Articles by Claire Graham

Ultimately, I have cow’s urine on my face. There is no getting away from this true fact. Worse still, I am filming an interview and short of halting filming to announce this piece of information to a group of people I have just met who largely don’t speak English, there is little I can do about the aforementioned cow’s urine. A colleague and I have travelled to northern Karnataka to interview slum dwellers on the effects of water privatisation and we are conducting the first interview. Gone are my daydreams of a panorama-esque week filled with journalistic glamour. I will…

It is 5.30 am and my neighbour has started cleaning a large amount of metal dishes very loudly. I have been awake since about 3.30 when a pack of dogs started howling on the street and this, mingled with the chipmunks who are becoming decreasingly cute by the second, is bordering on pandemonium. As the minutes roll on, more instruments join this cacophonous orchestra. The stray dogs have united with the domestic dogs to try and mimic a pride of angry lions. A couple next door seem to be consummating their relationship very loudly, or singing whilst being strangled. I…

I remember arriving in India for the first time, into New Delhi almost 10 years ago. I would liken it to a bull calf walking into the ring for the first time. A million things hit you; heat, light, shouts, screams, arms, signs, men, women, men, more men, a million people telling what you want and what you need, a million people trying to sell you food and get you into their cab or their friend’s cab, or their uncle’s cab, or their friend’s uncle’s cab. Arriving in Bengaluru was nothing like that. If my first arrival in India was…