A few nights ago, I witnessed an incredible display of what Annabelle would call "hot gay indian boys." It was a karaoke and dance competition to benefit a local center for blind boys.
I stayed behind in Varanasi to study more hindi while Michele and AB jumped ahead to Bodh Gaya and then Kolkatta. I realized that I was spending too much time in touristy pursuits (ie, drinking beer and watching movies in rooftop restaurants) so I wanted to hang out with Varanasi yokels and practice my pitiful hindi speaking.
I met Gobind on the steps of the temple that his Father is the priest of. This temple is located on the Main Ghats, and has "microshrines" to Shiva/Brahma/Haunaman/Ganeesha. Gobind and his brother Randhir invited me up to drink tea and hang out. Over broken conversations of monkeys and explosions, Randhir invited me to see a dance competition that he was a part of the next night.
So the next night I arrive by rickshaw to the Amar banquet hall. The evening was entitled "Dhoom Machale" and featured boys and girls of all ages getting down to the latest funky sounds of hindi films. Lots of singing and dancing. The singers were backed by a casiotone, live percussion (a bahgwaj?) and electronic drums. The dancers performed renditions of film dance scenes and struggled to lipsync the singing.
I sat with a group of Randhir's peeps. We hooted and hollared and made fun of most of the singers and dancers, until... Shoona Bata arrived on the scene. She was all sparkled and short skirted and fine figured. The boys and I all agreed that she was "Most sexy." Shoona performed a few numbers that were slightly suggestive but naively innocent in a way that only hindi film numbers could be. Through each song, she was surrounded by a flock of flittering boys. They shimmered in see-through shirts and hot pink rayon pants. The audience of all ages, segregated by sex was so down it was incredible. They were witnessing scenes from their favorite musicals live.
During the performances, older men went into rapturous applause, then stormed the stage with cell phones in hand to dance around and take many pictures. This was much to the dismay of the documentarian (every party has one) with the video camera. The video camera crew then had to shoo the dancing cell phone picture guys out of the picture.
But lets talk about "gay indian boys." They are not openly gay, but their mannerisms and fashion sense seem to imply differently. Men of all ages hold hands and non-sexually embrace and touch each other all the time. But here, Homosexuality is a bad bad thing. Homosexuality in India stands criminalized because of a mid 19th century colonial law. Although very few cases have actually reached india's upper courts level, the law continues to be a "potent tool of oppression... providing the impunity to a venal police to extort money, blackmail, indulge in violence, and extract other favors" (you get the picture).
Now this persecution continues even though the country has a history of accepting sexual deviance, just check out the walls of Khurajaho. Eunichs in india are known as hijra, and make their livings as beggars, prostitutes and by removing "bad luck." They are an essential part of building an indian family, as groups of hijras turn up uninvited at weddings and dance around the guests, ostensibly to take away any bad luck that may befall the groom and bride.
My boy Randhir and his troupe wore matching tanktops and hindi flag colored MC Hammeresque baggy pants. They stumbled and struggled to keep pace to a 170ish bpm techno hindustan YMCA-styled anthem. When they finished together, the audience again was in rapture.
I could only stay for two hours (all in all the event was off the chain, lasting from 2pm to 11:30pm). It wasn't six in the morning, but I later made it home to my rooftop respite amongst dreadlocked Iraeli tourists and awful light beer. I was lucky as it wasn't too late to drink chai, eat a slice of pineapple and watch "The Mexican" on VCD.
2/28/05
2/26/05
The "Accidental" explosion
Well, we all survived an accidental explosion on the ghats* yesterday afternoon. It was pretty awful. I felt the concussion of the blast 3/4 of a mile away. You hear loud crashes all of the time in india, so at first I thought it was a firework exploding. Maybe it was a little too loud for fireworks, but it was so far away I couldn't tell.
As I approached the site I was overcome by a pannicky crowd running away in fear and screaming "bomb." I stepped to the side to let running scared people pass and waited... and waited... Apparently the second bomb threat was just a misunderstanding. This may sound like no fun, but it was actually ok - And what a bonding experience! You never know a culture until you stand with them all shaking in your mutual boots and flip-flops, not knowing if you are going to be incidental damages in a pissing fight between the powered and the powerless.
I slowly made it up the steps of the nearest ghat and ran smack into Annabelle and Michele at the Internet spot. Annabelle said that she saw lots of bloodied people being ferried away from the disaster spot. The internet cafe is up on a hill 1/4 mile behind the location of the blast. AB was outside, so she heard and saw it all. Michele was at the computer. She didn't hear or feel a thing. We've never actually seen an ambulance in india let alone varanasi, so it was the auto rickshaws that helped carry the wounded to the local hospital.
In the end, the news was that the propane tank of a food wallah had exploded. At least four people died. No sure how many wounded. There is a little history of terrorism in the area related to a group called the "naxalites" and a Maoist organization from Jharkhand, all signs point to negligence and a terrible accident. To be honest, we really don't know, so unless we hear differently, we are going with tragic accident.
Besides the occasional explosion, Varanasi is great. My head is in my hindi notebooks. The climate here is much more conducive to learning and there are many many more people here to interact with.
I'll stay and study for a few more days while Michele and AB go to Bodh Gaya and the birth of Buddha and you guessed it: Buddism. We'll hook up late next week in Kolkatta.
*Ghats are like temples with a series of stairs that lead down to the holy river ganga. In varanasi, the ghats function like the boardwalk at coney island. They attract everyone from homeless postcard selling chillun' to naked sadhus (holy men) to dhobis (clothes washers) to djembe and didgeridoo playing hippie koreans to big ass water buffaloes.
UPDATE: I did get it confirmed from three separate sources that the explosion was in fact a bomb. The newspaper reported that someone left a bomb in a bag underneath a chaiwallah/paanwallah's stand. Another bomb was found that did not explode (possibly explains the second bomb ruckus that I witnessed). 7 people were killed in the explosion... bummer.
As I approached the site I was overcome by a pannicky crowd running away in fear and screaming "bomb." I stepped to the side to let running scared people pass and waited... and waited... Apparently the second bomb threat was just a misunderstanding. This may sound like no fun, but it was actually ok - And what a bonding experience! You never know a culture until you stand with them all shaking in your mutual boots and flip-flops, not knowing if you are going to be incidental damages in a pissing fight between the powered and the powerless.
I slowly made it up the steps of the nearest ghat and ran smack into Annabelle and Michele at the Internet spot. Annabelle said that she saw lots of bloodied people being ferried away from the disaster spot. The internet cafe is up on a hill 1/4 mile behind the location of the blast. AB was outside, so she heard and saw it all. Michele was at the computer. She didn't hear or feel a thing. We've never actually seen an ambulance in india let alone varanasi, so it was the auto rickshaws that helped carry the wounded to the local hospital.
In the end, the news was that the propane tank of a food wallah had exploded. At least four people died. No sure how many wounded. There is a little history of terrorism in the area related to a group called the "naxalites" and a Maoist organization from Jharkhand, all signs point to negligence and a terrible accident. To be honest, we really don't know, so unless we hear differently, we are going with tragic accident.
Besides the occasional explosion, Varanasi is great. My head is in my hindi notebooks. The climate here is much more conducive to learning and there are many many more people here to interact with.
I'll stay and study for a few more days while Michele and AB go to Bodh Gaya and the birth of Buddha and you guessed it: Buddism. We'll hook up late next week in Kolkatta.
*Ghats are like temples with a series of stairs that lead down to the holy river ganga. In varanasi, the ghats function like the boardwalk at coney island. They attract everyone from homeless postcard selling chillun' to naked sadhus (holy men) to dhobis (clothes washers) to djembe and didgeridoo playing hippie koreans to big ass water buffaloes.
UPDATE: I did get it confirmed from three separate sources that the explosion was in fact a bomb. The newspaper reported that someone left a bomb in a bag underneath a chaiwallah/paanwallah's stand. Another bomb was found that did not explode (possibly explains the second bomb ruckus that I witnessed). 7 people were killed in the explosion... bummer.
2/22/05
Twittering ghats
I spoke to a young chemistry student yesterday while staring into the river Ganga. He told how much the indians adored President Clinton, how they were united against the war in Iraq and how they supported Chris Rock's comments and stance against the relevance of the Oscar awards. He even gave me a hug when we talked about the NHL season (He must have seen my eyes tearing). Again it was so refreshing to talk to random strangers who are so interested in foreign events.
He cut to the chase and asked me my opinions on Pak/Indo relations. When I admitted that my opinions were uneducated, and tainted by the media's lenses he gave me lots of background about Pakistani promises and the war of 1971. Now I understand... I think.
We talked about how conflicts and injustices cut so deep that generations need to die out before healing can begin. He thinks india needs couple more generations of leaders until they can really work things out with Pakistan (He believes Bin Laden is still hiding out there). Nobody in india trusts Musharraf just like nobody in Palestine trusts Sharon.
I had diner with an Austrian guy who was sure that most Americans were nuts. He's also obsessed with Arnold Schwartzenegger's rise to power and sure presidency. There was live classical music with Sarod and Tabla. I was giggling about my inability to talk to strangers about politics. I swear that I didn't bring the subject up.
Now, we're in Varanasi and the ghats are really all a'twitter. There has been such an outpouring of support and sympathy that Michele, Anabelle and I are all overwhelmed.
I'm writing to let our readers know that the people of india are sharing the collective grief of their US brethren and sisteren. We are all in shock and awe over the hacking of Paris Hilton's T-Mobile Sidekick II. Michele is especially torn as she is an avid Sidekick I user.
There is a mad dogfight outside of the internet cafe. The indian woman who is the first of her generation that I've seen (mid 60s maybe) in an internet cafe nodded her head slightly and kept whacking away at the keyboard. "Here is a woman who acknowledges the barking, but keeps moving toward a future goal," I think. In her sari she sits a rare example of the past and future. I'm amazed. Maybe I was wrong about the whole generation dying out thing. I check over her should to see how it will all end... Naked indian guys! Internet porn. I should have known.
He cut to the chase and asked me my opinions on Pak/Indo relations. When I admitted that my opinions were uneducated, and tainted by the media's lenses he gave me lots of background about Pakistani promises and the war of 1971. Now I understand... I think.
We talked about how conflicts and injustices cut so deep that generations need to die out before healing can begin. He thinks india needs couple more generations of leaders until they can really work things out with Pakistan (He believes Bin Laden is still hiding out there). Nobody in india trusts Musharraf just like nobody in Palestine trusts Sharon.
I had diner with an Austrian guy who was sure that most Americans were nuts. He's also obsessed with Arnold Schwartzenegger's rise to power and sure presidency. There was live classical music with Sarod and Tabla. I was giggling about my inability to talk to strangers about politics. I swear that I didn't bring the subject up.
Now, we're in Varanasi and the ghats are really all a'twitter. There has been such an outpouring of support and sympathy that Michele, Anabelle and I are all overwhelmed.
I'm writing to let our readers know that the people of india are sharing the collective grief of their US brethren and sisteren. We are all in shock and awe over the hacking of Paris Hilton's T-Mobile Sidekick II. Michele is especially torn as she is an avid Sidekick I user.
There is a mad dogfight outside of the internet cafe. The indian woman who is the first of her generation that I've seen (mid 60s maybe) in an internet cafe nodded her head slightly and kept whacking away at the keyboard. "Here is a woman who acknowledges the barking, but keeps moving toward a future goal," I think. In her sari she sits a rare example of the past and future. I'm amazed. Maybe I was wrong about the whole generation dying out thing. I check over her should to see how it will all end... Naked indian guys! Internet porn. I should have known.
2/18/05
Jamie v. Mussorie...
It is 35 degrees outside and I can see my breath in Sahney's Cyber Cafe. I like it because it is run by a pleasant Sikh family. All of the computers have these cute sherbert orange polar fleece covers that resemble the Roomala covering for the Guru Granth Sahib (Holy Book). The keyboard is shiny clean and thankfully free of illegible Hebrew characters.
There are no ashtrays, or posters for cosmic aura readings, because it is FEBRUARY and I'm in fricking Mussoorie. I had the brilliant idea of studying hindi at the world famous Langdour Language School (LLS) at this time, because I wouldn't be closer to it for the rest of the trip.
Mussoorie is a Hill Station. In the days of the raj, hill stations were where the English made off to in the SUMMER months. It is the closest one to Delhi (8 hour train ride + 1 hour bus), and as such has been dubbed the Queen of all Hill Stations. When the clouds break, there are beautiful views of the Indian Himilayas. It is peaceful and there are plenty of monkeys and cows and pissers to gawk at.
I am okay with cold weather, I'm not at all hardcore when it comes to freezing rain. I'm also a pantywaist when it comes to long walks uphill. The other Hill Stations I've visited (Shimla, Darjeeling, Dharamsala) were high up, but didn't include much walking directly uphill as they were all situated on larger ridges. The walking mall of Mussoorie winds up and up and up, then the fun begins.
The LLS is a 2 to 3km climb up a traversing roadway. It is a tranquil walk compared to the city, with occasional goods carriers and Toyota Qualis' (india's SUV of choice). It is a little dangerous as the scooters and small cars turn off their engines and glide down past you.
The hindi lessons have been great. I've been taking 4 hours a day. The teachers are excellent, so is the school staff... but Varanassi is calling me. The End Time City taunts and teases me in my dreams. So after classes tomorrow evening, I'll ride the bus back down the hill and embark on a 24-hour train journey.
On the way down the hill today I spoke with one of my teachers, Mr. Mohammed Yusuf. He's a great instructor who I think taught somebody from my high school who also lives in San Francisco (Jamie McEntee are you out there?). We talked about Bush and Iraq, and the elections and how he has fucked america's reputation in the eyes of the world. He complained about teaching hindi to repulsive Christian missionaries (from Florida and UofM alumni bastards) who explained to him that his religion (Islam) was "nothing" when compared to Jeebus. He cringes everytime he thinks of four more years of BushCo screwing the people and the planet.
I had a similar conversation with a 10 year old school boy, yesterday. The kid was funny and smart and carefully explained to me that while initially, some of the Iraqis were with the USA, now they were all against him. He also explained with much more vigor that there is a Glacier near Mussoorie that is melting. When it melts, it will flood Bangladesh. He smiled and said that Mussoorie will be saved, since the water will flows the other direction. I asked him for tips on my Hindi grammar and pronunciation homework and his dad had his brother bring me a glass of Chai.
I know that I'm loser for bailing on Mussoorie's cold rain and snow, but I really can't study or work on my conversating, because I am so very cold and tired. I also know that you won't hold it against me, dear reader. Maybe you'll continue to hold it against me, like you always have. For now, I'm following gravity's wishes and flowing towards Bangladesh and the sea.
There are no ashtrays, or posters for cosmic aura readings, because it is FEBRUARY and I'm in fricking Mussoorie. I had the brilliant idea of studying hindi at the world famous Langdour Language School (LLS) at this time, because I wouldn't be closer to it for the rest of the trip.
Mussoorie is a Hill Station. In the days of the raj, hill stations were where the English made off to in the SUMMER months. It is the closest one to Delhi (8 hour train ride + 1 hour bus), and as such has been dubbed the Queen of all Hill Stations. When the clouds break, there are beautiful views of the Indian Himilayas. It is peaceful and there are plenty of monkeys and cows and pissers to gawk at.
I am okay with cold weather, I'm not at all hardcore when it comes to freezing rain. I'm also a pantywaist when it comes to long walks uphill. The other Hill Stations I've visited (Shimla, Darjeeling, Dharamsala) were high up, but didn't include much walking directly uphill as they were all situated on larger ridges. The walking mall of Mussoorie winds up and up and up, then the fun begins.
The LLS is a 2 to 3km climb up a traversing roadway. It is a tranquil walk compared to the city, with occasional goods carriers and Toyota Qualis' (india's SUV of choice). It is a little dangerous as the scooters and small cars turn off their engines and glide down past you.
The hindi lessons have been great. I've been taking 4 hours a day. The teachers are excellent, so is the school staff... but Varanassi is calling me. The End Time City taunts and teases me in my dreams. So after classes tomorrow evening, I'll ride the bus back down the hill and embark on a 24-hour train journey.
On the way down the hill today I spoke with one of my teachers, Mr. Mohammed Yusuf. He's a great instructor who I think taught somebody from my high school who also lives in San Francisco (Jamie McEntee are you out there?). We talked about Bush and Iraq, and the elections and how he has fucked america's reputation in the eyes of the world. He complained about teaching hindi to repulsive Christian missionaries (from Florida and UofM alumni bastards) who explained to him that his religion (Islam) was "nothing" when compared to Jeebus. He cringes everytime he thinks of four more years of BushCo screwing the people and the planet.
I had a similar conversation with a 10 year old school boy, yesterday. The kid was funny and smart and carefully explained to me that while initially, some of the Iraqis were with the USA, now they were all against him. He also explained with much more vigor that there is a Glacier near Mussoorie that is melting. When it melts, it will flood Bangladesh. He smiled and said that Mussoorie will be saved, since the water will flows the other direction. I asked him for tips on my Hindi grammar and pronunciation homework and his dad had his brother bring me a glass of Chai.
I know that I'm loser for bailing on Mussoorie's cold rain and snow, but I really can't study or work on my conversating, because I am so very cold and tired. I also know that you won't hold it against me, dear reader. Maybe you'll continue to hold it against me, like you always have. For now, I'm following gravity's wishes and flowing towards Bangladesh and the sea.
RIP Carla
An update on the Memorial for Carla Toth for my Bay area peeps:
Potluck Memorial for Carla Helen Toth.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
12-4 PM
1901 Hearst Avenue, Berkeley
North Berkeley Senior Center
Join us and Celebrate the Life and Energy of Carla Helen Toth. We will share stories & memories of the woman who was a dearly loved member of the community. If you have photos or writings that you would like to share, you may bring copies that will be set out for everyone to view. This is a potluck so bring your favorite dish to share, alcohol is permitted, but will not be provided.
Wheelchair transportation will be provided from a BART station. Please call Lori Gray after 10 am to make transportation arrangements, if you require special accommodations, or would like to help with set up and clean up.
Lori Gray
510-843-4398
2/16/05
We are all hawkers now
When we first met the Delhi Deaf Women's group at their "deaf sweatshop" I was struck by a market niche that needed filling. I had recognized this need the last time we traveled.
I've always been hesitant to pull out the jumbo guidebooks we carry when we are in an unfamiliar environment. I have this unrational fear that doing so will shout to the locals that we are lost, or stupid, or tourists, or all of the above (As if our skin and clothes and baggage hadn't clued them in to these things already). As such, I envisioned some sort of cover that could deceive onlookers as to the contents of the book. I first thought that it could be some sort of reversible cloth covering that could act like a bible in certain areas and a quran in others; however, Michele shot down the idea by citing discrimination to the other gajillion religious texts.
I am not one to discriminate. Any alleged remarks that may (or may not) have been attributed to me regarding Indians who are deaf are MISLEADING EXAGGERATIONS and "made-up, erroneous dream-speak" at best. We found at the deaf women's craft workshop the raw materials to fabricate the perfect guise for a guidebook: Batik Elephant printed "trapper-keeper"s and notebooks!
After much hassling and negotiation (they all hate me) the women agreed to produce a beta version of the guide book misidentification device. I call it the GBMiD. I'm happy to say that it beautifully enshrouds our Lonely Plant or Rough guide in mystery. I purchased the book with glee and promised to the women that I would market it to bookstores and fellow travelers.
Today has hopefully been my last day in Delhi. I saw the new Delhi Metro line and met with the Chief Architect, Tripta Khurana. She was nice and very helpful describing the process of making the Metro accessible (I will spare the boring details of our meeting for a later entry when I'm out of boring details to share). Although our appointment was slightly delayed when her reception staff left for the day without telling her that I was waiting, the meeting went great.
Today I finally got a chance to wreak wrevenge on the annoying touts that have been trying to sell things to us since our feet got on the ground. I went stall to stall and bookstore to bookstore hawking the GBMid! My pitch was relentless, but technique was inconsistent. I didn't secure a sale, but I did give away all of the Delhi Deaf Women's Foundation business cards. When touts approached, I went into full selling mode. It was fun and relaxing... God do I love selling.
I must go as I need to finish the flyer to post on the hippy-dippy Internet Cafe wall. I've already been working on the copy for the ad. How does "Improve your Karma instantly with this purchase!" strike you.
For ordering information contact:
Delhi Foundation of Deaf Women
1st Floor, DDA Community Hall,
Gali Chandiwalli, Paharganj
New Delhi -110055
dfdw@mantraonline.com
Thanks!
I've always been hesitant to pull out the jumbo guidebooks we carry when we are in an unfamiliar environment. I have this unrational fear that doing so will shout to the locals that we are lost, or stupid, or tourists, or all of the above (As if our skin and clothes and baggage hadn't clued them in to these things already). As such, I envisioned some sort of cover that could deceive onlookers as to the contents of the book. I first thought that it could be some sort of reversible cloth covering that could act like a bible in certain areas and a quran in others; however, Michele shot down the idea by citing discrimination to the other gajillion religious texts.
I am not one to discriminate. Any alleged remarks that may (or may not) have been attributed to me regarding Indians who are deaf are MISLEADING EXAGGERATIONS and "made-up, erroneous dream-speak" at best. We found at the deaf women's craft workshop the raw materials to fabricate the perfect guise for a guidebook: Batik Elephant printed "trapper-keeper"s and notebooks!
After much hassling and negotiation (they all hate me) the women agreed to produce a beta version of the guide book misidentification device. I call it the GBMiD. I'm happy to say that it beautifully enshrouds our Lonely Plant or Rough guide in mystery. I purchased the book with glee and promised to the women that I would market it to bookstores and fellow travelers.
Today has hopefully been my last day in Delhi. I saw the new Delhi Metro line and met with the Chief Architect, Tripta Khurana. She was nice and very helpful describing the process of making the Metro accessible (I will spare the boring details of our meeting for a later entry when I'm out of boring details to share). Although our appointment was slightly delayed when her reception staff left for the day without telling her that I was waiting, the meeting went great.
Today I finally got a chance to wreak wrevenge on the annoying touts that have been trying to sell things to us since our feet got on the ground. I went stall to stall and bookstore to bookstore hawking the GBMid! My pitch was relentless, but technique was inconsistent. I didn't secure a sale, but I did give away all of the Delhi Deaf Women's Foundation business cards. When touts approached, I went into full selling mode. It was fun and relaxing... God do I love selling.
I must go as I need to finish the flyer to post on the hippy-dippy Internet Cafe wall. I've already been working on the copy for the ad. How does "Improve your Karma instantly with this purchase!" strike you.
For ordering information contact:
Delhi Foundation of Deaf Women
1st Floor, DDA Community Hall,
Gali Chandiwalli, Paharganj
New Delhi -110055
dfdw@mantraonline.com
Thanks!
2/14/05
I just wear black
I've been wearing black and grey all of our journey. Maybe it's a phase? Maybe it is a sign of me trying to be serious and professional? I do know this dear friends, black is a good color to travel in. First, you come off less like a stoner hippie and second you can wear stuff for days straight without having to worry about silly things like "Same day washing services."
This morning, I worked myself into tizzy tryin to determine if was more worthwhile to pay per piece of laundry or just pay by the kg. I succumbed and went for the 40 rupies per kg route. 120 rupies later, I think that I'd rather go itemized. If I pay 3 rupies ( 3/47 dollars ) per each pair of socks and underwear and 8 rupies per trousers I think that we'd save a bundle. Besides, I'm not washing the trousers, they're black, remember.
I wore all black to a meeting yesterday with a tragically brilliant urban planner. I met with her for four hours on a sunday afternoon after calling her out of the blue. I read a book that she wrote when we were here in 2003 and really enjoyed it. I am obsessed with matters regarding architecture and indian domestic policy, so I found a random email address associated with her name and sent her a brief note. Imagine my amazement when not only did she reply, but she actually agreed to meet.
Our conversation was long and loopy. She was funny, smart and dangerous, which is just about everything I look for, ask Michele.
She revealed a theory about middle age civil service professional's that she called " Midnight children of the emergency" which references Indira Ghandi's power grab and the resulting political shock waves it sent across the subcontinent. Mrs. Ghandi, bless her heart, gave herself dictatorial power to save her nation. I think that her's is an example that has been burned into the minds of India's aging professional class.
From the admittedly minuscule exposure I've gained to Indian managerial styles, there seems to be a common thread of a charismatic leader who uses an organization for individual gain. Said leader then slowly poisons the younger generation to prevent mutinies and uprisings against them. No leader or organization is perfect, but this weird "fear of the younger generation" in india is like nothing I've seen before. It makes it impossible for young professionals to work their way up the system. It is possible that this just happens everywhere and I'm just blind to it, but you can tell that I'm building my business-speak vocabulatory. I did finally read "Who Moved My Cheese," and Tony Robbins, step off dude, you don't know me like that...
The unnamed, paradigm-obsessed, urban planner shared my love of things black. Her words will hopefully shape the discourse of Indian public life, once the generation clinging to power dies off and the young and the clueless try to pick up the pieces. My notebook is full and my head is spinning. She made me tea (black) and offered me a cigarette, but I couldn't hang -- I just wear black, I don't live it.
This morning, I worked myself into tizzy tryin to determine if was more worthwhile to pay per piece of laundry or just pay by the kg. I succumbed and went for the 40 rupies per kg route. 120 rupies later, I think that I'd rather go itemized. If I pay 3 rupies ( 3/47 dollars ) per each pair of socks and underwear and 8 rupies per trousers I think that we'd save a bundle. Besides, I'm not washing the trousers, they're black, remember.
I wore all black to a meeting yesterday with a tragically brilliant urban planner. I met with her for four hours on a sunday afternoon after calling her out of the blue. I read a book that she wrote when we were here in 2003 and really enjoyed it. I am obsessed with matters regarding architecture and indian domestic policy, so I found a random email address associated with her name and sent her a brief note. Imagine my amazement when not only did she reply, but she actually agreed to meet.
Our conversation was long and loopy. She was funny, smart and dangerous, which is just about everything I look for, ask Michele.
She revealed a theory about middle age civil service professional's that she called " Midnight children of the emergency" which references Indira Ghandi's power grab and the resulting political shock waves it sent across the subcontinent. Mrs. Ghandi, bless her heart, gave herself dictatorial power to save her nation. I think that her's is an example that has been burned into the minds of India's aging professional class.
From the admittedly minuscule exposure I've gained to Indian managerial styles, there seems to be a common thread of a charismatic leader who uses an organization for individual gain. Said leader then slowly poisons the younger generation to prevent mutinies and uprisings against them. No leader or organization is perfect, but this weird "fear of the younger generation" in india is like nothing I've seen before. It makes it impossible for young professionals to work their way up the system. It is possible that this just happens everywhere and I'm just blind to it, but you can tell that I'm building my business-speak vocabulatory. I did finally read "Who Moved My Cheese," and Tony Robbins, step off dude, you don't know me like that...
The unnamed, paradigm-obsessed, urban planner shared my love of things black. Her words will hopefully shape the discourse of Indian public life, once the generation clinging to power dies off and the young and the clueless try to pick up the pieces. My notebook is full and my head is spinning. She made me tea (black) and offered me a cigarette, but I couldn't hang -- I just wear black, I don't live it.
2/9/05
Lighting and much rain followed us home.
As noted above, Michele got into the Medical Anthropology PHD program at UC Berkeley. She is very excited as there are only 2 people accepted out of 50 applicants. We high fived everyone in the internet cafe. Her fingers are furiously typing an email to her mother. She was worried but I told her that she was going to get in. Maybe now she'll listen to me more often. HA.
In other departments of good news, Air India finally found my bag. We picked it up at the airport when we welcomed our dear friend Annabelle. After picking AB out of the throngs of Sihks we made our way to the dreaded room #49 and our journey through paperwork and long waiting began.
I was informed that my bag had arrived two days earlier. Air India let me know that they would reimburse me for the transit costs to the airport and any baggage storage fees. It wasn't that big of a deal, just a long wait and many receipts to be filled from customs, air india and the airport security. Lighting and much rain followed us home.
I am wearing clean pants and underwear for the second straight day and Michele got into Berkeley... Life is good.
Tommorow the planning and preparation for the Deaf Women's Cultural Conference begins. Wish us luck.
In other departments of good news, Air India finally found my bag. We picked it up at the airport when we welcomed our dear friend Annabelle. After picking AB out of the throngs of Sihks we made our way to the dreaded room #49 and our journey through paperwork and long waiting began.
I was informed that my bag had arrived two days earlier. Air India let me know that they would reimburse me for the transit costs to the airport and any baggage storage fees. It wasn't that big of a deal, just a long wait and many receipts to be filled from customs, air india and the airport security. Lighting and much rain followed us home.
I am wearing clean pants and underwear for the second straight day and Michele got into Berkeley... Life is good.
Tommorow the planning and preparation for the Deaf Women's Cultural Conference begins. Wish us luck.
2/6/05
Alas no Richard Gere in Majnu Ka Tilla
Hi. We move from ghetto to ghetto at the speed of sound. Now we sit in cramped quarters at the Majnu Ka Tilla. It is the North Delhi area next to the River Yamuna where the displaced Tibetans have put up shop.
Today is dull and rainy. Most of the stores are closed. Up here the alleys are tighter and everyone is all monked out (wearing traditional tibetan maroon robes). Tibetans are generally more chill than indians. The scene is much closer to that of Macleod Ganj without the stunning himilayan backdrop, Richard Gere wannabe bud-ophiles... and the monkeys.
Michele and I had a great meeting yesterday with the Deaf Women's group and are excited about the upcoming conference. I think that it will be fun to talk about technology and empowerment for people with disabilities. She is planning lots of exercises and check-in sessions with the women. I may just talk at them for 2 hours about the "Wonders of the Magical Internet" until they throw stuff at me... just kidding. They are too polite to throw things at the presenters.
I tortured the group by asking the women in the craft-making workshop to make me a cover for our Lonely Planet - India guidebook. It seems like one of things tourists would go crazy for. Everyone of the hippie backpacker types carries their guidebook like a bible. The two different camps: Rough Guide and the Lonely Planet seem to get along ok, but it is really a facade. The rough guide types know that the LP carriers are pansies...
Maybe it is just us 'muricans, but I think that people like to accessorize. I wager that the Delhi Deaf Women's Foundation guidebook cover will be the next big thing in Delhi craft stores.
They will go like hotcakes off of their website. Can't wait for the IPO.
Today is dull and rainy. Most of the stores are closed. Up here the alleys are tighter and everyone is all monked out (wearing traditional tibetan maroon robes). Tibetans are generally more chill than indians. The scene is much closer to that of Macleod Ganj without the stunning himilayan backdrop, Richard Gere wannabe bud-ophiles... and the monkeys.
Michele and I had a great meeting yesterday with the Deaf Women's group and are excited about the upcoming conference. I think that it will be fun to talk about technology and empowerment for people with disabilities. She is planning lots of exercises and check-in sessions with the women. I may just talk at them for 2 hours about the "Wonders of the Magical Internet" until they throw stuff at me... just kidding. They are too polite to throw things at the presenters.
I tortured the group by asking the women in the craft-making workshop to make me a cover for our Lonely Planet - India guidebook. It seems like one of things tourists would go crazy for. Everyone of the hippie backpacker types carries their guidebook like a bible. The two different camps: Rough Guide and the Lonely Planet seem to get along ok, but it is really a facade. The rough guide types know that the LP carriers are pansies...
Maybe it is just us 'muricans, but I think that people like to accessorize. I wager that the Delhi Deaf Women's Foundation guidebook cover will be the next big thing in Delhi craft stores.
They will go like hotcakes off of their website. Can't wait for the IPO.
2/2/05
We built this city (on slave labor)
Managed to find a great place directly behind Jama Massid, the largest Mosque in India. It is a beautiful red sandstone structure with three huge domes, and two incredible minaretes. We ate dinner and drank coffee and tea on the roof last night. Watched the unending flow of bicycle rickshaws, vendors and goods haulers bustle through the streets.
I'm happy that we avoided staying in the tourist ghetto of Pahar Ganj.
We have a built in alarm clock, the call to prayer at 6:30 am and we always know which direction is west (pointing towards mecca), so that makes up for the fact that there are no Israeli hippies.
On the not so great side of things, my bag is missing. Air india is being a little less than helpful (I miss customer-centric service). Although it may have been missing on the United or Air Singapore flights. We'll find out in the next few days I hope.
Also found out that my poet/artist/friend from Berkeley, Carla Toth is dead. Apparently she was hit by a freight train, crossing the tracks in the early morning a day ago. Rest in peace Carla. We'll miss you.
I'm happy that we avoided staying in the tourist ghetto of Pahar Ganj.
We have a built in alarm clock, the call to prayer at 6:30 am and we always know which direction is west (pointing towards mecca), so that makes up for the fact that there are no Israeli hippies.
On the not so great side of things, my bag is missing. Air india is being a little less than helpful (I miss customer-centric service). Although it may have been missing on the United or Air Singapore flights. We'll find out in the next few days I hope.
Also found out that my poet/artist/friend from Berkeley, Carla Toth is dead. Apparently she was hit by a freight train, crossing the tracks in the early morning a day ago. Rest in peace Carla. We'll miss you.
2/1/05
Singapore airport is clean.
I have this underlying temptation to shoplift something. It is just like standing on the edge of an abyss, and wanting to jump off...
Saw lots of movies on the plane. I think that Taxi was my favorite. Queen Latifa was great. I've liked Jimmy Fallon since I saw him at the 9-11 benefit show. The movie was really surprizing in the fact that it didn't suck.
I heart huckabees was okay. I saw finding Nemo... twice. I fucking love ellen.
I've been looking for portable recording devices. Couldn't find a cheap minidisc with a mic input in the bay area before we left. They are all over the Singapore airport (loads of electronics) but $250 is too much.
Any suggestions for cheap relatively okay portable recording?
J
Saw lots of movies on the plane. I think that Taxi was my favorite. Queen Latifa was great. I've liked Jimmy Fallon since I saw him at the 9-11 benefit show. The movie was really surprizing in the fact that it didn't suck.
I heart huckabees was okay. I saw finding Nemo... twice. I fucking love ellen.
I've been looking for portable recording devices. Couldn't find a cheap minidisc with a mic input in the bay area before we left. They are all over the Singapore airport (loads of electronics) but $250 is too much.
Any suggestions for cheap relatively okay portable recording?
J
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