Fame

I was walking home today during a break from the monsoonical outbursts, and I took the back alley. I haven't gone that way in a while, because there's a dog back there that doesn't like me, and I don't want to get bitten and have to get rabies shots again, like I did in 1995. But the street dogs have been scarce since the rains began, and this one is usually only there at night, so I braved it.

I like going that way because it's quieter than the main road, and there are lots of people, especially kids, outside playing in those courtyards. I've stopped for many a turn at bowling or batting in one of their street cricket games while walking through that alley.

So as I passed a group of three teenage guys that I had never seen before, we smiled and said hi to each other, as we usually do in this neighborhood.

As I started to pass them, however, they stopped me and gave me a thrill. They told me they knew me from the article I wrote. "Newspaper", "IPL", they said.

"Your name is Richard."

Awesome.

I said, "Wow, I'm famous" and they replied, "Yes, everyone around here knows who you are."

How fun is that??

(Very!)

Deluge

Wow. They are NOT KIDDING about this monsoon thing.

It rained all last night, and most of the day. I left my apartment around 7 to get some dinner, and when I left, it was coming down, but not unreasonably so. I brought my umbrella and caught a rickshaw towards 16th road.

By the time I got to the corner of 16th and KFC road, it was pouring. I got out of the rick and made it to the restaurant, which had some covered outdoor seating. It was dry and cool, and I could watch the rain from there, so I stayed and ate. Even it was an amazing meal, by the way, masala baby corn (breaded spicy baby corn appetizer), paneer makhni (cheese cubes in a tomato/butter sauce), buttered naan (doughy bread cooked over an open flame), and a fresh lime soda (lime juice, soda water, and liquid sugar). Very delicious, and only 350 rupee ($7.50).

By the time I had finished, it had been pouring the whole time, and the world was covered in water. The streets were flowing, and it was still pouring from the skies. People were fearlessly slogging through ankle-deep water. I sat for a while and then headed out of the restaurant and into the weather. My first step completely submerged my shoes and bottom couple inches of my pants. My umbrella was useless within moments. It was amazing how quickly I was soaked. I crossed to street to catch a rickshaw home, and that side of the street was even deeper. I stood in the rain trying to hail a rick as they passed by, all full. Finally, one stopped. It was a 12 rupee ride; he offered to take me for 500. I talked him down to 30 (mostly because I know the Hindi word for 30) and got in.

The ride was absurd. Motorcyles and scooters were being walked by their waterlogged drivers. Some streets were okay, some were little torrents, 2 or 3 feet deep. The driver and I were laughing the whole time, and singing a little song we made up, an ode to water. "Pani pani pani, pani, pani", over and over.

We got to my street, and I needed to make a left, but that corner was particularly flooded, and he wanted to stop. Fortunately, just then a couple other rickshaws came rolling by, water up to their axles, but I encouraged him, pointing out the other ricks, telling him he could make it. He gave it a go. The traffic was crawling, and we inched closer to home, still singing our little pani song.

Finally, his poor, long-suffering rickshaw stalled and refused to start again, so we called it quits. It was close enough for me to walk, even in the rain. I helped him push his rickshaw to the side of the rode, gave him 50 for his trouble (still about a dollar), and started walking.

you have to give up any notion of keeping the tops of your feet dry. They were just submerged. My clothes were soaked. I was cold outside for the first time since we were in the Himalaya. I think I prefer my shirts being soaked because of sweat than rain. Still, I could do nothing but sing and laugh. And life went on; the chicken shack was still selling chickens, the wada pav shop was still frying and selling wada pavs. I stopped at a little shop and bought some gems (cadbury's version of m&m's) and made it home. Stopped to talk about the rain with the neighbor kids, went inside my place, peeled off my clothes, and took a hot shower.

As I sit here, it seems that it's stopped outside, but it could start again at any moment. It was fun for a while though.

I'm seriously considering heading out of town for a few days.

Full moon over Juhu Beach

A woman once said to the great violinist Fritz Kreisler after a recital, "I'd give my life to play as beautifully as you!"
"Madam", Kreisler replied, "I have."


May all beings experience happiness and the causes of happiness, and be free from suffering and the causes of suffering.
-- Buddhist prayer


It's a full moon tonight, corresponding with the holiday of Buddha Poornima, the celebration of Buddha's birthday.

I went back to Juhu; the Sea View for dinner, and a gola for dessert. I like it there. It overlooks the beach, and the teeming crowds. Families going to the beach, lovers holding hands, groups of young men or women out together, and the vendors, selling maps or toys or food or chai or henna stamps, or just bringing scales to the beach, and weighing people for 5 rupees each, the scale lighting up in vibrant colors before reporting its results. The moon rose behind us, and joined all of us as we overlooked the sea, the wind cooling us and lifting kites, the sand massaging between our toes.

I've been a little sad lately, a little lonely. I can hear the clock ticking on me, can feel my time here slipping away. I'm certainly ready to get out of this city, even ready to leave the country, come back to the States, see what's next, build a new life. But at the same time, as I feel the time passing, as I can measure my time left here in weeks, even days, I am fighting it, I am holding on.

Each person we lose, everything that comes and goes, all the things and people and interactions and experiences that honor the stage of our lives for a moment, or a day, or a decade, and then walk off the stage, never to reappear, each loss is like a little death. and while we try to let the stream of time flow by us with grace, with acceptance, every instinct we have tells us to hold on, tightly, forever, hold on and never let go.

I'm absorbing everything. Every time i go to one of the stores on my street that I frequent, to speak a little Hindi and buy milk, or chocolate, or breakfast, each conversation is treasured and i'm savoring it all. Each time Sachin shaves me; each time Prakash teaches me another word of Marathi as I buy drinking water from him; each trip to the beach; each bite of food; each visit with a neighbor- I am trying to draw it all in, absorb it deeply. I looked over Juhu beach at the Arabian sea tonight, and let it burn itself into my brain. Someday, very soon, that image will be a memory. One I will always be grateful for. I've loved this dream-come-true, loved it more when I wasn't alone here, but I've loved every precious moment, I just hope I haven't sacrificed too much for it. Because whatever poverty I face, whatever starting over I face, whatever hard work awaits me, still, I wouldn't have traded this for anything, but i hope i haven't lost too much in making this dream come true, and i hope i'm not losing too much in making the next dream come true. And I hope and trust that the people that are waiting for me know this, will forgive me my self-indulgence, and will greet me when I return with open arms and open hearts, and I will try to let go, to appreciate what I've had, and, as I've always done, to run towards what's next.

Juhu Beach, Mumbai

the people, the sea

dessert

my gola stand

mine was blue and yellow tonight

My first live cricket match - full version

I wrote this after attending the semi-finals of the Indian Premier League, which was my first live cricket match.

An edited version was published in today's Hindustan Times, HTCafe section, page 23.

As an American, I grew up knowing nothing about cricket. Despite being a former British colony, it’s not a sport we play, or watch, at all. But after traveling to India as a tourist and volunteering at an NGO in Mumbai, I have come to understand why the game is so beloved here, and in so much of the world. 

I live in an apartment in Danda, in west Khar, which still feels like the small fishing village it once was, in the middle of the grand and glorious metropolis of Mumbai. My neighbors are all welcoming and friendly, and often offer me tea, inquire as to whether I’ve had sufficient food for the day, and invite me into their homes to watch cricket on television. And although I was starting from scratch, I’ve learned much about the game. I became familiar with players like Sachin and Sehwag and Dhoni, and some of the many, often obscure rules. Of course there are many things that still baffle me. Dot balls? Googly? Popping crease? But I started really enjoying the game, and even I sometimes play with the local children in my neighborhood with their plastic bats and balls. But I had never seen a major cricket game in person, and I knew I would have to sometime before leaving this fine country that I love so much.

So when the IPL took place this Spring, with its exciting 20-20 format, I quickly became a huge fan of my local team, the Mumbai Indians. And when I realized that the semi-finals were going to be played in Navi Mumbai, I knew I had my chance to attend my first ever live cricket match.

Tickets went on sale just a couple days before the game. I heard that they were being sold at a few places throughout the city, so I went to an auto parts store in Bandra to look for them. Of course, by the time I arrived, they were fully sold out. I received a couple curious smiles when I jumped up and down in my frustration at not being able to buy tickets. Who is this crazy foreigner who so wants to attend the semi-finals?

So I looked online, and found someone selling tickets. We talked on the phone and arranged the purchase on the day of the match.

My friend and I decided to take the train to Nerul and catch a rickshaw from there to the stadium. Although somewhat crowded, the train was surely the best way to travel there, and we arrived quickly. Although I have been all around India, from Kashmir to Kerala, I haven’t been out of Mumbai in a couple months, and was struck with how peaceful and green everything became as soon as we crossed the canal into Navi Mumbai. 

As we got closer, more and more people around us were heading to the game. We could feel the excitement growing. When we got out at Nerul station, the rickshaws were there ferrying people to the stadium, and my friend and I jumped in one with a third passenger, and got as close as we could, until the point where the police were stopping the vehicles. 

We got out and started to walk. All the way, people were selling shirts and caps, and painting people’s faces in the team colors of blue and gold, and the national colors of saffron, white and green. We walked around to gate 5, past long lines of people waiting to get inside. Fortunately, when we got to our gate, there was no line. We went in, and the atmosphere was positively electric. We headed into the stadium, and as we saw the pitch, our view opened up into a great, green, round field, surrounded by stands that were about to hold 50,000 screaming fans. We took our seats in the 10th row of the lower section, and immediately met everyone around us. In general, I find people here to be very friendly, and this crowd was especially so. I pulled my cell phone out to take some photos, and both the students in front of me and the family behind me asked me to take their photos, gave me their email IDs, and asked me to send them the photos later, which of course I did. We chatted with all our neighbors, waved our blue and gold flags around, and enjoyed some drinks and snacks. Everyone was happy to see foreigners there, engaging in the spirit of the game. Watching the game together, as a little community in our section, made the experience even more special.

The game started, and the home team won the toss and elected to bat first. It was amazing how in love with Sachin everyone was. We chanted his name, and screamed like mad every time he batted or appeared on the big screen. When he exited the game early, we were devastated, but we knew the rest of the team could pull us through. And pull through they did, with Tiwari and Rayudu playing a great partnership, and Kieron Pollard of the West Indies bowling and batting brilliantly. The Indians produced many runs in the last few overs, bringing our score to 184 runs, a formidable score indeed.

I walked around during the interval, drank a few cups of cold coffee and iced tea, wandered among the crowd, enjoying all the people and the unique occasion. Even the locals knew we were at a special game.

As the game went on, the sides switched, and while the Royal Challengers Bangalore (RCB) played well, the inevitability of our victory became more and more apparent, and our excitement grew. And when there were only a few balls left, and it was impossible for RBC to catch up, the crowd went even more wild than before.

It was a long journey back, with all 50000 people heading home together, but no one seemed to mind. We caught the last few trains of the night and had to switch trains a couple times, but we travelled with a few others who had been at the game. Everyone seemed thrilled that we Americans had taken the effort to attend, had dressed up in the team colors, and were celebrating with our adopted city.

I know that for many Indians, coming to the West is a dream they work hard at making a reality. For me, the opposite is true. Living in India is a dream come true, and I am enjoying every crazy, beautiful moment.

More fun at the Infiniti Mall

OK, I may have been a bit premature about the Karaoke guy yesterday. Today I went back to the good ole Infiniti Mall after work, to get a little dinner, and the evening circus extravaganzic activities were in full swing. The Karaoke guy had moved to the stage set up on the ground floor, and there was some kind of contest going on, and they were indeed charging 100 rupees to register. There were supposed to be prizes for winners, but they were a little vague about that, something about coupons. I still didn't want to pay to sing, tempted though I was, because of the stage set up, but I thought I'd have a little fun, so I said to the guys "You want me to pay you ? YOU should pay ME to sing! When SRK does a movie, does he have to pay to be in the movie, or does he get paid to do it? When Sachin plays cricket, does he have to pay to play, or do they pay him to play cricket? So I shouldn't have to pay to sing, you should be paying me to sing!". They all took it in the playful way in which I intended it, and we all laughed about it.

Anyway, it just goes to show that misunderstandings can happen frequently here, even if I'm speaking a little Hindi or Marathi and they're speaking a little English. In the vast majority of cases, no one is really trying to cheat anyone.

Then I went to the display where they were giving samples of a skin lotion for women, which had some skin-whitening properties. I think this one was just cosmetic, a white cream that didn't totally disappear, not lemon juice or anything harsher, but still. I've written about this trend before, and tried to tell the woman working there that Indian woman are beautiful, why should they want to lighten their skin, but she wasn't really interested in getting into a philosophical discussion about it. But she blushed a little when I called all Indian women beautiful, and we laughed a bit too.

Then I got some pav bhaji for dinner and headed home for the night.

The 100 rupee day

For some reason, people kept trying to overcharge me today. First was the Karaoke guy at lunch. On my lunch break, I went across the street to the Infiniti mall for some pav bhaji (dosas are starting to get jealous because I really love pav bhaji these days). The mall is having some kind of circus extravaganza, including a karaoke machine that you can sign up for. It figures out how well you're doing (like the wii karaoke game) and if you get a good enough score, it's free; otherwise it costs 10 rupee. I know this because last week I sang a James Taylor song and got 99 out of 100, so didn't have to pay.

Today I sang Hooked on a Feeling (ooga chucka, ooga chucka). They didn't want me to do it because there was something else going on, so they kept turning the volume down, but I insisted and they relented, and I sang away, gathering a bit of a crowd, of course. It was really fun, and I finished with an 85 or something. So then, the karaoke guy comes over to me and tells me that there's a 100 rupee charge! Ha! Who does he think he's dealing with? I told him I happen to know that it's free if you get a good enough score, and even if you don't, it's 10 rupee per song. 10! I handed him a 10 and he smiled sheepishly.

Then, after work, I was riding in a rickshaw home, and the rickshaw broke down. So I got out, paid what was owed so far, and flagged down another one. Now in most of India, rickshaws have meters but they are never used. You haggle a price before you get in. But in Mumbai, they actually use the meter, always. So I told the driver where I was going, to Carter Road in Bandra to visit my friend Ramu and his street dosa stand. (pav bhaji for lunch, dosas for dinner, yum!!) And the rick driver says it'll cost 100 rupees. Again, with the 100 rupees!! So I said, nahin-ji (no, sir), meter, meter. He repeated his demand for 100, so I started getting out, and then he said OK, meter, meter. Darn tootin', meter meter. We arrived at Ramu's dosa stand and the cost of the ride was 38 rupee. puh-lease!

(okay don't do the conversion to dollars or I'll look ridiculous. It's the principle! And when I can eat for less than 100 rupee a day (2 dosas from Ramu cost 45 rupes), it's a lot in local terms.)

Nice try, guys. What, do I look like I'm not from here or something?
:-)


Oh, as I'm ordering my first dosa, a very well-built guy comes up next to me and orders a plain dosa. He was young and obviously worked out a lot. For a plain dosa, Ramu usually slathers it with butter, and when he did, the guy complained and said he wanted it without butter. I told him, oh, but it's so much better with butter, and he said that he knows, but he has to maintain. I told him it looks like he's doing just fine and he laughed. Then I said I wish i was maintaining as well as he was, and then noted that the butter may have something to do with my lack of, er, maintenance. We laughed together.
Later, he ordered a 2nd plain dosa, and I ordered a plain dosa for my 2nd dosa of the night (the first being a masala dosa, filled with potatoes and spices), and I made sure butter was going on my plain dosa. So there were 2 on the grill, one all brown and buttery, and one without butter, and I turned to him and said "see if you can guess which one is mine and which one is yours". hahahahaha. a good time was had by all.
I don't care if I have a bit of a belly. Those plain butter dosas are crispy and YUMMY!!!!

Mumbai by Motorbike

I paid rent today; my day is the 12th, I moved in on September 12th of last year, so I pay rent on the 12th. Actually it's a couple days later, but this is the first time my landlord and I could get together. When Heather was here, we went out with him and his wife, and since then we've been trying to go out again, and tonight we did.

He picked me up at the Cafe Coffee Day down the street, which is being renovated, but is still open even though the outside is a big construction mess. So I got an iced tea and waited, and my landlord, Viqar, showed up on his motorcycle. The first time I rode it, when I first got here, I must admit was a little scary, but I've been on the back of his bike a couple times since then and by now I'm pretty comfortable, just leaning against the back rest, hands in my lap.

First we went all the way down to central Mumbai, past the Haji Ali, a beautiful mosque built out in the ocean, to get some pav bhaji. Pav bhaji is a popular restaurant and street food here, it's kind of like refried beans, made of potatoes and lentils and tomatoes and other vegetables and spices all mushed together, served with buttered rolls. We went to a place called Sardar, where it was supposedly first made, and even if it wasn't the first, it seems to be the best. It was a very crowded restaurant, and everyone there was eating the same dish. It was the first time I tried it, I was kind of waiting to try it with him, he told me he would take me to the best place for it. And it was fantastic! So deliciously yummy. Some places apparently use water to make the mush, but this place uses only butter; butter in the bhaji, butter on the bread, it was great.

After that, we hopped back on his bike and went on a little tour of the city, starting with the red light district. I didn't really know Mumbai had one, but it was a little grungy street, filled with working women, in rooms together with the front doors open, or out on the street in groups of 3 and 4. They looked to be in pretty good shape, clean, pretty, not particularly unhappy, but the scene was quite seedy. Still, it was fun to see, and I got a couple of nice smiles. We pulled over for a second when his bike stalled, and immediately some man came over, waiting for us to ask for what we wanted. He just wagged his head when Viqar started his bike and took off.

We drove through some more alleys, including through Chor Bazaar, a market place where you can get anything. Chor means thief, thieves' bazaar, and apparently it got its name from a story about Queen Victoria. Once when she visited India, some items went missing from her ship's stateroom, and when she went to that bazaar, she found people selling her stuff there. Anyway it's more of a daytime marketplace, so there was not much going on at the time.

All along the way, we were talking on the motorcycle, We discussed everything from religion to sex, and although sometimes some ridiculous things come out of his mouth (he trash talks the Hindu religion, being some combination of Muslim and Christian himself, and he seems to be of the Bill Clinton school of thought about what qualifies as sex), he's always entertaining and sincere.

Oh we did have one kind of scary moment. We were riding along, and there was a local commuter bus next to us. All of a sudden, the bus driver, who was probably drunk, veered to the left. Viqar was fine, he's a very good driver and extra careful when I'm on the bike with him. We pulled over to the left and stopped. But I looked back and someone was on the ground, rolled over a couple times, and then got up, filthy from the street. He looked okay but it was way too close. At the next light, Viqar pullled in front of the bus and yelled at the driver who yelled back. Apparently the driver was telling him to climb onto the bus so they could fight about it. If the driver came down, he would be fired, but he could retaliate if anyone gets on the bus and starts something, so he was egging Viqar on. Viqar is generally quite sweet and peaceful (earlier that night he helped push another motorcycle who had run out of gas to the gas station, when he saw the owner pushing it along), so after a few acerbic words we moved on.

We rode back home along the scenic route, seeing the coast and the new Worli Sea Link bridge (though we couldn't ride over it, no 2-wheelers allowed), We made it back home after almost 3 hours of riding around. Which was not easy on the body, it felt like the camel ride. All in all, it was a great night riding around Mumbai by motorcycle.