The song for the festival, a heroic song based on a character from modern literature – James Bond – has been written, but of course it has no real tune (I have sort of based the rhythm on a foreshortened version of “A Modern Major-General), but actually it changes just about every time I try to sing it. And yet, it seems, I am required to teach it.
Well, we gave it a go. I am no choir-master, but to be honest, they are no choir. I suspect their level of experience is similar to that of them being actors (ie almost none). I am also sure we will be pitched against, and judged against, young people who have been singing together for years, conducted by experienced musicians. But, to use a well-worn phrase, it is what it is.
We also, of course, did some more work on the play. Which effectively meant another run-through; the play is so short it really does not make it any sense to divide it up. And they are getting better and better, starting to enjoy the whole business of acting. Kooshi started as the narrator, and was a little disconcerted to discover that she was required to be on stage proper, and to do some acting, but is appearing to discover to say the words as a sort of mysterious storyteller. And the two “leads”, (if that is the right word in a play so short), are really starting to inhabit their roles.
In the afternoon, I was introduced to my new accommodation. The decision has been made for me to move into “the housekeeping room”, part of the BHM (or Bachelor of Hotel Management) section of SPA. The course really does seem to be impressively run, with lots of practical experience offered to the students. The Bread Box (just downstairs) is a working café (and an excellent one), and part of the same organisation. Upstairs from that is a full professional working kitchen, a small restaurant and bar (though this is not open to the public), and the Housekeeping room, actually a luxury hotel bedroom. This is used to demonstrate various techniques and approaches to managing a hotel, but has never actually been used before. So I am a guinea-pig.
It really is a pretty impressive room. It is very large, as befits somewhere that is also a teaching space, attractively laid-out, and with two particularly attractive features: a large arm-chair, also a recliner, also possibly a massage chair (if I can get it to work). And even better, a huge and what looks like a most comfortable bed. After the rigours of the hotel offering, I cannot wait.
And then the business of the Indian visa application; I will be accompanying the group to Lucknow if it can possibly be managed. Online application means it is possible, but I really needed some moral (and practical) support; the form does not frighten me, but the transferring of phots and passport pages fills me with dread. Eva and Aparna both sat with me in the staff room, and we worked our way through the form (obviously, the bits that terrified me were a piece of cake.) But of course it took forever: father’s name and details, mother’s name and details. And all too often, a mistake would send one back to re-do the entire section. In particular, tackling the section regarding one’s profession, and ticking “Retired” from the available options, did not excuse one from answering the question about one’s employer. But eventually, we made it to the end, I paid the money, and even received an email saying my application had been accepted (though they made it clear it had been approved, and that they would keep the money either way.)
I wandered back to my hotel room, and had a final meal there. Though the beds have been rock-hard, the people there are all very friendly, but I feel my time has been run. I have run them out of coke, and apparently drank the final beer in the place that night. Time to go.
