Tag Archives: Goa

Educators’ Trust India are now on Twitter!

2 Dec

Please follow us on Twitter at  EducatorsTrust – and ask your friends to do the same – thank you!

An introduction to Educators’ Trust India

1 Dec

Another brief update, typed in haste before the wi-fi drops out …

So, I have learned to survive without my Kindle,  although I did have heart failure last Saturday when,  for eight nail biting hours,  I had no laptop either.

(Long story. Temporary hard disk fail. Say. No. More).

However,  thanks to the wonderful work of Digital World in Calangute (who,  should The Great Goan Novel ever get published,  will definitely be thanked in the acknowledgements bit at the front),  all was restored by 6pm and so I could breathe again.

Those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter may have seen my frequent references over the last week to a small, local charity called Educators’ Trust India.  I met one of their founders quite by chance last Tuesday and he invited me to visit one of the free schools which they run here for the children of impoverished migrant workers.  I ended up spending a day at the school (more on this to follow), joining them when they visited an extremely sick child with kidney failure in the Panjim hospital, spending time with the children at the beach one afternoon (here I am with the girls!) and also tagging along when they visited a slum settlement to give a basic literacy lesson and provide fruit to the children there (more on that too).

It’s almost impossible to believe how much great work these guys do for the children on virtually no money at all;  they are staffed almost entirely by volunteers from around the world and their core team includes a retired British GP and a former headmaster from a tough school in Halifax.  Their faith in the power of education to overcome illiteracy, child labour and poverty  is unshakable and I am so impressed with their passion and love for these forgotten children that I’ve offered my services to help with their new website (hence no URL provided here – yet) and their media campaign.

Here’s a few words from one of their board members, Dr Mistry,  from a email I received from him yesterday:

” … all our brothers and sisters and uncles and aunties who are involved with our ET project are all very disciplined and genuine in the term of caring,compassion and going that extra mile in helping the most vulnerable children with their family in our society.
We, the Indians are poor, but India is rich.
It is one country that I know which has a system which is so extreme, there is a law for the rich and a law for the poor.
We have a school for the rich and a school for the poor, the education standard is such that, it is almost impossible for a poor child to go through the education till age 21 to 24 yrs, this as you know, in UK it is normal for a student to go through, the primary, secondary and University level, UK, gives help at each stages.
We at ET, the Essence is to Empower these deprived children to have the same high standard as the rich, we believe we will achieve this, we obviously need help from like minded people. We welcome you in this mission and as times goes on,  we all be able to see the outcome, in these little flowers who will blossoms into excellent citizen, who in turn  will help their own people who are going through the same journey.”
 

One particularly positive piece of news that I can share is that Educators’ Trust India were able to help Jyoti,  the little girl with the injured foot whom I met in my first week here. She is now fully healed and doesn’t even limp,  thanks to them treating her at their free weekly drop-in clinic.  These people do such wonderful work for the children – I’m proud to be helping them in some small way and will write more about their projects in my next couple of blog posts.

On speaking (or typing) too soon …

25 Nov

… my Kindle died yesterday.

The screen has fractured and it’s unreadable.

This is,  of course,  the absolute downside of relying on one device for all of your reading needs – when it dies,  so do your hopes of doing any reading while you’re away.

So I am disconsolate and without decent reading material – and also engaged in all sorts of crap customer service exchanges with Amazon,  who don’t seem to appreciate at all that

  • I’m away,
  • have very limited internet access (all of their “report this problem” protocols are URL based)
  • and want me to call a UK free phone 0800 number – and I can’t.

Watch this space …

Reading Material-less in Goa

Anita and Jyoti’s story

23 Nov

One of the books I’ve read and particularly enjoyed (on my Kindle!) since arriving here in Goa has been Sanjeev Bhaskar’s account of his trip around India in 2007.  A second generation British born Indian,  Bhaskar had visited the country many times as a child on family holidays,  but decided to return (with a BBC film crew in tow) and see the modern India at around the time that the country was celebrating 60 years of independence.  He specifically wanted to see the area of the Punjab from where his family had fled at the time of Partition;  they were Hindus,  living in an Indian village which became,  overnight in August 1947,  part of the newly created Muslim state of Pakistan and so they left their homes and became part of the Hindu Diaspora migrating to India – passing on their way hundreds of thousands of Muslims making the same journey in reverse.

Other books (I particularly recommend Indian Summer: The Secret History of the End of an Empire by Alex von Tunzelman, which I blogged about here earlier this year) cover the politics and history of this turbulent and tragic period of Indian history in more detail and context,  but Bhaskar’s wonderful book provides a human story and brings it alive – he’s a fine writer.

“… those of us born as second generation Indians in England are the children of Partition – it’s odd to think that without that tumultuous moment of upheaval 60 years ago, my family might never made the journey that brought my sister and me into being as the modern Britons we are today.”

A favourite feature of the Kindle is the way in which you can clip and mark sections of your books as you read them,  and I did this a lot with Sanjeev Bhaskar’s India.  When he described India as:

“ … a country that breaks your heart in a new way every day … fractures you in ways you didn’t even realise you could be broken …”

… it very much resonated with me. I had my heart fractured the other day when I met Jyoti and her friend Anita on the beach.  It was about 4.30pm and I was just considering packing up and heading back for a shower,  when a shadow fell across my sun lounger.  I looked up to see a small girl holding a large basket filled with newspaper wrapped twists of peanuts and packets of crisps.  Just as the words “no, thank you” were forming on my lips,  she laid the basket down and asked,  very politely,  if she could please have some water?

(This happens a lot on the beach,  and I usually buy an extra bottle of water for the kids whenever I buy one for myself).

Of course,  I said and handed it over. To my surprise,  she didn’t drink the water,  but instead put the bottle down, and removed first a plastic bag and then several layers of grimy, bloodied newspaper from her right foot.  She then poured the water all over her foot,  and attempted to clean it up with fresh newspaper. When I asked what she had done to her foot,  she showed me a deep gash in her sole – a cut which looked dirty and inflamed;  a cut which would have any one of us at the doctor,  asking for stitches and antibiotics.  She had cut her foot on a piece of metal (“I think,  from a boat?”)  whilst walking on the beach and of course, was unable to keep it either clean or sterile.  All she could do was keep it covered with her improvised bandage and hope it healed.

Her name is Jyoti and she is 11 years old.  I felt very helpless,  but I helped her to first clean her foot with some of my baby wipes and to then dress it with Savlon from my capacious beach bag.  She then re-wrapped it with fresh newspaper and a different plastic bag; I bought her a sandwich and a Fanta,  which both disappeared in an instant.  Whilst all this was going on,  her friend Anita (12) appeared with her matching basket of goods and showed great concern as to the state of poor Jyoti’s foot.  At no point did either of them attempt to sell me anything or to ask me for money;  they just seemed grateful for the rest in the shade of my beach umbrella and for the food and drink.  I bought Anita a Coke and gave them my remaining fruit (scrupulously divided between them both by Anita) and a bottle of water each.

“Do you go to school?” I asked,  almost knowing the answer.

“Yes!” said Anita, proudly.  “School is good.  Better than beach. But in Karnataka,  not here.  When we are here,  we must work.”

Further questioning elicited the fact that they each travel with their families to Goa every October and work on the beach during the season – so until May.  They then return to Karnataka and attend school for almost 6 months,  before taking a 19 hour bus journey back to Goa,  back to the beach.

Jyoti was clearly in some pain at this time,  and she curled up on an adjacent sun bed and went to sleep.  Anita,  older,  more confident and chatty,  told me the somewhat amazing story that she is one of SEVEN sisters and one younger brother.  She,  her parents and sisters all travel to Goa to work,  but her brother remains at home with an aunt so that he can continue his education.

Further proof of the (lack of) esteem in which girls and their education are held in this huge, bewildering, heartbreaking country.  Here’s the last word from Sanjeev:

“India remains a dizzying edifice of extremes.  Goddesses are worshipped and women have occupied the most powerful positions in the land,  and yet it is a male-dominated society.  It is the largest democracy in the world and yet a significant proportion of the population are illiterate.  The wealth divide between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’ is increasing dramatically as India becomes a global player.  The destitute number almost 500 million – and that’s a hell of a lot of ‘have nots’.”

India – week one

22 Nov

Namaste from a hot and sticky Goa; I arrived a week ago to torrential rainstorms,  with flooded roads,  fallen trees and bolts of lightning ripping across the sky – and so feared a repeat of last year’s cyclone.  But it seemed to blow through overnight and since then we have enjoyed hot, dry days,  all day, every day.

My time seems to be shaping up and finding its own rhythm.  In the mornings I do some yoga on my balcony and then sit down to work on my novel.  At around noon I wander out and find some brunch – a masala omelette, or a bhaji puri (seen here: puffed up flat breads served with a mild vegetable curry).

Other “menue” (sic) options available to me include:

Musile with milk

Fried eggs on toasts

Fried eggs on toasts w. bacons

Conflakes w. banana milk

Portion sassage

Heinz bakked beans, on toasts

I then spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach,  reading, observing and making notes on things as they occur to me.  It’s been lovely to see so many old friends again,  including Mama,  my favourite fruit seller.  I’ve now started buying up about half of her basket’s worth of fruit and then giving it away (instead of money, obviously) to the many children who work and beg on the beach.

My reading has, ironically,  been somewhat disrupted by my use of a Kindle;  I bought one in September,  thinking that it would be THE perfect device for a bookworm who loves to travel and who usually has to take along an extra suitcase just to carry her reading material.  And so,  in that regard,  it has proved to be; although it felt really quite odd to be packing for a month-long trip and not taking c. 30 paperbacks with me,  the lightness and ease of use of the Kindle has proved to be a wonderful thing.

What I hadn’t bargained for,  however,  was the keen level of interest shown by the locals in this new appliance – they all want to know what it is, what it does,  how it works,  does it play music too,  how much does it cost (my answer of “about 10,000 rupees” is always followed by a gasp of horror and a reappraisal of me as a particularly rich and extremely mad foreigner).  I’ve found myself using analogies such as: “it’s like an iPod for books” and “the words come in here [tap] like an SMS comes to your phone” in order to explain how books magically appear in this tiny, light, device.  But mostly they seem amazed that someone would want to read so much that they’d spend that much money on a gizmo to enable them to do so. A few days ago,  I had about 20 people crouching around my sun lounger,  passing the Kindle around between themselves,  shaking and tapping it, chattering,  laughing,  asking me questions and generally looking amazed.

So I think I can be known as the first person to Kindle-ise this part of Goa.

Unfortunately,  I haven’t managed to see Renuka yet;  I went over to Rainbow House on the day after I arrived and the road was blocked,  so we had to turn back.  We then had another attempt a few days later and I arrived there,  only to discover that the home was locked and bolted,  with not a child in sight. I enquired of a passing lady and she managed to communicate via her tiny bit of English and my pidgin Hindi,  that all the children were “at a programme in Panjim” – what that means,  I’m not sure.  So I’ll have another go later this week.

And now – back to chapter 4.  More here next time I can get on-line,  which has proved to be far more difficult than on my previous trips.

PIN money in India – for some

7 Nov

(c) The Observer

Lots of stuff in the media about India this week,  primarily in the wake of the Obamas’ visit to Mumbai and Delhi.

Two wildly different stories caught my eye and reminded me of the contrasts which exist in this huge, disparate country.

On the one hand,  we have the fabulously charismatic Michelle Obama (for once, with those great arms all covered up) meeting street children in Mumbai, dancing and playing hopscotch.  I defy anyone to look at this filmed footage of her dancing with the children (see how they’ve really got those Bollywood moves nailed!) and not raise a grin:

… meanwhile, across the country in Bhopal,  we learn that:

“Tycoon Rajesh Jethpuria has installed an ATM at his home in Bhopal, India – so his shopalcoholic (sic) wife never runs out of cash …”

I fly to Mumbai a week today – and I am so looking forward to seeing Renuka and the children at Rainbow House for the first time since February.

The meaning of grace – and how No can become Yes

4 Nov

October was a very busy month for me;  I’ve been serving as a judge on the Women in the City awards, booking and planning a trip to India for later this month and returning to work in an office!  I’ve joined a major investment bank and am now working full time as an interim diversity consultant,  focusing particularly on EMEA corporate communications, benchmarking and networking/affinity groups.

My colleagues at the bank have been very accommodating in allowing me to turn up,  learn the ropes and then disappear after three weeks in order to go back to India (Goa and Mumbai) in mid-November – a trip I’d booked in September before I had any idea that I’d be offered this job.

(As an aside,  and in case anyone was in any doubt at all as to the continuing tough and brutal state of the job hunting market: I went for NINETY NINE interviews during my period of downtime.  It would have been a round one hundred,  but I backed out of a scheduled interview upon receipt of my current job offer).

One of the many friends in Goa whom I’m looking forward to seeing again is Bushita (her name means “grace” in Konkani,  the Goan language).  I had dinner with her on my last night in Goa earlier this year – and this is her story.

* * * * * *

I first met Bushita when I called in to her beauty parlour for a massage one rainy afternoon.  After she had soothed and smoothed the knots out of my shoulders,  we sat chatting, drinking tea and listening to the rain beat down on her flat roof.  Over the weeks of my visit,  we became friends and I learned that this shy, petite woman was, in addition to being a skilled masseuse,  a very successful businesswoman.  Against the odds and with little to help her on her way other than hard work and determination,  she has become a property and land owner and is very representative of the female labour force who are fuelling India’s economic boom.

Aged 32,  she was born and brought up in Goa,  the youngest of six children,  and endured a difficult childhood,  primarily due to her father dying when Bushita was aged 6.

“I always loved school,”  she told me.  “And I worked hard to learn English.”

Aged 15,  she met her husband Sabbas,  a friend of her brother.

“He’s my only boyfriend,  nine years older than me, and the only man I’ve ever kissed – and even then I made him wait for a year, because I felt I was too young.”

They married four years later. Finances dictated that they had a small wedding rather than the large Roman Catholic affair she would have preferred, although she hopes to have -  “a huge party! You must come to Goa for it, Cleo!” to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary in 2022.

Bushita began training to be a beautician as soon as she left school in 1997; sighing,  she told me that she would have loved to “carry on studying and go to university in Panjim”,  but her mother needed her to start earning and contribute to the family’s finances. So,  taught by a local beauty salon owner,  she learned how to do facials and give massages and then sold her wedding jewellery to pay for a college course and improve her skills.

“My mother was horrified that I sold my gold! But I knew that it was the right thing to do and that I had to invest in me. How is it you say – speculate to accumulate? Yes!”

Charter flights full of holiday makers had begun coming to Goa in the mid 1990s and that led to the explosion of tourism as we now see it.  Bushita told me that she could see that this influx of western visitors would be good for business,  as long as she could learn some new beauty skills so,  after she’d qualified at college,  she went to work at a larger salon in order to learn how to do manicures and pedicures. Tragically,  her first baby,  a boy,  had died seven months into her pregnancy and her difficulties continued when her second child,  Hazel,  now aged 11,  was also born prematurely in 1999 and was very ill for the first few years of her life.

At about the same time,  her mother inherited a piece of land located very close to what was then becoming a popular hotel.  By borrowing from family members and using friends and neighbours as labour, Bushita built a tiny shop on the land to one day use as her dream beauty parlour. Because she couldn’t also afford to fit it out as a salon, she rented it to a tenant as a clothes shop in order to get some money for fittings.  The shop remained tenanted for the next five years,  whilst Bushita worked in a neighbouring salon,  biding her time.  She then took out a bank loan (underwritten by her mother) and built an upper story extension on to the shop,  which she finally started to use as a salon whilst maintaining the clothes shop downstairs.  Hazel’s Beauty Parlour, named after her oldest child,  finally opened in 2005,  a year after Bushita had given birth to her second daughter, Pearl Suezan; she laughed as she told me –  “both of my daughters were born in September.  I wanted them to be smart girls,  born at the beginning of the school year – and this way,  I could take my baby leave during the rainy season,  when there are no tourists!”

Having worked upstairs for a few years,  Bushita  then saw her chance to extend again,  and she started working from her home whilst converting the original salon into an apartment and guest house. She now presides over two apartments and three bed and breakfast rooms (“all with air conditioning!”),  in addition to the salon and the shop,  currently occupied by a Kashmiri jewellery business and told me,  sighing,  that she is very glad that she has diversified,  as the beauty business is under threat. There’s lots of competition from the beach,  as many former fruit sellers now offer beauty treatments as an easier way of working with the high spending tourist population.

However,  her guest house is doing very well and that helps fund the expansion plans and renovations.

“It’s grown via word of mouth and referrals and repeat business – thank goodness!”

I saw the generation gap at work when Bushita explained that her in-laws,  with whom she lives, struggle to understand her drive and commitment; “they do still want me to be more traditional,  but they’re more accepting now, as they can see the business growing and becoming successful. I earn much more than my husband does [as a taxi driver] and they find this very strange – it’s almost unimaginable in their world. Because we all live together,  we have disagreements over domestic ideas. Until recently,  they used to nag me constantly about having another baby,  ideally a boy,  but my husband reminded them that I had nearly died twice and so now they leave me alone.  Mostly.”

Luckily Sabbas has always been supportive and understood the need to earn money and do well.

“Over time,  I have changed my husband; now we have short holidays alone together and sometimes go out for dinner. The children will grow up and leave to live with their husbands’ families, and we will be old,  so it’s important that we are happy together. It’s our life and we must live it.”

What are your hopes for your daughters, I asked?

Deeply religious, Bushita would like her older daughter to be a nun,  or perhaps a nurse or a doctor – “she is very caring.”  And she hopes that  Pearl will take over the business and ultimately run the salon and the guest house. Ahead of either contingency, she’s saving money for them both in order to pay for university or college in some capacity.

Over coffee,  she confided that her greatest challenge is family based (“yap yap!”)  rather than business focussed.

“The in-laws are so difficult and their weight of expectations are a great burden; if they’re fine, everything else is fine, if not  – we all know about it.  They are always very unhappy about my building projects when they’re underway,  but they cope with it later on. They have a rural background  with pigs and chickens and find this way of life to be so strange, still,  after all these years.”

She continued, “Thankfully,  my mother-in-law does all the cooking so that helps a lot in terms of domestic stuff and childcare. They’re also very good at disciplining the children.”

Once the Goan tourist industry shuts up shop each spring,  Bushita goes on seminars in the down season to learn about new treatments  (“next time you come,  I will be able to do the gel nails”) and she also sells life insurance. She started this three years ago,  as a way of earning money in the absence of tourists and has found that she enjoys selling door to door,  to the extent that she has won both regional and national sales awards for achieving great sales figures.

“I get bored being a Goan housewife and I love business,  so my advice to other women is: stand up for yourselves and speak up. You must always move forwards and don’t look back. You do have talents –  yes, there may be barriers to your success,  but don’t be afraid.

If you have a great idea – try it, be brave.

No can always become Yes.”

(For previous posts about my trips to Goa,  please click on the words Goa and/or India in the “I’m writing about …” tag cloud on the right).

A life in the day at Rainbow House

21 Feb

Rainbow House (RH) is El Shaddai’s residential home for girls aged 8-13 (when they’re aged 2-7, they live next door, at House of Kathleen, and there are two similar homes in the area for boys) and is currently home to 51 girls, including my sponsored “daughter” Renuka. The children sleep in bunk-bedded dormitories and are cared for by four full time staff plus Stella,  the manager.

(One thing I always have to remember when thinking about what to buy Renuka is that each child has relatively little private space in which to store things;  they each have a small, cube shaped locker and access to a hanging rail for their clothes,  and that’s it).

The children are organised into groups and Stella tells me that this is to help to teach them teamwork, responsibility and leadership. The teams are named Love, Joy, Peace and Kindness and each team has a colour which they then wear as part of their school uniform.  Renuka is in the “Love” group and their colour is red,  so she wears a red polo shirt for school and always tries to choose red clothes from the communal pile in her dormitory.  Most recently, I’ve seen her in a red Bayern Munich t-shirt and a red swimsuit bearing the Welsh flag …

Part of the way in which the charity aims to teach responsibility is by making the children part of the routine of the home; for them,  it’s more than just a boarding school environment – they are part of the very fabric of the place. And they have a long and busy day,  Monday to Friday: this is their daily routine irrespective of age.

5.45am                        Alarm call and wake up.

6.00am                        Morning prayers; apparently, these are non-denominational and mostly consist of saying “thank you” to an unnamed god or presence.

6.15 – 7am                  “Duty” – this means undertaking chores of various sorts: cooking, cleaning, laundry and so on. Each group is part of a rota and will do different things each week; one evening when I visited,  Renuka emerged from the kitchen covered in flour, as the Love group had evening duty – making chapattis.

7.00 – 7.30am             Breakfast – as prepared by that day’s duty team, who will also have organised the tiffin (lunch) tins too.

7.30 – 8.30am             Wash and dress for school; the uniform is either a pleated skirt or shorts,  topped off with an appropriately coloured polo shirt, and sandals.

8.30 – 8.45am             Medicine: many of the children have ongoing medical issues due to their previous itinerant lifestyles and poor nutrition,  so Stella lines them up at this time and gives them their medications.

8.45am                        Uniform check: are you neat and tidy? Is your hair brushed? Then off you go to school! The children travel by mini-bus, as donated by a British based charity.

9.00 – 4.30pm             At El Shaddai’s own private Shanti Niketan school,  the children are organised into groups on the basis of ability rather than age – so Renuka,  for example, aged 9 and good at maths,  is in a class with children of 12, 13 and 14. All lessons are taught in English,  which is the common language; the children end up in Goa from all over India and many have other languages as their first tongue,  but school work is always done in English. 

At 12 noon,  they break for lunch,  which they eat, seated, from the tiffin tins.

5.00 – 7.00pm             The children arrive back at RH and evening duty commences for the relevant team.  This is also visiting time for sponsors and interested tourists,  so there’s always a stream of people calling into both RH and HoK, sitting on the veranda and playing with the children.

7.00 – 7.30pm             Prayers, followed by dinner.  This is usually vegetarian food (rice and dal, or a vegetable pullao) but they have meat once a week for those who eat it. They sometimes also have laddu, a very sweet Indian pudding; Renuka told me proudly that she is “the very best” at making this.    

7.30 – 8.00pm            More duty – washing up!

8.00pm                        Homework

9.00pm                        Bedtime; lights out by 10.30pm.

At the weekends,  the regime is a little more relaxed,  although the children still have “duty” in the morning; yesterday,  they were washing sheets.  However,  in the afternoon,  it’s the highlight of the week,  when they all pile into the mini-bus for a trip to the beach; they absolutely love this and it’s truly wonderful to see them have a chance to be children.

El Shaddai set up camp on the beach, and,  with a great flair for strategy, take the charity to the people. They have very cleverly realised that the children are their best ambassadors and so simply seeing the kids playing on the beach and splashing in the sea (as opposed to begging or selling jewellery) can give people an awareness of how different life can be with the assistance of ES and other charities.


The afternoon follows a loose structure. Having blown up numerous pairs of armbands and rubber rings, we all charge into the sea and play in the waves (at one point,  I had three small girls hanging off each of my arms). Then it’s out onto the sand for a bit,  with some organised races (relay running,  bunny hopping and so on) and a sand castle building competition. 

The staff then chop up some of the huge pile of fruit donated by the visitors and the children dig in to slices of pineapple and chunks of watermelon;  there’s usually so much left that all four homes can have fruit for the rest of the week.

I was particularly pleased to see so many men joining in and playing with the kids,  as these children really need strong male role models; many of them have been abandoned by their fathers,  or mistreated, victims of neglect, violence and alcohol. And whilst they don’t lack for love and care from the (mostly female) ES staff,  there are fewer men around to provide an alternative view of masculinity,  so the work that these guys do is hugely important, I think,  for both boys and girls. They need to know and see that men can be kind, gentle, playful and fun – all qualities in great abundance at the beach.

Finally,  it’s one last play in the sea – much shrieking of “the big wave! The big wave!!” – before we get dressed, pack up toys, equipment, leaflets, banners and fruit and return back home.

Great fun – and I get to do it all over again today.  I had planned to pack to come home,  but Renuka had remembered that my flight back is actually on Monday and so could see no valid reason at all why I shouldn’t come to the beach on Sunday … so that’s where I’ll be.  Can’t wait.

The plural of anecdote isn’t evidence –

21 Feb

- but here’s an anecdote anyway,  which I think somewhat bears out my theory that the begging culture here is supported by western tourists.

I was in a beach front restaurant yesterday where, by chance, I was the only such tourist sitting at the front, overlooking the beach.

In the 90 minutes that I was there, I was the focus of a variety of beggars – the elderly, the infirm, women holding babies – who all asked me for money and occasionally prodded me with a sharp, insistent finger – but who resolutely ignored the Indian customers (who, it must be said, also ignored them with notable consistency).  I also noticed that we had no child performers while I was there – perhaps they took a look and decided it wasn’t worth their while given the demographics.

Proof of learned behaviour? I think so.  Why waste your time with the people who you know won’t chuck a few rupees your way,  when you can instead focus on the visitors who’ve been proven in the past to be a soft touch?

“Girl or Boy, Small Family is Joy”

20 Feb

My lovely Goan taxi driver, Satish,  is now so on-board with the type of people related images which interest me when we’re out and about that he often spots them first (usually because I’ve got my eyes clamped shut) when we’re bombing along – and then screeches to a halt.

“Cleo Madam! Good picture for you here!”

And here’s one such example,  spotted earlier this week. It’s part of a nationwide campaign to persuade families of the value of having baby girls, in an attempt to reduce family sizes and prevent gender selective abortion or post-natal infanticide.  

The fine in question is huge: it represents c. £1400, which in a society where a working man can earn and raise a family on £40 per month,  is an almost unimaginable sum.

I’d love to know what statistics, if any,  exist to indicate the success of this campaign;  Satish tells me it’s been running for quite some time.

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