Happy Journal

Happy thought from yesterday:

Nick and I made Nutella and mango and sugar crepe yesterday. The kitchen was very warm and stuffy as usual but for some reason I don't mind the heat anymore. We ate the last two crepes out on the balcony, and talked about our future career aspirations.


Happy thought from today:
My wounds are healing. I'll soon be able to go jogging :)

Don't listen to Nick, Gurgaon is NOT SAFE!!!

After my unfinished entry on what a beautiful city Delhi was, is, has been, whatever – I had a not so pleasant encounter with its inhabitants in one of its satellite cities. On Saturday night, after returning from a restaurant with Nick at around 10PM, we were near the gates to the apartment complex when I suddenly felt someone tug on my MNG purse. The next thing I knew, I was on the mud floor being dragged by a motorcyclist driving away from the gate. I focused entirely on saving my purse, thinking that my passport was in it. And I did what I best at – screamed and yelled and kicked. I guess my entire 140 pounds was too much for my adversary, who finally relented and drove away. Nick ran after them. Obscenities and death threats followed. I saw the door guards staring at me from a distance, pedestrians slowed down but did not stop. After what seemed like an eternity, Nick came back and carried me home.

Almost a week later, I am starting my internship all over again. I had to take a break from Mon – Wed as I could barely walk. Oh yes, the injuries. The cost of me saving my purse came in several bruises on my legs and my hand, and a fear now of sitting on rickshaws or walking alone at night on the streets of India. I found out that excruciating pain was very exhausting… and, I really miss being healthy and being able to walk and run and… playing tennis just seems like such a remote thought to me right now.

The landlords of the AIESEC house were very nice to me. On the night of the accident, they took such good care of me that I had felt like a member of the family. They advised me on the proper vaccination to take, and to never bring a purse, or wear valuable accessories on the streets of Gurgaon. While Dettol and ointment were being poured on my skin, I was in so much pain yet I couldn’t cry. I somehow thought that tears would make me weaker and therefore the wounds more painful. But the moment I took out my watch from my rescued purse, a birthday gift from dad, I couldn’t stop the flood of tears. But I couldn’t tell the folks – if I did, they’d make me regret ever coming to India and put me on the next flight home.

So it’s been two weeks since I have been in India, and I’ve had exactly two days of healthy existence, where I am not either limping around or letting my stomach drive me nuts.

Wish me luck for the rest of my trip!

Capital of India at Night :)

Delhi is a beautiful city at night. The monsoon rains had cooled the city considerably, so at night, the air is cool and brisk. At around 9PM, one of my colleagues asked if I wanted to go see the India Gate. Since I had just recovered from my stomach illness, and felt way depressed about my state of half imprisonment in this gorgeous but boring house, I gratefully said yes. He took me there on a scooter. Against my better discretion (or rather paranoia, and Nayana’s advice to not go anywhere without her), I happily climbed onto the scooter and held on to my colleague’s shirt corners. I’ve only seen women riding sideways but never astride on a scooter, so I felt like I was sitting inappropriately. And I still don’t know if touching any part of a male acquaintance was appropriate either, so I pretty much crumpled the sides of his shirt in a nerve-racking thrill-ride through the city traffic. Twice I jumped at deafening honks from a bus or a truck directly behind me, and nearly brushed past the countless pedestrians and auto-rickshaws crisscrossing the roads as if they owned them.

Then slowly, I began to relax and to actually enjoy the ride. I had liked motorcycle rides when I was little. And then adults and statistics told me how dangerous they are. But thankfully I found my childhood instincts, and began to appreciate the cool breeze and even the particles of sand and dirt in my mouth. The air was not as polluted as I had expected, probably because traffic had considerably thinned at this time of the night. The sidewalks in Delhi are lined with thick shades of tropical trees, and around the city center especially, gardens and large, scenic parks surround majestic-looking parliamentary buildings. India Gate suddenly appeared to my right, and I was quite taken by its lonesomeness in the dark. My guide’s voice was muffled by the wind and his helmet, but I came to understand that the Gate was a monument for soldiers who had sacrificed in the two World Wars. Each brick on the 100+ meter high gate has a soldier’s name inscribed upon it. On the other side of the gate, a two-kilometer long, 6-lane road led straight to the parliament house…

The Slum Bros

When the cook asked what I wanted for dinner, I said, nothing spicy, please! But I had my suspicions, which were confirmed when dinner was served -I was not surprised to find a bowl of potatoes happily covered in a layer of red chili. Thankfully the porridge was good, and I ate two bowls of that gooey stuff. After almost a week of finding food that makes my stomach go wild, I am only too thankful to have plain rice. And I shall probably have tomatoes and eggs soup in my dreams tonight. Hmmm. Apparently, cooking for myself would offend the cook. I’ll just have to order McD’s later :
And of course, there are much more important things than having potatoes and rice for dinner.

Today was my first day of internship with Nayana’s dad. Well, the man himself is actually missing, so I got to meet an office of friendly interns and employees. There’s a Shruti, Sameera, Prashant, Bharav (need to learn how to pronounce this one), and Nishta. The last is a girl whose dad is also a Supreme Court senior advocate, and has driven to work in a black Chevy that looked just like her employer’s. Her father plays tennis every morning, and her mom does yoga at the same time. She loves swimming, jogging, and dancing, and wants to learn salsa. Her dad tries to teach her golf but she thinks its too boring. And she likes Mango’s clothes. She’s like an Indian version of me  But as usual, I had to remind myself that the person in front of me is not a typical Indian. In fact, talking to people like her makes it even harder to deal with sights such as those out of Nick’s balcony in Gurgaon, where a sprawled out slum lies immediately next to the three storey, gorgeous-looking house.

What separates rich from poor is a brick-wall and spiked metal fence. On one side are rich, mansion-like houses inhabited by the ‘corporate people’. On the other side – well, I don’t know how to describe the other side. When I first saw it at night from the 3rd floor balcony in the morning, I had thought that the place looked like an ant colony. With people buzzing around, carrying boxes and bags on top of their shoulders and on their heads. Girls wore very colorful sarongs and saris (despite being poor, people dress very nicely, nicer, in fact, that the scantily clad girls back at college). Men were generally very thin, and also had sarongs wrapped around their waists. Little boys and girls splashed around in the muddy waters that make up what seem like a community shower. A woman in sari was splashing water on her hair and body, probably taking a shower. Nick said that the houses were made from stolen bricks. They weren’t houses so much as mere boxes lined up next to each other, with metal roofs weighed down by a few bricks. There weren’t any doors, and peeking out from the darkness in some houses are bed sheets on the mud floors, little stools, and sleeping children with dirty brown hair. In one corner of the slum village was a parking lot for rickshaws, at least 50 of them. So this area was probably inhabited mostly by rickshaw drivers and their families. There was definite boundary to the slum, which seems to be growing by the day. Where the slum meets the road, there were stray dogs and old and sick cows, trespassing freely between the village and the roads, where cars have to make way for the holy animals abandoned by owners who could not kill them and who would not take care of them.
Directly across from the road stand the tallest buildings I’ve seen in India. They are 30+ storey apartment buildings for the rich, corporate workers, each of whom on average owns two cars. Alongside the roads, together with the cows, are scattered fruit and vegetable stalls, where you can buy a dozen kinds of vegetables for less than US$2. If the prices were any higher, there will be no one alive in the slum village.

The second day I came to Gurgaon, Nick took me to the City Center Mall, apparently the biggest mall in Gurgan. It was much like the modern-day shopping center. And here the sight of poverty is haunting. It snatches you with deformed arms when you walk on the street, stares at you in the form of beggars’ eyes, and tugs at your shirt corner and at your heart with dirt little hands. My culture shock came in the form of a light touch on my legs, while I watched Nick buy a 5 Rupees soda from a very scary looking street-side stall. I looked down, and saw a pair of gorged-in, hungry eyes covered with grey, dried, dreadlocks. The grimy, frail-looking woman was lying on some newspapers on the concrete floor, and her arm that ended in a stub around her elbow was nudging at my legs. I have seen beggars everywhere, and have been duly irritated by them every time I go to a train station in China. But having been snuck up on like that, and coming into such close contact with one next to a grandiose looking mall, made me sick to the stomach. I tried to drag Nick to leave, but he was happily waiting for his lime soda drink. I was suddenly very angry, and stormed off into the mall. Fleeing the half-animal being on the floor, and the poor little children around her. Tears welled up in my eyes. I thought perhaps I was angry at Nick, who insisted to buy a drink that could potentially give him ten diarrheas in a row, or maybe I was angry that he wouldn’t leave with me when I was scared out of my mind by the harmless beggar. In my nameless frustration, I bought a tall glass of iced soda from Barista, a trendy café in the mall. It cost Rs 50, ten times pricier and probably ten times more disgusting than the lime soda from the street vendor. I gulped half of it down and almost wanted to throw up. There, I had my clean drink in a swanky, air-conditioned mall, where Indians dressed in modern clothes strolled about expensive stores. But I was still fuming, and was quite unhappy for the rest of the day.

I had almost come to accept the swarm of ‘slum brothers’ behind the AIESEC house, when one day, the monsoon came, and a boy died. I first heard shrill voices and yells and shouts. But I was lying on the bed hoping that my stomach infection would finally go away. It had followed me all the way from China to here, giving me a bunch of ailments which I am only too happy not to describe. I thought I was half dying from the heat, and was quite thankful that the rain brought the temperature down. I thought the shouts were from people also happy for the same reason. Then I heard one roommate say that somebody in the back died, that women were hitting themselves and crying. I walked out of the bedroom, and saw three of my roommates standing still next to the window, looking down at a congregate of people surrounding one spot… probably where the child had passed away. No one in the apartment said anything, and we just stood there and stared. The glass windows separated nothing – sometimes I wonder why they are even there. Sounds and smells permeated the apartment regardless, and flies were also free guests in the house. And today, grief from downstairs filled the house. When night time came, we were still talking about the little boy that died, when we decided to go to Oz, a restaurant that Jenz had picked out from a book named “Delhi’s top 100 restaurants”. We splurged Rs 10,000+ there, and thoroughly enjoyed the food, and the service. When we came back, the slum was back to its normal activities, and we chatted in the living with the background sound of the slum TV blasting away Hindi music.

I am glad I could blog about this. For I still do not know whom to tell or what to say or even what to think of the things I have seen. My brain needs to do some major re-wiring while I’m in India.

culture shock

is when you just want to yell out at your best friend how much you hate this place and want to go home, and then decide that you should, despite all your premonitions, stay at this place because it will make you a stronger person (and that you have no choice.)

In the meantime, you have to keep a politically correct attitude and pretend that you can accept everything you see. I think I lost my open-mindedness the first time I tasted curry with my stomach infection. What a flaming idiot.

well.

Oh, India :)

Apologies for the lack of communication from me, and now the mass mail :P I have
been in China for two weeks, which I spent happily with my parents. There has
been a flood in my city, and virus spread - as a proof, I was promptly infected
with first a stomach flu, and then bronchitis, followed with a mysterious viral
fever. advice traveling to this part of Asia - do not eat animal innards
pedalled on the streets. they are unsafe. I repeat: unsafe!!! sigh.

So I've been in India now - land of the 4AM wild peacocks and delicious mangoes
:)

My trip here was more than nauseous, I puked twice on the plane and my fever
soared. When I got off the plane, I was welcomed by Nick and Nayana, who gave
me a garland of marigolds and bangles that were too small for my hands. When I
arrived at Nayana's house it was past midnight, and I was half delirious. The
next day I got woken up at 4:30 by what I thought were wild cats and then was
told later, were peacocks.

Nayana's house is in the South part of Delhi, apparently the wealthy distrcit.
In my half state of consciousness the first night, I saw a servant bell on the
wall, and felt I had just stepped into a Victorian novel. But the next day, I
was kindly reminded of the present when we went out onto the streets. We drove
in a big, comfy Chevy, while half of the Delhi traffic passed us by in
rickshaws and buses that are half falling apart. And then there are the cows.
No one knows where they come from and what they are doing there, but they are
there, on small streets, highways, and in the markets. When I walked past one I
was really hoping that the cow doesn't hate Chinese and decide to turn mad on
me. It didn't, and I'm still alive.

I know so little about INdia's history. And so can't really put what I have seen
into context, and am not really sure what to write to you guys about because
everything I've seen are through my own limited perspectives. Inequality stares
me in my face everyday I go out onto the streets. Nayana's family is so well-off
that her lifestyle is perhaps nothing like that of most of the Delhi-ites. I
remember the short stories I've read about village boys who have come to the
city to sell Chai, drivers who travel half way across the city to work for
their masters and at the end of the day return to their slums, the rigid caste
system... and everything I see here and now I've tried to put into a certain
story that I've read about, but nothing seems to fit :( Going to SIngapore at
the age of 13 had been my biggest culture shock, and I feel like I'm going
through it all over again! That's the exciting part ;)

Well I am much better now. It could be the cool monsoon weather, the awesome
Chai at Nayana's house, the yummy lentil lunch, or fact that I have finally
found my antibiotics stuck away in a deep corner in my suitcase. hehe.

This weekend I'm going to hang out with Nick and meet his roomates, all 5 of
them from AIESEC in different countries. Next Monday I'm supposed to start my
internship with Nayan's dad, who is a senior advocate for the Supreme Court and
manages an NGO for pro bono practices. Nayana and her mom will be out of the
country for vacation, and I have yet to figure out a way to commute to work and
pretty much live on my own for the next week. I still can't believe I'm in
India! weeee :)