The View from the Cheap Seats

In less than four hours I will be heading to the airport top come home.  In case you have ever wondered, I believe it takes only slightly over 2 weeks to become acclimated to a location and start to feel like you’ve settled into a groove because that is how I feel right now.  I feel like I have settled into a routine or a way of living and now I have to uproot myself again.  I have some pretty powerful experiences I am taking back to reality with me.

Never again will I complain about bad traffic because now I have a better understanding of what bad traffic really means.  I will have to get used to cars staying in their lanes and motorcycles not zipping in between cars on the road.  I will have to get used to the driver being on the left side of the car and driving on the right side of the road again.

Never again will I be able to easily dismiss someone begging on the street.  I don’t know if that person is legitimately hungry or not.  There were times I had to ignore people here for safety reasons — theirs and mine.  But when there are kids at my car window asking for food, that can’t be ignored.  Or forgotten.

Never again will I take the comforts of my home or country for granted.  I have seen the way people live in this country — the very wealthy (like the 27-story home of Mukesh Ambani, the CEO of Reliance Industries), the professionals (like my father), the working class (like Ahmed), the very poor (like the slums we have driven through), and the homeless (like the people going to the bathroom and sleeping on the sidewalks).  The social spectrum here is mind-boggling.  I wonder how odd it must be for Ahmed sometimes to spend his days working in one social world and living in a very different social world.

Speaking of Ahmed, I find it bizarre that I have seen this man nearly every day for the past two weeks, actually spent quite a bit of time with him as he has driven us so many places, and after today, it is likely I will never see him again.  It is so strange to form a relationship with someone just to have it end so cleanly.

Jim told me last night that I would be sad to leave.  And he is right.  It’s not just sad to leave my father; I have worried about him being lonely every day he has been here, and I will worry about it even more now that we are all up and leaving him.  But I will be sad because I feel like part of this country is in me now, like I have found my place a little bit here, found a niche that I could be comfortable in.  And chances are I will never come back to this little niche of mine in the world again.  This was a trip of a lifetimes, one I didn’t even know I wanted to take until I got here.  And now I have to leave it behind.

Goodbye, and thank you, Mumbai, for teaching me so much about this world I live in.  I understand so much more than I did before.

Never agin will I be able to ignore the fact that there are homeless and neglected animals in this part of the world.  Going with Brenda to give dogs on the street food and treats made me feel good and sad at the same time.  It was so little we did for those pups.  Friends of my dad who adopted an Indian street dog told us that when animal aid groups pick the dogs up to spay/neuter them and give them their shots, they hold on to the dogs for a short time to see if they get adopted.  If not, they take the dogs back to where they were picked up and release them there.  It’s easier for the dogs to be released back to an area they are familiar with.  I have been wrestling with this since I heard about it.  Which is more humane — the way they do this in Mumbai, releasing the dog back to the streets, or the way we do it, euthanizing the dog?  Which is the lesser of two evils?

Today, we stopped at McDonald’s for lunch. We came back to the car to eat while Ahmed ran inside to get some food for himself. While we were eating, a little girl of maybe age 7 came up to the windows with a toddler in her arms wanting food. None of us could eat our lunch in good faith with hungry kids staring at us through the window. We all ate a few bites of our sandwiches and fries and took a sip off our drinks then handed them out the window to the girl who shared the food with the toddler she had in her arms. Some other kids came over by her and she shared wit them, too. It wasn’t a lot of food, but it was all we had at the moment. When Ahmed came back to the car, he had no idea we had given food to the kids. One little boy came up to him and he handed over the rest of his drink to the boy. This really warmed my heart because Ahmed certainly isn’t rich by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew this little boy needed the drink more than he did. More striking to me that he did this is because my father explained to me that many Indians can be quite cruel to other Indians, mostly related to the caste system that is technically illegal but still exists in the form of social strata. Ahmed went against what might be typically expected of Indians. I also recognized that we did what we often do not do at home. Be honest: how many times have we seen someone panhandling and we give nothing, and in fact, might even curl our lips a little at that person? I’m sure we all have, myself included. We could have ignored those kids, but we didn’t. We did what we could with what we had.

After dinner, we saw a very skinny dog. Truth be told, lots of the street dogs you see here don’t appear to be starving. They seem to be pretty street-savvy scavengers. Not that it isn’t sad to see so many homeless dogs, but this pup looked particularly skinny. When we got back to the apartment, Brenda said, “We are going back to find that dog.” She grabbed her dog food and dog treats and led me and my dad out the door. We found that dog and gave him food and treats as well as at least a half dozen other dogs tonight. We didn’t have enough food to give each dog his or her fill. We didn’t have enough food to feed all the homeless dogs. But we did what we could with what we had.

One thing I have learned here is that the needs of many people and animals are great, overwhelming to be honest. When you see so many people, children, animals in such great need and feel overwhelmed, sometimes the easiest thing to do is nothing because there is no way you can solve the problems. But doing nothing just contributes to the problem. So do what you can with what you have. I won’t ever forget the sight of those kids eating McDonald’s on the side of the road or that skinny, skittish puppy eating dog food off the ground. But I can ease a bit of the ache inside by knowing all of us today did what we could with what we had.

The McDonald’s where we shared our lunches with some hungry children.

Yesterday I got to experience a small taste of everyday Indian life. The day started by going to a little mall to shop. It was an outdoor mall, but since it is monsoon, it is mostly covered with tarps. Most of the little shops are like cubbies and I’m betting the luckier shops are the ones that are a step up from the sidewalk because the ones at the same level of the sidewalk were flooded and people were sweeping water out of the stores. I stopped at one shop to look at kurtas. I decided against buying a sari because I ally felt that despite how pretty they are, I just wouldn’t get much use out of a sari. But a kurta I would definitely wear, and I simply don’t care what anyone thinks about it! I found one (a little tricky since I am, um, larger than the average Indian) and I plan to find a few more. It is so, so, so comfortable! No wonder so many women wear them here! I got a top, 2 pair of pants, and a scarf for 1700 rupees, which is about $30.

When we were done at the mall, we dashed across the street in the rain to the grocery store. Haiko, I believe was the name of the store. It was crazy crowded and loud. There was a DJ set up at the entrance blasting music. Not sure why, but it added to the general chaos in the store. I shot some video but then security stopped me and told me cameras were not allowed. When you go into a store, you have to check your shopping bags and umbrellas. Some places, bigger shopping areas, hotels, you also have to have purses x-rayed and go through metal detectors. When you leave a grocery store, an employee checks your merchandise against your receipt and stamps it, lime they do when you leave Sam’s Club.

In the evening, my dad and I went out for dinner for Father’s Day. First we stopped at another grocery store, D-Mart, and this one was way crazier than Haiko! Imagine Black Friday crowds. it was that crammed with people. My dad says D-Mart is like that all the time. I wanted to take some video, but I didn’t want to get busted again, so I passed. Next we walked to Chili’s, which has a menu very similar to the menu at home. There are some items, like tandoori chicken sandwich, that are not on the menu at home, and there are more vegetarian items than on the menu at home. And yes, there are burgers on the menu, too! When we left Chili’s, it was a drenching rain outside. It was the kind of rain kids dream about. It was warm outside and the rain was warm water, it was pouring down in buckets, and there were huge swirling puddles everywhere. Umbrellas didn’t matter much. I hunkered down under my umbrella, but I noticed many people on the street didn’t have umbrellas, and many who did were just strolling along in the rain. Nobody was rushing to get out of it. Monsoon is just accepted here. In fact, my father says many people like it because everything greens up and gets washed clean. To be honest, I can tolerate it since I am just visiting, but it is going to rain every day for nearly the next 3 to 4 months, and I can’t imagine rain like that every day and cloudy skies for that long. It would drive me absolutely over the edge.

It was business as usual in the drenching rains of the monsoon here in Mumbai yesterday. And if the Indians can accept it and go about their lives, then I can do it, too, for the short time I am here.

Me in my new kurta!

Tonight was one of the most interesting experiences of my trip to India and maybe my life.  We visited Ahmed at his house for dinner.

Think about what preconceived ideas you have about India, especially the poverty.  That image you probably have in your mind of people crowded together in small spaces, dingy looking, dogs, cats, rats, trash, noisy — yep, that is what it is like, and that is what it was like to visit Ahmed in his village.

We had to walk through twisty-turny, narrow walkways to get to his home after parking.  As we walked, we saw numerous stray dogs and cats.  As we were leaving, Ahmed pointed pout rats to us.  Near the parking area there was a large pile of garbage.  Ahmed explained that the city does come pick up their garbage, but during monsoon, it is not picked up regularly.  Once we got into the walkways, there was not trash to be seen.  In fact, in the little walkways there was very little garbage; you would see more on the streets of Chicago than you would in the little walkways.  As we walked through, people stopped to look at us.  On the way home, Ahmed said that he and his family were like celebrities now because foreigners never come to his village to visit.

Ahmed’s house is three rooms, but I was only in the largest of the three, which is the main living area.  I would estimate the room was approximately 10 x 12, and it was spread with a nice soft blanket for us to sit on.  No air conditioning, but he had a new fan running that kept the air moving and the room was humid but comfortable.  There was no furniture for sitting.  Eventually, Ahmed did go get a chair, presumably from a neighbor, for Lillian.  A great deal of respect is offered to Lillian since she is elderly.  Dinner was spread out on the floor for us.  There were chicken legs (Ahmed’s three year old son Ali calls them chicken lollipops), chicken and gravy, and chicken biryani along with rice, dal, and chapati.  It was all really very delicious!  I am pretty sure his wife Noor Janh (not sure of spelling — pronounced “Noorja”) bought new dishes and glasses for the dinner; the glasses still had stickers on them.  His family was there — some sisters, a brother, and his mother — but none of them ate while we ate.  It seemed paramount to them that we eat our fill before they considered touching any food.  While we were visiting, a stray cat walked in and just sat by the door.  When Ahmed started to put food out, the cat crept closer and started to mew.  I am certain that cat wanted some food, but Ahmed shooed her out.

While we were there, Ahmed showed us pictures of his daughter Masooma (sp?) from when she was a baby.  He also showed us pictures from his wedding as well as the video.  I can tell you two things for certain: one, the flowers were exquisite and extravagant; and two, Noor Jahn had on some of the most beautiful clothing I have ever seen.   American brides talk about wanting bling; trust me, they don’t have bling compared to what Noor Janh had!  She was a vision in flowers and sparkle.

I would be lying if I said that the experience wasn’t a bit on the surreal side.  While his home was in what we in the U.S. would call a slum, it was clean and comfortable, and he had electricity, running water, a TV with a DVD player, a refrigerator, and a recently purchased washer and dryer.  In some ways, he lives better than the poor in our country, yet in some ways he is worse off than the poor in our country.  While I was not uncomfortable in his home (except for being old and fat and not the most graceful getting down on the floor or getting up from it, either), I was struck by how differently he lived from me.  I will return from this trip not taking one single thing in my life for granted.  Not my home or car or possessions or family or friends or pets.

Ahmed was apologetic, saying he has a small home, but I can tell you that his home might have been small, and it might have been sparse, but it was filled with a family who went out of the way to make us feel honored and welcomed there.  Tonight was proof positive that someone absolutely does not have a home based on the material things in the house or the size of the house or the appearance of the house.  It has everything to do with the people who fill it, who are proud of where they live and want their guests to be welcome in the house.

Sitting on the floor at Ahmed’s house.

Our dinner

Getting a kiss (actually a little nibble) from Ali.

Leaving Ahmed’s village.

Leaving Ahmed’s village.

Delhi is different from Mumbai. Less traffic, less children coming up to the car windows at intersections, less litter, fewer dogs, more cows, more monkeys.

People want to have their pictures taken with us in Delhi and Agra. I got stopped at the airport by a couple today, each of whom wanted their pictures taken with me. We have all been stopped more than once for this.

There are cows in Delhi, but even more in Agra. And monkeys. And goats. And camels. And at least one elephant.

I feel like my blonde hair sticks out so obviously here. Sometimes when we are out someplace we get separated from each other. People will get in between us. I can’t believe that people haven’t figured out that we are together. We get stared at a lot. I just find it hard to understand what makes us novelties. I see Indian people in he USA all the time and I don’t stare. Can’t figure out why we seem so unique.

I love the clothes that Indian women wear. They are so,light and comfortable looking. The colors are vibrant and bright. The fabrics are gorgeous. While I adore many of the sarees I see, as much as I want one, I don’t see myself getting much use out of one. But the other outfits I see often, called kurtas or kurtis, I believe, I would wear the heck out of those! They are on my to-buy list before I leave.

We had a CRAZY driver in Delhi and Agra. He drove so fast and weaved in and out of traffic, passed on the other side of the road, and was constantly on the horn. The 4 1/2 hour drive from Agra to Delhi today was harrowing. My jaw hurt from clenching my teeth. He drove recklessly. There is no other way to describe it. I found myself wondering why what would be considered downright dangerous at home was acceptable here. Ahmed is an aggressive driver, but he is not crazy like this guy was.

The Taj Mahal is beyond description. If you’ve ever seen the White House, then you know how surprised you were to see how small it really is in comparison to how big you thought it would be in reality. Well, the Taj is that in reverse. You probably think it’s relatively small, but it is more massive that you can imagine! It is a mausoleum Shah Jahan built for his favorite wife, Mumtaz, whom he loved very much. They married when she was 19. They had 14 children. Only 7 survived. She died at age 39 during childbirth. Before she died, she asked three things of her husband. One, hat he not marry again. Two, that he take care of the children and her family. And three, that he build a monument as a testament to how great their love was. It took 22 years to fulfill the third part of her request, but the Taj Mahal was built as that testament. When Shah Jahan finally died, he was also buried there next to her. They are there to this day. It’s actually quite a romantic story, and an experience I will never forget.

My father and I at Moonlight Gardens with the back of the Taj Mahal behind us.

Today I toured Delhi and New Delhi. That’s the first thing I learned: the difference between the two. Nw Delhi is significantly younger than Delhi, being established by the British when they took over. Old Delhi, or just Delhi, is the original part of the city.

Generally speaking, I find Delhi to be much different from Mumbai. Yes, there is traffic, but it appears to be less congested. Yes, there are many people, but it seems to feel less crowded. Yes, there is poverty and litter, but the poor people don’t seem to be as obvious as in Mumbai, including less visible slums, less litter, and there are even fewer stray dogs.

Delhi does have monkeys, though, which I have not seen in Mumbai. I have decided I like to see monkeys from a distance. We (my father, our tour guide Ashish, and I) had stopped so I could pull some rupees from an ATM. While walking to the ATM, I heard loud screeching and crashing around in the trees above me. I couldn’t place the sound; it didn’t sound like any of the birds I had heard thus far. Suddenly, three monkeys came scrambling down from the trees while many others remained scuttling about in the branches. To say I was stunned would be an understatement. I grabbed my phone to take pictures, entranced. These were wild monkeys, right here in front of me, in the middle of a crowded city. One of the large guys charged toward me, kind of screeching/hissing and baring his teeth. I freaked. I had no idea what to do. Sould I stand still? Should I slowly back away! Should I turn and run? I glanced at Ashish, who also looked somewhat alarmed. He told me to come up the steps by him. I did, but the monkey charged at me again. I ducked behind a wall. I had visions of being attacked by a monkey and having no one know how to stop it. After getting my money from the ATM, I was ale to snap a few more pictures of the monkeys while they were otherwise occupied, but I definitely kept my eyes open, especially in the trees above me, as we walked back to the car. So if I have to tell someone of a unique experience, now I can tell about when I was charged by a monkey in Delhi.

Another unique experience was asking to have my picture taken. Multiple times today, Dad, Brenda, Lillian, and I were stopped by Indians, both young and old, asking if they could have their pictures taken with us. We always complied. One family even put their very young baby in Lillian’s arms for a picture. Can you imagine an American stopping a stranger and placing her baby in the arms of that stranger? I finally asked Ashish about this after the 4th time it happened. He explained that we were almost a novelty. These people were from other parts of India and have heard that tourists come to India and have seen images of tourists on television but didn’t know they truly existed. So we were proof and they wanted their pictures taken with us. Many times, they were drawn to Lillian, especially the people with young children. Ashish explained that the elderly bring blessings. It was strange to be stopped by total strangers to have my picture taken with them. It’s even stranger to think these photos might be floating around the Internet and I have no clue where they are at!

My final rumination on Delhi comes as a result of visiting the location of Gandhi’s cremation. It is a beautiful site, full of sacredness and peace. I am admittedly ignorant about much related to him. I learned his name was Mohandas but his followers called him Mahatma, which means “great soul”, if I am remembering correctly, which he objected to, but it stuck. Even Ashish referred to him as Mahatma Gandhi. His work started in South Africa when he experienced discrimination personally due to the color of his skin. I am inspired to learn much more about him as a result of what I learned today.

Tomorrow I travel to Agra, which used to be the capital of India until Shahjahan moved it to Delhi. In Agra, I will see more of Shahjahan’s legacy when I visit the Taj Mahal.

Namaste, all.

Monsoon has apparently started early in Mumbai. Looks like I will be touring that city in rain for the rest of the trip. C’est la vie. It’s still quite amazing.

I have noticed that security is very, very tight in Mumbai. It clamped down all over India after the 2008 terrorist attacks. When we go to hotels, the car is inspected for explosives and bomb-sniffing dogs are used. The doors are opened and the car checked out. We have to go through bag checks, metal detectors, and wanding before entering the hotel. Interestingly enough, women are screened in a separate line, behind a screen, by another woman. Also, at the airport, all my carry on items, including my umbrella, were tagged. After they were screened, the tags were stamped. Before I got on the plane, my bags were inspected for the stamped tags. One guy didn’t have a tag, so he was not allowed to board until he had his bag checked, tagged, and stamped.

Delhi is in some ways quite a switch from Mumbai. It is way hotter, and it is very dry. No monsoon yet. It is cleaner, and while there is traffic, it is not at all as heavy as Mumbai traffic. But it is still the same in that there are still homeless people and stray dogs and traffic laws appear to be non-existent.

I am at a very nice hotel in Delhi called The Imperial. Here is their website. It is the nicest hotel I have ever stayed at. There is a Chanel shop in the hotel, to illustrate the level of luxury here. But no free wifi. Wish I understood why the cheap hotels offer free wifi but the expensive ones don’t.

Tomorrow: Delhi!!!

The lobby at the Imperial Hotel.

India Gate.

Today we went with our tour guide Meryl to see south Mumbai. I have learned that the part of Mumbai I saw today is like the “original” Mumbai, and where my dad lives and works in called Navi Mumbai, which means “New Mumbai”. So, as Ahmed told us, “Two Mumbais!”

Got to see really crazy jammed up traffic today. But what strikes me about the traffic, besides the fact that I am still incredulous that we haven’t been in an accident or even seen an accident, is that what would cause utter gridlock on the streets of the United States seems to work for Mumbai. There are no lines on the road and few traffic signals. In fact, more than once today I saw Ahmed stop for a red light as well as drive right through a red light. How can he tell when to run the light or not is anybody’s guess.

Got to see out first cows in the street today. I admit, I thought it was weird, too, when I heard about how cows are revered in India. They are not worshipped, to set the record straight. As my father explained to me, cows are seen as much more useful to man alive than as meat on the plate. They can nourish us with the milk they produce, and they can do hard work like pull wagons or help plow fields. They are so useful in the eyes of Indians that they are revered. I see their point. However, before I ever think of chuckling over the cows, I will remember this:

India, at least Mumbai, is an amazing mix of cultures that all seem to live together in relative harmony. Hindus, Muslims, Christians — and all religions in all their various breakoffs and sects — live in Mumbai, and there seems to be acceptance of those people. You will see people dressed in traditional Indian attire like saris (or is it sarees) but you will also see people in all the garb associated with their religion and/or culture, including Christians, including westerners like me (my blonde hair and fair skin has never felt or looked so out of place). Nobody bats an eye at me as I walk among the crowd. I am just another person. And I like that. It’s the way it should be. I am quite impressed with how cosmopolitan Mumbai is.

We spent some time at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel today. There is a memorial there for the people who died in the terrorist attack there in 2008. Meryl, our tour guide, told us she was in college when that happened, so she remembers it well. She described it as “hell.” She spoke about the events of those days in ways I think we all could understand. She recounted the events using the same words and feelings we all use to describe 9/11. I remember the attacks in Mumbai but admittedly not well. Here is a link to the Wikipedia article about it if you’d like to learn more or refresh your memory.

Tomorrow I travel to Delhi. I get to fly domestic coach in India. This should be a unique experience! I am also looking very forward to seeing another part of India.

A memorial at the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel for people who died in the 2008 terrorist attacks.

Gateway of India.

Traffic so thick and jumbled, you don’t understand how complete gridlock can’t be the only result.

Places that people call home made from scrap metal built on piles of mud and garbage.

Men stopping on the side of an extremely busy road to relieve themselves. At least their backs are turned to the traffic.

Children on the side of the road in no clothes. Or if they are wearing clothes, sitting by the side of the road in such a way to show that they are not as fully clothed as I am (read: no underwear).

Stray dogs everywhere, always on the prowl for something to eat, sometimes with their ribs showing, sometimes not.

Things you can’t unsee, and you can’t express, only experience.

A homeless dog lies on rocks and garbage.

A man dressed in a pink sari disguises himself as a woman and begs on the street.