Weekend in India (part 1)

Six AM came quickly the Saturday, with some beers from a happy hour the night before still lingering with me. I was excited to get a chance to explore beyond the realm of the Royal Orchid hotel and IBM Bangalore. Our driver Rhagu arrived promptly on time, though we were lagging a little bit behind. He had insisted on leaving early because of the many hours of traveling ahead. Remember how I had scoffed at the idea of sitting in the car for 5 hours? Well, I had a change of heart after all.

We pulled into a gas station soon after leaving the hotel. An attendant was there to fill us up and afterwards one was there to fill our tires. One thing I’ve noticed in India is there are always seems to be several people waiting to serve you in some small way. I suppose with a nation of this size and the impoverished population being so high, people will find any slots they can to earn a rupee.

Finally we were rolling and I felt like I was getting my first taste of what Bangalore was really like. The road quality and the amount of traffic was rising, along with the count of characters out on the road and along the streets. We saw many rickshaw drivers, which are these three-wheel, buggy-like things that server as second-rate taxis. They almost seem to be on the bottom of the food chain as Rhagu almost hit a few of them as he was passing by. Their lack of size and speed seems to translate into a lack of respect by the surrounding traffic.

Speaking of the traffic, the driving is absolutely insane. I noticed that lanes started to become marked as we drove through some of the more “modern” areas of the city. I don’t think anyone takes these markings seriously though. Often times you see more vehicles than lanes driving parallel to each other. They leave very little space between each other and if there is any, some motorcycle or scooter will try to claim it.

It gets even scarier though as you head out of the city and hit two-lane traffic. People seem to think that passing lanes can be used as driving lanes. There were several instances where I was ready to push the panic button as I saw two vehicles coming at us from both lanes, not more than 50 yards away. Some times it would be two buses, even. Rhagu showed now sign of urgency though. If things got too close for comfort, he’d drive onto shoulder. I guess that’s what it’s there for. He forced a couple people over there himself with his pass-happy style of driving, keeping two wheels of our car in the right passing lane most of the time.

Rhagu asked us if we had breakfast and whether we’d be interested in stopping before leaving the outskirts of Bangalore. “No” and “Yes” were our answers. He pulled into a lot before a place called “New Agarwal Bhavan” and warned us that we would need to stand and eat. No problem.

The place seemed to be more of a bakery than a restaurant, with several Indian sweets resting behind a glass counter. I had eaten some of the edible tin foiled ones before, though I have no idea what they were called. The restaurant was shaped like a backwards capital “L” with the glass counter of to the left and in the fore front and pick up counter down the other leg. A cash register stood at the intersection.

There was no menu to speak of, so we had no idea what to do, even as Rhagu said, “Go ahead and place your order…”. “We don’t know what we can order. We need some help.”, Mike said. “Get some cho cho ba”, I think I heard him say, but I have no idea. “I think you’re going to have do this for us, Rhagu”, Mike said. So he did. Three cho cho bas for here. I tacked on a tea to his order. I wanted to get my first taste of chai.

Soon enough, our orders were at the pick up counter, so we carried the plates to some small round tables. One these plates were two mounds of what I would describe as being like corn meal. One was sweet and the other salty and ever so slightly spicy. Rhagu advised us to mix the two mounds together, which we did and began consuming. We were eating a tasty breakfast, like Indians would. My chai came soon afterwards, in what I would call a metal shot glass on top of a metal dish. It reminded me of an espresso shot. I sipped from the container and found it quite satisfying to the taste, being quite a lot of milk and sugar drowning out some tea in there.

The locals didn’t seem to pay us much mind, perhaps a few looks here and there. As we walked out and entered our car, a woman that was as thin like a skeleton approached our back window with her hand outstretched. “Please”, she said, “Please”. Rhagu paid her little notice and started the engine. As we rode off her hand was still held out to us.

As broke the city perimeter and rode into the country, I noticed several people walking along the passing shoulder that we were using for an emergency lane. They must’ve been walking to or from the towns they resided from. Several people carried items on their heads, like a basket of laundry, a large pot full of pots and pans, or a bundle of firewood. Most of these people were women and I was impressed with the amount and size of items that they carried. Even more impressive, some of them didn’t have to use their hands, walking with perfect posture to carry their load.

Seeing the families walking reminded me of an Italian paseggia, a time when people all take a stroll through town, usually in the evening after dinner. It seemed to be a common act that they were sharing with each other, many of the woman dressed in beautiful saris. It was an explosion of color.

Again I was awestruck by the lack of infrastructure found in the towns that we passed through, along with the overwhelming poverty. I guess they probably go hand in hand. The communities seemed to be obliterated by some natural disaster or war, but I know it’s just the slow speed at which they’ve gotten to this point. There were a lot of cement businesses lined up in practically every town, which would seem to be a lucrative business to go into because of the enormous need for that material. It seemed a luxury for anybody to just have a sidewalk in front of their house or business, even if it was broken up and uneven.

We arrived in the town of Sravana Beloga, home of the world’s tallest monolith that we had seen several billboards for. We arrived at gate that led to the heart of town, which a guard opened for us. One curious thing that I’m noticing in Bangalore and some of the towns we’ve visited is they have these guarded gates. We, including Rhagu, have yet to interact with the guards though. They just open it for us. Is it because we look like tourists?

Even before getting out of our car, several people were waiting at all doors, holding post cards, ready to sell. I was warned that we would probably get “attacked” by these folks, looking to pull a few rupees from the tourist-types like us. “10 rupees for these post cards, mister? Mister, please look at these post cards. Ok, how about later? My name is…” This is similar to what we heard from a few of these people. Mike remarked that these sellers were not nearly as bad as he had seen. They seemed to take “no” for an answer, at least for the moment, while others he had seen, followed them for several hundred yards before surrendering.

500 feet of stairs awaited us as we deposited our shoes and socks at a nearby counter. No shoes are allowed up the stairs and into the temples that we would climb to. As we began our ascent, we observed there were a couple people taking advantage of a transportation service that was offered. They have these single chairs supported by two long wooden poles that four men take the ends of and haul to the top with willing riders. I scoffed at the idea of doing this, always looking forward to most climbs, but I could see the value in the ride, seeing several elderly people getting a lift.

It wasn’t too long before the views became breath-taking, even a third of the way up. I am a huge fan of vistas and the preview I was seeing all around me was spectacular. Though it’s their dry season here, it was fairly green and somewhat mountainous terrain around me, not what I would expect in India. The only down side is that it’s fairly hazy, which I think is a result of the smog which I don’t think we left behind in Bangalore. The views are still pretty awesome, but are taken in with a slightly cloudy lens.

There was a bit of a rest stop before the summit, with stairs leading to a temple off to the side. I paid a visit before continuing my journey to the monolith, climbing the steps and stepping inside. It was dark and mysterious. My eyes took a few moments to adjust to the light. On three sides of the room there were blocked off entrances to small rooms that contained metal status of what I gathered to be Hindu gods. People were bent forward and chanting with smothered faces in the floor. It felt very peaceful inside.

Each god had a charity box before it and some water in a metal dish that I perceived to be holy water. People were dipping their hands in it and touching their forehead. I did not do the same, but did take a 10-rupee bill and place it in one of the charity boxes, a very meager donation to keep an echanted place like this alive.

I left the temple and noticed my companions continuing along to the monolith. I joined them, winding up a small set of stairs to the top. It led to a building that was surrounded by scaffolds, seemingly keeping the infrastructure in place. There were many people trying to squeeze through a passage way with a metal rail in the middle. I hurdled another metal rail and patiently followed.

What emerged was the monolith, a gigantic statue of the Jain icon, Lord Bahubali, also known as Gomatesharawa. The tradition is that people climb stairs up to the top of scaffolding that rises above this goliath and pour four different liquids on top of his head in sequence. The first is holy water. The second is coconut milk. The third is a yellow liquid called “haldi” (Tumeric) and the fourth is a red liquid called “kum kum”

I learned this from a couple gentlemen who waved me over to sit with them and their young daughters in the shade on some straw mats. “Come, sit with us”, they said. I took them up on their offer and was happy I did, as it was cool and comfortable and I felt at peace. These men were excited to be engaging with a foreigner and encouraged their daughters to shake my hand. They were beautiful young girls, probably seven or eight years old, a bit tentative at first to be interacting with this strange American.

I asked them their names, which I’ve already forgotten, probably due to the fact that I had trouble pronouncing them. They did not seem to posess the ability to speak English as their fathers did, which surprised me. I was just thinking about how easy it is for children to pick up languages. I asked one of the more fluent of the fathers if the girls went to school. It took him a few seconds to comprehend and when he did, he shook his head almost with an expression of what I took as shame. I wondered what kept these girls from being educated. Was it their sex or caste or both? They were wearing pink toy cell phones around their next, which made me think they were well off enough. But perhaps this was the extent of their wealth.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed their company and I believe they felt the same. I joined them in applause as we saw the four liquids being dropped over the monolith. There was music being sprinkled into the air as well, creating a pleasant atmosphere. I felt like I was in the holy place that it was.

I partially enjoyed the view again as we began our descent, taking heed of the steep steps in front of me. A foursome carrying a rider brushed passed me after signaling me with a “hello”. Boy those guys can move. There were several people on their way up, wiping their brows and breathing hard. It was a pretty good climb on a warm day.

When we reached the bottom, we were bombarded with post card sellers, trying for our business again. We held them off for a moment as we went to retrieve our shoes. When we had those on, the beggars came out. An amputee was dragging himself along the pathway to the shoe repository. He outstretched his leather clad hand to me, which was more like a claw. I gave him a 100 and suddenly a few women came out of the wood work. I gave one a 100 and a couple 10’s to some other others, but it wasn’t enough for them. A small girl patted her stomach and said “la la la” to get my attention. A mother was with a baby, whom she outstretched its tiny hand to me. “For the baby”, she said. I had given her 100 and said, “but I gave you some rupees”. She continued. I’m always at odds at how to deal with beggars, especially these people whose situations are much more dire than what I’ve seen. I was giving, but it was so little.

We left the village of Sravana Beloga with vendors and beggars still practically attached to our car. Rhagu was slightly annoyed at how long we had spent watching the statue. He expected us a half hour ago, though we didn’t agree on a time. Chill out, homes.

And with that I end this blog entry until next time when I write on our travels, that same weekend believe it or not, to Halebid and Belur as well as our adventures on the Eagleton Golf Course.

Until then, ciao my friends…

Ready for an Indian weekend

I am just finishing up on my first week of work here at IBM India and am ready for an action packed weekend. The time has flown by, actually, even though I've spend most of it in either IBM's walls or the Royal Orchid's.

Food seems to be the main topic of my India blogs, so I'll continue. I had some good stuff at the Indian food court today, this time going for something called chicken jhakta paratha. The best way to describe it is by comparing it to a chicken quesadilla, without the cheese. It came with two dipping sauces, one lentil based and one yogurt based. Along with the naan and the water I bought, it came out to about 72 rupees (~1.75), which is the most that I've spent on a lunch thus far. Again though, my favorite pet peeve to complain about came up again. I gave the cashier a 100 rupee bill and he gave me back 3 10's, then asked me for 2 rupees back. Of course, I've yet to see what 1 rupee looks like, much less 2, so I just shrugged my shoulders again and said, "I don't have anything under 10" (Why don't you just give me 2 10's and 8 rupees?) Then I got the ol' "You can pay me 2 rupees next time" routine. I think by the time I leave here, I'll owe every vendor in this place, 2-3 rupees each. I swear, 1 rupee coins are like gold around here.
Anyway, the food was very good actually, though it seems like I always run out of naan to soak up all of the sauces. I notice that Indians are quite adept at eating with their hands and have no conscience in diving into what is usually a very soupy meal. I'm not quite there yet.

Along with my rupee peeve, another unexplained phenomena that I've encountered here is in the bathrooms of IBM. The urinals are very similar to what I've seen in the states, but instead of stalls, they have what I would call closets with toilets inside. Perhaps Indians enjoy their privacy. What has been a mystery up to this point, however, is that in each of these closets, along with the toilet, is a 5 gallon bucket, a 1 pint pitcher and a hose connected to the side wall. Some times the buckets are slightly filled with water. The first thing that came to mind is a make-shift bidet, but these hoses spray quite a bit of water, which would give the user quite a shower. Mike sheepishly shook his shoulders when I asked him and like me, he's been embarrassed to ask any of the Indians. Do they use these items to clean the toilet? What's the pitcher for? As of now, these questions are unanswered.

So that's all I got: Chicken, rupees and make-shift bidets. I'm heading out for the weekend, where I'm hoping for some fun and new adventures...will come back Monday with mucho text and photos.

Until then, ciao my friends...

India Continued - Work, Eat and Sleep

Barking dogs have been waking me up at 4 AM the past two mornings. They're serving as my pre-wake up call. I'm not sure if this is when they usually wake up and are telling the world that they are alive and well or what. I think my internal clock is allowing them to wake me though, because I'm still feeling fairly wide awake at that time.

Breakfast has been my favorite meal time thus far because it's buffet-style and has a lot of foods that I'm used to. The Indian food that I have tried hasn't been bad, but I'm sure I haven't tried the best yet. We've paid a visit back to the local food court again and had some naan with a couple of sauces, one lentil-based and one cheesey-tomato based. It was good, but I found myself feeling pretty hungry afterwards.

Today we tried the IBM cafeteria, which, believe it or not, is much worse than the IBM Silicon Valley Lab cafe. It almost looks like a bazaar of some sort, with carts spread out on cracked concrete and aluminum dining tables placed haphazardly all around. Ordering proved to be quite interesting. Mike and I picked a cart that didn't seem as crowded and we waited there while, watching two gentlemen prepare some wraps. They were frying tortilla-looking things and laying down various ingredients. The only one I could recognize was onion. The sign had two little menus, one veggie and one non-veggie (chicken) with prices ranging between 20 and 30 rupees (~50-75 cents) . Mike and I waited their patiently while they prepared food for a grouping of 5-6 people. Soon a few more people showed up and handed money to one of the vendors. Mike finally stepped in and said, "Can I get one with chicken" After a while of acting as if we weren't there, the vendor looked up and said, "non-veggie is on the other side". So we walked a couple feet to the other vendor, who gave us the same routine, barely acknowledging us. One guy came around and tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Two veggie". I guess we need to be a little more aggressive in this country. Mike poked his head in and repeated, "Can I get one with chicken". Again, this ridiculous hestation happened and the dude said, "We don't serve chicken" Hello? Mike tried another option, which seemed to be available, but the vendor tried to get him to try something else. "We have paneer", he said. Paneer it is. He started cooking Mike's, while I waited a little more.

I had had enough of that cart though and walked over to counter where I saw bags of potato chips. Ahh, good ol' wholesome American junk food. Now you're talking. At the counter I saw a menu for three wraps, "Veggie", "Paneer" and "Chicken". Let me try chicken again. "We don't serve chicken", he said. Hmmmm. "Ok, let me have a paneer". Whatever that is (I think it's a fried cottage cheese). "We have veggie and paneer". Yes, I can see that. "I'll go with paneer". "Paneer?"..."Yes". Finally, my order was placed and I did receive it, a little wrap with some paneer in it. I splashed some red sauce on the plate that everyone seemed to be using and gave it try. Not too bad, actually. The red sauce, whatever that was, was somewhat sweet like ketchup and surprisingly not spicy. I added a bag of potato chips to my order and it came out to a grand total of 33 rupees (~75 cents). The chips seemed less greasy than American chips, but they went down pretty well.

Probably the most interesting and exciting part of my days so far has been the ride to and from work. Granted I haven't done a whole lot outside of work thus far, but I can't get over the cast of character that we pass by and almost run over during the mile-or-so journey that we take both ways each day. Last night we drove by this sidewalk where there was a guy standing beside some fixture that was on fire that we thought may have been burning effigy. People walked by semi-curiously, trying to avoid the flames. Some of the buildings that we drive by are barely more than shells of their former selves and peeking inside of one as we drove by, I actually saw what looked to be a family sitting on a rotted couch, looking towards something. Was it a TV? I wouldn't have believed that electricity could still be flowing there, but who knows. Regardless, the poverty I'm seeing is a thousand fold of what I see at home in the homeless that I encounter on the streets of Palo Alto at times. The conditions that these people seem to be living in is shocking.

Meanwhile, I carry on within the safe and friendly confines of IBM. I'm impressed with how friendly people have been and the sense of humor that they display. I think the resounding quality that I'm witnessing, is patience. There seems to be a zen-like calm within the corperate walls.

The only thing I have found bothersome is a few security nits. You need to a badge to get into any closed off area and despite getting access to my building the first day, this doesn't mean I can go everywhere that says IBM. Three times now I've had to ask for clearance to enter another area where I've had to go for meetings and presenations. The other weird thing is that some doors that require a badge cannot be left open for more than 5-10 seconds before a siren goes off. The cubicle room that I go to can barely get more than 3-4 people in or out before that happens. So sometimes, that zen-like calm is disturbed. :-)

The last few mornings I've been hitting the treadmill, which has left me absolutely drenched in sweat due to the heat and humidity in their workout area. They have these high-end machines with live TV's on the console, which has been great because I can watch the news every day. I've been watch the BBC, some sort of world news, which has been interesting to me. I'm generally not a news watcher, but it's been fun to follow some of the stories, such as labor protests coming from the youth in Paris and people protesting the election of the prime minister of Belarus. They also bring up our wonderful president George Bush, speaking about the fact that he's denying that civil war is occuring in Iraq. Sure, W. So it's been a good way to start my morning, a good run and some news.

So that's about all for now...Nothing too exciting to report because a good portion of my time is spent at IBM, at the hotel and in cabs, fearing for my life as I take in this show called "Bangalore". More text and pictures (I hope) should come as I get to the weekend.

Until then...ciao my friends.

tidbits -

It's been difficult to buy things from smaller vendors (e.g. coffee counters, food carts) due to the odd demoniations that they use and due to the fact that ATM's only tend to give out 100 rupee bills (~ $2.50). Even 50 rupee bills seem to big for some people. For instance, on Wednesday when I bought my paneer wrap and chips, the cost was 33 rupees. I figured I could just give him a 50, but then he gave me two 10's back and asked me for 3 rupees (ahh, I just have a couple 50's and all 100's, dude). He ended up saying, "You can pay me 3 rupees another time" Thursday, getting a "chicken kabob roll" from a coffee/sandwich counter in the food court, that was a wopping 15 rupees (~35 cents), they told me they wanted something smaller after I took out the 50. They weren't even that pleased when I gave in and showed them two 10's, but comprised as well and gave me a 5 rupee coin. PEOPLE OF INDIA: How am I supposed to get smaller denominations when you won't let me use my bigger bills? I think I'd better find a way of getting smaller bills or I'm going to be out of the market quickly.

Welcome To India

And so it began...

I was traveling to India, a place of intrigue and mystery to me, a place which brings up images of extreme poverty, yet enormous tech boom. As I waited in the United Airlines check in line, I wondered what India I would see more of and how I would react. I wondered I how I would be received, as yet another American looking to exploit the cheap labor, or as another faciliator to their growth as a country. Would they be able to understand me, and I them? Sure I had worked with people of Indian descent in the past, but these were people who had been fairly Americanized. How would they compare to the people that I would encounter?

The trip itself was fairly uneventful, given that it was 21 hours long with a stop in Frankfurt. A younger Israeli man was sitting next to me on the way to Germany and warned me that Indians are essentially "liars" in nature. He also told me that German girls are easy and that though Israeli woman are conisdered to be some of the most beautiful in the world, this was probably an invention of their own making. Thank you for the global advice.

Coming through the Frankfurt airport, I noticed an ad saying "Die Andere IBM" (The other IBM), basically advertising our business consulting division. I guess IBM is everywhere. Like the Heathrow airport that I had been through before, Frankfurt's aiport was partly like some bizarre mall, selling hard liquor and expensive jewelry. One difference I noticed, is it had an area devoted to slot machines. So maybe it was more like Vegas. Adding to its uniqueness, was the part of getting to my gate. Unlike what I'm used to, they were checking people's tickets before letting them into the seating area for the gate. What was strange is that the guy barely looked at my ticket before letting me through and when they called us to board, nobody was even checking tickets or doing the whole "people seated in rows x through y may come aboard" thing. We just all got in this huge line and walked onto the plane. Yeah, that's secure. I guess maybe they run people through the ringer before getting to that point, but I felt as if I could have gone to India as long as I had a ticket to somewhere.

Regardless of how I or anybody got on, I was impressed with the Lufthansa plane. They had plenty of leg room in economy class and I lucked out by having nobody sitting next to me. Not that I was feeling entirely anti-social, but it's nice to be able to stretch out in all directions, especially when you've been sitting on a plane for 21 hours and grogginess was beginning to settle in. I dozed for part of the flight and watched an Indian movie called "Deewane Huye Pagaal". It was a complete ripoff of "There's Somthing About Mary", which was probably the intent, but it was entertaining due to its over-the-top nature. There were these outrageously elaborate dance scenes that were amusing to watch and everyone seemed so melodramatic. I couldn't get over how high everyone's voice was though, even from the men. It seemed somewhat unmasculine to me.

We descended, which gave me a nervous and excited feeling as Bangalore came into view. Rather than the continuous speckle of lights that would expect from big cities, there were large patches of light and dark. I noticed some areas with colorful, bright and blinking lights coming off of buildings. They reminded me of the outside of strip clubs and casinos, two types of business I wouldn't associate with India for some reason, but who knows what they had going on there. I also noticed a house or building that seemed to be completely covered with what looked like christmas lights. I felt like I would be seeing a lot of things that may be left unexplainable, if not a little strange.

Coming off the plane and into the airport, it seemed as though I was venturing through a place that was under construction. The carpeted and clean sterility that I have grown to expect from airports, was replaced by dirty tiled pathways through a wooden, rusted and smeared glass infrastructure with mosquitoes buzzing all around me. The thought “Third World” came to mind as I followed a long queue of people just wanting to get their bags and be gone.

There was one rickety baggage claim belt that had suitcases scattered all over the floor around it. I scanned the area for my black suitcase, hoping I would come up a winner. People prodded and pushed their way through the maze of luggage and that led to immigration and customs, while I kept my eye on the belt which seemed like it could start smoking at any moment. Not too long in waiting, it appeared and I felt relieved and somewhat lucky that my suitcase and I had reunited, in India of all places.

Next on the agenda was getting through the bureaucracy as I entered the long line of travelers wishing to pass through immigration. There were roughly nine to ten desks of people, all men, taking people’s passports, visas and other paper work and giving them their stamp of approval. I received that same stamp after little ado, thank you very much. Welcome to India.

I felt a little nervous passing through the exit, having been insulated by air travel for the past 22 hours. No longer could I count on signs and itineraries to keep me occupied and on task. I felt as if I’d be on my own now. That changed very quickly; however, as I was approached by suited man who asked me what hotel I was staying at. “The Royal Orchid?” I replied and he brought me to another man who had a list with my name on it. Hooray! “Welcome to Bangalore sir, let me take you to your driver”. Another man took my suitcase (much division of labor here) and we went outside and down a ramp that was flanked by two rails that were absolutely ringing with people. I would have to estimate that there were between 150 and 200 people there with signs displaying mostly names of people and some with names of hotels. I felt like I was at a political rally.

The gentleman took me to the side of a road, where a car eventually pulled up and they loaded my luggage. The man from the hotel gave me his card and advised me not to use the taxis because they can easily try to charge up to 60 dollars for a ride that will some times be the wrong place. I’ll stick with the hotel rides.

Entering the car, I noticed that the steering wheel was in the wrong place. Oh yeah, they drive on the left side. The driver settled himself in on bead-covered seat and we were rolling. He honked as he passed a truck from the right-hand side. There were no marked lanes to speak of. A few people were still out roaming the street at this small hour of the night, seemingly unaffected by any oncoming traffic. My driver just weaved passed them, unaffected himself. Several stray dogs were scattered on the street as well. Battered houses and buildings passed by, with an occasional high-tech-looking building. I’d say of the area I’ve seen so far, there are about 8-10 beat-up-looking buildings to ones that seem well kept and modern.

A bell hop took his turn with my suitcase as I checked in at the Royal Orchid. Even though it was a little after 1 AM, I still felt relatively awake, though a bit travel weary. We made our way up to my room on the third floor, which turned out to be rather nice with a hard wood floor and a comfy bed, which is all I really needed. It wasn’t too long before I was settled and battling my California-ized internal clock, which was telling me it was lunch time. Time for a run and some food, not sleep!

The morning came fairly abruptly. I wasn’t sure about how much sleep I had gotten. The anticipation of seeing this country in the daylight kepts some of the sleep away I'm sure. It reminded me a bit of my first trip to California, which I had come in at 1 AM as well and had awoken to a landscape that had been hidden by the night and was now exposed and wonderfully and unexpectedly different than I had imagined. The view out of my window exposed a scene where people, some barely dressed, were working among the ruins of a damaged city. It almost appeared as if I was witnessing a war zone undergoing the beginnings of reconstruction.

My first breakfast at the hotel was fairly westernized, seeing items like corn flakes, scrambled eggs, toast and pastries. There were some interesting items like lamb croquette (kind of a fried potato pocket type of thing), which I gave a try (and enjoyed) and other Indian-looking dishes that I wasn’t quite ready to venture a try yet for breakfast. I’d have plenty of opportunity to test my taste buds and stomach. It wasn’t too long before my old buddy and co-worker Mike MacDonald appeared at the cafe door. I hadn’t seen him in a few years since he returned to IBM Toronto. It was nice to see a familiar face.

We enjoyed some breakfast together and soon afterward jumped into the car of someone that had become his “personal driver”. Apparently he was affiliated with the hotel and had given Mike his cell phone. He was at his beckoning call.

The ride to IBM consisted of some maneuvering through pot-holed streets and construction along with wandering people, bicycles, scooters and cows (yes, cows). We eventually came to an intersection which seemed impossible to negotiate, given the sheer amount of traffic that was coming from both directions. A car in front of us was patiently waiting, which is probably what I would be doing, but our driver would have none of it. “He should be able to go”, he said. Really? A few honks later, sure enough, he merged onto the ongoing chaos and we followed. Like most lines in India, it’s just a matter of putting your nose in there. Don’t mind the fact that you may get killed.

The IBM site itself consists of three four-story buildings that look like palaces compared to the rubble that surrounds them. Microsoft is here too. In fact, we both share a building. What the world needs now is love, sweet love…oh, never mind. I checked myself in at security, where they took my badge, ran it through a scanner a few times and said I was good to go. Mike was jealous that I could now use my IBM badge to get into the building, whereas he was using some green temporary thing. I’m global, my man.

I was led up to the fourth floor through a maze of cubicles to a room with the sign “Software Lab of India” on one of the windows out front. Inside I’d find my work home for the next few weeks, a quiet cubicle among many. As I walked to this room and to my cubicle, I noticed quite a few heads turn. Perhaps it is due to my overly handsome looks, which could very well be the case. But it was proably due to my newfound minority status among this Indian culture.

My first day flew by fairly quickly, working from about 9:30 A.M. to 8:00 P.M. I had my first Indian lunch at around 1 PM, taking a walk with some co-workers to the food court that stood among the building blocks. While standing in line at one of the main counters, some of the Indian folks I was with advised that I try the “Cheese Uttappam”, so paid for this and a liter of bottled of water. The price: 50 rupees, which is barely over a dollar. Again, waiting in line for my food (they give you a number once you’ve paid) proved to be an exercise in jostling and nudging ability. People don’t seem to mind being bumped and likewise, bumping you. You’d think that with a system where they call your number that you would just hang back and wait, but it doesn’t quite work that way. I noticed some people getting their food despite not hearing their number called, others, like me gave them their slip and were told that it would be ready any minute.

Eventually, I did receive my cheese uttappam, which turned out to be a piece of what looked like pita bread, smothered with a light-colored cheese. It was served on a steel tray that looked like it could have been used back in the 1930’s and had indentions that contained some dipping sauces for the uthappam. One was a red, tomato-based (I think) sauce and the other was a creamy, spicy green coconut sauce. I noticed the Indians that were with us would eat with their hands and use the lone piece of silverware, a large metal spoon, to ladle the sauces on the bread. I gave Mike a hard time for eating with his left hand, which I read is not what people are supposed to do. The right hand is meant for eating and the left is meant for the toilet. Being left-handed myself, I couldn’t eat for very long without being clumsy, so I switched back at the expense of being a hypocrite.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful as I tried to stay awake in my office chair. That was a challenge. By 8 PM, I surrendered and called the hotel for a ride back. Mike’s driver showed up, and suddenly he was my driver too. He told me to plan a trip on the weekend to a place I can’t remember the name of, but remember he said it would be a 5 hour drive. I nodded, but was thinking, “I just spent 21 hours sitting on a plane. I think I’ll stick with Bangalore for a while.”

I tried staying up a little longer to adjust further to the Indian time zone, but it was no use. I thought I’d just lie down on the bed for a few minutes, maybe get something to eat, but a few hours later, I awoke to the week hours of the night. I was done.

So that’s my intro to India…Nothing entirely exciting, but somewhat interesting I hope…Will have more to say as I experience…

A couple more tidbits:

People's cell phones go off at work all of the time with all different kinds of ring tones and they carry on with these pretty public conversations. The funny thing is that nobody's bothered.

I'm finding that I need to remind myself to stay to the left when walking around and especially up or down stairs. I've gotten some wayward glances along with polite smiles as I've tried to stay right. "Silly American".