http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/ Welcome to Been there. Your tips on the places you know - that you love, live in or have just visited - are what make this guide. http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33756
This Unesco World Heritage Site is set in spectacular scenery and is professionally run, without any fuss. Please believe the hype and take an elephant safari. It's a humbling experience to ride these stoical and patient relics from prehistory. You'll see plenty of rhinos as you pass through the elephant grass swampland, and if you're very lucky you may see some of the fifteen species of India's most threatened mammals. We saw wild elephants, several dear species and fantastic birds, but you could see fish eagles, hornbills, King Cobras, tigers, bears, leopards, or more.

We stayed in pristine huts with new kids on the block, the Nature Hunt Eco Camp. Superb.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33756 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33690 I had wanted to go to India for years, especially the North,but found a retreat run by Englishwoman, a gentle introduction to a wonderful place.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33690 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33677
India was filled with danger for early settlers, and tropical disease was a common cause of death for many of them. Soldiers died in relentless skirmishes and shipwrecks took the lives of many mariners. Nevertheless, enough settlers thrived (or were replaced) to oversee the original three villages gradually turn into The British Raj’s great nineteenth century metropolis, Calcutta.

Built in 1767 for the early East India Company pioneers and their attendants, this latter day necropolis is packed with giant mausoleums, all vying for top billing: pyramids, colonnaded temples, oversized urns, obelisks, sarcophagi and stone cupolas. The cemetery is a roll-call of the soldiers, sailors, civil servants, merchants, women and children who succumbed to the rigours of an unfamiliar and disease-ridden life in the tropics.

I felt nostalgia for a time I had never known. One hundred and fourteen years before I arrived there, Sir William Wilson Hunter’s eloquent words summed up the oppression which descended on me as I walked between the tombs.

“Most mournful of graveyards are those walled-up ghastly settlements, desolate spaces of brick ruins, and blotched plaster, reproachful of forgetfulness and neglect. It was difficult to restrain some retrospective pity for the inmates of those squalid tenements — for their hard, hot lives more than a hundred years ago, solaced by none of the alleviations which have become necessaries of our modern Indian existence; with few airy verandahs or lofty ceilings, without punkahs, without ice, without possibilities of change to the hills, or respite to their exile by visits home.

The mental stagnation of a small society given to arrack and heavy dinners in the heat of the tropical day, and dependent for their news of the outer world on three or four shipments a year, produced a tedium vitae even harder to bear… If the world dealt hardly with them in life, it has made no amends to their memory. As I thought of how much they achieved, and how little they have been honoured, I found myself involuntarily composing an apologia for the dead.” (Sir William Wilson Hunter, ‘The Thackerays in India and some Calcutta graves’.)

There were not many visitors to the cemetery on the day my partner and I were there, but then you do have to make a particular effort to go, it is not a place that you pass on the way to anywhere else. We bumped into one other western tourist, a few Indian couples and a small group of Indian soldiers during the two hours we spent there. But we were never alone, the caw-cawing of a hundred flapping crows accompanied us over the whole eight acres.

Among the monoliths, the prosaic British names on the oversized tombs are a long way from home: Elizabeth Jane Barwell, James Addison Webster, Captain Dennis Bodkin, Harriet Chicheley Plowden, Major George Dowlie, Thomas Cotterell, Capt W Mackay.

Edward Wheler Esq, “In his political character which will be best learned from the Pages of History he was an upright, just, and honest Man. And as his disinterested conduct garnered the esteem of all Ranks of Men So in the Memory he is honored, beloved, lamented.”

Near the entrance, and smothered in the edible scent from a curry leaf tree, lies Hastings Impey Esq, “son of Sir Elijah Impey, Factor in the Service of the Eaft India Company who died in the 24th year of his Age February 4th 1805″. His father — the most prominent name on the stone, and former Chief Justice of Bengal — fared rather better than his son. He left India and became the parliamentary member for New Romney, before retiring to Brighton. In 1809 he died, and was buried in the family vault in Hammersmith.

Much of the cemetery was overgrown, and many of the tombs are decaying: inscriptions no longer legible, corners falling off and columns crumbling. Someone is keeping the jungle at bay, though, because the pathways were reasonably clear and at over 250 years old the tombs would have been swallowed up without some attention.

As you read each new story in the names, ages, dedications and tomb designs, you are reminded of the bravery and stoicism shown by these settlers. The journey alone would have been a hardship, and then to end up in such inhospitable and unknown terrain would have been an even greater trial, especially for women in their layers of clothes and corsetry. For all their jingoism and arrogance, you can't help but feel humbled by their intrepidness. We call ourselves travellers today, but catching a flight over to the other side of the world for a quick jaunt up to Machu Picchu, or a guided tour round a wildlife park, doesn’t compare to the terrifying adventure into the unknown these individuals must had endured for the sake of commerce.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33677 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33597 For a tranquil stay away from India's hustle and bustle, rent a room in one of the Assamese neo-Vaisnavite monasteries which dot the island.
(Not to be confused with Ali G's "Me Julie")]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33597 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33489 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33489 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33482 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33482 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33479 If we're on a road trip with a driver, we always ask him (invariably it's a him in India) where he eats. In Munnar he took us to the unfortunately-named “Roachas”. It is not in any tourist guide, and a Google search reveals nothing but my own entries in my blog. But Munnar is not a big place, and all I remember is that it is at the end of one of the roads leading out of town.
It's a large rectangular, functional caff, with few frills. But it is clean and airy. It was full of other drivers and local people when we went there. The big plus here is that it serves really good Keralan food. We had a fantastic fish supper of Meen Moilee (black fish from the backwaters, cooked in a cocunut curry sauce) and enjoyed a very tasty biryani lunch there too for less than a quid each.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33479 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33478 As is the norm in India, every car that approaches a bend beeps its horn. Loudly. Several times. There are bends either side of our hotel. Not so good. Contrary to expectations, however, we were not kept awake all night by frantic horn blowing as it turns out everyone retires to bed early in these parts, and since the road takes you nowhere but to other hotels it was virtually deserted after 9:30pm. Phew.
Our bungalow was vast. We had a front sitting area and an inner sanctum home to a huge double bed and an even bigger bathroom. The rooms were spotless, with a comfortable bed and hot running water. Each night we sat on our veranda, sipping beer and unusual (i.e rubbish) local wine, listening to the sounds of the jungle. Like most places, the small hotel doesn't serve alcohol, but equally doesn't mind if you bring your own. The hotel food was less than inspiring, pretty to look at but rather bland in taste if you are used to the fiery curries found in Kerala. They will cook to order, though, so make them aware of what you do and don't like.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33478 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33477 We arrived at the park excited at the prospect of seeing rare goats. In addition to nature’s gifts, it is home to Anamudi (2690m), the highest peak in India south of the Himalayas. We were not allowed to walk up the mountain path, so along with everyone else ascended the foothills aboard the park bus. We jumped off with about 40 domestic tourists at the high entrance point. We were not allowed to deviate from the path. We were told to keep quiet so as not to upset the wildlife. We could not pass go. Fair enough.
Accompanied by families of screaming children scrambling in the undergrowth, shouting groups of men and chattering women in bejewelled thong sandles and saris, we tried to pretend we were at one with nature. A Nilgiri Tahr crossed the carefully designated pathway in front of us ignoring the noise: the 25 species of other mammals, 132 species of birds, 101 species of butterflies and 19 species of amphibians recorded in the Park kept their distance. An abrupt end to the path made it clear we would not be allowed any further, ending our dream of a decent shot at climbing the highest peak in southern India.
A little disappointedly we returned down the hill-path, trying to find a moment of tranquility among the tourist madness. Anyone who has visited India will know this is never an easy task. We gave up at the bus drop-off point, and, in a last ditch effort to find some serenity in the beautiful surroundings, decided to walk back to the bottom. Fat chance. A guard shooed us back up the hill and we joined a heaving bus of tourists back to the park entrance.
Oh well, we saw the goats.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33477 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33476 High up in the valley, under the cool shade of a cardamom plantation, I asked the guide if we could take a stroll into the rain forest. Nitish swiveled his eyes, carefully avoiding mine.
“Madam, there were wild elephants here yesterday.”
In the white heat of the tea estates women sliced fragile new shoots from the tips of shrubs, their razor-sharp shears specially adapted to catch the crop with each snip. Others heaved sacks as big as boulders onto a truck. A man sat in the shade, perfunctorily supervising the women’s work.
Wild elephants? Aren’t they one of the attractions here? I tried an encouraging smile, my excitement fading as he explained the danger.
“Angry elephants will charge and trample everything in their way, madam, including you.”
Stunted and pruned to within an inch of their lives, tea shrubs are packed tightly in manicured rows, like a green candlewick bedspread draped over the rumpled hillsides. Dotted around the slopes, shade-giving acacia trees perforate the swaddled fields. The women moved carefully between the bushes.
I glanced at the forest, now dripping with malevolence under its latticework of branches. Myna birds shrieked and glistening tropical flowers pierced the gloom. A shadow shifted in the darkness and a crazed string-puppet butterfly, the size of a bat, lurched out of the gloom.
Nitish, heartened by my hesitation, warned of foxes in these parts. I shrugged, Fantastic Mr Fox didn’t frighten me.
“If they are hungry they will attack you.”
Unlike the sly tricksters of childhood fairy tales, it seems Indian foxes are wild and ferocious, “like small Alsation dogs.” My naïve Jemima Puddle-Duck persistence faltered.
A muffled shriek from the tea fields stopped us dead in our tracks.
Nitish smiled as he went in for the kill, “also, madam, there are snakes.”
The next day we visited The Kanan Devan Hills Plantations Company tea museum, where monochrome images of puny white men holding guns, each with a foot planted on a dead tiger, were hung in the corridors. We watched a short, and surprisingly interesting, film about the history of the area, then walked through the displays. It is a working museum, and you can walk through the whole process from the leaves arriving to buying your souvenir bag of tea at the end.
A sign on the wall told us that schools and crèche facilities are provided for its families by the local tea cooperative. Remembering yesterday’s scream, I asked a manager if labouring in the plantations could be dangerous.
“Certainly, our workers get bitten by the occasional snake, but we carry anti-venom and are able to treat bites immediately.”
He informed us that all visitors to India should learn how to identify poisonous snakes.
“If you are attacked you must tell the doctor which snake bit you, so the correct anti-venom can be administered.”
Now, I reckon I can recognise an angry cobra, but with over 270 species of snake in India I decided I should keep my camera handy. If avoidance tactics don’t work, the only way I’m going to be able to explain which would-be slithery assassin has bitten me is to take its photo. Smile please.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33476 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33413 Choose from the vast menu displayed above the long counter, pay (around a quid) for your meal, grab a piece of paper with a number scribbled on it, and see if you can bag a table by the window. As you wait for the waiter to call your number - and if it's a clear day - you can gaze at Kanchenjunga, India's highest mountain, the third highest peak in the world. If you've had enough of mountains (is that possible?) I recommend some simple people watching: a cavalcade of characters swiftly passes through, mainly very cold-looking domestic Indian tourists in idiosyncratic get-ups (the women in be-jewelled, kitten heeled sandals, the men in extravagant bobble hats and tight gilets).
We ate here several times, and a typical meal would include two enormous bowls of (veg) chow mein and two lassis for 120INR (around £1.50).
The kitchen is behind the counter, so you can watch all the food being prepared and cooked in front of you. It doesn't get much fresher.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33413 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33350 After an awful time in the graceless Newa Regency in Pelling, we moved to this homestay where we were very happy for five nights. Taking a night off from the slovenly service in our Pelling nightmare, we walked to Kechoperi Lake, and slept in a basic, clean room provided by a local family. On the way back to Pelling, we hitched a lift in the back of a truck full of local tribes people, which stopped at Darap, from where we were driven by Mr Sushil Tamang of the Cherry Village Resort, back to our crumby hotel.
Sushil listened to our tale of woe and suggested we move to a homestay. We hadn't realised there were any in the area, so jumped at the chance. He arranged it all for us and we ended up at Dara Goan Retreat.

It is a steep and rocky path to and through the buildings of Shiva's family home, but this is the Himalayas, so you need to be able manage a gentle climb. If you want the authentic experience of a Nepali home then stay here, or at any of the other homestays springing up in Sikkim.

The price was for full board, but when we ate elsewhere the money spent in the other house was contra-ed against our bill.

We were given wonderful home-cooked breakfasts, lunches and dinners, with tea/coffee available at any time. The service was charming and on time. Some guests forget that homestays are not hotels: they do not have a full complement of chefs in a 24 hour kitchen. It is often only the wife who cooks, and as guests we must respect that she has other chores during the day. You take your meals at the same time as the family, so should be prepared to compromise to a certain extent. Initially we were fed at 8:30pm, but when we said we would prefer to eat earlier the family was delighted -- they had been serving food late because that is what domestic Indian tourists prefer.

We had a list of activities offered to us, many of which we took up, but some of which we simply didn't have time to enjoy. We spent a day on the village walk with Purna, which we would recommend to everyone: we tried the local moonshine, local tea, local food and a strange tea brewed by Purna's Mum, a Limboo lady living in their 200 year old mud-floored family home. We didn't manage any fishing, but if we go back we intend to spend a day at the river.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33350 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33348
We couldn't believe our luck at finding such a gem of a hotel among the hundreds on offer in Jaipur. We weren't the only ones, though, as it was hyper busy in reception with people coming and going... this was the only place in India (so far) where the staff on reception were fast, efficient and courteous. Checking in and out was easy and they helped us with transport and maps. A number of people seemed to be staying at the hotel on a long-term basis.

We stayed twice, with a trip to Agra in between (see my review of the Tourists Rest House there). We were offered a choice of rooms on our first visit, the super deluxe with a balcony and the deluxe without. The cheaper room was twice the size of the first, high-ceilinged and prettily decorated in Rajasthani style, with a bath and shower. It was high up on the roof, overlooking an atrium. To get to the restaurant we walked through a trickling water feature on the roof and peered over balustrading into the garden below. It was a lovely place to sit and relax.

Food here is from a self-service canteen (tip: take a pen and write out the order yourself - it'll be quicker and you are less likely to have mistakes in your order). The food was a little hit and miss, but mostly very good indeed. We ate in the garden under the stars at night and in the shade of the flowery border in the morning.

A great choice in a great city the Arya Niwas is so good we would go back again.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33348 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33346
In the high season at the Kannur Beach House a double room with half board will cost 2800 INR per night. Set in a coconut grove by a lagoon, each room has a veranda, and a view of the sea through the one hundred year old palms. The garden is scattered with hammocks and its peace and solitude make it a bird lover's paradise. All meals are cooked in Rozi's kitchen, and are typical of the area; you'll be served dishes here that you won't find in hotels or restaurants. Guests (there are seven rooms) share a long table in the courtyard, together with Rozi and Nazir's family.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33346 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33345
The food was quite simply the best we've had in Kerala, and that includes posh hotels like the Taj, smart places in Cochin and down and gutsy quick eateries in Ernakalum (we've been here for 18 months, so I feel I can write with some authority).

The room was prettily and simply decorated in white and terracotta. There were fresh flowers on the dressing table and a pristine bathroom. We fell asleep to the sound of the waves breaking on the beach right opposite us.

If you want to get away from it all, in a quiet area with no hotels around, stay here. Eat the best food in Kerala, go for walks on the beach, chat to the locals, visit the fish market and pick out your local catch for dinner, play games on the extensive roof terrace while being served endless fresh cold drinks and tea.

It's an excellent place for tired, burnt out workers looking for tranquility in genuine Keralan surroundings.

My one quibble is that because this is not a family home - the family lives elsewhere - it is not a true homestay. But what's in a label?]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33345 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33344
Discovering our penchant for homestays, rather than hotels, Ronnie put us up with his own family in Jorhat. Homestays are not as popular here as elsewhere in India, but they found small, unusual hotels in Guwahati, a monastery on Majuli Island and we stayed in their own small camp at Kaziranga.

The communication before, during and after our tour was five star.

These new kids on the block deserve to succeed.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33344 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33343 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33343 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33335 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33335 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33247 Like any UK high street, outlets selling tasteless decorations mushroom all over the city from the end of November. In the Yuletide run-up Cochin buzzes with pre-Christmas shopping euphoria. Several times I have been pushed out of the way by sharp-elbowed nuns searching for the perfect Christmas tree bauble along Broadway in Ernakalum's market area. Unlike the UK it's always a festival atmosphere and it is not uncommon to be offered a high-spirited Keralan welcome and cup of tea in the middle of the scrum.
From the 24th December Fort Cochin ratchets up the party with a seven day carnival. Expect fireworks every night (and sometimes in the day), elephants, dancing, games, food, general revelry and more fireworks!
NOTE: I've been based here for 18 months and have only ever heard it referred to as Cochin by the locals. Nobody uses Kochi except in correspondence.]]> http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33247 http://www.ivebeenthere.co.uk/tips/33224 "Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where the mind goes forward into ever-widening thought and action.
Into that heaven, let me awake."

The words of Rabindranath Tagore are writ large – in rainbow colours and block letters filled with patterns – across one of the classrooms at Durag Niwas. Flitting through and around the multicoloured ABCs on the opposite wall are brightly painted butterflies. We are in the heart of the Sambhali Trust.

Now an embattled 27 year old, Govind Rathore set up the Trust when he was just 23. His first-hand experience of seeing women treated as second-class people with no rights, led to his “dedication” to the empowerment of women in Rajasthan.

Jamie and I were in Rajasthan when the 2011 census was underway in India. According to the state's Subhra Singh, Joint Secretary and Director of Census Operations, “The census of 2001 had brought out many striking figures. It had concluded that there are no women in 74 villages, there are no women workers in 647 villages, women literacy is zero in 633 villages, there is no girl child between the age of zero to 6 years in 533 villages and the sex ratio in 14,204 villages is less than 900. Therefore, this year we will be focusing more on women to bring out the truth in these figures."

In some villages there were simply no women? In the areas where women were counted their numbers were so low it seems there were far fewer females than males. Would it be better in 2011?

The recent 2011 Provisional Census figures for Rajasthan show an alarming drop in sex ratio in the 0-6 age group from 909 in 2001 to 883 in 2011. "A decline of 26 points is indicative of a clear bias against the girl child in a cultural milieu mediated by a range of factors – a feudal history, stringent patriarchy, rigid gender norms and deep-rooted disadvantages which pervade all spheres of domestic and social life.”

Kanchan Mathur and Shobhita Rajagopal, from the Institute of Development Studies in Jaipur, went on, “The use of ultrasound technology to reject the unwanted girl child has become widespread in the state. This came to light in 2006 when a sting operation carried out by the Sahara television channel captured on camera over a hundred doctors across 22 districts violating the law. More cases of female foeticide have been unearthed since then in various parts of the state.”

Rajasthan's women, if they survive birth, spend their lives working for no pay, uneducated, often brutalised and usually hungry. Despite rapid growth, India lets its girls die. "First the husband is seated and fed, then the brothers and then whatever is left is fed to the girls... If there are two mangoes in the house, first the boy will get to eat."

If you are female and a Dalit in Rajastan the odds are stacked even higher against you. Dalits (aka Harijans, Outcastes or Untouchables) are often despised by those of 'higher' castes.

"These days,” Govind tells us, “many of my own community will not drink water with me any more because I sit with Dalits.”

Govind carries mace spray with him as he walks the mean streets of Jodhpur looking for girls who may need his help. He says of the caste system, that in theory it no longer exists, "but practically and actually it is very much alive. 70% of India is rural. They say 'God has given us our castes; God made everyone to fit into their role.' The government legislates to help Dalits. The government reserves jobs for Dalits. They get jobs as sweepers, but why can't a Dalit be a teacher?” He says the authorities make the right noises, but it is all “on paper and is not actually happening. It is up to individuals to do something. We must educate and encourage our own communities.”

The Trust's women – they have ranged in ages from 3 to 65 – are given rudimentary education in reading, writing, geography, health and mathematics as well as skills like tailoring, embroidery, block printing and tie dyeing. Many of them only speak their own dialect, so a basic knowledge of both Hindi and English is essential.

In the census, Rajasthan doesn't fair much better when it comes to literacy rates. “In 2001, the men's national literacy rate stood at 75.26% while in Rajasthan the figure was 75.70%. [Not bad.] In the 2011 census, while the national men's literacy rate is 82.14, for Rajasthan it is 80.51, 1.63 below the national average... the difference between the national [male and female] literacy rate and those for Rajasthan in 2001 stood at 4.42 points, in the 2011 Census it has increased to 9.98 points below the national average. The state's literacy rate is the third lowest in the country.”

Why such disparity? The state's female literacy is the lowest in India. Although statistics revealed the staggeringly low figure of 43.9% in 2001, the current rate of literacy among women in Rajasthan is 52.66%. The national average is 65.46%.

"Sometimes they don't know how to hold a pencil. They don't know how to sit properly. Their backgrounds are so awful,” Govind says. “We teach literacy and self-esteem. We teach them about their appearance, good dress sense. Most don't know where Jodhpur is, or even that they live in Rajasthan. Their lives are simply this: get up, brew tea for Dad, do the dishes, clean the house, cook lunch, sleep, clean the household, make dinner, go to bed. Every single day of their lives. They have no weekends, no holidays. They are married at 15, and then have the exact same life with a husband who probably rapes and certainly beats them. Every girl that comes to us has a terrible life. Women are still killed for their dowries.”

Starting with a few girls from his maid's village in the desert, the Sambhali Trust has helped over 550 women since it began, four years ago. Govind's home, Durag Niwas, is a bustling and friendly home-stay for visitors to Jodhpur and the headquarters of the Sambhali Trust. Several of the guest rooms have been given over to volunteers – we meet Annie and Poppy while we are there. We visit the two classrooms on the upper floor of the front building and watch the full time teachers, Simmi and Tamanna, working with the classes.

Simmi is a force of nature, teaching them English and more academic subjects. The class looks by turns terrified and entranced as they watch her every move: they try their best to respond to her, squealing with laughter when she cracks a joke. Tamana is “Didi” their big sister. She is as neat as a pin and all smiles as she sets that day's lesson in the tailoring class; today they are learning how to sew neck openings

Both teachers and girls are part of one big family. The girls confide in their teachers and each other about their terrible situations outside the centre (the Trust has been instrumental in removing some of the younger girls from abusive marriages with their dowries intact). The way the Dalit girls are discriminated against by their neighbours saddens both teachers.

“If a non-Dalit touches a Dalit the person will go home and wash themselves all over. Still, even now,” says Simmi. “The government is trying to eradicate the caste system and help Dalits, but it is entrenched, especially in these less-educated communities.”

More recently Govind has embraced the notion of micro-financing projects for the empowerment of women. He is adamant that through education and investment women will be able to sustain themselves and their children. Most of them have been beaten, abandoned or ostracised from their communities; a large number of them live in the villages in the surrounding desert, where there is no chance for them to survive without some kind of help. He has set up sponsorship opportunities for people to donate funds to the women: a sewing machine or a cow will save a woman's life. The Trust makes an interest-free loan to the woman who, using her cow or sewing machine, works to pay back the loan. The Trust is then able to re-invest the money into a new loan. A hardy desert cow is one of the most useful assets a woman can have: it costs £150. A sewing machine will cost £50 and give a woman a regular income. If you want to change someone's fortunes in a big way, you can sponsor a Dalit child through school. For the vast sum of €200 a year for five years, you can change someone's life.

Many of Govind's friends have become involved in the Trust. Mukta, his wife, runs the home-stay and looks after the affairs of their house. His cousin, Payal, has become an important participant in the project. Married to a proud Rajput man, and living in a beautiful Haveli (nobleman's house) close to Durag Niwas, she has opened her home as an Empowerment Centre. We visit the classes there and sit in on an English lesson given by Annie. A little reluctant at first, the girls gradually warm up and are soon shouting out their names, ages, likes and dislikes. We discuss what they ate for breakfast. Some are shy and one is cheeky. They are having a good time and you could be forgiven for thinking they live sunny, happy lives like other girls.

I discover from Payal that even she, with her high status and financially secure position, lives within the constraints of being a woman in Rajasthan. Her husband works in Jaisalmer, so is away for long periods of time. She cannot leave Jodhpur without him and is expected to behave discreetly in his absence. Luckily, he agrees with Govind that they must work together to improve education and tolerance, and sided with his wife against his mother in opening the centre. Initially uncomfortable with the idea of a house full of Dalits, his mother's objections were worn down; she now tolerates the good works being done there.

We plan to go back to Durag Niwas soon and to visit Govind's family village of Setrawa, in the desert. I wonder how much more the Trust will have achieved by then? We will report back. In the meantime the Sambhali Trust has a Facebook page. If you have a Facebook account, please show your support by clicking the 'Like' button. Thank you!

The Constitution of India guarantees to all Indian women equality, no discrimination by the State, equality of opportunity, equal pay for equal work. In addition, it allows special provisions to be made by the State in favour of women and children, renounces practices derogatory to the dignity of women, and also allows for provisions to be made by the State for securing just and humane conditions of work and for maternity relief.

For more tales have a look at www.lizcleere.com
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