5-31-06 (Weds)

The Day-to-Day.

Some of you have written wanting to know how life is different in India. I don't know. It depends on how much money you have, if you are Hindu or Muslim or “Other,” if you are male or female, if you are Indian or foreign, where you live, etc. All I can describe is the not-much-money-for-an-American-but-a-large-amount-for-a-lot-but-not-all-people-here, “Other,” female, foreign, mobile perspective.

So I'll start with food.

Rock and I have yet to cook for ourselves. In Chennai, we have been living in one of the IFMR's hostel (read: dorm) rooms. We each have our own twin-sized bed (I feel like my abuelo and abuela), we have A/C and fans, and we have a private bathroom that is not luxurious but does the trick. We bathe using buckets of warm water because the shower, which is on the opposite wall from the flushing toilet, does not really work. We have it pretty well. We will only be there until Saturday, at which point we are moving into our flat, at which point we may or may not cook.

The cafeteria in the dorm is clean, and while there is not a huge amount of variety in the food, I really like it. A typical meal: steamed rice, any one to three of probably five different toppings, tomatoes (which I want desperately to eat but which I fear), curd, a variety of Indian bread, and water.

Four days out of the week, I am in Hyderabad in a hotel. While I am in Hyderabad, Rock is jetting around India meeting with people from the ICICI Bank to set up his research. Last week he was in Mumbai (Bombay), this week he is in Delhi. We'll meet up in Chennai on Friday night. We both dislike being apart so much of the week, but it is a necessary evil for the short term.

Back to food: eating out when I am traveling is when it gets interesting. I don't venture very far from the hotel to eat. Last week I was in a nicer hotel. I mostly ate Indian food, but there was the option for other types of food. I ordered a burger one night and thought of Tony. In the land of Holy Cows, it wasn't a real burger, of course – it had a veggie patty and it tasted okay. (My experience of India so far is that it is my vegetarian sister-in-law Missy's dream come true. You have to really go out of your way to eat any kind of meat, even chicken.)

This week, the hotel is not quite as nice, although still a 3-star. I thought it was almost nicer than last week's until I tried to shower. The nicely tiled shower doesn't work and the warm water wasn't working, so I resorted to a bucket bath with cold water.

The restaurants in the building are... suspect. But I don't know where else to go. My general concern as the overly-hygienic-American-that-I-am is cleanliness. The place I ate at yesterday (what I call the “main floor” restaurant) seemed at least mid-scale and was certainly pricey, relatively speaking. It was okay until I thought I saw a large rodent descend from one of the booth seats. Not sure if I was just seeing things (maybe the Larium is finally getting to me) but that just ruined it for me. So today I went to what I call the “basement” restaurant.

It is different. There is no menu. You sit down, pay 30 rupees (about 75 cents), and they bring you the meal for the day. I was a bit suspicious when I first sat down. The place didn't look super clean. But I thought, this is where the “average Joe” Indian comes to eat, I can get off of my high horse and eat here. I started getting a little nervous when I didn't see that many “average Joes” around. There weren't that many patrons. The waiter came to help me and spoke no English. He seemed glad that I was there, and I felt glad to be there giving them business. I tried not to notice that his outfit was rather dirty and then that all of the rest of the waiters' outfits were also rather dirty. I paid the 30 Rupees and thought maybe it would be okay.

My-friend-the-waiter returned with a huge platter full of food. He used his hands to pick up my Indian-style bread and put it on a separate plate (both of them, a big no-no in India since the left hand is known to be reserved for bathroom duty in a land where toilet paper is seldom used). He put down silverware for me to use, wiping it off with his right thumb before placing it before me. And he was off. I looked down at my food. Similar fare to the cafeteria food. I looked at my silverware. Still wet, despite his efforts to dry it. And I just couldn't do it. I left as fast as I could, motioning to an incoming customer that he could have my food. I felt awful. I was about five feet out of the door when the waiter called after me in the doorway. I motioned that he could have the food and kept walking, and I felt awful. Bad bad bad, wasting food and making that waiter feel bad. Arrogant American. He was so friendly. He probably even got the silverware especially for me, since most Indians don't use it. I couldn't use it, couldn't eat it. The thought of days of diarrhea was enough to take away my appetite and make me live up to negative American stereotypes.

I went back to the “main floor” restaurant. This time, I noticed that the tablecloths were a bit dirty, something not easily detectable in the dimly lit room. But the waiters were cleanly dressed, the silverware was clean and dry, there was bottled water available, and I had eaten there last night and not gotten too sick. I ate my overpriced meal and noticed that there were no other women in the restaurant. All men. I don't remember seeing any women last night either, and wonder if I missed the “Men Only” sign somewhere. Dumb American. Many of the hotel's guests are Muslim—most of the women I've seen wear black and have their hair covered and some wear the burka, and I wonder if that has anything to do with it. I don't know enough about local Muslim beliefs and practices to know for sure. Ignorant American.

That is not my typical food experience, but perhaps more interesting than most.

The Outsourcing Coin

The organization with which I am working in Hyderabad (in the state of Andrah Pradesh) is a microfinance organization. They are looking to scale rapidly, requiring an increase in workforce from 850 employees currently to about 2400 a year from now. I am helping them think through how to set up the organization and Human Resources function to enable this type of growth.

Across the hall from my organization is a bank. On several walls in the hallways near the stairs, the following sign is posted:

--------------
All-India Coordinating Committee of Unions in Financial Sector (AIC CUFS)
Over 150,000 Employees and Officers in Financial Sector Observe

“ANTI-OUTSOURCING DAY” on 16-5-2006 DEMANDING
- stoppage of outsourcing
- recruitment of adequate number of employees in all cadre
- regularization of contractual labors

Released by: Andrah Pradesh Bank Employee's Federation
-------------

The irony.

I've been thinking a lot about outsourcing, particularly the relatively recent trend of outsourcing US jobs to places like India and China. Very unpopular in the US, with good reason. It is awful for those who are losing their jobs—painful, scary.

What about the other side of the coin? One of the main funders for the organization with which I'm working (he made contributions when it was still a non-profit in its infancy) is an Indian who made his fortune partnering with DELL. In addition to the employees his company employs, there are ripple effects... local businesses that those employees pay for goods and services with money that wouldn't otherwise be in the local economy, etc. On top of that, the significant philanthropic donations of this individual to jumpstart my organization have made it possible for more than 200,000 women in rural India to start and enhance small businesses that help them provide for the needs of their children and families. Hundreds of thousands of people ascending out of crippling poverty is a good thing.

Both India and the States face a daunting challenge: providing chronically neglected populations with the opportunities that others enjoy. I find it very satisfying to look for ways to contribute to that goal in both places.

Points of Pride

I have noticed something this trip about India and Indians. They have a certain self-esteem about them that I've felt lacking in other developing countries in which I've spent time. All countries have a national pride, and Indians are proud to be Indians. But not only are they proud, they are enthusiastic about being Indian. I didn't feel this in the other countries. There, many of the people with whom I interacted were pessimistic about their country, their circumstances, and their future. There was a sense of, "If I could only escape my current circumstances, go to another, better country, life would be much better." That is not the case here in India, right now (at least not with the Indians with which I've interacted). India as a country is a rising power politically, a growing giant economically, and a billion people strong. Indians are proud of their country and what it is accomplishing. And I think that's great.

That being said, I have a bit of national pride in me, too. Ford and GM, through struggling in the US, are growing gangbusters here in India. The Ford Ikon is a popular, high class car in the country right now. And I admit that I feel a tinge of pride whenever I see one driving down the street.

I am sitting here in the Mumbai airport wearing a shirt and tie typing furiously into my laptop finishing my work for the day and connecting to the internet using the wireless system provided throughout the terminal (but which costs 57 rupees an hour). I never thought I'd be one of those, but... here I sit.

I've just spent two days meeting at ICICI Bank's headquarters with the team that's in charge of the credit franchisee roll-out. The meetings went well and I'm off to the rural areas of India for the next several weeks to get a first-hand view how these franchised-banks are faring. Pictures coming soon.

Rock & Jen In India: May 2006


One of my professors in graduate school taught me one of the most profoundly useful lessons I have ever learned: all problems are a function of expectations. Enter culture shock. I don't think culture shock has been as bad for me as it might be for someone who had never lived in a developing country or in a different culture. Different bathrooms, often without toilet paper—no big deal. Not any worse than elsewhere. I can carry TP around. Differently dressed women, different smells and sounds and sites—no big deal, I was expecting differences, even if I didn't know what they would be exactly. That excites me.

Different television—fascinating. I love about India that it has its own culture, perpetuated by its own media. Very little (relatively) seems to come from outside, although India is not isolated by any means. Bollywood is live and well. In Peru and Guatemala, much of the novelas and TV shows came from the wealthy in Mexico or Brazil, some were translated from the US. In India, it is mostly Indian, and many different varieties at that, although still focused more on the wealthy. Many of the shows are unique, things I have never seen before in US or Latin television, and I find that fascinating. Television is a fascinating way to study culture.

But culture shock does sneak up on me without me knowing it. I usually know I've been hit when I have a feeling of intense frustration even when everyone around me is treating me well. It happens when I am not consciously expecting the rules to be different-- largely because I didn't realize they were “rules” until they were “violated.” This is exacerbated for me in India more than it was in Latin America, for two reasons, I think: 1) I was familiar with the broader Latin culture because of my background, even if I didn't know the specific nuances of the countries I was visiting. 2) I knew the primary language of the countries I was visiting. If I started recognizing that the rules might be different, I could ask anyone what the new rules were and they could easily understand and tell me.

In India, I am working primarily in two different states who have two very different languages, Hindi and Tamil. Tamil is much older than Hindi. They have different alphabets from each other and from English, so not much is transferable. Most people who grew up speaking Hindi don't know Tamil and consider it a very different from Hindi and a difficult language to learn. Educated people speak English, but I am still learning to understand the thick Indian accent and different word usages. And I can't just go up to the average person on the street, ask for directions or clarification about “what are the rules?” and expect him or her to understand me. Not that they should. I am the one visiting, after all. I am somewhat lucky, though. Despite the fact that not everyone speaks it well, English is the binding language, and people from different regions speak to each other in English because they often do not know each other's languages. (There are at least 16 official languages in India.)

Rock & Jen In India

Riding in a rickshaw down the street reminds me a lot of playing the old Nintendo game “Mario Kart” en vivo. What struck me the first time was the smallness of the cars. The auto rickshaws, obviously, are small. But the cars and vans and trucks (most of them) are tiny as well. There are swarms of motorcycles that people use to commute, which is a much cheaper and more effective way of transporting so many people down public streets. As it stands, there are a lot of vehicles, but the traffic moves. If each of the people in a Rickshaw or motorcycle was using a US-sized car, there would be constant gridlock. Men usually drive the motorcycles, often with a woman in a sari sitting behind them with both of her legs on one side of the motorcycle. Sometimes she will be holding a child. On rare occasions you will see a woman with a pants outfit (name?) driving a motorcycle herself.
There are no real lanes. You just fit where you can. Huge buses, tiny cars, auto rickshaws, swarms of motorcycles, bicycles, and people all make their way down the road, turning and twisting and skillfully narrowly missing each other. Mario Kart.

Just to let you all know that we have arrived safely and that we are working hard. We'll write more this weekend.