Oh Delhi, how I despise thee.

And so the one place in India I've wanted to escape wouldn't let me out of her clutches. Delhi. Le Capital. The city of circles and numbered streets and blocks that no local Delhi-ite, rickshaw driver or good looking tourist like me will EVER be able to navigate. Sure, Mumbai's streets are renamed every thirty-four days and so noone actually knows what streets are called here either. However, every good Maharastran taxi driver will gladly take you to your nearest landmark. Bombay's finest men speed towards Regal Cinema for me. (NOTE: Having the local cinema as your nearest landmark is handy as everyone knows it and therefore can find your house. Also handy as it means I can sporadically decide to indulge in a 3-hour-long Hindi love-fest blockbuster anytime I please.) Delhi has no such Regal Cinema to guide a taxi driver's efforts. Instead they spend hours circling one-way streets. Lucky they are all wankers who refuse to turn on the meter and instead charge an exhorbitant flat fare. After they drive around for 90mins trying to find your hotel they generally regret not having earnt four times as much by having put it on the meter. Success! Although I cannot navigate your streets Delhi, this Bombay girl has at least won the battle of the taxi driver.

Mumbai 1 : Delhi 0

Delhi has order. Queues. Arrows painted on the ground directing traffic in one half of the train carriage door and other arrows directing traffic out of the other half. And Delhi-ites unquestioningly followed these absurd arrows. They lined up and waited patiently. Delhi-ites, join me and the masses at Churchgate station in Bombay and see how you fare lining up and waiting your turn. I've tried it. It doesn't work. And it's boring. Get a life Delhi-ites. Get some urgency. Get some Bombay spunk. Spend a week riding the trains with me in my beloved Bombay and I will have you rushing the crowds on the platform like a pro. I will have you so lost and tangled in a sea of passengers coming in and out and on and up and down from the train that you will feel as though you are caught in a rip in the salty ocean. But at least you will have some character.

Mumbai 2 : Delhi 0

5 foot trenches sporadically placed by the sides of dark road create an inconvenient and potentially fatal obstacle course for those visiting Delhi. Yes, the Commonwealth Games are coming. Let us build up! Up! Up! Let us build faster and taller. And let us do an incredibly shoddy job of creating barriers around the 5 foot holes we've started to dig and then gotten bored and moved on elsewhere. Walking home from Connaught Place we had to move to the footpath (how very un-Bombay of us) as the roads were exploding with Delhi traffic. Angry rickshaw drivers were driving erratically due to them being as frustrated as me about the one-way streets. Stepping onto the footpath we stepped into darkness. Walking along, my little sister stepped around a car (yes, a car parked over the footpath) and fell straight into a 1.5m trench. We used our brute strength (that we had accumulated from all the nutritious Bombay food we have been eating) to haul her out of the near-invisible pit of doom. Hobbling home in her blood-soaked thongs after just surviving a near-fatal experience she remarked that upon coming to India she had expected to die in an horrific car accident or get bed bugs. But she didn't expect to fall down a hole taller than her on one of Delhi's busiest roads. And so, although having only a few scratches from the ordeal, we will still remember the outer circle of Connaught Place as the death trap. Delhi has, however, earned herself half a point for the two young men who waltzed up to us all leaning into the hole trying to get Shannon out. They looked at us in a puzzled way. They looked at each other as if trying to ascertain if the other had been able to establish why four tourists were playing in holes in the dark Delhi night. Then one of the men turned to us and in broken English (and with appropriately fabulous hand gestures) directed us to 'go round!' the car. Oh derr. So Delhi, your two young sons (who must have originally been from Bombay to be that fantastic) gave us no help whatsoever but did amuse us immensely. Well done to you.

Mumbai 3 : Delhi 0.5

Veda you could be just what Delhi needs to catch up to Mumbai's glory. Veda, a restaurant I didn't expect to find in India was exquisite. It was a warm, extravagant restaurant covered in wallpaper, velvet and leather chairs. The food was to die for. But I barely noticed the best tasting menu I have ever eaten due to being so blown away by the intricate interior design that made this an incredible place to dine. Chandeliers, candles, mirrors, over-sized thrones, a DJ pumping out a repetoire that would be found on a 'Chillout Sessions' compilation album. Oh yes. Please close the restaurant immediately so that I can move in here and live in velvety-red bliss forever. Keep the bar open though. A few more of your delightfully delicious cocktails would not go astray. And I lied about not noticing the food. This vegetarian-food-vaccuum was blown away. Gourmet, cosmopolitan Indian food. Who knew it was possible? And yet I am still salivating at the thought of the tandoori roasted, stuffed potatoes. Or the prawns baked in deliciousness for me to dive into. Veda, the most delightful restaurant in the world, you complete me. And you are in Delhi. Now, it would seem that Delhi, instead of Mumbai should deserve a point for holding claim to Veda. However no. It seems that Delhi is in fact holding Veda back. Veda would be twice the restaurant she is if she was able to flourish in a town like Bombay. Delhi, for your selfishness in keeping Veda all to yourself, I am deducting one point from you.

Mumbai 3 : Delhi - 0.5

And Delhi. How dare you try to use my love of Islam and her mosques to try and win me over?? An incredible place of worship where over 25,000 Muslims can gather to praise Allah - I could not have been more excited to see it. The mosque was simple and elegant. It had an understated extravagance. The arches and scalloped entrances were enchanting. And again, a religion that is so foreign to me, had me totally enthralled. Islam is more accessible to me in my little Christian bubble than Hinduism as it is focussed around one God. And although I am not a Muslim, I could appreciate the demonstration of love that motivated the Islamic community to construct, maintain and visit the mosque to worship and focus their lives around their God. Truly beautiful. Truly amazing. However Delhi, my adoration of this mosque did not quite get you another point on the board. What? Did you forget what you made us do in that mosque? Yes, you welcomed us warmly. You invited us in. And then you made us wear bright coloured, polka-dotted art-smock styled moo-moos. Homer Simpson style. In a place of such beauty, how could you make us look so hideous? And my questions aren't even motivated by a selfish desire to look attractive. My questions are motivated by a desire to not make every other pilgrim vomit at the sight of flourescent, circus-tent-shaped blobs of hideousness? Mumbai would never have done this to us. Bonus points to Mumbai for making us feel hot.

Mumbai 7 : Delhi - 0.5

And just when I wanted to run from Delhi and arrive safely in Bombay's predictably chaotic, yet welcoming arms.. I couldn't. Delhi was not willing to let go of me. Who could blame her really? Delhi's cool-factor increased seven-fold having a trending Bombay-ite like me roaming her streets. But I escaped. I made it through the construction madness to the airport. I made it through the non-sensical security checks. (Note: Brett Louise, stop trying to take matches on board. They cost rs 1/- for a pack of 50. A new pack at the other end won't bankrupt you and save you being felt up by the over-friendly security staff.) Yes. It seemed as though I had survived the Delhi experience to make it home to Bombay. But Delhi had one last trick up her sleeve. Fog. Fog like you've never seen. Fog like someone blew up a cotton-wool factory and it landed all over the capital city. Fog that made me feel like I was in a blizzard. (Note: It was freezing in Delhi. After Bombay's balmy 33 degree average, Delhi's 15 degrees had us all shivering. Cardigans came out. Long sleeve tops and leggings went on under our Salwars. Scarves were no longer a fashion accessory/sweat collector but a necessity to ensure ears didn't get frostbite.) And Delhi's cotton-wool, blizzard like fog meant that no planes could take off, no cars could drive on the road and it caused everyone to go insanely loopy. Flight cancelled. No chance to get home. Delhi, that was a low-move. SMOG trumps FOG any day of the week. Bombay, I'm sorry. You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. I promise to never complain about your sweet, sweet air that is slowly poisoning my lungs. At least it is not holding me hostage for days in an airport.

Mumbai 57 : Delhi - 0.5

Long live my smoggy, predictably chaotic, energetic, beautiful, colourful Bombay. This girl has had her allegiances tested. And my loyalty has remained intact. Delhi, you didn't even put up a good fight. Scorecard might as well read Mumbai 2,003,009,433: Delhi 0. Bombay is home.

All is well.

North Indian Escape

And so I shall return on Wednesday with stories of my delightful escape to the Taj Mahal and my chaotic adventures through Delhi to show my nationalistic pride on Tuesday at the Republic Day Parade at the India Gate. You'll be glad to know I have seats less than 100m away from the Prime Minister. Perfect opportunity for me to tell him all about my plans to become Indian.

Happy to be spending the 26th of January celebrating all that is fabulous about India. Won't miss Australia Day for a second. Too much goodness, generosity and energy to be had here in my new home.

Viva India.

Hinduism: a love affair

At the start of this Indian adventure I was fascinated with Hinduism. I got overly excited by the kitsch flourescent orange Ganesh statues that lined the trashy tourist stalls along the Causeway. I have been embarrasingly fixated on the flashing fairy lights and diamontes that adorn the shrines in people's homes in slum communities. I have travelled 3.5 hours on a train to go visit the holy Godavari river on the off-chance that it really is holy and I would be healed from my mozzie bite epidemic. (I will never know if the Godavari would have healed me as I decided that a few mozzie bites were better than catching something far more toxic in the rubbish and waste filled river.)

I feel I have also been bribed into loving Hinduism as every time I visit a temple I am given sweets. Yes. They bless, then share with me delicious sugar filled delights. Wandering along the street stalls in Nasik I went into a frenzy over the bright coloured beads, bracelets and other holy trinkets that are supposed to bring the Hindu Gods closer to you. Then there is just the sheer quantity of the Gods. Who could not be impressed by a religion with over 6000 Gods?!! (Hmm so it's more like 300 but that didn't sound quite as earth shattering.) Hinduism is so foreign and abstract to me. And I admit it, I have been a little bit in love with Hinduism.

Love affair is over. I am now angry with Hinduism.

A morning at Elephanta Caves was all it took for the entire love affair to crash and burn. I have reboarded my feminist bandwagon and have been enraged at the submission of women. Women, who already find themselves confined in Indian society, are reminded in the carvings at Elephanta Island that they must play the understudy to the males in society. Hindu stories of their Gods lay the foundations for women to play a submissive role to women. Take one such carving of Shiva and his wife Parvati. Shiva and Parvati were spending a chilled evening at home, relaxing with a glass of red and playing an enjoyable game of dice. Shiva won the game – but only by cheating. Parvati got on her moral high-horse and didn't want to play with him anymore as she felt his cheating ripped the fun out of the game. All mighty Shiva responded by demanding that she continue playing and told her that in life you lose lots of battles and that you should just get used to it and continue fighting. Good advice. However the authorised Government guide who took us for a tour told us that this is an important carving as it reminded women of their place in society and that they must follow their husband's direction even if he is cheating. In other words, do what your told even if it's crap. Shiva, I thought you were cool.

Look, maybe I just have an issue with the carvings at Elephanta because one depicted Shiva fighting off the demon 'ego'. Yes. Elephanta purports to tell us all that having an ego is a bad thing. Well Elephanta obviously doesn't know how amazing I am.

So Hinduism. I issue you with a challenge. I dare you to make me fall back in love with you. Get out the sweets, the kitsch figurines and the peace and love. Win me back.

Weekend Escape to Pune

Saw Indian history first hand.

Love the 6th century AD and what it did for Indian palaces.

Obsessively.

Saw Indian rural farming life first hand.

Love sugarcane and primitive tools.

Endlessly.


See some weekend escape snaps here.

Bollywood Wedding Dream Over

Should have paid more attention to Bend It Like Beckham. No Indian man will ever marry me. My Indian Bollywood life plans are over before they began.

Why? Because I can't roll a round chapati.

Spent the afternoon at a women's group in a rehabilitated slum. This amazing group has started up a lunchtime business that prepares meals for the rickshaw drivers who park across the road. Using their existing amazing cooking skills (and I can vouch for this as someone who is still stuffed at 10pm from eating an endless stream of amazing Maharastran delicacies from them!) they have been able to bring additional income into their families. This extra money has enabled some families to put their children into school, to renovate their flats to have bathrooms/showers and to have savings in the bank as a safety net incase they need money.

But in addition to being impressed by their business success, I am thoroughly disheartened as I discovered I am unable to roll a chapati and make it perfectly round.

Thus, I will fail any future mother-in-law's test (YOU HAVE TO ACTUALLY IMPRESS THEM WITH YOUR CHAPATI SKILLS!) and will not get to marry the Bollywood man of my dreams.

Bombay Tiffin-walas

Brett Louise is ready to kill anyone who obeys Indian Standard Time. Unfortunately that may necessitate me killing 90% of the Indian population out of sheer frustration. As someone who runs habitually twenty minutes late I thought I was going to lovingly embrace the Indian Standard Time mentality. But no. Indian Standard Time means that no meeting times are honoured. No taxi will pick you up on time. And no art gallery opens when it says it opens. Unpredictable chaos. Waiting three hours for a meeting to start doesn't fit in with my usual fashionably late attitude.

So imagine my surprise when I found out about the mysterious Bombay Tiffin-wala Brigade. Something in India actually runs on time. Precisely on time.Tiffins are metallic containers that stack up and lock in together. Something like a primitive thermos. But more exciting as you have layers of delicious delicacies to discover inside. It's essentially the Indian lunchbox. At work everyday, the staff open up their tiffins and eat up the yummy curries, dahl, rice and breads inside. But how do they get to work - on time and still hot? The answer to this questions revealed to me the secrets of the Bombay tiffin-walas.

Every morning mothers, wives and domestic helpers cook elaborate lunches for their husbands, children and bosses. These are packed away lovingly into the tiffins. (It's probably important to note here that each tiffin looks exactly the same - all stainless steel.) At around 9:30am in the morning the tiffins are collected from homes all around Mumbai by tiffin-walas. These men don't have cars or trucks. They have primitive wheelbarrows and carts to carry them. The tiffins are all brought to local stations where they are sorted and sent off speedily with other men to other parts of the city. By lunchtime, the tiffins have arrived (still hot!!) ready to be enjoyed by their owners. After lunch a tiffinwala collects the tiffin takes it away where it is put together with all the other tiffins from Bombay where it is washed. After being washed another tiffin-wala returns the tiffin home to be used again the next day.

Over 4000 tiffin-walas take over the city as they deliver over 175,000 tiffins every day.

No, the tiffins are not just rotated to anyone. Your specific tiffin with your specific meal is picked up, delivered, washed and returned to you.

No, they are never misplaced.

No, they are never late.

How? I have no freaking idea.

If only everyone could adopt this predictable attitude I wouldn't have to go on a murderous rampage.

Check Up?

After three weeks in Mumbai's smog, my eyes have literally fallen out of my face. Cartoon-style, swollen, bursting eyes hanging from their sockets. I'm wearing my glasses constantly. Not that I really need to see as I can't read any of the Hindi signs anyway. But my point is that it is no surprise to find out that millions of the people in Mumbai suffer from eye problems. In addition to ongoing irritation and infections, many of the slum community members suffer from advanced catarachs that affect their vision. If untreated, catarachs degenerate vision until sight is completely lost in one or both eyes.

In Australia, we have free access to eye check ups - even if some of us ignore the incessant reminders from OPSM to return for a check up. (Whatever OPSM. I am very busy and important. But after Mumbai deterioriation I will be back to see you soon.) In India, there is no free eye care. In slum communities I have visited they cannot afford to get their eyes checked. And let's be honest, their list of priorities has more immediate demands than an eye check right? It is particularly hard to spend money on regular eye checks when you don't appreciate the dangers of catarachs going untreated.

Good news. These slum communities are receiving the eye care they need. Without the cost. A group of committed optometrists is donating their time to visit slum communities and rehabilitated communities and give them free eye check ups. The eye clinic I visited was a primitive centre with a mirror balanced on a pile of plastic chairs so that they could ask community members to look in the mirror and read the eye chart. The optometrist then used a standard torch to look into the patients' eyes. Such primitive techniques but so encouraging to see such a cheap, portable and efficient way to get basic eye care to communities. In a two hour session we saw over 70 patients at the clinic. Out of the 70 patients, only 4 had healthy eyes. The other 64 required glasses or had cataracts.

Surgery is required to fix the advanced cataracts that plagued the majority of people we saw. Excited by the altruistic spirit of the day, I asked one of the nurses whether they get the surgery for free. She giggled to me (then explained as I obviously didn't understand), 'Haha nobody can get eye surgery for free.' Well. Great. 'Dear Sir. You have cataracts. You won't be able to see in about 18 months. Unfortunately you have to pay 18,000 rupees for surgery. Do you happen to have 18,000 lying around?'

So not quite the free solution I had hoped for. However, in addition to the free basic care given by optometrists, they also offer a substantial discount on the surgery for needy patients. They offer the cataract surgery at a discounted rate of 3000 rupees. (This is about 75AUD.) Not a small amount of money – but far more attainable than the 18,000 rupees normally charged. This means families can save up and get the surgery they desperately need.

Just another example of generous Indians donating their skills and time to help their own people. Two things I've learnt from this. It doesn't cost much to secure the vision of a person in a slum community. And I need to look after my eyes. OPSM are on top of the list to call when I get home.

All is well.