India diary

I try to conjure up life as it is, or was, there, in London. But it is impossible here, in azhou Banuo's house, here, in Nagaland, at the furthest reaches of civilisation. The sun is painfully bright, a few thousand feet closer, perched on these hilltops. Eyes squinting, I can hear the leaves rustling, the servants screaming in Nagamese, Elvis' voice crackling on a refurbished radio, all drowned out by the roosters crowing every few seconds. At night my ears ring because it is so silent and I imagine fanged, short ghosts or tall reedy ones that will drive me insane if I open my eyes. All those ghost stories mom has told me of Kohima have invaded my thoughts. So I try to remember something else...

5.5 hour delay in London. Ranjit's virus incubating. No doubt he has infected half the plane by the time we arrive in Calcutta. Landing there was sweet. Foggy, wet, green, palm trees, block houses, peeling paint, muddy streets. A man in front of us complains of the smell of the jetway. I smirk, thinking how much I love that damp, fetid, earthy smell. An IAS officer meets us and pulls us into the single empty immigration booth. Seems these days everyone has a friend in the IAS as four other men buzz around angrily, waving handfuls of passports to be quickly stamped through.

As we cross over to the domestic terminal, Ranjit makes the mistake of pulling out his wallet, preparing baksheesh for the IAS helper. A little boy begins to pester Ranjit for money, his palm stretched out. I'm feeling sick already. In Dimapur, I'm shocked by the airport. Instead of a hut, it's now an actual building, made of concrete. My how things change...the inside looks like an empty warehouse with nothing but a baggage belt and a small office where the authorities issue restricted area passes. We spend the first night in darkness, sitting around candles, reading, knitting, sewing, playing cards. Ajja paploo! The power goes out every hour, so torches and candles are kept on hand. Nagas prefer to go without water, electricity and garbage collection than pay taxes. I can't remember Christmas. I think that was the morning I woke up with a 104 fever at 3 am and azhou Nini came and put cold compresses on my feet and legs...only in Nagaland can you scream "Mommy" and three women come running to coddle you.

But let me get to what we eat. Breakfast is cornflakes and bananas for Uncle O.N. Naga-style kichiri made with fermented soya bean, puri and aloo, finished with papaya. Or sour apples. Or chiku, a strange fruit with mushy flesh. The limes here are small. Ridiculously tiny. In atsa's garden, there is orchid, cherimoya and star fruit. Along with the usual chickens and ducks. Still an agricultural society, livestock, fruits and vegetables are common gifts. The head and leg of a pig are the most honoured gifts. Pig. They eat a lot of it. Upon arriving, I ate too much pig fat, a delicacy, and had to settle my stomach with atsa's home-made ginger ale. Pink, milky and damn hot but alka-seltzer can't begin to compare. Lunch and dinner. Always at least 2 forms of pork. Some chicken or duck.And maybe fish, usually rahu. Dal. Tons of rice. Chapati, veggies and non-spiced dal for uncle. Maya, the south Indian cook, laughs because the foreigners prefer chapati to rice.

The servant system is strange here. Maya has been around as long as I can remember. She's very dark, always wears a sari and she has that rounded body-type particular to ghee-eaters. She's married, speaks Hindi, Nagamese, English and Tamil and understands Angami.She spends most of her day cooking and shopping for atsa and her guests. Is she paid? No. Then why does she work for atsa? What else does she have to do? Married with her own home and a son working in Delhi. And now there is a new girl, Gita. In training. She must be around 11. Dark, very pleasant, but 'slow'. I catch her looking at me and I wonder if she's thinking what I think of her - what would it be like if I were in her place? She sweeps our rooms in the mornings, helps Maya with the cooking, cleans up any mess we cause, and sleeps in a corner of the house. We sit on the veranda, reading or playing cards and the dogs are barking. Gita is sent to untie the dogs and move them. She quickly unties them and runs excitedly down a deck. It's the first time I've seen her so excited, smiling unabashed. A big smile, teeth showing, eyes big. She comes panting up the stairs to return to her chores. After that, I smile everytime our eyes meet and she returns, with a shy smile.