So last night we were with a friend driving to an Italian restaurant for dinner. She makes an illegal U-turn, and we get pulled over by the cops. Our friend says, "oh great, here we go. Watch and learn."
Cop: "License." Friend: "Sorry Sahib. I wasn't paying attention." Cop: "License." Friend: "There were so many cars, Sahib, I got confused for a moment. It won't happen again." Cop: "License." Friend: "My brother, please let me go. I wont make the mistake again." Cop: "Madam, please come outside and bring your license." Friend: "Sahib, I don't have much time, can't we just be done now. Lets just finish the bill now." Cop: "Madam, please come."
Our friend steps out of the car, walks over to a shack filled with cops. In this city, the cops set up a special booth on the side of a given roundabout. A cop stands outside and points at drivers, indicating they need to pull over. The "processing center" is where a few other cops formalize the tickets, or gather whiskey money, depending on the time of month.
Friend returns to the car a few minutes later. "Okay, just waiting for my change. All I had was a 500 note."
Cop taps on my window. I roll down the window.
Cop: "Sir, please remember to have your seat belt fastened at all times." Me: "But I do have my seat belt on."
Cop, annoyed at my ignorance, with closed fist, reaches into the car and plops some notes onto the seat, then says, "yes, please remember safety at all times." He walks off.
We drive away. My friend starts laughing, "my change please. Gosh I wish I would have had a 100 note, would have saved me 100 rupees. I had to bargain down to 200 for a couple minutes. Its tough, you know, they see this huge car, and the rate quadruples."
I ask, "so what are the rates?"
Friend: "10 for a bike, 20 for a rickshaw, 50 for a scooter, 100 for a nice motorcycle or tiny car, 200 for a big car."
I say, "And what if you actually paid the ticket?"
Friend: "300. But I have to go across town to pay the ticket. Would have taken me an hour."
Me: "And why all the sneakiness?"
Friend: "Well they are really careful since a lot of journalists set up anti-corruption sting operations, with mobile phone videos and the like. Technically, with this entire transaction, we have no idea if we paid a bribe, or a reduced ticket on the spot. And also, whenever they are fund raising for the police department, there is nothing you can do, you have to pay the ticket. That's when their superior officers are present and watching."
Me: "And by your guess, what percentage of folks pay the bribe?"
Friend: "Maybe 1 in a hundred does not."
And on a final note, if you enjoyed this post, you should check out these recent NPR podcasts on corruption in India:
We spent a wonderful afternoon at the Norbulingka Institute in Dharamsala. It feels amazing to escape the hot, dusty, chaotic horn honking streets of India into the peaceful and incredibly colorful temple complex. We particularly enjoyed watching the Tibetan craftsmen making huge Buddha statues. On our next trip we will definitely have to stay a few nights in the guest house.
And a few words from the Dalai Lama on the Norbulinka Institute: "Buddhism changed the whole Tibetan way of life, giving rise to a more compassionate community, in which there is a more peaceful attitude towards ourselves, towards our fellow human beings, towards animals and towards the environment. In today's world there’s a lot of talk about peace and non-violence, but the real factor in creating genuine peace is compassion, not just education and technology. Where there is compassion, a sense of community, a sense of respect for others' rights is automatic. In order to promote compassion, it is not sufficient just to talk; it needs to be spread through example. I believe that our peaceful and compassionate Tibetan society is such an example; that’s why it is worth preserving, and I am pleased to see that in its work to keep Tibetan culture alive, the Norbulingka Institute is actively contributing to that task."
Don't miss the lovely doll museum. This blue one below is about 3 apples tall.
A lively exchange of ideas amongst a group of female monks.
A monk listens in to glean a few enlightening words from Princess Leia and her wise brother.
Last night, at dinner here in a small village high above Dharamsala, with our new friends from Sweden and Austria, someone mentioned their grandparents just had their 60th anniversary. I said, "That's so wonderful, to enjoy such a long marriage. Unfortunately, perhaps the last generation to stay married. Since then, we've all learned to throw away our spoons, plates, and cameras, why not out marriages too." A bit cynical, unfortunately, and I'm not sure how the thought popped into my head, but I fear there is some truth to it.
100 years ago, even something as simple as a spoon was considered a permanent heirloom, to be washed, polished, reused, and ultimately handed down to a subsequent generation. Nowadays, not only do we presume plastic spoons are to be tossed, even our formalware might get a Martha Stewart inspired overhaul every few years, just to keep us current on the latest designs. With rapid advances in electronics, we know ahead of time our new iPhone 4 will be uncool, and fit for the tossing a mere couple few years after its purchase. Its a rare first generation Indian immigrants' child that can't remember vinyl runners winding down hallways, up stairs, sprawling over chairs, and wrapped around the sofa. That generation, born in an impoverished pre-partition agrarian India, cherished their goods, and made great efforts to preserve them well into the future. Not only did that generation cherish their goods, but also their social relationships.
I remember throughout my childhood, whenever my parents announced we were leaving for a vacation, to a place like California, we kids would get really excited; we presumed our time would be spent at Disneyland, or wandering the glammy streets of Beverly Hills. We'd be so annoyed to find the reality of us sitting in a dark house in a no name suburb for weeks in the relatively uncool (literally and figuratively) climes of Yuba City. Few of us in the modern generation can envision "sacrificing" our hard earned 2 weeks of vacation to visit second cousins in a non-descript locale, but this was normal for my parents, as these relationships were cherished in the old country, more generally, in pre-industrial society.
We of the modern world were raised early on to know that social connections, like spoons, were to be disposed of when the economic need had arisen. I recall being 8 years old, and extremely anxious about moving across the country, primarily because I was leaving my friend network behind. I of course thought I would return to visit, in the summers, or on holidays, but alas, that was never to be. They are friends whose names I can't recall enough to even locate them on Facebook. In the modern world, we know we have to pack up and move; we move for jobs, for college, for graduate school, for fun, for a change. Sometimes we return, but often we don't. I recall being 17 years old, 2000 miles away from home, and clinging to the phone, calling friends and family alike, in an attempt to keep these links real, alive, and relevant. Over time I learned that most folks loved the chats to keep up, some would even return calls, but a very rare few would actually initiate such communication. And then we face a great paradox of our time. Ancient eastern wisdom says, "be in the here and now, focus on the moment you are in, do not live in the past, or in the future, live now." And ultimately, when faced with this, the friends of where we are become more important than those of where we were. And indeed, like spoons, plates and cameras, even our friends, become disposable. I suppose there has been some improvement, for in recent years, we don't need to fully toss out friends, we can downgrade "real" friends to "just Facebook" friends.
I read somewhere that 100 years ago, the average person had 50 social contacts in their entire lives. This was because most existed in an agricultural economy, lived in a village, socialized primarily with fellow villagers, and only rarely ventured beyond the village. Now, its a truly uncool Facebook or Twitteroid that has a mere 50 "friends." We live in multiple cities, we vacation in multiple countries, we interact with humans we've never met, all of which means we have far more than 50 social contacts. Its significantly easier today to meet new people, and we do, so I suppose it is only inevitable that some we've met from before, disappear from our lives.
As we travel, on some level it makes me sad to know my kids have gotten used to entering a new place, playing for weeks with some local kids, and then leaving abruptly, never to see the kids again. My son, when he was 3, and we were spending time in Norway, became fond of our dear friend's nephews. He actually only spent perhaps 5 hours with them, but Nayan shrieked for over a week about wanting to see them again. I wonder if we aren't hardwired for longevity in social contacts, especially when we form an emotional bond, and if our modern world's new found fondness for "social disposability" isn't, well, unnatural.
Its become a ritual of ours, and most travelers nowadays, to exchange Facebook info, on departure. It makes saying goodbye easier, and it leaves future interaction possible. Facebook interaction is definitely lame while compared to real interaction, nonetheless, it does seem like a slight improvement over utterly disposable friends.
I'll leave you now with a slightly related, but nice little "Goodness, Gracious Me" clip.
The kids got out of school last week, and are off until the 15th of July, so we packed up, and ran for the hills. When we left Chandigarh, it was 46C and searing hot. 8 long and nauseous hours later, when we arrived outside Manikaran, it was a cool 25. Life is so much better when you can open the door, walk outside, and not immediately break out into a sweat. We spent a week outside Manikaran Sahib, and its nearest town called Kasol, in a fairly secluded cottage above a raging river in the spectacular Parvati Valley. Our hosts at Parvati Kuteer treated us well. We especially enjoyed the many local hikes we did in the valley. A short walk from our cabin is a mundir. I can't remember much about the history of the temple, other than this baba below from Rajasthan bought the place and told me he makes money off it now; also, the tree is 500 years old and marks the location of the original temple.
Nayan, my 8 year old son, and I were descending from a hike when Nayan said, "wow Papa, this place is just like hiking near Seattle." Right then the guy in the orange outfit below walked by asking me if I had seen his goat wander by. I said to Nayan, "just like hiking in the Cascades, except usually dread-locked sadhus don't wander by asking about their lost animals."
We spent much of our week in Kasol hiking and lounging near these pristine pools and waterfalls.
Guided hikes in India come with multiple gentlemen that carry your whiny kids. Its really great, as Ananya will certainly tell you.
Many of the areas we went to have little or no trails. Nayan is demonstrating the proper facial expressions to use when hacking through the jungle with a nice long machete.
One of the most beautiful waterfalls I've seen. Our guides hacked a trail through the jungle to get to this fall. The journey was a bit more adventurous then we normally take with the kids, but was well worth it.
A cool shot of a Ganeshji image outside the Babas place.
I've recently become quite interested in the non-profit sector's work in combating the crushing poverty here in India. My aunt suggested I check out an old friend of her's school. So my wife and I spent some time with the principal, my aunt's friend, and toured the school. Sikhya is a non-profit school providing a high quality education and nurturing environment exclusively to slum dwellers and other extremely poor children for free.
While the government offers an almost free education, the quality is significantly below that of the education offered at myriad private schools. Many of the government school's are grossly underfunded and mismanaged. There are an amazing number of stories about teachers that never show up to class, standardized test scores that are simply manufactured, or the answers are distributed to the kids by corrupt principals ahead of time so school incompetence cannot be effectively measured. I'll save chatting in more depth about the public schools, as, despite all of this, there has been some improvement the past few years in Punjab, in part due to private money from the west arriving most often in the form of NRI (Non-Resident Indians) money given directly to school projects.
Sikhya strives to match the standards of the elite private schools in the city. Sikhya also provides a nurturing and loving environment for these kids who come from extremely difficult backgrounds. All schoolwork is performed in school; this is because, according to the school teachers I chatted with, it is simply impractical for the kids to do work at home -- most do not have electricity in the slums and many are required to work long hours. Another challenge is abuse; many kids are abused at home, and tragically, there simply is not an effective social service system in India which can help. Despite all these difficulties, it is obvious from the photos below, that the kids are thriving.
The computer labs are quite extensive at Sikhya, complete with broadband Internet connectivity.
When Slumdog Millionaire came out, many friends of mine asked me if the slums are really like that in India. I said, well yeah, in fact, they're even worse. Its tough to convey just how stinking hot it is here on the big screen, not to mention, how stinking stinky it can be. I also hear from friends and family traveling or living here that everyone is corrupt, and there's not much anyone can do. This is patently false, Sikhya school was set up by one man who simply wanted to do some good. There is no doubt corruption is rampant in India, but it is also true that everywhere you look there are examples of honest, caring locals striving to improve the situation.
We were so inspired with the Sikhya school that we started volunteering a few days a week. Our first assignment was to paint murals. The school is broken into 5 groups, one for each of the basic "elements," which according to eastern philosophy and religions, are the base materials from which the universe is made.
It costs 200 US$ to educate one child for one year at Sikhya. The school can arrange for you to sponsor a specific child, or children, and track their progress through school and life.
My favorite part of working on the murals was meeting the curious kids wandering about.
If you wish to donate to Sikhya school, please drop an email to: sikhya_head@rediffmail.com and mention you are friends of Deep and Ameen. Unfortunately they don't have PayPal set up, but you can either wire money to the school's bank or send some along with a relative visiting India.
Drop me a note if you are interested in setting up a letter writing exchange with students of a particular grade.
Drop me a note if you have any trouble donating or volunteering.
My son and I flagged down a bicycle rickshaw for our journey home tonight. As I stepped onto the rickshaw, I noticed it was brand spankin' new -- cardboard and plastic still wrapped much of the cycle's tubing. After the many hundreds, perhaps thousands of rickshaw rides I've taken in India, not once have I ever ridden on a brand new one. So I said to Gopal, "Vah, your rickshaw is absolutely fantastic!" He smiled and said, "No Sahib, this one is already a month and a half old. Its simply okay."
As we were cruising home, Gopal was totally cranking -- I've never seen someone pull a rickshaw this fast. It was obvious something was different about Gopal. It turns out, Gopal owns 14 rickshaws; he himself rides 7 days a week, 18 hours a day -- from pre-dawn, through the searing summer heat, and late into the night. He keeps a brand new rickshaw for himself, once it gets a little old, he adds it to his collection of rentals. According to Gopal, the average Chandigarh rikshawala will earn between 2500 and 5000 rupees a month (that's between 58 and 116$US). Gopal makes about 900 rupees per month on each rickshaw he rents out. A brand new rickshaw costs 9000 rupees. Now according to Gopal, each rented rickshaw comes with significant overhead, there's the occasional worn out tire, a broken chain, and other bike maintenance related problems, but his biggest expense has more to do with his riders, who can require a fair amount of money for things like a marriage (for their daughters), a funeral, medical bills, etc. So all in all, Gopal says he grosses about 15000 rupees a month, and after all his expenses, pulls home around 11000. I asked him how he manages 13 other rikshawalas. Gopal says he has a cell phone in his pocket, they call him if there are any problems. All his riders return their bikes to him at the end of the day, where they all sleep on their rickshaws together. He said he has no problems with the government and hence no need to pay any bribes. There is a one time license fee of 500 rupees per bicycle. I also asked if he had any problems with riders running off with his bikes. He said no, he has all their paperwork in order, they have to sign for the bikes, and he learns all their family history before hand. I asked Gopal why he doesn't upgrade to an auto-rickshaw. He laughed and said, "Never. That is the worst business ever. For them it is just a status symbol, that they don't have to work hard like us." Apparently autos have many maintenance expenses, petrol expenses, license fees, taxes, penalties (tickets for things like too many passengers, traffic violations, etc.), money for bribes and more. Gopal says his business is good, hard work for sure, but good.
I asked him where his wife and kids are. He says he owns a house in Delhi, has 3 kids, 1 of marriageable age. His daughter's marriage will cost him 1.5 to 2 lakhs (3500$US to 4650$US). He has 3 rickshaws running in Delhi, he visits once a month or so, otherwise he sleeps on his bike, and keeps growing his business.
I must say, I was totally blown away by my conversation with Gopal. Before Gopal, like most others, I thought of rikshawalas as men to feel sorry for, men with few options, no education, and little money. While 11000 rupees per month doesn't sound like much to a westerner ( a mere 256$US) its almost twice as much as a teacher makes here, and more than 6 times what a farm laborer makes. And most importantly, Gopal's income is growing. I asked how many more rickshaws he thinks he could handle. He felt he could double the number without many problems. I asked how many rikshawalas are entrepreneurs like him -- he kept peddling, and just laughed.
This porcelain pair of hemorrhoids sparing squat toilets offer a deluxe view of the magnificent Chandigarh Rose Garden park.
For you art lovers and mountaineers, here is a colorful stand up work designed to offer fresh air, as well as a nice view.
And my personal favorite, a rather endangered species, which never fails to bring back childhood memories of crickets chirping, wheat stalks swaying, and the scent of a new day.
No AC buzz. No whirling fans. No reason to squint. Black sky cracks open, and dumps a bucket of bliss. The searing heat subsides, at least for the moment.
And the sun returns, though the rain is not forgotten.
"Oh sahib, you're such a budda sahib, please help an old man. Here, hold him, hold him, he'll give you good luck sahib. Oh chota sahib, yes, he likes you, here take him, yes bring the camera mehim sahib, yes please shoot, yes take the picture, oh budda sahib, why are you backing away, chota sahib is not afraid, he is a brave sahib, yes mehim sahib, take the picture, go on take it, yes take more, go on, yes, good, it is a good picture. Oh bless my sahib, you're such a budda sahib, praise be to God, may he bless you day after day after day."
We were walking along a dusty road in the beautiful mountains this past weekend and ran across a rather gruesome site. In classic Indian style, the contrast was dramatic. Marlin Perkins, host of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, might have read: as the radiant red sun slowly set across the Himalayan skyline, two gentlemen casually sip chai and chat while a sweet street dog gnaws industriously on the victim of a traffic mishap.
WARNING: THE PICTURE YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE CONTAINS ELEMENTS OF A GRAPHIC NATURE. PLEASE CLICK AWAY IMMEDIATELY IF YOU WANT TO PRESERVE YOUR DISNEY PROVIDED MENTAL IMAGE OF DOGS AND MONKEYS AS CUTE AND CUDDLY.
It has been a bit warm here in Chandigarh, with daily peaks over 110 degrees. So last weekend we decided to head up into the mountains to escape the heat for a bit. We zipped through the skinny winding roads of the Himalayan foothills, with each child clutching a plastic barf bag. Despite many false alerts, we managed to remain vomit-free, a rather rare event for our kids on windy roads. The mountains are beautiful here, though a bit dusty this time of year. We did manage to escape to the much cooler temperature of a mere 102. One of the treats of the mountains is the ever entertaining monkey drama. In Kasauli there are lots of these cute and fluffy, relatively well mannered gray monkeys.
This plump nugget and Ameen became friends. He enjoyed her chips, and promised to come visit us soon, though he said he prefers to wait until cooler days.
Kasauli is a quaint little town, which once served as a hill station for the Brits. It's primary tourist attraction is called Monkey Point, where legend has it, Lord Hanuman, the Hindu monkey deity, took a rest during his many exploits aiding the hero Rama against his battles with the demon king Ravan. Unfortunately we never made it to Monkey Point. For some reason, Monkey Point sits inside a high security Indian Air Force base. We diligently emptied our pockets of all electronic devices, waited a few hours for the Air Force officers to complete their lunch, pushed and shoved our way through a mob of excited devotees, only to find out that my painstakingly acquired Indian government provided proof of "Indianness" card was not sufficient proof that I was Indian. Upon leaving the premises, I was approached by many folks kindly offering me use of their IDs so we could go inside. After glancing at the handful of uniformed and rifle carrying jawans, we chose to eat lunch instead.
One of the many heritage homes from the days of the British raj.
We saw this lovely bovine shopping for "home making" things.
A devout Ramones fan working as a jalebi maker -- they were extremely tasty, perhaps it was the spirit of Joey Ramone and his sticky sweet voice.
And finally, an amazing sun set on the way back down to Chandigarh.
I'm a technologist trying to get machines to make sense of the worlds information mostly by teaching them how to read. I'm also a painter. I live in Seattle with my lovely wife and two kids. We can communicate here, or via: Twitter, email, LinkedIn, Facebook, or on my art site.
So last night we were with a friend driving to an Italian restaurant for dinner. She makes an illegal U-turn, and we get pulled over by the cops. Our friend says, "oh great, here we go. Watch and learn."
