JC in India

The rich tapestry of life in India is painted by the experiences of those who live here. As my time in this country winds down, and in my penultimate journal post, I thought to seize the opportunity to share a few more of my yet unshared experiences. So, in no particular order… (A bit like the Indian queue system!) …

—

I walk into the office each morning, passing the reception desk where the guards and the two women handling the desk each chime the routine ‘Good morning, Sir’. I always reciprocate or even instigate depending on who sees who first. It is a nice little routine, and I always make the most of being friendly. Of course, the downside is now each time I go in or out of the building, there is the awkward requirement to say hello or make minor small talk, which usually consists of “Lunchtime?” – The question posed as I leave the building enroute to the canteen each lunchtime. Or, “Coffee?” if I am going for that purpose (usually quite predictable now at around 11am each day). There are only so many replies you can give to this sort of questioning, and a “yes” and a smile along with some hurried additional pleasantries are the norm, but it is nice well-meaning banter, even if it is slightly awkward at times.

—

The Uber driver rummaged in his glove box for something, and soon picked out an almost empty pack of sweets of some form. He guzzled them into his mouth, wound down his window and threw the empty pack out into the road. He then reached for his water bottle, finished it off in that Indian way where the lips do not actually make contact with the bottle. Quite some feat given he was driving along a busy Indian road, dodging traffic, animals and people as usual while doing so. Then he wound the window down again and proceeded to hoof the empty bottle out into the street. Wound the window up and carried on driving. Not a care in the world.

—

As I walked to the shops in Basant Lok, taking my usual zigzag short cut through a reasonably quiet neighbourhood, one of the street dogs (not one of my pack I should add) stirred from outside the house it was resting near and quickly jumped up and ran towards me barking. Not overly aggressively, but enough to be taken note of. I continued steadfastly ignoring it, knowing that to react in any way could cause some form of escalation. Thankfully, it did little more than get close and then watch me determinedly pressing on, and in truth likely not presenting any cause for concern. However, it did remind me that these wild dogs are indeed wild. While they are mostly passive and docile, caution still needs to be exercised. Just in case.

—

The lady boy tap tap tapped at the window of my car. I waved the usual dismissive ‘no’ at them and carried on looking forward. However, their smiling jokey style elicited a smile from me at their persistence and I almost laughed as I waved the ‘no’ gesture again. They picked up on my dropping of the guard, and this only encouraged an even greater frenzy of persistence of ‘Sir, Sir, just ten rupees Sir. Ten rupees’, while continuing to elicit a playful nature. Thankfully, I did not have to wait 72 seconds this time, and as the lights went green, we quickly drove off leaving them to carry on their merry dance with plenty of other cars under the heat of the glaring sun. It has been 45 degrees this week. I do not envy them their lifestyle.

—

Sanjay, Gordon’s driver, reached into his pocket as the lady boy approached, tapping on windows. He wound it down and offered them the small note and in return, they reached in a touched Sanjay’s forehead gently in almost a blessing. I remember seeing the look of reverence on Sanjay’s face as this occurred and the silent and unspoken movement of emotion in such action. I cannot explain the sentiment, but it was more than simply passing a beggar some money. There was an intrinsic depth involved in the giving, and the receipt of this blessing carried some unspoken gravity.

—

I looked up from my couch having seen a movement in my peripheral vision out on the terrace. I jumped as I witnessed a large monkey climbing across my terrace roof. In nearly two and a half years this was the first time I had actually seen one on my apartment terrace, and I will be honest it was quite scary. Quickly another followed it, and then a third, each following along in a line on their rooftop journey. I have seen a monkey slap a window with some force and I knew my apartment glass was not the thickest. I imagine if any of these monkeys wanted to show aggression in any form my window may not have been a sufficient barrier.

I kept relatively still and tried to remain out of sight while watching this strange and surreal migration across my rooftop. As they traversed around the side of the building, I went to the back terrace and witnessed them even closer, climbing down right by the spare bedroom window then proceeding to jump with little hesitation across to the next building – quite a stretch of a jump over a sheer 5-story drop. I was relieved to see them go on their way, no harm done. This time.

—

Wine was needed. However, procuring wine here takes a little bit more energy and determination than I would be used to back at ‘home’. The government run liquor store is nearly a mile walk away and when the temperatures in the day are reaching 45 degrees that is a journey best taken after sunset. The rickshaw ride makes it relatively quick and brings with it the added excitement of such transport. Within the store, the wines are right at the back of the relatively small single story open fronted outlet. To get to the back you need to squeeze between two opposite counters, which by the time the evening sets in are crowded with men waving money procuring cheap whiskey and climbing over each other to do so. For want of a better term, a degree of ‘barging’ through is required to get to the wine zone.

Once there, the choices are limited and generally selection is made based on price and having heard of the country it is produced. Given these are government run stores, it is highly taxed, and a cheap bottle is in the 1,500 Rupees range (about 15 pounds). Choices are also made while being stared at by the ‘helpful’ shop assistant at the same time. Then comes the fight to pay, although being an obvious non-Indian usually means they beckon me ahead much to my embarrassment, as I would be quite happy to queue and wait my turn. If there was a queue that is. No carrier bags are provided so I have my ‘wine backpack’ to hand whenever I go. Quickly follows a rickshaw ride back and a sigh of relief when home in my refuge. Wine open. Cheers.

—

I stood outside the apartment, the darkness encroaching following the recent sunset. My Zomato food delivery was on its way, and I was tracking the rider’s location in real time on the app. India is very well progressed in the delivery app world, and it is a well-utilisedservice.

The rider was already quite late, but unlikely his fault directly, but at least he was nearly here. Like Uber drivers, these delivery agents follow live maps on their phone to lead them to their destination, which I believe is accurate enough to bring them right to the door. I saw him coming and held my phone aloft like an illuminated beacon to guide him the last few yards. However, he merrily cruised on past, completely ignoring me. I could see him heading further along the road trying to read house numbers as he continually slowed and sped up between properties. I tried waving at him hoping he would see me in his mirrors, but no off he went. As he disappeared out of sight, I returned to tracking him on the app, assuming he would turn around soon. Which after a few minutes he did.

Then in the second approach I tried again, only this time waving even more frantically. However, yet again he cruised on past. I could only assume that with all the bustle that occurs on the roads, these riders are simply conditioned to block out any periphery motion and just focus on where they are going. A few minutes later, third time, I literally stood in front of him arms out to make him slow down. Realising he had finally found me he simply swiveled on his seat, handed me the contents and made off on his merry way. No recognition of the fact he had added about 10 minutes to his delivery time just through ignoring me and not following his map reference.

—

This is the land of the OTP (One Time Passcode). Every time I log into my HSBC India app, I set off what I (un)affectionately call the sound and light show. As the app opens, I get an instant text message and email alert telling me I have logged in, and if it was not me then I should call this number immediately. Every time I make a transaction online with my card, I have to verify with an OTP that comes again on email and text. Every time I buy something in the store, I walk out with my phone pinging with again the email and the text to tell me I have bought something. I cannot imagine how anyone can survive here without a mobile phone, as it is intrinsically linked to your bank account, and is a key enabler for any financial transactions. 

Thus, the reason why I will need to keep my Indian mobile number going for the years ahead while I still have need of my Indian account. I also get continual text message promotional alerts from a few companies I was stupid enough to give my real number to (I soon learnt that lesson). Despite blocking them every single time, it is impossible to unsubscribe, it seems, and every few days a message from ‘Home Centre’ or ‘Nicobar’ finds its way through. To which I instantly block and delete every single time. However, I know it is only a matter of time before the next message will appear.

I think whoever is leading the digital marketing teams of those companies and thinks constant bombardment of messages using proxy numbers to circumvent any blocked ones is a good approach (I dread to think how many I would get had I not blocked the ones I do receive), needs re-educating in marketing techniques.

—

I hate printers. With a passion. Whoever invented the printer and the operating systems for them needs to have a long hard talk with themselves. I have a printer on my desk in my office. Whenever I need to print something (a frequent occurrence these last few weeks as I ready my departure admin) we go through the little game of will it/won’t it, and how many times do I need to restart my laptop and turn the printer off and on again before it cooperates. This is not an Indian issue, but a global one. Which goes to show this is something India shares with the rest of the world. The country and its people share the misery and suffering we all experience all over the world when it comes to dealing with printers. I hate printers.

—

I walked somewhat sheepishly into the chemist, feeling almost naughty to be enquiring if they had a prescription medicine available to purchase over the counter. I take a daily tablet to control heartburn and have done for years and likely will for however many years ahead I am fortunate to have. In the UK, these tablets are only available on prescription and thanks to the help of friends, and some innovative scheduling of orders, I have managed to keep stocked all the time I have been here by carefully juggling these orders against my travel home.

However recently my little system had not managed to align, and while I can get by with some over the counter meds, they are not as good. Therefore, I thought after more than two years I would actually see if the specific tablets I am prescribed were available to simply purchase here.

Turns out they are, and for the princely sum of about 10 rupees (10p) a tablet. No questions or challenge, just production of a box and enquiry as to how many I wanted. I could have saved myself a whole world of system manipulation. I have seen this before where I acquired some allergy tablets with the ‘prescription only’ label proudly showing, for a few rupees cash over the counter. I should have known. I shall be stocking up before I leave. Just in case.

—

There is a mini roundabout just up from my apartment at which a right turn is made when I am heading to the office. In my time here I approximate I will have driven past it (well, been driven in the back of an Uber or BluSmart), around 400 times. As of now, with only a few days left, whoever has been driving me has used the roundabout in the correct manner 4 times. I know it is 4 times because it is that rare, I have counted each time. The other 396 times (..ish), they have just cut across it in the wrong direction. Therefore, that means about a 1% adherence rate to traffic rules. Sounds about right.

—

I have one week remaining here in India. I am sure there are plenty more experiences to be had before I go – it would not be India otherwise. I approach my last few days with excitement, curiosity and a sense of pensiveness in equal measure. The time to go has been a long time coming and has been in my imagination since I first arrived. That does not mean I have been longing to leave since the start, far from it in fact. I have enjoyed my time here and I am very glad to have had the opportunity. Although, the last flight out has been something of a light at the end of the tunnel, an enigma – always out there on the horizon.

That final departure will be another experience, and I will just have to see how I feel when it happens.