What does Bombay say at night?

As I've mentioned before, I'm here in Bombay with four other volunteers from an organization called American Jewish World Service. As part of our program, we have the opportunity to do things as a group, something that can be a big advantage in a city like Bombay. Since we've arrived, we've all spoken with each other, both formally and informally, about how we're dealing with being in an environment that if not approached correctly could easily drive one crazy.

The other night, we gathered over an article about Bombay. The article was titled 'Maximum City', and was in fact an excerpt from a book of the same title. The excerpt was written by a native of Bombay who had travelled and lived around the world and had found himself somehow in Bombay. He wrote poetically about a city that at first glance would seem to lack any poetry within it. It was somewhat inspiring to see someone take solace in the very things that sometimes make Bombay difficult to deal with. The is a skill I have been working to hone, happily with some degree of success.

After we had discussed the article, Zach, who was facilitating the activity, asked us to take out a piece of paper. Our task was to listen, just listen, and try to hear what the city was saying to us. I thought that the results of this activity were quite nice, and most importantly, honest and heartfelt. When I asked a couple of people if they'd like to share their feelings about what Bombay says to them with the larger public, a couple of us agreed. Enjoy.


Yael wrote:

As I sit in my room that I have tried to make my sactuary, my safe haven, I cannot escape the calls from downstairs. All the horns, songs and chatter that linger below are the city's attempt to call me and lure me to take part in all that's being offered below. Bombay does not want me to ignore it and run to my security upstairs. Its loudness reminds me where I am and what this city has to offer. Perhaps it is a welcoming or an invitation to make me really feel where I am so I can one day believe that this city is mine also.

Zach wrote:

The horns, bells, slam, shout, cut, scrape, put put put beep horn... The city breathes and eats noise. Ever incessant into and on me. Shout, beep. It dares me to find its beauty and ignore its ugliness. It asks me why I'm here, why I care, why I don't.

Every once in a while it smiles in my ear, a child's cricket match. It tells me of irony and contrast, both of which I have to at least smile at.

A droning hum flows through the veins of the city. The street its cappilaries.

"Why do you wish to silence me?" It asks. "If that's the case, then you don't want me, any part of me. Embrace me. Open your eyes to my cries, shouts, horns, bells, crack of cricket bats, music and engines.

This is me. Take it or leave it."


I wrote what I heard the city telling me that night:

I'm here! Hello there! How are you? I don't really want to know, but maybe I do. If you have the time to talk to me face to face, to see me as I am not as how you might want me to be, think me to be, dream me to be, but see me as I am, I'll listen. I have 50 million ears, try one out, see what I say. I guarantee each time you ask the same question I'l have a different answer, but isn't that the fun of it?

I'm only congested if you are, there's all the space in the world here, if only you can allow yourself to find it. If you feel lost then simply try to find me, I'm everywhere, I'm everyone. Even you. Rejecting me you reject yourself, but if you want to be a part of me you don't even have to try. Just be yourself honestly and then you're me; Bombay.

The Indian Fear Factor

A man darts across a congested street, auto rickshaws and cyclists missing him only by inches. Any Jewish mother’s heart would jump.

A woman in a bright red sari takes a bite out of a samosa that’s been sitting out on a street vendor’s display in the hot sun for hours. Any health inspector would be appalled.

A train rushes by, a half a dozen Indians hanging out of every open car door, taking in the breeze. Part of me keeps waiting for someone to fall out, a misstep to take place, some kind of railroad tragedy to occur. There’s no doubt in my mind that it could easily happen.

I constantly notice these instances, these potential brushes with death and disaster, and I come to realize that I’m not noticing only an external phenomenon, but an internal one as well. On the external side, I’m seeing that India is a place that some might call ‘high risk.’ That many things here are without safeguards, more things could go wrong more easily than almost anywhere in the West.

The other side of what I’m noticing, though, is much more significant in my opinion. It’s much deeper. It’s fear. Fear of what might be, what’s possible, what could go wrong. And the more I watch, the more I realize that this fear might simply be my own and no one else’s. The man that darted across the street probably doesn’t think to himself, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t cross this street right now, there are a lot of cars coming, I might get hurt.’ Forget about the fact that if everyone in this country did this no one would ever cross the street. What’s of greater importance in my mind is that in general Indians won’t think in this way but most Westerners will.

The manifestation of fear in a person’s mind is often heavily linked to the culture that they come from, and how this culture relates to things like perceived threats and dangers. There is no question the contemporary American culture is one that focuses heavily on these perceived threats, and many would say that it has just reason to do so. Many people, including some of the younger insightful members of my own family, have commented upon this fact when given some distance from it. It’s no news that politicians, big business and the media in the States all contribute to and exploit this anxiety society for their own gains, bringing those who believe in the red, white and blue to red, yellow and orange levels of fear. What’s news is that this isn’t the norm, even in places in the world where the simple living of one’s day to day life is a high risk venture.

I’m trying to wrap my head around this distinctive Indian psyche, which I see as one that we as Americans might learn and benefit from. To begin with, part of me needs to emulate it in one way or another or else I can’t cross the street in this city. On a higher level though, I believe that life simply cannot be lived in fear.

It is obvious that a major part of this difference in the Indian mentality and the Western mindset is due to the way the people of these respective cultures view their lives and relate to their worlds. In the West, and in America especially, people tend to hold the view that an individual is in control of his or her own life. If something goes wrong in one’s life, the habit is often to take personal responsibility for the situation. ‘What could I have done differently, where did I go wrong?’ are common phrases that are manifestations of this worldview. That people need to and more importantly can take personal responsibility for everything that happens in their lives is what the American dream is made of. Down in the dumps? Well, don’t just sit there on the corner, pull up your bootstraps and do something about it.

In terms of taking responsibility for possible threats, Western culture has reacted in a mind boggling way. Insurance policies for everything under the sun. Enormous amounts of focus on health and an almost obsessive compulsive relation to hygiene. Home security systems. The club. W’s duct tape. The list goes on and on. Don’t get me wrong, these are not bad things. Anyone who knows me well knows that I actually swear by duct tape, and when traveling view it as a necessary staple. The issue is not the duct tape but how one relates to the duct tape. In the West we build up all of these systems of preparation and safeguarding, and as a result believe, consciously or unconsciously, that we are indeed safe and need to continue to do more things to ensure that safety. We learned in a big way three years ago this is not in fact the case, that we are not as in control of our lives as it might seem.

The Indian mind, on the other hand, has been conditioned towards the opposite end of that spectrum. In general, as a result of the religious history of the country, people here tend to believe in fate. In the West the word fatalism has taken on negative connotations; one who is fatalistic does not live life but ‘succumbs’ to it. Here, the idea of fate has been deeply ingrained in the minds of the people through centuries of a hierarchical caste system which was supported by the notion that you not only got what you deserved, but that you can't change what you got, at least not in this life. And though the country is developing rapidly, and many Indians when questioned might say that they don't believe in reincarnation or even fate, habits and views of India’s previous life will remain for a long time, and the residual psyche of days of yore still remains.

Obviously Indians are not completely fatalistic, just as Westerners don’t entirely believe that they are in complete control of their lives. If this were the case, Indians would never get things done and Westerner’s would simply go insane. However, notions of fate do remain a vital part of the mindset here. And a certain degree of fatalism has its advantages, especially in such an overtly class divided society as India’s. I like to believe that Indians who have a consciousness of fate can cope better with the harsh realities of life here. Instead there being intense friction between the person trying to cross the street and the taxis and buses that won’t give an inch, one simply sees that the cars and buses are going to be there no matter what, and one must simply weave a way through them.

This outlook, obviously, doesn’t always manifest in such a positive way. While it has the advantages of lower levels of stress, anxiety and fear, it is also the cause of many of this country’s ailments. A fatalistic outlook taken to the extreme means that proper measures aren’t being put in place externally to deal with certain pressing needs of the country, such as more hygienic hospitals and food establishments. In the long run, it means that the country will have more trouble ‘developing.’ If a person really believes that their position in life and the world can’t change, it won’t, at least not as a result of anything they themselves do.

Being in the position that I am, coming from the West and living in the East, I like to think that I can see the advantages and disadvantages of the way that these two very different cultures live. As I see the developing microcosm of India that is Bombay, I see how certain Western tendencies seem to have infiltrated the environment and people here. The people that I met here that have the most success by Western standards also tend to be the ones with the most neuroses and insecurities. However, they’re also often the first ones to critique the country about where it needs improvement. As I speak to them, I worry. Does improving your external conditions here mean that your sanity is at stake? Or can there be an integration of the two views?

I believe that the West has much to offer India in terms of improving what we call ‘quality of life.’ And India has much to offer the West in terms of ‘quality of mind.’ And so, a middle way might be found.

For the Indian, a greater valuing of health and safety cannot be a bad thing. As a country, India has the potential for greatness; it has wonderful and intelligent people within it. But greater care must be taken in keeping people safe, providing effective healthcare, and keeping the environment clean. If people are able to do this and maintain their lack of anxiety and sound minds, India might one day be a country that the third world might look to as a model of not only economic development, but psychological development as well.

For the Western mind, there is a need for humility. While we know that we have degrees of control in our lives, we need to learn that we are by no means in complete control. Some might find this outlook terrifying, but if a closer look is taken we can realize that it is actually quite liberating. That we are not entirely responsible for each and every thing that happens to us means that we don’t have to shoulder a massive psychological burden. It also means that we don’t have to exist in fear. If I could import anything from India to America, it would the ability that people have here to both see and accept that life is full of danger and uncertainty, and the knowledge that to live in fear of these uncertainties only makes things worse.

If somehow effective cultural transmission might occur, great gains are almost certain to happen on both sides. As for me, I’m still trying to negotiate crossing the street without getting run over.

An interesting twist...

A number of weeks ago I had the unique opportunity of rubbing shoulders with some of Bombay's top activists and intellectuals, though at the time I didn't know the interesting twist it would provide to my time here in the city of dreams.
It was at an event honoring Gandhi Jayanti, the yearly celebration of Gandhi's birthday. Our presence at the event was the result of the fact that we were and are representives of AJWS, and the organization has many contacts with individuals and groups doing activist work in the country. As such, it was something of a 'diplomatic' visit.

In any case, prior to the event, a ballet depicting various struggles in Gandhi's life, we were invited to a small buffet for 'VIPs'. (Being an ad hoc foreign rep of an organization has its perks...) At this small soire' I met a woman who is a professor of Islamic studies at a college not too far from my workplace. I mentioned to her that I was doing work on conflict resolution between Hindus and Muslims, and her ears perked up. I went on to tell her that part of that work involved doing research on Islam, and specifically, Islamic religious schools known as Madrassas. We almost had the idea at the same moment; she was interested in the work I was doing, I was interested in the work she was doing, so why not a meeting? Thrilled, she said, see you on Teusday.

We met the following week at St. Xavier's college, the college she teaches at, over chai. We chatted for a bit, sharing something of our respective backgrounds, when she jumped in.

"I have to admit, I have a bit of a modus operendi... I am interested in the work you're doing with Hindus and Muslims, but I'm more interested in work that might occur between Muslims and another religious group, work that I feel is a bit more pressing." I paused, somewhat perplexed. "You're a Jew raised in American orthodox family interested in learning about contemporary Islam. I am a professor of Islam deeply concerned not only about the fate of my people but how peace might be found in this world. We have something to offer each other, no?"

I was astounded. I had come for a little information, maybe the names of a couple of good books, maybe some contacts of people studying the Hindu/Muslim conflict. I found myself the representative of all the Jewish people in a dialogue I couldn't have dreamed of.

Each week, she suggested, we will meet for a couple of hours; I will share with her the nature of my tradition, and she will share with me the nature of hers.

I came to India in hopes of learning what it means to do work in the field of conflict resolution, and there's no doubt in my mind that this opportunity is a good step in mending a relationship that needs much healing. Am I nervous? Of course. How can I represent a whole religion fairly and with some degree of objectivity? What do I know? What can I offer? While I think that these fears need to be honored and taken into account, I won't let them prevent something of importance from happening, even if it means that I share only what I know I can give honestly: my viewpoint.

Lunch time

I'm sitting at the desk, typing. I look over at the pile of papers next to the laptop, and I type a bit more. The director asked me to have the report ready by Friday, and it being one of my first assignments, I'm working hard at it, wanting only perfection.

Ferozana looks over at me from her corner of the desk, seeing my tense shoulders and flying fingers.

"You work too hard. You've been staring at that silly box since you got in this morning."

'Morning' would be a slight exaggeration being that she's referring to eleven o'clock, but she's right in a way. My work habits here are somewhat culturally inappropriate. I'm not quite used to the amount of leisure here, or the amount of laughter.

"Go take a walk or something." she says. "Or better yet, stay where you are, it's lunchtime!"

The lunch culture here is another thing that I've yet to fully adapt to, though I know that I love it.

Ferozana, Asunta, Manoj, Virochen and I all clear away our work as Dr. Adsule, the director of project Salokha, begins to lay down newspaper over the desk, forming a makeshift tablecloth. The daily ritual has begun.

Almost simultaneously, everyone brings out their tiffins, small metal containers that would find their American equivelent in tupperwear. I again find myself being the odd man out. I haven't yet had the opportunity to begin cooking my own lunch, having only moved into my flat a couple of days ago. I start to make a move towards the door to run to the canteen.

"Where are you going?" Dr. Adsule asks.
"Just to the canteen, I'll have them bring some food up for me." I reply, attemping once again bring something to the table.
"No no no. There's plenty of food here for all, you sit."

Everyone else nods in concurrence. I accept defeat today, though I've managed on some of the days to get them to let me contribute to their managerie of small tins with a dosa or some veg noodles from the canteen. I really need to start cooking.

As that last thought drifts from my head, my attention turns to the sound of metal lids popping off their containers, revealing the contents within.

"What do you have today Manoj?" Asunta asks with a half-joking tone and a smile.
"What do I have everyday? Chapatti and ladyfingers. Chapatti and eggs. Chapatti and potatos. I think today though, something new!" He looks down as he opens his tiffin, and his excitement drops. "Chapatti and eggs, the usual." he says in a somewhat downtrodden manner.
"Raphael, have some dal and chapatti," Virochen says with a wave of his hand towards the food. I'm always somewhat sheepish, being the only one there who's not offering something to the table. I feel kind of guilty eating their food, but they would have it no other way. I even think that if they knew I felt guilty, they might be offended.
"Asunta, have some subzi," Dr. Adsule says encouragingly, and she reaches over and takes some of the vegetables with a piece of chapatti.

And so goes the amazing dance of the Indian office cuisine. Everyone offering everyone else lunch; a fully communal meal during which all food is pushed towards the center of the desk, a variety of dishes for all.

The office lunch phenomenon, I think, is truly a mark of any culture. Here, the individual is oriented around community and family, whereas in the West the individual tends to be oriented more around his or her own needs. I'm definitely finding this to be the most dominant cultural gap, one the I will have to get used to. To be honest, I can't wait to put my own tiffin in the middle of the desk.

Home sweet home

This weekend we moved into our new flat in Bandra, and it already feels like home.
We are in a quiet area called the bandstand, and I actually feel consistently relaxed walking around the streets in our neighborhood, something which can be a rarity in this country. Our flat is beautiful, and somewhat kitchy as well. It came fully furnished and it is clearly an apartment that belonged to a batchelor for many years. Throughout the apartment there are various nick nacks that a woman simply would not have tolerated. The feeling is completed by the decor: 1974 all the way. Browns, reds, oranges and yellows adorn the bathroom tiles and the living room upholstery. Each room has a balcony, very small though, just big enough to open the doors and step out onto, but essential for amazing crossventilation to deal with the Bombay heat. We're settling in and enjoying ourselves, feeling that in a certain sense part two of our Bombay experience has just begun.

Below are some pictures that I took at the most recent festival, Ganpati, honoring the elephant-headed Hindu god Ganesh. If you like these, you can check out others that I've taken since I got here at the Pbase site that I've just set up.