For years I have joked about certain African states being anything but honest. That also applies to some Asian states. Now as the years have gone by I am almost embarrassed to admit to being British. Why, just think about our state, 'oven ready', no, 'world class leaders' no, 40 new hospitals (where?) and so and and so forth. Over to you.
Monday, 24 July 2023
Wednesday, 18 January 2023
Tuesday, 13 December 2022
World update
So, here I am again, still alive and kicking (not so much kicking as stumbling through life). Covid has now gone, the country is in a mess, so much so I am inclined to call it a modern Banana Republic with apologies to those who live in one elsewhere in the world. Plans to revisit New Zealand are in tatters for reasons that will remain hidden and although the snow has gone the temperature here is close to zero C. Happy days eh?
Be in touch any year soon.
Saturday, 7 September 2013
Monday, 26 March 2012
Boring update
For those poor souls sent here via Jakes blog I figured I ought to write something somewhat younger than 2009. So here it is.
More later, maybe.
More later, maybe.
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Last words
My time here is drawing to an end. My replacement is an American from Pittsburg and is accompanied by his wife based in the same office but as a communications expert. We spend my last four days here together providing enough time for me to hand over my work and ease them into what initially is an alien environment. I have worked in various places, countries and worked in small and giant corporations. Never before have I had the opportunity to conduct a handover. Normally, I leave, the new person starts sometime later and for a few months they can bask in the glory of blaming it all onto me.
The downside is that they are taking over my flat which means I have to at least make a token effort of cleaning the slum up. Sorry, did I say slum, I really meant lower floor penthouse with all mod cons except hot water, roaches the size of large cats, dogs howling day and night, cows doing their business right where you step outside Fort Knox (good job the flip flops are plastic and scrub up really well after a night soaking in acid) and all the other comforts of modern day living. Reminder to self, really must find a good nail brush to remove the cow stuff from my toenails. On the other hand the dogs will miss a meal so don’t bother, they will lick it off.
I depart Koraput for Delhi on Saturday, starting with a four hour taxi ride to the nearest railway station where I can catch a train that will guarantee me reaching Bubanashwar in time for my connecting train to Delhi. Eight hours to Bubanashwar, a seven and a half hour wait for the Delhi train and then a minimum 36 hour ride to Delhi, assuming no time is lost on the 1500 mile journey. Dump my bags in the Delhi office and immediately set off for Faridabad, on the outskirts of the city, where I attend a two day conference, just to fill in my unexciting days before I catch the flight on Saturday to London. Unfortunately I still have two days to fill before that flight so I am considering paying a flying visit to Agra to look at the Taj Mahal. By then my ancient bones will be protesting loudly I feel, but the upside is that it will guarantee being able to sleep on the red eye to London. Hopefully three generations will be there to pick up my creaking shell of a human being. Nearest and dearest, our youngest daughter and her son. Being Sunday morning there shouldn’t be much traffic and the final leg under two hours to home. A brief stay over Christmas and then off to Aussie and New Zealand for a few months to visit family and friends. By the time we return I will officially be an OLD AGE PENSIONER. So anyone out there thinking they are too old to do something, consider the above paragraph. For companies that are looking for crafty ways to get rid that old dodderer think again. There is life in the old dog yet. Or in this one anyway.
As always, I have met, socialised, and worked with, some good people. Most are sincere in their wish to do whatever it is that they do to the best of their abilities. Also, as always, there are the hangers on who are on a personal ego trip. I first visited India in the mid sixties. Nuclear power was restricted to a few nations, mobile phones existed in the form of bricks that required handcarts to make them mobile and my first computer occupied the space a family of six could comfortable live in, complete with double garage and swimming pool. India today has more mobiles than any other country in the world and is on the verge of being able to put a man in space. But, power fails depressingly often, women still pump and carry water by hand, children die from malnutrition, it is home to some of the world’s richest men. Nothing has changed since the 60’s. Priorities!
Before I wrap up I must mention the banana lady. You know who you are. Thanks for all the free meals during my short stay (the beer was also very welcome) but being in the centre of a small civil war whilst the street vendors fought over your banana custom is to be regretted. Thanks, good luck and enjoy the rest of your penance in Koraput. I’m sure that whatever your sins are that placed you here are long since forgiven. (Not sure about the banana sellers, one of then looked daggers at you the last time you bought some).
Three years ago I started this series of unimportant and often pointless ramblings. I think I have maintained my original policy statement of no opinions (see above), no rude words (**** to that), no rants (see above). I sign off, have no intention of repeating myself (on pain of nasty things happening to me as my nearest and dearest will tell you) so goodbye, good luck, and be careful out there. It is a dangerous world. Or so they tell me.
The downside is that they are taking over my flat which means I have to at least make a token effort of cleaning the slum up. Sorry, did I say slum, I really meant lower floor penthouse with all mod cons except hot water, roaches the size of large cats, dogs howling day and night, cows doing their business right where you step outside Fort Knox (good job the flip flops are plastic and scrub up really well after a night soaking in acid) and all the other comforts of modern day living. Reminder to self, really must find a good nail brush to remove the cow stuff from my toenails. On the other hand the dogs will miss a meal so don’t bother, they will lick it off.
I depart Koraput for Delhi on Saturday, starting with a four hour taxi ride to the nearest railway station where I can catch a train that will guarantee me reaching Bubanashwar in time for my connecting train to Delhi. Eight hours to Bubanashwar, a seven and a half hour wait for the Delhi train and then a minimum 36 hour ride to Delhi, assuming no time is lost on the 1500 mile journey. Dump my bags in the Delhi office and immediately set off for Faridabad, on the outskirts of the city, where I attend a two day conference, just to fill in my unexciting days before I catch the flight on Saturday to London. Unfortunately I still have two days to fill before that flight so I am considering paying a flying visit to Agra to look at the Taj Mahal. By then my ancient bones will be protesting loudly I feel, but the upside is that it will guarantee being able to sleep on the red eye to London. Hopefully three generations will be there to pick up my creaking shell of a human being. Nearest and dearest, our youngest daughter and her son. Being Sunday morning there shouldn’t be much traffic and the final leg under two hours to home. A brief stay over Christmas and then off to Aussie and New Zealand for a few months to visit family and friends. By the time we return I will officially be an OLD AGE PENSIONER. So anyone out there thinking they are too old to do something, consider the above paragraph. For companies that are looking for crafty ways to get rid that old dodderer think again. There is life in the old dog yet. Or in this one anyway.
As always, I have met, socialised, and worked with, some good people. Most are sincere in their wish to do whatever it is that they do to the best of their abilities. Also, as always, there are the hangers on who are on a personal ego trip. I first visited India in the mid sixties. Nuclear power was restricted to a few nations, mobile phones existed in the form of bricks that required handcarts to make them mobile and my first computer occupied the space a family of six could comfortable live in, complete with double garage and swimming pool. India today has more mobiles than any other country in the world and is on the verge of being able to put a man in space. But, power fails depressingly often, women still pump and carry water by hand, children die from malnutrition, it is home to some of the world’s richest men. Nothing has changed since the 60’s. Priorities!
Before I wrap up I must mention the banana lady. You know who you are. Thanks for all the free meals during my short stay (the beer was also very welcome) but being in the centre of a small civil war whilst the street vendors fought over your banana custom is to be regretted. Thanks, good luck and enjoy the rest of your penance in Koraput. I’m sure that whatever your sins are that placed you here are long since forgiven. (Not sure about the banana sellers, one of then looked daggers at you the last time you bought some).
Three years ago I started this series of unimportant and often pointless ramblings. I think I have maintained my original policy statement of no opinions (see above), no rude words (**** to that), no rants (see above). I sign off, have no intention of repeating myself (on pain of nasty things happening to me as my nearest and dearest will tell you) so goodbye, good luck, and be careful out there. It is a dangerous world. Or so they tell me.
Friday, 20 November 2009
Culture gap
Talking on the phone in my place is like being inside a Faraday cage and I tend to say yes and no in what I think are the right places as attempting to explain the line is breaking up only makes matters worse. I live under 3 high tension power cables, the house seems to have more steel than concrete so any phone call is fraught with problems. This assumes of course that the phone system is working, that the network is not busy, the line is not engaged and the phone battery is not about to die. With all these potential traps, any call seems like a minor miracle.
S had phoned the previous evening to invite me to visit his home and have lunch. Next morning I waited for him to arrive. Unusually he turned up 20 minutes early instead of hours late. Is H coming to my home as well he asked. Consternation as I had just left H and not invited her. Somewhere in the previous nights call that piece of information/invitation had gone missing. Doubting that H had actually gone anywhere in the 5 minutes since I had left her, I called. Faraday had gone AWOL and all 2009 telephonic systems were go. She would be pleased to have lunch and would be there in a few minutes.
Now assembled I asked S how we were to get to his place. I had been there once before on a fleeting visit and knew it was not far but lunch would be cold if we walked there. I will take you both on my bike he replied. H and I looked at each other. Locals often travel five in line on motorbikes (Indian fashion) but somehow we doubted that our sponsor would be very happy with that arrangement. One at a time he quickly explained having insight to our expressions. H goes first as I had to lock up and locking up my place is no quick and easy task. As I completed Fort Knoxing, S returned and the final piece of the plan fell into place.
S lives on the outskirts of Koraput, just off the main highway through Orissa and up a dirt and stone track. At the end of the dirt track are loose and very sharp stones and the odd, inevitable, cow. The choice is clear, hit the cow or leave the track and venture onto the track verge. Fortunately it has not rained here for a few weeks so mud was not on offer so leaving and re-entering the main track presented no difficulties. The house is on three floors and owned by a member of the judiciary who only lives there during the weekend. He works 120km distant. In India, that is too far for a daily commute.
We are introduced to S’s father (a title of respect rather than fact, his biological father had expired 17 years earlier), his brother and, later, the house owner. Brother cooks the meal and we eat, sitting around the bed. H is brave and determined to obey local customs and eats, messily, with her hand. I, on the other hand am a declared prol and request a spoon. Not taking offence, or at least I observe none, S brings a spoon. Adjourning after a fine meal of chicken curry and vegetables to the balcony we sit and exchange pleasantries about our respective cultures.
The topic of formal greetings comes up. It is common practice that locals greet with two hands in a prayer position towards the face and a slight bow. Handshakes you already know about. Thus, when the two cultures meet, each attempts to respect the others culture by using the greeting of the other. This of course leads to confusion. One attempts to shake hands whilst the other has both hands raised towards their face. I suggest a compromise. Each raises a single hand to the face and the other hand extends to the handshake position. This, the owner finds highly amusing.
As the afternoon wears on we make moves to leave as it grows dark very quickly, also chilly, and we do not want to walk back with giant trucks missing us by millimetres as they drive by, minus any lights. We had agreed earlier with S that we would walk back and so see more of the area. We put our footwear on (shoes would a step too far and flip flops would insult the excellent local equivalent). We start to take our leave with the formal greeting/leaving gestures. The owner offers one hand whilst raising the other in a one handed prayer. We laugh, he has adopted my idea and I think the culture gap has been closed.
S had phoned the previous evening to invite me to visit his home and have lunch. Next morning I waited for him to arrive. Unusually he turned up 20 minutes early instead of hours late. Is H coming to my home as well he asked. Consternation as I had just left H and not invited her. Somewhere in the previous nights call that piece of information/invitation had gone missing. Doubting that H had actually gone anywhere in the 5 minutes since I had left her, I called. Faraday had gone AWOL and all 2009 telephonic systems were go. She would be pleased to have lunch and would be there in a few minutes.
Now assembled I asked S how we were to get to his place. I had been there once before on a fleeting visit and knew it was not far but lunch would be cold if we walked there. I will take you both on my bike he replied. H and I looked at each other. Locals often travel five in line on motorbikes (Indian fashion) but somehow we doubted that our sponsor would be very happy with that arrangement. One at a time he quickly explained having insight to our expressions. H goes first as I had to lock up and locking up my place is no quick and easy task. As I completed Fort Knoxing, S returned and the final piece of the plan fell into place.
S lives on the outskirts of Koraput, just off the main highway through Orissa and up a dirt and stone track. At the end of the dirt track are loose and very sharp stones and the odd, inevitable, cow. The choice is clear, hit the cow or leave the track and venture onto the track verge. Fortunately it has not rained here for a few weeks so mud was not on offer so leaving and re-entering the main track presented no difficulties. The house is on three floors and owned by a member of the judiciary who only lives there during the weekend. He works 120km distant. In India, that is too far for a daily commute.
We are introduced to S’s father (a title of respect rather than fact, his biological father had expired 17 years earlier), his brother and, later, the house owner. Brother cooks the meal and we eat, sitting around the bed. H is brave and determined to obey local customs and eats, messily, with her hand. I, on the other hand am a declared prol and request a spoon. Not taking offence, or at least I observe none, S brings a spoon. Adjourning after a fine meal of chicken curry and vegetables to the balcony we sit and exchange pleasantries about our respective cultures.
The topic of formal greetings comes up. It is common practice that locals greet with two hands in a prayer position towards the face and a slight bow. Handshakes you already know about. Thus, when the two cultures meet, each attempts to respect the others culture by using the greeting of the other. This of course leads to confusion. One attempts to shake hands whilst the other has both hands raised towards their face. I suggest a compromise. Each raises a single hand to the face and the other hand extends to the handshake position. This, the owner finds highly amusing.
As the afternoon wears on we make moves to leave as it grows dark very quickly, also chilly, and we do not want to walk back with giant trucks missing us by millimetres as they drive by, minus any lights. We had agreed earlier with S that we would walk back and so see more of the area. We put our footwear on (shoes would a step too far and flip flops would insult the excellent local equivalent). We start to take our leave with the formal greeting/leaving gestures. The owner offers one hand whilst raising the other in a one handed prayer. We laugh, he has adopted my idea and I think the culture gap has been closed.
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