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".