Beautiful Things In Bangalore

A Ramanchandran

Just a quick post of beautiful things. Visited the Bangalore National Modern Art Gallery yesterday. The price for locals to visit is Rs. 20 and for tourists, Rs. 500. I have no problems with paying more than the locals, I think it's good that it's accessible for locals to visit. The building itself is beautiful, light, airy, and cool. The first section is the more traditional Indian art, and the second half the modern.

 Disclaimer: I know nothing about art.

A Ramachandran

A Ramachandran - Earthen Pot

The current exhibition is A Ramachandran. He has a strong feeling in his works about the inequality that is evident here in India. Lots of colour, and the size of some of his paintings are massive (which I like). Anyway, I really loved his work.

One in particular is the line drawing above, so beautiful!

Then I found one of Jagdish Swaminathan's artworks. I came home and researched him a bit more. I love the colours and the sense of freedom (see disclaimer) in his art. Beautiful. I'd be happy to have any of these artworks hanging on my walls in my house.

And now your Indian art lesson (such as it is) is over for the day.

Jagdish Swaminathan

Jagdish Swaminathan

 

Jagdish Swaminathan

Indians Are Their Own Stunt-Doubles

Last weekend I ventured to the local market to find the freshest produce. A long, long, long row of produce stalls, selling a fairly standardised set of produce. Garlic, ginger, onions, chilli, potatoes, cauliflower, fruit and vegetables, and spices.

I'm a believer that you can't have too much garlic or chilli, and this market delivered. Cheap and plentiful and fresh. Mounds of fresh mint, coriander, tulasi, betel leaves, and others that I couldn't identify. The smells ranged from wafts of rotting produce and other unsavoury unmentionables, to heavenly spices, then drifts of incense, or flowers. The local cows (and a giant bull) were well fed and cruised around doing cow-type things. Tim and I were the only westerners there and we were watched with much interest. Everyone is very friendly and know who the Black Caps are (embarrassing) and lots of people want to say hello.

When we purchased a cauliflower, the owner suggested I take a photo of their son. He was all smiles until I took the photo, which required a serious face, then all smiles afterwards.

This market isn't far from the apartment, just a quick death-defying auto ride away, so I will be back. I hope one day they will treat me like a local and I won't feel quite so.... watched.

I've been reading a bit about India and after the little experience I've had here so far, a line from a blog really resonated with me: Indians are their own stunt doubles. How true this is. Their traffic is chaotic, every time you travel on the roads, you take your life into your own hands. The living conditions are varied, depending on your status and wealth, but all levels of living require a certain amount of living dangerously.

It really is a nation of entrepreneurs- you need to be able to think on your feet and sell yourself, to put yourself in a better position than the other people around you. At work, I would have more than ten people a week coming in off the street to sell me their product. Whether it is internet, food, recruitment, or e-waste disposal, they turn up and greet me enthusiastically, ardently wanting my business.

Every time I buy something here, I have to give the store my cellphone number. After being here three weeks, I get about five unsolicited SMS a day, selling me everything from shoes, to internet deals, to food, to Diwali gifts. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and you really do want to be on the top. Because here, being at the bottom is unfathomable.

Beggars on the street, variously using their children to sell pens or balloons. Or women simply sitting there with children passed out on them (allegedly drugged to ensure their compliance). Old, wizened women, palms open, looking for a few rupees. Various disfigurements or deformities that would ensure they wouldn't be able to live productive lives. How do you decide who to give money to? How do I pick between the child selling me pens at the stop lights, or the man who has a half a leg?

Self-Indulgent Blog Wallowing in Patheticness

I’ve said to myself that I want this blog to be about my travels and adventures around India and less about being pathetic and hurting over my ex-boyfriend (for purposes of making this easier to read, let’s call him Enrique).

But the pathetic and hurting is following me around, even in the midst of travel and a new job. It feels like I’m dragging the carcass of my failed relationship around behind me. Every time I stop, it’s there. I try to move on, but it’s heavy, slowing me down. I mentally walk in circles, dragging this thing behind me, creating a well-worn groove in my thoughts.

The predictable thoughts. I want to hate Enrique, I really truly do. There are the flashes of anger, fireworks of resentment and hate. I blame him, his commitment-phobic behaviour (on a classic internet ‘42-signs-he’s-commitment-phobe-test’, he ticks 32 of the boxes). I hate that I love him so fiercely. Then I hate myself for being so weak and pathetic and mentally demand myself to sort it out. Then I forgive him for being an ass, because I truly cannot hate him. Then I forgive myself for being such a mess and try to coax my brain into forgetting him. Then I bargain with myself, if only he sorted out his issues, if only he realised how much he missed me... *dramatic swoon*

I’ve never experienced a true commitment-phobe before. I think the hardest thing for me to accept is that in my heart, I know that this could have worked if he’d let himself fall in love, if he actually acknowledged his issues. My grief is heavy and thick.

I accept I have been a terror in relationships. I love the person, I love the thrill of the chase, I love getting to know someone better. I love being loved. But in the past I haven’t understood what being In Love meant, largely because I had never been In Love. I thought I had been, maybe, like, you know, he was OK, stuff was good and I enjoyed spending time with him. Love songs never really made any sense because I’d never felt that way and I chalked it up to the artist exaggerating things to sell records to a bunch of Disney-Hollywood-warped idealists.

Then when I eventually realised I didn’t like the poor chap enough that I could envisage the rest of my life with him or when I found absolute deal-breakers, I would feel really bad for hurting them because they were lovely, and put off ending the relationship. Then being ‘stuck’ in the relationship and exhibiting various terrible behaviours (like cheating on my husband, or turning into a horrible person and being really mean, or simply withdrawing) until I finally got brave enough and ended it.

But then there was Enrique. I fell In Love before I understood what was happening, before I could put up sufficient walls, before I could install a trampoline under my heart. I was In Love and I finally 'got it'. I often ask people; what made them know they were in love? Two answers really resonated with me. A.M. said her husband was the first man she’d ever wanted children with. Ruth said that when bad things happened, or when good things happened, her man was always the person she wanted to tell first. Both A.M. and Ruth have relationships with their spouses that I really admire and I loved how their answers were so simple, and so honest and crystalline. For me? Those things, but also that I was well aware of his imperfections but he was worth it and I loved him despite them. Because of them.

There’s a blogger called Mark Manson who I follow. He has an article called ‘Fuck yes’. The principle is that:

‘The Law of “Fuck Yes or No” states that when you want to get involved with someone new, in whatever capacity, they must inspire you to say “Fuck Yes” in order for you to proceed with them.

The Law of “Fuck Yes or No” also states that when you want to get involved with someone new, in whatever capacity, THEY must respond with a “Fuck Yes” in order for you to proceed with them.’

Enrique was my Fuck Yes. But I was a lukewarm ‘maybe’ for him.

They say you can’t run away from a broken heart. They might be right.

Week Two: IWA & Cultural Idiosyncrasies

I ostensensibly moved to Bangalore for a job. I needed that next career step in an operational role, and I love a challenge. I wanted to develop my skills and really push myself. So far, I certainly have achieved that goal. Every day presents new challenges to overcome and while the challenges are exciting, they can also be fairly tiring. 

The idiosyncrasies of India have been well documented. For example, in the gym I use in my apartment complex, it has all been finished to a relatively high standard. However at some point, tradesmen have needed to access wiring in the ceiling, so they’ve cut numerous holes in the ceiling and I suspect those holes will be there forever. In my apartment, towel rails have been installed as per the picture… and this is how it’s remained.

There is a ‘close enough to complete’ mentality which is prevalent, and combined with the Indian’s love of seemingly pointless officious rules, we have coined the phrase ‘India Wins Again’, or, IWA. Sometimes, battling the status quo is just too hard and it’s well worth admitting defeat and moving on to the next project.

The cultural differences between Kiwis and Indians at work are ensuring that I’m definitely developing some new skills as a manager. In New Zealand, a large proportion of staff have a ‘number 8 wire’ mentality- if it doesn’t work, we’ll fix it. We will think around the problem and come up with an innovative idea. We also don’t like authority very much and rage against the machine at any chance we have. So, in New Zealand, I’ve been blessed with staff who don’t want to be managed, don’t want to be told what to do, and fix problems before they are problems. They are not without challenges, but this is the culture I’ve grown up with and I understand it.

Over here there is a definite deferment to authority. They appreciate having time with their boss, being asked what they are doing, and there is the belief that the boss is the person who is paid to think and come up with solutions, they are just the person who carries out the work as instructed. Indians also take pride in being able to complete work, and they don’t want to say no and to lose face. This creates the perfect storm of staff being asked to do things they aren’t trained or comfortable doing, they say they can do it, and then spend a long time fruitlessly trying to do so. 

I maintain that a weakness and a strength are just opposite sides of the same coin. So while their deferment and inability to say no can be incredibly frustrating, they are also really keen to learn new things and will give anything a go. Generous, kind, and open to ideas.

It’s difficult for me because I’m used to being challenged if I suggest something that wont work. I expect people to be comfortable with telling me if a system or idea is terrible, because I have very general skills and they are the experts at what they do- they will know better than me. I’m having to change my approach completely because they will do precisely as they are told, even if what I’ve proposed is awful. 

So I’ve spent some time coming up with strategies how to best accept these limitations (both of myself and staff) and how to get the results I want- a job completed to a high standard, finished on time, and within budget. Our staff also seem more comfortable with us now and are more willing to talk to us. We have a fantastic, skilled team who are starting to collaborate and create some fantastic synergies… let’s see how this week goes!

A day in the life...

Hosur Road, along which I walk to and from work.

Almost a week completed here, and to be honest, it's all been a lot easier than I thought it would be. It's been easy I suspect due to having the apartment all set up and someone here that's done all the hard work of finding a supermarket, and learning the unique quirks that make this India.


For instance, my local supermarket, what I call the Kwik-E-Mart (it's actually called the Star Mart), has a security guard as you go in, and he cable-ties my bag shut. He ties it to another zip so I actually can still easily open in... but, he's done his job. Then, at the exit of the store, there's another security guard who looks at my receipt and checks through my groceries and makes sure they match.

We have regular power cuts. The UPS stops our computer system going down, but the AC and lights just abruptly turn off. There's a generator that kicks in and the power comes back on quickly, and I've been told if you're in the elevator that it takes you down to the bottom floor and opens but I'm not willing to test that theory!

In a way, it's not as "India" as I was expecting. I get up in the morning, shower, breakfast, walk to work. Work. Walk home, might do grocery shop on the way home, then I do my assignment for my post-grad stuff in the evening. Not very exciting.

Chicken Biryani lunch.

Food: I make drip coffee and fruit salad for breakfast. Pineapple, bananas, pomegranate, melons... cheap to buy and tastes so good. A watermelon cost me about Rs. 56, about NZD$1.20.

Dosa lunch, stuffed with vegetables

I go out for lunch every day, it costs less than $5 and I haven't finished a meal yet. I generally buy vegetables at the supermarket and then cook them at home for dinner.

I think the biggest challenges so far is trying to get stuff done at work. I've been tasked with setting up various things at the office and it's very challenging when I don't have ANY local knowledge around local shops, or how India works. For instance, sourcing embroidered polo shirts for staff. Sizing, fabric quality, how they do the embroidery. All things at home I'd have a rough idea of where to go and how much it should cost. here... nope.

"Office lunch" with two kinds of curry and roti.

I have had some wins. I've found an ATM that lets me withdraw money. I have managed to top up my Indian SIM card with data, so I have internet. I have found the gym in my apartment complex, so I will start going to the gym in the morning. I have managed to remember all my staff's names (a minor miracle even in NZ). I got a pedicure.

I'm going shopping this weekend with two of the women I work with. I've got a couple of salwar kurta that I bought last week but I need enough to last a full week. Because I don't know what's popular over here, I could inadvertently buy something I like which proves to be very uncool, hence the shopping assistance required!

I wake to the call to prayer, an eerie discordant sound that seems so fitting in this beautiful, chaotic city. At night, I fall asleep in the heavy warmth, under the fan slowly drifting above me, listening to the distant tooting on Hosur Road, the barking of stray dogs and yewling of fighting cats. And life is beautiful.

Day One: NZ to India - Planes, The First Sacred Cow, & The Search For Coffee Begins

The journey to India took about 24 hours all up. Long plane flight but I made friends with the guy next to me- a New Zealand Citizen from Chile on his way to move to Ukraine propose to his Ukrainian girlfriend. It's fantastic how many hours you can fill chatting to a complete stranger, who you will never see again.

I arrived in India exhausted. I had an hour of sleep on the Singapore-India leg of the journey and that was about it... and by time I arrived, at 10pm, I had been awake for coming up to 24 hours. Tim, my colleague and friend, was waiting for me at the airport and I was pleased to see him, albeit slightly incomprehensible and likely very poor company.

I woke up early with the call to prayer at 5am. I struggled to get back to sleep, and then the doorbell went off at 7.30am when Tim's ironing was dropped off... so I got up. Nothing much opens here before 9am, so we found a Chai Point and had breakfast - a spicy samosa and an iced chai. A quick Uber to Commercial Street, which is, as it sounds, a street full of shops.

I had a small list of things I wanted- new sheets, and some clothes to make me feel like a local. Along the way I found a few cows, a bunch of goats, a lot of stray dogs, and one bedraggled-looking cat. The shopping trip was a success, of sorts, with a few new outfits acquired. I feel like an Indian Princess (even though I may look like a slightly retarded white girl, don't be fooled).

The other excitement here is that in a dead pot plant on the balcony, we have a pigeon called Priscilla who is currently hatching a couple of eggs. My cunning plan is to train the pigeons to run errands for me, so if a Hindi-speaking pigeon unexpectedly turns up at your house, that's me sending you a message. Please don't be alarmed.

We also had a trip into the office today, for me to scope it out before I start work tomorrow. I was delighted to be welcomed by this very cute poster- I can't wait to meet the team tomorrow and try to start figuring out what my job is!

Now we are home at the flat, drinking a cold beer, and enjoying the warm evening. I started the day really questioning my judgement, but after a day eating some delightful Indian food, watching the locals, and exploring my new city and feeling thoroughly at home.... I think I'm going to be OK. This place is incredible and I can't wait to start exploring.

Every Journey Must Start With A Single Step

And just like that, suddenly, I’m sitting at the airport, awaiting takeoff.

It’s amazing the significance that things take on when it’s the ‘last time’. The last day at work. The last family gathering. The last coffee. The last time you see your grandfather (and cheerfully, he promises to ‘try and stick around to see me again’, which at 88 years old, is awfully comforting). There were tears then. The last run up in the hills. 

There were tears shed at the top of the hills, where I stood and bid farewell to my beautiful city. I have had a complex relationship with Christchurch following the earthquakes that killed so many, and changed our landscape both physically and emotionally. The strength and steadfastness of the people and how we rallied around our family, friends, and strangers will be the reason that Christchurch will forever be a home.  It’s tremendously exciting to see the new city take shape and I'm a little sad I won’t be there to continue to see this.

Remarkably, perhaps because the lead-up to leaving has been so busy, I’m not feeling much sadness. A quiver of uncertainty and the last week I've had some of the most horrendous, stomach-churning nervousness I’ve ever experienced. I’m not feeling excited- until I’m on the plane, I don’t feel like I can truly believe it is happening. I’ve had my hopes and plans fall to pieces too many times to believe anything is a certainty in life.

Boarding call! There’s that flicker of excitement I was waiting for. A brief bump of my heart. I’m off on the start of my Grand Adventure!