Des Newton – our tour leader currently on the ground in India with our ODI group – tells us how it is….
Hyderabad
The hotel Marriott was popular with everyone and from the quality food to the pool area was appreciated by all.
Our Indian style mini-bus (where the driver’s compartment is closed off from the clients by a door) had nice looking reclining seats. The only problem was that the backrests reclined slowly but surely by themselves until you felt the knees of the person behind you in your back. You had to press the release button and with some help the backrests popped up to their original position. 5 minutes later……
The driver’s name was Driver Laxman so in the name of true English cricket lovers the problem was treated with mirth and laughter. Good spirits prevailed.
Our seats at the stadium, because we arrived early, were directly behind the bowler’s arm and one flight up- perfect. We were in the shade all day long with the option of sitting a few rows forward in the sun. As I said, perfect. The cricket was not. We lost hopelessly and took a drubbing especially from fellow Indian spectators.
The noise. The sheer volume of the noise. The Indian version of the Mexican wave- it took 4 to 5 seconds to complete a round of the stadium with a deafening roar the likes of which I have never heard. It was as if the people were so keen to take part that they could not wait their turn and a whole quarter of the compass would stand up and shout or scream at the same time turning the wave into a tsunami of cacophony and joyous participation. It was all over in a second until the next quarter took over immediately. I would like to bat during an Indian wave as the umpire could not possibly hear a nick for caught behind.
Dave keeps his own scorebook and the enquiring minds of our surrounding new friends tested his adept scoring skills to the limit with so many probing questions that threatened to break his rhythm. At one point his scorebook was 2 runs ahead of the official electronic board. Doubt crept in. A while later the board caught up with his book proving what a genius he was amid some hand clapping and awed admiration of the younger computer driven teenagers. Dave’s scorebook was henceforth King with the Indians asking him for the real score.
On the way to our entry gate wearing our beautiful red Howzat shirts we were catcalled loudly by huge queues. It was thrilling to see the challenge offered to us. Our group of a dozen brave souls waved back and smiled. Suddenly TV mobile cameras and crew surrounded us for impromptu interviews with each one of us. We were astounded celebrities. Judith was particularly impressive with her easy and erudite summary of why we were there to wishing victory to the best side which she diplomatically hoped would beEngland. We were a dozen of about a total of 20 English supporters among 48,000 people. We were a phenomenon and were obvious in the lone colours of a faraway island in the midst of anoceanofIndiansupport for the home team.
We were photographed many times with the Indian fans who were always smiling, friendly and spontaneous. It seemed as if they had read aboutEnglandand now here were the English people in real life. We must remember thatHyderabadis but a small, albeit a significant, country city of a mere 7 million people.
The game was lost. The spirit of our Howzat group was not. On the walk back to our coach at least a hundred handshakes were made by each of us. Paul made the apt remark to sum up the uplifting experience saying “It feels like I played in that game”.
The next day we had a short article written about us in the local daily.
Delhi
Half the group chose to go on a City Tour and found particularly the old city enchanting with rickshaw rides and narrow alleyways with shops galore. The following day was to be our highlight tour of the tour – the trip toAgra.
We dreaded waking up at4.30 amfor a5.30amdeparture from the hotel to catch the6.15 amtrain fromDelhistation toAgra. Nevertheless an undertone of excitement bubbled away beneath the veneer of sleepiness which soon vanished upon arrival at the station. People were sleeping everywhere on the cement floor and one had to wend one’s way through them to get to our station platform to await our train.
It rolled in on time and our reserved seats were waiting for us. Our 2 hour trip was speedy and efficient and the breakfast like an Indian Airways meal but the service was called ‘Meals on Wheels’.
We were met atAgrastation and taken to a local hotel for coffee and to meet our excellent tour guide for the day, Sanjay. The girls in the group thought he was good looking so took in every word he said. Not sure that Geoff paid much attention.
Our first stop was the Little Taj followed by The Magnificent Agra Fort. Many say that the view one has of The Taj Mahal from the fort across the broad river is one of the best. From there we went to an obligatory marble goods shop before enjoying a sumptuous lunch building up momentum for the big moment when we would enter the portals of the Taj.
The first view is overwhelming. From a blind entrance suddenly this splendid edifice stands in all its glory gleaming in the sunshine in its white coat of marble. I couldn’t help noticing some wetness on the cheeks of some of our group as we stood there for a moment, riveted.
The wealth of the Moghuls must have been unbounded. It took 20,000 men 70 years to complete. The architecture is timeless as it can look like an ancient temple or with very little imagination it can also look like a modern space station with its domes and towers. What it is in fact is a giant crypt housing only 2 coffin like structuresin the heart of the structure. The rest of the building is made of pure beauty created by many craftsmen over many years and all the outside is pure marble. All the inside is pure marble.
We were there on no special day but there were thousands of people present. The queue to view the crypt inside circled the entire monument two and a half times. I had already covered my shoes with some sort of sackcloth they give you so sauntered up to a well dressed Indian man about number 20 in the queue and told him I was alone and confused as to where the queue started or ended and could he advise me. He just made space for me in front of him and I was ushered inside. It was dark and one could hardly see. Photos were forbidden so I only took a few along with the hundreds of flashes going off. It was all marble again and the walk was over in a minute. I caught a glimpse of the shapes inside the crypt before walking out into the bright sunshine again.
There were lovely lawns to rest one’s toured- out body before the train journey back ‘home’ enjoying a curry supper on board. A satisfied bunch of intrepid travellers returned back to the hotel at about 11.30 pm all bearing Muslim names in honour of the Taj Mahal.
Road to Chandigarh
We boarded the mini-coach in Delhi bound for Chandigarh. The coach was splendidly fitted out with air conditioning and very comfortable reclining seats that only reclined when you pulled the lever and gave us confidence with good signwriting confirming that it was a luxury coach with only one mistake in the spelling of luxury ‘transprot. But then we cant spell in Hindu very well. I suspected that all would not be quite right when upon leaving the hotel the first little bump in the tarred road reverberated around the coach. I then realised that this vehicle was, to quote the Bard, ‘A goodly apple rotten at the core’. It was a luxury seating capsule mounted on a 3 or 5 ton lorry chassis. The suspension was made for a load much heavier than we were.
At one stage Christine turned around to see Geoffrey who had been lying on his back in the back row levitating as he had been lifted a foot off the seats by the bump we had just experienced. He slept through it he said .Seven hours later we arrived at the user friendly Mountview Hotel but not before Andy and Geoff had won my ODI cricket quiz on the bus with 10 correct answers in a row each before they both stumbled on the 11th. Most only get to 5.They won a free drink each! After some room shuffling we settled down to enjoy the space and the company of our fellow English guests on the bar terrace and met and chatted with the likes of Botham, Lloyd, Ed Smith, Paul Allott, Dermot Reeve, and other pretenders.
The next day I organised 4 Tuk –Tuks for next to nothing to run us in convoy with the warm wind rushing through one’s hair to the famous Rock Gardens to wander through its nooks and crannies and weird porcelain walls and figurines made of waste materials to the waterfall surrounded by steep walls of coolness. Here again we were obviously different with people wanting photos with us and wanting to communicate in a friendly and inquisitive way. It was difficult to drag everyone away in the allotted time of one and a half hours.
Another tuk tuk ride took us to the Lakelet where Andy and Geoff paddled a boat with a magnificent maidenhead of a dragon’s head while Des and Richard sat in the bow relaxing. Gordon and Judith wandered off up the lake to take some pictures of the bird life while the others chilled out at the restaurant before tuk tuking back to the hotel. A lovely outing.
The Punjabi Mohali ground was well appointed and full of tradition. We sat almost behind the bowler’s arm once more and there were policemen and women in heavy presence. The best public seats we had with a meal included between innings in the huge colonial banquet hall in the pavilion downstairs. It consisted of a tasty buffet Indian cuisine meal. I must say that very few of our group have eaten a meal of various curry dishes standing up holding the plate leaving one hand only with which to eat. There were no tables nor chairs. We watched the locals and realised they had no problem. So we just got on with it too.
The cricket scene proved to be the same with friendly people and photos galore. We all had long chats and even the military security staff paid special attention to us to make sure we were happy.
Watching a cricket game inIndiais different and memorable and pleasant.
Mumbai
We had an easy uneventful transfer to Mumbai. Smooth, like a normal Howzat -organised transfer, to the Taj President which was well received by our clients.
The trip to theElephantaCaveswas very welcoming. As Andy pointed out we were using transport in Mumbai without the noise of incessant hooting. The smooth boat ride and the silence was such a treat The little train ride and the walk up the 124 steps on the mountain took us to this hollowed -out side of themountainTempleguarding its statues of the Hindu Gods which were eloquently explained by our experienced guide. We were all so impressed we wanted to have Hindu names for everyone but they proved to be too difficult to remember.
The afternoon city tour encompassed the wide divide of wealth and poverty in Mumbai. We started out visiting an outdoor slum laundry. Many people were washing all sorts of clothing, sheets, tablecloths etc in open baths or pools and processing them from pool to pool until eventually they were hung on ropes used for drying. The business seemed to be thriving providing a cheap service for many small hotels, restaurants and homes in the area and of course an income for themselves. They even had a school in one of the rooms for the children.
The next port of call was the house that Mahatma Ghandi lived in when he visited Mumbai. It has been converted into a 3 story museum and our supposed half hour visit turned into well over an hour. It was very well presented and we came away with new respect for a man who dedicated his life for his fellow Indians. We also stood on the balcony where he used to address his crowds until they became too numerous and they would go down to the beach. There were numerous famous utterings of his to be read. One that Mary or Judith pointed out to us read “To call women the weaker sex is a label, it is man’s injustice to woman. If by strong is meant moral power then woman is immeasurably man’s superior….. If non-violence is the law of our being the future is surely woman”. The argument followed a little later.
After a drive-past tour of theHangingGardens, which were closed, we stopped to view the memorial fountain and the Towers of silence where the Parsees leave their dead to be eaten by carrion as they believe that as they have taken from nature during life so they must give back to nature in death. Can’t really argue the point. A photo stop of the magnificent Victoria Railway Terminus was followed by a visit to the other end of the wealth scale namely The Taj Mahal Hotel. Colonial opulence at its tasteful best.
The evening was enjoyed by some by visiting the Leopards restaurant/ bar. We had a meal at the table next to bullet holes in the smoky mirrored walls left by the Terrorist attack on this restaurant and numerous nearby sites. What a lovely, crazy place filled choc-a-bloc with people from all around the world. We sat at a table between Kenyans and local Indians eating splendid curry and pickles with a glass tower containing 3 litres of ice cold beer with a tap at the bottom to soothe our pallets and stimulate our minds. AnEnglandshirted man added to the party by playing the last post on his bugle.
We made our weary way home in a 1960 Fiat taxi (one of 40,000) for a very modest fee.
The journey to and from the Wankede Stadium was clockwork but the cricket again was disappointing. The seats were good but in the heat of the sun for about 3 hours. This was too hot for some who had to seek shelter at the back of the stand but was fine for Nigel who did not notice he was sitting in the sun in 45 degrees Celsius. He’s tough. Luckily it was a day/night game.
Now we’re on our way to Kolkata and maybe Eden Gardens will be kinder to us. Richard has been singing ‘Blue Moon’ to rile the United supporters and is offering 6 to 1 odds on almost anything. Good banter.
