I was in the car today, and I heard this, and I almost peed my pants a little.
Listen to it. Because it's a good audio insight into what I was getting into in India. It talks about Raajneeti and the big song from it called "Mora Piya." Once I heard the first few notes of the song, I almost cried. I was driving in Connecticut, and they were playing Bollywood music on National Public Radio. YEAH!!!!!!!!!
So...This story made my day. It also almost made me drive off the road.
So I've been home for about a week and a half, and my belly is back to normal. Although Indiawater was probably the best diet I accidently found in my life, I'm happy to be back to eating normal stuff. Like tilapia. And anything other than plain yogurt. ...I think that the next time I go to India, I'll bring back bottles of tap water and sell it as Miracle Diet Liquid. Recommended dosage: one teaspoon...ever.
Usually when I come home, I discover the foods I missed the most. Winners are: bagels, and Mixed Fruit Mentos.
Eating mall food with my hands. Totally normal.
Foods I miss the most now: 1) tandoori chicken - something in the way they rub that chicken with spices makes it just fall off the bone, especially when you're holding it with ...2) parathas - a hand-rolled, occasionally stuffed with cheese, potato, etc. version of the Mexican tortilla.
And I get to take a good, outsider's look at India itself. I only saw a small portion of it, so I might not be the best judge. But you know the expression "concrete jungle"? I think people use it in reference to New York, or maybe other big crazy cities. But that's the only phrase I can really think of to describe places like Mumbai and Delhi. People walk barefoot between cement buildings, cows, fruit and vegetable stands, naked children, stores with sales advertised in windows, sometimes grass and flowers...... and, you know what, it's the closest thing I've ever seen to a jungle. From what I've heard, they're crazy. And like I said in one of my first blogs, buildings are always either half-up or half-down. Concrete is the tall trees. The Call to Prayer for mosques and the constant hooting of the horns are the calls of the birds and tigers. Brightly colored trash are the flowers in puddles.
But mostly, a lot of people run through barefoot.
And I miss it. Instead of worshiping STUFF - like a huge (cable) package, halfcafnotfatricemilkflavoredcoffeebusiness, and Lindsay Lohan jail sentence T-Shirts - the people worship some other kind of something. Of course, there are the Hindu idols and whatnot, but "getting stuff" doesn't seem to be as big of a deal as it is here. It was nice.
And mostly, Karma. What you do affects what happens to you later. Even if later is in a next life. And everyone kind of seems content with their position in life. This could be a really general statement, but everyone takes their job really seriously. Even if they're just bringing chai in the morning. Even if they're painting walls on a movie set. Everyone has a very specific job, and they do it as best as they can! It's their job! And don't YOU do it, because it's THEIR job.
Yes.. or No?
So I have a job with ABC in New York, and I'll miss the bright yellows, pinks, blues, that the women wear in India. It seems like most business professionals are dressed to their favorite shades of gray. Maybe some corporate light blue.
I'll miss the color. The karma. The people with their upside down sense of humor. Being called "Madam." Bananas on the street for about one penny. Karan. Cows on the way to work. Leaving my shoes at the door in the office. Chai at my desk every morning. People actually enjoying the rain. Arguments in Hindi. Streetside shrines to Shiva. "Om" everywhere. People eating lunch on the street next to a guy with a bunsen burner and a pot of food. "Yes" and "No" are both meant in one sideways head bobble.
Actually no... I won't miss that last one. A head nod means "yes" here in the states and a head shake means "no." End of conversation.
It's good to be sure of that again.
It's been awhile. Sorry, anyone who enjoys my thoughts. You're welcome, to the others. Right now, I have a case of Delhi Belly. You all know Delhi Belly. It's what happens when you eat something on the "no no list". It's what just made me dash to the bathroom right after I finished that sentence.
I hurt all over. When in India, man... be CAREFUL. I wanted a soda when I was in the mall a few days ago and they asked me "fresh lime soda?" Sure! I love fresh lime soda. They take limes, squeeze it into a glass. Add salt and sugar. Add soda water (can't go wrong with soda water).
I should have known. I have a sixth sense for bad water. My mouth feels like wet cotton balls. But I drank it anyway because I was thiiiiirsty.
So now I pay for it. Fever. Body aches. And the Delhi Belly which assures me that I cannot be outside 10 feet from a bathroom at all times.
Luckily Karan ran downstairs and got me some antibiotics. Yup. Ran downstairs to the pharmacy, picked up some antibiotics from the man who stands at the desk, and came back upstairs with 3 pills that cost.. mm... maybe about a dollar. Not because they're the bootleg kind. But because that's how NICE healthcare is here.
So I've got this pill in my tummy that I'm hoping is like Arnold Schwarzenegger with a machine gun that says "Hasta la Vista" to all of the little critters that are making me sick. They're like little Gollums. My stomach is an epic. Terminator meets Lord of the Rings.
Before that I was working at a "my mind gets dumber every day" kind of job. I scanned photos. Albums after huge ass albums of photos. Some of them are pretty. I stole a few. Here's one:
I left though, because I felt my intelligence leaking out my ears, and I wasn't going to finish the job before I left the country, so I ended when I said I'd end (2 weeks), and now I have one last week to enjoy India.
They weren't that nice at the office, either. Just creepy. The touchy kind. The "hey, want to come back to my place?" kind...
So I left and felt cartoon birds on my shoulders and music in my ears and a pep in my step.
I'm doing another job, though. The same one designing movie posters for the big dude with the dogs that look like throw pillows. Remember him? Turns out, he's a picky guy to work for. Not picky in an experienced kind of way, but in a "could we scatter balloons everywhere?" and "maybe make the dots in the title into smiley faces" kind of way. It's exhausting.
And he never likes the characters I put on the poster. I put exactly who he tells me, yes. But he just emailed me and said "Sanjay is looking a little bald." Yes. He is looking bald. But why the hell tell me that? Tell that to Sanjay. Tell him that he should get some liquid or plugs to fix that problem. All I've got is google images and photoshop and I can't add hair to THIS just yet (see image right).
Bah. So that's been my life. There hasn't been much to talk about in my little box of horrors at the photo scanning office because all the days are the same, nor is there really much to share about my stomach problems. You want the details, listen to Oprah talk about colon cleanse sometime on her show.
I'm back in the states on Monday. Yea! Or nay?
Hrithik Roshan
What a weird ass day yesterday. Woke up, had 2 cups of coffee. I was tired. Started off by checking out my new job. I'm working it at Rakesh Roshan's office. Father of the veryverygorgeous Hrithik Roshan (first question I asked was if he were stopping by at any point..)
He's the mastermind behind the latest Bollywood flop "Kites"... but also quite accomplished in his past filmgoings. To illustrate just how accomplished he is, let me describe my job here. I am a Master Film Photo Digitizer... one who takes photographs, scans them, puts them in a folder with a nice Excel spreadsheet. So I'm thinking yeah... cool... 15 or so albums, 2 weeks of work, nice paycheck to get me through... ba-da-BING.
I get here yesterday, and I come into my nice little computer hallway office, and they start taking down big leather album after big leather album after big leather album and before i know it i'm surrounded by.. hmm.. around 60 albums. Big, leather ones. So I'm thinking man... they're going to need to extend my visa.
I drink the coffee they offer me. I talk about money. Logistics. I move on.
That was the first thing.
Second weird thing was I'm making a film poster for a guy named Akash Deep. Big dude. Gold jewelry. 2 pugs and another fluffy dog. He looks like he could just put them one under each arm and carry them around like throw pillows. Maybe he does.
So I go to his house for a second time ... I had some samples, and wanted to see how he felt about them. But I heard his house before I got there. I heard thumpin' beats before the elevator even reached his floor! The maid opened his door and I could almost feel the wind of the club music blasting from his surround sound. I entered... the dogs were sniffing my ankles and barking... and oh, it was alright. Akash just had a meeting with the music director for the film. Cool. Except my ears were bleeding.
So I drank the coffee he offered me. Talked about money. Logistics. Moved on.
By now I'm beginnning to get a bit tourettes-y because I had had 4 huge cups of coffee, no lunch, and it was hot. I went back to Prakash Jha Productions because I needed to use the internet and it was a good place to sit.
Then I went with Karan so that he could meet with the owner of the apartment he's moving into. He needed to seal the deal.
That's when the third weird thing happened.
Maybe it's Indian custom to "seal the deal" in a car parked in a back street of Mumbai at night time, and I just didn't know. But when Karan, the real estate agent, and I were beckoned into the black car of the apartment owner, I thought it was a little shady. The agent and the owner sat in the front and bickered on and on in Hindi as Karan and I sat in the back... waiting. Later on when Karan translated to me that the owner was saying that "he loved this kid the moment he met him and I will fight for appropriate rent and deposit for him at the society meeting and it might not happen because we usually don't take single bachelors in this apartment but I LIKE this kid...." - I knew that real estate in India is a thing all its own.
At the end of the day I had a few glasses of red wine. Much needed.
Today, it's just me and my photo albums. I am currently on photo number 459 out of 10 bajillion.
Dharamsala... probably the nicest sounding destination I've ever been to (just ahead of "bed" and "Go"in Monopoly) Took a bus that left at 8 pm... and got us there at 8 am. Woof. One Karan Talwar and I were in the middle of Dharamsalatown (actually Mcleod Ganj), used our ninja skills to fend off all of the dudes that wanted us to stay in their hotel, and then found one called Hunted Hill. (I liked it because it sounds like my home road... Hunters Ridge). Crashed. Napped until brunchtime.
Here's a little Dharamsala background: It's in India, yes it is. Right in that asscrack between Pakistan and China.
There are Tibetans galore. Why? Well when China took over Tibet (for resource exploitation... jerks), the Dalai Lama fled because he had people to lead, and could not afford being taken hostage by Chinese resource exploiters. So he went to the next best place, Dharamsala, and people followed him. Because that's the thing you do if you have a spectacles-wearing, giggly, brilliant Buddhist monk as your leader - you follow him into political exile.
So here are a few key highlights:
WORLD CUP SEASON: Why, yes it is! There should be more world cups because they just bring people together.
First of all, Dharamsala is a big tourist destination, which would usually bother me, but for once I wasn't the only white girl around, which was nice. So there were tourists from all over the world... all watching soccer with each other! And when the electricity goes out, which often it does in the Himalayas, everyone makes a soft, slightly disappointed "Ohh..." together, and someone lights some candles.
Another cool thing I saw - a 90 year old Buddhist monk (no hair, no teeth) sitting in a little wooden chair just inside the entrance to a gift shop where, just above the doorway, there is a small television. The monk is looking up at it, absolutely beaming without teeth.
And if Buddhist monks love soccer, well shit. I love soccer, too.
DOGS: I think the dogs up there caught the hippie Himalayan vibes because they were all chilled out.
example 1: We hiked up to a place called Shiva cafe where people were hair braiding, playing guitar, and smoking (stuff). I sat on a pillow with my chai and a dog named Tiger, and all it took was a few minutes of scratching Tiger under the chin, and then he was MY tiger. He layed down with his head on my lap, occasionally lifting his head to catch a fly in his mouth. And when I left, he stood at the end of the path watching me go.
example 2: I met an American on a pathway to somewhere, and he had a dog named Butch with him. I asked him what he did, and he said he used to work for Fox News in NYC, but now he's writing fiction stories. I said - isn't that the same thing? (hahaha JOKE!!) He laughed and then felt bad for me that I was going back to work in New York. I said don't worry, I'll probably be back here in a year. Anyway... the dog was a stray that followed him home. Now it's his. He named him Butch.
SOME OTHER FUNNY THINGS:
- I met 2 Afghanis on the bus back to Delhi. I apologized to both of them on behalf of my country. (They both said, don't worry.. it's the fault of the British.)
- English translations - you could go to a salon and get a "mini-cure" or a "pady-cure" or go down the street to find "World Class Baked Goods and Laundry Service"
- Monks can play soccer with children at their monastery.
- For $10 you can get a nice, hour long, ass-smacking massage from a Tibetan masseuse. Not just ass-smacking, but also reflexology, spinal voodoo, and Tibetan oils.
- When it rains, you can go into a tent where there will be a Tibetan jam session. And chocolate momos! (google momo) So... foreigners and Tibetans, some Hindu rap, a little Oasis ("Vunder-vall"), and classical Tibetan music where one guy will start playing his long guitar (like a lute with a huge neck), and all the monks in the room will join in.
- finally, MONKEYS. They were everywhere! I wanted to capture one and hold it for a little while, but Karan explained that they would not love that, and they might scratch the hell out of my face. So I let them be, and they were fun to watch... they ran around like little naked people. And on the bus on the way back to Delhi, the driver threw out half-bananas to them and they caught them in mid air, peeled them, and ate them.
I think Mcleod Ganj is like heaven. Away from the tourists buying roadside goodies and John Mayer playing in cafes (??!?), you just forget everything except for how peaceful you feel. You are surrounded by mountains, terrace farming, monks, and prayer flags (Buddhist belief that as they blow in the wind, the prayers written on them are sent to heaven). There's good energy there, and I got reacquainted with my inner hippie all over again.
And then I went back to Delhi where everyone wondered why I was 22 and unmarried.
Ah yes, Bollywood. Discuss. My Bollywood experience was like this: I went to work around 11 am every day and stayed until about 8. During that time, there were no midday dance sequences. No fast zoom-ins on dramatic faces. Not much color, really. I guess, in a sense, everything I thought Bollywood was.... wasn't.
I think I recall coming here on the airplane imagining my job to involve holding a clipboard, wearing a headset, taking down timecodes, getting chai for important people, fanning the actors, showing Russian women how to dance the Bollywood dance steps, marrying Hrithik Roshan, what? Ideas about the future always come with a dose of fantasy.. and even so, I was surprised at how normal everything seemed.
I had no clipboard. No headset. Never saw timecodes. Chai was brought to me. Actors never came. Never saw a Russian woman. Never saw Hrithik in person (but still just as studly on screen).
I sat at my desk. Looked at the pidgeons. Watched the rain come and go.
Sounds like New York.
Helped director Prakash Jha with his tasks. Sent his notes, sent his text messages. Went to parties where there were open bars, buffets of food and chocolate mousse, and famous people. Planned events. Sent costumes away to radio station contests.
Sounds like Bollywood.
The big difference is in the word "intern." At most places in the States, "intern" is a glorified word for "office bitch." You do what they say, even if you're more qualified than other people in the office, you get their coffee. Even if you've been trained in the latest technology whereas they might have picked it up in college or along the way, you sit... trying to slip into conversation that you're willing to help, but knowing that you can't, really, because you're at the bottom of the office food chain. They've earned their stripes. You earn yours by being endlessly patient.
Where I worked (at Prakash Jha Productions), they were interested in what I thought. They involved me in shoots, discussions, events. My words mattered, whereas at home my words were nullified my my job title. "Intern."
Intern is a rather invented position here. I fall somewhere in the gray area between office boy and assistant director. It's a large gray area, and it shows. One day I'll just be updating this blog. The next I am planning the design for a success party for the entire cast and crew at a 5-star hotel. The next day I'm writing and sending thank you notes. Then tomorrow I am helping with editing.
Me. An intern. Editing. My God... do they know what I do back home?
The word "intern" used to sound so ugly. So laced with inexperience. So low. But here, I was trusted. Asked questions. Had conversations with the director, joked with him, and asked, by him, to come back and work on his next film. I don't know why I deserved this chance more than any other interns in the world. An intern isn't supposed to venture into those areas. They are shown their place in the office. They stay there.
But here... I was shown my place in the office. My desk. But I was hardly at it. I was called from my desk when I was needed. I had lunch with the entire staff. I was treated as someone with a perspective, with intelligence, with an opinion.
For the first time, I actually feel like college mattered. Not for just getting a "foot in the door." But for putting my skills to actual use.
Which is nice. Because college is expensive.
So it's been a nice feeling, really. Feeling like you're worth something after 4 years of learning. I had to leave my country to figure that out, but isn't that how it is always?
Sometimes you need to step away from the familiar to actually get a good look at it. To understand it.
That's what the bus driver said to me as we stopped for food on the way from Delhi to Agra.
I said yeah. Alright.
-He replied ok.. you have drink?
I said yes.. I have a Coca Cola inside.
-No no no... beer drink.
What? No. I'm ok.
-Ok you meet me at my bus at 8:30 for beer.
...that's not the kind of friendship I wanted. I didn't even know his favorite color, but he was already onto beer and bus meetings.
Anyway, the Taj Mahal was pretty great. But as soon as I stepped off the bus in Delhi, the heat was oppressive. I felt like NO NO!! STOP! TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF! But it was just the weather, and I managed. Sweatily.
The good thing about the heat here is that it is dry, so you don't feel like a hot waterfall like you do in Bombay.
From there we went straight to the Agra. Home of the Taj Diggity Mahal. What a beautiful place. Actually, I was thinking of the proper way to explain it to y'all, and the words weren't coming to mind.
I thought to describe it like this. On a scale of pretty to beautiful, the Taj Mahal is beyond. It's the 11 on the volume scale. From now on when something is more beautiful than beautiful, I will say it's Taj.
From far away it is pure white, but as you go closer, it is inscribed with the entire Quran, and flowers made with semi-precious stones. I took pictures, so when I go home, you'll know. There is a myth that all of the workers who made the Taj Mahal had their hands cut off after so they wouldn't be able to replicate its beauty. I'm hoping it's just a myth. But that is how beautiful it is. It looks like the world's crown.
A white girl is an Indian tourist attraction in and of itself.
You have to cover your shoes in hairnets to step on the Taj.
So anyway, from there we stayed at a lovely hotel where the internet cost 6 bucks an hour and dinner was free so... I don't know. The bed was cozy and I slept like a very tired person in a cozy bed.
The next day we saw a fort. A FORT! Better than all of the ones I made on snow days out of pillows and a refridgerator box, this one had places for torches, thrones, pillars, more inscribed jewel flowers... the whole nine yards.
And when we went back to Delhi, we met Tula's parents and went to temple.
At temple, old women were singing to someone I did not know, and it sounded full of energy and heart and it was oddly beautiful. Some man put an orange Bindi on my forehead with his thumb.
Everyone was there: Hanuman, Shiva, Ganesh.. the whole Hindu gang.
I'm beginning to kind of get an understanding of the idea of religion. Catholics pray to their God and saints. Hindus pray to theirs. None of them are false, all of them are real to these people who pray. So I'm thinking that either Jesus, Allah, and Vishnu are all upstairs playing poker... or we're all praying to the same energy.
I'm still thinking about that. I'm going to go meet some Buddhists in Dharam Shala on Tuesday, so I'll let you know more after that.
Wine vines! I love thee!
And so, here I am again. Late with my updates, which sometimes happens. Where was I..
Last weekend I went to one of India's only vineyards. It was beautiful... and it still maintained its own India flavor. The wine had India flavor too (which sounds like it could be quite gross, but it was NOT)... and it was like nothing I've ever tasted.
Keep an eye out for Indian wine. Hot weather makes for good Shiraz.
On the way back the coolest thing that happened was that we saw two dudes on a motorcycle. One behind the other. And you know what? The guy on the back was holding a live goat in his lap. I looked at the goat.. and he looked back at me as if to say "I know... right?"
And that's all I have to say about that.
This week I've been helping to plan a success party for the film Raajneeti at a really swank 5-star hotel. I went with Karan to talk to some lighting guys, and I really enjoyed taking advantage of their thinking I was super important. So I would say things like "Yes, yes... I think a nice warm orange light would work here." And "No... no... no greens or reds. Let's stick to warmer colors like oranges and occasionally a blue.."
Ha. Hahaha. Ha.
(I was right, though. Green and red would have looked like Christmas. And tacky.)
And so, like a good little worker, I've been at work all week. Funny part is, one day I almost didn't get here because of the monsoons. In my head I was thinking, "Look guys, these happen every year. Stop acting like you're surprised it's raining, you've forgotten how to drive, and that the mud is like hot lava." No rikshaw driver wanted to do anything.
The rains are like 2 things:
1 - when that girl in Poltergeist says "They're heeeeeeerrrre..."
2 - that quote from Forrest Gump: "One day it started raining, and it didn't quit for four months. We been through every kind of rain there is. Little bitty stingin' rain... and big ol' fat rain. Rain that flew in sideways. And sometimes rain even seemed to come straight up from underneath."
Welcome to Mumbai.
And finally, I just changed my plane ticket from Tuesday until the 1st of August. Which is good for me, and good for you too because now you'll have more of my thoughts and discussions to read as you're procrastinating at work. One can only read the MSN homepage so many times.
Tomorrow I have breakfast brunch at the Marriot (eggs benedict and bloody marys). We go see the Taj Mahal next week, and then I need to find a nice dress to wear to the Raajneeti success party. Jeans and a nice top probably won't do.
Not with the lighting we're planning!
More thoughts to come. My head is full of thoughts. Until then, be good. And pray for my grandmother. She's a beautiful and woman and she is the image of grace. She's not well at the moment, but I have a feeling she will be. She's tough as nails in addition to being beautiful and graceful.
All my love,
A.
But in Nashik, cows are the norm. You're on their turf, and they tell you so. Their moos sound like "HEEEEYYY!!! HEEY!! HEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!"
There's nothing to be done but wait.
Serious film discussion at the guest house.
So this past weekend I went to Nashik (if you're saying it out loud, the H is silent... Nassik). These filmmakers needed some white girls for their film, and man, did I deliver. I am white.
So I went with my friend Kelsie, also white, in a car for 4 or so hours to a nice little Indian town.
We stayed in a really nice guest house with cold showers and marble floors and a bowl full of red flowers. It was beautiful, and it had a great patch of front lawn for forward rolls and lying down. It even had its own private temple.
Day 1 of filming I woke up at 5. Sweet Jesus. I haven't seen that time of day except for the last time I fell asleep at that time.
We drove to a nice dusty road, and waited for our turn while they filmed the others.
In a nutshell, my type-casted, white girl from America in an Indian movie goes like this: Kelsie and I were the women of a man named Mr. Hip Hop who pretends to be a mechanic and when he sees a car full of kids on the side of the road he gets out of the car and says "Dudes! Need any help?" and Kelsie and I, being the sexually charged Americans they think we are, have to distract the car full of boys while Mr. Hip Hop robs the car of everything.
So, naturally, I suggest a swim in a nearby lake. Don't worry Mom and Dad... I didn't swim in my underwear. It's a Hindu film! I went swimming in my jeans and tank top and all of the local villagers came out to watch this pasty white chick swim in a watering hole. They were all laughing.
Let's go swimming in THAT!
You want to know why they were laughing? There are 3 possibilities...
1. The Indian boys I was swimming with kept falling over.
2. We were standing in about 6 inches of agricultural runoff. (trans. soggy cow turds)
3. I got picked up and thrown in a few times. Maybe they were laughing at what sorts of watering hole mischief could get in my system had I swallowed the water.
Anyway, at the end of that day, we were pooooped out. I took a long shower to get the agri-water out of my hair, and hung around with the other actors and production staff. They're all in their mid-20s, full of life, and veryveryfunny. We did yoga, and I remembered I could still do a headstand. COOL!
By the end of it I was no longer a nice little scandalous sort of white girl from the NY tri-state area. I was a very sunburnt, red as a Valentine's Day, sleepy little wanderer who had just robbed a car, swam in a lake, and dried off an Indian man with a towel.
All in a day's work.
SO that's part 2. Part 3 involves the ride back and the only Indian winery on the planet.
Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow.
Alvida!
So this weekend, I took a trip to the countryside. I will make this a three-parter because I've got a lot to say. So part 1 goes like this... Get ready. If you ever wondered what the Indian countryside looked like, it looks like this:
I was trying to put together a description that you all could picture, but all I ended up with was a collage of sorts with magazine cutouts of cows and trucks in the middle.
The countryside from Bombay to Nashik is a NY State foreground with an Arizona background. So two rurals smoshed together. The animals are just as smoshy. On the way there, Sahil (one of the dudes we were in the car with) says "You want to see monkeys? Ok... now you'll see monkeys." So I was looking for monkeys in trees out my backseat window like I used to look for koalas in Australian cities. Both yielded no wildlife. But the possibility was EXCITING.
The cool part about the highway was that no matter how dirty the roadside seemed, someone planted flowers in the dividing dirt between the two lanes. So that was a nice touch.
There were trees that reminded me of the Lion King, even though we weren't in Africa.
There were trucks trucks trucks trucks. But not our kind of horn-honkin' teeth grindin' muscle-wieldin' trucks. These were trucks that had flowers and designs painted on them and INDIA IS GREAT painted on the bumper. Their horns sounded like "deedle deedle deedle deedle." And on the back of every truck is written "horn OK please." Whatever that means. I'll blog about what that means later.
India has the fanciest trucks.
Horn OK Please
We passed a Buddhist monastery off in the distance.
There was one green house in the middle of white and brown shabby ones (maybe the mayor's house).
There were HILLOCKS - Jack and Jill, cow grazing hillocks.
There were motorcycles with Indian women on the back with their sarees blowing in the wind. There were scars on the mountains where creeks go in the rainy season. Roadside food shacks and their chickens and their chicken dinners. Temples painted white.
Factories! For cars, wine, and Samsonite.
Oxen. Buffalo. Cows.... I don't know. Some form of cattle product.
And hotels. In the middle of nowhere. I know it's beautiful out there, but what do you do with a hotel like that? Sit in it? Maybe make a dirt castle outside or walk to a nearby hillock? It's all mismatched. It was funny how it all seemed like a "what object doesn't belong?" picture.
But it was a good ride. And that's what I did... enjoyed the ride.
Oh... why did I go to Nashik? That's for Country Grammar pt. 2.
Hey kids. I thought I'd take some time to answer some common questions that have been cropping up. Namely.. what in pete's sake is a rikshaw. Two: what in pete's sake am I doing over here. Well. For Pete's sake... and yours... I'll tell you.
Rikshaws go like this:
Picture your basic scooter. Vespa. Chop off the back half. Add 2 wheels. So now you have a triangle of wheels. Over the back two wheels, there is a padded bench. In front of you, there is a padded chair with a man on it, and he's holding a steering wheel that looks more like bike handles. Add a Diesel engine in the back that sometimes breaks down in the middle of the highway. Add a fare meter that says "Don't touch me" and ticks off rupees every minute or so like one of those old-timie gas stations that goes cha-chink........ cha-chink....... cha-chink. Add a soft, Jeep-like car cover, black on the outside, surprises on the inside. Sometimes the outside has a bumper sticker that says "Don't spit, stop the spread of T.B." Sometimes the inside is pink, sometimes it's blue. Today, the inside looked part-fleece blanket, part-sparkley seat cushion in a diner. All is padded in case you hit your head or feel like napping (sounds of the rikshaw are very soothing..) (that was a joke).
Got it? Great!
My job goes like this:
I get in around 11:30. Already a nice thing about India... work starts late. The ride in is a little smokey though because the cars have had enough time to marinate. I breathe shallow.
Right away a man brings me tea. Tea! Chai! It is the best way to start the morning, and it clears my throat of car fumes. It makes my entire day feel like a tea commercial when the person takes a sip, leans back, says ahhhh, and then the sun comes out and an ottoman appears on which to rest her feet.
Then I do some work. One Karan Talwar sits to my right. He's kind of my boss. I sometimes call him boss. He doesn't like it, so I do it anyway to be ironic and funny. I'm pretty sure he finds it ironic and funny, too.
The cool thing is, Alankrita (who was the assistant director for the last film, Raajneeti) sits a few desks down. Prakash Jha (the director... head honcho) sits a few yards away. Karan is the second assistant director. I'm surrounded by intelligence and fame.
And I work next door to a CAKE FACTORY.
So I go to work and I'm surrounded by intelligence, fame, and cake. For an intern, that's pretty good... if only they knew that in America, we would be the ones bringing the morning chai.
Like I said, the last film that was released was called Raajneeti. Today I wrote thank you notes for the flowers in our office, and tomorrow I will photoshop some signatures onto photos of the actors in order to make them "signed photos of the actors." I'm the man behind the curtain!
We have a big family lunch in the office around 2. It is an Indian feast of sorts. I eat a sweet milky rice thing for dessert and the chai man brings me another. (Chai.)
Then I do the stuff Karan tells me to do. Or asks, rather. I sent out the costumes to places for contests this week. That was really cool. I got to edit today, which normally, you know, kind of is a pain in the butt. But editing in India felt much, much cooler than editing in Syracuse. No offense to the Edit Suites. But. You know.
What else can I say? It's an internship. I'm meeting cool people. They give me food, shelter, things to do, knowledge, and air conditioning. What more could a girl want.
Classy to the maximum.
Last night we had our red carpet debut. I don't know if you've seen the picture, but it's on facebook. The paparazzi demanded attitude, and we delivered their attitude on an American-studded platter. Lady GaGa has been in my head ever since (papa, papa-razzi...).
I leave work at 8. Rush hour. Weird, huh? But it's cool.. I get to arrive around noon.
I should probably leave you with some more cool things about India. Quickly..
- I saw a herd of goats on my way in this morning.
- Breakfast looks exactly like lunch and dinner.
- Garbage is raked and piled up like leaves.
- Girls live with their parents until marriage.
- So do men... but if they do live alone, they've got their own maid to wash the house, do the dishes, cook, and do laundry every single day. Hahaha!
I'm constantly surprised. Like a little girl.
Cons:
1. No street signs. Anywhere. People here navigate by the stars. Or the smells. I haven't yet learned the Indian art of navigation.
2. If the rickshaw walla does not want to go to where you're asking about, he won't go. Game over. Find another rickshaw.
Con or Pro:
1. The smells. You get to experience a whole spectrum of smells from incense-to-poopie-to-bread-to-sweat-to-fish-to-poopie-to-laundry detergent-to-flowers.... so flowers and incense are pros. Poopie and fish are cons.
Pros:
1. Cheap air-conditioning.
2. Cheap hair fluffer.
3. Cheap amusement park ride.
4. Good time to sit and think. I have an hour between here and my internship (traffic). The virtual reality of India passes through my periphery, and I get to try to answer the question "how the hell did I get here?" which isn't able to be answered in any other moment.
I’m sitting here in Prakash Jha’s office in Andheri West trying to sort out my internship. You know what? It took about a dollar fifty to get here! You know what that same distance would cost in the New York City? An arm and a leg, I’ll tell ya. We were in the rikshaw for an hour.
So Prakash Jha is in charge of this new blockbluster here called Raajneeti (trans: Politics)… and we get to go the premiere on Thursday… as of now. We might not go still. In India things change by the minute. For example… I’ve had about 4 different tentative internships since I’ve gotten here! Keeps things interesting. Fresh. Surprise!
So today’s surprise is sitting in the office of the Martin Scorsese of India. Holy cannoli. I am drinking fresh chai from a big huge mug, and it’s boiling hot… just like the weather. Hot.
Here are some things that have been happening, though:
Yesterday I got my hair cut. 2 inches. I don’t think he had ever touched hair like mine before because he was being so delicate… like my hair would break off. I’m used to American haircutters tossing my head around like a bobble-head Jesus. But my hairwalla (man of the hair) did a mighty fine job. You know how good hairwallas are here? Let me tell you: shampoo head-massage deluxe. 20 bucks. Woop woop!
I HAD MY FIRST STREET COCONUT! There’s a coconutwalla (man of the coconut) down the road, so last night I got a nice refreshing coconut for dinner. They are big and green and the man of the coconut will take his machete and SLICE SLASH SLICE off the top until he gets to the sweet sweet coconut underneath. It looked like a football with one point cut off. He stuck a straw in it, and I was walking down the dirt road to my hotel saying “Coconut! See! Coconut!” to anyone… I was so excited (going “coco-nuts,” if you will) and sipping out of my big green football. After I drank the cocowater I brought it to the apartment kitchen where they chopped it in half and scraped out the insides into a bowl for me. They made me eat my first bite right there so they could see my reaction.
When I got even more stoked about the coconut, they were just as stoked.
Then I ate a mango. Dinner, completed.
Our bellies have all taken revenge against the food. Meh. It happens.
Yesterday I found chili-flavored microwave popcorn. I think if I just set it outside it’ll pop.
I’m doing fine, though. I think I will like it more when my internship starts and I could be more independent instead of just 1 of 9 Americans... I still haven’t found what I’m looking for (U2 song). I’m not on my own yet, so it’s hard to make my own decisions and take my own chances. If I want to go somewhere on my own, I have to consider if others want to come, if Tula will find it safe, etc.
It’s not what I’m used to, and not what I love about traveling. I’m finding it difficult, and feeling a little trapped. But I think it’s going to change soon. We’ll see.
I’ve been to the slums of India.
And I love the slums of India.
Two days ago we all took a trip to a walking tour of Asia’s biggest slum – Dharavi. We were split into two groups, and a nice slum tour guide took responsibility for each. We descended down the stairs into the area below the huge expanse of corrugated metal roofs, and we began.
We couldn't take pictures inside, but this is a photo of the wall outside Dharavi.
Over the whole trip I went from nervous, to guilty, to something else… I don’t know what it was. See if you can find the right adjective...
The entire world’s recycling operation runs out of Dharavi. They have a different hut for sorting plastics. A different hut for crushing, and a different hut for melting. One hut had to wash and dry the plastics… so they took us up to the roof where blankets with mosaic tiles of plastic remnants were drying in the sun.
The view from there was like this: a plastic Mecca. There were towers of random discarded plastic items. Air conditioner facades. Shells of old TVs. The computer keyboard I spilled milk in when I was small. And all of the roofs had plastic tiles plastic tiles plastic tiles. And towers of somewhat sorted plastic things.
And in between that, sarees drying on clotheslines. And behind that, a beeaaauuutttiiiiffffulllll green mosque. All on top of these metal ruffle-chip roofs. It looked like a collage of different parts of the world.
While we were on the roofs, there were 2 white men who came up with another tour guide. They stood there in their sneakers with gym socks pulled up and their hands on their hips right above their brown Italian leather belts. They stood, stood, admired the view. Asked a few questions. Nodded and squinted at the distance in response. That’s when I felt guilty. I didn’t want to feel like the slums were a spectacle… something that one can go and say “Ohh… that’s so sad,” and then run back to the air-conditioned hotel. But in that moment, that’s what it felt like. I felt strange being there. Like I was seeing something I didn't deserve to.
So we kept walking, and we kept getting stared at on every road and alley. It was fine. The people were curious (Italian men, you remember, were just sleazy when they would stare). The children were the best. They would come up laughing, ask us our names, shake our hands, and run ahead of us through the alleys they knew so well.
I loved the children the best. Annalisa and I took a turn at playing cricket with some of the kids in one of the roads, and over the course of the walk, I pet a goat named Simba (whom the kids treat as a personal pet), picked up a little tiny kitten, and bock-ba-gocked at some chickens in the road. I saw a woman whose hands were painted with henna (and she was laughing at how amazed we were), and had some mango juice for less than a dollar.
The thing I began to notice was how happy all of these people seemed. They did their jobs for very little pay, the living conditions weren’t safe, they melted plastics and recycled metals without gloves, masks, or glasses, and there was garbage in their backyard (in fact, Dharavi was built on 19th century British garbage). They don’t care about the Pakistan/India conflict because they have their own wellbeings to worry about. There is chaos from far away… but like I said in my last entry, it works.
And Hindus, Muslims, and Christians can all go pray at the same place. There is a cube with Hindu gods, Muslim gods, and Jesus Christ all painted on it, and people go and pray there together. In this one section of the world, there is religious peace.
Where many of us live in the states, we don’t know our neighbors well. We worry about things that happen halfway around the world, and we just want to get more and more STUFF. We worry about Muslims, Communists, and Osama Bin Laden.
People tie strings to the gates at the Haji Ali - some say they're for wishes.. some say they're for prayers. I just like them.
But none of that seems to apply in the slums. It is a small town within a town. Everyone knows each other. Everyone seems sort of ignorantly happy.
Ignorance is bliss in the most beautiful sense.
And that’s why I liked the slums.
Yesterday we went on a tour of the British colonization section of Mumbai (we live in a suburb here… so we went to see the main city).
We walked to a mosque on the Arabian sea called the Haji Ali. It's a Muslim prayer site… and it's also a tomb.
There was a very particular feeling... like there was in Assisi when I went… like I could feel the weight of everyone’s emotions.
No matter where you are in the world, spiritual places feel the same (in varying degrees). I recognized the emotion that I felt at St. Francis’s in Assisi… it was not as strong, but it was there.
We went to the Taj Hotel (the one that was bombed last year), we met with a theater director, and we met Tula’s teacher from when she was in university.
South Bombay is very posh. No auto rikshaws! There is usually a buzzing in the background that was missing from South Bombay.
I shopped. I haggled. I’m getting better… but because I’m white it’s not so easy here. They think the whities are gullible.. and they take advantage. Usually.. they win!
Today I’m going to get a haircut. My internship doesn’t start until tomorrow. So… a day on the town. Hazzah!!!
Yesterday we did yoga, for example. Real, Indian Yoga. Not "SMILE, YOU'RE BURNING FAT!!" Denise Austin yoga. I felt centered. Balanced. 20 pounds lighter. It was everything yoga should be, except this morning, I'm reminded of the existence of all of the muscles in my body, especially my love handles which say dammnnnn youuuu yogggaaaaaaa. But it's alright. I feel GREAT otherwise.
So hence the title, Indian Jam Sesh was this morning. There was a man with a bamboo flute. There was another man with 2 drums that were better than any set of bongos I have ever seen. The floutist used his whole body and energy, and the drummer used every single one of his fingers, his two palms, and some magic dust to make them go fast (baby powder).
Indian folk music is like this: It's of the realm of snowflakes, of fingerprints. No two songs are the same... each is 90% improvisation. The two musicians have never met before, but I have never seen such an understanding between 2 musicians ever. They just got each other, and when they looked at each other, the music went another way. There's something very unifying about it... and if there is any kind of music that would be able to speak to the universal spirit, this would be it. It connects... I felt like I was part of the COSMOS!!!
So I know I'm being to sound like an Indian Folk Music groupie. Like I could just get rid of all my possessions, follow them around in Buddha pants and live off chai tea and paneer. I probably won't, but I'll tell you... in this moment, everything just feels good. Like sandalwood-scented bliss.
(Next time you're stressed out, pop in a "sounds of the Indian folk heritage" album and sit still... You'll be alright. Swear).
Aside from that, here's some other stuff:
Yesterday, met a very very famous filmmaker named Nagesh, and we all had drinks. He told us some amazing experiences, and you know what... we would NEVER have this kind of opportunity in America to meet people of this much success and fame.
Bridget, living that scooter life on the back of Ailee's scooter.
This morning I rode to Whistling Woods on the back of a scooter :) Check that off life's to-do list. Ailee, the lady who is coordinating us, picks us up every morning, and we usually follow her in an autorickshaw. Well today, I hopped on the back of her scooter, and we got to take a detour through the slums.
The slums are like this: The roads are lined with garbage. Kids walk through the garbage to go to the bathroom, and they wash themselves after from a bucket of water. Goats, and pigs, and cows are all sifting through the garbage right along with the people, and I saw a little boy using a black plastic shopping bag attached to a string as a kite.
There was an area of the slums that was designated to the "Untouchables"... people who were not designated to a caste (hence - "Outcast"), and they are not allowed to speak with anyone of a higher caste, share water with them, or live in the same village as they do. To me, it sounded like apartheid.
I'm not going to gloss anything over for you. It is how it is. These are my descriptions. You can imagine my feelings, but I'll leave them out of here because I want you to imagine it for yourself, and try to understand.
Here's the thing you need to understand: Karma. Hindus believe that what you do in this life affects how your next life will be. So there is very little conflict. Very little crime. Everyone's behaving themselves so their next life can be better. The justice system is taken care of by their religion and their philosophy. These people are gentle. Life just works.
Goat n' boat.
Cows n' goats n' trash.
So even if you live in the slums, you live your best life. You try to be as good as possible for a better life next time, and perhaps you're paying for things you did badly in your past lives. There is a much larger understanding of a human's place in the world.
When you consider Indian-style yoga, music, traffic and human interactions everything can seem messed up, broken, and in complete chaos.
But I promise you, there is something here that is in perfect order.
I'm learning to figure out that the Indians just seem to "get it."
I’M IN INDIA AND I’M ALIVE!!
That’s not a surprise statement. I’m not all like “holy shit I made it to India alive,” but it’s more like “I’m in India and I FEEL SO ALIVE!”
Flight was good. Had Indian airplane food for the first time and if you ever do it, “Mango Pickle” is very, very spicy.
First thoughts on the smell of Mumbai is sweet smoke w/elephant poop. I've never seen neither an elephant nor its poop. But I'm using my imagination.
This place is great, though. Let me give you a few examples.
The People: For me, the thing that makes a place wonderful for me is the people. And first of all, you should know, everyone seems to be smiling here. This guy Deepak picked us up from the airport yesterday in a Whistling Woods van, and he was so happy. I told him he had a nice smile. He even continued to smile yesterday when we dragged him around shopping with us. What a trooper.
All of the staff here at the apartment smile, too. The chai guy in the morning. The front desk man. A few dudes in uniforms when I got excited about a Bollywood song on TV and got up and danced.
The ladies in the convenience store all helped me select shampoo and lotion and stuff. Smiling. One told me that one particular lotion would make my skin soft and supple. I took her word for it. She smiled.
But, all in all, big two thumbs up for the Indian people.
RICKSHAW RIDING: Cheaper than any rollercoaster ride. And. Let me tell you. Drivers in Mumbai are world class. New Jersey drivers would have a shit fit. Nobody pays attention to lanes (in fact, I don’t think I saw painted lines for lane dividing purposes). Nobody really pays attention to traffic lights (were there traffic lights? We were going fast, I’m not sure). But nobody hit a thing! I came out not only unscathed, but lightly windblown, excited, and I wanted to get back in line to go again, but we were at our destination. Maybe tomorrow.
What it's like inside the rickshaw.
View of the world from inside the rickshaw.
The Money Situation: I just bought shampoo, conditioner, baby powder (hot and humid = chaffage), and body lotion for 10 bucks.
The Weather: … is tropical. It is perfect mango-eating weather (which I just did… eat… mango. I just slurped it right out of a hole I cut in the mango.) But it’s so humid my hair looks like a squirrel’s tail caught on fire (don’t ever set a squirrel’s tail on fire).
Some other things about Mumbai (Just things. Not good or bad things. Descriptive things.)
The way that the landscape is set out, it’s difficult to know where you are. It is a big game of fill-in-the-blanks.
Big, beautiful buildings are set out in clusters and in some random plops. Shorter buildings stick up from in between them… and usually these seem to be apartment buildings.
Then, right below, there are shanties, smaller shacks, and people people people stray dogs people pig people bottles and cans people people people.
Ok. I won’t lie. Mumbai is trashed. But there is an odd beauty to it. Like Tula once said to me “The people are gentle” and, aside from the hells on wheels driving, there is a serenity to it. Even the pig eating the garbage looks alright. The cows in the fields between the buildings look like they’re feeling alright. The stray dogs look a little bit sick, but I think they’ll be alright, too. I should mention that along with stray dogs, the people also seem stray.
But yes, the landscape is a big mishy moshy. I wish I could draw you a picture with crayons right here and color code it because it would look like a big dot painting. Like a paint-by-number.
You probably heard me mention Whistling Woods up top, there. I should probably mention it because it’s the reason I’m here. It is a university in Mumbai that is probably one of the best cinematography schools in the world. We learned about how Bollywood distributes movies and music today, we learned our way around, we watched a film called Rock On! (despite the name, it’s a beautiful movie with great music).
…but don’t be misled. There are no woods around Whistling Woods, really. That will be one of my questions of the semester. Figure out the metaphor.
So until next time… know I’m ok. I’m having fun on rickshaws. My hair is getting volume. And most of all, I’m meeting really, really wonderful people. That’s the best part. I’m about to learn a lot of really valuable stuff. I CAN FEEL IT!
Alvida!
Location: Gate 121 C, Newark Airport, Cracked blue plastic leather seat
Time: 4 hours before boarding. Poop.
Music: New John Butler Trio Album. Very bouncy!
Anyway, I’m going to India. I think that’s the most important thing to mention. India, ahoy. So what to say about this. A week ago I was drinking beer on my couch in Syracuse with my family during graduation weekend. Yesterday at this time I was waking my nephew up from a nap at home in Southbury, CT. Today I’m in an airport. Tomorrow I’ll be in Mumbai. Damn. Whenever I get to sit still for a long period of time again, it’ll be good. My packing muscles are sore.
People have been asking me a lot if I’m nervous or excited. Really, those are the only two words that they use, as though they’re on opposite sides of a fear spectrum. I guess I’m both, but this time, the travelling just feels normal. I don’t want to go to a country for a vacation… I want to go to a place so that I can meet the people, get to know it, live there and work there.
Being here in this airport just feels familiar and right.
I met an interesting cast of people on my way in. An older Asian man from Philly who was asking me about the rupees and the hot weather and telling me about all of the fabrics that I will acquire in India. A German girl who’s going to Fort Lauderdale. I wonder if she knows about the tar balls. A whole Italian family who were smirking at my flip-flops and trying to cut me in security line. So then I put my belt and shoes back on. Put the lappy back in its computer bag and into my backpack right with my bag of liquids and here I am in this cracked blue chair. Pleather. Plastic leather.
Is this blog where I’m supposed to talk about hopes and fears? I’m sorry. I’m going with the flow. No hopes. No fears. Not even a plan.
And that’s good.
I’m going to take my backpack, purse, and the bangles on my wrist and find a beer and a sandwich.
Tummy Time.
Hazzah!
Addendum: Just had a nice mid-afternoon snack in the Brooklyn Brewery Station in the airport. There was a sweet woman going to Brussels, and how important it was to have an open mind, travel with good people, and enjoy good beer.
See you on the other side!