Some Things to Recommend India

OK, I’ve gotten some comments that there’s a hint of an ugly American attitude in my postings. This, as it turns out, is untrue. However, I’ll say the following: I admit that I do focus on the negative a good bit in an attempt to be humorous, but I believe I present the truth, and I try to give the events that I write about fair coverage – maybe I’ll choose to write about an episode that is less than flattering toward Indians or India (or, Mumbaikars or Mumbai, or Navi Mumbaikars or Navi Mumbai), but I’ll present that episode fairly. At least, I think I do. I think that if I feel that I haven’t, I don’t feel good about it, and therefore I alter it. But OK, fine, I’ll write about some nice things in India – prepare to be bored.

My training occurred with two girls, Kirti and Samyuktha (hencefore sometimes referred to as Sam). Everyone at the company, really, has been very nice, but in the beginning, since we didn’t really know anyone else, we stuck with each other. So we ate lunch together...got tea together...(I ate cookies while Kirti got tea; Sam watched.) Training was to last seven days in that office, at which point Sam and I were to move to the other office, leaving Kirti.

Kirti was constantly checking up on me, asking how I was, asking how I felt, if I was homesick. On my birthday – a day even an old friend I’d talk to later that evening would forget the significance of (at the company – actually, in all of India – only Kirti and Sam knew it was my birthday) – Kirti even brought in a chocolate bar for me. For the last two days of training, she told me not to order any lunch (of course, I had never even attempted to order, but had gotten other people to order for me) because her mom would be making a double order of chapatti (a kind of tortilla-y thing) and green stuff so that I could have homemade food.

Sam didn’t offer to bring me food, even after we left Kirti behind, and despite my suggestion that it would be nice of her. But this shouldn’t reflect poorly upon Indian hospitality, as she had recently gotten back from spending three years in the island nation of Mauritius (no, I swear, it’s a place…no, I asked if she meant Mauritania, too, but apparently she was right; I looked it up…no, not Maldives – this place is an island too, it seems), and undoubtedly such an extended foreign experience caused her to at least temporarily forget her Indian hospitality. But yes, I will always remember Kirti and her mother as having been extremely generous, considerate, and welcoming when I was new here.

Of course, any mention of the hospitality I’ve received in India would be sorely incomplete without mentioning that of Arun and Susheel, who allowed me to stay at their place for a month and a half (and, in the case of Susheel, gave up his bed for that long, sleeping on a sleeping bag on a marble floor with a bean bag as a pillow, and acting as my personal entertainment coordinator, providing me with an introduction to Indian in general and Mumbai in particular, including segments on history, culture, personal experience, etc., and playing a large role in helping me move into my new place while making me feel that I was never such a burden that he was hoping I would.)

The company is a very friendly one. It has a very good atmosphere, especially compared to what I’ve heard about other places (from my friends in the U.S., from my friends in Poland, and from my friends here). Dress is casual (I dress as I did in college). People are informal, friendly, and helpful.

Indians seems quite nice to me, although they stare at me too much for my liking, but I that goes along with sticking out. And as I’ve said, if I stare back at them and then smile, I usually receive one in return. The ones who don’t smile back, though – I really want to punch them in the face (which demonstrates my pleasant demeanor, I know.)

Another interesting thing I’ve noticed here is that either things happen at lightning-fast speeds, or they happen at molasses-slow speeds. I inquired about a bed mattress at one store, told them I didn’t have the money with me, and was told that, if it was acceptable, a delivery would occur in 30 minutes. It was, and it did. I recently went to a hardware store located among the storefronts that occupy space at the bottom of my apartment building. I pantomimed that my fan had ceased to spin, while peppering the charade with words like “fan,” “stopped,” and “broken.” Looking back, I probably conjugated too much, but no one’s perfect. Still, it seemed to work, as they decided it must be the condenser (a word I’d heard used to describe the fan operating box before). They opened a book and asked me my address, so I was satisfied that they would probably call me up when they had someone available. Instead, they said, “Fifteen minutes,” which barely gave me enough time to go straight up from there (OK, maybe I had 10 minutes to spare). Actually, it turned out that I had 40 minutes to spare, as the electrician arrived half an hour late. But still, not bad. Then he told me (through Arun, who translated via the phone) that my fan weren’t gonna be able to be repaired, and I needed a new one. I said OK. He quoted a price. I said OK. He was gone in a flash. Five minutes later, he was back with a fan. Ten minutes after that, I had a brand new fan rapidly rotating in my hall. Not bad, India. Not bad at all...


In a similar incident, one Sunday afternoon I asked my landlord about getting my shower fixed and, though he was leaving on his motorcycle at the time, I was told that I should immediately go upstairs, as a plumber would be arriving presently. The fact that the plumber never arrived, and that I still have no functional shower, make this example less apt, but still, I was initially quite impressed.

In contrast, I received a notice that said my landlord hadn’t paid his apartment society dues in 16 months. A week later, a bank agent came calling on a Sunday afternoon to inform me that the owner hadn’t paid his apartment-purchasing loan payments in nearly a year and that if he didn’t decide to begin doing so pronto, the apartment would fall back under the control of the bank, and I’d be told to find other residence. I immediately called the real estate broker, who got in touch with the owner, who said he’d make the payment the next day (Monday) no problem. When the bank agent called on Tuesday to say that no payment had been made, I was somewhat surprised. I again had the real estate agent call up the owner, who said he’d make the payment the next day. So, when, returning home from work on Friday, I was greeted by a notice on my door that stated that I was no longer allowed to occupy the premises (only the owner now was), I was, again, rather surprised. Of course, where the hell else am I gonna go, I thought, and proceeded to continue my ongoing occupation of the premises. The next day, of course, when he was called, the owner said he was leaving right then to go make the payment…When, according to the bank agent, the owner still hadn’t arrived by the end of the day…well, I wasn’t too surprised anymore. The truly surprising thing was that, the following Monday, he did indeed present a check to the bank agent. Three weeks later, I am still awaiting the banking agent’s confirmation call that this check has proved to be good (Yes, Dad, I did call the bank agent, but, after having placed repeated calls up to ten days after the bank agent received the check, and being told that, while the check hadn’t bounced, it wasn’t yet clear that it has passed, either, I decided to just take his word that he’d call me). As it turns out, going about my business under this residential Sword of Damocles isn't really that bad.