Obamanos!

It is reality. Barack Obama is the next President of the United States. It will take a little bit for that reality to sink in completely, especially as we return to the usual suspects at the White House over the next couple of months. The results feel special not only because of the historical moment that they represent in so many aspects, but also because I was able to participate in them first-hand. I voted for the first time in a U.S. presidential election, having gained that right two years ago.

Tonight, as I sat among my public policy classmates, our eyes glued to the television screen, our fingers crossed, and our hopes up, I felt grateful that I could participate in this process and witness this transformation directly. And, perhaps, for the very first time since I received my naturalization certificate, I could say I felt truly proud of my second nationality.

Yes we can.

India in Pictures

A visual representation of my posts.

Delhi sights:

Lodhi Gardens

The Red Fort

Jain temple

Markets

At Jamma Masjid - largest mosque in Delhi

At the biggest Sikh temple in Delhi

Delhi traffic

Luggage porters at train station

Shimla sights:

Murals at a fort in the town of Arki

"Hmmm, where should I go on my next trip?"

The Mall - city center and main pedestrian area in Shimla

Agra sights:

Finally, the Taj Mahal

Agra Fort

India: The Bottom Line

In retrospect, what struck me the most during the two weeks in India?

1. The colors - India is a very colorful country, and the color lends even the poorest, most run-down places a striking and happy air. Nowhere are the colors more diverse and better displayed than on women's garments. I felt like taking pictures everywhere I looked.

2. The friendliness - Indians, and especially the women, are extremely friendly and open. Although the women may keep quiet most of the time in the presence of men, their eyes reveal a certain warmth and make you feel immediately at ease. Of course, part of this could be due to curiosity. (This is definitely true among children, who would follow us around but then run away laughing as soon as we turned around to look at them.) All in all, even the severe hardship that many families face, did not detract from their hospitality and friendliness. A fact that lies in distinct contrast to how many Bulgarians would react under the same circumstances.

3. The diversity of religions - I was amazed when I first learned how many religions co-exist in India. From Buddhism and Jainism to Islam and Hinduism to Christianity and Sikhism. I am happy that I was able to visit some of their places of worship. But what struck me the most is how all of these religions can exist peacefully side by side, when political groups don't have a say in the matter. It is only when such groups decide to abuse differences for their own subversive purposes that violence and unrest erupt.

On the not so positive side:

4. The poverty - Unfortunately, the poverty in India is omnipresent. It probably would have struck me even more had I not spent the ten weeks prior to the trip in Nicaragua where poverty is just as widespread. The level of poverty seemed similar; however, in terms of sheer numbers, India's poor surpass Nicaragua's by far. I have heard from others who have been to India previously that this has started changing ... for the better. But there is still a long way to go, especially in the rural areas.

5. The "guiltripping" - I already wrote about this at length, but it is (for better or worse) one of the things with which I will associate India. I realize it is not meant in a mean way, but Indian vendors'/drivers' ability to take advantage of your touristic self, and then make you feel guilty about not allowing that, is quite extraordinary. I don't think I have experienced it anywhere else.

This trip was a wonderful introduction to India. However, I realize that it allowed me to only scratch the surface of all that the country has to offer. I explored a very minute part. Hopefully, I will get to return in the future and dig deeper. It would be an honor.

Navigating the NJ Bureaucratic Maze

It took me three days to confirm that I am registered to vote in New Jersey. For some reason, I harbored the thought that surely local US bureaucracy must be better than its Bulgarian counterpart. Well, those thoughts have been dashed. For the past three days I have been trying to contact the Mercer County Clerk's Office in order to determine whether they received my voter registration. (I had not received anything in the mail although the election is next week and my registration was sent in at least 4 weeks ago. I certainly wasn't leaving it up to chance whether I am voting in this election!) On Tuesday, I called. Somebody answered took down my name and query and said they would call me back. They did, except at a time when I wasn't near my phone, and left a message. Instead of telling me whether I am registered or not, the message simply said that absentee ballots would be sent out the following day (had I requested an absentee ballot?) I called back. Someone else answered and transferred me... to a line where no-one picked up. I left a voicemail. Didn't hear back. Today, I decided to try my luck again. I called again. A woman answered and said she would transfer me to the right person dealing with voter registration. A man picked up.
Man: "Hello."
Me: "Good morning, I am calling to check whether I am registered to vote."
Man: "Yes, hello." (Pause)
Me: "Hi, I would like to check whether I am registered to vote."
Man: "Yes, tell me."
(Which I assumed means I should continue with my query.)
Me: "My name is Denitza. That's spelled D as in David -E-N as in Nancy-I-T as in Tom-Z-A. Last name, Jilkova: J-I-L-K-O-V as in Victor-A."
Man: "Hello, why are you calling?"
Me (thinking I must have landed on some alternate universe at this point): "I am calling to check whether I am registered to vote."
Man: "I don't understand."
Me (thinking, "How complicated can this be?"): "I would like to check whether I am registered to vote."
Man: "I have no idea what you are saying. Hold on."
Me: !?!?!?

So another man came on the line. I explained what I needed. He told me he needed to transfer me somewhere else but he didn't know where (?!?!?) so he gave me some numbers to try. They didn't work. I redialed the first number I had called and told the lady that she had transferred me to the wrong person. She gave me four more numbers to try. Finally, the third one worked and someone picked up. And she was able to check whether I was in the voter registration system. Best of all, I am. But why I had to go through this convoluted process, I will never know.

Vote. November 4.

A Visit to One of the Seven Wonders and a Run-In with Bollywood

I apologize for the long lapse in writing. Somehow, it has been hard to get both the mood and timing right to collect and put all of my impressions in writing. And I certainly don't want to do the job perfunctorily. That's not the point. So, thank you for your patience and please keep returning. The posts are coming. There will probably be one more on India followed by a few on Nicaragua.

Ever since the day we arrived in India, my classmates and I had discussed the possibility of visiting the Taj Mahal if we had some free time at the end of our trip. We had two days left in the country after our return from Shimla and although all five of us had initially been enthusiastic about seeing the Taj Mahal, realizing that we had to catch an early morning train the following day, dissuaded the majority from actually making the trip. In the end, I and a classmate (the one with whom we had the crazy tour of Old Delhi) decided we would make an attempt to go, although we had no train reservations or tickets. The train was leaving at 7:15 the following morning, so we decided to get up early and try to be at the station an hour ahead of time in order to get tickets.

The Nizamuddin train station was a hectic place, but not nearly as crazy as the New Delhi Station (from which we had departed for Shimla). There were only a few people in line and we made our way to the ticket counter quickly. Alas, there was no availability in first class (which is nothing special and seems like the equivalent of second class on US and European trains) so we bought second-class tickets. As we made our way to the train platform, it looked like we were approaching a colorful, moving mosaic. Women of all ages squatted or sat on the pavement in their saris, children ran around, men paced to and fro. We weren't quite sure in which part of the platform to stand to get into the right car. However, the approach of the train quickly limited our options as the colorful crowd surged forward and started boarding the train. The cars that quickly filled up were the 2nd class cars. We managed to grab some seats amidst the pushing and shoving, but then it struck me that the car next to ours was completely empty. I went over to check it out and it turned out that this was CC (chair class) - something in between 2nd and 1st class. A gentleman told me we would have to pay 50 Rps more if we sat in that car with our current tickets. A no brainer given that we were craving some quiet after the few hours of sleep the previous night. We quickly left the crowds and noise and moved to CC.

The trip to Agra (the town where the Taj Mahal is located) was pretty uneventful except for my classmate's attempt to buy bananas at one of the stations. A vendor was selling bananas on the platform and when she asked how much one cost, he told us 10 Rps (approx. 25 cents). It seemed like we were definitely getting a tourist price given that we had eaten whole lunches in Shimla for 60 Rps. But regardless she asked him for two bananas having readied 20 Rps in her hand. The vendor took the 20 Rps and promptly returned with two bunches of bananas! Apparently, "one" to him meant "one bunch" of approximately 4-5 bananas. Needless to say, we were on a banana diet for the rest of the day.

We had decided ahead of time that we would hire a taxi for the whole day to take us to the major sites in Agra (including the Taj Mahal and Agra Fort). The great (or perhaps most annoying) thing (depending on the circumstance and your mood) about being a tourist in India is that you don't have to look for anything. People find you. As soon as we stepped off the train in Agra we were accosted with tourist guide offers. One guy seemed legitimate enough having shown us a printed price list that included the sites we wanted to visit. The price was also not far off from the one our hosts in Delhi had named - 600 Rps - so we decided to hire him.

We were dropped off as close to the Taj Mahal as possible. However, that still left us with a 10-15 minute walk given that motorized vehicles are prohibited from entering the area immediately surrounding the Taj to prevent the fumes from darkening the building. I was pleasantly surprised to learn this as I didn't witness much environmental consciousness elsewhere while in India. (For example, a man on the train had told us to throw our trash out the window after he saw us wondering where to put it.) I had been warned that the walk to the Taj would be one where we would have to fend off vendors left and right but that wasn't the case. Maybe we had arrived too early in the day or maybe we were lucky to be there during the off-peak season. Regardless, we still had to pay the tourist price for getting in: 750 Rps (approx. $17). (Compared to 20 Rps that locals had to part with.) However, to make this more palatable to foreigners the price included a small bottle of mineral water, shoe covers (for entry into the actual building so you don't have to take your shoes off the way the locals do), and free toilet visits (locals had to pay 2 Rps to use the restroom).

I had wondered whether I would be that impressed by the Taj Mahal given that I had already seen so many photos of it elsewhere (including from friends who had been to India). How different could it be in person? As soon as I walked through the arch of the wall separating the outside world from the tomb, however, I had to hold my breath. Yes, I had seen that sight so many times previously. But seeing it in person was an entirely different experience. What struck me the most was how dainty and delicate the building looked despite being built from solid white marble. Something about its design, the color, the decorative motifs, and the light playing off of it lent it a certain lightness that I had totally missed in the multiple photos I had seen. It's hard to describe. I guess, you just have to see it in person to know what I mean (and I certainly hope that you get the chance). It's a sight that draws you in and doesn't let you go. It was really hard to leave, but a few hours, multiple snapshots, and a rain shower later, we decided it was time to head to the Agra Fort - the second most-visited attraction in Agra.

The walk back to our taxi was not as easy as the walk to the Taj Mahal. All of a sudden, there were a lot more vendors, selling everything from Taj Majal snow globes to whips (!?!). And despite multiple firm "No's" on our part they continued to follow us almost the entire way. What amused me was their pricing strategy. An initial price of 100o Rps would quickly decline to 100 Rps. The more times you said "No", the faster the price would fall. It really made me wonder about the actual cost of producing these goods. In front of the Agra Fort, I made the "mistake" of inquiring about the price of a backgammon board from one vendor. Two seconds later, I was being offered not only the board, but also elephant figurines, ornamental boxes, and postcards. Vendors rushed towards me like vultures to a carcass. After I had decided I would buy the backgammon board and bargained for it, the guy proceeded to offer me a chess board and a second backgammon board. When I told him I wasn't interested, he just handed them to me to look at and then refused to take them back (presumably until I decided to buy them). In the end, I literally had to leave the boards on the ground and continue walking. Vendors' persistence in India is simply amazing.

After the exhausting day of sightseeing, my classmate and I decided to try to find seats in first class on the train ride back to Delhi. We had been told that we could speak to the ticket conductor about any unclaimed seats and simply pay the difference in price between first class and our existing second-class tickets. Speaking to the conductor turned into a long-winded affair (of course). After listening to our query he went off to check for seat availability, telling us that he would be right back....which in the end turned out to be 30 mins later. During this time, we simply stood by the doors of the train and hoped he would come back with good news, because at that rate, we probably wouldn't have been able to find empty seats in second class either. When he returned he announced with a grin that he had seats for us. "Great!" we thought and followed him. We made our way to the back. I didn't see any empty seats. Then the conductor started talking to two women, who looked like mother and daughter. We had no idea what was being said but the result was that the women were made to get up and give us their seats. Uhmmm, not exactly what we had intended. I felt horrible. I was certain the whole car was shooting us "whities" down with their eyes at that very moment. However, the conductor kept smiling graciously and it seemed impossible to back out now. So, reluctantly and guilt-ridden we sat down. It turned out that the mother had a place to sit but the daughter had to stand until another seat opened up. She chose to stand next to us. As soon as the conductor left, I started apologizing to the girl for what had happened and told her we could alternate sitting. She smiled and quickly reassured us with, "Oh, please don't worry, I always travel like this since I never make reservations. Please, you are guests in our country, sit." I was amazed. If this had happened any place else (let alone in Bulgaria), the girl would have been giving us evil looks, insulting us, or scheming how to get us back. (Well, her mother did keep turning around and giving us cold looks almost the entire ride back.) The hospitality and warmness of people in India (and especially of the women) is something I will always remember about the place.

We struck up a conversation with the girl. It turned out that she was an actress (she definitely had the looks for it) and was off to Switzerland the following day for a shoot. It felt somewhat strange to meet someone associated with Bollywood. Yet, when I thought about it, given the scale of the industry, I guess it wasn't that surprising. At one point, as we spoke, the ceiling above me started dripping, right on my head. Every few minutes. My classmate and I started laughing. Guess that's what you get for displacing someone out of their seat. The Bollywood actress tried to keep the water from dripping onto me by holding her hand above my head (can you imagine?!?) But I quickly told her that wasn't necessary. She kept saying, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," as if she had made the ceiling drip on purpose. It was one of those bizarre and surreal moments when you almost can't believe your eyes and yet you know that what you are seeing is really happening. At the next stop some seats freed up, and the actress and her mother moved. We continued to sit where we were, with the occasional water drop falling on my head.

(Later we learned that the Indian train system has such a thing as a "tourist quota" - a number of seats in first class that are reserved especially for tourists. If two people - a tourist and a local - try to upgrade from second class, the tourist has a greater chance of getting a seat if the quota has not been filled. That made us feel slightly better about what had happened, after the fact. Plus, I guess we did get to meet what could be the next big Bollywood star.)

The Road to Shimla and Back

This is Post #1 of the remaining ones from India. Bear with me as I try to write up the rest of the trip (where do I start?) while also trying to keep up with my to-do list at the beginning of the new semester. I also promise to return to the last weeks in Nicaragua after finishing the India posts.

The trip to Shimla, the capital of the northern state of Himachal Pradesh and the primary destination for our school research trip, took more than 10 hours. We traveled in style for the first leg of the trip (4.5 hrs) in a first-class air-conditioned train car – our seats reclined; we were served tea, cereal, a vegetarian cutlet, and some fruit. I have learned that serving is not always done very efficiently here. One guy would first hand us each our tea cups, then another one would come by with the hot water. One would first give us our bowl of cereal and a second one would pour the hot milk. Sure makes for job generation. The second leg of the trip was far less comfortable but far more exciting. We took a toy (narrow-gauge) train from the city of Kalka that wound its way slowly up the mountainside, through a total of 103 tunnels in a little over 5.5 hours. Before we even boarded, I noticed the segregation – foreigners were directed towards one car, locals towards another. Our porters (who accosted us as soon as we exited the previous train) were very eager to put our luggage on board before we had even bought tickets. And only my classmate’s extremely firm and loud “No, stop!” cut short their crusade to hoist all of our luggage through one of the train windows. I think we boarded one minute short of the train leaving. Our car was filled with Brits going on a motorcycle tour of the northeastern part of the state. They had already taken up most of the space on the two-person benches (which in all honesty were not made to fit two people comfortably), so we had to squeeze next to some of them and try not to dwell too much on the fact that we would have to ride like that for more than five hours. As the train chugged along, the scenery that opened up definitely kept my mind off the uncomfortable seats. Small towns perched vertically on the mountainside; the air became fresher and cooler the longer we traveled; pine and other evergreen trees soon started appearing; and the sight of the railway tracks zigzagging up the mountain was certainly impressive. It was hard to believe that this was still India for it defied any and all images and descriptions of what I had ever thought to be India.

Shimla is located at an altitude of 2159 meters in the foothills of the Himalayas. At first sight, and in comparison to Delhi, the town seemed almost serene – the fresh air and greenery lent it a very different feel. The town is built vertically with roads winding their way between the different levels and series of stairs connecting them. Going on foot makes for a significant cardiovascular endeavor. The terrain also adds a tinge of scariness to driving (or being driven) on Shimla’s roads. Drivers break suddenly at sharp turns, overtake while honking wildly (to signal their approach to anyone coming from the opposite side around the bend), and are not too concerned about passengers’ proneness to motion sickness. The most amazing thing to me is that amidst all of this, pedestrians walk slowly and calmly on the side of the road (there are no sidewalks) and don’t move a muscle during all the honking taking place around them, while I would continually get startled. Often they don’t even move to the side for passing vehicles. Somehow they seem confident that drivers will look out for them (why or how I am still to find out).

Our goal while in Shimla was to talk to the Principal Secretary of Health for Himachal Pradesh and his staff and potentially visit some health centers and villages in more remote areas of the state. We did both the office and field visits and while I won’t get into the details of those (since I am not sure everyone is interested in my school project), I will try to note the things that struck me over the week spent in Himachal.

1. People are extremely welcoming. The feeling that people are trying to take advantage of you and potentially rip you off disappears once you leave the mainstream tourist trail. I didn’t get a sense of that once while we were in Shimla and the surrounding area. Himachal Pradesh is also one of the better off states in India – we didn’t see any beggars and the streets seemed much cleaner than most places in Delhi. Everyone we spoke with met us graciously, offered us tea multiple times (tea-drinking is actually an inseparable part of the meeting process and it would appear rude to refuse it although often times this meant that we would spend way more time than we had anticipated with a given group of people), and seemed to want to help us in any way possible. Women are especially sweet and gentle. Given that they often come second (see next section), they have this shy look about them, often averting their gaze downwards, but once you’ve caught their eye and smile, a genuine, friendly smile lights up their face.

2. Women are largely ignored. Very early into our meetings it became apparent that we would have to work hard to make ourselves heard and voice our opinions (and questions) during conversations. Everyone we met (mostly men) directed their attention to our professor (a man) and hardly even looked at us, the students (all women), let alone address questions our way. For a state that prides itself on its programs for female empowerment and raising the female-male sex ratio (side-note: because of the very strong traditional male preference in India, sex-based abortion is a large-scale problem here that the government is working hard to address and overcome), it was surprising to see such behavior. We had a couple of awkward (and somewhat amusing) situations in which our professor would wait for us to walk into a room first, while the Indians would wait to him to walk in first, which resulted in a lot of confusion. In the end, we just admitted defeat and waited for the men to walk in first. Even our interpreter, who for all intents and purposes was hired for all of us, addressed most questions to our professor and very soon referred to him as Sir Jeffrey while he never learned our names. This was both amusing and somewhat frustrating but given that there was little we could do to change it without appearing extremely rude, we simply ignored it for the rest of our trip.

3. Our every move was tracked. No matter where we disembarked, we were immediately recognized by people around us as foreigners and followed around (sometimes only by gazes, sometimes quite literally by crowds of children, who would start laughing hysterically if you looked back at them). Mostly we were stared at by men. And I don't mean a quick gaze or look-over. I mean full-on, very obvious staring. I still haven't quire figured out whether these were "sexual" stares or stares of curiosity given our white-ness. Given that culturally women are more modest and in generally do not stare at anyone, they would largely dismiss us (or steal furtive glances our way when they thought no-one was looking). Our interpreter was particularly “good” at following us around. He tracked our every move like a mother lioness, making sure we didn’t go too far astray. I guess he was only looking out for our wellbeing, but after a while this got slightly annoying. One evening as we decided to take a stroll in the town we were staying after dinner, he saw us leaving and quickly inquired, “Where are you going?” He did not follow us but he did wait for us in the yard of the hostel we were staying until we came back.

4. Lost in translation. It turns out that not as many people as I had thought speak English fluently, especially when you leave the bigger cities. Luckily, one of my classmates is Pakistani and her Urdu served us well among the Hindi-speaking population. But even with the people that do speak English, there were some misunderstandings. Like the housekeeper in Delhi, when people try to show deference and ask you something politely, it comes out sounding more like an order, “Sir, you come eat now.” “Go in, please.” “We go now, please, go in the car” (with an accompanying gesture). I couldn’t help feeling like a small child that was being told what to do (something I don’t particularly enjoy and never have, even as a child). Of course, I realized it wasn’t meant this way, but sometimes it was hard to ignore the tone regardless.

5. India is a very hierarchical society. To this day, caste and social status have a significant bearing on everyday life. Matrimonial classifieds are listed by caste. Higher-caste doctors in rural areas will not touch lower-caste patients (which makes you wonder how they actually treat them). Higher-status families have house staff (usually a driver, a housekeeper, a gardener, and a couple of guards). An even simpler example I noted at the Directorate of Health Services in Shimla was the fact that each of the staff we met with had their own assistant. In contrast to the Western world, however, this assistant would often stand outside his/her boss’s office and enter only when summoned by a buzzer. The buzzer button would be located somewhere on the superior’s desk. Being in India reminded me in a lot of ways of being in Zimbabwe. At the time we were living there (and I was too young to fully comprehend this at the time), whites were higher-status than blacks. They lived in bigger houses, with huge yards and house staff. Even we had a gardener. In contrast to people who have grown up in such hierarchical societies though, my family always felt somewhat awkward of being assigned such status power. I still feel extremely uncomfortable at the thought of having someone else “serve” me. Hence I uttered many more “thank you’s” and made eye contact more often to let people know my appreciation than seemed to be the norm in India. May be one gets used to it after a while and doesn’t even notice. I think it would take me a while to get fully accustomed to it though.

After a week in Shimla and the surrounding areas, we drove back to Delhi. Monkeys observed our winding descent from the side of the road. Big, colorful TATA trucks passed us by. Slowly, the air got warmer and the traffic heavier. Until we were engulfed by the craziness of Delhi once again.