Gives you some sense of the driving and parking conditions here. There don’t appear to be parking laws here; if you are in the way, you get towed, if there is space for your car, you don’t.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Train picture
A very packed train, same time of night as the other picture. The second class cars are still overflowing with people. It is way easier here to take the train into downtown than it is to take a car. Faster too, 25 min by train, hour/hour and a half by car. One of the ultimate goals of public transportation has been attained: it is preferable to driving.
Pictures
These don’t really give you a very good idea of what stuff is like here, but I have been a little shy about taking pictures, since there are always so many people around. All the people means I am in the way if I stop to take a picture, or someone tries to sell me something because I have stopped moving for a second, or I am taking a shot of something with people in it, and I feel weird taking a picture of a bunch of people without asking if they mind.
This is inside of the ladies’ first class travel compartment. Cosy, eh? This is around 8 or 9 on a Sunday, so it was fairly empty and I felt ok taking a picture.
Rickshaws
Since I seem to be on a transportation theme, I should talk about ricshaws, or rics, as they are more commonly called. These are little three wheeled motorized taxis, I have mentioned them before. When you take a ric, you “ric it up.” They are banned downtown, but they go most other places around the city. If you need to go somewhere out in the suburbs where I am living, usually you take a ric. To flag one down, you just stand by the side of the road and hold up your hand like you are hailing a cab, or, since a lot of the roads are so narrow, you just make eye contact with a driver and he will stop. You tell the driver where you want to go. 19 times out of 20 the driver will be willing to take you, but every now and then they don’t want to go that way, or that isn’t far enough, and you have to look for another. But if the driver is willing to take you, he will say ok or give a quick (somewhat ambiguous) nod to the back seat, which means get in (I have learned). Then you are off!
It seems that ric drivers do not distinguish themselves from the drivers of other forms of transport in Mumbai with their defensive driving skills, awareness of safety, or respect for human life. Instead they jostle about, competing with cars and buses for space, with as much disregard for traffic laws as everyone else. But at least they can’t go quite as fast as cars. Not that they don’t try. The ric drivers pretty much try to get as far as they can as fast as they can however they can. I feel as though it must be a matter of personal pride for a driver, to beat the other drivers across the road, down the street, through the light. I need to learn how to tell them that I’m not in a hurry.
There is a lot of congestion here (lots of people = lots of people who want to go places = lots of cars/motorbikes/rics/bikes/pedestrians). However, the roads are clear when I ric it to the train station early Sunday morning to get to work. And with the roads free of the plaque of other people, the drivers just fly- they really let loose and go. I think they must really like it when there are no other vehicles on the road. Vroom!
There is a video game waiting to be written here (“Ric Race” “Ric Rough Riders” or something) because it feels a little like you are in a video game when they take you racing down the streets, veering around other rics and cars, stopping suddenly to avoid a collision, speeding around obstacles. You can’t see actually see a whole lot of what is going on from the back seat, because of the low roof, and that is probably best. A lot of what you can see is sort of a blur anyway. But there seems to be a lot of exciting driving going on.
The ric drivers size each other up at lights, easing forward and rocking back, inching ahead or aggressively blocking other rics. They eye each other while racing down the street too, much the same way I would guess jockeys do; vying for position. I hope that soon I find this amusing, instead of alarming.
During rush hour, when they are stuck waiting in a big group at a light that is taking a really long time, they do also chat amiably with each other. They’ll glance over at another driver and strike up a conversation, maybe about the price of gasoline, or the fastest way to get to some other neighborhood, or the best way to drive over a median. At least that’s what it looks like. Who knows- maybe they are arguing viciously about who cut off who, I don’t speak Hindi. But if they are arguing, they are doing it amicably.
Most rics are black with a little yellow. I saw one the other day that had a bright pink top. The one I rode in this morning was purple. Often the dash is decorated with a little god figurine or god sticker and a fresh garland of little orange flowers that kids walk around in traffic selling. This is kind of fun, but it makes me a little nervous. I worry that maybe the drivers put a little too much faith in their dashboard gods.
There are a lot of rics around the neighborhood where I live, up north. Downtown there are taxis, no rics. I have taken more rics than taxis, since when I go out of my neighborhood to the downtown office I generally take the train. Hence, I have not had as much experience with taxis, but I have taken a couple. And I will say one thing about them- they are an odd experience at night. I had to take one home from the downtown office the other day, and I noticed that a lot of the cabs have a blue light in their ceiling that the cab drivers turn on at night. I am not exactly sure why they do this, but it gives the carpeting that coats the inside of the cab a distinctly lurid feel. And yes, that is right, I did say carpeting. The entire interiors of most of the cabs here are in covered in carpeting. It is mildly strange. The doors, floor, ceiling, dash, even the ledge below the rear window are all covered in the type of carpeting you would see near the concession stand at a roller skating rink or a bowling alley.
*****
A List of Animals I have seen in this City:
3 elephants
7 cows
4-5 goats
6 horses
Lots of crows
Several cats
Way too many dogs
3 roosters
Lots of hens (for sale in pens)
1 pig
1 very tall dog with the most bizarre markings i have ever seen on a dog, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a goat.
1 very small lizard
Many bugs
It seems that ric drivers do not distinguish themselves from the drivers of other forms of transport in Mumbai with their defensive driving skills, awareness of safety, or respect for human life. Instead they jostle about, competing with cars and buses for space, with as much disregard for traffic laws as everyone else. But at least they can’t go quite as fast as cars. Not that they don’t try. The ric drivers pretty much try to get as far as they can as fast as they can however they can. I feel as though it must be a matter of personal pride for a driver, to beat the other drivers across the road, down the street, through the light. I need to learn how to tell them that I’m not in a hurry.
There is a lot of congestion here (lots of people = lots of people who want to go places = lots of cars/motorbikes/rics/bikes/pedestrians). However, the roads are clear when I ric it to the train station early Sunday morning to get to work. And with the roads free of the plaque of other people, the drivers just fly- they really let loose and go. I think they must really like it when there are no other vehicles on the road. Vroom!
There is a video game waiting to be written here (“Ric Race” “Ric Rough Riders” or something) because it feels a little like you are in a video game when they take you racing down the streets, veering around other rics and cars, stopping suddenly to avoid a collision, speeding around obstacles. You can’t see actually see a whole lot of what is going on from the back seat, because of the low roof, and that is probably best. A lot of what you can see is sort of a blur anyway. But there seems to be a lot of exciting driving going on.
The ric drivers size each other up at lights, easing forward and rocking back, inching ahead or aggressively blocking other rics. They eye each other while racing down the street too, much the same way I would guess jockeys do; vying for position. I hope that soon I find this amusing, instead of alarming.
During rush hour, when they are stuck waiting in a big group at a light that is taking a really long time, they do also chat amiably with each other. They’ll glance over at another driver and strike up a conversation, maybe about the price of gasoline, or the fastest way to get to some other neighborhood, or the best way to drive over a median. At least that’s what it looks like. Who knows- maybe they are arguing viciously about who cut off who, I don’t speak Hindi. But if they are arguing, they are doing it amicably.
Most rics are black with a little yellow. I saw one the other day that had a bright pink top. The one I rode in this morning was purple. Often the dash is decorated with a little god figurine or god sticker and a fresh garland of little orange flowers that kids walk around in traffic selling. This is kind of fun, but it makes me a little nervous. I worry that maybe the drivers put a little too much faith in their dashboard gods.
There are a lot of rics around the neighborhood where I live, up north. Downtown there are taxis, no rics. I have taken more rics than taxis, since when I go out of my neighborhood to the downtown office I generally take the train. Hence, I have not had as much experience with taxis, but I have taken a couple. And I will say one thing about them- they are an odd experience at night. I had to take one home from the downtown office the other day, and I noticed that a lot of the cabs have a blue light in their ceiling that the cab drivers turn on at night. I am not exactly sure why they do this, but it gives the carpeting that coats the inside of the cab a distinctly lurid feel. And yes, that is right, I did say carpeting. The entire interiors of most of the cabs here are in covered in carpeting. It is mildly strange. The doors, floor, ceiling, dash, even the ledge below the rear window are all covered in the type of carpeting you would see near the concession stand at a roller skating rink or a bowling alley.
*****
A List of Animals I have seen in this City:
3 elephants
7 cows
4-5 goats
6 horses
Lots of crows
Several cats
Way too many dogs
3 roosters
Lots of hens (for sale in pens)
1 pig
1 very tall dog with the most bizarre markings i have ever seen on a dog, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a goat.
1 very small lizard
Many bugs
Friday, July 20, 2007
A little word about buses. An angry little word about the horrible buses here.
7/19/07
Buses cut down on the congestion in Mumbai in two main ways. One, they move people around the city, reducing the need for cars, and, hence, cutting down on traffic. Two, they intentionally and maliciously try to cut down members of the human race in their prime by trying to pick them off in small groups as they walk down the road.
As I was walking home yesterday a bus almost hit me straight on. Now, this would be fair if I had been staggering around the street or dodging unpredictably, in and out traffic, but what I was doing was walking along the side of the street, where most pedestrians walk. Then, as I went along in my pedestrian way, I looked up and suddenly I saw a bus veering in my direction. I couldn’t believe how baldly dangerous the driving was. I had to leap sideways to avoid the bus. As I moved, the wind and vibrations from the bus swept over me. The side of the bus slid by inches away, leaving me with visions of my mortality. Then it stopped and let some people on and off, so I guess it had been aiming at a bus stop, not at me. I was just between it and the bus stop, as one might be between a mother grizzly and her cub, or between an ice cliff and an avalanche of snow. So maybe the ineptitude of the bus driving is just another force of nature.
Then, later the same evening, I walked down the alley near my house to try a new restaurant. At the end of the alley is the intersection of my alley, another alley, and a larger road. I had to cross the other alley, but there was a lot of traffic, so I waited for a break in the flow so I could cross. As I waited, a bus came roaring down the alley towards me, and turned onto the road I was waiting beside and would have killed me and a few other people waiting there if we hadn’t jumped backwards into a ditch. It literally drove over the ground where my feet had been seconds earlier. I was staggered- it cannot be that they are actually trying to kill me, can it?
Then, this evening, I saw an elderly woman, who well out of the way of most other traffic, have to jump back to avoid being hit by a bus. (Good thing she was quicker than she looked. Fooled that driver!) So at least I can be pretty sure that it isn’t just me the bus drivers are trying to get. It is just everyone in Mumbai who walks anywhere. Hmmmm. So I guess if they discourage walking, then more people will have to ride the buses, and that is a little more job security for the drivers. Nice.
If I ever meet a bus driver I am going to kick the shit out of him.
Since I am expanding along this theme, the taxi driver who drove me from the airport to my apartment deserves a mention. I should probably state, in the interest of full disclosure, that I have not yet made my peace with the universe. I am not ready to die. There are things, many things, that I would like to do before I pass on (for one, I want to shake a Mumbai bus driver so hard his nose bleeds).
The taxi driver who drove me from the airport has, on the other hand, made his peace with the world. A more benign presence I have not met, at least not recently. This is a man who should be in charge of a religious movement, not driving around in some crummy old taxi, because faith like this deserves an audience.
When I arrived, I came out of the airport to solid humidity and my boss, who was kind enough to meet me at the airport. He got a prepaid cab (costs a little more than the meter, but at least you go the most direct route.). We stowed my stuff in the ancient trunk of the ancient vehicle, which, being ancient, wouldn’t latch shut. So, we pulled the door of the trunk over my bags and hoped we wouldn’t go over any bumps, and got in.
We left the airport, and I was a little shell shocked, but feeling, overall, ok. We drove down a divided road for a while, passing encampments, stores, traffic jams. Eventually we got onto the highway. We went along uneventfully for a while, but then the driver missed the exit that my boss had wanted him to take. Some small discussion ensued, resulting in this taxi driver obligingly stopping the car on the highway, smiling and nodding pleasantly at everyone in the cab, and then calmly and smilingly shifting into reverse, and, clearly serene in the knowledge that he was doing the right and proper thing, backing several car lengths up the highway, towards oncoming traffic, so that he could take the exit he wanted. This man, who is not afraid of death, backed up on the highway. With absolutely no fear or anxiety evident anywhere.
I mean, really, we could have just taken the long way, because once we started talking about it, we had already missed the exit. Missed it. Means we went to far, have to go some other way. Not going to be able to go that way.
Oh, . . . no? Turns out not. We’ll just drive backwards on the highway for a while, no problem. The man had on the biggest, happiest smile, like it was painted on. The kind of smile you might see on the happy face of the happy/sad drama masks. Big, absolute, and weirdly vacant.
At least I was safe in my seatbelt, while we were zooming backwards along the highway. My seatbelt, which I have read is mandatory in Mumbai, safe around my corporeal being. Oh, no, wait. Seat what? But I do have a solid headrest behind me to protect my neck in case of an accident. Ha ha. At least all the drivers in Mumbai are really safe and considerate. They really don’t speed up and brake centimeters from the car in front of them, like they are all playing some huge, psychotic game of almost-bumper car.
While I am on the subject, lanes, too, are more of a guideline than a rule. The driving is very organic, the cars are like cells through a bloodstream, rather than like, well, cars in lanes.
The honking also takes some getting used to. I am from Polite Seattle, where it is almost gauche to honk at someone in traffic. I once sat at a light, distracted by some construction or something going on, through its entire cycle: red green, yellow, red. It wasn’t until the second green that anyone honked. Granted, that is an extreme case, but here they honk while sitting at red lights. Just cause they want to go now. Or don’t like that there is a big truck in front of their car. Or maybe cause they don’t like the flow of traffic and want to go faster. Or because you are walking along the side of the lane. Or because they are going over a pothole. The honking is constant. It makes me feel like humans and dogs have a lot in common. Here’s what I mean: Gary Larson drew a great comic in which he pictured a guy who had invented this device for translating dog language. Turns out they are all saying “Hey!” “Hey, hey!!!” “Heeey!” “Hey, heyhey, hey!” “Hey!” I think that people might have a need to do that too. I guess I am too close to American culture to see what we do, but around here it is “Honk honk/ Hey hey!” “Honk, honk HONK/ Hey, hey HEY!” “Honk/ Hey!!”
Um, later in the evening- I forgot how scary I think cockroaches are. Especially when they are longer than 3 inches. Oh god. I was all alone, and I had to kill it, because no way was I sleeping in this room with that thing crawling around. At least it didn’t start flying. The only evasive action it took was skittering quickly. Ugh, that was so awful.
Soon I will talk about stuff I like.
Buses cut down on the congestion in Mumbai in two main ways. One, they move people around the city, reducing the need for cars, and, hence, cutting down on traffic. Two, they intentionally and maliciously try to cut down members of the human race in their prime by trying to pick them off in small groups as they walk down the road.
As I was walking home yesterday a bus almost hit me straight on. Now, this would be fair if I had been staggering around the street or dodging unpredictably, in and out traffic, but what I was doing was walking along the side of the street, where most pedestrians walk. Then, as I went along in my pedestrian way, I looked up and suddenly I saw a bus veering in my direction. I couldn’t believe how baldly dangerous the driving was. I had to leap sideways to avoid the bus. As I moved, the wind and vibrations from the bus swept over me. The side of the bus slid by inches away, leaving me with visions of my mortality. Then it stopped and let some people on and off, so I guess it had been aiming at a bus stop, not at me. I was just between it and the bus stop, as one might be between a mother grizzly and her cub, or between an ice cliff and an avalanche of snow. So maybe the ineptitude of the bus driving is just another force of nature.
Then, later the same evening, I walked down the alley near my house to try a new restaurant. At the end of the alley is the intersection of my alley, another alley, and a larger road. I had to cross the other alley, but there was a lot of traffic, so I waited for a break in the flow so I could cross. As I waited, a bus came roaring down the alley towards me, and turned onto the road I was waiting beside and would have killed me and a few other people waiting there if we hadn’t jumped backwards into a ditch. It literally drove over the ground where my feet had been seconds earlier. I was staggered- it cannot be that they are actually trying to kill me, can it?
Then, this evening, I saw an elderly woman, who well out of the way of most other traffic, have to jump back to avoid being hit by a bus. (Good thing she was quicker than she looked. Fooled that driver!) So at least I can be pretty sure that it isn’t just me the bus drivers are trying to get. It is just everyone in Mumbai who walks anywhere. Hmmmm. So I guess if they discourage walking, then more people will have to ride the buses, and that is a little more job security for the drivers. Nice.
If I ever meet a bus driver I am going to kick the shit out of him.
Since I am expanding along this theme, the taxi driver who drove me from the airport to my apartment deserves a mention. I should probably state, in the interest of full disclosure, that I have not yet made my peace with the universe. I am not ready to die. There are things, many things, that I would like to do before I pass on (for one, I want to shake a Mumbai bus driver so hard his nose bleeds).
The taxi driver who drove me from the airport has, on the other hand, made his peace with the world. A more benign presence I have not met, at least not recently. This is a man who should be in charge of a religious movement, not driving around in some crummy old taxi, because faith like this deserves an audience.
When I arrived, I came out of the airport to solid humidity and my boss, who was kind enough to meet me at the airport. He got a prepaid cab (costs a little more than the meter, but at least you go the most direct route.). We stowed my stuff in the ancient trunk of the ancient vehicle, which, being ancient, wouldn’t latch shut. So, we pulled the door of the trunk over my bags and hoped we wouldn’t go over any bumps, and got in.
We left the airport, and I was a little shell shocked, but feeling, overall, ok. We drove down a divided road for a while, passing encampments, stores, traffic jams. Eventually we got onto the highway. We went along uneventfully for a while, but then the driver missed the exit that my boss had wanted him to take. Some small discussion ensued, resulting in this taxi driver obligingly stopping the car on the highway, smiling and nodding pleasantly at everyone in the cab, and then calmly and smilingly shifting into reverse, and, clearly serene in the knowledge that he was doing the right and proper thing, backing several car lengths up the highway, towards oncoming traffic, so that he could take the exit he wanted. This man, who is not afraid of death, backed up on the highway. With absolutely no fear or anxiety evident anywhere.
I mean, really, we could have just taken the long way, because once we started talking about it, we had already missed the exit. Missed it. Means we went to far, have to go some other way. Not going to be able to go that way.
Oh, . . . no? Turns out not. We’ll just drive backwards on the highway for a while, no problem. The man had on the biggest, happiest smile, like it was painted on. The kind of smile you might see on the happy face of the happy/sad drama masks. Big, absolute, and weirdly vacant.
At least I was safe in my seatbelt, while we were zooming backwards along the highway. My seatbelt, which I have read is mandatory in Mumbai, safe around my corporeal being. Oh, no, wait. Seat what? But I do have a solid headrest behind me to protect my neck in case of an accident. Ha ha. At least all the drivers in Mumbai are really safe and considerate. They really don’t speed up and brake centimeters from the car in front of them, like they are all playing some huge, psychotic game of almost-bumper car.
While I am on the subject, lanes, too, are more of a guideline than a rule. The driving is very organic, the cars are like cells through a bloodstream, rather than like, well, cars in lanes.
The honking also takes some getting used to. I am from Polite Seattle, where it is almost gauche to honk at someone in traffic. I once sat at a light, distracted by some construction or something going on, through its entire cycle: red green, yellow, red. It wasn’t until the second green that anyone honked. Granted, that is an extreme case, but here they honk while sitting at red lights. Just cause they want to go now. Or don’t like that there is a big truck in front of their car. Or maybe cause they don’t like the flow of traffic and want to go faster. Or because you are walking along the side of the lane. Or because they are going over a pothole. The honking is constant. It makes me feel like humans and dogs have a lot in common. Here’s what I mean: Gary Larson drew a great comic in which he pictured a guy who had invented this device for translating dog language. Turns out they are all saying “Hey!” “Hey, hey!!!” “Heeey!” “Hey, heyhey, hey!” “Hey!” I think that people might have a need to do that too. I guess I am too close to American culture to see what we do, but around here it is “Honk honk/ Hey hey!” “Honk, honk HONK/ Hey, hey HEY!” “Honk/ Hey!!”
Um, later in the evening- I forgot how scary I think cockroaches are. Especially when they are longer than 3 inches. Oh god. I was all alone, and I had to kill it, because no way was I sleeping in this room with that thing crawling around. At least it didn’t start flying. The only evasive action it took was skittering quickly. Ugh, that was so awful.
Soon I will talk about stuff I like.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Two potential disasters on the train, both turned out to be nothing.
7/10/07
I work 3 days a week in the Bandra office, near where I live, 3 days in the downtown office, near Marine Drive(a famous thoroughfare), and I have one day off. I alternate days between offices; Sunday, Tuesday, and Friday I am downtown, Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday I am in Bandra and Thursday I have off.
Last Friday a woman from the downtown office showed me how to ride the train to work. She picked me up in the morning and took me to the train station The first part, getting to the station, is no big deal. Just get into a ric and say “Bandra Station.” (A ric is a three wheeled cart that serves as a cheap mini-cab around here. They sound and smell like lawnmowers, but go faster and are scarier to ride in. They aren’t allowed downtown, only in the outer areas.)
Next part was figuring out where to go in the station to catch the right train. She brought me inside and showed me which track to go to and where to stand on the platform so that I would be positioned appropriately to get onto the ladies’ first class compartment. This is sort of a big deal, because the trains are really long, and if you aren’t standing in the right place, you have to run a long way through a lot of people to get to the right car. And you won’t make it, at best you would know where to stand for the next train. And you want to know where to stand for the ladies’ first class car, because during the morning and evening rush hours, you want to get into the right car. The ladies’ first class car is full- you are closely and uncomfortably surrounded by sticky people on all sides, but you are still able to draw air into your lungs to breathe. In other words, you have the half inch of space you need for your lungs to expand. Not so in the regular first class, ladies second class or regular second class. People pack themselves into those train cars like crazy. The cars are filled way beyond capacity.
So I guess it makes sense that getting on can be a fight. I have been shielded from a lot of the heavier jostling with my precious, precious first class pass, but my students were telling me that in the second class, swarthy fisherwomen will just walk up behind you as you are trying to get onto the train and yank you off and out of the way. Then the train leaves and you are left stammering “wait, what just happened?” This delicate American has not yet been subjected to such an injustice, but I am waiting.
The cars have, I think, either loose regulations or poorly enforced regulations regarding how many pounds of human per square foot are allowed inside. It is as though all the sardines from one tin decided “Nope, not squished enough!” and shoved themselves into the occupied tin next to them, laws of physics and personal space be damned. The Mumbai trains must operate at 2000% efficiency. And when the train gets to a major station, it is like a big, long, metal seed pod has just burst as everyone goes rushing off the train. The train just throws up people.
Anyway, back to my life. So the nice lady from the office shows me where to stand in the morning and in the evening on the platform in order to get into the right car. This was Friday. On Sunday, I tried the process on my own. Getting to work was fine. Getting home was mildly scary. I walked from my office to the station in the evening with one of my students, and the train pulled up as we were walking down the platform. My student didn’t want me to miss the train, (because they only come along every five minutes. Oh well, she was nice to be concerned.) so she bustled me into the nearest first class compartment which happened to be an open one, for men and women. Not a big problem at 6 pm on a Sunday evening. There were only a few people on it; I had plenty of space. The problem came when I got to my station. I was completely disoriented, for 2 reasons. First of all, because I wasn’t on the first class ladies car, so I had to get out in an unfamiliar stretch of the platform, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to get out of the train station. Second because it was daylight, and the area around the station looked completely different in daylight at the end of the station where I ended up. There were trees and a wide area of water. Because the surrounding area was so different from what I had seen earlier I almost didn’t get off the train. I was completely confused. Then my logic circuits kicked in and I decided that I should get off at the stop that had the same name as my stop regardless of what it looked like and worry about it later.
Eventually I made it out of the station on the right side and got home, much to my relief. I had to wander around a little though. I think the people waiting at the station thought that I was taking myself on some weird tour of the train station or something. “What is she doing? She’s already seen this part. Freak. Go home!” It is really hard to wander casually around the same platform for 10 minutes, fighting the growing concern that you now live at the train station. The nonchalance wears thin.
The second nondisaster happened the following Tuesday when I took the train alone for the second time. I arrived at the station nice and early and walked to my place next to the snack shop by the second stairway to wait for the ladies’ compartment to pull up with the next train. After I had been waiting for a few minutes, a train pulled up to my platform and deposited a ladies’ car in front of me. Some people got off, no one got on. Except me. Alarm bells should have sounded. But they didn’t, in part because when I move to a new country, I have noticed that common sense is an early casualty. I have a heightened survival instinct, but I lose that “hey, if the door doesn’t open when you push, try pulling, don’t just start banging” sensibility. Not sure why.
I think the other reason alarm bells didn’t go off is because of an implicit faith that I have that things are supposed to work right. People follow traffic rules, stop at stop lights, they walk on sidewalks and drive on roads, they put trash in trash bins. I am mildly insulted when things don’t work right, when buses are late and when grocery lines take longer than they reasonably should. So when a car pulled up in front of me while I was standing in the right place, I assumed it was the right one. Turns out not. It went to the next station and stopped. A kind woman noticed me looking forlorn and explained that this station was the last stop for that train. Eventually, after asking around a little and walking around a lot I got to the right platform. But then, horrors, I didn’t know where to stand to get onto the ladies’ first class compartment!
I walked down the platform until I saw a bunch of saris and asked one of them if they were waiting for the ladies’ first class. Yes. Phew.
7/13/07
Friday, third day on the train. I am very excited for the train to become routine, right now it still feels like I am going to screw something up whenever I get onto the train.
The ride home today was downright eerie. I stood by the doorway and watched the scenery as it flashed by. There are no doors on the train, just open doorways in the middle of both sides of each car. I guess that is part of why 1,400 people die on the trains each year. So I am nice and careful.
The night was sort of misty and dark, and watching all the city streets and apartment buildings go by made me feel like I was in a pretentious art film, like it was all supposed to mean something. Click click, buildings. Click click, lights. Click click, water. Click click, kids, running by the train, too close. Swaying back and forth. The grittiness of life in a big city, a thousand stories to be told, home comfort even in the saddest looking tenements, the contrast of open water with rundown, overcrowded buildings. Or whatever. I felt as though I was supposed to go back to my lonely room and, I don’t know, drink whiskey? What do people do in art films when they have been exposed to the rough and tumble of life on the streets? I went home and read for a while and went to sleep, but that can’t be right. I might have taken a desperate swig of juice to help myself deal with the inhumanity of it all or something, I can’t remember now.
One thing that was kind of creepy, but is something that is getting to be a familiar sight, was a glimpse that I got of someone’s living quarters. They had pulled a tarp over a wall and held it down with some bricks at the other end, to create a tent like place to live. The disconcerting thing about it was that how permanent it looked, it had little oil lamps set up inside, and people were eating, and there were beds set up around the edges. There are a lot of people trying to live here.
More later!
I work 3 days a week in the Bandra office, near where I live, 3 days in the downtown office, near Marine Drive(a famous thoroughfare), and I have one day off. I alternate days between offices; Sunday, Tuesday, and Friday I am downtown, Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday I am in Bandra and Thursday I have off.
Last Friday a woman from the downtown office showed me how to ride the train to work. She picked me up in the morning and took me to the train station The first part, getting to the station, is no big deal. Just get into a ric and say “Bandra Station.” (A ric is a three wheeled cart that serves as a cheap mini-cab around here. They sound and smell like lawnmowers, but go faster and are scarier to ride in. They aren’t allowed downtown, only in the outer areas.)
Next part was figuring out where to go in the station to catch the right train. She brought me inside and showed me which track to go to and where to stand on the platform so that I would be positioned appropriately to get onto the ladies’ first class compartment. This is sort of a big deal, because the trains are really long, and if you aren’t standing in the right place, you have to run a long way through a lot of people to get to the right car. And you won’t make it, at best you would know where to stand for the next train. And you want to know where to stand for the ladies’ first class car, because during the morning and evening rush hours, you want to get into the right car. The ladies’ first class car is full- you are closely and uncomfortably surrounded by sticky people on all sides, but you are still able to draw air into your lungs to breathe. In other words, you have the half inch of space you need for your lungs to expand. Not so in the regular first class, ladies second class or regular second class. People pack themselves into those train cars like crazy. The cars are filled way beyond capacity.
So I guess it makes sense that getting on can be a fight. I have been shielded from a lot of the heavier jostling with my precious, precious first class pass, but my students were telling me that in the second class, swarthy fisherwomen will just walk up behind you as you are trying to get onto the train and yank you off and out of the way. Then the train leaves and you are left stammering “wait, what just happened?” This delicate American has not yet been subjected to such an injustice, but I am waiting.
The cars have, I think, either loose regulations or poorly enforced regulations regarding how many pounds of human per square foot are allowed inside. It is as though all the sardines from one tin decided “Nope, not squished enough!” and shoved themselves into the occupied tin next to them, laws of physics and personal space be damned. The Mumbai trains must operate at 2000% efficiency. And when the train gets to a major station, it is like a big, long, metal seed pod has just burst as everyone goes rushing off the train. The train just throws up people.
Anyway, back to my life. So the nice lady from the office shows me where to stand in the morning and in the evening on the platform in order to get into the right car. This was Friday. On Sunday, I tried the process on my own. Getting to work was fine. Getting home was mildly scary. I walked from my office to the station in the evening with one of my students, and the train pulled up as we were walking down the platform. My student didn’t want me to miss the train, (because they only come along every five minutes. Oh well, she was nice to be concerned.) so she bustled me into the nearest first class compartment which happened to be an open one, for men and women. Not a big problem at 6 pm on a Sunday evening. There were only a few people on it; I had plenty of space. The problem came when I got to my station. I was completely disoriented, for 2 reasons. First of all, because I wasn’t on the first class ladies car, so I had to get out in an unfamiliar stretch of the platform, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to get out of the train station. Second because it was daylight, and the area around the station looked completely different in daylight at the end of the station where I ended up. There were trees and a wide area of water. Because the surrounding area was so different from what I had seen earlier I almost didn’t get off the train. I was completely confused. Then my logic circuits kicked in and I decided that I should get off at the stop that had the same name as my stop regardless of what it looked like and worry about it later.
Eventually I made it out of the station on the right side and got home, much to my relief. I had to wander around a little though. I think the people waiting at the station thought that I was taking myself on some weird tour of the train station or something. “What is she doing? She’s already seen this part. Freak. Go home!” It is really hard to wander casually around the same platform for 10 minutes, fighting the growing concern that you now live at the train station. The nonchalance wears thin.
The second nondisaster happened the following Tuesday when I took the train alone for the second time. I arrived at the station nice and early and walked to my place next to the snack shop by the second stairway to wait for the ladies’ compartment to pull up with the next train. After I had been waiting for a few minutes, a train pulled up to my platform and deposited a ladies’ car in front of me. Some people got off, no one got on. Except me. Alarm bells should have sounded. But they didn’t, in part because when I move to a new country, I have noticed that common sense is an early casualty. I have a heightened survival instinct, but I lose that “hey, if the door doesn’t open when you push, try pulling, don’t just start banging” sensibility. Not sure why.
I think the other reason alarm bells didn’t go off is because of an implicit faith that I have that things are supposed to work right. People follow traffic rules, stop at stop lights, they walk on sidewalks and drive on roads, they put trash in trash bins. I am mildly insulted when things don’t work right, when buses are late and when grocery lines take longer than they reasonably should. So when a car pulled up in front of me while I was standing in the right place, I assumed it was the right one. Turns out not. It went to the next station and stopped. A kind woman noticed me looking forlorn and explained that this station was the last stop for that train. Eventually, after asking around a little and walking around a lot I got to the right platform. But then, horrors, I didn’t know where to stand to get onto the ladies’ first class compartment!
I walked down the platform until I saw a bunch of saris and asked one of them if they were waiting for the ladies’ first class. Yes. Phew.
7/13/07
Friday, third day on the train. I am very excited for the train to become routine, right now it still feels like I am going to screw something up whenever I get onto the train.
The ride home today was downright eerie. I stood by the doorway and watched the scenery as it flashed by. There are no doors on the train, just open doorways in the middle of both sides of each car. I guess that is part of why 1,400 people die on the trains each year. So I am nice and careful.
The night was sort of misty and dark, and watching all the city streets and apartment buildings go by made me feel like I was in a pretentious art film, like it was all supposed to mean something. Click click, buildings. Click click, lights. Click click, water. Click click, kids, running by the train, too close. Swaying back and forth. The grittiness of life in a big city, a thousand stories to be told, home comfort even in the saddest looking tenements, the contrast of open water with rundown, overcrowded buildings. Or whatever. I felt as though I was supposed to go back to my lonely room and, I don’t know, drink whiskey? What do people do in art films when they have been exposed to the rough and tumble of life on the streets? I went home and read for a while and went to sleep, but that can’t be right. I might have taken a desperate swig of juice to help myself deal with the inhumanity of it all or something, I can’t remember now.
One thing that was kind of creepy, but is something that is getting to be a familiar sight, was a glimpse that I got of someone’s living quarters. They had pulled a tarp over a wall and held it down with some bricks at the other end, to create a tent like place to live. The disconcerting thing about it was that how permanent it looked, it had little oil lamps set up inside, and people were eating, and there were beds set up around the edges. There are a lot of people trying to live here.
More later!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Not super cheerful about my first impressions
7/7/07
I think I remember reading that today as some ridiculously popular day for getting married. Makes me want to watch "Lucky Number Slevin."
I don't have too much time to write right now. My laptop is broken, and that puts a serious cramp in my style. My life is kind of boring too, since I have just been teaching a lot.
Everything is dirty. This country smells like old trash. Not everywhere, exactly, but a lot of places, a lot of the time. The places that don't smell like trash often smell like my grandmother's summer house at bible camp. A whole city that smells like trash and bible camp. I guess I'll get used to it, no one else seems to mind.
I asked my neighbor where I should take my trash out to, and she showed me the trash bins out in front of my building. She made sure I knew that the bins were emptied every day, but I am not sure why she made a point of it, because it appears that the bins are just emptied into a big pile a half a block away. There, the big pile of trash festers. Then the foul stench that arises from the trash attacks when you least expect it.
There are a lot of piles trash. But they don't seem to grow, they stay at an even level. I don't know what to make of this. I guess the piles get gathered and taken away at some point? -It doesn't matter that the pile is gone though, the places where they grow are always wretched. I call one lane I have to walk down to get to work Stench Alley. Then there is The Foul Stench, on my way to the store, and The Stench Ghost, which lurks all over the place, invisible to the eye but terrible to the nose. He appears even when there is no garbage to be seen.
***
I am reading "Maximum City," a book about Mumbai. The author makes the observation that public spaces in the city- sidewalks, streets, even the common stairwells in buildings- are disgusting. Private spaces are beautiful and clean, but the clean line stops at the door. I think this is probably always somewhat true, no matter where you are in the world, but here the clean/dirty line is stark. Beautiful offices and homes, but filthy streets and sidewalks. I was really surprised to see a guy sweeping the sidewalk in front of his business this morning, it was the first time I had seen anything like that. The two office that I work in are very nice, but the buildings they are in, from the outside, look crappy. Peeling paint, rundown stonework, unvarnished wooden stairs. Then on the inside, nice wooden flooring, clean walls, plants, airconditioning. It is like night and day.
There are a lot of slums. Slums are a fact of life here. The buildings in the slums are knocked together with corrugated metal and wood, and then they are wired with electricity and hooked up to water. The constructions can be 2-3 stories high, and they look like a solid wind would knock them to rubble. But they stay up, held together by rope and habit. I think it simply hasn't occured to most of them to fall down. Or maybe it is that falling down would be more trouble than just staying where they are. I don't know what kinds of lives are led there, in that kind of housing, and how it affects the rest of your life. I get the impression, from some of my reading, that they are like little villages within the larger city, little neighborhoods. Especially since you are so close to everyone who lives around you. My boss here was telling me that there was a plan to try to get people out of the slums and into subsidized/free housing on the outskirts of town. The government built the housing, and offer rooms to people in the slums. So people from the slums would take an apt, and then rent it out to someone else, and then go back to their place in town, because that is where their neighborhood was.
There are also a lot of homeless people here, or rather, people making their homes on sidewalks. All it takes is a tarp lying around, and you have shelter.
I will try to get some pictures up soon!
I think I remember reading that today as some ridiculously popular day for getting married. Makes me want to watch "Lucky Number Slevin."
I don't have too much time to write right now. My laptop is broken, and that puts a serious cramp in my style. My life is kind of boring too, since I have just been teaching a lot.
Everything is dirty. This country smells like old trash. Not everywhere, exactly, but a lot of places, a lot of the time. The places that don't smell like trash often smell like my grandmother's summer house at bible camp. A whole city that smells like trash and bible camp. I guess I'll get used to it, no one else seems to mind.
I asked my neighbor where I should take my trash out to, and she showed me the trash bins out in front of my building. She made sure I knew that the bins were emptied every day, but I am not sure why she made a point of it, because it appears that the bins are just emptied into a big pile a half a block away. There, the big pile of trash festers. Then the foul stench that arises from the trash attacks when you least expect it.
There are a lot of piles trash. But they don't seem to grow, they stay at an even level. I don't know what to make of this. I guess the piles get gathered and taken away at some point? -It doesn't matter that the pile is gone though, the places where they grow are always wretched. I call one lane I have to walk down to get to work Stench Alley. Then there is The Foul Stench, on my way to the store, and The Stench Ghost, which lurks all over the place, invisible to the eye but terrible to the nose. He appears even when there is no garbage to be seen.
***
I am reading "Maximum City," a book about Mumbai. The author makes the observation that public spaces in the city- sidewalks, streets, even the common stairwells in buildings- are disgusting. Private spaces are beautiful and clean, but the clean line stops at the door. I think this is probably always somewhat true, no matter where you are in the world, but here the clean/dirty line is stark. Beautiful offices and homes, but filthy streets and sidewalks. I was really surprised to see a guy sweeping the sidewalk in front of his business this morning, it was the first time I had seen anything like that. The two office that I work in are very nice, but the buildings they are in, from the outside, look crappy. Peeling paint, rundown stonework, unvarnished wooden stairs. Then on the inside, nice wooden flooring, clean walls, plants, airconditioning. It is like night and day.
There are a lot of slums. Slums are a fact of life here. The buildings in the slums are knocked together with corrugated metal and wood, and then they are wired with electricity and hooked up to water. The constructions can be 2-3 stories high, and they look like a solid wind would knock them to rubble. But they stay up, held together by rope and habit. I think it simply hasn't occured to most of them to fall down. Or maybe it is that falling down would be more trouble than just staying where they are. I don't know what kinds of lives are led there, in that kind of housing, and how it affects the rest of your life. I get the impression, from some of my reading, that they are like little villages within the larger city, little neighborhoods. Especially since you are so close to everyone who lives around you. My boss here was telling me that there was a plan to try to get people out of the slums and into subsidized/free housing on the outskirts of town. The government built the housing, and offer rooms to people in the slums. So people from the slums would take an apt, and then rent it out to someone else, and then go back to their place in town, because that is where their neighborhood was.
There are also a lot of homeless people here, or rather, people making their homes on sidewalks. All it takes is a tarp lying around, and you have shelter.
I will try to get some pictures up soon!
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Have Arrived
7/1/07
Now I am in Mumbai. The movie system on the way from London to Mumbai was way better. The selection of movies was still crappy, but at least I could start and stop them at will.
I have to say, Taipei is this huge bastion of cleanliness and beauty and paved streets for me right now. Seriously, there is just trash laying around in the street. And no system at all for how to get places. In Taipei, I was able to find little, out of the way places with just an address, because the maps were so accessible. Here, if there is a system, I am not aware if it. I have just been memorizing how to get places with landmarks and # of turns. I have been remembering stuff pretty well, b/c finding my way back to my room and all my belongings depends on it. Still, it makes me feel uncomforable to have to rely on memory.
Today is my first day in Mumbai. I watched it rain approximately 8 times today, and I didn't even get in until noon. It is going to be a wet few months. But at least it didn't really smell too bad in the city, and it cooled down the air to a balmy 85 degrees (or so. What is 25 degrees C? Also, what is 35 degrees C? I can never remember the formula)
I hung out with the guy from the office for a little while tonight. He was really nice. We tried to find a grocery store around my bachelor apt (room with a bathroom, soon to have a fridge) but we couldn't. So we walked along the shore a bit so I could see the water, which was really pretty. Then we got some food. The waiter totally didn't get my no dairy requests, so I could only eat half my food. But I was full, so whatever. I think if I ask for Jain food, I should be ok in the future, right? Someone check that.
The shower in my bathroom is broken, so I had to take a bucket shower with my travel mug and water from the sink. Super fun.
I saw my first street elephant tonight, and it made me really sad.
7/5/07
The shower does work. I just didn't push the lever hard enough. So that is a relief.
Also, the neighbor made her daughter show me where the grocery stores are. Phew. I will be going back today for some stuff. I have a little fridge, which is good, and I think I will try to find a hotplate so I can boil water.
It is hot, but I am inside a lot, which is good. Also, it is really stinky, but only in some places. I am breathing in one hell of a lot of exhaust.
Ok, more later. Hopefully once I am settled down a little I can write some stuff that is a little more interesting. I will try to take some pictures too, but there are so many people around always, all the time, that I feel weird pulling out the camera to take some shots. Also, whenever I stop for a few minutes to pull out my camera, someone asks if I would like a shoe shine, which I think is weird, since I am wearing an old pair of sneakers. And then I feel the need to escape from the strange men who want to shine my sneakers, so I can't take any pictures.
Now I am in Mumbai. The movie system on the way from London to Mumbai was way better. The selection of movies was still crappy, but at least I could start and stop them at will.
I have to say, Taipei is this huge bastion of cleanliness and beauty and paved streets for me right now. Seriously, there is just trash laying around in the street. And no system at all for how to get places. In Taipei, I was able to find little, out of the way places with just an address, because the maps were so accessible. Here, if there is a system, I am not aware if it. I have just been memorizing how to get places with landmarks and # of turns. I have been remembering stuff pretty well, b/c finding my way back to my room and all my belongings depends on it. Still, it makes me feel uncomforable to have to rely on memory.
Today is my first day in Mumbai. I watched it rain approximately 8 times today, and I didn't even get in until noon. It is going to be a wet few months. But at least it didn't really smell too bad in the city, and it cooled down the air to a balmy 85 degrees (or so. What is 25 degrees C? Also, what is 35 degrees C? I can never remember the formula)
I hung out with the guy from the office for a little while tonight. He was really nice. We tried to find a grocery store around my bachelor apt (room with a bathroom, soon to have a fridge) but we couldn't. So we walked along the shore a bit so I could see the water, which was really pretty. Then we got some food. The waiter totally didn't get my no dairy requests, so I could only eat half my food. But I was full, so whatever. I think if I ask for Jain food, I should be ok in the future, right? Someone check that.
The shower in my bathroom is broken, so I had to take a bucket shower with my travel mug and water from the sink. Super fun.
I saw my first street elephant tonight, and it made me really sad.
7/5/07
The shower does work. I just didn't push the lever hard enough. So that is a relief.
Also, the neighbor made her daughter show me where the grocery stores are. Phew. I will be going back today for some stuff. I have a little fridge, which is good, and I think I will try to find a hotplate so I can boil water.
It is hot, but I am inside a lot, which is good. Also, it is really stinky, but only in some places. I am breathing in one hell of a lot of exhaust.
Ok, more later. Hopefully once I am settled down a little I can write some stuff that is a little more interesting. I will try to take some pictures too, but there are so many people around always, all the time, that I feel weird pulling out the camera to take some shots. Also, whenever I stop for a few minutes to pull out my camera, someone asks if I would like a shoe shine, which I think is weird, since I am wearing an old pair of sneakers. And then I feel the need to escape from the strange men who want to shine my sneakers, so I can't take any pictures.
On my way, hanging out at Heathrow for 8 hours.
Hello!I am in Heathrow airport right now. (Well, I was while I was writing this.) It is overcast, gloomy, and expensive here, so at least England doesn't disappoint in that respect. I don't have enough time to go explore London at all, which I guess is just was well, since I am grumpy and tired anyway.
There are these vending machines in the bathrooms that sell something called chewable toothbrushes. I am guessing that they are just pieces of sugarless gum you can buy that are super minty fresh and make you feel like you brushed your teeth. Smart gimmick though. If I had a pound note I would buy one out of curiosity. But I have no pound note, so I just brushed my teeth instead.
I will be in India soon, and I am dreading how hot and stinky it is going to be. I got in the habit of taking long deep breaths over the past week in Seattle, because I don't think I am going to like what I am breathing in when I get to Mumbai. Oh well, I guess I will get used to it.
The movie system on the flight over here was stupid. They had a selection of movies, but instead of giving you a menu so that you could choose which movie you wanted to watch and letting you start it whenever you wanted, they just played all the movies on various channels the whole time. But they didn't say when the movies were actually starting. (I think they started playing them while they were serving supper.) But if you wanted to watch anything, you had to guess at when to turn on your tv. So I read a book. Not a great movie selection anyway. (Incidentally, why are so many airlines playing "the astronaut farmer?" Who the hell did billy bob pay off?) I deem the entertainment system of the airline I took to Taiwan last year to be vastly superior to the entertainment system of British Airways.
One thing that was scary was seeing a car bomb attack in Glasgow airport being reported on while waiting at the Heathrow airport. It was all over the tvs at the airport. It was weird thinking how close it all was. H was fine though. Did make me a bit jumpy though! Especially with the terror alerts in London recently. Made it though fine though.
That's all for now!
There are these vending machines in the bathrooms that sell something called chewable toothbrushes. I am guessing that they are just pieces of sugarless gum you can buy that are super minty fresh and make you feel like you brushed your teeth. Smart gimmick though. If I had a pound note I would buy one out of curiosity. But I have no pound note, so I just brushed my teeth instead.
I will be in India soon, and I am dreading how hot and stinky it is going to be. I got in the habit of taking long deep breaths over the past week in Seattle, because I don't think I am going to like what I am breathing in when I get to Mumbai. Oh well, I guess I will get used to it.
The movie system on the flight over here was stupid. They had a selection of movies, but instead of giving you a menu so that you could choose which movie you wanted to watch and letting you start it whenever you wanted, they just played all the movies on various channels the whole time. But they didn't say when the movies were actually starting. (I think they started playing them while they were serving supper.) But if you wanted to watch anything, you had to guess at when to turn on your tv. So I read a book. Not a great movie selection anyway. (Incidentally, why are so many airlines playing "the astronaut farmer?" Who the hell did billy bob pay off?) I deem the entertainment system of the airline I took to Taiwan last year to be vastly superior to the entertainment system of British Airways.
One thing that was scary was seeing a car bomb attack in Glasgow airport being reported on while waiting at the Heathrow airport. It was all over the tvs at the airport. It was weird thinking how close it all was. H was fine though. Did make me a bit jumpy though! Especially with the terror alerts in London recently. Made it though fine though.
That's all for now!
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