Stranded but have legs

On the 16^th of April, we arrived in Delhi after a long car journey from Dehradun in the sweltering heat ready to fly back to London that evening. We’d heard some rumours about a volcano that had erupted in Europe, but typically presumed that it wouldn’t affect us. We were lucky enough to know Surekha Narain, a great friend who we know through our work with the Purkal Youth Development Society and who has always gone out of her way to look after us in Delhi.

We soon realised that this volcanic ash cloud was going to make our stay a little longer than originally planned. It was Surekha’s pro-active attitude and motivational skills which made our prolonged stay of one week an absolute pleasure and left us wanting to return to this beautiful, green, historic city as soon as possible. Surekha is famed for her fabulous Heritage Metro Walks throughout Delhi and despite several visits to the city, my mother and I were still novices when it came to Delhi’s amazing history.

Every morning we would get up at 5am to avoid the heat of Delhi’s hottest April for years and we’d venture out into the city. We spent the first unexpected morning exploring the narrow alleyways, hidden havelis and Jain temples around Old Delhi. Armed with a map which highlighted the interesting spots we really felt like intrepid explorers uncovering lost secrets that are rarely explored. Another day we explored the beautiful archeological park around Qutb Minar, the sufi shrine in Mehrauli village and the bustling flower market, and another day we strolled through Lodi Gardens and soaked up the serene atmosphere, spotting birds and enjoying the ambience of people doing yoga and taking their morning walks. One of the most wonderful things about Delhi is it’s rich religious and cultural heritage, and Surekha’s knowledge of this took us to Sikh Gurdwaras where we listened to sublime Kirtan, the Qawali performance at Nizammudin, and some beautiful Hindu temples.

On our last day we took another fascinating walk around the civil lines area, taking in the splendour of the former seat of the British Raj and learning about their first settlements in Delhi, whilst whizzing along the wide roads in a fleet of cycle-rickshaws.

When news finally came that we were leaving, we couldn’t help but feel a little sad that our Delhi adventure had come to an end. Our understanding and appreciation of the history and diversity of India has developed so much.

Please note that Surekha Narain will be in London in June/July and will be giving some presentations on the 7 Cities of Delhi. If you would like to have a private presentation on Delhi in your office, school, university or community centre please contact Surekha by email at surekhan@hotmail.com.

Travelling without moving

It's getting up to about 43 celcius in Delhi and an air-conditioned room is about the only place to be. Thankfully we have friends who not only house and feed us, but go to every length to make our extended stay as enjoyable and interesting as possible. This morning we went for an early morning stroll in the local park in South Delhi, binoculars in hand, spotting birds before breakfast. It seems we have little option but to stay where we are at the moment, as all efforts to leave or find a way home are proving fruitless. It may be time for me to make my long-dreamed of journey across land from India to London, armed with nothing but the clothes on my back, a few spare pairs of pants and a sunhat.

My trip back to Purkal was a joyful and interesting experience. It was heartwarming to see the efforts everyone there are making to make sure the future generations of children and local people have greater opportunities and more chances to lead fulfilling lives than ever before. I was there to collect data for my research project, which is about parents' participation in their children's education. With the help of five young volunteers from PYDS I managed to carry out a fairly substantial number of questionnaires with parents from various different kinds of schools. I was overwhelmed by the enthusiasm most parents showed to be more involved in their children's school life. I was also struck by how passionate and intelligent many of the parents were, even when they themselves had been through very little formal education. So much of what children learn happens outside of the four walls of a classroom, and parents can sometimes be made to feel that teaching their children is a domain outside of their control. I believe it's vital for the community to be involved in how their young are being educated and taught, and for their own knowledge and culture to be incorporated in the learning that happens at school.

I spent as much time as possible with the children I came to love dearly whilst working in Purkal, although it never felt like enough. I would keep sneaking into their classrooms and poking my head around the door to spend more time relishing their beauty and enthusiasm. I went swimming one morning with my 9 year old friend Sona and couldn't believe how fast he was learning to swim, overcoming his fear of the water every minute. We spent time trying to catch fish in the river with a broken bottle, talking about the reflection of the water on the rocks and just basking in the sun eating biscuits. He has recently joined PYDS and I think it's given him a supportive environment in which to continue to grow and make the most of his curious mind.

I suppose I have found it difficult to adjust to being back in the UK over the past 9 months and I had created these two opposite worlds in my head. This trip has helped me to understand how insignificant time and distance really are when we're talking of human relationships. When I eventually get back home I'll be a little more thankful for my good fortune to be constantly learning and growing. Until then, I'm going to keep out of the heat, go easy on the samosas and share a couple of lines I can remember from what I read at a nursery school I visited this morning:

What is regret?
Realising that you spent your life thinking about the future.
What is sadness?
Longing for the past.

Dilli main hoon

New Delhi airport is slowly becoming more modern and more like any other airport in the western world. The queues for immigration move along fairly swiftly, the toilets are clean, the taxi drivers don't mob you any more as soon as you get out of customs and there is a general air of artificial calm. Even as you leave the airport, the roads seem to be more organised, the slums along the sides of the road fewer...there seems to be a cleanup going on. Much of this is due to the Commonwealth games coming up in October, but it all has the effect of making the transition from East to West a little less extreme. I'm not sure whether this is a positive sign of the world becoming a smaller place, or a simply another aspect of the sanitisation and global homogenisation of culture.

Fortunately we get to my friend Surekha's home in good time and arrive in time for a delicious breakfast of Upma, sprouted pulses, fruit and porridge. It's still early, so we end up spending much of the day reclining and recovering from the flight. In the evening we are taken to Surekha's late mother's beautiful farm on the outskirts of Delhi for a tea party in our honour. A field of wheat greets you as you come up the drive and we were given the tour of the house and gardens, which are filled with vegetables like celery, aubergines, cabbage and chillies with a lawn that makes it essential to walk barefoot, beautiful birds flying overhead and a homemade supper awaiting us.

We were joined by many of my friends connected to Purkal and some of Surekha's friends and relatives. It's the beginning of an emotional reunion with a part of my life associated with so much happiness and such intense learning and experience and it is so good to see these wonderful people and their families again.

I woke up this morning at around 2.30am and am now getting ready to take the train with my mum up to Dehradun, where we'll be picked up at the station and taken to Purkal.

Miseducation

Miseducation of its youth is the most dangerous problem any country can face. What do I mean by "miseducation"? Basically, schools not imparting the information & skills that a child needs to be a good human being and function in today's world. This seems to be an epidemic in India and across many countries today. In India's government and private schools, children are still being subjected to curriculums and teaching methods that don't encourage any kind of creative thinking or mental agility. In today's knowledge-driven, globalised economy, these skills are completely essential and without them so many are still destined to take up clerical positions and remain in them for the rest of their days. Of course, this was how McCauley's education system was designed and unfortunately, most of the teachers working in schools today are a product of the much maligned, rote-based system of learning which we hear about so often. However, I believe that one of the most significant scourges in the present Indian system is the automatic power held by teachers. The "guru-ji" status, which has been reduced to an empty, honorific utterance with no question for the teacher's background or skills of reason, sensitivity or intelligence, has given teachers such a terrifying ego-boost that they have become a threat to our children and thus society itself. Many teachers, both young and old, seem to think they are somehow superior to their students, and therefore believe they can treat them with the minimum of respect or even disdain.

I am firmly of the belief that learning is an experience which the student and teacher should embark on together. The second a teacher assumes superiority or makes the child feel like he lacks intelligence, this experience ceases to occur. Why, in so many schools are teachers still able to get away with the kind of inhuman behaviour, which simply alienates children and often leaves them terrified of expressing themselves? We should possibly look at what makes a teacher behave in this "I know and you don't" manner in the first place. Mostly, in my experience, it comes from a fear that actually teachers know very little about their subject, and even less about other matters. It may be all too easy for a student to catch a teacher out if he/she is given the freedom to ask questions or be inquisitive in any way. This is natural, when so many teachers have had a poor education themselves and therefore lack the fundamentals of conceptual understanding or possibly a lack of context which to relate their subject matter to. Another reason could be the fear of what could be considered more work. It's obviously less time consuming to be a dictator figure in your classroom and treat all students ad if they are equally non-existent, than to have to deal with each child as an individual and be aware of their needs and problems. I recently heard an interesting story from the principal of a village primary school who was attempting to train her teachers in new methods and more child-centred ways of teaching. She met with a lot of resistance from the older teachers, who had been working at the school for many years and were pillars of the local community. They obviously felt threatened by the idea that they might have to change their style of teaching, which had sustained their salary for many years regardless of how well the students performed or developed. Of course these were also the teachers that the principal found to be the most archaic and ineffective in their teaching, relying on rote-based methods and a stern, unfriendly classroom atmosphere. These teachers, managed to garner the support of the local community and threatened to strike, causing all sorts of problems for the principal who was seen as being the perpetrator of the crimes against them. Maybe you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but if this is the case in a well-managed, forward-thinking private school where parents are beginning to have choices in terms of where they send their children, what hope is there for the children in far-flung village government schools?

Although I come from a country where accountability is major part of the school system, and teachers are constantly observed, monitored and made to feel responsible for the performance of their students, I don't believe this is a system that can be transplanted to Indian schools. The UK government has just announced plans to introduce a "licence to teach" in its recent White Paper on Education, which means that all teachers at State schools will be assessed every five years to judge their competence. If they do not pass this assessment, they will have their licence taken away. In India, teachers are theoretically accountable to several monitoring organisations including the School Management Committee, Block Resource Centre and District Resource Centre. In reality, very little monitoring of teaching practice happens at all, and despite efforts to provide in-service training for teachers in government schools, the level of achievement of students in many Indian states has declined over the past years.

It saddens me that these kind of measures need to be put in place at all in any country. The only answer to these problems clearly lies in better education. If children grow up knowing what it's like to be educated by someone who cares about them and their future, then surely they'll demand the same for their children. Those who become teachers will have good role models to emulate and the cycle will slowly improve. It sounds simplistic and idealistic I know, but why should governments have to constantly monitor a teacher's performance to see if they're doing a good job? The communities have to take responsibility for these things and be able to notice when their child is not growing and flourishing like they should be. Therefore, any project or initiative which raises the bar and offers something better must be supported and the whole community should be constantly made aware of the effects.

Leaving

Walking in the oppressive heat of the Delhi summer evening, I savoured every smell, every gust of hot air, every pair of eyes that walked by as if I needed their existence as much as the air I breathe. I realised that India has become a part of every single cell of my being, and my heart is so firmly rooted here it is very difficult to say goodbye.

Leaving Purkal has been the most difficult thing I have ever done. My emotional strength has been tested to its limits and in the end I found it almost impossible to utter a word without tears coming to my eyes. The week has been full of farewell parties and "last times" and yet again I was overwhelmed by the affection everyone shown to me. A friend asked me the other day if I would miss the "caring" in India. At the time I wasn't sure what she meant but over the following week or so it became blindingly obvious.

On my recent trek in the Himalayas, I spent a couple of nights staying in wooden huts with some nomadic tribespeople called the Van Gujjars. They live in the lower regions around Dehradun and Uttar Pradesh in the winter months and migrate to the mountains in the summer. The Van Gujjars rely on their livestock, and are renowned for producing some of the best buffalo milk in India. We met a gujjar who had recently lost two buffaloes in a storm the previous night and the devastation that he felt was tangible.

Each time we arrived at one of their camps, my friends and I were offered a cup of steaming hot, sugary milk, so fresh and full of goodness that it felt like a complete meal. It rained quite consistently for the first couple of days of the four day trek, so we ended up spending much of our time with the gujjars. Wherever we went, despite the lack of any kind of luxury, they made every effort to make us comfortable, giving us blankets and sitting us as near to their fire as possible. When we asked if we could sleep in their huts, they gave us plenty of space and we all slept in a row, with families with 6 or 7 children and the cows sleeping opposite. Occasionally I was awoken by a buffalo poking his head through the open door or trying to eat our food supplies, but all in all I slept like a baby, despite the cold.

Shaadi

One of the major challenges of living in India for almost two years has been fielding the numerous questions about marriage. Being a bachelor in India is not easy and is certainly a rarity at my age (30). I am left in a strange social void as most men of my age are married, as are most of the females over 25. So I have found myself socialising mainly with people slightly older than me, who are married and have children. Although I have many dear friends in this situation, it means one is constantly aware of being single and you can't help feeling a bit left out. It has led me to think about marriage a great deal and I have often considered whether to look for a suitable match, Indian style, and settle down in what has become my second home.

I was recently asked if I wanted to meet a young lady who was a friend of a friend's daughter. I happily accepted, thinking it would be a interesting experience if nothing else. We met in a very informal environment, with my friend hosting us. This girl arrived, accompanied by a lady who looks after her and her sister while their parents are abroad and the four of us sat there and engaged in polite conversation for a while. It was a little unnerving and I felt like there was some kind of astute assessment going on. I even found myself asking "So...what does your father do?" and almost burst out laughing after having said it. Not much came of this particular occasion, but I started seriously considering the posibility of finding a wife in this fashion. If nothing else, it seemed attractive to let someone else do all of the hard work.

Several questions sprang to mind immediately;

1. Will an Indian girl and her family want an Englishman for a husband? When looking at the marital pages in the newspapers you can see that they are full of specifications of caste, jobs, qualifications, height, skin tone, family background, values. Indian families are very picky about who they marry their daughters to. Unfortunately, I haven't come across any adverts that specify a white-skinned, penniless man with dutch and irish blood from the Bricklayers caste.

2. Should I let someone else handle the selection process? Traditionally of course, the family play a major role in choosing a partner for their son or daughter. I have many willing friends and motherly types who I'm sure would relish the opportunity to choose me a good wife. More and more, I'm of the opinion that we are not particularly good judges of our own partners as our view is usually obscured by some irrational sensation or other, so it could be for the best to let someone objective do the tricky work.

3. Could I cope with the extended family? This weekend I went to visit the family I live with's family in Rishikesh. It is a relatively small family, but the scene was constantly full of children, elderly relatives, chatting wives and men discussing cricket. As an observer, I find it all intensely interesting and amusing, but maybe it would be different if I was more closely connected.

4. Would I get a dowry? Well, It's always worth asking!

I decided that since I'm only in India for a couple more weeks, why not do an experiment and see what happens if I post my profile on Shaadi.com, the famous marriage website that allows you to input in great detail your specifications, down to astrological charts to find your perfect partner. I was also planning to put an advertisement in the newspaper to see what responses I get. The wording was tough, as I've obviously got to market myself well but a few friends helped me come up with:

Wanted - Attractive, educated Indian girl with a mix of modern and traditional values. Must be open-minded and willing to travel....for a....
Tall, white, handsome (not my own words) British boy (30/6"0) MA student, working as a teacher in an NGO. Caste and religion not important.

I'll keep you posted...

Fire

Children here seem to have an incredible ability to adjust to new situations. Someone suddenly disappears from their life and they accept it with occasionally a few tears, then smile bravely and get on with life. They change schools, someone they know dies, they move in with their uncle or grandparents, they get sick, but still they continue to laugh and play, make new friends and teach us adults how to live. Life in India is fluid. Situations and events are completely beyond your control and leave little space for planning and predicting. Whereas in the west most pursue a secure and predictable life, where things can be neatly organised and tomorrow holds no surprises, in India the size of the population and nature of life leaves little space for this. So, you're left with little choice but to let go. Abandon your resistance and just enjoy the ride, and although it can be emotionally exhausting, frustrating and unnerving, you generally feel very much alive and have no trouble sleeping when night comes.

One afternoon last week, I was walking down to the basketball courts when I saw people running around with sticks and shouting about a fire. I ran to the side of our building and saw small fires burning on the slope next to our learning centre. Some of the students had climbed up there and were putting the fires out by hitting the flames with branches. Bobby, the accountant and one of the teachers were directing from below and co-ordinating the troops. The fire had spread from a field above us where they had been harvesting their wheat that day and just below where it was spreading was our wood store where the carpenters work. If one thing caught fire, we would be likely to lose thousands of rupees worth of wood. It has been reaching temperatures of 40 degrees recently and everything has become very dry too. After a lot of effort on the part of the kids and plenty of coughing and spluttering, they managed to get it under control.

We went down and started playing basketball and were soon joined by the most notorious class at PYDS, who had been in my bad books all week because of their unhelpful attitude and general misbehaving. I decided it would be good to have it out on the basketball court and we got stuck into a match. As I walked back up, sweating and exhausted I noticed some smoke coming from the wood store. I ran towards it and saw a burning cloth on top of a big pile of wood and quickly tried to pull it off and stamp it out. After this was under control I noticed that the fire was continuing to spread on the slope and was on its way towards us again. I shouted down to the naughty class and told them to come and help. Most of them came running with sticks and buckets and clambered up the slope to get to the fire. At one stage it was raging through a bush and was nearly twice the height of one of our students, but he managed to put it out single-handedly. Some were running around passing buckets while others were on the frontline beating it down with sticks, and within half an hour we had managed to reduce it to a pile of smoldering ashes.