India experience - almost 2 months - the eye in the heart

In which I look and see.

Do you know this thing lots of Indians use in their forehead?

I will not pretend I am a great expert in the subject, just accept my half-baked explanation: this dot is not only decorative, it is a religious sign. Kind of the 3rd eye, or the eye where you see things that your two common eyes do not see. It is also a sign of illumination, the soul, the connection which all of us have with the One (God, the universe, Harry Potter or whatever suits you).

Today some friends and I were in a rickshaw towards a beach resort. The auto driver gave us the pleasure of one of those catchy and rhythmic Indian songs. With this soundtrack, I observed what was going outside, since I was sitting in the outer part of the rickshaw. What I saw was a bunch of randomness, chaos, poverty, faith, sculptures of gods (from Buddha to my dear Ganesh), colors, smiles, sadness, hard work... And then it hit me:

It is pretty!

There is something strangely pretty in all this. One just need to attune the heart eye to perceive something different than classic western beauty. I don't think that was about my two eyes, it was almost like a feeling.

Random post, eh? Have fun!


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Why I am not speaking about the blasts in Mumbai? Because no one around here talks about it. Strangely enough, I think I was the one that looked most shocked with the news. No one seems to care. No one even commented about it in the office the day after. Odd.

India experience - 1.5 month - The Path to Illumination

In which I find Ganesh, the elephant-headed god, fight depression after receiving a pep-talk from my teammate and have the epiphany of The Path to (my own) Illumination.


One of these days, I found a golden statue of Ganesh in one of my drawers in my wardrobe. Certainly from the previous renters of the flat, the little elephant-headed statue was not more than 5 centimeters tall. I didn't pay so much attention to it and I just let it rest inside the wardrobe.

I might not look like the type (neither I give many hints about it), but I am deeply spiritual person, even though I don't have any religion. So one of these days I was browsing the web randomly and I started reading about  Indian gods. I was reading about Ganesh, which is one of the most beloved indian gods, and one thing called my attention: among other things, Ganesh is the remover of obstacles.

It is no secret that I am having a major hard time in India, with cultural shock hitting me with both feet on my chest. I thought "remover of obstacles, eh?"

Now here I must expose the crazy things that go inside my head when I say I am a spiritual person and not a religious one:

Crazy idea #1 - The Truth is only one, but wise men have called it by many names.
I believe in one God. The true God. But I believe that everything is an emanation of God. In other words, it is all just different aspects of God - like looking to those mirror labyrinths, the images reflected in different mirrors certainly look different, but they are all the same thing, just reflected in a different way. Which means that everything is God (or different aspects of God), including you, me and that tree over there (yes, the rickshaw driver is also an emanation of God - but I wouldn't say it is a particularly good one).

You can burn me later, I saved the best for the last: if everything is God, then no religion is wrong.

Crazy idea #2 - If you and me are emanations of God, we have god-like powers
And if you, me and them have god-like essence & powers, we can make things happen just by wishing hard enough (The Secret feelings anyone?). So if a bunch of people (1 billion?) believes that an elephant-headed god is the remover of obstacles, it will help people to "access" the "remover of obstacles" energy from God. We invented the gods, we make them powerful and, when we forget them, they lose their powers and fade away. (Connected, but not really, read American Gods, excellent fiction).

And this ends up the crazy explanation of what goes inside my head. Continuing from where we stopped:

"remover of obstacles, eh?"

Than I put the Ganesh statue in my office and gave him a bit of a nudge and a chat here and there during the day, especially the difficult ones. At home I started meditating about my obstacles in India and why I was having such a hard time, while the others seem to be much better.

Yesterday was one of those hard days at the office. I was feeling destroyed, defeated and complaining about everything. So much that one of my colleagues had to get me and talk about it. "Hey, let's focus on solution, we are only complaining, that is not right". I am glad by his leadership, that is what I was needing at that moment. I immediately recognized the down-spiral, the hopeless attitude and all the things that I should not do when I was MCP. And I invoked the MCP god energy and the wish for Ganesh to help me to clear up the obstacles on my way. I decided to end it right there. I needed to snap out of the defeated mode. For those that know me, they know I am capable of very dramatic changes in behavior to accomplish objectives. That is what I decided doing.

After that, I had a blast at work, I impacted the lives of the trainees that just arrived, had some good social time with the guys at the office and, at home, had these revelations:

#1 - I can't change the whole of India, I am only one god, they are more than a billion.
#2 - I am unhappy because I am focusing on complaining. What we focus on is what we will notice. "Think of buying an yellow car and suddenly everyone is driving that yellow car". Perception is reality for the perceiver.
#3 - I am unhappy because I am feeling purposeless in India, which lead me to create the Path of Illumination (just a fancy way to say "happy life plan")

Goal #1: enjoy India - this country has so much to offer, what a waste of time to focus on all that makes me unhappy. I will change those 274 trainees lives. I will travel around the great and magic places and experience the India that one should experience before death. I will make deeper friendship (but I am still not seeking loads of friends, I prefer few deep relationships), I will find ways to enjoy the physical space in Chennai (beach? Sparky's? Temples?) and STOP COMPLAINING.

Goal #2: prepare the ground for doing what I love, with who I love and where I love - That I really cannot say so much about, just that it is on its way and I am really thinking this can go very right!

Now, I am walking the Path.

But do not follow me. Each person has to find his/her own path.

No wonder I am having cultural shock at work

The black is me and the red is the typical Indian culture

Via Globesmart.

Chennai FACTS*

1. If you don't finish all sentences with "AAAANH" (example: "Turn rightAAAANH") no rickshaw driver will understand you.

2. If a street is one way, it is not a traffic violation to go in the "wrong" way if you keep close to its edge.

3. If a store is not named with one (or a combination) of "Sri", "Ram", "Rama", "Ganesh" or "Krishna", the government probably will close it.

4. Mad Max apocalyptic landscape was based in a milder version of Chennai.

5. It is not possible to negotiate with any rickshaw driver below a minimum amount that apparently they all have in their minds. It is possible to pay MORE though.

6. Buses do not need to stop at the stops, even if people are going in and out. People have to run and jump on the bus. That is why the common Chennaier is so thin.

7. If you are out at night, the police can beat you. That is the law.

8. Chuck Norris once said "I cannot live in Chennai, I can't take the heat".

9. It doesn't matter that you are white, blonde, have a huge camera hanging on your neck, a map on your hand and have a colorful sign saying "tourist, not from here" pointing at your head, people will still stop you to ask directions (in Tamil) for some obscure place.

10. When people don't know the way to a place they are asked for directions, it is polite to direct the person is some random direction.

11. When a hole (that is too big for a car to drive by) appears on the road, instead of fixing it, the proper course of action is to put some rocks around and a few plants. Chennaiers appreciate their road gardens.

12. When a car (or any other vehicle) honks, it is not saying "get out of the way", it is merely saying "hey, I am here" or "hey, I will do something you don't expect, like turn".

13. Chennai is one of the most advanced cities in the field of quantum spacial physics: anywhere where there are only space to fit N, in Chennai it fits AT LEAST N+1. (Example: on the road I cross everyday, there are 4 lanes, but it fits approximately 4 lanes of cars, 1 with pedestrians and 1 with vehicles going on the "wrong" way).

14. Chennai is one of the greenest cities in the world: everyday there is at least one light shortage to help the people go green.

15. If you ask a rickshaw driver if he knows the address (even if you invent the address), he will always says "ok" or "yes".

16. When there is a birthday, people celebrate by putting cake on the face of the person who has birthday.

17. Chennai is in the Guinness World Records Book as the most amounts of signatures needed to open a bank account. It is rumored that you could make a bridge from Chennai to the Moon with the amount of papers one need to sign (in 4 or 5 different places in the same sheet).

18. Going to the beach in Chennai does not mean bathing, even though it is constantly 40 degrees.

19. Men use skirts much shorter than the ones designed for women.

20. It doesn't matter how many friends you have, once in Chennai, your biggest amount of SMS received will be advertising.

21. Chennai is the only place where you need to look 360 degrees to cross the street.

22. When cars almost collide, no one gets angry, it is just business as usual.

23. "Toilet paper" is the newspaper one read while on the toilet.

24. Even though they are called "Hindu-Arabic numeral system", there are absolutely no evidence of any sort of logic in numbers in Chennai in any context. Example: You get token 33 for waiting your meal, number 8 is called, than number 42 is next, etc...

25. For any job that need to be done and it is necessary N number of people, in Chennai there will be at least N+2 doing it with the efficiency of N/3.

Live or lived in Chennai? Contribute with some more facts in the comments.

* Lots of this also apply to India in general, but, hey, Chennai is the best in EVERYTHING, rightAAANH?

India experience - Week 2 - Tamil Nadu, a conservative Indian state

In which I go to a shady place to buy beer, understand how many people fit in a Rickshaw and run away from the police.

Just like the US (and in lesser scale Brazil), India is divided by different states with its own laws, as long as they fit into the national framework. I didn't know this, but Tamil Nadu, the state which Chennai is the capital, is a very conservative state. So me and Tom went to buy beer for a party. Wait, wait, wait, you don't understand the seriousness of the phrase I just wrote. So I will copy & paste something I found in another blog:

Before the state government took over the liquor business, one could enter a respectable place and choose from a fairly wide selection of Indian liquor (no wine, though, even though there is quite decent Indian wine, and even though liquor stores are called Wine Shops).
Now, though, the liquor stores are filthy, with only the cheapest brands on sale, and are apparently intended to convey the message that if you keep alcohol in your home you are destined for one of the lower circles of hell. Drink in hotels or clubs (independent restaurants aren't allowed to sell alcohol): fine. Drink at home: hell.

So me and Tom arrive in this place by the roadside, nothing but road & dump around, except for a always closed shady "restaurant", curiously called "Jackie Chan". We go to the BACK of Jackie Chan and find a few old tables with some very strangely looking men. Even thought there are tables, I don't think there is anything there, there are not even walls around those tables. After the tables, we see a small house, bare cement and no painting, totally sealed by heavy rusty grates. Behind those grates, we see liquor. We approach the grates and a guy wearing some sort of skirt - ok, that demands some explanation:

Here it is very common for men to wear something called lungi, which is basically a skirt or, most likely, a piece of cloth in very poor shape:

Men wearing lungi, the one in the right is the most common I see.

So we approach the grates and a guy wearing some sort of skirt ask what we want. I mean, he asked SOMETHING, and we assumed it was that, because he made sure to speak Tamil, not English. Tom says:

- Do have Budweiser?
- No.
- So give me 5 Kingfishers. - Kingfisher is a typical Indian beer.

When the guy opens the fridge, Tom spot that there are some Budweiser bottles there. He then says: - No, no, Budweiser, the red one.

The guy serving the beer looks confused, but after some insistence, Tom is able to get 3 Buds and 2 Kings.

I ask for the same 5 beers and the guy in skirt complains about something in Tamil. Tom says that it is separate, because apparently here (or in this "shop", I don't know) you can't buy more than 5 beers. I manage to get my 5 beers, but the guy in skirts refuses to give me a bag. Even though he is working there, probably he also believes if you drink alcohol you are doomed and should be treated like a dog. Why did I choose a place that has more alcohol regulations than Norway?

So the beers were bought and they served the purpose of pre-partying at my new flat. Once the pre-party was over, we decided to go to the club called Candy. The thing is that we were 8 people and outside there was only one small Rickshaw.  We didn't bother, 2 people sat with the driver in the front and all the rest somehow fit on the back all on top of each other. The ride was anyway brief, because we would meet close by another guy, Indian, who had a car. Once there, the girls went to the car and the boys stayed with the rickshaw.

Obviously the rickshaw driver got lost, because clubs in Chennai, as alcohol shops, are hidden away from the public eyes. Only sinners and crazy people (foreigners?) go to clubs. Obviously having the street address didn't occur to anyone, but even if we had, it would not mean anything, because no streets have name tags around here and some streets have more than one name, depending on who calls it. Ah, Indian organization.

Eventually we came to the place. The girls had arrived before and were already in. The problem being that in this place, as in any other Chennai club, you can only enter if you are a girl or if you are in a couple. So we were there, 4 ot 5 boys waiting outside and nowhere to go.

We tried to negotiate with the doormen, but they kind of threw us away. After around 1h waiting for the people inside to solve the situation, we started going away, but then one of our man inside, Edward, managed to convince that each of us would pay 200 rupees to enter and that would be alright. So we entered.

Beer there was around 500 rupees for a 2 or 3 liters jar. Me, Tom, Juan and Vlad shared the rounds. Life was good, the club looked pretty western and nice. Music was the typical Tors Hammer style and the people there were not so different. There were very very few Indians, but even those were dressed as any normal western place. It was a good break from the chaos.

But the break didn't last. Around 12h the music stopped and the bar didn't serve drinks anymore. The lights went on, it was the cue for us to leave. Since we were in a big group (20 people, I guess) we didn't leave and started singing. This went on for about 30 minutes, when suddenly everyone decided to leave in a rush. I didn't get what was going on, but I left too. Outside, we met the police.

Now if you come from a civilized country where human rights are important, you usually don't have to worry so much about the police. If you come from India (or Brazil), the police is not really your friend and you try to avoid any dealings with it. The police here in Chennai is really worth avoiding. Imagine these (real) scenes:

What is happening: Bunch of people, slightly or beyond slightly drunk, getting out of the club.
What the people having fun see: Yeeeei, uuuuh, fuuuuun.
What the police sees: bunch of degenerate sinners dressed as whores from hell.

What is happening: People are leaving slowly amongst laughter and complaints that the club is closing too early.
What the people having fun see: Yeeeei, uuuuh, fuuuuun. Let's go to someone's place and continue the party! But where? Where? - Considerations start to be made, someone says that they have a free flat and directions start being given.
What the police sees: bunch of degenerate sinners dressed as whores from hell are not cooperating. Let's use force.

And then the policemen, around 20 of them, suddenly started waving their meter long sticks towards people and hitting some. An Indian guy is immobilized and looks like he is going to be arrested. We run away and quickly get in a rickshaw. Apparently someone already knew the address we were going for the after party and we went to this poor Indian fellow parents' place (which were travelling in the US, apparently the most common place for Indian upper class to go).

And that was it for the weekend. On Monday I would go for my first day at TCS and also fix the most incredible amount of bureaucracy ever imagined. But that is another story....

India experience - Week 2 - Settling down in Chennai

In which I arrive in the biggest village of all times, meet cool people, get treated like shit by a guy who was making money out of me and then manage to pay him back in the same coin.

I liked the airport in Chennai. The bag belts were huge and there was no need to fight my way to get my bags. Hassle free, I left the airport and immediately spotted Assel, a Kazakh working in TCS, waiting for me. She had a cab and she was with Damola, a Nigerian that coordinates the Chennai part of program I am part of in TCS. When I left the airport though, something hit me hard: the heat was stronger than in Mumbai. So the Lonely Planet's prophecy about Chennai materialized: "it is a hot hell-hole". We entered the air-conditioned cab and move to my new TQ.

I will be really sincere, I didn't want to move to a new TQ. At that time I was feeling homeless, living out of my suitcase, and I needed to plant my roots to feel good. I already had my apartment ready, because Eric from Ghana was leaving in 2 days and I would take his place. But I didn't insist in taking my stuff there, since I didn't want to bother the people currently living in the flat.

The landscape from the airport to my TQ was the usual post-apocalyptic highway/dumpster with the eventual oasis of a lonely roadside restaurant with more than dubious hygienic  standards. It was like driving in the world of Fallout. Anyone unsure about happenings, would guess that Pakistan or China had already nuked Chennai. The exception being exactly the small "road" that lead to my TQ. "Road" is with quotation marks because it resembled a lot the small ways in favelas (slums in Portuguese):  very narrow, decrepit "houses" on both sides, with the eventual lazy dog lying around, while some small children ran (most of then topless and some totally naked). My TQ was at the end of this street. There were so many holes on the road that someone could play the biggest mini-golf game ever. The car slowly advanced and dodged the holes when possible for about 5 minutes and I saw, at the very dead end of the street, some nice collection of 2 stories houses guarded by a security officer at the gate. I arrived at my TQ.

The houses were pretty nice, like small villas, and we were shown one of then that would be mine. It was a 3 stories house, which was completely empty. I was allocated in a room in the 2nd floor with 2 single beds, bathroom and air-conditioning, which I immediately turn on. There was internet, but I had to figure out the password on my own, since this time there was no Mr. Pruna to serve me and I had no clue where to find the people responsible, since I was left alone there to wait for the evening, when I would go to a small gathering in someone's house.

While I tried to fight the router to get some internet, someone rings the bell. I went down, open the door and this middle aged Indian man is there. The conversation goes like this:

- What is your name?
- I am Sergio.
- Where is Damola?
- Who?
- Damola! - with an annoyed tone of voice.

I shruged. At that time I didn't remember that one of the guys that brought me was named Damola. I am terrible with names, give me a break.

He gets pissed off: - How did you come here? Who brought you?
- It was Assel.
- Who? Where is Damola?
- Assel, she is one of TCS people. And another guy, which I don't remember the name.
- Aaaah, black? Damola, Damola! - He says Damola in this condescending way, like this people that like to say "I told you so".
- Ok, yes.
- Ok, follow me.

I started reaching for the keys that were in the doors so I could close the house. And he shouted: "Noooo!" so I started leaving the keys in the door and closing it. He shouted again: "Noooo! Get the keys, get the keys, get the keys!" so I got the keys and when I am closing the door he started shouting again "Lock the door! Lock it!", I got pissed off and make a movement with my hands for him to calm down while my face is clearly saying something  "Oh my god, is TCS paying this shit, I am the client, or am I wrong?"

I closed the door and started following him. I asked:

- Do you know the internet password?
- Of course I know. I am the - and this he said with the arrogance of a kid that has more toys than the ones in his slum - MANAGING PARTNER of ALL THIS. - he moved his hand around.

I thought "Congratulations, you are the managing prick of a bunch of houses in the middle of nowhere by a road made of dust and surrounded by slums" - Oh, interesting, very pretty place. - I said.

- Where are you from?
- Brazil.
- Ah, Ronaldo.
I smiled the best I can, controlling my homicidal instincts.

- Are you eating dinner? - he was not being nice, we pay for the dinner there.
- Only if it is ready before 8h, because I need to go to a party at 8h.
He says it in an impossibly rude tone: - No, dinner is at 9h.
- So I will not eat. - I answer, decided to not fight the Managing Prick. Anyway, the heat was so strong that I was not hungry at all.

He took out his sandals and enters one of the houses. I did the same with my flip-flops. We sat and he called Damola. The conversation doesn't go very far and the Managing Prick says to Damola "Send me the TCS e-mail NOW". He says this several times. I think "Now, here is a dishonest man that believes everyone is a prick like himself". I smile when he gets off the phone.

- How long are you planning to stay here?
- I don't know. It depends how long I take to find a place - I lie, since I already had a place.
He changes his tone and body language to a suave one: - You know, you should enjoy here. TCS gives you 15 days. Relax here and enjoy your 15 days. It is better, no?

I smile back in a non-committal way and think "Do you think I am an idiot, you clown? You just treated me like shit and now because you want to get money out of TCS you want me to stay here?". At that moment I decided I would leave very soon.

- What time are you coming back today?
- At what time can I come back? - I must say that I needed to get the keys with him to re-enter my room. So his thought was that I should not arrive late, because he wanted to get his Managing Prick sleep.
- At 11am.
- So maybe I will sleep out.

After some time, the rickshaw came and I went to the gathering with Assel and Damola ("aaah, you are Damola!"). It was the house of Juan, Fabian and Vlad (which was nicknamed "Russian Chicken" and insisted in calling me "Giuseppe" for some reason). All of them worked at TCS, but Juan and Fabian (both of them software guys from Colombia) were working in the same project as I would be.  We drank a few beers and chatted in the terrace. At night, it was warm, but bearable. The people were very nice and they told me of their wonderful and crazy stories about India. I understood that living here was very crazy and hard at times, but very enjoyable. All of them seemed satisfied, besides the hardship and frustrations, and a lot of the happiness came from the tight international community created by them. We need the support of each other to survive and this bonds create a very nice friendship and community feeling. I liked that.

Then suddenly thunders appeared in the horizon and soon it was raining. We all celebrated under the rain. They told me it was not common at that time of the year and, in fact, it was the first rain in months. I like to believe that it was Thor, reminding me that I was still under protection of Norway. The lights went off (as it happens at least once a day around here) and we entered and dried. Since the place where I was going to be living was close by, I decided to sleep on the floor there, instead of coming back at 1 or 2 am and listen to the Managing Prick lecturing me about any of his prick thoughts.

I got to know my future apartment and the room I would be sharing with Tom, a very nice British fellow, also working in TCS. Sleeping on the floor (with a sort of a mattress) was not so bad, specially for the chilling AC on. So when I woke up on Saturday, I asked if I could bring my stuff from the TQ, since Eric would be leaving on Sunday. They agreed, so me and Tom got a rickshaw to get my stuff.

After a lot of negotiating, a Rickshaw driver takes us there for 60 rupees. But when he reaches the beginning of the slum road leading to my TQ, the driver stops and says that he will go no further without us giving him 80. The discussion goes for about 5 minutes, when we settled for 70. Damn rickshaw drivers.

The servant under the Managing Prick opens the door to me. I say:
- I am leaving.
- What?
- I am leaving. I will get my things.
- But you can't.
- I am leaving, I will get my things.
- You have to talk to Mr. Managing Prick.
- Well, I am leaving. - And I went upstairs and started packing.

While I was packing, the servant comes with his mobile and gives it to me. On the other side of the line, I hear the voice of the Managing Prick:

- Hi, Mr. Sergio, why are you leaving? You didn't like the accommodation?
- No, no, that is not it. I just found a place, so I am moving there.
- But you can stay more.
- Yeah, but I need to move now.
- But why don't you stay? It is free for you.
- Yes, but if I don't move now, I will lose this place. That is why I need to move now. - in India is somewhat hard to find accommodation, especially good ones and close to work, I played this card.
- So you will have to pay a fine, because it was booked for 15 days!
- What? *I* have to pay?
- No, no, TCS pays. You have to sign the papers for 15 days.

I decided I would not take that shit, even though the money would not come out of my pocket. So I decided to play hard:

- I will not sign anything for 15 days without speaking to TCS first. I will speak with them and then I can sign.

Immediately he softened up after I mentioned TCS, would be very dumb of him to lose such a huge client that always has people coming to stay there: - Ok, no need to sign for 15 days, no, don't worry. Sign only for this one day that you were here. No problem.

Afterwards Tom told me: - You know you don't need to move immediately, we will hold the appartment for you and... - I interrupted Tom and put my index finger on my lip, asking for silence. Of course I knew I didn't need, but I was not going to take bullshit from the Managing Prick without the need. And I was also craving for a place that I could call my own, where I could unpack and start living a normal life - as normal as one can in crazy Chennai.

That is the story of how I settled down, but this weekend was not nearly over, on the same Saturday, I had even to run away from the police. But that is another story...

India experience - Week 1 - Mumbai

In which I arrive in this beautiful disaster* called India, get to know I got a servant and stare death in the face (or more like in the armpits).

I arrived in Mumbai Airport at around 23h. Waiting for my 60 kilos of bags to come, exchanging dollars to rupees and waiting in the wrong line for a cab that AIESEC should have arranged took approximately FOREVER, so I started roaming around the airport exit to see if someone from AIESEC was there to pick me up. The heavy air heat at post-midnight something impressed me. In fact, everything impressed me: the incredible amount of people waiting for other people in the airport at this time, the noise of the comings and goings and horns and hell raised by the old cabs, the craziness everywhere. I definitely was not in Norway anymore.

When I go around 2 or 3 times the airport exit without finding anyone holding a sign with my name, I decided that I would have to go on my own. But I was one of the (few?) blessed and the moment I am exiting among the, literary, hundreds of people waiting for others to arrive, someone says my name. This guy, Keenan, from AIESEC Mumbai recognized my AIESEC t-shirt. Ok, that was a relief. Other 2 AIESECers from Mumbai arrive and they give me to eat a candy (in just one bite). The thing tasted like eating anis (and if I am not mistaken, it was blue also) and I almost throw up.  I took approximately 30 minutes to chew it all. In the meanwhile, while I was with my mouth full of anis tasting crazy candy, we made small talk about who I was, what was going on, etc.

We went to a line to get a pre-paid cab. Pre-paid cab? Yes, no one trusts taxi drivers, so you go to the counter, say where you are going, pay, get a ticket and then find your driver to take you there. Clean.

When we finally found the cab, it was more or less like looking at a mobster car - after it has taken a heavy bullet hit. Only one of my bags fit in the trunk, the other one is also put in the trunk with a ROPE to keep it in place. I can only HOPE for the best. Oh man, India.

When we leave the airport, it is approximately 1h30. We drive to insanely heavy traffic streets (considering the time and that is Sunday). The 3 AIESECers tell me that Mumbai never sleeps. I think "yeah, we the amount of cars horning, I imagine no one really can sleep". Everything is novelty, even though I don't see much because it is dark. The taxi driver creates his own lanes. Rules are for the weak. The AIESECers are nice people. I like them. They went through a lot of effort to be late at night to pick me up and take me to where I should go.

We arrive at this place which would be my transition quarters (TQ). An apartment with 2 rooms with 2 beds each that TCS offers to the newly arrived for a couple of weeks. It was already 2h when I arrived at the TQ and I was greeted by Mr. Pruna (or Purna?), the Indian servant with a big smile and tentative English. He brings me cold water and call me Sir. I got shocked at first. Wow, he is serving me. After Norway, that is not a common thing at all.

Mr. Pruna demands remarks on his own: he was always there and basically fixed everything for us in the TQ. Every time I arrived from the office, the first thing was "Welcome, Sir" and the 2nd would be to bring me a full bottle of cold water. We spoke about some random stuff sometimes, more out of curiosity to understand where he was from, but mostly he would spoke with us like this:

- Breakfast, Sir?
- Yes, Pruna, at 7h30 tomorrow.
- Ok, Sir. Omelette, Sir?
- Omelette, yes.
- Ok. Toast, Sir?
- Yes. That is good.
- Yuis, Sir?
- What?
- Yuis, Sir? (More emphatically)
- Yuis? What is that?
Mr. Pruna would then mimic like drinking something from a glass. It should be really good, because he was always with this big smile on his face.
- Ah, yes, juice, yes, please.
- Ok, Sir.

And, of course, at breakfast he would ask us about what we want for dinner.

On the TQ, there was another AIESEC intern that had arrived one or two days before me, his name was Narcisse and he was from Ivory Coast. Me and Narcisse understood each other right away. He was one of those guys that you really like quite quickly. Me and Narcisse exchanged a few small talk and suddenly Mr. Pruna put a bed sheet on the floor and sit there. "Oh, no" I thought, "he sleeps on the floor - and there is an empty sofa just by the side where he is putting the bed sheet". Another shock. I took a shower and fell asleep in my (and Narcisse's) room, with the soft cover of the air-conditioning (which obviously the living room where mr. Pruna was sleeping, ON THE FLOOR, didn't have). I felt pity for the man.

Another shocking thing with Mr. Pruna is that he ate on the floor (using plates, yes, but on the floor). The thing is that since he is a servitor, he should not use the table (or the sofa), because it "pollutes". Crazy stuff, I just can't understand. But in the end, we made friends with him and he even sat on the table with us, proving that things are not so black and white.

Next day, me and Narcisse gear up for the first day at the office. We needed to get a rickshaw (or simply "auto")  to the Bolivari train station and from there get a local train to Churchgate. Easier said then done. Narcisse approaches one of the rickshaw drivers. He offers to take us to the train station for 40 rupees. Narcisse thinks it is too much, but goes in the polite approach, something like "It's too expensive. Can you do better?", noticing the soft approach would go nowhere, I stepped in and said "10". The guy said "11", I insisted on the "10", he agreed. We boarded the rickshaw and I noticed the driver smiled. I thought "hm, I think he ripped us off anyway". I was later informed by the locals that the lowest rickshaw drive is really "11". So maybe the guy just thought it was funny that such random people would be bargaining so hard.

The train station was a mix between fish market and dumpster. Too many people and no apparent way of figuring out which trains go where, we went for the asking approach. We were redirected here and there and finally we got to the platform where the train to Churchgate would arrive. When it did arrive, nothing can really translate the shock of seeing a crowded train, with no doors and with people ranging outside of it. This is the picture you see:

But it really does not translate the horror it is the first time you see it. And then you think "I have to ENTER this? I am going to die, that is it." People at the platform started to run to try to get inside the train. Everyone managed to get in (probably even before the train stopped to a complete halt), the exception being me and Narcisse. The men in the train (where, not exactly IN, since they were ranging at the doors) started shouting and making fun of us. Narcisse and I look to each other in despair and talk about tactics. A young Indian guy, out of pity, show us the place where the slow train goes. Typically less crowded, the slow train started in our station, so it would be possible to sit. We follow him to the platform and manage to sit. But the train anyway gets really crowded really quick and soon there are people ranging at the doors again.

The slow train takes around 2h to Churchgate (not so different than its counterpart, the "fast" train, that takes around 1h30min). You have no idea what is 2h in a crowded train full of sweaty people. Not people, men, because there are special wagons only for women. It was hell, I tell you. Every day, to and from the office, at the peak time. We were thankful when we managed to sit. But even though, that was not a great thing. Because it is so crowded, Indians have a very peculiar sense of personal space (or lack) , so it is very common to be squeezed with 4 people in a bench designed for 3 or to have someone gently sleeping and using you as a pillow. The smell was the worse, since after the 2nd time in the train, I got used with the amount of people and didn't mind the lack of space anymore. After the 4th time, I started to be able to read in the train (using the Amazon Kindle app in my Android). That was a very nice thing and more than one Indian approached me to ask about what was the phone about, what I was reading and such.  In the end of the week, I was able to enter and leave the train without it completely stopping. The civilized metro in Norway looked impossibly calm and was far away in my mind. Humans are so adaptable, I concluded.

The amount of adaptation (especially considering my gentleman ways learned in Norway) can be described in this (real) story:

Indians have allergy towards organization, in special in regards to queuing. Anyone attempting to queue will be faced with people cutting in front straight to the counter, people on the back breathing at half a centimeter of your neck and all this. On the train ticket counter, I was waiting for some time in the queue, I was the next customer after a man, when suddenly an old lady comes in front of me straight to the ticket window. I gently, but firmly, push her aside and point to the back of the line. She says something like "mahaba ragata jahlaputamadre", I answer in Portuguese "yeah, whatever, go to the end of the line". After I buy, she sneaks again and buy the ticket. But I was not the sucker. I was re-learning my Brazilian ways of fighting for survival.

I think what shocked me the most in Mumbai (and probably in all the little I know of India) is that poverty is absolutely everywhere. Not like most countries I know that had poverty concentrated somewhere and the rich neighborhoods looking very fancy and nice. No, in India, the fancy building is just by the side of a slum and trash is absolutely everywhere. A friend of mine is working in waste management in Delhi. Before coming to India, I thought this was cool. But after getting to know India and how much litter is everywhere, I just thought "wow, this guy is really making a difference. Waste management should be a top priority in this country".

Since I was in Mumbai only for some contract signing and other random stuff, I felt quite happy when I got my ticket to Chennai on the Friday. That is the city where I was going to live and Mumbai was just a transition. Since I was tired as hell of the trains and all the bla bla bla, I got very happy to go to Chennai, to my new home.

But that is another story...

* Beautiful disaster is what Pamela, my Mexican flatmate, calls India. She can say it with passion in her eyes.