Yes, yes people,

In typical George fashion, I set this blog up over 2 years ago and was all enthusiastic, but when it did not change the world overnight, I lost interest.

I now return certainly older. I’ll leave you to judge the wiser. I prefer not to make judgements. I am, however, thrilled at the prospect of having a reason to pour out my daily doings, and am deeply grateful to be in circumstances so inspirational for writing – where it seems nearly every moment is a muse offering the hint of a poem, or the solution to an issue etc.

So what’s been happening since last I wrote to you? Well after some content clarification it was deemed more appropriate for my personal experiences to be documented away from the school blog. I confess this took the wind out of my sails for a short period. To a certain extent I felt robbed of my voice, but understood the necessity of the situation. Change is of course the only constant, and here I am now, and the past is but waves that have broken upon the shore and now returned to the ocean’s ebb and flow. As for my moving to the school, it will happen at somepoint. Whether there will be broadband remains to be seen. Any bright ideas to ensure this is a yes, do let myself or Janet know.

Ever the ideas man, I have been immersing myself in planning how one could set up a world class sports academy at the school, which could be hired out at suitable times to provide added income for the school. If my initial sketches came to fruition, we could have a tennis court, cricket pitch and four practice nets as well as three badminton courts, two volleyball courts and two 5-Aside football pitches. In an interesting note, there was an article in the paper today about a former West Ham player who is setting up a football coaching academy in the Punjab. Of course my initial plans will not be the ones that ultimately manifest, but unless one has a star to guide one’s journey, there can be no chance of reaching land at all.

The other immersing I have been doing is into the village life of Lehrian – the village nearest the school. The father of Miss Nehra (one of the teachers) spent the day on Sunday showing me around the village, with his daughter translating as we went. I was then taken by him alone to what I guess equates to a Hindu christening. It amounted to the baby being paraded by a proud grandfather whilst people gave it money, after which there was a buffet lunch, which one had to eat with one hand whilst standing up. Given that the choice of dishes was largely of the runny daal variety, the ability to tear a japati with one hand, whilst not slopping food all over your trousers and shoes is one I’ve not yet mastered. Throughout this week and the one previous I have been visiting the village in the evening time to play games with the children (as I think I mentioned in the school blog). This is coming along nicely. We have now established that at times I will not be able to play with the older children continuously and that they must respect my time with the smaller kids. A game that is enjoyed by all at the moment is a form of last-man-standing catch, whereby I stand in the middle of a circle of children and give catches round the circle. Anyone dropping a catch drops out from the circle until a winner emerges. The advantage of my giving the catches is that I can tailor it according to the size and abilitly of the kid in front of me, meaning younger ones can enjoy the status of being one of the last remaining even after some of the older more able children have been eliminated. However, I am constantly confronted by two challenges – namely the ingrained belief within Indian culture that elders are given respect and the swiftness to violence that seems endemic. In my play with the children, this manifests as elder children seeking to take over/muscle into a game the younger children and I have established simply because they are not getting the attention they crave, or wish to show off/impose their dominance of the group in front of the ‘Gora’ (white person) and other elders. Should a younger child seek to take an overly active part in a game an elder is seeking to dominate, threats or actual violence will usually ensue. It has got to the point wher my most frequent phrase seems to be ‘nehi fighting’, which literally translates as ‘no fighting’. The main culprit of this trend is a boy who is similar to most overly aggressive kids of his age. It seems he is not quite old enough or intelligent/sensible enough to be accepted by the more down to earth group of elders I have befriended, so has found a niche for himself as the top man of the generally younger group I engage. The frustrating thing is that his presence is often enough to put of some of the more gently disposed younger kids from joining in. He seems to be turning a corner in terms of calming down and gradually coming to understand my position, but it is a slow process. However, if the microcosm is the macrocosm, I have a creeping sense that in learning to deal with this particular individual life is giving me a lesson in dealing with a number of situations I am likely to encounter during my stay, lessons I may not yet be aware I need, nor will fully appreciate until the moment I have benefited from their teaching already.

The poetry has been pouring out. I have been keeping my discipline and aiming to write a page or so of stream of consciousness every morning. I have found as a consequence that poems are more eager to manifest than I have previously found. In the following I am imagining two labourers who have fallen in love whilst harvesting the master’s cotton crop. The boy is bidding his love come to a midnight tryst:

The Night is still young…

The night is still young my love
Young enough for walking

I bid thy feet ride the roof-tops roads
And meet me amidst the cotton trees

For there a bower I have made
Where our love may live its lila

For you have I shed warm tears of joy
Upon the loveliest buds

That in the moonlight they would ripen
And burst with pride to provide

The pillow for our loves’ still whispers
And the softness for our nestled cheeks

That side by side dent the tear born cotton
Tracing out our smiles of rapture

Then look we skyward om tare tare*
To know their bright glows burn in us

For we are their dust and they our destiny
As we lie hand in hand upon the cotton

Each mirroring the other in love
Two hearts beating as one

Beneath a starry sky

(*The Hindi for star is tare)


I voiced to my beloved the other night that one area in which I am finding frustration is my lack of ability to communicate as fully as I would like. Being someone for whom words are a such strong current within my lifeblood, it is challenging at times to have so few of them at my disposal. I of course have to acknowledge that I’ve only been here just over two weeks, and that I am making good progress, but impatience ever was my cross to bear.

My first personal blog would surely not meet with expectation if it did not contain a rant. On this occasion my indignation is righteous and burns with the potent fury of a dormant Krakatoa. I would like to discuss shaving. If memory serves me correct, we are currently bombarded in the UK by advertisements in which Tiger, Roger and Thierry use their various sporting instruments to taunt lesser males about their choice of razor – implying that if their razor is not Gilette’s latest offering – the 5 blade ‘Fusion’ – then such men are likely to have a penis as impotent as their razor. This is very bad news for India’s men…not to mention India’s women. Apparently the best an Indian man can get when it comes to hair removal is Gilette’s ‘very latest’ 2 blade face contour hugging razor. Considering I was about 13 when Gilette’s 2 blade ‘sensor excel’ was the must have razor of the virile European-American male, it makes you wonder just how lacking in the penis department Indian men must be for them to only now be considered worthy of a 2 blade razor.
There is of course another far less likely explanation for all this. The slim possibility exists that the rolling out of a 2 blade razor to the Indian populous has nothing to do with their genitalia and everything to do with profit and emerging markets. So much for globalisation levelling the playing field…but I guess it doesn’t help if we let the groundsmen run amuck with their share-price diggers. I must do more research, but I am pretty sure there are currently auctions of tender underway for the right to provide India with 2G mobile internet. Given that America currently runs at 4G and the UK at 3G, it is deeply frustrating to witness such short-sighted profit chasing. In times gone by one could understand it, but at a time when our planet seems to be nearing a tipping point of survival proportions, it is to me infantile to allow so blinkered a pattern of development to prevail. I would be interested to know if those more clued up on the legalities could let me know whether there might be some grounds on which Gilette’s practices could be reigned in. At the very least, would someone be kind enough to send me some Gilette Mac3 razor bladdes. Muggins here was hopeful/naïve enough to believe that since Gilette is a multinational corporation, he would be able to get his brand of razor blades in a multitude of nations.

Oh, and before I go, a quick note on brands. After ‘are you married?’, and then ‘what is your name?’ Indians’ favourite question to me seems to be ‘what are your favourite brands?’ I’m mildly smug to say it only took me a couple of days to develop a suitably smart yet useful answer. Now whenever such a question is addressed to me I reply sincerely ‘Gandhiji’. After some initial confusion, most actually quite appreciate the response. Normally I have to explain slightly – that brands are nothing if your heart is not open and loving – but it is a cause of great satisfaction and broad shared smiles when my questioner instantly grasps the point I’m trying to make.
I will be adopting a similar approach to those who ask what my qualifications are. Given that I’ve not used my degree since graduating 5 years ago, I feel the response of ‘my heart is my qualification’ to be one of far greater substance and one which tells people far more about me than ‘I have a BA in etc etc’

Janet and Mota will be glad to know that the Buwan/Kothi Lords/Wembly pitch has recently been cut and saw its first competitive football this evening. I feel as though I have sweated my own body weight. I am lloking forward to having a day’s working party fully clearing and preparing the ground so that it becomes a genuine facility rather than just some usable srucbland.

More to follow in the coming days.

Massive love as ever.
Peace.
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