Bottled Water, Beggars and the Head Wiggle

Bottled water here is referred to as Bisleri, which was the first brand of bottled water in the area, or at least the first highly successful one. Today, I ordered a Bisleri and got a bottle of Oxyrich, so called because it has “300% more oxygen,” which is good, ‘cuz where else would I get my daily supply of oxygen if not in my drinking water? And, though I can’t quite seem to taste it, I know it’s there, ‘cuz it says so right on the label. Now, 300% more than what is not made entirely clear. Apparently, 300% more than anything that has only ¼ as much oxygen…and that’s so obvious, I don’t know why I ever desired specification.

The beggars are nothing if not persistent. Everyone has told me not to give them anything, that they live outside of any system of oversight, that the children are just being used by adults to earn the adults money, that if it weren’t profitable they’d do something else, that if it isn’t profitable, maybe there’s the small chance that eventually some of them will do find something better. Of course, no one’s saying that sleeping on the street is a nice existence. But your money is probably better used going to some organization to help them than to them directly. But today, walking alone, as an obvious outsider (read "assumed to be a rich tourist"), a woman approached me, walked with me, even put the bottom of a stick with an small Indian flag on it in my hand. It reminded me of the gypsies in Malaga, Spain (although, admittedly, they weren’t as pathetic). Once, when I’d been there a while, and a gypsy lady shoved a sprig of evergreen in my face, I grabbed it, gave her 5 peseta cents (which I think was a little less than an American penny at the time), and kept on walking. A few paces on, she was at my side, indicating that she was not going to accept this trade, and that we would be unexchanging. Susheel, who’s currently sleeping on the floor so that I may take his bed, said something to that effect about the beggars who shove rotating, colorful lit-up spinning-on-a-string toys in your face here – that if you give them less than 5 rupees, they give you a look of disdain. Well, I crossed the street to avoid this flag-waving beggar, only to encounter two little girls, maybe 5 and 3, the older of whom kept grabbing at my hand as I was walking. I found an Indian couple, and followed them through traffic, as I’m far from experienced enough to cross the road at an intersection (I always take at least one, and preferably more, Indian blockers before every traversal), as my current knowledge is based only on what I assume are the traffic laws, and my reflexes, only the latter of which is much help (Actually, as far as I can tell, the rules are these: When in doubt, stop. Above all, never back up.) So I followed this couple, but the children followed me. We weaved between sometimes-moving auto rickshaws, cars, and buses, the couple, followed by me, followed by the 5 year old, followed by the 3 year old. Finally, at the other side of the intersection, when the 5 year old had had enough, I guess, instead of her tugging on my arm, I felt my arm being slapped. It wasn’t hard, but I think that’s only cuz she missed her mark. Not good business practice, but I don’t think she was concerned about future business at that point.

Then I made my way to the cyber café, which if it took you 7 steps to cross from one side to the other, is only because you’re very short and/or extremely feeble. And if you could lie down widthwise in the place, it’s only because you’re under six (years old). There was no air conditioning. Therefore, whenever the door opened, the cool breeze from the outside 79-degree weather was quite welcome. Otherwise, it was OK. I had to leave before I was done, however, because the power outage started at 3.
I may have said this before, but, in general, the people seem very nice. No one has been rude to me (at least, that I’ve comprehended (well, save for the beggar girl)). On the train, people are always more than willing to tell me what stop we’re at, and then, later on, to tell me when the stop I’m getting off at is approaching, recommending that I make my way toward the door, etc. Sometimes, since I don’t ride the line that goes to what is called town, or southern (downtown) Bombay, which is the main tourist destination, people ask me what my destination is, assuming I’m on the wrong train, and aiming to direct me where I desire to go. On the street, people always try to help me out when I ask. And so far, there’s been no point when I’ve felt as unsafe as I have at some times, in some places, in the U.S…or Jamaica, of course.I’ve noticed that, the Indians have an interesting (at least, I find it so) way of motioning assent. They shake their head. Not like I’m familiar with – the rotation about the spinal axis that signals dissent or a negative response. Rather, the axis of rotation is perpendicular to the face, and crosses through the nose. Sometimes it’s laterally symmetrical, sometimes it mostly or exclusively sticks to one side of the vertical. Despite knowing how it works, it’s still tough to put faith in it. “Is this Vashi Station?” I ask the guy next to me on the train, pointing in the direction of the upcoming stop. He stares at me amiably and wiggles his head, the top roughly following the circumference of a semicircle that passes through both his shoulders. I know that if he were signaling “no”, he would do it with more passion. I know he’s confirming it. But what I feel is, “He’s confused, possibly just ignorant about the station information, but really quite pleasant (delightful, actually) as he either tries to figure out the answer or expresses his unfortunate lack of knowledge and polite regret