Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Bollywood


You haven't lived until you have seen an Indian soap opera. Words may be entirely in Hindi, but the expressions and music so perfectly accentuate the melodrama that you understand every word spoken. As a big plot device builds to its crescendo, the filming slows down, facial shots increase, eyebrows raise, and sparkling, heavily made up eyes drip with emotion. Inevitably, the evil lady of the hour stands out as beautifully as the heroine, however an arched and perfectly plucked eyebrow lifts, the eyes squint, and music thunders with pounding warnings. I once watched this scene:

Good lady is ironing in her room as her toddler is in the crib next to her.
Phone rings in other room, good lady unplugs iron, puts it out of reach of the baby
Next shot is of bad lady putting her cell phone down
Bad lady enters room, plugs in iron, places it next to baby, leaves room.

This scene lasted over 15 minutes as the camera flipped from face to iron to face to wicked smile to innocent baby, back to face, etc. Unbelievable. So here the motto can be less plot, more emotion.

I can't wait to see a movie in the theater. I don't care that I won't understand it ... I just want to see the film!

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Christmas Celebrations

Yesterday my daughter sang in the choir for an end of semester Christmas show. The lyrics my daughter has been practicing were for songs, written by the school music teachers. I was a bit grumpy about this, since a Christmas show for me should be traditional songs of the season. How wonderful a surprise to discover that the older children sang the same old good songs that I adore ... O Come All Ye Faithful, Silent Night, Frosty the Snowman, etc.

This is my big bugaboo about the schools in the US - our children are no longer able to celebrate Christmas at school like this - no more carols, no more nativity plays, nothing that hints at Christianity in any way. I am no believer in God, but even so I love the plays and songs and celebrations this time of year. What's more, the children love it! But no, we mustn't tread on some poor sensitive soul's toes so we remove the fun for 90% of the class in order that no one gets their feelings hurt. Because that's the way life really is, isn't it? When you are all grown up and on your own expect no challenges to your own ideas, expect no differences of opinion, expect everyone to think as one ... right?

By the way, my husband and I are obviously meant for each other --- in the Christmas plays at our respective schools we both played the ass.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Five days ago ...

Monday draws to a close and I reflect on all that has happened in the last 4 days. Five days ago I walked around heedless to my surroundings, today I hunch and look down at the ground, trying desperately to act inconspicuous. Five days ago I would run out to the little shop across the street to find my groceries, today I prefer to call down and have someone deliver them. Five days ago my daughter practiced singing her songs for the Christmas concert, today the concert is postponed indefinitely. Five days ago my daughter's friend enjoyed playing the guitar, today he and his 2 siblings mourn the loss of their parents. Five days ago my daughter didn't know what a terrorist was. Five days ago ...

I feel the same melancholy that strangled the US on September 11 ... the scale may be very different, but the emotions play the same - a sadness that colors everything shades of grey, an anger that rages scarlet in intensity, a yellow fear lurking beneath, and, of course, the deep blues.

I have no need to fear, no need to cancel the highlight of the month - my family's visit to Mumbai. What better way to overcome this than to have family nearby and a plan to visit the beauty of India? What better way to show defiance than to continue our enjoyment of life and appreciation of this great country? So I'll spare no more words on this but to quote the country's most amazing pacifist ...

You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.
- Mahatma Gandhi

Friday, November 28, 2008

We are safe

Just a quick blog to let everyone know that we are safe. The destruction and murders happened south of us in the more tourist-oriented areas of town. We live in Bandra which has, so far, remained free from strife.

I won't comment on all that has happened ... it's hard to say anything remotely interesting about something so devastating. Especially when I have a 6-yr old and a 1-yr old who have not been allowed outside for 2 days. Especially considering the 6-yr old was supposed to be in a beach resort right now, playing with one of her best friends. You can imagine the chaos of these little creatures trapped in a 1200 square foot apartment as their parents receive countless phonecalls about the situation and try to email family to let everyone know all are safe.

By canceling our flight and hiding inside, we let those bastards win.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Revitalisation

When you start to tire of the place you live, when you feel as though the blandness of identical days, seeing the same sights has left you blind to interesting observations, then invite someone to come and visit you. Like a jolt of electricity, the urge for visitors to have a fun time stimulates you to investigate all the exciting things to be done in your own locale. An excellent elixir to monotony.

My Dad and a close friend of the family (really, she's almost a sister) are coming to visit us in a few weeks. I've been plotting and planning and strategising and discovering. They will be here for almost three weeks, but it doesn't seem long enough to do everything I'd like to do. I'll have to cull the list, leave the merely "exciting" things in favor of the "once in a lifetime" things.

On the list ...
- visit to Elephanta island, carried on a palanquin up to the Buddhist caves while troupes of monkeys follow you
- Long weekend to Jaipur and Agra - Taj Mahal, Palace of the Winds, elephant ride up to the fort, and shopping for fabulous textiles, carvings, and furniture
- Long weekend to Goa - gorgeous beaches, tours to the old plantations where the Portuguese originally settled, dining on prawns the size of chihuahuas
- Visits to the art shops around town
- Museums filled with relics from a culture we know very little about
- Investigations at Chor Bazaar where you can find anything from a Victorian sextant to Buddhist carvings to brass sculptures of Vishnu
- Champagne brunches at the posh hotel
- Crawford market, a haggler's paradise
- Trip to the national park for tiger-spotting, 2 tiger cubs were born last month
- Ajanta caves - stunning paintings adorn the caves
...

The list goes on and on, and between all that I've got to let them recover from jet lag.

My goal: They leave India exhausted and ready for a vacation.

The one negative ... I have to work while they have all the fun.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

A Day In Mumbai ...

A remarkable day in Mumbai - one that reminds me why I love political stability. One of the political leaders was arrested on charges of rioting and brought to court in Bandra - the suburb of Mumbai where we live. His followers protested the arrest by doing the only sane thing in their arsenal ... throwing rocks at cars, setting rickshaws on fire, attacking taxis, and causing panic. All day long the rumors escalated until some were told that we'd be spending the night near the office.

I spent a few frantic hours trying to find a ride for my daughter, all the while wondering if she was going to end up spending the night at the school.

So now I am driving home on the very same road that was in such turmoil earlier, but I see no sign of the events. The politician is in court right now so we are trying to get home before the verdict is pronounced, for if the verdict is bad, there will be yet more violence in the streets. I've never seen the streets so empty.

A plume of grey smoke rises over the shanty town - I'm wondering if it has anything to do with the day's activities.

Policemen are concentrated in little pockets - monitoring areas of high friction, I guess.

Home we arrive in record time and throughout we have seen nothing of note other than pleasantly empty streets.

At home people complain about the news - how all 700 channels will report on some event of great importance. They get irritated that they can not watch their favorite show because some reporter is keeping everyone up to date with latest events and providing information on what to be wary of. Having experienced a couple of incidents here and there, I'd much rather hear everything I can and plan rather than base my judgment on Chinese Whispers.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Faith ... or lack thereof

On Tuesday our office celebrated Dussehra - a day to celebrate the triumph of good over evil. The ritual required a priest, lots of marigolds, rice, paint, water, incense, and candy. The priest chanted while sitting cross legged by a carpet of marigold petals. The inch thick carpet, square shaped with a semi-circle at one end, underlay a portrait of the goddess Parvati / Durga / Shakti (i.e. Ganesh's Mom) and an offering of incense, an apple, coconuts, and little pots of marigolds. As the chanting continued, the priest would scatter rice over certain pots, then dip his finger in paint and decorate other pots, then sprinkle marigolds over something else. The ritual was incredibly elaborate, lasting about half an hour, after which onlookers would wave smoke from a small metal bowl over their heads. The grand finale was the handing out of little boxes of sweets for everyone.

I was very irritable after the ceremony - irritable because I wasn't really sure how I should have responded. I was there to see a cultural thing and ended up feeling obliged to wave a smoking bowl over my head thereby supporting a ritual that I had no belief in. It was expected of me so I did it. So where is the line between trying to immerse oneself in a cultural experience and treading hypocrisy in attending local religious ceremonies?

In contemplating the experience and figuring out why I was so angry ... I have questions that bother me ...

Why is the word "faith" lauded? Why should a "belief that does not rest on logical proof or material evidence" be treasured over logic and facts?

Why do many people automatically assume that if an individual does not believe in some form of God, then that individual is morally bankrupt?

Why do so many believe that morality can only be a result of religion?

And how did religious rituals ever get so convoluted?

I get depressed when religion so completely envelopes a soul that logic and reason suffer to "faith."

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Language

A new mall opened across the street from our office. A few months ago signs at the site advertised the name of the mall in English since many of the stores in the mall cater to ex-pats. But then the government changed hands and a new law was passed that forced every business in the city to post their signs in Marathi. Hindi and English are the 2 national languages but Marathi is the official language of the state, although more than 50% of the population in Mumbai do not speak Marathi. So by passing this law, shop owners now need to pay money to get new signs written in a language that many of them and their customers can't read. Some friends at work - highly educated Indians - can not read the signs and must guess at what the shop sells. Marathi may look a lot like Hindi to me, but I'm told that they are very different - not like Spanish and English where you can usually figure out meaning since the characters and words are so similar.

I find the government decision strange for such an international city. I understand the importance of preserving language, thereby preserving culture, but how can this new law lead to anything but confusion, frustration, and loss of revenue?

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Fall ...

Postings to this blog seem to ebb and flow with my
moods. Recently, as fall approaches, my thoughts
turn to my old home in New England where I adored
October through January. Here, in Mumbai, the leaves
are starting to turn dusty brown, but this is due to
the absense of rain and the steady accumulation of
dust and grime from an overpopulated city.

However, in India this time of year is one of
festivals and celebrations just as it is back home.
Ganesh's visit to earth starts the trend and follows
on with Mount Mary's festival (Christian), then
Gandhi's birthday, then Parvati (Ganesh's mom) gets
her day, then Diwali to honor Laxmi, the goddess of

wealth. Sprinkled in between are muslim holidays
and in December is Christmas.

Our nights are punctuated by fireworks and firecrackers
exploding in the streets. Our drive home usually
entails slowing down to pass by a procession beating
drums, dancing, and holding a cart with some god or
goddess sitting beneath a cloud of marigolds. My driver
seems to always be fasting since these festivals
usually include a certain number of days during which
you are not allowed to eat meat or drink alcohol.

So as my family at home prepare for all that I love
about autumn, I'll watch the celebrations here and
think of how my own traditions may change when I return
as a result of our brief life here.

In the meantime, I hope my siblings cut some pumpkins,
dress as ghosts and witches, race through piles
of leaves, and wrap their coats a litle tighter around
themselves as they watch their words turn to steam
on crisp mornings.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Maps

Maps are rarely used or understood by Mumbaikers. If you show taxi or rickshaw drivers a map, they stare at it blankly and have no idea how to read it. The end result of this is that they tend to know one or two ways of getting from A to B. Typically my husband has his nose in a map whenever we go anywhere; he likes to know where we are, where we are going, and how we get there. So when we asked the driver to take us to a particular place, and he started driving all over the city rather than using the most direct route, my husband took over and started to direct him. At one point my husband said,
"Turn left here, it's only a few blocks over."
The driver replied,
"No, sir, I have to drive straight here then turn around and drive back."
My husband said,
"No you don't, the map says that you can go this way."
The driver said,
"Sorry, sir, but it is this way."
The debate continued for a bit until my husband told the driver to turn and we'd just see where it got us. So the driver turned, and a few blocks later we pulled into the driveway of our destination. The driver then apologized and said that he hadn't gone that way before.

So this whole problem of not reading maps is, I'm convinced, the source of the traffic problems in Mumbai. Or at least in Bandra. Because once you get off the main road and snake through the back roads there is rarely much traffic. We once had a replacement driver who could get us anywhere at anytime in good time because he knew all the back alleys and short cuts in the area. Of course he was grumpy most days, he spoke hardly any English, and he hit the potholes so hard I thought the car would roll over.

Here is a story that I was told by an ex-pat who visited Mumbai. He said that this occurred to him, and he is not one to tell lies for the benefit of entertainment.

My friend was going to a dinner party so he took a rickshaw to get to the apartment but the rickshaw driver didn't know where the place was exactly. So my friend hopped out and decided he would find out where it was. He went up to a a group of guys and asked if they knew where this place was, through broken English and lots of repetition they understood what he wanted to know. So they all started talking in Hindi, explaining the directions. They tried to understand each other, but to no avail. Finally my friend asked if they could draw a map. They looked at him blankly. He pulled out a bit of paper and a pencil and asked them if they could draw a map - show him how he should walk to get to his friends house. The men still looked at him strangely, one repeated his request, and my friend nodded and said yes. The men talked with each other in Hindi, and finally chose one person to write. After 10 minutes of talking back and forth and concentrated drawing, they handed him over the 'map.' It was a picture of a road, with buildings on each side, and a stick figure walking down the street. All cartoon, no labels, just a picture, exactly as he had told them, showing him walking down the street to get to his friend's place.

I wonder what those guys thought of my friend - probably that he was very strange. They probably tell the story from a completely different perspective on their blogs.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Ganesha Chaturthi


Every year the Elephant-headed God, Ganesh, descends to earth from his home and stays on earth for 10 days after which he returns, taking the obstacles of his followers with him. To celebrate his presence, Hindus show their faith by having a plaster model of the elephant god in their homes to which they offer prayers, flowers, and ornate decorations. At the end of the 10 days the idol is carried to the sea and immersed in the ocean where it will dissolve. This final day, called Ganesha Chaturthi was yesterday.

We called in a babysitter and headed down to the ocean to watch the amazing events. The streets were packed with people, trucks, cars, rickshaws, and cow-towed carts, all decorated with flowers and tinsel and carrying idols. Music blared while people danced and threw dry paint over each other. The road was so packed that the cars could not reach the beach without a wait of several hours, so we got out and walked the rest of the way.

The dregs of monsoon season clung tenaciously on so we were drenched by the time we got to the beach, but what a sight to behold. The idols are so beautifully painted and some are larger than the people carrying them! The day is alcohol-free ... which is probably an excellent idea ... so the mood was all very good-natured, happy, and controlled. The people chant a melody, praying that Ganesh come again the following year.

My photos of the event are all very dark and speckled with raindrops, but I'll try to find a good one and load it on to this blog tomorrow night (the above picture is from a public website).

This festival causes any environmentally conscious person to shudder - the day after beachcombers will find shoals of fish washed up on shore, victims of too many idols dissolving their heavy metal-rich paints into the sea.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

The Lady and her Baby

Living in Mumbai as a Western ex-pat can stop you
dead in your tracks. One minute you feel proud to
have taken the chance to step outside of your sphere
and see parts of the world so different from what you
are used to. Then you encounter something so foreign
to your own culture that you don't know how to cope
and just want to run home. Avoidance can be a very
comfortable blanket against the inequities of life.

Over the weekend we shopped at the mall for what,
at the time, seemed like necessities ... pots,
luxury food items, socks, a toy for our baby. We
also ate lunch there, splurging for mountains
of food at TGIFs ... we both desperately missed
food from home so this was our only option. We
ordered too much food and couldn't finish it all
so we left 2 mini burgers, 2 chicken breasts, and
a pile of vegetables. We left the restaurant and
piled in to the van for the trip home when reality
slapped me in the face. As we waited at a red light
thin young women holding emaciated babies knocked
on our windows, begging for money. A little girl no
older than my own ran through the cars also begging.
I lowered my head in shame - for foreigners are told
not to give money to beggars because they are organized
and in many cases injuries and permanent damage to
limbs is sometimes deliberate to induce pity and
thus promote charity. As I thought of how much I spent
shopping and how much food I'd left on the table
I felt more and more embarrassed. A sharp rap on my
window yanked me out of my thoughts and I turned to see
a young woman holding a tiny baby. the baby had
a white bandage around her head and blood seeped through
the cotton bandage. The lady looked at me, no word
uttered, just a look in her eyes asking for help for
her baby.

So what did I do? Nothing. Every reference to
tourists emphasizes that giving money to people on
the streets is ineffective and promotes an
organized operation. Online charity to reputable
organizations is my only option - but how can this
ever balance the embarrassed shame I feel when I see
these women and babies? Since that day I haven't stopped
thinking of that baby and her Mommy. I regret not
giving them a helping hand. I should have packed them
in the car and driven them both to the hospital ...
so why didn't I? Because it would have inconvenienced
me and my family? Because I didn't think of it? Instead
I wept all the way home which served no purpose to
anyone.

So now I think of humanity and what it means. I thought
I was humane, but obviously I am not. Unless humane
means you empathize but do nothing. I think of how
the commitment to family blurs to the commitment to
others - where does one priority outweigh the other?
I'm not sure - I just know it was wrong of me to leave
the lady and her poor baby alone on the street and I
don't think I'll ever reconcile myself to my actions.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Krishna Janmashtami

Sunday was marked by Krishna Janmashtami, a celebration of the pranks of the god Krishna when he was a a little boy. All over the city little clay pots containing curd are strung up on ropes high in the air. Marigolds, balloons, and gold tinsel decorate the ropes. Troupes of people are tasked with making a human pyramid high enough for someone to monkey up to the top and break the clay pot. Some of these pots are over 6 stories up. No nets are used. The people wear braces that form an x on their backs so that the climbers:
a) Have something to grab hold of on the way up and
b) Have something to grab for if they fall.

Our driver took us to some of the famous places in south Bombay to witness the celebrations. Trucks loaded with people jammed the streets, people danced to vibrant music, and everywhere people laughed.

Here are a few photos -
The top one shows how high the pots can be strung - in this photo it is that little thing hanging just below the blue baloons.




In the second photo you can see the pyramid beginning to form. We never did see one of the pots get broken.









The last photo is of one of the trucks jammed full of people. All these guys wear the same T-shirt and are one big team that competes to try to break as many pots as they can find. In some places, quite a lot of money can be won by breaking the pot.

By the way, if the pyramid gets close the sponsor will spray water over them all ... even aim the jet of water at the tiny little boy who's job it is to get to the top and break the pot.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Pali Market

We live near a busy market where fruit and vegetables are haggled over every day. During the day the market is alive with the music of people trying to find the finest produce for the cheapest price. Stalls line the street, each stall displays beautifully shiny fruit or vegetables and the men inside call out to passers by, "Best fruit, Best Veg."
Ragged children sometimes run up the street, begging for money, occasionally a black-cloaked lady holding a small bundle at her breast will walk down asking for change to feed her baby. The market is exactly what I thought of when I first heard we were moving to India.

But night time is a different story. I expected that, at night, all produce is packed away, stalls are closed up, and the street empties until the new day. On the weekend I saw what really happens as my husband and I walked home from a friend's house at 2 in the morning. Some produce is indeed packed away, but only to clear an area large enough for the vendor to lie down and sleep for the night. The remaining produce is left on the stands with a muddy tarp over the top and tied down. Sometimes a tuft of hair sprouts from under the tarp as the owner slumbers beneath. As we walked down the quiet street I was struck by the life of these vendors; their home is their make-shift stall, their bed is under the pile of onions, their warmth a dirty tarp. And yet here I walked down that street, obviously foreign, I had a lump in my pocket that was obviously a wallet, it was 2 in the morning - and I felt perfectly safe. If I walked through most US cities at 2 in the morning I'd be clutching my keys and racing along, hoping I wouldn't get mugged.

Friday, August 8, 2008

The Ride Home

I meant to write every day this week, but I got so caught up in
my book that I chose reading over writing! Now the book is over
and I am a little sad about that since I enjoyed it so much.

The monsoon season so far has been a bit of a disappointment; not
much rain, no rats or snakes fleeing the sewers, no huge delays
or pileups on the highway. But today maybe this changes. The
rain just started dumping and is getting progressively more
severe. The percussive beat of the rain on our car roof breaks
only as we drive under overpasses. A perfect evening to bundle
up in a blankie and watch the opening ceremonies of the Olympics.
I haven't much to say, so since I am in the car I'll comment on
the things I see out the window.

Every so often we pass some poor, bedraggled motorcyclist with
and even more bedraggled passenger behind him. Now we have
turned off the highway and are in the shanty town where we've
just passed 2 shepherds herding about 30 goats down the street.
I can't even begin to guess where these goats are kept at night.

And there is a little naked boy running around in the rain and
laughing.

The big Ganesha festival is coming up so dotted around you catch
a glimpse of some enormous statue of the elephant god. In a few
weeks these statues will be carried on the shoulders of the
fortunate, down to the sea where they will be released into the
ocean. I'm quite looking forward to the spectacle.

I've just passed one of those makeshift shelters by the side of
the road - two branches holding up a tarp. There was another
tarp crossways to protect from the rain. There was smoke rising
from one of the small holes in the tent and all I can wonder is
if the family inside has enough air to breathe.

Mumbai is so green these days. Her fine mantle of brown dust has
vanished to reveal lush trees and beautiful flowers.

As the rains pound down a lady wearing a rain hat passes us. Her
sari hangs down in drenched folds and she shivers, but at least
her hair will still be neatly coiffed when she reaches her
destination.

The rain worsens, streets are starting to flood, traffic is
backing up.

We pass a familiar stone wall - the irregular and angular stones
were laid with thick infill of cement to hold the wall together.
The stones have been painted in bright colors. I remember the
first time I took this trip I saw a crew of men hand painting the
stones on this wall that runs for several hundred yards along the
road.

We've just passed a small, open room in an old building. Inside,
sitting cross-legged on the floor in a circle are several old
women. In the middle of the circle lies a heap of old sandals.
The women methodically rip apart the sandals and fling the bits
into piles. As they work all of them seem to be chattering away
at once. I pass them every day and every day the pile of sandals
is the same size.

At last we arrive at the bridge to Bandra and near home. The children will be hungry and anxious to play, and another night soon falls in Mumbai.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Differences Observed Over Vacation ... part 2

Another example ...

After the flight to England we de-boarded the plane
and followed signs to immigration. We joined the
queue and stood in line as the stamps thumped and
returning vacationers chatted away excitedly. We
then followed signs to baggage claim. People tended
to park their trolleys to the side, then stepped
up closer to the belt, ready to grab their bags.
We got our bags and joined the orderly queue through
customs, handed over our paperwork to the customs
officials and answered about 5 questions on details
of our visit. We filed through and followed signs to
the hotel shuttle. It was slightly cool, so the
10 people waiting for their friends/family from the
flight all wore light jackets. We found the waiting
place, the bus arrived in 5 minutes and we quickly
left the airport.

After the flight to Mumbai we de-boarded the plane
and followed signs to immigration. We were sent
to the front of the queue because we had 2 children
and were checked in very quickly. We then followed
signs to baggage claim. All the signs directed
passengers from our flight to belt 2, but when we
got there an uniformed man stood there, waving his
arms, telling us to go to a different belt. On
we went to the different baggage claim where people
grabbed the trolleys and jammed themselves plus the
trolleys up against the baggage claim belt - Twiggy
couldn't have slipped in to get near the belt. The
bags came trundling around the belt soaking wet from
the rain. Some bags had little pools of water on the
top. We retrieved our damp belongings and joined the
mass of people surging towards customs. At customs
the man took our small form and waved us on. We filed
through to outside where hundreds of people stood by
waiting for passengers. Half of them had to stand in
the rain holding flimsy umbrellas. As we stood to the
side waiting for our ride, a man tried to take a photo
of our son. Our driver arrived and led us to the van -
as we walked over a guy walked up to us, grabbed the
suitcases and followed us to the van where he hurled
in the baggage so it slammed into the side. Then he
raced back over to me and grabbed the stroller - with
my son in it - and raced back to the van. I yelled
after him to stop it and give me back my son, meanwhile
my son burst into hysterics. My husband and our driver
then started yelling at the man to leave us alone. Then
my daughter started to get upset. In retrospect it's
all very funny but at the time I was almost hysterical
with exhaustion, frustration, and irritation.

Then yesterday morning after a long day, my husband and
were in the kitchen, we looked out the window, and there
on the roof of the neighboring apartment was a guy peeing
on the roof.

Welcome back to Mumbai.

Monday, July 28, 2008

Differences Observed Over Vacation ... part 1

Our vacation to England served so many purposes
that it is hard to list them all. Inclusive of
these ... and I won't discuss the obvious joys
of vacations .. are a renewed appreciation for, in
fact enjoyment of, cultural differences.

For example ...
On arriving in England I had to visit the restroom
to change my son's nappy. All stalls in the
spotless bathroom were available for use, there
was an infant changing table available, and
everything was automated (toilet flushing, water
from the tap, soap dispenser, hand dryer). There
were 2 attendants there, one cleaned the stalls
and the other stood around staring at nothing in
particular. Both wore wearied frowns and neither
spoke a word to anyone.

On arriving in Mumbai I had to visit the restroom
to change my son's nappy. Three of the 6 stalls
in the run down and not very clean bathroom were
unavailable, I had to change the nappy by balancing
my son between two sinks, and nothing was automatic
so I had to clean my hands one at a time.
There were 3 attendants there, sitting on a sheet
on the floor. They sat in a circle, in the middle
of which lay 3 plates of food and a pile of naan bread.
The three chattered away, laughing and smiling as
they ate their lunch in the middle of the bathroom
floor in an airport that serves a city of 20 million
people.

Then, at that time, I felt surprised. But 2 weeks ago, before I left
this all would have seemed normal.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Rickshaws


It's strange how quickly one adapts to a foreign culture
and suddenly ceases to be intrigued by differences. I
have not made any interesting blog entries for quite a
while because I have adjusted to the differences and
find them no more noteworthy than the weather. Perhaps
after my vacation my recognition and appreciation of such
differences will bloom again.

Yesterday on the way home we passed a rickshaw. A rickshaw
is a small 3-wheeled vehicle powered by a motorcycle
engine. The driver sits in front center, and generally
2 adults sit comfortably in the back. We have managed
to fit in 2 adults, 2 children, and a push-chair.
Yesterday we passed a rickshaw containing no less than
8 school children. There may possibly have been more,
but I had difficulties decomposing all those arms, legs,
pony tails, and feet into their individuals. All the
children had great big silly grins on their faces
completely oblivious to the dangers of such chaos.

Was I ever that silly?

Probably.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Education Differences

Due to the outrageous spiraling of oil prices, the
company I work for is booming and we are hiring.
Over the last few years our office in Mumbai has
increased in staff almost 100 times. So working with
such young people, straight out of college, I have
observed an interesting thing about the education
system here; the students do not question their teachers.

That may seem of minor interest, but the end result is
that most of the people coming in to our office assume
on blind faith that what they are given is correct,
and they don't even consider questioning it. They
are hesitant to disagree with other more experienced
people, and when they do ask about something that
doesn't make sense to them they ask quietly, under
their breath, as though they are to blame for not
understanding.

This seems subtle, but it actually has a big impact
on how I interact with people in the office. When I
came here I had to change to accommodate this difference.
The staff are still too young for me to determine if
they will be the future leaders of the company. Surely
they are bright enough, professional, and hard working,
but in their work they must also learn to question
everything - that is the way to learn, adapt, and innovate.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Farewell Priscilla

My children's nanny, Priscilla, will leave us next
Tuesday. We've all known that she will be going,
but still we feel so sad that she is leaving our
lives. Yesterday my 5-year old emptied out her
piggy bank and laid all 15 US pennies on the bed.
Then she called Priscilla over and said,
"Priscilla, if you stay with me I'll give you all
this money. But if you go, you can't have any of it."
I think my little angel will have the hardest time
next week.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Waiting for Rain Again

The air is thick and heavy today, a result of no rain
for a week. Every day feels denser than the one before
and I feel a tension everywhere as though everyone
waits for the great deluge. Last week the nightly
bouts of lightning and heavy rain were welcomed and
enjoyed, but this week the waiting makes me twitchy.
I should not hope for rain for it must make life
desperate for the millions of homeless around here.
Although what some call home is really four walls of
corrugated metal sheets enclosing a square the breadth
of the sidewalk with a tarp thrown over the top.
When we pass these corrugated neighborhoods, I'm
always surprised to see padlocks bolting the door
shut when the windows (cuts in the metal panels)
are wide open.

One road we frequently drive on crosses a long stretch
of undeveloped swamp land. The left side of the road
is all buildings, stores, apartments, and people while
the right side of the road is a wall separating the
road from the swamp. Trees grow alongside the road
in measured gaps along the footpath. Some
individuals have chosen to live along the sidewalk
so I always see laundry hanging out to dry or naked
little children struggling to stop their mother/sister
from washing them. The interesting parts of the
scene lie high up in the trees - hammocks are strung
from bough to bough. So I suppose at night these
guys climb the trees to sleep.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Childhood

Earlier this week I just couldn't stand to
see my 5-year old cooped up any longer. So
I took her outside to the little courtyard
and let her run around in the rain. I held
an umbrella and stood while this hurricane
of exuberance raced from wall to wall in the
pouring rain. She slid, she slipped, she
crashed in to things, she was absolutely
soaking wet and having the best time in the
world. Afterwards we returned to our apartment
where she had a long shower, bundled up in
a warm towel, and ate a pile of food.

Therein lies the joy of childhood for both
child and parent.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Sea Squares

I have found out what the blocked off squares are (from my previous blog entry), they trap fish!!! The fish get trapped in the area as the tide recedes, then fishermen go out there to collect them.

Monday, June 9, 2008

The Arabian Sea

We walked along the Arabian Sea the other day. Now when I hear "Arabian Sea" I envisage white sands, palm trees, wild black stallions racing over the beach, and sea so blue your heart aches to see it. The photo shows a slightly different but nonetheless
intriguing picture.

People wash their laundry in the ocean and dry it by laying it flat on the ground. As you walk along the beach you notice these very large square areas blocked off with stones. When the tide recedes, these square areas retain the sea water. My assumption is that the people wash clothes in these large areas and leave them on the rocky shore to dry.

I think that some of the people do this as a job - now how enterprising is that? No cost but the labor.

The other photo shows arrows pointing to these rocks squares. The red circle is around 2 people so you get an idea of how big the squares are. I can't believe this huge area was made just for washing clothes - it is obviously man made but what could the areas have been made for?

P.S. click on the photo to see it enlarged

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Vacation Expectations


We are going on vacation in a few weeks and there are a couple of things I am looking forward to. Among the top 10 is NOT seeing guys peeing. I just can't get used to these drivers pulling over to the side of the road and peeing against any wall they see. Coupled with that ... I am tired of seeing people squatting in the road to relieve themselves, and seeing the tell-tale red streak of betel-leaf chewers spitting out their blood-red juice.

Of everything I will miss, the people top the list.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Cometh the Rains and Happy Birthday Diego


The monsoon season has arrived in Bombay. Last night a thunderstorm raged for an hour or so, the lightning flickering off and on long after the rains ceased, and again this morning the rains beat down on the city. For some reason the rains have made me inexorably happy. People are supposed to get depressed when they can't see the sun, but today I feel as though some great weight has been removed from my shoulders and I want to dance and sing in the rain. Undoubtedly in a few weeks I'll be miserable when the rain doesn't stop, but for now call me Gene Kelly.

As a side note, many happy returns to Diego Velazquez ... he would have been 409 years old today!

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Learning Hindi

Priscilla, my children's nanny, brought me a small
book entitled "Learn Hindi Through English." The book
is split into different sections that detail different
sorts of conversations you may have, and each page of
each section is split into 3 units; the Hindi script,
the Western pronunciation of the Hindi script, and
the English translation. The units are supposed
to represent fairly common conversations you may have
in a given day.

Here are some examples of the typical conversations
you may have in Hindi:

- He is a donkey (Vah gadha hai)
- This is against the law (Yah niyam ke virud-dh hai)
- Your hair are falling (Apke bal zad rahe hain)
- I want paws a bit wider (Panje kuchh chaude chahiye)
- The boat is sinking (Nav dub rahi hai)
- It has brought the lust (Masti laya hai)
- The world has become mad (Duniya pagal ban gayi hai)
- The moon is giving bath to the Earth with dews
(Chand dharti ko sabnam se nahlata hai)

Or perhaps something has been lost in the English
translation and the Hindi expression doesn't
actually mean "He is a donkey?" but actually means
something like "How are you today?"

Nonetheless ... this is very interesting reading ...

Friday, May 30, 2008

Life is too Good to be Grumpy

The other day I was whining to a friend about
my apartment and the safety hazards that abound
therein. I guess the day was long, headache
unbearable, and concerns for the safety of my
children overwhelming. My friend pointed out
that my 'pitiful' circumstance was likely better
than 90% of the rest of this city and I had
no right to be so critical.

At first I was a bit frustrated that he just
didn't understand where I was coming from. He
didn't get my point and it was easy for him to
retort like that because he's safe and secure in
a lovely home with all the amenities the U.S. has
to offer.

But, as usual, this guy is absolutely right.
I have no right to complain. I have no right to
even have a bad day. Not when so many around
me have so much less. My children are not begging
on the street, I am not sleeping in doorways,
my husband does not have his leg so horribly
damaged that it now drapes uselessly over his
arm as he hobbles around on crutches. My friend
thinks that everyone in the U.S. should live in
a developing country for a few months ... I have
to agree with him.

The next time I am back home and things just
aren't going my way I'll have to remember
this life and reevaluate my priorities. Life
is too short and I am too fortunate to be grumpy.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Monsoon Preparedness

Monsoon will be be here on June 10th. Everyone has
an idea about when it will arrive, but the general
consensus is June 10th. At the office we have had
lectures on monsoon preparedness. Such preparations
include the following:

- take note of websites that track the weather
- keep a case of bottled water in the house in case you
need to wash with it when the sewers leak in to the
water supply
- keep a flashlight, umbrella, bottled water, and light
snack in the car at all times
- Candles, matches, flashlights should be at hand at home
- Develop an emergency plan - phone numbers for people
to call and for you to call in case of emergency
- keep cell phones charge at all times
- Ensure car tires have appropropriate groove depth
- Buy electrical mosquito repellent for every room
in the house
- Have a malaria test kit handy and learn how to test for
malaria
- Have your doctor's phone number handy
- Place mosquito netting over and around your bed
- if you go outside, spray yourself well with repellent
- keep important documents in a watertight bag and close
to hand in your house
- make high quality copies of all immigration
documents, passports, etc.

Here are some warnings:
- allow extra time for travel when it rains
- Children can play in the rain, but when they are done
take them inside immediately and wash them off with
clean water
- Feed aforementioned children hot chicken noodle soup to
warm them up
- If you get caught in the rain, take a shower as soon
as you get home - use bottled water if flooding is bad
- Absolutely under no circumstances go outside when it
floods - uncovered manholes and holes in the middle
of the street may entrap and drown you
- In severe flooding do not shower or bathe
- when bathing children, be extra careful to prevent
them from drinking the bath water
- In the car, do not try to cross water >6 inches deep
- If you are stranded, stay in your car
- If the water rises, get out of your car and head to
higher ground
- Do NOT allow any open wound to get wet - rat and dog
urine in pools of water can lead to septicemia
- pay attention to tidal charts (there's a website)
and take extra care if heavy rains occur at high tide.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Priscilla

My children have a most remarkable nanny. I
trust her with my most precious possessions
without hesitation. Over the months I have
found out more about Priscilla and through
it all I wonder at her marvelous good nature
and bright spirits. A daughter of 14, she
left home at the age of 12 to work for an
expat. She cleaned, washed, and looked after
the lady's children as needed. Her sister,
too, was hired by the lady so both girls
started full time jobs as live-in help.
Over the years the lady taught them English,
taught them how to cook, and taught them
how to invest and save their money. She opened
a bank account for each and deposited part of
their earnings in to their accounts.
Eventually the lady left and no longer needed
their help, so the sisters left to find other
jobs. Now, over 20 years later, Priscilla
has a son who graduated from university in
England and works full time as a software
engiineer in Edinburgh. She often reflects on
her life and how lucky she was to have found a
"Ma'am" who took such good care of her.

How interesting to reflect on our different
perspectives - I feel a little sad that she lost
her childhood so soon and probably had to deal
with a lot of things at a young age. But she
feels joyous and grateful to have learned
so much from a wonderful lady.

Yet again I am spending a considerable amount
of time reflecting on our different ways.

I am losing Priscilla soon - she will be moving to
Scotland to join her son and start a new
life in a different culture. I'll miss her,
my children will miss her, and my life will
never be the same for having known her.

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Project Management

A friend here decided that she really did not
like the decor in her dining room, so she
sought out some tailors in the market and
arranged to have slip covers made for her
dining room chairs. The next day 6 guys
carrying their wares showed up at her door.
She cleared a space in the living room and
the 6 of them got to work measuring, cutting,
and sewing. They measured the chairs and
fabric using their hands and arms as
measuring sticks. One of them pulled out a
sewing machine, set it up on the floor, and
started sewing together the bits of fabric
that had been measured and cut by his
colleagues. All 6 of them had tasks to do, and
all of them worked quickly and efficiently to create
some very well made slip covers in only a few hours.

Now that's what I call project management!

Lunch Options

Today's lunch option were:
fish curry, pea curry, or cheese curry.

Just once I'd love the options to be
T-bone steak, hamburger, or lasagna.

But for 50 cents, I guess I can't complain.

Monday, May 5, 2008

India's Treasures

The other day there was an article in the newspaper
celebrating the rich culture that abounds in India's
domain. Inclusive in the list was one of only two
remiaing original copies of Boccaccio's Decameron.
Apparently, this 650 year old book lies on a shelf in
a museum in India. Preliminary web searching has
left me empty of facts --- but I intend to pursue
this to discover if indeed I may be able to glimpse
the historic manuscript before it decays entirely
to dust.

Speaking of the Plague ...

A friend of mine was walking through the market
looking around and enjoying the day when he accidently
stepped in something soft and squishy. In the instant
before he looked down his mind flicked through all the
possibilities of what he'd see sticking to the bottom
of his sandals; rotten fruit, dog poo, people poo,
blackened mango, a puddle of filth.

No ... it was a rat.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

We spent a weekend in Goa not too long ago.
Goa is marked by beautiful beaches, cool
breezes off the Arabian Sea, and a beautiful
architecture that originally stems from
its Portuguese heritage. The locals speak
a mix of Hindi and Portuguese. The break was
wonderful - I had forgotten what it was like to
drive on roads without potholes along lanes
devoid of rubbish. We did not see desperate
poverty everywhere we went.

As I sat on the beach a young lady came up to
sell her wares. She was very chatty, very kind,
and exceptionally good at getting me to look at her
beautiful things. I picked out what I wanted and
we started to haggle over the price. After a bit of
jousting, she said,
"Ma'am, do not think of the money you are spending,
think of poor Nicki and her 2 boys."
And she was absolutely right --- what an excellent
piece of emotional blackmail that really worked!
There I was, a well off tourist staying in a beautiful
hotel with time to sit on the beach whereas she
was living on the beach with her 2 sons, struggling
to survive. So that comment ended our negotiations
and I paid her the price she asked.

That night we ate in a shack by the beach. A rough bamboo
frame supported a roof of braided palm fronds. Seafood
was fresh, so if you ordered seafood from the menu
you walked to the display area and chose which critter
you wanted to eat. My husband chose 2 jumbo shrimp ---
the two shrimp alone weighed over a pound. As we ate
our meal 2 cats wandered through the restaurant looking
for scraps. They curled around table legs and customer
legs waiting for a morsel to drop.

Goa really was a perfect break from city life. I like
Mumbai, but so many people crammed into one city
has definite disadvantages.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Rain, Rain, Come Again

We have been here now for 2 months and in that time
there has been not one single drop of rain and not a cloud
in the sky. Every day is like the one before, but perhaps
a bit warmer. I miss the rain. When the monsoon comes
in a few months we are told to stay inside. The falling
rain is rich in pollution and the standing puddles contain
entire civilizations of diseases. As the drains back up
the rats emerge, followed shortly thereafter by the
snakes. Most ex-pat families leave during monsoon,
leaving spouses behind to work alone for 2 months. When
the rains abate the families return to continue life as
normal. I'm not quite sure what to expect, but I
look forward to seeing rain again, even if it does last
for 30 hourse and makes life a bit more difficult.

Monday, April 7, 2008

Parakeets

Every morning I wake up and look out
the window to see our 'pets.' The
tree outside our flat is home to small,
green parakeets and even smaller kingfishers.
My daughter and I love watching the
parakeets preen or regurgitate leftovers
for their babies. She thinks this bird method
of feeding is disgusting, but appreciates the
care and attention with which the mommies look
after their babies. Also lurking in the trees
we see several beady-eyed crows looking
for a free meal. Pigeon feet and feathers bedeck
our porch, a startling testament to the
ferocity of the hungry crows. I thought
my 5-year old would be horrified by the remains,
however she expressed great interest in them
and stated that it was a good thing we didn't
eat other animals. Oh dear ...

A colleague at work has eagles nesting in the
trees outside by her porch. The eagles have
nestlings, so any time she goes on the porch
she gets dive-bombed by 2 protective parents.
The eaglets have grown somewhat, so now she is
at least able to step outside without fear of
raking talons. I think I prefer my little green parakeets.

Friday, March 28, 2008

Beds and Bathrooms

Indian beds leave much to be desired.
The mattress, 4 inches of some filling equal
only to granite in hardness, hurled atop
a wooden platform serves as a bed ...
box springs are unheard of. I'm not sure
if this is good or bad for my back, regardless
I have yet to sleep through the night.

Of course a 9 month old son kicking me in
kidneys may also have something to do with that.

Bathrooms, too, deserve note. Our real estate
agent let us know the importance of bathrooms
to the average Indian family. Every bedroom
MUST have an accompanying bathroom, and the
bathroom really should be large enough to
comfortably include the entire family. In
general, the entire bathroom acts as the shower,
so toilet and sink are sprayed with droplets
as you enjoy your ablutions. Actually, it all
makes sense - you do not feel squeezed in to a
tiny space but rather have the freedom to move
around and enjoy your shower. I told my husband
it was sort of weird to be able to pee and
have a shower at the same time to which he
responded,
"I've always been able to do that."

Thursday, March 27, 2008

The Neighborhood

Every night before I go to bed I turn off all the
lights and peek out each window. I like to peer
across at my neighbors to see a little bit
of what life might be like for a local. One window
looks out into the kitchens of apartments and
inevitably I will see 3 saree-dressed ladies
gossiping as they work. Sometimes they are
rolling out chapatis, sometimes they are washing
dishes, and sometimes they are doing nothing more than
enjoying talking. Out another window I see a
big sister putting her 2 younger siblings to bed.
The kids are usually so wound up they can't sit still
and the older girl has to reprimand them. Eventually
they settle down, the light goes off, and they stop
wiggling. Another window looks in to the dining
room of a very posh family, but I have only once seen
more than one person there. Usually there is a man
or a woman sitting alone at the table. Our bedroom
window looks out on a construction site that I've
mentioned before. I hear hammering and sawing well
into the night, but I also hear lively music and
laughing.

I think the world would be a better
place if everyone could see outside the
window and realize we're not that different
from one another.

By the way, I think it's terribly funny that my spell-checker
find hepatitis as the closest match to chapatis.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Elephants and Art

This morning we saw an elephant. He was
casually watching a cricket match with a young
man, swishing his tail back and forth at buzzing
flies. I realize the elephant was not in the wild,
but I still thought it was amazing to see him out in
the open. He actually looked small in the field,
whereas elephants in the zoo seem so much bigger
because of the confined space in which they live.

Stores here sell beautiful carvings of elephants.
some of the pieces include extravagant gold
or silver armor covering the elephant, others
are more simplistic but equally beautiful.
One art store near our apartment sells so many
wonderfully crafted items, and so many wonderfully
tacky ones too:
- A painting of the Mona Lisa but she's dressed
as a Hindu princess complete with nose-ring
- A glass table, the pedestal of which is a
carving of a the waist-down of a beautiful Hindi
servant - the glass top emerges from her narrow
waist as she sits with legs bent at the knees, the
rest of her emerges from the top of the glass so it
looks like she's holding the table as a serving tray.
- Innumerable brightly painted statues of the
various gods (Ganesha is my favorite)
- A line of ebony elephants, decreasing in size
- Exquisitely carved wooden .... things ... to
hang on the wall; some are frames for mirrors,
some are small shelves, some are hooks for coats.

I've restrained myself from buying anything so far -
I think my strategy is to wait until I've been here
a bit longer and checked out the best places for
local crafts. But I'm tempted to go back to the place and take some photos.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Holi

This weekend the colors flew in Mumbai. The
celebrations were for Holi - one of the biggest
festivals after Diwali. On Friday night the
bonfires burned and today the streets turned pink,
red, blue, green, and all colors of the rainbow
as the festival of colors raged. This is one time
of the year when inhibitions are lowered and people
let their hair down. Vendors sell little packets
of powdered paint, liquor stores open up for a
busy day, and every little corner shop sells
water guns. Everywhere you turn you see someone
covered in paint and throwing the next handful at
someone else. Boys and girls run around screaming
as they spray each other with water from plastic
guns, rickshaws speed by as water balloons fly out
the doors for a well-aimed splatter. You can't
help but laugh and smile as everyone enjoys the
day.

In the early morning only the most eager are out
pelting each other with paint. By mid-day the
students and young adults are out, kids are
squealing in delight, and the drinking begins.
By 2 in the afternoon many are stumbling drunk,
covered in paint, and out of ammunition. Hordes
of people flock to the beach to plunge in and wash
away the paint
. By 4 in the afternoon most of the
paint is gone but a few hardy soles peek out through
a face coated in 5 different colors. By evening all
that remains of the day are pink streets, bits
of exploded water balloon, and smudges of color
on the sides of rickshaws and taxis.

I loved the experience today - people enjoyed
themselves and ran around as if there weren't a care
in the world. I loved hearing the high-pitched
giggles and squeals of the kids as they played,
and there was a smile on almost every face I saw.

Now next year I'm buying some paint ....

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Holi

Steve's involvement in client presentations, combined
with the incumbent move to our new apartment resulted
in a week devoid of the luxury of blogging. The
children wanted all my attention at home, which
I adore, but when they settle down to sleep so
too do I.

Next week is "Holi" - a time for citizens of
India to fill balloons or plastic baggies with
colorful paint and pelt each other.
All traffic, and all tourists are not immune
from attack. I've been warned to stay
inside all day ... but I admit that I really do
want to step outside and join the fun. I'm not
sure what the significance of the paint is ---
but I'll find out by my next posting. Some ex
pats join in the paint attacks to return home
absolutely covered in bright colors.

The guy who I go to for meat also has a small
display of grocery necessities for sale.
Yesterday he proudly showed me the array of
Easter eggs behind the counter so now I
know where the easter bunny will go to get
Catherine and Iain their eggs!

Monday, March 10, 2008

Tourism

Yesterday we drove to south Bombay to sightsee.
However sightseeing with 2 small children leaves
a lot to be desired, so our outing resulted in
a shortened walk along Marine Drive followed by
a quick look at the Gateway of India, and culminated
in lunch at the Taj Mahal hotel. Tourism must be
accomplished 1 highlight at a time else sleepy,
grumpy children prevail.

The Gateway left me a bit underwhelmed because
it was covered in netting and is under refurbishment.
I was more impressed by th multitude of people
around it who were busy selling their wares.
The Taj Mahal hotel did leave me breathless -
a stunningly beautiful building that reeks of wealth.
Starting price per night at over $300.

The highlight of our foray was driving by the train
station. Victoria station is absolutely stunning
and no photo or description could ever describe
the feelings you have when you see it. It's just
incredible how much attention to detail and beauty
architects used to pay, where now the theme is to
throw something up as fast as possible. Quick
profit at the expense of beauty, I can't really
blame today's architects but I do sometimes wish
they spent more time creating art in their work.

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Maha Shrivatri

The festival of Maha Shrivatri on the 6th of March was a holiday for us.
I stayed home with the kids, but went out during the day to see dozens
of shrines, each with lines of people waiting to go inside. Orange seemed
to be the predominant color, although more subdued colors were also present.

Saturday, March 8, 2008

Dignity

There is a quiet grace and elegance about the people
I have seen here. Even those who live in a tent by the
highway
seem to carry themselves with dignity. Most
do not eye the wealthy tourists with envy, but rather
an acceptance of the inequities of life, and a little
curiosity as to their differences. I may be totally
mistaken, but there seems to be a peace within them
despite any perceived hardship. That's not to say
all is happy and well for most of the population,
only to say that where living conditions suffer,
self respect does not.

Friday, March 7, 2008

Fashion

And now some fashion information ...

A sari is actually just a long, rectangular strip
of cloth, expertly wrapped around a lady. A
petticoat is worn to fix the sari, and a small
vest-like blouse is worn on top beneath the long
sashes of the sari. Young ladies with fine, slim
figures would show a belly-button, however
larger women would not. A punjabi is less
effort than a sari and more frequently worn by
unmarried maidens. The punjabi is a long blouse
that hangs to the knees under which loose-fitting
pants are worn. A strip of beautiful cloth is then
thrown across the front of the shoulders to highlight
the outfit. Punjabis are made of the same dazzling
fabrics as the saris. There are several ways to
wear a sari - the differences depend on what aspect
of the clothing you wish to highlight or the
formality of the occasion, or how much effort you
want to put in to your dress. There are 2 different
types of fabric to choose from when buying your
sari; a soft cotton that feels weightless or a
heavier synthetic that keeps folds. The softer
option feels far more comfortable, however the
weightier fabric looks outstanding, especially if
the creases have been ironed perfectly. There are
of course all matter of variations between the 2
fabrics as well.

This information is based on conversations with
Indian women and from a sari-wrapping social I
went to. The lady who showed us how to wrap a
sari is from Trinidad, and believe it or not she's
best friends with an old school friend of my sister!
What are the odds ....

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Groceries

I love looking in the grocery stores here. It's so
fun to see the different varieties or flavors of
global products like mango Corn Flakes or clove
flavored gum. To an Indian these are normal, to
me these are highly unusual. Admittedly, the
pineapple-ginger squash left me somewhat unimpressed,
but the new flavors are pretty good.

Last week I walked to the local store and filled a basket
with essentials. I opened up my wallet to pay and
my cheeks burned crimson as I told the cashier that
I didn't bring enough money and had to remove a few
things from the bill. He told me not to worry but
pay what I could now and the rest the next day. I'm
not really sure, but I bet that I wouldn't find this
sort of trust in other major cities of the world.

Necessity really is the mother of invention. Due to the
lack of pre-made food here I've been forced to cook real
meals from scratch though all my recipes are neatly boxed
up in storage in Houston. Additionally, ovens are uncommon
here as most people cook on a stove top or in a microwave.
So now I look online to find suitable recipes that can
be cooked on a burner. I never would have expanded my
culinary horizons this way were it not for our current
situation.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Out the Window

Land is at a premium in Bombay, not surprising
considering it's one of the most populated cities
in the world. My real estate agent just told me
that a 3-bedroom apartment in downtown sold for
640million rupees ... or about 18 million USD.
One square foot of the place cost more than I
earn in a year. Part of me staggers to think
of this sort of wealth in an area of such poverty.
How can anyone justify that sort of expense
when they look out their window to see people
sleeping in hammocks in the trees as their children
take baths in puddles on the road? I, as ever,
remain hypocritical to the extreme --- I still
spend money at restaurants and on frivolous
purchases for my children, so indeed this is
the pot calling the kettle black.

The drive from the office to home is approximately
20 miles. On clear days we arrive in 40 minutes, on
traffic-filled days we take 2 hours, one day during
a particularly bad monsoon day it took a friend
24 hours to drive home. The route offers new
sights every day and I find it hard to concentrate
on my book when such diversity is in my view.
The shanty towns intrigue me as I think about how
hard life must be there, austere, gray apartment blocks,
towering above, invariably have lines of bright washing
hanging out to dry on patios, a particular field must
always be ignored as it contains never less than 15 people
squatting down and relieving themselves of the
previous day's indulgences, and of course watching the
drivers disobey laws of physics as they squeeze into
spaces smaller than their vehicle is a constant
source of entertainment. I wish I had 8 pairs
of eyes so as not to miss a single thing.

Here are some other exceptional sights for which
I really wished I had my camera:

* A bus without a front windscreen driving as normal

* A motorcyclist using a polo helmet for protection

* Well-dressed ladies riding motorcycles side-saddle

* A Muslim lady dressed in full black and burkha
with her arms wrapped around the motorcycle driver

* 10 kids crammed into a 4-seater taxi

* A truck full of chunks of asphalt with an
exhausted laborer fast asleep atop the jagged
pieces of rock

* Chunks of concrete used to divide the north vs.
south running traffic on a 6-lane highway

* An emaciated man dressed in rags walking 3 gorgeous,
well fed breed dogs

The list never ends ... so much dichotomy just
from the windows of your car.

Monday, March 3, 2008

The Effects of Cheap Labor

Several years ago the Indians, shrugging off the last vestige of
colonialism, changed the English names of
streets and cities to more traditional Hindi names.
Bombay became Mumbai, Madras became Chennai,
Calcutta became Kolcuta. However the local people
seem to prefer the original naming conventions (except
for Chennai which seems to never be referred to as
Madras). I'm told that the sure sign of a tourist is
one who refers to the city as Mumbai.

Bearing that in mind, I shall go native and refer
to the city as either Bombay or Mumbai ... depending
on my particular mood for the day.

The effects of the difference in cost of human labor
between here and the U.S. astound me. Some examples
of cheap labor:

* A store may have 10 people standing around, waiting
to hold your shopping basket for you.

* Buildings are destroyed by troops of men with sledge-
hammers rather than by bulldozer.

* In a store, instead of one row of 50000 bottles of Coke
there would be a row of 3 bottles of coke nestled
amongst other sodas, juices, syrups, breads, and
cereals. Staff constantly run to the back to
replenish shelf items.

* Some expats have a driver, a cook, a maid, and a nanny.

* Every apartment has at least 3 security men.

* Every apartment has someone to collect the garbage
at your door 7 days a week.

* A common adornment is a long garland of flowers,
hand threaded - even the rickshaws drape them
over the front.

* At the florist there are usually several people
weaving baskets from thick grass for the arrangements.

* Every grocery store delivers goods to your door at
no cost.

* Roadworks are completed by troops of people with
pick-axes (to break the asphalt) and metal bowls
(to carry the debris).

* I've seen people painting the traffic lines on the roads.

* Every restaurant has at least 6 telephone numbers, each
manned by a different person to handle the volume of
delivery requests.

* When you call the utility companies a human answers.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

Turner Road, next to Subway, by the shoe shop ...

Directing someone to a specific place in Mumbai requires
patience and creativity. Addresses are not of the
form "21 Washington Street", but rather of the form
"Linking Road, next to Dominos pizza, behind the school."
Our address here in the temporary house is
East Avenue, close to St. Theresa school, Meera apartment.
Unfortunately there is another St. Theresa school in
Bandra, and also a Meera Road. I've got a fist full of
landmarks that I need to use to describe where we
live to anyone. This problem worsens when you realize
that no one knows how to read a map and no one cares
which direction is north, south, east, or west. The
problem now doubles since not too long ago all the roads
were renamed from English names to Hindi names. So
asking a rickshaw driver that he needs to go north on
SV Road requires about 5 minutes of hand waving.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Idols, Marigolds, and Anachronisms

Yesterday I passed a small procession walking down the
street. The procession, composed of a small hutch on
wheels preceded by 2 people and followed by 2 people
slowly trundled down a busy street. The hutch, nothing
more than an old fruit crate, was covered in bright
marigolds and inside sat an idol covered in marigolds,
purple flowers, and long, smoking sticks of incense.
Ironically for me, the women wore rather plain saris,
although beautiful, sheer fabric cowled their heads.
The men wore scrubby pants and shirts, looking no
different from others on the street. All 4 were
dreadfully thin with very long, wiry arms and legs.
One banged a drum while the other 3 held out their
hands for money. This is a frequent sight, people
asking for money for their god in a display bedecked by
marigolds. My task before leaving India is to discover
the significance of marigolds for they shine out
everywhere; on rickshaws, trucks, over doorways,
and sometimes strung over the rear view mirror.

Shortly after passing the display a cart drawn by 2
cows passed me. The cows' horns had been painted bright
red and a wreath of marigolds strung over the yoke.
I still reflect on the anachrony of this method of
transport as trucks, rickshaws, and cars whiz by on
either side of the poor beasts.

I know anachrony isn't really a word but it seems to fit here.

Monkey Business

Walking to market today I encountered a young boy
thumping on a little drum and holding a lead. Tied
to the end of the lead stood, despairingly, a monkey.
I assumed that the boy wanted money for which he'd
make the monkey do tricks. Of course I was an
obvious target for the boy and monkey, however I
looked away and overacted total indifference. In
reality I was appalled and saddened at the life this
poor monkey must lead. Then I felt hopeful for the
boy that he had a means of supporting himself. Now
I wonder where the line between cruelty to animals
and a right to survival begins and ends. I would
never endorse the monkey method of employment, but
I can't fault the young boy for finding a way to
feed his family. In the U.S. this would be a very
different story, but here, in India, life is so
different.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

The Market

This morning I walked to the market with Iain. There's no
way I could possibly describe the scene. Stalls of fresh
fruit and vegetables lined the street, spilling out onto the
road. More traditional shops stood back, along the
pathway. Hawkers scrubbed their produce until it glowed,
others busily hung bright garments, bags, or plastic toys that
hung from self-made structures of bamboo poles tied
together in a framework with anything that could possibly
be used to tie a knot; string, plastic bags, long grass,
or bright yarn. And everywhere I walked people stared
at Iain and me. It's so hard to enjoy the atmosphere when
every move you make is being watched by others. I
far prefer anonymity.

I stopped by a stall to buy some fruit, succeeding in
purchasing everything I needed. The fruit seller offered
me a small, round, orange fruit. All traveling books tell
the tourist to never eat anything you can't peel without
first soaking in a solution to kill water-born bacteria.
So I thanked him and told him that I would perhaps try
the fruit another time. The man insisted, several times I
politely refused, repeatedly he offered it to me. So
there I stood, in a busy market where everyone stared at
the only white person around as a kind fruit seller
offered me a taste of his fine fruit. Do I risk the bout of
stomach cramps and nausea for the sake of avoiding offense?
Or do I possibly offend the man and refuse?

What would you have done?

So Many Switches

Our temporary apartment has 3 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a kitchen, and a
living room/dining room. In all, there are 109 switches. Some turn on lights,
some turn on outlets, some turn on fans. At night Steve and I race to bed
first, whoever loses has to turn off the lights and may spend 10 minutes
trying to figure out which switch is for which light. The dining room alone
has a panel of 11 switches.

Across the street several families labor every day on a new building site.
During the day the entire family works, at night they sleep in the shell of the
building. Women (dressed in those bright saris) break up stones or haul
metal tubs of rocks out of the site. The men ascend flimsy scaffolding
to continue work above. There is a fishnet strung between bushes below -
presumably to catch any who may misstep and plunge from the 9-story
building. Children scamper over piles of sand, stopping only to laugh and
giggle in youthful exuberance. These are the lucky ones - they have work
and a roof over their heads, at least for the moment.

First Impressions

I don't know where to begin - my senses are overwhelmed by all that is new;
sights, smells, tastes, even the air feels thick and heavy. In smug certainty
that my overseas upbringing would prepare me for anything, I found myself
to adapt to this new life. The first 3 days left me breathless as my emotions
swung back and forth on the pendulum of experience. Let me write of some
wonderful observations - probably of no interest to those experienced with
travel to Asia, but intriguing to me ... most assuredly a Westerner.

Trucks here stand out as beautiful works of art, all the more appreciated as
I wait in endless mazes of traffic. Designs vary a bit, but there seem to be 2
main styles; small panels along the length depicting idyllic tropical scenes, or
beautiful stripes of color along the sides. The front may have a metal plate
depicting a temple, or golden tassels that hang from the grill. The back door
usually displays the words "Horn OK Please," presumably a request to beep
your horn if you pass the truck. How the driver could possibly identify the
passing car's horn over the cacophony of horns blaring from all 248 other
cars around it I don't know.

People are everywhere. The impoverished and homeless break my heart as
some even resort to sleeping on the median as traffic zooms by on both
sides. Shantytowns lining the road to work serve as constant reminders of
how lucky people in the the U.S. are. Brightly painted buildings appear at
regular intervals along the shantytown strip; I am told these are
bathrooms - the only source of running water for hundreds of people
crammed into the small, corrugated metal huts.

There is a pervasive layer of dust over everything, so all you see is a dull
brown which only serves to accentuate the brightly colored saris worn
by the women. Even some of the beggar women wear beautiful, clean
saris. How the fabric shines so brightly when all else fades to brown
is a tribute to the women who spend hours washing clothes every day.