I tolerate the Vespa a bit more than a month ago.  It’s a nifty tool to visit places that would otherwise be hard to reach.  It is easy to tell the driver “Take us to the Bangalore Palace” but it’s more difficult to tell him “Take us to a little village around here that we don’t know about so we can look at people and experience something new”.  Whenever we get out of the car with driver, people stare at us.  Actually, people stare at us no matter what!

The fun part is not having a destination in mind, to just go wherever we can.  The road itself dictates our route, since potholes, dogs, cows, crowds, heaps of garbage in the middle of the street or streets that are too narrow need to be avoided.  I climbed on the back, and voom we went.  My job is to wave at people and make them wave back, shake their head and smile.  E.’s job is to not get into an accident.  So far, none of us have failed.

We didn’t go far to find a new village, 4 kilometers exactly.  We parked and walked around, until we reached a big street with a bus stop and a small market.  That looked too busy for us so we turned around and E. got a much needed haircut in a little bitty gents “saloon” (no, it’s not a typo).  It was, according to him, the best haircut ever.  I waited patiently, watching a soap opera in Kannada where the villain killed about 4 people and kidnapped a baby.  I had read that a haircut in India comes by default with a shave (with a straight blade) and a face massage.  E. declined both but some older men were enjoying it quite a bit.  We are not sure the young hairdresser understood the concept of a tip.  He looked at the 10 rupees extra as if it were a trick.  One of the customers, after having a haircut, a shave and massage, stood up lifted his shirt up to his chin to have his armpits shaved, with the same straight blade.  We don’t see that back home!

We are becoming braver with street food.  I had a “jaam” (it’s a fruit) with chili powder given to me in a store in Hyderabad a couple of days ago, and today we bought a slice of watermelon also with chili powder on it.  It is quite good and refreshing.  We had parked in front of a fruit stand, so we bought a few bananas from the lady owner for 10 rupees.

Back on the Vespa, we couldn’t exactly retrace our steps so we ended up on Whitefield Main and back to the compound.  The security guards think we are hilarious, and more and more people are making fun comments when they see those two white people riding around.

As I write this, E. is working out.  Although I suggested he ride his bicycle as a warm up, the one with the pedals you have to move with your leg muscles, he insists on taking the scooter, all the way to the gym, less than a quarter mile away.  He says it’s to keep the engine in good condition.  I don’t buy that!

Waving lady doing the dishes

Waving lady doing the dishes

Posted on January 19, 2014 by Kitty Vindaloo | Leave a comment

India is known for its natural remedies, its connection to nature. Ayurvedic and holistic medicine is big here.  You find a lot of ayurvedic products in stores, such as cosmetics, medicine, and see many clinics ranging from a 30-acre luxury spa in Whitefield, where Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall spent a few days in November for a rejuvenating retreat, to a doctor practicing under a tent on the sidewalk.  India cultivates this image, and many places advertise the purity and simplicity of their merchandise.  Purity of the product equals purity of the mind.

Hoping to detach myself from the West’s grip on unnecessary chemicals, I bought natural tooth powder.  It was a nice little experiment, and since I don’t like mint nor toothpastes that taste like food (which really limits your choices) it sounded like a good idea.  Also, contrary to what I expected, Indian people have rather nice teeth.  They may not have all of them, but I haven’t seen as much visible tooth decay as in other poor countries.  My dentist told me this can be attributed to the traditional use of neem to clean teeth.

The selection of toothpastes here is astounding.  You can find all the American brands, plus some local ones such as “Himalaya”.  I settled for “Dabur”.  And it was so much fun.

It comes in a nice red shiny container, one side written in English, the other in Hindi, with the same happy family pictured on both sides.  It took me about five tries to open the cap.  There is a little hole at the top that you have to punch down, but no matter what tool I used, there was no little hole.  I think a drill would have been the best, but I don’t have a drill here. I tried twisting it open, but the flat of a knife blade finally did it in.

It’s a fine, dark red powder.  I dipped my toothbrush in water, dipped it in the powder, and head down facing the sink, brushed.  Have you ever done the cinnamon challenge?  It’s less intense, and you don’t have to swallow the powder, which is a big plus!  It’s spicy, tingly, sweet, with cinnamon and clove flavor, both of which I like.  Once you get past the initial shock to your taste buds, you take a look at yourself and the mirror and get completely grossed out: the powder remains dark red, and it looks like you smeared mud all over your teeth. It’s a pretty nasty look!  For a second I wondered if it would stain my teeth but I don’t think it did.

Brush for a little longer, and rinse.  You have to rinse well and use the bristles to wipe off what’s lodged in between your teeth, but it’s not difficult to do.  The sink looks like a mouse got murdered in there!

My teeth were all nice and clean.  It’s really a nice feeling, like after a professional cleaning.  I was all happy.  I asked E. to try it and he agreed with me.  I used it a couple of more time and decided it was a win.  I had finally found a toothpaste I liked, and my mouth tasted like a fancy Christmas cookie.

But all natural doesn’t mean all good.  Natural can be dangerous.  Heck, natural can be deadly.  Arsenic in its pure form is found in nature.  Mushrooms can kill you.   So can tobacco.

Why mention tobacco? Because they put it in that tooth powder.

I searched for reviews on this product and was disgusted.  Yes, they put tobacco in this powder, as well as in most Indian brand toothpastes, without listing it in the ingredients.  So much for a healthy product.  It doesn’t get much worse than scrubbing tiny tobacco particles onto your tongue for several minutes twice a day.

To say I was disappointed is an understatement, but I learned my lesson.  Do your research.  And remember that some natural remedies are at best hocus pocus, or worse, poisonous.

Posted on January 13, 2014 by Kitty Vindaloo | 2 Comments

On scooters and padded bras

Posted on January 9, 2014 by Kitty Vindaloo

Since Sir bought himself a scooter, Sir has to get a driver’s license.  Our international driver’s licenses only allow us to drive cars, not two wheelers.

After studying the one long sheet of paper with all the road signs, Sir goes to the driver’s license office this morning.  It seems you have to battle with quite a bit of Indian administration before you take the test. You register at 4 different doors before being allowed to talk to the “test giver”.  This is good for the Indian unemployment rate, since each office/window employs a few people, but it is time consuming and morale taxing.  Fortunately, a driving instructor had spotted Sir getting out of the car and approached our driver.  Of course, for a fee, he would help navigate the upcoming chaos.  500 rupees later, E. is ready to take the test, that is, until the test giver notices the hearing aids.

Sir, you have hearing aids.  Yes.  You cannot take the test.  Huh?  Yes, your hearing is bad, you cannot hear well, you cannot take the test because you cannot drive if you do not hear well.  Huh?  I cannot take the test?  I didn’t know.  It’s not in the book.  No sir, it is not in a book.  So where is the rule?  There is no rule sir, you cannot hear, you cannot take the test.  ALL RIGHT THEN.  You see, I have my international drivers’ license here with me.  Yes Sir. This license allows me to drive a car in India, right?  Yes Sir.  I am allowed to drive a car legally in India without getting a new license right?  Yes Sir. With or without hearing aids? Yes Sir.  I can drive a car but not a scooter?  Yes Sir.  But these are not “hearing aids”.  These are “super hearing” aids.  I don’t have bad hearing, these give me super hearing.  Ok Sir, you can now take the test.

Madam wants a new dress.  She has seen a royal blue dress a month ago in a store on Commercial Street and has wanted it ever since.  But it’s a very elaborate dress, all chiffon and sheer sleeves, almost an evening gown, and there is no reason to buy it to have it hang in the closet.  Until now.  Next week we have a fancy dinner, and, ha ha, I have an excuse to buy it.  Luckily they have it in the store next to us.  It’s still as gorgeous as I remembered.  I try it on.  Or try to try in on.  After I pull it over my head and put my arms in the sleeves, I get stuck with both arms up in the air.  I carefully open the door, give a pathetic look at the sales lady standing in front of the door (they always wait in front of the door) who comes to help me rearrange the three layers and 10 pounds of fabric.  She tries to zip me up but it only goes so far.  She tugs some more, calls her colleague to the rescue.  One is pulling on the fabric, the other pulling unsuccessfully at the zipper.  I am starting to feel like a complete idiot, and the 3 of us giggle away.  I tell them it’s not going up.  But Madam we can have it taken out.  No thank you, not a full 3 inches, the dress is too small.  No Madam.  The problem is that your bra is padded. 

No it’s not…

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Fake it, just fake it

Posted on January 5, 2014 by Kitty Vindaloo

We spend most of our time not having a clue what we are doing.

Would you like papdi chaat* or “something something” chaat?  Here, you have several options.  You can say papdi chaat because 1, you know what it is and 2, you like it.  You can say “the second one” because you can’t pronounce the name of the whatever chaat they are offering but you recognize the name and you know it’s good.  Or you can be brave and say “surprise me”, with a big smile.  The latter has been my favorite approach.  This way, if I like it, I can ask them to repeat the name, slowly, even write it down depending on the type of restaurant you’re in, and add this not only to your culinary repertoire, but also your vocabulary. Next time, you’ll know a little bit more what you’re doing.

When getting on the bus, do it as if you did it everyday.  It doesn’t matter where you need to stop, just buy a day pass, even though you could ride cheaper if you knew the name of the stop.  You can afford the day pass, and you’ll look like you know what you’re doing.  This brings plenty of smiles from people riding with you.  And when you want to get back on the bus a few hours later, stand by the side of the road and flag it down.  Since he won’t believe that white people want to get on it, the driver will go on, until you start jumping up and down, wave your arms as if you’re an albatross trying to take off so you get the attention of the people already sitting on the bus, who will in turn inform the conductor that yes, those two foreigners seem to want a ride.  You need to run a bit to catch it, but you’re on your way back home.

If you have to use the restroom in India, you have to plan it.  Or fake it.  Let me explain.  As a white person, there are a lot of doors that open without much effort.  Some of those include the fancy hotels in town.  So when you need to go, walk into the place as if you owned it, find the restroom, and leave.  It doesn’t matter how you’re dressed, they will believe that this is your hotel, and no one will ask any questions.

When you walk into some supermarkets, they want to close your purse with a plastic tie that can only be cut with scissors.  This deters shoplifting, but it also forbids you from getting a tissue, your phone, your wallet or your gum.  I don’t like it.  So when they want to put a tie on your purse, just open your purse so they can peak inside and say no, as if you refused that everyday.

If your wife is riding the Vespa with you, and you go through the back roads, and you get lost, fake it, just fake it, even if you’re checking Google maps and say “I want to know how much farther it is”, maybe she will believe you!

All of the above happened today, just a typical day.

*chaat is a snack, usually finger food.

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A few days in Chennai, in a magnificent hotel, with an old friend from my days in Savannah was a nice way to almost end 2013.  We were back in Bangalore for New Year’s Eve.  True to ourselves, we didn’t do the typical tourist tour, and E. had some meetings to attend.  I didn’t visit one temple while in Chennai, though there are many, nor did I go on a search for the perfect Madras silk. I will do that at a later date, after I have done some thorough research on the topic.  I am tired of being charged tourist prices on everything!

The hotel lobby was decorated in grand style, with a huge Christmas tree at the top of the massive marble staircase that pales in comparison to Tara’s in Gone with the Wind.  They didn’t limit themselves to adorning a pine tree, they spray-painted the leaves of most decorative trees in the hallways.

Spray painted tree

We went for a long walk around the hotel, off the beaten path, under the dangerous electrical contraptions, over the ubiquitous smelly sewer, next to the golf course where the attendants wanted to know what E.’s handicap is, in front of the sleeping tuk-tuk drivers and sick dogs, next to the two guys who wanted pictures taken with us, in front of many little stalls where people invariably gave us huge smiles and always responded to my waves.

Then we went to the Indian Ocean.  But first let me tell you about our driver in Chennai that day.  His name was Bagini and was in his 20’s.  He didn’t speak English.  Oh, were we in for a treat.  And his driving skills were, let’s say, less smooth than what we have been accustomed to.  A speed hump? No problem, slam on the brakes.  A cow?  Slam on the brakes.  Need to turn right at this very instant?  Slam on the brakes.  The poor guy had no idea where we wanted to go.  He probably thought he was getting a customer who simply needed to be driven to his office building, or a well-known fancy restaurant in town.  We wanted to go an hour south of Chennai.  He kept stopping (after slamming on the brakes)  to ask for directions.  After a few wrong turns and translation mishaps (“lefsah?” means “Sir, should we make a left?” as in “Left, Sir?”), E. got his phone out and thanks to Google maps, we got there!  But we first drove through the Catholic mission’s courtyard, someone’s backyard I think, and few parking lots.  We saw lots of goats too!

We spent a few hours in Fisherman’s Cove, a name reminiscent of Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco though they couldn’t be more different.  Fisherman’s Cove is, you guessed it, a place where fishermen fish.  And where they built a nice hotel.  It was my very first time at the Indian Ocean, and I got choked up.  The sand here is not white but brown, the water is not turquoise but dark blue, the main trees are not palms.  But it’s serene.  Aside from two hotel guests, no one was in the water, nor sunbathing (half)-naked on a beach towel.  The currents were very strong and we heard someone with a whistle seemingly asking a bather out of the water.

Bay of Bengal - Indian Ocean

It’s time we turn our house into a home, so we bought wall hangings at a crafts festival.  But we can’t hang them.  In India, all walls are made of concrete and cinder blocks.  You can’t hammer a nail into cinder blocks, or you need a special drill.  Amazon will soon deliver 3M Command hooks.  We saw lots of interesting crafts, some more unusual than others.  And there had a dance performance that we caught mid-way.  Saris were flying and twirling, feet pounding the sand, tons of make-up on the dancers, and surprise, hijras.  Hijras are men who dress as women.  It would be simplistic to compare them to transvestites or transgendered as there are many categories of hijras.  Let’s just say that some big men dressed in saris, with long braids adorned with flowers and full jewelry were singing and dancing.

The next day at the airport, in the security line for women, I was in line behind a hijra.

Singing hijra

Singing hijra

Posted on January 2, 2014 by Kitty Vindaloo | Leave a comment

T’was the night before Christmas

Posted on December 24, 2013 by Kitty Vindaloo

… and I have a sore throat!  It’s cold at night these days.  I know you guys in the North East of the U.S. are laughing at me since you’re in the midst of the nth  blizzard of the decade, but trust me, it gets nippy after dark.  As in in the low 60’s.  Ha!  You can make fun of me all you want, there is one thing to keep in mind: you guys have blankets.  We brought… a sheet.  That’s it.  When I am trying to pull the blankets over my head to keep warm, I get … nothing.  So, we went shopping.  Again.  And once again I didn’t want to go to the mall or the “big” store, because I had seen some amazing blanket-looking things for sale on the side of the road.  I had even seen one on the road to Mysore when we were here in the spring, and have wanted one ever since.  Got it!!  We didn’t buy it on the sidewalk but from a little bitty store, and I haggled a bit.  Haggling is something I do not like, it makes me feel cheap.  But I admit I get a kick out of lowering the price a few hundred rupees (in the case of the blanket) or a few rupees (in the case of costume jewelry).

Blanket man

Blanket man

Here we are December 24th and we have had to close all the windows to the house to keep the temperature up.  Another thing you guys have and we don’t: a heater.  The house is not heated.  These days, I sleep with socks on, and one of our fur balls is volunteering her services as a scarf, purring included.

Merry Christmas y’all!

blanketdetail

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The simple act of grocery shopping

Posted on December 16, 2013 by Kitty Vindaloo

No more getting a seat at the dinner table and being served.  We now have to go grocery shopping if we don’t want to starve.  A hundred years ago, it was “you eat what you kill”, it has become “you eat what you buy”.  I love grocery shopping in a foreign country, it’s like a live scavenger hunt, but it’s exhausting and you get a lesson in humility!  Put a J.D. and a Ph.D. in an Indian grocery store, and they will be as confused as, well, two Americans who recently moved to India!

There are so many aspects of shopping we take for granted, such as relying on packaging to identify a product.  In India, cooking oil doesn’t always come in a plastic bottle, but in a plastic pouch.  Milk comes in bricks (like in France actually, UHT milk).  Vegetables have shapes I have never seen before, and names I have never heard of.  Heads of garlic are a bit smaller than back home.  Most herbs, such as coriander, are sold with the root still attached.  A lot of the products are European, which is lucky for me since I recognize the brands, not so lucky for my 100% U.S. bred husband.  We had a near miss with a box of Ariel (laundry detergent) that was mistaken for dishwashing powder since the packaging for both products are similar.  Crisis averted!

Most American and European stores have long parallel aisles.  Here?  No.  They have aisles but shorter and often at an angle.  You don’t see one long aisle with all the shampoos for instance, but have to look for shampoo in several aisles in the same section.

They don’t always have what you want.  It’s not unusual to see the entire section of Tide laundry powder completely empty.  There was probably an expat who bought the whole stock out of frustration!

Sugar.  I was looking for sugar.  I am sure they had some, I just couldn’t find it.  I had already asked several people for several items and was tired of looking like an idiot!  People in the store were staring at us from a distance, smiling, coming to our rescue when we stood in place for too long.  They even brought us a cart (called trolley here) when they noticed we were hauling around a basket that was getting a bit overloaded!  Organization of a store is also something we have engrained in our minds without much thought for it.  Sugar should be with baking needs.  It’s been over a month now and I still have never seen flour.  I have seen sugar before, but today at Big Bazaar, it eluded me.

Comes BigBasket.com to the rescue! When you have spent so much time looking for the obvious, being stared at, while being hungry (no more nibbling on a box of cookies or a bagel while shopping) and becoming slightly frustrated in a fun way, you go home, get on your computer and place an order for grocery delivery on BigBasket.com.  The prices are pretty similar to what you find in a store, but more expensive than the local market of course.  The main advantage to me is that they know what you’re looking for.  I need fenugreek for a recipe but have no clue what fenugreek looks like.  I have bought dried fenugreek at a fancy frou-frou store back home, but have never seen the non-dehydrated kind.

Tomorrow night, I will know what fresh fenugreek looks like!

Image

Some things you just can’t make up.

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A Vespa and Christmas lights

Posted on December 15, 2013 by Kitty Vindaloo

While I was gone…

He got a Vespa.  I had left for two weeks knowing something was going to be bought “behind my back”, and I was right, we now have a shiny scooter standing next to the bicycles in the garage!  Our driver now has to manoeuver a bit before he can park in the two-car garage.  But my hubby is happy as a clam, riding around the neighborhood, buying a hammer last week from the local non-English speaking shopkeeper, and bananas from street vendors this morning, riding to the mailbox 150 meters away, feeling like an outlaw on his Harley.  It’s cute!  In case you’re wondering, I have no intention of driving it, but I will, probably, when I feel like it, when I am done being “fake mad”, ride in the back.  I won’t ride sidesaddle in a sari with a kid on my lap though!

I came back to a shiny house.  After seeing our neighbor’s polished marble floors, we decided to do the same.  I will skip the long story of how filthy the house was when we moved in (“we gave it a good scrub” she said.  Yeah, right…), but it’s now all nice.  It took 2 days and 7 or 8 people on their knees scrubbing with little brushes, and a polishing machine.

The phones are working.  You can call our American numbers.  The intercom system is pretty nifty.  With just the house number, you can call anyone on the property without requiring their personal phone numbers.  It’s especially convenient for people who have kids who play together.  We have used it to check references of the myriad of maids who have come to our door.

Talking about maids, we selected one.  She was the first to knock on our door, explaining that “her family” is moving back to their home country and she needs a job.  I emailed a few people, talked to the family she currently works for and checked with the front office that confirmed she has never been blacklisted.  They are serious about this here.  One of the potential maids had given me nice letters, but when I emailed people back in the U.S., the story was a bit different!  I learned she was a drama queen and a gossip, sometimes skipping work, and had been blacklisted for a couple of days.  So, no!  Our maid to be was so happy when I told her she is hired as soon as she shows me her “police verification letter”!

Our driver also serves as an electrician.  Since E. couldn’t find an extension cord (they have electrical trees, but extension cords were nowhere to be bought), Sathya made him one: take two electrical cords, cut them, twist the wires together, and wrap in electrical tape.  It worked for a few hours but then shorted out.  In all honesty, it is probably the “Made in China” Christmas lights that were defective.

We also have two new geysers (pronounced “geezers”).  That’s what they call water heaters. The plumbers came, switched the geysers on and said they are working fine since hot water is coming out.  It took a while, and a couple of phone calls, to make them understand that yes, there is hot water, but barely enough to rinse your feet, and this is no exaggeration.  We were loosing hot water capacity everyday.  A few days later, all is in order.  We also have the additional furniture in the upstairs living room that we had asked for.  There are still a few details that need to be ironed out, but overall, it’s a very nice place.

The neighbors are awesome.  While I was gone, one decided to feed my lonely husband, who, by the way, had found several restaurants and an online grocer that deliver food to your front door.  I thought I was going to finally loose those extra few pounds in India, forget that!  A couple of hours ago, the other next-door neighbors brought us a bottle of wine.  Indian people are just so very friendly!

It is hard for me to get in the Christmas spirit here.  I was expecting expat areas to be all decked out with garlands, but I haven’t seen much.  UB City, the super duper extra ritzy mall that sells Jimmy Choo shoes and Versace is decorated in all American extravaganza, but not our little corner of Bangalore.  E. wasn’t going to let this lack of supplies tamper with his enthusiasm for shiny lights and ornaments.  I came back to a house all decorated, with a lit-up tree in our front room for all to see.  We get a lot of approving nods from local people walking by on their way to work.  We do have all the windows open and it’s 75 degrees outside right now, but it feels a bit like Santa is getting to work!  Yep, my hubby is sweet like that.

(picture of the tree to come later, the cameras are still all packed up!)

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Where’s the kitchen?

Posted on November 28, 2013 by Kitty Vindaloo

Last night was our first in our new home.  It’s been a cornucopia of emotions!  Sometimes I would look in awe at our garden, with hibiscus, squirrels, palms and unidentified plants.  Yet, in the middle of the night I was ready to pack and come back to the U.S.  This has passed!  I really like it here.

The house is so big that I cannot find the kitchen.  The layout is not intuitive to me, and I always end up in the downstairs bedroom, which is quickly becoming the “I don’t know where to put this” room.  The kitchen is very big, with an American size stainless steel refrigerator.  Although we had specifically asked to have a separate washer and dryer, we have a compact washer/dryer unit.  We attempted to wash clothes yesterday and the cycle takes at least 5 hours.  You can wash 2 large size towels at once, no more.  I think I will have to wash the sheets one by one.

The bathrooms are interesting.  I assumed the water heater would work like the old French ones, but no.  You need to start the water heater about 10 minutes before you want to take a shower.  Lather, rinse, repeat?  No, you have time for one lather and rinse, or the repeat will be under cold water.  The water in the toilet bowl is brown.  You really need body lotion as the water is very hard.

We have had a litany of problems with the move in and this is the third day of them trying to fix them.  I am stuck here for the third day waiting for random people to show up in my house, start work, until their phone rings and then they disappear for a while, but always come back.  We have also encountered some of the class struggles within India (class, not caste, though I wouldn’t bet on it).  There is a servant room in the back of the house.  Yes.  I gasped too and swore I would never let anyone use it.  However, our driver wants to use it.  It’s either he spends his downtime in a small room with bathroom, where he can sit or stretch his legs, or he stays in the garage.  So for us, this has become Sathya’s room.  In our family, you don’t diss Sathya, we love the guy!  Some people said we should also store our “crap” in there, such as the TV box.  No.

For some weird reason, I am ok (kinda) being taken advantage of by poor people.  I justify it as “they need it more than me”.  However, I am not ok at all being taken advantage of by rich people.  Maybe because I now know that our monthly rent is the equivalent of more than 2 years’ salary of a hotel receptionist from a top rated hotel management school.  And we have also had to time to swap stories with other foreigners, and it looks like we got an awful deal on the house.  Remember a while back when we were told that the house would be furnished all the way down to pots, pans and linens?  Once we got here, the relocation agency told us it simply isn’t done: “You don’t want to use someone else’s forks, do you?” “No, therefore I always bring my plates to a restaurant” (invisible eye roll).  Well, it’s done for most other expats and they get brand new kitchen equipment, not someone’s hand me downs.  And they wanted us to buy our own mattress for the master bedroom.  Not happening.  Then, for some reason, one living room has no furnishings.  It’s now an empty room except for the litter box that we decided to install there.  It looks classy!  And the television set is set on the floor since we were told to buy our own TV stand.  Nice.

Expats are fresh meat for relocation agencies and some squeeze us dry.  We got the best deal we could under the circumstances.  All the properties selected for us were extra-luxurious, and when we wanted to see something more “normal”, it was rather unacceptable.  We now know there is a middle-ground, but on day 3 of our stay in India, we didn’t.

Little by little, we are getting the owner to relent and furnish the house according to standards in this community.  Our leverage is that we know they waited a long time to re-rent this house, and that at the end of 11 months, we may pack and go to the house across the street if it is a better deal.  We have heard “your company is paying” but we don’t think like that.   This has been the frustrating part of the last few days.  Otherwise, it’s still very fun!

Last night, I was cooking in the kitchen and heard the neighbor call my name.  It was so sweet, she wanted to know if we needed anything, particularly bread.  I think she misses having someone in that house which has remained vacant for at least 6 months, and her neighbors on the other side moved out yesterday to go back to Sweden.  The houses are rather close so you can hear conversations.  This morning, an American teenager kept calling “Mom?”, I was about to yell “Yes??”.

And the maids!! They are relentless!!  I should say wannabe maids.  We have had about 4 a day ring the (very loud) bell with their letters of recommendation in hand.  I explained that we won’t hire for another 2-3 weeks.  But they keep coming everyday, sometimes alone, sometimes with a translator.  Unfortunately those are turned away since we want someone who speaks English.  One lady came with a glowing letter of recommendation about her cleaning and cooking skills, as well as her perfect English.  But she didn’t speak English.  I spent the evening giggling at the fact that they were passing around those letters, but when she came the next day, she explained it was for her sister.  Bad me for thinking she was dishonest!

I got woken up at 6 by the call to prayer from the (very close) mosque.  A bit early for me, I will learn to ignore it.

Right after E. left for work this morning, I heard a bell in the streets.  The garbage is collected manually by a lady pushing a cart.  They are fanatics about recycling here!  5 bins we need!  1- wet kitchen waste, aka compostable stuff; 2- dry recyclables such as paper and plastic; 3- hazardous materials which are medicine, paint; 4- sanitary waste which means kitty poop! and 5- E-waste, computers and floppy disks (do they still exist)?

This afternoon we are going to buy a bunch of buckets!

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Eight years’ salary

Posted on November 22, 2013 by Kitty Vindaloo

I went to settle our bill tonight, or at least the charges we have accrued until now.  The people at the front desk had kindly informed me that we were over the allowed limit, and although they trust their customers, management needed payment.  No problem.  We were actually very surprised they hadn’t asked before, since the neighboring hotel requires the bill to be paid in full weekly.

A month’s hotel bill in any country isn’t cheap.  In Whitefield, it’s mind boggling, at least to me.  I am not used to amounts in the 5 digits.  I am not used to this type of luxury and appreciate every minute of it.  We don’t drink wine, I don’t go to the Spa every day, we eat breakfast at the buffet since it’s included instead of ordering cozy room service.  But all of it adds up fast.

We have become friendly with the staff here.  I wouldn’t say friends, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we kept in touch with some of them on a personal basis.  They are courteous, helpful, funny, friendly and efficient.  But most of all they are the epitome of professionalism.  Every little bitty problem we have encountered (nothing is perfect) has been taken care of with the utmost professionalism.  That’s why I was a bit surprised when one of the guys at the front desk volunteered that our current bill is equivalent to 8 years of his salary.  Eight years.  It puts everything into perspective.  And India changes your perspective on a lot of things, especially money.

A friend from high school asked me lately about the poverty we see.  Honestly, we don’t see much.  But I would need to preface this with a definition of poverty, which I won’t.  Poverty is personal opinion.  I teach (taught) about relative and absolute deprivation.  Absolute deprivation is having nothing, zilch, nada and struggling every day to find food and a safe place to sleep.  Around Bangalore, you see a lot of blue tarp tents, even in the city.  They are usually located close to a construction site.  I believe they are temporary shelters for construction workers and their families, since sometimes you see cooking pots and little kids playing.  There are beggars, but not as many as I had imagined.  I have seen more beggars in Hyderabad.  Remember the pictures of the walking closet in Whitefield?  I think some people may live there, so I decided not to post new ones, out of respect.  What I have not seen are families living in dumpsters, because I haven’t seen the city’s dumpsters.  Thirty years ago, like most French teenagers at the time, I read “Flash”, followed by “The City of Joy”.  Then came “Salaam Bombay” and lately “Slumdog Millionaire” exposed India’s underworld to the West.  I loved “A Fine Balance” and “Necropolis”.  Sometimes I meet people, foreigners, who are proud that they went to see those areas, and then warn you “you can’t imagine”.  Thanks,  I can.  I have seen similar situations in South America when I was 11 years old, and I have one picture etched in my mind for the rest of my life.  I do not see the point of driving by some of the world’s worse poverty in the comfort of my air conditioned car, just so I can see.  India’s not a safari.

Eight years salary.  I had read that a tuk-tuk driver brings home about 250 rupees a day and have used this as a benchmark to assess money questions here.  As of today, a rupee is $0.02, so the driver brings home about $4.00.  Less than $1500.00 a year.

I am appalled at the rent we will be paying.  Foreigners are cash cows, I knew that before coming here.  We will be funding the owner’s kids and grand-kids’ schooling!  We are helping the middle-upper class move up in the world.  Real estate is a good investment in Bangalore, if you can afford it.  But it does little for others.   We feel compelled to have a gardener and a maid/cook, so the foreigners’ money can trickle further down the social ladder.  Bangalore is bound to have a lodging problem soon, as more luxury building are constructed everywhere (hence the people living in the blue tents).  The common man is pushed to the outskirts, has to take public transportation to and from work, adding to the unimaginable traffic problems and pollution of this city.

I read the newspaper religiously.  Recently, the price of onions was highly debated and became a political hot button.  Onion and tomato prices have doubled in the country in the last few weeks.  People have been killed for their onions.  They have armed guards around trucks transporting onions.  Considering that they are two staples of the Indian diet, it is a nightmare for many.  Imagine your food expenses doubling in a week, while your salary remains the same.

We haven’t had to buy our food yet, but we have eaten out in many types of restaurants around town.  My favorite restaurant, a South Indian restaurant that serves the best dosas in town, can feed two for under $3.00.

We met a group of kids while at the Bannerghatta National Park.  They were from a village north of Bangalore.  We talked with one of the chaperons who told us it had cost them 8000 rupees to bring 30 kids, so about $130.00. The price of a meal for two at the fancy restaurant here at the hotel.

So, to answer my friend’s question, no we haven’t seen abject poverty (as if there is any other kind of poverty).  But we are reminded everyday of how lucky we are in this world.  I was talking to our driver about some minor issue we were having (I even forgot what) and said it was a problem, but a happy problem.  Most of the problems and annoyances and frustrations we face lately are, all things considered, happy problems.

Because in India, if you only have one leg, and no money for crutches, you walk like a dog.

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