The Silver Lining(s)

Maybe it is just known as 'settling in' but I have come to accept that I can deal with living here, for now. This is because, in good time, the following have come to enter (and improve the quality of) my existence here:

~ Humour

Three weeks before I arrived, a trainee from another programme joined the response team. A Cambridge educated 28yr old Spanish-Scottish hybrid. As much of a natural genius as he is tall and thin, he has an infectious wit that meets even the most miserable situation (having to live in Bhubaneswar, in an office) with a witty yet aptly dry or cynical remark (what do you mean? This is every boy's wet dream...we're living in Fallout 3! Glad I didn't bring my Playstation after all...).

Lets call him J, because that's what people do in blogs isn't it? abbreviate names...I'm guessing for anonymity? 

So J and I keep each other sane through tongue-in-cheek and occasionally (perhaps frequently) unpolitically correct comments which are inappropriately threaded throughout our days. 

Just another day saving lives.

He takes the piss out of me for

• Being, so he argues, a tree-hugger. This especially applies when I wear a head wrap and/or baggy ali baba trousers, though simply walking about barefoot and eating with my hands counts. Morning Leah, I see you've gone native today.
• Caring about dogs more than people. ie. talking to/feeding/touching/photographing the dogs on my road. And not a care for the beneficiaries...rather ironic for a Humanitarian, isn't it?
• My distaste of excel/graphs/numbers. But weren't you a mathematician once?
• My exercise addiction. Because my BMI is clinically obese.
• For coming into a room and saying how hot I am, then switching on a fan. Oh, thanks for clearing that up for me, I was really confused for a minute until I realised you meant you're physically excited.
• Not wearing the Save the Children cap and T shirt at the same time, as he revels in doing. But they just look so cool and matching together.



J's staple India diet
(guess that's anynonymity out of the window)



I take the piss out of him for

• His thick Spanish accent. Having some more frozen piss (peas) for lunch again? Shall we wash our shits (sheets) today?
• Retaining the Scottish genes of his father's side and everything that comes with them. Are you coming round the corner to get dinner then...don't forget to put your SPF 50 on and to wear your mozzie net.
• Being totally afraid of spice and failing to ever trying anything new, unless alternating between Margarita Domino's take-away pizza and Chicken Feast Domino's take-away pizza counts. You're so adventurous J!
• For being a massive nerd and getting excited about excel and output trackers. Every day I wake up and wish I could be like you.
• The GAPING hole in his musical knowledge. I'm deadly serious, from Moby, the Kinks, Abba, Walk like an Egyptian, Hammertime, How Bizarre (de de dahe de de dah de de dah, how bizarre, how bizarre, how bizarre). In summary, he's not heard of a huge number of 'you just know them because how could you escape not?' type music. Does know who the Beatles are though, so I don't think he was reared in total isolation.

Favourite J references include: "conditions are perfect", "I hate gingers, they've got no soul", "as cunning as a small fox with many tails", "everybody hates the French".

He winds me up for being a hippy, I wind him up for being a geek -it's a happy compromise.

So, is it love? No. Someone I hope to fall madly in love with? Not at all. Someone I hope to know for the rest of time? Definitely.

~ The Flower Garden with a Lake

It's close enough to cycle to and big enough to run around in. The trees may still be dust-coated and air still particle-filled, but nonetheless I FOUND AN OPEN SPACE. Yippee!

~ The Juice Man

It's a mid-morning ritual that I now can't do without. It took us an age to find a vendor who understood our sign language and doesn't add salt/powder/sugar/ice to the blended fruit concoctions, so it's 70p a day well spent. Each morning we take an empty water bottle to The Juice Man's smiley round face and come away with a litre of fresh papaya, watermelon, orange, apple or pineapple juice, which I tend to swallow in two long gulps. Some people need coffee, but I need The Juice Man.

  

~ Kashmir

Without fail everyday J and I talk about Kashmir. We entertain lengthy scenario-based conversations which speculate the probability of us getting transferred to work in the Kashmiri office in early 2012. The outcomes of our speculative conclusions fluctuate depending on the optimism of our mood that day combined with the latest reaction of our boss when we flirt with the suggestion in work-related discussion. Who needs the tabloids or Hello! magazine when you've got Kashmir to gossip about.
We absorb ourselves in the topic further by inventing picturesque images of us cruising the white slopes of Gulmarg, Kashmir's rustic ski resort and home to the highest gondola in the world. Oh the prospect of clean mountain air. Trekking in the snow. Take us to Kashmirrrrrr.
I'm also referred to simply as "Leh" (a town in Kashmir) to the Development Team in our office. I'm fond of it, because I've already over-romanticised anything and everything Kashmiri.

~ The Office Headphones

I was worried when, during my dark first weeks here I even lost the desire to listen to music. However, since adopting these gems from the office I've been wearing them so much that the cartilage in my outer right ear aches. Music sounds amAzing through them.

~ The Temperature Drop
From the 10th December something dramatic happened, and I cannot begin to describe the difference it made. The temperature dropped by a few degrees and it has continued to do so, to the point where you can even wear long sleeves at night. By far the best thing about this has been the transformation in the thickness of the air; the dust seems to be less air-bourne, the smog less stifling, the air less gross. I go out on my bicycle more and don't come back feeling quite as filthy, and sometimes the sky is even blue! I can see the sky!

J tells me I've got Stokholm Syndrome, and it's true, on the days where I go as far to say "it's actually quite a nice day today", both of us know the extent to which standards that qualify as 'nice' have plummeted since we started living here. Still, the climatic change brought on by winter here is one of the things I'm most grateful for of all the silver linings listed in this post.  

~ The Work

 

Taking a MUAC (Middle Upper Arm Measurement)

to calculate BMI/malnutrition

 

 Village Committee meeting
- an opportunity for discussion

Health Camp in progress in affected villages   

 



Village distribution

With some time, and much support and intelligence from J, I have come to have a far greater understanding of the relief work we are doing here in response to the Orissa floods of September. I am now responsible for coordinating the $300,000 OFDA/USAID grant. It is funding the purchase and delivery of hygiene kits, floor mats and tarpaulins to 5000 families across three districts in Orissa to reach the most vulnerable households who were affected by the flooding. It is my job to ensure that our partners (three local NGOs) are implementing the project appropriately and in a timely fashion. India Time has hampered this somewhat and the word 'deadline' seems to have dramatically loosened its connection to the standard dictionary definition, but I've been trying my best.  



Every so often we conduct village field visits to monitor cash for work programmes/item distributions/committee meetings/awareness raising & capacity building workshops. In spite of the frustrating language barrier, it is these days that tend to be the most rewarding because, aside from seeing those we are actually helping (which is easy to forget from the confines of Bhubaneswar) the photography opportunities offered in the field are unbeatable. 

I include some pleasing portrait shots below.

 

  ~ The WorldWideWeb
Along with a back-up generator, I'm thankful the office has it. It's so wide and worldly.

~ The Dogs

 Especially during my early days, the sole endearing asset of Bhubaneswar that I could identify was the inhabited dog population. In spite of their injuries, mange, thinness, worms, scabs and general hardships, there is something loveable them. Something endearing about the way they sleep through the noise of traffic all day, snoozing on piles of sand at the roadside with nose tucked under tail, curled up like cats. I like watching them trot around at night, alert and bright eyed with a spring in their step -snuffling their way through rubbish heaps, playfighting with their pups, bearing warnings to potential canine territory invaders. There's something to be respected in the street-wise air about them, and I have a great fondness for their sweet, sweet nature.

It was inevitable that I was going to try to befriend those dogs living on my road. Once more, it's puppy season here. Every bitch has saggy boobs and on every street corner a litter of pups reside. Within a 30 second radius of my house/office lives three separate canine families. Mummadog (pictured in the last post with dead pup) had a litter which shrunk from 12 pups to just 3 in the space of ten days. However I'm happy to report that the remaining trio are fighting fit, tremendously mischievous and considerably healthy for the average Bhub pooch.

Mummadog and offspring

The other two litters have a harder deal. Like us humans, survival is all about access to resources. These two skinny mums (Silverdog and Skinnydog) have an affectionate 'lets share pup caring duties and piles of sand to sleep on' understanding, but are both barred from the street's biggest litter dump by healthier stronger Mummadog. Hence they have just the surrounding scraps to work from and the overall condition both the litters clearly shows that. 

Skinnydog's unhealthy pup



My favourite of
Silverdog's troupe

Luckily for them however, part of our flood response includes the distribution of 'Chhatua', the locally made high-nutrition ultra calorific food supplement. It's a little like cereal powder and is made into a tasty paste when mixed with water. No I am not redirecting the nutritional deliverables from flood affected children in order to feed the street dogs of Bhubaneswar, but a couple of Chhatua bags sit around spare in my office, and there's no use in it going to waste, is there? Using what else I buy/find in the kitchen -bread, rice, glucose powder, sugar, ghee, oil, biscuits and oats- I blend up a delicious looking slop which I dish out once a day in a surrounded-by-puppies-crazy-bag-lady like fashion. Yes, you may call me Mother Teresa.

Busy saving children

Actually no, you can't.  







snooping around for snacks







  

Skinnydog with a pup from each litter

  

 

   

~ Orientation
The trouble with this city is that it is so flat, sightless, motorway-based and grid-like in its design that you just can't work out where you are, nor can you create a mental image of the city (unless a dirty sprawling mass of half finished fly-overs count). Particularly because there's no real city centre or high street, there's no starting point to work from. It's taken almost two months but I am finally getting to grips with the orientation of the place, and it makes me feel far more physically able and less confined than before. Someone told me the key to road use out here is never to look either side of you, never to look when pulling out, never to look behind. Just look ahead. It's how everyone drives here and it more or less kind of works. Yes sure I've had some close calls in the saddle, but this blinkered road etiquette has given me confidence and i'm pretty much a native behind the handlebars now. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Although I've been stopped on my bike to be told that "at night -it's not safety", it's so nice to head out late on two wheels when the traffic is so much less. It is also prime dog-watching time...I find it quite fascinating them seeing them interact with each other at this hour, when the streets are theirs.

~ Ultimate Frisbee
There is a small group of people who play a serious game of frisbee on a dusty football pitch every Thursday. It's exhausting so I love it, in spite of the following 24hrs I spend with a persistent cough and runny nose.

~ The Sea/Places New
Puri beach is only 2 hours away. Turn left down the beach and it's an open toilet, turn right up the beach and jump over the river of scrum and eventually you get to a swimmable, visitable beach. The sea is a little rough (15 locals drowned in the last month!) but getting scared by the intensity of the waves is all part of the sensation seeking. The cafes also sell amazing muesli breakfasts and chocolate pancakes. We like it here!

On weekends where we've been able to get Saturdays off J and I have enjoyed other areas of exploration too -national parks and such. I even went to Calcutta for Christmas (note to self: avoid staying somewhere called 'Hotel Shams').

So what I mean to say is: it turns out Bhubaneswar isn't so infinite after all.

 

Puri beach = best breakfasts ever



  

   

Sunrise at Satkosia Gorge

~ Language and Indish

J and I find light relief in the pesky text messages regularly sent to us, adverts and such. Our personal favourite: 'Children are like wet cement, whatever falls on them leaves an impression. Happy national children day'. 

A key part of delivering an emergency response programme is the collection of beneficiary lists -a list of names of the most needy people from the villages we are targeting. It is these people/families who will receive the supplies and support services that our programme is providing. However, because we only implement through local partner NGOs in India, it is they who are responsible for compiling these lists. How do you react when under the selection criteria of 'disabilities in the family?' one of the partners writes 'mental'....though fair enough, I can relate to that. 

Receiving another beneficiary list (below) also brightened our day...how do you spell yours?  



Malnaoutriatan

A few weeks back we enjoyed attending a junior Para-Olympics held by one of partners. We enjoyed it even more so when getting out of the car one of our colleagues said "it's good to come along and support the special children". To top it off we were given a yellow T-shirt with 'Special Olympics' printed on the crest. I wear it all the time to go running in. But you are special. Thanks J.



Sporting our 'Special Olympics' souvenirs



 

did you get a shit seat?

~ The Swimming Pool
The Special Olympics was held at the local stadium, which we'd never visited before. During our snoop around the place J and I not only stumbled across the inviting seating of the place (left) but also a huge, clean, empty, amazing, so-glad-I-found-this 50m Olympic-sized outdoor swimming pool. You should have seen my excitement when I saw the place! Ever since I have splashed out on entry once a week and the pool is usually entirely mine. An hour of deep water escapism. J came along once, but the fact you can't fill your lungs properly when coming up for air has never tempted him back since. Something about shortening your life expectancy outweighing the benefits to be had from the swim, he says. 

For me though Tuesdays in Bhubs are forever swim days.

~ Sharing

J and I share loads of things together and that's really nice, because when you break down all the complicated stuff, us humans are all social creatures at the core. Whilst it sounds terribly cheesy we often find ourselves reciting poems to each other when they spring to mind (thank you GCSE English/Ms Latif). When we remember, we email each other a self-selected 'Poem of the Day'. 

Sharing is caring!

I eat (invade) his chocolate stash and accept bites of his Domino's pizzas... and he... and he...he eats the slices of bread I buy for the dogs. We compare the quality of each other's fresh fruit juice in the mornings and the fudginess of the brownies from the bakery in the evenings. We share jokes, links to BBC news articles and youtuble videos. We share more jokes, and tuk-tuks, bus seats and dreams of being transferred to Kashmir. We relate to  work-related frustrations and cultural differences.
I offer a listening ear when he's had yet another sleepless night owing to the deafening snoring of his roommate/fellow colleague, before telling him that he's so camp he almost warrants having his own room like myself. Then grinning, I remind him "sharing is caring!" ...and eat another square of his Dairy Milk before returning to my private little den. Sometimes you come up trumps, being female. Night x

  

Its about Time.

 Foreword

I've always remembered a moment during my adolescence where, stood on my bed in the loft, elbows perched on the sill of the open velux window above, I gazed out over the view of beloved Hemel Hempstead below and was quite struck by a realisation. A realisation that even led me to repeat the words out loud: "things change" (and no I wasn't on drugs or smoking weed). I can't remember what it was that exactly brought on this realisation, but I vaguely remember it was the recognition (and likely the slight devastation) at how my feelings, probably for someone or something close to me, had so dramatically changed. I know it may sound daft and perhaps naive, but this was the moment I really perceived the significance of time. Time and its tremendous power to alter.

Compared to the ten year old me, I am now a stable individual when I think about the death of my coolest ever pet mouse (R.I.P Phantom). In the same way that I now like cumin, red onion, raw ginger and even spicy food, it is sometimes remarkable how our bodies + minds (which combined = behaviour I guess) change. It's only natural I suppose, that we evolve, over time. Although our external environment is in constant evolution we too adapt. Hence, things change.

* * *

Why for this preamble?

Well... I want you to bear in mind that the post that follows below is a reflection of my experience and feelings upon arrival to my new home on deployment, in the city of Bhubaneswar ("Booba-nesh-wah" - Mother, that one's for you) in the state of Orissa, in the North East of India. 

I want you to remember that it is a reactive description of my first weeks in a place I thought I'd never ever be so condemned to experience, let alone be prescribed to live in.

This is also an apology for the huge delay getting around to this blog. It is a post that has taken me far too long to write, mainly because:

1. I don't feel particularly motivated to write when I am unhappy.
2. I fear judgements of exaggeration, self-pity and petty-mindedness of my writing when I am unhappy.
3. I seem to be writing a blog all about me, rather than about my actual work here. I have been conscious and a little guilty that this would be yet another entry which is virtually void of the subject.
4. There are so many things I need to include in this post I haven't been able to unravel where how or what to start it. As a result, it is mainly an entry all about location.
5. Increasingly so (and lets face its THANK GODINGLY so), time has changed things.

In summary, my situation here has naturally evolved both externally and internally. Time has passed since since I wrote the notes in the back of a scrappy pad to which I now turn to for reference. Time has passed since I jotted down dark and desperate diary thoughts, some of which are threaded throughout this post some of which are directly quoted.

Please remember I am no longer a miserable, trapped and 'decaying' ball of nothingness, as may come across below. I also hope that this post does not come across as sympathy-seeking. My intention is not to drizzle on your Christmas due to my being honest about my late November feelings, but to write honestly nonetheless.

* * *

Dystopia   

November 2011

There were very few places that I cycled through in South India last year that made me think "shit me, I'd hate to live in this shitty shitbag of a shithole". I came across one or two, and pedalled as fast as I could to leave them behind me. It is therefore most unfortunate when you come across a city as such, just to discover that not only is spending a day there borderline unbearable, but that you actually have no choice but to spend the next four months of your life. living. here. 

Welcome to Bhubaneswar everyone: my little dystopia of rubble, litter, motorways, greyness, construction, dust, traffic, pollution, impenetrable haze, traffic, dust, motorways, litter and pollution. 

Never have I been in a place in which I feel as oppressed, as unhealthy and as trapped as this. This is the kind of city where you leave the house for five minutes and you feel the need to shower upon return to remove the dust and pollution that clings to your skin, that dirties your clothes. The kind of place where the nights that I spend blowing out greyblack snot and sneezing my head off makes London's nasal affects seem like child's play in comparison. Where noone smiles or replies to my 'hello'. Where swarms of motorists frantically negotiate motorways that are left half built, where piercing iron rods are left exposed and bottomless excavations lay gaping and raw, cut deep into the earth. Where I wipe the dust from my desk every other day and the cloth comes up black. Where cows root through thick mounds of rubbish piled up in front of every house, scattered on every road, overflowing every gutter. Where every dog I see is suffering. 

 

Oh the dogs. The six month old dogs with sagging teats and swollen nipples, some inflamed and oozing puss. The bitch that occupies the end of my road, flicking her head around every five steps to lick at her infected vulva; insides hanging outside. The dogs the dogs the dogs. The puppies bloated with worms trying to feed from their rake-thin mums; a new one lying dead in the road each day...so many road kills. The way the big naked dog with mange sits outside the chicken butcher's stall, and looks up vacantly through its red eyelids, gazing not at you but at nothing. Its coarse and grey wrinkled skin gives it the resemblance of a dying hyena -tufts of fur only remaining on the top of its freckly head. These suffering dogs. As they gnaw away at their raw skin conditions they gnaw away at me inside.

It hurts.

This city.

 

 No smiles, no sun, no air, no sights, no pavements, no landmarks, no quirky little side roads or hidden backstreets, no character. Not rich, not poor -just well and truly horrible. I was prepared for shabby, for unpleasant, for rough around the edges, but never ever did I expect to end up somewhere like this.

The haze that is in permanent descent over the whole city is the worst thing of all. Even the sun can't fight its way through, and the colour of the sky here? It's a mystery to me. The air is so thick with dust and pollution that headlights project the silhouettes of people meters ahead of them...dancing images suspended in the air.

To get around you need to walk alongside - no, walk on - the motorways. The eye can only stretch for a kilometre or so before the horde of motorcyclists, auto drivers, cars, lorries and buses become lost in the thickness of the haze. The scene creates a blurred picture of dull grey -where the road, horizon and sky are inseparable, interrupted only by the lanes the din of metallic chaos which penetrate the middle. To me, that image is choking. It just spells depression.

I have been trying to capture an iconic Bhubaneswar photo, but none seem to do it justice. It's not just about the look of the place, but the way it feels, smells, sounds and way that awful air just hangs that creates this dystopian reality. It reminds me of Battlefield 3 or Fallout, or that film and book The Road...the dark translucent greyness and bleakness of it all.  

I've never been so frustrated by lack of road etiquette, and by lack of road-pavement distinction. As I walk down the streets I am forever cursing the motorbikes that almost run me down, coming from every direction, incessantly beeping and dodging their way through - merciless to the most inferior class of all: people who are beepless and walking. How I miss pavements. The young guys driving their scooters stare at me, causing their oncoming bikes to drift straight into my path, blinding me with headlights and making me scowl in a way I'd not even mastered at 14. If only looks could kill, the population of motorists in this city would have halved by now.

November 29th: Everyday I live out the hours, hating the inhibitions I feel from so many angles that prevent me from living life to its fullest potential. I hate the wastedness; I hate the oppressiveness of this city, the unhealth and lack of physical freedom it bestows on me. I watch these hours, and  I feel so lifeless. It's always dark outside and traffic is blazing all around -headlights cutting the dusty air and blinding my eyes. Just another normal day like the one before, leaving me unsatisfied...and deeply unhappy. 

So if walking is so unpleasant, why not try cycling?

It sounds extreme, but I risk my life each time I try to go out on my bicycle and it accentuates the feeling that there is no escape from this dismal place. Aside from the obvious dangers incurred by my fellow road users (want to go down the motorway the wrong direction? join the club! pull out without looking? no worries! cut up other motorists as much as you beep? go for it! stop/accelerate/turn/pull over without warning? that's the name of the game!), the getting stuck in five 'lanes' (replace with 'throng') of traffic, avoiding potholes and breathing in the foul air has found me trying my very very hardest to fight back stinging tears of hate and helplessness on more than one occasion. It only serves to refuel my hatred for this city.

It really is an example of man and nature in crisis.

The once green trees here are covered in a thick red-brown dust, leaves suffocating. I too, struggle to breathe. The small efforts of having to shower and change each time I return to my house/office has become an inflated chore. Too often it acts as an invisible shackle, tying me to my office. Also my bedroom. 

As I wrote to a friend on 6th December: On Sundays (my day off) I sit around in my room unmotivated and frustrated, and then I do my handwashing to feel productive. This Sunday I finally tried to go cycling again, but it is such such a horrible experience. The city is made up of half-finished motorways, rubble, suffering dogs and little else. I cycled for an hour to try to get out of here, but the surrounds are just an extension of Bhubaneswar and this dystopia seems infinite. Every time I come home I return hating the city a little more than when I left the house. And I come back filthy, covered in pollution and dust. It makes me feel so trapped inside. I'm sitting for 16hrs a day. It's destroying me.   

Oh dear. Poor me.

Unfortunately the large part of the work I'm doing here has not been conducive to happiness either. I spent the first week in total confusion, with no induction and no support from my 'coach' who as it turns out, resides in Delhi. Thrown head first into an understaffed, disorganised, multi-sector flood response, covering multiple districts and being implemented by three partners and funded by multiple donors with multiple budgets...all of which were in a total mess. What was worse was the desk-bound, excel spreadsheet nature of the job. Combine this with sleeping in a room is converted to office space during the day, means a total lack of privacy and absolutely no 'out of working hours' boundaries. I'd entirely understand if this was a first phase Haiti response, but it's not. These 'just five minutes to discuss...' moments manifest into 1.5+hr meetings in my room at 9pm -which even in content are pointless and seem to achieve nothing.

November 17th: The Orissa floods dried up over two months ago, almost all the beneficiaries have found their own coping mechanisms and just a handful of houses remain to be repaired. This is not to say we need not be responding, but it is now more a recovery programme than an emergency response, and the inefficiency and drawn-out methods of working around here are really frustrating. I don't know when to clock-off so I don't, but none of us seem to be doing anything productive for all these hours we are sat in front of our laptops. This first week has felt disappointingly meaningless.

 I sit for so long every day that it makes my bum and thighs not just ache, but hurt. Noone else seems to have this problem. Why not? Our bodies aren't designed for this - all this sitting. Sometimes I sit in the office and look around me and I am scared of turning into everyone I see here...pot-bellied, double chinned and hairy-lipped. Oh god. Get me out of here.

I wish I had a human-sized hamster wheel to vent my frustrations and exercise cravings from the relative unpollutedness of the office/house. But then I realise that that's just the equivalent of a treadmill (yuck), and I don't have one of those either. I'm not even joking when I say that my cold bucket shower causes my heart to beat fastest it has all day. It feels nice to feel the blood circulating around my body.

  

November 18th: I'm so unhappy I feel myself ageing. My frown cementing. My skin texturising. My muscles disappearing. My creativity disintegrating. My lust for life crumbling.

 

Clearly November 18th was not a good day!

If I leave the office to buy some fruit, I fear what I tread in. Of course this is India, open defecation is its middle name*, but why did all the open defecators choose to reside in Bhubaneswar? The pissing too. All the time! On my 10 minute daily walk to buy lunch I tally up an average sighting of eight men relieving themselves in the street. Yesterday I saw a cow drinking its own piss, really. Only in Bhubaneswar do cows drink their own piss. Hot and fresh straight from the source - yummy.

December 8th: I did not undertake this traineeship expecting to work from an office with mountain views of outstanding natural beauty. Nor did I undertake this traineeship to experience weekends away gallivanting on palm-fringed beaches. I did not, however, ever expect to end up in a city that is as much as a dump as Bhubaneswar, living a sedentary lifestyle that I hate as much as this, and feeling as unhappy as I have since I arrived.

* * *

Epilogue

So, above is a heartfelt offload of the 'back then'. And it is the worst of it, I promise.

It is from my new-found (and far happier) vantage point of the 'here and now' from which I round-off this blog post. From the vantage point where I can pleasingly confirm that "things change". A silver lining really does exist (next post!). So with an imaginary clink of mulled wine glasses, I propose a festive "cheers" to the knowledge that things can only get better...because, thank godingly so, they do.

* this is not me being sweepingly derogatory: according to UNICEF's 2008 report, as many as 638million Indians (54% of India's population) drop their internal goods in the outdoors, and statistics are as high as 69% in rural India. In fact, the country accounts for 58% of those who practice open defecation ACROSS THE WORLD, not so closely followed by Indonesia and China who come in at just 5%.