Christmas in India?

When living in a country where 80 percent of the people are Hindu and 13 percent are Muslim, you wouldn't expect there to be much Christmas spirit. Surprisingly, that's not the case. While there are a small amount of Christians out here, there aren't nearly enough to explain why I hear Christmas songs over the mall loudspeakers, why I see shopkeepers giving out candy canes, why numerous children and adults come rapping at my car window to (attempt to) sell me a santa hat. A few businesses decorate their buildings with lights, some that flicker so inconsistently that it just looks like they forgot to pay the electric bill.

I guess they just enjoy the flavor of Christmas, the general merriment. You don't need to religiously celebrate a holiday to enjoy the atmosphere it brings.

At my day job out here, they did much more celebrating than they ever did back in the states. In Burbank, our secret Santa gift exchange was voluntary (and I lacked the school spirit to ever volunteer), here it was practically forced. I ended up receiving a progression of small gifts on the days leading up to the "big" gift day: a candy bar, a Pepsi, a t-shirt.

Then on Thursday comes the main event. I'm working at my desk when I see a co-worker with a guitar leading a small procession of other co-workers down the aisle, singing Jingle Bells. Everyone (maybe 80 people) stops working and gathers around as an Indian Santa Claus appears, eager to distribute the secret Santa gifts to all of us good employees. I'm the second person to get his gift -- some heavy, oddly-shaped, lumpy thing wrapped in newspaper -- but I refrain from opening it until all gifts have been distributed. And there are a lot of gifts so I end up waiting a long time. Finally Santa finishes and I can open my gift. I rip through the newspaper and find a big bunch of bananas, an orange and an apple. Apparently this was a joke gift (Oh, that zany Rizvanulla, my secret Santa). The t-shirt had been the real one. And it actually was a very nice t-shirt.

I don't even eat bananas. So I gave them out to a couple friends and whoever happened to walked by. "Hey, happy hoildays," I'd say. "Have a banana." Nothing says happy holidays like a banana.

Etiquette dictates that, even though it's very unlikely they actually celebrate Christmas, I should get gifts for my driver and the guys that come in and clean my room/apartment every day (it's actually called a service apartment -- it's pretty comparable to a hotel room). It's tough deciding what I should get them. I don't want to buy them gifts that are too fancy -- or gifts that aren't fancy enough. And just giving them money isn't really an option (at least from my perspective) since I already give them a healthy tip once a week anyway. Then it hits me -- I'll give them chocolate.

Everyone here seems to love chocolate. In fact, just prior to leaving the states, I was given the hot tip that I should bring lots of chocolate with me to distribute among my co-workers, who I had been led to believe were raving chocolate fiends. They do sell chocolate here, but much of it is prohibitively expensive for the average Bangalorian. That's why my suitcase was heavy with countless bags of Hershey's kisses and miniatures when my plane first touched down.

But back to the driver and apartment cleaners... I figured I'd get two nice expensive chocolate tins for my driver and one nice tin each for the two apartment guys. But I had to be careful with their gifts. From what I'd been told, one person makes the bed, washes the dishes and does general tidying-up stuff. And the other person -- who is from the untouchable class -- only cleans the bathroom. I'm not entirely sure how accurate that is since I've never been home when they clean (like a good hotel guest, I immediately put the "do not disturb" sign to use as soon as I walk in the door). Regardless, I remember hearing on NPR that if you're in a gift-giving situation such as this, you cannot give the person of lower class a gift of equal value to the the person of a higher class. Of course I do not agree with this way of thinking, but I don't want to cause problems either.

So I end up buying two nice tins of chocolate-covered hazelnuts and two fancy boxes of Toblerones. They were very expensive by Bangalore standards. I'll give one of each to my driver and I'll leave the other two on the kitchen counter for the cleaning guys. The way I figure it, they can each take one based on whichever has more perceived value. I hope I did all this the right way -- I hope I bought the right "level" of gift. It's hard to figure out. I wish there was a guidebook for this sorta thing.

Monkey Inequality and Elephant Shackles

I’ve heard there are national parks out here where you can see wild animals roam free. I definitely intend to check them out at some point. But this first month, I’ve pretty much stuck around Bangalore. Yesterday I went to the Bannerghatta Zoo within Bannerghatta National Park, just outside the city. My expectations were relatively low.

My personal zoo perspective is a little biased, I admit. I was spoiled early on. I grew up visiting the Bronx Zoo, which is expertly designed and well-maintained. There are a few wrought iron cages around (at least there were the last time I visited) but they’re mostly relics of an earlier age when animals were treated as things, not as living creatures. For the most part, the animals now live in habitats similar to their homes in the wild, though with more viewing areas and the occasional monorail drive-by.

Thus, I compare every zoo I visit to the Bronx Zoo, which I realize is unfair. But still, it’s how I look at it. Even the renowned San Diego Zoo was (surprisingly) a step below. So going into Bannerghatta, I was just hoping the animals didn’t look too miserable and the cages wouldn’t be unconscionably small. Ideally there wouldn’t be “cages” at all, but I knew that was a longshot.

Before I went into the zoo portion of Bannerghatta, I decided to take one of their “grand safari” rides. You just know it’ll be a traditional safari when you step onto a thirty year-old minibus with steely mesh windowguards. They also offered some sort of “elephant safari.” I don’t know if it involved riding an elephant (which would have been cool) or else just riding out to SEE elephants, but either way, it wasn’t available that day. Bummer.

My American friend went to Bannerghata a month ago. He said the ride-along tour guide had ushered him into the very best seat when he got on the bus, the one in the front row. Clearly because he was American, he got preferential treatment (often a reality here – I’ve grown to accept it even as I continue to despise it). And of course since he’d had such a prime seat, he was “obligated” to give the guide a healthy tip.

So anyway, when I got on the minibus, the tour guide ushered me to the front. Big surprise. But instead of sitting in the very front seat, I sat one row back. I figured someone else could get more enjoyment out of sitting in the front than me. And sure enough, two little kids ended up moving there halfway through the ride. And they were definitely more into the safari experience than I was. I mean, I enjoyed it. It was fine. We just drove from one fenced-in natural area to another, the minibus stopping whenever a (most often sleeping) wild animal was nearby. Then everyone would feverishly take pictures. Camera phone-toting adults jostling one another for the best angle, most often in the front seat area that I had smartly avoided.

The areas we drove through were wooded and mostly natural, save for the water troughs. The animals had a fair amount of land to roam. We saw lionesses, tigers (including a couple white tigers), some sleeping bears and a few other animals. Nothing I hadn’t seen before but it was all right.

After the ride was over, the guide jumped out of the minibus as we all prepared to exit. But before I could get up, the guide talked to me (only me) through the window. “Tip, tip” he said. I pretended to not understand so he repeated himself. I rolled my eyes (at least on the inside) and reached into my wallet, giving him 70 rupees. I thought he had a bit of nerve to only ask me for a tip. Every single person on that bus got the exact same tour and I hadn’t even taken that preferred front seat. Yet I was still expected to be the one tipping. The money wasn’t even the issue – 70 rupees is like a dollar fifty. I just didn’t appreciate the inequity of the whole thing. But then, I didn’t come here to change the system. This is what they do here. Hence the 70 rupees.

I proceeded into the actual zoo portion of the park. The first thing I saw was a cage. A cylindrical, wrought iron cage with bears in it and very little else. Just the kind of thing I was hoping I wouldn’t see, even if I was expecting it.

Then I saw an elephant. Its pen looked pretty big and naturalistic with a barn-like structure and a decent-sized area to move around in. Then I saw the chains around the elephant’s feet, the ones that only let it move within a five foot radius from the big wooden stake in the ground. Sad…



I continued on and saw a bunch of monkeys. Wild monkeys roaming freely. Walking in front of me so close I could pet one if I wanted to. Not that I would be doing that. It’d be like trying to pick up a squirrel back in the states (an apt comparison since wild monkeys are nearly as commonplace as squirrels back home). It was a whole family of monkeys – or maybe a few families. I enjoyed watching a couple monkey children playing in a tree. And watching another monkey pick food out of a garbage can. As he ripped into an old bag of chips, I went to take a picture. But before I could, I felt something wet on my neck. Did it start raining? Did a bird drop a bomb on me? No. I looked up in a tree and saw an angry, howling mama monkey cradling her baby, feeling threatened and in a protective mode. I can’t prove it but I’m pretty sure she spit on me.

It’s interesting seeing cultural differences here. While I dug watching the wild monkeys, the local zoo visitors barely noticed them. But they were fascinated by the deer. Yes, deer. Different perspectives for different cultures.

I saw another cage. This one had – of all things – monkeys in it. Two of them. I’m not sure what species but they were definitely different (and funnier looking) than the wild monkeys. I wondered how they must have felt being trapped in a cage while watching the wild monkeys gallivanting freely. I wondered if the wild monkeys ever came by and mocked the caged ones, throwing rotten bananas and feces at them. Monkey inequality. That is so wrong.



By the edge of the zoo, I saw a small group of elephants all packed together, eating and being tended to by zoo people. As I got closer, I saw that the elephants were in chains, even more than were worn by the single elephant in the pen. People were getting their pictures taken with a shackled elephant but I declined this when asked. I snapped some shots, but mostly focusing on the chains. I wished that the elephants could all escape and run off into the wild somewhere. Or else go to this place.

Am I being a hypocrite? I mean, I would totally ride an elephant. And I have enjoyed the occasional circus. But to see miserable animals living in cramped spaces really gets to me. Who are we to cage meant-to-be-free creatures for our own selfish viewing? And by paying my money to get in, I’m supporting the practice. At the same time, many zoos do terrific conservation work and help bring back endangered species (I’ve learned Bannerghatta has done a lot of positive things for tigers and other jungle cats. But that’s not the kind of thing you get to see at the zoo itself). And there is something to be said for getting to see a wild animal in person, when their natural habitat is actually a hemisphere away. I dunno…zoos just bring up mixed feelings.

Okay, getting off my high horse now…

One of the last things to check out was the hippopotamus exhibit. I checked it out. Four large hippos. One small concrete pool of water. It was time to leave the zoo.

i miss you, Casio Exilim EX-Z750

You were more than a camera, you were a friend. You were always there for me when I needed you. You would keep memories of things, even when I would forget. When I found you were broken, my heart broke in turn. Sure I can get stills from the camcorder, but it's not the same. You were sleek and sexy and slipped into my pocket. Without you I can't capture those random moments that are gone in a flash -- a family of five on a motorcycle, a cow blocking traffic, a monkey in a tree. You'll be replaced soon -- by a cousin, perhaps a twin. But it won't be the same. It can never be the same. Not without you.

day at the movies

Today was the day for the dreaded holiday shopping. Blecchhh. I didn't want to wait much longer because I'd have to mail everything back to the states, and I have no idea how long it would take to get there. I'd actually intended to start (and finish) shopping yesterday, but because some more American Yahoos were in town, I ended up going to the track with them instead (the track visit was grimy and uneventful. I lost many a rupee on many a horse. Not one winner, dagnabbit. I heard that the night before, the leading horse -- the heavy favorite -- pulled up right before crossing the finish line and the patrons flipped out and threw flowerpots through windows and such. Which begs the question...why couldn't I have been there THAT day??).

So back to today...After walking to the big shopping area, Brigade Road (or rather, after ATTEMPTING to walk to the big shopping area -- I ended up getting totally lost along the way and had to take an auto-rickshaw ride to reach my destination, which I didn't mind because I hadn't ridden in one of those yet), I scouted out some cool Indian-type crafts for sale. But intending to come back after scouting out more shops, I didn't buy anything except for a bunch of cool little wooden toys for my little niece.

Armed with the knowledge of what was available at Brigade Road, I then went to The Forum, the local upscale mall. And I figured that since I was going to go to the mall, I might as well see a movie. The multiplex there was very large by local standards. Nine or ten screens, I think. A few English language flicks (Casino Royale is currently the big draw), a few foreign flicks and a bunch of Kannada flicks (Indian films in the Kannada language. No, I hadn't heard of it either). I was hoping to check out one of the English language ones since, you know, they were in English. But they were all sold out. Hell, nearly every movie for the next four hours was sold out. Those Indians do enjoy their cinema.

So I ended up buying a ticket for the one film starting in the next three hours that wasn't sold out: C-O Footpath, a Kannada film. I had to reassure the pesky ticket booth guy and the pesky ticket taker guy that yes, I knew it wasn't in English. I figured I'd be able to follow what was going on. And I did.

It was about a rebellious dirty urchin boy from a poor unschooled village who wanted to go to school. But school was just too darned expensive. He befriended some actual students and had secret study lessons with them. This made him very excited. I knew this because he would run around smiling, waving his arms in the air with reckless abandon. The rebellious boy would teach the other dirty urchin children from his village what he learned and then they would all get excited and dance wildly. Near the "end," the rebellious boy somehow finagled a school uniform and snuck into a classroom to attend school for real. But he was found out and a stern man litterally dragged him out of the classroom (kicking and screaming) and threw him out onto the dirt road. A heartbreaking moment -- what would the rebellious dirty urchin boy do next??

Well, I never found out because as he was sobbing in the dirt, "intermission" appeared on the screen. It was an hour and twenty minutes in and I figured I could guess the rest of the story. Boy picks himself out of dirt. Boy feels sorry for himself. Boy gets encouraged by mother and other dirty urchin children. Boy rises up and goes to school. Boy gets excited and waves his arms in the air. Everyone dances wildly.

Bangaloring #1 - Old Trees and Magic Seeds (video)

Riding in Cars with Thankachen

I've been here in Bangalore for nearly a week now. But sadly, I've spent most of my days working. This weekend, finally getting a few days off, I was able to start exploring a bit. And since I'll be here six months, I feel no rush to go see everything noteworthy RIGHT NOW. It's nice to not feel rushed.

Yesterday my driver (yes, I have a driver. it's weird) took me around to some of the local sites, many of which (coincidentally enough) were shops where the driver seemed to know the employees very well. Hmmmm... I'd heard that drivers often have deals with merchants, getting a cut of the money the passenger (the drivee?) spends in the store. But I really didn't care since I had no idea where to go anyway. I just knew I wanted to hit the Lalbagh Botanical Garden at some point because I heard it was cool.

First stop is the silk store -- Bangalore, apparently, is known for having a fine silk industry. I'm given such royal treatment that I feel uncomfortable. Multiple employees encircle me, unfolding shirt after shirt in hopes that one (or many) will catch my eye and unshackle my wallet. A woman comes by and offers me a glass of orange soda (I decline). I end up buying a couple shirts since I need a few more buttondowns for work, but not any of the really expensive ones. And I think they're both made of cotton.

Next Thankachen (my driver) and I drive over to the parliment building and some other big governmental building. Nothing really exciting, though I take a few pictures anyway. I have to take them with my camcorder since my camera had busted the night I arrived...dagnabbit.

We go to Brigade Road, a nice shopping area, so I can try and find a new camera. They have some but I don't buy because I can't find the kind I want. And I'm a picky bastard.

Back in the car, I say I'd like to go to the botanical gardens. Thankachen says that it doesn't open until 3pm. I'm suspicious, but whatever. I'll play his little game since it's already almost two. He takes me to some nondescript building and suggests I go in. "Take ten minutes" he says in his broken English, "nice things to see."

"What, like a museum?" I ask.

"Yes, yes, museum."

I go inside. Shockingly, it is not a museum. I'm in an elegant room filled with rolled up rugs. I take a deep breath and sit in the seat that the rug salesman pointed me to. His assistants come in and unfurl large rugs which nearly reach the edge of my feet. He encourages me to touch them and feel how soft they are. "Yes, umm, they're very soft" I say before explaining, in too much detail, that I have no need for a rug. Fine, he says. They have other things too.

An assistant apparates and escorts me from room to room. Many lovely items yet I have no use for nearly all of them. "Sorry," I explain while looking at rows upon rows of beautiful fabric. "I don't need a shawl."

I am also unreceptive as the assistant tries to push saris on me. "For your wife, your mother, your sister." No sale. I just don't see my sister wearing a sari. I do make one purchase though -- a small wooden pencil holder with a picture of Ganesh on the front. Probably the cheapest item in the store but at least it was something I would use.

Back in the car, Thankachen asks what I bought and how much it cost. Certainly he asks out of curiosity, not because he's interested in how many rupees that would mean for him.



We go to the outside of some palace. Looks nice, if unspectacular. I switch on my camcorder to snap a shot and an angry guard approaches us. Apparently I wasn't meant to take a picture of this nice, if unspectacular palace. Oh well, no big loss.

Continuing on our drive, Thankachen asks if I like diamonds, says that he knows a good jewelry store. I say I'm not interested and he seems fine with that. A few minutes later we make a stop. He says I should go in this one building because it's really good. Fine, I say, just counting the minutes until three o'clock. I ride with him in the elevator and ask where we're going. "Jewelry store" he says. I roll my eyes.

After a short time resisting the jewelry guy's hard sell, we're back in the car. It's three and, finally, we reach the front gate of the Lalbagh Botanical Garden...

L.A. to Bangalore