Last night (or should I say very early this morning), after we’d returned home from a long day of Dussehra celebrations with the family, my husband remarked, “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?”

I looked at him incredulously. He knew it had been a very difficult day for me — the fasting, the extreme heat, the uncomfortable attire (wearing sari, bangles, and bindi on a humid 35 degree Celsius day is not pleasant), the travelling, and the usual disorganisation all combined to make me ill.

I was about to say to my husband, “Are you serious?”, but then realised I was focusing on all the wrong things. Take away the discomfort, and we did have fun! There was an aarti below my inlaw’s apartment building, a meaningful family puja, an enjoyable family shopping expedition to the mall, and lots of laughs along the way.

But oh, the drama!

It started in the morning when my husband found out I’d booked a cab for 11 a.m. “Why did you book a cab so early,” he questioned me, seemingly displeased. Well, because the last thing I’d been told was that the festivities would commence at 11.30 a.m. and we needed to get there in time.

“I haven’t called my family to confirm the details yet,” he replied. I sighed. How many times do plans have to change and details have to be confirmed in India? So, my husband called his mother. “Leave now,” she told him. It was 10 a.m. My frustration level was already rising. My husband’s family is known as the family of chaos, and many of them readily acknowledge it. My father in law gave up trying to instill order long ago. He’d actually very thoughtfully suggested that I skip going to the puja because he was worried about me getting tired, but foolishly I didn’t listen.

We ended up leaving at 11 a.m. as planned and arriving at my inlaw’s place at 11.45 a.m., only to find a sign saying “aarti to commence at 11.30 a.m.” and no people anywhere. Had the aati already finished and we’d missed it? Or was it still yet to start. “What’s going on with the aarti?” I asked my husband. He looked at me with irritation, as if I should know better than to ask such pointless questions (and indeed I do, but I still sometimes can’t stop my western mind, which demands punctuality and explanation, from asking them). I started pestering my inlaws for an answer but they were all busy getting ready for the puja, which was to take place in my father in law’s workshop, and didn’t know either. What’s more, they didn’t seem concerned about it.

My sister in law went out to pick up some saris from the dry cleaner. Half an hour later, she came rushing inside and exclaimed, “Why aren’t you at the aarti?”. Well, because I didn’t know it was on and had given up thinking about it! She grabbed me and we rushed to attend it. Afterwards, the building residents were going to dance the garba. Yet, the heat was unbearable and I was already perspiring just from standing there. I quickly retreated back to the apartment to wait for everyone to go for the puja.

In my Indian family, like many Indian families, time is quite a meaningless concept. They never seem to set a specified departure time that everyone should aim to leave by. Instead, they all rush around in all directions, madly doing things until someone finishes getting ready and utters the magic word, “Chal.” (Meaning “move”, or let’s go). As other family members become ready, they join in and say “Okay, chal.” Soon, those who are ready being to grow impatient and take turns to repetitively shout “chal” at the ones who aren’t. As there are eight people living in the apartment, including three kids, this can easily go on for quite while. Yesterday was no exception, and it started giving me a tension headache.

When we finally all got to my father in law’s workshop, it was the hottest part of the day. I took a painkiller for my headache but in hindsight it probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do — my stomach was empty as I’d only had watermelon for breakfast as it’s customary to fast before the puja. Inside the workshop, the fans had to be turned off for the puja. Without any circulating air, it was stifling. I started feeling weak and dizzy, and sweat was literally running down my face, back, and chest. No one else seemed overly affected by it though. One of my sisters in law was even wearing a long sleeve kurta and there wasn’t a glimmer of sweat on her! Clearly my western body wasn’t made for such conditions. I had to step outside.

After fleeing back to my inlaws house and sponging myself down with a cold wet cloth, I promptly fell asleep in the air conditioned bedroom. When my husband woke me up, the next round of “chal, chal” was well underway. It was time to travel over to the other side of the city, from Prabhadevi to another sister in law’s house in Kandivali. My parents in law had already gone by train with two of the children. I couldn’t face the train in the heat, so the rest of us would go in a taxi.

After finally eating some substantial food there (the traditional Dussehra mutton curry) and resting, the women decided they’d go to the mall. Then, at the last minute, the men also decided to come along. There were 14 of us, and we would all go in two cars! My head began spinning after we reached the mall and people started wandering off in all directions to hunt for bargains and go on amusement rides, while others (namely the men) stood around aimlessly.

At the end of the night, a few of us sat at a table in the food court waiting for the family to regroup and another round of “chal, chal” to begin. The sister in law who’d wanted to know why I wasn’t at the aarti (and who is one of the most chaotic members of the family of chaos) turned to me and asked, “Why are we all sitting here? Where’s everyone?”. At that point I couldn’t hep dissolving into laughter. Such irony. “As if I have any idea. I’m just doing what I was told to,” I replied giggling.

My sister in law then remarked to me about the growing shopping addiction of many Indians, including herself. “No matter how many things they buy, people are wanting more and more now.” Indeed, it has become a big issue in India, as people’s disposal incomes are increasing and malls filled with tempting goods are coming up everywhere. My sister in law added that my mother in law had given her some wise advice though. “Do you want to spend your money buying and maintaining a huge wardrobe of clothes, or do you want to spend it on educating your children?”

Again, it’s all about how you perceive it.

Image credit: Getty Images/Adrian Pope.

© 2012, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

… (And Why I’m Glad We Didn’t).

Prior to us living in our new apartment, Airtel was our Internet service provider. When we moved, they assured us that they could transfer our connection to our new place, no problem. However, a day before it was scheduled to happen, they called us to say that it wouldn’t be possible because they in fact did not service our new apartment building.

So, we terminated our connection (or so we thought) and settled our bill.

Much to our surprise and irritation, that hasn’t been the end of our relationship with Airtel. Their customer service department has been repetitively calling us, reminding us that our bill for the past couple of months is pending, and demanding that we pay. No matter how many times we tell them that we have not had a connection, they do not stop.

Of course, this is not the first time that we’ve had problems with Airtel customer service.

Today, I became so fed up with it that I took to tweeting about it to try and get it resolved. Although I got a prompt reply (see above), it only led me to believe that bewakufs handle the company’s Twitter account as well.

But, there is a bright side to all this. We did not set up a direct debit facility with Airtel for the payment of our accounts. Unfortunately, a friend of ours did. Apparently, it took him more than six months to get Airtel to stop taking money out of his account after he canceled his connection with them!

Update One Day Later:

And here’s the followup Twitter conversation after we got yet another annoying phone call this morning. Sounds really familiar. Ya just gotta laugh I guess!

© 2012, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

Recently, a couple of friends came over to our place, and one of them brought a new board game from work. It wasn’t merely a board game though. It was an “advergame”. Similar to the concept of an “advertorial” (advertising through editorial), this is advertising through a game.

What’s it advertising?

For those who don’t live in India, or who aren’t familiar with TV in India, SAB is an Indian TV channel. “That’s Tarak Mehta,” my husband pointed to the character on the bottom right corner of the game’s box when he saw it. Apparently, his comedy serial Ka Ulta Chashma (Glasses Back to Front) has been running for a very long time and is really popular.

Ah. I could see that the game was going to be totally lost on me. I didn’t recognise anyone! What’s more, I tend to find Indian comedy more ridiculous than amusing. I mean, a guy called Gadha Prasad who resembles a donkey, and is the servant to occupants of the Chidiya Ghar (Bird House) where each family member has the quality of an animal. Oh dear! Bird brain comes to mind along with bird house! Yet, this show is also apparently popular.

For the purpose of the game, all the popular SAB TV characters inhabit a city called SABurbia. The city needs a new mayor and the players compete for the position. They must bond with the characters and gain their goodwill.

Like many games, we had to roll the dice and move around the board, performing tasks, shopping at the mall, and going on detour amongst other things.

The game's board.

Although I didn’t expect too much from the game, parts of it did amuse me and were oh so relevant to life in India.

Extra Goodwill can be earned by gossiping over tea. There are also “checkpoints” for determining if you’re a “good” neighbour.

Gossip Zone.

Extortion of money from co-players, overcharging them, and depleting their Goodwill is encouraged.

Tol Mol Kar Bol - Understand the weight of your words before speaking.

Oh, and of course… no water!

Have to call in expensive tanker water.

© 2012, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

It’s hard to believe that not only is the new year here, January is almost half way through! I’ve set myself a couple of goals for this year. The first is to focus more on my fitness, and the second is to explore photography.

As I mentioned in a previous post, the horrific recent rape in Delhi has had a traumatic impact on me, like many other people. In addition to feeling sickened by it, it has also brought to the surface my aggressive side — a side which I thought had well and truly receded. When I was in my 20s, I channeled it into kung fu and kickboxing training for a number of years. (I seem to have inherited my father’s genes as he was into boxing when he was young).

In subsequent years, I’ve mellowed out and been more interested in meditation than fighting. However, I admit that lately, I’ve felt like punching things. As an outlet for it, I went to Total Sports in Dadar (Mumbai) and bought myself a punching stand.

In order to balance it out a bit, at the same time, I finally got around to trying out the Surya Namaskar yoga DVD that my neighbour lent me months ago.

Quite frankly, it’s all been a rather large shock to my body, which wonders what the heck has struck it after years of inaction! Now, I just need to find the motivation to keep all this exercise up.

As far as photography is concerned, more and more professional photographers have been coming into my life lately, and I’ve taken it as a sign that I should become interested in it — at least just from the creative angle. Last year, I went on a one day photography workshop offered by Neville Bulsara Photography, to get a new perspective on how to see things differently. It really opened my eyes to the world. When I was back in Australia recently, I bought a DSLR camera. And now, I’m in the process of figuring out how to get the best from it. There’s a lot to learn!

Wishing everyone a magical and rewarding 2013! What do you all aim to achieve?

Let's kick some goals this year!

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

When I worked in an office, doing the “daily grind” back in Melbourne, I was most definitely NOT a morning person. I was usually sleep deprived, dreaded the alarm going off in the mornings, and was unenthusiastic about having to get ready and go out to a place that didn’t inspire me.

Recently, it struck me how much all this has changed.

When we moved into our new apartment, I put a lot of effort into creating a meditation space on the terrace. I wanted a place where I could go to feel peaceful and still but also uplifted. Now, it’s become a huge part of the reason why I love getting up in the mornings.

Even if I don’t meditate as such, I look out over Mumbai coming alive or gaze up at the endless sky where birds are soaring. I light an agarbatti. Sometimes I play bhajans. Other times I listen to the sound of the mosque in the distance. The sun shines on my face and warms my body. I feel so blessed to be loved, and doing work that I feel passionate about.

Most of all, I feel blessed to get this time every day for reflection and mindfulness — just being in the present, noticing everything that’s going on around me, even the way the sun’s rays bring out the warm colours of some buildings.

All feels magical in the world.

Big city life. Maximum City wakes up.

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

“Welcome to Dharavi!” a customer called out to us from the chai wala, as we exited the stairs at Mahim West railway station. I had just entered what is often labeled as Asia’s largest slum. Yes, THAT slum, which rose to fame in the movie Slumdog Millionaire and angered many Indians for its portrayal of poverty. The movie has been referred to as an example of “poverty porn”, one that encourages perverse western voyeurism and promotes slum tourism.

And, there I was, about to embark on a two hour “slum tour” of Dharavi. But, if you think I was indulging in any kind of poverty voyeurism, think again.

“You’ve lived in Mumbai for five years and never been to Dharavi?”, my guide, Salman, was shocked and not at all impressed when he found out. “I’ve never really had any reason to visit,” I tried to defend myself. He was having none of it though. “It’s important for everyone to come to Dharavi and see how it functions, see the industry going on here. This is not a place where poor people are depressed. Look around. Do you see any beggars?”, he implored me.

Indeed, I could not. What I could see were laughing children running through the lanes, and people diligently working in all types of small scale industries.

To further dispel any notion of poverty stricken people miserable in squalor, Salman began quoting astonishing numbers to me. In Dharavi, there are a total of 4,902 production units bringing in an annual income of $1 billion USD. They’re divided into:

• 1039 textiles
• 932 porters
• 567 leather
• 498 embroidery
• 722 recycling
• 111 restaurants
• Thousands of boutiques.

“Dharavi has so many specialist industries because of the people moving here from different areas of India, and they bring their skills with them,” Salman informed me.

Salman, whose name is actually Salman Khan (yes, the same as the Bollywood actor, who not surprisingly is very popular in Salman’s household), is a proud Dharavi local. His grandparents migrated to Mumbai and he has lived in Dharavi all his life. Perhaps not what you’d expect, he confidently speaks flawless English and is studying Science at college. He’s also employed as a Dharavi tour guide by Be The Local Tours and Travel. This unique and inspiring company was set up by, and is managed by, local students of Dharavi. Their aim is simple: to dispel the negative image of the slum, and help local students gain valuable skills and earn money to pay for their education.

As we walked, Salman continued to explain the importance of Dharavi in the context of Mumbai. “Now, everyone is taking an interest in Dharavi’s infrastructure and facilities. It’s well connected by both Mahim West railway station and the Eastern Express Highway. The government wants to redevelop the area and build highrise apartments, and they’ll move the residents into these apartments.”

Without understanding Dharavi, you could easily mistake this for a good thing. After all, residents will be getting free apartments as part of the deal. However, as Salman revealed to me, the truth is much more complicated. “The residents have emotional attachment to their chawls. Plus, the government is going to give everyone 225-275 square foot apartments, regardless of how much space they already have. Also, only people who have been living in Dharavi from before the year 2000 are eligible to get an apartment.”

Then, there is the troublesome issue of what will happen to the small scale industries, which will have to be moved out of the area. “It will be difficult for residents to have to travel to far-off, relocated work places,” Salman lamented.

The first part of the tour took us through some of the small scale industry workshops. It was fascinating to see how they operated. Salman explained the process of plastic recycling, as we watched the work going on. “First, the plastics for recycling are grouped together according to colour and quality. Next, they’re crushed and made into small pieces. Then, they’re washed and dried on the roof tops. After that, they’re taken and rolled into pallets, and sent to the plastic manufacturers. 60,000 recycled products are made from them.” All kinds of plastic items, from chai cups to pieces of old telephones, were being sorted through and processed by Dharavi residents.

My friend and I got really excited once we reached the block printing workshop. They were making export quality fabrics….and due to overwhelming demand, it was possible to buy them! (Oh, the joy that only females can understand)!

Salman called the “boss man” over. “He doesn’t look like the boss but he is,” he referred to the informally dressed topless man, who commenced laying out a range of beautiful fabrics before us. Unlike many Indian shopkeepers, he knew not to pull out too many pieces, and overwhelm and confuse us. And, he left us alone to decide what we wanted.

Export quality fabric and dupatta that I bought.

The tour progressed through other small scale industries. Used tin drums were being renewed and repainted, leather was being processed, vessels were being spun on pottery wheels, small clay diyas were being shaped, and pappads were being rolled out (next time you dine at a restaurant in Mumbai, it’s likely that the pappad you eat would’ve been made in Dharavi).

Soft deep red leather belt that I bought.

Small heart shaped diyas drying.

No, Dharavi isn't a dirty place. Notice the rubbish bin!

While photography isn’t allowed on the Dharavi tour, occasionally Salman gave us the opportunity to take pictures. “The artists do appreciate the acknowledgement of their work. It makes them proud that foreigners come and take an interest in what they do, and even buy what they make.”

As I was taking photos of the diyas, a giggling group of small girls came over to say hello and talk to us. “I want to explore the world with you,” one declared. She must’ve only been aged around six or seven, but already she was dreaming big. And, talking fluently in English.

I asked Salman about education in Dharavi. “Around 80% of children are going to school now. Parents are recognising the importance of education and learning English.” Then he reeled off more numbers to me. “There are 60 municipality schools, four secondary schools, and 13 private schools in Dharavi.”

There’s also great unity in the slum. “28 temples, 11 mosques, 6 churches, and 24 Islamic education centers”, Salman informed me. “Most industries are self sufficient, but they also support each other. For example, the potters use scraps of cloth from the textile industries as fuel for their kilns.”

No doubt, it’s the distinctive sense of community that helps make Dharavi a cheerful place. Salman took us through the narrow lanes of one residential part of the slum — lanes so narrow that I struggled to walk properly and had to crouch down to avoid hitting my head. There were exposed wires everywhere. But, it was clean, and huge drums of fresh drinking water stood at the entrance to people’s homes. Groups of housewives sat around chatting to each other, while their children played. “The slum even has 24 hour power,” Salman said. “The government has been looking after it.”

But what about the infamous slum Mafia? Salam laughed. “It doesn’t really exist anymore. They’ve become politicians so what they do is legal now.”

Too soon, the two hours of the tour were up. “I hope it’s changed your thoughts about Dharavi?” Salman asked. Without a doubt, it was an amazing, eye opening, and POSITIVE experience. Everyone should go on a Dharavi tour and experience it for themselves. In my view, anyone who is reluctant to do so because they’re worried about “poverty tourism” needs to examine their egos and false sense of superiority. The people in Dharavi are not ashamed of how they live, nor are they miserable. They are friendly, welcoming, and dignified.

Think of it this way. Most of us don’t have the riches to afford a private jet and we often travel on public transport. Are we sad because we can’t afford a private jet? No. Sad because we don’t live in a 12 bedroom mansion? No. It’s simply not part of our existence, our standard of living. In fact, we don’t even know what we’re missing. Likewise, the residents of Dharavi are not feeling depressed because they don’t have the same standard of living as us. They’re far too busy making the most of what they have, not dwelling on what they don’t have. And, if you put aside notions of money and material wealth, they’re actually richer than what we are because there’s so much love and support amongst their community, they need never feel isolated, sad or lonely. To be totally honest, I envied them for this.

Salman chatted to us some more before departing. “My dream is to own an Audi but I know not to rely on that to make me happy. My boss, the tour company owner, told me that I’ll only want something else after a while.”

Ain’t that the truth! There are indeed important life lessons to be learned from visiting Dharavi.

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

Summer has well and truly hit Mumbai, and we’re sweating it out with daytime temperatures that have touched 36 degrees Celsius (96.8 Fahrenheit) and 80% humidity. It’s making me so tired and lazy (hence the lack of posts). I feel like sleeping all day!

I can’t bear to wear my usual jeans and a kurti/kurta combination in this heat, so I’ve decided to ditch the jeans in favour of… patiala pants. Particularly white patiala pants, because they go with EVERYTHING! They’re so loose, lightweight, and cool to wear.

Along with bhangra music, patiala pants are high up on my list of things that I love from the state of Punjab.

I got this pair at Ethnicity at R-City Mall in Ghatkopar, in Mumbai, for around 500 rupees. I think I might have to go back for another pair, in case I wear these ones out.

I still haven’t worn the top out though. It’s hard to believe that three years has passed since I wrote about having it made… and ah, I look rather embarrassingly the same! Same pose and all. Clearly, I need to get a bit more creative.

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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Indians are known for their disregard for following rules and the law. The general attitude is do what you want and deal with the consequences later. I’m guilty of adopting this attitude to a certain extent.

When I was at Amber Fort in Jaipur with my mother recently, I horrified her by following an Indian and climbing up on one of the old cannons for a photo, even though it wasn’t allowed. “Sharell, don’t do that! You’ll get in trouble from those guards,” she warned. “Yes, I know, mum. But by the time they notice and tell me to get down, the photo will have been taken. I’ll just pretend to be ignorant about it.” Sure enough, that’s what happened.

(Here’s the photo, and I’m looking shamelessly pleased with myself).

If you can't beat em, join em!

However, breaking more serious rules can sometimes have very serious consequences. In Mumbai, it seems that 140 families are about to become homeless. They’re being evicted from their spacious apartments in Worli, which are going to be demolished by the BMC (Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation) on Thursday.

These days, I usually just ignore such matters because they’re a depressingly common occurrence. This one is such a shocking mess, and is the culmination of so many laws being flouted, I couldn’t help writing about it though.

Here’s a summary of what happened:

• Way back in the 1980s, a builder developed a plot of land in Worli that was originally used by a drinks company to manufacture a brand of cola. The BMC gave the developer approval to construct nine buildings, with ground plus five floors in each.
• In September 1984, the builder submitted revised plans to the BMC, to construct up to 24 floors and 16 floors in the buildings. The BMC rejected the proposal. However, the builder ignored the decision and kept on with construction.
• In November 1984, the BMC issued stop work and demolition notices. Despite this, construction still continued. The BMC gave in to pressure from the builder and took no further action.
• The illegal construction continued from 1984-1989. Court records show that the builder got away with paying paltry fines ranging from 600-2000 rupees for violating town planning laws.
• Residents subsequently purchased the completed apartments and moved in, even though the BMC had not issued Occupation Certificates for the buildings. (OCs are granted to new buildings after the BMC has verified that they’ve been constructed according to approved plans. It’s illegal to occupy flats in a building without an OC, and the residents were informed of this).
• Even though it’s illegal to occupy a building without an OC, according to this article, the BMC simply charges residents twice the water supply and sewerage disposal taxes if they do occupy it.
• Residents state they were paying property, municipal, and water taxes to the BMC for the past 25 years that they occupied their apartments. They’ve also paid stamp duty on their apartments.
• In 2005, residents made a plea to the High Court to get water connections to their apartments as these had not been granted by the BMC (residents have relied on tanker water the whole time).
• The High Court asked the BMC why it had not provided water connections to the buildings. The BMC said the reason was because OCs had not been issued, due to Floor Space Index violations.
• The High Court noted that the BMC had not taken any action over the construction of the illegal buildings. It summonsed the Additional Municipal Commissioner, who promised to take action. Later in 2005, the BMC issued demolition notices. It rejected the housing societies’ replies to the notices, leading to a second round of litigation.
• In February 2013, the Supreme Court ordered the demolition of all floors above the five floors that were legal in all buildings.

Unless something drastic changes, the demolition will go ahead and residents will be homeless. The apartments would be worth crores of rupees, and the residents have plunged all of their earnings into them. Most of them can’t afford to go anywhere else (apart from far flung suburbs), and certainly not buy another apartment. They’ll lose all their money. The elderly, as well as children who are undergoing exams, will be disrupted.

It’s a terrible tale of corruption and people who have disregarded numerous laws.

What I struggle to comprehend though, is how residents have paid legal taxes and charges for 25 years on illegally occupied apartments!

And who should ultimately be responsible for this mess?

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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Long term readers of this blog will know about my love affair with the Indian chipkali. I was totally fascinated by the feet on this one, which often chilled on the window near the air conditioner at our previous house.

Then, I discovered this tiny little one peeking out of the toothpaste holder. I soooo wanted him for a pet! Unfortunately, he was way too elusive for me.

When we moved into our current apartment on the 15th floor, we soon discovered that similar to Mumbai’s ubiquitous rats, chipkalis are also not deterred by heights. At least two chipkalis were living with us. One has grown so big (it scuttled out from behind a framed painting the other day and surprised me), they’re obviously thriving…. and breeding!

This evening, I went to the kitchen to get a snack and found this baby running around on the floor. He was so cute, I just had catch him and photograph him. Luckily for me, I managed to corner him and grab him. He played dead in my hand barely long enough for me to take the picture, then sensing an opportunity, leaped out and ran away.

(Now, before you wonder how I could bring myself to pick the “revolting” little critter up, remember I do things much crazier than this).

Ready to leap!

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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Monsoon rain has been saturating Mumbai for nearly a month now. With it has come the return of the ubiquitous blue tarpaulin.

As one of my friends commented, it looks filthy and dirty. And don’t I wish I had a pressure washer? Oh, for sure I do, but it would be fighting a losing battle.

Poor Mumbai. She has her other charms though.

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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Last week, I was quite surprised over the number of bees in our apartment. We’ve had wasps before, but never bees. It got me curious as to where they were coming from.

The mystery was solved a couple of days later, when one of the apartment complex watchmen came knocking on our door to advise us to close all our windows. Apparently, swarms of bees had established two huge hives on the apartment building and they were about to be removed.

We didn’t think much more about it until a couple of hours later, when there was another knock at the door. This time it was the beekeepers, who’d come to sell us fresh honey from the hives. They were carrying it in a huge silver container, which was also full of honeycomb… and dead bees! (The honey was tasty though).

Honey, honeycomb, and dead bees. Thankfully, it's not our sieve!

Weighing the honey.

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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Once upon a time, I had two diamond earrings. However, not long after I moved to Mumbai, I mysteriously lost one. At the time I was quite upset. I berated myself for being careless, especially as I’d already lost one previously in Australia (I had insurance then though, so it was replaced free of cost).

I put the remaining earring away but began to think… maybe I’m only supposed to have one earring now. And maybe, I could wear it as a nose ring!

Until recently, I never bothered to try it though. After all, my nose is small, and it seemed ridiculously big in comparison. I usually wear minimal jewellery, and it’s taken me a while to get used to the “bigger is better” ideal in India. This is particularly the case in regards to nose jewellery, which is looked upon unfavourably as something hippies wear back home. (After I got married, I was told that I should replace my tiny diamond nose stud with something larger and more impressive. That’s when I bought this diamond nose ring).

The other day, I finally decided to wear it. I headed off to the beauty parlour to get my arms waxed (a ritual acquired from living in Mumbai) and didn’t think much more about it — until the beauty therapist complimented me. She told me that she loved my nose stud and that it really suited me. All of a sudden, I felt a bit self conscious over having an earring in my nose! But hey, it got the Indian thumbs up, so I’ve kept it there. Even my mother in law noticed and approved the other day.

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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If any parts of your personality are flawed or require development, it’s certain that life in India will bring them swiftly to the surface. For me, it was my control freak nature and lack of assertiveness that caused problems. My first year in Mumbai was particularly tough, as I struggled to let go, accept, and also set boundaries with people. I spent a lot of time feeling frustrated and overwhelmed (and came very close to leaving).

These days I’ve mellowed out quite a bit and lowered my expectations. Developing a more chalta hai attitude has been necessary and good for me. But there are some things that I just can’t tolerate, and my newly acquired assertiveness means that I have to really restrain myself from causing a scene. This brings me to the matter most likely to provoke me into berating people — their inability to line up and wait their turn (and with it, their desire to push others out of the way).

Since this behaviour is so common in India, I’ve found ways to reduce my likelihood of encountering it and thus my irritation. For example, I make it a point to go the supermarket only when I know it will be uncrowded (and I avoid stores such as the Big Bazaar completely). Sometimes, it just doesn’t make a difference though.

Last week, I was selecting fruit and vegetable from the shelves in my local D-Mart. It was morning, and restocking was taking place. I heard a voice behind me, “Madam…”. I turned around to find a staff member making hand signals at me to move out of the way, as he wanted to put items on the shelves. I couldn’t believe that I was actually being prevented from shopping by an impatient employee.

“Arre, customer hai!”, another employee surprisingly rebuked him before I got the chance.

Shoppers barging into my changing room before I’ve finished trying on clothes has also happened to me more than once in India, and just astounds me, particularly because my personal items are still in there. In fact, it happened again on the weekend. I was with my sister in law at a small Rajasthani clothing and handicraft store in Dadar. There was only one changing room and I was trying on a few garments. When I stepped out to show my sister in law one top, another customer swiftly went in and closed the curtain. I was shocked. My clothes, which I’d taken off, and belongings were all inside!

I saw red and complained loudly. “You’re in a fighting mood,” my sister in law joked. “I’m going to have a word with her. So rude and inconsiderate!”, I prepared myself for battle.

However, I managed to calm down and disregard the situation. (After developing assertiveness, my next challenge in India has been to develop detachment). My sister in law was there, and most of all, I didn’t want to embarrass her. If I was alone, there’s no doubt I would’ve yanked the changing room curtain open and asked the woman to get out. When she did come out, she looked straight at me but offered no apology — even though it was clear that I was still in the process of trying on clothes.

My sister in law later told me that the shop assistant had commented to her that I seemed easily annoyed. Thankfully, she said she’d responded to the shop assistant that it was her duty to prevent people from entering the change room before a customer had finished and their belongings were still there.

“These people have such a sense of entitlement,” my sister in law remarked to me (while I lamented having not told the batameez woman off).

People’s inability to line up properly and wait their turn in India is often attributed to scarcity of resources. But indeed the reality is that there’s a sizable percentage of the population that’s simply inconsiderate and believes they have the right to push in before others.

If someone has only one or two items and would like to be served before me, I have no problem with letting them go first, provided they ask politely and don’t try to push in. On the rare occasions this has happened, I’ve been so happy that I’ve actually thanked the person for being kind enough to ask me.

Yesterday, I encountered a novel solution for dealing with queue jumpers. It was evening, and I’d gotten caught up doing work and realised I’d left it too late to go to D-Mart without the horrible hordes being there. However, I decided to remain shanti and go anyway. As to be expected, the place was in a mess and there was a 20 minute wait to be served at the checkouts. Lines were branching off in all directions. Even Indian tempers were flaring.

Then, it was showdown time! An Indian aunty who’d been standing off to the side decided to wedge her trolly into the line one customer ahead of me, and right before the checkout counter. The customer was a teenaged boy but he was having none of it. He told her in Hindi that it was a straight line and he was next. She looked at him blankly without commenting, and without moving her trolly. It was impossible for him to get to the checkout, as she was now blocking it with her trolley.

So, what did he do? He calmly took his basket, walked behind the checkout counter, then came around to stand right in front of her and her trolley, and began unloading his items onto the counter.

I was so impressed! And, the aunty continued to stand there without saying anything.

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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Our maid (yes, the same one that’s been with us for nearly a year now… she’s turned out to be wonderful) has become increasingly dissatisfied by the financial mismanagement going on in our house. She’s not at all pleased by the fact that we don’t buy in bulk, and is particularly aghast that we only buy one kilogram of rice at a time. So much money is being wasted!

Recently, a new wholesale store opened up near where we live. Fed up with us, the other day she handed us her membership card and insisted that we go shopping there. The one thing that we had to buy was…you guessed it… a large bag of rice.

I was amused, but hesitant. Where and how was I going to store the darn thing? In the end, we agreed that I’d start out with buying five kilograms. Not much for an Indian household really (it’s not uncommon for Indians to stock up on a whole year’s supply of items in advance) but enough for me to marvel over the bulk buying milestone I was finally about to reach, after more than seven years in India!

So, this afternoon, my husband and I headed to Booker Wholesale.

I wondered what I was in for, as the entrance was deserted. Not a person in sight. Clearly, I wasn’t going to have to worry about fighting my way past pushy aunties!

Deserted entrance.

The rice aisle!

Inside, the aisles were wide, and the customers few. It wasn’t my idea of a pleasant shopping experience though. The warehouse was suffocating and efficiency was minimal. Large groups of employees loitered around, and giggled like school boys as their eyes locked onto me. We had to line up to present our membership card upon entry at one counter, have our items scanned at another counter, and then pay the bill at yet another counter. I couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

But mission accomplished, we came away with the prized possession (as well as a few other bulk items). Hopefully, we won’t have to go back there for at least a month!

Fabulous five kilograms of rice!

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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An Indian friend of mine sent me the link to this article today, titled 31 Unique Side Effects Of Being An Indian Girl, and thought I might be able to relate! Oh yeah, I was quite surprised how much I could indeed relate (leaving aside the stuff about relationships of course)!

• I put chilli on food that doesn’t ordinarily have it.
• Hair removal is a huge part of my life, including arm waxing (thank you hairy parents for that joy).
• Facebook requests from Indian men wanting to make “fraindship” are frequent and numerous.
• I love blasting Bollywood music when I need a pep me up, and especially when cleaning the house.
• Ginger and honey is used as a remedy for many ailments… oh, and add some turmeric (haldi) too!
• Bhangra music always makes my shoulders want to go crazy.
• I can swear very rudely in Hindi, and don’t hesitate to do so.
• Bargaining, yes, I’m skilled. My prowess has even been acknowledged by corrupt Mumbai customs officers, while having to reach an “agreement”.
• I’m sure people assume my life is like Slumdog Millionaire or Bend it Like Beckham. Probably both!
• Love the sari, and think it’s very flattering (unless you have a flabby stomach).
• I could easily eat 10 gulab jamun at once.
• My life is chaotic and colourful, and although it wears me down some times, it beats monotony any day!

But it seems I still have some way to go to become totally desi.

• Shah Rukh Khan was certainly NOT my first crush. In fact, the first time I saw him (in Chalte Chalte) I couldn’t stand him, and I still have issues with his facial expressions.
• I’m not at all interested in the cricket.
• I’m shameless enough to let my extended Indian family have full access to my Facebook profile (because no doubt they don’t expect a white woman to be a seedhi saadhi ladki anyway).

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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Charging different rates for foreigners and Indians is a common practice in India. At monuments, the substantially lower rate for Indians is often referred to as being government subsidised, to give Indians affordable access to the monuments. As confirmed by an India Tourism official in this article, the reason that foreigners pay more is because they earn more and have more money. It states:

Indians only pay 20 or 10 rupees to enter ASI sites, a difference often questioned by foreign tourists.

But officials say there is nothing wrong with this because most Indians earn far less than the foreign visitors.

“The uniform rate applied by most foreign countries are often too high for most Indians anyway,” the tourism ministry official told the BBC.

Personally, the foreigner rate at monuments doesn’t affect me because I have a PIO (Person of Indian Origin) card, issued to foreigners with Indian heritage or foreigners married to Indian citizens. As the article goes on to say:

“….the Indian government has also decided that nationals from the regional South Asian Association for Regional Co-operation will not have to pay the higher rate. Nor will people holding a government-issued People of Indian Origin (PIO) card.”

So, thankfully, I’m allowed to pay the Indian rate.

Nevertheless, the logic of foreigners earning more, and therefore paying more, is behind the “white tax” that we’re frequently charged all over India by vendors, shopkeepers, and other businesses.

In Mumbai, this even extends to treatment at some private hospitals, which impose surcharges of 25-50% on foreigners. This surcharge is imposed on anyone who isn’t an Indian citizen — even if they’re a resident of Mumbai and PIO card holder. Anyone who doesn’t have an Indian passport has to pay more.

I know of one expat who is married to an Indian and has been living in Mumbai for 17 years. She’s a housewife, so is dependent on her Indian husband financially. But guess what? The hospital, Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, recently forced her to pay the surcharge. It’s a common story amongst us foreign spouses of Indians in Mumbai.

Despite the fact that even the Indian government states that PIO card holders are entitled to parity with NRIs and Indians citizens, except in regards to voting and buying agricultural land, these greedy private hospitals do not!

They term it a “management decision”.

We term it racial discrimination.

What else could it possibly be? We are not foreigners who are passing through India or have come here for medical tourism. India is our HOME. We are long term residents. Not visitors. Yet, because we’re not Indian, we have to pay a surcharge…even if our Indian husbands are forking out the money for our bill!

Where is the fairness, or even logic, in that? What makes these hospitals think that we don’t deserve to be treated equally, when even the Indian government does?

Has this experience happened to you? Please share it in the comments section.

(Note: I’m glad to say that Hiranandani Hospital in Powai, which is my local private hospital, offers equal pricing for all).

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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India celebrates Independence Day today, and as usual there’s been a lot of discussion about the state of the nation in the news. In one report, the Hindustan Times published a survey about national identity in the 21st century.

As discussed in the report, the challenge in India has been to build a national identity out of the many different cultural traditions, languages, and religions that exist. Since political structure and authority was established prior to this national identity evolving, the aim has been to create unity through political identity and shared vision of the future.

I’m not a fan of statistics, and with a sample size of only 1,513 people from India’s first and second tier cities, the results are hardly representative of the population. However, it still throws up some interesting points for discussion.

According to the results:

• 61% of people consider their primary identity to be Indian (rather than state or caste).
• 45% of people disapprove of inter-community/inter-caste/inter-religious marriages. 24% of people would reluctantly accept these types of marriages, 19% would not accept it and cut all connections, and 10% would try and break up the relationship.
• 42% of people don’t have close friends from other castes or religious groups.
• 30% of people think people from their own state are superior.
• 55% of people believe that people native to a state should be given preference to jobs.

One reader commented: “I believe India’s real problem is excessive plurality. It highlights difference among people profoundly. Face it, at the core, we all like people who looks and talks like us. You may not say it but it is truth. Look around you and you will see it and for most of the people it is true in every country of the world. It is basic human instinct to feel good about selves and to that end, they like to be surrounded by people who looks and talks like them.

Yet another reader commented that the real figures are much more conservative than indicated in the survey, as rural areas were not represented. He said: “Most people in India are indeed caste, class, ethnicity driven, and it is only us, the urban educated class who are more accepting of pluralism.”

As the article mentions:

For young urban Indians, caste or religion is not a factor. “That could be because we are apathetic,” said Ritesh, a Mumbai-based manager. This is perhaps why though a high percentage (43%) of 18-35 year-olds surveyed said they “approve” of mixed unions, they don’t resist or put up a fight when parents disapprove.

“When we love someone, we don’t ask about caste, but when it’s marriage, many give in and obey their parents,” said Ritesh.

In regards to caste:

Laxman Singh, a Dalit student in Noida, describes his cultural and nationalistic experience of being a lower caste well. “In the cities no one asks you your caste anymore, but the caste system is diluted not broken. Economic policies that ensure lower castes stay poor continue.”

So while he is “not gloomy” about the future of India, he said he is no nationalist. “Gandhi said if you want to know how progressive a country is, go to the last poor man standing. Nationalism is for the elite,” he said.

What’s obvious is that India is going through huge period of transformation, particularly led by the changing beliefs of urban youth. It’s undoubtedly complicated and challenging as there are so many factors at play (including how the government functions), but I’m looking forward to seeing what the future holds.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY INDIA!

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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The past decade has brought revolutionary changes to the consumer landscape in India, with western technology and retail concepts rapidly taking hold across the country. It began with the introduction of hypermarkets, such as the madness of the Big Bazaar and its Sabse Sasta Teen Din and Purana Do Naya Lo promotions. Now, it’s progressed to smartphones, the Internet… and Facebook.

With growing access to the Internet, the rise of Facebook and social media has enabled Indians to be better connected to each other than ever. Yet, it does have a downside. A downside that has been unleashed on women not just in India but all over the world. And, that is, the rise of the Indian Internet Romeo.

Young Indian men are using Facebook like they would Shaadi.com, clicking on womens’ profiles, and filling their inboxes with outpourings of longings for liaisons, which they commonly term “fraindship”. If there are any women who are reading this blog post and haven’t received a request for fraindship, I’m sorry you’ve missed out on the pleasure… now please tell me your secret for avoiding it! However, for those of you who have, you’ll know what I’m talking about. In its most innocuous form, it comes as a message like this:

“I am nasim from kolkata INDIA and i vist your profile through some of my friend list mutal & and like to make friend with you in online , & if u like then send me friend request to my Fb and i hope we will be best friend in near future. Pls reply me with yes or no and if u not like then i will not send any msg to u.”

(Yes, I am using real examples received by myself and my girlfriends here).

Others, like the one below, rely on flattery.

“i saw your profile and i gota say u really seem like a very interesting and fun loving person [:-)] …. and u have the most most beautiful eyes i have ever seen . if u don’t get offended can i be friends with u ? it will be my pleasure to be friends with u [:-)] … so what do u like to do in your free time ? how do u spend ur weekend?”

Some attempt to play it much cooler, but still end up sounding foolish.

“hey how r u? i hope all great..!!!well this is mohit.. shifted to mumbai recently…!! somehow came across u here.. i cudnt help myself bt msg u.. your smile distracted me. i wish we can know each other. I believe you r blessed with good looks, and must be cuming across many pick up lines or frd requests.. m not gonna do the same.. like hi.. ur beautiful.. ur sexy.. ur eyes r gorgeous n all.. nor wil i say like to b frds?? sometimes it amuses, sometimes it irritates big time i knw.. n u wonder from where out of blue someone is adding u n wanting to b frds..! bt i wud rather say… lets start off with a conversation… gradually we may knw each othr… n in the process we may end up being friends.. may be even ‘gud frds’.. may be not… So wat say dear??? will expect a reply even b it No..ciao..
Mohit.. (bbpin: xxxxxxxx add if u r there)PS: u have a wonderful smile by th way”.

(Note: this one was addressed to a friend of mine who, not only is not smiling in her profile picture, but her face is obscured so it’s impossible to tell if she’s good looking or not).

Unlike the matrimonial sites, age is definitely no bar when it comes to the Indian Internet Romeo’s pursuit of fraindship on Facebook. I have one very groovy American yoga teacher ex-hippie friend who will be turning 60 next year (although she doesn’t look it) and she receives frequent messages, particularly from but not restricted to, guys from Kerala. Here’s a selection that she was happy to share.

“I seek friends with Tourists Varkala , Kerala . I have visited the Varkala for friendship and Relaxation. Please accept my Friendship. Educated Male Indian aged 39 years. God Bless you”

“hello hw r u this is agesh im a photographer im from india,kerala:)”

“hi…are you been in india?? i am vipin ,an engineer from india,living in south of india ,kerala”

” my name is sarvesh and i m 20 year old and i live dharamshala in himachal pradesh india,,,,,,,, cn i talk to you !!!!”

Some charming Indian Internet Romeos, more adept at English, approach us women casually like we’re models.

“Hey Buddy, I want to do a photoshoot with you. What do you say?”

Now, imagine my bemusement when I discovered that a friend of mine and I BOTH received this exact message from the same guy. What do I say? Ankit Sharma, time to get a new strategy, mate!

Sometimes though, the Indian Internet Romeo will bypass fraindship and get strait to the the point. I received this via email:

“i want to makd free sex with housewife and collega girl”.

Oh yeah baby! I admit, I couldn’t resist. I expressed my interest in a “sexy good time” but only if he showed me his photo first. Another friend of mine sent him a similar email. We were extremely amused and our hopes were high. It must’ve scared him off though because, much to our disappointment, he didn’t revert to either of us.

The point that I’m trying to make here is, Internet Romeos don’t bother wasting your time trying to chat us up. Spare us from this “Mujhse Fraindship Karoge” crap. It is ridiculous and creepy, especially to us older married women. Why would we want to do fraindship with you? You’d have better luck attracting a women by doing some Bollywood dance moves around a tree. But if you really insist, well, thanks for the entertainment and pardon us for our laughter.

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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Yesterday, I wrote a humorous blog post about friendship requests from Indian Internet Romeos on Facebook. However, today, I stumbled upon something much more serious in regards to unwanted attention from Indian men — a formal written complaint to the Maharashra Tourism Minister about sexual harassment at heritage attractions around Aurangabad.

Indian citizen and resident of Aurangabad, Natasha Zarine, posted the letter that she sent to the Minister on her Facebook profile along with pictures of the offenders (shown here). And, it’s disturbing to say the least.

In the letter, Natasha details the appalling behaviour that she and the foreign women whom she was with encountered at the Ajanta, Ellora and Pitttalkhora Caves, Daulatabad Fort, and Soi Gaon Fort.

Here is an extract from her letter:

Over the past few months, when I visited the sites mentioned above with some of my women friends, we were shocked and disappointed to find that we were being mocked at, sexually harassed and intimidated by the other visitors to the area. Not only was this behaviour meted out to us, but also to foreign tourists who were visiting these monuments. The offensive actions can be classified into the following categories:

1. Cat calling, shouting and yelling obscenities in Hindi and Marathi at us.
2. Making animalistic sounds when we passed by.
3. Coming up to us and asking offensive & intrusive questions.
4. Taking our photographs & videos on cell phones without our permission, even after we objected.
5. Ganging up against us if we objected or confronted such behaviour.

Let me give you an example of what one young person came up to me and said, “hello how are you?”, he kept repeating this till I answered, “Fine thank you”, to which he said, “Fine thank you – teri maa ki ch**t”

In another disgraceful incident, my friend’s blond hair was touched & pulled by some children while their parents tried to take her picture without her permission.

While we entered the ‘Andheri’ in the Daulatabad fort, a group of young men surrounded us and began shouting, hooting and yelling at the top of their voices.

At every stage our pictures were being clicked by strangers, I asked one person to stop clicking us , to which he came exceedingly close to me and thrust his phone in my face and said in Hindi, “I will take the picture, what will you do?”

She goes on to say that the guards who witnessed the events did absolutely nothing to help them.

Having experienced similar harassment myself, where I was leered at and photographed by groups of guys with phone cameras at Maheshwar early this year, reading about what happened to Natasha and her friends brought back the strong emotions of anger and violation that I felt for months afterwards.

In case you’ve never been the subject of attention of Indian men and their phone cameras, just take a look at the photo below. Can you imagine how the poor woman feels to be confronted with this? A barricade of barbarian men pointing their cameras at her. And, such a scenario is not rare! It’s alarmingly very common at tourist attractions across India.

One of Natasha's photos: Guys blocking the way with their phone cameras.

With phone cameras having become accessible to the masses in India, this is what sexual harassment has turned into. Packs of filthy men photographing women at will, while guards stand around ignoring it.

I wrote about the issue on my About.com India Travel site and I’m writing about it here to raise as much awareness as possible, which is what Natasha wanted to do, in the hope that the complaint is taken seriously and actioned. It’s commendable that she’s spoken out about her experience and appealed to the government to do something about it. She’s mentioned that the Aurangabad Commissioner of Police has called a meeting to discuss it tomorrow, which is encouraging. I only hope that the Maharashtra Tourism Minister takes the matter just as seriously and implements the measures that Natasha has suggested in her letter to curb the menace.

This behaviour from men is sickening and depraved, and not only is it ruining India as a tourist destination, it’s giving Indian men a bad name worldwide as foreigners no doubt recount their horrific experiences.

© 2013, Diary of a White Indian Housewife. All rights reserved. Do not copy and reproduce text or images without permission.

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