Does "fate" really exist?
Also called "destiny", or "karma", or "joss".....does it exist?

Is it true, as the Hindu's believe, that we have several lives and how we deal with this particular one (and our "fate") determines the level of our next life?

Is it true that we choose what "lesson" we will try to learn in this particular life (showing itself to us as our "fate"), just before we reïncarnate?

Is it true that we choose the life to learn that lesson in, even if it means being born in a slum like this? Meaning there is a good chance that we will die of malnutrition or disease before we are ten? Or that we will end up picking trough other people's trash for a living? Or that we are beaten up and electrocuted because it was our "fate" to fall in love with someone from another caste?

And is it true that MY "fate" was to come here and sit in my car, and then being approached by a lady with a kid on her shoulder, tapping my window and waving what looked like a prescription at me and no doubt telling me that the kid is sick and needs medicines and I should pay for it? And that the only thing I can think at that moment is that it was probably given to her when she was unloaded from the truck that delivers her every morning to the crossing where she begs? And that the kid maybe isn't hers to begin with?

Is it my karma to witness all this misery and to know I am powerless to change it? That I could start somewhere and never stop and as soon as I turn my back things will go back to what they have always been because the one thing I was not able to change was the mentality of the people? And that because I know this I have chosen NOT to start charity work but I try to take care of those that work for me, so that at least they, and their children, have a chance?

And despite this I always feel my stomach turning upside-down when I have to waive someone off, because deep down I have the feeling that no-none should be forced to live like this? And that I cannot imagine that the people here accept their situation as their "fate" because I would not? Because I was raised by parents who made me believe that it is your right to try to improve your situation?

And in the end.....what if the kid was really hers and it was really ill and I could have made the difference between life and death.....and I didn't?

Dust is in the air
Everywhere I look around
Dust is in the air
Every sight and every sound

And I don't know if I'm being foolish
Don't know if I'm being wise
But it's something that I must believe in
Cause it's there when I feel the itch in my eyes

Dust is in the air
In the whisper of the trees
Dust is in the air
In the thunder of the sea

And I don't know if I'm just dreaming
Don't know if I feel sane
But it's something that I must believe in
Cause it's there when I sneeze out my name

(Chorus)
Dust is in the air
Dust is in the air
Oh oh oh
cough cough cough

Dust is in the air
Can't see the rising of the sun
Dust is in the air
Until the the day is nearly done

And I don't know if it's an illusion
Don't know if I see it true
But it's something that I must believe in
Because my nose is now itching too

Dust is in the air
Every sight and every sound
And I don't know if I'm being foolish
Don't know if I'm being wise
But it's something that I must believe in
Because it's causing an itch in my eyes
(Repeat Chorus 4X)

free interpretation of "LOVE IS IN THE AIR"  by John Paul Young

Recepy for Goan Mud-crab:
• buy a mud crab of app 1,2 kilo at the local fish market
• break it's claws off and chop them into pieces while the crab is still alive, and then slice it (still alive!) horizontally in two...
• then, if you haven't thrown up all over the kitchen, fry chopped onions, garlic and tomato in some coconut oil, add garam masala, chopped green chili and fresh curry leaves, end then add the chopped crab
• simmer for app 2 minutes and add a cup of coconut milk
• simmer a few minutes more, add fresh coriander and serve in a bowl with naan. Make sure you do NOT serve any cutlery as the crab definitely tastes better when eaten with your hands....according to local customs, that is. Do serve extra napkins. (And for those who wonder....that's me in the infinity pool, not the mud-crab).

Ok, so we are back from Goa....
We had a surprisingly good trip with Indigo Airlines, who claim to be "the punctual airline"...and indeed they were both ways! Which in India is a miracle in itself!

The hotel, the Alila Diwa Goa, was not as sereen as the Alila Manggis in Bali where we spent T's last birthday, but we had great a room with a fantastic bed and an even better bath-for-two....and after having a drink or two at the Edge bar (on the edge of the infinity pool, hence the name) during happy hour, we would come back to a room with the curtains drawn and the scented candles near the bathtub lit, the bath-salt invitingly placed on the little wooden tray that was placed strategically over the bath....well, what can one do but take a bath?

For the rest we did almost nothing. We spent our mornings swimming in the gorgious infinity pool, gazing at the palmtrees beyond, until at app. 11 a.m. the Indian families would show up, lazily strolling around, usually with dad in front, followed by mother and one or two kids, with grandmother clad in Sari at the end....all on slippers and all not raising their feet as they would walk. One wonders how they manage to keep their balance at that speed...

Some would actually take a swim and then would choose the corner right in front of our chairs (RIGHT in front!) to hold their social morning talks, preferrably with some screaming kids joining them (always with balls) and some nearby husband who would be screaming into his telephone....usually the sign for us to disappear to have lunch and then head to our room for an afternoon nap.

In the afternoon, after our naps, we would take a drink or two at the Edge bar during happy hour, then head back to take a bath in our gorgious bath tub, then have a wonderful dinner with slain mud-crab or something similarly delicious (and no doubt tortured equally) and then it would be time to sleep.....

Been there, done nothing, did not get the t-shirt but had a wonderful three lazy days!

We planned to go to Darjeeling to celebrate T's birthday and as a bonus escape Delhi's heat. We were going to leave on tuesday the 25th....

...but as fate would have it, on friday the 21st Madan Tamang, President of the Akhil Bharatiya Gorkha League, was killed in Darjeeling. This photograph is typical for Indian media....all the gruesome details are displayed for anyone who takes interest in them.

As a result the shops were kept closed and the government sent extra troups to the area to insure the peace in the hills.....the hills that we were planning to hike in! Not that it would have been much fun anyway, because it apparantly is raining in Darjeeling!

No mountain vieuws of the Himalayas, no trekking in the hills, no shopping, but the risk of being stuck in the hotel for 5 days and another rist of being stuck in Darjeeling alltogether because in India tempers are explosive....and once they expload a primitive force is released that you really do NOT want to get stuck in!

We could have gone, the hotel assured us things were peaceful and quiet...but in India, one never knows. Because in India life seems to be worth very little to so many.... you live, you die. It is as if death, or the fact that you will die one day, is so much part of every day life that it is not even given a second thought!

The son of the neighbour of our masseuse (yes...this is how in India relations go) was very ill, he had TB in his bones (!?!). He was on the verge of dying and his mother, a single mother who is very poor, could not afford a decent doctor. So our masseuse chipped in and in the end, so did we.
Because for us life IS worth something, and if our money helps save someone, even if it is for one more day, then it is money well spent. And at the same time, thank God not everyone in India who is very ill lives, or there would be 1,5 billion people, most of whom below poverty-line, instead of 1,2 billion.
But do I dare think this, or worse...say it? Because I am a lucky one, with fairly good health and money to pay for a decent doctor, instead of having to go to a government hospital where grossly underpaid doctord consider their lunch more important than their patients. After all, what's another life, if tehre are 1,2 billion others to care for?

Incredible India. Beautiful, crazy, cruel India. Full of spitting, honking and peeing people. Full of injustice and corruption. And yet it grabs you.....

So for now, we are going to Goa. We will forget about life and death for a while. No hills there and no Gorkha's....though, knowing T, the monsoon will probably start once we land. (Money could be made off this man! I am sure that in the Sahara they will pay a fortune for him!)
But for now we are looking forward to fish and coctails and an infinity pool.....and we will worry about injustice tomorrow....or will we?

We are in the middle of summer now, and the usual problems occur....powercuts, electricity fluctuations (causing half the house to shut down) and water shortages.

Watertankers like these can be seen everywhere, either pumping liters of sort of drinkable water into the roof-tanks of hotels, expats and affluent Indians, or dripping and leaking on the streets while street-dwellers fill their buckets and bottles and whatever else they have managed to obtain.

The "government" water that is delivered into underground tanks of the various houses (and then pumped up into the roof tanks, that is, if there is electricity) is not very dependable these days....our staff complain frequently that "no water came" or that water is trickling in veeeeery slowly...not sufficient obviously for the increased needs. Because Delhi is HOT. Today the weather forecast predicts 49 degrees Celcius, and we have not yet reached the hottest point of summer!
Apparantly it is the hottest summer in a hundred years....

We had planned to go a few days to Darjeeling, to celebrate T's birthday, but yesterday a Gorkha leader was stabbed to death in Darjeeling, and the shops have closed, there are roadblocks, and uproar is feared....so I think we will have to cancel our trip and face more of Delhi's sweltering heat.

The heat is making me slow and grouchy. I have to resist slamming a dent in the roof of a car everytime they feel the need to honk when driving right beside me....a favourite pasttime at Khan Market! I suspect that the nouveau riche in their big cars do not do this out of concern for us pedestrians but merely to draw attention to themselves and their big cars.....
I also cannot stand the slow wobbling fat ladies that take up all the space on the pavement, chatting away on their mobile phones while deciding in which establishment to gobble down the next cake, pie or chocolate....and most of all I cannot stand the spitting and peeing which is going on everywhere!
Even the indians start to notice that India is being used but not cared for, as our masseuse puts it. She does not "have a lot of english" but she certainly has a sharp ability for observation!

Now we are hoping for the monsoon. It is predicted for the 30th of May and apparantly has already started in the south...we cross our fingers because last year the monsoon was 1,5 month late and very little, and the normal febuary rains also did not come, so we are facing drought and failing crops....may the Gods be with us!

Not the "Mrs." for a change!
This time, I was invited to dinner & drinks, and T was invited as my partner....

In India, one of the things hardest for independent women like us is that we seem to become "the Mrs." the instant we set foot on Indian soil. We disappear!
Doors are slammed in our faces, we are pushed aside in waiting lines, the many "little men" that come to repair whatever is broken in our houses ingore what we say (after all, what could a WOMAN know about these things?) and if we want something done we have to ask our husbands to give the order!

Even if we are not married we pretend we are, because we become preys the minute we turn out to be "not married"...which for Indian men is the same as available. Never mind if there is a boyfriend somewhere...not married is single and single is prey!

In the more positive situations the mali (gardener) greets us with "hello Sir" (should I start paying attention to my chin?) but usually the most positive attention we can hope to get is that young men want us in their picture, never mind that we could have been their mother. I would really like to hear the comments when they show that picture to their friends....what the hell are they going to say? (I can think of many things!)

But resistence is growing!
The other day I bought a great t-shirt which is the brainchild of the "fading ladies" (www.fadingladies.blogspot.com). This is a group of ladies in Delhi who refuse to fade into oblivion, and they have started producing t-shirts with texts that tell that story...mine has a print in Hindi saying "I am not a tourist, I live here!" on it.
I think they are now planning a t-shirt that says "I am not the mister"! Way to go, ladies!

But for now, this is my own little triumph....

Recently a police officer was murdered by a rikshaw puller.
In "The Hindu" of saturday, feb 27, the following comments could be read on the subject:
"The recent murder of a traffic police constable allegedly at the hands of a rikshaw puller in the Capital's trans-Yamuna area has raised serious questions about the measures taken by a section of the police force to "discipline" rickshaw pullers on Delhi's roads".
" The incident has left many people wondering what transpired between the two that the rickshaw puller took the extreme step".
"They live under police terror. The police puncture rickshaw tires with ice-picks. This is common in places like Fatehpuri and the Red Fort. For a person who earns his daily bread by pulling a rickshaw, it is sheer torture. he has to get the punctures repaired from his [meager! M] earnings".
"It is just like beating up a man for not walking on the pavement of a road that does not have one".

The Delhi traffic police (yes, the one that is very concerned with the welfare of all these careless pedestrians crossing the road illegally and climbing fences) apparantly is less concerned with the welfare of rickshaw pullers....

This is an ad by the Delhi Police in the Hindu Times... the Delhi Police is very concerned with the health of Delhi's pedestrians and therefor urges them to cross the roads of Delhi carefully. Very noble thought....

The people in the picture are climbing over a fence at the side of the road. This is something one can observe in many places of Delhi and even on the highway which connects Delhi to Gurgaon and ultimately Jaipur. It is a newly constructed highway (still not finished) with many modern features as flyovers, tollgates and signs saying tuctuc and bicycles (three wheelers) cannot use the highway. The one thing that is not there are pedestrian crossings.

But no problem. The careless pedestrians, who run for their lives when crossing the roads of Delhi, could also use subways and zebra crossings, according to the Delhi Police.
Well, subways are going to be rather difficult to find in the middle of a highway, and so are zebra crossings, as a matter of fact.

The careless pedestrians are also urged not to read newspapers when crossing the roads....should no be too hard to achieve in a country where half the population is illiterate. Besides, who has the time to read the newspaper when running for their lives? That is the one downside...the careless pedestrians are in fact running on the road (a thing they should not do, according to the Delhi Police). Anyone who has ever tried to cross a road in Delhi understands why!

But the best is yet to come.....

Happy 2010!!!

We have just returned from a very cold Christmas vacation in Europe... it was minus 10 degrees Celcius when we left and the cargo doors of our plane were frozen, resulting in a delay of three hours. Finally we changed planes and ended up in a plane that probably had been pulled out of maintenace, because many things were not working; still, it didn't drop out of the sky and we got home in one piece...with our 3 kg of cheese and chocolate!

Delhi also turned out to be chilly, but of a different kind: "watercold", as we say in the Netherlands. And as our houses do not have heating and the electricity supply is barely enough for all the little heaters that are shattered around the house, it feels, well....cold. December and January are the two months in Delhi that one actually wears socks and sweaters, and T and I are currently very grateful for our fireplace.

We are now slowly getting back to normal life, after beating a terrible jet-lag, and decided to start planning our vacations right away. T is always busy as hell so if we don't reserve dates, his agenda will be full by the time we decide to take a vacation. So no spontaneous actions this year when it comes to getting away from it all!

But for the rest we hope the year will be exciting, interesting and most of all, fun and filled with nice dinners. And we hope yours will be too!

My friend Paulien and I also went to Udaipur, a first for me. We stayed in Jagat Niwas palace, a small heritage hotel at the side of the lake...I loved it! The rooms were small but charming, and as we booked "lakeview" we overlooked the lake (which luckily had water in it) and the very famous Lake Palace Hotel. The latter is, in case one doesn't know, the highlight in the James Bond movie Octopussy...and the Udaipuri will never let you forget that! There is an overkill in Octopussy restaurants and Bond bars, where things are shaken, not stirred!

Anyway, we really enjoyed our late lazy lunches in the little Jharokas (balconies) looming over the lake (tongue twister!); The Lake Palace Hotel being lit from the water, sounds of Mullahs calling the worshippers in the distance, and us ordering yet another bottle of Sula sauvignon blanc. Sula is the local wine brand and though it is by no means bad, it also definitely does not live up to its reputation. Not a very good value for money yet, I'm afraid. But if that is the only wine there is and wine is the thing for you, what can you do? So Sula it was, and we drank it merrily into the romantic Udaipur nights, to the extend that every time one of us would show up in the restaurant they would ask us: "wine?".

The next morning (yes, that was only the first night) T joined us, only to crash immediately in our private Jharoka. As T slept the afternoon away Paulien and I took a tuctuc to do some serious sighseeing around Udaipur. We had told the driver we didn't want to go shopping, and he obliged, but after a while told us he wanted to show us his school. As it turned out, during the months of May and June, when temperatures are soaring and tourists stay away, there is not a whole lot to do for tuctuc drivers, and as he said, "the days are long". So, he turned to the local art, miniature painting.

Miniatures are the Indian translation of photographs, I think. You find them in palaces and museums, large and small, depicting domestic (royal) scenes, battles, tiger hunts and devine interference. I never paid a lot of attention to them (I mean, they ARE awfully small) but now we agreed to be taken to the school, and what a surprise that turned out to be!
In the school, the "Real Art School" on Monsoon Palace road, mr. Rashid is teaching all those who are willing to be patient the art of miniature painting...for free.
It is his duty, he said, to teach people for free, as he had been taught for free himself. The first year a student can only make tea, clean the floors and grind the stones used to make paint - they still use an ancient technique to make paint. That will teach the student patience, and one needs patience to become a miniature-painter. If they last the first year, they are in.

Mr. Rashid showed us the various levels of painting: the students (scattered about on the floor, copying masterpieces), the second level painters, the first level painters to which he counted himself (10 years of training) and the masters, who would hav from there, because after one's fifties the hands begin to tremble and the eyesight goes. A master, we were told, earns about 300 INR per hour.....paintings sold at the school (there was a shop after all) were calculated according to the amount of hours spent on the painting and the level of the artist, and the money earned went back into the school.

Mr. Rasjid gave us a magnifying glass so we could judge the different qualities. He told us the true masters would sit for 10 hours consquetively on the floor, not blinking when painting a difficult thing like a horses' tail, not taking the brush off the silk they were painting on, making single strokes for a hundred times, side by side, never varying their width, never crossing the other lines....
And I must admit, ever since I do not look at miniature paintings the same way. I bought one, made by a master: 10 x 15 cm, for 1850 rupees. It means it must have taken him 6 hours to make it. They equal the quality of the icons in Russia and I have decide to go back to Udaipur and empty the school's shop....because one day, when my tuctuc driver becomes a master, this skill will have died out because no-one had the patience to learn, and the paintings will have become rare and precious.

This is my friend Paulien.
Paulien came to visit me in India, and took with her -apart from an embarrassing amount of old Dutch cheese- an open mind and a great sense of humour...and thank God for that!

Here we are on our way back from Agra to Delhi. Even though I do not think the Taj Mahal is the most interesting thing to see when in India, Paulien really wanted to go, so I booked traintickets...Shatabti, executive class from Delhi to Agra and Shamti Express, second class (no first class available) from Agra to Delhi.

So we arrived at Agra train station; our friendly Tuctuc driver had told us the train would arrive on platform 3, and there we went. Obviously we did not understand what was being announced (not necessarily because they didn't announce in english, but because the sounds from the loudspeaker might as well have been chinese, too distorted for me to tell the difference). Luckily for us there was a friendly man in a little booth who supposedly was there to give information. I showed him my ticket. One-fourty, he said. Yes, I could see that on my ticket. But what platform? One-fourty departure! Yes....but what platform? Here or there? Yes...here or there! Platform two or platform three? Yes...one-fourty, platform two or three. I gave up.
Paulien by then was already on the floor laughing, being stared at by a group of older ladies squatting on a bench. They seemed to miss what was so funny, but we went on for about 10 minutes wondering about where the train would stop...at one-fourty!

At one-fourty a train arrived on platform two....it looked like a train for cattle, open windows with horizontal metal bars, so I went back to the gentleman in the booth and showed him my ticket again, pointing at the train that had just arrived. No, he gestured...this is a local train. Ours would arrive at platform three! Ok, we had that one narrowed down!

At two-thirty another train arrived, on platform three. This is it, we thought, and started running to find wagon E1, along with some confused Koreans and Americans...but no sign of a number anywhere, at least not one that matched.I asked a couple of people but they didn't speak english....and finally I found a smart-looking Sikh who did speak english very well and told us this was not our train...our train was delayed (wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't told me!).

Finally, at two-fifty, our train pulled into the station, and our friendly Sikh told us the numbers would be displayed on the little electronic boards on the ceiling. And Lord and behold! The wagon numbers WERE actually displayed on the little electronic boards next to where the wagon would stop! So we ran to E1 and waited....and saw more cattle-wagons pulling up....Paulien got worried but I spotted some wagons with actual windows in them, so I reassured her that our "normal" wagon was coming....

And then we finally got in. Our wagon turned out to be a sleeper, with a narrow lane in the middle and closed curtains on both sides. Obviously people were sleeping and obviously they were also sleeping on our seats! In India it is normal procedure to pick a seat you like, and then you wait until the rightful owner turns up....usually they'll leave you be and pick a seat of their own. But to give up my bed....then we took a good look at the sheets and decided we were NOT going to fight over it, so we let them be and looked for a place to sit.
Above one of our designated seats (half of the bench downstairs was taken) was a free bed....and finally, after not finding any other place to sit, we climbed up. This is when the picture was taken.....Paulien aLmost fell off laughing!

Once I climbed up I could see her point: we were facing a blind wall with a VERY dirty dusty fan (one could imagine what would happen once it was turned on), a pile of equally dirty sheets and a tl-lamp hanging from its wires....no window.
Our neighbour (who was in one of our beds) had opened his curtain just far enough so he could spie on us and our downstairs neighbour across the hall (who was in our seat that goes with the bed) had done the same. So here we were, sitting on a bed with our legs hanging down, our shoes no doubt in front of our downstairs neigbour's face, facing a dirty little fan and a blind wall....I don't think I have laughed so much in my entire life!

We finally decided that sitting upstairs HAD to be more expensive than sitting downstairs, where you would have a couple of hairy legs and dirty shoes dangling in front of your face...we scared him, I'm sure, our downstairs neighbour, because every time when we would stop (and of course it was not announced where that was) we looked down and asked him if this was Delhi. He moved further back in his corner every time we leaned over, sinking deeper into his laptop with Bollywood movies.

Our staring neighbour across the hall, in the meantime, was still looking. He must have had some great stories to tell at home that evening: two crazy foreign women, one with blond hair and the other with red hair so undoubtedly sisters, who just blabbered and laughed non-stop from Agra to Delhi! Once in Delhi it turned out he was actually an attendent who worked on the train! (Don't know what his job is...checking if the beds will hold?)

But it was very interesting. Chai-wala's coming by at train stations, chanting chai chai chai tea (once they spotted us) chai chai....a very nice lady who came over for a chat and told me her life story....in Hindi so I think it must have been her life story, but I will never know for sure....all these gentlemen that were not fortunate enough to sleep across from us so who had to go to the toilet in order to take a peak as well....and our downstairs neighbour with his movies and Hindi-music, who had to dive under our legs when leaving his seat, not sure whether it would be appropriate to do so....

Paulien, thank you for your great great humour! I have had the trainride of my life!

We have been to Jodhpur, the "Blue" city.
Apart from the fact that it was still very hot -5 degrees Celcius above the normal temperature- we have had a fantastic time and I have become totally fascinated by the time of the Maharadja's who actually build these beautiful cities, palaces and forts!

Jodhpur is fairly well kept, so the usual dirt and chaos in the streets is tempered by the still beautiful facades, little streets and shops and the ever present Mehrangarh fort that towers over the city. Thanks to the excellent audio-guide in the fort we know also know why Jodhpur was painted blue: the blue -apart from being cooling in summer- acts as a shield against mosquitos!

From our hotel, Pal Haveli, we could see the fort when sitting on the roof terrace; its majestic dark presence (apparantly it is not lit during off-season) provided the perfect backdrop for a romantic evening dinner. Unfortunately our waiters proved to be very interested in our whereabouts and very eager to share their opinions in what must have been a Rajasthani dialect of english (quite impossible to understand), so I spend a considerable time mumbling polite "ok's" and then looking at T hoping he understood...but my Hinglish seems to be better than his, so no, he didn't.

Our hotel was only a few minutes walk from the famous bell-tower (sometimes called the little Big Ben) which is the centre of the bazaars with numerous sellers of colourful bangles, sweets, vegetables, pots and pans and spices, with the occasional cow loitering in between. The only disturbing thing, I found, was that here too they seem to drive with their thumb on the horn...the noise was overwhelming! So after a nice afternoon stroll we were glad to find an espresso-cafe where one could sit en enjoy the sights noisefree over a good cup of coffee.

We also found a beautiful little shop with perfume oils and incence, JMC Perfumers, only 3 minutes from our hotel. Prathiba, the enthousiastic granddaughter of the founder, picked the most perfect oil for us: "Opium" for T and "White Musk" for me. The oils are totally natural and blend in with the scent of one's skin, so they smell different on everbody. We were amazed at how accurate Prathiba's picks were, but she told us that growing up with smells makes one sensitive...well, obviously!

I wear it every day now and love the way I smell, so I soon will have to order more....how can I ever leave India, now I get perfume oil from Jodhpur, Coconut oil from Kerala, silks from all over the country and the most amazing assortiments of spices from Delhi's INA market?

The last sweltering days of Delhi... and we went on a bicycle tour with the kids.
After three years, we finally thought they were ready to face the frenzy of Old Delhi.
There is a Dutch guy, Jack Leenders, who just started doing guided bicycle tours (you would have to be Dutch for that) and we decided to join one. Our two fellow-riders were British, visiting India for a week and wanting to experience it to the fullest. Well, no better start than a bicycle tour through the busiest, filthiest, oldest part of town!

We started at New Delhi station and immediately got stuck in traffic; there is a busstop there and buses push their way in and out, with pedestrians, riksha's, tuctucs, cars and obviously us trying to sort of wiggle in between. It took us 15 minutes before we could hit the roads, immediately being surrounded by honking cars and scooters and all sorts of vehicles passing us by left and right! What excitement!

The bicycles are of Indian manufacturing which makes them so basic that nothing can break, but also fairly uncomfortable...thank got they have good breaks and bells! Especially the bells...you NEED them!

We did not stay on the big roads and soon were zigzagging in the small streets of the bazaars, trying not to hit any cows, goats, dogs, garbage heaps, and people...what a mess! What smells! What intensity! There Delhi was, in all its long-gone beauty, leaving on big chaos behind that was right in our faces! I have lived here for three years now but I never experienced India so close as I did this time on the seat of a bike!

Roos, with her lushy 16 years, was obviously the attraction of the day. Even though she (sort of) covered up, the men she encountered all changed into drooling fools, mouth wide open, staring after her as if they had just seen one of the wonders of the world pass by. It was really funny! Roos decided that next time, she'll wear a Burka.

We stopped for Chai while riding through the quiet lanes of the Civil Lines district (where the expats used to live at the end of the 19th century), stopped for breakfast at Karim's, "the" Moghul restaurant near the Jama Mashid, and finally were able to safely yet stiff get off our bicycles at New Delhi station. It has been by far the most exciting trip I ever took in Old Delhi!

(for those interested: www.delhibycycle.com)

Been to Bali again...
The kids visited us for their summer holidays, and as in India the temperatures are still soaring (and India is not REALLY a country to relax) we decided to go to Bali with them.
After all, us living here is the perfect opportunity for us, and them, to see parts of the world where you would otherwise not go so easily!

We had our usual stopover in Bangkok, this time with healthy kids, and did what one does in Bangkok: took a trip down the river, visited Wat Arun and Wat Pho, had sushi, and went shopping. Especially the shopping part appeals very much to the kids who are in the shop-until-you-drop phase...and with a clothing size that let them fit it all!!!!

Then onto Bali, where we had rented a car and toured the island. Bali is very different from north to south; the south has white beaches, lots of hotels and upscale restaurants, and surf-dude beaches. The north is rugged, volcanic, dry and quiet. No fancy restaurants here, but clear water, corals, endless amounts of fishes and dolphins. We got up before sunrise, squeezed into a little narrow boat, and went out to sea to watch the sun come up and the dolphins surface...and it was fantastic! So quiet and peaceful, I could have watched forever.
Finally the middle of Bali is covered with rice paddies, friendly and tranquil and green. The heart of the middle is Ubud, a small friendly town where the local intellectuals, artists and yoga-practicioners reside....and the occasional full-moon worshipper...but the real attraction of Ubud -at least for the kids- was of course the extensive shopping area which is filled with little nice shops. Had a great time!

"New Delhi, 14 july 2009. The second consecutive mishap at the same site on the under-construction Central Secratariat-Badarpur line of the Delhi Metro at jamrudpur here on monday came as little surprise to many of the residents, who said the area was jinxed.
The area residents said well before the work started on the stretch, an old banyan tree located near a temple was pulled down to widen the road and some portion of the temple was dismantled.
"The entire village used to worship the old tree. On several occasions, we requested the authorities not to touch the tree or the temple. But they did not listen to us", said Ravi Kumar, an area resident." (source: The Hindu Times)

India, 2009.
Deities and djinns are part of everyday life, as are superstition, belief in witchcraft and sjamanism, rituals, numerology and astrology, and reîncarnation.
Cows block the road and eat the fruits and vegetables of local vendors who do not dare to scare them away, as they are holy. Monkeys are an absolute nuisance to residents but instead of chasing them off (or finishing them off) they are fed, especially on thursdays, as that is Hanuman's day (Hanuman is the monkey god) and it brings good luck to feed them on that day. Every shop has it's little altar from where Ganesha figures watch over business...usually incense is burning from these altars, and the occasional picture of a deceased relative puts in some extra weight. The paper runs articles on embracing trees amidst economic news, and people fast on certain days to honour their god(s). Giving a party becomes a challenge when cooking, as there is always someone not eating something because it is monday/tuesday/wednesday etc. And of course the first customer of the day brings luck, one needs to consult an astrologer before entering into any important undertaking and going to the temple is part of any good housewife's practice (men seem to be less eager to pray, fast and do offerings).

India is often said to be a spiritual country...in my definition spirituality means a development of the self to a point where "self" looses its importance. In India, spiritual seems to mean that the "self" (which judging by the behaviour of many Indians is in their centre of the world) utilizes all means to shape that world in such a way that the self gets its maximum benefit from it. If that means feeding monkeys and fasting on tuesdays, so be it.

Incredible India 2009...the longer you live here, the more you see that puzzles you!
In the meantime I however have decided that I'll stick to my car for the time being....you see, I don't fast on tuesdays, I don't feed monkeys and I don't worship Banyan trees, and that is bound to be bad luck when riding the metro!

Today is a very special day...today I met the Dalai Lama!

Well, not in person really, but he stood so close I could actually see the twinkle in his eyes, the watch he was wearing and the look he gave us three when he saw we could not follow what he was saying, nor the Hindi his interpreter was producing...after which he gave a speech in english as well (and we like to think that was especially for us!).

Today it is the 6th of july, and the 74th birthday of His Holiness, and the 50th year that he is in India. To mark this auspicious occasion, the People of the Himalayan Region held a tribute of gratitude, and three people of our embassy were invited: The Ambassador, the political advisor and ms Danielle Brown, devotee and visa officer. So "us", that would be ms Brown, the Ambassador (who could not come as he is in Bhutan, so he sent me ;-), and the political advisor who could not come as he is also in Bhutan so he sent Tanja, the assistant of the Agricultural Councellor ;-)....Bob's Angels, as it were. (Bob being the Ambassador...)

We were not allowed to use Bob's car but the rest of the event was perfect... after the Dalai Lama adressed us (and the rest of the audience), Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, former president of India and an equally charismatic man, also adressed us (and the rest of audience). And then there were performances by different cultural groups from the Himalayan region...

I am turned, that's for sure. What a fabulous man! What a fabulous message! He has calm and peace and love radiating from every pore of his body, and it reaches everyone around him.
"I have been in India for 50 years...I'm here!" That simple. No judgement, no anger, no political statements...he is just there. But boy....is he there! I'm hooked!

The Monsoon has officially started, and thank God for that!!!!

It was SOOO hot in Delhi, unbearable! This was the hottest summer I have experienced here so far...especially the month of june was terrible. It seemed the air contained no oxygen anymore, breathing got difficult, sleeping got difficult...doing anything except hanging in front of the airco got difficult! But this the power and water demands soaring powercuts and watershortages got more frequent by the day, leaving millions of people without water and electricity for hours every day!
Obviously people got angry and started protesting...we expats keep wondering how a government can not foresee that powerdemands will grow as more and more people can afford to buy an airconditioning and how water supplies cannot be fed during the many rains that India does have...India does not have water shortages, but it has shortages of drinking water and it has no even water supply. When it rains India floods, contaminating drinking water and sweeping away fertile soils, villages, roads, electricity cables etc. When it doesn't rain, and the water has flown away instead of being stored in -for example- underground storage systems, there are water shortages. Simply said, of course. But in fact, it is this simple.

Water shortages do not only affect people, it also affects animals. Monkeys, to be precise. Monkeys that live in the forest across our street, and that come into the city to find food and water. can't blame them really, but unfortunately they found a source of water allright: OUR watertank! They also found out it is relatively easy to break the plastic pipes that come out of the tank, so we have had several downpours of 600 liter at the time and now left that one tank empty because repairing will only result in more damage. They didn't like that their watersource was not properly refilled and so they distroyed my palmtrees as revenge! They "visited" our terrace several times and the result was the above mutilated tree (and all the others look like that as well).

Needless to say that pissed ME off..but then there was T to protect us!!!

In an heroic attempt to stop the beasts from ravaging our surroundings T climbed up the roof with a big bamboo stick and whacked the alpha male of the monkey troop one across the ears...and then he stood up, waved his arms and stick in the air and made a lot of noise...the monkeys must have understood his body language and figured this ape was too big for them, because we haven't seen them since!

T the Monkey Man! There is money to be made of this in Delhi....!

Time in India is going faster than anywhere else in the world, I am pretty sure of that!

Already the heat of summer has started (currently being relieved by the occasional thunderstorm) and our bodies have not yet tuned in, so T and I are suffering from a Bug....headaches, diarrea, nausea and the perpetual feeling of being not quite there. Lucklily we have a very good doctor to go to, dr. Gupta, who feels our tummies and prescribes yet another round of antibiotics. It is the only thing to do in India; either you kill the Bugs or they will slowly kill you.

It raises the question: how does one GET a Bug?
The common believe is that in India, everyone gets sick. This is not true; we have had many guests who did not get sick (most of them actually) and we ourselves got very sick when we were still staying in the Hyatt, where food is flown in and they even have filtered water in the shower! So even common sense and consequent not eating of pre-cut fruits, not using icecubes and not licking your fingers after you have touched money will not necessarily protect you from the feared "Delhi Belly"...

Bugs in India are simply everywhere: in the air, in the water, in the food, on animals, people, things...simply everywhere! But there are places that are Buggier than others, this is true. INA market, the place where I do my shopping, is one of them. I try to go as early as possible ( in India that means around 9.30 am) because the later I get the Buggier the place is. The smell of dead chickens being thrown in lukewarm water is everywhere and the fishmarket slowly turns into a pool of melted ice mixed with fish-guts. I am sure the place is rigged with bacteria...10.000 flies can't be wrong!

I do buy fish there, but only in winter and only when I am very early. In winter I buy a lot of fish and I freeze most of it, so we can enjoy the occasional shrimp in summer. But what really struck me recently is the fact that the shopkeeper of my fish stall has also ventured into poultry! On the little blue sign it actually says "fresh chicken available here"!
Incredible India, land of endless possibilities and Bugs.....

We have just been to Amritsar, the Mekka of the Sikh: the city is home to the Golden Temple, where the Holy Book lies.

The Golden Temple is absolutely magnificent, both in the evening when the Book is put to rest, as well as during the day when one can visit the endless kitchens that prepare 40.000 meals a day....every day of the year. Anyone can visit and eat...the Temple is open to any nationality, religion or gender. It is truly remarkable and it was the first place in India where we felt the sense of spirituality that we had expected before we came here.
the complex itself is buzzing with people, both during the day as well as the evening. They are wandering about, sitting on the waterfront watching the temple, taking a dip in the Holy water (men out in the open, women in special little buildings where they can bathe undisturbed by curious eyes), or having a meal or a tea in one of the enormous dining halls.
We were invited to join in making chapati's, of which 100.000 are produced every day; the whole thing seems to be a social gathering where one catches up on the latest gossips. The atmosphere was wonderful.

And one wonders...if such a thing of beauty and peace and spirituality originated in India, could it then be that the we hoped to see India is hidden but still out there? What lies beneath the surface?

Back in Delhi, and life turns back to normal.
Normal means that I go shopping for our weekly meals, and on the way there are at least 5 locations where I will hear that familiar sound of nails tapping on my window...."chapati mama, rupees, khana...". Sometimes they are women with babies (possibly not their own), sometimes crippled people, sometimes children...and everytime it makes me feel horrible because I have to shake "no".

No, I should not give them money. They are poor, no doubt about that, but my money will not make a difference because many of them have fallen into the claws of organised crime and will have to give the money they "earned" to their "boss" at the end of the day...we cannot distinguish the ones that are exploited from the ones that are not, and giving money will only keep the system going, so we give nothing.

And so, every week, I sit and say "no" and then ignore the wailing and pleading...with shoppings in the back of my car, feeling horrible and guilty and hating India for making me feel this way.

T and I have also been wondering what will happen to all the beggars around the time of the Commonwealth games, in 2010. Everywhere there is construction going on, to the metro, to roads, hotels, busstands etc., so the city will look polished and modern and developed by the time the world attention turns on it. Our guess is that all beggars will be swept off the street just before the games and will be put on a train to the desert in Rajasthan. The slums are being torn down as we speak, so the people are now literally living on the street...not a very nice sight when you drive up to your five-star hotel.

But it doesn't solve the problem. As long as there is no social security system to fall back upon, education for the kids or a law that they must go to school (and enforcement of that law!), shelter, medical care, and most of all the WILL to help them instead of pretending they are not there, nothing will change.

Movies like Slumdog Millionaire are actually based upon the truth, be it that the truth is even a lot uglier than the movie. And here in India there is no escape from the truth, which is why it is probably such a hard country to deal with mentally, at least for me.

I could choose to escape from the truth by letting my housekeeper do the shopping (like many expats do) and limit my days to playing tennis, reading books and go for a coffee at a friend's house, but it doesn't feel right. I would be placing myself out of reality and that is not why we moved to another country. The challenge is to learn to deal with it and to realise that it does not make me a bad person if I shake "no"....and so I go shopping, ignoring the tapping on my window - just another normal day in India.