First Impressions

Although I was a bit ambivalent about keeping a blog while in India, thinking it might not be professional or something else inflated with a misplaced sense of self importance, I’ve been getting a lot of queries and requests from some sort of chronicle of my time here. So, at least initially, I’m going to give sporadic blogging a go. I intend to focus mainly on my impressions and observations, rather than detailed accounts of what I do. It’s also worth noting that I’m simply continuing on my Senegal blog, at least until I can get some new photos up in the coming weeks and make a proper layout, etc.

I arrived late last Wednesday. Since then, I haven’t really taken a break to catch my breath; I’ve been on the go with the other Global Recruits (that is the name of the program/opportunity I have in India), exploring Mumbai’s restaurants and bars bit by bit, doing bureaucratic nonsense (more on that later), and shopping for our apartments. There’s too much to capture in the time I have, so I’ll go over some big things in a somewhat arbitrary order.

While it’s dangerous to compare one thing to another—particularly countries—in a sense it’s inevitable. Most people in my position, Americans moving here, tend to compare Mumbai to the US for obvious reasons, especially if they haven’t lived other places. For me, however, it is more compelling and almost more natural to compare Mumbai to Dakar and Kinshasa. In this sense, I’m quite fortunate, because while Mumbai might not hold up well against New York or Boston or Chicago—or even St. Louis—it certainly does against the two African metropolises that I simultaneously loved and hated living in and that continually challenged me. Although I know incredible poverty exists here, it is not visible in the same way it was in other places I’ve been. I get the sense that the poor are marginalized in a very concrete, physical way, as even after driving the length of the city I’ve seen few beggars or street people, even compared to downtown STL. Of course, I know that this is largely illusionary, and it would be irresponsible to forget the reality of wealth disparity.

Although I had expected to see continual reminders of poverty alongside signs of India’s rising economic tide, it is mainly the wealth of Mumbai that is striking and seemingly omnipotent. There are so many malls, posh stores, fancy cars, high rises, and other signs of ever-increasing riches. It’s a jarring contrast, particularly to Kinshasa.

A few other observations in brief: it’s hot and humid, but not nearly as bad as I expected, it hasn’t rained on me yet despite being monsoon season, although I’m sure that will happen sooner or later, my neighborhood and apartment are awesome and filled with vendors, stores, and great restaurants (my two favorite so far are a Punjabi restaurant where I get feast-like meals of an entrée, dal (lentils), and rice or bread for about 4 dollars and a Tahai restaurant with great Tom Yum Soup and curries), my office looks like it will be really cool and I will be working in the tractor division (is it because I’m from Missouri) and if I take a sweet toll bridge called the Sea Link it’s about a 20 minute communte, and it is indeed very crowded here.

Although it’s early, I can think of three primary things that might be quite challenging about living here: the traffic, the pollution, and the bureaucracy. As I’m running out of time I’m going to talk briefly about some Kafkaesque experiences I’ve had with bureaucracy so far. For some photos illustrating low air quality and time stuck in traffic (about 4 hours yesterday!) see facebook.

Last Friday we went to the office for the first time, primarily to fill out certain forms. One was to establish our bank accounts; we’re all anxious to get paid, so this is a top priority for all concerned. Filling out the forms, I got a foretaste of how extremely bureaucratic India is. In one section, I had to check boxes (eg male or female, single or married). I drew an X in the appropriate boxes, when the bank representative scurried over, alarmed. No, no, no, she said with exasperation. You need to make a tick mark (check mark). I had to write a check mark next to my box marked with an X, and then “countersign” or write my name next to the “correction” so all would know it was legit. A few minutes later, my signature posed an issue. I have an atrocious signature, really more like a scribble, but I’d never given it any thought. Preserving the opportunity to become a doctor, I suppose. At any rate, the bank representative came over and again said, no, no, no!, this time more emphatically. “Your signatures are different. This is like an R, this is like an I don’t know, M or something. Practice.” I then spent an awkward 5 minutes practicing and perfecting my signature, until she either found it satisfactory or gave up and told me to stop. Aside from slightly embarrassing me, I think the experience might be indicative of how a certain level of detail will matter here that was totally off my radar in the US.

Today was truly submersion in Indian bureaucracy. We had to register as foreigners at the police station in South Mumbai. It was a parade of waiting, filling out a form, then filling out an identical form, than waiting, than giving over the form, then waiting . . .although all said and done we were out in about 3.5 hours which isn’t too bad.

Tomorrow we leave early for Pune, then go on to Chennai and Pondicherry later this week. Looking forward to seeing some more of India.