Beach Road is Vizag's answer to Mumbai's Marine Drive. This long strip of wide, immaculately maintained road along the beach is a magnet for families, couples, groups of young men, cricket players, cadets, walking clubs, joggers, roller-skaters, and the attendant chat and cheap-toy vendors, depending on the time of day.
I decide to go for a walk in the late evening, around 8pm. The sun has set a while ago, and the fairly good illumination is from the orange-coloured fog-lights lining the street. I am suprised that the road is maintained so well. Along both sides of the road is a row of abundant parking spaces, for cars on one side, motorcycles and scooters on the other. The footpath running along the beachward side is about 15 feet wide. The low wall separating the sand from the footpath has been turned into quality marble-topped seating; it runs all the way along the road for several kilometres. It's surprisingly crowded all the way up to 10, with lots of street vendors and "parlours" selling food, drinks, modest chat and shell handicrafts. I'm disappointed that I can't eat anything outside.
The amount of trash that piles up surprises me; there are no trash bins anywhere and people just drop wrappers everywhere along the footpath. I'm inclined to believe they tried an experiment with trash cans but found that people dropped their trash on the footpath anyway. Yet there isn't much accumulation of trash on the footpath; I will learn later that a small army of municipal sweepers descends on the road early each morning to remove all traces of last night's trash!
At this late evening hour the beach is frequented mostly by families and couples. Children play on the footpath, shooting fluorescent parachutes up into the air or arguing with their parents for another ice cream. Couples are shy, constrained by the norms of conservative Andhra society. Some of them sneak off to sit behind the moulded bases of the numerous lamp-posts on the sand. These non-functional light posts provide some shadow away from the glare of the street lights, a modicum of privacy. It is 10pm by the time I return home. The streets near my place are almost deserted, but Beach Road is still fairly crowded.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Christianity in Vizag
It is amazing how many churches you see in Vizag these days.
They have sprouted everywhere and come in all shapes and sizes. Most of them don't look like cathedrals, they look like 2-3 storied residential buildings, but bear prominent signs declaring their religious affiliation. You can hardly go down a major street without seeing one of them. It is quite possible there are more churches than temples in Vizag! And I'm reasonably sure they weren't there just a few years ago.
Christian slogans also seem to have found popularity with auto drivers: conversion slogans are widespread on autos and cars. In many Hindu families, you hear stories of family members who have converted to Christianity. Christian families prominently display Christian symbols and worship photos of Jesus. Many of these families have discovered newfound riches in the colossal sums of money that flow in illegally from foreign countries to fund conversion work. Some of this money is added to the recipients' coffer. The rest is used to distribute Christian calendars and anti-Hindu literature. Some of my relatives are among those at the receiving end of the onslaught, several times a year. One bible in Telugu, received during such a visit, teaches that all people who worship at images (like Hindus) are dogs.
The Catholics, when they came, tried to be organic and help society. The current batch of proselytizers are aggressive and seem to cause trouble everywhere they go. I am amazed at the sheer intensity of the conversion drive, and wonder whether it has anything to do with Y. S. Rajasekhar Reddy's ascension. Thankfully RSS-type Hindu fundamentalism hasn't taken hold here, so Vizag isn't burning -- yet. But if the proselytizers keep digging, I wonder how long peace will last.
They have sprouted everywhere and come in all shapes and sizes. Most of them don't look like cathedrals, they look like 2-3 storied residential buildings, but bear prominent signs declaring their religious affiliation. You can hardly go down a major street without seeing one of them. It is quite possible there are more churches than temples in Vizag! And I'm reasonably sure they weren't there just a few years ago.
Christian slogans also seem to have found popularity with auto drivers: conversion slogans are widespread on autos and cars. In many Hindu families, you hear stories of family members who have converted to Christianity. Christian families prominently display Christian symbols and worship photos of Jesus. Many of these families have discovered newfound riches in the colossal sums of money that flow in illegally from foreign countries to fund conversion work. Some of this money is added to the recipients' coffer. The rest is used to distribute Christian calendars and anti-Hindu literature. Some of my relatives are among those at the receiving end of the onslaught, several times a year. One bible in Telugu, received during such a visit, teaches that all people who worship at images (like Hindus) are dogs.
The Catholics, when they came, tried to be organic and help society. The current batch of proselytizers are aggressive and seem to cause trouble everywhere they go. I am amazed at the sheer intensity of the conversion drive, and wonder whether it has anything to do with Y. S. Rajasekhar Reddy's ascension. Thankfully RSS-type Hindu fundamentalism hasn't taken hold here, so Vizag isn't burning -- yet. But if the proselytizers keep digging, I wonder how long peace will last.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Taxiwallas
Taxiwallas everywhere are a voluble lot.
When I was going from the airport to my host's place in Delhi, I got a particularly garrulous guy. It's surprising how similar his assessment of the problems plaguing society is to the assessment that a well-educated middle class person might make.
"Nobody follows rules," he complains, pointing at a couple of jaywalkers who are crossing the road when they should be using a subway crossing at a busy traffic circle. "And even if the police catch them, they get away with a bribe".
The driver of the taxi in Vizag echoes the same sentiments when he has to swerve to avoid a motorcycle speeding on the wrong side of the road. "Nobody follows rules," he fumes. "On top of that, he has the gall to argue with me."
But talking freely with the taxiwallas opens you up to expectations of a tip over and above the pre-paid rate. My Vizag taxiwalla has a faintly disappointed look when I say "Thanks" and start lugging my luggage up the stairs.
When I was going from the airport to my host's place in Delhi, I got a particularly garrulous guy. It's surprising how similar his assessment of the problems plaguing society is to the assessment that a well-educated middle class person might make.
"Nobody follows rules," he complains, pointing at a couple of jaywalkers who are crossing the road when they should be using a subway crossing at a busy traffic circle. "And even if the police catch them, they get away with a bribe".
The driver of the taxi in Vizag echoes the same sentiments when he has to swerve to avoid a motorcycle speeding on the wrong side of the road. "Nobody follows rules," he fumes. "On top of that, he has the gall to argue with me."
But talking freely with the taxiwallas opens you up to expectations of a tip over and above the pre-paid rate. My Vizag taxiwalla has a faintly disappointed look when I say "Thanks" and start lugging my luggage up the stairs.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Delhi to Vizag
This leg of my journey wasn't without its share of of problems either. The biggest problem: Spicejet charged me at Rs. 80 a kg for all my baggage in excess of 25kg, which drove my travel price really high!
The second biggest problem: The diplomat who sat beside me on the flight scratched his groin non-stop throughout the flight.
Vizag airport can hardly be called an airport. It's a small, rough, almost single-room affair with one tiny baggage carousel. The access roads are rough, even kaccha in some places. The last time I was here (September 2007) there was no public phone booth (perhaps a function of the ubiquity of cell phones?). The biggest improvement this time around is the presence of a pre-paid taxi service. I'm sure I'm overpaying, but I'd rather not haggle with the heavily unionized taxiwallas outside. They're very aware of the power of collective bargaining; there's only one guy who discusses the price with you.
Last year, I found a call taxi who had dropped off a fare and was about to return empty; he agreed to take me to our place in Vizag for a song. But the taxi union guys surrounded him and refused to let him leave the airport while I was around!
The second biggest problem: The diplomat who sat beside me on the flight scratched his groin non-stop throughout the flight.
Vizag airport can hardly be called an airport. It's a small, rough, almost single-room affair with one tiny baggage carousel. The access roads are rough, even kaccha in some places. The last time I was here (September 2007) there was no public phone booth (perhaps a function of the ubiquity of cell phones?). The biggest improvement this time around is the presence of a pre-paid taxi service. I'm sure I'm overpaying, but I'd rather not haggle with the heavily unionized taxiwallas outside. They're very aware of the power of collective bargaining; there's only one guy who discusses the price with you.
Last year, I found a call taxi who had dropped off a fare and was about to return empty; he agreed to take me to our place in Vizag for a song. But the taxi union guys surrounded him and refused to let him leave the airport while I was around!
Delhi Impressions
Delhi's really a city on the move. We got excellent takeout from Mainland China, a new swanky Indian-style Chinese restaurant in GK-II. That area has a cool new pub and a brand spanking new club frequented by rich college types. The cover charge at these places is astronomical: the dance place charges Rs. 2000 just to get in. The owner of the pub has a huge imported Kawasaki motorcycle parked in front just for effect; my host told me he had another of those monsters.
I think you can't have so many bars, high-end restaurants and nightclubs in a city without a young, rich population. In Delhi, it's both the young overpaid guy from the call center or the media outlet, and the kid whose dad is rich. Most other cities don't have both: they either have the rich-dad kids, or the nouveau riche kids, but usually not both.
I read Marrying Anita by Anita Jain right after my stopover at Delhi. It's an interesting book. What's striking is the fast, pub hopping dance club lifestyle she describes in that book is exactly what's on display at these glitzy new places.
Delhi has excellent shopping, and the shopkeepers seem to really know their stuff. Perhaps that's because the competitive business demands it. For example, I walk into Teksons bookstore in South Extension with a list of books, some of them obscure, and the person manning the desk seems to have an idea about most of those books. But they're also a little lazy: the hired help in the store make perfunctory attempts to locate books that they know they have in the store, and I have to push them to actually find the books. I get the feeling they'd rather be lazy and not sell the book than expend the effort to make a sale.
3-4 days later I try the same thing in Vizag, and the situation is quite the opposite. The people manning the counters seem a little clueless, but they are young, bright, and full of enterprise. I ask for Samit Basu's The Unwaba Revelations; they've only a vague awareness of the book, but they immediately comb the store for it. Not finding it, they take my number and within the hour call me to confirm that it's sold out and ask whether I'd like to order it.
I think you can't have so many bars, high-end restaurants and nightclubs in a city without a young, rich population. In Delhi, it's both the young overpaid guy from the call center or the media outlet, and the kid whose dad is rich. Most other cities don't have both: they either have the rich-dad kids, or the nouveau riche kids, but usually not both.
I read Marrying Anita by Anita Jain right after my stopover at Delhi. It's an interesting book. What's striking is the fast, pub hopping dance club lifestyle she describes in that book is exactly what's on display at these glitzy new places.
Delhi has excellent shopping, and the shopkeepers seem to really know their stuff. Perhaps that's because the competitive business demands it. For example, I walk into Teksons bookstore in South Extension with a list of books, some of them obscure, and the person manning the desk seems to have an idea about most of those books. But they're also a little lazy: the hired help in the store make perfunctory attempts to locate books that they know they have in the store, and I have to push them to actually find the books. I get the feeling they'd rather be lazy and not sell the book than expend the effort to make a sale.
3-4 days later I try the same thing in Vizag, and the situation is quite the opposite. The people manning the counters seem a little clueless, but they are young, bright, and full of enterprise. I ask for Samit Basu's The Unwaba Revelations; they've only a vague awareness of the book, but they immediately comb the store for it. Not finding it, they take my number and within the hour call me to confirm that it's sold out and ask whether I'd like to order it.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Boston to Delhi
As usual, everything did not go smoothly.
The first hurdle was finding the Air India gates after I'd landed at New York's JFK. I'd done this before, but the first three Delta reps I asked sent me on wild goose chases without batting an eyelid, directing me to gates and staircases that didn't even exist. 30 minutes and 3 Delta reps later, I finally found one who wasn't so clueless and pointed me to the AirTrain to terminal 4.
Of course, the Air India experience wasn't trouble-free either. Somehow the ticket from New York's JFK airport to New Delhi on Air India was a Delta ticket, and the Air India folks weren't able to "open" it, whatever that means. This resulted in a 30 minute runaround. When I got back to the check-in counter, it was back to square one: they asked me to repeat the entire rigmarole of counter hopping. But when I pointed out that I'd already done the whole thing once, the manager took off and "took care" of everything. Impressive; 3-4 years ago, I think it would've been much harder to get them to do that. Finally, I had my boarding pass.
Interestingly, the demographic of the kids manning the check-in counters, and their attitude, dovetails nicely with the stories of the Indian new wave that you hear in books and reportage. You can literally feel the energy and enthusiasm in them, a big relief after the bored pot-bellied baboos that manned the counters till a year ago. These kids were all in their early 20s. Some of them, like the fashionably bespectacled chap who served me first, are from smaller towns, with a strong accent. The other one was from Bangladesh. There were some Americans in the team. Throughout, all of these kids joked -- and flirted -- with each other openly, with a kind of cocksure jauntiness.
I'm always a little put off by the Air India security check-in rush at JFK airport; it's a little too crowded and the lines are managed poorly with the result that you always have several people who are trying to get ahead by jumping the queue (and succeeding).
After boarding, the flight itself was quite pleasant. The on-board entertainment system was excellent for a change: you could choose from a long list of movies, even play games. Everything else went smoothly until I got to Delhi: even the flight's bathrooms were clean! Awesome.
The first hurdle was finding the Air India gates after I'd landed at New York's JFK. I'd done this before, but the first three Delta reps I asked sent me on wild goose chases without batting an eyelid, directing me to gates and staircases that didn't even exist. 30 minutes and 3 Delta reps later, I finally found one who wasn't so clueless and pointed me to the AirTrain to terminal 4.
Of course, the Air India experience wasn't trouble-free either. Somehow the ticket from New York's JFK airport to New Delhi on Air India was a Delta ticket, and the Air India folks weren't able to "open" it, whatever that means. This resulted in a 30 minute runaround. When I got back to the check-in counter, it was back to square one: they asked me to repeat the entire rigmarole of counter hopping. But when I pointed out that I'd already done the whole thing once, the manager took off and "took care" of everything. Impressive; 3-4 years ago, I think it would've been much harder to get them to do that. Finally, I had my boarding pass.
Interestingly, the demographic of the kids manning the check-in counters, and their attitude, dovetails nicely with the stories of the Indian new wave that you hear in books and reportage. You can literally feel the energy and enthusiasm in them, a big relief after the bored pot-bellied baboos that manned the counters till a year ago. These kids were all in their early 20s. Some of them, like the fashionably bespectacled chap who served me first, are from smaller towns, with a strong accent. The other one was from Bangladesh. There were some Americans in the team. Throughout, all of these kids joked -- and flirted -- with each other openly, with a kind of cocksure jauntiness.
I'm always a little put off by the Air India security check-in rush at JFK airport; it's a little too crowded and the lines are managed poorly with the result that you always have several people who are trying to get ahead by jumping the queue (and succeeding).
After boarding, the flight itself was quite pleasant. The on-board entertainment system was excellent for a change: you could choose from a long list of movies, even play games. Everything else went smoothly until I got to Delhi: even the flight's bathrooms were clean! Awesome.
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