A helping hand in Himachal

Escaping the hot dust of Delhi, I headed for the Himalayan foothills for a few weeks of volunteering and fresh, mountain air. It was a welcome change from my travelling momentum.

Ispiice is based in Sidhbari village, just 10 minutes from the town of Dharamsala - famed for being the place where the Tibetan Governemnt is still in exile some 60 years on and the visiting place of Buddhism's Dalai Lama. Despite the well established Tibetan community, the village

was primarily Indian and I spent a rewarding time with Ispiice, helping the rural population.

Over the beautiful farm house where we were staying, towered the huge Himalayan mountains. I was overwhelmed by the natural purity of the place after Delhi - my Indian nemesis.

We were greeted every morning by the best looking cow in India (she didn't have much competition) and her shy, clumsy calf. Our resident chef, Neereg, fed us with wonderful food and we were very well looked after by the hard working Ispiice team.
My days were filled with 3 different - but equally fun - projects: in the morning, I helped out at a day care centre for 2 and 3 year olds; early afternoon, I taught English to grades 4 and 5 (ages 8 - 12) at a Government School; and lastly,

I supported a group of young women as they gained computer skills to empower and equip them for the world of work and advancing

technology.

I am not a teacher and I admire all those who are, including my own incredible mum, for the relentless patience they have. At times, the projects were tough and at moments, heartbreaking. Yet, fundamentally, they were a privileged snapshot of India and its patchwork of people.

Day care was held in a dark, damp and sticky room that was bare of toys, and fun. The only sign that it was a place for children were the colourful pictures on the wall, lovingly painted by previous volunteers. When we first arrived, the wide-eyed children were sat with their backs against the wall, looking too solemn for young tots (not to mention grubby). We brought toys, made playdough, sang nursery rhymes, used my bed sheet (!) as a parachute and got them learning numbers and the alphabet - just the stimulation these gorgeous children needed. They soon proved to be far from shy and became our friends, demanding hugs and attention which we gave to them by the bundle.

At the primary school, sadly it was a similar story, teaching English in a classroom that was bare, and barely lit. The children, who had such willingness to learn, sat on the floor on 2 long, narrow mats facing a dusty chalk board.

In India, in my experience, the Government schools are far behind the private schools in terms of academia, facilities, resources and staff. When I first stepped foot in my school, the children were left without work and the teacher wasn't to be found in the classroom (it's also worth noting that the children weren't running riot like you'd expect in an unattended British classroom). It appeared that the lesson I was teaching for just 1 hour a day was the only structured lesson for the children and, while friendly, the teachers were idle and overpaid (some 5 times more than their private school counterparts). It seems that a teacher in India had the choice between being paid a good wage at an underachieving Government school or taking a substantial pay cut to make a difference at a private school. A challenging dilemma in one of the world's poorest countries.

Despite my frustrations, the children's beaming smiles, cheeky giggles and ample 'high fives' lit up the classroom and I was delighted to see all of their English improve during my time there.

My last group was perhaps the biggest eye-opener. These young women were aged between 20 and 30 years old and each had their own reasons for coming to the computer class, which also provided a platform for them to practice conversational English: some of the younger, ambitious ones were there to further their career aspirations; others, particularly the full time wives and mothers, were there to give them an outlet; and there were one or two who I think

were there for a village gossip!

Each of the women, who previously would not have been able to work outside of the rural village, were learning touch typing and we made sure this was interspersed with practice on Microsoft World. We also had the pure privilege of taking the women to an internet cafe for their first ever glimpse of the world wide web. It was a rare opportunity to see those fresh pairs of eyes on the Google home page, realising they had the world at their fingertips for the first time.

During my time with Ispiice, I was also lucky enough to go trekking and camping in the Himalayas and make it up to the snow line - no mean feat! Proving even India isn't as big as it feels, I bumped into some friends from Mumbai around the campfire where, for the first time in the country, we huddled for warmth.

I also journeyed to Amritsar, in the Punjab state. Our first stop was the high-kicking frenzy of the Waghah India/Pakistan border ceremony - a daily extravaganza at sunset where the guards high-kick, stamp, speed march and bawl their way through a choreographed routine. It ends in the lowering of both flags and the slamming of the border gates.

The crowds were swaying and cheering in a way that would supersede the energy of any football or rugby match. I've since heard the guards have had to tone down the belligerent display as it was determined 'too hostile' by Indian officials. Other rumours suggest that the aggressive moves was thought to be injurious to the soldiers' health. I wouldn't be suprised if the latter were true.

We then paid two visits, one by moonlight and the other by sunlight to one of Sikhism's holiest places: The Golden Temple. And gold it was - a beautiful golden island surrounded by water and blindingly white buildings. The temple attracted even more people that the Wagah ceremony, confirming the prevalence of religion above everything in India.

I left Ispiice and beautiful Himachal Pradesh wishing I could stay for longer and hoping I would return in the not too distant future.