. I could no longer trust that things would go as planned - now I know that everything can change. All plans are only theoretical.

The disappointment of UCAS was difficult to accept. I was predicted AAB, why did no-one want me? 'It's okay,' I'd say, 'I'll get in next year'. But the hope was gone. The same thing with USPG 'they'll find a place, it's okay'. I'm not one to wallow in stress and depression though and I just move on to the next thing. Always looking forward.

So I went to the EEPS (Experience Exchange Programme) training, ever hopeful, with no idea about my future. Indeed it wasn't until September that I learned about coming to India with C. so I had less than two months to raise £2,000 and prepare!

I didn't know anything about India. I bought some books and read them but only now do I understand the things they were talking about. My life follows the same pattern now, planning, cancelling then going at the last minute. So it'll be interesting to see what happens in the next two months. Maybe I should call this 'WTF happened to me in India?' or 'my search for something else...'

Tuesday 4th March

Madurai.

At nine-fifteen in the morning (prayer time at school) yesterday, my three favourite choir girls rushed into the hostel to call me for one last song. We did 'Sent By The Lord Am I' and at the staff prayer afterwards they got me to do 'Father God', 'I am a New Creation', and 'In Heavenly Armour'. I had to call Podum! because any more and I'd have burst into tears. Again.

I gave more photos to 9b and left this diary behind so they could write me some messages in the back. Everyone got tearful again and I spent as much time with people as I could. We left at 12pm, waving goodbye to Jerry, Yesu and Kumar. Apart from the prayers and the morning, I didn't feel so sad to be leaving. I think the melancholy of the last few days helped to adjust me to the fact of our parting. Now, I've cheered up and have begun to look forward again to our imminent departure on the Greatest Adventure of our Lives (so far). I need to buy a backpack, a padlock and chain and other small essentials like 'soap'. Tomorrow we're going to go to Cumbum for two days then head on to Kochi. On the 12th of March, the Round Trip (proper) starts.

Yet again our move to Madurai has been a shock to the system. Everyone is rushing around, trying to make money, being tourists. We hate tourists. Why do they wear shorts and t-shirts? Why do they wear their money and cameras outside in full view? Why don't they care about India? It's so exasperating when people try to rip us off now - we're INDIAN now, we know how much things are! Last night this old bloke tried to charge us Rs2:50 for a banana! That's 5p! When we argued he told us to go away.

The auto drivers are the worst though. They just won't back down. When we were returning from Kanyakumari one such fiend tried to get Rs60 out of us to go from one bus stand to another. He said it was 10km, it was 4. He said that there wasn't a bus for an hour, we got one in five minutes. He was to horrible, I can't believe an Indian would lie so much.

When we're in Ramnad, people respect that we're working and have been learning Tamil and are doing our best to join the culture. Here, you're a stupid tourist looking at the poor people and desperate to spend money.

It's so lonely here. Our concept of personal space has all but gone and both of us really miss having our friends around. There was always someone to talk to in Ramnad and here we don't know anyone. Pastor Fenn has had so many foreign guests that he thinks we want to be alone. Come and pester us Reverend!

...

A hard day's shopping now over and we're both completely knackered! The stairs in the train station were a real effort which shows ho wthe combination of heat and no exercise has affected us! We met the dodgy little taxi man who sells ganja again and he got very paranoid because I recognised him. He's got a wife and kids apparently, so I said 'good, I won't tell the police this time then!' which put the wind up him and he started calling me talayva¹ and things.

I've bought a bag to take travelling, a nice strong canvas one and C.'s got some new trousers. The town's still full of tourists and there's no escaping them. No-one tried it on (ripping us off, that is) and my hair's all gone now. I'm going to give it away.²

Thursday 6th March

Cumbum.

We gave up waiting for Mr Anthony yesterday and got on the bus to come here ourselves. It's not really called Cumbum - that's a generalisation, like a county - and the bit we're in at the moment is called Uthamapalayam. When we arrived, we gave the address to a nice auto driver who found Mr Anthony for us. We've caused quite a stir in this little town and last night Mr Anthony's house was filled with Awe and Wonder.

C. has caught a cold from somewhere and everyone keeps praying for it, which has got to be a touch annoying. I think God's a bit busy because it didn't work! Last night we had rice and rassam¹ for dinner and I ate loads! What's happening to me?

Mr Anthony has been very 'Indian' for us, by not getting us a place to stay and worrying about our expectations. He said that he did have somewhere for us, but didn't ask them until the evening.

We slept in the church, on the floor - well on bamboo mats. It was pretty uncomfortable and a bit spooky but still...

He spends an incredible amount of time faffing about over insignificant things, like whether we should take our bags with us or not. A lot of time is wasted.

The morning was spent waiting for him to decide on something to do (he didn't). We've just done the same as we did last time - nothing. So I think we'll head on to Kochi tomorrow night for 3 days of bliss. After that, chaos begins.

Mr Anthony has had a barney with his wife. Neither of them's very happy, I think she's cross with him about something and he's got no idea what. He told us that his family irritates him because they talk topsy-turvy when he returns tired from his day's exertions. I know how he feels - last night the chap who let us into the church kept asking me about our stay and what we're doing here when all I wanted to do was sleep!

Saturday 8th March

Ernakulam (Kochi, Cochin), Kerala¹

We got here in the end, after having to get a bus to Kumily, a taxi to Allapuzha and bus to Ernakulam! We'd have had to wait three hours in Kumily for a bus and the taxi wasn't much more expensive - it got us here two hours earlier as well!

Kerala is so beautiful and so different! The forests never end and some of the roads even have lines down the middle! The last couple of hours of our journey were across or alongside some of the waterways that have made Kerala famous.

...

We're staying in the Bijus Tourist Home, which the Guides² say costs Rs75 and actually costs Rs200. Bit of a difference wouldn't you say? We're going to see if there's anywhere cheaper. The place is FULL of tourists. We're going to have to get used to it sooner or later, we just stare as if we've never seen a white person before! The only difference between them and us is the way we look at things. For us a lot of what we see is everyday life and not to be patronised, but in a place like this I suppose the locals market their livelihoods around tourism.

...

Later (7:55pm).

An incredibly tiring day spent wandering around Kochi and Ernakulam. Ernakulam's pretty boring really, but it has a United Colours of Benetton and a Lee Jeans shop! It's like a suburb of an English city and isn't at all 'Indian'. Well, maybe a little. We spent about an hour looking for somewhere to have breakfast and eventually went to Fort Kochi, hoping that somewhere would be open when we got there.

Fort Kochi is a fantastic place with tiny streets and the buildings are all Portuguese. We walked around and saw all the sights. The Chinese fishing nets were the most interesting, like huge crabs in the water. We saw St Francis' church, built in 1503, which is the oldest European-built church in India. The Santa Cruz Basilica - a Catholic church - was impressive, but they still paint everything to look like marble carvings. A good illusion, until you get close. I don't understand these Catholic churches with their 'idols' of Mary and the Saints. It's almost as bad as Hinduism. The Synagogue was closed (we'll go tomorrow), but we visited a mosque where we were asked if we wanted guidance for conversion!

There is a palace as well³, now a run-down museum which has the most amazing murals inside. The ones in the lady's bedchamber were incredibly rude and all the women have huge round breasts which isn't Indian at all. So much for modesty and all that, the temples are just as bad!⁴ Have to let it out somehow, I suppose.

...

It's a very strange experience being here, it's not like India at all - more European. I can see why they have such a low opinion of The West now. The tourists just don't care. They've probably brought loads of money and don't mind spending it. But we argue for everything to bring the price down. There's no chilli in the food, either. I had ginger chicken for lunch and it was crying out for more! I had to use C.'s from his salad. For dinner we had Burri and Chappatis which were calling out for more chilli again.

It's really happening! C. wiggled his head at an American woman as we came back to the hotel. It's an automatic gesture now, but she thought it was amazing. He's still really loudly against tourists, which will begin to annoy me if he doesn't stop soon. Today he's been suspicious of everyone who's talked to us, Indian and tourist alike. Maybe he's just miserable. Either way, he's got to lighten up otherwise I'll leave him in Bombay (only joking - I'll wait until Delhi!).

Sunday 9th March

We were going to go to church this morning, (I say 'were' because we slept in), there was an English service at 7am in a nice CSI building not far from the hotel. As it's Sunday, everything is closed.

We went to the Art gallery (closed), the Cochin Cultural Centre (closed - it only does Kathakali anyway - diverse culture!) and the Kerala History Museum (closed). This last was interesting because we got into an auto whose driver said seventeen rupees. When we got there he said No, '7-0'! But 'seventeen' means '1-7' not '7-0' We protested, no, 'seventeen', '7-0'! Learn English you swine! As the museum was closed, we had to pay him Rs30 to get back! I think we've learned not to believe everything we hear.

So What about Kerala then? The differences here are:

• The food - no chilli! How can we survive? Even the biryani is chilli-less.
• They don't sew their lunghis up, and women wear them too.
• Where are the ox carts, the wild cows, pigs, donkeys, goats and dogs? It's something we really miss. Tamil Nadu is more 'Indian'.¹
• Why isn't everyone trying to rip us off? They're all so nice here. There are more people selling drugs, but we don't get pestered so much! Maybe my dhoti helps.
• It's much quieter and more sophisticated!

Dress sense is still terrible though. I remember thinking oh, it's because they can't afford anything better. But it's not - things are all teh same price. It's because they like wearing neon pink with flowers on! Why? A question for God, I think.

Tuesday 11th March

Madurai.

We visited the Synagogue on Sunday afternoon and wanted to ask why there were so many chandeliers, but some American guy was there asking about Black Jews in India, so we didn't. In the evening we went to a tourists' Kathakali show (at the Culture Centre), which is only 1 and a half hours instead of all night. It was very strange, but fantastic!The control the actors have over their faces has to be seen to be believed. The costumes and the 'acting' are hugely exaggerated, giving it a supernatural feel. Which is how it should be because the stories are all about Gods from the Ramayana.

We'd both have much preferred to see a 'real' performance in a village somewhere but there's no way of finding out what's going on. I thought the performance we did see came across quite amateurish from a theatrical point of view - because the two actors kept falling out of character when their bit of the dance finished. One of them spent all of the time fiddling with his costume. Maybe it's always like that - we have nothing to compare it against so we'll never know.

...

So after a lovely nine hour journey we got back to Madurai yesterday, black with soot from the roads and absolutely knackered! We've got some of our Round-Trip tickets and are waiting for the rest tonight. Madurai becomes worse every time we see a different city. It's dirty and unlooked after and the people just aren't as friendly here. In Ernakulam we met a man who we thought was well dodgy until we actually got talking to him properly. He wanted to take us to his village so we could see how 'the people really live'. He was also a fellow Christian and wanted to know all about England's religions and what I thought about AIDS and divorce. Admittedly, he was desperate to get out of India and thought we could help him, but he invited us to his church and didn't mind so much when we said we couldn't give him any money. In Madurai it's all about changing money, drugs or tailoring.

God knows what I'm looking for out here, it's not: backwater poverty tourism, bad dress sense, chilli-less food, clean animal-free streets, quiet or being able to trust people. Maybe - maybe not. Perhaps Ooty will help me.

Thursday 13th March

Mettupalayam

It's 7:50am and we've been here for 3 hours now, waiting. Our train from Madurai arrived at Coimbatore at 3:30am and we got a bus here.

We could have got the train, but would have got crap seats according to Marky who sorted our ticket out. So we're about to embark on our Journey up to Ooty (Udhagamandalam) on the Nilgiri Blue Mountain Railway. It's famous, according to the Guide,¹ taking 4.5 hours to travel 46km!

The Lonely Planet is pretty scathing about Ooty, saying it's best avoided these days, but I think the writer is a bit of a night-owl because he/she/it gives a lot of importance to the quality of the pubs and beer.

Well we'll soon find out if it's true or not.

Friday 14th March

Udhagamandalam (Ooty)

It took our poor, sick, hundred year-old steam train eight hours to get us to Ooty as we had to pause for breath every half an hour - it kept running out of steam! but we got here in the end. The journey was breathtaking, up through Eucalyptus forests and tea, but to be perfectly frank, Ooty's not very impressive.

Since Independence the government has allowed all sorts of industrialisation developments that have taken over somewhat. What was once a quiet Toda village (and then became a quiet English village when we kicked the Toda out) is now a busy polluted town. Only a few buildings of the Raj are left and these are badly cared for and run-down. The churches are fabulous though, even if they are so English you forget where you are!

It was at one of the churches, St Stephens, that we met Mr Franklin Stevens who took us under his wing and gave us a room for half the price we paid for last night (Rs 150 instead of 300). He's the most amazing character and one of those tremendously talkative people who is always full of energy. He took us to lunch at a nearby Chinese restaurant and has organised a tour for us, as well as our bus to Mysore.

Uncle Frank (as he is affectionately known)'s grandfather was a Hindu priest. When he was eighteen, he was approached by a missionary who said, Son, you must know Jesus. He scoffed and went back to his Puja. but the missionary came back again and again. He told the missionary that he would pray to his Goddess to have the missionary's eyes put out and then we'd see who was right. The missionary still came everyday and after two months of fasting, offerings and Puja to his idol the missionary's eyes were as beautiful as ever. So Uncle Frank's grandfather did the only sensible thing¹ and asked for a bible. He became a minister in the church and his descendants have all followed.

Uncle Frank's brother is pastor of the biggest church in Bangalore (guess where we're staying!) and everyone in his family's names begin with 'F'. Even the dog, Fido and the cat, Fluffy. Nine of his family are dead. His sister had a deformity in her nose (his words, not mine) and Uncle Frank promised his mother that he'd see her through plastic surgery and that he'd live with her until she was married. Now that she's married it's his turn (he's 68) and is probably going to get hitched later this year. His future wife is a widow whose sons have become like his own since their father died. I'm so glad he's getting wed, someone like him shouldn't be alone.

He's also VERY against smoking and has these leaflets which he gives to everyone he sees with a cigarette. After he's made them put it out. The leaflets have a story on them about a man who's been told that he's got one year to live because of 'tobacco heart'. The man can't believe it and stops smoking straight away. He goes to see another doctor and begs him for treatment to postpone his demise. The doctor can't help because the man is beyond repair. The message of course, is stop now before it's too late. Oh - and Jesus makes it easier.

Apparently it works as well, he's been giving them out for more than thirty years and has had several teetotallers and a few conversions to his credit.

...

We had dinner in a real English style tea room place, sharing with a Burmese-Austrian girl called Daniella who is studying at an international school here and a Canadian woman from the same school. Delightful company, but Daniella is interested in music so we left C. a bit behind there. There was a brief moment of excitement when we thought we all knew Rev Jothinayagam but it turned out that only we did, theirs was a different person who works with fishermen in Rameswaram. Dinner was fish and chips, which is only natural, seeing as it's Friday and this is England after all.

Sunday 16th March

Mysore, Karnataka

So we bit the bullet and did what we hadn't wanted to do yesterday and went on a minibus tour of Ooty. All the other tourists with us were rich North Indian couples and no-one spoke to each other. I'm glad we went, because we got to see a lot of things we'd have missed, like the tea plantations¹ and some spectacular 5,000ft sheer-drop views.

...

There is a group here from ACTS Ministries in Bangalore who are doing services at St Stephens in the evenings. Last night the founder, Ken Gnanakan preached. His speech was incredible, about witnessing for Christ and how we should be doing it.

ACTS is a society that trains people and believes in action as well as preaching. I always felt uncomfortable with the idea of 'witnessing', afraid of talking about Jesus to people who don't want to know. but Dr Ken talked about it as witnessing about love. We love because of Jesus' and God's love. He was also very environmental, talking about how we (meaning Indian people) need to do something about it. You know the problems - sewers, litter, shrinking forests...

So I bought his book / testimony in the hope that it'll help me.² Uncle Frank got C. and myself to have dinner at Shinkow's (the Chinese restaurant) with them. Due to various shifting around of seats I found myself sitting next to Dr Ken.

I was sorely disappointed in his lack of interest in us and our attempts at conversation were feeble. I was confused. Did he think he was too good for us? Did we bore him? Why didn't he care? But then I remembered that his sister is very ill (cancer) and his mind must be elsewhere. I comforted myself with this thought³ as uncle Frank talked away, as if to a wall. I know how you feel, I lost my sister too, but when I lost my mother... She's not dead! We saw her yesterday! Consoling sort of chap.

...

We got the bus down [to Mysore] this morning, through the wildlife sanctuaries, so like Africa and it's national Parks. Karnataka is totally different again, it's drier and there are less palm trees. When we arrived, we spent an hour trying to find the person who Uncle Frank said could help us.

We eventually discovered⁴ that he'd gone to Bangalore and were offered a room in the CSI church's guest house, which was very nice, but for a couple of small problems.

For one, there were no guests and it didn't look as if there ever had been, or ever will be. I didn't fancy staying in a ghost house no matter how quaint or wooden it is.

Secondly, it was 5km out of town! We only had four hours to see Mysore, it wasn't worth it. So we've ended up in a much more sensible and hospitable location via the medium of stopping an auto and asking for a hotel.

...

Mysore is wonderful. The city is (a bit) like London around Buckingham palace. In the area around the main attraction - the Maharaja's palace that is. All big grand wide roads lined with flowers and trees. Built in 1897 - 1912, the palace is a real work of art. A monument to the India of the myths, Arabian Nights, everything romantic of The East. It was like a dream, going round inside and I don't feel that any of it was real. The splendour has to be seen to be believed and you have to go there, because they don't allow cameras inside (selfish if you ask me...).

The cathedral is beautiful as well, but it's a Roman Catholic one, which taints it a bit.⁵ Indians must love Catholicism because it is almost another, smaller version of Hinduism. They (the Catholics) have statues of the Saints, Mary and Jesus which they worship. This evening they were praying to / worshipping the stations of the cross, each one represented by a large, hideous statue - the idolatry is terrible. I am prepared to accept Islam, Sikhism and others because they worship God. But Hindus worship stories, characters from folk tales and blocks of stone. It would be like us worshipping King Arthur or Robin Hood. Some of the theology is sensible⁶ - the spiritual part - but the majority worship trees etc just for being trees.⁷ Doesn't work for me, I'm afraid.

Monday 17th March

On the train to Londa from Bangalore.

In Bangalore they seem to have realised that buildings look really good if you don't paint them. Its collection of stone buildings is very impressive and the many parks and gardens more than justify its other name, 'The Garden City'. We had some initial problems with bastard auto-drivers claiming that Cubbon Road (Church address given to us by uncle Frank) was 14km away. It was 1km.¹ When we got there, the Sister we were trying to find who knew Uncle Frank was in hospital and the one we actually spoke to was so afraid of being confronted by two men that we made our excuses and decided to keep our bags with us.

Our auto driver (mark #2 because the one before him was incompetent) saved the day by offering to hide the bags in his boot while he took us on a sightseeing tour of Bangalore. To overcome our inhibitions/paranoia, he proudly showed us a collection of letters, addresses and photographs from foreigners all saying how wonderful he is. We agreed, reluctantly, after he pointed out that we could write down his number in case he stole anything.

Although it is a lovely town, there's not that much to do in Bangalore, but the buildings are lovely. Best was the Karnataka State Government building which proudly proclaimed 'Government Work is God's Work'.

Uncle Frank's brother, 'Flinders Steven' is pastor of St Mark's Cathedral, but we couldn't find him, either. The Cathedral was very nice though and not RC!

...

We've got 14 hrs on this train to Londa, arriving at 11am tomorrow, from there we get the bus to Panjim, the capital of Goa. I'm feeling a lot more comfortable with the train this time, although the smells occasionally bring back waves of reminiscence about our first train journey to Madurai. Yet again I wonder about the immaturity of young Indians. There's a group of them here who can't be younger than twenty and they're behaving as if it's their first school trip or time away from home. Which I suppose, it probably is.²

Tuesday 18th March

Panaji (Panjim), Goa

Our quickest time for finding accommodation¹ sees us in an amazing Guest House, with stairs and balconies all over the place.² Panaji is a lovely little town, all it needs is cobbled streets and we could be in Europe! The air is hot and humid, like a sauna.³ It's hard to believe that only two days ago we were freezing in Ooty.

The Portuguese certainly left their mark here. Most of the women wear blouses and knee-length skirts and a lot of people still speak Portuguese. The Church of the Immaculate Conception is the main centrepiece of the town. From the outside it's impressive. From the inside it would be impressive if they hadn't painted everything gold. The town is otherwise just fit for wandering around in as you enjoy the quiet.

Wednesday 19th March

Old Goa is a fascinating place. There are nine enormous churches with enormous elaborate carvings on the altars all in a tiny space of land. Some of them are beautiful, but the Basilica of Bom Jesus taints a bit of the romance by having the mortal remains of St Francis Xavier displayed in a huge silver and glass coffin! He died in the 1550s and his servant covered him in quicklime to avoid his grave being desecrated. It didn't work, and they sent bits of him all over the world. So the head is probably all that's left in that coffin!

Last night we had dinner in a restaurant that had a club in the basement. Last years dance music was blasting up through the floor and we decided we really need to avoid that sort of thing, because it'll devalue our experience. I'm enjoying being away from English culture, away from the pubs, clubs and alcohol. I'm sure six months of abstention¹ will do me good! I want to carry on being 'cultural, but here it's difficult as this is Europe, not India. I don't think we'll need to go to Portugal after here. I'm wearing trousers today because I felt out of place in a dhoti and kurta!

...

I think we're nearly on the verge of another tiff. Things have settled into a sort of hierarchy where I always lead, being the Organiser. Out of the hotel room, onto the bus, round unknown streets etc. For a change, I waited for C. to open the door and go out. He waited for me, because I usually go first and thought I wasn't ready. Small things, but he really took offence when I said he doesn't have to wait for me all the time. Seems insignificant, but microcosm to macrocosm...

I hate taking things for granted - even small things. Routines, rituals... I need variety. I think that's what confused C. Why the sudden change? He thinks it's because I'm being awkward and picky. When I go home all those things that I used to take for granted will be unusual. Toilet paper! Peanut butter! Pavements! But the common things here will be absent. Ceiling fans, fruit sellers, auto-rickshaws, heat...

...

Goa is quite different, girls wear jeans here. We're finding ourselves shocked at things that should be 'normal' for us. Claudia Schiffer on the front cover of Cosmo, bars, lovers. Even the men and women are more free about talking to each other.

Of course some things about India still disgust us though. Men defecating on the beach! In full view of the promenade they go and squat, wash themselves in the sea then carry on with their lives! Presumably the sea is supposed to wash it away, but it's foul. It's almost a shame the Romans didn't come her adn give them sewers, even Bangalore suffers. Why haven't they thought of that yet?

We're off to Pune tomorrow, I hope the address Uncle Frank gave us works this time.

Friday 21st March

Pune, Maharastra

Having bribed the conductor to get us beds, slept for three hours, then discovered on waking that someone had stolen C.'s flip flops, we came to rest at Pune Jn at 4am.

Saturday 22nd March

We found our way to the Christa Prema Seva Ashram and have spent the night in the comfort of a friendly Christian community. The place is run by an elderly sister who is a little strange but very nice. They have a very Indian form of worship - flowers, incense etc - which other EEPS from USPG hadn't liked at all (she told us). I don't know what to make of that, since part of our 'training' was to embrace the style of worship in whichever country you were sent to.

Pune isn't really that interesting, we've seen the museums, two temples and the Empress Botanical Gardens. Two of the museums were pretty appalling with nothing of interest at all. The Tribal Museum was just an unlooked-after collection of artefacts and the other was a jumble of bits and pieces with no real theme. The 'good' museum - The Raja Dinkar Kelkar Museum - has a fantastic collection of Indian antiques from ornate vases to simple wooden combs. Now that was interesting.¹

Things seem to be built here and then ignored, left as if they're going to stay as new without anyone looking after them. The Empress Botanical Gardens are unswept/watered/cleaned and could be so much better if anyone cared. They do have the biggest banyan tree ever though. Places like this are where secret lovers go to be alone, where they can kiss and hug without India frowning at them. one of the attendants asked if there were any girls² with us! No, just us I'm afraid!

Monday 24th March

Mumbai (Bombay)

We tried to be energetic on Saturday and go for a stiff two hour climb up a cliff to a fort where a bloke called Tanaji had defeated the enemy by throwing an iguana at the cliff until it stuck. No wait, there's more: The iguana (whose name was Yashwanti, by the way) had a rope ladder attached to its tail that they used to get over the walls. It's true! They reckon. Anyway I hope you noticed the 'tried' because we waited an hour or so for the bus then gave up and went to see another museum instead. We found a cave temple as well, carved out of solid rock, where they worship Shiva and various other minor (miner haha) Gods.

We still pretty disillusioned and/or suspicious of Hinduism, businessmen in suits prostrating themselves before the idols - we even saw someone praying to a tree, butting it with his forehead and walking round it. Why?

...

I seem to have rushed through Pune and Bangalore a bit, there's so much I haven't said. Like the ham and cheese sandwiches we had from Goa (mmm ham AND cheese!) and how after we bribed the conductor Rs50 each to get us sleeper seats C. still ended up sleeping on the floor because some guy turned up and demanded his bed back. As it was so early when we arrived we slept on the platform with hundreds of other Indians until a nasty man came round at 6am and poked us with a big stick until we looked like we were still alive. C. spent the whole day walking around with no shoes and everyone thought he was very silly.¹ In short, we've had quite an exciting time of it and the fun isn't over yet!

From Pune, we got the 1525 train [on Saturday] because we didn't fancy the prospect of arriving in the middle of the night again. It was a real sardine-box affair and we had to stand. There was a bald man who refused to shift up for me because it was a two man seat (both taken). The fact that all the other seats on the train were accommodating threes and fours failed to deter him from this stance. Luckily, C. fought his way down to me after about an hour of 'train surfing' with the exciting news that he was going to vomit. I'll never know why he did this, but replied as any sane man would, Well you'd better go and lean out of the door then. He created a mild sensation as he fainted and threatened to barf on people on the way to the exit. When the stubborn I've spent ages here, I'm not moving Indians realized what he was about to do, Moses at the Red Sea was re-enacted before our eyes and C. nearly fell out the door! I grabbed his arm and hung on desperately as he swung outside the train and hurled into the wind.

He wasn't very well. We got off at the next station Lonavla, and considered our next move.²

At 1800 we got a nearly empty train to Mumbai and arrived at 2130. It was here that the fun really started. I had the job, again, of seeking out accommodation. Trusting USPG's addresses we went to a Methodist Guest House. What USPG omitted was that it cost Rs350 per person per night! We're on a tight budget of 2-300 for both of us! So we went to the other address, hoping fervently that even though we hadn't booked, they'd have a Christian sort of sympathy for us and let us stay.

No such luck. We spent ages remonstrating with the doorman, who didn't really understand us at all, asking if there were any other accommodation around.

• - No room here, sorry.
• - Okay, is there another hotel we can go to?
• - No room here, sorry.
• - We don't want a room here!
• - No room here.
• - Another hotel?
• - Hotel Grant. (At last! I think, We're getting somewhere!)
• - How much?
• - 500 Rupees. (Okay, so the Hotel Grant was out)
• - Another CHEAP hotel? Like here?
• - No room here, sorry.

This continued in much the same vein and before I hit him, C. (still feeling ill), tried his 'calming influence'. Another man turned up who whose English wasn't much better but he eventually gave us the name 'Sandeep Hotel'. Looking back, I think that he made it up to get rid of us - after all it was 10:30 in the evening.

We set out into the streets of Bombay. Everyone we asked gave us conflicting instructions, presumably because they didn't want to appear ignorant. We resorted to wandering up a street (any street, it didn't matter any more) and eventually found somewhere to stay. On the way we were offered Luxury beds with nice girls and when I said we just wanted to sleep, were told Okay, you sleep, they won't mind. At the Lodge (not, I hasten to add, the brothel) I had to stay up till twelve while the man copied down our passport particulars wrongly. I wouldn't leave our passports with him overnight - who would? - so he photocopied them instead. Was this wise? I don't' know, I just wanted them back so I could sleep!

...

In the morning we went back to the CMH guest House (With the unhelpful doorman) and tried to find somewhere to stay again, preferably away from the red light district. Church was just finishing when we arrived, so I made a bee-line for the vicar, thinking that at least he might help us. If he didn't, I'd sing 'When I needed some shelter were you there?' to him. It turned out that he had been to Sellyoak and that he'd seen me there. I didn't believe him, but presented him with our problem. I really think he did his best, but no Oh, just come and stay at my house was forthcoming.

One man told us to go to the Salvation Army nearby. There we met a nice man called Samuel who told me I was pretty stupid not to have gone to their budget accommodation right in the middle of the city instead of coming miles out of the city first. Feeling extremely tired and thoroughly sick of searching we got into a taxi and came to the Salvation Army Red Shields hostel, cursing fate and the horse he rode on. We got here at lunchtime, got ourselves some beds and went out.³

...

Bombay is an ace place. I'd quite happily stay here for a week, wandering the streets looking at all the huge Raj-era buildings. The train station, GPO, university and even the Central train station (Metro) are all Palatial Indo-Saracenic monuments. We are staying right next to the Taj Mahal hotel, which is immense and have spent some time in there pretending we can afford it.⁴ It's full of clothes shops and has an excellent bookshop. They wouldn't let me change money though and I don't think they thought much of C.'s flip-flops. I've run out of money and all the shops are closed so my suit will have to wait!

The Prince of Wales museum is a great place too, with thousands of Indian artefacts and a fantastic display of Indian 'Miniature' art. We went to an art gallery as well which was pretty poor (Indian contemporaries) except for one picture by 'Jehangir A'⁵ (of which they didn't have a copy) that was incredibly absorbing. The Gateway To India is also close to the Taj and is where the last British troops left from in 1949.

...

C. was still feeling pretty off-peak [yesterday] evening, a jumbo chicken croissant and toasted cheese sandwich did little to perk him up, so we went to the cinema. The film [imdb:Mars Attacks!] was showing and it was quite appalling. Although pretty funny, the violence was so unnecessary, too graphic and really, we were both quite shocked. Looking back, it was very funny actually, it's just that we've not seen anything like it for so long that we took it too seriously. I still think that they didn't need quite so many people burning away to steaming skeletons though. It took C.'s mind off feeling ill so it did serve some purpose.⁶

...

Today is the Hindu festival Holi, which involves running around and throwing coloured powders at everybody. Face, clothes, hair, you name it... Being thus covered and donning dhoti 'n' all I felt very Indian again. Also very dirty when we visited another art gallery and the Taj's bookshop. We met some nice chaps who were high on 'bhang', a hashish concoction, one of whom gave us a lift back to the hostel in the Toyota Crown he drives for his hotel. Lovely car.

Tomorrow we're off to Ahmedabad and we'll have to say goodbye to this lovely place. Both the guides said that Bombai is overcrowded, rushed and getting a bus or taxi is a stupid idea. I'm glad to be able to say that they were both wrong.

Tuesday 25th March

Ahmedabad, Gujarat.

It would appear that we have come back to Ramnad, only with more people and factories and some nice buildings overgrown with India, but the girls are wearing Indian clothes again. For an ex-capital city, Ahmedabad isn't very modern - or Westernised depending on how you look at it. It's unbelievably crowded - very similar to what I thought Mumbai would be like - it takes hours to cross the road, the traffic is unrelenting.

We had a nasty auto-man who wouldn't take us to the hotel we wanted to go to and took us to another where the proprietor assured us that the one we had wanted was full and very expensive.¹ Out came our 'nicked out of the Guide' quotes and he said that of course he couldn't actually know if it was full really, and everyone knows it's cheap as anything.

I hate the way they try it on and even when we're sure of ourselves they go on and on until you begin to doubt our sanity. If you go to another auto, the driver just follows you telling everyone to agree that it's 14km and Rs70 to where you want to go, even if you know it's just round the corner. You can get so angry because they know that if they make you stand in the sun long enough you'll agree to anything.

...

Ahmedabad is a town of Mosques, so tomorrow we're going to don out doily hats and check out the Muslim enclaves. Some of them are 500 years old (the Mosques - not the Muslims).

...

I hate feeling cruel and heartless because I don't give money to everyone who pokes me saying Babu, Babu. You can feel everyone watching as the Rich White Tourist turns out his pockets, saying look, no money! Their contempt for you is unspoken but the air is thick with the disgust. I hope this is just paranoia. None the Indians give any money, especially not the ones in posh satin. They are the ones who treat the poor like animals, not us.

There were some village people on the train who were having an argument. On inquiring about the subject I was told don't worry, they're uneducated. And what's that supposed to mean? Sometimes I think that Indians are terrible people, but it's the way they've been taught. Yesu throws plastic away on the streets, in the countryside, but that doesn't mean that he's a 'bad' person. He's just not been told all the facts.

Wednesday 26th March

It's 10:30am and C.'s just gone into the shower. That means we won't leave until eleven at the earliest. Not that I mind, I mean we've got ample time to see the Important Things round Ahmedabad, it's just that I'd rather be out there doing things than waiting here for C.. Of course I'm ready, if I wasn't C. would have started writing a letter or something. I have to put the pressure on otherwise we wouldn't leave until lunchtime.

Is this a terrible thing to say? I know he's still suffering, still having trouble eating and I know that when you're ill the last person you want to be with is me. I have no sympathy. I'd like to mother him, which is what he wants, but I can't. Don't ask me why, I just don't have the knack. He's so fussy! If he doesn't like the food, his head drops into his hand, he slows down, looks utterly dejected and the leaves it. Eventually. Obviously his father never gave him the choice between the food or a smack.¹ I think it's childish behaviour and there's no need for him to make such a show of not liking things. Who cares?

...

We've been spending far too much money on food on this trip - mainly because C.'s decided he can't eat Indian food so we have to go and find Western restaurants, which are invariably expensive. It's not fair² - I want to sample the regional delicacies, but when roast chicken's on the menu there's no arguing. So I'm going to have to play the strict parent too and keep an eye on our spending. C.'s hardly bought anything that'll last while we've been travelling so far. I've got incense from Mysore, silk from Bangalore, a poster from Mumbai and a couple of Indian books.³

I hate saying no to chocolate and milkshakes and things. I feel like such a tyrant - but it IS a waste of money. It's nice to indulge occasionally of course, but frequency breeds monotony and empty pockets. I've been spending more than £50 a week, borrowing money from C. when I run out. I'm going to have to borrow even more because I'm going to run out of traveller's checks before C. does.

...

Two weeks have gone by since we embarked on our Great Adventure so we're about halfway through. It's Holy Week, which means Good Friday and Easter are coming up fast. I'd like to go to Delhi Cathedral for the Easter service, I'm not sure where we'll be for Good Friday. On the train, probably.

I was thinking about home on the train and it all seems so far away, so distant. I'm worried that it'll all be incredibly alien when I get back. I've become so immersed here I don't really want to go - I'd like to travel like this for years - see the world instead.

Everyone's going to want to hear all about it and it will have been so normal for me I won't want to tell them. I've forgotten what England's really like, it's just dreams, some story I heard years ago. It'll definitely be a back to reality shock for me. What is my life? What am I doing here? Going home will be a race for University, a house, job, going to Zimbabwe for a month (yay) which will become another dream altogether. I can join in with dad's dream for a while then get down to some serious work at University. A future dream.

I think I'd like to travel more, do more Christian things when I travel, something with meaning, a purpose. What is University anyway? How is it relevant to my life here? I've definitely succeeded in leaving my life behind. More so while travelling now I've left even my music in Madurai. This is a Time-Out from my life, an intermission, a time of doing something completely different that I'll never forget, but that I'll probably never really remember.⁴

Later, 8:10pm

We're in Victoria Gardens now, sitting in the calm of a mausoleum (because it's got light) and filling in the time before our train leaves at 2315.

We've been visiting Mosques today, great stone monuments to a bygone era. They are very different to other Mosques we've seen, being mainly rectangular with one side open and lots of pillars. The Guides keep mentioning the similarities between the Mosques and Hindu and Jain architecture. Some of it is because they're built with bits of old temples. There's a big black slab in the Jama Masjid (Friday Mosque) that is said to be the base of a Jain idol turned upside down for the Muslims to tread on! The Friday Mosque is amazing, with an enormous courtyard paved with marble. The chap there (who 'allowed' me to take a photo then asked for backsheesh) wouldn't let us wash our hands, feet and faces or don our Muslim hats before we went in. I don't know why, perhaps he thought we were extracting the Michael.

There is a weird well that goes about five storeys deep into the ground, with amazing carvings on the walls. Steps lead right down to the bottom of the well so you can reach the water whatever level it's at. It's dry now, as is the river and everything else around here. It's so hot you can tell we're getting near the desert. Tomorrow we'll be in it.

We experienced our first Jain temple - built entirely of white marble and covered in wonderful elaborate carvings. We're still none the wiser as to what they believe - all the idols look the same! They didn't say anything about taking leather inside⁵ but we weren't allowed cameras. Inside, that is.

There's this chap you might have heard of called Mahatma Gandhi who built an Ashram in Ahmedabad, he left it in 1933-ish swearing never to return until India was free of British tyranny. There is a museum about the Ashram and what Gandhi did while he was there, which was fascinating.

We went to a SEWA (Self Employed Women's Association) shop and they had some great home-craft stuff - I got a block-printed sheet and a scarf, which will be my Gujarat souvenirs. SEWA is a brilliant idea, enabling women to work for themselves without being ripped off by loan sharks. It's got its own bank which gives low interest loans to women, as well as insurance and accounts.

I just can't believe how polluted Ahmedabad is though, the traffic is just unbelievable and my eyes are starting to sting. It's quite definitely a Muslim town too - you wouldn't say anything against Palani Baba here.

...

Ramnad seems so far away now, all the time we spent there has become one big, happy memory. All the shops here seem to be called Shanti, which won't let me forget her. I want to get some gifts for them but I don't know what. I really do think a trip back in the distant future is a very real possibility - I just can't let something like this fade away.

Here I am again, trying to write about feelings and what I really think but the truth is I just don't know. Or don't know how to express it. Maybe nothing's there at all, just random events in the rich encyclopaedia of My Life.

Friday 28th March

Jaipur, Rajasthan

At last we're in the Pink City! Though from where we are it's not very pink at all. We arrived at 2345 last night, making our journey more than 24hrs long! Exhausting stuff, but we're here and we've had a pretty comprehensive tour of Rajasthan into the bargain! I thought that Rajasthan was all desert, I mean real desert, but it isn't. It's just very very dry. The rivers stretch like huge scars across the landscape which is burnt and yellow. Lots of cacti around and various patches of green from the plants. Some of it is irrigated and you get hit by sudden expanses of paddy that look so out of place.

Later, 9:30pm

We've had an exhausting day of exploring one of India's most famous cities and meeting the strangest people. The City Palace has a museum of textiles (containing a gold-embroidered dress that weighs 9 and a half kilos!) and an Arms museum full of very ornate tools of death. the palace is very strange, big courtyards each with a small building in the centre. The yards are surrounded by walls that contain hundreds of rooms.

On the way out we were accosted by hundreds of shops selling Indian miniatures, beautiful Rajasthani clothes and cloths, all at ridiculous prices. I argued with one man whose silk scarves were worse quality than the one I got from Bangalore, but the same price. I soon beat his 'con the ignorant tourist' banter with my talk of 30 and 50 gram silks, then didn't buy anything. I got a cotton one for Rs60 - after he'd asked Rs220 for it! It shows how much they're really worth when he's prepared to knock that much off the price! Bargaining definitely pays, but it helps if you know your stuff.

...

The chap who designed the Pink City, Jai Singh was a keen astronomer and he built a huge observatory called Jantar Mantar. looking more like a huge playground than an observatory, it is dominated by an enormous sundial with a gnomon (so the Guide calls it) that is 30m tall! We didn't understand most of it because we were being too stingy to get a guide!

Outside I found a snake charmer whose snake kept trying to attack passers-by, he tried to get Rs50 out of me but I'm too experienced now.¹ I wish we could have little 'Not Your Usual Tourist!' stamps so they'd think twice about trying it on. A trick of the auto-drivers here is to charge for two people, thus doubling the usual fare. All the ones outside our hotel this morning refused to just take us to the City Palace, they wanted to give us a tour of Jaipur as well. Everything's in the centre of town so why bother? They can be pretty exasperating but we know all their tricks.

The Hawa Mahal or 'Palace of Winds' was an interesting sight. Again consisting of more courtyards than actual palace, the Hawa Mahal has a huge façade with 593 windows of varying sizes through which women of the court could watch street processions without being seen. It's that Muslim thing again, women hiding behind closed doors - terrible stuff. Outside, a man offered me 150 dollars for my watch, which was extremely tempting - Rs5,000 for a £30 watch isn't bad. I thought I'd better wait until Madras before giving up my timepiece though!²

...

The black market seems to be very strong here and we spent the rest of the day with unsavoury characters. The first was a boy who claimed he was 21 and spent much of his time boasting about his 'European Girl' conquests. He had a brother called Bobbi who was in the jewellery business (more later). We lost him in the end - after we decided he was a rent boy - when he had to meet some friends (Can't keep his clients waiting! C. quipped). But it wasn't over yet.

We decided to find the GPO after the central museum was closed and someone else stepped into our path and offered us chai. Feeling sociable (and thirsty) we accepted and entered the world of the Extremely Rich. He works / co-owns a jewellery shop which deals in precious stones and gold. He had a huge ruby about the size of a football on his desk! Anyway, in we went, fascinated and making polite conversation with a strange Italian man³ and an over-rich, over-travelled Indian who kept swearing in the wrong places.

I felt really silly - we're here with the church, teaching, no we're not being paid - I felt like I should light up, put my feet on the desk and start complaining about the price of heroin these days. When we left, we said goodbye to the bloke who brought us there (He had very red eyes - kept rubbing his nose and sniffing). I think they were glad to see us go really and we were glad to leave.

We met another two characters like this, who started the conversation with Can I ask you one thing? I tried to talk to a European girl and she said 'go away, fuck off'. Are all Europeans like that? A novel way to start and in due course they took us to another jewellery shop. We thought they were taking us to a place where handicapped people worked, but found ourselves on the roof of a very high building, talking to a chap called 'Bobbi'.

He told us about his business and how the government taxes jewellery very highly. But Bobbi has a way round this. He finds (stupid) tourists who carry jewels to Europe for him, as 'gifts', then he buys them back for a huge profit, paying for their flight and stay in India. Because Europe is so expensive, he can do this and still make money when they're sold.

We didn't take him up on the inevitable offer - tempting though it was, but he did let me buy a a very nice solid silver ring!⁴ I don't know how legal it all is and have no plans to find out really, he said he has lots of couriers so why worry for more? So that's how jewellers make their profit. Bobbi pays his child-labourers minimum wages (50 paise per ring = 1p) and sells his wares at European prices., which are increased again for the big name shops. Jaipur's the place then, if you want to make money.

Saturday 29th March

Delhi

Of course it was Good Friday yesterday and to mark the occasion the heavens opened and we had a right old storm that knocked all the lights out at Jaipur Station. It's raining in Delhi now, so I think we'll spend the day at museums and art galleries. We arrived at 0630 and in the usually friendly fashion were attacked by hordes of Auto-men trying to rip us off. The one we had today had an apprentice with him and together they tried to convince us that the hotel we wanted didn't exist, had no rooms, was closed, had burned down and foreigners aren't allowed in Old Delhi anyway. When we argued, they'd laugh and say No English!

I made them take us to places of my choosing but fate dealt me a cruel hand and denied me the victory of succeeding. We wound up at a hotel they chose - Rs220 - which is okay, but I gave him a small piece of my mind. I wish they spoke Tamil, I could insult them properly then. They are an evil breed of liars, hypocrites, con-artists and downright arseholes.

We're increasingly aware of con-men now, and it's very distressing when people pretend to be nice to us then ask for things. We're always wary now, thinking What do you want? instead of, I'd love a cup of chai, thanks. Jaipur was a classic example. Make friends then invite or coerce them into your scams. We'd had visions of being clubbed to death or thrown off the roof by the touts for not complying with Bobbi. He got all defensive when I asked for his address, questioning the legitimacy of his deals. Not an experience I wish to repeat.

Sunday 30th March

Happy Easter! We had planned to go to church this morning, but suffered from the consequences of Indian helpfulness, again. At the restaurant last night we asked where the nearest CNI (Church of North India) was. After we'd explained what a 'church' was, we were directed to the local Catholic one. No, we explained patiently, C.N.I. Ah yes. In due course we were given an address, fully detailed, even saying 'Opp Modern School'.

It wasn't there. Not even the same road. Not even the same district. Our driver didn't help matters much by asking people for the CNI Church, opposite the modern School, which invariably drew the reply no, there's no church opposite the modern School, with which information he would return. Forget this Modern School, where's the F#!@ing church?! It's not the driver's fault, there wasn't a church anywhere near there (Except for an 'Assemblies of God' one that we didn't fancy).

But why did the man at the hotel say there was? Why did he carefully write down an address that he knew was bogus, knowing that we'd go there and find out he was wrong? Why wouldn't he say he didn't know so we wouldn't waste the entire morning looking for it? All these questions and more are answered very simply. He just didn't want to disappoint us. It's the old Indian thing again, telling you what they think you want to hear. Oh yes, there's a CNI church at Connaught Place. You want an address? Okay, I'll give you an address.¹

It happened when we decided to see what an Indian McDonalds was like yesterday.² Oh yes, next block, we were told cheerfully, until someone politely told us that it's actually 10km South. If anything makes me really angry, it's people wasting our time like this just because they're too embarrassed to say they don't know.

The part of Delhi that our hotel is in is a bit scummy, but around Connaught Place, the main centre of New Delhi, it's very nice. We built ('we' in the 'Britain' sense of the word) and it's very grand. And very expensive. For us, that is, not for your average tourist who marvels at £20 Levi's and £50 suits. There's a Wimpy and lots of expensive restaurants. Yesterday we wandered aimlessly and I bought a Nehru waistcoat, some tapes and a book. I'm basically a pauper now until we reach Madras. The Delhi art gallery was a lot more interesting than Mumbai's, but not air-conditioned, more's the pity.

After the Church palaver we had a fantastic breakfast - eggs, potato, tomato and bacon(!) with unlimited coffee and good toast. This used up our food budget for the day (Rs204!) but it was worth it. After the extravagances of yesterday we decided on a day of sightseeing, so started with India Gate, a 42m high monument with the names of lots of dead people inscribed on it. In the distance you can see the President's house atop a hill with two huge ministry buildings on either side.

We were picked up by an auto-man as we made our way towards it, who offered us a tour of Delhi for Rs60! Bargain. Who can argue? Who can refuse? Anyway, the buildings were built by the British and criticized by Gandhi for mindless extravagance. What about the Moghal buildings, the Taj Mahal? The Parliament building is a monument in itself, a huge round pillared building like an over-sized slice off the tower of Pisa. That area is great, lots of space and green and much nicer than London which is all crammed together. I think that with all the over-population here the space is a precious commodity and only for the very rich.

Safdarjang's Tomb was next, a miniature Taj Mahal - a very ornate waste of space.

The most interesting place was the 'Qutub Minar complex', built by muslims, now a ruined monument. It is bits of Mosques, built using bits of Hindu and Jain temples. The site is dominated by a 72m high tower which is built of red sandstone. Also on the site is the beginning of another tower that was going to be twice as high. Luckily, the madman whose idea that was died before his mother had to suffer the embarrassment of it falling down. Someone would surely have finished it if it were feasible.

We visited a fantastic Marble temple in the shape of a lotus flower which is the place of worship for the local Baha'i followers. This is the religion that believes in the unification of all races and all faiths under one God. It's all World Peace and Cosmic Harmony stuff, which is inevitable but won't work. I think humanity will destroy itself before accepting One People and One Faith. The acoustics inside were amazing, I was tempted to sing but there's a strict silence rule that few people adhere to.

We had an interesting discussion about the Baha'i religion and how sincere it actually is. C. said that God wouldn't send another prophet after Jesus, because he is supposed to be the Final Redeemer. If Mohammed was sent by God, wouldn't he mention Jesus? I'm very liberal about this and said that Mohammed was probably sent to reach the people Jesus didn't. The Baha'i's believe that all are prophets of the same God, that all religions are therefore the same, so why argue?

C. said that they spend too much time worrying about the environment, but they do run schools and believe in one global nation. They are very political as well, but it's like Ken Gnanaraj said, Christianity isn't just about preaching. We need to care for God's creation. But God's going to destroy it anyway. But that doesn't give us the right to destroy it first. There followed more on Islam, about which neither of us knows very much, which led to Hindu-Muslim conflicts, our part in the divide (divide and rule) and I talked far too much because it's all in this 'Great Indian Novel' that I'm reading. I'm not sure how much of it is true, most of it is based on fact, but it sounds pretty feasible to me.

After all, before the Raj it was all just a bunch of kings conquering each other and converting the conquered to whatever religion they happened to be at the time. Us included. Then when Indian Independence loomed large, we pointed out that the Muslims were a minority and all the Hindus would vote for a Hindu government which would restrict the Muslims. So keeping the divide alive. Very cunning. But not very nice.

...

Our auto-driver persuaded us to visit a few Emporiums at which we drank Kashmiri tea and bought nothing. He did this because they give him twenty Rupees for taking us there, regardless of whether we buy anything or not. This is why he could get away with only asking Rs60 for taking us round the city. In one place, I was asking about the quality of a silk scarf that was Rs1,100 and worse than the one I bought in Bangalore. The man got really annoyed when I said I didn't want to buy it (although we warned him as much when we went in, Don't try and sell us stuff coz we don't want it!) and said Goodbye then, then muttered stuff about wasting his time. They just can't accept that we can't buy anything because we can't afford it. They say What piece you like? and How much you pay? pretending to be reasonable until we tell them the answer to both questions and they get offended.

I've just read some stuff in the Rough Guide about carpet merchants in Agra - it says they persuade tourists to buy carpets to export, so they (the companies) can buy them back to sell later, at a profit to both the company and the tourist. But the company rep never shows up and the tourist is left hundreds or thousands of pounds short, although he does have some nice carpets he doesn't want. What Bobbi was trying to do perhaps? I wonder how many people he's duped. Unless he was genuine. I ain't going back to find out.

...

I'm going to be very glad to leave the decadence and dishonesty of the North as we begin to head South. The contrast of richness and consumerism here with Tamil Nadu is amazing. Here, it is spend spend spend but there, it's all about earning and saving. I think we've started to lose touch with our original purpose for coming here - not USPG, we lost touch with them ages ago. We came here to connect and join with another people. Up here, everyone seems bent on keeping us separate and it's working.

While we were having breakfast we saw a beggar woman being filmed by some longhair while she tried to get money out of his friend. It occurs to me that we might as well do that, for all she cares, but in Tamil Nadu it was people like her who were inviting us into their homes and giving us coffee, praying with us. Our only consolation is the shock we felt when we saw this, and the knowledge that we wouldn't do that.

...

Going back to Jaipur, it is true (more discussions!) that we were right in the middle of a slick operation. The two boys who 'led' us to Bobbi had started with inviting us for coffee so they could talk with us about India and England. Then they asked us about shopping and said they knew a good place where handicapped children worked, like Traidcraft or something. They took us to the office, no-one was there so we went on to the roof to 'see Jaipur'. Which is when Bobbi showed up.

They lied to us about everything. They even took us to a miniature paintings shop. He talked to me about music. They pretended to be our friends. We saw the boy we'd seen that morning outside the shop and he ignored us. It all comes together. How many tourists? They're probably at it while we speak. How do we know who to trust?To be honest, we never really trusted them - knowing they must want something - although the story about the clothes placed had worked. Until we met Bobbi and he started talking about jewels.

Yesterday a kid tried the I've seen you before, you don't remember me? line. With my excellent memory, I didn't and told him not to give me that shit. His next you don't remember me? was a bit less confident and his Hey!'s faded into the distance. What a stupid line. But everyone's at it.

...

Oh for the beautiful smile of Miss Shanti (the delightful, exquisite, angelic) and her Sunny-Zip. Oh for Yesu and Jerry and Kumar and Mrs Juliet's chappatis! Oh for my choir of beautiful children singing 'I believe in Jesus' even though most of them aren't Christian! Oh for Ramnad and it's innocence. They think it's backward. Stay backward and pure and Indian and never wear jeans girls! Stay Indian and never become so evil!

Monday 31st March

It's the last day of March and our last day in Delhi. Not to mention the last time we tell someone we're going North. It's downhill all the way from here. Not that I mind. I think we'll both be glad to leave this stinking town and it's nasty auto-men. We encountered the 'seen you before' boy again, this time he said he'd seen me in my dhoti yesterday. How is that possible when I didn't wear it? With autos, this is the limit. For 1km it's Rs6-10 and Rs2-5 for each one after that. Here they say, Two people? 50 Rupees! For 2km? Now hang on a min- Okay, they say,looking heavenward, but I'm cutting my own throat... Look matey, we've been in India for five months and we KNOW HOW MUCH IT COSTS! Okay, I won't take you then. We move on. Indians are supposed to be nice people.

To think the HM in Ramnad was worried that my camera being stolen would ruin my image of India. We've already forgiven Muthu - he was saved by his own stupidity - but the North scores 3 out of ten for hospitality. How can people be so unreasonable? How can they lie so much? In England at least they'd tell you if they didn't know where somewhere was... I'm repeating myself, you know the rest.

We got up at ten this morning, having slept soundly and went to the Red Fort (50 Rupees! - For 1km? No Way! - *shrugs* okay, 40...) after breakfast. It would be a great monument, but over time all the precious stones and gold inlays have been looted, the fountains have been switched off and the buildings are falling down. To add to this, the British built some barracks right across the middle that look like some ancient, deserted railway station. Why do people do this? I'd like to make my billions and restore monuments like this to their former glory. It's so sad to see the waterways all overgrown and the holes where gems used to be.

Indians are terrible tourists. Throwing litter everywhere, urinating in public - they have no respect. They don't even seem to be interested in anything, just rush around looking for places to take pictures of themselves. It makes me realize how well our heritage is looked after back home. Things are cared for, kept in good condition. Here, they put a price at the door and leave it to the ravages of time. Free money, I guess.

Just down the road from Lal Qila (Red Fort) is the Jama Masjid (Friday Mosque), the biggest Mosque in India. It is big. It is huge. And very crowded. It is surrounded by a huge market, selling everything including goats and little Muslim hats. Once we got through the beggars and the smells we made it inside. The Mosque is built of red sandstone and there's a postcard they sell that shows it full of people, thousands of people. We climbed to the top of one of the minarets and suffered vertigo looking down at Delhi while the Indians ran around the tiny balcony,shoving each other and being boisterous about the best place to take pictures.

The Jain Bird temple was closed and it was dinnertime by then so we went to Connaught Place (20 Rupees - What? But it's - oh yes, okay sorry). Toilet roll - 40 Rupees! Terrible exploitation of necessities there.

I suspect Agra's going to be just as bad, if not worse than here so we'll just have to be tetchy with people. Today we have avoided most people who have approached us, especially the ones who whisper about grass, ganja, opium. If I wanted grass, I'd go to the gardens mate. Now !#$& off!

...

Off to see the world's most beautiful monument tomorrow and I can't wait. It's in danger, the Taj, because of the pollution in the area. There's one factory nearby that spews 10 tonnes of sulphur dioxide every day. Complaints caused the government to ban all new industries, but most of the old ones are still going. Traffic is a big contributor as well and if people aren't careful, the Taj will soon be history. In fact, if someone doesn't educate the Indian masses soon the whole country will be a thing of the past. Tourism will be the first to go!

Who wants to see buildings, mountains, anything all black with pollution and buried under a mound of rubbish? No-one cares. It doesn't help that everyone's bribeable and I mean everyone. Everything's available to those with money and that's this country's crisis. How can it stop? No-one will stop because no-one else will. There seems to be no way out for India.