Last Day Standing
It was another busy last day in Delhi. I usually save all the shopping for the last minute and then run out of money with too many unaccomplished tasks about 6 hours before the plane skips off the tarmack. This time is no different, except that I've wrought a different type of tragedy. Two blissful days ago, I had inadvertantly knicked M's vibrating alarm clock from her room in Mussoorie. I didn't have a watch with me and she suggested that I use the alarm clock to determine when my sessions with the tutor were finished. A great suggestion at the time, but now, as the bus pulled out of the Haridwar bus stand taking my M off into the early evening dust and chaos towards Dehradun, I felt a bump in my backpack that I had not noticed previously...
My heart sunk. I knew what it was. I knew after tears and hugs and kisses she was going to kill me. After parting shots and parting photographs and video monologues, I had stolen M's vibrating alarm clock and her only means of getting up in time for Hindi classes, 5AM trains and flights home. I kept repeating to myself that at least I didn't take her passport, or her bankcard or her deodorant, but it did no good.
I did what every erring man does when he's gone wrong. I drowned my sorrows in tasty treats. The train I rode from Hardiwar to Delhi was the Shatabdi. Shatabdi means "fast fancy train with lots of free food." Samosas and uncle chipps spicy snacks were downed with boxes of Appy Fizz, the carbonated apple juice drink. I had the Indian Railway's infamous tomato soup, mishti doi (sweet yogurt) and ready to eat tins of shai paneer, daal and rice. The thin hanky style romali roti was not as great as kamal's but it did the job just fine. So fine in fact that I had to beg off the finishing course of ice cream.
We rolled into Delhi at 11:00PM still under a cloud of sorrow and guilt. I read my book, The Life and Death of Great American Cities (I'm tentatively titling my future bestseller "Reading Jane Jacobs in India") and listened to a mix CD to avoid any social contact with my fellow riders. In my guilty funk, it was easy to ignore all eye contact and shun typical train relations. I've been not so much of a conversation magnet this time around. I'm still learning indian customs, but I now know that I don't need to respond to every request for my attention.
Today while trying to run all my last minute errands I slipped into a conversation with Golden Yogi. A smarmy Sikh man who tried to read my palm and tell me my future. He was nice enough and worldly (he'd been to LA) but his turban was too close over his eyes. He also confused me with a "bindhiesque" forehead marking which I haven't seen on many sikhs. As I approached him, I noticed his partner walk away quickly. His partner came back into play when I motioned to leave. He played the second man to a T when he caught my attention and gave me a thumbs up (not a Thums up), pointing at Golden Y and indicating that he was both knowledgable and trustworthy.
I practiced newly learned hindi phrases with my new friends:
Mujko vishwaas nahi hai -- "I do not believe."
Ye asambhav hai -- "It is impossible."
Mujhe chalnaa chahiye -- "Please allow me to go."
Maaf Kijiye, mai bahut jaldi me huun -- "Excuse me, I am in a great hurry."
I waved, namasted and walked away. Things I wished I had remembered to say:
Tum Ullo Ho -- "You are a stupid owl."
Mai sabse kharab hindi bolta huun -- "I speak the most rotten Hindi." (just for old times sake)
I don't know how to say the plural form for you or owl, so I would have had to say it Golden Y and his second man. It is interesting how Indians are not so fond of owls. In general, they are considered a stupid animal and to be called an owl is a great insult. In the west we think of owls as wise and old. There is probably some great analytic cultural comparison looking at how we insult each other. Feel free to look it up.
I do know this, if really want to piss someone off in Hindi, address them as "Sala." Out of the multitude of terms describing Indian familial relations, this one translates to brother in law. I used to think that Indians just didn't like their brother in law's; however, Kevin, M's friend from Berkeley noted the implied close friendship with the brother in law's sister... duh.
I finished up the day with a few more journeys across Delhi via autorickshaw and the Delhi metro. I stopped by the Delhi Deaf Women's Sweatshop to give our friends my parting regards and dropped off the vibrating alarm clock for M to pick up when she stops by in a couple of weeks on her way back to the US. My taxi should be here in an hour, so I'll go stare at Paharganj's vital street life and try not to step in cow shit. Wish me luck.
8/7/06
8/2/06
Crooked just the same
Crooked just the same
My Hindi is still the most rotten, but it is slowly improving. Mussorie is proving to be a much better place to study in July/August than it was in February. M and I are ensconced in the christian guest house at the top of the big hill and few hundred meters down from the language school. I've actually been making all of the scheduled classes. I don't miss the 30 minute walk uphill through the cold rain and snow.
It has been raining quite a bit, although we had a respite over the weekend. The mountains here are incredible. We had dinner a few nights back with a fellow student who lives in the Fruitvale area in Oakland. We sat on his back patio and ate local cheese and stared googley eyed at the snowcapped peaks of the Yamunotri and the Gangotri Glacier until the clouds snuck up underneath us and the sun set.
We are sparingly using the digital camera. There are just too many vistas to capture. It does have a nice video record feature that I've been using to torture M. I wait till she is napping, then I attack her with recording camera in hand (not that sort of attacking). Although I get a big kick out of it, M may be counting the days until I leave her to nap in peace.
The rain makes it easy to study or sleep. There is a small posse of likeminded students staying at our guest house, so we sit around reading Hindi books and making fun of missionaries and each other. We stayed up late last night drinking rum and whiskey and a local rice-based alcohol that did not (as some were worried of) cause us to go blind. There were rumors that the rocket-fuel-esque drink would make us all sterile, but we've not verified this theory so far. From what I can tell, consumption of said hooch has not effected the local population growth.
We've been talking a lot about disability and identity development in India. It turns out the too many of the language school students and guest house residents happen to study Anthropology / Sociology. I turn back to reading my Hindi books and practicing writing the script whenever the topic turns to focaultian analysis.
I have had great conversations about young indian call-center employees and the unsustainable trajectory that the industry is following. It turns our that call center jobs that are supposed to level the global playing field are really opportunities to turn young educated indians into wage slaves and office drones. Economic opportunity is helpful to some degree, but there are no avenues for advancement and people get trapped by extravagent lifestyles and debt. We speculated on what the indian call center employees will do when their jobs are outsourced to China.
Will there will be an exodus of millions of over-educated, under-employed, american accented, english speaking indians back to the simple life of the rural villages?
Probably not. But I do see increased trends in repetitive stress injuries and depression in this new generation of worker bees. What a wonderful time for the pharmacuetical companies to save the day. Prozac futures in the subcontinent are high!
My Hindi is still the most rotten, but it is slowly improving. Mussorie is proving to be a much better place to study in July/August than it was in February. M and I are ensconced in the christian guest house at the top of the big hill and few hundred meters down from the language school. I've actually been making all of the scheduled classes. I don't miss the 30 minute walk uphill through the cold rain and snow.
It has been raining quite a bit, although we had a respite over the weekend. The mountains here are incredible. We had dinner a few nights back with a fellow student who lives in the Fruitvale area in Oakland. We sat on his back patio and ate local cheese and stared googley eyed at the snowcapped peaks of the Yamunotri and the Gangotri Glacier until the clouds snuck up underneath us and the sun set.
We are sparingly using the digital camera. There are just too many vistas to capture. It does have a nice video record feature that I've been using to torture M. I wait till she is napping, then I attack her with recording camera in hand (not that sort of attacking). Although I get a big kick out of it, M may be counting the days until I leave her to nap in peace.
The rain makes it easy to study or sleep. There is a small posse of likeminded students staying at our guest house, so we sit around reading Hindi books and making fun of missionaries and each other. We stayed up late last night drinking rum and whiskey and a local rice-based alcohol that did not (as some were worried of) cause us to go blind. There were rumors that the rocket-fuel-esque drink would make us all sterile, but we've not verified this theory so far. From what I can tell, consumption of said hooch has not effected the local population growth.
We've been talking a lot about disability and identity development in India. It turns out the too many of the language school students and guest house residents happen to study Anthropology / Sociology. I turn back to reading my Hindi books and practicing writing the script whenever the topic turns to focaultian analysis.
I have had great conversations about young indian call-center employees and the unsustainable trajectory that the industry is following. It turns our that call center jobs that are supposed to level the global playing field are really opportunities to turn young educated indians into wage slaves and office drones. Economic opportunity is helpful to some degree, but there are no avenues for advancement and people get trapped by extravagent lifestyles and debt. We speculated on what the indian call center employees will do when their jobs are outsourced to China.
Will there will be an exodus of millions of over-educated, under-employed, american accented, english speaking indians back to the simple life of the rural villages?
Probably not. But I do see increased trends in repetitive stress injuries and depression in this new generation of worker bees. What a wonderful time for the pharmacuetical companies to save the day. Prozac futures in the subcontinent are high!
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