Oh my goodness, i'm on holiday. How liberating.
Volunteering is over, a bit of a shame, but i'll only miss the kids. Not the Indian education system.
Anyway, yesterday I arrived in Hampi. It's a small, historical packed full of Hindu temples, some small, some big. They all look very similar. Unfortunately, the best and most picturesque hit me almost as soon as I got off the bus. This raised the bar somewhat in terms of expectations leaving the rest to seem a little bit disappointing.
The settings surroundings this holy place is pretty good, but there's no meat and no alcohol.
But there is plenty of white people around. I'd only been here for about 15 minutes and the white-0-meter was already into double figures.
Good times.
Tomorrow, it's off to Mumbai. One of the biggest cities in the world, I do believe. It will be some shock I think. I've been cruising around rural India for 4 and a half months and all of a sudden I have cinemas, restaurants and bars thrust upon me. I have no idea, what Mumbai will be like but I can't wait for McDonalds, KFC, popcorn, english films, coffee and of course Fruit Loops.
Discovery of the month by the way, turns out that a shop in Manvi sold Fruit Loops, the colourful and delectable American cereal. Such a shame that we found out on our last day in Manvi. We didn't even have milk, so we ate them dry. They were still good, as you can imagine i'm sure.
I'm quite sure I will invest in a bowl and a spoon in Mumbai, then after applying the Fruit Loops and cold milk an early morning ecstasy shall ensue.
I can't remember if i've mentioned this or not in this blog but come June 1st, I will be in Thailand.
Just like that.
Us Stoers are a multi-dimensional bunch. We do not live life in such a narrow alley way as to stick to the one country when seeking asiatic adventure. So Thailand it is and delightful it shall be. I still return on the same date, so for all those back home do not cry into your pillow tonight. All is still well, give it just over 3 weeks and i'll be back home. Probably playing Football Manager 09.
Thanks for reading.
Ed x
Monday, 18 May 2009
Monday, 4 May 2009
It's been a long time since my last blog post, i apologise to all my avid readers (Paul Henderson) for not posting anything for the last few weeks.
I have actually been quite busy.
The month of April was a good one to be honest. Me & Sarah returned to Manvi, the place we were supposed to be all along. Quite quickly after coming back we realised what we'd been missing:
1) Stuff to do.
2) Kids that actually liked us.
As bizarrely endearing as the children in Mundgod were there was a reason they were dropouts, nothing to do with a lack of education, but they weren't that pleasant.
More to the point, in Manvi I was reacquainted with some old friends;
Murthi - the angriest young child in Western India
Sharanappa - the big brother of the "angriest young child in Western India' combining to form the angriest family in the region as well.
Madhu - the world's biggest suck up. "Edmund, you are very strong" he said as I marked his classwork.
Nagaraj - word's can barely describe this boy. He's the most enthusiastic remedial student i've ever seen. He's also the most gormless child i've ever met.
" 'What's the capital of America?'
'Russia!' "
Before Summer camp began on April 17th. I was given a class to have as my sole responsibility within the hostel. Upsettingly, that sole responsibility was to be the hostel's singing teacher.
At times it was equally disturbing for the children as it was difficult for me.
After a week we had exhausted the Boney M cd that Anil, the dance teacher, had lent me.
If you ever come to Loyola School (recently renamed St. Xaviers) in Manvi, you may have the pleasure of hearing a few children gently singing any one of "Rivers of Babylon", "Brown Girl in the ring", "The Calypso Carol" (a christmas song in April, how Indian) and my personal favourite "Never Gonna Give You Up".
All thanks to me to be honest, all thanks to me.
In fact, I was a little disappointed we never got a chance to get stuck into Boney M's version of "No Woman, No Cry" originally done by the People's Champion, Bob Marley, a hero of my Father's youth.
SUMMER CAMP
When Summer Camp kicked off it was a wholly disorganised affair. As a Stoer, i was deeply ashamed to be a part of this shambles, what with our unrelenting policy of offering the highest quality whilst educating the future generations.
Eventually however, our timetables were sorted out.
I'm a science and maths teacher apparently, but I can teach whatever I wish.
The problem lies within the mixed groups. I have some children who are some of the cleverer pupils from 9th Standard jumbled in with the "less able" 5th standard children.
What further confuses things is when children in 9th Standard don't know things they should have been taught three years before and when the 5th Standard children know absolutely nothing at all.
Oh, and also, i've noticed Indian children have a compulsion to lie about how good they are at something. So they give me the impression they're all burgeoning talents in the field of maths and science before they brutally brought me back down to earth when I started up on Fractions.
Finally, I had to move out of the room I was staying in because of some Rats.
I shared a room with Anil, the dance teacher and several enormous bags of rice.
The rats lived in the pipes under our bathroom.
It really is quite an unfortunate experience whilst taking a shower to have a rat emerge from the drain and scuttle out of the bathroom underneath the door.
It happened more than once as well.
At one point I was sitting in my room and saw a group of 10-12 rats having a little party in the corner of my room by the rice bags.
They're much faster and more agile than i'd have thought. They can scale the windows if they wish. Breaking point came when, during a powercut, a walked into the bathroom with my torch to find a rat on top of the shower head.
I'm now in a new room though, so everything is good. I've got used to the heat even though it's in the low 40's and i'm okay with the food because i've actually forgotten what good food tastes like.
Anyway, i've written a lot. I'm quite tired.
Thank you for reading. Ed x
I have actually been quite busy.
The month of April was a good one to be honest. Me & Sarah returned to Manvi, the place we were supposed to be all along. Quite quickly after coming back we realised what we'd been missing:
1) Stuff to do.
2) Kids that actually liked us.
As bizarrely endearing as the children in Mundgod were there was a reason they were dropouts, nothing to do with a lack of education, but they weren't that pleasant.
More to the point, in Manvi I was reacquainted with some old friends;
Murthi - the angriest young child in Western India
Sharanappa - the big brother of the "angriest young child in Western India' combining to form the angriest family in the region as well.
Madhu - the world's biggest suck up. "Edmund, you are very strong" he said as I marked his classwork.
Nagaraj - word's can barely describe this boy. He's the most enthusiastic remedial student i've ever seen. He's also the most gormless child i've ever met.
" 'What's the capital of America?'
'Russia!' "
Before Summer camp began on April 17th. I was given a class to have as my sole responsibility within the hostel. Upsettingly, that sole responsibility was to be the hostel's singing teacher.
At times it was equally disturbing for the children as it was difficult for me.
After a week we had exhausted the Boney M cd that Anil, the dance teacher, had lent me.
If you ever come to Loyola School (recently renamed St. Xaviers) in Manvi, you may have the pleasure of hearing a few children gently singing any one of "Rivers of Babylon", "Brown Girl in the ring", "The Calypso Carol" (a christmas song in April, how Indian) and my personal favourite "Never Gonna Give You Up".
All thanks to me to be honest, all thanks to me.
In fact, I was a little disappointed we never got a chance to get stuck into Boney M's version of "No Woman, No Cry" originally done by the People's Champion, Bob Marley, a hero of my Father's youth.
SUMMER CAMP
When Summer Camp kicked off it was a wholly disorganised affair. As a Stoer, i was deeply ashamed to be a part of this shambles, what with our unrelenting policy of offering the highest quality whilst educating the future generations.
Eventually however, our timetables were sorted out.
I'm a science and maths teacher apparently, but I can teach whatever I wish.
The problem lies within the mixed groups. I have some children who are some of the cleverer pupils from 9th Standard jumbled in with the "less able" 5th standard children.
What further confuses things is when children in 9th Standard don't know things they should have been taught three years before and when the 5th Standard children know absolutely nothing at all.
Oh, and also, i've noticed Indian children have a compulsion to lie about how good they are at something. So they give me the impression they're all burgeoning talents in the field of maths and science before they brutally brought me back down to earth when I started up on Fractions.
Finally, I had to move out of the room I was staying in because of some Rats.
I shared a room with Anil, the dance teacher and several enormous bags of rice.
The rats lived in the pipes under our bathroom.
It really is quite an unfortunate experience whilst taking a shower to have a rat emerge from the drain and scuttle out of the bathroom underneath the door.
It happened more than once as well.
At one point I was sitting in my room and saw a group of 10-12 rats having a little party in the corner of my room by the rice bags.
They're much faster and more agile than i'd have thought. They can scale the windows if they wish. Breaking point came when, during a powercut, a walked into the bathroom with my torch to find a rat on top of the shower head.
I'm now in a new room though, so everything is good. I've got used to the heat even though it's in the low 40's and i'm okay with the food because i've actually forgotten what good food tastes like.
Anyway, i've written a lot. I'm quite tired.
Thank you for reading. Ed x
Saturday, 21 March 2009
Holi.
Holi, the Hindu festival of colours. I don't believe there's a Roman Catholic answer to such a celebration, fair enough though, I don't know if we'd be particularly good at it either.
The sight of a grown man trudging through the streets of Mundgod covered in pink, green and orange paint is one that I won't forget in a hurry. Nor will I forget running round a small building with more than 50 over excited Indian children pressing powdered paint mixed with water into each others face.
It was incredible to be honest, there was a heavy, heavy downpour of rain and the Social centre has an open courtyard in the middle of the building. So as water cascaded from the heavens, water was also thrown from the 2nd floor of the building by older students via buckets onto the younger ones and myself. I have worked out that Paint added to Water combined with Jesuits plus over excited Indian children equals genuine chaos.
Genuine chaos that could never be achieved in Britain, I fear. For they are too many safety regulations, rightly so in some cases, but never have I seen so many breaches of Health and Safety rules in one and a half hours. It was wonderful. I suppose that weren't really breaking any rules because the past 3 months have taught me that India doesn't really seem to have Health & safety rules.
Anyway, during Holi I was punched in the nose by Naveen, had a running duel with a previously mentioned fiend named Saifalli, was unfairly targeted with water by an older girl of African descent who can run like Usain Bolt and also I had the pleasure of Brother Shantraz, an absolute bear of a Jesuit, maul a few pesky kids using a rough blend of his own human flesh and powder paint.
I won't forget Holi for a long, long time.
Thanks for reading. Ed x
The sight of a grown man trudging through the streets of Mundgod covered in pink, green and orange paint is one that I won't forget in a hurry. Nor will I forget running round a small building with more than 50 over excited Indian children pressing powdered paint mixed with water into each others face.
It was incredible to be honest, there was a heavy, heavy downpour of rain and the Social centre has an open courtyard in the middle of the building. So as water cascaded from the heavens, water was also thrown from the 2nd floor of the building by older students via buckets onto the younger ones and myself. I have worked out that Paint added to Water combined with Jesuits plus over excited Indian children equals genuine chaos.
Genuine chaos that could never be achieved in Britain, I fear. For they are too many safety regulations, rightly so in some cases, but never have I seen so many breaches of Health and Safety rules in one and a half hours. It was wonderful. I suppose that weren't really breaking any rules because the past 3 months have taught me that India doesn't really seem to have Health & safety rules.
Anyway, during Holi I was punched in the nose by Naveen, had a running duel with a previously mentioned fiend named Saifalli, was unfairly targeted with water by an older girl of African descent who can run like Usain Bolt and also I had the pleasure of Brother Shantraz, an absolute bear of a Jesuit, maul a few pesky kids using a rough blend of his own human flesh and powder paint.
I won't forget Holi for a long, long time.
Thanks for reading. Ed x
Monday, 9 March 2009
A real good send off.
This morning I walk out of my room to be greeted by a couple of enthusiastic 17 year old boys.
Then along skipped Desmond:
"Edmund, one picture with you please. We are going home today for our holidays."
I was a little surprised, i thought they were going home tomorrow, but it was no big deal. I gave them two photos naturally, for i'm a Stoer, generosity walks through my veins.
It was all good then, to begin with, for a picture is a picture. Nothing of any really interesting, but then it took a little turn not so much for the worse, but at least for the stranger. I was a bit taken a back when good old Srikant limped over to me (he's got a strange leg) and asked me for my autograph.
Me: "My autograph? ... okay, but my handwriting is not very good. Is that okay?"
Srikant: "Yes, thank you, and a few of your favourite things as well please."
Me: "Excuse me?"
Srikant: "Yes, please right down a few of your favourite things."
Me: "Like what?"
Srikant: "Um...games? food?"
Me: "Oh okay, (I write down football and then rice). Anything else?"
Soon, i've written my favourite game, food, fruit, place in the world and then another boy hits me with his little gem:
Shanka: "What about your favourite flower?"
I answered Rhododendron, but i don't know why.
Desmond: "And the things you believe in? Write down the things you believe in."
Ed: "You mean God?"
Desmond: "Yes, yes write that down."
So I wrote, "I believe in God." and was met with a very appreciative "Thank you, Edmund, thank you."
And so I went on my way out of the hostel to the social centre, where i work, leaving behind these guys who seem pretty impressed by me. I'd hate to think it was the colour of my skin and not my vibrant and charismatic personality, but i'm afraid it may be.
Still though, i've been here almost 10 weeks and India keeps throwing these small, funny incidents at me.
Good old India, it's keeping me amused i'd say.
Thanks for reading.
Ed x
Then along skipped Desmond:
"Edmund, one picture with you please. We are going home today for our holidays."
I was a little surprised, i thought they were going home tomorrow, but it was no big deal. I gave them two photos naturally, for i'm a Stoer, generosity walks through my veins.
It was all good then, to begin with, for a picture is a picture. Nothing of any really interesting, but then it took a little turn not so much for the worse, but at least for the stranger. I was a bit taken a back when good old Srikant limped over to me (he's got a strange leg) and asked me for my autograph.
Me: "My autograph? ... okay, but my handwriting is not very good. Is that okay?"
Srikant: "Yes, thank you, and a few of your favourite things as well please."
Me: "Excuse me?"
Srikant: "Yes, please right down a few of your favourite things."
Me: "Like what?"
Srikant: "Um...games? food?"
Me: "Oh okay, (I write down football and then rice). Anything else?"
Soon, i've written my favourite game, food, fruit, place in the world and then another boy hits me with his little gem:
Shanka: "What about your favourite flower?"
I answered Rhododendron, but i don't know why.
Desmond: "And the things you believe in? Write down the things you believe in."
Ed: "You mean God?"
Desmond: "Yes, yes write that down."
So I wrote, "I believe in God." and was met with a very appreciative "Thank you, Edmund, thank you."
And so I went on my way out of the hostel to the social centre, where i work, leaving behind these guys who seem pretty impressed by me. I'd hate to think it was the colour of my skin and not my vibrant and charismatic personality, but i'm afraid it may be.
Still though, i've been here almost 10 weeks and India keeps throwing these small, funny incidents at me.
Good old India, it's keeping me amused i'd say.
Thanks for reading.
Ed x
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Teaching English? No, we're moulding the characters of tomorrow.
Naveen, Saifalli, Prakiresh, Priya, Nezapolli, Ajappa...
You may not recognise these names, but i know i certainly do. Day to day, i'm imprinting my wisdom onto the future characters of rural Karnatakan society.
The morning class I have is especially is brimming with potential.
For example, Naveen. Oh Naveen, what an endearing, young boy. I'm not sure he knows what's happening. Neither myself nor Sarah have any idea what he is thinking at anytime during our class. But one cannot say he's lacking dynamism, but he is lacking a directness and any sort of sense in his approach to have a positive impact on the world.
He's the kind of boy that steals the class pencil sharpener with a fiendish desire. Don't try and get him to relinquish control of that sharpener, for he will not relinquish any stationary he gets his hands on.
Then there's Saifalli, an oddball you may say. Probably the oddest of all the oddballs i've seen in my years.
He really is a strange looking child, i'm not entirely sure he means well either.
A few days ago we gave the children an animal and they had to mimic the animal in front of the rest of the class for the others to guess what animal is was(interactive learning, John Stoer's looking over his shoulder i bet).
Not a difficult task i'd say, yet Saifalli was none too impressed. As he rose from his seated position and looked down at the class about to give his own interpretation of how a tiger acts in it's most natural of surroundings, Saifalli merely inhaled and exhaled very vigorously twice almost like a vicious snore, then sat down.
"Saifalli, what was that?"
No response was given and we knew then that we were dealing with a being made of harder stuff than ourselves. Saifalli had had his way with our classroom game, and that was that.
India doesn't really do romance, boys and girls do not mix in public. In Bollywood films they are not allowed to show two characters kiss for goodness sake. But that does not prevent the chemistry that is held between Priya and Nezapolli.
The Primary school God's would have it no other way that the boy and girl who are comfortably the most attractive in the class should have such chemistry. They're like Brad & Angelina except they're 7 year's old.
I could write more about my students and maybe touch on how i'm moulding them into the roles of future leaders. However, my time's almost up at this internet cafe and i wanted to finish on by saying that despite my 2 classes everyday, Indian life has been getting a little bit uneventful.
This is no slight whatsoever to Nayak's ice cream shop, for that double sundae is the highlight of my day, but there really isn't much in Mundgod and life is quite strict. It doesn't help as well that C-Mac (Catherine MacMillan) texted me from Tanzania saying how wonderful Tanzania is and how busy she is and what a wonderful time she's having.
I think i'm still waiting for the Indian party to get started. In the meanwhile, i'm quite content with scrabble, ice-cream and mini bananas.
Thanks for reading.
Ed x
You may not recognise these names, but i know i certainly do. Day to day, i'm imprinting my wisdom onto the future characters of rural Karnatakan society.
The morning class I have is especially is brimming with potential.
For example, Naveen. Oh Naveen, what an endearing, young boy. I'm not sure he knows what's happening. Neither myself nor Sarah have any idea what he is thinking at anytime during our class. But one cannot say he's lacking dynamism, but he is lacking a directness and any sort of sense in his approach to have a positive impact on the world.
He's the kind of boy that steals the class pencil sharpener with a fiendish desire. Don't try and get him to relinquish control of that sharpener, for he will not relinquish any stationary he gets his hands on.
Then there's Saifalli, an oddball you may say. Probably the oddest of all the oddballs i've seen in my years.
He really is a strange looking child, i'm not entirely sure he means well either.
A few days ago we gave the children an animal and they had to mimic the animal in front of the rest of the class for the others to guess what animal is was(interactive learning, John Stoer's looking over his shoulder i bet).
Not a difficult task i'd say, yet Saifalli was none too impressed. As he rose from his seated position and looked down at the class about to give his own interpretation of how a tiger acts in it's most natural of surroundings, Saifalli merely inhaled and exhaled very vigorously twice almost like a vicious snore, then sat down.
"Saifalli, what was that?"
No response was given and we knew then that we were dealing with a being made of harder stuff than ourselves. Saifalli had had his way with our classroom game, and that was that.
India doesn't really do romance, boys and girls do not mix in public. In Bollywood films they are not allowed to show two characters kiss for goodness sake. But that does not prevent the chemistry that is held between Priya and Nezapolli.
The Primary school God's would have it no other way that the boy and girl who are comfortably the most attractive in the class should have such chemistry. They're like Brad & Angelina except they're 7 year's old.
I could write more about my students and maybe touch on how i'm moulding them into the roles of future leaders. However, my time's almost up at this internet cafe and i wanted to finish on by saying that despite my 2 classes everyday, Indian life has been getting a little bit uneventful.
This is no slight whatsoever to Nayak's ice cream shop, for that double sundae is the highlight of my day, but there really isn't much in Mundgod and life is quite strict. It doesn't help as well that C-Mac (Catherine MacMillan) texted me from Tanzania saying how wonderful Tanzania is and how busy she is and what a wonderful time she's having.
I think i'm still waiting for the Indian party to get started. In the meanwhile, i'm quite content with scrabble, ice-cream and mini bananas.
Thanks for reading.
Ed x
Wednesday, 25 February 2009
Hate is a strong word. But, in this case, i think it's use is fair.
I hate Ants. I really do.
This morning, for the 2nd time in 4 days, the Ants in my room conspired against me to ruin my breakfast. Yesterday evening i'd gone once again to Satish's wonderful bakery in Mundgod to buy a packet of these 6 little cakes for 18 rupees (that's about 25 pence, prime value if you're asking me) and then proceeded to walk back to my hostel and put them in my room on my desk. I slept safe in the knowledge that Satish had wrapped them in a seal tight enough to keep those prying ants at bay.
But no, Satish failed. He left an opening, and anyone who knows anything about prying ants will tell you. Any opening, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant shall be exploited. And so it was, i woke up and had to fight a battle at an hour far too young for fighting battles in my opinion. They was shaking and scraping and screaming involved. But the ants eventually left alone my cakes, leaving my to enjoy them on my own. Needless to say, the feeling was hollow for they'd been soiled by the ants, molesting my breakfast of all it's goodness. I will have to be smarter next time for sure and find some way of beating this army mischievous pillagers.
On a lighter note, i've got a job. 2 classes a day teaching drop out kids with fellow volunteer Sarah "Whitey" Whitehouse.
After the Manvi dream died and the basketball well dried up ever so quickly, i know finally have something to do for a sustained period of time. So i'm teaching these rogues for about 5 weeks till we go back to Manvi.
It's better than just sitting around doing nothing but soaking in my Indian surroundings, i was getting a little tired of that.
Other news which is notable, i suppose, is the departure of Alice Bourgoin. Alice Bourgoin is a 25 year old teacher from Wimbledon College who was upset that i hadn't given her a mention on my blog. The most interesting information to be derived from that is that she is 25 years old. Yes, that's a whole 7 years older than me. How embarrassing Alice, how embarrassing.
Unfortunately, i can't think of anything else to mention in this post. Hopefully my next one will contain things more interesting.
Thanks for reading.
Ed x
This morning, for the 2nd time in 4 days, the Ants in my room conspired against me to ruin my breakfast. Yesterday evening i'd gone once again to Satish's wonderful bakery in Mundgod to buy a packet of these 6 little cakes for 18 rupees (that's about 25 pence, prime value if you're asking me) and then proceeded to walk back to my hostel and put them in my room on my desk. I slept safe in the knowledge that Satish had wrapped them in a seal tight enough to keep those prying ants at bay.
But no, Satish failed. He left an opening, and anyone who knows anything about prying ants will tell you. Any opening, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant shall be exploited. And so it was, i woke up and had to fight a battle at an hour far too young for fighting battles in my opinion. They was shaking and scraping and screaming involved. But the ants eventually left alone my cakes, leaving my to enjoy them on my own. Needless to say, the feeling was hollow for they'd been soiled by the ants, molesting my breakfast of all it's goodness. I will have to be smarter next time for sure and find some way of beating this army mischievous pillagers.
On a lighter note, i've got a job. 2 classes a day teaching drop out kids with fellow volunteer Sarah "Whitey" Whitehouse.
After the Manvi dream died and the basketball well dried up ever so quickly, i know finally have something to do for a sustained period of time. So i'm teaching these rogues for about 5 weeks till we go back to Manvi.
It's better than just sitting around doing nothing but soaking in my Indian surroundings, i was getting a little tired of that.
Other news which is notable, i suppose, is the departure of Alice Bourgoin. Alice Bourgoin is a 25 year old teacher from Wimbledon College who was upset that i hadn't given her a mention on my blog. The most interesting information to be derived from that is that she is 25 years old. Yes, that's a whole 7 years older than me. How embarrassing Alice, how embarrassing.
Unfortunately, i can't think of anything else to mention in this post. Hopefully my next one will contain things more interesting.
Thanks for reading.
Ed x
Tuesday, 17 February 2009
Pigfight.
It is not every day that one sees a pigfight in public, not that one would expect pigs to scuffle when placed away from the eye of society either. Though as I stood under quietly under the street lights of Mundgod I did happen to witness a little skirmishes two vast monoliths of pork grunted their way through a battle that seemed to be disappointingly inconsequential. But, I suppose, what real consequences could a pig fight on the streets of Mundgod have? I really can't imagine that those hostile little chaps have much to live or die for, and even to less to bother fighting about for that matter.
Much as I thought,the fight was done and the triumphant began to munch heartily on the scraps of vegetable waste left from the market that day, the defeated also seemed to go about his business after the hostilities in a similar manner. He just retreated a few yards and then too began to munch heartily on some vegetable waste, to be honest I saw very little difference in terms of quality in the meals of both the triumphant king pig and the defeated pretender. Maybe there was none. Maybe the fight was based purely around pride. Though interestingly there was no tribe of pigs watching, awaiting to crown a new leader of the pack nor was there a group of young sows looking for a man to complete their lives. But I suppose these pigs really are a proud bunch and they need not such a reason of substance before indulging in a minor bout. For these are rogue scavengers not ones to abide by such laws as the rest of us.
On occasion you do see little families sticking together,but in this modern world of ours more and more of the young seek independence as soon as they can, and pigs are no different I suppose. As soon as they feel safe on their own they head where ever their snout leads them. The longer I stood observing them in this Mundgodian courtyard the more I see the stark contrast between India and back home.
For back in Britain one would not be able to so readily experience the clash of such meaty titans. And who would care to anyway? For those pampered pink piglets back home live in such an isolated world they could not possibly muster up a fight worth viewing, not like the rough merchants of war which stain the streets of Mundgod.These pigs have suffered, they have evidently been exposed to a harsh reality of life and to this exposure they owe their resilience.For i'm sure these very pigs have not fought their last battles just yet. And it is on this thought that I began to wander home. Wondering of how these pigs felt towards the oxen which have such simple, care-free lives in comparison?
I suppose i'll never quite know but it is just the kind of thing that you seem to think about when in a small Indian town.
Much as I thought,the fight was done and the triumphant began to munch heartily on the scraps of vegetable waste left from the market that day, the defeated also seemed to go about his business after the hostilities in a similar manner. He just retreated a few yards and then too began to munch heartily on some vegetable waste, to be honest I saw very little difference in terms of quality in the meals of both the triumphant king pig and the defeated pretender. Maybe there was none. Maybe the fight was based purely around pride. Though interestingly there was no tribe of pigs watching, awaiting to crown a new leader of the pack nor was there a group of young sows looking for a man to complete their lives. But I suppose these pigs really are a proud bunch and they need not such a reason of substance before indulging in a minor bout. For these are rogue scavengers not ones to abide by such laws as the rest of us.
On occasion you do see little families sticking together,but in this modern world of ours more and more of the young seek independence as soon as they can, and pigs are no different I suppose. As soon as they feel safe on their own they head where ever their snout leads them. The longer I stood observing them in this Mundgodian courtyard the more I see the stark contrast between India and back home.
For back in Britain one would not be able to so readily experience the clash of such meaty titans. And who would care to anyway? For those pampered pink piglets back home live in such an isolated world they could not possibly muster up a fight worth viewing, not like the rough merchants of war which stain the streets of Mundgod.These pigs have suffered, they have evidently been exposed to a harsh reality of life and to this exposure they owe their resilience.For i'm sure these very pigs have not fought their last battles just yet. And it is on this thought that I began to wander home. Wondering of how these pigs felt towards the oxen which have such simple, care-free lives in comparison?
I suppose i'll never quite know but it is just the kind of thing that you seem to think about when in a small Indian town.
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