Geordie & the Spiders from Ponteland

(image Courtesy of Sampark - www.sampark.org)

India, is as described by many, a land of extreme contrasts - which is fully exemplified by just stepping outside our new harmonious front door - navigating past the large bullock grazing on rubbish during my improvised running loop yesterday provided an additional athletic challenge.

As I write the terrorist situation in Mumbai is still not resolved and there is a general feeling of apprehension - the normally half asleep security guards actually paying attention for a change. I will get my first taste of the Urban/Rural contrasts this weekend when on go up-country overnight on the 'Hampi Express' to visit some of the work that the NGO I have been helping is doing in the Koppal region. They also work with urban poor in Bangalore which is how I ended up visiting a mobile school on a building site earlier this week. The school was a breeze-block hut (some 20 sq mtrs) with some 40 kids - and I thought Ponteland CP was crowded in the late 60s. This was a true mixed age and ability class with children (of the migrant construction workers) ranging from 9 months to 12 years - oh and in at least 3 languages - quite a challenge for a first time teacher!

Having seen some of the kids work and their performances we asked if they wanted to ask us (self and other visitor) any questions - very sensibly a six year old boy asked if we did any teaching (they were here to learn after all!) and/or performances. I was holding my off key rendition of 'Keep your feet still Geordie hinny' in reserve when we both decided that we could just about remember 'Incy Wincy Spider' - though there was some bilateral negotiation needed to finally decide on the 'authorised' lyrics and the correct hand actions. This was much better received than any of my singing efforts in the past, with full audience participation - I am still available for Panto btw.

India, especially Bangalore, can seem a selfish place, but little outcrops of simple altrusim within the sea of surging survival and captalism go a long way. I had better stop before I start sounding like a 'Thought for the Day' out-take - and get back to the important stuff - the men are coming to install the washing machine - domestic life in India may be about to start for real, especially if the maid can't work out how to use it properly.

Wir Feiern Gern - Bangalore

It could be that I am showing my age, but I found myself this weekend wondering whether I would prefer to be at a Christmas bazaar, in chilly church hall in Manchester rather than eating under the stars at a muti-media event at a country resort in the tropics. The multi-media event was Mrs Reivers staff party/event - impressively staged with catwalk, laser show, models, dancers, rock band, and various video presentations - and A VERY LOUD Sound system. The entertainment at my previous place of work related to such events was largely around the protracted and subtle office trench warfare that would take place over several months over deciding the location of the Christmas do. The Indian event did highlight to me that I probably need to take a crash course on the history of Bollywood to further embed myself in the local cultural context and to ensure that I can maintain my dancing at the right level of 'embarassing dad' cringe-worthiness, but I was somewhat unsure where the magician with the assistant who danced near naked with hula hoops (the non-edible sort, it wasn't that kinky!) fitted into the local tradition - maybe just a bad attack of the David Blaines (painful, irritating and difficult to forget) by the organisers. It is always good to meet a range of new people when you arrive anywhere, unfortunately due to the decibel level I am now known at Steve to several people - maybe I should work on an alter ego. Steve Reiver - he's a gentle sort of guy, in touch with his feminine side, great with kids and animals, cordon bleu cook (trained in Paris) and dresses so well - mmm may need to keep working on that one a bit. Ultimately in any new place I feel there is very little value in trying to go too native - I quickly learnt that no-one can be more German than the Germans. I am slowly, very slowly experimenting with local dress, but the mirror keep sort of saying back 'you look like a complete twassock' and 'that Sari is just not your colour darling' - the curly toed slippers however continue to call so temptingly - tie me to the mast quickly my brave lads. I suspect I will never even remotely understand the Indians and likewise they me (come to think of it it is not just the Indians who don't understand me?) - it is literally a billion to one shot. I guess I will just settle down to anticipating a life full- with hopeful happy mistunderstandings - there should be a word for that - the Germans would have one - misverstandnishoffnungsfreude perhaps. I could start by working on the oberlippenbard to fit in better, but my kids told me I looked kinda pervy/Freddie Mercury in his AIDs phase when I tried this before - so perhaps not.

Better just stick to being a confused Border Reiver in Bangalore - still no sheep in sight!? Oh and the Christmas bazaar in South Manchester was I hear filled with drama and intrigue beyond the imagination of any event organiser with a surfeit of lasers - but of that perhaps another time - the unpacking in the new house awaits and I must see how many other essential retained life treasures Mrs Reiver had transported half way across the world 'just in case'.

The Grumpy Old Mans Guide to India

Mrs Reiver suggested the other day that it was just possible that the frustrations of living in India were starting to manifest themselves through some Grumpy Old Man behavior on my part. Whilst I explained that she must be mistaken as it is a truth universally acknowledged that my personality represents a cool peaceful pond of serenity, shaded by the trees of calmness and wafted by the breezes of inner tranquility - not all of my ancestors were quite so relaxed. The original Border Reivers certainly had a strong 'Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough' streak and roamed the middle marches yielding to no-one; 'Scottish if forced, English at will and a Reiver by grace of blood' - well put that man. These genes seem to have partially skipped my generation - those who were there will remember the look of genuine surprise on my face when I was penalised for what the 'mericans would call 'Unnecessary Roughness' a couple of years ago playing rugby. The force flows strong however in my children as anyone who has seen my daughter play netball can testify. So, - whilst I clearly sail through our life here in an untroubled fashion - I do believe that others can occasionally find India a frustrating place. On such occasions this concern/anger/frustration can be expressed in various forms - a few which percolated through my head from popular culture are listed below = Yes It's Competition Time:

1. Don't make me angry - you won't like me when I'm angry
2. I'm tellin you Jim, she canna take any more
3. I warned you but now I'm going to have to give you a really good thrashing
4. You say you want the truth - You can't handle the truth
5. For my daughter Leonora, without whose help, this book would have been finished in half the time
6. I don't believe it!
7. You cannot be serious man
8. I'm going to rip off your head and spit down the hole
9. Touch my drawing again and I will break your fingers
10. What we have here is a failure to communicate

Clue: at least one of them is Mrs Reiver
Answers - Sources of all 10 please by posting comment
Prize - A bottle of India's finest wine delivered in time for Christmas ( I sound just like the Times magazine)

The message must be don't bottle it up, and so If I ever get frustrated by India I will of course try and express myself as I were the unlikely lovechild of Noel Coward and Oscar Wilde.

Must dash I am needed.

'Yes Yes coming Cybil my little Pirahna'

Dolly Parton ..and the Swords of a Thousand Men

Memories, may be beautiful and yet, what’s too painful to remember we simply choose to forget – so sang Ms Streisand in 1981 reflecting languidly on ‘the Way we Were’. Reviewing this blog so far you might conclude that I am a bit of a foot fetishist with a specialism in pavements who is stuck on the lyric world of 70s and early 80s pop – and you may well be right. I seem to remember, if not always accurately (as forceably reminded by my sister who is from the anorak side of the family) song lyrics and trivia. Writing this just after the 11^th hour of the 11^th day of the 11^th month prompts one not to forget – so what has been unforgettable so far in my 6 weeks (yes six count them!) in Bangalore – and in my chosen vernacular how would I represent this as a Bangalore top 10 song countdown – for all pop-pickers out there.

Steady at No 10 – not glamorous Gordon – but Chris Rea (of Reas Ice Cream Parlour – Newcastle Haymarket) – ‘The Road to Hell’ (Bangalore Traffic Mix)

Not so steady at No 9 my stomach – Whitesnake – ‘Here I go again on my own’ ( enuf said)

Even less stable at No 8 Bangalore building standards - Unit 4+2 (as featured in the Reiver Wedding of the Year 2007) with ‘Concrete and Clay’ (..begins to crumble)

Reliably at No 7 – Squeeze with ‘Block Coffee in Bed’ (you really can get decent coffee anywhere here!)

Swaggering in at No6 – Tenpole Tudor with ‘Swords of a Thousand Men’ (this is typical of the numbers required to do or fix anything around your house/office)

Buzzing along at No 5 – Meri Wilson with ‘Telephone Man’ (everyone everywhere seems to have a mobile and uses them anywhere- with additional points for using one handed whilst riding a motorbike without a helmet – we even now have 3 mobiles, 3 laptops, one blackberry (oeer get her!), and two landlines)

Steady at No 4 – for the nice little man who cooks Mrs Reiver her comfort mushroom omlette every morning to consistently high standards – Deep Blue Something with ‘Breakfast at Tiffanys ‘(she doesn’t need diamonds at breakfast as she has enough sparkle with me !)

A new entry at No3 – for the new lepidopterally endowed house and garden which might just turn into a home – Dolly Parton with ‘Love is Like a Butterfly’

Just missing out on the top spot at No 2 – Mr Zimmerman with a ‘A Hard Rains Gonna Fall’ – Mrs Reiver had soooo.. much fun sorting out her flooded laboratory

But, as Christopher Lambert said there can be only one, and at No1 (with head still connected) it has to be the Boss with ‘Born to Run’ ( the version junior Reiver 2 and I heard at Old Trafford in May please) – the look on peoples faces as I run around the parks and streets here in the daytime could hardly be more shocked than if I had just emerged from John Hurts stomach!

Let's Hear it for the Girls

Finding coping mechanisms in a new and unfamiliar environment is always an interesting process. I remember fondly an old cassette tape of ‘I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue’ which was guaranteed to raise my mood on the way home however stressful the working day. I was reminded of the need for good transitions a few days ago when Mrs Reiver collapsed through the door declaring herself to be a Zombie, but at least a Zombie with positive mental attitude. There is probably a lurid 1950s film titled ‘I was a Zombie Love Slave’, but I don’t recall signing up for a role in the Bangalore street theatre version.

I decided that the only response to such a situation was to start spending more time out and about and compensate by picking op women. The ‘women’ in question were nutritious energy bars with additional calcium on sale at our local supermarket. These were judiciously deployed to maintain Mrs Reivers blood sugar on the car ride home.

She needs to stay particularly alert on the trip home as they have chosen to turn the road outside our current accommodation into an assault course with mounds of sand, gravel and rubble – the chaos of this being counterpointed by the quiet diligence of the construction work force (mostly women) who balance loads of cement on their head with apparently effortless grace. How these women cope with their unfamiliar environment (as most are from outside the local state of Karnataka) is a whole different level of challenge which even the comfort afforded by melifluous tones of the late great Humphrey Lyttleton would be insufficient to cover. Happily many NGOs are doing good work to address the issue (www.sampark.org) , at a somewhat more practical level than developing an Indian version of Mornington Crescent.