Monday 7^th January

I wrote the following on Friday before leaving work…(we got early minutes because of the extreme weather conditions)

I hate aircon!

The forecast was for HOT HOT HOT.  39, in fact.  I dressed appropriately, in a light summer dress.  Ticketyboo, just the thing.  But…it was VERY cold in our office…the aircon was blasting an arctic breeze across the desks.  Poor Allan had the worst of it – a particularly lively air vent just above his head had him shivering and needing to MacGyver some sort of protection from the icy blast out of bits of A4 paper and stickytape.  I have a hideous garment in my office – a grey hooded number with tatty black fake fur around the edges.  Not very pretty but…warm and cosy for these bad aircon days!

There was, as to be expected, a lot of info on the radio about bushfires.  Extreme conditions; be prepared; go and stay with friends if you are anywhere near a danger zone.  And, OF COURSE, a blanket ban on any sort of deliberately lit fire.  So my friends Jane and Sam, who live on the side of the mountain in a beautiful, thickly forested little valley, full of tinder-dry trees, were more than astonished to have a visit from Liliana, a dear, darling ageing-hippy neighbour, who idly told them she had “just a tiny” bonfire going; I think the children were toasting tofu on it, or something (it would NOT be marshmallows; this is a very herbal, pure family.)  Sam said, quite firmly, that he didn’t think it was a good idea AT ALL to have a fire, no matter how tiny, and Lilliana went blink, blink BLINK and looked totally confused.

It didn’t get to 39…as was soon revealed, by lunchtime it was well over 40, the hottest day on record in Hobart.  And…there were bushfires.  There still are.  The little town of Dunalley is just about burnt to the ground; the school is gone, the sawmill, countless houses.  Nicky’s friend Bonnie, poor girl, was in town and then stuck at a road block, unable to get home.  David, her husband, was bushwalking in the South West and didn’t know anything about any of this until he got back yesterday.  Her brave mother, Tammy, spent three hours under a jetty with Bonnie and David’s five little children, keeping their spirits up and keeping them safe while the fire raged right to the water’s edge.  Bonnie and David’s house is gone, so is Tammy and Tim’s beautiful Potters Croft.  So many other houses and shacks lost on the Tasman Peninsula, and it is not over yet.  I suppose we just have to wait and see what we can all do to help in the aftermath. 

India #62

There are dozens of public holidays in India.  Always some festival about to happen, and presents expected for and from all and sundry.  I don’t think public holidays operate quite the way they do here; I am quite sure that Rebecca’s staff had to turn up, holiday or no, and that they were not paid double time… When Jassi, Lorraine’s lovely driver, picked us up, we asked him about the presents exchanging hands, and asked him if we could buy him something for the festival.  “No thank you,” he said, calmly.  “My biggest gift is your respect.  And I hope that one day in the future when you are in Australia you will remember that you once knew a man called Jassi.”  And I am quite sure that none of us will forget this remarkable young man.  The other women at the quilting group are all very envious of Lorraine; they want Jassi!  They have unreliable, untrustworthy drivers, who remove spare parts from their employer’s cars and replace them with shonky second hand bits, and one of the women in particular did not feel her teenage daughter was safe in the car alone with the driver.  (Her poor sixteen year old daughter is extremely miffed to have her mother accompany her everywhere in the car – she has been at school in Australia until this year and can’t believe how restrictive, if luxurious, her expat life can be.)  Whether these fears and suspicions are justified is irrelevant; the thing is nobody would distrust Jassi for one second, he exudes honour, honesty and integrity.

         

Jassi has a four year old son with some sort of global delay.  He is a beautiful, loving child, but can’t chew properly, or talk or walk.  Jassi also has a six month old daughter, so his poor young wife is very much stuck at home.  She has to carry both of them if she goes anywhere, and how can she do this?  We all agonised about whether or not some sort of pushchair would help, but then we know that they live in a one-room apartment upstairs – how would she manage carrying the children and the pusher?  All too hard!

         

When we were driving down the highway, jetplanes flew overhead.  Jassi said when he was a child he used to watch the planes, and dreamt of being a pilot.  I said, “Jassi, what a lovely dream that was,” and he said, “But I have achieved it.  I am now the pilot of this beautiful car.”  He loves Larry’s car and looks after it very well.  His job is to sit about in the garage under Larry’s office, waiting to take Larry or Lorraine somewhere or another.  Larry and Richard have other plans for Jassi; he is being trained to do office work – filing, computer stuff.  This all seems very logical and sensible to us, a good use of resources, but the other workers in the office – Indians – are outraged because Jassi is crossing boundaries – he is a DRIVER and should stay down in the garage!

         

He was a wonderful source of information, and gave us insights into the character of the Indian people.  For example, when we were driving along the busy highway one day, we saw a man with a huge teetering tottering pile of chairs on his rickshaw.  As we approached, the chairs suddenly collapsed and spilled all over the road.  Nobody tooted or waved fists, everyone just drove gently around as he started to reassemble his load.  “Look at that poor bastard!” said Pete, looking on with great sympathy.  “Yes,” said Jassi, “but please notice – he is still smiling!”  And indeed, there was no evidence of frustration or annoyance on the man’s face, he was perfectly calm and serene as he retrieved his wares from the highway.

         

We spent lots of time discussing begging, tipping, present-giving, with Jassi – major themes, in India.  He told us that one thing which is absolutely certain is that no matter how much you give, either to a beggar, or as a gift to one of your staff, it will NEVER be enough.