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The Indian headshake is one of the most common (and peculiar) gestures a traveler would come across on their journey India. The headshake is a combination of a nod and shake, and means precisely that - yes and no.
Observe the following discussion:
Traveli: Is this bus going to Cochin?
Indian: [responds with said headshake]
Meaning #1: The bus is going to Cochin
Meaning #2: The bus is going to Hampi / Rishikesh / Varanasi
Meaning #3: What is this guy on about?!
Initially, I was labouring under the misapprehension that the headshake was the only thing I knew to combine ‘yes’ and ‘no’ - the ‘maybe’. But having the wisdom of a month in this land, I note the errors of my ways, for the term ‘maybe’ has far more certainty as it guarantees one of two results - it may be or it may not be, whereas the headshake is quite different and promises no result whatsoever. It serves nothing more than a vague acknowledgement of the question (and its right to remain unanswered), and its only useful contribution is a lesson in coping with uncertainty.
And so I board the bus and let it take me to my destination - wherever that may be.
Praise the one who owns the hills green and turns her leaves to drink.Praise the one who brings forth steel and modes of getting here to there.
Praise the one who lets word travel and hears our laughs and cries.
Let us sing in unity and hail Tata
It seems that Kerala’s communism has rubbed off on me with this rare admission to my friends on the left. The Tatasation of India was most apparent when I was driving for hours in the hills surrounding Munaar, knowing all this beauty is owned by the almighty conglomerate.
I came to a place not found in my guide, and found that it existed, and so I started doubting that which was my guide.
I created a dot on my map, a lonely blot in a lesser lonely planet, and confirmed to myself what this city’s inhabitants long knew: they exist!
To survive on the Indian road, you need to honk excessively (works best in a vehicle) and understand your place in the road ladder (listed in reverse order):
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Man
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Motorcycle
- Rickshaw
- Car
- Bus
- Tata truck
- Holy cow
I’m heading off today from the picturesque mountain scene surrounding Kodaikanal, nearby which (in the village of vatakanal) I stayed for the past few days, to the tea plantations surrounding Munaar.
I will thus begin my way back home.
India has its very frustrating side and today I am just not in the mood to follow my own advice in my ‘Shanti, Shanti’ post - though I may just have too.
My plan for the day:
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Visit Hyderabad’s famous Bazaars (after a quick detour to post office)
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Pack my clean cloths
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Fly out of here
Actual day:
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Suit has not been delivered; go back to shops
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Laundry came back and was not washed (”man went on holiday”)
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Post office detour took over 2 hours, after the procrastinated packaging job by the Chai Walla (canteen operator) nearby was deemed inappropriate; nearly got run over by a motorbike while crossing the road; pleaded with an ofice worker on the other side of the road to give me some brown tape (”clear tape not acceptable… we are a post office, don’t sell packaging items”); a few further attempts at packing; a walk to another street to photocopy Post office forms (”this is our last one, you need three”);
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No time for hyderabad’s bazaars
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Running late for flight
Shanti, Shanti
When I was in Bombay, I was told “This is Bombay, this is not India”, and it was true. The city with its opportunities, modernity and relative meritocracy is quite unlike the rest of India.
The I was in Goa, and I was told “This is Goa, not India”, and it was true. The region with its Portuguese influence, catholic population and tourist influx is quite unlike the rest of India.
Last night, dining in a fancy vegetarian restaurant in Banjara Hills, Hyderabad (the Indian equivalent of Beverly Hills, LA), my Indian dinner colleague suggested in conversation that this too was not India.
So after three weeks is this country, where precisely is India?
A few days back I made this comment:
While in Western society the gap between ‘wants’ and ‘haves’ is narrowed by consumerism (Increase supply / ‘haves’), Hinduism and its caste system has allowed for the gap to be filled by reducing expectations of the masses (Decrease demand / ‘wants’). It is for this reason that India, unlike America, does not have its stories of beggars turned moguls.
It seems that marketers are acutely aware of this and are targeting what Indians in a job-specific caste system have traditionally lacked: greed
The point is, ladies and gentleman, that greed — for lack of a better word — is good.
Greed is right.
Greed works.
Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit.
Greed, in all of its forms — greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge — has marked the upward surge of mankind.
And greed — you mark my words — will not only save Teldar Paper, but that other malfunctioning corporation called the USA.
Thank you very much.
Gordon Gekko, Wall Street (1987)
For good or bad, India’s middle class filled the shopping centre engaging in the practice of consumerism promoted by this billboard.
I’ve come to Hyderabad to learn more about microfinance, one of the best touted solutions to combat poverty. I could note from the airplane that this city lacks the shantytowns of Mumbai and the streets lack the beggars I met elsewhere in India. Hyderabad, like its cousin Bangalore, has been one of the winners in India’s IT & BPO boom, and the mansions on each street corner here at Cyberabad bear witness to this.
When in Hyderabad, do as the Hyderabadis do, so after dinner with a lovely stranger, I joined the city’s many yuppies and hit the nearest shopping centre (open late every night) for an unneeded dose of consumerism. I bought myself a new suit, which if I may say so myself looks rather spiffy on me.
