The lessons of India.

I’m now back in the UK having finished my placement, and my time in India. It feels slightly surreal to be home after all these months, and saying goodbye was tougher than I had anticipated, but I think it’s worth reflecting on a couple of things before I close this blog, or get completely absorbed in Christmas here!

In India I was a teaching assistant, but through the experience, I learnt far more than I taught. For the first time in three years I was writing (this blog, my diaries, emails to friends and family) at least as much as I was reading. This was significant as I was constantly reflecting on everything that I did, and deliberately storing up events in my memory so that I could tell people all about it. At university, I had virtually no time for this, and simply read a pile of books and produced an essay or two per week, before moving on to the next assignment. Writing is great because it teaches us to be more articulate (this is why students who have trouble reading a language, or even people who don’t read books in their own language, have such a small vocabulary and sometimes find it harder to put their feelings into words). Not to mention the fact that the more I read over this blog, and my diaries, the more I learn about myself, and my perception of others.

India taught me to try and let go of expectations and prejudices about things that I wasn’t even aware that I held. The experience revealed some of the irrational things that I hold onto without even realising; why do I not want to put new shoes on the table, why am I surprised when students call me by my first name (“Nikita Ma’am”) and no one knows my surname. I enjoyed myself the most in the moments that I was able to let go of these inhibitions, and realise that the time and place we are in can define us as much as our upbringing, our traditions, and our native culture. I was able to overcome a lot of anxiety that I had in the first few months, and adjusted to my surroundings to the extent that even as I sit at home in my old childhood bedroom, I now feel oddly out of place.

Ultimately though, it is the people that make a place, and an experience. I started to feel at home in India, not because I became anywhere near fluent in Hindi, nor that I started eating spicy food for every meal (not at all!) but because I made connections with the people that I lived and worked with. As I became more familiar with them, I minded less that I was so far from home. People have so much to offer, as long as you take that initial step and start your first conversation with them, or tell them something interesting about your family, or where you live.

The world is yours as long as you are open to it, which means trusting people, and trusting yourself. The biggest personal lesson that I’ll take away from this experience is that it’s just not worth getting anxious in anticipation of things which might not even happen, or which will probably turn out to be far less of a problem than you had imagined! Trust that you can adapt to living virtually anywhere, without this underlying fear and nervousness holding you back, making you hide away from people and cut yourself off from the vibrancy of your new environment. Change is not a bad thing, and people are only strangers until you speak to them (obviously not advisable in all cases…).

Looking around at my HAPPY JOURNEY/ Merry Christmas cards made by some of the students at school, against a backdrop of wrapped presents and a lit Christmas tree in my conservatory, I am finally able to start appreciating everything that has happened over the past five months. It’s incredibly overwhelming and this blog could only ever capture a fraction of my entire experience. Even so, I hope that everyone has enjoyed reading it, and that those who were connected with me in India, can look back on parts of it and smile 🙂

Merry Christmas!

Nikita

 

 

Serendipity in a drawer.

As it’s my last week in India, I’ve been trying to take time to notice the little things. Like the fact that my room at the hostel has quite a stiff door, which has to be slammed shut, and so some of the paintwork has chipped off on the doorframe. It resembles the shape of a heart. A few nights ago, I was walking around the front of the hostel so that I could look more closely at some of the palm trees that grow there. You don’t really think about palm trees in the winter, or at least, I associate them with cartoons of Hawaii and Miami and clip art pictures for the search term “summer”. The palm trees had initials carved into their bases, and their smooth green trunks were partly covered by a thick brown layer which grew like a second skin from their base. I’m presuming that this is to keep them warm in the winter, but I couldn’t help but look at the places where this strange brown covering had been stretched, and had even come apart in places, worn away like fabric. I wondered whether it hurt, when it split like that, and whether a palm tree even registers pain according to our definition of it.

Something else came to my mind too, the contents of a set of drawers beneath my desk in the hostel. When I moved in, this room had clearly had a fairly long-term previous occupant. The door and walls were (and still are) decorated with multi-coloured streamers, and the walls were covered with home-made HAPPY BIRTHDAY MA’AM posters. I edited these, crossing out the words ‘birth’ and ‘Ma’am’ to produce motivational “Happy –DAY” prints. Most intriguing of all though was the contents of the desk drawers. To think that they could have contained anything, and yet they just happened to contain the very things which became for me symbols of my time at the hostel.

The drawers contained;

  • A plastic silver tiara (broken)
  • A bag of plastic white spoons
  • Rolls of coloured streamers
  • A glue-stick (half-used)
  • A roll of sellotape (barely-used)
  • A set of speakers labelled “030 Samiya Khan Lloyd”.

Admittedly the plastic tiara was almost immediately discarded. I considered donning it for a friend’s party here, but abandoned the idea when I realised that it was broken. It has spent the remainder of my time here perched on my mug-box, in the corner of my room, for some reason I clearly felt the subconscious need to display it. The bag of white spoons was slowly depleted, owing to the fact that technically we’re not supposed to take crockery or cutlery out of the Mess (canteen).

The roll of streamers have had many incarnations; I used them to cover words that I didn’t  like on the HAPPY BIRTHDAY MA’AM posters, I wrapped up cards and presents for various occasions in them, and I even used them in desperation to tie together the strings of a bag that was breaking. The glue stick served to assemble my scrapbook of my time here, and to seal the envelopes of cards brought for birthdays, an engagement and a 30th Wedding anniversary (turns out that you don’t lick them shut here…). As for the sellotape, it survives to this day and has largely superseded the duties of the glue stick now, as well as holding up the postcards of Oxford which I have stuck to my cupboards (visible from my bed). At one point, I even sellotaped shut my window in an effort to keep out the mosquitoes, until of course a pair of wasps got trapped inside my room and it all had to be hurried ripped off (with some amount of paintwork…) to release them.

Lastly, the speakers. I can only presume that they were perhaps confiscated from Samiya Khan of room 030 – as this is room 029, directly opposite that room. The reason I think that they were forcefully taken, rather than just left here accidentally, is the way in which the label on them is scrawled, hurriedly, and formally – room no. first, then the name of the girl, and lastly, the name of a popular local college – Lloyd. These are the basic details used to identify the residents of the hostel. If I’m correct about the previous occupant of this room being a warden, then this theory also fits. Needless to say, Samiya’s speakers have not yet been returned to her, but have instead enjoyed a new life with yours truly, internet connection permitting!

It was several days after moving in that I finally got round to properly exploring the drawers. Had I opened them earlier, would I have felt more immediately at ease here? Would I have in any way, been able to predict some of the experiences that I went on to have? Probably, in the first case, and probably not, in the second. Either way, in retrospect, the content of those drawers seems more than coincidental.

Yoshida Hiroshi, and India according to 20th century Japan

In the early 20th century a Japanese woodblock printer came to India, and produced a set of prints which are famous for their place in Japan’s shin hanga (“New Print”) movement, which aimed at returning to the more traditional style of ukiyo-e (浮世絵 “pictures of the floating world”) printing. This would see Japanese techniques combined with a “western” way of representing form.

A lifetime ago in Oxford, after finishing my exams in June, I visited a TORCH (The Oxford Research Centre in the Humanities) exhibition at the Ashmolean Museum, which featured Yoshida’s Indian prints. It felt like fate. Like me, Yoshida travelled to the Taj Mahal, unlike me, he produced six different prints of it, deliberately depicting it during the day and night, at dusk and dawn. Like me, Yoshida also visited the Amber Fort in Jaipur, and saw the pink city gates, and another of his prints shows the entrance to the Jama Masjid – one of the first things that I saw in Delhi.

You can read lots more details about the life and career of the artist here, but this is not the place to copy out all of the notes of the exhibition. What interested me was that Yoshida’s life and career transgressed cultures and boundaries, he was born in 1876 at the time of the Meiji Emperor. He died in 1950, and would have known of Japan’s defeat in the Second World War. His artistic career was varied, in that it doesn’t conform to the idea that Japanese art was becoming “westernised” during this time; in fact, Yoshida trained as a “western-style” painter in oils and watercolours, and only became interested in traditional-style woodblock printing when he was in his 40s. Perhaps this is why the prints were referred to as having a “quality reminiscent of watercolours”.

One sentence stood out to me at the time, enough for me to have noted it down, alongside various other scrawls which don’t make sense now; Yoshida was particularly fascinated with the quality of light that he found in India. I feel as though several of the photos that I’ve taken here have captured much the same thing.

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Maota garden, just outside the Amer Fort, Jaipur. 
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The interior of the Chaturbhuj Temple, Orchha. 

 

You can view all of Yoshida’s India prints here.

 

 

How learning Hindi opened windows in place of locked doors.

 

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(C) Taken from ‘India Bazaar: Vintage Indian Graphics’ (Icons Series) – (paperback published 31 Oct 2003) by Kairi Jain, Samantha Harrison and Bari Kumar.

Living in another country makes it vital to build bridges instead of walls. In my case, I don’t think that my time in India would amount to half as much if it weren’t for learning words and phrases in Hindi. Actually, not just words and phrases, but how to read some of the Devanagari script too!

Unlike most of the other British Council TAs, I am placed alone, and in a girls’ hostel. This has motivated me to really persevere with picking up bits of vocab from the girls that live here. That, and the fact that living on your own, you need to find some sort of way to amuse yourself!

My Hindi is basic, I can’t write sentences or recognise most words. I can’t say more than a dozen phrases (and their negatives) and about thirty additional words. Yet the difference it’s made to my time here (both in the hostel and outside of it) has been enormous. Often, I hear people saying that I shouldn’t invest too much effort in learning Hindi as;

  • “everyone speaks English anyway”
  • “you’re only here for a few months”
  • “English is the language of business here and most educated people speak it”
  • “Hindi sounds like a difficult language – and when are you ever going to use it after this?”

Of course, there have also been those that have taken the time to encourage me, and teach me different phrases, as well as correcting my accent! For that I’m grateful, and here are just a few examples of times in which an understanding of Hindi has altered my experience of daily life here;

  1. Driving to Ranthambore from Jaipur and being able to read the names of the villages that we were passing through, which included “Moonpur” and “Goth” – so cool!
  2. Being able to ask our driver for the weekend the word for “sorry” after we couldn’t find him parked on a busy shopping street (it’s sharma, though there are several synonyms).
  3. Being able to actually converse with shopkeepers in Jaipur about their business, wish them Diwali mubarak ho!  (which convinced one stationer to try and present me with a free notebook) and get a far better deal than the other tourists by exclaiming “Uncle! Bahut mehengra” (“too expensive!”) until the price of anything was at least halved. This also had a practical side to it, if the friends that I was shopping with wanted to see something in a different size or colour, then I could ask for that too 🙂
  4. Replying to someone in my corridor with Dhanyavaad/धन्यवाद  rather than “thank-you” and receiving a smile and a high-five!

Of course I still make ridiculous mistakes when speaking Hindi. I’ve accidentally asked my boss “what are you?” instead of “how are you?” and misunderstood the question “how are you finding India?” for “how long have you been in India?”. I read words where I can’t tell whether certain segments are supposed to be “oo” or “ee”. Yet I can’t imagine how much more closed my life would be without my little grasp of Hindi. In the hostel it’s quite often the difference between a conversation and silence. I’ll continue to make mistakes, but through my efforts, I will be rewarded with gentle corrections (“it’s hoon not ho if you’re a woman”, a Jaipur clothes shop owner patiently explained) and a respect that leads to acceptance, if not complete understanding.

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The Long Walk To…my hostel room!

Meera naam – What’s in a name?

Indian Dream

 

Meera naam nikita hai

(मेरा नाम निकिता है)

It’s a simple enough start to any conversation, a polite way of introducing yourself. Had the above quote been said by an Indian woman, there would probably be little surprise, with Nikita being a relatively common name in India.

For that reason, when I say the aforementioned words, the reactions are more mixed. Is this blue-eyed, golden haired foreigner joking? Has she adopted an “Indian” name, because her own European name is too difficult for Indian people to pronounce? My friend at the hostel, Kyra, has found this issue particularly tiring, as her name is normally said like the name “Keira” or “Kira”, but here people always default to “Kie-rah”. The only way she has been able to get round this is by explaining that the correct pronunciation of her name is very similar to the Hindi word for cucumber – “kheera”. Cue a lot of laughter, as she not only attends Hospitality college here, but her surname, “Fikke”, bears resemblance to the Hindi word for “tasteless”, not a fantastic combination.

In that sense then I have been far luckier, more people here can spell my name correctly than in Britain (where extra hs, and es, or even the occasional additional k are added) and everyone can pronounce it. Kyra and I often laugh when we introduce ourselves to Indian people, as we pre-empt their reaction to each of our names.

The reaction of most Indian people to my name is the incredulous outburst “but that’s a Hindi name?”. They then usually insist on finding out how I got my name (especially important I guess because in traditional Indian culture, all names have literal meanings, and even the first letter of a child’s name might be deduced from the astrological calculations of a priest). My appearance normally rules out the idea of Indian heritage or ancestry, and people are quite disappointed by the reply “my parents just liked the name”. Names are virtually sacred here, so the idea that I might have just been given a name with a “nice sound” (or, in reality, from the 1993 French Film of the Year La Femme Nikita) seems unbelievable to a lot of people here. However, it does get people talking to me!

Our names inevitably change our travelling experience. Whether our name means something ridiculous in another culture, or is unheard of, or actually belongs to a culture that you are immediately judged to not be a part of. I haven’t bothered mentioning to people here that actually, Nikita is also a Russian boys’ name, and my name is also well known in eastern Europe – though as a masculine name.

Names are a crucial part of unlocking meaning in another culture. They represent not just changing tastes and fashions, but a lot about the more ancient heritage of a country. For example, when I tell people that my father’s name is “Paul”, those that have been given an education by Christian schools here respond “St. Paul!”. People then link the name with the Bible, and presume that my family must be quite religious, and that people in the UK are deliberately named for Biblical characters. Likewise, learning the meaning behind the Hindi names of my students has taught me a lot about Hinduism – “Manav”, named for the creator of the world, “Parvati” – one of the trinity of Hindu goddesses, alongside Lakshmi and Saraswati. Of course names can also be adopted for each gender, so “Lakshay” is a male derivative of Lakshmi.

For my own part, I like the fact that my name excites discussion wherever I am, in the UK it is seen as unusual, in eastern Europe it seems misplaced (as a female name) and in India it is a mystery – how did a European with seemingly no links to India end up with this name? Is it a sign of India’s increasing cultural capital in the world? Is it a colonial hang-over, another one of the things that the British stole from India? Regardless, it helps my own introduction to do exactly what any introduction should do – start a whole new conversation with a stranger.

The (high)Lights of Jaipur

At the end of last week I was finally able to visit Rajasthan, in particular the capital of Rajasthan, Jaipur. This is something that I’d wanted to do since I knew that I was coming to India, and it was well worth the wait!

Although marked on every tourist’s map as part of the ‘Golden Triangle’ of must-visit places in India (Delhi, Agra and Jaipur), Jaipur by no means loses its charm due to the presence of pockets of tourists (in fact, I enjoyed a great conversation about travelling with an older woman and her friend who were sitting in the Amber Fort…)

The main sites of the city are so spectacular that they attract many people from India itself, and it’s not hard to see why;

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Interior of the Hall of Public Audience, Jaipur City Palace

The buildings in the centre of Jaipur conform to the Mughal style of architecture that most tourists would associate with India, but, in a vibrant twist, most of the palace structures are the heart of the city are pink, hence the nickname of Jaipur – The Pink City.

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The Hawamahal, or Palace of the Wind – the outer wall features an elaborate screen by which the palace women were able to view street processions and the outside world via a series of elaborately meshed windows and cubby-holes. 

Ok, so the Hawamahal was probably a personal favourite, because I loved going up each storey and finding something different – a balcony here, some stained glass over there, and of course, an incredible view from the top floors, which allows you to see into the Jantar Mantar complex, and all the way up to the mountainside where the Nahargarh fort  is located.

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View from the battlements of the Nahargarh Fort, overlooking the city of Jaipur during Diwali. 

So here is where myself and my friends got completely enchanted by the city of Jaipur. We’d found out from some other friends, all fellow TAs on the same British Council programme as us, that you could go up to the Nahargarh fort at night and have a drink in a bar which was perched on the walls of the fort complex. The drive upwards was far steeper and on a worse road than I had envisaged, and I can’t imagine taking the same ride on a motorcycle or auto-rickshaw (though our driver gleefully told us that the mountainside road was actually in a far better condition than a few years previously, when a girl from New Zealand had been killed, along with the driver of the auto she was in, when it plummeted over the edge of a steep ridge – not exactly what we needed to hear in the dark!).

After a slightly spooky walk through the main gate of the fort, which is ruined in places, and then along a vaguely-lit track, we came to the bar which was much brighter, and looked down at the spectacularly illuminated city below. I’ve heard that the government actually pays for the Diwali lighting (maybe just for businesses and gov. buildings?) but I have no idea if that’s actually true. Either way, the view was even more breathtaking in person, and the lights were constantly dancing, accompanied by the constant bursting of fireworks and crackers. It was such an incredible way for us to experience the Festival of Lights for the first time. We ordered some drinks, sat back, and enjoyed the spectacle of a city which deserves its place on any traveller’s list.

 

Orchha – one of India’s hidden gems.

Unexpected weekend escapes are one of the major perks of working abroad.

Having made no real plans for the holiday of Dussehra, I was very happy to end up going to Gwalior with another teaching assistant who’s working nearby, to meet up with another pair of British Council TAs. The ‘last minute’ nature of this plan did make travel more stressful (e.g., buying our return train tickets on the Sunday morning, knowing that we had to be in work on Monday!) but it was definitely worth the hassle (and approx. 20 hours spent travelling there and back from Greater Noida…) as Orccha ranks as one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen in India.

Orccha is a medieval fort city in Madyha Pradesh, about 3 hours’ drive from Gwalior. We hired a driver and car and set out to explore temples, a fort and a palace complex, set along a stunning backdrop of mountains and rivers. It certainly made a change from Delhi! Although there were buses of tourists arriving, and the main street of the city was bustling with shops and stalls, the place didn’t have an annoyingly commercial feel to it, once you moved away from the designated tourist bus stands. The main attractions – the fort, the chhatri buildings along the river, and Lakshmi Temple, were not as crowded as those in Delhi and Agra, but even more spectacular. At one point, my group found themselves alone in an almost ‘secret’ gated garden compound, which was full of small temple structures and flowers. Later, as we were about to leave, we were able to sit by the side of the river on some rocks, and speak to some local children in Hindi!

Chhatris are elevated, dome-shaped pavilions used in Indian (Mughal) architecture.
Chhatris are elevated, dome-shaped pavilions used in Indian (Mughal) architecture.

All in all, weekends like the last one are a fantastic cure to the boredom that comes with any working Monday- Friday routine. When everything seems so much more complicated and illogical than at home, seeing such a magnificent place reminds me of why I chose to live and work in India.

Things you will and (probably) won’t need in India

What NOT to bring;

  1. Tight clothes/ formal western wear – unless you’re planning on seriously hitting the clubs in Delhi, or you’re heading to Goa. I brought a dress with me because it was knee length, and covered my chest, back and shoulders, in fact it’s long sleeved. However, the fact that it is quite tight (it’s made out of an elastic-type material) has made me realise that I can never wear it to work functions or British Council India events whilst I’m here.
  2. A waterproof raincoat – when it’s not the monsoon season! Though an umbrella might well double as a sunshade. I think for those arriving in India in July (depending on the geographical region) this might have been more useful. I haven’t opened mine once in the two months that I’ve been here.
  3. A long, formal dress – which doesn’t cover the shoulders or chest properly. This dress was suitably loose and flow-y, and it’s also floor length. Great! Nope. It’s strapless and so isn’t really modest enough, again, to wear to most events here, though obviously at a friend’s party, or just around the girls’ hostel where I live, it’s fine.
  4. Waterproof bags/ sacks(!) Ok, so I kind of convinced myself that there would come a time when all of my possessions might be soaked in an absolute monsoon deluge. Maybe I’d be travelling somewhere far away, outside for some reason. Or I’d be trekking over rivers and streams. So far, this hasn’t happened, and seems very unlikely to on my placement! Again, I guess this might depend on your specific plans, but my stuff has survived the monsoon fine in my hostel room, and most ordinary bags can hold out even in a monsoon downpour, as long as it’s only for a couple of minutes.
  5. Bags and packets of western medicine. Ok, so some of this is a good idea – like paracetamol. I’ve never taken ibuprofen, and I’m reluctant to try seeing as my mum can’t have it and I’m also asthmatic. Bringing some paracetamol was a life-saver when I was ill and didn’t want to negotiate the Indian brands of pain-killers, searching through ingredients labels etc. On the other hand, bringing loads of generic cold and flu relief type sachets has so far proven useless – especially as I’m place in a city with multiple pharmacies selling very similar, non-specific products. So if you want/need a particular medicine, bring it, but rest ashore that as long as you’re not heading into the middle of nowhere, you’ll be able to locate a chemist in the nearest town with many of the same type of products as in Europe/ America!
  6. Make-up. It’s around 34 degrees here today. Wearing anything other than a tiny bit of mascara (and absolutely necessary concealer for blemishes) seems pretty pointless – it will literally melt off your face as soon as you step outside. Vaseline is worth bringing though – or at least, it has been for me – the constant air con and temperature change between the inside and outside of buildings makes my lips crack.
  7. The national flag flies at Connaught Place, Delhi.
    The national flag flies at Connaught Place, Delhi.

Very quickly – things that you probably haven’t thought of, but ARE a good idea to bring;

  1. Vitamin, iron and protein supplements. Vitamin C because travelling wears you down; your tired and constantly on the move and coming into contact with so many new people and places (read: germs). Also, fruit and veg. rot quickly here and can be hard to come by – few people get their 5-a-day! Iron and protein because you might want to avoid meat entirely when you first arrive in India, to allow your body to adjust to the climate, and your digestive system to get used to some of the spices. Also because you’ll still be sussing out what’s safe. Dropping meat from my diet completely (the hostel I live in, and the school I work in, only serve vegetarian food) has often left me feeling lethargic and sleepy – probably because I haven’t found a decent substitute. Hint; taking vitamin B12 supplements will stop you being bitten by mosquitoes. The yeast in the tablets comes out through the pores in your skin and mosquitoes don’t like the smell (though humans can’t smell it, don’t worry!). Trust me on that last one – I’ve been doing it for years!
  2. A cheap pair of flip-flops. Not suitable for hiking or long-distance walking, but surprisingly good for exploring cities and urban area. Easy to wipe clean, soft to walk on, and flexible enough to absorb some of the shock of the rough ground that you’ll be walking on. I brought mine in Primark for £1, intending to use them for my wetroom in the hostel (which gets absolutely flooded every time I use the shower…) but I’ve worn them everywhere. They’ve lasted me over 2 months and I prefer them to the sneaker/canvas shoes I brought with me. They’ve even been to the Taj Mahal!
  3. Sunscreen. You can find it in airports and I’ve seen it in Delhi, but it’s ridiculously expensive because only tourists need it. Believe me though, even if you’re not heading to the beach, parts of India are so hot and sunny in September and October that you will need it!
  4. Postcards, pencils, keychains and fridge magnets of your home country. Sounds like a complete waste of space, but these are lightweight and make great presents for the people you’ll meet, especially if you’re staying in one place for a couple of weeks, or with a  host family. They’re authentic, and people really appreciate them as presents that will remind them of you when you’re gone, and as things that they legitimately can’t get in their country. Plus, if you’re moving abroad for 6 months or so, having the odd familiar postcard to look at in your room can be comforting 🙂

Landmark

Just a quick note to say that this, fairly un-extraordinary Monday actually marks a particular achievement for me. I’m now well into my 7th week in India, and today was the beginning of my 6th week of work here.

Nope, not this kind of landmark!
Nope, not this kind of landmark!

Unlike most of the other Teaching Assistants on this programme, I have never taken a gap year, or spend a year, or even 6 months abroad before. This is true of most of the participants simply because quite a few of them studied languages at university, and so had to do a compulsory year abroad as part of their undergraduate course. Naturally, a lot of them were also British Council language assistants, and placed in schools, during their university years.

6 weeks is the longest that I’ve ever been out of Europe, or in Asia. It’s probably also the longest I’ve ever been with seeing my parents, sister or grandparents. My university terms were exceptionally short at Oxford – just 8 weeks – and although I usually stayed to do some sort of activity at the start or end of term, members of my family visited me every term whilst I was at university.

So this is a very personal landmark for me. I’ve finally started to get into a proper routine with work and hostel life, and that’s set to continue for the next 2.5 months. I think I realised from the very beginning that this wasn’t going to be a holiday, but now I’m actually starting to think seriously about whether I want to live and work abroad in 2016. Now that I’ve been away from the UK for my longest ever time, I can start to properly reflect on the good and bad features that come from living away from my native country.

I wonder if in a year or two, 6 weeks away will feel like nothing. I’ll get a job and settle in another country and that’ll be that. Or I’ll be back in the UK, wondering how I ever coped without cheddar cheese for so long. For now though, I’m not thinking too much about the future. I’m thinking about this moment right now, and this landmark that I have built for myself, out of (occasional) tears, plentiful patience, and enduring memories.

Day #49 – yesterday.

“No King Cobra!” I said firmly, reprimanding a very disappointed group of boys. Luckily they were placated with some plastic Indian Air Force style toy helicopters being sold by a nearby vendour, and although these looked pretty lethal, a few test-flights on the bus home proved that they weren’t capable of much.

Today Yesterday (sorry, I’ve been working on this blog quite slowly for a while…) was my 49th day in India. I accompanied a Class III (aged 8/9?) class on a trip to Delhi where we saw Raj Ghat (memorial to Mahatma Gandhi) and the Red Fort.

Most memorable moments;

  1. [a Class III student speaking about me, talking to their normal class teacher, who doesn’t like junk food] “See, Nikita Ma’am is a good Ma’am, she eats whatever sweets I give her”. I’m always happy to help. Anything for the children really.
  2. [arriving at Raj Ghat, memorial to Gandhi]. Teacher, “Ok everyone, shoes off, out of respect. Just leave your shoes on the bus”. Me: “but there will be a closer place for me to leave my shoes right, like at a security gate or something? It’s just that there’s a car park and a road and stuff to cross…” Teacher, “It’s completely your choice…” *I attempt to leave the bus with my shoes on* Teacher, “Of course, Gandhi-ji is the father of this nation and -” I leave my shoes on the bus, and join the children desperately hoping around moving buses and along concrete walkways, whilst my soles turn to ash.

Highlight;

Seeing a snake-charmer with a king cobra just outside the gates of Raj Ghat. As the man played his pipe for a tourist, the snake rose up out of a little wicker basket, swaying, and revealing a white diamond- patch pattern on its black, funnel-shaped back. I almost walked into the road because I was actually quite mesmerized by the fact that there was a cobra in a public place, basically a tourist attraction. Some of the boys who were walking close to me watched it longingly, and leaned towards it like they did the soft drinks and toy stands.

Verdict; 10/10 Would definitely accompany again, sign me up for the next trip.