Monthly Archives: September 2010

Awaiting Ayodhya

The disputed land

Bombay seems to be holding its breath.

Today is finally the day. The High Court of Allahabad will deliver the verdict of the Babri Masjid/Ayodhya case after 3pm today—in about an hour.

For those of you unfamiliar, the most recent incident on the site of the mosque was in December 1992 when a group of Hindu protesters stormed the premises and destroyed the mosque. That set off a chain of events that included riots, murdering of Muslims in Bombay (you remember that scene from Slumdog Millionaire, don’t you?) and Muslim retaliation which included bombing the Bombay Stock Exchange—and why I wasn’t allowed to record video.

This verdict comes 17 years later. Continue reading

Heritage Walk: Rediscover Bombay

Each face that lines this building is different.

Francis, our quirky tour guide, led us through the gates and down into an abandoned alley. I looked around confused—and I wasn’t the only one. He gathers us in front of a dilapidated shed, and says:

“I can’t tell you how I know this, but there are two sculptures in there.”

He points to the shed. He invites us to peer through a small hole about the size of a fist. Sure enough, when I get my turn, I can barely make out two British-era statues. Earlier, still at the Hub, Francis had shown us dozens of British sculptures that had quite literally been dumped at the Bombay Zoo after the British left—some missing hands and feet and heads.

I have written about the Hub before, but last Saturday I signed up for an event unrelated to work—a walk around South Bombay. After eating at a local thali place, where I sat next to a silent old man, Francis led us around the historic Fort neighborhood. Continue reading

Eid on Mohammed Ali Road

Colorful kebabs on Md. Ali Road

Colorful kebabs on Md. Ali Road

Yes, I know Eid was almost three weeks ago, but better late than never right?

Before Arnab and I had even talked about moving to India, we had watched the Anthony Bourdain episode where he goes to Mumbai and Calcutta. In Mumbai, he goes to a road called Mohammed Ali Road. On this road, he eats all sorts of kebabs and curries—even brain curry. So, of course a visit was on our Mumbai to-do list.

The road is rather famous, and during the month of Ramadan, the small streets are jammed with people after dark. The biggest night, of course, is Eid. So, we made a plan to go, even though we got plenty of advice telling us not to. Groups of young Muslim men tend to get a little rowdy, and people were worried that I might attract some unwanted attention. Continue reading

You Can Look, But You Can’t Touch

Guilty?

Last Saturday, I sat at Leopold’s Cafe with a group of Indians I met at an event and discussed women being—for lack of a better word—assaulted by men on the trains and in train stations. (This whole topic had started after I mentioned I had been in New Delhi the previous week.)

I’ve heard of women being harassed in the stations. Men will apparently slap a woman’s butt—as she’s standing on the platform, and he whizzes by on a moving train. I’ve heard stories of men “accidentally” bumping into a woman’s chest as he walks by her.

I’ve been safe so far. Until last Tuesday.

I was waiting at Goregaon station for a train to take me to Andheri to meet Arnab and his father for dinner. I stood near a significant amount of women, which usually means I’m waiting where a women’s compartment will stop. Not this train. A relatively empty general compartment stopped directly in front of us. The women scattered. Continue reading

View From Bandra Fort

A few weeks ago, Arnab I went for a Sunday walk around the Bandra Fort. I took this picture of men, young and old, sitting on the wall looking toward the Sea Link. It was a gorgeous day (read: no rain), and the fort was crawling with visitors: parents with kids, groups of young men and couples hiding in the trees trying to steal a kiss.

Mr. Abby Callard

For those of you who didn’t quite believe how frequently I’m assumed to be a man in my professional life, here’s my name tag from last week’s conference.

I registered online.

The prepaid taxi on the way home thought I said my name was spelled A-D-P-Y. I was too tired to correct him.

Mexican in Mumbai

Even though Bombay is a gigantic global city, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be able to find Mexican food up to the caliber of what I was used to at home. I ate Mexican food almost every other day to prepare for a two-year drought.

There are, of course, Mexican restaurants here, but most of them serve Indian and Chinese food along with their paneer tacos. Not so authentic. Arnab’s friend from the states said he found a really good Mexican restaurant here. Like, actually good.

We decided to try it out last night, and while I waited for him to get home from training, I read up on the Burrp reviews. People are generally skeptical and confused about new cuisine—so much so that the NRI owner of the place had a sheet of instructions on how to properly eat a taco. This reviewer literally had me laughing out loud, alone in my apartment.

we had taco platter which is served with mexican rice,refined beans & some salad..the tacos were very difficult to eat as the filling was on the roti not possible 2 eat without rolling it which is a NO-NO way of eating!!!!!

To be fair, on the menu the word “roti” in parentheses follows the description of a flour tortilla. It’s funny because I’ve been describing rotis to people back home as Indian tortillas.

My review? It’ll definitely do for the next two years. I got the same taco platter as the review above, but enjoyed it a lot. The refried beans were a little bland, and the Mexican rice was too wet—more like paella rice. The quesadilla wasn’t great. The cheese was oily, and I’m still not sure about zucchini as a filling.

I’m sure it’s hard to source local ingredients to create a foreign cuisine—a fact made obvious by the lackluster guacamole—so I give the place credit for sticking to its promise and offering traditional Mexican cuisine. I did spot a few Indian touches, however, in the use of paneer and chicken tika tacos. But, we are in India afterall.

All in all, had the restaurant been in the U.S., I probably would have kept looking. (I could have gotten a better version of the taco platter at the same price at a restaurant in Pilsen in Chicago.) But, this being India, I’ll be stopping by to fix my taco craving pretty frequently.

Welcome Home

I returned from my trip to Delhi late Thursday night. Unfortunately, the only things I saw in the city were the Lodi Gardens (from the window of my taxi), the India Habitat Center (where the conference was), our adorable B&B and Kahn Market. I’ll be returning in November, so I wasn’t too worried about seeing much this trip.

Of course, that won’t stop me from making some sweeping generalizations about New Delhi. From what I saw, it seemed to be quieter, greener, hotter and more open. It was way less crowded, which surprisingly, I didn’t like. My next trip will be a lot more fun—sightseeing, eating and no conference attending.

I was actually looking forward to getting back to Bombay. You know that feeling you get when you return to a new home for the first time. When I returned to college after that first trip back home. When I came back to Malaga after a short trip. When I returned to Washington, D.C., after visiting my parents.

For a place that still feels so foreign sometimes, it really felt like home when I got back. I gave the taxi driver directions to my apartment—he was shocked when I told him to stop with no hotel in sight—and walked home from the bank in the dark and felt completely safe.

The Many Incarnations of Abby

My name seems simple enough, but in my interactions with people in India—sources, delivery guys, etc—I’ve discovered some pretty interesting new spellings of my name.

To be fair, this happens in the States, too. I had a teacher once spell my name “Abbi.” (Does that rhyme with rabbi?) It happened in Spain, too, where most people thought my name was “Yabby.” Guess it was that Chicago accent coming out.

In addition, people at work have completely misunderstood my name, and most people assume I’m a man before talking to or meeting me. (One restaurant entered me into its system as Mr. Abby after talking to me on the phone. Sad.) I’m guilty of this, too. I thought my company was having me share a room with a male co-worker on my Delhi trip this week. Before talking to someone, I generally google the name—better safe than sorry.

Here’s a list of my many Indian incarnations so far:

Aaby (I would always be the first in your phonebook, if I’m not already.)
Abbey (At least it’s a legit alternative spelling.)
Abeey (Ah-beeeeeeeee)
Abey
Mr. Abby (Common email salutation. Apparently I write manly emails.)
Tabby (In an office meeting my first week at work. I never corrected the guy—someone else did.)

Government Speaking Frankly

Supriya Sule, MP

I attended an event last weekend for work, and Supriya Sule, a member of parliament that everyone in the room was excited to see, spoke briefly. Because there was no one from the media in the room—she apparently hadn’t heard about me—she said she was going to speak honestly. And she did.

Among other things, she talked about how India has not met a single Millennium Development Goal (MDG) and how at a meeting someone asked her, “Don’t you think our country has been sleeping when it comes to MDGs?”

She also talked about India’s young demographic and how that could be India’s greatest asset or its biggest liability. “If we don’t channel this energy in our country, it’s going to be a sitting time bomb.”

She also fielded questions about Maharashtra’s youth policy—a piece of legislation almost two years in the making. She offered to send the document to anyone in the room who wanted it so they could send their comments to her. And, I get the impression that she’ll actually take those comments to heart.

I’m continuously amazed at how open and honest conversations are in India—and by India, I mean my very limited experience in Mumbai so far. I’m not going to make any sweeping generalizations about government in India, but I really can’t imagine any American politician having such an open discussion—media or no media.