Bangalore
Bangaluru
Government building
July 24, 2008
When we arrived to the airport in Bangalore one of my bags didn’t make it, so I
had to fill out a couple lost baggage forms. I also had to go through a mess at
customs with a British Airways employee because I said I had 3 bags, but only 2
with me.
We (Dr. John and I) found our driver and began the trip to the hotel. The airport
is about an hour and 15 minutes away from the hotel and since we landed at about
6am, there was very little traffic, so I can’t image how long it would take with
traffic. The driving was lawless, no rules to the road; we ran through about 3-4
stop signs. At one point the road went from four lanes to two with no prior warning;
I can’t image the traffic jam there would be with some decent traffic.
There are cars of all sorts; there was one truck filled with chicken cages and chickens,
but the majority are mopeds and motorcycles, then a much smaller number of cars
and auto rickshaws. At one point traffic in front of us was stopped, so we took
a small dirt road detour, which was narrow and slightly frightening.
The landscape reminds me of a bazaar combination of Africa’s poverty: random people
on the streets, and small run down shops made of whatever materials could be found
in combination with Turkey’s free market, growing industries, wealth, sophistication,
education, and power. It seems religiously diverse given that we passed a mosque,
church, and numerous small hidden temples all within about 5 blocks. The temples
are very colorful and our driver has some sort of idol on his dashboard.
We were greeted at the hotel by Dr. Sibi and a bouquet of flowers for each of us,
which I found rather odd. We checked in to find our beautiful hotel rooms, which
were state of the art and highlighted by a leather couch and flat screen TV. There
was also a great balcony, a welcome fruit basket, chocolates, and a two-person whirlpool.
The DVD player and WiFi reinforced that I was at a business hotel, but the TV having
no reception quickly reminded me I was in India.
The floor numbering scheme in the hotel was odd. The ground floor was labeled -1,
the next floor up was 0, then 1, etc. So the floor labeled “1” would actually be
what Americans would label as “3.”
I spent the next couple hours on the hotel’s rooftop mesmerized by the traffic and
the intersection below. The combination of traffic from people to trucks and bicycles
was simply a hodge-podge of anything that moves or in some cases can be pushed.
The oddest sight however was a family of four on a single moped. The older child
was standing between the father and the handlebars; behind him was another child
and his wife. There were also a number of women riding motorcycles and mopeds side
saddle.
There’s a popular coconut stand across the street, where the vendor chops off the
top of the coconut and serves it with a straw to his clients. I’m not sure if they
just drink the coconut milk then discard the rest.
There have also been a number of cars with the largest hood ornament I’ve ever seen,
literally two feet tall, basically just a phallic symbol.
I found the bull fighter picture an odd selection for my hotel
At about 1pm we made our way into the city with two of Dr. John’s Indian friends.
We first had Mankel show us around, a man who arrived in Bangalore with only 200
rupees in his pocket (US $5) and now runs 5 businesses. The first thing he showed
us was Ulsoor Lake and he seemed quite proud of it.
Whenever locals show me a city I find it more intriguing to see what they want to
show me than I find the actual sites. This man-made lake was nothing more than a
green puddle of pollution in the middle of a thriving metropolis. The islands were
concrete blocks, perfectly round with grass and trees while the outer rim of the
lake was again a perfect oval shape with the shore only concrete steps, showing
just how abrupt the lake begins and ends. To me this lake was disgusting; to Mankel
it was something to be proud of.
We next made our way to MG road, or Mahatma Gandhi Road. This is the heart of the
thriving and relatively modern city consisting of shops, restaurants, and bars.
We ventured into one of these stores: the state emporium of handicrafts. There were
a lot of shawls, pillow cases, stone and wood carvings. I found the wood carvings
the most impressive and we spent a good half hour here looking at everything.
After leaving to see more of the street I noticed the number of western stores such
as Levi’s that dominated this road. At the end we also found a McDonald’s, which
our host was insistent on going to, because he told us it’s “America’s favorite.”
I haven’t eaten at McDonald’s since I was in pre-school, but our host was insistent
that we eat there and I felt it would be insulting to deny him this gift he so desperately
wanted to give. Being in India, there was no beef on the menu, but the menu’s highlight
seemed to be the “Chicken Maharaja Mac” and with a name like that I simply couldn’t
resist. While eating I noticed that there were large flat screen TVs on the walls
running stock tickers. I found this odd given the fact that we were at McDonald’s,
but by looking around it was clear the people here had money and it wouldn’t be
a surprise to find many are investors.
The “Mac” was like a regular burger: bun, lettuce, tomatoes, and onions, but the
sauce was a spicy curry and the giant un-breaded chicken mc-nugget type thing was
dowsed and cooked in the same spicy curry sauce. It wasn’t too bad, but I wouldn’t
order it again, especially since I spent the next hour focusing on not throwing
up so the next few sites I’m going to explain may be vaguer than ideal.
We made it to Cubbon Park with sandwich still in tack. The park is filled with rose
gardens, a couple weeks away from blooming, a fitting scene for the city known as
“Garden City.” The city library was nearby and quite striking in its blood red color.
Following this, we made it to the British colonial heart of the city, the Karnataka
Government Building and across the street, the Karnataka High Court. Neither looked
Indian as I know it, but rather exactly what they are, British 19th century Colonial.
After a few pictures, I was again struck by the oddities that our new friend showed
us: an up scale shopping mall. I can’t figure out if this was shown to us because
he was proud of it or if he wanted to show us how advanced and rich India is, but
from his expression I would guess the prior. This mall was nicer than most in the
US and the Italian influenced interior was adorned by paintings of Venice and up
scale shops like Louis Vuitton and Rolex.
Our final stop with Mankel was the city’s business center. I first thought this
would be like an American downtown, but discovered it to be more of a large street
market. The shops were packed and the people and their products overflowed into
the sidewalks. There were constantly trucks and cars delivering goods to these shops
and the streets seemed even busier here than anywhere else. The city’s main bus
station is here as well so the chaotic traffic is even more chaotic. This spot made
for great people watching and I noticed a lot of male teenagers and men in their
twenties hold hands, which seems odd, but again, seems to be normal here. I saw
it in more than one case, so this must be the norm and not the exception. It was
also here that Mankel had to leave and we were passed off to his nephew, Manheal,
who’s English was much more understandable.
Manheal told us about English levels being directly related to the level of one’s
education and that his uncle never went to school, but has self-taught himself the
language since arriving in Bangalore. Manheal on the other hand has a college degree
and attended schools with an English medium, so spoke fluently. By this time my
stomach was settled and my curiosity was now on the verge of explosion so my questions
began.
Manheal told us about the caste system dying in the cities, but still very prevalent
in villages. Bangalore, being a booming IT hub and immigration center (primarily
for Indians throughout the country) has almost no remnants of the caste system anymore,
even less so than some other major cities. Due to this economic boom and immigration,
Bangalore is very multi-cultural and for many first generation arrivals Hindi and
English are the only means of communication. The local language, Kannada is still
the most common language, since most Indians moving here are from Karnataka, but
for others there needs to be Hindi or English to survive.
Both Mankel and Manheal are from Gujarat in western India, bordering Pakistan. They
are Jains, meaning they believe that no living animal should be killed for any reason,
a fact that perhaps made our trip to McDonald’s and my Chicken Maharaja Mac a little
awkward in retrospect. I didn’t even notice at the time that Mankel was eating a
vegetarian meal. Jains believe in re-incarnation and so view all animals as the
same: creatures with souls. Some are so strict that they sweep in front of them
so they won’t step on an animal and many of these people will also wear a mouth
mask so no animal flies into their mouth. It’s a fascinating religion and no matter
their motivation for not killing animals, it’s a very peaceful and powerful message.
Spinning off the Jain conversation, Manheal told us that India is very multi-ethnic
and this encourages the ability of numerous religions to live side by side in peace,
which is exemplified by the mosque, church, and temples within such close proximity.
From religion we moved on to Indian families and I was surprised to find Indian
families now typically only have one or two children, which is quite a contrast
to the tradition and cultural center of the people, large families with lots of
children; you can only have over 1 billion people by these means and clearly India
has succeeded.
Manheal also told us that Americans are fairly well accepted in India because the
people understand that everything is a two way street and the US brings in all these
IT jobs, money, and supports their nuclear energy plants so Indians tend to respond
favorably.
Just prior to the end of the tour I was again intrigued by the site shown to us.
There is a street with beautiful five star hotels, each seems more impressive than
the last, as if they are trying to out-do each other like the casinos on the Strip
in Las Vegas. Each did well in accomplishing its task and in the end they are all
incredible. Manheal seemed proud and said this is where the IT capital’s businessmen
stay.
Dr. John and I had dinner in our hotel’s restaurant, which was alright. There’s
a lot of chicken on the menu as are different types of wet dishes, or what we call
curries. The oddest thing of the dinner though was that when we ordered water they
asked if we wanted it warm or cold. Anyway, dinner was alright and immediately afterwards
I went to bed. The day was intriguing, but exhausting.
Government building
July 25, 2008
There seems to be either a great sense of trust ingrained in business in India or
just a complete lack of organization. I have no idea what the schedule of my meeting
is and have no idea when or where any of my obligations are. I was simply told last
night that a car will be here to pick me up at 8am; the car arrived and I got in.
The driver didn’t speak English and if any problems arose, I wouldn’t even be aware
of them given the fact that I didn’t know where I was going or when I was supposed
to be there. Either way, we arrived safely and were again greeted with flowers.
I’m just not sure what to do with all of these flowers; I don’t want to be rude
and just toss them, but that’s all I’m going to do when I return to my hotel tonight.
I just left them and pretended like I had forgotten them.
The meeting began without a hitch and I had had most of the morning to relax. Everyone
here seems to call me… and every other male “Sir” and when anyone asks a question,
they stand. Another thing that is striking is that the people always seems to bob
their heads from left to right, not like shaking your head “no,” but more like the
head is tilting on an axis that is parallel to the floor. This apparently means
they are listening, like they comprehend what you are saying and if there is no
response I believe that means ok, yes, or I agree depending on what you are saying.
Lunch and tea breaks were set in a separate hall and we made our way there each
break. The staff here consisted of broken child labor laws, but the person who seemed
to be in charge didn’t mind given he was just another broken law.
The coffee is only served with cream already in it and Dr. John didn’t take well
to this, so they sent another child across the street to have coffee made black,
a task that took a good hour, but did arrive.
Lunch was alright and we all grabbed some, then stood around and ate (but only with
our right hands, since the left is unclean and reserved for bathroom duties). During
the lunch break I decided I needed a walk so began wandering around the building,
which is really just an office that has a couple conference rooms they rent out
to groups like ours. I found Dr. Manjit during this break and he told me that bombs
just went off in the city. He was laughing and explained to me that they were only
small fireworks, then said “Bangalore is really banging!” He seemed more amused
than shaken and told me no one had died and that the closest was only about a kilometer
away from us. He said it was probably the “Pakistani Terrorists” and that we should
just ignore them. Indians, he said are too busy with life to take all that time
planning to kill people then trying to kill them. Another nearby doctor then joked
that it was actually Dr. Manjit that was at fault.
Dr. Manjit is a Sikh and the other Indian said it was the Sikhs’ job to protect
Indian, because Sikhs feel it is there responsibility to “protect the underprivileged
from invaders” and this translates to them protecting India from Pakistan both now
as well as in the past. I guess I wasn’t too concerned about the bombings given
his relaxation so soon made my way back to the meeting.
I later asked Dr. Manjit more about Sikhism and he said that the first line in their
holy book is “There is one God.” This, their first and most important directorate
makes them a unifying religion, accepting people of all faiths into their temples
and lives. The next line is “Speak truth,” a simple idea, but as Dr. Manjit said,
knowing truth is difficult so to speak it even more difficult. The conversation
was interesting, but soon the meeting began again.
Back at the hotel we were served tea and coffee each filled with cream and neither
warm. This was served with cold appetizers; unfortunately they were supposed to
be hot as well. There were five of us here for appetizers: a professor from New
York, one from Baylor (both immigrants from India), Dr. Manjit, Dr. John and myself.
Trying to be polite and not entirely sure what was had ordered, I remained silent
as the three Indian doctors laid into our waiter. They demanded more food, but this
time hot food and hot coffee and tea. Simple tasks it seemed, but from talking to
Dr. Manjit, perhaps the norm in India. I’m not sure if it is poor restaurants or
poor service, but it wasn’t good.
As we were eating and talking the lights went out for a few seconds. The conversation
didn’t even pause and I get the impression these power outages happens all the time,
I think I was the only one that even noticed.
Round two in our culinary quest was much better and everything was hot, the appetizers
were vegetables coated in a light batter and deep fried. I didn’t give the tea another
chance; the cream was too much for me even though I am a fan of English style tea
with milk. There is definitely a difference between cream and milk… and milk is
much preferred.
Only Dr. John and I ordered dinner, I’m not sure why everyone else passed and I
felt slightly guilty eating, but was starved and Dr. John already began and I didn’t
want to let him eat by himself. I had the chicken curry with buttered naan. The
naan was great, but the chicken curry was less than ideal. The sauce was filled
with onions and the chicken was verything from breast to leg. The task of removing
the chicken from the bone was difficult and I found it more work than it was worth
by dinner’s end.
Dr. Sibi, our host and meeting planner was to attend the small reception then join
us for dinner, however never made it. We called him a few times, but he was too
busy receiving cancellation calls. While Dr. Manjit seemed to pass off the bombings
as fireworks, those who hadn’t arrived viewed them as a terrorist attack and the
fear paralyzed the country and could potentially destroy the meeting. Dr. Sibi said
he spent most of the night receiving cancellations and was so busy he never made
it to the restaurant. It should be interesting to see tomorrow’s turnout given the
bombings.
Speaking of calling, everyone here has a cell phone. The technology came so quickly
and at nearly the same price as landlines, but often more accessible so it seems
everyone has a cell phone.
Library in Bangalore
July 26, 2008
This morning’s meeting started one and a half hours late. Everyone seems to be concerned
with the bombings and there was such confusion and chaos that everything was delayed
including registration due to the questions and tardiness of both participants and
exhibitors, many of whom have already canceled.
Instead of delaying the lectures however, they just cancelled all the first lectures
of the day, then picked up with the second lecturer for the day. This was odd, but
perhaps more strange was that each lecture was only scheduled for 45 minutes. This
would never happen in the US because most people consider it difficult to get enough
information in and get your point across in only 45 minutes.
Having been here for a couple days now, I’m beginning to notice Indians tend to
be either very passive or very aggressive. I understand this is a stereotype based
on only two days of observation, but for most Indians there is no rush, no real
motivation or initiative, they’re simply told what to do and they tend to do it,
there seems to be very little to no independent thought. On the other hand there
is a minority of Indians who are very strong willed, motivated, and determined.
These people seem to herd the masses and want to know everything and control everything.
Whenever I see an Indian who is motivated and assertive, I am slightly shocked,
but also tend to be impressed. I suppose this is the same in any country, most people
are followers, but here the difference seems more pronounced and the followers almost
seem lazy and the leaders aggressive.
Lunch was interesting; each participant and exhibitor got a lunch ticket and a ticket
for each coffee break. When they gave me my tickets I was told I probably won’t
need them because I’m white and no one will question me. I tested it and sure enough
I walked up to the lunch line and they gave me a plate without asking for a ticket.
While I was standing in line, a friend of mine and one of the organizers of the
meeting saw me and told me I didn’t have to wait in line. He then took me to the
front of the line and got my food for me. There was no questioning or even dirty
looks from those in line. I ate from the “Non-Veg” line; however there was also
a “Pure Veg” as well as a “Dessert” line. I got my food and joined everyone else
just standing around eating without tables and most without silverware. After seeing
the unwashed silverware I quickly joined them in using my hands, which was slightly
awkward given I was wearing a suit, but very few people were eating with silverware,
so I guess I fit in quite well.
Afterwards I grabbed some ice cream from the dessert line and headed back inside.
After a couple more hours of working I was invited by Dr. Manjit to meet a friend
of his, Dr. Parmanjit, a three star general and the head of the military dental
corps. I accompanied them in the VIP room where we sat around talking about subjects
as varied as life, dentistry and the latest bombing.
To put the bombing in perspective one doctor said “this is the value of life in
India, three people die, but 300 more are born” (three died from injuries in yesterday’s
bombings). Here I also learned that Ahmedabad was hit with bombs today, but this
was not a scare like the bombings in Bangalore yesterday. I was told 15 people had
been killed and over a hundred more injured, many seriously. In the middle of our
conversation, in which no one seemed as all concerned or shocked over the bombings,
which was a complete contrast to those who had cancelled the trip, we were asked
to go to the reception.
We were led down to the front row of the auditorium and no sooner had I sat down
did I notice that there was a long table on the stage with about 8 seats, one of
which had a nametag that said “Mr.Justin.” Apparently I was sitting at the head
table and I’m not sure how or why that happened.
The ceremony began with the line “it is appropriate to begin our ceremony by honoring
the gods.” This was followed by a Hindi song/prayer. Soon afterwards I was introduced
and led to my seat on stage where I received a dozen red roses; then the introductions…
and speeches began. I was invited to light the ceremonial opening candle, which
caught me by surprise; then I became quite fearful, because I realized I was expected
to give a speech, however had nothing prepared, so began throwing something together
in my head for the 1,000 or so spectators. As I was internally writing, another
person got up and started yelling into the microphone. I turned to the person next
to me and asked “what language is he speaking,” the answer was English. All I could
think was “I hope I’m not after him”... then I was called to the stage.
When I first looked out into the crowd I realized he had done the opposite, he lost
everyone and no one was paying attention anymore, so the pressure was off and I
threw together a speech that was acceptable and much more comprehensible.... or
at least understandable than the previous speech. At the end of the reception each
of us were given a plaque thanking us for our contribution to the success of the
meeting as a “Guest of Honor.” The plaque was a nice thought; mine said only “Mr.Justin,”
which I loved.
As the ceremony was concluding, we were asked to join the crowd again; the tables
were cleared and our entertainment came out. Our entertainment was a group of developmentally
disabled orphans. They had a costume show and each came out as a different Bollywood
star or religious figure. The first one out realized his image was being projected
on a screen behind him. He spent the next ten minutes staring at himself as the
other children continued the show in front of him. For the most part the entertainment
was sad given their disabilities, but uplifting since these children had a home.
Following our entertainment, we had dinner and scotch, well those in the VIP room
had scotch. And we had more entertainment with dinner, a group of Keralian drummers
with little rhythm, but much excitement. Dinner was similar to lunch, but we had
tables this time. Afterwards I waited for my taxi, which took about an hour and
a half to arrive, so spent my time talking to an Indian doctor, now living in the
US. He also got on the topic of the bombings and said India doesn’t have time to
kill people, their motto is simple: “live and let live” no matter the religion,
ethnicity, nationality, etc.
Kerelian Band
July 27, 2008
We arrived to the convention center to find we had been robbed. I left very little
on our table over night, but enough that someone stole our pens, CDs, and journals.
The value of all of it is no more than $5 or $6, but it’s frustrating, because I
have another full day and now nothing to give out or show to interested doctors.
The meeting started late again and I’m beginning to think the country is on island
time. An Indian doctor here said it’s not island time, but rather the people do
what’s most important and a current conversation takes precedence over scheduled
appointments.
The day was the same as yesterday for the most part. I noticed at lunch that where
we eat there are numerous wild dogs roaming around eating out of our garbage cans.
It seems quite unsanitary, but this is normal here so far as I can tell.
Having some free time, I wrote an essay of my thoughts:
While anxious of what's to come in the next few days, it’s the attraction to
the unknown, the fear of regret, and the pride of following through instead of running,
which pushes me on to the unknown ahead of me. Soon I'll be in a sea of strangers…
strangers by culture, not acquaintance. I feel like a floating stowaway on a life
raft, alone, no one in sight. The challenge again presents itself… I can immediately
find land by going home, but something inside pulls me, the mystery and intrigue
draws me. The easy route is tempting, but it’s the curiosity of discovery that overpowers
that... so I venture on. Only by allowing myself susceptible can I survive on this
voyage.
My journey is no longer that of mystery, I soon find the path home, but the land
before me is more intriguing. Never fully belonging, skirting the coast, knowing
my escape, I anchor and head inland. As I learn the terrain I push further and search
more. Like an explorer I continue to search, but for what I don’t know, as if Atlantis
will suddenly appear and my quest fulfilled. But the quest is never fulfilled, the
journey never finished. What I find is not Atlantis and not a sea of culture, only
myself, a greater gift than Atlantis could ever offer.
Having reached my destiny, the trip home is no longer an escape, but rather a route
I have traveled numerous times but never with such excitement or confidence. The
return is that of a victor. The person is the same, but the acquaintance with myself
is much more intimate. What was gained is beyond value; it’s more than most will
ever have and others have ever dreamt of. With a new me, I carry back memories and
stories others can only experience through me. The mind begs of me to go again.
The discomfort, the loneliness are forgotten, the excitement of discovery, of land,
of courage, of triumph are all that is remembered. The desire to seek new self-discovery
is all the mind asks. Until a new adventure is begun, the mind allows no memory
except that of growth.
* * *
I found it interesting that I gave away over 100 membership forms and only 6 were
returned, yet nearly every person who took one said they would return it. Perhaps
they’re just trying to be polite; it’s a part of the culture I guess.
Before dinner I went back to the hotel to relax and found a local newspaper. The
papers said the bombings are only taking place in cities with Hindu zealots or as
in the case of Gujarat, as revenge for past attacks the people had on Muslims. For
a country whose mantra is “live and let live” there seems to be a lot of violence
and the group taking responsibility for the attacks is a domestic Muslim extremist
group.
For dinner I joined Dr. Manjit at a five star restaurant, at which the food was
incredible and the security impenetrable. At dinner he told me all about the culture,
including what the doctors here want from us, a very different set of products we’ve
been offering them. Our strategy and approach are going to have to change as it
should; but when you haven’t worked with this culture, it is a new learning curve
and a completely different approach.
July 28, 2008
Last night I found myself with diarrhea throughout the night. I did well for awhile,
but now I know what Delhi Belly is and it’s not pleasant. I woke up, checked out,
a half hour process due to Indian efficiency, then flew to Delhi.
August 6, 2008
I got a ride to the airport in Bangalore from Abdullah, Dr. Sibi’s personal driver.
We didn’t talk much due to my exhaustion, but what he mentioned that struck me was
that he’s been married for 24 years. I swore he wasn’t much older than 30, so I
asked and he’s only 29 years old. He of course had an arranged marriage, but to
be married at 5 seems a little extreme; his wife was only 4 at the time.
Once at the airport I had plenty of time to write and reflect on India:
The people here seem to want everything, but are willing to give little. It seems
they’ve leanred being pushy and greedy works. I don’t want to be a jerk, but at
times I feel like I am one. On the other hand I feel like everyone’s father, teaching
them lessons, lessons they never learned or forgot over time.
India it seems epitomizes the greed, hatred, bitterness, and selfishness of money.
Money has corrupted the people, the want of as much money as they can have. They
lie to get money, they lie to get more money. Money is the goal, but few of them
seem to want to do anything to earn it. Everyone demands tips for everything and
for nothing. Tim, an American who I saw again at the Varanasi airport had a tour
guide who left early, was on the phone half the time, did a poor job, but once finished
demanded a tip; Tim refused and the guide got upset.
It’s like a feeling of entitlement; many people believe they deserve your money
for no reason other than you are there and have money. Earning money and customer
service don’t exist. Yesterday in Bangalore I had a taxi trip for which I agreed
to pay 80 rupees, while in reality should have been only about 50. He got lost,
dropped me off at the wrong place and still demanded a tip. I refused and gave him
the 80 we agreed upon. He just started yelling at me… I walked away. The whole idea
behind a tip as I know it is that it’s for exceptional service for those who go
beyond what is expected and you feel deserves more. But tipping has become standard
now. In the US even if you receive poor service in a restaurant you will typically
tip a small amount, but India has taken it to a new level: they want tips for horrible
service or even no service, for not fulfilling their contracts, for cheating you,
even irritating “porters” and “guides” who you didn’t hire, but stalk you then demand
tips.
* * *
I had a transfer in Delhi and arrived to the airport to find the entire place flooded
due to the rain, there were buckets trying to prevent, or at least slow the flooding,
but they did little. Our transfer to the international terminal took us on a 20
minute trip then we had to re-check in through three more lines of security. Thankfully
I had a six hour layover and so I again had plenty of time to write:
What’s perhaps worse than the people here expecting everything for nothing is that
they are like spoiled children and yell and scream when you don’t tip them or if
you don’t tip them enough. It seems from their actions that asking for tips generally
works but when refused they tend to get extremely aggressive and threatening.
I can only guess many people here are like this because it has worked in the past.
It’s quite frightening and most people feel threatened enough to tip them. I however
learned quickly and stopped tipping them out of principle. At first I tipped because
I didn’t want to be rude, but I realized all I’m doing is reinforcing bad service
and greed.
Backing up to yesterday… I checked into my hotel to find the rate went from 350
to 1275 rupees. I began very polite and said I had reserved a single no- A/C room.
The price then dropped to 750. Only at this point did I mention that my quoted price
was 350. He refused, but came down to 650. A by-stander heard this and said “I just
paid 550 for the same room.” The owner then agreed to 550, but I again asked why
it wasn’t 350. He said prices went up. I said I wanted my room for the 350 we agreed
upon, but he refused and since it was already 10:30pm and the locals are paying
550 I said 550 was fine and registered.
When he gave me the bill to sign I noticed the price went up to 700 again. I again
questioned the cost and said I would pay no more than 550. He then got upset and
said “give me my 700 now.” I only had 600 on me so I said I didn’t have that much
and needed to find an ATM machine. He then raised his voice and his tone got aggressive
when he said "you have the money, give it to me now!” Knowing I needed a new
place to stay since I obviously couldn’t trust him, I chose to throw fuel on the
fire instead of walking away. I sternly and firmly said “you lied to me and you’re
cheating me, you said 350, then 550, now 700, I want my room for 350!” He then completely
lost it and yelled “give me my money now or get out!” So I got out.
As I walked away he screamed that I was banned for life from his hotel as he started
coming after me. Before he got to me though I walked out at a rather rapid pace.
The odd thing was that I didn’t feel angry after the shouting match, I wasn’t upset;
I was relieved and proud. In India I constantly feel like people are taking advantage
of me and I always back down, give money, and have a feeling of emptiness. I think
that emptiness is a feeling of embarrassment for backing down, regret for giving
money to the undeserving, but most importantly the knowledge that all I’ve done
is encourage that person to cheat and lie to the next person. In standing up for
myself, I stood up for principles, I re-affirmed the strength in me, I rose above
him and perhaps I’ve helped the next person to cross his path, or by some miracle
taught him a lesson. That last thought is naively optimistic, but if everyone stood
up for themselves this would be a better place and honesty would dominate greed.
Events like that at the hotel make me ask myself who is at fault: this man or thousands
of people who haven't backed down? I hate to divide them into two groups, but
for this argument I must. The Indians may partake in the actions, but through the
tourists we have encouraged these values and morals. With our money, but more importantly
due to our naivety to them and their culture, our varying perspective, and our attitude
we have only exemplified and then magnified the negatives in these people. I’m not
talking about every Indian, only the ones like my hotel clerk, only those who I
encounter, or more accurately encounter me as a tourist. I wonder if they should
be blamed for their actions or if this is all they know and all they’ve ever been
taught. Is it me as a tourist or these individuals that are wrong? Do they deserve
my money because I have it or should they earn it? Do I deserve it?
Being born in the US, I’ve been given more opportunities than most people in the
world, but I don’t believe it’s the money I have that needs to be shared, but opportunities
need to be given and perspectives on both sides need to be explained and experienced.
This may sound bad, but this country could use a dictator with an iron fist. Things
need to change and when 75% of elected government officials have charges against
them; its clear democracy isn’t working as it should. A benevolent dictator would
be excellent; he could start from the ground up with education, infrastructure,
and health care as top priorities. He could also add grass, sewage treatment plants,
and enforce throwing garbage away; this would make a huge and immediate impact.
The whole country would be cleaner and more sanitary; at the least diseases would
shrink.
My plane’s about to board, but I have a few more minutes so just a few last thoughts...
I don’t think I’m responsible to change India, but being here I am reminded I’m
responsible to improve myself and I’m responsible to change the world through improving
what I have power and capability to control and change…
16 hour flight ahead of me, good night.