POETRY PLEASE (no, no, no!)

It has been suggested that my prose can be a little convoluted, and I am also reading a book which encourages me to practise creativity through poetry – so today’s offering is in poetic form – Hemmingway meets Vogon Captain style. You were warned!

FORMS, FORMS & FORMS, FORMS

INSECT BITES & DOG FIGHTS
CELEBRITY BATS & PROGGY MATS
SACRED COWS & INDIAN ROWS
SULPHUROUS SMELLS & TEMPLE BELLS

FORMS, FORMS & FORMS, FORMS

TRAFFIC JAM & HUGE YAM
MARBLE FLOOR & CRICKET SCORE
SEEKING DIVINE & DODGY WINE
SMURF WIFE & JUMBLED LIFE

FORMS, FORMS & FORMS, FORMS

JIGSAW TREES & SCRAPED KNEES
PURPOSEFUL ANTS & BAGGY PANTS
SECURITY THREATS & JOGGING SWEATS
DREAMING DREAMS & PICKING TEAMS

FORMS, FORMS & FORMS, FORMS

PROCESS LACKING & FIREWORK CRACKING
PERSISTENT DUST & PAVEMENTS BUST
GENTLE SWING & BUTTERFLY WING
VEGGIE CURRY & PRICY DHURRY

LIFE, LIFE & LIFE, LIFE

Today's picture is the anti-poetic sight of an Auto Rickshaw driver returning to his vehicle after relieving himself on our outside wall - once they stop sprinkling in public I may reconsider my approach to PDAs (Public Displays of Affection - much frowned on)

Tigers ..... and Pythons

I should be at the stage of life where I have left all childish things behind me but I seem to be progressively getting more and more in touch with my inner child. Much of my recent reading could easily be classed as children’s literature for example. This was emphasised when I arrived home on Saturday evening with skinned knees that would have graced an excitable 7 year old. It also wasn’t difficult to see it coming – rugby training – hard ground – ball – run - tackle – ground – knees – ouch. Then repeat to ensure the full effect.

Whilst not entirely without sympathy (given her martial arts background) Mrs Reiver was a little disaffected that I had partially disabled myself for the long bank holiday weekend, when the multi-coloured big toe providing only limited visual entertainment. Perhaps I should take the Crocodile Dundee approach and rename myself the Tiger of Indiranger and regale visitors of how the tiger’s claws raked across my leg as I wrestled with it. In truth most of the wrestling involved at the rugby practice was verbal not physical. There seems to be something about the Indian psyche which means that even the most straightforward decisions cannot be taken without loud and very vigorous debate. The curious thing is that once things are resolved there is no hangover it’s just how things work – strangely like a street theatre version of the Monty Python argument sketch. I was given a book called ‘The Argumentative Indian’ for Christmas – I should get round to reading it to glean some insights.

India can seem remote from the real world and with my propensity for remaining childish I could become a lost boy in an Asian Neverland – maybe with a ticking tiger – plus of course a part for Lionel the Warthog. Growing up is always an option but as the rugby coach said to the rest of the twenty-somethings at training – ‘When you are in the pub you act like young men but on the pitch you act like old men’. I have always liked old men’s pubs – the ones without people - and so I will probably keep at it to provide some balance. After all cracked ribs mend magically in Neverland – well sadly they don’t, but my attempts to try and put my pants one handed without bending did at least bring a smile to Mrs Reivers face.

A Bored Reader in Bangalore

In my new circumstances in India I have considerably more time for reading than before, and I should probably have got together a proper reading list to help fill the gaping gaps in my literary education. As with many other things the book selection has been more organic and dynamic. I am not sure what my book selection says about me but here are my Hemmingwayesque reviews of my recent reading:

Keep off the Grass (Karan Bajaj) – Entertaining but disturbing
The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana (Umberto Eco) – A bit up itself
The Full Cupboard of Life (Alexander McCall Smith) – Reliably comforting
The Comfort of Saturdays (Alexander McCall Smith) – Ditto
East of the Sun (Julia Grigson) – Chewy Raj potbolier
The Red Carpet – Bangalore Stories (Lavanya Sankaran) – Full of East meets West tension
The Gravediggers Daughter (Joyce Carol Oates) – Evocative but too long
Being Indian (Pakan K Varma) – Just depressing
Shantaram (Gregory David Roberts) – A ripping 1980s yarn
The Lives of Christopher Chant (Diana Wynne Jones) – Eat your hat Rowling JK
Games Indians Play (V Raghunathan) – Frighteningly accurate
Fooled by Randomness (Naseem Nicholas Taleb) – Intermittently insightful
Culture Shock India – Patronising and dated
Oscar Wilde and the Candlelight Murders (Giles Brandreth) – Literary Horlicks
Half a Life (V S Naipaul) – Half too many!

I was prompted to think that perhaps I should turn my attention to a medium which is more visual and suited to my shorter attention span such as TV cartoons for serious study. This train of thought chugged out of the station of possibility fuelled by the glowing sight of returning home yesterday to find Mrs Reiver distinctly Smurf like with blue hands after a less than effective attempt to clean up after some furniture redecoration. I never really got the Smurfs but this childhood throwback reminds me of my current reading – ‘Paddington Here and Now’ just like marmalade sandwiches real class never goes out of fashion.

Oh and I forgot ‘Eats Shoots and Leaves’ (Lynne Truss) – but no-one would ever believe that I had read it!

Healing Hands?

Yesterday was one of the regular Public Holidays in India, this one celebrating a form of harvest festival – the harvest in question being sugar cane currently sold by impromptu stalls on most street corners in 9ft lengths. We passed a cane stall whilst taking the opportunity to test drive our local Spa ( as opposed to our local Spar with which we are already well acquainted). This has the distinct advantage of being just across the road.

On arrival we were required to fill out and extensive questionnaire to help determine our Ayurvedic body type – these being one of Vatta, Pitta, Kapha. I was not entirely sure that my answers were unaffected by the Kapha type being characterised as phlegm-like, and for many questions none of the answers seemed flattering to my western eyes. I am unconvinced as yet of all this palaver.

Progressing to the changing room it became apparent that their garments were designed for the relatively diminutive south Indian build, so that I emerged from the changing room in a robe showing even more cleavage than that on display on a Friday night out in Chester le Street. The ‘very snug’ disposable paper pants completed my ‘relaxing’ outfit.

The massage began with the usual spiritual background music, which unfortunately resembled the theme music from the ‘Tales of the Unexpected’ TV series, which gave the experience a slightly sinister undertone. This was slightly amplified when it became clear that the masseur was not that familiar with nail clippers adding a certain frissant. The volume and consistency of Border Reiver requiring massaging also appeared to present a significant physical challenge to the male masseur looking after me. Having a now slightly panting man vigorously massaging my inner thighs might have been un-nerving if I had not had my rugby experiences to fall back on.

Things proceeded more conventionally with a sauna and shower (no thigh massaging involved) and being served herbal tea by a Char wallah whilst changing.

Mrs Reiver emerged rather more chilled out after opting for the hot stones version but did admit to ‘nearly decking’ the masseuse when she tweaked here sensitive back the wrong way.

So our spiritual quest through India has started, but (just as a Chester le Street Friday night) it is not yet clear whether it will end up with cosy intimacy or a punch up. Seconds out - round two – Ding Dong

Dressing to Kill and Another 24 Hours

Exec Summary (just for Holger)
Got back, shopped, ate, chatted, slept, breakfasted, meeting, shopped, ran, blogged – back to normal?

Full Version
Arriving back in Bangalore after and extended flight back from the UK (extended 12 hours due to the aeronautical version of leaves on the line – fog at Heathrow) – the reorientation process kicks in pretty quickly. Reflecting after our first 24 hours back in India it went something like this.

1. Met at airport by our excited driver who seemed genuinely pleased to see us – but has taken the period away to grow a dodgy goatee
2. Home unpack – most importantly the new shears – so that our staff no longer resort to cutting the grass with scissors
3. Mrs Reiver accosts passing fruit/veg cart and buys up most of its contents including an as yet un-identified brown fruit with a leathery rough surface
4. Shower and rock gently for a bit on balcony swing – but dangerously soporific – so decide to go out to eat
5. Dinner at local Italian – keeps us going especially surprisingly good long island ice tea
6. Video conference with Mother in Law before bed – with sound output fed through amp and speaker system combined with Harmony acoustics - Mother in Laws Voice resonates (somewhat intimidatingly) through entire house
7. Collapse – sleep
8. Get up very early and feed Mrs Reiver with mashed Banana, tea and juice before dropping her off at Electronic city after braving the Hosur Road flyover roadworks. Note – several near death traffic experiences involving narrowing gaps between buses and lorries can be a quite effective cure for jet lag.
9. Spend 3 hours in a meeting advising on the business and operational aspects of setting up an NGO in Tajikistan – fortunately adrenalin kicks in sufficiently – just
10. Droop in car on way back – but manage to restore food supplies on way home so that we can play with Mrs Reivers new cheese slice and especially my new chefs outfit (it is not just my kids that can play dressing up!) later
11. Finish unpacking sustained by Radio 2 courtesy of th’internet
12. Rescue my trainers from the maid (who was about to put them still muddy from Wythenshawe Park into the washing machine) and re-acquaint myself with the streets of Indiranagar – the Dragon is on the move again – fuelled by Run DMC. Something vaguely satisfying about mixing the mud of Manchester with the dust of Bangalore.
13. Blog to the soundtrack of Ken Bruce and ‘Popmaster’

Normality resumed then – sort of – as they say in HHGTTG – ‘anything you can no longer cope with is your own problem’

Abroad thoughts from Home?

After a couple of weeks back in the UK on leave I am forced to come to the conclusion that I am a creature fundamentally designed for cold weather – or perhaps that I just like contrasts. The streets of Bangalore may offer many delights as I attempt to jog my merry way around them but they cannot compete with the frozen park lightly dusted (as if with pudezucker) that Mrs Reiver and I trotted through yesterday. Running in the cold just seems somehow sort of more worthy whereas running in the tropics slightly foolhardy.

I have just finished reading ‘The 13 ½ Lifes of Captain Bluebear’ by Walter Moers – a birthday present for Mrs Reiver for Mrs Reiver senior but I managed to sneak in first when she was ‘chick lit’ distracted. I feel a bit like the central character in the book (I heartily recommend it) as he wanders from world to world trying to make sense of it all. Both Bangalore and Manchester are home (sort of) but like chalks and cheese - it is very good once again to have unlimited supplies of cheese (the Pecarino at my sisters was particularly memorable and tasty, as was the local cheese we brought back but for different reasons – the garden birds at least showed their appreciation)

Talking of cheese -Wallace and Gromit also make you proud to be British more than many for the more conventional achievements associated with the UK. We seem to have nett accumulated luggage mass during our trip so I hope that the Magrathean approach to such issues will not be applied or it could be a painful trip back.

Getting ready for returning to the tropical warmth and supported life of Bangalore I realise that I will miss parking more than anything – for sheer entertainment value the music-hall style banter and growing panic that accompanies Mrs Reiver and her mother trying to find a suitable parking slot, takes some beating – our driver back in Bangalore will have a lot to live up to.

Hoping that Angel and Buffy have not missed us to much …..