Of stones and apathy

In the movie 'Outsourced', this American guy who had lived in India for a while gives advice to the new guy who has just arrived there. "Don't fight India," he says. "Let it wash over you. It's the only way to live here."

In India if you don't let things wash over you, they will hit you. Like a stone thrown in your eye. Some days it may be a pellet, on others it may be a boulder. On yet others it could be a flower. But it's always something. That is India. Now if you find a way to do a little dodging dance when you see a stone coming at you, you might be able to avoid being hit some of the times, maybe even most of the times when you get real good at it. It's an art staying for the flower, bending down and avoiding the boulder.

I wasn't able to dodge very well when I first got there. The stones hit me square in the face but then so did the flowers which felt like caresses of soft breeze. My highs were high, my lows, pitifully low. How could people be this way? How could they affect me this way....enter my life on a daily basis and affect my day this way.

Good sweet people, callous people, rude, horrid people. Why was it that in India they were able to get to me in a way I can only describe as intrusive. Completely. My life became an open house. Depending on who entered my day and did what to or for me, I was happy or sad or miserable or livid or...........enter any human emotion in the blank space.

Everyday.

This is good, I thought at first. Good for me as a human being to be this close to humanity--all forms of it. I tried to help the people who needed it. Some appreciated it, many didn't cooperate, others wanted more and more.

I tried to stay neutral to the people and circumstances that affected me badly. Its not a problem, I tried telling myself if I was almost run over by that guy, if the man cheated me of money, if that woman tried to sell me bad product, if the experience through security at the mall was harrowing at best. It's a good exercise learning to cope. It's good for the kids to know that there are so many different types of people in the world.

It was hard to dodge the stones that rained when we stepped out of the Hyatt after a Sunday afternoon brunch only to be confronted by a beggar woman and her three month old tied close to her chest. It became difficult when mistrust became the first emotion I began to feel while dealing with any new tradesman.

I started becoming a stranger to myself when I saw how I made appointments with people for 10:30 am and didn't think twice before staying away until 11:00 am and not calling to cancel. I had been stood up by so many people, it was no big deal to do it back. Sorry, I'd say to them. You came at 10:30? Wow really! Ok. I had to buy some eggs. Oh well, I'll see you next time. And he'd say ok, next time it is.

I had started dodging. All that dodging started making me apathetic. Apathetic slowly to that around me which would have previously made me cry, things that would have previously made me want to take a stand, make a noise. I realized that dodging was giving me more peace. I was surviving. I was making do.

The bad thing though was my apathy began to run into callousness. I became someone I didn't recognize. Mistrust took over fully. Lowered expectations became the norm. That and a sever case of disinterest in anything but that which affected me.

I had let India wash over me. I was back. I had become the survivor in India--the person who knows what cards they are dealt and learns to play only with those. I began to not care how many cards other people had. Most had less. A lot less. Some had more, a lot more. I became self absorbed only in what happened to me and mine. Kept my cards close to my chest and made the best of the hand I had.

Then it began to dawn on me that this was how I would now live forever. It was a choice I had made with much deliberation. I had persuaded my husband that it was the right choice. And now I was seeing him change too. He expected nothing and so when little he got he was happy with it. Fewer stones had to be dodged because he was already an expert at the dance. That and he stayed as cut off from society as he could.

What was pathetic was how much the few altruistic things I did made people gush on about what good people we were. If we were such good people, what did that make the rest?

Its not that people in the rest of the world are any better or worse than in India. In India as I'm sure in many other countries, various conditions of humanity are always close, always at the doorstep. You cannot glance in any direction without seeing the human condition up close and personal--be it ultra decadence or marked wretchedness. Its all there within arm's reach, sometimes closer. You can smell it, taste it, be in it. Its virtual reality extreme.

And all of it was changing me as a person. Not having lived most of my life in these typical Indian surroundings and later living in the US for fourteen years, I had thought I had lost touch with humanity, with my heritage, my people.

I wanted my boys to have a life where they could truly understand the world, truly be in touch with the human condition. And now I had it. My boys were thriving. The family--extended anyway was happy to have us back. Grandparents loved having the kids around. There were wonderful moments of joy.

But forever, I told myself is a very long time.

I came back to India for my family. If we went back to the US, away from this life in India, it would be for me.

I didn't want to change anymore. I wanted to be able to cry at the sight of a skinny, stray puppy. I wanted to feel a lump in my throat and feel the need to make a difference at the sight of a starving child. I wanted the soppy, un-cynical me back. The naive, trusting, foolish dreamer. The spoilt brat too, if one must call a spade a spade. I wanted all that back.

And so we returned. To Chicago. To the place we had once called home.

This may or may not be home. I'm not sure. I'm still torn. I miss the touch of all those human conditions sometimes. I miss India. Perhaps I miss an India I have created in my mind, an India that does not exist. Perhaps I am a big fool.

And so, I am not sure where is home or if there even is such a place for me in this world. But I plan to keep looking.

What can I say...

about my motherland without feeling disloyal. There have been times that I have wanted to say so much about the apathy that seems to be the undercurrent of every person's and business' method of survival here.

Some of us call it apathy. Here they call it fate-Karma. "This is just how it is madam. Live with it or you will die inside of ulcers most likely."

Deal with the crappy service, crappy products, the sweet talk that covers and sweeps over all the dirt. Yes India is a nation of apathy--was and still is--of this I am convinced. Else why would the sheer numbers of monied people allow themselves to get poor service and products, accept less than perfect as 'just the way it is' or worse allow the abominable condition of those less privileged than themselves?

And its so easy to get sucked into the state of apathy. Case in point--we live in a very nice rented apartment. The flat above us was bought by a rich couple who wanted the place to be as palace like as they could make it. For those not in the know, most middle class and upper middle class and of course the rich people who buy places of their own usually gut the place and add new flooring, new bathrooms. This is the rule not the exception. The richer you are the more the work that gets done. You get the idea.

So the flat above us belongs to a really well heeled couple. And so the trappings must reflect that no? And so for the past 7 months there has been construction going on during all hours. We of course are so affected by the noise that we kept picking fights with the only people we could--the construction workers.

Yes given that we have not yet fully been sucked into the vortex of total apathy, we did observe that these workers from Rajasthan--we guess--were living there amidst all the dust, cutting marble and God knows what else not even wearing a mask, breathing the worst possible dust, sleeping amidst the debris, hurting their ears that also are unprotected from the noise--if you have heard marble or stone being cut, the noise travels even 200 yards away. At close quarters it is death to the eardrums. Whenever we went upstairs to pick a fight, they were covered in white dust whose origins can only be unhealthy at best, toxic at worst.

This sad truth only entered our minds when there was no work going on, when we were at peace. But when at 10:30 pm or later we heard cutting and breaking of walls, all we felt was anger, irritation at them and we showed it in words, gestures even. Appalling.

So yes we are apathetic. Why else will we allow children, impossibly young ones to roam the streets begging, or worse work for us caring for our own kids. That is a sight I have seen too often and which breaks my heart like none other. A child caring for another--as an employee--and not being treated as a child either. Or a child serving an adult at a restaurant or store and not because his parent owns it either.

Among the myriad NGOs I have spoken to in my time here one thing I have heard over and over is how little money and volunteers are generated within India. Most donations and help comes from Indians and others abroad. The volunteers especially. I read a wonderful book by Pavan Sharma, I think--about what it means to be Indian--he propounds a theory about why Indians survive--every man for himself is basically the line of thinking. You are in misery--its your Karma. I have my own issues to care for.

I read an article in the Times of India about why Indian business owners give so little money away, compared to their shall we say Western counterparts. One supposed psychologist said and I am paraphrasing, 'these Western business owners haven't experienced poverty and hunger like the Indian business people have and which is why the Indians will protect their wealth even more.' Give unto me a break. If Mukesh Ambani and Anil Ambani with their cricket franchises and billion dollar houses have experienced poverty and hunger, I will eat my hat.

One the plus side, this apathy or acceptance makes the country resilient and able to sustain so much damage meted out on her by less tolerant countries that surround her. Another bomb blast--oh well, we are strong, we will get over it. And yet one more--are the police asleep--where are the terrorists that did this? The authorities are working on it you say? Good.

The mantra is, "Oh well, life must go on."

India is a place where one can be seething with rage about one thing with one person when another person can bowl you over to tears with a simple act of unexpected sweetness. It is a country of extreme emotions...irritation and happiness at their peak and lowest. A roller coaster ride that I feel ill equipped to handle.

So what am I doing about all this right? Besides writing this and kvetching?

More on that in the next.

An aberration the Taj Exotica

The Taj hotel--the name conjures up images of luxury. The Taj Exotica at Benaulim beach in Goa wasn't a disappointment in that regard. The hotel was beautiful, the staff attentive. Every square inch of their space was wonderful.

We were there to spend a few days to celebrate our older son's birthday.

We enjoyed the room, the food, the lush green lawns.

Then we visited the beach.

That was a aberration.

I have seen Benaulim in the eighties. White sands, clean , pristine, it was free of five star luxury then.

Today under the care of the Taj resort it is a mess. Stray dogs roam freely, their excreta is often underfoot. The plethora of plastic water bottles the hotel provides the guests also litters the beach. Thermocol, paper, plastic bags. Dirty, sad muddy sand.

"Not our property, madam, it is government property," I am told when I speak of this aberration to the manager.

Yes but you do realize your guests might enjoy using the beach, don't you? When your staff cuts every blade of grass to perfection, could they not perhaps also extend that courtesy of care to a few feet beyond your grounds?

Guilty looks but apathetic minds, I sense.

They try and apologize. I ask them what they plan to do to make difference. Nothing specific is offered, just empty words.

A plaque proclaiming their commitment to the environment hangs by the manager's desk.

I point to it asking them why they bother? Sheepish grins result.

A one time aberration, says the area manager in an email to me. I respond with strong words. No reply. I ask them to tell me what if anything they plan to do. No reply.

Well, I am a small one time tourist but this I can do. I can tell everyone I know.

Don't go to the Taj Exotica on Benaulim beach in Goa. Not if you'd like to spend any time on the beach.