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.

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.

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?

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).

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.