Have a great weekend

As I heard the words while leaving work I thought …weekend…really? I was leaving work at 6 in the evening with only Sunday off. India has a 6 day working week making any comprehensive plans impractical.

On Sunday I was to visit my friend Aditi’s parents who live in a suburb called Bannerghatta. Located in the periphery of Bangalore, it has garnered concentrated development in form of multinationals and luxury housing complexes. With only one road leading out, there is a traffic bottleneck when attempting to travel there. As I stood on the doorway of the bus, the scene outside could have been described as a motorized exodus from a disaster epic. Various modes of transportation all traveling one way while the other side of the road remained clear. Any calmness that remained was drowned by incessant horns that refuse to stop along with a non adherence to lanes. The extremes were such that it would be impossible to even open the door more than an inch, never mind getting out. Waiting in the bus, I got so bored that I decided to walk a while. The day was nice and I knew that the bus would stay on the side of the road as the conductor would attempt to pack as much people in the bus he could, with stoppage only if the bus collapsed because of the weight (surprisingly that does not happen). After passing the signal the traffic cleared up for a while and I caught the bus again; with my place of travel, the vicarious hand rail at the back of the bus where my body lingers in the space between being inside and outside the bus readily available.

I was to be there at 12:30 but arrived one hour late thanks to the traffic and attempting to find my way. Once there I could have been easily said to be transported to another country. The building, made as a replica of one in Canada or Hong Kong had about 1000 apartments with spacious setting. There was parking both at the underground level and on the street, with empty and clean roads devoid of any traffic or trash. A tennis court and great view of trees and fauna made it feel like I was really in another place. As I had lunch we talked about a range of topics from infrastructure to politics, I thought of the changes India was going through in terms of development.


Just outside, looking from the balcony, another complex with 2000 apartments was standing ready. With such developments it becomes easy to see India in different lenses, ranging from a country that still is not able to provide adequate resources, to one that boasts of extra-ordinary development. The hope is to incorporate both elements and both acknowledge and provide a balanced view of the country. After a great conversation and lunch, in the evening it was time to go home and face the traffic again. Luckily Aditi’s dad offered me a ride which made the commute back relatively easy. And like that, the weekend was over.

Money Stinks!

The smell of money! Glamorized, coveted and sought after by all from beggar to CEO it has been said to make the world go around, and most certainly our economies. As I am paid in cash for my small stipend, I walked into the office to sign and collect only to face a large bundle of cash on the table. The manager perhaps recognizing my surprise informed that while the overall amount not sizeable, the bank was out of bigger bills and the smaller bills amounted to a large stack, belying the real amount. At this moment I felt more like a gangster from Mumbai getting money for a ‘job’, and not being paid for a professional endeavor. Perhaps with this in mind I took a haphazard seat and asked the manager in broken Hindi what was the job I had to do, which made him laugh.

The Indian rupee is quite the currency. The bills are in Rs 5, 10, 20, 50, 100, 500 and 1000. Each banknote has its amount written in 17 languages (English & Hindi on the front, and 15 others on the back) illustrating the diversity of the country. Being a country of a billion the currency passes through a plethora of hands.

As I began to count the ensemble of bills I realized that money literally really stinks! As my fingers went through the stack I saw that it included everything from smells of ink, bleach, Indian curry and sweat all mixed in one. The older bills, that were torn from passing through many hands smelt like stale like dead flowers kept too long with tears and pen marks that perhaps would tell a story if followed. When placed together in a bundle it puts a unique smell and also puts in perspective the hopes of the people that could do with it. As I looked at all bills from small to large, it seemed odd that the face that adorned them all was of Mahatma Gandhi, a person who renounced all worldly values in order to live a simple life.

A new kind of spam

Sare jahan se acha…as the patriotic ring tone filled the air of the office space; I grasped my phone with excitement and vigor hoping that the call would be from a friend. As the phone reached my ear, a loud song in the language of Kannada pierced my eardrums. Now I love songs as much as the next person, and was thus surprised to hear a song followed by an offer to buy something. We all get spam messages in our email accounts but India seems to have gone a step further.

While the first time I was surprised by the ingenuity in pushing spam through this medium, the incessant messages now come through every few days; thankfully the song is different but I cannot follow along. If this is not enough there are random text messages that attempt to sell you products or even bring you closer to god..for a fee of course. The relative cheap prices of text messages combined with the dictum that all incoming calls are free has resulted in all sorts of spam messages that arrive by phone, including my future and dating.

Cleaniness

As I walked to the street looking at the pile of garbage to my right I thought of these words. “Tum Mujhe Khoon Do, Mein Tumhe Aazadi Doonga” (Give me your blood and I will get your freedom). This famous line from freedom fighter Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose which when translated into English sounds like a blood drive from the Red Cross, has become an oft quoted line that shows both charisma and an ability to lead. Leaders have often been associated with such lines that attempt to amalgamate all that they will do if elected. The mantra in India like many other places is about ‘change’ (also in the much debated and satired US campaign).

Whenever we travel we all think about something that could change in the place we are in. This change could be garnered by us or by the larger system. Examples are the grand highways (flyovers) that will supposedly alleviate the traffic problems of the city. For me personally I want to see one politician who forgets all these things that are bound to take place, and talk about the bare necessities.

What I am talking about is a proper drainage system and garbage disposal. One only has to walk on the streets to see how much trash is collected everyday and how many drains are blocked. Now mind you I am not stuck in some bucolic age, nor do I expect society to change overnight like in our films for as a country of a billion people drainage is bound to be an issue. I am also aware that in the power-bloc reality coalition buildings has more to do with investment and tangible benefits with cleanliness as a side concern. If India has become cleaner, it is only in campuses of large companies and areas where the concept of gated community results in an almost foreign like setting. Developers even market these areas for its cleanliness and serenity. The reality on a city level is still of abhorrence.

As an issue that affects all even an uncertain leader can mobilize people with this issue, for it affects all residents. Even the person who leaves their job has to pass through some reality at some point of other. What they will see is black stagnant water and trash piling up. In his landmark book Suketu Metha actually calculates the amount of waste that goes into Mumbai on a daily basis. A government intervention is necessary for this to change as civic duty can only go so far. We can only hope.

The Running Man

Thump, Thump! My feet beared the weight of my body as I pushed them forward in one last attempt.

The day had started out well. Bangalore’s weather is a curious mixture of overcast that may turn into rain, oscillated by sudden sunshine in patches during the day. This makes for a cool day, far easier than the heat of Delhi and the north . The walk from where I live to the bus station is an interesting one. Down three flights of stairs through an alleyway to a smaller street where bikes, autos and cars wiz past small shops. If one were to ignore the shops, animals and pedestrians and just look at the speed of the vehicles they would think of it as a mini-highway. The traffic for its part seamlessly blends through the crowds, coming as close to touching the sleeve but effortlessly passing through with the horns leaving a trail of their journey.

Next comes an interestion to the main road; in a 100 meters the main road it self gets to a bigger intersection with the west gate of Lal Bagh facing it. A little walk away is the bus station where buses slow down or stop depending on the number of passengers.

Coming through all these roads, I saw the bus inch away from the station as I turned the corner. While another bus would be on its way soon, this particular one would take me closest to the destination. With this in mind I decided to run to catch the bus.

As the bus increased momentum so did I. As a activity, running in India without any form of athletic event is always a subject of curiosity. As my feet went forward many eyes also followed me and my hopes. I could not tell if I was getting closer to the bus or not. The driver also did something unexpected, he opened the doors but at the same time kept his speed. It was the ultimate mixed message. For their part the some passengers also showing interest were now looking at me. With a last jolt of energy I got to the bus, caught a bar and after getting one foot in, pulled myself into the bus. As I looked around at the faces the conductor came and nonchalantly asked for my ticket. As the rest of the passengers smiled at this feat, or entertainment they had been provided, the conductor also let out a smile. Even in an ordinary action there was camaraderie and happiness. Another day in the life of India :)

Waqt-Time

I do not consider myself a good writer. Constantly fretting over words, and if I am able to do justice to the event I can waste time over the simpliest of things. When a friend recommended to me that I start a blog ,I thought about the time (waqt in hindi) that this endavour would take. I knew this would be a harder task for me than most. I have been in India since May 26th now, but have not written in blog form. The pictures of my research for UNICEF have been uploaded on Facebook, and I constantly wrestled if I should give this medium a try.

It was not Amitabh Bachchan who also blogs (http://blogs.bigadda.com/ab/) but a unique and Indian experience that made me want to write. I now live in Bangalore, in one of the small streets near Lal Bagh Botanical gardens. I decided to go for a haircut as my visage was becoming quite hirsute. Upon entering the place I found all the chairs full with heads turned towards a small screen in the corner playing a Tamil film. The people were not customers but workers who were watching a film. After making way and getting started on the haircut I noticed in the reflection of the mirror that my barber was multitasking; he was cutting my hair while following the movie. He would laugh at comedic scenes and marvel at the action displayed on screen.

Taking a cringe and instead of being uncertain of his skills and blade which was now at the back of my neck, I shrugged and decided to also join him, stealing glances at the screen when I could. So involved we got that though I did not speak the language he took breaks and asked me to look at the screen for action and comedy scenes. When finsihed he looked at one of the other men at the shop who asked him to cut a little more on the side; curious as usually the person getting the cut is asked. He spoke very little Hindi and I did not understand Tamil but it was perhaps the most enjoyable haircut I have had….thankfully he also did a good job.