Indian Diaries: Back to School

“Naimatma Balheenien Labhya.” (Perfection cannot be achieved by the weak)

-Credo of Modern School
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December 24th 2006 began early. It was the day when my high school alum met at school to play various sports against the school team. More than anything else for me, it was a chance to re connect with school and some of the long lost people.

As I drove inside Modern School at 8 am, I was looking more towards the buildings and side walks rather than the road ahead. Road? Yes, roads!! Modern School had done away with the characteristic red sand with bituminous roads. It looked horrible. I remember cleaning off red sand from my white shoes often in high school. It was so embedded into the red brick school structure. Alas, it was no more!

After meeting some of the soccer team players and being cornered to the benches as an extra, I decided to take a round of the school as the game began. I walked into my 9th class in Sir Sobha Singh block. The smell of the class was overpowering- as though I had walked through an invisible wall into another era. As I sat down on one of the wooden benches in the front, as was the practice in those days. I could almost see Mr. Binju and Mrs. Batra teach Sanskrit to us. Mudit or Gautam used to sit besides me most of the times. The board had some figures from the chapter 'Similar Triangles'. I wanted to cry and share by excitement- but the building was haunted. Nobody watched but it felt great to come back to the same spot after more than 9 years.

Walking towards the Platinum Jubilee Block (PJB), I noticed the nice canteen right outside where the school buses used to stand near the Principal's home. That was the best thing to happen after I left school. PJB was grand as usual- marble slabs in the washroom were broken, all brands of shoes were imprinted on the white walls, wooden desks bore the brunt of student's creativity with permanent markers and pens, window panes were broken and the classes were now smaller in size than they used to be at our times. But, everything was forgiven- it was PJB- where half a decade back I spent my days juggling with mathematical formulas, chemical equations and laws of physics.

I moved onto see everybody's favorite spot in school- the banyan tree. It is now the saddest place in school. It once boasted of being the hang out point of most bunkers, frivolous couples and the random smoker- all so Modern. The earth around the tree was perfect for playing cricket and there was never a moment when a look at it had failed to put a smile onto any Modernite's face. The entire tree is now surrounded by concrete rocks dotted by the random bird-chicken-deer structures made from wrought iron. The tree stands alone calling us to hang from its aerial roots.

Met some old batch mates and the random person here and there. This is what was on the platter after the game- Gol gappas, aloo tikki, chat papri, chole bhature, paneer chilla, aloo sabzee and puri, pao bhajee, gajar ka halua and kesar pista kulfi. I shed all my inhibitions and hogged like a hungry dog. The mere thought of eating such delicacies satiates my taste buds right now.

Finally, it was the prize distribution ceremony. We had lost the game but got a neat certificate for the enthusiastic participation. Some exchange of phone numbers, big hugs and promises to stay in touch later everyone was ready to leave. As I walked back to my car, I did not know if I would be sitting on my junior class's bench again. I did not know then how my lost childhood was never coming back again. What I know for sure is how Modern School had shaped me into what I am today and how it is shaping the future of the country for generations now...

Indian Diaries: Getting to Places

Now I know why they tell you to put your head between your knees on crash landings. You think you're going to kiss your ass good-bye. ~Terry Hanson
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The only son coming home after 16 months- everyone had their plans on how I should spend my time in India. Along with it, my sister was the most vocal in how I should spend my money in America-SHOPPING! But Ma had asked me not to spend too much on getting stuff to distribute amongst friends and family. Nice, that worked perfectly for me. But gifts had to be taken for my close friends back in my ‘fatherland’-America from India.

Even before I landed, my mom and sister was intimated about setting some time aside for shopping girl y stuff with me. They would have been a better hand at understanding the good and bad in girls clothing and Ma is a champion in bargaining. But clothing? Now that’s chartering into unknown waters- one needs to know the perfect size and choice of the people for whom clothes are to being bought. I know- but I had promised two of my ‘firang’ friends something Indian to wear this January. So finally two days back I decided to meet my mom and aunt at South Extension II market to get cracking on 'gift shopping'.

Ma had taken the car to college and hence I needed to figure out a way to reach there on time. As I walked out of my colony, I saw the auto-rickshaw I so desperately wanted to hire with little time at hand. As I waved it down, it accelerated ahead without even stopping to listen where I had to go. Strange. I felt a little insulted and rolled my eyes if someone noticed the event. Insignificant events assume significance in this part of the world and things I wouldn't have cared about in America have to be taken care of. As I walked ahead, a God sent autowallah (an auto is a popular vehicle in India which runs on three wheels instead of four; its the cheaper alternative to the four wheeled cab) came from behind in his vehicle.

“South Ex?”, I asked before getting in.

“Part 1 or Part 2?”

“How does it matter? They are on the opposite side of the road, aren’t they?”

“Ok. I will take 40 rupees. Jump in.”

A little shocked by the price quoted, I started to reason with him. Wrong choice. He shot off ahead, vomiting black smoke from his ignition pipe onto my washed face. Rather than being disappointed, my emotions tallied more with anger. Is this the way to treat customers? I mean, such people should be booked or something should be done. But this is not America and business often is a case of one party exploiting the needs and situation of the other ( I know, this is not true- but now do you realize how disappointed I was?). I decided to catch a public transport bus.

As I stood waiting to cross the road for a long time, I wondered why I had not hired the autoricksha- the fare was less than a dollar for point to point transportation. Apparently, something had clicked deep within me. Probably it was the frustration against the lack of a system of cabs and autos and the consequent exploitation of customers like me who wish to travel by the meter. Whatever the case, I saw a bus numbered 501 coming my way. It would have taken me 75% of the way to Dilli Haat from where I could catch another bus for South Ex. Total cost- Rs. 7

As I boarded the bus, it brought memories from the past rushing back. The old metal frame, broken windows, females on the left and males on the right, some crazy fast number blaring out of the haggard speakers and many more people standing than the bus could accommodate. I bought a ticket and held firmly onto my valet and mobile phone for the fear of being pick pocketed. Somehow I got a seat in no time and it felt good not to be driving on the crazy Delhi roads for once.

As I glanced outside, I could see every vehicle push ahead in a hurry. What was more worrying was the fact that commuters on bikes rode and swayed dangerously close to four wheelers as though they had just picked up some life shield- akin to many popular computer games nowadays. If people crossing streets by signaling traffic to stop with hands were not enough, I saw three school kids standing right in the middle of the road not knowing where to go. Whereas I expected the bus to stop and avoid running them over, the driver rode on as though he was the only one on the road. This was shocking because the kids were really in the middle of no where. As the bus reached within 5 metres of crushing them to death, the three moved ahead dangerously. If there were a vehicle driving parallel to the bus on the right, they would have been in mid air by now. Thankfully, the bus went past them safely but they were still left to negotiate the rightmost lane with their life-saving-skills still at use. I closed my eyes at this moment- hoping to reach my destination soon and not getting depressed with the state of affairs.

Any paper, any survey and most Indians would tell you that Delhi is one of the most unsafe cities for females. Somehow, the Delhi male is not trained to treat the ‘fairer’ sex with the same respect they might command elsewhere (does that sound sexist?). I got a first hand demonstration. While I was seated with another male on a seat reserved for ‘Ladis’, I could not help but stand up the moment some ladies came and stood by us. The other gentleman chose to ignore them for a while until the conductor (helper person on the bus responsible for selling tickets unlike in Western countries) came and made him relinquish his seat of power. I call it ‘seat of power’ because my mind gives me just one reason for such behavior- a pseudo sense of superiority that a low-on-confidence and frustrated male might associate in denying females something, just anything he could- and which often becomes a social problem in a developing country like India.

I got into the second bus from the INA Market. There was no space to sit but the saving grace was that the travel was hardly a mile. But what made the travel worse was the full blast village songs the driver chose to enforce on commuters- people tired after work, infants trying to sleep, couples trying to speak to each other and people like me who just didn’t understand what the words meant. The driver suddenly braked very hard- it is common with blue line buses in Delhi to drive within an inch of the vehicle in front of them and then testing the brakes to stop just in time. I suddenly felt being dragged onto the floor- one thin chap standing besides me could not resist the force Newton described in his third ‘equal-and-opposite’ law and decided to grab the first thing that he could grab. Unfortunately, for me, it was my $45 Carnegie Mellon sweatshirt. My desire to prove a point by not spending less than $1 on comfortable travel as opposed to travel in public buses could have proven expensive. Thankfully, due to lack of space, he fell on a bunch of people and my sweatshirt was saved. I could not decide whether to be thankful of the fact that the bus was cramped or to ridicule the high population in the country. Whatever be the case, my stop was approaching. I decided to get off a stop early and walk the rest of the way- the stench of some armpits was getting to me by this moment.

As I walked to South Ex subway, I saw people running after buses, men jumping off from moving buses as though the road was a bed of roses, girls playing with mobile phones standing at the sparsely lit stop, hawkers selling peanuts and unfiltered water, drivers honking with hard-to-explain irritation, lights glaring out of some of the best showrooms Delhi had to offer, urine making its way to the main road from the wall where men had relieved themselves, beautiful Delhi girls holding hands with not so good looking guys (why is it always like that?), the parking guys shouting to get the cars in and out smoothly and the random person like me trying to get to the other side of the road.

My aunt owns a shop in South Ex and it seemed like the most peaceful place on earth once I got there. She came with me and Ma for sometime to some hawker shops to get ear rings for Nicole and Ash. We did not end up buying anything for them but instead a bunch of clothes for me. On the way back, I drove back in the big car with the windows rolled up tightly and light music on. Driving was hell but at least I was in an air conditioned car chatting with family.

Evan, I challenge you to drive in Delhi for a day without getting hit.

I would still travel in a Delhi bus as long as it is not a must to travel with rude and unreasonable Delhi's autos and cabs. As for the shopping experience for my friends yesterday, that’s another story…

Indian Diaries: The Return Journey

As I gulped my last sip of coffee sitting at a reclusive corner of Kiva Han, I realized that the holidays had finally arrived. It was 9 am on the fifteenth day of December and my flight left in another 7 hours from Pittsburgh. I could see some students running for their morning exam in haste. It was another day for most of the people in Pittsburgh but it seemed to me as though I was completing a full circle. I was going back to the planet I had come from. Planet India- an unique place where 1,100,000,000 brown people coming from scores of faiths and religions reside in an almost unbelievable harmony and run a so-called system called democracy. Yes, I had turned pseudo racist but it had more to do with me not trying to think of the good days than forgetting my planet.

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Bachu called up in sometime and trooped to my place along with Alhad. My place was a mess but Bachu found some place on my Baca lounger somehow. The packing was done in no time and we sat down with some of my home and college videos -almost forgotten treasures I had never looked at in the past 16 months. Everything was coming back-home, Ma, family, food, my room, my college, my farewell. Small creatures with big hearts I had left back when my shuttle took off from planet India. After finishing off the last bit of the ice cream at my place, both Bachu and Alhad left too. I felt like crying but could not. Bachu had summed it up aptly- the three of us had fallen into some sort of relationship.

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Nicole called and said she would be there by 2. My flight was to leave at 3:45 pm and I felt it was cutting too close even with her self proclaimed ‘nice-and-smooth-driving’. The night before she had treated me to some snacks and red wine at her place and I did not turn down her offer for a drive to the airport. She is such a darling that when I say good things about her I am conscience of the fact that she does take them as someone hitting “upon” (yes, it should be ‘on’ but she likes it that way) her. All incoming calls were rejected on the way. One last hug was all I took back for the next month.

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The flight to Chicago was delayed by 45 minutes. I was sleepy, making last minute calls to as many friends as possible. It wasn’t long after I fastened my seat belt that my sleep deprived eyes shut off. I grudgingly walked out of the plane at Chicago- feeling dizzy and tired. After traveling on a shuttle to the international terminal, standing at the AI counter for an eternity, forced to take my clothes off and getting my carry-on bag hand checked twice and almost forgetting to collect my laptop, Mandeep and I finally reached our departure gate. I dozed off immediately. Mandeep woke me up in sometime to inform that we were on the wrong gate. Thank God he was awake and so were my hopes of reaching India. As I reached the correct gate, there was a sea of humanity. Wow, so many Indians!!! Children, students, wives, oldies, North Indians, South Indians, Gujjus, Punjabis, Bongs and thrown in between them were some harried Americans trying to check the baggage, AGAIN!!! I mean, it was insane. One last message to Nicole, call to Sachin and home, and I was walking towards the plane.

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The seats inside the plane could easily have been from the 70s. The plane looked more like a refurbished 3AC railways coach from India than an international carrier. The air hostesses were way beyond their expiry dates and greeted the passengers with folded hands and a shut mouth. I mean, come on. You’d expect them to say a word or two-a Namaste, Hello, or anything. But the trained-to-be-dumb hostesses did not utter a word. The next shocker was that there was no plasma screen at every seat. Seeing me surprised, Mandeep questioned what carrier I had flown the last time. British Airways- that answered it.

“What choices do you have for dinner?”

“Vegan and non-vegan!”

“No, I mean- continental, Indian, Chinese?”

“Yes, we have continental”.

“And Indian?”

“Yes, we have that too.”

“What’s in non vegan Indian food?”

Turning towards Mandeep, the man spoke , “Tell him”.

Tell him? What was the man expecting- he asked Mandeep to tell me what he had to serve me? How ridiculous!! AI was just loosing my next trip and any advantage it had being my national carrier.

“Dude, this is the Chicago-London leg. Wait till tomorrow. They will bloody talk in Hindi and be ignorant once no firang (foreigner) is on board”.

True, Mandeep paaji.

Not once was my call for the airhostess answered. I was not given a shawl and Mandeep was gracious enough to lend his one to me. More was in store during the flight, but forget it, no more Air India now!!

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“All crew, prepare for landing”.

I was there. 3:24 am, December 17 2006. One year 4 months and 10 days. The movie had just begun...

The 0630 Coffee

He was my cream, and I was his coffee - And when you poured us together, it was something. ~Josephine Baker
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"Sure, why not? I am falling asleep anyways. Better do it with my stomach full!!"

I always prided myself of not eating out too much in Pittsburgh. My friends were amazed last semester when I asked them where 'Lulu's', the famous Chinese restaurant one could almost smell from the INI, was? On one of the rare occasions when I said yes to eating out immediately, my eyes were half shut. Sometime last month, grad school had kept me up for another night and it was 6:30 in the morning when some of the insomniacs at INI asked if I was interested in having breakfast. I surely was hungry. As Zain explained how the croisan was the best thing at Kiva Han, the nearest breakfast place open that early, we were greeted by a huge contagious smile of the young, slim, white girl present at the counter (yeah, I did notice her tight body almost half asleep at the most unearthly hour). And thus I was introduced to the latest craze in my life- breakfast with hot coffee at 0630 hours.

I was only too happy to order a chocolate croisan and coffee. The croisan was delicious but the coffee was exactly what I needed. It was relaxing to take a break from work, sip warm coffee and watch the sun pop out from behind the old buildings of Carnegie Mellon. Somehow the combined effect of the aroma, the strong and fresh taste and the warmth had managed to open my mind to yet another beautiful day in Pittsburgh this winter.

A couple of breakfast trips later in the week confirmed the fact that I was falling in love with having breakfast that early. Since the past two weeks, I have been procastrinating and pushing myself to be up all night at INI-all for the morning coffee and croisan.

Last Friday night, after a great dinner-movie-booze-more booze-and a lot more booze schedule, I was chatting with a female friend from CMU. Sometime around 5 am both of us decided to watch a movie together at my office in INI. I had never walked from home to INI in cold. But 2 days back I did- in snow, at 5 am- keeping in mind that the morning breakfast is not too far off. After watching the movie, we hung out for more than 2 hours at Kiva-chatting, laughing, getting serious, joking, sharing, enjoying the morning sun- all over the huge mug of coffee. I counted 5 CMU shuttles pass by- a testimony of the quantum of time spent over breakfast.

Today Megan- 23, a Pitt student- greeted Kumar and myself at the counter an hour back. I was getting impatient after 6am and ran out as soon as I watched the clock strike 0630. Couple of bagels and a huge coffee have made me highly energetic to smash off the telecom report due later this evening. I am falling in love- with the place, early morning chat, the lost concept of breakfast, watching the sun come up, the fresh looking face at the counter and most importantly, the brilliant coffee.

Did I hear someone say that I can't wake up in the mornings?

Columbus discovers India

The number of days to India is now in single digits. Life is full of disenchantment. People are now irrelevant. Beauty does not enthuse me. Cold is not a factor when going out in a T shirt. The mind refuses to think. Everything I left behind me is coming back, again. 16 months of non involvement in other's lives is coming to an end.
I am sure I would love the 'bugging' questions relatives ask, the constant noise at home, someone else cooking and cleaning, a car to drive and just being back home again. Its a different world altogether and my mind needs to swap the environmental settings in less than a week now. Compare IIT Delhi, Aurobindo Marg, Ma, Baba, friends, noise, pollution, millions of brown colored people, ramshackled DTC buses, auto rickshaws, PVR Cinemas, Barista, Modern School, Delhi Metro, HOME---against---CMU, INI, snow, Church, Nicole, Ash, Jon, Eric, Evan, Zain, desi junta, booze, Waterfront, Craig Street, Hummer, Washington DC, Steelers, interviews, stress and yet AMERICA. Life is at a dichotomous stage and only time will tell how I feel when the Captain orders to fasten the seatbelts over Delhi airspace next weekend. This Columbus is coming back to India.