The three day festival of Diwali just ended. This is a HUGE celebration commemorating the return of Lord Ram to India after defeating the demon Ravana who had kidnapped his wife Sita. To celebrate the return of one of the most important Gods in the Hindu religion people have big family celebrations, exchange gifts, and enjoy fireworks.
Before I talk about the fireworks I just have to say how cool it was to celebrate this holiday at the house of several Target ex-pats and meet people from India, Canada, Serbia, Hong Kong, and England.
Fireworks. Exorcise any notion of the 4th of July fireworks from your mind (unless you are my family, the stuff we light off would fit right in as would the ceremonial burning of the Christmas trees). Fireworks in Bangalore, or ‘crackers’ are an entirely different experience. The best analogy, and I know it is good onebecause every ex-pat I’ve talked to has independently arrived at the same analogy, is the first night of the ‘shock and awe’ campaign over Baghdad. Constant flashes of light, explosions, skyrockets, and mortars erupted seemingly from every house, street corner, and roof top.
It was amazing in so many ways; amazingly beautiful, amazingly loud, amazingly fun and amazingly scary all at once. Beautiful because of the pure randomness and volume of fireworks. Loud because they don’t mess around here with the toys we call firecrackers. Here a firecracker is like an M-80 (these are illegal just about everywhere in the US). String a couple dozen M-80s together, ignite around 100,000 of these strings over the course of three days and you get the idea. My brother-in-law once procured a ¼ stick of dynamite (don’t know where and don’t care) one 4th of July. I thought this was one of the coolest things I’d ever seen on the 4th of July. I have a distinct pyro-streak in me. Dirt 20 feet and it actually left a small crater when it blew. Bear in mind that this is in rural WI where the nearest neighbor is ¼ mile away. Sorry to tell you this Aaron but your ¼ stick of dynamite would get its little explosive a-- kicked by the fireworks here. Which brings me to the scary part; there isn’t a quarter mile between houses here, more like 3 feet.
Many houses have roof top decks. That is where a lot of the fireworks are launched from. These fireworks, big, explosive, and loud are not made with the same quality control as you are used to. It is very common for one to shoot out the side of the launch tube as I found out first-hand. Whatever is in the way is going to be Baghdad to the firework’s F117A Stealth Fighter. This could be a house, tree, or you so on Diwali laugh with family, new and old friends, eat and drink until late into the night and don’t turn your back when the fireworks are being lit.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
The Garbage Man
Although I’d visited my apartment several times before moving in it never occurred to me to ask about garbage. I’d asked about all the really important stuff; is the internet connection ready, where are the cable jacks, what do each of the 68 switches throughout the apartment do (this is not an exaggeration, I counted them), but I never asked about garbage.
This is not a trivial question as kitchen garbage disposals and dishwashers are unknown luxuries thus all food waste goes in the garbage cans. In a climate that stays above 70 degrees year round, food waste gets unpleasant very quickly and attracts a lot of room mates I don’t want.
So on the day I moved in, this question finally occurred to me. So as I was in the apartment with Stephen, my driver who speaks some English (primarily “Yes Paul” in answer to every question) and Ramesh, a person from the apartment who’s English is a good as my Hindi. So there we were, three people who could barely communicate. Me trying to find out where to take garbage and them trying to understand what the hell I was asking.
The puzzled looks on both their faces when I asked “What do I do with garbage?” told me I needed to try a different tactic. After dismissing the tried-and-true method of asking the same question louder I opted for the ‘how many similes can I think of’ method. “Garbage, trash, waste, refuse,” I tried accompanied by what I am sure are the international hand gestures for garbage, trash, waste, and refuse. When Stephen said “yes Paul,” then showed me how to turn on the microwave I know we weren’t quite connecting. Thus on to plan B.
Plan B consisted of me calling my contact in the Target relocation office as I know she speaks both English and Hindi very well. I explained to her my question, she translated to Stephen (even he seemed amused by showing me the microwave once he understood) who translated to Ramesh who replied to Stephen who translated for me the response of “come.” We went out to the hallway and he said ‘garbage here’. “No there is not garbage here,” I said. “Where does the garbage go?” I asked now that we all at least had the same definition of garbage. I was motioned to the elevator. The three of us proceeded to the underground parking garage (floor -1 in India). Ramesh pointed to an ominous looking, padlocked black door. OK I thought, that’s the garbage room, my question is answered even if it is locked. Worst case I could put the garbage bags outside the door. I went to bed happy having successfully employed all my resources to solve the garbage dilemma.
The next morning at 8:30 am, my door bell rang. Two ladies were in the hallway. When I opened the door that asked “garbage”? After 30 minutes of playing “where do I take my garbage?” the night before the answer was as simple as put it outside the door and it gets picked up each morning.
The story could end here with me being amused at the whole process but I told this story to a couple other Target ex-pats who have been in India for quite a while. They saw the humor in my perspective but then Tracy said something very interesting; “Think of how Ramesh and Stephen are telling the story.”
“So last night this American moved into A702. He asked what to do with litter but called it ‘garbage’. We told him but that wasn’t good enough so we showed him where to put it in the hallway so the garbage ladies can pick it up in the morning. That still wasn’t good enough. He made us take him to the basement and show him the room the garbage ladies throw it in. That seemed to satisfy him. These Americans are a strange people. I wonder if they are all obsessed with garbage? I just hope he isn’t as concerned about the toilets.”
This is not a trivial question as kitchen garbage disposals and dishwashers are unknown luxuries thus all food waste goes in the garbage cans. In a climate that stays above 70 degrees year round, food waste gets unpleasant very quickly and attracts a lot of room mates I don’t want.
So on the day I moved in, this question finally occurred to me. So as I was in the apartment with Stephen, my driver who speaks some English (primarily “Yes Paul” in answer to every question) and Ramesh, a person from the apartment who’s English is a good as my Hindi. So there we were, three people who could barely communicate. Me trying to find out where to take garbage and them trying to understand what the hell I was asking.
The puzzled looks on both their faces when I asked “What do I do with garbage?” told me I needed to try a different tactic. After dismissing the tried-and-true method of asking the same question louder I opted for the ‘how many similes can I think of’ method. “Garbage, trash, waste, refuse,” I tried accompanied by what I am sure are the international hand gestures for garbage, trash, waste, and refuse. When Stephen said “yes Paul,” then showed me how to turn on the microwave I know we weren’t quite connecting. Thus on to plan B.
Plan B consisted of me calling my contact in the Target relocation office as I know she speaks both English and Hindi very well. I explained to her my question, she translated to Stephen (even he seemed amused by showing me the microwave once he understood) who translated to Ramesh who replied to Stephen who translated for me the response of “come.” We went out to the hallway and he said ‘garbage here’. “No there is not garbage here,” I said. “Where does the garbage go?” I asked now that we all at least had the same definition of garbage. I was motioned to the elevator. The three of us proceeded to the underground parking garage (floor -1 in India). Ramesh pointed to an ominous looking, padlocked black door. OK I thought, that’s the garbage room, my question is answered even if it is locked. Worst case I could put the garbage bags outside the door. I went to bed happy having successfully employed all my resources to solve the garbage dilemma.
The next morning at 8:30 am, my door bell rang. Two ladies were in the hallway. When I opened the door that asked “garbage”? After 30 minutes of playing “where do I take my garbage?” the night before the answer was as simple as put it outside the door and it gets picked up each morning.
The story could end here with me being amused at the whole process but I told this story to a couple other Target ex-pats who have been in India for quite a while. They saw the humor in my perspective but then Tracy said something very interesting; “Think of how Ramesh and Stephen are telling the story.”
“So last night this American moved into A702. He asked what to do with litter but called it ‘garbage’. We told him but that wasn’t good enough so we showed him where to put it in the hallway so the garbage ladies can pick it up in the morning. That still wasn’t good enough. He made us take him to the basement and show him the room the garbage ladies throw it in. That seemed to satisfy him. These Americans are a strange people. I wonder if they are all obsessed with garbage? I just hope he isn’t as concerned about the toilets.”
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