Photos: Road trip

A few pictures from a recent trip to the countryside

Cows enjoying their right of way on the highway

How do these top-heavy loads never tip over?

Oops, they do

It was a cart piled high with sugar cane. The poor cow was still underneath. The beast seemed remarkably oblivious lying on its side within its shackles. Once released it got up calmly and walked off. It's owners must have been very relieved - from what I understand losing a cow would be a bit like writing off a Mercedes, with more emotional attachment and no insurance.

Fellow volunteers look on

This lady was apparently sitting on top of the load when the cart tipped over. She seemed remarkably collected.

A patient family sat ahead of us in the traffic jam

Next we drove past a burning funeral pyre, not what I was expecting. No photos for completely obvious reasons.

The driving in India was scary at first, but I'm getting used to it. Initially it looks like utter chaos. You frequently see trucks or loaded carts coming towards you on the motorway - taking a short cut by driving the wrong way down the hard shoulder (who hasn't wanted to do that on the M25?). I now realise that the drivers have considerable skill. That revelation has made me more comfortable, along with being able to spot good moments to look away. The rules of the road are unwritten in India, but they do exist.

A few more snaps:

Next time I'll explain where we were trying to get to.

A rubbish way to make a living?

Outside my front door there are skips piled high with rubbish. People pick through the contents all day long.

I am staying at the Cultural Centre, owned by the Deep Griha Society (my hosts while I volunteer). It’s in a middle class area so I was a little surprised to be greeted by overflowing skips when I arrived. 

It’s not an uncommon sight in India to see people picking through trash, but I’ve learned there’s a bit more to this particular scene.

Rag-pickers, as the people are known, have unionised in Pune. As a result the people outside my building are paid to sort the rubbish into different types to be taken away. If they find anything valuable (such as waste metal) they can sell it themselves.

Occasionally I see that the rag-pickers have got through all of the rubbish. The street looks temporarily clean and tidy. I like to think that the rag-pickers are able to feel some form of satisfaction at having created such a neat pile of bags from such a smelly mess. The tidy scene passes quickly – as I write I am watching the skips being topped up, bag by bag. The bags are carried in procession through the streets by another type of worker.

In theory it’s the law for all residents in Pune to split their waste into wet and dry. Once it is finally sorted (by the residents or by the rag-pickers), the organic waste is taken to a bio-energy plant.

The sorting continues all day. At dusk torches come out, and the activity continues well into the evening. It may well continue all night. We have a 11.30pm curfew so I’ve not been able to see.

By day the workers chase away the herds of pigs that come to sniff about for morsels. By night they shoe away packs of marauding dogs that come to do the same.  

Kites, cows and education on a street corner

On my first day I visited the Tadiwala slum. I was pretty anxious to see the coalface of Deep Griha Society’s work, especially having wondered all the way to India how I would be able to deal with what I would find.

For my tour I joined a group affectionately known as ‘the DISHA ladies’. DISHA stands for Deep Griha’s Integrated Service for HIV andAIDS. The ladies support people in the slums who have HIV or AIDS, visiting them to make sure they are taking care of themselves, that they are taking their medication, and that they are getting adequate nutrition. They also work hard to raise awareness of HIV in the community.

The DISHA ladies are quite a presence, donning their bright red saris and carry a huge megaphone. After picking a suitable street corner they called out to all and sundry to head over and watch a street play. People came slowly at first. Interest grew considerably when one of the ladies started singing through the megaphone (I wish they could bottle their confidence and sell it). An audience of about 30 (all ages) was then treated to a play dispelling many myths about HIV/AIDS, and addressing the stigma experienced by those who have the condition. The need for raising awareness and removing stigma in India is very high (more on this at a later date).

The slum was completely fascinating, and not at all threatening. While I want to keep my rose-tinted spectacles firmly in my pocket, there was a kind of beauty to it – so much life and colour packed into a small space. I have a lasting image of three boys flying a homemade kite. They were standing on a massive mound of rubbish in order to get clear of the myriad dwellings. The image was very Slumdog Millionaire. Or Kite Runner. Or some flick of that ilk.

There were whole herds of cattle picking through bins for whatever tickles their culinary fancy (the mind boggles). Later I was brought through a government owned apartment block around a square. The block is inhabited by railway workers. Apparently there are many more alcohol and domestic violence issues in these buildings than in the slums - the perils of disposable income. As I walked past a woman emptied her waste paper basket over her balcony and into the general mound in the centre of the square.

The next day I joined the DISHA ladies again at a truckers’ stop out of town. The truckers are a key audience for DISHA. Most truckers are many miles away from their wives and families and many are frequent visitors to Pune’s red light district. 

The ladies gathered the truck drivers under the shade of a tree to watch the play. Acting completed, the ladies made themselves scarce while the truckers gathered around a male member of the DISHA team for a bit of boys’ talk. They listened intently and asked many questions. The outreach is clearly very worthwhile.

What was my role? I held the DISHA ladies’ mobile phones (no pockets in a sari) and offered up my water bottle as a prop (baby in a sling). Now that I’m settled in hopefully I’ll be able to up my contribution.