The heart of India

The lake and the jet d'eau in the distance

C lighting the flame to the Durga

Say the word Bhopal and one thing comes to mind.
The disaster of the Union Carbide factory in December of 1984 where due to an explosion of toxic chemicals thousands of people lost their lives. So when C offered to go to Bhopal for an extended weekend I was dubious at worst and undemanding at best.

I am re writing Bhopal’s place in current affairs as the Wannabe Geneva of India.
Bhopal, the capital of Madhya Pradesh is built on a lake and is surrounded by several others. What floored me though was that Bhopal can lay claim not to one Jet d’eau but to six dotted all along the length of the lake.

On our first morning there we went Bird watching in the Van Vihar park. It was teeming with birds and wildlife and C had a field day spotting the woolly storks and the kingfishers. Further along and while they are caged (and as A says it doesn’t count ) we stood in awe in front of the leopards and the tigers and in particular the spectacular white tiger they had there, one of the few remaining in India. The park goes alongside the lake and you can bike all along its length. Heavenly!
About Navratri
Navratri, the festival of nights, lasts for 9 days with three days each devoted to worship of Ma Durga, the Goddess of Valor, Ma Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth and Ma Saraswati, the Goddess of Knowledge. During the nine days of Navratari, feasting and fasting take precedence over all normal daily activities amongst the Hindus. Evenings give rise to the religious dances in order to worhip Goddess Durga Maa. The town is alight with fairy lights and every where there are images of the Goddess or variations of her fighting off evil. Being guest of honour that evening at a lighting ceremony for Durga we all headed off to this open ground where food stalls dotted the periphery, a vast stage dominated the front and on either side were two large rings with circles inside them with soft sand underfoot. The various dignitaries came up and sat in plush reclining seats by the stage. A holy man started the proceedings and C lit the flame which was then used to chant and bless the goddess Durga. We took it in turns to bless her, all of us in barefeet and then when the dignitaries had been blessed with the traditional red dot on their forehead the festivities were allowed to commence. In came young men and young women dressed in their finest outfits, bejeweled and jangling and started dancing in the circles to the beat from the drums. Every so often the rhythm would change; the dancers adopt the new steps and clapping rhythm and continue round the circle with such joy and careless abandon. As the evening wore on the beat became faster and more exacting. C and I bowed out gracefully after a couple of circles but the dancers went on into the early hours of the morning.


We stayed at the Jehan Numa Palace, beautifully colonial in style refurbished and boasting a good sized pool and a couple of excellent restaurants. There is a lot to see in Bhopal and we spent some time in the Museum of Man, a wonderful collection of Indian tribal housing and artefacts. The "adivasis" as they are called, from all over the country came here to build and recreate their homes and works of art. You can stroll through the huge open air area and enjoy the traditional habitats from all over India. Monkeys will happily accompany you.

At dusk we walked around the Jama Masjid at dusk and took in its expanse. It is the third biggest mosque in the world and it is home to many muslim worshippers here.

Breaking traffic rules "a fashion statement"

The preparations for the Commonwealth games are felt everywhere in the city and getting the traffic to run smoothly and well is one of the more challenging tasks facing Delhi. An article appeared in the Guardian newspaper a few days ago entitled “Minister urges Delhi motorists to get into gear before 2010 Commonwealth games” and I thought this was one of the interesting quotes from it
“But one of the big concerns facing Delhi is traffic, and the minister said: "We still find vehicles jumping red lights … police vehicles are not excluded – they, too, jump red lights. The Harvard-educated minister, seen as one of the government's biggest hitters, added: "We want to encourage people to change their mindsets. We must behave as citizens of a big, good international city."
Experts were quick to back the minister. Dipankar Gupta, a professor of sociology at Jawaharlal Nehru University, said breaking the law was a "fashion statement" in Delhi.”
A Fashion Statement how, why, in what context – all very bizarre. Is it therefore fashionable to be above the law is that the implication? If that is the case it will take a lot longer than one year to sort this out as this population is mad about fashion.
When reality hits it is a very sad picture and not in the least bit fashionable.
I took my eldest to the airport at 6.30 am. Delhi is quiet and fresh at that time of morning. Along the road though we came across a familiar scene. A crowd had gathered. There were several cars and one Delhi police car. In the road was a bicycle and beside it covered in sack cloth that was frayed and brittle, lay a body. All you could see were his plastic sandals. A life gone for a cheap fashion statement and it is only the very beginning of the day.

How I perceive them

Kumari Sittaram Shiva

In my multiperson household this is how I perceive them:
Kumari is my Nepalese housegirl. Girl is a term widely used. If you see her, girl comes to mind. I am told she is in her late 30s, married to Tomasin and has five children and apparently is already a granny ! She is as bright as the dawning sun and happy as Buddha. She smiles all the time, is eager to learn, a good and hard worker and loves to teach me Hindi which she thinks is hugely amusing. She is just lovely to have around.

Sittaram is our “mali” the gardener and odd job man. He is barely 4ft something and wears poor sweat stained and worn clothes but he greets me with the cheeriest smile every morning and has such a lovely face. His hair is combed down and parted on the side in school boy fashion and he is forever planting and weeding this big garden. Humble and quiet he works whatever the weather.

Shiva is our savvy tall Keralan driver. He is a great dresser and thinks of his car as “His” and his first request was to buy polish and feather dusters to maintain it. He has been a driver for quite a few years now in Delhi and has recently become a dad. He speaks good English and has a sarcastic wit. He is thirsty for knowledge and I am encouraging him to get a diploma or do course but he says he is Ok with his local A/C, his telly and fridge in his quarters. He drives a Royal Enfield !

They all live with us on the compound.

How I am perceived here

Everyone salutes me and I don’t look remotely like the Queen or Sonia Gandhi, not even like Manmohan Singh for that matter.

There is a constant display of reverence which I am sure I don’t deserve. Only Parmesan orders me around and shouts at me as if I am the kitchen washer upper.

There is a pecking order and I am pretty high up there. I am the boss’s wife but they secretly know I is the “real thing”.

My gentle accommodating nature – remember that – gone
I am the Greek goddess with a passionate and fiery temper. Shiva confessed to Anthony in the car. “She is very angry no?” You would be too if you were told that you cannot pick up your gas cylinder because your husband has to do that.

I am the funniest thing to have hit Triveni Gardens. Kumari thinks I am a riot and falls around giggling hysterically every time I utter a word in Hindi.

I am Greek and to most this is a conversation starter along the lines. “I love Greece, I have been to Santorini and love Greek food and Nana Mouskouri is the cat’s whiskers.”

My perception of myself is slowly metamorphosing in the heat.

The other side of life ...

The other side of life for most of the population here is the one which is not behind manicured gardens and high walls but the scenes that unfold on the way to school or on the way into Delhi. Now with the construction of the Delhi metro there are migrant workers living in makeshift corrugated iron huts and every morning I drive past I see them brushing their teeth with their neem sticks and meticulously washing themselves in preparation for a day of toil and grime. Then in the evening, unwinding, the cooking of a meal over an open fire, a game of cards with friends, or just sleeping out on their charpoys because they are physically exhausted. I can think of the intensity of the sun and the noise of the monsoon rain hitting the corrugated roofs, but I do not live it, I can glimpse at their meager possessions hanging from a nail on the iron wall and cannot imagine it, I can construct conversations in my head of all the things I would want to ask them about their lives and never dare it and can wonder at their expectation of life and be amazed by it.

Where is the Beef ...

well last weekend my good friend from South America must have rounded up all the beef there was to be had in the whole of Delhi. She was celebrating her birthday and like all good South Americans having a meat feast is all important.So she went out in search of it and my goodness did she hit the jackpot. She calculated how much she might need and reckoned on about 30 lbs but when she came to order it over the phone, perhaps in the excitement of the impending party she ordered 30 kilos. There was beef in every single compartment of her fridge freezer and various associated ones around the houses. We ate as if it was the last supper or definitely the last lunch and the more active ones like C and A cycled home while I sat in the back of a car and bemoaned the moment I said that I had missed the beef. This is the expatriate life ....

.........and hot in the kitchen

Here is Parmesan and his side kick Cool Kumari

The two of them and I have a riot in the kitchen between 5-7 pm.

We use extensive and often hilarious sign language, Parmesan shouts at me in Hindi to make me understand and uses a strange and probably totally unique mixture of what I would call kitchen Hindglish where I manage to catch one word in ten, hence the perfect comprehension. When not shouting at me he sings what sound like hymns in a soft melodic voice.It reminds me of Greek orthodox chanting.Kumari giggles her way through the whole thing while pointing to things and telling me the word in Hindi and then saying with total earnestness "OH MY GOD " when something clatters in the kitchen or Parmesan has dropped too much chili in the dish. She plays with her eyes in such a wonderful flirty way it is a language in itself. The end result, fiery hot meals on a regular basis with a touch of this and that, loads of vegetables and basmati rice, fun and laughter throughout.