Final reflections on India

For weeks I have left you waiting, wondering whether I escaped India alive. I know that each and every one of you has been manually refreshing on a minute-by-minute basis for two weeks and I can only apologise for my lackadaisical attitude to the blog.
To keep it short but sweet, you’ll be relieved to know that I escaped another crazy adventure with all of fingers and toes intact. Jack Bauer would have been proud.

Final reflections on India:

· Personal space. This is not a concept with which Indians are familiar. Your space is my space and vice-versa. Fair enough, except that there are 1.2 billion of you and one of me. I am keen on sharing (despite allegations to the contrary) but not sharing my body with random strangers (again, allegations to the contrary are strenuously and vociferously denied).

· Signs. They have lots of funny signs, as demonstrated on many occasions in my blog. However, they are not so keen on signs for massive holes in the ground. Email me for a smell-by-smell account of the Calcutta sewers, and the nuns’ astonished reactions.

· Western aspirations. As anyone who has ever seen me knows, a ‘tan’ is actually a darkening of my orangeness. Still, I like to have a bit of colour, whatever that ‘colour’ might be. Indians cannot understand this desire to look darker and in many moisturisers and shower gels they put (and advertise heavily) a whitening agent. Pastiness is an aspiration. I like this.

· Indians like to have their photo taken with me. I initially thought it might be all Westerners, but then I realised that it must be my charisma drawing them specifically to me. I think they want to show their friends that they have met the famous Rafi (the one who writes that inane insane blog….). Anyway, here’s a photo of me and some new found friends. And a German girl, but she’s not integral to my story and will therefore be excluded.

· Strange claims. This tombstone is dedicated to the ‘Father of Armenian Journalism’. If anyone knows any of the sons, daughters, nieces, nephews or pets or Armenian journalism, I’d love to find them.

· Geckos. I love geckos because they eat mosquitos. I love geckos because they are onomatopoeic. I mainly love geckos because I took a cool photo of one eating a moth and wanted to show you all. Enjoy.

I am now in Sydney. There is less to say about Sydney, other than to say it’s sunny, friendly, relaxed and happy. The same as London, more or less. If anyone fancies a holiday…..

Christmas in Calcutta

It would take an act of remarkable obliviousness and ignorance to turn up in London on Christmas Eve unaware of the ongoing festivities. It is something that I have almost never done.

However, arriving in Calcutta on the evening of Durga Puja unaware of the festival has a similar connotation. As I bounced from fully booked hotel to fully booked hotel, I was simply astounded at the booming tourist industry in Calcutta.

It was only the next day, when thousands of hastily erected temporary temples emerged throughout the city that I twigged that something might be afoot. And, my dear Watson, my suspicions were confirmed with a series of light and magic shows the following evening. The excitement was palpable, akin to when Westlife (or some other newfangled Western band) come to town.

However, the most significant activity at this time seems to be that everyone in the city goes shopping. So, nothing like Christmas then.

So, I strolled to see a show with the two German girls (no comments, please) with whom I was traveling at the time. On seeing our attractive (comments, please) white faces, the three of us were physically hauled to the front of the stage. The lead singer / MC / announcer then proceeded to pay a ten minute homage to the three of us, guests at this auspicious time: "Like three colours of the Indian flag, there are three of you", he gushed. I cringed.

Alongside this, there was some of the most bizarre street puppetry that I have ever seen. I'm not sure of the religious significance, but there was an electric Elvis whose sole show was to thrust forward his nether regions continuously. And a man with an oxygen mask seemingly dying.





















In other news I have joined Mother Theresa's mission for a few days helping sick and disabled people on the streets of Calcutta. Every morning I sing happily to Jesus and then go out and do the Lord's work. Or something like that.

Varanassi

Firstly, Happy New Year to all my Jewish friends and family. And to all my non-Jewish friends, Happy Thursday / Happy Autumn / generic good wishes....

For the past few days I have been in Varanassi. So I will start this blog with some insights into the area, before the inevitably descent into pictures that I find funny.

Varanassi is the holiest place for Hindus the world over, they come here to die and have there bodies burnt and put into the Ganges. This is a powerful and moving ritual. It is also slightly troubling for those with the slightest interest in hygiene. I have just come back from a boat trip, where the sun set majestically over the city and I saw a thumb floating by. In this same river, people, cows and dogs come together to wash, drink and excrete.

To imagine Varanassi, think of a hectic Middle Eastern city, Jerusalem or Marrakesh for example, and then add a distinctly Indian flavour. Round every narrow corner lurk three cows, two motorbikes, a stray dog, seven people wanting to sell me drugs and a procession of people carrying dead bodies. It's hard to describe and photos will never do it justice.

One of the groups of holy men, Sadhus, who have been seen in town are a group of naga sadhus. The Aghoris of Northern India want to overcome the world's taboos. Which leads them to consume the flesh of the dead floating on the Ganges. According to them, eating human flesh confers spiritual and physical. Synagogue may occassionally be dull, boring even, but don't come complaining to me again of the rabbi's lengthy sermons. At least you won't be his dinner...

And finally, the picture, you've all been craving. A confused hotel that I decided was best avoided...

How to run away from bears....

Over the past two weeks, I have largely been based in the Southern Indian state of Kerala. This is a state most famous for its stunning backwaters and its prosperity (photo purely to make you all jealous...).
















However, what is less remarked upon are the social problems that this can create. Despite being the richest state in India, with the highest literacy rate, it also has the highest suicide rate as well as abundant alcohol problems. With sudden growth comes great (Western-style) expectations and pressure and the knock on social effects.

I begin on a serious note, but you know me too well to know that this can't, and indeed won't, last. We were in a small village the other night when a few of us fancied a beer, but none was available throughout the town. However, as we inquired at our seventh different eatery as to the availability of alcohol, we were told to sit down. We were perplexed, but played along. We each ordered a beer and were therefore surprised to see the waiter bring everyone a pot of tea and a mug. Being British and therefore to a cuppa, I saw this as a happy second choice, but nothing more. Of course (the brighter amongst you saw where this was going a mile off) inside this mug and teapot lay our premium amber nectar. Apparently this is the custom in every restaurant in the town as no place can afford licenses. But, we later found out, that everyone knows about this little trick. Apart from local PC Plod?! (blog / thesis on corruption in India to follow perhaps.) For those who are wondering, I don't have a ginger moustache, but rather a coiffured ginger beard. This photo is merely a trick of the light.
















I have also seen two of my favourite signs ever. As a connoisseur of signs, this is quite a claim. Firstly this:
















On the door of a coffee shop. After having my Indian mocha and large piece of chocolate cake (or naan, to be more Indian), I do not having to worry about my weight, as I will pull the door to exit. An ingenious weight-loss mechanism.

My second and even more enjoyed sign is this from Mysore Zoo.

















Man who wears a bowler hat to the zoo watches as his friend falls into bear cage. As his friend plunges, he quickly replaces his bowler hat with a baguette. The reasoning for this is not explained. Possibly in order to find a feather to put in his hat, which appears in the next picture. Meanwhile his unfortunate pal is getting mauled by a bear, whilst he watches on. But don't worry, with blood streaming down him, he manages to run away. And even more fortunately for him, an attendant, who only walks Egyptian-style, is on hand to help him cross the road. I'd love to hear what the audio guide had to say about this developing saga.

Religion in India

Even the most cursory of introductions to India, outside of Chicken Tikka Massala (technically British anyway) and Sachin's search for his hundreth hundred (Cricket reference, feel free to ignore...), will explain that religion is at the very heart and soul of Indian culture and society. I cannot delve too deep, a novel of thousands of pages would never suffice to explain the differences and complexities of the various religions, as well as within Hinduism.

So, only a Rafi's eye view will suffice. Which will attempt not to invoke too much prejudice or be too provokative (this may well result in epic failure). Sidestepping the awkwardness of the numerous swastikas, I have decided to stay on safer religious territory with the elephant, a famous Hindu symbol due to the God Ganesha. Except this one was Jewish. I introduce you to my beginner's guide to inter-faith relations:

















The elephant could have been based here (but, alas, wasn't):













Any bible-reader will tell you of the warnings invoked in the story of the golden calf. Perhaps the Israelites problem was actually they just couldn't build one to match. This was the second biggest in India. 6ft tall and 5 tonnes (disclaimer: all facts in this blog are solely the opinion of the author and most often made up on the spot).






















I have also been making friends with various religious and cultural monuments. I know that readers of the blog will appreciate my intellectual connection with model elephants (buried for thousands of years) as well as model painted horses.































But I save the best and most important religious monument for last. Whilst my teenage years were practically a homage to Pro Evolution Soccer (versions 1-73), never could a computer-based monument quite live up to this testiment to Super Mario. Respect.

Welcome to India

Due to overwhelming popular demand, the blog is back. And by overwhelming popular demand, I mean people casually saying 'stay in touch' with kind of demeanour that suggested a desperation for me to blog. So here I go.

I'm in India. You can tell that due to my early colonisation of the country.




















In the temple that we just visited, the tour guide casually mentioned - in every single room - how 'this item would be here, but the British stole it and it is now in their museums'. The Cooper tap is my personal attempt at building bridges.

It would be simple to blog about the differences in traffic, roads, infrastructure, but access any lonely planet website and they will tell you every stereotype necessary. If I did, it would be lazy blog-journalism (blurnalism?) on my part. So instead I'll just show you a funny picture of an Alice in Wonderland nightmare and a non-hotel hotel (like a hotel, but different, I'd imagine).





















Stories of my own escapades have previously populated the blog and so managing to stay in the wrong hotel on my very first night in India is a pretty spectacular way to start. Rumours that I did it purely for the story are strenuously denied.

Suffice to say that I maintain that it wasn't my fault. I blame John Flowers from STA Travel in Russell Square. If anyone passes by STA Travel in Russell Square and fancies casually abusing a travel agent (we all get that urge from time to time), he's the one with the unmissable, unmistakeable bumfluff. Although I'm not sure that narrows it down amongst STA staff.

I'm aware that no one really wants the descriptions of the minutiae of my trip - minor details like where I've been and what I've seen. I could tell you of the elephants I saw on the wildlife safari, the magnificent temples and palaces, the wonderfully hospitable people, the tea plantations etc etc etc. But I know my target audience. You just want cheap childish laughs. And that is what I hope to deliver over the duration of the blog. Along with some other acerbic wit, intelligent and humorous thoughts and feelings on my trip. But mainly cheap laughs.