Back from Bundi

On the way back I was advised to take the train in case of traffic jams. I get to the train station at 4…the train was supposed to come at 4:40. When I ask them for a ticket, I'm to relax as there's still a lot of time. I pointed out that there was about half an hour left, prompting a snicker…Did I actually expect the train to be on time? There are sometimes cows on the tracks, or people. The train stops or hits one of them which creates problems and delays. So I sit down, wait, and read. As I'm waiting, I get to observe the start of the ascent of an average indian, These 5 people from the town had decided to go to bombay to try their luck. The train finally comes at 5:30pm (only 50 minutes late). I'm relieved since the journey from here to the place I need to get the next train at 8pm is only 40 minutes (30 miles or so) - I have plenty of time. The train stops here for 10 minutes allowing the passengers to grab a cup of tea and a samosa. After many stoppages and many contingency plans going through my head (ditching the train in the middle of the tracks and finding some other form of transportation , to coming back here to stay another night to spending the night at the train station). The train finally makes it to Kota at 7:30 and I'm able to catch my 8pm train to ahmedabad. Then came the class 3A- 3rd class but AC - only thing that was available. The redeeming fact was that they had sleeping berths. On the other hand I was stuck with a semi-literate family of 4. The mom and the kids were ok - the dad seemed to have just come from the khet. He put his bags all over the seats and then spreads out with his kids…he would start slapping his kids around and then they would start crying. Then to calm them down, he would play songs very loudly on his cell phone. I was sick and didn't feel like socializing - I tried to teach the kid how to play with those magic magnets but she didn't really care. So I went back to my book (by the way, kite runner is a very good and quick read).

Bundi

On to Bundi

The next random step was a decision to get away from the city-life and go to some small town - the map chose Bundi as the next destination. The train station was, as expected, an animal house. There was only one rule- push forward at all times. In hallways, on the stairs, anywhere! Getting to the actual platform was easy, and then the train was surprisingly clean and comfortable. They brought mineral water at the beginning of the ride, asked for veg/non-veg meal, and then gave towels, pillows, blankets, and sheets. There were lights, electrical sockets, and food that wasn't bad at all.

Rickshaw to the bus station
Bus to bundi, bumpy roads, sharp corners, dark highways
Rickshaw to the place
Beautiful 250 year-old house

Touching Adrian

Everyone seems to want to (and do without any warning) touch Adrian. They put him amongst their herd of kids and take photos. Adrian doesn't seem to mind it much but hates the touching part. Who'd blame him for getting annoyed at random people touching him, his hair, his face, puling him, pushing him wherever he goes! It's almost embarrassing to witness that. It's also strange to see their reaction to white foreigners. They seem to look up to them. "If you eat well, you'll get to be like them" says one father to his kid who wasn't eating his food.

At one of the tombs, they didn't let you take shoes inside (even in a bag). Adrian had shoes on but was being carried by Marko. When I took a picture of him inside the tomb, people came running over, asking us to delete the photo. According to them, I couldn't take a piture of Marko because he was carrying Adrian who had shoes on. So taking a photo is ok. Having shoes on but being carried by someone is also ok. Combining the two, not so much. Fun!

Shopping

On the way back from Agra, we decided to stop and do some shopping. I didn't really feel like buying anything so I took on the facilitator/translator role. We bought a suitcase, a short and relatively painless experience. The suitcase turned out to be a good shopping cart for the rest of the shopping. I found myself getting repeatedly frustrated when dealing with the shops. You'd ask for something in blue and a certain size, they would give you something red in a different size. You would ask again and get yellow in even another size. Somehow the concept of give the customer what they want seemed to elude every shopkeeper. We went from shop to shop, looking at clothes of all kinds, but the common theme remained the shopkeepers ability to give us everything except what we wanted.. Normally, I would've attributed it to language problems or the local culture, but I knew both of them well enough to get frustrated and annoyed. When they would finally get something in the right size, it would surprise them that we weren't going to buy it - it is the right size, what else do you want…

This experience continued with our driver. We would tell him to go a particular restaurant and he would take us to a different one of his choice. Once in a while, he would just stop the car and get out saying he's going to drink some tea so we should relax for a bit.

Ruins

The next day was playing tourist at Mehrauli Archaeological Park with Marko, Dunja, and Adrian. We had a guide arranged by Ashwin, Raghav. He was very friendly and unlike typical guides, was a good guy to have a conversation with. He used to study in edinburgh and was doing this over his summer break . He took us around the area, showing us several ruins and explaining the history, their significance. As soon as he realized I was born in Pakistan, his narrative became a little unsure. He knew what he was talking about, but knew that I was much more aware of the culture that he was telling us about. It was funny to see him look at me approvingly after mentioning every fact. Along the way, there were some open areas near some of the ruins. there were lot of kids playing cricket. I found that uplifting. This place was historically important, but dead. The kids made it still alive. Raghav didn't share that opinion. He seemed upset by people playing cricket all over which also meant that they would come for picnics, throw garbage, all without having any sense of the history of the place. The Archaeological Survey of India isn't doing much to protect this place mostly because it doesn't get much tourists. There is no fee to get in, and people don't seem to care. As we were looking in one of the tombs, some indians walked by, peeking in . One woman looked in the compound and said, ah, there's nothing in there; just some old, torn down houses. They entertained themselves with climbing trees instead. Thomas Metcalfe seems to be an interesting character.

The afternoon was lunch at Ashwin, a friend of Marko and Dunja's who is now at IBM Research in Delh. It turned out that Atul, who had just joined our lab in bangalore, was a friend and colleague of his. Christmas Eve was a relaxed time at the hotel with Dunja, Marko and Adrian, listening to music, playing with Adrian, and watching Indian santas.

Christmas Day

Day 3: Dec 25
We decided to celebrate christmas by going to Agra. We had a car & driver, and even a guide (yes, i know - not my idea). The first day there, we went to the Agra Fort and then as Dunja and Marko took a break, I ventured out to the local market, invariably called Sadar bazaar, and then went out for dinner.
Having forgotten how it feels to vomit, it took 3 days of India to remind me. Yes, I did get sick and continued to be in one form or another for the rest of my trip in India. I can't really blame india for that since I just could not resist any new street food I encountered. I saw a large crowd of people eating what is called aloo tikki on the street and gave in. It wasn't terribly good, belying my trust in all these people who were lined up. Then I tried sweet american corn, chatpatta style and then some kulfi…aaah, all of them good. Of course, I had dinner afterwards as well. The next day, felt a little sick but since I hadn't vomitted in over 15 years, I was sure It would pass. Dunja was very sick and decided to skip the morning trip. Our trip there was briefly interrupted by the goat/sheep market on the way. I guess it was about time for Eid. On our way back, I felt dizzy and soon was leaving a trail of vomit through the car window. The rest of the day was mostly spend in the bathroom. With Dunja and me being sick, Marko was determined to eat where the locals do. We asked some people about the places locals go and eat and they rattled off mcdonalds, pizza corner, coffee corner and pizza hut - Excellent! After not eating for a day, I did find solace in pizza hut, an experience that wasn't terrible at all.

End of day

Next I ventured out to Karol Bagh, one of the commercial centers in Delhi and supposedly home of the biggest shopping center in Asia. I couldn't resist a snack store (Punjab Sweet house) and had to get some chaat. It was good - very good. My first introduction to local indian snacks was great, but then again I was fresh, with fears of getting sick and adventurous. After checking out the local chaat scene, I walked around looking at some of the stores. There was a Bata store nearby - the local shoe company that I was used to from my younger days. They certainly have a come a long way, with pretty good styled shoes, and prices to match. The average shoe cost about 1600.

My biggest and proudest achievement of the day was being asked for directions to various places by over 10 people. I couldn't figure out if it was because I was trying to avoid looking like a tourist and just walking straight with out looking lost or if the people were just desperate for any help. Either way, I felt happy and content - I had achieved my goal - blending in. If I can go on buses without being harassed and looked at strangely, or tripping while getting on and off these moving buses, find my way through these bazaars, guide people to where they're going, I must be blending in.

First day in delhi

Walking around in Connaught place, the center of New Delhi, I wanted coffee. For some reason, Starbucks hasn't arrived in India yet. Instead , the market has been cornered by Café Coffee Day, Barista, and Mocha. Since this was my first full day in India, I didn't know the coffee market yet. I noticed a couple of "up-scale-looking" (translation: closed glass doors with a security guard outside) coffeehouses which provided for a nice time to sit down and read the travel guide while not being asked if I wanted to get my ear cleaned. Yes, my ear. Apparently, it's a road-side or park-bench service one can get. To his credit, the guy did say that he had washed his hands as well his instruments. And no charge if he inspects and my ears are already clean - a jiffy-lobe free 16 point inspection! Coming back to the coffeehouse (Barista), there was of course an armed guard outside which mostly means that rich people can sit inside without being bothered by the world outside. The clientele seemed upscale, even some foreigners (like me :-) Interesting observation: The waiters took the orders in English, even if you tried speaking to them in hindi, they would reply in English, however broken and incomprehensible it may have been. The customers mostly talked to each other in hindi except when they were placing orders in which case english was again the preferred language. The order would be taken in english, passed on to the other staff in hindi. The process went as follows. The employees and customers talked to each other in english but in hindi within themselves. They all knew hindi and talked amongst themselves in hindi but when it time to address the other "class", english was the language of choice.

Modernities of India

India certainly seems to be trying to modernize but it's people are far too confused by this modern world. They seem to impose new things without teaching people how to use it. Smart cards and smart tokens are one place. They understand the idea of tokens but the magic card seems to confuse them. They can't believe the idea of money in a card (ATMs?) and don't trust the system to keep their money. So they spend time standing in line to buy a "token" every time they travel.

Spending a few minutes near any escalator will keep you laughing for a while. Many of the people are horrified of using them. They stand at the bottom for minutes debating whether to get on - sometimes with themselves, sometimes with their fellow travelers. On my first day, I had to help 2 old women get on because they could barely walk and were opting for the 60 stairs instead. One of them doesn't even take the elevator because it might drop at any time. Couple of them seemed to be worried about the escalator switching from going up to down in the middle of their ride. I even saw one handicapped guy on crutches, taking the stairs instead, and had to convince him to get on the escalator. Their fears do seem justified. The same escalator at times goes up, at other times, goes down. Their fear that it might switch during the ride makes perfect sense.

Subway continued

The subway system is fairly good. Punctual, frequent, and clean. The problem is with the people who use it. Maybe it's the novelty of the idea of a subway or it's their mentality or maybe it's the government's inabilty to educate the peple about uses of new infrastructure that is put in. Everyone seems to want to be the first one to get out of the train as well as to enter it - both at the same time. When the train stops, everybody inside wants to get out right away and of course the ones outside want to get in. Right before the train comes to a stop, everyone lines up (in the Indian fashion of course) with their faces touching the doors (on either side)You know the rest…panic follows, people getting trampled, pushing, shoving - the national pastime of india. What was even more shocking was if the car they're getting into was completely empty, they still want to get the first prize for getting in. I guess everyone has ambitions and goals in life - even those using the subway.

Subways

The guidebooks warn and forbid the use of subways and buses. Of course, the right thing to do was to start by using them liberally. The first surprise was the presence of smartcards at the subway station, but not automated ticket machines. As you go in, you are greeted by metal detectors and security guards who search all of your bags as you go past the entrance. This is typically not a big deal except for the people who are going to the train station or airports and then all their, in typical indian fashion, (over)fully-packed, bulging, almost-bursting, kept together by by yards of rope and tape and chains, bags need to be opened and searched. A lot of pleading and pouting ensues but these guards are immune.

I am in India!`

I am in India. I love non-stop flights. Fog is universal. Chicago, London, and Delhi airports were all shut down for an extended time as I was in the air. Fog. As I arrived at Delhi airport, I was pleasantly surprised to see a driver holding a sign with my name on it. It certainly gave me false hopes about India which were to be mercilessly crushed later on during my trip again and again. The drive to the hotel was uneventful…the car running red lights, swerving in the middle of streets to avoid rickshaws and motorcyclists trying to give up their lives in order to achieve eternal bliss. Delhi is certainly a progressive city and they've painted lane markers on the streets - the stripes are even visible but the drivers seem to have a hard time understanding their purpose, other than to position the line right through the middle of their car. It is more efficient in some ways…2 lane road becomes a 3 lane one, a 3 lane one becomes a 5 lane one. Same goes for side-view mirrors. Of course, for practical reasons, the drivers fold in or remove (either by themselves or have a fellow driver do it with their car, stopping briefly to exchange some pleasantries during this service) these mirrors so as to not get hit by passing cars when they squeeze through narrow spaces. There's also the rule about drivers only being responsible for what they can see (in front of them). So if you need to pass, you make them aware of your existence on either side by honking and then zooming past. Maybe motivation for the biologically-inspired-computing folks for a new algorithm? Looking in the mirror is only for women and weak men. No proud man would ever use these aids when they can just their own eyes.