Enjoy your Indian “Christmas.” The quotations are not my own but rather those of a friend of mine in a recent Facebook message. I have to agree with that. After all, celebrating Christmas in India is kind of like someone in the US telling you about their pilgrimage to Mecca. We’re all familiar with it, understand it’s a big deal, but don’t quite get the details or the whole picture. In fact, I’ve had Muslim and Hindu students ask me if Santa Claus is actually a real figure that only distributes gifts to American children. I wasn’t sure if I should keep the mystery alive but decided I would just confuse them so I spilled the beans. First time I’ve seen a child told there is no Santa Claus and I haven’t seen them cry.
Anyway, this doesn’t mean that it is impossible to find Christmas here. Alongside of the palm trees and the ever present sunshine (like all Oregonians, I reveled in this for about a week before assimilating to the Indian preference to avoid the sun whenever possible) there are pockets of evergreen. I mean, a small, fake Christmas tree must count, right? And of course most bakeries in town have Santa cut outs in the window and a few of the western-style coffee houses play Christmas carols and offer Christmas cake.
I think that here I should insert a note about Christmas cake. Apparently Christmas cake is a big deal here. All Indians expect me to know how to make it and to offer to make them some myself. I guess this must be a legacy of their British heritage. But they fail to realize Americans aren’t so big on this tradition. I’ve hardly ever eaten Christmas cake before, let alone made it. Something like fruitcake that can possibly survive a nuclear holocaust doesn’t quite appeal to me like a gingerbread house. Yet in India, people travel for miles, regardless of their religious beliefs, to grab a loaf of Christmas cake at Karachi Bakery. They also have never heard of a sugar cookie or a candy cane.
While being home for the holidays is of course atop my list of things I want for Christmas, don’t worry too much. Fist of all, on Christmas Eve day, I am attending a teacher’s picnic at Oceanfront park, wherever and whatever that is… Seeing as we are smack dab in the middle of the country, I’m thinking it can’t be that great. But still, it’s better than being in school. Then, as any good Ex-pat group, we have arranged our own celebration away from home which entails going to a nice classy hotel restaurant and drowning our holiday blues with turkey, all the trimmings, unlimited wine and eggnog. Should make for an interesting IDEX Christmas. Not to mention our haphazard Secret Santa. I can’t wait to see what I get.
But perhaps one of the best Christmas gifts I got was a bit of a reminder of why I’m here. Without waxing too cliché, life is series of ups and downs here. The ups are just as euphoric as the downs are depressing. But one major bright spot in the last few weeks has been the success of my penpal program at school. Shamelessly exploiting my mom’s employment at a local Oregon elementary school means that I have a classroom of fifth graders back home who are exchanging letters with sixth and seventh graders here. We recently received the first batch of letters from the US and the students were so excited. They were pouring over the letters, marveling at the blonde and red hair of most of their penpals, and couldn’t wait to write back. Definitely a major win.
And so, here's my Christmas list this year... hope it makes for good reading:
1. World Peace: Yes the old standby. I've already been cliche so what the hell.
2. A good job that utilizing my skills and passions next year: Be that back in the US or wherever, I'm sure something will turn up.
3. To make the most of my time left in India: I'm already over the halfway point and time is flying by!
4. To never be sick again: Oh India, you've had your fun with me so just leave me alone!
5. A new computer and Iphone for when I get home: Just because I'm in India doesn't mean I've shunned the material world!
6. To figure out who the heck I am/ what I should be doing/ and who I should be doing it with: Job, life... I have no idea what's in store. But if you can't do a little soul searching in India, then where can you?
7. To never take for granted my friends and family again: You don't realize what you have until it's not there anymore.
So I will sign off here and let you all get back to your festive celebrations. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone. I hope that the season finds you well! Peace and love, Jenny.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Ridin' Solo
The public bus never really gets the attention it deserves. I mean, how often do you think about it other than “thank God I have my car and I’m not that sucker waiting for a bus out in the rain.” Well in India, as with most things, transportation takes on a life of its own. I’m not going to brag about my ability to barter with auto drivers or the skills I now have in jumping on and off a moving bus or riding one-handed on the back of a scooter. But I am going to talk about what it is like to travel around, day in and day out, in Hyderabad, and most importantly, what it is like on a public bus.
Half of my Indian friends are still completely floored by the idea of me and my American friends actually getting on these things. I mean, they grew up with drivers and have been driving themselves around town just like the rest of us have been since we were teenagers (okay well I never had a driver but you get the picture). They have not even stepped onto a bus themselves. But when they cost about twenty cents to use, don’t require any bargaining, and you more or less know where they will go, it is kind of hard to say no. Although sometimes I wish I did. You see, there is something interesting about the bus system here in the city. It is that buses are as diverse as their drivers, and run the gauntlet from a clunker with a literal hole in the floorboard (yes on a recent trip I had to straddle said hole and hope it wouldn’t get bigger) to the bus I just took to this coffee shop which had air conditioning and a TV screen playing music videos. And it only cost three rupees more. The catch is as you wait at any given bus stop you never know what you will get, or really how crowded it will be.
Getting onto and off of the bus is an art form in itself. Most routes have stops that are marked or if not marked, at least visible by the amount of people congregating to get on them. But the real fun begins when the bus stops. For if you are getting on the bus, you are being pushed by the people behind you who also want to get on, at the same time you are being forced back by the people getting off the bus. I generally just wait until the last possible moment in back and then jump on as it starts to move. Saves my backpack from being squashed in the melee. On the flip side, if you want to get off the bus, you had better force your way through the women to the front and push them, poke them, yell at them, or do whatever, to ensure that you get off in time. It can be a long way between stops.
The bus ticket collector is also an anomaly. They wander up and down the aisle, often tapping, whistling and even pulling braids to get your attention so you can pay the fare. Sometimes if you don’t have change and they don’t have change they will hold up a finger, say “ek moment,” and twenty minutes later, assuming you haven’t already gotten off of the bus, voila, you have your change. They also have an uncanny knack of remembering exactly what stop you paid for, making sure you get off at that stop or else. I may not understand Telugu but I do get it when I am no longer welcome. On really crowded buses I have seen them hanging off the stairs, jumping out to allow passengers on and off and then running and jumping back onto the tiny bottom rung without missing a beat. It takes a certain breed of person to excel at this obviously and I have to admire their stamina and good sense of balance. Walking up and down a moving bus all day yelling at people has to get old.
Drivers tend to be in their own world, sitting up front, shifting with one hand while talking on their cell phone with the other. Shoes are optional as is any peripheral vision. I once was on a bus that somehow managed to be missing all the glass from the windows on the left side which happened to be where I was sitting. It was like riding in a half-convertible bus. Which was nice and breezy and fine until the driver veered left into a group of low-hanging trees. If I hadn’t ducked, I don’t think I would be writing a blog about buses after all.
Buses are not for foreigners. Oh no. I have realized that the reason why I never see foreigners walking on the streets but I see them in restaurants and in bars is because they don’t stoop to public transportation. But if you can get over the stares and learn which end of the bus you belong (men in back, women in front), it is really easy. My friends and I had a laugh the other day when our flatmate, who has taken the same bus to school and back every day for five months and never seen a non-Indian on board, watched a foreign couple get on her bus. And she stared just like everyone else did. I mean, you start to feel possessive about things here and your local bus definitely figures high onto that list. You are the token foreigner on that route thank you very much. You alone know the ins and outs of public transportation in Hyderabad. And you’ll be damned if someone else figures it out.
Half of my Indian friends are still completely floored by the idea of me and my American friends actually getting on these things. I mean, they grew up with drivers and have been driving themselves around town just like the rest of us have been since we were teenagers (okay well I never had a driver but you get the picture). They have not even stepped onto a bus themselves. But when they cost about twenty cents to use, don’t require any bargaining, and you more or less know where they will go, it is kind of hard to say no. Although sometimes I wish I did. You see, there is something interesting about the bus system here in the city. It is that buses are as diverse as their drivers, and run the gauntlet from a clunker with a literal hole in the floorboard (yes on a recent trip I had to straddle said hole and hope it wouldn’t get bigger) to the bus I just took to this coffee shop which had air conditioning and a TV screen playing music videos. And it only cost three rupees more. The catch is as you wait at any given bus stop you never know what you will get, or really how crowded it will be.
Getting onto and off of the bus is an art form in itself. Most routes have stops that are marked or if not marked, at least visible by the amount of people congregating to get on them. But the real fun begins when the bus stops. For if you are getting on the bus, you are being pushed by the people behind you who also want to get on, at the same time you are being forced back by the people getting off the bus. I generally just wait until the last possible moment in back and then jump on as it starts to move. Saves my backpack from being squashed in the melee. On the flip side, if you want to get off the bus, you had better force your way through the women to the front and push them, poke them, yell at them, or do whatever, to ensure that you get off in time. It can be a long way between stops.
The bus ticket collector is also an anomaly. They wander up and down the aisle, often tapping, whistling and even pulling braids to get your attention so you can pay the fare. Sometimes if you don’t have change and they don’t have change they will hold up a finger, say “ek moment,” and twenty minutes later, assuming you haven’t already gotten off of the bus, voila, you have your change. They also have an uncanny knack of remembering exactly what stop you paid for, making sure you get off at that stop or else. I may not understand Telugu but I do get it when I am no longer welcome. On really crowded buses I have seen them hanging off the stairs, jumping out to allow passengers on and off and then running and jumping back onto the tiny bottom rung without missing a beat. It takes a certain breed of person to excel at this obviously and I have to admire their stamina and good sense of balance. Walking up and down a moving bus all day yelling at people has to get old.
Drivers tend to be in their own world, sitting up front, shifting with one hand while talking on their cell phone with the other. Shoes are optional as is any peripheral vision. I once was on a bus that somehow managed to be missing all the glass from the windows on the left side which happened to be where I was sitting. It was like riding in a half-convertible bus. Which was nice and breezy and fine until the driver veered left into a group of low-hanging trees. If I hadn’t ducked, I don’t think I would be writing a blog about buses after all.
Buses are not for foreigners. Oh no. I have realized that the reason why I never see foreigners walking on the streets but I see them in restaurants and in bars is because they don’t stoop to public transportation. But if you can get over the stares and learn which end of the bus you belong (men in back, women in front), it is really easy. My friends and I had a laugh the other day when our flatmate, who has taken the same bus to school and back every day for five months and never seen a non-Indian on board, watched a foreign couple get on her bus. And she stared just like everyone else did. I mean, you start to feel possessive about things here and your local bus definitely figures high onto that list. You are the token foreigner on that route thank you very much. You alone know the ins and outs of public transportation in Hyderabad. And you’ll be damned if someone else figures it out.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
The Almighty Rupee
Working in the hybrid non-profit/ social business sphere, the dollar (well rupee I should say) is not exactly the motivating factor behind my choice of profession. Hopefully that much is obvious since the stipend I receive here reminds me of how good I had it at my part-time internship last year. Yet it is still a frustrating part of the job. Because, well, if I had unlimited funding, I could do whatever I want in my school and I could also travel, explore, and eat as much amazing food as my heart desires. And I wouldn’t have to waste precious energy worrying about how much I exceed my budget each month because, well, that budget would be a lot bigger. Yet I do have to remind myself that I am doing much better than the average person in India, so my own sob story about money stops here. This is about India’s money.
So back to the “average person” in India. As everyone is aware, India has one of the highest income discrepancies in the world (sadly the US isn’t doing that much better) with 42% of the population making less than $1.25 a day. And although the per capita GDP has skyrocketed to over $3500 per year from about $800 20 years ago, it is important to keep in mind that income inequality has also doubled in twenty years and that this is the average GDP, out of over a billion people. Suffice it to say there are plenty of people making much much less. In fact, the average teacher at my school makes a little over $30-$40 A MONTH. Yes, that’s right, a month. For working six days a week, all day. And yes, things are less expensive here than they are in the west but only marginally so. A liter of milk will still set you back a dollar or so in most convenience stores. In fact, inflation is at a high in India right now, devaluing the rupee and increasing the cost of living.
What am I getting at in this blog then? Well it’s a case of perspective. A case of my reminding myself that I may be hemorrhaging my money on dining out or trips but that I am still able to drop $15 on a nice dinner while this is close to half of most people’s monthly income. The story of poverty in India as I see it is a case of mixed outcomes. The economy grows, the middle class grows, people buy their smartphones and their designer jeans that are at least the same cost, if not more expensive, than those in the United States. But an extraordinary number of people remain left behind. One Australian consultant here shared the staggering statistic with me that there are more people living below the poverty line in only four states in India than the population of ALL of sub-saharan Africa. This is a very sobering thought.
When I said I was coming to India, people were very jealous. After all, we do see the India of stark poverty, on news reports and documentaries, and we can forget the incredible amount of wealth here. But we also see the Bollywood movies where everything is colorful, everyone is happy, and the star couple ends up together, smiling, at the end. So we equate this with a joy for living in India. We say that Indians have it right, valuing family first and being happy with what they have. Unfortunately, the feeling I have picked up most here was aptly described by my friend the other day. It is angst. Angst for something better and something more. Life is incredibly hard here. The day to day monotony overwhelmed by circumstance and hardship. Many people are not happy with what they have but they do not know any differently and feel they cannot change their situation.
And in my current profession, this feeling and these statistics are what keeps us going; the driving force behind social entrepreneurship. History shows that throwing money at the situation is not an answer. Instead people must have ownership in these initiatives to ensure sustainability and the continued success of poverty alleviation programs. That’s what social entrepreneurship and development programs like microfinance are all about. But what I am hoping as well is that India takes a stake in its own development. Before everyone jumps down my throat, I realize this seems hypocritical coming from a citizen of a country which blindly turns an eye to most of its own poor. And I also want to insert a caveat here that I have met an extraordinary amount of Indians who are concerned about the poor, who do support various causes, and who give what they can. Nevertheless, government initiatives to support development are mostly half-hearted, corrupt and do just throw money at the problem. As the recent case of the government shut-down of microfinance in Andhra Pradesh shows, the government is just as interested in making a buck as everyone else and the end result is it undermines the very programs that can help it to succeed.
But the problem, at least from what I have seen here is not a lack of money but a case of where the money is going, which is true in almost all developing countries where it is hidden away. Yet in India this misuse of funds is an open secret. And that has transferred to the individual. What takes precedence is a consumerism to rival that of any American Walmart and a hunt for the one item that will convey status. In India, caste status has given way to economic status. It is a matter of pride, and being confused with someone from the next lower strata is a hurt that one would rather not bear. We from the west know this story well as we participated in it ourselves and continue to. And look where it got us. So, India, learn from our mistakes. There is no massive, easy solution to crippling income disparity or massive levels of poverty. But irresponsible growth isn’t the answer either. You see it every day here – new construction replacing a former makeshift homeless camp, most certainly fueled by bribes to oversight committees and government officials in amounts that would feed and clothe these same homeless for months.
From what I can see, the story of India is a story of money. But money not necessarily well-spent. And it’s complicated. More complicated than I can understand and based on policies and practices that are part of the Indian identity. Yet if India is the country of the future (and I assure you, it most definitely is), it can only succeed by lifting those up who are left behind. The money is there. It’s just not in the right place
So back to the “average person” in India. As everyone is aware, India has one of the highest income discrepancies in the world (sadly the US isn’t doing that much better) with 42% of the population making less than $1.25 a day. And although the per capita GDP has skyrocketed to over $3500 per year from about $800 20 years ago, it is important to keep in mind that income inequality has also doubled in twenty years and that this is the average GDP, out of over a billion people. Suffice it to say there are plenty of people making much much less. In fact, the average teacher at my school makes a little over $30-$40 A MONTH. Yes, that’s right, a month. For working six days a week, all day. And yes, things are less expensive here than they are in the west but only marginally so. A liter of milk will still set you back a dollar or so in most convenience stores. In fact, inflation is at a high in India right now, devaluing the rupee and increasing the cost of living.
What am I getting at in this blog then? Well it’s a case of perspective. A case of my reminding myself that I may be hemorrhaging my money on dining out or trips but that I am still able to drop $15 on a nice dinner while this is close to half of most people’s monthly income. The story of poverty in India as I see it is a case of mixed outcomes. The economy grows, the middle class grows, people buy their smartphones and their designer jeans that are at least the same cost, if not more expensive, than those in the United States. But an extraordinary number of people remain left behind. One Australian consultant here shared the staggering statistic with me that there are more people living below the poverty line in only four states in India than the population of ALL of sub-saharan Africa. This is a very sobering thought.
When I said I was coming to India, people were very jealous. After all, we do see the India of stark poverty, on news reports and documentaries, and we can forget the incredible amount of wealth here. But we also see the Bollywood movies where everything is colorful, everyone is happy, and the star couple ends up together, smiling, at the end. So we equate this with a joy for living in India. We say that Indians have it right, valuing family first and being happy with what they have. Unfortunately, the feeling I have picked up most here was aptly described by my friend the other day. It is angst. Angst for something better and something more. Life is incredibly hard here. The day to day monotony overwhelmed by circumstance and hardship. Many people are not happy with what they have but they do not know any differently and feel they cannot change their situation.
And in my current profession, this feeling and these statistics are what keeps us going; the driving force behind social entrepreneurship. History shows that throwing money at the situation is not an answer. Instead people must have ownership in these initiatives to ensure sustainability and the continued success of poverty alleviation programs. That’s what social entrepreneurship and development programs like microfinance are all about. But what I am hoping as well is that India takes a stake in its own development. Before everyone jumps down my throat, I realize this seems hypocritical coming from a citizen of a country which blindly turns an eye to most of its own poor. And I also want to insert a caveat here that I have met an extraordinary amount of Indians who are concerned about the poor, who do support various causes, and who give what they can. Nevertheless, government initiatives to support development are mostly half-hearted, corrupt and do just throw money at the problem. As the recent case of the government shut-down of microfinance in Andhra Pradesh shows, the government is just as interested in making a buck as everyone else and the end result is it undermines the very programs that can help it to succeed.
But the problem, at least from what I have seen here is not a lack of money but a case of where the money is going, which is true in almost all developing countries where it is hidden away. Yet in India this misuse of funds is an open secret. And that has transferred to the individual. What takes precedence is a consumerism to rival that of any American Walmart and a hunt for the one item that will convey status. In India, caste status has given way to economic status. It is a matter of pride, and being confused with someone from the next lower strata is a hurt that one would rather not bear. We from the west know this story well as we participated in it ourselves and continue to. And look where it got us. So, India, learn from our mistakes. There is no massive, easy solution to crippling income disparity or massive levels of poverty. But irresponsible growth isn’t the answer either. You see it every day here – new construction replacing a former makeshift homeless camp, most certainly fueled by bribes to oversight committees and government officials in amounts that would feed and clothe these same homeless for months.
From what I can see, the story of India is a story of money. But money not necessarily well-spent. And it’s complicated. More complicated than I can understand and based on policies and practices that are part of the Indian identity. Yet if India is the country of the future (and I assure you, it most definitely is), it can only succeed by lifting those up who are left behind. The money is there. It’s just not in the right place
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Marriage on My Mind
Allow me to preface this with two disclaimers right from the start. 1) I stole this blog idea from my flatmate after having a discussion about this very topic. And 2) Don't worry, this blog isn't about MY personal life.
Well now that the air is cleared I can begin. It's wedding season in Hyderabad. Which means not a day goes by without lucky households being decorated in strings of lights, a well-dressed man riding down the street on a white horse (believe me, I've actually seen this), or one invitation to an obscure relative's wedding from a school teacher, school teacher's sister, or school teacher's neighbor's best friend's brother. And whether the wedding is Muslim, Hindu or Christian, there seems to be a certain level of prestige from having a foreigner you may not even personally know come to your wedding.
With this in mind, last Friday I attended my first wedding celebration, accompanying two of my flatmates. Yes the invitation was for the sister's wedding of my flatmate's teacher who I had never met. But no matter. As we'd say here in Hyderabadi English, "wedding invitation is there." So we saree'd up, quite literally, and hopped into an autorickshaw to a promising sounding function hall called "Officer's Mess." Hmmmm. Anyway, we arrived a full hour later than we were advised to, which is to say at 9PM because all weddings take place late in the evening here. And of course, in true Indian fashion, no one was there. Like the servers literally had to turn on the lights and fan for the three of us on the women's side. Whoops, that reminds me. Since it was a Muslim wedding, men and women sat on separate sides of the divider and didn't actually see each other. But that's kind of the point. Because it enables the women to take off their burqas and the fashion show really begins. You see,you'd be surprised by what women wear under their burqas, and how much detail goes into these outfits. For the wedding alone, the teacher from my friend's school dropped 18,000 rupees (roughly $360, or more than 9 times her monthly income give or take a few hundred rupees) and suffered under 30 pounds of embroidery and sequins for her outfit. And everyone was dressed in their best. I was starting to be very happy indeed I had finally gone out and purchased a saree except now I just want a nicer and more expensive one. Just because I'm foreign doesn't mean I don't care...
Eventually the bride showed up and we were ushered into the dining hall for women, where we were bombarded with pounds of food. And since it was a Muslim wedding, there was meat of all types! The prevalence of a Muslim population and their fondness for some good chicken is definitely one of the perks of living in Hyderabad. So we stuffed ourselves happily while chatting with the bride's family and friends, only to realize the bride herself wouldn't eat until around 3AM after all the other guests had eaten. Then we were pushed up on stage to sit with the bride and her family and take pictures. And of course to watch everyone else watching us. We spoke a bit with the bride, who was dressed in a beautiful emerald bride's skirt and top, henna decorating her hands, and jewelery that must have weighed more than she did. She said she was happy and excited but she looked a bit scared. Which brings me to my main point: the topic of arranged marriage.
When foreigners think of India, arranged marriages are usually one of the topics of discussion that spring to mind. How backward can a country be?, we often think. Or, how could any family force their daughters or sons into this? Well, here's the thing. I've always been one of those people who has been appalled by the idea as well. In fact, even now, the very idea of an arranged marriage for myself sends shivers down my spine. But, like most else about this country, you can't paint it with such a fine brush. Life is colored many more shades of gray here than most people realize. So here goes my attempt to explain some of the rationale behind arranged marriages here. Feel free to add in your own two cents worth.
As I've already written, one of my good friends here will most likely have an arranged marriage. But it's more like an arranged dating service, with parents picking out someone, the pair meeting up, then deciding if they want to keep seeing each other and going from there, or deciding to not proceed. Fair enough. Not much different than having your parents say "have you met so-and-so's son? He would be just your type..." However, this is from a rather progressive family. On the other hand, there are marriages where the partners don't really get a chance to meet each other beforehand. Or there are the ones where partners meet in supervised situations and both the potential bride and groom are asked their opinions before the marriage takes place. And there are arrangements of all types in between. Bear in mind too that even for the most westernized families here, the perfect age for marriage is in the early to mid-twenties.
In a culture where tradition has such deep roots, there are many men and women who do not have the opportunity to interact with one another quite so readily as we do. I'm not describing my Indian friends of course who mingle just like any of my American friends do. But I am describing the teachers at my school, the students, and the average person working and living throughout the city. If you're a good, traditional girl from a respectable Muslim or Hindu family, you don't really have many male friends and your dating pool remains small or nonexistent. An arranged marriage is really your only option and you've grown up trusting that your parents can make the right choice for you. Respecting your elders and your family is paramount to Indian society. And also in a country where men outnumber the women, arranged marriages are a means to perserve some order while people are competing for scarce resources. In fact, one businessman here once told us that the best way to frame Indian cultural behavior is by putting it in terms of the centuries of competition its members have faced: for food,land and water initially, and now, for women, train tickets, and autorickshaws.
I'm not anywhere near sold on the arranged marriage idea although I have met a fair share of people who claim true love and great marriages have come of it. However, these same people will cite low divorce rates in India to which I respond that divorce is much more of a taboo here and much more difficult although not unheard of (my schoolowner herself is divorced). And if you read the newspapers here you will see articles every day about a couple committing suicide because their parents won't agree on a marriage. While I couldn't help but feel a bit solemn at the wedding I went to, where the bride was my age and had probably never spent more than a night away from her family in her life, at least I could appreciate some of the sentiment behind it.
Moral of the story? Don't expect me to be looking for an arranged marriage any time soon, but don't expect me to condemn it in no uncertain terms. The most definitive opinion I can present? Ain't no party like an Indian wedding party....
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Turkeying Around
This week I am going to at least attempt to avoid the cliché of blogging about all that I am thankful for. Because truth be told, I have already done that on Facebook. And while I have a lot to be thankful for, at the moment, I am also struggling with not being with my family and friends to celebrate Thanksgiving weekend. Suffice it to say I am certainly NOT thankful for the price of airline tickets or the low number of vacation days I receive here. Going home at all in November or December is unfortunately not an option.
Therefore, I am left to ponder the anomaly of Thanksgiving from an Indian perspective. Trying to explain the holiday to my schoolchildren or the school’s principal has made me realize how crazy of a holiday it is. I mean, for one, there is no religion involved at all, but it is quite different from other national holidays that correspond with an exact event. And the irony, oh the irony. While I was giving a brief background on the pilgrims and Native Americans feasting together, Madam Lohia asked why we celebrate if we just ended up killing all of the Native Americans after such a “peaceful feast.” Yeah. We try to ignore that bit. So then I went on to say how it is really about recognizing the good things you have in your life and exercising gratitude for them. Now this is something most Indians can relate to. I mean, being super family-oriented is a way of life here as is a culture of consumption eerily similar to ours. A person may not be that well-off but they’ll be damned if they don’t have the newest smart phone and take every opportunity to show it off. Of course, I explained that it’s mostly not about material things but non-material things. To which the response was “shouldn’t you be thankful for these every day? Why just one day?”
At this point, I was feeling a little less than enthused about one of my favorite days of the year. It felt kind of like someone pointing out all the grammar mistakes in your just completed thesis or outlining all the reasons why eating cookies can be hazardous for your health. And it was then that I realized, who cares? I mean, there are plenty of holidays and traditions around the world that don’t seem to make much sense at all, especially to the uninitiated. I mean I just saw thousands of elephant god statues submerged in water one month, and the next, families that happily buy their meat from the grocery store 364 days a year were slitting the throats of goats in their front yards. And I mean, think of the running of the bulls in Spain, or, my personal favorite, the Wife-Carrying Festival in Europe. While I am not exactly comparing Thanksgiving to an event where burly beer-bellied men sling their wives over their shoulders and race through mud, I am saying that I don’t get the nuances because I’m observing from the outside, yet that doesn’t make it any less special to the people participating. Besides, Thanksgiving really exists as an excuse to take a breather, be around the people who matter the most to you, and just enjoy the good things in life, for a day. I mean, yes, Christmas is great too, but there’s so much pressure around buying presents, so much commercialization, and maybe not so much gratitude involved.
However, don’t feel too sorry for me, stuck in some far-flung country where Thanksgiving is little more than two unrelated words strung together in most people’s 2nd or 3rd language. Through some connections and the relatively small Ex-pat community here, we will be celebrating Thanksgiving as best we can. This translates into cooking three turkeys (one of which we are attempting to fry – I guess a product of putting ten 20something males in charge of the turkey preparation) and we will have stuffing, pies (I’m praying for pumpkin), potatoes and other necessities. All of this will be cooked in the comfort of the home of one of the Foreign Service Officers we have met here. And football or holiday movies have been promised. I do have to say this is a step up from spending my Thanksgiving in Spain aimlessly wandering the streets for pumpkin pie, but then again, we did have delicious wine and tapas to eat instead. And while the IDEX family is definitely a step up from celebrating with no one, it’s most certainly not my family. Nor will it be my Mom’s stuffing recipe or gravy being used. But permit me the corniness of at least saying I am thankful to have IDEX here and for our large piecemeal celebration, in 85 degree sunshine, deep in the heart of India. Yes it would be 100 times better to be with my family but if being abroad has taught me anything, it’s that you make do with what you have and you create what you don’t. And that’s incredibly rewarding.
Therefore, I am left to ponder the anomaly of Thanksgiving from an Indian perspective. Trying to explain the holiday to my schoolchildren or the school’s principal has made me realize how crazy of a holiday it is. I mean, for one, there is no religion involved at all, but it is quite different from other national holidays that correspond with an exact event. And the irony, oh the irony. While I was giving a brief background on the pilgrims and Native Americans feasting together, Madam Lohia asked why we celebrate if we just ended up killing all of the Native Americans after such a “peaceful feast.” Yeah. We try to ignore that bit. So then I went on to say how it is really about recognizing the good things you have in your life and exercising gratitude for them. Now this is something most Indians can relate to. I mean, being super family-oriented is a way of life here as is a culture of consumption eerily similar to ours. A person may not be that well-off but they’ll be damned if they don’t have the newest smart phone and take every opportunity to show it off. Of course, I explained that it’s mostly not about material things but non-material things. To which the response was “shouldn’t you be thankful for these every day? Why just one day?”
At this point, I was feeling a little less than enthused about one of my favorite days of the year. It felt kind of like someone pointing out all the grammar mistakes in your just completed thesis or outlining all the reasons why eating cookies can be hazardous for your health. And it was then that I realized, who cares? I mean, there are plenty of holidays and traditions around the world that don’t seem to make much sense at all, especially to the uninitiated. I mean I just saw thousands of elephant god statues submerged in water one month, and the next, families that happily buy their meat from the grocery store 364 days a year were slitting the throats of goats in their front yards. And I mean, think of the running of the bulls in Spain, or, my personal favorite, the Wife-Carrying Festival in Europe. While I am not exactly comparing Thanksgiving to an event where burly beer-bellied men sling their wives over their shoulders and race through mud, I am saying that I don’t get the nuances because I’m observing from the outside, yet that doesn’t make it any less special to the people participating. Besides, Thanksgiving really exists as an excuse to take a breather, be around the people who matter the most to you, and just enjoy the good things in life, for a day. I mean, yes, Christmas is great too, but there’s so much pressure around buying presents, so much commercialization, and maybe not so much gratitude involved.
However, don’t feel too sorry for me, stuck in some far-flung country where Thanksgiving is little more than two unrelated words strung together in most people’s 2nd or 3rd language. Through some connections and the relatively small Ex-pat community here, we will be celebrating Thanksgiving as best we can. This translates into cooking three turkeys (one of which we are attempting to fry – I guess a product of putting ten 20something males in charge of the turkey preparation) and we will have stuffing, pies (I’m praying for pumpkin), potatoes and other necessities. All of this will be cooked in the comfort of the home of one of the Foreign Service Officers we have met here. And football or holiday movies have been promised. I do have to say this is a step up from spending my Thanksgiving in Spain aimlessly wandering the streets for pumpkin pie, but then again, we did have delicious wine and tapas to eat instead. And while the IDEX family is definitely a step up from celebrating with no one, it’s most certainly not my family. Nor will it be my Mom’s stuffing recipe or gravy being used. But permit me the corniness of at least saying I am thankful to have IDEX here and for our large piecemeal celebration, in 85 degree sunshine, deep in the heart of India. Yes it would be 100 times better to be with my family but if being abroad has taught me anything, it’s that you make do with what you have and you create what you don’t. And that’s incredibly rewarding.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Revival
Hopefully, by now dear readers, you realize that there really is not a theme for this blog, other than to the extent that I write what is on my mind. So it comes as no surprise that this post is a bit of a jump from the last one. Living in India has brought to the forefront many things that are important to me but it has also pushed a few things to the wayside. And this week has presented several opportunities to remind me of these.
One of these was our tour of Hyderabad's CIIGBC building, the first LEED certified platinum green building outside of the United States. For the unintiated, LEED certification stands for Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design and platinum is the highest rating a building can achieve. In fact, it was such a big deal that the building was inaugurated by the Indian President in 2003 and received a visit from President Bill Clinton. But I digress. We took a tour of this building, which has carbon sensored air conditioning units to track the number of people in the building and adjust the cooling unit accordingly. The roof of the building is also completely covered in grass and plants, and somehow, through a fancy feat of engineering I don't understand, it takes the hot water that drains from the roof and uses the extreme heat of the roof to make the water extremely cold and to help cool the building as well. Plus the carpet comes from recycled coke cans, the toilet is ammonia elimnating so the "water" can be reused, the chairs are made of wood waste, the windows are double-paned with an inert gas to facilitate temperature control and lots of other cool stuff.
The tour made me realize how much I had forgotten about environmental considerations here. I mean, people literally through their trash out the windows of their cars while driving, recycling bottles and other plastics is unheard of, and nighttime "clean up crews" are a joke. I used to care about doing my part but here I've been sucked into a culture of waste for the sake of convenience. I mean, it's way more convenient to just throw my Subway wrapper out the car window than to actually take it to a trash can, and it's allowed. But it's attitudes like this that also scare me a bit. For a country that will soon have the largest population in the world to take such a haphazard attitude towards the environment doesn't seem to bode well for the future. Of course, we Americans are horribly wasteful in our consumption but at least most of us have been trained well to turn off lights when we're not in a room or use the trash can and recycle bottles. So, here's my pledge to try to return to this. For now, India is my adoptive country and I can't help but feel a bit responsible for taking care of it any way I can. And my guilty conscience is starting to weigh on me.
The second thing that happened this week is that we were invited to a dinner at the US Consul General's house. As many of you know, I had foreign service aspirations, going so far as to take the FSOT before this IDEX opportunity presented itself. Being surrounded by Americans who were doing what I had considered my dream job was refreshing. While some were young and on their first post (apparently Hyderabad is considered a 20/30 on hardship postings; Lagos in Nigeria is 25. I wish I would get hardship pay here!), others, including the Consul General, had been all over the world. And all love their jobs. While you have to pay your dues at the beginning, working on visa applications, there is a huge opportunity for advancement and honestly, the perks aren't half bad. Of course, I did ask about the worst part of the job and the answers were inevitably similar to any other employees of the government, but these seemed small in comparison to the benefits.
I left the house determined to take the test again and try my hand at the State Department if possible. I mean, I passed it last time so how hard can a second time be? Let's hope I just didn't jinx myself. I also have realized that I feel a bit more positive towards the possible opportunity to stay and work in India next year as well. And at least now I am feeling much more in tune with myself again. It's been a hard four months and I've had to confront personal and professional challenges that I've never experienced before. But now it's time to take a breath and really start to do things for myself and my personal growth too and return to what is important to me. No more getting lost in my busy schedule or the job. And with that, time to go plan what side dishes to bring to our Thanksgiving feast for next week. Happy Turkey Day in advance!
One of these was our tour of Hyderabad's CIIGBC building, the first LEED certified platinum green building outside of the United States. For the unintiated, LEED certification stands for Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design and platinum is the highest rating a building can achieve. In fact, it was such a big deal that the building was inaugurated by the Indian President in 2003 and received a visit from President Bill Clinton. But I digress. We took a tour of this building, which has carbon sensored air conditioning units to track the number of people in the building and adjust the cooling unit accordingly. The roof of the building is also completely covered in grass and plants, and somehow, through a fancy feat of engineering I don't understand, it takes the hot water that drains from the roof and uses the extreme heat of the roof to make the water extremely cold and to help cool the building as well. Plus the carpet comes from recycled coke cans, the toilet is ammonia elimnating so the "water" can be reused, the chairs are made of wood waste, the windows are double-paned with an inert gas to facilitate temperature control and lots of other cool stuff.
The tour made me realize how much I had forgotten about environmental considerations here. I mean, people literally through their trash out the windows of their cars while driving, recycling bottles and other plastics is unheard of, and nighttime "clean up crews" are a joke. I used to care about doing my part but here I've been sucked into a culture of waste for the sake of convenience. I mean, it's way more convenient to just throw my Subway wrapper out the car window than to actually take it to a trash can, and it's allowed. But it's attitudes like this that also scare me a bit. For a country that will soon have the largest population in the world to take such a haphazard attitude towards the environment doesn't seem to bode well for the future. Of course, we Americans are horribly wasteful in our consumption but at least most of us have been trained well to turn off lights when we're not in a room or use the trash can and recycle bottles. So, here's my pledge to try to return to this. For now, India is my adoptive country and I can't help but feel a bit responsible for taking care of it any way I can. And my guilty conscience is starting to weigh on me.
The second thing that happened this week is that we were invited to a dinner at the US Consul General's house. As many of you know, I had foreign service aspirations, going so far as to take the FSOT before this IDEX opportunity presented itself. Being surrounded by Americans who were doing what I had considered my dream job was refreshing. While some were young and on their first post (apparently Hyderabad is considered a 20/30 on hardship postings; Lagos in Nigeria is 25. I wish I would get hardship pay here!), others, including the Consul General, had been all over the world. And all love their jobs. While you have to pay your dues at the beginning, working on visa applications, there is a huge opportunity for advancement and honestly, the perks aren't half bad. Of course, I did ask about the worst part of the job and the answers were inevitably similar to any other employees of the government, but these seemed small in comparison to the benefits.
I left the house determined to take the test again and try my hand at the State Department if possible. I mean, I passed it last time so how hard can a second time be? Let's hope I just didn't jinx myself. I also have realized that I feel a bit more positive towards the possible opportunity to stay and work in India next year as well. And at least now I am feeling much more in tune with myself again. It's been a hard four months and I've had to confront personal and professional challenges that I've never experienced before. But now it's time to take a breath and really start to do things for myself and my personal growth too and return to what is important to me. No more getting lost in my busy schedule or the job. And with that, time to go plan what side dishes to bring to our Thanksgiving feast for next week. Happy Turkey Day in advance!
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Doubts
I have a doubt.
In India, people don’t have questions, they have doubts. For instance, in class, a student will say “Miss, I have a doubt about this problem.” And today, I find this phrase much more apropos than what we would say. Question just doesn’t cut it.
You see, I am enjoying the fellowship, I really am. But the other day it dawned on me that I am lacking a bit of the passion in what I do. It is hard to see the impact you are making and while personally I am learning a lot, I am not feeling much like a change agent. Instead, I feel like many people in development must—like a well-intentioned foreigner who really is only scratching the surface of the world’s poverty, economic inequality, and quality of life problems. So what to do?
And then of course there is the doubt about the future. The all-encompassing question of “what are you going to be when you grow up?” I thought I had this figured out. For all intents and purposes I was going to be the next Muhammad Yunus in microfinance or Jeffrey Sachs in academia, both working to bridge the poverty gap. But now I don’t know how to get to that path. And I question if that is even a path or just a combination of luck, happenstance and some foresight on their parts.
So yes, for the next several months I will be working to rediscover that passion. I know it’s there, I just feel like the noise and craziness of life here has coated it over with a bit of dust. So the real doubt becomes, what do I make of my life from here? It is not too early to be asking this question and as the days seem to slip by without me even realizing it, I am beginning to think now is the time to start deciding. I mean, do I stay in India next year and possible help to manage the IDEX program at a city here? Is this where I can see the true impact of what we’re doing and help to sustain and continue it? Or do I stay here and try to work for an NGO or social enterprise to be as hands on as possible, even if the income I make is less than ideal?
Yet staying in India doesn’t mean things will stay the same. The people that are the most important to me here are all leaving for various locations and life paths. And my friends and family back home will be beyond disappointed in not having me around for another year. Despite my homesickness, especially with the upcoming holidays, going home long term seems too soon. If I go home, I know I will not be able to find something that makes me feel like the change practitioner I want to be, assuming I find any job at all. Only so much can be done from sitting behind a cubicle, even if it is a cubicle at a hard-working organization. And I haven’t even breached on the subject of what to do about graduate school.
The thing about living and working here is it is hard. Harder than anything I will probably ever experience. In order to make it here, I get so caught up in the day to day that I forget to take a step back and look at the whole picture. I need to do this more. So now, it remains to be seen where this fellowship and the future will take me but I just hope I find my calling sooner rather than later. Thanks for lending me an ear and for putting up with an introspective blog that probably bores you. I’m open for suggestions/ life advice/ job offers if you feel so inclined. I promise next time there will be some more fun to be read about.
In India, people don’t have questions, they have doubts. For instance, in class, a student will say “Miss, I have a doubt about this problem.” And today, I find this phrase much more apropos than what we would say. Question just doesn’t cut it.
You see, I am enjoying the fellowship, I really am. But the other day it dawned on me that I am lacking a bit of the passion in what I do. It is hard to see the impact you are making and while personally I am learning a lot, I am not feeling much like a change agent. Instead, I feel like many people in development must—like a well-intentioned foreigner who really is only scratching the surface of the world’s poverty, economic inequality, and quality of life problems. So what to do?
And then of course there is the doubt about the future. The all-encompassing question of “what are you going to be when you grow up?” I thought I had this figured out. For all intents and purposes I was going to be the next Muhammad Yunus in microfinance or Jeffrey Sachs in academia, both working to bridge the poverty gap. But now I don’t know how to get to that path. And I question if that is even a path or just a combination of luck, happenstance and some foresight on their parts.
So yes, for the next several months I will be working to rediscover that passion. I know it’s there, I just feel like the noise and craziness of life here has coated it over with a bit of dust. So the real doubt becomes, what do I make of my life from here? It is not too early to be asking this question and as the days seem to slip by without me even realizing it, I am beginning to think now is the time to start deciding. I mean, do I stay in India next year and possible help to manage the IDEX program at a city here? Is this where I can see the true impact of what we’re doing and help to sustain and continue it? Or do I stay here and try to work for an NGO or social enterprise to be as hands on as possible, even if the income I make is less than ideal?
Yet staying in India doesn’t mean things will stay the same. The people that are the most important to me here are all leaving for various locations and life paths. And my friends and family back home will be beyond disappointed in not having me around for another year. Despite my homesickness, especially with the upcoming holidays, going home long term seems too soon. If I go home, I know I will not be able to find something that makes me feel like the change practitioner I want to be, assuming I find any job at all. Only so much can be done from sitting behind a cubicle, even if it is a cubicle at a hard-working organization. And I haven’t even breached on the subject of what to do about graduate school.
The thing about living and working here is it is hard. Harder than anything I will probably ever experience. In order to make it here, I get so caught up in the day to day that I forget to take a step back and look at the whole picture. I need to do this more. So now, it remains to be seen where this fellowship and the future will take me but I just hope I find my calling sooner rather than later. Thanks for lending me an ear and for putting up with an introspective blog that probably bores you. I’m open for suggestions/ life advice/ job offers if you feel so inclined. I promise next time there will be some more fun to be read about.
Monday, October 31, 2011
A Love/ Hate Relationship
This post was supposed to be about the holiday Diwali and how cool all the lights were up around the city and in people's houses, and how crazily loud all the fireworks going off were. And there were to be lush descriptions of the food and sweets involved. But like all plans I have ever made here, India has a way of sneaking in and foiling them, either with a stealth attack or a big bang. Or in my case, a fever.
So there I was on Diwali, with a temperature of 102, feeling sorry for myself as all sick people seem to, and running all the possible outcomes of my illness through my mind. I mean, on the one hand, I could die. And when you're living in a developing country known for its tropical diseases, that doesn't seem like such a distant possibility. Or I could have to get shipped back to the US. Now this thought was interesting... and presented me with some conflicted emotions. I mean I'm at that point of being abroad where I'm getting homesick. It's fall in Oregon right now, the leaves are changing, there's that nip in the air but the sun is still just as likely to shine as it is to rain, the holidays are coming up and let me just say, the prospect of spending Thanksgiving and Christmas sandwiched between working days (since people don't get them off for normal holidays anyway), in balmy 85 degree weather without my family is less than ideal.
But on the other hand, I started to think about all that I would miss if I had to leave India right now. And I was suprised by what I came up with. Let me say right here, I realize I was being a tad dramatic, but when you have a fever, your mind tends to make up things and mine was already picturing the sad state India would be in without me and vice versa. Of course, I was able to daydream about what I wouldn't mind never seeing again as well. So what follows is a list of things that I would miss if I hadn't recovered from my mystery illness (pretty sure it was just the flu) and had to be packed home, feverish and clammy, before my time here was up, alongside of a few things I could most definitely do without:
Miss List:
1. My amazing Indian friends and my IDEX "Family" here -- you all know who you are and we haven't had near enough time to have a blast, argue, work together, and socialize yet.
2. My school -- Not only is my school Principal amazing but all of the students and teachers have made my experience at the very least more fulfilling than staying home working in a cubicle in Oregon.
3. The Chai guy down the road -- I walk by this guy every day, several times a day and have long since stopped buying chai from him. But he always waves, smiles happily, and says hello. Ditto the watchman at our neighborhood restaurant, the vegetable guy, the pharmacy workers across the street, and every staff member of Just Parantha.
4. On that note,I would miss my fruit and vegetable stands. I mean, it's nice to walk down the road, point at the stack of freshly cut papaya and watermelon and say "1 please" and voila, I have fruit. And the fresh vegetables housed in the roadside stand beat those at the supermarket anyday. And since I'm starved for anything healthy here, at least I can count these as small victories.
5. Hyderabad's "Western" clubs -- As a woman, we usually get into these for free and furthermore, as foreigners, we can often get our friends in for free as well. But the best part about these is the way they all try to fit a theme and for the most part, just miss the mark. But in a fun way. Take "10 Downing Street" which is modeled on an English pub but hasn't ever seen a pint of Guinness or a real English beer grace its bar. Still, it's endearing.
6. Cheap food - Spending less than a $1 on a fulling lunch, Pepsi in glass bottle included, is something I would dearly dearly DEARLY miss. Plus the quality of a streetside dosa or puri can't really be captured in how much you pay for it. So yummy. And so convenient. Well and all the food here is just delicious. So, yeah food in general.
7.And speaking of convenience, did you know you can get practically anything at practically any time? Okay well not really because the 24 hour culture that we have doesn't quite work here. But if you know the right people and places, that midnight chicken schwarma, served out of a watchman's post in front of an apartment building on Rd. 10 could just be yours.
8. Simplicity -- Okay so a lot of this country is complicated. Very complicated. And usually loud. But some things are just simpler and lack all the bells and whistles we have. Like my favorite steakhouse serves some of the best steaks I have ever had the joy of tasting, but the actual restaurant looks a bit sketchy to the western eye. No A/C, purple walls, less than stellar lighting. But that's the beauty of the place. Or the coffee place Lamakaan which also lacks A/C but has some of the cheapest wifi around, which is free, because of this. Not bad.
9. Autorickshaws -- A controversial declaration, I know. But really, there is something to be said about always being driven around by someone else. Yes they drive me crazy most of the time and yes I don't particularly like having to argue with someone every time I want to go somewhere. But traffic is one thing I don't worry about because these guys will mow down anyone in the way. And when I'm in the backseat on my way somewhere, that's just fine by me. Plus, those times when you get the rare happy auto driver who plays you some bollywood jams is always priceless.
10. Nothing is ever understaffed -- At times this can drive me crazy. I can't walk into a store anywhere without having some salesman descend upon me and continue to follow me around, making any browsing super awkward. And while having two servers to every one diner at a restaurant can also seem ridiculous and ineffecient, at least there is always one designated water pourer, one designated curry distributor, one separate roti deliverer, and of course, one biryani scooper.
11. Indian kids -- They go beyond just the school children. These are the kids on the street who stare at you with a gaping mouth, wondering if you have that skin disease that takes all the melanin out of your skin, or if you're just an alien. Yet they will usually wave and yell whatever English they know at you. "Hello how are you" being a favorite. Adorable.
12. Lack of lines -- Okay so this drove me absolutely crazy for about a month. And then I realized that I just need to get in on the deal. Just shove your way forward and unless you end up with a pushy Indian aunty behind you, no one really says anything. Okay wait. I think perfectionistic, type-A personality me still does hate this. But I'm adapting.
This brings me, briefly, to things I wouldn't miss about India. Sorry but I have to say it now.
The Not So Crazy About List:
1. The fluidity of time -- having studied abroad in Spain, I was all about not being rigidly on time and letting things go with the flow because everyone was consistently like 15-20 minutes late. But there is no consistency here. You say 30 minutes which can mean 15 minutes to one Indian and anywhere from 1 hour to 2 hours to another. And try as I might, 22 years of American punctuality being drilled into me won't escape. I just get more stressed out by you being late and unfortunately as a foreigner, if I'm left standing anywhere for any amount of time waiting for you, I'm kind of conscpicous. And by kind of I mean like a lot.
2. Autorickshaws -- Drivers consistently quote me prices 4 times what I should be paying just because I'm white. I will not pay 150 rupees from GVK to Rd. 12 (a 20 rupee journey) so if I literally laugh in your face, you know why.
3. Staring -- I'm so used to it now, it doesn't really phase me in Hyderabad. I've just come to terms with the fact that I'm a minor celebrity for like 10 months. But there's a difference between the quick start of surprise upon seeing my sadly pale skin or the blatant about-to-fall-off-your-motorbike because you noticed me walking by gaping. Didn't your mom ever teach you staring was rude?
4. Nothing is ever understaffed -- Yet still everything takes twice as long. I once ordered a mango smoothie from a restaurant down the road that I'm pretty sure is just a cover for a drug dealing ring. Because it should not take five men an hour and half to make one smoothie. Unless your actually milking the cow, going to pick the mango, and then hand mixing. I am not exaggerating. An hour and half. Oh yes and the 1sr man at the liquor store can only pack your liquor. You must wait for the 2nd man on the phone to be told to tell the third man (who is within earshot) how much change to give you while a 3rd man unlocks the lock box and passes the change back to the 2nd man to give to you.
5.Pollution, traffic, and lack of green -- My Hyderabadi friends would be quick to point out that there is green in Hyderabad. I'm sorry though, one park doesn't really count. And when walking around that park entails breathing in exahust that I'm pretty sure takes 10 minutes off my life for every minute I inhale, it definitely isn't the oasis of calm I need to escape life in India.
6. Public urination -- To a man, India is a giant urinal. Really. Anytime, anywhere, just pull your car/auto/bike/cow over to the side of the road and do your business in the wide open. And make sure you do it upwind so that lovely smell of ammonia will reach the nose of anyone in a 20 meter radius. Lovely.
7.Doing something just because one person thought it was a good idea -- Yes you should listen to your boss. But just because your boss once told you to save money by packing all of the customer's groceries into one bag doesn't mean you should continue to do it, even if that one bag is physically impossible for said customer to lift. And on that note, what genuis decided you must pay for something, get your receipt stamped saying you paid it, and then show that receipt again upon exit of a building to a security guard who hole punches it even though he just saw you get the receipt stamped and your hands are full? Ditto on the useless metal detectors and pat downs at malls but having no security to get on a long distance train ride.
8. Buses that don't go where they say they go -- That bus goes to Amberpet. Or so the sign posted clearly on the front says. So imagine your suprise when the ticket man comes to get money from you and you say "Amberpet" and he promptly shakes his head and pushes you out at the next stop.
9. No one ever has change -- Just once I would like to pay for a 100 rupee item ($2) with a thousand rupees ($20) and not get any complaints, moans or "no change madam" responses. For a country who has a rapidly expanding economy, no one ever has any change ever. Which is always a lie as the cashbox brimming with 100s that the cashier just hid from sight shows. Everyone is just hoarding their change from everyone else but the ATM doesn't seem to care...
Okay I think that's enough India for most of you for now. My fever has long since disappated and I am back to loving/hating life here as per usual. But I guess that's the point. Why go somewhere where I'm happy all the time or sad all the time? You have to dislike some things to like other things. And if there's one thing India has taught me it's never underestimate the power of the good to paint over the bad, because how else do you think people survive here?
So there I was on Diwali, with a temperature of 102, feeling sorry for myself as all sick people seem to, and running all the possible outcomes of my illness through my mind. I mean, on the one hand, I could die. And when you're living in a developing country known for its tropical diseases, that doesn't seem like such a distant possibility. Or I could have to get shipped back to the US. Now this thought was interesting... and presented me with some conflicted emotions. I mean I'm at that point of being abroad where I'm getting homesick. It's fall in Oregon right now, the leaves are changing, there's that nip in the air but the sun is still just as likely to shine as it is to rain, the holidays are coming up and let me just say, the prospect of spending Thanksgiving and Christmas sandwiched between working days (since people don't get them off for normal holidays anyway), in balmy 85 degree weather without my family is less than ideal.
But on the other hand, I started to think about all that I would miss if I had to leave India right now. And I was suprised by what I came up with. Let me say right here, I realize I was being a tad dramatic, but when you have a fever, your mind tends to make up things and mine was already picturing the sad state India would be in without me and vice versa. Of course, I was able to daydream about what I wouldn't mind never seeing again as well. So what follows is a list of things that I would miss if I hadn't recovered from my mystery illness (pretty sure it was just the flu) and had to be packed home, feverish and clammy, before my time here was up, alongside of a few things I could most definitely do without:
Miss List:
1. My amazing Indian friends and my IDEX "Family" here -- you all know who you are and we haven't had near enough time to have a blast, argue, work together, and socialize yet.
2. My school -- Not only is my school Principal amazing but all of the students and teachers have made my experience at the very least more fulfilling than staying home working in a cubicle in Oregon.
3. The Chai guy down the road -- I walk by this guy every day, several times a day and have long since stopped buying chai from him. But he always waves, smiles happily, and says hello. Ditto the watchman at our neighborhood restaurant, the vegetable guy, the pharmacy workers across the street, and every staff member of Just Parantha.
4. On that note,I would miss my fruit and vegetable stands. I mean, it's nice to walk down the road, point at the stack of freshly cut papaya and watermelon and say "1 please" and voila, I have fruit. And the fresh vegetables housed in the roadside stand beat those at the supermarket anyday. And since I'm starved for anything healthy here, at least I can count these as small victories.
5. Hyderabad's "Western" clubs -- As a woman, we usually get into these for free and furthermore, as foreigners, we can often get our friends in for free as well. But the best part about these is the way they all try to fit a theme and for the most part, just miss the mark. But in a fun way. Take "10 Downing Street" which is modeled on an English pub but hasn't ever seen a pint of Guinness or a real English beer grace its bar. Still, it's endearing.
6. Cheap food - Spending less than a $1 on a fulling lunch, Pepsi in glass bottle included, is something I would dearly dearly DEARLY miss. Plus the quality of a streetside dosa or puri can't really be captured in how much you pay for it. So yummy. And so convenient. Well and all the food here is just delicious. So, yeah food in general.
7.And speaking of convenience, did you know you can get practically anything at practically any time? Okay well not really because the 24 hour culture that we have doesn't quite work here. But if you know the right people and places, that midnight chicken schwarma, served out of a watchman's post in front of an apartment building on Rd. 10 could just be yours.
8. Simplicity -- Okay so a lot of this country is complicated. Very complicated. And usually loud. But some things are just simpler and lack all the bells and whistles we have. Like my favorite steakhouse serves some of the best steaks I have ever had the joy of tasting, but the actual restaurant looks a bit sketchy to the western eye. No A/C, purple walls, less than stellar lighting. But that's the beauty of the place. Or the coffee place Lamakaan which also lacks A/C but has some of the cheapest wifi around, which is free, because of this. Not bad.
9. Autorickshaws -- A controversial declaration, I know. But really, there is something to be said about always being driven around by someone else. Yes they drive me crazy most of the time and yes I don't particularly like having to argue with someone every time I want to go somewhere. But traffic is one thing I don't worry about because these guys will mow down anyone in the way. And when I'm in the backseat on my way somewhere, that's just fine by me. Plus, those times when you get the rare happy auto driver who plays you some bollywood jams is always priceless.
10. Nothing is ever understaffed -- At times this can drive me crazy. I can't walk into a store anywhere without having some salesman descend upon me and continue to follow me around, making any browsing super awkward. And while having two servers to every one diner at a restaurant can also seem ridiculous and ineffecient, at least there is always one designated water pourer, one designated curry distributor, one separate roti deliverer, and of course, one biryani scooper.
11. Indian kids -- They go beyond just the school children. These are the kids on the street who stare at you with a gaping mouth, wondering if you have that skin disease that takes all the melanin out of your skin, or if you're just an alien. Yet they will usually wave and yell whatever English they know at you. "Hello how are you" being a favorite. Adorable.
12. Lack of lines -- Okay so this drove me absolutely crazy for about a month. And then I realized that I just need to get in on the deal. Just shove your way forward and unless you end up with a pushy Indian aunty behind you, no one really says anything. Okay wait. I think perfectionistic, type-A personality me still does hate this. But I'm adapting.
This brings me, briefly, to things I wouldn't miss about India. Sorry but I have to say it now.
The Not So Crazy About List:
1. The fluidity of time -- having studied abroad in Spain, I was all about not being rigidly on time and letting things go with the flow because everyone was consistently like 15-20 minutes late. But there is no consistency here. You say 30 minutes which can mean 15 minutes to one Indian and anywhere from 1 hour to 2 hours to another. And try as I might, 22 years of American punctuality being drilled into me won't escape. I just get more stressed out by you being late and unfortunately as a foreigner, if I'm left standing anywhere for any amount of time waiting for you, I'm kind of conscpicous. And by kind of I mean like a lot.
2. Autorickshaws -- Drivers consistently quote me prices 4 times what I should be paying just because I'm white. I will not pay 150 rupees from GVK to Rd. 12 (a 20 rupee journey) so if I literally laugh in your face, you know why.
3. Staring -- I'm so used to it now, it doesn't really phase me in Hyderabad. I've just come to terms with the fact that I'm a minor celebrity for like 10 months. But there's a difference between the quick start of surprise upon seeing my sadly pale skin or the blatant about-to-fall-off-your-motorbike because you noticed me walking by gaping. Didn't your mom ever teach you staring was rude?
4. Nothing is ever understaffed -- Yet still everything takes twice as long. I once ordered a mango smoothie from a restaurant down the road that I'm pretty sure is just a cover for a drug dealing ring. Because it should not take five men an hour and half to make one smoothie. Unless your actually milking the cow, going to pick the mango, and then hand mixing. I am not exaggerating. An hour and half. Oh yes and the 1sr man at the liquor store can only pack your liquor. You must wait for the 2nd man on the phone to be told to tell the third man (who is within earshot) how much change to give you while a 3rd man unlocks the lock box and passes the change back to the 2nd man to give to you.
5.Pollution, traffic, and lack of green -- My Hyderabadi friends would be quick to point out that there is green in Hyderabad. I'm sorry though, one park doesn't really count. And when walking around that park entails breathing in exahust that I'm pretty sure takes 10 minutes off my life for every minute I inhale, it definitely isn't the oasis of calm I need to escape life in India.
6. Public urination -- To a man, India is a giant urinal. Really. Anytime, anywhere, just pull your car/auto/bike/cow over to the side of the road and do your business in the wide open. And make sure you do it upwind so that lovely smell of ammonia will reach the nose of anyone in a 20 meter radius. Lovely.
7.Doing something just because one person thought it was a good idea -- Yes you should listen to your boss. But just because your boss once told you to save money by packing all of the customer's groceries into one bag doesn't mean you should continue to do it, even if that one bag is physically impossible for said customer to lift. And on that note, what genuis decided you must pay for something, get your receipt stamped saying you paid it, and then show that receipt again upon exit of a building to a security guard who hole punches it even though he just saw you get the receipt stamped and your hands are full? Ditto on the useless metal detectors and pat downs at malls but having no security to get on a long distance train ride.
8. Buses that don't go where they say they go -- That bus goes to Amberpet. Or so the sign posted clearly on the front says. So imagine your suprise when the ticket man comes to get money from you and you say "Amberpet" and he promptly shakes his head and pushes you out at the next stop.
9. No one ever has change -- Just once I would like to pay for a 100 rupee item ($2) with a thousand rupees ($20) and not get any complaints, moans or "no change madam" responses. For a country who has a rapidly expanding economy, no one ever has any change ever. Which is always a lie as the cashbox brimming with 100s that the cashier just hid from sight shows. Everyone is just hoarding their change from everyone else but the ATM doesn't seem to care...
Okay I think that's enough India for most of you for now. My fever has long since disappated and I am back to loving/hating life here as per usual. But I guess that's the point. Why go somewhere where I'm happy all the time or sad all the time? You have to dislike some things to like other things. And if there's one thing India has taught me it's never underestimate the power of the good to paint over the bad, because how else do you think people survive here?
Monday, October 17, 2011
Why yes, I do have a job
Over the past few weeks, many of you have fallen under the impression that my time in India is all about traveling, eating, hanging out with friends, with the occasional visit to my school thrown in. And while the IDEX Fellowship is about expanding your horizons, it may surprise you all who know my social butterfly ways that I still have a job to do and I think it's been a while since you've heard about it. I take it for granted that my day-to-day life in school and at meetings is rather boring for you, yet in order to really get a full picture of life in Hyderabad, you do have to understand a bit more about what I am doing and why. Well and this helps assuage my conscience because I have been really neglectful about staying in contact with a lot of you. But I promise- I have evening meetings at least 2-3 times a week and even have events to attend on the weekends. So I don't love you all any less! But back to work...
So social enterprise. I know in my first post I attempted to explain what I was doing under the fellowship and I believe I did a rather poor job. First, I should probably explain what the whole concept of social enterprise is. Social enterprise is about combining business acumen with a social mission although many social enterpreneurs don't even realize they are doing both. You see, most of our school owners see themselves as businessmen(or women) plain and simple. Perhaps they are doing a good deed for the kids in the city but at the end of the day, their bottom line is what matters most. But this doesn't really make them any less of social entrepreneurs. Our job is to help them not only with their business model but to enhance the quality of the social service they are delivering. And outside of the schools, we all interviewed and were selected for various Professional Development positions with other social entreprises around the city and the country.
So what does this look like? Well in my case, I am focusing heavily on extra-curriculars and infrastructure improvements in my school. For instance, I plan to get some semblance of a library up and running, have created drama and art clubs for students to express themselves outside of academia, have connected 5th graders in the US with 6th graders at my school through a pen pal program, will help run a cricket league and spelling bee, have been holding computer and English training seminars for the teachers in my school, and am a resource to bring in career training and other educational services to better the school.
I am also currently working with the Indian School Finance Company which services many of the slum schools in Hyderabad. ISFC gives loans to schools for infrastructural improvements where most banks fail. However, as ISFC has only been up and running for several years, there is still a lack of information about the impact of these loans. And that's where me and another fellow come in. We will be visiting at least 50 of these schools to conduct in-depth interviews with the school owners and creating a profile for each of these. We will also be compiling a SIM survey for all 247 schools with loans to complete. At the end of the year, we hope to have a report detailing ISFC impact and a template for measuring future needs within the community.
And of course, all of this has created one of the least structured work schedules of my life. I mean, I do go to school on a regular basis although some days are shorter or longer than others depending on other work commitments. But then it's the random meetings, information sessions, and other group collaberations that come on a irregular basis. And this being India, meeting times are moved around, cancelled or change location on a last minute basis all the time. Just part of the Indian business scene.Yet I have had an opportunity not only to collaberate with other fellows who have great ideas, but also meet movers and shakers in the development scene and even in Indian business. Multi-millionaires and CEOs of some of the most exciting social enterprises in Hyderabad? Been there, done that.
So yes, I do work, actually more than I expect most weeks. My 9-5, Monday-Friday internship seems like another lifetime, especially when I sit in on a teacher training session all day Saturday or spend Sunday afternoons in group meetings. But it's already been a fulfilling experience. I mean, things definitely don't work out like I expect them to, pretty much all the time, but they also take unexpected turns for the better. There really isn't anything to beat the feeling of having a student at school excited to learn or your school owner impressed by an idea you have and seeing it implemented in your school. It's about the small changes you can make and the individual connections. Maybe I won't change the world, or even India, or even Hyderabad, but perhaps I can change things for the better at Lohia's Little Angels High School. I sure hope so...
So social enterprise. I know in my first post I attempted to explain what I was doing under the fellowship and I believe I did a rather poor job. First, I should probably explain what the whole concept of social enterprise is. Social enterprise is about combining business acumen with a social mission although many social enterpreneurs don't even realize they are doing both. You see, most of our school owners see themselves as businessmen(or women) plain and simple. Perhaps they are doing a good deed for the kids in the city but at the end of the day, their bottom line is what matters most. But this doesn't really make them any less of social entrepreneurs. Our job is to help them not only with their business model but to enhance the quality of the social service they are delivering. And outside of the schools, we all interviewed and were selected for various Professional Development positions with other social entreprises around the city and the country.
So what does this look like? Well in my case, I am focusing heavily on extra-curriculars and infrastructure improvements in my school. For instance, I plan to get some semblance of a library up and running, have created drama and art clubs for students to express themselves outside of academia, have connected 5th graders in the US with 6th graders at my school through a pen pal program, will help run a cricket league and spelling bee, have been holding computer and English training seminars for the teachers in my school, and am a resource to bring in career training and other educational services to better the school.
I am also currently working with the Indian School Finance Company which services many of the slum schools in Hyderabad. ISFC gives loans to schools for infrastructural improvements where most banks fail. However, as ISFC has only been up and running for several years, there is still a lack of information about the impact of these loans. And that's where me and another fellow come in. We will be visiting at least 50 of these schools to conduct in-depth interviews with the school owners and creating a profile for each of these. We will also be compiling a SIM survey for all 247 schools with loans to complete. At the end of the year, we hope to have a report detailing ISFC impact and a template for measuring future needs within the community.
And of course, all of this has created one of the least structured work schedules of my life. I mean, I do go to school on a regular basis although some days are shorter or longer than others depending on other work commitments. But then it's the random meetings, information sessions, and other group collaberations that come on a irregular basis. And this being India, meeting times are moved around, cancelled or change location on a last minute basis all the time. Just part of the Indian business scene.Yet I have had an opportunity not only to collaberate with other fellows who have great ideas, but also meet movers and shakers in the development scene and even in Indian business. Multi-millionaires and CEOs of some of the most exciting social enterprises in Hyderabad? Been there, done that.
So yes, I do work, actually more than I expect most weeks. My 9-5, Monday-Friday internship seems like another lifetime, especially when I sit in on a teacher training session all day Saturday or spend Sunday afternoons in group meetings. But it's already been a fulfilling experience. I mean, things definitely don't work out like I expect them to, pretty much all the time, but they also take unexpected turns for the better. There really isn't anything to beat the feeling of having a student at school excited to learn or your school owner impressed by an idea you have and seeing it implemented in your school. It's about the small changes you can make and the individual connections. Maybe I won't change the world, or even India, or even Hyderabad, but perhaps I can change things for the better at Lohia's Little Angels High School. I sure hope so...
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
[Miss]Communication?
The one thing about this blog is that many of my Indian friends have decided to start reading it too. Which is fine. Unless I want to post sweeping generalizations or help perpetuate stereotypes and I'm afraid I may just be doing that now. Luckily though, their presence serves to keep me honest and from totally misrepresenting the country as a whole. So I will start this post by apologizing for the things I am about to describe and for the fact that I will probably get things completely wrong or offend. All in good fun, right? You see, I briefly contemplated discussing something important and serious, like corruption in the country or the state of poverty in the city. But those can wait and India receives enough bad press sometimes without me having to perpetuate it. Instead, I decided it’s time to expose my western audience to the eccentricities of the Southern (or even just Hyderabadi) Indian way of communicating. Not to say that one way is better than the other. To the contrary, I am finding a lot of things in India a bit more my style than what I see in the US. Yet it still bears mention that some things are, well, different.
So let’s start with a simple act that I have already mentioned a few times in my blog. The head wobble. Actually this isn’t an epidemic in all parts of India but if you spend enough time hanging around my school or with auto rickshaw drivers, you learn quite quickly that this has taken the place of any direct “yes” in the country. In fact, it is so prevalent that I find myself doing it without thinking. I didn’t realize this until I was on a recent Skype conversation with a friend back home. She asked me a simple yes or no question and I responded by moving my head first right and then left and saying “ha” or yes. “Umm Jenny, what did you just do?” was the response. Of course, on the other side of things is the tongue click. If you want to respond to someone by saying no or if you make a mistake you just sort of incline your head to one side and make a “tisk” noise. Way easier than verbalizing the word no.
Now time to move on to the distinct way that many Indians use English. Again, these are only things I have heard and seen from a few and not all, but they’re prevalent enough to warrant some attention. First of all, everyone is a "sir" or "madam." When I arrived I was horrible at remembering to add sir, miss, or madam to the end of the names of teachers at my school. Now, I've reached such proficiency that I need to stop myself when talking to Americans. They would just be weirded out. And if I had a rupee for every time I saw a sign advertising a restaurant-cum-bar or a spa-cum-hair salon, well I’d probably have 100 rupees. Vestiges of the Old Colonizer definitely still remain. I mean, here, instead of waiting in line at the drugstore for reading glasses, I would queue at the dispensary for spectacles. And then there’s the small things that often take me a few minutes to understand. For instance, if someone says they are “mostly” going to do something, it means they will. Like “I am mostly coming to visit” means that they will come to visit. Or “shift.” People don’t move to houses or locations, instead they “shift to Chennai.” And my personal favorites are the abbreviations everyone here uses. You remember how teenage girls were known for texting things like “c u l8r?” Well that is not just a youth phenomenon here. Everyone does it. From Facebook, to texts, even to movie titles like “I Hate Luv Storys” (yes stories is spelled wrong, I hope purposefully) or “C U at 9” (actual movie title, can you believe it?) And now I am just as guilty, often reverting back to my 7th grade self via text messages or Facebook chat and using way more emoticons than I ever have before in my life. Just be glad I'm not even starting on the misspelling or randomly worded signs I see because that alone could comprise a few blog posts...
Most importantly though must be the way people get what they want. I have already complained about the amount of time it often takes me to get things or order them, such as the catastrophe of our wifi purchasing in July showed. But now things are quite simple. If someone says "Sunday," I usually plan for Wednesday. And if you want to make extra sure something gets done or gets done well, just slip in ten rupees or twenty rupees and that'll do the trick. And if people still aren't listening to you? That's when you pull the "I'm disappointed in you, I will take my business elsewhere, can't anyone do this right" card. Because while people may grumble and complain (the customer is always right mentality DEFINITELY doesn't apply here), they realize they have a lot of competition for your business since the guy next door is probably selling the exact same thing.
Of course, this leaves me with some of the aspects I love most about Indian communication. For one, people are so direct here. "What is your name" can just as promptly be followed up with "How much money do you make." If someone has any problem at school, they come directly to me with it. Or if you are in the woman's way on her scooter, she'll yell at you immediately. No beating around the bush here. And this also makes people so much more affectionate and generous. It didn't take long for the girls at school to be telling me how much they love "Jenny Ma'am" or for my school teachers to try and force feed me everything in sight when they thought I looked too thin! Me, too thin? Ha! I think that's the moment I feel in love with this country...So for now, especially to my lovely Indian friends, keep on keeping on. Or as you say, cu l8r ;)
So let’s start with a simple act that I have already mentioned a few times in my blog. The head wobble. Actually this isn’t an epidemic in all parts of India but if you spend enough time hanging around my school or with auto rickshaw drivers, you learn quite quickly that this has taken the place of any direct “yes” in the country. In fact, it is so prevalent that I find myself doing it without thinking. I didn’t realize this until I was on a recent Skype conversation with a friend back home. She asked me a simple yes or no question and I responded by moving my head first right and then left and saying “ha” or yes. “Umm Jenny, what did you just do?” was the response. Of course, on the other side of things is the tongue click. If you want to respond to someone by saying no or if you make a mistake you just sort of incline your head to one side and make a “tisk” noise. Way easier than verbalizing the word no.
Now time to move on to the distinct way that many Indians use English. Again, these are only things I have heard and seen from a few and not all, but they’re prevalent enough to warrant some attention. First of all, everyone is a "sir" or "madam." When I arrived I was horrible at remembering to add sir, miss, or madam to the end of the names of teachers at my school. Now, I've reached such proficiency that I need to stop myself when talking to Americans. They would just be weirded out. And if I had a rupee for every time I saw a sign advertising a restaurant-cum-bar or a spa-cum-hair salon, well I’d probably have 100 rupees. Vestiges of the Old Colonizer definitely still remain. I mean, here, instead of waiting in line at the drugstore for reading glasses, I would queue at the dispensary for spectacles. And then there’s the small things that often take me a few minutes to understand. For instance, if someone says they are “mostly” going to do something, it means they will. Like “I am mostly coming to visit” means that they will come to visit. Or “shift.” People don’t move to houses or locations, instead they “shift to Chennai.” And my personal favorites are the abbreviations everyone here uses. You remember how teenage girls were known for texting things like “c u l8r?” Well that is not just a youth phenomenon here. Everyone does it. From Facebook, to texts, even to movie titles like “I Hate Luv Storys” (yes stories is spelled wrong, I hope purposefully) or “C U at 9” (actual movie title, can you believe it?) And now I am just as guilty, often reverting back to my 7th grade self via text messages or Facebook chat and using way more emoticons than I ever have before in my life. Just be glad I'm not even starting on the misspelling or randomly worded signs I see because that alone could comprise a few blog posts...
Most importantly though must be the way people get what they want. I have already complained about the amount of time it often takes me to get things or order them, such as the catastrophe of our wifi purchasing in July showed. But now things are quite simple. If someone says "Sunday," I usually plan for Wednesday. And if you want to make extra sure something gets done or gets done well, just slip in ten rupees or twenty rupees and that'll do the trick. And if people still aren't listening to you? That's when you pull the "I'm disappointed in you, I will take my business elsewhere, can't anyone do this right" card. Because while people may grumble and complain (the customer is always right mentality DEFINITELY doesn't apply here), they realize they have a lot of competition for your business since the guy next door is probably selling the exact same thing.
Of course, this leaves me with some of the aspects I love most about Indian communication. For one, people are so direct here. "What is your name" can just as promptly be followed up with "How much money do you make." If someone has any problem at school, they come directly to me with it. Or if you are in the woman's way on her scooter, she'll yell at you immediately. No beating around the bush here. And this also makes people so much more affectionate and generous. It didn't take long for the girls at school to be telling me how much they love "Jenny Ma'am" or for my school teachers to try and force feed me everything in sight when they thought I looked too thin! Me, too thin? Ha! I think that's the moment I feel in love with this country...So for now, especially to my lovely Indian friends, keep on keeping on. Or as you say, cu l8r ;)
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Chalo! Part 2
I should preface this post with a little better description of my travel partners. It does make a bit of a difference. There was me of course, another American girl, a British girl and an American boy, all friends from my fellowship program. Also with us was our Indian friend from our fellowship and I have to say at this point, I feel sorry for her. Not only did she have to do most of the bargaining and talking for us since our Hindi is nonexistent, but she had to put up with questions like "are you their guide" or "which country?" and then they would assume she was American because she was with us. Apparently Indians and Americans can't be friends. Whoops, my bad. Of course the best part would be when she would flag down a rickshaw by herself, negotiate a price for all of us and then have us come out of hiding from around the corner. You could see the rickshaw driver's face drop as he calculated just how much more money he could have squeezed out of the foreigners. But I digress. Back to the trip.
Our second morning in Jaipur found us at the "bus station" or more accurately, on one of two mini buses parked under the highway overpass. No matter though because this bus ride flew by in three hours and the warm air wafting through the window just so happened to cure my cold and cough for a few hours at least. We were on our way to Pushkar, a small town on the edge of the Thar desert, having decided Jodhpur was too far for us in our exhausted state and required too much energy. Plus we heard Pushkar was amazing, filled with holy sites, tourists, and with that, good Israeli food. Since I hadn't eaten a decent hummus in months, how could I resist?
Our hostel, the unaptly named Hotel Everest, was pleasant and within walking distance of everything we wanted to see. Of course, my head was a bit too congested to completely appreciate the view of the city and the hundreds of monkeys climbing from rooftop to rooftop but no matter. It turned out to be nothing 20 cents worth of Indian cold medicine at the pharmacy couldn't cure.
As we set off to wander the streets in the mid-afternoon, I was a bit shellshocked. Because THIS was the India we had all imagined. THIS was the place where narrow lanes bordered by fruit stands, silver shops, open air stands selling samosas, and temples were blocked by painted cows. THIS was the place where white marble steps covered in pigeon poop and cow manure led straight into the lake and pilgrims of all types came to bathe in the water. Of course, THIS was also the place that tourists had discovered and within one minute of our reaching the waterfront, an old man with paan-stained teeth approached us and led us down to the lake to perform puja or a worship ceremony. After all Pushkar is one of the holiest cities in India and the only one with the a temple devoted to the Hindu God of creation, Brahma. So it was kind of a big deal. And don't worry Mom, I didn't go into the lake itself! Instead he sat us down by the water, chanted ridiculous things in English (Happy Pamily, Black Night, 27th, Tuesday, Good Marriage, Good Karma, Welcome to Rajasthan, Namaste, How many rupees?) which made our Indian friend laugh. Puja's usually don't happen in English. Yet we perservered and still threw some flower petals into the water and emerged from the experience with bracelets and bindis and only a few less rupees in our pockets. Plus we had gotten to wander down on the ghats by the lake, which you can only really do if you are participating in Puja.
The rest of the day was spent shopping and exploring. It was the most relaxing part of the trip and people were so much friendlier here than anywhere else I had been. I'm sure some of this had to do with the fact that they really wanted us to purchase their products but no matter. The day was capped off by a wonderful dinner of hummus, pita, tzaziki, eggplant, falafel...basically all of my favorite foods on one plate. And luckily the monkey swinging precariously in the tree above us decided not to try and steal our dinner. Day one of relaxation was complete.
The next morning, my cold got the better of me and I ended up sleeping in way past what I had planned. In fact, all of my friends had gotten up at sunrise to climb up a hill to a nearby temple and I was completely oblivious to it. I was a bit disappointed to have missed it, especially after hearing their raving descriptions when we met up for breakfast, but I was feeling much better having slept. So much so in fact, I took to wandering the streets by myself for a few hours, ahead of the backpacking crowd who was still sleeping off their hangovers. As I turned a corner to the less touristy area of the town, I was met with a procession, complete with a brass band and vividly colored horses and floats. There were children dressed as Hindu gods on the backs of the horses and on the floats being carried through town. It's really something to see Laxmi drinking a juicebox.
Sufficiently cultured, I headed back to the hostel to rest up for our epic camel trek to come. Originally we were planning on doing an overnight trip but it turns out that those had been cancelled due to a robbery (again, Mom, no worries..)so we settled for a sunset trek. I have to say, having ridden horses, I thought a camel would be no big deal. But let me tell you, they are BIG! Our guides rode behind us and seemed to get a kick out of my ability to sit the camel's trot without holding on. Eventually I convinced the guide to hand over the reins and I got to steer Johnny (my camel) myself. We rode through rural land where the "gypsy workers" set up their makeshift camps. By sunset we hopped off the camels to enjoy a contraband beer (alcohol and meat are both prohibited in Pushkar due to religious reasons but honestly, you can find the former easily enough). While we were sitting in the sand and nursing our sore legs, an older man and three raggedly dressed kids came over from their nearby tent and sat down by us. The man started to play his sitar but we asked him to stop, not really wanting to see the kids being forced to dance for us. But a few minutes later, he started up again and the kids began to dance, giggling the whole time. The only way I can describe it is as a bizarre scene. Against the backdrop of one of the most beautiful sunsets of my life, three eight year olds essentially spun around in the sand to surprisingly moving music, while five camels munched on grass behind us. It's moments like these when I am hit with the realization that yes, I am definitely in India.
Our guides then told us to hurry up so we could get back before dark. Of course, when I said I was ready to go fast, I didn't realize we would be racing. But I was game. Running on a camel though is a different story. A camel's galloping stride is probably double that of a horse and at least twice as bumpy. While we won the race, I almost fell off in the process. The prospect of falling 15 feet to hard packed dirt definitely scared me for a minute. And all too soon we were back in the city, hobbling toward our hostel for our 5AM wakeup before catching a bus to Udaipur. I was sorry to leave Pushkar and not exactly looking forward to another 7 hour bus ride. But I hadn't come all this way to spend my days vegging out by a holy lake. It was time to see the Venice of the East!
I will skip the long bus ride through the greenery of southern Rajasthan and bring you straight to Udaipur. Udaipur is the home of the Maharana, not to be confused with the Maharaja. Maharajan kings were eventually conquered by Muslim empires whereas Maharana were not. Therefore, Maharana = better warrior which is why Udaipur's symbol is the horse, representing power.The other two parts of this trilogy are the elephant representing Jaipur and luck, and the camel which is the symbol of the desert city of Jaisalmar near the Pakistani border, representing love. Anyway, Udaipur is something to be seen and I'm not sure if my descriptions will give it justice. The old city is set on along the water of a huge man-made lake with the buildings cascading down into the waterfront. Out on the lake is the famous Lake Palace Hotel which would set me back a whole month's salary for one night's stay. Beyond that is the island where the King used to go for entertaining and which now houses several world-class restaurants. But the thing about Udaipur is that it sees even more tourists than other places in Rajasthan due to its beauty. So we had quite a different experience there.
It was low season which meant that wandering around the streets was an exercise in patience. Every single shop owner asked the obligatory "which country" to which I often replied in Spanish. Or we had rickshaw drivers asking us where we wanted to go even though everything was in walking distance. "New York, 100 rupees" became my classic response which usually illicited a smile but didn't stop them from trying to convince me to go somewhere else. And the problem was that we would walk by the same shop owners several times a day. It got to the point that after bargaining at a restaurant for a bottle of beer, the next morning a shop owner who had overheard the conversation was asking us how we enjoyed the beer and whether or not we wanted to go dancing that night. But luckily we had our male friend along who in the span of a day acquired four "girlfriends" or "wives" depending on the situation.
Our first evening in Udaipur we went to a cultural dance performance. I was fully prepared for the tacky tourist trap but was pleasantly surprised. There was a dance where the women wore bells on their wrists, arms and legs and hit them impressively in time with the music. There was also an entertaining puppet dance and the best was a traditional desert dance from Jaisalmar where a woman balanced six water pots on her head all the while dancing. Cheesy as it sounds, it was honestly one of my favorite things we did in Udaipur and I couldn't help but buy a pair of Rajasthani puppets to remember my time there.
Our next day included a sunrise stroll through the city and along the lake. To say it was lovely is a bit of an understatement but it was. The mist rose off the lake and everything had that orange glow that only happens once a day. Of course the moment was dampened a bit from having to dodge around cows and manure but it was still peaceful and just what we needed before going to gawk at the amazing City Palace. Much like Jaipur's, it is luxurious beyond imagine and the current king still uses the old portion for parties. In fact, you can rent it out for several hundred thousand rupees for a night if you want your wedding there. At least the number you call to do so is toll free.
After admiring the cage where the King used to keep his tigers, the ornate stables where the horses were kept, and the elephant dueling ground, we spent the rest of the afternoon gearing up for our overnight train ride to Delhi. Mostly this meant going to an all-you-can-eat restaurant and gorging ourselves on delicious curries and chapattis to last us until the morning. And believe me, I wasn't hungry for 18 hours afterwards.
The train journey itself was fine aside from an interruption at 2AM as a man confused his compartment and demanded I show him our tickets. But at least he apologized profusely. Oh yeah, and the bugs crawling all over the floor but I prefer to supress that particular memory. And I was a bit sad to be leaving the relative peace of Rajasthan and entering the chaos of Delhi. I didn't feel prepared to face it again and judging by the nervous looks on my friend's faces as we pulled into the station, neither were they. And of course, right from the start, Delhi sucked us in. We were literally pushed off the train and out of the station by the swelling crowd and found ourselves in a taxi bound for the International Youth Hostel. We chose the hostel precisely because it was off the beaten track and was set in the lush, tree-covered lanes where all of the Embassies in the city were. But we arrived at 7:30AM only to discover that we couldn't check in until 11AM and they wouldn't even let us keep our bags in the hostel until then. There was no way we were lugging our backpacks with us. My own bag had doubled in size over the last two days and I'm fairly certain it's a bad sign if your arms go numb while carrying your pack. And there was literally no restaurant or coffee shop nearby where we could relax until then.
Sadly, we were forced to do the thing I had been trying to avoid: find a hostel in the infamous Pahar Ganj neighborhood. We found one, that was cheap but a place I wouldn't mind never seeing again. We also found the place in India where all of the scary, hippy backpackers end up. I mean, up until this point, our fellow tourists tended to be young like us and similarly outfitted. But in Delhi we saw fifty year olds who looked as though they had landed in Pahar Ganj decades ago and just never left. I haven't seen that many white dreadlocks in my life or that many dirty rucksacks lining the tables of street cafes before. On the plus side, we did meet "James Bond," an Indian auto driver who was convinced I looked like Angelina Jolie. I told him it's only because I'm white to which he replied "well yes, all white people look like celebrities." If only that were true.
After dropping our bags off at the hostel, we hopped onto Delhi's metro which is probably my favorite thing about the city. Clean, air-conditioned, and not too crowded, it is the only way to travel without getting hassled. We got off at an open-air market where life again started to look up. Bargaining has become a favorite pasttime of mine and I managed to snag a few deals. After that we met up with a friend of our Indian friend who took us to one of Delhi's many luxury malls. It was weird in the span of three hours to see such different sides of Delhi. While cruising in an air-conditioned car, Delhi really didn't seem so bad. Until you looked out the window and noticed the amount of people begging or the grit of the city. Even passing monuments like the Parlaiment, the streets would be in better repair, lined with trees and lovely, and then you would turn a corner and see a tent city. Poverty is something you get used to living here but then again, Hyderabad doesn't seem to have it to the same extent as Delhi. I'm ashamed to admit it but I've become accustomed to passively seeing things in India that would disturb me in the US, but at least for a while, Delhi jarred me out of this complacency and reminded me a bit of why I am here in the first place.
The rest of our time in Delhi passed almost pleasantly as we explored what monuments we could, including the beautiful but crowded India Gate dominating a grassy stretch of pedestiran walkway runnning to Parlaiment and best seen at sunset. We also spent several hours just relaxing in a grassy park, playing card games until a security guard told us no gambling was allowed in the park. We tried to explain that "Go Fish" isn't exactly a gambling game but decided it was best just to leave it anyway.
As we said goodbye to the city and headed to the airport, I was finally able to take a moment to reflect on the craziness of the last eight days. And I decided that I had probably just had one of the most intense yet fulfilling eight days of my life. I've traveled a fair share and seen some amazing things in the past but India is a different ballgame entirely. You learn to turn assumptions on their head here and you also learn quite quickly that this is a country that can balance extremes in a way no other place in the world can. And despite the headaches, frustration, and anxiety that may come along with the trip, you realize that these are also the things that make travel great. So while I am glad to be back in Hyderabad, I'm already looking forward to my next chance to explore this crazy, intricate country. Next up? Hopefully some elephant riding!
Our second morning in Jaipur found us at the "bus station" or more accurately, on one of two mini buses parked under the highway overpass. No matter though because this bus ride flew by in three hours and the warm air wafting through the window just so happened to cure my cold and cough for a few hours at least. We were on our way to Pushkar, a small town on the edge of the Thar desert, having decided Jodhpur was too far for us in our exhausted state and required too much energy. Plus we heard Pushkar was amazing, filled with holy sites, tourists, and with that, good Israeli food. Since I hadn't eaten a decent hummus in months, how could I resist?
Our hostel, the unaptly named Hotel Everest, was pleasant and within walking distance of everything we wanted to see. Of course, my head was a bit too congested to completely appreciate the view of the city and the hundreds of monkeys climbing from rooftop to rooftop but no matter. It turned out to be nothing 20 cents worth of Indian cold medicine at the pharmacy couldn't cure.
As we set off to wander the streets in the mid-afternoon, I was a bit shellshocked. Because THIS was the India we had all imagined. THIS was the place where narrow lanes bordered by fruit stands, silver shops, open air stands selling samosas, and temples were blocked by painted cows. THIS was the place where white marble steps covered in pigeon poop and cow manure led straight into the lake and pilgrims of all types came to bathe in the water. Of course, THIS was also the place that tourists had discovered and within one minute of our reaching the waterfront, an old man with paan-stained teeth approached us and led us down to the lake to perform puja or a worship ceremony. After all Pushkar is one of the holiest cities in India and the only one with the a temple devoted to the Hindu God of creation, Brahma. So it was kind of a big deal. And don't worry Mom, I didn't go into the lake itself! Instead he sat us down by the water, chanted ridiculous things in English (Happy Pamily, Black Night, 27th, Tuesday, Good Marriage, Good Karma, Welcome to Rajasthan, Namaste, How many rupees?) which made our Indian friend laugh. Puja's usually don't happen in English. Yet we perservered and still threw some flower petals into the water and emerged from the experience with bracelets and bindis and only a few less rupees in our pockets. Plus we had gotten to wander down on the ghats by the lake, which you can only really do if you are participating in Puja.
The rest of the day was spent shopping and exploring. It was the most relaxing part of the trip and people were so much friendlier here than anywhere else I had been. I'm sure some of this had to do with the fact that they really wanted us to purchase their products but no matter. The day was capped off by a wonderful dinner of hummus, pita, tzaziki, eggplant, falafel...basically all of my favorite foods on one plate. And luckily the monkey swinging precariously in the tree above us decided not to try and steal our dinner. Day one of relaxation was complete.
The next morning, my cold got the better of me and I ended up sleeping in way past what I had planned. In fact, all of my friends had gotten up at sunrise to climb up a hill to a nearby temple and I was completely oblivious to it. I was a bit disappointed to have missed it, especially after hearing their raving descriptions when we met up for breakfast, but I was feeling much better having slept. So much so in fact, I took to wandering the streets by myself for a few hours, ahead of the backpacking crowd who was still sleeping off their hangovers. As I turned a corner to the less touristy area of the town, I was met with a procession, complete with a brass band and vividly colored horses and floats. There were children dressed as Hindu gods on the backs of the horses and on the floats being carried through town. It's really something to see Laxmi drinking a juicebox.
Sufficiently cultured, I headed back to the hostel to rest up for our epic camel trek to come. Originally we were planning on doing an overnight trip but it turns out that those had been cancelled due to a robbery (again, Mom, no worries..)so we settled for a sunset trek. I have to say, having ridden horses, I thought a camel would be no big deal. But let me tell you, they are BIG! Our guides rode behind us and seemed to get a kick out of my ability to sit the camel's trot without holding on. Eventually I convinced the guide to hand over the reins and I got to steer Johnny (my camel) myself. We rode through rural land where the "gypsy workers" set up their makeshift camps. By sunset we hopped off the camels to enjoy a contraband beer (alcohol and meat are both prohibited in Pushkar due to religious reasons but honestly, you can find the former easily enough). While we were sitting in the sand and nursing our sore legs, an older man and three raggedly dressed kids came over from their nearby tent and sat down by us. The man started to play his sitar but we asked him to stop, not really wanting to see the kids being forced to dance for us. But a few minutes later, he started up again and the kids began to dance, giggling the whole time. The only way I can describe it is as a bizarre scene. Against the backdrop of one of the most beautiful sunsets of my life, three eight year olds essentially spun around in the sand to surprisingly moving music, while five camels munched on grass behind us. It's moments like these when I am hit with the realization that yes, I am definitely in India.
Our guides then told us to hurry up so we could get back before dark. Of course, when I said I was ready to go fast, I didn't realize we would be racing. But I was game. Running on a camel though is a different story. A camel's galloping stride is probably double that of a horse and at least twice as bumpy. While we won the race, I almost fell off in the process. The prospect of falling 15 feet to hard packed dirt definitely scared me for a minute. And all too soon we were back in the city, hobbling toward our hostel for our 5AM wakeup before catching a bus to Udaipur. I was sorry to leave Pushkar and not exactly looking forward to another 7 hour bus ride. But I hadn't come all this way to spend my days vegging out by a holy lake. It was time to see the Venice of the East!
I will skip the long bus ride through the greenery of southern Rajasthan and bring you straight to Udaipur. Udaipur is the home of the Maharana, not to be confused with the Maharaja. Maharajan kings were eventually conquered by Muslim empires whereas Maharana were not. Therefore, Maharana = better warrior which is why Udaipur's symbol is the horse, representing power.The other two parts of this trilogy are the elephant representing Jaipur and luck, and the camel which is the symbol of the desert city of Jaisalmar near the Pakistani border, representing love. Anyway, Udaipur is something to be seen and I'm not sure if my descriptions will give it justice. The old city is set on along the water of a huge man-made lake with the buildings cascading down into the waterfront. Out on the lake is the famous Lake Palace Hotel which would set me back a whole month's salary for one night's stay. Beyond that is the island where the King used to go for entertaining and which now houses several world-class restaurants. But the thing about Udaipur is that it sees even more tourists than other places in Rajasthan due to its beauty. So we had quite a different experience there.
It was low season which meant that wandering around the streets was an exercise in patience. Every single shop owner asked the obligatory "which country" to which I often replied in Spanish. Or we had rickshaw drivers asking us where we wanted to go even though everything was in walking distance. "New York, 100 rupees" became my classic response which usually illicited a smile but didn't stop them from trying to convince me to go somewhere else. And the problem was that we would walk by the same shop owners several times a day. It got to the point that after bargaining at a restaurant for a bottle of beer, the next morning a shop owner who had overheard the conversation was asking us how we enjoyed the beer and whether or not we wanted to go dancing that night. But luckily we had our male friend along who in the span of a day acquired four "girlfriends" or "wives" depending on the situation.
Our first evening in Udaipur we went to a cultural dance performance. I was fully prepared for the tacky tourist trap but was pleasantly surprised. There was a dance where the women wore bells on their wrists, arms and legs and hit them impressively in time with the music. There was also an entertaining puppet dance and the best was a traditional desert dance from Jaisalmar where a woman balanced six water pots on her head all the while dancing. Cheesy as it sounds, it was honestly one of my favorite things we did in Udaipur and I couldn't help but buy a pair of Rajasthani puppets to remember my time there.
Our next day included a sunrise stroll through the city and along the lake. To say it was lovely is a bit of an understatement but it was. The mist rose off the lake and everything had that orange glow that only happens once a day. Of course the moment was dampened a bit from having to dodge around cows and manure but it was still peaceful and just what we needed before going to gawk at the amazing City Palace. Much like Jaipur's, it is luxurious beyond imagine and the current king still uses the old portion for parties. In fact, you can rent it out for several hundred thousand rupees for a night if you want your wedding there. At least the number you call to do so is toll free.
After admiring the cage where the King used to keep his tigers, the ornate stables where the horses were kept, and the elephant dueling ground, we spent the rest of the afternoon gearing up for our overnight train ride to Delhi. Mostly this meant going to an all-you-can-eat restaurant and gorging ourselves on delicious curries and chapattis to last us until the morning. And believe me, I wasn't hungry for 18 hours afterwards.
The train journey itself was fine aside from an interruption at 2AM as a man confused his compartment and demanded I show him our tickets. But at least he apologized profusely. Oh yeah, and the bugs crawling all over the floor but I prefer to supress that particular memory. And I was a bit sad to be leaving the relative peace of Rajasthan and entering the chaos of Delhi. I didn't feel prepared to face it again and judging by the nervous looks on my friend's faces as we pulled into the station, neither were they. And of course, right from the start, Delhi sucked us in. We were literally pushed off the train and out of the station by the swelling crowd and found ourselves in a taxi bound for the International Youth Hostel. We chose the hostel precisely because it was off the beaten track and was set in the lush, tree-covered lanes where all of the Embassies in the city were. But we arrived at 7:30AM only to discover that we couldn't check in until 11AM and they wouldn't even let us keep our bags in the hostel until then. There was no way we were lugging our backpacks with us. My own bag had doubled in size over the last two days and I'm fairly certain it's a bad sign if your arms go numb while carrying your pack. And there was literally no restaurant or coffee shop nearby where we could relax until then.
Sadly, we were forced to do the thing I had been trying to avoid: find a hostel in the infamous Pahar Ganj neighborhood. We found one, that was cheap but a place I wouldn't mind never seeing again. We also found the place in India where all of the scary, hippy backpackers end up. I mean, up until this point, our fellow tourists tended to be young like us and similarly outfitted. But in Delhi we saw fifty year olds who looked as though they had landed in Pahar Ganj decades ago and just never left. I haven't seen that many white dreadlocks in my life or that many dirty rucksacks lining the tables of street cafes before. On the plus side, we did meet "James Bond," an Indian auto driver who was convinced I looked like Angelina Jolie. I told him it's only because I'm white to which he replied "well yes, all white people look like celebrities." If only that were true.
After dropping our bags off at the hostel, we hopped onto Delhi's metro which is probably my favorite thing about the city. Clean, air-conditioned, and not too crowded, it is the only way to travel without getting hassled. We got off at an open-air market where life again started to look up. Bargaining has become a favorite pasttime of mine and I managed to snag a few deals. After that we met up with a friend of our Indian friend who took us to one of Delhi's many luxury malls. It was weird in the span of three hours to see such different sides of Delhi. While cruising in an air-conditioned car, Delhi really didn't seem so bad. Until you looked out the window and noticed the amount of people begging or the grit of the city. Even passing monuments like the Parlaiment, the streets would be in better repair, lined with trees and lovely, and then you would turn a corner and see a tent city. Poverty is something you get used to living here but then again, Hyderabad doesn't seem to have it to the same extent as Delhi. I'm ashamed to admit it but I've become accustomed to passively seeing things in India that would disturb me in the US, but at least for a while, Delhi jarred me out of this complacency and reminded me a bit of why I am here in the first place.
The rest of our time in Delhi passed almost pleasantly as we explored what monuments we could, including the beautiful but crowded India Gate dominating a grassy stretch of pedestiran walkway runnning to Parlaiment and best seen at sunset. We also spent several hours just relaxing in a grassy park, playing card games until a security guard told us no gambling was allowed in the park. We tried to explain that "Go Fish" isn't exactly a gambling game but decided it was best just to leave it anyway.
As we said goodbye to the city and headed to the airport, I was finally able to take a moment to reflect on the craziness of the last eight days. And I decided that I had probably just had one of the most intense yet fulfilling eight days of my life. I've traveled a fair share and seen some amazing things in the past but India is a different ballgame entirely. You learn to turn assumptions on their head here and you also learn quite quickly that this is a country that can balance extremes in a way no other place in the world can. And despite the headaches, frustration, and anxiety that may come along with the trip, you realize that these are also the things that make travel great. So while I am glad to be back in Hyderabad, I'm already looking forward to my next chance to explore this crazy, intricate country. Next up? Hopefully some elephant riding!
Monday, October 3, 2011
Chalo! Part 1
You know that feeling when you're traveling, right? That touch of adrenaline laced with anxiety, and colored slightly by wonder at all the new things you are seeing. It is off of this travel high and between forced power outages by the Telegana that I am finally updating my blog. So bear with me if I wax nostalgic or go on at length about something that really doesn't interest you. Because as they say, travel changes you and how you look at the world, even if just for a split second.
The trip started too early for me to want to think about it. Awake by 4:30, on a plane to Delhi by 6:30, fighting with the traffic by 8AM. We were fairly certain we'd have no trouble getting a bus straight away to Agra to see the Taj Mahal in the evening, as we didn't really want to linger in Delhi if we could help it. Of course, by the time we reached the bus station, all of the rickshaw drivers were telling us we were at the wrong station and had to go to another one. We finally gave in and the five of us crammed into one rickshaw, swaying through the dusty streets in an intense heat. But of course, we had fallen for a classic scam and the rickshaw deposited us at one of the many half-baked "travel agencies" in the city, despite having just read a warning about this very tactic ten minutes before.
At this point, we did something I'm not entirely proud of. We gave up. With some hard-core negotiating, we ended up hiring a private car to drive us the few hours to Agra, having been unable to find a bus, train, or even donkey cart to take us there otherwise. So, after two hours of waiting by the bus station, eating street food, weaving in and out of beggars and commuters alike, and cursing Delhi all the while, we hopped in the car to Agra, hopeful that things would get back on track for the rest of the trip.
We arrived in the teeming streets of Agra at sunset, a mere six hours later than we had planned. It made sense to go straight to our hostel and try and replan our whole trip than do anything else. At the rooftop restaurant and bar where you could just barely see the dim outline of the Taj Mahal in the dusky distance, the prospect of actually seeing the most beautiful building in the world finally got us a bit excited and helped wash the taste of Delhi out of our mouths. So we set our alarms for 6AM and made an effort to put on a more positive attitude for the morning.
Dawn in Agra and already it was warm out. At least most of the other tourists were still asleep. We met a guide along the way, Sunny, and decided he was probably worth the 400 rupee price so we could actually appreciate our time there. And before I knew it or had time to prepare myself, we were walking into the East entrance of the complex. And then I saw it, through the red door of the main entrace, glimmering white and huge in the hazy sunlight. To say I got chills when I first saw the Taj or had a bit of an emotional experience really isn't a lie. And every one of my friends felt the same way. It's grand, overwhelming and decidedly delicate at the same time.
The moment didn't last long though as tourists were shoving each other out of the way to get the best pictures and darting with their guides from one patch of shade to another as he explained about the building. Yet as Sunny proceeded on his tour, discussing the optical illusions of the Taj and the history of the ulimate monument to love, the crowd didn't really diminish the experience. Instead, it seemed to add importance to the moment, even if I had to try my best to avert my eyes at the tiles missing from inside the masoleum because tourists had stolen them.
Soon, the sun became too hot and it was time to leave the growing hoard of photographers in the complex. After the Taj, reality in the streets of Agra seemed a bit surreal. I was pulled back in before long though as we rushed to the bus station to grab the first bus out to Jaipur, wanting to escape the hustlers of Agra. Of course, as luck would have it, the only bus available was non A/C, full, and not the cleanest thing in the world. The four of us girls were shoved up to the top deck where there was a sort of double person bed above the normal seats. At least we had a fairly nice breeze blowing on us for the next five hours but I could definitely do without the being unable to completely sit up or the stench or the reststop too terrible to mention that followed. No matter, because we arrived in Jaipur in the evening and life again started to look up.
First of all, our hostel was gorgeous and light and airy, with an amazing rooftoop bar and restaurant overlooking the whole city. And it was incredibly cheap, always a plus. Secondly, Jaipur just felt friendly, in a way that you can't really describe, but that you just know it is. People said hello, were curious about us without being pushy, and seemed concerned that we enjoy ourselves. We were also lucky enough to have a friend in the city who showed us around a bit and fed us dinner and wine so we had no reason to complain.
In the morning we awoke after a bit less sleep than we had planned on but we were determined to cram the sights the city had to offer in one day, which was all we had. So we hired a driver/ tour guide for the day and set out into the sun to explore the royal pink city. Now Jaipur is a special place. It was once one of the wealthiest cities in India, is now the capital of Rajasthan, and is the seat of a royal Maharaja. Oh yeah, and it houses palaces beyond imagine and the whole old city is painted a distinct shade of pink. There was a lot to do and see in a short amount of time.
First stop was the museum which dominated the center of town and was an architectural gem. Having only budgeted about 30 minutes, we blew through the galleries of pottery, statues, royal armor, mummies, and ivory carved sculptures but I got the idea that Jaipur is just a bit important... Then it was back in the car to see the Hawal Mahal, an ornately carved palace towering over the old city built just so the ladies of the royal family could observe life in the streets without being seen themselves. It was one of my favorite places and reminded me a bit of a honey comb and gingerbread house all rolled into one. But it was the views over the city and the scrubby mountains in the distance that made it incredible.
Next up was the nearby Jantar Mantar, the royal observatory housing centuries-old sundials and astrological calculators to help the king decide on his plan of action. I felt like I was in Alice in Wonderland or an Escher painting amongst the stairs leading to nowhere. This surreal experience was made more complete as I almost tripped over a snake charmer and his cobras on the way out. I definitely made a fast exit after that!
After lunch at a roadside cafe, we made the trek up to the Amber Fort, the historic palace that saw many a Maharaja and his queens over the centuries. On the hillside overhead was a 10 foot thick wall surrounding the current home of the 13 year old Prince of Jaipur. I realized I needed to make some friends pretty quickly if I wanted to live this royal lifestyle. And after entering the fort and walking through the ornately colored and decorated Ganesh portal, I was more and more certain I should have been born royalty. That is until I saw the carved windows that the Queen used to watch the people below without being seen herself. Being a woman, even in the royal household, seemed to mean you were hidden away from everyone. Maybe not the best way to live. But anyway, the palace itself was massive and beautiful, with the winter rooms lined with thousands of tiny mirrors that would reflect the color of it tapestries in the light, giving the rooms a hue of blue or green or red depending on your mood. Also interesting were the separate rooms, jacuzzis and secret passageways to each of the multiple wives' compounds so the King could roam between them in peace. But of course, once again, the best part of the whole thing was the view down below. From the rooftop where there was a dance floor for private perfomances, one could see way into the distant mountains and down below to the lake and ornately manicured garden.
After that, we were overwhelmed with sightseeing and I realized that there was probably little in this world that could impress me anymore. So, shopping time it was. And despite getting hassled a bit more than we were used to given our tourist status, I managed to hold my own and am now an expert at the classic haggle and walk-away. I'll teach you sometime. But too soon, the sun was going down and we staggered back to the hostel for one last night in Jaipur and prepared to face the road again.
To be continued...
The trip started too early for me to want to think about it. Awake by 4:30, on a plane to Delhi by 6:30, fighting with the traffic by 8AM. We were fairly certain we'd have no trouble getting a bus straight away to Agra to see the Taj Mahal in the evening, as we didn't really want to linger in Delhi if we could help it. Of course, by the time we reached the bus station, all of the rickshaw drivers were telling us we were at the wrong station and had to go to another one. We finally gave in and the five of us crammed into one rickshaw, swaying through the dusty streets in an intense heat. But of course, we had fallen for a classic scam and the rickshaw deposited us at one of the many half-baked "travel agencies" in the city, despite having just read a warning about this very tactic ten minutes before.
At this point, we did something I'm not entirely proud of. We gave up. With some hard-core negotiating, we ended up hiring a private car to drive us the few hours to Agra, having been unable to find a bus, train, or even donkey cart to take us there otherwise. So, after two hours of waiting by the bus station, eating street food, weaving in and out of beggars and commuters alike, and cursing Delhi all the while, we hopped in the car to Agra, hopeful that things would get back on track for the rest of the trip.
We arrived in the teeming streets of Agra at sunset, a mere six hours later than we had planned. It made sense to go straight to our hostel and try and replan our whole trip than do anything else. At the rooftop restaurant and bar where you could just barely see the dim outline of the Taj Mahal in the dusky distance, the prospect of actually seeing the most beautiful building in the world finally got us a bit excited and helped wash the taste of Delhi out of our mouths. So we set our alarms for 6AM and made an effort to put on a more positive attitude for the morning.
Dawn in Agra and already it was warm out. At least most of the other tourists were still asleep. We met a guide along the way, Sunny, and decided he was probably worth the 400 rupee price so we could actually appreciate our time there. And before I knew it or had time to prepare myself, we were walking into the East entrance of the complex. And then I saw it, through the red door of the main entrace, glimmering white and huge in the hazy sunlight. To say I got chills when I first saw the Taj or had a bit of an emotional experience really isn't a lie. And every one of my friends felt the same way. It's grand, overwhelming and decidedly delicate at the same time.
The moment didn't last long though as tourists were shoving each other out of the way to get the best pictures and darting with their guides from one patch of shade to another as he explained about the building. Yet as Sunny proceeded on his tour, discussing the optical illusions of the Taj and the history of the ulimate monument to love, the crowd didn't really diminish the experience. Instead, it seemed to add importance to the moment, even if I had to try my best to avert my eyes at the tiles missing from inside the masoleum because tourists had stolen them.
Soon, the sun became too hot and it was time to leave the growing hoard of photographers in the complex. After the Taj, reality in the streets of Agra seemed a bit surreal. I was pulled back in before long though as we rushed to the bus station to grab the first bus out to Jaipur, wanting to escape the hustlers of Agra. Of course, as luck would have it, the only bus available was non A/C, full, and not the cleanest thing in the world. The four of us girls were shoved up to the top deck where there was a sort of double person bed above the normal seats. At least we had a fairly nice breeze blowing on us for the next five hours but I could definitely do without the being unable to completely sit up or the stench or the reststop too terrible to mention that followed. No matter, because we arrived in Jaipur in the evening and life again started to look up.
First of all, our hostel was gorgeous and light and airy, with an amazing rooftoop bar and restaurant overlooking the whole city. And it was incredibly cheap, always a plus. Secondly, Jaipur just felt friendly, in a way that you can't really describe, but that you just know it is. People said hello, were curious about us without being pushy, and seemed concerned that we enjoy ourselves. We were also lucky enough to have a friend in the city who showed us around a bit and fed us dinner and wine so we had no reason to complain.
In the morning we awoke after a bit less sleep than we had planned on but we were determined to cram the sights the city had to offer in one day, which was all we had. So we hired a driver/ tour guide for the day and set out into the sun to explore the royal pink city. Now Jaipur is a special place. It was once one of the wealthiest cities in India, is now the capital of Rajasthan, and is the seat of a royal Maharaja. Oh yeah, and it houses palaces beyond imagine and the whole old city is painted a distinct shade of pink. There was a lot to do and see in a short amount of time.
First stop was the museum which dominated the center of town and was an architectural gem. Having only budgeted about 30 minutes, we blew through the galleries of pottery, statues, royal armor, mummies, and ivory carved sculptures but I got the idea that Jaipur is just a bit important... Then it was back in the car to see the Hawal Mahal, an ornately carved palace towering over the old city built just so the ladies of the royal family could observe life in the streets without being seen themselves. It was one of my favorite places and reminded me a bit of a honey comb and gingerbread house all rolled into one. But it was the views over the city and the scrubby mountains in the distance that made it incredible.
Next up was the nearby Jantar Mantar, the royal observatory housing centuries-old sundials and astrological calculators to help the king decide on his plan of action. I felt like I was in Alice in Wonderland or an Escher painting amongst the stairs leading to nowhere. This surreal experience was made more complete as I almost tripped over a snake charmer and his cobras on the way out. I definitely made a fast exit after that!
After lunch at a roadside cafe, we made the trek up to the Amber Fort, the historic palace that saw many a Maharaja and his queens over the centuries. On the hillside overhead was a 10 foot thick wall surrounding the current home of the 13 year old Prince of Jaipur. I realized I needed to make some friends pretty quickly if I wanted to live this royal lifestyle. And after entering the fort and walking through the ornately colored and decorated Ganesh portal, I was more and more certain I should have been born royalty. That is until I saw the carved windows that the Queen used to watch the people below without being seen herself. Being a woman, even in the royal household, seemed to mean you were hidden away from everyone. Maybe not the best way to live. But anyway, the palace itself was massive and beautiful, with the winter rooms lined with thousands of tiny mirrors that would reflect the color of it tapestries in the light, giving the rooms a hue of blue or green or red depending on your mood. Also interesting were the separate rooms, jacuzzis and secret passageways to each of the multiple wives' compounds so the King could roam between them in peace. But of course, once again, the best part of the whole thing was the view down below. From the rooftop where there was a dance floor for private perfomances, one could see way into the distant mountains and down below to the lake and ornately manicured garden.
After that, we were overwhelmed with sightseeing and I realized that there was probably little in this world that could impress me anymore. So, shopping time it was. And despite getting hassled a bit more than we were used to given our tourist status, I managed to hold my own and am now an expert at the classic haggle and walk-away. I'll teach you sometime. But too soon, the sun was going down and we staggered back to the hostel for one last night in Jaipur and prepared to face the road again.
To be continued...
Monday, September 19, 2011
You are Christian, Madam?
Once again, the afternoon call to prayer outside of our flat is cause for some introspection on my part. I realize that in this blog to date, I have spoken of my experiences with Ramzan and briefly outlined some Hindu traditions but I think it's time to explain a bit more about the way religion functions in India. Despite its status as a secular state, religious traditions of all types permeate every aspect of life in India, but in some ways you wouldn't expect.
A new friend of mine, recently arrived to the country, was surprised by the fact that I have Muslim friends who also will share a table with my Hindu friends. I was a bit taken aback by this shock. I mean, growing up with what I would see as a fairly diverse group of friends, this isn't exactly an anomaly. But the way that we view religion in the west, especially Islam, is colored a bit differently than things are here.
For starters, let's take the burkha. Most Americans see it as a means of oppression or at least don't quite understand the sentiment behind it. But I also think most would be suprised to visit my school where the teachers walk in wearing burkhas but immediately take them off to reveal beautiful sarees underneath. Instead, the burkha is treated similarly to how we would treat wearing a jacket from place to place, and is just a part of the daily routine. That is not to say that there are not plenty of women who wear only the burkha in public, but for the most part, one's religious identity here is a fluid concept. I know plenty of Muslim women who wouldn't be caught dead in anything but the newest designer jeans and trendiest shoes and who have hardly worn a headscarf a day in their life. Just like I know Hindus who scoff at the idea of wearing a saree to anything but a wedding. To be Hindu or Muslim or Sikh is a fact of life and not necessarily the end all or be all of a person's identity and doesn't necessarily define every action you take.
One of the first questions I was asked by the students in my school was my religion and whether or not we fast like Muslims or Hindus do. Of course, it's easier to just say Christian than to try and explain the complicated nature of my religious identity. And when I told them that fasting isn't exactly something I have ever done in my life, they were shocked. Because following religious traditions comes as naturally to them as taking Labor Day off from work for us does, even if someone chooses to do so by different degrees. No one blinks at the fact that school is a half day every Friday for prayers or closed on a random Tuesday for a celebration of the god Ganesh. Talk about coexistance to the extreme.
Similarly, when it comes to food, you have all of the options in the world. 'Veg or nonveg' is always asked because some Hindus won't eat meat, some Muslims won't eat pork but there are a fair share of people (like ourselves) who are just plain carnivores. And no one judges anyone else for their decisions. There might be a meat shop nearby a Hindu temple and no one really gets put off by that. Can you imagine the controversy in the States if a McDonalds opened right next door to a Hindu temple? Let's just say there would definitely be some legal suites pending...
Of course, India has had its fair share of religious violence and this is not to imply that the country has found the right way to deal with such pluarality. But there is something to be said while I watch the Hindu and Muslim girls at my school gossip with one another, share food, and respect each other's religious and cultural differences. So much about what we fear in the west is the unknown, "the other," and this xenofobia is often directly connected to religious identity. Yet it's hard to fear someone when they are your neighbor, classmate, or friend. Tolerance, even if a function of proximity and necessity, really is something to see here. Still though, don't expect to see me fasting any time soon. There's definitely a Dal Fry somewhere nearby always calling my name.
A new friend of mine, recently arrived to the country, was surprised by the fact that I have Muslim friends who also will share a table with my Hindu friends. I was a bit taken aback by this shock. I mean, growing up with what I would see as a fairly diverse group of friends, this isn't exactly an anomaly. But the way that we view religion in the west, especially Islam, is colored a bit differently than things are here.
For starters, let's take the burkha. Most Americans see it as a means of oppression or at least don't quite understand the sentiment behind it. But I also think most would be suprised to visit my school where the teachers walk in wearing burkhas but immediately take them off to reveal beautiful sarees underneath. Instead, the burkha is treated similarly to how we would treat wearing a jacket from place to place, and is just a part of the daily routine. That is not to say that there are not plenty of women who wear only the burkha in public, but for the most part, one's religious identity here is a fluid concept. I know plenty of Muslim women who wouldn't be caught dead in anything but the newest designer jeans and trendiest shoes and who have hardly worn a headscarf a day in their life. Just like I know Hindus who scoff at the idea of wearing a saree to anything but a wedding. To be Hindu or Muslim or Sikh is a fact of life and not necessarily the end all or be all of a person's identity and doesn't necessarily define every action you take.
One of the first questions I was asked by the students in my school was my religion and whether or not we fast like Muslims or Hindus do. Of course, it's easier to just say Christian than to try and explain the complicated nature of my religious identity. And when I told them that fasting isn't exactly something I have ever done in my life, they were shocked. Because following religious traditions comes as naturally to them as taking Labor Day off from work for us does, even if someone chooses to do so by different degrees. No one blinks at the fact that school is a half day every Friday for prayers or closed on a random Tuesday for a celebration of the god Ganesh. Talk about coexistance to the extreme.
Similarly, when it comes to food, you have all of the options in the world. 'Veg or nonveg' is always asked because some Hindus won't eat meat, some Muslims won't eat pork but there are a fair share of people (like ourselves) who are just plain carnivores. And no one judges anyone else for their decisions. There might be a meat shop nearby a Hindu temple and no one really gets put off by that. Can you imagine the controversy in the States if a McDonalds opened right next door to a Hindu temple? Let's just say there would definitely be some legal suites pending...
Of course, India has had its fair share of religious violence and this is not to imply that the country has found the right way to deal with such pluarality. But there is something to be said while I watch the Hindu and Muslim girls at my school gossip with one another, share food, and respect each other's religious and cultural differences. So much about what we fear in the west is the unknown, "the other," and this xenofobia is often directly connected to religious identity. Yet it's hard to fear someone when they are your neighbor, classmate, or friend. Tolerance, even if a function of proximity and necessity, really is something to see here. Still though, don't expect to see me fasting any time soon. There's definitely a Dal Fry somewhere nearby always calling my name.
Monday, September 12, 2011
From Polo to Performances
Okay first let me just apologize for being a horrible blogger these last two weeks. But you know, life in India isn't all about sitting on the computer despite what my constant facebooking may suggest. I mean I've been busy! You know, with the usual: going to school, research for projects, interviews, riding horses, watching polo, sleeping, eating. Oh wait, I guess a few things on that list do stand out a bit, so let me start from the start.
First of all, due to Eid, I had quite a few days off of school which meant I actually had free time. So I decided to go with a few friends out to ride at the Hyderabad Polo and Riding Club. It does seem that no matter where I go or what I do, I find horses. Or rather, they find me. And who am I to pass that up? Anyway, I went riding, which was fun although I was stuck on a lesson horse that hates life. And we kept cantering by jumps that, of course, I was itching to jump. But my self control got the better of me and I refrained from possibly making my horse lame.
After riding, my friends and I were about to leave when a car pulled up and out walked the brand new HPRC polo team and a blonde Brit. Seeing two Americans must have surprised him because he walked up and introduced himself to us and starting asking what we were doing there. When we expressed an interest in watching a polo practice, he suggested that we come to a game that weekend, and even better, to the press conference and photo shoot where the new team would be announced. Why not? I figured at the very least, it would give me something fun to do while most of my friends were partying it up in Goa, and besides, I can never refuse an invitation that involves horse riding.
The next day, me and two of my friends showed up at the 5 star Taj Krishna hotel and were completely taken aback by the number of photographers buzzing around. Polo is not exactly a well-known sport in America, and the press generally would rather write about a new political scandal than about a team galloping around the field at high speeds and attempting to score points. So needless to say, the swarm, who also took pictures of us, was surprising. The reason for the madness became clear as the owner of the team, a famous Tollywood actor, appeared and the photographers were literally yelling and pushing each other out of the way to get a picture of him. I didn't even see that much jostling around when I heard Obama speak.
By this point, my interest was piqued in polo. I mean, it's a sport on horseback, dangerous, and thus highly entertaining, and the best part is that it is played outside on a huge grassy field, which is, of course, something I miss. Greenery is not exactly a Hyderabadi thing. So on Saturday, we headed out for the first match of the season, which runs about 20 days, and it was intense. Mallets swinging, horses and riders bumping into each other, plenty of adrenaline. The horses were incredible and since we had made friends with the team, we were allowed to sit over by them which is definitely the best place to see and hear what exactly is going on. Thoughts of starting a women's polo team started creeping into my head but after seeing how fast the game is played, maybe I'll just stick to some cross-country jumping instead.
Aside from my polo shenanigans though, school has been great fun these last few weeks. Last Monday was Teacher's Day and while I didn't quite make it to get a Saree, it was still a blast to watch the 10th standard girls don their own sarees and teach classes while the teachers observed. The best part had to be the dances at the end of the day where I got to see everyone from 4th graders to 9th graders showing off their moves to Bollywood and Telegu songs. Thank goodness I was able to just be an observer for this. They even gave me a present like the other teachers which was sweet. Thank goodness they nixed the idea of having a student dress up like me and be an IDEX Fellow for a day. I can't imagine trying to get them to understand how to create a business plan on my laptop or teach another student about logarithms while being told how to say them in Hindi (yes that actually happened).
Okay now at least I feel like I have completed my duty of being a mediocre blogger. Stay tuned for more random, weird, and wonderful Hyderabadi shenanigans. Until next time...
First of all, due to Eid, I had quite a few days off of school which meant I actually had free time. So I decided to go with a few friends out to ride at the Hyderabad Polo and Riding Club. It does seem that no matter where I go or what I do, I find horses. Or rather, they find me. And who am I to pass that up? Anyway, I went riding, which was fun although I was stuck on a lesson horse that hates life. And we kept cantering by jumps that, of course, I was itching to jump. But my self control got the better of me and I refrained from possibly making my horse lame.
After riding, my friends and I were about to leave when a car pulled up and out walked the brand new HPRC polo team and a blonde Brit. Seeing two Americans must have surprised him because he walked up and introduced himself to us and starting asking what we were doing there. When we expressed an interest in watching a polo practice, he suggested that we come to a game that weekend, and even better, to the press conference and photo shoot where the new team would be announced. Why not? I figured at the very least, it would give me something fun to do while most of my friends were partying it up in Goa, and besides, I can never refuse an invitation that involves horse riding.
The next day, me and two of my friends showed up at the 5 star Taj Krishna hotel and were completely taken aback by the number of photographers buzzing around. Polo is not exactly a well-known sport in America, and the press generally would rather write about a new political scandal than about a team galloping around the field at high speeds and attempting to score points. So needless to say, the swarm, who also took pictures of us, was surprising. The reason for the madness became clear as the owner of the team, a famous Tollywood actor, appeared and the photographers were literally yelling and pushing each other out of the way to get a picture of him. I didn't even see that much jostling around when I heard Obama speak.
By this point, my interest was piqued in polo. I mean, it's a sport on horseback, dangerous, and thus highly entertaining, and the best part is that it is played outside on a huge grassy field, which is, of course, something I miss. Greenery is not exactly a Hyderabadi thing. So on Saturday, we headed out for the first match of the season, which runs about 20 days, and it was intense. Mallets swinging, horses and riders bumping into each other, plenty of adrenaline. The horses were incredible and since we had made friends with the team, we were allowed to sit over by them which is definitely the best place to see and hear what exactly is going on. Thoughts of starting a women's polo team started creeping into my head but after seeing how fast the game is played, maybe I'll just stick to some cross-country jumping instead.
Aside from my polo shenanigans though, school has been great fun these last few weeks. Last Monday was Teacher's Day and while I didn't quite make it to get a Saree, it was still a blast to watch the 10th standard girls don their own sarees and teach classes while the teachers observed. The best part had to be the dances at the end of the day where I got to see everyone from 4th graders to 9th graders showing off their moves to Bollywood and Telegu songs. Thank goodness I was able to just be an observer for this. They even gave me a present like the other teachers which was sweet. Thank goodness they nixed the idea of having a student dress up like me and be an IDEX Fellow for a day. I can't imagine trying to get them to understand how to create a business plan on my laptop or teach another student about logarithms while being told how to say them in Hindi (yes that actually happened).
Okay now at least I feel like I have completed my duty of being a mediocre blogger. Stay tuned for more random, weird, and wonderful Hyderabadi shenanigans. Until next time...
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Scooter Introspection
As I write this, I am happily esconced in our apartment, listening to the family next door singing Eid songs to mark the end of Ramzan and the rain pattering down outside. It's definitely a cozy feeling and it's moments like this when I have to pinch myself. For every challenge that India presents and for every time I want to throw my hands up in the air and say enough, it throws two beautiful things right back in my face. Today I took my first ride on the back of a scooter through the hectic city traffic and it definitely helped put things in perspective. Day to day life here is so much more interactive and teeming with activity than back home that I figured it is about time I share that with you by describing some of the sights I have seen here in the last month and a half, be it from an auto, the back of a scooter, or just standing still and letting life happen around you.
Morning here is a strange sight to see. Most stores are boarded up and won't open until ten in the morning, yet the sidewalk is full of movable street food carts, and a mix of school children in uniforms holding hands as they maneuver through the breakfast diners, business professionals in suits on their way to work, and beggars roaming from autorickshaw to autorickshaw, hoping for a few rupees from groggy morning commuters. If it has rained, the smell is damp. Damp humanity, dripping plants, soaked garbage. Otherwise, the exhaust can be overwhelming as you sit idling at an impossibly complicated intersection, wedged in between other scooters, motorcycles, buses, and autorickshaws, and waiting for the traffic officer to signal your lane. Traffic lights here do little good in rush hour.
As you leave this more "western" area of town, you head down narrower streets, potholed and windy. More women here wear burkas and more men are dressed in traditional white kurtas. You can catch snatches of music from the shops, wildly energetic Bollywood numbers or more meloncholic Urdu songs. Weaving in and out of traffic, you see a woman brushing her teeth outside of her small home, children yell and wave at you. In front of you a wallet falls out of an auto, and immediately, three people on motorcycles nearby stop and snatch it... and speed ahead to return it to the owner.
Down the next street is a shop where men sit threading brightly colored flowers onto string, while across the road is a meat shop, proudly displaying the skinned hump and hoofed foot of a camel. A man missing his legs sits on a cart pulled by an oxen while a BMW passes you on the right. Then you hear drums, from far away at first, then closer. While the music sounds joyful and rythmic, you realize it's a funeral procession, with the deceased being carried down the road by a group of men, the body covered in flowers.
Next you turn a corner and color explodes in your face. Shop after shop on both sides of you brim with Ganesh idols, some ten feet tall, others small enough to fit in your pocket, all in various stages of being painted. You must stop to let saree-clad women expertly balancing buckets of wash on their heads pass before continuing on. And the smell of spicy food, paint, cigarettes and exhaust is overwhelming. At the end of this road dedicated to the Hindu god, lies a massive green and white mosque, echoing the call to prayer over loudspeakers strategically positioned around the massive dome. And before you know it, you are on your way home, leaving the multi-colored shrines behind you, exchanging carts filled to the brim with ripe pomegranates and bananas for a McDonalds and Subway newly constructed, turning your back on impossibly old monuments for a mega-mall complete with a 3-D movie theater and a Hard Rock Cafe.
But no matter where you go, you are reminded that this is India. Life, for all its similarities, is incredibly different. And it is impossible to describe the diversity and the intensity of each day. Instead, you do what you can to occupy your own niche, observing with a foreigners eyes while trying to understand what is culture, what is globalization and where you fit in. In the end, sometimes all you need to do is stike up a conversation at the corner dhosa shop, and then things don't seem quite so complicated anymore.
Morning here is a strange sight to see. Most stores are boarded up and won't open until ten in the morning, yet the sidewalk is full of movable street food carts, and a mix of school children in uniforms holding hands as they maneuver through the breakfast diners, business professionals in suits on their way to work, and beggars roaming from autorickshaw to autorickshaw, hoping for a few rupees from groggy morning commuters. If it has rained, the smell is damp. Damp humanity, dripping plants, soaked garbage. Otherwise, the exhaust can be overwhelming as you sit idling at an impossibly complicated intersection, wedged in between other scooters, motorcycles, buses, and autorickshaws, and waiting for the traffic officer to signal your lane. Traffic lights here do little good in rush hour.
As you leave this more "western" area of town, you head down narrower streets, potholed and windy. More women here wear burkas and more men are dressed in traditional white kurtas. You can catch snatches of music from the shops, wildly energetic Bollywood numbers or more meloncholic Urdu songs. Weaving in and out of traffic, you see a woman brushing her teeth outside of her small home, children yell and wave at you. In front of you a wallet falls out of an auto, and immediately, three people on motorcycles nearby stop and snatch it... and speed ahead to return it to the owner.
Down the next street is a shop where men sit threading brightly colored flowers onto string, while across the road is a meat shop, proudly displaying the skinned hump and hoofed foot of a camel. A man missing his legs sits on a cart pulled by an oxen while a BMW passes you on the right. Then you hear drums, from far away at first, then closer. While the music sounds joyful and rythmic, you realize it's a funeral procession, with the deceased being carried down the road by a group of men, the body covered in flowers.
Next you turn a corner and color explodes in your face. Shop after shop on both sides of you brim with Ganesh idols, some ten feet tall, others small enough to fit in your pocket, all in various stages of being painted. You must stop to let saree-clad women expertly balancing buckets of wash on their heads pass before continuing on. And the smell of spicy food, paint, cigarettes and exhaust is overwhelming. At the end of this road dedicated to the Hindu god, lies a massive green and white mosque, echoing the call to prayer over loudspeakers strategically positioned around the massive dome. And before you know it, you are on your way home, leaving the multi-colored shrines behind you, exchanging carts filled to the brim with ripe pomegranates and bananas for a McDonalds and Subway newly constructed, turning your back on impossibly old monuments for a mega-mall complete with a 3-D movie theater and a Hard Rock Cafe.
But no matter where you go, you are reminded that this is India. Life, for all its similarities, is incredibly different. And it is impossible to describe the diversity and the intensity of each day. Instead, you do what you can to occupy your own niche, observing with a foreigners eyes while trying to understand what is culture, what is globalization and where you fit in. In the end, sometimes all you need to do is stike up a conversation at the corner dhosa shop, and then things don't seem quite so complicated anymore.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Iftar Photos
Here's just a few quick Iftar photos... The initial breaking of the fast spread, the women of the family...
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