Goodnight sweetheart

They’re burying my Nan today and I’m on a bus 4,500 miles from where they’ll be holding the funeral. It’s going to be a small service, by the graveside. She was 94. Most of the people she knew are already dead.

I spoke to my mum yesterday to wish her good luck and to tell her I’ll be thinking of everyone. She was sitting in her kitchen surrounded by the young girls of our family, my niece and my cousin’s eldest daughter, both shouting and running, excited at all the attention. I was in an Internet booth killing mosquitoes. Ironic really, the females only bite so they can give birth to their young.

I won’t be going home for the funeral. Everyone said not to travel but it was my sister and I who made the final decision. I was standing in the doorway of my friend’s café in Kochi, watching the early monsoon rain and shouting into my mobile. My sister’s stronger than me, I feel safe knowing that she’ll be there for mum.

This bus has been going over The Western Ghats for about three hours now, but it’s hard to tell in the heat. The view is beautiful, but all I can see are the steep drops by the side of the road. I’ve been thinking a lot. The significance of family will not leave my mind today.

I come from what the eighties coined a ‘broken home’, a term that’s lost its impact back in the UK. My parents divorced when I was 4 and it was generally understood that it was the right thing to do. I’m glad they did, they needed to separate. By the time they split up ours was not the happiest of homes.

When I was a teenager I didn’t speak to my father for several years. My choice, his fault. We’re friends again now, a good end result, and when he’s strong I value his opinion above most other men’s in the world. He’s a writer too, along with my face I get that from him.

My sister had a daughter 2 ½ years ago with a man she’s been with for another 5. I could never hold down relationships and I’m thankful of these new additions to my life. I love them both very much, although I don’t say it enough.

My Grandma, on my father’s side, raised me and my sister in the absence of her son. She’s a strong woman, pragmatic to the core, and our weekly Wednesday dinners have been one of the most rewarding regularities of my adult life. When I was young and in trouble her doorstep was my default port of call.

Outside of my immediate family I have cousins, uncles and aunts dotted around the UK and abroad, although my mum’s sister died unexpectedly in May last year. They love me and I them, and it is my constant regret that I don’t know them all better. I’m working on this but it takes space, commitment and time. As does everything else that I want.

Through these people and my friends, the brothers and sisters I have chosen for myself, I am surrounded by love. I’m lucky, very lucky, I’ve known those who were less fortunate.

When I was growing up I had a friend and for the sake of anonymity we’ll call him Simon. We got close, into trouble, fucked up on drugs, and eventually not in the good way. I leant then that you should never underestimate the power of familiarity and denial.

Both our minds went to mush before we turned 18 and I dove straight to the bottom of a bottle of Vodka. Simon rested his head on the shoulders of heroin. When it got serious my mum locked me in a room for a month and made all the appropriate calls. I don’t know where Simon is now, he didn’t have the support I did.

And as for my mother, she’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever known. She’s my best friend as well as my parent and role model. I can’t write how much I love her so I won’t even try, besides the one who needs to know this already does. I owe her my life, all the parts that matter anyway, and now she’s an orphan I’ll do whatever I can to make sure she feels loved.

When it comes down to it family is what you make it. In India the old live with the young and those in between take care of them both. England is different, not better or worse, just not like it is here. In the UK families are more fragmented, and you have to work harder to involve yourselves in each other’s lives. It took me a long time to realise that the world didn’t owe me any favours, but now that I do I will fight tooth and nail to keep close those that I love.

The funeral’s taking place in about 7 hours time and my Uncle’s doing the reading, he holds humanist services and is the right man for the job. I’ll be in a new town, looking for a new place to stay and new company to distract me. Strange people and places to help me forget what my lifestyle makes me sacrifice.

Sometimes it’s hard being away but I’m thankful that I went to see my Nan before I left last year. She was on great form, I got a big hug and many words of advice. I think she knew, looking back I think I did too.

A few weeks ago I was in Hampi, Karnataka’s ancient capital of the Vijayanagara Empire, and I overheard a ‘traveller’ from Bristol imparting his knowledge of the East to a couple of young Swedish girls. He had white lips, loose change and an unhealthy attitude to amphetamines.

‘India’s like nowhere else in the world,’ he preached over coffee, ‘it’s so different, it’s so raw, it’s so real. You see life and death everyday here. Not like in Europe.’

Yeah right mate, shut and wake the fuck up.

Not what I ordered

‘Prepared by an authentic Italian cock’ is the proud statement printed on each page of the menu. And at over 200 rupees a pizza, I would expect nothing less.

I’m in what The Lonely Planet calls ‘The best Italian restaurant in Goa’ and I am getting ready to order, hoping to God and Shiva this is another Indian/English mistranslation. If not, I’m skipping dessert. No matter how good the ice cream is.

Sometimes India’s spelling is a joke. The beach town I’m in is Palolem on the signpost, Pollem on the bus stand and Pallollem on the postcards. I’ve forgotten the number of times I’ve been asked to ‘Exist by front door’, ‘Handle with clare’ or ‘Not wank on the grass’. It’s like we’re all speaking in a different language in this country.

To be honest it’s a mess, and as funny as it can be, until its sorted out India will never be the global player she is so hungry to become. Look at history’s other emerging nations, it’s an anthropological fact.

The communication problem stems from having 418 languages, with only 22 of them recognised by the official Indian constitution. Then, depending on who you ask, there are anything up to a further 2,000 regional dialects. Which although unofficially chartered, are the day to day native tongue spoken by communities across the country.

Give the dissemination of this variety to greedy state based politicians, who never miss the chance to kick about another political football, and you find yourself standing on the sidelines watching a game that simply cannot be won.

The Shiv Sena (excuse me whilst I dry wretch into a bucket) are the Maharashtrian masters at this, but other regions can be just as stubborn when it comes to interstate communication. And until somebody somewhere is prepared to compromise on this issue, the wheel will spin around and around keeping India confused and distracted.

The two main languages in India are Hindi and English, with Hindi cited as the post independence national tongue. But try talking Hindi in Tamil Nadu and see how far it gets you, you’ll be sitting on the wrong bus before you can say Nandri.

English still features heavily in the big cities and tourism trails, but when your waiter is a tired 16 year old from Bangladesh, pointing and nodding is often your best bet. I bluff my way through it, relying on gesticulation and a big smile, but I’ve sat in more than one restaurant watching people lose it over ‘POTOATO WEDGES!!!!’

The obvious truth is that India needs to decide upon and enforce a priority language, taught to all children as standard. Underpin this with extended educational programmes, reaching out to the villages as well as the cities, and over time the changes will show. I’m not saying forget about the regional dialects, cultural diversity is an important part of India’s heritage, just accept the fact that arguments over shop signs should take a second row seat to creating a unified population.

Also the caste system needs to be eradicated, properly eradicated, and each child needs to feel that they are a respected Indian National. Pride and ambition should be a birthright to all, not just a few.

Finally, the self-motivated infighting political ‘bag men’ need to forever fuck off and leave India to become all that she can be, one of the most inspirational nations on the planet. Sorry for cursing but its true.

The financial turncoats in positions of power have been squeezing their own country’s throat for over 60 years now, and it’s about time they stepped down and let her breathe again. Congress’ corruption is a major thorn in India’s side, and their inefficiency at rectifying basic domestic problems is an insult to the party’s founder. Sort it Dr Singh, sort it now.

So as I debate the taste of anchovy on my ‘slice of Italy in India’, I watch a young Brit trying to explain the importance of matching wine glasses to her waiter. He’s nodding politely but I can see his brain thinking in Konkani ‘…I don’t understand what she wants, they’ve already got clean glasses?’

She’s losing patience and starts speaking faster and faster, the waiter nodding ferociously to keep up. It’s all seems futile, but I know these two will stick it out and fight their way through the language barrier. She wants what she wants, and he wants to get paid for it.

And although I’m not surrounded by India’s most representational demographic, wealthy INR’s on holiday and ex-pats in exile, I guess its reassuring that at least money talks in this country. Eventually.