Memory Notes from India

1-31-2007; Rajasthan: I’m on the bus from Jodhpur to Jaipur. I look up from my book to notice a green parrot flying along side the bus. I did a double take – it was almost like a cow flying by. I have seen a parrot fly about an apartment, but never like a robin or pigeon. It flew straight, it glided – kelly green, against a blue sky and dry beige mountains. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

2-2-2007; Hyderabad: I am in the Anmol Continental Hotel. The paper is slid under the door in the morning. This morning it is The Hindu – labeled the national paper of India since 1878. In Delhi I had been reading the Hindustan Times and The Times of India. Of course they are all English papers. Most other days at the Anmol the Deccan Times is delivered. I have to find the source of the word ‘Deccan,’ it is common, there is Deccan Air.

Stapled to the morning paper in the upper left hand corner is a blue card. The card is my passport to the breakfast (included with the room). The breakfast is an Indian breakfast, just about everything is spicy. They do have fruit, papaya, mango, pineapple, and occasionally watermelon. Cornflakes are available but the milk tastes too different. I’ve avoided American food on this trip – the tastes are not the same, so it is always a disappointment – an imitation – I assume the same is true with most Indian food served in the US. The Indian food on the other hand is new and filling, an adventure even if it turns out that I do not like it.

English is one of the two official languages of India, Hindu the other – with all the help desks staffed in India it was still a surprise that English is one of the official languages. Every state in India has it own language. It is only the educated class that speak English, the pedicab drivers rarely speak anything more that a few words. Taxicab drivers are more conversant with English. One thing to keep in mind when using the pedicabs or bicycle rickshaw – the drivers are generally illiterate; the practical consequence of which is that they can not read maps. Even if you can point to where you want to go on a map it doesn’t help – they can not make heads or tails of it. The problem is always solved one way or another; I have always arrived at the right destination, something with multiple stops and conferences with pedestrians

Internet Cafes

What do you think of when you think of an Internet café? Do you think of Starbucks with a barista bringing you a coffee and a snack as you commute with the world? Nay, in the developing world, it’s usually a hole in the wall, maybe a carrel maybe not, sometimes with kids running around, many times so cramped that you are pointing your head at your lap to see the screen. Populated by students and techno-nerds (I say that affectionately since I’ve often been accused of being one). Frequently nobody speaks English, of course they don’t, I don’t speak Hindi. Connections vary, from the painfully slow to the fast, from very cheap to very expensive. Don’t even think about Macs – this is a PC world.

I’ve been whining about the internet access and connection speeds lately. All true, but…, that’s the challenge. At the end of the day it is working, not as well as I’d like but working. In an ideal world, I’d get back to the Hotel, they would have a fast wireless connection. Skypes would be clear, Gotomypc would be as fast as lighting, and a barista would bring me coffee and a snack or depending on the hour a scotch.

I’ve been running around looking for someplace to work. So what, a pedi-cab took me 10 miles the other day and the price was less than $2. And everywhere I go I see something new. I beginning to learn how to adapt, and change how I use the internet to communicate while I am traveling in the developing world. So the next time you think I’m whining send me a note telling me to stick it in my ear.

Will I Ever Get To Secunderabad?

Not yet anyway. I’ve just read over my entries and I think they seem a bit disjointed. They talk about moments, but they do not chronicle the trip. I will correct. I’m going to divide my entries into the following g selection:

Travel Chronicle: This section will give the day’s events and travel. I’ll keep it short.

Journal Posts: This section will be a continuation of the way I’ve been writing to date.

Memory Notes: This section will be short bits on impressions, short thought. I did this in the January 28^th Post.

Let’s start by attempting to reconstruct the travel itinerary:

January 23, 2007: 4:55 PM; Depart Wash. DC

Trip Begins, Flew out of Dulles International to Charles de Gaulle International in Paris

January 24, 2007: 6:20 AM; Arrive Paris

After a 4 hour layover flew from Paris to New Delhi. The flight was delayed for two hours at de Gaulle by snow. Four hour layover after custom becomes and boarding about an hour and half of checking email.

January 25^th, 2007: 12:46 AM; Arrive

I arrived in Delhi early in the morning, about one. Tourist Office found me a Hotel and arranged for a taxis to the Hotel Red Castle in Channa Market, a section of the Karol Bagh neighborhood. In the morning I changed to a cheaper and better Singh Sons Hotel with internet service. I called Vipin Agrawal of Deepak Industries. I took a cab to his Office in the OKHLA Industrial Area Phase I. He had his driver return me to my Hotel, and swing by the --------.

January 26^th 2007 Republic Day – National Holiday in India. All business shut down. Metros working, Center of City closed for parades. Go in search of American Express Bank At Connaught Place. End up in Paharganj. Spend about five hours wandering. Go to Travel Agents and make deposit on Hotel

January 27^th, 2007 Go to American Express Bank in Connaught Place by taxi. Return by Metro and bicycle rickshaw. Work on internet from Hotel room. Picked-up by Deepak driver and Dr. Deepak Agrawal (The father) go to Deepak offices at Okhla Industrial Area Phase I. Tour assemble area in basement, review microscope. Go to Noida Free Trade Zone to view Deepak’s consumable warehouse and packaging operation. Go to Surajpur to Deepak metal fabricating plant. Return to City, Greenpark neighborhood, spend time in Vipin home. Vipin and I go out to dinner in Greenpark to a Pizza Hut. Driver returns me to Hotel. Go to Travel agents to make payment on Hotel.

I canuary 28, 2007 Hotel informs me I have to leave, no room, Joshi calls says there are not flights to Jodhpur. I call travel agents to have them find me a room. Joshi calls and tells me to get to airport flight arranged. Get cab to Domestic airport, no reservation, but ticket available. Purchase ticket, go to lounge to call Joshi, not phone. Write for about twenty minutes. Find phone call Joshi, he tells me there is a ticket and that it has been paid for, he give reservation numbers, return to Jet Air, they find reservation, it is under Mr. Bill, get refund minus 500 rupee refund fee (about $10), go through personal security, they find leatherman in daypack, confiscate it. Hear announcement on speaking telling me to get my butt to the gate, get to gate, they send a bus back from the plane for me. Plane is a dual prop. Pleasant flight to Jodhpur, arrive get reprimanded by airport security – the military for attempting to take photo of plane on tarmac. Claim luggage, Joshi has driver waiting for me. Driver takes me to Lions Reception, no time to change on even find and put on pin. Eat and given award by regional president. They will fill out visit form and have trophy engraved.

Go to Joshi’s office/home. Meet family, have a coke. Go to factory, then in search of Hotel – two hour process - wedding and tourist season, very difficult. Finally find one, unload. Try and get fixed up with a pre-paid phone for communications in India – doesn’t work. Unpack and relax for a few hours; have coke and talk to the owner at a courtyard table. Long day, read and crash.

January 29^th, 2007 I decide to stay until 31^st. Recover and get room organized, Joshi asked me to call when I got up. I didn’t want to call early, so I went exploring. Take photos, find a crafts/antiques distributor. Spend about an hour there, bought gifts and small sitar for the boys. The store drives me back to hotel, running late. When I get back I try to call Joshi. Hotel only has incoming call service. They tell me to go to private club down the street – they will let me use phone. Reluctantly I go, they are very accommodating, but phone is busy. Not surprised, Joshi lives on his mobile. Return to Hotel, Joshi has called in the mean time, no message. Wait, back to private club, still busy, back to Hotel. Finally Joshi calls and I am there. He sends a driver to pick me up. He is going to have the driver take me around to different site. I ask to go to his office so that I can work on the internet. Arrive at Joshi’s office; his staff sets me up. Joshi is at factory. I work on internet for a few hours; Joshi arrives we have lunch – his wife makes me a great lunch. The driver takes me to the Fort. We tour the fort for a few hours. Then we head off to the palace. The palace is closing by the time we arrive. Driver returns me to Hotel. Joshi picks me up for dinner; go to City Palace Hotel – roof terrace restaurant. We seem to be waiting, ask Joshi if anyone else is joining us for dinner. He tells me that the owner of the Hotel is hosting the dinner and he is running a little late. Turns out owner is the father of Pooja, and he is the riches man in Jodhpur, a dry port owner. Have a great dinner; drink too much scotch – especially Joshi. Discuss mostly of business, a little of politics. Pooja calls after dinner making sure that I’m ok.

Hyderabad & Secunderabad

Well the conference is over. It is about five in the morning. I woke around 2:30 am. I fell asleep early last night, I guess around ten. Yesterday I took off, the Conference was winding down; I was tired and frustrated. I called Marilyn in the morning, around 11:30 pm EST and woke her up. It was good to hear her voice. I’m not exactly homesick, but I miss home. I miss Marilyn, I miss Andrew, I miss Mike, William I miss but I probably would not have seen him even if I was at home. It was good to talk to her and hear the news even if she was half asleep. It made my day much better.

My stay in Hyderabad has been frustrating. Solid internet access in Cyberbad is far from universal. Things are beginning to ply up at work. As of yet I am not behind, but without a good internet connection I feel I am wasting my time. With a good connection everything is smooth. The Hotel’s internet connection is still down who know when it will be working again. In the usual Indian fashion, an inquiry into when it will be working always leads to the response, “Do not worry it will be working in an hour.” I think the internet café a couple of door away has a dial-up connection it is so slow, it seems I spend most of my time waiting for keys strokes to register. I am working on strategies to overcome these frustrations.

I went to Birla Mandar Temple on the hill behind the Hotel. It sets on the top of Kalabahad (Black Mountain). I have a view of it from my room if I put my face against the window and cock my head in a very uncomfortable position. It is a famous Temple in Hyderabad. It is new, built within the last 30 years. It is constructed of white marble; everything is white marble including the steps. Unfortunately, you can only photograph it from the lower grounds. I am not sure if that is a religious prohibition or a image rights issue. Anyways cameras are not permitted at the Temple – you must check your camera, bags, food and beverages. You also must check your shoes if you want to enter the upper grounds and the Temple. Shoe lockers are free, in fact, tipping is not permitted.

At the entrance to the Temple grounds is a market – mostly very cheap junk, but one of the stalls was selling plastic bags of a partial coconut shell and flowers and maybe some other small items. I think they are offerings, not sure, they carry them about with them while they are on the grounds. They are not permitted to carry the bags up to the Temple – they leave them hung on the fence next to the camera check building.

Another stall is a barber. Many barber shops are open air in India; however, in this one I noticed something different, the barber was shaving the underarms of a young man with a straight razor. I wonder if shaved underarms in men is a custom here. It’s curious, with all the shirtless men on the street, I haven’t noticed, nor can I recall any mental images that would help. I took a photo but by the time the shutter clicked the barber was poising for me. I missed the shaving.
The Temple is beautiful, but I’m not much on sightseeing; at least, not in the traditional sense. I would rather wander the neighborhoods – take a bus to an unknown destination. Just walk and take photographs. Even if I did it would be waste, the postcard artist will have always done it better. I’ll take a few for the sake of the story. I think it adds something to the Online Journal. I don’t like to take photographs of the top 200 wonders of India, or Las Vegas for that matter. I do like to take photographs of the people, places and neighborhood.

The other day I went to Charminar, Hyderabad’s principle landmark. According to the Lonely Plant Guide it was built in 1591. It is a four column construction with each archway facing a cardinal point of the compass. Each column is topped by a minaret. Charminar was built to commemorate the end of a plague. I think most people find that interesting, and I can understand why, I just don’t. Enough of tourist’s data to remember, back to my point; I was more interest in the markets and neighborhood surrounding Charminar than in Charminar.

Ideally I would like to be inconspicuous but that is never going to happen in India. As I wander the streets and allys, I am the curiosity - a large bald westerner with a camera and daypack, the usual young backpacker can almost blend into the colors of the neighborhoods; not me I make a statement. When I began to take photographs on my trips I was shy about taking photographs of people on the street – I got over it. When I was home and began editing the photographs of a trip; the images would remind me of the photographs not taken. The other day is an example - the cow knocking at the door of the home in the back ally of Paharanji. I will probable remember that images much longer than any of the images I actually take. I should have swallowed hard and taken the photo, but I didn’t, I was concerned that I would offend the woman answering the door. It is more likely that she would have just thought that I was just another crazy westerner taking photographs of things that were ordinary and boring. I remember the period when the Japanese economy was booming and the US was flooded with Japanese tourist with cameras. I was never offended by the picture taking. I guess it was more of a source of amusement than anything else. It was a stereotype, but so what; maybe I am an American stereotype, just hopefully not an ugly stereotype.

In most places I have visited people ignore me. The Mayan do not want their photo taken and in Central America you have to be careful about taking photographs of children – they are afraid that information is being collected to kidnap the children for adoption in America. Child kidnapping is rare and is not a problem, at least not to the extent of the perception. But otherwise street photography has never been a problem.

In India people like to be photographed. People ask me to photograph them. I think they think it is an honor to be photographed. In a way they are right, they have been selected because they are interesting. Most of the time, they do not even ask to see the photograph. I take the photo and they say, ‘Thank you sir.’ I thank them in return and move on. If someone notices that I am about to take their photo I ask permission by holding up my camera and nodding my head up and down. A smile means yes, a shaking finger or raised hand means no, but that is rare.

Photographing muslin women is another story. I’m just not sure what custom dictate. If I point my camera at someone and they turn away, I lower my camera, and indicate that I have not taken a photo – this has happened several times with woman in burkas. On the other hand, I asked a woman exiting a pedi-cab if I could take her photograph; she was thrilled, her smile was almost flirtatious. Even through she was wearing a burka, her face was not covered. I have seen many photographs of women in burkas many of them produced by muslins – tourist bouchures, etc. Maybe I’ll find out when I go to Pakistan.

After my visit to the Temple I meandered down the opposite side of the hill. Even though I could see the Temple from my window I took a pedi-cab to the Temple. It cost about 60 cents. I didn’t want to spend the time climbing the hill and running into dead ends. On the opposite side the streets were clean, quiet and shaded. It seemed to be a middle class neighborhood, maybe an upper class neighborhood. I ended up at an ice cream pastry shop. I had a coke and a bag of chips – unsalted as it turns out. A chip is just not a chip without the salt, in fact, it’s pretty damn boring. It sort of reminded me of the thick designer chips that were so popular, hard and tasteless. Maybe it is time to walk away from potato chips.

After returning to the Hotel I edited some photographs and watched a movie. I’ve been trying to keep the TV off. For one thing there is very little on – just like in America. The CNN IDE collaboration has very little western news, even the BBC is the same. I’m not being critical, we see very little news on South Asia in America. Anyways I wanted to get in the habit of reading writing and recording. I want to keep the Online Journal as up-to-date as possible. If possible I write, usually in the morning, and if I’m tired I record into the iRiver device.

The iRiver device is great, I’m very happy I have it. In addition to recording notes, I can record sounds. Who knows if anyone would be interested but it may be fun to merge the sounds with the note recordings.

I’m not sure if anyone is looking at the site. For the first few day of my trip I didn’t post anything – too busy. I guess I should send out a mass email telling people that I have actually published entries on the trip. I have been posting photographs to my Yahoo Photo site. I’ve sent the notices to a few people; Marilyn has forwarded them to the usual relatives. She tells me that they are enjoying the photographs. I hope so, but even if nobody looked I’m continue. I enjoy the act of photograph. I sharpens me, it forces me to notice things (shaved underarms aside) that I might have missed before. The camera invites people to point out things to me that they think I should photograph.The paper has just arrived – The Decca Chronicle; it’s about 7:30 am – time for a shower and breakfast. Actually at this point a shower is only an expression. I have a shower in my room, but I’ve taken to the bucket and pale. I started when the water temperature started varying greatly. I was afraid I scald myself. Usual getting hot water is a problem in this Hotel, getting cold water seems to be a challenge. The bucket and pale method works better than it sounds. I fill the bucket, I guess it holds about ten gallons, drench myself, soap up, and then rise with the pale. Tempted to get one at home, but we don’t have the room; it would be pushing Marilyn too far.