Foot pegs

Heading towards Semiliguda we stop at Sunabeda for lunch after 3 hours of Church. Those 3 hours are another story which I have no intention of boring you with. M finds a greasy spoon. No problem for me although I say I must have a spoon I’m not eating with my fingers. He negotiates a spoon and we sit. I order, he gets up and says he will return. I hope so, I’ve no idea where we are and India is a big place to be lost in. I eat chilli cheese lumps, dhall, a very oniony and curd salad mix and rice. In the company of a couple of blokes eating very nosily opposite me at the table. Hawking and spitting is going on behind me at the so called wash basin immediately to my rear. M does not return. I eat up and the only problem is that the food is a warm rather than hot. I pay at the counter and stand outside having a fag. Minutes later M turns up. ‘I leave you as I think you may be insulted at the cafe and be angry with me’ he explains. I say ‘no problem I eat where ever there is food’. He goes on to say his friends are ashamed of him for showing me the cafe, white people only eat in big hotels. I reassure him that it really is not a problem but I know he is not comfortable. He then tries to buy a cold drink but the power has been off all day and everything is warm. He decides he doesn’t want a warm drink so leaves it. We get back on the bike and our journey into the unknown continues.

Semiliguda has a huge Sunday Market which stretches for well over a mile on the main road through the town. Giant trucks, thousands of people thronging the road, mobikes, 3 wheel carts, buses, jeeps and other sundry traffic all hooting and everyone playing chicken. Including the inevitable cows who just decide to sit down in the middle of it all. On our way through we followed a couple of trucks. They meet a couple coming the other way with no inches to spare. Despite this M tries to overtake in the non gap at ½ inch an hour, wobbling. We get caught in the middle and a truck actually goes over my rear foot peg. Fortunately he is higher than me so I don’t get caught. We all shout and he stops. M foots it out of the way even though his exit is barred by 2 other bikes also attempting mobile suicide. We all move at the same time and crisis is over. All in a days traffic in India. I’m not looking forward to the return journey.

We visit the mining town, nothing of interest although there are dual carriage ways and roundabouts surrounding the complex and mining housing, but nothing remarkable. We travel back to Semiliguda and the market is still in full swing but M ploughs on as if he is the only bike on the road, pausing, sometimes, when he spots a hump or bump or a pothole. We then divert to a village mid way between Koraput and Semiliguda to visit an orphanage he worked in for 6 months during his social work training in 2006. Sad but at the same time a seemingly good and happy place to be if you are an orphan. Holds nearly 200 kids from 4 to 16, mainly younger. When we arrived there was 100 a side football match going on which only paused for them to say hello to us and to stare self consciously at me. House Mum invited us to tea which I was really grateful for as by now my mouth was dry and my legs aching from the odd pillion position I had been in all day due to a one sided pannier blocking one foot peg. On leaving I put my shoes on and amused them when I sat down on the kerb to do the laces up. Why do trainers have such long laces? Standing up I couldn’t locate the second waist strap of the back pack. Small girl shyly taps me and hands the end to me with a huge beam.

Arriving back in Koraput we pass A’s house and I know in less than 5 minutes I can stretch my legs. No, M spots his best friend J along with a dozen other people coming back from a hill trek. When I express surprise at a 5 km wander being described as a hill trek the guide quickly tells me they didn’t set off until after lunch; so that ’s alright then. They all crowd round very interested in who I am etc. We spend 5 minutes talking plus receive an invite from his friend J to visit him sometime. He calls M his “bloody good friend” which everyone thinks is funny. Arriving back M won’t come in for tea (what a relief) and I rush inside to get the washing in. And don’t laugh, my washing is important. You are up to date on the intrepid adventures of Mister Mike.

Fuse fixed

Fuse obtained. One email address, one reply, one lump. Beam me back Scotty, success.

Got a fuse gov?

India is a big place. We all know that. Koraput is remote and relatively isolated, some of you know that. But to save our bacon we can always fall back on the internet, can’t we? Provided both the power and the communication lines are working. Which they often aren’t.

I persuaded our Head Honcho that it might be a good idea to install some sort of backup system to the computers here. No real problem as I laid it on thick and informed him larger organisations had gone to the wall because they neglected to install half decent systems. OK, I identified the best system available within our cost limits and he said let’s do it. That bit was easy. Acquiring it is turning into a circus of whirling dervish’s on local hooch laced with LSD. If I ever manage it I think I will join them.

We have all been caught up in the circle of menu driven robotic voice “help” customer service systems so I won’t elaborate. What I will say is count yourself lucky. All the local, and I really mean the whole of India, suppliers either don’t identify what they are in business for or if they do they really mean we might sell something if by some odd chance we happen to have it stashed out back somewhere after our stupid boy, visiting the local market thought it looked natty and brought one back with him. I email the USA head office. They direct me to Delhi or some other place light years away from here, no email just phone numbers and names. Delhi continues the performance by giving me a further list of numbers. I do not possess a code book of exchanges so for all I know these numbers call offices galaxies away. Undeterred I soldier on. A very nice man, a very, very nice man, helps me to indentify the numbers that are close. By close I mean within 500 miles of here. In the meantime I am googling like you have never googled. In between power and lines being down.

I think I have struck pay dirt as a supplier, recommended by the States, has an address in a city not 202 kilometers away. I phone, or should I say the Head Honcho phones. Glory be, we have a language problem between two locals. I am handed the phone to continue the discussion. Even less joy but we do manage to extract an email address where I can be more specific than over a line that is snap, crackling and popping enough to bring a smile to the face of Kellogg’s. I email my needs. I await with less than baited breath a reply. Sure enough, they do deal with my manufacturer but not the bit I want. I think about this and decide the boy didn’t bring one back from the market because it was too heavy (16kg if you are that interested) which explains why they don’t have one. But they kindly refer me back to Delhi. And the circle starts going round again.

I find another supplier who actually lists the cities they operate in. I bribe the very nice man to help me again. This time to tell me how far these places are from here. This one is close, he says pointing to a name. How close, ‘ooo’ about 500 kms. A train leaves here every night at 5 he continues helpfully. Two days there and back to collect the lump. I am currently reading Bram Stokers Dracula and attempt not to imitate Dracula on a bad night and smile indulgently. Two days. My mind is now racing, who do I know is coming here from Delhi, Kulkata or maybe the Moon in the next few days, or months, as let’s be realistic here.

You may wonder why all the fuss. In Koraput we have any number of I.T. training colleges, Institutes and other academic establishments but can you find a fuse. Yes, it is called a 2 inch nail. So what hope have I? Use the post you say. At the risk of being expelled from the country I hesitate to answer, so I won’t. Head Honcho has the bright idea of asking someone arriving here from the UK next month to bring it with them. 16kg will attract a nice bonus for the air carrier in excess baggage fees, the visitor will probably either die of a heart attack lugging the thing around or have a diplomatic illness preventing travelling anywhere or the thing will be confiscated at customs in Delhi. The saga will continue.

In the meantime I have no ideas, brilliant or otherwise. That is not lateral thinking Mr Spock. Beam me up Scotty, warp fact 20, we are on our way out of here, to anywhere.

Coconuts, Apples and bombs

I could say that this is the time when India celebrates but India has a celebration almost every week so I won’t. But for a few of us it has been busier than usual.  H was informed that some staff from her placement would like to clean her house. Until recently there were two living in her house but number two has, after going on a token strike (how can a volunteer go on strike?) finally taken possession of her house. There was some difficulty with a previous tenant but then what is surprising about that. Outgoing tenants always present problems. So, M departs into a very western style house while H is left alone. This, for some reason requires that H’s house be cleaned. This I understand is no reflection on M but one wonders. H was asked to purchase a coconut for the cleaning crew. Another puzzle and we are both intrigued as to the magical and as yet unknown to us cleaning powers of the humble coconut. A coconut is purchased from the local market. 

In the meantime I am engaged elsewhere firing up the IPod that a local has been given by a wealthy relative. For those of you that follow Charlie Brooker you will know what’s coming next. He has no time for the Apples of this world, neither have I. Who else but Apple would market something where a laptop wasn’t an optional extra but a mandatory essential? After a lengthy (our internet broadband is broadband Jim, but not as we know it) download of some hours I get the software. Most hardware from the PC world comes with at least the smidgen of start up software. But oh no, not the IPod. I digress. My laptop is a fast dual core but it means another cup of coffee before Mr Jobs and his cohorts allow me to access the b***** thing.  I discover everything is Internet based. Here the Internet is an optional extra. By the end of the whole sorry business, including fixing the IPod owners laptop so that he can actually use the d**n thing, we have a working IPod. Irritatingly, Apple keeps asking for money which is in quite short supply in this neck of the woods. But I am the guy that refuses to even carry a bag with a logo on unless I’m paid to do the marketing so you will understand my grief at Apple. Designer man I am not. 

Coconuts are far more interesting to me. As I fume over the obstacles Apples is placing before me I watch the clock as I want to be at H’s house to witness the use of this coconut. Making my excuses I leave somewhat late (it is India so I am not that worried, everyone is always late, for everything) for H’s. Naturally I am the first to arrive and H offers me a broom (I joke, there are no brooms here, only cane swatches) to start the process off. I decline as politely as I can and explain I am only here for the beer (and the coconut). 

Some indeterminate time later the cleaning crew arrives. But not carrying any cleaning materials. Panic, maybe H misunderstood and a coconut is the local slang for brooms etc. It turns out cleaning actually means a spiritual cleansing of the demons and other bogies from the house to ensure the well being of the new occupant(s).  Then, total disaster. I miss the coconut event. Somehow, whilst talking to the foreman cleaner, the coconut has been put to its appointed use. The short story is that it is smashed on the floor, three joss sticks are placed in a container in the spilt coconut oil and lit, and a small bowl of water containing some yellowish substance is placed beside it and a small offering of food items next to that. The chief cleaner then moves around the house sprinkling water everywhere and the final ceremony is him sprinkling each one of us with a handful of rice over our heads. Tradition or ritual, I have no idea but I rather like the idea, don’t you? The downside to this story is H has to leave the coconut oil until it has gone naturally. Given the endemic presence of roaches they will have a feast removing it. Somehow I think H will allow a token period and then slyly remove the oil. Only guessing of course.

Then Diwali, Divali, Diweepi, Deweli, Dowhaly and any other spelling one cares to use (I’ve seen them all used here and they should know) started this weekend. So we all, H, A and I met up at M’s new house to both house warm and witness the start of this very important Hindu celebration of their ancestors’.  Staffs from their placements also drop in to wish us all Happy Diwali. We sip beer covertly, though we know they have no objection to us drinking beer we are sensitive to their beliefs. At 6pm or close after the fun begins. Bangers, normal fireworks, and rockets are ignited. Our respective houses are on a hill surrounding Koraput so we adjourn to M’s rooftop to witness better the spectacle. And what a spectacle. In every direction as far as our eyes can see we see the flames of all manner of firework erupting into the night sky. Rockets take off with abandon, and I say that under advice. They shoot straight up, they shoot off horizontally and at every angle between the two extremes. Most fly flat. We all become instant ballistics engineers trying to calculate whether one will land near us. Then we become complacent about the missiles as we enjoy the free display. Wrong. One lands, still fizzing, within half a meter of M. Unanimously deciding discretion is the better part of valour we take cover under her roofed veranda. We can only see 50% of the conflagrations so the brave amongst us return to the roof. I, having spent years in hazardous environments, and a self declared coward, choose to stay under the roof. Plus, the beer is here so why leave it. During this whole time bangers are going off. 

Now, there are bangers and there are BANGERS. Who needs a nuclear deterrent when you have these instruments of audible torture. Small boys of no greater than six years old seem to be the demolition experts here. Across the lane from us he is determined either to blow their wall down or Dad has upset him and assassination is to the fore. Whatever, his bangs get bangier as the evening gets later. Nobody can actually buy things this loud without a firearms licence so this guy must be some sort of prodigy. In reality he is probably tying a few of them together, who knows. To finish the evening off small boy must be in despair as the wall is still standing so he lets off a rocket bomb (combined BANGER and rocket) but it is misdirected and heads straight into one of their window openings. A few whoops and hollers and order is restored. No idea what happened to small boy. 

I am told that at the end of Diwali in ten days time the local market traders have a rocket bomb battle where they shoot at each other across the road. Under advice we are warned to take care that evening. For once I think we will take heed of the advice.

Teddy bears

Sitting in the cubicle I call my office, the staff all suddenly get up and rush outside. Now I heard nobody say come and see this so the famous osmotic process of the Asian communication method still eludes me. Not being one to miss a party I nonchalantly follow them trying to look as if I know what is going on. All crowded round the top steps they are pointing and shouting to each other at something in the distance. All I can see are the hills that have been there for a few thousand years. If it takes this long for them to notice a hill or two it is not surprising they need me to show them how to use computers. But, I figure it must be more than hill or two to wake them from their office duties so continue to peer into the distance. About 200 metres away are a couple that have dismounted from their motor scooter. They seem to be gesticulating at the hill. Yes, a hill I agree silently. A more shouty Indian shouts back to them. Probably saying, yes, isn’t it exciting, a hill. By now I’m getting bored with this hill business and wander off back to my cubicle.

At the end of the day those of us heading to town climb into the jeep. 200 metres up the road we stop with the driver pointing excitedly at the hill. This b******y hill business is as you will have guessed by now is really getting boring . I’m bored just writing about it so you have my sympathy if you have managed this far. I still cannot see what the fuss is about. Mobile phones come out and photos are taken. This cannot be the first time that you have seen grass, it’s that green stuff all around us. The driver is growing agitated and wants to move off. The passengers dissent and want to continue watching the grass grow. And then I see it!!! Describing it later to another volunteer I say I’ve seen one. How big he says. Well, bigger than a large dog but smaller than a calf I reply. Bush size he suggests. Depends on the bush I answer. Much smaller than a 50 year old rhododendron but bigger than a year old azalea I proffer. I’m really dragging this out but I’ the one having fun so up yours. For the more observant of you the clue (and there is one) is in the title. How the Indians had seen this curiosity at such a distance suggests they have Hubble telescopes for eyes. At 50 feet (I just love mixing my units up) it is difficult enough to see particularly when you don’t know what you are looking for but there it was. A small bush sized brown furry animal with all the appearance of a brown bear. And now I’ve gone and given the game away.

They used to be common in these parts but since the forests were destroyed in the quest for many mighty dollars the ground cover has all but disappeared so are rarely sighted now.  They are not keen on being in close quarters with us, any more than you would want to meet a fully grown teddy without some serious backup device like a tank or other  large gun shaped object. In other words they tend to hide away under whatever cover there is. So I feel privileged to have seen one in the wild and David Attenborough had better watch his back.

Bengal tigers on the other hand are a much more demanding animal and have suffered even more drastically from de-forestation. If you ever find yourself near  Canterbury, Kent, England visit Howletts Wild Animal Park in the village of Beakesborne,  a 10 minute ride away to see them in all their glory. They are in my very limited wild life expert’s opinion the most magnificent beast you are likely to see, Bengal tigers I’m referring to of course. Whatever, according to a recent report in the Indian Sunday Times, some 20 years ago there were around a million of them. At the last tiger census 2 years ago there were thought to be around 1100. If you belong in that revered group of occupations related to logging, shame on you. You have spent your dollars and the tigers have gone.

But hey, I’ve seen a wild brown bear in the wild. Have you?

Big dippers

We’ve had a lot of visitors at the office of late. All, no doubt to check out our credentials before an upcoming grant is finally signed over to us. Although not directly involved with the application or its implementation I am here to produce an M.I.S to track and record its progress over the next five years. One problem, I’m here until December then I’m back to sunny UK. I will be hard pressed to meet the deadline with essentially only a month and a small bit to complete it. Complete assumes I have started. No, he says full of aplomb. Despite various attempts to persuade the project manager to give me a clue, even a small clue, they have been met with assurances that all will become clear as October draws to a close. So, as a final last ditch effort to suggest now might be a good time to start planning I prepared a draft system to illustrate the complexity of the job and the fact that despite my best efforts in making it user friendly it will, nevertheless require user training. My presentation was met with considered silence and elicited the comment, ‘end of October we will start planning’.

 

Is this of interest to you? Probably not but it is too late to stop reading, you have got this far so may as well continue on. Back to visitors then. Yesterday we had a couple of truck loads of them arrive. Some from local areas to attend a meeting, others from mainstream India. Result, at the end of the day there is not enough transport to get everyone away. Being a very important guy around here, I’m one of the everyone group. Or, to put it more succinctly I am at the back of the queue. The very end of the queue no less. So at the end there is no transport for me. Now, there are no buses where I work, and the main road outside the office is a track more for easy movement of the thousands of cattle and goats than to move people about. I can either hitch a lift on the back of a likely looking cow roughly heading in my intended direction or stick around, hoping. Hoping for what, transport to return is what. Sitting on the steps pondering my fate, night starts to draw in and darkness is descending. No, stupid, rain clouds are assembling overhead is why it’s getting dark, not night arriving early.

 

Not getting depressed very easily I start to throw rocks and other hard missiles at the dog pack that is sensing dinner sitting on the steps. Until dinner starts heaving rocks at them, at which point they retire to a safe distance but still planning their strategy for achieving full stomachs. At that moment one of the smallest Indian guys here (he admits to being the smallest in his family at 5 foot 1 inch) taps me on the shoulder and says ‘come with me’. Being the obliging sort of bloke I am, I did. We head to the lean-to that substitutes as a garage. He pushes his motorcycle off its stand and says jump on.  Here is where I consider my options. Invite the dogs to dinner, climb on a cow, sleep overnight in the office, commit hari-kari, or do the decent thing and climb on as I don’t want to upset him by refusing his offer. I climb on; a no brainer really, isn’t it?

 

By now evening is falling and dusk is getting duskier by the moment. My bike taxi driver is wobbling all over the track, missing the deep flood run offs on either side of the track by millimetres. Talking constantly and turning round to see me he rubs his eyes at the same time with a hand not where it should be ON THE HANDLEBARS. The track has some rather sharp and deep dips in it which I had earlier decided where there to help the natural water course run rather than a lack of interest in the track builders in bridge building. But in dim light it is difficult to see them. Ouch, we have just gone dooown and uuuuuup one and I am struggling to stay in my seat. ‘Are you comfortable Sir?’ he asks. Reply as you think appropriate. Approaching civilisation we now fag paper avoid hitting oncoming tuk tuks, wandering villagers and other mobile obstacles. Only as a last resort is the headlight switched on but only to see who we have nearly hit, or almost been hit by, and having determined that we are not hospital fodder the lights are switched off again. Until the next reportable near miss. What dumbo said this was a no brainer? We turn into the hospital grounds, not because he is giving up and presenting us prematurely as patients but because I live on the other side of the hospital.

 

As I dismount another biker pulls up beside us. Oh dear, I think my driver has really peed someone off and I am about to witness Indian road rage. But no, it is someone I recognise. Has he come all this way to say hello. No, he has come to collect one of the four brand new motor bikes stored in my reception room. Is that a typo, no, I have four bikes stored in my reception room. His pillion asks to see photographs of my family whilst the bike is sorted out. There is a mix up with keys so I have time to do the whole family album bit. Plus a rather embarrassing video of me doing my whirling dervish bit in Indonesia. Big smiles all round, the new bike is chuffing away contentedly, pillion is now the rider and together they ride off into the sunset, which in fact set some few hours ago.

Bus day out

Jeypore here we come, crammed on. An old style charabanc that had obviously been welded together by some back street bus company without ISO 9001 accreditation. Windows had long gone and the two half doors were hanging on by luck, or was it disguised chewing gum? Pushing and shoving we pile in and I end up standing on the steps along with 2 others plus the pusher onner who also doubles as the conductor. He hangs on, half in half out, to his door and chats at the same time. We set off. I think we are already too many as it is really tight. Bumping along he whistles and the bus stops. Not to let someone off but to let another dozen or so on. No room here, use front door. They comply. It is hot and sweaty, rattley and you hang on for dear life. A few kms up the road he lets out an ear piercing whistle and the bus stops, eventually, again. More pushing and shoving as now someone wants to get off along with the sacks of whatever they have crammed under the seats. Now more get on, one off six on. 3 get on my end and now I’ve got let’s just say a large women with her shoulder pressed against my stomach. I cannot move back as there are 2 small children sitting on Mums lap one thousandth of an inch behind me and I don’t want to smufurcate them and anyway I’m not able to move as six Indians are all vying to stand on my flip flop clad feet, and who am I to spoil their fun. 

I notice that the conductor knows when someone wants to get off as they stick their arm out of the window. He whistles and the bus stops. The journey takes about an hour, or two lifetimes, and the driver is unconcerned about the huge potholes, sharp bends or petrol tankers that often want to be on our side of the road but are coming towards us. It has to be the most comfortable (not) journey I have ever made. Getting off I say I’ve had the experience, do not intend to repeat it and it’s taxis for me from now on. Arriving at Jeypore the conductor kicks the door open early, just as we are going over a huge pothole. There is an enormous bang and the door is off. Once stopped he walks back for the door and throws it on the roof. Fix tomorrow he says with a grin. After buying more chewing gum, I think. We have arrived, for the huge sum of 5p, in many small pieces (us I mean, not the money coins), at Jeypore.

Koraput is a small market town with little choice. If you cannot see it they don’t have it and are unlikely to get it. But it is the regional centre, probably because it is cooler and the British decided it was more comfortable for them during the Raj. Jeypore is much bigger although most shops are along one very long road. But most things are gettable, with persistence. We find, by accident, some cheap battery operated strip lamps good for 4 hours after a full charge. H and I buy one each as the power goes off too regularly to rely on torches and candles. No more worries about power at night. We then find some pillows and hard foam seat pads. More joy, we can all sit reasonably comfortably now on our plastic seats. I have a spare pillow but one end is missing and it’s only a matter of time before I have tiny pieces of foam everywhere.

Time to eat. We find a small cafe/greasy spoon and eat. They have no tea in a country that grows the stuff and the service is anything but quick. But we are on a day off with nothing else to do so who cares. We buy bottled water after leaving. It rains. We put on a motley collection of rainwear. My poncho from Bali gets all the attention although I have seen transparent ones in use by some locals. Now we find knives, forks and spoons, more joy. By now we are on a high. We came as a trip with nothing in mind so it is looking good. Now small china cups are found and H is desperate for a tin opener. Using my many talents with sign language and an upturned steel mug to illustrate, the shopkeeper smiles and says sheet cutter. Of course I knew that all along, I’m only testing him. H is over the moon, that tin of baked beans or Spam (label is missing so it may well be dog food) from the UK can now be consumed. And then, the piece de resistance, A finds loo rolls. Here much hilarity as I say I will buy the lot. 17 rolls. Enough to last my time and I offer, at an enhanced but special rate, to sell some to the other two. H then buys some linen throws, A and I look at shirt materials but only because it’s raining again and it is a pain to put our water proofs on again. Rain stops, we decide shirts can wait and leave.

We find 2 white cars that suggest they might be taxis. A makes a phone call to a friend to check that the price is reasonable. It is. In the meantime we have been invited to see photos of tribals in the owner of the taxis small office. 2 pics catch our attention. One is of a group standing on their heads, reason unknown as his English runs out at this point, the other of a group ducking someone to waist, head down into a pool of water. Again, reason unknown but I say one of 2 things, either a baptism or somebody has done a very bad thing and this is their punishment. For some reason this seems to be understood so much laughter from the locals observing us.

Our journey back is more comfortable despite missing 2 or 3 petrol tankers who always seem to want our side of the road. As we pull in to Koraput my phone goes. More hilarity about the banana ring tone so along with my super shirt (I’m not allowed to wear it in the UK, to garish and gaudy, but I love it) they are both totally convinced I am some sort of nutter. But, if it keeps the prolls amused who am I to dissent. The shirt by the way, intrigued Jeypore locals who asked which shop I had bought it in. Rather than explain my daughter had (she loves me really), I told them a shop in Delhi. The taxi driver wants the name of the Delhi shop and promises that he will send the boys in. Not sure what he means by that. Back at the flat I say goodbye to landlord and family off on a short break and promise I will triple lock every time I go out. His relief was transparent when I told him that. Why, I wonder?