Being the "Foreigner"

One truth about living in the South, in a capital city with little to no international tourist traffic is the fact that most places I go, I am an oddity, and I’m gawked at by a variety of people.  Mostly it is kids, but there are also adults who stop, look, conjure an English phrase and try it out.  I’m happy to have the same conversation over and over, because they enjoy it, and also a part of my job is public diplomacy, although I hope I'd be nice even if it wasn't in my job description. Once they have decided to engage the stranger, the conversation inevitably goes something like this:

Indian:  Hi!
ME:  Hi!  How are you?
Indian: (giggles) Fine.  How are YOU?

ME:  I’m fine.

Indian:  What’s your good name?
ME:  Connie, What’s yours?

Indian:  Varied response.

Indian:  Coming from?
ME:  I’m from the U.S., the United States.

Indian:  Oh, America! GOOD GOOD GOOD!

ME:  But I live in Vellayambalam, working with the government of Kerala.

Indian:  Wow, great.  Wonderful.  How do you find India?
ME:  It’s wonderful.  The people are very friendly. 

Indian: Ok, Good bye!

ME:  BYE.

 Most of the time I just recite my part of the dialogue and don’t think much about it, but sometimes it gives me pause. On the day of this picture,

I was reclining on a chair at the beach, relaxing and letting the salty breeze blow through my hair.  These 4 young maidens crept up on me and just stood there giggling until I got up and started the dialogue. They were cute, and I’m a sucker for kids so when they wanted pictures I was all smiles.  I wished then they were fluent in English because I wanted to know the purpose of them having a photo taken with a stranger.  Who did they want to show it to?  What story would they tell?  What was I, exactly, to them? In a few years time, when they saw it in an album, surely they, too, would wonder what I was doing in the picture of their outing?
Then a woman, their mom, I believe, asked shyly, gesturing nonverbally, to have her picture taken with me.  I was happy to extend some positive vibes her way, and felt honored to be asked into their pictures. She was pleased as punch and all I had to do was be friendly.  There is something to this smile and don't ask questions diplomacy plan!

I started wondering if we Americans have a similar habit of talking to “the other” when we see them in our country, but I had a hard time imagining a circumstance or conversation that rang true.  Perhaps it’s because we’re not as friendly?  Or more private?  Or we aren’t comfortable striking up a conversation with a stranger even though we might be curious? I know I was a naïve kid, curious about anything from another culture growing up in a small-town in the Midwest, but I couldn’t remember such an exchange with someone from another culture.  Perhaps it was because I never saw anyone from another culture, you say?  Could be, or it could be that it wasn’t acceptable to speak with them.  Hard to say… Any thoughts, anyone?

Carbon Paper Lives On!

I’m not one to carry on about things (HA!) and I thought I was pretty well acclimated to the bureaucratic ways of Indian every day life, but last week I witnessed 2 instances of papering that still impressed me in its abundance.  I take my ironing to the “dry wash” (dry cleaning) every week, but last week it was hard not to crawl into their small space and reorganize, or make that organize their operation with one change that would give them twice as much time in their work day.  

When you approach the window you see a variety of old paper and newspaper strewn in many directions on a shelf.  When the clerk sees you, she tears off a piece, grabs a pencil, and writes an inventory of what you’ve brought in.  She looks over the clothing thoroughly to point out any stain or tear, then tallies the clothes.  Once that is completed, she will search around under the strewn papers for a receipt book, where she will commence to copy the list she just made on the paper scrap into the receipt book.  She does this, making 2 carbon copies, then gives me a copy for retrieval. I smile, take my slip, and wish them a good day.   The  system is working fine for them.  I believe it’s my internal toe-tapping that is the real problem, so I suppress the urge for reform and get back in the car.

Second, I saw something repeated in an airport line that I’ve often seen, and it doesn’t fit my American sensibilities and desire for efficiency either.…..The weight limits of checked baggage is carefully checked and fines are assessed if someone has too much stuff stuffed into the bags.  Fine, acceptable, that’s fair. I’ve been dinged several times, and I just open my wallet.  Usually the procedure to pay the fine means returning to “GO” (accompanied by a very polite airline representative, lest you stray),  which is the ticket office by the entrance of the airport, paying your fine, and then cutting the boarding pass line to get your boarding passes and luggage tags.  Yesterday, however, the person in front of me was guilty, and the airline representative took out a receipt book to charge her “there itself” as they say here.  This is progress, I thought!  And it was, sort of.  However, in front of him was a computer with all her information in it, and yet he handwrote her receipt in triplicate.  This country is FULL of software engineers.  Surely one of them could take an hour and write a program that would allow the airline staff to use her data in the computer to spit out a receipt for the baggage overage?  Has no one thought of that, I wondered….Of course they COULD do it, but no one in charge has yet seen a need to do it.  Again a case of my internal toe tapping, which means I’ve not spent enough time in this country to be comfortable with ALL the daily routines! 

Oh, and just so you don’t think you’ve figured out what’s going to happen in a given situation, we were over on our baggage weight, too, but when I told him we would just carry on one of the bags to avoid the fine, he said ok, no problem, go ahead and check it.  The line was long, we were nearing time to board, and the man was tired of writing, no doubt.  I do enjoy the randomness of it all when it turns in my favor.

Den of Iniquity

I found out yesterday while waiting for my driver by the portico that I live in a house of ill repute, at least according to the management's standards.  I wish I knew more specifics, because my this letter is tantalizing!  Sad part is, we've not been invited to any of these bacchanals.  How depraved could it be if the families are renting their apartments to other families?  Oh well, my imagination is fertile.
BTW, there are several questionable word usages, but it only adds to the enjoyment of the reading.  The overwriting and flowery phrases are normal, but there are a few things that are just wrong.  Don't focus on the mistakes, just enjoy the tone….

BACK TO SCHOOL SUPPLIES

Yesterday I was in my favorite department store, Pothy’s, where they always have a seasonal display when you walk in the main door.  Yesterday, it was BACK TO SCHOOL.  Here in the south of India, school’s opening coincides with the monsoon, around June 1.  [Not sure there is a comparison to be made, but have YOU seen the inside of a kindergarten classroom the first few weeks??? Natural disasters have prettier faces.] 

I’ve always loved shopping for school supplies, either with fellow teacher sister R, or the annual ritual of an early August morning trip to Target with Daughters #1 and #2.  I love to see the display, check out the cool stuff, and get goofy folders with text-ese on them, or precious puppies (the kids, not me), or whatever the fad is.  I would like to point out a couple of India-specific items that made my perusal even more pleasurable.

First, every child must be outfitted with a tiffin box.  Tiffin boxes are used to bring hot meals to people at their jobs, and have several compartments and stories.  For the kids’ version, check out first the sneaky copyright infringement (Happy Birds instead of Angry Birds, even though the face is the same) then the Japanese animé borrowing with the cute bunnies “taking a walk”, the compartments so the rice and the curries don’t meet prematurely, and even the cut-out hearts on the utensils. There is even a retro classic version in stainless steel. I had to buy one, the bunnies, yet I have no use for it.  Inexplicable but there you are.

Next I noticed small chalkboards that were plentiful, so I guess they are for the younger students to do their maths (that’s what they say here, not math) or write “Hello” to the teacher.  Cute, but I wonder how they hold up. BTW, check out the faux-pencil cases, which are really games!  Some of the games are on the top of the box, and others are hidden inside.  Nice touch!

Third was a great variety of notebooks, but they have a leg up on the American versions.  They have collectibles.  Why didn’t WE think of that?  There is a series of famous Indian monuments, crafts of the world (I wanted them ALL), and famous places around the world. How do they ever decide? 

Pretend Pencil Cases that really have games on them.  Genius.

Slate boards, modernized

Finally, there is another item unique to the south of India, little plastic decorated umbrellas for getting drenched on the way to school.  I still can’t quite picture how the kids will get to school during a monsoon downpour, but everyone assures me it’s manageable, although several people also add that sometimes the CM (Chief Minister, similar to the governor the state) announces a school postponement of a week because of heavy rains.  It doesn’t matter if it’s early out, late start, or cancellation, for rain, snow, sleet or blistering heat, every kid in the world warms to the idea that there is a Deus Ex Machina out there that can intercede when the reality of school just seems too much.

#1 Ladies Detective Agency

Today I may have earned my badge.  This morning I was traveling in the backseat of a car working on my computer when I heard the unmistakably sound of metal crunching other metal.  I looked up and saw a truck trying to fit into a space in front of us that wasn’t sufficient, and continuing to pull the bumper from our car until it freed itself, then the truck kept going.  The truck kept going.  That was pretty incredible to start with, but it got better.  My driver stopped quickly to survey the damage, didn’t like what he saw, jumped back in and drove in pursuit of the truck.  He overtook the truck, then swung back in front of it and stopped.  He did it well, I have to admit, and it was impressive.  Just like in the movies, only I was in the back seat.

Then he got out of the car, and started shouting immediately.  Two older men (mid-40s, my driver is 28) started shaking their heads and shouting as well, and pretending it wasn’t their fault.  Like we didn’t see what happened.  Like it wasn’t obvious whose fault it was.  Like we were stupid.

Soon it became clear that what I had heard about these events was true.  Both sides have to come out shouting, and the person with the best act prevails.  I wasn’t sure how I could help my driver, but I wanted to try, as he’s had a patch of bad luck lately, and he was driving a government car, and his boss wasn’t going to be happy. 

The Perp

I decided I should take some pictures, because it looked like the truck drivers were trying to get back to their truck to leave.  So I grabbed my camera, got out of the car, and walked up to the license plate of the truck, and started shooting.  Then I took pictures of the truck, where it impacted our car, and asked our driver where else he thought I should take a picture.  Next I turned and attempted to take a photo of the driver, but he turned away and put up his arm in front of his face.  Now I was getting somewhere.  I waited until both of them were involved with more shouting and I got a good profile of them both.  I could most definitely ID them on a line up if need be. Last I went up to the driver and shook my head and with my best teacher face wagged my finger in his face and said, “You know you did it.  Don’t try to lie.”  He was unimpressed (if only I knew how to say that in Malayalum!) and walked away, and I returned to my car. I was feeling it, working them, despite the language barrier.

 My driver got some information from them at that point, and we drove on to my training.  My driver told me someone would be calling me tonight, but I never got a call.  I’m going to speak with his employer tomorrow to tell them I have some eyewitness photos and would be glad to be deposed on behalf of my driver.  A gal’s got to protect her ride, right? 

Later when I was telling my colleagues at work (they already knew by the time they arrived!) they laughed out loud when I told the part about taking pictures, but I didn’t see anything funny.  S got a kick out of as well.  I think it was a perfectly normal reaction in this Wild West mentality of car accidents. 

A small irony of the day is that when I got in, I noticed I was in a different car (it’s a car pool so sometimes someone else has “our” car.)  Having a different car is no big deal, but if a government official has been sitting in the back, they always tuck away the seat belts because they are invincible, I guess.  I told my driver that when I got to my training, he should get in the trunk and retrieve the seat belt for me, please, and in the mean time, don’t have any accidents or kill me, ok?    He laughed, but it turned not to be funny.  Oh, India, your roads are a mess, your traffic hopelessly congested, and your drivers mostly pretending they are in a bumper car environment.  I could use some safe mass transit in my life….