claresmyllie

[claresmyllie]

A flight to remember

I managed to bag some absolute bargain return flights to Kerala, India, with Saudi airlines. The only downside? 5 hours in Riyadh each way. Definitely doable. After I booked them my colleague who used to live in Saudi Arabia told me I was a fool to book with Saudi Airlines and that if I’d told him beforehand, he would’ve stopped me. In the coming months I was to learn the true meaning of his words. They cancelled my flight an excruciating three times and I spent what felt like half my life on the phone to Expedia booking new ones. I ended up with 8 hours in Riyadh on the journey there and a whopping 15 hours in Jeddah on the way back. And all spent in the airport, as it is virtually impossible to get a visa to leave it. Totally worth the couple of hundred quid saved, right? Well, minus the £55 spent on the airport lounge in Riyadh (I didn’t even bother with Jeddah – it’s expensive and has terrible reviews). And all my meals in Jeddah airport. And the Saudi appropriate loose trousers I bought. Oh, and the treats I bought myself at Heathrow airport to cheer myself up about the journey I was about to embark on. But hey, you can’t put a price on adventure.

Every time I visit Mansi (my friend who is basically the reason I first came to India all those years ago) she asks me to bring her latest craving which is hard to come by in India. This time it was 12 packets of pork scratchings. As I was packing them the night before, it suddenly occurred to me that this could well be a terrible idea. I Googled ‘pork’ and ‘Saudi Arabia’ and learned that it is illegal to bring pork into the country. I could be okay so long as I didn’t have to re-check in my luggage, but it was a risk. Everyone I messaged who has been to Saudi strongly advised against it. In the end I hid one bag in my luggage and hoped for the best.

I had yet another reason to stress when I was checking in and was informed by the lady at Saudi Airlines that the outfit (t-shirt and trousers) I had carefully curated for Riyadh airport was not appropriate. I shoved a jumper into my hand luggage and looked forward to facing the 40 degree heat in it.

So finally I was on the flight and off on my adventure. The journey just so happened to coincide with the England-Croatia world cup semi-final, but fortunately Saudi airlines provide free wi-fi, for whatsapp only, so my friends very kindly kept me updated on the score (and my plan to sleep through the flight to get straight onto Indian time went straight out the window). The only problem was finding someone to share the suspense with. I had spied three other English (well, white) people board the flight but didn’t know where they were sitting. In the end I settled for telling the lovely Yemanese guy sat next to me. He didn’t care. I updated him anyway. I think my absolute trauma at us losing was quite shocking for him.

Riyadh airport lounge was very pleasant – comfortable seats, nice food, aircon (was still bloody hot in my jumper). I pushed two chairs together and prepared for a nap, after chatting to the two charming Saudi women in the seats next to me, who had a flight to California in a few hours. I awoke to find the women had been replaced by a man who was staring unashamedly at me. I was soon to learn that people here were very curious about me, which I began to understand when I realized that, from what I could tell, I was the only white person in the airport. As I mentioned, it is next to impossible to get a tourist visa for Saudi due to their terrorist paranoia. Several people struck up conversations with me and asked many questions. I could see it in everyone’s eyes, “why are you here?” At least I didn’t get caught for the pork scratchings.

Unlike my first flight, the flight from Riyadh to Kochi was jam packed, as apparently Malayalees (the ethnic group of Kerala) make up a significant proportion of Saudi migrant workers. And suddenly I had arrived, 20 hours after setting off, Mansi beaming at me at the arrival gate. India I have missed you.

[claresmyllie]

I’m back!

Guess who’s back? Back again? Clare is back. Or rather Cla is back, as my Indian friends call me in gentle mockery of my accent. Apologies for abandoning my blog last time, I got busy. Busy and lazy. But upon returning to India for a few weeks for ex-housemate and good friend Rekha’s wedding, so much has happened that I couldn’t resist reviving this old friend. My urge to write was also influenced by the fact that I have gone back to being a visitor in this land. That which I had become accustomed to and did not consider worthy of commentary is once again strange and interesting. So follow me through my blog for this two week special as I return to observer status and once again try to make sense of this wonderful and chaotic country.

[claresmyllie]

Excellent, my new heater will last 5 years!

[claresmyllie]

Oh wait... #indianpackaging #lovetohateit

[claresmyllie]

Did you know I'm a little bit Indian?

Wednesday 29th October, 17.42

Last night I went to a bar and met three English guys. I could spot straight away that they were English because they were standing at the side of the dancefloor, beers in hand, bopping awkwardly along to the music. They laughed politely at my absolute glee that they fulfil every stereotype I've been trying to avoid about my country. A stereotype which I've come to learn I fulfil exactly.

The truth is, I'm painfully English. Or how Englishness is perceived in India. I'm extremely polite, I worry constantly about offending people and I will apologise for my very existence. I wouldn't say I'm timid, but assertiveness is definitely not my strong point. I would rather greet a problem with passive acceptance than cause a fuss. Are these things typically English? I don't know. But it definitely stands me apart in many ways from Indian culture, which is a bit less fluffy and a lot more no-nonsense. In fact, I spent the first couple of months here battling with insecurities from living in a culture where you are not constantly reassured with gratefulness and sympathy. 

Yet there are large parts of Indian culture which I feel really suit me. The sociability. The hospitality. The 'more the merrier' mentality. The emphasis Indians place on family. Mansi's parents and grandparents will often tell me that I have a bit of Indian in me and it makes me as happy as if they had just told me I'm the most amazing person they've ever met. Every time I'm at Mansi's house I try to prove how Indian I am. I eat with my hands (a South Indian tradition). I choose the spiciest foods (hiding the tears in my eyes). I wear a saree (trying not to trip). I think I have them fooled so far.

Seeing those boys at the bar last night reminded me how much I miss hanging around with English people. I can count on one hand the number of English people I've met here (everyone at my work tends to be French or Belgian). It was familiar and comforting. Yet at the same time, I found it a little disconcerting. Being English in Delhi is my thing. It's become part of my identity, as the token English person who everyone makes fun of for my English ways. It's my very Englishness which sets me apart. So yes, Delhi is making me a little more Indian. But it is also making me that little bit more English.

[claresmyllie]

Happy Diwali everyone! #delhicrew #giantclare #whitegirlinasaree

[claresmyllie]

Look! We're at the Taj Mahal!

[claresmyllie]

The Biggest Attraction in India

Wednesday 1st October, 20.31

They say you go travelling to find yourself. Well this week, while travelling with two friends, I found myself. And in case you were wondering, I'm a pretty big deal. We saw some truly breathtaking sites: the Taj Mahal, Agra Fort, Fatehpur Sikhri and Amer Fort in Jaipur. But what I came to realise, from the stares, the sneaky picture-taking and those posing next to us, was that WE were the biggest tourist attraction. The Taj Mahal was built over the course of 20 years in one of the most romantic gestures in history. Fatehpur Sikri is one of the best preserved collections of Indian Mughal architecture in India. Amer Fort is a maze of beautiful rooms lived in by the Rajput Maharajas and their families. But forget all that, I'm tall and blonde and pose slightly awkwardly. Come queue, come take your pictures, come gaze upon my splendour. I'm the best damn thing that your eyes have ever seen.

[claresmyllie]

A City of Contrasts

Friday 19th September, 20.25

Delhi is a city of contrasts. It's something I had already clarified when Mansi talked about it before I arrived. She would always say something positive about Delhi and immediately follow with something negative. In the month and a half I've been here I've already developed a love/ hate relationship with the place. I've never lived somewhere that ignites in me such strong, conflicting feelings of frustration and fondness. On a daily basis. Here are a few things I love and hate so far:

Journeys

Every time I leave the cool calm sanctuary of my house/ work I have to take a deep breath and prepare myself for the sticky deafening chaos that awaits me as soon as I step out. It's always a constant struggle to get an Auto and then to convince the Auto driver that I'm not a complete idiot and no, I will not be paying three times the amount I should be. And don't even get me started on the traffic. Not only do you have to face the frustrations of sitting in an unmoving vehicle while every surrounding car honks pointlessly; there is also the suffocation of inhaling the entire exhaust pipe of the bus next to you. I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to get a new pair of lungs when I get back to England.

Yet I enjoy these journeys. By the time I have battled in the mugginess to get in an Auto for a good price I am pretty hot and bothered. Then as soon as the Auto starts the wind will hit me (when there isn't traffic) and I feel like I'm escaping my hot grumpy self. And despite the damage it does to my lungs, I enjoy sitting out in the open rather than barricading myself into an air-conditioned car. It allows you to truly absorb the atmosphere. I have a certain fondness for the chaos I observe during that half hour journey. Cars with 'no honking' written on them being honked at. A monkey stealing someone's stuff. A woman breast-feeding her child on the back of a motorbike. An elephant walking casually by. The other day I saw a cow waiting patiently at a zebra crossing and when the green man came it crossed! Seriously. The things you see in Delhi.

The Auto Drivers

I feel that (as well as a blog post) these drivers deserve a section of their own. They're the bane of my life. They always try and rip you off. They drive like crazy. And they don't take it easy on the bumps (my poor bum). Yet sometimes I meet an absolute legend who won't try and rip me off and may even chat away to me if he speaks English. And I feel like we go through this stressful chaotic experience together, as I direct him through the less-gridlocked roads on my Google Maps. Sometimes when we finally arrive, both drenched in sweat, I feel like high-fiving him. Also I feel like there's a huge part of Delhi that I'm ignoring, being white and privileged and working at the EU. The Auto Drivers seem to be my only link to that world. And I'm grateful to them for keeping me grounded (and improving my negotiation skills).

The food

Oh yeah, I've already told you several times about my love/hate relationship with the food here. Why am I so obsessed?? (but seriously, I've gotten pretty damn good with spicy food. So painfully tasty.)

Censorship

I know this is definitely a first world problem but I really would like to watch an episode of Sex and the City where half the episode isn't blocked out. Yes yes I am aware of the fact that I'm in a country where modernity and tradition are at a deadlock (another reason to feel guilty about my origins). But do they really need to censor 'breast' in 'breast implant'?? On the other hand it's hilarious to take note of the censors. Like the fact that they censor 'cow' in Master Chef but not 'beef'. And when they made 'go to hell!' 'go to Halifax!' in the subtitles.

So yeah, for many reasons this city is a frustrating, deafening, sticky mess. And yet for so many other reasons it is a hilarious, colourful, delicious phenomenon. I love it and I hate it. I can't stand it and I adore it.

[claresmyllie]

Sightseeing in the Rain

Monday 8th September, 23.23

The weather has been great since I got here. And by great I mean hot. Great for English people. An Indian person's worst nightmare (stereotyping of course). Which is probably why, as all my friends here are Indian, I've spent my days hopping from air-conditioned venue to air-conditioned venue. It was only when two English girls visited last weekend that it occurred to me that you can go outside in this heat. My first reaction was "you want to walk around outside in this weather? Seriously??" What has India turned me into? The old me would be outside in my summer dress and sunglasses the very instant a ray of sunshine managed to escape a cloud in London. So determined to prove I haven't changed, I planned to do lots of outdoorsy sightseeing with my English friends. I might even finally get a tan!

And that's when it started raining.

And I don't mean cute drops of rain that are at worst a little irritating. I mean dense, violent, relentless rain. This was my first experience of monsoon rain and it came like a big sloppy slap in the face. And of course, none of us had an umbrella. That would be far too sensible during monsoon season.

Siobhan wades through the sites

The day was a wet whirlwind. Dashing between car and each site, grateful for the sporadic bits of shelter. I wish I could tell you about all the amazing places we visited. But to be honest, in the end it became a case of ticking off a checklist. President's House. Out the car. Quick picture. Back in. India Gate. Out the car. Quick picture. Back in. Humayan's Tomb. Out the car. An hour of being drenched. Back in. I think you get the idea. Our clothes went see-through, our money was soggy, my phone started to break. And it was hilarious! We gave up attempting to protect ourselves from this ferocious downpour and laughed over the fact that this was a sightseeing experience none of us will ever forget. I was pretty bloody happy when it stopped mind you.

When we got back that evening my flatmates were ecstatic at the good weather. I guess India hasn't changed me as much as I thought it had. Next time it's sunny I'm going for a walk.

[claresmyllie]

Tall White Girl Here

Saturday 30th August, 20.51

I may have mentioned that I get an Auto to and from work every day. Each journey has proven to be quite the adventure, but I am often frustrated by my inability to communicate with the majority of drivers. If I was given the opportunity to write a letter to each Auto driver, here is a sample of what I'd say.

Dear Mr Auto Driver,

Tall white girl here. I know you originally wanted 80 rupees but I used my best haggling skills and we finally agreed on 60 rupees. I was proud of that haggle, as you were pretty difficult to negotiate with and I even had to fake walk away. So you can imagine my surprise when we got there and I only had a 100 and you insisted on only giving me 20 change. Well played Auto Driver. Well played.

Dear Mr Auto Driver,

Tall white girl here. You really need to get your Auto looked at. Your engine was so hot it cooked my bag. And remember that point when we were in the middle of a main road with cars screaming past and you had to get out and push-start it? Not very reassuring.

Dear Mr Auto Driver,

Tall white girl here. Wasn't it hilarious when you tried to charge 80 rupees and I insisted on 50 and then we finally compromised by using the metre and it came to 50? Ha! I would've gloated but I'm far too English and polite.

Dear Mr Auto Driver,

Tall white girl here. I enjoyed our conversation today. You have good English. I would like to reiterate, though, that Nigerian people do not eat people. I don't know where you got that impression. They also don't smell. I have Nigerian friends who are neither smelly nor do they have a taste for human flesh. Yes, I do have Nigerian friends. It's really not that weird.

Dear Mr Auto Driver,

Tall white girl here. Thank you for insisting on dropping me at the main road, which FYI is a 10 minute walk from my house. On the walk home I discovered a line of shops which I had no idea existed right round the corner from where I live. So, in case you read it wrong, that 'thank you' is not sarcastic. I now have somewhere to go to that's within walking distance of my house, which is pretty rare.

Dear Mr Auto Driver,

Tall white girl here. When you're slurring your words, driving like a maniac and your entire Auto smells like alcohol, you probably shouldn't be driving. I didn't appreciate it when you refused to stop and let me out. I really had no option but to run away when you were stopped at that traffic light. And coming to the next Auto and demanding money from me was uncalled for.

Dear Mr Auto Driver,

Tall white girl here. Thank you for telling the drunk Auto Driver to go away when he came over demanding money. You had my back.

Dear Mr Auto Driver,

Tall white girl here. You are awesome. I was kind of nervous about arriving at a house I didn't know in the dark, especially when we couldn't find the damn place! But you stuck with me without complaining, even though it took us 15 minutes in the end (Delhi numbering system - bah). And you didn't even charge me extra.

I sometimes wonder what the Auto drivers think of me, this tall white girl who is desperate not to be treated like a tourist. I'm going to take Hindi lessons soon so hopefully at some stage I'll be able to communicate with them. This will really open up my Auto experiences and I'll finally be able to express some of these thoughts. But for now I guess I'll just have to vent it through letters I will never send.

[claresmyllie]

Castles, Camels and Contrasts

Friday 22nd August, 17.06

A few posts back I promised you castles and camels. So castles and camels I will now give you. Let me tell you about my trip to Rajasthan on the first weekend I was here. It was Mansi’s friend’s birthday you see. Who happens to be a Rajasthani prince. So to say it was not your standard birthday party would be an understatement.

The journey began in the early hours of Saturday morning. The night before, my first experience of Delhi nightlife, had taught me three things:

It's perfectly normal to have a club in a hotel

I'm a lightweight in Delhi - I blame the humidity

After-parties are a must

The combination of these factors made our early start extremely painful. Not to worry, I can sleep in the car right? Er… with difficulty! The car was a city taxi. It definitely was not made for the bumpy terrain that stretched a good portion of the route. I still have a bump on my head from the number of times I whacked the window while attempting to sleep.

The journey was an interesting one. It was my first glimpse of India outside of Delhi. We passed endless lush fields with camels and peacocks roaming free. Then ten minutes later we would be passing land which was completely sparse and abandoned. I was also surprised at the number of cows we saw casually strolling through villages and across the road. At one point we saw a whole herd of bulls walking along the road!

One other thing that struck me was the beautiful clothes of the villagers we passed. This was the first experience I had had of rural poverty in India and I guess I assumed it would be similar to Malawi, where you would never see villagers in nice clothes. In my experience (with fear of stereotyping) Malawian villagers wear the same clothes day in and day out and they will often have turned to rags. I discussed this with Mansi and she explained that material here is very cheap and easy to come by. I feel guilty for assuming poverty in India looks the same as poverty in East Africa. One of the many presumptions I have had falsified in the last two weeks.

Seven hours later and we had arrived and were in a castle. Wait, what? The hotel we were staying in was a castle! I don’t think I’ve ever stayed anywhere so extravagant. The path to our room was a maze of marble staircases and grand cobbled halls with beautiful gold ornaments. Dressed in a maxi, I had to stop myself from curtsying to every person we passed. I felt like it was the Tudor times and Henry VIII had summoned me to his chamber to play the harp while he consumed an entire pig (yes yes, wrong country but I don't know my Indian history well enough ok? Also I'm worried about my inferiority complex whereby I'm not even an important character in my own fantasy). It was difficult to believe that just ten minutes ago we'd been driving through a poverty-stricken village with children leaning over each other to catch a glimpse of this white face in a city car.

The surreal fantasy world we had entered did not stop there. After a quick nap in our equally grand room, we headed over to the party. It was a party fit for a prince. He had hired out the entire hotel and arranged unlimited food and drink, camel rides and a dj. Amongst the guests were Congress politicians, Bollywood actresses and people with a lot of family money. It was very interesting to gain some insight into the lives of the elites. They were nowhere near as friendly as Mansi’s friends (she also didn’t know anyone other than the birthday boy, who was lovely), but we soon found like-minded people and had an incredible day and evening.

And the camel ride? Terrifying! The scariest part is getting on. The camel kneels down and you jump on. And then he gets up two legs at a time. Which means first of all your entire body is vertically back, and then vertically forward. Me and Mansi shared a camel (scroll down for photos) and clung to each other for dear life. Riding a camel is a lot wobblier than riding a horse. You will get flung from side to side as he clip clops along. I watched with envy these two girls who rode the camel before us. For them it was natural; they didn't even hold on! "Just feel the camel!" they yelled to us. Yeah, sure. My interpretation of that was to cling onto the saddle until my knuckles went white. It was definitely an experience which I almost enjoyed.

The party finished late, which meant that the next day we were once again in restless hell in a jolty car. More head bumps. More cows. More dressed-up poverty. More questioning why it is that every time I think I understand what I'm seeing I have that interpretation ripped up, tossed out the window and fed to the cows. Why are there so many goddamn cows everywhere? When we got back to the flat that evening it was the first time it truly felt like home. Castles are great and all, but nothing beats lying in bed with your flatmates with strawberry straws and silly stories.

[claresmyllie]

Happy Independence Day!

Friday 15th August, 16.15

Happy Independence Day! I'm happy because we have a day off. I had the first lie-in I've had since being here. It was delicious. I'm also happy because Modi's speech displayed a surprisingly positive attitude towards women and women's rights:

“Young girls are always asked so many questions by their parents, such as ‘where are you going’. But do parents dare to ask their sons where they are going?”

Part of my role at the Delegation is to provide daily and weekly news briefs. It is scary how many reported rapes there are on a daily basis. This is despite the fact that a woman who is raped is viewed extremely unfavourably in many parts of Indian culture, so these reports are just a fraction of what actually goes on. Rape destroys a woman's life while very few men are convicted. Women who do report an incident have to fight to be heard. It doesn't help that every case is treated with suspicion by many public figures. Political party Shiv Sena recently branded rape accusations as "fashionable". So for the Prime Minister of India to stand up and portray this attitude is, in my opinion, a huge step forward. Whatever his motives, he makes an argument which needs to be listened to.

I hope you've all enjoyed India's Independence Day. It's a little awkward being here today for obvious reasons. Last night we went for stand-up comedy and the comedian spent a good 20 minutes making fun of the English in honour of Independence Day. My friends found it hilarious and kept pointing to me, as the token English person perhaps in the whole bar. After midnight Mansi tried to ceremonially chuck me out the room. It's ok though, as I keep telling everyone, my Mum is Irish. So half my ancestors were also oppressed by the English. It's nice to fit in.

[claresmyllie]

Look! We're on a camel!

[claresmyllie]

Variety is the spice of life

Thursday 14th August, 19.15

Something very exciting happened to me last night at Mansi's house. It was her birthday (Happy Birthday Mansi!) and I joined her and her family for a spot of dinner. The food laid on the table was a mesh of colours and flavours. The smells which filled the room brought saliva into my mouth and fear into my heart. I knew there was going to be a lot of spiciness in this meal. Sorry tongue. Armed with yogurt and rice, I dug in.

And I discovered a new flavour! Tanginess! This is a flavour I'd previously only experienced in tropical flavour Hubba Bubba when I was a kid. I was blissfully unaware of the fact that you could add it to a main course and that doing so is a very very good idea. I found this flavour in the prawn curry, one of the spiciest dishes on the table. My eyes were watering and the roof of my mouth was screaming for me to stop but I just kept taking more and more. It was addictive. It's the first time I've truly enjoyed a dish despite the heat. In fact, I would go as far to say that it was the heat that made it. The tingling it created gave a seductive texture to the dish.

The hammer and nail are out and I am gradually chiseling away at the wall of spice. My only fear is that I'll come back to England and be one of those people who has to carry a little bottle of chilli sauce with me everywhere I go.

[claresmyllie]

Altered Perceptions

Sunday 10th August, 22.15

Now that I’ve been here a few days, I have discovered that several of my first impressions turned out to be not-so-true:

That it’s hot. Right now it’s about 30°C (feels hotter due to the humidity). A couple of weeks ago it was 50°C. People couldn’t even do anything due to the heat. Okay, I’ll quit complaining now. (I actually spend quite a lot of the time feeling cold as everywhere is air conditioned, a temperature I am ill-equipped for).

That the food I ate at the beginning was spicy. It wasn’t. It was Mansi and her Dad’s way of weaning me slowly onto the spice. Shame, as I’ve been so proud of my ability to eat – and even enjoy – this food. For lunch today I had an Aloo Paratha (a potato pancake) filled with chilli powder and I felt like my face was going to explode. Finding food that isn’t spicy is actually a really big challenge. Spicy pancakes for breakfast. Spicy baked beans. Spicy salad. Okay okay, I’m probably not the best judge of spice as I go to Nandos and have the lemon and herb chicken and find that too spicy. I have every faith that I will get past this obstacle. I haven’t (touching my wooden bedside table) gotten Delhi belly so far so I’m thinking my body is a fan of spicy food. Now I just need to convince my tongue.

Pollution! Yes yes, as everyone says, Delhi is very polluted. I brought my own pollution-survival kit, complete with inhalers and eye drops. What I wasn’t prepared for was noise pollution. DELHI IS SO NOISY! It is an unspoken rule that if you’re driving in Delhi you must have road rage and you must honk your horn at every single vehicle you pass. You’re sitting in an unmoving traffic jam, how is honking your horn every 5 seconds going to make it move?? And while we’re on the topic, Mansi’s dad really wasn’t joking about traffic lights being only for decoration. There really are no road rules (apart from the honking one). The lines on the road are ignored as cars, rickshaws and motorbikes weave through traffic any place they can fit, charging right across moving traffic without even indicating. I fear for my life every Auto I take to and from work. Although surprisingly there are very few fatal road-related accidents in Delhi. The drivers are just extremely skilled at making up their own rules.

Where was I? Oh yes, altered perceptions. Navigation! I assumed that once my Indian SIM card was installed and I could use Google Maps that my days of being constantly lost were over. I was wrong. My address does not exist on Google Maps. Because I moved house and am now adjusting to a new area, every day so far it’s been a gamble whether I’ll make it home at all.

That I would get a full night’s sleep ever. After sleeping loads on the first day, I haven’t stopped since. With starting my internship, moving house and following Mansi’s beautifully planned social calendar, I have become quite the fan of napping. It’s probably not helping me get over this jetlag. My body clock is in a tangled web of confusion. And I've enjoyed every second.

Next blog I’ll tell you about these events which have been disrupting my sleep. Stay tuned for camel riding, castles and red velvet cupcakes (each of equal weighting in importance of course).

[claresmyllie]

Look I'm in an Auto!