No-Shukriya: (There's No Need to Say Thank You)

By Hannah Tronnes

No-shukriya is the story of my experience while attending an internship in Vadodara, India. Through my travel journal and e-mails, youll get a taste of Indias cuisine, festivals, language, popular culture, yoga, and spiritualism of India.

I never cried so much in my lifeover loneliness or frustration. The longer I stayed, the more I loved it. I flew on a magic carpet across some of Bharatantyams wondrous cities. By carpet, I mean a train, and a Royal Enfield. I am so grateful for the way people have taken me in here. India made me feel like anything was possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Aug 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482835847

Hannah Tronnes

Twenty-two-year-old Hannah Tronnes was born in Canada to Canadian and Norwegian parents. Since then, she has lived in Norway, Iceland, India, Australia, and Italy for varying amounts of time. When Hannah isn’t studying economics at the Norwegian School of Economics, she enjoys dancing, yoga, traveling the world to meet new people, and being exposed to new cultures. She bases her books on diaries she keeps when traveling and experiencing new and exciting countries.

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Copyright © 2014 by Hannah Tronnes.

Cover and Author Photo by Haily Shah

ISBN:      eBook         978-1-4828-3584-7

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Contents

Shraavana (July)

Bhādrapada (August)

Ashwina (September)

Kartika (October)

Mārgasirsa (November)

Pausha (December)

Māgha (January)

Phālguna (February)

Dhanyavad 8289.png

‘Nowhere were people so heightened, rounded and individualistic; nowhere did they offer themselves so fully and with such assurance. To know Indians was to take a delight in people as people; every encounter was an adventure. I did not want India to sink [out of my memory]; the mere thought was painful.’ - V.S. Naipaul, An Area of Darkness

To my bhai, for always staying positive, and for having that unbelievable light attitude to life. I love you! To Camilla, because you inspire me to work hard! Shukriya Udit, Prachi, Mohini, Heena, Ankita, Joana, Jijo, Sandeep, Thore, Ana, Asmaa, Minoo, Esther, Maryam, Shamsy, Sid, Dahlia, Henrikke and many more wonderful friends, for taking me in as your own, and for caring about me. Just like that! I will always be grateful for the wonderful moments we shared. Shukriya, Neel for all the amazing times, mentoring, and for making my Pilates dream come true. Dhanyavad, dance teachers Akash, Sandy and Mannu Sir for helping me dance my way to happiness, and Piyush, for teaching me yoga philosophy in practice. Dhanyavad Konika, for believing in my yoga and Pilates, and for hiring me on the spot. Dhanyavad colleagues for your Hindi lessons and never-ending sweetness. Dhanyavad mom and dad, especially to you mom, for always knowing the answer. To me, you are just about perfect. Dhanyvad, my amazing friends, for your lovely personalities. Every day, you inspire me with your kindness and intelligence! I often think: ‘How did I end up with such wonderful friends?’ Shukriya Haily and Sarvam for all those fun shoots! Lastly, Shukriya India - you snatched a piece of my heart forever.

Included in the back is a Hindi Glossary and Bollywood song list. I have a funny confession to make. I asked a few different people how to spell daal, and got different answers: dahl, daal and dhal. Hindi is still a mystery for me, and I apologize for any spelling mistakes 10384.png

Foreword, Oslo 8295.png

‘..You board your plane, takeyour seat again, an’ by way of love, the city tilts when you see it last, it begins to melt as the plane turns around, you sigh, for love, a bit like the seat-belt you tie, guards you but always holds you down.’ - ‘You’, Akhil Katyal

As I wrap up the exam papers of my last bachelor exam, it dawns on me: the pain of studying hard is all worth it for the feeling of being done. An insane rush of happiness flows from ear to toe, as if I’m strawberry-flavoured Jell-O. I’m standing at Bergen airport. In a little airport tradition of mine, I flip through the glossy magazines, with inspiring interviews and beautiful pictures. I learn that the chief designer of Pucci, Peter Dundas, was born in Oslo. He wrote about his mom: ‘my father imported her into Norway from America and she was quite an exotic bird. She wasn’t afraid to wear very bright colours and had curly raven hair and wore crimson lipstick. I think she set my standard for a woman who wasn’t afraid to be visible.’ Haha, this is so much like my own colourful, red-haired mom! A daddy calls his little girl ‘do you want a magazine? You can pick one!’ Suddenly I’m five again, and it’s my dad calling. He’s not into magazines and girly things at all. Rather rocks, volcanoes and running up mountains. Nonetheless, every once in a while, he would pick up a Prinsesse Bladet (The Princess Magazine) for me, and I would be overjoyed. I smile at the memory. In one issue there was a Snow White diary with a lock. It was my first journal.

Looking out the airplane window, I think: it’s a wonder that airplanes take flight. Norway’s beauty! From above, Bergen looks like a Legoland of white houses. The Atlantic Ocean is sprinkled with large ships. Snow-decked glaciers rise in the heat of the summer. Clouds reflect off the vast, untouched lakes. When we land in Oslo, I see lush pine spruce forests.

Like many little girls, I started writing a diary at an early age. Sometimes I look back at old journals, and laugh at the spelling mistakes and weird thoughts I had as a kid. It’s interesting to see how insecurity is the red thread through my teenage years. My ex once said to me. ‘Why don’t you write a book, Hannah? You love writing.’ I told him about my dream of writing a self-help book for teenage girls covering topics like ‘how to ace a job interview’ and ‘how to build self-esteem.’ I wanted to call it ‘Confidence and Things That Follow.’ As life has it, things rarely go as planned. While doing an internship in India, I took up writing a travel journal. My story of India is based on my journal entries, travels and letters over the six months I lived there.

Shraavana (July)

The journey + Day 1

‘It was much pleasanter at home,’ thought poor Alice, ‘when one wasn’t always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn’t gone down the rabbit-hole—and yet—and yet—…’—Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

13.07.13, Norway, Oslo airport.

‘Let me tell you a secret: there is no such thing as an uninteresting life

One day you must tell me your full and complete story, unabridged and unexpurgated. We will set aside some time for it, and meet. It’s very important.’

Maneck smiled. ‘Why is it important?’

‘It’s extremely important because it helps to remind yourself of who you are. Then you can go forward, without fear of losing yourself in this ever-changing world.’ - Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance

They say you can write a novel when you are single. And I have to admit; this whole me-time-thing is kind of amazing. My friend Sofi, who just became a flight attendant, told me what her mom had said: ‘Just enjoy your you-time, travelling and staying at hotels.’ I’m lying on the bed. My connecting flight to London is cancelled. To compensate, they gave me a free hotel night. I don’t believe in fate, but when I first entered the room, and switched on the TV, a Bollywood movie came on. I just did a Bollywood dance workout DVD on my laptop. Bollywood dancing is made up of a lot of hip- and shoulder shimmying. I want to teach a Bollywood class someday, and maybe take part in a Bollywood movie! Quote from the DVD: ‘Bollywood dance is all about having fun. Let yourself go, express yourself fully.’

You may wonder why I have a Bollywood DVD? My mom has a collection of exercise VHS’s from the 80’s. The collection includes The Firm videos, and old school Jane Fonda videos, where she’s wearing high-cut leotards to create the illusion of mile-long legs. Our living room cupboard is filled with mats, rings, balls, a step, kettle bells and weights with different lbs. Every summer or Christmas break, I have fun trying new videos - whether step, aerobics with weights, dancing, Zumba, Pilates, kickboxing, yoga, or a modern ‘10-minute solution Pilates’ by Gaiam. It’s a great mother-daughter bonding activity. Plus, when I’m home in the holidays, I never have to pay for a gym, or use an hour on transportation.

Post Bollywood dancing, I enter the lobby, and eat dinner by myself. I feel very content in my salmon-pink dress! Back in my room, The Beach is playing on TV. I first read The Beach when doing my first backpacking trip in South-East Asia with Anna. I was amazed at how the author described the backpacking experience, especially Koh San Road in Bangkok. The descriptions were so similar to my own impressions. Leonardo Di Caprio is so young in the movie. While getting ready for a shower, Leo explains that regardless of being in paradise, ‘desire is desire wherever you go. The sun will not bleach it, the tide will not wash it away.’ The French girl asks Leo, ‘Would you like to come to the beach with me? Are you happy? Do you think that I ignore you?’ I recall watching it with Anna on an outdoor rooftop bar in Phi Phi, Thailand, where the movie was filmed.

15.07.13, India, Mumbai Airport. 4 a.m.

‘All of the third-world flights docked here, families waiting days for their connections, squatting on the floor in big bacterial clumps, and it was a long trek to where the European-North American travelers came and went, making those brisk, no-nonsense flights with extra leg-room and private TV, whizzing over for a single meeting in such a manner that it was truly hard to imagine they were shitting-peeing, bleeding-weeping humans at all. Silk and cashmere, bleached teeth, Prozac, laptops, and a sandwich for their lunch named the Milano.’ - Kiran Desai, The Inheritance of Loss

I met the loveliest Swedish lady working at the tax-free. She helped me find my favourite Clarins lip-gloss. The lady told me that she had visited India four times, and that she loved it. She wished me the best of luck, which made me instantly happy!

Later, in the toilet queue on the airplane, there was a cute British boy who said my dress was nice. He asked me: ‘Is that a sari?’ It was just a salmon pink summer dress with a pashmina draped on top. I said: ‘thank you, but it’s probably the shawl that makes you think so:)’ I have a theory about India: the more bright colours you use, the less you stand out. Indian style is all about colours, long braids, scarfs, saris and kurtas.

Sitting on the plane, I remember one summer. My family and I were staying in a cottage in the mountains. My brother and I hid upside down in our sleeping bags and played ‘ellediller and krokofanter’. The imaginary animals in the silly lyrics of the Norwegian artists Knutsen and Ludvigsen were the inspiration of the game. We were obsessed with their songs, including (translated), ‘Maybe the king is coming for dinner today. We have set the table on the terrace with good food of every kind!’ We also liked the telephone song ‘Telephones shouldn’t squeak as flutes on land and ships or cute little mice in a corner. One day I took the telephone, before I heard it say peep, it was the canary I picked up… Hello! Hello! How’s it going! – Only good. Hi on you! – Hi on you!, Ludvigsen.’ Our all-time favourite was the ‘we have a badger in the ceiling - badgeling, badgelang, we have a badger in the ceiling - badgelang. We do not have ellediller or krokofanter, but we have a badger in the ceiling.’ I remember tasting lemon on fish for the first time, and liking it. I must have been about five. I thought, what a good combination - fish and lemon. What was such a wonder then, seems completely obvious now. I guess discovering things with awe is what childhood is all about.

I spoke to a friendly businessman on the plane en route from Frankfurt to Mumbai. He worked in the jewellery stone industry (cool!), and had travelled extensively in India, Bergen and Oslo. To my left sat another smiling Brit. The stewardess was Freida Pinto-gorgeous. In Customs, I had to provide the accommodation of my first night in India. Only problem was that I had forgotten to write down my address. And my battery was flat. I asked an Indian girl if I could look up my ‘hotel’ on her phone. I Googled ‘Hotels in Vadodara’ (and pretended that my hotel was on the list. She seemed sceptical to me, like I would rob her, which is a natural feeling when a stranger approaches one at 4 a.m.)

I sit at the airport in Mumbai after running back and forth looking for my luggage. In Oslo they said it would be checked through to the end destination, Vadodara (or Baroda, the names changed when the English came to India: Mumbai vs. Bombay is another example. The name ‘Vadodara’, comes from the hanging Banyan trees you can find there, which are called ‘Vad’ in Hindi). That was not the case, I found out, after spending an hour walking through customs and various controls. I went on a long bus ride from the International to the Domestic terminal, only to figure out that I had to take a taxi back to retrieve my luggage. Finally I could check in.

The lady behind the counter was helpful; she got out from behind the counter in able to point me in the right direction. Indians have kind eyes, so you feel you are being looked after. Later, she said, ‘Work in INDIA? ‘. Then, she turned to her colleague and said: ‘Indians leave India to work abroad.’ I told her it was to experience a new culture. ‘The best of wishes!’ she said.

I jumped into the creepy, overpriced taxi (or was my mind playing tricks on me) with a driver who didn’t speak English, and said ‘Lufthansa’ and ‘international airport’ 100 times to assure myself that the driver wouldn’t kidnap me, or take me to the middle of nowhere. Whew! When I got to the entrance, a sympathetic lady helped me. She told me that a guard called ‘Benjamin’ from Lufthansa would wait for me outside another entrance. I asked four different people for directions: ‘further, down, lift to ground zero’ (for those of you who don’t already have a fear of lifts, trust me: this elevator would give you elevator phobia). Benjamin followed me through several security checkpoints. He explained the situation to the guards, fetched my bag, scanned it, and lifted the 30 kg suitcase as if it were a pillow. A real gentleman. Then there was the taxi drive alone at 2 a.m. Finally I could check in. Thank goodness I had 4.5 hours to kill before my plane departed. I found a thing that I like about India: cheap fashion magazines. They have Elle, Women’s Health, Cosmopolitan and Vogue for 100 rupees. That is 10 NOK kr (and a little more then one euro for the rest of the world). Yay!

Next stop: Vadodara!

Culture shock, 15.07

‘You might think I lost all hope at that point. I did. And as a result I perked up and felt much better.’ - Yann Martel, Life of Pi

I arrived in India yesterday. I sit on the back of Anna’s scooter to work, shit scared. There’s garbage, plastic bottles, old juice and milk cartons, paper, and food residues on the roadside. The odour can be foul. It’s sad that there’s so much trash just lying around. The cows are eating from the garbage. They say India is cow heaven, but in the cities, there must be a lot cows who die from diseases caused by eating something nasty.

At the end of the day I had already had three meetings with clients. It was a shock to see the apartment. There were dead cockroaches under the sink. (Watching the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel after coming back from India, I laughed when a character said upon arriving at the hotel, ‘I want to stay at that hotel.’ ‘Madam, this is it. ‘You photo shopped it!’ ‘It’s the view of the future.’ And, ‘I started in my bedroom where I spent a happy couple of hours giving all the cockroaches names.’) The shower only has cold water. It smells old and mouldy. There is visible mould on the pillows and couches. Critters crawl along the bathroom and kitchen walls, and on the food. The other interns I’m living with seem very kind, but they are mostly guys who prefer to smoke and drink. All the girls will leave in a week’s time. Then it will be the boys and me. I dread that a bit.

14.07, the day I arrived, we ate 10 kr ‘fixed lunch’ with the other interns: Nan, chickpeas, yogurt, and spinach with the Indian cheese paneer. Gujarat is a vegetarian state, and a ‘dry’ state, i.e. it’s not allowed to drink alcohol here. This is because it’s Mahatma Gandhi’s birth state. Foreigners are allowed to get a permit. It’s also common to bring home alcohol from business trips to Mumbai. As labour is cheap, there are many waiters in the restaurants. Economically, Gujarat is a growing state. I learned that it is common for a certain class to have cooks and maids.

Gujarat is like a haute cuisine state of vegetarianism. It’s one of the few states in India where the majority of the population is vegetarian (note: restaurants use the term ‘non-veg’, regular food being vegetarian). Some vegetarians here don’t eat eggs (but do eat dairy, so they’re not vegans), which comes from the Jain religion. The vegetarianism has its roots in Hinduism. It’s also an integral part of the Gujarati culture and lifestyle (‘it’s what I grew up with’). In the old barter system, cows were used as money, and were too valuable to eat. One friend explained to me that it’s bad for one’s karma to harm other beings in any way. Another that she thought it was a bit dirty to eat dead animals. One time, a friend shared a gratuitous picture of a butchered animal on Facebook. I’ve heard many Barodians say ‘why eat meat and fish, when there are so many alternatives, and such a varied cuisine?’ Which is very interesting for a Norwegian girl, where our main source of protein is meat, fish and eggs.

A downside for the cows, is that some farmers don’t prioritize paying for cow food (since their cows only give milk). Instead, they let the cows feed off city garbage. Many cows die a painful death, due to eating plastic, mettle or rotten food. Apparently, dairy products can be toxic, but I experienced that they were fine. Luckily, a lot of cows live a happy life, eating from green fields.

I always loved the idea of living in India. When we were backpacking around India in March, I even told the girls, ‘I can picture myself living here.’ And now look at me, coughing from the dust particles on the road, and the cigarette smoke in the apartment (who smokes inside?) A sensitive stomach that ‘can’t get no satisfaction’, and my lame haggling technique of ‘can I please have a lower price? I live and work for an Indian wage too, you know!’ This just isn’t working. How will I manage to stay? And IT. Are you kidding me? Those who know me know that I have a Nokia phone from the Stone Age, and a hard time remembering to bring a charged phone when I go out. The fan rumbles loudly at night, but it’s still so hot. I’m having trouble sleeping, even after I go to bed with wet hair. I wish I had just stayed in Norway and worked for half a year. Then I could have spent the money on travelling. The realization hit me, I make as much in a month here, as I make in two days in a full-time bakery job back home. And how do I quit a job, which I just started a week ago? How will that look on my CV? What will my parents and friends say if I bail after one week? ‘No, Mom, I’ll be fine!’ ‘Yes, Dad I promise to be careful in the traffic. Ok, I won’t take taxis; busses are better in case of a crash. Got it. Really, relax! This will be good for me. It will be useful for me to learn some economics-related IT.’ Who’s stressed out now? I gulp, remembering my own words. FUCK!

All the medicines my Mom’s pharmacist friend gave me couldn’t prepare me for this change. SPF 50 and Imodium simply do not help this feeling of being on my own. At work later, tears gently begin rolling. This is not fun. Panic creeps up on me. How will I manage this life for half a year? I cannot even drive a scooter, and I feel like I’m going to die in the crazy traffic. The air is nasty, I’m wasting time by sitting at a desk from 11 to 20: the list is long. I sneak into the bathroom to finish crying, gather myself, wipe my eyes, and try to smile on the way out. No one saw it. I’m practically alone here anyway…

After work, we eat at That Place, ‘continental food’, as they call it here. I ordered a yummy Caesar salad, and us three girls shared a tasty chocolate cake, and talked about boys and xes. Who cares what the problem is? Chocolate is the answer:) ‘The best thing about India is the freedom, no pressure,’ Anna tells me. The best thing for me is the rush of the wind in my hair when I sit on the back of someone’s scooter. Anna said, spot-on, ‘I think we are so fortunate to have the opportunity to experience Indians’ everyday life. Imagine. They live here their whole lives. We get to see their life in a way that tourists do not. It’s like we get to experience a new world.’ The worst thing here? The cockroaches, air quality, dust in the streets - which makes me cough, the garbage, and the smell of it. I have a feeling that I’m destroying my lungs a bit by living here, even if it’s only for half a year. It’s so scary to drive a scooter in this traffic, especially when making turns. The cars just drive on in the opposite direction. I’m glad I packed mosquito netting, a towel and two bed sheets. Though my body is full of mosquito bites. Will they give me Malaria?

Day 2

‘Change is one thing. Acceptance is another.’ - Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

We are in a Skype meeting with our client in Russia. It’s cool that you can outsource to India. Through the glass door in the meeting room, I see my IT colleagues sharing and eating a typical Indian lunch from steel containers with several small bowls stacked on top of each other, so you can take each bowl down and eat from it. They eat with their hands, taking Nan bread and dipping it in various sauces and dishes, smiling and enjoying their lunch break together. The distraction makes me smile. I think of my friends back home.

In restaurants, food is usually served on a thali. There’s a selection of dishes, served in small tin bowls on a round tray. The main dishes are based on steamed vegetables and daal. Traditionally, the use of lemon, lime and tomato in cooking was to prevent dehydration. In Gujarat it is common to add a little sugar or jaggery to the dahl. The idea is to have a balance of the sweet and spicy taste. Batata nu shak is a potato and pea curry, which is often mixed with mint and parsley, laal vaal nu shaak is a lentil dish, and guvar nu shaak is a dish of green beans and peas. To go with it, there is usually a pickle, rice, roti or chapati, and ghee (clarified butter). The ghee is thought of as being auspicious and wholesome, and in the north of India they use it for everything: nails, skin, (‘hair, I asked?’ ‘NO’, ‘That would be a sticky mess to have in your hair’:)

For lunch I eat at a vegetarian restaurant with Clement, full three course Indian for a small sum. I ask 5 waiters working there for toilet paper. Some of them nod and say ‘Yes, I’ll get it’, others point to the bathroom (as in, ‘don’t you see that the toilet is there, you stupid girl?’). So here I stand. Finally, another man eating at the restaurant understands the situation and starts babbling away in Gujarati to the waiter (the local language here). Then he turns to me and says, ‘let’s just hope they do not bring napkins.’ I smile and agree. Two minutes later he gives me two napkins and I have to, you know. Haha, oh well. It’s easy to take for granted the small things that make such a difference, like clean water, air, and toilet paper. Afterwards, my stomach aches for several hours. But it passes.

Instead of traffic lights, in Vadodara, police officers control the traffic. The only thing is that the officers mostly operate in the evening rush hour, leaving the morning and lunch rushes dangerous as hell. Here, honking doesn’t mean ‘get out of the way, you idiot!’ It simply means ‘I’m here!! Do you see me? No, you don’t! And I’m about to pass you, so get out the way, please.’

Car 1: ‘Pedestrian crossings, one side of the road, pavement? What’s that? Never heard of it!’ Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk.

Car 2: ‘Well, there’s nowhere I can move, moron. I am stuck in this traffic jam too, you know? Since you honked at me five times, I will reply with seven honks to signal that I heard your honks, and that I do not appreciate them so very much at this moment. In fact, you should wait your turn, Mr. Car 1.

Truck: ‘I am bigger than these small two-wheelers and cars, so I will honk 8 times. That way they’ll know I’m the biggest.’

Cow: ‘I have the right of way, and so does my whole family, and all my friends.. Chill out, yaar. I don’t like stressing around to get to where I’m going. I am mindful when I walk. Taking in and feeling every step. You should really try it. Mmm, this garbage tastes especially yummy. I’m just going to sit right here in the middle of the road and enjoy my meal on the dining table.’

You get my point. The honking is endless, putting a constant pressure on my eardrums.

Day 3

‘I am looking for friends. What does that mean — tame?’

‘It is an act too often neglected,’ said the fox. ‘It means to establish ties.’

‘To establish ties?’

‘Just that,’ said the fox. ‘To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world….’ - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

16.07: Anna drives gracefully. My favourite skirt to wear while sitting on the scooter is the long orange one, which floats behind me. It was pretty amazing to sit behind the Frenchman yesterday. We drove to the gym for a workout. He lifted me up so I could do pull-ups (proud). It’s always fun to have a ‘personal trainer’. Finally! A fitness centre, something I was familiar with from home. For the first time in my stay here, a calm feeling spread through me, of all places; at a relatively ok Indian gym. All the Indian men stared at me because I looked different and lifted heavy. I spoke with the lady who ran the gym about becoming a Pilates and yoga instructor – in India, cool! To this, my mom laughed and said, ‘Are you going to teach Indians to cook Indian food as well?’

When we came out, it was raining. Using body language, we explained the parking guard that we had worked out (I tensed my bicep and showed some muscle:p). Clearly charmed, he agreed to let us go with his toothless grin. What a feeling to whiz home in the warm rain, in the dark night sky. The roads flooded, and the scooter splashed through the meter-thick puddles. News that surely could be on the front page of Aftenposten: ‘dangerous floods in eastern Norway’, but which here was only a minimal detail in an otherwise hard struggle for survival. In the evening, I attended a farewell dinner for two incredibly sweet and pleasant interns who lived here before me. They became lovers within about 4 days. The boy actually brought the girl to dance lessons to impress her. It worked. Their journey will continue to south India, and then Bali. I guess that’s what happens when you live so close. When I go to bed, I smile a little because of new friends, or at least new acquaintances.

Day 4

17.07: Today I get to ride on the back of the HR lady’s bike. We went to take a picture for the website at a professional photo studio; we’re talking high standard for India. ‘Nayhee ( 252.png ), nayhee ( 252.png )’ (‘No, no’ in Hindi, beautiful alphabet, right?), the photographer said to my colleague, who tells me: ‘Don’t smile so much’. Okay then, so I smile less. We look at the pictures. I look a little grumpy to be me. The HR lady is a sweetie. She came up to me and said, ‘I heard you’ll be the only girl for a while, if there’s anything at all, just come to me.’ How kind! She asked if I liked ‘bright colours’. ‘I’ve seen you in bright colours every day.’ Back at the office, I freak out a bit about the upcoming 7 months. Mom must be a little worried; she always gets the whole load.

Day 5

‘A whole new world

A dazzling place I never knew

No one to tell us no or where to go

Or say we’re only dreaming’ - Princess Jasmine, Aladdin

18.07: My biggest fear down here has been driving a scooter. But guess what? Yesterday I faced my fears, and drove around on the scooter like a screaming 16 year-old girl, with Clement on the back, to take control if needed. And you know what? It was a pretty cool feeling! It’s monsoon season in India, and the roads flood with water. After the rain evaporates, what remains, are damaged roads. The large holes cause traffic clusters and chaos. I splashed through meter-deep water, and the long, orange skirt got sprayed wet.

I spoke to a lovely, young lady at the supermarket. She smiled the biggest smile at me. It’s fun to chat with the locals. She said she liked exercising, doing 200 sit-ups a day, and that her ex of 8 years had been unfaithful. Now she wanted real love, not just anybody. ‘Respect is so important,’ she said. I replied, ‘I agree, you shouldn’t settle for less.’ I hope she finds someone (In India it seems that women are somewhat shunned unless they marry). I told