100 Days in Chavara

What was the question again?

2007-06-12T06:13:00.000+04:00

I’m sitting in a cafe in Portland, reading a blog entry from a friend in Manchester about the impact of near-ubiquitous networks on human interaction and communication.

So, first off, definitely score one for the digital revolution. I couldn’t have done this when I was at uni, which is when I would have had plenty of time to hang out in cafes. But looking around the café for some anecdotal evidence in either direction, I see about half of the people here have laptops in front of them. One guys is playing internet poker. One girl is busily working on something important. Another seems to be reading a book with her PC unattended in front of here (maybe a report for college?). They aren’t talking to anyone else, but then, cafes don’t normally have strangers breaking into conversation anyway, so no real change there.

But what is more interesting, and relevant, are the two places in the café where two people share a table and have computers at the table. One is a pair of young men, each with a large laptop actually in their laps, pattering away at their keyboards. When I arrived, they were silent, each caught up in his own little pool of focus. But after a few minutes, and a very nice double cappuccino, I notice they pause and start to converse about whatever it is they are doing, one points to the screen of the other, mutters something about ‘firewall’ and it becomes clear that they are working on the same project, or at least related facets of the one project. They stop typing, the murmur in their own abstruse jargon, they completely ignore their cups as they work. These guys are clearly some variant of computer geek, so they are more than capable of setting up this conference of labour in some virtual space, messaging their comments, watching their colleagues efforts on a pair of flat screen monitors so large that they need welding goggles to use them, while physically situated at the farthest ends of the city, the country, the planet. But they sit in a coffee shop instead, almost on top of one another. I guess there’s something available there in the physical presence that they can’t get from the virtual realm.

At the other end of room (not really as far as that phrase might make it sound), sit two women, slightly more formally dressed, slightly older, but clearly just as well educated. Perhaps even more so; the words ‘doctorate’ and ‘research’ waft in my direction as they gather around the gentle illumination of a single tiny screen. It’s clear from the beginning that the screen serves as the facilitator (god, I hate that word, but it’s the only accurate phrase to use in this case) for the conversation, rather than as a possible medium for it. Its seems unlikely from watching these two that they would have considered having their meeting online, but perhaps there is a subtle (or not so subtle) bias on the part of the observer that leads to this conclusion. In any case, lack of computer literacy is no barrier, they could have emailed and settled their negotiation (as it seemed from my location), without ever needing to meet. But they didn’t.

Which pretty much settles the issues of digital interaction replacing the face to face, more traditional method. But doesn’t really address the broader question posed by my friend, does the broad availability of digital technologies lead to more shallow relationships with our friends and love-ones? I don’t know, I doubt anyone does, how can someone who grew up in the modern era make meaningful comparisons with the quality and depth of the bonds between people from another? I think you can only compare how well and how often you speak to your own friends within your own life. And by that measure, I would say that the technology has made for an improvement. For those close at hand, the interactions are much as they were, I prefer actual to virtual contact. For those further flung (and something I come to appreciate more in the last few years), I can now have a conversation with someone with the immediacy (or illusion thereof) that would be otherwise impossible. My blog, the frequency of updates notwithstanding, provides a point of contact, for which there is no proper analog analogue.

BTW Megan, I was thinking I dropping by on my way through.

Its like the Simpsons, but in reverse...

2007-05-07T19:10:00.000+04:00

So someone has asked the immortal question. No not that one, although I think maybe Douglas was closer to the truth than even he realised. No, the question in question is: am I still in India, or am I home yet. And the answer is the same as it ever was. Still here. It reminds me of the scene where Apu and Homer go to visit the originator of the Quikie Mart, with Homer pestering him the whole way like some five-year-old glued by sweltering heat to the vinyl-covered back seat of a station wagon on a cross country odyssey. Only in reverse.

The good news is, I'm nearly finished. No really. Seriously. I promise this is the last week I'll be here, I have the airline tickets and everything. As of Friday evening, I'll be winging my way home and I won't be returning to this job again. Not that I'll be spending much time at home once I get there. I'm off to WA to see some friends for a week and unwind. Then about a week after that, I'll be flying to the US to see my girlfriend and find out why the Americans think that their country is so great. Or something. And in mid-July, I'll be dropping in to the UK to see my brother for the first time in what seems like an age (Stu, if you're reading this, I'll send you the details in the next few days). And then I'll be home. For at least a few months. Probably.

What have I been doing recently? Well I went to a wedding. Deepti, the youngest daughter of our South Indian agent, Kurian, got married in a little town about three hours drive from the minesite. The area was quite picturesque, situated in the foothills of the Western Ghats, the mountain range that separates Kerala from the neighbouring state of Tamil Nadu. It was a Christian ceremony, I'm not sure what denomination, its a little hard to be sure with the entire service in Malayalam.

In essence the service was little different from what you might see in a modest church in Australia, although the service seemed to go an awful long time before the priests even acknowledged the presence of the couple, which struck me as a little odd. That and the groom wouldn't smile. Given that it was an arranged marriage, I can understand there being some trepidation, but even Deepti managed to smile after the ceremony was over. Her new husband, Roji, on the other hand was stoic for every photo. Perhaps there's some subtle cultural underpining there that I was missing. Kurian has become a friend of mine over the years now (not just on this job) that we have worked together, and it was nice to be involved, however peripherally, in the wedding. I'll post some photos once I can get my camera working again.

I also returned home to Oz, very briefly, to renew my visa and attend my godson's third birthday. Lachie, who unfortunately looks a little too much like his father, is an amazing kid and I'm struck each time I come home with how much he's changed since I saw him last. Needless to say, all the kids at the party had a ball. Again, I'll post some photos when the camera is up.

See you soon, some of you sooner than others.

OK, so perhaps I was a little optimistic...

2007-04-10T17:15:00.000+04:00

You know when you get all fired up and you decide to do all these things and then the moment (and the energy that came with it) passes, and suddenly sanity and normality reassert themselves, and you don't actually do all those things you said you were gunna? Yeah? That's me.

Four times a week; what, was I on drugs? I normally have trouble coming up with something interesting to say about my life once a week.

Of course people who know me (and if you don't know me, I'm a little surprised you're here, but 'welcome' anyway), know that I'm like this, full of good intentions and boundless procrastination in about equal measure. It's not that I'm lazy, I'm not, I'm just easily distracted. I'm always on the hunt for the new before I've really got a hold of the old. Which is a massive productivity killer. I am, to put it bluntly, not a good finisher. Starter, yes, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who can start as fast and strong as me, enthusiasm coming out of my ears (interesting visual image there). But there is a significant chance that, unless I remain enthralled throughout, I'm going to be wandering off the beaten path to somewhere new pretty soon.

It's something I've managed largely to contain and constrain in my professional life, but in my private life, I still struggle with it a bit. I think I mentioned the word 'discipline' in the previous entry, and that's probably the nub of it all. Lack of Discipline. Not sure if that ever appeared on a school report card, but it probably should have. Of course, at school the only discipline that seems to be of concern is whether you're swinging from the rafters firing spitballs in every direction. And the structure for formal study at any level is built into the institution as clearly as the buildings, you don't really need to provide any if your own.

In any case, I'm trying to add some discipline to this blog, write more often, practice the craft even if its not endlessly fascinating. We'll see how it goes.

And how are things in India, I hear you ask? Well I'm nearly done. The job will continue, but largely it will continue without me. The tasks remaining will take several months at least and would involve me only peripherally at most. And it's just time for me to leave.

I had planned to travel up to Agra and see the Taj Mahal, described to me by a few people as one of those things that exceed the hype, that pass expectations. But I just don't have the energy. I just want to be out of this country and home for a while. Besides which, there is an excellent chance that I'll be back in India for another job in the medium term and now that I have a bit of a feel for the place, I think I can manage a bit better next time when it comes to having the energy to do a bit of sightseeing. Plus the likely job is further north and thus closer to the more extravagant attractions of the sub-continent. At least in theory.

Plus, I've been invited to not one but two weddings this month, so there's a good chance to see some Indian culture up close and personal without fighting off crowds of tourists or travelling halfways across the country. Hopefully I'll have some photos to post then.

How do they get tech support?

2007-03-18T18:52:00.000+04:00

This is something I've been giving some thought to for some time and I don't think I'm any clearer about it now than I was when I started. The One Laptop Per Child (OLPC) program.

It's an idea started by a computer geek based on concepts and ideas that have been around for some time, according to their website. Make a cheap, robust and reliable computer that you can distribute to the children of the developing world in an effort to improve their overall educational standards and thus their lot in life. Nice idea. Laudable. Education as a potential solution to a large number of the world's problems is something that I've believed in for as long as I can remember thinking about those problems. So why does it feel slightly off to me?

When you read about the difficulties that a huge proportion of the world's population have in getting, say, clean water, the idea of giving children in these conditions a computer seems a little bit like offering the child with his finger in the dyke wall a coat 'in case it gets cold tonight'. He'll probably appreciate it, but he has more fundumental problems to worry about. What is the point of providing these children with a more sophisticated education if before they reach puberty, they're pressed into manual labour making bricks or begging on the street?

I don't want to sound like a pessimist, far from it, and I understand that these people are trying to offer help to the world's most vulnerable people in the best way they know how, with the skills that they have to offer. It just seems like they're aim is a little off. I think the love affair that the West has with computing and digital technology (and I won't even start with my distaste for the use of the word 'technology' to exclusively refer to the computing and communication industries, as if nothing technical had existed before the advent of the silicon age) has skewed perspectives a little when it comes to trying to aid the less fortunate. The explosive rise of mobile telephony in India, for example, has not helped the millions of poor children in Kerala state alone who never recieve a secondary education.

Maybe I missing some vital part of the overall picture here, I freely admit that I haven't had time yet to read the full website. And if the title of this post is a little flippant, is mostly because the plight of these kids seems so terrible that I have a tough time dealing with it head on. I have friends who have done just that and their stories fill me with a kind of crawling horror at the privations of real poverty (as opposed to relative kind that most people complain about in Australia) that it makes me slightly distainful of the the whole idea of OLPC.

Or perhaps I just need to be thankful that there are some people out there who are willing to do something, anything to improve the lot of those who cannot help themselves.

It's festival season again

2007-03-12T23:06:00.000+04:00

Nothing makes me realise how long I've been here like the return of annual events that I experienced last year. The festival season is back in India. And I don't mean a couple of weeks of the Adelaide Fringe, no, no. Were taking the next three months. Holi was just celebrated up North (it doesn't have much currency down here), which is where sane people spend too much money buying brightly coloured powders, which they then throw at anyone in range, more or less all day. Last year I was in Bangalore for Holi and got to see the madness first-hand. I naively wondered out camera in hand wearing a white tee-shirt. Not advised.

If three months sounds like a long time (and it is), it's simply because every temple in the country has is own festival, and in the Land Of A Million Gods, that translated into lots and lots of temple festivals. I didn't go to the festival for the nearest temple, because I was completely exhausted that night, but there are about a dozen temples within ten minutes walk, so I might get a chance to see one before the season ends.

The thing that makes it most apparent is the prevalence of elephants. Elephants are quite common here, I would normally see a few a week, but at the moment they seem to pop up everywhere. (If the visual image of elephants popping up all over the place has you questioning my drinking habits, let me assure you that the here beer isn't good enough). We were driving back from a place down the road from Kollam a week of so back and we came across a procession of elephants, all tricked out for some nearby festival or other. And let me tell you, elephants are one thing thing that never lose there impact. There is something about being close to something alive of that size; it reminds me how much I want to go swimming with whales one day.

One of the monks spots me snapping shots (I was a bit hard to miss, standing in the middle of the road, although not for this shot)

You don't often see the younger elephants and certainly not all dressed up for festivals, but this 'little' guy seemed to be enjoying himself.

A bit of assistance proves that they're not just show-ponies, a young tusker helps with the parade float.

And since the traffic didn't stop (it never does in this country), the local constabulary were out to protect the pachyderms from injury (and the cars from damage too I guess)

Why so quiet?

2007-03-12T22:19:00.000+04:00

Now some of you, those of you who are still reading given my irregular updates (and bless your cotton socks for doing so), might be wondering why I don't update more often than I do. The short answer is that I don't always have a lot to say, since my life is basically my job at the moment. I know you might think that your life is your job too, but you have weekends off, friends to see movies with, bookstores, restaurants, and access to good quality salad, beer and chocolate. (You never really appreciate just how good as salad is until you live in a country without lettuce.)

Anyway, I say this not as a plea for sympathy, I don't want any, I choose to remain here at this job, I could always quit and look for work elsewhere. It just the fact of life; seven days a week, 10-12 hours a day, I'm working. And since I know full well that there is only so much: "Job slow, Indians annoying, weather humid, beer crap" commentary that anyone would care to read, I chose to write nothing in most cases. That, and I'm buggered most nights.

But after reading a few other blogs that I visit regularly, I realised that this is part of my life, not just the thing I'm doing while I get ready to go back to it (which it sometimes feels like). I'm going to look back on this one day and say, "Well I lived and worked in India for 18 months, it was something of an eye-opener and despite the trials, I don't regret going." And I don't. Its been hard, yes. I have been through all of the emotions that you might expect in this kind of situation, but recently I've come to see what I have drawn from being here, both professionally and personally. So I decided not to narrow my view of this experience so much. It not a trip, it not a job, it not a vacation, it's the part of my life that I spent in Kerala. I guess I trying to broaden my perspective as a remedy against the tunnel vision that can become a little suffocating when you get bogged down in the day to day.

So a few things; I started exercising again, I had been working out on the roof of the hotel, so I'm doing that again. I don't know how much weight I've lost, but I certainly feel better. I bought a digital SLR camera so that I can push myself a little creatively. I've started to notice things that I would have liked to capture in my photos that I can't with the very handy but limited point and shoot that I have at the moment. Unfortunately, the camera appears to have suffered some damage at some point (prior to my buying it), so I'm taking it back for a new one. And I going to try and write at least 4 post a week to the blog, a little enforced discipline to match the exercise to hopefully open up the writer in me a bit more. We'll see if there's one in there at all.

Also, I'm going to be going back to Oz for a week of R&R, which I very much anticipating. One of the main reasons is to see Weird Al in concert with some mates of mine. Last time Al came to town, Shane and I had a ball, so this promises to be an excellent time, although I have no idea if Shane will be going (Duz you want to fill me in there?)

In other news, I am addicts to Heroes (the TV show, not the David Bowie song, although I did buy the three disc Best Of David Bowie, which is brilliant), I'm planning a trip to the U.S. of A. in June and I am ever so close to having my house deposit together. Life is... confusing, as ever.

Okay, so not 100 days then...

2007-02-28T20:03:00.000+04:00

So the week before last I racked up a year since I first came to India for the site work on this job. At that stage I was visiting the offices of our sub-contractor, MECON Limited, in Bangalore to help clear up their questions on the job. If I had known the troubles that were going to emerge from that office to swallow my life over the next 12 months, I would have brought a bib and spoon with me and been very much more deliberate about leading them through the job. And for those of you who have been thinking that you haven't seen much of me, I've only been out of India for a total of 8 weeks over that period, including my two weeks in Japan. Hmm, I think I need to rename blog. Or maybe just leave it as a ironic and veiled reference to sub-continental efficiency.

At this stage, I see the light at the end of the tunnel, thankfully. It's still dim and flickering, but to torture a metaphor and borrow an adage, sometimes its better to light a candle than curse the darkness. But don't let anyone try to convince you that India is going to take over from China as the global manufacturing powerhouse, it ain't gunna happen.

Oh, and Happy Birthday Tash.

Marching to the drums

2007-01-25T07:30:00.000+04:00

So after a break at home over the holiday period, I'm back in the land of confusion, curry and call centres. What did I do over the break? I'm glad you asked:

Went to Melbourne.

Mostly the reason was to attend the Boxing Day Test match - a much delayed birthday present for Shane, a friend of mine - and hopefully see Shane Warne's 700th Test wicket fall at his home ground. It was ridiculously cold for Day one. Even in Melbourne, home of bipolar (and sometimes just plain polar) weather, 10 degrees plus windchill on Boxing Day is just perverse. But we braved the conditions and were rewarded; Warnie's landmark achievement with a ball that perfectly captured his brilliance as a bowler.

Day two was much warmer and we had better seats (over the bowlers shoulder), so the comfort factor was much higher. Andrew Symond's first test century and overall batting dominance by Australia made for a enjoyable day.

We had a white Christmas, it hailed for a short while in the middle of the day, so that was a first for me. We also got seats to a late lunch sitting at Fifteen (thanks Kate!). For those who don't know, Fifteen was a restaurant formed at the end of TV program called Jamie's Kitchen with Jamie Oliver, celebrity chef, involving fifteen unemployed youths ( I think he started with more and whittled it down to fifteen). The original was in London, but he repeated the process, with some local help, in Melbourne and Fifteen Melbourne is the result. It was great afternoon: food service, decor, the whole things was excellent. Some of the girls had actually watched the show, so they knew who the face behind the food were and the layout of the place allowed us to watch the chefs at work. Recommended.

After Melbourne, I flew home and spent some time at home, catching up with friends and family, and generally doing as little thinking about work as possible. Anne stayed with me for those two week and convinced me to go ten pin bowling, something I haven't done in perhaps ten years. I wasn't nearly as bad as I feared I would be and I had a good enough time to go again with some other friends the following week. Of course my shoulder complained bitterly in the morning, but then thats just because I'm not fit.

Apparently, I'm something of a beach snob. I had commented to Anne that beaches alone are not enough reason for me to go somewhere, as I grew up living 20 minutes drive from some of the best beaches in the world. So I took her down to show her Burleigh Heads. She did her best to hide it, but I think secretly she was stunned at the gorgeous white sanded paradise that is Burleigh beach. Perhaps.

And now I'm back in India. There was some progress on the job in my absence, which was a pleasant surprise, but things are largely as they were in terms of local enthusiasm to finish the job. Might be home for Easter, but I would put money on it.

Arriving at the airport, Lachie, with his luggage ready, was keen to explore.

Jacqui on the other hand, stayed close to mum.

Freezing our tits (and other appendages) off at day one of the Boxing Day Test.

Dining at Fifteen as celebration of Katishe's birthday:
from l to r: Anne, David, Darius, Katishe, Tash, Shane, Kate

Here's a couple of photos I took of a water truck near the site the other day. The painted reliefs on the roof and doors was quite intricate and reminded me somewhat of the matatus (minivan taxis) I saw in Kenya - highly decorated and poorly maintained.

And then there is this:

Oh and also check this out, it'll take while to load, but it's brilliant and funny and thought-provoking.

Its been far too long...

2006-12-15T20:43:00.000+04:00

...since my last confession. October, jeez that is a while. Ahh, I've been busy. Really busy. For those of you who don't know, I'm still sub-continental, and I gotta say, I'm really over it. Most of the time.

Its been a difficult week, but with some success. I've taken over as (Acting) Project Manager for a week while the boss takes a well deserved break. Which means I now get to do the work of three people instead of two. Groovy.

But, as I may have mentioned before, this country is weird. It's some small comfort to know that plenty of Indians find parts of their country strange, but it doesn't really help that much. I sat in a three hour meeting this week, while the client berated us and our Indian sub-contractors (hey, sub-continental sub-contractors, that's vaguely interesting) about the job in general and certain things in particular. So after that grilling about being behind and what our plans were (and weren't) going to achieve, I get asked:

"So, David, when will the Ilmenite section of the plant be ready?"
"If we can get the labour I want and finish the things we discussed, tomorrow. Say, ummm, midday."
"It must be 10 o'clock."
"No, I said midday, its going to be midday."
"No it must be started before midday. Or after..." (consults colleague) "...after 1.30pm."

I pause. I must have a slightly puzzled look on my face. The room is quiet.

"Why? What happens between 12 and 1.30.....wait, let me guess, that is not an auspicious time to start the plant, right."

My voice is slightly incredulous. This is not the first time that this excuse has been offered, but its usually by other contractors who are behind and need some breathing room. I figured it was a cultural smokescreen, to confuse the white men who come here with their vague notions of racial sensitivity.

"Yes. It is not a good time." He is smiling.

I grin, sure he is kidding. Especially after the verbal flambé we just got, he's not pulling that in front of his boss....is he?

"Seriously?"
"Yes," he says, still smiling.

I burst out laughing. The rest of the room follows suit, but its the kind of laugh where they are trying to put me at my ease, but also acknowledging the insanity of the situation.

"Okay," I say, shaking my head, "I am seriously in the wrong bloody country. This is not a place to be an atheist."

Which is true. I've given up trying to explain this to people here. The question of my religion comes up all the time, and after trying to cut it back to the basics ("I don't think that there is a God"), they still can't grasp it. It's like mental sand, they try, but it just kinda slips through and nothing stays behind.

But I will give this to Indian astrologers, they don't fuck around with "today is a good day to buy a pet, maybe poodle". Its more like "during these hours, do nothing new, or it is doomed to failure and will ruin your brothers sex life for the next twelve months". Very specific. And the Indians would (and do) say, its very accurate. But then they aren't the first people to confuse the two.

Yesterday, I got a letter asking us to take all the refined sand we had produced the previous day and put it back on the feed pile, since it was not to specification. Which was true. But since they have the only front-end loaders on site, I would have been reduced to either bucket and spade, or borrowing one of their loaders to do the job. So I suggested that they just do the job and stop giving me letters asking us to do it. To which I was told, it was okay, they had already done it anyway. I didn't even bother to ask the obvious question, at some point the absurdity starts to feel normal and you just shrug your shoulders and think, "Hey, we're in India."

Today was a good day though, we did get the Ilmenite section going, which means, when we get it fine tuned - a thankfully simple and quick process - the client will start making some money again. Not as much as he would like, but about 40 to 50 percent of the overall revenue of the mine. Unfortunately, its now very clear that the remaining two sections, with their comparatively more valuable, if less plentiful, mineral products, will be delayed completion until next year. When next year is the subject of some debate, at least one betting pool and more than a little money to all concerned.

On the way home today, I saw something that neatly summed up the weirdness of India for me. I guy on a bicycle, with a another guy seated on the bike rack behind him, riding one handed while talking on a mobile phone, rode obliviously into the path of our oncoming four wheel drive. We swerved and braked at the last moment to avoid killing them both.

I could have spent days and not come up with a better metaphor for this country.

A Japanese Sojourn - Part The First

2006-10-21T20:06:00.000+04:00

Okay, so I’ve been a pretty slack on updating the blog, I’ve been on holidays. But now I’m back on the job. So a long update, or maybe two or three smaller ones.

About two month ago, I got to take a break from India and work, my first holiday outside of the Xmas period in a many years. First, I had a very short stop in Australia, about 6 days. Caught up with family and friends, did some bits and pieces at home and then I was back on a plane bound for sunny Japan.

I’ve been planning a trip to Japan for a few months now, partly because I had originally planned to take a few months break and go to Europe this year and couldn’t because of the Indian project; and partly to see a friend of mine, Megan, who I haven’t seen in 2 years and partly because I’ve always been interested in Japan.

After some discussion with Megan, the plan was to spend the first week based in Tokyo and Kyoto and the second week in Takasaki, Megan’s adoptive hometown. The reason for this was that Takasaki is not a particularly strong tourist area and also isn’t a very good place to get to other parts of Japan which I might like to see. Kyoto is both of these things.

TOKYO

So I flew into Tokyo airport on Saturday morning and then caught a train into the area where I would be staying, a suburb called Asakusa. I planned to stay at hostels, both because its cheap and because it’s a great way to meet new people. Unfortunately, my Tokyo hostel was quite small and well hidden. So despite quite detailed directions from the Asakusa metro station, I got lost. Thankfully I found a combini (a Japanese convenience store) where I was told that I was only 100m away, and I should head down this tiny side street. And sure enough, there is was. And it was everything you expect of Japanese accomodations, small, clean, efficient, friendly. Four double bunks shoe-horned into a room the size of a kitchen was my sleeping area, but still enough for the small amount of time I would be spending there.

Sensō-ji, the most popular shrine in Japan, and a stones throw from my hostel

The other travellers I met were a pretty varied bunch, but I struck an immediate rapport with a Canadian called Kevin. I wasn’t working to any sort of plan, so his suggestion to check out war musuem the next day seemed like a decent idea. But I managed to time my arrival to coincide with the Asakusa Samba Carnival, so a group of us from the hostel wondered the streets of Asakusa watching the girls go by:

That night we went to Roppongi Hills, an area full of nightclubs and bars, where we found a bar, lost half the group, met some girls, ignored rumours about Paris Hilton, searched in vain for a decent salsa club, paid too much for Cascade in a pathetic 'Australian' bar and finally watched the sunrise while eating very odd combini food. A good night.

The next day Kevin and I met up with a friend of his, Kiri and we went to see the War Museum which adjoins the Yasukuni Shrine, a controversial war memorial which enshrines WWII war ciminals and as such is the centre of continued political toing and froing. The museum itself is also criticised for being revisionist in how it portrays Japan involvement in war in the region, particularly WWII. I tend to agree, but then I'm not exactly a avid student of the politics of WWII. I did laugh at the implication at the end of the tour that the Japanese opposition to western aggression during the war lead, directly or indirectly, to the independance movements of all of the surrounding Asian countries who subsequently shook off their colonial oppressors.

Yasukuni Shrine - home the souls of Japanese war dead (and controversy)

War Museum ajoining the shrine

After the museum, we considered going to the neighbouring Imperial Gardens, but a line about 500m long (I kid you not) discouraged us. It turned out that the line was for the filming of some TV show, but by the time we figured that out, we couldn't be bothered to go back. We ended up at an Italian restaurant followed by a tiny out of the way bar, both in Harajuku, an area now famous for teenagers with unique fashion sense.

Somewhere in there one afternoon we went looking for a fight, which is to say, we went looking for a bar showing the mixed martial arts fights with a New Yorker (and professional boxer) called Ray, also a hostel guest. We never found the right bar, but we had a good time watching Ray, a six and a half foot, 120 kilogram black guy ask some Japanese policemen for directions. Among other things.

The next day it was off to Odaiba, on Tokyo Harbour, hope of weird buildings and great views. On our return we ventured into Ginza, the place where the well heeled buy expensive fashions and the rest of us drink beer and watch the barmen impersonate Tom Cruise.

The Rainbow Bridge - gateway to Tokyo Harbour and Odaiba

Kiri and Kevin pose before picturesque Tokyo Harbour

Fuji TV building

By this stage I had to sort out my trip to Kyoto, since I had a reservation for a hostel there that evening. Luckily, the shinkansen (bullet train) runs every half hour to an from Tokyo, so I ran to the ticket office, dashed up the stairs to the platform and made it on the train with whole minutes to spare. I had inadvertently chosen the super-express bullet train service, which seemed kind of redundant on a train that travels at 300 kph, but it meant that I arrived in Kyoto in just over two hours instead of the three hours that I had been told to expect. So with directions from the station to the hostel I found online, I wandered wearily around Kyoto streets lugging my three bags and after some assistance from the locals, I managed to find the hostel. Tomorrow, Osaka and Nara.

The shinkansen aka Bullet Train pulling into Tokyo Station (yes, thats actually an action shot, but it is slowing down)

Thoughts about glasses

2006-08-18T10:51:00.000+04:00

So the old saw goes:

A pessimist says the glass is half empty,
An optimist says the glass is half full,

What does everyone else say?

A Buddhist says there is no glass and next time it'll be a bottle anyway,
An Atheist says that this is the only glass you're going to get, so make the most of it,
A Cubist can see both sides of the glass at the same time, and doesn't really care that there is water in it,
An Egoist says that the water is his and isn't it beautiful,
A Cultist sets up a small shrine to the glass and calls his group The Sect of the Indeterminate Water Vessel,
A Dentist wonders if the water has flouride in it,
A Fascist says its no wonder it isn't full, its a green glass,
A Dualist is more concerned with the essence of the unseen half, which she says is necessary to make meaningful assessments of the world in general and morality in particular,
A Tourist takes a photo and shows all his friends back home so that they can see that a glass, with some water in it, is different over there,
A Sadist just wants to hit the glass with a mallet,
An Anarchist takes the mallet, and tries to smash the glass, while,
An Ethicist debates the moral implications of destroying the glass of water and whether, as only half-filled glass, it should be granted the same privileges as a full glass,
An Eulogist composes a short, but touching, poem to commemorate the glass, should it be destroyed,
A Lobbyist petitions the governement to create a protected zone for glasses of water so that they can be free of the destructive nature of modern progressive society, meanwhile,
A Realist, see the glass, drinks the water and leaves.

Posting about posters

2006-08-15T21:14:00.000+04:00

One of the things I noticed in India when I came here briefly in 2002 was the posters advertising films. They are almost exclusively devoted to the locally made films, the Indian film industry is more prolific than any other, and they are absolutely everywhere. You can barely drive two minutes in the countryside without seeing at least one poster on someone's wall and I doubt I have ever been in any town or city here where I couldn't see a movie poster at all times.
Indian public advertising in general leaves is Australian namesake in the shade for invasivness and ubiquity, private residences are frequently painted (hopefully with the consent and remuneration of the owners) with the logos, slogans and corporate colours of mobile phone companies, paint vendors, silk emporia and cement manufacturers, all vieing for your attention with their dazzling marketing splendor. As if their wasn't enough to make you eyes pop in the country.

But the movie posters in particular caught my eye. Most are not very large, maybe A3 size of so, but the combination of colour, odd looking text and occasional Indlish phrases hooked me. Some of them had large numbers on them as well, which I discovered latter was the amount of time in days of weeks that the movie had been running in theatres. Usually you could tell from the number which is was, but I figured out that movies made in the local industry, usually had text exclusively in Malayalam and counted in days, films from other states often had english text and usually used weeks.

How can you not love a poster that asks, no implores, you to 'Feel the Army'? Given the trouble the Australian Army is having getting new recruits, perhaps they should try this as a slogan. Hmmm, maybe not. This film is apparently a true story based on the life of a real Indian military hero who fought in the Kashmir region and was awarded the highest military decoration in India, their equivalent to the VC.

Check these three out:

You could be forgiven for thinking that the is an actor in Kerala with an extraordinarily prolific career. As one guy from our team here put it, they all seem to star the same round-faced, moustached and slightly over weight bloke. They are, in fact, different actors; but it's another way to tell the local movies from the out-of-state ones, if this guy or one of his octuplets is the lead, its probably a Malaylee film.

And just to give you an idea of what they look like in their natural habitat, here's a corner shop wall in the nearest large town, Kollam:

More in the usual place.

In other news, today was Indian Independence Day. Lots of celebrations, no work and an impromptu night visit from the constabulary. Last night I respond to a knock at the door to find six Indian policemen at my threshold. After a second of 'Shit, what local custom have I inadvertently broken', the police asked if they could come in and the manager appeared from nowhere and mentioned the following day's festivities. All became clear. Anti-terrorist sweeps of the hotel rooms of foreign nationals. Given the recent English arrests, Mumbai bombing, fighting in Sri Lanka and ongoing unrest between India and Pakistan, it seemed like they weren't taking any chances. They looked around, without touching anything, asked me some questions about where I was from and when I was returning home. In retrospect, my reply: 'I'm leaving on Friday', probably wasn't the best for instilling confidence, but they seemed unperturbed, shook my hand, thanked me and left. Not sure they even checked the bathroom.

Stop me if you've heard this one...

2006-08-06T08:06:00.000+04:00

A South African and two Australians go for a walk and they find a creek with two elephants having a coconut scrub and a pedicure...

No, not a bad joke, last Sunday the three of us went for a elephant ride. We drove down past Kollam, the nearest large town to a small creek where they had two elephants available for rides. When we arrived they were giving the big guys a good scrub with pieces of coconut husk and encouraged us to join in. So I did:

And then John lent a hand:

Their hide was very different to what I was expecting. Dark grey, almost black, and springy to the touch with long, coarse, black hairs all over. The wrinkles varied in shape and depth. In some places, like across the spine, the skin was tight and shiny. Here and there patches of pale pink skin stood out vividly against the dark field, apparently scars don't completely heal on elephants either.

When bath time was over, I got a proper feel for how big these guys are:

As he started to come towards me I had to fight a strong urge to back away. Scrubbing the big guy when he was lying down was one thing, having him lumber towards you, even with the handlers around, was something else. But he seemed completely unconcerned by our presence, which encouraged us to come up close and pat him.

Hansie wanted to be sure that this was a Genuine Indian Elephant, so, being from a land of elephants, he knew just the right method. Clown.

The ride was amazing fun, even at a walking pace. The handler gave me a piece of red cloth tied to the rope around the elephant's neck and I thought: "What do I need this for, we aren't going to be going that fast are we?" When he stood up, front legs first and I nearly slide straight back over his arse, it all became clear. The three of us rode together and the shoulder position at the front is definitely more comfortable that further back.

I felt kind of uncomfortable at first, being so far from the ground on what amounts to a flexible, moving platform. Horse riders probably take all this in their stride (so to speak), but it was a very odd experience for me, but lots of fun. None of us could keep the grins off our faces for the whole ride.Definitely one to remember.

The rest of the photos (and larger versions of the above) are over here.

Don't drink the local water, or the local Coke.

2006-08-04T17:48:00.000+04:00

It's pretty much a travelling mantra; don't drink the local water, it's full of nasties that will play havoc with you guts and leave you stranded in some dog-forsaken public toilet one fine afternoon with fluid leaving you from every orifice it can find. And as someone who has suffered despite taking these precautions, its the kind of advice I'd heartily endorse. Sometimes you're told that if you can't get bottled water, try getting some softdrinks instead. Since the water used to make the drink is processed during bottling, all the bugs are gone and it might help replace the salt and sugar you lost sweating your way around the tropics.

Except today I picked up one of the English-language national papers to find an article regarding the pesticide content of softdrinks. All 52 tested samples of 11 different products from a number of different states contained at least two or three different pesticides. Some contained 25 times the safe limit according to Indian standards (which may or may not be the most stringent in the world, but I know which way I'd bet). Some contained banned pesticides. You know it's got to be a pretty nasty poison when even the insects your trying to kill aren't allowed to drink it. But it's in my Coke.

Now I'm sure there are traces of these things in Australian softdrinks. I like to think that they are way below safe limits and that in a country as well regulated as Australia, food quality is better, but I accept that modern agriculture being what it is, some of this stuff will end up in my food and thus in my stomach.

But given the prevalence and quantity of pesticides outlined in the article, the obvious question is, how the hell did it get into the drinks? If it's in the water, how safe is the bottled water I'm drinking? So now I have the joy of considering dehydration, diarrhea or Diazinon.

Sherman, fire up the Wayback Machine.

2006-07-25T20:39:00.000+04:00

Actually it's not that far back, only back to February, but you get extra points for spotting the reference.

After spending some time on one of my earlier trips in Bangalore meeting with one of our Indian partner companies, a member of their engineering team offered to show me some bits of Bangalore. And we started with an ISKCON temple:

ISKCON devotees are better known in Australia as Hare Krishnas, since they believe that Krishna is the 'Supreme Personality of Godhead', whatever that means. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not at all a religious person, but since all religions have their art and I do like art, I can be persuaded to consider a tour of a temple or two.

What I didn't realise when Suresh asked me to come inside was that this wasn't just a 'wander in' kind of temple. First there is the 'bit with the stones':

A close look at the this photos reveals...not a great deal, actually. For reasons of decorum, you can't take a camera inside the temple, so the only two shots I have are from outside. But the tall brass thing that looks like a flag pole, and is in fact a flag pole, is the entrance point for the temple. This is the start of the mantapa, the pillared hill which sit in front of the temple hall proper. To begin the climb, you pass through an entrance gate of sorts, a series of 108 granite stones slabs, set above the floor in a contorted path from the edge towards the centre, where the stairs lead up to the next level. At each step, you are supposed to repeat the mantra:

Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare Hare

At each stone. All 108 of them. Anyone who has ever been in a major Australian city when a delirious group of orange-clad, shaven-headed Hare Krishnas manders by with drums and tamborines a-pounding, knows how mind numbing that chant can be. Which, it turns out, is exactly the point. The mantra is supposed to free you from thoughts of your earthly existance and help you reach pure God-consciousness. And as someone who hasn't had any practice with mantras, especially Sanscrit ones, I spent so much mental effort making sure my Hares and Ramas were in the right spot, I did kinda forget that it was taking me twenty minutes to get through the door and how hot these stones are in the sun (no shoes in the temple). The constant blaring recording of the mantra was more distracting than helpful, but the speed with which you were supposed to say the mantra (or else make it impossible for more than a few dozen of the faithful to get to the temple in a day) was the biggest hurdle. No rythmic chanting, no dancing, just breakneck mantra recital to the finish line. It was, then, some small comfort to me that some of the other Indian visitors didn't bother with the chanting, I didn't feeling so bad when I got it wrong.

So after the trial-by-mantra, you ascend the stairs to the first shrine. The hillside climb to the main hall is broken into terraces with a shrine to various other gods of the Hindu pantheon represented. I particularly remember the shrine to Hanuman, the monkey faced god, who is probably the inspiration for the Monkey King character from 'Journey to the West' which eventually became 'Monkey', one of the greatest TV shows of all time.

So once we had worked our way up the hill through the minor shrines, we reached the main hall. It was an amazing piece of work. As you can probably tell from the photos, the temple is very modern, less than ten years old, but it's no less impressive for that. A large overhead dome, painted with images of Krishna and other gods, seemed much larger than expected from the outside view and gave a grand presence to the space, in a similar way to a Christian cathedral. The back wall of the hall had a number of different shrines to gods I couldn't indentify, and Suresh invited me to pray with him in the central seating area on the floor. I declined, instead wandered around the shrines wishing I had my camera.

The outside rooms, downstairs, were full of stalls selling all manner of religious stuff; tapes, icons, books, calendars and other things of uncertain purpose (Krishna has an avatar as a child, which resulted in some very unusual items that would be unsettling in another context). No real shock, all religions need to have ways of financing their work and fleecing the flock seems to be the most sucessful in other faiths, why not here.

Later in the day we visited some other temples, the state legislature building (very impressive as well, I might post some shots of that soon) and, since I was curious, we tried the Bangalore KFC at Brigade Road. Not quite the same as at home, but close enough that they won't lose their frachise.

The same day we visited the shrines to Ganesh and Shiva. The Shiva shrine in particular was bloody enormous (check the guy in front), apparently it's a homage to a large stone Shiva statue in the Himalayas, hence the fake stone backdrop. The red string adorning the railings and the roots and branches of the tree near the statue of Ganesh is left there by people praying to Ganesh, presumably for luck, his specialty, but the particular significance of string which is red was beyond the either Suresh's theological knowledge or perhaps my ability to clearly express my question. In any case, I don't know why.

The slightly odder thing about these two shrines was not that they were together (only about 20m apart), but that they were situated behind a very large department store. The only way to access the shrines was to go throught the store. The store claimed to be the largest toy store in the world, but the toy section was smaller than just about any Toy World I've ever been to and the store overall about the size of a usual Australian department store. But no Myers in Australia has its own Baptist church out the back, now does it?

It was a good day.

It's a new....girl!

2006-07-25T20:13:00.000+04:00

Good friends of mine, Tash and Shane, have just had another child, a baby girl called Jacqueline Elise:

She's all healthy and has all the right bits in all the right places, mum is doing fine, so everything is right with the world. I look forward to meeting her before she's old enough to vote.

Indian Democracy 1, Knee Jerk Politics 0

2006-07-20T18:26:00.000+04:00

Never let it be said that Indians take an assault on their liberties lying down. After requests from various groups asking the Department of Telecommunications here to explain why they had instructed ISPs to block all of these sites, their response was that they had instructed ISPs to block only certain blogs and that the ISPs had misinterpreted that instruction and blocked the entire domains where these blogs were hosted. If that is true, then I'm going to have to eat some crow and back down from my denunciation of the Indian government in yesterday's post, because, hey, mistakes happen, right?

But this statement doesn't really jibe with what was written in the Indian Express yesterday, where they claim that the order to block the blogs was issued a month ago, or on July 13, and that it had nothing to do with the recent Mumbai attack, and that the order included a list of 20 sites (presumably individual blogs rather than 20 domains) and that it came from the National Informatics Centre, which might be part of the Department of Telecommunications, I don't know. It's all a bit confused. I'm going to assume that it was a mistake, not something sinister, in an effort to balance the cynicism of my last post. In any case I can see my blog (and others that I visit) again, so all's well that ends well, or something. And thumbs up to the Indian public.

India is a democra..(censored)

2006-07-19T17:51:00.000+04:00

Or apparently it's not. Remember the Australian government was recently considering a nationwide firewall to prevent Australians from seeing things the government thought they shouldn't see and maybe start thinking for themselves? Perhaps you don't, most Australians made it pretty clear that they thought this was a bone-headed idea and it was quickly shelved.

Well the Indian government has clearly decided that buying uranium is not the only thing they'll be importing from Oz and they've implemented a blanket ban on all blogs hosted by the most popular online sites. Including Blogspot. It's apparently to "curb he propagation of religious extremism on the Net". Because terrorists who are smart enough to build bombs and use computers are too stupid to get around the ban by using other methods for communcation. Its a foolproof plan by the Indian government, and you know what they say about foolproof plans. Morons.

Now the sharp ones in the audience will have figured out the vital and ironic flaw in this plan. You are reading this, which means I can still post to my blog, even though (in theory) I can't read it. Which means if I was a nasty terror-monkey, I could still get my evil, hate-filled epistle out to the unsuspecting public.

In reality, anyone who really wants to - it took me all of five minutes - can download Tor, or one of half-a-dozen other anony-making software gizmos and waltz right by the Indian Internet Intervention Instrument(tm) with your metaphorical middle finger aloft in the direction of short-sighted, dim-witted authority figures everywhere. In the words of some smart guy: 'The internet interprets censorship as damage and routes around it.'

In a related bit of 'make the lives of non-terrorists harder while having no effect on terrorism', the mobile phone system in Mumbai was disabled straight after the horrific bomb blast the other day. It's supposed to prevent terrorists from remotely activating bombs using mobile phones, what it actually did was prevent the people in the middle of the mess from communicating with loved ones and emergency services, and thus undoubtedly made the situation worse for everyone involved, if that's possible. There's not much you can say in the face of such pointless brutality, except to hope that Mumbaikers don't let the cowards win; rememberance of the lost and defiance through continuation of life seems to me to be the best response to terror.

Haiku

2006-07-14T05:35:00.000+04:00

Brine scents drift inland
Crows aloft on sea fog wings
Stench of rot dissolves

So I spent the last week on night shift and I emerged from the front gate this morning to be greeted by the strong smell of the sea and mist blown ashore as dawn was breaking. It was one of those small moments of joy at the beauty of nature, haiku seemed warranted. All emails about being a pretentious git will be ignored.

A cabin for what?

2006-07-09T15:32:00.000+04:00

Your guess is as good as mine. Actually that's no longer true, because I asked someone WTF this little cabin was for, since no meaning I could conjure from the sign made any more sense than the previous one.

Genuine Certified No-Prize© for the person who figures it out.

Spin you partner round and round...

2006-07-06T09:15:00.000+04:00

Well, its been an interesting week in football and a unimpressive week in the life of the project. Football first.

Brazil, gone. Argentina (my pick), gone. Germany, gone. Never let it be said that the World Cup doesn't provide some surprises. A final between Italy, who could barely muster enough aid from the referee to overcome relative minnows like Australia, and a superannuated France. At least I get to see Henry play in an other WC final. It hasn't been the most spectacular of tournaments, there have been some good games and some very good goals - Maxi Rodrigez etched himself a corner in World Cup history with his strike - but there have been just as many slow, uneventful games. Looking at the number of knock out matches that went to penalties tells you a lot.

That said, I've still enjoyed it a great deal. My sleep has suffered a bit, but then thats to be expected and I certainly would have had more difficulty if I had been trying to watch the matches from Oz. And I hope that with the A-Leagure season approaching, the shine of the Cup can rub off, the ground attendances around the country will grow and build a strong enough competition that we'll have a chance to go to South Africa for the next roll of the dice.

Now the job. I know, you're sick of hearing me complain about it. Which is fair enough. Lets just say that nothing has changed, it's a dancing instructor who is teaching the tango: "Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow". Except the quick part is more like "less slow". And the the instructor lies to you about your progress. Despite the fact that you're on your arse in the middle of the dance floor.

So instead, some new photos:

More photos on the Flickr site. Enjoy!

Robbed

2006-06-28T18:11:00.000+04:00

Ahh, what can you say about a game like that. We played well, but as so often happens with Australian football, failed to make the most of the opportunities and score a goal when we really needed it. None of which makes the loss any less heartbreaking, especially in light of the truly abysmal decision which resulted in the penalty.

That said, the Socceroos did us proud. They played some of the best teams in the world, including the world champions, and held their own, which is as much as anyone can ask and more than many expected. I'll admit that I held hopes of a quarter final appearance, achieving improbable dreams is part of the World Cup after all, but my disappointment is main with the way we left the Cup, not with the way we played.

I'm looking forward to the next season of the A-League with anticipation of crowds of newly converted football fans screaming from the stands.

On a complete separate tack, I had an interesting (to me at least) little introduction into the history of one of places in Cochin recently. While driving (okay, being driven) to one of the sub-contractors workshops, I asked the driver for the name of the road in case I needed to direct someone else there during the job. After some stumbling about between his accent and mine, I teased the name "Compression Mukh" out of him. Okay, so 'mukh' must be 'street', or 'road' or something, right? And 'compression'? Well, the roads are always full of cars (and everything else), maybe its a bit of translation drift from 'congestion'. A road designed to reduce congestion, sounds right.

So very pleased with myself for having nutted out what was going on, I decided to ask one of my Indian colleagues, Anand, what the name of the street was as far as he knew.

"I'm not sure," he said, "White Road or something, I think."
"What about 'Compression Mukh' ?" I asked.
"That's Malayalam, I can't speak that, let me just ask someone here."

So he calls one of the other guys in the office on the phone and has a quick conversation with him in his native tongue, Kannada. After a few minutes, Anand starts to grin, then laughs, both surprised and amused by whatever he's being told.

"So, what did he say?" I asked impatiently.
"No, actually, David, the word 'mukh' is Malayalam for junction. It's Compression Junction."
"Okay," I said, not really any more enlightened, "So..."
"It comes from a time in the old days of the town. That was an area where lots of girls used to be and the guys would go and get compressed."

So now I'm imagining a massage parlour. Not so far from the truth. Anand still had a little smile on his face; in answer to my slightly baffled look he said, "Compressed." The penny dropped.

"This used to be a red light district?"
"Yes."

The area has been an industrial and residential area for decades now, but the name of the original attraction of the region has stuck.

Look up in the sky...it's Krrish!

2006-06-26T16:17:00.000+04:00

I finally got to do something I've wanted to do since I got here, see a Bollywood movie at a local cinema. While the TV is saturated with local movies all hours of the day and night, it's not the same as going to see it with a crowd on the big screen. So for the princely sum of 40 rupees, I went to the Padma Theatre in Cochin to see the premier of Krrish!

The place was absolutely packed, two tiers, probably four or five hundred in all and the cinema really wasn't that different to one you might find back home. A little more run down maybe, but if you can imagine a cinema that you might see in country Australia, the kind that had been built in the 50's and not quite looked after the way it might have been, you get the idea. Except packed full of rowdy and enthusiastic Indians patrons.

Krrish is the story of Krishna, a boy born of Indian parents in Canada (although probably shot in northern India) who has suddenly developed an amazing artistic talent and apparently other mental and physical abilities as well. As he grows up it becomes clear that he is some kind of superman and after accidentally saving paraglider while swimming through the trees (no, not swinging, swimming; think Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) he falls in love, goes to Singapore and becomes the masked superhero, Krrish.

In fine Bollywood (and superhero) tradition, it's all a bit ridiculous, with the usual Bollywood mix of action, romance, melodrama and dancing, but it was really entertaining, even if it was a bit uneven. The major villain gets about three minutes of screen time in the first half of the movie and you forget that he was even a threat until his sudden reappearance in the last act.

And, no, I didn't understand a word of the dialogue, which means the comedy relief character was a complete loss to me, but it says something about the skill of the storytelling that I still had a very good idea of what was happening. Of course it didn't hurt a bit that the heroine was an absolute stunner even by Bollywood starlet standards, which is saying something. For the girls, the star, Hrithik Roshan, is built like an Indian Schwarzenegger and has a chin you could carve stone with.

The crowd added hugely to my enjoyment of the movie, Krishna's first appearance on screen, racing a horse home for dinner, was greeted with a deafening roar. They cheered the hero at every turn, especially when he was chasing the girl and jeered the villain, played with enough ham to make Gary Oldman blush by Naseeruddin Shah, who I was surprised to recognise - but eventually pinned him down to Monsoon Wedding (and apparently The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, but unrecognisable under Captain Nemo's beard).

As a side note, the movie cost a record 800 million rupees (say A$23 million), which will almost certain never be recouped, even if the movie does as well as expected. I'm told that the Mumbai Mafia uses some Bollywood movies to launder money, so the loss is preferred. Certainly the director, and father of the male lead, was shot by mob-linked assailants a few years back, supposedly for resisting their attempts to gain distribution rights to his films. But it does mean that the production values are very high, it wouldn't look out of place in Hollywood. At least, it wouldn't if the star didn't break into a song and dance routine every ten minutes. All very Indian. Think Cole Porter meets MC Hammer.

I'm looking forward to comparing the sub-continental superman with his American counter-part when Superman Returns gets to local cinemas.

Round of 16, Baby!

2006-06-24T07:09:00.000+04:00

Now's that was a nail-biter. But it's nice to have your faith vindicated. Neill was excellent and Craig Moore; is there anything that man can't do. We're still missing a natural striker up front, Viduka looked lumbering when we needed someone agile, but the addition of Bresciano and Aloisi in the second half had the required impact of tipping the momentum back in our favour. Overall a much better performance than against Brazil and not just because of the scoreline. I'm looking forward to what will be our toughest game yet against Italy on Monday.

Never a dull moment

2006-06-21T17:40:00.000+04:00

I've tried to describe to some of my friends the ~~sheer unadulterated horror~~ adventure that is driving in India. It’s so harrowing to someone from a country where they not only have road rules, but actually follow them (mostly), that one of my colleagues suggested, only somewhat jokingly, that they should fit the rear seats of an Ambassador backwards, so you can see what you’ve just survived, rather than what is about to befall you. And that’s just when you’re a passenger.

So one of the guys and I decided that we were fed up with life and split the cost of a pushbike. It, like so much of the home grown manufacturing base, looks like it was designed in the 50s; single cog drive, sprung seat, handle bars too close to your knees (although that might be because John and I are taller than your average Indian).

It does, however, have some standard features that would be nice to have in more modern (and more expensive) bike back home. A build-in lock that puts a half-inch bolt around the rear wheel, so the thief has to either cut the bolt or tear out all the spokes as the wheel rotates. Full coverage chain guard, allowing for use with long pants (while you wouldn’t do that in Oz, Indians are more modest, and I’m not wearing lycra). Direct steel shaft linkage for brakes. No cables to stretch and break, just a solid bit of chrome plated 6mm steel bar. Okay, the brakes don’t work as well as you’d like, in a place where pedestrians are born without the Road Traffic Self-Preservation Gene, but at least you know that they’ll work poorly in a consistent manner for the life of the bike.

I think that the last few months of exposure to Indian traffic has helped because I didn’t get in any strife, but the gearing is so low (so that you can get started), that you find you can’t get any speed without making your legs into a thigh-straining blur. Which means the bike is ideally geared to speeds compatible with Indian attitudes to time keeping, commonly know as Indian Flexible Time.

One thing I have yet to master is the out-of-sight-out-of-mind approach to vehicles behind you. Indians don’t worry about what’s coming up from behind, they concentrate of what’s before them, which is a commendable attitude to life in general, but not too good on the road. They don’t use rearview or side mirrors, which they have, perversely, decided to fit to their cars anyway to confuse the foreigners. Instead they use another standard feature in place of the mirror. The horn.

The Indian driver’s skill with a horn is beyond question, they can express a variety of sentiments, questions, outbursts and opinions of the other driver’s parentage with a nuanced flick of wrist and the single tone available. The basic idea is like this:

1. Ignore the rear, it’s not a problem, it’s not worth worrying about, hell, it's not even there, until...

2.Someone sounds the horn, signally that they are approaching from behind, and you’d better move, and right now, or so-help-them-Shiva there will be hell to pay.

Which works fine because everyone knows that this is the way the game is played. Trucks even have helpful little signs on the rear bumper reading ‘Sound Horn’ to remind you of your right, no, your duty, as a Indian driver to make that horn earn its keep. We had our primary vehicle off the road recently for a day because the horn was worn out and needed to be repaired. Only in India could you wear out a car horn and be too afraid to drive it without one.

So rather than try to describe the joys of Indian roads (okay, so I just wasted five minutes of your life trying, so sue me), I’ve started recording video as a passenger with the slightly foolish goal of making a short compilation of highlights. I’m thinking music video maybe. Song suggestions welcome (and Highway to Hell is out; good song, too cliché).

Randomness from watching the World Cup

2006-06-17T20:44:00.000+04:00

I've just realised why Tim Roth hasn't made more movies; he's also holding down a career as a outstanding European footballer.

The likeness is pretty uncanny and apparently I'm not the only one who thinks so.

How many Indians does it take to change a lightbulb?

2006-06-17T19:00:00.000+04:00

Well, first you have to have a six week discussion about the merits of various lightbulbs, and whether to buy domestic or import a lightbulb from overseas. Once you've decided on the best product, you find out you can't get it anymore due to chances in import regulations, so you decide to buy domestic, but you can only get an appropriate alternative from a Kashmiri company that hand-blows the bulbs which are then blessed by an in-house Nepalese Bhuddist monk.

Then you place an order for the lightbulb and get told it will take another six weeks to deliver, provided that there isn't a nationwide strike, in which case it might be ten weeks. Next you need to hire a lightbulb installer to do the work, but the only guy available in the area isn't in the Light Globe Installers, Bulb Fitters, Electrical Light Fixers and Allied Trades Union, so you need to hire two guys who don't actually know how to fit light bulbs to stand around and watch the skilled labour do the job.

After waiting ten weeks you ring the bulb vendor and find out that the order had been misplaced and the monk has larangitis which turns his blessing chants into a curse on the bulb and the purchaser's family, so it'll be another six weeks, but we're willing to ship it for free if you choose overland shipping, which will take another two weeks.

So you give up and buy a local cut-price bulb that looks like it was made by a blind glassblower with chronic hiccups, but you can buy three and a half thousand of them for two Rupees plus service tax. You finally get the bulb to the house with the empty socket, but you can't get the bulb fitted today, since its Sunday and the bulb fitter can't work Sunday, because working on Sunday makes God angry and that's the reason that he sent to Boxing Day tsunami, to punish those working on the Sabbath.*

So you wait another day, but the following day the union goes on strike over the fact that someone from the opposite end of the political spectrum chopped the arm off one of their members and they're not going to take that, so here's a strike you bastards.**

So the next day you bring the bulb to the house, but you can't bring it inside unless you pay a special 'house-entry' fee directly to the union secretary and by this stage you've been sitting in the dark each night for seven months and you just can't take it anymore and besides you got the bulbs cheap, so what a few extra Rupees and fer-god-sake-its-just-a-lightbulb. So you pay the 'fee' and walk the bulb to the bulb installer and he spends the next fortnight trying to put the bulb into the wall outlet.

So you direct him to the bulb socket, only the socket is a screw-in one, not a bayonet one like the bulb is, but you have anticipated this and purchased one of every possible variety of bulb even known to man, for a pitance, and he fits the bulb.

And he descends the ladder.
And he walks over and calmly flicks the switch.
And the bulb lights.

And the one next to it blows.

And I'm not exaggerating nearly as much as I would prefer.

* Actually uttered today by one of our sub-contractors as the reason that they refuse to work on Sundays.

** Also has actually occurred.

A breathtaking finish...from Tim Cahill

2006-06-14T13:47:00.000+04:00

To all those people who asked me if Australia had a chance of beating Japan, I'll borrow from Australian football visionary Johnny Warren: I told you so.

Didn't actually see the game myself, was unfortunately in mid-air at the time (no I can't levitate, I was on a return flight to Cochin), but I'm glad to have played my part in our victory by not watching it. Anyone who's ever missed a wicket at a test match while buying beer or answering the call of nature will know what I mean. I look forward to being able to watch the match in full at some point, I'm sure it'll come out on DVD or something, but from all reports it was our persistance that was the difference and Australian football players (and fans) know all about persistance. It significantly improves our chances of a second round berth, but the Brazil-Croatia match highlighted how difficult both teams are going to be. But then we always knew it wasn't going to be easy.

Overall the World Cup football has been pretty good, with patches of amazing. The opener was a ripper and showed a real change in the face of German football, from a tradition of solid defense and counterattacking to a team with great striking ability, but a rather fragile back line. Which will make for much more entertaining games. There seem to be fewer upsets likely this year, but with the World Cup, you never really know what is going to happen.

The Indians seem to have taken the Australian teams into their hearts, all of our crew here have been met with huge enthusiasm from the locals for the performance of the Socceroos. It was a bit of a surprise, I wasn't expecting that much interest given that India isn't competing and the level of adulation for cricket didn't leave much room for anything else. It's nice to be wrong. But then of all the states of India, Kerala has the largest interest in football, so I'm told, and the number of signs up around the town annoucing the Cup seems to support that.

So I look forward to the rest of the Socceroos games (however many that might turn out to be) and the rest of the Cup, and the hope that Australians might adopt another of the great traditions of football, the supporter's chant involving with more than two words. Until then: "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi, Oi!"

We now return you...

2006-06-09T13:24:00.000+04:00

..to your irregularly scheduled blog.

So I'm back in Oz for a week, part furlough (thank you Jeff), part check-in-at-the-office and part home maintenance.

Things that have happened since my last post:

Paid off my car loan
Bought a new camera
Found my lost photos
Discovered my step-dad was in hospital
Discovered one of my friends back home was in hospital
Re-lived part of my childhood with my oldest mate

Paying off the car was a nice surprise, hadn't really been keeping track of the balance, so now I am a few thousand dollars worth of HECS from debt-free status.

The camera is a sexy little stainless steel Canon number. Fast, small and takes great photos, what more could you ask for.

I had thought that some photos I took at an Indian festival in April had evaporated along with all the other data when one of our site laptops died, but in a fit of amazing (for me) foresight coupled with absent-mindedness, I managed to copy the photos to CD-ROM and then completely forget that I had done so. I advise you not to try such feats at home, its a job for a trained professional such as myself and takes years of alcohol abuse and repeated distractions with shiny baubles to achieve this zen state of random studidity. But it all all worked out well in the end. Said photos can be found here.

As for the hospitalisations, Lance has managed to baffle his doctors to the point of their admitting that they don't know what's wrong, a stunt he's been pulling off and on for years now, with the unfortunate effect that his health is never really what it should be. I'm not going to discuss my friend's illness, other than to wish her a speedy recovery.

Now to the childishness. Some of you have no doubt discovered YouTube, the video equivalent of public notice board. For those of you who haven't, go see it before copyright infringment and commercialisation ruin it. It's the perfect place to uncover things you thought you'd never see again; in the case of me and my mate Daniel, we found a trove of TV snippets from programs we watched as kids. A claymation gem called The Red & The Blue, that European animation with the guy who walks along a line and is constantly scolding the animator in complete jibberish, and, of course, our favourite segments from Sesame Street. Hands up those who remember the Pinball Countdown? Super Grover? Kermit's New Flash? Or Martians who wander around going "Yip, yip, yip, yip!" and could hide behind there bottom lip. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then I suggest you move along, there's nothing to see here. For the rest, go to YouTube and type 'Sesame Street' into the search box and re-live part of your childhood.

Global Warming and Car Insurance

2006-05-26T10:22:00.000+04:00

To commemorate the opening of An Inconvenient Truth (hopefully coming to a theatre near you), here's a little something for you to consider, especially if you are a bit uncertain about climate change.

People buy car insurance. Sometimes they get it because the government says they have to have it. Sometimes it’s because the bank won't give them a car loan if they don't have it. But mostly it's because they recognise that life has a way of being unpredictable and they want to be sure that they can get things repaired when life decides that what you really need it a new tail light.

That’s fine, you say, but what does it have to do with global warming. Well, people buy car insurance on the chance that there will be a problem; an accident, a fire, a theft, a reckless 15 year-old son in a gravel carpark. They don’t know if they are going to actually have a problem, but they believe that there is a good chance they will and they know that the consequences if they don’t have coverage could be pretty serious – loss of car, loss of job and in the case of personal injury and the resulting liability, loss of house. So they get coverage. Which is called sanity.

It’s time that we applied some similar common sense to climate change. Evidence continues to mount that the Earth’s average temperature is rising, some would even say that there is irrefutable evidence not only that this is happening, but that humanity has a very strong hand in making it happen. And we have a pretty good idea that the outcome will not be pleasant if it continues unabated.

Some issues are so important, in that they have terrible and far-reaching consequences that you have to treat them with much more caution than other more mundane thing. That’s also common sense. Climate change is one of these issues.

So it’s time to look at getting some global warming insurance. If you think that a possible car accident is worth a little caution, surely the potential devastation that climate change could wreak on the entire planet is worth considerably more prudence. It might not be as bad as we fear, it might be worse than can possibly imagine, but with the stakes this high, the sane approach is to err of the side of too much caution.

So buy a solar hot water heater, change your light globes to fluorescent ones and send a letter to you local duly elected representative to suggest that they go and see An Inconvenient Truth. It about time to buy yourself some global warming insurance.

Return to sender....aborted

2006-05-26T09:39:00.000+04:00

So I was supposed to be going back to Oz for a week before the long haul of the plant shutdown begins. But shore-leave has been cancelled. The boss is leaving for the first half of next week, which means I'm nominally in charge. Not that this really means much of course, but its nice to be afforded that level of confidence. Anyway the job continues to progressively speed up, another handful of expensively-well-travelled mineral separation equipment floats into position, aloft on steel rope wings. Yes, I know, you find this all deeply fascinating. I need some photos to spice it up. Well, a little bit anyway. They're coming.

The rains seemed to have arrived early. Not strictly monsoonal yet, you understand, since I can see across the road during a downpour, but it speaks of ominous clouds of precipitation lurking over the horizon; of weather gods arriving for their annual Indian holiday a little ahead of schedule and deciding that, no, they definitely aren't going to wait around for the porters to arrive like they did last year, they're just going to drop their load where they stand and to hell with the consequences.

We are going to get very wet. Not the best prognosis for a project already late which includes so many high voltage machines and so few completed roofs. At least I can swim. The locals either don't know how to or, more likely, just don't want to. I guess it's a balance between instinct and knowledge: they want to cool off by jumping in the nearest body of water, but they know that there are other things in the water besides fish, weeds and algae. Plus your average Indian is very much more modest than your average Australian.

On the plus side the rains will clean the streets and cool things down. On the downside, the rain hasn't improved driving conditions and Indian drivers are as reckless as ever. Maybe moreso.

Just my luck

2006-05-23T21:21:00.000+04:00

So while I'm grabbing up addesses for blogs I read to add to the nav bar (hey I gotta fill it with something, right?), I went to Neil Gaiman's Journal, only to find that he's currently touring Australia. Bugger. (The clever ones of you will be thinking "If you read the Journal, why didn't know that he was going to be in Australia?", to which I can only reply, "I've been busy".)

If you don't know Neil Gaiman and you read books, you need to go and grab something of his from you nearest bookstore or Amazon, or by whatever method you usually employ for getting a softcover to the space between you nose and your palm. He's great. That's all there is to say about it. If pressed to recommend a book for neophytes, I'd recommend Good Omens or Neverwhere, if only because that's where I started and it will give you a good indication of what to expect his other stuff. Mostly.

If you prefer movies, go and rent Mirrormask. Slightly more off the wall that his other stuff perhaps, but then he was mostly involved with the writing, the visuals are primarily the work of the director and visionary visual artist, Dave McKean.

And if that wasn't enough, it appears from reading the letters to Neil that one of my favourite bands, They Might Be Giants, will be writing music for an upcoming movie adaptation of Niel's book Coraline.

Goodness with a side order of full-strength geek rock. Nice.

Sometimes things aren't so bad

2006-05-23T20:34:00.000+04:00

I had never really intended to do this kind of thing, but then how often to you get to travel to exotic new locales and experience a alien culture firsthand. And after one of my friends suggested that I probably should keep a record of this stuff, I figured a blog is as good as anything else. Plus it'll mean I need to write fewer emails to keep my friends updated.

And for all of those people who've had me kvetching about the slowness of the job - for the uninitiated who care, I'm here for work - things have been good this week. We dropped about 20 tonnes of shiny, new equipment into place with ease in the last two days. Machines which should have, on previous luck, been just 'that much' too big for the gap through which were supposed fit, slipped past all obstructions like a greased eel in a teflon leotard. Julibation ensued. So work is good.

Well...for me anyway.

One of my colleagues has followed a dose of Delhi Belly (or as a Englishman I met in Karnataka put it, Bangalore Bottom) with a case of flu. So spare a thought for casualties.