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!