The Last Entry

It is 3:45 in the morning, and all is dark and quiet here in Bangalore. No rickshaws buzzing and honking, no electrical equipment running on the nearby construction site. I’m sure there are animals (and people) of all varieties sleeping on the street outside.

My suitcases are packed and waiting by the door. The cab is arranged for 4:00 AM. In just a few minutes I’ll get a call from the receptionist telling me the car is here.

I’ll quietly wheel my suitcases out of the apartment and lock the door for the last time. I’ll head to the elevator and down to the lobby. They’ll help me with the luggage and I’ll drive off to the airport for the very last time.

It is in this quiet darkness that I slip away and say goodbye to Bangalore, to India, and to this amazing, challenging, and exciting year of my life.

Bandh Together

Well I thought I had written my last major post for this site, but I was oh so very wrong.

It is Wednesday. I fly out on Friday morning. That’s right, in less than 48 hours I leave the country of India. Is it a routine, carefree day? No. Why would we have a routine, carefree day on my second-to-last day in India?

In the state of Karnataka (Bangalore is the capital of Karnataka), there is a general strike today, called a bandh. From 6 AM to 6 PM there are no cabs, buses, rickshaws, government offices, or cable TV channels. Many restaurants are closed along with banks, shops, and malls. Most essentials such as hospitals, police, and medicine shops will be available, however.

What’s all the fuss about? Well there is a city called Belgaum that a neighboring state believes should be part of it instead of Karnataka. Apparently by no one working, it will send a message to the government that they don’t like this. The problem is, the Karnataka government knows! In fact, they held a legislative session in Belgaum and named it a second capital of the state! What are people complaining about?

So essentially, we have a day of no work, no productivity, a huge monetary loss for thousands of businesses, and even a risk of violence all for a seemingly pointless effort.

The Reuters office is on its emergency contingency plan in which non-critical staff get to stay home. I stayed home and got nearly all of my packing done. What a day! It is just so typical of India, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Top 20

I’m just 4 days away from closing the India chapter of my life. Rather than go into some long dissertation about if I knew then what I knew now and was it worth it and regrets and all that stuff, I’m going to provide the readers (and myself) with the jilted yet thought-provoking humor and sarcasm we’ve all grown accustomed to over the last year on this blog.

When I was in High School, a friend of mine and I constantly created these Top 20 lists (not unlike Dave Letterman’s Top 10) which we used to basically make fun of our friends, families, teachers, celebrities, and other annoyances. I’m going to use that same format here. That’s right, a Top 20 list about India. Here it is:

TOP 20 – Things I Will and Will Not Miss about India

20. I will miss the light-hearted lilt of the Indian accent. I will not miss trying to talk to people who speak no English, especially when they’re driving my rickshaw or answering the receptionist phone at my apartments.

19. I will miss the warmth and the arresting spice of Indian food. I will not miss the parasites, bacteria, and other undesirables in the food that made me sick countless times over the last year.

18. I will miss the carefree vigor with which Indian guys get their groove on out on the dance floor. I will not miss the vigor with which Indian guys try to cut in line.

17. I will miss the beautifully colored silks and saris worn by nearly every Indian woman. I will not miss the wrinkly, fat skin protruding from beneath the saris of 90 year old women.

16. I will miss the Gold Class Cinema, which had huge recliners and a wait staff when you went to see a movie. I will not miss the Forum mall, where there are three times as many people on an average Sunday night as there are in American malls the day after Thanksgiving.

15. I will miss living within walking distance of the office. I will not miss being within spitting distance of loose cattle while walking home.

14. I will miss getting medicine for next to nothing. I will not miss the hassle and terrible inconvenience involved in obtaining it.

13. I will miss having my laundry done for me and having my apartment cleaned on a daily basis. I will not miss…OK, so there’s nothing I won’t miss about that.

12. I will miss the chance to work with people from all over the world in a job that really challenged me and offered a lot of personal freedom. I will not miss the long, late hours required to be effective when coordinating with colleagues in the UK and the US.

11. I will miss seeing the wonderfully intriguing Bollywood movies on TV. I will not miss the electricity going out right before the climax of one of my favorite shows.

10. I will miss noticing new things about the Indian culture all the time. I will not miss the late-night drums, bugles and firecrackers that are part of their festivals and holidays.

9. I will miss the smells of incense and spice when going through the shops and markets around town. I will not miss the smell of open sewers, cow manure, and burning trash that is almost constant.

8. I will miss the year-round balmy temperatures. I will not miss the year-round pollution.

7. I will miss the cute kids playing cricket in the streets. I will not miss the kids tugging at my elbows begging for money.

6. I will miss the interesting characters I’ve seen on the streets: women wearing saris, all manner of gold jewelry, carrying baskets on their heads; men in dhotis and turbans and wild beards. I will not miss the characters trying to sell useless junk including tiny chess sets, wooden snakes, and fake Rolex watches.

5. I will miss the smiling faces, good-natured attitudes, and curiosity of my work colleagues. I will not miss the false curiosity of people who start out by asking me what country I’m from only to then try to sell me something or scam me out of my money.

4. I will miss my manager, Guy, one of the best managers I've ever worked for. I will not miss some of the support departments on our site (I’ll not name names) who were anything but supportive.

3. I will miss the awesome waiters at 100 Foot Boutique who knew what food I liked, what drinks I liked, and were always very friendly when I came in. I will not miss the fact that this was one of the few restaurants where you could get decent Western food at a reasonable price.

2. I will miss the low cost of auto rickshaws. I will not miss haggling with the drivers about the price and smelling like car fumes after a 20 minute ride across town.

1. I will miss being in close proximity to tons of interesting places like Goa, Singapore, and the Taj. I will not miss being 9,000 miles from my friends, my family, and my home.

The Taj Mahal

***I started this post about 6 weeks ago. I've just now been able to finish it. Hope you find it worth the wait.***

Last weekend I finally made my way up to Delhi, then on to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. My short trip was an amplified microcosm of my entire experience in India. It was a mix of extremes. Except, these extremes were more extreme than what I’d ever seen before.

My Friday flight to Delhi and the night at the hotel were very normal. It was the Saturday morning train trip to Agra that truly arrested my senses. My wake up call was for 4:30 AM as the Shatabdi Express leaves at 6:15. I quickly got ready, hopped in the cab, and made my way to the train station. As the cab left the hotel, a man flagged the cab down and the driver agreed to let the man sit in the front seat. I did not protest because I needed to make the train. When we arrived at the train station, the man gave the driver about 50 rupees. I asked the cab driver what the fare was. “You give what you like.” Uhhh…OK. I gave him 100 rupees ($2.22).

As I made my way to the station itself, I was on sensory overload. The air smelled of urine, and there were people sleeping on the curb, bundled in blankets, apparently oblivious to the clamor and noise of people, rickshaws, and taxis.

A couple young guys approached me to offer assistance. I had already purchased my ticket, however, so I didn’t need to go where they were telling me. I walked through a dilapidated security area, and waited for the train. It actually arrived and departed right on time. 720 rupees ($16.00) got me a first class seat for the 2 hour ride to Agra.

First class on the Shatabdi Express means wide seats, plenty of leg room, air conditioning, and, as I soon discovered, tea and breakfast. The train moved slowly out of the station, but once we got moving, it began to go quite quickly on its non-stop journey to Agra.

My seat faced the back of the train, so as I ate my Indian-style breakfast and listened to my iPod, I looked out the window and watched Delhi and the Indian countryside move away from me. While I sipped on hot tea from a white ceramic tea cup inside the first class car, the people on the outside, on the other side of the window, were living an existence unlike any I had ever seen before.

I have seen poverty and encountered beggars in Bangalore, but these people were living even below that level of existence. There was an entire village made up of plastic tarps affixed to poles, all under an overpass. You could tell that their conditions were completely filthy and destitute. It was almost too much to take in. I then saw the lowest form of human existence I’ve ever seen in my life.

Right next to the tracks, were people, mostly men, who were defecating. They were squatted down with everything pulled down, defecating out in the open for all to see. Mile after mile went by and countless people were in this same position. Some men were no more than 10 or 15 feet from the train, facing the tracks, with no cover. It was simply unbelievable.

There is one scene I will never forget. There was an open field, quite green and gently sloping upward. Dotting the field were dozens of people, all squatting down and doing their business. I couldn’t help but think that this is how animals live. Animals graze in the field and do their business wherever they happen to be standing. I felt disgust and pity all in one blur of emotion. I took another sip of my tea.

Eventually the train made its way to Agra, and I took a cab into the city. My first view of the Taj was from my hotel room at a hotel called (what else?) the Taj View Hotel. Although I arrived prior to official check in time, they had my room ready in about 20 minutes. I had specifically requested a room with a view of the Taj. Indeed, the desk manager showed me to my room, walked to the window, pulled back the giant drapes and called me to the window. It was he who presented me with my first view of the Taj Mahal.

My first impression was that it was small and gray. This was partly due to the fact that the sky was so gloomy. Plus, the view was partially blocked by some aging buildings. I now know that the reason the Taj looked comparatively small was because we were a good mile or two from it.

I rested a bit from the train trip, and then had a taxi take me to the Taj. Because of pollution risks, cars and rickshaws are not permitted within a certain distance from the perimeter. For that reason, there is a parking area, and battery-powered buses take tourists from there to the Taj entrance.

No sooner had I boarded one of the buses when a young man hopped on the bus and asked if I wanted him to serve as a tour guide. I politely declined, but of course that did not deter him. He persisted for awhile, apparently not noticing that I had said “no thank you” several times and was staring out the window in the opposite direction. I finally decided to deal with the guy once and for all. I turned toward him, looked him square in the eye, pointed my hand at him, and spoke in as stern a tone as I could without yelling. “Sir, I do not want a tour guide. I appreciate your offer, but I just want to see the Taj by myself. Don’t ask me again. Leave me alone.” He looked a bit stunned, and then he scampered off the bus.

There were many others who were just as aggressive whether they wanted to serve as your tour guide or take your photo or sell you something. I never got as stern as I had with the first gentleman, but I did the best I could to get rid of them quickly. When we got off the battery-powered bus, several guys tried to sell me cameras, film, and memory cards for digital cameras. I asked one of them, “Do you think I’m going to come all the way from America to the Taj Mahal and not bring my camera?”

Foreigners have to pay 750 rupees to get in. Indians pay only 210. I paid my 750 and stood in line at the security gate. I had carried my back pack with me, which they searched diligently. They did not approve me taking in my gum, cell phone, or iPod. (I didn’t actually plan on listening to my iPod, it was just there.) So I got out of line and decided to just check my whole bag, taking only my camera and the “free” bottle of water they provide foreign tourists. I again waited in line and was let through.

I walked down a long walkway and turned right to head towards the Taj. As I turned the corner, I could see the giant dome peering at me from above the red, stone building that served as an entry gate. As I made my way through the gate, I finally saw the structure we’ve seen so many times in photos. I wish I could say that moment was breathtaking, but it really wasn’t. I just stood there for several minutes, took a few photographs and took in the view.

As I approached the Taj, what amazed me was how enormous it really is. You can see it in photos, but most photos try to include the entire structure. When you get up close to it, there is no physical way to take a photo of it in its entirety.

You had to take your shoes off or else put these funny little shoe covers on over your shoes. I opted to go barefoot. I took a photo of my bare feet on the white marble of the Taj Mahal.

I was also amazed by the intricate, yet not overly ornate, marble work; a detail you miss if you’ve only seen photos. There is Arabic script surrounding each of the arches, and there are elaborate carvings and inlaid marble throughout. Inside the Taj are the tombs of the King (who built the Taj as a memorial to his wife) and his wife. They do not allow photos inside the Taj.

I guess I spent about two or three hours on the grounds of the Taj. That was enough time to walk around a few times, get a few photos, and see what I wanted to see. It rained while I was there.

A colleague of mine at Reuters said that Agra is the ultimate lowest form of tourism, and indeed it is. People are constantly trying to sell you something: guided tours, cheap trinkets, post cards, rickshaw rides, cabs, and so forth. I got so tired of all this hassle that after I visited the Taj and one other site I just went back to the hotel, did a little swimming, had an Indian dinner and went to bed.

The next day I had to figure out how I was going to get back to Delhi so I could catch my flight back to Bangalore. The hotel was going to charge over $100 for a cab back to Delhi. That was way too much for India. In the morning I got a rickshaw to take me to the train station to see if there were any good trains that could get me there by 5:00 PM or so. Of course, the driver wanted to know if I needed a ride back to Delhi. As “luck” would have it he could get me a cab for around $50. Long story short, I ended up taking him up on the offer.


What a strange experience it was, too. I sat in the back, the driver in the front for nearly 4.5 hours. We tried to converse a bit, but his English was so poor that it was just too much work to carry on much of a conversation. We stopped twice. Once we stopped for gas (I gave him half of the fare so he could fill up) and then we stopped at McDonald’s. It felt like a true road trip at that point. I offered to buy the driver a sandwich. I got the McChicken. Being a good Hindu, he got the McVeggie Burger. Then, it was on to Delhi, then to the airport, then on the plane, and back to Bangalore.

In spite of the challenges that are a part of traveling in India, I was glad I went to see the Taj Mahal. It was indeed such an enormous, beautiful monument in a dirty, broken down city. As I say, it was India in microcosm.

Countdown

Someone (I’m not sure who because he or she didn’t sign their comment to a previous post) is begging me to come home. Whoever you are, I’m coming home soon!

In just 4 weeks (October 6) I’ll be flying back to the best country in the world. Suffice it to say, I am so relieved to be coming home.

At the start of my assignment to Bangalore, I posted my flight information. Here’s my return flight information. All times are local to that airport. Bangalore is 10.5 hours ahead of St. Louis, London is 6, Newark is 1. Total flight time, including layovers, is 25 hours.

Bangalore to London
British Airways Flight 118
6:30 AM – 12:35 PM
10 Hrs 35 Mins

London to Newark
British Airways Flight 189
2:35 PM – 5:20 PM
7 Hrs 45 Mins

Newark to St. Louis
American Airlines Flight 5317
7:10 PM – 9:00 PM
2 Hrs 50 Mins

I got really sick of O’Hare, so I’m connecting through Newark this time around. Plus I don’t have to change terminals at Heathrow, which is always a nightmare. But still…25 hours? Get me a sleeping pill.

I know my posts have been sparse of late. This is mainly due to a bit of writer’s block, extra hours at the office, and a short trip back to St. Louis. I still plan to put a post up about my trip to the Taj Mahal. I’ll probably have at least one more after that to close off this chapter of my life.

Till then…