Here’s installment number 2. The last one I focused on poverty for a bit because it’s such an integral part of India and it’s what everyone always seems to focus on and I’ve already been asked about it by several people. But as I said it’s not the whole story and it is much less shocking than you would think.
Back to the airport for a second, the Mumbai one. The next thing that you should know about India is that there is a system, no doubt about it. But just as sure as that, there’s no organization of the system. In true developing world fashion the system is a self-imposed bottom up mish mash. It’s really amazing how it functions. Everything seems to somehow work together. Here’s a good example. I was reading, sorry this one is from a book about India not my own personal experiences, but I was reading about Dabawallahs in Mumbai. As I mentioned Mumbai is a huge city with 19 million people. And everyday those people have to eat lunch. The people who go to work though, they don’t want to have to deal with taking their lunch with them in the morning, whether it’s cultural, convenient, or whatever that is how it’s done. So several million people need lunch and their wives, mothers, sisters, etc, make them lunch. Feminists pipe down for the moment. This is India not NYC. So the ladies at home make lunch and have to get it downtown. Here is where the Dabawallahs step in. There are between 4500 and 5000 of them and strangely enough they all come from the same villages near Pune and are interrelated and know each other. So anyways, these 5000 people descend on the hundreds of thousands of kitchens making millions of lunches. And they distribute the lunches downtown. In a matter of hours. Forbes magazine gave them a 6-Sigma rating which is reserved for companies with efficiencies of 99.99%. In other words, they only screw it up once in 6 million times which the book says puts them on par with Motorola. Can you imagine that? Here’s the real kicker. It’s not done by tracking chips, or anything that complicated. It’s done by color coding on the lunch containers and pure memory. What the heck. If that doesn’t knock your socks off stop reading because you’re gonna be bored with everything else I’ve got to say.
Back to the airport again. The Mumbai airport is like something out of a movie. But it works. The planes are all on time and everything runs smoothly despite the card games and full lawn chairs of workers in the middle of the roundabouts all happening on the runway. Not even joking for a minute, I took a bus out onto the tarmac to catch my next flight and there were two guys asleep against the wheels with some others playing cards. Not in Kansas anymore Toto.
I made it to Udaipur all right, no problems on that flight either, just freshly squeezed lime juice. So much for Coke and apple juice. I hopped out of the plane walked into the terminal (very nice by the way, I think they just built it) and got my bag before being greeted by the university staff.
Dr. Vyas and Mr. Bohra are the two men in charge of me. Vyas is a professor of Geography and the head of the exchange program and Bohra is the director of the guest house. The driver grabbed my bag and I got my first taste of the caste system. Interestingly, after 5 days, I have no idea what’s going on with it. And if anyone can tell me what to do with “my” staff as they’ve put it, tell me. I don’t particularly like this who setup. It seems to be somewhat surprising to everyone. Lousy American that I am I use the more formal and respectful hello and good morning for all the servants even though I’m not supposed to. Whoops. What can you do? Americans always ruin everything. They all seem to quite enjoy it, especially the look of shock on Bohra’s face when I treat them like equals. Probably not the best way to assimilate but it is what it is, I’ll pour my own glass of water thank you very much. They draw the line at my doing the dishes though, I’d rather not lose my hands over it. I’m bonding with them though because they’re always here and I get to spend time with them without Mr. Bohra around. We take walks and talk a lot. Despite the language barrier. If you’ve got any input please forward it along to me.
My room is an interesting setup. It’s got really high ceilings and a nice ceiling fan. Concrete whitewashed walls and tile floor. There’s a sketchy desk/closet thing on the one side that is made out of pieces of marble (?) glued together, I’m actually waiting for it to collapse on me any minute now. There are windows on the one side and a very lovely florescent overhead light that blinds me and makes me feel like I’m in someone’s empty cellar. The beds I pushed together so that I’ve sort of got a double bed. The mattresses are foam and close to rock hard. As for the whole sheets thing, well, not so much. I asked if I should bring sheets and a towel and they said no sheets just towels. I got here and they gave me a towel and no sheets. So I’m sleeping on foam underneath an airline blanket. I should probably upgrade but I don’t know where or how. The whole markets/roads thing is off the hook. I’ll get to that. The bathroom is pretty legit, concrete and tile again, a sink, toilet and showerhead sticking out of the wall, real budget hotel style, no need for a curtain, wall or anything, just close the bathroom door and go for it. The water’s pretty decent too, the heat here makes sure that at least it’s luke-cold not ice-cold. Btw does anyone know where that term comes from? Luke-warm? Who was Luke and why was he warm?
Interesting fact wise did you know that after the Civil War veterans had to go to Washington to get their pensions? They had to wait while a single clerk went through thousands of boxes and found their file and papers before he could pay them their due. The folders were bound up in red tape. Hence the term red tape.
The wildlife here is off the wall. Literally. I keep having lizards jumping off of walls. No joke. I found one in my bed a couple of days ago and another in my hair this morning while I was drying off from a shower. Apparently my roommate Sahib Lizard appreciates the new home my towel has become on his wall. Then there are the dogs. Generally they roam alone but there’s also a pack that likes to park itself in front of the guest house at night. How do I know? Because they’ve howled for an hour straight two nights in a row, and I think they killed a pig another, otherwise I don’t know where the squealing barking and bloody stain on the street came from. Speaking of pigs, they’re everywhere. Maybe more peccary-ish? Another question and response thing, does anyone know the difference? Is there one? Or is it a semantics thing? Is a peccary a feral pig?
There are also a couple of camels in the neighborhood. I see them on their way to work everyday. Not so much them as their human counterparts. And there are also rats, I know because I had a great encounter with one yesterday. I came flying across the road while I was walking and I had one of those momentary decision things where you’re like should I or shouldn’t I? Well I didn’t I shortened up and saved its life and as thanks had it hiss at me (I would just love to get rabies) and then run over my foot. Greasy little unthankful thing.
Lastly, the cows. Yep. They really are everywhere. Sleeping on the porch, sleeping in the road, blocking traffic, eating newspapers at roadside stands, you name it, they’re doing it.
As for the roads, they’re crazy. I ride a motorbike in to town some days and each time I get on it I become spiritual, pray for a second, and then wonder if it’s my last trip. You see, no one uses signals, or watches where they’re going, or cares where they’re going, or pays attention to traffic laws. I wouldn’t say that Indians particularly care for rules, there aren’t any real road rules so to speak, just norms. For example, driving on the left side of the road, completely optional. Traffic tends to move where it wants whether that is along the left lane where they should, through the middle of the road, between two cars going in the opposite direction, off the road through the market, or anywhere else you can imagine. Today at one point, I felt a cow’s side brush my leg as we flew by at 40km an hour. I also see a lot of people reaching out and holding on to other cars trucks and busses for balance while they’re flying around on their motorbikes. If you have James Bond tendencies, India is the place for you, you can really be destructive and lawless if you feel like it. Horns are about the only things they really care about. They generally mean I’m on your left, I’m on your right, I’m behind you, I’m about to run you over, get out of the way, or something else.
Last thing for the day. A usual I am the rude American. Yep. No matter where I go I really know how to offend people. I do it daily here. Turns out that it’s a national goal to stuff me full of as much food as possibly. Also turns out that India food can be as spicy as you can imagine. I’m not sure, but I think it’s a cultural hospitality thing. I think they’re trying to provide and take care of me as best they can but it’s getting a bit over the top. After lunch the other day I saved the leftovers and there was enough for two more meals. I swear I’ve already said this today, but I’m not kidding. I don’t joke. Ever. They’re trying to fatten me up or something which is amazing considering that I’m already a giant in comparison to most Indians. As for the spiciness They keep asking me if it’s too spicy, I say it’s good but very spicy and they okay happy to know you like it, we’ll tone down the chillies, and then nothing happens. The next meal is generally spicier. I think that they’re playing with my head and actually ramping it up as they think I become accustomed to it. It’s also really hot here. Super hot and humid. And I don’t know about you, but that makes me a little sluggish and loath to eat. So they come and ask if I would like dinner and I say no, no thanks, not tonight, I’m not hungry. Ten minutes later I get a full meal brought to me. Last night, Ramlal asked if I’d like tea, I said yes. He asked if I would like dinner, I said no. He said “Okay, Tea, no dinner.” I said “Yes please, I’m not really hungry tonight.” He said, “Okay.” From that most people would assume that there wouldn’t be any dinner coming but they’d be wrong. I knew. I knew where this was going. So I gave it 4 or 5 minutes, what if takes for them to make tea (which we drink 3 or 4 times a day no matter how warm out it is) and followed him downstairs to the kitchen. Sure enough not only was there tea out, but an entire meal. Oh boy am I good. I should start a fortune telling business.
“No dinner” I said.
“NO DINNER????”
“Nope, no dinner, I’m not hungry, if I eat anymore I’ll explode, I already had enough today for ten people.”
“Okayyyyyy……” The sort of okay someone gives you when you say you're shaving your head.
So I had my tea with dirty looks from him. That’s when I made the mistake. I went to read in my room for half an hour. Yep, you guessed it. He went and got me dinner, put it on the table, and knocked on my door and said……
“Dinner is ready.”
Damnit. I lost again. At this point, I really spend a large portion of my time trying to figure out how to outwit them and escape dinner or lunch. Or today breakfast. Today it was the same thing just with breakfast. I ate leftovers from dinner last night and said no thanks I’d rather not have breakfast. They said okay, gave me tea, and then 20 minutes later had breakfast out on the table. What the hell am I supposed to do about that? Downtown at the college one of the professors asked me how things were going and I told her they were feeding me too much and could she explain to Mr. Bohra who was there (we have a serious language barrier going on). She did, they laughed, and I was stuck in the same place as before. I told Dr. Vyas as well. He pretended not to hear, brushed me off, and then laughed on the third attempt. Nice. So now I’m going to leave you in a futile attempt to avoid another meal that will leave me passed out on my bed about to puke for 2 or 3 hours while my stomach tries to figure out how to digest pure chilly peppers without resulting in an ulcer.
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