Short Note from Kolkata

I have lost my sense of humor for airplane travels in developing nations. That is what I told myself as I got off the plane today in Kolkata, even knowing that I was going to the fancy pretty new airport there. 

No longer am I amused by having to get on a bus to ride 10 meters/50 feet (not a conversion, merely two examples in two different systems of measurement). I tried once in Yemen to walk around the bus to the plane, and I got yelled at. Now it is one of my greatest joys to be ushered off a plane via ramp directly into an airport, instead of be crammed like a sardine into a bus full of sharp elbows and excess hand baggage.  Today has been full of sardine busses and elbows—sharp ones and pudgy ones.  I was also not amused on the recent flight from Thailand to Delhi to be sitting in front of a man who was convinced that the inflight screens in the back of our seats were touch screens (they were not). He tap-tap-tapped away at the back of my head like a deranged woodpecker for 10 minutes before giving up or having someone inform him of the remote control in his armrest. No longer am I amused by the jerk who puts his seat back as soon as the flight attendant who told him to put it up for takeoff has passed by. Nor do I find it as funny as I once did that as soon as the wheels touch down on the tarmac, half the plane is up, retrieving their baggage from the overhead compartments, ignoring the screams of the distraught flight attendants. I once found it funny that Yemeni men answered their phones from the sky, but now I glare at the Indian man who ignores a call from someone, but leaves his phone on for the rest of the flight. I’m not even amused by the girl with the Miley Cyrus haircut—I’m just annoyed that I know that she has a Miley Cyrus haircut. I’m also annoyed that I had to go through security AGAIN in one of the world’s most annoying systems, getting new tags for my HAND LUGGAGE and waiting in endless lines because there are so many people in every country that I ever live in. WHEN AM I EVER GOING TO GET TO MOVE TO MAURITANIA (or some other mostly desert country with minimal population)?! I am slightly gratified, though, that I managed to keep my tweezers in Guwahati, even though their overly zealous x-ray checkers found them in the x-ray. No where else in India have they ever had a problem with tweezers. This lady scanned my bag twice to find the tweezers, but then couldn’t find them digging through my bag in real life, and I played dumb just to see how far she would take it. She ended up saying, “Well, it’s just tweezers…not scissors, right? Go on.” I took the win. Then I went back to hating the sweet old lady in the sari who was wandering around dazedly in the security check line.

It was going to be a great loss to the world, or at least to myself and whoever reads this blog, that my sense of humor was gone. But then this happened:

 

My sense of humor returned in the form of a cow trying come in the back door of the fancy new Kolkata Airport. I even laughed in the face of a man who was genuinely trying to be helpful by telling me that door was not the way to the domestic terminal. And I still have my tweezers. All is right with the world--until I have to fight my way through the baggage claim in Ranchi...

Thoughts on Indian Air Travel

As I sit here in the church guest house in Ranchi, being chewed on by mosquitos, it occurred to me that I haven’t updated the blog in a while. No, this is not surprising, and as usual, I have a million excuses, some of which are actually good. For example: I’m about to move again for the third time in a year, I am doing 2 jobs in addition to the one I signed up for when I came to India, I had to go on a visa-extending trip to Sri Lanka, my internet is not excellent. Some bad excuses may include the following: I don’t feel like being productive when I don’t have to be, my job is really stressful right now and occasionally depressing and no one wants to hear about that, I have too many interesting things popping into my mind and I can’t choose which one to write about, Marian’s blog/s are really good and entertaining and uplifting, so that niche is filled. Also she has cute photos of her kids and, basically, that’s all she needs for a successful blog. Joanna: you should take that into account too. Just pop some more photos of your babies up and voila—you have a blog.

But recently I have had some recurring insights into life in India quirks.  I thought I would share because they amuse me as a foreigner, but no one else here shares that amusement, since I don’t really hang out with foreigners here. Since I have spent the vast majority of my life these past few months traveling, most of my insights are travel-related.  I’m beginning to think that my nephew’s assumption that I live in the airport is not far wrong…

Today as I strode confidently into the airport in Kolkata, I swerved around wide-eyed tourists and chubby old ladies in saris and staked my claim on my space in line to make sure that none of those aforementioned ladies could butt in front of me. It is always the chubby sari-clad ladies who act all innocent like they just want to get close to the sign to see where they are supposed to go and then they will go back to the end of the line. Do not be fooled! Once they’ve wedged themselves in front of you, they won’t go back and then they will take an extra-long time doing whatever you were waiting in line to do because this is the first time in an airport and they have no idea what they are doing. And then when I realize this, it somehow endears them to me again and I forget how annoyed I was before as I kindly show them how to put their bags on the conveyor belt to be scanned…I am an angel…so full of patience…

And speaking of these scanners, Kolkata airport security is very concerned about electric items that might be in your carry-on. Everything that can be connected to an electrical outlet must be removed from the bag. Today, after removing my laptop as I always do, I was stopped and instructed to remove every other electronic item from my bag so that they could re-scan the bag. As a true member of the 21^st century, I had to remove my phone, my kindle, my Zune (OK, I’m not that far in the 21^st century because I got a Zune instead of an ipod, but I mostly did that because I am the middle-child and I have spent my life searching for uniqueness), and an external hard drive. I was then questioned again to make sure that I had NOTHING else with an electric current in it. I showed them the cord to my laptop and they said, “It is electric.” I said, “Not unless it’s plugged into an outlet.” But they ignored me. They proceeded to scan the bag again without the dangerous items. But they didn’t rescan the items themselves. It reminded me of a childhood moment in the Jakarta airport when an over-zealous security guard insisted on looking in my checked suitcase again. He was very concerned about my hairdryer. He looked it over, questioned its use (I also question it—I only use them in the winter to make sure that my hair doesn’t turn into icicles and break off or if I want to make myself feel like I am putting effort into my appearance), and then informed me that I was not allowed to use it on the flight.  Often I have issues with authority and/or people telling me what to do, but in this case I was perfectly willing to acquiesce to his command—since it was in my checked luggage anyway and I have yet to find a way to wash my hair on board an airplane.

Though India and Indonesia may be overly concerned about electronics in bags, India, at least, is very unconcerned about liquids. I could walk through the metal detector with a Big Gulp soda in one hand, and no big deal (that is a thing, right? I was raised in Asia but I feel like I have heard about Big Gulp drinks and I feel like they should be a some kind of testimony to American obesity which we hear about all the time, though let me tell you, I have seen plenty of Indians who have eaten enough chapatis to fill out their saris and sarwals in creative ways)…It is also nice not to have to worry about travel-sized shampoo and toothpaste or nitroglycerin or whatever.

But don’t let India’s lack of concern for the prevention of liquid explosives on airplanes make you think that they aren’t focused on safety and security and being aware of all that is going on around them. Airports are one of the few places where I watch Indian news on tv (since I don’t have a working one in my current house) and I’ve noticed that Indian news is ALWAYS breaking news. I mean, I have yet to see a program that doesn’t have “BREAKING NEWS” scrolling across the top or bottom of the screen (top or bottom of the screen is left to the creativity of the news team, but breaking news is not an option-everything is breaking news). Maybe I’m just not watching tv enough, but I did mention that I spend a lot of time in airports. What is the likelihood that every time I look at the screen it is breaking news and every time I’m not looking at it, it is not? I’m not so great with probabilities, but I’m thinking it’s kind of low.   It does kind of freak me out. I’ve been conditioned to believe that “BREAKING NEWS” signifies some dire event—a huge storm coming my way, an act of terrorism that could/will lead to war in some country that I have probably lived in, an escaped convict on the loose in my neighborhood, the latest contestant to be kicked off American Idol—you know, the BIG things. So I glance up to see “BREAKING NEWS” and I’m thinking, “Crap, I hope my flight doesn’t get canceled.” And then I notice that it’s just some political rally in some random state about some random politician that said something about a food shortage or Hinduism or whatever. No one besides said random politician and enthusiastic nearby onlookers with nothing else to do will be immediately affected. But, I’ve got to hand it to the Indian news media: they make you want to watch the rally for about 10 seconds (9 seconds more than I would have watched if it hadn’t been “BREAKING NEWS”).

My final thought on Indian air travel (I know you’re so excited that I’ve almost finished this lengthy treatise on my life in Indian airports) is regarding an issue that used to bug the crap out of me before I learned to prepare myself for it. It is the showing of the boarding pass to a random otherwise-unemployed person as I get OFF the plane. Yes, I said get OFF. “Why?” you ask. I don’t know. I have been asking myself this same question. Here are several theories:

1.     They want to make sure that I am getting off at the right stop. But if not, will they put me back on the plane until I get to my intended destination?

2.     They want to make sure I wasn’t stowing away in the bathroom the whole time or clinging to the wing, hitching an illegal ride.

3.     They want to make sure that I didn’t switch tickets with someone on the plane during the flight which could result in…some kind of shenanigans?

4.     They want to employ that otherwise unemployed person who is checking my ticket.

Seriously, if anyone on Earth has any idea why they do this, let me know. If they have a good reason, it would greatly help my peace of mind when I get off the plane and have to dig around in my bag, trying to remember where the hell I stuffed that ticket in the mad rush to find my seat and sit in it before I get smacked in the face by someone rushing to get his bag into the overhead compartment. Now that I am prepared for this ridiculous and (in my view) completely unnecessary inspection, I keep the ticket tucked in my kindle or passport for easy access and I swing by the uninformed foreigners digging through their bags with a smug knowing smile.  I wish I could keep it in my pocket, but as I mentioned previously, Indian clothes for women do not have pockets, and the ticket is too big to fit in my bra. Or my bra is too small for the ticket…either way, not an option.

So here I am in Ranchi for a day. I’m back to Kolkata tomorrow, on to Patna on Wednesday, back to Ranchi next week, then back to Patna, then on to Bagdogra, then back to Patna, then to Meghalaya, the back to Patna, and then a ridiculously long flight to the US of A, whereupon landing I do not have to re-show my ticket.

Yes, that is a lot of traveling, but the good news is that JetAirways has a new November magazine out which I can now memorize, since I already finished memorizing the October one…There is never a dull moment in my life…

Namaste India

I haven’t updated the blog in a while, and it’s not because my life is boring in the US, but because when I’m there, I can usually share my funny life stories immediately with the people around me. That urge being satisfied, keeps me from needing a release of pent-up amusement here.  Blame the sisters, that’s what I do.

So India…unlike China or the Middle East, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t find India fascinating. Initially I thought China was boring because the pictures in history books for the “China Unit” were always of boring things like pottery or water color paintings. When I got there and saw the swords and amazing architecture, I was won over. Also, their language is pretty cool. The Middle East seemed too oppressive to me as a child, and, frankly, it is, but they also have a cool language, fascinating architecture, and an impressive selection of weaponry…so you really can’t lose (unless you get your head cut off by a terrorist on youtube, but some of us try to defy stereotypes). But back to India…

Favorite tree!

India was the land of the Indus Valley civilization, a multitude of languages with a wide variety of beautiful scripts, the Ramayana, curry, Riki Tiki Tavi and the Jungle Book, mouthwatering bread, beautiful colorful clothing. But the thought of visiting India as a tourist was really overwhelming. As a tourist, you have to see everything…or at least the “main things.” And I didn’t see how it would be possible to see everything AND learn the language.  Contrary to what you may believe, I don’t care if I learn every language in the world. OK, to be honest, I’d want to learn the language of whatever country I happen to be living in, but there are only a few countries that I would want to visit because I really want to learn the (or, in the case of India, one of the) language spoken there.  I remember sitting in a restaurant in Indonesia when Uncle Don told me that if I learned Hindi, Chinese, and Arabic along with Bahasa, which I already spoke, that I could speak to the majority of people in Asia. And at the time, Asia was really the only place that existed for me. Since then, I’ve broadened my horizons a bit and ventured to Africa, Europe and elsewhere, but Asia was the first place I chose to be my home. And it always holds a special feeling for me.

Driving around this last week, I’ve felt very much at home—the red mimosa trees and the black and white stripes painted unnecessarily on the sidewalks, Walls Ice Cream advertisements in the shops, blue strapped flipflops, crazy traffic driving on the left side of the road, pollution, smoke, incessant car horns, hot green chili peppers…I kind of love it all.  I know that eventually the car horns will become unbearable because, while I can handle noxious fumes and near death taxi rides, ever since I sat next to a speaker at that Palestinian orphans’ camp which gave me a constant ringing in my ear for the next month and a half, my ears have been especially sensitive to loud piercing noises. But really, something about life here feels comfortable in its familiarity.

With Shomili

This week has been very full. I spent a day and a half in the office, convinced the Boss somehow to let me go on a field visit by myself for two days, came back for one day in the office, spent Saturday exploring with Diane, Sunday to church and then to meetings which lasted until a couple of hours ago. Our meetings were mostly very long with lots of important information but too much sitting, too much AC, and not enough black tea. I think my favorite moment was this morning when we were ordering breakfast. The meetings were held in a really fancy meeting room which one of our board members hooked us up with. Impressed with the gourmet food we’d been eating, Diane thought she’d ask if  they had French toast. “No,” said the waiter, “We have Indian toast.” She ended up going with my choice: a masala omelet with extra green chilis. It was mumtaztik.

Elderly ladies offering wisdom at community meeting

I am loving the green chilis here. I learned how to say ‘green chili’ in Bengali, Hindi, and Nepali. I wasn’t planning to learn Nepali when I came here, but I think it’s going to be inevitable since that is the lingua franca of our office. Fortunately, it is very similar to Hindi, so if I learn Hindi first, then maybe I can understand what the boys are saying about us. Bengali is definitely going to be useful, not only in Calcutta, but also in the field. When I was on our field visit, the English level of our partners is at a level where occasionally I got the answers to the questions I asked, but sometimes we had conversations like this:

Me: So how long were the visitors with you?

Arindam: We will arrive in 2 hour.

Using a Neverthirst pump

Or me: How much time in a day did the woman spend fetching water before Neverthirst installed the hand pump?

Dmaity: She is very happy because now the water is near her home. She say it taste like fridge water.

I can even have mutually unintelligible conversations at home in the office:

Me: So the Kolkata Knight Riders won the cricket match? What was the score?

Ashish: 190 balls out of 100 balls over 3 wickets…(Or something like that. In this case, I don’t think the language was the communication issue. I don’t know that I’ll go back to the states fluent in cricket lingo. If Lagaan couldn’t do it with singing and dancing, I don’t know that Ashish will be able to teach me no matter how passionate about it he is.)

So I’m happy to be here, looking forward to learning more and having more adventures, and excited to learn as many languages as possible. 

Woman washing clothes and dishes in dirty water

I feel like I have so many more stories, but I don’t have time to write the book yet.