Maybe I can understand leaving biodegradables to blow and rot. I've seen enough dogs and cows and goats rooting around in the piles to know that perhaps coconuts and banana peels and the ends of vegetables can be sustenance for other needy creatures. And what is not eaten by those lower in the food chain, can then degrade and fertilize the soil. OK, I can go there.
But what about the newspapers, and the plastic bags, and the plastic bottles?
And what about all the sad, dead sandals laying tossed aside at the temples and the tourist attractions?
Perhaps instead of the little slogans painted onto the cans by the well-meaning tourist site managers, there needs to be an all-encompassing nationwide campaign, like the Keep America Beautiful effort from the 70s, and the Don't be a Litterbug campaign from the 60s.
Maybe some good old fashioned programming of school children is called for, turning the kids not into Hitler Youth but instead into Pick Up The Trash Nazis. Maybe one hour a month schools could forgo the math and science, and talk about ecology and pride and community service and how beautiful India could be. Maybe colleges could give special consideration for kids who participate in Pick Up The Trash community service programs.
But who am I to make these suggestions?
Thursday, July 3, 2014
The Trash (Part 1)
And always.. The trash… the garbage.
(Warning: Links are to youtube.)
Everywhere you look, unless you've turned off a public street into carefully contained environments - like the Westin or Sheraton or the large modern hospital campus where we dropped someone off - trash blows in whatever breeze there is and lays in piles against buildings, in the gutters along the roads, against anything that stops it blowing. And no one picks it up.
In front of nice stores, against the high outer walls of the huge villas. In empty lots with slum dandelions, in a group of houses at the edge of a rural village. In the streets around the IT office parks. Folks eat an ice cream or a bag of chips, and drop the container on the ground. Ticket stubs, receipts, plastic bottles -- on the ground. A large grassy field against the blue bay becomes unbearable to photograph because of the garbage all around. Sometimes there are large piles on corners -- clearly gathered by someone and piled up there for who knows what reason.
Visually it reminds me of the Keep America Beautiful crying Indian ad from the 1970s.
It's bad in the cities -- and it's worse in the villages and rural areas.
(This is not just the don't-care attitude of impoverish people everywhere -- I've seen similar piled garbage in Appalachia and in inner city lots in NYC. We could spend days theorizing the reasons why poor people take no pride in their surroundings.)
This, instead, seems systemic. No matter how many plastic trash cans are placed around, people don't seem to use them. It doesn't occur to them. They just drop it on the ground without a thought, and move on.
And why does no one pick it up??
(Warning: Links are to youtube.)
Everywhere you look, unless you've turned off a public street into carefully contained environments - like the Westin or Sheraton or the large modern hospital campus where we dropped someone off - trash blows in whatever breeze there is and lays in piles against buildings, in the gutters along the roads, against anything that stops it blowing. And no one picks it up.
In front of nice stores, against the high outer walls of the huge villas. In empty lots with slum dandelions, in a group of houses at the edge of a rural village. In the streets around the IT office parks. Folks eat an ice cream or a bag of chips, and drop the container on the ground. Ticket stubs, receipts, plastic bottles -- on the ground. A large grassy field against the blue bay becomes unbearable to photograph because of the garbage all around. Sometimes there are large piles on corners -- clearly gathered by someone and piled up there for who knows what reason.
Visually it reminds me of the Keep America Beautiful crying Indian ad from the 1970s.
It's bad in the cities -- and it's worse in the villages and rural areas.
(This is not just the don't-care attitude of impoverish people everywhere -- I've seen similar piled garbage in Appalachia and in inner city lots in NYC. We could spend days theorizing the reasons why poor people take no pride in their surroundings.)
This, instead, seems systemic. No matter how many plastic trash cans are placed around, people don't seem to use them. It doesn't occur to them. They just drop it on the ground without a thought, and move on.
And why does no one pick it up??
Chennai to Pondy (Part 5)
As we get closer to Pondy the sides of the roads begin to be filled with higher concentrations of people and dwellings.
Sometimes I catch sight of a little home in a shady clearing whose sweetness just takes my breath away -- a lovingly cared for little pastel place with prominent stairs leading to the walled rooftop terrace. Beautiful flowered plantings about the yard. Maybe someone sitting on the main steps. It just looks so welcoming.
And then a mile down the road is a new four story apartment building which had been built and plastered and painted and roofed, and then abandoned. Open holes where the windows were to go, skinny ladies of indeterminate age squatting in the window openings, obviously moved in for the duration.
A thought flashes -- when the owner comes back to finish the building, when his financial future improves, will he be able to remove or cover the smells of humans -- of living and cooking and peeing and babies and goats -- from the concrete of the structure? Or will his profits be reduced because he had to abandon construction for a while?
Bad girl! Always the Capitalist!
Sometimes I catch sight of a little home in a shady clearing whose sweetness just takes my breath away -- a lovingly cared for little pastel place with prominent stairs leading to the walled rooftop terrace. Beautiful flowered plantings about the yard. Maybe someone sitting on the main steps. It just looks so welcoming.
And then a mile down the road is a new four story apartment building which had been built and plastered and painted and roofed, and then abandoned. Open holes where the windows were to go, skinny ladies of indeterminate age squatting in the window openings, obviously moved in for the duration.
A thought flashes -- when the owner comes back to finish the building, when his financial future improves, will he be able to remove or cover the smells of humans -- of living and cooking and peeing and babies and goats -- from the concrete of the structure? Or will his profits be reduced because he had to abandon construction for a while?
Bad girl! Always the Capitalist!
Chennai to Pondy (Part 4)
The drive reminded me somewhat of my childhood in the US South of the 1960's, where the heat and humidity were visible in the air, and trees spread their arms across the road, and people moved slowly.
Driving through those dusty backroads you would be met with billboards painted on barnwalls for Purina animal feeds or local wholesale tobacco markets.
The rural area between Chennai and Pondy is also papered edge to edge with advertisements. And for products I'd never think to advertise. Huge ads for plywood fight for space with electrical cable ads and concrete and cement ads. These were also in Hyderabad and Chennai, so I guess they came with the IT boom.
Every small shop in the villages we pass has a poster on its exterior wall for Airtel and / or Vodaphone mobile phone companies. Airtel and Vodaphone plaster farm buildings and other structures with sign after sign after sign. It seems that even people who have no wired electricity or running water, have a cell phone.
The political signs also carry out into the countryside. While the signs in Hyderabad are predominantly pink, in this state the ruling party prefers yellow-tan. The signs are tall, vertical, showing the politician standing and garlanded, and smiling right at you. Sometimes it's just a big head with that serious yet smiling person - hoping to exude competence, fairness, and concern for YOU and YOUR LIFE. These ads are actually quite creepy to an outsider, and give me a sense of Big Brother. The pink and the yellow and the garlands (which are often draped around gods in temples) make me wonder if the underlying intent is to deify the politicians.
Hmmmm.
Driving through those dusty backroads you would be met with billboards painted on barnwalls for Purina animal feeds or local wholesale tobacco markets.
The rural area between Chennai and Pondy is also papered edge to edge with advertisements. And for products I'd never think to advertise. Huge ads for plywood fight for space with electrical cable ads and concrete and cement ads. These were also in Hyderabad and Chennai, so I guess they came with the IT boom.
Every small shop in the villages we pass has a poster on its exterior wall for Airtel and / or Vodaphone mobile phone companies. Airtel and Vodaphone plaster farm buildings and other structures with sign after sign after sign. It seems that even people who have no wired electricity or running water, have a cell phone.
The political signs also carry out into the countryside. While the signs in Hyderabad are predominantly pink, in this state the ruling party prefers yellow-tan. The signs are tall, vertical, showing the politician standing and garlanded, and smiling right at you. Sometimes it's just a big head with that serious yet smiling person - hoping to exude competence, fairness, and concern for YOU and YOUR LIFE. These ads are actually quite creepy to an outsider, and give me a sense of Big Brother. The pink and the yellow and the garlands (which are often draped around gods in temples) make me wonder if the underlying intent is to deify the politicians.
Hmmmm.
Chennai to Pondy (Part 3)
We sped past Christian churches -- many Catholic, many Pentecostal -- topped with a cross and done up in Indian-style decorations and colors.
If speeding is what it's called -- it felt like speeding, though I think it was only 90 kph -- beep, beep and passing the auto-ricks and the motorcycles and the crowded ECR buses.
As a means of speed control, the authorities have placed 'gates' across the road. A wall will be across the lane(s) on our side and then another wall will be across the oncoming lane(s) in thirty more feet, which requires us to slow down to an almost-stop and zig zag (gulp!) around the walls into oncoming lanes and back, taking order following some road courtesy algorithm that I haven't been able to decipher yet.
We sped through areas where tidal marshes crossed under the road and shallow water spread out on the right, and white sea birds soared, where traditional salt-making operations were in full swing, ladies in saris the color of tropical flowers bending over the ground as far as the eye can see, doing what they do to extract salt from water.
We sped past bus stops under large shade trees, seemingly in the middle of no where, where dozens of people stood waiting for their ride.
We sped past walled planned developments laid out in Western style grids, streets paved, central front gates locks, weeds growing up through the groundwork of someone's failed Big Idea.
If speeding is what it's called -- it felt like speeding, though I think it was only 90 kph -- beep, beep and passing the auto-ricks and the motorcycles and the crowded ECR buses.
As a means of speed control, the authorities have placed 'gates' across the road. A wall will be across the lane(s) on our side and then another wall will be across the oncoming lane(s) in thirty more feet, which requires us to slow down to an almost-stop and zig zag (gulp!) around the walls into oncoming lanes and back, taking order following some road courtesy algorithm that I haven't been able to decipher yet.
We sped through areas where tidal marshes crossed under the road and shallow water spread out on the right, and white sea birds soared, where traditional salt-making operations were in full swing, ladies in saris the color of tropical flowers bending over the ground as far as the eye can see, doing what they do to extract salt from water.
We sped past bus stops under large shade trees, seemingly in the middle of no where, where dozens of people stood waiting for their ride.
We sped past walled planned developments laid out in Western style grids, streets paved, central front gates locks, weeds growing up through the groundwork of someone's failed Big Idea.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Chennai to Pondy (Part 2)
The two-lane ECR road was in sight of the bay for almost the entire drive from Chennai to Pondy -- about 2.5 hours. There were indeed some very nice looking resorts sparkling along the waterfront, set far back from the road.
And there were a few nice housing developments -- a single lane perpendicting from ECR straight down a slight incline to the waterfront, new two and three story Indian style concrete houses with carports and rooftop terraces, painted in a cheery mix of pastel colors (mint-green-and-lavender, terra-cotta-and-sky-blue). Some developments had gates -- the resorts had guards in uniforms, manning their tall, white gates surrounding by lush green lawns.
We wove through countless small villages holding a temple, a couple of shops and houses in various levels of affluence and decay, thin, wizened people walking along the road or across a field, or standing in line at the little shops, never a stoplight in view.
Sometimes a large temple would have huge clunky statues, two-story tall gods sitting on Weeble-esque horses. And sometimes the temples were loud, blasting pre-recorded sermons through PA systems so the entire village -- and maybe the next one too -- could hear it in their hot, trying lives, and maybe would think WWKD or WWGD throughout the day.
Sometimes a single dwelling -- could be 6000 square feet with shiny gold tile roof, could be single room concrete house with roof top terrace, could be a blue tarp and bamboo tent -- would be sitting alone on the side of the road.
The majority of the land was simply empty. You might spot some livestock grazing, or some walking trails, or just empty fields of scrub grass.
With the blue of the sparkling water in the distance, stretching off to infinity.
And there were a few nice housing developments -- a single lane perpendicting from ECR straight down a slight incline to the waterfront, new two and three story Indian style concrete houses with carports and rooftop terraces, painted in a cheery mix of pastel colors (mint-green-and-lavender, terra-cotta-and-sky-blue). Some developments had gates -- the resorts had guards in uniforms, manning their tall, white gates surrounding by lush green lawns.
We wove through countless small villages holding a temple, a couple of shops and houses in various levels of affluence and decay, thin, wizened people walking along the road or across a field, or standing in line at the little shops, never a stoplight in view.
Sometimes a large temple would have huge clunky statues, two-story tall gods sitting on Weeble-esque horses. And sometimes the temples were loud, blasting pre-recorded sermons through PA systems so the entire village -- and maybe the next one too -- could hear it in their hot, trying lives, and maybe would think WWKD or WWGD throughout the day.
Sometimes a single dwelling -- could be 6000 square feet with shiny gold tile roof, could be single room concrete house with roof top terrace, could be a blue tarp and bamboo tent -- would be sitting alone on the side of the road.
The majority of the land was simply empty. You might spot some livestock grazing, or some walking trails, or just empty fields of scrub grass.
With the blue of the sparkling water in the distance, stretching off to infinity.
Chennai to Pondy (Part 1)
We drove south on the East Coast Road (ECR) with the water on our left, passing through Mahabalipuram. I had been encouraged by various folks to stop in and take a look at this or that oceanfront resort on my way as they are very luxurious along this stretch, but as we were driving down this long straight highway (with minimal, by Indian standards, traffic) we continued to weave in and out around the lonely auto rickshaw or motorcycle.
And I found myself having a feeling I haven't had since I was a pre-teen -- car sick. Yep, I was one of those kids who (before the kids-must-sit-in-the-back-seat-and-be-harnessed-in-like-Clydesdales-on-the-Bud-truck laws) was always allowed to sit in the front seat, otherwise any trip over twenty minutes in length would result in the dreaded car sickness.
I almost didn't recognize the symptoms, and initially thought I'd eaten something taboo… perhaps a slice of fruit at the Sheraton that had been washed in (gasp!) tap water. :-o
But then I came to my (gulp) senses, and started drinking lots of water and gazing through our car windows at the sights all around. Praying for us to reach Pondy soon!
And I found myself having a feeling I haven't had since I was a pre-teen -- car sick. Yep, I was one of those kids who (before the kids-must-sit-in-the-back-seat-and-be-harnessed-in-like-Clydesdales-on-the-Bud-truck laws) was always allowed to sit in the front seat, otherwise any trip over twenty minutes in length would result in the dreaded car sickness.
I almost didn't recognize the symptoms, and initially thought I'd eaten something taboo… perhaps a slice of fruit at the Sheraton that had been washed in (gasp!) tap water. :-o
But then I came to my (gulp) senses, and started drinking lots of water and gazing through our car windows at the sights all around. Praying for us to reach Pondy soon!
Penn Taxi
As I was having brekkie before we left the hotel, I saw a TV news report about a new taxi service in Chennai -- Penn Taxi -- by women, for women. This is a taxi service of pink cars with only-women drivers, who take only-women passengers.
This new business serves society in so many ways. Under-educated women learn to drive. They provide a valuable service, keeping other women safe when they travel. And then the drivers are able to provide for their families.
When in Chennai, please support Penn Taxi.
This new business serves society in so many ways. Under-educated women learn to drive. They provide a valuable service, keeping other women safe when they travel. And then the drivers are able to provide for their families.
When in Chennai, please support Penn Taxi.
Leaving Chennai
The next day Raja and Saj were tired out (or maybe their wives were!) so they sent me out for some retail therapy with Mena. We shopped in record time -- only deterred by the traffic -- and I sent her home early to her baby.
On Friday I headed out of Chennai to Pondicherry / Puducherry.
We had negotiated a price for Saravanan / Palani to drive me, and we got on the road by 11am. I said goodbye to the Park Sheraton.
On Friday I headed out of Chennai to Pondicherry / Puducherry.
We had negotiated a price for Saravanan / Palani to drive me, and we got on the road by 11am. I said goodbye to the Park Sheraton.
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Mahabalipuram (Part 4)
After our visit to the last temple, which was right next to the beach front, we strolled along the little strip of shops, where a bangle lady was sitting with her newborn goat.
Then we went to Moonraker's 3 for Calamari with Madras Masala - OMG!!! And Tiger Prawn -- otherwise known as The Biggest Freakin' Shrimp I've Seen in My Life!
(If you go to Moonrakers, make sure you sit on the roof, where you can listen to the ocean waves and the crackle of the wind through the palm fronds while you eat. Maybe a stray raindrop or ten will fall while you're out there. Or there might even be fireworks.)
Then we went to Moonraker's 3 for Calamari with Madras Masala - OMG!!! And Tiger Prawn -- otherwise known as The Biggest Freakin' Shrimp I've Seen in My Life!
(If you go to Moonrakers, make sure you sit on the roof, where you can listen to the ocean waves and the crackle of the wind through the palm fronds while you eat. Maybe a stray raindrop or ten will fall while you're out there. Or there might even be fireworks.)
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Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Mahabalipuram (Part 3)
We employed our new Aussie friends to help us with the camera, when our over-40 fingers mucked up the works.
This giant rock has balanced for centuries on a hill, with contact to the ground on only the barest amount of surface area.
And, I had my first tender coconut water.
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Mahabalipuram (Part 1)
After a few hours to catch up on email, and do some socializing with the team, Raja, Saj and I headed out with my driver, whose name is actually Saravanan (no idea why it was texted to me as Palani originally), to Mahabalipuram.
On the drive there we passed de-salinization plants which are turning sea water into drinkable water for the city of Chennai. Saj said his house is getting the new water, and he notices no difference -- except that all of his pet fish keep dying.
I realized once again that Raja has such a depth of knowledge, that he can hold forth for hours on any topic you throw him… whether it be de-salinization, Gandhi's salt boycott, cricket, mango farming, or the monkeys crossing the road in front of our car!
In Mahabalipuram are a group of temples which were carved top down into a single monolithic stone.
(Interesting tidbit: Raja and Saj's tickets were 10 rupees each; mine was 250 rupees. WTF! While the actual dollar cost is nominal, I cannot imagine European visitors coming to the US, visiting Yosemite or Arches, and agreeing to pay 25 times the US citizen cost to enter.)
Raja fell in love with my iPhone, so we have lots of good shots from our trip there. These posts show only a few.
On the drive there we passed de-salinization plants which are turning sea water into drinkable water for the city of Chennai. Saj said his house is getting the new water, and he notices no difference -- except that all of his pet fish keep dying.
I realized once again that Raja has such a depth of knowledge, that he can hold forth for hours on any topic you throw him… whether it be de-salinization, Gandhi's salt boycott, cricket, mango farming, or the monkeys crossing the road in front of our car!
In Mahabalipuram are a group of temples which were carved top down into a single monolithic stone.
(Interesting tidbit: Raja and Saj's tickets were 10 rupees each; mine was 250 rupees. WTF! While the actual dollar cost is nominal, I cannot imagine European visitors coming to the US, visiting Yosemite or Arches, and agreeing to pay 25 times the US citizen cost to enter.)
Raja fell in love with my iPhone, so we have lots of good shots from our trip there. These posts show only a few.
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Monday, June 30, 2014
Gates
The next day on the way to the office, my driver stopped so I could take photos of the beautiful gates in the walls of the huge houses near my hotel, on Adyar Gate Club Road and Archbishop Mathias Road.
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At the Sports Bar
We meet up with Raja in a sports bar, where TVs were showing the World Cup, and where I was the only female present, for the entire evening. Not even a female server. Just another scenario in India where I am the only one of my category. :-)
It was not the typical American sports bar experience. Instead of there being loads of fans sitting together and cheering plays under giant screens and neon beer signs, this place had an Irish pub feel -- very dark lighting with heavy wood furniture and small TVs.
We had excellent food while we were not watching the World Cub. We had little finger snacks, like you would get in a US bar -- and Saj and Raja reminisced about the roasted peanuts in US bars, where you throw the shells onto the floor.
We had shrimp in Madras Masala -- I think that is what it was called -- which was so spicy and so fabulous! (Note to self - bring Madras Masala combination back to my own kitchen!!)
AND. We had boiled peanuts!!!! OMG, I thought only folks in the Southern US ate boiled peanuts!! They were so good! Though very interesting that they were served already shelled. Usually half the fun in eating them is cracking the shells and sometimes sucking out the salty water. Mmm mmm mmm!
And of course, cold beer. Because, what is an evening with Raja, without cold beer?!
It was not the typical American sports bar experience. Instead of there being loads of fans sitting together and cheering plays under giant screens and neon beer signs, this place had an Irish pub feel -- very dark lighting with heavy wood furniture and small TVs.
We had excellent food while we were not watching the World Cub. We had little finger snacks, like you would get in a US bar -- and Saj and Raja reminisced about the roasted peanuts in US bars, where you throw the shells onto the floor.
We had shrimp in Madras Masala -- I think that is what it was called -- which was so spicy and so fabulous! (Note to self - bring Madras Masala combination back to my own kitchen!!)
AND. We had boiled peanuts!!!! OMG, I thought only folks in the Southern US ate boiled peanuts!! They were so good! Though very interesting that they were served already shelled. Usually half the fun in eating them is cracking the shells and sometimes sucking out the salty water. Mmm mmm mmm!
And of course, cold beer. Because, what is an evening with Raja, without cold beer?!
Heading for home at 10pm
In the short ride to the sports bar where we were meeting Raja, Saj and I talked about his life since returning to India, and about the working lives of my offshore teammates.
Saj had lived in Charlotte for a while and worked on our system as a contractor. When Raja went back to India to set up the offshore team, he reached into the contractor firms and poached a number of the most knowledgeable resources as the foundation for his team.
Everyone came to employment for Raja with the knowledge that they would come to work at midday Chennai time, and then stay through about half of the US workday -- so they expect to leave for home at 9-10pm. M-F. This sounded OK on paper, and while everyone was still young. Yet as the realities creep in, it becomes taxing.
For example, most of our offshore team isn't assigned laptops as our US team is -- they work on desktops. So when working on a problem or when interfacing directly with a US teammate, though they have wifi at home for their personal electronics, they have to remain in the office.
Another thing -- more alarming to me, as I would never have thought of this issue-- is that the docile dogs I've seen trotting around or napping in the shade during the daytime, gang up into packs at night and run through the streets. This poses dangerous situations for our guys (and girls) who ride scooters and motorcycles (and especially bicycles!) to work. Imagine the terror of riding your scooter home, through dark streets, at 10pm, after a tiring day, only to be chased by a pack of feral dogs.
Another issue with traveling through the streets so late at night -- as I've mentioned before in this blog -- is the danger of attack women in India face daily. I shudder to think of Mena -- a mother with a newborn -- riding through dark streets at night.
Saj had lived in Charlotte for a while and worked on our system as a contractor. When Raja went back to India to set up the offshore team, he reached into the contractor firms and poached a number of the most knowledgeable resources as the foundation for his team.
Everyone came to employment for Raja with the knowledge that they would come to work at midday Chennai time, and then stay through about half of the US workday -- so they expect to leave for home at 9-10pm. M-F. This sounded OK on paper, and while everyone was still young. Yet as the realities creep in, it becomes taxing.
For example, most of our offshore team isn't assigned laptops as our US team is -- they work on desktops. So when working on a problem or when interfacing directly with a US teammate, though they have wifi at home for their personal electronics, they have to remain in the office.
Another thing -- more alarming to me, as I would never have thought of this issue-- is that the docile dogs I've seen trotting around or napping in the shade during the daytime, gang up into packs at night and run through the streets. This poses dangerous situations for our guys (and girls) who ride scooters and motorcycles (and especially bicycles!) to work. Imagine the terror of riding your scooter home, through dark streets, at 10pm, after a tiring day, only to be chased by a pack of feral dogs.
Another issue with traveling through the streets so late at night -- as I've mentioned before in this blog -- is the danger of attack women in India face daily. I shudder to think of Mena -- a mother with a newborn -- riding through dark streets at night.
SanThom
Our next stop was St Thomas Basilica, or SanThom as everyone calls it. Legend has it this Roman Catholic church was built upon the burial spot of Saint Thomas, who was one of the twelve disciples of Jesus Christ. Various tales surround his death near Chennai - whether he was an old man caring for a flock of early Christians who died a peaceful death, or a still enthusiastic evangelist who had drawn the ire of local holy men, who is to say.
We walked through the spitting rain to a building in the back of the main church, removed our shoes, and descended a staircase to an antechamber, where a stern nun cautioned us to keep silent (the threat of ear pulling unstated, but known nonetheless -- and really, what visit to a Catholic church is complete without a nun cautioning one to be quiet?).
Then we entered the burial chamber, a small chapel with a center row and pews on either side. At the top of the room was a clear box containing a reclining bearding mannequin suggesting St Thomas in death. The box was stood directly on dirt exposed through a rectangular hole cut in the stone floor, further urging the belief of the basilica being built directly on the site of the saint's final resting place. A section of human bone, framed in a shadowbox and purported to belong to the saint resting below, hung on a column to the right of the mannequin.
We sat in a pew for a few moments in silent reflection (neither Saj nor myself wanting to experience the Ear Treatment), and then headed out.
We walked through the main cathedral, which had been rebuilt in the 19th century in a British-preferred style, but was decorated in an unmistakably Indian fashion with flowers and bright colors. A female pastor was leading an evening service, reminding me of the evangelical services I've had the unexpected misfortune to attend, with folks in the congregation calling out to the pastor. We sat and observed. It was loud and earthy -- folks quickly going up the center aisle and to the right, to pray before a saint.
As we exited into the drizzle, Saj explained that this particular group of Catholic churches were somewhat more expressive than the RC church he had grown up in and still attends.
We walked through the spitting rain to a building in the back of the main church, removed our shoes, and descended a staircase to an antechamber, where a stern nun cautioned us to keep silent (the threat of ear pulling unstated, but known nonetheless -- and really, what visit to a Catholic church is complete without a nun cautioning one to be quiet?).
Then we entered the burial chamber, a small chapel with a center row and pews on either side. At the top of the room was a clear box containing a reclining bearding mannequin suggesting St Thomas in death. The box was stood directly on dirt exposed through a rectangular hole cut in the stone floor, further urging the belief of the basilica being built directly on the site of the saint's final resting place. A section of human bone, framed in a shadowbox and purported to belong to the saint resting below, hung on a column to the right of the mannequin.
We sat in a pew for a few moments in silent reflection (neither Saj nor myself wanting to experience the Ear Treatment), and then headed out.
We walked through the main cathedral, which had been rebuilt in the 19th century in a British-preferred style, but was decorated in an unmistakably Indian fashion with flowers and bright colors. A female pastor was leading an evening service, reminding me of the evangelical services I've had the unexpected misfortune to attend, with folks in the congregation calling out to the pastor. We sat and observed. It was loud and earthy -- folks quickly going up the center aisle and to the right, to pray before a saint.
As we exited into the drizzle, Saj explained that this particular group of Catholic churches were somewhat more expressive than the RC church he had grown up in and still attends.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Where are the Sunsets?
It occurs to me that I haven't experienced an actual sunset while in India.
It seems that most days the sky begins to cloud up after 4pm. And then the light just fades away into night. And much much earlier than we are having in Charlotte during this time of year. This week in Charlotte we could expect to have daylight until 8:30pm plus. But here it's dark by 6:30.
Additionally, there is only one timezone for the whole of India, so being on the East Coast in Chennai now it feels as if it becomes darker earlier than it did in Hyderabad.
It seems that most days the sky begins to cloud up after 4pm. And then the light just fades away into night. And much much earlier than we are having in Charlotte during this time of year. This week in Charlotte we could expect to have daylight until 8:30pm plus. But here it's dark by 6:30.
Additionally, there is only one timezone for the whole of India, so being on the East Coast in Chennai now it feels as if it becomes darker earlier than it did in Hyderabad.
Look for the Essence
Going south, on the left side of the road was a wide beach. The widest expanse of beach I've ever seen. There were none of the dunes I expected, and so the ground was flat from the road leading right to the strand.
Dotted along as we drove were little shops for tourists -- cool drink shops, hot snack shops, water toy shops, and the like. These little wooden structures were sitting right on the sand, and it being a Tuesday evening most were closed until the weekend. People strolled along. Some folks rode horses. Fisherman's boats were pulled up onto the sand.
After a short ways I began to see on the sand next to the road a few folks sitting on reed maps or tarps, with their catch for the day spread out in front of them, making their livelihood, shooing away the flies which buzzed around the fish and shrimp and crabs. In just a matter of a few more feet along the road, the fisherman were sitting on their mats in front of tiny, fragile huts made from bamboo and reeds and driftwood, which served as their homes -- built on the sand next to the road. I caught glimpses into some of the houses, where people laid on the ground on sandy blankets, or sat looking out into the distance.
The ladies doing the selling were thin, wizened beyond their years, and the children were half dressed and smiling.
On the right side of the road, away from the beach, was row after row of tiny, old structures which served as home for a good many people milling about in the lanes. Every so often there were water faucets sticking up out of the ground which served the population. Temples and churches took prime real estate looking toward the waters where the people made their living.
Trash was everywhere, papers and bags and bottles and organic materials, large and small, blowing in the breeze or piled up against the sides of buildings or heaped up on corners.
"These are some of the happiest people in the world, " Saj said.
After the tsunami the government built new houses for all the people who lived in that area, so close to the water. But they refused to live in the new houses. They needed to be near the sea. So they came back to the beach, and those who had lost houses built new ones as best they could, to live next to the bay which gives them life.
Dotted along as we drove were little shops for tourists -- cool drink shops, hot snack shops, water toy shops, and the like. These little wooden structures were sitting right on the sand, and it being a Tuesday evening most were closed until the weekend. People strolled along. Some folks rode horses. Fisherman's boats were pulled up onto the sand.
After a short ways I began to see on the sand next to the road a few folks sitting on reed maps or tarps, with their catch for the day spread out in front of them, making their livelihood, shooing away the flies which buzzed around the fish and shrimp and crabs. In just a matter of a few more feet along the road, the fisherman were sitting on their mats in front of tiny, fragile huts made from bamboo and reeds and driftwood, which served as their homes -- built on the sand next to the road. I caught glimpses into some of the houses, where people laid on the ground on sandy blankets, or sat looking out into the distance.
The ladies doing the selling were thin, wizened beyond their years, and the children were half dressed and smiling.
On the right side of the road, away from the beach, was row after row of tiny, old structures which served as home for a good many people milling about in the lanes. Every so often there were water faucets sticking up out of the ground which served the population. Temples and churches took prime real estate looking toward the waters where the people made their living.
Trash was everywhere, papers and bags and bottles and organic materials, large and small, blowing in the breeze or piled up against the sides of buildings or heaped up on corners.
"These are some of the happiest people in the world, " Saj said.
After the tsunami the government built new houses for all the people who lived in that area, so close to the water. But they refused to live in the new houses. They needed to be near the sea. So they came back to the beach, and those who had lost houses built new ones as best they could, to live next to the bay which gives them life.
Taking the Beach Road
Leaving the temple neighborhood we drove north along (what I think was) Kamarajar Promenade, seeing the Marina Walk along our right against the bay and lots of British-era buildings on the left. People were walking along the Marina Walk, enjoying the late afternoon breezes off the water.
Saj is wealth of historical info having grown up and been educated within Chennai, and makes a very good tour guide -- though he says this is his inaugural journey. He urges me to see past the superficial and seek to understand the essence of Chennai, and India.
The British buildings are beautifully maintained and have expansive lawns. The Governor's office is housed in an estate with a large wall and gate, and since elections were held only last week seems to be in residence -- the place surrounded by uniformed guards.
We turned around, Saj asked Palani to take Marina Beach Road (I think that's what he said). Being an American, I conjured a vision of what Marina Beach Road should look like.
I could not have been more wrong
Saj is wealth of historical info having grown up and been educated within Chennai, and makes a very good tour guide -- though he says this is his inaugural journey. He urges me to see past the superficial and seek to understand the essence of Chennai, and India.
The British buildings are beautifully maintained and have expansive lawns. The Governor's office is housed in an estate with a large wall and gate, and since elections were held only last week seems to be in residence -- the place surrounded by uniformed guards.
We turned around, Saj asked Palani to take Marina Beach Road (I think that's what he said). Being an American, I conjured a vision of what Marina Beach Road should look like.
I could not have been more wrong
The Temple at Triplicane
We started with an 8th century temple in a very old section of the city, just blocks from the Bay of Bengal. Elaborately carved pillars show their age, and support more recent (lighter colored) stonework capping off the structure. The temple is dedicated to two separate gods -- Krishna and Narasimha -- and each has a dedicated entrance.
The ambiance inside was very quiet, reverent, and worshippers were just starting to arrive for their after work prayers, carrying flowers, in all manner of dress from traditional to Western. The priest was in attendance, sitting on some steps in case anyone wanted to talk.The place felt sacred such that I, as a non-believer, was uncomfortable taking photos in such a holy place. Saj and I chose not to go into the chambers that actually held the gods.
Heading back to the car we were surrounded -- ok, we weren't surrounded but it felt like it -- by poor people, selling trinkets or flowers. "Madam. Madam. Madam." My guides and all 'tourist tips' literature in the hotels state that visitors shouldn't encourage or reward begging, but it breaks my heart to be this close to people who are so obviously poor and in need and not to try to help them somehow. It overwhelms the senses.
I got into our cab as unobtrusively as possible, and we drove away past the cows and the dogs, in air conditioned comfort.
The ambiance inside was very quiet, reverent, and worshippers were just starting to arrive for their after work prayers, carrying flowers, in all manner of dress from traditional to Western. The priest was in attendance, sitting on some steps in case anyone wanted to talk.The place felt sacred such that I, as a non-believer, was uncomfortable taking photos in such a holy place. Saj and I chose not to go into the chambers that actually held the gods.
Heading back to the car we were surrounded -- ok, we weren't surrounded but it felt like it -- by poor people, selling trinkets or flowers. "Madam. Madam. Madam." My guides and all 'tourist tips' literature in the hotels state that visitors shouldn't encourage or reward begging, but it breaks my heart to be this close to people who are so obviously poor and in need and not to try to help them somehow. It overwhelms the senses.
I got into our cab as unobtrusively as possible, and we drove away past the cows and the dogs, in air conditioned comfort.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Tuesday at the Office
On Tuesday I went to lunch with Saj and some of the guys. I chose the Veg meal provider, however I have no recollection what I ate. I know I had bread, and I know I had sambar. I mentioned that I love sambar, and the guys joked that they've had to eat sambar every day of their lives and they no longer love sambar.
(I guess when I was young I would have said the same about grits.)
After lunch we dumped our leftovers into trashcans and handed the dishes through a window to the cleaning staff. Then I was ushered, along with all the men, through a bathroom looking door, into the Handwashing Room.
Whew! It really looked like a door leading into a bathroom, with big sinks beyond, and I couldn't imagine why I was encouraged to go in with the guys. :-D
(While I am known to eat with my hands -- chips, nuts, dry cereal, bread -- the eating of wet foods with hands is still freaking me out a little. The Handwashing Room is a really great use of real estate.)
After lunch we had a team meeting, where Raja formally introduced me to the team and where some awards for valuable contributions were handed out.
And then, Saj and I slipped away, for the first of my Chennai sightseeing tours.
(I guess when I was young I would have said the same about grits.)
After lunch we dumped our leftovers into trashcans and handed the dishes through a window to the cleaning staff. Then I was ushered, along with all the men, through a bathroom looking door, into the Handwashing Room.
Whew! It really looked like a door leading into a bathroom, with big sinks beyond, and I couldn't imagine why I was encouraged to go in with the guys. :-D
(While I am known to eat with my hands -- chips, nuts, dry cereal, bread -- the eating of wet foods with hands is still freaking me out a little. The Handwashing Room is a really great use of real estate.)
After lunch we had a team meeting, where Raja formally introduced me to the team and where some awards for valuable contributions were handed out.
And then, Saj and I slipped away, for the first of my Chennai sightseeing tours.
Following the Rules
It's a good thing that I went straight home on Monday night, as I learned on Tuesday that our corporate policy (in Chennai) is that employee guests from onshore should always be escorted by a local employee.
As a very independent American who lives alone and has no problem travelling alone (and regularly seeks opportunities to break rules!), this would normally have made me bristle, but the recent attacks on women in two villages in Lucknow -- coupled with the reports over the past few years of increasing violence against women in India, have given me pause.
And so I would not have wanted to break corporate rules, get myself in trouble, and inadvertently get Raja or Saj into trouble to boot.
As a very independent American who lives alone and has no problem travelling alone (and regularly seeks opportunities to break rules!), this would normally have made me bristle, but the recent attacks on women in two villages in Lucknow -- coupled with the reports over the past few years of increasing violence against women in India, have given me pause.
And so I would not have wanted to break corporate rules, get myself in trouble, and inadvertently get Raja or Saj into trouble to boot.
The "I" Factor
I was tired from the travelling and late day at the office, and I just wanted to grab a bag of chips and eat them on the bed wallowing in the crumbs, but I couldn't spot a little store in the hotel. So I went to the most casual of the restaurants for a quick bite.
The service was excellent. Prompt and helpful, but not over bearing. Even this small restaurant (Cappucino??) had an international menu, and there were a few other Westerners about. So I took a chance and ordered spaghetti bolognese.
Yes, yes, I know, I'm in India and I'm ordering Italian. But hey! I've been eating only Indian food for ten days, and I wanted a little variety. And, I spent my vacation last summer trying the spaghetti bolognese in every town in Italy we visited, so I wanted to do a little taste test.
There were two portions available, and I tried to order the half size, but the waiter wouldn't allow it. "No madam, it is verrry small, verrry small." So, I relented.
In keeping with the Sheraton reputation, the food was excellent -- very tasty, and authentic. The spaghetti was al dente, just as I knew it should be.
And I only ate about 2 thirds of the full portion, as I knew I would.
The service was excellent. Prompt and helpful, but not over bearing. Even this small restaurant (Cappucino??) had an international menu, and there were a few other Westerners about. So I took a chance and ordered spaghetti bolognese.
Yes, yes, I know, I'm in India and I'm ordering Italian. But hey! I've been eating only Indian food for ten days, and I wanted a little variety. And, I spent my vacation last summer trying the spaghetti bolognese in every town in Italy we visited, so I wanted to do a little taste test.
There were two portions available, and I tried to order the half size, but the waiter wouldn't allow it. "No madam, it is verrry small, verrry small." So, I relented.
In keeping with the Sheraton reputation, the food was excellent -- very tasty, and authentic. The spaghetti was al dente, just as I knew it should be.
And I only ate about 2 thirds of the full portion, as I knew I would.
Chennai Day 1
I jacked the AC up to 24C (75F - which is still colder than I keep my house), took a quickie shower and got ready for the office. The driver was waiting for me, and I was due at 2:30 pm.
After getting my laptop tagged for the Chennai office, which entailed more hard copies and ledger books and signatures in tiny boxes, and ensuring my badge works in this location, I turned in my iPhone at the phone window, collected my poker chip for later retrieval, and was given a tour by Saj.
We went first to say hello to Raja G, who had been my mgr before he returned to India. He gave me a big bear hug and we chatted a moment. I saw Biswa, who had been onshore last year for a while, and met some others. Then Saj took me to my office, which was Meeting Room 4.
It was damned cold in Meeting Room 4. And while the office was cold, all the people were very warm! I felt so welcomed and it was great meeting people from the team who I've only emailed or IM-ed with previously.
I set up my machine, and got back to work. This day, I actually had time to complete some pending training. I went downstairs at 5-ish, just to warm up my bones in the heat outside.
And at 7:30-ish just as I was hoping I could head over to a nearby mall alone, for some retail therapy, I had a real work issue that needed attention. So I headed back to the hotel, had a quick bite, and logged in for some more work
After getting my laptop tagged for the Chennai office, which entailed more hard copies and ledger books and signatures in tiny boxes, and ensuring my badge works in this location, I turned in my iPhone at the phone window, collected my poker chip for later retrieval, and was given a tour by Saj.
We went first to say hello to Raja G, who had been my mgr before he returned to India. He gave me a big bear hug and we chatted a moment. I saw Biswa, who had been onshore last year for a while, and met some others. Then Saj took me to my office, which was Meeting Room 4.
It was damned cold in Meeting Room 4. And while the office was cold, all the people were very warm! I felt so welcomed and it was great meeting people from the team who I've only emailed or IM-ed with previously.
I set up my machine, and got back to work. This day, I actually had time to complete some pending training. I went downstairs at 5-ish, just to warm up my bones in the heat outside.
And at 7:30-ish just as I was hoping I could head over to a nearby mall alone, for some retail therapy, I had a real work issue that needed attention. So I headed back to the hotel, had a quick bite, and logged in for some more work
Checking in in Chennai
The drive through Chennai from the airport to my hotel reminds me of Charleston. There are large shade trees whose arms reach out over the road, meeting in the middle. There are lots of palm trees and the grass is lush and green.
The city seems to be not as dusty as Hyderabad and there is definitely not as much graffiti or ads painted on the walls. There are darkly shaded smaller roads leading off the main roads, little side streets thick with tropical plants, which remind me of Hilton Head or Savannah.
And there are fewer blue tarp dandelions popped up in the empty spaces.
We pull up to the Park Sheraton, where men in starched bright white uniforms help me out of my car and over to the security area. Everyone going into the hotel must go through a security check -- including pat down behind a curtain for the ladies -- and the bags ride through on a conveyor belt.
Check in is very easy, and I am whisked to a card-secured floor, and left alone in my room with a giant bed.
Alone in for the first time in over ten days. Alone in my room where the AC has been set to 20C (68F). Alone and freezing.
The city seems to be not as dusty as Hyderabad and there is definitely not as much graffiti or ads painted on the walls. There are darkly shaded smaller roads leading off the main roads, little side streets thick with tropical plants, which remind me of Hilton Head or Savannah.
And there are fewer blue tarp dandelions popped up in the empty spaces.
We pull up to the Park Sheraton, where men in starched bright white uniforms help me out of my car and over to the security area. Everyone going into the hotel must go through a security check -- including pat down behind a curtain for the ladies -- and the bags ride through on a conveyor belt.
Check in is very easy, and I am whisked to a card-secured floor, and left alone in my room with a giant bed.
Alone in for the first time in over ten days. Alone in my room where the AC has been set to 20C (68F). Alone and freezing.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Hyderabad to Chennai (Part 4)
We flew in over the water, it was so blue against the dusty orange of the land. I noticed from above that Chennai seems much greener overall than Hyderabad, and palm trees were prevalent.
I picked up my bags at the baggage claim and dialed the number for my driver, whose name I'd been given as Palani. Straight to voice mail. I dialed again. Voice mail.
So I texted to Saj, who has been my rock, coordinating everything and keeping me up to date and aware of the arrangements that have been made for me. (Thank you, Saj.)
While waiting to hear I continued to move forward, toward the doors and out to the bridge leading from Arrivals to the street. I was immediately surrounded by the humanity of Chennai.
Not that anyone was surrounding me, personally, but that there was so much humanity at the airport waiting for their loved ones and they were all pushing and crowding and hugging and yelling and waving, and I felt like I was the kid in that scene from Empire of the Sun when Jamie gets separated from his parents in the throng of people fleeing Shanghai, and the chaos and lack of my required personal space and being alone without my handlers for the first time in 10 days drives me close to hyperventilation.
And then my phone rang (thank you Raj), and it was Saj, who was able to reach the driver, Palani, who was waiting outside for me with a placard.
However, I learned that, as ours was an International (domestic) flight, I am waiting outside the International Terminal, while Palani is standing with his placard at the Domestic Terminal. So Saj arranged for Palani to come over to International, and pick me up. (Thank you, Saj.)
I picked up my bags at the baggage claim and dialed the number for my driver, whose name I'd been given as Palani. Straight to voice mail. I dialed again. Voice mail.
So I texted to Saj, who has been my rock, coordinating everything and keeping me up to date and aware of the arrangements that have been made for me. (Thank you, Saj.)
While waiting to hear I continued to move forward, toward the doors and out to the bridge leading from Arrivals to the street. I was immediately surrounded by the humanity of Chennai.
Not that anyone was surrounding me, personally, but that there was so much humanity at the airport waiting for their loved ones and they were all pushing and crowding and hugging and yelling and waving, and I felt like I was the kid in that scene from Empire of the Sun when Jamie gets separated from his parents in the throng of people fleeing Shanghai, and the chaos and lack of my required personal space and being alone without my handlers for the first time in 10 days drives me close to hyperventilation.
And then my phone rang (thank you Raj), and it was Saj, who was able to reach the driver, Palani, who was waiting outside for me with a placard.
However, I learned that, as ours was an International (domestic) flight, I am waiting outside the International Terminal, while Palani is standing with his placard at the Domestic Terminal. So Saj arranged for Palani to come over to International, and pick me up. (Thank you, Saj.)
Hyderabad to Chennai (Part 3)
I was running behind time due to waiting for the stamping at the Domestic Customs desk and being jumped in line by the tented ladies at Security, so I sprinted through the shiny, clean and modern International terminal, searching for my gate. When I found it I noticed with alarm that no AirIndia agents were manning the desk, even though we were only moments from the departure time. "Oh no, have I missed it???"
Then I noticed that the screen above the gate had "Scheduled Time of Departure" in the upper left, and "Expected Time of Departure" in the upper right. (wtf) Are late departures such a normal occurrence that the screen is hard-coded to support it??
At any rate, now I have time to eat. So I got a dosa with coconut chutney and a masala tea while I waited. And I took a stroll through the gift shop, where an oh-too-helpful sales attendant walked through with me, pointing out every item and offering various discounts, today only.
We left on schedule, expected schedule not scheduled schedule, and the flight was uneventful.
Then I noticed that the screen above the gate had "Scheduled Time of Departure" in the upper left, and "Expected Time of Departure" in the upper right. (wtf) Are late departures such a normal occurrence that the screen is hard-coded to support it??
At any rate, now I have time to eat. So I got a dosa with coconut chutney and a masala tea while I waited. And I took a stroll through the gift shop, where an oh-too-helpful sales attendant walked through with me, pointing out every item and offering various discounts, today only.
We left on schedule, expected schedule not scheduled schedule, and the flight was uneventful.
Hyderabad to Chennai (Part 2)
The flight was considered 'international', though I was a domestic passenger (wtf) -- and so I had to go to international terminal.
I filled out a customs sheet, and followed a line to the customs desk for domestic passengers, which no one was manning. Other domestic international travellers joined me and we stood there, waiting for someone to come, for quite some time actually, and when he did he gave our sheets a cursory glance and performed some heavy handed stamping with blue ink, and waved us on.
The security lines are divided to Male and Female, and the attendants are as well. I dropped my bags onto the belt to be xrayed, and went to the Female line, where there was one person ahead of me. The ladies in the long black dresses moved slowly, but not so slow that they couldn't let other big black dressed ladies jump ahead of me in line. It started with the old ones, and then the young ones got in the game, looking at me through their slits, in my harlot clothes and devil hair, daring me to object.
I sighed and watched the other stuff going on around us. Mainly that the guys in the white sarees had to remove the big leather belts to go through the security check. So they had to gather up and hold their clothes on while they were scanned and patted down.
When I was finally called to be scanned I stood on a box where I was scanned and patted, and left the curtained area to pick up my backpack.
Pepper spray disguised as perfume in my purse.
I filled out a customs sheet, and followed a line to the customs desk for domestic passengers, which no one was manning. Other domestic international travellers joined me and we stood there, waiting for someone to come, for quite some time actually, and when he did he gave our sheets a cursory glance and performed some heavy handed stamping with blue ink, and waved us on.
The security lines are divided to Male and Female, and the attendants are as well. I dropped my bags onto the belt to be xrayed, and went to the Female line, where there was one person ahead of me. The ladies in the long black dresses moved slowly, but not so slow that they couldn't let other big black dressed ladies jump ahead of me in line. It started with the old ones, and then the young ones got in the game, looking at me through their slits, in my harlot clothes and devil hair, daring me to object.
I sighed and watched the other stuff going on around us. Mainly that the guys in the white sarees had to remove the big leather belts to go through the security check. So they had to gather up and hold their clothes on while they were scanned and patted down.
When I was finally called to be scanned I stood on a box where I was scanned and patted, and left the curtained area to pick up my backpack.
Pepper spray disguised as perfume in my purse.
Hyderabad to Chennai (Part 1)
On the drive to the airport Monday morning the driver opened it up! He spends most of his driving time inching around Hyderabad, beeping politely at all manner of vehicle, pedestrian and livestock on the road ahead of him, and this was his time to put the pedal to the metal. The road was wide, and we were almost alone with 7:30am being very early for India.
Coming into the airport in the daytime was a lovely drive, just beautiful! We approached on a long avenue with a center line of palm trees and green medians. There were sculptures, and sculptural plantings along the way.
Interestingly, you must show your itinerary to get into the doors of the airport, even before any checking of bags or getting to the kiosk to check in. Only fliers can come into the airport.
I was dreadfully underdressed at the airport, though I hadn't thought so when I left home in below the knee jean shorts and a tee from Tarjay. Perhaps I was simply underdressed relative to the folks standing in the check-in line next to me who were flying to Saudi Arabia.
While I would never claim to be an expert on Middle Eastern garb, I know that generally men will wear a long white dress with a red scarf / hat with black band. The women will generally wear all black, long, with various levels of head / hair / face coverage.
This manner of dress was present, yet many of the folks in the line to Jeddah were dressed in a costume unlike I'd ever seen.
The women were in the long black dress, but their heads were covered with long white covers. And the men seemed to be garbed in thick, bright white terry cloth sarees which wrapped around and around, then over the shoulder, and which was secured at the waist by a wide leather belt with a big buckle.
Coming into the airport in the daytime was a lovely drive, just beautiful! We approached on a long avenue with a center line of palm trees and green medians. There were sculptures, and sculptural plantings along the way.
Interestingly, you must show your itinerary to get into the doors of the airport, even before any checking of bags or getting to the kiosk to check in. Only fliers can come into the airport.
I was dreadfully underdressed at the airport, though I hadn't thought so when I left home in below the knee jean shorts and a tee from Tarjay. Perhaps I was simply underdressed relative to the folks standing in the check-in line next to me who were flying to Saudi Arabia.
While I would never claim to be an expert on Middle Eastern garb, I know that generally men will wear a long white dress with a red scarf / hat with black band. The women will generally wear all black, long, with various levels of head / hair / face coverage.
This manner of dress was present, yet many of the folks in the line to Jeddah were dressed in a costume unlike I'd ever seen.
The women were in the long black dress, but their heads were covered with long white covers. And the men seemed to be garbed in thick, bright white terry cloth sarees which wrapped around and around, then over the shoulder, and which was secured at the waist by a wide leather belt with a big buckle.
Saree Party
We had decided I would borrow from Lek's closet to attend Lax's party. This way we have no pressure to find something suitable, and I have no pressure to buy something that may be more dressy than my usual life requires. (Plus the whole Giant Old Lady thing.)
Lax had been telling me about this party for months -- when the family buys and presents the daughter with her first saree, and then introduces her to the world.
I had assumed it would have religious or ritualistic overtones -- a script to follow… here she is before, here she is after…. I didn't see any of that. If a script exists, Lax opted for a more casual performance.
What I did see was a chance for people to dress up in their most beautiful clothing -- and I do mean, there were some breathtakingly beautiful sarees there -- and most glamorous makeup -- and have their pictures taken.
After the unveiling of Mellissa and Jasmine in their beautiful new sarees, a receiving line started at the left of the stage and each family filed across, tossing rice onto the girls' heads, and taking their photo opp.
Lek and I, being the non-traditional girls you know and love, worked our way through the untouched -- and very delicious -- buffet line (twice), and slipped through the artful fence into the male dominated bar section. I ordered a Kingfisher and we ate while watching the photos. The girls were becoming tired you could tell, of smiling for so long.
We had to leave early by IST, as I'm flying to Chennai on Monday morning, so we slipped out the door when the entertainment started.
Very nice party indeed!
Lax had been telling me about this party for months -- when the family buys and presents the daughter with her first saree, and then introduces her to the world.
I had assumed it would have religious or ritualistic overtones -- a script to follow… here she is before, here she is after…. I didn't see any of that. If a script exists, Lax opted for a more casual performance.
What I did see was a chance for people to dress up in their most beautiful clothing -- and I do mean, there were some breathtakingly beautiful sarees there -- and most glamorous makeup -- and have their pictures taken.
After the unveiling of Mellissa and Jasmine in their beautiful new sarees, a receiving line started at the left of the stage and each family filed across, tossing rice onto the girls' heads, and taking their photo opp.
Lek and I, being the non-traditional girls you know and love, worked our way through the untouched -- and very delicious -- buffet line (twice), and slipped through the artful fence into the male dominated bar section. I ordered a Kingfisher and we ate while watching the photos. The girls were becoming tired you could tell, of smiling for so long.
We had to leave early by IST, as I'm flying to Chennai on Monday morning, so we slipped out the door when the entertainment started.
Very nice party indeed!
 |
| This is the cook I tripped on |
The Audacity of Madam Hoof Foot
Sunday NB and I went to a salon. He went for a haircut, I had a blowout and a manicure. I was amazed that we could go for three reasons - first, he had made an appointment and we were almost thirty minutes late arriving. Next, I didn't have an appointment, but Lek was sure I'd get in no probs. Last, it was a hair salon and it was open on Sunday.
The salon was a Brit chain, and could have been anywhere in the world. Hip staff with fun hair and uber fad clothes. Loud music -- EuroTechno, American -- TVs showing fashion shows and hair styles.
The service was great. With my blowout I got a fabulous head massage and a nice blow dry.
My manicure was good as well, though I was sitting next to an Indian lady who was giving the staff what-for! She sent someone out to get Q-tip swabs. She was not happy with the guy who was doing his best to sand her hooves back to foot shapes. She was not happy with the girl doing the manicure. She was constantly on the phone, dialing, answering, not allowing the manicure girl to do her job on her hands.
Then, abruptly Hoof Foot said others in the household need the car, to go to the airport, so she will have to come back at 4pm to complete her services. WTF! The customer service folks from the front desk came to the back, helped her out with her stuff, and she was gone.
(So now, this didn't really qualify as my usual WTF, but just the audacity of Madam Hoof Foot... I've never experienced anything like that.)
The salon was a Brit chain, and could have been anywhere in the world. Hip staff with fun hair and uber fad clothes. Loud music -- EuroTechno, American -- TVs showing fashion shows and hair styles.
The service was great. With my blowout I got a fabulous head massage and a nice blow dry.
My manicure was good as well, though I was sitting next to an Indian lady who was giving the staff what-for! She sent someone out to get Q-tip swabs. She was not happy with the guy who was doing his best to sand her hooves back to foot shapes. She was not happy with the girl doing the manicure. She was constantly on the phone, dialing, answering, not allowing the manicure girl to do her job on her hands.
Then, abruptly Hoof Foot said others in the household need the car, to go to the airport, so she will have to come back at 4pm to complete her services. WTF! The customer service folks from the front desk came to the back, helped her out with her stuff, and she was gone.
(So now, this didn't really qualify as my usual WTF, but just the audacity of Madam Hoof Foot... I've never experienced anything like that.)
A Brush with Fame
After they kicked us out of Q Mart, we stopped for dinner on the way home at N Grill, which is owned by Nagarjuna, a Telugu film star and producer and who was actually there when we arrived… Lek noticed, I wouldn't have known him from Adam.
I was tired and don't really recall what I ate. But I did notice the artwork. Unfortunately the lighting and my terrible camera skills don't do it justice.
And NB ordered a fabulous looking dessert - which everyone shared. (That boy has a hollow leg!)
I was tired and don't really recall what I ate. But I did notice the artwork. Unfortunately the lighting and my terrible camera skills don't do it justice.
And NB ordered a fabulous looking dessert - which everyone shared. (That boy has a hollow leg!)
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