A rolling stone gathers no moss, now it’s time for liftoff!

Last week I traveled to Malaysia, leaving  the familiarity and comfort of India for the first time in six months.My first stop was Singapore, which in spite of its large Indian population is the antithesis of all things Indian.

In Singapore I had one of the best sushi meals of my life (thanks, Mike), but on the whole, I found the place boring and soulless–not unlike walking through downtown Seattle. Between bouts of exhaustion I found myself  comparing Singapore’s oppressive logic to the exuberance, noise, foul smells unimaginable chaos of India and feeling proud of having lived in Bangalore and adjusted over time. Walking around (and around, and around) Raffles Place, I saw a small pile of trash bags and  instantly seized on the opportunity to snap a photo, almost as though I had uncovered some hidden flaw in Singapore’s grand plan.

The next stop was Kuala Lumpur, for some Saturday night revelry. Tired and smelly, I arrived in Bukit Bintang, Kuala Lumpur’s backpacker epicenter, an hour after sundown.  Choc-a-block full of hostels, bars and restaurants, Bukit Bintang was perfectly insulated island of travelers from across Europe and South America. Here I met Italians, Belgians, Argentines and a study abroad student from Tanzania.  With so many tourists shuffling from one watering hole to another, we could have been in Beijing, New Orleans or New York.

However, the most interesting group of foreigners I encountered were the Sudanese engineering exchange students who were hanging out in late night front of McDonald’s in  a pack of twenty.   from Islamic countries who live in Kuala Lumpur. Although I was taken aback, I shouldn’t have been. In a metropolis as large and diverse as KL, it’s possible to find people from just about any country, but I always enjoy it when the depths of my ignorance are revealed. There is that much more of the world left to discover. Also, groups of people chose to immigrate to specific places for specific reasons. So, why Kuala Lumpur? I asked to a group of nearly 20 dudes hanging in front of the McDonald’s at 3:30am on a Sunday. The assembled group told me they had come from Sudan, Yemen and Saudi Arabia to study engineering at a local college.

As it turns out, Malaysia is a top destination for tourists and exchange student from across the Islamic world. In my short stay, I met Sudanase, Syrians, Egyptians, Jordanians and Saudi’s, but precious few Americans.

Though much smaller than neighboring Indonesia, Malaysia is a strict and observant Islamic nation, where religion is actively promoted by the federal government. I got the impression that people from strict Muslim communities would feel that their children had returned home both religiously and morally pure as long as they were in Malaysia. The country’s reputation in the West may have a dip after it was announced that Kartika Sari Dewi Shukarno would be caned for drinking in public, in accordance with Sharia law, but I can imagine it won points with observant, worried parents.

That said, Kuala Lumpur was rife with contradiction. While religious observance is a very public part of life, especially for women, the wages of sin were never far off. Premarital sex is supposedly against the law for Muslims, but in 7/11 markets throughout Bukit Bintang, the variety of condoms, and lubricant next to the cash register was impressive. Although alcohol is taboo as well, I never had look very hard to find a bar or some shop that was selling beer, wine and liquor. Even if vice and virtue were smooshed together in an ungodly alliance, my first night in KL was a blast.

The highlight of the trip came mid-week when we trooped off to Langkawi, an island 50 minutes from Malaysia’s border with Thailand. To reach the tropical island, we rode a bus for six hours, took a taxi 30 minutes to the ferry terminal, then boarded a boat that carried us another hour and a half out to sea.

Before relocating to Asia, I was never much of a beach person, but that has all changed. Langkawi is supposed to have some of the world’s best beaches, but I have little for comparison. What I can say, however, is that the beaches were superb, nearly empty and within a short drive from virgin rainforest. Langakawi was heaven.

For the next four days, we zipped around on motor scooters, gorged on Thai seafood and even hiked into the jungle in search of clear quartz crystals. As much as the experience deserves to be documented in photos, no pictures could truly do justice to what I witnessed. More importantly though, I was able to get out of my zone and relax as I have been unable to do for quite some time.

Coming back to India was not as hard as I thought. Though just four hours’ flight from Bangalore, Malaysia and Singapore are a world apart. Their order, cleanliness and attitude are very different from India’s simultaneous arrogance and extreme insecurity–much like an 18-year-old child.

However, after living abroad and traveling, I feel at home pretty much anywhere I am. I’m back and I recognize the place. Life here is how it is. Life there is how it is.

It’s impossible not to notice the beards when you visit Philadelphia and I thought the story had to be told. In New York it doesn’t happen, nor is it common in D.C. or Boston, but Philadelphia is the city of ferocious facial hair. Why? As an inquisitive journalist, I knew I had to get to the root of the issue. I learned a lot, but I feel like I know less than when I started.

Filming in Philadelphia exposed me to some wonderful people and delicious hoagies and I’m convinced there are many more beard stories left to tell. I hope I can return to Philadelphia soon to continue the important work soon. If you haven’t already, for your enjoyment I present the first installment of the The Philly Beard Project: The Sunni Beard.

2009 and the decade it capped was tremendous by any metric and the years to come promise to be even more full. TechTrotter will be marking its first full year as an entity in just a matter of days. In the weeks and months to come, expect to see some changes and new features rolling out.

Also, I apologize for the slow pace of new material coming up on the site. I’ve been hard at work launching my career as a proper freelance journo and it is a time consuming endeavor. Many of you have also received handwritten letters with my name at the bottom. If you’re still waiting on yours, please make sure to mention it in the comments and I will be sure to remedy the situation.

Tomorrow I head back to Hyderabad aboard the TATA Jagriti Yatra train. Updates are soon to follow, along with reflections from a week in Jaipur. (Photos already on Flickr)

Thank you for making me a part of your life . I hope to return the favor with interest.

Wishing you and yours a bountiful 2010.

Sincerely,

Chikodi Chima

For statistics junkies and demographers, India is the promised land.  ”India is like a miniature Europe,” said  Professor Madhukar Shukla, but even this colorful metaphor understates the complexity. The world’s second largest country by population, seventh largest by land area and boasting the 12th largest economy in the world, according to Maps of India, India is home to more than 16 percent of the world’s diabetics and a whopping 41 percent of all poor people on Earth call this country home, according to Nation Master.

President of the ICICI Foundation for Inclusive Growth, Dr. Nachiket Mor, said that India, a pilot program has 15 million participants. With so many languages, cultures and religions united under a single flag, the true test of any innovation are those that can reach India-scale, in the words of Teamlease owner, Manish Sabharwal. Firstly, Sabharwal said, it is critical to identify those businesses that are babies and those that are dwarves. You can give all the food and attention you want to a dwarf and it will remain a dwarf, while the same care will make a baby grow and grow. Companies work the same way; some are destined to remain small because it is in their DNA, while others have the potential to impact millions. Identifying those ideas and companies and making them India-scale was the order of the day and one of the most important challenges of the years to come.

We went to Ramoji Film City to scout out locations for a possible conference and we were told by our guides from the events team that 20 movies can be shot on the ground simultaneously as well as accommodating nearly 600 hotel guests and various wedding activities. As part of our tour of the conference facilities, we got to see the Hotel Sitara’s four themed VIP suites. Apparently it is standard practice for the director, the hero or the executive producer to have lodgings with an unmarked door that leads directly to the fire exit. One can assume this extra evacuation measure is in place to safeguard the screen icon’s well-being and has nothing to do with enabling affairs or off-screen trysts between star and costar.

Later in the site tour, we visited the giant, empty sound stage, where thousands of attendees could gather before a main stage, were it to be assembled, followed by the Moghul Gardens, Princess St. and a dash to catch our flight at the Bangalore International Airport. All were sets of course.

The most striking thing about Ramohji Film City is the way in which the studios allow for the trickery involved in making movies. In essence, Film City is a blank canvas onto which we can paint any dream.

We departed from Bangalore’s Majestic bus terminal just after 11pm and, to everyone’s surprise, we arrived in Madumalai ahead of schedule at 4am. As remote of a destination as it was, this posed a bit of a problem. No could come round to pick us up for several hours and more urgently, the area was known to be inhabited by wild tigers. Elephants too roamed the area at night, and I was desperate to see either species, but it was not to be. There was no cell phone reception and no one we could call if we did have service, so we hunkered down  on the stone benches outside the wilderness safari ticket booth, wrapping bodies tightly as a brace against the cold night air. I desperately wanted to see one of the area’s wild elephants of tigers, carnivorous or not, but it was not to be.

At 6 am, the first jeep of the morning arrived to cart our chilly bones at to a research station where we to stay for the night. At the research station forestry and wildlife scientists from India and the U.S. were engaged in the study of the area’s elephants, plant life and, upon our arrival, breakfast. I can’t say enough about how spectacular the cook was. Deceptively simple, his meals of boiled beans, sliced beets and loads or rice were some of the best I have had. If you put a pot of his sambar in front of me now, I would probably devour the whole thing! Restored in body and mind after some idli, and a potent tumbler of tea, we ventured out to the first of two school, in Mavanala.

While  the signboard in front of the school said it was a “tribal” school, I was unable to discern anything about the school or its pupils that would differentiate them from other students I have taught in Bangalore. The schools we visited were Tamil, meaning that instruction happens in Tamil, however,  I was greeted by hearty shouts of , “Hello, how are you?”  from students as soon as we pulled up at the school’s gate.

For the rest of the day in Mavanala, we taught lessons on the heart and circulatory system, introductory physics, the climate cycle and geography. Bolstered by powerpoint presentations and some prizes, I found the students to be sharp, eager and boisterous. By the end of the day, I was extremely exhausted and feeling ill, but when we returned home, I had a serious case of the warm fuzzies.

The next morning we went to another school on the opposite side of the Madumalai tiger reserve. As we drove to the school, we passed an elephant handler riding atop an enormous, lumbering tusker. Nothing about the brief encounter seemed out of the ordinary, which underscores what a remarkable and multifaceted country India is.

The day’s lesson proceeded along the same lines as before. Ahmed, who had taken a shine to teaching, fired off his presentation about the heart and lungs with aplomb. And, to everyone’s surprise, the children had a decent grasp on medical procedures that flew completely over my head. If we simply believe in children’s abilities, there is no limit to their level accomplishment.

Beyond interacting with the children, the most exciting thing for me was the fact that we were in a truly wild habitat. Much of the area was heavily degraded due to farming and human activity, but the ecosystem was still robust enough to support h erds of wild elephants and as many as 30 roaming tigers. The existence of these animals is nothing short of a miracle in the face of India’s colossal population and mammoth density of human settlement. The preservation of elephant and tiger populations in India matter of national pride, though urgent attention is needed. Both species are extremely threatened in the wild, and I hope I never live to see the day when they no longer exist outside of zoos.

On a nature safari after our first day of teaching, our bus stopped when Ahmed spotted a wild tiger sunning itself near the road. While I caught a glimpse of the luxuriant predator, my view was blocked when we stopped directly in front of a tree. I snapped away with my camera, but the resulting photos are embarrassing. Abuzz with excitement, we stopped at an elephant camp where the handlers were shoving giant mounds of rice, and goodies into the gaping mouths of the joyous elephants. Beneath the giant’s feet, a pack of hefty wild boars jockeyed for scraps as the handlers tried in vain to shoo them away.

As if this were not enough of a thrill for an interloper like myself, we passed a herd of wild elephants grazing by the roadside on our way back to the research station. Who could ask for more?

The most important period of my financial education came at the height of the dotcom boom, 1998-1999, a most American of occurrences. As a senior in high school, we engaged in the ages old ritual of choosing a stock portfolio and monitoring its fluctuations daily. At this time, the NYSE and NASDAQ were reaching stratospheric heights;  each subsequent trading day demolished the previous day’s market-topping record. The word “day trader,” which later came to mean bathrobe clad, quick buck mercenary, still had some allure as savvy investors won and lost tens of thousands of dollars from their living rooms.

In this era, any feat of financial legerdemain seemed not only appropriate, but encouraged. Technology–in the form of worthless dotcom stocks, as well as desktop trading software, offered anyone the chance to become a millionaire. Nothing could be further from the truth.

While some of my classmates chose to follow predictable favorites like Microsoft (just across the lake from us in Redmond, WA), which eventually split at $178.13 per share, I went a different route, looking for a stock I felt was undervalued and bound to increase during the length of our observation. After scanning the business pages, I settled on Ride Snowboards, which at the time was trading for $1 per share. I figured that with the imaginary $5,000 I had to invest, I could wait until the share price hit a whopping $2 per share and double my money in no time. Rather than diversify my portfolio, I went all in, figuring that my “success” would justify my lack of options.  Given the frothiness of the market, I was sure that I had picked a winner. However, reality varied considerably from my expectations.

Today Ride is still a totally awesome manufacturer of snowboards, with a great Web site and over 10,000 fans for their Facebook page, but it would seem their experiment as a publicly traded company ended long ago. During my observation back in 1998-1999, RIDE shared tumbled from $1 to around 40 cents and they were delisted from the NASDAQ. What a year!

During his sensational talk at TEDIndia, FutureGroup chief belief officer, Devdutt Pattanaik, spoke about the cyclical nature of Indian history and how it affects business practices. In the West, we are have a linear, teleological mindset that influences us to believe that history happened to deliver us to the present moment. According to Pattanaik, the Indian view is that history continues to repeat itself and there are patterns which can be observed in this repetition. Droughts, famines and financial crises come and go over the duration of history, but history is a luxury we seldom enjoy in the U.S.

As Americans, we are always on the lookout for the next “flip,” regardless of possible consequences. We are encouraged to take risky bets when buying investment property or purchasing stocks, etc. because we will be able to pass along those risks to an even bigger sucker as soon as he comes along. Inherent in this model is that a bigger sucker is out there, and this has been the case for much of my life. With the crisis on Wall Street, however, we saw that there was only one sucker out there and the sucker is us.

As the son and grandson of immigrants from two continents, my history is both disparate and distant. My  Igbo ancestors are thought to have lived in the same territory for as long as 7,000 years, while my Polish progenitors are part of a diaspora more recent, dating back as much as 1,000 years. However, the interruption caused by intercontinental migration and genocide disturb any sense of continuity. Furthermore, as a nation of immigrants, we were drawn to the distant shores of America by the promise of new opportunities and new frontiers, provided that we could make the split from out past. While many immigrant communities have left their home culture remarkably intact, immigration is a give and take. Success in a new land means being adaptable and tolerant of change.

India may still be struggling to earn her place on the world stage, but in time it will happen, and if there is anything I have come to appreciate about India, it is time. While trekking to the source of the Ganges for his series on National Geographic Network, author and explorer, William Dalrymple, said that Indian history happens in Geological time. He had come to the site of a famed temple that was built at the base of a glacier that had once been the origin of the Ganges, but the glacier had receded several kilometers up the mountain since the temple was built.

While the preservation of the past is one thing I adore about India, the slow pace of change is also one of its greatest downfalls. With rampant corruption and sprawling bureaucracy, the government always has its hand out, often stirring up trouble along the way. What India desperately needs is development of infrastructure as well as improvements in high quality, accessible education for its citizens. Instead, as is often the case, what Indians get are dithering, unaccountable politicians, and progress that occurs at a snail’s pace. In the grand scheme of things, taking eight years to build a steel plant that will operate for 60 is no big deal, sorta.

What is important to remember is that in India, things are meant to last, be they marriages, business relationships or temples. As long as it might take to create the foundations, the structure will remain for generations.

Perhaps it is a bit early for me to start thinking generationally instead of day-t0-day, but it is comforting to know that momentary setbacks and inconveniences are just that; momentary. In the big picture, marching towards a goal is far more important than being distracted by daily stock fluctuations or temporary changes of heart.

Sploosh! Sploosh! A black cloud of flies erupts each time the  Muslim fishmonger dumps out a cup of water  to cool his decomposing wares. These rivulets trickle over the bodies of big, beautiful fish trucked in each morning, only to be passed over by value-conscious shoppers on the hunt for small fry. Too bad. I want to see any small business owner succeed, but I fear he misjudged his potential market locating among Hindu non-meat eaters.

As the fish slime coalesces on the concrete below, it mingles with the brackish fluid that flows through the open sewers and past a small slum of some 15-odd tarpulin hutches. Here, mothers bathe their children from buckets, youngsters tell each other stories atop a pile of felled trees and smoke wafts from scattered cooking fires. Each time I pass, the sewer stench, wood smoke and scent of frying onions simultaneously uplifts and appalls me, but this is my India.

On this road, life plays out in full view and like the open sewer, it collects the flow of time. On this road pass aurochs, rickshaws and Audis and, just like the sewer, the effluent of Bangalore’s high society and the hapless are as one.

Inside the walls of our complex, children form orderly rows on the tennis court as they learn to thump balls over the net. Pr-chink! Pr-chink! Wooo! Outside our complex wall, two barefooted urchins whip a medicine bottle up and down the narrow lane after flicking it into the air with a stick. I can’t believe how much fun they seem to be having.

I used to hate this road, as a reminder of the things I left behind when I departed from the West, but now I have grown to love it as I have come to appreciate Bangalore more and more. When life inside the walls hangs around my neck like an iron pillow, I walk up and down this road to offload my burden. The children on the street call me “uncle” and “photo anna” (anna means brother), and when I pass, they know I may snap their photo. I always bring my camera on these walks because life is always changing on this little road and I never know what I will see.

The world of outside and in seem so different and yet both are as authentic Indian as can be. Inside we have a swimming pool, a clubhouse and impeccably manicured greenery, while many people who live in the village have their drinking water delivered by a truck. The juxtaposition of luxury and a squalid  slum literally bumping against each other most wholly embodies the predicament of modern India and the challenge ahead.

Whether inside or out, we have much to learn from each other’s experience. For those of us inside, it is important never to overlook the spirit of survival. When we are stripped of our comforts, how will we get by day to day? Perhaps for those outside, India 2.0 will provide a better, more equal life with opportunities for their children. No one knows for sure, but when we meet on that road, we’ll have much to talk about.

After three months in Bangalore I’m much more comfortable in a country known for overwhelming all five senses. The bright colors, spicy foods, heat and rain complemented by a distinct urban potpourri are unmistakable qualities of the Indian experience, but while they assault, ambush, and assail the body and mind, I know I will miss them when I’m gone.

In a country as large and diverse and diverse as India, there are few things that link Hindu, Muslims, Sikh, Buddhist, Jain and Jew alike in this psychedelic tapestry. Anyone who spends enough time here realizes that they too have an inner Indian and, in a country that wholly embraces reincarnation, this isn’t hard to believe.

The following are some tricks I have picked up to help me think like an Indian and learn to love this country along the way.

1. Be open for anything.

Whether it’s food, travel, dance or music, never be above a new experience, even when it sounds totally weird. I’ve eaten plenty of  questionable food, visited strange destinations and danced with abandon because it was the right thing to do at the time. It was fun too!By demonstrating an openness new things, I have benefitted from the tremendous goodwill of those around me and it has helped me to graft myself onto the body of this city.

2. Patience

The importance of this simple word cannot be overstated. We in the West are used to pin point accuracy and efficiency when it comes to work meetings, social arrangements and business transactions and it can be one of the most frustrating aspects of India for newcomers. Nothing here starts at the advertised time–unless it’s a televised cricket match and it’s something people dismiss with a wave of the hand. Public works drag on forever, contracts are signed at an agonizing pace and there’s always time for a cup of coffee.  India has over 5,000 years of history as a civilization, coupled with a tradition of reincarnation, therefor a delay of a month, a year or even a decade is an inconsequential blip on the continuum of history. Get over it.

3. Gestures

Sign language speaks louder than words. There are very graceful sweeps of the hand–either towards or away from the body–that mean everything from “get lost” to “straight ahead and left.”

Simple gestures carry a lot of meaning. For instance, never pass something to someone with your left hand. While the right hand is used for eating and writing, the left is traditionally reserved for more pedestrian functions. I won’t spell it out for you, but most people don’t use toilet paper here and there’s a reason why.

Finally, my favorite Indianism is the side-to-side head bob that simultaneously means, “yes,” “no,” “I don’t know,” “maybe,” “of course,” “what are you talking about,” “obviously,”  and yes and no at the same time. Some people’s necks demonstrate remarkable flexibility when doing the nod, but even a slight twist back and forth connotes a finality that few forms of body language can top.

The bob is the ultimate shibboleth to signify one’s comfort and familiarity with India and her myriad ways. In it’s grace, simplicity and overpowering ambiguity, the head nod says “I can’t be f@^!ed with.”

4. Be Value Conscious

Thinking like an Indian means finding the best price. It took a while for me to get this, but I understand much better now. I used to think of prices in dollar terms, but today I walked for 20 minutes in a drizzle to save 20 rupees on a rickshaw ride. Knowing the wild swings in prices and having to live on a very tight budget means looking for bargains and getting the best value for my money–which happens to be in rupees.  Just I don’t exactly know how to explain the Rs. 230 ($5) I spent on a giant ice cream cone today, but I no longer convert prices and think I’m somehow getting a bargain.

5. Juggad

The word “juggad”  means to improvise or make do.  Indians have a remarkable knack for fixing things with spare parts or their hands, but the concept has much wider applications. ‘Our Delhi Struggle‘ bloggers, Dave and Jenny, two Americans who relocated to Delhi, have a great piece on their blog about juggad. In India, it’s better to make solutions than make excuses, even if it takes some spare wire, a ball point pen and a soda can.

6. Cricket is Religion

In a country as large and diverse as India, with 23 offiicial languages and millions of gods, a shared love of cricket is one thing that unites the masses. Since arriving, I have caught cricket fever and was lucky enough to attend two matches during the Airtel Champions 20 tournament at Chinnaswamy stadium. I wrote a guest post for Prem Panicker’s blog, Smoke Signals, about become a cricket nut since leaving the U.S.

More on how Bangalore has grown on me will surely have to follow, but I’ve reached the point where I’m ready to stay put as long as it is the cricket god’s will.