Departure and Dharavi

MUMBAI, MAHARASHTRA - 20th November 2009

Surprise surprise, leaving Mangalore yesterday wasn't exactly fun. Without wanting to sound like a broken record, leaving "home" is a pretty uniquely emotional experience for me (and, I guess, most of my family), though trying to articulate why is always hard - after all everyone always says and knows holidays have to come to an end - and 6 weeks is certainly enough. The only way I can think to describe it is like this: coming to Mangalore isn't so much a holiday, which is a break from your normal life, as a shift to another, equally integral part of your life. So when you leave, you're also leaving that part of your life too... which is pretty gutting. What made it harder than usual was that, unlike almost every other time I've left before, this time I had no idea when I'd be back again.

However, it's pretty pointless for anyone to sit dwelling on sorrows, especially when time in India is limited - and coming to Mumbai presented 6 days to achieve a whole swathe of new experiences, beginning immediately after i landed yesterday with a trip to a Hindu wedding. As is standard here, there were something in the region of 1000 attendees - all dressed in the most vibrant colours imaginable, and none moreso than the bride's family. The level of gold and general jewelry on display would have had a souk owner licking his lips - there were things glistening on pretty much every part of every girl/woman's body. It would have made an excellent fashion parade.

The bridal couple had, funnily enough, been inadvertantly set up by my aunt. As kids they'd played together in the same block of flats, but years later, when they were teenagers, my aunt gave them and a load of friends a bunch of free tickets to the movies. These two sat next to each other, and the rest is history...! (As an aside, kudos to my Dad for jumping at the opportunity to suggest Mamta give me some free movie tickets... )

I jumped from one end of the opulent spectrum to the other today though, when fellow Pembrokian Anna (lately of "Young Pavlova" fame) invited me to join her and her friend on a tour of Dharavi - Asia's biggest slum. The tour was pretty impressive - people see Dharavi stretching for miles in every direction when they come in to land in Mumbai, but only by being on the ground can you appreciate the sheer level and scale of industry happening under the corregated iron rooftops. Our tour took us inside plastic recycling houses (guess where you're white recycling bags in Sevenoaks ultimately end up...), leather manufacturing shops, pottery barns and bakeries. For sure, every one of your senses takes a battering - the sight of rotting garbage, the stench of sewage, noise of machinery and motors in every direction, and of course kids jumping to shake hands with you every step of the way - but it's great to see how people don't stife in adversity, but work as hard as the next man. The place may be a slum, but it's got the productivity of Canary Wharf - perhaps not in value, but certainly in effort.

En route, I jumped at the opportunity to bowl a few balls at the local slum kids playing make-shift versions of cricket. It really is true that whatever language you speak, or wherever you're from - sport unites everyone.

The All-Day Eatathon

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 18th November 2009

First things first - thank you for all the texts, phone calls and facebook messages for my birthday yesterday; a special mention must go to "Young Pavlova", who managed to achieve all of the above inside the space of 4 and a half minutes.

Those of you lucky enough to catch my facebook status yesterday would have seen something along the lines of "Dean is in the middle of an involuntary all-day eatathon". I feel it is something worth expanding upon, as the involuntary nature of it is fairly integral to any proper description of life in Mangalore.

As a general rule, life in Mangalore revolves around 3 things - breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If you're a local, various other things probably also feature, but the above are the Trinity of the God that is food. And, funnily enough, it is never more apparent than when a visitor arrives in town.

A visitor in the house means even more food than usual. If 4 people are eating, the food on the table should - as a conservative estimate - be enough to feed about 15, or else there's not enough prepared. And, in order to make the maths work, each of the 4 will be expected to eat the quantity of 4 normal people. I've already mentioned that the concept of a "light lunch" has yet to come arrive in Mangalore - if you're a guest in a house a third helping is nothing short of compulsory. You'd sooner be castrated than be allowed to finish without taking a second.

Over the years, I've been known to somewhat exaggerate in order to make a point; indeed the term "a Deanism" (defined roughly as "a statement that is so confidently uttered that it is assumed true, but is in fact either partially or wholly made up") had a brief foray into popular usage during my second year of university. However, it is safe to say that on this occasion the level of exaggeration is low-to-medium - as any "Mangy" will testify.

Occasionally though, a perfect storm of factors come together to create a near-apocalyptic level of compulsory food intake. Such an occasion took place on the 17th November 2009, as my birthday combined with a "Last Supper" in light of my impending departure from Mangalore. To put this in brutal terms, the usual "you've-got-to-eat-more-because-you're-on-holiday" orders were combined with a celebratory "it's-your-birthday-therefore-you-have-to-eat-more" special, itself conversely punctuated by the more sombre "you're-leaving-in-two-days-so-you're-got-to-savour-the-food" line of argument. Thus, the usual 3-Feasts-in-a-Day consumption model was thrown out the window, instead replaced with a Perpetual-Eating model that follows the rule "any second you're not eating is a second wasted".

So, I woke up to my favourite Indian breakfast - a veritable mountain of "panpalehs" (see left - a.k.a. "neer dosa") - sort of like pancakes but with a rice-batter, and with a texture of lace. After that came a round of fruit (sweet limes, plantains), soon followed by a round of sweets - jalebis, mithai ladoos, chocolates and more (click for images).

Then, one by one various relatives/friends invariably drop by the house to wish you for your birthday. As is customary, they are offered a tray full of the above sweets, and of course the birthday boy is obliged to match whatever anyone else is eating pound-for-pound. At some stage the eating blends into lunch - the usual table full, this time with two meat curries, one vegetable curry, some fried chicken, two types of rice, appams (something like giant rice chappattis), and probably more. Lunch is followed by more fruit and more sweets, and the latter then runs through to evening, when the real feast happens (as all the family comes together in celebration). So add to the mix chinese fried rice, manchurian-style chicken drumsticks, another chicken curry... and then of course birthday cake afterward.

It goes without saying that, although still a highly trained athlete, I am no longer quite in the shape I was after 4 weeks of daily runs (nothing like the boredom of revision to spur on exercise!). But don't fret - my grandma assures me that "it doesn't matter - you're on holiday!"

Beyond Belief

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 13th November 2009

Every so often something comes along that unites almost all people in communal disbelief. September 2008 saw one of those occasions, when a bunch of Hindu fundamentalists turned up at at a small chapel here in Mangalore armed with swords, iron bars and wooden clubs, and proceeded to smash the place - and anything and everything inside - to pieces. Those unfamiliar with the events should read the Enquiry Report, which gives a full account that I won't repeat here (and also explains the significance of certain things if you're a non-Catholic), but a brief summary is found on Wikipedia -

A group of youth from Hindu nationalist organization went inside the chapel of Adoration Monastery of the Sisters of St-Clare in Milagres and, in a quick succession, desecrated a crucifix, the tabernacle and the Eucharist, the monstrance, the oil lamps, the vases on the altar and a few statues of saints.

Up to 10 churches or prayer halls were attacked the same day across Mangalore, and the following days saw mass protests from Catholics in the area. At the Monastery, the battered and beaten crucifix, itself a heritage work of rare art, was left as it was for all to see - and subsequently has been placed in its own glass case outside the Chapel.

Yesterday we visited the monastery - a small, modest place hidden away from the busy Falnir Road; accessed from a tiny lane too small for vehicles to pass, noticeable only from a small sign off the main road. The monastery itself is private for cloistered nuns, but as a "Perpetual Adoration Monastery", the linked public chapel is always open, with the Blessed Sacrament always on display (see Enquiry Report for explanation of the significance of the Blessed Sacrament).

As you enter your eyes are drawn to a corner of the small lobby area, outside the entrance to the Chapel. Whether though instinct or conscious thought, you cannot help but shake your head as you approach; the shock of seeing the battered, broken pieces of the Crucifix slowly sinking in as you move closer. The Crucifix, alongside is smashed Monstrance, is encased in a glass display; the glass marked simply with "14/09/2008, 10.20am", and the words "Thus, I Loved You".

As I'm still unable to get my photos from the computer to the net, but this photo of the Crucifix is found on Manglorean.com.

I'd seen the photos like these over the internet from England last year when it all kicked off but, like so many things you experience through life, the chilling, spine-tingling effect of seeing it first hand invokes feelings that can never be felt through a photograph on a screen. Leaving religion, creed, and anything else aside, you are forced to sit back and wonder what sort of mindset could possibly possess someone (or several people) to do something so shocking.

But, at the same time, seeing it out on display as it is - a constant reminder for all to see - has the same symbolic resonance as seeing the US flag fluttering above the rubble at Ground Zero, or the bullet holes left littered on the glass of the still-bustling Leopold Cafe in Mumbai. You can safely say that some things will never die.

Check me out...

Thanks and Happy Birthday (again) to my cousin Anjali, who pointed out over the phone that I could have posted a link to the Bangalore Times e-Paper so that everyone can see my ground-breaking appearance on page 3.

So... click here! I'm the one called "Team"!

Sunday Drive XL

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 9th November 2009

Sunday afternoons represent another long-standing family tradition in Mangalore - the family drive. The number of family taking part fluctuate (other than my grandma, whose presence is a given), depending on who's actually in Mangalore, but with both my uncle down from Mumbai and myself present, at 4.20pm yesterday we were all systems go.

In my newfound capacity as family driver, I took the wheel as we embarked on a leisurely cruise up to Bajpe Airport - the colloquial name for Mangalore Airport (taken from the name of the area adjacent to the old terminal building). Much like all of Mangalore, the airport is currently in the midst of a massive redevelopment - the first stage of which involved the construction of a brand new runway.

In days gone by (specifically, up to 2006 or so), landing at Mangalore would have been one of those outside-the-box challenges that broke pilots' collective boredom from daily metronomic routine. The old runway was short - very short - with a 500ft sheer drop into valleys at either end. To put it in perspective just how short is short, a standard airport runway (e.g. Heathrow) is 12,000ft long (a bit over 3500 metres); the old Mangalore runway was 1615 metres. So with a less-than-half-length runway to deal with, pilots landing at Bajpe had to decide by half-way down the runway whether they had enough time to come to a halt, or else re-accelerate and try again second time. Not for the faint of heart at any time, but come between June and August and you're combining an already dubious landing with an ever-changing wind direction (the airport's on top of a hill), the liquefied battering of monsoon rain, and visibility on a par with the Sahara desert at midnight. Pretty grim.

But what with India's explosive growth and Mangalore's increasing importance in Karnataka and in general in southern India, a half-baked airport was never going to last long (however entertaining it was for kids travelling with mothers who already hate flying). A brand spanking new runway was built, alongside 24 hour approach lighting (allowing for night flights), and all of a sudden Mangalore was an international airport - flights from all sorts of Middle East destinations turn up every day. But the second part was the building of a new international calibre terminal, which is now almost complete.

This blog may seem to have swung wildly off topic, but the crux of the story is that while we were driving up en route to the old airport - a 30km ride all the way around the hill that Bajpe sits on top, we chanced our luck on the new concrete slip road towards the new terminal (built on the "front" on the hill, thus knocking half the distance off the journey). The road has literally been constructed straight up what was a sheer cliff - imagine a concrete dual carriageway, breaking every 25 metres into a huge hairpin bends). The engineering to get the road built is spectacular, but not half as spectacular as the view from the top. To the south west lies the city centre of Mangalore, its urban sprawl contained by the rivers that surround it, and out beyond the Arabian Sea spreads out into infinity. To the north-west lies MRPL - Mangalore Refinery and Petrochemical Ltd. - a massive refinery complex (surprise surprise) that is one of the major heavy industries located around the outskirts of the city... but it turned out we'd be seeing a lot more of it that I thought at the time.

Thoroughly pleased with ourselves for seeing the new terminal building and the view for the first time, we heading back down, but decided to head on up to the old airport anyway. Getting closer there, we decided to wing a left and head towards the Bajpe village... and then one thing led to another and we kept driving down the road. I say "one thing led to another" - one village led to another, and bar a good sense of direction none of us really knew where we were - other than that we were heading north so we should stick a left somewhere.

Eventually we saw a sign that suggested we'd arrived in Kateel... I'd be lying if I said I'd ever heard of the place but it seemed to register with the others, and so onwards we marched (*drove) through some of the best roads I've ever seen in South Canara district. It was just like driving down a typical English countryside road - smooth as silk, greenery sprawling in every direction either side of you, and not a car to be seen for 10, even 15 minutes at a time. At one stage, far over to our south-west, we saw the massive exhaust towers of the MRPL complex... a fair reflection on how far we'd come.

Eventually we ended up in Kinnigoly, and passing the opportunity to pick up some good looking watermelons, we head westward to National Highway 17, and bombed it back down the coast to Mangalore - now passing MRPL from the West. Final journey distance? According to a Google Map I just drew, a cool 65km...

And you can see all the details - including Howzat's location - below! Double-click to zoom in...

View Long drive in a larger map

Blessing of Graves

MANGALORE, KARNATAKA - 3rd November 2009

In 21 years, this is the first time I have left England in the months of October or November - months that co-incide with a whole host of festivities/celebrations in India. Things like Diwali and pretty well known, but here in Mangalore with its massive Catholic influence, there are certain Christian traditions that are pretty special over here.

Sunday, the 1st November, is one of them - the annual blessing of graves on All Saints Day - the eve of All Souls Day. You can't really say you "like graveyards", but in what is probably another facet of Mangalore feeling like home, the graveyard behind Milagres Church has always seemed like another sort of home - a place where all my family - both my Mum's and Dad's - are buried going back countless years; a place that, in the words of one of my aunts, "unites everyone". It is something I've rarely seen in the UK - probably because families move far and wide so there's no real concept of "home"... but Mangalore is in many ways a very insular town (/city) - particularly among the Catholic community.

Anyway, just before sunset on the 1st November, all the families of the Departed gather around the graves of their family members - the graves themselves are adorned with flowers, candles, and petals and whole families will gather together around their common stones. For us, we gathered around the grave of my maternal grandfather, although I was also able to be present at my paternal grandparents' grave a little way across the graveyard. The whole place is full of people - the vast majority of graves have at least someone around them - and after some introductory prayers, several priests process between graves, blessing them and scattering holy water.

Every year on the 1st November, my Mum has always told me about the Blessing of Graves back home, and what a beautiful ceremony it is; naturally my imagination formed some sort of vision of what to expect. Nevertheless, being part of it first-hand is something that cannot be described fully with words. The graveyard itself is lit up, shining like a beacon in the surrounding afterglow of sunset, and in among the immaculately maintained footpaths and flowerbeds hundreds of people move among glistening tombs, assembling together around a common family member. After some initial prayers from the Parish Priest, several priests disperse among the graveyard, each sprinkling Holy Water over the graves in their designated area, their movements followed by the background echo of a choir.

It is something that has to be experienced to be appreciated, but there are few things that make a family, regardless of circumstance, feel closer together than when united in love and memory, alongside a whole community of friends doing the same. It is something very special in Mangalore - there aren't many other places that have the same Catholic heritage but equally have families that have remained true to their roots - even those that have spread far and wide invariably return.

An Indian Perspecitive (on F1)...

Closer followers of my journalistic career may be aware that over the last year I've been moonlighting as a guest contributor for The Times'* (award-winning) F1 blog. Having watched the first race I've seen in a month yesterday, and in the spirit of being in India, I've just written something for the first time in a while. Those interested can read the transcript here. As a mouth-watering taster of the fascinating insights that follow, here are the first three paragraphs:

I've been in India for the last month as the first stage of a "gap year" tour around the world (which coincidentally explains my total disappearance from this blog since September), and as this season ends I feel obliged to provide some sort of voice for what could well be F1's largest worldwide following.

Due to various travels, I ended up missing the live telecasts of pretty much the entire climax to the season, with the exception of yesterday's Abu Dhabi bonanza. However, that is in no way reflective of the coverage of F1 over here - whether or not you watch the race, you'll be sure to find out the result whether you want to or not. I think this is the 15th time I've been India (my "other" home), and this has always been the case. Every qualifying and race is broadcast, but more pertinently the practice sessions are covered as well - something we lacked in the UK for years until BBC took over again this season. Coverage in the print media is also excellent, and for good reason too - after cricket (which you are better considering as a religion than a sport here), F1 probably garners the second greatest interest across the board.

As I say, this has been the case for years. My love of F1 almost certainly developed here in India as a 6-year old tyke, when my uncle would sit me down every Sunday to bear witness to the ministry of Michael Schumacher back in his Bennetton days. "Man over machine", as he would describe it - and too right he was. And certainly, I have met no one anywhere else in the world more passionate and knowledgeable about the sport than him. And while he is an individual, he's a representation of F1's following in India - it is everywhere. Drive around the roads here (at your peril), and you'll be passed by many a 2-wheeler, wriggling between cars like a rat on wheels. What you'll quickly spot is the remarkable number of moving adverts for Marlboro cigarettes... and indeed for various other brands that happened to adorn Michael Schumacher's helmet back in the day. Since helmets became compulsory a few years back, replica's of MS's design have sold like hot cakes - though the odd replica Alonso and Hamilton wouldn't be a total surprise on the streets of Mumbai. What strikes home is that the appreciation of the sport in the country - the passionate following of a team or a driver that has been present in India for years on end (certainly throughout my lifetime) - is totally independent of national interest. (continue reading)

For those really interested, some of my previous F1 articles for The Times' blog can be found here, here or here.


* I keep seeing and keep getting annoyed by the same repeated mistake - particularly in the US media. "The Times" is the original Times newspaper, and is called The Times. Not "The London Times" or "The Times of London". And yes, it also invented "Times New Roman".