Nothing like having to teach hindi first lesson to kick the day off in style. I tried to introduce the children to the idea of Taoism, whereby the fastest is the slowest, or in this case, the teacher is the pupil. Their knowledge of comparative Chinese religion was about as substantial as my hindi, but together we muddled along. I can now count up to ten, and can say I am, I do, I will, I make.
Yesterday was quality. I headed up to Lehrian (one of the villages in the school's catchment area) in the early evening and introduced the village children to Ultimate Frisbee. Our pitch was somewhat rudimentary – its boundaries being defined by the communal drains that vein the streets. The photos attached are simply staggering if you believe in the ability of photos to capture spirits in the form of orbs of light. We are playing under the watchful gaze of the village Neem tree, which for years has functioned as a village focal point/meeting place/ village hall whenever something of import needs to be communicated. It is incredible, with ancient spider webs wreathing its lower branches like the gossamer finery of a prince. For comparison purposes the photo of my current means of transport is taken three minutes after the shots of the children and the tree that are so bespeckled with orbs. I'm sure there are photography experts out there who can
explain this all away, but until then I will stick with the hypothesis that those beings beyond our kenning share with the Neem tree a love of children's laughter and were delighting in our play as much as the children. There are always two sides to every story my friends, and our lives are the stories we choose to tell.
The preparations for the cricket pitch come on apace. What was rutted mud is gradually becoming a flat and potentially malleable surface. My concern is that the soil quality is of quite the sandiest variety and thus, after a few weeks, our net wickets may resemble brittle versions of the subcontinent's dustiest dust bowls. Anyone out there who has some groundsman knowledge, or knows a groundsman would ingratiate themselves to me no end if they can enlighten me as to how I may prevent our surface from breaking up too rapidly. Given that we are at the blank canvas stage, we should be able to incorporate any suitably practical suggestions into the pitch making process.
On the strength of my performances on the scrubland when last I visited and on the evidence of one innings of road cricket since my return, I have been asked by Sodagar's nephew to join the Kothi cricket team. I don't know whether this is due to my unmatched cricketing prowess, or to the fact that they have a tournament in three days time only have eight players at present. My pride wishes it was the latter, my common sense affirms the former. I'm slightly apprehensive about my ankle, which I sprained just before flying out, and which is still far from properly healed. Perhaps I'll just have to do a Flintoff and surge in with a simultaneous first and last hurrah, before gracefully retiring victorious.
Spending the evening with Sodagar's nephew yesterday evening allowed me the opportunity to hone some Punjabi. In a display of vocab learning of the utmost importance, I can now differentiate between animal dung – gobar – and human dung – tatti. How did we get onto this subject you ask? A combination of factors – namely that I trod in some gobar before I arrived and that Owais Shah as a Twenty20 batsman is utterly tatti. On such fecal matters I leave you for now…

The next day…
Building on the idea of the fastest being the slowest, the teacher the pupil etc...this morning the teacher was just getting done over. I was asked to stand in during a second standard (6-7 year olds) period. I came out feeling I'd gone ten rounds with Tyson in his prime. All my efforts to engage the kids fell on ears that heard but were nowhere near comprehension. With their only means of communication being Hindi, we were the original odd couple. It wasn't the blind leading the blind, but more the blind being led by the mischievous. It seemed the more they realised I couldn't really understand their conversation, the higher the laughter and delinquency rate grew. My shredded nerves were saved, however, by a swiftly invented variation of 'Simon Says,' whereby I would write on the board an English word, and they would have to repeat the word back while performing the action associated with that word. Unfortunately I was unable to take my
revenge as I might have liked – their English vocab having not yet stretched to 'self-flagellation' – so I had to content myself with their apparent enjoyment of 'sit' 'stand' 'sit' 'stand' ad infinitum…
Our sporting ingenuity continues – today we have been playing a unique remix of netball comprising the use of spare flowerpots in place of baskets and a tennis ball as netball.
This afternoon I was forced to re-enact the pied piper, after one of the village elders took offence to our impromptu game of cricket at the Neem Tree Oval. We headed to the Govt school playing ground, which is essentially brick like mud cracked into great jagged crazy paving. The wicket played surprisingly true, and we have scheduled a return match tomorrow afternoon.
It appears I am to be housed at the school in the not too distant future. I am yet to determine whether unbeknown to myself I have done something to grossly upset my hosts. I have been told off for whistling. Apparently it's not done in India. I will report back on the cricket and my eviction shortly.

Much love.
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