I am sorry if you have reached this blog in search of information of a band that is no more. This is merely thoughts and reflections belonging to a Swede with roots and heart in London, currently situated in Tamil Nadu.

The monsoon has finally arrived to this dry land. I was and am very happy, although the less pleasant effects has surfaced. The bugs, the scorpions and the snakes being the first. The mud bath my feet undertake every day. And worst of all the constant smell of damp in my clothes. This is a small price that I am more than willing to pay, if it means a small patch of hope for the dry land farmers of this poor state.

I wrote this last Friday, 6 November.

Today we went to the village Puliyur, to hand out our questionnaires regarding organic yields for the past year (all part of our project, meaning that yet again a large part of my working life evolves around Excel documents!). It was a nice visit, apart from when the bed they carried out and insisted we sit on (a version of the plastic chair, see earlier post) collapsed under our weight. It may sound funny, but it was devastating!

As often happens a man approached and asked where we were from. My standard reply has become ”Sweden, do you know it?” (to which the answer, surprisingly seeming as I’m in India, tends to be ”yes”). Anyways this man explained that he knew perfectly well where Sweden is, as he lived in London for 7 years. The others explained that as have I, and the answer to the question where was of course, on my behalf, Tooting. Not that I don’t like Brixton, it’s just that I knew that this Tamil would know Tooting. I turned out to be very correct, and on top of it all he worked in the very restaurant I described in my post ”Ode to Tooting” in July. The world felt about the size of a stamp then.

Now I digress, I do have something less trivial to tell as well, I promise!

After chatting to the ladies, all members of various Self Help Groups (SHG’s), and taking photos of their babies (this is always appreciated and a good chance to capture the mothers, too) we set off to another part of the village. The ladies told us to beware, that there would be boys and young men hanging out on the street corners as unemployment here is high. They tried to persuade our translator to go without us, but this was of course out of the picture.

To reach the other part of the village we had to walk down a long path, through som wasteland in use by no one apart from some goats. In this part of the village we were also welcomed, but instead of someone’s house our venue was the terrace outside the church (which was unlocked for us to peek inside). We talked to mainly men, and I think it may have been in my head but they seemed very apprehensive at times. We did however meet a kind lady allowed us to use her restroom and soon we were on our way again.

The difference, as I think you may have guessed, is that the second part of the village was that of the Dalits. The attitude shown by the first group of ladies shows what an underlying issue that of the castless is. It is not that anyone actively thinks ”I don’t like Dalits because they happen to be children of parents with no cast, and the cast system is a perfectly legit way of structuring society”. No, most rural Indians would, when asked, agree to the equal rights of all and explain that the cast system is illegal in India. The only reason, they’d say, that they prefer the Dalits to stay in their part of the village is becasue they harass women walking alone, they are lazy and criminal etc.

There are an estimated 170 million (170 crore) Dalits in India, a number that seems to be closely linked to the amount of starving people in this nation. For me it is hard to see how they can be so unfortunate jsut because they were born ”without a caste”, but then again people have the misfortune to be born in the ”wrong” part of society in our lands, too.

I have begun to wonder about this cyclic way of thinking again, the one I can refer to with school lessons in religion in mind. Dogs are beaten and I remember that dogs are the worst thing you can be reborn as. If this is how you think, there is no such thing as innocence. A baby can seem innocent enough, but if it’s one of a castless it has done wrong in a previous life. But then again, no one would actively agree to this way of thinking, as little as anyone would say ”I agree to the constant surpression of women and of racial violence”- it is deeply rooted in society but not to be pinpointed in anyone’s mind. It would be easier to deal with if it was surfaced.

There is hope in that the NGO Kudumbam, amongst many others, works with precisely these kind of issues. There is a lot of love in this world and I think we can just about make it go around. I

It’s not even 11am yet and today has already been an adventure. For our morning exercise me and Jana set off on two bikes, taking us further than we’ve managed to go on foot so far.

We’re quite the sight, Jana taller than most and with mismatching clothes on our rusty stallions swisching by Indians who don’t even have the time to be surprised. The ones that see us, wave and smile as usual.

Back to the farm, uppuma for breakfast (a kind of porridge made from rice flour) followed by the first fresh papayas straight from the farm. They grow fruit trees here, to show and encourage nearby farmers to do the same. Trees bind water, as we know by now.

Then laundry. This time rather than rinsing it in the bathroom like we have done, I took it downstairs to the outdoor tap where I’ve seen the girls from the children’s home do it. Lahta soon came to help, she likes to show us how to do even the most basic things (last night how to cook curry over open fire). Boy are my clothes clean now.

Bikes aren’t necessary! The concrete floor, the tap and a bright blue soap is all it takes for me to understand why Indian girls can eat so much and weigh so little.

I feel childish even though Lahta is yougner than me. I feel the need to explain. I say ”in Sweden, only machines”. She understands. I am telling her that although it’s how we do our laundry, I want to learn her way. She shows and then supervises (no no one more time in water!) my floppy attempts to whip the bedsheet clean and then move on to rinse it one time too few.

How can I explain, that I can downsize and upload photos on the Internet with my eyes shut, but not how to wash my own clothes?

She knows parts of my world too. When the Macbook we have with us got stuck the other day she swept pass us all and pressed ctrl alt del, thinking it would sort it (hence my text to you by the way Noel, thanks!).

I have come to realise that this is why we are here. Lahta strives to be like me, in a manner of speaking. Rural Indians also wants the fancy electronics, the aid in labour, and a guarantee of a certain standard like we do. I want to show that this is fully achievable, without making the silly mistakes we have made. Without being greedy. I want to show that even though we have much to share and teach, we can also learn from them. And I’m not just talking about laundry here, although it’s a good start.

As I walked away, just as wet as the towel and underwear I held in my left hand, I carried a piece of the bright blue soap in my right hand. A gift from someone who has barely anything to give.

I wrote this last night. Wohow back in real time- scroll below for some posts I’ve written since my arrival to Kolunji! I have uploaded a few more photos to Flickr too.

Ylva wrote in the projektisyd blog about the mythical plastic chair. The one that appears from nowhere when you’re out on village visits, the one you’re supposed to sit on whilst everyone else sit on the ground. And so I do. I’d love to break the norm and sit on the ground, but I wouldn’t want to offend he who brought a chair. Nor reject the banana I am served next to my food whilst the children have none. They have been informed that us Swedes, we love our fruit.

Then there is the formalities. After a speech, after a programme, formal gratitudes are given. I mainly understand nothing apart from a name here and there and the word Nandri (thanks). Then suddenly my name is spoken (which is tricky to work out
as every other word in tamil appears to have the syllables sa and ra next to each other somewhere) and I go to the stage where the Panchayat president or similar put a towel around my shoulders. I had heard about these towels. They are practical, I suppose.

I am beginning to truly love the raducal organisation that now is my family, my Kudumbam. Kolunji Farm felt big, dirty and unfamiliar for about four nervous days (as you can read below), but today I felt better than ever about coming to India. Today Mr Mani (his name is longer but he has shortened it for us) translated whilst two key members of staff gave us what I suppose is lessons in organic agriculture. I now know minituously well how to prepare biological pesticides and fertilizers (growth promoters)- how much cow dung is needed, whether to stir clockwise or anti clockwise, how long it is to stand and then finally how much water it is added to. I know in theory how to build three different composts and also what a vermi compost (wormery) and an enriched compost is. I know how to make egg fertilizer (50 lemons, 10 eggs with shell on). To make pesticides a rule of thumb is that what your cattle doesn’t like pests will avoid too, such as neem or papaya leaves.

All this told by Mr Rengaraj aided by Mr Mani and Mr Krishna (also with a longer name really). It worked surprisingly well and it was never annoying even when misunderstandings occurred or when they didn’t understand when we understood (”the eggs must be completely covered with lemon liquid, no eggs over. See? No eggs not in lemon liquid, must be completely covered” and then a picture was drawn… get it? The eggs must be submerged in the lemon juice…). The Indian English certainly is a challenge but one I am coping with.

Then Mr Sakhtivel, with the same translators, told us about Kolunjis organic certification. I have still not quite understood how it works, apart from
the fact that Kolunji aids 1500 farmers to obtain a group certification from someone who has an office in Cochin, Kerala. I think it’s governmental. But the
name this certification has is LEISA Safefoods. I have also understood that there are 29 rules an organic farmer must follow, and if one farmer is randomly
checked and doesn’t comply, the whole group loses it’s certification and can’t apply for another one for 3 years. In other words, Kolunji scrutinise every
single farmer, making the whole system thoroughly checked. I had underestimated this and didn’t think much of Indian certification before today.

But more important than what we learned today was that we got to sit down with staff and discuss our perspective. This, to me, appears to be one of the reasons
we are here. To show that what an organisation such as Kudumbam is doing is so incredibly interesting that I just have to come all the way from Sweden to check.

And I really do.

I wrote this on 28 October.

I guess I am about as confused about India as I was about England 13 days after my arrival all those years ago. I think, however, that India would require a bit longer time to get used to! Everything a bit strange that I see I accept as social
or cultural norm, but it’s not like every strange person I met in England are typically British. I must remember this.

I talked some to M before leaving Sweden about the cyclic way of seeing life in this part of the world and I think I can see it in practice already. There is a certain ”this is what I’m destined to do in my life” way of acceptance amongst the less
priviledged (with exceptions of course). This also explains the carelessness in pretty much everything from traffic to electrical works- ”if I’m meant to die today I will do it one way or another anyway”. This said, I am still seeing a great care for each other’s lives. So far.

So the rain arrived today. The forecast says it will rain tomorrow and then it will be sunny again, however the singing frogs beg to differ. According to Latha who is in charge of the children’s home downstairs this means it will rain for at least four
days now. I hope she and they are right, on behalf of the Dry Land farmers of the Pudukottai District.

I wrote this on 29 October.

I promised Sanna that I wouldn’t forget to write about everyday things such as what I eat and where I sleep. It’s easy to forget as this quickly becomes habit, leaving nothing but thoughts and analysis in mind and fingertips.

As the Puriyar-gang left Kolunji Farm yesterday leaving me, Jana and Fiona to start our project I suppose that some sort of normality has settled.

We wake up at about 6.30-7 am. We don’t have to, but have chosen to get up and go for a brisk walk before breakfast. We areall scared of the up and coming carbohydrate belly we’ve heard of and seize the opportunity to exercise before the sun makes the world unbearably hot.

Sometimes I then do some yoga exercises, mainly to stimulate digestion. You will soon understand why this is necessary.

The children and all staff take meals in a simple hall in the midst of the farm. It’s high ceiling is of a some sort of pleated wicker and the whole building like a giant hut with open sides. The floor is earth and the walls concrete or clay. We sit on marble benches along the sides and matron dishes up through a opening in the partation to the kitchen. We eat with our right hand fingers, with the left hand on our laps. The kitchen is very simple, with an open fire.

All food served is thoroughly cooked, which is good for our scanod-bellies and so far my stomach has been coping (touch wood!). This morning we were served chappatti with a potato stew (sambar). This varies though, yesterday it was rice with a lentil based sambar, the morning before idly (ball like bread made from rice flour) with coconut sattini (chutney). This is not very different from the lunch (although lunck often means pappadoms) which is served at 1 pm and dinner at 8 pm. Around 4 pm we are served chai, which in this part of India means strong tea with milk and sugar, not the cardamom-ey mixture we are used to. This is very much the food that the indians eat, I have yet so see anything served up raw (like vegetables).

We take smaller portions and eat fruit in between and after meals. This sets us apart from the rest of the crew, but something we need to accept as malnutrition
and constipation doesn’t give us a good foundation for our projects.

Matron, who’s name I can’t pronounce but is something short like Oda or so, speaks no English whatsoever so reads our faces intensely while we eat.
This works remarkably well but sometimes it does end up wrong, like for example when Jana complained about the energy guzzling fans at the top
of the ceiling which merely whisks the hot air around up there. Only seeing Jana’s gesture this meant that the fans soon were switched on.

She has a good sense of humour and a glimpse in her eye. She always overpronounces what she serves (iddelleeeee for idly) and when we repeat she laughs heartily. I sometimes try out a new Tamil phrase on her and she likes this a lot.

In between meals we work. It’s all pretty new still so we’re not quite into this but yesterday we had our planning meeting. We will early next week start
visiting villages and with the aid of translators speak to organic farmers out there. Kudumbam wants to establish roughly how much orhanic produce is available,
and the long term plan is to buy this from the farmers and sell it onto wholesalers. Organic farmers currently don’t get a higher price for their produce which
is something Kudumbam is looking to change. Once we’ve conveyed this we will start at the other end and talk to possible consumers in Trichy.

We have a lot to read and write, too, and everyday I have something to wash (towels, tunics, underwear etc). Laundry happens in a bucket and I then spread this
out on the roof terrace to dry. Roof terrace may well sound luxurious but it’s way too hot daytime.

The heat is of course a contributing factor in everything we do. This is meant to be the coolest time of the year but this year the rainfall is absent and
so is the cool. We did acually have some rain last night and the air feels a bit more bearable, but the monsoon is still absent. Monsoon season is October through
to January but although Andra Pradesh is flooded Tamil Nadu remains dry. I should add that although hot and sweaty I am coping better than I ever thought- I have not even had a headache yet.

I have bought some Indian outfits but don’t think I’ll ever look or feel good in a saree. Possibly a half saree which is a skirt, a short top and a shawl. No shoulders, ankles or belly buttons are to be shown here, leaving very little skin left to actually expose if you think of it. I may come back to Europe with a tanned face, feet and hands!

We go to bed around 10. At this time it’s been dark for a few hours already. I am still sleeping with earplugs as the sounds here are way too unfamiliar yet.

Soon we’ll master the art of getting to places by bus and we’ll be slighlty less isolated out here. We have neighbours too; the room next to ours is occupied by
two other Swedish girls here on different journeys. One of them is leading me and Fiona to Trichy this weekend, where I am hoping to get the mobile internet modem
installed on my computer, it’s not worked so far.

Hopefully I’l lsoon be able to write more about the organisation. Oh and tomorrow a man is coming to tell us everything of the current organic certification standard
in this country. I love geeky stuff like that!

Lots of Love,

Sara

I wrote this on October 26

Today is my first really moody day since I got to India. We arrived Kolunji yesterday and whilst it’s absolutely remarkable it wasn’t quite what I had expected. Whilst CIRHEP was very basic in terms of accomodation it was rather westernised in its’
Indian style, I realise this now. However after this evening the whole Kolunji Farm and Kudumbam thing feels great.

Poppy, our mentor in lack of a better word, came to pick us up at CIRHEP. Two bumpy busrides, totalling about three hours, and some serious dealing in Tamil with busdrivers (we were all carrying our bodyweight in luggage) we arrived Trichy. Remember the header I’ve already mentioned in previous post? Trichy looks exactly like it. We stayed in ”the doctor’s suburb” where Kudumbam’s office and a home for some girls is located- the girls will become part of our life here so I’ll write more about them sometime.

The girls have previously stayed at one of the two Children’s Homes that Kudumbam runs. The kids involved are not necessarily
orphans but have parents that can’t take care of them for other reasons. One, for example, is a widow which is a very difficultsituation for a woman in India.

Anyways, I digress. The girls were lovely hosts and very girly in their Indian ways. All dolled up in my new Indian outfit
(a chudi in Tamil; loose trousers, a tunic and a scarf), with jasmine garland in my braid (thanks to Chechammal) and kumkum and bindi in forehead we began our journey to the farm.

The room me, Jana and Fiona are sharing is situated above the childrens’ home. The bathroom is actually really nice but the
room itself really needed some airing. It has most likely been uninhabited since last winter but as it is the micro flora and fauna has had it’s ways with the corners and mattressess. Plain spoken, there was little termite nests and other exciting exotics
to be found (we hope it’s gecko traces, not vermin!) here and there and everywhere.

There are two other girls staying in the room next door, A and S. S is from Dalarna just like me. Phew, I was afraid I’d loosemy dialect.

Tonight we were shipped off to a nearby village, Valiampatti, where the folks from the Trichy office were giving a talk on GMO and pesticides. As we’re used to by now our white faces and wrinkly clothes caused much needed attention,perhaps some people even listened!

By talk I mean loud music, loud talking and feedback through the speakers. And a powercut, no surprises. Gotta love India.

Truly love Kudumbam.

I will write more as soon as I can. I’m glad I uploaded some pictures as Internet really is a luxury I don’t have any more.

Hugs

No Internet yet. Have arrived Kolunji Farm, it’s awesome and more Indian than previous accomodatrion. Bites on skin and termite nests in the room. All is well and my stomach is just the best. I will treat it very well for the rest of my life if it carries on being this nice to me. I have not even suffered a headache since I came to India.

Hopefully Internet will be installed on laptop before the end of the week. If so it’s still very slow, but at least Internet.

Scroll to the bottom of blog to see my Tweets, I text my Twitter every now and again when I’m away from tinterweb.

Nandri,

Sara

Today a man named Jean Pouyet came out of hiding in his forest in Auroville to talk to us about trees. Originally French he came to Tamil Nadu in 1970 and has been here since, dedicating this whole time to trees. It is a priviledge to get to speak to people like this, someone who has had so much more than than yourself to explore the things you want to explore, a shortcut. Even if some of the things he explained may have felt a bit out there, ”if someone tells you 100 things you agree with and one thing that you don’t, then think about that one thing as you may change your mind”. I am sure of it.

As I may have insinuated before I really love it when science is used to explain spiritual beliefs, or the other way around. I love to think that religion and science both are right in a way. Sometimes when you realise just how cleverly nature works it’s hard not to think spiritual thoughts, isn’t it?

As an example: today we walked a bit up the mountain Kadavakurichi, where there once was a fertile evergreen forest. Just like many other forests it was cut down, for fuel use and animal grazing through the years, and by other people who wanted the wood. CIRHEP are now working to make this mountain and the area around it fertile once more, through various clever ways of managing the watershed this area makes. Where there are trees water and nutriens are bound to the ground, instead of being flushed away by heavy monsoon rain.

On the mountain Jean showed us a tamarind tree, which is an ”exotic” in the Indian flora; probably a remenance from the shrine that dwells here, a result of the frutiy sacrifices once made. However the tamarind tree grew and in it’s shade there are now ebony trees sprouting. As evergreens they cannot grow in full sunlight, as seedlings they must live in the shade of full grown evergreen trees, and thus once again Mother Nature has shown how great things can work out. And Jean has showed that there is no such thing as an invasive species, only a misuse of plants (think eucalyptus trees) that, given enough time, nature will sort out.

This, by the way, is the principle you must use if you want to replant an evergreen forest. The trees grown for shade, I have learned today, is called pioneer trees. This is what they do here at CIRHEP, amongst other things, they encourage the planting of pioneer trees.

Jean taught us today that the cycle of a forest looks like this: first there is lycens and moss, they grow and degrade and create the first topsoil. Then there is grassland, then a tree savannah. Then comes a deciduous forest, who sheds it’s leaves in winter in our part of the world and in summer here in the south. The climax that follows is the evergreen forest, the ever producing and in lack of other ways to desribe it: the biggest capita. This process may take a million years.

As a summary of what I have learned I think the best thing to say is that: Mother Nature (geology) is the grandest of engineers, and Father Sky (the climate) her biggest helper. Sounds like hippie talk perhaps, but it’s wonderful to think that no matter what we do to the planet, she will regenerate at some point. Perhaps it will take a million years, but it will happen.

I am absolutely delighted that after such short time in India I am already learning new things and developing that part of me I came here to develop.

Peace and Love

PS during the time I’ve been writing this I’ve just been stung by something very angry on my finger. It’s possible it’s the first bee sting of my life (they keep bees and make honey here too, by the way). Oh the irony!

Well, if Chennai was like a slap in the face the countryside here near Nilakottai is like a soothing palmstroke afterwards. We managed well in the city, but nothing is like the welcome we have received here at CIRHEP so far.

Somehow we managed to find the right train and even get a few moments’ shut- eye Indian style, and somehow we didn’t miss the stop either. Like I’d seen Indians do I opened the train door while the train was still moving, and suddenly two men sprung into action and ran after the train on the platform. Our escort, who had rented this really awesome hindu decorated bus to take us to the farm with.

Here we are now after a most amazing breakfast (pongal which is sort of rice stuff, and sambal, which is a sauce thing, and fresh tomatoes and other things I have yet to learn) all eaten with our right hands with the left hand on the lap. Too excited to sleep. Will probably pass out tonight. However more people are to come here besides us Future Earth kids. I look forward to meet them all.

I was hoping I’d be able to put some pictures onto my Flickr by now, but the computers are not quite there. I am also updating the Projekt i Syd blog, which is in Swedish.

Dear Diary,

Where do I start?

India is chaos and order and respect and disrespect and smelly and beautiful and just so incredibly awesome. There are people wherever I turn but never do I walk into anyone. People drive like maniacs but I haven’t seen accidents just yet (although signs to say they have happened). We, as a group of 8 white people, are honoured guests and a pain in the ass at the same time; we require more maintenance than Indians.

Today after having walked in the wrong direction twice (Indians don’t lie, but if they don’t know the answer they make one up as they don’t want to disappoint) we ended up on the beach. Indian women don’t swim so neither did we, however after about 10 minutes of sitting in the sand we could no longer see the ocean. More or less everyone had found something they had to do in the circle that surrounded us. Indian men are either completely uninterested (like the guy here in the Internet cafe) or ever so slightly cheeky. Never pushy, never sleazy. We are a target for bets I’m sure (I dare you to talk to the white girls!) but mainly we’re trying not to cause too much havoc by avoiding eye contact. Curious, friendly approaches are OK though.

After having spent about two hours after arrival at the airport changing money (I was charged more than Eric! I was too flustered to ask anything as I only lost 20 rupees in the deal) we landed ourselves two pre paid taxis and off we went into the early Indian morning. By this time it was about 5am here.

Do you remember the old picture I had as a header here on this blog? It was actually of Trichy, but the Chennai dawn looked very similar. The air has got a dirty brown taint that makes everything glow, and the crows circle the trees of unknown kind, crawing a greeting I can almost hear over the constant beeping and traffic noise. We survived the taxi journey, although my jaw was dropped and I probably inhaled a weeks’ worth of fumes. The streets were crowded, even at this early hour.

Then, Diwali celebrations begun. Some of you will know that it’s about Rama and his wife Sita’s return to Ayodha after his spectacular rescue, or about Krishna and his wife Radha. However in real life it appears to be all about blowing up as many firecrackers as possible, the smaller you are the bigger the show, and preferably in small alleys. Somehow, in the midst of all this, we managed to fall asleep for a few hours.

I am now rambling and rambling. Josefin and I are contemplating renting an auto rickshaw and go to a big temple, as it is after all Diwail, but we’ll see about that. I’m glad I got the chance to update my blog. It will cost me about 15 rupees.

Lots of love to you.