Cricket Umpiring

For those of you from uncivilised countries that have never been exposed to the wonderful game of cricket, the umpire is like the referee, except he doesn't really move. He stands still, occasionally raising a finger or two or waving his arm about depending on what has just happened in the thrilling game in front of him. I've now umpired 5 matches in 6 days and each match has been about 4 hours meaning I've spent a hell of a lot of time standing very still on a dusty Indian cricket pitch.

(Thats me there in the blue)

 This afternoon was the closest I think I've come to falling asleep standing up as after 19 ½ hours the game isn't as interesting as it used to be. I've finally learnt all the rules though and has given me a lot of respect for the cricket coach here who yesterday umpired his 537^th school cricket match, so I'm learning from the best I suppose.

I'm going to take a break tomorrow I think and then I'll let Rory Manley (my friend from Marlborough) do the honours for a while when he arrives next week Sunday.

Cheers

Bishop Cotton School - A week in

Having been at the school a week (and then been on the move for the last week) I thought its probably time for a little update. I've settled in well and have a vague idea of what I'm going to be doing during my time here - umpiring cricket matches. But more on that another time. I've sat in on several classes, mostly maths and physics and am not sure whether to be pleased at how much I can remember or be worried at how much I've forgotten. Anyway I also got coerced into teaching an Upper 6 class about refraction of light which  they all found immensely exhilarating and were bursting with excitement.

Last week Wednesday I spent a lesson with the Class 3's, the 8 year olds right at the bottom of the school. They were newer to the school than I was having only arrived on Monday, so I was expecting a load of shy, quiet boys with tears in their eyes who I'd have trouble even getting to say their names. Instead I walked into the class to as much noise as a Mumbai green light. Feeling slightly wrong-footed I started introducing myself and they were quiet for 2 minutes before the ants in their pants got too much for them and they started jumping up, asking questions, shouting at each other and generally acting as normal boys do. I remembered that when you are a hyper-active little 8 year old with mates to impress, sitting in a corner facing the wall with your mouth taped shut is not an enjoyable way to spend 5 minutes. So the loudest boy got this treatment and it kept the class quiet enough to get a game of bingo going. Even that was an effort though and it took the remaining 25 minutes to play. On the basis of this, teaching them anything vaguely constructive is going to be nearly impossible, and I'm meant to be teaching French. Bonne chance!

On Sunday I went with some new found friends to Simla town. The centre where the oldest buildings are is still very English looking and one of the boys is the son of the deputy Mayor so he showed me 'daddy's office'. The rest of the town sprawls over the surrounding hills and all looks as though its about to fall off the side of the mountain. We visited 'Scandal Point', the yellow Christchurch and then went shopping, the deputy mayor's son buying me a classic Himachal Pradeshi hat which I'm proudly modelling below with my 60 rupee RenBin Wayfarer sunglasses given to me by Deepak. 

I like the town, it has character and charm despite it being a real hodge podge of buildings from the 1840s onwards but can see where the boys are coming from when they say that it gets fairly dull quite quickly, and night life is limited to er... not much.

I'm enjoying it though even if it is a little bit too much like going back school (incessant immature boy jokes and an actual scheduled day) and I've been included/forced my way in enough of a variety of activities to keep things interesting. The six o'clock morning run and cold bucket being a couple of activities slightly further down the fun ladder than others.

I'm on my way back to school after three days in Varanasi where I attended Deepak's brother's wedding and will let you know all about it soon.

Cheers

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Max

Pictures and a Quick Update

I'm sitting in an internet cafe in Delhi and annoyingly can't upload any text documents that I've written so will have to wait until I get back to school for that. But here are some pictures from the trip that i haven't uploaded yet to keep Mummy and Daddy happy.

Here is my '400 rupee a night shoe box' from my second

night in Mumbai.

This boy in Dharavi, the Mumbai slum, clearly thought that

his goat was getting a little porky and is giving it some exercise.

Victoria Terminus, the central train station in Mumbai.

Possibly a very heavy night, but as this was taken in the

Muslim quarter I doubt it. And I did check that he was

breathing, don't worry.

Here's what 40 rupees gets you.

That bag weighs 30kgs so he will have a 

slight headache and possibly a cricked neck 

for the rest of the day while I got my 5 minutes 

of feeling like an Imperial Victorian explorer.

I'm off to Varanasi now for Deepak's brother's wedding so will let you know how it all goes as well as posting stuff about the school and various other things. The trip so far has been interesting, I drove down to Delhi with the headmaster's son so got an alternative perspective on driving in India, basically there are no rules and its every man or woman for himself. 

I then spent 2 hours in a queue for a train ticket and missed the last train to Varanasi but managed to get one for this morning. Then I had to consider options for the night. Louis and Frederique were out of town so I rang up a few hotels but they were all either full or unreachable. At this point the platform was looking fairly appealing so interested to see what sleeping on a platform is like I pulled up some concrete and lay down against a pillar. This is clearly not common practice for foreigners in India as the looks I got from passers-by were hilarious. I was soon joined on my pillar by a exceptionally drunk Punjabi called Jaspeer. He refused to accept that I was from Zimbabwe or England and kept insisting that I was from America, Canada or Saudi Arabia. I started playing the same game and insisted that he was from Mumbai or Simla. He got very confused, burst into tears and then fell asleep next to me. I read for a bit more then spotted a free bench so kipped there for the night. Sleeping at a railway isn't as fun as it sounds and it doesn't even sound very fun to be honest. The trains are very, very noisy and the loudspeaker doesn't stop, even so I managed to get a good few hours and don't feel too ropey this morning.

Cheers

Delhi

After Mumbai even the capital of the world's biggest democracy seems chilled. It was also helped by having an amazing place to stay, somewhere I could relax completely for the first time since leaving Harare four days before. So big thanks to Louis and Frederique Leimgruber who put up with me for a few days.

The train pulled into New Delhi Central 26 and half hours after pulling out of CST, amazingly I hadn't got too bored, amusing myself by trying to talk to the Indian family who'd replaced the two bearded men and then reading every time we ran out of a common language. Then I had a manic 15 minutes trying to get a lift to Louis and Frederique's house, then a no less manic 15 minutes in the back of the tuk-tuk as it swerved in and out of traffic, (the driver drove it as though it was still a motorbike) before finally arriving.

My travelling companions and I after a lengthy journey!

Over the next couple of days I chilled at the house and went on a couple of excursions out into the city. The first was to the Mughal gardens surrounding Humayun's tomb, they are a lovely place to find some peace and quiet in the bustle of Delhi and I spent a while wandering around before heading over to the Muslim quarter.

 I joined in a casual game of cricket on the way and pasted their bowlers around the ground, to be fair most of them were only 9 or 10 and were bowling under arm but I left with shouts of 'Andy Flower!' following me and was very chuffed.

I then carried on and found scenes resembling Dharavi but on a smaller scale, the Muslims in Delhi clearly get a raw deal. It appears that all their money goes into their shop or stall and there house is barely considered as it had a colourful and bustling front but again a bit of digging revealed some very shabby accommodation.

That night I went to a talk on rural development with Frederique which was very interesting considering the variety of urban development I'd seen. The main problem seems to be the lack of ability of communities to govern themselves in the traditional sense as opposed to a more centralised system set up by the British. However the highlight had to be the elderly Indian chap who sat down in the corner and fell asleep after ten minutes, snoring throughout the hour long talk. We then went to a concert of Indian and Bangladeshi performers, although the music was very good there was hardly any response from the crowd with even an over-eager clap being frowned upon by the people around us. I found this surprising considering everything I'd heard of Indian's love for music.

I will leave this one here as I need a shower, cold mountain river water from a bucket of course and then hopefully off to my first Hindi lesson but will carry on asap.

Cheers

Max

The Magic Formula

Indian City Formula

I've worked out a formula in the five days I've been here that gives added meaning to Indian city life. This important formula allows taxi drivers to work out how often they should beep their horns and goes as follows:

Moving away from standstill or slowing down to a stop or any car visible through the windscreen or any turning made* = 2 two short blasts.

*(it seems beeping has replaced the seemingly superfluous art of slowing down, using mirrors and indicating, that is commonly used in other countries).

Car encroaching within 3 metre radius or any car, tuk-tuk slower than the taxi or any bicycle, pedestrian = 3 (two short and one long).

The formula is exceptionally accurate but what doesn't include is that taxi drivers will hoot every

thirty seconds anyway, regardless of whether they are stationary, moving, stuck in traffic or cruising down a deserted road (not that this happens often). This is probably to make sure that the horn is working in case of one of the emergencies mentioned in the formula.

Millions of black and yellow cabs infest the cities.

It certainly seems to be the most important part of the taxi in the view of most drivers. I have seen taxis driving past with crumpled bumpers, flat tyres, smoking engines and every other type of malady. Yet only once have I seen any repairs being carried out. It was in Mumbai, on the side of a dual-carriage way and I saw a taxi driver jump out of the car with the engine running, open the bonnet tweak something, lean in the window and give two lusty blasts of the horn to make sure it was indeed fixed before grinning like a madman, hopping in and speeding off with the correct number of accompanying hoots.

Not sure what 'Yeh the horns working so lets go' in

Hindi is but I'm sure I could learn it from these guys.

And what I love is that there are never any bad intentions, it is simply to let everyone know that they are there and that their horn is still working and more often than not they break into smile at the sound of their own horn. It is like the call of a baby penguin that a mother or father can recognise in the midst of thousands of others in the colony. I reckon if you took a taxi driver and showed him hundreds of identical taxis he would be able to identify his by the sound its horn makes, so well acquainted is he with its tones. Indeed the first Hindi phrase I learnt from Deepak was 'haren dina' which literally means 'beep beep'.

And of course it is not limited to taxis - other cars, tuk-tuks, trucks and buses all make their presence well known while it also appears to be a legal requirement for bicycles to have a bell – but taxis are by far the worst offenders.

This sign can be found on the backs of vehicles owned by

those most committed to the cause, (mostly taxis).

It does, I have to admit get a little wearing on the nerves, it is incessant and when on foot there is nothing to isolate you from the wall of sound that is emitted from a traffic light turning green. However it is an essential part of the vivid Indian city experience and life here would be diminished without it.

Max

In Simla

Just a quick one to say that I arrived in Simla safely and have settled in at Bishop Cotton School. The boys are very friendly and I think they're fairly impreesed by having a gora as I'm bombarded with questions and generally looked at as an authority on everything. Ego hasn't felt this good for ages. I've also started cricket practices, which deflated the ego somewhat and started boxing today. So if you dont recognise the flat-nosed person in subsequent photos you'll know why.

I'll post some longer blogs as soon as I can find a plug adaptor to charge my laptop.
Just a quick thank you to Granny and Grampa who visited BCS a few weeks ago and left a lovely postcard for me. Also mum says that the follow gadget on the side of the log isnt there but it may be up at the top of the page. Ill try and sort it out.
Cheers for now.