Well, back to blogging after wasting far too much time on a certain issue. I would say more about it but for now ‘least said, soonest mended’. (However, I’m intrigued that certain comments and my reactions to them have disappeared from MY journal when I certainly didn’t delete them.)

Apart from this, yesterday and the day before have been two of the most idyllic in India and possibly in my life.

Sunday 19th
I’m getting a bit confused here because I appear to have already blogged about this day. However, my diary is as follows:
A dreadfully lazy day after waking up at 5.30. Eventually the Korean (Jae Jung) and I crawled to cyber highway where I spent ages on my blog…

Back to the hotel – no electricity. I read it’s because the Maharashtra state electricity company is broke. Other states are charging it more than it can afford for electricity supplies, so there are regular power cuts from 8.30am to 10am and from 3pm to 4.30pm. The company wants to raise prices but so far the state legislature has resisted this.

You may also have heard that there’s been a lot of chicken deaths here. (However, there is also a big propaganda campaign extolling the safety of chickens and eggs.) Bird flu is highly suspected but the most recent deaths may well have been caused by a chicken speculator keeping his birds in terrible conditions. In another case, a farmer has been arrested for refusing to co-operate with the state apparatus who want to find out why his birds died. There is an awful lot of culling happening and about to happen. (I’m omitting a bit here for fear of causing further upset. However if anyone wants to know, you’re welcome to contact me privately. )

Once power was restored, I watched the last hour’s play. England had achieved 400 runs in their first innings but so far India had only got 89 runs for 3 wickets. I read later that a star Indian batsman was booed off the pitch after failing to score well in this innings. There’s been a lot of furore in the media about this. Personally, I admire anyone who has the strength to do anything active in the full heat of the Indian sun.

By the way, this test match is being played in ‘Wankhede’ stadium. I’m sure you can imagine how I want to pronounce that!

At every break between overs, there’s an advert for a skin-lightening cosmetic which is portrayed as making its male users more sexually attractive to women. Even if Indian women really do generally find lighter skin tones more sexually attractive, I find the inherent racism in this advert rather disturbing and annoying. I’d have hoped for better here but watching other adverts seems to show most seem to use actors who are much lighter than the average skin-tone here.

During most of this session I was trying to explain cricket to the Iranian (name omitted to protect the ‘guilty’). It’s one thing to explain the basic mechanics but entirely another to try to explain the finesses and mental challenges of the game, especially when my grasp of it all is fairly weak.

Afterwards, Mr Iran, Jae Jung and I went out in search of a parade that Mr Iran had heard of because it was supposed to feature elephants. We found a solitary camel, despite the main drag being closed to cars. Mr Iran also asked a policewoman if he could photograph her but she refused. We then encountered two more Iranians, with whom Mr Iran spoke in a mixture of Persian and French – and I found that my grammar-school French is incomprehensible to francophone Iranians. I’m a bit saddened by this because in first year at St Andrews I was told by a third-year French student that my French was good.

Mr Iran also told the other Iranians of his adventures in the red-light zone and off they scampered. On the way back to the hotel, he took surreptitious pictures of women passing by and then persuaded Jae Jung to distract the policewoman so he could photograph her. This was really stupid because there were many police about, most armed with lathis (3-foot long wooden truncheons). I could see this was stupid, despite being still drunk from the single beer I’d necked earlier (admittedly on an empty stomach). I made my excuses and went back to the hotel to eat and write this. (And yes, I did omit a certain experiment – sorry to all who were looking forward to it.)

The beer garden here is packed with young-ish folk (mostly male), eating and drinking. I feel rather out of place because I’m the only non-India here, I’m bearded, have long-ish hair (almost a mullet) and am wearing a psychedelic tee-shirt. This combination prompted a local to offer me some ganga on the way back to the hotel but again I declined. Beer, tiredness, heat and hunger were enough and I didn’t need to be stoned or in legal trouble. Good-night all!

Monday 20th
Slept dreadfully last night because Mr Iranian kept his bloody fan on full-blast all night in the room next to me. The rooms are separated by wooden partitions which have no ceilings apart from the overall room ceiling, several feet above the tops of the walls. When I’m asleep, I padlock my valuables inside my rucsac and then padlock that to a heavy wooden table. My passport and money are in a shoulder-wallet worn under my shirt, so unless I’m actually attacked, most of my kit should be safe. It’s all insured anyway, not that I’ve ever had any success with insurance claims.

Spent the rest of the day watching the Indian 1st innings. I’d missed Sachin Tendulkar’s unpopular dismissal and was rooting (not in the Australian sense) for Dhoni (the Indian Wicket keeper) to make at least 50 so that there’d be a closer match. He got to 62, including three magnificent consecutive fours before being run out very controversially at the next ball. David Gower and Michael Atherton (two former top English cricketers) were convinced he shouldn’t have been out and explained why by quoting from the Laws of the game. Also, there’s some controversy over the big-screen running replays of the run-out before the 3rd umpire could make up his mind.

After this, I slept through the afternoon power cut and then watched more cricket. By this time, India had finished their first innings for 279 all out and England’s opener, Andrew Strauss, had already been out for 4 runs. However, since he scored 128 in the first innings, I can’t fault him and so today and tomorrow may provide the close match I’m hankering after.

After this, I spent far too long at the cyber cafe. It’s only costing 20 rupees (30 UK pence) an hour but I wonder how the place affords its kit. I’ve checked on the price of iPods here and they’re comparable with UK apple-store prices, so I imagine other kit costs folk here just as much as it would in the UK.!

Monday 20th part 2: Help!
On the way back into the hotel, the night-watchman asked me if I wanted to buy his Air-Force medals. He’s supporting a large family on a low wage. What do you think I should do? It may help you to know

• He’s asking 1800 rupees for whatever he’s selling. This is around 25 pounds.
• I have 2700 rupees in my wallet, along with over 800 UK pounds’ of travellers cheques.
• I’ve already spent somewhat significantly more than my budget for the time I’ve been here and need to curb my spending, especially as I have no overall income. However, were I employed (and I expect to be fairly soon after I return to the UK), I could easily afford it. (This amount would be about the same as the cost of two or three cellar-bar sessions.)
• I often buy The Big Issue because ‘it’s working, not begging’ and I do have qualms about simply giving hand-outs to beggars. (Having said this, if I have any coins in my pocket, I will give these out because they mean almost nothing to me but will buy the beggar a roti or two, enough to keep them alive for a day. (Why do I feel horribly smug when I re-read this?)
• If I buy a newspaper or similar from a street vendor who obviously lives on the street and pay with a 10-rupee note, I’ll usually tell them to keep the change.
• In general, I disapprove of armed forces. Buying the medals might seem as if I do. This man has seen action in various wars, most of which (if I have understood what he says and have recalled correctly) were fairly pointless and stupid. In general, the ongoing disagreement between India and Pakistan and its ramifications is REALLY annoying and quite scary.
• In general, I disapprove of a state ignoring its more unfortunate citizens and am concerned that private hand-outs might encourage this.
• I’ve been very comfortable at this hotel and am quite keen to tip. Similarly, I’m happy to reward a night-watchman who helps keep my stuff safe.
• I have no use or desire for any Indian Air-Force medals, except to pass on to military historians or collectors.

I’d very much appreciate any answers you have by this evening (10pm Indian time, which is 5.30pm UK time) because I told him I’d think about it and let him know tonight. If anyone reading this does want them, then I’m very happy to buy them on your behalf in return for appropriate recompense.

After this, I talked with the Iranian for a while and tried to ask him silverwhistle’s question but didn’t get anywhere. I did get a lesson in Persian (Farsi?) characters so it wasn’t a waste of time and, as usual, it’s useful to learn about my limitations, no matter how galling they may be at the time.

Tuesday 21st
Another abysmal night’s sleep, followed by another marathon cyber-cafe session! Thereafter back to the cricket!

EDIT
As of 2pm UK time (7.30pm here), I’ve had one response so far – thanks to the responder. I appreciate most of you are several hours from being able to respond. I have to admit to having snuck past the guard on my way to the cyber-cafe this evening.

I’ve also been pondering my reaction to plights here in comparison to my response to people in the UK who aren’t eligible for state support. I’m aware there is a contradiction in one important case and am not pleased with my inability so far to achieve a satisfactory resolution to this. I have thoughts about what I might do but this dis-satisfaction remains at least at the back of my mind, festering along with many other related issues.

Saturday 18th/Mughal’s revenge part 2
I finished blogging yesterday once my trousers had dried – then sat on the mall steps and read a newspaper until I remembered that I had promised a friend a favour. This involved asking someone else for something, so I went back into the cafe to email them. As I was doing so, I felt another blast of gastric pain.

The cafe-owner noticed and asked me if I had a problem, then gave me three pepto-bismol tablets. This was very generous, since they’re not available in India. (He stocks up when he travels abroad.) They dealt with the pain almost instantaneously and I’m hugely grateful to Mr Cyber-cafe. (I offered to take some of his business cards to my hotel as a way of saying thank-you but they seem to have evaporated from my wallet last night! I am going to recommend this place is included in future editions of my guide-book. For anyone who’s coming to Pune in the near future, it’s “Cyber Highway”, shop No 8, Legacy Plaza, 313 Mahatma Gandhi Road, Pune 411001.

After this I went back to my hotel and watched some of the cricket. (Annoyed with Pieterson for throwing away his wicket. However, by close of play, England had made 279 so have a reasonable chance of squaring the series.) This was interrupted by powercuts, so not a perfect day’s viewing: maybe I should have stayed in Mumbai. I filled in the time trying to learn Devanagri script. It’s horrible: there are dipthong/consonant conjunctions for every combination of simple letters, so there are effectively over 200 symbols.

I ate some jeera rice (fried rice with cumin seed) and poppadoms and drank lots of bottled water, followed by a large Foster’s lager, then went for a walk around the Laxmi Road area to watch the festivities for Chatrapati Shivaji’s birthday. I’m kicking myself for not taking my camera but I was scared of pickpockets or being mugged as a rich westerner: part of Laxmi Road is the local red-light district. Lots of sound-systems, marching brass-and-drum bands in fantastic uniforms, lorry-based floats moving slowly along the street: fantastic and I’m very sorry I can’t share it with you visually.

Today, now that the dairy products have passed through me, I feel hungry but fine. I’m pretty sure that the past 10 years’ near-abstinence from dairy has caused my gut flora to evolve/change so that they can’t deal with dairy products. (Well, that’s my current theory.) I’ll test this tonight by eating at the place I had the ‘paneer overdose’ but insisting on a purely vegetable meal: results, no matter how embarrassing for my stance, will be posted as soon as I get off the bog and on with the blog!

Sunday 19th
A very pleasant morning. Drank chai with a Korean and an Iranian and learnt a little about both places. The Iranian is about to start his doctorate in civil engineering here. I’m not sure whether he hankers after pre-Khomeni days but he’s certainly not impressed by Ahmin-wots-his-face’s current antics. He also reckons that Iran is very close to getting nuclear weapons and when they do, it’s good-bye to Israel. (He didn’t appear to be in favour of this, just stating his view of what is likely to happen.) I think you can understand why this made my blood run cold…

However, I have to say Mr Iranian is a bit of a chancer: he has a wife and girlfriend in Iran, both of whom told him to be a good boy. Er, no, he’s had a very nice time, thank you, on Laxmi Road, then tried to pay in US dollars, and got chased back to the hotel by 2 taxi drivers who wanted their rupees!

Hooray! my email account is no longer treating a friend as a spam artiste!

Once I’ve finished here, it’s back to the hotel for more cricket-goggling.!

Thursday 16th part 2
Foraging: totally yummy alu methi and parathas with to-die-for home-made lime pickle then watermelon juice, followed by sugary fennel sweets to cleanse the palate at at street-cafe (“Uncle Dev’s pure veg”) at the corner of Vinod Pathak (aka One Church) road and Connaught Road, just across from the GPO. Very welcome after a day of getting hopelessly lost and the hotel needing to re-check my passport!

Friday 17th
achieved a few of my objectives today:

• a long internet session, including checking up whether I’d upset a friend (fortunately no) and on my internet banking. This place has to be the best cybercafe I’ve seen in India: clean and nicely designed, modern-ish machines running Windows 2000, camera-card readers, headphones, webcams, decent monitors and keyboards
• bought a decent streetmap of Pune. It has the former, British, street names and not a hint of Marathi but is geographically accurate.
• drank two very welcome mango juices at a roadside stall
• bought an idiot’s guide to Hindi (most folk here don’t speak it but Marathi uses the same script so eventually I should be able to read roadsigns). I can now read Devanagari script numerals, having learnt them from platform/stance signs at a bus station.
• got to the tribal museum my guidebook had recommended, and met the director thereof (and of the research institute it’s part of). He seems a very decent chap and I was happy to meet him later to be taken to his museum shop – it’s in a south-eastern suburb and I’d have never found it on my own. Quite a fun ride on the back of his scooter there and back. The research foundation seems a very worthwhile thing, as does the shop, enabling tribesfolk to enter into commerce selling ‘traditional’ paintings and other crafts. I’m not quite sure that introducing them to capitalism (another of my bug-bears) is a good thing but if they’re already in its grip (and there are signs that some are being ripped off horribly by local government officials), then any funds that reach them will be welcome. I’ve bought some books and cards, most of which will probably end up as presents!
• some magnificent contrasts that help define India to me:
  • coming out of the museum, I was dogged by a gaggle of kids demanding 50 rupees! When I refused, a couple acted as if they were mad, presumably to garner sympathy for their affliction.
  • Then, just outside my hotel, I passed a skip. In it, a bloke was raking therough its highly potent organic contents for useful stuff.
  • Next, at my hotel, I sat on the verandah and a waiter just came over and sliced the melon I’d bought from a roadside stall. Amazing service for around 3 UK pounds a night!
• I’ve just spoken to the HIV-counselling person whose colleague I met on the bus to Pune. She’s on a teaching break just now and so has asked me to call her next Friday. I don’t know for sure if this is where I’ll fit but there’s no harm in finding out. Looks like I’ll be in and around Pune for longer than I’d originally thought. However, despite (or maybe because) seeming London-with-chappatis (there’s KFC, Pizza Express and bloody McDonalds!!!), I’m getting to like it.
• hotel washed my very manky clothes for 100 rupees.
• bought 3 collared shirts for 400 rupees. Wearing these and smart-ish trousers makes me feel for comfortable, not least because it’s what most blokes I’ve seen in India wear. I couldn’t wear the other ‘uniform’ (a nehru cap, long shirt and lunghi) without feeling an utter tosser.
• finally braved my hotel’s shower after discovering that if I let it run long enough, the water goes from freezing to tepid. Oh the joys of wearing clean clothes on a clean body!
• Back to Uncle Dev’s for food (paneer ghungroo and methi/radish parathas). I also bought half a kg of the afore-mentioned lime pickle. More crowd-watching – even saw a local skin-head! The owner/manager talked with me a bit about foreign news, especially the latest US attack on Samarra in Iraq. He showed me yesterday’s (i.e Thursday 16th’s) Marathi newspaper: of course I couldn’t read it but the pictures of bloody bodies were enough to make me feel ill. (Reading about it in the BBC news pages: it’s a propaganda op with fortunately few casualties so far. I wish I’d been able to tell whether the newspaper pictures were from this op or simply library/stock photos.)

Saturday 18th so far

• very poor sleep because the bloke next to me kept his fan on full blast all night.
• powercut 8.30 to 10 am due to lack of fuel, which makes the US-India nuclear fuel deal that bit more understandable. (While India hasn’t signed the non-proliferation treaty and so can’t normally be supplied with fuel, it can if this will prevent fuel-starved reactors from doing bad things. Can anyone who understands nuclear physics please comment on the science behind this?)
• Visited the hotel toilet twice: not so much mughal’s revenge as mughal’s delayed-action annoyance!
• Along with the powercut, there was a lack of water in the system. Once I’m done here, I’m going back for a shower.
• Came here to check on various stuff and blog. Very glad I brought my toilet paper. The cafe’s in a modern mall which has a sit-down toilet. I had to clean the seat first because someone had stood on it but now I understand why – there’s a dripping tap at low level and I now look as if I’ve pissed down my left trouser-leg. Currently sitting on newspaper (and a ply-bag to protect the cafe’s chair), hoping that it will absorb the more unfortunately-positioned damp patches and imagining you buggers laughing at me. Not going to move from here until it’s dry! I thought that after this my guts would calm down but the gastric pain has just come back for another round.

Mughal’s revenge?
I’ve realised that I can’t be strictly vegan here without major issues that I don’t want to face. (I was also advised this by another vegan friend who has spent a couple of years living in India: during this time he relaxed his code.)

• Unless I insist on ‘kala chai’ or ‘mahin dudh’ and the facilities are available, chai automatically has milk. On trains, the chai-wallahs carry flasks of hot, milky water which they dispense into paper cups with tetley tea-bags. I’m not keep on buying drinking-water in plastic containers for obvious reasons and because the bottles are known to be re-filled with yucky tap-water by unscrupulous operators. I did buy some this morning now in the hope that this will help me get through the current problem.
• Where I can, I’ll have rotis but Uncle Dev told me that they only had parathas (buttery flat-breads) available. I was hungry and in no mood to haggle or search for elsewhere and am reasonably convinced that cows here are treated with some respect. (Who’s going to deliberately damage their beasts-of-burden? Despite being a modern city, there are plenty of bullock-carts here?)

So last night I ate Uncle Dev’s recommendation of paneer ghungroo (cheese in a spicy gravy) with methi-stuffed parathas. However, I’m hoping that my gut flora not knowing what to do with this heavy lactose meal is the cause of my digestive problems. I’ll avoid paneer from now on and eat just rice tonight in the hope that this cleans out my system. Meanwhile, I’m very glad I don’t go anywhere without my rapidly diminishing stock of bog-roll and am not looking forward to using newspaper when it runs out!

None of the above stops me from believing that I should return to eating a fully vegan diet in the UK, for all the practical and compassion-based reasons that kept me vegan(-ish) in the past, hopefully avoiding the ‘ish-ness’. I’d appreciate any help with staying on the straight and narrow you lot would care to offer.

OK, so last time I blogged, I was in Aurangabad. Yesterday I bounced on a bus for 5 hours to travel the 227 km to Pune (Poona). It’s the most westernised city I’ve seen yet, a place where the British imprisoned Mahatma Gandhi and his wife (she died during this imprisomenet) and where you’ll see young women in western gear (jeans and short-sleeved tee-shirts), riding scooters and motor-bikes but wearing full-on scarves covering all but their eyes. Some of them were walking so I presume the scarves aren’t just about avoiding inhaling exhaust fumes. Still, there’s enough young ladies in sarees (with accompanying naked midriffs and figure-hugging vests) to keep my swonnicles revolving at a vast rate.

Here’s some updates and diary extracts about what I got up to in and around Aurangabad.
Friday 10th
very bumpy bus to AJanta caves.
straw hut in fields
rained last night
villages/newspaper (no idea what I meant by this)
urea distribution centre
wheat-growing, green and lush, many trees
pass through Shillod, a big market town
fields of sunflowers
RAIN!
caves so beautiful I could cry
squirrels, then floor alive with ants picking up my crumbs

TAKE 2
having been told by the hotel boss that a bus journey to Ajanta would take 4 hours each ay, involving lots of stops, I’m still glad I saved the 1500 rupees (over 2 UKpounds) for the taxi-tour he offered. The bus cost 69 rupees each way, then tour bus to amenity site cost 6Rs, entry to amenities cost 5Rs and entry to the actual caves cost 250Rs. Just as I bought this ticket, the heavens opened. There was a lot fo pressre to hire services, for example, one guy kept on at me for 10 minutes, insisting I should hire him to carry my shoes (since you need to take them off to go into each cave). hen he finally got the message that when I said ‘No’, I meant it, he then asked for a hand-out – appparently for being so good at being annoying.

Again, just as Hans (an american I’m rooming with in Aurangabad – we met up in Mumbai on Elephanta Island)and I were about to leave, the heavens opened again. During this, we were subjected to intense sales pressure. I realy need to learn how to say ‘fuck off and shove your souvineers (which are too heavy and far from unique, so if I should want them, I’ll buy them at the end of my travels) right up your arse’.

Having said that, the caves themselves were superb – I hope my photos will do them justice. It was also interestign to see a wee boy in ear-rings. His parents like him to to decorated but will take them out when he goes to school. (I’m sure he was a boy: his dad’s english was fine and I saw the boy being changed after an ‘accident’.)

I washd some clothes by hand last night. Just now looking for peace before going to Ellora and Dalautabad tomorrow.

Saturday 11th
woke too late to do too much. Bus to Dalautabad (huge hill-top fortress, involving a dark passage). There’s a big military area to the soth-east of Aurangabad. It’s a busy city with many touting for business.

Panchakki (ancient water-heel/aqueduct)

Bibi-ka-thingy (can’t remember)

Sunday 12th
Ellora – the only thing going through my mind is a Marilyn Manson lyric (maybe from Fight song): I can’t believe in a god that doesn’t exist.

Met a young woman called Padmashree – she was dressed fashionably (t-shirt and decorated jeans) and told me she had trained as an ayrvedic doctor but was now taking civil service entrance exams. She told me tht most Indian folk visiting Ellora are newly-weds: hence the magnificent sarees. Otherwise, women generally wear shalwar chemise (as her colleague was) or western gear like her. (Two thoughts: [1] I wish I’d had the nerve to ask to photograph them. [2] I’m a dirty old man!)

At least two groups of people asked me to be in their souvineer snaps. I think they just wanted proof they’d encountered a random westerner on their travels.

Monday 13th
calculated hotel bill (I’ll been putting all my meals and internet use on the bill without thinking about it. In the end the 3 nights plus meals came to 1200Rs [under 20 UKpounds])

Humans suck and I’m human
For the first time in my supposedly adult life, I paid money to see caged-up animals. I’d rationalised to myself that I wanted to see how bad Aurangabad’s zoo was – and it was bad. After a few enclosures of tired-looking deer, a very sad solitary monkey and a rather dilapidated reptile-house, I encountered the elephant enclosure. There were listless adult elephants, not only trapped intot heir enclosure but chained by their left front ankles. One was listlessly swinging his chained leg, as if he hadn’t quite given up hope of escaping his captivity (or a reflex from when that hpe was real) or maybe just trying to vary the sensation. There was apparently no food or water within reach and this is an actively maintained zoo. I escaped past other enclosures containing two tigers, to angry with myself to cry.

[In answer to someone who asked why I don’t like homo sapiens, this is a major part of the reason: we’re the only species who lock up and abuse other species for our own AMUSEMENT. Other animals do what they need to survive and/or pass on their own genome (hence there is ‘murder’ in other species). They’ll eat everything in site, causing problems for other species and being hunted and eaten can’t be anything but terrible. However no other species will be as deliberately barbaric as I witnessed and became part of today.]

I’d paid to see this torture; I’d paid over 500 rupes to go into temples of religions in which I actively disbelieve. And yet I’d refused to give naythign to a filthy woman who was carrying a naked child and previously only given a satsuma apiece to three kids who were frantically gabbing at the bag they were in and turned down the offer of smoking a chillum ith a baba I’d passed in the road. Yet again I feel stupid and evil.

Meal at Pravanth – 100 rupees for thali preceeded by idli and limca YUM!

4.30 bus to Jalna – just make it as it moves off but others stop it t get on as it leaves the bus station. Downtown Aurangabad is full of big cars but still shit roads. My arse is going to hate me. 63km with my rucsac bouncing on my groin.

passed pulse research centre. In Jalna, stayed at hotel Siri Monmadevi (02482 232193/237629). Room was 200Rs but I was offered a massage for 2000 and, feeling rather sore from the journey, took up the offer. Afterwards, granny karate on TV and England lost the second test – hah!.

Tuesday 14th
bumpiest bus-ride yet to S… Raja, passed a religious procession. No-one speaks English or Hindi here. Then shared landrover to Lonar village, then on back of motorbike to top of crater. (The driver wouldn’t let me hold him, for fear of ridicule so this was very hairy!)

Wow, I hope the photos of Lonar do it justice. Me a local guy called Ramesh. He’s a farmer, tour-guide and singer (he demonstrated the latter and has a lovely voice). He took me aroudn the crater to all the temples, explaining a bit about the different gods/aspects that have been worshipped there for many centuries. He also took me to a lovely spring where we washed out feet, hair and bodies and I refiled my water-bottle.

He then took me by bus (it was so crowded we sat in the cab – I as on the engine) to his family farm. He grows wheat, chillis, onions and mangoes. He also took me to his family home where his mum made me a glass of black chai
and huge amounts of family arrived to meet the stranger.

If you’re looking for a guide to Lonar crater, contact Ramesh Saviram Rathole, Taluka Lonar, District Bulphama 07260 21608 or 221113.

We bussed back to Lonar village, ariving just before 6pm. There was no bus back to Jalna until after 7pm, so we jumped into a shared landrover to Sultanpur, from where there should have been regular busses to Jalna. Sipping mango lassi in the evening sun with a new friend was just perfect. There weren’t any buses to Jalna, so after dark (7.30), Ramesh got me a lift on a lorry. Cue 3 hours of bouncing, Indian road madness and fear. At least we avoided the morning’s completely unmade roads but around a a third of the journey was on the wrong side fo the road to avoid potholes. For this journey I paid 50 rupees (plus another 20) for an autorickshaw to Jalna’s bus station so I could find my hotel). I gave Ramesh 500 so am now down to 150 rupees. Morals of the story: don’t have expensive massages and don’t travel without all my kit – there was a bus from Sultanpur to Aurangabad so I could have got to an ATM and food!

Back in Jalna, there were fires in the streets and much pinkness – it’s Holi!!

Wednesday 15th
woke to sounds of children playing around 9.20. Put clean clothes on my manky body. Runto bus station, forgotten my lock, so run back to hotel , collect it then run back. Bus still there. Woman conductor wearing uniform shirt over pink shalwar chemise and blue headscarf.

Autorickshaw to station, visit ATM. Get painted for Holi by some lads who are wonderign along the road. Take 2pm ‘semi-luxury’ (i.e. softer seats) coach to Pune. We do 60 km in 1 hour then get a 20 minute comfort break at a ‘service station’. Somewhere along the road, we pass a circular tower of turds. On the bus, I’m sat next to a women who works at a hospital, counselling HIV patients. She gives me their office number when I say I’m looking for something to do with the rest of my currently useless life.

In the evening, I get a kingfisher lager with my food – in the ‘Grand’ hotel’s beer garden. (The room is a lockable partition in the building. The walls don’t reac the ceiling so I’m very glad I brought a chain and so can padlock my kit to the bed, as well as ensuring it can’t be opened. However, I get the feelign this is an un-necessary precaution.)

Thursday 16th
book into my hotel for tonight so I cn spend today in Pune, checking on the outside world (and hearing that a friend’s emplyers have let her down – grrr!), sorting my onward travel and maybe doing some tourism stuff. Both the map in in guide and the one given by the hotel are crap and I get hopelessly lost ont he way to the bus station. I eventually find it but can’t navigate from there to the cyber-cafe I’m after (I find the right road but there’s no sign of it, just a closed Apple dealership) so ask an autorickshaw driver to take me to the nearest. I’m currently in the nort-east of the main city, a bit too close to Bhagwan Rajneesh’s mega-bucks ashram fr comfort. I think I need to buy some shirts because mine ae all sun-bleached and scruffy, wash some clothes and get out of here.!.

See you later spacecats.

Susan’s received a letter from Morrisons. Inter alia, they

• acknowledge that there were serious errors in the way the original issue was handled
• to achieve Susan’s request for ‘justice’ as the outcome of the grievance proceedure, offer reinstatement to her former position from Monday 6 March 2006, including full back pay between the period of the alleged resignation to the reinstatement (subject to the usual tax and NI contributions).
• Once Susan has accepted the offer, she will then need to contact the Personnel Manager at the store where she’s employed at the earliest possible opportunity with regard to her re-commencement there.

Susan’s contacted the branch where she worked to find out when she should restart work, only to learn they’re still waiting for their head office to arrange the start date.

(Well, “Aurangabad” does scan a bit like “awimawey”…)

OK, so I’m just now in the hotel Shree Maya in Aurangabad. I’ll probably be here 3 nights so I can visit various cave-temples and then move on to Lonar. At the moment I’m travelling with a chap called Hans from Colorado. After here, he’s heading north while I head south.

Hotel is comfortable and the room has an en-suite with sit-down toilet – far too luxurious except that I have a horrible feeling I might need it quite often – time to go!!!

Well, it’s been fun but I’ve had enough of Mumbai and am leaving early tomorrow morning for Aurangabad. This was the capital of Aurangzeb but isn’t now, mainly because he’s dead. So why am I going there – well apparently there are some spectacular cave temples nearby and it’s a staging post for visiting what may be the largest visible meteor crater in this hemispere – at Lonar. I’m going to Aurangabad in company with an American by the name of Hans – thereafter he’ll head North while I head South-west to Goa and Kerala.

Yesterday I did the final tourist piece of Mumbai, Elephanta Island:
Elephanta Island
a few caves that once would have been spectacular but the Portuguese used the statues and carvings for target practice. The real highlight was talking with the tourist guide, a local called Sameer. He’s a bright young lad who wants to make it off the island bvy his own efforts and so is working as a guide, while studying, farming rice and keeping house with his sister, Sanskruti. I think he’s doing bloody well – his dad was relatively rich from running a tourist boat to Elephanta until a new jetty, capable of taking larger boats, was built. Sam’s dad’s business faltered and so the dad hit the bottle…

So if you’re coming to Mumbai, then contact him and Sanskruti as follows:
Sameer/Sanskruti Bhoir
At-post
Bombay, Elephanta Island
400001
India
jkid@rediffmail.com or jkid@indiatimes.com (his mate’s email address)

If it ain’t nailed down…
So far I’ve been dipped twice, costing me in total 1000 rupees – about 13UKP. OK, I can afford it but I’m far from pleased, both with the perpetrators and with me for letting it happen. However, the main way Mumbai will pick your pocket is with its toungue – folk won’t have change or will just ask for money. I’ve just about learnt to say no but I’ll be very glad to get out of the traffic noise and overcrowding.

sadness
When Vayshali and I talked on Saturday, she said something about coming back/meeting today (Monday) at 1pm. So I got back to where I met her around 1.20, having got lost both on the way to and the way from Mumba Devi temple. (Don’t go, it’s not worth it!) I’d bought a rucsac (190 Rupees = UKP2.30) full of fruit (oranges, pears, apples) to give to her and her family as a sign that my promise to try to help her when I could later in 2006 but that now I had no money to give them. Their little pal was around and demanded some fruit, so I gave her an orange and a pear and she scampered off. I then sat on the same bench as I had on Saturday and ate a water-melon. There was no sign of Vayshali or her family, just three little boys playing cricket. Eventually, their ball went into the road so I retrieved it – they came over, as did a few teenage girls bearing babies and the usual conversation started:

• Where are you from?
• How long have you been/will you be in Mumbai?
• Where are you going next? Goa?
• Your necklaces are pretty/can I have them (no, they help keep my friends close to my heart)
• Do you want hash, grass, opium, etc? (It’s hard to make them believe that I don’t, especially looking the way I do.)

By now, I was convinced there Vayshali and her family weren’t around and the kids had seen into my rucsac, so I gave the fruit to the. Vayshali’s little pal materialized, demanding more from me. I thought ‘no, you’ve had some already’ and all I had left by now was an orange, which I was keeping for my lunch. So I opened the orange and tried to give her a couple of segments – she refused these, even after some of the other kids suggested she take them. Conversation soon dried up and I went on my way. I’m still a bit sad because I wasn’t able to keep an admittedly vague promise I’d made and maybe let someone down.

embarrassment
I went back to the synagogue to try to speak with their records-keeper. After writing down all I’d been told about my great-uncle, I was invited to speak with a senior chap there. He asked me whether my great-uncle was Ashkenazic or Sephardic and I had to embarrassedly admit I didn’t know the difference. It turns out that, being from central Europe, he’d have most likely been Ashkenazic. This synagogue is Sephardic and doesn’t really have contact with the other branch of the faith. However, the chap said he’d see what he could do. I’m now also the proud possessor of a CD of info about the Sephardic set-up in Mumbai and am about to google for Ashkenazic synagogues here.

For those who didn’t know, sometime yesterday I entered my 5th decade. To celebrate, I intended to take a trip to Elephanta Island, then come back to my hotel, have a meal and a beer and then watch a movie. Here’s what actually happened.

daytime kanari
I woke at 8.30 to the sound of a child singing ‘Happy birthday to you’. A dhobi-wallah was touting for business in the hotel – I put my dirty clothes in a mesh laundry/fragiles bag but he took them all out – was he really going to wash my four-day-old grunties by hand? (yes he did and yes I did get them all back, nicely folded and presented, for 100 Rupees [UKP1.25])

I meandered towards the Gateway to India, buying a watermelon and two Gallia melons for breakfast and lunch. I got to Horniman circle, and sat to eat one of the Gallias – absolutely delicious! I arrived at GtI around 12 and took a few photos, then saw the crowds waiting to go to Elephanta. An ancient and filthy beggar came up to me – I sent him on his way but then felt really bad, so I gave him the other Gallia.

A tout talked to me, pointing out things that my guide agreed with*, namely that the place would be crowded and yet in the afternoon, Elephanta isn’t so good, and suggesting I take his trip to Kaneri caves. I’d wanted to visit this ancient Buddhist monument and, despite knowing I’d pay more than if I made my own way there, I’d be traveling with an English-speaking guide who would do the haggling and ticket buying for me.
*I checked on this later

On the way, the driver, Dilip, and I talked a lot about the differences between marital customs here and in the UK. I found it hard to explain that I’m separated but not divorced, that I’ve had other relationships in the past and that right now I don’t want another one, nor do I really want casual sex. I think I need someone to put names and dates into Marathi/Hindi, especially the bit about not being divorced. (I also need a tee-shirt saying ‘if I want to buy something, I’ll ask for it so don’t waste your breath on me!’) Dilip also told me that many unmarried couples come to the cave-park for trysting and that I could rent a ‘girlfriend’ by the day or week. I don’t think he was suggesting I should, just that they’re available. He’s married with a son and has a work-visa for Dubai but his wife couldn’t get one so he’s settled back here. He wants to set up his own driving business, rather than driving for someone else.

At the caves, he got me a government (i.e. tipping entirely optional) guide who told me a bit about them in fractured English. (This is not a criticism, just a description. After all, I know I speak no India languages yet.) I was then taken on a ‘lion and tiger safari’ – in a battered armoured bus with a lot of middle-class folk along a rutted track. We did get close to some big cats, so I think I got what was advertised.

movie mayhem
Back in Mumbai, I opened the cards and present I’d been given to bruing with me, then ate idlies and veg samosas at a cheap restaurant and then headed for the nearby flea-pit to see Teesri Aankh (The hidden camera). This was a million laughs and I’ll try to explain why:

It opens with a government meeting – a politician asking assorted rows of police ‘who will take on this pornography case?’ Our rugged hero, who is a bit fat and older than me, volunteers. In London, he upsets his girlfriend, who is a model, by continuing with this vocation. She then goes to a shoot in Trafalgar Square. While changing in her trailer, a hidden camera gets some video of her topless: all we get to see is her back as she struggles with her bra-hooks.

Meanwhile, a movie director and his girlfriend realize they’re late for a party: cue fantasy song and dance routine number 1. The next day, at Elstree Studios, they’re filming an attack scene. The attackee muffs her death but a security guard tells them there’s no time for a second shoot because it’s 6.30 and he has to close up now. (For some reason, the SG says he’s English but he had an Australian accent you could use for a door-wedge.) So the film-crew all leave but the continuity-girl (who is mute) runs back into the studio because she’s forgotten something. She promptly gets locked in.

She chances on the set where two made-men who are running the hidden camera bit are using it to blackmail our rugged hero’s girlfriend into doing a porno-scene with them. There’s also some shenanigans with a CD. ORH’s girlfriend refuses, which prompts the made-man who looks like a gay klingon from the 1980s to go radge and stab her many times. As she dies, the CD, which is bad news for someone, falls out of her pocket into an cranny in the set floor.

The continuity-girl runs away but is heard – cue 10-minute chase/hide sequence with lots of shots of her delightfully large breasts bouncing as she runs. During this, she tries to text her director but he doesn’t hear his phone because he’s busy getting a blow-job from a script-writing colleague. (This finishes just in time for him not to get caught by his girl-friend.) Meanwhile CG is still failing to be caught by the made-men but making every stupid move in the book. She’s caught just as our rugged hero arrives along with the director and his girlfriend. She tries to convince them that there’s been a murder but the gay vulcan shows a stage knife and some fake blood and convinces everyone else that he was just acting. Anyway, there’s no body because the security guard has moved all the bin-bags, including the one that actually contains the body, into a skip.

So the director and his girl-friend go to another party while the continuity-girl relaxes in her bath, only to be disturbed by the two made-men. They chase her through the house but she temporarily stops them with an aerosol can and a blunt implement. Meanwhile, for some reason, our rugged hero is attacked by machine-gun wielding bikers. He takes several out with his revolver and kicks which then moves sideways to crush others. Finally he grabs the front wheels of two who try to sandwich him and flips the bikes through 360 degrees. There’s then more fighting, most of which amuses the audience wildly, followed by an intermission.

After the intermission, we get a bit more fighting, then our rugged hero reminisces about his girlfriend – cue fantasy song and dance routine number 2. The choreography doesn’t quite hide that he’s fat and can’t dance. Next, at a meeting in India he’s told that the investigation is off and that the chief suspect is to be freed. Just after walking out of prison, the chief suspect molests a woman walking by, so our rugged hero single-handedly beats up him and his mates. ORH then goes radge on another minor official. This causes a newsfilm-crew to use him to expose a corrupt politician talking live about his corruption, so that’s another baddie sorted.

Meanwhile, the continuity-girl is still running from the made-men, so she runs into a club. Cue fantasy song and dance routine number 3, involving a very attractive woman in a very short skirt: I’m sure we get to see a few glimpses of her undies. Eventually our rugged hero, the film-director, his girlfriend and the continuity-girl go back to Elstree to to look for the CD. Just as they find it, more machine-gun wielding thugs, along with the two made-men burst in. More fighting, in which the director is a prat but his girlfriend saves him and coolly kills the made-man who looks human. ORH shoots the thugs – who are the worst shots ever – and treats the gay Vulcan to a death reminiscent of that of the chief baddie in Commando. (I like Arnie films!) There’s a bit more fighting and policial speechifying and the film ends to rapturous approval from the audience, including me.

So, something for everyone:

• Attractive women shaking their booty in very revealing clothes
• Heavily insinuated (but never actually seen) sex
• Fights which pay homage to Crowching tiger, hidden dragon, The matrix and many Arnie films
• Fantasy song and dance routines with heavy visual effects to hypnotic bangra rhythms
• Anime-like cinematography to emphasise emotion, shock, action, etc. (Think of Mission Impossible II if you can hold down your breakfast.)
• Political intrigue and corruption all dealt with by Dirty Harry tactics

I loved every minute of it!

Friday 3rd part 2
woke 8pm
Henry at hotel 8.40
Pay for 4 more nights
To internet cafe near Eros Eros cinema
To Dhobi Ghats near Mahalaxmi racecourse
Haji Ali Durgah – meet bloke from UP whose son is studying MSc in Genetics at Birmingham and collapse into giggles at this example of a small world.
Malabar Hill
Then bus to HSBC
taxi to near hotel [scary scam]
sleep, wash, xerox maps
train to Grant Road is full, yet at each station more people literally hurl themselves on
Walk for 3 hours around Grant Road/bazaar area. This teaches me what Bombay drivers mean when they use their horns. They’re saying either

1. hello
2. goodbye
3. I’m behind you [and I can’t be bothered to turn on my lights] so get out of my way
4. I’m behind you. Even though there is no way you can get out of my way because something is in your way (and you’re blaring to get out of your way, not that it can because…), I don’t care, get out of my way anyway!

Further definitions will be added once I’ve understood them. Unfortunately, like an orang-utan’s ‘ook’, all these are expressed in exactly the same tone.

I saw 4 taxis blocking each others’ paths. There was space for at least 2 to reverse out of the way but no….

However, Mumbai drives have to be the best in the world – no-one else I’ve seen could squeeze through the gaps they do. Also, I don’t think anyone should try to take on India in battle – everyone here is already used to the noise and confusion and to maimed and dying lying around.

Saturday 4th
woke 5.30
decide what to post home [I’ve realised that I have quite a lot of surplus kit]
decide what to do next

1. 1. today sightsee in Colaba/Fort/Churchgate area, try to contact local chess federation, see Mumba Devi [city deity] temple
   2. sunday Elephanta island, wash clothes
   3. Monday if possible, speak to local chess folk
   4. tuesday head for Goa
      so started by walking to Colaba. Met first scam – a holyman will almost force some sugar sweets on you, then tie a cord around your wrist, bless you and then ask for a donation. The way I can see it’s a scam is his wallet full of change, ready for folk with big denomination notes.

Another is the “buy my baby milk”. I’ve refused several of these and each time felt as if I had killed a baby. I can see the child is thin and dirty and I can’t see any reason why its life is any less valuable than mine (apart from I can do some useful things and it can’t yet), or why I have any more right to life than it. I can almost see why death-squads target street children – but don’t let that make you think I agree with their solution. Mine would be an airborne infertility virus that stopped over 90% of people being fertile, without discriminating between races or financial conditions. OK, it wouldn’t help much now but it would stop the next generation of utter bloody misery and the next generation of western capitalists from buggering the planet for the rest of creation. (Now call me a hypocrite because I flew here.)

Whatever the theorising, if anywhere could break my heart it’s here. I sat for a moment near the natural history museum to drink and cool off. A pre-teen girl was playing with a toddler and the fun they were having caught my eye – I love seeing children having fun. One came over and tried to insist I give her my water bottle – there was a playful battle of grunts since she spoke no English and I speak no Marathi.

Eventually, a woman who I thought was her mum came over to talk. It turns out she was the older sister (called Vayshali), aged 13 (I had thought about 18!). Their mother, Anita, also turned up. We (mostly Vayshali and I) talked about conditions here and in the UK. We talked about homelessness here and there – the only thing I could say is that not so many people sleep in the streets because it’s too cold.

They also asked whether I was rich. [My answer was “I used to be when I had a job. When I go back to the UK in September and get a job, then I will be rich again. For now, I have no job so I am poor”]. I suppose I should have said “yes by Mumbai standards, no by UK standards, even when I have a job”. Vayshali is in 8th grade, studying English and Marathi. She says she wants to be a doctor. I think she could, given the chance: she certainly seems bright enough. There’s no way I’d be as fluent in any foreign language as she is if I had to haggle for a living and lived on the street – I’d be too busy trying to get food to have time for school. Vayshali also was clean and bejewelled enough to say ‘I take care of how I look and am proud of it’ (unless she was yet another scam-artist).

So on Monday, I’m going to ask her to show me her school because it will have a postal address. If it turns out to be true, then once I am back in the UK, have a job, have sorted my finances and have some surplus, then I’ll send the school some money to be spent on Vayshali. If she can’t show me her school then I’ll walk…

Saturday 4th part 2 – synagogue blues
You may know that my mother’s uncle lived in Mumbai from around 1938, after getting out of Dachau, to some time in the 1960s. My mother tells me that during this time he became Indian chess champion. He was also a fairly religious jew. Part of my reason for coming to Mumbai was to see if I could find out ny more about him.

So having seen big synagogue marked on my toutrist map and it being sabbath (which means the place should be in use), in I went. I talked with a very friendly hazan who invited me to come back to the end-of-sabbath prayers because someone who’d worshipped in Mumbai all his life (and was now 75) would be there. If anyone could remember my uncle, it would be him. I burst into tears – I’ve been carrying this hope to get a bit closer to this side of my roots for years – and was reminded that it’s forbidden to be unhappy on the sabbath! I choked out “happy tears” and promised to come back later.

I did and met the elder. He can’t remember my great-uncle but suggested I try the University, the David Sassoon library (it was endowed by a rich jew in the late 1900s) and also come back during the week to look at the synagogue records. There are also a couple of other synagogues in Mumbai so I haven’t given up hope yet.

So, time to crawl into my pit to get up early tomorrow for a sea-journey…