Tuesday Morning Ramblings.  9/25/2012

Today, I'm taking a break and relaxing.  My feet and ankles have been quite swollen and I knew I'd have to take a diuretic eventually, and today must be the day. I guess I'm lucky that it  is one of very few side effects I've been forced to live with after the surgeries.   It was good to take a morning nap after eating beyond sating at the world food breakfast buffet at the hotel.  It is an amazing spread, made even more incredible by the fact that a simple hint of desire for anything beyond what is available will send a waiter to the kitchen to hunt down almost anything.  Jeremy says that a young busboy has taken a liking to me, and waits on my beck and call as soon as we arrive.  I don't think it's much more then I've treated him like an equal human being and enjoy talking to him.  He has finished his first year of hotel management training, and is very fortunate to work at the Leela Palace Hotel.  He reminds me a lot of one of a very motivated young man I know in the states who is working hard to overcome life circumstance in a way that most Americans never have to, I would expect this kind of determination is much more common here in India then in the US.  So, he brings me Masala tea that he brews for me each morning, and asks about things that I've forgotten I've even mentioned from days before.  Jeremy smiles the whole time as he sips his black coffee (he is never offered the Masala tea) and is happy that in this patriarchal society, where the doors are opened, head nods are made, and distinguish is poured upon his American male head, I have found a bit of acknowledgment.  

Commercial Street, Bangalore

This is a country of contrasts.  The walls of the Leela are covered in flowing vines, Jasmine and Orchids grow in the crevices and the intoxicating smells almost cover the catch in your throat that the air pollution creates.  There are ornamental iron gates that swing open, inviting guests into the lap of luxury which can only be reached after a thorough security inspection done by armed guards and body scanners.  There are many important people that stay at this hotel, and security is top notch, but that also means there are government officials that drive by the crippled woman on the street, clothes so tread bare they are almost obscene, her bony hand held into the air at the sounds of a passer by, eye's blue hazed over by blindness.  The fleet of hotel BMW's, always at the ready, juxtaposed within site of the Jersey cow sticking it's head between the iron bars of the hotel surround,  foraging through an overflowing trash can, it's teats almost dragging on the ground with burden.  Within a block of this extravagant hotel there are lines of tarp covered shanties, coated in red dust, paths lined with trash that has blown and accumulated in glittered rows of plastic that goats nibble on as you drive by.

  I am white, so I am different, I am stared at, frowned upon, and I am the sweet manna of the hawkers who follow me around every corner. "Ma'am, Ma'am!" is called after me as coconuts or wire baskets or old booklets are put before me for a "good deal, only 100 rupees for you" and the price gets better and voices become more desperate as I walk away.  I tip extravagantly, much to Jeremy's chagrin. "It is an insult" he tells me, for that is what he has read, but I don't see any signs of an insult in the eyes of the cleaning staff that I've given a few dollars to, or the street vendor I tell to keep the change.  The average income in India hovers around $750 USD per year.  Obviously, those living in cardboard tarp shacks are likely making much less then that.  I took the hotel (yes the BMW and the only luxury cars I have seen during my stay) car and driver out adventuring yesterday, and as I do with everyone I meet, I asked a lot of questions and he seemed to really enjoy playing tour guide for an afternoon.  Apparently, most of the people he drives are stuffy foreign business men who don't care that he has a wife, a 4 year old son and an 18 month old daughter.  They don't know that he used to drive a tour bus, 15 hours a day for 20 days at a time, and often only saw his wife 1 day a month.  They also don't know that he pays 5000rp per month for his 2 bedroom flat, which is the equivalent of $100 US dollars, and although it is hard to live somewhere so expensive, he considers himself very lucky.  I tip based upon what I would pay in the US.  I figure that if I am willing to give a five dollar tip to some hard working college student in the US, why would I give any less to someone here who could use it even more?  Maybe don't mention that to Jeremy though.  He raises his eyes over the newspaper at dinner often enough as I talk of my daily adventures.  I'm already planning some more for tomorrow!