:: One People, Many Cultures ::



::Living Together in Respect and Friendship::

I hate seeing beggars in any country because I don’t know how to deal with it. I can’t give every man a fish and I have no time when travelling to teach even one to fish. I feel it’s better to ignore them so they’ll find a way to deal with their own problem, and when possible to help those that are able to pass on the favour.

I manage to harden my heart enough to ignore them when they tap me and show me the starving babies, but my last day in India took the challenge to a new level. I was sitting on the beach after seeing a Bollywood film in a Mumbai theatre, when three kids approached me. My camera was out, displaying my wealth to everyone on the beach and making me an obvious target. I tried to ignore them by looking through the lens at what was going on around me. I thought the beggars would try to stand in front of the camera, forcing me to look. Instead, they politely stepped out of the way whenever I moved it near them.

Earlier in the day, I’d been for a walk along the beach and found a slum camp on a section of flat sand above the beach. A change in the wind brought a repulsive smell. I looked back down towards the sea and saw a line of squatting people, squeezing their bowels onto the wet sand. I guess the idea was that the sea would carry it out, but a line of dark shapes at the tide line showed that not to work.

The children eventually left me alone, but were soon attacked by a stick woman who obviously thought they were begging in her territory.

Being Catholic, Colin and Geeta’s wedding followed the usual protocol for western weddings. He in a suit and she in a white bridal gown and veil, church wedding and later reception. There were differences, however. Firstly, most women were in saris, all gorgeous with the bright colours and decorative weavings. It was a feast for the eyes, but unfortunately not for the camera, which was too excited to take any shots in focus. The artificial lighting and the fact that no one would stand still meant that I got lots of blurred shots of the backs of people’s heads.

Another difference was that speeches were made not be the best man, but by the bride’s maids. I have no idea whether this was normal or just because she was the best man for the job. (Sorry. I couldn’t resist)

Finally, the order of the night was reversed. Upon arriving at the reception, the fist thing the couple did was to cut the cake. That was then shared around the 400 guests before the dancing started. After running through a wide selection of music to cater for every guest, the speeches began. Dinner was the last event of the evening.

An article on the front page of the paper this morning condemned the Mumbai police force for not taking a molestation case seriously. Two couples were ac costed when leaving a show on New Year’s morning, a gang fondling the women and tearing their clothes. The police didn’t try to file charges and claim the media is making a mountain out of a molehill. The press in turn point out that at the same time, the police are getting upset at the debauchery of young couples kissing in public parks. They let the couples off this time, but have let it be known that such obscenities will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law in the future.

The Roce is apparently a Catholic ceremony from the Bangalore region. In typical Indian style, it turns into a party for hundreds of wedding guests, but the focus and raison d’etre is for guests to bless the couple with sacred oils. Guests take turns holding a saucer full of the white oil and walk down the line of singles. At each person, they did a finger into the oil then draw a cross on the recipient’s forehead. Some guests get carried away and I noticed one girl valiantly ignoring oil dripping off her nose onto her silk sari.

As usual, I couldn’t bring myself to join the ceremony because it felt hypocritical to do something I have no belief in. I am shamed to think that I have no issue with prostrating myself before a Buddha statue, yet couldn’t make the effort to bless a friend’s marriage in a way that would mean something to him.

The rest of the evening was taken up with speeches, dancing (local and a variety of western style music) and admiring my friend and his gorgeous fiance in their various traditional outfits.

Kuala Lumpur seems to me one of the more run down Japanese cities, Saga perhaps. On the one hand, there are buildings like the twin towers that look 20 years ahead of their time and, at over 500m tall, high enough to cause altitude sickness from taking the lift. On the other, the streets are dirty, the roads lumpy and the buildings look like bits have been shot off. Seeing the streets around Sentral Station at dawn gave the impression of a scene from I Am Legend, but that was to be expected so early on New Years Day.

A local girl I spoke to on the train suggested that I head to China Town and India Town to people watch, but there were very few people around. Still, it was only about twenty minutes before I found myself being followed by a young man telling me he liked me. He even keyed the message into his mobile and showed me to make sure I got it. Message read, but not understood. I didn’t hang around to find out if he just wanted to practise his English or was some gay gigolo.

The city slowly filled up during the day as the sun came out and my energy waned. I even made to avoid the heat by standing in line to see a film (I Am Legend in fact) but in the end decided that I’d never forgive myself if I missed the park on my one day in KL. As it was, the park was further than I thought, much of it was under construction, and there were few people to watch. I should have gone earlier to see them doing morning exercises as my friend on the train suggested. Instead, I collapsed on the platform of a pagoda near the lake and dozed through the heat. When I woke, an Indian girl who was sitting nearby asked me to take her photo. The darkening sky chose that moment to break and suddenly my pagoda was crowded with locals and tourists who’d been hiding around the park.

When the rain stopped, Radhika (Indian girl) and I then tried to go to the Eye of the World to see KL from above, but by the time we got there, I had to turn around and head for the airport for my flight to Mumbai.