Pardon My French, I Mean Hindi...

6/27/09
There are few things in life that incense me quite like shitty hotels. And, when I say shitty hotels I don't mean Motel 6's. Motel 6's are actually quite nice in comparison to shitty hotels. Motel 6's have standards of cleanliness, and I've learned that you can't ask for much more than that. Plus, Wikipedia informs me that they seem to have updated their look since the last time I stayed in one, making the idea that they even qualify for the title of "shitty" a null point. But, this isn't about mediocre hotel chains. This is about bad hotels in the hill stations near Bombay. Hotels that you try to forget you stayed in, but the freezing cold shower you took in a tiny, poorly lit, and damp bathroom has permanently imprinted itself upon your brain.

Pardon my pretentious nature, but I would rather that my hotels have some sort of climate control and maybe even be soundly constructed. Usually, I'm not averse to "roughing it out" given the hope of good company and good times to follow - I slept on a lumpy half mattress on the concrete floor of my grandmother's flat for nearly 2 months - but for some reason that changes when you're staying at a hotel and paying for it. Paying for things logically leads to certain expectations which, when not met, foster a bit of resentment. But, thats probably the bitterness talking...

Nevertheless, our trip to Mahabaleshwar and its surroundings was pretty nice and made for some great scenic shots, many of which highlight the lively monkey population that wants to eat what you're eating. Very genial, they are.

A 2nd Treatise on Public Transport in Bombay

6/18/09

It's not pleasant. It's not comfortable. I don't think I could make it smell good if I tried. Why, yes, even though you could never possibly guess, it's a local train in Bombay.

I recently reasoned that I should forget altogether that figure of speech involving sardines and aluminum containers and start saying "like Bombay trains in the afternoon" because its more sensible and I would have about 13 million people to relate to. Plus, who has ever willingly opened a can of sardines anyway?

That said, everyone should ride an Indian train once in their lives, unless you're claustrophobic, but even then I would suggest going during off hours. As concisely as I can, I would describe them as fantastically awful. Fantastic because they capture such an interesting slice of culture. Awful because you just might harm yourself during the course of your journey. Vendors come around to the seats and windows with everything from cheap jewelry and hair clips you can count on to tarnish and/or break to dubiously wonderful food guaranteed to make your stomach churn a little the next day. During the morning and afternoon, they are positively packed. I don't know if you've seen one of those sensational photos of tons of people practically falling out of a train, but I'll tell you this much: they're not sensational, they're average. That said, the going home at night when there's no one on the trains is perfect for good sights and getting some much needed wind in the face. Throw in some Indian cross dressers - only applicable if you're in the ladies compartment - and there you have it!

All of this discourse - an excerpt from my 2nd Treatise on Public Transport in Bombay - was sparked by my grand tour of the suburbs of Bombay. Of course, by "grand tour" I mean I visited family in 2 places and it somehow managed to be a day's journey. But, don't get me started on traffic and travel times... or else I'll have to start a 3rd Treatise, and no one wants that.

Faking Being Indian Comes Easy

6/2/09
I'm chuffed. I mean I've always thought of myself as a bit of a visionary - some of you can attest to my skills at Guess Who - but this time its undebatable. My dream about the insect bites came into fruition! When I turned to inspect an area that I had been scratching at, I found myself staring at 5 bites in an almost perfect row (I thought I should spare you a picture because there are better things to see).

And so, bugs aside, the great shop off has begun! I've been to every market in a 20 mile radius which means I've only been to about .01% of the bazaars in Bombay. You'll be happy to know that I am still taking requests for designer fakes. I should be heading out to get some nice fake watches in the near future and bags and sunglasses are everywhere for those interested ;).

Since shopping leads naturally into fashion, let me tell you that I feel like an incredibly unfashionable commoner here. How is this possible? It seems that every style-conscious person here wears western clothes! So, here I am, wearing traditional Indian garb, in a town full of skinny jeans and lame printed tees. I suppose it just goes to show that no matter where I go in the world, I always tend towards an old lady sensibility.

Rawring Across the World

5/28/09

You know it's bad when you dream about getting 5 mosquito bites in a perfect row. Although, I wouldn't be in the least surprised if it actually happened. It would only add to my outstanding total of appx. 40...

This week we (myself, some aunts and cousins, and their 10+ chillun) went to Deolali or what I would call the modest Mumbaikar's Hamptons, but don't start conjuring up any images of grandeur. The saving grace of the situation lies in that it was a little cooler than Bombay's scorching 35 degrees Celsius - or a whopping 96 degrees Fahrenheit.

I'm sitting on the train back to Bombay with all of the aunties/old people trying to sleep while their trainload of offspring are busying themselves by playing Antakshari behind me. Me? I'm just sitting in my window seat, taking in the breeze as we move along, keeping one eye open for photo-ops.

I want to say that I had a good time in Deolali, I really do, but it's just not true. The childhood retreats of my mother to the sanatoriums and her memories of fun and frolicking did not hold up to the test of time. Yes, we sat on camels and horse-drawn carriages, went to parks, etc. but those things do not make up for the decrepit state of once very well-kept, wealthy villas and manors. I always feel like maintenance and restoration have been undervalued in India. Blame it on my antiquarian tendencies if you want, but rust and decay doesn't always add "character" to things. But, enough about aesthetics. I'm actually waiting for the moment when I will no longer be followed, pulled or dragged along by a brood of little ones. Believe me, I love me some kids, but I also love me some space.

The highlights were as followed:
- Eating my aunt's amazing butter chicken
- Seeing puppies on the streets
- Almost getting caught smoking cigarettes we never smoked
- Having a laziness contest with my cousin, bride-to-be, Zahra
- Annoying her immensely by looking at the texts her hubby sends her - he's a sap, and I'm an ass.
- Making up for it all by teaching her how to say certain big words with an American accent.

You know how you get that feeling, that inkling, that someone has changed, been reformed, removed some of their less than perfect qualities, only to realize that they are indeed the exact same, mediocre pile of shit you left them as? Then, you feel a bit daft for thinking that these changes were possible in the first place. You'll have to forgive me because I just read "He's Just Not That Into You," but that is how I feel about Air India.

1st leg of the trip: Chicago to Frankfurt
Flight Duration: 7 hours and 35 minutes - of surprisingly okay service! It was a new plane, touch screen TVs on the seats, and I watches Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 - I know, first He's Just Not That Into You, now Sisterhood 2, who the hell am I? But, I digress. I was so not unpleased that I even ate some of the meal! Hell, I even forgave that we had seats in the middle section of the plane! THE MIDDLE! Previously, this would have been unforgivable. So, I suppose you could say I was on my way to admitting that maybe, just maybe, Air India wasn't so bad.
That was until...

2nd leg of the trip: Frankfurt to Bombay
Flight Duration: 9 hours - of misery. Call me a drama queen, but it all started when the plane took off an hour late. Then, my mother and I were separated. Then, I discovered how small and inflexible our plane straight from the 70s was. The thing still had those awful projectors for the movies. And, in a normal case, all of that might have been forgiven for the fact that I had a seat with no one in front of me; however, I still managed to feel uncomfortable and could not for the life of me get some sleep.

You're probably thinking, "Wow... DQ much?" And, you're not talking about creamy confections, but some of you will understand just how off putting a bad plane ride can be.

And so, I was fooled by Air India's attempts to be better. At the end of the day, they are just like the jerkface you think has changed, but never will. Except, in this case, upgrading to Mr. Right (KLM, Lufthansa, ANYONE ELSE) is a little harder on the checkbook.

That said, we arrived safely, securely, and in a timely fashion to my grandmother's house, and I'm sitting on the balcony - or at least I was when I was writing this - taking in the sights of everyone's laundry hanging, the sounds of obnoxious cab drivers honking, the smell of... well... India, and the feel of the humidity on my skin.

Life isn't too bad... once you get over yourself.

Countdowns and Carry-On Restrictions

There are three days until twenty hours until I land in Bombay's principal airport. I would give it a proper name if it didn't have one that even I have to look at a couple times before I can pronounce. With a long to-do list, miscellaneous toiletries, and luggage surrounding me, I sit down to think. Pushing out of my mind the obvious space issues in my carry-on bag, I wonder: what will the next two months bring me?
Countless trips to my favourite falooda place known as Badshah Cold Drinks, good times spent on the terrace of my grandmother's building, and following my beautiful cousin and to-be bride around as she bickers with her mother over the right way to do her hair or keep her dupatta. Surely, it will be eventful.
But, there will also be days when the heat and humidity are up, my hair is pulling an HMS Bounty, and the fan can't spin any faster. Those days when you simply have to suck it up and become completely engrossed in Bollywood film songs.
Yes, I have a vivid image of what it will be like, but Bombay is not a place to be pegged into a hole, and every time I go back I see more, hear more, learn more, understand more, and feel more than I did the last. Forgive me my fluff and sentiments. The point remains that Bombay will be a sizable adventure paired with a true to life monsoon wedding, and I look forward to almost every minute of it.