finding bright sides

When there is one small problem, it's usually followed by a herd of others and optimism is easier preached than practiced. Five minutes before I was supposed to leave for work, we called the cab company and they told us a mechanical breakdown would prevent them from coming. Work is an hour away in normal traffic, and I needed alternate transport, fast.

We called cabs and cars for a good hour and a half before finally one pulled through. I reached work late and paid double what I usually pay for a car that was nicer than usual by a small margin. Small irritations followed by more.

I worked on a spreadsheet at work today chronicling all government schemes related to water and sanitation, their activities and efficacy. It's satisfying busy office work and I like it, but I'm glad I'll be done with it tomorrow and on to more analysis!

Because I had arrived at work late, I left at 6:30, staying an hour longer than usual. The cab driver, who had promised to be waiting, was not there. The office closed in half an hour and I was a great distance from home on a slowly darkening street standing next to a security guard with whom I shared no common language.

Standing there I noticed this beautiful bookstore across the street, as well as a small women's health and fitness center. I'll have to come early one day and check them out...

Instead of calling another cab and waiting another hour for it to arrive, I hailed a passing auto rickshaw. The driver was entirely unwilling to take me as far as home, but I offered to pay him far more than the regular price (still less than the price of a cab) so he consented. I knew it would take me longer and that the ride would be less pleasant, but it was the lesser of two evils. And I didn't regret it at all! Autos are frightening sometimes in a 'grab on to your seat and start believing in God' kind of way, but they're also more fun than cabs.

Photo courtesy of Joanna Schneider

In cabs, you're bubbled in. Windows rolled up, stale air and everything safely behind a screen. In an auto, a tiny three-wheeler without doors, I feel like I'm part of this great parade, somehow together with everyone else in autos and on motorbikes and walking along the street. Everyone is curious about the other people in this parade and looking out from the auto there are eyes peering at you from the next rickshaw and you peer back, wondering about their life.

We were halted in a mini traffic jam and my auto driver turned around to ask me directions. As I was giving them, the man on the motorbike next to us turned to listen and when I was done he leaned in and smiled and told me he lived nearby (strange anywhere but India).

This driver was such a character. He was a tiny man barely bigger than me, and he loved that his vehicle didn't have doors because it meant he could spit merely by turning his head. The weak little auto had no other redeeming qualities. It protested gassily the entire way home and once, stopped completely so that we were standstill in the middle of surging traffic. Luckily he got it started again.

But this spitting, he had down to an art. He sat permanently tilted to the right, hunched and always ready to coax up saliva. When he spat, it was a dark brown that looked sickly to me. We pulled up next to another auto at one point though, and he chatted with the other driver before passing him a wad of chewing tobacco and then I knew where the brown spit came from.

On the route from work to home, I pass St. John's Hospital, where I was born. It is the smallest thing but every day I think about how the road I'm driving on is the first road I ever rode along, from the hospital to home, years and years ago and the thought always comforts me.

Across the street from St. John's is a small slum of only 4 dwellings, each barely larger than a port-a-potty. They are made of corrugated aluminum siding and filled with far too many people and on top of each is a large dish so they can watch quality television. I tried to get a picture but it was dark...

I held tightly to my bags in the auto, because I remember once when I was about 8 years old and had a bag of books with me in a rickshaw in the rain. The books fell out along the way and the childhood disappointment stayed with me. Since then I'm always paranoid about everything just falling out on the roadside.

Upon reaching home, the auto driver demanded more than we had initially agreed upon. It was dark and he stopped a little bit away from the apartment, surrounded by other auto drivers, and there wasn't really a safe way for me to disagree. Cost-wise it didn't matter too much- it ended up costing the same as a cab, but I hated the feeling of being put in an uncomfortable situation to force me to give up the money that I was planning on giving him for his trouble anyways.

In other unrelated news,
Why You Should Care About Cricket

My dad emailed it to me earlier and it's fantastically written, and explains the allure of the sport well to those who don't have a love of wickets in their blood.

AND, you should all read a book called "Banana"- if you've heard about the books 'Sugar' and 'Salt', Banana is similarly about the history and conflict surrounding the fruit. We have this teeny tiny bananas here, barely two inches long, and they're absolutely delicious. And the book is fascinating.

In summary, today was all about finding bright sides for me. Here I am with some inexplicable bug bites on my foot, my whole day spent at work and miserable transportation drama. But I got to be a part of this tremendous road conversation that is India, noticed so much, had great food and plenty of material to post today. And then I got to come home to Joanna and my family for lovely comfortable times!

Note: the sink was leaking, so we called a plumber to change the pipe fittings. He removed our pipe, discovered he didn't have the right pipe fitting and left...without replacing our old pipe. So now you turn on the tap and the water comes right out the bottom of the sink! That's an adventure. Also, Indian Listerine has twice the sting of the American version, and I swear it can't be normal for it to hurt that badly...

I also got to skype with Jamie, which was so great, and blitz some amazing friends from home, making me super nostalgic. Missing people is hard! My love and thoughts are with everyone.

the country comes to a standstill

Today is the day of the big match between India and Pakistan! Pakistan hasn't been able to play in the Cricket World Cup for many years now because of prior rules violations so now they're back with a vengeance. India and Pakistan haven't played each other in 20 years. Now here we are facing one another in the semifinals and I think it is pretty needless to say that emotions are running high.

The morning at work was fun; I finished my first assignment and am working on something new. During lunch, the conversation revolved around marriage. I am the youngest in the office to my knowledge, and next youngest is a 21 year old girl from Delhi. Everyone was asking her when she would be married, in a joking way, but with an element of honesty. They joked about how her father would marry her to a nice North Indian boy but would definitely never permit her falling in love with a South Indian. Laughter all around, but I wonder how much truth was in those statements. Anyways, the girl assured them she won’t get married until she’s well settled in her job and that when she does start thinking about marriage, hers will be a love match (where she meets the boy and falls in love herself and then tells her parents).

After lunch, productivity plummeted as match time drew near. At 2:30 everyone gathered in the conference room as before, ready with snacks and glued to the projector. This time it was astonishingly difficult to find a video that would stream the match without interruption - when one billion people are all watching the same feed the stress on the system is remarkable.

I left work earlier than usual, around 5, and the match was still going on. It was literally the shortest ride I've had from the office to home because the entire country was off the roads and in front of a screen. The cab driver for today asked me if I was the CEO in my company. First a film star, now a CEO. And I got kicked out of the teen’s section at Fabindia with a gentle “these clothes are too young for you”. Since when do I look so old? I got a nice glimpse of Bangalore without traffic- we stopped for pedestrians and obeyed all traffic signals. It felt strange.

Every store we passed with a television inside was crowded with young men standing around tensely. Manchester United Restaurant and Bar had their flat screen set up facing the glass window and faces were pressed so tightly against that glass...

I watched part of the match at work and then came home to continue watching with Kumar Mama and Nani. Joanna wasn't back yet so Kumar Mama and I went out to go to the grocery store because I wanted to buy Bournvita. This is a great chocolaty powder that I used to stir into milk as a child (more often, I would eat the powder plain). We also got mango pulp so I can make lassi sometime!

At home, we met Joanna and the three of us went back out again to Garuda Mall, to visit Westside and buy some kurtas for my Laxshmi Auntie. Kumar Mama was so sweet and bought Joanna and I a kurta each as well.

I read in The Hindu (a national Indian newspaper) today that Bangalore’s city government, the BBMP (Bruhat Bengaluru Mahanagara Palike) is banning all hookah and shisha bars in the city for fear of the illicit activities thought to take place in them (drug trades, for instance). The youngsters are, needless to say, less than pleased. Hookah bars are popular hangout spots and I have gotten to see two of the popular ones myself. I think it is great that the youth have a young, modern place to hang out and feel comfortable especially given the restrictions placed on street life. Perhaps they could find a way to regulate the hookah bars to make them safer? To close all seems extreme and unnecessary especially because the reason given was that they “are not part of Indian culture”. I-phones aren’t either and neither is Chinese food or cigarettes but all three have found a willing market in this country.

Outside the apartment we can hear the boom of firecrackers. People are already celebrating India's victory (preemptively). It is the second inning and Pakistan is at bat. I'll keep you posted.

the family is back!

Today Nani and Kumar Mama arrived home from Madras! They didn't come til lunchtime, so we still managed breakfast on our own. Barely.

I had put the coupons for milk and curds in a bucket outside the door, copying our neighbors, and this morning opened the door to find many more packets of both than I had anticipated. Apparently I didn't understand the coupons. I braved the gas stove to boil one of the milk packets and made tea for Joanna. I didn't get a chance to make any for myself or even eat breakfast because I took so long in the shower and getting ready!

I did pack tiffin lunches for both of us though! Joanna was still asleep when I left and I read my Chetan Bhagat roadside book in the cab on the way to work. I was tired today for some reason, so less willing to be productive but it was, as usual, a fun day!

I'm getting to know people in the office well, which is nice, and am totally addicted to the amazing Bangalore coffee they bring around twice a day.

It is nice to have Nani and Kumar Mama back! The apartment feels so homey! They brought pooran poori back  from Madras, a dessert that I love (kind of like sweet chapati...like lentils and sugar and then made into a flat bread). Jo and I played bananagrams while they went to 4th block to do some shopping. They came back with tons of fruit for us, and my favourite-

POMEGRANATE. It has been so long since I've eaten any and now I'm happily gorging myself on the best fruit in the world (save mangoes). We're watching Sri Lanka play New Zealand in cricket, but mostly just in anticipation for the great India-Pakistan showdown tomorrow.

Today has been pleasant and quiet, a welcome change from constant action.  I feel like we're really settling in here, which is great! And soon we'll go find an adventure again.

28 march-feces at work

Today was Monday, and I was back to my weekday routine. I woke up at 6:30 and showered, but then got all wrapped up in this sensational pop culture novel (one of the ones we had bought from the roadside bookstall) and totally lost track of time. The novel is "2 States" by Chetan Bhagat and it is a typical Indian love story about a boy and a girl whose families don't approve of their love.

So I ran out of time to make breakfast but Jo sweetly shoved a bowl of oatmeal in my hands as I walked out the door and I ate on the way to work, balancing the food on my knees so I could read at the same time (seriously- it's THAT good).

WARNING: 'SHIT'TY CONTENT AHEAD.

Vishwanathan has a beard and flowing curls and looks like how I would imagine a yogi to look, only much, much taller. He is an expert in the field of eco sanitation and came to the office to give a talk about his work. Basically we spent an hour and a half talking about the logistics of...shit. I learned so much about sanitation in India! As usual, I'll just give you the highlights.

Firstly, there isn't an effectively organized sanitation system in Indian cities. Are you shocked? I didn't think so. In the centres of cities, most households are connected to the UGD (underground drainage system). Waste from domestic toilets gets sucked into a network of underground pipes leading to a collection tank where it composts in peace. This system is questionable as apparently there are places where water and sewage pipes cross. And so foreigners don't drink India's water.

Moving closer to the fringes of the city, households have septic tanks. These tanks need to be emptied and the job is done by sewage trucks. The trucks could take the waste to a waste water treatment facility, but there are a few problems. The facilities in India don't have the capacity to deal with all the waste that comes to them. In order for the treatment plant to agree to take the waste for processing, it has to undergo certain tests. These tests cost money and they take 36-72 hours to conduct. In that time, the sewage needs to be stored somewhere. Otherwise, many trucks are out of service just holding their sewage and waiting for test results. Obviously this is economically unsound and as a result truck drivers don't follow the system.

Instead, people pay the sewage trucks money to collect waste from their septic tanks. The trucks take the waste and dump it on farmland. Farmers like this arrangement, digging large pits to accommodate the raw sewage, because once it dries they can use it as manure.

Fun fact- apparently human feces result in a manure twice as effective as the farmland variety!

Where government inefficiency existed, the market created an innovative alternative. It isn't a perfect system, though. Dumping raw sewage on all of the food produced for India just cannot be a perfect process. Without separating the urine (containing nutrients) from the feces (containing pathogens) all of what a treatment facility would have removed gets dumped on the food. Farmers open outlets between sewage pits and open water sources to get rid of the sewage water...dumping it into the fresh water sources.

The interesting part of the system is how well it makes use of human waste in a back-to-nature cycle of waste and consumption. It helps consumers and corrects for a market inefficiency. However, the lack of regulation leads to noteworthy health and environmental concerns.

Vishwanathan also talked about traditional harvesting systems in rural villages. In other words, large water wheels turned by the power of bison walking in a circle, bringing up water from a well to a trough for community use. These traditional water systems have some remarkable engineering designs, and are a great option to turn to in drought-ridden areas. Even if preserved solely for the sake of eco-tourism, they are an important way farmers can generate revenue for themselves.

OKAY, NO MORE SHIT.

I am so happy I'm working with this organization. I have so much fun every day and the people are astonishingly friendly and welcoming. I ask endless questions and am sure my inquisitiveness is trying, but all of my queries are answered thoroughly and with thought. I had forgotten lunch in the hurry of the morning, but I gave the man who helps around the office some money and he brought me roti and sabzi and dahl from a local restaurant. Delicious.

The rest of the day passed in great conversation with the other intern. She studied at a rural university in Tamil Nadu and as part of a class on rural lifestyles, used to travel to villages around the state surveying villagers and educating them on government schemes that could help them. We talked about the domestic abuse rampant in such villages. One woman she had met reported that her husband broke her hand with a wooden bat when she refused to hand over her daily wages.

During her travels, she saw instances of abandonment, helplessness and child marriage. There were cases where parents contracted out their children for labour. The daughter, as young as 7, will be sent out to work as a maid in some large house, treated well or badly at her employer's discretion.

Villagers know little about the government schemes they can access for funds and assistance - this ignorance is one of the biggest issues preventing the alleviation of rural poverty. Then there is the colour TV phenomenon - villagers are exploited for their votes or their services, but the instances when they are truly helped are rarer. There is segregation between castes in villages, and each caste goes to their own place of worship. Intermarriage, even interaction is taboo and politicians provoke inter-group tensions as a means to garner support.

Conversation was long and interesting, but I can't go on forever in these blog posts so with that taste, I'll move on. The cab ride back today was the longest I've ever suffered through. My driver was named Mohan and maintained a running and increasingly one-sided conversation throughout the two hour drive.

He imitated Americans and Europeans ( I couldn't help laughing ) and displayed an impressive knowledge of American trivia, punctuating his Hindi with "Barack Obama", "Arnold Schwarzenegger", "Serena Williams", "big money" and more. He asked me so much about America and my life, and even attempted to teach me some Kannada.

Interestingly, he also asked me if I was married, if I would consider marrying an Indian man, told me that I looked like a Kannada film star. I would have been more flattered had I not been hot and tired in Bangalore traffic. I find people so interesting though, and it was definitely memorable.

I was irrationally worried that we wouldn't make it home for some reason, but we did and I spent the rest of the evening reading and blogging with Jo. Today has been wonderful once again and I can't wait for tomorrow!

27 march- i miss...india?

After the trippy wild-west dinner from last night, Joanna and I discussed our mutual feeling that it was off-putting to try to do America while in India. We're not yet sick of street noise and spicy food, of haggling and auto drivers. Air-conditioned cars and fancy Western restaurants are a luxury to be saved for the future. But our weekend wasn't over.

I slept in until a glorious 7:30 AM! Joanna suggested we go to Fitness One, a local gym. Joanna had been to this gym before and she warned me that no one she saw there was wearing shorts. I certainly was not going to go work out in pants. So I compromised with long shorts and a t-shirt, and Joanna decided she would embrace the whole tank=n=shorts rebel foreigner look. We covered up our scandalous attire with respectable street clothes. Once more, sort of expressly against orders, we left the apartment alone.

Jayanagar was peaceful and pretty in early Sunday morning light. There were a few fruit sellers unpacking wares and the sounds of the day lazily beginning in multiple households at once. To avoid the metro construction, Joanna led by an alternate route and somehow we got lost. We traced back our steps and tried again and finally, hot enough from just the walk, we found the gym. I was hoping to get the same deal Joanna got for a 15 day pass but her 'man on the inside' wasn't at work and the employees present made a show of calling the manager and stating the official, inflated price to me. I bargained for a free trial day and we headed off to the locker rooms.

I did my best to keep up with Joanna and it was a lot of fun to go 'gymming' as the employees called it. Women were definitely in the minority there. Pleasantly tired, we walked back to the apartment. While Joanna showered, I stood and stared at the gas stove.

I would hazard a guess and say that 60% of the warnings I have been given about India concern the gas stove. I knew how to work it in theory- turn the valve on the tank, turn on the gas, light it, turn down the heat, turn it off properly once done...but that very moment, as I stood there staring at the stove, my mother called and warned me about 5 more times.

So I called Shruthi to come supervise while I boiled the milk. At night, we leave a bucket outside the door with coupons inside for milk and curds. the dudh-wallah (milk-seller) comes and leaves plastic packets of milk and curds corresponding to the number of coupons. Before we can drink it, the milk must be boiled and for that I needed the stove. Everything went without a hitch - cut open the packet, pour the milk in the vessel, heat, turn off, badabing badaboom...

Oatmeal was glorious. Shruthi's parents treated us to lunch again, this time at a Chinese restaurant. Chinese food in India is Indo-Chinese, consisting of much spicier versions of typical Chinese dishes. Joanna and I split a vegetable fried rice and some odd-tasting vegetable tempura. We even indulged in a mousse cake dessert with ice cream.

After lunch, we went with Shruthi to Forum, a large and popular mall in Bangalore. To enter the mall we had to pass through metal detectors and a bag search station: measures taken after recent terrorist attacks in Mumbai. Interestingly I walked right through the metal detectors without removing any jewelry or metal from my purse. I'm not entirely sure what they detect.

It gave me a headache to be in a shopping mall again. It was funny to look around and see signs in Kannada, and to note that the majority of stores sold Indian clothing. But the confined spaces and crowds of shoppers just didn't appeal to me and I longed to get back outside. We met Atul and the four of us (a true gang now!) browsed Hindi movies, reminiscing fondly, before heading back out.

They took us to Mocha, another popular hookah hangout in the city. It was even cooler than Java City. We went to the roof, which looked almost Arabian with swaths of bright colours and secluded couches surrounded by curtains.

 Photo courtesy to Joanna Schneider

The masala chai was great and we talked for the majority of the time about relationships.

This is one area where there are stark differences between India and America. According to Shruthi and Atul, in India it is still not acceptable for two teenagers to date. To sleep in the same bed, even innocently, would be irreversibly damaging to one's reputation. They regaled us with horror stories about police brutality turned on young couples caught in public places. In some cases, the offending couple would be forced to marry immediately. In other cases, they were beaten or killed.

There is a big case in the Indian news now about a 15 year old girl who reportedly had an affair with one of the servants near her house. Both daughter and lover were murdered at the father's behest- an honour killing to prevent damage to the family reputation from a daughter pursuing someone of a lower station in life. In Shruthi's college, there are separate staircases for boys and girls. If a girl is caught going up the boy's staircase, the punishment is for her to stand at the bottom of the staircase for two hours each day where everyone can see her. The reasoning behind this is that she must have been seeking male attention to choose that staircase. (I'll go in to more detail about schools and punishments at the end of this post).

It is always so disappointing to me that even as India takes massive strides towards development and technology and economic growth, we lag so far behind in some basic social areas. Only 3-4 years ago in Bangalore people would beat up couples they found in public places. It is unreal.

Conversation shifted to American high schools. Atul and Shruthi wanted to know how Mean Girls-esque American schools really were. Were there cliques and popular kids? Were cheerleaders the queens as they were in movies? We answered as best as we could from personal experience and the differences were so interesting. In Indian schools, they assured us, while everyone has their close friends, everyone is comfortable talking to any other kid in their class. That is certainly not something that can be said about American schools.

After Mocha we came home, tired again after a long day. Shruthi's family invited us out to dinner once more and I went while Joanna stayed home to skype her family. This was by far my favourite restaurant for the weekend as (thankfully) it was Indian.

 Photo source: www.mumbaiker.com

It is called Angeethi and it is on the fourth floor of a hotel, open air with an amazing view out over rooftops of Bangalore. The restaurant is done up in an old dhaba style, so there is a thatched roof with old filmi posters hanging. The plates are wooden and the cups are copper, and menus look old and worn. The food was spicy but fantastic and my favourite was the dahi with boonda in it. (curds with tiny balls of soft dough...it sounds odd when translated but is definitely worth trying).

Conversation at dinner revolved around schools and punishment. Shruthi had told me that in her college, if a student answered a question wrong, they were made to stand for 2 hours either at their desk or in the corner. I told them this would never happen in America, and a long discussion followed. In school, she would be rapped with rulers and in 2nd grade was slapped for not understanding the directions of an assignment.

A teacher in Bangalore threw a wooden eraser at a child's head and the child died. Another student died from heat exhaustion because, late to PE, she had been made to run around the field in the sun for hours. Obviously schools aren't rampant festering hellholes of abuse, but the way students are treated is certainly inconceivable in an American schooling system.

We also spoke about politicians. There are many politicians in India seem to be backed by gundas, or thugs who bully opposition and wrangle votes out of the people. These politicians use the threat of their thugs to get their students into schools, win special favours ad basically manipulate society at their convenience. A sad instance of corruption in India.

Another way to win votes is with bribes, of course. Every rural villager in India has a colour television, though they may lack a steady source of food or income. These colour TVs are gifted by local politicians as a means to guarantee votes. I'll talk about this more in my next post.

Anyways, after Angeethi we went to ice cream and then on home. The weekend ended and after all of the American experiences we had, Joanna and I were glad we could return to mother India.

26 march - dress codes, cows and coffee day

I must apologize once more for the delay in posting and total lack of photographic supplements. You'll have to go to Jo's blog for those. I'm a photographing crisis. I'll just make up for it with descriptions I suppose...

Saturday morning I woke up as usual around 6:30 to see Nani and Kumar Mama off. They are spending a few days in Madras visiting relatives and traveling in and around the place my mother and aunt were born. Jo and I are alone in the apartment and it has felt so adventurous! After countless warnings from relatives and friends not to trust strangers, turn on the gas stove, go out on our own, lose money, forget to eat and let monkeys in to the apartment, we were wondering what we had in store for us.

Nani had made masala dosa (thin crepes with spiced potatoes inside) and chai for breakfast, so when Joanna awoke we heated them up and ate while planning our great day. We were going to go out with Shruthi (my oldest friend and neighbor) and her family, but their bathroom tiles broke and they had to go get new ones from some faraway shop. Unwilling to waste a beautiful free Saturday lounging at home, we called Peer Khan.

If I haven't mentioned him yet, he's an elderly Muslim man who drives one of the rickshaws that parks outside my apartment building. He's incredibly reliable and sweet, and has helped my family through a great deal in the past.

Photo courtesy of Joanna Schneider

Unfortunately he was busy, and we had been extensively cautioned not to go out on our own.

A brief tangent...
After spending three months in weather that crept down to literally -24 Fahrenheit, the heat and sun of summer months is a delight. The transition between seasons is joyous- jeans and down coats and snow boots are discarded for shorts and tanks and flip-flops. Mmm beachy...
Not so in Bangalore. A woman wearing capris is a rare sight in this city. In the mall (discussed later) we actually saw one or two sundresses and it was shocking! Standard outfits are salwar kurtas (loose pants and somewhat fitted tunic tops), churidars (legging style pants and a tunic top) or maybe jeans and a top. As a notorious jean-shorts lover, I have more of an issue with this dress code than Joanna.

We spoke to Shruthi and her friend Atul about appropriate clothing to get the perspective of an Indian girl and boy around our age. We were told that if we wore shorts/tanks, men would "rape us with their eyes". Totally graphic, creepy and unwelcome. By the end of week 1 I was out of all appropriate clothing. Thus one important objective of our Saturday outing was to purchase a wardrobe acceptable by Bangalore standards.

Back to the story....

I called upon my dusty knowledge of the city and decided that Joanna and I should go to Commercial Street, a long avenue lined with large shops and small stalls swarming with Indian shoppers and plenty of curious foreigners attracted by glimmering racks of bangles and lots of cheap shoes.

We walked out of the Jayanagar apartment. I was wearing my dorky little passport holder that goes around my neck so that I could carry my big bills under my clothing and keep only smaller ones in the wallet. We kept our purses close and I put on my glaring street face to put off any interaction. It's a nice scary visage I reserve expressly for such occasions.

We found an auto driver and I managed to communicate in Hindi and basically English with a strong Indian accent. It was a long drive but I got to see parts of Bangalore other than those I pass on my usual route to work. Autos aren't allowed on the one-way shopper friendly Commercial Street so we were dropped off at the corner and miraculously as always, crossed the mess of the street.

I was already tired from rickshaw fumes and ready to get out of the pollution so I pulled Joanna into the first store on the corner, a fancy jewelry showroom. Indian jewelry is remarkably ornate and it is always fun to pretend you can actually afford to buy something and to try on sparkly things. The last time I was in a fancy jewelry store in India, we were seated on cushions and offered glasses of hot chai. I was hoping for a repeat...but instead we were just shown diamond noserings and quoted prices.

My father and I had visited a store on Commercial called Fabindia during my last visit to India. I remembered its cool interiors and cotton clothing in soft tones, and decided that would be our destination. We hastily exited the jewelry store in search of this simple oasis in a flood of jingle jangle colourful loud Indian merchandise.

On the way, Joanna and I entered a store selling handicrafts and cloths. We wandered to the back of the store and were followed by an overeager salesperson. He immediately offered to show us bedspreads and to appease him, I consented. Just like the rug sellers I remember from a trip to Morocco, he pulled spread after spread from the shelves and unrolled them with a flourish on the floor, one on top of the other. All I could think about was how irritating it would be for him to roll them all neatly back up again.

They were beautiful and far too expensive, so I pointed to cushion covers (much more affordable). Joanna wanted to buy some as gifts for her mum and the salesperson promised me in Hindi that he would give me a very special price. He told us the silk covers would be 250 rupees each and then when Joanna selected four he quoted an overall price of 1450. Luckily Jo's mental math prevailed and she caught the scam, skillfully coaxing him to a reasonable price all on her own!

We walked all the way to the end of Commercial without having seen Fabindia. Standing confusedly on the corner, an auto driver approached us asking if we wanted a ride to MG. I told him no and he persisted, even getting out of his auto to follow me down the street and ask what shop I wanted him to drive us to. We went into a large clothing store to ask for directions to Fabindia and to shake off the irksome auto driver. Both goals were accomplished and we finally found the store we sought.

Catering to a pricier bunch than average Bangalore, Fabindia falls into that organic, back to simple values, bobo category of stores. Rough cotton clothing and simple cut shirts and pants stack the shelves and Jo and I were calmed by its contrast with the sequined, jewel toned and patterned Indian clothing overflowing in windows lining the street. While there, I texted Shruthi, who agreed to meet us at the Coffee Day on Brigade Road with her friend Atul.

I have never shopped in India without my parents and am slightly embarrassed to say the idea of putting together a salwar kurta or churidar (bottom, top and dupatta) in an attractive combination of colours and styles was truly intimidating. I enlisted the help of sympathetic salesgirls, explaining my pitiful parent-less plight, and they expertly tossed clothing into a teetering tower for my benefit.

Photo courtesy of Joanna Schneider

When we left Fabindia it was drizzling. Ambling through the wet crowds were the usual odd cows, mooing plaintively. I felt so sorry for them, wandering without owners, picking through trash, always in danger of becoming a road casualty (not that any Hindu driver would ever hit a cow). Jo and I wondered where they all came from and who they belonged to. No one really remembers the animals when thinking about all of the people, but animals in India have it rough sometimes. I made a mental note to always be sympathetic to bleating cows.

The first auto we found was driven by a sly young driver who sized up Jo and demanded 30 rupees to take us to MG/Brigade Road, a distance certainly not worth that price. I refused and we found an auto willing to take us for 20 (much more reasonable). He dropped us at the intersection of MG Road and Brigade Road, right in front of Cauvery Arts Emporium. This is a state-run store selling all manner of traditional Karnataka products, from sandalwood carvings to bidri boxes. [Bidri is a type of metal work- metal and silver inlays].

We were tired and wanted to sit, so we didn't explore Cauvery in favour of finding the Coffee Day as quickly as possible. There were obnoxious peddlers on the street in front of Cauvery who targeted Joanna, encouraging her to invest in a great new map or some shiny plastic toy. She was rightfully irritated by all of the unwelcome attention.

Coffee Day is like India's Starbucks-prices at the upper end, a trendy coffee spot where youngsters flock in droves for desserts, caffeine and loudspeakers blaring the new Britney album. It was like a little welcome taste of America. Jo and I split a veggie burger and sipped our bottled water while waiting for Shruthi and Atul.

Once they arrived we sat and talked for a while (Joanna and I split a brownie dessert that was out of this world- chocolate is a rare treat in our diet of spice and curds) and then left in search of a bookstore so we could replenish our mini libraries. We were going to go to Higginbotham's, a historic bookstore left over from British colonial times and recommended by my father. Before Higginbotham's, however, we happened upon two roadside booksellers with carts full of pirated literature for a fourth of the price and fighting a guilty conscience, we bought four books.

Atul and Shruthi wanted to take us to a hookah bar, apparently a popular hangout spot for Bangalore teens. The first one we went into was expensive, so we left and crammed into an auto, ending up at Java City. There was a shaded deck with tables and chairs and lots of lounging people. Every pair of eyes was glued to the tv broadcasting cricket. World Cup Fever.

We went upstairs for the hookah and settled into two couches facing each other with a low table between. The scene was dimly lit but comfortable and full of young people. We talked and got to know one another, and exchanged lots of cultural questions. After peaceful hours spent in this manner, we went home.

Shruthi's family had kindly offered to take Joanna and I out to eat. I was jarred by the experience of riding in a real car with working seatbelts and air conditioning. Bangalore traffic sounds were muted and it was oddly peaceful. I missed the hubbub of the streets. We ate at a steakhouse called Millers46.

This place was, to use Jo's phrase, "America on steroids". Wagon wheel in the window, waiters in shoulder padded flannel shirts, a placard that explained cattle roping and plastic bulls heads on the walls. The menus promised "Authentic American cuisine" just like they eat in the Wild, Wild West. I didn't enjoy the food because to be honest, I'm a masala dosa junkie and pasta is something I don't miss about America, but it was certainly an experience.

Dinner was long and when we got back to the apartment, I passed out immediately and slept like a log.

life is drama, man is player

I saw the title of this post painted on the back of a truck today. Indian version of "the whole world is a stage"?

There is so much I wish I had taken photographs of today, but taking pictures is so uncomfortable sometimes because of how obviously it brands you as a tourist here. You snap a picture of a cow wandering through traffic and invariably find everyone around you staring, wondering why you would waste a frame on the most mundane of daily happenings. As if you were clicking away at someone driving their car or buying food. I love being able to blend in wherever I travel and can do so especially well here, as long as my camera remains in my bag...

So today there are no pictures to accompany my anecdotes, apologies!

Work was fun as usual, and as usual I'll skim on the details so I don't bore away anyone reading. Today all of the main players in the organization came from around India to sit in on a review of the group's website conducted by two information architects. The advice was pretty standard - know your audience, tailor content accordingly. I never knew I could be interested in something as technical as information architecture but it is totally fascinating how much a website layout can affect the sort of audience attracted. For instance, apparently men like menu bars (a row of click-able headings) while women prefer drop-down menus. I don't know if that's true...I can't imagine anyone preferring menu bars over drop-down menus. But then, I am a woman...

Another recurring theme from my work is the unimaginable inefficacy of the Indian government. I have more than a healthy dose of national pride, don't get me wrong, and I love that the Indian government is welfare-oriented and so concerned with development. In fact nowadays the government has adopted a pretty behavior-oriented approach to development, that is, one that considers people's habits, beliefs and biases. It sounds pretty basic but from a policy-maker's perspective it is quite innovative. This is all sort of anthropology stuff, like you can't just give someone medicine, you have to make sure they understand why it is important that they take it regularly and appropriately, or even at all. And since the whole behavior and people side of things is usually the mantra of NGO's, it's great that the government has adopted the same outlook. Makes collaboration easier.

That being said, India has a long way to go. Here's a great example. The people who live below the poverty line as set by the Indian government are eligible for benefits from a plethora of schemes and programmes. Employment opportunities here, subsidies there. Sounds great. Simultaneously in an attempt to boost school attendance for girls, the government provided rurally poor girls with bicycles so they could get to school. Also great. Here's the great catch: there is a stipulation buried somewhere in the books that says if you own a cycle, you don't qualify as below the poverty line. Obviously you're not that poor if you own a cycle.

Interesting.

1) below the poverty line and the government will help you.
2) in an effort to solve another issue, the government gives you a bicycle.
3) now that you have a bicycle, you're not below the poverty line and the government won't help you.

I have more to say on that godforsaken mess that is Indian traffic...

A girl in my office today told me that yesterday after I left work there was a massive accident on the road in front of the office. Two men on motorbikes crashed into each other. Both slipped into unconsciousness. One bled all over the road and his face swelled up while the girl in my office held his head. A crowd gathered, an ambulance was called and the men were taken away. This girl was totally traumatized but apparently most of the bystanders comforted her with the words "it happens more often than you would think". I know I'm comforted...

Apparently 60-80 people die daily in car accidents in Bangalore. I mean, that's a secondhand statistic with no p-value (haha stats.) but while it may not be totally accurate, it is scary enough to merit repeating. And it is totally believable.

After hearing her story I was more agitated than usual during the cab ride home. Most drivers of cabs and rickshaws have little figurines and pictures of gods on their dashboard or windshield to keep them safe. But no one thinks of how much safer they'd be if cabs / auto rickshaws came with seatbelts or airbags. Or doors. Novel concept.

I always want to talk to cab drivers and find out about their lives, who they are, what they think of the city but I never really know how to start a conversation especially because most in Bangalore speak Kannada and that is an unfortunate language barrier between us. But today was serendipitous. There was a total halt in the flow of traffic and everything around us was at a standstill. All of a sudden people started knocking on windows trying to sell things, or just begging. I haven't seen any car-to-car vendors or beggars since coming to Bangalore- this was the first time.

These vendors, by the way, were selling something to 'keep you cool', a blessing in the sweltering heat. I got to watch a demo of this great product as the vendor marketed it to the driver in the car next to ours. Basically it was a large black square with suction cups on one side. So...not a fan. The driver in the next car rolled down his window and took one from the vendor who explained its method of use.

Apparently it was a windshield screen, a way to keep out the sun's glare, and it was made to be stuck on the window right in front of the driver's face. It was a solid black. Not transparent. The driver explained that he didn't want a solid black sheet suctioned in front of his face as he navigated through traffic- the sun being the lesser of two evils in this case, and the vendor got upset but eventually moved on to peddle his strange wares to other unsuspecting customers. Hopefully to none.

So back to the driver...what was serendipitous was the long halt in traffic and the presence of the beggars. The two circumstances together offered a great start to conversation in Hindi, a nice linguistic compromise. He told me I shouldn't give money to the beggars because at one traffic light they make at least 100 rupees and with five or six a day they make more than enough to live on. He told me that in Bangalore the government provides free food, a place to sleep, even sometimes clothing for the unemployed and so there is really no justification for begging. I wondered if these beggars couldn't access those facilities for some reason but the driver was adamant that they could. Oh by the way, his name is Natraj so I'll refer to him as such.

Natraj, after this initial breaking of the ice and offering of advice, was a veritable treasure chest of stories and anecdotes and great little chat. We passed a couple of hijras (drag queens- they originated in India, fun fact!) and he immediately rolled up the windows. "Madam, they are the most dangerous of all" he warned me. "if you don't give them the money they ask for, they won't just leave. They will spit on you or grab your wrists in a violent manner". I'm not sure how much I believe him but I wasn't taking my chances. He then spent some time pointing them out to me, "that one is a man, a hijra, but the one next to him is really a woman" as if it wasn't obvious! But sometimes it really was hard to tell.

He regaled me with tales of his many encounters with police bribery, told me about his village, his family, his desire to travel and even his thoughts on the tension between Hindus and Muslims. I came home feeling all warm and content in that way only great conversation can make you feel!

I got to talk to my mum on the phone today too for a longer period of time which was amazing!! And now Jo is back from her climbing adventures so I'm going to go hear about her day....

GOODNIGHT FROM INDIA!

24 march-ABCD

After this post, I'll finally be caught up to the present day!

Yesterday one of the men on the Grants Team told me he lives an hour away from work in the other direction, traveling daily from Vijayanagar. His advice was to leave early and arrive at work around 8:30 AM to beat traffic. I woke up easily, having knocked out the day before, and my uncle called the cab driver we've been using, Chini, to come. He got to the apartment around 8:05 and incredibly, I reached work in only twenty minutes. I was the first one in the office save the guard and the bayi (maidservant). They must have thought I was crazy for coming in that early- I just hadn't anticipated the total lack of traffic.

Where I work, the office culture is much more relaxed than what I'm used to. People stroll in anywhere between 9 and 10 and leave any time between 5:30 pm and 7 pm. Interestingly, there is no variation beyond these ranges. To leave at 5 pm or arrive at 8:15 am is decidedly odd.

Lunchtime is (surprise) proving to be my favourite time of the day. But not because of the respite from work, which I actually love, but because of the conversation. Most of the team brings food from home and all gathers around a small table to eat (I think I mentioned this in my previous post). There is a great mix of people from all over India, and that of course means many different languages, accents, experiences and foods.

The beautiful part of lunchtime is how all of these come together for funny little interactions and exchanges. Everyone swaps tastes of food so today for lunch I sampled groundnut chutney (a Bangalore special), idli (South Indian), ridged gourd (for which several different names were provided...but the bringer was Tamilian), roti (North Indian) and more. People jest with each other good-naturedly about their home states and ask what this word or that is in this or that language.

Today lunchtime conversation touched on alcohol, America, gun control , Indian food, prices, conversions, cricket and who knows what else.

One of the men on the team is very Christian and has never touched a drop of alcohol in his life. Another man was enjoying regaling him with tales of alcoholics and their doings. Apparently Indians love to eat very spicy food/snacks with their alcohol and I was informed that this is because of the oil and fat in spicy snacks that allows alcohol to digest faster. I was warned that sweet foods with alcohol would make one feel the effects very strongly.

Working class men, tired after a day of hard labour, may go into bars and without even sitting down they will "throw back a 90", hold out their hand for some nuts, rub down their muscles with a bit of the alcohol and go back out to work. I was a little confused by this image. A 90 refers to 90 mLs, and is an Indian (or at least a modern Bangalore) way to refer to the typical amount of alcohol consumed in one setting. A 60 corresponds to 60 mLs, a large, and a 30 to a small. Nuts, of course, are typical bar food. And the muscles?

Well this gets even more complicated. In Tamil Nadu, the southernmost state in India, liquor laws completely forbid the sale of out-of-state liquor. This means all liquor is state-produced and consequentially, really terrible stuff. In fact it apparently so nears the consistency of oil that it can certainly be used to rub down sore muscles...

So from alcohol we started on American drinking culture. They were amazed that there is drinking on college campuses - this is unheard of in India, where students are much more serious. This same Christian man in my office has an image of America as a dangerous place, where everyone owns a gun and alcoholism is rampant. So I was asked about gun control, and we talked a little about school shootings, and how Bowling for Columbine depicts the accessibility of weapons.

Income is another area where India and America differ considerably. A comfortable income in India might be lower middle-class in America, but of course prices are different as well...

Perhaps the most defining feature of today was the talk of cricket and then the match. It is currently the Cricket World Cup, being hosted in India, Bangladesh and Pakistan. If you're interested, it is streaming live at

http://www.espnstar.com/cwclive/

The quarterfinals match (India v Australia) was today, and I entirely underestimated the importance of such an event. I knew India loved cricket, but to what extent, I had no idea...

My colleagues were distraught at my total lack of cricket knowledge and confession that I have never in fact seen an entire cricket match. "Live??" "No...ever..." I then mentioned that I am vaguely related to Sachin Tendulkar (the David Beckham of cricket) and people went wild. With such a cricket legend in my family, how could I not know the first thing about the sport? I was labelled a total "ABCD", Indian slang for "American-born Confused Desi" something I've always prided myself on NOT being! I was after all, Indian-born. But apparently you can become ABCD. Hopefully you can un-become it too.

The game began at 2:30 PM and the office pretty much shut down after that. "Welcome to India" I was told, and everyone from CEO to cook went downstairs to the conference room where one guy had projected the game from his laptop to watch and cheer. My boss gave me a crash course in Indian cricket, gaping and tutting at my naive questions. Snacks were put out and coffee and tea brought around. Cricket matches go on for hours, so people came in and out or just brought their laptops down and worked while watching. There is a true obsession in Indian culture for cricket. Every Indian seems to know all the intricacies of the game in the way the English know their football.

Today was sweltering hot and after the excitement of the cricket match and a couple more hours of work, the cab came to take me home. This was my first true encounter with Indian rush hour traffic and boy, is it something. I cannot explain to you how I made it home in one piece but miraculously I did. Cars - no, not even cars, just moving THINGS were flying from five directions at once. There is no 'right-of-way', just free usage of horns and a shared overwhelming desire to creep into the smallest gaps ever to worm one's way forward.

The best part of this whole thing is that in the midst of this awful mess was a little white car just as obnoxious as the rest with a sign on the back:

For rash negligent driving or violation of traffic rules please call.

There was no number on the sign to call. A perfect representation of traffic in India.

I made it home so frustrated! I had had a great day, but one hour in that terrible traffic and I was moody as can be. And I'm certainly no fun when moody. But I settled down to more old family albums my grandmother showed me (yesterday she showed me all these old letters and cards I had written to her...so funny!) and wonderful conversation with my uncle who is full of stories to share.

We were talking about the development, corruption and government issues raised by the work I am doing at my internship. He told me how he was posted in Bihar and used to see mutilated bodies be carted away on the coal truck- likely people who had refused to participate in the intricate system of bribery on which the state runs. We talked about how Indians have so much intelligence, and so little organization, that things are never accomplished without unnecessary waste. German software engineers on the other hand, according to my uncle, are outstandingly meticulous, something that seems to be innate to their culture the way IST (Indian Standard Time) is to ours. IST in both the literal and metaphorical sense- India's time zone is actually Indian Standard Time and the phrase also refers to how Indians accomplish things at their own pace. If you want something by 8, you might very well get it by 9.

So that's about all today! There always seems to be too much to write but I guess the posts will get shorter as I get used to things and tire of commenting on the mundane...until then please bear with the length!

23 march-internship day 1

Yesterday was my first day at work...

The internship is in Indiranagar, a good hours drive from the apartment in nightmarish traffic. Joanna and my uncle accompanied me and the experience was quite off-putting for both of them! I don't mind the journey though, because there is always so much going on outside and the scenes are never the same from day to day, so it is like watching this never-ending play. Schoolchildren heading off for the day, animals on the road, people interacting, buying, selling, arguing and laughing. I absolutely love the amount of life and energy there is.

Traffic, for anyone who is unaccustomed to India, is an experience in and of itself. No one really obeys dividing lines and traffic signals are pretty unimportant. So cabs, trucks, bicycles, motorbikes, people and animals all sort of jostle for space honking for any and no reason and squeezing past each other in any way conceivable. Drivers text on the road or chat or talk on the phone and remarkably I have never seen a single car crash while in India. Driving is a feat of courage and skill. And yet people may still stand serenely barefoot in the middle of the street, watching the ground...



Bangalore is really a beautiful city when it's not crowded...



Several walls are painted with murals depicting Indian life and culture, and the tree-lined streets would be charming if you could ignore the pollution and rush of automobiles. We passed St. John's Hospital, where I was born, and NIMHANS, which is the National Institute of Mental Health and Neuro Sciences, a bustling hospital and research facility that is very famous in Bangalore.

After about an hour of traffic we reached a beautiful house converted into an office building, all orange brown with metal lattice work. in the front lobby, Jo and I glanced through some Indian newspapers -the front page headline for the Times of India was a quote from Warren Buffet: "I'm a retard for coming to India so late". A rather unusual headline for those used to the PC Western media.

I won't include names out of respect for people's privacy when talking about my colleagues.

My 'boss', the woman who hired me, was not in the office yet so another girl working for the Grants Team came to show me upstairs. The office is a large room with tile floors and desks along either wall.


There are about ten people on the Grants Team, 6 men and 4 women and all with such interesting stories. The day began with a 2 hour debriefing on everything the organization does and what the issues are in the area of rural water, sanitation and development. It is all totally fascinating, but I might save it for another blog post just so those who aren't intrigued don't have to wade through it all!

But some comments on the work day anyways...

The office building, in Indian style, it doesn't have air conditioning but compensates with open spaces, open windows and cool tile floors. A man comes around about three times a day bringing little free cups of chai or coffee to sip while you work (SO DELICIOUS)



The environment is very casual and friendly. Women, as seems to be the case in most of Bangalore, wear salwar kurtas or churidars to work, or Western clothing. The grants team all seems very close and they joke with one another constantly. Work is punctuated with small breaks when people tell stories or talk but everyone is serious, productive and totally passionate about what they do. I am the youngest in the office, the only one still in school, but everyone feels so young that it doesn't make a difference. They are all friendly, and an HR person in the office took me around to introduce me personally to literally everyone in the entire organization, including the CEO.

Lunchtime, everyone gathered around a table with food they had brought mostly in tiffins from home. There are also places around the office to order Indian food from. A man in the office comes around about three times in the day bringing chai or coffee or lemon water to whoever wants it. People kick off their shoes under their desks and everyone makes every effort to make me feel part of the team. I didn't even find out until today who the director of the team was - he acts just like everyone else!

After a full day at work, I took the cab back home. Jo and I talked about our days- hers was all over the place! She visited a market and several opportunities, and you can read all about it on her blog!

We all then went to the Bull Temple in Basavangudi, taking two autos. When we reached, we first went to the nearby orphanage where Joanna could potentially volunteer. The cute funny little man with spectacles in the office told her not knowing Kannada would pose a language problem while communicating with the children, so we took his leave and went on to mandhir (temple). The last time I went to the Bull Temple, it was groundnut festival in Bangalore. Bangalore is famous for its groundnuts and there were vendors with huge baskets full, and lots of flowers (phool) to string in the hair. This time it was evening and much quieter. There is an enclosure with a sleeping bull inside, and next to it a set of steps leading up to the main temple.

There are people loitering about, some sitting quietly, a priest down at the bottom breaking coconuts and blessing some people. Vendors are packing up their trinkets- little carved figurines, peacock feather fans, small boxes and makeshift wooden toys.

Before entering a temple or a house, it is customary to take off your shoes, usually sandals (called chappals). Here there is a man in a chair who tells us we may leave our chappals beside him. So we do, and go inside. The claim to fame for this temple is the larger than life black bull statue to which people pray.



We circle it once, stopping to pay homage to the deities placed behind the bull, and then leave. The man next to our chappals demands four rupees, a clever little gig if you ask me...

We then visit the Ganesha temple at the bottom of the steps. Because the Bull Temple is such a tourist attraction, on either side of the bhagwan statue are two metal bars and people stand in a row behind them and clasp hands before Ganesha. It is not my favourite way to pray...but anyways the priest comes down the row with a flame and a tray for donations. Then holy water is offered to all- you slurp some (always accept with right hand on top) and then run the rest through your hair. Outside the temple is a couple offering broken coconuts to visitors- if you offer something like 100 broken coconuts, a wish may come true. So, if seeking luck on an exam or blessings for a new marriage...

We then bought flowers from a vendor to string in our hair- one of my favourite things to do in India! Jasmine (mogra) is my favourite flower and scent, and the garlands exude such a lovely perfume. We found an auto for Joanna and Nani, and Kumar Mama (my uncle) and I waited for another. The man we found played a common riksha-wallah trick, taking a circuitous route back to the apartment to run up the meter so he could charge us more. When we reached the apartment, Joanna and Nani were waiting aside with Rashida, another childhood friend of mine who lives in our building. It was lovely to see her! She is studying medicine so works incessantly, and in fact had to study so couldn't hang out for long.

We ate dinner and I was so exhausted I slept immediately...

20 march - 22 march

I'm playing a bit of catch-up first! Yesterday was the first day I had access to internet, and even now only at my internship (I haven't set it up on my laptop for home yet...) so in the interest of keeping the blog complete I'll get everyone up to speed on everything so far.

For the next 2.5 months I am interning in Bangalore and doing a bit of traveling around India with my great friend Joanna! The idea was conceived in January and it seemed so far-fetched, but two days of travel and a good heaping dose of jetlag later, here we are. Joanna is blogging about her experiences at http://joannaschneider.travellerspoint.com/.

When winter term ended I went to Boston for a few days, then back to Houston to pack hurriedly and spend some quality time at home. My uncle flew in from Dallas, and I flew with him and my grandmother to Frankfurt airport on the 20th. I spent most of the flight reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, an incredible book by Junot Diaz which I recommend to EVERYONE, especially if you liked In the Time of the Butterflies...we met Joanna right before going through security, which was great timing! I love the Frankfurt airport and got to spend some of my leftover euros on an overpriced water bottle for Joanna that is getting daily use here in India!

Frankfurt to India is always my favourite leg to fly since the view over Eastern Europe and Iran is usually spectacular. This time it was pretty cloudy and since the weather was warmer there weren't dramatic ice sheets and cliffs to gape over. But, I had my lovely Asian vegetarian meal, a welcome change from plastic-tasting plane food. While Joanna slept, I had a good chat with the German man sitting next to me, working for a large software company that sent him traveling around the world. He was a trip, this large accented German man throwing back tonic waters for a good 6 hours, with cultural commentary on every place he had visited. Talking to people on planes always reminds me of Fight Club and that whole idea of single-serving friends.

The view flying in to Bangalore is my absolute favourite, all of the sprawling city lights are so representative of the dynamism on the ground!! So we reached Bangalore (Bengaluru as it's now called in an attempt to de-Anglicize India and consequentially make everything that much harder to pronounce) at about 1:30 AM IST. The moment I stepped off the plane I could smell that sandalwood musky India smell that I always miss when I'm not here...I was so impressed with our airport experience. Indian airports in my memory have always meant massive headaches, but everything was new and clean and moved so smoothly. I had warned Joanna extensively against public bathrooms but found myself pleasantly in the wrong! We saw a group of European girls with their massive packs for backpacking about and it seemed like such a great and adventurous idea.

We had a porter help us with our massive load of suitcases and strolled out into the wonderful warm Bengaluru air! We all stood around sort of hazily as several porters packed an unreal amount of luggage in and on top of the cab and off we went. The airport is quite a distance away but that afforded plenty of time to check out Bangalore without the overpowering rush of morning traffic to detract. And then home to Kumar Ashraya Apartments...



Because the apartment has been uninhabited for a year and a half, we hastily set up the back room for Joanna and I, with a large double-mattressed bed that we covered with some definitely musty sheets from a dark corner of the cupboard. I fell right asleep, but a combination of jetlag and unfamiliarity with nighttime Indian ruckus kept poor Jo awake til well past 5:30 AM!

I woke up in the morning and she regaled me with tales of dogs fighting and birds cawing, horns honking and the muezzin calling Muslims to prayer. Jo then fell asleep while I ate breakfast with my grandmother and uncle. Our neighbors had made us food since they knew we were tired and had not bought groceries yet and upon tasting it, we realized it would probably be too spicy for Jo! A rude introduction to Indian cuisine for sure. So my uncle and I went to Adigas, a local idli-dosa shop that my grandfather used to go to to bring back masala dosa as a treat in the mornings when I had visited India in the past.

Because of the metro construction in the area, Jayanagar (our neighborhood) traffic is suffering more than usual. Roads are narrower and the sidewalks are all broken up, a nice little obstacle course while walking anywhere. Adigas is this little sort of hole-in-the-wall place catering to a clientele of mostly students attending nearby Vijaya College. A boy near the front took our order and we carried the slip back to where the food was being prepared, behind a counter.

A boy will take the sheet, call back your order and ask you "parcel?" which means 'to go'. There are metal tables where people stand and eat, no chairs, but we said parcel because we were bringing it home to Joanna. Food is prepared swiftly and with somewhat questionable sanitation, but safe enough to eat. It is packaged in newspaper, plastic and banana leaves, neatly parceled and tied with string. I love the way it looks- I wish I could pack all my food in banana leaves!

We came home, ate again with Joanna and then took her out for her first real look at Indian streetlife! We went to a small currency exchange to give up our dollars for rupees, avoiding the state bank in order to get a better exchange rate. Then we went back home- it was pretty hot and time to rest.

The rest of the day was pretty relaxing- a man came by the apartment to deliver our Indian cell phones. Which by the way, is one of the strangest parts of being in India for me. Everything seems to just get brought to the apartment! Groceries, cleaning supplies, cellular phones, etc. is all just delivered by this man or that service. It is so oddly convenient.

Joanna and I played bananagrams on the floor and in all the excitement I spilled my chai all over the tiles!!! The first Indian mess. I did some of my Rosetta Stone- French! I hope to finish it by the time I leave India...that's a big goal...

Then I napped while Jo and my uncle explored some more, and in the evening met up with Shruthi, my oldest friend in the world and our neighbour. She came over and we chatted, and she met Joanna. It is so great how so much time can pass between our meetings and nothing ever changes between us. And teenagers worldwide are just strikingly similar- parental rebellion, going out, having a good time, school and relationships. She is almost done with college, a three year program, and will then begin getting lab experience (she wants to go to graduate school for biotechnology). The typical Indian education always leads to either engineering or medicine- even to suggest scientific research is to encourage heart attacks for family members worried about your future livelihood.

This makes the people at my internship all the more interesting...but I'll get to that in a future