The last week in Vellore has been a hectic and tiring one. The day starts at 8 in the morning and we finish evening rounds by 9.30pm most days. Then a quick dinner, and after a short rest in the mess, I usually join some of the other registrars to the Haematology officewhich has 24 hour computer access. Here I normally keep in touch with the world that seems so distant as well as do some background reading on cases seen. One comes to train here with only work and study in mind- it's that simple, because there's absolutely nothing else to do here. I think I would go mad if I really was training here for 4 years!
Most nights, I walk back to my flat past midnight and Vellore is a metamorphosed place by then.The dust has had time to settle, most of the human crowd has shifted indoors and auto-rickshawsare are mercifully few and far between, giving way to (relative) quiet and peace. Some chai stalls are still open and I often stop to have a sip of the treacle-sweet potion in the company of tired-looking auto-rickshaw wallahs, factory workers finishing their night shifts and the occasional insomniacs.
The sparse street lamps cast their orange glow and in their shadows a few somnolent cows munch away at the last remains of any organic (or even sometimes inorganic) waste they can scavenge on the streets. A few dogs, tamed by men, but which here have long forgotten any pleasant human contact, lie curled up here and there. There's also often another surreal sight: A half-dozen or so depressed looking donkeys, roaming about and enjoying a few hours of nocturnal freedom before another hard day at work. Sometimes, out of the blue, as if struck by some sudden existential panic, one of them will suddenly lurch forward, braying aloud, and break into a frantic run- I once had to move sideways to avoid a head-on collision! A sad sight. There's also of course the occasional huddled tired bodies on the doorsteps and shop porches, comatose after the enduring labour of the day, and by now accustomed to the conrete firmess of their 'bed'.
I have finished Naipaul's book by now. I'm glad I read it, but I would not recommed it as a first novel on India. Naipaul eloquently screams the harsh reality of India, the hypocrisy and stupidity of some of its traditions. The caste divisions he mentions are particularly omnipresent here in Tamil Nadu, and reading the book and talking to people around me has opened my eyes to some of these facets of Indian life. After almost 2 months here, the naive veil of the new and the exotic is lifting. On a brief visit to India, there is perhaps so much to digest and the colourful side of India and its exuberance can dazzle and confuse. I am only beginning to understand the complexity of this ancient land, and the customs of its people, sometimes with amazement and sometimes with shock and horror.
Most nights, I walk back to my flat past midnight and Vellore is a metamorphosed place by then.The dust has had time to settle, most of the human crowd has shifted indoors and auto-rickshawsare are mercifully few and far between, giving way to (relative) quiet and peace. Some chai stalls are still open and I often stop to have a sip of the treacle-sweet potion in the company of tired-looking auto-rickshaw wallahs, factory workers finishing their night shifts and the occasional insomniacs.
The sparse street lamps cast their orange glow and in their shadows a few somnolent cows munch away at the last remains of any organic (or even sometimes inorganic) waste they can scavenge on the streets. A few dogs, tamed by men, but which here have long forgotten any pleasant human contact, lie curled up here and there. There's also often another surreal sight: A half-dozen or so depressed looking donkeys, roaming about and enjoying a few hours of nocturnal freedom before another hard day at work. Sometimes, out of the blue, as if struck by some sudden existential panic, one of them will suddenly lurch forward, braying aloud, and break into a frantic run- I once had to move sideways to avoid a head-on collision! A sad sight. There's also of course the occasional huddled tired bodies on the doorsteps and shop porches, comatose after the enduring labour of the day, and by now accustomed to the conrete firmess of their 'bed'.
I have finished Naipaul's book by now. I'm glad I read it, but I would not recommed it as a first novel on India. Naipaul eloquently screams the harsh reality of India, the hypocrisy and stupidity of some of its traditions. The caste divisions he mentions are particularly omnipresent here in Tamil Nadu, and reading the book and talking to people around me has opened my eyes to some of these facets of Indian life. After almost 2 months here, the naive veil of the new and the exotic is lifting. On a brief visit to India, there is perhaps so much to digest and the colourful side of India and its exuberance can dazzle and confuse. I am only beginning to understand the complexity of this ancient land, and the customs of its people, sometimes with amazement and sometimes with shock and horror.
posted by sajir at 8:18 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home