Where's 911?

I had a helpless India moment last night. We were driving back from my MIL's after a typically delectable Punjabi feast after a Punjabi holiday that required us all to fast (well required me but Nitin did too). About a kilometer into the journey home, we came upon an overturned truck. It must have just fallen because we saw a man break out through a window. About four guys tried to hoist up the red cab of the truck with no luck. Seeing our car, they gestured to our driver to go help. He did.

And then jumped back in the car and attempted to maneuver around the remains. I gasped and looked down, then looked away. And then morbid human nature took over and I stared -- a man was on the ground, covered in blood and quivering. I could hear the men nearby in Hindi saying he needed help but shouldn't be moved. I looked specifically at his head and I am cringing as I type this but I couldn't tell where it ended and the road began and there was a thicker residue oozing onto the ground. I too began shaking. I thought only enough to cover Naya's eyes.

"Shouldn't we stop or help or call someone?" I said to the driver.

"If you wish," the driver said.

But who? I don't know the 911 equivalent in India. And truthfully, while there are efforts to launch emergency services etc, they haven't quite taken off nationally yet. I scrolled through my mobile, wondering if maybe the presets had such a number. No luck.

I tried to call our health reporter, thinking she had just done a story on one such said service. She didn't answer.

We were nearly 1 kilometre away and I was feeling like the worst person in the world. Should we have just tried to fold the guy into our front seat and rush to a hospital? How could I leave a fellow human being on the ground like that? I might sound melodramatic but it's really what I was thinking.

Finally, I call my brother-in-law, who lives nearby and is resourceful. I started to tell him where we were and to ask if maybe he knew a doctor or hospital that could be dispactched when we saw it -- a police car.

Now you have to remember that the police (slogan in Delhi: with you, for you, always) have made a living in India never being there when you need them. And they are known to be among the most crooked of institutions. But I had a feeling like all my gods had planted that car there in that moment.

"Accident. Very urgent. 1 kilometre back," I yelled. The driver did the Hindi talking, while Nitin and I both made gestures to hurry and get help.

We proceeded on our way. I wonder if the man made it. I wonder what he said and thought. And sadly, I wonder hoe he felt when he saw our car veer around him.

Festivals

I have decided (in case my fellow Assamese brethren care) that being an Assamese married to a Punju is the best combo. Here's why:
Durga Puja
Diwali and all its adornments
Bihu
Festivals for much of India focus on one holiday - in the east, there's puja; in the west, Ganpati; north Diwali; south Deepavalli and maybe Onam? But if you're an Assamese Punju combo, we get it all. And so our last few days have demonstrated:

Durga Puja worship in Assam in a crazy section of Guwahati with five pandals clustered together, rides, food, bazaars and an overall great vibe that makes Delhi's CR Park (Bong hood) look like Christmas in Tel Aviv or something.

Then a Navratri party in Delhi a few days later. (Those fun-loving Punjabis have adopted it and love it as their own. We are more than mere posers since Nitin's dad grew up in Ahmedabad and Nit did a fellowship there).

And these last few days have been Diwali parties - cards till 5 am the other night, melas, invitations to more, Karva Chauth is tomorrow. Not that fasting is fun but gifts and the husband joining in certainly are...

And then we Assamese are lucky enough to have two Bihus, which match Lodi and Vaisakhi... And include more dancing, revelry and food...

Read this if you like happy ending epxat tales

She is staying.
I sat her down and presented four options -- stay at status quo with a major salary increase, stay with a moderate increase and I ask part-time Didi to do laundry and dishes, stay at same salary and I hire another woman part time, or go with our blessing and love. She chose a combo of option 1 and 2. I laid it on thick. I said we loved her like family and that if she had a problem, she needed to tell me. I even told her to look at how Nitin and I fight as a model for how people operate in a house (hah:). I said I worried that if she goes to another household to work, they might exploit her and make sure she doesn't get to eat meat and chocolates and hound after her to open a bank account and take English classes. She laughed and said she also worried about someone new coming to take care of Naya and that Naya wouldn't like that.
She did say she wants to be upstairs by 11 pm, which I have no problems with. I told her that when guests come, we can get the food ready and I can simply microwave. I also told her we will have fewer guests so not to worry so much.
I told her she should still go visit her mother and father, and she said no. I said we can fly you there for a week. She said no. I asked if me and Naya should come. She laughed. "There's no electricity there," she said.
"That's how my father grew up," I said. "That's where we used to stay when we came. We'd be okay."
"I know," she said. "You come from a poor family." (Not quite but I didn't correct her.)
"That is why I keep telling you to take those English classes. Maybe you can be like my father."
She laughed again. I cried, ever the brown guilty liberal expat.

Don't read this if you are sick of expats complaining of maids

Felicia is leaving. I knew this would come but I thought we had until December when she said her mother wanted her home for at least a month and then maybe for the full year. But today - after reviewing her contract with the agency - she said she will be leaving November 5. I still haven't gotten a straight answer on why or where she's going and I wonder if it's because she doesn't really know. She's always been moody, that's for sure, but what's family if not moody. I suppose I am most upset because this insults my liberal expatty ways of thinking we treated her pretty well "for a servant". But if I take out my emotion--as I am sure she too must be doing--a job is a job and perhaps there are more glorious ones that burning eggplant on the stove for our weekly bharta or cleaning my kid's bum or washing my underwear (in machine, not by hand). We pay her more than most local Indians pay their maids, and also give her lots of offs. But we pay less than the expat set, partly because she doesn't speak English nor know the beauty of our Amrikan khanna like hamburgers and pasta. Felicia being a part of the now Old India, indirect communication reigns, so this decision to leave early could really be an emergency at home she is afraid to tell us about, a desire to go see if she can make more money elsewhere or maybe work less for a family that doesn't have any kids or as many guests as we do, or maybe she is in love with someone and I have been underestimating her. Maybe maybe maybe. I, of course, am giving her a dose of Indian right back and sulking and generally not speaking to her. Real mature, I know. Tomorrow I guess I will have to try to talk to her again. We stay in touch with our old nannies from the US but somehow I think it might be different here, which is the saddest part of all. I wonder if I will have these questions always.

Of latrines

Just back from Assam. I shouldn't brag but everyone extolled the virtue of Naya's flexibility and easiness. While I think she did get more naughty on this trip, I agree. Case in point - when she enters a latrine bathroom now, she knows to gingerly lift up her skirt. That's my girl.

Hit the Road, Rage

Stressed-out workers vent their anger and aggression in the one place they have control: the driver's seat
Wider Angle | S.Mitra Kalita

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At 8.15 on a recent night, Viraj Kalra was driving home and a car rolled back into his Hyundai Santro.
That wasn’t the worst mistake of the evening. Honking was. Kalra says he simply pressed the horn, first as a polite warning, then with annoyance.
In response, the driver got out with a hockey stick in hand, opened Kalra’s door and took aim.
THWACK. Onto the Santro’s bonnet.
The next strike, Kalra prayed, would knock him unconscious right away. The raging driver swung back again.
And the light turned green.
Seeing the vehicles around him revving to go, the man released his grip, stayed in character enough to mutter an obscenity to Kalra, jumped back in his car and drove off.
Kalra, vice-president for new businesses at PlanMan Consulting, recounted the story in a mass email.
“The incident came as close to ripping the human fabric into shreds as any,” he wrote. “At this point words like ‘society’, ‘civilized’, ‘rules’ and ‘humane’ sound shallow.”
This week, another one where the Capital’s deadly roads made headlines, I caught up with Kalra to see if he had any perspective on why drivers—across the country, not just New Delhi—seem so angry, why driving has gotten so dangerous.
His answer inspired me to break a pledge I made when I moved to India and began writing Wider Angle: no columns complaining about traffic. Rest assured, Kalra’s response is right up our alley.
“Honestly the kind of work that all of us do now, we carry a lot of pressure even into our cars and into our driving, our spaces,” Kalra said. “You probably need an outlet, and the psychological profile is that we are more stressed than a decade ago.”
The only India-specific survey I found to address the roots of road rage was released in June by LeasePlan, a vehicle leasing and management company. In India, it says, the main causes boil down to drivers going in the wrong direction (64%), drivers who cut queues (61%), excessive honking (57%) and aggressive driving (57%). Nearly one-third of respondents ranked New Delhi the place with the “worst drivers,” followed by Bangalore (16%) and Kolkata (12%).
But that doesn’t really get into the heart of the drivers who stage verbally abusive and violent tantrums. I doubt the survey asked if they ever gave someone the finger on the road because they couldn’t give it to their boss. Or if the shouting at fellow drivers in queue stemmed from the wife threatening divorce over all the late nights at office. Indeed, we do carry our moods into our cars with us and fellow harried drivers fuel the cycle of dysfunction and destruction.
Research conducted by a psychology student at the University of South Australia found that people experiencing significant stress in the workplace develop shorter “fuses” in managing their anger, influencing their behaviour on the roads. Among workers under constant stress who feel undervalued, underpaid and under-appreciated at work, even minor situations can trigger anger and uncontrolled aggression—unleashed on the motoring public, researcher Ben Hoggan concluded.
“These people release their frustrations on the road because it is a convenient location for them. They feel invincible within their protective steel barrier,” he said. “It’s their space on the road and if people invade that space, the drivers believe they are well within their rights to attack other road users.”
Drivers who kill and throw hockey sticks can be dismissed as crazy—but what about the swearing, swerving rest? On the roads, unlike, say home or work, stores or restaurants, hierarchy becomes unclear and exudes irony. The guy driving the Mercedes likely can’t even afford a Maruti, an understandable source of rage. He perhaps can’t tell his employer to back off, so he acts out in the one place he has control: behind the wheel. The same I have seen from female drivers, who actually brag more often about being ruthless on the road.
Perhaps the fiercest rage in recent months has been over the Blueline bus fiasco, its fatal casualties approaching about 100 people this year. There have been rightful concerns over driver qualifications and whether those behind the wheel of commercial vehicles receive adequate training, testing and screening. The same questions can and should be extended to a lot of drivers on the road. Enforcing existing traffic rules is a start. So is toughening the test to get a licence in the first place. Perhaps our children’s generation needs to learn to drive in school.
But in a country defined by chaos, corruption and endless tests of patience, I am doubtful these actions will immediately cure our road rage.
Something more is causing us to lose our cool, it’s only partly about everybody else’s incompetence. Accepting that fact might be the first step to regaining control.
Your comments are welcome at widerangle@livemint.com

Guests guests guests

A few of you have asked where we are -- I wrote a column on this once and I am pasting it in below. But I think I am really starting to appreciate my mother more and more after moving to this country. The first week back from the states brought my aunt, uncle and cousin's wife. Then came a few days off. Then my cousin and her husband.
Topping it off with my meeting with a publisher, the worst work pressures I have had in a while, Naya's school changing and my suitcases STILL unopened from the US, I think I am ready to collapse. Oh and there was a retreat thrown in there to strategize The Future of My Employer. And a birthday party. And the column. Felicia's toothache and indecision on staying or leaving. I am a wreck (well, more like a drama queen)...
Real bits of conversation from the last few days:
Relative: It looks like you've gained weight in these few days.
Me: Yeah, how the @#@$%@ do you expect me to get to the gym if I have to feed you breakfast every morning?

Another:
Relative: Wow you work really hard. (door open, AC on)
Me: Yeah, well, someone has to just to pay the electricity bills around here.

I love my family, I really really do. We moved here so much to reconnect with them. But it is absolutely amazing to me how history repeats itself... Off to Guwahati on Friday so I can be the guest for a change ;)


Wider Angle | S.Mitra Kalita font size

Last week, I had nine overnight guests. The previous week brought just three.
This being India, I know that doesn’t shock you.
Atithi devo bhava. The guest is divine. We’ve all grown up hearing it. The ministry of tourism is even using the philosophy in a marketing campaign to promote Indian hospitality. And at no time do we feel it more than June and July, as families head off for holidays—some of them in our houses.
There’s irony here because one person’s relaxation becomes another’s (read: mine) added workload. And that’s on top of, of course, the wage-earning work we’re supposed to be doing 40-60 hours per week. Employees can use the guests-waiting-at-home excuse to leave office early once in a while, but nine times?  
It makes me wonder if it’s time for an update to the sloka, given the constraints and stresses of modern Indian households. Should we ask guests to take pre-paid taxis from the airport, fetch their own water and wash their own underwear? Should stays be limited to three days? Should a collection bowl sit atop the fresh towels on the guest bed to offset our skyrocketing gas and electricity bills (especially in these summer months)?
Yet, each time I thought of saying something recently, I bit my tongue and remembered the refrain. I recalled images of my mother carefully matching towels from the closet. She fried fish, rolled rotis, squeezed limes. And I remembered the countless visits that I, the American cousin, made to India when others treated me as divine, making my favourite dishes, pulling threads out of my beloved pomegranate, shuttling me to zoos, forts and temples. Guest, after all, is god.
Because the people who might govern such elements of Hinduism were too busy over the last few days protesting kissing, sex education and artwork, I turned to those on the front lines of implementation: my fellow working women. They tell me they have quietly made some amendments of their own.
“I don’t compromise on my son’s time,” said Megha Nihalani, a Delhi-based travel agent with lots of family abroad and some in Mumbai.
Last year, her husband was chauffeuring an uncle and aunt to Hardwar when her nine-year-old son, staying back at home with her, developed typhoid. Distraught, she made her husband turn around and come right back, the holiness of Hardwar unseen.
In the Nihalani household, this month and next will be “100% guests”.
But volume, she said, was highest in January, when 17 relatives trickled in and out. After that experience, Nihalani said she was more than happy to offer some tips to cope. Saying no, we agreed, was really not an option.
Nihalani says she never lets her travel company take a back seat to the visiting company. A common request she makes: “Aunty, can you lay down the plates while I do my ticketing?”
Towels, I asked her. How do you manage all the towels? And laundry?
She laughed. Same philosophy—guests might be god, but they are self-sufficient ones. To understand these intricacies and instructions, arrivals are given a few minutes of orientation to Nihalani’s home in Mayur Vihar, from the towel cupboard to the jugs of water and empty glasses.
“Your clothes have been laid out, please take whatever is yours,” she’ll say. “Here’s the glass, here’s the water, please help yourself.”
This reflects an attitude shift in Indian home hospitality, said brand consultant Lulu Raghavan. Her employer, Landor Associates, counts Jet Airways and the Taj hotel chain among clients.
“As nuclear families are being set up, a lot of the attitudes are very western,” she said. “Our generation doesn’t welcome guests with open arms as much. Typically, both the husband and wife are working. When guests come, they just sort of upset everything. In Mumbai, people put up with it more than any other city because hotels are so expensive.”
As an assurance to me, she also cautioned that guests’ expectations are similarly changing. They might want to venture to sights on their own, even eat out for a few meals.
“It’s so generic—what is Indian hospitality?” she said. “If you take the worst elements of Indian hospitality, it’s overwhelming. You just want to be left alone.”
If all our vacation time is spent taking around others, then when do we get to relax?
“It’s what we need to do staying in India,” Nihalani said. “This is something we cannot avoid. But what I have started doing now is arranging them and not letting them take over my house, my time, my work.”
On our first night of freedom this week, my husband and I went to someone else’s house for a change. Around midnight, my mobile rang. It was a friend in Dubai.
“Do you mind if I stay with you for a few days in June?”
“Of course,” I said.
For the months of June and July, it looks like office will be my escape.
Your comments are welcome at widerangle@livemint.com