In advance, happy new year to all!
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| Jaipur, Wedding |
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Wedding Festivities in Jaipur
No updates for a while, I know. Aside from the wedding, I have been busy with work the entire month. The weather is finally really nice here (high of 28C, low of 19C) every day. The rains have subsided. Christmas was interesting - if for no other reason because extremely dark-complexioned men were dispersed throughout the city in the form of Santa Claus. I guess there should be no complexion-based discrimination for the position of Santa Claus, but it was quite the visual contrast from the image of Santa I have always had. Most of South India has a fairly significant Christian population, so there is definitely an air of festivity around Christmas (unlike in much of north India). Off to Kerala in a few weeks for vacation with friends from college as soon as another study is up and running at work - I will post a narrative and pictures when I return.
In advance, happy new year to all!
In advance, happy new year to all!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Malaysian Musings
Happy December!
Malaysia -
Before the start of the trip, I was not sure what to expect, though my limited readings (mostly from the news media) led me to believe I would encounter a fairly sterile Islamic society with smatterings of ethnic Chinese and Indian culture intermixed. On the whole, I think that is what I found. In many ways, it was an incredibly welcome change. Our paranoia that everybody was out to scam us quickly subsided. People throughout the country seemed warm, friendly, and willing to help. And the majority spoke stellar English.
We started our trip on the island of Penang (which means Betel Nut in Malay and is the origin to the well-known Penang curry). We did not actually mean to stay in Penang at all - we had every intention of arriving and taking a ferry the same day to the Langkawi Islands. Unfortunately, the two daily ferries depart within 15 minutes of one another beginning at 8:15 am. The capital of Penang - Georgetown - is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, though I am not entirely sure why and have not yet been compelled to research the topic. It seems that everywhere we went on this trip, including in Bangkok, we happened unintentionally to wander into the Little India and Chinatown segments of each locale. Penang was no different. The island is (I am referencing a cab driver here) majority Chinese, with a minority Malay and Indian culture. The Indians, like in all of Malaysia, are primarily Tamilians, some with roots generations old on the Malaysian peninsula. Dosas, sambar, chutneys, etc. were flowing from every corner of the city. Penang was sort of a microcosm of Southeast Asia on a single island - night bazaars, beaches, ethnic foods (we had great Lebanese food here one night next to the beach), natural beauty (there is a small national park that we did not make it to).
Onward the next morning to Langkawi by ferry. This group of islands is fairly remarkable, though much to my chagrin, also quite tourist-filled as well. The main strip on the main island is where we stayed and is sort of the life of the island. Walking up and down the road, you might mistake the place for some small European getaway.
The natural beauty of the islands, however, was breathtaking. We took a boat to several of the smaller islands, replete with clear water beaches, wildlife-filled forests and coasts, zip-lining, scenic lakes, and the wonders of uninhabited places. Sadly, the combination of intermittent rain and aquacentric activities prevented great picture taking.
Kuala Lumpur was a great shopping destination, with a tourist-dominated night life. One night we went to one "Bollywood Club", which was actually just 6-8 girls dancing on a stage to Hindi songs (some karaoke, some played by a dj) while overweight, middle-aged Indian men (dyslipidemics, no doubt) swooned over and threw money at the girls. Petronas Towers was worth seeing because they are incredibly tall and shiny. Kobe got swindled by a Malaysian who sold him a ChiNokia (Chinese Nokia) phone outside of the towers - but he says he is happy with the phone and, to be fair, he did not pay much for it.
Easily, the single greatest part of KL was the food! Typically in the US (and India and the rest of the world), one does not associate good foods with shopping malls. But in Malaysia, we quickly realized (with the help of the Le Meridien concierge who assumed we were guests because we happened to be in the lobby) that some of the best food in the city can be found in the malls. I found two great fake meat restaurants in KL that served off-the-chain food - both located inside shopping malls. For those who have been to Cafe Sunflower in Atlanta or Red Bamboo in New York, think better tasting food for a fraction of the price!
Back in Chennai now, working like an Indian until next week, when I reunite with the family for wedding festivities in Jaipur.
 |
| Malaysia |
Malaysia -
Before the start of the trip, I was not sure what to expect, though my limited readings (mostly from the news media) led me to believe I would encounter a fairly sterile Islamic society with smatterings of ethnic Chinese and Indian culture intermixed. On the whole, I think that is what I found. In many ways, it was an incredibly welcome change. Our paranoia that everybody was out to scam us quickly subsided. People throughout the country seemed warm, friendly, and willing to help. And the majority spoke stellar English.
We started our trip on the island of Penang (which means Betel Nut in Malay and is the origin to the well-known Penang curry). We did not actually mean to stay in Penang at all - we had every intention of arriving and taking a ferry the same day to the Langkawi Islands. Unfortunately, the two daily ferries depart within 15 minutes of one another beginning at 8:15 am. The capital of Penang - Georgetown - is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, though I am not entirely sure why and have not yet been compelled to research the topic. It seems that everywhere we went on this trip, including in Bangkok, we happened unintentionally to wander into the Little India and Chinatown segments of each locale. Penang was no different. The island is (I am referencing a cab driver here) majority Chinese, with a minority Malay and Indian culture. The Indians, like in all of Malaysia, are primarily Tamilians, some with roots generations old on the Malaysian peninsula. Dosas, sambar, chutneys, etc. were flowing from every corner of the city. Penang was sort of a microcosm of Southeast Asia on a single island - night bazaars, beaches, ethnic foods (we had great Lebanese food here one night next to the beach), natural beauty (there is a small national park that we did not make it to).
Onward the next morning to Langkawi by ferry. This group of islands is fairly remarkable, though much to my chagrin, also quite tourist-filled as well. The main strip on the main island is where we stayed and is sort of the life of the island. Walking up and down the road, you might mistake the place for some small European getaway.
The natural beauty of the islands, however, was breathtaking. We took a boat to several of the smaller islands, replete with clear water beaches, wildlife-filled forests and coasts, zip-lining, scenic lakes, and the wonders of uninhabited places. Sadly, the combination of intermittent rain and aquacentric activities prevented great picture taking.
Kuala Lumpur was a great shopping destination, with a tourist-dominated night life. One night we went to one "Bollywood Club", which was actually just 6-8 girls dancing on a stage to Hindi songs (some karaoke, some played by a dj) while overweight, middle-aged Indian men (dyslipidemics, no doubt) swooned over and threw money at the girls. Petronas Towers was worth seeing because they are incredibly tall and shiny. Kobe got swindled by a Malaysian who sold him a ChiNokia (Chinese Nokia) phone outside of the towers - but he says he is happy with the phone and, to be fair, he did not pay much for it.
Easily, the single greatest part of KL was the food! Typically in the US (and India and the rest of the world), one does not associate good foods with shopping malls. But in Malaysia, we quickly realized (with the help of the Le Meridien concierge who assumed we were guests because we happened to be in the lobby) that some of the best food in the city can be found in the malls. I found two great fake meat restaurants in KL that served off-the-chain food - both located inside shopping malls. For those who have been to Cafe Sunflower in Atlanta or Red Bamboo in New York, think better tasting food for a fraction of the price!
Back in Chennai now, working like an Indian until next week, when I reunite with the family for wedding festivities in Jaipur.
Hustled in Thailand
Back from travels. Some thoughts I wrote down to share. I think the pictures speak for themselves, though these are only pictures from my camera. We took lots of pictures with Kobe's point-and-shoot camera that I will upload once he gets them to me.
Thailand-
I have never met so many hustlers in one place in my life. It felt like our entire time in Bangkok was spent trying to evade scam after scam.
Our first day in the country we were stopped and patted down by the police as we were taking a tuk-tuk back to our hotel. We never received a real explanation as to why - it may have had something to do with the 8 or so handcuffed Indians we saw at a local jail a few minutes later. Thankfully, we had our passports on us. Indians are hustlers too, which is why in this case proving we were not Indian was useful. Speaking of hustling, thanks to Kobe, we stayed 3 nights in a 4-star hotel for a total of 36 USD.
The same night, we went to one of the big night bazaars to shop and get food. Because the Thai are not so proficient in English, many hotels give their guests cards with directions back to the hotel written in Thai. After some decent street food and a few drinks, we haggled with a tuk-tuk driver to take us back to the hotel for 50 Baht. We handed over the card that the hotel gave us so that he would know where to go. As soon as we sat in the tuk-tuk, he pulled out the card and started to tear it in half, saying he wanted 100 Baht for the ride. Of course, he had no idea that we each had another card with directions on us, which we then showed him. At this point, he was clearly peaved. He popped a minimum of two wheelies in addition to driving like a maniac on the way back to the hotel. But we only paid 50 Baht. Scam averted. It was fun!
I have never seen prostitution as blatant as it was in Thailand. Interestingly, most Thais seem to accept that it happens - it wasn't just the prime tourist areas that were teeming with prostitutes. According to one book I read, "most" Thai men are adulterers.
We managed to chance upon the gay bar scene in Bangkok, which for two guys with little interest in taking home a Thai woman for the night, was great. I suspect male prostitution may be just as common in that district as female prostitution is in other parts. Even though we sat as far away from each other as possible, never shared a martini, and never fed each through interlocking arms (as was happening at the tables around us), nobody doubted the legitimacy of Kobe and I as a couple.
Thai food was at times great in Thailand, though on the whole, rather disappointing. Maybe I have grown too accustomed to Top Spice in Atlanta to appreciate what genuine Thai food is. The street food was generally very good, but the restaurant dining left something to be desired. Street food favorites included pad thai, mango sticky rice, and Thai iced tea. The green curry pictured in the photo was pretty good as well, with plenty of spice as I asked for. All in all, still better than Tofu Tina's.
The infrastructure in Bangkok is off the chain. I should have taken more pictures of the infrastructural marvels. I can't remember if Kobe did. Public transport - including a skytrain, metro, and water taxi system - coupled with cheap cabs made getting around the city easy. The malls and shopping centers in the heart of the city are all connected directly to public transit stations. The airport was a neat architectural feat as well.
It was a novel experience being in a place where Buddhism is predmoninantly practiced. Looking closely, I noticed many cultural, religious, and linguistic similarities between Thailand and India, not the least of which are ancient and modern Hindu temples that are run and supported by Thais. Linguistically, there are many mutually intelligible words.
The local Bangkokites seemed to not have a very favorable opinion of Indians. One coconut vendor nearly refused to sell me a Thai coconut (which if you've never had one, go find one now) because I was Indian and "love money." He then asked me if my Prime Minister (referring to Manmohan Singh) also loves money. I bet the Indians in Thailand are mostly businessman and are likely frugal, but I am not sure what (if anything) they have done to earn this reputation.
Cabs in Bangkok run on a meter. As we were heading to the airport at 5am, our hotel doorman flagged us down a cab and assured us we only needed to pay what the meter said. He confirmed this with the driver. About 1 km later, the driver gestured that the meter was broken and that he wanted 500 Baht for the trip. We were too tired to argue, but even on our way out we couldn't avoid being hustled.
I will post about Malaysia soon.
 |
| Thailand |
Thailand-
I have never met so many hustlers in one place in my life. It felt like our entire time in Bangkok was spent trying to evade scam after scam.
Our first day in the country we were stopped and patted down by the police as we were taking a tuk-tuk back to our hotel. We never received a real explanation as to why - it may have had something to do with the 8 or so handcuffed Indians we saw at a local jail a few minutes later. Thankfully, we had our passports on us. Indians are hustlers too, which is why in this case proving we were not Indian was useful. Speaking of hustling, thanks to Kobe, we stayed 3 nights in a 4-star hotel for a total of 36 USD.
The same night, we went to one of the big night bazaars to shop and get food. Because the Thai are not so proficient in English, many hotels give their guests cards with directions back to the hotel written in Thai. After some decent street food and a few drinks, we haggled with a tuk-tuk driver to take us back to the hotel for 50 Baht. We handed over the card that the hotel gave us so that he would know where to go. As soon as we sat in the tuk-tuk, he pulled out the card and started to tear it in half, saying he wanted 100 Baht for the ride. Of course, he had no idea that we each had another card with directions on us, which we then showed him. At this point, he was clearly peaved. He popped a minimum of two wheelies in addition to driving like a maniac on the way back to the hotel. But we only paid 50 Baht. Scam averted. It was fun!
I have never seen prostitution as blatant as it was in Thailand. Interestingly, most Thais seem to accept that it happens - it wasn't just the prime tourist areas that were teeming with prostitutes. According to one book I read, "most" Thai men are adulterers.
We managed to chance upon the gay bar scene in Bangkok, which for two guys with little interest in taking home a Thai woman for the night, was great. I suspect male prostitution may be just as common in that district as female prostitution is in other parts. Even though we sat as far away from each other as possible, never shared a martini, and never fed each through interlocking arms (as was happening at the tables around us), nobody doubted the legitimacy of Kobe and I as a couple.
Thai food was at times great in Thailand, though on the whole, rather disappointing. Maybe I have grown too accustomed to Top Spice in Atlanta to appreciate what genuine Thai food is. The street food was generally very good, but the restaurant dining left something to be desired. Street food favorites included pad thai, mango sticky rice, and Thai iced tea. The green curry pictured in the photo was pretty good as well, with plenty of spice as I asked for. All in all, still better than Tofu Tina's.
The infrastructure in Bangkok is off the chain. I should have taken more pictures of the infrastructural marvels. I can't remember if Kobe did. Public transport - including a skytrain, metro, and water taxi system - coupled with cheap cabs made getting around the city easy. The malls and shopping centers in the heart of the city are all connected directly to public transit stations. The airport was a neat architectural feat as well.
It was a novel experience being in a place where Buddhism is predmoninantly practiced. Looking closely, I noticed many cultural, religious, and linguistic similarities between Thailand and India, not the least of which are ancient and modern Hindu temples that are run and supported by Thais. Linguistically, there are many mutually intelligible words.
The local Bangkokites seemed to not have a very favorable opinion of Indians. One coconut vendor nearly refused to sell me a Thai coconut (which if you've never had one, go find one now) because I was Indian and "love money." He then asked me if my Prime Minister (referring to Manmohan Singh) also loves money. I bet the Indians in Thailand are mostly businessman and are likely frugal, but I am not sure what (if anything) they have done to earn this reputation.
Cabs in Bangkok run on a meter. As we were heading to the airport at 5am, our hotel doorman flagged us down a cab and assured us we only needed to pay what the meter said. He confirmed this with the driver. About 1 km later, the driver gestured that the meter was broken and that he wanted 500 Baht for the trip. We were too tired to argue, but even on our way out we couldn't avoid being hustled.
I will post about Malaysia soon.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
indian english at its best
hi dear friend
how r u
i m fine & i m rj from jaisalmer(rajasthan)
i hope you rembber me no forget's
so dear now you where?
i hope you came again's
if you call me so my this number
94147*****
ok by have a nice days
your friend
raj harsh
anyways, i was amused. off to thailand and malaysia.
how r u
i m fine & i m rj from jaisalmer(rajasthan)
i hope you rembber me no forget's
so dear now you where?
i hope you came again's
if you call me so my this number
94147*****
ok by have a nice days
your friend
raj harsh
anyways, i was amused. off to thailand and malaysia.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
It's raining
There has been near constant rainfall in Chennai for the past 2 weeks. Though the rain is much needed, both for replenishing the dwindling water table and for its cooling effect, it is getting a bit annoying now.
I waited this morning for the rain to stop so I could scooter myself to work. After a 10 minute lull in the downpour, I reasoned I could safely journey for 10 minutes to work. Obviously, if I am writing about this event, I was wrong.
About a minute after I left, the rain was coming again. About half way through my trip, it was falling hard. I arrived at work drenched -- literally dripping wet (though my face and hair were spared thanks to the helmet).
Normally, this would not have been too big of a deal. I could have waited for my clothes to dry or put on scrubs. But my oozing water today was a problem. See, I had a press conference to attend as a part of this Indo-American collaborative health work I am doing. So I dressed semi nicely. And we were scheduled to leave for the conference about an hour after I arrived to work.
Going back home was not really an option either because the second journey was just as likely to leave me wet as the first. So, I did what all wet Indians do -- stood in front of a fan.
Ten minutes later, I realized wet Indians typically stay wet for a while. Certainly longer than the roughly 40 minutes I had remaining to dry myself.
I went asking around if anybody had spare clothes, but no luck there. Finally, somebody suggested I run up to housekeeping and have my clothes ironed. Now that seemed like a reasonable idea...
I ran (and slipped several times) up to the fourth floor where housekeeping has their office. I was given an iron and a table by an incredibly nice lady, who then asked if I knew how to iron. Of course, I said, who doesn't? Little did she know that I have probably ironed a total of 10 times in my life -- never successfully.
Even better, the iron and the table were in a room located off of one of the main passageways of the fourth floor with large, uncovered windows. Everybody from housekeeping staff, physicians, nurses, dieticians, and patients roamed those halls with what seemed to be reckless abandon. This was a problem (I thought) because I had no clothes other than those that were wet and on my body. But the lady assured me that "we are all brothers and sisters here." Translation: stop wasting time and dry your clothes. She even offered me coffee, which I accepted, to smooth the transition.
So I stripped down to my boxers and started ironing. First my shirt. I had no idea what I was doing, but I saw the water turn to steam and leave my shirt and slowly even some of the wrinkles disappeared! The pants weren't nearly as wet. The best part was that nobody seemed bothered by this! All of the patients, physicians, nurses, housekeepers, etc., were completely indifferent to the fact that I was standing nearly naked in a room and ironing my clothes. While I was expecting some sort of spectacular ridicule, all I got was people going about their regular jobs.
In summary, I love India.
By the way, pictures from Hyderabad, Ahmedabad, and Bombay to follow soon.
I waited this morning for the rain to stop so I could scooter myself to work. After a 10 minute lull in the downpour, I reasoned I could safely journey for 10 minutes to work. Obviously, if I am writing about this event, I was wrong.
About a minute after I left, the rain was coming again. About half way through my trip, it was falling hard. I arrived at work drenched -- literally dripping wet (though my face and hair were spared thanks to the helmet).
Normally, this would not have been too big of a deal. I could have waited for my clothes to dry or put on scrubs. But my oozing water today was a problem. See, I had a press conference to attend as a part of this Indo-American collaborative health work I am doing. So I dressed semi nicely. And we were scheduled to leave for the conference about an hour after I arrived to work.
Going back home was not really an option either because the second journey was just as likely to leave me wet as the first. So, I did what all wet Indians do -- stood in front of a fan.
Ten minutes later, I realized wet Indians typically stay wet for a while. Certainly longer than the roughly 40 minutes I had remaining to dry myself.
I went asking around if anybody had spare clothes, but no luck there. Finally, somebody suggested I run up to housekeeping and have my clothes ironed. Now that seemed like a reasonable idea...
I ran (and slipped several times) up to the fourth floor where housekeeping has their office. I was given an iron and a table by an incredibly nice lady, who then asked if I knew how to iron. Of course, I said, who doesn't? Little did she know that I have probably ironed a total of 10 times in my life -- never successfully.
Even better, the iron and the table were in a room located off of one of the main passageways of the fourth floor with large, uncovered windows. Everybody from housekeeping staff, physicians, nurses, dieticians, and patients roamed those halls with what seemed to be reckless abandon. This was a problem (I thought) because I had no clothes other than those that were wet and on my body. But the lady assured me that "we are all brothers and sisters here." Translation: stop wasting time and dry your clothes. She even offered me coffee, which I accepted, to smooth the transition.
So I stripped down to my boxers and started ironing. First my shirt. I had no idea what I was doing, but I saw the water turn to steam and leave my shirt and slowly even some of the wrinkles disappeared! The pants weren't nearly as wet. The best part was that nobody seemed bothered by this! All of the patients, physicians, nurses, housekeepers, etc., were completely indifferent to the fact that I was standing nearly naked in a room and ironing my clothes. While I was expecting some sort of spectacular ridicule, all I got was people going about their regular jobs.
In summary, I love India.
By the way, pictures from Hyderabad, Ahmedabad, and Bombay to follow soon.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
hyderabad
An interesting city -- it was less developed than I anticipated seeing how it's dubbed the infrastructurally-sound-Bangalore. It seemed as if all parts of the city were under construction, with rocks and rubble everywhere and no end in sight. Traffic was atrocious, road quality was poor. (But the airport is great!) I think in some ways Chennai is a bit anomalous in terms of its infrastructure compared to the other "metro" Indian cities (except Delhi). It was nice to again be in a place where the general populace speaks Hindi/Urdu. The language convenience came in handy when I left my phone on the bus this morning and subsequently had to track it down.
The most fascinating part of Hyderabad was undeniably the old city. I do not think I have ever been in a place with so many Muslims packed with such high density into a relatively small area; couple that with the bustle of everyday old city India, the cultural expose that is uniquely Hyderabad but clearly discernible in every individual's action, the noises, smells, sights, monuments - it was breathtaking. The weather was great too! Very conducive for photography - will post pictures soon.
I must say that I had biryani twice today (the second at a supposedly well-known place called Bawarchi) and while it was excellent both times, it was still very comparable to biryani I get in Chennai. Maybe vegetarian biryani does not have the elusive flavor found only in Hyderabad...
Only 2 glasses of fresh sweet lime juice today.
Off to Bombay now, then Ahmedabad in a few days.
The most fascinating part of Hyderabad was undeniably the old city. I do not think I have ever been in a place with so many Muslims packed with such high density into a relatively small area; couple that with the bustle of everyday old city India, the cultural expose that is uniquely Hyderabad but clearly discernible in every individual's action, the noises, smells, sights, monuments - it was breathtaking. The weather was great too! Very conducive for photography - will post pictures soon.
I must say that I had biryani twice today (the second at a supposedly well-known place called Bawarchi) and while it was excellent both times, it was still very comparable to biryani I get in Chennai. Maybe vegetarian biryani does not have the elusive flavor found only in Hyderabad...
Only 2 glasses of fresh sweet lime juice today.
Off to Bombay now, then Ahmedabad in a few days.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
sweet limes
I am now an addict of this fruit, called sweet lime in English (mousami or mousambi in Hindi). I had never heard of it before visiting southern India, but now that I have tried it, I will try my best to import seeds to plant when I return. It tastes like a cross between an orange and a not-so-tart (but very sweet) lemon. They have fresh juice stands everywhere in the city, which makes consuming the juice of 20 Florida-orange-sized mousamis way too easy.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
bribed
Just paid my first bribe for this trip. One of the main thoroughfares of Chennai, Anna Salai (or Mount Road), has one segment where there are actual lane markings dividing the road into three sections. The very left lane is for buses, the next lane for cars, and the rightmost lane for auto-rickshaws and 2 wheelers (keep in mind we drive on the left). I was riding home -- scooter brimming with bags from a days worth of shopping -- when a policeman pointed motioned at me to pull over. In proficient English (of the Indian variety) he told me that I was driving in the bus lane. He asked for my license, which of course I said I did not have on me at the moment. Then he said that the fine for not carrying your license is 550 Rupees. It was nice that he cut to the chase for me, without making me ask him how much it would take for him to let me go. I always feel guilty when I have to initiate the bribe discussions. Negotiations ensued (ie. I reached into my pocket and said this is what I have) - I drove away after giving him 200 Rupees. Had I actually had a license, I would have asked for him to write me a ticket with a receipt. But I could not because I do not have a license, which means technically he can take my scooter away. My fault for not having a license, but the bureaucratic struggle to get one made is ridiculous. But, I did learn not to drive in the bus lane on that one stretch of Anna Salai. Isn't that the aim of the ticket/citation system anyway? Like many things in India, dysfunctionally functional.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Lady Ballers
There are signs plastered throughout Chennai announcing that the FIBA Asian Women's Qualifiers are going on here now -- I think the winners go on to the FIBA international tournament. Being the basketball enthusiast that I am, I decided to check out what all the signs were about. At Nehru Indoor Stadium, I first saw the Thai beat the Indians by a narrow margin. The quality of basketball from both teams was abysmal, but I guess it's a start given that I never knew that Indian women sported a national basketball team. The tallest girl on the Indian team was maybe 6''1'. The second game was Taiwan vs. China -- much more legitimate basketball. The Chinese are actually pretty good, and after a while, their defense picked up and smothered the Taiwanese. All in all, unique international basketball exposure for a city and country where basketball is just beginning to gain popularity.
Friday, September 18, 2009
haircut and massage
I had my first haircut in India yesterday evening. Though the barber was incredibly meticulous and courteous, I for some reason think I suddenly look considerably more 'Indian' than I did yesterday at this time. Considering I paid 330 Rupees (<$7) for the haircut AND a 20 minute back and neck message, I cannot complain. I will not post any pictures of myself for the next two weeks, however.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Five Years After the Tsunami
A couple of colleagues (auditors, officially) from the International Diabetes Federation headquarters in Brussels were in town the past week evaluating one of our intervention studies. Yesterday (Sunday 9/13/09) they had some down time, so they planned a quick trip to nearby Mahabalipuram and invited me to join. Of course, I could not resist the chance to see a new place - even a place with more South Indian temples (I think I have seen enough temples for the next few months). It is also unreasonably warm during the day, which I am told is due to lack of rain over the past two weeks. In case you did not know (I did not), during these 3 or 4 "winter" months it rains intermittently, which helps to cool the temperature. But we don't have winter here. We have only three seasons: hot, hotter, and hottest. I think right now we're straddling the fence between hot and hotter. Can't wait for hottest! Anyway, I will let the temple pictures from Mahabalipuram speak for themselves. Clearly, they are seaside temples, which is neat. I don't remember the significance of them now. The pictured boulder was a nifty addition to the otherwise ho-hum temple tour.
What was more interesting for me and made the trip worthwhile (in addition to the good company) was the chance to travel down the East Coast Road which leads from Chennai to Pondicherry. Our driver's (his name is Gopi) wife comes from the coastal areas along this road -- areas that were ravaged by the tsunami in December of 2004. Gopi us to stop by these areas and to look for ourselves at what was happening. These images are of the old, seaside homes that were occupied before the tsunami. I think you can get an idea from the images of the extent of the damage and also the size of the former homes (compared to the new homes in forthcoming images).
Gopi said 10 years ago he was married here.
The next images show where Gopi's wife's family is currently living, almost 5 years after the tsunami. The tenements are unbelievably small, overcrowded, and inadequate. There is no running water (yet no odd smells surprisingly). As in all of India, everybody seems to have a television and cable connection, as well as a cellphone. Our hosts even managed to procure and offer us a cold Pepsi (which we all declined) -- Indians are generally quite hospitable. One ceiling fan hangs from the rafter of the hut I visited; I nearly received a free haircut courtesy of the fan. I can send you the picture if you're interested.
Finally, these last images are of the new, government-constructed homes being built just down the road (but further inland) from the site of the original homes. The homes are given at no cost (well, at least no direct cost) to the tsunami victims. The buildings are split-level, in that an entire family (regardless of number of members) gets either the upper portion or the lower portion of one free-standing building. The actual size of the home is quite small. From the last picture, you can see the main room. To the right of the main room are two rooms: a kitchen and bedroom. Straight ahead is one small bathroom. That's it.
I am not sure what to make of this. Why did it take so long to construct these? Why such small homes? But I guess permanent housing is better than the huts that are currently serving as home, right? India is not so wealthy as to be able to construct haphazardly without first tendering contracts, finding the cheapest builder with reasonable quality standards. Nor are they efficient enough to push promises such as free housing to victims of natural disasters through the bureaucracy quickly. There are also whispers of pilfering at multiple levels (both public and private) and shoddy workmanship, accounting for smaller sizes and poor-quality homes. Transparency in Indian state-level bureaucracy is a real issue. But supposedly, it's getting better. On the flip side, all-in-all, the Indians handled the tsunami and its aftermath considerably better than the Americans handled Katrina and its aftermath. Having visited New Orleans only months ago, many homes in the city remain in disarray with many residents having yet to return to the city. In that light, maybe 5 years to get a new home is not so bad
One final thought... I would blog more often if it did not take so long. Any tips on how to speed the process along?
What was more interesting for me and made the trip worthwhile (in addition to the good company) was the chance to travel down the East Coast Road which leads from Chennai to Pondicherry. Our driver's (his name is Gopi) wife comes from the coastal areas along this road -- areas that were ravaged by the tsunami in December of 2004. Gopi us to stop by these areas and to look for ourselves at what was happening. These images are of the old, seaside homes that were occupied before the tsunami. I think you can get an idea from the images of the extent of the damage and also the size of the former homes (compared to the new homes in forthcoming images).
Gopi said 10 years ago he was married here.
The next images show where Gopi's wife's family is currently living, almost 5 years after the tsunami. The tenements are unbelievably small, overcrowded, and inadequate. There is no running water (yet no odd smells surprisingly). As in all of India, everybody seems to have a television and cable connection, as well as a cellphone. Our hosts even managed to procure and offer us a cold Pepsi (which we all declined) -- Indians are generally quite hospitable. One ceiling fan hangs from the rafter of the hut I visited; I nearly received a free haircut courtesy of the fan. I can send you the picture if you're interested.
Finally, these last images are of the new, government-constructed homes being built just down the road (but further inland) from the site of the original homes. The homes are given at no cost (well, at least no direct cost) to the tsunami victims. The buildings are split-level, in that an entire family (regardless of number of members) gets either the upper portion or the lower portion of one free-standing building. The actual size of the home is quite small. From the last picture, you can see the main room. To the right of the main room are two rooms: a kitchen and bedroom. Straight ahead is one small bathroom. That's it.
I am not sure what to make of this. Why did it take so long to construct these? Why such small homes? But I guess permanent housing is better than the huts that are currently serving as home, right? India is not so wealthy as to be able to construct haphazardly without first tendering contracts, finding the cheapest builder with reasonable quality standards. Nor are they efficient enough to push promises such as free housing to victims of natural disasters through the bureaucracy quickly. There are also whispers of pilfering at multiple levels (both public and private) and shoddy workmanship, accounting for smaller sizes and poor-quality homes. Transparency in Indian state-level bureaucracy is a real issue. But supposedly, it's getting better. On the flip side, all-in-all, the Indians handled the tsunami and its aftermath considerably better than the Americans handled Katrina and its aftermath. Having visited New Orleans only months ago, many homes in the city remain in disarray with many residents having yet to return to the city. In that light, maybe 5 years to get a new home is not so bad
One final thought... I would blog more often if it did not take so long. Any tips on how to speed the process along?
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
My Love for Northern India
A few pictures from the past week in Delhi and Jaipur. Places pictured include the Red Fort, Jama Masjid, Lotus Temple, Akshardham Temple (all in Delhi) and Amber Fort, Birla Mandir, and Hawa Mahal (in Jaipur).
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Medical need -- Indian style
I was just commenting last night to a friend that there is a significant amount of organization within what seems to be a lot of superficial disorganization in India. Here is one example.
I was on my way to work, having negotiated by pantomime and broken English my standard 50 Rupee rate . I find that speaking broken English to Indians who don't really speak English is much more effective than speaking actual English. (I am still taking auto-rickshaws everywhere, as I have yet to procure a bright red scooter to match my frames.) Anyhow, we were on our way as usual when I heard the shriek of a female voice bellow from a car stopped in the middle of the road. Somehow, I have become immune to most unnatural noises after coming to India, so I did not really think twice about the noise. Fortunately, my auto driver had enough of a sense of civic duty to pull over. Looking in the direction of the now calamity (Indians love to congregate around just about anything), I realized that this was not a simple fender-bender or petty dispute. My auto driver and I ran over to see what was happening. When I approached the driver of the stalled car, I saw he was foaming at the mouth, occasionally jerking and twitching. His eyes were partly opened and he was not responsive. He was breathing without problem and his pulse was fast, but regular. It seemed like a tonic-clonic seizure of some sort. Knowing that the gentleman in the driver's seat may be epileptic and may carry an injectable seizure-breaker (not unheard of in the developing world), I asked (again in broken English) if there were any family members around? I was pointed in the direction of a young girl, I would guess 16 years old, with distinctly non-Indian English. I asked her if the affected man (her father I found out) had a known disorder. He had had something similar long ago, she said.
At this point I asked if anybody had called for an ambulance. That question was met with blank stares from everybody around. I could not be sure if people did not understand me (ambulance is commonly understood in India once you add the Indian accent to the word) or if nobody had thought to do so. Previously, I have been quite vocal about my disinterest for learning Tamil, but tor the first time, I really wanted to be able to speak Tamil. I wanted to pick up my cell phone and call 911 and be assured that an ambulance was on its way. No luck. I recruited the daughter, who speaks English like me and also Tamil, to translate. She told me that nobody knows the number of a hospital, but that the rickshaw drivers were telling her there was a hospital nearby. I then realized that there probably was no single number one could dial to get an ambulance in Chennai. The father had since bitten his tongue, causing him to bleed from his mouth and causing people to become more and more aware and disturbed by this. I explained to the daughter this happens frequently during a seizure and that she need not worry. During this time my auto driver was on the phone as well, though I am not sure who he was calling and what he was saying.
In all of this, I realized I was fairly helpless. The patient was upright, his head against the headrest -- I did what I could to position him to prevent aspiration. He was breathing, though gasping at times. Aside from this, without phenytoin or benzos or phenobarb, I was fairly useless. I instructed the girl that her father would likely be fine (to calm her primarily but also quite likely), but that she needed to speak Tamil to someone who could figure out how to get him to a hospital. She asked if I could drive her father's car there because she did not know how to drive. I declined because I did not know where the hospital was, did not consider myself adept at driving in India, and was not good at driving manual transmission cars. For some reason, the auto drivers were also reluctant to put him in an auto and take him to a hospital.
While all this was going on, traffic behind the scene was amassing. People were becoming angry, honking horns and instructing the bystanders to move the car to the left side of the road. At this point, I saw one policeman walk (at an incredibly leisurely pace) toward the scene. He had with him a walkie-talkie, but nothing else. I had decided for myself that there was nothing more that I could do; since then, I have continued to ask myself what more I could have done? Perhaps hire an auto to transport the man to a hospital? Perhaps drive the car myself? But these are all things the daughter could do as well as I (and probably better). Having decided that I was now contributing to the hysteria instead of actually helping the man's cause, I left the scene and headed to work.
On the way to work, I took a chance and asked the auto driver if he spoke Hindi. I had seen earlier that he had a Muslim nametag, and many Muslims are at least conversant in Hindi. It turns out he spoke Hindi well enough for us to have a conversation. He told me auto drivers are reluctant to transport people in these situations, but he could not communicate why this is so well enough for me to understand him. He confirmed that there is no single number to dial for an emergency in Chennai, and I think he said he had called the police (which may explain why the policeman showed up with his walkie-talkie in hand). When I told my cousin this story later, she confirmed that there is no number to dial for medical emergencies in Chennai, adding that I should carry around the number of several hospitals in my phone in case I should ever need them. Apparently, each hospital sends its own ambulance.
As we parted ways, I thanked my auto driver for stopping and trying to help; he relayed that it was the best he could do. I think in spite of the abounding disorganization and my inability to communicate, I do take heart in the fact that people like the auto driver and others stopped to help (admittedly, some stopped to observe only). When the seizing father finally got to a hospital, it was mostly because of the goodwill of people like the auto driver. In some ways, that is what India is about. The facilities exist; it's only a matter of knowing how to take advantage of them amidst the seemingly abundant chaos. For instance, had I had a hospital's phone number on me, I would imagine that the lack of organization would have quickly turned into some semblance of organization, with an ambulance taking the patient to a well-equipped hospital with many incredibly smart physicians to treat him. Again, the resources are there (at least for those who can afford them), but much can be done to organize and streamline the public's ability to use these resources. I hope things improve soon.
I was on my way to work, having negotiated by pantomime and broken English my standard 50 Rupee rate . I find that speaking broken English to Indians who don't really speak English is much more effective than speaking actual English. (I am still taking auto-rickshaws everywhere, as I have yet to procure a bright red scooter to match my frames.) Anyhow, we were on our way as usual when I heard the shriek of a female voice bellow from a car stopped in the middle of the road. Somehow, I have become immune to most unnatural noises after coming to India, so I did not really think twice about the noise. Fortunately, my auto driver had enough of a sense of civic duty to pull over. Looking in the direction of the now calamity (Indians love to congregate around just about anything), I realized that this was not a simple fender-bender or petty dispute. My auto driver and I ran over to see what was happening. When I approached the driver of the stalled car, I saw he was foaming at the mouth, occasionally jerking and twitching. His eyes were partly opened and he was not responsive. He was breathing without problem and his pulse was fast, but regular. It seemed like a tonic-clonic seizure of some sort. Knowing that the gentleman in the driver's seat may be epileptic and may carry an injectable seizure-breaker (not unheard of in the developing world), I asked (again in broken English) if there were any family members around? I was pointed in the direction of a young girl, I would guess 16 years old, with distinctly non-Indian English. I asked her if the affected man (her father I found out) had a known disorder. He had had something similar long ago, she said.
At this point I asked if anybody had called for an ambulance. That question was met with blank stares from everybody around. I could not be sure if people did not understand me (ambulance is commonly understood in India once you add the Indian accent to the word) or if nobody had thought to do so. Previously, I have been quite vocal about my disinterest for learning Tamil, but tor the first time, I really wanted to be able to speak Tamil. I wanted to pick up my cell phone and call 911 and be assured that an ambulance was on its way. No luck. I recruited the daughter, who speaks English like me and also Tamil, to translate. She told me that nobody knows the number of a hospital, but that the rickshaw drivers were telling her there was a hospital nearby. I then realized that there probably was no single number one could dial to get an ambulance in Chennai. The father had since bitten his tongue, causing him to bleed from his mouth and causing people to become more and more aware and disturbed by this. I explained to the daughter this happens frequently during a seizure and that she need not worry. During this time my auto driver was on the phone as well, though I am not sure who he was calling and what he was saying.
In all of this, I realized I was fairly helpless. The patient was upright, his head against the headrest -- I did what I could to position him to prevent aspiration. He was breathing, though gasping at times. Aside from this, without phenytoin or benzos or phenobarb, I was fairly useless. I instructed the girl that her father would likely be fine (to calm her primarily but also quite likely), but that she needed to speak Tamil to someone who could figure out how to get him to a hospital. She asked if I could drive her father's car there because she did not know how to drive. I declined because I did not know where the hospital was, did not consider myself adept at driving in India, and was not good at driving manual transmission cars. For some reason, the auto drivers were also reluctant to put him in an auto and take him to a hospital.
While all this was going on, traffic behind the scene was amassing. People were becoming angry, honking horns and instructing the bystanders to move the car to the left side of the road. At this point, I saw one policeman walk (at an incredibly leisurely pace) toward the scene. He had with him a walkie-talkie, but nothing else. I had decided for myself that there was nothing more that I could do; since then, I have continued to ask myself what more I could have done? Perhaps hire an auto to transport the man to a hospital? Perhaps drive the car myself? But these are all things the daughter could do as well as I (and probably better). Having decided that I was now contributing to the hysteria instead of actually helping the man's cause, I left the scene and headed to work.
On the way to work, I took a chance and asked the auto driver if he spoke Hindi. I had seen earlier that he had a Muslim nametag, and many Muslims are at least conversant in Hindi. It turns out he spoke Hindi well enough for us to have a conversation. He told me auto drivers are reluctant to transport people in these situations, but he could not communicate why this is so well enough for me to understand him. He confirmed that there is no single number to dial for an emergency in Chennai, and I think he said he had called the police (which may explain why the policeman showed up with his walkie-talkie in hand). When I told my cousin this story later, she confirmed that there is no number to dial for medical emergencies in Chennai, adding that I should carry around the number of several hospitals in my phone in case I should ever need them. Apparently, each hospital sends its own ambulance.
As we parted ways, I thanked my auto driver for stopping and trying to help; he relayed that it was the best he could do. I think in spite of the abounding disorganization and my inability to communicate, I do take heart in the fact that people like the auto driver and others stopped to help (admittedly, some stopped to observe only). When the seizing father finally got to a hospital, it was mostly because of the goodwill of people like the auto driver. In some ways, that is what India is about. The facilities exist; it's only a matter of knowing how to take advantage of them amidst the seemingly abundant chaos. For instance, had I had a hospital's phone number on me, I would imagine that the lack of organization would have quickly turned into some semblance of organization, with an ambulance taking the patient to a well-equipped hospital with many incredibly smart physicians to treat him. Again, the resources are there (at least for those who can afford them), but much can be done to organize and streamline the public's ability to use these resources. I hope things improve soon.
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