Crazy Crash Course on India

This wasn’t supposed to be a post, rather an email response to a few friends who plan on taking a trip to India soon. But since this response got a little too interesting and funny that I decided to publish it here.

Thanks to Slumdog Millionaire, people now think of India as a poor, populated, polluted, and corrupt country. Child beggars pulling arms of the people on the streets, a bridegrooms procession in midst afternoon with the mercury soaring at 42 degrees Celsius, blaring loud speaker in the night enough to tear one’s ear drums, crazy honking vehicles, little boys serving tea in dirty clothes, pirated DVDs and CDs selling in the open, choked-full buses and trains, cars parked in no parking ones, etc. No doubt Danny Boyle made a fortune out of the miseries of Indians, but he ignored the positive side of our lives.

Here are a few regular questions that are shot at me, when it comes to traveling in India….

1.      Is it safe to travel to India? :

As a matter of fact, NO. India isn`t safe. We have 2000+ languages and 10+ religions which result in a lot of misunderstanding & confusion. I wouldn`t advise you to take this extreme step right away. I would suggest, you participate in Fear Factor, win it and then try a visit to India. Sometimes we even torture the moderator who comes in to solve our problems. We might gift you lemon pickle.

2.      How should one commute in India?

No matter how much people say that auto rickshaws are the best and safest way to travel, they aren`t. Their drivers are always on the look out for pale skins. After all, they are in the business of taking people for a ride.

Every auto rickshaw journey begins with fare negotiations. That’s easy to tackle if you know where you are, where you are going and how much would it cost. Remember, only because have managed to talk down the driver from Rs 200 that he quoted to Rs 180, you aren’t a winner here. You should know that no ride should ever cost you more than Rs100.

Here are a few tricks that would help you get past this situation:

a.    Learn these three words: “Bas”- meaning “stop”. “Seedha” meaning “go straight”. “Kitna?” meaning “How much?”.

By using these words you won’t convince him into believing that you are as local as him, and neither will you understand his answers to these questions. The reason for using these words is to make him doubt you’re a tourist fresh off the plane.

b.      Smile, relax and politely disagree

If the driver doesn’t agree on the same amount and quotes you some ridiculous fare, just smile, disagree and start walking away. You will be surprised how reasonable he becomes once he sees your back fading away.

c.       Call him Bhaiya (Big Brother)

Yup, we Indians aren’t very fussy about only calling our own brothers “brother”. Every man who might be a threat to us, or who won’t give up easy, or whom you genuinely respect, or who holds some authoritative position, is a “bhaiya” to us. For example, Auto rickshaw driver, street food vendors, Bus drivers, Police officer and even a possible eve teaser suspect would be a “bhaiya”.

After all, we grew up pledging “Every Indian is my brother and sister” every morning.

Bhaiya is a weapon of coercion unparalleled in Western linguistics.

3.      What is the safest place to stay in India?

Staying under the bridge is definitely not a good idea though you will see 10% of India living there. Staying with an Indian friend would be the best idea. Unlike many other countries where a guest needs to call up and arrive and also mention the time by when he/she will leave…in India, guests are God. Remember, this doesn`t mean that you will get to smoke and drink inside the house. Apart from this, if your wallets permit, staying in a hotel would be my suggestion. The pampering, the luxury treatment and the spoiling of Indian hotels are second to none.

4.      How do I find addresses in India?

If you have the luxury of hiring a driver, that would be the best way. But if you don`t have that luxury, the best way to find an address in India would be to get it written down on a piece of paper in Hindi or the regional language of the area (one of the 2000+ languages that`s spoken in the country) before setting out.

Google has to come a long way to map all the roads of India, hence we rely on a pretty ingenious system: Ask people.

The right people to ask for directions would be people sitting under trees, people having chai at the tea stall, people smoking at the bus stop or people just standing opposite Girls high schools & colleges.

No one gives complete directions and no one seems to expect them- rather, they’re given in broad directions that will get you close enough to find someone else who knows it better.

The instructions are always ‘go straight and turn right` because we Indians always believe in what is right. I would recommend confirming the directions given by Person 1 by asking a Person 2, for sometimes…we Indians consider every foreigner to be British and thus try to punish him/her for ruling us by sending them in the opposite direction. ;)

Warning: Do not start to panic if your rickshaw driver leaves you in the vehicle in the middle of a busy street to confirm the directions from a street vendor.

5.      Does India have electricity?

No, we don`t have electricity. All those stories of India`s Information Technology Enabled Services sector worth 40 billion annually is a white lie. Our computers run on Gobar gas (Bio Gas)

6.      Do people use mobile phones in India?

No, we don`t have mobile phones. In fact, the last phone that was photographed in India was brought in by George Bush as a gift for our Prime Minister Dr Manmohan Singh. But since we don`t have telecom operators, Dr Singh uses it like a watch. We all carry small drums wherever we go and convey our messages by drumming. We have codes for every possible scenario….for example, 186 loud hits on the drum means the person drumming is in danger and 1239 hits on the drum mean the nearby building is on fire. For long distance messaging we climb a hill or one of the bridges. Sometimes we also climb trees, but that`s only if the mango season is on. However, you can bring your mobile phone to India. If it doesn`t get stolen and sold in the chor bazaar, you can use it to check time and date.

7.      Do people understand English in India?

No we do not understand English. English was announced as our Official language to trick white skinned people on getting their investments in India. The best bet for you would be to learn our regional languages. If you don`t know the language, then keep mum. If you have come to India with a lot of Melanin, you stand a good chance of learning our language. There is another way around…if you are a girl and are pretty; you can join a Reality Shows on television. Since you are a girl, every man on the show will come to your rescue and teach you Hindi.

8.      What should I avoid eating in India?

India is a paradise for street food. It’s also heaven for spices. To balance them both, you may want to avoid gol gappa (my personal favorite street food and the reason I wanted to marry a gol gappa vendor ;)) - but make sure not to miss the sidewalk chai. Pick a vendor who has other customers, and as long as you see it boiled before your eyes; you have nothing to worry about.

Also, when you step out to eat in the dhabas (local restaurant), it might be a good idea to steal your eyes against the sights that might want you to run with waving hand for the first flight back home.

There have been times when I have cursed my bladder for forcing me to see the sight inside the restaurant bathrooms right before I ate.

There have been times at a trendy restaurant when a mouse ran across the feet of the four people seated across from me. The chorus line that occurred as they all kicked would have been funny if I hadn’t been so busy jumping on my own seat as well. J

But all this did not deter us from enjoying my meals.

It would be a good idea to relax your sanitary standards a bit, to be able to enjoy the most unforgettable meals.

Learn to follow the reaction of people around you. If nobody else seems bothered by what was revealed when the kitchen door swung open, why should you?

9.      Will I get medicines in India, or should I pack everything from here?

Nope, we don`t have medicines. Since all our doctors are in US, UK, Canada and Gulf…we are being forced to live our life without doctors. Not that we care, we just walk up the mountain whenever we are suffering from fever, pluck the purple flowers, walk back in the heat, grind it to a paste and then eat it to cure ourselves of the viral fever. We have eradicated Chicken pox and Polio from our country by adopting these measures.

10.  A few other pointers to keep in mind?

Foreigners are, well, foreigners in India. So sometimes you’ll get stared at. Sometimes you’ll get cheated. Sometimes you’ll get pushed to the front of the queue even though a dozen equally worth people are in line in front of you. Sometimes someone will ask to shake your hand for no reason. Sometimes someone will shove a baby in your arms and pose you for a photo.

In most of these cases, you will feel uncomfortable. You’ll want to cross your arms, and furrow your brow.

Don’t!

No matter what happens, smile. Relax! Have fun! Go with it. Nothing bad will happen to you when you do, but you will miss many great experiences if you don’t. 

Proud Daughters!

I know I don’t need a space on web to pen down my sentiments on this topic, since those who know me, are not unaware of the fact of how proud I am of my dad. I probably have “My Dad bestest” written all over me.

But since this is a special occasion and I needed a reason to move on to a happy post after my last one, here I am YET again boasting and bragging about my dad J

I don’t remember when he first held me or when I first called out to him, I don’t even remember the first time he walked me; but what I do remember is; that for as long as I’ve known my dad, I’ve seen and associated him with his crisp clean uniform, perfect posture and a commanding voice. He was, he is and will always be an Indian Army officer for me.

In our growing years, we all have different dreams that grow as we do. When I was 10, I wanted to be a postman (For some reason I thought postman has the leverage of reading other’s letters and keep the ones he likes). I wanted to grow up to be a postman, until I read the story of an ice-cream vendor. He always delivered more than ice-creams to children, he delivered “Joy”. Nothing at that time would have impressed me more than that ice-cream vendor and I wanted to be just like him. Soon after, I saw these beauty queens winning titles for our country one after the other, making national news. I’ve always wanted to be famous and this seemed to be the easiest way. I wanted to be Miss Universe. And then an air hostess because they got to travel the world, followed by an engine driver (don’t remember the fascination behind that). When seriousness kicked in, I wanted to be an IT professional, but soon realized how boring that sounded (I didn’t want people to know me as Deepali Jamwal, the IT professional, “poor girl, she used to be fun”) and then I wanted to be a wedding planner and so on….

Well, this post isn’t to confess my confused personality, but only to exemplify how our dreams alter with age, but my dad has always had only One dream. To serve his nation.

Now; I wasn’t around to witness this, but I’ve heard enough, that I firmly believe it to be true. The confident person that my dad was, he knew he was going to make it into the armed forces even before he had given his exams. So much so, that he never really bothered attending his college until NDA (National Defence Academy), and also dragged his friends (who weren’t going to make it into the Army later) along with him to bunk classes and watch movies. The stories that I get to hear from his friends make me wonder, “Then why does he get annoyed at our mischief?”

This is how confident my dad was of making into the Army. He knew no other profession. I can’t imagine the degree of ecstasy and bliss that my dad must have experienced when he got commissioned into the Army. He had fulfilled not only his own, but also his father’s dream. Second Lieutenant Raj Singh Jamwal.

Second Lieutenant to Lieutenant to Captain to Major to Lt Colonel to Colonel to Brigadier. It has been a long journey for my dad.

Ever since the day he commissioned as an army officer, his rank has been his prized possession. He has earned each of these ranks in lieu of his hard work, dedication and a million sacrifices. No one can take his rank away from him. I mean NO ONE. I remember the first time Ashish called him “Mr. Jamwal”, and the 20 minute lecture that followed. He is and will always be “Brig Jamwal” J

Like any other Army kid, we hadn’t seen much of our dad in our growing up years either (except for the picture that my Mom frequently showed us to ensure we knew what he looked like and don’t accidently call him “uncle” when he visited). He wasn’t there to attend our PTAs, he wasn’t there in our annual school functions, and he had never met my best friend and probably didn’t even know my favorite subjects. My mom was the hero who managed it all single handedly, for the longest time. I still have all the letters he wrote to me until I was 6, and it makes my eye teary to recognize the plight of a father who got to see their kids grow old only through letters. One of his letters is still clear in my memory (maybe because I just read it a few months back ;)); it read, “Hi Sweetheart, I heard that you have started writing and I am extremely excited about it. Your mother tells me that you are doing very well in school as well. I am so proud of you and I’ll come to see you soon.”

Such times came frequently in our lives when we had to live away from our dad and it wasn’t fun. But our mom made it an exciting experience every time our dad came home. We used to welcome him with delicious delights, handmade cards, decorated and lit up house. It was a festival every time he visited. I remember saving all the fire crackers from Diwali only so we can burst them with dad when he gets home.

(For all those ignorant people out there, think twice before calling us “Army Brats”)

The first image that you get of my dad is “a strict and commanding army officer” and the second image would be, “Fun and extremely loving”. He exemplifies a coconut aptly. Hard on the outside, soft from the interiors.  

I can never forget the day, we sat in my Dad’s office while he was wrapping up his work. He ordered to see the sepoy who had left for home without any notice. Two men walked inside the door. One stood confident and the other was shivering and almost in tears. It wasn’t hard to guess who amongst the two the offender was. The moment my dad opened his mouth to grill him, the poor sepoy pissed in his pants. We all sat there in amusement as we had never seen something like this before. A grown up army man, wetting his pants J. That is how much people dreaded my dad. But on the other hand, they cherished him, appreciated him and took pleasure in his company.

The day my dad left his unit, his first love (8 JAK RIF), there was weeping, and howling. His men adored and worshiped him for all the affection he had showered on them despite being the strictest person they had ever seen.

May dad is a fun person. The day our unit got their new vehicles (3 ton trucks); he wanted to try them out himself and took the driver seat. He drove the truck all over the area and then decided to bring the truck onto the cricket field where a match was in progress. This left everyone astonished. While all the men were surprised by the courage this driver had displayed, all the women went thinking, “What a handsome driver” ;)

He is a sportsman. Even today when he sets foot in the squash court, many youngsters are put to shame. Be it squash, tennis, badminton or swimming; I’m yet to find a competition for my dad.

As he picked a higher rank, the security around him got thicker. It was difficult to spot him without armed men surrounding him. I remember the days when he came to receive us at the railway station with all those men dressed in crisp uniforms and loaded guns, around him. We always caught all the eyeballs at the station. Clueless of what to do, my sister and I occasionally waived at the crowd staring at us J. Yeah! We knew how to have fun at his expense J

To avoid any kind of embarrassment, I had asked him to park his vehicle at least 2 blocks away from my office building, when he came to visit me. Yet a few of my colleagues saw me getting out of his flagged – starred car and kept asking me, “Who are you?”

It sometimes amazes me to see a person so authoritative, and commanding; awaiting his wife’s afternoon nap so he can set out on a chocolate hunt. That’s right, he is a Brigadier in the Army, but my mom is the commander at home J. It’s fun to watch them fight over TV remote, it’s fun when we all gang up to tickle him, it’s fun to hear him complain about mom for waking him up early, it’s fun to listen to his never ending childhood stories. It’s Fun being around him J

Even though he retires from the Army today, for us he will always be the best Man, Army has ever had. Brig RS Jamwal.

A salute to my dad for serving his country unflinchingly and gallantly, for all these years. We have always looked up to you. And even louder salutes to my mom, for simply being an Army wife. I know you’ve had it tough mom and we certainly didn’t make your life easier for you. You both ROCK!

My Friend- Vincent

He called himself, “Rock, Vincent Rock”. I am yet to meet another person as proud of his name as Vincent. And sure enough, his name described his personality. He rocked as a friend, as a brother, as a son, as a guide, as a nurturer, as a dancer.

I met him on the very first day of undergrad and it didn’t take long for us to become best buds. I used to complete his assignments, and he used to make every possible effort to bring a smile on my face. I used to cover up for him in classes and he would sit hours patiently to hear me complain. I used to scold him for not being in the best books of professors and he would always come up with something funny to crack me up. He was more than a friend to me.

Most of you who know me, would say that I’m pampered and spoilt. Well, Vincent had a MAJOR role in spoiling me, along with Huzefa, Dujon, Vani and Abhishek. One little tantrum and my wish would be fulfilled, with a famous dialogue, “Main hoon na re” (I’m still here).  They were my guarding angels. Never let any evil inside and always kept me safe and pampered.

Even though I was the kid amongst us, he would tremble if I ever caught him smoking. He would find a different corner in the campus every time for a puff.

He was everybody’s friend. One shout to Vincent, and he would be there in a heartbeat. I still remember the day he left his house saying, “abhi aatu” (I’ll be back in a bit) and came all the way to Jammu to meet me J His terrified mom made a million calls in those 2 days trying to reach him J

He believed in giving, and sharing. Anyone who needed help knew he would go to them, and all it took was a call. I’ve lost the count for how many times he sold his mobile phone to lend money to his friends J

He liked playing with his looks. One fine day, Vincent would show up with RED hair and a zig zag beard and would leave every head turned. It was easy to spot Vincent in a huge crowd. The odd one out, had to be him.

You could expect anything from him. Here’s the story that I never get tired of narrating:

Vincent and Dujon were the notorious kids of our college. Always running low on attendance and always in professor’s bad books. Professor’s seemed to have some allergic reactions with them around. Both of them had gotten final warnings from the principal and were working really hard to make it work. They were attending classes, and for the first time I saw them walk into college on time with a notepad and a pen. That day deserved celebrations. In fact, they had even combed their hair neat and we finally got to get a good look at their faces after 3 whole years. We were walking to our class when Principal caught hold of Vincent and called him to his office. Naive Vincent went into his office when Principal started yelling at him for some reason that I can’t remember. This time Vincent was not going to take it. Profusely angry Vincent yelled back at the principal saying, “what will YOU kick me out of your college, I myself am leaving. And not just me, even Dujon is leaving with me”… J

Clueless Dujon, who was sincerely attending a class, got the news that he has been dismissed from college J

That day was both hilarious and disheartening. I made every possible effort to convince the principal, fought with him, pleaded him, but all in vain; while all these guys sat in the cafeteria and had a great laugh over Vincent’s outburst. I cried my eyes out that I won’t be seeing my friends every day. But like Vincent promised me, he waited for us in the cafeteria every single day.

All of us barely live every day, but he treasured every moment of his life. The lyrics of an old hindi film song, “main indagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya”, appropriately justify his way of life.

Vincent would randomly drop me a “hi” and then we would chat for hours together. He never missed checking out all my pictures on facebook and then we would discuss each one of them. We would discuss his life, my life, and our hopeless friends ;). Last time I spoke to him, he was doing so much better. He had almost recovered from his illness and was going to share his wedding plans with me. He had high dreams. He never dreamt small. His eyes sparkled even when he had lost all his health.

The day he made it for my wedding despite the fact, he could barely move, he left me speechless. No words can validate my gratitude towards him. With his shivering hands and aching body, he walked upto me to say his famous dialogue, “main hoon na re” (I’m still here for you). He used to tell me, “Tere liye kuchh bhi karunga” (I can do anything for you).

Today, Vincent is no more. He has left a vacuum in our hearts forever. He has abandoned all of us and deprived us of his love. I ping him, but don’t hear back from him. His phone never gets answered. No one to say, “main hoon na re”, no one to complain about my other hopeless friends to, no one to say, “tere liye toh kucch bhi baap”, no one to fall back upon.

Vincent, I know you can hear me, I can feel you beside me. I want you to know, that you are precious.  I love you!