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.

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.

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.