Friday we felt relatively with it, considering the dramatic time change, so we decided to run some errands. At home, I would take it for granted that I jump into my nice clean car, drive along organized and clean streets, and within minutes I'm at my favorite shops. It's easy. Errands here are a whole new thing. First, you have to call your driver and arrange a time. This may take an hour. Second, you have to mentally prepare for the communication gap and the difficulties you will face finding reasonable facsimiles of things that you want. Third, the traffic. I cannot begin to describe the traffic. There are no highways, no lanes, no rules. You see hired cars, like we have, taxis, busses, auto rickshaws, mopeds, people on bikes, cows, dogs, families of FOUR crunched onto one motorbike, newspaper boys, beggars, construction workers laying a sewage pipe in the red clay soil, brave/crazy pedestrians, and horns, horns, everywhere horns. Horn use in India is something we have yet figure out, but I've got some theories. Sometimes a beep means, "Hey, watch out, I'm a little moped in your blindspot." Other times it's "Get your head out of your ass." Mostly it's "Hooray! A green light! Let's GOOOO," that one's my favorite; the enthusiastic Victory Toot.
I was in need of a cell phone and Deepak knew right where to take us. I'm not fluent in Hindi or cell phone, so this experience made me sweat instantly and I could feel the blood pump in my carotid. Talk about out of your element. Airtel is a huge mobile service provider here and you'll never believe how little we paid for a cell phone. All said, the phone itself, the activation and SIM card, and 100 INR (Indian Rupees) worth of "Talk time" came to about $50. One minute costs half an INR. At this rate, I won't need to buy more minutes until after we come home for the holidays. To get a phone I had to bring, and this has become sort of second nature as I write this a week later, a copy of my passport and a 2x2 photo. I had to sign the contract in 10 apparently random spots, and was informed that I needed to bring proof of residency the next day. A letter from my hotel would suffice. This whole interaction took 2 minutes but I was whipped! Plus, Indians have no personal bubble, so the whole time we're talking my customer service guy is 3 inches from my face and our forearms are touching. Also, the head bob! In India, you will see what looks to Westerners as an on its side, figure 8 "no." It can mean different things in different situations, but mostly "Yes, I understand, but I don't necessarily agree with you," or "Yes, I agree with you." You have to be native Indian to know the difference. So, this guy is in my space, head bobbing at me, and talking cell phone in heavily accented English. It's amazing we got out of there with a cell phone that works. I really felt like a bumbler. Did I mention my phone is labeled in Hindi? I guess it's Sanskrit, but what a trip.
Friday we also met Tina Manavalan, the woman who is helping us to find an apartment. Hotel living seems like it would be a lazy man's paradise, but it gets old fast. I miss cooking and it's frustrating to eat every meal of every day in a restaurant. Tomorrow we see what kind of apartments Bangalore has to offer.
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