A CLOSE-UP VIEW OF THE WORLD'S LARGEST DEMOCRACY IN ACTION: POLICY, DEVELOPMENT AND TRADE

Jan 2 - 14, 2007
Bangalore    Bombay    Dehli

2008

-Whatever you think you know about the forces behind the factors driving India's emergence... forget it. This tri opened my eyes to the movers and shakers in today's and tomorrow's powerhouse.

-India is a bombardment of the senses.

-Visiting India was a life-changing experience.

-I ran into a local who asked me why we were visiting India. When I explained it was to look at the effects of globalization, he was thrilled. As I left, he yelled, "Enjoy your globalization!" I said the same thing back.

-A visit to India will change your perspective of the world and make you a more astute student of public policy.

-You can only understand the phenomenon called India when you see and experience it for yourself.

2005

I’m writing to try to describe what was an almost indescribable trip to India…Please pardon the somewhat disjointed report, but it’s consistent with the complexity and inscrutability of the experience.

As many of you know, the trip (January 3-18) was a GMU class in Indian trade, development and policy, for which I will receive three credits, when I finish the final “critical essay.” (I am a full-time grad student in Public Policy at George Mason University, for those of you with whom I’ve not kept up.)

It was a combination of lectures, sightseeing, and lots of riding to and fro on buses with 20 classmates. We stayed in four cities (flying between them on an Indian commercial airline): the capital, New Delhi, the commercial hub Mumbai (aka Bombay), a resort town on the Arabian Sea called Goa, and the center of India’s Silicon Valley, Bangalore.

Let me just jump right into it…The sights, smells and sounds of India are incomparable. For me, the defining characteristic was probably MOVEMENT. A constant dynamic flow of teeming crowds…their direction and purpose hard to discern, seemingly without a pattern. India has a population of nearly a billion people, and there’s no mistaking it when you’re there.

The bumpy, dusty roads are filled at all hours with pedestrians, cows, donkey carts, camels, bicycles, motor scooters, lorries, three-wheeled taxis, rickety buses, and the occasional car, all flowing in one direction, without staying in any formation or lanes, often inches apart. The sound of beeping (done from courtesy, not anger) is ever present, as is the feeling of imminent disaster! “Please Honk Okay” is colorfully painted on the back ends of almost all motorized vehicles, and everyone complies.

While we were there, the Indian government was engaged in a “Stay in Your Lane” campaign, with roadside billboards and newspaper ads, but such order, precision and boundary-making seem inconsistent with the Indian temperament. (I couldn’t help but think that the Indian way, while treacherous, is highly efficient, as all available space on the roads is used.) Many families have only a Vespa or motorcycle; I saw countless combinations of mothers, fathers, boyfriends, girlfriends and children piled onto these vehicles (without helmets, of course), breezily negotiating the mayhem.

Overall, a feeling of kharmic tolerance pervades the country. The people are diverse in dress, style, physical features and degree of wealth, and display an almost surreal mutual adjustment to each other. Sikhs, Brahmins, lepers, beggars, farmers, shopkeepers, housewives, construction workers and businessmen all move toward their individual destinations, apparently without judgment or prejudice regarding their compatriots. (Of course, there’s that odd caste system, which we couldn’t get our minds around, or really recognize.)

As forewarned by a “CultureSmart” book I read, I did encounter dead bodies…some wrapped in blankets and left alone on city sidewalks (to be picked up by an “untouchable”?) or piteously sprawled, face down, limbs akimbo. (I had the gall to take a picture.) We were approached by beggars in every conceivable location, even at national parks and temples. While riding in city taxis, and standing on sidewalks, we felt their hands reach in and up to caress, poke and pat us. Many seemed to look alike – small, dark and beautiful, really. (I’m not sure, but I suspect that many are from the forest tribes that are being displaced by growth.) They tilted their heads imploringly, and gestured to their mouths, or to the mouths of babies in tow. Strange and moving.

Though I have not yet seen prints of the innumerable pictures I took, the colors of India are emblazoned in my mind. The consistent backdrop was deep gray/brown – the air, the buildings, the roads, the sidewalks are all ancient, dusty and gritty. The people, however, no matter how poor, were extraordinarily colorful and vibrant, as were the fruit stands and lorries. Saris of bright pinks and yellows, religious wear of deep orange, taxis gold and green. It was amazing, and I know that my pictures could not possibly communicate this inherent contrast. (One morning in Bombay, I leaned out of my hotel window into the smog and smoke to view the gritty backsides of the local apartments and the urine-soaked alleys, only to see three bright green parrots alight on a nearby rooftop.)

Our accommodations were a mixed bag. In Delhi, we stayed at a university hostel, in concrete block rooms, basic and somewhat reminiscent of prison cells. It was very cold and foggy during our stay, and our poor little rooms were heated by tiny space heaters (one of which burst into flames on our first night!) Hard cots and open showers made for a somewhat uncomfortable experience. (On the last night of our four-night stay, I chose to sleep upright in a chair, covered in blankets, in order to spare my hips any more bruising from the bed!)

In Bombay, we went a bit more upscale, into a quasi-Western hotel. The weather was warm there, but because electrical power is in such demand/short supply, I tried to be a good sport and go without A/C. On the first morning, I awoke with a start at 6:00 am, sure that the building was on fire, but alas, it was only the wood smoke and diesel fumes of Bombay sneaking under my door…

India has many infrastructure problems, of which the inconsistency of electricity might be the most notable. In every city, in many lectures, in every hotel, the lights would invariably flicker and go out at some point. It was very funny to us Western students to note that despite our classrooms being occasionally plunged into full darkness, our Indian professors would continue speaking as though nothing had happened!

One thing that is NOT lacking is telephone and Internet access. In every city and village, there are little stands into which you step to make your incredible cheap phone calls and create Internet messages. I was able to call my mother in NC and my friend Lesley in NY for less money than it costs to phone them from Virginia! (Note: every month, 10 million Indians sign up for cell phone service.)

The food was plentiful and tasty throughout the trip. We all drank bottled water, and mostly avoided any unpeeled fruits or veggies. I picked up a nasty cold while in India, but had no problems of the digestive type. Bathrooms were a mixture of squat ‘n’ wipe and clearly-marked “European W.C.s” with seats and actual toilet paper. The group employed lots of Purell and WetWipes.

We had a wonderful respite in the middle of the trip – an almost lectureless weekend in a resort hotel in Goa. Good meals, great entertainment, fun shopping, plenty of tasty Indian beer. The beach was beautiful, as were the accommodations. Naturally, it being the “high season” in India, all the resort guests were Western (European). While I received my $12 manicure/pedicure, the beautician mentioned that Indians only come to the resort during the summer – monsoon season.

Our final stop was in Bangalore, the modern hub of India’s “rising tiger” economy. In Bangalore, a gazillion Indians write software, create generic pharmaceuticals, answer U.S. customer service calls (for credit cards and the like) and work in “business process outsourcing.” Because educated Indians speak English, they are able to process forms, medical charts, X-rays, and even legal documents for American and European multinationals. Bangalore was the least “Indian” city, but we enjoyed visits to businesses, a lecture with a prominent guru and a trip to an Indian tailor. I had two “salwah kameezes” made, from maroon and gold silk. (This is a long tunic top with buttoned “Nehru” collar, worn with baggy pants, which most Indian women wear to work or to shop, but looks like cocktail party wear to me.) Total cost for pure silk fabric and completed outfits: $50.

I should mention that we did see many wonderful religious and “official” sites during our trip, including of course, the Taj Mahal, Ghandi’s cremation site and many Hindu and Mughal palaces and places of worship.

A side note: Considering that I am in general, a control freak, I am strangely susceptible to hypnosis, ritual and prayer. During a visit to a modern, elaborate “Hare Krishna” temple in Bangalore, I was instantly and completely transported by a flowery, incense-laden, bell-ringing ceremony, in which homage was paid by loin-clothed initiates to giant hammered-silver statues of Hindu gods. Sadly, my short but thorough reverie was interrupted by our tour guide, anxious to return us to the hotel in time for dinner.

Other notable visions/experiences: tiny Indian women working on road crews carrying baskets of rocks on their heads…permanently squatting polio victims leapfrogging across crowded streets and banging on the sides of cars to be known…groups of chatty women and girls next to their reed huts, patting cow dung into fuel bricks …closeup, window-to-window views of tired, unsmiling workers in city buses…an Indian man accompanying me on my beach walk, complimenting my light skin, and wondering why I didn’t bring my “husband” to Goa…free roaming cows eating in garbage piles…miles of tin shacks lining the roads of Bombay, with men huddled around TVs and women outside washing clothes on the sidewalks…praying for my deceased brother in a Portuguese basilica in Goa, where the body of St. Francis Xavier simply won’t decompose…a jovial temple worker in Bombay accepting our offering of lotus flowers, anointing us with powdery “dots” on our foreheads, and extolling the virtues of New Jersey.

This WAS a class, after all, and we did enjoy many fine lectures from prominent scholars, business leaders and public officials. (Our Indian professor/leader Dr. Akhilesh seemed to know lots of very important people.) We studied various aspects of the Indian economy, culture and history. Our lecturers were articulate, kind, and most of all, excessively optimistic about their country’s future. A very strange thing…26% of Indians live below the poverty line, 46% are illiterate, and we were confronted with wretchedness on every corner, but our lecturers rarely mentioned these matters. Apparently, there is such rapid improvement in India’s economy, that all seem to expect a “trickle down” effect to transform the social landscape. (My “critical essay” for the class will probably concern the role of India’s public broadcasting system in fostering literacy.)

For those of you who knew that the expected highlight of the trip was the jungle safari and elephant ride on the last day…I’m sorry to report that Disney’s Animal Kingdom features far more healthy, free roaming lions and tigers, and that the elephant ride was a brief sojourn through a litter-strewn, dusty lot. (!!!)

In fact, the most wonderful moments of the journey were in the back of a bicycle rickshaw, touring the “old city” of Delhi. I will remember it as a series of vivid frames: color, movement, poverty, beauty and tradition, infused with the smell of wood smoke, dung, and the hardworking sweat of our beleaguered driver.

As you can see, this was an extraordinarily rich experience, and hard to make sense of. Contrary to my expectations, I hope to go back to India. It is such a vast and complex country, that I feel I’ve just scratched the surface.

A final, Western note: I used my miles on United to obtain first-class tickets for Washington-Delhi-Washington (the only seats left on the flights). I spent the last 24 hours of my journey hanging out with a woman who is the World Bank’s “country coordinator” for Nepal and Sri Lanka. It was a fascinating ending to a phenomenal trip.

Alison White
MPP Program