05.28.07
Posted in India
at 15:02
The abnormal had become my normal. I was used to eating at the uncle’s house with the uncle, the grandma, and my host brothers. That was how things had been during my first week here. Last night, the uncle’s wife and two children came home from their trip. I didn’t even know he had a wife and kids!
Later, I found out that my host parents were coming this morning. I knew it was soon but was confused as to exactly when. Things just had to up and go all normal on me.
Actually this should be a positive change. I’ve recovered from the shock of my host uncle’s secret double life as uncle and husband/father, and my host parents are very nice. Though I do feel slightly odd being comfortable in the house of someone I just met. They tell me to make myself at home as though I had just arrived. I was at home when it was just my host brothers and I. They’re the ones who just arrived. It seems like I should be telling them to make themselves at home! In any case, I’m sure the second dose of initial awkwardness will wear off soon enough.
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05.26.07
Posted in Field Notes, India
at 16:48
I go for a walk. At first I am overwhelmed, as I was when I first arrived in Delhi. So much, so busy. I cannot find all the street signs, so I must wonder as I wander. I am afraid to cross the street. Traffic is so fast, so determined, so foreign. An old woman approaches me, hands cupped and outstretched. I am too freaked out to respond, so I ignore her as best I can and keep walking. I turn, then walk a bit more. I turn again.
A quieter street feels nice. Hallmark Cards. It’s closed. What does a card mean here? A banana vendor calls out as he pushes his hand cart. Men at tables in the street iron shirts with massive irons. I complete the block and then some. Where is the apartment building? Here is a busy street, is it the one from before? Shit, I’m lost. The old woman again. I can’t be far off. Perhaps I overshot it. Is this it? No street sign. OPAL. BABU CARS. Yes, here it is.
I walk past Goldmist Apartments, reassured by its continued existence. OPAL wedding cards. Cards again, what do they mean? I walk toward the uncle’s house where we take our meals. “Stick no bills,” a sign says. There are none. This is a rarity here. I walk past some of the city’s other homeless–two stray dogs nap beside the road, do not stir as I walk past. Is that the grandmother? If she sees me, she might think I’m lost. (I’m not now.) She doesn’t speak English, I’d have to call Pratik and have him explain. I turn and head home. My hour is twenty minutes from being over, and my mind is racing again with thoughts and questions. I realise I have been walking with purpose and pride, a shabby defense mechanism to hide that I am afraid.
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05.25.07
Posted in India
at 22:37
Tonight we ate “outside” at an (indoor) cafeteria-like eatery. When we entered, I was struck by how many people were inside. I was the only white person in the building. We spotted a table whose occupants had stood. We approached them and asked if they were leaving (I think that’s what was asked). They must have said yes. I was instructed to sit down at the table, which had not yet been cleared. There were four chairs and five of us (The grandma, the uncle, Prinall, Pratik, and me), so Prinall captured an extra. The table was cleaned, and the uncle ordered for everyone. The first course, idli with sambhar and coconut chatni was new to me (though I had had sambhar before). The second course, however was an old friend–masala dosa–which my dad and I had sampled at a South Indian restaurant called Dosa in San Francisco when we went there to procure my visa. We finished the meal with special South Indian coffee.
Just when I was about to offer to pay for my portion of the meal, the uncle asked whether I knew how much the meal had cost for all five of us. “How much,” I asked. “Four dollars.” He asked how much it would cost in the US, and I told him about forty.
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05.24.07
Posted in India
at 11:50
The current is out. This is essentially a daily occurrence. I am very fortunate to be able to sleep and work in an air conditioned room (the only one in the flat). But today the power has been off for a number of hours–since before I woke up–and I am having to “rough it” without A/C or even a fan.
It’s one thing to venture out in the heat for ten minutes to go to the uncle’s house for lunch. He doesn’t have an air conditioner, but at least he has good fans. And we never stay longer than a couple hours before returning to our air conditioned oasis. Trying to get work done when the heat tugs you toward lethargy, even in the coolest room in the place is something different altogether. I guess I have been taking the cool for granted.
Update: Prinall said that the power will be off until six PM. I guess they do this monthly for various repairs and such.
Update: The power came back on at five thirty for about an hour, went off for ten minutes, then came back on. Oy vay…
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05.21.07
Posted in India, Photos
at 23:33
So I didn’t expect to post any pictures before getting back, but I got a camera phone, so here’s a little look at some things that are different over here:
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05.19.07
Posted in India
at 19:30
I deplaned and started to pull out my earplugs. No, I realised, I probably need these on the tarmac more than I did on the plane. I walked past a beret-wearing soldier with a machine gun slung over his shoulder and to the terminal (no bus was necessary for such a short distance). I claimed my checked bag and walked outside. I did not see a sign with my name on it, so I got change for a 5 Rupee coin (which led to another, I could have sworn I had five, but now I have four.) and had my first experience with an Indian pay phone. The dial tone sounds a lot like ringing. When I was able to get through after a couple tries, I was surprised to hear a ring-back tone. It was We Will Rock You (by Queen, of course). My host brother said he would be there in half an hour.
He arrived. We loaded my bags and started toward home. Driving in Tamil Nadu is scarcely mellower than in Delhi. On the way we talked a bit about why I had come and what I would be doing while I’m here.
I learned that the family I’m staying with are Gujaratis and not Tamilians. They know enough Tamil to get by, but it is not their first language, they do not speak it at home (they speak Gujarati) and they do not know the letters. One of my host brothers will probably not do as a language mentor, then.
Along the way we stopped for fresh mango juice and a “mouth refresher,” something very much like ‘after mint’ wrapped in some kind of leaf.
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Posted in India
at 19:19
The coolest clothes I have seen, though, are those worn by Kingfisher Airlines staff. Male airport staff wore red Nehru-collared jackets with black pants and black shoes. Very Indian, sharp, professional. The flight attendants wore fitted white button-down shirts with buttons concealed in the placket, two button-flap pockets, and roll sleeves with a button tab to keep the sleeves rolled. Over this, they wore a waist-length red jacket also with roll sleeves and button tab, complemented by red knee-length skirts and red shoes. The collars of the shirts stuck out over the jacket. They wore pearls around their necks and in their ears. They wore makeup and had shorter hair (by Indian standards) that they did not braid and consequently they looked very Bollywood. Part of me was mildly disgusted by this. Conspicuously absent from all of them were bindi. For the snack service, they exchanged their jackets for something (also red) that looked like a waistcoat in front and an apron in back. There might be a name for this, I don’t know. They switched back to the jackets for landing. This made me nostalgic for a time I never experienced when men and women wore different things at different times during the day. Though if I had grown up having to change multiple times a day, I probably wouldn’t find it so novel. I think what most impressed me though, was that their uniforms were…well…uniform. It seems like a lot of airlines in America have an entire clothing line available for their flight attendants, which lets them express themselves I guess, but doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of a uniform? I really wish I had gotten to see what the cockpit crew wore.
In any case, more about Kingfisher than the attire managed to impress and bother me. When I first got on the plane (a very new Airbus A321), an instrumental (piano) version of Fernando (by ABBA) was playing. Not very Indian. Though I do like that song… Petit bottles of “lime juice” were handed out before departure. It was like weak, very salty limeade. So salty, in fact, that I couldn’t drink it. Other passengers seemed to like it and emptied their bottles.
Welcome packs were distributed to passengers, containing a pen, headphones, mints, etc. I’ve never seen this on a domestic flight before.
The “snack” service, which I had thought would be peanuts, turned out to be a small (but hot and filling) meal. The option of veg or non-veg was given. I chose veg. An Indian gentleman in my row who had also ordered vegetarian introduced himself after I ordered. Tea was served with the meal in dainty red tea cups. I did not care for the dessert. Packaged with the silverware was a package of “After Mint,” which I had read about somewhere. I did not like it.
On the second leg of the flight, I chose non-veg. To my surprise, both meals were different than they had been on the first flight. The dessert was much more to my liking. This time coffee was offered to me before tea was, so I had coffee instead of tea. Orange juice was served during the flight instead of salt-ade beforehand. This also was more to my liking.
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Posted in India
at 18:48
For some reason, this whole trip I’ve been very aware of what people are wearing. Quite a large number of (male) travelers in Denver and Chicago wore blazers or suit jackets. Every time I noticed one, I judged the aesthetic merit of the particular length and width of the lapels. I decided that jackets with too many buttons and short lapels look somewhat silly, as do those with lapels that are overly wide or narrow.
I really like double-breasted jackets, I think because they are not very common. Or perhaps because I’m a fan of peaked lapels. I don’t like when they have only one pair of buttons though. This leads to an awful dilemma–you are not supposed to button the bottom button of a jacket, but if there is only one button (or row of buttons), leaving the bottom open means leaving the jacket open. The pilots for Mexicana Airlines wear very sharp-looking black double-breasted jackets.
Another thing that I noticed a lot was men with button-down collars who kept their collars…buttoned down. I don’t know if this is the Right Way to wear a button-down collar, but I don’t care for the way it looks.
In India, men mostly wear button-down (but not button-down collared) shirts. Short and long sleeves seem equally common. Polo shirts can be spotted occasionally. Most people wear grey or brown (or occasionally khaki) chinos, though a lot of younger men wear jeans. Footwear is something I have paid less attention to, but I’ve seen both sandals and closed-toe shoes.
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Posted in India
at 18:41
While sitting in the terminal, I was approached by a young American woman. The fact that we were both Americans, that we had the same language and culture among so many people of another language and culture–our mutual vulnerability–made us instantly trustworthy to one another.
I remember going on a trip with a number of people I barely knew. Along the way we stopped at a public swimming pool. Among so many strangers, we were drawn together by our slight acquaintance. This was a similar situation to the extreme.
We found that we were both waiting for the same flight to Ahmedabad, which did not depart for a number of hours. It was nice to have someone who could watch my luggage, someone to talk to who’d had similar experiences. It was nice to be able to help someone after being for some time the American who did not know a word of the local language–someone who could hardly help himself.
She found an internet stall–50 rupees per hour–and we spent half an hour using the internet. I got a chicken sandwich and a Snapple. When I’d finished we entered the ticketing area. I got my suitcase inspected and checked it in. I got tags for my carry-on bags and we headed for airport security. On the other side we waited for our flight. When the boarding call was made, we approached the gate, from whence we were to take a bus across the tarmac to our plane. One of Victoria’s carry-on bags had not been stamped at airport security, and she was sent back. I had already gone outside, so we waved through the glass. I boarded the overcrowded Kingfisher bus and rode to the plane. I hope she made it on.
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Posted in India
at 18:30
After checking out, I still had a lot of time to kill before my flight. Six hours in fact. I was reluctant to spend that much time at the airport after such a “friendly” reception at the international airport, and even more reluctant to wander the city with a suitcase and two small bags in tow. So I asked about a cab to the domestic airport. When the man heard that my flight was not for another several hours, he offered a tour in an air conditioned car that would drop me off at the airport at the right time. He gave me a map, circled some sites to see and gave me a price. It worked out to about $25. I didn’t really care too much about seeing Delhi, but it would be cool and safe and would perhaps be more interesting than sitting in an airport.
I prepaid the driver of the tourist car after he had loaded my bags. Or overpaid by 50 Rupees (a bit more than a dollar) since I did not have exact change. A scrawny shirtless boy pressed against the glass of my window, his hands cupped. I shook my head, but he stayed. I ignored him. The driver drove away while the boy was still pressing against the glass.
We saw the India Gate and the Parliament House and a few other sites. On the way to the Parliament House, the driver unbuckled his seatbelt, rolled down his window, stuck out his head, and spat on the pavement. Then at a stop light, he rolled down the passenger window, leaned across the car out that window and spat. For good luck?
The driver had asked a few times whether I was interested in shopping. I didn’t have the energy and had said no. He took me to a store regardless, assuring me, “looking only.” Beh. I supposed I could humour him. He probably gets money from the store owner for bringing people here. Which may or may not be legal. Also saves him gas not constantly driving and running the A/C. I walked in and saw a lot of women’s clothing. A shopkeeper asked if I needed help. I asked for men’s clothing. He led me to the back and began unfolding shirts and holding them up for me to see. Probably making a mess so I would feel obligated to buy something, I thought. Not going to work on me today. I refused everything I was shown and eventually walked away. My driver sat outside chatting with some people and seemed surprised that I was done already. He instructed me to get in the car, which he started (presumably for A/C) while he found a restroom.
Next we stopped at a site for which one buys a ticket. The price was 5 American dollars or 250 Rupees. I could have sworn I had five dollars. I’m pretty sure I counted correctly (though I did count quickly). The man counted the money and showed me I had only given him four dollars. Sleight of hand on his part or bad counting on mine? $4 was not enough and 200 rupees was not enough. I could not buy a ticket. I explained the situation to my driver. He was symathetic, but after I consulted the map, he explained that the remaining sites would all charge admission (this and one other site). He asked what I wanted to do. I decided to go to the airport even though there was a lot of time yet to wait. He told me that I could not go in until two hours before my flight, but I didn’t really have any other choice.
When I got there, a skycap got a cart for me and the driver unloaded my bags onto it. We walked to the airport entance. I showed the security official the internet itenterary printout I had. I hoped he would accept it, but I supposed if he didn’t I could go to the outdoor Kingfisher window nearby. He let me in. The skycap pushed my cart and told me that I could not go into the next section until 2pm. So I sat in the terminal.
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