Combining my new love of street art with my love of India - who knew?

PURE BANKSY.

And for a while now I've been a tad in love with Banksy. The devilishly good looking man from Bristol. (He remains anonymous but I just have a gut feeling that someone so amazing must be an English version of Brad Pitt.) Banksy makes powerful political statements with spray cans on walls. It's so simple. It's so powerful. It's so illegal. And that's a little bit hot. In fact, I could only love Banksy more if he was Indian. The only thing I love more than a good bit of silent protest and activist style is India. India trumps everything. Even Banksy.

But then street art and India collided in a bubble of blissful colours to excite me. Unnaturally.

It started with the embarrassing faux pas of a few overly keen cleaners in Melbourne. Painting over a priceless piece of art. Luckily these people don't moonlight as cleaners at the Louvre. Cleaners painted over a Banksy. The last remaining Banksy in Melbourne town. It was only a rat and lacked any deep political message.. however it was a Banksy. This atrocity even made the news over in my beloved Mumbai in the Mirror: here.

Just when I thought all hope for Melbourne's streets was lost, @vineet1 shared some deity goodness on twitter. He found a fluorescent, kitsch and fabulous ode to Ganesh adorning a laneway in Melbourne.

FLINDERS LANE GANESH LOVE FROM @VINEET1.

And with this Indian afternoon delight fresh in my mind, I adventured out to @acmionline to see Banksy in all his scheming, delightful goodness. If you haven't seen Exit Through the Gift Shop, you need to. It's a rare occasion when I recommend something that doesn't involve Bollywood stars inappropriately thrusting their hips - but even without one of the Khan men, this film is superb. It got me inspired to get out a spray can and adorn the streets. I started thinking how powerful these messages would be if they were focused on issues that people don't think about in their daily drills. Imagine if they confronted passersby and silently evoked a protest from them? Street art could change the world. And it could certainly change India.

C215 WORK IN KAROL BAGH, DELHI.

And then I found someone who was already changing India. It wasn't Banksy. It was (gasp) a Frenchman. C215. Spray can in hand, he travelled off to India to spread his creativity and ideas with the people on the streets.

His work above breaks my heart. I don't know who she is. But I think she represents the millions of child labourers in India. She could be any one of the children living in brothels I met in Delhi. She could be one of the children who wake punishingly early to explore rubbish piles in the hope of finding discarded items that they can resell onto recyclers. Whoever she is, C215 obviously recognises that there are many children in India who live in slavery. Poverty, labour exploitation, poor health. She is staring longingly at the padlock as if willing us to open it for her. It's a tad haunting. And it begs the question, are we going to unlock it for her?

Not all his artwork is so deep. Some pieces are just comical observations of Indian life. But, you should definitely check out his flickr account here.

C215'S WORK IN KAROL BAGH, DELHI

And while I love Banksy and C215, I can't help thinking that what could be really powerful is if local people were given spray cans? Vulnerable people, exploited people - they are often voiceless. Street art could become a platform for their ideas to be spread.

Next time I head to India I'm packing paint.

Spend some time getting lost with The Itinerants

Have just discovered David de Souza's flickr account. Fell in love with his photos again. Had to share them with you.

Was spoiled to spend time with David and his lovely wife Charmayne in their apartment in Mumbai. In addition to being warm, generous people, they are a couple who see India through different eyes. They were some of the first people I met who shared my obsessive love for India and who seemed to be equally enthralled with all that is unique, traditional, kitschy and absurd about life in Mumbai. And, David captures it on film. The taxi photo below screams Mumbai to me. Everything about this photo - the colours, the chaos and the traffic! - are what I love about Mumbai. This photo makes me want to put on my dancing shoes, race over sealink and head to Bandra for a night of cocktails. (It also makes my heart race in anticipation of fighting over an excessively inflated taxi fare.)

In David and Charmayne's apartment, my over-stimulated little eyes fell onto a copy of their book Itinerants: Mumbai's nomads. I instantly fell in love with these beautiful photographs of people from all over India - from villages and coastal parts - who were all seeking out better futures in Mumbai. As someone who after merely two months decided to start calling Mumbai home, I relate to their desire to be in this city. For me, Mumbai is an adventure. It is a huge, rolling beast that sweeps you up and takes you with it in a surprisingly open and welcoming way. I was also all too willing to throw away any of my culture to embrace the somewhat kitsch aspects of my new home's cultures (nose-rings, kurtas and piles included.) However these nomadic peoples David captured with his camera appear to me to be holding on desperately to their cultures and their families. They see opportunities in my beloved Mumbai but are disconnected and often isolated. They are mysterious.

Mumbai is full of people who make their living on the street. We see them and yet we don't; they often live lives isolated from our reality.

Do yourself a favour and spend some time getting lost with The Itinerants here.

Oh how I want to be in the desert in Jodhpur..

The desert in Jodhpur. Not a lot there. Dust. SKSN.

And I've told you about the SKSN school before. Nothing I say could do justice to the generosity of the people running the school. Big hearts. Making a big difference to children in rural communities. Children suffering polio. Children born as congenital amputees. Children who've tragically lost limbs in accidents. Children whose futures before SKSN seemed bleak as they had no facilities to help them live full lives in their isolated rural villages. SKSN transforms lives. Literally. We spent a day with Dr Bhati. He runs the school. He is personally transforming lives and creating opportunities for children. He spoke about how he became passionate about educating and supporting children with disabilities from rural villages.

He attended a wedding in India. Indian weddings. All show. Big bang. Colours and flowers. Weddings (in addition to being my favourite things in the entire world) are an opportunity for families to show off their wealth. Weddings are an opportunity for families to impress upon their future in-laws the status of their child. At this such wedding, where the food I'm sure was supplied in a never-ending fashion, the family was especially concerned to ensure their daughter was presented as the perfect Indian housewife. And not in the way I think about when I question whether I'll ever be a perfect Indian housewife. I can't roll round chapattis. However, I'm sure this girl had mastered these culinary challenges. The girl's family needed to make sure their (hopefully!) soon-to-be son-in-law knew his future wife would give him beautiful, strong, healthy children. So they couldn't let the future in-laws know about any genetic problems in their family. So Dr Bhati found the bride's young brother out the back of the bridal marquee. Chained. Like a dog. This boy had polio. He was useless to his farmer father. He was to be hidden away at all costs.

Dr Bhati was enraged. I was enraged hearing the story. If you're any kind of person you too would be enraged at the thought of a beautiful, vibrant child locked away from the world. Luckily Dr Bhati is helping lead SKSN towards helping young children like this boy. Children suffering polio and other physical disabilities are being literally saved from villages, given a first-class education, given treatment and the wheelchairs/prosthetics they require. They are given opportunities to develop skills. They are given the opportunity to attend university. They are given the opportunity to stand up and show the people who used to chain them what potential they really hold. These kids are fighters. These children are inspiring me all the way in Melbourne.

And just in case you missed how fabulous this organisation is, let me share with you a short video. This is Lakshmi. This is her daily struggle before SKSN changed her life.

This photo below is of the refreshingly radiant Lakshmi when I met her at SKSN. Dr Bhati (in the photo) and the team at SKSN have changed her life.

If this organisation can change this girl's life so very much, imagine what it can do (and continues to do everyday) for children with much more 'standard' disabilities like these beautiful ones we met at the school in the desert near Jodhpur. They need simple prosthetic limbs. These limbs could transform their lives and ensure they can live like any other Indian child. A relatively small amount of money could help achieve this.

And now that I've been looking through my SKSN photos, I am re-inspired. I feel like I need to rob banks to send money over to them. Perhaps I should seek out other, less-illegal ways to help create change for these beautiful children. Am seeking ideas. Blow me away with your thoughts on how we can support this amazing school.

Tweet me @brett_louise. Email me brett.louise@gmail.com. I'm ready and waiting.

Blissfully Lost in Bundi

Bundi is Rajasthan. Without the trashy tourists. Without the touts. Without the camel safaris. It is desert and culture and tradition. It is local markets and a slow-paced life. It is friendly people going about their day - oblivious to the happenings of the rest of the world. It is the perfect place to get blissfully lost.

However, with only one main road it would seem an unlikely place to get lost. Particularly when you are staying opposite the entrance to the city palace. But my delight in finding local areas (coupled with my horrendous sense of direction) allowed us to wander far outside the city walls. We wandered through markets offering coloured objects begging to be cooked up with masala. We had chai-dates with locals we met in the market places. We wandered through side streets falling in love with the incredible flourescent colours of the simple structures housing families of 12. We gathered quite a following as word quickly spread that there were two white people wandering in the suburbs who happened to have pens. 'One pen please?' Thirty-something pens later and we had lost our appeal. Without the potential to receive gifts, people ignored us and continued with their business - despite the occassional cry 'One photo please!' Yes, even in the back streets of Bundi, parents were desperate for their children to be famous in Australia.

Achy legs and impending darkness forced us to snap out of our wanderings. It's time to head home. Home is a simple hostel opposite the largest landmark in the town. But could we see it? No. Congratulations. We had managed to wander blissfully and somewhat naively out of the city walls and into the slums. But maybe, that is where the adventure began.

Taking a 'shortcut' in the direction (?) of our hostel (educated guesses are allowed when you're a tourist) we wandered into a quiet slum community on the roadside. The place was relatively deserted. Occassional stall owners generously pointed us in the right direction - further and further around twisting walls deeper into the darkness of the slums.

In the 'darkness' of the slum we uncovered a hive of activity. A busy swarm of children playing innocently and joyfully with make-shift toys. All attention was diverted from the games they were playing and averted to the two funny looking people in Indian clothes who had wandered into their den. We were overrun with beautiful children wanting to play with us, wanting to show us their homes and wanting us to take photos of them.

But we needed to get home. And then he volunteered. I can't remember his name (yes, I should have kept a journal.) But he said he knew how to get us back to the city palace and would gladly take us. So we followed him. The liberated, brave adventurer in me loved it. The cautious traveller in me was terrified. We were at the mercy of this young teenager. He seemed nice enough. But had he wanted to take us to his house and rob us he could have easily done so.

But it turns out, sometimes naively trusting strangers can lead to good things. He was nothing but the perfect guide enjoying the opportunity to practice his English. He adored being seen with his two 'friends' from Australia. He happily showed us around and asked people to leave us alone when we were mobbed. In fact, were it not for his slightly rude demands that I hurry up ('Madam, keep us please!') I would recommend his services to any lost and weary traveller.

Our generous guide took us through a weaving industrial slum to the scenic high road above Bundi. Beautiful view. Beautiful commentary ('here Fort', 'here palace'). We could see the City Palace again. Home! Hooray. Despite not being able to find the largest (and only) landmark in town for four hours, we had successfully navigated our way home. It was a short walk through a final slum.

This slum was alive with cricket matches - balls bounced off the narrow laneway walls. We felt far safer in the bright area - confident that we were close to home. However, our guide became quiet and nervous. The care-free, confident teenager, proudly showing off his Australian friends now wanted to go home. People called out to him 'Are you Hindi??!!' Clearly the answer was no. And so although we were beautifully welcomed into the Hindu area of Bundi, it seems our kind Muslim teenage guide was not so welcome. Thanking him generously by promising to remember him and by passing on a fair few rupees, he scampered out of the slum - back to the safety of his familiar territory. Will never understand how people who can be so generous and welcoming to two complete strangers - two foreigners - can be so hostile and dismissive to their own national brothers.

Blissfully lost, meeting delightful people. Bundi, you are delicious.

All is well.

A package of surprises from India

Indian postal service. Everything you've heard about it is true. No wonder I was anxiously waiting to see if my package of delights would arrive. Three months of intense shopping meant I couldn't carry it all home. In fact, even the strongest camel would have struggled with my load. And so I packed it all lovingly and sent it on its journey home to Melbourne.

And despite all odds, my bundle of brilliant bits arrived!

Now the benefit of buying copious amounts of goodies is that a month later you cannot remember what it is that you purchased and needed to have so desperately that you decided to pay exorbitant shipping costs just to ensure you would have them. It's like Christmas. And Holi. Combined. Presents galore. I felt like it was a surprise gift from my Indian self.

And congratulations Indian self, you have outdone yourself in everyway. Yes, mailing over 60 Bollywood posters home was one of the best ideas you have ever had. Now my walls can be smattered with Bollywood goodness - bling, romance and outdated fashion. Kareena and Aishwarya greet me every morning. And Aamir in all his perfectionist glory looks over me when I sleep. Not that any warm-blooded woman could sleep with that 8-pack on the wall above her bed.

But somewhere in amongst the posters and chappals were my deliciously desirable bed linens that had been waiting to cover my bed since I first laid eyes on them in Jaisalmer. They look exactly like the linens I slept under for two months in my Mumbai home. They are kitsch and fabulous. They are offensively bright. They are delicious.

And I couldn't wait to curl up in my Melbourne home under my own piece of India. They smelt like India. I slept like a baby. A content, Mumbai baby.

And the next day I scratched. I itched and itched and itched. Apologies to the mosquitoes I wrongly accused of biting my feet. Once the bites travelled up my ankles and to my calves I had a moment of de ja vue. Yes. I had seen these bites before. I had felt these bites before. These tiny, tangy bites. Bed bugs. Bed bugs who had delighted in delving into my skin on the trains in India and on the suspicious 'clean linens' in the hostels I stayed in while exploring Rajasthan. These bugs were also enjoying a nibble on my legs in my bed in Melbourne. Yes, these little ones enjoyed sharing the journey with Aamir, Kareena and Aishwayra.

Unlike India, my Melbourne home has a washing machine.

All is well.

I wish I may, I wish I might, never leave Bombay - not even for a night!

Alas, my secret (or not so secret!) desire to never leave my beloved Bombay did not eventuate. As yet, no Bollywood film star has romantically danced across the sunset towards me with gallant proposals of a filthy rich life of luxury and Indian romance (teamed with vacations saving the poor of course). No Indian laws have changed making it possible for me to remain in Bombay indefinitely. And so, I had to pack up my bags, nauseously get into a black and yellow metal box on four wheels and depart my Indian home. But, I was not going down without a fight. Bombay, I was saying goodnight not goodbye.

And so, how to guarantee my return? I would have wished upon a star but my city's eye-stinging smog tends to hide even the brightest ball of solar fun. I hung around Shahrukh Khan's house (that's a blog in itself!) hoping to be cast in an upcoming film necessitating my return. (No film offers unfortunately - but have made great friends with his security guard which could be handy for future casting attempts.) As a true Bandra girl, I knew only one option remained - Mount Mary's.

YOU CAN SEE THE ACTUAL CHURCH IN MARY'S REFLECTION.

Mount Mary's is a beautiful catholic church in the leafy 'Queen of the Suburbs', my home turf, Bandra. Pilgrims come to visit Mary in the hope that she will grant them their most fervent desires. I learned quickly that worship is not done in a standard fashion on the Mount in Bandra. Wax is the way to Mary's heart. For a few rupees you can buy a wax figure of whatever it is your heart desires. A husband, new house, better intelligence, spare limbs, good health for a sick friend, a larger pair of breasts. All of life's necessities.

And so I bought my wax figurines and offered my gifts to Mary. And the whole time I tried to be a believer. Not a believer in Mary - I'm already strongly that - but a believer in the rs 30/- wax figurine that would bring me back to Bombay. I certainly haven't learnt in my time going to church that the way to get things you want is to flatter Mary with candles? But, it really works. It happened to a friend of a friend of mine. She got a husband, house and car all within one year. Mary was obviously feeling quite generous on that day. But the secret is, that you have to take it seriously. It is not something to be mocked. Or laughed at. And most importantly, you can't tell anyone what you asked Mary for. It's like blowing out the candles on your birthday cake - spill the beans and the birthday magic won't come true.

A PLANE TO TAKE ME HOME TO BOMBAY.

So let's just keep it a secret between you and I that I did mock this a teeny weeny bit. And yes, I may or may not have giggled while offering my wax figurine to the beautiful marble statue. And, oops, I've clearly told you what I asked Mary for. But hopefully, the key point will be that Mother Mary now knows what my deepest desires are and will grant them. I want to return to Bombay. (And I want a good looking, Bollywood husband!)

Neglecting the blog..

In just two short weeks I shall be home in Australia and will have reliable internet access. The blog shall then stop being neglected and shall in fact burst with stories of the adventures I've had up north and the places I've visited.

Have seen some incredible projects and organisations' work so will share some of their stories here too. For now, have a look at SKSN's website. Unstoppable people making the most incredible difference to many children's lives. Plus, these kids had such an energy about them!

And my transformation into an Indian woman is almost complete. A lovely girl Leela at SKSN painted my arm beautifully with henna and an old man with cataracts in Udaipur violently pierced my nose.

Look forward to sharing it all with you soon.

All is well.