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.

Why am I in Bangalore?

Inquiring minds want to know why I am in Bangalore writing about the details of Indian living. Based upon my initial posts, a few readers questioned whether I abandoned my career aspirations within healthcare to become India's Martha Stewart.  I’m flattered, but Mekhala Singh Living’s first product line will just have to wait. The real purpose of my visit is an internship at Narayana Hrudayalaya.

If you are having trouble sounding out Narayana Hrudayalaya, you are not alone. Can I pronounce the hospital's name? Absolutely not. Just ask Akshay, my brilliant manager and cultural guru.  The daily giggle or a grimace signals that I need to try try again. Today, I am testing "na - RINE - na  (pause) Hrooo-de-YA'll-EH-ya." If you speak Kannada please post the correct pronunciation.

Narayana Hrudayalaya (let’s just call it “NH”) is a growing hospital network that provides high quality care at low cost. Lean operations, immense volumes, and sheer determination by its founder, Dr Devi Shetty, enable the hospital group to treat patients across all socio-economic classes.  I am working with the IT department to pilot the hospital's first electronic medical record system and to follow up on a business idea related to the big data sets the hospital already collects. Fortunately, NH explodes with brilliant details that I look forward to writing about.  That being said, in order to stay true to the "cardamom seeds" theme this blog will not cover how the hospital works, my job, my team, etc.

Thanks again to those of you who sent questions. I appreciate the feedback and request for more context. For those of you who would like more information about NH, please refer to:

NH’s website

Fast Company article

Lord of the Bucket - Continued with video

Less than an hour after posting "Lord of the Bucket," I ventured out to the closest supermarket to buy house and food supplies.  On my quest for paper towel, soap, fat free milk and non-oil based snacks, I stumbled upon the motherload of buckets. If you thought I was exaggerating in my original post, feast your eyes on this video.  SPAR has an ENTIRE isle of different shaped and sized buckets. To put this in perspective, the store's isle for bucket is the same size as the isle for oil and rice.  Definitely not a joke. Buckets...get one while they last.

Lord of the Bucket

The plastic bucket is the new duct tape. Duct tape was always the functional fashionista's "little black dress." Appropriate for all occasions.  However, Anna Wintour, take note...Duct tape is out. Plastic buckets are in.

In San Francisco, I do not own a bucket. Not one. A month ago, I came to this realization when Alfredo asked me for a plastic bucket to clean his kitesurfing equipment. The fact that I didn't own one never fazed me. A hose or a large cooking pot works just fine.

In India, that answer would not stand. My lack of buckets is an admission of barbaric behavior. A bucketless room, let alone a bucketless house, connotes a unfathomable lifestyle, unquestionably involving filthy bizarr activities.  An Indian version of Alfredo might easily conclude that I don't shower, don't wipe after going to the bathroom, don't clean my house, don't cook regular food, don't support my house cleaning staff...the list of offenses goes on.

Colorful plastic buckets are a linch-pin to daily life here. Without them, you are gross and backwards. Fortunately, my hotel room at the Online Suites in the Bommasandra Industrial Area (I'll provide pictures when I find my camera adapter) and my new serviced apartment under the Ruby Corporate Group provide savage Westerners like me plenty of buckets.

Let me introduce you to my current plastic bucket collection. There is shower basin bucket, washcloth bucket (ie. the bucket is my washcloth..see image below), tv-stand bucket, breakfast bowl bucket, measuring cup buckets and washer/dryer bucket. There might be more, but I haven't had a chance to look through all the cabinets yet.

Here is a picture of my shower basin bucket and "washcloth" bucket.

Note the attractive blue and clear combo - like a summer afternoon sky. The benefit of a clear washcloth bucket is that I can see whether the water is brown, yellow or clear before throwing it on myself to wipe off soap suds. Genius. In light of my new appreciation for water color varietals, my previous hotel's choice of only opaque buckets seems intentionally obfuscating.

Beyond cleaning, I've also witnessed buckets used as furniture (chairs at a cafe, tv-stands in an apartment), transportation (an infant's car/motorcycle seat), clothing (purse, briefcase) and kitchens (large rice dispensers, mortars for spices). Large and small, bright and bland buckets are here to stay.  Please share your own bucket images.

As a final note, I would really benefit from tips on how to use my bucket collection more effectively. For example, when showering do you fill the bucket with clean or soapy water? Do you stand or crouch when rinsing with the washcloth bucket? Do you wash your hair in the bucket or under the spigot? Sounds trivial but there has got to be a trick to bucket empowered bathing. Until I learn the tips and tricks I'll continue giving my entire bathroom, including the toilet, an unintentional rinse each morning.

Catching cardamom seeds in a paneer cheese cloth

Seven days into my month long adventure in Bangalore, I am making a big mistake. Like many other travelers, I jot down events and memories along the way so I can remember them years after. Or I share a bit about the day's events with my friends and families during a 20 minute Skype conversation. These descriptions are woefully inadequate.  Most conversations cover my day to day life. However, the part of the trip I cherish most is the details.

India overflows with small moments, smells and images that embody my growing understanding of this complex nation. Without being too hokey, the devil is not in the details here...the gems are in the details. 

Tragically, these details make boring conversation topics. Who wants to talk about buckets, bindi styles or drywall?  I do. But I need to change how I'm communicating these moments. Perhaps my first blog will draw you into the Indian details that I adore as well as my evolving view of the country.  

In exchange...write back. Help me stay at the right scale (ants not elephants) and ask questions incase I have not provided enough context. Posts might digress from time to time (forgive me in advance). Together, we will hunt for cardamom seeds within a paneer cheese cloth.