Oct. 16, 2011
So now I was off to Bangalore for this mysterious
conference. It is the event that lured and enabled me to finally come back to
India. Back in May, when I was living with Lise in France, I was applying to a
slew of photography competitions, galleries and submitting a few grant
proposals. Not much resulted from my efforts, but one of the more obscure ones
proved worth it. When I was in Cambodia, I was contacted by the UN’s Forestry
and Agriculture Organization, notifying me that I had won their photo
competition. The award, for my series on the use of wood by the Bozo people of
Mali, was a trip to India to attend the organization’s conference on “The Art
and Joy of Wood”. And since I was already halfway to India from my home town, I
had managed to come to agreement with them that they would pay for whatever the
travel costs were for me to get from Cambodia to Bangalore and back to Idaho,
as long as it did not exceed the cost of a roundtrip ticket from Idaho to
Bangalore. This gave me some flexibility with how I got from Kolkata to
Bangalore. In fact, I could have easily gotten a first class train ticket or
maybe even flown. I still couldn’t bring myself to do this though, and ended up
going with second class sleeper. I did, however, splurge and paid the extra few
bucks to get meals included in the ticket.
I checked out of my hotel room early in the morning, and
went to the Sikh-run guesthouse across the street to check in most of my
baggage into their storage area, since they would charge me less. I was
traveling pretty light and it felt good to be that much more mobile. I hopped
onto a crowded bus, then a crowded ferry and eventually arrived at the
overwhelming Howrah Station. I was a little bit nervous, for I was about to
embark on my longest trip on public transit in my travel history. It was a
36-hour train (if there were no delays) to get to Bangalore. It would surpass
my previous record of a 24-hour bus ride from the Caribbean coast of Nicaragua
to the capital. At least on this new journey I would have a bed to myself.
I felt fortunate to have scored an upper berth. This meant
that if I ever felt like laying down throughout the trip I was welcome to. The
middle and lower berths are only used for laying down at night. The only
downside was that if I chose to stretch out up top, I wouldn’t be able to see
out the window. The meals were hearty portions of rice, roti, dal (lentils),
egg curry, pickles and chutneys. It was hot and filling, but pretty bland
nonetheless. I would usually descend from my berth to eat my meals. When
everyone was done they threw their waste either on the floor or out the window.
I was fine with this behavior in the city, where everything would eventually
get swept up, but it was hard to do this when we were cruising through the
countryside. I really just had to not think about it.
The scenery I did see was not the most intriguing. Mostly
just flat fields of rice and grains and the occasional non-descript town or
village. In the end, the journey was not nearly as grueling or uncomfortable as
many others I have taken. I have always been a pro at road trips as long as I
have something to read.
I arrived at Yesvantpur Train Station in the late afternoon.
It was far from town and surprisingly uncrowded. The fact that it was not the
busiest station in the city did not mean that there wouldn’t be hustlers
preying on the one foreigner getting off the train. They were persistent about
latching them onto me to help with transport or hotel, but I was equally
persistent with a rude, intolerant attitude. None of the auto rickshaws would
agree to take me with their taxi-meter on, so I ended up asking around for
which bus to take to get to the part of town I needed to get to. A young,
polite college student helped me out and got me onto the right bus. I am always
very grateful for the rare person like him that always ends up saving you in a
typical Indian jam. As I was on the bus, it occurred to me that everyone else
arriving for the conference, especially those that were invited to the
conference like me, were flying directly into Bangalore and would be met with
an arranged taxi to take them to their hotel room. Since I was arriving on
train, I told them not to go out of their way for me and I would be able to
figure it out. It didn’t seem odd to me, as this was just business as usual.
One of the first things I noticed about Bangalore, which is
now known as Bengaluru, was the local script for the local language of “Kannada”. It reminded me a lot of the
Khmer script from Cambodia, and I believe that they are actually related. The
first Indians that came to Cambodia to spread the Hindu religion were from the
south, and the modern script of Cambodia is actually based on what was brought
from the Hindus. I also noticed that there were a lot more drinking
establishments and liquor stores. In Kolkata, bars seemed rare and seedy and
the liquor stores were equally sketchy. Bangalore has a reputation as something
of a young party town. Then again, it does not say a whole lot to be THE party
town of India. I would later find out that it still has a lot of progress to
make to keep up with the rest of the world’s party towns. Although it is an
incredibly old city with lots of religious history, it is now most famous as
one of India’s biggest IT and science hubs. Despite its traffic and outdated
infrastructure, it is a quickly changing and fast-growing city with a youthful
population flaunting a surplus of disposable income.
My bus dropped me off close to where I would be spending my
first night, although it took a while to get oriented and figure out which
direction I actually needed to go. I had a room reserved at the guesthouse at a
research institute that was part of one of Bangalore’s science and technology
schools. The room was pretty decent and definitely several steps up from
anything else I had ever had in Kolkata. It was not a surprise to suddenly have
air-conditioning and even a TV in my room, but it was still a welcome treat.
That night, I walked around the neighborhood west of where I
was staying. The streets were crowded with young couples and families out
shopping for clothes and decorations for the upcoming holiday of Diwali, the
festival of lights. I was excited to see what kinds of street foods were on
offer, as Bangalore has a great reputation in this realm. Although this part of
India has one of the most consistently pleasant climates year round (never too
hot, nor humid) they had a surprising selection of cool, refreshing drinks and
snacks available. There were tons of stalls hawking cold fruit juices, ice
creams and shake-like drinks. Although this exists in Kolkata, they are the
expensive exception, not the norm.
One surprise was that in this supposed hub of modernism and
technology, it was actually quite difficult to find an internet café. Perhaps
it was simply because of their advanced technology, though. Nobody needs
internet cafes because people actually own their own computers here and might
even have the internet at home.
Since I arrived a little early for the conference, I spent
my next day exploring a few different parts of the city. I first took a series
of buses to the “Bull Temple”, a Dravidian style temple built in the 16th
century. I got a little lost on the way as the buses were rerouted due to
construction. This didn’t bother me as it led me to explore some of the
surrounding neighborhoods. They were the closest thing to quaint that I had
seen in India. It was calm and the buildings were colorful. Nothing seemed
cramped or rushed. It was a rare moment that I could be in an Indian city and
go for a stress-free stroll.
The Bull Temple was set within a quiet public park. The
temple itself was relatively modest and there actually weren’t too many people
there, unlike many of the other pilgrimage sites that I had seen. Within the
temple there was a gigantic granite statue of “Nandi”, Shiva’s bull vehicle.
After admiring the nearly half-millennium old structure, I took a walk through
the park. Bangalore is known for its green spaces and this one was impressively
clean and well kept. There was another temple, this one for Ganesha, but it was
closed, so I went on my way. Getting back to my part of town on the bus wasn’t
easy and it took a couple of transfers. One of the points of transfer was at a
major transit point near the Krishnarajendra Market. My first impressions of
the city were that it was cleaner, quieter and less crowded than Kolkata. This
market area and transit hub next to the Jama Masjid (central mosque), however,
was suffocatingly congested and overwhelming. At the same time, it was good to
see that this mall-ridden up-and-comer of a city still had quite a bit of edge
to it. Since we were near the central mosque and what seemed to be a Muslim
district, I decided I wouldn’t waste the opportunity to get some cheap beef
kebabs. It is a special treat I try to indulge in every time I find myself in a
Muslim neighborhood in India. I wandered down a narrow street and eventually
found a small alley with a couple of kebab shops. The men walking around the
streets gave me less than inviting looks. Or perhaps I was just imagining the
feel of being unwelcome because of all the Urdu script and Pakistani flags
hanging in the shops and windows. It was a little intimidating, but I chose a
decent stall and got a couple of kebabs that tore at my throat with their
unrelenting spice.
Back on the street, I was surprised to see that just behind
the mosque there were a couple of dingy looking drinking establishments. I have
barely experienced any sort of drinking culture in India, but was curious what
I would find. I walked up a narrow set of dark stairs that led to a dark room
with some tables and a little liquor shop. It basically functioned like a
liquor store that you can drink in. The only light source was from the windows.
The men glanced up from their drinks apathetically or with a slight hint of
disdain. It was about as close as I have felt to Steve Buscemi’s character in
the opening scene of Desperado. I looked around and followed everyone’s lead by
getting a tiny bottle of whiskey and had the bartender pour me a glass of coke.
At my empty table I looked around and realized it was one of the most
depressing drinking establishments I had ever seen. There was no hint of joy on
anyone’s faces. Nobody was having a good time. They were just getting through
their miserable day, letting the liquor help them ignore their demons. I felt
bad for them, but felt worse for the family they might be going home to at the
end of the day. I finished my drink quickly and got out of there. Usually I
like the rough around the edges, working man’s bars when I am traveling. They
are usually the most fun. This, however, was very different and I had very
little desire to go to another one.
My final mission for the day was to go to a mall on my way
home and make a pilgrimage to India’s first (and currently only) Taco Bell. I
remember when I first heard that Taco Bell would be opening in Bangalore a few
years ago. I was intrigued by the idea of it. So when I found out I would be
going to Bangalore, I knew that I would need to try it. It was in one of
Bangalore’s many malls, across the corridor from a KFC, which actually appeared
to be a lot more popular. While McDonald’s, Domino’s and KFC serve foods that
are easily recognizable internationally, I wouldn’t be surprised if Taco Bell’s
menu just seemed confusing to people in India. It was almost empty, and I
wondered if this would remain the only Taco Bell in the country. It was also
the cleanest Taco Bell I have ever seen, with the best service. There was a
colorful standup sign that introduced customers to the basics of the Taco Bell
menu. It explained what a taco was and said that a tortilla was like a Mexican
roti. I am sure that plenty of Americans have likewise explained roti as like
an Indian tortilla. I ordered the chicken and rice burrito so I could compare
it to what I knew back home, and also a paneer and potato burrito to see what
kind of Indian twists would be brought to the table. They were stingy with the
fire sauces, which I thought was not only unfair to me, but also to all the
other Indians that need their heat. In the end, the food was pretty similar to
what I knew back home, except of course with the addition of paneer, and the
potatoes came in the form of tater tots. Of course, I am against the idea of
fast food, and even more so the potential it has in destroying food cultures
globally. Places like Subway and KFC are invasive weeds that can now pop up
almost anywhere in the world and be successful at the expense of local
businesses and eating traditions. However, I still find them interesting as a
cultural experiment to see how these chains adapt their rigid image to fit in
just enough where they open up. My decisions to visit the divey drinking hole
and the Taco Bell were both made based on my curiosity, perhaps even in a
voyeuristic way. And as different as they were, I left them a little bit more
depressed than when I had entered. Something about what the privileged in the
developing world are aspiring to, and what those that are left behind turn to
in their rough situation.
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