The rains have been falling all week. At the headquarters of the Indian Red Cross here in Delhi, there is a sense of urgency and concern as reports come in from the north eastern states most affected. Already, "family kits" for 10,000 families containing basic food and hygiene materials have been dispatched, and more are on the way. Several water purification units are ready to go, vital replacement for quickly polluted well water.
But the scale of the flooding this year is mind-numbing, with millions displaced, and no sign of a halt to the rain.
The remote community I visited in Barari Kothi just two or three days ago must be literally under water by now, and people whose lives and living conditions were already meagre enough will now have nothing. I realise that we were lucky to get out, wading through torrents, when we did. I think of those who have no chance of escape.
After leaving Bihar, we travelled to another northern State, Uttar Pradesh. There we have been working on another of India's chronic emergencies - HIV. India is thought to have the highest number of people living with HIV, although estimates vary from over 7m to the recently-revised figure of 2.5m. It is hard to be sure in a country of more than one billion people, the vast majority of whom live in rural communities with virtually no access to health care at all. Stigma and ignorance are rife.
Our partnership with Indian Red Cross has enabled them to appoint a team of trainers who will work with local schools to establish groups of "peer educators" - young people teaching young people the facts about HIV.
The additional challenge in many parts of India, especially in Uttar Pradesh, is that the idea of any kind of sex education in schools is taboo. On the day we arrived in Varanasi to visit some of the schools, there were articles in the local press criticising the Red Cross for peddling talk about sex amongst the young.
So we have adopted a more subtle approach, introducing a programme of "life skills" training, and teaching the children about stress management and protection of the environment, for example, as well as HIV awareness.
The approach seems to be working, as all the schools we visited have incorporated our programme enthusiastically in the curriculum, and reported no concerns from the parents, and no difficulties at all in recruiting the peer educators themselves.
I went to three schools - one co-ed, one all boys and one all girls. These were delightful visits.
At the boys' school, I was marched onto the premises by a fierce troop of army cadets, a brass band blazing away as we swept into the school yard, and then on into a vast gloomy hall, where 400 teenage boys sat waiting to be entertained as huge fans whirred overhead vainly trying to stir the turgid air.
I took a deep breath, and rose to my feet to address them, not at all sure that I was going to get out alive! Luckily, another drama of life and death significance was unfolding in Nottingham, where India was beating England in the Test Match, so I was able to get a few early laughs at the expense of our cricketers, and the rest was plain sailing!
At the girls' school, by contrast, I was greeted with flowers, and shy smiles, and a sweet song of welcome, then dancing and a play about HIV, followed by a display of exquisite artwork. With three sons of my own, I found myself wondering, not for the first time, why boys can't sometimes be more like girls!
At all three schools, I was hugely impressed by the energy of the teachers, and the absorbed inquisitiveness of the kids. They seemed like sponges, eager for information and guidance, for facts about stuff that, in a constrained and highly traditional society, only gets hinted at, or muttered about in dark corners.
And now I am on my way home. My last day (again in torrential rain) has been taken up with formal meetings - the British High Commission, the EU, ICRC, the Federation and so on.
As on my first visit to India nearly 30 years ago, I have been by turns maddened and bewitched by this maelstrom of a country.
As then, my best memory is of a short boat trip on the Holy Ganges at Varanasi.
As we rowed gently upstream, a huge orange moon slid from behind a vast black rain cloud, its edges highlighted by flashes of lightning. On the shore, as funeral pyres burnt hot and red a few yards away, the chants of worshippers to the Hindu god Lord Shiva filled the night, while cymbals clashed and acolytes waved burning torches about their heads.
Our boatman smiled at me as he took a swig of muddy, mucky river water from his bottle.
"You see water," he said. "I see Mother." |
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