Oktoberfest (a.k.a. The Best Cure for Chicken Pox)

Who would've thought that Bangalore would have not just one but two Oktoberfests? The Oktoberfest we attended on Sat., however, was much more in keeping with the real Munich traditions. I suppose the the difference is having an Indian beer sponsor the one and the Indo-German society sponsor the other. Apparently there are enough Germans in Bangalore to warrant having an Indo-German Society. So, nothing like going to a party to recover from the chicken pox.

Unlike the other Oktoberfest we went to, this one we could buy tickets through the OWC. At first I had thought it was an exclusive OWC event but once I got the tickets, I realized this was a much larger event. It was held at one of the hotels in town in one of their conference rooms. Some women even went to great lengths to dress in traditional German dresses having brought a picture to a tailor and getting their outfits custom-made. This is the scene we walked into:
There were rows and rows of benches and a stage up front for the Oompa Loompa band they had flown in from Germany. (Or, perhaps there are enough Germans in Bangalore not only to warrant an Indo-German Society, but also an IGS complete with it's own German band...) Outside the room were two bars set up complete with traditional German steins (and the Kingfisher logo) but to the disappointment of Sir, no German beer. There was a catered meal in another room where they served traditional German fare including sauerkraut, bratwurst, and other delicious combinations of animal parts ground up and shoved in slimy casing.

A bunch of foreigners in India + one old German tradition + lots of food and drink = a very good time. We hung out with our South African, Australian, Finnish and Swiss friends - oh and the American couple we ended up having dinner with a few weeks ago (the guy who looks like a ventriloquists doll). The other Americans are going home soon and seemed quite pleased about that. After I spilled red sauce on my white shirt, they were kind enough to offer me the Stain Stick they had brought from the States - for a discount of course. I told them luckily it was white an I could use the bleach I bought to clean my bathrooms. ("You mean that your maid cleans." They were appalled that I had to clean my bathroom instead of demanding the maid to do a better job.) Luckily there were enough other people there to serve as buffer people.

The Aussies however win the prize for the craziest nationality there. When we first arrived, we found Vanessa whose boyfriend Brendan, I have not yet met. When I introduced myself, he said, "Oh! So you're the Kathleen that Vanessa's always talking about. Nice to finally meet you." Vanessa seemed a little embarrassed by this and it took all my will power not to screech, "You mean you want to be my New Very Best Friend too?!" From that point, the Aussies soon proved that they win the prize as the craziest nationalities. Those blokes love the brew. There was lots of singing, chanting and dancing (which later moved to the tables, which by the end of the night were in bad shape). Enjoy the photos.

Vivian and Liam were noticeably absent from the party because his father had flown in that evening but we caught up with them for a long and leisurely brunch on Sunday afternoon. After brunch, we went to our local dodgy DVD seller to buy some movies. We walked in this tiny store with a selection of DVD in a glass case on one side and a counter on the other side - obviously with way more employees than necessary. There were four people behind the counter and with George and I on the other side, there was no room for anyone else. We walked up and said hello and one of the employees said, "you'd like DVDs?" We nodded and one of the other employees crouched down and opened a tiny trap door that opened to a room in back. He crawled through and came back with a huge bag. He pulled out a stack of over twenties movies - one pile for me to look through and one pile for George. When we finished looking through the first stack, the employees produced another stack. We must have looked through a hundred movies before settling on 6 for about $15. We probably could've negotiated and gotten them even cheaper but as Sir has said, at some point, arguing over 50 cents to a dollar doesn't seem worth it. We went home and watched Casino Royale. After fighting with the TV to hear the dialog (the background music was playing), we were impressed with the quality of the DVD.

We're off to Singapore tomorrow evening so if no post, be prepared for tales from Singapore next week.

P.S. Sir will Live

He went to work on Friday for a bit and recovered this weekend with liters of Kingfisher at an Oktoberfest put one by the German societies in Bangalore. More on that tomorrow.

A Day in the Village

With all the Ashrams and the mind-body focus of yoga as well as the ancient sights, it seems to me, people usually describe India as a "spiritual" and "majestic" place. There haven't been many instances where I've seen this in my everyday life in Bangalore. Even at the Taj Mahal - which is both spiritual and majestic - it still felt like a tourist attraction. A beautiful, tangible site to see. But I feel like for the first time, I felt the intangible beauty and "spiritualness" of India (amidst the poverty, goats, cows, chickens) on my visit to three different villages.

I had given my email address to a bunch of different charities earlier this month and had gotten an email from one of them saying they would be arranging for a "site visit" for anyone who was interested. I didn't recognize any names on the email list but figured it might be a fun thing to do. As the week passed, the number of people on the email list (none of whom I know) dwindled until there were only three of us left who would be going. We were leaving Friday morning so Thursday afternoon I was drafting an email to cancel. The excuses were coming easily - we would be gone all day, I wasn't even sure what the charity was about, George needed Chandan in the morning for a doctor's appointment, it was Friday... But then I had a moment of clarity and realized those were very weak excuses. Just because I didn't know the two other people going nor had any idea where we were going was no reason not to go. So, I committed thinking it could turn into one of those days you think will never end.

The emails inviting us and with the itinerary were from a woman named Heena - who I assumed was the head of the charity. According to the email, we were to meet at this woman Saras's house at 8:30 and then all share a car out to the villages to return to Bangalore around 4. George's appointment wasn't until later in the morning so it was really no trouble for Chandan to bring me. When he's not sure where we are going but knows we are close, he slows down to a crawl which still makes me a little uneasy as the other cars go whizzing by, mere inches from us. Holding my breath, I tell him there will be no sign, we're going to someone's house. We find the right address but there is nothing to indicate I am in the right place. No one standing outside, no other cars parked in front, and for a split second, I think I'll just tell Chandan to forget it and take me home. But I decide the worst that can happen is I ring the bell and someone who has no idea what I am talking about answers the door and then I go home.

My second assumption was that I was going to Sarah's house who was another member of the OWC. When I rang the bell, a maid opened the door, yelled something in Kannada and ushered me in. A minute later, a large woman in a beige sari with green and purple trim, holding a bowl of oatmeal, introduced herself as Saras. She told me to have a seat, apologized for a messy house and asked if I minded if she ate while we talked. I told her I was sorry for coming early (but wasn't sure how long it would take to get there) so I certainly didn't mind if she ate and that I was messy too. "I hate when people come over and remark how 'comfortable' my house is. That's just means they think it's messy and cluttered." She had lots of books on shelves and nick-naks that look like they had come from all over the world - carved wooden statues, intricately detailed ceramic/porcelain dishes, wall hangings in deep red and orange. If I had one word to describe it, I would say it was "comfortable" but this had nothing to do with the stacks of newspapers and magazines cluttered on the coffee table. So we sat and she says, "So tell me. I know nothing about you other than you are part of the OWC."

I learn that she was a pediatrician in the US for 20+ years and that she and her husband moved back to India about 10 years ago because there was "so much to do here." She explained that she quickly realized she wanted to do more than practice medicine and had gotten involved in doing research about children and women's health. (This was the moment the last bit of doubt about my being there crept in - I thought I had neglected to realize this was one of the charities I had ruled out because it had to do with AIDS and other icky medicine stuff.) But she said she realized that research can only accomplish so much and she was really interested in doing something for these women and children so she and her husband created this organization called Belaku Trust. At this point, the two other OWC ladies had arrived. Heidi, a tall, thin, Swiss women with striking features and very short salt and pepper hair who has lived in the US for the past 25 years and Mona, an LA lawyer who was born and raised in Mumbai (Bombay) and has come back to India with her husband and two kids. Heena arrived a few minutes later and introduced herself as an intern helping Belaku for the next 6 weeks. Heena is a British-Indian who lives in London but quit her job as an accountant and is taking time off to travel and spend time with family in India before figuring out what she wants to do next. She looked like she might be in her mid-twenties. The five of us head out to these villages in a minivan still without a clear picture of what Belaku Trust actually does and what I was actually going to see.

The ride out took about 2 hours and most of the journey was on a paved two-way road. I saw lots of monkeys and enormous trees that had been cut down close to the road. Saras said that they have been cutting down trees that are thousands of years old because she thinks they are planning to widen the road. Although we didn't pass too many other cars and there was nothing besides fields beyond the road so why they need to widen the road is unclear. The Bengaluru suburban sprawl, I suppose. About 15 minutes outside the city, we passed a few buildings and she told us these were actually international boarding schools. She said there has a been a recent trend for Indian families who live abroad to send their defiant children to boarding schools in India thinking they will become more disciplined and get a better education. Saras knew someone who worked at one of these schools who said the kids are the worst behaved, most spoiled kids she's ever seen. But if your kids are driving you nuts, why not ship them off to India?

I also learned that Mona worked mostly on immigration law and human trafficking but is not working in India. She's emotionally exhausted. Her husband is working with some "start-up" company that has something to do with "outsourcing" and they are planning to go back to the states in a couple of years. Heidi used to work in the fashion industry, "working with textiles" and was first living in New York but (before coming to Bangalore) had lived in Houston for the last 9 years. We learned that essentially what Saras and Belaku is trying to do is to empower women from rural villages not to be dependent on their husbands (who've either died, abuse them or are drunks) and to learn a skill. From the research and field work they have done, they realized that improving health is only part of the big picture. To really improve "health," you have to improve every aspect of their lives including education, training and a sense of purpose. About an hour into the trip, I had no more doubts about coming and was very glad I didn't back out.

After about an hour and a half, we made our first stop at the "office" and were told that this was the last stop where we'd find a bathroom. The office consisted of a three room concrete house with a thatched roof that was about 3 feet from the road. Between the house and the road were 2 cows, a small stream and a handful of clucking chickens and roosters. Behind the house were two rows of tents. The tents were really nothing more than a piece of cloth hung of a couple of sticks. When we walked into the house there was a desk to the right with some papers and books piled on top but no chair. Directly in front of us were some shelves with a couple of drawings that looked like they were done by a child and a few pictures of women. There was a room off to the right that we did not see but in the room to the left there were about 6 girls all sitting on the floor surrounded by big books and notebooks. The bathroom was really an empty closet with a hole in the ground. We were told the girls were doing research. They were tracking 500 women and following them through pregnancy to figure out why India has the highest rate of women killed during child-birth and how to prevent this. There were no file cabinets, no folders, no computer, no supplies other than the books, pens and paper.

There were three different villages we were going to see and Saras kept saying we were going to see three "income generations." She meant that the first village we were going to see was the one they have most recently started to help and the last one would be the one they've been working with since they started. However, I think this also could mean a really, really, really poor village, a really, really poor village and a really poor village. The first village we went to was seemed to be the poorest and the most recent to be involved with Belaku. There were fifteen women and two small boys (one with a disfigured leg) in a one room concrete building with a thatched roof. On the floor were three long and narrow pieces of fabric stretched taught over three hollow tables. The women were sitting on the floor around the three tables embroidering thread and beads into the fabric. I don't have a picture of the women working but this is a home in the village. The room they were working in was similar though.


We were told that the saris they were working on were only for practice and they wouldn't be able to sell them. It was only until you really studied them that you could see some of their mistakes. The women here were pretty quiet but they seemed please to be able to introduce themselves to us in English, "Hello, my name is..." There was a man from Bangalore who was a volunteer of Belaku training the women. He said it takes about six months to train the women to the point where they could sell something and a year for them to really become experts. Knowing Saras was a doctor, we later found out the women with the boy whose leg was disfigured brought him so Saras could check him out. She said that he really needs surgery but will probably never get it.

From there we moved on to the next village that looked less poor. The houses were close together and some were made of what looked like adobe/mud and others of concrete.



In this village we went to a house where another group of fifteen women are learning to do block printing. When we arrived, they were working on pillows. A woman who owns a shop in Bangalore had placed and order for pillows. But they also showed us other work that they have done. They have made t-shirts and curtains, table clothes, place mats and had covered daily planners and journals with fabric. All of the samples we saw looked surprisingly professional. Saras had said most of the patterns are pretty basic but I don't think I would've called them "basic." This is the room where they work:
Again the only "furniture" was the table you can sort of see here on the left. We saw one women take a square of fabric, a large rubber stamp and a sponge covered in green paint and printing the pattern on the fabric with the stamp. She made it look very easy but the finished products all looked like things I have seen in stores. The Romans used to have holes like this in the middle of their homes for drainage but Saras didn't seem to think it serves the same purpose here. The women were complaining that roof leaks because the monkeys fight and make holes in the roof. I did not witness any monkey fighting.

We also visited a school for kids ages 2-8. Again, this was one room with no desks, no chairs, no paper, no books. The alphabet was painted on the walls in English and Kannada and numbers were painted 1-10. Someone had painted a map of India on the wall and some other rows of writing in Kannada. The students were sitting on the floor in two rows facing one another when we walked in but stood up when they saw us. They were very enthusiastic and sang "twinkle, twinkle little star for us." When we left, Saras was visibly upset. She said she can't get the teachers to actually teach anything. "Any parrot can sing twinkle, twinkle little star for God's sake. They can sing the alphabet but they have no idea about the concept of letters!" Belaku is trying to work with one woman from the village to be the teacher but has gotten another Indian volunteer to train the teacher but Saras admitted that both women probably only ever learned how to memorize. But still as depressing as it sounds, kids are kids and they were laughing and smiling and seemed happy.

Most impressive however, in my opinion, was the last village where we saw the women making paper and paper products - gift bags, notebooks, pens. In this house, there was a table on the side with an industrial sized paper cutter. Under the table were large boxes and at the other end of the room was another table with stacks of bags that they had made. On the right hand side of the room the women sat in a line against the wall - like an assembly line. The women who was introduced as the "leader," had a ruler, pencil and an Exacto knife and was cutting finished paper - dyed and embossed (some with leaves, some with wicker patterns) to be made into bags. Next to her was a girl rolling up long narrow strips of magazine paper that was cut by the girl sitting next to her. It was a Marie Claire magazine and she would cut the paper to make strips of long, narrow triangles. Next to her there was a girl whittling bamboo sticks and by the paper cutter were about four girls shredding paper into small squares. They paper is donated from companies in Bangalore. The women tear up the paper then soak it in water until it becomes like a paste. Sometimes they dye it and sometimes they add leaves to the paste to give the paper a "speckled" look. They then roll out the paste and let it dry. Sometimes, while the paper is still wet they'll emboss the shapes into the paper. Once the paper is dry they cut it. The bamboo is for the spine of some of the smaller pads they make. The girls with the magazine strips roll up the strips (on a string or piece of bamboo) and then dip it into a glue/gloss finish to make "beads" that they hang from the pads for decoration. Again, seeing the conditions and tools they have, all of the products looked surprisingly professional. I'm sure I've bought similiar gift bags. They were sturdy and pretty. Most of what they were working on was red and green because they sell alot for the holidays. They were particularly excited because some local winery has hired them to create bags for their bottles. This is a picture of the paper drying.
Next to the room where the women make the paper, was another school. This one was larger and actually had paper and paint for the kids to use. They were in the middle of finger painting when we arrived and later sang a version of "Heads, shoulders, knees and toes," which was acceptable to Saras because at least they were learning body parts. It made sense that this was the village that Belaku had been working with the longest, everything about it was more "sophisticated" than the other two villages. Even the women were more confident, talkative and assertive than in the first two.

We had lunch in this last village and learned that the caste system is still very much a part of village life. One of the women came in with bowl of rice and her two sons. When she came in two of the other women left because the women with the rice was from a lower caste and they would not eat with her. Women of the same caste will share food with one another but not with someone of a lower caste and some of them won't allow their kids to play with kids in a different caste. We also learned that in the villages, women are supposed to give birth alone and outside under the sky. There is one mid-wife whose mother died giving birth and has since made it her mission to make sure that women do not give birth alone but often can't convince the women to stay inside. There was another girl who did not introduce herself to us but we later learned this was because she was "deaf-mute." Saras told us that she once tried to get one of the village boys fitted with a hearing aid but he panicked and pull them out of his ears alarmed and frightened by all the new sounds. Saras said this girl was probably too old to be given hearing aids now. She was probably 15. These are the women from the last village.

Even though we saw lots of poverty and some deplorable conditions, I never pitied the women or felt bad for them. They all seemed very proud and happy. Most of the women if not widowed, had left their husbands and were either living with relatives or their in-laws. Saras had said that because of issues with dowries, most women are more welcome at their in-laws than their own parent's house. About half of the women were missing more than one tooth but they still had wide smile and laughed with one another.But even though we didn't speak the same language, you could tell that they were proud of the work they were doing (with good reason) and there was definitely a sense of hope and beauty about them.

Saras said that she thought when she started this in 1995 that the women would be entirely self-sufficient and running their businesses in 10 years. She said that their progress has much slower. She said they are fantastic at learning new skills but they don't yet get the idea of marketing and finding and outlet for their products. Saras said some of them are starting to understand the idea that the more they make and sell, the more money they will get. I still have lots of questions about where they get some of their supplies and ultimately, what are the goals of the women - to be financially independent? To move out of the village? To just have a job? But it was fun to be involved and to see another side of India so I'm going to stay in touch with Saras and find some other ways to help out.

Not much to say, so a bad rhyme for today.

Chicken pox are the worst
Can make you feel like you're cursed
Even if you're not the one who's ill
Living with one who is, is no thrill.

Especially when you've started a fight with your landlord
who's probably off somewhere sharpening his sword
The cable guy says he has not yet been paid
And it's been days since we've seen our untrusty-maid.

"How 'bout a 5% discount on rent?"
That's not even enough to buy us a tent.
"You'll have to pay for everything we've bought you."
Think we'd still be saving money, could that be true?

We just want what's fair, not trying to be jerks
Trying to find a solution for both sides that works
Negotiating with Indians is oodles of fun
Like banging your head against a loaded gun.

Sir is going to venture out of the house tonight
He's afraid with all his spots, he's still quite a sight
But no need to worry, no one will whince
To me he is still my good looking prince.

No post tomorrow, I'm out for the day
To visit a village and hopefully see kids at play
A charity sponsored by the OWC
They're looking for potential volunteers...like me.

...A Long, Long Road

Pox Watch 2007 continues. No new spots to report but I'm not sure we can really say they are disappearing either.

So, if you've been sick for 6 days, stuck on the world's most uncomfortable couch, and trapped in apartment complex, why not stir the pot and go looking for a new apartment?

Now that we have other ex-pat friends who live in the same apartment complex, and seeing as this is India where it is totally acceptable to discuss monetary matters such as salary, rent, etc., we have been asking around to see how much we are overpaying for our place. We knew we couldn't be paying a normal rent but were a little shocked to find that we are actually paying double (yes, double) what others are paying for comparable places. Even though it's not really coming out of our pockets, nobody likes paying more than they should. So Sir has been doing some recon with the internets and found a realtor who had some apartments in our complex - some in our building - for half what we're paying. Maybe we're just asking for trouble but why not at least look?

We were supposed to be meeting someone by the name of Dennis to show us a few places. He showed up the typical 30 minutes late and with a friend. George had emailed him and was pretty specific about what we were looking for and was told that there were a few places available. He took us around the corner to a completely empty apartment but with the same set-up as our current place. We told him we needed it furnished and he said, "yes, that is no problem. Let us know what you'd like." We asked how long it would take to get it furnished. "Three or four days." There is no way it would be ready in 3 or 4 days - not that it matters as we would still have to negotiate out of our current lease. We saw a very furnished 3 bedroom place that I would never want as a permanent residence but for a year in India, it would be fine. It was very "Indian" looking. There was this large wooden structure hanging from the ceiling - it almost looked like a coffee table hanging upside down and there were small gold statues by the door.

George asked if Dennis and his friend work together and we got a very dodgy but not all surprising response. "Well, not for the same company but yes, we work together." His friend seemed very interested in renting us the unfurnished place but Dennis kept saying he had other places to show us. When we arrived at the third apartment, a man who appeared to live there, opened the door to let us in. There were also two women in the apartment - one was the maid and the other, I assumed also lived there. It became clear, however, that the man who answered the door actually knew (and may have been working for) Dennis. The man who answered the door told us we could switch the furniture if we didn't like it or rearrange things. They then called someone else and said there was another place we could look at but we had to wait for 10 minutes. We came back downstairs and looked at one more place that I also liked.

I don't know that we really are going to move. George has been in touch with our landlord and the people who were responsible for our "relocation" and has asked why we are paying double the going rate for similar apartments. Even if you consider the dryer (that still doesn't work), the water-cooler and the miscellaneous items we've asked for, it still doesn't add up to what we're paying. Everything else they are providing, including the maid staff, is standard (for half the price). So, if we can renegotiate our rent, then we'll probably just stay where we are. Sir is going to have to do some hard bargaining but we figure we have nothing to lose. It's not like they can send us a worse maid-boy and if we never have a working dryer, I guess we can live with that.

It's a Very, Long, Long, Long and Winding Road to Recovery

Day 5 of the pox and Sir is about ready to lose it which also means - despite trying to get out of the house - I am also about to lose it. Taking care of the sick is so taxing...Parents, do your kids a favor, expose them to chicken pox early.

I'd like to take a minute to discuss the Indian work force. I don't know if it's because of overpopulation or this idea that Sir has posed that they are very "process-oriented" but in any given store - grocery, home goods, clothing, sporting - there are an abundance of staff. The two times that this was particularly peculiar was when I went to get a haircut a few weeks ago and today at the grocery store.

I decided I could not wait until December to get a haircut and knowing that it always grows back, I figured, what the worst that can happen? (Since I have not written about this before, you can assume nothing disastrous happened.) I asked my foreign-lady friends for a couple of recommendations and booked an appointment at a place with a familiar street address. (Here's a tip, just because some place has a familiar street address does not mean it is easy to find.) The hair place, "Bounce" was actually off the main road hence Chandan and I were on a nearly impossible mission. But alas, we found it, 50 minutes late. Apologetically, I played the new-to-Bangalore card and said that I would be willing to reschedule if necessary but the women behind the counter assured me it was "no problem." I should have known. Another women also behind the counter told me to have a seat in a chair that I think was really for manicures. Behind this counter area was the salon. I sat and started flipping through a gossip magazine from July with the latest news about Bollywood stars I'm only now starting to vaguely recognize. There were about 4 other chairs set up for manicures, and from these chairs you could see both the counter and the salon.

A women walked in like she owned the place and as I quickly surmised, I think she actually did own the place. She called to girls from the salon to the counter area and started asking them what they were doing and why they were late and did they plan on being late again. It almost looked like a mother yelling at her daughters. The girls looked more annoyed than apologetic, nervous or even slightly concerned about the status of their jobs. Not far from this scene was another group of 7 or 8 people in their early 20s just sitting around. There were two girls sharing one chair and a few men sitting on a step that led to the shampooing area and another couple of people standing chatting - all looking terribly bored. There may have been 4 other people getting their hair cut but definitely more employees than necessary. I sat for about 20 minutes just watching all these people do nothing while the owner (or manager) busied herself with the two girls at the counter. Normally, this would be very irritating but seeing as I was the one who was nearly an hour late, I figured I didn't really have grounds to complain. I did have one person shampoo me and one person actually cut my hair but the employee to customer ratio had to have been at least 5 to 1. And this did not include the separate cleaning staff as there was a women wearing, what seems to be a standard Bangalore cleaning staff uniform, sweeping. She was wearing the same pink shirt with green overcoat that the women who sweep the streets wear. George went back about a week later and came home with the same comment. "Were there alot of people standing around doing nothing?"

Then today, I was at the grocery store and again couldn't help but wonder about the over-abundance of employees. There was a guard at the door and a man to check your bags - both standard Indian practice. The guards duties consist of opening the door and collecting (or checking) one of the multiple receipts you get at the register. The bag check guy ensures that you are carrying nothing while you shop. The grocery stores are pretty small so for each tiny aisle there is usually an employee at the ready to help you find whatever it is your looking for and probably in more cases than not, to help you find the things you didn't know you were looking for. The employees either end up unnecessarily aggressive - "don't you want this Earl Grey tea? It's very special tea. You must try." Or they end up chatting with one another just clogging up the small space.

Anyway, I make my way through the store, sans Earl Grey tea, and go to the cashier. There were three cash registers and three cashiers but no other customers waiting. So, instead of just having one person check me out, I had the pleasure of three people checking me out. You may say to yourself, "well, you must have gotten out of there in a flash!" Or, "Wow, they are really efficient." But no. Instead, the three of them were reaching over one another pushing keys and and fighting for the scanner to the point where I was sure I was being overcharged or going to get away without paying for something. At times, they also looked like they were concerned I was being overcharged or not charged enough. And they were speaking with such excitement, I couldn't tell if they were joking or fighting with one another.

We've noticed this problem of over-employment in restaurants as well but I think I've always attributed it to the fact that we tend to eat early by Indian standards. Most restaurants don't open for dinner until 7:30 and really don't get busy until 9. We are always there between 7:30 and 8 and assumed that the staff probably doesn't seem as big once the restaurant fills up during the peak times.

It's a fine line between effective customer service and and just plain inefficiency. Perhaps they feel that if each person is given one specific task, they will do that task well. But what happens when the guy assigned to the tea aisle starts chatting with the women in the biscuit aisle? Somehow, I think India has lost the balance and perhaps could use less people more wisely. But I guess part of the reason you come to a big city like Bangalore is for employment opportunities. Better to have 3 people working one cashier and 8 people manning the aisles then 10 more people begging on the streets.

On the Road to Recovery

The patient is resting, uncomfortably. I think poor Sir has quite a bad case of the pox as I don't ever remember being as covered or uncomfortable as he has been. But like a trooper, he is handling it well.

We had a pretty low-key weekend consisting mostly of movies and bad television, reading and snacking. We (and by we I mean he) tried sleeping on the Neem leaves Friday but I don't think he was too keen on that. He woke up Saturday with the leaves sticking all over him, hiding the new spots that appeared and feeling worse - a little frustrated that there is no miracle cure.

I went out on Saturday for a bit to see if I could get some more juice and something to help with the itch. An usually talkative Chandan was apologizing that it took him so long to get the Neem leaves. He had said it would be about a half hour but it took him about an hour and a half to return - not that this made any difference to us. But apparently, he was planning to just roll up on a Neem tree and pull the leaves off. From what I gather, he went into someone's yard but was told he couldn't just take the leaves. "They are very valuable. People pay good money for them." So instead of inciting the wrath of a perfect stranger, he called his friend. "I told him my Sir was sick so he helped me out but I had to drive further than I thought I would." My Sir. I have visions of Chandan in his black pants and white Hertz shirt defying gravity, trespassing and bounding up a tree, stopping at nothing to to help find a cure for his Sir.

Truth be told, I think the timing worked out well for him as Saturday was the Dussehra holiday (not to be confused with Diwali which isn't until the beginning of November). Chandan told me there is something like 380 different Hindu holidays. Dussehra always comes before Diwali and puts the country in the holiday spirit. I am thinking it's a bit like Thanksgiving and Christmas. But Chandan was in a particularly festive mood on Saturday and had the car decked out with a string of flowers on the front grill and more flowers hooked onto the windshield wipers. (All the rickshaw drivers, were busy prettying their cars with flowers and leaves as well.) He also had painted a red bindi between his eyebrows for the occasion. Men sometimes wear the dot as well although I often think it looks more like a schmeer than a dot. Chandan said he was just wearing it for the holiday. So I asked him if this was a big holiday and he said it was for some but he was really looking forward to Diwali because he would be going home (we will be in Singapore). Apparently, he grew up in a house with his brother and sister and about 30 other cousins. He said his father has 4 brothers and all of their families grew up in the same house.

He left us for the afternoon but I asked that he come back to take me to pick up a pizza. We've found the Dominoes is the best pizza we can find yet, strangely, there are none that will deliver to our apartment. Isn't that there whole shtick, Dominoes Pizza delivers? But this is India. All of the pizza places offer a variety of "international" pies - like a Chinese pizza with "szechuan spices" or a Mexican pizza made by an Asian chef in the commercial, and of course a variety of Indian pizzas with paneer cheese and curry spices. So to get anything resembling a real pizza, we go to Dominoes. Chandan was a little late coming back (and overly apologetic) because he was at a party and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, there were also more leaves and flowers on the car. I immediately felt bad for making him leave his party so I could go 5 km to get a pizza but he seemed more concerned about being late.

I saw the gecko again in the bathroom though I can't be sure if it was the same one from before or a friend. I think it was smaller though. And you can add one more to the "rats seen alive" tally. Saturday afternoon as I was scouring the streets for treats to make Sir feel better, I ran into another one although also very small almost like a mouse but I'm still considering it a rat. It makes for a better story, when you come home with only a deck of pink Barbie "Fairytopia" playing cards with princesses and glitterbugs on them, to say you searched high and low, even encountering the likes of skittish rats for fun games to take the patient's mind off the pox.

Q & A with Sir

At long last and at the request of many, we finally hear from Sir. For reasons that will soon become apparent, we thought the easiest way for him to "blog" would be through a Q&A. Note: Interviewers side notes will appear in italics.

Sir, it's 2:45 on Friday. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?
Because my mother never exposed me as a young child to the Chicken Pox when I could take a week off of school and watch cartoons. No, I've come to India and along the way, randomly picked up the Chicken Pox.

Chicken Pox! That's terrible. How/when did you find out?
Last night as I was getting ready for bed and had not been feeling well, I noticed random spots on my chest and arms. When I awoke this morning and did some research, I had diagnosed myself with Dengue Fever and headed to my local health clinic. Luckily, it was determined that I did not have the deadly fever but, in fact, had contracted adult Chicken Pox.

A health clinic in Bangalore...how was that?
It was actually very nice and clean and up to Western standards besides the small crowd that had gathered to gawk when I took off my shirt to reveal a bunch of red blotches that had begun to appear on my skin. (I can imagine. I mean really, what 32 year old man gets chicken pox?)

Tell us about the pharmacy you then visited.
The pharmacy was a store front like where you might buy street food, cigarettes or chips. But I just walked up with my perscription, gathered my items and $5.50 and 3 medications later, I was on my way. After some quick research, I found that one medication, in addition to alleviating my symptoms, is also used to treat dementia. In hindsight, I probably should have asked how this cocktail of meds might interact with my malaria medication and the abundance of alcohol I plan to drink tonight to put me out of my misery. (He will not be drinking an abundance of alcohol. Talk about dementia...)

As it turns out, one of my co-workers offered to send a doctor to the apartment to write me a prescription. I jokingly asked if I could get him to write me a prescription for Oxycotin and my co-worker, in all seriousness, said yes. So there's a plus to coming to India - easily accessible narcotics.

Poor you, it's a good thing you have a lovely nurse-wife to help you through your time of trouble. Wouldn't you agree?
You mean Chandan?

Ha. See you are funny, even when you're sick. How did Chandan take the news?
Chandan has also never had the chicken pox but still, he is ready to serve. In fact, we went out earlier to get some provisions for my following few days at home and he said he called his mother and she told him that we need to get Neem leaves. You are supposed to lay the leaves out on the bed and sleep on them for 3-4 days. He's going to get us some now.

He is a better nurse than your wife. How did your co-work react to the news?
They felt bad. They probably thought my sissy-Western immune system can't handle all that India has to offer.

Didn't one of them want to put you on speaker-phone so the rest of the team could laugh at you?
Yeah, but I found out that was Jillian so it doesn't count. (Jillian is also from the US but has married an Indian and been living here for a few years now. She's is caught in some weird nationality-identity crisis.)

Speaking of your team, how are you liking your job?
The job is great. I'm obviously learning alot and I'm getting to see a whole new side to our business. One of the strangest things is that up until this point, I've always been one of the youngest people on teams that I've worked with and now they're all looking to me for guidance and feedback so that's been an adjustment.

How old are most of your co-workers?
Average ages is probably 26. (And they all have Master's degrees and about half have already had between 3 and 9 different jobs since graduating.)

In hearing about the interactions I have with the various Indian house-staff, can you compare to your interactions with your Indian co-workers?
I would say the Indian people in general are very process oriented. They are great when they have a plan and instructions. If you look at the various jobs over here, everything is process-oriented. I've found that you have to tell them exactly what to do. There isn't much original thought - almost like they have to be led to certain conclusions.

Do you think that's a product of their youth?
I don't know. Or maybe the education system but they grow up wanting to excel but it's like they can't (or don't) put it all together to see the "big picture." There's probably a reason you don't hear of many famous Indian philosophers.

As an aside, the Indian middle-class here doesn't seem view anything awkward about having a very clear distinction between classes. If you get to a certain level, they'll pay for drivers for Indian families too. It's not usual for upper-middle class families to have drivers and house staff. (It's not just because we're from the fancy IBM. And evidence of how ingrained the caste system is - even though it's not officially practiced.)

Speaking of "status," tell them the Sean Jean story.
Oh, so they are slowly but surely picking up some aspects of Western pop-culture. For example, VH1 is airing 3 year old reality shows and it is one of the favorite pass times of one of my co-workers.

What shows? Laguna Beach, Season 1, Newlyweds (with the now divorced Nick and Jessica although Sir's not sure if she knows this.)

But anyway, one of my co-workers had a friend going to American and because of the recent appreciation of the rupee against the dollar, he asked that she bring back some clothes for him. But not just any clothes, specifically a Sean Jean shirt. (For those Siddell's who don't know, that's Puff Daddy's fashion label. He is one of those hip-hop rappers.) He seemed very disappointed when he received the shirt but it did not have an extremely large Sean Jean logo on the front or back and he said, "no one's even going to know this is a Sean Jean shirt so why should I bother wearing it?" His solution was to take the tag that it was wrapped in and sew it on to the back of the shirt so everyone would know it was a Sean Jean shirt. He asked me to swear to secrecy that I wouldn't tell anyone. (So now we're asking you to swear to secrecy and we'll leave his name out so you're not tempted.)

Give us a little 'slice of life' at the office. Do you sit in cubes, offices, desks?
No one has offices, it's all cubes. It's perfectly acceptable to take speaker-phone calls at your desk so you can just yell into the phone while everyone else around you is trying to do work and no one says anything about it. It's also perfectly acceptable to take cell phone calls during meetings. So you could be sitting around a conference table, with a speaker giving a presentation and 3 or 4 phones might ring. It's more rude NOT to pick up a call then to pick up quickly and just say, "I'll call you back" and hang up on them. This is because no one has voice mail because you have to ask for voice mail as an added feature when you buy a cell phone.

Do you eat lunch at your desk?
In the States I ate lunch at my desk just about every day. But here, everyone goes to the cafeteria and they pipe in Indian music. There is a veg-line, a non-veg line and a stand that makes grilled vegetable sandwiches and milkshakes. All for the low, low price of 75 cents. You get a tray and it's basically all you can eat. (Meanwhile in the US, he was charged 5 cents in the US for a mug of hot water.)

When you are finished eating there is a unisex wash-room to wash your hands as you are only given spoons to eat. No knives or forks. (I think it's like a trough.)

So are you disappointed you can't attend the wedding this weekend?
A little because I knew my wife was looking forward to it but the good news is we have 2-3 more weddings of my co-workers to attend after the new year. (I am very disappointed but the promise of more weddings and poor Sir, he does look miserable.)

You're looking tired, any last thoughts?
Once they get a better beer selection in India, it'll be a better place for Westerners.


Hope you enjoyed your time with sir. We're waiting on the Neem leaves and hoping they do the trick. According to the trusty Wikipedia, in addition to helping with Chicken Pox, the Neem tree "is variously known as 'Divine Tree', 'Heal All', 'Nature's Drugstore', 'Village Pharmacy' and 'Panacea for all diseases'. Products made from neem have proven medicinal properties, being antihelmintic, antifungal, antidiabetic, antibacterial, antiviral and anti-infertility."

And I have had the pox but I must say, I also had the sore throat, stiff neck, chills and headache...you can't get them twice, right?

Anyway, I'll keep you posted on the patient's progress. Signing off from St. John's Wood medical ward...

Diwali

Diwali - the Hannuka of the Hindus - the so-called "festival of lights." It's a five day festival but I've read that the "real" Diwali is on the third day. From what I gather, all the legends and stories in Hindu scriptures about Diwali have to do with good vs. evil. Good obviously triumphing over evil. Light in Hindu represents knowledge. During Diwali you are supposed to light the lamp of knowledge within yourself and reflect on life, love, etc. Just as the legends vary slightly, the way Diwali is celebrated varies between different regions. I read somewhere that in the north, part of the celebrations include gambling (seems uncharacteristically Hindu, no?). But everywhere, there are the lights and it is a time to gather with friends and relatives to remember what's important in life. There are also some spectacular firework displays but I feel like we see fireworks going off at least once a month. Indians love the fireworks. I tell you all this because yesterday, the OWC put on a Diwali fiesta to educate all the white ladies about the holiday.

We were invited to the "Asian Women's Spa," which is owned by an Indian women but "managed" by a Singaporean Hindu, Kala. When we walked in, we were greeted with a necklace of yellow flowers and given a bindi which is the jewel that Indian women were between the eyebrows. Then we all gathered around flower petals that were arranged in the shape of a flower with five points. There was a large candlestick with four candles that made the shape of a square with a candle in the middle - like an advent candle in church. And the owner of the spa was invited to light the candles to begin the celebration. After that, the "models" were called away to practice our walk. (It was all very formal.) Aside from myself, there were 3 other OWC models and our "choreographer" who we later learned is an Indian-Singaporean and the former Miss Indian of Singapore (that might not be here exact title but she was a pageant-girl although she didn't act it. Not that she wasn't gorgeous and poised and all that but she was very down-to-earth too). Anyway, we had to model four outfits. Two were kurta (long shirts), one was a sari and one was "evening wear." We modeled the kurtas, then had lunch then did the other two. It was quite the event. There was a newspaper there and a local TV station. None of the clothes were anything I think I would actually buy but once they were on, they were elegant. Very bright colors, lots of sequins and big, heavy jewelry. After the initial embarrassment of being in the spotlight, it was actually more fun than I thought it would be. Vivian took lots of pictures so I will post a few when she sends them.

But in addition to the fashion show, there was demo on how to tie a sari that was as clear as how to perform open heart surgery. It took a team of three to dress us in our saris. They are complicated to put on, uncomfortable to wear and nearly impossible to walk in. The fact that they have lasted thousands of years and still remain the dominant form of dress for Indian women is a testament to the strength of their culture. In what other culture do they wear the same style of clothes in the 21st century that they wore in the first century? There were two Indians hired to paint henna tatooes. I asked if this was significant to Diwali but no one could really give me a good answer other than it's a popular way to celebrate. So, why not?

Brides get the palms of their hands painted so I'm hoping that having this on for our wedding this weekend is not a faux-pas. It's supposed to last 20 days but I've heard it runs and just ends up looking dirty.

There was also a "stone-shell reader" (aka. fortune teller) who claims he was more accurate than any sort of palm reader because he uses the alignment of the planets to gain insight into the intimate details of your life. He had three white, chalk-like stripes painted across his forehead and had drawn, with some white powdery substance, a square with multiple squares inside. In some of the squares he drew a diagonal line. Then he has some flower petals strewn about the squares in no particular order that I could tell. He ran his hand over a large pile of shells, asked only my name then, took a handful of shells to his forehead. He then put the handful of shells in piles of three outside the grid and put others in the squares. He asked me if there was anything specific I wanted to know and I said I was just looking for general information - family, health, career, money...He said that I would be making decisions my family won't agree with...hmmm...he also said a bunch of other rubbish about a serpent and how that was bad and I needed to come and perform a Shanti Sharm (or something like that) within the next 2 months. I asked him what this was - a prayer? a pilgrimage? a sacrifice to the gods? a chant with strips on my forehead? But he didn't really say, he just gave me his card and said I must come back to his "office." Hearing that he saw a serpent and this was "very bad," I have to say I was a little freaked out. But in repeating the story to Sir, a wise-wise man, his response was something like, "so some Indian guy with white stripes painted on his forehead and seashells came to tell fortunes to a bunch of white women and you don't think it was in his best interest to tell you something to make you want to come back and pay him for another 'reading'?" Plus, there was another Indian women selling bangles by the fortune teller and she said it's all rubbish.

So, I'll just light my candles to rid myself of the ignorance of darkness and open myself to the light of knowledge that he really was just a quack and that perhaps it was a gecko he saw and not a serpent (as I did see another baby gecko outside the spa yesterday).

Our trip to the Taj Mahal: Chapter 3

So I left you somewhere with monkeys in Agra...that was at the Fort. After the fort, we went to dinner and RK was relieved to take us home early so he could go eat. "We are done for the night sir? I can go eat now?" Again, maybe this is something we take for granted with Chandan but we try to tell him how long we'll be whenever he takes us somewhere with the assumption that he will go and do what he's got to do in that time - eat, sleep, whatever. Adele, however, was talking about how she has to tell her driver to eat or he'll complain that he hasn't had time to eat. So she'll say, "I'm going to this place for 2 hours. You should have your lunch while I'm gone." But Sir and I have always taken for granted that as a grown man, Chandan would know when he should eat. He's never complained or said he can't take us somewhere or there's too much traffic. The whole trip just made us very grateful for our Chandan. I wanted to give him a big hug but Sir said he might be a bit taken aback by that (but maybe Sir could try to hold his hand or something).

At dinner we talked about going back to the Taj Mahal for sunset but with the potential traffic, the feeling we were being taken advantage of, RK's reluctance to take us anywhere, and the promise of visitors (hint, hint), we decided that this would not be our last trip to the Taj Mahal. And knowing what we know now, we will do the trip differently. We will spend more time in Delhi and drive out (or possibly take the train) to Agra later to catch the sunset/sunrise. There isn't much else to see/do in Agra. So we told RK we wanted to head back to Delhi early to try to beat the protest. "Oh, that's very good, Sir. We'll get back early." Then he added, "I'm nervous about traffic too."

Sunday morning we got up early, the hotel was kind enough to pack us some muffins and fruit and we made our way back to Delhi. We passed the protest before they really got going so it was smooth sailing. What was surprising to us though, was how organized the protest seemed to be. They all seemed to be carrying the same bag - like someone had gone and purchased enough for all the protesters. There were also large trucks every few yards carrying what we assume were supplies. Some of them even had bottles of water. Of course, even though we made it by early, there were no cones or traffic people attempting to divert traffic early before it became too much of a mess. RK also seemed to have a change of heart. The cynics in us figured this was because he knew a tip would be waiting for him as he dropped us off. But he kept asking if it was ok if he stopped for a break and if we were happy with his service. We made it back in about 3.5 hours and went straight to the airport which gave us a good 5 hours in the airport.

As we are pulling into the airport, RK asks if it's ok to pull into the parking lot to "make the bill." So we pull into a parking space and he takes out a receipt with the Hertz logo and spaces to fill in how many miles were driven, how much tolls were, etc. But then he gets on the phone and pulls out a blank piece of paper. He starts talking to the person on the other end saying things like, "extra, yes, extra" alot. Then he starts writing numbers on the paper and adding them up. This takes a good 15 minutes and at one point, he's hung up the phone and turns to us and says, "oh, we are not educated. We have to calculate on paper. Ha ha (nervous laughter)." He got back on the phone and wrote more numbers down. Finally, George gets to see the bill and he asks to see the receipts from the tolls. "No problem, no problem." He pulls some from the center console, one crumpled up in the passenger seat, a couple stuffed into the glove compartment and hands them to George with two cupped hands. RK looks at George trying to compensate the numbers and says, "oh, the toll keepers make us pay an extra 50 rupees that's not on the receipt." Then he goes to write up another bill. Seeing this, George just says, "can someone maybe email me an itemized bill. I'll sign this for now but I'll want to see a formal, itemized bill." RK then starts telling us that sometimes the charges aren't exact. That sometimes after the car has been returned, there are some changes to the bill. At least, I think that's the gist of what he was trying to say. But he agrees to get a copy of the bill emailed to us and pulls out of the parking area.

As he's driving us closer to the departure area he starts trying to explain why he thought that we might have made hotel arrangements for him. I won't quote him because again, I don't remember what he said exactly but he was trying to insist that "some clients" pay for and make his reservation. But then he started talking about how the hotels sometimes have extra rooms for the drivers at no cost so he thought maybe there was a room for him. But something about his story just didn't jive. I'm sure the fact that our maid-boy was trying to steal from us also didn't help our paranoia about being taken advantage of so we thought it best to just spend most of the day in the airport. (Note: If you have the choice, spending 5+ hours in the Delhi airport is probably not the best use of your time.) But the flight home was smooth and we laughed at our relief to be touching down in good old Bengaluru.

Speaking of maid-boys...I thought we had a new one. A new one (who actually is a very old one. He was the first one we had who was inexplicably replaced.) came on Monday, while I was here. I had called John Paul the manager on Monday to tell him I wanted a new maid and instead of talking about "the incident," he started yelling at me for locking the bottom lock. "Ma'am, there is only one key to the bottom lock on your door. When you lock it, my boys can't get in to clean. They waste their whole day getting to your place and back."
"Well, I purposely locked him out because we were away for the weekend and he tried to steal from me," I said.
"Yes, ma'am. I'll send you someone new but don't lock both your locks."
But I was not around today and I have the sinking suspicion that the stealing maid-boy was hear today. He has a very specific way of making the bed and arranging our papers on the table that is very different from the new (very first) maid-boy. I think I'll put in another call to John Paul tomorrow. I was thinking of telling him to forget the maid altogether and try use Vivian's maid but Vivian said she wouldn't recommend her maid and she's actually looking for someone new too.

Still no news on getting the drier to work but I've put that at the bottom of the priority list.

I saw about 7 big, pink pigs running around one of the side streets near our house. There were two teenagers with them, one with a stick and rope attached to it. It looked like the boys were trying to "round" up the pigs but with very little success. The pigs were moving surprisingly quickly in all different directions.

Agra

Saturday, much to RK's dismay, we set out for Agra early - about 6 am. He informs us that he put some drinks in the trunk for us if we get thirsty - all we had to do was ask him to pull over. As we drive across Delhi he also tells us that if we are interested in having a tour guide in Agra, he could arrange for that. We ask him how much it would cost and he replies, "oh, no problem. Hertz provides and arranges. You just give tip if you like," he says with a laugh. We say we are not really interested and make our way out of the city. Much like driving out of Bangalore, the number of buildings is fewer and fewer while the number of small store fronts and stalls increases then changes to a few huts and tents and then, eventually large fields. RK tells us that as we move out of the city and into a different state, we'll have to pay a toll tax. He says that we'll have to pay about 4 tolls along the way.

We eventually drive through some desolate fields and start to see some more store fronts and stalls - like we are reaching a village. RK informs us we've reached our first "toll." No E-Z passes accepted here. We pull onto the side of the road and park and RK tells us to "sit carefully" while he gets out and goes to one of the stalls marked "toll tax." As soon as we park, a man with a bag and a whistle squats down beside the car and starts playing his whistle. A snake then lifts it's head out of the bag so of course, not really thinking, we pull out the camera to take a picture. After he lets us take the picture, he starts knocking on the window looking for money. As soon as he starts knocking on the non-tinted window, it's like we suddenly become surrounded by Indians. A group of teenage boys walks around to my side of the car and just start staring into the car. A couple of others seem to be in back. RK is still in line to pay and George holds up one finger and then points to RK to try to tell the snake man we will pay when our driver gets back. RK comes back, the crowd disperses, George gives RK 10 rupees to give to the snake man who again looks at it like 10 rupees is an insult and walks away as we drive off.

We drive in and out of small villages and what surprises us most is that when you are driving through long stretches just of field, every so often you'll just see a guy out walking around the field. No idea where is has come from, what he might be doing or where he is going. We also saw small herds of cows and donkeys walking across or on the side of the road with one or two Indians leading them. In the middle of one of the fields, there was an enormous statue of one of the Hindu gods, with big eyes, a big smile and lots of arms waving to the passers by. Again it's unclear who might have erected it and why they chose that particular spot. We reach the next toll stop which is more like a rest area (without a McDonalds) on I-95. We pull in and see a man with a bunch of necklaces accosting some white man with a fanny-pack and a camera. We pull in next to a tour bus and another car. There is only one road out from Delhi to Agra so you can imagine how the entrepreneurial Indians have used this to their advantage. After RK gets out to go pay the toll, a man with a monkey shows up next to the car. Not to be taken again like we were with the snake charmer, we put the camera away and just look at each other and not outside. This becomes increasingly difficult as more men with monkeys approach and the monkeys jump up onto the car. But George even manages to sneak a few sneak shots in without the men (or monkeys) noticing.

Aside from the dodgy toll stops, all was going well. We make another stop at a restaurant/gift shop with all the other white tourists and RK tells us that we really shouldn't buy anything in the shop because it's all overpriced. The restaurant, he tells us, is ok though. Having already eaten at the hotel, we forgo the restaurant and browse the gift shop but we are ready to go in about 10 minutes. We get back out to the car and RK seems disappointed we are back so soon and asks, "where will you take your breakfast?" We tell him we've eaten and we're anxious to get to Agra. We've been driving for about 3 hours already and supposedly it takes around 4 hours to get there. We are back on the road for a few minutes when we spot people walking on the other side of the road. This section of the road happens to be divided. Some of the people are holding flags and others have big bags, a few have signs. "Look, a parade," I say. We get a little further and aside from the flags, there is nothing "parade-ish" about the march. RK tells us this is a protest. That the participants are walking to Delhi because of some political protest. He either doesn't understand when we ask, or can't articulate why, they are protesting. But he tells us they have been walking for something like 2000 kilometers from dawn to dusk. George thinks he sees a sign that might say they've been walking since February. It went on forever and ever and ever. Gandhi taught his people well. We were witnessing satyagraha (non-violent resistance) first hand. How...Indian.

Now, if there is a group of thousands and thousands of people walking down the only road from Agra (a very popular tourist destination) to Delhi (the nation's capital) and you've known for sometime this was happening, don't you think someone might have put some measures in place to divert traffic? But this is India. And traffic just turned into a free-for-all. All of the cars head toward Delhi started driving on our side of the road (those headed to Agra), only the cars going our direction, did not want to give way so for a time you had cars fighting to go in both directions which really just meant we were at a dead stop for a while. Finally, we did see what appeared to be traffic cops who organized our one lane into two but you still had scooters and overcrowded rickshaws in the wrong lane trying to sneak down the wrong way. (In Bangalore we joke about how many people we've seen piled onto one scooter, up north, I think the joke might be abouthow many people they can cram into one rickshaw.) An hour and a half later we go five kilometers and finally reach the end of the protesters. Don't get me wrong, I support civil disobedience (power to the people!) just not when it affects my sight-seeing.

But shortly after making it through the horrendous traffic jam, RK pulls over to the side of the road behind a black hatchback. We are about 9 kilometers outside Agra feeling like we're going to see the white dome of the Taj Mahal around any corner. The passenger side door of our car opens and a man wearing a shiny, very purple (almost magenta) shirt, black pants and sunglasses, leans in, hand out stretched and tries to introduce himself. We just look at RK who smiles and explains, "your tour guide."
"Thank you but we don't want a tour guide," Sir says.
"No, no. He'll show you around Agra," RK says.
RK and purple shirt begin talking and RK says, "It's all been arranged for you."
"Ok, but we don't want a guide. We didn't ask for one," I say.
"But ma'am, I've been waiting for you," purple shirt says. He stands up next to the car and says something to the four other guys by the hatchback while we try to explain to RK that we never said we wanted the guide. We explain that George's boss and another colleague from the states are in another car and they said they might be interested in a guide.
Purple shirt leans in the car again and says, "Sir, I waited two hours for you to arrive."
"Sorry. There must be some confusion. We don't want a guide. Thanks, anyway."
He finally gets the picture and goes back to his hatchback. RK appears a little nervous and says, "a guide for your friends then?"
"We're not sure but they were going to take care of it themselves."
"Oh, ok. So what's the program then?"
We explain we'd like to check in to the hotel and then go the Taj Mahal.

And just when we thought we were getting very close, we had to stop for a train to pass. Ten minutes after it had passed, we were still waiting for the gate to go up. As we are waiting RK asks, "so Sir, what is the plan for me tonight? Where will I stay?" The answer he wanted to give but didn't was, "where ever you made a reservation." Instead George says, "According to the agreement with Hertz, you are supposed to make your own arrangements."
"Oh, no sir. Many times, the client arranges for a room at the hotel." RK insists.
This is an issue that I have been particularly concerned about and I have made it a point to ask more than one person what the protocol is if you ask your driver to take you away for the weekend. Who pays and arranges for your drivers' accommodation? Unanimously, people have said, they take care of it themselves. That's why when you rent the car and driver, you give your itinerary. Still, when you are sitting 5 km outside your destination after driving in for 6 hours 2 of which have just been sitting in traffic , you begin to question if maybe you misunderstood. But Sir was on the same page and insistent that it's RK's responsibility to find his own accommodations. Sir says he will call Hertz to confirm. Finally a second train goes by and we are entering into Agra. In total, it took about 6.5 hours. We drive the rest of the way to the hotel in silence worried about whether the man in the purple shirt really was from Hertz and RK is an upstanding gentlemen who really does need a place to stay and how far the protesters will march today and how bad will traffic be tomorrow when we need to get to the airport.

We reach the hotel and George tells RK we're going to go check-in and then he'll be back out in about a half hour to talk. After we've checked in, Sir goes back out to try to figure out what's going on with RK, but he's nowhere to be found. George calls him. "I'm just having some tea, Sir, outside the hotel." So, we decide it's time for lunch and make a call to Hertz only to find that we were correct and according to Hertz, RK could stay in the car if necessary.

After lunch, RK and Sir have a heart to heart and I get the camera ready for the Taj Mahal. You can only drive within a certain distance of it and from that point to the entrance, you can take a rickshaw. I've never ridden in a manual/bike rickshaw but we met some kid who asked for 100 rupees but was willing to settle for 20. I liked him even though he was trying to tell us that we had to stop at his friend's store on the way back, "just for a look." George got some video footage (that I'll have to add later because it's taking too long and I'm late!).

I think trying to explain what the Taj Mahal is like, is like trying to explain what seeing the Sistine Chapel is like. You can't really explain it in words. When you first approach, it almost looks fake. It's so big and so white against the blue sky, it looks like a picture. And there are so many tourists crowded at the entrance making so much noise, it seems like you can't possibly be at the Taj Mahal. It feels like it should be quiet and serene. But as you spend more time and start walking towards it, it becomes more real and you start to see why it's as famous as it is. The people and the crowds start to fade and the detail and scope of it intensify. We make our way up to the front and take our shoes off. I don't think you come to the Taj Mahal for the actual mausoleum. It is impressive but it's so crowded that people really push you through rather quickly and to me, at least, it felt like I was intruding. Almost like playing in a cemetery - not that I've ever done that but that's the point, you wouldn't. Yet, all these people were trying to take pictures when you really aren't supposed to and push each other to get a better look. It didn't feel like you were in a sacred place. I don't know how else to explain it.

Like the other tourists, we spent some time walking around the actual building and just sitting staring at it. However, when you are a non-Indian and you sit, you attract all the Indians like moths to a flame. All the Indians want to take pictures with the tourists. We saw two girls, one had blond hair and the other reddish, brown. They were sitting in the corner, looking back at the Taj Mahal, minding their business when a flock of Indian guys came over to gawk at them. Finally, someone asked to take a picture with them and they said yes, and from that point, there was a steady stream of requests for pictures with them. And it wasn't just Indian men, Indian women were equally interested in having their pictures taken. We ended up having a conversation with 4 Indians, 3 who didn't speak a lick of English, one who barely kept the conversation going. We just talked about where we were from and they said things we didn't understand and we all smiled and nodded our heads alot and then moved on.

There are two mosques on either side of the Taj Mahal that were less crowded so we spent quite a bit of time there enjoying the view. After that, we walked back up to the gate and sat for a while longer. We debated whether we should stay for sunset which was still probably 2 hours away and we still wanted to see the Agra Fort. And, in addition to having a very different price for foreigners and Indian nationals, those crafty Indians also make you buy a new ticket to re-enter, even if it's on the same day. So I told Sir we could skip the sunset this time but I wanted to come back for sunrise and we headed to the fort. Somehow, hours later, our rickshaw driver managed to spot the two of us leaving the Taj Mahal and reminded us we were to pay him 20 rupees and when we got to his friend's shop he asked that we get out to have a look. And his friend came out begging us to have a look but we didn't budge and finally he kept on riding. There is something very uncomfortable about having a 16 year old boy bike you up a hill for 25 cents that is equal parts awkward and comical.

Apparently, Shah Jahan who built the Taj Mahal was later imprisoned by his son who banished him to the Agra Fort. The coolest part about the Fort is the view of the Taj Mahal from there. And we saw more monkeys. George had control of the camera so we do have footage.



I'm going to leave you, rather abruptly, with the monkeys because I'm on my way out to see the Black Eyed Peas. I don't know that I'd say I'm a big fan but when in Bengaluru...

Traveling in India is Stressful

Don't get me wrong, we were lucky enough to see one of the wonders of the world and the Taj Mahal is spectacular. But who would've thought that after a mere 8 weeks, we would be looking forward to the "normalcy" of life in Bangalore.

With the house securely locked so no maid-boy(s) could wander in, I left for the airport Friday morning around 8 for a 9:30 flight. We (Chandan and I, George had already left) made it to the airport in about 20 minutes, I bid Chandan farewell and accepted a kind Indian's offer to wheel my suitcase to the ticket counter. I can think of no better way to describe the Bangalore airport other than to say (excuse my language), it was a shit-show.

There were series of windows outside for ticketing and one very long line to actually get into the airport. I figured they were checking baggage as you walked in because the line was not moving very quickly. George had called earlier to say I should go to the outside window first. So I go to get in line and the man with my bag motions to the line going inside and says he's going to take my bag inside. I see the multiple signs warning, "beware of bag handlers" and tell him to just leave it with me and I'll take it the rest of the way. I give him 10 rupees and a thank you and he gives me a look like, "10 lousy rupees...cheapo." I wait, patiently, as 2 panicky Indians cut the line and start shouting at the women behind the glass with perfect make-up. Fifteen minutes later, it's my turn. I have the print-out of my email confirmation and a photocopy of our credit card and a note from George saying that it is ok for me to be charging my ticket on a credit card with his name. (When we had booked online, there was a note saying that any passenger paying with someone else's credit card must bring a photocopy of the front and back of the card along with a note from the cardholder. We were telling Vivian and Liam about this and they said it's SOP for almost all of Asia.) But the women behind the glass asked to see nothing. She just said, "yes, ma'am, this is your ticket. You can go ahead to get your boarding pass." I thought I was getting my boarding pass from her. It's now about 8:45 and I get in the line (that's only gotten longer) to get into the airport.

There are lots of people from various airlines shouting out various destinations, "any Spicejet passengers to Mumbai? Kingfisher passengers to Chennai?" One women is telling people with "hand luggage" that they can enter through another door. As we slowly inch ever closer to the door, I noticed there are actually 2 lines but one is much shorter. You know what happens when you get in the short line...so I ask a nice lady wearing an Air Deccan uniform what the short line is for and she says, "for Kingfisher passengers only." I accept her answer but notice no one is checking that their are only Kingfisher passengers in the line and also that no one from my line seems to be moving into the shorter line. I refuse to be tricked into getting into the short line. A few minutes later, I ask a Kingfisher employee what the shorter line is for. He says, "for passengers with only hand luggage." This seems like a better answer even though the women a few feet back was telling those with hand luggage to enter a different line altogether. And still, it seems as though there are people with larger bags in the line. So, I debate getting into the shorter line long enough until I am close enough to the front where the line has morphed into just a crowd of people pushing to get to the guard at the door. Controlled mayhem. I get caught in the flow of people and hand my e-ticket and passport to the guard who says nothing but gestures me and my bag through with his hand.

Once inside, there are just hundreds of people milling around. There are windows where you get your boarding pass, a line that snakes around into the middle of the room but with no roping to filter people through. Also in the middle of the room are a couple of baggage security scanner machines, with no line but an abundance of airport personnel laughing and chatting with one another around the machines. It was totally and utterly chaotic. It was unclear who was going where, where you should jump in line, who was actually in line; there were plenty of unattended bags around and no one with a clear answer of where to go.

I was flying on Jet Airways so I find a JA kiosk with a JA employee standing next to it and I ask her if I can check-in at the kiosk. "Certainly ma'am." She punches in my name and sees I am going to Delhi but then walks away and starts talking to some other man. They look at my e-ticket and exchange a few words. I think she is going to ask me about for permission to use George's credit card and get it ready to hand over. The women comes back and says, "you'll have to go to the counter because it's less than 45 minutes to your flight and the kiosk locks you out if you are less than 45 minutes to departure." She brings me up to the business class counter(even though I was flying economy) and I hand the women my ticket and passport, and have my note about the credit card at the ready. I give her my suitcase to check-in and she says, "oh, this bag has not gone through security. You have to go wait in that line." She points to the line out the door that's even longer now. I tell her I just came from that line and I was told to come here to get my boarding pass. It's about 9:10 now and I tell her I will be late if I have to wait in that line. As I'm talking, she's handing me my boarding pass and passport and some guy takes my bag. The women with my boarding pass is giving me a "just relax lady" look and says, "here's your boarding pass. You now have to wait in that line for security check (pointing to the crowd of people in the middle of the room). Have a good flight." I am busy watching the man with my bag who has taken it to one of the screening machines. I wait for him to bring in back and make sure they put the right baggage claim ticket and get into another line.

Now I'm nervous that I'm definitely going to be late because there is another 9:30 flight to Mumbai that is already boarding. But all the other passengers look equally anxious and there are lots of airline employees again shouting out different flight numbers and destinations. They are pulling these passengers from the line and moving them to the front. So, I figure the worst that can happen is I become one of those passengers that gets to cut the line. There is only one monitor listing the flights and luckily I can see it from where I am standing. Others have to rely on the crackly voice on the intercom to hear which flights are boarding at which gates. At about 9:30, my flight gets listed as delayed until 9:50. This is more of a relief than a hassle as I still haven't gotten through security.

I am closer to the front (can no longer see the monitor) but realize that my line has just about stopped moving, while the one to my left (also to get through to the boarding gates) is still moving. A man a couple of people ahead of me starts talking to the guard at the door and while they are not speaking English, I gather that the man is asking the guard why the one line is moving but our line is not. This incites the rest of the people around us to have a very heated, "yeah, why is that," reaction. You know how attractive people can be when they are hot, annoyed and trying to make a flight. So, the guard lets some more people in and now I am only 4 or so people away. Once you get through the door though, you just wait again to put your carry-on bags through security. The man in front of me says to the female "guard" by the other line, "you have to stop letting your line come to this side once they are in the door. Your line keeps moving but we haven't gone anywhere for 15 minutes. Why are you letting the people from your line move over here?" He is neither soft-spoken nor gentle in his demeanor. The female just sort of ignores him and he turns to our guard, "tell her to stop her line so we can get through!" Our guard just points to the inside of the door where there is no where to move and the man says, "I realize this is all her fault (pointing to the other guard) but what's the point of having two lines if only one gets through?" At the point, it sort of turns into a free-for-all and our guard let's us through but everyone is shoving and pushing. I get bumped next to two British women and their kids and they say, "this is mad, isn't it?" We notice that there is a separate line for women and since there aren't many females, we make our way over to the side, past all the pushing men and get through security. But of course, this is India, and they love their paperwork so I had put my bag on the scanner but didn't have a tag on it. So I had to wait for the grouchy women by the scanner to give me a ticket so that she could stamp it with a "there are no tweezers, bombs, or other deadly items in this bag." By 10, I had made it to the gate to find that my flight had been delayed until 10:15 which normally, would be very frustrating but was a pleasant surprise giving me a few minutes to relax. For a very small airport, they sure have succeeded in creating a disorganized and confusing space.

The flight itself was very smooth and surprisingly, getting a pre-paid cab from the airport to the hotel in Delhi was easy. I went to the pre-paid counter, paid about $5, gave the man my name, the number of bags I had, and got two copies of a written receipt. Then, I walked out of the airport and following a partitioned line labeled "pre-paid taxis" and a man asked me if I had my receipt and asked me my name. I then got in the cab, gave the driver my other receipt and he asked for my name, shouted it to a man who wrote it in some book and we were off. We went about 100 feet and stopped to let some man in black pants and a blue button down shirt in the front seat. I was told he was from the police and he smiled and asked me where I was going. We drove about another 100 feet and he jumped out and told me to enjoy my stay in Delhi. From these short interactions at the airport, I knew I was in India but once we got on the road, I knew I was definitely not still in Bangalore.

There were plenty of auto-rickshaws and scooters and I was in an old car with no air-conditioning but the streets were wide and clean. Drivers stayed within the lane lines. We stopped at red lights and waited for them to turn green...it was down-right organized. I met George at the hotel around 3 and we headed out to see some of the sights. We had a new driver for the weekend. His name tag said Rama Kant but the business card he gave Sir just said RK. RK was no Chandan. He seemed pleasant enough at first even if he probably only understood 20% of what we were saying. He took us to the famous Red Fort but told us we couldn't go in because he didn't have anywhere to park. Then George asked about another part of town and he said he wouldn't take us because it was too far. Instead, he would take us by the President's House to take pictures. At first he made it seem like he was giving us tips - like "you don't want to go into the Red Fort because the locals will try to sell you overpriced souvenirs, you shouldn't wasted your time going across town but go to the President's house because it's on our way back to the hotel" - but we think that he really just didn't want to work too hard. After we got through sight-seeing, it was about 6 pm and he tried to tell us he was done for the night. We had made plans to have dinner with George's boss from the US who was in town so we told him we needed him to take us to dinner. Again, he tried to say he was done working and was very put out that he had to drive us. Then, when we told him we wanted to leave for Agra early Saturday, he acted like it was the first time he had heard of this. "Oh, we go to Agra tomorrow?" But when George made the reservation for the car and driver, he had to include our itinerary so we're not sure why this would have been news to him. So from the first night, our impression of RK was that he was no Chandan (and he proved it over and over again).

The city of Delhi however, left a very positive impression. Not only was it more organized than Bangalore but it was also cleaner and more modern. At the end of the street leading to the President's house was a monument called the "India Gate" that looked like the Arc de Triumphe. From the gate you drive up a long road with a well-groomed park in the middle, to the other end with the President's house. Driving up the street, it felt like we were at the Mall in Washington, DC. It looked and felt totally different than Bangalore. The street was wide with no garbage, there was only one or two stray dogs...and yet it is Bangalore that was once known as the "garden city," go figure.

The President's House is a place fit for the President of the largest democracy in the world. It was well protected and enormous. As you can see from the pictures, the President's house was the last stop. First, we went to the Red Fort. To get there, we had to go through a section of town called "Old Delhi" that was much more Bangalore-ish. The stores were more run down, it was more crowded and generally dirtier. We also saw manually powered rickshaws - men on bikes pulling others. Since we didn't actually go in the Fort, there isn't much for me to tell you other than it was large and red. It took about 10 years to complete in the mid-1600s, is where the President gives an address every year on India Independence Day (15 Aug.) and was occupied by the British who destroyed some of it in the 1800s but then had a change of heart and set out to restore it in the early 1900s. But still, for as much as Delhi seemed more modern and like a first world than third world country, we saw an elephant on the side of the road on the way back to the hotel. We were going to fast to get a picture but truly a big, grey, elephant. There was a man on top but I cannot begin to imagine what they were doing or where they were going.

When we got back to the hotel, we got a call and Sir answered. I hear, "Yes. Ok. Where? Room 105? Ok, sure. Thanks. See you then." We had been invited to Room 105 for free cocktails from 7-7:30. Free cocktails in some random room? I asked Sir if it was Micheal and Dwight from "The Office" who called. He said that in fact it was a women welcoming us to the Delhi Taj Palace Hotel who invited us. Not ones who turn down a free cocktail, we headed down to room 105. It was a little awkward at first but the nice women told us that every night they invite new guests of the hotel to one of the suites to get their feedback about their stay at the hotel. Soon after we arrived, a Scottish gentlemen walked in with the same confused look but saw us sitting out on the patio with our glasses of champagne and joined us. A minute later another group of Indian-Londoners came. The Scottish guy told us he was on the same plane as Bob Geldof who was in town for some leadership summit being held in our very hotel. He apparently was staying at the hotel too. The Indian-Londoners were in town for a family wedding but had not been to India for 10 years. A Canadian later joined us. He had just arrived and worked for a security company responsible for keeping Middle Eastern Sheiks and VIPs safe. He was telling us about some underwater device that can detect intruders coming from the Sea. He said he deals with very high-level people who go to great lengths to keep themselves safe. Indeed.

And that's only Friday...but it's getting late so I'll save Agra for tomorrow. But just so the suspense doesn't kill you, the Taj Mahal is breath-taking/amazing/spectacular - pick your favorite adjective - but our trip out and back continued to be stressful and aggravating and interesting mostly because of RK, tourist traps and constantly feeling like you are getting scammed which is a terrible way to look at the world.

Also, I am late in posting because this morning I had to go practice my runway cat-walk because I am going to be modeling saris at this Diwali Fiesta on Wed. Diwali is a Hindu holiday celebrated at the beginning of November and the OWC is hosting a party on Wed. in honor of the holiday.

More to come...