A Passage Through India

Halloween, India style

2006-11-13T01:51:00.000-08:00

Somehow, no matter where in the world we happen to be, we end up finding a way to celebrate what has always been one of my favorite holidays. And with five kids in our little building, a Halloween party was practically a given.

Once we had floated the idea, it was definitely a given, because Lauren, Priyanka and Meghana latched onto the concept like three small limpets, and every day became a chorus of "what shall we do at the PARTY? What should we wear? What games will we play?" Yup, a party there would be.

Fortunately, their mothers were equally enthusiastic (or perhaps they could just read the handwriting on the wall as well as I could). So my sister rang her boyfriend in the States to arrange an emergency airlift of necessities (including plastic spider rings, fake 'webs', orange-and-black streamers and balloons, and a paper skeleton to hang on the door), and the planning began.

I'm not sure if Jamie really remembered his last Halloween, but he clearly enjoyed the prep work for this one, especially our somewhat ill-fated attempt at making papier-mache pumpkins on the back porch, using homemade flour-and-water paste and a balloon for a base. We had to carry him through the house at arm's length and dump him directly in the shower after that one, and the pumpkin itself never did quite dry properly (perhaps due to the massive quantity of paste involved), but fun was had by all.

Now the only thing left to tackle was the issue of costumes - a bit tricky in a country that just doesn't 'do' Halloween. Luckily, we spotted a face-painting kit in the grocery store (of all places!) and decided that with a few extra touches, that would do for all of us.

Jamie's costume was, of course, the most important, and I was thinking about it one afternoon while folding the laundry on the line... hmmm.... check out those Tigger jammies! Lo, an idea. So I cut two ears out of an old cereal box, painted them appropriately, and taped them onto Stace's black headband, then stuffed one of Steve's black business socks and wrapped it with orange crepe paper to make a tail. Ten minutes of face-painting later, we had our own little tiger cub (who put up with the process quite patiently, but asked every five seconds if he was a tiger yet...)

The evening started slowly, but before too long we had a house full of little monsters, and some big ones, too. Even Steve got in on the act - we decided that given his recent and somewhat alarming weight loss, there was only one possible costume for him. Frightening, eh? Jamie didn't seem put off, but some of the other little girls were giving him a wide berth.

Trick-or-treating obviously required a bit of creative thinking, and Stacy came up with the answer. Thanks to the wrap-around terrace, our apartment actually has four sets of doors that open outside - so we turned out all the lights, put a candle in each room, and stationed one parent at each door with the loot. The kids all bundled out the front door, sacks in hand, and made their way around the perimeter, collecting enough sugar to keep them hyper for days. It didn't exactly take very long, but everyone seemed happy.

Not long after that, the pizza and sugar rush wore off for Jamie and it was bedtime for our little tiger. But this is India, after all, the land of elaborate dining, and so the kids' party snacks were soon augmented by a full dinner for the adults (tandoori chicken, butter masala paneer, a vegetable biryani, and ghee rice, plus my pitiful contribution of potato salad) conveyed from upstairs like manna from heaven by our amazing neighbor Erica. How she does it, I will never know - but it was absolutely delicious, and we all dug in like starving coyotes. Stacy's secret-ingredient punch had given everyone a pleasant glow, and we had a wonderful evening of talk and laughter with our neighbors, now friends. It made me feel very lucky to have lived here, even with the headaches it has sometimes entailed. This is the real Bangalore, and here we are, a part of it. How cool.

Mmmmm. Coffee.

2006-11-07T01:34:00.000-08:00

All of a sudden, it occurred to us that we had a long weekend coming up. And not just any long weekend, but Diwali, the 'festival of lights,' which is arguably the biggest Hindu holiday in
a calendar jam-packed with the suckers (30-plus at last count!)

This really shouldn't have taken us by surprise, as we'd been seeing brightly wrapped boxes of dried fruit and nuts (traditional Diwali gifts) in every store for weeks. But somehow I hadn't put together that Steve would have two days off work, and that by taking the Monday off as well, we could have a 5-day break together.

Of course, this realization came almost too late. Diwali is a bit like American Thanksgiving in that everyone, but EVERYONE, is travelling near and far to be with relatives for the holiday. And in a country of over a billion people, that means NO plane tickets, train tickets - even bus tickets - to be found. We made a valiant last-ditch effort to get down to Kerala, but no dice. So we did the next best thing and hired a car and driver, then looked at the map to see where we could get to that looked interesting.

Enter Coorg, aka 'the Scotland of India' or 'the Kashmir of the south,' depending on who you ask. This is the region that grows most of India's coffee, and it lies about 6 hours' drive southwest of Bangalore, in a hilly, forested region with cool weather, some wildlife spotting opportunities, and a couple of towns and temples to explore. Done, we said, and packed our bags.

The first good sign was when our driver, Baigin, was not only friendly and a reasonable English speaker, but revealed he had a 2-year-old son of his own. Considering he was about to spend the next five days in a car with James, this was a very important factor. We piled into the Qualis (like a Jeep Cherokee, with three seats - this also became an important factor!) and took off in search of our accommodation, a converted planter's house on a working coffee estate.

As we traveled from the urban chaos of the city, through the rice and sugarcane fields and gradually wended our way up into misty hills, we all breathed a sigh of relief (except James, who, true to form, really would have liked to be out of the car after the first hour and showed it by attempting repeated gymnastic flips from the second into the third seat. Now you see why having a battle-tested father at the wheel was so important!)

Before long, Baigin was pointing out the large, shiny leaves of coffee in the wooded areas to either side, and we got our first look at the typical (and from what I could tell, invariable) layout of the coffee estate: well-trimmed roadside hedges with occasional wrought-iron gates, containing acre upon acre of tall hardwood trees with a dense undercanopy of coffee, all pruned to man-height for easy harvesting. In a triumph of sensible multi-cropping, all of the taller trees (in addition to shading the light-sensitive coffee) also play host to tall, lush pepper vines and sometimes vanilla orchids as well, so the overall effect is wonderfully tropical.

When we got to "our" estate, after several mobile phone calls, one wrong turn, and multiple stops for directions, it was dusk. The first thing I noticed when the engine cut out was the lovely, sorely-missed sensation of peace and quiet, with nothing but birdsong and a distant dog's bark to break the silence. The second thing was the rapacious mosquitoes. Good thing we brought the DEET, I thought.

Our host and hostess left us to settle into the cottage, which was situated all on its own in a small clearing, surrounded by coffee. If I had been inclined, I could have harvested myself a small sack from the yard. Ahhh... my kind of place. I was quite pleased with myself for having found such a tidy-looking little spot on such short notice, and at a good rate as well. Finally, we were going to experience the REAL India!

Reality set in when we entered the house. The interior was fine - reasonably spacious, with ceiling fans and two bedrooms. Our bedroom had a single massive bed, which looked to be two twins (or even one twin and a double?) pushed together - which was good, since it looked like we would be sharing it with Jamie. Our hostess had scoffed when I asked about bedrooms, saying, "It's fine, it's fine, the house sleeps 8!" I really should have learned by now to keep pushing for an answer - because the only way this house would sleep 8 people is if you put five in the big bed and three poor souls squeezed into the double bed in Stacy's room. Ah, well - there were only the four of us, and we would do well enough.

Steve kept his happy face on until we went looking for the bathroom. Outside the back door was a separate mud-brick building with a tin roof and two small rooms - one containing a toilet which was Western-style but missing a seat, and with the local version of toilet paper (a bucket of water and a small plastic pitcher - something none of us has mastered yet!) The other room had a sink, a drain in the floor, a large plastic bucket and cup, and a curious square protrusion in one corner which we later learned was a wood-fired cistern for hot water.

I did say this was the real India, didn't I?

After a tense couple of hours in which I told Steve that if he wanted to leave, HE was going to have to explain it to the landlady, we decided that we could hack it - even if some of us weren't so happy about it. I think Stace and I actually liked it from the outset, and James was too excited about the owners' doggies to give a toss, but at that moment, I suspect my dear husband would have vastly preferred an impersonal Western hotel room.

And so we began our adventure. The houseboy (who was immediately dubbed Lurch for his taciturn habits, poor thing - for two days, we actually thought he couldn't speak) brought us some beautiful coffee to enjoy on the porch, and then scuttled around the back. When smoke started rising from behind the house, we weren't sure whether he was trying to drive the mosquitoes away, or start a forest fire to roast us in our beds - it wasn't until I ventured into the bath-room the next day that I realized our water had been warming all night.

Bathing there was like a cross between camping and time-travel, with the sunlight slanting through the door and tendrils of smoke curling up under the roof from the cistern fire. The method is fairly simple: fill the big bucket partway with cold tap water, then uncover the cistern and add wonderful piping-hot water to your liking. Pour two or three jugs over your head, then lather, rinse, repeat. An unexpectedly lovely way to bathe, and certainly very environment-friendly. Given the drought situation shaping up in Oz this summer, I may be glad to have had the practice...

On our first day out, we decided to explore the area, so we headed into Madikeri, the centre of coffee country. It's a small town perched on the sides of several hills, and is a former summer retreat of multiple local rulers (including, you guessed it, the omnipresent Tipu Sultan). The surrounding area has a very interesting local culture. Coorg is more properly known as Kodagu, and the true locals are a distinct ethnic group known as Kodavas, who are believed to be descended from the Greek soldiers who came to this part of the world with Alexander the Great. They are fiercely independent, well-known as heroic soldiers (a large number of India's best-known generals have been Kodavas) and hold the unusual honor of never having been conquered in battle by either the ferocious Tipu or the British. As such, to this day they retain the unique privilege of carrying firearms without a license. There is also apparently an annual festival which involves elaborate traditional dress, lots of alcohol, and contests of marksmanship... one which I must admit we were happy to miss.

In Madikeri, we first went on a short hike down to Abbi Falls, a beautiful waterfall in the Cauvery River. The Cauvery originates in Coorg, and is considered to be the embodiment and/or abode of the goddess Cauvery, so the wellspring of the river is a sacred site. Apparently, once a year (just a few days before we arrived, in fact) the spring gushes forth a geyser of water which signals the presence of the goddess herself, and bathing in those waters is an important pilgrimage (as well as quite refreshing, I imagine).

The falls were lovely, and it was well worth the hike down into the gorge to feel the spray on our faces. Next stop was lunch, plus a spot of excitement when James caught sight of a well-fed leech on the floor of the car which, I found, had just detached itself from my ankle. Yecch. He hasn't forgotten it yet, and doesn't seem likely to for some time... Then we headed to the Raja's Seat, a formal garden which was apparently a favorite sunset-viewing spot for the former rulers, and still boasts a stunning view. After which we repaired home for baths, dinner, and bed, complete with a sweet serenade from the geckoes residing in the roof.

Day Three was Elephant Day. My sister, upon arrival in India, announced that her sole aims were to ride an elephant and a camel, and see a cobra and a mongoose before she left, so when I read about the Dubare Elephant Camp, I grinned and kept the details to myself. There are advantages to being the official trip planner, and surprises are one of them. We left early, and after a boat ride across the Cauvery and a walk up the hill, joined the 'elephant experience.' Dubare is where the elephants used in the big Mysore Dasara parade are trained, and the morning we joined them, there were 9 elephants residing there.

Shortly after we arrived, so did the elephants - casually walking up to the small crowd of people with their mahouts riding lightly on their necks. Just like that, there they were - and the near-total silence of their approach gave me a much greater appreciation of how dangerous they can be in the wild. Several times that morning, I turned around to find one right behind me, and I hadn't sensed a thing.

With a wonderful disregard for OSHA regulations and the possibility of litigation, we were allowed to stand next to the elephants for photos, pat their massive cheeks, and scratch them behind the ears. James, who I had thought might be frightened, showed no hesitation whatsoever, and laughed uproariously whenever the female flapped her ears close to his head. Then, we got to help bathe them in the river. One by one, they trooped down to the river shallows and lay down on their sides in the water, blowing massive bubbles through their trunks and generally acting like happy toddlers as we sloshed and scrubbed them with rough hunks of coconut fiber.

After bath came breakfast, which consisted of cannonball-sized boulders of thick millet and molasses 'porridge,' levered into their gaping mouths one after another by the handlers. A mother elephant and her year-old offspring showed up for brekky, and one of the greatest things in that whole great day was having the frisky baby 'explore' my arms, chest, face, etc. with his trunk looking for treats. As I said to Steve afterward, my day wouldn't really have been complete without elephant snot on my shirt. :-)

After that, we had a short (and mostly incomprehensible) informative lecture on the elephants while three of them were 'saddled up,' and then we got to climb a full flight of stairs to the mounting platform and clamber aboard for a joyride. We inadvertently got a better appreciation of the difficulties of training something as big as an elephant when we got to watch several mahouts try to convince a newbie elephant that it was okay to have this giant thing strapped to its back. At one point, all we could see over the roof of a nearby shed was their three heads, bobbing into the distance at a great rate of speed. (At which point, Stace and I looked at each other and said, "Let's NOT get on that one!")

You'd think this would have been enough excitement for one day, but that was just our morning, and we had another destination in mind as well. In addition to coffee, Coorg is also home to one of the largest expatriate Tibetan communities in India, centered around the town of Bylakuppe. We decided to pay a visit to the largest of several Tibetan Buddhist temples in the area, known simply as the Golden Temple (and no wonder - you could see its shining dome from several k's away!)

I don't think any of us had any specific expectations from this visit, but any we may have had were far surpassed. The temple complex was amazing - like a walled world set apart from the dirt and chaos of India outside. From the groomed gardens to the intricately detailed murals on the temple buildings, everything was meticulously cared for and strangely peaceful, despite the dozens of tourists wandering around and the very noisy religious ceremonies going on.

I found it interesting that though the popular image of Buddhism is one of monks meditating in perfect silence, the reality seemed to be lots of loud, nasal chanting accompanied by the beating of massive (6-foot diameter!) drums and cymbals and punctuated by occasional deafening blasts on equally massive (maybe 10 feet long?) copper horns. As I remarked to Stacy, I couldn't help but compare it to a toddler making heaps of noise to attract his mother's attention.

Who knows, maybe it works, because this was one of the most beautiful, serene places we have visited so far, and if I ever disappear from the world without a trace, someone should look for me here.

The other fun thing about the Golden Temple was discovering that despite being delirious from lack of nap, Jamie's charisma still draws in the babes - even when they're Buddhist nuns. (see opposite).

After this visit, it was definitely, definitely time to head 'home' for baths and dinner. Highlights of the evening included hearing Stace head out back with the flashlight to use the toilet, followed by the most amazing multi-octave scream when she shone it on a massive spider 'sharing' the bathroom with her. James is still talking about that one, too.

The following day, we had earmarked with much anticipation for a visit to Nagarhole National Park, supposedly one of the best spots in India to catch sight of a tiger in the wild. Unfortunately, after hours (and I do mean HOURS) of bumping along in excruciatingly slow fashion over insanely potholed roads, not to mention running into the local version of a traffic jam (see photo) not once, not twice, but THREE times, we ended up on an uninspiring bus tour during which the most fascinating wildlife we saw was a native buffalo. Jamie was far more excited about the monkeys in the parking lot (one of whom took banana chips from Auntie Stacy's hand and then growled at her). Ah well, you win some and you lose some - but I was very happy that we'd gone to visit Bannerghatta earlier!

By the time all this was through, we were more than happy to pile in and head back to civilization, in the form of the lovely city of Mysore.

We arrived after dark, and were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the grand sight we missed on our first visit - the lights on the Mysore Palace. Stace was looking in the wrong direction as we came around the corner, and when she turned around, her jaw just dropped open in cartoon fashion. Even the exhausted Jamie went "Oooohh!" It is quite the spectacle.

Our so-so hotel room seemed like a palace that night, and we indulged in hot showers and room service forthwith. Unfortunately, James had simply hit the end of his rope after four days of napping hit-or-miss in the car, and kept us all awake most of the night by waking up every couple of hours screaming (for those who don't have toddlers, this is one of their more charming traits when over-tired - they can't sleep! Now you see why Mummy is the Bedtime Nazi...)

Home had never looked so good, and after a morning spent showing Stace the palace (which she loved) and the view from Chamundi Hill, we rolled in around 6pm and crashed. What a trip.

Lions and tigers and bears...literally...

2006-10-18T01:10:00.000-07:00

No trip to India could possibly be complete without a good squiz at a tiger, could it? So when Steve's co-worker Mike and his wife Ellie kindly invited us along on a Sunday morning jaunt to Bannerghatta National Park, just south of the city, we accepted with alacrity.

We weren't totally sure what to expect of a wildlife sanctuary so close to a major urban area, and on arrival it didn't look overly promising - dusty and a bit barren, with handpainted signs for the various 'safaris' you could take and the usual collection of stalls selling ice creams, bottled drinks, sugarcane juice and roasted corn. One good sign, however, was the lack of crowds - Mike and Ellie said they had tried to come once before and been turned away by the massive queues. Apparently not so many Bangaloreans bother to get out of bed before 9am on a Sunday morning.

Jamie with his usual crowd of admirers...

After some discussion (mostly with Jamie about how we were NOT going to have ice cream for breakfast), we bought tickets to the 'deluxe' safari, which included admission to the adjoining zoo. We had about half an hour to kill, so we wandered into the zoo, which did not raise my expectations in the slightest. Thank goodness most Western zoos have moved away from this old style of barred cages, I thought as we wandered past a forlorn monkey sulking at the top of what looked like a giant birdcage, a couple of peacocks calling plaintively from behind massive bars that could have held back an ox, and a few depressed ducks floating in a cement pond filled with four inches of greenish water. Ah well, at least we're only wasting a morning.

After a few more minutes waiting in a queue, we boarded a bus with mesh over the windows and, with several unexplained stops and starts, made our way into the park. Surprisingly, we seemed to be the only Westerners on the bus - perhaps everyone else slept in that day, or maybe Indians just really love their wildlife.

The bus bumped along through a double-gated enclosure, and shortly we started to see the herbivores - the beautiful Indian bison called gaur, plus two or three lovely spotted chital deer and a larger species called sambar. All were announced rather abruptly by our guide, who had an astoundingly hoarse, barking voice, couldn't have been more than 14, and didn't appear to speak any English at all. (Semi-private aside to Bill and Chris: Steve and I looked at each other and immediately said, "Trapezoid!!" :-) But the deer were beautiful, and close by the road as well, courtesy of the piles of lovely green fodder that had been put out for them.

Which made me wonder, as we made our lumbering way into another gated area - this one with huge bars and electric fencing - how the park rangers ensured similar carnivore sightings. (Old gaur, we decided.) Surprisingly, this area turned out to be designated for nothing more fearsome than bears (perhaps very strong ones?) They were of a species I've never seen before, about the size and color of a North American black bear but with big ruffs of fur around their necks and strange, leathery noses.

Then it was on to the cats at last - first, an area with a few apathetic-looking lions who seemed to be floored by the humidity ("but in Africa, it's a DRY heat!") and then on to the main attraction - the tigers. We bumped through yet another double gate and into a forested area, with every occupant of the bus holding his or her breath except Jamie, who after a valiant battle had fallen asleep on Daddy's chest just as we got to the interesting part.

We almost groaned in disappointment when the first tigers we saw were in cages, thinking we'd been royally ripped off - and of course, thanks to the language barrier, we couldn't even ask our guide if this was all there was. As it was, in a few moments we realized we had jumped to an utterly wrong conclusion: this was the maternity ward, and the poor mamma tiger we were looking at appeared to have not one, not two, but THREE youngsters jumping on and around her. I had no idea tigers could even have triplets, but this one appeared to be valiantly and singlehandedly attempting to remove herself from the endangered species list. Go, girl!

As we rumbled on through the forest, everyone scanned the underbrush on either side of the bus, looking for the elusive and hard-to-spot Bengal tiger, ghost of the jungle, figment of the popular imagination... until the bus bumped to an abrupt halt and we all looked forward to see what appeared to be a long, stripy speedbump in the middle of the track. Behold, the elusive tiger.

Hiding in plain sight...

He was in no hurry to get up, either - not even when our bus inched to within a foot of his striped backside and every person on it attempted to cram into the front two seats (which is where we were sitting, incidentally) to get a photo. He just lounged there, occasionally gazing up at the dozens of lenses like a Bollywood star on the red carpet. We all oohed and ahhed (no language barrier here - everyone was grinning like maniacs) until he had finally had enough and ambled off.

The next half-hour or so turned out to be an absolutely fantastic experience. I'm not sure what they feed these tigers, but we saw two more lounging in the middle of the road, including one snowy-white specimen who quite clearly understood just how much more gorgeous and important he was than some bus full of sweaty tourists. We saw tigers reclining in the underbrush, tigers playing in the shade, and tigers taking a delicate drink from a muddy pond. By the time we rumbled out the other side of their domain, we must have seen a dozen tigers in all, each one more gorgeous than the last. Ahhhh. What a day.

Our little socialite

2006-10-16T00:22:00.000-07:00

It's somewhat sobering to realize that our 2-year-old actually has a better social life than we do.

Since we moved in, James has gradually acquired a bevy - nay, a harem - of admiring women, in a pleasing range of ages between 5 and 40. My sister has commented that later in life, he'll find himself mysteriously unable to be satisfied by any one woman and never know why - ahh, but we will!

The core of the James admiration society is the three little girls from upstairs: Lauren, age 9, Priyanka, age 10, and Priyanka's little sister Meghana, who just turned 5. All three of them quite often descend on us after school, and our back porch has been the scene of many noisy games of 'soccer' (which usually consists of the girls playing keep-away from James until he objects, at which point they kick the ball to him and he picks it up and runs away shouting, "MY ball!")

Last weekend was Meghana's birthday, or at least the official celebration of it, and of course our little social butterfly was invited. Very sensibly, the birthday girl's parents chose to entertain the 40-plus invitees (how can a 5-year-old have 40 friends??) at a local play center which bore a very close resemblance to play centers in Australia, down to the ball pit and climbing/tunnel/slide arrangement.

James had a great time in the ball pit with a couple of preteen girls (associate members of the harem, perhaps?) but was a bit more suspicious of the dancing, which was to very loud Hindi pop music - and ALL the little girls knew the same moves! Looked a little scary to me, too. He was also introduced to the concepts of musical chairs (from the sidelines), face painting (surprisingly, he wasn't keen on this), and clowns (which he HATED at first sight, then decided were okay).

Then came the cake-cutting and "Happy Birthday," followed by a buffet of spicy noodles, corn off the cob, mini pizzas, chocolate tarts and the most enormous and jiggly marshmallows I have ever seen (see photos for Jamie's reaction to these). He happily stuffed himself and played way past his bedtime, and staggered out of the party at close to 9pm, clutching balloons and a goody bag in his sticky little fingers. All in all, a successful evening for our small socialite.

Our Town

2006-10-05T02:35:00.000-07:00

My sister arrived last Friday, and after a couple days' grace to recover from jet lag and the late night (why, oh why, do all international flights into Bangalore have to arrive at 1 am??) we decided to rent a car and show her the town.

It was also the last day of Dasara, which turned out to be a great time to see the sights. The day before, we had made two impromptu friends at the Bangalore Club (funny how men come out of the woodwork when they see two blondes!) who finally explained the holiday to us.

As we understand it, the festival commemorates a great battle between the goddess Durga (who is worshipped in ten different forms over the ten days of the festival - I told you they had a plenitude of gods!!) and a buffalo demon king named Mahishasura. He had asked one of the gods for immortality and been refused, so he then asked to be immune to death except at the hands of a woman. The god couldn't refuse his second request, and Mahishasura commenced behaving badly (as demons tend to do). Things got so ugly that the gods were beseiged with prayers for deliverance from the people, and they all lent one of their arms to create Durga (who is also worshipped as the death goddess Kali, usually portrayed as a fearsome female figure with dozens of arms) in order to defeat him. Their battle took a number of days, and according to legend took place at the Chamundi Hills just outside Mysore (which was originally named after Mahishasura - hence the massive Dasara celebrations there).

The penultimate day of the festival is the day for celebrating the 'weapons of the warrior' - which, in modern terms, has been interpreted to include things like cars, buses, autos, and tools of one's trade. This explained some of the amazing decorations we'd been seeing everywhere - garlands of bright marigolds and flapping palm fronds on just about every car, painted saffron symbols on windows, doors and tires, and broken melons dyed red outside the doors of houses. It is also considered a very auspicious day to start any new venture - which in its turn explained the giant flower banners we had seen announcing a number of marriages.

The final day of Dasara is the celebration of the battle itself, and the goddess's victory over evil. It felt a little like Easter to me, though perhaps that had something to do with the palm leaves everywhere. But it was definitely a great day to sightsee - there were tons of people out enjoying the holiday, and interesting and unexpected sights around every corner.

First stop on our little tour was the Bull Temple, which is at the top of a small hill in the southwestern part of central Bangalore. The temple itself dates from the 16th century, but it was built around an enormous black stone statue of Nandi (the mythical bovine steed of Lord Shiva) which is 4.5 metres tall and absolutely ancient. I'm starting to really enjoy Hindu temples - they are invariably cool and peaceful, but without the stern and somewhat forbidding aura of a mosque or even some Catholic churches I've seen. We circumnavigated the massive bull ("He got HORNS!" said Jamie in a loud voice) and were each gifted with a flower and a bindi blessing on the way out - all except poor Stace, who saw the donations on the platter and missed her chance while trying to dig out some change to contribute. Hope the experience doesn't turn her off temples altogether.

After our brush with divinity, we followed the snaking line of pilgrims down the hill through some of the loveliest parkland I've seen in Bangalore. Immensely tall raintrees and eucalypts (yes, good old gum trees - don't ask me how!) shaded our winding path, and benches at discreet distances all seemed to hold cuddling couples. Our only worry was whether we were about to be peed on by the flying foxes nesting in the treetops.

Eventually, we came out at a large outcropping of boulders in the trees, which was being thoroughly explored by a dozen or so children. Most of them were taking turns using a natural stone slide which, judging from the level of polish, had delighted many generations. Jamie, of course, decided he wanted to have a go, so Daddy took him down (to the amusement of all and sundry). We decided it definitely worked much better if you were smart like the locals and commandeered a flattened 2-litre soda bottle to sit on.

We also collected a small retinue of local kids on our walk, who promptly asked our names and then seemed to forget all but mine. So our stroll was accompanied by a high-pitched chorus of "Manda, Manda!" Unlike many kids we've seen in the city, however, these had no agenda except fun. The game became for me to pull my camera out and "threaten" to take their picture - which they would hold still for until the last minute and then scatter, screaming with delight. As we were getting into our car, I finally got a (partial) shot through the window, before most of them piled onto a (single!) motorbike with an adult and zoomed away, waving and shouting as they went.

After that, it was on to the Lal Bagh botanical gardens, a 240-acre monument to the horticultural bent of two monarchs (Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan, the same guys who figured so prominently in the history of Mysore - and all of southern India, really). "Lal Bagh" means "red rose," and apparently when the roses are blooming here it is truly a sight to behold. We didn't see so many roses, but the formal gardens, blooming lotuses and ancient trees (our guide claimed one was 2500 years old, and it was certainly big enough for that! see the pic for proof) were worth the price of admission. I've been here twice now, and it's absolutely lovely. We'll have to bring Beanie back for a picnic sometime.

One of the interesting parts of Lal Bagh is a huge granite outcropping close to the main entrance. On top of this "mountain" (as James dubbed it - and I suppose to a 2-year-old, it's close enough) is one of the Kempe Gowda towers. There are four of them dotted around the city, constructed 500-some years ago by the founder of Bangalore as a sort of pipe dream, to show where he imagined the city might extend to some day. Sort of fun to look at the tower, and then the city sprawling everywhere around it, and imagine what old Kempe Gowda might think if he could see his town now.

After our tour through Lal Bagh, it was starting to get late, we had run out of room on our cameras, and James was reaching the end of his tether. In fact, he went well past it in the car, when hunger and fatigue finally led to the (probably inevitable) temper tantrum. We eventually calmed the raging seas with that miracle substance, chocolate (many kudos to Daddy for remembering to bring some 'just in case!') - but in the end, we decided to call it a day.

Even the drive home was fascinating, as it turned out. We ended up detouring through a local market which was absolutely filled with flower vendors, plus what looked like a touring shrine to the goddess which was being worshipped with lots of open flame and loud drumming. Then our driver took what he probably regarded as a wrong turn, and ended up in the middle of the main City Market. Oh, my God - I have never seen so many people in one place since Steve and I spent New Year's Eve 2000 in Times Square. It was incredible to see, with all the vendors and brightly colored goods and cows wandering through it all - but at that stage of the day, I was very thankful to be in the sheltering cocoon of the car. It took us half an hour or more to make our way through the scrum and to the comparatively empty streets leading us home.

Get outta town!

2006-09-26T01:31:00.000-07:00

It was time, we thought, to see something outside the smog and chaos of Bangalore. So when our dear friend Bill just happened to show up from the US on business, and just happened to have a colleague from nearby Mysore who was not only willing, but keen to show a bunch of clueless foreigners around, we jumped at the chance.

And what a day it was! We left about 9 am, piling into two cars and caravanning the 2.5 hours to this famous and ancient city. Our hosts, Vijay and his wife Nirmala, broke the journey at about 10 for breakfast (Indians seem to do everything later in the day!) at an amazing and very crowded traditional restaurant just off the highway, where everyone was sitting under open-sided palm-leaf cabanas, with monkeys leaping through the trees overhead. (Needless to say, this was Jamie's favorite part.) The breakfast was a vegetarian buffet which hit all the local South Indian culinary icons: masala dosa (like a crispy pancake folded around spicy vegetables - seriously yummy); yellow coconut rice which looked harmless but was so hot I could only eat a couple of bites; iddli (rice-based cake served with a curry sauce on the side); vada (looks like a donut, but tastes, you guessed it, spicy); and just for contrast, some yellow concoction whose name sounded like 'halva' and which was so sweet it made my teeth ache. Add to that some tall glasses of watermelon juice and amazingly strong, sweet coffee afterward, and we were all happy (and full!) campers.

The punch line: as I recall, this breakfast cost us about AU$1.80. I have had a heartfelt conversation with my upstairs neighbor, who has traveled in Canada, about how the price of a five-course vegetarian feast here won't even stretch to a cup of coffee overseas. Which might explain why you don't see so many middle-class Indians doing the Grand Tour.

After a short break to explain to my son why he couldn't pet the monkeys, we hopped back in the car and continued to Mysore. First stop was a terrifying dungeon used to hold (read: torture) British prisoners of war. Not that the place itself was so scary -with one wall removed for light and a good coat of whitewash, it looked almost pretty. No, it was the guide's description of how the poor buggers were chained by the neck and wrists to shoulder-height stone outcroppings (still visible) for 22 HOURS PER DAY that made me shudder. Naw, we don't need no stinkin' Geneva Convention.

Then it was on to a Hindu temple for a bit of religious reflection. Nirmala laughingly explained to me on the way in (between brushing off the incredibly persistent and numerous beggars and bangle-sellers) that Hinduism actually has around a million gods and goddesses, which is in part due to their predilection for taking dozens of forms apiece. This temple seemed to be dedicated to only one deity, but as we followed the worshippers through its cool, dark stone corridors we saw at least 9 different shrines dedicated to his/her various aspects - a bit like one-stop shopping for your spiritual side. Priests stood in front of each shrine, chanting prayers and dispensing little dippers of holy water (possibly from the Ganges? I didn't ask) which the faithful tasted and then touched to their hair. Nirmala also gave us each a bindi dot of bright red pigment - even James, who wasn't sure he liked it and thought Daddy's was pretty hilarious. It was a cool, serene and indisputably ancient place.

Blurry Bill with bindi (courtesy of Beanie)

Having warmed up our cultural antennae, we ventured on to the Sultan's Palace. This is the traditional seat of the Wodeyar family, who have been sultans of the region since the 1500s (except for a comparatively short military coup by famous father-and-son heroes Hyder Ali and Tippu Sultan) and still hold a sort of ceremonial rulership. We were lucky enough to visit during Dasara, an annual 10-day religious festival in which the palace is lit with tens of thousands of lights. The current Wodeyar scion, who incidentally still lives in a wing of his massive palace, holds special concerts and parades, and even dusts off his enormous gold- and jewel-encrusted throne for public viewing.

The palace itself is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. I have walked through Windsor Castle and Versailles, but I have to say that for grace, artistic detail and sheer luxury, this palace beats them both hands-down. We bade our shoes goodbye at the entrance (only belatedly did I realize that this had less to do with protecting the floors than being polite when entering the sultan's home) and were more or less carried by the crowd through hall after hall, each one more detailed and beautiful than the last. When we got to the wedding hall, my breath caught at the spectacle of a huge dome capped with a stained-glass ceiling ablaze with peacocks and flowers. Jamie must have liked it too, since he ducked under the ropes and proceeded to take a spin in the middle of the floor. To their credit, the guards just smiled - guess it was that blonde thing working in his favor again.

The other details passed in a bit of a sweaty blur, with a few detailed images impressed on my retinas: the thousands of exquisite ivory inlaid flowers on not one, not two, but THREE sets of massive ebony doors in the entry to the raja's throne room; the room itself, which is the first place I've ever been in that actually had a set of doors covered in beaten silver (making it very easy to picture flunkies bowing themselves backwards out of the royal presence); and the elevated colonnade, completely painted in cool blue, which led out to the massive recessed dais from which the Wodeyars and their entire court could observe celebrations in the palace grounds. All I could say, over and over again, was "Wow!"

My only regret was the crowds - since it was Dasara, there was a veritable tide of humanity ebbing and flowing through the palace, and between keeping track of Jamie and the rest of our group, I didn't get nearly enough time to gawk. I hope we'll be able to go back.

The remainder of our day was happily taken up with lunch, some fantastic silk shopping (for the adults) and an ice cream (for James). He did us proud yet again, despite having only half an hour's sleep in the car and a most unfortunately timed (and fortunately short-lived) case of what we are fondly calling Bangalore Belly - a bit painful when still in nappies. This kid is seriously tough, folks. He even managed to keep his cool when we were literally mobbed by vendors upon leaving the palace - each of us trailing at least three desperate kitsch-clutching men like remoras on a shark. As I remarked to Steve upon collapsing into our car and nearly shutting the door on one guy's hand, now I know what Tom Cruise feels like. "Just one picture!" "Your autograph, Tom! ""Is it true your baby has 2 heads, Tom?" I suddenly sympathized a lot more with every camera-bashing celeb in Hollywood.

We piled back in the cars to retreat home at 6pm, and after multiple songs, stories and snacks Jamie finally drifted off to sleep on Steve's arm at 8, completely and utterly whipped. In the space of one day, he had tasted real Indian food, gawked at monkeys, bullock-carts, a camel and two elephants up close (they were giving rides at the palace), endured innumerable cheek-pinchings,seen a Turkish toilet for the first time, and danced at the raja's palace. Not bad for a 2-year-old.

Welcome to the 'hood

2006-09-21T23:55:00.000-07:00

Now that we're settling in, it might be time to describe where we're living.

Our building is three floors, and fairly new. On our little street, it looms like a huge pink castle, complete with tower room on the top floor. We're on the ground floor, which is both good (we have access to outdoor patios and a small garden) and bad (more mozzies, less privacy). We have a huge apartment - three bedrooms, each with ensuite, plus lounge, dining room, and kitchen, all with marble floors which are lovely and cool (and relatively toddler-proof). Here's what it looks like:

Master bedroom

Jamie's room

Auntie Stacy's room

Kitchen

Our street is both tiny and chaotic, complete with schizophrenic footpaths, wandering vendors (the ice-cream man rings his bell past our door every day about 11; the tomato man comes earlier, the newspaper guy a little later) and the ever-present street dogs (sure am glad we got those rabies jabs!) Traffic is much lighter than on the major roads, but what there is tends to travel at high speed, especially at night - risky, considering the local cows and goats seem to have no regard whatsoever for motor vehicles.

Richmond Town is considered one of the nicer areas of the city to live in - centrally located, close to parks and shopping. But it's not shopping as we know it, Jim.

Here is our local market, at which I am learning to shop. Everyone's very nice - I'm sure we're already well-known as the crazy blonde foreigners. I'm equally sure we're being taken for what the locals would consider to be a ridiculous sum of money - but hey, when I can buy a huge bunch of bananas for the equivalent of 90 cents Aussie, I'm not inclined to bargain too hard.

Fruit and veg is pretty easy - good quality, and most of it is washable and/or peelable. The meat market, on the other hand, is a tad more confronting. Our landlady took me through on a tour ("here's where you buy your mutton, fish (!) is over here, and beef down the back...") When the first thing that hits you on the way in is the stench, followed by the sight of a bowl of goat feet and dangling carcasses covered in flies, vegetarianism starts to look like a very sensible option. Refrigeration? What's that?? Even the fish was out in the open air - and believe me, we are a very long way from the ocean here in Bangalore. Call me a fussy Westerner, but I'll be looking elsewhere for my protein.

Thankfully, there are other options for one's groceries. The stores seem to range from the local supermarket (dusty but reasonably well-stocked with necessities - I even found toilet paper there, which is not a much-used item in India) to the big, fancy 'everything store' Spencer's, on MG Road, which seems to be the local equivalent of doing one's shopping at the David Jones Food Hall. This is the only place I've found so far at which I'm happy to buy meat - there's not much of it, but it's kept refrigerated and the butcher has clearly had more than a passing glance at soap and water.

More on the perils of the Bangalore housewife later.

The Bangalore Club, dahling.

2006-09-15T19:40:00.000-07:00

Afternoon in the apartment, and all is quiet, except for the little girls playing upstairs and the ever-present honks of cars and motorbikes outside. Jamie is sleeping, after a big morning of swimming and swinging at the Bangalore Club, our new and ever-so-posh oasis in the city.

By Indian standards, this club is very, very elegant indeed, in a conservative, old-money sort of way - and even through an American's spoiled eyes, it's pretty well-set up. We've managed to wangle a temporary membership for the duration of our stay, which is a good thing - we heard the secretary telling someone on the phone that the wait for full membership was 15 years! (This should remind Melburnians of a certain local cricket ground - do you suppose Bangaloreans sign their kids up at birth, too?) In doing so, we discovered, we've temporarily forged a posthumous link with fellow member Winston Churchill, who is apparently still noted in Club records for having departed without paying the 30 shillings he owed (a bar tab, one assumes).

The application process was a bit like stepping back in time, with piles of paper in duplicate, multiple passport photos, little cardboard membership folders with stamps and handwritten notations, and payment in piles of rupee notes (though the non-refundable portion of the fees is actually surprisingly low - I think we worked out that we're paying about AUD$80 for our three month membership.) Steve also had to attend an interview - I wonder what they wanted to ask him? I suppose it was to make sure he didn't have a mohawk or tattoos. I am also regularly being told that I need to put "Sir's name" down instead of my own on sign-in forms... ah, the joys of a patriarchal society.

All this is fitting, however, for a club that has been around since 1868, and looks as if it was frozen in time in about 1930. The main clubhouse is pure Raj-era elegance, with dark wood paneling, separate mixed-sex and gents-only lounges, mounted game heads staring down from the walls, and even a stuffed leopard (!) in a glass case (Jamie particularly liked this part). If you'd like a better look at it, all you need to do is rent "A Passage to India" on DVD - I'm told they filmed the British club scenes there, and it doesn't seem to have changed much since.

At our disposal, we also have a very nice swimming pool, complete with poolside bar service; the best (and cleanest!) playground I have seen in Bangalore; tennis, squash, and badminton courts; a very modern gym/sauna/steam room/massage facility; a billiards room, if you please; a library; several dining options; and a shopping area for groceries, toiletries, etc. There even used to be men's and ladies' hair salons, though these appear to have recently succumbed to some regulatory mishap.

All this is secluded behind a tall blue-and-white wall, in the heart of the city but managing to remain separate from its craziness. If it wasn't for the 1o-minute walk home in the traffic and dust, it would be too indulgent for words - but I must say that as a refuge from chaos, it works wonders.

Birthday blues (or: Toto, I think we're not in Kansas anymore!)

2006-09-14T01:30:00.000-07:00

11 September

My 35th birthday in India - who would've thought? James and I have been here three days now, and I think we've both run through all the major human emotions since our arrival - sometimes all at once.

Coming into the airport, late and tired, with a toddler who boasted the thousand-yard stare of the truly over-it, was an experience. James was so tired, he slept through descent, landing, and taxiing to the gate, not to mention all the other passengers leaving. I wished for a moment that I could just let him go on sleeping - he looked so peaceful and comfortable, and I knew the next hour or so would be anything but. Yet again, though, he came through like a trooper - no crying, no fussing, just sat there trustingly in his little stroller, staring at nothing, while one of the two porters who had instantly descended on us to 'help' pushed him through baggage claim like a little blonde prince. He only lost it after Steve had paid off our two 'helpers' and sent the driver to get the car, when we had to wait in the dark, at the edge of a chaotic two-to-four-lane stream of almost stationary cars and trucks trying to leave the airport simultaneously, all of whom seemed to think that liberal use of the horn would help matters somehow. At that point, poor Jamie just buried his face in my neck and howled. I couldn't blame him - I was having the same impulse myself, and I had been warned.

The drive to the apartment was wild - bumpy, dark and full of swerving traffic. I held James tightly on my lap, his head still buried in my neck, and tried not to think about the absence of car seats. We turned off the 'main' road (which was only partially paved - so much for the modern metropolis!) and into a maze of tiny streets. The images of that drive were a bit like flash photography, as the headlights illuminated motorbikes with sari-clad women riding pillion, heaps of trash with cows (!) browsing through them, stray dogs slinking out of the way, and people casually strolling through it all down the middle of the street. Between the sights and the jetlag, I was having serious doubts. Finally, we came to a pink stucco gate. We were home.

At half-past 12 local time, Jamie was just glad to have a bed, but I had a harder time going to sleep. Our bed was (and is) a bit like spreading a sleeping bag on a stone floor - apparently the locals like their mattresses extra-firm. And after I did nod off, we were both treated to a 3 am wake-up call from our son, who apparently had decided that exhaustion was no excuse for sleeping in. Only after looking at each other in a muzzy, what-the-hell kind of way did we realize that, duh, it was 7:30 am in Melbourne... time to get up, evidently. It didn't take us long to decide that drugs were the answer to this particular problem, but even after a good dose of Phenergan it took him close to two hours to nod off. The birds were beginning to sing as we all tucked up in the big bed, exhausted but together again at last.

The last couple of days have been a revelation.

There have been hurdles I never expected - for instance, one of our major settling-in problems has been finding a way to communicate to auto-rickshaw drivers how to get to our apartment. Even when you find one who speaks reasonable English, it's not as easy as it sounds. We finally realized that instead of giving a street address, as you do in the US or Australia, we need to be able to tell the driver HOW to get there. "Go down Museum Road to Richmond Road and turn left at the Lakme Beauty Parlour" seems to work okay, so hopefully we have that one sorted now - but leaving the house is still accompanied by the somewhat disconcerting notion that you may not be able to get home again.

The "autos" themselves, on the other hand, are a treat. They're two-seater pedicab-type things with motorcycles on front, some kitted out in psychedelic style with colored leather seats, punched-tin ornamentations and stickers of movie stars and political personalities pasted inside the canopy. They are everywhere, all the time, and incredibly cheap to use - to get up to MG Road, the main shopping area in town, costs about 40 cents (Aussie) from here, and even that is about double what you'd pay if they actually used the meter (which they seem to not want to do for such short trips, and no wonder... we decided 20 cents is just not worth fighting over.)

And that's a pretty good thumbnail of what India has been like in my first few days, really - utterly delightful and completely challenging, all at the same time. Beautiful smiling children next to piles of garbage, and stunning, crumbling old mansions cheek-by-jowl with shantytowns. Brightly painted local temples garlanded with gorgeous flowers, located on muddy streets with no footpaths. Which is exactly the description I'd heard from numerous people who had been here... all I can say is that, even based on two days' acquaintance, they were totally right. This is going to be one hell of a ride.