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Harriet McDougall design, illustration and graphic recording

Illustration, design and graphic recording
  • Art and illustration
  • Graphic recording
  • Maps
  • Comics
  • Sketchbooks
  • About
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What Happened in Delhi, Part II

August 28, 2015
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What happened in Delhi, Part II

Aah the joy of being back in Delhi. Actually what am I talking about? There was very little joy to be had. 

We had headed back down from the Himalayas reluctantly, but relieved by the fact that we would soon get some relief from the (by now slightly exhausting) heat and chaos of the plains when we crossed over into Nepal. We arrived into Delhi at 6am from Pathankot (never go to Pathenkot) and promptly went to the information desk to book our onward train to Lumbini at the Nepalese border. All booked for the next 5 days: fab. I guess we’re hanging in Delhi for a while, then.

The mercury smashed through the 40* barrier daily, making sight-seeing a massive chore and Paharaganj even less appealing than usual. We made valiant attempts out to see some sights on a couple of occasions - and these attempts mostly just dissolved into over-elaborate ice-cream trips or sitting in traffic for so long that we physically LIFTED UP the rickshaw across the central divider of the road and turned around. Apart from that, the only thing worth writing home about was how we were poisoned by the ‘filtered’ (”100% safe good madam - our water filter run 24/7!”) water at our hotel and basically just ate toast for three days.

Then, on the morning of our train, we are sitting in the Nepalese cafe in our alleyway where we’d eaten every day for a week, when the owner comes running in shouting: “There’s been an earthquake!” 

Nothing on the news yet; we finish breakfast and go back up to our concrete cell - flipping open the laptop to see if it’s worth pushing our train back another day or two. And, well…

Tags: Delhi, travel, indian, comic, sketch, sketchbook, my art, sequential art, comic art, nepal, earthquake, heat
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Watching the sun go down above Dharamsala. Chai in hand, pizza en route. Wonderful memories. Pen and ink

Watching the sun go down above Dharamsala. Chai in hand, pizza en route. Wonderful memories. Pen and ink

Om Hotel, Dharamsala

August 22, 2015
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Om Mane Padme Hum

August 21, 2015
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Geeking out about Tibetan artwork after special birthday cookies. I reiterate: a very good day.

Geeking out about Tibetan artwork after special birthday cookies. I reiterate: a very good day.

Tibetan Bird Mandalas

August 13, 2015
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Ahh, Norbulingka. This was a birthday surprise for the boyf - a few nights away from the spartan [generous description] backpackwanker hostels and dives we had been used to. And, wow - this place was something else.A hotel built in the grounds of a …

Ahh, Norbulingka. This was a birthday surprise for the boyf - a few nights away from the spartan [generous description] backpackwanker hostels and dives we had been used to. And, wow - this place was something else.

A hotel built in the grounds of a Japanese-style Zen garden on the outskirts of Dharamsala; Norbulingka Institute is a university for Tibetan arts. As you walk through the grounds, amidst the fluttering prayer flags and babbling streams, (do you hate me yet?) workshops buzz with activity. Sculptors, carpenters, printmakers, weavers and painters all keeping their artforms alive by passing their skills on to a new generation of Tibetans; tragically exiled from their homeland.

Given the setting, we probably could have done a lot of culturally enriching activities. What we actually did was eat a lot of homemade bread, drink Old Monk in the daytime, fend off gigantic spiders and look at the dinosaur birthday card Adam and Jenny (love you guys) made for Dan. A good time had by all.

Norbulingka Gardens, Mcleod Ganj

August 13, 2015
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Ganesha

August 09, 2015
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Staircases at Rewalsar

August 01, 2015
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Kora Community Cafe - the best damn food in town. #Rewalsar <3

Kora Community Cafe - the best damn food in town. 

#Rewalsar <3

Spires in Rewalsar

July 22, 2015
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Rewalsar - a brief stopover on our journey toward Manali turned into a week of bliss. A community of Tibetan refugees tucked amongst green hills - four monasteries surrounding a lake. We arrived with the intention to spend a day or two, but then the…

Rewalsar - a brief stopover on our journey toward Manali turned into a week of bliss. A community of Tibetan refugees tucked amongst green hills - four monasteries surrounding a lake. We arrived with the intention to spend a day or two, but then the heavens opened and we felt that the weather compelled us to stick around. 

It is auspicious to walk around the lake three times, three times per day, clockwise. The locals stroll and chatter, or count out Om Mani Padme Hums on their mala strings. We were staying in a monastery high up on a hill. This is the view from our terrace. Hours spent watching the clouds roll in and out, feeling the thunder shaking the hillside.

We also made some really great friends in Rewalsar. This is where my introduction to Buddhism (and my re-acquaintance with meditation) happened. Plus there were angry cows, puppies and other *ahem* local delicacies to keep us entertained.

Seriously, GO TO REWALSAR. It’s paradise. Only an hour and a half on the local bus from Mandi (don’t get on the one with the Britney Spears horn - he’s high as hell) and you will never want to leave.

Home for a While: Rewalsar, Himachal Pradesh

July 22, 2015
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Mandi Chai

July 22, 2015
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Dudes in great hats at the India Coffee House

July 22, 2015
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After a few disgustingly sticky days in Delhi we fled for the old, colonial hill-station of Shimla. Being the romantic types that we are (lolz) we opted for the narrow-guage 7-hour diesel train up. A snip at 80Rs each, but it did take - oh just roug…

After a few disgustingly sticky days in Delhi we fled for the old, colonial hill-station of Shimla. Being the romantic types that we are (lolz) we opted for the narrow-guage 7-hour diesel train up. A snip at 80Rs each, but it did take - oh just rougly - 8 hours compared with the 4 it would have been on the bus.

We did however make friends with every single person on our carriage - most of whom invited us to come and stay with them - and got told that we would produce “very beautiful children”. So all-in-all we considered it a win.

At the train station we were greeted by a wall of taxi touts and feeling like obstinate bastards we decided to stubbornly walk the 5kms up-hill into town with all of our bags. It was a stupid idea, and the touts followed us all the way there trying to take us to a different hostel. One of them had bird poo on his jumper, but he thought Dan was just “being a funny funny guy!” so it stayed there.

Shimla itself was a slightly drizzly town perched atop a huge hill overlooking an absolutely [insert superlative here] amazing view. There was not much to do except walk up a hill, fend off monkeys with big sticks and stuff ourselves silly with incredible Punjabi food. We hung out with some awesome people and felt cold for the first time in months. Well worth the visit.

Punjabi Feasts in Shimla

July 13, 2015
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We went to Delhi and mostly did a lot of sweating. It is unfortunate then, that the only drawing I did the whole time was of the inside of our (pretty miserable) hotel in Paharaganj.We also visited the incredible, ancient Jain temple opposite the Re…

We went to Delhi and mostly did a lot of sweating. It is unfortunate then, that the only drawing I did the whole time was of the inside of our (pretty miserable) hotel in Paharaganj.

We also visited the incredible, ancient Jain temple opposite the Red Fort. Those Jains have it pretty nailed. Most interesting is the Jain principle of non-absolutism. It is the view that any belief, opinion, thought or sense of identity exists not as a truth or falsehood, but rather along a sliding scale of reality. Any one person or view is just a section of the whole truth, and in order to gain some understanding of reality, every perception of it - from each human’s beliefs and comprehensions - can be combined to form a complete picture. This includes all sentient beings, and the Jains refuse to even eat a yoghurt or leavened bread through the belief that the bacteria is as equally alive as a human being. It is - from what I can make out - the last word in empathy at the heart of an organised religion.

They don’t half put their money where their mouth is, either. Inside the temple complex is a ramshackle, modern-ish building, with bright paintings of colourful birds around the outside. This is the city’s only bird hospital, where anybody can bring an injured animal to be rehabilitated or made as comfortable as possible. Hundreds - if not thousands - of birds are resident here. From parakeets, to doves, pigeons, sparrows and sparrow-hawks. 

The man at the front desk read me some poetry he had written (terrible but very nice) and we saw various people of even more various religions bringing injured birds in from all over the city. There was so much kindness here it brought me to tears. And yet, stepping back out onto the streets of Delhi and all the pain and poverty that exists there… People are truly baffling.

What Happened in Delhi (or, When Delhi-belly Hits)

July 12, 2015
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Varanasi&hellip; where do you even start? It’s reputation proceeds it of course, but this place really is the one that deserves all of what you hear. The explosion of (cliché alert) sights, smells and sensations of this ancient and unutterably sacre…

Varanasi… where do you even start? It’s reputation proceeds it of course, but this place really is the one that deserves all of what you hear. The explosion of (cliché alert) sights, smells and sensations of this ancient and unutterably sacred place. In short, this place gots mad vibes.

When we first got off our train Banaras, it wasn’t much of a culture shock compared with Kolkata. The typical sight of Indian urban sprawl greeted us at the station exit: dust, tuk tuks, steadily gazing eyes and the standard array of livestock were all present. In fact, as we rocked up to the guesthouse (250rs per night - no window) I didn’t have high expectations for our visit to the ghats the next morning. The city seems to be bursting at the seems - it truly is insanely compacted - people upon people upon traffic upon traffic upon cows. It’s mental and I can’t visualise that the famous Ghats of the Ganga are going to be much different.

How great it is to be so wrong. The tendrils of the holy river wind around the edges of the city, casting a mist of pastel-coloured tranquility. We reach the ghats and hit what feels like a physical wall of quiet. No crowds, no horns, no shouting. The calm is punctuated just twice per day. Our guesthouse owner Lala (“sign my book!”) took us back down to Dashashwamedh ghat, which explodes into action each evening with an enormous, multi-sensory Puja: smoke, mantras, music, blinging costumes, dancing, CDs for sale (obvs) all amid massive crowds of Hindu pilgrams from every corner of the country. It is electric. Chaotic. Unfathomable. Joyous. Bloody loud.

As for the funeral pyres, I’m not sure how I can even begin to explain. Varanasi is the Hindus’ holiest city. It is where thousands and thousands of people come to die each year, in the belief that being cremated by the Ganga will free them from the eternal cycle of life, death and reincarnation. Witnessing death in it’s most raw and honest form; the treatment of the bodies; the attitudes of the families who come here to say goodbye… I’ll never be able to do it justice. All I can say is that I now see how wrong we in the West have our attitude to death. It gets quietly hidden it away- hushed - an unseen bogieman in the dark. The Indian style is looking death full-on the face, along with a lot of shouting, outpouring of emotion, dancing, fire and celebration. I for one know what I’d prefer.

This has been a long one. So I’ll stop now. You’ll have to take my word for it on this one: GO to Varanasi. It’ll be one of the most enlightening things you ever do.

Varanasi Puja

July 01, 2015
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This drawing marked the end of my time in Calcutta. Hints of the British Raj are only really visible when you look up in this city - through the jungle and grime that are doing their best to swallow up any last traces of smug grandeur. This was the …

This drawing marked the end of my time in Calcutta. Hints of the British Raj are only really visible when you look up in this city - through the jungle and grime that are doing their best to swallow up any last traces of smug grandeur. This was the Red House- Annmarie’s favourite colonial building in Kol. There’s a hilarious sign on the wall proclaiming ‘This is NOT the property of RJ Singh, but belongs to PM Singh who is the rightful inheritor and resident of this house.’ A pretty obvious clue to some family squabble. While drawing this I swear I saw at least four families coming in and out. Couldn’t help but wonder if any of them were named Singh.

The Red House, Kolkata

June 12, 2015
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My own little slice of Calcutta - wildly out of scale; totally rose-tinted; full of squishy nostalgia. City of joy, oh yes.

My own little slice of Calcutta - wildly out of scale; totally rose-tinted; full of squishy nostalgia. City of joy, oh yes.

A Personal Geography of Kolkata

June 01, 2015
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Mystery snacks in great packaging (with a smudge from the opposite page that I quite like)

Mystery snacks in great packaging (with a smudge from the opposite page that I quite like)

June 01, 2015
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The day Dan arrived in Kolkata, and I didn’t quite manage to finish drawing Shiva.

The day Dan arrived in Kolkata, and I didn’t quite manage to finish drawing Shiva.

June 01, 2015
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Mother Teresa’s Home for the Dying Destitute at Kalighat - A gift for the wonderful Anye

Mother Teresa’s Home for the Dying Destitute at Kalighat - A gift for the wonderful Anye

May 24, 2015
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I met some pretty amazing ladies during my stay in Calcutta. The Hope Foundation seems to have a knack for attracting enterprising, fearless and altruistic Irishwomen. I now have about half a dozen adopted Irish Mammies - bloody inspiring they are t…

I met some pretty amazing ladies during my stay in Calcutta. The Hope Foundation seems to have a knack for attracting enterprising, fearless and altruistic Irishwomen. I now have about half a dozen adopted Irish Mammies - bloody inspiring they are too. Anye and Noreen, two nurses from County Cork, were volunteering for a month leading a project to survey levels of childhood malnutrition in the slums. Before they left, they each requested a drawing. This guy - a Rickshaw puller from Kalighat (Calcutta is the last city in India where hand-pulled rickshaws are still OK) was a gift for Noreen. 

May 24, 2015
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