More Questions Than Answers

What's been happening in the last 48 hours in Mumbai has shook most Indian residents, both nationals and foreigners, to their very core. Personally, the details filtered in in patches , as Chennai experienced monsoon rains so thick that resultant blackouts cut us off from the news. I awoke Thursday morning, still without power, to learn from a friend that terrorists had laid siege to Mumbai and were not only targeting locations frequented by foreigners, but also seeking out Americans and Brits specifically.

Chennai is hundreds of miles from Mumbai and locals have reassured us that the historical Hindu-Muslim tensions and conflicts that supposedly incited terrorists to target Mumbai simply do not exist in Tamil Nadu. While history frames the present, it remains to be seen what will happen next; no one could have predicted such a horrific turn of events three months ago.
I had accepted a certain level of unpredictability and randomness in moving to India, with blasts occuring at markets and crowded public places on a monthly basis, but in my mind this is a game-changer. In previous attacks, terrorists used crude bombs to instill fear amongst Indians as reprisals for local grievances against local groups. Mumbai represents a host of new dynamics and new possibilities for future violence.

Will Pakistan work with India in the aftermath of this tragedy or will it provide new fodder for the two countries? Will this attack fuel anti-Muslim flames in India and yield more support for Hindu extremists and their political frontmen? Will foreign businesses surge forward in their Indian investments or think twice? Is this the mark of Al-Qaeda or a copycat organization?
Such questions keep me up at night, especially knowing that few will yield answers.

Please say a prayer for those who have lost their lives, for the families of the victims, and that this violent episode does not beget more bloodshed and death.

Auto-Pilot

For visitors to Chennai, one of the first 'characters' you will meet is the ubiquitous auto-driver. Auto-rickshaws in Chennai are the color of yellow-jackets and nimbly buzz and dart through traffic on their three wheels. Drivers typically wear loose fitting light brown pants and matching top and decorate their front The compartment is open, with an optional rain-flaps for monsoon rains, and the back seat can comfortably seat three. While the wind hitting your face might give the illusion of speed, in reality autos are probably traveling only slightly faster than a juiced-up lawnmower.

Auto-drivers in most Indian cities work off a meter, though for whatever behind-the-scene union/political machinations, Chennai autos are a perfectly open market; one must negotiate for each ride in a choreographed script that resembles a three-act play;

Act I: Introductions - Usually auto drivers can spot someone looking to be transported; one or two will circle, asking, "Auto, madam? Auto madam?" Depending on the age and disposition of the driver, I'll either smile brightly or furrow my brow and layout my destination. Another quirk of Chennai is that, along with the new moniker for the city a few years back, most of the street names have been re-christened as well. The problem with that is that very few people ever truly knew the old names and now with the new names the confusion abounds. Therefore the end destination you give the driver is never your exact street or office location but rather a general landmark or reference point. Once a landmark has been established, the second Act begins.

Act II: Conflict - As a foreigner here in Chennai, I expected to be over-charged but the truly outrageous pricing drivers spit out at me is truly hilarious. After you've established a landmark, you utter the phase, "Evlavu?" (how much?), and wait for a split second as the driver sizes you up. I like to imagine their inner-monologue being, "How stupid is this woman, hmmmm?" After they spit out their offer, usually 175% more than a fair price, the hand-waving, complaining, gesticulating and courting begins. If the price is truly outlandish, I'll usually walk away with a dismissive wave of the hand. If the driver is in his vehicle he'll sputter something and follow behind me, incrementally lowering his price by 10RS a round. Often we'll go three rounds unless he's so disgusted by my counteroffer that he speeds off to his next victim. All this takes about 1 minute. Often you can leverage the appearance of another auto to expedite the price-lowering; though sometimes the two collude to impose a price floor. (in this latter case you know it will take awhile)

Act III: Resolution - After a minute-worth of back and forth you either accept the final price or move along to another auto. I can count on one hand the number of times I think I've "won" against them; the battles are hardfought but I rarely emerge with a fair price. Sometimes the amount of time it takes to negotiate is just not worth the extra 10 or 20 RS (around 20 cents and 40 cents).

To those who live in cities with metered cabs, I am pea green with envy.

Election Night, Outsourced

I would wager that most expats living abroad (outside of State Department employees) did not have a chance to formally celebrate Election Day. Somehow, my friends and I were lucky enough to watch the results announced in style, at the five star Taj Coromandel Hotel in Chennai (trust me this was a stark departure from our normal one star lifestyle). The event was courtesy of American taxpayer dollars, as it was sponsored by the US Consulate in Chennai. The Consul General had good-naturedly advertised the event in the local edition of The Hindu; little did they know that half of Chennai's social science teachers would read the advertisement and cart their adolescent students into the conference room. The hall was filled with teenage girls and boys making eyes at each other as they posed with life-size cardboard cutouts of Obama and McCain, craned their necks to make out the incoming polls on the big screen TVs and lined up to cast mock ballots. The throngs of schoolchildren became so numerous that a consulate employee requested, diplomatically of course, that once each class had surveyed the room they should, "kindly vacate the event." As Americans we were not given the boot but rather lingered to sip tea, nibble on crustless sandwiches and cheer when Obama triumphed in Ohio. Most, if not all, attendees placed themselves squarely in the Obama camp and if there were any McCain supporters...they certainly forever held their peace. I observed that while most Indians endorsed Obama without hesistation, they questioned his administration's approach to outsourcing.....

Passage to India

Hello Friends!

It's been exactly three years since my last post from Morocco, and now that I find myself again in a new country, I feel the urge to share the experience again. Not that the last three years haven't been interesting or worth sharing, but there's something about a fresh start in an exotic place that gets my finger a-typing on my keyboard (this is a work keyboard and its missing an "f" key so I always say that it's f-ed up, that's work humor for you). Plus I really stink at keeping in regular touch so I hope this will partially suffice.

I am living in Chennai (formerly known as Madras) India and working at an NGO called the Centre for Micro Finance. Chennai is a frenetic city and I will post pictures of the roaring tributaries of traffic very soon. Until then, I hope that this blog will (partially) fill my lapses in communication and share with you some impressions of the sub-continent. I don't claim to have a particularly sharp observational lenses but through my entries, I hope you can catch a glimpse of the pulsing, crazy, unpredictable, beautiful country that is India.