17 July: Mumbai to Hyderabad

17 July: Mumbai to Hyderabad

Last night's lesson: 3 Kingfishers (albeit small bottles) + large jar of bar olives = very bad night's sleep

I am lucky the airline isn't charging me for the bags under my eyes. 

The Mumbai airport is a beautiful, top-shelf structure, relatively clean, but not smartly organized in terms of space. People have lined up for our flight, 20 minutes ahead of boarding, with an impenetrable line snaking 30 meters back and cutting off all but a narrow channel for passengers trying to board a flight to Kolkata (with increasing desperation). I guess this is a nation good at waiting. We see a lot of that: taxis, drivers, guards, tons of folks in the service sector...just sitting around waiting patiently. On the one hand, in a nation of 1.2 billion, patience doesn't add to civil strife. People essentially seem to go with the flow. On the other hand, doesn't this perpetuate staggering inefficiency?

This is also a newspaper-crazy nation. People read a wide variety of papers, English language, Hindi and regional languages. The ones I've read average 2-3 typos (the kind that spellcheck would fix, as Mary pointed out last night) apiece. The news seems more sensational here, info-tainment. I am learning a bit about the personal lives of top stars of sport and film--strange, as I don't know that much about American stars. But stories and stylized photos are splashed in color through an entire section of the 3-4 section paper. I like the readership aspect of India--there's something hopeful about a newspaper culture, even when it gives so much space to gossip.

We're starting to board for Hyderabad, India's 4th largest city at 5-6 million. It's a mouthful, but once you commit to the first syllable, it gets easier. It's pronounced HIGH-der-ah-bahd. Flying in we see this part of the Deccan plateau is remarkably green, very leafy with a wide range of vegetation. The landscaping (for lack of a better word) along the highway and in the median would meet with my husband's

approval--rows of brightly covered and complementary bushes, generously stretching variegated plants and evenly spaced small trees. An ambulance drove by us with what look like an endorsement of a politician painted on the side. Robyn and Mary looked at each other: "did we just see that?" India is famous for its corrupt politics, last minute and strategic ploys (free rice for farmers, for example) to essentially buy votes. Chetan Bhagat, a writer whose work we'll definitely use in class next year, drives this point home in his collection of essays called What Young India Wants.

Telegu is the official language of Andhra Pradesh, the large interior state of which Hyderabad is the capital. Urdu is spoken here a lot too due to the large Muslim population. The Chennai USIEF regional officer, Maya Sivakumar, told me that English is still the language of instruction at private schools, and government schools teach in Telegu, then maybe Urdu and Hindi. She's from Tamil Nadu and says her Hindi is pretty poor. I'd love to get a little Telegu tutorial. The script is round and swoopy, less consistently circular than Burmese. Unlike Hindi and Punjabi, Telegu lacks a straight line uniting the letters underneath. But I've seen ads in Telegu in different fonts and I wonder how tough those are to read--although why I should assume there'd be any more difficulty reading Telegu bubble letters than doing the same in English is beyond me. We just drove by a building that is shaped like a fish. I thought my colleagues were exaggerating--surely it couldn't really be. Yet they were right (no surprise) and Lou snapped me a great shot to prove it. 

Speaking of ads here, I've seen The Week (one of our favorite weekly magazines back home) advertised in huge letters in its trademark red box on the sides of buildings as we drive to the hotel from the airport. I read the magazine a few times in Mumbai and Delhi. It is a reminder that India's numbers and its reading culture are a HUGE market. And to think people go to movies almost as much as they read, and that the movies are a source of consistent hits for music...somebody's making a LOT of money.

Hyderabad is a big city, not the scope and scale of Delhi and Mumbai, which seem to go on forever, but big nonetheless. I wonder what it looks like in the clean sunshine, as opposed to the puddly gray rain. We are forecast to have rain every day this week with temperatures in the upper 70s. Makes me want to reach for a sweatshirt after the 2 1/2 weeks we've had. The air-conditioning is so powerful in hotels, however, that we are experiencing atmospheric schizophrenia. 

(Added later: Above is a picture from the artisanal craftwork area we went to. This group of figures at the entrance caught my attention--zombies? I didn't stop to look closely, as I was concentrating on the Voodoo Belly symptoms that plagued me all afternoon. What a bummer.) We're slated to go to dinner at the home of Muslim families tonight. How exciting! Can't wait for that, especially since it's Ramadan. I have so many questions for them, particularly the women who cook. 

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Just back from dinner. Too wiped to write it all--have had the worst tummy problems of the trip today. Got to Hyderabad on Indigo Air--major shoutout to them, a clean, cool efficient airline. Liked them and look forward to flying them again. Hyderabad has nice airport, super efficient. These airports have you take buses out to the plane waiting on the tarmac. Took almost 40 minutes to get to the hotel, the Taj Deccan (right across the street from the Taj Krishna, a mammoth structure). This one is a wide open, corporate-hotel style space with a gigantic central atrium around which 3 levels of rooms wrap around on 2 sides. My room is large and bright, has a bathroom with a tub (!!) and a TV that's not impossible to figure out. 

I finally sent out laundry--don't even ask. 3 pairs of pants, 4 or 5 shirts, 2 stubborn pairs of socks (won't let go of gym sweat smell) and underwear. My Woolite technique can't pass the suitcase test--I pull newly "clean" clothes out of the suitcase after traveling and find that--ew, no--they're not so clean after all. I'm paying 200 rupees per pair of trousers, a bit less for shirts, I think. I don't care. Whatever it costs, it's worth it. In the monsoon, garments take forever to dry properly. The last hotel dried clothes for my colleagues gratis, but I'm at the point where I'd rather just pack the whole lot up and get it done right. I also arranged for the front desk to help me mail a box of things home. My bag is too full to close--this is ridiculous and will only get worse as time goes on, although in truth I've bought (far?) less than other folks. 

About dinner, I almost had to bail, tummy was in throes. Popped a single Immodium and hoped for the best. Went with Maya, Dennis and Melinda to the home of Amtul Aziz, her husband, and 6-year old granddaughter Amara. We arrived in time to chat a bit before the neighborhood siren sounded, signaling the end of the day's fast. At that point, we went to the table and broke the fast with either a date or a glass of water. Amtul explained that since the purpose of Ramzan (what they call Ramadan) is to practice conscious closeness to God, this month is about self-discipline and reflection. She explained how good deeds done with an open heart (not for recognition) would be "counted" in multiples in the final reckoning of a person's time on earth. This is a month to practice good deeds, good thoughts and prayer. One masters the needs of the body. She wakes at 2:45 to prepare a small meal which they have to eat by 4:20 when the fast begins. They abstain from food and water all day, and this gives them a chance to reflect on how the less fortunate live with hunger on a regular basis. In this way, the monthlong fasting also encourages compassion. Of course, we had not been fasting, so we were quite at our leisure about starting dinner. I was expecting there to be a large meal, a celebratory mini-feast. What we learned is that Amtul (who did not change her name when she married, and she says that's not uncommon) believes that during Ramzan meals should still be small. One can't be a glutton: for one thing, it goes against the principle of discipline and restraint; for another, it'd make it impossible to get up at 2:45 and start all over again. 

So for our meal, we had a small meal of homemade flat pakoras, chickpea/cucumber salad, and fruit salad. Both Amtul and her husband left us at different times during this process, he to attend prayers at the mosque, she to pray in her room. When she returned (and later he), we discussed a wide variety of topics, starting with religion, but covering their educational and work histories, their families, the interplay of politics and religion, challenges that India faces these days, etc. It was delightful. They are both in their 60s, I'd say. Her English is exceptional. In fact, she studied for a semester at WPI in Worcester, MA but came home to get married and finished her PhD here in Hyderabad. She is one of those poised presences who gradually injects calm into a room. She wore a purple headscarf with gold braiding rimming her face. The purple melted to lavender and then to gold by the ends of the dupatta. The purple and yellow kameez was embroidered with gold thread and bright yellow flowers. She was subtly elegant and beautiful--but who isn't when their eyes smile and they speak in kind and affirming tones? Her daughter is finishing her residency in pediatric surgery at UConn, and will come back to India in a few weeks to retrieve Amara. How exciting--we'll practically be neighbors, globally speaking. 

Anyway, back to the food: we thought the first round of food was the only round and each of us was feeling sated. Beware. In India I'm seeing such low-ceilinged ambitions seldom prove true. When her husband came back from the mosque and we'd talked a bit, she says, now, let me bring out the meal. (?!!) Beautiful biryani: meat and rice cooked in layers in a thick-bottomed pot (meat cooked first in a pressure cooker, Amtul intoned), and Chicken 65: coated in...was it chickpea flour, marinated in yogurt, deep fried, then cooked in spices and more yogurt. Yowza. And gulab (second word goes here) for dessert. I had to monitor my eating because I need a good night's sleep tonight!

She gave us each a copy of the Qur'an in English, asking us to read ch. 2, verses 183-187. Those are the ones that talk about Ramzan:

The Heifer (chapter title)

183: O you who believe! Fasting is prescribed to you as it was prescribed to those before you, that you may (learn) self-restraint--

184 (Fasting) for a fixed number of days; but if any of you is ill, or on a journey, the prescribed number (should be made up) from days later. For those who can do it (with hardship), is a ransom, the feeding of one that is indigent. But he that will give more, of his own free will--it is better for him. And it is better for you that you fast, if you only know.

185 Ramadan is the (month) in which was sent down the Qur'an, as a guide to mankind, also clear (Signs) for guidance and judgment (between right and wrong). So every one of you who is present (at his home) during that month should spend it in fasting, but if anyone is ill, or on a journey, the prescribed period (should be made up) by days later. Allah intends every facility for you; He does not want to put you to difficulties. (He wants you) to complete the prescribed period, and to glorify Him in that He has guided you; and perchance you shall be grateful.

186 When My servants ask you concerning Me, I am indeed close (to them): I listen to the prayer of every suppliant when he calls on Me: let them also, with a will, listen to My call, and believe in Me: that they may walk in the right way.

187 Permitted to you on the night of the fasts, is the approach of your wives. They are your garments and you are their garments. Allah knows what you used to do secretly among yourselves; but He turned to you and forgave you; so now associate with them, and seek what Allah has ordained for you, and eat and drink, until the white streak of dawn appear to you distinct from the blackness of night; then complete your fast till the night appears; but do not associate with your wives while you are in retreat in the mosques. Those are limits (set by) Allah: approach not near thereto. Thus does Allah make clear His Signs to men: that they may learn self-restraint.

What a lovely and smart woman, tempered and informed and gracious. An inspiration. We are the result of the choices we make, about how to speak, how to listen, how to treat others, even how to see/"understand" the world. More to muse on.

Another quick note about Hyderabad: the roads are a bit more narrow here, it's a prosperous city, with call-centers, big business, a huge film industry (again, who knew?) and no coherent urban planning. There are big glossy (glass + chrome/steel) structures with fancy corporate intentions and slick minimalist interiors...next to dilapidated buildings, empty lots, nondescript 3-4 story concrete units that merge commercial and residential space (though neither looks upscale or, in fact, very inviting at all). And there are scads of these buildings, sort of hodge-podged down the main roads. Why? Why not put the like with the like, rather than reducing the value of the investment in businesses targeting upscale clients by having them abut decrepit spaces? It's so weird. And the roads are JAMMED with motorbikes and autorickshaws. There is not the infrastructure here to impose CNG (compressed natural gas) requirements, as in Mumbai and Delhi. And you feel it in the air, it's sootier. But the bikes--man, it's a cavalcade of movement, not all of it wisely conceived. We each physically braced ourselves for impact tonight on the way home, our responses varying with our particular view, but the dangers of impact seem imminent from all sides. I keep saying, it's like a ballet, get Zen, be one with the traffic. Mamma mia. Not the place to drive for the cautious.