Brains of India

Something I have noticed here is that school is taken very, very seriously, even for three year olds. I'm not mocking this - education is more than vital, it's a fundamental right. But I'm just surprised at how early they get the kids going here. I can't claim to know much about India's educational system or job market, but what is apparent is that positions here are very, very competitive and whilst the recession may not have hit India as hard as many other countries, unemployment here is still a big problem. Deepa's husband speaks six languages for goodness sake - six - and he cannot find a job after being made redundant from his IT firm. He has been searching for six months now and is prepared to take absolutely anything. The point I'm making is that education - and a good education - is more important than ever here. Everywhere we go we see centres for children claiming to help hone childrens memories and turn them into little geniuses. School is attended six days a week and even extremely young children are given a ton of homework. I'm always shocked at the weight of the huge school bags I see tiny tots struggling under on their way home from school. What's more, India is about to hit the billion population mark and there aren't enough jobs to go round, that's for sure.

So I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised when the first question often asked of Maya is Where are you studying? Or Which standard (class) are you studying in? Maya is flummoxed by this question and more often than not ignores it. All she cares about as far as school goes is she gets given chocolates there so it really must be a good place to go. But yesterday all the parents at Maya's school (this is what everyone calls it but in English terms it's really just a nursery) were given a huge bag of books that we're required to cover over the weekend. Flicking through the books I was really surprised to see that as of next week, amongst other things she'll be doing some quite tricky maths and writing. She's only just three!! Maybe this is what she'd be doing at nursery back in the UK - but I think not. I wonder what she'll make of it all. She's a bookworm already but as for taking to maths exercises - well, the proof will be in the pudding but I dearly hope she inherits her father's genes when it comes to arithmetic rather than her mother's otherwise the poor girl is destined to be forever a mathematical dunce.

Lily gets attitude

From the pictures, this may look like a cherubic, blue-eyed babe with not a grumpy bone in her chubby little body. Do NOT let her kid you. Lily has, since my last posting about her, got feisty. In a big way. Here are a couple of examples:

- When we went to the park last week, a group of elderly ladies gathered around Lily, all cooing and clucking over her. (She has often been likened to a Barbie doll but yeeeeuuk I say to that.) Lily put on her best 'I am not impressed face (she has honed this to perfection: brows knitted and lowered and bottom lip puckered.) One of the ladies then made the mistake of trying to stroke her cheek and the sound that came out of Lily can only be described as a snarl. And this was accompanied by her little fist swiping out in much the same way that a cat does with their claw if they are irritated. The elderly ladies all sprang back in surprise with their arms outstretched in surrender pose and expressions reading Whoaaa! Calm down, now! We won't come near you again - promise! So yes, Lily is asserting her independence and clause no.23 in Lily's Personal Human Rights declaration reads 'The right to not have my space invaded. Even if it's an old lady who just wants to stroke my cheek. My cheek is not public property thank you very much.'

- When I am tap-tapping away in the morning, doing my writing and Lily is being looked after by Deepa, I often hear little outbursts coming from next door. There is quite a lot of screaming and protesting going on, but I have learnt now that this is normally not as a result of having a nasty fall or hurting herself, it's more likely to be because Deepa does something that Lily doesnt like eg take a pen out of her hand that she's trying to stab herself with or take the packet of cumin powder from her hands that Lily is trying to douse herself with. This little lady just does not like being told 'no'. Ok, it's no different from any other child her age, I'm sure, but it seems that in the blink of an eye, Lily went from the most laid-back little girl imaginable to a feisty madam! Deepa is pretty much unflappable, but often when I come out of my room to relieve her, she laughs despairingly that Lily is a changed baby from the one she first started looking after or, in Deepa's words, 'she's a naughty girl now.'

Speaking of Deepa, you can see from pictures one and two that Lily has a dab of red powder on her forehead. Whilst I am writing and Maya is at school, aswell as being chased round the apartment by an uncomplaining ayah, Lily is also attending the Deepa beauty parlour. Several times, Lily has been returned to me with her hair slicked sleekly into hair clips and bunches with coconut oil, her finger and toe nails painted pink and be-decked with every imaginable bangle, anklet and neclace. She is a sight to behold.

As for walking, because she's been crawling for a long time now, I thought she'd want to get going on her legs. But she feels safer closer to the ground and does plenty of finger walking with us. She is barely holding on and when we try and put something else in her finger that might feel like a finger (?!) she will not be fooled and instantly howls. I suppose one of those baby walker's would help but because we've got less than 2 months left here (I know, where has the time gone??), I'm loath to buy one.

Having commented how feisty Lily now is, I have to complete this by saying that she is also truly adorable - fun loving, very very cheeky and brave (she hurls herself down slides with wild abandon without a second thought) and also very funny. When we get home and leave our shoes by the door, she takes them, one by one to the cupboard and arranges them neatly in there as if to say come on people, stop being so slovenly! She also seeks out her pink sunhat whenever we're at home because she likes to have it on at all times, even when she's as naked as the day she was born. Lily loves water, music, hiding from us and playing peekaboo, food, going for walks in the sling and being thrown up and down in the air to Maya's favourite 'jumping song' (see last weeks blog). I think we're going to have to watch this one... feisty she may be, but she is also a squidgy little bundle of pure fun and delight.

The Dress

In a blog the other day, I talked about one of Maya's favourite dresses being repaired and given to a little girl who spends the day with her mother selling food to passers-by at the end of our road. We've since discovered that the girl's name is Ashiswini, and here'a a photo of her above taken wearing it. It's actually done well this dress, as it was also well worn by Maya's older cousin Daisy. Ashiswini's mother, Lakshmi, has constructed a very simple swing out of a sari, hanging from a tree so that she can both play and sleep in it. People here never fail to amaze me how resilient they are, making the best out of situations that I know in England we just wouldn't begin to know how to deal with.

Kutteeram & kidnapping to King George's Palace

Both Andy and I have been feeling the need for the sea recently, so we had a great plan to head to the Tamil Nadu coast for the weekend, which many people do from Bangalore. However, after we studied our plan in more depth, we realised that most of these people surely can't have kids - it would have involved about eight hours of travelling to reach our destination! Instead, we whisked Maya out of school on friday and in the morning travelled a mere hour and a half out of Bangalore to a beautiful hotel called Taj Kutteeram we'd heard about.

It was beautiful there - several individually designed cottages made from adove, tribal art painted on the walls, mosaic floored bathrooms and our own swing chair out the back. Another great bonus was that there was lots of garden space for Maya to run and Lily to crawl, plus a pond replete with ducks which I don't think Maya had really come into contact with much since our Godmanchester days and gleefully watched them from the bridge jumping into the water and screeching 'plop!' each time one had gone in.

On our first full day there, we decided to go on a morning walk to Hessarghatta Lake which we'd read about. This was where villagers once washed clothes and brought their sheep and cattle to drink. It was also home to the Bangalore Yacht Club, so when we reached the lake, we were shocked to see that it was dry as a bone. This was a stark reminder for us of the drought that India is facing and the very real effects of climate change. We were told that the lake has been dry for some time now and we watched as villagers herded past with their animals, all headed for a very small patch of water in the middle of the dried out mud flat. We sat on the banks of what was once the resevoir (picture 3) whilst Maya and Lily watched her parents trying to get the kite going and also the villagers go by. Where's the water, Maya asked, since we'd told her we were going to a lake. How to explain drought and global warming to a three year old? It was very sobering. I found this photo on the Guardian weekly website. This image speaks a thousand words about the situation that I cannot. Click here

Just to bring this home to an even greater degree, we then had a peculiar experience. We were all feeling quite tired and weren't that keen to walk back to the hotel so decided to hitch. It didn't take long before we were picked up in a jeep by three wealthy Bangaloreans: a man, his sister in law and his nephew who fed us plum cake and insisted we accompany them to visit their friend who lived on a farm. We said we thought we'd better get back for lunch but they kept driving anyway whilst the patriarch (who had an incredibly hoarse voice, probably because he shouts rather than talks) regaled us with stories of his friend, 'King George' whose farm we would now be visiting. Before we knew it, we were hurtling along a driveway after being cleared by the security guards at the gate and found ourselves at an enormous mansion with vintage cars, race horses and perfectly manicured lawns. It transpired that King George wasn't there but we were given a tour anyway of the house. The man took a liking to Maya who he called May-aaaar and kept trying to bounce her curls but the feeling wasn't mutual and she did a quick hop, skip and a jump every time he approached her.

The house was, in a word, obscene. The owners are from Bangalore and come to the house every other weekend, if that. Despite that, water is sprayed generously over the lawns to keep the grass green and springy, the enormous swimming pool is full and gleaming and staff move like ghosts about the empty mansion polishing the mahogany furniture and scrubbing the marble floors. King George is clearly an egomaniac as there are pictures of him everywhere AND (I shudder to write this), not only were there stuffed animal heads adorning many of the walls, but there was also a real elephant foot which had been turned into a side table and an elephant trunk in a hallway as decoration. Andy saw it first and hoped that neither Maya or I would spot it. Thankfully I don't think Maya realised what it was but I was so outraged by what I'd seen that I just could not help but say something. I tried to keep my voice as neutral as possible and as the old guy kept saying 'Isn't this an amazing house? Isn't it beautiful?', I intervened and said 'Yes, but it's not that nice having dead elephants in it.' He stopped walking, looked round at me in surprise and laughed 'That's not a dead elephant! It's just the trunk!' Oh. Right. Stupid me.

At this stage we were keen to get out of there, but we were first given a drink on the terrace before we got back in the jeep to be taken back to the hotel. 'This,' the patriarch announced proudly, 'is India.' Erm, no offence, I know we've only been here four months but frankly, this is bloody well NOT India. This is how 0.000001% of the Indian population live. Go and look at the dried up reservoir and the villagers taking their cattle to a meagre scrap of water. This is how millions are living. So yes, point made. King George's palace was good to see, and I know they were just being kind by taking us there. But they wanted us to be impressed and I felt far more sickened than anything else.

The following day we visited the Nrityagram Dance Village, right next to the hotel. Sunday is the day when local kids are given lessons by professional dancers. It was fascinating to watch and Maya, who now frequently refers to herself as a dancer, could not tear her eyes away from the class. She also made friends with a couple of English girls (first Brits we've met!) who were staying at the hotel too with their parents, and the three of them tore around the grounds making mischief. We're now back in Bangalore and we have two very tired little girls tucked up in bed, Maya probably still swinging in her sleep from the motion of the gently rocking swing chair and the hammock she spent so much time in.

Cafe Culture

Maya thinks that life begins and ends in a cafe. She truly does. Often, when I ask her in the afternoon what she'd like to do today, she pipes excitedly 'Go to a cafe!' I frown and wonder where on earth she got this from. It can't have anything to do with the fact that both her parents are tea and cake addicts (their second date was spent in a cafe in Antigua Guatemala stuffing their faces with cheesecake) and that we often pause for pit-stops for 'the sake of the children'. This was all very well when it was boiling hot, because the cafe's often provided cool respite for sweaty Family Narracott. But it's not hot at all now, it's simply habit!

Maya is very astute. She knows that if we go to a cafe, her parents cannot resist satiating their sweet tooth and we can hardly indulge in cake without giving our children hearty slices too. Even though Maya picked up her love of sitting down with a cup of tea (or chai as we do here) and a piece of cake from her parents, I must confess that I do slightly flinch each time she announces her desire to go to a cafe since this is a pretty extravagant pastime, particularly in a country like India. And the trouble is now that the little lady expects cake. If I suggest a biscuit instead she gives me a look like a wounded deer and I have such a personal weakness for it that I normally relent! I think a greater deal of self-control is required, or else our family will return to the UK with an addiction to doughnuts and prematurely thickening waistlines.

Jumping over paper planes with bangles on

Maya is into bangles in a big way right now. And obviously this is a good place to be into bangles, because the markets are full of them in all shapes, sizes, textures and colours. I bought a packet of gold and pink ones for her recently but rather than mix them all up, she likes wearing the pink ones on one wrist and the gold on another. Very organised is our Maya.

The second photo was taken when Maya was just a few months old, out for a walk in the sling wearing mini-sized bangles sent over by a friend in India and the third picture was taken at ten months where she's experimenting with them on her ankles and in her mouth! It's clear to see from picture two that Maya's mama is also quite partial to bangles and it seems that now both of us enjoy the tinkling, jangling sound they make when we move.

The other thing that Maya has suddenly taken to is....jumping! I remember a lovely kindergarten teacher I met at a wedding last summer telling me that when little people start jumping, it is a BIG deal for them. The transition from hopping to jumping is huge and that feeling of both feet leaving the floor at the same time is nothing short of exhilarating. It's funny isn't it - something we take so for granted. But seeing how excited Maya gets when she jumps, I can well believe this. There is a song she adores called Paper Planes - it comes from Slumdog Millionaire and whether or not you liked the movie, you have to admit it's a catchy song and something about it just makes you want to get up and jump! So that's exactly what we've been doing (the neighbours must seriously wonder about us...) and Maya has renamed it The Jumping Song! Curious? Listen to it here

Whatever Next

Right, I've seen some things in my time but yesterday afternoon definitely features high on my 'Bizarre Weekend Activities' list. And Maya's too, I have no doubt. Let me explain. Andy recently told me about a group called the Hash House Harriers. It is a global organisation and in practically every city in the world, groups of ex-pats convene on alternate sunday afternoons to either run or walk along a trail that has been discovered by a member of the group and is different every time. This always takes place out of the city in the surrounding countryside for a nominal participation fee. Now theoretically this sounded alright as it doesn't take much for me to be convinced I need to get out of the city. I was less certain, however, about darting through paddy fields after some posh, triple-barreled-surname British ex-pat wearing lycra. However, off we went in the taxi and after the Bangalore suburbs had dropped away to reveal swaying palm trees and lush green fields, I was definitely up for a good walk. There were about twenty-five of us, a mixture of ex-pats and local Bangaloreans and everyone was very friendly and welcoming.

Maya was asleep by the time we arrived so we quickly transferred her from the car to Andy's back in the sling where she continued sleeping for a little while, but she soon woke up and enjoyed picking flowers from Andy's back, pointing out oxen with long horns and also spotting the white chalked signs along the way that marked our trail. It was at this point that I became aware that the Hash House Harriers weren't your average walking / running group: this marking system is designed to throw participants off the correct trail and on in the wrong direction. When you reach a certain symbol, there are various ways you can go and you have to try them all out until you've spotted a white arrow which then determines you're on the right path. If there's no arrow, then back you go and you have to try the next trail! Okay, I have a sense of humour. I can see the fun in that (I think?), but with a babe on one's back, I'm not sure how many times I'd be prepared to go shooting off down the wrong trail before giving up on the expedition and declaring the whole bunch of them crazy loons. Thankfully, one of the organisers kept giving the sole family group a nudge nudge wink wink in the right direction. We were even guided round an almost vertical hill rather than over it. Phew.

Speaking of this particular organiser, he was carrying a large claxon (you can see it in his hand in photo 1 above), another peculiar element of every HHH as it was constantly honked as we walked round. Quite functional I suppose to prevent people from losing the trail (even though they blatantly encouraged people to lose this very trail), but honestly, can you imagine a stranger sight for the local villagers: A load of half-running, half-walking people tearing through fields and along paths and then reversing back down the same path, many of them dressed in lycra (so yes, my suspicions were confirmed on this front) and two of them carrying small children on their back, one little girl even tied on with a sari for goodness sake. Yes, there is no doubt about it. We must have looked like a load of nutters.

For a person that loves taking photographs and stopping to chat with locals, I quickly learnt that this just wasn't possible with the HHH (though I did manage to sneak a quick pic with some beautiful girls in one of the villages - see picture 2). The pace is rapid so it's very good exercise and after a brief stop half way round for watermelon and cold water, Maya and Lily were still in good spirits so we decided to continue rather than return with the beer van. Beer van you're asking? Yes. Beer van. Upon completion of our 8km circuit, we were handed out ice cold beer and samosas which was fantastic. See picture 3 above which shows how happy I was about this. But it became rapidly apparent that of equal importance to the HHH is its title as drinking club and soon, things got downright weird. We stood in a circle and announcements were read out to members who all have nicknames such as 'Bottom sniffer' and 'The Illiterate' and then an enormous block of ice was produced from the beer van on which the HHH's in turn started to park their behinds on and then down beer from plastic urine bottles. Yes, really. The HHH song was sung, as was Swing Low Sweet Chariot and I realised that what I was witnessing was a load of overgrown university students, yearning for the drinking clubs of their student days (Andy's laughing at me for being stuffy, but I only heave a big sigh of relief for having left those 10 pints a night well behind me!)

Maya was fascinated by the ice and started licking it and just when I was thinking how hilarious this all was, the 'novices' were then called upon to sit on it. I protested, saying that I was holding Maya, but was assured that the bottoms of the 'Hash Horrors' (as the kids are known) wouldn't suffer at all as they could sit on our laps. Oh. Right. So Maya sat on my lap and Lily on Andy's and let me tell you, sitting on a big block of ice for a long time is damn chilly. We duly drank out beer out of the urine bottle but then things went from weird to weirder as it was decided that I was not drinking mine fast enough and the remaining contents of my bottle were tipped over my head. Let me repeat - ON MY HEAD. So by this point I had a cold, wet bum and head, shirt and jeans covered in Kingfisher Beer. Maya was staring at everyone in the group like the whole world had gone beserk and frankly, I couldn't have agreed more.

The locals who had witnessed this group of people descend on their normally peaceful spot, go off for a run and then return and pour beer over one another thought this all looked like great fun and joined in sitting on the ice block and drinking out of urine bottles (see photo 5).

On the way back in the taxi my hair was standing up in stiff points from dried, smelly beer and my jeans (why did I wear jeans??) were unpleasantly damp. But Maya and Lily spent the entire hour journey on the way back laughing, whether with me or at me is unclear. Would we go next time? Ask me again once I've got the beer out of my hair. What IS clear is the Hash House Harriers are bonkers.