Sending a Thank You Note

Jay and I, along with about 16 other expats, were invited to the home of Karen and Homi Mehta for a turkey dinner the Saturday before Thanksgiving. I decided to send them a thank you note for their hospitality.

I had purchased some hand made note cards at a charity bazaar so I already had the paper. I penned my message then put the card into the envelope and addressed it. Hmmm, no glue on the envelope. We had a tube of Quickfix, the glue that “joins everything except broken hearts!” so I applied some to the flap and sealed the envelope.

There is a small post office not far from our apt. so I decided to take the note there to send it. I needed (I thought) only two things at the post office: the PIN code (like our ZIP code) and a stamp. There’s no such thing as getting online or looking in a book to find the PIN code, so I asked the woman behind the counter. She deferred to a burly, brusque man who just called it out to me when told the destination. I wrote the number on the envelope. She asked who the mail was to. I pointed to the middle of the envelope at the name and address. In big black letters above the address she wrote TO. Okay… I purchased a stamp for five rupees (about 11 cents). No adhesive on the stamp. Now what? The woman behind the counter pointed and told me to go outside. I had failed to notice on my way in there was a small, shallow clay pot of mucilage sitting on a blue stool just outside the door. The applicator was a three inch twig.

I smeared the stamp with goo, I mean glue, affixed it to the note then looked for a place to deposit it. I saw a red metal box attached to a pole near the sidewalk that read “LETTERS.” In it went. I wonder if it will ever reach its destination.

Out of India

Months before we came to India, we became keenly aware of magazine and news articles that talked about the IT (Information Technology) boom in India. One picture that captured our attention was below the fold on the front page of the New York Times. There, displayed amid all the news fit to print, was a picture of homes with grassy front yards neatly arranged on palm tree lined roads. The article talked of the Silicon Valley of India and the burgeoning population of IT professionals. Today we rented a car and driver and visited this Silicon Valley of the East.

Wow! Pictures may be worth a thousand words, but the actual experience of walking the palm tree lined roads, gazing at the greenery and upscale homes is breath taking. When we moved to India we traded our upper income suburban home for some in-town Bangalore living. Our apartment is spartan, yet comfortable. We share sidewalks with cows devouring discarded vegetables. We often find docile packs of wild dogs napping at intersections. We compete with the locals when flagging down an autorickshaw for a ride to the market. We are part of the IT boom, but clearly not “valley people.”

This Silicon Valley here is called Whitefield. It could be considered a bedroom community about six miles east of the IT Bangalore community. Whitefield also has its own homegrown massive International Technology Park that houses high-rise glass and steel technology offices. Needless to say, the technology boom has changed the landscape that was once covered by coconut groves, vegetable farms and eucalyptus plantations. Construction is seen everywhere.

Our intent for today was just to “go to Whitefield” and drive about. Before departing, Helen called a woman listed in her Overseas Women’s Club (OWC) phone directory who lives in Whitefield. After her conversation with Laura, we were invited to visit the Palm Meadows community where she lived. Laura was out shopping, but indicated since we were westerners we would have no problems entering this well-guarded gated community and driving around.

Laura was correct. Our western heritage granted us access without much fuss. Once inside, it was pretty easy to see why we entered without challenge. We watched a tall blonde mom direct her son, in a clear German voice, where to turn their bicycles to head home. The OWL directory lists Palm Meadows members from the US, UK, Korea, Japan, Ireland, Mexico, France, Holland, and more. Palm Meadows is also the home to Indians who have “made it.”

The climate of Bangalore is very much like Southern California. Just a few kilometers outside the congestion and smog of Bangalore, the sky is blue and clear. All the homes in Palm Meadows are constructed of white stucco with red tile roofs. Cars fill driveways. Gardeners tend to immaculate lawns and colorful flower gardens. The club house provides a bar, health club, tennis courts, swimming pools, and other upscale amenities.

Inside this walled, moneyed community, reality mingles about. Laborers in hard hats and flip-flops attend to the construction of new homes. Barefooted women dressed in green saris walk along, balancing concrete-filled pans upon their heads. The cows and dogs may be barred from the compound, but the haves and have-nots continue to share the clear, blue sky in this land of incongruous contrasts.

International Children’s Day (ICD) is celebrated in numerous countries, usually on June 1 every year. ICD has its origins in the World Conference for the Well-being of Children in Geneva, Switzerland in 1925. In India, the birthday of Jawaharlal Nehru is celebrated as Children’s Day every year on November 14. (Nehru was the Prime Minister of India for 17 years after it won independence in 1947.) Schools wear a festive look and teachers and staff do their best to make the day really special for children. Children wear their best outfits to school, munch lots of goodies and take the day off from studying.

In Karnataka (pronounced car NOT ah ka), the state where we live, five children received bravery awards; two for saving other children from drowning, two who helped to save the life of a woman who was in an accident, and the fifth saved the life of his brother when the latter was bitten by a snake at a summer camp.

The Karnataka State Council for Child Welfare also gave awards for the best anganwadi (social) workers and the three best child welfare institutions.

Passing the Buck

This week we discovered that in order to move money from our bank account in the US to our bank account in India, it has to be wired. (Transfers are not allowed.) To “complete the formalities” as they say here, we filled out the required form from our US bank. One of the blanks stated, “SWIFT (International Only).” What’s that? A phone call to a rep at our US bank told us we would have to get that eight digit code from our Indian bank. Okay… I emailed Indradeep Roy, who had worked with us at the beginning of our banking odyssey, asking for this code. His response: "Helen: It was great to hear from you. I would like to inform you that you need to get in touch with your Relationship Manager Mr. Uttam who is marked (cc'd) on the mail. Uttam, Request you to plz touch base with helen. Thanks and Regards, Roy." Next email: "Dear Ms Helen, Its my pleasure to inform you that I would be taking care of your a/c as the relationship manager. For any of the service requirements you too can get in touch with Ms Jayamangala who has been marked in the mail. Jaya, Pl provide the remittance details like the swift code." Now two people have passed the request on to a third. Jaya was the one who finally delivered it.

This is a never-ending story in India. In today’s The Times of India, an article about an illegal tree branch chopping appeared. A businessman hired workers to cut off a limb that was bothersome. A group of youths, volunteering for some environmental non-government organizations, protested. The volunteers lodged a complaint with the police, but “no FIR was filed.” “We could not file the FIR because it’s not a recognizable offense. It comes under the jurisdiction of the forest department.” The district forest officer said it did not fall under his jurisdiction. “This comes under the horticulture department,” he maintained. Tree officer Krishna said he was unable to initiate action due to want of staff. “The police should initiate action, not me. What can I do?” he asked. So where does the buck stop?

Faces

This entry is a small collection of faces…the young faces of India. Whenever Jay pulls out our digital camera in front of a knot of children, they ham it up to have their “snap” taken. We wish these young Indians a bright future.

My Poll Tax Can Beat Your Poll Tax

We follow the news back home in Atlanta, Georgia via our internet access to the Atlanta Journal Constitution newspaper. We also read the national and international news in the online New York Times. We suffered a bit of long distance embarrassment when we saw an article on the NYT editorial page about Georgia’s new voter identification requirement. One would think a generation distant from the Jim Crow days of the South would have more egalitarian values regarding voter enfranchisement. In India, however, for those seeking a seat on a local panchayat, or council, they may not have to bring a voter ID card, but they have to meet new plumbing requirements.

According to an article in the Saturday, 5-November issue of The New Indian Express, having a toilet in the house may soon become mandatory for anyone desiring a position on the panchayat. Apparently the Rural Development Ministry wants all states to amend their Panchayati Raj Act to include a clause to make only those with toilets in their homes eligible to seek a seat on the local council.

The Rural Development Minister noted that 70% of the homes in Haryana, a state near the capital of Delhi, had TV sets, but only 40% had toilets. For those below the poverty line, assistance up to Rs. 1,200 ($27) for the installation of a toilet will be provided. In the state of Chhattisgarh, representatives elected in the last election have one year to get toilets installed. Failure to have adequate facilities will result in removal from the panchayat.

We dread the thought that our State of Georgia representatives may be reading our blog.

Hare Krishna

Among the must-see sights of Bangalore is the Sri Radha Krishna temple, which is the home for the International Society of Krishna Consciousness. More commonly known as ISKCON, the temple sits high on a seven-acre hillock called Hare Krishna Hill. ISKCON is a society formed for practitioners of bhakti yoga, the yoga of devotion. The bhakta's devotion is specifically directed to Krishna, along with Radha, his divine consort. Krishna is the eighth avatar, or bodily manifestation, of the immortal being of Vishu. Vishnu (the Renewer) along with Brahma (the Creator), and Shiva (the Destroyer) form the Hindu trinity of gods. For keeping your Hindu avatar scorecard up to date, the ninth of Vishnu’s ten avatars is Belerama, more commonly known as Buddha. Buddhists, however, do not consider Buddha to be an avatar. More on this “who’s who” in Buddhism when we visit a buddhist temple.

Hare Krishna’s founder, A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada (Sri Prbhupada), popularized Hare Krishna in the West with his travels to New York City in 1965. Many will remember Hare Krishna devotees in the 1960’s as young men, heads shaved save for a small ponytail, wrapped in robes, selling incense in airports. The Hare Krishna mantra from the song of the same name was popularized from the musical Hair:

Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna
Krishna, Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama, Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare Rama

After paying one rupee (about 2.5 cents) to a footwear attendent, one enters the mulitiered temple complex barefooted, following the sign saying, “Enter Darshan.” Clueless, we followed the signage. Later, we discovered Darshan is a Sanskrit term that has variant meanings, but basically is related to seeing with reverence and devotion. The term is used specifically for beholding highly revered people with the intention of inwardly contacting and receiving their grace and blessings. In Indian culture, the touching of the feet is a show of respect and it is often an integral part of darshan.

To actually enter the temple, one negotiates the Harinama mantap. This is 108 winding steps of foot-square pieces of marble raised about one inch. They are traversed by reciting one round of the Hare Krishna maha mantra per step. A speaker system with a low-toned resonant recorded voice of Srila Prabhupada chants the maha mantra with full clarity as people synchronously move in a small maze until they reach the stairs of the temple entrance.

There are three temples devoted to the gods. The final temple has iconic images of Krishna and Rahda. And if you’ve thought about how much incense had to be sold by the Hare Krishna hawkers to pay for this complex, we found a full-throttle merchandizing engine in the temple. Be mindful that the devotees attending the temple are religious and devout, but the amount of merchanizing from book stands, food stalls, thousands of wall, table and floor decorations from tiny to room-size, the multivision theatre, more book stalls with literature in multiple languages, and more opportunities to buy paintings and prints of Lord Krishna as an impish youth and magnificent god abound. The society, nonetheless, is very altruistic. Revenues from the sales of merchandize subsidize their free food program for children and other good works, from organic farming to a cow protection program.

When leaving the temple, everyone is offered a small portion of rice seasoned with a yellow spice. It’s served in a banana leaf pressed into the shape of a bowl. This food is referred to as prasadam or blessed food. We were told people who visited the temple would take this prasadam home to those who could not attend. Amen and may it be so.

Diwali with a Bang

This is the High Holiday season in India. Navaratri was celebrated in its full nine-day glory in early October. Now we are at the end of Diwali, the mother of all holidays and celebrated by Hindus, Jains and Sikhs throughout India. As with most holidays in India, there are regional differences in celebrations. We suspect this five-day holiday is celebrated with far less enthusiasm among India’s minority Muslim population. However, since Diwali coincides this year with the end of the month-long Muslim time of Ramadan, there is joy for all to celebrate.

Guidebooks and local newspapers provided various bits of understanding. Diwali, which means “a row of lights,” is also known as Deepavali, Kaumudi Deepan and Dipalika. It has been celebrated for more than 1,000 years. Diwali is essentially the celebration of light over darkness or, more metaphorically, the celebration of good over evil.

Like Christmas, little white or colored lights are displayed outside and inside homes. From our apartment we can see strings of lights displayed around our neighbors’ windows and balconies. When buying some of these lights, we discovered the emerging global economy. The bags are marked “Diwali Lights” on one side and “Christmas Lights” on the other. Happy Diwali signs are displayed in Jay’s office building, on store fronts and in shop windows.

On the actual Diwali Day, doorways to homes are opened and traditional lamps called diyas are brought out. Diyas vary from the traditional clay oil lamp to the more durable brass oil lamps, to an ever-increasing number of lamps imported from China with tiny electric lights. The open doors allow good spirits to enter. On this day, also known as Traders’ Day, the Goddess Lakshmi (goddess of wealth and prosperity) is worshiped. Businesses open new account books and sweets are offered to customers. Many believe this is a propitious day to purchase gold. Gifts, mostly sweets and nuts, are exchanged. People dress in new clothes.

Noise is an integral part of the celebration. Some beat drums to drive evil spirits away. We witnessed a large parade one evening with drum-beaters and other merriment makers. Fireworks are everywhere! We read that on average, every Indian purchases Rs. 1,000 ($25 US) worth of skyrockets, atom bombs, fire crackers, sparklers, etc. Sections of streets are blocked off to allow individuals to enjoy their detonations and those of their neighbors. Our apartment complex locked Gate #8, not far from our apartment, and assigned it to be a designated detonation zone. At the first sign of darkness, booms and sizzling were heard. Skyrockets blasted colorful bursts into the dark sky. The festive booms continued until near midnight. Imagine the Fourth of July and Christmas going on simultaneously for a week. Happy Diwali….KaBOOM!