Maybe you've seen the recent press about how xrays can now be sent to India for instant review and diagnosis, reducing the reliance on expensive domestic radiologists... part of the continuing "Exporting America" thread. Hmmm. Perhaps Lou Dobbs needn't be so worried :-)

MONKEYS!!!!! About time! That is all.

Today I made my first purchase on Baazee.com (India's version of eBay which is actually now owned by eBay) -- an English to Marathi dictionary for Rs. 200 (about $4.50) -- and I paid with my credit card using a service called Paisa, which is kind of like Paypal. The seller had a good rating, so we'll see how long it takes to arrive from Mumbai.

There are about 75,000 items listed on Baazee... compare this to eBay's tens of millions. I noticed that one of the most active categories is "Bollywood Costumes," where you can buy used outfits (guaranteed not to be cleaned!) from the thousands of films produced here. Hmmmm - I'm giving some thought to my second Baazee purchase... Hrithik Roshan's original lavender sweater from the movie Na Tum Jaano Na Hum. Hot!

-----
Update for those who care: I received my book two days later, in perfect condition with no hassle. Hmmmm -- this ecommerce thing could really take off here if more people had computers.

This was taken outside "Big Kidskemp" -- India's first department store, where "shopping is fun!" according to their slogan. They have these characters greet you at the door... okay, so the bunny was mangy (but still cute), but that clown is downright CREEPY. Click on the picture to zoom in and see how ghetto his mask is... I'm still having nightmares.

A modern interpretation of Ganesh (or Ganesha) -- the remover of obstacles. Almost all of the vehicles have him on their dashboard... ironic that I took this picture while stuck in traffic. :-)

Indian bride invites substitute groom
http://www.newsisfree.com/iclick/i,72538138,1890,f/

An Indian bride invited volunteers from the audience after her groom deserted her at the last minute. One man stepped forward and the couple were married within minutes, reports the Hindustan Times. The original groom had been on the point of being married at Shivshankar Dham in Mirzapur district when he got cold feet. He claimed the bride, Suggi, was not the same girl he had been introduced to before the arranged marriage and fled.

The bride's male relatives caught up with the runaway groom but, after a scuffle, he escaped. Suggi then announced that anyone willing to marry her was welcome to come forward and occupy the vacant seat beside her.

One man, Balram, of Maklakher in Mirzapur district, immediately volunteered and Suggi's parents quickly approved their new son-in-law.


Will their marriage work? Statistics certainly say that they've got a far better chance than the average American couple (India's divorce rate is below 10%, America's is just over 50%). Again, so many interesting thoughts are raised about the management of expectations versus the pursuit of perfect happiness...

If you've got time, check out this fascinating Washington Post article on Indian arranged marriages.

“I believe that in all men's lives at certain periods, and in many men's lives at all periods between infancy and extreme old age, one of the most dominant elements is the desire to be inside the local Ring and the terror of being left outside.”

My girlfriend’s father recently sent a very thought-provoking email in which he excerpted the above passage from an essay by C.S. Lewis entitled “The Inner Ring.” In it, Lewis describes the phenomenon of exclusive gatherings – intentional or not – that can be found at all levels of society. Inner Rings come in all flavors, from formal boards of companies to the weekly gathering of the neighborhood newly-moms at the local coffee shop.

I found this email apropos to my time here for two reasons:

1) Castes: this country operates as an ordained system of rings, and historically, advance has been literally unattainable. Indeed, I am compelled to think that the reason a land with 1.1 billion people and such lacking infrastructure can exist at all is due partly to the concept of each person knowing and accepting their lot in life. Increasingly – especially in major cities – there is the notion of the equal pursuit of happiness, but the caste system is still very much in effect in the more traditional parts of India. The girlfriend of our housekeeper here broke up with him because her family didn’t approve of his lower caste background, and while sad, he understood; he didn’t trouble himself with the pursuit of the new Ring. (Topic for another time: what American social ills stem from the equal pursuit of happiness – crime, materialism, constant dissatisfaction – versus the idea of accepting the hand you’ve been dealt?)

2) Being the tall goofy white foreigner: the other evening, I took a walk with the intent to find Commercial Street – one of the main thoroughfares of silks and fabrics for which Bangalore is so highly regarded. Given that there are practically no street signs, I found myself having passed it… and I kept walking. The chaos was fascinating (and worsening, the further I got from city center). I meandered through neighborhoods and alleyways of tiny apartments (yes, Mom – I was safe ;-) and just soaked it all in. First, there were the cows – diary cows, regular cows, cows with big horns just moseying around (remember, this is in the center of a city with 6-10MM people – the census folks aren’t sure.) And then the kids started coming out… staring, laughing, running up to shake my hand. I realized I was as far out of the Inner Ring as I have been since I transferred to Stanford, and I wondered if I would ever truly feel a part of this country during my time here.

I am a person who has been used to being in many Inner Rings since having come to San Francisco; I’m fortunate to know a lot of people, and these first few weeks here have been an adjustment in that regard… having to rely on others and magazine articles to know what spots are hot. The other night, I consulted Conde Naste’s Traveler to point me to dinner at “the toughest reservation in Bangalore” – a restaurant called Samarkand.

Two days later, I caught up with the girlfriend of a friend of mine who is also currently stationed in Bangalore. I tagged along with her for a dinner with “some family friends,” and we soon arrived at a very nice house in south Bangalore. Upon sitting down for drinks, I was introduced to Prakash Nichani – chairman of BJN Hotels, and owner of Samarkand, Hypnos, and 20 other restaurant, nightclub and hotel properties in Bangalore, Hyderabad, and Mumbai. He was a jolly man – hardly the type I expected for an industry magnate – and we had a lengthy conversation about how promotion companies work in the US and what such a strategy could do for his clubs here.

Likewise, this past Saturday night, I found myself bypassing the enormous line at the entrance and sharing champagne and chatting with the owners of Taika – the “beyond cool” club that has recently received many accolades. How did all of this come to pass? Casually, through friends.

Midway through, Lewis writes, “By the very act of admitting you, [the Inner Ring] has lost its magic. To a young person, just entering on adult life, the world seems full of ‘insides,’ full of delightful intimacies and confidentialities, and he desires to enter them. But if he follows that desire he will reach no ‘inside’ that is worth reaching.”

From the Inner Rings of which I’ve been a part, I’ve learned that life is not substantially different on the inside. But that is not to say that they are not worth reaching… if by surrounding yourself with good friends who aspire to the same goals (education, travel, partying, philosophy, sports, wealth – whatever your pleasure) you find yourself within such a Ring, then the magic is well-founded and will not pass.

“And if in your spare time you consort simply with the people you like, you will again find that you have come unawares to a real inside: that you are indeed snug and safe at the centre of something which, seen from without, would look exactly like an Inner Ring… This is friendship,” Lewis concludes.

And so, I write this entry as an official “I miss you” to all of my friends back home.

India has fallen in love with Valentine's Day
Hindu Hard-Liners Burn Valentine's Day Cards

Like I said, contradictions abound :) Actually, I was surprised to see Valentine's Day so well-adopted here. All of the local papers had huge Vday sections... all of this for what was/is a Catholic holiday from the third century. And I was surprised to see Google's decision to publish its Vday logo across *all* countries. Being an economist by training, I'm all for globalization... but as I mentioned in an earlier post, it's sometimes disheartening to see such cultural normalization. But with 1.1B people, India is apparently one of the most "loving" countries around - perhaps the Valentine's Day adoption is perfectly appropriate. ;-)

Speaking of holidays, I believe India has six more time-off holiday days than the US... all of which fall outside of my time here. Bummer.

PS... lys... a

Barista -- the Indian Starbucks

Two of the many, many feral dogs that live around Bangalore... these two are always sleeping here when I walk home at night... awww.

Google Bangalore

A map of city center -- click to zoom. Note that this map is the best there is, and it only shows about 60% of the roads and addresses. The mapping infrastructure here is a mess -- the whole society relies on landmarks and locals who you can ask for directions at every turn. For example, here's an acutal address:

The Doddabudhi Family
Near Mahajana College
Jayalaxmipuram, Mysore

No numbers, no road name -- just the name of a nearby well-known building. When giving directions to rick drivers, delivery boys, etc, you also just name things nearby and keep your fingers crossed. There's certainly no such thing as an online map (not counting static .jpg's)

The Google guesthouse - a veritable castle of an apartment building. (We have two units, five bedrooms in total, or about a third of the building)

They say that India is a land of extremes and contradictions… and my first day here was certainly marked by both. I awoke at 8:30 to Michael Jackson’s “Bad” being blared alongside some guy on a PA system talking about how everyone should SMS (use their cell phone to text message) their friends and have them come down for the event. I looked out my balcony windows and saw a mess of tents and cars – a genuine Indian car show/auction/swap meet.

I found Vivek (another Google engineer from Mountain View) downstairs, and he drew me a map of the main roads near us so that I could explore. I also met Akash (a new engineer hired in Bangalore), and he and I were going to walk down Mahatma Gandhi (MG) road to look at the shops, but I instead got a call from Lalit inviting me to lunch with a potential candidate we’re looking at to help with business development deals here in India. Lalit said to meet him at the Leela, and the name rang a bell from the recommendation another engineer had given me; he said that I had to eat weekend brunch there at least once. The car arrived for me, and we headed there.

When we arrived at the gate, we turned off the main road as we would have any other random street… except this one had a guy in full uniform making airplane-style directions. We rounded another bend to yet another guy and soon parked at the front. Let me tell you… this place is incredible. I’ve been inside a lot of nice hotels, but this by far beat them all. The opulence is stupefying – and rates go for around $350 US per night (this, in a country where the GDP/capita is only $462)! I’ll post pictures when I’m next there.

After a fantastic lunch (accompanied by around 5 attendants just for our table, I headed with Lalit to the office here and picked up my cell phone and went on a quick tour. We’ve got enough space for probably 100 people, and it’s very nicely finished. See more pics here: http://jdmc.smugmug.com/Travel/61451

After returning home to the guesthouse, I set out for MG road and wandered up and down one of the main shopping areas – again, crazy amounts of people and shops – lots of Western/European brands have started setting up shop (Reebok, La Coste, etc.) Lots of young people just hanging out. More to come on this.

The cool air was punctured with the sound of a hundred horns, about 200 people pushing at the fence looking for loved ones and/or arranged pick-ups, and a mess of beggars and baggage boys looking for tips. I found my assigned driver and waited for him to get the car. When he came around, two young guys (early 20’s? I couldn’t tell b/c they had such small frames) jumped up on the curb unexpectedly and helped put my bags in the cab… it seemed ironic that I, a 6’2”, 175lb guy would be getting help from these two. They wanted a tip, of course, but all I had were 100 rupee notes (why didn’t the exchange counter give me smaller bills?), and I was flustered and at a loss as to what would be an appropriate sum. Instead, I gave them what I had left of my Singaporean money – hardly anything – and I forgot that you can’t convert foreign change. We drove off, and I felt badly already.

The weather her is beautiful at night… balmy and breezy. I rolled down the window and tried to take it all in… but the air was not fresh. It constantly smells like there’s a forest fire somewhere in the distance. Still, I liked it. As forewarned, there were practically no rules on the road – the cabbie drifting in and out of “lanes,” no stop signs, and lots of flicking of high-beams and honking to warn other drivers; not kidding, the driver must’ve honked his horn 30 times in the 15 minute journey to Google’s Guest House.

Dass (pronounced D-ah-z) seemed a competent enough driver and knew rudimentary English, so I wasn’t worried. That is, until we ended up at the dead-end of a dark road surrounded by construction, “keep out” and “beware of dog” signs, and an outhouse. Dass turned off the car and stepped out to look around on foot. Soon, two ambling “security” guards joined us, neither of whom knew where this fabled guesthouse was. So I got Dass to call Lalit (head of Google Bangalore) on his cell phone (thankfully, he was still up), and we got some new directions. We got back in the car and turned into what seemed to me to be a field of dirt and stones… it turned out to be the driveway of the guesthouse. The security guard came out to greet us and helped me with my bags up the stairs…

Bengalooru thumba sundaravadighe – Bangalore is beautiful

(Transliterated from Kannada, the local tongue – one of 15 official languages).

I’ve been in Bangalore a week as of today, and already I’m feeling fairly at peace with this city. Putting aside the systemic issues for which the people themselves cannot be held responsible (a lack of infrastructure and sufficient GDP per capita), it’s a great place.

I had a day and a half in Singapore on my way here, which made for a nice transition. I stayed near the main shopping district in a very active part of town, and it gave me the chance to adjust in a place that was a little foreign but still very modern, clean, English-speaking, etc. When I was there, I remember thinking that it’s the feeling of missing the little things that make a place seem strange. Like napkins – practically no where I ate in Singapore (except for Starbucks and nice restaurants) had napkins. There were several other idiosyncrasies, but on the whole, I felt that the whole city was extremely affluent and westernized – so much so that I was disappointed. As I was waiting in the Singapore airport to board for Bangalore, I thought, “I hope India is different enough.” I was really hoping for an unquestionably new experience – something that would put me out of my element. And I was afraid that (with all of the tech growth and westernization) Bangalore also wouldn’t be enough of a departure from my daily routine.

Oh, what a pretentious American was I. Stepping off the plane (a little groggily, the jet lag having kicked in mid-flight), it was clear things were different here. The airport is old and dirty, and the lines to get through customs and down to the luggage were pretty long. The luggage took about 40 minutes to come out on the conveyor belts, even though we were the only flight there. Actually, it was all pretty smooth. I changed some money (Rs. 43 to the dollar) and walked down the ramp to find the driver who was supposed to have my name on a placard. And then I stepped outside…

A new friend from the alleys of Bugis Village, Singapore... I named him "Tuk Chok Thien Boi" which - loosely translated - means "next Tuesday's dinner"