India and embarrassment

India, pre-monsoon, is a pretty hot and sticky place.  Temperatures soar near the 100's every day and the humidity must be well over that. 

But there I was in February 1978, hot and sticky, sitting at the place of respect in the living room of the 3-room home of the director of the regional folkloric museum in Rajasthan.  In 1978, not too many tourists traveled to visit this museum, but I was impelled by the opportunity to see some of the region's famous family puppetry troops perform.  I'd learned through hearsay that the performances were a nightly event, held on the roof of the hotel created from an old palace on an island in the middle of the lake in Udaipur. The front desk clerk was happy to hear about my interest in puppetry, and arranged for a boat to take me to the town the next day. 

The museum was not large, but well maintained and pride in the local folk arts emanated from every display.  The museum director had been delighted to talk about his puppet collection.  So many of the finger puppets and marionettes are based on the Indian epic stories and myths.  We happily spent all afternoon talking and laughing about the foibles of the puppet-characters and the men and gods they represented.  As I left, he presented me with an intricate oilcloth painting that one of the artisans had done of Ganeesh, and also invited me to supper with his family at his house. 

When I arrived, the front room of his mud-and-wattle home was full;  a few of his important neighbors had been invited in the interim, I guess to meet the blonde American lady.  The meal was fabulous, but there wasn't much opportunity to talk with the women of the house as they stayed in the kitchen when they weren't bringing out the food or taking away the empty platters.  Politics, business, art, trends in America, the situation in India -- the dinnertime discussion was vigorous.  

 When the table was put to the side and the room converted into a sitting area, conversation continued.  But the evening breeze brought little relief through the sparse windows, and "stifling" is a word that just about sums it up.  When I couldn't stand the sweat on my face anymore, I tried not to make a big deal about the heat, and reached without looking into my pocketbook. 

Conversation was still going, so I felt around the interior of my pocketbook for the small aluminum sachets containing wipes I always carried for cleaning my hands where there was no water,  ripped open the sachet that held the wipe, and discreetly patted it on my face.  A few minutes later I couldn't stand the heat and the stickiness anymore and dipped once again into my pocketbook, this time for a Kleenex to sop up the sweat.  Tea was served, and a short while later I asked to use the toilet. 

There, in the small enclosure that was dimly lit by a solitary 20 watt bulb, I reached for my comb to tidy up.  The mirror reflected back an incredible sight -- a blonde American lady with white lint all over her face!  Which all goes to teach an important travel lesson:  pack your clear shoepolish sachets in a different place than your handywipes.

Trips from my passport that expired in 1978 (1976-78)

I have to wonder why
any country would
let me in...

1976 Santo Domingo, Netherlands, Belgium, France, Bahamas, Honduras, Nicaragua, El Salvador,

1977 Belgium, Germany, Netherlands

1978 India, UK/England,

India 1978

India, 1978

i was able to convince my boss at Continental Can to let me pay the difference between return airfare Heathrow-NYC and Heathrow-Bombay-Delhi-NYC and squeeze in a short trip to India.   I was in London to attend an International Agribusiness Conference. The airfare difference was only $200, and my friend Nadir helped me set the trip up.

April 7, 1978

So far, no snakes – just a delightful cluster of experiences. Even getting off the plane was a new sensation, and although immigration took about half an hour and baggage another half hour, the real fun came at customs. THAT was like a giant jumble sale – with very thorough officials tossing swatches of fabric in the air from one man’s suitcase. The suitcase was about a 6-suiter, one of the plywood types. In it the man had stowed about 50 pieces of cloth, and all kinds of cosmetics. Blissfully ignorant of all this was the baby left by her mother on the other side of Customs; I guess I might have left too if I’d forgotten what a hot climate it was and my baby had chocolate cracker dripping all over its face! I just stood and laughed while I waited for my customs card and passport. No sense getting riled up.

Admittedly, my attitude was probably influenced by the fact that my good friend and B-school classmate Nadir Godrej was waiting for me. In the only air conditioned car I saw for days. I was very glad to see him and to have such a pleasant introduction to India. I stayed in his Uncle's guest room  in the family multi-storied house on Malabar Hill.

I had no idea about the magnitude of his family’s holdings. Godrej Soaps Ltd is the 41t largest company in India in the private sector. In addition to soaps, detergents, shampoos, cold cream, shaving cream, talcum powder, deodorant, perfume, editable oils, steel office furniture, refrigerators, typewriters (in 30 languages), door lock, padlocks… they also made animal feed, which is the part of the business that Nadir runs (3% of total sales). I saw the housing they provide for some of their 9000 workers (at 56 rupees per month vs a salary of 800 rupees; 1 rupee=12 US cents). They also have a school for workers’ children; cost is one rupee per child per month.

We had lunch with his parents Mr. and Mrs. Godrej, Nadir’s brother, and Nadir's brother's brother-in-law, who is starting a small powdered soap facility in Delhi with high labor intensity (encouraged by government regulations).

Nadir told me a story about how his Uncle spoke to Indira Ghandi when one of her son’s cronie told the Godrej salesmen for Delhi to reduce prices or be arrested, and straightened the whole thing out.

We went to the topiary garden, and were followed along the sideway by an unfortunate human who could only walk on all fours. Hard to forget these sights. From the garden, Bombay at night is beautiful, like a fairy tale.

April 8, 1978

My first real day in India. I woke up several times during the night, startled by all the parrots and other birds kept near the house. After breakfast (a Parsi dish of eggs, tomatoes, onions and coriander), we went to get my tickets for my ongoing travel to Udaipur, Jaipur, Agra and Delhi. Indian Air had a nice waiting area in a big hotel, and now I understand why – it filled up as the wait went on and one. Could it be understaffed? Or just bureaucratic? I emerged with only my ticket to Udaipur… everything else is on request!

We went to the Taj Mahal Hotel to get my voucher for the Lake Palace Hotel in Udaipur, and got tickets for Indian dancing that night.

We took the cheap boat over to Elephanta. The luxury tour boat looked much more comfortable but could not have been half as much fun. The ride was hot in midday; the carved stone temples were impressive, but had been so badly defaced by the Portuguese that some of the more interesting tableaus were not understandable.

We had a soft drink at a small snack shop near where the boats departed; I noticed that the shop keeper had plastered a “Tumbs Up” symbol over the Coca in Coca-Cola.

Afterwards, we had a snack at the Taj Mahal Hotel – really a lovely hotel. The ice cream tasted granular to me, must have been made with condensed milk.

The Chor Bazar was incredible. Talk about another world than the one Nadir is used to! Nadir had never been to the Chor Bazar. We soon came to understand why people walk in the streets when he is driving by… the sidewalks are filthy, used like latrines. The bazaar is often called “thieves market”, and that may be true. Everything is secondhand, and business is bustling. Seems that this secondary market is very important to the Indian way of life – and it doesn’t really enter into the government’s commerce statistics. I was intrigued by a latern made from recycled soda/beer cans. Edible oil in 55 gallon cans, with dippers for selling small affordable amounts to shoppers. A whole street of Edison music boxes, in mint condition. Leather scrap dealers. Rag dealer, etc. etc. Very noisy. My shoes smelled for hours afterwards –the soles were nasty after our walk around the bazaar.

There are crows everywhere in this country. Big crows. They add to the noise considerably.

The dancing show at the Taj was very good. It must take years to learn to move your head and eyes sideways like that!

We walked on Chowpatty Beach – it was the first time Nadir had done that in over 10 years, he said. Massages offered for less than 1 rupee each, given right there on the sand. (We did not indulge.) A sand sculpture of a god was beautifully done. My favorite were the necklaces of Jasmin flowers.

This was a wonderful introduction to this country, and I am grateful for Nadir’s help on this trip, and for his help at B-school too. He is a good friend, and I think we will have a long and interesting friendship.