Better Than Bollywood

This parody is better than most of the films put out by Bollywood…for its storyline alone. 

"Everybody likes it except my wife."

Said the man in the salon chair next to me, who came in for a haircut but not a shave, about his thick, full moustache which curled down either side of his mouth into perfectly pulled little points. 

His wife later joined him and smiled to the stylist, "It's coming off tomorrow."

Realities of Mumbai

Here's what a lousy day in Mumbai looks like:

Sitting STOPPED in traffic a rickshaw drives his 'vehicle' into my car and gets his jalopy jammed into my fender. He then proceeds to 'gun it' to get unstuck and rips the rubber interior fender while pulling the exterior out of position. I honk…he speeds off. This is why other drivers slap them at every opportunity. I'm eagerly awaiting mine.

Then sat for 45 minutes in the 'authorized' Apple service center here in Mumbai. Not because they were busy. There were only two people waiting when I arrived. And not because they took certain service issues before others.   They don't…they simply ask you to sign the 'book' and then call names from it. But after the two people waiting before me were called, and then others came in after, were called and then left - even as I began to 'hover' around the desk to get someone's attention - I finally asked if they were reading the names in any particular order. After much discussion, their answer was they simply 'didn't see me.' I guess I'm so white I blend into the wall!

And finally, the stove/oven I purchased which was to be delivered yesterday, arrived today. They left it in the kitchen in the box. It took awhile to cut the box away, then lift the oven and pull the bottom cardboard/styrofoam/etc out from underneath only to discover that not only would I have to assemble the small bits, apparently I also needed to WIRE THE PLUG which was not attached. This, and I then get to connect it to a gas cylinder which I can get only after presenting myself in person. ugh

What's New

In India, you see something new every day. That's what everyone says, and it's true.

Not just new shops or new people or new signs, but new happenings and situations. Like the day I saw a man washing a rooster. Every day, your mind is blown away by something new.


Today I realized, however, that for everyone else in India, I am one of those new things they see every day.

And just as my reaction varies to the new things I see - from awe to disgust to bewilderment and more - I've started to catalog the reactions I receive from others when they see me. 

Happy smiles from children who run up and say, 'Hello!'

Wrinkled noses and a disapproving, 'tsk tsk tsk' from a neighbor lady as I walked from the elevator to my car in a floor-lengthed dress to go out for the evening.

Frazzled waiters for whom neither of us can understand each others' English.

Screaming, arm-waving police officers 'directing' traffic whose eyes meet mine and suddenly wave their arms more vehemently for reasons unknown to me.

Dirty, scrawny, uneducated migrant workers far from their families and villages, living in machine 'shops' (huts) with little to eat, where they slave away for a meager wage, who see me on the street and lick their chops or stick out their tongues at me.

Fellow drivers stuck in traffic trying to squeeze this way or that, who smile and shrug and make some illegal maneuver in front of you anyway knowing you, too, will be doing the same eventurally. 

These reactions are what create culture shock for foreigners in any new country. We always talk about what we feel as the foreigners surrounded by locals. It often elicits intense emotions - ideally we fall in love with a place and its culture, but at times we also find ourselves in a constant battle with our surroundings. 

Yet stepping back and watching locals react to me somehow removes the emotion and it becomes an exercise in understanding. Not simply understanding what they think of me, or of foreigners in their country, but on a much deeper level it opens a window to a greater understanding of my own self-awareness. 

My Worst Trait As A Driver In Mumbai

When I'm on a tight two way road, parked cars and crowds walking on the side, motorcycles weaving in and out, pedestrians darting back and forth, whenever the passing cars get too close - I brake and shut my eyes. 

Genius.

Two Way Tunnel

The Khar Subway is one of the few east-west roads that cross the Western Rail line which travels north-south. It's nothing more than a very low, tunnel with one lane going east and one lane going west. 

But on this day, the eastbound travelers decided to use both tunnels, leaving all of us westbound travelers sitting and honking for half an hour. 

And that's how we do it in Mumbai!

Waxing Nostalgic

I've been in India now 16 months and in that time I've easily been to at least 10 different beauty salons, and not once have I had a proper wax.

I've paid top dollar and next to nothing. I've tried the little local spot on the corner and the five star hotel salons. I've had the 'chocolate', the 'international', and the standard 'honey' wax. It's been applied with the fancy roll on applicator, wooden palates, and burning metal kitchen knives, with a shocking lack of dexterity, then removed with strips of muslim, cheap cotton, or unskilled yanking - for crying out loud!

On more than one occasion I've been reprimanded, both 'privately' in the booth and publicly in front of all the ladies in the salon for not waxing the Indian way - bald from eyebrows to toes!


'But madam, it's better.'

'That's OK, I don't want it.'

'But madam, everyone does it.'

'That's OK, I don't.'

'But madam, it's cleaner.' 

'No thanks, I'm OK.'

'But madam, it's more hygienic.'

And on and on and on.

All I want is a straight line, but it looks like I might just have to buy my own waxing kit.

Got Your Goat....

A goat in my hallway, 7th floor of the apartment building, at 8 o'clock at night, all dressed up with painted horns and a 'necklace'.

Tastes Like Home

My school serves a traditional Indian breakfast around 9am, mostly for the workers and staff, but also for students at their break between classes who often arrive early for before school activities at 7am.

I usually eat at home and I haven't found much Indian food very appealing. I like to know what I'm eating and often it's just a different mix of the same things in a curry.

So this morning when I got my coffee, I glanced to see what was being served for breakfast. It looked like a mix of scrambled/fried eggs with seeds and greens, and a tray full of white mash. Not too appealing.

The chef told me the names of the dishes, then suggested a try a spoonful of the white mash. He kept telling me what was in it, but I couldn't make out the words over his accent. So I tried it, and to my surprise, it was sweet. It was basically spoon halvah without the cinnamon or almonds. Then I realized he had been saying, 'semolina' the whole time. Not a word I expected, but now it all made sense.

The dish is called sheera...and it tastes like home. 

There Goes That

It's the first week of October and monsoon is supposed to be over. It's not. Today we had an amazing downpour...just as I arrived to work.

By arrived, I mean to the parking lot. And I only had a small umbrella with me. So since I was early, I decided to sit for a few minutes in the car until the worst had passed.

It wasn't slowing down at all...so I rolled up my pant legs, popped open the tiny umbrella, and trudged through the murky puddles and streams of street 'water' to work. So gross.

I went into the bathroom first thing and washed my feet. For real. Popped my legs up into the sink and washed my feet!

I rinsed by sandals and realized it was time for them to go. They were wet from today, but I noticed the water had penetrated some of the previous wear and tear.

They were 'wet' all day, and so were my feet, totally unhygienic on so many levels. So when I got home, I tossed them out. Farewell nice pair of shoes.

It's not the first pair of shoes I've tossed out since I've been here, and I'm sure it won't be the last. 

Contemplations on Understanding

I don't understand. 

I say this at least once a day. Though, usually far more often than that. Many times to myself, but just as often to others. And I don't understand on a multitude of levels. 

I don't understand the Indian pronunciation and accent of many English words, which quickly leads to not understanding instructions, directions, requests, and sometimes even simple greetings. The words they use seem to mean something different to them than what I know them to mean. They combine the words in such a way as they suddenly feel totally foreign to me.

I don't understand not only the words, though. So many people in India speak with seemingly clenched jaws, closed lips, and mumbled sounds while looking anywhere but to whomever they're speaking. The intonation pattern for statements and questions fluctuate from person to person. My previous strategies to understand spoken language feel useless here. I cannot read lips if they mumble and look away. When I repeat what I think I've heard, it only seems to confuse everyone more. And although they mumble to me, they shout at someone else. It's as if there is no connection between volume, tone, intonation and meaning.

I don't understand nonverbal interactions that occur between people. The famous Indian head bobble, confusing as it is, is actually the easiest to comprehend. 

'Yes, it will be done' 

'No, it will not be done but I won't say so'

'I don't know, but I don't want to admit it' 

But it's more than that. Indians look at each other without saying a word, and something is understood. But I don't understand. I haven't got a clue what was communicated, or even how. I try to observe the slightest movement of an eyebrow, or a raised lip, or an eye darting...but it's like trying to read the face of a poker player. 

I don't understand the societal norms here. Indians will turn their backs to the person they are speaking to;  they rarely make eye contact;  they scratch their privates mid conversation;  burps are released into the face of another mid-sentence; noses, ears, and teeth are picked without even an attempt at discretion; and no offense seems to be taken by any party. It's as if they can arbitrarily turn their senses on and off at will to block out distractions, and knowing this, no one takes precautions to avoid offending others. Because no one is offended in the slightest.

I don't understand how there can be kindness and affection displayed publicly between men, yet incredibly hidden towards a woman. Or how even common courtesy is not distributed equally between men and women.


Another expat recently told me to 'stop trying to understand them' as it didn't matter and was far easier to simply ignore it all and do as you please.  And yet, I so desperately want to understand, if only on a superficial level, at least some things that go on around me.

I've read all the books I was given on Indian culture, culture shock, history, and financial and political development. I've made a huge effort to get out into Indian society by attending plays, art exhibitions, poetry readings, social discourse panels, and stand up comedy (it's surprising the insight a comedian can offer into a culture!). I'm trying to learn Hindi. Whenever I'm out I'm observing and taking in as much as possible. I've become friends with kind colleagues who've lived her longer and can share their own observations and knowledge.

And yet...it's such a steep learning curve. I wonder sometimes what I am meant to understand.

Liars and Thieves...?

For as long as I can remember, liars and thieves have been the two types of people I've despised most in the world. They deceive others for their own gain and nothing good can come of it, was the way I thought.

Living in Mumbai now, not a week has gone by when someone didn't tell me, 'be careful, you can't trust people.' I assumed they simply meant there are liars and thieves in India like everywhere else. I also assumed we had the same definition of a liar and a thief.

But it seems we don't. At least, not exactly.

India is complicated in the sense that there isn't ONE national identity...or language, or religion, or culture, which means no one actually thinks alike entirely.  For the most part, the Catholic, Muslim, and Parsi Indians seem to have a similar conception of ethics as what we follow in the west...similar, though not exact, but I feel I can relate. The Hindu Indians, and its various sub-sects, have a totally different view of the world, how it work, what is right or wrong - and it completely throws my thinking paradigm on its head!

So this is what I struggle with daily. I want to understand, but none of it makes sense to me. It truly is the most FOREIGN thing I've ever encountered in my life.

If you find a wallet filled with money on the ground -that's your good karma. It's a reward for something you've done in a past life and it's yours to keep. Period.

I will tell you what I think you want to hear, even if it is untrue, in order to keep you happy because I can accumulate good karma in this life by not disturbing or upsetting others.

There isn't really a sense of right or wrong, but rather the shame of being found out with inadequate means to an end.  Or of creating a disturbance of some sort. Although money is valued, as in so many other cultures, how you get it or save it is of no ethical importance. Power is valued, so how you maintain it is of no matter.   Hence the rampant corruption, everywhere.

I find myself astounded every time I open the papers and read another outrageous corruption story or university cheating scandal or wild fiasco. And even though the newspapers are shamelessly sensationalized, it's still amazing how much deception occurs on a regular basis. It makes one feel incredibly naive, and distrustful.


And yet, I've met so many lovely people -  kind women on the train or in the street who have gone out of their way to share advice;  taxi drivers who laugh about the traffic;  Indian colleagues who have invited me to their homes, shared their sharp wit, and guided me in navigating Indian shops and bargaining. And of course the incredibly honest siblings who discovered and returned my iphone when it fell out of my bag in a rickshaw.  There are wonderful people here...who keep telling me not to trust anyone! It's quite confusing.

It is definitely a reality check for me in many ways, and something I hadn't anticipated. The foundation of culture shock.

POOJA Ceremony

Today I finalized the purchase of my new car - a Honda Brio. 

In India, they do a pooja ceremony for any 'new beginning'. It's basically a blessing, and since I bought a new car, they needed to do a pooja ceremony for it and I had to be in it. 

First, I had to dip my ring finger into a red liquid and put a swastika and five dots on the engine, then throw turmeric powder on it, followed by rice.

After that, they hung a garland of marigolds across the hood and had me break a coconut. 

Then they splashed the coconut water over the engine, and put the rest in the cup holder.

I now officially own a car. Stick shift right hand drive...again!

Ganpati Celebrations

Ganesha is the elephant-headed, Hindu god of new beginnings, the remover of obstacles, sone other things, and THE favorite god of the people in Maharashtra state, especially Mumbai.

The celebration of his birth, Ganesh Chaturthi, happens annually and lasts ten days, with certain days being more auspicious than others. These are the days that families try to coordinate his arrival and departure. 

Basically, every good Hindu family celebrates his birth by welcoming him into their home and attending to him as their honored guest. A statue of the god, once made out of clay but now more often than not out of plaster, is paraded through the streets with 'music' and 'dancing' and then put in a prominent place in the home. My neighbors have him in their table. They cover him with flowers, burn incense for him, and leave food offerings for him. 

As the honored guest while in their home,  he is never left alone, someone always stays with him to attend to him. The family members will sit in the floor while he remains on the table. 

When his 'visit' is over, as determined by each family, they then parade the statue, again with 'music' and 'dancing' to the sea and 'immerse' him. 

When the statues were made of clay, they just deteriorated which wasn't so bad as Mumbai had less than half it's current population. But now that they're all made of plaster, and close to twenty million people do this, it make the sea quite polluted. 

Here's a brief video I took tonight of a family 'parading' Ganesh to their home. This is on front of my building complex, facing the hotel, on our two lane road with parking in wait her side and them taking up one lane. 

HAPPY GANPATI! 

WELCOME

There's a WELCOME mat outside my apartment door. It's quite useful considering all the dust and dirt one brings in on their shoes from the street.

Whenever they clean the hallway in the building, they turn the mat around so it doesn't say WELCOME when you arrive to my apartment. It always annoyed me when it was backward, so I'd always spin it round so it would greet visitors properly. 

Today, however, when I got home and once again it was backwards, it dawned on me that, maybe, someone was trying to welcome ME to India.

One of the best things I learned while living in Colombia was to ask for what you don't see.  If you know what you want, and you don't see it on the shelf, just ask the shopkeeper for it, and most often, he'll either have it in the back somewhere or be able to tell you where to get it.

Unfortunately, this doesn't always work in India. Instead, the lesson seems to be to keep repeating what you want until they say 'yes'.  Literally, just say the same thing over and over and over again, and eventually, the answer will be 'yes' and you'll get what you want.

Now, this might occur because they didn't understand what you were saying the first time;

or because other people were talking over you because they just walked into the shop and wanted to be waited on immediately;

or because you couldn't be heard over the honking in the street;

or because the shopkeeper wanted you to buy what he wanted to sell;

or because you're a woman and ... wait, what? Oh, you're saying something?


But in the end, the lesson is clearly to become a broken record. It'll all be good in the end. And if it's not, then it's not the end. So just keep repeating yourself. 

Motorcycle Diaries

I love motorcycles. I'm fascinated at how their used in different parts of the world. This might just one day become a coffee table book.

Me vs. Climbing Rodent

An effective way to cause retreat of an exterior wall-climbing squirrel/chipmunk-looking rodent while on your 7th floor balcony, is to jump, squeal, and scream like a complete lunatic such that several neighbors peek out their window at the wierdo white lady.

Back to Work

A quick glimpse of my commute to work each day. 

Typical morning traffic.

I live near the 'auto district' - mechanics, body shops, tire works, and chop shops. 

Indians love to name and decorate their vehicles. But some names make me giggle.

Renewing My CPR/First Aid Certification

Things Learned Renewing CPR/First Aid on a Saturday Morning In India:

- The sternum is the strongest bone in the body

- It is possible to swallow your tongue

- Never put a tourniquet around the neck

-When in a railway accident, remember to collect your body part when going to the hospital to reattach.

Where Is Home?

I've been traveling all summer, and still have a few more stops before returning to Mumbai, but I saw this Ted Talk by Pico Iyer and it really resonated with me.

I think it might also resonate with many people I know too.

"Please Do the Needful"

"According to Census of India of 2001, 30 languages are spoken by more than a million native speakers, 122 by more than 10,000."

Of all the language spoken in India, English is often the language chosen in which to communicate.  Many Indians actually grow up speaking English, and sometimes, only English. Yet, just as American English sounds different than British English, or New Zealand English, or Australian English, and they each have their own unique phrases, Indian English is uniquely its own. 

There are 'Indianisms' in English that make perfect sense in India, but leave a 'non-native Indian English-speaker' completely confused. For as many times as I've asked a local, 'Could you please repeat that?' when trying to decipher their meaning through their accents, I've had locals tell me, 'Sorry, madam, I cannot understand your English.'  (dramatic eye roll here)

To give you an idea, here's an amusing little article recently published of 10 Classic Indianisms. And 10 More Classic Indianism. Just to give you an idea of how confusing it can be.

Enjoy!

Mumbai Faces

A few of the faces one might encounter on any given day in Mumbai.

 

Did You Put On Weight?

That's what the tall, thin stylist said to me when I walked into the salon this afternoon, with smiling eyes. 

'Oh, does this outfit make me look fat?' I replied, suddenly feeling lousy. 

'No, you look great. Usually black makes you look skinnier, but it looks good on you.' 

Now I'm confused. 'So I look good or I look fat?' I ask. 

'Both!' She says, totally thrilled. 'You look healthy. I'd love for someone to tell me I put on weight!'

I've been coming to this salon all year, I love it, and always have a good time with the stylists. They're friendly and make me look beautiful and we joke around. So I knew she meant well. But, I was still confused. 

'Oh no! But it jiggles everywhere!' I say.

'That's good,' she says, pauses and smiles, 'there's only one thing that needs to be hard for a woman.' 

We all throw our heads back and laugh. I love a great salon!

Monsoon is Here!

It was sunny, hot and humid last week. Then, from one day to the next, it's pouring down rain. Beautiful, soothing, even paced rain.

It cools everything down. The heat, the humidity, the dust, and even, I think, the people. We are all refreshed.

And as I lay in my hammock watching the rain out my window, I can see the neighbor kids on the roof of their building dancing in the rain.

And Today It Rained...

We've had clouds in the sky for about three weeks now. They'd been absent since at September/October.

At first they were small, then eventually they were big and fluffy. Last week the sky seemed darker here and there. The weather forecast would predict a 30% chance of rain before 9am some days, but nothing fell. Reports came in of rain in other parts of the country...delaying cricket games an hour or so.

The clouds this morning were big and fluffy, but dark underneath. As I left for school I felt a drizzle or two, but didn't look up thinking it was just run off from someone cleaning a balcony or hanging laundry.

The roads became wet as I got closer to campus. The kind of wet where it dries up quickly. But as I walked into school, the plants were also wet and the floor a bit muddy. And once inside, there was a buzz of excitement among the students - 'Did you see it? It RAINED!' Even the adults were a bit giddy.

Apparently it rained a bit harder near the sea where most of them live and followed them in as they crossed inland to school. It's been so long, you almost forget what it's like...and then it's wonderful.

Coffee Cocktails

The Greeks called me up and said, 'Παμε για ενα καφε᾽ - 'Come for a coffee.' So I did.


The 'Greeks' are the friends I've made here in Mumbai outside of work. I have also have colleagues I consider friends, but I found while living overseas that, for me at least, it's preferable to have friends outside of work as limiting oneself to working, socializing, and in the case of Mumbai, also living in the same place, it can get a little intense. I like having a private life and my personal space.

Anyway, the 'Greeks'. There's only a few of us and we're all here for different reasons, but we've somehow all connected and realized we enjoy each other's company. So now we try to keep in touch with one another with phone calls or text messages here and there, and every now and then we go out and do something. It doesn't always work and everyone isn't always able or interested in whatever we're doing, but we've made a little παρεα.

So, we go for coffee. But not til 6m because it's too hot if we go earlier. When we meet at the coffee chain up in a posh northern suburb, we decide we want to go somewhere nicer - which I'm happy about as I don't like that coffee chain anyway. So we stroll for awhile til we find an outdoor table on a shaded patio at an Italian restaurant. But, really, who wants coffee? So we order cocktails.

A couple of martinis later, we should probably eat, so we go inside. It's freezing cold because everywhere in India they abuse the air conditioning so any time you're indoors, you might as well be in a meat cooler! We eat, we talk, we have a few more martinis. We make plans for next weekend and possible travel excursions after that. We laugh at each other and we laugh at ourselves.

And that's the best part. We talk and we laugh and it's good. Ειναι καλα παιδια.

Cravings

I'm not a vegetarian. I've never had any desire to BE a vegetarian. I've never had any desire to give up any food, for any reason, forever. I'll fast for Lent. I'll alter my diet for a detox period. But honestly, I like eating. And I like eating good food. But mostly, I like eating food that I can identify...not some mish moshed cassarole of unidentifiables hidden under a mystery sauce.

So I mostly only eat meat when I go out to nice restaurants because it's hard to buy good meat to cook at home. Not because they don't sell it - they do. The Jains may be vegan, the Hindus may avoid beef, and the Muslims avoid pork...but they eat all the rest. And the Christians and non-practising religious population does as well. So meat is sold and readily available.

However, it's the quality of the meat that is questionable. Most of these animals live miserable lives on a dismal diet of garbage and scraps. The dairy 'cows' (water buffalo actually) live in urban sheds knee deep in muck, drinking dirty water. I highly doubt udders are cleaned before milking. Goats wander the street eating garbage or beetle nut leaves, breathing car fumes and dust, as they wait their turn for slaughter in front of the butcher shop. Chickens are transported by open caged trucks, crammed on top of each other six levels high, huddling together, feathers flying as they whiz down the road.

Animals with lousy diets and stressful lives produce inferior meat for eating. So why bother? Beans and lentils are plenty and I can wait to eat meat where I know it's going to be delicious!

It Must Be The Humidity

My chronic Paisa withdrawal symptoms are often soften by a Greek παρέα, or that dear, familiar niche of razor-sharp wit, chin-in-the-air, Y-town punk 'kids'. 

But when all of those are missing, and I'm surrounded by 22 million people, spitting, sneering, scoffing, scratching, leering, honking, shouting, slouching...that's when I get a pang of loneliness. 

It must be the humidity.

Parsi Cafes

I've been to half of these, and I must say, they are delicious. Good food, good prices, almost like a Greek diner...but not quite. ;)

Mumbai's Parsi Cafes

Two Trees and Me

I bought two avocado trees today. Brought them home in a rickshaw. They're now on my balcony, sprayed down with organic insect repellant, watered and fertilized. Can't wait till I'm making guacamole!

Observation

There are clouds in the sky. I can't remember the last time I saw a cloud, let alone several clouds, in the Mumbai sky. It's always bright and sunny.

It hasn't rained since August, maybe September, when we were in the last monsoon. Though lately, it's been more humid, which is supposed to get worse as we near the next monsoon which should arrive the end of May or June.

Bogota always had the most amazing clouds, even when they were storm clouds. And it rained all year. Sunshine was the anomaly.

Bombay is such a change from Bogota. In more ways than just the weather.

Wedding Music

There's a big wedding tonight at the Catholic church on the end of my block. They've got curtains hanging around the edges and strings of lights hung across the plaza. There's a giant sound system at one end blasting music.

But it's India, so they're blasting Karma Kameleon and the Hokey Pokey. 

Keep It Clean

Just saw a man in a barber shop having his armpits shaved with a straight razor.

When the Going Gets Tough...the Tough Go Greek!

Mumbaikars (people from Mumbai) have an enormous toolbox of strategies for surviving life in the city. As an expat, though, it takes awhile to discover these, or to even realize how necessary they are to maintain one's sanity.

An expat's strategies might not be the same as a Mumbaikar's when it comes to surviving the city, but the sooner you start developing your toolbox, the better and easier life in Mumbai becomes. They can be little things like going for a massage or splurging on brunch at five star hotel. Or they can be big things like leaving the country every chance you get.

My strategies include finding ways to do the things that make me happy, like in my last post.  Another is to seek out the familiar and comforting company of fellow Greeks. There aren't many in Mumbai, or even in India, but of the few there are, they are welcoming and outgoing, and happy to find the time in their busy schedules for coffee and good conversation.

My Greek language skills are average at best, and I'm fully aware that I have no command whatsoever of Athenian day to day slang. But it's comforting to dust off my Greek, hear the familiar rhythm of both the language and its accent in other languages, and to share a common sense of humor and passion for life.

Nothing can compare...except maybe cervezas con paisas!

Finding Happiness

I made this list a few years ago, when I was thrown one too many obstacles in reaching my goals, and decided to re-evaluate what I really wanted out of life. It was the first of many list I would make as I eventually planned my move.

I came across it again today and it made me smile because I realized that I actually get to do most of these things on a regular basis. 

Mumbai is a tough place to live. It's filthy, it's traffic-congested, people spit, and men leer. But I'm actually able to do most of the things on this list that make me happy. So it gives me hope...that I might just survive this city.

*listed in no particular order, for no particular reason, with updates in italics for life in Mumbai

1. Swimming - laps mostly, but also just floating in the sea or under it - I use the school pool often and have already been to Goa and the Maldives

2. Gardening - digging in dirt, pruning, potting, smelling flowers or picking food...and killing slugs. And mostly just being outside. slowly putting together my balcony 'garden' but also visiting urban rooftop farms around the city

3. My niece and nephew - spending time with them, hearing about them or just looking at photos of them. Facebook and Instagram are great!

4. My sisters - including godsisters!  FaceTime makes a huge difference!

5. Having great friends - to laugh with, to walk with, to send postcards, to have serious conversations with - in person...or virtually over long distances  so many chat and photo sharing options, plus the occasional postcard 

6. Lying in my hammock - I've got TWO in my house!

7. Listening to my favorite podcasts - NPR, Radiolab, This American Life, Stuff You Should Know

8. Driving...and I'll add riding motorcycles here too - contemplating buying a car for next year, still waiting on a worthwhile motorcycle invite. 

9. Reading - books, magazines, blogs, cereal boxes... No TV, no regrets

10. Being in the theatre....backstage or in the house, painting sets or directing, singing or dancing - all day long!

Notice Board

The apartment society in my building posts important notices at the elevators to keep tenants informed. These are just a few:

Diving the Maldives over Spring Break

The Maldives is an archipelago nation a mere two and a half hour flight from Mumbai. It's also some of the best SCUBA diving in the world. So I went.

I spent 8 days on a live aboard where basically all you do is dive, eat, sleep and repeat. Three dives a day. Three meals a day plus snacks. Naps in the shade and nights on the deck if you so choose.

Our guides were excellent and very pleasant. The other divers in my group were a group of experienced divers from Luxembourg, including several instructors, so we were all capable and trustworthy and had a lot of fun throughout.

This was the closest ever I've had the opportunity to dive with manta rays and they are truly majestic and intelligent. Great diving and a great trip, I'm sure to return.

Stumped

Today I had that odd moment when I couldn't actually remember the last time I'd eaten meat. Wasn't today, or yesterday, or the day before that. And this is unintentional. Maybe last week?

Culinary Metaphor

I was asked recently, 'So how's India?'


'It's growing on me. Probably like a fungus. But that just makes me the tasty cheese curing underneath!' 

Goa Weekend

Goa is to India what Ibiza is to Spain, Ayia Napa to Cyprus, and Cancun to Mexico, and Myrtle Beach to the U.S. East Coast. Beautiful beaches, well developed tourist infrastructure, and a laid back attitude have made it popular with hippies, backpackers, expats, and Indians seeking a more relaxed life.

It's a quick 45 minute flight from Mumbai and a popular weekend getaway, as well, since the beaches and sea in Goa are clean enough to swim in. We stayed inland at a bungalow on a river island, far away from the touristy areas and excellent for bird watching.

The highlight of the weekend was a trip to a spice plantation with a tour explaining the harvesting process for every spice imaginable.

This is a cashew 'apple'. The cashew nut is at the bottom of the 'apple' blossom - which smells delicious!

This man is rolling beads, Indian hand rolled cigarettes that sort of smell like cloves, but are just as disgusting. 

Sunday Thoughts

Some days Mumbai is amusing and some days it's absolutely infuriating.

To a large degree, that depends on whether or not you have something to get done. With no time restrictions on your day, you tend to pause and notice the little moments of life as you sit in traffic or wait for a train;  children's laughter, cricket games on the sidewalk, affection between young couples. But if you've got an appointment across town, or tickets to a show somewhere, it can seem like the whole city has organized against you to make you late and miserable if and when you ever get there.

Weekends, as opposed to weekdays, also tend to be less aggravating. When you've time to stroll the village behind your apartment, explore another part of town, or just pop over to a nice shop you've heard about, Mumbai can seem quite relaxing. Then the honking rickshaws, smog spewing buses, dirt tossing trucks, piles of stinking garbage, putrid cross breeze over the stagnant canal, and the demon pigeons sent straight from Hell to your doorstep attempting to kill you with their nasty feathers and feces pushes you to the brink of pure raging insanity.

I hate the pigeons.

But as you discover the rhythm of the city, and this takes time, things become easier.  You no longer wait in line for 20 minutes at the train station vending machine because you now know you can cut the line when buying first class. You now only take your wallet to the grocery store, not your whole purse, because you know you'll have to bag check it at security while you shop. You stop going to the apartment complex fitness club where they blast bass heavy music while yelling at you to get off the machine after 20 minutes or stop swimming because 'you're splashing water', and instead walk the circuit around the building complex with all the other residents.

Every now and then you need to step back and catch your breath, observe the steps for a moment before jumping back into the city. Only then, can you learn the dance.

Valentine's Day Lost and Found

While in the rickshaw on the way to school this morning, all dressed up for Valentine's Day, with homemade cupcakes for my advisory students and my cast kids who have rehearsal this afternoon, plus my usual giant bag of school stuff, I sent a quick text message to a friend having surgery this morning.

At lunch, I went to check my phone to see how things went with the surgery, but couldn't find it in my bag and by then I'd already been in four different classrooms, two office spaces, and up and down four flights of stairs. So I asked some colleagues to call my phone, asked the security if anyone had turned it in, and started looking around with no luck. I'd checked Find My iPhone, which said it was on campus, so I figured it would turn up sooner or later and went to my next meeting.

It did turn up...only it had been found by a student at another school down the road who happened to take the same rickshaw after me. She gave it to her brother who answered after the same number had called several times. (He most likely also saw the texts from my friend coming out of surgery). He arranged for his driver to drop it off at my school and it was delivered to me by the end of the class period. Little did I know that when I checked Find My iPhone I had it set to find ALL my devices...so I saw my laptop on campus, but didn't open the map wide enough to see my iPhone down the street!

They say St. Valentine was Greek and I have to agree, because today he was in cahoots with Agios Phanourios and my day was really sweet!

 

My World

Sometimes I wonder what work is like for other people. I mean, people who aren't teachers. People who go and sit at a desk with other people sitting at desks. Or people who own their own business or spend their day traveling to do more business. Basically, people who spend their days in the world of grown-ups. It's completely foreign to me.

What's it like to start your day without someone running up to you, hands waving, yelling, 'Oh my God!' Or to never have someone enter your workspace, slam down their belongings, and throw themselves into a chair in a huff. Or to go all day without having your concentration broken by someone falling out of a chair or over a bag or just over themselves for no apparent reason.

I spend my days in the world of tweens;  eleven to fourteen-year-olds;  middle schoolers. Kids who struggle every day to remember what's suppose to be relevant, such as homework and organization and manners, but that isn't necessarily relevant to them, like their friends and fitting in and having some control over their world while still feeling like someone is looking out for them.

It's a world full of running and shouting and laughter and often tears. A lapse in attention to instructions in class is quickly followed by a surge of panic leading to frantic whispering, or blurting out for clarification, while the answers are often right in front of them. They run to lunch, call dibs on seats, swap and haggle over desserts, then inhale their food while talking non-stop feeling totally free and independent, unaware of the adults all around them. They show up for class sweaty and out of breath. They ask permission for mundane things like going to the bathroom or turning off their cell phone or getting a tissue, then write all over their classmate's arm in permanent marker or turn a backpack inside out when no one's looking. They sulk and sass and whoop and cheer.

They jump right into an assignment they love and lollygag over anything seemingly tedious. They crack their knuckles before speaking to you, totally unaware that it's a prelude to assault. They race to sign up for turns yelling things like, 'Oh, I am SO going first!' or 'NO! Seven's my lucky number, I need to go seventh!'  They jump on each other, push and shove, or play with each other's hair and fawn over outfits. They're excited and shy and ridiculous and totally authentic.

My little corner of this world is tucked away in the drama studio, and I'm sure it would unnerve the most 'successful' of grown-ups as it keeps me precariously teetering on the edge of insanity. In and out of non-stop improv, my realities include finding a man asleep on the bed of my luxury hotel room, followed by my drowning of a zombie puppy in the fountain of youth. I firmly forbade my 6th grade puppeteers from exiting the room with eyeballs and poofs. I wrestled a child into a headlock,  then directed another to do the same in rehearsal. And for the last two weeks I've been surround by people reciting monologues to the walls.

When I'm old and my Alzheimer's kicks in, all my crazy will just be memories of my lesson plans.