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rest of bangalore to come

Shopping: The Universal Language (Bangalore 3)

Sunday, our first semi-official day of the school portion of the trip, was devoted to the age old pastime of shopping. Emboldened by a lavish western-style breakfast at the hotel, 5 of us set out for FabIndia, the gap-like purveyor of modern, inexpensive Indian fashions. Given our desire to experience the “real” Bangalore before moving into our air-conditioned luxury bus for the meeting portion of the trip, we decided to autorickshaw it.

Autorickshaws, for those who haven't had the pleasure, are similar to the pedicabs that have taken over US cities, but are instead powered by a nasty smelling contraption, not an eager young entrepreneur. They have bright yellow awnings and space for three to squeeze in the back, with an open railing on one side. Middle seats are advised – let the others wedge you in.

These claptrap vehicles were not allowed up to our hotel's grand entrance, so we went wandering out to the dirt street, where we shared the road with the inevitable cows and kiosks. Once negotiations for transport were complete – we overpaid (I hate taxi haggling) we were off to the races. Or as off to the races as you can be when the driver stops every 10 feet to ask other drivers where he is going. At one point, we involved a friendly pedestrian to call the store and get directions. Not quite Google maps.

Once we got there, however, the hassle was totally worth it. FabIndia itself is two houses a few doors apart, overflowing with cotton and silk goods in every color. Ascending the stairs was like stepping into colorful clothing candyland. Piling our arms high with tunics, kurtas and selwar kameez in every color, we proceeded to try on every item in the store between the five of us. 2 hours later, finally sated, we got out of there at a decent price. I love some things about India.

After our orgy of consumerism, we decided to walk a few blocks to an Indo-Chinese local restaurant someone had found. Walking down the dirt street, I was struck by the similarity to Nairobi (a sentiment shared by the other Africa hand on the trip). It had the same feel of localness and bootstrapping that I remember from the walk between our Westlands office and the Kenyan cafeteria where we would often have lunch. The buildings had the air of slight disrepair that I associate with hot weather and the rainy season. And it came complete with the fun of haggling with autorickshaw drivers for the ride home – some things really are common in all emerging cities!

Vaguely remembering Hindu Epics (Bangalore 2)

I may have triumphed o'er jetlag on Friday night, but given my sleeplessness from 3-6 AM last night, I have yet to win the war. Key takeaway – I need more physical activity than a day in the car shuttling around Bangalore involves. Alas, given the degree of traffic in this city, that might be difficult.

Saturday started with another amazing homemade breakfast by A's mother, and a birthday party for his adorable two year old nephew. We then trundled off to our hotel, the Royal Orchid, The hotel must make all its money from holding wedding receptions, given the 3 a day, and the low tariffs and happy hour. S., my redoubtable college twin who is now living in Mumbai, met us there and took charge, ordering a cab and shepherding us off. We quickly thought better of a brief stop at an authentic Indian restaurant, and we instead went to the Taj for a nice, safe lunch (although Starbucks could learn something from their pricing – 250 rupees for tea).

After lunch, we decided to go to the ISHKON temple, the modern edifice built by the International Krishna Consciousness Society, or the Hare Krishnas. Having lived 4 doors down from their Boston outpost, I was interested to see the mothership (culturally insensitive much?). Arriving, we were all forced to pull a Britney Spears, surrendering our shoes and proceeding barefoot to the VIP gate that our small donation got us access to. We then proceeded to dash through the small shrines devoted to various avatars of Krishna on our way to the main event, a large cathedral-like building painted with frescos of the youthful blue Krishna and his gopis.

As we stared up at the ceiling, I recalled snatches of long-forgotten college classes (sorry Professors Haynes and Thapar). Mahabarta, Bhagavad Gita, butter thieves, charioteers – various parts of the legends came back to me moments before I started retelling them in a halting fashion. My recitation was interrupted by the monks doing pujas, who wouldn't let us sneak away from the altar rituals. We got scolded and recalled multiple times. Finally, jasmine blossoms in hand, we withdrew from the great chamber down a set of winding stairs that kept leading us from bookstore to gift shop to kitchen to gift shop until finally, barefoot and panting, we retrieved our cameras, hopped back in the cab, and started feverishly purelling our feet.

Word of the Day: Dosas (Bangalore 1)

Given our earlyish arrival, we decided to power through the first day in an attempt to conquer jetlag. After a much needed hot shower (despite the “coincidental” effect of the downstairs water heater on the power), we stepped onto the streets of India for the first time, as we walked to the corner store to buy bread. The streets themselves were on the moderate side of bustling – women in brightly colored saris and selwar kamezs walked their uniformed children to school, men in western garb headed to work, and cows wandered semi-unaccompanied. Huge upscale condo buildings and western-style schools lined both sides of the dirt road (which did have brick sidewalks). Although still “dirty” in the western sense, the bright light and swept sidewalks contrasted positively with other developing cities I've seen (sorry, Nairobbery).

After a wonderfully filling breakfast of toasted butter and cheese sandwiches (heavy on both) and mango juice (brings back memories!) we hopped into the car to drive into the heart of the “Garden City.” Our route took us past the towering parliamentary houses, immense in their white stone splendor, and through the semi-wild, semi-planted Cubbin Gardens. We were deposited at M.G. Road for some shopping and lunch. We have an Indian wedding to go to as part of the trip, and I wanted to wear something festive.

The shopping experience had a bit of a goldilocks vibe. I wanted a selwar kamez, or 3 piece suite of flowing tunic, tight jegging-like pants, and a scarf. The first store we went to was toooooo ornate – brocade outfits that would have vied with the bride for attention. The second set of stores we walked by were too simple. Finally, we wandered into a decent store where I found a pretty maroon and lime green (prettier than it sounds, mom) outfit. I totally plan on buying more, but for $35 I have a good option. We also bought some English language books and shopped for Sandalwood souvenirs.

For lunch we went to Ebony, an Indian and (allegedly) continental buffet on the 13^th floor of an office building. We ate outside on a balcony with full views of the city, soaking in the sunshine while pushing the spicy curries around with naan (I ate mostly papadams when I found a lamb kidney in my biryani). We finished with desert at the Corner Shop, an ice cream place on Brigade road famous for its “Death by Chocolate” dish of ice cream, brownies, chocolate sauce and whipped cream.

After our long flights and long day, we were ready for a nap. We emerged briefly for an amazing homemade meal of dosas, chutney and sambar, before falling asleep by 9. Sometimes, you just gotta give into the 'lag.

India in Transit: Consultant Fail

One of the harsher pieces of feedback that I was given this term was to “stop identifying so much as a consultant” (and with my former employer).  As I prepared for this trip to India, I felt those old habits dying hard.  Determined to pack only a carry-on, I dutifully bought detergent and a clotheslines, rolled my clothes carefully in my sturdy little rolly bag, and packed my liquids and half my medicine cabinet into my backpack.  Netbook charged, ipod loaded, and Bose headphone case packed with spare batteries.  I had made it to China for 3 months with only a carry-on – I'd do it again!

The polite Cathay Pacific gate agent burst my confident up-in-the-air bubble, informing me that my little bag was 2x the weight limit (Seriously, a 7 kg limit? My school bag weighs that much on a good day). So 45 minutes into my journey, my hopes of confidently rolling around the airport George Clooney-style were dashed. 

Airplane rides, if done well, are usually uneventful. You watch crappy movies and TV shows that you wouldn't normally (NB: Steven Moffat's modern-day Sherlock Holmes is actually somewhat awesome). You get fed every few hours with totally unnecessary trays of individually packaged food that all tastes vaguely the same.  After an interminable time (shorter if you can sleep), you emerge bleary-eyed into a bustling airport.  After a quick meal (I had REALLY wanted soup dumplings at the Hong Kong Airport, but those restaurants were past immigration – although I still have a Chinese visa...), it's back to your next plane, your next flight, your next meals,  your next nap, and apparently a quarantine spray of the cabin before landing.

My first impression of India was one of wide-eyed confusion – how was I going to meet A., who was picking us up? However, after a quick moment of “what have I gotten myself into?” I located the telephone booth, made my two rupee call, got the change to pay for it, and was able to find my benefactor.  A fellow travelers' delayed flight left us sitting in the cool night air and soft lights of the towering modern airport waiting, slowly waking up to the morning. By 7 AM Bangalore time, we were at our hosts', coffee'ed, chocolate'd, and ready to face the day.

Real World: India (Hi again, blog!)

The best pre-b-school advice I got was to be sure to bring my “flair” with me.  These bits of costume paraphernalia had been most plentiful in my wardrobe my senior year of college, before sorority bequests (I still miss the Madonna-ish beaded bustier that I gave to some lucky sophomore).  Still I cobbled together a respectable collection of pirate earrings, jean jackets and other assorted items to drag cross-country.  And while I missed the school's first costume party (I decided to dress up as an observant Jew, given that it was Erev Yom Kippur), I soon joined in the fun – and the spending.

As the term went on, however, I realized that costumes were not just those things we wore Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights.  Rather, as our class went through the motions of making 200+ new friends and meeting 400 new people, it felt like I was always in some sort of dress-up mode.  Another friend referred to this as “chameleon-syndrome,” as all of us, insecure overachievers desperate to be liked, slipped into the mode we thought would most please those around us.  The irony, of course, is we were all in costume for each other, and very little felt authentic. Not necessarily a bad thing, but a tiring one.

All of this is a long way of saying that 1/6 of the way through my b-school adventure, which I am finding thrilling and exciting and full of that ineffable thing known as personal development, I'm ready for things to get a little more real.  So off to India with 30+ classmates for 2 weeks of business meetings, 1.5 weeks of touristing, and hopefully a lot of fun. I'll be sure to pick up lots more flair while I'm here!

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thoughts and menus for the rest of the trip are on my computer and will be posted after jetlag takes a hike