Hello,

Thanks to all the well wishers. I am definitely recovering from my nasty cold and we will be moving out of Edward's bungalow and back to our hotel room in Mirzapur city on Sunday. We are being being very well taken care of here. I am lazing around drinking freshly squeezed orange and grapefruit juice and nimbu pani (lime or lemon juice and water), reading my book and doing some journal writing and eating all the fine meals, much of which is grown here in the large gardens.

This afternoon I was reading in the sun on the verandah adjoining the computer/TV room when two little mongooses came running from behind some pots of chrysanthiums across the drive to a hole in the wall about twelve feet in front of me. Before disappearing down the hole the second one stopped and turned to look at me. In a moment they both came back out again and this time they both raised their heads and looked at me for a few seconds, turned and went back down the hole. Seconds later out they came again and again looked at me and then ran back the way they'd come from across the pavement. Next just one streaked across the drive again and disappeared down the hole. They run sleek and low to the ground, they're related to ferrets, I suppose, but with long pointed tails that are held straight out behind them. When they stopped to look at me their head and shoulders were held up as they stared with beady little eyes. As a child in Mirzapur a mongoose would always come into our bungalow after lunch and I distinctly remember him coming into my room while I was in my cot for a nap. Mongoose always win their fights with poisonous snakes and they have antivenom in their blood.

There are also many little striped chipmunks everywhere. I've yet to see a monkey (Ross has seen seven in Mirzapur so far. He goes in every day on his motorbike on errands.), which is perhaps a good thing as I've heard they have become quite a menace.

Many different types of birds are all about us. We've seen the noisy Seven Sisters, a bird called a Crow Pheasant, black with rusty orange wings, peacocks, magpie-type birds, crows, pigeons, doves and numerous small birds. Without a bird book or a knowledgible English speaker around I am at a loss to identify many of them.

Here's wishing you all the very best of New Years. May there Peace for all and may all your best dreams come true.

Love,
Judy

Christmas With Judy and Ross

We are welcome to stay in the bungalow as long as we like, however we want to be more independent and to be more immersed in the daily life here in Mirzapur. Kusam took us around in a car, weaving between the many pedal rickshaws, to view various places. She introduced us to Amrit, owner of Giggles Enterprises, who has many connections. He suggested a few ground floor rooms. One place was too tacky, fake wood banisters, large manicured lawns and convention hall. It was relatively expensive, but it did have a toilet, not just Asian squatter style. In Amrit’s neighborhood, we checked out the Hotel Resort Deluxe. It was very clean but was up many stairs, and probably expensive. We eventually picked a marriage hall called the Rajas tan Bhowan. Since marriage season is over for a while, we had the whole place to our selves besides Pundit Ji (holy door man). The Rajistan Bhowan is owned by the Marwari’s, religious business people. On the way to our cell like room, there is a Hanuman temple . After a bit of cleaning and opening the shutters to the interior hall that is open to the sky, we felt quite happy with the place. The toilet was accessible and there is only one half step to access the street. From across the narrow street, more like a narrow back lane, we would have our meals delivered from a small family sweet shop. We were warned to only eat in our room as the monkeys would come into the open hall and steal our food. Apparently they can be quite vicious.
A short walk from the room is the Mukeri market. It was nice to finally be on our own , walking amongst all the open stalls selling fruit, cauliflower, tomatoes onions and sandals. I found a camera shop where I downloaded the camera. And an internet shop that I piggybacked Judy into.
On the third day there, a large cloth was laid out on the front hall beside the temple. A lot of men came for a meeting and there was a lot of heated discussion. I joked with Judy that they were probably talking about us. The next day Amrit called and said we had to move. I guess the meeting was about us ! There was a concern that because they were not set up as a hotel, foreigners could not stay there. Security was apparently a problem.
Amrit arranged for us to stay at the Hotel Resort Deluxe where he wrangled a huge discount for us.
That night Amrit came over with a neighbor hood buddy. Judy was happy staying in the upstairs room as she was starting to get the bad cold that I was just getting over. The three of us hopped on Amrit’s motorcycle and after a short ride we stopped at one of their friends home where we all piled in. This infidel shared a smoke with my 2 Hindu friends and their Muslim neighbors. After lots of joking around and laughter we moved to a large sleeping platform where we sat cross-legged around a meal of Kabab, left over from Eid.
The next morning I called a doctor as Judy had a fitful sleep because the cold had caused her trouble breathing. Sally had previously called a doctor for me because she was concerned of complications. I guess the smoke from the dung fires makes respiratory illness’s worse even though the air here is comparatively good because of the low number of 2 stroke and diesel tuk tuk trikes. After paying the bill of whole 200Rs (5$) for the house call, we went off in the car that Edward had sent for us. Edward was having his annual christmas lunch. There were about 120 guests scattered around carpets and tables set up on the lawn. Inside there were a couple long tables with vegetarian or meat dishes. I wasn’t hungry but I ate a little anyway. I felt so full; uncomfortably full. After the guests left, we stayed and Judy had a bath. I had a sleep and awoke with a very uncomfortable belly. (kababs from the previous night?). We continued with the plans went in 2 cars to Geoffrey and Kusam’s , in the village near Gopi Ganj. Kusam’s family was there for Christmas dinner. We shared presents and sat down for dinner. After only eating a bit of soup, Judy and I left as we were both feeling quite ill. Judy has decided to stay here again at the Bungalow until she recovers from this bad cold. When I got up, after most of the nausia went away, I found Judy on the 3000 square foot porch talking to Dr. Singh. He agreed with what the other Dr. had said about Judy’s treatment and told me to just drink lots of fluids to help with my diarrhea. Judy was served some grapefruit and porridge and I some tea and then we sat in the warm sun looking out over all the pretty flowers in the garden as a pair of mongooses ran by and a peacock wandered around under the grapefruit trees.

Mirzapur Motorcycling

I was afraid to venture out on the crowded streets with the rented motorcycle. I imagined that I would turn the wrong way when approaching other vehicles head on. Negotiating a right hand turn across oncoming traffic was probably my biggest fear. Right hand turns are the equivalent of left hand turns here. There are no stop lights, traffic police, stop signs or even yield signs.
The traffic is 90% bicycles. The rest is a mix of motorcycles, pedestrians, mule carts loaded with goods or people and an odd car or jeep. Mirrors are not used. The motorcyclists and cars that do have them bend them in so they don’t get knocked off while squeezing through traffic. Horns are used instead. You always have the right of way in the lead. The right of way over smaller vehicles that are being overtaken is gained by blowing the horn. When they hear a horn behind them, they move a little to the left to give the overtaking vehicle a bit of room.
There are no lane markings, or center line. The traffic sometimes takes the entire road going in one direction. Approaching from the other direction is daunting. All they can do is stay to the left and slow down to give the approaching traffic time to move over enough to allow the vehicle to squeeze by. Sometimes they’ll be on the oncoming side while the oncoming traffic is on their’s. Everyone does a quick twist of the bars to swing to the left to get out of the way. The cars constantly blow their horns and do a slalom more or less down the center of the road. Its amazing that they don’t hit any one as they appear to be heading straight on into an impassible mass of traffic. At the last split second a gap always forms just wide enough to allow it to pass. They constantly miss each other by inches.
It is not so bad as it sounds. The speeds are quit low especially in heavy traffic. I saw one accident. The motorcycles just fell over and the riders stayed on their feet.
So I ventured out on the 125 Yamaha 4 stroke single. It seemed like 900 single, relative to the road conditions. The torque is very high. I was in 3 gear by 15km/hr. There was plenty of power even from a low idling rpm. The steering was very quick. Within the first 100 meters I realized why they designed the steering that way. It facilitates fast swerves to miss on coming traffic, cows goats children etc.
I was on my side of the road when a clutch of traffic headed towards me. A motorcycle broke form the group and moved to my side. I was unsure of what to do. I decided I better go straight so that my movement would be predictable. It worked ! he passed by me on my left, the wrong side by Indian standards. My mistake was leaving enough room on the left for him to pass on the wrong side. Leaving a gap usually means that you want to cross the oncoming traffic; a right turn; or like a Canadian left turn.
For right turns and pulling out in traffic, you usually just pull out in front of smaller vehicles and everyone congenially makes room for you. Its like “just close your eyes and pray”. Its amazing how relaxed everyone is. No road rage. Indians are patient people.
After a couple of kilometers, I felt right at home. Maybe more like a bike courier in downtown Vancouver traffic, or riding a motorcycle through a pedestrian mall blowing your horn as you go. The road opened up and I finally got an opportunity to get into top gear and add some power. I got up to about 50 km/hr and felt I was being a bit reckless and immediately dropped back to a sane 40 or so. On the highway one of the professional drivers we had once hit about 60 km/hr.
I am relaxing this afternoon in the hot sun and probably won’t venture out again today after a ½ hour ride this morning. Time to go for a walk with Judy. Love from India.

Bungalow Impressions

I was at the bungalow yesterday with Ross. No formalities, no translator--we didn't tell anyone where we were going, just walked the 5 or so minutes down the road from this unreal world of servants and standards that we are staying in. More about that another time. I feel more at home on the streets of India.
Cheers,
Judy


Bungalow Impressions

Walking down the tree-lined well paved road I pass a gate. Mirzapur Club Limited Established 1888, reads the sign. The road is quiet. The only vehicles at the moment are bicycles, cycle rickshaws, pony drawn ekkas and the occasional motorcycle. When the odd car does go by it is an it is an intrusion. Brick walls of varying hights are behind the trees on either side of the road. I come to the chained wrought-iron gate of the old Hill's bungalow, my bungalow, and look through the bars. I see four chowkidars in front of the house, one doing his morning wash. They stare and one comes to the gate with a round clay water pot, unlocks a small door in the gate, leaves it open and goes to fetch water. As he goes by I gesture and ask "Can I go in?" The half head wag and the open gate indicates that I can. I go into the grounds and stop on the path just looking around. Either side of me the jungle trees are all grown over with thick hanging vines and I begin to cry. Ahead is the bungalow. A rope is strung between two trees, on it blankets and a lungi drying on it in the sun. I try to converse with the young chowkidar who comes up the path. "Mera ghar...baccha, ek, do, tin, char. Mera mammie, mera pita." I say, wiping my eyes and sniffing. He chatters away in rapid Hindi and any words I might have recognized vanish. "Apka nam kya hai?" I ask his name--the one question I can always remember.

I approach the house and on my right three men go about preparing their meal. On a low charpoy there is a stainless steel tali tray with a huge mound of rice in the centre. There are remnants of a bonfire on the ground in front of the verandah to my left, this time of year being cold at night. I come up to the three stairs on to the verandah and look beyond into the house. Through my tears I look past the huge beams lying on the floor that have fallen from the roof, the piles of bricks and the thick leaf mold, past all this to the opposite wall where there stands a fireplace. It is a fireplace of my childhood, now chipped, stained by monsoon rains and broken. All is open to the sky. I now look around at the small household that the chowkidars have created for themselves under the verandah roof. Under one charpoy are a pair of black polished boots and a pair of black shoes.A small fire is burning in a far corner of the verandah and the young boy is tending to the pot cooking on it. Around are arranged other cooking and water vessels. The man who had gone to fetch the water had returned to the small kitchen area. Behind me blankets were stretched out on the ground here and there and the oldest man who seemed to be in charge had finished with his washing and was bare to the waist clad in his lungi. His big round belly indicated his higher status.

I leave the group and go around to the back, the side which faces the Ganga. I gaze at the ruin, for now it is a ruin, blackened and crumbling. I turn to look to at the river. The wind is blowing strongly as I sit and take in the sight and sound and feel of the wind on my face. Over the steady whoosh of the wind in the trees on either side of me the crows make their standard caws, an unknown bird trills and the Seven Sisters chatter and squawk in their clusters as they move from tree to tree. Underneath the bird sounds comes the occasional bawl of a cow.

I move to the edge of the river bank, the Holy Mother Ganga below me. Four boats are on the grey-blue water, one with a rippling ochre sail and if I go closer to the edge I can see twenty or thirty more tied up. I hear the chatter of children below playing among the boats. The entire river-bank in front of me is covered with no longer flowering morning glory, or what looks to me like morning-glory, the bank which each year moves closer to the bungalow as what had once been the manicured lawn is eaten steadily by each monsoon. A large acacia tree will not last the next monsoon as it perches on the crumbling cliffside, many of its roots reaching out into nothing. Between me and the bank a small butterfly walks about on the grass and dust --peacock-blue, black and dusty brown.

I turn away from the river and back to the bungalow. Families of pigeons sit upon all the chimney pots. There are palms on each side of me. I approach the grand verandah. On one of the blackened columns some remnents of scarlet bouganvillia still climb. Moss and dead grasses have grown along the edges of the crumbling roof lines. From this side there is another fireplace and mantle, this one taller than the one visible from the front of the bungalow, as ruined as the first one I could see. "Oh, Mom, how fortunate it is that you cannot see what has become of this place you loved so much."

Pakistan pictures

I have uploaded a bunch of pics from Pakistan. see photobucket.com and search for ross-judy

We found a place to rent in Mirzapur. It was a bit of a challenge finding a place with a suitable toilet for Judy. It is in a marriage hall ! Since it is not marriage season now the rooms are empty. Its not fancy polished marble floor place like the other places we have been staying; its just typical Indian. Mirzapur is a small town (500,000) with zero tourist industry. I love it because of the abundance of bicycles and pedal rickshaws. We met a few older people who remembered Judy's parents which has added to the connection Judy feels for Mirzapur. While Judy is writing and socializing I will use a rented motorcycle to do some exploring.
Ross

Mirzapur

Hello there,

After three days in our luxury oasis hotel in Jodhpur we managed to book a ticket only partway to Mirzapur as we were doing it on short notice. We booked as far as Kanpur, known as the most polluted city in Asia. Booking tickets in India is always a challenge and time consumming and furthermore the service people are not at all helpful and grumpy, perhaps in response to the pushy people waiting in the line. To make it worse we had to use the tourist/senior/ladies booth, the old men in one line, the women in another, often pushing and yelling at each other as to who's next to get to the one service person at that booth. Mission accomplished.

In the interesting old market in Jodhpur I spotted an Indian with a very fancy camera photographing me. I went up and said, "This is a switch. Usually it's the tourists photographing the Indians, and here is an Indian photographing the tourists! What's your story?" It turned out that he was a reporter from a Hindi Jodhpur newspaper. We had a chat and I told him we'd come through from Pakistan on the Thar Express and that I'd been there taking part in events to mark the International Day of the Disabled Person. I asked him what sort of disabled rights movement there was in Jodhpur that he was aware of and I talked about ramps and barrier free access. The market was paved with very bumpy stones. Well, the next day the waiter in the hotel said my photo was in the paper. Under it was a small story about me and how there should be a paved path in the market. His spin. Fun.

Leaving Jodhpur was uneventful and the train left only one hour late. I had eaten some train food that didn't agree with me so was sick in the night and semi-slept in a twilight zone. Ross always manages to sleep, anywhere anytime. After 20 hours we arrived in Kanpur at about 5:00 am. Then more confusing information and ticket buying, trying to find toilet facilities, the lady announcer endlessly going on and on "For your kind attention, please..." and then listing different train numbers and platforms. People in mounds sleeping under blankets on the platform. We booked a ticket to Mirzapur and finally got on the train, "Yes, this train is going to Mirzapur". We settled in and began the journey and somewhere along the way one of our passengers said, "This train doesn't stop at Mirzapur, goes by it." Ross walked the length of the train looking for a conducter who would tell him and he found two that said yes, it didn't stop there. So off we got at Allahabad to find the train that would take us the short distance to Mirzapur. Getting off at 11:30 we were told there is a train at 1:30, then it was going at 2:30 at this platform, no, at that platform. A young fellow said he was going to Mirzapur, goes all the time, so we stuck with him for a while all the while listening to the incessant announcer for our train. At times I felt that I was in train station hell and would be there forever. Finally Ross thought he heard our train called and it was at a different platform. Off we rushed and asked several people if this train was going to Mirzapur. They all assured us it was. The bogie (rail car) right in front of us was labelled Handicapped use only and had a big wheelchair sign painted on it. I had seen several of these off in the distance at other stations and wondered about them. It was perfect. Wide aisles, an accessible CLEAN toilet with a sink and mirror that I could see into. I went from railway hell to railway heaven in an instant. I washed, changed my clothes, brushed my teeth and became a new person. We shared our car with a slightly drunk railway worker (A digger), he showed us his pay stub and a fellow who lived in Mirzapur who worked for the bus company. We finally left at 5:00. The one hour trip became 3 hours as people constantly were pulling the stop chain to get off at their villages and each time we stopped for at least 15 or 20 minutes. We had managed to borrow a cell phone and leave a message for Nuncu that we would be late, never knowing just how late. We arrived at 8:00 pm. The Mirzapur railway station that brought forth such a rush of nostalgia and tears at my first homecoming to India was now just another railway station that I was very anxious to see the back of.

Coming back to Raipuri was bliss, all our old friend so welcoming. It's a different way of life here, much like it was in the days of the Raj with servants to do every little thing. For the next two days we will be at Edward's in a very old bungalow next door to my old bungalow. Geoffrey, Kusum, Moti, Kusum's sister and we are visiting Edward's sister, Sally. Edward is away until tomorrow.
All for now.
Judy & Ross

Thar Express

We love trains. When we found out it was feasable to take a train to India, we jumped at the opportunity. We are lucky we did not know what we where in for or else we would have wasted $600 on another boring, polluting plane ride.
The Thar Express was abandoned some time after the british left India. Since relations with Pakistan have improved, they opened it again less then 2 years ago. It was washed out by freak (climate change) rains and reopened about 6 months ago.
Through contacts of one of our hosts in karachi, we were able to have the superintendent of railway pull strings and get us tickets on late notice. There was a baic security check boarding the train. Lots of waving goodbye and off we went on an older 3 tiered sleeper train of about 8 cars. It was 11:00 pm so we did not see much of the Thar desert. We arrived a Zero Point, the border with india about 8:00am. We got off the train with our bags and went through a more intense security check.We counted over 5 tinmes that we showed our passports. After a few hours of hanging out in the desert we again boarded the train and slowly moved throught he barbed wire gates and intense security. I was tired so climbed up to the upper bunk getting ready for the final 8 hour leg of the trip. Minutes later we stoped at another platform where we all got out again. Oh, my god, the previous check was only the Pakistan check. Now we had to go through the gruelling 23 hour India Immigration and customs filtering. We spent most of the time ouside on the shade of the platform. No benches, but o/k non accessable toilets. I wanted to get food but they didn't take Pakistan rupees. There is a bank to change money but you have to go through customs first to get to it ! There was about 400 people and they mostly all had hugfe bundles of belongings that the customm officers inspected very closely, looking at every single seam. We met many interesting travelers and shared the time with lots of curious people. Custom and railway employees kept asking to look at our passports, I counted 15 times that I showed my passport. Many of them engaged us in casual discusions and I kept pulling out our pictues to show them the kids and bikes. WE finally got on the train about 5:00 am after a few hours sleep on the hard marble floor of the waiting room while blaring Hindi pop music played. Even after changing money there was not much food to buy.
The ride was fairly uneventfull except for a cold wind blowing on Judy. Everthing was covered with a layer of fine sand that had blown in as we went through the sand dunes while we slept. Afer 3 good hours of sleep we arrived here in Jodhpur earlier then we expected at 10:00 am and immediately missed the courtesy and hospitality of the Pakistanis.
We splurged a whole $30 on a grand hotel with hot water, accessible bathroom that you could park a couple smart cars in. We are in the lounge amongst paintings , old family photos, and Rajhistani swords. We will soon eat a thali next to the large treed court yard garden with tropical plants and lily pond.

Jihadi story

This is the story of Shirjeel.
Nishat's brother in law's nephew had been selected for training as a commissioned officer in the Pakistan air-force but was forced to leave after about one year due to his eyesight.
At the age of about 18 to 20 he was convinced by a mullah in Karachi, after 9/11 to join the jihad.
He went to Afghanistan and had great difficulty climbing in the mountains. The Afghanis were separated were separated by the non-Afghanis.. He became discouraged and returned to Kaachi where he went into hiding. He had to hide not only from the Jihadis who wanted him to return but also the CIA and the Pakistan authorities. He never again wanted to be involved in any Jihad activities. After 4 years there was a terrorist bombing in Karachi then a crackdown where all Jihadis were arrested. Someone reported on the boy and he was also arrested. Now after 2 years in jail he says he now sleeps well as he is safe in jail, although his family is brocken from all the worrying and his mother is now very ill. There is no legal support to get him out, no bail, no trial. He missed his sisters marriage, which has ultimate importance here in Pakistan.
Nishat says that under Islam, the word Jihad means protect ourselves from evil things. Taliban means a student of the Quran. The Quran does not say that Jihad is war. Jihad must be for only peace. Islam means peace.

Next: India

Hello all,
Tomorrow night we take the train to the border of India, Rajahstan. This is a weekly train that has new cars running on the old British rails. The service has only been running for about a year under the direction of Mussharuf. There are so many people in Pakistan with family in India and previously they had to go a very long way by train to get to India. We are booked to Jodhpur and from there we will book our way to Mirzapur. We have been in Karachi for the past 5 days staying in the office of a centre, A.P.H.A., providing services for disabled people, such as councilling, braces, prosthetic limbs, outreach and they also run a small school here for mentally challenged children. We have made great friends with Nishak, a volunteer administrator who had polio affecting his hands, Khalid, a young man who does everything, Mahmood, another member also in a wheelchair from polio. Every day we have a wonderful home cooked meal in one of their homes or the home of a relative, or other member of APHA, tonight we dine at Khalid's home and meet his wife and baby. We have learned so much about Islam, it's really a very loving and sensible religion. It seems the fundamentalists are basically uneducated over and above the Quran and the word Taliban means student of the Quran, nothing more. Young men who are uneducated can be easily manuplated. Free basic education is very much lacking in Pakistan, especially in the rural areas. A big problem for the country.
We have met people from the North West Frontier Province, Peshawar, we have been invited to Baluchistan, I'm sure we could travel safely anywhere in Pakistan through the friends we have made in the disability movement. And I have had no trouble finding accessible toilets or ramps in most of the homes we visit. We have made great friends. Ghulam Nabi Nizamani left to go back to his home in Sanghar 2 days ago so we no longer have our roommate. He is a fierce fighter for the rights of the disabled. We have learned the fascinating history of the Hurs who are Sufis and never submitted to British rule.
So tomorrow we will leave our friends and the dirty air and crazy driving of Karachi. Maybe on the long train ride I will have time to write up all that we have been doing in my journal. I have had no time.
As I write the Huzzan is calling the faithful to prayer from two mosques in the neighbourhood, I think it's number 4 or perhaps 3. It happens 5 times a day.
All the best to everyone. Enjoy the snow for those in BC.
Love to you all,
Judy and Ross

Pakistan

Hello all,
We couldn't possibably have imagined the experiences that we are having in Pakistan. We have travelled to remote villages, small towns and the capital of Sindh province, Karachi and have been received like major ambassadors--big welcoming signs with our names and the particular disability organization, garlands of roses around our necks, showers of rose petals thrown on us as we enter the various establishments, large and small. We have both given speeches at every place, met with mayors and deputy mayors and other political officials. We have been given gifts (many ajraks placed around our necks--traditional Sindhi cotton block printed material). The people are incredibly warm, loving and friendly. We had no idea. We cannot send photos yet as we haven't managed to download them but we wanted to let you all know that we are well and are enjoying the extraordinary hospitality.
All our love,
Judy and Ross

England

Hello there,
We are now at Sherridge in Worcester, where my father grew up, a beautiful country manor but very cosy and cousin Peter and Katrina are so friendly and welcoming. Ross and I had a great 3 days in London being tourists, rode the accessible buses, walked all over the place saw Kensington Garden, Hyde Park, St. Paul's Cathedral, West Minster Abbey museum and the oldest wooden door in Britian, the National Gallery and the British Museum and dinner every night at Christabel and Howard's house built in 1723 on a street where Dicken's Little Dorrit is set. Everything very fast in London, people working all the time. Crazy. We had a wonderful walk through the Sherridge grounds today, through the mud and countryside, lovely. Back to London on Monday morning and to Pakistan on Tuesday and India a week later.
Hopefully some more personal emails later. Computers are not always easy to come by.
Love to all,
No new photos downloaded yet.
Judy

The ross-judy blog is set up !

Judy and I are getting ready to go on a trip to Ontario, England, Pakistan and India. We will hopefully pick up our India visa while we are at the Norbury family reunion in Vancouver. Then we'll send the passports to the Pakistan embasy in Ottawa. Whew! So much to do. We are packing the house up getting ready for 3 housesitters to move in, along with the harvesting, building electric bikes and Judy has been with her book Come back Judy Baba; Memoirs of India and her new cd Did You Find The Door. Check out our photo album
http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee38/Ross-Judy/P1000408.jpg