A deeper level

16 Feb-19 Feb

Friday night I met Amit, another expat, at Out of the Blue in Union Park, in Khar. Nice place, another enclave of higher class westernized places, included a Baskin Robbins. It seems that one of the primary signs of higher class is the availability of cuisine other than Indian or Chinese. Akshay met us also, and we had an interesting conversation about class divisions in India. It’s such a hierarchical society, and difficult to understand how much of that predated the British and all of their facocked policies. Class is much easier to perceive, at least as an outsider, than caste. At the table next to us was a trio of probably 19 year old local kids celebrating a birthday. They were all in entirely western clothes, eating fondue and cake. Akshay explained that the people who come to this sort of place are likely to work for some sort of multinational corporation or one of the top local companies, and these kids live off of their parents money, not even necessarily going to college. I’m not sure if they are the ultra rich, or if they are just upper middle class. The rise of the middle class here is creating, and was created by, a whole new segment of economic growth, and I’m still learning all about that.

Saturday I was supposed to go to work for a site visit with a foreign group to the Eastern Waterfront, but I woke up not feeling well and started getting sick on the train downtown, so I promptly turned around, came back, and put myself to bed for an afternoon of rest. In the evening I donned a salwar kameez and headed to Matunga for a film night at the JCC- Fiddler on the Roof! The staff organized a film series of Jewish themes from around the world- they are as curious about us as we are about them. It was pretty surreal to be sitting in India watching that movie, singing along and them too following along on printed sheets of lyrics. Afterwards Batya said someone came up to her and asked if the pogroms were really as bad as it looked in the film- when she explained they were, and it went on for many years, the person replied, “Wow, in India we have been so lucky.” It’s true- and really interesting- Indian Jews are one of the few groups in modern times that have not been persecuted, that haven’t suffered. They’ve always been prosperous and lived in harmony with the rest of the ethnic groups here.

The community is also very Zionist. Almost all of them have relatives in Israel, many of whom live in Lod. Apparently you can still see women in saris there. It raises the proverbial question: should they leave India for Israel, leaving nothing left of their community and legacy here? Or should they preserve their way of life, amidst all the continuing changes around them?

After the movie we went to Robbie and Benji’s place and ended up having an extended jam session on various found items of percussion (including Erin’s specialty, a pill bottle full of rocks and sand), guitar, and vina, a beautiful stringed instrument along the lines of sitar or guitar, but horizontal and with a resonance chamber. Thus was born our band, Garam and the Tikka Masalas. Look out Billboard, here we come.

Sunday I joined Patricia and her friends from church and the old neighborhood for a fancier lunch at home, including a yellow curry really similar to something I had in Sri Lanka, and garlic bread! Two of them had been to Israel and we talked about what an intense place it is and how powerful spiritually. I guess Catholics wouldn’t find India so spiritually moving? I have yet to experience the holy sites, although there have been moments of transcendent bliss for me already, like the Hariprasad concert.

In the afternoon I ventured out to Linking Road and tried to do some shopping. Amongst the Levis store and other western brands, there was a ‘Rajasthan crafts exhibition cum sale’ makeshift shop, so I got some stuff there. One shirt way too small, one kurta way too big. I am Goldilocks! After that, I wanted to see a Kathak classical dance performance, but even after Patricia gave the taxi driver directions and explained to me where the theatre was, I was lost. He dropped me off who knows where, near nothing that resembled what she had described. I walked along for a bit, and coming upon nothing, asked a man on the street wearing a polo shirt and nice pants with a moustache and longish hair- looked more Western, somehow. He started leading me down one way, but then it became clear that he didn’t really know either, and he started asking people and leading me in various directions. Not only was I annoyed that I hadn’t found the theatre yet, and was lost, I also was preoccupied with trying to feel out if this guy was going to make me give him baksheesh (a tip/payoff/bribe), or run off with me somewhere, or who knows. He said his name was Stephen and he used to work for a cruiseliner in America. Um, ok. Anyway, that annoyance and preoccupation all added up to me being rather frustrated – I just felt so helpless. I couldn’t get clear directions from anyone, I had no idea what I was looking for or even really how to pronounce it- there was nothing I could do. Ultimately we ended up at one Hindu temple (they keep cows outside and you can buy grass or hay or feed it, and that’s auspicious to do before entering, but then the entrance smells like manure) and the guys selling flowers in front explained that was the Sitladevi temple, and the Prabhadevi temple was farther down. Stephen said it would take 30 minutes by taxi to get there, and by that point it was way too late to even attempt it, so I just gave up and made a quick exit before any baksheesh conversation could take place, if it was even going to.

Luckily I recognized the area as Erin and Batya’s neighborhood, so I called B, she was nearby and on her way home, so I just stood around waiting for her and then we went to her apartment before heading out to Bandra to have dinner with other expats. Dan and Samira work here, Dan I think for Tata Consulting and Samira with an NGO but I’m not sure. They live in a really nice place in a cute corner of Bandra not far from me, near good restaurants especially. Beth is on a Fulbright to study art here, part of her PhD in art history at Penn. We got into an interesting conversation about the concept of public good and social contracts here. Whereas in the States, there is a formal social contract and general agreement to follow the rules set up for the common good, here the concept of rules for the common good does not quite exist. The best example of this is the road traffic. Beth pointed out that traffic in the states is not necessarily caused by anything more than people slowing down up hills and speeding up down them, there isn’t actual congestion, it’s just from inconsistent speeds. Here, on the other hand, there really is traffic and congestion because there is no concept of sticking to a lane, and the roads are considered the domain of anyone who so chooses, not just vehicles. The traffic light system often just seems like a suggestion, and what prompts the front car to move is not necessarily the light changing, it’s everyone behind honking their heads off. However, although in the States there is this general agreement about following laws in a macro sense, the micro interactions between individuals demonstrate far less brotherhood than here. People really help each other here—Beth told a story of being late for an event but her taxi needed to stop and get petrol, so the petrol station people helped her hail another cab and explained to the driver where she needed to go, and that she needed to get there fast. This kind of reaching out to help someone else seems more rare in the States. We keep to ourselves, we don’t get involved in strangers’ business as much as we can help it. We don’t want to be bothered with other people’s problems. Here it’s all communal. It’s all public, in a shared sphere of interaction where it’s all related. Of course there is more nuance than this reduced explanation, but the underlying difference is striking.

Anyway, I was glad to have someone to receive my venting- she made the important points that traveling abroad is different than living abroad, and living abroad is pretty much the same as living at home, just harder. So true! I think I came here with a set of expectations that really go more along with traveling, not living, and that’s been part of my feeling not entirely satisfied. Understanding that living is a whole different ballgame is important for me to swallow. I think yesterday was the first time I’ve really allowed myself to dig into the frustrations, and the toll they take. I was exhausted from the walking around, trying to find the theatre, and demoralized that I was so helpless to find it. Not being able to speak the language, not knowing my way around and feeling lost all the time, being on my guard to such an extreme that I couldn’t even graciously accept the kindness of a stranger, not knowing if I’m overpaying/being ripped off, et cetera- all of this is draining. Just normal functions here require a higher degree of consciousness, cognition, and cautiousness than life at home, and it can be exhausting. Whiteness here sometimes buys special access, and other times I’m reminded why it’s called being an outsider- because one is really kept outside. Maybe I can peer in and see a bit, but I just can’t get in, and ‘in’ is where the real action is.

Then as if on cue, this morning I was groped for the first time walking through Churchgate. It was weird- I got a distinctly off vibe from the guy as I saw him coming towards me, and then when he passed he reached his hand back and felt my ass. I’d wished I had the reflexes to grab his hand or hit him or turn around and grab his balls, and I was surprised at myself for having such an aggressive and violent reaction. I guess I’ve been feeling immune to those acts, and I was angry at him for destroying that. And, it was gross.

At the same time, it does build confidence and strength of character to get through the day-to-day of life here, and it’s important to me to put a face and real identity to this so-called “third world.” I’m learning, perhaps especially from the frustrations.