A Much Needed Rant and Trip Home

It’s time. I’m heading back to the U.S. for a much needed visit, and a sojourn down memory lane. I can sense I will be pleasantly surprised by how well run, clean, and generally easy life is back at home. I foresee the pristine roads of Boston being too dull at first, or the towering skyscrapers of New York almost too well organized in rows. But who f-ing cares; it will bring a nice peace of mind and change from the jitters one can feel when wandering around Mumbai. Plus, I’m sure I’ll get back in to the swing of things very quickly, probably forgetting what a ridiculous adventure I’ve been on these past several months.

In keeping with the theme of these blogs, I do want to mention a couple events that I’ve been through over the past weeks. So I finally made it out of the city (minus the small excursion I had hiking one weekend), and flew up to Delhi for Diwali (Hindi New Year and festival of lights). My purpose wasn’t really to get the Diwali experience, but I had my friend from Thailand coming to visit and travel in India. So of course we thought it would be a cool experience to buy tickets for the first Formula 1 race in India. With everything in India, there are two, or more likely, multiple sides to the story, and the same holds true for this first F1 race. The papers, politicians, and general public who follow suit with whatever common sentiment is all harped on how great the race will be run. The track was pristine and challenging. The venue was so well planned and (for a first) completed on time. Delhi was going to be packed and show itself to the international community as a city that’s made it to the top of the world stage.

Then there’s the more astute (I like to think) educated perspective in which I know, as did many expats, that the event would go off well, but inevitably with a few snags. Which, in my most humble opinion, was exactly what happened.

First off, the track was located a good 50 miles outside of Delhi in literally a barren wasteland called Noida. It’s supposed to be the new industrial center of the city, with affordable housing and business prospects galore. BS. We stayed one night out in the “dust bowl” in what I can only deem a modern day, old Western style, one horse town with nothing in sight. Needless to say, we bagged it pretty quick on that place and hopped into Delhi proper. Additionally, the exceedingly far distance, and what with the way roads are in India, traffic was going to be as jammed as a 5 year old’s face full of birthday cake. Add to that the fact that the signs, which were supposed to be everywhere and clearly marked, took us on the most circuitous route which in turn did not allow parking for those of us in taxis, yours truly. Nevermind the fact that there was a parking area the size of Nebraska surrounding the track, all the hired taxis had to wait for hours holed up in a dust pit on the edge of the track, all poking their heads up to get a glimpse of the roaring cars.

To make matters worse (I swear my rant ends here), once we were inside the venue everything was terribly organized. All I wanted was a cool F1 hat, but who would have thought ahead to stock enough so that even 10% of the people could purchase merchandise. I omitted defeat and sulked up to my bleacher seat using the back of my hand to wipe the grease from an overly fried samosa off my face.

The race was actually really cool. Andrew, my friend from Thailand, and I were just about the only white faces in the crowd so I guess you could say it was a bit more of a local feel to it. But who knows, it was my and India’s first race.

Along the line of motor vehicles, my brand new black Hero Passion Pro motorcycle fully equipped with helmet, seat guard, and locks up the wazoo, arrived (my use of commas is terrible). I’ve spent a couple Saturdays on the puppy just cruising around the city, and most importantly getting used to the traffic. I will admit that even still I get a bit nervous in anticipation of riding around, but when I hop on I’m perfectly comfortable. I know, everyone says it’s way too dangerous to drive in this city let alone on a bike. However, I do feel like I can manage it well, and as I’ve said before there is a method to the madness about traffic. If this traffic happened back home, people would literally be pulling guns on each other. Yet, because you have to learn to live with it, there are essentially rules or etiquette against breaking out in road rage or losing your cool on a guy that cuts you off. At this point I’m fine with it, and also really good at cutting just about any vehicle off, including the buses. So in a sense, drivers are courteous, but they just don’t obey the signals.

In driving around myself, and sitting in a car a lot during the day as I go to and from work, I definitely notice a lot of odd characters on the street. I’ve come to wondering what the common man’s take is on India and Mumbai specifically, especially compared to what we in the West view as an “amazingly developing economy, that has all the right pieces in place to become one of the world’s greatest economic powers.” Yes, that’s my attempt at literary sarcasm. It’s easy to be pessimistic about the outlook once you live here, and obviously there are aspects that I can appreciate and see attribute to the overall improvement in living standards here. However, no one seems to take in to account the normal Indian’s perspective.

So in lieu of that, I wanted to describe this quintessential Indian man I saw after breakfast the other day. I really can’t say why he stuck out to me, other than he seemed so “Indian” in all his nature. It might have been his slightly hedonist look exemplified by a disarmingly charming smile that says he’s content simply standing outside lost in thought without the slightest thought or concern for what anyone else is engaged in. His overly rotund stomach really highlighted his simplistic attitude; for isn’t food simply to be enjoyed without the need to feel self-conscious of our physique? This is a sentiment that is lost amongst our Western minds filled with commercial ideals and diet sodas. It’s this type of person that simultaneously makes me question the development standards of India, but also allows one to appreciate a point of view that deviates so far from what we think as normal.

So the question becomes, what is this man thinking? What does the cloud look like where he rests his dreams? I truly think he doesn’t see a city much beyond the current formation. Maybe the slum housing is a bit more spacious, or the food more readily available (not that he needs it). With expectations so low, the outlook of the lowest common denominator is not hard to appease. It’s also the dreamers mindset with a lack of action that holds the country back. So the standard of living, what I remember in economics as the Gini coefficient which measure disparity in wealth, is extremely hard to judge because it’s more a management of expectations than the hard truth verified by one’s eyes. I think this idea may be summed up by being bluntly neo-colonial with the saying, “One man’s trash is another man’s gold”. It could never be more true than in India.

Alright, I’m coming home. In the spirit of the Thanksgiving, on this trip home I will be thankful for: turkey (although I’m partial to stuffing, mashed potatoes, yams, sweet rolls, and pretty much everything but the turkey), football, and streets free of feces, little naked children, and trash.

Indian Soap Opera

I realize it's been a little while since I last updated my blog, but I think it mostly has to do with the nature of my settling in here. Things that originally startled me on arriving are simply normal happenstances now, and thus I've struggled to come up with some new, and what I can still continue to say interesting, experiences to describe.

For example, the route I take everyday to and from work meanders around the outskirts of one particuallry noticeable slum area in Bandra. It's somewhat on the perimeter of Bandra itself, but one glance and it clearly goes without saying that this is a slum. I remember driving past the area in the first few weeks here and thinking "oh so this is what people mean by a slum"; naked to semi-naked kids are skipping around the street, the occasional goat tramples through a trash pile in search of a quick meal or lies casually in the shade of a tin roof, sharing the space with one of the hundreds of feril dogs. In the morning, and pretty much without fail, I'll take the turn that swings me up past the slum and will be greeted by several smiling children all squatting down to let go of their morning goods so to speak. I can't say I was ready for this when I moved here, but I certainly expected something along those lines. However, it doesn't even register on me anymore and just happens to be part of my daily routine or rather normal living circumstances here. Sure it's a bit "out of the ordinary" for us as foreigners, but if it doesn't bother the dirt poor little runts to drop their trousers in the middle of the street then I've learned quickly to not let it effect me.

It's instances such as these that might be deemed interesting and a separation from normal life in the developed world. It's just that you learn to adapt to the nomenclature of "normal life" in India, and as a result such things don't register as particularly fascinating anymore. Rather than gasping about how completely opposite the slum dwellers lives are, I now have a somewhat emotional detachment and glimpse at the sight as if nothing were more normal. It's as if I've swapped out my internal "Western" filter for a much more coarse and less penetrable Indian one. It's much tougher for sights of this nature or experiences that differ so greatly from back home to register as outlandish or even bother me.

After that long winded explanation, I do want to highlight the recent experience of my apartment building running out of water. What's that you say? No running water for almost a week? I must have kicked up a mess of complaints and possibly considered hiring a lawyer to file some wholly unnecessary law suit. Yes, the American dream of reaping monetary benefits from a situation that is mostly unavoidable and with my previous knowledge and understanding of the risks. But I digress.

I was pretty nonplussed the first day that I didn't have water coming back from work. Again, I knew such things happen here in India especially consider the majority of people struggle to obtain enough water to cook and drink everyday. My response, like any good foreigner, was to run down to the chemist (a.k.a. pharmacy) and buy several large bottles of water. Nothing better than attempting to shower by sprinkling lukewarm mineral water on my head, while less than half a mile away people have probably never even seen water contained in a plastic bottle. Honestly, it wasn't a big deal, and I'm sure I a lot less wasteful than a normal shower.

Yet, when I came back that night I still couldn't get anything running out of the faucet. At this point I was getting a bit peturbed, but really not enough to storm the apartment manager's office, which is just a crubmling stone annex attached to the side of the building. However, after the third day I employed my driver to help sleuth around and get to the bottom of this mess. Clifford (my driver) is not only extremely willing to help, but he also stands as my go between in translation messes such as these. On the morning of the fourth day, Clifford's answer to the reason for the whole issue was something I can only describe as an episode that might run on a day-time, barely profit turning, bored housewife watching Indian soap opera.

The nature of Clifford explaining this to me leaves a large window for interpretation due to my difficulty in understanding his accent and his gaps in vocabulary in the English language. So i'll try to explain as best as possible, and take liberties to improve the story.

Every building complex here has some semblance of a wall and gates that are supposedly protected by the security guards. I say supposition because most of the time I find my night time guard sleeping on the bench behind one of the walls, and the general lazy nature of Indians leads me to believe that when push comes to shove no guard will do anything to stop an intruder. My guards (I know it sounds very neo-colonial to assume I'm worthy of having my own guards) are all quite friendly, and I must admit they do make sure everything runs pretty smoothly. However, and from my understanding of Clifford's explanation, there is a little rift between the guards and my neighbor's male servant. This guy is a mousy little character that, in keeping with the description, scurries into the building, up the stairs, and quickly into the apartment next to mine. I've never seen him smile, wave, or really do anything than look sullen all day. Generally speaking I don't really ever see the guy or my neighbor who happens to be a bit of a strange character himself. I'm not trying to presume anything, but it is odd that he's a bit older with no family in the apartment, a seriously unbecoming goatee, and is doted on hand and foot by his servant.

Anyway, Clifford tells me that, one of the guards' cousin-brother (a uniquely Indian relationship which no one has been able to explain to me) fell for a pretty half-Indian half-Nepalese girl. The parents of the young man were outraged because of the fact that this girl was of a lower, servant caste than him as well as part Nepalese, and forbid the boy from seeing her. Think of Romeo and Juliet sprinkled with some masala to spice things up. Well it turns out that the young woman is actually the niece of our lovely servant man. He feels extremely offended about the prejudice against his ethnicity and social standing, and decides to take action against the guard that is somehow related to this whole mess. At this point I'm completely lost in the explanation and really have no idea which person Clifford is describing, so I can understand your potential confusion with my retelling.

In revenge the servant decides to run the water in the kitchen sink all day without any purpose. The idea is for the residents to blame security for not keeping the water supply steady, and thus lose their jobs. However, when the security guards come knocking on the doors to see if someone accidentaly left a tap running, they notice that it's a result of the sly little devil in the aparment next door to me. He's caught completely red-handed as they storm into the apartment and see water streaming out of his kitchen sink. Of course they address the owner when he comes home from work, and a shouting match occurs that I can hear from my apartment; the owner defending his servant and the security guards hopelessly explaining the situation. I was not privee to witnessing this next event, but Clifford said eventually the owner realized the servant's misdeed and whacked him with an open hand on the back of the head. This probably didn't stem the tide of anger the servant felt for the security, but it sure did seem to fix the water problem....for the time.

Of course, about a week later, the same problem came up again. So in between the two days I resorted back to bottle showers I managed to learn that the real issue was a lack of recognition by management to notify the residents that a new pipe was being fixed to improve the water supply. This meant that in the short term we lost water for several more days, as a small issue occured after initially putting in the pipe. How can management be so remiss in notifying the residents you say? Well, this is India; the land where people's apathy towards each other is at its highest. What about the servant vs. security feud, and the couple hopelessly in love? Honestly, I don't even know what to believe. I didn't get any further details, and will unfortunately not be submitting this to the soap channel to be the gossip story of spoiled housewives as they sip chai at a coffee shop chirping about the mindless activities of others.

My experiences are not generally so ridiculous and involved, but this was particularly humorous. The things I've learned from this are:

1)How to shower with a bottle of water very quickly
2)Don't rely on just one explanation from an Indian
3)Don't get involved with half-Indian half-Nepalese girls who's uncle is a shady character that lives a life of mystery serving some older gentleman, no matter how attractive she is

Cultural Immersion

There are obviously many differences being in India, and inevitably you adhere to the norms of life outside the U.S. Whether it's physical, cultural, or social I've grown accustomed to many new things. As a result I've picked up some colloquial terms, eating habits, or general practices that are distinctly Indian. However, the one I want to highlight is the Indian "head wiggle". I use the term loosely because I'm not sure there's an actual name or term to describe this truly and uniquely Indian custom. I relate the motion to that of a bobble head doll. You flick the head and it seems to bounce this way and that as if an appendage moving of its own volition relative to the body. Initially it's a rather confusing trait because you think people are shaking their head no, but it's actually a show of agreement. In paying closer attention, you can see the motion is not really a shake side to side or a nod up and down. Rather, it's as if someone is trying to touch his or her left ear to left shoulder and vice-versa on the right, but in a abbreviated fashion that causes the neck to act like a spring of  a bobble head doll, and the head to seemingly bounce to and fro.

If that description weren't confusing enough, trying to understand the purpose and meaning behind the motion was initially very difficult. In one of the first client meetings I attended for work, the verbal agreement seemed more than set in stone, but his saying "yes" was undermined by his head bobbing back and forth. I couldn't understand if the meeting took a wrong turn, if my presence there as a foreigner was off putting, or really what was going on. Ultimately, I kept my mouth shut, shook hands, and walked out with my colleague who made it clear that everything went well.

In my pre-arrival reading of India, I remember coming across a description of the "head wiggle", but forgot about it for the time. My colleague reminded me of it after this meeting, and I soon noticed people's heads bouncing around everywhere. While I can't say my "head wiggle" has a natural flow to it, I feel comfortable doing it, and a lot of the time find it to be a subconscious reaction. I find myself thanking people, saying hello, or just smiling and rocking my head back and forth even in normal conversation with an ex-pat or buying something from the corner store. The motion is almost always reciprocated so it's a constant to and fro, albeit very subtle at times.

There is another colleague of mine that sits directly across from me in the office, and the two of us are typically the first arrivals. I know, 8:30 isn't that early, but by India standards it is and that's a whole other tangent I could go on. Anyway, she has the most infectious "head wiggle" greeting in the morning, which is always accompanied by a beaming smile. So of course I respond in turn by shinning some whites and say hello, but it now comes with the "head wiggle". Sometimes I get really into it, and do the casual close of the eyes as if deep in thought, which really reaffirms my acceptance of whatever the person in front of me is saying. My conclusion is that the physical movement of the head actually stems blood flow causing the emotion of a small morning greeting to feel much warmer here.

An interesting adventure I recently engaged in was attending the local Bandra (area I live) fair. It's basically a street fair with vendors, stalls, and some rides set up, but all interwoven around the Mt. Mary Church which resides on top of a hill. I would first like to point out that I did not go on any rides, of which there were really only two, because the Ferris-wheel looked less safe than riding in some of the most broken down, tin bucket cabs here.

I was actually invited by my driver to walk around with him and his family the fair. In the process of meeting them, my driver and I walked from the top of the church, down the back alley of winding steps. This was where the majority of the vendors resided, and the seemingly endless crowd perused up and down deciding to buy sweets, pickled vegetables, or some little trinkets for the kids. I was clearly the lone foreigner which of course invited the majority of eyes and shouts from vendors on me. I teetered up and down on the long line of steps while snapping photos of the general revelry, all the while being passed by mothers draped in saris with arms wrapped around several kids. I inevitably induced numerous "head wiggles" in my direction in which I responded accordingly. Add to this the movement of looking every which way, bobbing up and down on the steps, and the commotion of the whole fair and it all made me feel immersed in the night time cloud of Bombay life. As I said before, everything is more enjoyable at night where the decrepid nature of the buildings and general poverty are veiled in a dark swath with only bright lights to shine on the faces of little kids that timidly smile up at your or group of women who wiggle their heads in your direction. Take into account that it is generally cooler at night, and it really adds to the atmosphere.


On another note, and against the best wishes of those who care about my safety (i.e. my parents), I've undertaken the task of obtaining my driver's license here: car and motorcycle. Aside from pointing out the difficulty but exceeding enjoyment of cruising around the streets on a bike (haven't tried a car yet), I wanted to portray the conspicuous inefficiency and absurdly dirty nature of public life by describing my trip to the DMV. It's obviously not called the DMV here, but the name eludes me.

Essentially what you're looking at is an outdoor dirt plaza surrounded by a long terrace where people queue up in no semblance of order to wait for a stamped approval on their paperwork. In true Indian fashion, the road leading up to the DMV could possibly be the worst maintained road I've been on in the city. Go figure on the irony with that one. On top of that, the whole area is littered with old broken down taxis, rickshaws, and buses. To really strike home the point, I had to run to the bathroom when we (my driver and I) arrived. Now I was wearing work clothes: slacks, a button down shirt, and loafers. I didn't mind a little dirt on the shoes, but I was already sweating enough to where I was thinking of needing another shower. Then I was informed that the place to go was pretty much out in the open, next to the big run down bus on the other side of the dirt parking lot. As I approached I realized I was traversing through a mind field of feces and small trails of urine. Rather than venture further I just took aim and went for it right there, as I really wasn't in the mood to touch down next to the bus. The thing was I really felt like it was no big deal, even as another guy strolled up right next to me. No, I didn't pay him any recognition by giving him a "head wiggle", but it sort of scared me how quickly this Indian mind set has caught on; treat yourself with care, shit on everyone else's stuff.


I eventually got my permits (licenses to come pending a road test at the same shit-hole), but mostly due to the fact I paid some guy extra to expedite my paperwork, and in true white-man fashion skipped the whole line. As for riding around the streets, well I hit the roads in Bandra this weekend with a borrowed bike, and fell right in line with my horn and swerving in and out of all types of vehicles. There is a semblance of order to the traffic which is best experienced driving in it, but I can't say it's the safest. I pretty much stuck to the less traveled lanes, which made it alright. I'll need to give it some time to really venture into the depths of the traffic that engulfs and at the same time epitomizes Mumbai.

 Family bike at night

 Mt. Mary Church

 Outside the church at the top of the hill

 Lining up to start going down the steps into the fair

 Beggar near the church

 Selling a popcorn type snack

 A glimpse down the steps

 Sari clad mothers

 Some more snacks

 Where's the white man?

 All sorts of pickled goodies

 Kebab vendor

 Kids running around

 Corn vendor on the street

 Traffic near my street corner

Normal pile 'o crap on my street

 DMV Windows

 Sauntering up to the toilet

 Toilet

 Couple of tin cans lying behind the waiting line

 My driver (Clifford) enjoying a cup of chai

Your average woman walking on the street

A Game for the Ages

So I've been trying to find or organize a soccer game for the past couple weeks. This is not exactly an easy task here in Mumbai. First off, I wasn't too sure if Indians even like soccer. There really, and sadly, is only one sport here; cricket. It epitomizes the Indian mind set so well in the general slow nature of the game, lack of real physical exertion, and ability for fans to lounge around with bits of excitement strewn in between.

On top of this, as you can maybe imagine at this point, is the difficulty of finding anything that resembles a field. There are a few "pitches" nearby, but I use this term loosely. What we're really looking at are small open spaces of dirt and mud loosely spotted with tufts of grass that can span from a mere centimeter to knee high. Additionally, gaining access to some of these can be a precarious task as who actually manages them is very questionable, and finding said person is sometimes more difficult.

Then to really top it off is the continual excuse of "oh, it's monsoon, probably not worth going out for a game." The ease which this reasoning rolls off everyone's tongue here has even permeated into my vocabulary, but this time I wasn't going to let it impede me.

So I managed to finagle my way into a weekly game that a few expats and one India guy started up. My expectations were low, both in terms of competition and general enjoyment when dealing with the physical elements here: heat, dirt, mud, etc. Yet, it was a chance to finally play, so of course I jumped in.

Again, in true Indian fashion, there was no real scheduling or timing involved, it was just mentioned to show up at one of the local schools on Saturday at 5:30. Since it was basically a pick-up game, I didn't really know how we were organizing teams, or generally who was involved. I only knew two of the expats, but when we showed up it appeared hardly anybody new each so it was perfectly fine. The surface was much the same as everywhere else, except we did have a full field and full size goals. This certainly made up for the lack of grass and levelness.

Since there were about 8 of us, I didn't really know how we were splitting up to play a full field game. Yet, slowly, out of the woodworks sprouted small groups of Indian guys (some just boys), proudly sporting their favorite club team jerseys; all of which were knock-offs with the likes of "Messy" not "Messi" written on the back. I knew then that it would be a good time, especially because several of the guys started passing and running around without shoes. Just as a side note, the overall maintenance of the field was obviously lacking, but even despite some stones and twigs I noticed one guy pick up a hand rake in the middle of the field and throw it to the side, almost as if it were a common routine like taking out the trash or hanging your towel up to dry.

Anyway, the confidence to sport no laces meant that these Indian guys were probably pretty good. At first I thought we might mix and match the teams, but apparently the Indians were some sort of local team, and they wanted to take on the big white (one black) expats together. That was essentially our downfall, as I quickly noticed the age, physique, and sporting attire of our side was in no way ready to keep up with the locals. The term "beggars can't be choosers" really rings true here, and so when I saw our would be right back warming up with a few hazardous looking leg swings and a runner's gait that resembled a duck dodging landmines (potholes in this case) all the while sporting glasses and a thick polo shirt, I knew our chances were doomed.

In the long run, that was certainly the case. However, it was great playing and the Indian guys got a kick out of dancing around us with the ball. Most of the time I was a bit confused on who was playing as there were streams of kids running in and out and passing a ball over and around our game. One little guy had the courage to ask me if he could join our team, so of course I let him run around aimlessly swinging at the ball 50 yards away as only kids can do.

One thing I did learn was that home field advantage is an understatement here. I often found myself tiptoeing holes and bumps in the ground all the while trying to manage a ball that bounced every which way over the uneven, hard surface. One time I was running down the left side hoping to cross the ball in the middle. In my mind I was thinking I need to play it a bit soft, as the ball had been flying across the hard dirt. Yet, right as I was about to kick, the ball rolled into a tuft of knee high grass/weeds and I only managed to move it a meager 10 yards. So that was embarrassing, but generally speaking losing about 10-1 is not good for morale either.

Everyone had a great time, even the Indian death squad that took care of us, so I think we're planning on a weekly match. A few of us expats limped home as clearly none of us were in any sort of running shape and were completely drenched in sweat from the heat. We grabbed a few beers at a friends place close by, ordered pizza, and turned some actual soccer on t.v. in a guise to justify our loss by boasting of all our soccer knowledge.

I'll be back for next week's match, regardless of the expectation that we will be beaten terribly.

Routine of Mumbai (with a reprieve in Thailand)

In my process of moving to Mumbai, I figured it would take about two months to settle in, and the timing on this initial grace period is winding down. So I'd like to assess exactly how far I've come in obtaining my goal.

All in all, I would say I feel very settled. I'll provide a quick glimpse at my daily routine, that in all honesty matches that of working life back home. I'm up, ready, at work by about 8:30. The whole process of navigating traffic, and the general scenery of people skirting around the street with baskets of produce, or motorbikes weaving amongst cars is completely normal at this point. My day at work can be busy or not, depending on what is going on. The most difficult times are having to go out to client sites, which are dispersed all around the city. Mumbai, being a maze of large roads and alleyways that can either be semi-paved or completely potholed while constantly full of cars and people, makes it extremely tedious and time consuming to go anywhere. As a result, I can spend the majority of an afternoon traveling around. Thankfully, the sense of time is very flexible as everyone understands the nature of traveling in the city, and being 30 min late is pretty much normal.

That being said, work life is going well. I'm still enjoying the local Indian food at lunch, and am comfortable pulling up a chair with just about anyone, give a quick hello, then we all simultaneously dive (right) hand first into my meal. My co-workers questioning of "how I like Indian food?" no longer comes up, as they sense I enjoy and even understand how to eat. Sure I fumble around trying to tear of a piece of roti then, and like the arcade game with the metal claw, ply together two ends of the bread in hopes of successfully grabbing a piece of okra, potato, or whatever sort of food chunk is cooked in curry that day. So yes, I've settled in food-wise.

It can take me up to an hour or more arrive home after work, depending on the time I leave and the traffic. These seemingly unpredictable factors really hamper making after work plans, but I typically get back and head to the local gym. Sure enough, it's a Gold's Gym, and the Indian guys take it as seriously as Venice Beach. I'm not sure if I mentioned this already as it's been a while since I wrote last, but I can delve into further detail about the vanity of the young Indian male at a later date. After that I'll head back and eat whatever interesting Indian concoction my cook has whipped up for the day. It's all tasty, well spiced, and convenient to the point that I don't even ask what I'm eating or wonder the quality in comparison to a "real" Indian meal. Some days I'll meet up with a few friends for dinner at someone's apartment, grab a drink or two, but I pretty much keep it easy during the week

As for experiences in general, I've been around for a couple festivals which epitomize the ethnic variance, and I should say acceptance, of India. For starters, a couple weeks ago there was a festival to honor lord Krishna. Now my Indian mythology (Hindu in this case) is not strong, but a woman at work tried to explain it to me. Basically Krishna, lord of attraction (or something like that), has a strong affliction for "white butter" which is some yogurt substance. As a result, he will take any measure to obtain this delight, which somehow translates into people building human pyramids in order to snatch jars full of yogurt at the top of scaffold towers. The prize, other than a pot full of yogurt, is usually a good deal of cash for the winning team. As festivals go, it definitely sounds odd, but oddity is normalcy when living in an area where so many ancient and mystical beliefs collide. I've learned to accept some of the strangest rituals as the norm.

At least I was lucky enough to stumble across one of these competitions on my drive home from work. Amongst a throng of people dancing and running around the street, two groups of young men were piling themselves on each other to reach a platform about 15 feet up. The base consisted of about ten people, and narrowed at the top in which a young boy would climb up the human tower to fetch his prized yogurt. In true Indian fashion, there was no safety measure taken except for the child at the top wore a life preserver and what looked like a rugby helmet. Not sure how a dive from the top would result, but this sort of danger is not the most pressing amongst the majority of Indians who roam the streets.

Just last week, there were two holidays. One was the end of Ramadan, and the other the beginning of the celebration of Ganesh (otherwise known as the elephant headed god). I'm told the Ganesh festival lasts 11 days, only to be told by someone else that it is only 10. In the spirit of India, people decide to spew whatever they believe is proper, rather than understand the true facts. Additionally, for some untold reason in which no one has provided a clear explanation, days 1,2,3,5,8,10,11 are the most auspicious. However, I've also been told that days 1,3,5,9,11 are the most revered. All I know is that this weekend, of which one day will mark the end of the celebration, will be quite rambunctious with crowds lining the street and music blasting as people carry they huge Ganesh statues they've been building during the previous days around the city. The final resting place is the water near the Queen's necklace (a strip of ocean lined walkway) in South Bombay. So yes, they just dump these wooden and largely paper machete statues into the water. I'm led to assume clean up is optional as people typically find washed up legs and trunks over the following days. It should be interesting if I can figure out when this occurs and get past the crowds to view it all.

Ganesh is meant to represent rebirth in a sense of a new beginning for any aspect in peoples' lives. For instance, you pray to Ganesh for and when you get a new job, a new car, have a child, or just want to start a new resolution in your life (i.e. New Year's). I know it is Mother Midge's favorite looking Indian god so I want to wish her the best in starting anew and for her recovery, as well as for Aunt Marta and Uncle Jim up in Vermont.

I think I would be remiss in not mentioning the fact that I took advantage of the holidays last week to venture off to Bangkok. I had the full intention of traveling around India, but buying tickets last minute were in some cases more expensive that flying to Thailand for a few days. So I again found myself jet setting off to another city in South/Southeast Asia. In full disclosure, I had traveled to Bangkok for a couple days after studying abroad, but I viewed this trip as pretty much a first time adventure as I was staying with two friends from school who have lived there the past two years. It would be an insiders tour of Bangkok; a bit daunting and exciting due to the rumors of revelry that cloud the city.

It was great comparing my friends' stay in Bangkok to what I've been experiencing in Mumbai. While Thailand is a developing country, and Bangkok is not exactly Hong Kong, I still found it much easier to be in the Mumbai. For one, there were several easy means of public transit, and the streets where pretty much clean at least when compared to the trash piles I witness on a daily basis in India. Also, it was generally easy meandering around alleys and small market areas, hopping a canal taxi, or jumping on the back of a motorcycle taxi. This last mode of transit was by far the most thrilling, and sure enough the easiest way to weave through traffic. I'll post some videos of these rides if I can.

Sure I was on a bit of vacation so my mind was at ease and free from worries of real life/work. However, it was great to plop down on some plastic furniture on the street corner, order a bowl of the local noodles, taste some colorful and overly sweet Thai teas ice teas, and just take in the scene. This sort of relaxing experience isn't exactly avaialable in Mumbai where food pleasures are found in restaurants and not really on the grime of the street. I must also admit, that I haven't ventured too much into the land of street/corner food in India, but it simply isn't as prevalent as in S.E. Asia.

In keeping with my open retelling of my experiences, I of course ventured into the mystical and more than adventurous Bangkok nightlife. I also had another American friend visiting from Singapore, named Brandon, so the Brendan/Brandon combo attempted to take on who knows what in Bangkok. We had some direction from my local (but also American) friends, however one had previous plans and the other was ill, so we simply went with the flow of the night in Bangkok. This is a pretty accurate description, as we lacked a true plan and simply stepped out of one bar only to slide along the stream of lights, flashing, cat calling, and raucous made from all over the place, into the next one.

I'll spare the mindless details, but say that all in all I felt very safe in large part due to the respectful and amicable nature of the Thai people. Everyone, and I mean everyone, addresses you with a hello and small bow in which you place you hands together in prayer fashion. Conversation flows with an easy smile no matter who you chat with; be it a local or foreigner.

So, Thailand was fun. I came back with some new cheap clothing purchases, a couple nice pictures, a couple pictures I'll hold in fear of blackmail, and a few tales of woe to share with the a certain audience.

Coming back to Mumbai was a much smoother transition than before. Sure it's easy to chide many aspects of this unkempt, less than developed metropolis, yet this being my third time through the airport I felt somewhat comfortable and at ease. The roads home were almost familiar. Even the run down overpass, and sprawled slum specked with blue tarps to protect from the rains was a site I knew so well. Life here is not exactly easy and carefree, but it's no longer hard. Even if I often envisage of a life in almost any other city I've resided or visited, either east and west, I've learned to enjoy and appreciate what it means to live in Mumbai.

Below are some scenes around my area of the city, and pictures of my apartment.

                                                                   A rickshaw

Thailand Pictures. The motorcycle taxi video won't work, apologies.

                                        Chasing Will on the back of a motorcycle taxi

                                                

                                                   Brandon enjoying some street corn

                                                                  Canal Taxi

                                                Ronald saying "hi" the polite Thai way

                                                     Will at a local fruit vendor

                                                Picking our poison a the corner shot bar

Hong Kong

I had just written a lovely expose on the city of Hong Kong, but for whatever reason everything was deleted before I could post it out. So I'll attempt again....

For some reason unbeknownst to me, my company decided I was valuable enough to fly to Hong Kong for the week (as in last week). So without questioning the decision making, or questioning my worth at work, I found myself once again in a plane flying off to venture around a new city. In reality, I had been to Hong Kong before with my family several years ago, however under the guise of a tourist bootcamp. This solo journey would certainly entail many more views of cold mugs around an open air bar than of the harbor from Victoria Peak. Tourism takes on a different meaning when you're seeing a place for enjoyment and visiting friends.

Although my current stay in India has been brief, traveling to a developed city such as Hong Kong really puts into perspective the contrast to what we read of India as a "developing and emerging" economy. It was a bit of a reverse culture shock stepping off the plane, and in my somewhat biased opinion at the time, I felt that the Hong Kong airport was the most perfectly constructed building. Everything was laid out conveniently, and the best part was I could take a metro from the airport all the way into Hong Kong island. It was almost too easy and comfortable. My appreciation and reverence for a developed city could only be garnered through the contrast of the airport to downtown travel between Mumbai and Hong Kong. A train that quietly glides along the pristine coastal waters of the South China Sea versus a bumpy, jammed road sprinkled with showers and horns blaring on all sides. I'll take Hong Kong, thank you.

After hopping off a smooth 25 minute ride to downtown I had to question where exactly I stood. Was this China proper? No, the cabbie spoke pretty decent, broken English. Yet, the billboards of cutesy Chinese girls with obnoxiously large round eyes gazed at my with that same mindless stare, and many Chinese characters broke the surface of the foggy haze that is my ever waning recollection of the language. The defining line between colonial and modern Hong Kong was clearly thinning at every turn, but the most noteable aspect of the city, which I'm sure has been true since its founding, is the harbor. It is the center of the city; economic, physical, and psychological. Residential and commercial towers on both the Kowloon and Hong Kong sides are jammed into arrangement; concrete flowers all stretching and leaning to catch a glimpse of the water. People move in response to how they are positioned to the harbor. I found myself cautiously avoiding anything more than a five minute reprieve of figuring out the location of the harbor. Buildings pile up the hills, one on top of another, in order to keep their gaze directed on the waterway.

I often found myself meandering around the alley ways, in reality more like staircases, that intersect the roads that wind up the hill. At night these areas brought out the incandescent shop signs gleaming with Chinese characters, and the crowds that hopped from pub, to bar, to club in the greatest attempt to fulfill all types of epicurean dreams. It's hard to pass on joining in as the aroma of night time (mis)adventures wafted around every turn. I can't say my time was exclusively spent sauntering about late at night, but the general theme was to relax and enjoy time with friends. During the day, outside of work that is, I spent time roaming the streets with my friend Nacho who just moved there, or relaxed by the hotel pool. The dinner options were seemingly endless, and I attempted to fill my longing for a mix of international cuisine every night. Not that you can't get beef here in India, but I've more or less avoided it, so one night I indulged in a spectacularly large, juicy burger that I won't soon forget.

To harp a bit more on the contrast between these two cities, I can certainly say that India brings out my appreciation for developed and what I would deem "easily manageable" cities. Being back in Mumbai I'm falling into a routine, which actually helps to keep me sane. I'm noticing that Mumbai is a city of people simply living. Their comfort level with the status quo inhibits physical improvement of the city, but the difficulty to get anything accomplished, especially on a large scale, is almost insurmountable. Enjoyment comes from human and social interaction, be it friends, family, or just strolling the streets amongst thousands of other unknown people. The desire for Western retailers and consumer goods is obviously growing, but people here simply like to be around other people; have a cup of tea or go out to eat, and through personal interaction the obstacles of daily life and impediments to create a picturesque city fall by the way side. The sense of individual is sometimes too foreign to grasp, and I'm learning quickly.

On that note, I'm off to meet a coworker (albeit expat from out of town) for dinner in South Bombay.

Jaded

It's only been three weeks, but the noise, congestion, poverty, etc. no longer weigh on me. Sure it's frustrating bumping along slowly on the commute home from work, or being stared at when I walkdown the street. Yet at this point, it's something that I hardly notice or take into account in my every day actions.

For instance, I spent some time this afternoon walking down the coastal stretch in Bandra (the area I live in), and didn't really think about the dilapidated looking buildings or low ceiling slum homes I passed by on my way to the cement walkway that stretches the western edge of Bandra. It is hardly what you can call a "beautiful or pleasant" walk in terms of the scenery as at times I had to maneuver around a couple friendly, albeit mud soaked feral dogs, or avoid the group of youngsters gazing at me in amazement as if I were the next coming of Gandhi or Tendulkar (famous cricketer here), all the while I gaze out as waves that roll into the small cove littered with a mix of rusty slum roofs, and small heaps of trash. There is no "beach" to speak of, and the walkway is just a raised area above the sea wall of rocks. There are a few, small, various colored boats that are moored just off the cove area. No one sits in them, and I'm not sure anyone would want to swim out to hop in one. So, in true Indian style, the purpose they serve is a little hard to determine.

For a minute or two I stood staring out at the water and up the coastline switching between my perceptions as a westerner and as someone slowly acclimating to life in India. It was like sitting in the optometrists chair as the doctor flips between lenses asking me to decide if lens one or two provided a better description of what lay before me. If this were a true medical exam my optometrist might be a bit frustrated at my lack of a clear answer, but I can say I'm less taken aback by what I observe, and continually finding a rhythm of dealing with the differences.


Yet, a stroll is a stroll, and the purpose was to get a better sense of what's around me as I moved into my new apartment about a week ago. My reference to being jaded is less about my growing numbness to the somewhat challenging surroundings, and more about my lifestyle. Needless to say I live quite well with a two bedroom, two bathroom apartment. Do I need all this space? Definitely not. Is it necessary that I have a maid/cook, and a driver to take me to work everyday? Probably not. Although, as you can imagine, it's quite nice.

So yes, I'm jaded in that I look around and see poverty staring right back at me on every street corner yet live a life above most everyone else. My initial thought was to forgo the perks that most expats, and for that matter just about all fairly well off Indians, are privy to. However, the comforts and ease of living that these provide make life more manageable rather than struggling to adjust to a solo life in the disorganization and mayhem of Mumbai.

Ok, not the best reasoning, but the good news is I'm not having too much difficulty settling in. To point out the "disorganization", and general inefficiency that you might hear about India, I spent the majority of my Saturday (specifically from about 10 a.m. - 7 p.m.) watching a whole crew of about 10 guys move out my old furniture, and put in the new goods. Not only that, but this was supposed to happen a week ago, and for some unforetold reason it was delayed a week. The point to highlight is that the sense of time is obviously different, but the abundance of human capital is overly apparent. The convergence of the two make everything overwhelming slow moving. I've been in the process of opening a local bank account for about two weeks now. The answer to when everything will be approved and ready is still unclear, but it's just another example.

I can't fault the Indians for the willingness of its people to work. It explains why we have seven guys at our office that all simultaneously fill the role as copy maker, janitor, cafeteria cook, and general maintenance. That's at least what it looks like at first sight. However, the nuances of the "office boys" relationships can only be described as a modern age caste. At the top, there seems to be one deputy general task master, who I've never seen smile. I'm convinced his prestige and standing come with his prowess in upper lip hair development; very strong. I'm unclear what he actually does around the office, but there's no need to question.

Then there are a couple of his henchmen that sit right behind me sharing a computer. They will fetch any print out or quickly make a copy. They seem to lie at the same level or just below the guy I call the maitre'd. This is mostly because he wears a suit vest and often bustles from the reception room to office area carrying tea. He also seems to run the kitchen, where, yes, they serve breakfast and lunch for free. I wouldn't say the food is exquisite, but it works by my standards as good Indian food.

The base of the system are the janitor types, who are constantly sweeping, cleaning, and picking up what looks like nothing most of the time. Again, I can't fault them as they need to keep a job, and looking busy certainly helps. It's no secret that the "office boys" face hardships that I can't pretend to comprehend. There's an especially unfortunate looking young guy who's conspicuous lack of communication and uneasiness greeting or even looking normal employees in the eye arouses the greatest sense of empathy. It's this type of person that forces me to feel jaded to the point of hypocritical in myself. It makes me realize that my sense of altruism is just that; a perception rather than reality. This is why its difficult to justify for living so well. Yet, I fall into the Indian attitude of living life on a personal level. I'm told, and in instances like these am embarrassed to say that I agree, that the issues around poverty and inequality are too great to change.

Aside from the somewhat drab profile of many Indian workers, everything has been going well. I'm enjoying figuring out the city, learning to live a new lifestyle, and meeting new people. The highlights so far waver between several experiences. Of note are, going out for the company party in which several people bestowed it on themselves to teach me proper Indian drinking etiquette. This really just means drinking as much whiskey as possible and dancing like an idiot in front of everyone (the former I attempted, the later not so much especially being the lone white man in the office). I've met people out of work from all over: Europeans, Americans, Indians, Indian-Americans, Indians who went to the U.S. to study and then come home. So going to dinner and out to bars/clubs with them has been fun.

All in all, it's a bit of a challenge living completely on my own, and forces me to be more proactive in reaching out. However, this "growing-up" thing isn't treating me too bad so far. I've met great people, and can at least thank my maid/cook Sandra for making me some great meals.