Saturday, July 25, 2009 - Meeting the Family!

This was a very long day.

The first thing immediately noticeable to any foreigner stepping into the Mumbai airport is the temperature. It is very hot and humid. Vinay said that the air conditioning was not working because of the high humidity and that a lack of air conditioning was common. I had been warned by Vinay that I would have the opportunity to experience what a “high humidity” was in India. He wasn’t joking. I had one foot inside the airport and I was sweating profusely.

The second thing immediately noticeable to me was the swarm of human bodies and the random disorganization of the airport. I have previously been informed by Vinay that Americans are very polite when it comes to crowds and lines. Most Americans will willingly allow another person to go first, or wait patiently for their turn. Apparently, this is not the case in India. I have received much instruction in the art of pushing my way through crowds. I have been warned that if I am polite and let others always go first, I will never make it anywhere. The only way to get through the crowds is to push. So I grabbed a hold of Vinay and followed closely behind him while he pushed through the swarm of human bodies.

Vinay had been very nervous about entering India. He had warned me that I could be hindered by a customs official, or verbally attacked, or that I might be forced to bribe my way into the country. I was not to speak to anyone and I was to follow him wherever he went. My expectations clearly in place, he and I were both surprised to pass through airport customs smoothly and quickly. No problems encountered!

After passing through customs, our next task was to find the correct gate for the flight that would take us to Nagpur. The airport at Mumbai, as Vinay explained to me, was not built with any sort of organization. One could not simply walk from one gate terminal to the next. In order to get to our terminal on the other side of the airport, we needed to take a bus. This bus turned out to be a typical bus, much like the University of Oklahoma CART bus. A few minutes later, we were driving by some of the slums of Mumbai, which are located right next to the airport. Vinay pointed out to me that this was where the first part of Slumdog Millionaire was filmed. It was night so I was unable to see the slums very clearly, but they were obviously homes of wretched poverty. Blue tarps were stretched and hung as substitutions for walls on most of the structures within the slums. Litter, debris, and human waste could be seen strewn across hills of dirt very close to the dilapidated structures. Vinay explained to me that the tarp was a slum trademark. Later, as we flew to Nagpur, the blue made it easily to spot the slums from the airplane window.

We continued to drive past the slums until we arrived at a beautiful airport. Vinay reported to me that the airport must have been renovated because he had never seen it this nice. Surprisingly, there was air conditioning. I actually felt the need to put my jacket on. Here are a couple of pictures:







The floors sparkled and everything appeared to be new. Vinay and I spent early hours of the morning waiting at this airport. There was a seven hour layover between our flight that landed us in Mumbai and the flight that took us to Nagpur. I took the time to explore the domestic airport and to write these blog posts. I also drank two excellent café lattes. It was 4:30am when Vinay and I headed to board the plane. Again we went through a security check, and again we had to wait until the plane boarded at 6:15am.

We heard the Nagpur boarding call and walked to another bus that would actually take us to the plane. One could not walk directly from the airport to the airplane here. I was very excited to see that it was not the typical bus that I was used to. It was a bus that I had seen in movies – few seats but plenty of plastic hand grips hanging from the poles stretched along either side of the bus. I have always wanted to stand in a bus and hold onto handles attached to the ceiling! It was in this bus that I suddenly became aware that I was the only white person. I started to receive many stares and whisperings. How is it that a white foreigner girl is holding hands with an Indian? One could read the question and the surprise written over their faces.

The final flight was very short compared to the previous ones. 45 minutes later we were landing in Nagpur. This airport was very small, dingy, and dirty. We quickly found our luggage, and headed for the exit where some of Vinay’s family was to meet us with a car. Niju, his nephew, and his brother-in-law, Ajay, greeted us. They grinned at me and eagerly shook my hand while hellos and laughs were exchanged. I followed them and our luggage outside the airport. Stares from a hundred Indian faces greeted me. Some were holding flowers while they waited for their significant other; others were holding signs with the name of the person they were sent to pick up. We made our way through the crowd to the car.

I was keenly aware that no longer was I in the United States when I entered the car to find the steering wheel on the right side. This fact was made even more apparent as the driver began to maneuver his way through the streets of Nagpur. At every turn I thought I was going to die. There are neither stops signs nor speed limits here, and turn signals are unheard of. How do you let another car know you are there? You honk. You honk loud and profusely. Honking is not rude, it is a necessity here. Trucks even have the words, “BLOW HORN” painted on the back of their vehicles.

Here is the general plan when you drive down the streets of India. Drive on the left side of the street, when you come upon an obstacle in front of you, for example a pedestrian or a motor bike traveling more slowly, simply drive up to the object as closely as possible and honk until they move. If they don’t move, continue to drive only 2 inches away from them until they do. Or, you could elect to take the option of passing them by driving through oncoming traffic on the opposite side of the street. It’s completely up to you.

Cars are not the most popular mode of transportation here. They are almost impractical. Motor bikes, bicycles, auto rickshaw, and old fashioned walking are the winners. As our driver took us through the streets of Nagpur and Chandrapur, we narrowly escaped death time and time again. I tried not to pay attention to the direction and speed of the car and instead focused on my surroundings while Vinay chatted with Niju and Ajay about our trip.

The countryside was very green and lush. People were everywhere. In the middle of the road, on the side of the road, in the fields away from the roads, there were people. Women were carrying water in metal pots carefully balanced on their head, men were walking with sticks herding their cattle, and children in matching uniforms were meandering to and from school. Animals also sauntered across the road, dogs and cattle and goats. In fact, we drove up to a very large herd of animals blocking the entire width of the road.






Right after I took this last picture, the man shepherding the cattle, realizing that a white foreigner was taking his picture, smiled in amusement.

At a toll both about 1 hour and 30 minutes down the road, I had a taste of attention I would soon be receiving from the Chandrapur population. The driver rolled down the window to hand the man at the booth money. Meanwhile, a man sitting behind him realized that a white girl was sitting in the back seat of the car. I smiled at him. As we were driving off, Vinay and Niju burst out laughing. I swiveled my head around to witness what the commotion was. Through fits of laughter they explained that the man accepting the money had caught a glimpse of me. His jaw had dropped in shock, his finger had extended, and he had mouthed the words, “I saw foreigner!”

Foreigners do not travel to Chandrapur. There is no attraction, nothing to see. It is a small town, compared to other cities in India, roughly 700,000. Very little of western culture has influence here. In fact, Vinay told me that for most of the population, this would be the first encounter with a person of fairer skin. As we drove into the town around 11:30am, I was quite surprised. Vinay had warned me that his town would not be what I expected. It wasn’t. Two years ago I traveled to a village in Mexico on a mission trip. At first glance, this city of Chandrapur reminded me of the village. The streets were so dirty. Litter lined the streets and waste could be seen in piles on some of the corners. Most of the structures appeared broken and dilapidated. I must admit, I had not expected anything fancy, but I had not expected this.

A few minutes later we arrived at Vinay’s house. His mother and his sister Nita were waiting on the steps. “She is here! She is here!” I heard a tiny voice cry from a window located directly above the parked car. I looked up to see Janet, his 9-year old niece, grinning at me.

I knew all of their faces from photographs. As we climbed up the steps, Nita enveloped me in a hug while Vinay and his mother embraced. Vinay and his mother stood together for several minutes. I could see tears on Vinay’s face as he stepped back. It has been 1 year since he has seen his family. It is always an emotional trip home.

He reached out to me. “Mommy, this is Amanda. Amanda, this is my mother.” I hugged her. She kissed me on either check.

“It is so good to finally meet you!” I grinned at her as I was welcomed into the home.

The home was nicer on the inside than it looked on the outside. I was soon to learn that even though the exterior might look like dirty and dilapidated, that did not necessarily reflect what the inside looked like. Here are pictures of the home.

This is the living room:







This is one of two sinks in the home, it is in the small hallway that connects all the rooms in the home:



Here is an Indian style bathroom which is directly behind and to the left of the living room. It is used both genders. Most of the homes only have this type of bathroom, although Vinay told me that with new homes both are being included:




The shower is in the same room - there is no divider. The entire bathroom floor is the bottom of the shower.

Here is the bedroom where Janet and I slept; it is directly across the living room. It is also the only room in the house with air conditioning:







This bedroom also serves as a storage for some food and other items.

Here is the western style bathroom:






Here is the small porch outside of the second bedroom where the washing machine sits:



Here is the master bedroom where Nita and Vinay’s mother sleeps:




Here is the kitchen:




Here is the balcony that connects to the kitchen:



This is also where some clothes are washed and where larger pans that don’t fit in the kitchen sink are washed. More about clothes washing later.

Here is the dining area:



After I get a feel for the house, everyone sits down for a chat. Of course, most of what is spoken is in Malayalam so I’m not sure what is going on. We brought 3 suitcases with us on the trip, one for each of us and one full of gifts for the family. Amidst conversation, this gift suitcase was opened and items were passed out. Excitement over Ziploc bags, socks, lotions, even fly swatters! None of these things are available. (Well socks are available, of course, and lotions, but not of the quality that we brought with us).

Lunch is served and I gorge myself on delicious Indian cuisine. Vinay’s other sister, Ajay’s wife, Nina, and their son Anuj, join us. Nina and I exchange hugs and so good to meet yous. Her son looks at me curiously. I open my arms to him for a hug. He shakes his head.

Nina smiles, “He is very shy about hugging girls.”

I grin at him. “Well, I’m going to give you one every time I see you now!” I grab him from his mother and wrap him in a huge bear hug. I’m pretty sure I witnessed a blush.

At this point Vinay and I are utterly exhausted. I’m still not sure exactly what jet lag is supposed to feel like, but if it means feeling completely fatigued, then I have jet lag. We have just traveled for 36 hours and each of us has only managed to obtain about 5 hours of sleep.

We both take a short nap. Upon awaking, I am informed that there is an exciting cricket match to be seen down the street. Vinay and I walk down stairs and watch as Niju and other neighborhood children play a competitive game. Vinay joined, but got himself out after about 5 seconds.

This is also the first time the neighborhood becomes aware of my presence. We were all amused to watch as men, women, and other children began to gather around us on the streets. I could feel a million pairs of eyes watching me with unabashed curiosity.

Darkness fell on the cricket players a short time later and we walked back inside the house to succumb to some much needed rest.