23 april- goa.

Back in the bumpy awful sickening stomach-lurching oven-like car. This time at least, the ride to Goa seemed shorter. We were being driven by Dada Desai, a driver our family has used before in Konkan/Goa, and Sunil stayed behind this time. I asked to stop again for more salted watermelon (mmm) and then settled down to nap the sickness away, dreaming of Dramamine. The entry into Goa is stark. All of a sudden there comes this stretch of road where billboard after billboard assaults the eye with large English print on all sides. Are you in India?

You're in Goa, which is pushing it. Goa is the smallest state in India, the richest, and a haven for beach-loving alcohol-drinking club-hopping tourists from around the world. Unfortunately, this is also the season for blistering heat and thus off-season in Goa. From October through February beaches are crowded and parties are wild but in April, things were a little quiet.

Goa used to be a Portuguese colony, and the Western influence is evident in architecture and city design. Apart from the gorgeous white churches, streets are sometimes brick-laid, and buildings are decidedly European-looking, not to mention all signs are in English. We found our way to Colwa Beach, the biggest beach in Goa, and stopped to get directions. Where were we headed?

Well, my mum's school friend Rohit Anand owns a resort in Goa, and he had invited us to stay there for a discounted rate. Rohit Anand's directions included a lot of "and then you can just ask anyone and they'll point you further' so it was a very interactive ride to the hotel as we kept asking passersby for further directions. I was not sure what to expect about this hotel, but when we arrived I was blown away.

It is the Sea Mist Resort in Colwa, Goa if you're ever looking for a fantastic vacation experience. The moment we arrived we were greeted by Rohit Anand and his wife Anju. They were exuberant and very hospitable, immediately inviting us in for cool drinks and to come choose our rooms. Save one more room, we were the only customers of the resort because it was off-season, so we had our pick of residence. And residence it was. Instead of single or double bedrooms, each room was a complete apartment with kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, living room and terrace/balcony. Apparently most of his clients come for long term stays, from 1 to 3 months. What a dream!

We chatted about my mum's childhood with them, and after biscuits and cool drinks, they told us they were headed to a party at a spice farm the next morning! They invited us to join and we readily accepted.
The locks on the door were a little difficult and Dadi got locked inside hers and Nani's apartment/room, but luckily I managed to figure the door out!

Jo and I went for an evening dip in the pool, heeding a sign that reminded us not to wash our clothes in it. Rohit Anand and Anju had given us some tips for enjoying ourselves in Goa, and we had a wild night planned. We first headed out with Dada Desai to a nearby Indian restaurant to pick up dinner for Dadi. After bringing it back, we headed out again to Johncy's , a popular restaurant located right on the beach. We dined with sand between our toes, waves lapping in front of us. The woman seated at the table next to us was totally alone and looked so utterly content to be there...it's an odd thing to mention or even remember but the emotion was so starkly evident on her face.

One irritating part about the dinner was the amount of vendors that just came up to us while we were eating to peddle useless goods. Things that flashed and glowed and made noises. In Goa, everyone is a tourist (especially at a place like Johncy's) so no one is safe from vendor harassment. We had invited Dada Desai to eat with us, Dadi's request, and he ordered a veg biryani, while Jo and I pondered the menu. I opted for bindi (okra- lady fingers) and roti and dahi (curds), while Jo got her seafood fix with crabs and prawns. The restaurant next to Johncy's was located a very obvious 30 feet forward, meaning they were in fact closer to the seashore. They had a sign out front printed in large letters "you should be here". And they played live music and fireworks.

Luckily, such things are public goods and thus non-excludable and non-rivalrous. Pardon the economics. So we happily enjoyed their music and fireworks from our seat at Johncy's, toes in the sand. After a wonderful dinner, we got back in the van and headed to Margarita's. Margarita's is a young people's dance club that was recommended to us by Rohit Anand and Anju. We entered, and inside passed through four doors before emerging in a room with pounding music, trippy decor, and no inhabitants save some sketchy guys at the bar. So we left again. We browsed some nearby tourist stalls, and after a while, tried Margarita's again. No such luck, perhaps because the next day was Easter Sunday.

So, we ended the night at Colwa Beach, stepping into the water that was as black as the sky ( a very eerie sight ) before returning home. We fell happily asleep in a bed with a thick mattress under ...actual air conditioning. Unreal. 

22 april- paddle boat adventures and island forts

We awoke with even more ant bites. After chai, we all piled into the Omni (Sunil, the actual Driver, Nani, Dadi, Joanna and I) with a massive basket of food prepared by Dadi.

Nani gets just as carsick as I do, so I suggested we stop in a field so we could take a break from the winding roads and bouncing Omni and stretch our legs. Jo and I ran into the field close to the area farmers were plowing with their water buffaloes, and took pictures.

 JO IS SO PRETTY AND HAPPY :)

It felt great to be out in the open air in the rainforest, so far from the pollution of Bangalore. We came across a collection of flattened, drying dung patties used for fuel.

It reminded me of a book I had read about India when I was young called Homeless Bird by Gloria Whelan. It's a beautiful children's book about a young Indian girl forced by her family to marry, and then widowed young.  After observing the dried patties and playing with touch-me-nots, little ferns that close up when you stroke them (so fun!), we piled back in and were on our way.

We stopped next on a bridge to take more photos of rainforest and water expanses.

Finally, we came to a temple by a waterside where we ate delicious soft idli and chutney with plates and forks and napkins. It was the perfect place to eat breakfast, all lazy dogs and hazy air.

Down on the water, Joanna and I spotted an array of paddle boats and canoes and decided we wanted to go for a spin. No other customers were around, perhaps because of the heat, but we went and bought tickets for 25 rupees each (for 30 minutes). The man asked us if we could swim, had us sign a form entirely in Konkani and led us down to the boats. He showed us how to turn and assuring Nani and Dadi we would be safe, we sped off. Okay, more like inched off. Paddle boats are hard to 'speed' in.

We spotted a huge house tucked away in the trees on one side of the river bank and my head swam in envy. What a dwelling! On the other side, we thought we saw the top of a temple far up on the bank and decided we should explore. No one had told us (in any language we could understand) that we couldn't stop the boat anywhere, so we pulled up on a rocky bank and set out to explore. As we got out of the boat, we spotted a lone paddler heading our direction. We were initially worried that it was an employee coming to yell at us, but it turned out to be Sunil, dispatched as makeshift bodyguard in case we couldn't handle the sturdy paddleboats ourselves.

We hiked up to the hidden temple and took two small clay diyas (little lamps that you fill with oil and a cotton wick) as souvenirs. On the way down, Sunil showed us the cashew fruit. The cashew is the only fruit (besides the strawberry) where the seed grows outside the fruit. He explained that the juice from the cashew fruit was drinkable, so Jo tried some. She said it was very sweet with a strange aftertaste.

We headed back to shore and set off again. By the car there was a creek and a bunch of chirping birds in the trees, and Nani and I decided Mummy would love all the little birds if she were here.

Our big stop of the day was Malvan, a small town on the Arabian Sea Coast. Just off the shore is Sindhudurg Fort, built by the Maratha warrior King Shivaji in 1664. It is an imposing structure with an entrance concealed so it can't be spotted from a distance. Today, more than 15 families still reside within the fort although employment is scarce. Before the tide rises during the monsoon season, they have to bring over provisions for four months because it will be impossible for them to return to the mainland.

We bought tickets for 27 rupees, and Jo, Sunil and I elbowed our way through a crowd onto a rickety wooden fishing boat that held 20 people. Jo and I were the only females aboard, and the rest of the passengers were jolly young men singing and joking loudly.

We passed crab covered rocks, and some 10 minutes from the mainland we docked our boat and stepped out onto the sand. Through the winding concealed entranceway, we entered Sindhudurg and immediately climbed a steep set of small stone steps to walk along the wall for the best view.

The inside of the fort, looking down, was pretty, with a lush grassy covering and palm trees. I decided it looked like it should be a tiger enclosure, but there were no tigers. Looking out over the walls, the sea looked majestic and sparkling. There were many small windows and holes cut into the walls (some perhaps for weapons others for looking out) and crouched by the windows, you got a fantastically cool sea breeze.

We tried to visit the temple within the fort, but there were too many tourists and we needed to make it back in time for the boat (coming every hour). We waited on the boat for a while as the 'captain' went to round up those jolly men who were late in returning. Then we headed back to the mainland, accompanied once more by songs and jokes. The men tried to take pictures Titanic style, standing up on the helm of the boat with arms spread, and they laughed raucously with each failed attempt.

A brief stop to a beautiful pebbly beach, very secluded and with rocks stretching out to sea...

Back in Malvan, Sunil led us to the car where Nani and Dadi were napping. We found a small place to eat, tucked away in a little alley. We had to remove our shoes before entering a cool, dark room, low tables with plastic stools. We were followed in by a few other families and soon every table was filled. No menus and no ordering, one meal for everyone. There was no bottled water, so I left the restaurant in search of some. I walked down a small street into a nicer restaurant at the end, where I bought two giant bottles of water for only thirty rupees. I could really get used to Konkan prices. When I was leaving the restaurant, I heard drums beating and bells clanging and a noise that sounded like a gunshot. There was a man dressed in traditional clothing dancing around and smacking a long, dangerous-looking whip on the ground in front of people and stores. Everyone looked scared, and handed him money as he went on his way. He literally ran after people with this whip in hand to get money. I was scared and didn't want to encounter him, so I sort of ran back to the restaurant.

We were served roti, dahl and some sabzi (vegetables) that was all totally delicious. Off we were to Savantwadi, a town that is famous for its wooden crafts. The driver dropped us off at one end of the marketplace and we walked through winding streets to the other end, where we entered a small narrow shop selling exclusively wooden crafts. We picked up presents for people back home, rejoiced at the low prices, and finally headed on back to Kankavli.

Near Kankavli (or perhaps within it, I forget) we stopped at a drum shop.

We watched something like 6 men making tablas and dholaks, two types of Indian drums, and inquired about prices. They were expensive and looked hard to pack, so I gave up on my dream of owning a tabla for now. Anyways, I should learn first.

Another stop that we made was at the cashew factory in a town, a place that honestly looked like a sweatshop. Here I think pictures say more than words...

Back at the apartment, Dadi taught us how to make bajra roti. It is a type of bread that is much coarser than the roti/chapati we are used to. It's called 'poor man's food' because it is much cheaper and easier to make. The poor of India traditionally eat bajra with chili peppers and onions, the two cheapest vegetables. Actually, bajra is delicious and its no-fat no-oil composition makes it a healthy option. It is easier to make than roti, because instead of a rolling pin, you can press it out with your hands. Jo and I had a lot of fun playing with the dough and made some pretty impressive bajras, if I do say so myself. We ate them with this delicious chutney Dadi made from the mangos that were about to go bad.

We rounded off the night with a truly terrible flick on television called Sundays at Tiffany's about a woman who marries her imaginary friend from childhood. (Don't worry, he's real now). Someone actually spent money making that movie.

21 april- around the village

Upon rising early, we discovered our bed had attracted quite a few ants, and we were covered in bites. Yikes! Dadi had woken up at 3 AM to prepare more treats for us (quite unnecessarily!!) and breakfast included dhokla. It is possibly my favourite Indian snack, a steamed lentil dish with a sourish state. Dadi learned to make it in a cooking class she took while in Bangalore and she is a stunning cook. Jo wasn't a big fan, but I just gobbled them down.

After breakfast Joanna, Nani and I went out for a walk around Kankavli. The entire ride over, Dadi and Sunil had been telling me how far the village has come. A few years ago Kankavli was secluded from the bigger world. There wasn't much available, but now one can find anything of necessity. It is hovering between 'village' and 'city', and is far more accessible. The village certainly looks much more advanced than the last time I visited, with busier main roads, much more transportation and less traditional clothing (I spotted a girl in jeans!). We still stuck out like sore thumbs though. 

I like Jo's description of the apartment's surroundings, paraphrased: "a mix of houses and apartments, slow-moving construction sites, sparkling clean new buildings that stick out like sore thumbs, and a couple of shacks built of corrugated metal and palm fronds". On one stretch of road there was a field with water buffalos and white birds on our right, and a sort of palm tree farm on our left (for coconuts or betel nuts, I couldn't tell). We saw a lot of these water buffalo/bird pairings, the bird often perched on the buffalo's back, and it always made me think of the idea of symbiosis although I'm not sure these animals get anything from one another. 

We passed the hospital in Kankavli, a brightly coloured very clean and modern looking building. 

Nearby, many buildings seemed under construction or expansion. Up against one of the rickety looking wooden construction structures was an image of what the completed building would look like. It seemed like a pipe dream, but one must not underestimate the secretly competent Indian construction methods. 

Outside of many houses, the stoops were wet and white rangoli designs were drawn with rice powder. 

http://www.activityvillage.co.uk/simple-rangoli.jpg

First thing in the morning, each family will wash the stoop outside of their house and make such a design. It is a pleasing, fresh morning ritual that appeals to me greatly...

Because of the heat, we could not leave the house until 4 pm. Dadi learned that Joanna loves sweets, and made gulab jamun- indian milk balls in rosewater-scented sugar syrup. 

http://southernspicecuisine.com/images/desserts/gulabjamun.jpg

Jo and I played cards for ages. We started Rummy 5000, a super-charged super-long invented spinoff of Rummy 500. Between cards, bananagrams, reading and television we passed the hot midday. At 4, Sunil arrived to take us exploring in his auto rickshaw. He is very proud of his auto, with its light purple top (note the 'S' for Sunil decal on top) and wildly upholstered interior. I asked him why the top was purple, and he informed me the drivers of Kankavli had chosen the colours themselves. Thus the many purple auto tops around. 

We passed a large grassless expanse of land, and Dadi and Sunil told me it served many important purposes for the village. It was sometimes grounds for a large and fancy marriage, and on other occasions served as a heli-pad. For all the helicopters that I imagine would choose to land in Kankavli, of course. 

Our first adventure was climbing endless steps up to a temple on top of a hill. 

Jo and I were panting like anything when we reached the top, but when Nani emerged she hadn't even broken a sweat. The temple was peaceful and the 360 view was incredible. 

We spotted the college from a distance (Kankavli has an engineering college- this is no antiquated village!) 

and a smattering of houses and shops among the lush rainforest foliage. Sunil told me the temple was a place to come when one got bored in Kankavli, and thus a popular chill-out spot for the college students. It didn't seem particularly thrilling to me to come hang out at a temple spot when bored, but who knows. It was quite pretty. 

Heading down, we passed a small building that advertised engineering classes with a sign that said "Best Engineering Classes!!! Really!!!" with yes, that many exclamation marks. We next took the auto to the Engineering College, where we saw the younger side of Kankavli. Kids looked basically just as they did in Bangalore, and they were all speeding off either on foot or bike or scooter to return home as the day had just ended. 

Our next stop was a high school very close to the village. My relatives helped establish the school, and Dadi attended. It looks remarkable, especially given how long it has been around. School was empty for summer vacation, so we peeked into classrooms where I decided I am happy in the United States to have my own desk. I feel so spoiled. 

After one more temple stop by a well, where Sunil taught me to drive his auto...

we drove to a riverbank where we were warned not to go into the water because of the dirtiness and mosquitos. We watched a man take his water buffaloes in for a bath, and admired the natural beauty. 

Joanna and I have been looking for Indian-patterned bedspreads, having admired them both at Nani's place, Dadi's place and Shruthi's house. Sunil took us to a fabric store in Kankavli, but when we asked to see bedspreads the majority were tacky looking Western ones featuring outdated or obscure cartoon characters. Every time we asked to see a more traditional looking bedspread, the salespeople would encourage us to choose the 'better', more 'Western' ones. 

I was so bothered by this. With this whole drive towards modernization and advancement, it's amazing how little pride there often is for the amazing cultural beauty of Indian things. Instead of valuing our own country's work, these small villages aching to make it to the big time are selling cheap-looking Western designs that no one in the US would ever willingly buy. Roadside sellers offer plastic buckets in neon colours, hairclips and large plush pink bears with bead eyes when I would be much more drawn to carvings, wooden items and embroidered cloths. 

Back at home, we spent the night with cards and books and television once more. Sporadically, people would enter the apartment to see me, knowing I was visiting. I felt great that they wanted to see me but they never introduced themselves and I had no idea who I was chatting with. That too, they often spoke to me in Konkani or Marathi and as I don't understand either, conversation was pretty one-sided. 

We watched a violent Quentin Tarantino movie featuring Antonio Banderas called Desperado. Kankavli doesn't have the best selection of English television, but at least there was something. It is funny though, to see the choice of Western shows featured. Saturated with cowboy themes, it is no surprise there are some odd perceptions of life in the West. 

20 april - did i mention i love air conditioning?

It is time to play catch-up in a massive way. I'm about 9 days behind on this blog and what has been keeping me back is the trip to Konkan/Goa. We traveled from 20 april to 25 april, and there was just so much to say upon returning that the thought of posting became totally overwhelming. So, Joanna and I wrote a joint post about our adventures (Joanna writing most of it!). Now that I have some free time, though, there are some additional personal details I want to include so I've changed it a bit for my purposes. I could never have done this without Jo and her stunning memory of the sequence of events, and of funny little details and quotes.

The 20st of April was a Wednesday, and I had taken off work. Our flight to Goa International Airport was sometime around 1:30 but we left closer to 10 AM, being familiar with fickle Bangalore traffic. The airport was indeed, quite far from our flat. At the check-in counter, I handed the woman our boarding passes and passports. She asked me where the other three people in our group were. I assured her we were only three, and she read me off three other names to see if I recognized them. I once again promised her I would know if we were supposed to be traveling in a group of six and luckily she believed me, attributing the slip up to a glitch in the computer booking system for Kingfisher Airlines. We checked in Nani's suitcase, and Jo and I were very pleased at having successfully packed everything needed into only one backpack and one purse each.

The security lines were, as usual, divided into a men's line and a woman's line. I used to always be frustrated that the men's line moved faster, because women are drawn individually behind a screen to be scanned by the handheld metal detector in privacy. This handheld metal detector step is really crucial , because the standing detectors beep every time a woman walks through. Why? Because none of the Indian women take off any of their jewelry going through, and they wear a lot. Gold necklaces, bangles, earrings, noserings, anklets all happily shimmer and they trust that when screened in private, the source of the constant beeping will be confirmed as less criminal and more decorative.

When we got to our gate, we were 30 minutes early so Jo and I set off in search of food. There was a nice looking Indian place just around the corner from the gate, and Jo was all set to order the Chicken Biryani (a dish of chicken and rice). We asked for a sample so she could check the spiciness, and the man behind the counter started dishing out small finger bowl samples of virtually every dish behind the counter. Having feasted on the samples, Jo was already full but feeling bad about not buying anything, ordered a Chicken Biryani parcel (it means 'to go'). I ordered dahl, rice and dahi, too time-pressed to go any more adventurous. The man told me he couldn't parcel that because it would be too runny and it took me a long time to convince them that I would handle the liquid if he would just give me a box so I could make my plane.

Meanwhile, Nani was frantically calling us to return in time to board and when we dashed back, we found we were the last passengers. As we handed over our boarding passes,  a woman checked all of our bags for the security stamps we weren't aware we needed. Security personnel had forgotten to stamp one of Nani's bags and one of Joanna's, so the two of them dashed back. They had to put their bags through the screener again, while I stood at the gate with my parceled meal wondering what would happen if we missed the flight, as Dadi (my father's mother whom we were on our way to see) had no cell phone on which we could reach her. The security personnel at the gate assured me they would hold the plane for us, and luckily Nani and Joanna made it back promptly.

I feel like that operation could have been run more efficiently- it wasn't our fault security had forgotten to stamp the bags.

Anyways, when we got to our seats we found out we had two whole rows to ourselves, so Jo and I each snagged a window seat! The air hostesses brought LMN juice boxes to everyone. LMN is a natural lemon juice drink that tastes very much like nimbu pani (homemade fresh lime water). It was delicious!

The flight was only 45 minutes, but they provided a full lunch (I didn't try it because I had my parceled food!) and behind each headrest was a personal TV showing Hindi movies with English subtitles. I read The World is Flat, a book by Thomas Friedman, and experienced again the power of reading a book 'in context'. As with India Calling, this book has a lot to say about Bangalore; how it is, and where it's headed. Reading it in context, as in while I am in Bangalore, adds a power and relevancy to the message. Friedman talks about the motivation of young Indian personnel, about the advantage to a mug-and-chug system that teaches fundamentals better than any other system in the world, and I recall my own conversations with people in the workplace. He talks about the move towards greater technology and India's yearning to Westernize and I see it in the growing prevalence of English and the fact that every auto driver seems to have a cell phone, sometimes two. 

When we landed in Goa, the airport was a lot less glamorous than I had seen it in my memory, which makes me think I got it confused with Mumbai's airport, perhaps? Stepping outside, we were hit by a wall of humidity and heat. All signs were in English, a testament to Goa's former status as a Portuguese colony and current role as India's hottest tourist destination for foreigners. 

My Dadi was to meet us at the airport with her driver, so we could travel together by car back to Kankavli, her village in the neighboring state. We couldn't see her at first, but I finally spotted her and the reunion was great. She has always been such an energetic woman, and was so wonderfully excited to have us visit. She gave all of us huge hugs and there was cheek-pinching and happy chatter. I love grandmothers. 

Her driver's name is Sunil, and he is a young auto driver who takes such amazing care of her. He accompanies her everywhere, brings her groceries and news, and helps her manage all of the small difficult details of her life. He's an important person to have, especially as she lives alone! 

The car was a Maruti Omni bus/van...okay it looks like this. 

In the back are two bench-style seats facing each other, conversation-style. There's no trunk, so our luggage was wedged in between the tangle of legs and saris and the lack of air-condition was disappointing, to put it euphemistically. Perhaps the worst part, though, was the total lack of shock absorbers. 

This van felt every rough spot, crack and bump as if it were a speed bump the size of a hill. I get stunningly carsick on any slope steeper than 'completely flat', and the six hour drive was less than pleasant. We had been anticipating a mere two hours, but according to Dadi the roads are all under repair. We had to weave between dirt roads and highway, and eventually I gave up admiring the beautiful rainforest scenery and opted for sleep. Oh yeah, so Sunil wasn't actually driving, there was another driver who held the wheel...I guess two was good insurance? 

As we drew closer to Kankavli, we stopped once for raw coconuts, much better than the ones we had had at Mysore Zoo, and once again for watermelon slices, seasoned with salt and passed to us through the windows. That was my favourite treat, I don't think I can eat watermelon without salt now!  

Finally, we reached Kankavli and Dadi's apartment. 

The flat is in a complex called Bhavani Complex (or maybe Compound...I forget) and is located near a volleyball sand court that separates it from one of the busier streets of Kankavli. It would be a lovely location except that the open grounds in front of the apartment look like a trash dump. There wasn't quite as much litter the last time I visited, and I again find myself wishing India could figure out a public sanitation system. With no trash cans anywhere in sight, people dump their waste anywhere they find open dirt and it destroys the pristine beauty natural to such a place. 

The moment we arrived, Nani went to sleep off the exhaustion, heat and stress of the journey. 
Dadi had also set up a small mattress bed on the floor for Jo and I, thankfully underneath a fan. 

In her excitement, she'd made an impressive variety of food and snacks, and gave Jo and I snacks and chai while showing us her crochet. She's incredibly talented and her house is full of crochet to beautify everything. Even simple plastic chairs gain personality from the covers she adds and it makes her happy to stay constructive instead of wiling away the days. 

After a wonderful dinner, we looked through old family photo albums and exchanged gifts. Dadi gave me knitted sweaters for myself and for Papa, and we gave her a pretty catch-all bag to hold her crochet supplies, as well as a silk sari. We all slept very early, but sleep was restless. 

19 april- royal challengers bangalore vs rain

I had decided some time ago to sign up with Fitness One, but did not want to go alone the first time because I was afraid the sketchy guy who gave Joanna her discounted deal wouldn't offer me the same without her presence. She very kindly agreed to wake up at 6 AM with me, and explained the route along the way. The only touchy points are crossing the big streets (I totally abhor crossing streets in India) but we made it to the gym without major event. The man who gave Joanna her deal didn't acknowledge it at first, perhaps because there was another man present, and he simply urged us to go work out and speak to him after.

As we were leaving, we met with him privately and he gave me Jo's deal, which was lovely. I then walked home (admittedly I got just mildly lost along the way, I've never been the best with directions) and showered before work. Although I was 5 minutes late. Azathmullah was waiting for me and we drove to work.

I was very tired at work and struggled to stay awake. I forgot my lunch at home (second day in a row!) so I ordered in roti and sabzi (just any vegetables basically) and made sure to take long walks during my breaks with Deepali, the intern from Delhi. She leaves work on Thursday, before I get back from Konkan and Goa and I will miss her!

I took a brief afternoon walk with Praveena, another girl from the office, and got to talk to her about her exceptional life. She did a program through a university in Singapore which allowed her to spend a certain amount of time at Stanford as well, studying in both places alternately while pursuing her graduate degree in environmental engineering. After school she founded a few different NGO startups, her favourite being one with an educational focus. Its aim is to outfit Indian schools with sufficient science equipment because in college, Praveena told me, there were 6 children sharing one microscope. In the meantime, she is working for this water-based organization, but she doesn't foresee herself staying on long. I think she will do incredible things wherever she goes as she is highly motivated and energetic as well as brilliant.

I stayed after work because my colleagues had invited Joanna and I to watch a cricket match. We were going to see Royal Challengers Bangalore take on the Rajasthan Royals, but as we sat waiting for the group to gather in the front lobby, the rain began to pour. Remaining optimisitic, we listened to music on people's laptops and made small talk. Joanna arrived soaked from the rain and bearing delicious dinner from Adigas, two masala dosas! She said the power had gone out in the apartment so she had bought food, and then that while driving over, they had faced torrents of rain, potholes and flooded roads. I felt awful!!

But we all made it finally, and piled into various autos. Joanna and I shared an auto with Srinivas, a man from our office who had coordinated all of the tickets. Traffic was abominable and especially so as we neared the stadium. We got out and walked through the muddy, dirty streets, up narrow alleys and back down to find the right gate. When we finally stopped somewhere to meet the rest of the group, it was a relief. Salesmen offered team jerseys, face paint and paper horns that blared like vuvuzelas. We bought three of these horns, and finally everyone had gathered but Shwetha, navigating a soggy route from Jayanagar alone.

We stood around joking and laughing in the drizzle and all the talk was about whether the match would be canceled or not. But meanwhile, everyone was filing into the stadium. So we followed suit, through security and up into the stands (sections assigned, but not seats). Instead of benches, there were rows of plastic chairs, a very weird sight! We plonked ourselves down and watched for literally hours as the preparations on the field went on. Sellers walked up and down offering ice creams, samosas, noodles and more so we gorged on food while waiting.

Down on the field, a number of men were gathered engaged in tasks that seemed productive but probably weren't. Several gathered around a tarp that had pooled with rain water, then upended the tarp dumping the water back on the field. Sponge roller trucks attempted to soak up some of the dampness, and at one point men started kicking the water off the field. All attempts were fruitless and after a very, very long time (during which we started making moneyed bets on whether the match would occur) we gave up and left.

People from the office had called a cab for Joanna and I, and we shared it with another man back to the office so I could pick up my bag. I hadn't brought it because it would have been taken at security (Shwetha had her umbrella confiscated!). Joanna and I then rode home and fell fast asleep, ready to awaken for our Konkan/Goa travels early the next morning.

18 april-a waiting day

I can't remember anything that happened on 18 april. A good lesson to never leave blogging so late! Jo had dinner at Vishaka's place, and I stayed home for a quiet evening with Nani after a day of Monday work.

17 april- scootering

Sunday, Jo went bouldering at Turahalli, a place on the outskirts of Bangalore, with Indian climbers and she was gone by the time I woke up leisurely at 9! I had brunch with Nani, and then met Rashida.

We rode on her scooter to the crafts exhibition again. Joanna and I have talked about how nice it would be if we had our own transportation here, and Rashida's scooter affirmed that fact. Without having to pay to go somewhere, deal with 'Indian time' and irate drivers demanding more than a decent fare, Bangalore seems positively thrilling to ride through and so much more accessible. At the crafts exhibition, I noticed some differences between what attracted Rashida and what I myself was drawn by.

This is something I've actually seen a lot of in India. Roadside sellers offer spread of cheap plastic Western goods, somewhat tacky in nature. I'm talking neon plastic buckets, plastic hairclips. large pink plush teddy bears...all as 'Western' merchandise. To find a traditional Indian bedspread proves enormously difficult, as everyone wants to sell you spreads featuring outdated Western cartoons. (This comes up again once we travel to Konkan). So at the crafts exhibition, I loved the stall with the old brass vessels, darkened by time and in charming shapes and sizes. Rashida found them old, and suggested I buy something shiny and plastic to get the best value for my money. What a funny person I must have seemed, to be willing to spend more on something slightly rusted and ancient than on something new and sparkling!

At a snacks stand, we sampled dried spiced mango treats. I love these! My father brought some back from one of his trips to India once, and I had the chance to sample a few before my beloved dog got his nose into them. I want to bring some back from this trip, but there's still a month to go so I didn't buy any yet. Just past the snack stall, Rashida fell down some of the stairs and twisted her ankle slightly, so we went home rather quickly. She went up to her flat to ice her poor ankle, and promised to meet later to go to the gym.

Luckily, I got home just before Jo, so we didn't miss each other!

We headed out to Gandhi Bazaar with Nani to check on the tailor, who is redoing some of Jo's clothes, and to buy fruit. On the way, we walked around a nice, cool park. It was quieter than Lalbagh and entry was free. It was full of trees with low-swinging branches that looked perfect to climb on. A large lot inside the park was (of course) filled with men and boys playing a tangle of cricket games, and families walked on the brick trail around the perimeter.

At Gandhi Bazaar, Jo and I spent ages browsing a bookshop and bought some great Indian cookbooks to take home for friends and family. I found a series of handwriting practice books for Indian children (in Hindi script) and bought a few to practice my Hindi!

Rashida came down later in the evening to take me to her gym. I haven't signed an official membership yet, and wanted to compare hers to Fitness One, the gym Joanna has signed with. We scootered again through narrow streets and ended up at an office building. Inside, the a/c was pleasant and after passing a spa, we found ourselves in the one room gym. It was dingier than Fitness One and a lot of the equipment was worn, and the prices were higher so my decision became pretty easy. I decided to accompany Jo to Fitness One in the morning before work to seal the deal.

We are nearing the halfway mark of the trip, and Jo and I had a long conversation about how things have been going and how we want them to go in the future. We talked about the frustrations associated with being constantly warned about safety, and decided we need to find ways to pursue adventure pragmatically.  I'll let you know how our quest for some goes.

16 april -a movie!

After sleeping in, Jo and I decided Saturday would be the perfect day to go see a movie. We had wanted to see the Lincoln Lawyer, but it never worked out. When we checked times, we found out we had slept through the only daylight showing, so we decided to see a movie called Unknown instead (another Hollywood flick with a sort of Bourne Identity plot). We took an auto to the Forum Mall and bought our tickets. The theatres had an impressively high level of security, and after passing through a metal detector and a bag search, I was asked to leave my camera battery at the front counter. This of course is an effort to curtail the propagation of pirated videos by street vendors and the like.

The movie was chugging along its comfortably cliched car-chase filled plotline, when out of the blue, literally in the middle of a sentence, the screen went dark, then broadcasted "Intermission" while music played. It was so weird! I've seen that happen in Hindi movies, which are roughly 3 hours in length, but I didn't know it would happen in Hollywood ones as well. Everyone got up and started filing out of the theatre to get snacks or to chat, I guess. Jo and I stayed put and after about 5 minutes, a man walked up and handed me a menu card. Jo and I ordered a chocolate doughnut, handed him money, and he left.

When the movie started again, he came in with this little chocolate doughnut and two forks. It was cut up in fourths and even heated! What service.

After the movie we met Shruthi and Atul and headed to Mocha (surprised?!). We ate and chatted a bit, but it was kind of a slow day. Jo ordered her beloved cheesy noodle dish, and this time instead of grilled chicken, it came with boiled. Shruthi and Atul also pronounced the noodles too salty and complained heatedly to the waiters, although Jo and I couldn't really taste the excess. The waiter returned the noodles, and they didn't taste any different but everyone was satisfied. My theory was that he had placed raw potatoes in the noodles to soak up the salt and then removed them, but who knows. Maybe he did nothing at all. 

Finally we left, and after dropping our bags at home, walked to a nearby crafts exhibition at a place called Ashoka Pillar that usually serves as a marriage hall. Indoors, vendors were selling various handicrafts from clothing to figurines. There were basic plastic household items and traditional old Indian brassware. I bought a few gifts for people and enjoyed just walking around and looking at things! At one metal jewelry stand, a man tried to sell us a ring that was a 50 paise coin, for 200 rupees. Paise used to function as 'cents' to rupees, as 'dollars'. Their value diminished so much that they went out of existence sometime well within my lifetime. This man claimed the paise coins were now antiques. What a great business scheme, to sell a worthless coin for 200 rupees! A coin that was in use only 10 years ago.

At home, Rashida came over. She is another of my good childhood friends, and lives on the third floor of the apartment building. Her family owns three apartments in the building now, (two on the third floor and one on the second) and is in the process of breaking the wall between the two third-floor flats to build a large one. Rashida is busy with her pre-med studies and it is always lovely when I get a chance to talk to her. She told us about her brother's arranged marriage and the courtship associated. Her brother is engaged to be married to a woman who works as a dentist, and they have been 'dating' and getting to know one another for about a year now. They go out together, and speak often, and by the time they marry will be very well acquainted. Rashida is confident they love each other, and has total faith in the arranged marriage system.

She points out some interesting points that outsiders to the concept of arranged marriage often bypass. Indian marriages are often unions of families, not just of individuals. It is a different, more communal way to think and it changes the way people approach marriage. Because of the level and frequency of interactions the bride and grooms family will have, it is important that they get along. Furthermore, allowing your parents to choose your match isn't all that strange if you trust that they'll have your best interests in heart. Rashida insisted she would not marry outside her community because it is important to her that her children speak her language, know her religion and embrace the same traditions she centers her life around. All of these points make a lot of sense, but I personally wouldn't opt for an arranged marriage, probably because selfishly, I want to choose my spouse for our compatibility on an individual level and factors like that.

After great conversation with Rashida, Jo and I watched some Weeds (we are becoming rapidly addicted to this show!) and went to bed.

15 april-high note

Many apologies for the delays in posting. I have thus far really enjoyed the blogging experience, because it encourages me to look at the world a little more closely! I remember details that I don't think I would pick up on, because I want to mention them here and it's a good way to process and analyze all of these experiences. Trends become apparent and initial biases are filtered out when asked to report to an audience (like anyone who reads this...)

That being said...I hit a sot of halfway hump and just plain got tired of blogging. So, I cranked out a couple of lazy posts, but here I am, one week later and ready to pick up that slack. I've just returned from a lovely vacation in Konkan and Goa (for which there shall be blog posts...) and decided I need to stay dedicated to my purpose here, and expand on my few feeble blog posts.

So let's try this one again.

Shwetha, my friend from work, had her last day on Friday. As I've spoken about earlier, she's off to Vipassana, the ten day silent meditation retreat (that I keep mistakenly referring to as a yoga retreat! whoops). Everyone was very sorry to see her go, she is so dynamic and friendly. I am personally sad as she has been my cultural bridge, understanding of my somewhat American perspective and always willing to translate Indian cultural foibles, to offer advice on how to navigate Bangalore as a single woman...

I have been looking for a blank sketchbook with a good cover (for a secret purpose...) and people on my team directed me to a local bookstore. I think it was Odyssey but I'm not sure, so don't hold me to that. It was on the main road, and I walked for about 15 minutes alone to get there. I enjoyed the solitary walk, and it felt like quite the adventure! With time, it is becoming more natural for me to gauge the difference between caution and paranoia here. I obviously wouldn't walk anywhere alone at night, but as I become more comfortable on Bangalore streets, it feels more normal to walk places alone in the daylight.

The bookstore was, like Crossword, sterile and disappointing. The selection was wider but everything was too expensive for me. On the floor with the stationary and sketchbooks, there were at least 4 service personnel standing around in the aisles ready to help customers. Creating jobs is great, but the excess of people everywhere (like six waiters at a restaurant just loitering about waiting for something to do) seems like such a waste of labor potential. I browsed for a while, then walked back, glad for the jaunt outdoors. I'm increasingly fond of little outdoors walks as breaks during the work day. The fresh air (albeit a constant tinge of pollution) is, well, refreshing.

In the afternoon, the office hosted a going away party for Shwetha and Suresh Babu, a man on another team who is also leaving the organization.

The office hosted a going away party for her and Suresh Babu, a colleague from another team who is also leaving the organization. The entire office gathered in an upstairs room, and people spoke up about both of the departing colleagues, recalling anecdotes or praising their work ethic. It was really moving, and there was a lot of talk regarding the importance of preserving the organization's 'family feel'. I don't know how possible it is to maintain such a tightly-knit community once an organization grows beyond a certain point, but it is a worthwhile goal.

As refreshments at the party, there were personal tubs of chaat (a sweet-spicy Indian sort of version of chex-mix) more chai and jalebi so of course I was wholly satisfied.

After work, a few people from the office were going out to celebrate Shwetha's last day. It had started to rain and the city had cooled down tremendously. We walked through puddling streets to Highnote, a rooftop bar in the neighborhood. The ambience was totally mind-blowing, a thatched-roof dimly lit bar overlooking Bangalore. Traffic on one side, hurricane-like gusts blowing palm trees in another direction, it was a tremendous view.

About ten of us from the office gathered and ate dinner and chatted.Amidst the usual jokes and small talk, I had a wonderful conversation with two men from the office about education and the school system. This time, instead of focusing on the beatings and narrowness, we talked about the sense of discipline and focus it instills in Indian children. India Calling comes to mind again, as the author addresses this side of the complex education topic. Both of these men were so grateful for their education (one IIT and then graduate school in America, the other completed his undergraduate degree in America). IIT, or Indian Institute of Technology, is supposed to be harder to gain admission to than Harvard, and annually produces some of the world's best engineering minds. Both men recounted instances when they had been hit in school, or made to stand in a corner, or to endure taunts by teachers. But both, looking back on schooling in India and in the States concluded that they were very thankful to have been exposed to the Indian system. They maintained that it gave them a great work ethic and an ability to process large amounts of information with very little instruction, and that it encouraged them to remain focused in all tasks. They assured me the Indian system isn't all mug-and-chug memorization as I've been fearing, but that lately there have been conscious tendencies towards demanding analysis and even introspection by students.

I also had a long discussion with Shwetha about introspection, people, relationships and values. It was actually one of the best conversations of my life and prompted a lot of thought...

Before I knew it, it was past 11:00 pm. My colleagues called a cab on my behalf, handling the necessary Kannada for me. Then, very kindly, one of the men offered to share the cab, so that he could see me home safely before heading off 40 minutes in the opposite direction to his home!!

On the drive home, I didn't see a single woman out on the streets. I have been wondering about this unigender night scene for a while now. What if the women of India just took to nightlife en masse? How creepy could the men really be? These same men who were normal in the daylight turned to animals? Why was it so unsafe and why did no one challenge it? The colleague I shared the cab with offered some information. He told me that when he first came to Bangalore, its nightlife had been active, wild like Mumbai's, and both men and women freely participated. Then, after terrorist attacks and temple bombings, the city government established a stringent curfew, demanding shops close at 11:00 pm. Making it illegal to roam the streets after 11 simply means less people roam, not that no one does. Naturally, the people who choose to skirt this law are generally shadier characters and their presence makes it unsafe for others, and as a result women avoid the streets. It is an endless vicious cycle and perhaps another instance of city government not handling something as well as they could have (see: hookah).

I got home to find Joanna and Shruthi playing cards. Exhausted, I headed off to bed and fell asleep soon after.

14 april- bringing in the new year with luck and gooseberries

Today is Tamil New Year! No holiday from work though. But this morning, to ensure me luck for the coming year (odd not to start on Jan 1st) the first thing I was meant to see when I woke up was the fruits, etc laid before God. That's where Nani took me, and let's hope the luck holds up! Especially because right now I don't have enough money for an auto home...

We hopefully get our clothes back from the tailor today!

Rohini brought in a bowl of gooseberries to work for everyone to share! I've never had a gooseberry before, except as amla pickle. (Amla = gooseberry). A gooseberry is a tiny berry whose shape reminds me a little of a pumpkin. It is tougher than a blueberry, and mouth-wateringly sour. We ate them with salt. When I researched them, the descriptions were confusing. The fruit was described as having a sour taste and a sweet taste, and a bitter taste too, but it was just that one taste masked the others if you didn't pay close attention. Indeed, other people in the office remarked that it 'turned sweet at the end' but I didn't notice that at all. Perhaps my taste buds are defunct.

Today at the end of work I crossed the street to go check out Crossword, a brand name bookstore. I haven't been reading much here, which is odd because I thought that would be all I would do! But I come home from work tired of looking at words, and tired in general. In the autos, I'm addicted to looking outside! Because the entire country is a vibrant ever-changing canvas, I'm afraid if I look away I'll miss something. Even while looking there's so much I miss because it's 360 degrees of life.

But things are becoming more routine now, and I'm ready to check out some libros again . Crossword has been glimmering invitingly across the street from the office, and I can never resist a bookstore for long. I asked a friend from work for recommendations, and she responded in that lovely way, providing so much information that a simple answer turned into a discussion. I think all questions should be answered like that. In an ideal world.

Crossword is literally the most disappointing bookstore I've ever been in. It is all teen 'lit', summer beach reads and mechanical/scientific manuals, textbooks and guides. There is no good history, literature, poetry or drama, but a thorough and impressive technology section subdivided by sector. The best move when it comes to books in India is clearly to go secondhand, or to small narrow bookstores with teetering piles. No Borders or B&N equivalent here.

My friend from work had recommended Three Cups of Tea and mistakenly, The Tipping Point (she meant another book, it turns out). Anyways, Crossword had neither one (to give you an idea of just how well-stocked it is with the kind of books one might actually read).

I bought instead another copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, one hidden away purple copy whose cover looks like Woodstock and whose price suggested they never thought they'd sell it. At home I have my dad's old copy, with a self-made construction paper jacket, the name markered on the binding as "Zen & MM". I carry this book with me absolutely everywhere, but it's been a long time since I've read it and I didn't bring it to India. I get the sense that this is the right time to read this book, or the right place or state of self. It is resonating in a way it didn't before. But that's also the beauty of rereading great books. I bought this one for my friend in the office (the one who recommended the books) who is leaving tomorrow.

She is going on a sort of Vipassana meditation retreat in southern India. For ten days she will wake up at 4:00 and end her day at 9:30. She will remain in complete silence, not a word for the entirety of her stay. And she will emerge having discovered something, found something or perhaps even lost something. She explained that in such deep silence, it is important to notice what things float into one's conscience, and just notice their presence. When legs grow stiff and back begins to ache from hours of sitting, the goal is to remain still, recognize the physical pain and know it will pass. She says she hopes for self-discipline, and I feel that's a goal I would strive for too, if I went on one. One of the wonderful parts about this retreat (for information, check out www.dhamma.org) is that it is entirely free- registration, lodging, food all paid by believers in the practice who donate. I always disliked the principle of paying for a meditation course and I am inclined to believe more in the efficacy of Vipassana techniques given that they don't charge its instruction.


In a total stroke of fortune and for the first time ever, I got home in under 100 Rs and didn't have to go hunting for change! Joanna wasn't back yet, so Nani and I went to Gandhi Bazaar to pick up our clothes from the tailor. As usual the bazaar was a bustle of activity. We bought Dadi a silk sari to gift when we visit her in Konkan, and went to find some agarbathi (incense). This we bought from a corner shop specializing in what appeared to be all manner of religious 'props'? Towering piles of kumkum and haldi in baskets, little diya lamps, lots of incense. I spotted packets of Holi powder, for the Indian festival where people throw coloured powders at each other in the streets, like a giant paintball festival without the paintball guns, but Holi is over and it didn't seem like the smartest purchase.

http://triangulations.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/holi_girls_with_color.jpg

Here's a brief tidbit about Holi. The festival has a few reputed significances, but my favourites are those which recognize it as a festival of love. There is a story told in Hindu mythology about the Goddess Parvati and Lord Shiva. Shiva was engaged in a deep and all-consuming meditation, effectively dead to the outside world, oblivious to the fact that Parvati was trying to win his affections. Parvati appealed to Kamadeva, a god of love, who obliged by shooting an arrow at Shiva to disturb his musings. Startled, Shiva opened his third eye and in its powerful gaze, Kamadeva turned to ashes.

Kama's wife, Rati (passion) was stricken with grief and to appease her, Shiva restored some form of Kamadeva. Unable to return him to his physical form, Shiva allowed Kama to continue existing as a mental image. More than physical lust, this transcended love to an emotional and spiritual state, as it should exist. Holi, particularly the festival bonfire, commemorates this event. I absolutely love that story.

After buying incense, Nani and I ventured into a tiny recessed book shop, where I was more pleased with the selection than I was at Crossword but still not totally satisfied. I did buy a copy of "The World is Flat" for a reasonable price. Now I have to crack down and start reading all of this wonderful stuff!

The tailor was ready with all of Joanna's clothing but only some of mine so we'll go back for the rest. At night, Jo and I skyped Anna and were thrilled to hear about all of her Buenos Aires adventures! It is funny of the strange similarities that exist between places so far removed.

13 april-and something else goes wrong!

I had a lovely interaction with an auto driver this morning that restored my faith in the goodness of people (after the personal conflict discussion of yesterday). After breakfast I stepped outside the building as usual to hail a rickshaw. There is always a slight possibility that I won't find one in time who is willing to take me all the way to work, but thus far I've been very lucky

Today, as usual, an auto stopped in front of me and I asked if the driver was willing to go to Indiranagar. He said "madam, don't you remember, I took you a few days ago. I know where it is". I was impressed that out of all his rides he remembered me and how to get to where I was going (I couldn't recall his face and I am awful with directions). He asked if I went the same way every day and I gave my affirmation, so he suggested that he be the one to drive me in the mornings.

This was amazing timing as just yesterday my friend at work had suggested I find a regular driver. I can't remember his name, so I'll look tomorrow on his little card...anyways, today he didn't turn on the meter. I noticed when we were about halfway to Indiranagar and had a moment of panic. What if he demanded more money than I had with me?! I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed.

But when we arrived, he just sat and waited for me to decide how much to pay him. When I asked the rate, he shrugged and told me he drops his son nearby for school (not entirely sure what the relevance was...). So I gave him slightly more than normal, 120 Rs, and he accepted. I'm not sure yet if the arrangement will work out (in any case it doesn't matter all that much, I can easily find an auto) but I hope it does. [NOTE: his name is Azathmulla- I checked today!]

After a quick lunch, my friend the other intern and I decided to take a walk to stretch our legs. We walked to the nearby shop (right next to the juice stand) and I wanted to buy biscuits because I needed change for a 500 Rs note so I could pay the auto home. I picked up packets of parle G and Good Day biscuit, and when we got to the counter the salesman smiled oh so sweetly and told me he didn't have change. So I told him I wasn't buying anything then, and miraculously he opened his drawer to find plenty of change.

The two of us treated ourselves to packaged chocolate ice cream bars - they were SO good in the heat! Then my boss and I planned out how the rest of my time here will go. I have a presentation to give in the next two weeks or so, so I have to make sure all my data is in order soon.

On a very brief tangent, I found this amazing Bulgarian proverb today:

At birth we cry, at death we see why.

At first I thought it was so sad, weeping from first breath to last, at the very end becoming unshakingly aware of total misery. But then I re-evaluated. And I've decided it has a positive bent, though sad. It reminds me of how I went through this phase some years back where the thought of age and death terrified me into tears, as if it was so close... Or how at the beginning of last term I was so excited for everything that on day 1, I was sad that it was almost over.

At birth we cry at the brevity of life, the small amount of time we have to enjoy its wonder. But only at death, once we have had a chance to experience love and laughter and joy, bliss, true happiness do we sense how lucky we have been and we know why we are sad life is short. Fortunately there don't need to be many tears in the middle...we can just enjoy.

I have been told lately that I'm a positive person, and I guess that is true. I hope it is true! I like optimism, in its practice I remember how happy I am.

At the end of the day, I hailed an auto outside work. The driver that pulled up did not know South End Circle, or Vijaya College or any of my usual landmarks. Luckily the guard in front of the office spoke to him in Kannada and he appeared to understand where we should go. So off we went, puttering along until barely 15 minutes away, the auto died.

Just broke down, wouldn't turn on, wouldn't move. He got out and pulled it to the side of the road. I tried to tell him it would be easier if I got out and helped but he wasn't having any of it. Now here I was on the side of some busy stretch of roads, only one measly shop in sight. How on earth I was going to get home, I had no clue.

At this cheery moment, my mama called from the States to make sure I was okay. I reassured her, then hung up to figure out what my next step should be. The driver was kind, and hailed other passing autos to see if they would take me home. They all refused. One driver finally told him about an auto repair shop nearby.

The auto literally moved slower than walking speed but we finally inched up to this shack in a small bazaar of narrow streets, and it died. The driver (I wanted to know his name, but the card in his auto only said "Lose/Gain Weight? Call ______" an interesting commentary on perpetual human dissatisfaction) bought some 'oil' for the auto. I'm not sure if it is actually oil but that's what everyone called it. And after a few minutes of fiddling about, he got back in and off we went.

We were in a neighborhood called Shivajinagar, somewhere near Bazaar Street, I think. It was this bazaar, or market, with narrow streets and colourful shops on either side, people chatting and children playing and only a few autos rolling by. It kind of reminded me of the souk we visited in Morocco. I want to go back but probably with someone safe.

There was a sign by the road near the bazaar detailing traffic violations and their corresponding fines. The sign was entirely in English and printed in small script so I'm not sure for whose benefit it was erected. No fine was above 300 rupees and offenses ranged from Drunken Driving to Charging Inappropriate Fare to Gentleman Sitting in Ladies Section. There was no fine for Ladies Sitting in Gents though.

The problem with our little breakdown and detour is that wherever that narrow maze spat us out, I had no idea where we were. I no longer knew how to get home! I trusted the driver remembered the guard's directions but no such luck. After aimlessly chugging about near Jayanagar, we asked for directions to Vijaya College near South End Circle. The helpful motorcyclist directed us to the wrong Vijaya College, one I've never seen before so again, we were lost.

We were subsequently directed to the wrong side of South End Circle, the wrong Bangalore Hospital, the wrong Adigas dosa shop. Finally one of our directions took us past a neighborhood I recognized and I got home for an amazingly low price of 150 rupees.

I felt so awful for this poor driver, who dealt with a breakdown, and traffic, and endlessly roaming around neighborhoods he didn't know. So I gave him 200 Rs and a packet of parle-G biscuits (haha) and apologized for the trouble. Good karma.

And in the evening, I spent a relaxing time with Joanna, watching shows and eating (!). I zonked out while she read, I've been increasingly tired lately! The weekend will be a welcome chance to catch up on sleep.

So even though 'something else went wrong', I actually had a great and cheery day! It is always so pleasant to interact with kind souls and I met several. All of the people directing us, both of my drivers, the guard, and people in my office as usual. I hope everyone had a happy day!