Chapter 4: So, where are you really coming from?

The following day I woke up early at 9am, with an upset stomach. It was a Sunday; we had planned to leave Alibaugh to head back to Bombay by noon as all my friends worked for multinational corporate and had to be at work on Monday morning. I was still annoyed with Rajiv, and lacked the will or the courage to initiate any form of communication. Being completely unaware about my temperament, Rajiv’s behavior was normal towards me and continued his train of questions on my American life. Since, I was already agitated, his accent started bothering me, the upset stomach, dry December heat was making me nostalgic. All I could think was the cool welcoming air conditioned - 30 Namdeep apartments. The thought of 4 hours long bumpy journey with Rajiv’s preconceived, sallow perception added to my melancholy. We started our trip back to Bombay at noon. I again took the front seat, this time to sleep. I slept for 2 hours to my surprise, as I have never been able to fall asleep or read in a moving vehicle. After my brief nap, I was fresh - but the heat and dust was still bothering me. It was the spicy Indian food, the dry December heat and the dehydration caused by the wine from last night had caused the nausea.

We stopped at a service area by the highway for lunch. As a precautionary measure, I opted out from having my lunch. The pungent smell of the chicken curry with all the Indian spicy Masala, was bothering me so much that, I sat on separate table, downloading pictures from the my digital camera into Vishal’s laptop, which he had brought on the trip; so he could reply to office emails from Alibag. We resumed our journey back to Bombay, which was now 2 hours away. This time around I took the back seat, sitting next to Rajiv. Still unaware of the apathy, Rajiv asked me questions on my encounter with American girls, my girlfriends, and my plans to settle in America; I replied to his curiosity, candidly. I was discrete wherever necessary, most of the times though I was frank and open. Back of my mind was strategizing to know ‘where Rajiv is coming from’, so I could decipher the reason for his admiration toward Hiter. At times I questioned him, in my own sarcastic way, asking questions loosely based on his perception of Bombay, the growth of the city and the country due to the booming IT industry, the rising cost of living in the Mumbai, why he is not in the IT field as rest of my other undergraduate friends etc. His answers failed to impress me, as I had received similar responses from my other friends in India.

But for some strange reasons his answers advocated - Bombay just for Maharashtrain, and people from other caste, religions, are mere taking advantage of the Bombay’s growth, natural resources. He said ‘They are washing their hands in the flowing Ganga.’ Ganga is considered the Nile of India, a perennial river that has brought prosperity to Indian agricultural revolution, and hence used as a metaphor for wealth. He meant, people who are not native to Bombay had no right to take advantage of the growth of the city. He continued ‘My family had to leave Dadar, due to the raising cost of living in Dadar area, and now we are staying Vashi, which is 2 hours way from f*cking downtown Mumbai…I don’t feel bad that we had to move to Vashi, as my house in Dadar was very small as compared to Vashi, also I like Vashi as it is well planned, the infrastructure is way better then Bombay. But my blood boils, seeing the new occupants of the building in Dadar, are non Maharashtrain.’

‘When I was growing up in Dadar, almost 100% of the population was Maharashtrain and today only 20 to 30% of them are Maharashtrain and the natives like us have to move to New Bombay. Dadar is main central suburb of Bombay and today very few native Maharashtrain stay there.’

He abruptly ended his conversation and looked at me for reasoning. He was breathing heavy, indicating that he was angry and emotional. I asked him if he or his grandparents where born in Mumbai, he replied with an Indian nod, indicating “No.” He said - his parents moved to Bombay, after their marriage from a small town, near South coastal region of Maharashtra called Malwan. This got me thinking, and I questioned him, ‘So how does that make you or your family native of Bombay.’ As I was asking him this, I started relating him to the character ‘Butcher’ from the film ‘Gangs of New York.’

As expected Rajiv, was not able to answer to my question, and gave me a perplexed look. Ashwin, who all this while was a silent front seat listener to our conversation , said to Rajiv ‘Did you know, Sabir’s great grandparents’ are from Bombay. He doesn’t have a native place.’ I nodded in agreement to Ashwin’s comment. ‘He is a true native of Bombay. His family is here since last 100 odd years when the city was a set of seven islands.’ Rajiv was surprised, and said ‘Being a native of this city, how can you tolerate that people from other parts of the country are monopolizing and ruling the financial and industrial sector of the city.’ I looked at Ashwin with a smirk, as he knew where exactly I was heading with my argument with Rajiv and I continued,

'Indian IT corporations like Infosys and Wipro, who are doing IT back office jobs for US and western countries, they more or less washing their hands in Western economy and bringing big dollars and growth to India?.’ He smiled in agreement. I continued, ‘So if these IT giants decide to keep to their strategic and intellectual property just to Bangalore, in their home town, will you like it?'

'This will result in growth of only Bangalore and not Bombay or India. Assume these IT powerhouses had kept their base Bangalore and did not allow any other caste, race or Indians from other parts of the India to work, do you thing we could have even afforded this lavish trip to Alibag, or would any us have had these high paying jobs. The fact of matter is, these powerhouses won’t even survive without support of other cities or states within India to be able to accomodate the growing demand of US Based companies for Business Process outsourcing.’

I continued my speech on globalization citing examples from Tomas Friedman’s ‘World is flat’ and ended saying,

‘Rajiv, you have to understand and think beyond the Maharashtrain community or Dadar. The world is changing faster then one can imagine, and it is only with collaboration we can be a part of this evolving globalization, so focus on the similarities and not differences. Both US and India are reaping the fruits of this changing world, the more you resist this change the more you will be affected. The sallow perception of singular ideology won’t help you, both in your economically and practical pursuits.’ After a long pause - Rajiv smiled and said ‘I agree. I was ignorant and maybe did not see this aspect, due to limited exposure and experience.’ Something told me this conversation had changed Rajiv’s prejudice attitude.

By now everybody in the car was tired from the bumpy journey, and was either resting or had gone off to sleep. I realized that I was talking too much and needed to curb my enthusiasm to change the world. I could tell Rajiv was also exhausted and was in no mood to listen or talk to me after my long speech. Since I had my power nap, I was relatively fresh and continued questioning Rajiv, asking him questions on the nature of his work, his family and plans to get married. He answered frankly and I took him at the face value, without dwelling too much on the answers. I learned, his father passed away 7 years ago, he was the only earning member in his family. Rajiv, carried the responsibility his 2 younger sisters now in studying at a university colleges in Bombay majoring in Computer Science and Economic and his mother had crossed 61 last year. Due to financial crises after his father’s death, Rajiv and his family had to leave their Dadar house and move to Vashi.

We reached Vashi, and everybody in the SUV got up, as the car stopped outside Rajiv’s apartment building. We got down, stretched out and hugged Rajiv, saying bye. While, parting he said ‘Next time when we meet, I will tell you where I am really coming from.’ I nodded unsure of what he meant but replied ‘Surely, we will meet. Please be my guest the next time you are in Ghatkopar or Syracuse, NY.’

Ashwin now took the back seat to give me company. Soon after we left Rajiv’s house, as the car heading toward the Mankur highway, Ashwin said ‘Did you know Rajiv’s father was killed by a mob during the Hindu – Muslim Bombay riots of ’98.’ Shocked, I replied, ‘No, I was not aware.’

I spent the rest of the journey in silence, pondering ‘Is this, the reason that made Rajiv to have - the ideology of singularity? If yes, then, was I right to lecture him on globalization, and shedding examples from some glamorous over hyped book, by a Pulitzer price winner author, not knowing where is really coming from. Did I really make any impact, by saying what I said about one world family, or clinging on to similarities and not difference? An impression of the dark side of social structure is already craved his mind and now, his perception is a reality. I know what I was trying to preach was right, but then who I’m I, to determine what is right or wrong. Should I continue to shade some of my perception of - flatter world, my perception that - love is truly the sixth element, binding the world together in unison, and information or Internet is playing an integral part in bringing people, ideas, cultures, traditions closer.’ That night I went to bed dwelling over my thoughts on - ‘what is good and what is bad,’ and my vision of spreading global wisdom.

---

Lindsay is my good friend in Syracuse who is perusing her doctorate from Syracuse University’s Maxwell School in sociology, and loves India. Her dream is to educate all the kids in Bihar; and the topic of her thesis is ‘Educational structure in rural Bihar.’ Lindsay is known to throw dinner parties at her house, inviting over 20 odd students every week. Since I have been a student and spent over 4 years in Syracuse I know for a fact, it is taxing and expensive to invite a crowd for dinner, which she managed to do every second week including winters. When I asked her, attending one of such dinner parties, ‘Why you do this?’ She replied saying, ‘Sabir, the only one difference between American culture and Indian culture I noticed is hospitality and the joy one gets by sharing food.’ Being an Indian, I exactly knew where she was coming from.

Tejal, my ex-girlfriend, had got annoyed when I did not greet her uncle Mr. Mehta, in the traditional Indian ‘Namaste,' and instead chose to greet him with a ‘Hello Askok, how are you doing?’ This surprised me, as Tejal was an American Indian, and lived in US her entire life. Namaste to me is too traditional Hindu and also to some extent orthodox. Once again, I was beset by the ironies of my life. I was trying to create an impression on Mr. Mehta, showing that I am somewhere American by addressing him by his first name, so I don’t give an impression of being an uptight FOB (fresh of board), Indian from Bombay. Following this incident, I started my quest, to find where exactly Tejal, is coming from - Tejal’s parents moved to US, some 30 odd year ago, and had carried with them the traditional and cultural values followed by Indians in 1960’s. Tejal was brought up with these cultural values in America. To her Indian culture was traditions followed in India 20 years ago, which I termed as ‘orthodox’, and too banal to follow. Studying this anomaly, I wondered…. being just 22 days younger to Tejal, we were a generation apart, due to this cultural upbringing. Tejal never forgave me for my ignorance, and I was not able to express this disconnect in the right manner…..hence “ex.”

I started this story with a quote from the documentary ‘Tsunami’ on HBO by a Tsunami survival, who had lost her family. “Hope is all I have, believing in something that can’t be proven, but you are willing to trust, that it is there.” referring on God’s existence. She was helping other survivors, and trying her best to keep their spirit high, so they can help other survivors – who where questioning ‘God…why us?’

I have realized if I want to be an integral part of spreading global wisdom to this changing world, somehow I need to be more skillful and also articulate, by understanding ‘where one is coming from,’ and/or by expressing ‘where I am coming from.’ Also, not to carry pre-connived ideas – as the problem is not the ignorance, but the pre connived thinking.

There is no unifying through theme to these Chapters, there is at least a common thread running through the everyday application of – where are your coming from. It has to do with thinking sensibly about how people behave in the real world. This isn’t necessarily a difficult task, nor does it require super sophisticated thinking. I have essentially tried to figure out how Jim - an Engineer from China, Rajiv - a person who lost a dear one, Lindsay - a freak of Indian culture and Tejal - a first generation American Indian, have acted or reacted owing to their diverse non conventional backgrounds.

Will this ability to think about such thoughts improve your life materially? Probably not. Perhaps, you’ll listen to a Chinese guy more attentively or push hard to preach the power of love and acceptance to a people like Rajiv, understand the joy of giving like Linsay, or perhaps, accept first generation American Indian more willing then just labeling them confused. But the net effect is likely to be more subtle than that. You might become more skeptical of the conventional wisdom; you may begin looking for hints as to how things aren’t quite what they seem; perhaps you will seek out some data and sift through it, balancing your intelligence and your intuition to arrive at a glimmering new idea and some of ideas might make you uncomfortable, even unpopular. To claim, that the sixth element is love, or saying Namaste is too Orthodox way of greeting – would inevitably lead to explosive moral reaction. But ‘the fact of the matter remains that this style of thinking simply doesn’t traffic in morality.’ ^[1] So, my dear readers, 'where are you really coming from?’

---

[1] Quote from Freakoomonics- by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dumber.

Chapter 3 – Where are you coming from?

“Hope is all I have, believing in something that can’t be proven, but you are willing to trust, that it is there.”

Every Monday morning at 7:15am my cell phone beeps, reminding me to join a conference call with China. Immediately, I finish my breakfast, wear my shoes, pack my office bag and rush out of the house. I have been following this mundane routine since my returned from Bombay. I dial into the conference call at 7:30 am with China, while driving to work. The 7:30am conference calls are weekly meeting with my entire team who call in from various locations of ABC Industries in US and Shanghai. As I reach the intersection of I-81N and Brighton Ave, I hear Tony saying “Good Morning Saabir” in his thick Chinese accent. I reply to his good morning by saying “Good Evening, how are you doing.”
'Tony' is his American name and that is how we address him. He works in our Shanghai office as a Sourcing Engineer. On numerous occasions I have asked him to spell out his Chinese name, but me and my American counterparts have always failed to pronounce his name right. This has made be to believe Mandarin is one of the most difficult language in this world, to learn and to speak! I find myself pondering on how funny I would sound if I speak in Mandarin.

After the initial formal gestures and banal questions on weather, life, kids, spouse issues, the meeting progresses with Tony giving his updates, reporting on the progress made on various projects. Due to his thick accent and limited communication skills in English, he has to repeat himself many times before my entire US teams understands. At times, I have to jump in and explain to my US team with "what Tony meant....", assuming that I completely understood him. To some extent, I know I understand Tony better then anybody else on that call and the only logical justification to this strange synergy is - I know 'where he is coming from'. English is Tony’s second or third language, and although he has been a Sourcing Engineer with ABC Asia for last 5 years, sometimes it is difficult for him to express himself clearly and to the point in English. After my explanation to my US team, Tony will attest by saying “yes... yes... good job, Saabir. That is what I mean.”

As a Sourcing Project Manager, part of my job profile is to deliver on off-shoring projects in China, Mexico, India and Eastern Europe. I constantly communicate with my team, across these countries, round the clock, either via phone calls or emails. My entire day is spend replying to emails, to my off-shore team, who are on a constant lookout for suppliers, who supplies parts, half way around the globe at a cheaper competitive price. Many a times, I ask myself ‘How this type of job profile is going to help me in such an early age of my professional career?’ As from a tactical point of view it is just emailing and talking on the phone. I guess somewhere I am honing my people skills by understanding cultures, and business practices better. At times, issues are created and resolve by questioning or answering “where are you coming from?”

The following is an example - This is an email I mailed out to my team while working on an offshore design project, involving China, Mexico and US team.

From:sabir.gham@abc-us.com

To: jim.luo@abc-asia.com; dominic.gomeze@abc-mexico.com

Cc:

Sub: Updating and approving - drawing 123

Sent: Tue 12/12/2006 7:30 am

Dear Jim,

As communicated during our Monday call, please update the drawing123 and upload to the drawing management database, using abc-drawing.net server. I would like you to complete these changes and updates by 12/14/06.

Note: I will be traveling for next couple of weeks, so please direct any questions to Dominic (Engineering Lead from ABC Mexico) he is the assigned engineer on this project.

Dominic,

Once you receive the notification from the drawing management database, please review the most current revision and approve or communicate any issues directly to Jim Luo (our China team leader). Jim's team will start the production only after you approve the drawings.

If you have any questions please feel free to call me.

Regards,

Sabir Gham

ABC Industries, Syracuse, NY, USA

Sourcing

PH:315-XXX-XX79

Fax:315-XXX-XX53

As instructed, Jim updated the drawings, but instead of uploading to the database, he emailed the drawings. Dominic who was a shared resource on this project, overlooked Jim’s email, and my email was clogged due to the large file size and I did not receive the Jim's email. Three days later during our weekly update call, I asked Jim- “Why I have not received the drawings.” He yelled and replied, “We updated the drawings the same day. I emailed you as a reply.” I replied after a brief pause, ‘Ok Thank you.’

Studying the scenario I realize I was to blame as I had not answered the simple question, “where is Jim coming from?” Jim, was a new hire to ABC’s Asia team, and had no knowledge or training on our intra-company database systems. So emailing the drawing was the most logical solution. Due to this ignorance on my part, the delay resulted in a domino effect causing the entire project to be delayed by 20 odd days, and hence directly affected my performance as a Project Manager.

We deal with such scenarios as part of our life, and hence 'practical experience' is considered more important than education in professional circuits, and day to day personal life. I was never taught in my Management class on Globalization, to ask the question “where are you coming from.” But I was surely taught how to think with a global perspective and hence take advantage of it!!

--

It was Saturday, my 3^rd day in Bombay; my undergrad friends and I had planned a trip to Alibag, a small beach town 4 hours way from Bombay. We had planned this trip via constant email communications, just before I was leaving for Bombay. The entire itinerary was planned - the cottage near the beach was booked, the car was rented, lunch order were placed in Alibag and dinner reservations at the club for Saturday night were made without a single phone calls, just using Internet, by us - the “information savvy” generation.

As planned, Vishal, Anil, Rohan, Anurag, and Ashwin - my undergrad friends came to pick me up, along Ramesh, the driver at 6 am in the morning. Rested and recuperated from the jet lack, I was fresh, excited and ready for the 4 hours journey with my friends. It was a full size Toyota Prado, and was comfortable SUV for 7 passengers. I opted to take the font sit, as I wanted to enjoy the trip, and experience the changes. On our way to Alibag we had to pick Rajiv, from Vashi - a suburb of New Bombay. Rajiv was new member to the '512 Ocean View'[1] gang, I had never met him, hence had a remote sense of curiosity to see him. Because of construction at Vashi naka[2], we had to take a detour and take inner roads to pick up Rajiv.

'What the fuck, were you guys pushing the car? It took you 2 hours to reach Vashi from Dadar, on a weekend at 6 o’clock in the morning,’ yelled Rajiv seeing the car pulling into his apartment complex. After a good 10 minutes argument and exchange of swear words, I was finally introduced to Rajiv as an ABCD (American Born confused/conflicted Desi[3]) who completed his undergrad in Bombay and is a Maharashtrian. I could tell that he accepted the lie at the face value. After, formal introduction and brief exchange of gestures, I reverted to my friends and started filling them on my life in Syracuse, my job and answered similar questions. Being a part of the new generation ‘zippy[4]’ Indians, the topic of our conversation lasted not more then 2 to 5 minutes. It is my theory - Any banal conversation between two 'zippy' generation Indians last not more then 5 minutes, and the only anomaly to this claim is topics on technical subjects or religion. Since Rajiv was new, and did not graduate from the same undergraduate college, he was not able to relate to our conversation. Ones in a while he expressed his opinion, and spoke candidly.

I made a strange observation about Rajiv - he spoke with me in English with a thick American accent. Being in US for around five years, I accept that I have a faint American accent, which is highly despised by many of my friends, both in US and India. This fact, made me more aware about Rajiv’s strange communication style. Seldom, I communicated in English with my undergrad friends. We used English only to address formal issues, like making reservations on the phone, or responding to strangers while giving directions etc. Initially I thought Rajiv worked for a call center and hence has an American accent, but when I was told that he works for a German based manufacturing firm, I was a little perplexed. I did not allow this act bother me and replied him in Marathi or Hindi. Being multilingual, we can easily switch from Hindi to Marathi to English or any other regional Indian language in the same conversation and no one will questions the grammar or sentence formation. Since Rajiv was new to the group, he was picked and was object of our satire. I could see, he was getting annoyed and was a person who did not liked his buttons to be pushed, or take humor positively. Not to upset him, my friends, used caution and advised the same to me.

We reached Alibag as planned, and after finishing our lunch, we headed for the beach. The conversation continued at the beach, and Rajiv was left alone as he was helpless to relate to our undergraduate memories. I saw him wondering around the beach all alone while rest of the gang was enjoying the beer and talk. That night the beach cottage was decorated with bright Christmas lights and loud Indian pop music was playing. We started opening the beer cans and hard drinks, and started dancing in the ‘hysterical’ Indian way. I call it ‘hysterical’ way of dancing, as it was pointed out to me, by my American ex-girl friend, she said ‘Desi’s don’t know how to dance, all they do is swing their hand and legs, any a hysterical fashion, asynchronous to the music.’ We spotted a group of girls partying next to our cottage, but never gathered enough courage to talk to them. Somehow my friends tried to convince me to approach them and gave me tips on how to make a first impression with the American accent I had. But I denied. I was in no mood to put on a mask and fake my identity. Also being an Indian I know, it takes a lot to impress Indian girls. I knew, even if I was successful in breaking the ice, the newly developed acquaintance won’t go far, maybe would be just limited to a dance and exchange of some formal gestures like, you are wearing nice dress, you have a cute smile, your dance is synchronized and you should teach me someday. I was just not in a mood to take all that efforts, to fake an attitude.

After some drinks, and more talk on my life in Syracuse, and my white American girl friends, Rajiv was finally successful in getting our attention; as he started talking about his German firm and his encounter with a German colleague, Roger Muller-Baku, the new Managing Director, who had just moved to Bombay, and was going to manage the operations in India. After describing Roger’s assertive management style, Rajiv mentioned he was impressed by him, which motivated him to read “Mein Kampf.” He said ‘I loved the Hitler’s ideology.’ I got the shock of my life as he continued to say, he told to Roger ‘I loved Hitler and admired him, for what he did,’ during his two minutes of formal meeting with Roger. Rajiv kept talking and said that the Director never spoke to him since then, or acknowledged his presence at job floor. I said to myself ‘hmm… wonder why, you dumb ashole.’ I was still shocked, from his statement, the immediate thought came to my mind, how can anybody at this time and age, have such a prejudice perception. Somewhere I was shocked by his ignorance. I call myself a spiritual person, and believe in the Vedic philosophy of ‘Vasudeva Kutumbacam’ – One world family, hence somewhere Rajiv’s statement had hurt me, and was in no mood to talk to him, or argue with him. My mind was in complete denial to understand what experiences had made him to make such a sallow statement, or I had no interest in knowing ‘Where Rajiv was coming from?’

I decided to hit the sack, without any further comments. I told Rajiv to stop his non sense and baseless talk, but I was completely ignored. No one in the room, failed noticed the rage on my face, as they where more interested to know Rajiv’s narrow and sallow commentary on Hitler’s ideology of Aryan superiority and how Aryan race is loosely connected to old Indian civilization, also known as Indus valley civilization. That night I was the first guy to sleep early, by completely ignoring Ashwin's offer to take a walk on the beach. Angry, tired and now dehydrated due to wine, I went off to sleep as soon as I hit the bed.

…to be continued

---

[1] 512 Ocean View gang, is the name of apartment I stayed during my undergraduate years. My college friends and I used this apartment, owned by my mother to study. Hence the name - 512 Ocean View gang.

[2] Vashi Naka – Naka is referred as intersection, or a main junction. ‘Vashi Naka’, is the main intersection in Vashi - a suburb in New Bombay.

[3] Desi –in Hindi, means 'country.' It is used to address people saying in South East Asia.

[4] Zippy – A jargon used by Thomas Friedman in ‘The World is Flat’ describing the middle class English educated IT generation Indians.

Chapter 2: Colours of Bombay - An Introduction

Three years ago when my mother was visiting me in the summer of 2004 she quoted “I never imagined that green can have so many shades.” It was the beauty of Upstate New York she was admiring. Syracuse, New York is called Upstate New York and sometimes referred as Central New York (CNY). Fall is the best time of the year in North Eastern parts of America, which is commonly known as New England. The serene two months of fall, makes staying in Central New York worth all the pain we go through during the harsh and merciless 5-6 months of winter. At times the temperature goes as low as -30C (-10F), considering the wind chill factor. During the fall season the local channels will be playing commercials to promote tourism, where the governor quotes “I love New York; it is at its best during fall.” The mountains, lakes and the trees clubbed together is a paradise, during this season. The leaves, turn into all possible shades of orange and red in the months of August and September. The streets are covered with dry leaves, flying along with a fast moving car passing through the narrow streets of Central New York forming a spectrum of warm colours. This for me is “yellows and oranges,” the spice.

There has not been a single fall season, since the time I have been in New York State, and not visited New York City. To date I enjoy every minute of the five hour drive on the interstate, highway 81 South (I-81 S), as my car speeds through the western parts of New York state at 65 mph, as it enters into Hudson valley, cruising through on route 17 East alongside the Hudson river, whose banks boasts the beautiful and rich neighborhood of Yonkers. I enter into New York City through the poor, run down, but colourful infamous brown suburb of Bronx. As my car crosses the George Washington bridge to enter Manhattan, I roll down my windows to smell the city, and call one of my dear friends from the cell phone and without even greeting him, I stretch my arm outside and make him to hear the traffic on the 9A West Side highway and hang up without saying a word. For some strange reason this act of mine brings a smile, it is the very strange banal feeling as if I am connected to my home town, listening to the rush and the stress of Manhattan. Manhattan to me is all about the “blues”, the casual, yet stressful life of the city. If I am in the City on the weekend, I have to eat Sunday morning breakfast in Central Park with my friends. I am still unable to decipher this fetish of mine. Yet, it is during the fall season I enjoy my chicken salad sandwich the most, wandering my gaze through the warm pallet fall colours of Central Park and admiring the skyline of Manhattan. The journey back to Syracuse is as intriguing as the journey into New York City. I take an alternate route, passing three states; New York (NY), New Jersey (NJ) and Pennsylvania (PA). I pass through the Delaware water gap on the border of NJ and PA as I enter into the endless mountain rages of Poconos, which leads me to interstate 81 North (I 81 N). The travel experience to New York City in the fall season is almost like traveling through the country side of Switzerland, speeding through narrow highways at the foothills of Alps and enjoying the narrow streams, flowing on the other side of the highway.

It is during the fall season, I miss Bombay the most; as Bombay is the most colourful city I have ever known and seen. It might be little confusing, why I am comparing a season with a city... well here my explanation to the analogy -- The lack of social culture of a small American town, with harsh winter’s makes Syracuse one of the most boring, colourless and challenging places to stay, for a city boy like me. But due to the sudden change in the weather and beauty of fall, some how the people of Syracuse to change, they are more social, colourful, and are always smiling, all this makes me fell at home. As this socially colourful side of Syracuse is merely a temporary illusion, in addition to the fact of not being physically present in Bombay, makes me to miss it ever more.

Bombay to me is “colour.” I say so, for many reasons, ranging from multiracial Bombayiates to structures of the city. The streets of Bombay run into each other in every possible angle, whose banks are closely packed with shops displaying ads in various colours, none of these ads are synchronized and one has to look very closely to identify the actual shop. In Bombay, no single street is similar or can be compared to any other street. As if some post-modernist/ deconstructive architect had planned this urban chaos carefully. This represents the “brown,” the chaos, like the UPS brown van, with “synchronizing the world” bumper sticker. In US every boulevard is similar, with same chain of restaurants, similar looking shopping plazas and huge malls. I am not claiming that it is entirely similar, but the structure and the set up looks similar and it is true in all the states in US. It is very difficult to spot such redundant city planning within a country,as seen very often in US. In countries like France, Germany, Mexico, Spain, and India, where the growth is more random, where every town looks different, every street has its unique flavor, thus making me to believe them to be colourful. It is perhaps their chaotic structure that create such an image in my mind. This observation is expressed to me by many international immigrants like me, about US. I am not implying that American towns are dry, but to some extent I feel they lack the “spice,” owing to their 'too' well planned and organized look. This is merely a perception I have as a foreigner, coming from a city where variation and diversity is a norm.

Before, heading to Bombay, I asked my Indian friends in US, “What is that you miss the most about Bombay?” The unanimous answer was “colours of the city.” To some it meant the diversity –“reds.” To some it meant the chaotic structure and life style of the city –“browns.” To some it meant the spicy food, traditional colourful dresses, the Indian Hindi upbeat music –“yellow.” To some, including me it simply meant Bombay city – “blues.” To few socialites it meant the poverty –“blacks” To my religious roommate it meant the temples, churches and mosques – “whites.”

The day I landed, I had to attend by sister’s wedding, one of the many reasons for my planned December trip. The long flight of over 30 hours including the 5 hour delay and the non isles seat had made me very tired and frustrated. As the flight was approaching Bombay, my biggest concern was my mental and physical fatigued body. I was thinking, I will pass out and will miss the wedding, due to fatigue. But to my surprise, my tried body recuperated within a minute, by the warmth, love and hugs I received from my parent and bothers who had waited at the airport all night to welcome me. It was early morning on a week day and Bombay’s Chatrapati Shivaji International Airport was already packed with hordes of people waiting to welcome their family members, guests and visitors. It was truly a colourful welcome sight. As I rushed towards the exit of Terminal 2, I could not help reading the bright and colourful ad displaying a picture of Gateway of India, boldly quoting “Welcome to Bombay” . I was Home!

I was so jet lagged, I could not sleep for that whole day. Today in retrospect, it was the excitement of meeting my family that kept me awake alert. As the day unfolded and the morning hours passed with no sleep and excitement, our family left the house and headed towards my cousin sister’s house to help them for wedding preparations and the evening reception. I kept meeting my relatives, with a warm hug, and sense of belongingness. Though, I could not help noticing the surprised looks they exchanged whence meeting me. All my relatives and family members remarked “you look different and good.” It took some time to decipher, what they meant. It was the 20 pounds lighter me that prompted such a response. My candid answer to them was “what you see is what you get.” The answer was meant to be taken in sarcasm, which selected few replied with a smirk and “yeah… right, we will see,” rest replied with a smile and a confused perplexed look.

The amazed admiring compliments continued at the marriage reception, where I met my entire extended family, which included another 50 more relatives. Every member of the family was delighted to see me which left me wondering, how looks can play an important role in people’s perception. As I met my relatives and cordially welcomed new members, my brother-in-law’s family, into our family, I started my quest to observe the colours and diversity of Bombay. At that evening reception, I made a number of interesting observations, none of the dresses people wore where repeated, none of the sari’s worn by the ladies where same in both colour and design; none of the guest spoke in the same language, even though the marriage was between the same Maharashtrian community and spoke the same native language, Marathi; every dished served at the reception was different, differed in taste and spices; none of the conversations had lasted for more then one minute. The open air reception venue was transformed into a warm violet colour spectrum with the blues of the city, mixed the bright shades of yellow and red, indicating the diversity. For a moment I kept the red and blues aside and started focusing just on the yellow, the bright and colourful dresses and the glow those dresses brought. For a moment I thought about Syracuse Fall season, but the then I decided not to compare Bombay with Syracuse, or rather I chose not to compare… I just wanted it to be uniquely a property of 'Bombay'.

By the end of the first day in Bombay, I had a feeling of complete satisfaction and I knew that I am going to have one of the best vacations. It is this feeling of contentment, filled with love and joy of meeting my family after 4 years; I carried with me to bed, that night, when I finally got a chance to sleep after approximately 48 hours. Today this colourful memory of my first day in Bombay has become the center piece of my bedroom. A huge picture of my 14 cousins surrounding my sister and bother-in-law, is hanging on my bedroom wall, and every night since I am back to Syracuse, I sleep with same feeling and say to myself “I guess I am just lucky to be in born and raised in colourful city of Bombay…..”

Salam Bombay!

Chapter 1: Parvati’s house

“Salam Bombay,” translation – Salute to Bombay, or should I say Salam “Mumbai.” As I sit down to write this blog, on my visit to Bombay, after 4 years, my immediate thoughts were “Salam Bombay.”

For me, Bombay was and will always be “Bombay”, even after the name changed 10 years ago. In 1995, the Shiv Sena changed the name of the city to “Mumbai.” One of the founding principles of the Shiv Sena(translation: Shivaji’s[1] Army) was based on the racial and fanatic concept of Maharashtra as a place exclusive to the Maharashtrian[2]. Hence they conceived of Bombay as a city only for Maharashtrians captured by their famous quote “Amachi Mumbai” (translation: Our Bombay, only for Maharashtrian). .. I will like to pause for a moment here and think…hmm... if this political party had ever been successful with their political agenda to make Bombay to Mumbai in the literal sense i.e. only for Maharashtrain, could I even write this? The answer without even thinking twice is “No.”

If Bombay were singularly Maharashtrian, then with out a doubt it would not be the nation’s capital of commerce, media, and fashion. This is something I strongly believe and nothing could deter my claim. I am 100% Maharashtrian, i.e. both my parents are from Bombay and speak Marathi, and I have no qualms making this statement. Bombay, the colourful and vibrant city that “never sleeps” is because of the people, who are multiracial, multicultural. I take pride in being a Bombayaite, on occasions like Ganesh Charturti[3], where Ganesh a Hindu god’s procession passes through evn Muslim dominated streets. I take pride of being a Mumbaite when I say to my friends in US, that road to most visited church called Mount Mary is constructed by a Parsi[4]. I love my Muslim sounding name, Sabir; I loved my catholic school, Fatima High School and my Hindu parents. It would have been very difficult to quote this if Bombay was in a real sense Mumbai. I still wonder did Shiv sena think through when they came up with the quote “Amachi Mumbai,” did they have the answer for questions like, what if my mother is some other caste and my father is a Maharashtrian or vv., what if a Gujurathi [5] parent educates their kids in a Maharashtrain school.

Chapter 1: Parvati’s house.

On the day of my return, I met Parvati at my parent’s house. The first words I said to her were “whats up Parvati, kiasi hai tu” (translation: What’s up, Parvati how are you). That very moment I said to myself completely ignoring her innocent smile-- “Who other then a wannabe says ‘what’s up’ to a person who doesn’t know even “E” in English.”

Parvati is our maid and comes from Ramabai colony, which is 10 blocks from my house, across the Eastern Express highway also called National Highway 4 (NH4). NH4 is one of the two major highways running through the heart of Bombay; the other freeway is called the Western express highway. As you move away from Bombay downtown, which is commonly referred as the ‘Town,’ towards the suburbs of Bombay, one can find colonies like Ramabai, which are mainly referred as the slum settlement. These colonies are dominated by Dalits[6], Bangladeshi refugees, and families from other rural parts of India. In efforts to reduce the pedestrian accidents, caused due to fast moving traffic on these major highways, the local municipal government made an underground pedestrian crossing in the recent years. I saw a similar underground pedestrian crossing near Ramabai colony.

In just couple of days of my stay in Ghatkopar (suburb of Bombay, where my parents stay) I had noticed a new vegetable market on the narrow “kuccha[7]” road which connected Garodia Nagar (area where my parents stay) to this Express highway. This narrow road can be loosely compared to service roads one can find in the suburbs of Queens, NY. Now that you are imagining such a service road, just add one more attribute to that imaginary service road - it is privately owned. Yes, in Bombay or rather I should say in India, roads can be privately owned, or in more descriptive words a private property, space, land can be made public without the permission of the landlord. The best part of this privately owned public used service road had a big sign saying ‘Private property, trespassers will be prosecuted.’

When this service road was discovered, may be 10 years ago, it was heavily used by locals to get on to the express highway from Garodia Nagar and vice versa, to avoid walking for 4 km around Chembur (the neighboring suburb to Ghatkopar), or paying an extra Rs. 20 (40 cents) by rickshaw. Since this road was a time saver to the local pedestrians, after 2 years, the automobile owners began using it. Now it carried the weight of automobiles, two wheelers, and pedestrian traffic. Like State Troopers, Sheriff Departments and local city police departments in US, in Bombay, the law and order departments are divided mainly in Local city police called Bombay Police department (BPD) and traffic police department, know as Regional Transportation Office (RTO). RTO police wear white and khaki coloured uniforms while the civilian police wear only Khaki uniforms. RTO Department of Ghatkopar passed a new bill to make all the roads connecting to the express highway as one way streets, to avoid accidents due to fast flowing traffic on the highways and the merging traffic from such ramps. Hence this service road was made One Way, and official sign saying “One Way –by Order: Regional Transportation Office,” was clearly visible. Now this 20’ wide, 35’ long privately owned road, with legal signs of both One Way and Private Property next to each other, had a vegetable market, where local hawkers sold green and “fresh” vegetables.

When I saw the market on this service road I wondered why a vegetable market came up on such a cramped up service road, where there is barely any place for people to walk or cross. I continued to ask such questions to myself, “Why a vegetable market, when the noise and air pollution is so high?”

After observing Parvati for couple of days and other maids in the society, the answer was as clear as crystal – “Customer Service.” Since all the maids stay in Ramabai colony, work in Garodia Nagar, and everybody in Mumbai including house maids have cell phones with free incoming call, it is convenient for the house owner, to just call and instruct them to pick up the “fresh” green vegetables on their way to work…Wow.

As soon as I deciphered this mystery of the vegetable market, I literary jumped up and yelled “Eureka.” That day, I felt as if I have the answered to Harvard Business Review’s case study on “India – Economic growth at a speed of light.”

With no doubt in my mind, I can claim that it is ingrained in an Indian DNA to provide better, customer service, through process innovation and technology. In this case it was “cell phone, with free incoming calls.”

Parvati is a maid at my parent’s home since last 10 odd years and also she is the main character of my first chapter of the short stories, based on my experiences to Bombay called “My experience with Bombay – Dec 06.”

I distinctly remember it was Parvati’s second year in Mumbai and in Ramabai colony. She had moved from Andra Pradesh, a state in South India in search for work, and now was well settled and adjusted to harsh life and reality of serving middle class society of Garodia Nagar. I am not sure if 30 Namdeep[8] was her first job as a house maid. But by now she was acclimatized to the job. It was a Tuesday evening when I saw her talking to my mother, who had just returned from a hard day at work, which included 1hour of 2^nd class ladies compartment local train travel with other 300 odd working class ladies cramped in a box on wheels, 20ft long 10ft wide.

For those who have not seen a rush hour Mumbai’s local trains this is a brief snap shot of a 2^nd class ladies compartment: A 2^nd class ladies compartment is 20’x10’ box with other 10 - 20’x10’ boxes on iron wheels, known as Central Railway Train as a whole. During the peak hours over 300 women patrons’ with various colored Saris, board the train from CST [9] along with other 100 teenage girls--the so called “modern” Indian girls, who are in western outfit like jeans and t-shirts. This compartment is so crowded that you can barely see an inch of the floor. The crowded orgy generally lasts for ½ an hour, till Dadar[10] station and the crowd starts to disintegrate, heading toward their respective abodes.

One day, Parvati approached my mom about a loan she needed to buy a house in Ramabai colony for Rs 15,000 approximately $300. “A hut in Ramabai colony!” my mother replied with perplexed look on her face and added “can you buy house in Ramabai colony?” Ramabai Colony was an open land, by the highway where families like Parvati’s family came from distant states, and settled. Residence of Ramabai colony did odd jobs like house cleaning, washing vessels etc. Over a period of time, this settlement increased and multiplied to become, the second largest slum settlement in Mumbai, spread across 10 acres of land. These houses are small huts with walls made of aluminum sheets, which generally are used for roofing purposes. Some houses are made up of bricks, but the families staying in brick houses are the influential families. The house Parvati was planning was just a 300 sq. ft, hut with aluminum sheet walls. After her discussion with my mother, I found out this house cost Rs. 15,000 with one year lease, so when I asked my mother “is it a rented house?” she replied with an Indian nod, meaning “no.” Finally after the long discussion my mom paid her Rs. 10,000 approximately $200, which was equal to her 6 month salary.

To summarize, Parvati who works as a maid, who cleans utensil, sweeps houses, does laundry, cooks and now also buys fresh vegetables, bought a house for her family, which included 3 daughters and a husband who is an unemployed alcoholic. This hut has walls made from aluminum sheets, on land with no landlord, based on a lease of mutual understanding and no legal documents. This payment equivalent to 6 months salary grants Parvati and her family ownership for a 1 year period. Parvati is not the only one with this deal. She is just one of millions families in, one of thousands of Ramabai colonies in Bombay. When I asked my mother the reason for lending the money, she replied – “The feeling of getting to your own house is greater then $200.”

Salam Bombay!

---

[1] Shivaji, also known as Chatrapati Shivaji Raje was the founder of Maratha Empire in western India in 1674. Using guerrilla tactics superbly suited to the rugged mountains and valleys of the region, he annexed a portion of the then dominant Mughal Empire. He is considered a great hero in India particularly in the present-day state of Maharashtra, and stories of his exploits have entered into folklore.

[2] Maharashtrian: Maharashtra is India's third largest state in terms of area and second largest in terms of population after Uttar Pradesh. The natives of Maharashtra are referred as Maharashtrian, whose native language is Marathi.

[3] Ganesh Charturti: Ganesh is one of the most well-known and venerated representations of God. Ganesh Charturi is a festival celebrated in the month of September, in the some states of India. The festivities includes processions, and mass prayers on the streets of Bombay.

[4] Parsi: sometimes spelled Parsee, is a member of the close-knit Zoroastrian community based in the Indian subcontinent. Parsis are descended from Persian Zoroastrians who immigrated to the Indian subcontinent over 1,000 years ago to escape religious persecution after the Islamic conquest (Jhabvalla, 1973).

[5] Gujuratis: Gujarati people, or Gujaratis, is an umbrella term used to describe traditionally Gujarati speaking peoples who can trace their ancestry to the Gujarat region in India. Most of the Gujarati sub-ethnicities are of Indo-Aryan Ethno-linguistic extraction.

[6] Dalit: In the Indian caste system, a Dalit, often called an untouchable. They are also known as outcastes. Included are leather-workers (called chamar), poor farmers and landless laborers, scavengers (called bhangi or chura), street handicrafters, folk artists, clothes washers’ dhobi etc. Traditionally, they were treated as pariahs in South Asian society and isolated in their own communities, to the point that even their shadows were avoided by the upper castes. Discrimination against Dalits still exists in rural areas in the private sphere, in ritual matters such as access to eating places and water sources. It has largely disappeared, however, in urban areas and in the public sphere, in rights of movement and access to schools

[7] Kuccha: Kuccha is Bombay lingo for ‘weak,’ often used to describe the roads. Here is used to describe muddy road.

[8] Namdeep: Name of the apartment complex where my parents stay.

[9] CST: Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus better known by its acronym VT is a historic railway station of the Mumbai suburban railway, as well as for some long-distance trains. It serves as the headquarters of the Central Railways in India and is one of the busiest railway stations in India. On July 2, 2004 the station was nominated a World Heritage Site by the World Heritage Committee of UNESCO.

[10] Dadar: is a place in Mumbai, and has a railway station on the Mumbai Suburban Railway on both the Western Railway line (Dadar) and the Central Railway line (Dadar T.T.). Dadar has the only railway station common to both the Central line and the Western line; this makes it a transit point and the most crowded railway station on the Mumbai Suburban Railway.