Re-Assimilation

Airline food never held such significance.  The vegetarian thali with aloo paratha or the grilled chicken breast with a side of roasted potatoes and steamed broccoli? A head bobble would have affirmed my food preference with Miss Indigo, but only confused Frau Lufthansa.  The robust Aryan flight attendant smiled patiently at me… just another reassimilating traveler on the way home. 

I savored the saran-wrapped microwavable dish.  Each spork enabled bite tasted disturbingly deeeelish. Yet, I already missed a few details from India.  The soothing taste of ginger mulled in masala chai. The explosive colors on small temples lining dirt roads. The dogged determination of a country with so much promise. The infinite generosity of Indian friends, particularly Shvet Jain, Bouchan Roa, Sid Joshi, Akshay Oleti and Viren Shetty. Overcoming challenges big and small with Sasha, Nikki and Katie.

Western life feels preciously light and effortless. Waiting in line without having to physically block out the person behind me like an offensive lineman. Showering without sealing my lips and eyes tight like a ziplock bag.  Knowing that the maid, who cleans my hotel room, earns a living wage. Previously mundane details remind me to be grateful for simple privileges and peace of mind.

Over the last 28 days, I did not write as much as I had hoped. Pausing at the end of the day and thinking about small differences in Indian life greatly enriched my experience.  Your encouragement and feedback with my first blogging foray kept me motivated along the way.  Thank you, so much for participating. 

I’m closing my 28 days with one last request. Please pick up where I left off.  India’s richness and complexity leaves many topics outstanding.  I want to offer up this blog as a means for others to share experiences and not have to commit to a full blog of their own, which can seem intimidating or arduous.  If my experience serves as an example, your friends and family love sharing the journey with you. I know I will. 

Let them eat cake!

Fudgey chocolate mud pie. Spiced carrot nut cake. White forest butter cream torte.  Local bakeries line the streets of Bangalore.  Glass cases seductively display perfect confections to tempt the passing crowd.  Sugary air billowing onto the sidewalk offer a heavenly pause from the roads' less appetizing smells.

Indian cakes are fit for the Queen.  Perfectly coiffed frosting puffs dusted with shaved bittersweet chocolate and cheery placed just-so. Such a decadent decoration would normally demand an equally high maintenance form of service. A delicate china set with silver cutlery would suffice. Shouldn't the plating reflect the desserts' British influence?

Not so. Local cake consumption is a casual affair.  Indian cakes are regularly eaten at the display counter, off of a small white paper plates with one's hands.  At our local SPAR (ie. our Safeway stand-in), Sasha and I repeatedly witnessed elegantly dressed men and women breaking off pieces of fresh cake and stuffing them into their mouths while on the go.  We found ourselves unintentionally gaping at the etiquette horreur.

But why should we be so appalled by hand eaten cake? Every day we witness Indian's incredible manual dexterity when consuming naan, daal, and curry.

Looking back on the incident, I was startled because the cake looked so Western, so proper, that it demanded European manners.  What would a Japanese traveler think if she saw someone cutting a piece of nagiri sushi with a fork and knife?  The perceived offense would be like eating naan with one's left hand. It just is not done.

With this new perspective, I am compelled to eat South Indian food with my hands.  If I believe cake demands a fork and should be eaten sitting down, then my local friends must also believe okra requires five fingers and a thumb. Years of Western table manners left me unprepared for Indian eating. Americans need cutlery like a child needs training wheels. Yet, that excuse cannot stand.  I've thrown off the shackles of Tiffany's Table Manners and will embrace local etiquette, starting with the childlike wonderment of finger food.

Conning the Con Artist

I pay white people prices in India. It is not a secret. My dayglow skin, big curly "blond" hair, and inability to speak any of India's 100+ native languages ensures a markup on every single purchase.  From food to housing to clothing, my wallet bleeds rupees.

Most westerners can easily afford an extra $0.05 for a cup of cardamom tea or $3 for a silk shirt.  With a conversion rate of 55 INR to the dollar, a 200 rupee premium is less than a small black Dunkin' Donuts coffee.  In exchange for my complicit role as "sugar daddy" I receive a big teethy smile from the store owner and a masala infused "Thank you, Madam." Priceless.

Generally, negotiations lead to a fair gringo premium, perhaps 1.5-2x. Well...in most circumstances. There is one major exception...autorickshaw rides. The adorably cute yellow bubbly vehicles are fitting for Teletubbies or Jim Hensen's Doozers from Fraggle Rock.

Do not be fooled by the LegoLand design. Negotiating with an autorickshaw driver is war. . . a war that I am determined to win.

I am on to their tactics. "Shock and awe" then "barricade." Normally, drivers approach target customers at full speed only to stop within 3 to10 inches of their bodies. Physically touching the customer with the car or barricading her path is ideal but not always feasible.  When sidewalks get in the way, drivers trail for blocks while honking and yelling "Ride, Madam?"

If a customer actually needs a ride, new weapons deploy - entrapment and gouging.  An aggressive driver will offer a tempting price, say 30 rupees. Once the offer is accepted, you'll be rapidly whisked 2-3 kilometeres out of your way to the driver's cousin's marble statue store, where you'll be forced to look at their wares before continuing on to your final destination. Note that the rickshaw cannot even carry a stone statue, so the exercise is absurd from the start. It is one thing to take advantage of a captive market. It is quite another to kidnap your customer. Suspiciously affordable rides may lead to near term financial gains, but are not worth the anxiety and time delays. Don't take the bait.

After running the rickshaw gauntlet numerous time, I have developed my own counter-offensive. First, plan in advance. Take a screen shot of your destination and current location using the iPhone Google Map application, when you are near wireless internet to minimize your international data plan consumption.  Ensure your current location and destination are marked and on the same screen.

Second - propose a price to the driver before he can propose one to you. You create the pricing anchor. When he rejects it and offers 10x more, pull out the image on your iPhone of the map that shows that you know where you are going.  You'll probably end up somewhere in between the two prices but very far from the normal white person premium

Third - Before you get in the car, look the driver in the eye and say "no shopping." If he blinks, do not get in unless you love statues and want to meet local store owners.

IndiGo - Friendly Skies of the Future

Imagine…An airline that merges JetBlue’s efficient minimalism with Virgin Atlantic’s sexy swagger. An airline that delivers punctual clean travel - in style.  It is time to trade in your frequent flyer miles because IndiGo is coming.

IndiGo is India’s rapidly growing domestic carrier. This past weekend, Sasha and I took a short trip to Jaipur on IndiGo and the impeccable flight experience left a lasting impression.

Let’s start with IndiGo’s airplanes. Simple. Blue. Clean. There wasn’t a scrap of dirt on IndiGo’s plane.  When was the last time you flew on a clean domestic airplane? I could almost see the mold growing off my last United flight from SFO.

Yes, IndiGo passengers have to pay out of pocket for all food and beverages (except tap water). But, who actually cares. We all can live without another can of soda or bag of fried food. Many passengers bought tasty paneer tikka sandwiches in the airport before the flight anyway.

The flight attendants are my favorite part of the IndiGo experience. These young professionals are friendly, smart and attractive - reminiscent of turn of the century “stewardesses.” Incase you were curious how these ladies style those perfectly glossed bobs…they are wigs.  It turns out that the faux Sexy Spice inspired hair-do is an alternative to creating a slick back modern bun with one’s own hair. All ladies look the same from head to toe including nail polish, lipstick, eye make-up, shoes, tights and earrings.  Ikea of the skies supports modular replicable design.  

Full time employees reflect the intensive application process, including a full-length photo and a 100 word essay in English about why the prospective “Miss IndiGo” wants to join the company.

I am personally indebted to the Miss IndiGo team on my return flight to Bangalore last night. Mid-flight, I fell terribly ill. Between my laps to the bathroom, the ladies in blue let me rest in the aft galley and offered tips about what types of Indian food to eat after an upset stomach.  The airline barf bag even looked good after a trip to the emergency room.

IndiGo Airlines exemplifies the country’s potential to leapfrog other nations. IndiGo surpasses first world quality with developing world prices. Indian customers keep coming back for more. I’m already looking forward to next weekend’s flight to Mumbai.

Monsoon. No Wedding.

The monsoon is no joke. Sheets upon sheets of rain pummel Bangalore. Streets transform into rushing rapids within minutes.  Potholes become lakes of doom, trapping cars, scooters and tuk-tuks.  Even the cows struggle to take cover.

A properly equipped lady carries a wetsuit, rubber boots, and goggles in her purse. She would unquestionably have a private submarine driver at her disposal.  On Thursday night, Sasha and I learned that sandals, a folding umbrella, and 100 rupees (~$2) to hire a rickshaw driver do not suffice when battling India's elements.

After a lovely reunion dinner in central Bangalore with members of Stanford’s Global BioDesign Program, the sky opened up with immense fury. The regular supply of roving little yellow autos (aka. tuk-tuks, rickshaw, a metal bubble bolted onto 3 wheels and a lawnmower engine) vanished. Fortunately, the BioDesign team’s hired driver agreed to accommodate 8 people in his tiny automobile as long as we would not complain when he hotwired his ignition.

To understand the monsoon first hand, Sasha and I captured a mini vignette during the journey home.  Take note of local drivers’ hydroplaning skills as well as the water’s color and depth.

Sasha and I became intimate with the local aquatic flora and fauna when we had to travel the last block home on foot. Such ecological diversity.  While we were unable to capture footage of us leaping from curb to curb on our flooded street, we did tape our victorious arrival for your viewing pleasure.  Happy Monsoon Season!

Note: Incase you are having trouble seeing the videos, here are the links on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JijajhiHOkc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iy69Q9i6tfY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDp2dB8QWnw

Dashboards be praised

Muslim. Hindu. Christian. One tradition transcends India’s sectarian divide – dashboard icons.  Whether your deity is Krishna, the Virgin Mary, or a short Koranic scripture, India has a bobble head for you.



Every cab has one. Every single one. I noticed these statues and shrines during my last trip to India. However, what strikes me this time around is the lack of icon redundancy. I doubt that I’ve seen the exact same icon twice. Could there really be enough icons for each car in this 1.2 billion-person nation? Perhaps.




In light of India’s history of sectarian violence, I’m surprised and impressed that cab drivers display their faith directly to their passengers. A baby Ganesha usually smiles back at me during my morning commute. If my hindu cabbie picks up a rowdy group of muslims, couldn’t the icon place him at risk?  God will protect, I guess. Then again, a Bangalorean driver really needs divine protection against the chaotic roadways, not against his fellow citizens.  I’d buy an icon if I had to drive here.



On the subject of buying an icon, Sasha Brophy (my fellow classmate and partner in crime) and I are in the market for one. If you have ever driven in a Safeway parking lot you know that the Lord has bailed you out once or twice already. We have yet to find the mega-mart for plastic mini-Gods, but a post will follow once we do. I’ll go back to my local grocery store and ask tonight.

Sidewalk Games

Walking in Bangalore is like playing Jenga.  I’m sure you remember the game. One by one, players remove tiny wood rectangular blocks from a tall tower. The individual who causes the tower to fall when pulling out a block loses.

Bangalore’s sidewalks are constructed just like a Jenga tower. Giant rectangular slabs lay side by sized forming a modular sidewalk.  At first, this does not seem unique. New York, San Francisco, and London all have square modular sidewalks, right? Well, Bangalore’s sidewalk is special…and interactive.

Similar to Jenga, some slabs of concrete are solid and secure while others are unstable.  The fun of the game is finding out through trial and error whether you are standing on a solid ground. Speaking from experience, the game is quite exhilarating. One minute you are strolling alone and the next you are wobbling uncontrollably…arms flailing…shouting out an explicative (or two) in front of small children. Jenga!

Only after my run in with a loose slab of concrete did I realize these walls of rock are precariously balanced above a deep gully running down the center of the sidewalk. 

The key to Bangalorian Jenga is looking for clues. The degree of the panel’s tilt. The space between the adjacent slab. The lack of caulking. As an apprentice player, I now follow behind other more experienced players, gingerly tracking their footsteps. Perhaps by day 28, I'll be a Jenga master.