There is awkwardness as I make my way to work. This is the last week in Bangalore for I will be leaving for Delhi on Sunday. Astounding and conflicting images from the city occupied my mind like I was walking through the by lanes again and reliving the experience. My being was thrilled with so much hope and possibility that I let out a smirk that became a smile. When I had come here no one knew where I was. No one in this new city even knew who I was! It was this very feeling that instead of loneliness made me feel free.
This freedom gave way to conversations, new interactions and a presence in the area I lived. Soon it all became familiar with waves and smiles as pleasantries were exchanged and conversations were borne. Friendly relations were created and maintained and nothing seemed new or odd anymore. For a while it was like if I was home. When I used to walk home back to Lalbagh, thinking of the day past it felt like we had conquered the world. However all good things must come to an end and another experience will await.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Black Friday
The day started off with the usual trip to work and cup of tea followed by email and work. At the stroke of 1:15pm on this bustling afternoon under the drizzly Bangalore sky, it was business as usual, prayers at mosques, techies at their lunch break, serpentine traffic and anticipation of the weekend. After what seemed to be an eerie calm before a storm, a series of 8 bomb blasts took place in the city within a span of 30 minutes. It brought the sophisticated IT city to its knees. The ingeniously assembled crude bombs with timer were placed in small steel tiffin-boxes.
The media started pouring out images and analysis while the denizens thought of what to do. Offices were closed early, phone lines were overwhelmed with the plethora of calls that were being attempted by the concerned and the monstrous traffic became worse (if that is even possible). Panic stricken people seeking shelter, office workers wanting to reach home to assure their loved ones of their safety combined with the fear of imminent danger made the roads and buses very crowded. I was again at my usual spot in the bus precariously holding on with one hand and foot but reached home safely.
The crime scene was over at 2:30 with the residents and police literally pocking up the pieces but the affect to the city would still take some time. The city did not fall under the spell of communalism but survived this ordeal. It made for a somber weekend with many people not venturing, out. The next day carried news of another series of blasts in Ahmedabad, Gujarat. We can only pray for the people that are with us no more.
The media started pouring out images and analysis while the denizens thought of what to do. Offices were closed early, phone lines were overwhelmed with the plethora of calls that were being attempted by the concerned and the monstrous traffic became worse (if that is even possible). Panic stricken people seeking shelter, office workers wanting to reach home to assure their loved ones of their safety combined with the fear of imminent danger made the roads and buses very crowded. I was again at my usual spot in the bus precariously holding on with one hand and foot but reached home safely.
The crime scene was over at 2:30 with the residents and police literally pocking up the pieces but the affect to the city would still take some time. The city did not fall under the spell of communalism but survived this ordeal. It made for a somber weekend with many people not venturing, out. The next day carried news of another series of blasts in Ahmedabad, Gujarat. We can only pray for the people that are with us no more.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Vaastu
Walking to the second floor to get the keys I see a visibly tired auntie sitting with her daughter. Auntie had been going up and down the stairs supervising construction to the balcony. Going upstairs I see the red railings on the right side taken out, and replaced with a concrete wall that is under construction. As this change was not warranted, I inquire as to the reason.
I am told that a year back a Vaastu Shastra priest had been called to inspect the house. After careful observation he had made two diktats. First that the underground water tank located at the front of the house had to be shifted to the back of the house as it should face North. Secondly that any open space on the west side of the building be covered as luck and financial gain would escape if left open.
Vaastu Shastra is a concept that deals with ensuring that the design and building of a living space is in harmony with both the physical and metaphysical forces. It is not an exact task but interpretations that are given by priests that also bless the house. In some ways it is similar to Feng Shui (both harmonize the flow of energy/ life-force, Prana in Sanskrit) but differ in the details, such as the exact directions in which various objects, rooms, materials are to be placed.
While auntie could not completely change the placement of the underground tank, another smaller water tank was constructed at the back of the house with both in use. And now a year after, a bare concrete wall was being built to cover the balcony. Even for a staunch believer of fate, Vaastu is able to interact for it suggests that while no one can change destiny, surroundings can be improved by both correcting and leveraging ‘bad Vaastu’ for positive results. As I was living on the third floor I thanked auntie her for the good luck would also permeate to me as I was living there. She smiled and agreed.
I am told that a year back a Vaastu Shastra priest had been called to inspect the house. After careful observation he had made two diktats. First that the underground water tank located at the front of the house had to be shifted to the back of the house as it should face North. Secondly that any open space on the west side of the building be covered as luck and financial gain would escape if left open.
Vaastu Shastra is a concept that deals with ensuring that the design and building of a living space is in harmony with both the physical and metaphysical forces. It is not an exact task but interpretations that are given by priests that also bless the house. In some ways it is similar to Feng Shui (both harmonize the flow of energy/ life-force, Prana in Sanskrit) but differ in the details, such as the exact directions in which various objects, rooms, materials are to be placed.
While auntie could not completely change the placement of the underground tank, another smaller water tank was constructed at the back of the house with both in use. And now a year after, a bare concrete wall was being built to cover the balcony. Even for a staunch believer of fate, Vaastu is able to interact for it suggests that while no one can change destiny, surroundings can be improved by both correcting and leveraging ‘bad Vaastu’ for positive results. As I was living on the third floor I thanked auntie her for the good luck would also permeate to me as I was living there. She smiled and agreed.
Vaastu
Walking to the second floor to get the keys I see a visibly tired auntie sitting with her daughter. Auntie had been going up and down the stairs supervising construction to the balcony. Going upstairs I see the red railings on the right side taken out and small concrete wall being constructed. As this construction was not warranted, I inquire as to the reason.
I am told that a year back a Vaastu Shastra priest had been called to inspect the house. After careful observation he had made two diktats. First that the underground water tank located at the front of the house had to be shifted to the back of the house as it should face North. Secondly that any open space on the west side of the building be covered as luck and financial gain would escape if left open.
Vaastu Shastra is a concept that deals with ensuring that the design and building of a living space is in harmony with both the physical and metaphysical forces. It is not an exact task but interpretations that are given by priests that also bless the house. In some ways it is similar to Feng Shui (both harmonize the flow of energy/ life-force, Prana in Sanskrit) but differ in the details, such as the exact directions in which various objects, rooms, materials are to be placed.
While auntie could not completely change the placement of the underground tank, another smaller water tank was constructed at the back of the house with both in use. And now a year after, a bare concrete wall was being built to cover the balcony. Even for a staunch believer of fate, Vaastu is able to interact for it suggests that while no one can change destiny, surroundings can be improved by both correcting and leveraging ‘bad Vaastu’ for positive results. As I was living on the third floor I thanked auntie her for the good luck would also permeate to me as I was living there. She smiled and agreed.
I am told that a year back a Vaastu Shastra priest had been called to inspect the house. After careful observation he had made two diktats. First that the underground water tank located at the front of the house had to be shifted to the back of the house as it should face North. Secondly that any open space on the west side of the building be covered as luck and financial gain would escape if left open.
Vaastu Shastra is a concept that deals with ensuring that the design and building of a living space is in harmony with both the physical and metaphysical forces. It is not an exact task but interpretations that are given by priests that also bless the house. In some ways it is similar to Feng Shui (both harmonize the flow of energy/ life-force, Prana in Sanskrit) but differ in the details, such as the exact directions in which various objects, rooms, materials are to be placed.
While auntie could not completely change the placement of the underground tank, another smaller water tank was constructed at the back of the house with both in use. And now a year after, a bare concrete wall was being built to cover the balcony. Even for a staunch believer of fate, Vaastu is able to interact for it suggests that while no one can change destiny, surroundings can be improved by both correcting and leveraging ‘bad Vaastu’ for positive results. As I was living on the third floor I thanked auntie her for the good luck would also permeate to me as I was living there. She smiled and agreed.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Accident
The splendours of a vibrant evening as people return home after work; a cool breeze blows as the heat of the day gives way to a shady sky. People and cars pass by, each with possible anticipation in their mind that makes for an ambiance different from the rush of the morning. Walking down the sidewalk I looked ahead at the junction to Jayanagar 4th block bus station. Still not feeling completely well I ponder if I should get corn for a snack or not. I smile and think of a similar walk to the bus station in the halcyon days of my youth with similar traffic and feel. A lot is similar but the burden of work and responsibility has increased and the young face has given way to shoulders that carry responsibility. I hear a loud thud and a white Tata Innova suddenly swerves and charges towards me. My mind calm, having relived this scenario many times and my feet steadily waiting for all that is to come. If life is a long corridor and death merely a door, than I have touched this door many times without opening it.
One of the beauties and sad things about travel is that the more harrowing and painful an experience, the better are the stories with which come out of it. These occurrences become both narratives and memories that can terrify, impress, and dazzle friends back home but leave scars both physically and psychologically.
A red Honda Centra hitting a white Tata Innova on the side at a 90 degree led to the white vehicle hitting the sidewalk and touching my clothes as it stopped. Clearly not how I had anticipated the corn purchasing debate in my mind to be resolved but was happy that I was not hit. Both the drivers came out with their cell phones already dialing some unknown number contacting higher powers that could help them resolve this. I am quickly forgotten while close I am not hit and the attention shifts to the passengers who come out and observe. The red car has its left front light and side damaged while the white car has the area above its left tire pushed in. From afar the damage looks minimal but the internal mechanisms of both these light weight cars have been damaged. The white car is a private taxi carrying youths while the red car has a family and a small child.
There is no overly heightened plight for a muscle that may have been slightly pulled resulting in a multi million lawsuit, but instead the focus is the accident and resolving the matter as cars and people attempted to make their way around it. The cars are moved to the side of the road and soon there was a small crowd recreating the accident in conversation and giving their viewpoints that stretched from the construction of roads to the increase in traffic in the city. I am involved in this diatribe as people also inform and ask for my viewpoints to which I nod before walking away unscathed.
My only compensation is that, this will become a memory and my sense of reality of how most people live across the planet is once again usefully expanded. I am freed, for a moment, from an illusionary sense of safety and control. At the end travel brings us into closer contact with reality and liberates us from the ideas we impose on the rest of the world. Still, it’s not what I would recommend for every traveler. Let's see what tomorrow brings.
One of the beauties and sad things about travel is that the more harrowing and painful an experience, the better are the stories with which come out of it. These occurrences become both narratives and memories that can terrify, impress, and dazzle friends back home but leave scars both physically and psychologically.
A red Honda Centra hitting a white Tata Innova on the side at a 90 degree led to the white vehicle hitting the sidewalk and touching my clothes as it stopped. Clearly not how I had anticipated the corn purchasing debate in my mind to be resolved but was happy that I was not hit. Both the drivers came out with their cell phones already dialing some unknown number contacting higher powers that could help them resolve this. I am quickly forgotten while close I am not hit and the attention shifts to the passengers who come out and observe. The red car has its left front light and side damaged while the white car has the area above its left tire pushed in. From afar the damage looks minimal but the internal mechanisms of both these light weight cars have been damaged. The white car is a private taxi carrying youths while the red car has a family and a small child.
There is no overly heightened plight for a muscle that may have been slightly pulled resulting in a multi million lawsuit, but instead the focus is the accident and resolving the matter as cars and people attempted to make their way around it. The cars are moved to the side of the road and soon there was a small crowd recreating the accident in conversation and giving their viewpoints that stretched from the construction of roads to the increase in traffic in the city. I am involved in this diatribe as people also inform and ask for my viewpoints to which I nod before walking away unscathed.
My only compensation is that, this will become a memory and my sense of reality of how most people live across the planet is once again usefully expanded. I am freed, for a moment, from an illusionary sense of safety and control. At the end travel brings us into closer contact with reality and liberates us from the ideas we impose on the rest of the world. Still, it’s not what I would recommend for every traveler. Let's see what tomorrow brings.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Confidence
With the vote of confidence looming that would change the political setup of the country and place India’s foreign policy on the back burner it made for a unique day. The coalition government headed by the Congress party faced a crisis as the left parties withdrew their support, resulting in Prime Minister Dr. Manmohan Singh calling for a trust vote, or vote of confidence on July 22nd. A negative outcome could precipitate early elections with the end of the current regime. In addition I was also not feeling well, with the possible attribution to the corn-manchurian and hot chips I had the day before. Than again it could be all the cold showers from the lack of electricity. Sitting at breakfast, I could not eat and auntie insisted that I take the day off, an act that I could not bring myself to do. Following the old adage of converting a negative situation into one that is positive, I spoke some Hindi movie lines about the burden of duty and pushed myself out of the couch and headed straight for the door as auntie smirked.
At work I fought the headaches and lethargy of a burgeoning fever as I watched live internet streaming of the debate in the Lok Sabha or lower house in the Parliament on NDTV. The quality of the stream combined with the frequent power cuts did not make the situation easier. The day was full of great discussion as we all pondered what would happen. This like every crisis invariably produced an onrush of sound bytes that ranged from being studious to ultimately banal as the day dragged on. Thus as the power would go out I would go into interview mode with my fist forming a mike and asking everyone from the driver to the administrator. Overall it brought joy and various theories for discussion, with concern that there may be demonstrations that could become riots if tensions were too high.
As for the debate, the Lok Sabha members speech would spiral into an obsessive duel in which each person would try to show their point of view with constant interruptions. With various speakers that came and went the attention was on the railway minister, a colourful man named Laloo Prasad Yadav known for his rustic speaking style of both Bhojpuri and Hindi replete with bucolic examples. He was in his elements and had the house in splits throughout his 35-minute speech. One of his most enduring quotes was a few lines from a song "Char saal pehle humey tumsey pyaar tha, aaj bhi hai aur kal bhi rahega" (we were in love four years ago, and so we will be today and tomorrow) bringing back memories of popular Dev Anand-Asha Parekh starrer Jab Pyar Kisi Se Hota Hai. Mr Yadav modified the years in the song to signal that relations with the Left will remain cordial.
Coming home a little early to nurse myself, I took a combination of western medicine (tablets) and Indian faith (aarthi for nazar) followed by a nap that was quite uncomfortable as my body ached. Like the burgeoning tensions as the vote neared, my fever rose and went down in the evening. As I got up and attempted to straighten myself the news came in that the government had indeed survived the vote and would stay. It almost felt like my illness and the vote were linked. Probably a coincidence but my body and mind recovered as the day came to a conclusion.
At work I fought the headaches and lethargy of a burgeoning fever as I watched live internet streaming of the debate in the Lok Sabha or lower house in the Parliament on NDTV. The quality of the stream combined with the frequent power cuts did not make the situation easier. The day was full of great discussion as we all pondered what would happen. This like every crisis invariably produced an onrush of sound bytes that ranged from being studious to ultimately banal as the day dragged on. Thus as the power would go out I would go into interview mode with my fist forming a mike and asking everyone from the driver to the administrator. Overall it brought joy and various theories for discussion, with concern that there may be demonstrations that could become riots if tensions were too high.
As for the debate, the Lok Sabha members speech would spiral into an obsessive duel in which each person would try to show their point of view with constant interruptions. With various speakers that came and went the attention was on the railway minister, a colourful man named Laloo Prasad Yadav known for his rustic speaking style of both Bhojpuri and Hindi replete with bucolic examples. He was in his elements and had the house in splits throughout his 35-minute speech. One of his most enduring quotes was a few lines from a song "Char saal pehle humey tumsey pyaar tha, aaj bhi hai aur kal bhi rahega" (we were in love four years ago, and so we will be today and tomorrow) bringing back memories of popular Dev Anand-Asha Parekh starrer Jab Pyar Kisi Se Hota Hai. Mr Yadav modified the years in the song to signal that relations with the Left will remain cordial.
Coming home a little early to nurse myself, I took a combination of western medicine (tablets) and Indian faith (aarthi for nazar) followed by a nap that was quite uncomfortable as my body ached. Like the burgeoning tensions as the vote neared, my fever rose and went down in the evening. As I got up and attempted to straighten myself the news came in that the government had indeed survived the vote and would stay. It almost felt like my illness and the vote were linked. Probably a coincidence but my body and mind recovered as the day came to a conclusion.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Paying Guest
The Indian renting scenario includes an option known as PG or Paying Guest. In this arrangement a tenant or group of people live with a family in an extra room and share meals and space with them. In our denizen all five of us live in the third floor of a house owned by a couple in their 50s who live on the second floor. Affectionately called aunt and uncle, they have one daughter who is living with them as she is pregnant; in many places the daughter stays with the mother in many areas so that she is able to learn the complexities of childbirth and be at home with her family.
As for our flat it has two bedrooms, a large hallway, kitchen and bathroom. Anindya and I are in the last bedroom that has a balcony with the girls (Silvia, Christy and Abhinayan) in the adjourning room followed by the hall. The mattresses on the bed are Indian which by definition means harder and thinner mattresses that will not suit the western oriented sleeper.
I make my way downstairs every morning to get breakfast at 8:30am and dinner at 8:30 pm with a small packed lunch that I take to work. Hovering inside with a hum and greetings which never fails to amuse, time is always well spent as my inspired actions result auntie to proclaim that I am acting out what she sees on television soaps everyday. Our conversations have evolved with me asking about their day and auntie chiding uncle for all the hard work she does. In this serious yet light discussion I usually am the impartial viewer who manages to infuse humor to the situation and give them both due for their hard work. Overall it makes me feel like a member of this small Indian family. They still are under the impression that I am from India and I do not have the heart to break their heart about the simple Indian who lives with them, temporarily a member of their family.
As for our flat it has two bedrooms, a large hallway, kitchen and bathroom. Anindya and I are in the last bedroom that has a balcony with the girls (Silvia, Christy and Abhinayan) in the adjourning room followed by the hall. The mattresses on the bed are Indian which by definition means harder and thinner mattresses that will not suit the western oriented sleeper.
I make my way downstairs every morning to get breakfast at 8:30am and dinner at 8:30 pm with a small packed lunch that I take to work. Hovering inside with a hum and greetings which never fails to amuse, time is always well spent as my inspired actions result auntie to proclaim that I am acting out what she sees on television soaps everyday. Our conversations have evolved with me asking about their day and auntie chiding uncle for all the hard work she does. In this serious yet light discussion I usually am the impartial viewer who manages to infuse humor to the situation and give them both due for their hard work. Overall it makes me feel like a member of this small Indian family. They still are under the impression that I am from India and I do not have the heart to break their heart about the simple Indian who lives with them, temporarily a member of their family.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Contract
The Indian movie going experience is truly a highlight, for as the world’s largest film making nation there is a variety of films projected everyday. With 12 million people going to the cinema on a daily basis entertainment is big business. Furthermore it is one of the only places where time is kept as the medium is one of reverence.
The main multiplex company is known as PVR or Priya Village Roadshow Cinema. By introducing the multiplex concept in India in the late 1990s, PVR Cinemas brought in a whole new paradigm shift to the cinema viewing experience: high class seating, state-of-the-art screens and audio-visual systems. The theatre is in a mall called Forum with 11 screens that sits grandly on top of a 5 storey shopping area. The pre-film advertisements in India are the same as anywhere else, product placements that ultimately get annoying with their repetitious and oft heard jingles, complete with scratches on screen showing its age and insignificance. Everyone knows the words but no one will repeat or sing it along out of embarrassment and displeasure. Purchasing food is made easy with an attendant ready with a menu coming through every isle asking if anything is needed.
I ventured into the movie hall to watch ‘The Dark Knight’ but due to availability watched ‘Contract’ instead. Directed by the maverick director Ram Gopal Varma (or RGV or Ramu as he is know by) the film dealt with his oft made topic of the underworld. Once considered the beacon of originality who made pseudo realist films on multi layered topics usually with the subject of the underworld, his star has faded with ill conceived concepts and a blotched remake of India’s most famous and successful film named Sholay (Flames).
As for ‘Contract’, the film was promoted as an attempt to show the nexus between terrorism and the underworld with the kitsch of usual elements thrown in. The opening scenes showed promise with an army commander confronting a Jehadi terrorist (played by Zakir Hussain, but not the tabla player), leading to a well scripted conversation centered on how a solider fighting for an imagined community called a nation, ultimately does not see or interact the very public he serves to protect and is just taking orders without thought. Thus how is he different from the militant or kills in the name of love for his faith. Though hardly a deep conversation, it placed a hope of things to come; especially the thinking of the misguided followers of militant movements.
However the film descended from explaining the nexus between the underworld and terrorism to a story of rivalry between the two gangs that controlled Bombay. The extreme close-ups and silence as the character reflects, which have been seen in most of RGV's recent movies, gave way to a loud noise behind me. Looking back I saw a viewer fast asleep and snoring. The public around him also aware, left him to his sleep while the movie picked up pace/sound thus drowning his snores.
As this was a Hindi movie there is a requisite 10 minute interval where we watch more ads. The concept of an interval is a requirement in India; even English movies are given a forced interval with the sentences and scenes half completed. The sleeping man continued to snore as the interval finished only to wake up when we were leaving. In India as the exits are at the back with the patron exiting a floor higher than he entered and goes down steps. Leaving the hall, I thought of the narrative with questions left unanswered and global terrorism being tackled by one man. Than again, it was a Hindi movie so plausibility should not be expected. I wish Mr Varma would call/email me so I could discuss a film concept with him.
The main multiplex company is known as PVR or Priya Village Roadshow Cinema. By introducing the multiplex concept in India in the late 1990s, PVR Cinemas brought in a whole new paradigm shift to the cinema viewing experience: high class seating, state-of-the-art screens and audio-visual systems. The theatre is in a mall called Forum with 11 screens that sits grandly on top of a 5 storey shopping area. The pre-film advertisements in India are the same as anywhere else, product placements that ultimately get annoying with their repetitious and oft heard jingles, complete with scratches on screen showing its age and insignificance. Everyone knows the words but no one will repeat or sing it along out of embarrassment and displeasure. Purchasing food is made easy with an attendant ready with a menu coming through every isle asking if anything is needed.
I ventured into the movie hall to watch ‘The Dark Knight’ but due to availability watched ‘Contract’ instead. Directed by the maverick director Ram Gopal Varma (or RGV or Ramu as he is know by) the film dealt with his oft made topic of the underworld. Once considered the beacon of originality who made pseudo realist films on multi layered topics usually with the subject of the underworld, his star has faded with ill conceived concepts and a blotched remake of India’s most famous and successful film named Sholay (Flames).
As for ‘Contract’, the film was promoted as an attempt to show the nexus between terrorism and the underworld with the kitsch of usual elements thrown in. The opening scenes showed promise with an army commander confronting a Jehadi terrorist (played by Zakir Hussain, but not the tabla player), leading to a well scripted conversation centered on how a solider fighting for an imagined community called a nation, ultimately does not see or interact the very public he serves to protect and is just taking orders without thought. Thus how is he different from the militant or kills in the name of love for his faith. Though hardly a deep conversation, it placed a hope of things to come; especially the thinking of the misguided followers of militant movements.
However the film descended from explaining the nexus between the underworld and terrorism to a story of rivalry between the two gangs that controlled Bombay. The extreme close-ups and silence as the character reflects, which have been seen in most of RGV's recent movies, gave way to a loud noise behind me. Looking back I saw a viewer fast asleep and snoring. The public around him also aware, left him to his sleep while the movie picked up pace/sound thus drowning his snores.
As this was a Hindi movie there is a requisite 10 minute interval where we watch more ads. The concept of an interval is a requirement in India; even English movies are given a forced interval with the sentences and scenes half completed. The sleeping man continued to snore as the interval finished only to wake up when we were leaving. In India as the exits are at the back with the patron exiting a floor higher than he entered and goes down steps. Leaving the hall, I thought of the narrative with questions left unanswered and global terrorism being tackled by one man. Than again, it was a Hindi movie so plausibility should not be expected. I wish Mr Varma would call/email me so I could discuss a film concept with him.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Time
At a young age, we have difficulty adhering to it, in our youth and prime years we race against it struggling to meet deadlines and commitments, and when old we find it very difficult to pass by. ‘Time’ has always been an elusive concept for it shapes and controls much of what we do. We hold people who have mastered it and those who have withdrawn from its everyday constraints with great respect. Much has been written about it by great writers but like the concept of ‘love’ it is never fully understood with every generation giving its own interpretations. There is even a condition where the patient fears 'time' itself known as chronophobia.
Like everyone else I too attempt to follow time and balance the thin line between adhering to schedules and following it religiously. While we can avoid it at some spheres, in the working world our schedules are dictated by the concept of time. I remember in a young age my father telling me a story about my grandfather. Working in colonial India my grandfather reported to work a little earlier than his starting time on a daily basis. A believer in punctuality and any unexpected occurrences on the way, he accounted for the unexpected in order to reach work on time. Aware of this ideal, when on a particular day when a higher ranking person did not show up on time, the supervisor who needed the work started, promoted my grandfather and asked him to take on this new role.
My father told me this story with pride as he too was a ardent follower of time especially when it came to work. We know now that when it comes to working, with the advent of technology and work ethics, tasks can be completed based on style and speed. However there is still respect allocated for timeliness.
In India today, the concept of time is hard to follow for many. Try making any appointment or going to an office on time and you will find yourself waiting endlessly due to a plethora of reasons ranging from late meetings to traffic woes. Regardless of this I have made a habit to come to work on time and leave when the office closes. I never thought of this as any sort of achievement but just adhering to a schedule. As I have work related to both UNICEF and my university I also have not taken any days off or trips though it is allowed. With my teammates in Delhi and Kerala I sat in the office researching in the afternoon.
Imagine my surprise and shock when I was called to the head office and suddenly introduced to guests both from the NGO sector and UNICEF. After introductions the director of the NGO (who I have only have had limited conversation with) and other staff lauded for my ability to come on time and maintaining discipline in schedule. Not used to receiving compliments it was a truly humbling experience that I could be held in high regard for following time and being there. It was awkward yet rewarding as I thought about how happy my mother would have been.
Like everyone else I too attempt to follow time and balance the thin line between adhering to schedules and following it religiously. While we can avoid it at some spheres, in the working world our schedules are dictated by the concept of time. I remember in a young age my father telling me a story about my grandfather. Working in colonial India my grandfather reported to work a little earlier than his starting time on a daily basis. A believer in punctuality and any unexpected occurrences on the way, he accounted for the unexpected in order to reach work on time. Aware of this ideal, when on a particular day when a higher ranking person did not show up on time, the supervisor who needed the work started, promoted my grandfather and asked him to take on this new role.
My father told me this story with pride as he too was a ardent follower of time especially when it came to work. We know now that when it comes to working, with the advent of technology and work ethics, tasks can be completed based on style and speed. However there is still respect allocated for timeliness.
In India today, the concept of time is hard to follow for many. Try making any appointment or going to an office on time and you will find yourself waiting endlessly due to a plethora of reasons ranging from late meetings to traffic woes. Regardless of this I have made a habit to come to work on time and leave when the office closes. I never thought of this as any sort of achievement but just adhering to a schedule. As I have work related to both UNICEF and my university I also have not taken any days off or trips though it is allowed. With my teammates in Delhi and Kerala I sat in the office researching in the afternoon.
Imagine my surprise and shock when I was called to the head office and suddenly introduced to guests both from the NGO sector and UNICEF. After introductions the director of the NGO (who I have only have had limited conversation with) and other staff lauded for my ability to come on time and maintaining discipline in schedule. Not used to receiving compliments it was a truly humbling experience that I could be held in high regard for following time and being there. It was awkward yet rewarding as I thought about how happy my mother would have been.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Bhutta
The onlooker’s eyes were one of curiosity. As I stood relaxed, the man visibly ambivalent of what he should do took another step forward. Realizing his predicament I thought why not take on this role as well. Reveling in precision I lifted the corn and flicked it up in the air.
Standing at the bus station after the end of the work, I awaited my bus to Lalbagh only to be drawn away by the roasting smell of corn. My eyes found the stall located towards the end of the bus stop and I made my way to the vendor. With the green leafs pealed, the vendor roasted bright yellow sweet corn in a large metal bowl with ember coals. The husked corn cob was roasted until about half the kernels were blackened. When a customer came he would warm it by placing it on the coals, frantically fanning the cart-top coal fire, and finishing with a dressing of squeezed lime and chilly powder which were rubbed on the kernels.
With gleam I purchased the corn on the cob or ‘bhutta’ giving the vendor a 20 rupee note. As he did not have the right change, he asked the coconut vendor beside him with no avail. Still determined he crossed the busy street leaving me standing at the stall. It was a busy time of day and crossing the road, would take time. Left at the stall I placed my hot bhutta on the husked leaves and rested with ease. With my frame and dressing style it could be confusing if I was the vendor or another customer. When the aforementioned person in the beginning of the narrative made his way towards me I thought why not.
In a jocose manner I took my corn sitting on the stall with style, flicked it in the air and caught it and chomped down on some kernels before placing it back on the stall. Taking charge I told the customer in Hindi that the smaller corns were 7 rupees and the larger ones were 8. Than I proceeded to show him the difference and told him that the quality was quite good. The man still confused by my visage and role thought about what to do while I nonchalantly ate again. As the customer made his choice the vendor returned to see my in my new role. Both impressed and happy by my proprietorship gave a smile and my change. I said goodbye and headed to my bus while the customer even more confused now attempted to understand who exactly I was.
Standing at the bus station after the end of the work, I awaited my bus to Lalbagh only to be drawn away by the roasting smell of corn. My eyes found the stall located towards the end of the bus stop and I made my way to the vendor. With the green leafs pealed, the vendor roasted bright yellow sweet corn in a large metal bowl with ember coals. The husked corn cob was roasted until about half the kernels were blackened. When a customer came he would warm it by placing it on the coals, frantically fanning the cart-top coal fire, and finishing with a dressing of squeezed lime and chilly powder which were rubbed on the kernels.
With gleam I purchased the corn on the cob or ‘bhutta’ giving the vendor a 20 rupee note. As he did not have the right change, he asked the coconut vendor beside him with no avail. Still determined he crossed the busy street leaving me standing at the stall. It was a busy time of day and crossing the road, would take time. Left at the stall I placed my hot bhutta on the husked leaves and rested with ease. With my frame and dressing style it could be confusing if I was the vendor or another customer. When the aforementioned person in the beginning of the narrative made his way towards me I thought why not.
In a jocose manner I took my corn sitting on the stall with style, flicked it in the air and caught it and chomped down on some kernels before placing it back on the stall. Taking charge I told the customer in Hindi that the smaller corns were 7 rupees and the larger ones were 8. Than I proceeded to show him the difference and told him that the quality was quite good. The man still confused by my visage and role thought about what to do while I nonchalantly ate again. As the customer made his choice the vendor returned to see my in my new role. Both impressed and happy by my proprietorship gave a smile and my change. I said goodbye and headed to my bus while the customer even more confused now attempted to understand who exactly I was.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Darkness
As I stepped to climb the coconut tree the office administrator came out and smiled. He was as perturbed as I was but I seemed to be making the best of the situation. Powerless days are becoming the order of the day. With power shortages taking place, different parts of the city have been affected by intermittent power supply. The worst part for many is that it is unscheduled, and goes out about four times a day.
With an increased consumption around 30 percent since last year combined with maintenance at the thermal power station, electricity has become a scarce resource. If this was not enough re-alignment of pipelines means no water pumping from today till Saturday making 60 areas of the city rely on self sufficiency and conservation from their roof tanks.
Any work on the computer now has to be saved at short intervals as electricity could go at any time. As for me I keep trying to make the best of the situation by talking to people in the office about topics ranging from politics to development. It is a hassle not to have power but we make the best of it and carry on.
With an increased consumption around 30 percent since last year combined with maintenance at the thermal power station, electricity has become a scarce resource. If this was not enough re-alignment of pipelines means no water pumping from today till Saturday making 60 areas of the city rely on self sufficiency and conservation from their roof tanks.
Any work on the computer now has to be saved at short intervals as electricity could go at any time. As for me I keep trying to make the best of the situation by talking to people in the office about topics ranging from politics to development. It is a hassle not to have power but we make the best of it and carry on.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Sunday
A six day work week results in Sunday becoming the crux of relaxation in India. I took the day at home to do both reading and work on my assignments albeit with a few naps in between. As the morning lingered on, to overcome the surge of unneeded sleep, I went downstairs to read the paper and perhaps watch television. Sitting down on the couch my hand found the soft buttons of the remote and my eyes were pulled into the world of Bollywood. The choices on television would all but amaze the novice viewer, serials ranging from mythic stories of gods to the constant zoom in/outs and sound effects of Saas bahu serials (Indian term for familial shows). Furthermore there are films in every language from every era readily available with a special space for Amitabh Bachchan (Indian superstar) of course. As seen from my Facebook posts even the ads are so funny and poignant that one does not feel limited or frustrated. If Hindi or any other language is not preferred there are always English movies as well. My favourites are English movies and cartoons that have been dubbed over in crisp and strong Hindi. Even an action movie will bring you to tears of joy after seeing the vernacular diction and complex language allocated to a Slyvester Stallone movie.
In the evening I ventured out to the adjourning street near Lalbagh west gate to recharge my prepaid Airtel mobile phone. With the street full of Airtel shops, I projected this to be a menial errand. As Anindya and I made a walk with every store, we found that the relaxed mood I had mentioned; the vendor was either unaware of the recharge details or was out for some reason. The zenith was when we were informed that the vendor of an Airtel shop had gone to get a recharge for his phone that was from Reliance (another mobile company). As this was too odd I gesticulated with my hands and asked the store assistant “so the owner uses another phone company yet he sells Airtel..theek hai..theek hai”. As he smiled at my predicament we walked off and finally found a small shop near the temple.
Operated by a husband and wife the shop had all the requisite posters and information for a phone plan. The shop was demarcated with a thin wall that concealed a room that was blaring in action sounds, easily markings of a Kannada movie. Any question we asked about phones was repeated in a higher tone, with an answer coming from the room within a few seconds. Their understanding perhaps constrained by the minute details of every offer readily relegated questions for answers. The voice clearly aggrieved by the requests that was delaying his viewing experience was sparse and direct with a snappy reply. After asking a handful of questions my attention peaked about this elusive figure with a dearth of knowledge.
As my forehead cringed after the last question, the wife informed me with candor that the movie had everyone’s attention. Unable to take the incessant questions the door finally opened and I expected to see a copious figure who had attained knowledge of the business through years of working in the phone business; what I saw instead was a boy around 16 or 17 with a hat pushed back like Himesh Reshammiya (Indian singer/actor known for his nasal singing style). With celerity of hand and sangfroid nature he took the phone and answered the questions with an imperturbable voice.
In a jovial spirit myself I immediately asked Anindya in Hindi to apologize for we had clearly disturbed his movie watching experience with the burden of coming to this store. Enlivened by this gesture of offering my condolences for missing the movie, the wife and husband laughed loudly while the boy multitasked between the movie and opening Anindya’s phone. Happy that I also loved movies the boy and I talked for a minute about the film after which I sought my departure, waving again at the chips store on my way back with Sunday coming to an end.
In the evening I ventured out to the adjourning street near Lalbagh west gate to recharge my prepaid Airtel mobile phone. With the street full of Airtel shops, I projected this to be a menial errand. As Anindya and I made a walk with every store, we found that the relaxed mood I had mentioned; the vendor was either unaware of the recharge details or was out for some reason. The zenith was when we were informed that the vendor of an Airtel shop had gone to get a recharge for his phone that was from Reliance (another mobile company). As this was too odd I gesticulated with my hands and asked the store assistant “so the owner uses another phone company yet he sells Airtel..theek hai..theek hai”. As he smiled at my predicament we walked off and finally found a small shop near the temple.
Operated by a husband and wife the shop had all the requisite posters and information for a phone plan. The shop was demarcated with a thin wall that concealed a room that was blaring in action sounds, easily markings of a Kannada movie. Any question we asked about phones was repeated in a higher tone, with an answer coming from the room within a few seconds. Their understanding perhaps constrained by the minute details of every offer readily relegated questions for answers. The voice clearly aggrieved by the requests that was delaying his viewing experience was sparse and direct with a snappy reply. After asking a handful of questions my attention peaked about this elusive figure with a dearth of knowledge.
As my forehead cringed after the last question, the wife informed me with candor that the movie had everyone’s attention. Unable to take the incessant questions the door finally opened and I expected to see a copious figure who had attained knowledge of the business through years of working in the phone business; what I saw instead was a boy around 16 or 17 with a hat pushed back like Himesh Reshammiya (Indian singer/actor known for his nasal singing style). With celerity of hand and sangfroid nature he took the phone and answered the questions with an imperturbable voice.
In a jovial spirit myself I immediately asked Anindya in Hindi to apologize for we had clearly disturbed his movie watching experience with the burden of coming to this store. Enlivened by this gesture of offering my condolences for missing the movie, the wife and husband laughed loudly while the boy multitasked between the movie and opening Anindya’s phone. Happy that I also loved movies the boy and I talked for a minute about the film after which I sought my departure, waving again at the chips store on my way back with Sunday coming to an end.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Auto
My latest adventure in Bangalore bellows with defiance and confusion, visibly the story of a new person in a city attempting to find a way through insane standards, while still attempting to carry respect for the common man.
Feeling celebratory the day after our presentation the previous day, four of us from the group (Christy, Silvia, Anindya and I) decided to visit the splendor of MG road. The mode of transportation was the ever dependable auto rickshaw. Codenamed everything from auto, rickshaw, tempo, and the current hip term "rick", it is prevalent in Asia. With the soft top painted yellow and the metal side black, its three dependable wheels can take it as fast as 50 km an hour. It is a must for any visitor and I have also had the pleasure of driving it. The payment is determined by a attached meter, that starts with a base amount of 14 rupees, and stays stagnant for the first two kilometers, then increasing in increments of 50 paise based on the distance. As any resident will tell you, attempting to make a trip by meter is impossible, instead preferring negotiation, as the driver is quite keen on making extra. For though it gets us where we need to go, the auto leaves a trail of negotiation, grudges, and misunderstandings behind.
We found one such auto after a short walk. As there were four of us we agreed on the one and half meter rate. We were on our way and traveled for 15 minutes hoping to get off at the destination. After a while I realized from my limited knowledge of the city that the directions did not seem to add up as we were not passing any familiar landmarks that greeted us on the way to MG road. Suddenly I saw a sign for Jayanagar (the area we had departed from). The group had also made this startling realization and asked where we were going. The driver citing confusion kept going but it was clear that we had made a large square and driven back to the same spot we had started from. As the meter works on distance traveled drivers are known to elongate the journey to unscrupulously earn more money but this was such a unique case that even in attempting to be fraudulent he had not taken us for a “ride” but brought us back where we started. (I later remarked to Anindya that the driver should go and take lessons on taking people for a ride if that's what his intention is).
The driver's attempt to pacify us was to carry forth on the journey and than get a discount on the fare. We were not amicable to this and immediately asked get off. We refused to pay him and he asked for 20 rupees. After two minutes of intense arguments in Hindi we paid him 10 and got another auto. We decided to let the incident be and focused on this ride and our plans. However when things looked hopeful again the auto stalled in the middle of a flyover (overpass) at a point where nothing could be done. We were all but stranded on a incline with a small stepping divider that gave us but only two meters to walk before the road became a two way mangle of traffic. As it was not his fault we got off and laughed at our luck.
Thankfully a third auto stopped in less than a minute and we attempted to negotiate a ride with him. When we asked for meter and half and he said 40 rupees. We asked again and he remained steadfast, only to be convinced when we explained our disposition and pointing out the other stalled rickshaw. He gave way and meter it was! The driver was a unique man for we had a 30 second conversation where we negotiated and asked about the road. He was able to do it all without uttering a single word and through hand motions and shaking his head. He could easily be crowned a king in the game of charades for he was able to do all without a display of any emotion or facial movements. He was able to get us to our destination and left without uttering a word. All we had to worry about now was the ride home which thankfully went smoothly.
Feeling celebratory the day after our presentation the previous day, four of us from the group (Christy, Silvia, Anindya and I) decided to visit the splendor of MG road. The mode of transportation was the ever dependable auto rickshaw. Codenamed everything from auto, rickshaw, tempo, and the current hip term "rick", it is prevalent in Asia. With the soft top painted yellow and the metal side black, its three dependable wheels can take it as fast as 50 km an hour. It is a must for any visitor and I have also had the pleasure of driving it. The payment is determined by a attached meter, that starts with a base amount of 14 rupees, and stays stagnant for the first two kilometers, then increasing in increments of 50 paise based on the distance. As any resident will tell you, attempting to make a trip by meter is impossible, instead preferring negotiation, as the driver is quite keen on making extra. For though it gets us where we need to go, the auto leaves a trail of negotiation, grudges, and misunderstandings behind.
We found one such auto after a short walk. As there were four of us we agreed on the one and half meter rate. We were on our way and traveled for 15 minutes hoping to get off at the destination. After a while I realized from my limited knowledge of the city that the directions did not seem to add up as we were not passing any familiar landmarks that greeted us on the way to MG road. Suddenly I saw a sign for Jayanagar (the area we had departed from). The group had also made this startling realization and asked where we were going. The driver citing confusion kept going but it was clear that we had made a large square and driven back to the same spot we had started from. As the meter works on distance traveled drivers are known to elongate the journey to unscrupulously earn more money but this was such a unique case that even in attempting to be fraudulent he had not taken us for a “ride” but brought us back where we started. (I later remarked to Anindya that the driver should go and take lessons on taking people for a ride if that's what his intention is).
The driver's attempt to pacify us was to carry forth on the journey and than get a discount on the fare. We were not amicable to this and immediately asked get off. We refused to pay him and he asked for 20 rupees. After two minutes of intense arguments in Hindi we paid him 10 and got another auto. We decided to let the incident be and focused on this ride and our plans. However when things looked hopeful again the auto stalled in the middle of a flyover (overpass) at a point where nothing could be done. We were all but stranded on a incline with a small stepping divider that gave us but only two meters to walk before the road became a two way mangle of traffic. As it was not his fault we got off and laughed at our luck.
Thankfully a third auto stopped in less than a minute and we attempted to negotiate a ride with him. When we asked for meter and half and he said 40 rupees. We asked again and he remained steadfast, only to be convinced when we explained our disposition and pointing out the other stalled rickshaw. He gave way and meter it was! The driver was a unique man for we had a 30 second conversation where we negotiated and asked about the road. He was able to do it all without uttering a single word and through hand motions and shaking his head. He could easily be crowned a king in the game of charades for he was able to do all without a display of any emotion or facial movements. He was able to get us to our destination and left without uttering a word. All we had to worry about now was the ride home which thankfully went smoothly.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Transient to Tamil Nadu
I felt really happy. Sitting in my usual seat (second from the back) in the evening bus I glanced outside at the fields, rivulets and rivers passing by. I thought of how great the beauty of nature and life was. The ride home was filled with expectation and joy for the weekend lingered ahead. My grandmother sitting in the front also took the bus with me and I thought about the two new movies I would watch over the weekend along with great food.
I felt a hard stop. Opening my eyelids it felt like small needles hitting piercing my eyes. I closed them again and pressed the lids hard, opening them again slowly to accustom to the sudden rush of the morning light. I had been dreaming about my childhood and mother, who is sadly no more. The journey on this bus had brought back memories of that bus that I used to take everyday as a child and my mother who I lived with. My mind left the halcyon days of youth and came to the present; my body sprawled on the long seat of the bus, feet jutting out, and head resting on my bag that had formed an unusual pillow. Still a bit dazed, I slowly sat up. I had been up at 4am and left home after 5 to come to Krishnagiri, Tamil Nadu to present the findings of our research. As the rest of the group was already getting off the bus and I quickly pulled myself together.
The group explained that it has been an eventful trip, for while I was sleeping two other travelers had grown suspicious seeing the intermixed group who lacked any significant amount luggage. As such after discussing with themselves, the conductor was informed that we looked like runaways and could be potential terrorists. They exclaimed that we should be checked for identification immediately, with further police action to follow. The conductor refused to believe their logic and informed them that it was a free country, and he could not check identifications on some erratic whims. Entirely not convinced the passengers kept their attention on us for the entire trip afraid of what maybe unleashed if they did not carry out their civic duty. After the bus stopped and we were off they relented and went their own way. The story was narrated by one of our group-mates who had heard the conversation and drama in Tamil.
Arriving at the District Collector’s office we began our presentation in the presence of the Collector who is the architect of the program, along with other stakeholders and UNICEF representatives. I have been the positivist of the group and though we have disagreements on certain aspects we are all committed to see the change and program succeed. For the presentation there were no dramatic examples, just a well articulated preamble to how the program had succeeded and what changes were required. The Collector, a man of vim and commitment was very pleased and gave us credit for giving him further initiative to make the program a success. He heartily invited us to return in two months to see the program in its full force.
After the presentation we celebrated with a hearty Punjabi meal that we ate at a dhabba or small street shop. It was nice to have north Indian food instead of the staple diet of south Indian food. In the afternoon we left the district for what would be our last time. As the bus passed by the Collectors office which stood apart from anything else with grandeur, I looked back with longing for one last time to catch the building that formed the hope for so many in the district. Like the shimmering reflection of the Golden Temple in the sacred pool, the District Collectors office is also an image I shall always carry with me and in my dreams.
I felt a hard stop. Opening my eyelids it felt like small needles hitting piercing my eyes. I closed them again and pressed the lids hard, opening them again slowly to accustom to the sudden rush of the morning light. I had been dreaming about my childhood and mother, who is sadly no more. The journey on this bus had brought back memories of that bus that I used to take everyday as a child and my mother who I lived with. My mind left the halcyon days of youth and came to the present; my body sprawled on the long seat of the bus, feet jutting out, and head resting on my bag that had formed an unusual pillow. Still a bit dazed, I slowly sat up. I had been up at 4am and left home after 5 to come to Krishnagiri, Tamil Nadu to present the findings of our research. As the rest of the group was already getting off the bus and I quickly pulled myself together.
The group explained that it has been an eventful trip, for while I was sleeping two other travelers had grown suspicious seeing the intermixed group who lacked any significant amount luggage. As such after discussing with themselves, the conductor was informed that we looked like runaways and could be potential terrorists. They exclaimed that we should be checked for identification immediately, with further police action to follow. The conductor refused to believe their logic and informed them that it was a free country, and he could not check identifications on some erratic whims. Entirely not convinced the passengers kept their attention on us for the entire trip afraid of what maybe unleashed if they did not carry out their civic duty. After the bus stopped and we were off they relented and went their own way. The story was narrated by one of our group-mates who had heard the conversation and drama in Tamil.
Arriving at the District Collector’s office we began our presentation in the presence of the Collector who is the architect of the program, along with other stakeholders and UNICEF representatives. I have been the positivist of the group and though we have disagreements on certain aspects we are all committed to see the change and program succeed. For the presentation there were no dramatic examples, just a well articulated preamble to how the program had succeeded and what changes were required. The Collector, a man of vim and commitment was very pleased and gave us credit for giving him further initiative to make the program a success. He heartily invited us to return in two months to see the program in its full force.
After the presentation we celebrated with a hearty Punjabi meal that we ate at a dhabba or small street shop. It was nice to have north Indian food instead of the staple diet of south Indian food. In the afternoon we left the district for what would be our last time. As the bus passed by the Collectors office which stood apart from anything else with grandeur, I looked back with longing for one last time to catch the building that formed the hope for so many in the district. Like the shimmering reflection of the Golden Temple in the sacred pool, the District Collectors office is also an image I shall always carry with me and in my dreams.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Coexistence
It’s truly a sight to behold. Standing midmorning at the side of the road, I keenly observed all the activities taking place around me. Much has been encapsulated in writing, films and pictures about the conflicting elements and structures that invariably co-exist in any geographical setting in India. The result is a plethora of images, colours, sounds and smells all coming together at once and overwhelming the senses. No matter how much one acclimates to this, a new experience awaits on the next day.
The broken sole of my sandal had prompted this trip; a slow walk to the main area of 4th Block in search of a cobbler. After asking around, I found one nestled precariously in a corner of a four way intersection. An odd place it seemed to conduct business, but the small endeavor had all the exposure it needed, from the pedestrian and the cars that passed by. Swarming with characters, the adherence to the oncoming traffic is minimal with the driver from each direction making a dash towards the intersection as if on a crusade of life, attempting to cut the other car that also races to cross the spot. The sound is one of the clutters of calamitous elements strewn into a sense of impending catastrophe. Even with my camera I could not adequately sum up the interesting elements in this simmering cauldron of clichés. The street patrolled in the mornings by a pot-bellied wonder (policeman) who as his role as a ringmaster attempts to control this unorganized patterns of cars intermixed with pedestrians. The public for the most part is aggrieved by his incoherent yells and whistles. The most unexpected structure is the Jain temple that forms the corner of one intersection with its peaceful space forming the opposite to the busiest street on the block. The devotees adorned in simple attire also attempt to cross as well.
There was no other choice for me, as a size 12 shoe is hard to find. After getting across as I sat in the small stall, it amazed me how both the traffic and people seemed to seamlessly flow like water in the river (albeit with very loud horns and some occasional yelling). The severity of the situation was only obvious when a car almost ran over my foot which made me realize that the space of the cobbler was actually in the intersection. In a few minutes he had stitched my shoes for 20 rupees. As I tried my repaired sandal, a new customer unhappy with the price she was quoted started telling me in Kannada how the price for her was not right. My attempts to explain that I did not speak the language and that I was in no way associated with the store were in vain as she had found a caring listener. As she concluded I responded with a sad “kya kare” (what to do) and swirled my hand in surrender. Happy with my role I took leave, crossed and took this picture when the crowd dissipated for those odd seconds, but somehow it was not able to capture the intensity and hurly-burly of the street.
The broken sole of my sandal had prompted this trip; a slow walk to the main area of 4th Block in search of a cobbler. After asking around, I found one nestled precariously in a corner of a four way intersection. An odd place it seemed to conduct business, but the small endeavor had all the exposure it needed, from the pedestrian and the cars that passed by. Swarming with characters, the adherence to the oncoming traffic is minimal with the driver from each direction making a dash towards the intersection as if on a crusade of life, attempting to cut the other car that also races to cross the spot. The sound is one of the clutters of calamitous elements strewn into a sense of impending catastrophe. Even with my camera I could not adequately sum up the interesting elements in this simmering cauldron of clichés. The street patrolled in the mornings by a pot-bellied wonder (policeman) who as his role as a ringmaster attempts to control this unorganized patterns of cars intermixed with pedestrians. The public for the most part is aggrieved by his incoherent yells and whistles. The most unexpected structure is the Jain temple that forms the corner of one intersection with its peaceful space forming the opposite to the busiest street on the block. The devotees adorned in simple attire also attempt to cross as well.
There was no other choice for me, as a size 12 shoe is hard to find. After getting across as I sat in the small stall, it amazed me how both the traffic and people seemed to seamlessly flow like water in the river (albeit with very loud horns and some occasional yelling). The severity of the situation was only obvious when a car almost ran over my foot which made me realize that the space of the cobbler was actually in the intersection. In a few minutes he had stitched my shoes for 20 rupees. As I tried my repaired sandal, a new customer unhappy with the price she was quoted started telling me in Kannada how the price for her was not right. My attempts to explain that I did not speak the language and that I was in no way associated with the store were in vain as she had found a caring listener. As she concluded I responded with a sad “kya kare” (what to do) and swirled my hand in surrender. Happy with my role I took leave, crossed and took this picture when the crowd dissipated for those odd seconds, but somehow it was not able to capture the intensity and hurly-burly of the street.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
The Third Place
Everyone has a place that they frequent after home or work ranging from a restaurant, coffee shop, and bar among others. From socializing to providing some form of refreshment, or meal this place becomes almost like a denizen for many. Because life is at such hazard, we value these places as they await us in one place, doing one thing. Such continuity is reassuring. There is a certain charm in the notion of a place that stands still waiting for your visit, it does not move, yet is never still. After a while when walking into this place, the recognition sparks an extra layer of service, anticipating needs based on previous experiences. In California my friend Tim (rechristened as Timesh) had an Indian restaurant that we used to visit that we both loved.
In Bangalore, the cankerous noise of the walk home was interrupted by the sizzling sound of oil that simmered as potatoes were placed into it. I looked to the right where small store had an open handi beside the entrance. Overpowered by the smell I approached the store and was amazed the different assortment of chips and other fried nuts that were being sold. I took out whatever change I had and asked the storekeeper to give me whatever 5 rupees could buy. After enjoying the thinly sliced potato chips on the way home, the shop named “Hot Chips” has become my regular stop on the walk home. Run by two people, the owner inside and the cook who stands outside cooking all sorts of delights, the shop contains a dearth of snacks. After my usual wave I approach the counter with ease and address the owner as ‘uncle’ and he gives me the chips that I always purchase. Our conversation has a language barrier as they do not speak Hindi but we are able to converse nonetheless as I get my usual amount along with a free taste of what is being cooked outside. As others from my group also go to this store it becomes a third place for me, along with making me a regular of the neighborhood.
In Bangalore, the cankerous noise of the walk home was interrupted by the sizzling sound of oil that simmered as potatoes were placed into it. I looked to the right where small store had an open handi beside the entrance. Overpowered by the smell I approached the store and was amazed the different assortment of chips and other fried nuts that were being sold. I took out whatever change I had and asked the storekeeper to give me whatever 5 rupees could buy. After enjoying the thinly sliced potato chips on the way home, the shop named “Hot Chips” has become my regular stop on the walk home. Run by two people, the owner inside and the cook who stands outside cooking all sorts of delights, the shop contains a dearth of snacks. After my usual wave I approach the counter with ease and address the owner as ‘uncle’ and he gives me the chips that I always purchase. Our conversation has a language barrier as they do not speak Hindi but we are able to converse nonetheless as I get my usual amount along with a free taste of what is being cooked outside. As others from my group also go to this store it becomes a third place for me, along with making me a regular of the neighborhood.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Hope
I have just returned from a meeting with the rest of the group and Dr Jayaranjan, our methodology adviser for the project. Traveling from Chennai this morning Dr. Jayaranjan met us to answer questions and clarify any doubts. In particular he talked to us on methodology and progress of the project. As a researcher he has worked with both academics and development organizations, and thus had concrete suggestions, where he acknowledged ground reality and scope for conducive change. We had met him a few weeks ago before starting our field research. Due to difficulty with his name I coined the sobriquet ‘JR’ which the group finds easier to remember and pronounce.
He has been encapsulated in our mind through one incident which I shall share. When attempting to focus our research during the first meet, we listed the various stakeholders ranging from children, parents, and government officials, that we hoped to talk to in Krishnagiri (place of research) to better understand the issue. His inability to understand why we would want to visit any and every place, prompted a question of why interview them all, when they do not concern the research paradigm? To this one member responded “because they are there”. JR quickly uttered his most famous words “suppose there is a lake there, will you visit that too!”. The laughter from that experience still fills my mind, as I remember his serious face while attempting to ask us about the mundane.
During this meeting with him I slightly placed my hand on his shoulder and said that we actually did visit the lake which prompted him to laugh in the middle of a serious discussion. The overall understanding of the project methodology became clearer after talking to him and he told us about the concept of ‘hope’ in development. It is this very concept that results in positive and hopeful faces in development work and pictures. Programs are not easily discounted and the focus is on repair and bringing forth change that can be realistically implemented on the grassroots level. Being someone who wants to work within the system and who tries to find positive side of various programmes, I was happy with his assessment.
He has been encapsulated in our mind through one incident which I shall share. When attempting to focus our research during the first meet, we listed the various stakeholders ranging from children, parents, and government officials, that we hoped to talk to in Krishnagiri (place of research) to better understand the issue. His inability to understand why we would want to visit any and every place, prompted a question of why interview them all, when they do not concern the research paradigm? To this one member responded “because they are there”. JR quickly uttered his most famous words “suppose there is a lake there, will you visit that too!”. The laughter from that experience still fills my mind, as I remember his serious face while attempting to ask us about the mundane.
During this meeting with him I slightly placed my hand on his shoulder and said that we actually did visit the lake which prompted him to laugh in the middle of a serious discussion. The overall understanding of the project methodology became clearer after talking to him and he told us about the concept of ‘hope’ in development. It is this very concept that results in positive and hopeful faces in development work and pictures. Programs are not easily discounted and the focus is on repair and bringing forth change that can be realistically implemented on the grassroots level. Being someone who wants to work within the system and who tries to find positive side of various programmes, I was happy with his assessment.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Take a right and than a left
The place I work at is located in Jayanagar 4th Block and 6th Main. Though now I can proclaim to know the place with certainty, getting directions in India is always an adventure. One cannot get to their destination without the kindness of strangers; asking everyone from the person walking beside you to the car that is sharing that uncomfortably close space to you as you wait at the light. With a plethora of buildings and populous, one finds their destination with the help of markers and buildings (near the west gate, or opposite Barista). This search sometimes even results in conflicting directions that leads to finding a third person who fulfills the role of a tie-breaker (this happened on the first day we had to find our office).
As everyone faces this problem getting assistance with directions is never a major problem, with the only obstacle when someone advises that the place is so close that walking would be best. This often results in a walk for a few kilometers for the novice who is not used to Indian walking. As I do not mind walking, traveling to new places is always an adventure like no other.
I have found myself being asked for directions many a times. Even on the day I arrived in the country I was giving directions in Delhi to someone who had to reach Munirka Vihar, which I was able to happily fulfill as I was accustomed to the area. My friend told me that it was due to my unassuming nature and trustworthy face as I always look like I am about to smile. I am not sure if I believe that or not, but we do what we can. Now if I can only figure out shortcuts as well.
As everyone faces this problem getting assistance with directions is never a major problem, with the only obstacle when someone advises that the place is so close that walking would be best. This often results in a walk for a few kilometers for the novice who is not used to Indian walking. As I do not mind walking, traveling to new places is always an adventure like no other.
I have found myself being asked for directions many a times. Even on the day I arrived in the country I was giving directions in Delhi to someone who had to reach Munirka Vihar, which I was able to happily fulfill as I was accustomed to the area. My friend told me that it was due to my unassuming nature and trustworthy face as I always look like I am about to smile. I am not sure if I believe that or not, but we do what we can. Now if I can only figure out shortcuts as well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)