Indian field recordings: part 2

Sonically, Europe has become automated and robotic: the computer-voiced lift tells me which floor I'm at, buses and trains feel the need to tell me when "the door is closing", chain pubs have their muzak piped directly from head office, so you can't even ask the barman to change the song. Slowly but surely, robo-sound culture is encroaching on India too: if you call Vodafone, you'll hear the same pre-scripted rubbish about being "happy to help" and so on. In other respects, India is still an audio wild west. UK health and safety officials, decibel meters in hand, would have a field day.

When my elderly grandfather became deaf, I was surprised to find that his complaint wasn't that he couldn't hear anything. He could hear plenty - stick a hearing-aid in your ear and it'll amplify all the sound around you. His problem was that he couldn't differentiate between the sounds around him: the sounds of voices chatting blended in with the TV show that was on, which got mixed up with the birds tweeting outside. The frequencies got muddled. In a way, that's what walking around an Indian city is like - too much noise, coming from too many directions. In this posting I want to share a few recordings - rare moments of clarity, when one or two sounds jumped out from the cacophony.


Track six: The pianist in the Ooty Savoy

Ooty is known as the Queen of Hill Stations, and was the British Raj's summer capital. In many ways, it's now indistinguishable from any other Indian town, but there are still a few vestiges of the old regime to be found, such as the race track, boating lake and the grand old Savoy hotel. We decided to check out the Savoy, partly to get a glimpse of pre-independence India, and also to treat ourselves to a slap-up meal. In the hotel, you can almost imagine what it must have been like to be a Company man in India: billiards, teak-panelled restaurants, cabinets full of crockery and expensively acquired titbits from home - there's brussel sprouts on the menu, for goodness sake. I've eaten in numerous fly-ridden roadside dhabas all over India and found the food delicious and hygienic. After my gloopy Chicken Chow Mein in the Savoy I had a dickey tummy for a week.

The pianist in the corner of the room was tinkling away on an ancient out-of-tune upright piano, with mirror attached (presumably to gauge diners' reactions). "This", I thought, "is a real taste of the old Raj". My partner Nia was obviously pondering something: "I think I recognise this one - isn't it No Matter What by Boyzone?". As the evening wore on, many of the songs were well-known to us - Sealed With A Kiss by Jason Donovan, Lady Madonna by the Beatles and Istsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini by Timmy Mallett. The guy had a prodigious memory; he played for about three hours without any sheet music. He must have learnt them all from one of those "Easy to Play Pops: the 80s and 90s" books. I had the strong sense that he'd never actually heard any of the songs; his rhythm was often a bit eccentric to say the least.


Track seven: leaving Mapusa bus station in Goa

In the UK, we have a simple system to aid people using public transport: it's a sign on the front of each bus, saying where it's going. Many buses of India have dispensed with this custom - it's just as easy to have the conductor say the name of the destination over and over again, super fast. I've never been able to distinguish one of these names, even once. The conductor on this recording sounds as though he's saying "Uraba"*. I don't know where that is, but presumably I was going there. I've spent a fair amount of time in Indian bus stations, running to and fro asking each bus conductor if his bus is going where I want to go. I always try to cross-check the answer with three other passengers, and even then I've had around a 70:30 ratio of right bus to wrong bus.

This recording also contains a couple of prime examples of the hawk and spit. To be fair, it's a revolting habit, but it's something to be heard all over India. The government makes some attempt to eradicate it - it's common to see "No Spitting" signs along side the "No smoking" signs in museums and public buildings. To many travellers, this is a deep and unfathomable mystery - why do Indian men have so much phlegm? Is it the pollution? Is it the little bidis?

* I think I might have just made out the location "Margao" at the end of this recording. That's a first!


Track eight: Calls to prayer in Pondicherry

Pondicherry, a little south of Chennai on the Bay of Bengal, is a special place. It's good value, in that you get two towns for the price of one: east of the central canal you find relaxed, sleepy Mediterranean backstreets; west of the canal there's a bustling Tamil town. We stayed in the wonderful budget hotel Maison De Satia on Rue Dumas in the French quarter. It happened to be more or less equidistant from three mosques. Every morning at 5.00 a.m., I'd be woken by the three calls to prayer, weaving in and out of one another. As you can hear, each of the three muezzin has a very individual style, and it sounds to me as if, in some way, they're singing in concert, though perhaps not consciously.


Track nine: Puja in Kodaikanal

Kodaikanal is a quaint little hill station in the Dindigul district of Tamil Nadu. It's kind of a one-horse town, but they make excellent cheese and chocolate, and also have a small population of Tibetan refugees who run a couple of fantastic restaurants. Like many small Indian towns, it's more or less completely dry. I was on a quixotic search for a shop selling beer, when I heard these beautiful sounds. As we walked down to Kodai Kanal lake, we could hear the puja going on, amplified by large speakers and echoing off mountains on the other side of the lake.


Track ten: Hampi bazaar trader

This jewellery store owner in Hampi bazaar didn't mind me recording our conversation, and was happy to go on record with some fairly sweeping generalisations about various nationalities and ethnic groups: Karnatakans are "difficult", Israelis are "no clean", the English and Germans are "nice people - very clean, very nice looking". Well, as long as he thinks I'm nice looking and clean I guess that's okay. "Madam" is also like clean, thankfully. Neither of us were really sure how to respond to that - the silence says it all!

It's been interesting to learn about how foreign tourists are variously perceived in India. I've been told that Europeans are rich, but have no understanding of the importance of family - they spend all their time working. Many traders in tourist spots will quite openly admit that they have a range of prices - the highest being Russian price, followed by English price, with Israeli price being the least expensive. When asked where I come from in a shop, I try to remember to say "Wales" as opposed to the "UK" or "Britain". Or who knows; maybe this backfires on me - some shop owners might think it's a part of Russia.


Track eleven: On the Konkan express

There's something special about Indian trains - the breeze through the open windows, your own little bunk and plenty of chai and coffee wallahs walking past to cater for your needs. I always get a good night's sleep on the sleeper trains. Check out my recommendations on thesleepclub website.

Thanks again to Nia Jane Williams for all the photographs in this posting.