Friday, November 29, 2013

India Journal: Outings in Chennai



I went to Spencer mall by an auto rickshaw the other day. The auto-rickshaws that I see here are in much better condition than those of Jaipur – even the yellow paint seems brighter and less tarnished. The ride of about 2 km from the hotel to the mall cost me about Rs.50.

The mall is a beehive of small shops. Only a couple of businesses deserve to be called stores. One store is a two-level book and supply called Lansing’s in which the books are at least organized by topic, although not alphabetically by author or title. Among the shops, I think there were an equal number of hawkers working the halls as there were shoppers walking those halls. Hawkers seem to be especially common for the small clothing and craft shops. I suspect they’re told to target those of us with whiter complexions; i.e., tourists. I’ve learned the quick and easy head shake for “no” to back them off quickly without having to break my stride. Part of my purpose of going to the mall was to do some mall walking, not engage in hawker talking.

I did find a store that had electrical plug converters that I had long sought. Sometimes finding the simplest items in India can mimic the challenges of a scavenger hunt. However, before I could buy the converters that I wanted, I had to endure the salesman attempting to sell me a type that would not have worked with my American plugs. He tried to convince me that I was wrong, but to my good fortune, I saw exactly what I needed next to the ones that he’d tried to foist upon me.Those, I bought.

I walked for a short ways outside, but as in virtually every Indian city I’ve been in, the walk was not very pleasant. Noisy traffic, fumes, and poorly kept (if existent) sidewalks do not invite casual strolls. With enough exercise under my belt to satisfy myself, I grabbed a return ride for Rs.100 (the return trip is longer because of detours). The initial ask was Rs.150. Bargaining is a way of life here.

In the evening, I joined the Iowa Guru on her quest for some colored card-stock paper, note cards, and foam pieces. She had been directed by her students to a bazaar of paper wallas. The areas proved a long trip from the hotel, even in the car she’s provided. When we arrived around 6 p.m., we found the area crowded, with paper store after paper store after paper store in several directions. An initial inquiry at one store pointed the shop across the street, where the next inquiry pointed us upstairs, where the next inquiry pointed us to a different shop again. In the second store, I saw one hallway so crowded with paper boxes and other paraphernalia that we could hardly squeeze through. At that point, I had more fear of fire than the Scarecrow of Oz. We had to take an elevator to the fifth floor (complete with elevator operator). Fortunately, it was a quick trip, as the small elevator and cramped conditions in the building quickly instilled a sense of claustrophobia in me. But for all our hunting and adventuring in that shop, we turned away empty-handed. In the fourth or fifth shop (one loses count quickly), the Guru found what she needed amongst the stacks of 2014 diaries located inside and just outside of the shop. While I waited just outside (to avoid the stifling heat in the store that remained despite the overhead fans twirling at top speed), the Guru sat patiently beside the shopkeeper waiting for the goods that she’d requested to inspect. The shopkeeper remained glued to the chair next to his till. (He had no cash register, just a cash drawer.) From this perch, he would bark orders to his many minions like a John Barrymore movie character. The Guru suspects the stock boys hid in the storage area across the way just to avoid the old man’s constant barking of directions. Finally, the stock boys returned with the requested goods that met with the Guru's approval. The Guru, by the way, remained serene and composed throughout all of the delay,while I'd feared she might have simply wilted in her seat or to have gone postal in response to the chaos.

We celebrated her small victory with the dinner at the second most highly rated restaurant in Chennai (according to some travel guide). We were glad that it was well known because it seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, located on a narrow, darkly lit street. In fact, although the street was dimly lit, it did seem to be home to a number of high-end shops and maybe some high-end hotels. Because streets are almost uniformly poor here, they don’t readily suggest their occupants.

We tried the Italian cuisine, pizzas to be precise, which proved indifferent. On most occasions, it is a mistake to try to order foreign cuisine in India. Only on rare occasions has the venture proved anything more than passable.

My next venture will be to find a working ATM and a pair of AA batteries. Good luck to me.

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Thanksgiving

I woke up today and said "It's turkey-lurky day!" (admittedly not at my Sondheim best at that hour) to put Con and I in the mood for the holiday, but frankly, I don't hold out much hope for any turkey today, nor do I know if I'd want it if offered. Some things just don't travel well, and I expect that the traditional American Thanksgiving meal is one of them. Truth be told, I'm not that fond of turkey anyway, although I do love the stuffing and mashed potatoes with gravy. (Turkey sandwiches, on the other hand, are a favorite.) 

As I look out the window, I see trees filled with green leaves, including coconut trees. The weather remains warm, nothing more than a shirt and shorts are needed for dress. We're definitely not in Iowa anymore. This reminds me again of one thing that we miss: the change of seasons. By late fall, the best place to go for me was Kent Park on a Sunday late afternoon. Leaves having fallen, the structure of it all reveals itself. Heraclitus said that Nature loves to hide, but autumn reveals many of Nature's hidden structures. Trees without leaves reveal their bones against the chilled, blue sky. The colors of the prairie grasses glow a greenish gold in the twilight. The surrounding cornfields are no more than stubble now, revealing great expanses of fields and signaling completion another harvest. Under time's bending sickle's compass comes all. Autumn reminds us of this in Iowa. 

By at least Thanksgiving Day, I break out the seasonal music. I've just listened to George Winston's "Thanksgiving" from his December album. The title and tenor of the piece capture the mood and season, but it also has sentimental value to me. I remember dancing with the Glamorous Nomad to this and other Winston pieces when my dancing partner sat in the crook of my arm, happy to twirl to my rude dance in our small living room on 10th Street Place in Coralville. The remainder of the album includes many traditional Christmas pieces that help set the tone for the season. 

Christmas music, outside of the Muzak variety, remains a favorite. From my collection of medieval music to croon an' swoon, some pieces still resonate. The early music pieces speak of the primal celebration of Christmas: of hope, nativity, and new beginnings. I think my fascination with early music comes from the medieval history survey course I took from John Bell Henneman in the fall and early winter semester of 1974. Such a bleak and cold world marked by war, famine, and pestilence. Life so tenuous, yet the Christian culture seemed to provide some measure of hope and relief. Advent and Christmas seem especially to provide a sense of hope to the unimaginable uncertainty of life in that bleak time. So Thanksgiving marks a transition to the Advent season, a season of preparation. (Last night, through the miracle of iTunes, I listened to Sir Alec Guinness recite T.S. Eliot's "Journey of the Magi", a wonderful poem for the season.)

For this year, the transition will include a journey to a land new to us, Ethiopia, as we prepare to see our Africa girl and our China girl and explore more. These ancient lands, so exotic and strange to us, contain societies far older than ours. A land at once new and old.

We have a great deal to give thanks for. It's been an incredible year: Jaipur, Udaipur, Jodhpur, Ajmer, and the rest of Rajasthan. Nepal and the Himalayas. Meghalaya and the wettest place on earth above the Bangladeshi plain. Delhi with its monuments and history. Amritsar and the Golden Temple. Dalhousie in the cool and fog of the Himalayan hills. London: our first visit to the great seat of history and culture, where for us the sun shone with little interruption and St. Paul's called to my Protestant roots. Good ol' 345 Magowan in Iowa City: it doesn't seem to want to let us go. Delicious Puebla and grand Mexico City with the great volcano Popocatepetl between them spewing smoke and ash. The comfortable Chicago burbs. Rome--Rome! More incredible art and more living history than one can imagine. Tuscany: only a day, but we shall return because the postcard views proved real and the food and wine beyond words. Chengdu, China: an incredible city, vibrant and amazing; small noodle and dumpling shops and grand, new buildings; and wonderful month with the Glamorous Nomad and her terrific peeps. The Daoist mountain: all high-tech getting there and then a reprieve from it all with the Nature of traditional China. Trivandrum, our new home: lions and tigers for neighbors, ocean breezes and coconut trees below us, and the beach a short--albeit congested--drive away. Here in Chennai: another Indian city that somehow works despite itself. What a year! 

But most of all, it's all worthwhile because of family and friends. Without those we share with, nothing would count. So here's wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving, and thanks to you.

India Journal: Watch Out Where You Pass Out

Okay, best advice ever: Don't get drunk & pass out.

Second best advice: Don't get drunk & pass out where a python might lurk.

The result of violating the second piece of advice for one guy is reported below. And, yes, this is in the state where we live. Hat tip to the Glamorous Nomad for this news item.

sportsmasher.com

Python Eats Passed Out Drunk Guy In India


Note to self: Do not get drunk and pass out outside in India. I have been incredibly drunk in my checkered past, and I have done some things I am not proud of, including passing out cold in some strange places for lengthy amounts of time. However, I am sure that I would wake up from my drunken slumber if a python was trying to eat me, and i think I would be able to escape his deadly coils. That’s just because I am self confident. Pythons are constrictors, so it is likely that the snake came across the passed out man and could tell that he was still alive, since pythons can sense heat. The snake then constricted the man, and began to suffocate him while he was passed out, so if the man even woke up and realized what was going on it was already too late. Rest in peace, drunk guy, at least your senses were dulled with alcohol when you met your untimely inebriated end.

P.S. Pythons, just like this one have a breeding population in Florida now, since so many Floridians released their huge pet snakes when they could no longer care for them. Check this out:
19 Foot Python Killed Near Miami
20131127-110108.jpg

Monday, November 18, 2013

India Journal: Ghost Town

Around 3:30 in the afternoon, the Guru and I noticed rain falling. We'd turned on the AC earlier in the day, as the weather had turned still and muggy. We opened the doors to the west balcony and stood listening to the rain shower, and then it hit us. We heard the rain--just the rain. All of the extraneous noise that we usually heard churning in the background was absent. Even the lions and their cohort in the zoo were silent. We stayed, watched, and listened for a while. The Guru laid down for a nap, and so did I in this perfectly soporific environment. But I was unable to sleep and returned to our perch to watch and listen. Nothing. Even the 6 p.m. aerial show by the kites (birds) seems to have been cancelled for lack of interest. A few crows made their way across the  tree tops, but the large bats of twilight provided the mood for the occasion. Silent, seeming to move in slow motion. It  looked and sounded--in its silence--like ghost town. Where was everyone?

We found ourselves in the midst of a dusk to dawn hartal, a general strike. The LDF--Left Democratic Front--had called the strike in response to a government report about preserving the Western Ghats, the ridge of mountains that rise off of the coastal plain in Kerala  The report called for some types of environmental regulation of this beautiful mountain area. Any environmental regulation in India is needed. On the other hand, small farmers in the area and those who were supporting them--including the Christian Churches that cater to about 20% of the population here--called a strike in protest, claiming that the steps recommended by the  report denied them their rights and would cost them their livelihoods. Based on the corruption and outright thievery practiced on the poor here, that might prove very true--just as true as the need for environmental regulation. I don't know where the equities lie in this case. 

I do know that strikes can't help an economy that needs all of the help it can get. I know that many believe--perhaps with a lot of justification--that strikes and public protest are the only avenue for gaining recognition and keeping some measure of rights here. I also know that change--even change for the long-term good, such as preserving eco-systems--proves very difficult because so many people live on the edge of economic ruin. They may not have much, it may be gone tomorrow, but it's all that they have now and they can't trust the government to help them find something better. 

For the Guru and I it meant a quiet day inside. We thought it wise not to venture out even for a walk based on advice from locals. So the day proved pleasant enough, but it also reminded us of how tenuous public order can be here and difficult are the political and economic issues that this nation must address. 

Sunday, November 17, 2013

India Journal: Bourne Again Moments

Looking out from our west balcony near sunset
The Guru and I sit on our western balcony around 6 in the evening to watch the sunset. We look out over the solid green canopy of trees below our seventh story perch. A few highrises stare back at us, but they don't grab our attention. The sky usually has some mix of clouds, which, if we're lucky, are just enough to allow a palette to form a multicolored sunset. 
 
A typical sunset view for us


The kites (birds), crows, and very large bats provide aerial displays of acrobatics and, with the help of some parrots, plenty of chatter for our auditory entertainment. In the distance, we hear the muezzin calling the faithful of Islam to prayer. A short while later, after the sun has set, we hear the bells--small bells between the size of church bells and the bells that altar boys rang at mass--that mark the start of worship at the nearby Hindu temple. Meanwhile, the breeze from the ocean just beyond our horizon cools us while at the same time it allows the kites to glide upon its lift, layered above us  at altitudes from eye-level to heights barely visible to us. 

We've come to call these Bourne moments, as if we're in a movie, like a Bourne flick*, in some remote part of world living a life of intrigue and adventure. Well, not so much intrigue, but it is an adventure. I  think the Guru's shirt captures something. 
I think that the adventure is underway

 *The opening scenes of the Bourne Supremacy are set in Goa, just up the coast from us. 

Thursday, November 14, 2013

India Journal: Can You Give Me a Lift?

Can we say tight squeeze when they all decide to leave?
The photo to the left shows the--shall we call it street?--leading to our house. In fact, it's part street, part parking lot, part junkyard (more on that in another post), and part bazaar. Since it runs next to the zoo and museum, it's a very popular place for lots and lots of tour buses. The problem is, it gets a bit crowded. 

The other day, as our driver turned down the street to complete the remainder of the drive to take the Guru and I home, we encountered a number of buses wanting to leave. This creates a situation of slow-motion pandemonium, with vehicles trying to go in and out of the narrow passage way. Remember: auto rickshaws and motorcycles fill any available gap in any traffic snarl, leaving no unoccupied space. 
  
We faced a looming bus and moved to the left (another vestige of the Brits). We inched and the bus inched, until, finally, we could inch no further. Then bus inched some more. I looked out the window of our nice but very small car to find I could just about stick my tongue out the window and lick the side of the bus. However, I had no desire to do so; quite the opposite. In fact, I began feeling claustrophobic. I suggested to C that we exit; she agreed. We did so and then began the convocation. 

Any attempt to maneuver a car, or almost any other public action, draws a crowd (of men) in India. Indeed, our driver had earlier tried to follow the crowd-sourcing advice only to find our car now lodged under the wheel well of the much higher bus. How the hell, I thought, are we going to get out of this without a lot of metal on metal scraping? Then, before my despair could sink in, and with a flood of cascading syllables that mark the Malayalam language, a group of men literally lifted the rear-end of our car and moved it the the left (even further), far enough to get it out from under the wheel well and allow the bus to pass. Well, continue to inch forward into the next jam.  

The Guru and I got back in, and completed the remainder of the ride to our building, to which we could have walked and saved ourselves 10 minutes, but we would have missed the new meaning of "Hey, can you give me a lift?".

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

India Journal: Biting (and Unappetizing) News

Iowa Guru & I receive The Hindu delivered to our door. It's one of the better papers in India. After perusing the front page with its photos of politicians, alphabet soup of agencies and parties, and court cases (I think Indians much more litigious than Americans), I turn to page 3 for the local news. 

On one side I saw that a rabid dog here in TRV bit 13 people plus a number of other dogs. The accompanying photo showed dog catchers in action--after the fact. I hadn't seen many stray dogs here in TRV, unlike Jaipur, where I saw many, including some packs that made me nervous. (They, however, never bothered me.) The dogs in Jaipur tended to docility, to put it mildly. They often slept by day (looking quite dead) and caroused at night. Well, here in our neighborhood, we haven't seen many dogs, so that's a good sign. 

On the other side of page 3 I read an article about a typhoid outbreak here in town. Health officials blamed it on unsanitary conditions on restaurants. Nasty. Fortunately, IG is pretty careful about where we eat; on the other hand, the place we intended to go yesterday was closed down "for inspection". Perhaps we dodged a bullet. I worry abit because in my second year in India I've become a bit more bold. 

 
I wouldn't even think of a drinking something, but the deep-fried goodness down the road tempts me beyond my resistence

Just a short way from our apartment, around the zoo and museum park, are a number of food vendors. I've tried some deep-fried goodies, one of which I now refer to as "atomic meteors", which I find pretty tasty. Atomic meteors are like giant balls of onion ring goodness with some chilli powder added to achieve the appropriate radioactive glow. Round and jagged in shape, they look like small meteors and taste like heaven. So health-worker types, am I safe with deep-fried (on-site) goodies?  (Wrapped in newspaper, of course). 

Okay, I'm starting to lose my appetite and believe that I don't like dogs. I'd better stop.