A normal day in Bangalore... Hmmmmm. I wanted to describe today what a normal day in Bangalore feels like, things that happen to me regularly and how I experience normalizing life. But... I really don't think I have had very many of those yet to describe!
So, instead, lets try a mental exercise at mix-matching different things that have happened to me during the days here and create an imaginary day. A day that compiles the curiosities of my life here, so I can give you a taste of the beauty and fun of my days.
7:00 am - For all my working days, this is wake up time.
The curtains in my bedroom are fully down, but still a lot of light will penetrate the room to welcome me to the day. Light is very bright already at this time of the morning here. Nothing in front to stop it coming.
Let me explain: I live in front of a Police ground, which means I have an ugly grey wall in front of my house. However, (and luckily) the exploding greenery behind the wall covers most of the outside of the wall and the grey is hardly visible at parts. Also, my room is on a 1st floor and therefore I cannot see the wall. Instead I see the palm trees, the cocos growing out of them, the long length of grass of the grounds (one could confuse it with a golf course at times) and the tree climbing green leaves. Honestly, nothing to envy the greenery seen in Ireland, just a more tropical variety of it.
Also, invariably, when I wake up I can hear several birds. I am so lucky to leave in a very calm road where almost no cars pass by! I can actually hear the crickets and the birds during the nights and days. Or, the rain falling in the leaves. Nonetheless, one other less natural and calming music to my ears in the mornings is the trumpets that signal the beginning of the day for the Police apprentices in the grounds in front of my house. These poor souls, together with all neighbors in my street, are invariably called to form in line every morning at 7am.
On the bright side, I don't think I'll ever be able to be late for work, Police takes care of that for me. Now, when in the weekends they include tambourines to the trumpets.... even if they nicely wait till 9am.... Seriously!
But the days go on. And some of them bring also the "breakfast man". A skinny man, with a chariot full of veggies and a heating/pan system, that will provide you with a Dosa (rice thin pancake) and some fillings for a modest price. He simply pushes the chariot around the street, while shouting his morning menu and hoping that someone will demand his services.
I eat cereals in the mornings.
8:30 am - This is time to be collected by my shuttle to work on weekdays.
Busy streets besides my home so, if I hadn't wake up yet after the shower, the figuring what to wear, the running all around the place to find that piece of clothing that I want to wear but I didn't iron yet, and the make up art... well, surely the instinct for survival while crossing one of these roads will wake me up.
I keep having this silly principle (one day it might get me in serious trouble) that cars are supposed to stop in lights, street crosses and whenever a person is in the middle of the road, in front of them, without a possibility to move back or forth, and might get crashed if they don't hit the breaks. I have the impression I read about that somewhere. A Code of the Road or something similar, right? Well, don't count on that here. Whenever you are in the middle, cars will incessantly klaxon and accelerate to scare you off and out of their rightful way.
As I said, who needs coffee!? I personally should need a camomile before work, instead I tend to go for cereals or warm milk and toasts.
9:00 am - I am sitting in front of a computer sending emails or going to meetings from 9am till 6pm all weekdays (well, not only, but mostly. Office work, like! You get me). Nothing at all different from the usual live that I had back in Europe. Really nothing to tell about it other than a sheer pleasure of feeling like normal life is going on, with all the normal stress of work and the normal conversations with colleagues and the normal breaks to have a tea or lunch. Nothing to add.
So lets talk about a non-normal working day. Like the last week when I went again to FRRO to confirm my new address. Having slept little the previous night (as I know this is going to be an experience to dread) and wait for few hours now my tour on the counter for address change registry, I finally get to talk to the officer in the counter. I handle all papers required (I insist, ALL of the papers that they require in their official website, where all documents need to be scanned and uploaded previous asking for an appointment) I handle (withholding the urge to become verbally violent) the below conversations:
Officer 1: Yes, Madam?
Me: Good morning! I have come to register my change of address as required. - I say, as I handle all the required documentation.
Officer 1: Madam, you are missing one document. Where is the proof of landlord signature? /This must be presented with all documents.
Me: What!!??? Which document?
Officer 1: Madam, I cannot accept your submission. One document is missing. Please come back another day.
Me: What!!!!!!???? (while thinking, no way on earth should I pass through this hell again till I need to renew my visa next year) Sir, please review again. You asked for 3 documents in your website (I'm becoming a veteran so I had the print out of the website requirements and specific list of mandatory documents printed with me)
Officer 1: Yes madam, website doesn't say. You miss still one document that doesn't say in the website. You must bring it. I cannot process this today.
Me: No, Sir. (Now I have become categorical with my "No", which I know is terribly impolite here and, for a woman to a man, totally unusual and scary) I brought all you asked in your website, I want my permit today.
Officer 1: Madam, please talk to that man - Says Mr. Officer 1 while pointing to a more senior (in age) official behind a desk called "Help Desk" and that is sitting like if he was having a pint in a pub with friends -.
Without too much understanding why and after complaining several times that "what can another person tell me that he cannot tell?" I am returned my documents and sent to talk to Mr. Officer 2.
Officer 2: Yes, Madam?
Me: Sir, I need your help. Your colleague on Miscellaneous Counter (now that I look into it, this is how it was called) tells me to talk to you.
Officer 2: Yes, Madam? (OMG, does he really not know how to say anything else?)
Me: I have brought up all the documents required in the list of Mandatory requirements for a change of address and I want to process my residency permit today. I cannot comeback another day, Sir, I cannot miss that much work (I start talking a bit like "locals", hopefully that helps them understand me). As I have provided all required documentation, I am asking to get this processed today.
Officer 2: (He initially looks at my papers and then handles me a brochure where the correct information I am missing is point out) Please Madam, read! (He is not kind on this statement, neither rude, just a bit arrogant to my taste)
Me: Sir, but look at the print out I brought. Your website doesn't mention that proof documentation at all so... how am I supposed to know that my Document 1 is not considered complete if it doesn't come with this (newly invented to piss off foreigners - of course, I don't mention this part-) additional proof?
Officer 2: Madam, please read! (Ha, he can change the words of place and maintain the same meaning!! He has a good level of English, at least. But what the heck!!!)
Me: Sir, I can read English. But I cannot know on my own (I feel like "invent" or "read minds" is more appropriate for the situation, but I don't want to be sent back by a security guard directly to the airport, so I bite my tonge) that you require additional proof in order to validate one of your required Mandatory documents, if that requirement is not written anywhere in your website.
Officer 2: Madam, please talk to that man - Says Mr. Officer 2 while pointing to a more senior (in age) official behind a much larger desk, with a more private separation from the rest.
I look to the floor, I look to the window, I look to the papers scatered in the "Help Desk" table and I breath twice. ("Do not shout, DO NOT cry, and get what you need to get!!!" I tell myself) I stand up, I murmur a "Thank you, Sir" (no sarcasm, just being practical, in case I need to come back and talk to him again. After all, I'll need to renew my Visa in 10 months)
Officer 3: Yes, Madam? (Oh no! Another automatic call-center-like response!! I'm surely with another one that will not help me and will read me the process once more. "Anybody in?" I feel like addressing directly his brains in case I might master the technique of wake at least one officer's one today)
Me: Sir, I need your help. Your colleague on Help Desk tells me that I need this additional proof to get my permit today. But, this new requirement was not part of your website requirements and I could not have known, Sir. (Change of technique, I try to look as I feel for once: almost defeated, in case his "paternal" instincts might help me more than my righteous statement of the inaccuracy on their website)
Officer 3: Ok, Madam. The document is indeed required (please, not again, nooooo) But we can do something (oh, my! there might be light in this bureaucratic tunnel) I will request the Miscellaneous Desk (Officer 1, for anybody that might be lost) to produce your permit. (Yes!!! eoeoeoeoe) But, as it takes one hour (Oh, Jezz! no I remember) you will need to contact your landlord, or your HR department, to provide us the missing document (I will need to piss off either one of them again... Great!) and if you can give it to us printed or fax it in 1 hour, then we will be able to give you your permit today.
To not extend the story any longer. After what looked like an "Indiana Jone's of the bureaucracy" adventure to call my landlord, call all HR partners I know, give the fax number, get an email sent to my phone, find an internet place in the nearby bus station, get the man in the internet place (a character deserving a full page description on any good travel novel), print out the pages, getting to pay double than the previous lady because... "internet charges" (I had to sent my email to his email) and running back to impressively be in front of Officer 1 exactly 1 hour after my last conversation with Officer 3.... Well, yes, I got it!!!! Eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo.
To celebrate my success, I felt like going to the bank to deposit a check and withdraw some cash. But, I really don't have the strength of mind to describe that experience as well. Let's leave it for today at: it only took 2 hours to do 2 simple transactions because the arch over my name in my signature is not always the same. Security reasons demand an exact match of my signature in their records. I did shout to the lady in the counter here and I also talked to 3 different people to get what I needed. Maybe I tell you more next time. This post is becoming too long now.
2:00pm - Time to get back home for lunch. Let's call an auto rickshaw and get there soon.
I have been told that auto rickshaws are safe to be taken during the day, and cheap (though, not as much as they used to be) They all have meters, so you just need to make sure that, before entering the auto, you have agreed with them to use them and the destination point. Some autos will not want to bring you to a certain place if they don't estimate they will do enough money with the ride. Others, they will not accept the metro as you are a foreigner and they feel obliged to ask for more money, or bring you for a tour in town that will (no surprises) end up in some shop of a kind.
I want to get home, so I go telling every driver I cross "Koramangala? Meter only!" and I enter the first rickshaw that agrees to the deal.
As I get in, the driver starts the auto almost before I have the time to sit in. I notice that he is driving bare feet (I have seen many doing so), I see the decoration of the interior, always different and so personal, and I look for my phone. As a security measure, I have also been instructed to always make a picture of the drivers registration number that is exhibited in the back of the drivers sit, right in front of the passengers. I will send always the picture to a friend and tell them where I am going and how long it should take. Even to friends back in Europe, it doesn't really matter, for as long as somebody you trust knows where you are and expect your "I arrived safely" message. Plus they don't really know where are you sending it but they will see you doing it and will know you have their picture and name sent across.
Once the security formalities are done, I relax and enjoy the ride. The air coming to your face, the colorful traffic and its rally-like movements all around. For some reason, I am today reading the picture I took from the auto driver and I realize that the blood type is one of the fields included. The man in front of me has my same blood type. This Indian man, who can hardly speak English, and me, the white foreigner who can't speak the local language, have something in common: we have the same blood group. And I start thinking that, if an accident were to happen (I think I already mentioned that I keep feeling surprised to not have seen one yet), this man could safe my life; or, I could safe his. Funnily enough, this realization gives me a higher sense of respect for this man, whom I don't know at all and which name I haven't even looked at yet.
4:30 pm - Time to relax at my home terrace. (In working days, I might not be able as I reach home at 7 and it's already night time, plus it is mosquito going-out time. Ignoring that part, as this is an invented day, let's imagine I get to revive this heavenly experience every day)
After a long day (bureaucracy or work, doesn't matter) I finally get to enjoy the terrace besides my room. I make one of the aromatic teas that I brought from Ireland, I settle in the nice Ikea balancing chair my friend offered to me and I enjoy a good book, while watching the green grounds in front of me as the sunset settles.
8:00 pm - It's dinner time.
Again, nothing unusual to the normal daily dinners I could have had back in Europe: I cook with my roommate, we discuss our days, we make fun of our frustrations and adjustment issues, we give tips to each other, we recommend each other books or movies, we eat together and we get ready for bed.
Also, I try to keep my ears open to "paper man". With the moving, we still had a lot of boxes and papers to throw away. But I didn't want to just "trow it" to the normal rubbish. After all, I was the one that introduced the concept of recycling in my home when I was 12 so... I just couldn't bear the thought. The local solution to this problem is another thin man. This time, the man has a bicycle and goes around town shouting only one word: Paper! If I hear him and I have my "recycling" to handle, I will go outside of the house and shout "Paper!" back to him. He will come to my door and I will handle all the paper and plastic I have. He will "happily" collect.
One thing I noticed and that saddens me... It's never the same man. So, I am brought to assume, many live daily out of their paper collections. I get to wonder if this man has a family, if his kids are small and in which conditions he might live. I don't get very beautiful pictures on anything I imagine, I can see that on his very tired face.
11:00 pm - Time to fall sleep.
I (or my roommate, actually, most often its her who does it) get the rubbish out. As we have agreed that we don't want to participate to the collective mess in the corner end of our street, where all neighbors throw their rubbish to the floor to be collected by the government cars in the morning, we leave our rubbish on top of the fence that serves as an entrance to our home. Most days it is collected from there, but unfortunately not all.
And after some typically women beauty care, we go off to bed.
I can hear again the crickets of this morning, already starting their long "night". However, birds, like us, seem to already have gone to sleep. Instead, we can hear the neighbor labrador putting up a fighting on longest-barking competition with the street dogs of the area. These street dogs are very scared of people (I think they get severely bitten, its mostly an assumption based on the way the tails go as they see a human being) so they are more active at night and mostly feed on rubbish, so I gather that my street corner must be one of their favorite restaurants. Hence, every night I can hear a great bunch of them, barking around the street. That might deter any human thief or human danger to come to my street and so, as a consequence, I actually like them being around and feel safer and more restful when I hear them.
Voila!!! One long, full of joys and adventures, day in Bangalore for you all to imagine my life here. Hope you liked it!
So, instead, lets try a mental exercise at mix-matching different things that have happened to me during the days here and create an imaginary day. A day that compiles the curiosities of my life here, so I can give you a taste of the beauty and fun of my days.
7:00 am - For all my working days, this is wake up time.
The curtains in my bedroom are fully down, but still a lot of light will penetrate the room to welcome me to the day. Light is very bright already at this time of the morning here. Nothing in front to stop it coming.
Let me explain: I live in front of a Police ground, which means I have an ugly grey wall in front of my house. However, (and luckily) the exploding greenery behind the wall covers most of the outside of the wall and the grey is hardly visible at parts. Also, my room is on a 1st floor and therefore I cannot see the wall. Instead I see the palm trees, the cocos growing out of them, the long length of grass of the grounds (one could confuse it with a golf course at times) and the tree climbing green leaves. Honestly, nothing to envy the greenery seen in Ireland, just a more tropical variety of it.
Also, invariably, when I wake up I can hear several birds. I am so lucky to leave in a very calm road where almost no cars pass by! I can actually hear the crickets and the birds during the nights and days. Or, the rain falling in the leaves. Nonetheless, one other less natural and calming music to my ears in the mornings is the trumpets that signal the beginning of the day for the Police apprentices in the grounds in front of my house. These poor souls, together with all neighbors in my street, are invariably called to form in line every morning at 7am.
On the bright side, I don't think I'll ever be able to be late for work, Police takes care of that for me. Now, when in the weekends they include tambourines to the trumpets.... even if they nicely wait till 9am.... Seriously!
But the days go on. And some of them bring also the "breakfast man". A skinny man, with a chariot full of veggies and a heating/pan system, that will provide you with a Dosa (rice thin pancake) and some fillings for a modest price. He simply pushes the chariot around the street, while shouting his morning menu and hoping that someone will demand his services.
I eat cereals in the mornings.
8:30 am - This is time to be collected by my shuttle to work on weekdays.
Busy streets besides my home so, if I hadn't wake up yet after the shower, the figuring what to wear, the running all around the place to find that piece of clothing that I want to wear but I didn't iron yet, and the make up art... well, surely the instinct for survival while crossing one of these roads will wake me up.
I keep having this silly principle (one day it might get me in serious trouble) that cars are supposed to stop in lights, street crosses and whenever a person is in the middle of the road, in front of them, without a possibility to move back or forth, and might get crashed if they don't hit the breaks. I have the impression I read about that somewhere. A Code of the Road or something similar, right? Well, don't count on that here. Whenever you are in the middle, cars will incessantly klaxon and accelerate to scare you off and out of their rightful way.
As I said, who needs coffee!? I personally should need a camomile before work, instead I tend to go for cereals or warm milk and toasts.
9:00 am - I am sitting in front of a computer sending emails or going to meetings from 9am till 6pm all weekdays (well, not only, but mostly. Office work, like! You get me). Nothing at all different from the usual live that I had back in Europe. Really nothing to tell about it other than a sheer pleasure of feeling like normal life is going on, with all the normal stress of work and the normal conversations with colleagues and the normal breaks to have a tea or lunch. Nothing to add.
So lets talk about a non-normal working day. Like the last week when I went again to FRRO to confirm my new address. Having slept little the previous night (as I know this is going to be an experience to dread) and wait for few hours now my tour on the counter for address change registry, I finally get to talk to the officer in the counter. I handle all papers required (I insist, ALL of the papers that they require in their official website, where all documents need to be scanned and uploaded previous asking for an appointment) I handle (withholding the urge to become verbally violent) the below conversations:
Officer 1: Yes, Madam?
Me: Good morning! I have come to register my change of address as required. - I say, as I handle all the required documentation.
Officer 1: Madam, you are missing one document. Where is the proof of landlord signature? /This must be presented with all documents.
Me: What!!??? Which document?
Officer 1: Madam, I cannot accept your submission. One document is missing. Please come back another day.
Me: What!!!!!!???? (while thinking, no way on earth should I pass through this hell again till I need to renew my visa next year) Sir, please review again. You asked for 3 documents in your website (I'm becoming a veteran so I had the print out of the website requirements and specific list of mandatory documents printed with me)
Officer 1: Yes madam, website doesn't say. You miss still one document that doesn't say in the website. You must bring it. I cannot process this today.
Me: No, Sir. (Now I have become categorical with my "No", which I know is terribly impolite here and, for a woman to a man, totally unusual and scary) I brought all you asked in your website, I want my permit today.
Officer 1: Madam, please talk to that man - Says Mr. Officer 1 while pointing to a more senior (in age) official behind a desk called "Help Desk" and that is sitting like if he was having a pint in a pub with friends -.
Without too much understanding why and after complaining several times that "what can another person tell me that he cannot tell?" I am returned my documents and sent to talk to Mr. Officer 2.
Officer 2: Yes, Madam?
Me: Sir, I need your help. Your colleague on Miscellaneous Counter (now that I look into it, this is how it was called) tells me to talk to you.
Officer 2: Yes, Madam? (OMG, does he really not know how to say anything else?)
Me: I have brought up all the documents required in the list of Mandatory requirements for a change of address and I want to process my residency permit today. I cannot comeback another day, Sir, I cannot miss that much work (I start talking a bit like "locals", hopefully that helps them understand me). As I have provided all required documentation, I am asking to get this processed today.
Officer 2: (He initially looks at my papers and then handles me a brochure where the correct information I am missing is point out) Please Madam, read! (He is not kind on this statement, neither rude, just a bit arrogant to my taste)
Me: Sir, but look at the print out I brought. Your website doesn't mention that proof documentation at all so... how am I supposed to know that my Document 1 is not considered complete if it doesn't come with this (newly invented to piss off foreigners - of course, I don't mention this part-) additional proof?
Officer 2: Madam, please read! (Ha, he can change the words of place and maintain the same meaning!! He has a good level of English, at least. But what the heck!!!)
Me: Sir, I can read English. But I cannot know on my own (I feel like "invent" or "read minds" is more appropriate for the situation, but I don't want to be sent back by a security guard directly to the airport, so I bite my tonge) that you require additional proof in order to validate one of your required Mandatory documents, if that requirement is not written anywhere in your website.
Officer 2: Madam, please talk to that man - Says Mr. Officer 2 while pointing to a more senior (in age) official behind a much larger desk, with a more private separation from the rest.
I look to the floor, I look to the window, I look to the papers scatered in the "Help Desk" table and I breath twice. ("Do not shout, DO NOT cry, and get what you need to get!!!" I tell myself) I stand up, I murmur a "Thank you, Sir" (no sarcasm, just being practical, in case I need to come back and talk to him again. After all, I'll need to renew my Visa in 10 months)
Officer 3: Yes, Madam? (Oh no! Another automatic call-center-like response!! I'm surely with another one that will not help me and will read me the process once more. "Anybody in?" I feel like addressing directly his brains in case I might master the technique of wake at least one officer's one today)
Me: Sir, I need your help. Your colleague on Help Desk tells me that I need this additional proof to get my permit today. But, this new requirement was not part of your website requirements and I could not have known, Sir. (Change of technique, I try to look as I feel for once: almost defeated, in case his "paternal" instincts might help me more than my righteous statement of the inaccuracy on their website)
Officer 3: Ok, Madam. The document is indeed required (please, not again, nooooo) But we can do something (oh, my! there might be light in this bureaucratic tunnel) I will request the Miscellaneous Desk (Officer 1, for anybody that might be lost) to produce your permit. (Yes!!! eoeoeoeoe) But, as it takes one hour (Oh, Jezz! no I remember) you will need to contact your landlord, or your HR department, to provide us the missing document (I will need to piss off either one of them again... Great!) and if you can give it to us printed or fax it in 1 hour, then we will be able to give you your permit today.
To not extend the story any longer. After what looked like an "Indiana Jone's of the bureaucracy" adventure to call my landlord, call all HR partners I know, give the fax number, get an email sent to my phone, find an internet place in the nearby bus station, get the man in the internet place (a character deserving a full page description on any good travel novel), print out the pages, getting to pay double than the previous lady because... "internet charges" (I had to sent my email to his email) and running back to impressively be in front of Officer 1 exactly 1 hour after my last conversation with Officer 3.... Well, yes, I got it!!!! Eoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeoeo.
To celebrate my success, I felt like going to the bank to deposit a check and withdraw some cash. But, I really don't have the strength of mind to describe that experience as well. Let's leave it for today at: it only took 2 hours to do 2 simple transactions because the arch over my name in my signature is not always the same. Security reasons demand an exact match of my signature in their records. I did shout to the lady in the counter here and I also talked to 3 different people to get what I needed. Maybe I tell you more next time. This post is becoming too long now.
2:00pm - Time to get back home for lunch. Let's call an auto rickshaw and get there soon.
I have been told that auto rickshaws are safe to be taken during the day, and cheap (though, not as much as they used to be) They all have meters, so you just need to make sure that, before entering the auto, you have agreed with them to use them and the destination point. Some autos will not want to bring you to a certain place if they don't estimate they will do enough money with the ride. Others, they will not accept the metro as you are a foreigner and they feel obliged to ask for more money, or bring you for a tour in town that will (no surprises) end up in some shop of a kind.
I want to get home, so I go telling every driver I cross "Koramangala? Meter only!" and I enter the first rickshaw that agrees to the deal.
As I get in, the driver starts the auto almost before I have the time to sit in. I notice that he is driving bare feet (I have seen many doing so), I see the decoration of the interior, always different and so personal, and I look for my phone. As a security measure, I have also been instructed to always make a picture of the drivers registration number that is exhibited in the back of the drivers sit, right in front of the passengers. I will send always the picture to a friend and tell them where I am going and how long it should take. Even to friends back in Europe, it doesn't really matter, for as long as somebody you trust knows where you are and expect your "I arrived safely" message. Plus they don't really know where are you sending it but they will see you doing it and will know you have their picture and name sent across.
Once the security formalities are done, I relax and enjoy the ride. The air coming to your face, the colorful traffic and its rally-like movements all around. For some reason, I am today reading the picture I took from the auto driver and I realize that the blood type is one of the fields included. The man in front of me has my same blood type. This Indian man, who can hardly speak English, and me, the white foreigner who can't speak the local language, have something in common: we have the same blood group. And I start thinking that, if an accident were to happen (I think I already mentioned that I keep feeling surprised to not have seen one yet), this man could safe my life; or, I could safe his. Funnily enough, this realization gives me a higher sense of respect for this man, whom I don't know at all and which name I haven't even looked at yet.
4:30 pm - Time to relax at my home terrace. (In working days, I might not be able as I reach home at 7 and it's already night time, plus it is mosquito going-out time. Ignoring that part, as this is an invented day, let's imagine I get to revive this heavenly experience every day)
After a long day (bureaucracy or work, doesn't matter) I finally get to enjoy the terrace besides my room. I make one of the aromatic teas that I brought from Ireland, I settle in the nice Ikea balancing chair my friend offered to me and I enjoy a good book, while watching the green grounds in front of me as the sunset settles.
8:00 pm - It's dinner time.
Again, nothing unusual to the normal daily dinners I could have had back in Europe: I cook with my roommate, we discuss our days, we make fun of our frustrations and adjustment issues, we give tips to each other, we recommend each other books or movies, we eat together and we get ready for bed.
Also, I try to keep my ears open to "paper man". With the moving, we still had a lot of boxes and papers to throw away. But I didn't want to just "trow it" to the normal rubbish. After all, I was the one that introduced the concept of recycling in my home when I was 12 so... I just couldn't bear the thought. The local solution to this problem is another thin man. This time, the man has a bicycle and goes around town shouting only one word: Paper! If I hear him and I have my "recycling" to handle, I will go outside of the house and shout "Paper!" back to him. He will come to my door and I will handle all the paper and plastic I have. He will "happily" collect.
One thing I noticed and that saddens me... It's never the same man. So, I am brought to assume, many live daily out of their paper collections. I get to wonder if this man has a family, if his kids are small and in which conditions he might live. I don't get very beautiful pictures on anything I imagine, I can see that on his very tired face.
11:00 pm - Time to fall sleep.
I (or my roommate, actually, most often its her who does it) get the rubbish out. As we have agreed that we don't want to participate to the collective mess in the corner end of our street, where all neighbors throw their rubbish to the floor to be collected by the government cars in the morning, we leave our rubbish on top of the fence that serves as an entrance to our home. Most days it is collected from there, but unfortunately not all.
And after some typically women beauty care, we go off to bed.
I can hear again the crickets of this morning, already starting their long "night". However, birds, like us, seem to already have gone to sleep. Instead, we can hear the neighbor labrador putting up a fighting on longest-barking competition with the street dogs of the area. These street dogs are very scared of people (I think they get severely bitten, its mostly an assumption based on the way the tails go as they see a human being) so they are more active at night and mostly feed on rubbish, so I gather that my street corner must be one of their favorite restaurants. Hence, every night I can hear a great bunch of them, barking around the street. That might deter any human thief or human danger to come to my street and so, as a consequence, I actually like them being around and feel safer and more restful when I hear them.
Voila!!! One long, full of joys and adventures, day in Bangalore for you all to imagine my life here. Hope you liked it!
My beautiful terrace and its views, that still marvel and relax me when sitting with a tea and a book.
1 comment:
Very nice,thanks for this Indian insight!!! I ll read the rest now!
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