Leftovers

I'm back, and jet-lagged. Awake at 5:30am on Saturday morning. Bombay is still in my head.

Things I loved -

• Thanks to my Hutch phone I always knew where I was. Altamount Road- A. Fort Mkt - B. Fountain- D. Kemps Corner-E.
• That Mumbai taxis have meters.
• The determined way things just work. Traffic moves. Trains travel. People work. All in the face of many obstacles.
• Marine Drive
• Good friends and good times, guaranteed
• Indian head massages with almond oil for less than $10

Things I could have done without -

• Not being able to wander out by myself at night coupled with the fact that it gets dark early and quickly in India.
• Signing up for tours and having them say: Ladies should dress modestly.
• Needing to drink water out of a bottle. The repetition of “no ice please”. Lukewarm v/crans.
• The smell when you first enter Bandra from the south, under the fly-over.
• Overpriced western food
• Bad hair all the time

The end of any experience is strange, even more so when you have no idea of what is coming next. I'm dying to find out.

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!!! -