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.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
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.
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