10 April: Enforced Shopping and Devious Rickshaw-wallahs

My latest adventure included a trip to Brigade Road, and Cubbon Park. Brigade Road is apparently the hippest, most modern spot in Bangalore, and Cubbon Park is a park founded by some guy named Cubbon. Reghanna had instructed me to get on the G4 bus, which I duly did. No air conditioning, but all the windows and doors are open.  A British health-and-safety inspector would have a fit, but it’s lovely and breezy and very practical – the bus doesn’t have to stop for people to get on and off!

When I got off I was, as usual, trying to figure out which direction to walk in (a curse on the city planners for not putting up street signs!), when an auto-wallah came up to me and offered to show me where to go.  It did occur to me to be suspicious of a man persuading me to get into his vehicle, but I was disorientated and he was persuasive. When we were on our way, he gave me the business card of a shop in Infantry Road, saying. “Very good shop. I take you there”. At first I protested that I wanted to go to Brigade Road, not Infantry Road, but the guy said that all the shops in Brigade Road have been demolished to make way for the new metro, which is, to give him credit, at least partially true.

Tourist that I am, I quickly looked up Infantry Road on the map and found that it was very near Cubbon Park, where I also wanted to go, so I gave in. The auto-wallah stopped in front of a small, very nice-looking shop. At first I was reluctant to go in (I had had visions of a mall, and pizza!), but I thought sod it, I might as well now I’m here. I’m glad I went, as it was precisely the kind of tourist-trap shop I quite wanted to have a look in, but wouldn’t have found on my own!

I ended up spending a fortune in rupees, but fortunately the exchange rate is in one’s favour in these parts. The salesman was brilliant, using a lethal mixture of charm, flattery and delicious cinnamon- and saffron tea to get money out of me! If you find yourself in Infantry Road, Bangalore, be sure to visit New Heritage Collection, #12/2 Plain Street, Infantry Road!

The auto-wallah, who was obviously in league with a veritable army of shop owners, tried to take me to some more shops, but as I’d already spent a criminal amount of money I was firm and demanded to be taken straight to the park! He then pulled the “you decide how much to pay me” trick. Rickshaw-wallahs to this sometimes. They tell you that you can decide how much to pay, so you quote him a price that’s reasonable. He then looks outraged and insulted, as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave. Unless you’re hard-hearted and streetwise, you are then forced to give him more money! Fair enough - I’d probably do the same if I were a moustachioed auto-wallah!

On a side note, I have once again come to the conclusion that it is just lovely to buy things, instead of being the one selling them, for a change!

In Cubbon Park I continued my march of triumph in the capacity of tourist attraction. Not as many people asked to take my picture as in Lalbagh though – maybe it’s because Cubbon Park is smaller? Oh, and I also ignored the hideous statue of Queen Victoria. Spurned it, in fact, and refused to take a picture.

Lovely flowers in Cubbon Park

I’ve got my tickets for my excursion to Hyderabad next weekend. The guy selling the tickets asked casually if I wanted AC or non-AC, to which I replied, frantically, “AC! AC! AC!” You don’t want to go on a 10-hour bus journey in India without air-conditioning! (I don’t, anyway.)

If there are any rabid anti-feminists among you you’ll be pleased to hear that I have doctor’s orders to do kitchen work! However, it’s not some 1950s-style brainwashing at play, merely a wish to see how I cope with everyday chores. Consequently I chopped some beans today in the kitchen, with all the Tiny Friendly Ladies giggling! When I stopped for a stretch break they all said "Pain?" sympatheitcally - they are so lovely!

Manjula and I do yoga on the roof terrace every day now, sometimes in the morning and sometimes at dusk. It's lovely up there! Manjula reacts to sunlight like a vampire - Indian women are very careful with their skin!

Nirav, he of the hilarious instructions (“Don’t let your scapulas go flip-flap!”), turns out to be an absolute hoot! He tells me crazy stories from his time doing an MA in Australia, and we swap anecdotes about chavs (or bogans, as they’re known Down Under). Who knew that spine manipulation could be so much fun!

Thank you, come again!

3 April: The Market That Almost Was, and the Tiny Trousers

I suddenly realised that I look like an Uruk-Hai: Tall (the Alexander technique makes you taller), lean and with wild, straggly hair. Hobbits beware!

My goal today was to reach the old city silk market, and I can proudly state that I almost did!

I was lucky, as the bus I was aiming for arrived straight away, and what’s more, it was one of the snazzy Volvo buses! They have air-conditioning and play music (nice and loud, so you don’t miss anything). It’s expensive though – to go where I went, they charge 35 rupees for the privilege (as a price comparison, you can get a kilo of garlic for 60 rupees at the market, and a normal bus ticket costs about 12 rupees). On the other hand, it’s less crowded, and you can actually sit down. (It’s not too bad on the crowded buses either, though; Indian ladies with flowers in their hair are a lot less unpleasant to be squashed up against than greasy London commuters.) Getting off the bus and navigating out of the bus station, no mean feat in itself, I realised that a city map is only useful if there are street signs telling you what the roads are called! (Darren, I’m not saying I’m gonna stop complaining, but British street signage might possibly not be the worst in the world.) I managed all right (a nice man pointed me in the right direction), but I happened to find myself extremely confused right outside a police station, and asked a police man where I was. He told me where to go, but unfortunately failed to hide his scorn for lost tourists.

Despite scornful policemen and anonymous streets, however, I managed to move in the right direction, and actually found the market area! Though I didn’t find the actual silk market, I found the road that (apparently) leads to it, which isn’t bad for a lone blue-eyed Scandiwegian! The general market area goes on forever in every direction; you can buy everything from exquisite silks to nail clippers and human hair. I was far too disorientated to buy anything, apart from a couple of books. I’ve been craving Lord of the Rings lately (must be those random bursts of Old English translation I’ve been doing in a doomed attempt to keep in shape for Fil’s reading group), and I found it displayed alongside The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which somehow suited my mood perfectly: lost, filthy and utterly confused!

I needed a new pair of jeans, since all my trousers (well, let’s not allow our delusions of grandeur to get the better of us: both my trousers) are too big. I look quite sad, like a sweaty hobo, with my large trousers and mad hair, and I thought, the trousers at least I can do something about. So I stopped off at the new mall which has just opened near Gottigere, on my way home. Malls, in my opinion, are repulsive and obscene, and totally against my principles, but damn, was it nice to shop in an air-conditioned environment after spending an entire day sweating worse than the Dead Sea! Two super-polite sales assistants insisted on measuring me, and did a special trick with the measuring tape to check where my curves were (I didn’t think my arse was that subtle). Then they gave me tiny, tiny sizes to try on, which was very nice of them, even if I ended up asking for a larger size, that I could pull up further than my knee caps.

Made over-confident by the nice shop assistants and the tiny trousers, I then went to the shop where they sell traditional women’s clothes and was swiftly brought back to reality after getting my head stuck in in several kurtas. Note to self:  Indian women are v. small and slender!

After spending a whole day not seeing a single foreigner, I suddenly spotted a girl at the mall who was taller, blonder and cooler than me, and instantly hated her (I mean, how dare she?) – evidently I’m still not very Zen in my thinking, despite everyone’s best efforts.

One sees swastikas here and there on buildings, which is quite nice, as they’re clearly completely unconnected to homicidal German dictators with small-man syndrome. There’s even a Swastik General Store in Gottigere! The most amusing signs, though, at least to a Swede, are those advertising “Muthoot Finance”. Let’s hope they don’t launch in Scandinavia.

Several children called me “aunty” today. “Hello, aunty”, they said. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Friday was a wondrous day; because it was April fool’s day, one of the trashy channels showed The Simpsons – ALL DAY! I enjoyed every minute, stopping just short of squealing with pleasure.

The Tiny Friendly Ladies are fed up with me saying “thank you” all the time, and have made it clear, without using a word of English, that they won’t tolerate this kind of behaviour any more. I am to learn to use at least the phrases “Have you had your food?” and “Yes thank you, I have” in Kannada if it kills me! So far I have mastered “Namas kara”, “hello”, because it sounds like “mascara”. (When you write your opus on Indian languages, Fil, I’m available to advise and caution.)

Regarding the treatment, the heavy artillery has been brought in: I’m getting more myofascial release treatment, administered by a lovely girl called Reghanna, since some trigger points sneakily returned when I wasn’t looking. I’m also getting sessions with a chap called Nirav. He looks for neck- and muscle imbalances, and apparently I’m a rich source of those. Nirav holds the distinction of having given me the funniest instruction I ever received: “Don’t let your scapulas go flip-flap!” (Unless my esteemed and mad father’s unforgettable statement that “It is impossible to overturn on a tandem bike if you’re going fast enough”, uttered while careering ahead uncontrollably on a tandem bike, counts as an instruction.)

Thank you, come again!