‘Indian men, bahut harami’

A slightly shorter version of this piece appeared in Azhimukham, an online journal in Malayalam early this week. For those of you who cannot read the language, here it is.

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot's Woman in Blue

“You mean you are not Slovenian? I thought you were, because you just don’t look Russian,” he said. The lady in the blue evening gown answered politely. “I am Russian.” He was quick with his next question. “And the man you were talking to earlier... are you friends? Is he from Russia too?” Yes, she said. He is from Russia, but he wasn't someone she knew personally. More questions followed. How long have you been in Delhi? 10 years is a long time, do you speak Hindi then? And where do you stay?

I was at a party and this conversation happened across the table. At first I wasn't paying any attention, but soon I was drawn into this game of cat and mouse. The woman was polite and kept her answers short. She had an exhausted smile. Short answers were good enough for the man who continued to grill her.

Soon he popped the inevitable question. “Can I have your number? I can meet you at Vasant Vihar near your place, and we can have a coffee or something.” A small pause, and he adds, “I’ll text you and if you don’t respond that will be the end of it. I won’t bother you.” She made a polite excuse, “I’m thirsty, I have to get something to drink.” He didn't get the hint and if he did, he wasn't ready to let her off the hook. Not after he had tried so hard, for so long. Let me bring it for you he said, before rushing off.

She looked at me with an exasperated expression. “Do you get this often?” I asked her. She nodded. In her 10 years of living in India, she had learnt that ignoring a man’s advances might hurt his ego. And that's just something you don’t want to do. It is instead best to play the role of a courteous ice maiden. “Indian men,” she said, “bahut harami.” Bahut was emphasized, and I don’t think that was because of her accent.

My evenings in KL

At a tourism seminar held in the city, I learnt that France is the most visited country in the world and closer home there is China, Malaysia and Hong Kong. India, according to the travel gurus, wasn't living up to it's true potential. In all these popular countries, apart from the infrastructure and sightseeing options, safety of a traveler is assured.

I landed in Kuala Lumpur (detailed travel account here) late one night in February and hailed a taxi to the city center. I was of course scared and therefore alert, but when the car stopped at the toll gate in the middle of nowhere, I noticed that the night staff was a woman. Her presence reassured me, and sure enough I had an uneventful ride into the city. I don’t think my country returns the same favour to women travelers. The lady in the blue evening gown is just one of the many 'atithis' or guests, who find living and traveling in India uncomfortable. In many places, including our biggest cities, we do not have enough public convenience spaces. The few that exist are dirty and unhygienic. So during the Commonwealth Games, when two women approached me with this question at Connaught Place, I took them to United Coffee House and explained their situation to a sympathetic manager.

Aurélie De Smedt has a special bond with India. She found the man of her dreams here. She has many friends and has traveled and lived in the remote corners of the country and therefore looks forward to her annual pilgrimage to the subcontinent. “But I can appreciate India only in parts,” she says, “Here; I cannot afford to let my guard down. I cannot relax on a bus or sit on a park bench without attracting unnecessary attention. My mind has to stay alert. I am always asking myself questions like - should I do this? Can I go there? Am I dressed right? It is all very exhausting. Back home I can relax and not worry about being attacked in broad daylight. But I look forward to my Indian vacations, though technically I relax only after I go back home.”

Nancy Mueller's Woman

Hungary’s Heléna Kontos couldn't agree more. “When I first moved to India, I was thrilled every time a man gave me a second look. In Hungary unless you are both sexy and 17, nobody gives a damn. But of course, this feeling didn't last for long. I soon realised that these weren't just admiring glances. Now, I wrap a shawl around me every time I step out and don’t go anywhere without my husband. I am an independent woman, but here in India I have to depend on so many people to get things done… my husband, the maid, the watchman… and that’s not a happy feeling,” she said.

I understand what she means. I grew up in Kerala where 'eve teasing' is as common as taking an oil bath. Most of us therefore, develop a sort of sixth sense about these things, and learn to foresee and avoid them.

Of course, I must also add that I'm not generalizing India as this big, bad, mean place full of clawing men. When I moved to Madras in 2005, I had a tough time adjusting. My sixth sense was useless here. No one gave me a second glance, and there certainly was no eve teasing. For a while I wondered if this was because I was unattractive. As an young girl of 21, I rated myself based on how much the world 'admired' me. I soon figured out that Tamil men respected their women folks. They call her 'amma' or mother, and therefore, even on a crowded bus, she is safe. Of course it is a conservative society, but its conservative nature allows a women to be. In fact, I would even go to the extend of calling it a gender neutral society, and it was here that I felt truly liberated.

Sadly, I can't say the same about the capital. It was a rainy day and Heléna had an open umbrella in her hand. She was shopping at Sarojini Nagar market, when a strong hand grabbed her unshielded breast. Another time, she was on a train with her visiting family, traveling between Kerala and Goa. Sometime in the night her cousin sitting on the lower berth, felt something warm and slimy on the nape of her neck. It was falling from the upper berth. Something white, almost translucent. When she realised what it was, she was too shocked to react.

When these women return to their countries, they might not recollect in great detail the lush green landscape, the big fat Indian weddings, the flavourful meals and the colourful ceremonies that they were a part of. But these experiences - the feeling of helpless outrage, shock and disgust, they will always remember.

Bikas Das's busy streets of Kolkata, India

Thomson Reuters Foundation did a survey in June 2011, which placed India 4th in the list of the world's most dangerous countries for women. The survey predates the much publicized Delhi gang rape case of 2012, or the more recent rape of a photojournalist in Mumbai.

Image for reference only

The rupee is plummeting; and we need foreign travelers to spend their dollars and pounds here. In many ways, our world is slowly waking up to this reality. In a first of its kind initiative, the Government of Tamil Nadu has announced auto rickshaws with GPS systems and a panic button.We now have hotels like The Leela reserving an entire floor for single women travelers. The tourism ministry has also launched an 'I Respect Women' campaign.

Today, more than ever, we need to reinvent ourselves and our image to make the ‘Incredible India’ campaign work for us. We should also learn to recognise women as fellow human beings well worthy of our respect. 

The Scarlet Pimpernels of the Mountains

A bunch for Rs 10

I was in Mussoorie two weeks ago, and the timing couldn't have been more perfect. As luck would have it, I managed to witness the last of the rhododendron in bloom. A week too late, and I would have missed this wonderful phenomenon, though at that time I knew nothing about either of them. But I am getting ahead of the story here; so let me put things in perspective.

Thoughtful @Happy Valley, temple in the background

We drove from Delhi to Mussoorie, my friends and I. After long hours on the road without any incidents, if you don’t count occasional arguments, over eating and back seat driving, we were at Mussoorie. The trip was unplanned and we didn't have a reservation, which meant we drove for a while trying to figure out a place to stay. We eventually checked into a  decent hotel and our chaperone and acting chauffeur Anurag, decided to take a nap. So the two of us, Gowri Sundararajan and I, partners in crime, decided to explore Mussoorie on our own.

Last of spring at Rusty's Mussoorie 

I grew up with Ruskin Bond’s books, and to travel to Rusty’s town was almost like a dream come true. On rainy days in Kerala, book in hand, I used to wonder what spring would look like on the mountains of Mussoorie and Doon. In my mind’s eye, I imagined wild violet flowers growing from the cracks between the walls and small white flowers blooming all along the forest trail, just like the writer said they would. Walking away from the town towards Happy Valley, which has India’s first Tibetan temple (Shedup Choephelling), I noticed that spring was everywhere - in the air, in the mountain cracks, on rotting tree trunks and on tall trees. Photographing these flowers almost became an obsession. 

But it was en route to Dhanaulti, that I noticed wild red flowers growing on tall trees along the steep mountain side. Tucked between dark green coniferous trees, the flaming reds of these flowers looked like mountain fire. As the roads coiled and curved, I strained my neck for a better view.

A 25-km drive can take close to two hours on the mountain roads. Worried that we might be on the wrong track we stopped and asked for directions at an intersection. There, in a small shop facing a scenic mountain drop, I noticed rows of scarlet bottles with pictures of the now familiar flower. That’s how I found out about rhododendrons, locally known as Burans. Interestingly, these red rhododendrons are Nepal’s national flower and closer home in Uttarakhand they are recognised as the state tree and the locals consider it a gift from the Gods, with divine powers. It is said to be good for the heart and the liver and is also used in treating diseases like asthma and high blood pressure. Traditionally, house guests are greeted with a glass of homemade burans juice. Chutneys and pickles made from this flower are local delicacies.

Scarlet blooms

According to the annual report (2009-10) published by the Uttarakhand Forestry Research Institute (Haldwani) burans is a tough crop to grow; because the seedling survival of this variety is only 10-12 per cent. Put this alongside the ratio of deforestation for fire wood, and things don’t look good for these scarlets. But an increasing awareness about its uses and the international market gravitating towards organically prepared burans juice, this tree named in the Guinness World Records as the largest rhododendron, might still stand a chance.

Back in Delhi, I ration my burans juice intake; because I have just two bottles and I need them to last through the summer. It is a refreshing drink with a strong scent of rose water, which is used in the preparation of the concentrate. The one I bought has sugar mixed in, so between the sweetness and the scent of roses, I’m not sure what the burans really taste like. The shop keeper told me that the petals are sour but the sac has sweet nectar. I also know that for the people of Uttarakhand it is nature’s greatest gift - one that plays a central role in their everyday lives while also sustaining their forest's ecosystem.

A summer drink

Partners in crime at one of the many winding roads

Wild white roses

With my 'chaperone'

Before and After… Europe!

Without coming across as obnoxious, I must confess that I divide the life of an upper middle class Indian, (someone who prides himself/herself as a politically aware, socially polite and morally correct citizen), into two - Before Europe (BE) and After Europe (AE).  I can see a few eyes roll, and I can almost hear some of you go, “Oh come on now... Please!” But do hear me out. And maybe towards the end, even when you don’t completely agree with what I say, you might be able to see where it comes from.

First, the background. My husband and I have always wanted to visit Europe, and I admit that we considered a Euro-trip as our official entry into the travel scene. Traveling to Thailand or Malaysia from India, does not really amount to going anywhere at all. In fact a ticket to Bangkok is a lot cheaper than a ticket to Calicut, my home town. After our initial years of travelling around the said places, we felt that the time had come to cross the Arabian sea. We had heated arguments over where to go and what to do. We changed dates, budgets and locations so many times; that this friend I was to meet in Berlin, decided it was best to make her own plans and not wait for me. So when we finally got there, we had the key to her room, a warm bed and a well-stocked pantry – minus her.

It doesn’t cost much to save 

Backpack of memories

Ours was a backpacking trip. We travelled on foot, by trains, in buses and boats and all through our journey came in contact with travellers and locals, with whom we enjoyed long conversations. 

Wind turbines a common sight

Most often, after the initial exchange of pleasantries, they’d ask us if we were in Delhi during the three day black out. This lone incident had catapulted Delhi into the front page of newspapers in countries as far away as Germany and as small as Slovakia. How the Capital of one of the world’s fastest growing economy together with cities around it, could have a blackout was beyond them. It so happened, that one such person worked in the field of renewable energy. According to him 25% of energy used in Germany comes from renewable sources of which 16% comes from wind power. 

A single wind turbine can light up as many as 2,000 homes, he said. And even though it is high on investment, the returns are quick and sustainable. In India, solar and wave energy can be used to power cities and if every consumer is cautious about their electricity usage, shameful blackouts like this can be avoided. His words, not mine. What he told me were all lessons I had learnt in school and practised at home for a while at the insistence of the missionary nuns. But like most us, these lessons were soon forgotten and light and TV switches left on, until I found time to reach over and switch them off. When he put it in perspective with the Delhi episode and in the context of many wind turbines I had seen all across Germany, I wondered why I had stopped doing my bit. And why we left things half done, like the Vizhinjam wave plant project.

The level of awareness of a European citizen extends beyond engineering. For instance, they have organised car share agencies for travellers. www.mitfahrgelegenheit.de is one such website, where registered and verified users update their travel plans with maps, and in case you are looking to traveling in the same direction, you can connect with them and share a ride, for a nominal fee. People who have used these services have told me that it is perfectly safe, but not the best means of travel in case you have a flight to catch. The point I am trying to make is that, apart from saving money, most Europeans are also worried about leaving carbon footprints, and so intense is this fear of damaging the eco-system, that almost all of them use the public transport (reliable and frequent) or car shares while going on vacation or even while going to work.  

Another growing trend in these cities is the use of bicycles. Every road, in every city has designated cycle paths, and traffic lights are applicable to cyclists. Trains and trams have special sections reserved for people traveling with their cycles. Helmet wearing is more a habit than a rule, and it is a beautiful sight to see families riding together one behind the other, the youngest trailing far behind on their smaller bikes. 

Cycle your way to good health

Recycle, Reuse

It is common knowledge that tap water in Europe is drinkable, but we did not want to take any chances, so we bought one, every couple of hours. A 250ml bottle of water cost us between 2 euros to 2.75 euros, and this went on, until a fellow traveller, suggested we buy at supermarkets and not from small stores. In the super market, we were again faced with a problem. Most of them stock three kinds of water - sparkling, mildly sparking and still, and they are colour coded for better understanding. In Germany the pink one is sparkling and the blue, still. In Hungary, it’s vice versa. We were now able to buy a litre of water for 50 or 70 cents, and if we returned these recyclable bottles we were paid back 25 cents!  If I am repaid half the price of a water bottle, (Rs 7 in an Indian scenario) why would I ever dump one on the streets? 

The Politics of Public Behaviour

Did I mention that our entry point was Munich, Germany? As we walked around the airport we wondered why an international terminal was this tiny. It was only towards the end of our journey, when we met up with a common friend, that we found the answer. While political parties and airlines had campaigned for a third runway and a larger terminal for this Bavarian capital, the residents had voted against it, citing ecological reasons. When we were walking in Munich’s Englischer garten, volunteers were gathering votes, this time on the issue of garten expansion. 

In Munich and later in Berlin, we noticed that the trains, buses and people were all part of a well- timed and oiled machinery, which worked without screeches and halts. If the time printed on the timetable read 11.10 am, it meant that the train leaves at the said time, not arrives like it is supposed to in India. On trains, people sit respectably apart. The 'packed-like sardines' concept is alien here. Of course you might bring up the population count argument, but wonder who is to blame for that? Would you rather have a Hitler or the Soviets go on a killing spree or will it be easier on you if you followed the single child or no child concept that is now gaining prominence in inflation struck Hungary? 

Canine friends

No one, absolutely no one, talks on the cellular phone while traveling. So you can forget about eavesdropping into never ending mother-in-law battle stories or the giggles and cooings’ of new found love. Families talk amongst themselves quietly, single travellers either take in the sights outside or read, some listen to music – their headphones firmly plugged in, puppies sleep peacefully in the baskets kept on the owners lap, bigger dogs sit obediently at the heel - barking is unheard of. After we had had an overdose of irritatingly well-mannered dogs, my husband joked that the dogs here were better behaved and smarter than most kids back home. 

Now this reminds me of another incident. My husband and I were sitting near the entrance of a subway, drinking in the European sights. A young boy of about nine walked out, sipping from a juice take -away glass. When he finished it, he dropped his school bag, and stuffed the used glass into its right side pocket. He mounted the bag again, and continued his walk. This action had caught my attention; my eyes followed him as he continued his walk. A few meters ahead, when he came across a dustbin, his right hand reached for the glass, dumped it into the bin and continued walking. A long forgotten nursery rhyme played in the back of my mind. “Bits of paper, lying on the floor, make the place untidy, pick them up!”

Look who is eating

Another time in a park, a woman sat reading a book while her 1 ½ year old toddler played at her side. After a while, the little one walked up to mom and said something that I did not catch. Mommy took out a coloured tiffin box from her bag, opened it and wordlessly handed it over to the boy. He sat there on the grass, box in hand, and with tiny plastic forks, ate his fill before handing it back to her. I was in shock. Image of desi-mothers running after their children with steel plates filled with their favourite dishes and that of grandmothers sitting them down and telling them wondrous stories just to get them to open their mouths, flashed in my memory like a film in fast motion, complete with intercuts and expressions and background scores and noise. 

A whole new world out there 

In Central Europe, beer is a social drink, much like wine is in Italy. It was first brewed by religious monks and it is part of their culture. Canned beer is also cheaper than water. So they drink beer during lunch, after dinner, when you feel like it, as they walk past by or when they want to have long conversations. I am used to looking at beer as this alcoholic drink, to be consumed in dimly lit pubs or bars, with loud music that will drown the sound of my drinking or in moving cars with tinted glass windows, which is sometimes referred as ‘karobar’, and almost always without adult supervision. Here, children as young as 12 and 13, drink beer with their parents. The quantity of their intake is of course monitored, but it goes without saying that all of them can hold their drink, so no drunken slurring’s and lewd comments from anyone here. 

Biergarten (beer garden) in Munich, where families get together

I did meet a drunkard though. We were on an overnight train from Budapest to Munich; in the compartment with us was David, a model turned fashion co-ordinator and another chap with a never ending supply of canned beer. While the former engaged us in conversation about the world of fashion and styling, the latter just kept chugging beer. When, after a while, he decided that he had had enough, he switched on his phone and played some music - minus the headphones. Though I am used such anti-social behaviour in the DTC buses here in India, I found this man’s behaviour offensive. And I guess so did David. He fished into his bag, brought out a headphone, and smilingly handed it over to the man, who quickly realised his mistake and switched off the music. Without exchanging a foul word, David had shamed him into obedience. Something definitely unheard of, where I come from, though Mahatma Gandhi had tried this trick before - but then again, he was dealing with the Brits. 

Mahatma Gandhi with the Brits

So the point I am trying to make here is just this. We, according to many of us, are a country of Gandhi’s, Vivekanandas’ and other philosophers. We, discovered the ‘zero’ and we export our ‘brains’ into Europe and America, thereby playing a key role in the development of these countries. But honestly, who are we trying to fool? Most of these countries have suffered greatly; their past is dotted with genocides, manslaughters, inflation, mind games and what not. And even then, these countries and their middle class have emerged as individuals who respect each other and the eco system that they live in.

Do you now agree that the joke might be on us?

Kuala Lampur – Truly a world city

I took the Air Asia flight out of Delhi to Kuala Lampur, and as expected my in-flight companions were back packing westerners and newly married Punjabis’. The former, dressed in their most comfortable, inexpensive, thrift shop buys and the latter wearing powerful perfumes and outrageously stylish clothes. The women mostly wore the red and white choora, symbolising their newly married status. I was travelling alone and that gave me a lot of time to just sit back and take things in - the look of utter boredom and jet lag on the faces of frequent travellers and the excitement, which was followed by the non-stop clicks of the point and shoot cameras, on certain others. 

I landed at 11pm and as a single woman traveller, I knew I had to be cautious, especially at that time of the night. Clearing immigration, I was out on the streets at 11.30 pm and decided to call the hotel to confirm my booking. As I struggled with the pay phone, which had instructions in Bahasa, a lady stepped forward and offered to help. Though we did not speak the same language, she guided me through my first phone call in Malaysia. When I heard the phone ring on the other end, I looked at her with a grateful smiled. Thinking back, I believe that it was then that I first fell in love with that country. 

Petaling street wakes up to the sound of fish sellers

My hotel was very close to Petaling Street or the commercial part of KL, and in the morning I set out to explore it. I was early - the shops were just opening, the streets were being cleaned and fresh vegetables brought in. Old men seated on the benches were dozing off; catching an extra hour of sleep before the busy day. As I wandered aimlessly through the streets, now entering an alley and then the other, I saw vegetables and groceries that I had never seen before – sea weed, durian, mangosteen… an endless list of local delicacies. 

Hanging prayers at Chan See Shu Yuen Temple

I walked further down, and entered a Chinese temple. The Chan See Shu Yuen Temple is a well-known landmark on Pelting Street. Hundreds of baskets were hanging above the entrance door and each of them had within a hanging piece of paper. Mei Xing, a girl I met at the temple told me that these were written prayers, left hanging for a whole day. She spoke to me about the Chinese year of the dragon, and how it might not be good for people born under certain signs. Chinese horoscopes that can predict your year and they follow the tradition of burning these ill luck predictions, together with positive prayers, in the large kiln within the temple. Enlightened I stepped out, and nearly bumped into a couple who were getting their pre wedding photo-shoot done. 

The couple truly represented the multi-cultural ethnicities of Malaysia. The groom was a Sri Lankan Tamil and the bride was Chinese. He had in his hand a floral wedding garland, typical to Tamil weddings, and she had with her a Chinese umbrella. Their wedding pictures they told me, was going to represent both their heritage. “So what wedding will you have - Chinese or Tamil?” asked I. Aghast, the bride answered, “Neither!!”  I told you earlier, multi-ethnic is the word. Now add chic to it. 

Strike a pre-wedding pose!

The Hindu Mariyamman temple was also close by. The temple was decorated and there was a reception committee at the gate - signs of a Hindu wedding! It was my lucky day. I met Manoharan, the bride’s uncle. Originally from Tanjore, a district in Tamil Nadu, India, he was only too happy to have someone from his home country at his niece’s wedding. He requested me to stay, and I did. Unlike the big, fat Indian wedding, Malaysian Indian weddings are a simple affair. I counted a total of 45-odd people, so much lesser than the 800 plus who turned up at mine. The functions and the rituals were also slightly different. The familiar tunes of the Nadaswaram and the thavil set the mood and the bride and the groom first married the kalyana murungai - an auspicious tree, before marrying each other. As I sat there witnessing a wedding in a strange land, I somehow felt connected to this family. I felt that they genuinely wanted me to attend the wedding, and bless the young couple, which I did, with my whole heart and with unexplainable tears in my eyes. Who would have thought?

Kasthuri Amma and her flowery tales

After the wedding, I left the temple and walked further down on that road, and there I met an old lady stringing flowers. Kasthuri Amma has been sitting in this exact spot for years. She is originally from Madhurai, also in Tamil Nadu, but has no recollection of her life in India. Though she had lived in Malaysia for most part of her life, the inquisitive Indian in her was intact. She asked, “If you are married, why do you travel alone, and how come you don’t have any children?” I smiled in reply, because in her I recognised shades of my mother, grandmother and those many ‘aunties’ I meet every day in India. 

Street artist with his canvas

Night time in KL is also charming. From a distance the twin towers and the KL Tower looks like well decorated Christmas trees. The street sides eating places come alive with sights, sound and smell that will drag even the strictest dieter towards them. Living statues, portrait painters and street singers liven up the evening. 

And as I continued my wanderings around the city; I made more friends - a Malay lady Leena and her colleagues. We exchanged numbers and email ids, and she promised to help if I ever needed anything in KL, and I in turn promised to host her if she ever visited India. She also who gave me directions to some of the best eating spots in the city.  

Street food in Malaysia 

She is a producer with World Broadcasting Channel and she asked me if I could go on camera to speak about my Malaysian experience. Of course, I could do that. To the rolling camera I said, “It is easy to feel lost in a large city like Kuala Lumpur, where the language, cuisine and the customs are so very different from mine. But it is easier, to make friends and to find a family.” That pretty much sums my Malaysian experience!

My unexpected television appearence

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