What's making me happy right now...

Crazy late night phone calls to far away lands. Crazy late night phone calls to Vashi. Disco rickshaws with snowglobes. Allowing myself to just be a girl sometimes. Brainstorming meetings with clear outcomes and goals. Dress shopping, aka retail therapy. Long lazy breakfasts. Sushi twice in one week. Smiling and knowing the reason. Life, just life.

What's making me happy right now...

Eating solid food. Rooftop rendevous. Making Diwali plans that include the beach. Sleeping before 12. Knowing that the next 4 months is full of visitors from others lives and other lands. Knowing what I want. Not getting it but knowing I'm ok anyway. Ladies who brunch and the men who join them. Behaving like a local. Having "good girl" hair. Behaving like a tourist.

Its hot but gets dark early

My brain still hasn't registered that yet. I've been programed to associate warm weather with long drawn out evenings and sunsets. I think its confusing my soul.

These past few weeks have been productive. I've moved into a new flat that I love. Its clean and newish and in a great central location. More importantly I'm really loving living on my own again, its been 2.5 years since I've had my own place and like the anonymity and that I'm only accountable to myself. I'm starting to crawl back into my introverted shell and love it. I get to be either totally on or totally off, which is totally more me.

More updates will come, more observations, pictures. I'm concentrating on living and working, so my life feels pretty plain right now.

I am moving to Bombay. i AM moving to Bombay. i am MOVING to Bombay. i am moving TO Bombay. i am moving to BOMBAY.

In January. For 10 months to a year.

I'm at the airport in Bombay, about to board my flight to NY. Next time I arrive in India, it'll be for the long haul.

No matter how many times I say it, it doesn't seem real. I can't believe how much has changed in the last month or so, its overwhelming.

Ahh..colloquial English

Almost every day I drive by electronic signs with some warning message or another. A la:

Whomever writes these is awesome. My favorites (that I can never seem to get snaps of):

"Hospitals are boring, drive slow"
"Ravan had ten, you have one, Use Helmet"
"Give blood at blood bank, not on road"

I'm not sure anyone else reads them, but they definitely grab my attention.

Another Bombay quirk that I'm going to miss.

Theek Naih Hai

Theek Hai. If I hear that one more time I will scream. People in Delhi say it too much. At least ten times in a conversation, even if things aren’t alright. As in:

Asha to driver:”‘Yei address hai”
Driver: “Ha, theek hai”. Driver stops after less than a minute to ask an auto driver for directions
Asha: “Muje mera auntie (points to phone) phone, directions (points to driver)”
Driver: “Ha, theek hai”. Driver stops again
Asha: (gestures wildy, pointing between phone and driver and herself) “address, auntie, ratsa”
Driver: “Ha, theek hai” . Then stops again.

This goes on for sometime. Driver stops again. Asha stops him from leaving the car to ask and calls Ripun’s mom. He picks up the phone say Theek Hai ten times. Turns out we are less than 5 mins away. Phew. The oasis of their home and amazing hospitality was exactly what I needed.

Delhi looks, feels and smells like a capital city. Wide boulevards, lots of greenery and the constant sound of sirens and the cavalry driving yet another minister around. We both laugh out loud when we see the plaque for L Prasad.

Amazing restaurants, and nice lounges full of beautiful people, proper sightseeing with domes and memorials made Delhi feel like a very different India from the rest. The verdict is still out on whether it’s a different I like.

Muchos Gracias Bengaluru

Bangalore is a breath of fresh air after Bombay. Better weather, cleaner (if you don’t take into account the air quality), quieter, more importantly, and oddly, it feels a bit like coming home. Nirish has some great friends, as do I now. As with Bombay, I feel like I’ve known them for much longer than a week or even year or two (or three).

The city becomes familiar quickly, I tell the driver to take the Kormangla fly-over to get to my next meeting. I know he knows that, I just want to feel cool. I have a free hour for lunch and actually have someone to call who has a recommendation, a good one at that.

My first time at both Tavern and Koshe’s, a page 3 party and a down home July 4th complete with emotional speeches (and garba?). Outcome of the trip – a facebook ambush.

Thank you!!

Deeply Touched....

I'll be the first to tell you that the caste system still exists. Its changed. For most of us, now it doesn't necessarly mean that everyone's occupation and standard of living is predefined but what hasn't changed is that there is a defined top and very defined bottom.

To me caste has always meant a shared history, background and language. Similar customs, upbringing and often a shared value set is what I think of when I think of us Lohanas. Just another way for us to organize, similar to that of a AIESEC reunion or a Zog party. I've always known that they were originally created to mean much more but they never have to me.

Yesterday, I had the fortunate opportunity to view a screening of "India Untouched, Stories of a People Apart" a documentary that journeys across eight States and four religions and depicts the continued exclusion and segregation of those considered "untouchables'' in India.

As soon as Abhi asked me, I was ready to go. Since I was young I've been intrigued by this idea of "untouchability" and what it really means. Are there really places where people won't cross the path of another for fear of some cosmic curse? Is it possible that in some villages people must remove their shoes and dismount their bikes to pass through a neighbourhood? Are there really wells that don't allow dalits to draw water? Are there children who have to sit at the back of publicly funded classrooms for no other reason than the social status of their ancestors?

I can't say I was shocked to learn that all of the above are still true, but I was deeply disappointed and saddened by it.

In the US we call it systematic racism, a world where certain people are trapped in a perpetual cycle of poverty through lack of access to education and support. People like me rarely interact with those people, the kind who's kids sell candies on the subway or who yell and curse on the bus. In India this instituationalised way of thinking, while illegal, is compounded by thousands of years of warped history. A history created by those who benefit from a prescribed social pecking order and who still control much of the economy & the government.

I'm still thinking about it, about the young girls and the looks on their faces when they feel empowered enough to draw water themselves from the well. One girl exclaims "Look at how clear it is" and I realize that she's actually never been given water directly from the source and has never really seen anything so clear. Or the girls who, in exchange for a basic education, are resigned to cleaning the school toilets and floors. Thinking about how they cheekily tease the interviewer, letting him know that they are aware of the expectations of them as dalits and that they know that he knows that they know. They seem much wiser than their 8 or 9 years.

In the room were change makers, including the director and members of the dalit community. My guess is that close to 100 people were there. At the moment I realized that I wasn't sure if I'd ever been in a room with dalits before, fortunately I'd never thought to think of it. Looking around, it was apparent that it was impossible to tell who was who, I couldn't see a difference. I wanted to run around shaking everyone's hand as a reminder that they all feel the same, to physically break the "untouchable" barrier. I wanted to, but didn't.

I definitely think this is a film that is meant to be seen by the masses, I bought a copy. If you're in the US/Canada I'd be happy to make you a copy, please just let me know.

More details about the film and its makers:

http://www.hindu.com/2007/04/20/stories/2007042002450200.htm

http://cuckooscall.blogspot.com/2007/04/india-untouched.html

http://abhi.nomadlife.org/2007/07/plausibly-deniable-but.aspx

Rain, rain, go away....

Stuck in the Mumbai Domestic Airport. That's where I spent most of my day. This is what it looked like outside.

My first real monsoon experience. I decided early in the morning that I was going to get to the airport. It was raining, and I thought that my flight would be delayed a couple of hours but nothing major. I was wrong. Getting to the airport early was smart. The rains got much worse while I was on the road and by the time I reached the airport the access road was flooded. The brakes of our indicab got waterlogged but Sandeep said it was no big deal and we coasted to the drop off point.

Checking in confirmed my thoughts and my flight was given a scheduled departure time of 3:30. The woman looks at my passport and hears my accent and gives me a pass to the Jet Lounge to wait out the storm. By 2pm its clear that this time is optimistic, the television reports are saying that the airport is closed. Its a strange feeling being at the airport with a boarding pass in hand and hearing that the airport is closed. The city is telling people not to leave their houses until at least 5pm. On the contrary, now airport staff is telling people from Bombay to go home. If and when the flights take off we will call you.

The lounge is a zoo with far more people than seats. Kids are running around everywhere. I'm afraid to get up and use the restroom because my seat will be taken. By now all my neighbours, bound for Baroda, Ahmedabad, Chennai, Delhi are known to me, but I'm still unwilling to get up. I'm saved from the chaos by the sounds of Amy Winehouse, Timbaland, Nelly Furtado, Nirvana, Robin Thicke and Intwine and the writings of Al Gore's Assault on Reason.

At 3pm they announce that all flights are cancelled. That's it. No instructions or guidance. They serve lunch and tell us to eat. We're told that they might send a flight to Bangalore in the evening and to write our names on a list. Note that I don't trust that people who write my name down on a list will do anything with the list. So I venture downstairs to see if I can book myself a confirmed seat on the first flight out. I'm sent from window to window and finally give up, there is no information just too many confused people. The flight board is still showing this morning's flights. I hear a call for a flight to Bangalore. It turns out that there is one flight leaving for sure in one hour and its first come first served onto it.

The counters have people practically crawling onto them to get onto these flights. I am not going to stand in the queue, by now I don't trust the airline. I start yelling and my anger turns into its usual tears. I'm not sure I'm cut out for India, I need some basic order. I dry my eyes and go to the extreme platinum counter and speak loudly in my accent for all to hear. I'm booked on the first flight out and my bags are fetched and retagged in front of me. I sigh.

When we arrive, I learn that it is without my baggage. I hope it makes it onto the next flight. To top it off I'm wearing a salwaar kameez which is now my only piece of clothing. I'm just happy to be away from the monsoons for a week.

All day the lack of information was mind blowing. It rains in Bombay, this is one of the few certainties in the world. This happens every year, by now you'd think they'd have a basic idea of how to deal with rain delayed/cancelled flights. Instead they lost the trust of many of their most loyal passengers.

- Update my bags made it! They were delivered the next morning!!! -

The cab drivers have started taking me on a different route home to beat the traffic. I now sometimes go by Charni Road station. Travelling near the railway always makes me uneasy. The shacks and makeshift homes around the railway seem the most urgent and crude. Often nothing but a tarp and some string define the boundaries between homes. Homes that are about the size of a cubicle. Homes that are swept daily, and meticulously maintained in spite of their location between the busy road and the tracks. Children run barefoot on unprotected ground with only asphalt beneath them, cooking is done next to the bed and there are no filters to protect the overworked lungs of the inhabitants.
I haven’t been here long enough to stop looking.

Yesterday I waited at a signal in front of the station and saw a small glimmer of something special. A tarp was slightly ajar. A young couple, younger than me, sit quietly eating dinner. They have the air of newlyweds and sit very close. She is beautiful. She reaches to feed him and he eagerly obliges. They burst into a fit of laughter and the signal changes and the driver zooms ahead. .

The rest of the way I look into their homes with a different pair of eyes. I see husbands and wives sitting, squatting, talking and eating. Families always eating together. I think of how often I eat alone and am envious.

Tu Chaal, Me Aayi

So another weekend gone by, another two days taking me closer to the day I leave Bombay. I’m already sad about it. Another classic weekend in the lives of the Bombay-ites (Mumbai-ikers?) I call my friends.

Highlights: Karaoke in Hindi. The pure excitement of hearing a Aaja Shaam Hone Aayi from my favorite Hindi movie of all time Maine Pyar Kiya (don’t ask, I was 11 and Salman Khan was in his prime) . Closing down Merlin’s . Sam’s antics (isn’t this always the case). My first Mumbai monsoon storm. Lazing around on Sunday at Hard Rock. And for some reason Karaoke again, this time in English at Not Just Jazz by the Bay.

It’s crazy how well I fit in with the gang here, it is as though like I’ve been here for ages. There is a chance they’re just being nice but I prefer to think they’re not faking it.

Monday morning I return to office and I realize that I haven’t been doing much traditional sightseeing in Bombay. I still haven’t seen the Taj Hotel, the Gateway of India or the Haji Ali Mosque. Each of these is within a 5 minute ride from my house or office. I’m going to fix that. When I’m back from Bangalore I’m going to spend one entire day in town. I’ll have a car drop me off at the Causeway and just wander. Stay tuned.

One week in...

Every morning and evening I get to take Marine Drive to get to work. In the mornings, life is just getting started, people walking to work and getting exercise. In the evenings the boardwalk is full of young couples, I even saw one young man steal a kiss while I waited in traffic. They sit close together and chat, the girls so shy and giggly, constantly touching their hair. Their body language is like something out of a book. Yesterday evening there was high tide and the waves crashed the seawall, spraying anyone within a ten foot radius, sending the couples running in every direction.

I've made it to work and home on my own all week. Always in a black and yellow. Never once getting taken for a ride or overcharged. I'm pretty proud of myself but think its more because these Mumbai cab drivers are gracious.

I woke up yesterday morning with one goal - Pasta, I was missing pasta. Two days ago it was Chinese. I don’t know why. I went to dinner at the Frangipani at the Hilton Towers. The lobby gives you a feeling that important things happen there. Whereas the name suggests a colonial spin, I was surprised to find out that it was in fact the perfect name for an Italian restaurant.

Leaving the restaurant I walked towards the water right into the filming of a commercial. Whoops. You’d think they would have someone blocking the way into the frame. I think it was for a car, with some Sanjay Dutt lookalike standing next to a gold vehicle with the wind running through his hair.

The Mumbai of 5 Star Hotels is its own experience. Clean, grand spaces with high ceilings, cushy armchairs and smiling, gracious staff. I can’t help thinking that experiencing India that way is so sterile and unnatural. Each hotel in each area feels exactly the same. Although it is a painless day to day in the 5 star world, I can’t help but be thankful that I’m having a much more authentic experience, its posh yes, but authentically Bombay posh.

My success story for this week is that I found a good driver to take me from meeting to meeting in an A/C car. Sundeep. He’s punctual and speaks English. He doesn't charge me too much(I asked around). He knows the buildings I’m going to without needing to ask on the street. He’s made friends with the guard at my building who now lets him park inside the gate to wait for me. The guys at work have his car number and phone number just in case.

He tells me stories of the neighbourhoods we pass and shows me new construction projects and how they’re going to impact the skyline. “ Did you know that Lata Mangeshkar lives here?” He says as we pass a building down the street from mine. “And that Kajal grew up here?” further up the street. I gape in wonder, and then realize that even more incredible is that my Dad lived right down the street from where I’m staying now in the 60s. It’s a strange coincidence, I think.

I've found my salvation

Less than 5 minutes away from my house sits a Crosswords bookstore (think Barnes and Noble or Chapters). It’s full of big comfy armchairs, with no time limit on how long I can stay there.

Everything about it is perfect, especially the bursting at the seams Indian Fiction section that I always wish every bookstore in the world had plus a religion section full of books on Hinduism, unlike the half shelves at home.

The Moshe’s Café in the bookshop is the most ethnically diverse place I’ve seen. In the one hour it took me to finish my tea and toastie there was the Russian (or something similar) speaking couple in full Indian garb, the French friends - one Indian one not, the Aussie father with his young son, multiple businessmen reading the latest Forbes Asia, the four cosmopolitan Bombayites – eating lunch and gossiping about last night, the Americans reading two books I recent saw on the Daily Show, the other girl like me – an NRI from the US pouring over the guidebooks.

It’s my favorite place so far.

The stuff that fairy tales are made of...

Bombay is magical. Met up with Vijay, Sam et all yesterday at Cafe Mondegar in Colaba. Until then Colaba was a place in storybooks to me, it feels surreal to see the places in real life. Next weekend I’m going to create my own Shantaram tour, I don’t have the book with me but think I can remember most of the main landmarks.

Going out with these boys (and ladies) is exhausting, I think the jet lag/fatigue made everything hit harder (flash back to AI transition weekend, for those who remember). From Colaba to Worli to Bandra to Juhu, I think I've now seen much of the city in just one night. The resonating shock of going to a club with a cover of 2500/per couple (around 60+$) and even more for stags (75$) and not seeing any other shocked faces at the amount is still with me. This isn't the India from the infomercials.

It rains everyday for a few hours. Outside my window there is this huge tree that seems to redirect the rain away from the building, this means I can sit and enjoy the air and crispness during the downpour. It’s always brief though and as soon as the rains sop it all turns to steam and the mugginess returns. , I’m waiting for the days when it rains nonstop, to really learn the true meaning of the word monsoon.

Bombay a city of so many contractions, maybe this entire country is. One of these days I'll elaborate. To me the equalizer seems to be the taxis, everyone takes them – giggling girls on their cell phones, elderly couples, tourists, you name it. Of course it’s an equalizer only among the vast middle classes but nonetheless I still think it’s safe to say it is still one.

Being here seems oddly natural, the adjustment for everything but my stomach is happening awfully fast. The stomach will come later.