Like most other Indian-Americans, I make trips to India every few years. I went this winter to visit my grandmother in Devgadh Baria and to visit Delhi and Agra with my parents.
Baria is a special place and difficult to describe in words, or even pictures. It’s a town of just a few large streets, and many smaller ones. There isn’t much there — a beautiful clock tower, a scenic lake, a river, and small mountains surrounding this town in a valley. There isn’t much to do or see, but that’s just it — it’s a place to relax, to rejuvenate, to think, to ask questions.
My dad said to me when I was exploring. “It’s easy to go get back home, no matter where you go. All roads lead to the tower.” He was speaking quite literally, but it was a phrase that made me think.
January 19
I landed in Ahmedabad at about 230AM. I’m not sure why — it may have been the fatigue, the long flight, the lack of communication with anyone — but when I walked into the airport, I started crying. There was this sense of home, that I was home. I don’t remember ever coming to this airport — it was gleaming, beautiful — did not seem at home in Gujarat. The lines moved rapidly and I was quickly outside.
My cousins and dad came to pick me up in a jeep. It was Dipen (my first cousin), Pallas (my first cousin’s kid), Karan (my first cousin, Megha’s kid), my dad, the driver and his assistance. I was exhausted and it was about 345A. We loaded up the jeep and began the drive to Baria. It was night, and the typical slow Indian drive, where you have to pull to the left for each oncoming car. We passed several road side stops, people sitting around fires, and at about 615AM stopped for chai. It was in a 3 oz cup, hot, and extremely sweet. And, the milk used was a higher cream percent than American whole. It was like dessert.
We got to Baria at about 715A and it looked exactly the same as before — an old town, run down buildings, food and drink stalls, small shops, many people milling about. We arrived at my grandmother’s place and walked upstairs. She was laying down, seemed quite tired but happy to see me. My mom and her brother were just starting to get up, and my mom made tea and snacks for us. I was so sleepy, but wanted to take a walk and say hi to some of the family near by. I passed by Jeetesh’ (my mom’s first cousin) house, but the door was closed. I found out later he was sick, had some sort or stomach bug and was sick the entire day. I did see his son, Smit, later and he was doing well, headed back to Baroda tomorrow for work (the bigger city about 90 minutes away). I got to Praful kaka’s house (my dad’s brother) and saw Megha, her daughter (Asta), Praful kaka and Kirtika kaki. They were already starting to prepare for the evening feast. Megha is an excellent cook.
I went back to the house and crashed. I was pulled out of bed for lunch. My mom’s sister and husband, my mom’s brother and wife, and my mom’s eldest sister’s husband (she was taking care of her sister in law in Baroda, who had fallen ill). He was happy to see me, but very quickly started crying when he saw the rest of his family — his nephew been diagnosed with a head and neck cancer and had much of his tongue removed and his neck dissected. He looked terrible, and my uncle was very worried about him. We had a D.B.R.S (dal — lentil soup, bhat — rice, rotli — whole wheat bread, shak — vegetable). lunch — my ba has a tiffin (metal containers with hot food) delivered every day for lunch and dinner. I finished and went back to sleep, and I was awakened often. I got it together and went to my uncle’s house for an indoor shower. Then, I went back to Megha’s house for dinner.
Before dinner, Dipen took me on a tour of Baria, which he always did every time I came. It continued to grow — many new homes and apartment buildings, a renovation of the fitness facility, an improvement at the cinema, and two new restaurants (next to Southland, the South Indian restaurant there was Hotel City Point and then past it off the main road was a Dal Bati place). It was Sunday, so less vibrant than usual, but still a bustling little city. I always ask a lot of questions while I’m here. I learned from Dipen that about 10% of Indians have health insurance. This is up from about 2% 10 years ago. He says the premiums are about Rs 2000 a month ($37) for Rs 500, 000 annual coverage ($8300), but this doesn’t seem to add up to me — as it far more expensive then our plans. Whatever it is — he says the larger issue is that the average Indian sees any sort of an insurance as an investment that doesn’t really pay off (“What if I pay my premiums this year and I don’t get sick? Then I’ve lost all that money.”) They have yet to understand that premiums serve as piece of mind, but then again, I’m not sure if Americans understand this concept either.
We went back to the house and then I helped my cousin with his project that was due tomorrow — a graphic representation of the molecule of NaCl, with the electrons, neutrons, and protons. He was a Parikh — it was due tomorrow and he had none of it done until that evening. Dinner was ready — we had paneer burgi, dal fry, rice, paratha, and gulab jamun. It was spicy and delicious.
There was a wedding reception of Megha’s student’s brother and so went over to that. It was in the courtyard at one of the Baria palaces — Naharbhavan — or something like that. It was ornately decorated, and the bride looked beautiful. People were already filing out, and we had eaten, so we dropped off a gift, and she said her hellos and we headed back.
I heard that Megha’s best friend’s husband and some health problems — he was a long time oral tobacco user and developed a pain and sore in his inner lower lip. It drained pus and he went to see the local barefoot doctor who gave him antibiotics, Tylenol, and an Iodine rinse. It was seeming to get better, but I volunteered to examine him. He had an irregular, firm, raised lesion in the lower lip. It could be an abscess that drained or something worse like cancer — I wanted him to get it checked, so we planned on going to an ENT doctor next week for a CT scan and a biopsy if possible.
We went back to my grandmother’s house and readied ourself for bed. I am going to sleep like the dead.
Jan 20
Oh, we don’t really have water at my grandma’s house. There are saying because of the wedding the stores have been used up. Yesterday, my mom’s brother took me on the roof to show me how to siphon water from the neighbor’s tank (they are okay with this), but it didn’t work. This morning, we dropped a bucket from upstairs to the downstairs neighbor using a sari, had them fill it up with water, and pulled it back up with a make-shift pulley system. I say “we” — but Anju Ben, the woman we hired to help to help our grandmother did it.
I went over to Megha’s house and played with Drashya (Dipen’s three year old) — he was high energy and fun to play with. We figured out our plan for the early part of the day, which was to get a jeep to go up the mountain (Devgadh, the city’s namesake). Before that, I sought out some coffee. From my last trip, I remember the street vendors typically make a milky instant version of coffee, which was good enough for me. India does not have a coffee culture, especially not a a brewed coffee culture, but it is changing — the cities have cafes popping up. The two most common are Caffe Coffee Day and Barista. They charge about Rs 120 for a latte type drink. To put that in perspective, let’s do a little math. A very good salary in Baroda is about Rs 25,000 a month. So, a latte is about 0.5% of their monthly salary. If the equivalent of being upper middle class in the US is making about $50,000 a year, the equivalent cup of coffee would cost $20. The prices of the new goods and services here arm somewhat cheaper compared to our costs (a latte is the equivalent of $2, and we pay about $3.50 at home). But, although the labor costs are much lower here, good quality coffee and a barista coffee machine still cost the same, and the rents are getting higher and higher. The middle class here finally has access to lattes, designer jeans and shoes, LED TVs, and Thai restaurants, but they pay very high relative prices for them.
I walked down to the tower and found a man serving the milky instant coffee. My dad made a show of giving him some American coins, and then he wanted to see some bills. I showed him, and then he asked if we could pay with USD, so that he could show off. I said absolutely not unless he gave me a good exchange rate. I’m not a jerk, but I’m already becoming a mark — everyone knows who I am, and is trying to rip me off. It was actually good instant coffee.
We arranged for the jeep, and began our trip up the mountain. It was difficult terrain, with many switchbacks, and my dad held on for dear life. We made it up to the top. There was an open air tomb — I was unsure whether there were bodies up there, they were shrouded in green fabric, but I didn’t take a picture. The view from above was beatiful, my cousin Venus (who goes by Lalu in the family) said “Real Life Google Earth” and he was right, that’s what it seemed like. He snuck a few beers up there with us and we had the “Hayward’s”. It was fun to share a drink with him and Pallas. We sat out in the sun and relaxed, and made our way down. When I got back, I tried to nap, but the kids came over (Asta, Drashan, and Pallas). We laughed and shared pictures onto our laptops and USB storages. Since I was getting no sleep, I walked over to Megha’s place and borrowed their scooter. I drove it around Baria, close to the Devgadh and through the narrow streets. I loved it — I looked silly and was a bit clumsy on it, but it was a great way to see the town.
The plans for dinner were to take a jeep with a few of us to a new restaurant between Piplod and Limkheda (two local towns, even smaller than Baria) called Hotel Gunshiam. But, a few turned into 21 and we had to get multiple cars. We drove there and it was a very nice highway side restaurant. We were served by young Nepali immigrants and the food was excellent — some of the best I’ve had in this part of India. We had masala papad, vegetable “kebabs”, hot and sour soup (better than the glop in Chinese-American restaurants). For mains, we had Gunshiam’s special vegetable curry and a paneer dish. They were spicy, flavorful, fresh and delicious. We had ice cream to end our meal, and total was about $3 a person. Although a latte breaks their budget, fresh and delicious Indian food remains cheap. We drove home and I had a very difficult night of sleep, between ba’s breathing, mom’s coughing, Anju’s snoring, and the mosquitos that had an affinity for me.
Jan 21
This was a very slow day filled with rain and rest. I had not been sleeping well prior to the trip, and so part of the journey was to sleep again. With jet lag, lack of sleep, and the rain, it meant for a day of a lot of naps, which wasn’t great news for my parents who seemed to think of it as lazy and anti-social but honestly, I needed it. It rained nearly the whole day, drizzling mostly, picking up here and there and then after bed, becoming quite steady and forceful. The plan had been to get a car and take a drive to Godhra (a town 40 minutes away, slightly larger, that many of our in-laws are from and where my mother went to college) to take a stroll and have some of their famous samosas topped with yogurt sauce. Then, we would go to Halol, a town even larger known for their kachoris and home to one of my cousins. But, the weather would not cooperate.
My dad and I went for walks around Baria throughout the day. I had lunch with my family (DBRS, of course) and also picked up samosas from Bhownagri, purveyor of fine fried foods that we’ve gone to for years. They asked who’s son I was, and I told them “Dinesh nuh babo” and they recognized that, and told me that they were related to my cousin’s inlaws. Around that time, I saw a white person, which has never happened once in my 7 visits to Baria. I had to figure out what in the world they were doing there. A student? A Peace Corps Volunteer? This was incorrect for sure, India had severed their ties with the Peace Corps several years ago in an effort to appear more modern. They’ve had REAL good luck with that — we have had a water shortage and short frequent power outages for most of the time I’ve been here, and it has been pretty annoying to have access to a western style toilet, but not be able to flush it. Anyway, I asked the young woman. She was from the Czech Republic, but lived in London. She had married a boy who’s mother was from this god forsaken, I mean, lovely, rural town. His father was from Vadodara. They were in town celebrating 2 weddings. I told Hanna I’d see her around.
I walked around and then made it back to the house. I pulled up episodes of Modern Family, and after watching a few, became very sleepy and took a nap. A really long nap. When I woke up, I was still sleepy, and my mom bothered be to wake up and join everyone. It was still drizzling here and there. We sat on the porch and plotted tomorrow’s journey (very complicated and boring to hear, I’ll just tell you what actually happens tomorrow, not the whole process) and then negotiated dinner. We weren’t in the mood for one of the restaurants, but my dad was very hesitant about the other street food options. My mother and I decided on Chinese food and my dad would find some pav-bhaji. We walked to the tower, and the Chinese food lorry wasn’t at the usual spot.
So, we walked down towards the bus station, where Megha’s investment property was. There were a few stalls and even a non-veg option or two (I saw a chicken on the grill). There was an actual Chinese person making Chinese food. Okay, after asking, we learned he was Nepali. The stall was clean and we watched up cook up some amazing looking food — we got ‘sezwan’ fried rice, vegetable hakka noodels, and two manchurian dishes. I also had a spiced coffee while waiting — it was actually delicious. The gentleman knew my cousin Dipen and mentioned that he had a cousin in London that was working for a pharmaceutical company. We walked over to near the dairy where there was a new pav-bhaji restaurant/stall. My dad begged for them to make it as mild as possible, and the said he wouldn’t like it that way, but they relented. The owner of the shop knew my dad’s brother and wanted us to come back with my mom and me to have it spicy. We agreed. We brought the food home and went to town. It was actually very good, and I’m certain I’ll go back to try both other Chinese menu items and the pav-bhaji when we get back to Devgadh Baria. I got so sleepy again and feel asleep just after 900PM, woke up many times, and was awake from 400AM til when we had to wake up for the second part of our trip.
Jan 22
When I woke up this morning, the water wasn’t running. So, that meant using water from a bucket to get the toilet working and walking a short distance in the rain to a family friend’s house for a shower. And if you did want to just deal with it at home, you had to hand pump water from the downstairs neighbor, because our pump motor was in disrepair. Before I could get ready to do that, the power went out in my grandmother’s house. Which is typically no problem, because it is expected, and we have a generator for when we need it (like right at that moment). Well, the generator stopped working “right at that moment”. So, that’s sort of how a morning can go in small town India. Later that day, when relaying that story to my cousin, he said something that essentially translates to this: “In India, the only rest you get is the 7 hours you go the sleep. From the minute you wake up to the minute you go to bed, you’ll be dealing with shit.” And, he was not wrong. Shit, both literally and figuratively, is something you deal with all day in India.
We had a car ordered for 830AM and he arrived just a little bit late, which is basically early for an Indian driver. Irfan was well groomed and a pleasant enough guy. He wasn’t on his phone the whole time or playing loud music, so it was already a win. We were driving to Vadodara to pick up some travel documents (which we found out could have been faxed to us or emailed to us to be printed, but that’s India for you — making you pick up a hard copy). We met at my cousin Dipen’s house. Ah, to be in a clean house with a clean bathroom and a clean kitchen. It felt .. well … cleansing. Dipen, his wife, Venus, and his wife, Nirali were there. I had just missed Venus and Nirali’s daughter, Venetia, who I adore. Nirali said she could take me to her school to see her, so we jumped on her “scootie” (our equivalent of a moped or Spree) and sped off. I love being on a scooter in a city — air through your hair and face and freedom of mobility. There are cars, mopeds, and motorcycles sharing the road with pedestrians, bicycles, and animals. It is completely chaotic, but seems to work with minimal accidents (however, that is just anecdotal; the data suggests that Indian roads are particularly dangerous and without helmets and cell phone laws, it’s only getting worse). We arrived at her school and she was with 2 friends. I said “Guten tag, Frau Venetia!” (she had just taken a German language exam, which they called a “Germany exam”), but she was a little shy when I hugged her tight. She had to get back to school so we went back home.
Pooja had made us idli and sambar, and like all of my relative’s cooking, it was restaurant quality. Spicy sambar, spongy idli, and tangy coconut relish — perfect little lunch. We said our goodbyes and got on the road to Ahmedabad (our flight out to Delhi was from there).
A cultural note: Nirali is currently a home-maker, but has studied extensively, and can easily find a job in the computer based service industry. However, currently, the decision had been for her to stay at home, but Venetia was now 12. When my mom asked her, she laughed a bit, and said “Ask him,” referring to her husband. Now, I wouldn’t say that in the U.S. the decision of who works and who doesn’t isn’t a joint one, but I could sense this really was something she wanted to do and he was resisting for one reason or another. When I asked about her skills and marketability he said, “Oh yes, she could easily get a job, she’s very smart and capable,” and then the conversation pretty much ended.
I wanted a coffee from one of the local chains, but we had some trouble finding one so we pulled into a McDonalds. Yes, I know I’m in India, but I’ve decided that going to foreign McDonalds is as authentic of an experience as you can have abroad. They have different menu items than we do and it truly is where the young and hip go. Plus, they have drip coffee, which is a near impossibility in most of Gujarat. We also got two McAloo Tikki’s (potato patties on a bun) with chili sauce. Not bad for Rs 25 (the coffee was Rs 54!) — two of those is a great lunch.
The drive was easy, and we made it to the airport. My mom had a luggage fiasco and we were still sorting it out. While my dad took care of that, my mom and I sought out a hotel. We had preliminary booked one, but figured since there were 4 next to each other, we may as well check them all out. We finally settled on a Comfort Inn. Interestingly, the rate I got — “discount rate” of Rs 6000, sir” was bargained down to Rs 4000 by my mom. This was not an American Comfort Inn — it was actually quite nice and comfortable — it would be a 3.5 to 4 star in the US, if you go by room quality, if not amenities. They brought my dad back to the hotel from the airport and we got on our way to explore downtown Ahmedabad.
We got into an auto-rickshaw and made our way to CG Road — chock full of western shops (Nike, Puma, Van Heusen), high end Indian fashion boutiques, and tons of street food — we had some chai (chai lorry owner was Ketan Desai, a young man proud to tell me about his business and future plans), khichhu (rice flour mixed with hot water, topped with oil and masala — tastes better than it sounds, has the consistency of pudding), chana chor garam (chickpeas flattened and baked, with salt, masala, onion and eaten from a newspaper). My mom dared to have pani puri, which they swore was made with “mineral water, mota bhen” (‘big sister’ is what they called her). Pani puri or gol goppa — is probably one of the tastiest, but filthiest street foods you can buy — many a traveler loses their stomach over a few of these spherical puffed crisps filled with onions, legumes and the ‘pani’ (translates to water, but is a mint/cilantro/black salt/chili or tamarind or other flavored thin liquid. As of now, she is still okay, but let’s see what happens.
Then we tried shopping at boutiques, but what my mom really wanted to do was haggle at the markets for dresses. This was a blast, because the seller feigns anger, the buyer walks away in disgust, then he calls out saying he’ll work with her — it’s a beautiful dance, commerce in action, fun for all parties. ‘Madam, okay okay, what price works for you? We can’t even negotiate if you don’t give me price. Madam, come back, come back please.” I had fun, as well, buying some pashminas (haggled terribly — she said Rs 250 for each, we said Rs 150 and she accepted on the spot). I also bought my friend a dress. The haggling for that was fun, I showed them a picture of her, that all this pretty girl wanted from India was a pretty dress, and told them that since everyone had cheated me I only had Rs 250 left. They all wanted to see her picture and then made cat calls. They came down to Rs 300. I didn’t have that, but I had a $5 bill, which was the equivalent and they happily accepted.
We then made plans to meet my cousin Monil, a pharmacist in training, for dinner. We were in the mood for authentic thali (Gujarati style buffet where it is brought to your table instead of you going up to trays). I think he wanted to take us somewhere fancier, but that’s what we wanted. Unfortunately, the traffic there is becoming quite a problem and he was 40 minutes late. We went to “Atithi” (translates to guest). The food was good — the best vegetable was probably the potato dish, although my mom was devouring this bean dish. We drank chass (buttermilk) with our meal — he explained to me that like Americans and their soda, Indians love chass with their Gujarati meals and it has many health benefits — tamps down appetite, helps with reflux, amongst other things. Although my cousin dresses western, eats at Pizza Hut, and watches American movies, he still believes in the healing powers of food and drink, and that’s just sort of the cliche of “East meets West” that still exists in India. There was a local chain of ice cream shops called HavMor that I wanted to try, but Monil wanted to take us to a gelato place called Melt. It was the right choice — I loved my “cookie flavor” (thought it was cookie dough, but it wasn’t) and his pistacchio was fantastic. My mom was relegated to the sugar free option at HavMor.
We got in an auto rickshaw and took him back to his campus, and then headed to our hotel. We passed greater than 10 wedding receptions — it was wedding season (I’ll explain in the next post). We had to be up very early in the morning and so we settled in and went to bed.
January 23
So, there is wedding season in the United States, spring and summer. And it exists — you get invites, you have to travel and attend, go to bachelor/bachelorettes parties and showers. You laugh and cry, drink and dance. But, it is fairly hidden in banquet halls and churches. Not so in small or big city India. When you go out on a drive in a car or rickshaw in a city like Ahmedabad or a larger city like Delhi, you see these long lit walkways that lead into banquet halls or outdoor reception areas — “party plot” is the regional vernacular. On a Tuesday night, you don’t just one or five. You may say 15 on a 30 minute drive. Where we met my cousin last night, there were at least 2 at that hotel — people dressed to the nines, beautiful lighting, and excitement in the air. Very interesting.
We got up very early, 445AM, to catch our flight to Delhi. There isn’t much that works on a schedule or with a rhythm in India, except for one thing — the domestic airlines. They take off on time, land on time, and have impeccable service. I love flying Jet Airways, SpiceJet, or Indigo — if only our regional airlines worked so well. This flight was no exception — we landed early. We met our driver outside and found out some bad news. Although our travel agent told us that with the advent of the new highway, the journey from Delhi to Agra was now 2 hours rather than 4 to 5 years, each way, this was not in fact true. The driver was as shocked as we were that we were told this. It was going to take about 4 hours. And we found that the last 2-3 miles could take about 45 minutes. We were flustered, but made the best of it.
There has been much said and written about the Taj Mahal, and I won’t belabor the point, other than to say that it is by far the most beautiful structure that I have ever seen and that if anyone is underwhelmed by the story of its creation and building and of the love story that led to it, they have no sense of beauty and no soul. Instead of mentioning details, I will tell you things that I learned other than the obvious.
- The Mughal ruler that built the first Taj Mahal wanted to build a second tomb for himself with black marble at a cost of 10 times the original. His son thought he was mad and put him in jail, where he died 8 years later. His son felt that the people were starving and the treasury was the people’s money, not their own. He spent not a cent of it, and returned it to the people. Only the foundation remains.
- The creator of the Taj Mahal married 2 Hindu woman and finally 1 muslim woman, who was the inspiration of the Taj Mahal. She bore him 14 chidden, 6 of whom survived.
- An American survey in the 1970s indicated that the level of pollution from industry in Agra would eventually lead to the destruction of the grandeur of the beauty of the Taj Mahal, so the Indian government shut all industry down. All that remains of the economy is tourism and handicraft artisanship.
- Agra, outside of the tourist areas, is an immensely impoverished areas. Perhaps no more than other parts of India, but there was a striking nature of the poorness of the region that wasn’t felt elsewhere, except maybe in the slums at the foothills of Mumbai skyscrapers.
- Once a month, during the full moon, they open it up at night and tourists can see it shimmer in the moonlight. Tickets are sold 2 nights before and limited to 400 people. On the black market, the tickets can go for Rs 10,000.
- It is closed Friday. Arnold Schwarzenegger came on a Friday and was refused. He had to see it from the outside on the back side, along the banks of the Yamuna River.
We drove back to Delhi, and arrived at our beautiful hotel — The Lalit — in all its 5 Star glamor. We had a room on the 21st floor and a nice view of the city. We took an auto-rickshaw to Connaught Place and had Thai/Chinese food that was actually pretty good. A quirk of the auto-rickshaw drivers here is if you don’t negotiate a fare, they don’t turn on the meter. So, when you get in and ask how much, they say “It’s your choice,” and then when you try to pay at the end, they invariably ask for more. It’s a matter of a few cents here or there, but it was kind of irritating. I found out that if they turn the meter on, they have to pay tax, while if they don’t it is tax free. Makes sense to me. I found out that just 19% of the Indian population pays tax. And we complain here about the tax cheats … We went back to the hotel around 1000pm and tried to sleep, but a snoring mother made that hard.
January 24
This was the first day of sightseeing in Delhi. It’s a massive city, with neighborhoods that are spread an hour apart because of the choking traffic that exists in the city. Even with the flyways (toll roads that go over the main traffic arteries) and a gleaming new public transit system (The Metro), people wait for hours in traffic in this city. We left after the rush hour, so it was not crippling. Our first stop was Humayun’s Tomb, a parting gift to one of the Mughal rulers, commissioned by his grieving widow. It is in a sprawling garden complex with multiple gates and the tomb itself is quite stunning. It houses 120 dead Mughals, and it was nicknamed “The Dormitory of the Moghuls”. We saw schoolchildren being given a tour by their beleaguered teacher and chaperones, and their behavior was no different than their American counterparts’. We left there and then made our way to the Baha’i Lotus Temple. Baha’i is the religion that incorporates all religions — that God is one, that all religions are a path to salvation, and that all humans are created equal and racial and cultural differences are to be seen as worthy of appreciation and acceptance. They condemn prejudice of religious, racial, class, or national differences. Men and women are considered equals Religion and science must co-exist. They believe in compulsory education, the abolition of extreme wealth and poverty, and the institution of a world tribunal for disputes between nations. An ultimate goal is sustained universal peace. I’m not a religious person, but this is a faith that I can get behind. There are 7 major Baha’i temples in the world, and Delhi has one of them. It is a beautiful structure, and I believe the Sydney Opera House borrowed from its architecture. We went in for a prayer service, and though the acoustics make it difficult to understand the words, the vibrations and echoes made for a peaceful rest from the hustle and bustle outside.
I just wanted to discuss poverty a little bit. We all know about the begging children. For example, a young boy breakdancing in front of your car and then pounding on the window asking for money (we saw that yesterday). Or, another example is a beautiful child pounding on the window and then contorting themselves to show you their amputated foot (we saw that yesterday, as well). That is heartbreaking, but you become somewhat habituated (you cannot help everyone in this country). What I learned a little more about was the working poor. Our driver, Heera, is a slender, dark man with a bright smile, and a shy demeanor that becomes expansive once he becomes familiar with people. He has a wife and 4 daughters. Note that even in modern India, daughters are considered an economic drain (you have to pay for their wedding and sometimes offer large dowries). Heera drives every single day of the year, as long as there is work. He says if he declines a job, he risks being fired. He starts early in the morning and ends late at night. He says he sees his daughters 10 times a month for a few minutes a day, before they go to bed if he is lucky to come. For his 12-14 hour daily work, he makes a grand total of approximately Rs. 200 ($3.33). Let’s assume that the average client is nice enough to tip 100% (we were giving him his daily wage x 5 for his tip, about 125%) If he works every day of the year, he would earn $2500 for an 80+ hour a week job. He has to feed 6 people, pay for day to day life, save money for education (10th and 11th grade cost Rs 25,000 a year, but he will be subsidized heavily by the government). He said he is trying to sock some money away. He was happy with his lot in life, felt he had a good thing going. I tried to imagine the thousands of chai-wallas, rickshaw drivers, tobacco merchants, waiters, doorman who grind out a living that may be even lower than Heera’s. This country has enormous skyscrapers, luxury hotels and condominiums along side hovels and slums. We scoot by on an auto-rickshaw, passing a Mercedes S-Class that costs what Heera will earn in 40 years. The chai-wallah takes home two hundred rupees at the end of a 10 hour a day, and I drink a single malt scotch for Rs. 800 + tax and service. I don’t mean to be preachy, but I hope that tourists and Indians alike notice the people that work for them, serve them, and see them as real life human beings with families and dreams, not as their personal servants underserving of a smile or a thank you, once in a while.
Heera suggested some shopping and so we went to Delhi Haat — a textile shop market, and my mom left with 2 sarees, while I got a hot lather shave (a perk of vacationing in the third world!). At this point, we were very hungry and the driver took us to a market area with street food and chains like McDonalds. My mom and I had kathi rolls (paratha wrapped with vegetables or meat and eggs). Mine was spicy and delicious, I loved it. She had a mixed vegetable one. My dad had a Veggie Big Mac. We left thoroughly full. We left and made our way to the Qutb Minar, a red sandstone tower put up by the Mughals in the 1300s. It is well preserved and beautiful structure, just 5 feet shorter than the Taj Mahal. It is in a large, rolling garden with tourists and locals and young lovers walking and laying about. After this, I was somewhat tired and so I went back to the hotel, while mom and dad explored Khan Market, a medium sized clothing and accessories market. After resting, we got ready and explored Connaught Place — the high end shopping district near our hotel and then had dinner at Punjabi By Nature, my dad and I eating chole bhatura (a huge deep fried bread — twice the size of his head!) and my mom chole samosa chaat. We were stuffed and went back to the hotel. I went to the club at the hotel for a bit, but it was quiet early and I wasn’t going to be able to stay out too late. So, I went back to the hotel and crashed.
Jan 25
We started off the day at our hotel buffet, like we did the day before. If you stay in hotels in large cities in Asia (Bangkok, Mumbai, Delhi, Shanghai, etc.) be sure to enjoy the breakfast buffets at the nicer hotels. They cater to the variety of tourists that may be visiting, and the so the variety of options is typically very good. We had American, British, Chinese, Japanese, European, North Indian, and South Indian options. There was made-to-order omelet station and a made-to-order uttapam and dosa (thick and thin rice pancakes) station, both delicious. You had to go up and get most things, but also could just ask the workers to get it for you if you wanted, which was nice. The drinks were brought to the table, and the coffee there was much better than the typical options on the street or in smaller towns — I had a few cappuccinos every morning and even a third regular cup of drip coffee. They had excellent masala chai, as well. So, don’t think of it like the Hampton Inn or Comfort Suites breakfast option — it’s actually quite a feast.
We met Heera out front and he took us first to Gandhi’s burial place. It was in a pretty park, with many other famous Indians buried nearby. It seemed to be a much smaller version of Arlington National Cemetery. There weren’t all that many people there, and we made our way to the Father of India’s resting spot. There was a fire burning and people prayed and gave their respects. I expected to feel more at this site, but there wasn’t much context (no signs, tour guides, or pamphlets), so what I knew was based on my own knowledge of history. We didn’t spend very much time here.
Next, we headed to Chandni Chowk, which is the heart of Old Delhi. It is exactly what you think of big city India — narrow old streets, peddlers of all kinds, no cars in the alleys — just auto and pedal rickshaws. There were so many people, and this was the one place where everyone said watch your wallet and money. We were dropped off on the outside and set up with pedal rickshaw drivers. They both spoke English and were quite funny gentleman — Kurban and Salim. Heera had never gone, and since we had the space we had him join us on the trip through the markets. It was a riot — the color, smells, sounds — just blew my mind. We stopped at a sari shop for my mom, and I grabbed Heera and we walked down an alley. It was the jewelry markets — gems, gold, silver. I went into a few stores and saw a few items. He took me to a chai-wallah and I warmed up with tea (it was actually quite cold our entire time in Delhi) and met my parents back out front. We went to a few other clothing shops and then made our way to the spice market. There were dried fruits/nuts and every spice you can imagine outside being measured, packaged, and sold. I went into a shop and smelled some amazing teas and bought 6 dried ghost peppers (I was given a price of Rs 250; my auto-rickshaw asked me what I wanted to pay, and I told him Rs 150, so he went back in and got it at that price).
We pedaled around more and then got hungry, so we went to ‘paratha gulli’ — a street famous for parathas (fried breads, often stuffed with potatoes or other vegetables). They were tiny, cramped sit down restaurants with tourists, locals, and everyone in-between. We were seated on a bench with many other people and given a plate of a few different vegetables, pickle, daal, and then asked what type of paratha we wanted. I started with aloo (potato) and within minutes, it was brought to me, scalding hot. I hungrily ate up my bhaji with it, and it was tasty and spicy. They also give you a clay glass of lassi, which was exactly the cooling sensation that we needed for this meal. I got another mixed paratha and that was it for me. Even with all they serve you, the vegetables keep coming for free, and they were surprised that I didn’t want to eat any more. The total cost? Rs. 90, and I was stuffed.
Full and exhausted, we went back to the hotel. On these vacations, I really don’t need to do a whole lot and I was pretty tired. I ended up hanging out in the hotel room, while my parents tried to go to one more site, but it was dark and they couldn’t enjoy it much, so they came back and we made plans for a late dinner. We were craving pizza and went to Domino’s — it was a sit down restaurant that was very crowded. The food was just so-so, and we went back home, beat from another day in Delhi.
Jan 26
Today was Republic Day, a major national holiday in India, and there were parades in the morning and early afternoon, while much of the businesses and tourist sites would be closed. We tried to go to the Red Fort, but this was another casualty of the holiday and we only were able to see it from the outside. We then went to where my parents tried to go the evening before — the Aksherdam Temple — a sprawling Hindu temple complex that was built in 2005, over the course of 5 years and involving 11,000 workers from Rajasthan and other nearby states. Every aspect of the complex is hand carved and beautifully detailed. It is absolutely incredible to see. Though it is reminiscent of Swaminaryan temples that I’ve seen in the United States, this was far larger and with far more people visiting. There were exhibitions that we didn’t see (my parents aren’t really the exhibition type). We spent an hour or so there, which hardly scratched the surface (my cousin later told me that he spent nearly 8 hours there!) and then headed out.
Our next stop was in a completely different cultural direction. We went to brand new indoor shopping mall, that looked no different than those in America, but with much more to do in terms of activity for children and young adults (a carnival like area, several restaurants and bars, and nightclubs). There was an incredible amount of security — armed guards everywhere and bags being opened and checked at every store. This was a high end mall with stores selling Cartier and Rolex watches, purse shops, Guess?, Lacoste, Nike, etc. We strolled through and enjoyed the fact there is a thriving upper-middle class that can afford this lifestyle, although, again thinking of Heera made me feel a bit superficial. We finished up at the mall and went to the airport to fly to Vadodara. As usual, we boarded, left, and landed on time. Our cousins picked us up there, and I got to go on a back of a motorcycle in the humid but cool air. We arrived at Venus’ house and immediately were greeted by most of my dad’s local family. Nirali (his wife) had made vada pav (potato ‘burger’ in a buttered bun). She knew I liked it spicy, and made it that way. It completely hit the spot — I felt like I was a Mumbai street corner (the birthplace of the dish). Fatigue set in, and I went to Dipen’s house to get some rest.
Jan 27
Today was our full day in Vadodara — a medium sized Gujarati city. There was enough hustle and bustle here to keep most people busy — a vibrant economy, countless restaurants, shopping malls, movie theaters, a large university, cafes, fancy hotels. The traffic here has not reached epic proportions yet — one can still get from place to place in a reasonable time frame. It would definitely be my favorite city in Gujarat. It feels modern, with touches of “gaam” or village life. My cousins Dipen and Venus live on the same streets — Aviksar. On that street or near it, 10 families from Baria reside and they are have a lively social life together — celebrating religious festivals, events, and family moments. We woke up and had our tea. We dropped Dipen’s boy to his school. He is just 3 years old, but goes to something that is much higher level than a day care. They pay a significant amount of money (close to a few months salary) for him to spend 3 hours a day there. After that, I took advantage of the ample barber shops and got a straight razor shave, which is something I could get used to. I liked his brush, so I bought several of them to get engraved and to give as gifts to my friends back home — it was made of wild boar hair.
Following the shave, my cousins got together and we went for a ride to one of the shopping malls. On the way, we stopped at Cafe Coffee Day and I got a latte. I’m ever impressed at the burgeoning coffee culture that is developing in the land of tea — the young people here spend hundreds of rupees and many hours there, developing a third space for study, relaxation, time with their crushes and lovers. We went to InOrbit — a western style shopping mall. I walked all around and found a pair of jeans from Pepe. They were them much tighter than we do — regular is quite slim, and slim is our version of skinny jeans. I tried them and they felt painted to my skin, and I knew I couldn’t get away with them, so I went with regular fit. We were hungry for lunch and went over to Alkapuri, where our family’s favorite sandwich shop was = “Bombay Sandwich Shop”. Sandwiches are quite an affair here. The classic Bombay sandwich is on white bread with potatos, onions, beets, cucumbers, spices, coriander chutney. It can be grilled or not, topped and/or filled with cheese and on the side is tamarind and coriander sauce. On first glance, it may not sound appetizing, but it is very fresh and tasty.
We went back to the house, and arranged my parents ride — they were leaving that day in a chauffeured car, while I was going to stay the night and come in the morning on the bus with my cousin and his wife. We relaxed for a while and then made plans for the evening. My cousins were excited that I had a passport and so we went over to a hotel to pick up some beer and whiskey. It is absolutely illegal in Gujarat for the locals to buy and consume alcohol, but non-residents are able to buy at quite a high price (Canadian Club was over $30, Johnnie Walker was over $100). The non-imported alcohol was much cheaper, but there was concerns about their quality. We got several cans of Indian beer (Hayward) and a bottle of “high quality” Indian whiskey (Vat 29, Black). We brought it back to the house, and the boys went to a back room. We had spicy snacks and chips, and poured a few drinks. The drinking culture in Gujarat (at least with my family) is underdeveloped and that’s a good thing — they wanted a few drinks before dinner, but that was it — there was alcohol during or after dinner. We finished and then jumped on motorcycles and scooters to get dinner. I’d been waiting to go to “Raju’s Omelettes” since I had arrived — it was perhaps one of the most famous establishments in Vadodara. More than just omelettes — it was egg divinity — egg half fry, boil tikka, masala fry, boiled eggs spiced — and many more served with buttered buns. Spicy, tasty, and delicious. The egg culture here is so different than ours — it is night food, spicy, and something you eat in groups. We went from there to the night bazaar, a night time hot spot of street food and ice cream where hung people hang out on with their friends, on dates, or for a late night snack while studying. We got kulfi (Indian ice cream made with condensed milk) and then went back to my cousin’s house to finally get to bad.
January 28
I was up very early this morning. I made it a point that I wanted to travel at least one time as “the people” do. Instead of another chauffeured ride in a jeep or car, I wanted to take the bus. Everyone seemed to be against it (parents and family here), but after investigation, I realized that if my family wasn’t here, that’s what they would be riding for transportation. So, they relented, but said I couldn’t go alone, so Dipen, Pooja, and Drashya came with me and we lined up for the 700A bus from Vadodara to Baria. It was a 70 mile drive and the bus stopped about 5 times. It was a bit of a rough ride and there were people smoking country cigarettes (‘bidis’). The air wasn’t great, but the ride was pleasant enough. It took 3 hours instead of the 1.5 hour it takes in a care, but for Rs. 117 per person (Rs 351, just under $6) it was a deal, since the cars we usually take cost anywhere from $20 to $40. It dropped us off at the tour at just after 1000A and I went to my grandmother’s house.
I was restless and anxious, so I changed my clothes and went for a run. I started near the tower and headed towards the mountain (‘Devgadh’) and then went on a small road about 2 miles past it. There were rolling hills and great scenery of buffaloes, roosters, goats, and jeeps full of people crossing Gujarat. There were small farms and the peasants that ran them. The sky was big, and the air was dusty. It was 5 miles of pleasure that I really needed. A jeep tried to stop me — they thought either I was stranded or broke down, and didn’t understand why I was running, but we cleared it up. I got back to the circle, and our uncle Jeetesh also was confused as to why I was sweating so profusely. I went to the neighborhood snack store and got two kachoris (fried dough filled with a spicy mixture of vegetables and topped with chutney) and some Tang. Not quite Gatorade and a Clif bar, but it hit the spot. I wasted away the afternoon and got ready for dinner at Jeetesh’s house. We had left over alcohol and he was very excited about the treat — again, not something that happens often in Gujarat. The men went upstair and snacked and had a few drinks, and then we came down for dinner. We had chole and puri, which was delicious and after another day of eating and doing nothing, I made my way back to my uncles’s house (“Doctor” — his wife was my mom’s sister, and all of the sister’s had decided to stay at my ba’s house leaving no room for me).
January 29-31
The remainder of a trip was a blur. Instead of a detailed narrative, I’ll talk about a few things that I thought about while the last few days.
Education
I don’t know enough about the Indian education system, except what I learned from my cousin, who was a teacher and now is an administrator at a public school. What I do know is that the system, especially in rural India, is not equipped to adequately educate the students during the course of a normal school day. To supplement the student’s educations, the teachers initiated “tutions” — essentially tutorial sessions, both before and after school. So, the students start their academic day at around 7AM and end around 6PM or later. These sessions are many purposes. The obvious reason is that they allow the students to learn what they aren’t able to learn during the school day. The other reason is that it allows for a much more personal time with the teacher (there may be 10-12 students in a “tution”, while a typical classroom may have 50 students or more). However, the most important reason is that teachers in India get paid absolutely terribly, and these “tutions” are not free. Each student pays a monthly fee that goes directly to the teacher, who typically runs the session at their house. They may double their salary this way. The students that can’t afford it may not be able to go, and this amplifies and compounds their academic deficiencies. Many teachers will take on the most impoverished students for free or for a reduced rate, but this is not always the case. This system is in place for both the public schools and the private schools. The school my cousin, Megha now works for has an objective — to be able provide the needed teaching during the course of a school day, without having the students be forced to go to these additi0nal sessions. Her school takes on an incredible amount of poor children, feeds them daily, and provides a nurturing educational envirnoment. They are in just their first year, and the experiment will continue over the next several, to see if they can change things.
My grandmother
Nirmala Dharia, wife of deceased Nagindas Dharia. She is in her early 90s, the best guess is 92 or 93, but records are shaky in rural India. She grew up on the same street, and was engaged to my grandfather when she was 6 and he was 12. They married when he was 18 and she was 12. She moved in with him in her late teens and they must have loved each other and been quite bored, because she had 11 pregnancies. The first two died very early, and then our oldest aunt — Premlatha — was born. She was the first to join the family and now is the only child that has returned to Baria. She takes excellent care of her mother. Eight more children were born — 5 boys and 3 more girls. All live in the United States and Canada. They have created 19 grandchildren and 18 great-grandchildren. They are doctors, businessman and women, pharmacists, speech therapists, programmers, engineers, bankers. All are successful and loving people. She lost her husband in the 1990s. He had been a healthy man, but due to asbestos exposure, developed mesothelioma and died four years after diagnosis, after braving relentless chemotherapy and radiation treatments. She says she has been waiting to join him ever since.
She’s a sprightly woman, with smiling eyes and the kindest heart. She has compassion for every living thing — we used to joke that if a sparrow died in Baria, Ba would be crying. She is mostly bedridden now, but gets up at about 7Am. She uses her walker to traverse the few rooms to get to the bathroom every morning. Then, she showers with the help of Anju and sits down for a cup of tea and breakfast — crackers/biscuits or some fried things. She then walks back through the house and goes onto the balcony. She has a swing that has been there for many years. She reads her prayer book, sings hymns with her children or Anju or whoever may have joined her that morning. She watches the people go by — the vegetable sellers, the yoghurt and milkmen, the school children. The downstairs renters treat her like their own parents, and their children told me “She’s our grandmother, too”. The neighbor, Amit, checks in on her — he has medical training and keeps us informed of her health. She lets Anju help her around, but won’t let us touch her. I think she wants us to think that she doesn’t need Anju, but she’ll use her if she is there. She may go back into the house for a nap around 1030AM and then at 1130AM the tiffen-walla (a man who delivers hot food to her in a stainless steel container) arrives. She eats quite well for a woman of her age, and she eats very spicy food. She may go back to the balcony for a while, reading, and in her thoughts. I always ask her what she’s thinking about, and she laughs and says nothing. I don’t believe her — I know she has many thoughts. She wonders about her children and grandchildren. She misses her husband. She thinks about that she hears about that are sick or that have died. She doesn’t leave the house any more, which saddens me greatly. I ask her why not, and she says it’s just too inconvenient to be walked down the stairs and carried into a rickshaw. I don’t blame her. The afternoon turns into early evening, and she gets ready for dinner, typically eating the same meal she had for lunch. After finishing, she may have a visitor or two, but I don’t think she likes it that much in the evening. I think she just wants to watch her TV shows and get ready for bed. I understand her completely. By 1000 or 1030PM, she gets to bed. She never slept all too well, and used to use a sleep medication, but has since stopped. She breathes heavily through the night, and when I hear her, I worry that she won’t continue. She tells me she is so tired. But, she does. She has for so many years and will continue to do so. She wakes up, drinks her tea, goes to the balcony and like every morning, looks to the left and sees the tower. And, so it goes …
