Check your bill

Michael and I did our weekly food shopping at Reliance Fresh. We usually split the bill. I didn’t have cash so I told him we would use my debit card. Our purchases totaled 764.50 as displayed in the cash register, gave my card to the cashier, he swiped, gave me the bill to sign. I noticed that the total in the tiny sheet of paper was Rs.764.96. So I told the cashier about the discrepancy. With my limited Hindi and his limited English we could not understand each other. But there’s apparent nonchalance in his manner. A guy behind me understood what I was talking about and explained that the total was rounded off. The last time I checked my Math, you round off a decimal number to get a whole number.

We were about to leave. It was a mere 40 paise ($0.009 or about the same in peso) but I was fuming. Michael suggested that I talked to the manager. The manager came and I explained to him the situation. He gave the same explanation, bill was rounded off. WTF? ( i didn't say that) He said something about system of rounding off when someone uses debit or credit card. “Debit card is as good as cash, did you charge me for using my debit card?” I thought he said yes, so I told him I never knew of that policy in their store, we shop there every week. Right to information, hello. "If you are charging me for using card you should put a sign and inform shoppers". He said, “anyway, it’s only 40 paise.” Jesus H. Christ, who cares if it’s only 40 paise, they still charged me extra! His further explanation discombobulated me even more, that when someone uses card they have to put exact amount. Eh? That the machine automatically rounds off, that it’s a system problem. “System problem? How much are you taking from my account then?” I asked. He told me it’s whatever’s written in my bill."So again, let's get this clear, are you charging me for using debit card?", me. "No" manager said. "Ok, are you then charging me extra because of the problem in your system?” I think that pinned him down and just decided to give me back my 40 paise. It’s actually 46 paise to be exact. They don’t have coins under 1 rupee so he gave me that, I wanted to give him exact change but I didn’t have that either. He told me to just take the 1 rupee, which I did.

The other shoppers could hear us, while they watched and listened nobody seemed to care, probably even wondering why I raised hell over 40 paise. Even that guy who was standing behind me. Apparently, he knows about the system of rounding off. This is clearly a case of very bad customer service, and I can even say a way to rip off shoppers. I’m sure whoever is reading this gets the drift. While I am not surprised I’m still dumbfounded by how Indians just accept things like this. Most Indians do not complain, and because they don’t complain the system never gets corrected.

the story of my 48-hour train journey

I’ve forgotten all the fun I had co-facilitating the Capacity Building workshop with Michael in Ranchi, Jarkhand and Patna, Bihar and all the nice people I met there when I boarded the train in Patna to Chennai. From the onset, all indications showed it was going to be a horrible journey. First, I had RAC10 (reserve against cancellation) ticket which meant I could get on the train but not have a berth of my own. Well, I would get a berth but I would have to share it with another commuter. Unless 10 people backed out, I would be sitting up all the way to Chennai, over 1500 kilometers, 42-hour journey. I was already on panic mode 2 hours before when I learned about the status of my ticket. Half an hour before my ETD, I almost begged Michael to just let me get on his train to Delhi and proceed to Chennai from there.

A guy from JM Institute (JMI), the organizer of the workshop in Patna, assured me he would talk to the TT (the Train Inspector, please don’t ask how it became to be initialed TT) to inquire about how long I would be on RAC. At the railway station, Khan approached the TT who was either blind or deaf as he was just oblivious to Khan and me standing right in front of him talking. Suffice it to say that we didn’t get any assurance, not even a recognition that we existed. I no longer feigned any weakness and just started to shed tears out of frustration. What was I to do?

The train arrived on time at Platform 2, Michael, Khan and another guy from JMI helped me settle down on the berth assigned to me, second class with air conditioner, coach A1 seat no. 39. The heat inside the coach was ominous of my impending tribulation. Both fan and a/c were off, commuters edged their ways in the narrow aisle. Someone said fans are usually switched on at least 5 minutes before departure. It was 19:45 PM, the ETD was 19:55. Most of the passengers in A1 got out of the train for some air. The train left at 20:05.

July 22, 2010 - the ordeal begins.
20:05. as I said the train departed the Patna Junction station, passengers in my coach used their hands or whatever piece of paper they could get hold of to fan themselves.

20:15, the fan went on, to our relief. The train made an unscheduled stop.

20:20. Fan went off, train moved, lights flickered, then total darkness.

20:25. Train stopped for 5 minutes, still without a/c nor fan, lights back on.

21:00. Fan went back on, train gained speed. It ran at a steady speed, but not fast enough.

21:20 the fan was out again.

21:45. Fan on

22:10. Fan off. I couldn’t hide my consternation anymore and started cussing. I asked the college students in my coach if we could at least lodge a complaint. Said they already did, but I had no idea how when the TT hasn’t even shown up yet. Asked about the railways management’s response, they looked at one another, smiled and shrugged their shoulders.

22:20. Train stopped at Buxar station, no fan, no breeze from outside. A Tamilian woman working with AID India was visibly annoyed (who could blame her?) and grumbled. ‘they should change the bogey even before we left Patna”. One of the college guys came to tell us the management wanted a proof that complaint was filed before they did anything. What the f…. He added though that ‘problem will be solved’ at Mughal Sarai station, 1 ½ hours from where we currently were.

22:50. Train started to move again still without a fan, dragging all 20 coaches to the next station. I went to the vestibule to get some air. I wanted to say ‘fresh air’ but the stench from the commodes dominated the air. The Tamilian woman came and told her companions who were also at the vestibule, two of them white people, that they could temporarily occupy empty berths in the next coach where the AC was working.

23:05. Fan was back on. Notice how I barely mention a/c now, I’ve dumped any hope of AC by this time.

23:10. The TT came to inspect our tickets. It was my chance to ask about getting my own berth, and be noticed. A woman named Sumitra was to share the berth with me but there was no sign of her so far. I thought I could get a confirmation that I’d have it to myself. If I had to fan myself all night, I was hoping that I could at least do it with my back rested on the bunk. “just a minute, just a minute,” the TT told me. And then he was gone before I could say another word.


23:25. Fan out as it neared a minor station, lights flickered, teasing us they’re going off anytime. The train stopped again, it seemed to me an unscheduled stop. Or maybe not, cops got out of the train.

23:32. Train left the station, fan on.

23:35. Train crew distributed pillows, bedsheets and blankets. The guy occupying the berth atop mine wanted to make sure he got a blanket. I couldn’t help commenting, “what do you need a blanket for? We’re being stewed alive here”. Regardless, i made sure I had a complete set and immediately spread the bed sheet. I marked my territory. I decided that if ever Sumitra came on board I would dissuade her, tell her to get off while she could for it was infernal on the train.

July 23, 2010 – the ordeal continues

00:30. Feeling more confident that Sumitra had already changed her mind, I dozed off in spite of the heat. I was roused from sleep when the fan went off again as train slowed down. I noticed the pattern; obviously there was not adequate electricity to power the train and the fan at the same time. I was thinking we could have fan on all night but the train won’t move, or the train moves and the manual fans get into action.

I looked out my window, from the look of the station we had reached Mughal Sarai, where ‘problem will be solved’. We were still in the state of Bihar. From my window I saw several men got on our coach with flashlights and cables. A glimmer of hope, I must say.


1:00. We were exactly where we were half an hour ago. There was no sign at all that the train was going to depart soon. The sauna, er the train still didn’t have the fans on. Most of the passengers were awake, save for a few older women who seemed impervious to the atrocious temperature inside the train.

The Tamilian woman came back to our coach, more outspoken now and carped at the ineptness of railways authorities. “All these railways people, they don’t care. Bhanerjee is not doing anything, and the railways system employs the most number of Indians.” I don’t know who is Bhanerjee, I supposed s/he is the top honcho in the Indian Railways System Authority.

Situation update, no fans, no water in the bathroom, all men were outside the train, swarming around the TTs, demanding the bogey be changed or we all stay till they get the problem fixed. Five hours on the train without any ventilation finally got Indians to rise up and didn’t just accept the often bad customer service accorded to them.

I was back in the vestibule, for want of some good news, I curiously watched the commotion just outside our coach. A red-haired Indian was being pushed and screamed at by an angry railways authority while men gathered around them. Normally, I would be wary if I witnessed a brewing clash, but being here in India for a year (1 year and 2 days to be exact) I’ve observed that Indians are not at all violent. All these pushing, shoving and shouting would dissipate in seconds and no fist would land on any person’s face.

1:11. I went back to my berth, skipping my way over cables that power charged the train generators. For a brief moment a droning sound came from the ACs only to quiet down after about 10 seconds. The AC went on and off but wasn’t cooling the bogey. The stench from the toilet filled the air, flies multiplied by the minute.

1:30. The AC was officially on but was still not cooling the coach. Everyone was still up and about, I started chatting with the Tamilian woman. She and her companions were in Bihar for 6 days, they visited remote communities where their organization provides education assistance. They had a chance to visit Bodh Gaya, site of Buddhist temple with colossal golden statue of Buddha. Michael and I didn’t have the same luck, it was 100 kilometers away from Patna; we didn’t have the luxury of time to see the touristy places of Bihar.

I was tired, sweaty, sleepy, hungry. The pantry crew didn’t serve dinner the night before.

2:54. The train finally revved up its engine and we resumed our journey. The AC failed to work.

3:29. I awoke with the train in total darkness, silence and heat. Too exhausted to even bother I forced myself back to sleep.

6:00. Chai wallas bellowed, “chai, kapi”. I wonder if they knew that we, on that coach, were wide awake through most of the night and would rather doze off than drink tea or coffee. And surprise, surprise, AC was on.

7:30. Allahabad Junction, Uttar Pradesh. We were at last out of Bihar. Got up and had a cup of coffee. AC was still working, thank goodness.

9:30. Still in Allahabad Junction, AC gone, replaced by fan that was threatening to die any minute. Rumor had it that bogey would be changed.

9:45. Police, media people and railways guys in familiar black vests huddled just in front of the coach. Miss Tamil was back to grumbling and me, to cussing. I wanted to defenestrate myself but the window was made of fiber glass and there was a fine of several hundred rupees for breaking the glass windows without a valid reason.

The authorities ultimately got hold of the complaint filed 12 hours ago and decided to do something, ‘we’ll change bogey at the next station’. This phrase was becoming like their ‘tomorrow’, it almost never comes. What’s really infuriating was that they were aware of the problem while we were still in Patna, it would have been the best place to get new coaches but instead delayed any action till people protested against the inhumane condition. Man, the people in these coaches could very well belong to the middle class and paid high price for comfort (not me, mine was paid by JMI). The passengers in the general coach I assumed were in better condition.

9:55. The train left the station sans the AC. Just fan now. Same old inoperative bogey.

10:19. Pantry crew came to take orders for lunch. If they were taking orders now it meant we would be in the same coach till at least after 1 pm, after lunch has been served and consumed. AC was working now, quite stably. Halleluyah.

12:00. Train stopped again. Arggh! It didn’t look like a major and scheduled stop, maybe they were just giving the engine a break.

12:40. Long break the engine had, the train started moving again. The AC was still working. By this time, there was no more agitation, my fellow commuters have submitted to the fact that we’d all never get to our destinations on time. I was still struggling with myself, I thought of invoking the powers of Brahma, Shiva and Vishnu.

14:00. Lunch time was over. The young man atop my berth set up his laptop on the tiny table next to my bunk. We watched Bollywood film called ‘Melenge,’ an obvious and forthright adaptation of Serendipity (John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale). It was in Hindi with occasional subtitles; the curtains in our section of the coach were pulled up so everyone could watch. It was a better treat than the Hollywood movie we watched earlier with my laptop, Turner and Hooch, an old movie that starred Tom Hanks and a brown Rottweiler (don’t trust this one, I have limited knowledge of canine breeds).

From then on, the journey was uneventful, or we were unmindful of the journey. Train still stopped almost every quarter of or half an hour, but with the AC on it was a more comfortable ride.

July 24, 2010

7:30. I decided to get up. My next-bunk neighbors have had their chai. We were already in Andhra Pradesh (AP), just one state away from Chennai, two from Bangalore. I could not hear the drones from the AC, but it was raining in AP so it was okay. I sensed enthusiasm in the people aboard the train. We were just 10 to 16 hours to our destinations, Chennai and Bangalore respectively. The crucial station was Vijayawada. If we reached there without any incident, the next leg would be smooth.

12:00. Train reached Vijawada. Whoopee! Fed up with unsavory meals on train, many got out of to buy provisions for the remaining hours on the train, popcorn, fruit salad, biscuits, ice-cold juices, bananas, ice cream. I got my chocolate ice cream bar for Rs25, while Ms. Tamil got hers for only 20. Darn, I should constantly carry a badge saying “I’m a struggling volunteer. Don’t rip me off”. I can flash it every time I have to purchase something or haggle with rickshaw drivers.

14:00. Another Bollywood movie, comedy this time. I’ve completely lost claim to my berth as there were now 3 people snugly roosted on it as they laughed heartily. It didn’t have subtitle but one of the stars is a finer version of Jude Law, so I stuck it out and finished the movie. The AC was completely out, but it was still cool inside

.18:00. I readied my baggages, only to find out that we wouldn’t reach Chennai till 8 pm. I looked at signages, I couldn’t read them. I was frustrated.

19:30. Suddenly regained my reading proficiency, we were already in Tamil Nadu, half an hour to my destination. Even my neighbors who didn’t speak English, bound for Bangalore were excited.

20:00. Train reached Central Station, there were exchanges of relief, gratitude for the fleeting yet indispensable friendship and wishes of good luck for those were to stay on board for another 6 hours.

After 48 gruelling hours, I am now thinking of my next trip, 28 hours, 2000 kilometers, Chennai to Delhi. Aside from the three major Hindu god this early I’m invoking the powers even of their avatars.

Warning: I'm in a foul mood today

During our Preparing for Change training (PFC) in VSO, soon after we passed the assessment, we were told that volunteers are a rare breed of people. For one, it is not easy to decide to just leave your country and live among people in a cultural setting that one is not used to. One thing that was given so much focus was the aspect of culture, how to be sensitive, how to handle culture shock, how to be adapatable. Rare might we be but volunteers are not saints.

Enough of disclaimer, I am simply in a foul mood today and I want to rant.(I promise to rave next time) For a valid reason I cannot talk about what’s making me feel short-tempered but I do need to vent , and I’ve decided to pick on the construction workers in our compound as my hapless victims.

There’s a construction going on in our compound. The landlord is building three more apartment units in the second floor. It was started by two sari-clad women carrying 15 to 20 kilos of cement bricks each on their heads. The bricks were stacked outside the compound and transferred to what used to be our rooftop. Then more women came, and then men came, maybe not in that order. Now there are about 10 people working in the compound everyday; the construction according to my landlord will take three months.

I must thank these people who work so fast that in just a couple of days they’ve erected the walls that insulated our apartments from the scorching summer heat. It doesn’t feel like an oven anymore and I’ve stopped using my air-conditioner every night.

Now just as fast as they build the second floor the garbage accumulates faster. Our junkyard, er, our front yard already looked like a junkyard even before the construction began. There are steel bars that might have been used as scaffolding when our part of the building was constructed, slabs of wood, surplus bricks, a corroded motorbike, a guava tree, a coconut tree, and dry fallen leaves, all of them forms the landscape of our junkyard, er front yard.

The construction workers have their lunch in our walkway, right in front of Francesca’s (the other volunteer) flat. I want to digress for a moment, F and I often come home for lunch and every time we give them cold water, whoever gets home first. We’re volunteers, we’re a rare breed of people so we don’t complain if we must supply them with drinking water daily which we buy from the landlord‘s store. If only they could be more polite and request rather than always command us to get them cold water.

About the trash, some of them (the workers, not the trash) bring food from home packed in stainless metal containers that is common in India. Others buy food from the hotels (restaurants). A typical Tamil Nadu lunch you get from hotels is ¼ kilo of cooked rice wrapped either in plastic bag or banana leaf, sambar (a tasty mix of smothered vegetables), wrapped in small cellophane bag, rasam (clear soup with coriander and I dunno what else) wrapped in small cellophane bag, a dahl also wrapped in cellophane bag, and curd (diluted milk with onion, coriander, chili) yes another cellophane bag. Curd helps in digestion, rasam cools the body. Sometimes there’s an extra treat of papad, wrapped in old newspaper. These come in set and contained in a bigger plastic bag. So if at least half of them (the workers, not the trash) didn’t bring lunch from home and throw their garbage in our front yard, that’s 5 banana leaves, 20 to 30 plastic bags and 5 sheets of old newspaper flung haphazardly in our front yard e-very single day. And I’m not even counting the disposable tea cups (morning and afternoon, they each have a cup of tea).

One morning during the first week of construction, I wore my pink rubber mitts and picked up all their rubbish. I made sure they saw me did it with a grimace. The women, with cement bricks on their heads, stopped to watch me and chattered in Tamil. Soon I realised they wanted me to stop and told me they’d clean up later. I didn’t. One woman who just deposited her bricks on the second floor joined me and quickly reaped all litters she could. I gave them an old bucket they could use to collect their garbage, “deyavu seda” (please). For a good two days there was no visible trash. But soon enough, more rubbish piled up, now this time with cement bags, empty tins, more slabs of wood, more metals. F talked to the landlord that he should have it cleaned, he said ‘uh, yes maybe after construction’. MAYBE???? Now tell me if I shouldn’t rant.

My Indian friends and colleagues will pardon me when I say that lack of environmental sanitation is an obnoxious characteristic in India, and this is true anywhere. I hear some of them who complain about these themselves and said that educated or not, majority of Indians don’t care about sanitation.

I come from a developing country and garbage collection system is never at its best. In fact annual inundation in some parts of Manila during the rainy season, are partly to be blamed on uncollected solid wastes. But the difference is that people in the Philippines would always at least think twice before disposing their garbage just anywhere, and try not to get caught doing it. There are huge garbage bins in the major streets here but are often only half-full (or half-empty, depends on the type of person you are) while around it are piles of litters. What is so hard about making sure a small plastic tea cup they throw lands inside the bin and if they missed pick it up and try shooting again? This and the frenzied streets of India are two things I’ll never get accustomed to.

Oh, I feel better now, enough of ranting for tonight. I have to save some so I’ll have an excuse to rant the next time I feel down again. Apologies to the construction workers in our compound, more cold drinking water coming up.

Living in Chennai

(repost from previous blog)
I am waiting for that day, before I write again when I would begin with “It’s an exhilarating day today” or ‘something unforgettably wonderful happened”. It’s not my standard opening line, and not a very appealing one, but at least it wouldn’t suggest another tirade. I thought India and its citizens deserve some praise from me for letting me in this incredible country. But so far, my experiences here have just been that, incredible.

I blame it partly on my indolence to discover more of the sights, history and culture. I’ve been here for two months, but I can count in my fingers how many places I have visited, a Jain temple in Old Delhi, the Red Fort in Agra and right across it is the Taj Mahal which would have been really inane if I missed going there, and Spencer Plaza (a shopping mall) here in Chennai. On one hand, the fact that I am staying here for two years psyches me up that I have the luxury of time, later not sooner I’ll see enough of India. On the other hand, there are limitations to what I can and am willing to do at the moment.

As I live alone sans the comfort of a washer and a clothesline I spend a good deal of my weekends doing my laundry on an installment basis. I don’t have a flat iron so I hang my clothes in the bathroom without wringing them to avoid crease; the drying process of course takes place only after excess water have completely dripped. That was the culprit why I was unable to have a sleepover in a house by the sea last Saturday. And then by the time I finish washing one batch, it’s time to cook.

Culinary chore takes longer for me here. I have learned to use the pressure cooker after giving up the first time when I couldn’t even seal the lid. A colleague from my NGO came to my flat one day to teach me how to press and turn the lid to close. It never fails to give me a start every time it whistles to let out steam. Four whistles indicate that the rice is cooked, wait for a couple more minutes till all the steam is released before taking the lid off, that is if you don’t want it to blow up on your face. It saves both time and LPG.

That gives me time to stare at the stuff in my fridge. What to cook other than rice is a test of patience and creativity. I have all kinds of masala (spices) in my kitchen but I don’t know which goes with what vegetable. Fish and other seafood are stupendously expensive in this coastal city; something about a dispute with Sri Lanka on territorial waters gives reason for fish sellers to peg a high price on them. And when I’ve had my fill, the sun has risen so high (with a normal temperature of 35 degrees Celsius) and discourages me to venture out as it takes half hour walk to get to the nearest bus stop. Unlike in Manila, the buses here don’t just load and unload passengers anywhere the drivers and/or the commuters please.

The other limitation is that most people taking the buses cannot speak English and the bus signs are in Tamil script. Sure I’ve learned to read and write, but my reading proficiency is of kindergarten level, one letter per 30 seconds. The buses don’t wait for more than one minute at the stops, imagine how far and how long the bus has left before I finish reading Vellachery written in Tamil. And that’s not even where I am going. My Tamil vocabulary is also restricted to what my language teacher taught me, none helps in asking for directions. I can say, “Spencer Plaza naan po keerayn.” (I am going to Spencer Plaza). And then I get answers in Hindi. Who knows what they’re saying, might be ‘good for you’ or ‘what do I care?”. The good thing is that buses here are number coded, like buses with number 18 on the sign board are going to the High Court and passes Spencer Plaza.

Whenever I go out, I make sure to don western clothes. That makes people nice and helpful to me. I look like a northeastern Indian so if I put on Indian clothes, unless I open my mouth and speak, I’d probably be just ignored. The downside is the cost of fruits and vegetables instantly goes up when I’m the one buying. Last week I went to buy a few pieces of ordinary guava, less than half kilogram which cost me Rs,30. Shucks, you don’t even need fertilizer to make a guava tree bear fruit, and it’s a perennial fruit too. How could it cost that much! My colleagues said they could have gotten it at half the price. Aarrgh.

Still another limitation is I don’t have a local phone SIM yet. Two or three days after arriving to Chennai I bought a local SIM at Rs19 with lifetime validity. I availed of a promo that if I recharged (they call it recharge here, not load) with minimum of Rs50 plus additional Rs123, for one month all calls to the same network within the state is only 0.35 paise per minute and calls to same network outside the state of Tamil Nadu is Rs1 per minute. Not bad at all. Three or four days later, I couldn’t use my phone. Every time I dialed a number I get a recorded message that my line is temporarily suspended for non-submission of documents. Unlike in the Philippines, even the pre-paid SIMs have to be duly registered here; the Indian government beefed up security system after the Mumbai terror attack last year. Prior to that, getting SIM was as easy buying a piece of candy.

So it was that I lacked one document (a local referee) which I immediately produced. Another week passed still my phone wasn’t working. When I went to the retail shop, I was asked to provide 3 more ID cards. Ok, done. Another day, proof of my birthday was needed. I told them they could see the date of my birth in the passport. Convinced, they said I should fill up a form. And then today, they want another photocopy of my passport and visa, to have a proof of my address in Manila. Tsk! I wonder if they make an effort to be obnoxious or is it their gift. I ended up telling them to give me back my documents and I’d go to another network instead.

So you see, still unfamiliar with a huge city (population: 6 million) I dare not go out without a phone handy. However friendly people might be here, compared to Dehliites, there’s a language barrier. The only recourse I have when I wander too far off my intended destination is to call people from my NGO, who by the way would tell me to see this place or that but won’t tell me how to get there. Almost all of them have motorbikes so they don’t really know which bus would take me where. When I got lost the first time I approached the only person who looked like she could speak English, and she really could. When I told her I wanted to go to Spencer Plaza, she answered, “I don’t know, I am also new here.” She could have been as lost as I was but at least we understood each other.

Taking an auto-rickshaw would be far convenient but I’ve already gotten in too many arguments with rickshaw drivers since I arrived here (I got a lot of practice from the taxi drivers in Manila). Auto-rickshaws are tricycles to Filipinos but instead of regulated fixed fare they have meters, which never work. At least that’s what the drivers claim.

I am a person who values my space and privacy. When I was still staying in a hotel and I ordered coffee or tea they would make me wait for half-hour and then either of the three very young room boys, Suresh, Sadish or Ati, would ring the doorbell and forcefully open my door, if I left my door unlocked from inside they would brazenly barge in. And I’m not even telling about my half-consumed Cadbury dark chocolate I left in my room one morning and gone in the afternoon. At least one of them took out my garbage. And oh, I lost a 50-peso bill. Imagine that, what use do they have for it?

Now that I have my own flat, I have to be scrupulous with the things I store in my fridge. When colleagues come to check on me, they would inspect everything, my room, my shelf, what’s inside my fridge. I happened to find dried fish sold here which I had mistaken for smoked fish. I don’t know what’s with dried fish but it was news at the office that I bought it. “So, you bought dried fish huh”, one woman said. “Yes, she bought dried fish.”, the woman who inspected my fridge replied for me, and then a man who just happened to pass by butted in, “oh you bought dried fish huh.” Not to be mistaken as a grumble, I must add that when I ate the dried fish I felt itchy all over my body. It turned out I have to soak it in hot water for a few minutes and then rinse with tap water before frying it.

So you see, even as I attempt to write about the wonderful things about Incredible India, I can’t now. I am still trying to recover from culture shock. That in restaurants they use just one cloth to wipe sweat, dishes and kitchen counter is another story to tell. At this point, I must remind myself again that I am a volunteer in another Third World country. The term may be obsolete but I like to use it one last time only because it was Jawaharlal Nehru who coined that term. In spite of it all I am happy being here. India is an enchanting place. I know that in time I’ll be able to write about it and begin with “it’s an exhilarating day today in India’.

Battling with Isolation

(this was written some months back, on my 7th week in India

Cats and I are not friends, but the mosquitoes are my lifetime nemesis. Just when I thought I would have the most restful slumber since I arrived in India now that I have my own flat came this realization that in spite of the apartment being newly constructed, I am not its first occupant. Could it be that I moved here two days late of my original schedule the mosquitoes squatted here and decided they want to stay permanently?

I rushed to the nearest store to get a box of mosquito coils (25 pieces with 4 extra coils free). Never mind if I am contributing to the acceleration of global warming. After all the Indian government itself is not keen on reducing the country’s CO2 emission now or in the immediate future.

As I lay my back on my rickety bed that first Saturday night, an army of my archenemy started attacking me from all fronts. I had plugged in a mosquito repellant in my room but that didn’t work. Almost all night I alternately snoozed and swatted the mosquitoes. Until they became more than a nuisance that I resolved to stay awake and just watched them flit around till I drifted to sleep out of exhaustion. The morning after, I found several smudges of blood on my pillow. Apparently, I managed to retaliate in my sleep, but counted 26 bites in one arm and one leg. The number of course is conservative because I didn’t count the ones on my other leg and arm. Without a mirror in my house I didn’t become aware that I have bites in my face too until colleagues told me Monday morning.

Not far down from where I live is a river clinging to its last breath of oxygen to stay alive. It is home to life forms that don’t swim. Every time I pass there I no longer feign repugnance. The stagnant water gives off a repulsive stench that makes one’s stomach revolt. To nauseate is the next best thing to do. That’s where the mosquitoes are from I surmise.

Recognizing that I have to live with them for the next two years of my life I was better prepared on my second night. I shut all my windows and the lone door, sealed the hole in my kitchen wall (provision for exhaust fan) and lit a coil. I don’t know what those repellants are supposed to do, either kill those mosquitoes or drive them away out of my house. Whatever, they seemed to have worked this time. The army of mosquitoes that was there before was in short supply. But with all the air vents shut I then had to suffer from profuse heat.

But how could I fret about the more than 26 bites that dot my skin? What am I doing talking about this mosquitoes when some volunteers from my batch are still anxious about ever finding shelters they can call home for the next one or two years? At least I already have a home. Well, I have to have an excuse for the unexplained gloom I felt on the second night. I hate to admit but I think I have already entered that phase that most (or all?) volunteers go through at the early stage of service.

I became impatient when the day I had to move to my apartment came and I was still stuck in the hotel room for 2 nights more. Yet when I have settled, which I longed for, I was consumed with mixed of anticipation, isolation, helplessness. Albeit I only have the bare necessities, (a small coffee table with two chairs, a wobbly cot, a gas stove, a fan; the second-hand fridge will be shifted later), my flat now gives a semblance of permanence that elicited a hint of anxiety in me. Unlike when I was in a temporary accommodation, knowing I would leave soon I didn’t have to unpack all my stuff. It was like I could just flee anytime I wanted. I can’t now.

It seemed that that the decision I made 10 months ago was just beginning to sink in. That whoa, I’d live in an unfamiliar territory alone for twenty-four months! The volunteer nearest me is thousands of kilometers from here. It cannot be like the first month, when I was in Delhi, that whenever i experienced dismay for whatever reason the other volunteers were a just a room or two away.

But as I wrote this, it filtered deeper through my senses. Two years is a fleeting permanence. I might be in a place all so new to me, with mosquitoes that have the advantage of the terrain, but I am armed with commitment and determination. There’s no going back now. Time to forge new alliance with the people in the NGO I am now with. And when things become unbearable, I know the volunteers will send reinforcement one way or another. This is the choice I made, a new journey, a new sense of independence, a new battle in life… a new life. I am not allowing the mosquitoes or the sweltering heat defeat me.

Splat!!! another mosquito down. May it rest in peace.