Saturday 5th January

So what is the perennial topic, discussed by women on boats?  Yes!  Seasickness!  Mal de mer!!  When Colin and Pamela were visiting on Thursday night, I cheerily broached this favourite topic.  Oh no, not an issue, for Pamela.  She doesn’t get seasick, not at all.  But…she has not yet done an overnight passage… I very much wish her well, and hope she is in the 5% of humans who never experience this debilitating ghastliness. 

I heard a program on the radio recently, where experienced racing sailors were discussing their own issues with seasickness.  One of them said, glumly, “the best cure for seasickness is to sit under a tree.”  Indeed….

India #61

The next morning Pete was ill.  Not a happy person at all.  We left him cosily tucked up in the comfy bed, with ensuite at the ready, reading Frederick Forsyth’s new book, The Afghan.  (I bought this book at Sydney airport and thought it was just dreadful, such pedestrian writing, but I think the others all quite enjoyed it.  Must not have been in the mood for it.)  How very fortunate that he was ill in such a nice place, and not on a sleepertrain!  Vish spent the morning very happily ensconced in the big CD shop in Basant Lok, buying esoteric bits of Indian music which nobody liked at all when he brought it back.  (Well I think I quite liked it but poor Vish wasn’t allowed to play very much of it before they all howled him down and forced him to pop the CDs back into their cases.)  He then went to one of the other cafes in Basant Lok and had two sharp shots of espresso.  When he came home he was literally bouncing off the walls, as high as could be on caffeine.

In the meantime, Lorraine took Mary and me to one of her quilting mornings.  She meets with a group of women just about every week, at different people’s houses, to quilt, chat, have morning tea, and she thought we would be interested to meet some of these women, and to see The Farm.  Her friend Rebecca, from Texas, lives there.  It isn’t a farm at all, of course, just a big house on quite a big acreage, not 20 minutes drive from Vasant Vihar, where Lorraine lives.  A different world to the rest of Delhi…

         

There were about ten women at the quilting group, and a team of servants to see to our needs – juice, water, tea, coffee, an assortment of light refreshments.  (Very happy I was, to find chocolate brownies, as American as could be – this was the closest I came to any sort of caffeine in the whole five weeks away.)  And three nannies to look after any children we might have brought with us.  And a lifeguard to supervise them in the pool, should they care to swim.  Rebecca has a staff of twenty four – 8 guards, 3 nannies, general cleaners and cooks.  She rules them with an iron fist, but, on the other hand, they are all welcome to bring their children to work with them, and the children are free to swim, and to play with Rebecca’s four year old twins.  She had sacked a security guard during the night.  She woke at 3am, and looked out the window at the silken expanse of lawn.  Hmmm…lots of dew and no footprints.  There should have been footprints around the perimeter area.  She put on her dressing gown and marched out to confront the guard at the gate.  He said that the other guard was busily patrolling and that he would go and get him if Rebecca wanted him.  “No no,” said Rebecca, firmly, “I will come with you to find him!”  The guard made LOTS of noise as they walked inexorably towards the shelter where the perimeter guard was peacefully snoozing on a chair, with an electric fan gently blowing the mosquitos away.  Rebecca sacked him on the spot; no second chances in her world.

         

We didn’t go into the house.  There are large guest quarters, which Rebecca uses as her craft area.  There is also an enormous play room with full-sized pool table, table tennis, all the toys a child could desire.  In a little house overlooking the pool the staff have built a lovely little temple.  One of the guards took Mary and me in there, to have a small ceremony (puja,) which was all very nice.

         

One of the women in the group, Jenny, had lived in Hobart for a few years, in Knocklofty Terrace.  She said it was the nicest place they had ever lived, and she was very sad they had had to leave.  Her husband, employed as a financial advisor to the government, had been working for a certain premier we had about twenty years ago, noted for his shady deals, and had refused to do something quite illegal.  The premier turned on him and said, “I will make life very difficult for you in Tasmania,” so they scarpered, never to return.  They are now living a very interesting life, in Canberra and now in New Delhi, but she sounded very wistful when talking about what their lives might have been like in Hobart.

         

Other than Jenny there were Emma, two Karens, and Anju, all busily quilting.  Although…were they really quilting??  Some of them had squares of material in their hands and were poking needles in and out of them, but I strongly suspect they were just there for the social occasion, and why not?  One of the women – maybe Emma, or maybe I have forgotten her name - was making the most extraordinary quilt, with complicated geometrical and three dimensional forms, arcs and parabolas.  She had worked as an engineer before becoming an expatwife and obviously needed a seriously scientific approach to this social occasion!  Goodness knows what Rebecca’s house staff made of it all.  Mad expat women, buying perfectly good material, cutting it into small pieces, sewing it up into other large pieces.  Rebecca showed me some quilting books and said maybe I should think of taking it up.  I showed the whites of my eyes a bit and said, “No, no, I am a knitter, don’t have time for another crafty activity!”  Well apparently there is an expat knitting group too… I’m sure there are all sorts of groups – tennis, aquarobics, book discussions, you name it.  An expat wife could be a very busychick if she wanted to be.