Breaking news: sari donned!

Ok, it took about 40 minutes of watching youtube tutorials plus the in person instruction of an Indian friend, but I finally figured out how to put on a sari.

I'm so pleased with my accomplishment that I may insist on wearing saris to all formal events (in India or States-side) from here on out. Because wearing a sari indicates not only that you are an elegant, put-together woman--but also that you are a person of enough determination and ingenuity to figure out out how to get the damn thing on.

Also, as a fashion bonus for my faithful readers--this is what I and my Italian friend would like like as Maharajan princes.

Shahpur Jat

The neighborhood right next to mine is called Shahpur Jat and it is one of my favorite neighborhoods in the city because it is this bizarre mix of local working class shops  tucked into miniscule niches along the alleyways and really upscale boutiques and cafes. What's particularly interesting about Shahpur Jat, actually, is that the local shops and restaurants are not like, part of the charm attracting upscale places to the neighborhood (you know, like how NYC;s meat-packing district capitalized on the neighborhood's former grittiness to entice people into its $20 cocktail clubs); rather the grittiness here exists side-by-side and competes with with the upscale stuff.

(As a side note, I also like Shahpur Jat because I think it has the best collection of doorways in the city--several of which have already been pictured on this blog).

So, for example, this is what a normal street in Shahpur Jat looks like:

However, if you turn down the wrong alleyway, you get to this:

The first picture above was taken looking down the alleyway. The second picture above was taken looking up from the alleyway so you can see just how close these houses are built together. Now, even though it's broad daylight at the time these pictures were taken there is literally NO light illuminating some of the Shahpur Jat streets because of how closely things are packed together.

Don't believe me? The below picture was taken about 20 second later than the above two. See, broad daylight:

Now if you were to walk say 30 seconds from where I took those dark pictures you would stumble across a slew of high end fashion boutiques and quirky home goods stores like these:

 [This one has a tea shop in the back!]

And, if you were to keep walking another 45 seconds you would come across several delightfully relaxed cafes with well designed outdoor decks and fancy looking coffee drinks like the below.

Other features of Shahpur Jat include a tremendous amount of progressive street art and it appears to be the center of India's dyeing industry (like, color dyeing--I'm not trying to suggest its filled with old age homes or something. As you walk down the streets every other nook is filled by some guy dipping a big swatch of fabric into boiling dye. (Sorry, I don't have any pictures of this)

So, there you have it. Shahpur Jat--one of my favorite and most enigmatic neighborhoods in Delhi.

Humayun's Tomb

Now that the weather is a bit cooler (i.e., between 90-95 degrees during the day) I've decided I need to start properly seeing the fine sites of Delhi. You know, it's funny--I've heard that ALOT of people don't like Delhi (earning it the moniker "Helli" amongst the uninformed) but actually it has some of the most amazing sites I've ever seen put together in one city. The Mughal legacy alone pervades and beautifies the city. 

Example No. 1: Humayun's Tomb, built in 1572--without a doubt one of the most amazing city-site I've seen.  It is comprised of an enormous central tomb building, lovely surrounding gardens, and many other minor tombs scattered throughout the grounds. The site itself actually has an interesting history--built first for the Mughal emporer Humayun by his grieving (or show-offy) widow, it eventually became a pleasure ground (and even vegetable garden) for the British, before being occupied by Muslim refugees during partition.

The massive Tomb is said to be inspiration for the Taj Mahal the buildings are very similar in their grandeur and grace. No doubt the Taj Mahal simply shines in its white stone majesty and does deserve its place as wonder of the world. But I actually found Humayun's Tomb to be a much more pleasurable experience as a tourist because the amount of hassle involved in visiting the Taj Majal is extraordinary, where as visiting Humayun's Tomb--easily accessible in the heart of Delhi and surprisingly barren of touts and would-be-guides--is a relaxed and chilled out event. The Tomb itself is not nearly as crowded as you think it would be considering how incredible it is; at times it even felt like I had certain views and vistas all to myself.

I've put a couple of my favorite photos below. I know, I know--you guys must be sick of seeing this incredible Mughal architecture by now and I have to admit that even I am beginning to have a bit of Tomb-fatigue (quite similar to the cathedral-fatigue frequent visitors to Europe may suffer). But, just standing in the presence of these incredible works of art, feeling the play of latticed shadow and light, hearing the stillness of the tomb rooms themselves--well, it's still quite a moving experience.

Large things on bicycles.

Bicycle rickshaw pullers seem to do the majority of shlepping in this city and I am constantly impressed by the things I see loaded on to their carts. Unfortunately it's not to easy to get pictures of these guys since they go by so fast, but here are just a few loaded down carts I've seen last weekend.

Sari

A few months ago my friend's mom gave me a colorful "daily-wear" sari as a present. I have a beautiful and quite expensive sari which I bought 4 years ago when I was traveling around India which I have never worn because well, I have nowhere to wear it.

So, I decided to get my new "daily wear" sari stitched* because I figured I could use it as a kind of practice sari--something I can just wear out on the town to get used to the feeling of wearing a sari before I don my splendid, expensive one.**

My brilliant plan just had one error. I cannot figure out how to put the damn thing on. No, seriously, I've spend about a half hour watching youtube tutorials and still look like a teenage giraffe trying attempting to roll myself into a burrito.

Don't believe me? See for yourself. I filmed myself so I could see what was actually happening and what the finished look was (I don't have a full-length mirror here). The results are, well, ugly. 

* When you buy a sari it comes as one long piece of fabric, so in order to actually wear the sari you need to take it to the tailor to get "stiched." Basically this entails the tailor cutting the material for the sari blouse out of the long fabric and then tailoring the blouse to you and hemming up the ends of the cloth.
** Someone needs to invite me to an Indian wedding so I actually have a place to wear my nice sari, OK? Please inform all of your recently affianced Indian friends that there is a party-goer ready to attend, at no fee! (I say no fee because, actually, one of the jobs in the category of Shit White Girls Can Do in India, is get paid to attend weddings. You know, white skin and blond hair--we class up the joint! Make all of your friend's think you're sophisticated and rich!)

Seen in Delhi

Oh, just some random things I've seen on my meanders about the city.

Baby Shiva, chillaxing.

 In case anyone was wondering, this is what a Mughal lord would have looked like. 

 Stillshot from the fake flower market.

 I'm beginning to realize there may be nothing that Delhites like more than bling.

 Delhi is a very urban and cosmopolitan city, but everynow and then I run into someone like the above, just hanging out on the streets.

Nobody knew how to play with light and darkness better than Mughal architects.

Popcorn

There is nothing in life that I do better than make popcorn--it is my finest skill. Of course, I'm not talking about microwave popcorn, which any fool can do, but rather the fine art of popping the kernels from scratch in a well-seasoned pot and salting just so with my array of gourmet salts. Popcorn is my number one comfort food and, in fact, when The Boyfriend came to visit he once again showed his undying devotion and firm grasp of my character my schlepping along my favorite brand of popcorn kernel so I could have a little taste of home in Delhi.

I am a popcorn lover, connoisseur and critic.

So, you can imagine how my interest was piqued when a couple of weeks ago I noticed popcorn venders popping up all over Delhi. (Pun totally intended!) The fact that these guys weren't around until recently was particularly exciting to me because it meant that popcorn is a seasonal food here!

Ok, sadly the above isn't the greatest picture, but you can kind of see what's going on here. To the left on his popcorn cart the vendor has bags of kernels (and nuts), that sort of whitish uimp you see on the right hand side of the cart is the fresh popcorn ready for sale and that big wok you see hanging off the far right hand of his cart is where the popcorn is being popped. (It's seated on an metal cylinder with fire inside)

What's not pictured here is how these guys season the popcorn. Basically, at the bottom of the cast-iron wok there is a seasoning mix of salt, masala, ashes, who knows what else. Each popcorn vender has a kind of big flat sifter-scooper thing which he uses to scoop up the seasoning which has gathered on the bottom and sprinkle it over the popcorn.(This also allows him to pick up heaps of popcorn and dump it on the cart).

 I was entranced. I had to have some! So I bought myself a bag (for $20). As you can see pictured below, the popcorn is served in a make-shift bag from newspaper.

The verdict? Needs more salt.

Where did the market go?

Every Tuesday night, on the streets right outside my office, there is a big market where vendors sell everything from vegetables to clothes to household appliances to cheap jewelry to fried snacks, etc. It is a local market for the working-class neighborhood and, even though the quality of much of what is being sold is fairly low, I’ve often enjoyed wondering through after I get off from work as the atmosphere borders on the carnival-esque and the people-watching is sublime.

 

However, last Tuesday when I left the office the streets were barren and empty—even more so than on a non-market day. Confused by this state of affairs, I asked a colleague who lives just a few blocks from the office if he knew why the market had disbanded.

 

My colleague said, “Well, word on the street is that at the market last Tuesday a shopkeeper and a customer got into a fight, which ended when the shopkeeper threw acid onto the customer. That poor guy is now in intensive care at the hospital and the shopkeeper fled into hiding. Because the shopkeeper was a Punjabi Hindu and the customer was Muslim the police were afraid of sectarian reprisals and so shut the market down. But I’ve heard that they just found the shopkeeper who is now in police custody. So, everything should be back to normal now.”

 

This, my friends, is what we call a TII (“This is India”) moment.  The market is closed for fear of religious violence following an acid attack? Oh sure, that used to happen in the neighborhood I grew up in all the time.

 

Note to self, do not get into a heated argument with a shopkeeper. Or, anyone who looks like s/he might be packing acid.

Poverty tourism or courageous adventure?

The other night at a party, I fell into a conversation with a young Spanish woman sitting in a wheel-chair.  I didn't catch her name, but started the conversation off with the usual opener: "So, what are you doing in Delhi?"

The woman said, "Nothing really. I'm just staying here until I decide to move on. See, I've been traveling around the world for the past 7 years without any money. So, when the opportunity opens itself to me to move on, I will."

My first thought: Traveling around the world for 7 years without any money? Hmmmm.

My second thought: Wow, you must get sexually assaulted all the time.

I said, "Traveling around the world without money? How do you eat?"

The woman responded, "Oh, it's actually really easy to get food for free. Especially in India-temples will feed you, restaurants will give you the stuff they don't use. It's never a problem."

Now, anyone with eyes looking around Delhi can tell that malnutrition is in fact a huge problem here. For example, most of the grown men you see in subsistence-type jobs--like water jug delivery guys, rickshaw bicyclists, cart vendors--have the slim frames of teenage boys.

So, I rejoined, "Actually, malnutrition is endemic in India. I'm not sure why you are able to find nutritious food so easily while the rest of Delhi's poor can't" though I have some theories that involve the fact that you're white,  "but it really can be a struggle for lots of slum and pavement-dwellers here. But anyway, if finding food is easy, what do you think is the hardest part of traveling around the world without money?"

She smiled, "Nothing is difficult about it. It's actually really easy as long as you have patience."

I was just about to ask a follow-up question, when another friend joined us: "Oh, hey Kate! I see you've met Albert. Yeah, he's staying with me while he's in Delhi. Such an interesting guy, no?"

Oooooh, this woman I'm talking too is actually a dude. Interesting.

"Yep," I said, "Albert has just been convincing me that traveling without money is really easy."

Ok,  let me stop my narrative here to explain several of the conflicting thoughts that were racing through my head during this exchange. I've actually met a few people before who were traveling around the world without money, which was always presented in a kind of romanticized way like, Oh, the people you meet! The kindness you encounter! The adventures you have, the truth you seek, the materiallessness you find! Anyone can travel without money, as long as you lose your ego and embrace the spontaneous adventurer within.

To which my response has always been, You jerks. How nice that you have the luxury to live in poverty, because for some incredibly high percentage of people in this world poverty is not some kind of romantic adventure. Traveling around the world without money actually just means freeloading and imposing yourself on others, which is a kinda shitty thing to do. Plus, how great for you that you can easily find food at a nearby temple, but in a world of finite charitable resources for the poor, doesn't that really mean that you're getting the bowl of food intended for the street child standing at the end of the line? Jerk.

I am aware, however, that I am probably in the minority of people that have this reaction to penniless travelers. In fact, having spoken to my friends here that met Albert (and the two other guys that were traveling with him, also without money), everyone seemed quite impressed by the bravery and excitement of their way of life. So, I find it particularly annoying that the constant feedback which is given to those whom I refer to as poverty tourists is "Wow, So cool!!!! Tell me about some of your adventure!"

Having said all of that . . . Albert was in a wheelchair. Even with pocketfuls of money, traveling around the world, and especially traveling around a place like Delhi (where just rolling down the street is impossible in a wheelchair) must be incredibly challenging; I honestly do not know how he does it without funds. Albert later talked about camping out for a few days by himself on the Indian border because he didn't have the money to pay for a visa until finally the Indian guards took pity on him and let him through--how the hell did he pitch camp by himself in a wheelchair? On the one hand, perhaps being in a wheelchair provokes more sympathy and makes it easier to access charity and free goods and transportation--on the other hand, my god, what perseverance this man must have!

Especially a man who looks like a woman. The very next night three of my friends who had also met Albert confessed to me they had also thought he was female until someone told them he was male. Surely, a person with the appearance of a disabled woman, must come off as a particularly easy victim to predators (and, in fact, the numbers to sadly show that disabled women have staggering rates of rape and sexual assault). Perhaps the revelation at whatever point in time that Albert is a man might save him from certain kinds of violence--but one imagines that he must have to put up with a fair share of harassment, if not straight up assault, anyway.

So, needless to say, my thoughts on Albert, the handicapped penniless tourist are quite mixed. (Noting of course, that I only spoke to the man for about 10 minutes, and I'm sure there's much more I could learn about his background that might color my views for better or worse. In fact, it seems a documentary movie was made about his travels--click here for the trailer--so perhaps I should watch that before firming up my opinion).  I can't help but admire the grit that it must take him to travel (for 7 years! Since he was 15!) without money, but I also can't help but disdain the freeloading and charity-sucking nature of poverty tourism.

What are your thoughts?

Yesterday's lunch

From my favorite street food vendor--you know, the one who makes the samosas I'm constantly posting about? Well, I've been branching out to some of his other menu selections and yesterday I went for the high priced item--chole bhature (or, chick peas with puffy bread)--topping the chart at a hefty $1 (well, I guess I also paid an extra 50 cents for the lassi).

Customer Service

Customer service in India is truly abominable. The funnynotfunny saying here is that if you want to get anything done, you have to go in person...and make a fuss. 

For example, there was that time I called the four star hotel where I was slated to attend a conference the next day in an attempt to find out what time the conference started. I got transferred around to five different people before ending up with a fellow who, in broken English, tried to figure out when I was scheduling my conference for, and how many attendees there would be before I hung up in frustration. I asked my office manager, who speaks Hindi, to call back and explain I was just looking to figure out what time the conference started. My office manager dutifully called and reported back: "They say there is no conference at the hotel tomorrow." (LIES! I was there at 9am sharp, just to be sure, and found myself an hour early.)

Then there was that time that I called my phone service carrier's help line to figure out what documents I needed to send in to ensure my service wasn't cut off after three  months (which apparently happens to foreigners' phones). I was reassured by two different people that my phone was fine ("Why are you calling ma'am, if there is currently no problem with your service?) before the third operator suggested I try stopping in my local airtel store instead. FYI, my phone was not fine--I had to resubmit all of my visa paperwork.

Then there was this, my favorite:

Kate to computer store guy: Hi, the powercord for my Lenovo X789 computer is fritzed. I need to buy a new one. Can you please let me know if you carry this in stock?

Computer store guy: Come in, and we'll look.

Kate: Can you look now so I don't have to come all the way in if you don't have it?

Computer store guy: Just come in and we'll look together.

Kate: I'd really prefer if you just checked quickly now. I can call back in a few minutes.

Computer store guy (without skipping a beat): OK, OK, we have it.

Kate: Wait, you didn't take any time to look. How do you know you have it?

Computer store guy: We'll find it when you come in.

The above tales of woe are all about phone customer service, but the truth is that customer service generally here is totally sucky. You often have to press to get a person to do anything remotely helpful which is not explicitly in their job description.

Now, Delhi is a  cosmopolitan city with loads of people (both foreigners and local) who would appreciate good service--I know there is a market here for services that are customer-focused. So, the fact that this doesn't exist is matter of wonder amongst my friends and a usual topic of conversation. Here are some of the more credible theories of why India, a country with the sophistication and cheap labor force to deliver grade A customer service, tends to fail so dismally:

1. There is no popular public feedback mechanism (like Yelp) for most services. So, if you have a terrible experience with a company no one other than your immediate circle will be dissuaded to use that company. There is thus no incentive for a company to be better.

2. Indians, having been socialized in an environment where bargaining is the norm and where crappy customer service is the norm, would generally prefer to pay less for a service which is not customer-focused than to pay more for a customer-focused service so, actually, there really isn't a market. 

3. Despite the oversupply of labor here, Indians who are educated to be managers are in short supply; rather the labor excess consists of unskilled laborers. Plus, promotions and hiring within companies here tend to be based on whose nephew you are instead of performance, so there aren't that many well-run services to begin with.

4. We're all just being pranked, all of the time.

5. Time warner is slowly taking over the world.

Anyone else have ideas, thoughts or speculations on this?

Another Buffy spotting!

Apparently, Buffy the Vampire Slayer has a huge underground following in Delhi. Well, either that or the excess T-shirts were dumped on local markets at cut-rate prices. (I prefer to think it's the former option.)

Evil eye

 

I noticed that my friend's baby was sporting some very cute black bracelets the other day and commented on the adorable adornment. My friend said, "Oh these? Yep, that's her protection against the evil eye. I mean, I don't believe in that stuff, of course, but my in-laws put them on her, and I just think the bracelets look cute."
 

Questions abounded. I've come across the concept of the evil eye in Turkey, but wasn't aware it was also a thing here in India.

My friend assured me it was. "You see all of those babies with the kohl on their eyes or a black charcoal spot on their face somewhere?" I had, in fact, noticed this phenomena of babies wearing pronounced eye make-up here (and have even commented on it in an earlier post). "Well," my friend said, "That's the baby's protection against the evil eye! We believe that if you have a beautiful baby people will get jealous and will curse you. But, if the baby is marred and marked with something black it offers protection from the evil eye curse--especially if the face is marked with black."
 

Ah ha!

My friend went on, "In fact, you remember how I had that tea party the other weekend where there were about 20 people over? Well, after the party was over my maid grabbed the baby and insisted on marking her to prevent any cursing. With so many older single, childless women over, she thought the baby was sure to be cursed!"
 

And suddenly I understand why everybody starts smearing charcoal on their children as soon as I arrive on the scene.

Ganesh Chaturthi

I was lucky enough to be in Mumbai for the start of the Ganesh Chaturthi (AKA, the ganpati festival), which is widely celebrated for about 11 days in the city. The festival celebrates Ganesha, the elephant headed god, who is the remover of obstacles and generally just a good guy to pray to whenever you want to start a journey or a new business or a new anything. Here are my two favorite Ganesha legends which I learned over the course of being in Mumbai.
 

How Ganesha got his elephant head. Ganesha's mom, the goddess Pavati, wanted to take a bath. So, she posted her son outside and told him not to let anyone in. Along comes the great god Shiva, who apparently was Pavati's husband but not Ganesha's father (I smell a scandal!). Shiva wants to be let in, and is furious when little Ganesha stops him. So, Shiva does what any angry stepfather being prevented from full sexual access to his wife does when defied by a well-meaning youngster--he cut off Ganesha's head. Pavati is understandably pissed off about her son's decapitation and so demands that Shiva find him a new head. Appropriately chagrined, Shiva kills an elephant, takes its head and plants it firmly on Ganesha's body.
 

How Ganesha showed off he was such a smarty pants, AKA every Hindu parent's favorite story. Ganesha and his brother both wanted to get married, and their parents couldn't figure out who should have the honor of getting married off first. So, mom Pavati says, "Which ever of you can encircle the universe first shall get the first bride. Well, Ganesha's brother, who I understand to be your usual athletic bro god, sprints off to circumnavigate the universe, but Ganesha simply walks around his parents 7 times and says, "You are the divine mother and the divine father, the creator of the world, the entire universe." Well, Pavati and Shiva eat this stuff up with a spoon--and gets who gets the first bride!

So what is the ganpeti festival, you ask? Well, various communities around Mumbai, as well as individual households erect shrines to Ganesha, where he is worshipped for 11 days. Hundreds of these public shrines, varying in size and majesty (depending, I guess, on how wealthy the community is) are scattered throughout the city, but the locations are highlighted by rows of lights leading to the shrine. Driving around the city looking for the shrines is actually a lot of fun--like a scavenger hunt with lots of illuminated clues! Some of the more famous Ganesha shrines can get pretty crowded and you have to wait on line to see the statue, so I felt pretty fortunate to be in Mumbai near the beginning of the festival where the lines were still minimal or non-existent. 

[The carnivalesque atmosphere]

These statues, large and small, are blinged out--silks, glitter, rhinestones, flowers, offerings, etc. Also, no Ganesha statue is the same and the artists get quite a lot of leeway in how to depict the god--sometimes Ganesha even takes on the aspect of another god (which, if you're a person totally unversed in Hindu imagry, like me, is totally confusing. The Hindu gods are all associated with various objects and animals, so if you've learned, for example, that Ganesha's vehicle is a mouse (weird, but true) and then all of a sudden you see him riding a tiger, it's like, "What? So, wait, he's taking on the aspect of another god, just for funsies?")

 [You can see how opulent the rooms where some of the idols are kept are as well. This was like being in a throne room!]

 [This is Ganesha, pretending to be some other god]

 [Little Ganesha]

 [This idol had a whole light show going on behind him as well!]

My friends told me that the best part of the ganpeti festival would be the final day where all of the idols get paraded down to the beach in a grand clamor of music and dance, then marched into the water. That's right, apparently, the waters of Mumbai are filled with Ganesha from past festivals who are submersed and left in the ocean. (What an amazing place to go scubadiving, no?)  I unfortunately will miss this final day of the festival since I returned to Delhi, but I did come across a few individual household idols being paraded down to the sea...

 [This is a small "household" procession toward the sea--complete with a flying "crane" throwing out confetti"]

 [Look what just one idol being paraded did to all of the nearby parked cars!]

Now, in the olden days, when all of the idols were made of mud, this seems like a pretty nice, and environmentally-friendly festival. Today, of course, when many of the idols are plastic or some other material, it may not be the most environmentally sustainable practice. However, other than that annoying "OMG, this traditional religious festival has actually become an environmentalist's nightmare" bit, I have to say that the ganpeti festival is totally awesome.