Hillary Clinton's Biggest Fan

... is apparently a 91 year old Mumbaiker restaurant owner who owns the famous Bombay eatery, Britannia and Co. (As you can see from the reviews, this place is amazing)

He told us so himself. When we arrived at our table to greet us, he asked the two Indian students where we were from and his eyes lit up when they said, America. He told us, after we ordered, that we needed to pass along a message of greetings and how much he adores her, in case we happen to see her when we returned to the US.

The restaurant is an open, cement room with crumbling sea foam green walls. There are images of the Queen of England on one wall and a life size cardboard cut out of Prince William and Kate Middleton attached to the raining of the loft overlooking the room. This, in addition to the laminated letter from the Queen and the newspaper clipping of the restaurant owner receiving a letter from the queen confirms any doubts you may have had that this restaurant owner is an anglophile.

There arent too many options, but EVERYTHING is delicious. The restaurant specializes in Iranian and Parsi food -- I had the Veg. Dhansak which was spicy and delicious. Everyone else had the chicken berry pulao (there is also a goat meat option for the braver folks), which is basically meat with saffron flavored rich, some magical flavor things, and dried pomegranates.... delicious.

We had a lovely time (I feel like this is the stereotypical quaint saying, which meant I HAD to say it in this occasion, what with British themes and all. Yeah ok, I'm a dork).

In other news... One more day of class this week before we head to the Ajunta and Ellora caves this weekend. A 7 hour train ride into the countryside.... but it's going to be COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY worth it. Seriously, look at the pictures I just linked to. I cant wait to add photos here for you to see.

And then I have 3 more days of class... and I'll be home next Thursday! Pretty wild. This last part has gone really quickly. Which means I've been working on a crazy combination of Colombia work and closing up my project on informal economies and Dharavi. I'm thinking about adding my findings to my blog somehow... but that might be weird. I'll keep you posted.

Life Wish.

I wish to always be a student of the world.

And by that extremely vague and idealistic statement, I mean I hope that I will always find/make time to walk down streets I've never been down before, people watch, and experience new cities wherever I may find myself in the future.

Now back to planning out my job for the year after graduation that will let me do that...

Life Advice From Ashish

This is Ashish. Our local guide/mentor/professor/generally present life force.

He also occasionally gives us life predictions.

My most recent one was this morning: he looked at the henna print on my hand, and warned me that my future spouse will not be faithful.

The basis of this claim?

Henna can be darker or lighter depending on how long you leave it on, but also depending on how well your skin absorbs the dye. I keep my hands soft and exfoliated based on my usual activities, and as a result my henna dye was a lighter shade than is *preferred*

which means... infidelity in my future. 

Interesting claims. And here, I just thought the pattern stamped on my hands was cool!

To the Women Street Vendors in Colaba

I purposely look for the women on the causeway (this is a long street in Colaba where street vendors gather to sell their wares everyday. You can find anything from the harem/"genie" pants, to wooden elephants, to henna, stamps, silver rings, metal glittery bangles, shoes, (occasionally pirated DVDs... though these are mostly in Fort, along with the roadside used Dildo stands [yep. So many reasons that is an uncomfortable and, naturally, dark alley to walk through when we walk back home from Fort])... etc.

I look for the women for several reasons. Let me get the #fairtradeshadegrownveganhipster reason out of the way first. One: Statistically, women working as street vendors in India are very likely to be the sole breadwinners for their households/families. A few of the women I've found and slowly befriended are supporting themselves and themselves alone, but as far as I can tell, a few of the others also seem to be supporting their kids. There is a lot of incentive for women to enter the informal economy because there are lower barriers to entry, women can earn the same wages as men when they are self-employed, and there is less (definitely still some... but less) gendered-based job discrimination.

I keep running into the old woman who sold me my jingling anklets. She smiles at me now and winks. It's good to see, because she is usually huddled into a corner looking a little frightened that people in the sea of legs around her might step on her or the blanket she uses to show her wares. She's tiny and wears a green sari with blue and yellow stripes, the top of it draped over her head. Her hands and feet are tiny, but she is a very effective saleswoman: She catches you looking, grins the most mischievous, charming... enchanting! smile, looks at what you pick up for a moment and then quickly picks something better, hooks it around your one ankle and then the other and perfects it. All before you notice what is going on... But here's the thing: She picks something that works for you better than you would have for yourself. Truly. And I pride myself on being a designer/very set in my fashion decisions. So this woman is clearly good at her job. She may also just know that I am not so secretly in ADORATION for her, and will seek her out to make sure she is there whenever I walk the street. For whatever reason, her face will always stay in my mind. And the music in my step (but actually). 

Two:  When you ask them for an opinion, these ladies give it to you straight. 

Which is how I run the show too, so I appreciate it. You say, ooh I like that (stamp/book/etc) and they'll say... yeah it's ok but here's a better one for the same price. Unlike the men who look at me, think HAHA GLORIOUS IT'S A DUMB WHITE CHICK and then try to sell me things at a 500% mark up (woo woo), they'll cheat me at a more reasonable level and then dont try to flirt with me when we bargain. They realize, believe it or not, I dont actually visit street stalls to flirt with/pick up men. Not really my scene. So I appreciate the interaction as business partners that I get from the women.

Three: There are less of them. They are competing with loud, aggressive, and actively seeking men who wink, call and touch you to try and get you to look on their wares. Women dont do that. As someone who wishes EVERYDAY that I could blend into the wall and walk down the street unnoticed, like I do in the US, this is golden. I see you and reward your patience. Mostly because it makes me so much more comfortable when I talk to you. It's a little overwhelming when you are uncomfortable because you are bargaining and you are trying not to be grossed out by someone making a pass at you. The number of times I've answered: No I dont know where I live/I dont want your number/erm... haha... um NO. is astounding. 

Four: They sometimes have better taste than I do. As seen by the henna print that the woman printed on my hand yesterday with wooden stamps. I started to pick my own, which she took out of my hands and replaced with her favorites. And friends, they are far better than what I was looking at.

As proof by the fact that my entire body is now covered with semi-permanent prints in gorgeous paisley henna designs. I look a little bit like an overzealous human paisley scarf, but I LOVE IT.

Because I can.

Twisting Blade of Guilt

We went out this evening. A big group of us. Local students, a few of my American friends...

We sat on a roof top far off the street, looking over the water and the gate of India, enjoying the breeze and laughing together over strange stories about our class and gin and tonics. We sat for hours sharing stories about India and me about Latin America and Mexico...

And then we piled into a cab to go to a night club where women appeared in designer shoes and diamond necklaces.

And a little girl in an oversized dress and wide eyes like my own when I was her age crept through the sea of long, exposed high heeled legs and trousers. Her hands cupped to her mouth. She looked overwhelmed and sad. Everyone ignored her except me. We made eye contact and she looked close to tears. I couldnt tear my eyes away until someone stepped on me and I turned away.

She pulled on the scarf I had draped over my shoulders (to make my outfit more conservative and cover me from wrists to ankles). Two quick tugs, and I looked down to her small hand, extended away from her face and towards me. Eyes wide and expecting. Something, anything, really.

I saw her amid the sea of Indian men and women in their finery, and she stood there between their legs. Looking for anyone who would acknowledge her and see her as a person rather than an invisible being.

My iron mask almost cracked. I almost gave in and gave her whatever I had on me. I felt it cracking. I stared back down at her and saw an almost exact copy of my face when I was her age. Wide eyed. Short, jaw length hair. Curiosity and fire and that treacherous feeling of hope when there isnt anything else to hold onto.

My friend grabbed my wrist and dragged me off, breaking the spell. But I left her there, in a sea of legs and wishes, alone.

My own twisting blade of guilt, from those moments where the mask I wear every day to feel nothing when I go out in the street and do what I need to do here, is creaking. Quietly but twisting.

It just kept twisting while we walked past the rows of sleeping bodies, some under blankets, some beside their loved ones, and others curled into fetal positions on the sidewalk, alone, leaning against a fence.

The street was finally quiet. There was peace in Colaba. No one stared at me, they just rested. Everyone was going home and it was all clearing out.. one foot step at a time.

How can all of this exist?

Hand Prints on the Causeway

Ada and I walked down the Causeway in Colaba today and found a woman selling wooden block stamps. She took my hand and started stamping it with a black ink, which she washed off 10 minutes later... leaving behind the print you see here.

This is red henna ink. I purchased the blocks she used here for $3 and the ink for another $1 so that I could recreate this again later.

As Ada put it, "fun girlie activities" Diana style! 

The Politics of Wireless Internet

Curious, you might think as you read the title of this entry. But let me tell you, this is a very real issue in this city.

Wireless internet is a secret, hoarded treasure in this city. Restaurants arbitrarily deny you use of it some days and not others. They change their internet passwords every day, they turn it on and off depending on the hour, and instead of telling you to leave they will switch off the wifi without saying anything.

We also had a lovely series of interactions with Tata, one of the wireless companies, which promised unlimited internet use on one of their services when we wanted to buy a different one which was ACTUALLY unlimited. Apparently, they can only adjust plans around certain billing dates for our internet keys. As a result, my internet randomly still works while the other keys dont... I get closer and closer to using up my internet access every day too...

The politics of wifi. I never thought I would be talking about this. People use wifi to attract customers and then when there are many of them, they get rid of it. Sites in my guidebook that promised wifi no longer offer it.

When I was preparing to come to Bombay, I assumed it wouldnt be a problem. My first week here was a nightmarish quest through the entire city looking for somewhere to connect. I ended up at a sticky computer in a tiny cubicle in the back of an internet cafe alerting my parents that I had arrived, was fine, and my phone here doesnt really work.

For a country praised for its advancements in tech... this is surprising. We're in the financial capital of the country, and we couldnt find spaces to connect to the rest of the world.

I refer to this as the politics of wifi, because it is tied in with the separation of so many things again. All of the students in my class are middle class Indian college students. Most of them go home and have wifi in their homes.

As a foreigner seeking wifi to finish research projects, never has my time on this machine been so prized and so carefully planned out. The divide between the work I need to get done through online sources and the work I am able to get done is growing every day. I am one of the lucky ones, in that my project and proposal are based mostly on my field work. My research is outside, physically experiencing the space and talking to people. If I didnt have that, I'm not sure what else I would do.

I think we've all realized how dependent we've become on internet access for information. I enjoy coming home in the evenings and scanning through the newspapers I read every day for things I want to learn more about or my topics of choice. Here the choice doesnt really exist.

I spent last summer advocating for internet based services and education in rural areas... but that wouldnt work here even in the city. When anyone outside of the middle class, who can go to a tata store and work out some negotiated and semi-functional deal with them, wants to use internet... where do they go? Where are they introduced to it?

It's made me want to learn more about access in schools, especially in Dharavi where I suspect there is limited infrastructure for these services. Then again, it always surprises me.