It’s not personal, it’s India

“It’s not personal, it’s India” Chris assured me when I declared that all the village cows disliked me. I have noticed that whenever I am riding into Lohegaon toward a herd of cattle, they immediately spread across the road providing me with no options to pass them. Invariably I have to come to a complete halt as they saunter past me with haughty unapologetic indifference. Incidentally the fact that these docile, disinterested beasts are considered by all here to be at the top of the pecking order even though they don’t have the capacity or inclination to appreciate their position of authority speaks volumes about this country, but it is an endearing local custom and strangely logical in context. On one occasion a bull decided to mount a cow just as he drew parallel with my scooter. It seemed a deliberate action on the bull’s part in an effort to scare me? Disgust me? Who knows? The fact this bull and his cow then lost their balance and nearly toppled onto me, while less intentional, certainly had my full attention, if that was their purpose. Anyway, a week or so after this, we were driving through the village in a rickshaw and as we passed a herd of cattle, one of the bulls whacked me hard on the leg with his tail. It was in the wake of this assault that I was explaining my relationship with the local bovine inhabitants and Chris declared to me, as he had on many previous occasions, “It’s not personal, it’s India.”

I have certainly made a name for myself in the village in the four months since we moved onto site and perhaps the cows are more open than the rest of the village in their disdain for me. Pre-scooter there was the scandal of me walking through the village unaccompanied. This was closely followed by the incident where the scooter and I parted ways and the villagers were forced to wrench me from bamboo scaffolding. Not to mention when I rode over a nail and came to a spectacular skidding halt quite fortuitously outside the tyre shop. Last week, I tripped out of an eight-seater rickshaw and landed flat on my face. As usual half the local population was in attendance to witness the event. If that wasn’t humiliating enough, I landed on my backpack which contained four bottles of beer. Cameron later inquired somewhat indignantly as to why I hadn’t landed on the other hand and rescued the beer. “If you were a bloke,” he added, “you would have protected that back pack at all costs”. When I explained I was carrying a fragile gift in the other hand he looked at me as if to say, “And?!” Clearly I need to get my priorities in order before any sympathy is ever forthcoming from that camp. Two of the bottles smashed into pieces and beer fizzed out everywhere in the otherwise dry village of Lohegaon. Not only had I been caught red handed with contraband, I had really hurt my foot and was unsure if I could walk at all. I was helped to my feet by a familiar looking fellow and as I tried to recall where I had seen him before he declared, “Madam, you really have to be more careful!” Of course, he was one of my rescuers from my earlier tussle with the bamboo scaffold. Fortunately one of rickshaw drivers came to my assistance and took me back to school – he didn’t even seem to mind the beer leaking all over his back seat. When Chris accompanied some children on an excursion to the village later in the week I was surprised he wasn’t confronted by copious amounts of queries about his astoundingly clumsy, unprincipled wife.

Aside from unintentionally earning myself a dubious reputation in the local village, I am actually feeling happily settled here now. Chris’ aforementioned mantra helps because whatever else, this is a very challenging place to live for most people for many and varied reasons but that is one of the features that makes it so special. I was talking to a young Australian gal who has come to Pune with her partner for 2 years, leaving a high flying job with Telstra. She said, “This place pulls you in so many directions simultaneously that you can’t help but grow from it. Hopefully, I’ll live ‘til 80, so spending 2 years in this amazingly frustrating place is a short time and definitely good for the constitution.” An excellent attitude to have here.

Prior to leaving Australia, I quizzed as many people as I could about the trials and tribulations of re-locating, particularly abroad. I received mixed reactions about the benefits of doing it but all responses shared a theme that there is almost always a significant and difficult adjustment period. The duration of this period and the chances of recovering from it depended very much on the individual and the circumstances in which they found themselves. One person told me that for 2 years she watched Qantas planes depart in the distance and each time cried in despair at the fact she was not aboard. My aunt, who had lived in a 3^rd world country with young children told me for months she cried most afternoons and that I should do the same if I felt like it because having a good howl is very therapeutic. Ultimately she loved her time away. Other advice proffered was that I was likely to hit rock bottom by the 3 month mark but should begin to see a marked improvement by 6 months and it was suggested by another friend that the best way thing to remember during such a period is, “Chin up!” I was also advised to find a meaningful diversion for myself so I was not totally subsumed by the role of the ‘trailing spouse’. Personally my biggest fear was that I would spend my entire time here counting down the days until we returned home to start living life again, like a prisoner might in maximum security.

In mid-July, in mid-monsoon, I was overwhelmed by homesickness and remained in a very dark place for about 6 weeks. The huge upheaval in the composition of the Australian staff and families was an awful last straw. I cried every day, sometimes all day and was very doubtful about surfacing from the gloom on this side of the equator. It was not that things were all bad, they weren’t. We moved out to site and since then, domestically I have barely lifted a finger. “Can’t you at least enjoy that!” my mother implored down the phone. But it is very difficult to enjoy anything when you are grieving your old life and can not find a place for yourself in your new one. During this period, the well-intentioned berating of the locals that previously was and subsequently is one of my chief sources of amusement, suddenly shattered my brittle self-esteem, leaving me feeling even more inadequate and invisible. India or not, everything was acutely personal. Bizarrely, I felt increasingly worse as it became increasingly clear that Chris and the children were quickly settling in and enjoying themselves. Prior to re-locating to site, we all had our ups and downs and nothing was certain, but once school started I realised that if we had to up and leave, it would be solely because of my not coping and that left me feeling inconsolable. At one stage Chris suggested to me that I take the baby and go home for a visit to which I responded, “If I go back home now, I might never come back.”

In the midst of this, almost unnoticeably, things began to improve due in no small part to the delightful community of staff and students who live and study here. When I mentioned to some close friends in an email that I had not cried in over a week, it occurred to me that I may have turned the corner. One of my main reservations about Chris taking this job was that we might feel very claustrophobic living on site, but nothing could be further from the truth. I love having mealtimes in the boarding house surrounded by chatty, cheeky students who always greet our family with enthusiasm – it’s like being permanently on school camp. If Chris and I take the kids for a stroll we are often joined by boarders who play with the older three and entertain the baby, leaving us free to wander and chat uninterrupted. Between meals, we hardly see our children because they are off playing with their on site friends or joining the boarders for a game of soccer or cricket. Sometimes I get home to find 10 pairs of shoes at our door indicating a collaborative lego construction is underway in Charlie’s bedroom, but even then I am rarely bothered for anything more than a drink of water. In the morning Chris and the older 3 leave at 8.15am and on most days, staff finish at 4pm because the school is still small and teachers have plenty of spare time. As there are no meals to prepare and the house has been immaculately cleaned by the maintenance staff, we are free to go off for a pre-dinner hit of tennis or a swim in Pune. There is plenty of jolly socializing and empathizing, particularly between the Australian staff and I honestly do not think I would have managed in their absence. We have also met a lively bunch of ex pats during our regular attendance at the race course and our involvement with them continues to gather momentum. I have had plenty to do with the school in an informal capacity, particularly with my children’s classes. I tag along on excursions, attend assemblies and special events and help out whenever I can. As Joyti, Seb’s nanny, is here full time, I can come and go from home at a moment’s notice.

All of these factors have combined resulting in this situation moving from intolerable to very enjoyable. We have little stress in our lives, and our children have certainly had the benefit of that. I have starting working at the school 3 days a week in a student services / marketing role and this is proving to be an interesting, welcome distraction and the extra bit of cash has meant we can look further afield for our holiday trips. We are thoroughly enjoying planning all our adventures for the vacation periods over the next 18 months. Now, instead of waking each morning with the thought, “Am I still in this Hell?” my first thoughts are back to being positive and the weeks are melting easily into each other. I can honestly say that if the choice arose, I would much rather stay here for the duration than return prematurely. Having said that, Australia is a wonderful place full of my favorite people and I can’t imagine wanting my home anywhere else. All the same, on my eventual return I may miss encountering copulating cows congesting the causeway, even those who have taken a personal dislike to me.