Sudden Outbreak of Snow

Flash snowstorm starting in the late afternoon.

The people at work freaked out and started leaving faster than the crowd at Yankee Stadium before the bottom of the ninth inning. Rumors about the metro failing and terrible traffic.

I got a ride home from a co-worker. It took a few more minutes than usual.

Snow in DC demands True Grit.

Winter of my Content

Still floating from a wonderful weekend. Highlights:

-L2 on Friday night. Think meatpacking district in a georgetown cavern, smaller, hidden, and sans ibankers.

-ben's chili bowl at 3am. Think chili dog at 3am.

-"True Grit" on Saturday night with B. Terrific. The best movie I've seen since Roman Polanski's Ghost Writer. Better, even. Those Coen brothers know what they are doing...

-sunday phonecalls with israel, botswana, and brooklyn. Oh, skype.

-monday post-work showing of "the way back" by Peter Weir (directed Witness, year of living dangerously, etc). Intense and hard to watch, numbing. Apparently Stalinism was extremely bad. Who knew?

-watched State of the Union with N and R and ate dumplings and french bread. Enjoyed the dumplings.

Seven Days Later: Happenings, reflections, misc.

It's my one week anniversary of being back in the United States. Here's what's happening:

-going out to Japanese food in Dupont Circle with V = incredibly comforting. Horde of Japanese tourists/ex-pats engaged in some sort of congratulatory ceremony with applause and flowers = endearing.

-party-hopping on Friday and Saturday night. Party #1 is international, bubbling, and diverse. I spend most of the time chatting up World Bank staff and a public sector consultant from L.A. V meets a lobbyist who represents fraternities: apparently the last three American Presidents were brothers. Trying to curry favor with the Washington insiders, I approach and note that some of my best friends have been in frats. He thinks I am saying lobbyist and asks which firm. Ensuing chaos.

-Chili Cook-off at the Raven at Mount Pleasant. No lobbyists here, but I do meet an incredibly friendly CNN producer who tells me I should consider a career in public speaking. Exchange pleasantries with a familiar hill staffer (Senate side) about the productiveness of the recent lame duck session and talk to a guy I know in Commerce about an upcoming trip to one of the Stans. Sample some chili. Encounter another New Yorker-in-exile.

-Birthday party at an uber-minimalist bar somewhere downtown. I spend thirty minutes talking to a skeptical bureaucrat about the philosophical/psychological underpinnings of boredom. Apparently Heidegger wrote 100 pages on the subject.

-Co-worker's black-light party in Adams Morgan. We are the oldest people in the room, possibly by three-five years. I talk to an affable but improperly attired med student of Southern origin and a hilarious financial consultant who lives with his parents in Westchester. There is a guy screaming unintelligibly at the top of his lungs. We stay for roughly thirty minutes. Extremely entertaining.

Am still jet-lagged and dehydrated, although the culture-shock is wearing off. Uh-oh.

Soundtrack for the Subcontinent

For navigating the fast maze that is the Frankfurt airport, Amy does it best. "You know I'm no good," Amy Winehouse.

"Hey Bulldog" by the Beatles for running in Mumbai.

When in Bangalore, try "Hip to be Square" by Huey Lewis and the News.

Ray Charles and Johnny Cash work well in Kerala. Makes a lot of sense, if you think about it.

Kovalam is a good place to read a book quietly.

For Gurgaon, Bono. "Stuck in a moment you can't get out of," U2.

Varanasi has its own soundtrack. Just listen*

Counting Crows' "Goodnight L.A." or "One Fine Day" by David Byrne + Brian Eno as the fields of Uttar Pradesh roll by on a January afternoon.

Music is not allowed at the Taj Mahal.

Indian Bus rides call for Nina Simone: "Sinnerman" from the Thomas Crowne Affair soundtrack. Particularly appropriate as you get leveled by a speed bump while attempting to move out of the way when fellow passengers move an elephantine sack over your leg. Where ya gonna run to?

John Mayer is soothing when recovering from stomach ailment and dehydration in the Reston Emergency Room. "Waiting for the World to Change."

*whistling the ewok victory song by John Williams is strangely satisfying after visiting the burning ghats. 

End of the Line

Made it to Delhi after a harrowing five-hour bus ride from Agra. Bus cost 150 rupees, which is roughly three dollars. Sat next to an IT student who interrogated me about the US/India/my marital situation until I told him I'd like to rest. Also met a lab consultant at a fertility bank, the interrogator's brother-in-law: took me a while to figure out that the word he was saying wasn't cement. Some nice banking students sat behind us and were very helpful. They asked me to come back to India soon.

From the bus station, my tuk-tuk driver took an hour to find the hotel in near-freezing weather, stopping three times to ask for direction. He then asked for more money. While I try not to show anger while in Asia (in Cambodia and Laos, this is unacceptable culturally and causes both parties shame), I find it's very effective in India when someone asks for something that is unreasonable.

My hotel is in the diplomatic enclave, on the outskirts of the city. It reminds me of Paris.

Journey to the West

Two intuitively impressive Austrians and I are driven to Mughal Serai at 10:30pm, a journey that takes us onto a proper indian highway, which is not dissimilar to some of the scenes in Tron: Legacy. I fear for my life at numerous points, although the Austrians seem relaxed.

I am fearful of missing my train, which has been delayed an hour. As we approach the station, I get ready to run to the platform. The driver, in defiance of a previous agreement, begins to mutter something about 50 extra rupees for parking. He actually chases me onto the platform to remind me about the bogus charge. Fearing I'll miss the train, I pay him and ask for help carrying my bag. He walks away and the train is delayed by another hour. I watch some homely Irish play cards and finish reading Hermann Hesse's "journey to the east, " which the guest house has presented me with as a parting gift/loan.

The Magadh Express comes two hours late, ostensibly due to fog. The first class car is roomy, grimy, and wonderful. My cabin-mate is a young Delhi-based lawyer who pleasantly lectures me for an hour.

We depart into the night.

Another Shabbat

Cold. Fog. No power. Israelis. Kabbalat Shabbat. Candlelight. Hummus. Sitar. Varanasi. Sublime. Warmth.

What's the North/Varanasi like?

-Cold and foggy. I was in four layers yesterday, am in three today. Slept with a space heater on, inside a sleeping bag with a blanket covering me.

-Dirtier/Poorer/less educated/developed: people speak less english here, the internet is slower, there are fewer modern technological accouterments, and the poverty has a more severe feeling to it. There are tons of people trying to extract money from me, who are not particularly charming or inventive. It is easier to bargain and I get lower prices.

-Religiously tense and possibly less diverse/pluralistic. I meet no one who isn't a hindu. There was a terrorist attack a month ago in one of the main public areas along the river, the trauma is evident. There are soldiers all around the main temple, although they seem bored. The closest analogy to walking the streets of Varanasi is wandering around the old city in Jerusalem.

-More culturally foreign. The backpackers and tourists I meet here feel like strangers in a strange landers. I have a nice dinner with a french pair of artists, am interviewed by a wandering Dutch journalist, and meet two friendly Austrians.

Still Waters Run Deep

In of one of the final scenes of Return of the Jedi , Luke Skywalker burns the body of Anakin Skywalker, his father. This always seemed strange to me: most Jedis fade away when they die or fade away, but there is clearly something symbolic for in the burning, particularly since the helmet of Darth Vader is shown amidst the flames.

After two days in the Holy city of Varanasi, I have begun to understand the significance of the burning scene. The draw in Varanasi is the mighty Ganges river, which flows still and deep by a packed and dirty city in Uttar Pradesh state, in the northeastern central of India. Hindus come to Varanasi from all over India (from all over the world?) to observe a ritual of death. The body of a dead family member (father or mother, I think) is washed in the river and then placed on wood to burn, surrounded by the family.

Varanasi is a serious and tense place, not unlike the old city in Jerusalem. It's hard to tell if the Hindus and Muslims get along here and one senses that place and space are contested. Cows, goats, and dogs roam freely, even next to the burning bodies.

Gurgaon

Flew up to Delhi from Cochin on a Spicejet flight. One of the worst flights i've been on in my life, terrible service and worth avoiding.

Landing in Delhi from Cochin is like traveling from Southern Spain to Warsaw. It's cold and foggy and no one is smiling or relaxed in the airport. My attempt at conversation with backpacking Norwegians sputters out. Geography seems to be destiny. I change my clothing and refrain from making further small talk.

My taxi driver reminds me of an unpleasant cartoon character, Ren/Stimpy mixed with Beavis or Butthead. He tries to swindle me out of 10 rupees for a toll i've already paid for and I resist. He laughs viciously and turns the music up all the way, so that my eardrums are pounded. I smile and feign dancing. Then he gets pulled over by the police and they write him a ticket for not wearing a seat belt. He has no idea where the hotel is and I end up directing him by sight/intuition.

Am staying in Gurgaon, which is bizarre and reminds me of a dirtier and less developed version of Kuala Lumpur.

I have dinner with two friendly Americans, one of whom works for a renewables start-up here in Delhi. The dinner is heavy, full of meat, and finished with a delicious dessert called Kheer (sp?).

Notes on Kerala

After a few days in Cochin, Ernakulam, and Kovalam, a few points on the State of Kerala.

-While less developed than Mumbai, Bangalore, or Mysore, the population is clearly better educated. This translates to more and better conversations with locals, more intense negotiations over goods and services, and a persistent sense of being evaluated carefully by people. People immediately ask perceptive questions which build on each other.

-Common questions include: where are you from? what do you do for a living? What's your religion (in Cochin)? Are you married? What's the economy like in the United States? When will it get better? I've rarely had such consistent in-depth conversations with working-class people in other developing countries.

-the educational level is way beyond economic growth. I suspect that's an oppurtunity for foreign direct investment in outsourcing and other knowledge sectors, though the problem may be that wages are too high compared to other parts of India. There must be some compromise, using higher-skilled labor.

-The relgiousity of the place is staggering. Cochin appears to be full of highly observant muslims, christans (catholic, pentacostals, syrian orthodox), and hindus. What's remarkable/wonderful is that "ordinary people" of one religion seem interested and even knowledgable ofn the beliefs and practices of other religions.

-The region seems to be experiencing a boom in tourism. "More and more, each year."

The Beach Outpost at the end of the Subcontinent

Seething ocean, crowded sand.
Sickly humidity. Storm clouds.
The British Avionics engineer has sent me to Kovalam.
Arrival in setting sun, after hours in an air-conditioned car.
Feels like Bangkok on the water, though I've never been to Bangkok.
Strange Overtones in the way people walk. Dead walk/dead eyes/the party had been over for some time.

Something's coming. Maybe the tide?

Shabbat

Inspired by the religious experience of friday evening, I spent saturday resting at the hotel. Generally uneventful, with a few exceptions:

-encountered a pair of honeymooning seeded from stockholm. He's forty-two and an account manager for a small investment bank. They seemed happy. I predict a successful marriage.

-A Polish man from Warsaw wished me a happy new year and hugged me in the hotel bathroom. Very odd, but I think he meant no harm by it.

-Passed young girl wearing a google (staff) t-shirt. Upon commenting, she said her father works there. Light blue shirt, not sure if he works for Indian office.

-Reencountered the British woman, this time with her husband (the avionics engineer). He gave me some advice and recommended a driver. Very solid people.

-Read interviews with David Axelrod and Aung San Suu Kyi. She definitely has a tougher job than he does.

-Met a charismatic (Indian) catholic just back from a religious conference of 22,000 people. He told me he'd prayed for forty days before asking for vacation leave over new years. Wonderful emotional/spiritual energy.

-Dinner in Ernakulam at the Grand Hotel. Ordered chicken borscht and chicken curry, with rice. Soup was tasty, but not borscht. Chicken curry was eh. Smart concierge on duty named Vishnu, whose dream is to work for an airline. I suggested Lufthansa.

The End

It's roughly 7pm on December 31st and I'm at Shabbat services at the Pardesi Synagogue, a four-hundred-year-old building tucked into the corner of Jew Town, in Cochin, Kerala. As the Canadian leading services begins aleinu, the international group of 30-40 Jews join in, somewhat discordantly. Neatly dressed Swiss (white polo, red sweater) sit behind me, a San Franciscan couple to my right, seemingly unobservant israelis to my left, a moscovite management consultant in the corner, a quiet resident of tenleytown, a lean and soft a spoken chabad rabbi conducting silently from behind, a newark-born woman from the east village (10th and 4th!), and a warm Indian man who says he is a friend of the synagogue and has a shammas-like status.

How did this happen? I'd planned to spend a quiet evening at my hotel.

I woke to a call from Brooklyn, and ran on the treadmill in a wood-floored gym with a view of the backwaters and jungle. The hotel has granted me access to the Royal Club room, and I eat a sumptuous continental breakfast of cheese (four types!), cut fruit, doughnuts, cappuccino, watermelon juice, and yogurt.

Over the longest cup of coffee I've had all year, I chat with an affable middle-aged British hospital secretary from the midlands who prefers Northern India. Her husband has been consulting for the Indian Military for a number of years and I get the sense she's lonely and ready for these trips to end. Speaking with her, I have this memory of Orwell's description of the memsahib (colonial wife) in Burmese days... she speaks of the Indians in warm but thoroughly colonial terms: "give an inch and they'll..." I wonder if the British aren't merely a bit distanced (observers) from all peoples, even themselves. No man is an island, but what about a people?

Does observation necessarily create separation and distance?

There has been a bombing in Athens and the subject turns to terror- what if the media didn't report terrorist incidents? She somewhat predictably laments the war in Afghanistan, Tony Blair's tragic alliance with George W. Bush, and the current National Health Service scandal. I offer unsolicited advice on how she can make her house more energy efficient and she tells me she's trying to convince her husband to install solar panels.

She is easily kinder, more affable, and less patronizing than any female character in Orwell's novel. I can tell the Indian staff likes her, whatever that means.

I go for a swim and then into town, where I wander, souvenir shop, and drop off shirts to be modified. The Tailor's name is Jude and his younger son is named Sampson. Keralans are turning out to be some of the nicest people I've met.

I make my way to Jew Town, where I learn the synagogue is closed for friday. Standing outside, I run into a group of Americans who feel familiar. I politely inquiry about a dinner invitation and before we know it the Chabad Rabbi has shown up, we've got a minyan (non-egalitarian seating. :(

I'm unexpectedly home.