A BAD DAY: How the dirty job is done!

It was one of those moments in life when the truth suddenly hits you in the face and you know your perception of certain things will never be the same. I was in my car commuting to work as usual, when I saw a worker being lowered in a manhole (or was it a sewer?) by a few others. He had stripped down to his underwear, and all he had for protection was a belt across his chest, attached to the rope, which was meant to lower him into the hole. No protective gear. No gloves. No helmet. No torch. No gum boots. No mask against the gases and stench down there. Wearing his own personal underwear bought with his own money. Obviously the other choice would have been his own clothes – and looking at the guy I am sure he doesn’t have that many. This is when it occurred to me that I have never seen a municipality worker – be it a sweeper or other, wearing work clothes or a uniform provided by the municipality (the most “impressive” feature I have seen in this regard is the light-reflective vests of the cleaners of the JJ flyover). I also remembered an exhibition of photographs held at a past Kala Ghoda festival, which my merciful brain had made me forget: It was about those who are in charge of cleaning Mumbai’s sewers. No visual detail was spared about the atrocities they have to wade through every day, the kind of waste they have to deal with, touch with their bare hands and then wash off in their own bathrooms (well, I guess it would be too much to even think that the municipality would give them service bathrooms. But hey, they should be happy they have a job at all, right?). So this is what really hit me: Yes, as tax payers we have all the right to complain about the bad conditions of our city, the dirt, the overflowing sewers. But what do we really expect if the dirty work is done by people like these, devoid of dignity, paid peanuts, and without even the simplest protective devices? No self-respecting wageworker in any developed country would have even considered going “down the drain” in his underwear, and what’s more, if asked, he would have slapped the respective authorities with a serious lawsuit. Not to speak about the outburst of public anger that would have swept the media.

Other examples:

- ladies sweep the roads in their own saris

- they are made to use very short brooms, so they have to be bent in two all the time

- in the absence of a broom, they are given two broken pieces of cardboard to squeeze rubbish into!

- on construction sites, women carry loads on their heads, men don't wear protective goggles when working with machines, and their kids are all over

- workers are made to step bare-footed in all kinds of stuff, including tar

- temporary road workers are "accomodated" in shanties, basically, they sleep on the street

- I have always wondered - why can't they work at night, when it's cooler?

HOW MUCH MORE CRUELER CAN WE GET??????????

A GOOD DAY: It's a dog's life!

Suresh hardly looks like a super human, but his life is somehow like an epic hero from a cartoon book. A company employee by day, at night he turns into a stray dogs rescuer. While other Mumbaiites are sleeping or partying, he treats wounds, answers emergency calls, cleans fleas and ticks, checks upon the “regulars”. On weekends, he conducts awareness programs in Dharavi (Asia's biggest slum). And dismisses my admiration with a simple “Someone has to do it, no?”

I met him for the first time when I needed help with an injured dog in my colony. And I never forgot the way he picked her up despite the foul smell of her wounds and the blood. I had never seen such a combination of compassion and cool professionalism. But this is all the Welfare of Stray Dogs is about.

Abodh, CEO of the WSD left a promising career to head the organization. An MBA from ITM Mumbai, he was the Customer Service Manager of DHL, on his way of becoming a Business Manager. One day he left it all, to everyone’s disbelief. The result of Abodh’s leadership is one of the most admired NGOs in Mumbai, providing first aid; programs for sterilization; immunization; adoption; education and awareness at schools, colleges and slums; rabies awareness and eradication. Counting 150 dedicated, unique individuals.

Daisy, a designer, heads the adoption program. Keith works at Mitsubishi, but volunteers every Saturday morning and lends them his four wheels. Pooja attends to customers during long hours at a call center and dedicates her free time to the cause. Prerna is a student… The list goes on… And then there is the fabulous secret weapon of the WSD - Dr Padam, a homeopath, who treats strays for free in her Saturday pet clinic and also attends to dogs in WSD’s kennel at Mahalaxhmi. This petite soft-spoken lady has treated humans, dogs and even a crocodile… She has cured a dog from distemper, a normally fatal disease, another dog from his injuries from a high rise fall, prescribes drops that delay cataract... She makes most of the lotions and potions in the volunteer’s first-aid kits. And homeopathy works wonders with dogs, it seems!

The dog’s personalities and backgrounds are as various as those of the volunteers. Sick and weak, Kalu landed up at Daisy’s home. With homeopathy, he completely recovered. Still looking miserable and suffering from convulsions, he made the stairs of Regal cinema his home. His looks make people call the WSD at least once daily. But beneath a weak exterior, Kalu is quite a character. His hobby is following people and has been spotted at places as remote as Nariman Point, Fountain, Churchgate, Marine Drive, Eros cinema. This wonderer now has a collar stating his “address” and that he is under WSD’s protection.

Ramesh is a 17 years old (he may not be alive anymore at the time you read this) who “preferred” sitting only on imported cars in his younger days. His “owners” – a family living on the pavement “adopted” him when their daughter was one. She is 18 now. They religiously administer the vitamins and other medication that Abodh leaves and call the WSD if there is a problem. “Yes, we live in a merciless city, but for every case of cruelty, I encounter 10 cases of compassion,” says Abodh. “Cruelty often stems from ignorance. People in Dharavi stone ill dogs scared that they will pass on diseases to their children or that they represent “evil”. But when they see Suresh treating the dogs, they help us themselves and call us when there is a problem. Every stray you see on the road has a “family” and mostly these are poor people taking care of the dogs as if they were their own.”

Like Arvind the shoe shiner at Eros cinema, who has 4-5 dogs around him at all times. He names them all after movies. Pretty (after “Pretty Woman”) is a sweet natured, fat yellow stray, suffering from incontinence. Then there is Tippu (Sultan), Bond (like the 007 agent) and of course Hrithik (Roshan, one of Bollywood's hottest actors!).

Or the dhaba workers behind Mantrayala who have “adopted” Sweetie and called the WSD for help when a car hit her. Or the countless people who have dropped Kalu back to his “home” at Regal in taxis, their own cars or scooters. Or the jain gentleman, a driver of a school bus who adopted Kareena, found in a garbage dump, and took her on the bus every day to hers and the children’s greatest delight. The heartwarming examples never end. And make me feel GOOD being a part of this city.

A naan to remember

I used to be quite a kitchen goddess and I could whip up a gourmet meal in the matter of minutes. But I have somehow lost this vibe, especially with Indian cuisine. Being a “firang” I am still not used to the long and complicated preparations. My husband had whined and nagged for a very long time for a homemade naan (a delicious, fluffy Indian bread). And when one evening we ordered an Indian meal in, I felt a surge of inspiration and (completely baseless) self-confidence, and headed to the kitchen to make my first naan. However, consider this: we were both really hungry and the food was arriving in half an hour; I had never even read the recipe for naan… What was I thinking? Exactly!!!
I opened a book and found the recipe – goodie! I had all the ingredients, down to the yeast! Hmmm. Has to rest for at least 2 hours? Well, let’s just see what happens… I started mixing and kneading energetically. Already during this process I could feel that something was not right, and that the consistency was too sticky. However, not willing to admit defeat, I decided to go further. To put chances on my side, I decided to bake one batch, and roast the other on a tawa. After I finished mixing, I started shaping the separate naans. Yes, the consistency was, indeed, too sticky, and I could not achieve the typical long shape. This was my second chance to admit defeat and call the restaurant to throw in naans into our order. But no! I decided, let’s make “mini naans” instead. Don’t know what this is? Me either!
I proceeded to cook the little gooey blobs which, by this time, have acquired a sickly grayish colour. The ones on the tawa obliged a little, but the middle just refused to cook, no matter how furiously I pressed them against the hot surface. The ones in the oven, even after 25 minutes, remained shapeless and too soft, until the bottom finally burnt. By that time, I took out the white flag and decided to break the bad news to my hubby: “No naans tonight, honey!” In a surge of appreciation for my effort, he nevertheless insisted that I bring the naans to the table so that he can “at least try a bite”… Well now you would say – I can’t be THAT foolish! You know about men and love passing through the stomach, etc… But I did bring them to the table. And I have still not forgotten the look on his face. It all finished with a good laugh, but needless to say, he has never asked me to make naans again!

On the picture: THIS is how a perfect naan should look like!

India is a great place to get creative

... although it is tough to deal with tailors, craftsmen, etc. But the beautiful fabrics, value-for-money materials and help you can get, makes it the perfect place to try your hand at these craft projects you always wanted to learn... Or something more ambitious. Like Gurtaj's aunt who is a designer in her own right in Chandigarh. Pictured here, two of her latest creations.

All roads lead back home...

We can talk about the world becoming a global village as much as we want. We can talk about cultures transcending barriers and merging. We can talk about our ability to adapt till we become hoarse. But let me tell you something: I have realised that a human life comes down to some basic things - the comfort of familiarity, bond and 'sameness'. There is a very famous song (the one which preaches 'don't forget the sunscreen') which says that whatever you do in life, you should always try to reduce the geographical distance between you and those who have seen you grow up... It's so true. Being the only child, I was always sort of rebellious. I wanted, longed to get out of Bulgaria and live away. And that came true. I can't be further away from my birth place.

The euphoria of 'difference' sustained me for very long. I loved the adventure. I loved the thrill. I felt like I was on this endless vacation, a wild ride. But when the years go by and life sinks in, you realise that noone understands you more than those who have been brought up with the same aspirations, with the same challenges or luxuries as you... And that noone will ever feel for you, see into your deepest soul corners, more than your birth family, and your childhood friends. However much you put on a show, they always know what is happening inside.

'AHA' moments, when this truth has hit me like a hammer:

- Tonight, drinking with my girlfriends - Steph from France, Karen from Belgium, Jill from the US (Sheerine from France was sick, and Kirsi from Finland is away on a vacation). From the outside, I am sure we were looking just like a bunch of spoilt rich firangs yapping away, complaining about maids, drivers, roads, airports etc. But I wish everyone the feeling of 'sameness' that I mentioned before, that I experienced tonight. I know that these women heard and understood everything I said, without thinking I am racist, without thinking I am coming from some sort of pedestal. They knew, because we are brought up with the same habits, values, dreams and way of doing things, very diffrerent from the realities here (not saying better, not saying worst - just DIFFERENT). And it is not that I don't find this sort of connection with my Indian friends, it's not that they are less precious to me. But put simply, these women understand 'where I'm coming from'.

- My mother coming to visit me. I know that she just has to look at me and know whant I feel. She knows what hurts me, what makes me happy... No questions asked. Even a simple gesture like putting a bag of mine away is filled of pure love... How can I even live away from her???

- In Sofia last May, leaving my aunt in bed, hurt in a car accident, before coming back to Bombay. I bursted out crying in the elevator. My husband and my uncle felt awkward. My cousin Kathy, just looked at me at reached out to hug me. No words exchanged. Just a simple gesture. She understood what I felt.

I love my husband. And I have a beautiful life in India. But with time I understand that I am destined to live with this huge void, without a crucial support and understanding I used to underestimate to badly...

Married To India (compiled from the net)

Picture: still from the Bollywood movie Marigold, based on the Indian romance of an American girl

INTERCULTURAL MARRIAGES: Assumptions... My Way—The Right Way?

Just something interesting I read:

1 - Problems and conflicts often involve assumptions and expectations that are so much a part of the fabric of your background and identity that you aren't even consciously aware of them. Partners must explore their core beliefs and first feel clear about their own identity before deciding how these beliefs will mesh with those of a partner. All couples negotiate differences when marrying. Two individuals from two different families form a new identity and must choose what traditions, habits and beliefs to bring into their marriage. This process is more complex for couples who are from different cultures, races and religions.

2 - Successful intercultural, interracial and interfaith relationships have special challenges, but also special rewards for those who are willing to manage differences in core beliefs not only with their partners, but also with their families, communities and society at large. This doesn't happen automatically. It will take work and sensitivity to self and others.

3 - Whatever decisions and choices you make as a couple about resolving and managing your cultural, religious and racial differences will affect your children. Their reactions to these issues and the reactions of others to them will need your attention throughout their childhood. This is true whether your children look different from one or both of you and other kids they know - or whether the differences are more internal. While our society is becoming increasingly multicultural and mixed, kids are sometimes much more confused and less tolerant of differences than adults are.

Food for thought:

- Do show mutual respect for one another and for one another's cultures. If your differences are creating problems for you, brainstorm together for some solutions.
- Do keep your sense of humor alive.
- Do remain realistic about your differences and about what you have in common.
- Do not ignore your differences thinking that they will just go away. They won't disappear because you don't talk about them.
- Do not defend your parents if they try to interfere in your marriage. Take a stand together and set boundaries.

PS: Thanks, darling, for wearing a Bulgarian football team T-shirt so proudly, and for putting BG stickers on your cars!

Published in DNA Newspaper

Not a firang for them...

For four and a half years I actually worked at an advertising agency - Leo Burnett. And this is where I met some of my best Indian friends. Five of them became very special - Madhu, Shilpa, Alpana, Anita and Deepa. Tarina and Tulika have become soul mates for life. Unfortunately life has taken us in many different directions. The other day I bumped into Madhu. And on my way home after chatting with her and meeting her delectable 10-months old daughter Gia (on the photograph), I remembered her telling me one day while we were still working together, that none of them felt they were around a "firang". "You are just like one of us!"

Missing the snow

What I really miss a lot is waking up to the first snow of the year. It usually went like this: You wake up, and you realise it has snowed the whole night. Everything outside is white and pure, and there is this hard to describe silence, as if someone has carefully wrapped everything in cotton, and all sounds are muted. It's the most beautiful sight and feeling. Then, of course, more practical issues coming into the picture: is the central heating working? has the fuel in the car frozen? piling on the layers of clothes... Winter has finally and surely arrived... Pictured above, people skating in front of the National Theatre Ivan Vazov in Sofia, courtesy Getty Images.

Gourmet Bombay

Can you imagine that seven years ago, when I moved to Bombay, exotic fruits, vegetables, sauces and other "fancy" ingredients were almost non-existent. Baby corn? Travel an hour by cab to Breach Candy area and pick it up from the street market, if you are lucky! Yellow and red capsicums? Zucchini? Iceberg lettuce? I think for a while I forgot their taste... I had to content myself with lentils, rice, and my husband's favourite okra (which is, till today, prepared in our household on a daily basis!). Gone were the days when I would walk into a Parisian Monoprix and stroll around with a caddy... "Hmmm... why don't I pick this endive up? Smoked salmon? Yum! Strawberries... why not?" Getting my hands on something as exquisite as an avocado was a rare treat. And if I had found an interesting "Western" recipe I wanted to try, I had to take cabs and travel to several stores in order to collect all the necessary ingredients, and invariably at the end I had to improvise, as one or two things were always missing, or "out of stock". My one and only visit to a fish market with my mom in law made sure I gagged every time I saw sea food in the next few days.

It's amazing how much things have changed in just a few years. I thought about it today, when I visited the Gourmet Market organised at Olive restaurant in Bandra. In a very small space, I relished the sights and smells of mushrooms, zucchinis, pesto sauce, chorizo saussages, Peccorino cheese, fresh bread, sun dried tomatoes, hummus...

Of course, like everything else in Bombay, the market had started late, and when I arrived (one hour after the announced starting time), the chefs and assistants were still running around, setting stalls. A furious Italian chef was shouting out orders, and a few early birds like me were wandering around, pretending they can't hear him. Nevertheless, for these few minutes, I really felt like I was in Italy, and of course picked up some cheese and salami. Inspired, I went back home and made bruschettas, Peccorino and chorizo toasts, and a salad drizzled with balsamic vinegar... No okra tonight, honey!!!!!!

Gourmet Bombay - my favourites:

Moshe's in Cuffe Parade - to-die-for cheese cakes; delicious dips; foccacia bread and much more...

Sugar And Spice at the Taj President - a sandwich counter to make you salivate; roast beef; savouries to take away; Gurtaj's favourite cheese straws

Nature's Basket at World Trade Center - fruits, veggies, diet products, herbs and spices, Starbuck's coffee, to your heart's content!

Indigo Deli - the gourmet stall at this restaurant offers a great variety of cheeses and cold cuts, marinated artichoke hearts and mushrooms, wines from all over the world, Danish butter... oh god, can't even remember everything. Frightfully expensive but unbeatable choice!

Philips Tea and Coffee - an Indian chain offering the best coffee beans you have ever tasted. I love their old grinding machine. And I have carried packets full of Peaberry and Highlander back to Bulgaria many times.

Pesca Fresh - an online sea food store. They deliver everything spic and span, properly packed and totally clean. Salmon? Mussels? Prawns? They have everything!

The Gourmet Store at The Oberoi shopping arcade - what I like about this store is that they have vacuum packed cold cuts made in India. I am always really happy to buy Indian stuff. And they also sell palmatians, which Gurtaj just adores.

The Beginning

I have a brand new laptop - a sunshine yellow Dell. I stumbled upon a interpretation of the colour yellow, and it said it is the colour of creative pursuits. So I took it as s sign and decided to start this long-planned blog. It is a bit scary thinking that the thoughts I write here will be out there for the world to read. But what I hope to achieve is

1. That other women, "stuck between two cultures" associate with my ramblings.
2. Promote the beauty and richness of India to the world, and show my adopted home beyond the newspaper cliches.
3. Find some answers to the question which always hounds me: why India?

I am also creating a work space for myself in the guest room - an old desk, and a few colourful box files are all I need.

Let the adventure begin!