The Bangalore Confusion
The past days, after finishing panchakarma, the week of traditional Ayurvedic cleansing, I have been staying in the heart of Bangalore’s Brigade Road area, a conglomeration of a few streets that do their best to convince expatriots and IT professionals alike that they are in a city like any other. The people who are homeless or crippled who inch themselves along, asking for baksheesh and the autorickshaw drivers waiting for you at either end of Brigade Road are the reminders that, yes, indeed, you are in the southern heart of the Deccan plateau.
I’m so used to life in India that I am equally as pleased to find a deal at Pizza Hut or a great new invention of the Indian incarnation of Subway as I am to find a local chaat-wallah (urban Indian snack food) the South Indian Hotel (roadside dhaba-restaurant) around the corner, serving up spicier eats for 1/5th the price. So I’ve spent the last few days sipping on coffees at the Indian equivalent of Starbucks, Barista where the equivalent of a $5 coffee is one for Rs. 50 (about $1.10, I’ll take it while I can get it! Which reminds me, I better get some caffeine in my blood before it gets too late…) and after spending on coffee what local people spend to feed a family for a day, I walk out an bicker with autorickshaw drivers over 10 rupees here or there, (about 25 cents, this can, and often does, turn into a heated argument) not to save the money, but for the idea of not getting charged more than anyone else because of my skin color.
I did this exact thing two days ago. Of course, it was not a heated argument this time. I walked out of a movie (Ice Age 2!) that I paid 500 rupees ($12) for, about 5 times a normal cinema price here, to watch it in a theater with food included in the ticket price, waiters, and reclining “La-Z-Boy” style seats with plush, cushioned arm rests. Exiting the theater, I argued with the auto driver to get the price down to Rs. 60 from Rs. 70 (I paid him Rs. 65 after he agreed to 60—it’s really not about the money…)
So, today I’ve left behind my coffee bars and air-conditioned restaurants to visit the Bangalore Art of Living ashram again before leaving. I’ve decided to go to Kerala and practice yoga at the Sivananda Ashram near Trivandrum, close to the southern tip of India before heading home—I’m hoping to straighten out my posture and strengthen my arms and legs again—the cast comes off in three days. I’m also coming home early, to get my work for the study turned in on time and to leave myself more opportunities to do the things I was hoping to do this summer. Of course I wanted to spend time at the Canadian Art of Living Center as I’ve been doing for the past several summers, but I also have been invited to live and work with a friend and Art of Living teacher, probably up in New Jersey, and that seems like a great prospect. So, all said and done, I am leaving India in three weeks, it will be one day short of exactly four months.
The prospect of leaving soon, plus my “Western life” here in Bangalore has given me plenty to think about, however, my most interesting observation lately has been that I, myself, am not really making as many observations now. After a week of bed rest and intensive reading (during Panchakarma), I feel like I can talk about Indian society and write about it, but I feel numb to it as I watch it go on around me. While my sister visited at the beginning of the month, I was eager to say, “That’s normal, that’s normal, and that… that’s also normal.” As we passed by cows in the middle of the street, tailgating “Goods Carrier” trucks and men urinating on public walls. This has, however, become my experience. Everything I see just seems to be “The way it is,” and I feel I no longer have a real bearing on rational or normal behavior.
As I’m getting ready to leave India, casting my thoughts half way around the world to DC, to Virginia, I can’t help but leave this whole message as a half-thought. I don’t really know where I am now; I don’t know where I’ll be when I come home. I have learned a lot about Indian society and Indian history, but, just as 6 weeks ago I found I was trying to “enter” that illusion of India, now I find I am trying to find that illusion, feeling that I am already amidst it.
For now, I’m in the lap of luxury in Bangalore. As I get tired of resting my foot and my mind, I will gradually switch back from the movies and sitcoms and hit the books like I was last week. After the cast comes off, I’ll be in the thickly traditional state of Kerala as monsoon approached, and yet, I’ll be in a fairly non-Indian community at the Sivananda ashram. Wish me luck, I’m sending love.
I’m so used to life in India that I am equally as pleased to find a deal at Pizza Hut or a great new invention of the Indian incarnation of Subway as I am to find a local chaat-wallah (urban Indian snack food) the South Indian Hotel (roadside dhaba-restaurant) around the corner, serving up spicier eats for 1/5th the price. So I’ve spent the last few days sipping on coffees at the Indian equivalent of Starbucks, Barista where the equivalent of a $5 coffee is one for Rs. 50 (about $1.10, I’ll take it while I can get it! Which reminds me, I better get some caffeine in my blood before it gets too late…) and after spending on coffee what local people spend to feed a family for a day, I walk out an bicker with autorickshaw drivers over 10 rupees here or there, (about 25 cents, this can, and often does, turn into a heated argument) not to save the money, but for the idea of not getting charged more than anyone else because of my skin color.
I did this exact thing two days ago. Of course, it was not a heated argument this time. I walked out of a movie (Ice Age 2!) that I paid 500 rupees ($12) for, about 5 times a normal cinema price here, to watch it in a theater with food included in the ticket price, waiters, and reclining “La-Z-Boy” style seats with plush, cushioned arm rests. Exiting the theater, I argued with the auto driver to get the price down to Rs. 60 from Rs. 70 (I paid him Rs. 65 after he agreed to 60—it’s really not about the money…)
So, today I’ve left behind my coffee bars and air-conditioned restaurants to visit the Bangalore Art of Living ashram again before leaving. I’ve decided to go to Kerala and practice yoga at the Sivananda Ashram near Trivandrum, close to the southern tip of India before heading home—I’m hoping to straighten out my posture and strengthen my arms and legs again—the cast comes off in three days. I’m also coming home early, to get my work for the study turned in on time and to leave myself more opportunities to do the things I was hoping to do this summer. Of course I wanted to spend time at the Canadian Art of Living Center as I’ve been doing for the past several summers, but I also have been invited to live and work with a friend and Art of Living teacher, probably up in New Jersey, and that seems like a great prospect. So, all said and done, I am leaving India in three weeks, it will be one day short of exactly four months.
The prospect of leaving soon, plus my “Western life” here in Bangalore has given me plenty to think about, however, my most interesting observation lately has been that I, myself, am not really making as many observations now. After a week of bed rest and intensive reading (during Panchakarma), I feel like I can talk about Indian society and write about it, but I feel numb to it as I watch it go on around me. While my sister visited at the beginning of the month, I was eager to say, “That’s normal, that’s normal, and that… that’s also normal.” As we passed by cows in the middle of the street, tailgating “Goods Carrier” trucks and men urinating on public walls. This has, however, become my experience. Everything I see just seems to be “The way it is,” and I feel I no longer have a real bearing on rational or normal behavior.
As I’m getting ready to leave India, casting my thoughts half way around the world to DC, to Virginia, I can’t help but leave this whole message as a half-thought. I don’t really know where I am now; I don’t know where I’ll be when I come home. I have learned a lot about Indian society and Indian history, but, just as 6 weeks ago I found I was trying to “enter” that illusion of India, now I find I am trying to find that illusion, feeling that I am already amidst it.
For now, I’m in the lap of luxury in Bangalore. As I get tired of resting my foot and my mind, I will gradually switch back from the movies and sitcoms and hit the books like I was last week. After the cast comes off, I’ll be in the thickly traditional state of Kerala as monsoon approached, and yet, I’ll be in a fairly non-Indian community at the Sivananda ashram. Wish me luck, I’m sending love.
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3:26 AM
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