Go to Part 2 of the Indian Journal
People have said they found the story of our trip to Nagaland interesting. This is part of the journal I made on my very first visit to India.
It was almost disappointingly easy to get a visa for India. The books said that you have to get a 3 month visa 30 days before arriving in India, but they were wrong. The system had changed and now you can get a 3 month visa up to 3 months before arriving in India. If I had known that my life would have been much easier because I wouldn't have had to buy my tickets before getting the visa.
I arranged to stay with a friend, Bernard, in London because I expected to have to wait overnight to get a visa. Bernard was going to his father’s on Whitsun Bank Holiday Monday to drop the engine out of his Anglia and put a new clutch in. He assured me that he was so familiar with his car that there would be no problem and he would be home by Tuesday evening.
On Tuesday I set out from college at 7:45am, giving me a good excuse to miss morning prayer. The bus from the Black Lion was not on time; I waited and waited as the time for catching the train got nearer. Finally it came with only 15 minutes to go. As soon as we arrived at the bus station I shot off the bus and ran to the station. It took a while to find the right platform, and then I was safely on the train. Sitting on the train was Prof. David Lloyd, going to London to examine a PhD. David had been helpful in arranging contacts with Prof. N. K. Chandrashekaran, Prof. P. K. Maitra and Dr. Zita Lobo in Bangalore, Puna and Bombay. We talked a lot about India and I thanked him for the books and maps he had lent me. We also chatted about the state of Aberystwyth University after the Research Assessment Exercise.
The train was actually a little early in London. Next I caught a tube to Embankment and then a walk to the Indian High Commission in Aldwych. At the front of the High Commission there was a notice telling me to go round to the side for the visa office. The first thing I saw was a little window, but that didn't seem grand enough for getting a visa, but they were able to tell me where to go. So into the side door through a security scanner and into the hall. I was handed a ticket for my place in the queue. The hall was full but not packed, not surprisingly the majority of faces were Asian. There were quite a mixture of people, families, older people, students like me.
The forms were different to the ones I had and so I needed to get another, but where? The man said outside, so back I went thinking of the little window. That was not the right place, so back in again and this time I picked up a form at the desk outside the hall; they were conveniently kept in a desk drawer so I hadn't seen them. I filled in the form:
I sat down and talked to a couple from Ireland. They had been before so were old hands and I am sure surprised at the slim line new system. It was only about 10 minutes before I handed over the form, my passport, 2 photos and £13. There was a longer wait of half an hour before getting my stamped passport back. I was very pleased to see that green stamp in my passport, and know that I hadn't bought my tickets in vain. However routine getting a visa is in theory, there is no substitute for that stamp in my passport. I should count myself lucky, one person had been waiting for an hour. Even for him it was certainly different from the stories of the old system. Queuing for hours to one desk, an overnight wait and then at least 1 more long queue to get your passport and visa back; a whole two days job. One of the reasons I went in person was to experience the queuing of India before going, but it was all very efficient. The hall, which closed at 1pm, was now virtually empty. I had been one of the last people in.
I walked across Waterloo bridge to drop in and see Philippa, my contact in USPG, but she had just left for lunch. I could at least drop off my form for medical information to Inter Health. Then I went to the South Bank and had a spot of lunch in the Royal Festival Hall. Spinach roulade with salad and mineral water, very healthy; good and not too expensive either. While I was eating it dawned on me that I had left my address book in Cardiff and Bernard is on Mercury so his phone number and address were not so easy to track down. In any case he would be at his dad's address. Well, I had my visa so there was no reason to stay in London, I would have to go back to Cardiff and ring to say I was not staying.
Back to see Philippa, but she would be in a meeting all afternoon. Nor did the book shop have any maps of India, they did suggest that I tried a shop in Covent Garden. That was successful, but I ended up with 2 maps of all India when I thought I had 1 of the south and 1 of all India. Then it was back to Paddington to get the train back. I was back in Cardiff by 6pm, less than 12 hours after leaving. I was still able to catch dinner. The first thing I had to do was to ring Bernard. It turned out that his confidence in working on the Anglia was misplaced and it was still in bits, so he was grateful that I didn't need to stay in London after all.
4:30 am and the alarm went off. At last the day is here, no more messing, if anything is not done it is too late now. A quick shower then I rang Andrew at 4:55, and he drove me to Manchester Airport. That saved me a lot of time compared to the train but meant that there were two and a half hours to wait before the first leg of the journey to Frankfurt. It did give time to have a couple of cups of coffee and to take my antimalarials. Perhaps less good was having time to read more of the good health travel guide. That just made me think of things that it was too late to change.
The trip to Frankfurt was uneventful but I met Raj from San Francisco going to see his sisters in Madras. One problem I had was that I had been put in a smoking seat so I had to get my seat changed, which was a pity because I lost my window seat.
The flight to India was LONG. They showed the film 'Wild Animals'; it was good and passed some time as did the two meals. The computer display showing where we were and how far we had come was interesting but there was also a bit of a watched kettle effect.
We arrived in Bombay at 0:40 am, in the dark of course. This was my first taste of India. Physically it was quite unpleasant, not quite like walking into a steam room, but the dampness in the air was the same, I could feel the droplets of water in the air as I breathed. All the windows were steamed up and it was hot, about 28oC. Soon my clothes were soaked.
Immigration wasn't as bad as I expected. True, there were queues but nothing excessive. The baggage retrieval was a different story. The first batch came through quite fast, but more and more arrived and mine didn't appear; it got to the stage that I wondered if my luggage had been lost. Then I seriously thought that it might really have disappeared. Later still, when I was beginning to think about the procedure for claiming for lost baggage they announced that some baggage had been past to check out 2. Mine was there and looked as if it could have been there for some time.
Customs was OK. There was a long queue but in the end we were just waved through. While I was waiting to change money Raj went past. He told me that there was a bus to the other Bombay Airport that cost Rs 30. I changed £150 at Thomas Cooks, on the basis of Kevin Cecil's advice. The process was very long involving manual calculations and a form written in a triplicate book. The problem was I ended up with such a wedge of Rupees, it filled my money belt and wallet. I am sure £50 or £100 would have kept me going for a while.
My general impression of the international airport was that it looked very dishevelled and uncared for. It wasn't primitive, there were computer screens and lots of technology which spark, but there was no one to care for building, it needed paint. The impression was of technology sparkling like diamonds in a rusty iron ring. There was also a lot of open construction work going on.
I decided it would be more interesting to take the bus to the other airport (really just another terminal, as both airports used the same runway). The bus really made me feel that I was in a developing country. There were old seats, some missing. It was an ancient bus whose engine rumbled and grumbled spilling out polluting diesel fumes. I talked with P-she was a Parsee. She was quite surprised that I had heard of Zoroastrians we talked about her sister's visit to Iran where holy fire that springs naturally from the ground is worshipped. She also said that in Iran the fire temples were open to visitors because the Muslim authorities insisted on it. She told me about the time that Mumbai airport was just a corrugated iron shed in the 1950's.
The bus had to take a roundabout route to terminal 1A. We passed lots of closed street side shops. Again you knew you were in a poor country from the state of repair and painting of the shops. But then if it isn't broken, why paint it?
Later at the terminal I met an Aberystwyth student (inter pol) who came from Cardiff. We both had a very expensive drink at Rs 30. He has a brother who is a 4th year medic at Cardiff. An hour later thy opened security and check in. On the other side I met Raj again and a friend of his from the States, both were going to Madras. They were comparing the airport with the past (no rats now) and Singapore (which is much swisher). They asked 'The airport is busy so where does the money go?' Everyone in India knows the answer to that! They invited me to join them in a Couple of Samosas-so I hoped my stomach would be OK the next day.
Check in at Mumbai was in 3 parts; a three fold path to release form the sangsara of the airport. They were (1) a Security check of carried baggage (2) a check in at the desk, then a wait before (3) a security check of hand baggage, Raj said so we don't get all the excitement at once. The departure hall was interesting. Basic and uncared for but also VDUs and a display to advertise mobile phones. When I got on the plane it had an odd smell, like glue. It was only later that I realised that it was probably aviation fuel. I suspect that it wasn't the aeroplane, more likely the whole of the runway stank of it. The plane itself was delayed for l hour so we were late arriving and departing.
Before we took off, we waited by a large shanty settlement, just like in the pictures. The plane stopped opposite an area clear of houses, many people were sitting or squatting but it was later that I realised this must be the latrine area. In flight, removed from squalor and poverty we had a curried breakfast and mango juice.
Bangalore airport was splendid. I always like airports where you walk to the terminal; it is so much more romantic. We were also handed roses as we went through the terminal. The wait for luggage was less romantic.
Outside I couldn't find anyone from UTC, this
rather put me back. Being tired and disoriented I was bamboozled into
taking a taxi even though I knew I should have got a pre paid taxi. The
driver didn't even seem to know where the college was. I had been
prepared for the driving so I wasn't particularly bothered about it. In
fact it was better than I expected, not because it was more orderly but
because the speed was quite low about 20 MPH. The journey from the
airport took some time, or perhaps it just seemed like it. It was
difficult to take in much more than the general impression, not quite
chaos or anarchy, but certainly not ordered. Life in India clearly has
a different set of rules, and I was sure it would take me some time to
adjust.
Entering into the college seemed like going back to Colonial days, except of course Indians were in charge. I was met by the bursar who welcomed me and passed me on to someone to take me to the accommodation block.
This was a new block for visitors and in Indian terms very expensive Rs 300 a night plus Rs 8O per day for food. That is about £8 in English money. The room was light and airy, with several sockets (one day perhaps a telephone that works but not yet). There is also a ceiling fan which is quite effective so long as the electricity is on.
Once I had unpacked I went to see the registrar and bursar. The registrar and I talked about what courses I sit in on and we selected 4 to cover basic ideas of social issues, Inculturation and Hinduism. Then to the bursars office. There seemed no sign of the bank draft I had sent, or at least no receipt; well it was registered so if it hadn't come I could claim. Then I saw the bursar, we didn't exactly discuss the cost but he looked at the correspondence with Dr Robinson. I had been warned that they probably wouldn't be expecting me.
On returning to Ranson Hall I had a long talk with Randy. He is with a group from the Southern States Baptist Union. He too has taken to training for ministry later in life, he is here with his family. He gave me some pointers about places to see in Bangalore and a map. He suggested that it I wanted a short walk that I went down Miller road towards St. John's church.
Later I did go this route and it was my first real encounter with India. I think what struck me most, strangely, were the slabs of granite which made up the pavement. These were over a ditch with an inch or so between slabs so that the rain could drain away. In may places the pavement gave out or the slabs were broken. It actually made walking quite tough going in places. It was the school finishing time and many children were being transported in rather military looking trucks usually with a policeman or guard in them. Everyone stood so I guess that they had no seats.
Back to college. The lunch and dinner were very good. Mangoes after lunch, so I have had at least one. After dinner Dr. Sathi Clark took me home to meet his wife Prema and his two sons Avi and Ashwen. We also talked a little about what courses I should do. He thought a period of directed study with weekends away would be a good idea. Also he hoped we could persuade the bursar not to charge me for staying in the college over the weekend. On the way home we stopped off at a PCO (Public Call Office) so I could make a quick phone call home just to tell mum I am OK. It was just a few seconds and only Cost Rs 20 so I did well. After 10, calls are half price and after 11 quarter price so I decided that next time I would try to phone late at night
The Vicar
Go to Part 2 of the Indian Journal