I haven't been keeping up with the blog as much as I wanted to in India and I can't believe I'm saying this but I going to sympathize with Brooke Lougrin (an SYA classmate of mine) who said that she didn't have time to keep up with her blog because she wasn't at the Park but actually out and about doing stuff. While I may feel like I haven't done much and will have to leave a good portion of my to do list unfinished, I feel like I've always been moving since I've gotten here (if only if circles). I wanted to post my editorial for the Travel and Shop magazine where I interned earlier, but despite having not explained the scope of my internship I still want it to be my last post while here in India. I will continue to post about my adventures when I'm back in the states even though that seems kind of silly considering blogging should be to keep people updated in the here and now and not be a re-cap I think. Anyways, here is my editorial. I was upset that the version that went to print didn't include the bit about Mumbai and picked up with "I am connected to this city...", but more so I'm upset that they changed "this city" (in the part I just referred to) to Bangalore. I choose "this city" because of it's ambiguity. After all, the entire editorial is about whether to say Bangalore or Bangaluru and I wanted to reveal my choice of name at the end after I had given an explanation. So I will first show you what I wrote, the edited version and then what was printed. (In the editor's defense, he did help me clarify the last paragraph which I left rather ambiguous because I had a word limit and was already beyond it. This is one thing that I love about journalism and a job in general, you can't just bull shit your way through things: if you don't give your best and believe its your best someone is going to call you out on it and tell you so).
All me...
Bangalore or Bangaluru?
I came to Bangaluru perhaps expecting to find myself in Bangalore. Of course I had heard of the city but not until I booked my flight to come here did I discover that its name had officially changed. So Bangalore or Bangaluru, I wondered.
When I traveled to Mumbai I too struggled with how to refer to it. Many stores had the name Bombay attached to them and still more people called the city by its former name. I felt a certain affinity with the city after witnessing the 26/11 attacks from elsewhere on Indian soil and realized that the very real tragedy occurred to the modern city that is Mumbai, not to the bygone city of Bombay.
While Bangalore too suffered from terrorist attacks last year, I was not acutely aware of them. I am connected to this city not by an event, but by a person.
Thomas Friedman is a Pulitzer Prize winning American journalist who wrote the book The World Is Flat in 2005 after visiting Bangalore. Some years ago I became a devoted reader of his column in the New York Times, but had not opened his book until just a few days ago.
I had intended to read the book before I came, but as look would have it I couldn’t find a copy, that is until I spotted a hawker selling a boot-legged version on the streets of New Tipsandra. The book explains that several factors, the IT boom among them, are flattening the global playing field. As Friedman testified, places like Electronic City are no different from comparable work places in the West.
It may appear that the city hasn’t changed all that much since then, but flipping through the pages of this magazine I find Bangaluru.
Edited version (I really liked)
Bangalore or Bangaluru?
I came to Bangaluru perhaps expecting to find myself in Bangalore. Of course I had heard of the city but not until I booked my flight to come here did I discover that its name had officially changed. So Bangalore or Bangaluru, I wondered.
When I traveled to Mumbai I too struggled with how to refer to it. Many stores had the name Bombay attached to them and still more people called the city by its former name. I felt a certain affinity with the city after witnessing the 26/11 attacks from elsewhere on Indian soil and realized that the very real tragedy occurred to the modern city that is Mumbai, not to the bygone city of Bombay.
While Bangalore too suffered from terrorist attacks last year, I was not acutely aware of them. I am connected to this city not by an event, but by a person.
Thomas Friedman is a Pulitzer Prize winning American journalist who wrote the book The World Is Flat in 2005 after visiting Bangalore. Some years ago I became a devoted reader of his column in the New York Times, but had not opened his book until just a few days ago.
I had intended to read the book before I came, but as look would have it I couldn’t find a copy, that is until I spotted a hawker selling a boot-legged version on the streets of New Tipsandra. The book explains that several factors, the IT boom among them, are flattening the global playing field for aspiring workers. As Friedman testified,places like Electronic City are no different from comparable workplaces in the West.While the IT sector may still be booming, flipping through the pages of this magazine I find a unique city like nowhere in the West.Because let’s face it, no matter how flat the world gets you’ll never be able to get a fish curry from Koshys anywhere but in Bangaluru.
What appeared in print...
Bangalore or Bangaluru?
I came to Bangaluru perhaps expecting to find myself in Bangalore. Of course I had heard of the city but not until I booked my flight to come here did I discover that its name had officially changed. So Bangalore or Bangaluru, I wondered. I am connected to Bangalore not by an event, but by a person.
Thomas Friedman is a Pulitzer Prize winning American journalist who wrote the book The World Is Flat in 2005 after visiting Bangalore. Some years ago I became a devoted reader of his column in the New York Times, but had not opened his book until just a few days ago.
I had intended to read the book before I came, but as look would have it I couldn’t find a copy, that is until I spotted a hawker selling a boot-legged version on the streets of Bangalore. The book explains that several factors, the IT boom among them, are flattening the global playing field for aspiring workers. As Friedman testified,places like Electronic City are no different from comparable workplaces in the West.While the IT sector may still be booming, flipping through the pages of this magazine I find a unique city like nowhere in the West.Because let’s face it, no matter how flat the world gets you’ll never be able to get a dosa from Koshys anywhere but in Bangaluru.
Also note that New Tipsandra is changed to Bangalore. While I feel this small name change makes the reference less personal, I do understand tourists (let alone Indians from Bangalore, Bangalorites?) may not know Tipsandra.
As much as I dislike the fact that the editor has the final say, I suppose if I had followed directons and stayed within the word count this wouldn't have happened.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Cost-benefit, food.
Last night the group went to a Tapas Bar. Ana, one of the volunteers, had read in Time Out magazine that a famed house-music DJ (aparently that's a european term, I had never heard of it although the other American had) would be playing, but apparently he was scheduled for Wednesday adn Saturday night. Time Out magazine is a rival and competitior of Travel and Shop magazine (where I'm placed) so the situation put a smile on my face. I actually saw several copies of the Travel and Shop magazine on a display table at the bar. I saw from the cover that they were the current issue which I was published in--needless to say I defentiely got a rush from that! But more about that later... I had planned to go to a movie last night, but the group decided to go to one on Monday night instead. I didn't get a cell phone here because I wanted to go in-congito and be able to just put my head down and go un-noticed but that plan has seemed to backfire on a number of occasions, India is certainly wired. I suspect living with the group of volunteers is good preperation for the five room mates I will have come September (that's less that a month away!) at GW. I actually originally had a single, but decided that not only did I want room mates as part of the college experience (and it seems that once you're a sophmore you would pick your roomates as opposed to be thrown in with someone random which I think is half the fun) and didn't want to find myself alone at night, who knows what I would have ended up doing. While I certainly like to plan stuff and am defenitely comfortable going off on my own, having a defult group is a nice safety net. After all going to a resutrant alone can not only be akward but lonely as well. But having room mates means that I have to go with the flow a lot of the time and not just expect to do what I want to do. So after sitting cramed in a 30 minute auto rickshaw ride with five other people, we make it to the Tapas Bar.
The first menu to come is the drink menu which I suppose makes sense. There was a specialty lassi on the menu, but the waitor said they didn't have it so he made me a kiwi smoothie instead. For the drink I paid 110 rupees. At the local juice bar I pay 10 rupees for a drink. So what did I pay a hundred extra rupees for? For starters there is the option of starters. The bar was also a resturant so I could have food at my convience, which I did (fuselli arabia and unlike in Hampei the tomato sauce was not just ketchup, and then there was the key lime pie which for some reason was drizzled in honey which didn't quite work). But okay at the juice bar I can turn around and get 5 pani poori for 5 rupees or walk a block up the street and get 7 or 8 on a plate with a spoon and my choice of pani or sweet sauce for 13 rupees. And talk about convience, the latter is in an Indian sweet shop so I can get gulab jamin for just a few rupees (minus the plate and presentation, but who wants drizzled honey anways?)
Cost-benefit, transportation.
Wednesday 5 August 2009
Why hello there. I suppose I’ve been rather inconsistent with this blog (or simply have been putting up any entries). To tell you the truth I feel like I’m getting a crash-course in time management. I work from 9.30-6 everyday and most stores/ art galleries/ cultural events close their doors at 7.30 and are a 40 minute, 200 rupee round-trip auto-rickshaw drive away or 45minute- 1hour, 20 rupee bus ride away. While I am a big fan of public transportation, several factors are hindering me from taking advantage of it. For starters Bangalore is a HUGE city. A lot of people complained that Vizag was too small, but let me to you after four months there I felt like I could navigate it but at the same time still had places to explore. To make matters even easier, there was only one main bus station in Vizag that almost every bus went to and was relatively near to my house. Here in Bangalore there are an infinite number of buses and more often than not I find myself taking one bus to get to the bus that will take me back to Indra Nagar, the larger neighborhood that I live in—forget me finding a bus back to New Tipsandra, although I do see buses driving down the main road. The next inconvenience is the time. I suppose if I knew which bus to take then I wouldn’t have to take a half-an-hour detour every time I used public transportation, but then I still would have to wait for the correct bus number to arrive at the bus stop and who knows how long that would take! While I’m surely up for the adventure because I get out of work so late I really don’t have time to spare on the way there. As a result I usually find myself on the bus on the way back later at night which poses a problem if I get lost—the auto rickshaw drivers increase fares significantly after dark. I’m finding this issue of transportation to be a real challenge. I tend to grow accustom to cities by walking to and from places and allowing myself to wander off the designated course and in doing so find my bearings, eventually. And that is the key, I need time. I will probally get lost the first three of four times, but then that fifth time I will find my way. Case in point, I walked home from work one day and decided to cross from one main road to the next on a small side street instead of the road I had originally been shown. I then found myself winding through the neighborhood and at some point crossed over the street that I should have turned on to. I must have been too far down on the street to know that that was where I wanted to go. As a result I kept walking and kept walking. About an hour and a half later I approached a busy street and to my surprise found a T.G.I. Friday’s and decided at that point that I should probably grab an auto rickshaw home. Hungry and tired, I was disappointed with myself but was also quite simply lost. A week or so later while I was on an early morning run I once again found myself unfamiliar with my surroundings but soon recognized that I had been on the same street the night I had gotten lost. After running a little further, I stopped and asked some one where 80ft road was (the main street I use to locate my house) and was directed to return from where I came. I asked a bunch of teenage girls at a bus stop who I knew would speak English as to not cause a scene. Yes, I asked someone the night I got lost but didn’t clarify her directions as you should always do with Indians (because the head wobble can truly mean anything). I was happy to have found my way, if only a week late but I can’t help but wonder if all the hassle was really worth the self-gratification that I got.
There are two guest houses that the I to I volunteers reside in and a Chinese man named Jackie lives next to the other house (known as Katary’s, the surname of the owners, mine is Shirley’s, the first name of the lady of the house—although she does have a husband?). The Indian IT company where Jackie work mandates that all new employees of his level must work in Bangalore for a year before returning to the company’s branches around the world (in Jackie’s case China). Jackie used to take an auto rickshaw to work every day but got fed up with not only the price, but the mere haggling for the price (although I found many auto rickshaw’s in Vizag willing to set a fixed price if I rode with them to school every day—yes, I did miss the school bus quite often.) So Jackie bought a bike and he figured that after three months it will pay for itself, not to mention the fact that’s he getting regular exercise. Therefore the benefit of his bike outweighed the cost. But does my situation turn out as favorably? Does the benefit of my wandering (a sense of direction, perhaps?) outweigh the cost of my wandering (both literally in terms of rupees spent on transportation, specifically the more expensive auto rickshaws, and time lost)? If I will only be superficially comfortable with Bangalore’s layout after x rupees and three weeks, should I even bother if I’m here for a month?
Why hello there. I suppose I’ve been rather inconsistent with this blog (or simply have been putting up any entries). To tell you the truth I feel like I’m getting a crash-course in time management. I work from 9.30-6 everyday and most stores/ art galleries/ cultural events close their doors at 7.30 and are a 40 minute, 200 rupee round-trip auto-rickshaw drive away or 45minute- 1hour, 20 rupee bus ride away. While I am a big fan of public transportation, several factors are hindering me from taking advantage of it. For starters Bangalore is a HUGE city. A lot of people complained that Vizag was too small, but let me to you after four months there I felt like I could navigate it but at the same time still had places to explore. To make matters even easier, there was only one main bus station in Vizag that almost every bus went to and was relatively near to my house. Here in Bangalore there are an infinite number of buses and more often than not I find myself taking one bus to get to the bus that will take me back to Indra Nagar, the larger neighborhood that I live in—forget me finding a bus back to New Tipsandra, although I do see buses driving down the main road. The next inconvenience is the time. I suppose if I knew which bus to take then I wouldn’t have to take a half-an-hour detour every time I used public transportation, but then I still would have to wait for the correct bus number to arrive at the bus stop and who knows how long that would take! While I’m surely up for the adventure because I get out of work so late I really don’t have time to spare on the way there. As a result I usually find myself on the bus on the way back later at night which poses a problem if I get lost—the auto rickshaw drivers increase fares significantly after dark. I’m finding this issue of transportation to be a real challenge. I tend to grow accustom to cities by walking to and from places and allowing myself to wander off the designated course and in doing so find my bearings, eventually. And that is the key, I need time. I will probally get lost the first three of four times, but then that fifth time I will find my way. Case in point, I walked home from work one day and decided to cross from one main road to the next on a small side street instead of the road I had originally been shown. I then found myself winding through the neighborhood and at some point crossed over the street that I should have turned on to. I must have been too far down on the street to know that that was where I wanted to go. As a result I kept walking and kept walking. About an hour and a half later I approached a busy street and to my surprise found a T.G.I. Friday’s and decided at that point that I should probably grab an auto rickshaw home. Hungry and tired, I was disappointed with myself but was also quite simply lost. A week or so later while I was on an early morning run I once again found myself unfamiliar with my surroundings but soon recognized that I had been on the same street the night I had gotten lost. After running a little further, I stopped and asked some one where 80ft road was (the main street I use to locate my house) and was directed to return from where I came. I asked a bunch of teenage girls at a bus stop who I knew would speak English as to not cause a scene. Yes, I asked someone the night I got lost but didn’t clarify her directions as you should always do with Indians (because the head wobble can truly mean anything). I was happy to have found my way, if only a week late but I can’t help but wonder if all the hassle was really worth the self-gratification that I got.
There are two guest houses that the I to I volunteers reside in and a Chinese man named Jackie lives next to the other house (known as Katary’s, the surname of the owners, mine is Shirley’s, the first name of the lady of the house—although she does have a husband?). The Indian IT company where Jackie work mandates that all new employees of his level must work in Bangalore for a year before returning to the company’s branches around the world (in Jackie’s case China). Jackie used to take an auto rickshaw to work every day but got fed up with not only the price, but the mere haggling for the price (although I found many auto rickshaw’s in Vizag willing to set a fixed price if I rode with them to school every day—yes, I did miss the school bus quite often.) So Jackie bought a bike and he figured that after three months it will pay for itself, not to mention the fact that’s he getting regular exercise. Therefore the benefit of his bike outweighed the cost. But does my situation turn out as favorably? Does the benefit of my wandering (a sense of direction, perhaps?) outweigh the cost of my wandering (both literally in terms of rupees spent on transportation, specifically the more expensive auto rickshaws, and time lost)? If I will only be superficially comfortable with Bangalore’s layout after x rupees and three weeks, should I even bother if I’m here for a month?
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Darell
I’ve been running every morning since I got here, but I decided not to this morning. Let me explain…
Last night a group of us went to the 9.45 showing of Harry Potter. (While I was slightly disappointed that we didn’t see an Indian flick, the experience of going to see a movie in India is fun enough because it is indeed an experience: think an usher showing you to your assigned seat (or at least in theory), ancient leather seats, and my personal favorite, intermission). I ate dinner late because I was updating my blog (I came back to the house for dinner instead of getting chat or pani puri—which I still haven’t had!—because I promised Shirley, the lady of the house, that I would . You see I hadn’t actually had a proper meal at the house until then even though we’re suppose to and have available three meals, the timing just hadn’t work out. Wow, that was a long sidetrack). The group waited for me so by the time I got there and we left, we had missed the earlier 8.00pm showing (even though the theatre we went to didn’t show the movie at that time). We wanted to see the movie and the only next available showing was at 9.45 so that’s why we went so late. We passed time at Café Coffee Day, sound familiar? (While in Vizag, Coffee Day was the hangout place until we were banned after the Mumbai attacks and then people still went anyways just wearing disguises but that’s another story). I got their blue cooler which was pretty much my stable in the fall. I’m kind of disappointed in myself though because since I’ve already done the whole go-for-everything-in-your-sight mentality I wanted this go around in India to be more local: only fresh fruits drinks from street vendors; no pre-made Salwar Suits from Big Bazar, instead custom-tailored from Commercial Street (but I guess that’s a bit cliché? Commercial is the Newberry Street of Bangalore); only barfi (not barf) and gulab jamin, no cho-straws as much I love them (a white/strawberry chocolate bar; there actually not Indian, but British—because a lot of British food, particularly sweets and biscuits, aren’t available or simply don’t cross my path back home in the US, I tend to associate them more with India because that’s where I see and eat them). I suppose I could have gotten pani while everyone else sipped their western delights, but that’s life right? And then to continue the cycle, I ended up getting popcorn and a candy bar during the movie. To my credit, it was a 5 star Cadbury bar (but Indian excusive I might add, I think so at least).
Well the day actually started off with a group orientation at the home of Asha, the I to I Bangalore coordinator. Let me just say her house is grand, very colonial India. I later found out that she rents the first floor and the second floor belongs to her brother-in-law’s ex-wife, perhaps a result of a nasty divorce? We then went out to lunch as a group to an Indian buffet. A British bloke named Darrel said he wanted to go to an ATM before lunch and kind of just wandered off without telling anyone. Needless to say that he never came back. When I made it back to the house later that night he said he had gotten lost (which everyone suspected) and finally just took an auto home (which for some reason he insisted on telling me he didn’t haggle over the price for, definitely not something to be proud of in my book). The really funny or sad or ironic I guess part of my little story is that the bloke was around fifty. Of all the people to run off, it was the oldest person in the group. Yes, India most definitely is a land where everything is upside down. We found out today that Darrel is going back to the UK ASAP. I missed his shpeal because my placement runs until 6 o’clock and that’s when dinner is, but I pieced together from the rest of the group that he was expecting that his placement had made definitive arrangements for him (i.e. he wouldn’t just be fit in randomly like every other volunteer in history, he even insisted on wearing a suit and tie on his first, and only, day—mind you this is India AND he was working with children from the slums—because he believed in power dressing where in children would only respect you if you clearly mark your space from the onset, he wanted to be alpha dog I suppose). When he got a reality check, I guess he right then and there decided this wasn’t worth his time and that he wanted to go home. Did I say he was 50? But what a waist of money! And as he was leaving the dinner table he handed the other volunteer at his placement 150 rupees to get something for the children, "because they really got nothing." Well, Darell, why then couldn't you haven't given them your time?
Last night a group of us went to the 9.45 showing of Harry Potter. (While I was slightly disappointed that we didn’t see an Indian flick, the experience of going to see a movie in India is fun enough because it is indeed an experience: think an usher showing you to your assigned seat (or at least in theory), ancient leather seats, and my personal favorite, intermission). I ate dinner late because I was updating my blog (I came back to the house for dinner instead of getting chat or pani puri—which I still haven’t had!—because I promised Shirley, the lady of the house, that I would . You see I hadn’t actually had a proper meal at the house until then even though we’re suppose to and have available three meals, the timing just hadn’t work out. Wow, that was a long sidetrack). The group waited for me so by the time I got there and we left, we had missed the earlier 8.00pm showing (even though the theatre we went to didn’t show the movie at that time). We wanted to see the movie and the only next available showing was at 9.45 so that’s why we went so late. We passed time at Café Coffee Day, sound familiar? (While in Vizag, Coffee Day was the hangout place until we were banned after the Mumbai attacks and then people still went anyways just wearing disguises but that’s another story). I got their blue cooler which was pretty much my stable in the fall. I’m kind of disappointed in myself though because since I’ve already done the whole go-for-everything-in-your-sight mentality I wanted this go around in India to be more local: only fresh fruits drinks from street vendors; no pre-made Salwar Suits from Big Bazar, instead custom-tailored from Commercial Street (but I guess that’s a bit cliché? Commercial is the Newberry Street of Bangalore); only barfi (not barf) and gulab jamin, no cho-straws as much I love them (a white/strawberry chocolate bar; there actually not Indian, but British—because a lot of British food, particularly sweets and biscuits, aren’t available or simply don’t cross my path back home in the US, I tend to associate them more with India because that’s where I see and eat them). I suppose I could have gotten pani while everyone else sipped their western delights, but that’s life right? And then to continue the cycle, I ended up getting popcorn and a candy bar during the movie. To my credit, it was a 5 star Cadbury bar (but Indian excusive I might add, I think so at least).
Well the day actually started off with a group orientation at the home of Asha, the I to I Bangalore coordinator. Let me just say her house is grand, very colonial India. I later found out that she rents the first floor and the second floor belongs to her brother-in-law’s ex-wife, perhaps a result of a nasty divorce? We then went out to lunch as a group to an Indian buffet. A British bloke named Darrel said he wanted to go to an ATM before lunch and kind of just wandered off without telling anyone. Needless to say that he never came back. When I made it back to the house later that night he said he had gotten lost (which everyone suspected) and finally just took an auto home (which for some reason he insisted on telling me he didn’t haggle over the price for, definitely not something to be proud of in my book). The really funny or sad or ironic I guess part of my little story is that the bloke was around fifty. Of all the people to run off, it was the oldest person in the group. Yes, India most definitely is a land where everything is upside down. We found out today that Darrel is going back to the UK ASAP. I missed his shpeal because my placement runs until 6 o’clock and that’s when dinner is, but I pieced together from the rest of the group that he was expecting that his placement had made definitive arrangements for him (i.e. he wouldn’t just be fit in randomly like every other volunteer in history, he even insisted on wearing a suit and tie on his first, and only, day—mind you this is India AND he was working with children from the slums—because he believed in power dressing where in children would only respect you if you clearly mark your space from the onset, he wanted to be alpha dog I suppose). When he got a reality check, I guess he right then and there decided this wasn’t worth his time and that he wanted to go home. Did I say he was 50? But what a waist of money! And as he was leaving the dinner table he handed the other volunteer at his placement 150 rupees to get something for the children, "because they really got nothing." Well, Darell, why then couldn't you haven't given them your time?
Monday, July 20, 2009
India Vogue
I subscribe to American Vogue back home in the US and made a habit of collecting India Vogue while here in the fall. I picked up this month’s edition while I was at the airport on Saturday and I have decided to try and blog about one article each day. 
Lily Donaldson would model this.
Deepika Padukone is on the cover of this month’s India Vogue. She is wearing a gorgeous, what appears to be blue cotton, D&G ball gown with a cascade of applicay daisies eating away at the surface. I thought it only fitting that I should start with her article…
The article is called 9 to 5 with Deepika and I think that is the first elusive statement because the Indians I have come to know usually start their day late. One of the dresses she models is a great Donna Karen crystal swirl number which I could have sworn I saw Racquel Zimmerman wearing in American Vogue, although not for a spread but rather a quick showcase or identification photo. Another dress I absolutely love is a silk jersey one-shoulder Dior gown: the snugness of the bottom contrasts with the looseness of the upper draping, while the broadening at the bottom keeps the dress level. Of course a great butt is needed for this dress. Her makeup is consistent throughout all of the photos: her lower eye lid is seemingly nude (although her almond eyes are very defined, perhaps the result of a light application of eye shadow) while thick eye liner crescendos with a flip at the far end of her eye and of course there is heavy mascara. Her lips are dark but not deep pink and contrast nicely with her pale skin as well as her dark eyes and hair, two features that ensure she is relevant in India despite her skin color. She has a little Blair Waldorf going on with her look. And let me say her attitude appears just as upper class, lady of the manner. “[A] part of her morning now goes into dealing with a myriad of responsibilities.” Well, I highly doubt she is doing any of those responsibilities herself, but is rather delegating them to others. Excuse me, I may have spoken too soon, “if the maid is on leave, ‘even washing the dishes’” can be one of her responsibilities. On a side note though, the very fact that Deepika’s flat is in suburban Mumbai, only reminds me that Mumbai is for Bollywood and Bangalore is for IT. However harsh those stereotypes maybe, each city has a distinctly different feel and I hate to say it but Bangalore has not sold me yet. Mumbai has glamour, history, and the sea. And Bangalore has… wait it has Deepika! She grew up here and so she says many of her friends whom she likes to go to a movie with still reside here. Perhaps she flies in on a private jet then?
Lily Donaldson would model this.Deepika Padukone is on the cover of this month’s India Vogue. She is wearing a gorgeous, what appears to be blue cotton, D&G ball gown with a cascade of applicay daisies eating away at the surface. I thought it only fitting that I should start with her article…
The article is called 9 to 5 with Deepika and I think that is the first elusive statement because the Indians I have come to know usually start their day late. One of the dresses she models is a great Donna Karen crystal swirl number which I could have sworn I saw Racquel Zimmerman wearing in American Vogue, although not for a spread but rather a quick showcase or identification photo. Another dress I absolutely love is a silk jersey one-shoulder Dior gown: the snugness of the bottom contrasts with the looseness of the upper draping, while the broadening at the bottom keeps the dress level. Of course a great butt is needed for this dress. Her makeup is consistent throughout all of the photos: her lower eye lid is seemingly nude (although her almond eyes are very defined, perhaps the result of a light application of eye shadow) while thick eye liner crescendos with a flip at the far end of her eye and of course there is heavy mascara. Her lips are dark but not deep pink and contrast nicely with her pale skin as well as her dark eyes and hair, two features that ensure she is relevant in India despite her skin color. She has a little Blair Waldorf going on with her look. And let me say her attitude appears just as upper class, lady of the manner. “[A] part of her morning now goes into dealing with a myriad of responsibilities.” Well, I highly doubt she is doing any of those responsibilities herself, but is rather delegating them to others. Excuse me, I may have spoken too soon, “if the maid is on leave, ‘even washing the dishes’” can be one of her responsibilities. On a side note though, the very fact that Deepika’s flat is in suburban Mumbai, only reminds me that Mumbai is for Bollywood and Bangalore is for IT. However harsh those stereotypes maybe, each city has a distinctly different feel and I hate to say it but Bangalore has not sold me yet. Mumbai has glamour, history, and the sea. And Bangalore has… wait it has Deepika! She grew up here and so she says many of her friends whom she likes to go to a movie with still reside here. Perhaps she flies in on a private jet then?
An Indian Safari
So I went to the Park on Sunday. No, not the park as in the park hotel in Vizag. A group of other I to I volunteers and I went for an Indian safari at the Bannerghatta Biological Park. To get there we took a 30 minute auto ride to a central bus station, we then traveled about 30-45 minutes by bus to find ourselves on the outskirts of the city at what was referred to as the national park. The auto ride was 120 rupees for three people (a little less than a dollar per person) and the bus ride was 28 rupees. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the bus was air-conditioned (it was actually quite cold on the ride back), in fact it looked very similar to those found in DC and Europe, the only tangible difference being that there was standing room only for the majority of the trip—i.e. the bus was grossly over-packed.
The park itself was quite nice, although I was disappointed to find that despite the many hawkers outside none were selling nimbo-pani (lemonade, nimbo=lemon & pani=water), something that I was looking forward too. (After we got back to New Tipassandra [the area were the group home is], a few of us decided to stop off at a juice bar and it too did not have nimbo-pani although of course both sellers knew what I was talking about.) Many of the other girls were gooing over the elephant ride, but having been on one as a means of transportation to the Amber Fort in Rajasthan, I decided not to buy a ticket. We all did go on the safari however… I must admit that I was not expecting much and was surprised each time we entered a new section of the park and thus the safari continued for that much longer. (The different animals were kept in different sections of the park, blocked off by a gate that acted like the locks [is that the right word?] at a canal, wherein we drove past one gate only to be stopped by another which would not open until the first had been shut). There were a lot of bears at the beginning and at some point the bus conductor insisted on taking my camera from me and taking pictures with it. While this did guarantee great views—I was toward the back of the bus on an inside seat, many of the shots I wanted to take involved framing the photo of the animals with the Indian passengers to show case the true essence of an Indian safari (perhaps that while we have great views, probably the best views any safari can afford in fact, we’re dangerously close to the animals or the simple fact that here urban Indians are awing at animals that rural Indians take as part of their landscape.) One picture in particular that I wanted to capture was two girls each dressed in a salwair keemez with flowers in their hair looking out of the bus at two white tigers. Now if you don’t understand the significance of white tigers than you obviously haven’t read the book The White Tiger byAravind Adiga, which won the Booker Man Prize. No other book could capture India as well. Period. While I do love Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts, the novel details the workings of the black market and underworld which are not necessarily unique to Mumbai, the story’s setting. In contrast The White Tiger shows the rise of a chai-wallah from a rural village to a successful entrepreneur in a large city, a story not unlike the American dream but unfathomable anywhere but India, a country so big and so fabulous that I believe no one, not the government or Bollywood, could ever really taim it.
And this brings me to the Park. For lunch we went to a restaurant just outside of the safari park called the Park. Unfortunately the restaurant had no menus and the waiter insisted we tell him what we want, but kept shooting down any of our requests. We were more lucky at the restaurant next store, except for the drink situation. As a side not, I was looking at the veg (vegetarian) side of the menu because that is all I will eat here (which is not convient at all, every restaurant offers veg or non-veg and many are veg only) and only later realized that the eggs were on the non-veg side of the menu. I do in fact eat eggs (and use omelets or egg buiyani as a main source of protein), and had forget that they are considered non-veg here: basically veg goes beyond vegetarian and really means vegan. Anyways, something of the following dialogue ensued when one of the boys tried to order a diet coke: “Diet Coke, please”/ No diet coke, coke/ fanta?/ No fanta, coke/ Okay, coke…(five minutes later the waiter brings Thumbs up) No coke?/ No, fanta/ fanta, please…(five minutes later the waster brings sprite). The End. I on the other hand ordered a sweet lassi. After the drink hadn’t come for a while I asked one of the help where my drink was and he said no lassi. I then asked the waiter when he returned and he said on minute. I received my lassi five minutes later. From this I can defer that persistence is a necessary trait in India. On another note, this meals showcases why I go veg when in India. The bog who wanted the fanta ordered a chicken dish tossed in rice and needless to say he found several pieces or lumps of matter that were not chicken.
I came back from the day only to fall asleep, the time being around 7.30. I threw off my sleep schedule the day I arrived by falling asleep at 4 in the afternoon. In my defense I had probably been up for 48hours straight so falling asleep that early really just allowed me to re-gain some much needed sleep (I only woke up once in the middle of the night, which was convenient considering I had fallen asleep in my clothes so this way I had a chance to change into my pajamas.)
The park itself was quite nice, although I was disappointed to find that despite the many hawkers outside none were selling nimbo-pani (lemonade, nimbo=lemon & pani=water), something that I was looking forward too. (After we got back to New Tipassandra [the area were the group home is], a few of us decided to stop off at a juice bar and it too did not have nimbo-pani although of course both sellers knew what I was talking about.) Many of the other girls were gooing over the elephant ride, but having been on one as a means of transportation to the Amber Fort in Rajasthan, I decided not to buy a ticket. We all did go on the safari however… I must admit that I was not expecting much and was surprised each time we entered a new section of the park and thus the safari continued for that much longer. (The different animals were kept in different sections of the park, blocked off by a gate that acted like the locks [is that the right word?] at a canal, wherein we drove past one gate only to be stopped by another which would not open until the first had been shut). There were a lot of bears at the beginning and at some point the bus conductor insisted on taking my camera from me and taking pictures with it. While this did guarantee great views—I was toward the back of the bus on an inside seat, many of the shots I wanted to take involved framing the photo of the animals with the Indian passengers to show case the true essence of an Indian safari (perhaps that while we have great views, probably the best views any safari can afford in fact, we’re dangerously close to the animals or the simple fact that here urban Indians are awing at animals that rural Indians take as part of their landscape.) One picture in particular that I wanted to capture was two girls each dressed in a salwair keemez with flowers in their hair looking out of the bus at two white tigers. Now if you don’t understand the significance of white tigers than you obviously haven’t read the book The White Tiger byAravind Adiga, which won the Booker Man Prize. No other book could capture India as well. Period. While I do love Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts, the novel details the workings of the black market and underworld which are not necessarily unique to Mumbai, the story’s setting. In contrast The White Tiger shows the rise of a chai-wallah from a rural village to a successful entrepreneur in a large city, a story not unlike the American dream but unfathomable anywhere but India, a country so big and so fabulous that I believe no one, not the government or Bollywood, could ever really taim it.
And this brings me to the Park. For lunch we went to a restaurant just outside of the safari park called the Park. Unfortunately the restaurant had no menus and the waiter insisted we tell him what we want, but kept shooting down any of our requests. We were more lucky at the restaurant next store, except for the drink situation. As a side not, I was looking at the veg (vegetarian) side of the menu because that is all I will eat here (which is not convient at all, every restaurant offers veg or non-veg and many are veg only) and only later realized that the eggs were on the non-veg side of the menu. I do in fact eat eggs (and use omelets or egg buiyani as a main source of protein), and had forget that they are considered non-veg here: basically veg goes beyond vegetarian and really means vegan. Anyways, something of the following dialogue ensued when one of the boys tried to order a diet coke: “Diet Coke, please”/ No diet coke, coke/ fanta?/ No fanta, coke/ Okay, coke…(five minutes later the waiter brings Thumbs up) No coke?/ No, fanta/ fanta, please…(five minutes later the waster brings sprite). The End. I on the other hand ordered a sweet lassi. After the drink hadn’t come for a while I asked one of the help where my drink was and he said no lassi. I then asked the waiter when he returned and he said on minute. I received my lassi five minutes later. From this I can defer that persistence is a necessary trait in India. On another note, this meals showcases why I go veg when in India. The bog who wanted the fanta ordered a chicken dish tossed in rice and needless to say he found several pieces or lumps of matter that were not chicken.
I came back from the day only to fall asleep, the time being around 7.30. I threw off my sleep schedule the day I arrived by falling asleep at 4 in the afternoon. In my defense I had probably been up for 48hours straight so falling asleep that early really just allowed me to re-gain some much needed sleep (I only woke up once in the middle of the night, which was convenient considering I had fallen asleep in my clothes so this way I had a chance to change into my pajamas.)
Saturday, July 18, 2009
food in LA
I knew that my parents and I would be heading to LA before I knew I was heading to India. So craving the Indian street food not really known to Westerners outside of those who've traveled to India, I looked up restaurants serving pani-puri, figuring that such a big city would have something. Actually that's not how I found the place. When I was stilling working at the Crowne Plaza Hotel restaurant, I was flipping through a magazine (perhaps Restaurant?) that was lying at the hostess booth and came across the restaurant Street. Claiming to serve global street in an upscale environment, the restaurant seemed worth a trip so my family and I went there on my last night in LA. I didn't get the pani-puri or anything Indian for that matter because I didn't want to spoil my taste buds, I wanted to make them wait. Having said that, the food was absolutely delicious. The olive bread, I think the least expensive item of the menu just melted in your both and the Kaya Toast, a specialty of the restaurant's and from Singapore, may just be my new favorite treat. Pieces of toasted toast are lathered in coconut butter and left for you to dip in a sunny side up egg, yummy. I then proceeded to google places in NYC for when I'm there later this summer, so I guess that's where the first half of the story came from.
I also wanted to go to Mahasti Malone's Persian Ice cream, but I didn't plan out our time very well so we didn't get there (but maybe my mom and dad did after I left?). Well, there's always next time. We did however get to Trails, the organic restaurant at the foot off the trails at Griffith Park. I split an egg salad sand which with my mom, forgetting that I actually hate egg salad, but man was it good. And then there were the pies. I got a slice of cherry pie and let me tell you organic is the way to go. Except of course when you're going retro.
After biking up and down the Santa Monica/ Venice Beach area, my family and I stopped off for an ice cream at an old mr. frostie type hole in the wall. They just don't make bonnet's the way they used to anymore. But that was just an appetizer before dinner at the taco truck. My parents and brother went to the one of a kind Korean barbecue truck, while I kept it real with a traditional burrito from a local truck. But I have to hand it to Kogi, the Korean barbecueres, not only did they have a line that was a block long, they twittered there location to keep their loyal following in the loop. Now they get props for that one.
I also wanted to go to Mahasti Malone's Persian Ice cream, but I didn't plan out our time very well so we didn't get there (but maybe my mom and dad did after I left?). Well, there's always next time. We did however get to Trails, the organic restaurant at the foot off the trails at Griffith Park. I split an egg salad sand which with my mom, forgetting that I actually hate egg salad, but man was it good. And then there were the pies. I got a slice of cherry pie and let me tell you organic is the way to go. Except of course when you're going retro.
After biking up and down the Santa Monica/ Venice Beach area, my family and I stopped off for an ice cream at an old mr. frostie type hole in the wall. They just don't make bonnet's the way they used to anymore. But that was just an appetizer before dinner at the taco truck. My parents and brother went to the one of a kind Korean barbecue truck, while I kept it real with a traditional burrito from a local truck. But I have to hand it to Kogi, the Korean barbecueres, not only did they have a line that was a block long, they twittered there location to keep their loyal following in the loop. Now they get props for that one.
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