Finally, a travel blog post: Canada, eh?

So, we are back from our Canada trip, one that we had been planning for the last couple of months. And now that we are back, one that makes me wish we had planned it for later in the summer (you know, just in the vein of saving the best part for later).

We got off to a really good start for our early Wednesday morning flight from O'Hare to Toronto. The train got us to the airport on time, security was a breeze with no lines and our departure gate was the first one as soon as we crossed security. As we waited for our flight to be called, we had the added good fortune of watching a guy strutting about talking on his phone with his trouser fly open. We probably should have said something but the entertainment value was too high to end this free show ;)

The 120ish-seat plane had about 25 people on board, which made me feel sorry for Air Canada's business. I have since learned from more regular travellers on this route that our experience was an anomaly and that Air Canada doesn't need my sympathy just yet. We landed in Toronto after an uneventful flight and breezed through customs and immigration. I think the airport was fine except they really need to have a bathroom closer to the arrivals gates!

Just as I was beginning to think that this was probably going to be a super-easy and fun trip, we realized that the car rental we had pre-booked at (obviously because of super-low rates) was not at the airport. We managed to find the Link bus, which was substituting for the Link monorail temporarily, and got to the Viscount station (pronounced Vycount) for the car rental agency pickup. Using one of the courtesy phones, we called Ace car rental twice and waited for 45 minutes before another rental agency offered to give us a ride.

When we reached Routes Truck and Car rental, a Punjabi operation, we were basically told to forget about it. No apologies but we did get an upgrade. After Papa reminded me (over the phone) that the distances and more importantly, the speed limits would be in kilometres, we set off to our first destination, Port Maitland, Ontario on Lake Erie.

The little things that money can't buy

Well almost.

Yesterday, while we were on our pseudo-run to the library (I am making it sound like a regular occurrence, it isn't), we interrupted a food chain. We began by spotting a little bird (I think xalika/sparrow) that looked like it was limping. When we stopped to check if it was ok, it jumped on to the pavement/sidewalk from under a parked car and just stood there.

Almost instantly, a hawk swooped down, perched on a little fence and began to stare at the xalika. It looked like it was ready for some little bird-dinner. As we debated whether to interfere in the natural food chain or not, our nosy habits (read love of animals) kicked in. We inched closer to the xalika, which just remained rooted to its spot, with a dazed look on its face.

As the minutes passed and none of us moved, the hawk probably realized that it had been trumped by bigger predators and had to say goodbye to dinner for now. As it flew away, I kept talking to the xalika in Asamiya, trying to coax it out of its stupor. All of a sudden, it flew straight onto a perch above a door looking pretty healthy. It seemed safe and we knew that we could be on our way :)

The part below cost money.

Today, the weather was almost perfect, with a slight breeze and a warm sun. So, we decided to go out for dinner to a neighbourhood place. As we sat in the restaurant, Vintage's outdoor space, I looked around at the flower baskets and thought about how nice it was to be in this idyllic space. 

And about how much we are losing out in India in the quest for the good stuff. A friend recently told me that in the bigger Indian cities nowadays, one hardly gets to see xalikas. That makes me really sad because we grew up with xalikas and paros (pigeons) and trees.

As we hanker for the bigger cars and fancy clothes and accessories, we destroy our hills, our forests and our wildlife. The xalikas and the hawks go with it. As Ma said the other day, only the kauris (crows) remain.

Maybe that's the only thing we deserve. Scavengers.

Only the poor can afford to be human

One of my friends posted on FB today about an incident on the streets of Delhi. An old man with an LPG cylinder on his back who was riding a bicycle, fell down. As a group of people stopped to stare, two little kids ran up to help the man and put him back on his cycle.

The first question that I asked was whether the kids looked like they were rich or middle class. My friend responded saying that the kids definitely looked poor. Odd question for me to ask but her post had made me think of something that Ma always says. That in my country, it is much more likely that the common man (read poor) will help you if you are in an accident or some sort of trouble in public. The well-heeled will most probably look away.

Living in a different country makes me wonder if that phenomenon might not be India-specific. Walking in downtown Chicago, I often see a couple of poorer old men shouting out cheery hellos to passersby. They smile and talk to strangers, mainly to get their attention, no doubt. That aside (and yes, I am being romantic), they try to make a strange connection with people they do not know. On the other hand, the rest of us mostly walk with our heads down, earphones firmly plugged in, rushing for our buses and trains. We aren't rude to passersby but I doubt if many of us notice them either. We definitely don't have the time or the inclination to say hello to our fellow pedestrians.

Things would be different in an accident in Chicago because this is a country where the value of each life is very high. I have seen a busload of people help a stranger who has collapsed in the bus. That changes when the value of life drops, which is what happens in India. But that's another post.   

Going back to the incident in Delhi and the many that occur across India every day. The rich (and the wannabe rich) in our country often couldn't care less about most non-rich beings. And we--the middle class--are always so worried about getting into trouble. It's as if the poor are the only ones that can afford to be spontaneous and human.

Much ado about nothing?

This weekend I spent about one hour on the phone with three customer service agents. Here's why:

I have a product that I had bought from a well-known Indian company about eight years ago. It is a long-term product and offers online access. I needed to update my mobile phone number to be able to use some of its online access features. However, as I discovered this weekend, the only way to change that number is by going to one of their stores in India.

The first time I called customer service, they told me that I needed a specific piece of information to confirm my identity. Once they had that information, they could help me change my number over the phone. The second time when I called back with that information, the agent told me that I was missing another key piece. The same thing happened when I called the third time. And this is when I got angry and started to tell the agent that transacting with his company was a horrible experience. And that I would end the relationship as soon as I could. As he read me the company line of 'we need this information to make sure you are our client', I hung up the phone on him.

When my husband tried to ask me what had happened, I asked him to give me a few moments to calm down. I felt fine in a little while but still had some things to say about how poor the experience was.

Later that day, all of a sudden, I remembered my sister's recent adventure as she tried to get her passport renewed in time for a conference abroad. The process started with her trying to get an appointment via a website that opened up only for 15minutes every day. Once she had the elusive appointment in hand, she stood in a day-long queue at an Indian passport service centre. The next step is that the police come by to verify proof of residence. When a month went by and there was no sign of the police and her travel dates were drawing near, my sister went to the police station. This set into motion the 'workings' of a flawed system. The entire police 'thana' seemed to be in on this and began to send her from one office to another in every day. As another month drew to a close, my sister met a senior bureaucrat who was shocked to hear about the whole experience. And who had the power to make things happen.

Within two weeks of this officer coming into the picture, my sister received her passport. An effort that cost her over a month's work and endless agony. And all through this, she did not let her frustration take over.

I thought about this as I reflected on my frustration with the customer service agent. All I had done was spend about an hour on the phone and I was so upset with the company's inefficiency. On the other hand, my sister had survived a very unpleasant ordeal with much less ado.  

Maybe I have become too used to systems that work. And maybe that isn't always such a good thing. Maybe difficult experiences and difficult people teach you to cope and adapt better. And maybe that's a lesson I should remember more often.

A crime to overeat and to be obese? Yes, I say

I know I do it all the time. Overeating is one of those guilty pleasures that most of us seem to succumb to, even if rarely. Today, suddenly, as is often the case, I started thinking about overeating and resulting obesity.

Maybe, it was because of the overweight and obese people I see everyday. Maybe it was because when I head to the gym after ages, I am not too happy with the new rolls I discover. Whatever the reason, I got thinking about the connection between overeating and obesity and if it amounts to a crime.

First thing's first. To account for any objections from the 'glandular weight-gain' brigade, I have to say that I am not talking about people who are overweight or obese due to a disease. But it is unfair and (yes I will say it) stupid to consider eating-related obesity a health condition or worse, a disability. Ala the South Park episode that had an obese kid on a wheelchair make fun of another kid on a wheelchair who was sans legs, I see plenty of obese people claiming disability spots on public transit and in car parks. And I feel more anger towards these people than sympathy.

For, isn't it a crime that these people have fed themselves so much that they weigh as much as a baby elephant (and in some cases, more)? Because by putting all that extra food into their mouths, aren't they snatching it away from others who are starving? Maybe this is all in my mind. But the classic American defense comes into play here too. Good ole' 'we didn't know'!

For, how can someone be accused of snatching food from another human being, if they don't even know of the latter's existence. Most Americans seem to seldom acknowledge the fact that there is a world outside of the U.S. This changes of course when a TV channel tells them that the world outside is trying to attack them. Then they raise their guns in panicked defense. But I digress.

The defense of 'I didn't know' doesn't work. It doesn't work when Bush and his army force their way into a sovereign country. And it doesn't work when a fat American continues to stuff unbelievable amounts of food into his mouth while a huge part of the world's population starves to death. If everyone who overeats in this country gave away all food that went over the prescribed human calorie intake for a day, I have an unscientific hunch that at least two starving people would eat well. This CNN story does talk about the crazy meals that some very popular American restaurants serve.

That foreign aid bill is unaffordable but the U.S. can afford to dole out social welfare and medical aid to its own human pachyderms. I guess end of the day they really believe what an immigrant once told me 'We are American. So, we are special'.

The 'fairness' doctrine

Back from our annual trip to India with a lot of things swirling through my head. Along with the repeated reminder that I have to blog about some of them at the least. So, what do I write about first--the racism, maybe?

I live in a predominantly Caucasian country (A) where I belong to a minority race and come from a 'brown' country (B) which does not recognize race but aspires to be 'fair' (read light skinned). This trip from A to B, however, took me through three different continents and very different manifestations of race. On our way, we had a 9 hour layover in London. The visa regulations on their official website stated that if you have a passport from B and a visa from A, the immigration officer could allow you to go out into the city. Therefore, when we arrived at London immigration, we went up to the officer on duty and asked if we could head out into the city. My husband, a citizen of A, could go out without a visa but my case demanded further inspection. Our Caucasian officer conferred with his colleague, an Arabic woman, who was very hesitant to let me step outside the airport, and then went to check with his boss. When he came back and told us that I could go out too, I asked what had prompted the decision. And his answer was 'we understand that you do not want to spend such a long layover in the airport'. I was very happy to be able to go out and did not let a caustic remark slip out about how I wondered if the immigration decision would have been as favourable if my husband had not been a citizen of A.

When we reached B, my husband was continuously feted by much older people, who asked for his opinion on topics that he had likely never given a thought to (like how to develop an eco-tourism complex). Just fyi, my husband teaches communication. Without him asking for any extra attention, people shouted from across a lake asking him to pose for photos.

The stories don't stop though. On our way back through an oil-rich desert nation, we had to pass through a security checkpoint in the airport. Part of the check included taking off belts, shoes...you know the drill. The officer on duty told the poorer-looking citizen from B right in front of my husband, very rudely, to make sure he took off these items and put them in a tray. But when my husband forgot to take off his belt and walked through the scanner, the same officer very pleasantly said 'Sir, don't worry, you don't have to bother about that'. As I felt angry and helpless (you just know better than to protest in an oil-rich desert nation), I had to bite my tongue again instead of pointing out the unfairness on display.

It is easy to say that colonialism left an indelible mark on countries like B but if we, the citizens of these countries don't change things, nothing will ever change. The Economist Intelligence says it is better to be born in Switzerland than Nigeria. While it will make a huge difference to the privileges you will receive, how can a citizen of A be better than a citizen of B just because he or she was born in A? A thought that always baffles and hurts me.

So the fat may grow fatter and the thin, perish away

This has been annoying me for a few days now and as usual, my 'busy schedule' has prevented me from typing my ire out. But finally, in between pandering to my first world existence, here goes.

Arvind Kejriwal and the newly formed India Against Corruption (IAC) party have raised a few issues over the last couple of weeks. These issues focus on corruption related to various members of the ruling political establishment as well as those connected closely to the establishment, and Kejriwal seems to be pricking the tough hides of the accused. Just the other day, one headline quoted a politician saying that it was a daily thing for Mr. Kejriwal to accuse members of the ruling UPA. You know, like a common housefly, just buzzing around and being a nuisance.

And that headline brought home to me the point once again--that my country's leaders have institutionalized corruption. They, with our hapless and not-so-hapless aid, have injected it so completely into our bloodstream that there is no escape now. In fact, the joke is on anyone who points out that corruption exists. Corruption is one with the system and one does not exist without the other.

For some strange reason, the cavalier attitude and the media photos of the political establishment over the past few days, make me think of Mr. India, a 1980s children's movie with a common-man turned super hero (minus the underwear on the outside), who fights corruption. In particular, I keep remembering the scene where members of the mafia that siphon off food grains from India's Public Distribution System, are forced to eat the little pebbles that they use to adulterate rice and dal (lentils), while scrawny beggars get to feast on the mafia's lavish dinner. And how similar real-life smug Salman Khurshid and his fat wife, Louise Khurshid, accused of siphoning funds from an NGO that they run, are to these fictional characters.

It says something about how India has changed that most of our indie cinema today is about the lives of the urban upper middle-class youth and their supposedly rampant extra-marital affairs. While popular cinema celebrates the exploits of corrupt Chulbul Pandey in the super hit Dabaang, the rulers of our country raise the price of cooking gas and severely limit access to this basic requirement. While the Khurshids and the rest of the political establishment take trips abroad (the Assam chief minister was in Japan while millions of people in his state were left homeless by unprecedented floods), the aam aadmi (common man), also referred to jokingly by our rulers as the mango people (aam is hindi for mango), is left to fend against the wolves of inflation, FDI and most importantly, the kings and queens he 'voted' to power.