Amanda's Indian Adventure

I have now been away from India for 2 weeks and in that time I have thought a lot about what I have seen and done there. It was the most eye-opening and revealing 6 weeks of my life. It was also one of the hardest. From the busy chaos of Hyderabad to the pristine streets of Perth, it seems impossible to imagine that these cities are on the same planet. That the day-to-day existences led by the people in each city are so incredibly different. Yet they are.

Perth, Australia

Gannavaram, India

Inequality in the world and uneven distribution of wealth is something that I have always known about and whilst I always knew it was unfair, somehow I to put it to the back of my mind. From the comfort of my home, teaching in schools with desks and chairs, teaching children who had shoes on their feet, getting free medical care in well-maintained hospitals, life conspires to make you think that all is OK.

Bhadrachalam School

Occasionally we hear about natural disasters or humanitarian relief drives needed due to drought, famine, war. Briefly, these extremes are brought into our consciousness and we often dig deep and donate to such causes. Children learn about disasters and they want to help – so they send their pocket money or they have cake sales to do their bit. I remember so clearly Live Aid in 1985. It was probably the first time I realised that there were children in the world who were starving, whose lives were hard, who died because they simply ran out of energy to keep their bodies going. Such exposure to this poverty through the eyes of the media helped to create in me compassion for others and a desire to do the right thing to make the world a more equal place.

The years went by and whilst I never forgot the images of starving children in Ethiopia and the spectacle of the Live Aid concert, somehow the memories became blurred. Somehow they faded into the back of my mind as I lived my life, only popping up again when the news reports some humanitarian disaster or other.

Now though, I have lived in a world for 6 weeks that has children living in extreme poverty everywhere. India is an incredibly busy place – there really are people everywhere. It is like  central London in the run up to Christmas. Except these people are not splurging on the excesses of the season, they are simply trying to get by, to survive. Hyderabad and Vijayawada, where I spent most of my time, were filled with impoverished, destitute people and I hope I have given you some insight into those places here in my blog. People, in vast numbers, are struggling to live day to day and yet I, a compassionate, caring, socially motivated person had never even heard of these places only a year ago. The people just get on with their daily lives without complaint, without expectation, just striving to earn enough money to keep the wolf from the door that day. They ask for nothing, there is no humanitarian disaster, no political upheaval wrenching the country into anarchy, no famine, drought or earthquake. These people are just poor and that just doesn’t make news.

India is currently placed 134th out of 187 countries in the Human Development Index (2 places below Iraq). This index measures well-being using things such as life expectancy, literacy & education. It is also a good indicator of child welfare. And yet, in the UK all I heard about India before I visited was that it has a burgeoning economy and is a rapidly developing nation. This may be true, but for the every day child who has nothing, the idea of economic growth is meaningless. In reality, many, many children go to bed hungry. Most cannot afford health care. Children are abandoned by parents who fear their child may be HIV positive and cannot cope. Many have no running water, no electricity, no sanitation. And yet we never hear of them. They really are the forgotten children of the world.

Children's Day Kanuru School

So, some 26 years after I first realised that people in the world starve and perish through poverty, I have seen poverty first hand. I have tried to give my readers some insight into the world I have seen and the reality of this vast, peaceful, uncomplaining but poor nation. Emotionally this journey has challenged me more than I can say and I have been stripped bare of my sugar-coated view of the world. The reality is that life is tough. That life is cheap and that it is beholden on those of us who ‘have‘ to help those who ‘have not’. That is where HEAL really comes in. I am proud to have seen the direct impact that HEAL has on so many children. It is a small charity with big ambitions and it makes the difference every day in India.

HEAL Children's Village, Guntur

As Christmas approaches, I know everyone will be buying gifts, food, things for festive cheer. I will be too. In amongst all this though I wonder if I could ask you to spare a little for HEAL. I know that there relentless charity requests and that you are all asked often to donate here and there. But I also know that this small charity called HEAL is something special. They spend no money on admin, they have no paid staff, and they really do make a difference every day. As I have said  previously, the school we are planning to open really is a kernel of hope in the great expanse of Andhra Pradesh. So, if you can, please give by clicking the following link. You will see that it takes you to Just Giving for a bike ride….that is right! Just Giving – Zoe and Amanda

I hope this isn't my bike!

In January as part of my time with HEAL, I am doing a sponsored bike ride in Kerala, India with my sister-in-law, Zoe. Those of you who know us well will realise that neither of us are natural athletes! In fact neither of us have really ridden a bike for years. Nevertheless we have decided to do a 350km bike ride over 5 days in January to raise money for HEAL. Please can I ask you to consider sponsoring us for our ride. It is really easy to do, just click on the following link and you will be taken to our Just Giving Page. If you would prefer to donate in person, that is fine too. And remember, every little helps and every penny will be used wisely and have a direct impact in India. Just Giving – Zoe and Amanda

I hope you have enjoyed reading my blogs over the last couple of months. I wanted to share this incredible experience with you all. I also want to wish you all a very Happy Christmas and New Year. xx

I woke up on November 14th to a phone call to be asked what my plans were for the day. “It is November 14th, after all” I was told. Perplexed, I racked my brains. November 14th? Have I missed something? It turns out that November 14th is a special day across India as it is the day when the nation celebrates it’s children in national Children’s Day.

On November 14th 1889 Jawahar Lal Nehru was born. After receiving a British education he returned to India and became involved with Freedom Struggle of India, avidly following Mahatma Ghandi. Following Indian independence on August 15th 1947, Jawahar Lal Nehru subsequently became the first Prime Minister of free India. For this he holds a special place in the hearts of Indian people. “Chacha” Nehru, as he is affectionately known, was a man who loved and cherished children very much, seeing them as the future of Indian society. He openly advocated that the welfare of children should be central to the Indian people and that children should be nurtured into adulthood.

It a flurry of activity, I organised my day’s events with a plan to visit two different schools, both a mile apart from each other. The first school was a residential school for the very affluent. It was an oasis of calm and tranquility in this bustling city, as palm trees sway gently in the breeze and children from all over India attend school to receive a very international education. I was here for work but happened to be there on this day of annual celebration. Children’s Day here involved the teachers cooking and serving breakfast for the children, a morning of teachers singing and dancing to entertain the children and a hard fought staff-student volleyball match, narrowly won by the students. Oh yes, and a speech by me. I have had to learn to make impromptu speeches a lot here!

Shoes and expectant children!

In the afternoon I moved onto a nearby Government School, one that Heal supports and has previously provided school uniforms for. I arrived at the end of the school day to find the whole school, all 426 children, patiently sitting cross-legged on the dusty earth of the school courtyard. There was excitable chatter and beaming faces as I arrived and waved hello. They ALL waved back – it seems they had been waiting for me. I was quickly ushered to my seat on the platform looking over the school courtyard and proceedings were about to begin. The trouble was, I could no longer see the children – I was surrounded by hundreds of shoe boxes! We shuffled around the stage for speeches to be made. Sadly, my Telegu is still non-existent here and the children speak very little English so I kept my words to a minimum and wished them a Happy Children’s Day – they understood that!

Shoe distribution

One by one, children were beckoned to the front to receive a gift which to them was a dream come true – a pair of shoes. Nothing fancy, nothing modern and trendy. Just a simple, sturdy, black pair of shoes. Until today, many of these children had never owned a pair of shoes, and some of them are 15 years old. A simple thing that we in the UK take so much for granted, but here this was a prized possession. Amongst the many things I have seen on my trip, one of the sights that always bothers me is to see children walking along roads barefoot. It seems a real barometer of poverty here. Children from less destitute homes – not wealthy, just less poor – wear shoes. Children from poverty stricken homes don’t. At best a child may have a pair of flip-flops, passed from one child to another as their feet grow.

A happy day for these children

Eventually every child in the school received their shoes and the clawed open the boxes to see for the first time the prize they had been waiting for all day. Their gratitude was incredible and once again, humbling. They all wanted their photo taken with their shoe box, they all wanted to shake our hands. The whole process took well over an hour but these children were not bothered about leaving school late tonight – today was such an exciting day!

Most children carefully wrapped their new shoes up again in the box and one by one they tucked the box under their arm or balanced it precariously on the back of their bike to take home and show the family. Only one or two children dared to put the shoes on, the others I imagine wanted to let their families to experience the delight with them of wearing their very first pair of shoes. These children tonight will make the uncomfortable journey home barefoot for the last time. They will remember Children’s Day this year.

I've got shoes!

I saw the head teacher a few days later and he told me that yes, every child the next day arrived in shoes. Amazing and wonderful. I wondered how much it cost Heal to provide shoes for these children. It turns out that just £1600 bought shoes for them all. So for less than £4, a life is changed. What a remarkable thing.

One of the projects that Heal supports is a school in a remote place in Andhra Pradesh, called Bhadrachalam. Whilst in India I wanted to visit all of Heal’s projects so my trip from Vijayawada was planned and five of us left at 7am for the grueling 4.5 hour drive north. As with all journeys I have made in India so far, the journey was tortuous but fascinating – this drive was though the agricultural heartland of the state so we passed through many rural communities on our travels. At about 9am we stopped for breakfast in a small town, in a typical roadside cafe. We were welcomed at this bustling cafe and ushered to a freshly wiped table and presented with mineral water. Water is in jugs on the tables but as visitors we were obviously deemed not hardy enough to drink the tap water – they were right!!

Breakfast being cooked

Washing up anyone?

At the back of the cafe was the kitchen, from which plate after plate of food came out in an effort to keep up with the morning rush. Through curiosity we peeked past the grubby ‘Disney’ curtain to see a busy, bustling kitchen behind. They didn’t seem to mind us being there so we ventured in to have a look. It was amazing – fresh vegetables everywhere, being chopped and prepared in any number of ways, a huge vat of rice grist serving as fuel to heat the hot plate, dhosa and idli (breakfast specialities of the region) being made in huge quantities, and a woman working away in the corner to keep up with the washing up! This was an incredible kitchen, everything is freshly prepared and just to the taste of the passing travellers.

A classroom at Bhadrachalam

Onwards we travelled and eventually arrived in Bhadrachalam. This is an area of tribal people and the difference between the city and here was vast. Homes are small and people have very little here. The biggest employer in the area is the paper making factory, the lifeblood of this and neighbouring towns. I have been made incredibly welcome in India and the welcome we received at the Bhadrachalam school was no exception. The atmosphere, as we approached was one of great excitement as we were presented with hand made flower garlands and a drum beat led us into the school to the delight of the hundreds of eagerly watching eyes. There in the courtyard there were beautifully prepared floor decorations and flowers arranged on the ground in the shape of HEAL.

Chalk floor decorations to welcome us

Annapurna is the head teacher at this school – a remarkable woman who runs a lovely school in the most challenging of circumstances. The children are mainly tribal children who are part of Heal’s Poverty Trap project. This private school is not a money making enterprise in any way – it takes children from extremely poor homes and gives them a good education. The Government does provide free education but it is often very poor, has 60-70 children per class and is entirely inadequate as a place to learn. This is certainly the case in Bhadrachalam so this school gives children from impoverished families a chance in life. Heal pays for the fees, provides uniforms, books and mid-day meals, all of which are simply unaffordable for their families. The school building was like nothing I have ever seen before – basically a 12 classroom long shed with a corrugated iron roof. Each room is tiny as children are crammed in, often sitting on the floor. The tin roof at least keeps the rooms in shade and the open trellis windows allow some flow of air. The humidity is immense and the impact of ceiling fans is barely noticeable. I shudder to think what the conditions must be like in the heat of the summer when temperatures rise to 48oC, or in the monsoon season when rain must crash down on the iron roof. These classrooms must barely protect children and teachers from the elements.

Nursery children welcome us to their classroom

Despite the meagre conditions and very basic facilities, we were welcomed with such joy and excitement to every classroom as we made our way through the school. Each class had been decorated with balloons and tinsel – we were guests of honour. In some classes, children recited rhymes, in some they asked us questions about ourselves, in one they even had a cake which we had to cut and in all classrooms, the children beamed as we finally made our way into their classroom.

Lackshmi Parvathi choreographs her dance

The last class we went to was the oldest class of the school, 10th class. Here we were given a performance by a remarkable 15 year old girl called Lackshmi Parvathi. She is a very talented musician and dancer and she performed some of her songs for us and later she danced her own choreography. It was clear we were watching someone very special here – the feeling and emotion she exuded as she sang a song about her family was spine-tingling. We, and all the children watched in wonder as she performed her art. We soon discovered that Lackshmi’s life has very recently been transformed for ever – her talent had been spotted by someone other than us, and someone who could change everything for her. Lackshmi had been entered into a TV competition for music and dance and in spite of the challenges she faces every day, her talent shone through and she won the competition. For anyone this would be fantastic. For her it will change the course of her life. She won Rs. 50000 (approx £700) and crucially for her the TV company will pay for her to go though higher education – an opportunity that she nor her family could ever have dreamed of. Suddenly, miraculously this child’s life has changed. She now has a future that may not be full of the poverty of her life so far.

The boys dance routine

At the end of the school day we were treated to a cultural performance of dance and song. The children had prepared well and were very proud to perform to us, their guests. It was delightful to see children of all ages, boys and girls, singing and dancing their hearts out, like nothing else mattered in the world. It was then time to leave and we began the farewells. We slowly came away from the school, children all desperate to shake our hands and say a personal goodbye. We wandered a short way down the dirt track to our car, followed by children and adults like, all wanting to see us for one last time.

Finally we pulled away and I could think back on the day. In many ways I find it very difficult to be treated in such awe. After all, who am I? I am merely a person, like anyone else here. The only difference is that I had the great fortune to be born into a life free from poverty. I deserve no plaudits, I’m not worthy of being put on the pedestal these children put me on. If anyone deserves this, it is the teachers who work here every day, it is the children who smile and laugh in the face of adversity. But to these children, they do not see that, they just see in people like me, that someone ‘out there’ in the big wide world cares enough about them to want to make their lives better. All we are when we visit schools like this is a symbol of that giving and a symbol of hope. In material things the children here have so very little but in heart and spirit they are rich beyond measure and I am honoured to have spent this day with them.

After four weeks in India I keep thinking that I must soon enter some kind of normality where I will have an ordinary day doing ordinary things. It never happens; every day I see and experience something that takes my breath away in one way or another.

Earlier this year, at the site where we will be building our new school, we built a small cottage and a site office. Our project manager, Steve has just returned to India to oversee the building of the first phase of the school and he will be living in the cottage which, until now had nothing more in it than a bed and chair. We decided it needed a little more to make it habitable for Steve in these next four months so we went shopping! Along the side of almost every road in Vijayawada you will find someone selling something. Keep your eyes open and you are likely to find just what you are looking for, there by the roadside. True to form, as we drove through town we came across people making wooden furniture by hand so we stopped to have a look. These people are carpenters working with scraps of wood and pieces that would otherwise be burned or destroyed. They somehow scavenge and gather wood and then painstakingly work the wood to make tables, stools and other small items of furniture. Wood is planed to a smooth finish, mortice and tenon joints are etched into the wood to hold the furniture together. And this is all done at the side of a frantically busy road, cars and buses hurtling past, clouds of pollution spewing from exhaust pipes, the incessant sound of honking horns and all the while the sun relentlessly beats down. Working conditions are terrible and yet, these resourceful people somehow eek out an existence here.

This, however paled into insignificance as we wandered down the road and were met by dozens of inquisitive eyes and curious faces. People, mainly women and children came out to greet us, fascinated by these white faces that briefly entered their world. Two women came out with tiny babies, neither more than a month old. The older children were swarming round us, holding our hands and grinning from ear to ear. Just by being there, we had made their day. Fortunately we had Mastan with us, a local young man who works with Heal and who here was able to interpret for us all. Soon it became clear that these two babies had not yet been named. I have heard that families in India often delay naming their children, sometimes for many months. Perhaps with the high infant mortality rate here, families don’t want to tempt fate and name their children too soon. The families today decided that they wanted to name their children and not only that…they wanted us to name them! Of course we were at a loss – what suitable Indian names could we think of?! As we pondered, Mastan told us that they were not wanting Indian names, they wanted British names! One of the fathers had been given a British name and they wanted to retain this tradition. One boy and one girl…we were suddenly under pressure. A few suggestions went back and forth for the boy and eventually we settled on Jacob. I don’t know why but somehow a biblical name seemed apt. The girl’s name was more of a challenge; we suggested Mary, Ruth, Rebecca…none were any good for different reasons. Then the women started pointing at me. Mastan told me that they wanted to know my name. He told them and after a little bit of chatter amongst themselves it was agreed. This tiny baby girl in the depths of India was to be called Amanda. After me. Amanda in Telegu looks like this, by the way: అమంద

I have experienced so much on my trip to India and every day, as I said at the beginning, has shown me new and memorable things. Today was no exception.

Amongst all the cultural immersion that I am experiencing I am, of course, here to do a job. I have visited a wide range of schools so far, some in Hyderabad, some in Vijayawada. The schools have ranged from small (a few hundred) to huge (3000 pupils), some rural, some urban, some private, some Government controlled. The range is enormous and the number of schools is vast as the population continues to explode.

Over that last 4 weeks I have slowly started to get to grips with Indian education in order that I can understand it in the context of this culture that is so different from my own. Education, certainly in these parts, is crucial. People here value education hugely as they see education as being the stepping stone for their children to make a step up in the world.

I am sure that every parent in the world wants their children to have as good, if not better life than they have had themselves. People naturally want the very best for their children, want to give them opportunities, want them to acheive. Nothing is different about that here, the only difference is the vast step up in life that an education can give. I am of course incredibly grateful for the education I had as a child and young adult. I’m not sure I appreciated it at the time, but I do now. For me, getting a good education gave me choices, gave me earning potential, gave me status in society. For children here, education does all of those things but the difference it makes to life every day is profound. Education means that people can work in an office or shop, rather than labouring to break rocks by hand. It means that the hand-to-mouth existence of feeding the family every day is not so terrifyingly close to the bread-line. It means that those children’s children may just make a further leap up in the social strata to take them just that step further away from poverty. The consequences of education here in India are the same as the UK but the impact is profoundly bigger.

Speaking to a wise, elderly gentleman last week about the nature of schools in India stopped me and made me think. One of the most worrying things I observe as a teacher here is the extent to which children learn by rote. Walk into many classrooms at any time, observe any pupil ‘studying‘ and you will see them chanting the same lines again and again and again. Knowledge, facts, things are drilled into the children – their powers of recall must be enormous. I asked this wise man why? Is it that India has just not modernised with new teaching methods, is it that they just don’t believe in interactive and activity based learning? Is it that teachers are poorly trained and simply don’t know how to teach any other way? All of these, he said, could be true and may have a part to play. But, he said, the single biggest influence on education here is that the country is still developing. Whilst the country strives to feed its population, provide it with clean drinking water, provide it with basic health care, the last thing it can do is revolutionize its process of learning. What use is it to a child that he/she is able to construct a reasoned argument about the pros and cons of alternative energy sources, or to understand and discuss the nuances of literature? What use, when that child has to work every spare hour to make enough money to help feed the family. Instead, if a child can just rote learn, jump through the hoops of the tests and exams, maybe, just maybe their children would not go to bed hungry at night. It is a phenomenally complex problem in India. Education is valued but it simply can’t be ‘up there’ with the value of earning money and therefore eating.

Kanuru School Uniforms

The stark differences between the opportunities different children have in India have been shown to me through the schools this week. On one hand I have visited Government schools that have nothing. I mean, nothing. The Government provides a building, the prescribed text books and pays teachers’ salaries. That is it. They don’t provide desks, chairs, equipment, computers, chalk, pens, electricity, paint. Literally they provide nothing. One of the Government schools I visited was the Kanuru School in Vijayawada. The building was a ramshackle place, eroded and ravaged by the hot, dusty climate. Some of the rooms had desks, not all of them. A single ceiling fan in each classroom kept the sultry air at least moving. Classrooms were crammed with 60 -70 children all sat in rows listening intently. But this is one of the lucky schools; it is supported by Heal and other charities to help the school improve it’s very meagre resources. Thanks to Heal the children now have a uniform and hot midday meal – cooked by a saintly woman in the 50^oC heat of a room so filled with wood-smoke it made my eyes water and throat tighten in just the few seconds I was there!

Kanuru School badge

Inspirational teacher!

Another Government school I visited, and again was welcomed with open arms proudly boasted their Physics teacher who was awarded Andhra Pradesh’s “Inspirational teacher” award last year because of his innovative teaching methods. I was so excited about seeing him in action or learning what he did and I wasn’t disappointed. In this place of rote learning and dictation he had broken free of the constraints and had build models to exemplify concepts from every chapter of the text book. There was no money for this; no budget, he just invented models and build them with his own hands to help explain his subject. He used odds and ends; pieces of wood, of plastic, or rubber, bits of string, elastic bands, all sorts – I was in awe. This teacher is an inspiration to us all; working against the odds to inspire children and I’m sure he did.

By contrast I visited two exclusive private schools – the preserve of India’s elite and affluent. This was obvious the moment I walked in. This suddenly was much more reminiscent of the education I know in the UK. Although the culture and norms of daily life are different here, the education seemed so much more familiar. Posters on the walls, interactive white boards in some of the rooms, resources available for teachers to use, smaller class sizes; sometimes down to 30. And yet this, that we take for granted in the UK is the exclusive preserve of the rich here in India. The UK education system is not without fault, I recognise that, and schools vary a lot but by and large children are well taught, schools have some money to spend, pupils don’t rely on the midday meal as their only food of the day and they have shoes on their feet.

Heal Paradise

So, all in all I am delighted to find this morning that the Honorable Minister for Education in Andhra Pradesh will be attending our Ceremonial Foundation Stone Laying on 16th November. Heal Paradise is a kernel of hope and from the 16th we begin building a school and a future for underprivileged children to have the best education we can provide.

OK so this is the biggest festival of the Hindu calendar and I am in India – brilliant! Diwali (or more properly Deepavali) is commonly called the “Festival of the Lights” and is an official holiday in India. The date varies each year, depending on the moon phase but this year the crucial new-moon night fell on 26th October so I was in luck!

The “light” part of the festival comes from the tradition of families lighting clay oil lamps, or ‘diyas’ at the entrance of their homes. and the light represents the triumph of good over evil. There are lots of legends associated with Diwali and lots of traditional rituals that are performed. As with Easter in the UK though, I suspect that modern day India does not totally understand where some of the traditions come from. The day in reality is a day of family, food, lights, and of course fire crackers!

I awoke early to the sound of explosions outside! I had been forewarned that this may happen thankfully but clearly the children of Vijayawada couldn’t all wait until nightfall to let off their firecrackers! The whole family was off work for the day and there was a real atmosphere of happiness and celebration in the air. The family gathered around the table for breakfast, eating traditional foods prepared for this special day. The shrine that has central focus in the house was meticulously cleaned and prepared for worship. Flowers were laid, candles lit and offerings of fruit given to the deity. Flowers represent the good that has blossomed in us and the fruits offered symbolize our detachment, self-sacrifice and surrender.

By 11am we were on our way out, going from house to house to meet family members and share in the celebrations. No-one was left out and the atmosphere was one of relaxation and happiness. By lunch time we were at a relative’s house of the family I am staying with whereupon a feast was presented. Unfortunately I was still recovering from my stomach upset so could not partake – what a pity as it looked to be delicious! I did eat – toasted sandwiches with curry in the middle! I think they all felt very sorry for me but I was fine just watching and absorbing it all around me.

The artist at work

After lunch, one of the cousins offered to decorate my hands with henna. Wow, I thought, that would be lovely. She was a true artist (and a Pulmonary physician by the way!) and two hours later the intricate and detailed drawings made my hands look like they have never looked before. It was amazing! I was really getting into the swing of things now!

Lighting the Candles

Darkness started to draw in and the crackers outside began to fire more often now so we went to light the candles at the front of the house. It was lovely to see it all the houses getting ready for the evening’s main event. The air was already thick with smoke from the 1000s of crackers that had been let off. Our house was one of adults though so we were waiting patiently for darkness to fully come.

My first sari!

To my surprise and initial alarm I was then offered a sari to wear. Many of you who know me well will also know that I am somewhat reserved and more or an introvert than extrovert. Part of me wanted to do this, but a big part wanted to stay somewhere in my comfort zone…in my western clothes. But, I thought, this could be  a once in a life-time opportunity. A pure silk, beautiful sari was produced for me to wear, and thankfully an accomplished ‘dresser’ to make sure I looked respectable. A sari comes in 3 parts: a blouse – short sleeved, tight fitting top that is a very cropped length so there is a lot of skin exposed!; a long, floor length cotton skirt; and 6 meters of fabric (in this case sheer silk) that is wrapped and tied to perfection around the skirt and across the upper body over the shoulder. I watched carefully but this is a complex outfit to wear and I still wouldn’t know where to begin! Finally they made me comb my hair – this humid climate and short curly hair is not compatible with looking wonderful!! Never mind. My dress was finally finished off with an ornate bindi fixed to my forehead and 20 bangles placed on each wrist. I was ready.

The final product

Off we went on more trips to more relatives and everyone loved my new outfit – including me! It was really lovely to wear a traditional costume on this very special day. Saris are worn widely here by older women particularly. The sari is usually the preserve of a married woman though – younger unmarried women wear half-saris on formal occasions but very often they wear long trousers with a long, brightly coloured tunic on top.

Fireworks!

The final part of this amazing day was the fire crackers. The boxes of crackers looked no different from those we have in the UK on bonfire night. The difference is that absolutely everyone along an entire street will come out and light their crackers. Organised firework displays are not the norm here but instead everyone in the family will let off the crackers with no apparent fear! I must confess I was pretty scared of these things – the fuses were incredibly short and so me, fully clad in a silk sari along with sparks flying everywhere…I worried I was going to do my own Guy Fawkes impression! Everyone was desperate for me to light some of the crackers so I did but then retreated to the safety of the balcony to watch. Catherine wheels were spun freely on the roads, rockets launched (not always upwards) and crackers thrown causing a mass of explosion milliseconds after leaving the hand of the brave soul who lit it. It was incredible to watch, not least because I was amazed by how fearless my hosts are! The message of “Don’t go Back” has not reached these parts I don’t think!

I must say that this has been a great Diwali. I have really enjoyed taking part in one of the most important festivals in India. The thing that really struck me too was the total absence of commercialism. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas and all the things that go with it but here this festival is just as important to people as Christmas is in the UK and somehow it is so different. Here, people don’t spend a fortune on gifts, decorations, parties. They don’t prepare and plan for weeks ahead, they don’t get caught up in a commercial world of consumerism. They just celebrate their important day; they celebrate it with friends, with family, with food and with fire crackers. The day before Diwali, life is normal and the day after normality resumes once more. Somehow this important yet understated festival reflects the understated and dignified way people lead their lives here. Maybe we in the developed world have something to ponder.

As some of you know, I have had a few ‘tummy issues’ in the last couple of days so my blog inevitably must reflect this. Don’t worry though, I will spare the graphic details!

On Sunday morning I was fit and well and as part of my induction into India I was taken to a ‘health camp’. This locally organised event involves medics form nearby hospitals coming to local communities to provide basic health checks for people, free-of-charge. This service is only possible because of the generosity of the medics giving their time and skills and because of a handful of benevolent people providing funding for such an initiative. Once more I see people with good fortune giving freely to those less fortunate than themselves. This lifeline of medical support is rare I am led to believe but is the 3rd such camp I have seen in my short time here; an eye-camp, a blood-camp and this, a general health camp. Maybe it is just a drop in the ocean but this type of giving means everything to the people it affects. Basic healthcare is simply not accessible to many people here, so every philanthropist doing work like this is worth their weight in gold.

On the same Sunday evening I was taken to a hospital about a 20 minute drive from Vijayawada, to have a look around. Haritha, the daughter of the family I am now staying with is an intern there. For the rest of us that means she is doing her first job post-qualification as a doctor at the hospital. She has a rotation on the maternity ward which was the busiest ward when we visited.

Like everything in India I have seen so far, hospitals are so very different from those at home. We arrived at the hospital canteen, a separate building from the main hospital and had a coffee – the air was heavy and humid and the two lonesome ceiling fans and open sided windows did little to refresh in this dark and gloomy place. Nevertheless, the coffee was strong, hot and sweet and although I was feeling a bit under the weather it was good to be here and I was looking forward to a tour of the hospital.

A tour of the hospital it certainly was; the place was deserted, partly because it was a Sunday night and partly because Diwali is approaching this week so fewer people are in hospital than normal. As in the canteen, the corridors were ill-lit, totally dark in some cases, water was dripping from the ceilings and bats were whistling by in the night air. These things did nothing to cheer me as we went from department to department. The building itself was incredible, a concrete block from the outside hid a huge dome-topped structure inside, covering the central section of the hospital like the dome of St Paul’s cathedral. Moving along the eerily quiet corridors we went from A&E where people spoke in hushed voices, past women in labour pacing the corridors in the half light, past relatives sitting on the floors eating home-prepared food from tiffin tins. We went into the maternity ward where I saw the smallest baby I had ever seen – she had been born that morning at 7 months and weighing just 2lb 6oz. Somehow, it felt wrong to be peering over her her fragile and tiny body as she lay being nursed through her first hours of life. Moving on, every department you would expect in the UK was there – orthopedics, paediatrics, ICU, Obs & Gynae, they were all there. And a few more – HIV department, a TB ward and perhaps most strange of all to me was the payment room. Here, healthcare costs. Not a lot by my British standards but enough to make it impossible for many people. Virtually no-one has has medical insurance so cash payment is the only way. For people who cannot pay, I can only imagine what happens. For the fortunate few who can afford to pay extra, there are a handful or air conditioned, individual rooms at the top of the hospital. These cost an additional1000 rupees per night. Given that an average teacher is paid only 5000 rupees per month, 1000 rupees extra is a King’s ransom for most people. Everyone else must cope with hot and humid rooms with little or no privacy, only segregation of men and women is automatic.

Later that same night I came to realise that all the vaccinations in the world that I had before I left, and all the precautions I take each day to avoid problems could not protect me for the onslaught that my system was to go through that night. Sparing the details, I was terribly ill all night long – the day before I had eaten ‘out’ twice and I must have been poisoned at one of these times. First I went to ‘Subway’ – yes, I know, this is meant to be an all-authentic Indian adventure but when it was offered, I simply couldn’t resist the temptation to have non-spicy food. The second was that I went to an anaesthetist’s  conference dinner in the evening -  a buffet of food that although hot, had probably been prepared some time ago. Surely, I thought, I wouldn’t get poisoned at a doctor’s conference? Who knows, either could be to blame but for the next 48 hours I thought I was going to have to go back to that same hospital I had visited just hours before.

Fortunately I didn’t have to go to hospital but by 9am on Monday morning an ICU nurse came to my room and stayed with me for 12 hours, just to be replaced by another nurse overnight. I had a raging temperature and my insides had been ravaged so although it felt odd to have a personal nurse, I was very grateful for her kind concern in the middle of the night, not to mention the medication and rehydration that she forced me to drink. Fear not, I was not on death’s door but it is just an indication of how seriously health matters are taken here. Those who are educated and who can afford it take no risks in this country. They were not going to take any risks with me either.

My monitors!

So in a matter of hours I had experienced India’s healthcare. Unfortunately for me this experience was also first hand but then all the best experiences are I guess.

After 12 days in Hyderabad, it was finally time to leave this frantic city and head west to Guntur. I was worried that I may have to take the trip alone but I need not have worried since it eventually involved 6 of us plus a driver, leaving Hyderabad at 5am, Guntur-bound. It was a remarkable journey – not least remarkable because we all arrived 6 hours later unscathed from the trip! Driving and the roads here are every bit as bad as everyone warned me.

5am and for the first time I saw Hyderabad as the city slept – roads quiet, autos-rickshaws parked, all at peace other than the odd stray dog and early morning workers trudging to work. The relative peace did not last though. Very soon to city begins to stir, cars racing through the streets, many people walking sleepily in the dark and relative cool of the early morning. I hoped we may get out of the city before it came fully to life. Sadly not. No-one, including the taxi driver seemed to know where we were going. There appeared to be no such thing as  map and certainly not a Satnav!! We criss-crossed the city taking turns left and right, doing startling u-turns, sitting at junctions looking for non-existent signs. A notable shop sign that drew my attention for a travel agents called “Baghdad travel”. Maybe not!

Slowly we seemed to edge towards the city boundary as roads became wider and directions from pedestrians became more assured. We were on our way. Until, that is, we took a wrong turning on a 3-lane highway towards Vijayawada. The flurry of chatter in the car as we sat straddled across the 2nd and 3rd lanes, huge lorries bearing down on us, horns blasting and lights flashing did nothing for my sense of calm! Reversing back up the highway in this position terrified me – it took me all my willpower to resist assuming crash position!!

Finally though, by abut 5.45am we found a route out of the city and I began to relax a little. I was tired and whilst I didn’t sleep – the incessant horn-blasting and horribly broken up roads did not permit sleep – I did enter some kind of trance-like state in the hope that the next 6 hours would pass without incident.

Sunrise en route to Guntur

By about 6.15 the sun began to rise over the horizon – deep orange and burnt red it began to light this vast landscape casting heat from the moment it appeared. The beauty of this vast sun promised a searingly hot day ahead. I was thankful, once more for the sanctuary of the air-conditioned car. The countryside outside Hyderabad is a huge, flat expanse of farmland. Crops of all sorts grow here – cotton, rice, chillies, corn, mango and many more unrecognisable to by my untrained eye. Farmers drive their oxen along the roads to the fields, the tiny autos, designed to carry two people speed by, each crammed with a dozen or so daily wage workers, women and children walk along the dusty roads, many barefoot, sometimes older children leading tiny children by the hand, sometimes mothers walking with water carriers balanced precariously on their heads. Rural Andhra Pradesh was going to work but their daily commute is so very different from the UK.

Breakfast on the road

After 3 hours or so we we stopped at a motorway service station. An oasis in the middle of nowhere tables and chairs sheltered from the midday sun but at this hour a pleasant and peaceful place for breakfast – Indian style. Very spicy vegetable dishes, along with corn and pomegranate were served up by one of my fellow travellers – all homemade and fresh from the tiffin tins.

Soon on our way we passed countless fields filled with people labouring hard in the already-searing heat of the day. Back-breaking work was being done by men and women alike, driving oxen to plough the fields or bent over all day harvesting rice from the paddy fields. All of this for a meagre amount of rupees upon which these people must live. Life here is a tough and hard and it is only now, as I see with my own eyes that I begin to realise the daily struggle that must exist for so many people. Here, for so many people, if you do not work, you do not eat.

The Daily commute

About an hour outside Guntur we passed a reservoir that serves this area of Andhra Pradesh. Having no real idea where we were I wrongly thought that it was the sea – it was vast! A massive expanse and a huge dam was an impressive sight. In the distance, hills began to appear on the horizon. Guntur was within reach. I was soon to see the village that I have long known about and seen pictures of on the internet. I was filled with nervous anticipation and hope that I would find a place where remarkable things happen. Before that though, we stopped, briefly for a drink from a coconut seller – I had to laugh at the road-side refreshments of fresh coconut water. What a contrast and what a delight when I think about the alternative of Costa or Starbucks back at home.

Refreshing drink anyone?

As many of you know, the school I am here in India to set up ready for admission in June 2012 has yet to be built. Time is ticking by and with only 7 months to go, I was beginning to wonder how this was ever going to happen! However, yesterday I met our architect and it seems that we are on the brink of starting to build. She will give me the final drawings this week to submit to the authorities in Vijayawada, after which they will grant permission. On Wednesday I will travel, by road, to Vijayawada, a journey that will start around 5am and will take 6-8 hours to drive. It should be an interesting journey and I am looking forward to seeing something of the rural parts of this state. I asked the architect how long it would take for permission to be granted and she told me that it depends who we know!! This alarmed me as I don’t think we know anyone! However, it seems that as long as the drawings are submitted, we can begin to build, even prior to permissions being granted. So, by later this week we will have the clearance to start!!

Hindi Temple in Hyderabad

 Naively, I imagined that within the week, the first bricks would be laid but not so. In India buildings begin construction on a carefully selected auspicious day – a day that is spiritually sound, and after performing a Puja. A Puja is a religious ritual that is performed to bless the building and the project and will ensure success. The ritual for our school will be performed at 9.54am local time on Wednesday 16th November and only after this may building work commence. This may seem incredibly specific but an auspicious moment or a Suba muhurtha must to be calculated for a particular geographic position within the frame of an auspicious day using the time of sunrise for that particular position as the starting point. The duration of a auspicious moment is usually 3 – 4 minutes. As with most things here, it seems that ritual is central to life. To the outside world, this may appear as superstition but not here – rituals are there for a reason and to go against such things would be a very unwise move.

Ritual offerings

Having never seen a Puja I am intrigued so will report back when it happens. Fortunately the Puja will happen 2 days prior to my departure so timing is excellent! Everyone assures me that once building work commences, it will happen very quickly so I am hopeful. For now though, I am just delighted that a date has been set and progress seems to be being made.

Before I came to India I was told by many people that it is a country of contrasts and the difference between those with money and those without is vast. This has been shown to me in stark relief in the last 24 hours and although I knew it was true, I could not imagine what the contrast would look like until today.

The bustling market of Charminar

After one week here, I would describe Hyderabad as a vibrant, busy, chaotic and cosmopolitan city. At first sight, I did not see this at all. I realise, to my shame, that my first view of the city was seeing a city of dust, broken roads, ramshackle buildings and disorganisation. Poverty was evident wherever I looked – not in the extreme way that I imagined and not even in the people, but instead in the infrastructure of the city. A week later, I realise that although the city has broken roads and lots of dust and pollution, in fact it is a bustling city of business and economic growth. It is said that India is one of the fastest growing economies and I can really believe it. People here work hard, some pushing trolleys laden with dozens of coconuts along bumpy streets to sell for 6 rupees each (less than a penny), some driving autos (motorised rickshaws or tuc-tucs) at high speed through the streets whilst dodging cars, motorbikes, buses, people, bikes, cows, pedestrians as they go, all for a pittance by western standards. This is a city that is growing apace. It is in a big hurry to better itself and it appears to me to be a city full of enterprising and determined people.

Hard Rock Cafe

Yesterday evening then, I was stunned as Vijith and Ankitha, the people who have taken me into their home and school for the last four days took me out for the evening. I was very happy to go and imagined sitting in a shop front, eating sweets and drinking tea. Instead they took me to the Hard Rock Cafe! It was like walking from one world into a completely different universe. Stepping into the shopping arcade knocked me for six. It was equivalent to the very best, most salubrious arcades in the UK, the atmosphere was still, the displays beautiful and the price as high as the UK. Huge international brand shops display their wares to a very different India than the one just outside the door. The Hard Rock Cafe sold American food – fries, burgers, nachos, pizzas, the lot. The only single evidence that we were in India at all was the beer – Kingfisher of course. I did enjoy my first beer since arriving one week ago!

Vivekananda Public School

With this backdrop, I went today to another school called the Vivekananda Public School for an hour or so to have a look. As ever, I was welcomed with open arms and was ushered into a small office where an elderly man greeted me with reverence. I knew I was in the company of a very special man. Gently spoken and full of humility, he enquired about my plans in India this year. It turns out that for the last 30 years Shri M.N Murthy has been running a school to provide free education for some of the children living in Hyderabad’s slums. Most of the children come from families of daily wage workers, house maids, roadside vendors; people who cannot afford regular school fees. It places like this which are, child-by-child, helping to end the cycle of poverty to give impoverished children a life chance. Some of the children have gone on to become doctors and lawyers. Wonderfully, I also met a teacher there today who was educated at the school as a child herself. I went round the school and introduced myself to each class – my reception from the children moved me to tears as I found myself welling up with admiration and compassion for the remarkable work being done. There was also a clinic happening in one corner of the school as I went round where a local doctor who attends once each week was doing a basic health check for each child, issuing medication and checking their general health.

I always knew this experience would be amazing but it is moving me, challenging me and inspiring me every single day. This city of contrasts is revealing itself to me one layer at a time and I just know there is so much more to come.