Picture this. It is Saturday evening and you are out. You are seated at a table with fine white table cloth with 2 red fancy clothes covering it. The place is surrounded with men in bow ties, mustaches, and with a genuine interest in serving you, so that you may enjoy your evening. They care not whether your tip is 15% or 20%, because in reality, they know it will likely be less than even 5% your expenditure at their place of employment this night. You take a sip of your Antiquity whiskey, take a bite of your deep fried vegetarian appetizer, and take a deep breath. Look around the room, you see nothing close to a resemblance of a woman, similar to the audience in a San Francisco Gentleman’s club minus the staff. A man to the right of you is repeating an obnoxious phrase, over and over again. You look at him, and realize he is directing his words to you, the only fair skinned man in the room. You become tense, understanding that you could wipe the floor with this fellow if you so choose to, but the consequence of such actions might involve a mob of 30 or more men chasing you, some who might decide to use a sword in their favor. This man continues to taunt you. You’ve been a guest in his city for over month now, and even share the same ethnicity as him, but yet he is adamant to let you know that you are different. You look at him with more intensity, violence has not left the back of you mind, but courage has now entered. You spend an extra minute staring at him while he is potentially abusing in a foreign language. It is neither Hindi or Telugu, as you have become aware when you are being insulted in these languages after a months worth of clumsy encounters. It is actually an ancient Indian Language called Sanskrit that this man has decided to use to speak his mind to you. After a minute of reading him and his crew, you decide to wink at him, and crack a smile to ease the tension. More words are spoken. You just listen, not understanding, but not diverting attention. The man and his crew start to move, and get out of their chairs. It is on. Three men walk behind you, and this guy gets up. You realize that he is wearing no pants, but a cloth around his waist, similar to a Lungi, an outfit worn by just a few men you have known, but deeply respected. Nonetheless, this man is a stranger and you have been insulted, you are ready. The man approaches, just a few feet away from you. Just then the place erupts with a volume of noise you recall from your college days in the Breslin Center at MSU. Forgetting your current situation you jump out of your chair, your tensed muscles flex, veins popping out of the side of you neck as you add your foreign accent to the chaos. Exchange high fives with your present company and much to your surprise, this man embraces you as an Uncle would embrace a nephew. Today India has defeated Australia in a cricket match for the twenty20 tournament in South Africa, and will be advancing to play Pakistan once again, but this time for the championship. The man who had a conflict with you earlier had been drunk and repeating “India always wins” with the tone to imply that you were not Indian. Your immediate reaction to India’s Shanthakumaran
Sreesanth bowling Australian expert batsmen Matthew Hayden to take a crucial wicket from the Aussies was enough evidence needed to convince this drunken man not to hate you, but to take you in as his own countryman. His choice of using a language that even most locals wouldn’t understand remained peculiar, but his embrace made your decision to make a night out of this cricket match worth it. You finally start to feel like you belong to this city, and wait in anticipation for Monday’s finale. Your Uncle in Dubai calls you, your father back in the US calls you, men are hugging each other, screaming, showing the middle finger to Australian players on TV, and in the most emotional state any of these stoic characters have shown you so far. The world’s number one rivalry in sports, India vs Pakistan will go down one more time, this time to decide the champion of the most exciting form that the game of cricket has allowed in its history. Americans back home, the time to adopt this game is now – I urge you all to watch this game on Monday. Goodlands is the place to watch it if you are in Hyderabad, the city will certainly shut down for this one, as it is not just cricket, or one of the biggest religious festivals in India’s yearly calendar, this is India vs Pakistan. (U of M vs Ohio State is not even close in comparison).
That was my Saturday night after a morning of haggling with my bank to take my money without a 10% commission, finding out that the restaurant I had been going to had been ripping me off by only serving me 1/2 the quantity of Chicken 65 in my orders because I had an American Accent, my driver Satyam informing me that a substitute who neither spoke English or had a phone would be taking over next week just before I spent the Saturday afternoon in the office getting ready for my site to go to development. Only one thing on my mind right now, though, and that is victory. I just hope my new friend is in the bar Monday to celebrate our mutual teams success.
Intensely,
-Jason
Had a great weekend in Bombay (Mumbai) this past weekend. Total change of scenery, active nightlife, and a warm welcome from family. A place I have been to over a dozen of times, each new visit is truly a learning experience. This time, my new experience involved visiting a fishing village called Versova Beach.
I witnessed the source of a majority of the food supply for the over populated city, and witnessed commerce at its best. The place is very primitive, with old huts and no resemblance of modern technology, garbage removal, or plumbing. (The smell upon arriving is something I wish not describe in words) Walking through a few alley ways with my uncle Ozzie, an experienced sailor and a hard ass, I was led to the beach, which was in low tide, therefore packed with buyers and sellers, nets from the freshest catch of the fishing boats that were anchored just off shore.
I have never seen so much seafood in my life, but the thing that fascinated me was the amount of business going on, by the most unassuming people. I came to learn that the fishing boats go out, have no idea of their catch, but through recent cell phone technology start taking bids for the catch before reaching shore. They don’t want to bother with sorting out their catch, so sell the entire lot in bulk, unload it to shore, and get back to their specialized task of fishing, and let everyone else worry about the wholesale and retail. The buyer will take the supply a few feet from the shore, and will start putting it in baskets, still not separating the different types of seafood from each other, and sell it by weight to local fish mongers. These women will carry the baskets on their heads, walk across the beach, and start organizing their new purchase, which was marked up 200% from the original cost, and set up shop on the beach. Their only overhead is the ice they buy from the ice factory 1 km away to keep the food fresh. Now they start sorting out the catch, cleaning the prawns, and preparing for battle, as the negotiations with the buyers soon begin.
In Mumbai, there is a guilty pleasure that might be misunderstood as folks being cheap. People just love the thrill of a bargain, and I have been told people will go to these markets just for that itself, not really that concerned about the money saved in the process, or particularily that fond of seafood. It is a theatrical production, this bargaining process. I know of a man that goes to the market every Sunday morning, buys more fish than he requires, because of this thrill, and has been able to convince the beach vendors that by selling to him early in the morning at a slight margin, they can pack up and leave the beach and enjoy their Sunday without worrying about having to keep the fish fresh all dayor the extra inventory at the end of the evening which must be cleared, as they don’t have the means to store the food for the next day.
Most of the customers at this beach are not like this man however, as in Bombay people are for the most part surviving. A person who is willing to transport the fish from the beach, just a few km into the city can earn quite a profit (in most cases marking up prices over 300-400%) on a daily basis, and that is how this city gets fed and how thousands of people earn their living. As a seafood lover myself, I am 100% satisfied with this service, the food is incredibly fresh, and prices are very reasonable. This form of business is one of the reasons that organized retail is still under 5% of the entire retail market in India.
Outside of the International Food Marketing crash course, I started my weekend joining in the humble lifestyles of my family in Andheri. It is here that I really look forward to my grandmother’s cooking of fresh fish fry, chili prawns, mango pickle, and other dishes she is world famous for. There are also the old fashioned baths that require me to heat water on a stove, and mix with cold water before hand. Finally, I got to be part of another one of the Jones’ house parties. These are amazing occasions that bring both family and friends together in a celebration of song and dance and delicious food.
This time the celebration was for my cousin’s 23rd birthday, as she is off to Chicago to become a nurse. The true allure of a Jones house party is the immediate integration of new friends, in this case young, disco tech-going 20 year-olds with a traditional Anglo-Indian family full of conservative values but the ability to lose all shame and shake what their momma gave them on the dance floor. Without a fail, these parties will turn into dance parties, even if the electricity goes out for 30 minutes, and a 30 year age divide encourages otherwise. It is a beautiful thing.
One new observation I made this time, was that although 20 some years have gone by since I have been a part of this custom, the music selection has remained quite constant, and for these occasions it works. The pubs…now that is an entirely different story. They are still playing hit songs from 1990 -1997 at the pubs here, including Alanis Morissette’s “Ironic,” The Goo Goo Dolls “Iris,” Tracy Chapman, Bon Jovi’s “Bed of Roses,” and that silly song “Im too sexy.”
The second night in the city I visited my family in Bandra, completely different lifestyles but still carrying huge hearts, like the Jones’. Knowing how I fancy a Kingfisher and a pub scene, they took me out Sunday night to the Hawaiian Shack. (where the songs above were played) A happening place for a Sunday night, we were all soon out of our chairs and dancing, though most of the people in the club was still sedentary. Being a particular adept dancer, I was not concerned, I have picked up parts of the Bhangra style of dance, and can release the moves when most appropriate. My family out in this side of town are extremely fun people, who never lost their family values while modernizing to the hip culture of Bombay. My uncle out here told me once about the difference of doing business with the heart and doing business with the soul. There is a lot of soul in Bombay, that is for sure.
Below is lyrics to the song that this post was named after….A Masala song that is played in all the weddings and dance parties. “Come to Bombay Meri Hai“
Verse
Come from England, come from Scotland, come from Ireland
Come from Holland, come from Poland, come from any land,
If you’re looking out for a pleasant holiday,
Come to Bombay, come to Bombay, Bombay meri hai.
Chorus
Bom bom bom bom
Bombay meri hai
Born bom bom bom
Bombay meri hai
Our ladies are nice, they are so full of spice
Come to Bombay, come to Bombay Bombay meri hai.
Wear a dhoti, put a topi and a small coatie
Mini or bikini is so good for you honey
If you ain’t so gay then you can live the sadhu way
Come to Bombay, come to Bombay Bombay meri hai.
Verse
Puri bhaji, bhelpuri you can try and tell
Idli dosa, hot samosa you will like it well
Once you come to stay then you won’t like to go away
Come to Bombay, come to Bombay Bombay meri hai.
-Jason
My dad, Jim, raised me up to love cricket. I never understood cricket, much like a child does not understand the religion that he/she is brought up in, but it was part of who I was growing up, watching the matches in the late hours of the night, or the excitement of having my first real cricket bat that I could play with in the basement of my house, or joining my first real cricket team for my school in New Zealand, though my form resembled a baseball player much more than an orthodox cricketer. There are many things to be proud of, having an Indian heritage, but the site of the Indian national cricket team going toe to toe with the best in the world, and prevailing surely tops the list for me. I have taken much pride in seeing the country beat teams like England, Australia, South Africa and especially their rivals Pakistan. It has been my impression that Indian Cricket is not a sport, it is a religion. That is based on what I saw tonight, and how light the traffic was for my drive home during the game.
Tonight I experienced a match that will go down in history. It was the first International Twenty 20 match that India played in. The new set up, which basically took 1 day cricket, a shortened version of the 5 day test matches, and made it even shorter by removing 30 overs from each side’s batting turn. (1 over = 6 balls being bowled) This made the game as short as an American Baseball game, and encouraged the players to take more chances while batting, rather than the usual defensive strategy used in the game.
India played none other than Pakistan tonight, in a heated match that really proved that this new format of the game will be widely accepted. India batted first, and batted in an impressive 141 runs in 120 balls being bowled. (each time a batter runs from one wicket to the other, it counts as a run. If the ball crosses a boundary on the ground, it is 4 runs, if it crosses the boundary in the air, it counts as 6 runs)
Pakistan batted well, but slow at first. Towards the end of their turn, they unleashed a series of sixers and four run shots, raising tension in the already nervous restaurant I was dining in. If you could believe it, the match came down to just 1 ball, as Pakistan managed to tie India in the 19th over.
The room I was in was depressed, drunk, and quiet, after the constant yelling, swearing, and other emotional outbreaks that were noticed just moment earlier. The final play of the game was brilliant, India managed to field the ball and throw the batsmen out, in a fashion that I have never seen in a match before. The game went to an unprecedented overtime, which took shootout scenarios in hockey and soccer, and attempted to incorporate them into Cricket. It was a sad attempt, as it was just a bowler aiming for the wickets with no opposition. Best out of 5. India made the first 3 wickets, Pakistan missed all 3. India won. It was some match, and will likely encourage this new style of cricket to continue, hopefully raising interest with the Americans, as its the only mainstream game I can think of that our countrymen back west will be reluctant to adopt.
Other commentary on my first real night drinking here….I got kicked out of my first bar. Not because of my deliberate breaking of the rules, but I tried to walk in to this place tonight without a girl and without nice shoes, instead wearing my Brazilian sandals. 2 minutes later I entered the same bar, wearing my crummy gym shoes, and a smile to let the silly bouncer wearing the beret and ridiculous looking red cowboy like shirt on know that I had gotten the better out of him. I was shocked to see that the place was empty with customers, yet filled with more of this silly outfit wearing employees, who seemed to be doing nothing useful but making me laugh. I met a friend there, who I shared a few drinks with. It was our first time meeting, as I had been put in touch with a former colleague who did their MBA with this fellow, but nonetheless, it was a great time getting to know someone new in the area. The most awkward part of the encounter, which was immediate, and tempting me to start laughing, was the music selection of the venue we were in. The couple only, yet 90% male bar chose to blast the song “my endless love” when I first started talking to my new friend in the city. I have been told that my poker face is discredited because of my uncontrollable dimpled smile, and I was really concerned that the song would be a distraction from my ability to make friends at this particular place. Well, I overcame an obstacle today, I am making slow but steady progress, and can hang with the best of them, even when tempted to lose it with such a song selection in such a venue. (You have seen Happy Gilmore I hope – “friends listen to my endless love in the dark….) I think it is rediculous that there are so many people at bars like this who aren’t drinking, but supposedly working, and there are such formalities – such as couples entry only, while the majority of the people inside are still men..
Anyway, I am never bored here ,with all these new sensations being exposed to me. I am really excited for Bombay this weekend. (I prefer Bombay to Mumbai), the festival is supposed to be huge there. One last commentary on the cricket match….I observed an Australian fellow who was the team doctor for the Indian team. For my readers in the US, have you not been under the impression that the majority of doctors in the US, and probably the world are Indian. I just found this very ironic while watching the game tonight….
Patriotically,
-Jason
I have a confession to make. Today, for the first time in 18 months I ate a meal at McDonald’s. A last minute decision, after finding out that the only Mexican restaurant in town was closed, I chose the golden arches. Call it homesickness, wanting to see a familiar face, or logo for that matter, or the country music lovin‘ cowboy hat wearin’ Midwest side of me coming out, demanding to be a part of some form of globalization that I had not intentionally created, I dined with Ronald this afternoon. Truth be told, it was the only place I knew that I could grab a bite in 10 minutes.
It was splendid meal, to my surprise the service was unlike any Mcdonald’s I have been to. The meal came out to only $1.50 USD. I was shocked to see a woman in the restaurant requesting that an employee charge her cell phone while she ate her Chicken Maharaja Mac. They had no problem serving her request.
My meal consisted of a McAloo Tikka burger (Fried breaded potato & peas patty that is flavoured with a special spice mix,) , coca-cola (which is far inferior to the local Thumbs Up beverage), and french fries. When I finished, my table was cleared for me, and I left content, yet guilty of replacing my usual Biryani meal, a rice dish Hyderabad is world famous for. Biryani was also a product of globalization centuries ago, but instead of being from the Americans, it was the Iranians who gifted this meal to the folks in Hyderabad, and the rest of India for that matter.
With all the changes that the corporation decided to implement into their menu here in Hyderabad, they struck a right balance of incorporating the multinational brand here, with the charm that McDonald’s is famous for, while catering to the local taste of the people in India. An advertising agency, who’s name escapes me, recently coined the word “glocal” in their campaigns. (global + local)
McDonald’s even have created a different menu for locations in North India vs West India. My aunt’s husband, a successful businessman in Mumbai told me that McDonald’s success in the city, apparent by their many locations around the city, home delivery, and veg menu was contrasted completely by KFC. They are apparently perceived as being just another American company trying to exploit the exploding population with an American product, without changing it to fit the people here. They are not glocal. Driving home today, I saw a billboard saying that KFC was the best Chicken dinner meal in the World. They have failed to realize that they face a tougher competitor, Tandoori Chicken. If you have ever tasted yourself will understand that KFC stands no chance to becoming a widely adopted meal over here. There are just like Hollywood, who have failed at trying to promote their films in India for many years. , India, unlike other countries around, has not really adopted American movies into their lives, as Bollywood is far too popular over here, producing 3x as many films as the people in LA. Tollywood, slightly smaller but with just as loyal of a fan base, has also shown a strong presence, with actors that can split bullets in half in mid air, and other action-related phenomenons. In fact, 99% of revenue made in the film industry in India has been from Indian productions. The guys at Sony are finally taking a smart approach, by starting to fund movies made here, written for and produced by Indians. Can we expect to see KFC Tandoori chicken on the menu soon?
McDonald’s here is actually what seems to be a classy restaurant, in the most expensive part of town, offering something that the locals appreciate, and enjoy. The crowd was upper class, dressed well, enjoying the social gathering of the establishment. The only hassle with the experience was having to go through security to get in the place, due to terrorist threats at this time because of the Ganesh Chaturthi festival this weekend, and recent bombings in the city.
Many of you have seen me in my red Ganesh t-shirt – I will have the chance to wear this shirt while celebrating this festival in Mumbai with my family this weekend. I read articles today, saying how the idols were going to be bigger than last year, up to 15 meters in height, while the mayor of Mumbai request to keep the size of the idols under 8 meters, to try to prevent pollution in the Arabian sea. Speaking of which, the Tsunami warning was called off this morning, after the Earthquake in Indonesia’s Sumatra Island, topped 8 on the Richter scale. I had an aqaintance in college that had the last name Richter, and used to tell women that they topped 8 on his Richter scale, in hopes to charm them. That line can’t possibly have any success in either Hyderabad or East Lansing, that one thing I am sure of.
My driver Satyam told me his wife is expecting a child in 8 months. There will be exactly the same number of years in age between his children as there are between my younger brother and I. I have decided to explore the possibility of writing a story about this experience with Satyam, and the conversations we try to have in our 3 hours together. He has told me about all the opportunities he has missed in his life which he wishes he would have taken, told me about how 15 years working a government job resulted in the branch just one day closing and him being out of work, after only taking the job because his mother was a servant for a government officer, and that seemed to be the best career path.
Perhaps it will be tale along the lines of “The Pursuit of Happiness,” and Satyam can come out ahead in the end. Maybe even I can have Will Smith play the role, filmed here in Hyderabad…..
Just this Monday , Satyam gave me a gift, motivational posters on success to put in my office. He told me he believed in the words on them, and that he wants me to do well.If you have any ideas or suggestions for a kind gesture I can offer him especially with news of a new child on the way, please post a comment. I finally realized this blog required registering to post such things. Really annoying, I have since changed that setting so you won’t have to deal with any hassles with such things going forward. (This is stuff I am working to keep off the site I am building)
Mcglobally,
–Jason
This evening, a flyover (expressway) collapsed in Hyderabad in Punjagutta, which connects to Banjara Hills, where my office is located. An estimated 20 people so far have been declared dead from the incident, however many people are trapped under the road, and the area is under turmoil. I received news from my driver, Satyam, who called to make sure I was alright. Luckily I gave him the day off today, so I did not go into the office or gym on that side of town, otherwise I could have potentially been involved in the disaster. Neighbors have told me they expect a strike or riot of some sort to come out of this. Still not too sure how this happened, as the news is only in Telugu, but it was raining pretty hard today and I believe that to be related to the cause.
This is the fourth time I have just missed a disaster in my travels. The first was being in India during the famous Tsunami years ago, which had friends in Kalamazoo, MI worried about my well being. Luckily I was in Goa, just north of the disaster. The second escape was in London, where I studied abroad, and just 2 weeks after moving out of Russell Square, a terrorist attack on the subway and bus system occurred on the very route and same time I took to get to my job at the Hammersmith Walt Disney Internet Group office. The third was 2 weeks back, days before coming to Hyderabad, the terrorist bombing that happened in a public park. And now, this flyover collapse. I am extremely thankful for my luck, and feel sorrow for the families involved, hopefully this matter is handled quickly by the government.
Shooken up at the moment,
Jason
I have lived in Hyderabad for 10 days now and have spent a complete day just sitting in a car. 30 hours in my Tata Indica with my driver, Satyam.
I don’t think Americans will ever appreciate what the Indian driver experiences on the roads here, until seeing first hand the chaos. Uncle told me a story this morning about a US professor who came to Hyderabad to teach a course. Halfway through his stay, he admitted to his fellow colleagues that he came to India an Atheist, but will be leaving a religious man, as he found no explanation besides God on how the traffic in this city manages to work with such little casualty to civilians. I agree 100% with him, it is a perfect example of organized chaos.
Here is a video to give an example of the road rules in India.
I haven’t decided on the most efficient way to spend 3 hours of daily commuting. Most of the time is spent in a language struggle with Satyam, either trying to understand him, or trying to tell him something. Still, he probably understands me more than most people. He tried to cheer me up after the church incident, and has explained to me his philosophy on life, wealth, happiness.
When I asked him if he enjoyed living in Hyderabad, he responded to me “Sir, it is who I am.” A year ago, his wife fell ill with a disease that has had her in bed for 4 months, in and out of the hospital. He told me about past jobs that hes been at, hoping to get to a comfortable situation in life where he can work hard, but yet have no problem providing for his family. Yesterday, I realized that he had some hopes in working for me that might not have been too realistic. He clearly has no idea what my business is, but assumed I had come to start an IT company in India. He asked me for a job in in my company, saying that he could be a watchman or do work with our office building, and said he would be willing to do anything, or learn how to do anything. He is constantly trying to sell real estate to me that he doesn’t own, which is just hilarious. One time he asked I would hire him as my driver back in the US so he could immigrate to America. I responded jokingly, telling him that the US roads could not handle his driving ability.
Satyam’s son is 8 years old, speaks perfect English, and his father hopes to send him to college so that he can work in one of the large IT buildings. I recently heard that the majority of people in the city are really confused about the IT buildings in the city. They can’t understand what is being built inside them, but still continue to romanticize the thought of their children someday working inside them.
The most interesting thing of my stay so far has been trying to understand the thought process of people here. It is not my place to judge whether or not their beliefs and customs are right or wrong, but I think the first step in my understanding of them is to embrace the differences. Keeping an open mind over here is critical to any foreigners survival – I can just picture the danger of slipping up just once, and letting personal beliefs cause conflict with locals.
Uncle told me an incredible story this afternoon. We were sitting down and going through his grandson’s wedding album and he turned to a page of him and a friend blessing the married couple. He told me that it was his best friend for 60 years, who ironically has the same name. They talk everyday and I was surprised to hear about their history as social activists. He told me that early in their youth, they would have noble thoughts and one day decided to make a social statement and both get married to widowed women.
I would have thought nothing of this, but I had just read an article about the abuse and alienation widows in India can experience. Thankfully this is horrible mentality is fading away. Uncle told me that his friend and him were disgusted with how the women were shaved, deprived of good clothing and food, just because their husbands had expired. He said that his friend and him did this break a tradition that he knew were wrong. It was a touching story, which I may not done justice in trying to recap on this blog.
Chaotically,
-Jason
I had one electrical converter in my possession, which connects me to the Internet, media entertainment, photography and videography equipment, and the telephone, and I have lost it! So for tonight I have just 24 minutes to update the blog. The past 2 days have been incredibly busy. I have immersed myself in this project, and building a positive relationship with my technology partner out here. In the coming 3 weeks, the project will undergo a blueprinting process, where we identify all the possible features and applications that will go into the site, prioritize them, lay out a visual design for organizing the information while simplifying the entire customer flow, and presenting this information in a testable format that we can get qualitative research with before executing any development work. To add to this challenge, I have created a mini project that will have the team do individual competitive testing on relevant sites, introduce them to the US market for the industry we are entering, and consolidate findings into an actionable presentation that we can incorporate into our qualitative research as well as our list of priorities for our engineers… I apologize if that was all jargon and incredibly boring, as I don’t know exactly who is reading this, but after a few comments felt I should say something about what I am doing, besides the embarrassment of my everyday Larry David like actions.
I picked up a new book, by Donald Norman called “The Design of Everyday Things.” I met Mr Norman at a Guy Kawasaki speech in Silicon Valley a few months ago, and he seemed to have built up quite the street cred, so when I saw his book on sale in a small book store in Secunderabad for just 300 Rupees, I had to pick it up. In addition, I picked up a few ancient Sanskrit written stories (now in English) which Uncle has referred to in his Brilliant stories of political and ethical lessons during our daily conversations. Ramayana, Mahabharata, and Bhagavad Gita are all on my 4 month reading list during this tenure. I am also fascinated with learning about the Nawabs and the incredibly wealthy Nizam of Hyderabad. As I dive into them, I may from time to time refer to them, as I have a tendency, as Alex Grabowski will tell you, to try to transcribe stories into real life situations. According to Uncle, these stories have been heavily incorporated into German Politics, as there 5000 year old tales still apply to life today. I can’t comment as of yet, but am excited to learn.
I will be adding a video of this city soon this week, as I am excited to use my mac for video editing again. Stay tuned for that and pictures (yes, including my driver Satyam) to come soon.
A few interesting facts…I saw today that India’s retail market is projecting at being valued at nearly 1,200,000 crores, with less than 4% of it attributed to organized retail.
Weird News Story Update! (Below)
An Indian businessman accused of several bank scams swallowed a
knife to avoid being brought back to India for trial. He refused surgery as doctors said it could be fatal to fly with a knife in his stomach. The authorities finally caught up, however: bringing him back on a plane full of medics. The knife is still lodged in his gut. (courtesy of
http://truemors.com)
Best,
Jason
5:30 am – my driver pounds on my door to remind me of my plans to go to the only English catholic service in the church in my area…. damnit!
I had mentioned to him that I would like to meet some English speaking folks in the area, so I planned on an early Sunday morning. I arrived at the 60 year old church about 10 minutes early, so I decided to go in and spend some time collecting my thoughts, and catching up on sleep. At this particular church, shoes were not allowed inside, so I had to leave my dress shoes outside, where it was raining.
Just as the service started, I was suddenly publicly scolded by an elderly woman in a sari, who spoke no English, but just made hand gestures at me and yelled at me in Telugu. I genuinely tried to understand her communication, but gave up a few minutes into the confrontation and put my head down and shrugged. I hoped she would lose interest and let me be. Moments later, an nun informed me that I had to move immediately. I had been sitting in the women’s side of the church!
I turned around at once (I was sitting in the front row) and noticed a complete gender segregation of the church. Slightly embarrassed, I got up and moved to a row on the men’s side. A group of 5 men simultaneously stood up, shook there heads and quickly left the row to move elsewhere. Perhaps I had offended them with my unintentional attempt of trying to break the local custom. It was then the fear of my possible demise in this city out of arrogance and ignorance became apparent.
The priest spent an hour speaking of being humble, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the several men who let me embarrass myself. At least they could have warned me during the 10 minutes I sat praying in the women’s side of the church, like the outstanding catholic that I am. On a side note, the music at this service was particularly interesting. They had a keyboard with drum beats that resembled techno or trance music in the background of the hymns and songs, which people were singing completely off key, but loud. I found it ironic that such music, which I have only experienced in Ecstasy filled clubs and beach parties was played in such a sacred place, where I was forced to remove my shoes, and sit only with men, (some of which refused to sit anywhere near me)
I form no judgment on today’s events – I was in the wrong. Hyderabad- 1, Jason – 0. Upon returning home, I engaged in a 2 hour series of stories from Uncle, who taught me ancient Hindu tales and how they have been used in modern politics both in India and around the world, especially Germany – completely fascinating. Out of frustration with my constant disruption of the social norms in this area, I told my driver to go home and hang out with his boy, and decided to spend the day in solitude writing and reading, and let Hyderabad carry on without me this Sunday afternoon.
Most humbly,
Jason
There’s much to be said about the first impression a city like Hyderabad leaves on a curious mind. I am approaching my third night here, and my senses are going wild with the abrupt change in environment, local customs, and internal adjustments I am trying to make to survive.
First of all, I feel like Bill Murray in “Lost in Translation.” I fear that my 
English will begin to deteriorate as this trip goes on, as I have found that most people here can’t understand my accent no matter how slow i try to speak. I am quickly learning which words are not understood by the locals, and how combining groups of words usually spoken in the US will just leave a person completely perplexed over here when spoken to. *Note – people don’t respond well to “take it easy.” I learned that immediately.
Yesterday I picked up a book called “Learn Telugu in 30 days.” I doubt that I will learn anything more than a few phrases, but it might help my correspondence on the street much easier instead of trying to teach the 7 million people in this city how to speak “American.”
I am staying in a guest room in a huge mansion located outside of a jungle. The owner of the house, the grandfather of a close friend, is extremely intelligent, well spoken and enlightened in politics, business, and world affairs. After just a few days he opened up to me on a very personal level, building a lasting friendship and mentor-like relationship. Even though our dialogue is challenged by differences in language and pronunciations we are able to communicate at a deep level. I admire this uncle, and hope to be able to repay him for the hospitality he has shown me, providing me a home for 4 months.
The hour and a half journey to my office in Banjara Hills is traveled in my luxurious Tata Indica, its nearly the size of a Mini Cooper but lacks all the sportiness. My driver, Satyam, is a family man, claiming that he is trying to provide a better life for his 8 year old son. He is working to save up for his own chauffeuring business. I suppose that I gained his loyalty as a friend, guide, and servant immediately by shaking his hand and talking to him about his family and hobbies. This was an approach none of his former boss’s used and he was shocked, telling me that if i ever needed anything, to call him, anytime.
He told me how his father died at an early age, and that he started working at 14, and had to pass on an education that limited his job scope. He is always talking about how he wants me to get into real estate here, in his broken English, and has been an incredible tour guide, showing me the old buildings, land marks, and telling stories of the freedom fighters, the British empire, and the Nawab, the king that my grandfather worked as consigliare for. His stories take time, but are fascinating, pure, and honest. On the drive home today, he stopped at a book store to show me a book on how to learn Telugu, the local language. I purchased the book, and also bought a book that teaches English to those who speak Telugu to return the favor. If anything, the 3 hours we spend in the car together might turn into free lessons on the language, as I read and study this book. The image of me being chauffeured around in this specific car is comedy, I promise.
Other notable observations are the extremely cheap services available, such a a $2 haircut at a top salon, and a $.50 professional shave at a proper barber shop. Of course, it seems impossible to have any services like that done by a female if you are a male. Some of the work out facilities have separate times for women and men to work out in as well. In fact, I think I have seen 5 men for every woman i have seen in the city so far, total. There is a cow at every street corner, traffic is ridiculous, as the city operates in the most bizarre form of organized chaos. Crossing the street takes a pair, as you just blindly walk in front of cars going 40 mph, trusting that they will swerve to the right to avoid you. I haven’t learned the uses of the several forms of honking either, but there is a never ending soundtrack to the city of these honks. There is thousands of shops on the city streets, that operate incredibly fast…people in this city are generally quicker than most.
Finally, I must comment on a personal struggle I am facing. I really hope to get through this trip without any confrontation with my nemesis. Since the age of 9, I have had a phobia for snakes. (all kinds of snakes, poisonous or not) Before traveling here, my roommate thought it would be funny to make me watch “the 10 deadliest animals of India.” I break out into cold sweat, and lose a majority of my motor skills when close to the creature, sometimes even when just looking at the horrid things on TV.
Well, living outside the jungle, I am neighbors with the snake, and it crossed over the wall into my living quarters this evening, as reported by the little boy yelling up the staircase to warn me. With courage and luck, I hope to avoid any Jungle Book-like situations with the legless devil creatures.
I reached Mumbai (Bombay) late last night after an incredibly comfortable 18 hour plane ride. Somehow I was given 3 seats to myself, a personal tv with on demand hollywood, bollywood, tollywood, and any other “ollywood” sounding place movies. Not bad for a $700 coach ticket. Check out Jet Airways if you make it this side.
Upon arriving into the state of Maharastra, I was met by my first official scam in India…Indian Customs. I was threatened to have my bags searched because I had brought 1 laptop, 1 digital camera, 1 video camera and 1 ipod. When combined, these moderate devices exceeded $200, the limit of goods allowed to bring into India. I could have bribed this particular customs officer $50 under the table to let me pass without any problems. I humored this fellow for a few minutes, and pointed out that my camera had a crack in it, and would not be very marketable if i was to sell it. My Sony Handycam was straight out of the early 1990’s, and was more of a liability to me than an asset. He finally agreed, and began begging me for any us dollars I could offer him. I offered him my empty wallet, since I spent my last American dollar on a chicken salad in NYC. (the leather in the wallet could have possibly exceeded the value of my photography equipment) He smiled, and wished me a good trip.
Catching up with family today, heading off to start work tomorrow in Hyderabad.
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