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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.