Ruth Carr

A bit of Bolly

This week I went to my first Bollywood film - Om Shanti Om.  And I loved every minute of it, every one of the 180 minutes of it.

It was in Hindi, and there weren't any subtitles, but it was ok because the main language of the film was cliche.  There was love, laughter, murder, reincarnation and revenge, all with singing, dancing and serial costume changes. 

Apparently it's a send up of the genre and crammed full of in-jokes, obviously this went over our heads completely.  But I can say that we sang all the way home in the rick.  I've bought the cd and if I could find a t-shirt I'd buy that too. 

For balance I have to say that two work colleagues hated it - and wished they could have that 3 hours of their life back.  And I do wonder whether you will appreciate if you're sitting in a cold and wintry London.

If you fancy trying it out then this is the link, go to http://www.omshantiomfilm.com/ , then media, promotions and "dewaangi".  If you're doing this at work you may want to put on headphones first to avoid drawing attention to yourself.  Come on everybody "put your hands in the air and sing Om Shanti Om".

Green Grocer

Shopping at home was starting to become an angst ridden affair for a veggie, eco-warrior type like me.  The aspiration to eat organic, fair trade, local and seasonal had become requisite.  But the ability to tick all boxes proved difficult and that leaves you with the juggling act.  Is it better to buy fair trade from Africa or organic from Spain?  It's ideal to go to the farmers market but does this justify the 20 minute car ride each way to get there?  Then what about size of Tesco threatening competition, but it's only a 3 minute walk away? These are rhetorical questions - if you send me the answers my head might explode.

Here it's a bit more straightforward.  There are lots of stalls selling vegetables on your doorstep and you just pick the one you like the look of.  The vegetables probably tot up cart miles not air miles, the seasonal seems to be a given (not very familiar with crop rotation in India but it would seem likely) and I guess fair trade is as good as the local market economy would allow.  Organic is a bit trickier (well the answer would be yes but they probably wouldn't have understood the question).  I did buy a carton of eggs with "ORGANIC" written in big, green letters.  I only noticed the "like" placed in front in small, white letters when I got them home.  I wonder what type of egg is "like organic" - again rhetorical question only.

There is of course the headache of haggling and still knowing that you'll be paying more than the locals.  It's a refreshing change from the shrink wrapped, bar coded and uniform sized world of the local supermarket.

Here to work

I've been here for a month now and I haven't mentioned Human Rights Law Network (HRLN) in my blog yet.  I wondered if it would be a little indiscreet to talk about one client in front of my others.  But having said that I have come here to work and it's always interesting to find out what goes on in other organisations, never mind other countries.

On one level HRLN is just the same as any other client; maybe a little hotter and dustier.  The truth is that all organisations have some things that make them brilliant and other things that fall short of the mark.

The wonderful thing about HRLN is the sense of purpose.  I've heard a lot of people say that they are passionate about their work, but defending human rights is something that is really worth getting passionate about.  They are a young, energetic and visionary group of people.  Colin, the founder, is a driven and charismatic leader who makes things happen and inspires others to do the same.  There are 60 or so people based here in Delhi, and another 24 offices around the country.

The volume and range of issues that they pursue is phenomenal - defending the rights of women, children, the disabled, people living with HIV/Aids, "untouchables", etc, etc. It just makes you feel good knowing that there are people like this in the world.

And as for the things that could be improved upon, well maybe I'll leave that for another day.  I could well be asking for some support and suggestions (in particular can I put anyone who knows about servers and things IT on notice - I may well have a question or two for you soon...)!

Happy Diwali!

Well it was Friday really, but I had to experience it to be able to tell you about it.  The week leading up to Diwali was very much a spendfest.  I was told that Wednesday was the most auspicious day to buy an electric juicer and felt that somehow the mystery of the festival was being lost on me.  The roads were in gridlock and the air of anticipation was palpable in the markets, shops and offices.

The day itself was relatively calm but by the evening the festival of light came into it's own.  Everything was lit up with fairy lights, lanterns or candles, even the smallest roadside stall was bathed in the flicker of candlelight.  And it all looked really beautiful.

Then the fireworks started for real.  The local kids have been throwing firecrackers at each other for a while now but nothing prepares you for the mayhem of several million private firework displays going on in the streets around you.  The firework code here is "the more the merrier, the louder the better".  It was an onslaught to all senses, deafening, blinding, you could smell, feel and taste the gunpowder in the air.  It was absolutely brilliant. 

Of course all the menfolk got all caveman and got drawn to the fire in the same way as they are drawn to bar-b-ques.  The following day a good game is to count how many people you can see with bandaged hands.

It's a busy night for the local fire brigade, although when we left our party in an auto-rickshaw it was a little disturbing to overtake a fire engine (was it that we were going really fast or they were going really slowly - either would be a concern). The next day the newspaper reported that there had been no deaths - so I guess it all worked out fine then.  Happy Diwali.

Public inconvenience

There are a lot of public, gent's toilets in Delhi, one on every street corner it seems.  I have no comment on this, it's merely an observation. 

Interesting that I don't think I've seen a ladies toilet.  Maybe they are tucked away, camouflaged in some way to be more discreet.  Maybe it goes back to a time when ladies weren't expected to be out and about so much in public.  Maybe ladies can just control themselves until they get home.

I think we can all agree that there is no place on my blog page for a photo of a gent's toilet.  Not to mention the fact that hovering near a urinal with a telephoto lens could attract all sorts of the wrong kind of attention. 

So instead I thought I'd show you the exact and probably only spot that should be free of such taint. Although I don't know - it nearly seems like a challenge...

BEEP BEEP

As a seasoned commuter on the Uckfield line up to London Bridge I have developed a fairly zen attitude to the daily journey to work.  For me it's an hour and ten minutes where everything is out of my control, we might arrive on time or we might not, but I have the crossword, my ipod, maybe some company.

In India the commute is a much more participatory affair.  I take an auto-rickshaw.  If you've visited Asia (or Brighton) you may well have seen them zooming about.  They have 3 wheels, a lawnmower engine and a loud horn.  This is a bit of an evolutionary success story.  They're very compact but can fit 3 passengers (plus ironing board if necessary), they can turn on a sixpence, can get between and in front of the regular cars - and who needs to go any faster than the general flow of traffic anyway? 

You can feel the road through the seat of your pants, you can  smell the air as it wafts through the open sides, you can hear the cacophony all around you - it's great.  After the initial wranglings with the driver over whether to use the meter (which often consists of more cellotape than meter) or to strike a deal, you're very much in it together.  Probably neither of you knows exactly where you're going.  You'll stop while he buys something from a local shop, fills up with gas or asks directions.  You battle with coaches, cars, cattle, craters in the road.   

When you arrive at your destination you can only say a heartfelt thank you to the driver.  You made it. And as long as you've got something smaller than a 1000 rupee note all is well.