Monday, August 22, 2011

Entry 80: More From India

With all our family and friends from the States arriving safely, so began the next major transportation problem -- getting people around within Bangalore. As I mentioned in the last post, Bangalore is a madhouse of a city, and getting from point A to point B is not a trivial task. Just booking a vehicle is a challenge if you don't speak the state language Kannada (or Hindi, which is prevalent everywhere in India), as almost no cab or rickshaw drivers speak English, and most of them can't read a map, and even if they could it would still be difficult because the street grid isn't exactly delineated nicely.

[Another cause of traffic problems in Bangalore.]

Also, you have to worry about the drivers ripping you off. By which I mean they'll try to charge you 150 rupees ($3.33) instead of 90 rupees ($2). I imagine the inclination for most visitors (like me) is to see the poverty around them, and say, "Screw it, I'll just pay, what's $1.33 to me?", but S's mom told her that this mindset just screws the local riders who can't afford to pay extra. The rickshaw drivers start targeting people who look like affluent foreigners leading to long waits and inflated prices for the locals who rely on this type of transportation regularly and need it the most.

Once you do get a vehicle, traffic generally is super thick. At one point my dad and I were stuck in a traffic jam about 500 yards from our apartment, so we just got out in the middle of the street and walked. Although, walking is an adventure in its own right. There is rarely a sidewalk (you get kinda used to having cars buzz by you at 40 mph) and when there is, it's all torn up and full of giant holes. It's more random slabs of concrete than sidewalk. Sw called walking in Bangalore "going through an obstacle course" which is spot on.

Once you do get places, however, they are usually very cool. We did a lot of shopping while we were there as everybody had/wanted to get traditional India attire for the various wedding events. All the dudes got kurtha's and all the ladies got saris and/or salwars. Like with the rickshaw drivers, you have to be wary of the shopkeepers trying to overcharge you. It's all about the haggle. That was a general theme throughout my visit to India, actually -- everybody's a hustler. For things like clothing and rickshaw rides, it's not a huge deal, but we also experienced this with the restaurant at which we held a cocktail party, and at the hotel of our wedding reception. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say I was pissed off about a few things with our service at both places, and S was really pissed off about them.

[A kurtha.]

[A salwar.]

[My favorite bit of Indian attire, a ghagra. It's my favorite because I came up with the idea of an Indian singer who covers Lady Gaga songs. She would be named, of course, Lady Ghagra. C'mon, that's brilliant!]

Anyway, all the wedding related events were spectacular. The ceremony was long and strange, but in a good way. Neither S nor I had any idea what was going on, we just went along with whatever the Hindu priest told us. I tied a few strings, dabbed some kumkum, stood in a wicker basket, dumped beads on S's head, poured oil on a fire, and held S's hands while she held a coconut and her family dumped milk on it, you know, typical stuff.

[S's mehndi.]

The reception was very fun, although S got kinda stressed out, because there was way too much going on for her, and then she got mad at me because she was stressed out and I wasn't. Not to sound sexist, but this is definitely a chick thing. (By the way, whenever somebody prefaces something by saying, "Not to sound x...", expect a very x comment.) I don't know many dudes, who pull the I'm-in-a-bad-mood-so-you-too-should-be-in-a-bad-mood-or-else stunt, but every girl I know does this. OK, not every girl, just between 95 and 98% of them. Later, when I was explaining why S was mad to my male friends, they were like, "Wait. Are you talking about S or my wife?"

But, in the end everything turned out fine. We got the dance floor going and everybody including S had a blast. Afterward, S and I went to our hotel room and crashed out almost immediately while Rob Schneider's "comedy" The Hot Chick played in the background. It was the wedding night of every schoolgirl's fantasy.

[The topper to our wedding cake. It's supposed to be me and S, but I think the male figure looks like Steve from "Beverly Hills: 90210" -- a redheaded Ian Ziering.]

The day after the wedding we flew to a resort on the Arabian Sea in Kerala where we relaxed for a few days with some family and friends. It was awesome. I lazed by the pool, ate too much, drank too much, had the most intimate massage I've ever had (first time I've ever been "credit carded" by a man), and oddly watched a fair amount of vintage wrestling (they were showing it on the TV in the bar, for some reason).

[If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it.]

After the trip to Kerala, S and I came back to Bangalore for a few days, and then headed back to the US. And I'll get to that in my next entry.

[The Infinity Pool at the resort . From a certain angle the pool is supposed to blend in with the sea giving the illusion of an endless swimming pool.]

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Entry 79: A Week in India

[Note, I started this entry several weeks ago while in India. I finally got a chance to sit down and finish it.]

I've been in India for over a week now, and things have been busy.

Bangalore, India is a great, but overwhelming city. Creatures of all sorts -- people, dogs, cows, pigs, roosters -- roam the streets together with vehicles of all sorts -- cars, trucks, buses, mopeds, motorcycles, rickshaws. There is very little in the way of rules and regulations, everybody just goes, with the only guiding principle seemingly being don't hit anything. Rickshaws run five across on the bigger streets and tuck themselves into any break in traffic they can find. Motorcycles carrying helmet-less families of four weave their way through the larger vehicles with seemingly reckless abandon. Everybody honks constantly. Pedestrians walk down the middle of the street. It's like an anthill, where some of the ants are metallic and have wheels.


[A popular shopping district in Bangalore. It's hard to capture the insane hustle-and-bustle in a still shot.]

You've probably heard that all foreigners traveling to India get sick at some point during their stay. I wish I could say that thus far I've been an exception to this rule, but I can't. My third night here, I came down with something awful, probably food poisoning.

(Warning the next three paragraphs contain graphic allusions to bodily functions. Skip them if you are not a fan of scatological humor.)

S and I went to the airport to greet S's sister Sw (writing "Sw" reminds of the DJ SW-1). I started feeling weird movements in my belly on the way there, but I tried to ignore them, and convince myself I wasn't getting sick. At the airport my condition worsened, however, and I couldn't stay in denial any longer. I was forced to make a mad dash to the restrooms (thankfully they're fairly clean) where I served up a nice Wendy's-style chocolate frosty into the toilet.

By the time I got back to my hotel (I was staying in a place separate from S and her family, because it would be improper to stay with her before the wedding even though we're already married), the chocolate frosty had turned to Yoo-hoo. I had the runs. I popped a few pills I was prescribed in advance for just this sort of thing and went to sleep.

I awoke around 3 am and started hustling to the bathroom instinctually. Midway there, I realized that this time it was coming out the other end. Not able to make it to the toilet, I started vomiting in the sink, violently. I heaved about six times, so forcefully, that I literally shat my boxers. (I concluded that brown is the national color of India. It's the skin color of the people who live there and the underwear color of the visiting Westerners.) After everything in me had been completely purged, I limped into the shower and hosed downed. I then put on a clear pair of boxers, folded up some toilet paper and put it between my butt cheeks as a make shift panty-liner, and crawled into bed to fall asleep in the fetal position.

(OK, that's the end of the gross part.)


A temple in Bangalore. While I was sick I was praying at a different temple -- a porcelain one. In fact, I thought up a new euphemism for having a BM, "saying a puja", not bad, huh?

The next morning I woke up feeling like I had the worse hangover I've ever had times one thousand. I barely had the strength to move, literally. S and Sw were super sweet and came over periodically to check on me, and hangout with me (i.e., play with the iPad while I laid in bed), and try to get me to eat something (all I could get down was two pieces of plain toast and a Sprite). It was pretty miserable, but thankfully, by the end of the day I started to feel better, and the next morning I woke up feeling almost completely normal.

Able to actually get out of bed and walk down the street, I spent much of the next few days hanging out in the apartment owned by S's parents. It's about an 1800 sq. ft. four-bedroom-er, and it's Indian custom to have all the family stay together, no matter how inconvenient or claustrophobic it might be, so at it's peak I think there were 12 people staying there. (Yes, I was thankful to have my own room elsewhere. I love S's family very much, but that's a little too much love.)

Every time I came over I was treated like a king. Not only is Indian culture very complaisant, especially toward guests, it is also very male-dominant. Woman are taught to be subservient. This mindset might be changing, but it's still very prevalent, particularly among the older generations. So, whenever I came to the apartment I had about five "aunties" waiting on me -- making me coffee, cooking me food, motioning me to sit down, bringing me the newspaper -- and of course, I couldn't say no to any of it, that would be rude. I just had sit there and enjoy it. Poor me.


[A view of Bangalore from S's cousin's balcony. This is a decent microcosm of Bangalore, small primitive buildings next to big modern buildings, a haze of smog overhead.]

Over the next few nights, our friends and family from the States started to trickle in. My parents came in and I moved to a two bedroom apartment with them. My friends J and W arrived (quarreling like a married couple even though they're two straight dudes), as did my friend JW and his wife Y. My brother and sister in-law and sister and brother in-law came in on the same flight as three of our friends from DC. We rented a 12-seat bus to pick everybody up at the airport.

It was surreal to have everybody together halfway across the world, though oddly enough in my high school yearbook in the Where Will You Be in 15 Years section I put, "In Bangalore India, preparing to having a wedding ceremony with all my family and friends... Alice In Chains Rockkkk!" I guess I hit the nail on the head with that one.

There is more to come on India soon.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Entry 78: Coming Soon

A ton on my plate right now as I've just returned to the States, I start a job next week, and I'm trying to get all my affairs in order.

I've had an entry about the first part of my trip to India half finished for the past few weeks, but I just haven't been able to find a good stretch of contiguous time to finish it up. Don't fret loyal readers, it's coming soon.