When I landed in India, I decided to become a vegetarian while I was here.
…
Ok, those of you who know me well are hopefully in hysterics right now, and those of you who aren’t…well, let’s go get coffee the next time I’m in town and get to know each other better. And I’m serious about that one – take me up on it.
For those of you who don’t know, I’m pretty much a sworn carnivore. I have in fact previously stated that I would never even DATE a vegetarian – then of course every single girl I’ve wanted to date since then has told me that they don’t eat meat. Go figure. (By the way, ladies, just to clarify – that stipulation has been replaced with one that merely demands that you promise to not make ME into a vegetarian. Just don’t push your luck).
Let me give you an idea of what Indian food is like. As far as I can tell, it mainly consists of three of your basic food groups: grains, gravy, and fried stuff.
Starting in the back, we have the fried deliciousness of vegetables. Yes, that’s right, I said veggies – I haven’t seen any meat in this food group, much to my dismay. People here will deep-fry a lot of things – from onions to chili peppers (and the chili peppers, let me tell you, are good). Fried food is very popular among street vendors, because, while it may be the sort of thing that could kill you in the States, on the Delhi streets, anything out of a deep-fryer is naturally more healthy than the alternative – and that’s not just because one of the flies that drowned in the gravy could have been your great grandmother in a past life.
Gravy here is what people in the states who are not chefs might call “sauce.” It usually consists of some kind of meat (usually chicken or mutton) or vegetable in a thick, spicy liquid. While there is some available on the street, for a couple bucks more you can keep from risking your life and get some at a nice restaurant (high-end food at one of the best restaurants in town might run you about 10 USD). Of course, that’s assuming you know the ins and outs of eating, which is where the third food group comes in.
Grains take two varieties here – rice and, for lack of a better word, bread. Rice is commonly just your ordinary, steamed rice. If you’ve eaten at almost any Asian restaurant before you know how it works. However, unlike a lot of Asia, India generally prefers bread as not only its main grain, but its main utensil as well. That’s right – bread here is a disposable spoon. As such, it’s usually laid out in flat pieces, called roti, naan, prantha…I’m not really sure which one’s which.
To eat with bread, you break off a triangular piece, being careful not to use your left hand at all – it’s considered unsanitary and would contaminate not only the bread but any gravy that it touches. You then fold that piece up, pointy part facing out, and scoop up some of the gravy and eat it, once again without using your left hand. It’s a slow, sometimes frustrating process that can take days to master.
Even given a full working knowledge of how to eat Indian food, however, the question of what to eat, or drink, is about as difficult a question as any – specifically for an American tourist. I’ll give it to you in the form of a quiz: which of the following is the most dangerous: a piece of fried broccoli from a street vendor, some Daal Makhani (lentils in gravy) from a sketchy cafeteria, an ice-cold coke, or water from the cooler at my office?
Seriously…take a second and guess.
Hopefully the question didn’t catch you too much off guard, and you wound up washing down the lentils and broccoli with some water. If you didn’t, you might have wound up like Megan, who spent three days getting over 10 bags of IVs pumped into her at a nearby hospital because she took ice in her drink at one of the nicest restaurants in Noida. And yes, I’m serious about that – she just got back yesterday, and had to fight to get released even at that.
The issue is that while boiling water can kill parasites, freezing it isn’t quite as effective. And most restaurants, even nice ones like Geoffrey’s, may skimp a little by NOT using filtered or bottled water to cool their drinks, using instead the unfiltered tap water. Most Indians can handle this quite well, as their bodies have grown accustomed to it after generations of sending those parasites packing, but our frail, sheltered American bodies don’t stand a chance. And so we spend days tethered to a leash in an Indian hospital with an American friend and (thank goodness for me) a couple really hot nurses while enough drugs are pumped into our system that we have more drugs than blood. And then we escape by sheer force of will. But that’s either a story for another day or for Megan’s blog.
And by the way – the vegetarian thing? I broke in about 3 days. The bitterness of failure was totally drowned out by the taste of the chicken, too.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Swaminaraya Akshardam Temple
When Indians decide to build a monument, they do it right. Not just a statue, or a garden, or even a small building. When there’s something worth celebrating, it’s worth at least a couple of acres worth of gardens and crenellations.
So it is with Swaminaraya Akshardam. Named for Swaminaraya, a master yogi from the 18th century, this temple is large in every way. From its sweeping Lotus Garden to the 27 foot tall statue of the young yogi, the Akshardam is more a tourist attraction than a Hindu temple.
While anyone who works at the temple will tell you that it was built between 2000 and 2005, in reality there is still work being done on it today. The amount of construction is hardly noticeable, however, beside the amazing beauty and size of the temple grounds.
One enters the temple after what is the most exhausting security search I have yet been through. I’m fine being patted down for guns, knives, and whatnot, but when they ask me to check my bag and any electronics at the door, including cell phones, I get a bit nervous. Megan and I did so, however, and after the metal detectors and pat down, we found ourselves on the grounds.
A left took us to an information center, and another right then took us to the most beautiful structure my eyes have ever beheld. The temple itself is situated at the center of the grounds, is a tannish copper in color, and is maybe 50 feet tall, seated on a series of steps that perhaps double its height. Every inch, and I do mean every inch, of the outside of the temple is decorated with intricate stonework. A pillar might have its weight held by eight symmetrical foot-tall human statues, or you might see a herd of elephants lifting from the temple’s base.
A walkway forms a square around the temple itself, and is equally ornate. It is perhaps half a mile in perimeter, and every so often branches into a lookout where you can get a good view of the temple artwork.
To your left as you face the temple is a fountain, and that is where Megan and I first headed. The fountain was under repairs, but the surrounding area must seat thousands of Hindu yogis and scholars during their ceremonies. At the far end, facing the temple, is a 27 foot tall statue of Swaminaraya at around 11 years old, as he began a 7 year journey through India on his way to becoming a yogi and a master.
Megan and I head past all this without inspecting the statue and make our way to the first exhibition. That’s right, an exhibition, like a theme park ride. In a religious temple. The exhibition depicted the life of Swaminaraya from his journey at age 11, through the miracles he performed, and past his ascension to master to the impact he has had on the world since his death. It focuses in particular on his message of peace on earth and nonviolence towards all creatures great and small (yes – Swaminaraya’s followers are all vegetarians). According to the Hindu religion, his first miracle was actually bringing fish back to life and making them disappear, then convincing the fishermen to give up their ways and become nonviolent.
As all Hindu yogis, Swaminaraya began a journey of prayer and meditation, but unlike the others, he did it at the tender age of 11. This trek led him to face carnivorous animals, the cold of the Himalayan winters, and even the roaring sea with nothing but love and his bare feet. During this time he became a yogi, and at the end of the journey, he ran into the old master, who made Swaminaraya into the new master, calling him “the one true master” and saying that he was only Swaminaraya’s servant.
The most interesting part of this exhibition was the plea towards vegetarianism at the end. It had pictures of different animals all complaining about how their lives were hurt by human plundering. My favorite was a lion who complained that he had paws and teeth for hunting, but humans didn’t and were taking his prey anyway. Before I could find the nearest person to expound the virtues of canine teeth and opposable thumbs to, Megan found me and whisked me off.
Next we went on a ride that Megan described as “It’s a small India after all.” The basic scheme is that you get on a boat, and you ride through this dark maze while they tell you all about the different parts of Indian culture. Sound like an accurate name? You betcha.
I have to say I found it a little…inaccurate, though. According to the ride, India is the land that discovered gravity, invented the zero, created chess, flew the first airplane, created plastic surgery, and was the birthplace of democracy. And yes, it seriously claimed all that. No joking. It was fun and air conditioned, though.
Next, after food and checking out that 27-foot tall statue, came an Imax movie about Swaminaraya. Basically the same things as the first exhibit, but with some more detailed information.
Next came the temple itself. To enter, you must first remove your shoes, then walk up about 50 steps onto the raised dais where the temple sits. It is then, as you slowly walk into the temple, that you see a 10-foot tall golden statue of the yogi himself in prayer, surrounded by supplicants.
The inside of the temple is solid marble and is, if anything, even more ornate than the outside. Every inch of marble is covered by intricate, detailed designs, each working into a larger design and into the pattern as a whole. Pictures of the yogi, his life, and many Hindu gods and goddesses line the walls. While many Hindu men, each wearing the dot on his forehead to symbolize his faith, hold up signs asking for silence, a quiet chatter can be heard throughout the temple. Megan and I look around and then exit.
Next is the lotus gardens, which are unremarkable except for the great samosas at the food court. We eat, then leave, without checking out the gardens below the temple’s entrance.
On our way back we perform the best bargaining of our careers. We get a horde of auto rickshaw drivers to surround us, and then talk them down. Our original price is 75, but they won’t go below 100, because it’s touristy here and we’re white. Finally, I mention to Megan that she should call a cab, and she gets on the phone with EZ Cab. We actually purchase a cab and begin to walk away before the rickshaw drivers relent. It goes quickly to 75 after that.
Next comes shopping at Sector 18. We begin with some food at this amazingly nice, very expensive restaurant on the second floor of the building. The price of a meal there? $6. And yes, that includes the swing you’re sitting on as your seat with the plush cushions, and the waiter who refuses to let you serve yourself ANYTHING. And part of that was that they charged 50 rupees ($1.25) for a bottle of water.
I racked up at Sector 18. I got three nice shirts (two Van Heusen shirts I could use to go to a bar, and a pink button-down), a pair of black Diesel jeans, a belt, and some Indian formalwear. Grand total? About $100. Megan tried to get an Indian dress, but they totally screwed up the tailoring and she had to get her money back.
When we got back to the guest house at the end of the day, they had set up an open air farmer’s market. We got some mangos, some bananas, and some fruit that I had never heard of and have no idea how to pronounce or spell, but is still reaaaaally good. Just when I was starting to feel like a local, though, I realized that I had no idea how to bargain for fruit, and there is definitely a great video of me trying to bargain while the rest of the Indian world laughs at me. The video, by the way, will most likely be deleted by the time I get back to the states.
So it is with Swaminaraya Akshardam. Named for Swaminaraya, a master yogi from the 18th century, this temple is large in every way. From its sweeping Lotus Garden to the 27 foot tall statue of the young yogi, the Akshardam is more a tourist attraction than a Hindu temple.
While anyone who works at the temple will tell you that it was built between 2000 and 2005, in reality there is still work being done on it today. The amount of construction is hardly noticeable, however, beside the amazing beauty and size of the temple grounds.
One enters the temple after what is the most exhausting security search I have yet been through. I’m fine being patted down for guns, knives, and whatnot, but when they ask me to check my bag and any electronics at the door, including cell phones, I get a bit nervous. Megan and I did so, however, and after the metal detectors and pat down, we found ourselves on the grounds.
A left took us to an information center, and another right then took us to the most beautiful structure my eyes have ever beheld. The temple itself is situated at the center of the grounds, is a tannish copper in color, and is maybe 50 feet tall, seated on a series of steps that perhaps double its height. Every inch, and I do mean every inch, of the outside of the temple is decorated with intricate stonework. A pillar might have its weight held by eight symmetrical foot-tall human statues, or you might see a herd of elephants lifting from the temple’s base.
A walkway forms a square around the temple itself, and is equally ornate. It is perhaps half a mile in perimeter, and every so often branches into a lookout where you can get a good view of the temple artwork.
To your left as you face the temple is a fountain, and that is where Megan and I first headed. The fountain was under repairs, but the surrounding area must seat thousands of Hindu yogis and scholars during their ceremonies. At the far end, facing the temple, is a 27 foot tall statue of Swaminaraya at around 11 years old, as he began a 7 year journey through India on his way to becoming a yogi and a master.
Megan and I head past all this without inspecting the statue and make our way to the first exhibition. That’s right, an exhibition, like a theme park ride. In a religious temple. The exhibition depicted the life of Swaminaraya from his journey at age 11, through the miracles he performed, and past his ascension to master to the impact he has had on the world since his death. It focuses in particular on his message of peace on earth and nonviolence towards all creatures great and small (yes – Swaminaraya’s followers are all vegetarians). According to the Hindu religion, his first miracle was actually bringing fish back to life and making them disappear, then convincing the fishermen to give up their ways and become nonviolent.
As all Hindu yogis, Swaminaraya began a journey of prayer and meditation, but unlike the others, he did it at the tender age of 11. This trek led him to face carnivorous animals, the cold of the Himalayan winters, and even the roaring sea with nothing but love and his bare feet. During this time he became a yogi, and at the end of the journey, he ran into the old master, who made Swaminaraya into the new master, calling him “the one true master” and saying that he was only Swaminaraya’s servant.
The most interesting part of this exhibition was the plea towards vegetarianism at the end. It had pictures of different animals all complaining about how their lives were hurt by human plundering. My favorite was a lion who complained that he had paws and teeth for hunting, but humans didn’t and were taking his prey anyway. Before I could find the nearest person to expound the virtues of canine teeth and opposable thumbs to, Megan found me and whisked me off.
Next we went on a ride that Megan described as “It’s a small India after all.” The basic scheme is that you get on a boat, and you ride through this dark maze while they tell you all about the different parts of Indian culture. Sound like an accurate name? You betcha.
I have to say I found it a little…inaccurate, though. According to the ride, India is the land that discovered gravity, invented the zero, created chess, flew the first airplane, created plastic surgery, and was the birthplace of democracy. And yes, it seriously claimed all that. No joking. It was fun and air conditioned, though.
Next, after food and checking out that 27-foot tall statue, came an Imax movie about Swaminaraya. Basically the same things as the first exhibit, but with some more detailed information.
Next came the temple itself. To enter, you must first remove your shoes, then walk up about 50 steps onto the raised dais where the temple sits. It is then, as you slowly walk into the temple, that you see a 10-foot tall golden statue of the yogi himself in prayer, surrounded by supplicants.
The inside of the temple is solid marble and is, if anything, even more ornate than the outside. Every inch of marble is covered by intricate, detailed designs, each working into a larger design and into the pattern as a whole. Pictures of the yogi, his life, and many Hindu gods and goddesses line the walls. While many Hindu men, each wearing the dot on his forehead to symbolize his faith, hold up signs asking for silence, a quiet chatter can be heard throughout the temple. Megan and I look around and then exit.
Next is the lotus gardens, which are unremarkable except for the great samosas at the food court. We eat, then leave, without checking out the gardens below the temple’s entrance.
On our way back we perform the best bargaining of our careers. We get a horde of auto rickshaw drivers to surround us, and then talk them down. Our original price is 75, but they won’t go below 100, because it’s touristy here and we’re white. Finally, I mention to Megan that she should call a cab, and she gets on the phone with EZ Cab. We actually purchase a cab and begin to walk away before the rickshaw drivers relent. It goes quickly to 75 after that.
Next comes shopping at Sector 18. We begin with some food at this amazingly nice, very expensive restaurant on the second floor of the building. The price of a meal there? $6. And yes, that includes the swing you’re sitting on as your seat with the plush cushions, and the waiter who refuses to let you serve yourself ANYTHING. And part of that was that they charged 50 rupees ($1.25) for a bottle of water.
I racked up at Sector 18. I got three nice shirts (two Van Heusen shirts I could use to go to a bar, and a pink button-down), a pair of black Diesel jeans, a belt, and some Indian formalwear. Grand total? About $100. Megan tried to get an Indian dress, but they totally screwed up the tailoring and she had to get her money back.
When we got back to the guest house at the end of the day, they had set up an open air farmer’s market. We got some mangos, some bananas, and some fruit that I had never heard of and have no idea how to pronounce or spell, but is still reaaaaally good. Just when I was starting to feel like a local, though, I realized that I had no idea how to bargain for fruit, and there is definitely a great video of me trying to bargain while the rest of the Indian world laughs at me. The video, by the way, will most likely be deleted by the time I get back to the states.
Excuse the prose-y introduction, but Old Delhi is a good story.
The old man silently approached me at the steps of the antiquated mosque, whip in hand. He stood silently, watching as I joked with my friends. And then, when the time was right, he struck.
The story begins at the Connaught Place Metro Station. Some of Megan’s coworkers and I had begun our journey into ancient Shahjahanibad, the city of the great Mughal ruler from the mid 16th century. After purchasing our tickets (which are these really cool little circular “chips” – they look a little like thick blue coins) we made our way to the metro.
Metros in Delhi are much more high class than anything I have seen anywhere else. The stations are all air conditioned, as are the rail cars. As if that weren’t enough, they actually keep it clean, both in the terminal and in the car. Security is tight here. They split you into two lines, one for males and one for females, and send you through a metal detector. Then they search you, which involves, at the very least, patting your pockets and running a small metal detector over your body. Then comes the bag search – every pocket searched, every metal object described. Then you swipe your ticket, and you’re good to go.
After taking the metro between two stops whose names I didn’t understand (because they were in Hindi), we arrived in Shahjahanibad, or Old Delhi. Imagine New York, only twice as dirty, more crowded, and with only brown-skinned people and Hindi signs, and you’ve got a decent picture. Dodging large automobiles whizzing by us at lightning speeds, we slowly made our way towards the Red Fort.
We go to the Fort and purchase tickets, then make our way inside. It’s a hassle, and there’s almost as much security as the metro station. Once we make it into the outer fort, we’re greeted with shops and other touristy things. Inside of that is a garden, and then the checkpoint where we hand them our tickets. Unfortunately, the tickets we bought were all for Indians only, and we somehow can’t convince them I’m a native, so we wind up going back and paying about 10 times as much for a set of foreigner tickets for me and Megan.
The Red Fort was Shah Jahan’s abode while he ruled India, and is as extravagant as you would expect it to be. Everything is as open air as possible – the Shah’s throne is located in a throne room that is open on three sides, and even the bedchambers have no doors and many entrances. To walk from one part of the palace to another takes you out under open sky. Water plays a key role here – it’s scarcity in Indian culture makes its presence in this fort all that more extravagant. Water begins by flowing through the center of each bedroom, making its way to a central area before it filters slowly down to a fountain in the center of the courtyard. There are multiple museums here, and we go to two of them – an archaeology and a war museum, both with artifacts dating back as early as the 14th century.
Upon exiting the fort, we take a bicycle rickshaw (yes, I have gotten BACK INTO those things, and not just once, either) towards the Jama Masjid – the largest mosque in all of India. We exit the rickshaws, and are there, at the mosque. While we are deciding whether to ask the rickshaw drivers to wait on us or not, an old, grizzled man sneaks up on us with a whip. I turn in surprise.
“You want whip?” He asks. “It’s camel leather.”
I hold it in my hand. “Looks nice,” I say, and then ask how much it costs. “kitna?”
“Only 450 rupees” (11.25 USD) he says. My entire group snickers. I politely say no, and we move up the steps of the Mosque, with him following comically in tow asking how much I would pay for it.
At one point, he stops and looks confused for moment. “Wait. What are you doing at a mosque?” He asks my friends in Hindi.
“What would we be doing with a whip?” they reply, then laugh as we continue up the steps.
The mosque is an experience unto itself. Separate from the hubbub of the Old Delhi streets, it is quiet, peaceful, and serene. There is a water fountain in the center of the courtyard, where people in white robes sit and wash themselves. A flock of birds fly around and land as they please, their cawing adding to the peacefulness found inside these walls. To come in, we are asked to put on long skirts so our legs are not bare, and take off our shoes. We comply willingly. They also ask us to pay 200 rupees to bring in our cameras. No such luck. We finally decide on leaving two people behind with the cameras and sending everyone else in to the mosque.
After moving through the inside of the courtyard, we reach a building that is open on one end. Inside, my feet feel cool on the marble floor, and I watch 20 or so Muslims kneel, their arms and torsos moving up and down as they worship towards Mecca.
After paying some money, we climb to one of the tall towers located at each corner of the mosque. The steps are narrow, dark, and steep, and every time we come upon someone going down, we are forced to flatten ourselves against the side and hope that they missed lunch today. When we finally get to the top, the view is outstanding, and you can see all of Delhi. The people, though, are not as outstanding, and it is in fact the most crowded place you can imagine. I manage to weasel my way to the side of the tower for the best view, and before I know it I am pressed up against the grate unable to move because there is literally no room for anyone else out here.
I’m fine with it for a moment, but after a while I get tired of this and so I spend a good two minutes turning myself into a position to push away from the wall. Once that happens I use my elbows a little, and in about five minutes I have walked the 3 feet to the stairs. Back down, then out, and then on to the Street Food Tour.
The Street Food Tour is almost what you’d expect it to be. We meet my coworkers and head to Dellihaat, an open air tourist market. There, lined up in a row, are eateries from most states in India. Not the most sanitary places in the world necessarily, but good enough. And I don’t think these guys really understand exactly what we can and can’t eat.
We got food from two places – South Indian and Rajastani. I was still hungry, but at that point it was worth not getting anything more just to keep from dealing with the awkwardness that was paying. I half get the feeling that everybody is being paid to entertain us because they’re being so generous, but I don’t want to push too hard to pay for things for fear of offending anybody. I managed to get them to let me buy some things with a little persuasion, but still...
Anshum’s sister took Megan to get some gifts and a Henna tattoo, and the guys went drinking. Apparently Anshum’s sister is very good at bargaining. Megan says it was a sight to see, sort of like a catfight, and I can only wish I had been there.
We took a cab back to NOIDA, and I’m going to pass out. Tomorrow we decided to go to Akshardam temple. From the looks of it, that might be another post on its own.
The story begins at the Connaught Place Metro Station. Some of Megan’s coworkers and I had begun our journey into ancient Shahjahanibad, the city of the great Mughal ruler from the mid 16th century. After purchasing our tickets (which are these really cool little circular “chips” – they look a little like thick blue coins) we made our way to the metro.
Metros in Delhi are much more high class than anything I have seen anywhere else. The stations are all air conditioned, as are the rail cars. As if that weren’t enough, they actually keep it clean, both in the terminal and in the car. Security is tight here. They split you into two lines, one for males and one for females, and send you through a metal detector. Then they search you, which involves, at the very least, patting your pockets and running a small metal detector over your body. Then comes the bag search – every pocket searched, every metal object described. Then you swipe your ticket, and you’re good to go.
After taking the metro between two stops whose names I didn’t understand (because they were in Hindi), we arrived in Shahjahanibad, or Old Delhi. Imagine New York, only twice as dirty, more crowded, and with only brown-skinned people and Hindi signs, and you’ve got a decent picture. Dodging large automobiles whizzing by us at lightning speeds, we slowly made our way towards the Red Fort.
We go to the Fort and purchase tickets, then make our way inside. It’s a hassle, and there’s almost as much security as the metro station. Once we make it into the outer fort, we’re greeted with shops and other touristy things. Inside of that is a garden, and then the checkpoint where we hand them our tickets. Unfortunately, the tickets we bought were all for Indians only, and we somehow can’t convince them I’m a native, so we wind up going back and paying about 10 times as much for a set of foreigner tickets for me and Megan.
The Red Fort was Shah Jahan’s abode while he ruled India, and is as extravagant as you would expect it to be. Everything is as open air as possible – the Shah’s throne is located in a throne room that is open on three sides, and even the bedchambers have no doors and many entrances. To walk from one part of the palace to another takes you out under open sky. Water plays a key role here – it’s scarcity in Indian culture makes its presence in this fort all that more extravagant. Water begins by flowing through the center of each bedroom, making its way to a central area before it filters slowly down to a fountain in the center of the courtyard. There are multiple museums here, and we go to two of them – an archaeology and a war museum, both with artifacts dating back as early as the 14th century.
Upon exiting the fort, we take a bicycle rickshaw (yes, I have gotten BACK INTO those things, and not just once, either) towards the Jama Masjid – the largest mosque in all of India. We exit the rickshaws, and are there, at the mosque. While we are deciding whether to ask the rickshaw drivers to wait on us or not, an old, grizzled man sneaks up on us with a whip. I turn in surprise.
“You want whip?” He asks. “It’s camel leather.”
I hold it in my hand. “Looks nice,” I say, and then ask how much it costs. “kitna?”
“Only 450 rupees” (11.25 USD) he says. My entire group snickers. I politely say no, and we move up the steps of the Mosque, with him following comically in tow asking how much I would pay for it.
At one point, he stops and looks confused for moment. “Wait. What are you doing at a mosque?” He asks my friends in Hindi.
“What would we be doing with a whip?” they reply, then laugh as we continue up the steps.
The mosque is an experience unto itself. Separate from the hubbub of the Old Delhi streets, it is quiet, peaceful, and serene. There is a water fountain in the center of the courtyard, where people in white robes sit and wash themselves. A flock of birds fly around and land as they please, their cawing adding to the peacefulness found inside these walls. To come in, we are asked to put on long skirts so our legs are not bare, and take off our shoes. We comply willingly. They also ask us to pay 200 rupees to bring in our cameras. No such luck. We finally decide on leaving two people behind with the cameras and sending everyone else in to the mosque.
After moving through the inside of the courtyard, we reach a building that is open on one end. Inside, my feet feel cool on the marble floor, and I watch 20 or so Muslims kneel, their arms and torsos moving up and down as they worship towards Mecca.
After paying some money, we climb to one of the tall towers located at each corner of the mosque. The steps are narrow, dark, and steep, and every time we come upon someone going down, we are forced to flatten ourselves against the side and hope that they missed lunch today. When we finally get to the top, the view is outstanding, and you can see all of Delhi. The people, though, are not as outstanding, and it is in fact the most crowded place you can imagine. I manage to weasel my way to the side of the tower for the best view, and before I know it I am pressed up against the grate unable to move because there is literally no room for anyone else out here.
I’m fine with it for a moment, but after a while I get tired of this and so I spend a good two minutes turning myself into a position to push away from the wall. Once that happens I use my elbows a little, and in about five minutes I have walked the 3 feet to the stairs. Back down, then out, and then on to the Street Food Tour.
The Street Food Tour is almost what you’d expect it to be. We meet my coworkers and head to Dellihaat, an open air tourist market. There, lined up in a row, are eateries from most states in India. Not the most sanitary places in the world necessarily, but good enough. And I don’t think these guys really understand exactly what we can and can’t eat.
We got food from two places – South Indian and Rajastani. I was still hungry, but at that point it was worth not getting anything more just to keep from dealing with the awkwardness that was paying. I half get the feeling that everybody is being paid to entertain us because they’re being so generous, but I don’t want to push too hard to pay for things for fear of offending anybody. I managed to get them to let me buy some things with a little persuasion, but still...
Anshum’s sister took Megan to get some gifts and a Henna tattoo, and the guys went drinking. Apparently Anshum’s sister is very good at bargaining. Megan says it was a sight to see, sort of like a catfight, and I can only wish I had been there.
We took a cab back to NOIDA, and I’m going to pass out. Tomorrow we decided to go to Akshardam temple. From the looks of it, that might be another post on its own.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The Beauty Within the Chaos
I realize that I have been writing posts so far that are dangerous, scary stories designed to sweep you off your feet with my bravery, daring, and intelligence. But while the East may be different, I would hesitate to call it backwards.
Today’s story begins when I walked into the office on day 1 (ready to go, and close to 3 am your time. I’m like Hillary Clinton. Word.). After a meeting with HR and with my new boss Vibhore, I meet the Naukri tech team and get introduced to a problem they had been working on for some time now.
Within the space of two days, Anshum, the guy who was showing me the ropes in the office, and I had designed a complete overhaul of the entire resume searching part of the site. It’s pretty thoroughly researched, and totally genius – I can’t tell you the design, but all in all it will cut the amount of data being stored on the Naukri servers and at the same time speed up search, and make everything more flexible for upgrading, allowing you to customize the system both to accommodate more data and more access…separately. It may be the most beautiful thing I have ever had a hand in creating. And I actually had a hand and made a number of decisions early in the planning stages.
I’ve heard it said that people here spend more time talking about what they’re going to do than they do actually doing it, and while that may be the case, I think that what I have seen more than anything else is just care in approach. We’re giving ourselves an open-ended timeline, sure, but we’re into the “doing” part now, after about 3 days of talking, for what may be the biggest overhaul this company has seen since it was created. And there are only two people working on it.
The guys are great. They all speak English very well, and many have actually been to the United States. By the end of the first day, I already had a busy social calendar – drinking, watching (and playing) soccer, going on food tours of Old Delhi and to see Agra…the list goes on.
After the (honestly) dullness that was my life at Princeton, this is the kind of experience, the kind of challenge I’m looking for. And it’s difficult on all fronts. Hopefully, the rickshaws will turn out to be as much of a positive experience as work has been already.
Today’s story begins when I walked into the office on day 1 (ready to go, and close to 3 am your time. I’m like Hillary Clinton. Word.). After a meeting with HR and with my new boss Vibhore, I meet the Naukri tech team and get introduced to a problem they had been working on for some time now.
Within the space of two days, Anshum, the guy who was showing me the ropes in the office, and I had designed a complete overhaul of the entire resume searching part of the site. It’s pretty thoroughly researched, and totally genius – I can’t tell you the design, but all in all it will cut the amount of data being stored on the Naukri servers and at the same time speed up search, and make everything more flexible for upgrading, allowing you to customize the system both to accommodate more data and more access…separately. It may be the most beautiful thing I have ever had a hand in creating. And I actually had a hand and made a number of decisions early in the planning stages.
I’ve heard it said that people here spend more time talking about what they’re going to do than they do actually doing it, and while that may be the case, I think that what I have seen more than anything else is just care in approach. We’re giving ourselves an open-ended timeline, sure, but we’re into the “doing” part now, after about 3 days of talking, for what may be the biggest overhaul this company has seen since it was created. And there are only two people working on it.
The guys are great. They all speak English very well, and many have actually been to the United States. By the end of the first day, I already had a busy social calendar – drinking, watching (and playing) soccer, going on food tours of Old Delhi and to see Agra…the list goes on.
After the (honestly) dullness that was my life at Princeton, this is the kind of experience, the kind of challenge I’m looking for. And it’s difficult on all fronts. Hopefully, the rickshaws will turn out to be as much of a positive experience as work has been already.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
The Post My Mom May Never Hear About
So I haven't told my mom about this blog, and I haven't said anything for a reason (and, coincidentally, I'd ask you not to as well). There are certain things about Asia that mom would freak out at if she knew. And I'm about to tell you about one of them: the bicycle rickshaw.
Imagine, if you will, riding in a small, open carriage behind a horse. Only now there's no horse, there's a bicycle. And somebody biking on it while you sit in the back. The carriage is fairly open and really flimsy, and not only could you be thrown from it, but the whole thing shakes with every pedal. Further, imagine that this driver is biking not on the sidewalk, not in a garden somewhere, but in the middle of heavy traffic, with cars whizzing by a mere foot or two from the outer edge of the carriage at around 40 miles an hour. Further, your driver is being somewhat unpredictable, sometimes moving out into the middle of a lane, sometimes turning not away but towards cars, buses, trucks...
What you have is something called a bicycle rickshaw. Yes, it actually exists. And a lot of people ride them, surprisingly. Including most recently, me.
You see, Megan's phone went dead because of some bureaucratic issues - some forms that other people didn't turn in on time. So when we wanted to go home last night, we couldn't call EZCab, and instead had to fend for ourselves. We tried to find a regular cab, or an auto-rickshaw (which are gas powered and slightly more closed), but the search revealed nothing other than a great picture of a cow traveling alone down the middle of the road (I'm still trying to get the time to get one of a cow on a really crowded street - and the jackpot would be two cows in "courtship" with cars whizzing by). Anyway, we finally got frustrated because it was getting late and started hailing down the bicycles.
The guy we got was old and out of shape, but only charged us 50 rupees (about $1.25) to get back to the house, and that was without bargaining very hard. We were getting passed, not just by the cars and buses and auto-rickshaws, but by other bikes. I felt so bad for the guy.
Anyway, to make a long story short, we finally got to the house, alive, and got a great experience out of it. Yay!
Imagine, if you will, riding in a small, open carriage behind a horse. Only now there's no horse, there's a bicycle. And somebody biking on it while you sit in the back. The carriage is fairly open and really flimsy, and not only could you be thrown from it, but the whole thing shakes with every pedal. Further, imagine that this driver is biking not on the sidewalk, not in a garden somewhere, but in the middle of heavy traffic, with cars whizzing by a mere foot or two from the outer edge of the carriage at around 40 miles an hour. Further, your driver is being somewhat unpredictable, sometimes moving out into the middle of a lane, sometimes turning not away but towards cars, buses, trucks...
What you have is something called a bicycle rickshaw. Yes, it actually exists. And a lot of people ride them, surprisingly. Including most recently, me.
You see, Megan's phone went dead because of some bureaucratic issues - some forms that other people didn't turn in on time. So when we wanted to go home last night, we couldn't call EZCab, and instead had to fend for ourselves. We tried to find a regular cab, or an auto-rickshaw (which are gas powered and slightly more closed), but the search revealed nothing other than a great picture of a cow traveling alone down the middle of the road (I'm still trying to get the time to get one of a cow on a really crowded street - and the jackpot would be two cows in "courtship" with cars whizzing by). Anyway, we finally got frustrated because it was getting late and started hailing down the bicycles.
The guy we got was old and out of shape, but only charged us 50 rupees (about $1.25) to get back to the house, and that was without bargaining very hard. We were getting passed, not just by the cars and buses and auto-rickshaws, but by other bikes. I felt so bad for the guy.
Anyway, to make a long story short, we finally got to the house, alive, and got a great experience out of it. Yay!
Friday, June 13, 2008
In which I am not kidnapped.
I am here.
I almost came here either broke or very very late. As it is, the fact that I am here at all, rather than in the basement of some man's office, is quite lucky. Silly American man that I am.
When I get to the airport, there is supposed to be a car picking me up. There is not a car picking me up. I look everywhere - the airport, the private car section - I even checked every single license plate. Meanwhile, a man named Mr. Omid comes up, greets me in near-perfect English, and offers me a ride in his cab. He's nice enough that I tell him "ok, sure, if I can't find my driver, you're next in line."
Since my driver doesn't show up, he gets another man to pull his car around, we get in, and he says it will be 3000 rupees. That's $83. I say turn around and take me back to the airport. As he explains the expenses involved, including the fact that the tax to Uttar Pradesh is 600 rupees alone, I just continue iterating that it's too much. He can come as low as 1700, he says, but no more.
We make a deal. He drops me off at his office, where I get into another car and another driver takes me to Uttar Pradesh. 1200 rupees. So here I am, my first car ride in this country, and I'm in the back behind two large men who are planning on taking me to some unknown location, making me get out and switch my bags to another car of their choosing, and driving for two hours into and then out of the middle of nowhere. Needless to say I'm nervous. In fact, I'm gonna go with scared. And it doesn't help that they are eerily nice - they give me a business card, they talk to me in detail about what's going on, and are generally so reassuring that it's like they know I should be freaking out.
I really don't want to be kidnapped, but I think it's definitely possible and maybe probable. So I ask one man if I can borrow his phone to call my emergency contact for some information. I don't really need to know anything, I just want him to know I am alive and well and in India and reachable at this number at the moment, so if I do get kidnapped there is a chance someone might find me. He lets me make the call. While I've got Mr. Kaul on the line, I let him help me haggle a little on the price - but no avail - 1200 rupees it is.
With Mr. Kaul informed I tell Omid and the driver that I was nervous but am feeling better. They're talking Hindi over my head - not that I could understand them if they were speaking the 5 sentences I do know, but I get the feeling they're laughing a little at my paranoia.
We turn off at the office and make the trade. My new driver speaks no English at all. He's a great guy though - works his butt off trying to find Sector 55. The new car is not air conditioned and has flies and mosquitoes flying around, but I could sure care less. What I do care about is the clusterf**k that is the driving around here. There are lanes that the Indian government has quite nicely painted on the roads - it would be awesome if people actually used them. As it is, a 3-lane highway fits about 5 cars and 3 motorcycles side by side. And people are constantly shifting around and jockeying for position. People are walking right in between the cars while they're moving, and everybody gives the cows in the road a wide berth (yes, that's right, cows. In the middle of the road. And it's normal.)
We drive for over two hours just to get there because traffic is so bad. When we finally get to NOIDA (in Uttar Pradesh), we start driving a little slower, and my driver asks basically every fifth person how to get to A-1, Sec-55, where I will be living. About half of the people tended to point one way, and another half would point the other way. Didn't matter how close we were: I think we were looking at the building at one point and somebody told us to drive past it and take a left.
When we finally arrived, about 4 hours after I got off the plane, I paid the man his 1200 rupees, and tipped him 100 (about $2.75 USD) in gratitude. His eyes got really big and he looked really excited. Me, I was just excited to know that I was going to have a bed for the night.
I almost came here either broke or very very late. As it is, the fact that I am here at all, rather than in the basement of some man's office, is quite lucky. Silly American man that I am.
When I get to the airport, there is supposed to be a car picking me up. There is not a car picking me up. I look everywhere - the airport, the private car section - I even checked every single license plate. Meanwhile, a man named Mr. Omid comes up, greets me in near-perfect English, and offers me a ride in his cab. He's nice enough that I tell him "ok, sure, if I can't find my driver, you're next in line."
Since my driver doesn't show up, he gets another man to pull his car around, we get in, and he says it will be 3000 rupees. That's $83. I say turn around and take me back to the airport. As he explains the expenses involved, including the fact that the tax to Uttar Pradesh is 600 rupees alone, I just continue iterating that it's too much. He can come as low as 1700, he says, but no more.
We make a deal. He drops me off at his office, where I get into another car and another driver takes me to Uttar Pradesh. 1200 rupees. So here I am, my first car ride in this country, and I'm in the back behind two large men who are planning on taking me to some unknown location, making me get out and switch my bags to another car of their choosing, and driving for two hours into and then out of the middle of nowhere. Needless to say I'm nervous. In fact, I'm gonna go with scared. And it doesn't help that they are eerily nice - they give me a business card, they talk to me in detail about what's going on, and are generally so reassuring that it's like they know I should be freaking out.
I really don't want to be kidnapped, but I think it's definitely possible and maybe probable. So I ask one man if I can borrow his phone to call my emergency contact for some information. I don't really need to know anything, I just want him to know I am alive and well and in India and reachable at this number at the moment, so if I do get kidnapped there is a chance someone might find me. He lets me make the call. While I've got Mr. Kaul on the line, I let him help me haggle a little on the price - but no avail - 1200 rupees it is.
With Mr. Kaul informed I tell Omid and the driver that I was nervous but am feeling better. They're talking Hindi over my head - not that I could understand them if they were speaking the 5 sentences I do know, but I get the feeling they're laughing a little at my paranoia.
We turn off at the office and make the trade. My new driver speaks no English at all. He's a great guy though - works his butt off trying to find Sector 55. The new car is not air conditioned and has flies and mosquitoes flying around, but I could sure care less. What I do care about is the clusterf**k that is the driving around here. There are lanes that the Indian government has quite nicely painted on the roads - it would be awesome if people actually used them. As it is, a 3-lane highway fits about 5 cars and 3 motorcycles side by side. And people are constantly shifting around and jockeying for position. People are walking right in between the cars while they're moving, and everybody gives the cows in the road a wide berth (yes, that's right, cows. In the middle of the road. And it's normal.)
We drive for over two hours just to get there because traffic is so bad. When we finally get to NOIDA (in Uttar Pradesh), we start driving a little slower, and my driver asks basically every fifth person how to get to A-1, Sec-55, where I will be living. About half of the people tended to point one way, and another half would point the other way. Didn't matter how close we were: I think we were looking at the building at one point and somebody told us to drive past it and take a left.
When we finally arrived, about 4 hours after I got off the plane, I paid the man his 1200 rupees, and tipped him 100 (about $2.75 USD) in gratitude. His eyes got really big and he looked really excited. Me, I was just excited to know that I was going to have a bed for the night.
IT'S CALLED MEAT!
Don’t read books, and meat is weird. That’s the message I have gotten from my first international flight.
It all began on a puddle jump from Richmond to JFK. The flight was only about an hour and a half, but I spent all of it reading a book on loan from a friend (The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch). Don’t read books.
Here’s why: at the beginning of the flight, the woman next to me makes a comment about how good the book is, and I sort of dully respond. It is not until I put down the book with five minutes left before we get off the plane that I realize this blond-haired woman in her early 40s is in fact the owner of a number of pharmaceutical companies all across the world, and is currently traveling to one in Switzerland. She’s a veritable fount of information, and as bubbly and talkative as you can be. Unfortunately, after about five minutes, we part ways, and the only things I really get out of her are that she thinks she has an “entrepreneurial spirit,” and very detailed instructions to get to terminal 4.
The next step was Air India flight 102, also known as WOW. It’s this massive Boeing 777 (I’d never been on a plane so big), with beautiful stewardesses in full Indian dress and Bollywood films as in-flight movie options. Now I don’t tell many people this, but I’ve got a bit of a fear of flying. Every buck, every roll, every drop or change of direction sends this big adrenaline rush through my body, and I want to jut flip out and tell the pilot to land. Most flights previously have consisted of me trying to deny my own fear for a good 4 or 5 hours, which totally isn’t going to stop me from flying but does make things a bit uncomfortable. The 777, however, is so stable that I was fine for the entire 14 hour long flight – even slept for a couple hours.
The in-flight experience was kind of a funny one, though. Imagine, if you will, me, an American on his first flight out of the country, randomly being sat next to an old grandmother who only spoke Hindi (I speak maybe 5 sentences) and needed someone there to take care of her. She would gesticulate wildly with her arms, and say something completely unintelligible to me (except for the occasional “handbag”), and I would be left saying “I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” which she obviously didn’t understand either. This went on for a good five minutes, and then she finally got up and switched seats with a teenage boy in the row behind her so she could be with people who could understand her (which apparently is everyone but me here).
Then came the in-flight dinner. The options were “veg or non-veg.” And the horror began. For those of you who know me well, I am not just a person who eats meat. I’m a meat-eater. A carnivore if you will – a friend one described my perfect meal as “steak on top of steak with a side of steak, and maybe some steak for dessert.” It’s not that I don’t eat other things – in fact, I really enjoy steak fries. It’s just that I really like meat. Anyway, the point is that here I am, for the first time in my life being described not as “regular” or as “a meat eater,” but as “non-veg!” What am I getting myself into for the next couple months?
I took my non-veg (and simultaneously non-Indian) dinner, though, and I ate every bite. I have sort of decided to start warming up to the experience by not refusing to try any food that’s put in front of me. While that may not be the case once I begin to eat in India (due to the untreated water), for now I think it’s putting me in the mood to experiment and take (healthy) risks.
It all began on a puddle jump from Richmond to JFK. The flight was only about an hour and a half, but I spent all of it reading a book on loan from a friend (The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch). Don’t read books.
Here’s why: at the beginning of the flight, the woman next to me makes a comment about how good the book is, and I sort of dully respond. It is not until I put down the book with five minutes left before we get off the plane that I realize this blond-haired woman in her early 40s is in fact the owner of a number of pharmaceutical companies all across the world, and is currently traveling to one in Switzerland. She’s a veritable fount of information, and as bubbly and talkative as you can be. Unfortunately, after about five minutes, we part ways, and the only things I really get out of her are that she thinks she has an “entrepreneurial spirit,” and very detailed instructions to get to terminal 4.
The next step was Air India flight 102, also known as WOW. It’s this massive Boeing 777 (I’d never been on a plane so big), with beautiful stewardesses in full Indian dress and Bollywood films as in-flight movie options. Now I don’t tell many people this, but I’ve got a bit of a fear of flying. Every buck, every roll, every drop or change of direction sends this big adrenaline rush through my body, and I want to jut flip out and tell the pilot to land. Most flights previously have consisted of me trying to deny my own fear for a good 4 or 5 hours, which totally isn’t going to stop me from flying but does make things a bit uncomfortable. The 777, however, is so stable that I was fine for the entire 14 hour long flight – even slept for a couple hours.
The in-flight experience was kind of a funny one, though. Imagine, if you will, me, an American on his first flight out of the country, randomly being sat next to an old grandmother who only spoke Hindi (I speak maybe 5 sentences) and needed someone there to take care of her. She would gesticulate wildly with her arms, and say something completely unintelligible to me (except for the occasional “handbag”), and I would be left saying “I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” which she obviously didn’t understand either. This went on for a good five minutes, and then she finally got up and switched seats with a teenage boy in the row behind her so she could be with people who could understand her (which apparently is everyone but me here).
Then came the in-flight dinner. The options were “veg or non-veg.” And the horror began. For those of you who know me well, I am not just a person who eats meat. I’m a meat-eater. A carnivore if you will – a friend one described my perfect meal as “steak on top of steak with a side of steak, and maybe some steak for dessert.” It’s not that I don’t eat other things – in fact, I really enjoy steak fries. It’s just that I really like meat. Anyway, the point is that here I am, for the first time in my life being described not as “regular” or as “a meat eater,” but as “non-veg!” What am I getting myself into for the next couple months?
I took my non-veg (and simultaneously non-Indian) dinner, though, and I ate every bite. I have sort of decided to start warming up to the experience by not refusing to try any food that’s put in front of me. While that may not be the case once I begin to eat in India (due to the untreated water), for now I think it’s putting me in the mood to experiment and take (healthy) risks.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
An Auspicious Moment
Chaalaa. While its common Hindi meaning is "motion," it also refers to "An auspicious moment considered fit for going on a journey" (and yes, I did have to look that up). Anyway, that's what this is - one slice of time so beautifully contrived that it is not only fit for an epic traveler's tale, it requires one.
This voyage to India began as if by fate, and I do believe that fate provides the motive force that will see me through. It is as though my whole life, all those failed attempts at trips to France, Canada, Mexico - everything was building to this one point at which I embark on a journey of exploration and dedication. Now that my undergraduate education is complete, I have an opportunity to recognize what parts of that education are universal. What a fortunate time to get a glimpse of the world!
I leave in two days. Am I excited? Of course. Nervous? You bet. But I already have learned so much just from thinking about going, just from the idea of it, that the vast stores of knowledge and truth awaiting me halfway across the world pull at me like the earth pulls at a compass needle, drawing me slowly but surely towards the great land where curry is an art form and cows freely roam the streets.
This blog is meant to chronicle my journey and provide both glimpses of what I have seen and what meaning I have found in those sights. While the majority will (sadly) be seen from the inside of an office, my hope is to break out from the work and make my way as much as possible into the daily life of Delhi. Join me.
This voyage to India began as if by fate, and I do believe that fate provides the motive force that will see me through. It is as though my whole life, all those failed attempts at trips to France, Canada, Mexico - everything was building to this one point at which I embark on a journey of exploration and dedication. Now that my undergraduate education is complete, I have an opportunity to recognize what parts of that education are universal. What a fortunate time to get a glimpse of the world!
I leave in two days. Am I excited? Of course. Nervous? You bet. But I already have learned so much just from thinking about going, just from the idea of it, that the vast stores of knowledge and truth awaiting me halfway across the world pull at me like the earth pulls at a compass needle, drawing me slowly but surely towards the great land where curry is an art form and cows freely roam the streets.
This blog is meant to chronicle my journey and provide both glimpses of what I have seen and what meaning I have found in those sights. While the majority will (sadly) be seen from the inside of an office, my hope is to break out from the work and make my way as much as possible into the daily life of Delhi. Join me.
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