Clean Mumbai, Green Mumbai.

(Why does Ashley insist on not writing anymore...)

It has become a running joke between me and Ashley... Then also between us and my cousin Karan... The first time I saw, or at least noticed, this sign was in Delhi... "Clean Delhi, Green Delhi" It doesn't get more fabulous than that... The fact that "going green" is a world-wide event. Event? Thing? Something... Is kind of awesome. Then in Jaipur, we saw, "Clean Jaipur, Green Jaipur"... No matter what city I've traveled to within this country I always see that sign. When finally landing back in Mumbai, I began to see it everywhere. The best part is, I would see this sign right next to someone who was littering out their car window. Or the sign would be glimmering next to a heap of some burning trash. But at least they're trying... Advertising the cause is half the battle... Maybe? It is just of interest because in general I do believe Indians are conservers to some degree... Take for example the restrooms in public places and bathrooms in homes... You will not find paper goods to be utilized then thrown away. It is the standard to not have toilet paper, paper towels and trashcans in these places. They just don't use it... Bidet-ish water faucety systems are in place instead. To the westerner this is of discomfort because it is not something one is used to... Perfectly acceptable, so, higher end places of business will indeed accommodate to this need and provide such papery. So here we go, one area where Indians don't waste unecessarily. Next, electricity. This is a pretty big issue in every household I've been invited to... Each light, fan, A/C unit, kitchen appliance and plug has a switch: the normal on and off kind. As in the States, if we want to turn on the light we just click the switch to on, well, that's how it is here. But in the States when we plug in an appliance, we just pop the cord into the socket, turn on the power button and you're good to go. Here, you plug in your appliance. turn on the power button... But it is still not on... Until you turn the outlet's switch to on, it won't work because electricity is all controlled by plate. This is how they save money on electricity. It is very, very rare to find a light on in a room that is not being occupied. And it is a definite no-no to have the A/C unit running if you are not within the vicinity of the cooled air. As for hot water... You won't find it in the kitchen or the bathroom sink. If the house is modern, it will have what they call a "gizzer" which is comparable to the U.S version of a water heater. However it is much, much smaller... It holds probably a few gallons... And you have to turn it on a few minutes before you even think about stepping foot into the shower or else it will be cold as all heck. Then of course you have to plan out your shower and use the water wisely or else, after about five minutes you're basically screwed. I have created a system for myself... I will turn it on, water down, turn it off, soap up, turn it on, water down, turn it off, lather up the hair, turn it on, water down, turn it off, condition, turn it on... Well at this point the gizzer has caught on to my scheme and has stopped producing hot water and instead produces tepid temperatures... Sneaky. So those are a few things... However, when we go back out into the streets, with the exception of the eco-friendly slogan, it seems that the citizens don't really care much about trashing their neighborhood. It is perfectly normal and usually acceptable for people to throw their trash onto the street... Everyone does it. I look around and see there are no trash cans... Not even in the malls or other places of business... So of course people are going to just litter wherever they please- they have not much alternative really... Solution? Installing public trash cans and a good waste management system couldn't hurt. In general, the people here do not generate much garbage as it is, so if there were some organized system then it really would be Clean India, Green India...

(Ashley has left the building...)

I don't think I will ever eat paneer and naan ever again. Enough said... Okay, not enough said cause it doesn't make sense otherwise. If anyone knows me and my taste for Indian cuisine, then you know that the two don't mingle on a regular basis. This is largely due on part of my upbringing. It was the norm to have Indian food brewing in my home, after all, we are Indian. But it got to the point where I was sick of it... Upon reflection I realize that I was never made to eat Indian food, I just didn't like it in general cause it wasn't exotic or appealing to me. I was the kid who ate McDonald's at least four times a week. (I know that is a disgusting admission on my part but ever since I was 14 I stopped eating there.) In any event, when I came to India when I was four (about to turn five) I would not eat anything my family cooked for me... So I starved and died.

Lies. All lies. Not all lies, just that last part. I don't know what's wrong with me, I don't know why I joke of things of that sort- I'm stupid. Growing up, I learned that I didn't like the particular style of cooking that my family is used to, and I figured out that the style I like is more from the northern region of the old country. This time around in India, at my aunt and uncle's house, they have cooks so I've been eating just whatever but very sparingly. Then my family noticed my birdish habits and started asking what I wanted. When we went on the trip up north, I found my paneer and naan in abundance and immediately jumped on the tandoori clay-bandwagon. But when you're eating the same meal twice a day everyday for a week you're bound to feel kind of sick and perhaps a little fat? Fine I won't say fat or else there will be many rolling eyes, but I feel my insides lining up with cholesterol. Is that better?

But I shouldn't complain, the prices here beat the restaurant prices in America. If you want to feel full or at least have a good, hearty meal, it will cost you about two dollars or under. And if you splurge you top five dollars. It's the best feeling when you can pick up the bill every time and say, "I've got this one." This is a lie. I have to admit this now before Ashley catches me... We all take turns paying the bill but what is great is that you don't feel like you're putting anyone out by letting them treat you to dinner... All in all, I hate cumin, cardamom and mustard seeds.

Compliment of a Lifetime

I smiled. It's true. What he said... 

Ashley and I took probably millions of pictures . Maybe I should stop exaggerating... But then I wouldn't make an interesting storyteller, would I? We were in Agra, following the night of terrorist attacks in Mumbai, and basically the thing to do is visit the Taj Mahal... Apparently it's a wondrous place. An anomaly perhaps? One of a kind. Unique. Architectures best use of symmetry ever! One would even go as far to say that you could split the Taj Mahal in half and you would find it to be a mirrored copy of each other. Or something. That's what they say. Okay, no one said that, I made that up.

Walking the pathway toward the monument is a weird feeling because you think, Wow this is it, I'm going to see the Taj Mahal. Then you go through the gate and there it is, looking fake as ever. That's how I felt about the Grand Canyon. 

Needless to say, if you know anything about us, you know that we love taking pictures so we started clicking away, getting every possible angle and shot we were capable of. We were in the center of the garden getting some shots, and like usual, the Indians wanted pictures with Ashley. She's a queen over here and reigns in pictures, especially with the younger ones. And funny, for the first time I was asked to be in a picture with some white dude. Hilarious. But this story really has nothing to do with me. This one Indian man asked Ashley to be in a picture with him and his family. She agreed. Afterwards they were so grateful and the man's departing words were, "You make the Taj Mahal all the more attractive." And Ashley and I looked at one another and go, "Oh. Wow." I turn to Ashley and go, "That was nice. Best compliment ever." and she started laughing, "That's probably nicest thing anyone has ever said to me." This stranger basically told my best friend that if it weren't for her, his picture with the Taj Mahal would just be ordinary and because of her being in the photograph it became extraordinary. Oh him. 

Terrorism?

We were in Delhi when we got the call. Actually, there was a secret call placed to my mom by my aunt. At what time, I'm uncertain but it was around the time of the first attack at the Taj Hotel. My mother didn't tell any of us... Us includes me, Ashley and my mom's sister. Oddly enough, my mom was expecting something of this nature, and this is what had her on edge, and I had no idea. She had already told herself and us that she was going to stay awake for the twenty hour train ride from Mumbai to Delhi. She said it was so no one would steal our things but in reality she was stressed out thinking there might be some terrorist attack. I love this. I love that my mom was expecting terrorism and it happened. She's always had good instincts and that's probably where I got it from, if I do say so myself. 

Before we got to Bombay Central, which is the train station, we toured more of the highlights of Mumbai... This included the Gateway to India, which is right across from the infamous Taj Hotel, which is right next to the dock, where the terrorists came through. I actually had foreknowledge of this famous hotel chain and especially about this hotel in particular. I was inclined to stay at the hotel but there was no reason to spend the money as my family lives in the city as well. My cousin, while he was scouting for a film, stayed at that hotel and loved it. I was definitely going to go in and spend some time in there. At the time we had passed by there wasn't any parking and we were in a hurry to catch our train so we couldn't drop in. But I remember looking out onto the docks and seeing all the boats and I felt strange. I didn't know why, I just thought it was odd for some reason. We moved on ... Got on the train and were miserable for some time until we got to Delhi. 

We basically never got a chance to sleep because our first night there was the night of the terrorist attack. Like I said, my mom already knew about it but never told us. In hindsight, this may not have been the best decision because Ashley's cellphone blew up (figuratively speaking) at around one thirty in the morning. Call after call, everyone back in the States were stressed out and extremely worried. The news in America was very different from what we were being told by the locals and my family in Mumbai. This is how you know media works in strange sometimes skewed ways. Nonetheless, there was still reason to be on edge. In no time, all of us were awake and sitting in our hotel room, which by the way was in a temple and we had no television or internet so we couldn't figure out anything on our own and relied on outside cellular forces to relay messages. That experience alone was very frustrating- feeling cut off from the rest of the world and having an overwhelming sense of the unknown looming over you. I called the American Embassy several times and every time they said they did not have any instructions for us. So we all lie around waiting for something to happen. This is about the time we started thinking about what we should do next... Do we go back to the United States? Do we swathe Ashley in sheets so she can pass as a Muslim? I felt like we should've taken this as the opportunity to fly to Europe and go have a merry time over there... No one else agreed. We also knew that at some point we were to return to Mumbai and how safe was that going to be if they were in fact targeting Americans. I said some dramatic things, which I will let Ashley divulge or else I would feel dumb talking about myself even though that's what I'm doing right now... 

Anyhow, that day we left for Agra with a sense of nervousness lingering in ourselves. And it was strange because when we looked around us, our environment showed no signs of there being a terrorist attack just south of us. When we drove into Agra, we were still paranoid since we were visiting the Taj Mahal, that being the main landmark of India couldn't necessarily help the situation. However, if you weren't aware before, the Taj Mahal is very much Koran-oriented and infused with Islamic influence. I thought, Good, we're actually safe for a change. The Taj Mahal is also sandwiched between two identical mosques. Maybe it's ignorant, but really, if the terrorists are in fact Muslim, why would they come after something that "belongs" to them? 

When we got back to the hotel we got to look at the newspapers and they were calling it the "9/11" of India... That didn't sound so good. I tried to hide it from my friend so as not to add further fuel to the fire and we went to bed. Next on the trip was Jaipur, another popular touristy city. But they just got bombed so maybe the terrorists were through with that area for now...? For the next couple days I relied on the Times of India, a newspaper to obtain news, who would ever think? The headlines read "Terror Reigns" until finally, when it all came to an end "Terror Eliminated".

In any event, we tried our best to enjoy the adventures and for the most part we did a good job. But there was this constant reminder that we were unsafe. And it's not like being back in America makes you any safer, but still, you feel safe at home. 

I remember checking my phone to check the time, hoping morning was close because I couldn't sleep. I look at it and see that I have 16 missed calls. I instantly get nervous thinking something bad happened at home. Just as I'm about to dial, I see my brother-in-law's number and I pick it up. He tells me that there has been a terrorist attack in Mumbai (Bombay). I talk to my sister and she's in tears because she thought I may have been hurt. My brother Chris heard about it first. He got worried and called my mom and the American Embassy. Now, let me just tell you, my brother never freaks out, and if he freaks out, we basically know something is very wrong. And he was freaking out. I felt so terrible that my family had been so upset and we had no idea what was going on. By this point, all four of us are up now, getting second hand information, due to the fact that we have no television, internet or radio.
During all this, Mila is very calm, she rolls over and falls asleep for about an hour. We all still talk trying to figure out what to do, my mom wants me to come home naturally. I say "This is what the terrorists want mom! They try to incite fear into the people. I won't give them that" Probably not the best thing to say to your mother. But that's how I felt. After deciding to finally get up, we try to figure out if I should cover myself and try to look un-touristy. Well, that's not really going to work. I mean, all I have are my red converse, jeans and t-shirts. Mila rolls over and says "Don't worry. I will die before I let them take you." Amazing. We both started laughing at the intensity and passion behind the statement. But you know what, we ARE best friends. And best friends say these things. It's what we do.

Where Dogs Walk with Purpose

When we first stepped out of the airport, one of the first things I noticed were all the stray dogs. Hundreds! Now, I've met all the lovely stray dogs on the mean streets of Mehico, but the abundance of orphaned dogs there, can't even compare to the volume here in India. What's funny to me, is that they all look the same. They vary a bit in shade, but generally fall in the dirty blond category. On the third day of watching and observing this magnificent species, Mila and I both realized something. These dogs walk with purpose. Serious purpose. They know what they want with life and by george, they're going to get it. When they cross the street they look both ways, they've got their days mapped out. When you see them walking on the sidewalk, there's a little pep in their step. They are definitely headed towards something. They are business men waking up, ready to start the days work. Which consists of: finding food, finding places to take naps throughout the day, get some exercise in and last but not least, to not get hit by a car or rickshaw. Not only that, they have friends. Best friends. They hang out with each other and have a laugh. You think I'm kidding, but these dogs honestly live in a world of their own. This is their town. When one crosses the busy street, he looks back to see if his friend made it, f not, he goes back to get him. They plan together. You can just hear them "Here, I'll jump first and see if it's steady, then I'll come back for you." They seem to be in on a joke with each other about us humans on the street. "Man, did you see what that guy just did, what an idiot!" They laugh it up again and then move on to the next thing. One will leave the pack and as he walks away he looks back as if to say "Alright guys, see you tomorrow."

Yes, dogs with a purpose. Nothing like it. And I must say that I've been to many a place that has many a stray dog. Ferrel animals are usually ignored or fly solo. But as my counterpart pointed out, here it's a whole new game. The canines work together, in conjunction to live, much like the human species... There is obvious communication and sharing of all kinds (space, food, love, you know, whatever). I decided, after not much speculation, that if I were a stray dog, I'd roam the dusty roads of India. 

Necessary Use of Horn or Honk Please

In the United States we have the Department of Motor Vehicles, which has come up with a set of standard that we motorists must abide by- this is enforced by the police department and highway patrol. We have spotted white lines to divide lanes, double yellow lines act as invisible walls, and whatever else I can't think of at the moment. For the most part, things seem organized, but reasons of which I am uncertain, accidents are always on the rise... Then there's driving in India. If there is one starkly noticeable difference, it is the use of one's horn. The honking horn is a tool, used more than the steering wheel, pedal (gas, brake and clutch) and definitely more than the turn signal. To a foreigner it seems that every driver is angry with one another and that road rage rules their hearts. After some investigation and close study, I've realized that the horn is like an awareness alert. A, "Hey you, I'm coming through, watch out." sort of thing. In America, we use the horn to get the attention of someone in order to flip them off, give them a dirty sneer, or to inform them of our displeasure in their driving skills. In India, when the horn is honked people don't widen their eyes or throw their hands up, instead, they swerve out of the way because they know they can't keep up. And if I haven't made my point clearly enough, painted on the back of all trucks and rickshaws it says "Horn Please". They want to hear the sweet melody of B sharp symphonize the airwaves... After a while, you get used to it and if you don't hear the blares then you know something's a little off or maybe you're out in the lonely country, which is where I saw the aftermath of some sort of accident; for the first time, surprisingly, especially with the erratic manuevering mastered here. A crowd of colors was like a pretty blob in the middle of the road up ahead. As we passed by, cautiously, I peered into the center of the bubble, a man on his side, his motorcycle as well just a few feet away. Peeking through the hovering, I felt bad for the injured but not bad enough to tell our driver to stop because it looked like he just fell off and was recovering. No blood, no help. That's what I say. (I never say that actually) Mainly, I scanned the faces to see any sign of reason to worry and there wasn't. Thus, I stand by my conclusion that Indians are the best drivers in the world. (Too bold?)

The Library

So basically I brought a ridiculous amount of books for the trip. I can get bored with reading one book at a time, but I think I went a little overboard. Here is the list of the library:

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

A Prayer For Owen Meany by John Irving

Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts

Speaker For the Dead by Orson Scott Card

Shadow Catcher by Marianne Wiggins

The Abolition of Man by C.S. Lewis

The Island of Dr. Moreau by H.G Wells

So there's that.

I brought... A Farewell to Arms by one Mr. Ernest Hemingway (he's a lesser known author). Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts. The Chess Machine by Robert Lohr. And we (and by we I mean Ashley) bought 1984 by George Orwell (so I can read it again cause I love it). 

I have this problem. Psychologists commence your analysis. I have an issue with good things ending. I have read many books. I used to actually be obsessed with reading as a youngun. I would come home from school and immediately pick up a book and read and read and read until bedtime. I would even be so annoying as to whisper read and my sister, all the way down the hall, would yell, "Shut-up!" and that's how I knew it was time to sleep. Being an avid reader planted the seed of imagination, fueling my desire to write. I would write these amazing epic stories at the age of seven, but there were never any endings. (I'm already beginning to analyze myself at this point) When I started college at the age of fifteen (yes, I'm a genius, whatever) I had to read so much and memorize loads of information just to score high on tests that would determine my future of getting into U.S.C. Reading for pleasure was a thing of the past... When I finally got to cinema school at the university, I decided I wasn't going to read anything anymore- this included assigned reading material; somehow this dumb-brained method worked, I got As and Bs and graduated. It took sometime post bachelor degree for me to pick up my old fiction hobby. And with the urging of my best friend (that's Ashley in case you haven't gathered that by now) I started reading again. I would go really fast up until I saw the end approaching and then I would interrupt my pace and put it away. This made my frustrated my bookworm friend because as she puts it "There's so many good books out there. The sooner you finish this one the sooner you can start another one. Why waste time with just this one." (I've completely butchered what she advises, but you get the point)

Destination, reached.

Flying into Mumbai was such a strange feeling. For one, I've never been this far away from home. When the plane landed, Mila and I both looked at each other and just started laughing. Wow. We're in India. As the doors opened, we waited for the offensive smell that everyone speaks of, and were surprised by a sweet sweet smell. Couldn't tell you what it was, but I liked it. Once we got our luggage, we stepped outside to meet Mila's family. The air outside was warm, but it wasn't humid. It was perfect. Her family spotted all of us and everyone hugged and we piled into the cars to head to our home for the next few weeks.

The light here is simply amazing. The dust in the air gives it a golden glow at all hours of the day. It's pretty much magic hour all freaking day. It's a photographer's dream.

Life here is very simple and easy going. The milk man and the vegetable man come to the house every morning. Even through the hustle and bustle of the city, there doesn't seem to be any hurry to be anywhere. It's quite a change of pace from Los Angeles.

As Annie would say, I think I'm gonna like it here.

The doors slid open and I was greeted with the kiss of Indian air. The aroma was staggeringly reminiscent of my one time history with India in 1989... The rumors were false, there was no stench that assaulted my nose. And although it wasn't quite the opposite, there was something to it. Something unique and indescribable. All I had to go by was memory. I remembered it and that's what I found amazing... There is no smell like it in any other country. The fragrance lingered in the thick atmosphere... It was not quite humid or even that hot. It was just pleasant and comforting. It was three in the morning and Mumbai was quiet. The streets were empty of people and cars, only filled with stray dogs all on the hunt for company and to appease hungry stomachs. It was hard to gauge the surroundings in the nighttime... For some reason I didn't feel the impact of being in a foreign country, it just felt normal. Then we arrived at our abode, a two story apartment in a towering eight floor building. Our driver, yes we have a driver, honked the car's horn and a man magically appeared to open the iron gates. When I stepped out of the car another, familiar fragrance wafted in to spark more sensory memories... Only India.

The Flight

I absolutely adored the plane ride from Los Angeles to Dubai. It was fantasmical. And by fantasmical I mean horrendous. And by horrendous I mean not so bad. And by not so bad I mean it could've been worse. Cause let's face it, as Ashley says, it could be be worse. If you apply this statement to all things that go wrong in your life it will make you feel better and you'll do that thing where you shrug and nod in agreeance. It's true. Next time you get mad or something fails you, say to yourself, "It could be worse." And somehow, magically, automatically you will feel better. And if that statement isn't successful in your life then you are just doomed for gloom.

I'm listening to Bryan Adams right now... Music is supposed to help with this sort of thing, and why I chose him is beyond me because it's not like he makes me feel the culture of India anymore intensely. Maybe I secretly long for America and my mouse finger subconsciously chose Bryan Adams in hopes to connect to my Canadian roots. I just now realized how off topic I am... Let's get on with it. Ashley, my mother and I flew on Emirates Airlines. If any of you like me who didn't/don't know how to pronounce Emirates, let me break it down for you: EM-EH-RITZ. As in the United Arab Emirates. Apparently they've only been flying from the U.S.A for four years. I thought it was interesting, or maybe it's not and in my delirium on board I was fascinated by such facts. For some reason I got to my seat before Ashley and I noticed this old Arabian lady hacking her lungs behind me. I laughed because I knew this would be Ashley's favorite thing. When Ashley arrived I figured it best to warn her and not let her discover such a treat on her own. The flight crew on this particular flight was truly laughable. I began laughing the second I boarded because I knew this was going to be an experience. This one attendant, Ashleigh was complaining right from the start. She was yelling at all the passengers about their baggage and the Arab passangers yelled back. This man wanted his bag in the compartment above his seat but there was no room so Ashleigh says, "No, no, no." and the man goes, "Yes, yes, yes." Again, I laughed. Anyhow, my favorite run-in was with Constantin, a not-so-hetero-male attendant. I was leaving the bathroom, walking back to my seat and I had to pass through the back quarters. My eyes scanned the area as anyone's would. Constantin was speaking to another joyful female attendant, and he stops and goes, "Yes, please?" and I say, "What?" and he says loudly and more rude, "YES, PLEASE?" I was kind of confused and didn't understand what the hell was happening so I just said, "Nothing." and walked away. At any other point in my life, I would have let this bother me and let it fester until I would explode but I've come to a place in my life where I'm trying to let these petty things just pass. So I got to my seat and laughed. Later, Ashley and I were getting ready to watch some serious cinema in the form of "Made of Honor" and I had saved my cookies from dinner. All I needed was milk, and Miss Joyful Attendant was passing by with water and I kindly asked for some milk, which annoyed her. She failed to bring it. Three-quarters into the movie I saw her again and asked again, then fifteen minutes later she brought me milk. It was all awesome. That was the tone of the flight, a lot of ignoring, huffing, puffing but overall a genuine out pouring of love, true love.

Commencement

Darling Ladies and Gentleman,

Mila and I have decided to make a blog, to record our travels in India. As you will see, my journal entries will be on the left in the font of Courier, and Mila's will be on the right in the default font. We do hope you enjoy the trip along with us...

Forever yours,

Ashley

Dearest Reader,

I must not take credit for this idea, for it is really Ashley who came up with it. As you all know, India is the country of my ancestry. Does that even make sense? No. It is home to my heritage. Also doesn't seem to fit... Either way, we have arrived in India, a much anticipated trip realized.

Je t'aime,

Mila