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."

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.

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.

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 ....

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!

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.

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.

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.

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 ....

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.

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.

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.

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.