Street Kids School Life

Me with the teacher Asha & some of the kids


Street Kids Photo Album

After a breakfast of bananas and chai (very sweet spicy Indian tea) we hear the loud honking outside and know our driver has come to pick us up & bring us to the street school. The 'Street Children Education' project I am volunteering with here in Jaipur, India, has been working towards building a school that offers a very basic education to the children of lower class families who are not currently enrolled in school. Their families are in such great threat of hunger and starvation, that many of the parents engage their children in work by 'rag picking' collecting recyclable materials for sale. This project encourages these parents to send their children to a basic, free school in order get an education and develop their full potential.Sadly alot of the street children that you see here in India, have either run away from home due to abuse or neglect or have been kidnapped or given up by their families in order to repay a dept. These children are often under the control of the local mafia who use them for their own financial gain in whatever way they can. It is safe to say that the lives of these poor children are very sad indeed.The kids who come to our school however are probably some of the luckier ones, because dispite the fact that they are still extremely poor, most of them have siblings and at least one parent or guardian to look after them and they are part of a community. This means that while they are often left to their own devices while their parents go out to work, or indeed have to work themselves, they are not completely alone like alot of street children and will have people looking out for them.

School 

The school is a short fifteen minute drive from the volunteer house on the outskirts of Jaipur. On our way up to the rented building where classes are held we pass directly by the slum camps where the children live. As I mentioned in my last post these slum dwellings are present throughout India and usually consist of simple structures made from bits of wood & sheets of plastic. The families sleep directly on the ground or on simple beds. Possessions are few and consist of some clothes, pots and pans, plastic containers for storing water and maybe a basin for bathing in. The people who live here are the very poorest of the poor, uneducated & often illiterate, their entire lives take place at the side of the road. The project I am working with was set up by an Indian husband & wife team, who originally ran the pop-up school in local parks. They have since secured enough funds to rent a small basic building that will accommodate up to thirty children. There is an Indian teacher called Asha who works at the school full-time & basically supervises the lessons. The classes however are mainly taught by volunteer teachers on an on-going basis. The children speak their native Hindi and most of them have little or no English. As most of the volunteers are English speakers from the West, all of the classes take place through English, with Asha translating if there is any confusion. Strangely enough, despite the fact that their English is very poor, communication is never a problem, and they seem to instinctively know what you want from them. It will be extremely important for them to learn to speak English fluently because tourism is such a major source of income across India.

Colouring at break in the class-room

The 'school' itself is extremely simple and basically consists of a large stone room much like a garage at home. Rather than being split out by age, the classes are split out by level of the child. We sit on dusty rugs on the ground and all the classes take place together in the same room, just in separate corners, as a result there are alot of distractions with the younger children running between classes or getting up and running outside onto the steps of the school. It's a full time job trying to keep them focused on their work. The school is open-air and flies, ants and the occassional rodent are our constant companions. There is also alot of activity going on outside the school while we teach, local women from the nearby houses walk past to the well with silver pots on their heads, men hammer, trucks rumble by, clutches of children from the local government run school in crisp white shirts amble past and peer in at us. These children are also quite poor, but their parents are earning enough to enroll them in the state run school.

Another big distraction effecting the kids focus during class is the fact that quite a few of them are sick. Alot of them have constant snotty noses that they just let run, giving the odd sniff now and then or wiping on their sleeve. Many of the kids have infections, ranging from eye infections, to throat infections, one little boy has a massive lump on his tongue, another has a constant sore tummy & we think he might have a parasite.

The sad reality is that the children get little or no medical care and rarely if ever see a doctor. As result infections and colds that would normally be cleared up in days, last weeks or months. This is really sad when you consider how cheap a course of antibiotics would cost in India, literally nothing. All of the volunteers have paid quite a bit of money to take part in the volunteer program but most of this money goes towards the costs of running the volunteer house, transport and rental of the school property. Very little money goes into the actual school itself and as a result supplies are extremely limited. In fact in my class we just have two ABC alphabet books which are old and falling apart.  I can't help but think of the classrooms back home covered in brightly colored charts and posters. There is very little of that here, most of the visual aids and books are purchased by the volunteers at the markets & they are constantly falling down off the unplastered walls.

Me with a few of the kids at break-time

The kids are the most gorgeous little things, so full of fun and beans each with their own individual lives and personalities. After just a few weeks of teaching them they have left such a lasting impression on me and I know I will never forget this time. They are just so sweet and loving, hurling themselves on me, playing with my hair and jumping up on my knee. All they want is my constant attention and some physical contact as a lot of them get no affection at home because their parents are just trying to make ends meet. They will constantly come over for a hug & vie with each other for my attention. Even the bigger boys will just jump up on my knee, something I found quite funny at first as I couldn't imagine little boys at home doing that. Probably one of the first things I noticed when I started teaching them however was just how skinny the children are. Their clothes are dusty and usually ripped with holes, a lot of them have matted hair but when they do have it washed they want you to smell it to see how clean it is. Many of the little girls have their hair cut quite short, making it hard to distinguish if they are a girl or a boy. This is because it is easier to manage and requires less attention and also to prevent the spread of head lice. None of the kids have head lice though and their families do their best with the facilities they have. While their clothes are often dusty & ripped with holes, they change them regularly and are always well presented. A lot of them have religious medals with Hindu God's around their necks, bracelets on their wrists and and eye-liner around their eyes, even the little boys. Some of the girls with long hair have their hair henna dyed, this is where henna is rubbed into the hair giving their dark hair an orange coloured tint.

Kids hiding on me after lunch when I'm calling them back to class

We know very little of the kids individual backgrounds and it's difficult to find out as the kids all speak Hindi and have very poor English. But it's clear from looking at them while most are underweight, some are a little better off than others. For example when I ask one little boy, What does your Papa do? He answers, 'auto-rickshaw', meaning his father is a rickshaw taxi driver which would earn him a better living. In general though
most are very skinny. They don't eat any meat because it is too expensive & maybe for religious reasons too as Rajasthan is a very conservative vegetarian & alcohol free state. So their diet consists mainly of vegetables and a little rice if they are lucky. They get no protein and it shows because they all have very skinny limbs and their clothes are literally hanging off them. You don't notice it too much, until they jump up on you and you can feel their little bones protruding, they literally have no meat on them. This doesn't dampen their spirits however and most of the kids are full of energy & mischief with the classes being a constant hive of activity.

I'll write more about classes & my own teaching experiences with the children in my next post.

                                                 

The Street Children

It's really difficult to know where to begin with this post because there is just so much to say and I can honestly say that my last few weeks as a teacher with a Street Children Education program here in Jaipur in Rajasthan have been some of the most memorable of my life. Working with these children has been an absolute pleasure and I have learned far more about India as a country and it's diversity and culture than I ever would have travelling around from place to place. Probably the biggest life lesson I've taken from this whole experience however has been just how little we really need in order to be happy. When I see how these children live (literally under sheets of plastic) with large families, practically no possessions and very little to eat and the energy, fun and enormous smiles they bring to school every single day, it really does put things into perspective.

With more than 1.2 billion people, India's cities are literally bursting at the seams, to put it into perspective, while India itself only covers 2.5% of the worlds landmass, it's actual population exceeds more than 15 percent of the entire planets population. As a result of this villagers from more rural inland areas will migrate with their entire families to larger towns and cities in order to find work and a better life. They form low income housing projects usually alongside major roads into towns and cities. These slum dwellings are present throughout India and usually consist of simple structures made from bits of wood & sheets of plastic, supported by rough wooden stakes. If lucky they might have one charpoy rope bed for all the family but in most cases families sleep directly on the ground on plastic. Possessions are few and consist of a few clothes, pots and pans, plastic containers for storing water and maybe a basin for bathing in. Surprisingly enough many of these 'houses' while little more than temporary shed like structures, still have a TV set wired up, how they power them I still have absolutely no idea.The people who live here are usually the very poorest of the poor, uneducated & often illiterate, their entire lives are played out in public, from child rearing to bathing, to eating, and sleeping, everything takes place at the side of the road. They will often move together with others from their own village, so within the slums there are very separate & distinct communities with people from the same village sticking together and looking out for each-other. In fact I've seen with our kids in school that there is quite a bit of rivalry between villages and the kids generally get on better with other kids from their own village (who they are usually related to).

Kids playing at break-time in the class-room

Due to their extreme poverty these parents do not have the means to send their children to a state run school. In fact in most cases the children are needed 'at home' in order to help mind their younger siblings while the parents go out to work. The children themselves are often used to help bring in an income for the family. They are employed in street vending, collecting firewood, domestic labor and tenting to animals.

The most common job that I have personally seen them doing here in Jaipur is rag-picking. India has a massive sanitation problem because there is no proper rubbish disposal system in operation, usually they will just set fire to the big piles of rubbish that dot the streets. In fact the sweet smoky smell of burning rubbish has been a constant backdrop to my last few weeks here in India. Children as young as six years old (if not younger) patrol these rubbish piles in order to collect recyclable materials or anything they can sell. You will usually see them carrying heavy loads over their shoulders in sacks or if they are lucky across the handlebars of a bike. I have seen children dangerously jumping right inside enclosed skips and down on their hands and knees alongside wild pigs, cows and dogs searching through rubbish tips. It really is a very sad sight but one which has almost become normal to me now because it is just so common here. When I first came to India I was really shocked at just how young some of these children actually are, literally babies working and caring for babies. On my first day in Delhi when my rickshaw pulled up at traffic lights, a group of street children came over to me begging, one little girl of about seven years old had a tiny little baby covered in dust from the traffic & pollution in her arms, he couldn't have been much more than one years old and he just looked so tired and solemn as though at the tender age of one he was well used to the drill. It brought home to me how difficult their lives are from the very moment they are born into this life of poverty. Left to roam the streets unsupervised, with not a parent or guardian in sight, you can see just how vulnerable these innocent little children are to unscrupulous individuals & the local mafia.

    Young boy rag-picking across rd from house where I'm staying.

Aside from the strains and hazards of their work, these children obviously miss out on getting an education which could help them escape this poverty trap. The project I am working with here in Jaipur provides an informal street school to ensure that at least some of these children get a very basic form of education. Probably the biggest thing however, the kids get at this school is the attention and affection often denied to them at home because their parents are so focused on survival and putting food on the table. Everyday at school from the moment the kids arrive is a massive cuddle-fest, they absolutely adore the volunteers and every morning when we arrive at school will greet us with enormous smiles, hugs, cuddles and requests for swings in the air. Considering their lives, it really does your heart good to see just how happy and full of beans these children are. I cannot stress enough how happy these kids are, because from their point of view it is all relative, while they might be extremely poor, cold, have no toys, are often tired, sick and hungry, so too are their parents, their friends, their neighbors and their entire communities. In short it's all they know, it's their world, so they don't let it dampen their day. Like kids anywhere all they want to do is just run about and play with their friends and if they get a few hugs and cuddles in the process then all the better.

I'll write more about day-to-day school and my own personal experiences with the kids in my next post.

Settling Into India

Poony is our Indian cook. She is nineteen and has been working at the voluenteer house since she was just fifteen years old. Her loud peels of high-pitched laughter and incessent chatter can usually be heard echoing up the staircase and around the house. There are only two men in the voluenteer house at the moment and whenever we are stuck outside, desperately ringing the bell and trying to get back in, it can be a sure bet that she is camped out in one of their rooms, giggling, flirting & laughing at the top of her voice. Me and Poony do have one thing in common however, we are both big Shakira fans & it is not uncommon to hear her comical rendition of 'Hips don't Lie' or 'Waka Waka' travelling up the stairs from the kitchen as she peels the spuds for our dinner. 'I just want to be sexy like Shakira' she tells me one day. Don't we all Poony............................don't we all!

As I make my way down the steps to the front door one afternoon for a trip to town, she is standing there waiting to let me out with her arms folded across her chest. I can't help but notice that she is eyeballing me up and down, her eyes deliberately lingering on the hem of my skirt, which hangs just below my knee. It's a handy light scarf skirt that I've had forever & comes with me on every trip because it is just so easy to wear & folds up really small in my bag. Her lips are pursed together as she taps her foot impatiently, still eyeing my skirt, as I sign myself out on the security register beside the front door.

'Is it OK'? 'I finally offer, cause she is clearly waiting for some kind of reaction from me. 'Hmmmm...........maybe not'. 'Really?'.....'This is too short'? (It's below my knee). 'Yes, the men will look at you, she says glancing down at the few inches of white mosquito savaged calf on display. 'Really?', they'll look at this?.............I'm so confused right now, I thought I was pretty conservatively dressed, I have my shoulders covered and even brought a pashmina along in case we hit any temples today. I wonder what she'd make of the little pink mini skirt that is currently occupying the bottom of my suitcase. 'Should I go and put leggings on?' I offer, I really don't want to go out if i'm going to be stared at any more than usual. 'Hmmm no, no, not this time, is Ok, you go now', with one quick shove I am out on the street and before I know it I'm on the wrong side of a locked door, feeling distinctly like a brazen, scarlet, hussy. Well I never. The other girls from the house who are waiting outside for me, are standing in a group chuckling. Despite what Bollywood movies would have you believe, with their scantily clad shimmying beauties in cleavage baring sparkly numbers, India is in fact an extremely conservative country, with the north (in particular the state of Rajasthan where I am living) being much more conservative than the south. You will see few if any women out on the streets of Jaipur after dark. As a woman how you are dressed will also go a long way towards how you are perceived, in particular if you are a Western woman, as unfortunately the stereotype still prevails among some that we are ....well, um, a little bit easy.

If you are planning on staying in India for any length of time it's well worth investing in some traditional clothing like the Salwar Kameez, which is like a long tunic style top that is usually worn over loose-fitting pajama-like pants or brightly coloured leggings. As we have to wear them for teaching in school I have already purchased a couple and not only are they really decorative and pretty but they also help you blend in a lot more and send out the right message that you are respectful of the local culture.

One of the things that really struck me when I first arrived in India was that you just don't see as many women out on the streets. While women are most certainly a very important part of society here, in general their role is quite traditional and very much tied to the home and to children. After marriage a woman will often be expected to go and live with the family of her husband and take on the role of caretaker for the whole family. Some women do work also and provide a second income for the family but this is more common in the bigger cities among educated Indians. In general most of the shops you enter, rickshaws you ride, waiters who serve you, your guides, cooks, drivers and porters will all be men. I've experienced situations such as going to the local train station to book a train ticket with another girl from the volunteer house where we were literally the only two women in the entire building out of a crowd of hundreds. On making email inquiries for a tour it is automatically assumed that I am a man, as I get the polite response.....'Thank you for your inquiry Mr Arlene' and it is virtually impossible for me to walk down the street without being stared at, hassled by rickshaw drivers, shopkeepers, passing cars or random men who expect to know where I am going and what I am doing and proceed to follow me as I stomp along the street like a crazy woman muttering to myself.....'feeeeeck off, will ya.........and mind your own business........Jeazus'!!

As a foreign woman in India you realise pretty quickly that you have to play by different rules and there is just no point in pretending otherwise. As much as I might like to think of myself as an independent woman of the world, it's a safe bet that's not how everyone else is going to perceive me. Once you get past the initial culture shock however and accept the way things are, you learn to adapt pretty quickly to your new surroundings and over the last few weeks I have honed my bargaining skills down to a fine art, discovered that the silent treatment is the best way to get rid of pesky touts, learned to keep my ass to the wall on buses & trains to avoid would-be gropers and in short learned to be patient, flexible and to let any stressful situations blow over my head. Even in the midst of the heat, poverty, cow-dung, craziness, peeing, power-cuts, spitting, dust, burning rubbish and harassment, I do find myself having little moments where I think to myself, this really is a unique experience and even the tough parts are what make it so special.

In general Indian people are extremely kind, warm and welcoming with a strong sense of community and family. For every annoying tout  trying to force you to buy scary looking puppets there is someone who is inviting you into their home to eat with their family, stopping you on the street for a friendly chat, offering you a tasty treat, thanking you for wearing their traditional clothing or making you feel involved and a part of their festivals and celebrations. While I no doubt experienced severe culture shock over my first few weeks in India, I know for sure that this is a really special time in my life and I feel really lucky to be here and I know that I will never forget my time spent in India.

Me outside a temple in Delhi, my sinful bod
covered in this sexy number!

The Taj Mahal

Me standing in front of the Taj Mahal in India

After a couple of nights we are leaving the chaos of Delhi behind and heading south to Agra in Uttar Pradesh. This next leg of the short 6 day tour I am booked onto before I commence my teaching will take in the famous Taj Mahal and I for one can barely contain my excitement. Until just a few days ago I would have been hard pressed to pinpoint exactly where on a map of India the Taj Mahal can be located, however despite my ignorance as to it's exact location the Taj has always been a massive symbol of India for me & one of the many wonders of the world that I often dreamed of visiting within my lifetime. Who can forget the image of princess Diana sitting outside of it with the worlds press camped in front of her or indeed the little street children in the movie Slumdog Millionaire as they acted as tour guides for unsuspecting tourists in front of the magnificent, majestic, towering marble mausoleum that is India's Taj Mahal. 

So I am really pleased that only a couple of days after I've arrived in India I will be getting to see it for real and even better just a few days before I start teaching. We arrive in Agra at nightfall and the traffic is mental even by Indian standards. The big Hindu festival Dewali (Festival of the Lights) is only a few weeks away on Nov 13th and all the streets we pass through have been decorated in preparation with twinkling christmassy looking tinsel and lights. Traffic is now bumper to bumper as our bus crawls through the busy streets. I entertain myself by looking out the window, everything looks magical as the sparkly red, gold and silver fairy lamps light up the roadside & reflect off the women's decorative sari's and the elaborate hand-painted Hindi signs of the store fronts and street stalls. We pass multiple slum dwellings by the side of the road, tented villages with structures composed of little more than plastic coverings supported by crude wooden stakes and I am instantly reminded of the street kids that I will be teaching in just a few days time. There is never a moment when it is quiet, there is so much going on all at once and there are just people, people, people, everywhere I look as far as the eye can see. Everything is just so colorful, crazy, vibrant and alive and truly a feast for the senses. 

The next morning we rise at dawn, the plan is to hit the Taj Mahal just as the sun comes up in order to beat the crowds of tourists. The site of the Taj is only a 10 minute bus journey away from our hotel & as we approach it I am dismayed to find that there are already multiple coach loads of mostly older European, Australian and American tourists pulled up in the car park. All with the customary sunglasses and enormous cameras around their necks being directed by their Indian guides. I suppose it is to be expected but I'm still irritated by how touristy everything is. As we walk towards the entrance of the park, we pass stall after stall selling hand-crafted marble ornaments and magnets, postcards, key-chains & bangles all bearing the image of the Taj, while over exuberant stall owners try desperately to force visits to their shops with promises of 'very good price'. 

As we wait in line for over half an hour to enter the park grounds, street children carrying calendars and plastic Taj Mahal snow globes incessantly pester me to make a purchase with the whining mantra 'lady, lady, you buy'. I am half temped by a particularly cheap looking snow globe, it is so tacky that it's kind of cool but decide I have enough crap in the end. I also feel really sad to see that some of these poor street beggars are severely deformed, missing arms and legs and dragging themselves along the ground. Alot of these poor souls are sadly enslaved to the local mafia who have control over their take, we have been told not to give them money and I just feel so sorry for them. If ever I am having a self pitying moment here, I think about these people and the reality that is their lives. How they live and where they 'go home to', one can only imagine and you can't help but count your own blessings at moments like this.

Before long we reach the top of the queue where westerners and Indians are split up to buy their tickets. If you are Indian a ticket to the Taj Mahal will cost you significantly less, ticket prices for western tourists are one hundred times more than what the locals pay but still only about €3.50. We walk up a long park avenue and under an enormous marble archway & pretty soon I see the majestic Taj Mahal floating in front of me like an oasis in the desert. The morning sun is just starting to rise, streaking the sky with pink and yellow and bathing everything in a lovely golden light. The Taj Mahal stands proud and tall, whiter than white against the morning sky. I can hardly believe I am here, it honestly feels like a dream and I know now for certain that I have finally arrived in India!

Me standing in front of Taj Mahal my first week in India

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Magic Carpet

Finally I have arrived at my hotel, it's not the best but it'll do. I'm thanking God I had the good sense to book myself onto a GAP tour for my first week in India. It's a tour that'll take me around the Golden Triangle of the north in six days taking in the Taj Mahal and finishing up south of Delhi in Jaipur where I will commence my work placement as a volunteer teacher with a Street Children Education program. 

I settle into my hotel, I am sharing a room with another girl from the tour who happens to be a bubbly girl from Scotland called Barbara. We hit it off immediately and I breath a sigh of relief, this whole sharing a room thing can prove to be quite the lucky dip & is just one of the risks you have to take when travelling solo.

By now I am absolutely exhausted and all I want to do is sleep but I am also parched with the thirst. I debate whether I should have a sleep now or venture out to get a bottle of water for myself. I have heard so many stories about how I shouldn't drink the water in India & know I'll need to brush my teeth & freshen up soon. So I decide to brave my new surroundings and venture out of the hotel alone. I make my way down the steps, it is still early morning only about 9am & so everything is still fairly quiet by Indian standards. Dressed in my western clothes of jeans and a blue hoodie I immediately stick out like a sore thumb. As I walk down the street it is no exaggeration to say that just about everyone I pass from the street stall sellers to rickshaw drivers are staring at me. I'm lucky enough to have done quite a bit of world travel in the past so have experienced a little of this but never to quite the extent as I am experiencing here in India. I realise I am the only white person on the street so I probably am a big curiosity. Local people are either very warm and friendly to me, breaking from their native Hindi to shout 'Hello' or 'Good-day' at me or else they see me as a walking dollar sign.

It's not long before I pass a row of rickshaws lined up and the drivers immediately surround me. 'Taxieee madam', 'Taxieee', 'Where you go madam'? 'I take you'. 'No thanks I'm fine' I grunt, making a semi-circle around them. No, is definitely not the last word here in India, in particular when it comes to bargaining and I have since experienced being followed by store owners for up to twenty minutes, who just won't take no for an answer. 

In this case a particularly persistent rickshaw driver begins following me down the street. 'What you want madam?', 'Where you go?'. Even he can see that I have absolutely no fecking idea where I am headed. 'I'm fine I just want to find a shop to buy water' I hear myself snap at him irritated. Like take the hint mister, I am thinking to myself. I'm looking around and all I can see are street stalls and clothing stores, nothing at all that resembles a supermarket. 'I take you madam', 'I take you to a shop'. He is still behind me following me. I realise I'm not having much luck by myself so I eventually cave in and agree to walk back to his rickshaw after we agree on a price, I'm already starting to learn the Indian way. 

'I just want a supermarket or a shop that sells drinks' I explain. 'No problem madam' he responds cheerfully and we're off. My rickshaw whizzes through the streets of old Delhi near my hotel. As we stop at lights boys in adjacent rickshaws smile and wave to me and ask me where I'm from and tell me I'm pretty, 'ahhh I love it here, what delightful young men', I'm enjoying the warm breeze on my travel tired face, sure isn't all well with the world. Suddenly we have arrived at our destination and a serious looking Indian man in traditional clothing dashes out to greet my rickshaw driver, it is clear they know each-other. We've stopped up outside what looks suspiciously like some kind of hardware store...........hmmmmm not quite what I had in mind. 'You come in now madam'. 'Er what's going on like?', 'No I wanted a shop that sells food and drinks', I try to explain as politely as I can. I just want to buy water. A loud conversation commences in Hindi between the two, which obviously I don't understand, the greeting 'Namaste', is about as far as I've gotten with Hindi thus far. 

'OK madam, we'll give you water'. 'This is my cousins shop, very good shop, you come in and look around'.......No, no, no, no, noooo, I just want a shop that sells food', 'It's too early madam, they all closed now, 10am they open'. 'Well you could have told me that in the first place' I think scrunching up my face in obvious disgust, I can feel my irritation and exasperation rising. I've just come from the airport, I'm tired, I look like shit, I just want fecking water, how hard can it be.They are both looking at me with such deep expectation in there faces. 'OK!', I cave again, what the heck is wrong with me, God Arlene you are such a soft touch. Before I know it I am being ushered into the shop by the delighted looking cousin, while the rickshaw driver waits outside for me. 

Honest to God, within seconds I am in what looks like an enormous carpet showroom. Piles, and piles and piles of ornate hand woven Indian carpet line a big square cement room. Another shop assistant rushes forward to greet me while a young boy hands me a small plastic cup of water. 'Not quite what I had in mind, I mutter to myself', but smile thankfully at him. 'Sit down, sit down'. 'You are my friend' the new guy who is quite old and could be a father of the cousin I'm thinking. 'Here you will find finest carpet of India, very very good carpet'. 'But I don't want carpet mister', 'honestly, is there anything about me that says I need carpet at this present moment in time in my life, having just traveled two thousand miles across the world' I think, but all I do is take a sip out of my cup and tell him the carpet is indeed lovely, which it is, but like I don't want to buy it. 

The young boy trots over and at the request of the old man starts throwing out roll after roll of carpet for me so I can see how shiny it is. 'Light side' he slaps down a rug, 'dark side' he slaps it the reverse side and the old man runs his bony fingers down the rug so I can see the thickness of it. As I'm desperately looking around for escape routes between quick gulps of my water, he produces a big red folder. 'Certificates madam, to prove to you there has been no child labor involved in the making of this carpet'. 'Well that's good, I really am delighted there has been no child labor involved here and it really is fantastic quality' but I DON'T WANT CARPET! Now he is discussing delivery options to my house in Lucan. Oh God, all I came out for was a bottle of water, how the hell did I end up in this situation, I feel like I am hallucinating with tiredness and all that's going round in my head is water and carpet and I think I'm going mad. I eventually make my escape with promises of a return visit and I don't know how but find my way back to my hotel. There will be many more events like this one and the quirky, funny, crazy situations that occur, while no doubt sometimes very irritating at the time will become just one of the many things that make me love my time in India. All I can say is if you are planning a trip to India bring your sense of adventure and expect the unexpected because absolutely nothing is going to be what you imagine.

As I wearily make my way up the steps of my hotel and trudge past the reception, I spot a stack of water bottles on the counter. 'What are these?' I question the receptionist. 'Oh yes we sell bottles of water here for you, only 30 rupees madam'. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh feck it!!!!!!!!!!

Hello India!

It's 5.40am in the morning and my plane has just landed in Delhi airport, Thank feck! 

I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I'm delirious with exhaustion and there's about a million thoughts rushing around in my head. Have I packed the right clothes?, Has my bag turned up?, Where is my hotel?, I need cash, How much is a rupee worth anyway? Am I doing the right thing coming here in the first place. Did I remember to pack those Barry's T-bags, cause I'd murder a cup right now.

As I disembark from the plane I know I'm not in Kansas anymore, the air smells sweet and warm & the morning sky is a blaze of hazy pink. I stop for a couple of seconds to look up at the sun, which looks like an enormous round orange ball behind a thick layer of hazy Delhi pollution. Wow, the sun looks massive here I'm thinking. Wow! I'm actually here, I've arrived, I'm in fecking India! 

My bag has arrived, I've got cash out, I've now a vague idea what a rupee is worth (about 0.144 cent) and I'm all set to leave the airport. I peer out, all of a sudden I'm feeling very much like a solo traveler. it's moments like this that your reminded you only have yourself to rely on & I'm feeling a little apprehensive. In the airport I'm safe, but I know that everything beyond it will be different to what I know, from the language, to the culture, to the weather. I'm cursing the fact that I put more energy into planning my leaving drinks & saying my goodbyes than actually researching India. I'm also cursing the fact I wasn't more organised & booked myself a driver in advance. I venture out and am immediately surrounded by a big crowd of Indian men all gesturing to me madam, madam, where you go? madam. Oh feck! I quickly dash back inside the airport again. Well this won't do at all, now will it Arlene? Ahh! I spot a taxi booking place desk thingy, we're back in business.

My taxi driver leads me over to his car. I go to open the back door assuming I'll be getting in the back, but no, he quickly piles all my luggage onto the back seat of the car and gestures to me to get in the front. Great, now I'm going to have to make conversation with him and I just want to sleep. We're off, lets just say the suspension of this car has seen better days, the window is missing glass and the seat-belt doesn't look like it's ever been used. We're squashed up really close together, me desperately clutching my bag certain someone is going to pop their hand in the open window and snatch it away. I'm also now getting my first introduction to Indian roads and to Indian driving. 

As I'll soon learn, the 3 golden rules of driving in India are, 'Good Horn', 'Good Breaks' and 'Good Luck'. Sweet holy mother of God. I'm desperately fiddling with my seat-belt. Do you realise your driving along the white line in the middle of the road? cause you ARE! My driver has his foot firmly on the accelerator and to say we are booting along is the under statement of the century. Cars, trucks, auto rickshaws, bikes, cows, motorcycles carrying whole families all weave in and out. Everyone seems to drive with one hand firmly on the horn. The constant, incessant beeping will become the soundtrack to my time here in India. Most of the elaborately decorated trucks we pass bear the hand painted bumper stickers of 'HORN PLEASE' or 'BLOW HORN' & in the mental, noisy, dusty, beeping chaos that is this Indian road, I can't help but notice how pretty they look. 

'Traffic is very quiet madam', my driver tells me. This is quiet?? Good God! 'I wouldn't like to see it when it's busy' I'm thinking.

'First time in India'?, Yes, I nod my head. 'You like'? 'Oh yes, It looks beautiful' I smile sweetly, everything I've seen so far, that being the road and the airport have been just fabulous. We are passing row after row of street sellers all positioned alongside the edge of the road, selling everything from brightly coloured fruit, to bananas, to giant teddy bears and strange looking snacks I don't yet know. Women dressed in colourful sari's add a splash of colour to the dusty roadside, as they shop & chat in small groups. Cows it seems have the run of the place cause they just amble along through the traffic and wherever they want really. As I later find out, along with beeping, cows will feature heavily in my time here in India. The cow is considered to be sacred, Indians don't eat them, even in MacDonalds there are no beef burgers and they literally just roam wild everywhere, looking scrawny & unhealthy & feeding off piles of garbage. 

Another thing that is hard to ignore is the obvious poverty. We pass old people curled up at the side of the road begging, scatterings of street children begging or searching through piles of rubbish. I crane my head to watch one little boy who has actually jumped right inside a skip, all that's visible is his little head as he pokes around looking for bits of plastic or anything he can sell. He has two big sacks draped over the handlebars of his bike, which is positioned in front of the skip and he is quite the little business man because both sacks are full to the brim. In contrast with the poverty alongside the road I can't help but notice some rather nice looking cars overtaking us, my first taste of the diversity that is India. It is clear almost as soon as I leave the airport that India is a land of contrasts and contradictions, where the rich are super rich and the poor are the very poorest of the poor.

My driver begins pointing out sights of interest as we pass. 'That is the presidents house, very beautiful place' he says pointing to what looks like a big green park. When we pass a group of large monkeys with red bottoms scrapping over a discarded coke can, I can barely contain my excitement. 

It's right about now that the interrogation begins 'What age are you madam?', I'm taken aback by the direct personal question, but it's a question I'll become well accustomed to answering during my time in India. I answer him fairly honestly. 'Are you married?', Have you got a boyfriend?, Are your parents alive? What do they do for a living? What do you do for a living? I tell him I am here in India to teach. 'You are a teacher?' 'Ah yes teaching is a very good job'. 'What hotel you stay in'?, 'How many stars your hotel have'?.....Curious fella I'm thinking. I later find out that these questions are not too personal by Indian standards and as well as being inquisitive Indians will ask them in order to get an idea of your social status in comparison to them. It's already assumed you are a rich western tourist who has plenty of money & will tip accordingly. This is something I haven't yet researched and I have no idea how much I should tip him. As we pull up outside my hotel I pull a 100 rupee note from my purse, it's the smallest note I have, it's worth roughly about two US dollars. I assume this will be OK for a tip and I hand it to him. He looks confused but takes the note and drives off. It's actually at least double if not triple what I should have tipped him. I still have so much to learn about India but at least I've arrived safely at my hotel.