Every journey in Bangalore begins the same miserable way. I leave the apartment and walk down our bomb-scarred approach road to the auto stand where a pack of flea-bitten rickshaw drivers try daily to extract every last paise from my pockets. A short ride to the “sig-nill,” 2 km away on Wind Tunnel Road, costs 20 rupees and anywhere beyond this natural boundary, the price jumps to 100 rupees, an arbitrary amount they know the can get from me. The current dollar rupee to dollar exchange rate is 47 to one, so why get in a tizzy about two measly bucks? After a while in India, it’s necessary to stop thinking like an American and behave like a local.

I don’t mind paying a little extra, but I abhor the feeling of being scammed. When I get a driver who seems nice and charges the metered rate, I don’t mind throwing in a little tip, which I’m told is a big no no!

When I told my roommate how much I dislike being overcharged for rides by rickshaw drivers, he told me it was my own fault and then fault of every Western bleeding heart who comes to Bangalore. It seems there is blame aplenty. Could the fault lie with multinational corporations, whose giant campuses have caused property values to soar and kickstarted neighborhoods overnight? Is it the flood of expats and Non-resident Indians who brought their Western customs and hard currency to the local market? What about the tourists who cling to Bangalore’s scant cultural offerings for out-of-towners? Why not call it a little bit of everything. After all, this is India.

The pyschology of tipping has many layers. As an American in India, I’m happy to pay the same off meter price I consider extortion, if I get to feel it is given as a tip instead of an overcharge. The notion of a choice, however, is crucial. In the U.S., we’re expected to tip enthusiastically and often. It’s not a choice; it’s a hard and fast social convention with little or no escape. Cab drivers, barbers, waiters, mechanics, bar tenders, florists, and delivery boys are just a few of the folks who expect tips for their work, in New York, arguably America’s most expensive city. With already high sticker prices, people in service industries earn meager wages in exchange for generous tips–the adage goes–in order to survive. In Bangalore, says my other roommate, a tip of five percent is considered acceptable, depending on the nature of the service, but there is no hard and fast rule.

A gratuity or a “tip” is a word of mysterious origin, but the meaning is clear. A tip of some amount is given to the servicer on top of any standard charges as a gesture of appreciation for outstanding service and a measure of goodwill.

According to Straight Dope columnist, Cecil Adams, the practice of tipping may have Latin origins, in which case it was a “stips” or gift, but tipping as we know it today has its origin in Great Britain. Adams writes,

Tipping spread from England to colonial America, but after the revolution it was frowned upon (temporarily) as a hangover from the British class system. One only tipped one’s social inferiors, which, lest we forget, did not exist in the brave new world. Unfortunately, the working class eventually got around to swallowing its pride, and tipping returned with all the fervor it possesses today.

As an American, the very idea of being someone’s “social better” makes me as squeamish as paying. From that point of view, its easy to see how a display of largesse is not about altruism at all, but instead reinforces the class standing of the server and the served. In India, with its outlawed though well-reinforced caste system, the idea of different social classes doesn’t strike anyone as a big deal from my personal observations.

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My hearty thanks and praise are due to satellite television, which, since I arrived in Bangalore, have made me into a born again sports fan. I haven’t been much of a TV watcher over the past several years–except to pass time when eating a meal, however, I now follow Formula 1 racing, cricket and English Premier League Football with a passion. While I have loved soccer (football), since early in my childhood, our TATA Sky setup at home allows me to watch five or more of the weeks best games on an awesome surround sound system.

Beyond the technology, I think there are many aspects that contribute to my newfound zeal for sports. It was my younger brother, Ejike, who first told me that sports are the ultimate human drama. To a large extent, he is right, though there is something about the hype, salaries and intrigue of professional athletics that makes it a drama that is almost impossible to tune out. Even a cricket test match only lasts for five days, but the pageantry spans entire generations.

There is also the sense of community that comes from watching the same game or race as people all across the globe. The isolation of living in Bangalore is unlike that I have ever experienced. If I lived in Los Angeles or Atlanta, my life might be similar. Here I spend significant portions of a typical day being chaufeurred to and from meetings, though contact with outsiders is limited to purchases or the occasional roadside beggar. However, with sports, I have an instant point of contact with friends back home and my social media community that spans South America, The U.S., Europe and Southeast Asia. A simple status update about the match I’m watching on ESPN can be enough to trigger a flurry of responses. It’s both a gratifying and unifying feeling.

Additionally, there is the thrill of learning something new. When it comes to Formula 1, or international cricket, I know almost nothing. Learning the backstory on Dhoni, or how and why a race track is set up expands my knowledge and gives me more reasons to look forward to the weekend.

While I wouldn’t expect to come to India to experience life through a television screen, it has been an ideal way to learn more about local tastes and also stay wired in. That said, one of my professors at the journalism school said the only real reporting is sports reporting. While so much in the media is staged, it’s nice to see that the eternal human struggle is played out fresh each and every day on the field of play.

Nearly lost amid the stories of startup heroes and plucky entrepreneurs is the plight of Brazil’s poor. While Sao Paulo is the cosmopolitan hub of industry and commerce, it most starkly embodies the work that must still be done to create financial opportunities for all. In a city of more than 21 million, the overwhelming majority are poor. In 2003, 21.5 percent of Brazil’s approximately 190 million citizens lived below the official poverty line according to Rural Poverty Portal.

While an economic miracle is happening in Brazil, over those without proper education are in danger of missing the boat. One of the keys to ensuring Brazil’s continued success as an economic and, soon, technological powerhouse, is through the education of its young people. Colleges schools such as USP (Universidade de São Paulo) and Unicamp (Universidade de Campinas) are where the country’s best computer scientists, engineers and doctors are trained and their education is free. However, the condition of public education at the primary level is abysmal, according to nearly every person with whom I spoke during five weeks of interviews.

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In my last post about imitiation vs. innovation in Brazil and I used rock music to parallel what goes on in technology. Today I want to talk exclusively about innovation in music, because Brazil is one of those places that has a reputation for producing hits. In my opinion, few countries besides Jamaica and The U.S. are known for their breadth and depth of musical styles and hit-making abilities.

Rather than go into the history of Brazilian music (which I don’t know), I thought I would share with you the BBC’s take, which have conveniently been sliced into digestible episodes posted below. My classmate Luis first brought the series to my attention.

• Section One deals with Brazil’s most famous form of traditional music, the Samba and its spread into the U.S. and beyond.

• Section Two is about Tropicalia music and the creative resistance of Brazilian musicians to two decades of military rule.

• Section Three starts around the time I was born and deals with contemporary music such as Hip Hop and Baile Funky.

I hadn’t watched any of the episodes from Section Three before today and I fully intended to post them sight unseen and go to sleep. My highest praise is due for the BBC production team that put this masterpiece together. In a  matter of hours I have learned a tremendous amount about Brazilian history and culture, though from a 30,000 foot view.

The reality on the ground is much different and cannot be fit into vignettes, but I hope you will take as long as is required to view this amazing documentary series. If you’re short on time, you might skip ahead to Section Three.

I’m sure my non-Brazilian friends will find the following series enlightening. The production value and storytelling are unparalleled as documentaries go. Although it’s in English, I would be delighted to find out from a Brazilian if he or she has learned anything new about their history or music from these clips.

And now for your enjoyment and edification:

Brasil, Brasil – Samba to Bossa Nova -BBC 1

Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

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