Let Freedom Ring

As you may or may not know, my end date here in India has been about as fluid as the Ganges River. When I agreed to come, the time period was 6-9 months, which is pretty ambiguous. Then because of certain projects being pushed back, I thought I might get to come home in mid May, as all I had to do was finish a simple remodel project. I sat down in March to come up with a schedule of two months that while ambitious, it was realistic. In the US, we could get the same done in a month or month and a half easy. The contractor himself said it would take 10 weeks.

Boy was I off. Way off. I mean, not even close. Although I had been here for several months and had already experienced one India construction project, and a very successful one at that, I didn’t realize just how challenging this job would be. I mean, the scope seems simple. Tear down a few walls, build a few offices, a new hand wash area in the cafeteria, replace some carpet and wallpaper, and call it a day. Sounds easy, right? Wrong. Remodels like this just aren’t done in India. Especially in buildings where employees are still working. Especially when many of your materials are stuck on a boat somewhere between the US and India. We are swimming in uncharted waters.

Before I knew it, mid May became the first of June. The first of June became mid-June so I could make it home in time for a wedding. Mid June became late June. Late June became getting home July 3^rd, just in time to drive to Kansas for possibly my favorite holiday. When I finally conceded defeat, that there was no way I’d be home for the 4^th, I was pretty upset. Not Christmas in Dixie upset, but pretty bummed that I was going to miss my family and fireworks and celebrating the independence of our great country on actual US soil. Luckily Andrea and Alan promised me at the time that they’d try to throw a 4^th of July party to try to make up for my disappointment. Did they ever come through!

But first, I need to explain my typical 4^th of July, if for no other reason than to remind myself how awesome it is. The day starts around 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning, when I set the alarm to wake up and light off the biggest Saturn Missile Battery that I could find in my fireworks shopping. Why? Tradition, that’s why. I’ve been doing it ever since I can remember. What better way to start the day than to wake up the fam and all of the surrounding neighbors than with a minute of screeches and explosions?! Later in the morning, we always dig out an ancient VHS tape that has an episode of Looney Tunes where Elmer Fudd battles a colony of ants with fireworks. Classic episode. Again, a family tradition that we’ve been doing as long as I can remember. The only reason we keep a VCR around the house is to watch that episode once a year. Later in the morning I usually light off some smaller fireworks with the nieces and nephews, or if we’re still cutting wheat as we usually are, help with harvest.



Possibly the greatest Looney Tunes episode ever.

Here’s where I need to bring up that 4^th of July is my favorite meal day of the year. Better than Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, all of them. Lunch is usually the one time a year mom makes her delicious fried chicken, accompanied by heaps of steaming real mashed potatoes and corn on the cop, and glass after glass of ice cold sun tea. For dessert, homemade cherry pie fresh out of the oven made with cherries picked from the trees out back, accompanied with vanilla ice cream. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Later that evening we head down the road three miles to River View Farm, where the granddaddy of all Independence Day celebrations is held. There we get together with my mom’s side of the family and have an amazing BBQ, which probably takes the cake as my favorite meal of the year. Burgers, brats, baked beans, taco salad, raspberry chipotle dip, all of my favorite BBQ foods accompanied by a few cold beers. It’s absolutely heaven. After our family BBQ other guests start arriving, bringing with them all sorts of homemade desserts that we enjoy with at least 3 different kinds of homemade ice cream. There is always homemade vanilla, strawberry, and lemon sherbet. Sometimes other flavors will make appearances as well. But it’s always homemade, and it’s always delicious.

After everyone’s bellies are full, we settle down for the show. The 4^th of July celebration on the farm was started by my Grandpa Art somewhere around 30 years ago (I think). Since then, it has become one of our most important and beloved family traditions. It’s not just eating and fireworks. After ice cream and before fireworks, there is always a speaker or two. In years past, Grandpa Art used to give a speech and then call upon people randomly to give an impromptu speech on what the 4^th of July or the family means to you. We’ve had speeches from nearly every family member, state representatives, members of the military, foreigners who have become US citizens, and the list goes on and on. The point is that we like to recognize what the holiday is, and not just for the fireworks and food. Sometimes we might even sing patriotic songs.

That being said, after all of the speeches and food, come what I must say is a very impressive fireworks display. My Uncle Jim is a wizard with fireworks shows, and I’ll say we probably have one of the most diverse shows around. We have what you might call three different stations. Closer to the crowd we have the fountains and roman candle station as well as a few smaller things. Just behind that, there is a board where we have pinwheel and Saxons. Then in the back, what we call the “pit” we have the bigger guys, the artillery shells and other giant monstrosities. Jim usually needs a crew of at least 3 people to pull off this type of show, and before this year, I’ve worked in the pit for the last 6 or 7 years. We work in perfect harmony with each other, someone always has a firework cued up and ready to go. Since the 90% of the fireworks are provided by the 70+ guests every year, we always let the crowd know who brought what before we light them off, so they can either be praised or chided for their purchases. Right around dusk, we have sparkler time. Everyone, no matter of their age, has to do at least one sparkler. And everyone does, as no one wants to be the one to break the tradition.

And that wraps up one of my favorite days of the year. So you can see why I might be bummed to not be back for it. And like Christmas, this might be the first time I’ve ever missed our family’s Independence Day celebration. And I don’t plan on missing it ever again.

Now back to this year’s celebration. I arrived at Andrea and Alan’s excited with what I saw. Jayme and Adam and their wives joined us, along with a couple of other Americans. We had quite the feast! We had Juicy Lucy’s (which are hamburgers stuffed with cheese and cermelized onions) which were incredible, corn on the cob, 7-Layer dip, Doritos, peanut butter pie, and even a blue cake with red and white frosting. It might be the best meal I’ve had in India. Everyone dressed as festively as they could with what they brought to India, and we had a grand old time.



Enjoying our delicious Indian BBQ!



Patriotism is delicious.



Andrea and Alan’s driver even went out and found some fireworks for us. They weren’t anything big, and weren’t exactly what you would call “safe”, as the fuses would burn for about .2 seconds before igniting the rockets, but they were fireworks, and that’s all that matters. We even had sparklers! I almost felt as though I could be back home in Kansas. We ended the night with a sing-a-long, passing a guitar around the circle. All in all, it was a perfect substitute and more than I could have ever asked for in an Indian Independence Day party.



Some of our fireworks...I didn't know that fireworks could actually be racist. Leave it to India. You can't really tell from this picture, but the one on the left is actually Jennifer Hudson. Do you think she knows an India Fireworks company is using her picture on their box?

Later that week on the actual 4^th of July, I brought Baskin Robbins (not exactly homemade ice cream but tasty nonetheless) to my construction site meeting for everyone, and explained to them the significance of 4^th of July in America. I tried not to rub it in that we gained our independence from the British about 175 years before India did. Later on in the meeting I had to get a little stern with my contractor, and it did feel a little funny to have to set down my spoon of ice cream to do some yelling. Usually I’m happy when I’m eating ice cream. Not this time.

Eventually July 3^rd became July 26^th, and I’m confident enough in that date to have booked my plane ticket.

I’m bummed that I missed my usual celebration, but some good came from it as well. I think almost as much as Thanksgiving,  4^th of July is a holiday to give thanks. I love America. I’m very thankful that I call it home. I’m thankful to our forefathers who fought so hard and sacrificed so much for our independence. I’m thankful to those who are still making sacrifices and serving our country overseas and at home. I’m thankful to have the opportunity to be truly free and everything that comes along with it. I’m thankful for my ancestors who persevered and settled in Kansas and lived a harder life than I’ll ever imagine. I’m thankful, and damn proud, to be an American.

India calls itself the world’s largest democracy. And I guess technically, they are right. Having 1.2 billion people in your country will let you claim a lot of things.  But make no mistake, they have a long way to go. Things I’ve witnessed here have made that very clear. Democracy is a good start, but several hurdles, some of which seem insurmountable, stand in the way of them being a first rate country. Human rights issues, corruption, infrastructure problems, lack of what you and I might refer to as "common sense" and so much more hold them back from being a truly free and truly great nation. I hope they get there someday, I really do. They have come a lot way, but still have twice as far to go.

If nothing else, being here on the 4^th of July really made me reflect on how good I (and we as Americans) have it. There is a big deal between first world problems and third world problems, and I hope that’s one of the things I take away from this experience. While the average American is sitting in their air conditioned houses complaining about gas prices or whatever else, an average Indian is doing whatever they can to scrape together a few rupees to buy enough rice to feed their family.  If nothing else, India has given me the gift of perspective.  On July 4^th 2013, while enjoying my homemade ice cream and fireworks at River View Farm, I hope it’s a gift that I remember.

Driver Tales

One of my regrets from my time here is not writing down enough stuff. More specifically, priceless conversations and interactions with random people. Many of these happen daily at work or at my hotel, but the bulk happen with the person I spend the most time with, Shyam.

 Shyam has been my driver since my first day in India. But I feel that calling him my driver is selling him short. He is also my tour guide, my news source, my gossip source, my advisor, always knows where to go to get what I need, my errand runner, designated driver, and my friend. Sometimes he knows where I’m going (like to dinner or a concert or something) even before I do via the expat chain of communication. He is wildly underpaid considering all he does for me. He knows all of the secret roads and ways to get places faster than anyone else, he’ll drive to 5 different liquor stores looking for Old Monk in the Monk bottle for me (and place special orders when they don’t have it), he’s helped me barter prices so I don’t get taken advantage of, and so many more things.



My driver Shyam and I after a night at Romanos!  Getting Indians to smile for a picture is a monumental task. So I won't complain too much that he isn't looking at the camera.

 I was shocked and a little bit humbled when I learned a while after I got here that his day basically revolves around me. He’s up well before me to drive into his office, pick up the car, and be at my apartment to pick me up for work. During the day, he sits in a hot, smelly, stuffy parking garage with the other drivers playing cards or chess and probably talking about the crazy things his American says, waiting for me to call to say it’s time to go home. If I work late, that means he works later. If I want a night out at Romanos, he doesn't get home until after midnight. If I need to run errands on a weekend, that means he’s working. So I will forever be grateful to Shyam for all that he’s done for me during my time here.

He is also a source of entertainment with the stories he tells, which aren’t anything special to him, but often times make my day. Things that are common occurrences to him fascinate me. And I’m sure some of the stories I tell are tough for him to fathom as well. That's all part of the major clash in cultures between "middle class" Indians (as being a driver for an American expat is considered a pretty good job here) and middle class Americans.

For example, he had requested the day off on Monday to attend a wedding, which I happily allowed. He was going to send a substitute driver. When he showed up on Monday, this was our conversation:

Me: Shyam, why aren’t you at the wedding?

Shyam: Wedding was postponed, sir.

Me: Why?

Shyam: Groom was bitten by a snake, sir.

Me: Holy cow, what kind of snake was it?

Shyam: King Cobra sir. [said very nonchalantly, like it’s an every day occurrence]

Me: Wow! Are you serious? Is he ok? 

Shyam: Oh yes, sir. They cut his arm open and put stones on the wound and wrapped it in herbal leaves. [it took me awhile to understand what he was saying here...I'm not expert but this doesn't seem like a fruitful treatment for a cobra bite.]

Me: And that’s enough to cure a king cobra bite?

Shyam: Yes, although when they sliced open his arm, they cut a nerve. So then he had to go to the hospital.  

Me: That sounds awful, and very painful.

Shyam: Yes, sir. Wedding is back on next week.

Another favorite of mine, I didn’t experience, but was emailed to me by a co-worker whose friend had this conversation with his driver while in India:

It started when I saw a cow walking down the road turn to eat what appeared to be garbage.  It went something like this.

Me: Is that a cow?

Yomesh: Of course, cow.

M: What's it eating?

Y: Food, cows have to eat. [It appears to be eating trash, but I drop it.]

M: Well whose cow is it?

Y: Somebody's.  It eats.

M: Well how do you know whose cow it is?

Y: It will go home at 5:30.

M: At 5:30?

Y: Of course, that's when cows go home.

M: How does it know where to go?

Y: It goes back the way it came.

M: But did the owner just let it out?

Y: Of course, how else would it eat?

M: Where do they go to eat?

Y: Each cow goes to its place to eat.  Then it sleeps.  Then it's 5:30 and it goes home.

[Note that I'm traveling to the hotel at about 5:15]

M: So is this cow going home?

Y: Of course, it's almost 5:30.  That's why traffic is bad.  Cows have to go home.  Unless it gets a ticket.

M: A ticket?

Y: Of course.  If it stops in road, the cow gets a ticket.

M: Who pays the ticket?

Y: The cow's owner of course.  They have to pay the ticket to get their cow back from police.

M: So the police take the cow?

Y: Of course.  After they give ticket.

M: Like towing a car? [I can't imagine I have this right.]

Y: Exactly.  But my cow doesn't get ticket.  He is already home.

M: You have a cow?

Y: Of course, how else would I have milk?  My cow is already home though.  He goes home at 5:00 and gives 2 liters.  Do you have a cow Mr. John?

M: No. [I am trying hard not to laugh]

Y: Well how do you get milk? [I've never thought much about this]

M: We have dairy farms.  Many cows give milk at once and trucks deliver it to stores.

Y: Wow.  That's awful.  Traffic must be awful by your dairy farms.



Apparently three cows have dibs on this trash pile. Who wouldn't want to drink their milk?



There have been countless stories like this that I should have been writing down. If I had the other expats write down their stories as well, we would have the makings of an awesome book that would give its readers a stunningly accurate and humorous look into the Indian culture in an awesome format: Indian natives who know the “real India” , not the India shown to you on TV, better than anyone, trying to explain that life to American businessmen.

Jayme's driver, Hari, has grown to love American music. There is a station in Bangalore that plays mostly American pop music, and most of that is from the 90'sand early 2000's. It really is a trip down memory lane any time you turn that station on. Apparently Hari really gets into the music, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and drumming to the beat. He is always proud when he can identify a Bryan Adams song, always alerting Jayme with a "Sir. Bryan Adams sir." (I think I've spoken before about India's obsession with Bryan Adams. It's amazing.) Lately Hari has even been identifying different instruments. Recently, while playing a Tom Petty CD for the 200th time, Hari spoke up with a, "Sir. Bass Guitar Sir." Always proud of being able to connect with Jayme and Andrea and their American music roots. I asked Hari who his favorite American artist was the other day, and I was surprised to hear him say, "The Jacaksons, sir". "Like Michael and Janet?" "Yes, sir. Also like Lionel Ritchie and Kenny G. I like to take the drink and night and listen to Kenny G." Who doesn't?

The other day while driving home, Shyam started laughing uncontrollably. I asked him what was so funny, and he said that about 10 years ago he went to this company that if you sign up and pay a nominal fee, they will find you a wife. So he had signed up, but never heard back on a match (I’m unsure what the criteria is for matchmaking.) In the meantime, his parents had arranged his marriage themselves, and he has been married for 8 or 9 years with two kids. So the other day, he got an SMS (that’s what they call texting) from the company from 10 years ago saying they had found him a wife. He thought this was hilarious. I jokingly said he should go check her out to see if she was an upgrade, and I don’t think he thought that was very funny. I think we still have some work to do on understanding my sarcasm.

I have explained before about Shyam's skill of getting where we need to go rather quickly. Since I have gotten used to the car rides, and used to the speed at which we gets there, I have learned to appreciate this "skill". Well, it does come with its risks as well. Last week after a team volunteer event I rode with Jayme and Hari to our "happy hours" afterwards, while I sent Shyam back to the office to drop off some of my co-workers. Hari is more of a careful driver, so in no time Shyam had left us in the dust. About 15 minutes later, Hari points out "Ah, speed trap sir," as he had noticed some cop cars ahead. Sure enough, as we got closer, I recognized my car's license plate. There was Shyam outside the car, arguing with the cop. I couldn't help but laugh. And even though Hari and Shyam are friends, I think Hari got some satisfaction out of it as well. As we drove by, Hari said "10 years with no tickets, sir." I asked Shyam about it the next day, and he laughed and said, "Yes, I had to pay 300 rupees (less than $6). Very high fee! I tried to bribe him with first 100 rupees and then 200 rupees, but he said they have installed cameras now so the cops can no longer accept bribes. I couldn't believe it! Then I tried to tell him that I had very important people in the car, and that I didn't want to be shamed by getting a ticket. None of it worked! Honest cop. "

If I’m ever back in India for a long period of time (God forbid), I will always carry two things with me in the car at all times. A camera and pen and paper (I guess that’s technically three things). A couple times a week I wish I had my camera on my drive home as we always pass something that I wish I had a picture of. Sometimes they must think we are idiots for asking the questions that we ask. Sometimes I’ll ask Shyam to pull over so I can take a picture of something, like a storefront or a sign I find humorous (as in the picture below).  It’s so fascinating as to what they find normal and we find extraordinary, and vice versa.

This is genius marketing. If you are going to buy your fruits and vegetables somewhere, might as well buy them from Infant Jesus! It makes me want to open "Infant Jesus Bar & Grill" when I get home, just to see if the marketing translates.

I'll always remember my time in my car with Shyam as some of the entertaining and educational times I had while in India.

The White Mischief

I feel like I need to apologize in my very first sentence. I’m sure maybe some of you thought that maybe “The White Mischief” was a nickname I had acquired here, and that there would be some cool story about how I got the name.

Nope. Sorry to disappoint. But I couldn’t help but to adorn this post with the title. I’ll tie it in somewhere in this post, I promise.

This post won’t be about cow tipping (which is probably punishable by death), or stealing a tuk tuk and taking it for a lap around the block, or something similar that could earn me such a nickname. Rather, it will be about my first experience with India’s national pastime, cricket.



Enjoying my first cricket match in my newly purchased cricket jersey!



It’s hard to describe the actual game of cricket itself. I suppose its closest relative that I’m aware of would be baseball. Basically there is a bowler (very similar to a pitcher) who bowls (pitches) the ball towards the batsman (batter) and tries to either get it past him and hit the wicket behind him, or get him to hit the ball in the air so that one of the fielders can catch it. Until that happens, the batsman just keeps hitting. That’s not a very thorough description of the game, but it’s as good as I can do without making this another 4000 word post. The batsmen protects the wicket by hitting the ball, and he gets a certain amount of points when he does hit it. 6 points if it goes out of the playing field in the air (similar to a home run), and 4 points if it rolls off the playing field. If the ball is kept in play by the fielders, the batsman runs from wicket to wicket (scoring 1 point for each length) until he doesn’t think he can make it another length before the fielders get the ball back in and hits the wicket before the batsman touches the line.



As opposed to the non-strategic timeouts?

Confused? Thought so. Me too. It took me an afternoon of watching cricket on TV (which isn’t hard to find, as there are 4 channels devoted to it) while reading the rules on Wikipedia to even begin to understand it. For a better short description of the sport than I just gave, read THIS DESCRIPTION. Much more helpful.

Nothing capped off the experience like watching the match in blue lawn chairs.



Cricket fans are crazy. I went to the game with Jayme’s team from work. I work with many of the people daily, some of whom are very quiet. Well, get them to a cricket match and that changes quickly. They go absolutely ballistic. And unlike baseball or football, proportionately there is a lot to cheer about in cricket. Every time someone hits a 6, the crowd goes absolutely berserk. All sorts of noise makers going off and flags being waved in your face.



Jayme isn't nearly excited enough. Could he be mesmerized by the White Mischief?

The game we were at was particularly entertaining. After 4 hours of playing, it came down to the last at-bat. Note: There are several different lengths of cricket matches. “Test Matches” which this was, last about 4 hours. Those are the shortest games. Real cricket matches can last an entire day…..     The Bangalore Royal Challengers (named after a whiskey, of course) were batting last, and had stormed back from a pretty healthy defecit, but our star batter Chris Gayle had hit several 6’s to pull us back into striking distance. After he was retired, it seemed like we didn’t have much hope. But our next couple of batters hit well enough to give us a chance at the end. With one last pitch left, we needed a 6 to win. And sure enough, the batter sent the ball sailing out of the playing field into the stands. Absolute chaos ensued. One of my co-workers who I had heard speak about 2 times in my life gave me a huge bear hug in celebration. I even got caught up in the celebration! It was the equivalent to hitting a walk off grand slam in baseball.

Now to explain the title of my post. The White Mischief is the name of the cheerleading squad for the RC’s. The cheerleaders are mostly Caucasian, and dressed more scandalously that you would ever see anyone else in India dressed. I’m not sure if this is racist or not….I’m assuming probably so….but whatever. Not sure that you could get away with anything like this anywhere other than India. It’s interesting that in such a conservative culture that they can get away with something like this without any sort of major backlash. But I guess it’s pretty much a side show. They are treated somewhat like zoo animals, as all the Indian men crowd around the fence that separates the cheerleaders from the stands trying to catch a close glimpse and get a picture on their cameras.

Mischevious indeed....



Commonplace in the US, not so much in India.



Interestingly enough, the visiting Pune Warriors team had Indian cheerleaders dressed in traditional sarees…..

This would be considered normal and acceptable in India.

Doing some more research, White Mischief is also the name of a vodka made by the UB Group, who owns the team (and UB City where I live, and Kingfisher airlines, and Kingfisher beer, just to name a few). But still. Can you imagine if a team in the US had all Indian cheerleaders and called them the Brown Mischief, or the Curry Crusaders, or the Stray Dogs? Just another paradox that is the country of India I guess.

It was cool to see the sport that is so important to the country up close and personal. I don’t think I could ever own season tickets…as the matches are too damn long, but I would highly recommend going to one if you are ever in India during cricket season. It also made me miss American sports, and going to Target Field on a summer night to watch the Royals beat the Twins (or anyone else beat the Twins for that matter, not a rare occurrence). As much as I miss baseball, I also miss ballpark food. I definitely would have rather had a nice bratwurst and a cold beer over the very questionable looking curry and rice buffet.

All in all, it was a great experience, and was another activity I got to cross off of my India bucket list.