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.
