Flickr Slideshow
Monday, February 27, 2006
Jaipur, Rajistan
Due to some technology constraints here I am sort of loading adventure in reverse. Here are some shots from our time in Jaipur two weeks ago.
Flickr Slideshow
Meena Bazaar
This is Meena Bazaar in the shadows of the minirets of the great Jami Masjid, the largest mosque in Delhi. This market is bustling with activity and the streets surrounding it are even more crackling with commerce, chaos and masculine motion. You can buy anything from live chickens to gold necklaces to plumbing parts to used truck tires. Suprisingly they also had beautiful stationary stores which contained very exquisite wedding invitations, much nicer than Kate's Paperie.
Flickr Slideshow
Bird Flu
There is a special bond between a man and his chicken and no darn bird flu is going to change that. Damnit.
Demolition
demo.jpg
Originally uploaded by Namaste Neil.
I am told that 80% of all buildings in Delhi are built illegally, that is without proper permits or on land zoned for some other purpose. The problem is not unique to Delhi but the city government and courts have been particularly aggresive in punishing the offenders. The odd part is that offendors are often big property developers that are building sleak shopping malls or office bulidlings.
Last week I photographed what the Delhi government considers the solution. They use bulldozers to demolish the shiny new buildings, which would be fine if they actually demolished the buildings and hauled away the rubble. But they never get that far. Instead they ruin the buildings, then put a sign outside saying the building is dangerous and condemned. So the end result is the nice buildings are ruined and the old, dirty buildlings next to them are left standing.
The logic is theater of the absurd to me, but most people I talk to here agree with the policy. You have to start somewhere they say. And why not start with the rich developers that have skirted zoning laws to save a buck and have paid off politicians to make it happen.
Fine but why destroy the buildings and not remove them. Better yet, why not fine the building developers or just take their buildings and use them for the community. Or have the government rent them out and use the revenues for special programs.
Fashion
fashion2.jpg
Originally uploaded by Namaste Neil.
Preview of Fashion Week coming to New Delhi, India.
guns.jpg
guns.jpg
Originally uploaded by Namaste Neil.
It's a bad idea to give teachers guns as demonstrated by a professor shooting competition at St. Steven's College in New Delhi
flower.jpg
flower.jpg
Originally uploaded by Namaste Neil.
I am working on a story here about people that spend outrageous amounts of money on the most extravagant flowers.
sesame2.jpg
sesame2.jpg
Originally uploaded by Namaste Neil.
Muppet master, Marty Robinson, on the set of the new Indian version of Sesame Street called Galli Galli Sim Sim.
sesame3.jpg
sesame3.jpg
Originally uploaded by Namaste Neil.
Sesame Street is finally hitting India. I shot on the set of the new show here called Galli Galli Sim Sim. Big Bird is gone but replaced by the fun loving Boombah the Lion. The costume is so big that the actor who walks around in it cannot see. Thus he is clumsily led on and off of the set.
Delhi Traffic
The best way to get around this town is definitely by scooter or motorcycle. Marisa and I have been shuttled around on the backs of motorcycles by our friends here. And on Friday, Aju, a reporter at the Indian Express let me loose on his scooter, giving me my first taste of navigating the madness of Delhi traffic.
Most of the time we must take auto rickshaws, here just called autos.
They have regular rickshaws too, the kind that are drawn by a man on bicycle, but those are only for small journeys and the city is quite large.
By and large, the auto drivers are out to screw you for the fare. They try to screw locals on every ride so you can imagine their delight when they see us coming. A few days ago a driver tried to hit us for ten times the real fare. All of the autos have meters but very few of the drivers will agree to use it. So most of the time you must negotiate. Which would be fine if the drivers would take a reasonable rate, but most would rather lose the fare entirely than miss an opportunity to screw you. I don't quite get it.
At this point, I know the price of most fares around the city, but sometimes it still takes me talking to five or six autos before one will agree to take me for a reasonable rate or the meter.
The Himalaya Playa and the Chandigarh Kid
Marisa and I have become fast friends with two people that work at the Indian Express: Tashi, The Himalaya Playa and Sourav, The Chandigarh Kid.
Sourav, not surpisingly, comes from Chandigarh, the capital of the western state of Punjab. He is one of the top reporters here at the Indian Express and has been a tremendous help in learning our way around Delhi and in getting sources for stories I am working on. We hope to travel with him next week to his home state to find out about female feticide.
Tashi, the Himalaya Playa, is a refugee from Tibet. His parents escaped the Chinese occupation of Tibet but not all of his family was as lucky. His aunt and other family members were starved to death in Chinese prisons. Tashi speaks and writes seven languages and spent an entire year trekking through the Himalayas. He shot over 50 hours of footage of his adventure and is trying to figure out how to edit it down to a documentary size.
Last night Tashi and Sourav took us to a Tibetan village on the eastern side of Delhi. In the 60s (check that) the Indian government gave Tibetan refugees a few plots of land on which to build refugee camps. This was one of them and they made good use of it. The buildings are so close together that there are no real roads, only alleyways where one can touch both sides if he holds his arms out stretched.
But those alleys are filled with activity. Visitors are greeted by sneaker shops filled with lime green and sherbert colored, designer sneakers imported from Asia and Europe. Internet cafes, small hotels, and restaurants line the alleys, as do teenagers wearing hip hop hoodies. The alleys are so narrow that even enterprising Indians cannot drive through them. So there are no loud horns from cars, buses and motorcycles or street calls from fruit vendors. After a week in Delhi, this place is blissfully quiet.
Tashi led us to the center of the village where a small courtyard had been cleared and there is a Tibetan temple. Along the route, Tashi showed us the hidden alleys that lead out of the village. Teenagers use these alleys to sneak out together to do as teenagers do.
We removed our shoes and entered the Tibetan temple. Inside incence wafted through the warm air from huge wooden boxes on the floorboards. A combination of soft lights and oil fed candles lit the room. The walls contained glass cases with ornate dolls of important monks (I assume). Orange and crimson clad monks softly filtered through the room. At the room's center was a blurry, 5-foot, blow-up, poster of the Dali Lama. The poster's colors had long since faded into 1970s tones of oranges and browns. Amongst all of this ancient tradition it seemed odd to put an ink jet poster of a guy who is still alive and doing interviews on CNN. But for the Tibetans the Dali Lama represents the most current incarnation of the Buddha. So praying in his presence, even a computer rendered facsimile of his presence, is a powerful force for them.
The American image of Tibetans is of a devout people with total respect for all living creatures. Well they may respect them but they have no problem eating them. Tashi tells us that his people eat a lot of meat, especially Yaks back home. The Yak's eyeballs and tongues are given to children and guests. Fortunately it is not easy for Tibetans to find Yaks here. Otherwise we would Fear Factor our way through Yak balls.
The Tibetans are also heavy drinkers and this had caused social problems in the village. So last year the Dali Lama sent a nice letter to the village asking them to refrain from alcohol because some peoples' lives were being ruined. Within days the town had been cleared of liquor. According to Tashi, the Dali Lama sent money for the poorer villagers who relied on alcohol sales for thier income. The villagers politely sent the money back.
Tashi took us to the second best restaurant in town where we chowed down on vegetable noodle soup, Tingmo (Tibetan breads), steamed momos (dumplings), and mixed vegetables in a warm, brown gravy. We also drank Tibetan tea, which tastes like a cup of warm butter. Except for the butter drinks our bellies were most thankful for a relatively healthy meal not overloaded with oil.
Luckily this week is the Tibetan New Year. We plan on going wiith Tashi to see the celebrations.
Sourav, not surpisingly, comes from Chandigarh, the capital of the western state of Punjab. He is one of the top reporters here at the Indian Express and has been a tremendous help in learning our way around Delhi and in getting sources for stories I am working on. We hope to travel with him next week to his home state to find out about female feticide.
Tashi, the Himalaya Playa, is a refugee from Tibet. His parents escaped the Chinese occupation of Tibet but not all of his family was as lucky. His aunt and other family members were starved to death in Chinese prisons. Tashi speaks and writes seven languages and spent an entire year trekking through the Himalayas. He shot over 50 hours of footage of his adventure and is trying to figure out how to edit it down to a documentary size.
Last night Tashi and Sourav took us to a Tibetan village on the eastern side of Delhi. In the 60s (check that) the Indian government gave Tibetan refugees a few plots of land on which to build refugee camps. This was one of them and they made good use of it. The buildings are so close together that there are no real roads, only alleyways where one can touch both sides if he holds his arms out stretched.
But those alleys are filled with activity. Visitors are greeted by sneaker shops filled with lime green and sherbert colored, designer sneakers imported from Asia and Europe. Internet cafes, small hotels, and restaurants line the alleys, as do teenagers wearing hip hop hoodies. The alleys are so narrow that even enterprising Indians cannot drive through them. So there are no loud horns from cars, buses and motorcycles or street calls from fruit vendors. After a week in Delhi, this place is blissfully quiet.
Tashi led us to the center of the village where a small courtyard had been cleared and there is a Tibetan temple. Along the route, Tashi showed us the hidden alleys that lead out of the village. Teenagers use these alleys to sneak out together to do as teenagers do.
We removed our shoes and entered the Tibetan temple. Inside incence wafted through the warm air from huge wooden boxes on the floorboards. A combination of soft lights and oil fed candles lit the room. The walls contained glass cases with ornate dolls of important monks (I assume). Orange and crimson clad monks softly filtered through the room. At the room's center was a blurry, 5-foot, blow-up, poster of the Dali Lama. The poster's colors had long since faded into 1970s tones of oranges and browns. Amongst all of this ancient tradition it seemed odd to put an ink jet poster of a guy who is still alive and doing interviews on CNN. But for the Tibetans the Dali Lama represents the most current incarnation of the Buddha. So praying in his presence, even a computer rendered facsimile of his presence, is a powerful force for them.
The American image of Tibetans is of a devout people with total respect for all living creatures. Well they may respect them but they have no problem eating them. Tashi tells us that his people eat a lot of meat, especially Yaks back home. The Yak's eyeballs and tongues are given to children and guests. Fortunately it is not easy for Tibetans to find Yaks here. Otherwise we would Fear Factor our way through Yak balls.
The Tibetans are also heavy drinkers and this had caused social problems in the village. So last year the Dali Lama sent a nice letter to the village asking them to refrain from alcohol because some peoples' lives were being ruined. Within days the town had been cleared of liquor. According to Tashi, the Dali Lama sent money for the poorer villagers who relied on alcohol sales for thier income. The villagers politely sent the money back.
Tashi took us to the second best restaurant in town where we chowed down on vegetable noodle soup, Tingmo (Tibetan breads), steamed momos (dumplings), and mixed vegetables in a warm, brown gravy. We also drank Tibetan tea, which tastes like a cup of warm butter. Except for the butter drinks our bellies were most thankful for a relatively healthy meal not overloaded with oil.
Luckily this week is the Tibetan New Year. We plan on going wiith Tashi to see the celebrations.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Angry Mobs and Wedding Crashers
India is interesting. We were chased by an angry mob of 50 Muslim youths when our taxi brushed against a kid's motorcycle in Udaipur. I pushed a cop (no uniform) as he tried to tow our car. Twice he tried to clip the car while we were still in it and I had to push him away both times. Then our driver finally returned and sped away backwards leaving me to chase after the car with sirens behind me.
There are many old forts here from conquered empires, which leads one to think never to ask Indians for help in building a fort.
People here are very friendly and curious. They often want to take pictures with us as we want to take pictures of them. We see a Sadhu, naked with paint on his face and think that is interesting. They see white people sweating like bastards with big sneakers and think that's interesting.
I have already crashed a street wedding, as is my custom when traveling. Crash at least one wedding. Be the stupid white guy in their home video. They can laugh about that in 20 years provided they can still play VHS tapes and their cultures have not yet accepted divorce.
The food is tasty but so rich you can't eat it more than once per day. There is so much oil and frying in the food here that I am shocked the average life span is 60. I am taking grape seeds and acidopholous but it is no match for the Indian microbes. At least no puking yet. I lost 10 pounds in three days. It's the dysentery diet. Great stuff. Instead of slim fast it's called Shit Fast.
It is impossible to be clean here. Everything is terribly dirty. The country needs a troop of Germans or Swedes to hit it with a mop. They export IT workers but need to import some spic and span.
We are now in Delhi after a one day world wind tour to find an apartment here. We found a full flat for around $400 in a very posh (very relative term here) part of Delhi called Lajpat Nagr.
I start work at the Indian Express tomorrow. We shall see how that goes. Marisa and I are researching a big story here about feoticide. Seems that parents, afraid of the cost of dowries they must pay to marry of their daughters are aborting them and giving birth only to sons. In Punjab, where it worst, there are only 700 girls for every 1000 boys born. That is going to create a massive booty deficit in 15 years. The kicker is the richer the parents the more likely they are to be able to afford the prenatal screening and abortion. So money and education are making it worse not better. Laws were passed outlawing the practice but that has forced it slightly underground. Abortions are now done in nursing homes and midwives are the middle men. Wacky. I think it will make one hell of a doc. Looking into it now.
Stupid Video Tricks
More pictures coming soon. Just trying to find an upload spot. In the meantime Marisa and I have prepared some terribly stupid videos for your enjoyment.
Bhangra Cow Shit
Sitar and Tabla at Sunset in Udaipur
The World's Second Worst Puppet Show
Marisa's Beautiful Indian Dance
Bhangra Cow Shit
Sitar and Tabla at Sunset in Udaipur
The World's Second Worst Puppet Show
Marisa's Beautiful Indian Dance
Sunday, February 12, 2006
First Few Days
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
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