The delayed train had pushed our schedule back by a day, so when we arrived at the house all we had time to do was eat, explore the house and then catch up on the hours of sleep that we'd missed on cockroach watch aboard the Himachal Express. The next day I awoke feeling a bit like Max from Where the Wild Things Are, except for the fact I was sent to bed with a decidedly full stomach. With the mountains looming over me and all these strange creatures (monkeys) snarling at me I took a walk down to the local shop. Bandla village isn't much more than a fork in the road that leads from the nearest town, Palampur, up to the remote mountain villages- the last stop before it starts to get properly rural. It consists of a few shops selling various and often unidentifiable things and several shops which seem to have exactly the same stock trading right next to each other- something which I have noticed a lot here. I picked up a bottle of Mountain Dew- the drink of choice among the volunteers. Having never tasted the delights of the Dew I asked some Americans at the Taj Mahal for advice and it's apparently '7-up with a kick'. One can and I was hooked, now I don't bother buying it in less than 2 litres. Another popular drink is Slice, the Indian Rubicon Mango which, when mixed with Dew, makes for a delicious mocktail inventively named 'Mango Dew'.
Feeling refreshed after my sugar fix I ambled back up to the house, bourbons in hand, minding my own business. All of a sudden I hear a fast patter of feet approaching from behind me and before I've even had time to register what it could be I look down to see my hands- empty. I turn around and some b****** monkey has already torn open the cellophane wrapper and started stuffing his face with my biscuits. I was stood in the street laughing hysterically for about 3 minutes purely at the fact that a wild animal had robbed me on my way home in India when two weeks previously I had been in Tesco on my way home from work rejoicing at the fact that Choco Lebeniz were half price and not even contemplating that a fortnight on I would be having to find more innovative ways of concealing my confectionary.
When I got back to the house we had a meeting to decide which projects we would be working at for the next 9 weeks. Being unable to detect much of a difference between the 6 schools I wasn't particularly bothered so when it turned out that too many people wanted Drovi/Malanta, Stacey, a few others and I volunteered to go elsewhere and ended up at Thala. Thala is a small village maybe 45 minutes walk up the mountain from camp which we fortunately avoid due to the modern miracle of the motor car. We do have a fairly treacherous walk up about a thousand steps (exaggeration- I'll count them next time) but when I'm sweating and breathless at the top I look at the view and stop worrying about how much I smoke and how unfit I am.

When thinking about poverty I envisage mud huts, tin shacks and the swollen-bellied children that you see being gazed at sympathetically by some t*** from a boyband on comic relief. When I was told I would be working in rural and remote areas of Northern India I expected, in my western arrogance, a well or pump shared by the whole community and very few facilities. For a start it's extremely difficult to transport anything over the mountainous terrain and secondly the villages have a very low income. However, recent development and bridge building means most of the settlements are about as rustic as an episode of the Archers- not quite as rudimentary as I had assumed.
After climbing the stairs, the first thing you come to is Thala School which consists of three separate buildings arranged in a U-shape around a small central dirt courtyard which has steps leading up to the large, sparse playground furnished only with rocks, a pile of cement and a pole which looks like it might have once been used to support a washing line. The Middle school occupies one building, the Primary school another and the third is used as an office cum kitchen. Most of the lessons are taught outside with classes 4 & 5 sharing the one and only useable classroom, which is luxurious compared to what I've heard from other projects. Our cook has a separate room with gas hobs and lots of space whilst at Malanta the whole school shares one room with no desks, trying to teach whilst lunch is cooked over an open fire with no ventilation. I think we're also lucky to have a shop close by with a supply of crisps, chocolate and ice cold Dew. The Daycare centre is up the track a bit and from there the village rises uphill, houses spread more sparsely as the gradient gets steeper and steeper, with the snow capped mountains nestled behind the smaller foothills with the permanent mist giving the illusion of a watercolour painting. The houses are of substantial size, built from red bricks, plastered, painted and wouldn't look out of place in one of the middle class developments we saw in Jaipur. Despite appearances, many families are still living below the poverty line which is defined by the IMF as surviving on less that US$1 per day. Much of the income in this area is derived from livestock and agriculture and so, at the mercy of nature and other confounding variables, these communities live a hand to mouth existence with no reliable and regular income.
These communities have made me redefine my whole perception of poverty. The media images, which are carefully constructed by charitable organisations to stir our emotions, show very extreme cases of poverty and over time we become desensitised to the softly spoken voice-overs and the often disturbing images. These are supposed to make us feel uncomfortable and they do- because this stuff is actually happening. Unfortunately the number of 'urgent appeals' we're bombarded with by television, by post and by attractive, enthusiastic and overpaid chuggers in the street means we switch off, and that image of a starving child gets filed in our brain along with that advert for Ronseal fence protector and all the other things we encounter daily trying to get us to part with our money. Coming here has made me realise that poverty is not just that starving child in Africa. It happens everywhere, just in less extreme ways. Poverty to me is not knowing whether or not you'll be able to feed your family next week, and I don't mean having to buy value beans instead of Heinz, I mean actually not being able to buy any food. It's difficult to go hungry in the UK, even if you have no money there is a lot of help available- not just government benefits but a plethora of NGOs and charities who exist solely to provide free food to those who can't afford it. Very few of these operate in India, and with 80% of the population classed as BPL (below poverty line) what little resources they have are stretched.
Poverty also incorporates healthcare and education. In Himachel Pradesh and in fact across India there are systems in place to help combat the effects of poverty. If a family is classed as BPL they receive a ration book that entitles them to subsidised grains and pulses. There is also a scheme to ensure pregnant women are given free immunisations. The only problem with these schemes is education. One third of Indians are illiterate and only one third speak Hindi which is the language the government uses to communicate information about these schemes. In far more remote parts of India people simply do not know about these schemes and there are no health visitors or PSHE to teach them. If someone falls ill BPL families can receive a free diagnosis from a doctor, but with even basic medication costing more than some people earn in a month it sometimes comes down to a choice between treatment for one person or food for everyone else- a choice most people in the UK will never have to make.