To Amarpurkashi by Train

Almost a week ago, I left Delhi for the rural village of Amarpurkashi in India's largest state, the Uttar Pradesh. At 5.30 am (when the train left) Delhi's streets were already teeming; like New York, it deserves the reputation of a city that doesn't sleep. Unlike New York, where that has connotations of a 24-hour party city, Delhi's insomnia is the result of perpetual labour. Unhurried, laid-back, but continually, people are working; sweeping, setting up their stallls, preparing their taxis, or washing out their shopfronts.

In Delhi I have met up with Mauro, an Italian guy who has been teaching English in Moscow for the last three years. We are both going to spend three weeks as Project Visitors (PVs) at a project in the tiny village of Amapurkashi (more of that later). Fortunately for me, Mauro turns out to be a great guy and very easy company. There are no rough edges, nothing abrasive about him and yet he has his own distinct shape. He also comes with a baggage load of stories, bigger than the rucksack he carries, of time spent in Moscow, Ireland, Siberia and Italy to regale me with. So anyway, we successfuly manage to board the train and settle ourselves in for the journey ahead.

I have oten found train travel to be a great way to experience and see a country, and this journey is no exception. The train is comfortable; compartments with three berths that fold up to make seats; wide windows and airconditioning! Our fellow passengers eye us up with some initial curiosity, but soon become absorbed in their own concerns; chatting to a neighbour, munching their way through the food provided (in great little cardboad boxes containing a whole meal), reading the newspaper, or dozing under the blankets and pillows that are handed out.

As we sleepily snack on the box of biscuits we bought with us, Delhi quickly slips by and a whole new India reveals itself through the train windows. This is quintissential India; the one you see on the films and on the adverts for tea. Fields of sugar cane and rice, whose green has an unmistakably different hue and quality to that of England; a sort of yellow/gold, as though it has actually retained some of the sunbeams that stream down relentlessly. Buffalo pulling ploughs and lazing in muddy pools, the silhouettes of women carrying great bundles on their heads, the skyline broken by the occasional cluster of palm trees, and perhaps less 'romantically' pylons and mobile phone masts.

I am somewhat shocked to discover that alongisde the railway tracks early in the morning is, it transpires, where India chooses to do its 'business' (as my Granny would politely put it). All along the tracks men are squatting, often with a queue of two or three more men off to one side, waiting to take their turn. I am trying, with difficulty, to imagine a similar sight on the London - Brighton commuter train?!

After five hours we arrive at our stop, and successfully disembark (the train only stops for one minute and we are heavily laden, so this is somewhat of a feat) and are instantaneously scooped up by Arti (the project coordinator) and two other people. Under the scorching sun they bundle us into a van and we bump, jolt and shudder our way a couple of miles to Amapurkashi.

Just to explain; the project we are going to was set up nearly forty years ago by an inpsirational man called Mukhat Singh, who was himself a villager of Amarpurkashi. In a nutshelll, he got himself an education (pretty impressive in the circumstances), spent some time in England (where he met and married an Australian woman), returned to India and over a period of time established a primary school, secondary school, college/univeristy and health clinics; more recently an HIV Aid Project and an initiative looking at female foeticide. The project regularly invites visitors (from all over the world, but predominatly westerners) to spend some time at the project. The emphasis is on us as visitors, here to observe, to learn and where possible, give something back.

It is an instant relief to be here here; views over lush green fields soothe the eye, a gentle breeze cools the skin, a steaming cup of chai refreshes us and the warm welcome melts away any remaining city blues. Our accommodation, which is on the campus is very basic (a fair few creepy crawlies to contend with, but no mice so far!). My room adjoins the kitchen, where all our meals (again basic, but tasty) are prepared by the cook Lalaji and his assistants and served on metal Thali plates. Immediately outside our room is a terrace with a long table where both we and some of the teachers, students, and their families also eat dinner, or congregate to pass the time of day together. There is a constant tide of people; an ebb and flow according to the time of day; new faces, and others that soon become familiar. There is the pleasure and companionship of close communal living, and also the lack of privacy.

A typical day; I get up at 5.30. At 6 we do a form of yoga session led by Mukhat (who we have come to know as Babuji - a wonderful name I think!). Between 7 and 8 we take showers, do some washing (or on occasion go back to bed!). Breakfast is about 8. Then on the last couple of days we have been to help out a the primary school; today we taught 'colours' to three different classes of kids. Then later sat in on a college English literature class. Lunch is about 12.30. Afternoons have been varied, but include trips to get traditional clothes made, reading and resting.  Our Hindi lesson takes place at 4. At 6 a fascintaing discussion with Babuji on all kinds of issues relating to developmemt; education, poverty, economics. Dinner is at 7, followed by a stroll to 'aid digestion'. Then bed about 9!

Okay, there is so much more I want to say, but I am running out of time! We have come to Chandausi, a 14km bus-ride away to use the internet and are due to return soon. But I hope to come back soonish and write more! To be continued....