Happy New Year (don’t touch me)

Short update- more pictures etc to follow at a later stage.

It’s been two long, action packed weeks. I’ve been to visit another NGO supported by Future Earth, moved onto Poraiyar where three other Swedes are dwelling. From there we took day trips to Vellangani, to a bird sanctuary and to visit the mangrove forest in Pitchavaram. We then moved onto Pondicherry where New Years’ was celebrated. After two weeks on the road my backpack is filled to the brim (how do I do this?) and I know I have about the same amount left at the farm. Going home in March will be interesting indeed.

New Years was spent in Pondicherry and we all had a great time despite the Great Big Grappling that kept on happening. I’d heard things about Indian men I was unwilling to believe- up until now. It feels sad that the Indian women are left with very little choice than to stay at home, and that as a consequence anything female moving on the streets after dark is an Object, like us. It was all a small part of New Years’ though, and we soon made it to a French party where we celebrated until the early hours. The day after we escaped to the beach, where we’ve lived in basic huts and visited Auroville from.

I will have to cover Auroville some other time. The forest we visited yesterday was worth it all though. No matter how superior and up it’s own ass Auroville may seem at times, we mustn’t forget that less than 40 years ago this area was nothing but red desert. The Aurovillians of old really do deserve some credit, no matter who is and who isn’t welcome there today. I don’t blame them for retreating to the forests of their deeds.

Today we head back to Trichy for a week. I’ve missed all the fiery souls at Kudumbam so much. Then we come back here for a meeting, then we go back for a couple of weeks. Then my two favourite English roses are coming to visit, then it’s almost time to return to Europe. I cannot believe it.

Happy New Year everyone. Let’s make 2010 the best year so far.

The acacia tree, a ”pioneer” tree used as a top layer of trees, under which the indigenous evergreen trees of the past can settle again.

Oh one more thing

Before we depart into that great thing called the future, why not have a look at Rob Hopkins telling us what we already knew, but using new words and a better stance (what if we were further into the future and looking back?):

Christmas Wishes

I have just come to realise that time is running away again and it’s not unlikely that I won’t have the opportunity to post another blog this year. Whilst I’m sure you are all rushing around feeling the Christmas stress I have the occasional reminder that it is that time of the year… otherwise it’s pretty much work as usual. I am about an hour away from finally getting to plant paddy for the first time so this will be a quick one.

This year, ironically, will probably see the most Swedish Christmas for me in at least 5 years. I have celebrated abroad for so many years that I’ve almost forgotten what our specifics are, but I’m surrounded by people who remember. We are going be away from the farm for about two weeks, which feels quite sad. We have been and gone quite a lot but never for more than a few days at the time.

A year ago I celebrated Christmas Day in Tooting, and I had absolutely no idea where I would be this year, only that I wished it to be somewhere else. Similarly I have no idea where I’ll be in a years’ time. I think that I have learned from my trip to India that it doesn’t matter.

We had a pretty slow start here at Kolunji Farm, and I suppose it was the only way to cope with the culture clash we after all felt. Now we’re used to being here, we live here, and the pace has picked up somewhat. I realise now that there are things that I’ll never have the time to do here. I also realise that it’s OK. I am living in India. And not just India- amongst some of its’ poorest.

I have heard from someone who has been here there and everywhere in India that people are more open and more friendly in the South. I have no comparison but I have certainly never felt so welcome anywhere.

There has been some unpleasantries during the last two months, of course. There was a man with bad intentions on the road, I have felt tired of my colleagues and friends a few times, I have felt tired of myself and annoyed with my surroundings. I have been poorly and have suffered from fever three times. But there is always a silver lining. When me and Fiona were molested by a drunken man on the bus from Trichy to Keeranur the day before yesterday the whole bus protested loudly and two men got up and gave us their seat and placed themselves like a human shield next to us.

I have learned to focus on those two men rather than the other man. I am learning things every day. Perhaps not practical facts but more about me and my place in the world. Dear friends, it looks like I went to India to find myself. Oh dear.

I think about you all a lot, and I miss you sincerely. I shape words and sentences in my head, constantly, thinking about how I can share my experience with you all. Then I realise that you are living your lives too, and you will have your own stories to tell when I’m back.

I will be back next year. Exactly where and exactly what remains to be seen.

Lots of Love,

Sara Grön

What they grow

I admit it. I am a bit of a groupie when it comes to farmers. I jumped on the bandwagon the moment farming and food growing became trendy, and since then I’m not much closer to becoming a farmer myself. Yet.

I am now in an area where there’s an opportunity to learn what is grown around me. It’s tricky, of course, with the language being a barrier and as I said me not being well informed in the ways of any kind of bio mass… What makes it easier and more interesting is the fact that most farmers I’m in contact with only have a few acres, many of which are organic. There are monocrops here too, I’ve seen banana plantations, heard of maize for livestock feed and just outside Kolunji farm there are eucalyptus plantations and sugarcane grown intensively for ethanol.

Anyhow, I thought I’d make an attempt to explain what I see. Perhaps it will then become obvious that I am no farmer nor agronomist, but then again perhaps neither are you.

First thing first. Tamil Nadu, as I have mentioned before, is very dry. Before the Green Revolution, about 35 years ago, the farmers here were encouraged to cut down the trees which made a characteristic shrub forest to make room for cashew and eucalyptus plantations. This left the land quite barren and malnourished- which it still is in many places. I have yet to figure out the transition to water intense rice crops, but this is precisely what has been grown in the region since the revolution.

Most farmers here have more or less one harvest a year, as they rely on the rain to water the crops. The time of the arrival of the monsoon appears to partially determine what the farmer grows that year- this year for example it arrived too late to plant any kind of millet. Some farmers are well off enough, or are granted loans, to bore wells. This is far from everybody but to me it appears to really differentiate between the rich and the poor farmer. To some extent at the cost of groundwater levels of course.

Kudumbam teaches the SRI method, System of Rice Intensification. There is plenty of information about this teqnique, even on Wikipedia, so I shant digress. I would however like to add that this method is also taught by the government in the area- but then with the aid of artificial fertilizers and pesticides.

As the three of us are currenlty gatehring data of what and how much is grown organically by Kudumbam’s members (there are 1500 farmers included in the group certification they hold) we have a good insight. I can tell you that all of them grow one form of paddy (which is what rice is called before it’s refined), of the varieties culture, ponni, ATT 36 and ATT 37 mainly. It is also common that she then also grows some gingilee (which is sesame seeds) or groundnuts (you and I would call them peanuts).

On our forms we have also seen maize and sunflower. There is however a complete lack of what’s referred to as black gram, red gram and green gram. Lentils, to my understanding. This also has to do with the delayed monsoon. Millet, the healthier predecessor to rice in this region, is promoted heavily by Kudumbam. They even arrange competitions where the ladies are encouraged to cook unusual and tasty dishes using millet. There are heaps and heaps of different varieties and I have only begun to separate them. I know, however, that the variety known as foxtail millet also goes under the name of ragi. I know this as I had it for breakfast this morning, with grated coconut. We have asked for more millet in our diet, it seems appropriate, but however as I mentioned hardly anyone has managed to grow it this year.

Here at Kolunji Farm the story is slightly different. It is a model farm, so no rice is grown here. There are animals: cows (a beautiful breed you see all over India, a smaller and horned ancestor of our bred meatmountains), goats and poultry. There are fruit trees- and other trees too. Mango, coconut, sapota (a small fruit not dissimilar to kiwi but with a very sugary taste), custard apples, lime and papaya. None of these are ripe at the moment, which doesn’t stop me from pinching the limes and putting them in my water sometimes.

I am told there is brinjal (aubergine). I can see a big trellis device for beans. There are a couple of rows of aloe vera- I pinch from these too whenever I burn myself in the sun. There is a reknown jasmine orchard too.

Jasmine carry great significance in India: its’ flowerbuds are tied together into intricate garlands and put in your hair, making even a crammed bus smelling lovely.

This concludes the crops I see around me at the moment. I’m sure there is more than reaches the eye- it took me some time to notice the row of neem trees outside the window right now.

Home Sweet Home

I seem to have slipped into the deeper mode of blogging again, which is OK I suppose but I did promise not to forget to write about the everyday life that I lead here in rural India. I will try to make up for this now. I am currently writing an article on GMO of which I shall present snippets from soon, so I guess this is compensating for that too!

Since my last blog I once again was subject to a temperature and spent the second half of our time in Bangalore in the hotel. It was so bad actually, that when on the last day we were due to check out at 7am (our train was at 7pm, but htere is a 24 hour rule; you check out at the time you check in basically) I decided to check into a single room in the same hotel. The hotel manager was therefore made aware of my situation. He was the sweetest man, very old and clearly very concerned. He sent for two pills that he then gave me, with very strict instructions to only take half a pill at the time. So I did. I now have the internet at my fingertips so I am aware I can check the ingredients, but I’d rather not to be honest.

The first half knocked me out completely and I woke up drenched. Good, at least it had my body doing what the fever was meant to do. The second half however did quite the opposite; it was the day before yesterday and I am feeling up up up and haven’t slept for more than 5 hours /night. I try to avoid pills and stuff and let nature have it’s way but this was quite interesting indeed.

Anyways, yesterday was spent in the head office in Trichy, and was finished off in our mentor Poppy’s house. She has an amaing family: she has someting as rare as a love marriage and on top of this they are of different religions (she is hindu, he is christian). It sure is a household of love and tolerance where the parents sleep on the floor and the children get the bed. They also house Poppy’s parents, previous farmers of Tanjavur but who now helps her with the house (she is a very busy lady and I guess it’s the only way it’s possible).

Poppy’s house is in a nice area of Trichy, called Subramaniapuram I believe. This is also where the office is situated and the reason she rents a house here. It has a small stone laid front yard in which the dog Jenny roams. She is white, fluffy and very frienly. As we arrived yesterday Poppy had lit candles on the porch steps. You enter the living room- nothing much different as of yet- which has a shelf unit dividing a seating area from a table and wash basin in the back of the room. There were many of us (loads of Swedes in Trichy at the moment!) so we sat on mats on the floor. Poppy and her mother served us coconut rice as Poppy had noticed on her recent visit to Sweden that we have no coconut trees. This came with coconut sattini and tomato sattini, a fantastic blend of oil, tomato/coconut and spices and eaten at least once a day in the area. We were also served dosai, which is like a pancake but made from rice flour. In the morning we eat idly, which is a slightly fermented and steamed rice bun.

Poppy served us and ensured we were completely full up. Afterwards she apologised in the slight delay of the dosais. As it turns out there were no gas so her mother cooked the whole dinner on the kerosene cooker- so one burner to cook a meal for 14! Anyways it was a lovely evening but now I am digressing from the pice of everyday I intended to share: the journey home today!

After waving everyone good bye me and the other 4 Swedish Kolunji Farm dwellers set off to the highway and our bus stop ”Jail Corner”. Opposite this bus stop there is in fact a Sri Lankan refugee camp, something I only learned a few days ago. This is perhaps spmething I can cover more in a future post. Today our one purpose was standing here was to wave in bus K1, which we know will take us to Keeranur. It is crucial that the bus displays the number, which is not always hte case, as we have no chance of reading the name of the destination; it is written only in Tamil.

The bus turned up fairly quickly and as we weren’t travelling at peak time we all eventually got seats. I even gave mine up to an elderly lady and had another one before we reachced our destination about 45 minutes later. During rush hours this is not possible. In fact, most things are not possible on an Indian bus at this time apart from clinging onto your stuff, a nearby seat back and try to pay the conductor at the same time. It is a chaos I cannot describe, and the people change from the friendly curious bunch that they are to animals with survuval instincts: the seats are the dry land it seems. It’s all OK, at a price of about Rs6.50 (less than 10 pence).

We all reached Keeranur in one pice and separated as me and Jana decided to wait for the bus to Odugambatti which we knew were to turn up about an hour later. I have the timetable copied in the back of my notebook which is a lifesaver- the buses and the world around them are certainly Tamil territory. The others decided to rent an autorickshaw, a yellow three wheled moped thing with a covered seat and a very comfy way to travel, unless there’s more than 3 of you. They paid about Rs130 to get to Kolunji Farm, which is a 20 minute ride or so. This at a cost of around £1.50.

Jana and I had a mission: to buy some apples and a necklace for a birthday girl by the name of Marikannu. Apples are to Indians what fresh sweet papayas are to us: imported and expensive. But if it’s someones’ birthday…

We found a little shop selling jewellery where the shopkeepers spoke a little bit of English but didn’t know the numbers- Jana is better at Tamil numbers than me thankfully! I purchased 4 lots of glass bangles and three necklaces (all for possible future birthdays amongst the girls downstairs) which set me back Rs85. I could see that when I asked for the cost of the first lot of bracelets the shopkeeper glanced evaluatingly at me, how was I going to react on the crazy high price he threw at me the white and rich girl ”ten rupees!”. It is custom but I feel ashamed to bargain such a low price. Instead I asked for a Rs5 discount on the pile of accessories I bought, something he seemed almost grateful to approve of. I should mention that in cities- Trichy for example- people are far more cheeky and I actually end up walking away from purchases fairly often out of principle. I expect to sometimes pay the double but never higher than that.

Accessorized we then decided to ”do Keeranur”- a town that has been nothing but a through route for me until today. It is not much more than a couple of busy streets Indian style (fruit stands, chai stands, holes in the walls, traffic, rubbish and dust) but still we asked a passer by ”sapide?” (”food?”). He pointed down a different road and this is where we decided to visit our first hole in the wall for some borotta, sweetish round bread and a sauce which is probably based on tomato and yellow lentils if my Indian tastebuds are correct. I also asked for chai (milky black tea which is heavily sweetened), something that vegan Jana in most places is unable to. This meal for two set us back Rs21.

By this time it was time to withdraw to the bus stand again. As this is India most buses are late it seems, but I have also experienced that the bus has been five minutes early. Dwelling at the bus stand is actually my least favourite bit about travelling. There are plenty of touts and beggars here and me and Jana stand out like a sore thumb. Beggars are something I have made the decision to reject, which is very difficult at times of course but then again I am here to work with empowerment amongst the poorest of poor.

Along with the bus times I have in my notebook the bus service numbers, which is helpful but yet again not always displayed on the buses. This is why, some days, you can behold a bunch of Swedish girls rushing up to each and every bus arriving Keeranur bus stand shouting ”Odugampatti?” in such poorly pronounced Tamil that people struggle to understand what we’re after. It may sound like comedy but add to this that a fight for a seat is a fight for life and you may understand why a bus journey that we’ve always endured standing up slow as we are has to be followed up by a relaxing sit down afterwards.

However today I was high on that flu medicine and felt like a million dollars arriving Odugampatti so Jana showed me a shortcut route home. It was absolutely stunning and lined with rice fields and trees. At one point a lady talking in a mobile phone while shepering her cows made us very nervous by shouting ”tanni!” (”water!”) wherever we turned in an attempt to lead us on the right route now when rain has drowned many other paths.

Eventually we made it to our farm where Papu and Alahama greeted us almost at the gate- they were planting trees in the nursery- and after many other greetings we put our backpacks down in our room. It’s immensely hot here compared to Bangalore, something that is evident when I check my empty water bottle.

The Indian Tiger

Being here in Bangalore is a piece of cake. I get everywhere with my English. Everyone are friendly and interested in serving me, me, me. There are no mosquitoes and as it’s winter the nights are cool enough to call for a blanket. Around me I hear loads of foreign languages- including Kannada, the language of Karnataka state. I feel lost not being able to use my scarce knowledge of the Tamil language here.

The cultural diversity here is immense. I see Indian girls wearing jeans. I see oriental women wearing chudis. I have since our arrival about 36 hours ago seen two people with vitiligo, my condition which affects about 1% of the worlds’ population. I wonder if this is a coincidence, or if Bangalore simply is easier for those who are different.

Bangalore is spread out an buzzing. It should be, as it with its’ 6.2 million inhabitants recently became India’s fourth biggest city (after Mumbai, Delhi and Chennai).

This, dear friends, is where the Indian Tiger lives.

My guidebook (Footprint, as I boycot Lonely Planet) through India tells me that althoug hsteel is mainlay what today makes India one of the major players (the acquisition of Anglo- Dutch steel giant Corus in 1997 cost Indian family company Tata about $13.2 billion), IT is close behind. Bangalore, also known as India’s Silicon Valley, is the credle for an industry which is seeing huge investments by companies such as IBM and Cisco Systems.

Many multinationals such as HSBC bank and Aviva Insurance have their call centres based in the city, somthing that explains the fact that Karnatakans easily understand British English pronounciation, something their Tamil brothers and sisters don’t.

Bangalore is also a city of universities and research facilities- a contributing factor to tha hoard of qualified workes India produces. This is deliberate, focus has been on developing Bangalore since India’s independence.

To quote my guidebook: ”Many say Indian workes pose a serious threat to US and UK jobs. Provided the steady flow of skilled workers can keep pace with burgeoning demand for their services the Indian Tiger’s roar is sure to be hears reverberating around the globe for many decades to come”.

I have been a city dweller for almost 7 years but am struggling to cut loose and run to the romantic countryside. I could easily live in Bangalore, I realise and feel almost ashamed to admit. I am happy drinking organic lattes for Rs100 (lunch for 3 in Trichy, Tamil Nadu)and shopping in 3 storey organic department stores. I know the city’s cleanliness is false, I know that although the city can afford to emply street cleaners the people here are showing the same mindlessness when it comes to littering as I’ve seen elsewhere.

Not to mention the fumes, the noise and the congestions. Bangalore exploded too quickly and is now coping with insufficient infrastructure.

It feels like such a paradox that in this remote place from everything rural is where I have seen my first recycling station since my arrival to India. This is where I see small cars running on ”eco fuel” (whatever that is) and where I can buy anything from organic soap and bread to keyrings and bedsheets. And clothes, of course.

It saddens me that the missing factor to live an environemntally aware lifestyle on the countryside is money. Not just the individuals’ money, but states and districts and panchayats’.

Don’t get me wrong. I know the carbon footprint of Papu in Odugampatti with a basic house and thatched roof, who wears her plastic flip flops until they disintegrate two years later, is virtually nothing when you look at the sophisticated Bangalorian with a flat, a mortgage and a job for one of the corporates, who drives a car and buy imported foods.

But the latter is as everywhere trickling down. The plastic packaging of a luxurious world is so sought after, so desired, that coca cola bottles and candy wrap ends up on rural compost heaps, and eventually on the fields.

The countryside has not kept up either, it seems.

Now I walk away from the Internet cafe. The only thing that feels slightly rural about my being today is the knowledge that this morning I washed my hair in a bucket of cold water.

This is India

India is the laughter amongst the sweetcorn ladies.
India is the mosquito bites I’ve scratched until they bleed.
India is the jasmine garland Renugadevi wears in her braid.
India is the beggar girl by the newspaper stand.
India is the drunken bus conductor.
India is the grime under my finger nails.
India is the rice I eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
India is the sweet sweet chai.
India is the comb Chechammal uses on my hair.

Whilst I was waiting for India to happen, for the translator to arrive and for the project to truly kick off, India was happening all around me. I’m sorry I forgot to look.

Sarasister Patchay

This NGO of mine

The human body is an amazing thing. I remember, years ago, I worked as a home carer and met Gertrud who was the most positive person I have ever come to meet. Not the sickly false positivity, she wasn’t all smiles and she certainly knew how the world actually worked. Nonetheless she didn’t let things get her down if she could help it and aging was one of those things. She decided to look upon every new disease with curiousity, seeing how her body reacted and how the rest of her immune system would compensate.

Remarkable.

I follow her advice as often as I can which is why I now agree more than ever. Having spent the last 48 hours in bed with frequent rushes to the toilet I now thank my stomach for acting the way it did. My mother taught me that the stomach is the best placce to catch a bacteria, as it in itself is an amazing flushing system. I understand now that the throwing up, followed by more throwing up when there didn’t seem to be anything left to throw up in combination with a knackering fever all was deviced to get it out whatever it was.

Now, less than three days later, I feel fine but quite weak of course.

The rest of the short break in Pondicherry was just as lovely as the first part. After finishing off at the internet café me and S went to the beauty parlour next door for my very first ayurvedic slathering sorry I meant massage. It certainly wasn’t the last! The following day we went to the beach. As it was filled with westerners we seized the opportunity to swim in swimwear… what a liberation! I laughed so much in the high waves of the Bay of Bengal I nearly drowned when the next wave came along. But at least I understand what this surfing business is about now.

I have to admit that I spent the first couple of days feeling a bit better than the tourists that floods the streets of Pondicherry. I’m most certainly not a tourist, but a volunteer spending most of my time in the dry and rural countryside, away from all comforts imaginable. Not like these comfortable travellers. Or so I thought, until I spoke to an Indian guy at the trendy bar on Saturday night. ”Backpacking or NGO?” he asked me before anything else. Oh. We’re that common.

I’m not the only one who ”deserves” a cheesy pizza followed by a Mojito in fashionable Pondicherry, it seems. Next trip is longer and to Bangalore, and I’ll know better than to jump to any such conclusions again.

I thought it was about time I told you some more about Kudumbam, or at least about the agricultural bit:

This part of Tamil Nadu is one of the poorest, and most of the farmers don’t own much more than a couple of acres of dryland. They lack a lot of resources and only a low number of these can afford to bore wells. The rest can only grow rain fed crops. The monsoon season lasts from October through to January, although this year it didn’t arrive until November. Rainfed crops mean that only one harvest a year is possible, whereas in other parts of India as many as three or four are possible. Migration to the cities and abroad is widespread- people sell off their land to big agricultural businesses and can never return.

It is understandable, then, that people want to make as much of their land as is possible. The Green Revolution with remarkable seeds, fertilizers and pesticides really did do wonders for the yields in the area. Farmers willing to experiment received subsidised merchandries and soon the gush of modernisation had reached almost all.

Time went by. Eventually market prices for these merchandries rose, and alongisde this subsidies decreased. Farmers all over India, not just in Tamil Nadu, could certainly feel the pinch and the suicides we all hear about are most definetely linked to this evil cycle of debt. On top of this pests have grown resilient to pesticides and bigger quantities of the now very expensive pesticide is necessary.

Already in a poor state, it is understandable that a farmer is sceptical about turning to a method of farmers which means even smaller yields in the beginning, like organic does. In the UK we talk about a conversion period which for a farmer is very tough, but here it really would be devastating to any farmer.

This is where Kudumbam enters the stage. Through various methods such as self help groups and micro financing they help the poorest of poor and many of these come to Kolunji Farm to learn how to farm with Low External Input. Anyone can get a bunch of trees for the nursery- a good source of income when the rain is absent. The seed bank ensures a safer future and in longer term contributes to the food security in this part of the country.

It is not easy, and it is not complete. Most farmers have only converted part of their land but in total they make up 1500 and counting. The rule book to farm organically and get the LEISA- certificaton is somewhat smaller than the Soil Association equivalent, but it really is a good start! Kudumbam scrutinize all these 1500 farmers, as they hold a group certification and if any of them fails a test they all loose their license.

Kudumbam, alongside other NGO’s, are trying to make a difference from below and upwards. By helping the less priviledged in society- women, widows, Dalits, disabled and landless- the show that tolerance and respect is the best way forward. Tolerance and respect for one another is crucial to eventually learn how to apply this onto the land, which in itself is a living creature too.

Beaucoup Francais

A month is perhaps not that long, but the reappearance of baguette, cheese and caffe latte have certainly made the visit here to Pondicherry worthwhile.

About a 5 hour bus ride away from Trichy it’s quite a trip for only three days, but we just couldn’t wait. Pondicherry os absolutely stunning, with it’s colonial style houses and chileld out resaturants (Indians like to rush as much as possible and bring you the bill whilst you’re still eating, but here they understand certain western needs. I have a lot to say about the massive groups of Europeans I see flooding the little boutiques (really? a trip to India?) but it’s certainly nice to not cause as muc hattentio nas we’re used to.

These little breaks are absolutely necessary and are giving us new energy every time. Not that Kolunji is knackering. Quite the opposite it’s very calm and quiet. Sleepy at times.

I have done lots of shopping. A laod this big would make me feel guilty at home but I have probably spent about fifty squid… oh and all organic and fairtrade. I am on the border of Auroville after all.

Peace and Love

Sara

Romance is over

One fifth of my time in India has now passed, and boy has it been an awe- inspiring adventure to say the very least. Some things has been what I expected, most things has not. Which in itself was pretty much what I expected.

The time is now 9.45 and today started with a major disappointment: last nights’ thunderstorm and heavy rain has led to today’s Farmers Field School being cancelled. This is of course not unusual at this time of the year, as I’ve previously mentioned, but I was looking forward to this class so incredibly much. We were finally going to get our hands dirty and plant some paddy!

Things have come to a standstill in general over the last week, meaning that I now feel more down than I’d like to admit. I’ve been flown here from the other side of the world and all I do is waiting, waiting. Then I talk sense to myself and I know that the waiting time in itself is part of the journey. I’m getting there!

Our mentor P has just come back from Sweden (her first visit, and even I with my hardly existing Tamil could hear that she was describing a smörgåsbord to matron). We met her yesterday, and the two weeks she has been gone suddenly seemed like a day or two. She left us with her assistant A during her absence, who has been very helpful but it’s also been obvious that something personal has been plaguing her. Last week she disappeared- hence the standstill I mentioned. Everything we want to do, everyting we’re supposed to do for Future Earth and our own work requires input from at least one in English knowledgeable Indian person. We have now found out that A’s sudden disapperance is linked to the arrangements of her marriage being finalised. Once things are set it’s apparently custom that the bride to be stops working.

So that’s it. No good byes, and an obviously upset A. My decision to face cultural differences with the most open of minds- I was willing to accept arranged marriages as something that’s not necessarily bad- have had me landing flat on my face.

Just like the scorpion in the cone of light from my torch served as a reminder to always wear shoes and carry a light in the dark, a less than pleasant encounter last Sunday served as a reminder that there are people with bad intentions everywhere- even in India. A road, a man and a bike was the props. Me, Jana and Fiona the cast. The timing 3pm on a Sunday. The man was clearly not quite right as he was about my size and I stand as tall as the other’s shoulders. We are all absolutely fine but worried about the girls at the children’s home. I guess it’s now apparent why we have two nightguards here- something that seemed obscure here in the most peaceful land I’ve ever visited. The romance is definetely over.

My inner journey is running alongside all the impressions and events of our everyday lives. England and Sweden are practially the same country from here, so I am certainly not going to make a big deal out of where I’m living from now on. Moving to either is not a big step, so I’m not going to let this ”choice” dominate my life as much as it has done over the last year or so.

Now, I must return to the excel document our project at the moment is all about. How could I let this happen?!