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Hyderabad, India

:: Anju's Wedding ::

The culminating event of my month's stay in India happened on my last day in Hyderabad at the wedding of my friend, Anju, and her new husband, Amit. A native to southern India's Kerala region, Anju's matrimonial debut was set in traditional southern style with vibrant color under a beautiful floral altar with elaborate gold jewelry, beautiful linen sarees, silk kutras and tasty cuisine. It had all the visual beauty and dramatic flare reminiscent of the famed 2001 northern Indian movie, Monsoon Wedding, sans rain. It was both, touching and impressive in its simplicity.

:: Love marriages vs. arranged marriages ::

I met Anju a year ago when she came to San Francisco for six-months to work at my company. Her then fiancée, Amit, lived in New York City and had been there for 10 years. He'd come to visit Anju regularly and we'd enjoy the Bay Area scene together. I was thrilled when my trip to India coincided with their wedding as I've always longed to see the pomp and circumstance given to Indian bliss, or arranged bliss as it often may be. Anju and Amit have what Indians call a "love marriage", where fate tempted their hearts in college and they fell in love naturally destined to spend a lifetime together rather than conforming to a strategic parental plan. Chosen spouses are becoming more common as Indians segue into Western culture's style and customs. Hopefully, they won't follow suit in our divorce rate; Indian have a 3 in 10 chance of splitting after tying the knot vs. 6 in 10 in the USA. Being Indian, from what I witnessed, means honoring one's family despite the wishes of the individual. The stigma of divorce is too big a burden to place on your family. As a result, often unhappy, disconnected marriages prevail as each publicly acquiesces to outward happiness.

:: Indian wedding fashion ::

My Indian girlfriends helped me select a ghagra, a hip, traditional Indian dress that is a bit more stylish than a sari. A sari is typically worn by married women and is wrapped completely around the waist and shoulder and back down to the waist again. It's often intricate and very colorful. The ghagra I chose, based the consensus of my friends, had a short midriff top and a long tapered with vibrant blues and ornately beaded details that shimmered and sparkled so brightly that it surely could have served as a beacon for calling distant ships to shore. It probably weighs somewhere around 5-pounds with its elaborate handiwork.

The day was hot and my ghagra itched and I struggled to look put together while feeling most uncomfortable. I had to call the housekeeping lady at the hotel to come to my room and button up the top for me as it was virtually impossible to don this garment on by myself. I felt a little outrageous buying such an ostentatious formal outfit that I'd probably wear once or twice (Halloween?) in my life. I was assured that you could never be overdressed at an Indian wedding. I also didn't know if it was appropriate since wedding tradition varies from region to region. The wedding was also in the late morning and wearing formal wear felt off but I wanted to dress traditionally and trusted my pals with their local knowledge and went for it despite my fears of being the "Gaudy American". When in India...

I appeared in my lobby to meet my new best friend, Kartik, for the wedding. He was dressed like he was ready to go to a cricket match rather than a wedding, which instantly provoked me to want to run upstairs to change immediately. But, he loved me in my dress and praised me for my "guts", as he put it, to dress in traditional Indian style, as most Americans do not entertain such adventures in fashion. And, I can see why! I felt incredibly shy with all the attention; it's not like my white skin and blonde hair isn't rare enough now I added a neon, sparkling fashion lightshow to it. I momentarily worried that I would distract from the bride but would soon find out that was a ridiculous and unattainable notion. After offering his validation, I felt a bit more reassured and put aside all nervous energy and focused on the day's event, which was most exciting and important!

:: The wedding ceremony ::

Hindu weddings are supposed to take place outside, on the earth, under a canopy known as a mandap. However, Anju's mandap took place in a choultry, which is a simple hall not meant for Godly worship or it would have been brightly colored in honor of the Gods. Serving as a function hall, the chairs were plastic and the walls lacquered in plain white so not to distract from the main spectacle on center stage where the Hindu altar was placed. The bride and groom would sit barefoot on a gorgeous stage that was constructed of fresh flowers and woven bamboo. It took three days to build and was constructed by both families. In the middle of the altar hung a photo of the maternal grandparents.

Elder family members paraded around the stage seven times to prepare the setting for the new couple. This represented the seven lives we live and that in each we are destined to meet the same person time and time again. Later, the bride and groom would circle the altar as well to bring good luck.

The groom entered the hall entrenched in a family procession so deep and thick you'd think he was a dignitary wearing a bulletproof vest under his Indian attire. He was escorted to the stage to await his bride. Surrounded by smiles and acknowledgements from his friends in the audience, we waited patiently for the bride to arrive.

Anju's family members held candles at the entrance of the hall to welcome her into the ceremony along with a spectacular sound of "crackers" known to Americans as firecrackers. Void of its traditional aeronautical spectrum of color, the crackers were just as loud as ever and very repetitious lasting at least ten minutes. Crackers are freely used by anyone, anywhere, and anytime in India. I was walking down the street last weekend and a little kid shot a cracker in the air in the middle of the day. Given last weekend's festival, Diwali, it was expected to happen without notice but still it gave me a scare with an embarrassing "hoot" that burst from my mouth. When I shared the laws around crackers in the States I received a roar of laughter from my Indian friends who replied, "Americans seem so intimidated of living freely without a set of rules for everything. Indians just enjoy life. They do what they want and nothing bad or disorderly comes of it." One doesn't need to be here for more than a week to be in complete agreement.

Back to the ceremony...

Anju, the bride, was dressed in a crème linen sari with a beautiful detailed gold fringe and was adorned by a massive amount of gold on her neck, arms, ankles and toe rings. Toe rings are supposed to be worn only by married women. It is like an unmarried Christian woman wearing a wedding ring. It just doesn't happen. Traditional Indian families won't allow this fopah of trendy young girls. It's a point of contention as Western style dictates this fashionable look. So basically, all appendages were covered at least 6-inched deep with this precious metal. Silver is seldom worn in India since gold is a status symbol even though white gold is much more expensive. It goes back to the Kings and Gods who wore gold, which is equated to power and wealth. However, a silver ring on the toe helps to make a healthy placenta so this is encouraged. Anju's hands and arms were colored with a bridal henna artwork, which is like a tattoo and lasts for 15 days. She had a red bindi on her forehead, which would soon be followed by a red line on her middle part (called a kumkum) to signify a new bride. This adornment is a tradition that women follow as a conformation to the spirit of womanhood. More than a beauty spot, the bindi indicates good omen and purity. Her hair had flowers in it with gold jewelry handing from her widows peak. Amit, the groom, was dressed in a kafni (a long shirt extending to his knees) with pijamo (leggings) and looked most handsome. He had an orange and white on his forehead to represent Hindu blessings.

The Hindu priest lit a fire and draped fresh marigold and white garlands around the necks of the couple. In the center of the altar, sat a scared fire where the exchanging of rings took place. Many symbols represent marriage for an Indian bride and groom. Typically, wedding rings are worn on the ring finger of the left hand by both men and women but a toe ring on the second toe on the left foot, gold bangles on the wrists and a gold necklace indicate whether a woman is married or not. Anju chose wear gold in all four locations and then began the ceremony of donning on the gold by the groom. She however, did not adorn him with anything, as it is the man's prerogative on whether he chooses to wear a symbol of marriage or not. Apparently, women do not care as long as their rings and necklaces are abundant and very pretty.

:: The wedding reception ::

After the wedding ceremony, the bride and groom changed into different outfits. The groom wore a navy blue kutra with a delicate woven gold trim. The bride wore a red silk sari with a thick, textured gold trim and, again, lots of gold jewelry. They sat on massive red velvet chairs befitting a king and queen. Quests were then received complete with hugs and kisses and many photographs. It lasted for hours. Afterwards, the guests assembled in the bottom of the assembly hall for lunch.

The food was served on banana leaves, which is a southern style to serving food. Although the south is known for spicy cuisine the food was varied and I enjoyed many delightfully mild dishes with my fingers. Food is typically eaten with your hands albeit messy it's very easy to eat various textures as long as rice or naan is used to form a ball of food into your mouth.

After dining and washing our hands, it became apparent that the event was over. It ended without the cutting of a wedding cake (a rice tapioca was served in a small cup), dancing to silly chicken and makerena songs, or the dreaded tossing of the bouquet into the crowd of single girls. It was so understated that I was confused as to whether the wedding was over or not. The bride and groom were still receiving guests but I had come to learn that that would be the last time I would see or speak to them at the wedding, as the line was just as deep as it was long.

As the quests vanished into the hot afternoon air eager to celebrate the last remaining hours of the Diwali weekend festival, I said my goodbyes and took another peek at my friend and her husband. Soon they will leave for the States to start a new life in New York City. Looking at them so gorgeously adorned by flowers, friends, and incense in a hall filled with barefoot people with sticky fingers and colorful attire, I was thinking that this beautiful day couldn't have offered a greater contrast to what lie before them in the States. I, too, will soon return to a shockingly different San Francisco that will be seen through eyes that reflect greater appreciation, thankfulness and perspective than what I experienced over a month ago. I already long to return to magical, mystical India and trust the flame she sparked inside of me won't burn out in the Bay Area fog.

[andrea]
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1100122560/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1100122560/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1100122560/tpod.html Thu, 11 Nov 2004 02:31:40 -0500 India: Crossing the digital divide

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Bangalore and Mysore, India

:: Bangalore's lure ::

Before leaving San Francisco, I picked up E. M. Forrester's, A Passage to India, as a silent editorial companion to accompany me on my solo Indian journey. The city I've called home for the last week, Bangalore, is most apropos as the novel's setting. It's depicted as a heartland in a vast, open expanse of undulating plains. This once princely state claims, "It charms not, neither does it repel." Today, it's the political hub of the state, Karnataka, and claims to be the fastest growing state in Asia boasting nearly 8 million people. People really are everywhere. The concept of personal space stops at the edge of clothing fibers. Conversations occur nose-to-nose to save space for the masses. Let me just say that minty fresh breath is not an obsession shared by many of our global brothers and sisters.

In the 1980s, Bangalore became a cutting-edge city as high-tech towers painted its landscape along with savvy cyber attitudes amongst the young and trendy. It also has a softer, greener side with its public parks and open spaces. When I stepped off the plane this "Garden City" immediately proved its nickname as evidence from my sneezing! You wouldn't recognize me now since I have a face without a nose; I'm almost certain I've blown it off. Lacking an olfactory sense has helped in dealing with the environmental pollution. Apparently, the pollen of the prettiest little yellow flower I've ever seen afflicts many in this city. I heard achoooos all night long echoing from the walls around my hotel room. This incessantly annoying habit of mine continued until I landed back in Hyderabad where I now remain, sinus-free, for another week.

The culture in the Bangalore office is much more energized and easy-going than the corporate hype in Hyderabad. That's saying a lot since Indians by nature are extremely laid-back. I've learned to s.l.o.w. myself down a lot which has lightened my step despite handling a rather heavy workload and a moderate amount of stress reaching my business goals. The office is a smaller, understated space, too, which helps promote the "boutique" shop feeling I had which was reminiscent of my San Francisco dot-com days. The office hum was born from a contagious creativity that ricocheted from cubicle-to-cubicle. Its lyrical climax occurred after 8pm when nightly US conference calls demanded nocturnal jam sessions. After just one week with this team, I am certain several of my peers will be friends for life albeit the virtual kind. The Hyderabad team is special, too. I feel so lucky to have had this professional opportunity that has turned into wonderful, fun personal relationships. Both offices are extremely kind and have shown me the epitome of Indian hospitality. In India, you live to work since your entire social network, outside your family, is at your job. In the States, a myriad of competing interests and fear of mixing business with pleasure prevents crossing the proverbial line between work and play.

Besides being a high-tech haven, Bangalore, is a stopover for most travelers. The lack of cows indicates its Western orientation. It is known for its food, shopping, pubs, and electronic industrial parks. After the 80s boom, skyscrapers and malls popped up to cater to the newest class but soon the fragile infrastructure became to big for its britches and the city started to crumble. Enter Hyderbad, the new "cyber-city" created by those who fled the chaos of Bangalore. Today, Bangalore is back in the game after a local firm won AOL's help desk contract.

:: Magical Mysore ::

The weekend sent me exploring outside the city's boundaries to one of southern India's most treasured destinations, Mysore, an old-fashioned haven just 4-hours south of Bangalore. Its rolling land is part of the Deccan plateau and extends beautifully to the horizon, which is why wanted to take the 2-hour train ride but decided against it as it would have bypassed the 10th-century Srirangapatnam Vishnu temple I wanted to see a few miles north the city. So, my company set me up with a driver, named Aman, who came "highly recommended".

I was excited for my daytrip and woke early to meet him for a 6am start to avoid the weekend traffic. With 8 million people you always have traffic. I acquiesced and rose to meet my driver at the crack of dawn. I waited and waited and waited and decided if he doesn't show by 6:45am I'm going to take the bus. At 6:35, my "highly recommended" guide arrives promptly on Indian time. We exchange pleasantries that consisted of repeated nods and smiles. I successfully managed to say his name correctly, thanks to its brevity but he didn't respond to my inquisitive conversation. The air is quite for several miles until I start another conversation. With every sentence, he responded with a toothless grin and a, "Yes, m'am, yes." Ohhkay... but, I wasn't asking a question. I noticed that I would talk s.l.o.w.e.r and LOUDER in hopes he'd understand. That was fruitless and made me laugh at myself. Eventually, it became apparent that my guide only spoke five English words and the rest were in one of a hundred languages known by Indians. This made for an interesting day where body language served as the universal tongue. Somehow, we managed and I relied on my handy "Rough Guide to India" to elaborate on the sites.

My first stop was an island fortress, Srirangapatnum, on the Kaveri River just 10 miles north of Mysore. Built in 1454, the fort served as the capital of Mysore. It's famous for its ruler, Tipu Sultan, whose sole desire was to rid India of its British invaders. Befitting his nickname, the "Tiger of Mysore" he used tigers to torture his British prisoners in dark dungeons that reside just inside the fort. The fort's first line of protection was a mote followed by land for roaming predators. Its last line of defense was a huge towering wall, which was partially destroyed by the British. At the heart of the fort is Sri-Ranganatha Swami temple that was graciously spared by its invaders but pillaged for its gold.

I started walking towards the temple and was approached an eager little old man who was slightly inebriated. He thanked me for coming to the temple and was most hospitable almost as if entering as a guest in his own home! He wouldn't leave me alone. Aman was a distant shadow off my left while the little old man--with an unpronounceable name--leached to my right. By default he became my guide and shared many stories about the main deity of the temple, Sriranganathaswamy, who is considered to be the incarnation of Lord Vishnu. I was led barefoot (Hindu law) through three distinct sanctuaries that were built in different centuries and through very turbulent times. The oldest and innermost sanctum of the temple held a huge statue, carved from a single slab of granite, of the reclining Lord Vishnu. Its image is forever etched in my memory since photos can only be taken from outside the temple.

After following me around for an hour and sharing extensive his knowledge, the little old man presented me with a fee for the tour, 200 rupees ($4). I told him that I did not ask for a tour and wasn't going to pay for something I didn't buy. I looked to Aman for some assistance since technically I was paying HIM to give me a tour but he just stood there silently. Finally, he rattle off something in Hindi and the next thing I know the little old man is sitting in our car as we drive down the road to Mysore. What?! The two of them are actually quite friendly with one another and I'm thinking I'm in yet another scam. Apparently, in order to earn his fee he's giving me two more temple tours. I agree like a good American with dollars to burn and learned a great deal from my drunken animated friend. After a while, we come to a crossroad where he gets out but not before collecting his 300 rupees. Yes, that's right, now it's 300. Somehow the fee had risen without explanation and I argue to this ridiculous increase until tempers flare and I hand over the rupees. He did a good job and I would had paid him the affordable $6 if he was just honest in the beginning about it. Since there are so many local Indian languages scams very frequent even amongst Indian nationals.

On to Chamundi Hill whose apex is the setting for the temple to the Goddess Durga (see Durga Puja travel entry) who slew the demon buffalo, Mahishasura. I took a photo of my guide next to this demon, as there were times throughout our journey that I wanted to slew him as well. He liked the photo and I warmed to him more after that small but not insignificant bonding experience. It is believed that the temple at the top of the hill strikes déjà vu in you. One of the displays states "5000 years ago at this time you visited this place at the same way you are visiting now. Because world drama repeats itself identically every 5000 years." I wonder what that meant for Aman and me? Descending the hill, I see a massive bull carved out of one solid piece of granite. Created in 1659, the bull temple known as Nandi carries the God Ganesha on his back. I was given red and yellow dot blessings on my forehead by a Hindu priest, which was a nice experience. Then, I was promptly asked for money. There really is no scared place in India where one cannot be approached to give money or food. And, by approaching I mean pulling and tearing at your clothes; its not just a simple question. The homelessness that tears at my heartstrings in San Francisco pales in comparison to the desponding expressions I see on the faces of so many here in India.

The road trip is going well except I'm nearly dehydrated. After drinking lots of water the first couple of hours, I decided that I had to stop as it had huge drawbacks especially for me who's Queen of the Itty-bitty Bladder Committee. The "ladies room" that seldom lined the road was extremely frightful. Having a sinus infection and blocked passageways didn't aid me in my visit. I captured a photo to share a bit of the visual pain.

Saving the best site for last, I arrive in Mysore and set my eyes on an architectural fairytale and jewel of the city, Maharaja's Palace. It takes hours to soak in this spectacle all without the aid of my camera, as it had to be checked in at the gate. I removed my shoes as well and wandered around the twelve temples that surround the palace which dates back to 1912. Elephants adorned with howdahs (a frame to carry passengers) parade around the site. At night, the palace is lit with over 5000 lightbulbs. Inside is an ornamental fantasy of turquoise, magenta and mustard colors with fabulous textures all in exquisite detail. I loved it. The best part for me was the Wedding Hall that is still used for concerts during the Dussehra festival in mid-October. Its dome was set in gorgeous stained-glass images of India's national bird, the peacock, known to be the harbinger of monsoons and the symbol of fertility and good luck.

Heading back to Bangalore, I reflect upon the day's events as I watch raindrops beginning to dance repetitiously on the windshield. With each passing day, a magical feeling incarnates itself within me just like one of the many Hindu Godly beliefs. It can be an infuriating feeling at times especially if one expects everything to happen like clockwork. While my crazy driver whizzes home at a deadening speed on slick and tenuous roads, I marvel at how an open mind and a flexible attitude, can go a long way in exploring the magic of not only India but in all people and places, too.

[andrea]
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1099490820/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1099490820/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1099490820/tpod.html Fri, 05 Nov 2004 09:23:52 -0500 India: Crossing the digital divide

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Kerala, India

:: A breath of fresh air ::

Surrounded by dense greenery and narrow backwaters near the Arabian Sea, the state of Kerala is a welcomed respite from the frenetic, smogged-filled metropolis of Hyderabad. At last, I'm back in nature's lap.

On Monday, Nov 1, the central southeastern state of Andhra Pradesh celebrates its birthday (locals have lost count of its candles as it dates back to the late 16th century) thereby creating yet another holiday and day off for me. During the first week in November, I'll be working in Bangalore (south of Hyderabad in the state of Karnataka), which also honors this day (as any good neighbor would) thus prompting my three-day journey into southern India's unique geography.

Some of you may be thinking that this "work" trip of mine is just a mere guise for seeking personal travel and I couldn't agree with you more. If you long for holidays, disregard the commute and consider working in India as it honors hundreds of festivals, which pales in comparison to the standard US 10-day corporate allowance. I just missed, Onam, the big rice harvest festival (its gathered twice a year) in Kerala. A famous canoe race marks this celebration where very long snake boats, crewed by 150 rowers each, race down narrow inlets to the sea.

:: Cochin's cultural collage ::

I arrived early Saturday afternoon in Kerala's main airport, Cochin, a prime tourist seaport. Honestly, it's a minor miracle that I made it here at all due to an extremely tight 25-minute connection. Thanks to my little buddies (aka crutches), my wheelchair driver dropped me off on the tarmac next to the plane's roaring engines (and I thought the air quality was bad in Hyderabad; the air at the airport was an environmental disaster!) Flights run sporadically in India unlike the US. If you happen to miss a flight in the States, you'll likely fly standby on another flight that same day. In India, flights leave, at most, twice a day but more likely three times a week. Type A planners do well in India.

Cochin (means new or safe harbor) was founded in 1341 and served as the chief harbor on the Malabar Coast. Royals made Cochin their new home in 1405 and the city expanded rapidly attracting Christians and Jews from the Middle East who arrived in the 11th century as part of King Solomon's trading fleet. Its main attraction includes: spice markets, Chinese fishing nets, a synagogue (only three Jewish families remain in the city today), India's first European church, Dutch homes and village greens straight from England. Britain's influence but the street scene is anything but prim and proper.

:: Journey to Kumarakom ::

Seeking adventure, solitude, beauty and missing my Marin backyard, I decided my Keralan journey would end at the heart of the backwaters, Kumarakom. I hired a driver to take me to this tiny village, which is an island on Vernbanad Lake, two-hours south of Cochin. This turned out to be an excellent location despite being ripped off by the driver who spoke broken English and had a sever bout of short-tem memory loss when the agreed upon payment was rendered. Still, I considered being driven for two-hours door-to-door for under $20 a good deal. At least he got me to Kumarakon Lake Resort, a small cozy, cottage retreat nestled on the edge of a bird sanctuary.

Soon I found myself surrounded by beautiful dwellings entangled in lush waterways, which held true to Kerala's rich character and ancient history. Cottages are surrounded by inlets and designed in the traditional Keralan-style architecture. Its interior is supported by superbly crafted woodcarvings and remnants of old palaces eloquently fill the space between land and water. This quaint abode is self-contained within a lush tropical garden providing privacy for my open-air bathroom and shower. I always made sure to close the toilet lid just in case a little critter called it home. In essence, this little slice of heaven is a 5-star tropical campsite on the water.

:: An ayurvedic awakening::

Kumarakom Lake Resort is known for its yoga, meditation and ayurvedic center. Upon checking in I promptly scheduled an ayurvedic massage. I awaited my pampering by the pool--its blue waters lapping to the edge of the lake. Ayurvedic, a Sanskirt word meaning "knowledge for prolonging life", is a 5,000 year-old holistic medicine system that is widely practiced in India. San Francisco offers ayurvedic treatments but I had never experienced one before. Ayurvedic theory holds that disease is a symptom of imbalance; it's the imbalance that needs to be treated not the disease. An ayurvedic doctor treats not only to the patient's physical complaint but also considers family history, daily habits, and emotional traits. I didn't have the time for the full assessment, which lasts for days, but I got the basic healing touch of massage. It was very unique and unlike any massage I've had before. It started off with a lighting of incense and a silent prayer moment followed by a warm medicinal oils poured on my head and worked down to my toes. This indulgence felt wonderful and its aroma intensely gratifying but hours later its calming effects soon vanished into a panicking nightmare. Apparently, the special ancient healing oils have a dye in them that produced paprika color streaks in my blonde hair. That, combined with all the chlorine I've been in swimming in every day since I got to India, my hair looks like a jar of paint water after a day of water coloring. I do feel a bit of reassurance that Indian standards of beauty differ greatly from the intense vanity scene of San Francisco. Yoga and meditation served me well the next day.

:: Breathtaking backwater beauty ::

Not one to sit idle relaxing poolside all day, I set out to explore villages and immerse myself in the local culture on a boat ride through the backwaters. The meandering labyrinth of waterways lined by luscious vegetation, coconut trees and village people is a sight to behold. These waterways preserve rural Keralan lifestyles, which are completely hidden from the road. This was a definite a highlight of the weekend. However, I wasn't prepared what I was about to experience. I was alone on the boat, a traditional kettu vellm, whose exposed sides invite all kinds of stares from village onlookers. I felt like Queen Elizabeth touring her new found land. Locals, with fixated faces, set their sights on the white girl in the boat; a white girl with a blushing red face, no less! After the first hour, I got use to it and always returned the glares with a smile some of which were mirrored back from dark faces revealing bright yellow teeth. But, not always. Tourism didn't start here until 1995 so it's not all that new or old to them, which is why I felt like I invaded their turf. Despite the few resorts here and there, the town remains untouched.

Known as the Venice of the East, these waters swell to massive proportions during the monsoon season in June-July making the rudimentary bus system obsolete. Boats are an absolute necessity. Even in this rural wonder-- hundreds of miles away from the city commerce-- I cannot escape diesel fumes. A fragile ecosystem threatens this tropical rarity. Kerala's population density is 2-to-4 times greater than any other coastal area in southwest India. This puts pressure on the land and hence a greater need for fertilizer, which eventually works its way back into the water creating a build up of attractive chartreuse African moss. Land reclamation is the biggest threat by far. In a little over a century, the backwater region has been reduced by two-thirds.

That evening, back in my cottage, I witnessed the most fantastic thunderstorm I'd ever seen. November is the beginning of the high season so this storm was a bit unexpected. Its booms were probably felt for miles; its lightning flashes so bright and repetitious you'd think it was the Fourth of July. I was booked to sleep on a houseboat the next night but didn't want to die from electrocution in India so I stayed in my cottage another night. I was happy I did since another cloud opened up that night as well. The rain cooled the 80-degree night air and lured me to sleep as it danced a lullaby on the tile roof.

:: The Gods of Kottayam ::

The next day I ventured out of the resort to explore the neighboring village of Kottayam. This was a welcome departure from the motley crew of retired Germans ready to party who invaded the premises the night before. I was the only American. The French made their stake the day prior taking over the north section of the resort to shoot models wearing the latest in casual topical ware.

The Kottayam region is located in the heart of spice, tea and rubber industries. Large houses owned by rubber factory owners (they yield a rupee ($.45) per pound of rubber) fill the village square. Two eight-century churches, Cheriapalli (means "small church") and Valliapalli (means "big church") occupy the village, which has a long history of Christianity. The small church was open and I was given a tour by its groundskeeper. The altar dome is covered by frescos from a Portuguese artist. Its vegetable dyes (probably the ayurvedic one used on my hair) remains vivid after 450 years.

Arundhati's Roy's prize-winning novel, "The God of Small Things", is set in this area known as Kuttanad. Her house remains unoccupied but under a watchful eye. She now calls New Delhi home.

Ettumanur is another close village that is famous for its 16th-century Mahadeva temple. This is the site of the earliest and most celebrated Keralan murals of Shiva, a Hindu God who is most difficult to please. The artwork in the temple is not open to foreigners (much less women) but I was able can see the courtyard murals and took photos after paying a small fee. Its exterior walls hold a thousand or more oil lamps that are lit during a ten-day festival in February. Elephants are brought into the courtyard and are painted in honor of Shiva. Here again, I felt like a freak and most unwelcome. I remembered to remove my shoes but was a woman dressed in shorts, which I was told was inoffensive and feared I was doing something dreadfully disrespectful. It amused me that there were so many unfriendly faces amongst all this religion!

:: Bangalore bound ::

Back at the resort, I enjoyed a final Keralan feast and watched a traditional dance called, Kathakali, which is performed only by women. The costume adorn by the dancer is elaborate and her makeup exquisite, which takes hours to prepare. Handmade piped instruments accompany the dancer and sounded like the flock of birds I heard on the canals earlier that day. I wasn't ready to leave this tranquil setting and had to prepare myself for a new bustling city scene. I am hopeful that Bangalore, known as the "Garden City", will be a smooth segue from Kerala's pristine backwaters.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1099011360/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1099011360/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1099011360/tpod.html Fri, 29 Oct 2004 01:31:34 -0400 India: Crossing the digital divide

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Hyderabad, India

:: Char Minar and Char Kaman ::

The Char Minar (means four minarets) is a striking monument set in the heart of Hyderabad and is one of the best examples of South Indian Islamic architecture. The founder of Hyderabad, Muhammad Quli, built this ceremonious gateway in 1589. Four gates (means Char Karman) mark the intersection of the city's four major roads. Fruit vendors and merchants surround this unusual building, which serves as part triumphal arch, part mosque. It stands over 180 feet tall and 100 feet wide and is dwarfed by the enormous crowd that surrounds this popular agora.

:: Falaknuma Palace ::

Falaknuma Palace (translated to "Star of Heaven") is truly magnificent. You'll have to just trust me on this since its interior beauty cannot be photographed. The palace stands prominently on the highest hill overlooking Hyderabad. At night, its illuminated façade reinforces its "star-like" qualities. The edifice had the same importance in Hyderabad in the near past as the Palace of Kremlin had in Moscow.

This gorgeous palace was designed by an Italian architect for the Prime Minister of Hyderabad and purchased by Nizam VI in 1897. It took nine years to build and served as a royal guesthouse for the rulers of Hyderabad, called Nizams (ruled from 1713-1950), and for King George and Queen Mary.

From a bird's eye view, this grand marble structure resembles the body of a scorpion with its two stingers spreading out as wings to the north. It is believed the design was the source of many misfortunes; the palace proved to be fatal to those who visited for great lengths. The southern section of the building houses the harem quarters -- a mere 150 wives all told!

The grandson of Nizam VII now owns the palace, which sat unused from 1911-2001. The Taj Group, a luxury hotel corporation, manages the facility. I was only able to visit this city jewel because I'm a guest at a Taj hotel here in Hyderabad. The palace is not open to the public. Starting in January 2005, a two-year renovation of the south wing will produce a 7-star luxury hotel. It's estimated the cost of a nightly stay will be close to 1 lakh (Lakh = 100,000 ruppees or $2k dollars)!


:: Neighborhoods ::

My friend, Santosh, invited me to have lunch at his recently purchased home outside Hyderabad. He lives approx. 15 miles from the city, which took over an hour to reach due to crazy roads and even crazier drivers. Houses in India, much like the suburbs in the US, are less expensive on the outskirts of the city. Most homes are concrete, often painted bright pastels, consist on 2-4 small rooms and cost around $20k. They have "modern" amenities built around a simple and efficient community design. Indians typically live with their nuclear family and very seldom live on their own. This is due in part to expensive apartments but also I get the sense that families are bonded together like sticky rice out here.

My friend's mother cooked us a tasty traditional Indian meal. As a host, you serve your guests, cater to their every whim and do not partake in the meal. One can't even reach for a spoon without the host taking over the task. This attention took some getting use to but I soon realized that you must honor their custom or you look like a complete jerk. Of course, I was very nervous taking my first bite, as I feared Death by Spices. One does not want to be rude and refuse food especially when my host knew I was a "negative zero spicy gal", as my friends like to call me. Even with that knowledge, the food was insanely hot. I'm still sweating from its heat! I thought for sure after I spilled a little sauce on the floor that I'd see a massive hole worn through the marble from its fiery touch. Thankfully, cooling ghee and yogurt aided in my digestion.

It's been a real honor to be so generously welcomed into my friend's homes and to share in traditional Indian culinary experiences but I sometimes I feel I'm on an Indian "Fear Factor" show that dares me to eat what one hates the most. Stepping up to the challenge doesn't always reap positive rewards like the Hollywood ending but it's all part of the experience that I embrace. The phrase "Spice of Life" definitely has a whole new meaning for me.

[at]
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1098556560/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1098556560/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1098556560/tpod.html Sat, 23 Oct 2004 15:43:13 -0400 India: Crossing the digital divide

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Hyderabad, India

:: Durga Puja ::

On Friday, I had the opportunity to celebrate, Durga Puja, the biggest Hindu festival in Bengal. It has migrated to other parts of India especially here in Hyderabad and other southeastern cities. It's a festival that adores God as Mother. Hinduism is the only religion in the world that emphasizes the extent the motherhood of God. It is believed that one's relationship with one's mother is the dearest and sweetest of all human relations therefore making God equal to mother.

The festival is also known as Dussehra and Navaratri (meaning "nine nights" of celebration) and celebrates, Durga, the Goddess of divine power against all evils. This Divine Mother is believed to exist in all beings in the form of intelligence, mercy, and beauty. She's good. Lord Shiva, her consort, creates, sustains and destroys the universe. He's very bad.

As the story goes, Mahisasur, the Buffalo Demon (seen in the middle of the tableau), prays for years and receives a blessing from Lord Brahma, that no power can kill him. His invincible power corrupts him and he ravages the world and doesn't stop until he uproots the Gods, too. The Gods, in dismay, combine their powers to create a beautiful maiden, Durga, and place their most potent weapons in one of her ten hands riding a lion.

The festival is observed twice a year and lasts for nine days in honor of the nine manifestations of Durga. Devotees fast and Brahmins (Hindu priestly class) offer prayers for the protection of health and property. Spiritual type A's fast only with milk and fruits the entire nine days. Nine girls below the age of ten are worshipped as the embodiment of the Divine Mother and are fed sumptuously and presented with new clothes.

On the last day of celebration, a tearful farewell is offered to the Goddess. Most of the community postpones the farewell as long as possible and arranges a grand send-off. The tableau is carried in processions around the city and is finally immersed in a nearby river or lake. Her return happens each year in the Bengali month of Aswin (September-October).

The festival vibrantly awakened all of my jet-lagged senses with colorful flowers, burning incense and ceremonious drums. Exotic ballet dancers performed some famous poet's interpretation of the Durga. I was struck by how many people thanked me for coming to their festival to learn about their most cherished Gods. I'll never forget this celebration of not only goodness but the honoring of evil, which is recognized rather than ignored, loathed and feared.

[andrea]
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1098467760/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1098467760/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1098467760/tpod.html Fri, 22 Oct 2004 15:52:25 -0400 India: Crossing the digital divide

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Hyderabad, India

:: Hyderabad ::

I flew into Hyderabad (pronounced Hy-dra-bad) late Sunday night, Oct 17, and was instantly aware of its immediate contrast to New Delhi. A melting pot of Muslim and Hindu cultures, Hyderabad is the capital of its state, Andhra Pradesh, located on the mid-to-eastern side of the country. Its population is close to 6 million (I think I saw all of them at the airport) and includes those in its sister city, Secunderabad. Hyderabad is southern India's hi-tech city and is affectionately called, "Cybercity". The city is greatly divided by its panache to serve the business class and the realities of being a third-world country. This dichotomy pervades your every move.

I've come here to work for a month to enhance US-to-India creative innovation, processes, and communication. My company arranged for a hotel driver to pick me up and take me to the airport. When he appeared and asked me if I was Miss Turner but I didn't reply at first because I was distracted by the dozen or so smiling faces behind him that shouted, "Welcome Andrea!" What a nice surprise to see my co-workers coming out in full force to greet me. Not having met any of my colleagues before I thought it was funny how they instantly knew who I was; it's pretty hard to be incognito around here with blonde hair and pale skin. They came to ensure that I had proper transportation but it is also an Indian custom to send off and receive travelers in good numbers. I've witnessed that a lot at the San Francisco airport and always thought that arriving person must have felt so good being welcomed by so many happy faces and outstretched arms. Now I knew that feeling first hand and was touched by their gesture.

I was excited to start work and begin to collaborate with my teammates and learn about their lives. I was instructed that a driver would pick me up at my hotel (a very nice five-star abode) at 9.30am every morning and take me to work. My driver's name is something I cannot even begin to understand as it is close to 12 letters long! My goal is to greet him by name, along with my big toothy smile, before I leave India. Currently, all I do is smile and nod incessantly when he recalls my name correctly each and every time. I am almost always the first to arrive at the office. A typical workday is somewhere from 11am-8pm complete with catered lunches and dinners. The food here is tasty albeit incredibly spicy (even mild nearly blows my head off) and quite heavy. If I smother my food with a heap of neutralizing plain yoghurt, I can complete a meal. Without it, I'm left for dead. The second resort is chasing down my fiery sustenance with some trusty PepcidAC. I'm convinced that Indian spices are slowly wearing a hole in my stomach. I crave healthy salads from Whole Foods Market.

I arrive at my company's office, which is situated in front of a pretty river that flows peacefully behind the chaos of the city streets. I had visions of taking afternoon respites along its banks and enjoying some calm in what I expected to be a rather frenetic office environment. As we maneuvered through the rush hour complete with bicycles, three-wheeled taxis, SUVs, and oxen pulling carts of fruits and vegetables my building complex appeared. I was surprised by its modern façade juxtaposed by a pit of debris. Modernism fades fast as you enter the building, which is comprised of 8 floors two of which remain occupied. I enter my office on the 4th floor and am struck by its professional appearance right down to its coordinating corporate paint colors. However, if you veer just slightly down the atrium to the 3rd floor, you'll see bamboo poles holding up walls in rooms whose only occupant is the random varmint scurrying by to take cover under the rubble.

Moments after staring down the atrium an olfactory overload--the force of a mac truck-- hits me dead on. Apparently, my pristine little stream out back is nothing more than a vessel for human waste; its contents permeates the air at different intensities depending on which way the wind blows. I've progressed from diesel fume headaches of New Delhi to septic stream sinus attacks in Hyderabad. It's funny what one can get use to after time and a willingness to accept one's circumstances. I can't believe I'm even going to write this but I don't even mind the smell anymore! My only hope is that this foul odor isn't wearing on me like a nasty smoke that clings to your clothes. Above all, I am thankful the weather is a pleasant 72 degrees. I can't imagine what this stench would be like in the heat.

Week one produces great progress in working together and I'm making new friends. I sense a real genuine hospitality and interest in what I have to offer, which is refreshing and inspiring. I've always been a supporter of my Indian workers and am convinced if every one of my complaining colleagues were able to work in India for a few weeks their stereotypes and grievances would meld into understanding.

Part of understanding is getting the gist of what is meant by "Indian time". It basically means your running approximately 45-minutes behind schedule. I see that in the finest eating establishments that cater to your every whim to deliverables that are sometimes overdue. The challenge in an Indian distributed workforce is transitioning their way of life into an American corporate paradigm that operates at lightening speed. In my opinion, it's unrealistic to expect Indians to alter their existence and adhere to an American method of organization, timeliness, and process-driven mandates when most of their lives are surrounded by slower paced conveniences and chaos. To eliminate this reality from a work environment is unrealistic. As US counterparts, we need to understand the Indian way of life and support a corporate structure for them that doesn't mirror the US but rather allows for success on their own terms. Therein lies the cultural challenge.

I shared in my Agra journal entry just how many employees it took to complete a purchase transaction-from selecting to delivering goods-seven employees all told. Labor, in a country whose population is over 1 billion (second only to China), is not in short supply. In India, hiring multiple people to do a simple task is a concept that definitely works here in the service industry, or within a manual labor field. Yesterday, I saw a man shoveling dirt into a blanket that four men held and carried over to the bank to dump. This labor concept fails when advanced skills are needed. Even though my Indian peers are paid significantly less ($5k/year) than Americans doing the same function, quality skilled laborers are in short supply at least in my eLearning profession. We seek quality versus quantity. With a little mental gymnastics one can see how it's cheaper to employ several people to do a single job rather than invest in a tool that could advance a society. It would wreck havoc on an economic structure that somehow manages to meet the needs of its people.

Today all of eastern India celebrates their second largest festival, Durga Puja, a Bengali religious holiday born from its epicenter of Calcutta but has migrated to other parts of India. Translated....I have an extra vacation day while already on a working "vacation" of sorts. At least that's how I see my job here. My new friends are making plans for lunches, dinners and festivities all weekend long. I will not be at a loss for things to do, which is why my jet lag has persisted and my yawns are the brunt of many jokes. Most of my co-workers don't go to bed until 3am. I'm nearly comatose by then but I'd rather be tired than pass on what this city and country offers.

Andrea
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1098061080/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1098061080/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1098061080/tpod.html Mon, 18 Oct 2004 13:29:06 -0400 India: Crossing the digital divide

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New Delhi + Agra, India

:: New Delhi ::

I arrived in New Delhi late Friday night. As my plane approached the runway, I looked through my window and saw lights aglow amongst full vegetation. It struck me that the lights didn't appear in any particular pattern as to indicate there were planned roads or an organized transportation method. The view suggested more clusters of lights, which made me think what I was looking at might be the line that distinguishes New Delhi from Old Delhi. I would soon find out what this foreign land has to offer.

After making it out of baggage claim and customs, which was a breeze in a wheelchair, I arrived outside surrounded by the night air. Instantly, I felt the culture shock. It literally took my breath away! Massive amounts of carbon dioxide filled the air and tarred my pink little lungs. After I caught my breath, I noticed the people adorned with huge smiles and red dots on their foreheads, unfamiliar sights and sounds so loud and frenetic that I was instantly energized by the differences that eveloped me.

Planning isn't my forte but I was immensely grateful that I gone to the trouble to arrange a driver to get to my hotel before I left the States. As I was wheeled through the maze of porters holding up signs for their potential clients, I saw my name. Yeh, he actually showed up! His sign was pink and it read, "Welcome, Mr. Andrea Turner". I smiled and said, "Namaste, I'm Andrea Turner". He said, "You are not a man. Lucky me! I am Amit. Velcome to Vndia!"

Sitting in the backseat of the hotel car, I couldn't believe where I was...In-dia! Some 10,000 miles from home. The streets, buildings, and people are like nothing I've ever seen. Well, maybe on Discovery Channel but up close and personal has no substitute. My adrenaline kept me up most of the night as I soak in the view from my hotel room, which is a five-star resort that provided every comfort imaginable. This room alone was worth the 24-hour journey.

That night, I booked a tour to Agra (I got the last seat available) to see the Taj Mahal Saturday morning at 6.30am. This was incredibly early considering I hadn't sleep more than four hours the night before but this was my only chance to see this crowing beauty of love and devotion.

:: Agra ::

The tour group was varied with 25 people mostly business travelers trying to sneak in a pleasure trip before returning home. Many shared their distributed work environment stories. It was almost like a mini support group therapy session. I found I was not alone in my little victories or the struggles I share in creating collaborative team environment oceans away from each other.

The bus was old yet comfortable. It may have had shocks but you couldn't tell with the road being so torn up. Trucks have signs on their bumpers that read, "Blow horn" to make some sense out of all the driving madness. Signage, street signals, organization of any time is missing. Horns tell you if you're doing the right thing or not. Apparently, nobody is because the honking never stops!! This constant noise rests heavy on the diesel-fumed air. For many of us, this chaos created a migraine in milli-seconds. Agra is 3.5 hours from New Delhi. It was going to be a long day.

At the half-way point we stopped for breakfast. After eating naan (bread), egg white omelets, and curried potatoes we all chased down various painkillers with our trusty bottled water to relieve our heads and sinuses. This was my first taste of homesickness as I longed for my California strict-emission-state air!

Our next stop was the mausoleum of Sikandra, Sultan of Delhi, who was responsible for moving the capital to Agra in 1504 so he could keep a check on the warring factions of his empire. All of these stops are plagued with beggars pleading for you to buy a postcard, jewelry, trinkets of all kinds, or to feed them. It doesn't help that our bus says TOURIST on top of it either. This disparity is heartbreaking. We were instructed to ignore the beggars completely. Even a smile to simply recognize their human existence would encourage them to never let you go. I refused that warning at first and thanked the beggars but offered a firm "no-thank you". This was a huge mistake. They practically crawled in after me on the bus. If it wasn't for our tour guide who blocked the doorway, I'm certain they'd be sharing my hotel room with me. Okay, so I learned the hard way that you can't be nice, or you'd go broke trying to right the wrong of poverty that is so pervasive throughout this country.

Arriving in Agra was very exciting. The city is not only known for its famous Taj Mahal but also for its universities and for once being the capital of India under Moghul rule. Many scholars study here before leaving for American technology jobs. We were warned it is an intense city even for the seasoned Indian traveler. The streets are tenuous dirt roads lined with camels and mules carrying goods to and fro, filthy water and open sewers are ubiquitous, power outages routine and appalling traffic pollution an environmental disaster. Auto-rickshaws, three-wheeler taxis called "autos", are everywhere and are so small and thin that you hope the wind doesn't knock them over. These drivers are notoriously anarchic so one must be sure of the fare before stepping inside. Bicyclists are everywhere with their fenders dented and wheels crooked from too many close calls. Street vendors have make-shift stoves on wooden crates and will make you curry or fresh fruit (we all passed on the fruit cocktail with Immodium chaser). Stores consist of old torn down brick buildings without doors that have only a counter with maybe 12 items for sale. Everything looks incredibly dirty and contaminated to American standards but as a stranger in a strange land, I'm loving the experience.

Back to the pollution. It's a huge problem as evident being my third day with a sinus headache. Fortunately, it is a growing concern with archaeologists who wish to preserver the Taj Mahal. Agra passed a law that vehicles could not come within 50kms of the Taj Mahal since pollution was starting rear its ugly head on the Taj. The marble is starting to get undeniably sullen and yellow in parts. Empty casings betray lost precious stones. Still, to the untrained eye, this tomb is almost perfect.

To get there you have to park and take an electric bus into the site. Recently, the fee for entry was 15Rs (approx $.25) but the city raised it to 750Rs (approx $17), which is supposed to help with restoration efforts. Over 20 million visitors pass through the Taj Mahal daily. That's a lot of rupees! Critics of the plan say that the city is corrupt and the Taj Mahal will never see the money put to use. The city kicked out all factories to help with the problem. The tourist revenue now drives most of Agra's economy.

As many of you know, the Taj Mahal (means Crown Palace) was built by Shah Jahan upon a dying request from his wife, Mumtaz Mahal, (she died after giving birth to their fourteenth child), is strikingly beautiful. It's not only the tomb that's magnificent but its monochromatic backdrop of the sky lends itself to a create a perfect canvas of uninterrupted space to display the white marble spires of traditional Islamic architecture. This particular marble is translucent; its vast marble surfaces fall into shadow or reflect the sun, its color changes, from soft gray and yellow to pearly cream and dazzling white. In the light of a full moon, it glows like a beacon much like the love the Shah felt for his wife. Inlaid in the marble are precious stones, which adorn the walls with scripted Sanskrit scriptures that read proportionally from bottom to top. The artisans skewed the size of the letters on the top to appear bigger than the bottom letters so that the reading was consistent in size.

This is a monument of painstakingly perfect detail. It took 23 years to construct this tomb and 40 million rupees. It is the only building in the world that is perfectly symmetrical down to the percentage point of 100%. The Shah wanted to build the exact same tomb but in black marble just opposite of the Taj across the Yamuna River as a mirror of himself back to his beloved. Eventually, his devote and austere son interned him in Agra Fort for being incredibly insane for thinking such an idea and overtook his throne. When the Shah died he ruined the Taj Mahal's perfection by requesting his tomb be set besides his beloved wife's tomb, which was placed in the center. His tomb is placed on her right creating an asymmetrical imbalanced. The plan of the tomb was intended as a reproduction of God's throne. Given the emperor's remains are inside the inevitable conclusion is that, aside from being and extravagant romantic, he possessed the opinion that his importance knew no bounds.

Most notable part of the visit was how many times my photo was taken at the Taj Mahal by Indian men and women who wanted a snapshot taken with me and their son and/or daughter in my arms. I am a complete stranger to them and yet they want me to hold their babies for a photo opportunity. Indian people are extremely warm and friendly offering smiles but not always conversation. After a while, I must admit, the attention felt a little like a freak show. The Indian girls in the photo above were most welcoming and sweet. They had fun seeing themselves on my digital camera.

Next stop was the Agra Fort, the former stronghold of the Moghul Empire. It is said the Shah spent his time gazing wistfully at the Taj Mahal from across the river. While the Taj Mahal is feminine symbol of architecture, the Agra Fort is totally masculine with its half-moon redstone foundation set as the majestic citadel.

Afterwards, we visited the marble factory that was designed and produced the inlaid stones in the Taj Mahal. Several generations later sons and grandsons are replicating the handiwork of their forefathers' craft. We got the major hard sell and were followed around until we all eventually broke down and bought something. I admire the beauty of the handiwork but marble isn't my taste. I did buy a soap dish that will look nice on my porcelain bathroom sink. I was struck by how many people it took to ring up my order. First there was the guy who followed me around until I found somehing that suited me. He then gave my piece to the second guy to ring it up. The thrid man picked up the cashier slip and handed it to fourth man to review. The fith man handed me my slip while the sixth man wraped my dish up in paper. The seventh man handed me my dish. Everyone who wants a job can have a job in India. It's that simple. I read that it's the wealthy's duty to provide work for servants or their stinginess is frowned upon.

Riding back to New Delhi and our bus broke down. The driver fixed the engine with a piece of YARN! Magically, it worked and hours later we arrived back at our hotels totally exhausted with our black lung coughs but thrilled he was so resourceful. Maybe yarn is their version of duct tape, which I find quitre useful in solving many problems as well.

Tomorrow I fly to Hyderabad to start working with my colleagues many of whom I will be meeting for the first time after collaborating for almost 2-years. I feel like I've been on vacation all this time and now, still jet lagged, must shift into work mode and be somewhat useful. This should be interesting...

Check out the photos above. I also updated my Paris log if you'd like to see photos from the City of Lights, too.

Andrea
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1097786700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1097786700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1097786700/tpod.html Sun, 17 Oct 2004 21:17:11 -0400 India: Crossing the digital divide

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Paris, France

Today has been a lesson in letting go of expectations (especially when they have gone awry), which has allowed me to be fully present in the moment rather than holding on so tightly to my ideas of how things are suppose to be. I really have no clue and it's time I should stop pretending I do. Going with the the f.l.o.w is infinitely more fun than the alternative.

So the plan (expectation) was that I'd make all my connecting flights. It was a simple plan one that didn't require much planning or thought--a given expectation of sorts. However, I missed my flight this afternoon from Paris to New Delhi because the wheelchair I requested never showed up to take me to the gate. Since I walk as fast as a turtle in these crutches, I missed my flight by... oh, a mere 20 minutes! I was so excited to get to India that this was definitely not the start to the trip I was hoping for but therein lies great opportunity for allowing the unknown to take over.

After what seemed like an endless communication struggle and ultimate sign language showdown, Air France put me on another New Delhi flight Friday morning complete with hotel and food vouchers and a toothbrush for all my trouble. Being able to spend the day here so un expectantly has been wonderful. I have really enjoyed soaking in one of my favorite cities in the world.

By "soaking in" I don't mean the sunshine. It's freezing cold here. Their "fall" weather is chilling to the bone in my summer clothes. I have nothing warm to wear since I am without my backpack, which is probably still sitting on the international tarmac, or worse yet, it's some airport employee's prize after winning their backroom poker game of lost-and-found items (reference to the movie "Terminal" I just saw on the plane.) So, this weather shift resulted in the inevitable... I just HAD to purchase a beautiful Parisian scarf to keep me warm as I gimped my way through the city sights. Now, I blend in perfectly (sans the metal walking sticks) with the locals.

Being outside in the crist air was so refreshing especially after sitting for so long on the plane. Note to self: send special thank you note to my manager for permitting first class travel as it is without a doubt why I am still alive to write this entry!

I was in Paris 4 years ago but today it still felt new to me and I feel energized by this charming and timeless city. Highlights included walking next to the Seine as it winds its way through one of the most amorous cities in the world, visiting gorgeous museums that hold timeless beauty, resting in the pews under the buttresses of Notre Dame and the seeing the spectacular sparkling light show of the Eiffel Tower at night that added to the effervescence of the city.

Tonight, I am having dinner with two charming men from Germany who are brothers and are reuniting after years of separation. One brother lived in San Francisco for some time and is excited to reminiscence. I have found that most people are extremely kind and open to me and I have enjoyed them all immensely. Maybe my crutches have created an open door for conversation? Whatever the case may be, this trip has started off on the right foot even if it wasn't the one I had planned, or a fully functional mobile one at that.

Au Revoir,
Andrea
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1097708640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1097708640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/andreaturner/india_2004/1097708640/tpod.html Wed, 13 Oct 2004 02:14:23 -0400 India: Crossing the digital divide

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San Francisco, California, United States

It is the eve before my 30-hour departure to India (via Cincinnati to Paris to New Delhi) and I am feeling very excited and a bit fatigued after learning to maneuver on my crutches for the past four days. I tore a muscle behind my left knee from a little too much yoga and mt. biking but am on a 6-week road to recovery, which puts me back in the USA healthy again! I can't think of a better place to heal than in India and I wouldn't miss this opportunity for the all the world.

After a month of hard work (just like good 'ole George W. would say), I'll head to Thailand and Vietnam for a little R&R vacation. Hopefully, I will have ditched these metal beauties at a local Ashram nearby, or at the very least look somewhat cool walking around with them.

I will miss you all and look forward sharing my experiences with you.

Back to packing...

Namaste,
Andrea
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