pix from today and yesterday

	Sandra’s new haircut
	Kanan, Radhalaksmi and Sandra

	Radhalaksmi, Ajitha, Santosh, Jaya Sandra, Kanan
	Sandra’s brolly-control near the place where Kanan was discouraged
	Clouds scudding by

	tadpoles at angels one-five
	A bell on the rock shelf that forms the roof of an ancient temple

A house near the temple – note the thatched roof.

Another Nedumkandam-style suburban main road.

	The back end of the wedding vehicle
	A huge spider on the temple wall

A child wearing a typical balaclava. Children wearing these look so lost and so cute!

A passing loudspeaker-advertisement vehicle and Ken Dodd’s bus. Did he pay his road tax?

Apparently typical formal or school make-up for young girls: bindhu between the eyebrows and on the forehead, eyebrow reinforcement and eyeliner make them look a lot older than they actually are.

Some of DS’s family. From left to right: Sapana (Deepa’s older sister); Arya, Laxshmi and Asha (Sapana’s daughters); Sajitha (Deepa’s younger sister); Hyjyalaxshmi and Annandu (Sajitha’s son and daughter); Deepa and DS

is right – my bank is a member of the wunch! I’ve just seen that they’re charging 3.5% on any cash withdrawal here, even though I’m in credit. Er, is it that much more work to spew cash out of an ATM here rather than in the UK?

Mastercard charges the larger of 2% or 2UK pounds for cash withdrawals and (from comparison of a mastercard purchase with a cash withdrawal from my bank on the same day) appears to give a marginally better exchange rate.

Gotta love that ISDN connection!

Ajeesh frolics

	Ajeesh doesn’t impress Jaya.
	You can see why!
	Aarrgghh!!
	Jaya, Amina ( a neighbour) and Radhalaxmi try to restrain Ajeesh

on the road

	another local shop…
	… and its keeper

near Cumbum

	unfinished temple at Golapur
	statue at Golapur
	detail of statue at Golapur
	detail of statue at Golapur
	statue at Golapur

farming fashion

Santosh in typical farming rain-gear

Nedumkandam details

a typical local shop

Apparently the last time I blogged was on Monday. Here’s what my diary tells me I’ve done since then.

Monday 10th continued
After I finished blogging, by pure chance I met Ajeesh, Anish and one of their friends in town. This was a case of ‘hail fellow, well met’ because the rain had started to be annoying. I also had a foul headache so was glad to avoid the exertion of walking to the house. However, once I was in the car, Ajeesh announced that we were going to briefly visit Sindhu. She’s the friend he took me to visit in hospital and with whom we stayed on the way back from Goa and is an official in Ajeesh’s local self-help group/eco-development committee. She lives in Udumbanchola which is about 10km up north of Nedumkandam along National Highway 17 so I thought we wouldn’t be too long: I’d told Jaya and Radhalaxmi I’d be back at the house around 7pm and it was now around 6pm.

The meeting appeared to be about trying to get the police to crack down on illegal distillers. Ordinarily I’d not have a problem with people making hooch: it’s up to them and their customers whether or not the rot their guts with ethanol.* However, because the distillers are allegedly cutting the hooch with meths and other nasties and because local politicians are allegedly taking kickbacks to protect the distillers, I’m pleased that Ajeesh is trying to do something about this. Apparently, Sindhu has heard some things that can be passed on to Anish for publication in his newspaper. Ajeesh was also keen to know the date we got slightly involved in the arrest of a distiller at Kanthalloor.
*In Kerala, strong drinks appear to be a government monopoly, sold from government-licensed shops only.

The rain was very heavy when we arrived at the path that leads to Sindhu’s house. Ajeesh and Anish dashed towards the house because they had no coats or umbrellas while I had both. However it was pitch-dark, the path was muddy and had many puddles and I couldn’t remember how to get to Sindhu’s house. I walked about 20 metres along the path and gave up. I tried to open my rucsac while still sheltering under my umbrella to retrieve my phone and torch. The rucsac strap rubbed against where a blister had peeled off and left raw flesh. I screamed, dropped my phone and other things in the dark and retrieved them while screaming imprecautions against rain, mud, India, my throbbing head and being lost in the dark. When I calmed down, I phoned Ajeesh and asked him to come back and guide me. Sindhu’s sons came out with umbrellas and a torch and guided me so that my feet stayed mostly dry.

At the house, Sindhu offered tea. I asked for hot water because of my headache and Sindhu brought out some paracetamol while Ajeesh gave me a quick facial massage. These two treatments helped a lot – thanks both!

We got back to the house around 9pm and I received a friendly telling-off for being two hours later than I’d said. I’d also left my diary in the car and Ajeesh insisted on going to retrieve it, despite me telling him that it was my fault for leaving it there and so I should go.

Tuesday 11th
After a late start and a couple of unpleasant things that aren’t bloggable and are now sorted, Ajeesh drove us to town. I spent most of the afternoon organising my photo archives, uploading the photos that are in a recent entry and working on the essay for DS. I also spent some time phoning people in the UK and thinking about my next moves.

Wednesday 12th
During the night a UK friend sent a text message that implied something horrible had happened in Mumbai. In the morning I asked to watch english-language TV and learnt about the latest Mumbai bombings. (I say ‘the latest’ because 9 years after a previous outrage the suspects are still on trial!)

I still can’t comment on this except to hope that the Rail Authorities repair the damage quickly – these suburban trains are used by millions each day. Mumbai’s roads appeared to not be capable of carrying the traffic that existed when the rail system was intact so I don’t want to even think about what they’re like now.

I needed to extract some money from an ATM. The nearest ATM that would accept mastercard and maestro cards was at Kattappana. Ajeesh had some business there too so we drove there. This was the beginning of another Bruce-farce.
The drive to Kattappana almost empties the car’s tank. We have to buy a litre of petrol on the way to be sure we’ll get to Kattappana. This reduces our total liquid assets to around Rs70. This is not enough to buy sufficient petrol to even return to Nedumkandam.

I find that the State Bank of India ATM is out of order. Meanwhile Ajeesh is at his meetings and isn’t answering his phone. The SBI staff tell me that it will be out of use for several days and that the nearest SBI ATM is in Kumily, 30 km south.

Despite being fairly sure that the other ATMs (Union bank and Federal bank*) in Kattappana don’t accept mastercard or maestro, I trudge off to try them. I confirm they are useless to me and trudge back to the cybercafe’s building to meet Ajeesh. On the way I buy a parapuwada, leaving myself with Rs14.
*The do take Visa cards. Boo hiss!

Eventually Ajeesh returns to meet me at the cybercafe. He gives me Rs10 so I can check my email. We get a hurried lunch (chai and two more wada each) at a cafe in the cybercafe’s building and try to work out what to do. Without obtaining more rupees, we’re stuck in Kattappana. I decide to cash one of my few remaining traveller’s cheques. (I’d been hoping to keep these because ATMs may well be rare in Sumatra and entry officials like proof that visitors have funds.) I need to obtain more rupees than I have in TCs so I still need to visit an ATM.

I go back to the SBI and am told that this branch can’t cash TCs. The manager suggests I go to Muthoot Finance who will cash TCs and will give me a better rate than SBI can. Nice!

Muthoot Finance is in the cybercafe’s building, so back I go. The manager there is a very jolly chap and is keen to give me all sorts of information about the area. He gives me his card and says that I should show it to the management when I check in at the Cardomom County hotel: this will get me a good discount on the 80 UK pound per night cost. I still have the card: does anyone out there want it? The SBI folk were right about the rate – I get maybe RS1 per pound more than I was expecting.

Finally, with some real rupees in my hand we can return to the nearby petrol station and get enough to drive to Kumily and then back to Nedumkandam. The drive is along NH17 but this part hasn’t been resurfaced in ages and has more potholes than a teenager has acne. I fear for the car’s suspension and Ajeesh tells me that we’ll return by a different route.

At Kumily, I get the cash I need. We then drive around Kumily: because Ajeesh is organising a programme that involves the Deputy Director of Periyar Tiger Reserve (just outside Kumily) and he happens to be in Kumily, there’s a slim chance they can have a face-to-face meeting. However, because it’s after 6pm, we can’t find her at her office and there’s no answer when we go to her house, this falls through.

To return to Nedumkandam but avoid the horrible roads, Ajeesh decides to drive from Kumily into Tamil Nadu, head east as far as Cumbum and then go north again and get back into Kerala at the same latitude as Nedumkandam. We stop outside Cumbum so I can photograph some statues I’d seen when I came here earlier. I’m told by an old lady I meet there that they were erected by her son to gather donations for a local Ashram. She anoints my forehead with white powder and prays for me.

In Cumbum, we park at a real car-park (ticket, guards, the works!) and eat iddly sambar at a reasonable-looking vegetarian restaurant. We then drive back towards Nedumkandam. Ajeesh points out that the mountain roads in Tamil Nadu, even those that aren’t State or National highways, are much better than those in Kerala. Tamil Nadu mountain roads have edge-markers and intact road surfaces while Keralan roads are usually terrible.* Ajeesh believes that this is all thanks to the recently deposed Chief Minister, Jayalalithaa. He also says that Jayalalithaa’s rural loans policies are responsible for large agricultural improvements in Tamil Nadu: 15 years ago it grew nothing but rice and peanuts. Now it has coconuts and bananas which it used to import from Kerala, as well as grapes and other new crops. Kerala now has to import crops in which it was self-sufficient 15 years ago. I point out that a lot of Kerala, including his home, is fairly marginal land, while the population density is higher than most other states so that the state’s tax income is relatively reduced and has more marginal people to support. Also, I’ve read that Jayalalithaa is very corrupt and has tried to inculcate a cult of personality worse than Enver Hoxa’s! Ajeesh says that Tamil Nadu police ask for Rs5 bribes while Keralan police want bribes of scotch whisky. I have no answer to this.
*The NH-17 runs from Munnar, via Nedumkandam, to Kumily. It’s been resurfaced since I’ve been in Nedumkandam from Munnar to just south of Nedumkandam. I wish the plans included kerbstones: without them, I fear that the edges will erode and potholes will form far sooner than would otherwise occur. National Highways are planned by central government but constructed and maintained (supposedly) by state governments.

There are many checkpoints on the border – we pass through at least three, each supposedly checking for different things and in reality not even lowering their barriers. Just inside Kerala, we pick up a minister who is returning to Nedumkanadam. He passes forward a bag or fried and salted chickpeas – yum.

Back at the house, I eat while Ajeesh disappears. (He told me later that he’d been at Santosh’s house.) I try to stay awake so that the others aren’t woken when he returns and needs to be let in but fail and am soon in the land of nod.

Thursday 13th
Ajeesh again had business in and around Nedumkandam so I went with him to town. I blogged for a while and then decided I wanedt to upload some of the photos I took yesterday so that you, my beloved readers, can see them. My usual cybercafe has windows 98 PCs and a reasonable dial-up connection but I’ve found the drivers supplied with my card reader don’t work on their PCs. There is another cybercafe in town: its PC has Windows XP (so doesn’t need drivers) and a CD burner but it has a terribly slow and flaky dial-up connection. I realised I’d left my camera in the house so I walked back. Miracle of miracles: I don’t get rained on. At the house, Jaya served a lunch based on jackfruit (two different jackfruit curries, rice, sambal, pickles and bean ‘curry). Then Gopalkrishna returned from cutting grass for the cows and we talked about the forthcoming nuptials.

I returned to town around 4pm, promising to be back around 8pm. On the way, I passed many local children who were returning from school. Many of them enjoy calling out ‘hello-how-are-you?’ or ‘hello-what-is-you-name?’ – these seem to be the two english phrases that everyone learns by rote. I always answer, hoping that it will help them learn something and because they’re being friendly and enjoying themselves in a pleasant way.

I bought and posted a birthday-card and then walk through town to the XP-enabled cybercafe. There, I suffered a worse than usual connection and so wasn’t able to even write an email to a friend, let alone upload photos or work on DS’s essay. (I email successive versions to myself so that I can access them on any PC that can connect to the internet.) I made a couple of phonecalls and walked back to the house, arriving utterly soaked with rain and sweat about 8:05. Ajeesh was still away – he was organising the event that involves Periyar’s Deputy Director.

I see on IdukkiVision’s news report a piece about plastic litter and illegal use of land at a temple at the top of this suburb’s hill. Some of the photos used in the piece were taken by Ajeesh with my camera. I’m quite tickled that I’ve been able to contribute ever so slightly and pleased that Ajeesh’s efforts are getting some notice. (I seem to recall another piece earlier this week about the hooch-makers but that could be a false memory – there’s nothing about it in my diary.)

Friday 14th
Today Ajeesh and DS were to attend a Headmaster’s conference in Kattappana. Kattappana also has an ISDN-connected cybercafe with reasonable PCs running XP. (All but the server have had their CD drives removed.) So I’ve come with them to Kattappana and have blogged here while Ajeesh and DS attended the conference to tell the delegates about their project. The project is an anti-plastic litter/clean-up project. It will involve Periyar’s deputy director somehow. Also, DS has asked me to talk for 15 minutes at it. Errrrrrrrrrrr – nervous but I’ll do it!

Lunchbreak was a visit to the police canteen. I resisted temptation to bring out my cuddly pig and ask her where her uniform is but didn’t enjoy the experience at all. Now I’m going to get on with the essay and then return with Ajeesh and DS to Nedumkandam. By the way, I’ve found a mention of Nedumkandam online here. You can also get to a reasonably honest road map. (This one seems a little better.

Not sure about tomorrow – will let you know asap.

I got as far as uploading these on Tuesday before the dial-up connection apparently irretrievably died.

everybody’s gone smurfing… smurfing cardomom

	Gopalakrishna cutting jackfruit
	digging a banana-plant hole
	How a banana-plant hole should look
	My banana-plant holes: some practice needed, methinks.
	The public school in Nedumkandam
	exposure before my peers
	planting
	digging cardomom-plant holes
	I think my cardomom-plant holes were better than my banana-plant holes.
	Ajeesh, Santosh and Bruce

The aftermath! I found it far easier to sit on the edge of the hole and hack down to increase the edge-depth, then stand in the hole to lift the soil out. Of course this meant I kept sitting on freshly-dug soil. What are little boys made of?

Bugger, bugger, bugger! A big political demonstration has just gone by. My camera is 2 km away, back at the house. Duh!

quietly happy
Today’s just been some work (5 more cardomom pits dug but no planting yet), followed by laundry, followed by a hot shower, followed by waiting for a long enough pause in the rain to walk to town.

Ajeesh is still away – he’s taking some people to Kollam and I wasn’t awake enough to hear him go. I’d slept badly and spent most of the day reading and ‘talking’ or otherwise passing time with Sandra.

Yesterday was mostly about staying dry. I remember I had a vile headache in the evening and so missed being one of the many millions engrossed in watching sport. I was also briefly at another wedding function – Ajeesh and I had been invited to eat with the wedding party

Sandra seems to have adopted me – she likes taking me for walks around the ‘suburb’ but I get a bit uneasy when she twice took me into other folks’ houses – social conventions force them to give hospitality. (Fortunately, one of them was Santosh’s house so his kids knew who I am.) This is lovely but I don’t feel comfortable because I’ve not been invited in. I am sure these are Sandra’s friends’ houses and it’s fine for her to wonder in and out but, even allowing for the portion of my discomfort caused by the language barriers, until I at least know the parent’s names, in future, I’ll manufacture an excuse to stay outside. Bloody British reserve!

Many people, including Sandra and local kids, have taken it upon themselves to tell me malayalam words for everything under the sun. But because I can’t always see what they’re pointing to, and it very rarely sticks, it can lead to frustration on both sides.

nice things
A couple of nice things to report. The liquid sunshine became intense while I was walking to town yesterday. I stopped at a local shop to shelter. Someone waiting there flagged doen an auto for me and made sure I knew the correct fare. I don’t think the driver would have asked for more but I do appreciate this help.

Also, on Saturday, the younger of the cybercafe owners’ sons told me that yesterday would be his birthday. Here, is the custome to give sweets to your friends on your birthday. As I was leaving he gave me a sweet. Often too, chai has turned up here, unasked-for and without cost. I think the owners are grateful because I speak english with the boys but maybe it’s because they’re just nice too!

Hoping to upload some pix of Santosh, Ajeesh and I wielding our tumbars tomorrow, weather, current and telephone connectivity permitting. I should have time to complete the essay for DS while waiting for them to upload.

Well I’ve found out what today will bring and it was bloody exhausting too! Some of the stuff behind the cut ‘adapts’ christian hymns.

Welcome to Cardomom County
Today is probably the first day that I’ve woken before Ajeesh: he usually wakes at 6.30, he tells me. However today I was vertical by 8 am while he didn’t surface until 8.30. I’m not sure what time we headed out to the ‘fields’ – I think it was 9.30 but certainly before 10. There we met his neighbour, Santosh, who is helping farm some land owned by Ajeesh’s sister Ajitha and her husband. He’s also called Santosh but he works in a restaurant. I’ve met him but couldn’t remember his face so put this Santosh and Ajitha together, much to everyone’s amusement.

The land we were working on is at the foot of a slope, just above a tiny stream and about 25 metres down a muddy path from the main path/track. This piece of land is dotted with banana plants and other trees but neighbour-Santosh had yesterday done a lot of work, clearing the undergrowth and digging some holes in which cardomom plants would eventually be grown. These holes are about 4 feet wide by 4 feet back by up to 2 feet deep and require a lot of work: there were many more to dig.

At first Ajeesh used a long-handled tumbar (mambati tambar) to mark out the area of each hole and start it off; then I used another mambati tambar to dig the hole to the right size and depth; then Santosh made the walls vertical and the floor flat using a short-handled tumbar (koryi tambar). This system worked up to a point – I’ve got better at manipulating a long implement but it was still hard going, even after Ajeesh tried to teach me the finer points of mambati tambar wrangling.

About 10.30, Jaya called us in for breakfast: steamed ‘rolls’ (coconut and rice powder boiled in aluminium tubes [oops here comes Alzheimer’s!], boiled tapioca and pickles). I was quite dirty, having given up on my sandals early on. The feeling of dirt trapped between my feet and the sandals and the clumsiness to which it led were far from fun.

After breakfast, we went back to the field and tried a different system: Ajeesh and Santosh marked out holes while I used the koryi tambar to deepen and finish them. So I’d finish a hole in the time Ajeesh finished two but my holes looked quite good! Also I found it much easier to lift soil out of the hole with the koryi tambar – I could get it full of soil and then use my hand on the koryi tambar’s heel to lift and throw the soil. I also found that I could get more leverage if I sat on the edge of the hole and chopped away at the side opposite me. This did have the unfortunate effect of making it look as though I’d had horrendous diarhoea.

I think I’m now responsible for 10 cardomom-plant holes and feel for the first time in days that I’ve earned my stay here. I was utterly exhausted by the time Jaya called us for lunch (rice, sambar, more tapioca and coconut & jackfruit-seed curry) and found it difficult to summon up the energy to lift the food into my mouth. I also have only two tiny injuries

• a burst blister on the inside of my right thumb
• a cut in the quick of my right little finger where I knocked it against a stone in the side of a hole while cutting out a root.

By the way, the knives used for such tasks, for cleaning tambars and even for cutting up paan, ‘boost’ and many other tasks are called something like oo-arr-kutty.* The curved design means that it’s difficult to cut yourself when cleaning spades and that you’d be really unlucky to get cut if one fell on you. Bruised: yes; but cut: probably not.
*There are two other names – I didn’t hear clearly enough to write them down.

To keep myself going, I sang out loud bits of Holidays in Cambodia, especially

Well you’ll work harder with a gun in your back
for a bowl of rice a day.
Playboy soldiers strum on guitars*
and then your head’s skewered on a stake.

*the official version is ‘Slave for soldiers til you starve’

and adapted a hymn when Ajeesh brought some tea from the house

Give me chai in my cup – keep me working
Give me chai in my cup – I pray
Give me chai in my cup – keep me working
Keep me working till I fall down dead.

Sing ‘Khardum chaya’
Sing ‘Khardum chaya’
Sing ‘Khardum chaya’
To Camilla siniensis-parker-bowles

There was another Bruce-mangling of a hymn but I forget what it was. (This is probably a good thing.) Oh well, I seemed to amuse Santosh and Ajeesh – he even tried to adapt Holidays in Cambodia to Holidays in Nedumkandam!

After lunch neither Ajeesh nor I were fit to carry on. I do feel better for working, however: a bit more honest and my lungs are busy getting rid of the last of the yuck. So after Ajeesh had showered, we came to town. Ajeesh is with the boys in Shaji’s office and I’m here blogging although I waited for about an hour for power to return. During the wait, I talked with Mr Ozhathil and his sons. Mr Ozhathil is keen for his sons to learn correct English pronunciation and I’m happy to help if I can. When requested, I also explained the differences between England, Britain and the UK!

Tomorrow Ajeesh is driving someone to Kollam (aka Quilon). Not sure if I’m going: I feel I should stay and plant cardomom in the holes I dug. However that depends on Gopalakrishna, Santosh or someone else being available and willing to tell me what to do. I’ve very aware that for them, this isn’t a game, no matter how much they joke and laugh. This tiny-scale farming is a major part of the family’s income and I want to get it right so that they get crops from the work I did and so that I haven’t been making my back ache for no reason!

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Ajeesh asked me how British people farmed their land. My answer was ‘most don’t! We’re very urbanised and farming is mechanised so that tiny numbers of people work large areas of land. The nearest most of us get to farming is a garden with a lawn and a few flowers or maybe an allotment.’ I’d appreciate your comments on how near to the truth this is, mostly so I can give Ajeesh a correct picture of the UK.

OK, I think I’ve spun this one out as far as I can – time to go Mr Floyd!

Click here

(unless you regularly follow links on my ‘friends’ page)

More drivel falls off my fingers because it’s too dark to work in the fields…

Typos here can be blamed on the mozzies which have hassled my feet. Remind me to bring socks tomorrow.

BTW, tales of niceness here should not be taken to mean that people in other places aren’t nice too. Over the years I’ve run into people from all over the place (Scots, Australians, Indonesians, South Africans, Americans and English folk spring immediately to mind) who give with both hands.

Wednesday 7th continued
I walked back to the house – mostly avoiding rain (or managing to control my umbrella effectively) but sheltering for 10 minutes at a fish & general stuff stall when it pelted down.

Near the house is another house where someone had wanted Rs10 from Ajeesh or I in the morning. Neither of us had it so I said I’d sort it out on the way home. Slight mishap – I found the right house but none of the family spoke any english so I couldn’t make myself understood and so disturbed them for nothing. What’s the road to hell paved with?

Thursday 6th
A day of enforced idleness – Ajeesh was still in Cochin and I wasn’t allowed to even make tea for myself. I did have a go at trying to extract the Malayalam alphabet from Ajeesh’s Malayalam-English dictionary. (The front-matter and end-matter are all in Malayalam so I couldn’t directly crib it.) Jaya tried to help but I’m still finding learning new alphabets hard. Malayalam is like Devanagiri in having 6 or 7 vowels, then about 40 consonants and then modifying those to show the vowel-sounds that follow them or to show that there are two (or more?) successive consonants. This may show you what I mean.

Anyway, I gave up for the moment and read my way through Jaya’s chemistry text-book. It’s meant to be around A-level/SYS/Advanced Higher standard. I could cheerfully shoot the proofreader (was it proofread at all?) and the authors for allowing huge factual mistakes to get through. I suppose it’s mean to fault the english language and writing style as well but they seemed extremely unhelpful too.

I was given an inhalation treatment: sticking my head under a blanket with a bowl of boiling water with some Vick’s vapor-rub and tiger balm. I was also given three doses of the ayurvedic medicine – glasses of boiling water containing the ingredients I’d bought along with crushed pepper-corns. Despite the massive amount of sweetness from the karipatty (apparently palmyra sugar), I could only sip this concoction slowly and through gritted teeth.

I seem to have slept well and the cold is almost gone – hoorah! So I think the treatments worked – huge thanks again to Jaya and Radhalaxmi (Jaya and Ajeesh’s mum).

Friday 7th
Ajeesh returned this morning. After a lot of discussion centred on a cousin who’s wasting his time and leaving his immediate family’s land unfarmed, we came to town.

I had a quick blog while Ajeesh visited an office in town. Then we drove to his bank. I appear to have slagged the wrong bank – the bank whose directors are demanding a bribe appears to be Nedumkandam Service Co-operative Bank. So I unreservedly apologise to the Idukki Co-operative Bank. However, this was a small branch – the nasties are being played out in the head office and I don’t yet know where that is.

We had lunch at the cafe I’ve blogged about before. The owner is called Mini and her daughters are Raji and Remia. I’ll continue to eat and drink there but I won’t have any more sugar until Mini gets rid of the ants that infest her supply. Aarrgghh!

We then went to the local plant-nursery to pick up some plants: apprently wild strawberries although they they looked nothing like the strawberries I know. (I think they’re cherries.) Apparently, when the owner told me they were for the local public/government school, he gave them for free. DS, Ajeesh and I then went to the school and chatted with the headmistress while waiting for classes to end.

The children (at least the lower classes) were assembled into the one of the school’s main building. (It appears that there aren’t partitions between the various classrooms in this building.) Ajeesh, the headmistress and I were sat in front of them and the headmistress introduced Ajeesh and I. I feel a bit uncomfortable at being referred to as ‘doctor Bruce’ (I don’t like people to think I’m full of pride [except when I am] or particularly special*) but if can help them aim high, then I guess it’s ok.
*I’m sure I’m just a random bozo who gets it wrong a lot of the time

I was then invited to speak to the children – I started by thanking them and their parents for the wonderful welcome I’ve had here. I then asked them about their ambitions. All of this had to be translated by Ajeesh because very few of the pupils had enough english to understand me. We finished with Ajeesh leading the children in a repetitive song/clapping rhyme.

I can’t tell you how un-nerving it is to have 100 or so bright, young faces staring at me while I attempt to fill up the silence with useful and non-patronising words. Aarrgghh! I’ve offered the headmistress my services as a very temporary english tutor – we’ll see what happens!

We then went to the school fields to plant out the unknown-fruit trees. I have some good photos (thanks DS) of me wielding a mambati tambar. We also got Ajeesh’s former teacher and two of the children to plant out other plants and I tried to push the idea of not dropping the plastic waste that had been their wrappers.

I’m now here while Ajeesh is at a meeting to organise Jaya’s wedding. (If there were subtitles then I’d love to attend. However I don’t think I can add anything to the proceedings just now and listening to a prolonged discussion in Malayalam would just make my head explode.)

I should add another nice thing: today is the cybercafe/architect & design studio owners’ 19th wedding anniversary. Someone brough in some large fry-cakes and they gave me one. Thanks to this unknown donor and congratulations to Mr and Mrs Ozhathil!

I’m not quite sure what’s happening tomorrow but am looking forward to finding out.

Maybe I should give up reading newspapers.

While waiting for Ajeesh last night, I picked up a copy of The Hindu and read this and this.

As the op-ed piece says

Whatever the estimates, it cannot be denied that the innocent people, especially the tribals, are the ones who are put to hardship. The Maoists are supposed to be espousing the cause of the tribals. Ironically, because of the continued violence and killings, even the few development projects and facilities they would have got in the normal course, have now been denied to them. The Maoists need to give up the terrorist ways and come to the table for substantive talks, and not continue mindlessly on the path of violence.

I wonder what the chances of this are? Will the government go into the areas that support the Naxalites with iron fists and jackboots? The letters page carried quite a few letters suggesting that it would be acceptable for ‘civilised’/’democratic’ rules to be bent or broken in order to combat this menace.

Perhaps it might be better, as the BJP suggests, to look into how the Naxalites came to such strength in these areas, i.e. who or what (if anything) permitted them to grow and what are the reasons for people joining these movements? Why on earth am I in line with a party that’s allegedly based on religious fundamentalism and extremism. (I’m told that it does have christian and muslim leaders.)

Actually, I’m not sure if I can care any more. A, where’s my plastic box?!!!!!!!!!!!