What I miss most...

For all those contemplating making a big move from North America to South Asia, here's a short list of things that I find that I miss (in no particular order):

1) Racial diversity (except for Goa)
2) Red wines (although Madera's Rose and Merlots are okay at Rs. 200 or so a bottle)
3) A variety of English movies at movie theatres: the choices in Goa right now are Casino Royale (ugh James Bond) and Departed (Scorcese blockbuster). There isn't yet enough of a market for indie movies but that's changing as the Int'l Film Festival of India begins this week. The selection spans large parts of the world, but I have have 2 problems. For one thing, ordinary people can't just buy tickets to these films -- you have to be press or a 'delegate' which requires an application. And the other problem is that there aren't any Goan films on the list. It would be good to see more encouragement of local filmmaking.
4) Tampons with applicators
5) Reliable phone lines: without crackles, hisses and pops; and with people answering at the other end. However, I have to admit the customer service at private corporations are even better than the U.S. But will someone tell call center folks they don't need to be so goddamn polite? Faster internet would be nice too.
6) Good looking boys (there I said it): All my female post-expat friends agree with me but no one's published it in a blog yet (that I know of). It seems supremely unfair to live in a country of beautiful women, but not-quite-equally pretty boys.
7) Activist conversations: I seemed to plunge into political, social commentary with friends, coworkers, bus riders, school kids, whoever...back in the Bay Area. People I've met in India seem to be preoccupied with spending more money than the next, and getting a bigger piece of the juicy pie being baked nationally right now.
8) Random American entertainment: Indian nightlife is boring so far. I'm over it. I dragged my lazy 28 year old ass out of a three floor club in Goa and pondered business ideas like a roller-disco on the way home. I also need more live music options. On the bright side though, there's a really fun night flea market in Goa that begins next week - where everyone in the community gets together for shopping, live music, and cocktails.

Malls, malls, malls

Such a buzz word in Bombay these days! I even found a huge construction in the once spacious bus depot plot next to my building in suburban Andheri. The government decided the land they owned was too commercially viable to grant to aesthetics. However word is that some citizen environmentalists have protested the dumping of construction wastes into the adjoining swamp and so work has halted. My mother is excited about rumours of an IKEA store in the mall.

When I entered a fully functional 'mall' called Infiniti, I was taken aback to find an actual amusement park ride inside the kid's play area, Rajasthani thalis in fast-court format, and many new Indian designer stores (thankfully not Claires and Hot Topics). But there was a TGI Fridays, a bookstore that resembled Borders, and even a gelato stall! I was a little saddened to think that kids would now have free access to gun-toting video monsters.

It doesn't stop there. My aunt who also just moved back to India (after 23 years) with her Caucasian husband from San Diego inform me that there are 22-checkout lane supermarkets like Hyper City!

I ask a friend, also in their late 20s, if anyone is reluctant about the hasty mall development and culture, and he responds "No way yaar."

Re-legitimization

After only a day spent mindlessly floating between my baby nephew and other family, I was reminded that I needed to get legit a.s.a.p. before I had to leave for Goa where nothing serious could be taken care of :)

That meant getting a cell phone (since even rickshaw drivers have one!), getting a bank account and a PAN card (sorta like a social security #). All of this was easier than I thought -- in the new rapidly developing India. I was able to get a Hutch cell phone account for a measly $15 deposit and $6 monthly rental (outgoing call charges are extra but cost peanuts). And the PAN card (government) administrators were so accomodating -- they even let me come back a few days later, dig up my form and edit some info! I realized that may not have been possible in the U.S. Applying for a DMAT (stock trading) account was not quite as fun however, as I was introduced to the age-old bureaucratic tradition of signing in triplicate! They also make you sign your name across your photographs in India for some anti-fraud related reason.

Woes from the hawai jahaj (air plane)

This is my first attempt at logging my experiences moving back to India after a 9 year-long excursion to the U.S. I figured blogging is a better medium than emailing because hopefully there's something in here for people I don't know (yet).

Where do you begin when it's already day 15? Maybe back on the airplane... only because - I was thrilled to have free wifi on my sweeeeet new Mac Book Pro ~30,000 feet above sea level on my 24 hour long Korean Airlines flight. I emailed and chatted with anyone I could beginning all conversations with a "Guess where I am right now?"

The only hiccup about the otherwise blissful flight was being seated next to an alcoholic misogynistic flight-attendant-harrassing 'uncle'. I'm usually a docile person but I was driven to request another seat when he insisted on making PC (or rather impolite conversation) because we were both Indian. As it turned out, we couldn't be more different. He couldn't understand why I didn't desperately want to be married at 28. He 'confided' in me that he didn't like Muslims (assuming I was Hindu because of my name) and that he particularly didn't like paan spitting. To this I responded that as far as I knew all kinds of Indians were guilty of that. Aargh.

When I got to Bombay airport, I'm sorry to admit the first thing I noticed was the familiarly mild toilettish stench and bad tile work (including the occasional paan stains). Of course, I immediately starting planning a volunteering initiative at the airport in my head. But as soon as I got to the newly renovated immigration counters, I felt proud of my homeland again. Getting through was faster than ever before and I was in high spirits for once leaving the airport. That's because I didn't expend the last of my reserve energy cussing out customs official nincompoops.

Sahar Int'l (or Chhatrapati Shivaji airport as it's now called) will look very nice after renovations according to the bathroom cleaning lady who I chatted it up with while she graciously let me smoke a cigarette in front of the no-smoking sign.