Phir Milenge Hyderabad

Me and Parul at my last Hyderabad lunch

Last Week In Hyderabad

It's my last week in Hyderabad. It has been dampered by the bombings on Saturday, but we've been trying to have as much fun as possible. Wise man once say - when you're moving there are two places you want to be, where you are and where you're going. Wise man was very wise...

Last Week In Hyderabad

Another traditional dress day

Me (with saree tied Gujarati style) and Ramya

Me and Kanupriya, posing very seriously...

My trip to Charminar a few weeks ago

Verinasi - New Pics

Me and Scott on our harrowing auto-rickshaw ride

Bathing pilgrim in the Ganges

Pilgrim

Sunrise boat ride on the Ganges

Boy takes a break from selling flowers to pilgrims

Bathing Pilgrims

Right before Sunrise

Our boatmen push off other boats to fight the strong current of the flooded river

Scott, me, Molly, and Anna with our "wishes"

Scott, me and Anna at the Puja

Me at the puja

Me and Anna

The Puja

Pilgrims bathe in the Ganges

Sunrise over the Ganges

Gurgaon Not a City in Thailand or Holland

Despite its odd sounding name, it is actually a "suburb" of Delhi.

It is pronounced "Gurgaow"(with a french nasal ending).

Office is really nice, food is reeeeeeaaally nice.

Have learned that most Indian restaurant food in America is from North India.

Food is also really heavy and creamy.

Finally had chicken korma last night. It was good, but not as good as Marigold- alas!

Now my clothes smell like a mix of burnt onions and curry.

I don't like the smell of burnt onions and curry.

Contrast between rich and poor is even more striking in Gurgaon.

Cows everywhere.

Bicycle rickshaws everywhere.

Tall, marble, modern buildings everywhere.

Naked homeless people sleeping on the streets at night everywhere.

Almost got in a car accident when a bull decided to meander into the middle of the freeway.

Almost hit a pedestrian who was running across the freeway.

Waaaaaaaay fewer people speak English here than in Hyderabad.

The power goes out at least once every half hour.

It's fucking hot here.

The air is thick and brown.

My car was chased by wild dogs as we drove home today.

There were salsa lessons in the cafe this evening.

It takes 10 minutes to get to the office and 1 hour to get home.

สวัสดี ประเทศไทย - Hello Thailand

Some observations about Thailand

Day 1- Bangkok

Passport Control:

• Although I am embarrassed to show my passport at most airports because of America’s “world cowboys™” foreign policy (Let it be known, for the record, that “world cowboys™” is my term and the patent is pending ;), it is damn good to be able to bypass the 3 hour visa line reserved for citizens of developing nations and get an instant & free 30 day Mr. Money Bags, rich-foreigner-about-to-spend-lots-of-money entry stamp.
• Perhaps India should consider instituting a similar Mr. Money Bags visa policy rather than spending billions of dollars on tourism ads and then deporting rich foreigners without visas back to Singapore to spend their money in the giant sprawling capitalist dreamland of underground malls.

Hotel at the Westin Grand Sukhumvit:

• Being a platinum Starwoods member rocks ->
• Fruit basket, free breakfast, free cocktails, free snacks, fresh flowers, “early” check-in at 6am when anyone else would have to pay for an extra night = goooooooooooood.

• Although I’m sad to be missing cute cultural nuances by staying in a 5-Star hotel, it was more than made up for by my oatmeal, jasmine bath with jets in a marble tub.

• Note, however, that the concierge at said hotel will always propose the most expensive option possible for any activity/query you put to him. Said concierge should be weaseled for information with non-committal responses, and then ignored. Especially when he asks for your email address to “keep in touch.”

Out and About in Bangkok:

• There are a lot of lonely, socially-awkward old men.

• Most of these men have moved to Thailand.

• These are the single, lonely equivalent of those obnoxious 60-something Hawaiian-shirt & hip-pack-wearing men, generally named Maury or Barry, generally to be found on cruises bellowing across the entire restaurant that their steak is too well done (“I said rare – you know, still mooing!”) and bragging with their wife Edna about the fact that it’s their 8^th cruise this year and it’s only February.

• Replace Edna with a 17 year old Thai prostitute named Bu, and you are picturing at least one table in every restaurant in Bangkok.

• These men think that Thai prostitutes like them.

• These men also like to start conversations with me in elevators and continue to talk even when I don’t respond.

• I hope that these men aren’t reproducing.

• There are tons of Muslims in Bangkok, particularly Arab Muslims. I don’t think a ton of Arabs live in Bangkok, but tons vacation there and there are restaurants everywhere with signs in 4-5 languages common to Muslims, such as Arabic, Urdu, Farsi, Hindi, and Malay.

• My taxi driver to the airport, Mr. Tan, in between trying to teach me Thai phrases (ko kum kaa), explained that for the fall months all moneyed people from Qatar and the UAE come to Bangkok to shop.
• The men come to “shop” for something other than clothing or handicrafts.

• Even Thai street food looks and smells really good, except when there is raw chicken from hawker stand umbrellas.

• Good Thai tailors aren’t actually that cheap.

• Nor are they Thai.

• The best Thai tailors are Sikhs. One of my tailors was a fourth generation Thai citizen who wears a turban and speaks a mix of English, Thai, and Punjabi. He speaks to his wife in “Thai-Jabi”(patent also pending;).

• It is possible to bargain in a completely calm and quite manor and still get a good deal. This observation clearly does not apply to India.

Day Two – Pattaya

Trannies in Thailand:

• I had the opportunity to go kayaking with a transgendered Thai woman (formerly man). I didn’t, although it would have made a great story.

• There are tons of transvestites and transsexuals in Thailand.

• In general, they are more socially accepted than other places in the world.

• Despite popular belief, they are not all prostitutes. Many transsexuals are from normal sectors of society.

• There is a famous Muay Thai boxer who retired from boxing and became a woman.

• Many Thai transsexuals look waaaaaay more like women than white transsexuals.

• I’m quite sure that the promoters of the “sex tourism” to Thailand would like to keep this fact under raps.

Other Pattaya Observations:

• The fact that Arab men felt it was ok to make clicking sounds at me on a private luxury hotel Thai beach when a) I was not in an Arab country and b) I was not scandalously dressed, enraged me beyond all reason. They’re lucky I didn’t go Thelma and Louise on them.

• Thai iced tea isn’t sweet, although it is very, very orange.

• There are no taxis in Pattaya, just pick up trucks with benches in the back. This is really weird for a place that depends on tourism. Although, they are nice pick-up trucks…

• It takes 3 hours to get to Pattaya from Bangkok without any traffic, not the 1.5-2 hours listed in every tour book and stated by my hotel concierge.

• Thai beaches are unsurpassed, too bad they were all destroyed by the Tsunami. I wonder what they looked like before.

Day 3 – Back to Bangkok

Pattaya to Bangkok:

• It’s possible to get pick-pocketed in the 30 seconds it takes between paying for your bus ticket and sitting down in your bus seat.

• Lucky for me, I was wearing a money belt.

• I hope that whichever rich white tourist stole the 400 Bhat in my pocket ($13.33) uses it to get a Thai prostitute who turns out to be a transvestite.

Bangkok Airport:

• Airport food is greasy and disgusting, even in Thailand.

• Despite what airport staff tell you at the Bangkok airport, you can check into your Thai Airways flight 6 hours in advance.

• You should do this.

• The Bangkok International terminal is the most ridiculous airport I’ve ever seen.

• If they had more trolleys people would shop more, rather than lugging heavy bags around the terminal for 30 minutes looking for a trolley.

• Most of the trolleys are in use by tiny Asian women who are pushing around 5 pound Louis Vuitton handbags.

• My shoulders really hate these women.

The Flight Home:

• On a flight of 180 people, there were 6 women.

• The dregs of Indian society go to Thailand.

• They are generally there for sex.

• They can’t hold their liquor. They have one drink and act like 16 year old football players at a party when the parents aren’t home.

• I now know why alcohol is banned on Indian domestic flights.

• Alcohol should be banned on Indian International flights too.

• Lucky for everyone on the plane, alcohol makes men who haven’t slept in 3 days sleepy.

The difference between Thailand and India:

• Thailand is not a third world country, India is.

• Thailand has modern infrastructure and a vibrant, extensive middle to upper middle class.

• Generally, there are not animals wandering the streets of Bangkok.

• Bangkok has 7 modern modes of public transportation:

• Skytrain – the nicest public transport I’ve ever taken in any city in the world.
• Subway – mostly for Thai commuters, reduces traffic on the roads
• A/C buses – as nice as any bus in Europe, nicer than buses in America.
• Moped “taxis” – can weave through traffic on modern mopeds, sitting behind the driver, helmets are provided.
• Taxis – nice, a/c Japanese cars with drivers who don’t size you up when you get in like they do in India.
• Aero-bridges for pedestrians – allow you to walk across entire parts of the city 40 feet above the road, clears traffic and makes street crossing safe. Crossing the street in India is more dangerous than yelling “Go Pakistan” in a crowded Indian cricket stadium.
• Cars – which are generally in nice condition, although traffic in Bangkok is still bad, it’s nothing compared to India. Roads in Thailand are completely modern as are the freeways.

• And two modes of not-so-modern transportation.
• Tuk-tuks, the onomonpoeiadic name of the Thai version of auto-rickshaws – these are generally much, much nicer than Indian auto-rickshaws and don’t generally belch black smoke out the back.
• Nasty old gross buses used by poor Thais, look very similar to Indian buses, but don’t have bars on the windows.

• You can generally drink the water in Thailand, but if you don’t want to, there is reliable bottled water everywhere.

• Firangis can’t drink the water in India, even in a 5 star hotel.

• There are prostitutes everywhere in Bangkok, I have never seen a prostitute in India – they are better hidden.

• Thailand features the good aspects of India – fresh jasmine, exciting foreign culture, bustling markets, cheap awesome silks and textiles, fantastic curry, atmospheric auto-rickshaws (cutely named tuk-tuks) – without many of the bad aspects – 100 men to every woman (at least in public), traffic blocked by livestock, corruption so bad that roads can’t get built, loud intense bargaining/haggling, pollution (to the same degree), impassible traffic (there are traffic jams here too, but see above for the modern alternatives Thailand has come up with to sitting in traffic), and men sizing me up every time I enter a room, sit in the back of a car, or do any other activity that may involve me being seen by non-google or non-expat men. Thai men don’t generally do that, although plenty of foreign men in Thailand did.

• The Thai word for white foreigner is Firang, the Hindi word for white foreigner (with derogatory connotations, similar to the Spanish gringo) is Firangi. There is a flower called Frangi Panni (Foreign Water – also the name of a popular bar in Hyderabad). Some linguist must have written a PhD about this topic. If they haven’t yet, expect to read it in the Norwegian Journal of Flower Etymology and Social Linguistics (or some similarly important and obscure periodocal that exists to publish groundbreaking dissertations such as this) in about 7 years.

• Thai curry is waaaaaaay spicier than Indian curry- you’ve been warned!

Pattaya

Sunset over the Gulf of Siam

Sunset from the Infinity Pool outside my room :)

Kayaking in the Gulf of Siam

MMMM- Pad See Ewe and Thai Iced Tea on the beach in Thailand

Private Sheraton beach in Pattaya

Relaxing on the beach in Pattaya at the resort

Bangkok

A moped contrasts old Bangkok with new at the Grand Palace

The guard at the Grand Palace

Grand Palace

Demon stands guard at the base of a Temple (Wat)

One of the temples

One of the Buddhist Temples in the Royal Palace complex (I don't actually know which one because I was a bad, non-culturally sensitive traveler who didn't know or care, but enjoyed the shiney buildings strictly for their aesthetic value)

City view from my hotel window

A woman waits for her fried bananas on the streets of Bangkok

Happy Birthday India

“Generations to come will scarce believe that such a one as this ever in flesh and blood walked upon this earth”- Albert Einstein, referring to Mahatma Gandhi.

While reading the India Independence Day issue of the SpiceJet In Flight magazine this weekend, I was disappointed to see that in their list of India’s heroes, they had managed to overlook Gandhi. They wrote him off by saying that ‘Everyone knows about heroes such as Gandhi’ and subsequently described several revolutionaries who blew things up.

Recognizing that many of the American revolutionaries also blew things up, I’m willing to accept that every independent nation prides itself on the people who brought about its freedom, no matter what their methods. However, particularly after my recent experiences and on the 60th anniversary of India's final goodbye to Britain, I think that what India can be most proud of is its most famous son who, like so few, was able to bring about change not though force, pain, fear, or suffering, but through goodness and bringing hope that change can be made through goodness. I can only hope that if America had a revolutionary son who brought about as much change as Gandhi did through entirely peaceful methods, that we would revere and respect him as much as Gandhi deserves to be revered and respected. His is a message that I hope modern India does not overlook, for they are at a turning point, as is the rest of the world, and the right choices need to be made.

Here’s a little of Gandhi’s wisdom:

“The difference between what we do and what we are capable of doing would suffice to solve most of the world's problems”

“The most heinous and the most cruel crimes of which history has record have been committed under the cover of religion or equally noble motives”

“Almost everything you do will seem insignificant, but it is important that you do it”

“Intolerance betrays want of faith in one's cause”

“I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

“What do I think of Western civilisation? I think it would be a very good idea.”

Google Indian Independence Decorations in the cafe - this is an outline of India with the Indian flag filling in, made entirely of flowers & leaves

A birthday card for India

Walking In Others' Footsteps

This weekend was not an obviously eventful weekend. There was no Taj Mahal, nothing that would make it into the travel section of any newspaper or airline magazine, no one would recognize any of my pictures from an India tour book; yet my experience was at another level, a level that transcends checking off a list of to-do’s or taking smart pictures to put on the wall. It is a level of understanding that can only be earned, and cannot be frivolously acquired, and can be achieved only through walking in the footsteps of another. I am lucky that I have had other people to help guide me in their footsteps, to lead me to experiences that I could never have on my own.

I think that the only way I can do justice to my experiences is to describe them as I experienced them and as I understood them from my frame of reference, and attempt to bridge the oh-so-deep gaping precipice between western and eastern perception. I hope that my opinions can reflect the insight that living here for almost 5 months has imparted, and hopefully that insight has developed beyond what a little holiday to see some pretty monuments can provide. I suppose that my multicultural, multi-national audience will let me know if I have crossed the line, or if I have proven myself to be as impartial a witness to these experiences as I can hope to be.

To Truly Understand, You Must Walk In The Footsteps of Another

Friday night I did one of the most elusive and interesting tasks that my imagination could cook up- I went to Charminar in a Burkha.

Parveen borrowed one from her “really tall” cousin so that it would fit my height, and she and her friend, Nazia, dressed me up like a real Muslim woman in the bathroom at the office. The most interesting takeaway from the experience is that once I was in the burkha, no one noticed that I was clearly not Indian (if they did notice, they didn’t say anything to Nazia or her male cousin who escorted us). I wonder if wearing the burkha really makes you that anonymous, or if people just assumed I was a light cousin from Persia and it wasn’t their place to comment.

Nazia asked me where I got the idea of wearing a burkha, and I had to think hard about the first time it creeped into my mind. I’ve always been fascinated by the Muslim world as an exotic and entirely foreign place. I used to read National Geographic articles about veiled Muslim women and memoirs by foreign women who live in Muslim countries, and think about how doing such a thing would be the ultimate foray into foreign culture.

Usually when I’ve read about something and thought about how exciting it is, when I’ve finally done it, it doesn’t seem that special- if I’ve done it, it couldn’t be that hard. But this, even after I’ve done it, still feels like I’ve done something that most people don’t have a chance to do. Something that it so different that most people wouldn’t think of trying it- indeed, even the other die-hard expats thought that it was a crazy idea. Now that I’ve done it, it doesn’t have the same mystique, but I still recognize that it is something that is unique and not a common cross-cultural experience that most people can have.

One of the common western questions is: Why do Muslim women wear burkhas? Why do they allow themselves to be “oppressed” by covering themselves completely. Now having worn one, and walked the streets of the laad bazaar in the shoes of both a white firangi woman, and a veiled Muslim woman, I understand where my friends who tell me that it is “freeing” rather than oppressive are coming from.

For those whose jaws just dropped at that scandalous assertion, do read on.

Burkhas allow complete anonymity and complete freedom from unwanted attention and advances. This is something that may not seem like a big deal to people in America, Australia, or Northern Europe (Italian men, however, do seem to have a knack for unwanted advances so I’ve removed Southern Europe from the analogy), where daily life for women is not characterized by a constant stream of noisome attention from the opposite sex. However, freedom from being hassled as you go about your daily business in public is very valuable in a place where the alternative is being stopped every 5 seconds to be solicited for everything from begging to group photos to buying electric fly swatters, Indian flags, and “street roasted” corn on the cob.

A question I must ask is why have men been allowed to create societies where women feel free when hidden because when they are not hidden, they must deal with the constant frustration of unwanted attention. Shouldn’t society just exist so that women don’t need the purdah and all men can control themselves enough to not make life uncomfortable for women? But, that society does not exist here, and so it is a mute point. The burkha is an escape and a sanctuary that allows women to go out and do their business in a society that otherwise requires a strong personality to wade through the throngs of constant undesired attention.

That said, I was still so hot that sweat was dripping down my back 2 hours after sunset, when the temperature was about 80 º. When I was in the car wanting to drink water, I had to lift up the veil to be able to drink it. These are things women just get used to, like wearing high heels or plucking your eye brows, but that I am grateful that I don’t need to think about on a daily basis.

We walked around Charminar and the laad bazaar and shopped for bangles and scarves. I got fantastic deals, with pashminas for only 90 Rs. ($2.25). Nazia’s cousin accompanied us, both for our protection and to help us bargain, and Nazia was a shrewd bargainer herself. We agreed that women are better at bargaining than men because we are always underestimated ;) But the best thing that I got from our trip was something that only a woman can have- the ability to walk the streets of India completely unnoticed, and to participate in daily life unobserved.

Another interesting observation I mad was that my car was approached by beggars in the old city far more when I was in the burkha than in previous trips when I was obviously foreign. This seems odd at first, but I attribute it to the fact that I appeared to be a Muslim woman in a nice car (thus with money). It is part of Islam to give alms to the poor and the beggars must have expected more bakhsheesh from me in the burkha when it would be my obligation to share the wealth than they expected when I was my white foreign self, with no obligation to give them anything. I am grateful that I have reached a point in my knowledge of the world that I can make an observation like this, and that I can realistically think about what the cause of it may be.

My second experience this weekend was walking in a different set of shoes, that of my Great Aunt May (Mabel Needham) who came to India on a steamer ship from England during World War One, in the height of British Imperial India, and stayed for 20 years.

May has always been a family legend- the spinster auntie who never married and went off to India to start a school. The Steens in Eastbourne South England have an ornate silver box given to May upon her retirement from the Maharani Girls High School of Baroda in 1937, which contained a scroll thanking her for her work, signed by the trustees of the school. May was part of a movement during a golden age in Baroda, when the Maharaja Gaekwad instituted all sorts of liberal social and infrastructural improvements, including standardizing and promoting education, particularly for girls.

May went from England to Jaffna, Ceylon (Sri Lanka) to be a teacher, and after a year made her way to Baroda where she stayed for 20 years until she left India and returned to England. When I told my 92 year old grandfather that I was going to India, he produced a copy of May’s diary from 1916-1919 which describes her journey from England, her time in Jaffna, and the beginning of her long time in Baroda. It includes first hand accounts of the Maharaja’s daughter’s wedding, the plague that devastated Baroda, British daily life in the outpost of empire, and the 1918 flu epidemic that has become so famous recently with the warnings of what avian flu could do.

Reading this diary has been absolutely fascinating because some of the observations May makes are strikingly similar to today. I feel like I could have written many of the observations May makes, and even her tone and writing style are strikingly similar to mine. My favorite line was an exaggerated “Oh Gujarati [local language of Baroda]- If only I could master thee!”

But in addition to her observations, May breaks the imperialist British stereotype and endeavors to get to know Indian India- staying in Indian homes, learning the local languages, eating Indian food, learning how to sit on the floor and eat with her fingers gracefully (sound familiar?). And I think in some ways, it was easier for May to adjust to life in India as an English woman during that era, than it is today for foreigners to adjust to life in India, because parts of May’s India were little pieces of England, much more, I suspect, than even the most modern shopping mall is a reflection of America.

That said, it cannot be overlooked that although there is no official foreign power ruling India anymore, much of India’s modern development is due to foreign investment, many investors of whom have moved into former British Imperial buildings in Bombay. The parallels between the old political imperialism and today’s economic imperialism cannot be ignored. But, modern economic development, mostly spurred by foreign investment, has allowed a vibrant (yet still small compared to the population at large) middle class to form, and with it, the development that goes with a large group of people who have the spending power to enjoy and demand modern amenities- even if they aren’t maharajas or billionaires. The Barista cafes popping up in all big cities around India are a testament to the growth – they mean there are enough people with the cash and the free time to enjoy a mocha (even if it can’t be a half-caf mochachino with 1.5 inches of foam at 120º). And this middle class is what will bring India into the modern world, and bridge the gap between the ever growing void between rich and poor. But I digress…

So early Saturday morning (4:30 am to be precise), I ripped myself out of bed to go to Baroda via Ahmedabad to visit May’s school. After months of trying to figure out how to best go about this reunion of the Needham family line and the Maharani Girls School of Baroda, including attempts at contacting the current Maharaja of Baroda via a friend at google who contacted his old army buddies who knew a relative of the Maharaja, I ended up depending on Anupam (my flatmate) to call the school (whose phone number I found in an online listing) and tell them in Hindi who I was, that I was coming, and to find out if it is even the same school.

When we arrived in Ahmedabad we became quickly aware that not only do most people there not speak English, but most people don’t even speak good Hindi (only the Gujarati- which so eluded May). We got to the school at about 11 am via one of the only super-highways in India, on which we sped past rice patties and banana plantations with remarkable efficiency passed entertaining signs with messages such as “Lane Driving is Safe Driving,” “Do Not Stop on Expressway,” and “Speed with Safety is Our Motto.” Occassionally there were still villagers in the median, collecting grass and farm animals running along the side of the freeway, small reminders that we were still in India.

When we got to the school we had to get past an army of people wondering what we were doing there before we could get to the principal, whom Anup talked to on Friday. When we got to her office, she had no idea why we were there and had no idea who May was. When I showed her a copy of the scroll, she read it thoughtfully and gave me a copy of the prospectus which had “founded in 1916” written on it. When I told her that May had been the first principal, she pointed to a painting on the wall and told me that the first principal of the school was a Mr. Patel in 1954. When I pointed out that her prospectus said that the school was founded in 1916, we discovered that all records and information from the British era had disappeared/ been destroyed. The only remnants of the original building of the school was a brick wall around the outside of the modern compound, and the only reference to May was a scholarship in her name, dug up by one of the secretaries, and only described in one line of Gujarati.

This may sound very anti-climactic and disappointing- that a school which was founded and developed for 20 years by May no longer remembered her or what she had done for them. But as they gave us a tour of the campus and we saw hundreds of girls playing tag in the school yard and learning in classrooms, May’s legacy was there- whether or not her name was attached to it.

Every single girl in that school, thousands of girls over the 20^th century, were educated because of May’s work. Anupam’s friend, Gita, who served as our guide for the rest of the weekend, graduated from that high school. How many children were given futures by the work done so long ago that no one remembers who did it? I think May would have been pleased, even if the Soviet-style removal of all British Indian history removed her name from her work.

It is a poignant and important observation to make two days before India’s 60^th anniversary of Independence, that nothing is black and white, nothing is entirely right or wrong. There are positive and negative things about purdah. There were horrible atrocities done by some British imperialists and wonderful things that help support modern India done by others. Imperialism was bad for many, many people. But to paint every person, and every situation from an entire era with the same brush, when hundreds of girls a year are continuing to receive good educations because of the work that one British woman did, does not do justice to May and it does not do justice to India.

I know the injustices done to this tiny piece of written history within the last 70 years, but when this diary disappears along with the school’s records, and I die and no one remembers this blog entry, there will be no record of where that school came from. I can only wonder what other kind of historical injustices permeate our cultural consciousness. I hear no one wanted the French to eat cake, nor did America’s founding father cut down a cherry tree. What other falsities and omissions inform our judgment and prevent our true understanding of the past?

We can’t rewrite our history, as hard as politicians, academics, and journalists may try. We must acknowledge it for the complicated compilation of differing experiences that comprise it, and only then can we truly develop our global consciousness to a point where we can truly claim to learn from the past and create a more hopeful future.

And if you got to the end of this loquacious blog entry, you may be the world’s last hope.

'I don't know what weapons World War Three will be fought with, but World War Four will be fought with sticks and stones'- Albert Einstein

Baroda, Gujarat

The entrance to the Maharani Girls School

Today's common transportation to school - a far cry from when May was in Baroda

Girls play tag in the school yard

The only remaining structure from the original school - the wall

8 school girls pack into an autorickshaw at the end of the school day

School Girls see my camera and smash themselves against the window of the car for some last attention from their strange guest

Natural Gas powered rickshaws queue miles down the street for one of the few natural gas pumps in the city - I'm still not sure why they choose to drive the clean ones, but I think there must have been gov't incentives

Sad after we are not allowed to see the Maharaja

The arts faculty of the University of Baroda - one of the founders of the university was May's American roommate, Miss Strong

Monsoons and Oxen on the road

A camel draws a cart down the main road in Ahmedabad, a strange scene in this not-so-deserty place. Must be a cultural import from neighboring Rajastan.