On Monday, I answered the doorbell to find three men at my door. Once again I was being asked for Durga Puja money. This time it was for meals. I asked what the last 400 Rupees was for and they replied that that was for building the pandal only. Now they wanted money to pay for our meals. I told them we hadn't made plans yet and asked if we could purchase them if we decide to go. They replied no. I said we weren't going and closed the door.
On Tuesday another group of three women showed up at my door. This time they wanted Durga Puja money to pay the security guards tips. They wanted another 400 rupees so that everyone got their share... At this point I was pissed off. I told them I would tip the guards myself. They insisted that that was frowned upon, that everyone should get an equal share. There are some workers here at the building that have been very nice and have helped me since I moved in. I insisted that the men who worked harder should be compensated accordingly, and that they didn't seem to have a way to accurately account for how the rupees were distributed. At this point, the discussion became more of a debate between political theories, so I just said no and closed the door.
Wednesday evening couldn't get here fast enough. My whole team had finished all of their projects earlier so they were basically watching the clock as well. Many were loitering outside smoking cigarettes or talking on their cellphones. I had wanted to let everyone go early but HR wouldn't allow it because they said it wouldn't have been fair to other groups. I won't comment on that, but as soon as their time came to leave, I pushed them out the door.
I took the car to Santoshpur to pick up DVDs and supplies for the long weekend. The traffic was absolutely crazy. There was a sea of women dressed in their finest sarees and salwar khameez. Men were dressed in their finery as well. I saw many of them in traditional kurtas and pants. A lot of people were wearing western clothing as well. There was loud drumming and music coming from every pandal.
Durga Puja is the celebration of the Goddess Durga, who comes to earth to save us from evil. That, unfortunately is all I have learned so far. Thursday evening our cooked arrived at 6:00 to take us pandal hopping, a traditional activity here. Will wore his black kurta that we'd bought at City Centre in Salt Lake - a good friend had suggested we get one and helped us select it. Wise decision. The cook was very pleased to see him in traditional dress.
Pandals are temporary structures with displays of the goddess within. There are typically a few other goddesses and gods, like Ganesha, and sometimes an evil dude or two along with animals and other decorative elements. They are not small, typically four or five feet tall, sometimes much larger in size. We tried to get a cab outside, but ended up getting into an autorickshaw for the first mile or so, then we switched over to bike rickshaws for the rest of the trip. We traversed down tiny little backstreets and between buildings, finally getting to our first pandal.
The pandal was three stories tall. There was a lot of gold and yellow. There were intricate carvings of gods all over the exterior of the building. There were people everywhere, and the crowd was controlled through the use of thread. Two guys held the ends together, letting people through at regular intervals. The crowd would surge toward the line, the guys with the thread would move back to the safety of the sidewalk, then fight their way back to the center with their thread to keep the crowd at bay. When it was our turn, we just let the wave of people push us through rather than fight the storm surge. We entered the structure; it was brightly lit. Inside, it looked like a small theatre. There was a group of musicians playing music in front of the stage. Above them was the Goddess in all her glory with animals and attendants. The crowd them pushed us out the side door. In all, we waited about 30 minutes to spend about 20 seconds looking at the Goddess. We then walked to the second pandal.
It was a magnificent structure, looking like a woven basket with rich details added to the intricate weave pattern of the exterior. There was a carefully landscaped walkway guiding you to the entrance. Two bright yellow barriers restricted movement down to a six foot span in the roadway. Two guards blocked any forward progress. The crowd here was much bigger and the crowd tighter. I used my elbows to keep people from stepping on me or pushing me off balance. Will was a few people back and I focused on not losing the cook in the crowd - she was a few people in front of me. Once the guards moved, the crowd streamed in. We walked past beautiful water features with lily pads and lotus flowers, then entered the pandal itself. This one was different. Inside the lit interior was a 20 foot tall column in the center of the room slowly spinning with images of the goddess on all its sides. We walked around the walls of the pandal and ended up outside again. We then headed to my cook's house for dinner, after which we spent over an hour trying to get a cab, then another or so taking the cab home. I gave extra money with a cheery "Shubo Durga Puja!" He smiled and said something back at me in Bengali. When we got into the house, both of collapsed onto our beds and were asleep in mere seconds.
Friday began early with a few hours of more pandal hopping, but by now I'd done all I could do with them. I loved looking at the mendi-wallas' stamps and there were plenty of items to purchase to perform the puja, like flowers and offerings, but at this point I just wanted a cup of coffee in an air conditioned room.
We hit the CCD (Cafe Coffee Day) in GolPark. They had a special menu just for Durga Puja and all I wanted was a cup of coffee. Apparently I wasn't going to get one unless I wanted chocolate ice cream and flavoured syrup. I spent maybe ten minutes convincing the waiter that I just wanted a simple cup of coffee, no ice cream, no syrup, no sugar. Eventually, he complied. While waiting for the coffee to brew, we watched Hindi music videos.
The woman dancing in front of the pack was wearing this shiny pleather jumpsuit all sliced open horizontally across the front of her legs. "Shania Twain called, she wants her pants back." This cracked Will up. Finally coffee arrived. Three cups of coffee and three snacks cost us just under 600 rupees. "Must be the Durga Puja rate," Will offered, when he saw my look of surprise.
We decided to just go home after that to watch DVDs. Maybe we'll venture out again tomorrow.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Buying Beef in Kolkata
There is a place in Kolkata called Beck Began, where you can purchase meat and fresh produce near Park Circus. Beck Began is located in a mostly Muslim area and it was rumored to sell beef there. I visited this place last weekend after work Saturday. We grabbed a cab as it was getting dark and headed over there. The traffic was crazy. Everything was stopped and every space between cars was filled with pedestrians, rickshaws, carts, and dogs. Each time a light would change, no one seemed to move and there was very little movement. Some of the lights would take ten minutes to change, so cars are turned off, and people open doors, and walk around trying to see up ahead. When the light finally turns green, all the drivers scramble back to their vehicles and turn them on. If the car doesn't immediately start, the horns start up and don't stop until you move.
We finally made the left turn toward the market. The smell of meat was quite strong, mixed in with assorted other odors, including some you didn't want to acknowledge. We entered the maze of stalls making a left here and a right there, passing large piles of artfully arranged vegetables, some I've never seen before. Gorgeous, plump pomegranates, citrus fruits, tiny little green grapes, and bananas the size of your fingers were everywhere. Lights were bare bulbs strung along live wires strung along the tops of the wood posts from stall to stall. The floor was sometimes dirt, stone, cobbles or bricks. Newspapers and trash floated by like tumbleweeds. You had to watch for holes and high spots that could trip you.
"Yes, Madam"?"
"Madam, look at my freshest vegetables."
"What can you be wanting, Madam?" There was a barrage of people asking for my attention. I just followed my friend forward.
We walked through until we reached a smaller enclosure where a group of men were seated on a bench. There was a small portion of beef hanging from a hook on the ceiling. My friend asked in Hindi for a half kilo. One gentleman looked as us, then stood up pulling a sharp knife off the stone counter. There was dirt and other detritus covering the blade and the counter itself. He cut large chunks off the slab and threw them toward another man behind the counter, coating the meat in the dirt. It was wrapped in newspaper, we paid him then moved to the chickens. (Later, we scrubbed and washed the meat carefully as part of our cooking prep.)
"Yes, madam?" The chickens were small and were kept in a basket, still alive. My friends asked me how much chicken I wanted. I looked at the chickens clucking away and said just one, and I told her I couldn't watch this. It was one thing to select a block of meat off a hook, but seeing live chickens, made me so sad. I walked toward the fish market where there were many small cats roaming. Dogs were sleeping on some of the stone slabs where the fishmongers weren't set up. I approached one vendor with large shallow pans of fish and prawns. They were very fresh. I hadn't seen fish this fresh since purchasing them off the docks in Gloucester MA at 4:30 in the morning. I selected a kilo of tiger prawns for 250 rupees. They used a large sickle type blade to strip the shells and a second person removed the head. One of the men threw fish entrails to the cats.
It's quite a symbiotic relationship between the strays and the fishwallas. It's not like you see them petting the animals or treating them like pets, it's more like they serve a purpose of taking care of the parts of the fish that could not be sold.
My friends came back with a very warm package wrapped in newspaper. I was a bit nauseated about the chicken because it was the only creature that I had seen alive. Americans are so used to seeing their meat in a plastic wrapped foam package, carefully trimmed and appointed that it doesn't seem like an animal. Here, that mental divide isn't available. I think if I'd lived on a farm and had to prepare my own animals growing up, it would have been different.
After that, we went back to the produce area where we selected all sorts of fruit and vegetables. My friend showed me how to clean the veggies with salt and water to get them cleaned up. This market had very fresh produce. Comparing it to the U.S., I much preferred the quality here. The grapes I purchased in the U.S. came from Chile had no flavor compared to the ones from Beck Bagan. The tiny limes gave out much more juice. The herbs were spotless and lasted much longer than the "fresh" ones I'd purchase from the supermarket back home. The basics, onions, potatoes, garlic and ginger, were plentiful and in great condition. That day, we discovered beautiful oyster mushrooms, milky mushrooms and button mushrooms that were practically perfect. I hadn't seen this level of freshness anywhere in the U.S. except for when Chanterelle season hit in Washington State. We picked our own mushrooms off the forest floor and these seemed just as firm and fresh.
All in all, the entire trip to Beck Began cost around 20 U.S. dollars, including around a pound each of prawns, chicken and beef, plus a weeks worth of fruits and veggies. I was really pleasantly surprised because everyone kept sending me to food malls, where you find the prepackaged stuff and Pringles, Tang and Ragu. The food at Beck Began was far better quality at a tenth of the price.
We finally made the left turn toward the market. The smell of meat was quite strong, mixed in with assorted other odors, including some you didn't want to acknowledge. We entered the maze of stalls making a left here and a right there, passing large piles of artfully arranged vegetables, some I've never seen before. Gorgeous, plump pomegranates, citrus fruits, tiny little green grapes, and bananas the size of your fingers were everywhere. Lights were bare bulbs strung along live wires strung along the tops of the wood posts from stall to stall. The floor was sometimes dirt, stone, cobbles or bricks. Newspapers and trash floated by like tumbleweeds. You had to watch for holes and high spots that could trip you.
"Yes, Madam"?"
"Madam, look at my freshest vegetables."
"What can you be wanting, Madam?" There was a barrage of people asking for my attention. I just followed my friend forward.
We walked through until we reached a smaller enclosure where a group of men were seated on a bench. There was a small portion of beef hanging from a hook on the ceiling. My friend asked in Hindi for a half kilo. One gentleman looked as us, then stood up pulling a sharp knife off the stone counter. There was dirt and other detritus covering the blade and the counter itself. He cut large chunks off the slab and threw them toward another man behind the counter, coating the meat in the dirt. It was wrapped in newspaper, we paid him then moved to the chickens. (Later, we scrubbed and washed the meat carefully as part of our cooking prep.)
"Yes, madam?" The chickens were small and were kept in a basket, still alive. My friends asked me how much chicken I wanted. I looked at the chickens clucking away and said just one, and I told her I couldn't watch this. It was one thing to select a block of meat off a hook, but seeing live chickens, made me so sad. I walked toward the fish market where there were many small cats roaming. Dogs were sleeping on some of the stone slabs where the fishmongers weren't set up. I approached one vendor with large shallow pans of fish and prawns. They were very fresh. I hadn't seen fish this fresh since purchasing them off the docks in Gloucester MA at 4:30 in the morning. I selected a kilo of tiger prawns for 250 rupees. They used a large sickle type blade to strip the shells and a second person removed the head. One of the men threw fish entrails to the cats.
It's quite a symbiotic relationship between the strays and the fishwallas. It's not like you see them petting the animals or treating them like pets, it's more like they serve a purpose of taking care of the parts of the fish that could not be sold.
My friends came back with a very warm package wrapped in newspaper. I was a bit nauseated about the chicken because it was the only creature that I had seen alive. Americans are so used to seeing their meat in a plastic wrapped foam package, carefully trimmed and appointed that it doesn't seem like an animal. Here, that mental divide isn't available. I think if I'd lived on a farm and had to prepare my own animals growing up, it would have been different.
After that, we went back to the produce area where we selected all sorts of fruit and vegetables. My friend showed me how to clean the veggies with salt and water to get them cleaned up. This market had very fresh produce. Comparing it to the U.S., I much preferred the quality here. The grapes I purchased in the U.S. came from Chile had no flavor compared to the ones from Beck Bagan. The tiny limes gave out much more juice. The herbs were spotless and lasted much longer than the "fresh" ones I'd purchase from the supermarket back home. The basics, onions, potatoes, garlic and ginger, were plentiful and in great condition. That day, we discovered beautiful oyster mushrooms, milky mushrooms and button mushrooms that were practically perfect. I hadn't seen this level of freshness anywhere in the U.S. except for when Chanterelle season hit in Washington State. We picked our own mushrooms off the forest floor and these seemed just as firm and fresh.
All in all, the entire trip to Beck Began cost around 20 U.S. dollars, including around a pound each of prawns, chicken and beef, plus a weeks worth of fruits and veggies. I was really pleasantly surprised because everyone kept sending me to food malls, where you find the prepackaged stuff and Pringles, Tang and Ragu. The food at Beck Began was far better quality at a tenth of the price.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Monsoon Mania
The monsoon has been dealing us a tough hand this week. It has been raining nearly nonstop from Saturday through Monday. In the evening, just before work was about to end, I received an IM from a friend.
"It looks like it's going to rain 40 days and 40 nights," she typed. As usual, I am complete unprepared for any type of weather.
"Is there a spare umbrella in the office?" I typed. I was not looking forward to standing out in the rain in front of Menoka Cinema waving my hands frantically at any cab that might pass by...
She responded, "I don't think so. I have one, but not a spare."
"How easy is it to get cabs in a downpour like this?" I asked.
"Not that easy," she said. "We can share a cab and I'll drop you off. The thing is that I don't know where we'll be able to catch a cab in this weather. They're also going to charge a lot. We might have to get on a bus or an autorickshaw."
"All the way to Jadavpur?" I asked.
"One of the many adventures Kolkata has to offer," she replied. Yeah, I guess so... :-)
I was not looking forward to that. Neither option was very appealing. My next thought was asking someone at the front office. There is one person I can always count on to help me out and he was busy with a number of other things. I begged him, "please. please, please... can you help out a foreigner who barely knows her way home, doesn't speak the language... yada, yada, yada..." and he came through. He let me know that one of the other GLs (Group Leaders) would provide me and my coworker with a way home. What a relief.
Just then, my coworker IM'd me again. "Save everything on your computer because water is getting in." I found this a bit hard to believe because there are four steps up into the office. I contacted the GL, confirmed when/where to meet and decided to wait with the rest of the folks outside the office. I turned off my computer, turned off my lights, and opened the main door to find water half way up the steps and rising. I now understood why everybody was walking around with their pants rolled up around their knees, as I was now doing the same.
We waited outside commiserating with other workers while we waited for the GL. The water just up to my knees. It was starting to rain again. The GL came around the corner and beckoned us to move along. We followed him a short way down the lane to a car half submerged in the street. He opened the door and the water poured straight in, filling every available space. When we got in the back, the water was about halfway up our shins. The car started, much to my surprise, considering its tail pipe was under water. I kept my window open so I could see where we were going. There was not a lot of traffic on Southern Avenue, but the water was halfway up the side of the car. People would yell from the sides of the street because of the wake the car was producing as we passed. None of the homeless were anywhere to be found, but the stray dogs were sleeping on tops of piles of sand or bricks or anything high enough to keep them dry.
As we got closer to GolPark, the water got shallower but there were a lot more cars to navigate around, some stalled in the middle of the roundabout. As we climbed over the bypass, I wished I'd had a cup or something to start bailing out the water from the car. Everytime we started or stopped a wave of water would end up in your lap.
Heading south, traffic became really snarled. We were stuck at the light from hell where Gariahat Road and Prince Anwar Shah Road meet - then we realized why - there was a huge tree down on the north side blocking all traffic. They were using the north side of the road for traffic going in both directions. The car would rock side to side due to the waves of bigger truck and cars... It was really a madhouse. I was really glad to arrive home safe and sound.
I opened the door and asked Will to get me a bucket and antiseptic to soak my feet and legs. Both the GL and my coworker strongly advised me to, since "you never know what's in the water". One of my direct reports at the office has been out sick with Typhoid, so I took their advice. I went out on the terrace to see the extent of the water problem and I seriously couldn't see any streets. Some of the ground floor spaces looked flooded. Lots of lights were out. Then I saw a firework go off. Then two. Will came out and we watched fireworks going off all over the city. We still have no idea why, as the rain misted down a firework would burst open to the left, then the right, and then far to the north near the Howrah bridge.
Will said, "I'm hungry, let's eat. It's wet out here." No kidding.
"It looks like it's going to rain 40 days and 40 nights," she typed. As usual, I am complete unprepared for any type of weather.
"Is there a spare umbrella in the office?" I typed. I was not looking forward to standing out in the rain in front of Menoka Cinema waving my hands frantically at any cab that might pass by...
She responded, "I don't think so. I have one, but not a spare."
"How easy is it to get cabs in a downpour like this?" I asked.
"Not that easy," she said. "We can share a cab and I'll drop you off. The thing is that I don't know where we'll be able to catch a cab in this weather. They're also going to charge a lot. We might have to get on a bus or an autorickshaw."
"All the way to Jadavpur?" I asked.
"One of the many adventures Kolkata has to offer," she replied. Yeah, I guess so... :-)
I was not looking forward to that. Neither option was very appealing. My next thought was asking someone at the front office. There is one person I can always count on to help me out and he was busy with a number of other things. I begged him, "please. please, please... can you help out a foreigner who barely knows her way home, doesn't speak the language... yada, yada, yada..." and he came through. He let me know that one of the other GLs (Group Leaders) would provide me and my coworker with a way home. What a relief.
Just then, my coworker IM'd me again. "Save everything on your computer because water is getting in." I found this a bit hard to believe because there are four steps up into the office. I contacted the GL, confirmed when/where to meet and decided to wait with the rest of the folks outside the office. I turned off my computer, turned off my lights, and opened the main door to find water half way up the steps and rising. I now understood why everybody was walking around with their pants rolled up around their knees, as I was now doing the same.
We waited outside commiserating with other workers while we waited for the GL. The water just up to my knees. It was starting to rain again. The GL came around the corner and beckoned us to move along. We followed him a short way down the lane to a car half submerged in the street. He opened the door and the water poured straight in, filling every available space. When we got in the back, the water was about halfway up our shins. The car started, much to my surprise, considering its tail pipe was under water. I kept my window open so I could see where we were going. There was not a lot of traffic on Southern Avenue, but the water was halfway up the side of the car. People would yell from the sides of the street because of the wake the car was producing as we passed. None of the homeless were anywhere to be found, but the stray dogs were sleeping on tops of piles of sand or bricks or anything high enough to keep them dry.
As we got closer to GolPark, the water got shallower but there were a lot more cars to navigate around, some stalled in the middle of the roundabout. As we climbed over the bypass, I wished I'd had a cup or something to start bailing out the water from the car. Everytime we started or stopped a wave of water would end up in your lap.
Heading south, traffic became really snarled. We were stuck at the light from hell where Gariahat Road and Prince Anwar Shah Road meet - then we realized why - there was a huge tree down on the north side blocking all traffic. They were using the north side of the road for traffic going in both directions. The car would rock side to side due to the waves of bigger truck and cars... It was really a madhouse. I was really glad to arrive home safe and sound.
I opened the door and asked Will to get me a bucket and antiseptic to soak my feet and legs. Both the GL and my coworker strongly advised me to, since "you never know what's in the water". One of my direct reports at the office has been out sick with Typhoid, so I took their advice. I went out on the terrace to see the extent of the water problem and I seriously couldn't see any streets. Some of the ground floor spaces looked flooded. Lots of lights were out. Then I saw a firework go off. Then two. Will came out and we watched fireworks going off all over the city. We still have no idea why, as the rain misted down a firework would burst open to the left, then the right, and then far to the north near the Howrah bridge.
Will said, "I'm hungry, let's eat. It's wet out here." No kidding.
Bicycle Rickshaws
On Saturday, after completing work, a couple of friends came with me to go furniture shopping at Steel Junction. Will and the rest of us piled into a taxi and took off toward Salt Lake. When we arrived, I realized it was yet another mall with expensive designer stuff, not the metal bazaar I had expected. They did have some furniture, most was not my taste. I did love the railings, door fittings and accessories, though they were quite expensive. I was being followed around by many sales clerks that would jump to answer any question I might have. I decided to have a little fun at their expense.
"Does this come in pleather?"
"I'm sorry Madam?"
"You know, animal pleather?"
"Pleather? I will just go see..." He conferred with 3 or four other sales clerks, giving me time to sit on things, test stuff out, and touch the fabrics without feeling like someone was watching my every move. By the time he came back to tell me no, I had already decided what I wanted to get. We purchased a glass and steel table for around 7,000 and four leather and steel chairs to match at around 1,200 each. We also selected a convertible couch that can be pushed up on one side to make a double-wide chaise lounge, or folded lengthwise as a couch or used flat as a bed. This cost a little over 18,000. The modular sofa I have my eye on is 40,000, but that will have to wait for another day... Delivery is 400 rupees and we should have it tomorrow. It will be so great to have furniture!
After that, my friends suggested Big Bazaar for all of my other metal needs. With a dog with a long wagging tail, we have already broken every single glass in the house. I wanted simple steel cups. I wanted plain metal thali dishes as well. Nothing fancy. So we jumped into the taxi and headed to Santoshpur. The place was packed as expected on a Saturday afternoon, but I went nuts as soon as I got there. They had everything I had been look for at normal prices. Towels, clothing, socks, paper towels, food, liquor, wastebaskets, even an international food section! I was exhausted. We had two full carts and two pails completely filled with stuff and when we finally were able to check out, my debit card wouldn't work (probably because we spent over 30,000 earlier at steel junction, but it's a debit card...it shouldn't be that way). We quickly pooled our resources and we were around 1,500 short, so my friend said she knew of an ATM close by.
Will and my other coworker stayed with all of the stuff with she and I left the mall.
"It will be faster if we take a bike rickshaw," she said.
"Great," I said with a grimace. Now, I had previously had a conversation with my other friend that I would not ride in a hand rickshaw because I could not use another human being as a beast of burden. He agreed to some extent, but didn't feel that a bike or autorickshaw was the same. We approached the bike rickshaw guy and my friend struck a bargain with him. I climbed up, making the rickshaw tilt to one side; she got up on the other and he sat on the seat and we set off. Apparently it was up hill... The wind was blowing, catching the top of the rickshaw like a sail, making it even harder for him to make it move. He was standing up using all of his might to keep the bike moving forward. One of the stray dogs passed us. People walking on the sidewalk passed us. Eventually we made it along the lane to the ATM.
I got my money and we climbed back up into the rickshaw, returning back to Big Bazaar. We jumped down and my friend gave the guy a 10 rupee note. He pointed at me and started arguing with her.
"He must be charging by the pound," I laughed. She laughed and gave him 2 more rupees, then we headed back into the bazaar, paid the store and left, getting a cab and heading home.
"Does this come in pleather?"
"I'm sorry Madam?"
"You know, animal pleather?"
"Pleather? I will just go see..." He conferred with 3 or four other sales clerks, giving me time to sit on things, test stuff out, and touch the fabrics without feeling like someone was watching my every move. By the time he came back to tell me no, I had already decided what I wanted to get. We purchased a glass and steel table for around 7,000 and four leather and steel chairs to match at around 1,200 each. We also selected a convertible couch that can be pushed up on one side to make a double-wide chaise lounge, or folded lengthwise as a couch or used flat as a bed. This cost a little over 18,000. The modular sofa I have my eye on is 40,000, but that will have to wait for another day... Delivery is 400 rupees and we should have it tomorrow. It will be so great to have furniture!
After that, my friends suggested Big Bazaar for all of my other metal needs. With a dog with a long wagging tail, we have already broken every single glass in the house. I wanted simple steel cups. I wanted plain metal thali dishes as well. Nothing fancy. So we jumped into the taxi and headed to Santoshpur. The place was packed as expected on a Saturday afternoon, but I went nuts as soon as I got there. They had everything I had been look for at normal prices. Towels, clothing, socks, paper towels, food, liquor, wastebaskets, even an international food section! I was exhausted. We had two full carts and two pails completely filled with stuff and when we finally were able to check out, my debit card wouldn't work (probably because we spent over 30,000 earlier at steel junction, but it's a debit card...it shouldn't be that way). We quickly pooled our resources and we were around 1,500 short, so my friend said she knew of an ATM close by.
Will and my other coworker stayed with all of the stuff with she and I left the mall.
"It will be faster if we take a bike rickshaw," she said.
"Great," I said with a grimace. Now, I had previously had a conversation with my other friend that I would not ride in a hand rickshaw because I could not use another human being as a beast of burden. He agreed to some extent, but didn't feel that a bike or autorickshaw was the same. We approached the bike rickshaw guy and my friend struck a bargain with him. I climbed up, making the rickshaw tilt to one side; she got up on the other and he sat on the seat and we set off. Apparently it was up hill... The wind was blowing, catching the top of the rickshaw like a sail, making it even harder for him to make it move. He was standing up using all of his might to keep the bike moving forward. One of the stray dogs passed us. People walking on the sidewalk passed us. Eventually we made it along the lane to the ATM.
I got my money and we climbed back up into the rickshaw, returning back to Big Bazaar. We jumped down and my friend gave the guy a 10 rupee note. He pointed at me and started arguing with her.
"He must be charging by the pound," I laughed. She laughed and gave him 2 more rupees, then we headed back into the bazaar, paid the store and left, getting a cab and heading home.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Holidays & Birthdays
Last week, three strangers showed up at my door while I was cooking dinner. They were requesting 400 rupees for the upcoming Durga Puja celebration, which is probably the biggest they have here in Kolkata. It turned out that they wanted a 400 rupee "donation" in order to host a celebration in the courtyard.
"Everyone must donate, Madam," one of the men said.
"So, it's not really a donation, then is it?" I replied.
"Everyone at Ekta Towers contributes, Madam," he said with his hand outstretched.
"What if I don't celebrate your holiday?" I asked. (Sort of checking out my options.)
"Everyone contributes." was the reply.
The woman who accompanied the two men asked where I was from.
"The U.S." I replied.
The other man then offered, "It is a minimum 400 rupees donation. You can give us more."
I asked, "So if I decide that I want to celebrate, oh I don't know, Yom Kippur or Buddha's birthday, I could just walk around and solicit 400 rupees from everyone?"
"No, maam. That would not be possible." the man replied, his hand outstretched again.
I sighed and got my purse. I had no problem with giving them 400 rupees. If they had asked for a donation with my choice of amount, I probably would have given them a 1,000 rupee bill as a gesture of honoring their culture and holidays. This was exactly like dealing with the condo police back in New Hampshire, those retired old people that had nothing better to do with their time than run around and tell everyone else what to do.
**************************************
I turned 2 on Saturday. (My sister-in-law suggested I use the numerology base number for my age from now on.) An hour or so after I arrived at work, I had 30+ people crammed in my office, and I was given a huge bouquet of flowers, candy, and the largest card I've ever seen.
"Seriously, folks, couldn't you find a bigger card?" I asked. It was really nice.
Then they started singing "Happy Birthday" and when they came to that part in the song, where you sing "happy birthday dear so-and-so...", they hadn't really planned. It was really funny. Some people said Jeanne, some said Mada... oh no! and others just faded out. Here at the office, I am known as Madam. I can tell whenever someone is talking about me because "Madam" is the same in English, Hindi and Bangla.
It makes me uncomfortable to be called Madam because in the U.S.:
1. "Madam" is usually some old lady living alone in a house with w-a-a-a-a-y too many cats.
2. "Madam" (or "Ma'am" as it is usually used) is typically said by arrogant sales ladies at wildly expensive makeup counters in very pricey department stores accompanied by a sneer to indicate "You are not good enough for our products - go away". It is ALWAYS used when you ask for samples.
3. "Madam" is used by telephone customer service representatives instead of the word "B**tch". I think it actually says that in their training manuals: "No, I will NOT get my manager. I'm sorry, Madam, but the policy states..."
4. "Madam" is the title used by the proprietor of a brothel.
5. "Madam" just makes me feel old.
I made it pretty clear when having meetings with my staff to never call me "Madam", but it is so ingrained in the culture here, that it makes people uncomfortable to call me anything but. :-) I'm getting used to it, slowly, and I understand it REALLY IS a term of respect.
I was in a meeting with my Team Leaders when the one presenting called me Madam. I muttered something under my breath about calling me Madam, and it really disconcerted him. He became a little flustered and took a second to gain his composure. I've stopped doing that.
It was pretty funny to listen, though. The "Happy b-i-i-i-rthday dear Mada... oh,no!" was just priceless and made my day. :-)
**************************************
Later that evening, Will asked if I had had a good birthday, I replied, "Of, course. I got to spend it in Calcutta, India, didn't I? Isn't that great?"
"Everyone must donate, Madam," one of the men said.
"So, it's not really a donation, then is it?" I replied.
"Everyone at Ekta Towers contributes, Madam," he said with his hand outstretched.
"What if I don't celebrate your holiday?" I asked. (Sort of checking out my options.)
"Everyone contributes." was the reply.
The woman who accompanied the two men asked where I was from.
"The U.S." I replied.
The other man then offered, "It is a minimum 400 rupees donation. You can give us more."
I asked, "So if I decide that I want to celebrate, oh I don't know, Yom Kippur or Buddha's birthday, I could just walk around and solicit 400 rupees from everyone?"
"No, maam. That would not be possible." the man replied, his hand outstretched again.
I sighed and got my purse. I had no problem with giving them 400 rupees. If they had asked for a donation with my choice of amount, I probably would have given them a 1,000 rupee bill as a gesture of honoring their culture and holidays. This was exactly like dealing with the condo police back in New Hampshire, those retired old people that had nothing better to do with their time than run around and tell everyone else what to do.
**************************************
I turned 2 on Saturday. (My sister-in-law suggested I use the numerology base number for my age from now on.) An hour or so after I arrived at work, I had 30+ people crammed in my office, and I was given a huge bouquet of flowers, candy, and the largest card I've ever seen.
"Seriously, folks, couldn't you find a bigger card?" I asked. It was really nice.
Then they started singing "Happy Birthday" and when they came to that part in the song, where you sing "happy birthday dear so-and-so...", they hadn't really planned. It was really funny. Some people said Jeanne, some said Mada... oh no! and others just faded out. Here at the office, I am known as Madam. I can tell whenever someone is talking about me because "Madam" is the same in English, Hindi and Bangla.
It makes me uncomfortable to be called Madam because in the U.S.:
1. "Madam" is usually some old lady living alone in a house with w-a-a-a-a-y too many cats.
2. "Madam" (or "Ma'am" as it is usually used) is typically said by arrogant sales ladies at wildly expensive makeup counters in very pricey department stores accompanied by a sneer to indicate "You are not good enough for our products - go away". It is ALWAYS used when you ask for samples.
3. "Madam" is used by telephone customer service representatives instead of the word "B**tch". I think it actually says that in their training manuals: "No, I will NOT get my manager. I'm sorry, Madam, but the policy states..."
4. "Madam" is the title used by the proprietor of a brothel.
5. "Madam" just makes me feel old.
I made it pretty clear when having meetings with my staff to never call me "Madam", but it is so ingrained in the culture here, that it makes people uncomfortable to call me anything but. :-) I'm getting used to it, slowly, and I understand it REALLY IS a term of respect.
I was in a meeting with my Team Leaders when the one presenting called me Madam. I muttered something under my breath about calling me Madam, and it really disconcerted him. He became a little flustered and took a second to gain his composure. I've stopped doing that.
It was pretty funny to listen, though. The "Happy b-i-i-i-rthday dear Mada... oh,no!" was just priceless and made my day. :-)
**************************************
Later that evening, Will asked if I had had a good birthday, I replied, "Of, course. I got to spend it in Calcutta, India, didn't I? Isn't that great?"
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
I Bought Liquor By Myself, Sort of.
I asked the driver to pick up Will and bring him to the office. I asked him to accompany me on my quest to buy something all by myself. He said, "Mom, if I'm with you, it's not all by yourself." Okay. Truth is, I knew this could be a bit hairy, so I wanted him along. Havng a 6'1" beefy white dude couldn't hurt. We told the driver where we wanted to go. I was pretty sure where the place was, and I was able to locate it without too much fuss. It was dark by this time, and the only bright light emanated from inside the shop. There were four steps up to the iron cage that kept the people out. There was one hole in the grating, big enough for money and bottles to pass through. My car was about 15 feet from the steps. Will and I got out and approached the steps. Will said, "I'll stay down here in case there's trouble." He was standing there looking like a Secret Service agent - lots of furtive glancing, arms crossed over his chest, big scowl on his face.
I went up the steps to join the 8 or 9 men crowded around the entrance. Inside the store was brightly lit. There were lots of very small bottles and a lot of imported brands tucked in everywhere all the way up to the ceiling. I watched the men order - they were typically spending about 5 to 10 rupees on pints of whiskey. I asked how much the Skyy Vodka was. 1,500 rupees. I ask about the Smirnoff Triple Distilled - 430 rupees. I ended up choosing the Blue Riband Gin at around 200 rupees a bottle. I hand over the money and they wrap up the bottle in newspaper and hand it back. I head back down the stairs into the darkness, and into my car.
That wasn't so bad. Overall, it took maybe 5 or 10 minutes. I had a couple people tell me I was crazy attempting to buy my own liquor. Apparently, Bollywood starlets still get flak when they are found out to smoke cigarettes or drink. There is the possibility that people on the street may make assumptions about me and cause me trouble. Here's where everything I stand for, everything I believe in comes to play. I can either work within a flawed system and assimilate, or I can believe in myself and self-worth and not care what some dude on the street thinks of me. And as usual, I do not go quietly.
It may have seemed a simple thing, it may have seemed a stupid thing to do, but it was a big step for me in asserting my independence, something I do not take for granted.
I went up the steps to join the 8 or 9 men crowded around the entrance. Inside the store was brightly lit. There were lots of very small bottles and a lot of imported brands tucked in everywhere all the way up to the ceiling. I watched the men order - they were typically spending about 5 to 10 rupees on pints of whiskey. I asked how much the Skyy Vodka was. 1,500 rupees. I ask about the Smirnoff Triple Distilled - 430 rupees. I ended up choosing the Blue Riband Gin at around 200 rupees a bottle. I hand over the money and they wrap up the bottle in newspaper and hand it back. I head back down the stairs into the darkness, and into my car.
That wasn't so bad. Overall, it took maybe 5 or 10 minutes. I had a couple people tell me I was crazy attempting to buy my own liquor. Apparently, Bollywood starlets still get flak when they are found out to smoke cigarettes or drink. There is the possibility that people on the street may make assumptions about me and cause me trouble. Here's where everything I stand for, everything I believe in comes to play. I can either work within a flawed system and assimilate, or I can believe in myself and self-worth and not care what some dude on the street thinks of me. And as usual, I do not go quietly.
It may have seemed a simple thing, it may have seemed a stupid thing to do, but it was a big step for me in asserting my independence, something I do not take for granted.
The Importance of Finding Your Sense of Place
I was over on IndiaMikes earlier and there was a posting from a young English woman in Delhi asking "when will I ever feel like I'm home?" It got me thinking about how lost I've been feeling. Don't get me wrong, people have been incredibly gracious and go out of their way to help us get whatever we need, but I just don't have that sense of autonomy that I am so used to.
As a person who has set up households in many different states of the U.S., I had come to think of myself as pretty self-sufficient. I could take whatever I needed and get whatever else when I got there. But here, the rules are completely different. When I ask someone in my office to help me find, for example, paper towels, they'll typically tell the office boy who will get me paper towels. When I ask how do I arrange a driver for tomorrow, someone runs off and does it. All I have to do is show up and a car is there. Now I don't take this for granted. The fact that people are willing to manage this stuff for me is certainly something I appreciate. The issue I have with this is that it makes me completely dependent on the kindness of strangers, and I'm no Blanche DuBois*... or am I?
After being in Kolkata for, what, five weeks now(?) I still can't get myself from point A to point B without completely stressing out. I can't feed myself unless I go to a restaurant. Sure, I have found some food stores, but they are lacking certain must haves, like, hmmm... meat. vegetables. I still haven't found kitty litter or how to buy gin by myself. I am hampered by a great many hurdles, most of my own doing.
A good friend at work keeps telling me to meet my neighbors and get feedback from them regarding who to hire as a cleaner, driver, etc., but being from the U.S., I have a general unease when it comes to meeting people in my building. Basically the premise is, the better you know your neighbors, the higher the possibility that they'll want to borrow your stuff, the more they'll think they can ask you to turn your music down, and the more they'll expect you to invite them to your parties.
It is of general consensus to anyone who calls me a friend that I don't make friends easily, that I generally blow them off a couple of times before I actually show up, but once I open up to a friendship, I am the loyalest of friends. I have never been accused of being outgoing, just outspoken.
What does this have to do with India? I have a personality flaw, a serious one, that makes life much more difficult here than it has to be. If someone came to me, all wistful and full of handwringing like this, I'd pretty much tell them to knock it off and get over it.
I've located a liquor store on the way home. It's a hole in the wall. When we passed it yesterday, I noticed that there was a grate over the front of the store and a number of men milling around. I plan on being assertive and joining the fray in my search to build up some semblance of a bar for entertaining. This will be my first discovery on my own since I moved here. Not knowing the language, being a woman, being a foreigner, oh well... let's see what happens. Next time, it will be lawn chairs or the purchase of a can opener. Hey, a girl has to have her priorities...
* It's always nice when you can add a Tennessee Williams reference to your writing. The sultry air of Calcutta makes me feel required to do so occasionally. The play is called "A Streetcar Named Desire". Blanche Dubois is one of the main characters, a faded beauty who always "depended on the kindness of strangers". She slowly goes insane during the play.
As a person who has set up households in many different states of the U.S., I had come to think of myself as pretty self-sufficient. I could take whatever I needed and get whatever else when I got there. But here, the rules are completely different. When I ask someone in my office to help me find, for example, paper towels, they'll typically tell the office boy who will get me paper towels. When I ask how do I arrange a driver for tomorrow, someone runs off and does it. All I have to do is show up and a car is there. Now I don't take this for granted. The fact that people are willing to manage this stuff for me is certainly something I appreciate. The issue I have with this is that it makes me completely dependent on the kindness of strangers, and I'm no Blanche DuBois*... or am I?
After being in Kolkata for, what, five weeks now(?) I still can't get myself from point A to point B without completely stressing out. I can't feed myself unless I go to a restaurant. Sure, I have found some food stores, but they are lacking certain must haves, like, hmmm... meat. vegetables. I still haven't found kitty litter or how to buy gin by myself. I am hampered by a great many hurdles, most of my own doing.
A good friend at work keeps telling me to meet my neighbors and get feedback from them regarding who to hire as a cleaner, driver, etc., but being from the U.S., I have a general unease when it comes to meeting people in my building. Basically the premise is, the better you know your neighbors, the higher the possibility that they'll want to borrow your stuff, the more they'll think they can ask you to turn your music down, and the more they'll expect you to invite them to your parties.
It is of general consensus to anyone who calls me a friend that I don't make friends easily, that I generally blow them off a couple of times before I actually show up, but once I open up to a friendship, I am the loyalest of friends. I have never been accused of being outgoing, just outspoken.
What does this have to do with India? I have a personality flaw, a serious one, that makes life much more difficult here than it has to be. If someone came to me, all wistful and full of handwringing like this, I'd pretty much tell them to knock it off and get over it.
I've located a liquor store on the way home. It's a hole in the wall. When we passed it yesterday, I noticed that there was a grate over the front of the store and a number of men milling around. I plan on being assertive and joining the fray in my search to build up some semblance of a bar for entertaining. This will be my first discovery on my own since I moved here. Not knowing the language, being a woman, being a foreigner, oh well... let's see what happens. Next time, it will be lawn chairs or the purchase of a can opener. Hey, a girl has to have her priorities...
* It's always nice when you can add a Tennessee Williams reference to your writing. The sultry air of Calcutta makes me feel required to do so occasionally. The play is called "A Streetcar Named Desire". Blanche Dubois is one of the main characters, a faded beauty who always "depended on the kindness of strangers". She slowly goes insane during the play.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Christmas Tree Widget By 123greetings.com
