DUBAI DOO BE DOO

I'm tapping this out happily on a computor in Dubai Airport (which is HUGE by the way!), waiting for my connecting flight to Istanbul. Ay gevalt! What a journey! Six hours on a bus from Madikeri to Bangalore plus one hour in a taxi to the airport yesterday, a six hour wait for a 4.15am flight, and now an eight hour wait for my flight to Istanbul. But after two months of travel accross India in which I took planes, trains and automobiles (not to mention autorickshaws and knackered goverment buses, or even a few motorcycle rides!) I am more of a hardy traveller than Odysseus and so can take it in my stride!

My last week at the School was miraculous. As I said, the children seemed fitter, stronger, healthier and more wonderful than the first time round. When I arrived, with a magnificent feeling of coming home, they call came rushing up to the gate to greet me, crying out 'Jake Uncle!' and giving me huge hugs with massive smiles bursting on their faces. The light in their eyes was unforgettable. Even kids who I hadn't thought I had made any impression on ran up and pushed forward to say hello and have a hug. And then to top it all, the crowd suddenly parted and one of them, Bharati, pointed and said 'Baldy Suresh is sleeping but he is coming now'. Startled that he was still known as Baldy Suresh thanks to me I looked up and there was a little sleepy bundle being carried across the School by an older kid. Baldy was put in my arms and I gave him a big hug, but he was grumpy-tired and didn't recognise me. Nevertheless it was wonderful to see him and them.

A month and a half had passed since I left and the seasons had shifted, so the School looked different. It had clearly had a lot of rain as the foliage was rich and green and abundant where it had been arid and dusty in Feb. The whole place felt very full-blooded and confident. There were new Teachers there as well as Laurie and Aleli, both of whom it was wonderful to see. More of these new Teachers later.

It was great to be back and I sat in the main office with Aleli and Laurie and we chatted about my adventures. It was equally lovely to be back at Gungama's house with her wonderful cooking. Shame I had to get ANOTHER stomach bug which laid me out for a day, but I guess it was another purification process going on. AS before, there were people there to help and nurse me through, putting my mind at rest that I didn't have Cholera (thank you, J G Farrel's otherwise superb THE SIEGE OF KRISHNAPUR) and getting me on my feet. Phew! At least I felt I aachieved something only getting a runny tummy on my last week in India.

But what a last week! In Madikeri, the place which I had feared when I was first there, I was greeted as an old friend in all the shops I went into. Madikeri too was transformed by the weather and the greenery into somewhere rather nice... I fell in love with it in the end!

But the kids, the kids, the kids... So wonderful. So special. After a day or two I had given myself to them again and was feeling their warmth, love and vitality flowing through me. On one day, the skies opened and burst with a violent torrential rainstorm which suddenly gave way to hailstones as big as pearls or gobstoppers. Watching the kids shriek and laugh and run about in the rain was magical. It was like being taken back to one's own childhood again when the whole world was full of wonder and excitement. I realised once again how much we make ourselves lose as adults when we grow up and how we need to recapture that again if we are to make life worth living once more in this world.

We played games and I taught them songs and developed a little play with them for a presentation on my last day. Teaching them NOWHERE MAN by the Beatles and hearing their little voices sing it was like rediscovering something you thought you had lost. Going through it in detail its a work of genius. I found myself thinking how strange it was that the Beatles were the ones who opened up and popularised India for us in the West in the Sixties. I guess my time there is as much a product of their experience of the place as anything else.

We had so much fun, the kids and I. A highlight was stomping around with baldy Suresh and little Nandini wrapped round each foot like enormous slippers, their little faces a delight of fun and joy as they bounced around the School grounds. The final presentation and the gifts they gave me were lovely too.

The new Teachers were wonderful people - Jeanie, Gale, David, Roger, Peter and a slightly scary old German lady called Varina. We all found ourselves having those wonderfully rich and moving conversations that India seems to draw out of people. All of us were there for a the same reason - searching for something, seeking to escape what felt like the constricting materialism of the West. What was wonderful was, once again, the ability to talk about life, feelings, ideas which we felt we had to hide in the UK and America quite naturally. As we spoke, we all found ourselves enriched and strengthened by each other's ideas and experience. I learnt so much from them and found myself deeply inspired by what they were doing. I wish them all well on their individual quests and I hope we all stay in touch. To be able to make connections in this way, to meet people like this and pool experiences, is wonderful. As Jeanie said, in India one is allowed to be on a spiritual journey. Indeed its expected. Thus one feels free to explore that side of oneself without feeling afraid of being attacked or ridiculed or met with incomprehension. I cannot tell you the freedom that brings. One feels wounds healing and energies flowing which had only felt blocked and ashamed of themselves in the UK. Now I feel so much more whole, there is so much less doubt and I know that there are whole communities of people I now know and can call upon all over the world who are on the same journey as me and maybe I can help others who are asking the same questions as well...

So here I am in Dubai airport waiting for my connecting flight for Istanbul for the final leg of the Flight of Pegasus (for the time being). What have a I learnt from India? What will I take away? Well, three magical months of richness, learning, adventure and inspiration for a start. A new confidence in the knowledge that have actually done such a thing - cut loose, followed my heart and negotiated my way around India in one piece. I have seen things and met people I will never forget, and perhaps released an energy into my life which will always be nourishing. Highlights? Well the Taj, the Lotus Temple, the Ramana Maharshi Ashram to name but three. Best hotels? The Valli in Thanjavur, Biju's in Ernakulam and Sheela's in Agra. Worst? Well it has to be the shit-bedecked N S Lodge in Tiruvannamalai. Most mystical experiences? Sitting in the Meditation Room in Ramana Maharshi's Ashram, the Temple at Thanjavur, the Samadhi in the Aurobindo Ashram in Pondicherry and watching the Taj Mahal in the sunset.

But most special? Well you know what I am going to say...

Those wonderful, wonderful children in that School - Siva, Rajendra, Navendra, Amitha, Anjinama, Manjanath, Kelyani, Baldy Suresh and all the other magnificent kids with their shining eyes, their laughter, their delight in the world in spite of the horror they have seen... They will stay with me always and I know that whenever I am down the memory of them will restore me.

I thank the Cosmos for this opportunity and this voyage of discovery. I have seen that there is magic in the world, that there is wonder, that there is love and that there is possibility. Its location is India. It is focussed, for me, on a mountain in Koorg, but in fact it is all over that wonderful, mystical, maddening, harrowing, inspirational country...

And I have been there and I am deeply grateful... Thank you all who have followed this Blog for travelling with me. It has been a pleasure and it has been fun to feel that people have been entertained or even inspired by this adventure...

And now, let us see what happens next....

BACK WITH THE BABS

So here I am, back with the Babs at the Children's Project finding them, if anything, more beautiful, more rich, more full of love than before. But first, a quick rewind.

My stay in Delhi ended pleasantly. My last day was spent quietly in the YMCA chilling out, resting and watching telly. In the evening, I met up with a friend of my cousin Eleanor's, Kartikey, a young Indian guy from Delhi. We had a great time in Connaught Place popping into bars, chatting and eating. I had a chance to see Delhi's nightlife and its fun, although a little surreal at times, taking place as it is among the strangely British buildings of CP while also stepping over dramatically disfigured professional beggars in the street. Kartikey was very sanguine about a street boy, not disimilar to those at the School, for instance, but then in India this is what they are used to. We ended up sharing a beer in a bizarre Cowboy themed bar called RODEO in which Indian waiters wandered around in cowboy hats and boots and then went on to enjoy a chicken and egg wrap in a nearby cafe. Delicious. We discussed all sorts of things - politics, the Taliban, racism, the UK, Obama - with Kartikey giving me refreshing insights from his perspective. It was a good evening.

Returning to Bangalore via the plane from Delhi had its own adventures too. I was driven to the spanking new terminal by the Sikh guy who had driven me from the station when I arrived. To my dismay, although I shouldn't have been surprised, it was an enormous construction, just like any new terminal in Europe. In other words, once again, I could have been home, with the same Costa Coffees and Starbucks everywhere. Never mind. The experience of being at home continued all the way to Bangalore on the flight, which felt like any domestic flight I have ever taken. But I didn't let it upset me. I just let it happen and enjoyed the sense of security and familiarity.

As ever, destiny engineered and interesting encounter on the flight. A distinguished Indian woman sitting next to me, interested in the book I was reading, struck up a conversation. It turned out she was a Sitar player and disciple of Ravi Shankar. We had a wonderful conversation and exchanged contact details, vowing to communicate. India offered me one more fascinating connection!

In Bangalore I found myself in another interestingly homely but also dingy hotel with another comedy bathroom (where WAS all that water coming from really?). But it was nice to be back in Bangalore, even though the ostentatious wealth was still a bit of freak out! The next day I hooked up with Will, one of the guys from the School who was there for a few days. We had a great time in a strange NASA-themed restaurant (waiters dressed as Space Pilots!) and caught a Keanu Reeves movie which was just very violent. Then we parted, vowing also to stay in touch, which I know we will...

And so back to Madikeri and the School. Its been like the last chapter of a book where the main character returns to where he started. The six hour drive through Karnataka was amazing. After all my journeys, nothing compares the mystical landscape of this region. God put on a great show, with a dazzling sunset of flowing light and majestic flowing colours and trees everywhere. When I left Karnataka before, it was still dry and arid but beautful. Now with the rains it is lush, green and fertile. Magnificent. My heart burst watching it...

THen MAdikeri late at night. Like coming home. Then a crazy drive with a confused rickshaw driver getting lost in the dark. As the rickshaw paused to make a call, I looked out into the foliage and saw it alive with fireflys. I had never seen anything more magical in my life. Amazing.

Alas, returning here brought with it another attack of the wobbly bots. Not much fun. A sleepness night of sitting on the loo and vomiting. Ah India! I love you!

But the School - the School! What a welcome these kids gave me! What love, what smiles, what joy! And what confidence the school now has. THe kids look healthy and joyous. The leaves are full and there is green everywhere.

This is a special place. I know more than ever something wonderful is happening here... But I cannot say more as I must rush.

My time in India is almost over. Next Friday I fly to Istanbul my final adventures in Turkey, Greece and France before returning home, perhaps a new man. Who knows? Before I go, tell me - should my Blog end with India or would you like me to continue with the final flights?

Answers on a postcard! Speak soon!

DELHI DELIGHTS

After the ups and downs of yesterday, I hired the same taxi man to take me around some more sights in southern Delhi. This time, it was fascinating...

I still feel a bit all at sea here as its so big. I also feel very touristy, which I haven't elsewhere. This is a true capital city, vast and majestic, with a life which will always go on without you. I love the atmosphere. Its much more laid back than anywhere else I have been. The air of confidence is palpable. I think it would be possible to be born and live in Delhi all your life and never see anything else of India, much like so many other capitals of the world. As a consequence, of course, you would never get a sense of your own country. We are miles away from the privations and suffering I saw in places like Madurai or Tiruvanammalai. Many of the south Indians I met would marvel at what there is in Delhi.

Pizzas for instance. I managed to find one yesterday, although not with a beer, alas. It was very welcome. Just what I needed. And not too expensive. I fell into conversation with two Delhi students sitting next to me who I liked, although quite soon I may invest in a little lapel badge saying, 'Thank you for not asking if I am married'. A bit late, I suppose, as I've been asked it by pretty much everyone everywhere in India. Its nothing kinky, its just polite over here. Since no-one reaches my age without getting married very much over here it comes as a shock to Indians when I have to explain that I am not. THey ask to make conversation. Family is important over here. Some Westerners I have met have turned to saying 'Yes I am married' and sprouting fantasy children back home so as to short circuit the conversation. Ah well. I was warned.

Today kicked off with a drive around the Parliament buildings and the nearby India Gate. They are huge, far larger than anything we have in the UK. They also give you the rather surreal sense of BEING in the UK as they look as if they were lifted directly from London, which, in a sense, they were. We Brits built them during the Raj. It feels odd to think that the newly independent Indian Government should not have decided to build their own Parliament buildings in 1948 and instead chose to continue to meet in the old British seat of power. But hey! Who am I to judge?

As well as the Parliament buildings there is a the President's Residency at the apex, facing the India Gate down a long, Washington-like walkway. In fact the whole place has that Washington, Masonic feel. Impressive, but odd.

After that, the driver took me to Hamuyan's Tomb, which is the burial site of the first of the Moghul rulers (Akbar's dad I think). As in Agra, it is a masterpiece of design, set in cool, relaxing gardens. Beside the entrance is the Sarai (Rest)building of the Architect who built it. A well-wisher on the net had dropped me a snotty e suggesting I was immoral for liking the Taj Mahal because of the brutal way in which its architect was treated after it (eyes poked out so that he couldn't build another one. THanks for that. I will burn all my pictures tomorrow) and I hoped the same hadn't happened to this guy...

The Tomb itself is breathtaking. A little like the Taj, the central mausoleum just gives you this incredible sense of space. Three stories high with Hayuman's grave in the middle, like Akbar's burial place, it is very cool and simple. Each window is filled with wonderful geometric patterns through which the light pours. Looking around me, I noticed the whole thing was in the round, just like the Royal Exchange where I worked and the Round Churches the Templars used to build. Its so clear to me now how our architecture in Europe was changed by our encounter with Islam during the Crusades. Islam itself was in turn influenced by its encounter with Byzantium, basing its Mosques on Byzantine Churches. This particular tomb was also influenced by Persian design. In the end, the myth that the different religions and cultures all sprang up independently of each other is just so much self-deluding crap. We have always been flowing together, even when at war.

I loved Hayuman's Tomb and left it reluctantly, but needs must. Next stop was Nizramuddin's Tomb in the Muslim quarter of town. This was a smidge of a disappointment (although I have a feeling I missed something), but visiting the bustling Muslim area was like going back in time, although it was clear how depressed the community was. It must be hard having once been the rulers of India now being a small but significant minority. I don't know how prosperous the Muslims are in India but this enclave looked tough.

From there to the wonderful Lotus Temple of the Bahai faith. I think this has been the highlight of my stay in Delhi and I would count it as one of the most beautiful things I have seen out here. It looks a little like Sydney Opera House and is built in the form of an enormous closed Lotus of white surrounded by pools of blue water and a vast, elegant garden. Aerial shots of it in the complex itself reveal its beauty even more as, like so many others of the sacred sites I have seen out here, its layout reveals itself in all its splendour from above (those who think this means ancient sites were built to be viewed by Aliens flying above take heed... that wasn't the plan here and need not have been the plan elsewhere).

Unlike everywhere else I have been, no-one in the Lotus Temple wanted my money. The Bahai clearly have high standards of honour and take what they do seriously rather than as a way of cadging rupees (mind you, they all looked a lot more prosperous than most of the guys I saw in the other siets of worship. I am almost certainly being unfair. I guess I am losing my patience with endlessly being seen as a cash cow, especially here in Delhi). You approach the Temple along an elegant pathway through the gardens. In keeping with the syncretic idea of the Bahai, in which all religions are welcome and seen as speaking of the same reality, it is circular with nine petals of the lotus fanning out from the centre. Like the Taj, it is built so that its backdrop is the sky and the sky alone. It reminded me a little of the Matramandir I saw in Auroville too, although the Lotus Temple is far more beautiful, to me anyway.

Inside, one sits in complete silence in the vast open space beneath the lotus ceiling, in the centre of which is a star-shaped design with nine points. Its wonderfully peaceful and in no way austere, unwelcoming, gloomy or oppressive. The ethic of the place is that everyone is welcome to just sit and meditate or take in the vibe. There are no ceremonies or sermons. Its just an open, welcoming space. I loved it. A Temple to humanity, which is where the Bahai believe God resides.

The texts around the Temple were not so inspiring, but the ethic on display was. Total equality of gender, class, race etc and an open policy towards all religions. I read that Gandhi described the Bahai Faith as 'a solace to all'. I remembered that Dr David Kelly was a Bahai follower, which made me think a little. Interestingly, my cuz Eleanor told me that part of the inspiration of the movement was Akbar's policy of tolerance for all religions and attempt to synthesise them into a new one. It was a great place.

People are no doubt wondering about my interest in all these religions and asking themselves what I really believe and why I don't follow one. The reason I don't follow one and don't think I ever will is because I am interested in the universality of spirituality, in which case signing up to one at the exclusion of the others is not of interest to me. I also don't think any of them are complete and I reserve the freedom to persue these issues in my own way. I have a deep love and interest in them all - although not uncritically so - and am fascinated by their expression down through time and around me. They speak of something very profound with in us, whether or not one believes in God or not. This is why India is so rich for me as its ethos is pretty much the same. While there have always been and will be conflicts, in essence spirituality is allowed in all its forms in India. You will work hard to find many Atheists, but by and large, intolerance is not predominant and so one can see every spirituality in action wherever you want...

From the Lotus Temple then onwards to... a craftworks shop... Thanks car driver. As this has happened to me 300 times already in India I just rolled my eyes and played along, refusing to buy anything. Tea was offered, I was shown how to weave a Kashmir rug and efforts were made to enable me to buy a sandlewood statue but to no avail. It was a shame as I had grown to like my driver. Ah well...

He finished by dropping me at a second Sikh Gurudwara in Delhi just round the corner to the YMCA. Again I loved it. Again like the Lotus Temple, no-one was after my money. The Sikh ethic is one of openness and honour, so the shoekeeper people didn't ask for money, the doormen didn't ask for money and so on. As I was about to enter teh Gurudwara itself the spearcarrying guard gestured to my head and I realised I needed to wear a bandana. When he could see I had no idea how to tie it he stepped forward, selected one for me and put it on my head for me. He didn't ask me for any money and instead looked at me warmly and said 'Welcome'. THAT is how it should be done. I like the Sikhs! Honour to that man.

The classic image of India of a man with a beard in a long robe wearing a turban is actually Sikh. The clothes traditional Sikhs wear mark them out. One becomes aware of how powerful the sense of community they have is. It is centred round the idea of the Kalsa, the military tradition which rises up to protect the community in times of threat. Although one gets a feeling of the enormous strength of Sikh men (they are big guys!), one doesn't get a sense of any prnt up anger or rage as one sometimes gets from other religions. Its as if they are all guardsmen of their community but have a strong sense of self discipline. As yesterday, the vibe in the Gurudwara is very welcoming and egalitarian. People come and go, sit together, pray and talk while people sing and recite Scripture (very important for the Sikhs, who revere their Holy Book, the Granth, almost as a God, the repository of the Divine Word). In both Gurudwaras there were rooms in which bearded, robed men with flywhisks were sitting studying the Granth quietly.

As you can tell, I really liked the Sikhs I encountered both here and yesterday. I felt very safe with them, which I haven't always felt everywhere else. No-one tried to scam or cheat me. Instead I felt honoured, welcomed and respected. These felt like good people.

I spent a little time walking around the water of the Gurudwara's Temple Tank, which was lovely in the baking sun, and then headed back to the YMCA for a little lunch. After that, I headed into Connaught Place to find a bookshop. I enjoyed the search, but felt a little wearied by the endless people targeting me and trying it on, from a rickshaw wallah trying to convince me that the shop on my map which was only round the corner was actually miles away to a guy on Connaught Place itself who tried to sell me yet more crappy postcards. When I said, 'No thanks. I have my own camera.' He whipped out, quick as a flash and without breaking his step, a snake charmer's flute and started blowing on it uselessly.

"Flute, sir?" he asked.

I was about to ask him if he had a cousin in Mysore, where I had run a relay race of idiots trying to sell me flutes one after the other as if although I had refused one I had in fact been holding out for the next guy, and then thought better of it.

"No thanks" I said.

At which point he whipped out, seemingly from nowhere (did he have pockets like Dr Who? Where had the flute and postcards gone?) what looked like a cross between a bong and I don't know what...

"Pipe sir?"

"No thanks" I said and moved on, narrowly avoiding another guy who was about to volunteer directions unasked, no doubt hoping for a rupee or two for the information. This went on for a while and I never found the bookshop, although I did find two others, one of which sold me a wonderful rare book at a discount. That's India. The pestering can be draining, but the gems of decency which suddenly jump out make the heart shine. And its not really that bad and no-one means any harm, just after three months of it it can be a bit wearying. Maybe next time someone has
a go at it I will just say, "Look I have been here three months and I know the game. I am not buying..."

So today comes to an end. One more day in Delhi and then down to Bangalore and then Koorg for my last week with the kids. And then, Europe... I am just a month away from London. India is almost over, at least for this episode. It has been and will continue to be, no doubt, amazing, life-enhancing, mind-expanding. I know a lot more about myself and the world and I don't intend to let all that just go back into the box when I get back... I am looking forward to seeing everyone but I am not going to allow myself to get into the same fix I got myself in before I came out. After all those wobbles at the beginning, I don't feel afraid any more. Who knows what lies ahead of me? I may write a book! We shall see... But before I return, I am going to enjoy what I have left. India, Turkey, Greece, France and then London.

Love to all and thank you for reading!

ITS FUN TO STAY AT THE...

So here I am, finally, in Delhi.

I was sorry to leave Agra, though leave it I had to. Even at 7am in the morning with my gaze firmly set on Delhi I had to run the gauntlet of determined touts and rickshaw wallahs having a go. I ended up being the focus of an argument between two such guys, ending up going with the most honest one. Ah well.

Agra station was still honking and this time heaving with people. As soon as I got there a gent appeared who told me my train was delayed by one hour and was going from Platform 5 and while I was waiting, would I like my shoes shined? Since I was wearing trainers, I wasn't sure how one could shine them. 'Brushed,' he said quickly, giving me a plaintive look, 'I am very poor.' Doubtless he was, but I was getting increasingly peed off with being seen as a cash cow for everyone so moved on.

I sat on Platform 2 (where the train was ACTUALLY going from) in the morning heat while hordes of flies buzzed around after a fulfilling night gorging on poo, if the smell was anything to go by. The train was late, but not by an hour, and I got on. It was an uneventful ride. I read my Gandhi book and wondered what Delhi would be like. I remembered a really nice American woman I had met in Cochin who had spoken about it and wondered if what she had said was right. As the train pulled in, I drew a deep breath and got off, expecting an assault from touts as described in graphic details in all the Guides. Sure enough, a number of guys emerged from the crowd asking if I needed a taxi. I kept head down towards the Prepaid Taxi Booth and ended up with a Sikh guy who quoted me a good price. I was much relieved. I have always like Sikhs with their strong code of honour. It was a good way of beginning Delhi and I will use him again...

To my delight, Delhi is nothing like Mumbai. Its much more spacious, far less crowded and much more civilised. Where I am staying is very open and leafy. Its... wait for it... the YMCA! And its fun to stay at... In fact it is good to stay at. One of my contacts in Delhi, a friend of a friend called Sayoni, had recommended I stay there and she was right. Its safe, clean, perhaps a little expensive by Indian standards, and one feels comfortable. Its not full of gay men as the myths have it, in fact it has women as well as men in it. Its fine.

A quick walk into Connaught Place to topup my phone was pleasant and had me encounter the best Spurious Sales Pitch in India so far, even better than the Mysore Valentine's Day Scam attempt. This one had a young man trying to convince me that this was the celebration of the birthday of the great Dr Ambedkhar, champion of the Untouchables (this bit was true) and that in India it was good luck to buy something on this day (what do you think about this?). By lucky hap, his shop was nearby and if I went in, I might be able to win myself good luck for the rest of my life. I told him I might come back tomorrow.

Other than that, Delhi has been nice, if a little erratic. I love the vibe here, the atmosphere is great, but its up and down. I met up with Sayoni and her husband Paul for dinner in their lovely home which was terrific, but the taxi driver got lost getting there and fell asleep at the appointed time to meet, so I had to get another cab home (I roasted the booking firm at the YMCA the next day). In terms of sights, its also been erratic too. After Agra Fort and the Taj Mahal, the Red Fort was a huge let down which was a shame and the Jain Temple over the road was closed (boo). On the plus side, the nearby Sikh Gurudwara which my cousin Eleanor had recommended I visit was open, so I went to that. Shaking off a rickshaw driver who appointed himself a guide I went over and entered.

I loved it. Having explored the Hindu and Muslim houses of worship here it was great to visit a Sikh one, the first I had ever visited. Inside it is a cross between a Mosque and a Hindu Temple, the worship area being a big open space like a Mosque, but colourful and draped with garlands of flowers, throws and carpets like a Hindu temple. Men and women mix together and food is handed out for free to everyone. At each entrance a Sikh guard stands with a spear (Sikhism has a keen holy warrior ethic, although only in a defensive sense). Everyone was very welcoming and there was a strong sense of both warmth and nobility to the people within. I sat on the rugs and listened to the singing and, as with everywhere else, just drank in the atmosphere.

Going back to my driver, who rescued me again from the unwanted attentions of more competing rickshaw wallahs, I was driven to the Bila/Lakshmi Temple which is breathtaking. Its a huge complex of shrines and buildings with fascinating texts from the Vedas, the Upanishads and the Bagavad Gita everywhere on the walls. Again, I loved it...

But I think the enormity of Delhi makes focussing on what is in it quite hard, especially from the spiritual perspective as it simply isn't the centre of thecity's life as it is elsewhere. I feel a little at sea here, not unpleasantly so, just as one does when one is alone in a capital city. I am sure if I worked here I would get to know it better, but once again, its very different from anywhere else in India. It is much nicer than Mumbai but not as techno and modern as Bangalore. It feels like an Imperial City and, funnily enough, has an air of Britishness to it (not surprisingly given its location as the centre of so much British rule). Once again, India throws up a new set of experiences and impressions...

And now, forgive me as I depart. I feel a craving for a beer and maybe (heinous to say it!) a pizza! I will brave Connaught Place and find one!

Til soon!

AGRA-VATIONS AND JOYS

As is India's wont, Agra has proven to be, once again, a place of extremes! Poverty and riches, confusion and trauma and utter transcendent beauty...

The day started ok with a wonderful sleep and a leisurely breakfast. Then off to see Agra Fort and Akbar's Tomb. Easier said than done. I took a cycle rickshaw waiting outside the hotel (Sheela's, which I cannot recommend too highly, is in the non-pollution zone and so motor rickshaws are banned). We set off into town.

How shall I put it? Agra is not a place of translucent natural beauty. I hesitate to call it a shitpit but now that I have hesitated I am going to. Its a shitpit. Actually that's not at all fair. The shitty bit is the Taj Ganj, the touristy area near the Taj itself where all the hotels are. Its filthy, decaying, stinks and is full of dodgy shops. This is why I urge anyone coming here to go to Sheela's. Its quiet, green and leafy and really lovely. The staff are friendly and give you advice on how to avoid scams. If you find yourself spending your stay here only at Sheela's and the Taj you will be happy.

Once you get out into the areas beyond the Taj Ganj it gets better. Indeed its pretty much like any other ordinary Indian city. The autorickshaw is a green option in an notoriously overpolluted city (my white shirt was shit-coloured by the end of the day), but it is pretty labourious and slow. In this instance, there was a problem with the tyres which kept recurring so it took about an hour going from repair shop to repair shop before we got anywhere. Then other troubles kicked in. Not one ATM was working so I had to get money changed at a bank. I couldn't tell what was genuine and what was legit (we are warned about scams in Agra endlessly), but everything seemed ok in the end. Then and only then did we begin to get anywhere. But not before I was offered something called 'Karma Sutra' (replete with a knowing look) from a young street vendor who had failed to sell me a Taj Mahal pendant, a crappy looking toy elephant or postcards. He suddenly lowered his voice (all this was while the Rickshaw guy was trying to fix his tyre) and looked knowingly at me and said, 'Karma sutra? Only 200 Rupees...' before winking at me (at least I think it was a wink). I hoped sincerely he wasn't gesturing towards his sister somewhere. The thought did not appeal so I just told him I didn't understand what he was saying. He shook my hand and said 'Friend' and walked off... Relieved, I got back into the rickshaw and we set off.

I had no idea that Akbar's Tomb was so far out and the rickshaw driver, whose name was Ladu, toiled away through nightmare traffic to get there. He wanted the fare, which would be a chunky one, and he was sweating by the time we got there, albeit after two or three stops. It took ages and I was getting hot and annoyed but kept my temper. Thank God I did, because the Tomb was worth the trek.

Akbar the Great, as he was known, was the greatest and most extraordinary of the Moghul Emperors. If he had been European, he would be regarded as one of the greatest leaders in the history of the world. As he isn't, no-one outside India or the Muslim world really knows who he is. He was a genius. A great leader, administrator, military commander, mystic and man of learning who was the first to truly unite India. Unlike most Emperors, he was completely tolerant of different cultures and instigated complete religious freedom across his realm. Not only that but he gathered representatives of each one together to discuss all their traditions in an effort to find a new way which synthesised all of them. He had a reputation for great fairness and was a loved and admired leader...

He was also, clearly, a great architect because it turns out that he designed his own tomb as well! And its stunning. Much quieter and less visited than the Taj, you enter it through an enormous red sandstone gate, replete with minarets and amazing geometric patterns. As with the Taj, the majesty of these is amazing. Given the injunction against graven images and any representation of nature in Islam, the genius of their artists and architects expressed itself in the play of symmetry and geometric patterns of such complexity and wonder that they are extraordinary to behold. Its why the Taj is so magnificent. No-one understood perspective and symmetry like the great Muslim artists. It is amazing.

Once you are through the gates, you enter the beautifully laid out - again according to precise geometric designs - Persian gardens surrounding the Tomb. In Islam, the word Paradise (Pardes in Hebrew) means 'Garden' as in Garden of Eden. In the Koran, the descriptions of Heaven as a fertile, lush Garden are very vivid. In these, there were more monkeys and herds of deer and what looked like antelopes roaming around. It was blazing hot. The water in the bottle I had brought became warm and unquenching almost immediately.

Once I had walked through the gardens, it was possible to enter Akbar's Tomb. Once inside, it was possible to get a vivid idea of the man and his honest integrity. While the entrance was lavishly decorated with more wonderfully rich designs, the Tomb itself, in keeping with Islamic custom, was a bare, simple room. The Emperor allowed himself to be buried as a humble human being. Sitting in that cool, simple, subterranean space for a half hour or so was a special experience. We need more Akbars in this world, with their ideals and desire to unite rather than divide.

Leaving the tomb, I wandered more in the gardens, marvelling at more arches and gates. After the Taj the day before, I was beginning to piece together a powerful image of this culture known as the Moghuls, centred around a single dynasty of remarkable men. Surely it must be one of the greatest the world has ever known? If the architecture left behind was anything to go by, they were people of astonishing insight.

This sensation was intensified by visiting Agra Fort, built by Shah Jahan, the Moghul Emperor who built the Taj itself. The trip involved more adventures, with key roads being blocked by roadworks and more flat tyres, but we got there in the end. The Fort was another magnificent experience. Its huge and varied, with translucent marble varying with more red sandstone in different buildings and palaces. One small Mosque built by Jahan for the women of his harem was truly exquisite. As I explored it, I was struck by something I had never seen about Mosques before: they are empty spaces. There is no shrine, no altar, no effigy. In keeping with Islam's code of an Invisible God, one is praying to nothing. That made me think... Of all the world's religions, Islam is the most mysterious to me, the one I feel most locked out of. I can relate to all the Scriptures of the others. I can see the beauty and the appeal, but Islam still remains hard to relate to, or at least its exoteric form does. There is much I don't like. And yet this was the culture which produced the Sufis, which influenced our own European culture profoundly and which produced this astonishing civilisation which included the Moghuls. One looks at the Taj Mahal in its perfection and wonders where it emerged from. Cause and Effect. It emerged from Islam and nowhere else. As I say, there is a Mystery here I would love to understand...

Back to Agra Fort. History relates how Shah Jahan was incarcerated here by his son, Aurangzeb, until he died (apparently of a massive overdose of drugs and aphrodisiacs while cavorting with his Harem). Legend tells that he used to gaze across the landscape at the Taj Mahal, remembering his Empress who lay there and for whom it was built. Whether you take the romantic or fruity version of the story (probably both are true), the view of the Taj from the Fort is wonderfully moving and one can well imagine Shah Jahan sitting there gazing at it.

The day ended with a return to Sheela's, a negotiated price for the valiant (and sweating) Ladu and a final, sunset viewing of the Taj. And here I have to tell anyone coming that, if you don't see it during sunset on your first day here, come again the next. It is worth the expense. Not only is a second encounter richer than the first because the initial GASP of seeing the Taj Mahal gives way to a deeper appreciation of it, but the sheer wonder of watching the colours of the changing light of the sun fall on and transform the marble of the minarets and central domes is indiscribably beautiful to behold. Indeed, this is when the mystery of the Taj really becomes apparent. It becomes an image of change and changelessness. The Taj remains the same, eternal and permanent, but the light presents it in flux, reshaping it, feminising it, as if evoking the memory of Mumtaz herself. What can I say? I didn't want to leave when everyone was being ushered out and stood there as long as I could, looking at it in the haze.

And one other boon emerged - and here's a tip so you really don't need a guide. The optical illusion thay talk about is contained in the water areas leading to the Taj. If you stand by the water opposite the domes etc, you see them beautifully reflected in the pools. The effect is magical, mystical even, as if you are seeing the Taj in its real form, part material, part shimmering mystery. A guide, presumably finished with a paying guest and milling around, hoping for a quick buck, grabbed me and showed me. I paid him because it was amazing. Now you have read this, you won't need to!

The mysteries of the Taj are endless. Much more occurred to me and I will probably write in more detail about it on my other Blog, the Temple of Pegasus. But until then, I can only say to you all: Go and see it. It is as amazing as they say. A work of genius. Transcendent genius. See it.

So. Its late and its time for dinner, bed and then tomorrow Delhi. Thank you Agra for all you have shown me. My dream did come true. It has proven to be the centrepiece of my trip to India so far, the synthesis of everything. May my journey tomorrow be a clean and clear one.

And love to everyone!

YES ITS AMAZING...

Well I have finally seen it and...

...yes its amazing.

Waking up at 5am to get to the Gate to see the sunrise over the Taj wasn't much fun though. Apart from anything else the Gate doesn't open until 6am, by which time the sun has already risen, so its pretty pointless in that respect. Nevertheless if you can get to the Taj before about 9/10am when the crowds really start its worth it as the air is cool and the place is virtually yours.

Getting in there is hard though. I had to go through the checkpoint three times before I could go through. Apparently the following things constitute security threats in the wake of Sept 11:

1) A copy of the Bible
2) A copy of the Bagavad Gita
3) A copy of short stories by R K Narayan
4) A spy thriller by John Le Carre (evidence of Islamic Terrorism if ever there was one)
5) A mobile phone recharger
6) An notebook full of poems
7) A nuclear warhead

Actually I am joking about the last one. It wasn't a nuclear warhead, it was an AK 47. Actually I'm joking about that too (did you guess?). I didn't have any dangerous weapons on me (at least no obvious ones, mwuhahah!). The guy in front of me had some chocolate bars confiscated, which was particularly harsh as there is nowhere to buy refreshments in the Taj. The whole thing felt utterly ridiculous, but I didn't argue and on reflection I saw what they meant. After all, a copy of the Bible, if attached to a rocket launcher, can become a deadly weapon. And don't even ASK me about the Bagavad Gita!

At the end of the day I politely asked why books were banned and was told it was to do with something called 'a paper bomb'. Sounds plausible to me. Let's hope we don't hear any headlines about Terrorists occupying the Taj Mahal and threatening everyone with Mars Bars and Mobile Phone Rechargers. Imagine the carnage!

So make sure you don't waste your time when you queue up by having anything in your bag which might be construed as a dangerous weapon, which might be anything from a hairnet to a piece of cheese. Keep it simple. Also, you don't need a guide. One of the best things about the Taj is that once you are in, no-one can bother you offering drums, plastic guitars or offers of guiding. Only paying guests are allowed in. Let yourself roam free and let your imagination play... There is nothing they can tell you to help.

What does one say about the Taj Mahal? It is amazing and it doesn't disappoint. When I first saw it it was almost impossible to take it in. It was there but it felt unreal. It is flawless, standing there in the sun like some timeless piece of perfection. It is deeply poetic and deeply Islamic. Wandering around it one marvels at the precision and focus that has gone into it. The mind comes to rest trying to take it in, trying to contemplate it. It is utterly simple yet totally complex at the same time. I am babbling. You just have to see it.

When I arrived, it was almost empty. It was hard to know how to start, what pace to take. It stands at the end of the gardens which are themselves beautiful and elegant, masterpieces again of symmetry and precision. An odd feature of the day was that when I arrived, the distance between the gates and the Taj seemed huge but when I left, there seemed to be no distance at all.

After a while, it became clear that there were many different Tajes, all contained in the one Taj. Its measurements and symmetries are based upon the wrtings of the great Sufi Mystic, Ibn Arabi's ideas of the dimensions of Paradise, and for this reason perhaps, every angle you looked at it yielded up a different experience. It feels multidimensional, constantly transforming it depending upon where you are while always remaining exactly the same. The Taj looked at from the left was different to the Taj looked at from the right. Viewing it from a distance and viewing it from close up in the inner areas was equally different. It was fascinating. From a distance it seemed majestic and manageable, but when you climb up the steps to the entrance to the Mausoleum, it is overwhelmingly huge. Although its 300 years old or so it feels like it was built yesterday. It is genuinely timeless. The Mosque on one side is also an amazing experience, very haunting and peaceful. As I wandered around it and eventually just sat in its shade looking at the Taj through one of its arches, I was struck once again by how all genuine places of worship are about giving us a sense of the Infinite, not just without us but within us. In the end that is all there is.

As I sat there contemplating it in the sun, it struck me that the uniquess of the Taj was that it was the only monument I had ever seen - except perhaps Glastonbury - which I could not imagine anywhere else. Notre Dame, Rumi's Lodge in Konya, even Stonehenge or the Temples I had seen in Tamil Nadu I have always been able to feel could be somewhere else, but not the Taj Mahal. It seems to be unique and perfect where it is, indivisible from the time and space it exists in. Its no wonder it is the iconic image of India. It could not be anywhere else. Only in this extraordinary country with its extraordinary history, culture and atmosphere of the mystical could this building be. You have to come and see it. There is no other way of conveying what it is like other than in gush like this!

I thought over all I had seen and experienced in India and realised that I had only touched the surface of what this country has to offer. I thought I had really got to the heart of things in Tamil Nadu et al but now I realise I haven't. The levels of this nation are infinite and one could explore it all one's life and never get to the bottom of it. I thought I had begun to know India but here in the north a whole new array of possibilities opened up. All around me were Sihks, Muslims, Hindus as well as people from all over the world. The clothes and atmosphere were absolutely the images we associate with India. I felt suddenly even more perfectly at home and realise that I will come back, I have to come back. There is so much more to see and do. An exhibition of all the great sites of India from all its different periods drove that home even more. The sheer enormity of its cultural inheritance is overwhelming. It feels like everything is here - Western and Eastern, Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Jain, Hindu, Sikh, Secular you name it. There were even images of Neolithic sites which look exactly like the dolmens and standing stones we see all over the UK. Everything seems possible here, the inspirational and beautiful alongside the corrupt, violent and grotesque. Diversity and spirituality seems inherent in the people. No wonder it is so often called Mother India, the cradle of all civilisation. As I looked at the Taj, perhaps the finest expression of the Islamic culture, I thought how so many cultures have expressed themselves at their best and at their worst in India and once again gave thanks that I have been given the opportunity to explore it all here...

So the Taj was an astonishing experience. I didn't end up doing the whole day and intend to come back in the evening tomorrow to see the sunset, just as I did in Thnjavur. Instead I am going to brave the rest of Agra to see some other monuments - Agra Fort where Shah Jahan, the creator of the Taj Mahal, ended his days incarcerated by his son, Aurangzeb and then the Mausoleum of Akbar the Great, the most visionary and cultured of the Moghul Emperors. Then the sunset, and then preparation for my final port of call before returning to the kids, Delhi.

And my dream? Was it real? Well yes and no. There is a river, situated at the back of the Taj, affording a magnificent view of Agra replete with the Fort, cows grazing by the water and kids bathing, as if giving a glimpse of the timeless life of India. There is no cabin, unless I was amalgamating my journey on the train with the Taj itself. But who cares? The dream was about my time in India being a mighty experience, a promise of what was to come. And so it has proven to be. I have seen the Taj Mahal, the Jewel in the Crown of the Jewel in the Crown and the expereince seems to be the quintessence, the summing up of the whole miraculous experience of India. Who can ask for more? Perhaps Delhi will hold even greater treasures, but even if it doesn't, I have seen more wonder in my time here than ever before. And there is so much more to see in the future. I have already seen things which speak of the highest achievements and aspirations human beings are capable of. The world is amazing. Its easy to forget. We need to get a sense of that amazingness back. We need it. Wonder is what we live for. When we lose sight of it, we lose sight of why it is good to be alive. I say this from experience!

Wish me luck and joy for tomorrow! May you all one day see this remarkable building. Blessings to all!

SLOW TRAIN TO AGRA

Well I have never done a 24hr train journey before but I have now. 5.30am from Hyderabad to 5.30am in Agra...

And it was actually great. Knowing it was going to be long I spent a little extra money and got a first class ticket. A lovely cabin, food. Fab.

And I got to share it with a lovely young Indian family, the Muckherjees, and their two children. They were wonderful people. They were on their way to Amritsar where they were about to be stationed for the next while (the husband is a soldier).

They were great. Incredibly friendly and interesting and we chatted about pretty much everything for most of the journey. Puja, the wife, is a freelance article writer so her mind ranged across many subjects while the husband was incredibly knowledgable about pretty much everything else as well, so we covered all the bases. They looked out for me, showed me the ropes, shared food with me and the husband even woke up with me at 5am to make sure I got off the train safely in Agra. Out of three months of meeting incredibly friendly people in India this family win the prize for the most generous and friendly of all!

So now I am in Agra, staying in a really nice hotel called SHEELA'S (recommended to everyone) which is in the no-pollution zone right next to the Taj. It couldn't have worked out better. I am taking it easy today as I want to go into the Taj tomorrow first thing to watch the sun rise and stay in the Gardens throughout the day. Feeling the energy of the place is wonderful and revealed to me once again how the atmosphere of a place can effect one. Hyderabad and its hotel did one thing to me, Agra and this hotel another. SHEELA's has the same feel as VALLI did in Thanjavur. Its secluded, quiet, comfortable without being pretentious and the rooms, being in chalets, remind me of the Ashram in Tiruvannamalai. Its a good place to rest and contemplate, and its nice to allow the anticpation to build. It will be special tomorrow.

Getting to the hotel proved to be pain free. Getting off the train I was braced for impact with the Agra Autorickshaw crowd who are notoriously nightmarish to negotiate. I expected a repeat performance, only worse, of the Hyderabad Sai Prakash experience... but it didn't happen. It was fine, although the station did STINK of poo (sorry, it seems impossible to write an entry without mentioning shit somewhere, alas. It seems to come up a lot in India. Even Gandhi can't help returning to it as an issue in his autobiography every few chapters!). I arrived at the hotel hassle-free. Someone is watching out for me, perhaps.

Now for a little secret. I am here for three reasons. One, because its the Taj Mahal and I couldn't visit India without seeing it. Two, because it was where my Grandparents fell in love, or first started stepping out together, my Grandfather popping the question in the gardens one night...

But three, because of a dream I had...

About a week before I left the Royal Exchange last year I was staying with my bro in his flat in London. I was still unsure whether I was doing the right thing, whether taking this leap was a good move or not, whether going to India was a sane or crazy thing to do. On my last day with my bro I had the most vivid and wonderful dream...

I opened my eyes in this dream to find myself in some kind of cabin. It felt like a compartment in train as well as a hut somewhere. All around me I could hear people milling around outside. Bright sunshine was coming in through the windows, making it hard to see. I got up and got out of the hut/compartment and there it was: the Taj Mahal, standing in all its splendour in front of me. I remember it vividly right now. I was stunned. What was amazing about it was that the quality of the image was not like that of a dream. It was there and I was there, standing in front of me. I saw it twice and was filled with such a feeling of awe and joy. I couldn't take it in. I remember thinking; "I knew I was coming to India but I didn't think I would see this so soon!"

I was with someone in the dream who was less impressed and wanted me to walk over a nearby bridge with them. I found myself following them, catching glances over my shoulder at the Taj...

When I awoke I was filled with the most incredible sense of joy and wellbeing. It stayed with me all morning. I felt that the dream was telling me that going to India was 100% the right thing to do. Since then, whenever I have wavered (and you know I have out here!) I would conjure up the dream and remind myself that I had given myself that message...

So... Tomorrow I will see it. I will enter at daybreak and spend the day there. I am sure it will be special and I will encounter my dream in the flesh.

So wish me luck and joy on the morrow!

HYDERABAD AND GOOD

Well, Hyderabad turned out to be a city of contrasts! I've been here a day longer than I expected thanks to a miscalculation with dates (which seems to dominate this whole later period of my stay here) and its been a time of the most amazing contradictions.

First impressions didn't augur well. I arrived here at poohead o'clock in the morning after an all night ride on a Sleeper Bus from Bangalore. This was ok, but only allowed for fitful sleep, and given that the bunks meant you couldn't sit up it meant I was forced to lie down for twelve hours. This made for a stiff and achey waking up, bleary-eyed and dehydrdrated. I got off at a stop in Hyderabad, thanks to a helpful woman who wanted to make sure I didn't get off at the wrong place, and was immediately accosted by Rickshaw drivers promising the Heavens. I climbed onto one and the following dialogue took place as we chugged off:

DRIVER: Where too sir?
ME: Sai Prakash Hotel, please.
DRIVER: (as if no such place on earth existed, or at least not in this town) Sai Prakash?
ME: Yes please.
DRIVER: No Sai Prakash here, sir.
ME: Yes there is. Sai Prakash Hotel, please.
DRIVER: Where sir?
ME: Station Rd.
DRIVER: Station Rd?
ME: Yes. Sai Prakash hotel, Station Rd.
DRIVER: Hotel closed sir.
ME: No it isn't.
DRIVER: Yes sir.
ME: No it isn't. I spoke to them yesterday. Sai Prakash Hotel, please. Station Rd.
DRIVER: SAi Prakash?
ME: Yes. Station Rd.
DRIVER: Sai Residency?
ME: No. Sai Prakash.
DRIVER: You go here sir. Very nice (proffers card for MEENA HOTEL).
ME: No thank you. Sai Prakash.
DRIVER: No Sai Prakash.
ME: Yes there is.
DRIVER: No. Meena, sir.
ME: No. Sai Prakash. If you don't want to take me to Sai Prakash you can let me off here.

I had expected this in Agra or Delhi but not Hyderabad. I was too tired to get angry or frightened and just hung on like a stuck record. The guy made a huge show of driving down wrong streets and asking for directions and trying to leave me outside dives so I eventually said 'Take me to the station', which he did. I then got out and started walking to where I thought Sai Prakash was. He then reappeared looking craven and apologised, offering to take me there. And so he did. And thank God he did cos I would never have found it. He was very young and helped me with my stuff into the Hotel.

Sai Prakash was a bit bleak. It was comfortable, indeed luxurious enough and there was no poo anywhere but it was very 70s, monolithic, made of marble and dimly lit. When I got to the restaurant, which is similarly styled, the worst music in the world was playing. If I have to hear BARBIE WORLD by Aqua or MACARENA again (I have a sneaking suspicion they are putting it on for me when I come in) I will probably explode and become the incredible hulk. Meanwhile my room, the bathroom of which took some getting used to (comedy toilet flush, non-turnoffable taps etc), had a splendid view of a yellow concrete wall, rather like the scene in the Matrix where they get trapped by the Agents and can't get out through the windows (sorry it was on telly the other day in one of my hotels. Still fresh in my mind). I was tired and still feeling wonky after my illness, so feeling a bit mis and cut off from the energy of Puttapharty and Tamil Nadu, went to bed.

Watching Hyderabad from the rickshaw was miserable too. It seemed like a grey, dirty, depressing city with little to raise the spirits. Two days of it did little to improve this impression. Think of Birmingham without the charm, or Coventry without the period chic. Its vibe is completely different from anywhere else I have been in India. Instead of vibrancy or madness, there was just misery, or so it felt. Its primarily a Muslim city, so doesn't really feel like India at all, more somewhere Middle Eastern. There is poverty again, but its different to the other cities I have seen. And the people seem or seemed less friendly, more taciturn and hostile.

Maybe this was just me. I was feeling the lack, as I say, of the energy and vitality of what had come before, the spiritual connection etc. I still haven't learnt how to transcend my surroundings, but let myself off because these surroundings were pretty glum. Thank God I stuck with it though, because it yielded up its secrets, although not without looking!

There are two reasons why I am here. One because its where my Grandparents were stationed for part of their time in India (well, near here, anyway), two because before I came out I was supposed to be teaching in a Steiner School in the city for a month thanks to the sister of my friend Shobna Gulati, Hema, who works out here. That plan never really materialised, but I decided to come anyway to meet Hema and see the schools. Hema met me with her husband, Proful, on my first evening and we went out for a lovely Chinese meal. Funnily enough, just as the Indian and Chinese food we eat in the UK isn't Indian or Chinese but catered to our tastes, nor is Chinese food in India. Its basically Indian Chinese food, but nice anyway. It was good to have a change. It was the first time I have eaten meat out here in ages (necessity has forced me into being a virtual veggie and teatotaller during my time here, which is going to be interesting when I get home because I have felt so much better for it) and was a good change. We all hit it off and Proful and I got into a lively conversation about India and its history.

Its election time here and Proful explained to me the problems with democracy in India now - how its all about Coalition Governments and so nothing gets done, how corruption is rife, with politicians buying votes with beer and food and how Police are now everywhere to try and enforce fair play (as he said this we saw a squad of uniformed soldiers file past the car with sticks. Didn't look very reassuring to me.). He also spoke about the relationship between the Muslims and the Hindus in the past, how there couldn't have been two more contrasting religions in one place - one harsh and disciplined, the other celebratory and chaotic. We talked about the contrast between the greatest of the Moghul Emperors, Akbar the Great, who instigated religious tolerance throughout his Kingdom and tried to create a new religion which synthesised every other and the original fundamentalist (as Proful put it), Aurangzeb, who suppressed everyone who wasn't Muslim and left the scars
which still cause trouble between the communities today. As we drove past the enormous artificial lake which is at the heart of Hyderabad and viewed the enormous Buddha statue in its middle, he explained how the Mayor who had sponsored it was not so much honouring the Buddhists as sticking one to the Hindus by not chosing a Hindu God for it, after which we drove past a trophy tank from one of India's wars with Pakistan, making one muse upon intercommunal relations in the region...

It is fascinating being in a predominantly Muslim city in India. The energy IS completely different, as I said earlier during my stay here. It confirms, for me, how a culture or religion shapes peoples' Consciousness for better and for worse. We are all effected by it. We in the West are as defined by our Christian history as anyone else. I don't say its good or bad, just fascinating and rather wonderful to breathe in a different atmposphere. But the sensation of not being in India remained...

The next day Hema took me to the Steiner Schools. A novice driver who seemed never to have ever come to Hyderabad meant that we arrived very late for the first one and had to skip the second. I have always been interested in Steiner but find him hard to read so visiting a school was exciting for me. I saw two, one outside the city, the other in the centre. The first was for ordinary kids, the second was for special needs kids. Both were very small, the first still under construction. I was struck by the quiet focus and discipline of the children, their maturity and the crackling intellects and energy of the teachers. It lacked the warmth and sheer delight of the Children's Project but was very impressive. The second school moved me almost to tears. I was put in a room with a group of young boys all suffering from different disabilities while the teachers, with infinite tenderness and patience, took them through a performance for me. It was heartbreakingly moving, not just the commitment of the teachers but the purity and simplicity of the children. I had never really been among Special Needs children before and I realised then the immense dedication it involves from the teachers and the immeasurable importance it has for the kids who would otherwise be left to fend for themselves (especially in India). All of this was in keeping with Steiner's belief that although the body may be impaired, the Soul and Spirit is not and deserves every opportunity to grow and experience as much as anyone else.

I really liked Hema who was incredibly generous to me and enjoyed sparring with Proful who was lively and fun to be with. But Hyderabad was getting me down. I was missing the magic of everything else I had experienced. Nevertheless, I was determined to make the best of it and set off for the Salar Jung Museum which the Rough Guide describes as 'unmissable'. And so it was. Although the drive through Hyderabad was unnourishing to say the least, the Museum is incredible. A huge complex with treasures from all over the world - from Ancient Egypt to Napoleonic Frane and England - and artefacts from Buddhist, Hindu and Christian cultures, it was a wealth of sensory experiences. I was particularly drawn, again, to the Jain sculptures which were of a simplicity and unfamiliarity that I couldn't help standing in front of them for a while. There were three images of Mahavira, all of which made the Buddha look like an egomaniacal exhibitionist poseur. In keeping with the pure Jain ideals, he just stands there, still and naked, with his arms dropping either side, smiling simply at you. Its humanity at its easiest and most uncomplex. In one image, an enormous snake, symbolising all the earthly cares which bind us, was unravelling around him, enabling him to stand free. I discovered that Mahavira did not believe, as Buddha did, that one sought Liberation from this world in Oblivion/Nirvana but that everything had a Soul (Jiva) which was Divine and potentially God-like. The aim of the Jain is to release that Soul so it may become fully divine. Delusional or not, its a beautiful idea.

Salar Jung lifted my spirits a bit, but the battle with the Hyderabad Blues didn't pass until the next day. Demoralised by the bleakness of the streets and endlessly having to deal with dodgy rickshaw drivers (made harder by still being a bit ill) I hired a car for a day and set out to the famous Golconda Fort. It was amazing. My Grandmother had recommended I go and she was right. The Fort, which was the seat of the Qutb Shah dynasty which ran Hyderabad until Aurangzeb ended an eight-year seige there thanks to a traitor opening the gates one night, it is a vast, ruined complex of walls, halls, mosques, gardens and palatial chambers atop a huge rock formation. I spent the whole morning clambering around it, taking shots and experiencing, once again, the strangely un-Indian atmosphere of the place. I was struck by how India had been host to the Muslims/Moghuls for several centuries before being invaded by the British and had only been in charge of its own affairs for 60 years or so since Independence. Some leeway can be given for its many social problems, perhaps. In many ways, India is still searching for who it is - Hindu, secular, Western, Eastern? Maybe this search is what makes it so special.

Golconda was followed by the awesome Tomb complex nearby, where all the Qutb Shahs are buried. There are 82, apparently, and I couldn't see them all, but wandering around their maginficent splendour and vast onion-domes was a pleasure. The function of a building always defines its atmosphere. The Fort was so clearly a place of war and luxury, this was a bridging place of the living and the dead. I was struck by the contrast between the Mosques I was seeing and the Temples I had seen in Tamil Nadu... But more on this later.

All this lifted me, but it wasn't until I went to see the Charminar, Hyderabad's most defining monument, that the awe-inspiring sense of wonder that I have come to associate with India returned. Quite simply, it is utterly beautiful, a four-towered triumphal arch in the midst of Hyderabad's overwhelmingly alive and bustling Old City, which transports you right back into a time when this city must have been on of the glories of India. Markets are everywhere in this country, but this is something else. Utterly Muslim in character, one feels one is in the Middle East or Jerusalem or lost in the Arabian Nights. Colour, sound, character... A dwarf selling trinkets, a guy with warped legs chasing after you down the street with a big smile on his face hoping for rupees...

I got out of the car and entered the Charminar. At first I just stood beneath it and just looked at the incredible energy around me. Then I climbed the narrow stairs and looked out over Hyderabad. Suddenly what had seemed ugly appeared filled with minarets and columns, bursting with life in all its abundance. As I had done in Thanjavur, I found myself slipping back in time, blanking out the traffic and rickshaws and imagining what it must have been like centuries ago. Totally spellbinding.

From the Charminar's heights I could see the Mecca Masjid, one of the largest Mosques in the world, so called because it has red stones brought from Mecca embossed in it. Its a mighty building. I went down and made my way across the traffic inside.

I was taken round by a guide and fleeced by various Mosque authorities for 'donations' but who cares? It was fascinating to wander around the complex, walk in the Mosque and wonder at the majesty of this bygone age.

And so Hyderabad took me somewhere else, deep into the Islamic heart of this country. The flavour was, as I say, completely different to elsewhere in India. Perhaps when I have some perspective I will be able to explain why. I didn't like the endless women in black wandering around - and aspect of Islam which is a dealbreaker for me - but I could not help acknowledging that when the real pulse of energy was flowing through this culture it was a great one.

I was also struck by how Western it was. We Judeo-Christians like to think of Islam as 'the Other' and historically we have been foes, but its architecture, its physical expression in the landscape has everything in common with us and little or nothing in common with Hinduism or any other Eastern spirituality. I was struck by how monolithic and austere the Mosque and its surrounding buildings were in contrast to the openness and 'connectedness' of the Hindu and Buddhist Temples I had seen. Fascinating.

We are all living in the ruins, the echoes of these spiritualities now. All the world's religions had their high water marks a while ago and left huge impressions and imprints on the world and our inner landscapes which we now only partially understand. There is splendour in them and Mysteries we still need to remember, honour and understand, but I don't know if we can ever revive them as they were. Perhaps our problem is that we have grown out of or rejected them but we haven't replaced them with anything other than materialism and if we are honest with ourselves, it is that abject, all-consuming materialism which has brought us to the crisis we are in today. Religion didn't cause global warming or the nuclear bomb, what came after did.

So what do we do? As I say, I don't think we can turn the clock back, but perhaps we can carry what was special within what was and transmute it into something else...? Something more life giving which can revive in us a sense of purpose and value and splendour in our own lives and those of others?

I don't know. All I know is that as I approach the last few weeks of my time here being immersed in all this is incredibly enriching. I thank my stars I have had the chance. And well done Hyderabad for turning itself round!

Tomorrow, very early, I head off to Agra and the Taj Mahal, where my Grandparents fell in love and of which I had an unforgettable dream before I left the Royal Exchange. Let us see what happens.

Bon voyage!

BANGALORE, PUTTAPARTHI, HYDERABAD -AGH!

Sorry for short delay in keeping you all up to date as to what is going on. A bit of a whirlwind few days. I say 'days' but its very easy to lose track of time out here. I am not that clear what day it is today, in fact!

Since I last wrote, lots has happened. I am no longer in Bangalore but am in Hyderabad in Andra Pradesh. I am here because my Grandparents were stationed near here during the Raj and, er, well, its a bit of a poohole. Noisy, ugly and polluted. At least that's all I have seen so far. Perhaps I am spoilt by the wonder of everything I have seen so far - Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Kerala... We shall see!

So rewind... Bangalore was great, although as I say, it was a shock to see. Once again, India pulled a fast one and presented another entirely new facet of itself. Bangalore, the capital of Karnataka, used to be known as 'the Garden City' until recently because of its laid-back atmosphere and many beautiful gardens and parks. E M Forster set A PASSAGE TO INDIA there.

Well, its not like that any more. Thanks to the economic boom and Bangalore becoming the hub of India's IT and Silicon industry, it is now pretty much a prosperous Western city. It has none of the horror of Mumbai. If anything, it reminds me of Manchester since it started on its own property and IT boom in the 1990s. There is money everywhere. Massive stores, huge posters and ads, Malls, luxury hotels, apartment blocks, money money money. The streets are busy but well maintained. Its bursting with the good life. Everyone looks well fed and healthy and very Western. Sarees are hard to find on the streets. It feels like here India is ditching its Indian-ness and racing towards becoming like us.

Coming from the wonder of Madurai, Tiruvannamalai, Thanjavur and Pondicherry with their spirituality and humanity, I was initially shocked and really upset by Bangalore. Once again I had to face up to contradictions. Those cities were amazing, the people had a kind of wonderful solidarity, spirituality was real. The biggest buildings, those which towered over everything, were the majestic temples where everyone was allowed to enter. In Bangalore, the biggest buildings, the focus of everything, was shopping malls, businesses etc. It is a place of pure materialism. The God on offer is Mammon. And one has to ask - why not? The Indians have lived in shit for so long, have struggled and suffered for so long, why shouldn't they have a bit of the cake as well?

I suppose what dismayed me was the sense of there being no other way of doing things. Was the alternative to the India I had seen in its beauty and squalor in the other cities just being like us? Although wealthy and safe, the Bangaloreans lacked any of the togetherness that I saw in Tamil Nadu or Kerala. I could feel the weight of Gravity there just as I did back home and didn't like it. But who am I to judge? I am just a foreigner, a guest passing through.

And yet it feels so strange to have come from one city where there is poverty to come to another where there is abundance and so much is wasted in the shops. Bangalore is the capital of the same state as Madikeri, the run down one-horse town I knew from the school. How can all these different ways of living exist in one country? But then I suppose disparity of wealth has been a feature of Indian life since the Caste System divided everyone up.

But is the future of India just to be like us? What would that be like? Is there no other way of doing things?

Of course, none of this wealth on show stopped me being offered some splendid bargains by peddlars on the street. Did I want, for instance, an articulated wooden snake? Just the ticket for my mantelpiece! Or perhaps a game of chess (or as the guy put it: 'Chess, Sir? CHESS!' as if I was an idiot who didn't realise the incredible opportunity I was passing up). And look! Yes! Another person trying to sell me a flute! Along with the plastic guitar I had been offered in Pondicherry (how useful for my band!) and the endless drums ('For your children, sir? You take back home?') in Fort Cochin I could have started a veritable orchestra in the UK. Only problem was - where would I put it in my bags? Well, who needs clothes and medicine? Out with all that, in with the knick-knacks! Damn! Why didn't I buy that plastic toy autorickshaw by the Chinese Fishing Nets in Cochin? Mind you, would I eventually have been able to get all these treasures past customs or would I have suffered the indignity of a strip search in Heathrow Airport, or, God forbid, Istanbul Airport??? Aaargh! The mind recoils...

The journey from Tiruvannamalai to Bangalore in another rickety bus banging across dramatic scenery had been livened up by two magnificently incomprehensible Hindi films from the 70s which the driver showed us on the way. The first involved an overweight Snake Goddess killing a series of overweight and badly dressed (think John Travolta in SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER after too many biryianis) brothers who had shot her overweight Snake God lover by mistake. I was not sure how it ended but I think the one not overweight brother caused her to drop from a great height from a construction wire (great plotting). This was followed by another equally incomprehensible movie. To be fair, I had fallen asleep at the beginning so had no chance of following the story, but it seemed to involve a slightly less overweight action hero beating a lot of people up and being saved at the last minute time and again by a superpowered goat which was his sidekick (I kid you not. Geddit? Kid you not? But seriously, the selling point of the movie was this hero goat who suddenly appeared when he was cornered, leaping through the air to save the day). Suitanly entranced by these excellent adventures I arrived at Bangalore bus station, or at least one of them. I had to make my way to Whitefield, where some of my friends of the school were staying. Little did I know that Whitefield was miles out. Battering my way through rickshaw drivers trying to spin me yarns about how hard it was to get to Whitefield and how I should really go with them I ended up at the Majestic Bus Station, where I boarded a bus the conductor of which promised me would take me where I wanted to go.

Whitefield is where Sai Baba has a second Ashram for when things get too hot in Puttaparthi. I was dropped off in the middle of nowhere outside one of Sai Baba's hospitals, nowhere near the Ashram at all. The area looked like an industrial estate. I had no idea where I was, although the sunset was breathtaking. Stranded, I wandered up and down looking for a rickshaw and ended up phoning my friend Julia who had promised to meet me. Julia had been at the school during the first week of my visit and we had said we would meet up. She put me straight, found me a rickshaw and got me out of trouble.

My time in Whitefield was extended because I was finally brought low by stomach troubles. It was horrible and very painful. I had managed to last two months without anything and was feeling pretty proud of myself, so it was horrible to be struck in this way. And it was bad. Really bad. Like, can't-walk-for-the-pain bad. If any of you come out here and have any history of having a wobbly botty, bring whatever medicines you need, as you ain't gonna find them without a struggle out here. Most chemists are like holes in the wall with a guy behind them who doesn't speak much English, much less knows his way around the finer points of the pills he is offering. Be prepared, you weak-stomached Western types!

Fortunately for me, it happened in a place where friends were about. Julia and also Michael and Aleli from the School, plus a woman called Jennifer, the mother of Will at the School, all came to my rescue, helped me, supported me and gave me medicines. I have to say, I have never felt so supported, their kindness, their friendship, their readiness to go the distance and help was second to none. Love and thanks to them all.

The kindness they were to show didn't end there. I spent a lot of time with Julia and we chatted about many things, before I moved on to Puttaparthi, a day or two late alas. There I was met by more friends, this time a guy called Peter, who introduced me to his friends, who I found myself watching playing volleyball on my first night! Puttaparthi is the town where Sai Baba resides. After all my contact with his followers at the School and here in Whitefield, I felt I had to go and have a look.

Sai Baba is regarded as a living saint in India and has followers all over the world. His devotees believe that he is an Avatar, or Divine Incarnation, more than merely human, an expression of God, like Christ or Krishna. He is said to be able to perform miracles, including materialising objects from thin air, and is followed by people from every Faith as well as those just looking on their own. He was born in a small village called Puttaparthi which is now a huge city built around his Ashram with hospitals, universities, sports training halls, music schools all built and funded by him and his devotees. And this is not all. Similar projects exist all across India, including the School I worked at in Koorg. So in terms of Good Works, Sai Baba is very active.

Puttaparthi is very HOT. Driving there from Bangalore I was struck by the arid, red, baking landscape. If Tamil Nadu was like Spain, Andra Pradesh was like the Wild West or even Mars. Red landscapes stretched everywhere with surreal rock formations, some looking as if they had been placed there by some enormous child, quietly grilling away in the sun. I had been warned that Puttaparthi would be hot - it sits in a valley and the heat just rests there, hence Sai Baba leaving for places like Whitefield - but this was REALLY HOT. You could almost eat the air it was so heavy. Phew!

The town is essentially one long strip outside the Ashram, with the bigger buildings, including an airport, further out. My car drove me to the block of flats I was staying. Julia had very kindly allowed me to stay in hers there for my stay. I got out and was greeted by Peter who showed me up. I was massively grateful. It was spacious and comfortable and had its own fridge so I could cool my own water!

That night Peter took me to a gathering of friends who were having a volleyball party. Still not feeling one hundred percent I sat and watched. In other circumstances, I would be thought of as wierd, but everyone was so laid back and relaxed I was instead welcomed at once. There was a mix of Americans (one of whom was nursing a baby bat which they had rescued from death somewhere), Poles, Australians, South Africans and me, the token Brit. I felt very relaxed and at home.

The next day, after a deep sleep, Peter took me to the Darshan (Glimpse of God) that was happening that evening. Earlier in the day I had wandered the Ashram a little. The contrast to Ramana Maharshi's or Sri Aurobindo's ones was massive. Sai Baba's was huge and milling with people, whole communities of them. Later Peter was to show me around properly and I saw how the site was on hectares of land, with a supermarket, flats, shared accomodation, canteens, libraries, study halls and everything. The atmosphere was like a maelsrtrom, hot and boiling not just physically but spiritually, with people from all over the world walking about, some on their spiritual quest, some just getting by. It was overwhelming. Very different to the quiet atmosphere of the RM Ashram. This was a Crucible, and the heat of the air was mirrored by the nuclear energy of the heat the people were giving off energetically. I described it to Peter like a kind of 'spiritual hospital' and he knew what I meant.

The Darshan Hall, in contrast to that of the SivaShakti Amma, was enormous, lavish and adorned with wonderful awnings, carvings and paintings. The night before we had caught a glimpse of Sai Baba from a distance, a tiny orange speck on the horizon. Today we were in with the crowds, sitting near the front. Women were on one side, men on the other. Security guards milled around encouraging everyone to be silent but the murmur of voices was everywhere. Time passed and Peter told me that if Sai Baba didn't show before 5, Bajhans (sung prayers) would begin without him. The hall was gradually filling up. Ultimately thousands of people would be there. It was very hot.

Then suddenly a voice started singing and Sai Baba appeared. As he is over 80 now he was in an electric chair flanked by aides but the moment he entered the crowd turned towards him. It was very dramatic. He is a striking figure to see, small (although he doesn't seem small), always dressed in an orange robe with a startling black afro hairstyle. As his entourage moved among the crowds and right by us, people called out prayers and praise and leaned forward to press letters into his hand, presumably to hand him petitions for his blessings or miraculous powers. As he passed us he struck me as on the one hand very ordinary, on the other very remarkable. He was hard to look at properly, as if he was surrounded by a haze. He looked EXACTLY as in his photos.

He passed us, circled and was wheeled onto the main platform, the crowd moving as one to find a good viewing point. What followed was a slight disappointment, as I was hoping to hear him speak, but instead a group of singers came up and performed a tribute song to him and his mother. A LONG tribute song. Even Peter thought it was too long (I imagine Sai Baba himself thought it was too long!). After that Darshan was over and he left.

The experience was fascinating but confusing. Perhaps because I had heard so much about him from everyone it was impossible for me to get anything clear from the experience, as I didn't hear him speak, nor did I have anything like the close relationship with him some of the peopl I knew had had (some had had one on one conversations, others group sessions with him). I didn't get the same result as I had done with the Amma. This was much more a mass event, an enormous, hot, confusing thing taking place of which I was only a tiny speck. With the Amma, I was one of ten people in a small room. Here were thousands in an enormous one.

Afterwards, as I say, Peter showed me round all the grounds of the Ashram. As I said before, it struck me as a very intense, cluastrophobic place, a real hothouse of crossfiring energies. I don't know that I would like living or studying there. Too many people. And I wasn't clear what the process there was. But later as I had dinner and then breakfast the next day with Peter and some of the others, the process became clearer.

What I did get from the experience was acquaintanceship with an array of wonderful people, all of whom felt like kin. It was wonderful to be somewhere where, once again, you could talk openly about things which one can't anywhere else without being mocked. The liberating feeling of this was massive for me.

And it would have to be, as I am now on the last leg of my journey home, with all those questions looming again about how on earth I am going to fit in back in the UK? I simply don't know. We will have to see.

I am in Hyderabad now, which is a hot, noisy, stressed, polluted city without, so far anyway, any of the beauty or energy of the other places I have been. After this, Agra to see the Taj Mahal, then Delhi and then Koorg again before home. North India is very different to south India I am told, and Delhi will be interesting (and challenging!) after Mumbai! It will be interesting to see how I cope with it three months on from that traumatic experience! Tonight I am meeting the sister of my dear friend Shobna Gulati for dinner. Hema, as she is called, lives and works out here and has promised to show me round. Should be nice. My hotel is pleasant, if a little 70s and gloomy, but I miss the light and energy and soul of what I have left behind me. More changes, more adventures, more insights. Let's see what happens!