This page contains my trip journal from my second trip to India. Here are links to the pages containing the trip journal from the first and third trips.
One Two Three Four Five Six Seven
My second trip to Bangalore is going about as expected. I was supposed to leave San Francisco Airport at midnight on Friday morning, but there were storms in the flight path, so the flight was delayed an hour or so. Because the storm caused high headwinds, the first leg of the flight (which was supposed to go to Hong Kong) had to stop in Osaka for refueling. That stopover stretched into three or four hours, because Singapore Airlines had to come up with a new crew since the first crew had reached the limit of the amount of time they were allowed to spend in the air. The stopover in Hong Kong was uneventful. I had to transfer at Singapore, and was worried because the incoming flight was late, but they held the flight for us. So I ended up getting to the hotel a couple of hours late, but that was all.
As a footnote, the flight attendants gave us Singapore Airlines pens because of the delay. In the last irony of the day, it turns out that the pens (at least mine) aren’t very reliable. The body of the pen is nice - I guess I can always buy a new ink cartridge.
When I came into the hotel, I recognized the doorman. He’s very friendly guy in a turban and coat. He said (to my surprise), "Welcome back, sir." Either he’s got an amazing head for faces, or he saw that I had recognized him. I think it’s the second – it’s been almost two years since I was here, and I’m sure he’s seen thousands of faces since then.
Bangalore is much the same: lots of people and lots of traffic, and therefore pollution. One of my co-workers was telling me that the city is now making many streets one-way to try to deal with the traffic. From what I gather, it seems to happen with little or no notice – one day you suddenly aren’t able to drive down a street that you could the day before. Sometimes it even changes direction in the middle of the day – you come down a one-way street in the morning, go out for lunch, come back and are unable to get to work because the street has suddenly "changed direction." You can also play the "guess how many stripes are painted on the road."
Hint: it has nothing to do with the number of cars you see.
The next day I walked to the office, about a ten minute walk. The office is a new building, ten stories high. Across the street from it is a little tent colony with tents made from old tarps. I was again struck by the contrast of wealth and poverty. One day I noticed a cow grazing there, in the shade of the large soccer stadium that occupies most of the lot.
The lobby in the office has a metal bowl about two feet in diameter and 6 inches deep on a low pedestal. This is filled with water and rose petals. Behind it is a Christmas tree.
One of the elevators at the office has a large window so that you can see outside as you go up and down. The elevator is also enclosed on the outer side with a glass "corner" that runs all the way up the building. One day as the elevator was going up I noticed a few wasps buzzing around outside the edge of the corner. As we came up to the top floor, I saw a huge wasp’s nest, perhaps three feet wide, attached to the outside of the glass, absolutely swarming with wasps. I really wanted to be able to stop the elevator and watch it. Later, on the way down, I noticed another, smaller nest a few floors below the first one.
Every now and then someone, when talking about the cost of something, will say, "It’s 50 bucks". I have to stop and remind myself that they are talking about rupees, which are about 45 to the dollar now.
One night I went to the first year birthday party for a co-worker’s daughter. The first birthday is much more of a celebration here than in the U.S. He had said that it was from 7 to 9. A number of us from the office showed up at 9:30, and while there were a bunch of empty chairs, there were still 25-30 people there, and the party was clearly not over. The party was mostly adults, with a few kids running around. I’ve also been invited to the wedding of another co-worker’s sister, which is happening next week.
On the way to work, I pass a block of pay toilets. I noticed yesterday that the icon for the women’s toilet is not just a triangle with legs and a head, but has a clearly (stylized) sari.
One of the women at the office has a Hindu first name and a Spanish last name. I asked her about it, and she said that, while she was a Christian, she had a Hindu first name. I was interested in the circumstances, but didn’t want to pry, so I didn’t ask any more questions.
I was telling a co-worker about the Oakland Museum’s White Elephant Sale, and about the origin of that term. He told me that in India it means something that is very expensive but that is desired, not seen as a negative thing. He said that when people in India donate animals to zoos, they also donate money to take care of the animal.
For breakfast at the hotel I have a mix of Indian and "Western" food. I like the "upma", which is cooked wheat with spices and tomatoes –spicy and very tasty (http://www.bawarchi.com/cookbook/bachelor3.html) and "idli", a spherical rice pancake, with coconut or tomato chutney. And I always have a masala omelet. The man cooking the omelets always asks me if I want chilis, and I always say, "Just a few!" They have juice dispensers, usually containing "Watermelon Juice", "Sweet Lime Juice", and "Tender Coconut Water."
On the way to the office I see men with piles of coconuts on the sidewalk. I wasn’t sure whether they were selling the coconuts or the milk, but yesterday morning I saw a few people standing around sipping the coconut water through straws from coconuts with the tops cut off. This morning I saw someone else collecting the coconut husks in a burlap bag. In the picture, you can see the tarp hanging on the fence behind the coconut seller. At night they just wrap up the pile of coconuts in the tarp, tie it up in some rope and let it be.
The building where we work has a "cafeteria" on the top floor, where we usually go for lunch. One day I had dosa (a large, thin pancake with a small bowl of spices) and a bowl of fruit. In the fruit bowl, along with bananas, pineapple and other recognizable fruits, were pieces of a very sweet fruit with a brown flesh. I asked the guys what it was, and there was some debate and head-scratching about the English word. The way it was described made me think of a kiwi, but it clearly wasn’t that, and they said as much. Later I asked someone, and was told that it is "sapota". I Googled that, and came up with "Sapodilla (Achras sapota)." A couple of days later I went to the "juice stand" and saw some sapotas. They aren’t fuzzy like kiwis, and are rounder. The sapota juice isn’t as appealing (to me, anyway) as the fruit itself.
One day the team took me out to lunch. We went to a place that had banana leaves for plates (but not the place that I went to the last time I was here). We had some different chicken dishes, one which they called "chicken lollipops". It was ground-up chicken formed on the end of bone and cooked. We also had mutton balls – ground up mutton with some kind of grain and spices, deep fried. There was debate between bread and rice – when I said I’d like bread they went into a huddle and figured out what "gravy" to get – which I took to mean what food to get to eat with (and in) the bread. They decided on a couple of chicken dishes. There was also a chicken-egg soup which reminded me very much of egg-drop soup. They ordered a mild version for me and a spicy version for one of the other guys. I had a spoonful of the spicy version and enjoyed it, but wasn’t sure could eat a whole bowl.
I sent my laundry to the hotel cleaners. When it came back, I looked for those hand-written tags that I remembered from my first trip here. I had asked for the shirts folded (don’t know why…), and they were "cardboarded" much like shirts one buys in the store (including a t-shirt). At first I didn’t see my pants, but then looked in the closet and found them on hangars, and then saw those familiar tags.
One evening was a party for the group. It’s very near my hotel. I walked out of the building with a co-worker who offered to give me a ride on his "two-wheeler" (motorcycle). I at first declined, but then took him up on his offer. He was actually a careful driver, and I didn’t feel that my life was in danger at any point. I went to the party for a few minutes, but it was just getting started and I came back to the hotel for a while. I ended up not going back – not much of a party animal. I’m sure I’ll hear about it (in a friendly, joking way, of course) later.
There is a whole section of cubes (perhaps 20 or so) next to the group I’m with, that is completely empty during the day. Around eight o’clock in the evening a group of men and women show up, and start their night-time stint. I asked and was told that they are support staff who answers calls on U.S. time.
When I came in to work on Saturday morning, I saw the cleaning crew. They vacuum, clean the tops of the tables and the phones, and do other tasks. I even saw them cleaning all the little strips inside the fluorescent fixtures in the ceiling (though they didn’t do them all). Mostly guys working.
When I left the hotel today, I headed up toward Brigade Road, which is full of shops. There was a 3-wheeler and driver at the exit. He tried to get me to hire him for the day to go shopping. I told him no a few times, but finally just held up my hand, palm out. That seemed to be the signal that I was serious, because he then gave up. A few minutes later on Brigade Road, some other guy offered to "help" me. Again, the palm silenced him. I don’t know if it was just a coincidence, or that the palm is the real signal for "negotiations over".
One of my Palo Alto co-workers (who has been here) once slipped in a conversation and called Brigade Road "Brigand Road" (Freudian or what?). It’s a mix of the cheap shops you see in San Francisco near the cable car turnaround (Market and Stockton), and a regular old U.S. shopping center (Gap, Levi’s, Toys’R’Us, etc), with (of course) various Indian shops intermixed. I also saw a Dominos, a Pizza Hut and a "U.S. Pizza." I saw one amusing juxtaposition: a Kentucky Fried Chicken on one side of the street and on the other a large billboard with Pamela Anderson (with her large attributes) in an PETA anti-ad describing KFC’s treatment of chickens with the tagline: "Kentucky Fried Cruelty". There was also a mannequin in front of one of the clothes shops in what I at first called the "prayer" pose (hands with palms together in front of the chest), but was then told that it was the "greeting" pose – which makes sense for a mannequin at the entrance to a store. Not, however, a pose one would be likely to see in Macy’s in the U.S.
I also saw "Donald Duck" trash bins. Is Disney getting a royalty?
Later a co-worker came to take me shopping. We went to the "Forum" mall, which was definitely an East-meets-West experience. There was a MacDonald’s with both vegetarian and meat dishes. I took a picture of the menu – I hope it comes out. There was also a Subway (or some other sandwich shop) advertising PepsiKo, a mixture of Pepsi and Coke. I wonder how long that will last (until the Pepsi and Coke marketers get after them). We went to a bookstore, where I bought some Indian comic books and calendars, and a metal (!) CD case. Got some money from an ATM and bought some candy from a place much like the Sweet Factory. It didn’t have what I consider "real" Indian sweets, but some intriguing items like pineapple dice-shaped candies. The only problem is that now I can’t remember all the names of the candies. My companion was dubious that they would make it back to the U.S., but I told him in no uncertain terms that they definitely were for the family (not just for me!)
At the mall there was a Santa house out front. As I walked into the mall, a woman came walking out in a "Santa dress." Besides the usual Santa hat, she had a floor length red dress with the standard white fuzzy trim on the hem. I had to grin at the mental picture of her in the "traditional" Santa situation, sitting on a chair listening to children’s requests for gifts.
The "personal space perimeter" here is small (if not non-existent). We were in line at a bookstore to pay for my purchases, and there were four people at the counter ahead of us, two men and two women. I naturally assumed that they were all together. However, the men paid for their purchase and left, and then the clerk started to ring up the women’s purchase. After they were done, my companion and I stepped up to the counter, and the guy who was behind us also stepped right up to the counter. He held on to his books for a minute or two, but then put them on the counter right behind mine. At least he waited until the clerk had rung up all my purchases.
I also see men walking with one arm around the other’s shoulders, or, less occasionally, holding hands. When it gets really crowded, one will have his hand on the other’s shoulder as they wend their way through the crowd.
After the shopping expedition, my companion took me to see his house. We took a three-wheeler. I was amused to see, at one point, a family on a two-wheeler (motorcycle, not bicycle) in front of us. The husband was driving, while the wife was on the back with her small child over her shoulder. The kid was totally asleep, just zonked, in the middle of all the honking and careening vehicles. I’m now quite used to (what would previously be heart-stopping) close encounters with other vehicles and people. These three-wheeler drivers must know the size of their vehicles down to a few millimeters, because sometimes that’s all there is between them and the next vehicle.
We went into a neighborhood where there were, among other things, cows in the streets. I made a remark about there not being much to eat for them in the city, and he said that people give them food. I did see some of the cows grazing on the leaves of branches that had fallen.
My companion’s house was at the end of dead-end street, away from the noise of the street. On the way down the street, we passed some construction. There was a cement mixer with a "bucket brigade" of people going three floors up on scaffolding. The person at the bottom had a stack of shallow bowls (metal, I assume) about 18 inches in diameter in front of him. He would fill one of them with the wet cement and pass it up, and the brigade would get it to the top of the building. There were both men and women in this brigade, and some kids occasionally using the bowls to load the cement mixer with sand, stone and cement mix.
My companion, his brother and a friend had bought a three-story house that was essentially three "condos." He and family lived on the first floor. It was not large, but very comfortable. The first thing I noticed was the marble floors that would have been unbelievable in a "middle-class" U.S. house. The room that impressed me most was their "pooja", or shrine. It was a room about the size of a large shower stall, tiled, with a 2 x 3 foot "mural" of a god made with some kind of stick-on materials – very detailed. He said that the previous owner had made it, and it was one of the gods that he himself (my companion) liked. There were also other pictures of the god, and an incense burner. Every morning he "did pooja" (put up flowers and worshiped) before coming to work.
As we left his house and walked back out to the main street, I noticed what seemed like chalk designs on the street in front of some of the houses. I asked him about this, and he said it was a white powder, not chalk. In the morning people wash their "stoops" and then draw these designs as a worship of a "god of the earth."
We then picked up a three-wheeler in the neighborhood. If this driver could have "chopped his ride" I’m sure he would. He had large speakers in the back (a couple of inches from us), and treated us to Indian pop music at top volume all the way back to the hotel. You can’t, however, get much closer to the ground in those three-wheelers – they’re already pretty low. An Indian low-rider? What a concept.
Later I went to a music store, "Planet M," on Brigade Road. I found the "fusion" section and picked up some interesting looking Indian/western CDs. I then went into the classical section (sectioned off, away from the loud music in the pop sections, just like Virgin Records in San Francisco used to be). It contained both Indian and western classical music. I wanted to get some classical Indian music, and wandered around looking lost for a while until an employee came up. He was about to help me when someone said, "Hello CK!" It was a guy from work who, when I asked, recommended a few "classical" Indian CDs. I showed him what I had already chosen, and he said that he knew one of them and that it was a good choice. I sat and listened at one of the listening stations, and came away with a few more CDs. I left before I totally depleted my credit card balance. I did call my credit card company before I left, and told them that I was, indeed, going to India, and not to stop my card like they did the last time.
To buy food at the "cafeteria" on the top floor of the office building you need a book of tickets (which one of the guys gave me). The ticket for the regular lunch, which includes a bread, a couple of different "gravys" (if I’m using the term correctly), plain rice, rice with spices, rice with yogurt, cucumbers, and a sweet (and some other stuff that I can’t remember), is 26 rupees. That comes out to about 60 cents U.S. In the U.S., you can hardly buy a soft drink for that. There are also stands where you can buy coffee, fruit and fruit juice, dosa (pancakes) and other items.
I had looked at the wedding invitation from my coworker, and had seen that there was a reception on one day and a "Murhurtham" on the next day. I was pretty sure that I was invited to the reception, but I wasn’t sure about the other. (Also, I didn’t have any dress clothes of any kind). I asked a coworker about it, and he pointed out that the Murhurtham was scheduled for 6 a.m. (which I hadn’t noticed – I assumed it was p.m.). Another co-worker said that his own wedding had taken place from 2 a.m. to 6 a.m. I asked why, and was told that the schedule is dictated by the alignment of the stars.
While I was in the bookstore, I noticed VCDs (Video CDs) for Noddy and Tintin stories. I really wanted to get them, but was sure that I wouldn’t be able to play them on CD players at home because of region-encoding.
While at the CD store, I noticed a boy going around with a cloth and wiping the CD cases that were on display on various tables. He also wiped the CD players at the listening stations.
On the way to work the first few days, I noticed what looked like a food stand. It was a large box with some object attached to the top covered in burlap. The burlap-covered object was vaguely saddle-shaped, which really puzzled me. A few days later the mystery was revealed. As I came up to the stand I saw that the item had a couple of large gears on either side, which accounted for the "saddle-shape." I also saw a pile of what looked like cornhusks behind the cart, but when I got to the other side I saw a woman peeling sugar cane (at least I assumed it was sugar cane). There was a large pot on the cart, which I assumed contained whatever was extracted from the sugarcane by the "sugarcane press." When I described the sugarcane press to a co-worker, he said, "If you want your guts cleaned out, have some." The last day, as I was walking back, I was treated to the sight of the gears turning round and round. I had thought that it would be hand-cranked, but it looked motor-driven.
Occasionally I see women all in black, sometimes with just their faces showing and sometimes with just their eyes showing. I assumed they were Muslim, and this was confirmed by a co-worker. I was puzzled by one thing, however. For the women with only their eyes showing (or at least two of them that I saw), I could see their hair hanging down their backs (where it came out from under their headscarves). I had always assumed (but I don’t remember where I read this), that one of the purposes of that all-enclosing garb was to hide all the hair.
I watched part of a TV program which was much like one of those "E!" promotional pieces on a movie that’s about to come out. I had heard that Bollywood put everything into their films, and this confirmed it. First there were extravagant dance scenes with singing, confetti in the air, lots of glitter and glamour. Then there were the "kung fu" fighting scenes (am I dating myself with the term "kung fu?"). And finally, there were the special effects scenes, including one that was filmed with a mass of stationary cameras, just like the "bullet time" scenes in "The Matrix." I tried to imagine Keanu Reeves breaking into song and dance, and couldn’t quite see it.
One of the evenings I went home late (about 10:30). There has been some road-paving work going on in the area. They tend to work at night because the traffic is so dense during the day. There was the usual mix of machines and manual labor. There were a few women sweeping up with those hand-held wicker "stoop brooms" that I’ve seen the sidewalk cleaners use. These women were wearing dark robes with dark maroon scarves wrapped around their heads. On the dirt sidewalk was a child, about two or three, in the same clothes as her mother, playing at sweeping up with her own little broom.
One of my co-workers invited me to his sister’s wedding and wedding reception. The reception was scheduled in the evening but the wedding was scheduled for 6 a.m. the next day. A group of us left from the office for the reception at about 7 p.m. As we left the driver of the car that I was going in said that he would be consulting the Indian MapQuest as we went – e.g., asking directions of people. We caravanned with a couple of motorcycles, and there were one or two stops where we waited to make sure that everyone was still together (usually by doing a quick cell-phone call to see where our compatriots were). We did stop once to ask directions.
When we got near, we could see the hall festooned with lights. In front was a flat archway containing the names of the bride and groom. Their names (along with other designs) were made with thousands of flower heads and colored yarn pieces placed into flat areas on the arch.
We went in up a flight of stairs, and came into a hall with a couple hundred people sitting and chatting, and a stage at one end with a backdrop (again, of thousands of flowers) where photographers were taking pictures of the bride and groom with their guests. I met a number of my co-worker’s wives – all dressed in brightly colored saris. We all trooped up to give our best regards to the couple, and as we went, one of the guys pressed a little wrapped gift in my hands and asked me to give it to the bride. I protested but to no avail. So when I gave it to her I tried to make it clear that it was from the group (but that was probably understood). We all greeted the couple, and were then sheparded into a couple of lines for pictures. There were 15 or 20 of us, so the photographers brought chairs up so that the bridge and groom (and a few others) could sit in front of the group. Somehow I was put in a chair (again, after protest).
After the picture-taking, we went downstairs where there were a couple hundred more people eating and talking. I had soup, then rotis (a flatbread pancake) with different sauces and condiments, then rice with a spicy sauce and rice in yogurt. For dessert, there was ice cream with a "jelebi" (a yellow-colored sugar sweet made from rice flour shaped somewhat like a pretzel) on top. The rotis were cooked on ovens that consisted of a half dome with a fire underneath. The rotis were draped over the dome to cook. There was also a beautifully arranged table with pumpkin-like vegetables carved with animals and flowers, as well as plates of food and vases of flowers.
It seemed that most of my co-workers were on their first kid (or soon to be). The little ones were clearly enjoyed by all – men would tweak their cheeks, and friends would carry them around. I asked one of the guys what percentage of Indian marriages were arranged. He said it was about 50% (the other 50% "for love").
I asked if the wedding itself was open to friends – it was listed on the invitation so I assumed so. People told me that it was open to friends, but I got the impression that, given the early time, it wasn’t "socially required" to show up. It didn’t seem that anyone from the office (that I knew about) was planning to go, so I just came in to work the next day as usual.
During a couple of conversations I was able to get a chuckle by saying that, while I had attended a birthday party and a wedding during my trip, I was in no hurry to attend an event commemorating the third major life event (birth, marriage, <fill in the blank>). I also told the joke (to good effect) that the guy in the Singapore airport told me about Indian traffic (see the journal from my previous trip).
When we had come in, I had noticed a table by the entrance piled with small white bags, which reminded me of the "goodie bags" that we used to give kids who came to our kids birthday parties. As we left, the bride’s mother handed each one of us a bag. I was surprised by its weight, and when I looked inside I saw a coconut – not the "stereotypical" round ones, but a teardrop shape. I don’t know if I can get it through customs, but I’ll give it a shot.
As we left, I noticed a couple of the "powder designs" on the street in front of the hall. We got lost on the way back, and had to stop and ask directions, but it was all part of the evening. I was the only Caucasian in the whole party. I had a great time.
The first week they put me in a cube since someone was on vacation. The second week I was in an office, since someone else was on vacation. Tuesday morning one of the worker/cleanup guys came in and asked me if I wanted coffee or something. I asked for a Pepsi, assuming that he would go up to the machine and get me a cup. He returned, however, with a can. The can was much like in the U.S., except that it was labeled with "330 ml" instead of ounces, and there was no nutritional information. The next day he came in with 2 diet Pepsis, bottled water, and cookies. I still don’t understand why this started happening.
For lunch that day I had "pauv baagi". The "cook" took a garden-variety white roll and cut it into cubes. He then put some oil and spices into a wok-like dish and heated it up, then (very briefly) stirred the bread cubes into the mixture. He then put the cubes into a compartmented dish, and put a spicy vegetable sauce and chopped onions with a little lime slice into the other compartments, and sprinkled the whole thing with some parsley-looking chopped greens. One eats by dipping the cubes into the sauce.
When I sat down with my co-workers for lunch, one of them offered me some of his food that his wife had prepared. He had some green vegetable that looked like okra, and indeed it was. Here, however, they call it "ladyfingers." I told him that ladyfingers in the U.S. would be cookies, not vegetables.
That night I went to a co-worker’s apartment for dinner. The taxi ride there went over some rather rough roads, rougher than any I’d hit so far. The apartment was very pleasant and spare. His wife had prepared a number of different dishes, all delicious, but (as always) I was unable to get a clear picture of exactly what was in the some of the dishes. One of them was a garbanzo mixture with cinnamon, another was rice with spices. One had very thin bread pieces mixed into a vegetable sauce. They also gave me some of the bread by itself, which was baked, very crispy and cracker-like. There was also a dish of (pea-sized) corn flour balls in yogurt. They said that these were cooked using a device with holes that dripped the corn batter into hot oil. After they were cooked they were cooled and mixed with the yogurt. There was also a salad with macaroni and vegetables, as well as a couple of other dishes that I just ate and enjoyed (sometimes I feel like a broken record: "What’s in this? What’s in this?").
I asked my co-worker how long it had taken his wife to cook all this, and he said about a half a day. He then hastened to add that they didn’t eat like this all the time. Dessert was a flat flour cake that had been cooked, soaked in sugar water and then quickly fried, with some milk-based sweet sauce on top.
My co-worker’s wife didn’t eat with us. I complimented her a number of times on the food and ate a lot (perhaps a little too much…). As we left she said that she had been worried that I wouldn’t like the food, but hoped that I would come back the next time I was in Bangalore. I looked at my watch and said, "How about tomorrow?", but then reassured her that it was a joke. Another pleasant evening.
I had mentioned the "dome" roti cookers (that I had seen at the wedding reception) to a co-worker. He said that they were dual-purpose – you could heat bread on the dome or turn it upside down and use it as a bowl to cook in.
I occasionally find myself doing the Indian "head-wobble" of assent.
I talked to the team here about the problem of working with clients who can’t clearly state what they want (and may not even read the specs that you write), but said that we would just do the best we could, and respond to changes and requests as well as possible. One of the team members then told me of a little "moral tale" where a king is beset by enemies, and runs and hides in a cave. There is a spider in the cave that is having trouble spinning his webs, but he keeps trying and the king helps him. The spider finally spins a web across the mouth of the cave, so when the king’s enemies come to the cave, they see the web and think that the king couldn’t be in the cave because he would have had to break the web to get in. My co-worker said that he had read this in a book in his "social science" class in school. I’d like to find out more about the tale, but my co-worker didn’t know if the king had a name or not, and I wasn’t able to come up with a search criteria on Google to find anything useful.
The people in the office refer to "autos" when they mean the three-wheeler jitneys. This confused me for a while until I deciphered it. When we were out on the weekend, catching "autos" to various places, my co-worker/tour-guide told me that the autos don’t go all over Bangalore, but have different areas that they cover and are familiar with. Therefore you may have to ask a few of them before you find one that is going where you need to go.
As I walk to the office every day, I watch the progress of the coconut milk vendors. Their pile of coconuts gradually shrinks over the days, and then is replenished with a big pile and the process starts over again. The last day I was there I took pictures of the two "stands" that I pass on my way. They offered me coconuts but I declined. In the picture, you can see the hooked knife they use to whack the top off the coconuts.
Also on the last day I was there, the team took me out to lunch at a Chinese/Indian restaurant. When we first sat down, there was some rearranging where people got up and moved around and sat in different chairs. I asked about it, and was told that the "veg" guys were setting together. "Veg" is short for vegetarian - you will see restaurants that advertise "Pure Veg."
I had egg drop soup with chicken, while others had more spicy soups. I did take a taste of some of their soups, and could have eaten some of them, but not all. We then had a couple of chicken dishes, including "chicken lollipops," and some spicy potatoes. They then asked me if that was enough for "starters" and should we proceed to the main food. Nailed again... So we then had a few more dishes, including a Sichuan chicken rice dish that was really too hot for me. I had a few bites but couldn’t finish my portion. One of the guys said it was also too hot for him, but the others wolfed it down.
At the two restaurants I’ve been to during this trip, my co-workers have ordered me bottled water, while they get pitcher water. At this Chinese restaurant, the bottle was labeled "Kingfisher," which I had always assumed was a brand of beer. They told me that it is illegal to advertise alcoholic beverages, so the various manufacturers of alcoholic drinks also make non-alcoholic drinks. It is understood, however, that if you see a place advertising the non-alcoholic drink, it really means that you can buy the alcoholic drink.
While we were eating, we talked about restaurants where you can pick out fish (live fish, from a tank) that you want to have cooked for you. One of the guys told me that he picks out a live chicken every couple of weeks when he and his wife go shopping. I asked if he then had to deal with the feathers (and the more yucky parts), but he said that the chicken sellers clean the chicken for them. Frank Perdue can't advertise chicken that fresh.
The last day I was there I went to look for Gangarams, a bookstore on "M. G. Road" (as the locals call it - Mahatma Ghandi, of course). I walked up and down a couple of time before I found it. While searching, I noticed some signs. I somehow don't think they're paying royalties to Camel cigarettes.
I didn't know what "short eats" are.
I could have spent a lot of time (and money) at Gangarams. My sister recommended a book of essays titled "A Matter of Taste: The Penguin Book of Indian Writing on Food" (edited by Nilanajana S. Roy), which I found. I've enjoyed many of the essays, especially a moving and ironic one about the death of a great-grandmother, "The Remains of the Feast", by Githa Hariharan. Most of the authors, however, definitely assume an Indian audience when they use food terms without any definition. I recommend reading it with a Google search nearby.
I also picked up a couple of cookbooks – not that I’ll be able to find all the spices necessary, but it would be fun to try. I noticed a number of paneer cookbooks, and suddenly realized that I hadn’t eaten any paneer this time. I wonder if that is because I went out with different people, who would tend to pick restaurants and foods from their "native" area (or maybe the last time I happened to go out with the "veg" guys). One of the cookbooks I picked up is divided by area – there are sections for the various states of India containing recipes from that state.
While checking out of the hotel, I did the usual scan to make sure that I hadn’t forgotten anything. In the nightstand between the beds I noticed two books. I was pretty sure one was the Gideon Bible but didn’t know about the other one. I picked it up and looked, and it was the Bhagavad Gita.
When I left the office on the last day, the team gave me a gift. I didn’t have the time or inclination to open it, so it went, still in ribbon and wrapping paper, on the airplanes and into the terminals with me. On more than one of the planes and in the executive lounges the women attendants joked about how nice it was of me to bring them a present. I told them that my wife probably wouldn’t approve.
In one of the airport lounges I picked up a can of Schweppes ginger ale. I looked on the can for nutritional information, and saw the calorie count under the heading "Energy." I guess that makes it more palatable. I also noticed that they did the same thing that a lot of U.S. manufacturers do, where they list the nutritional information for a serving which is less than the whole can. They did not, however, list number of servings - you had to work that out for yourself.
Singapore Airlines liberally hands out cloth. Before and after each meal they give you a (really!) hot and wet cloth napkin to wipe your face and hands. It's very refreshing. When they serve you your meal, they first put down a cloth placemat on your tray holder (it probably keeps the tray from skidding around), then the tray (with another cloth on it, under the food and utensils), and then they give you a cloth napkin. When I went into the rest room of the airplane I saw, beside the paper towel dispenser, a cloth towel dispenser containing a stack of wash-cloth size towels. I used one to wipe my hands, but couldn't stand to put it in the disposal so just left it on the counter.
On the last leg of the trip I sat next to a guy who had been doing a training session in Bangalore for the past week, and was returning home. We talked about various aspects of the Indian experience, and he told me that Indians retire at 55. This clarified a little incident which had happened when I wa at a co-worker's apartment for dinner. I don't know how it came out, but in the course of conversation I told them I was 53 years old. One of them looked really surprised. They then asked me where I planned to retire! I gave them my usual line about "having to pluck my cold, dead fingers off the keyboard," but now the question makes sense - it had puzzled me at the time.
Home again, home again.