Poverty: A Lucrative Venture

Almost every time I've been on the road in India, day or night, in a car or rickshaw, a beggar has approached the window and asked for money or food.  Sometimes they are visibly handicapped, or they are carrying a small child, or, worst of all, they are small children themselves.

Anyone here will tell you to give them nothing.  They tell you that if you do, they will write down the license plate number of your car so they can harass you later, or that other beggars will see and mob you.  Most of us have seen Slumdog Millionaire, and I've learned that there is a reality to the film's representation of begging rings and scams.  Poverty is real and painfully visible in India, but many beggars are controlled by gang leaders who will take a large portion of whatever they earn.  It's almost impossible to help them by giving them a snack bar or Rs. 10.  They probably won't get to keep it.

Like most people, this is almost incomprehensible to me.  Coming from America, where poverty is a crime these days, India's problems seem impossible to solve.  There are several complex causes of the situation here, but above all, there the problem that, for some, poverty is lucrative.  People make thousands of dollars from it everyday.   Millions of people in India are poor because there is a very powerful group of people that profit from their misfortune.  It's human trafficking, perhaps not at it's worst, but trafficking nonetheless.  To make matters worse, like sex, gendercide, and the caste system, poverty is a taboo topic in India.

So what to do?  I don't know.  Here, poverty is a business, and I am no businesswoman (or economic expert for that matter, or anything of the sort). 

The woman below came up to my rickshaw today.  In the open air of a rickshaws there is no window to shield me from her pleas, spoken in another language, no tinted glass to spare me from the piercing look in her eyes.  I've seen her more times than I can count.  She always works at the same intersection, and is always carrying the same little boy.  Before today, I never noticed she was pregnant.  I asked her if I could take her picture, and when she said yes, I gave her ten rupees.  Maybe she won't get to keep it, but maybe, just maybe, she will.

My Unintended Walking Tour

After my trip to the fabric store yesterday, I took a rickshaw to the tailor.  It turns out her shop was in a pretty residential area, which was fine.  When the driver dropped me off, I asked him to wait for me, but when I came back outside he was gone!  Since the tailor's house was about 4km from the main road, which was the closest place I could find another rickshaw, I had a long walk (in the sweltering heat) ahead of me.  But my loss is your gain!

I've been admiring the architecture of the city lately, so I decided to make the best of my misfortune by taking pictures of the homes in the neighborhood where I was abandoned.  The architecture features modern, colonial, and even Victorian influences, and I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

Fabulous Fabrics.

India is the home to many fabulous textiles, including handwoven rugs, the ubiquitous pashmina, and a bevy of unique fabrics.  One of my many goals here is to get some custom made clothing, especially a few dresses made out of amazing fabrics.

Locating my favorite fabric store was a little work, but I finally found one.  Below, you will see a few pictures of the store's selection, which includes over a thousand unique fabrics!  If you see something you want, let me know (as best you can), and I'll be happy to bring it back for you.

I chose a blue paisley cotton, and took it to a tailor that the store owner recommended.  I also took a dress I liked, and I asked her to copy it.  I get to pick it up tomorrow, so we'll see how it goes!

 

Bringing the leg meat.

There are five main reasons you cannot run outside in India.

1.  It's hot like whoa.
2.  The presence of sidewalks on most roads is inconsistent at best.
3.  The presence of a slew of farm/zoo animals, including, but not limited to, cows, goats, donkeys, boar, and monkeys on most roads is guaranteed.
4.  Indian mosquitoes transmit about as many diseases as Vegas hookers. 
5.  Indians stare like they are getting paid not to blink.

I have to run, because if I don't, I get chubby and I can't sleep, but I have been relegated to the treadmill in the gym in our apartment complex, where the manager plays Indian hip hop music on a volume that can be equated with tornado warning systems in Kansas. 

 The monsoon season here is finally in full swing, which means the weather is much more temperate than when we arrived.  In India, temperate means a heat index of 100 and 70% humidity, but I'll take what I can get.

So today I did it.  I ran outside.  I was confined to the one mile loop around our apartment complex, to avoid Reasons #2 and #3, and I sprayed enough Deep Woods Off on my clothes to kill a baby from about 2 yards away, but I was outside.  And running.  I loved it.

It was impossible to avoid Reason #5.  The cooler weather drew lots of people outside, and they all stared as I jogged past.  My green running shorts didn't help, but I can't run in pants.  It's too much.

And here's the thing about Indian culture: Women can show their mid sections whether they have the abs of a lesbian gym owner or the stomach of a 40 year old mother of four, but show those thighs and calves and you're a whore.  Oh, and Indians don't run unless they are being chased.

So there I was, in all my glory, flaunting my leg meat, blasting Rihanna's "Only Girl (In the World)."  And I felt like the only girl in the world.  Jaws dropped.  Heads turned.  Mothers shielded the faces of their children.

I didn't care.  Well, I did a little, but I pretended not to.

But the worst part happened after I ran.

The lobby, hallways, and elevators in our apartment building aren't air-conditioned, so after a 30 minute run in Hades, I was pretty hot.  My shirt was soaked through and my face was dripping wet.

Let me preface my forthcoming confession with a note: I have never seen my neighbors inside my apartment building, except for in the lobby.  In the entire time I've lived here, the elevator goes straight from the lobby to the 7th floor without stopping, and I've never seen anyone in the hallway outside my apartment.

So the confession: Once I got inside the elevator, I took my shirt off.  Standing around in a sports bra is an India is a huge no-no, but it was sooooo hot.  Now, my cared-for-by-carbs midsection is nothing to look at, and it was bad enough that I was bringing the leg meat, but now my shoulders were on display. In India, shoulders are the epitome of sexiness.

On the fourth floor, the elevator stopped.

I froze.  In slow motion, the doors opened to reveal four Indian men.  As the doors slowly slid back, they looked at me in ever growing horror/delight.  It was like the elevator was a magical peep show portal they didn't even have to pay to open. I don't think they even looked at my legs.  For a moment, my shoulders were the center of the universe.

I've never felt so trashy.

I had to make this end, so, ever so coolly, I stepped forward, said "Hey guys," like an idiotic American, and pressed the "door close" button.

Real cool, Katrina.  Real cool.


* I must credit Tina Fey with the phrases "leg meat" and "abs of a lesbian gym owner." She's too funny.  Read Bossypants!

Some days in India aren't so bad.

I've been really wanting to go home.  I've been sick.  I miss my friends.  And I want to go swimming and eat a salad.  As I've been saying numerous times a day, these are dark times.

But some days in India aren't so bad.  This morning old Bobby and I got up early to join some random foreigners for coffee, which was really fun (and free!).  Afterwards, Bob had to leave for work, but I decided to go to the spa for some pampering.

It started with a massage from a tiny Asian woman who used her entire body weight to do her work.  I didn't mind.  I kept almost falling asleep.  This tops my only other massage experience, which involved a creepy man-masseuse with a goatee that was too long and a pot belly that kept touching my bare body.  Yikes.  But anyway, Jennifer (which is definitely not her real name) was awesome.  She even did a little handstand thing on my back at the end.  It was like a break dance move... you know, the one they do right before they start spinning around on the floor?

After the massage I got a pedicure, which was long and luxurious.  The little Indian guy smelled pretty ripe, and he enjoyed the leg rub part a little more than I would have liked, but whatevs.  At least he did a good job on the polish, right?

Before I headed home, I stopped at a French bakery to get some chocolate truffles for Bob, who said he's having a bad day.  And I got him some Doritos and Skittles too.  And only India can you purchase Doritos and Skittles in a French bakery.

After days like today, I realize that these aren't dark times.  They're just kind of hazy.  But maybe that's just the smog.

Random Photos

 In light of the unexciting nature of the last few weeks, I thought I'd just post a few photos that have yet to find a home in other posts.  Enjoy!

 

 

The trip to the Post Office was surprisingly uneventful.  NOTHING went wrong, which is rare in India!

Some rickshaw drivers waiting for a gig.

View from a rickshaw.

Another, more interesting view from a rickshaw.  Any and everything can be bought and delivered in India.  Including mattresses.

The rickshaw driver enjoying some cold water (that I gave him) after bringing me home.  He then tried to scam me out of money.  Whatevs.

The best part about Dilli Haat, a local craft market we visited, was the food.  I am enjoying some kachoori, which are pockets of bread stuffed with vegetables and then deep fried.

"Cold coffee" is a BIG deal in India.  Bob can't get enough :)

On the left: one of our favorite Indian foods, chole baturri, which is a bit like chili.  On the right... I can't really remember.  I think it might be dahi bhalla, a yogurt treat that Bob likes and which I find a bit repulsive.

Monsoon view from our apartment.

Cute boy riding in auto rickshaw.

Wedding!

Sorry we haven't posted in so long!  Between pretty serious bouts with homesickness and real sickness, I haven't been up to writing.  And although neither of us are feeling that much better, I figured if I didn't write soon, I might never write again.

Due to my low grade fever (and Bob's belief that pictures are way better than words), I decided to post some of our favorite photos from the wedding with captions.  Enjoy friends!

check out my salwar kameez!  i didn't have time to get a sari.  i also doubt i'll ever learn to tie one.

ajay, the groom (and bob's friend from work). per tradition, he arrived on a white horse surrounded by about 10 drummers and a bunch of crazy dancing people.  when we arrived, we got pulled into their crazy dance circle, where bob got trapped.  i escaped.

the reception hall.  it was HUGE.  there must have been close to 500 people present.  interesting indian wedding fact:  the ceremony and reception take place at the same time.  up in the front, near the dance floor, there was a stage where the ceremony was taking place.  and NO ONE was paying attention.  the music was blasting, people were dancing and singing, and everyone else was eating.

there was food EVERYWHERE.  it was all vegetarian, and there was a buffet of nearly 50 options that covered almost the entire wall space of the room.  there were also cocktail waiters who circulated the room, and forced tiny appetizers and toothpicks upon unsuspecting guests.  the fried pineapple, on the left, was UNBELIEVABLE.  i think it was pretty much all i ate.  note:  whenever a guest accepted food from one waiter, the rest of the waiters swarmed.  i guess they got rewards for serving the most food or something. i didn't mind :)

the bride, who was absolutely BEAUTIFUL.  our perception was that indian weddings focus on the groom, as opposed to the bride.  surbhi, who also works with bob, didn't arrive until about two hours after the ceremony started.

the saunf spread.  these are something like after dinner mints (because we all know indian food puts your breath on kill) that come in a myriad of flavors.  my favorite is the fennel.  the first time i asked an indian what they were, he said, "it is a mouth freshener and good for digestion."  indians think everything is good for digestion.  and i guess they would know.