Indian Samurai इंडियन सामुराई

My Indian (male) friend has made a weird observation: many Indian men spit while peeing. Not one spit but constant small spits. And he asked me (me!) why! So ok I am very curious about Indian customs but how could I possibly know about this one??

After some research

(Read more below)

I learned that apparently many men around the globe spit in the toilet before peeing. It came as a surprise because I rarely go to male loos. I also learned that no one knows why. Though an interesting explanation could be: “just because they can. From the viewpoint of some sociologists, the act of hanging out and spitting just for the hell of it may be a sign of males establishing territory, much like what happens when dogs pee on hydrants or bears scratch their butts against trees. Of course, human males don’t have the olfactory ability to respond to this kind of marking through scent, but they do have the ability to respond through observing gesture. Says sociologist Robert S. McCarl, "Spitting is more than just something coming out of the mouth. It's a way to appear stronger and mark your space…Males are more concerned about turf than women are. You get a group of males together, and there is a lot of posturing going on…It's basically them throwing down a challenge."”

And to go further with the Indian special habit, I found an “old wives tale” according to which “this practice would have its origin in superstition and the supernatural” (so far nothing too surprising). “In countries like India and China it used to be customary to piss under trees. This is often still the case. There were stories that spirits inhabited the trees and would not take kindly to people pissing on them; there are stories of men being slapped by ghosts as they stopped to pee under trees!!

So the spitting (or coughing in some cases) is done to warn the spirit of what is to follow so that they temporarily vacate their spot to allow the man to piss in peace.

The Hindus believe that spirits can reside in the most unlikely of places and it is only polite to warn them in advance.”

Talking of spitting, I found out that the ceramic tiles with all kinds of God (Christians, Hindus etc.) that adorned many walls in India are meant to prevent people from spitting and urinating there!! More efficient than a sign that even if they cared, many people would not be able to read!

Sources:

http://hubpages.com/hub/Why-Do-Guys-Spit

http://www.echarcha.com/forum/showthread.php?t=12282

http://englishmaninmumbai.blogspot.com/2007/05/toilets-an...

I often say that I find it very difficult to speak about India because whatever I can say about India is true, and the opposite as well. In other words, if I say something, anybody can also give me examples of the contrary; and we could both be right! To illustrate, here are some ‘Indian ironies’ available on the Net (I didn’t write them); I would have loved to find the same about the French but I didn’t…

• We live in a country where seeing a cop makes us nervous rather than feeling safe.
• We are obsessed with screenguards on our smartphones even though most come with scratchproof Gorilla Glass but don't bother wearing a helmet while riding our bikes.
• It is shallow to ask for dowry but prospective bridegrooms should make six or seven figured salaries and possess green card.
• We live in a world, where artificial lemon flavour is used for WELCOME DRINK and real lemon is used in FINGER BOWL.
  
  

  

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• Everyone is in a hurry, but no one reaches on time.
• Priyanka Chopra earned more money playing Mary Kom, than Mary Kom earned in her entire career.
• We'd rather spend more on our daughter's wedding than on her education.
• The shoes we wear are sold in AC showrooms. The vegetables we eat are sold on the pavement.
• Indian parents want their children to stand out in a crowd but expect them to do what the crowd is doing.
• We have to look both ways to cross a one-way road.
• India ranks 6^th in the number of billionaires per country; it is also home to 1/3^rd of the world extremely poor.
• You have to have studied till class 8^th to become a peon; you don’t need any educational qualification to run the country.
• Peeing in public is an acceptable insight; kissing in public is offensive.
• Almost every Indian has a mobile phone; 60% of the population doesn’t have access to toilets.
• Don’t talk to boys before marriage; sleep with the stranger we choose for you.
• Female deities are worshipped; a female child is killed.
• If it is branded, the price doesn’t matter; if it’s from the street, bargain to the lowest price.

Next time I will write about topic more serious than toilets, it’s promised. I could for instance speak about the upcoming war between India and Pakistan (the former bombed terrorist nests (modestly so-called “surgical strikes” and the latter denying this ever happened); or the Dassault deal to sell Rafales in India; or the fights over water of South Indian states; or the idolising fever for Jayalalitha, the Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu (an alcoholic lesbian (or so they say) who has been admitted in a hospital mid-September and disappeared ever since); or the mosquito-induced epidemic of dengue and chikungunya; or the pregnancy of Kareena Kapoor. But this will be for later!

For now, I would like to spend some time on mother-in-laws, or MILs as they call them. But not mine, I would rather avoid a family scandal! (Just joking.) Rather about two incidences I happened to witness.

The first time it was a the gynec in Gurgaon. A young woman came out of the doctor’s cabin visibly upset. Her husband followed her and took her to a more discreet corner (on which I had full view, don’t accuse me of eavesdropping!). And who follows? The mother-in-law! And the father-in-law who tries very hard to take away his wife. But no, she goes back to the couple 2-3 times before finally giving them some space. You might tell me “But who goes to the gynec with their parents??” Bah, quite a few Indians actually. A baby is definitely a (extended)-family matter and it feels like (to me) that the mother-in-law is actually the one having the baby!

The second time it was at the airport, at the departure gate. A young couple is getting separated and they are both in tears. And who is standing there, two feet away (I am not even exaggerating), looking at them? The mother-in-law! And they hug, and they cry and she stays there; it lasts for quite a while. When I comment on the scene to my husband, what do you think his answer is? “Where do you want her to go??” Well, if she absolutely has to go to the airport, she could go get some chai no? And give them some intimacy, privacy. Priva-what?? Ah np, it’s true, it is not part of the Indian vocabulary ;)

Indians seem to consider other countries of the subcontinent (Bangladesh, Pakistan, Nepal) as their poor parents. And Sri Lanka is no exception to the rule. They have almost constantly invaded this small island.

But Sri Lankans have actually nothing much to do with Indians. Women dress differently (no salwar kameez for example, but long skirts instead), they speak Sinhala which is similar to the North Indian and Indo-European languages but bifurcated some 2,500 years ago and has nothing to do with Hindi for instance. And then they are mostly Buddhist. And really more relaxed than Indians.

But far from me the idea of comparing both people. I just want to narrate a situation that made me laugh. We flew Delhi-Colombo with Air India; The plane was full of foreigners (there is for example no more direct flights from France and most have a transfer in India), Sri Lankans and pilgrims. On the way back, we flew Air Sri Lanka.

While the departure was at 13:55., they opened the doors for boarding at 13:00 – at least that’s what the screens indicated. And at 13:10 “last call!” Panicked, I made my little family rush and we were at the door at 13:15 and boarding... hadn't even started! Summoned to explain himself, the guy from the company explained that they were obliged to do that with Indians otherwise they would never leave on time! A “last call” at 13:10 while boarding started only at 13:25, respect... When Sri Lankans give lessons to their powerful neighbours...

But it did not stop there! The flight of 3,5 hours was quite turbulent and the pilot left the ‘fasten-your-seatbelt’ signal on for about an hour and a half. Typically, Indians, this signal, they don’t give a damn. Worse, they seem to get up as soon as it is turned on. Hostesses explaining to passengers that they have had bad experiences, the security stuff, nothing matters. It was not counting on the Sri Lankan hostess who was pissed and almost rude, yelling at people to sit down again. But Indians are tenacious, they still stood up. So BOOM, they locked all the toilets, I have never seen anything like this! “You want to get up eh?! Well get up but you are not gonna pee!” Frankly, I wondered if the staff was not taking some kind of little petty revenge because the turbulences were frankly not so bad. In the meantime, I had quite a laugh, my favourite Indian a little less...

The Indian Prime Minister spoke recently about a problem (apparently independent of the lack of toilets and corruption) completely taboo and not really funny: depression.

Apparently the WHO published a report on depression in Southeast Asia in 2015 (source), then India (the National Institute of Mental Health and Neuro Science) conducted a study published in 2016 (source).

If there was in the world in 2015 more than 300 million people suffering from depression (4.6% of the population*), 56 million lived in India (4.5% of the Indian population, right in the overall average!). To that we need to add all the other mental illnesses, which brings to 15 the percentage of adults who actually need help.

But the thing is that in India, mental conditions are hyper stigmatized**. You don't go to a shrink (that's for crazy people (maybe that’s why there are only 2 psychiatrists per million inhabitants which means there are less than 3 000 in total!)) (source)), you hide it, you ignore it. It doesn’t really help to get better.

In the same vein, there are a lot of suicides in India. On average 134 419 a year between 2010 and 2014, or 10.6 per 100,000 people (source). I won’t give a ranking of countries, it varies too much from one source of information to another, but this rate is also aligned with the global statistics of 10.7 per 100,000 people in 2015 (source). “Each year, almost 800,000 people die by committing suicide. Suicide is the second leading cause of mortality in the 15-29 age group.” (source)

After talking a lot about the suicides of farmers, there is now a rising consciousness about the youth (with a suicide rate among the highest in the world according to the Lancet 2012), with nearly 9,000 students who killed themselves in 2015. The reasons stated are the pressure for academic and professional success, fear of failing and to be not good enough, as well as the difficulties to communicate with parents (source). In a society that is changing so fast, parents who sweat blood to work themselves out of poverty and expect the same of their children, joint families where communication on sensitive issues can be often silenced, a generational gap becoming abysmal between parents and children, and the social stigma, it's not easy for a lot of young people out here!

* In France, 2 to 3 million people suffer from depression, i.e. 5 to 8% (source), which puts us in the global standard with 4.5% of the population.

** “From a cultural perspective, mental disorders are associated with a considerable amount of stigma in Indian society, leading to neglect and marginalisation.Such individuals and their families face numerous challenges in daily life, both for managing the condition as well as for making them productive due to prevailing attitudes, media portrayals, societal discrimination and deprived opportunities.” (source)

At 6 o'clock we set foot (and wheelchair) for the delivery room to attend the filling of the pool – apparently the sound of running water itself encourages the cervix to open up. And all of a sudden I was very far from the idea I had of water birth. Yes, curiously, despite the awful video, I still had romantic images of the thing.

First the image of a naiad frolicking in a hot water spring, her long hair covering her bare breast (reserved, the naiad), birds joyfully chirping in the surrounding trees. And splash, a small cry, and her baby is there, swimming around her. A natural childbirth, I thought, going back to the (hot) source. Looking back, I had overlooked that most births happen night – the outing in the jungle is immediately less romantic – and that I should probably go back to prehistory to find an ancestor who had tried this method, so maybe not so ‘natural’ after all.

Another image I had, more 'modern', was of a five star bathtub, with bubbles, bath salts, scented candles, music and a glass of white wine. This vision almost made me eager to give birth!

But there, as everyone was busy setting up the whole thing and the horror of the situation was striking me in the face – I was going to have to go into this inflatable pool and suffer – I didn’t dare shout out to misunderstanding ("STOOOOP! Stop everything! I don’t want this! I and to go and lay on the table, I want the epidural!”). No, instead, I took off the horrible hospital gown and stepped into the pool. This is when the midwife offered to go pick up my sport bra. I was already in so much pain that I didn't care being in the pool with only my bra, nevermind, it was too much effort to change. She also offered to plug my MP3 but suddenly the slightest sound was painful to hear (so much for all the relaxation tracks I had downloaded!).

Once in the water, the Gynec asked me if I the pain had reduced. Apparently she was expecting a positive answer and eager to please her, I nodded. “Yes it’s always the same!”, she was happy. In fact I was in so much pain that I could only sit in a corner, immobile, hoping that it would go away if I didn’t move a muscle. After an hour, to please the midwife, I tried another position. And spent the next hour immobile in another corner, but squatting.

I must have stayed 3 hours in the water. Small breaks I was taken out to pee in a portable toilet (despite the encouragement of the medical team, I could not bring myself to piss in the pool), and other fun stuff. Finally my Gynec surrendered: there was nothing to do, my cervix refused to go faster than the music and hot water was not accelerating its opening.

(To be continued...)

When Indians ask for a leave, they always give you an explanation; this is pretty funny... They have to attend the naming ceremony of a newborn, take their wife to get an MRI of her arm etc. That’s how, one fine day (it was a Wednesday I remember), one of my direct reports asked me if he could take a day off to... go see turtles hatching! Turtles!! Not only did I give him a day off and my blessings, I also tagged along!

We left Mumbai early (very early), towards the village of Velas on the Konkan coast of Maharashtra. Very quickly a foul odor – which had already disturbed us a few weeks earlier – spread in the car. Incredibly brave, my favorite Indian opened the bonnet and discovered the corpse of a cat. As it was early (very early), he took the bull by the horns (or rather the cat by the legs) and removed it himself – ignoring my advice of delegating the task to any guy against twenty rupees...

Later on we found a place to clean the car but the pressure washer hardly helped, death smell is tenacious. So I spent a good amount of the journey playing with incense stick, to the tune of One Republic:

Seven hours later, we arrived in Velas, a village blessed with no network coverage (in brief, a village like I like them!). Our local guide had set sail for Mumbai without informing anyone and our small group found refuge in a random house, where we tried to call him (with a landline). An hour later we finally touched base with our host cum lunch provider.

After a micro-siesta we were off to the beach to meet the turtles!

A beautiful beach, without a human soul nor a... turtle! We learned then that the turtles come to lay their eggs at night only and the NGO involved in their preservation doesn’t let people walk on the beach at night to avoid disturbing them – annoying but fair... Anyway, we were also told that the previous night, only one turtle (according to fin prints) had visited the premises. Plus at night it was so pitch dark that the chances to spot that brave turtle were close to nothing! Still we woke up at 5 AM the next morning to go track down turtle prints – who knows?? Well we do now… Luck was not with us!!

As for eggs hatching, well, let’s say it wasn’t the right period...

Nevertheless, we saw a turtle! A river turtle (or tortoise) caught by a fisherman...

But we didn’t come home empty-handed since we got the information that it is on the beaches of Orissa (on the other side of the country) that turtles come by the thousands to nest...

And we could witness the work that an NGO can make  by empowering local communities in the preservation of endangered species: stop hunting turtles, protect the eggs from predators, and take on the path of turtle tourism, becoming a "turtle village" with a "turtle festival" (website). Quite smart! There is just a bit of work so that tourists can actually see turtles. Or so that white-bellied Eagles spend a little more time in their nest and tourists can see them also! 

Anyway, we spent a great weekend in the countryside! In a very quiet village with old-style houses, their floors covered with cow dung to prevent vermin, with cats in every house (which is pretty rare in India) to give warning of ophidian intrusions, with skinny chickens everywhere. We slept at a home-stay: very simple (very thin mattresses on the floor, Indian toilet in the garden (or more exactly in the palm grove behind the house) but clean!

The road from Mumbai is beautiful, especially when you leave the highway (well, the highway... the word is big) and the road gets empty...

And then we managed to defeat the dead cat smell by taking in a hitchhiking India: he was a Pandit (priest) who had come to perform a puja for a baby whose stars were not a birth (especially Venus) and who smelled of wood fire!

Velas, Maharashtra - Feb 2014

Special dedication to my best friend who had shocked my Indian girl friends in Delhi by commenting appreciatingly the buttocks of the rickshaw cyclist and the figure of the plumber! In India, it is like there was a mass of invisible (but very useful) people who stick to their jobs  and with whom you exchange a minimum of words because anyway (very realistically though also a bit sad and hard to admit for a French) you have nothing in common...

I met Pedro not long after moving in in my new flat in Mumbai...            
Because it didn't take long for my water-heater to blow up... Obviously.
Now that I'm experienced in this type of house catastrophes (this one can easily be put into perspective in a city where the average temperature is 30 degrees all through the year), I didn't panic one bit and simply went down to the first hardware shop to ask for a plumber.               

And here came Pedro. Tall, nice pecs, dark eyes (stressed by the khol underlining), the bad boy (Indian style).

And Pedro was taking all kind of poses, perched on my toilet to reach the heater and I couldn't help thinking of the gardener in Desperate Housewives!!       

When he left, my new plumber recommended I call him for anything else I may need. Anything?? I see you coming... No no I was just wondering what else I could need him for except for heaters bursting or pipe blockage (water pipe that is)... I must have looked puzzled because he then suggested "carpenter, fixing painting, electricity, anything". The magic plumber! 

And this proved very useful as he did drill the wall to put up shelves and frames. He also found the carpenter to fix my cupboard (a smart plumber that one isn't he? He knows his limits!). He fixed a curtain rod and did other things that you are not allowed to do yourself here. Because it is cheaper to get someone to do it than buying a drilling machine or any other tool. Also because it is better and faster done. And it provides money to someone who needs it! So why take the pain to do it yourself I ask??     

Pedro comes running whenever I call and I like this because I have zero patience when it comes to putting up a shelf. Once I realise I need the shelf up, I need it immediately. And he also gets others (real carpenters or electricians) to come immediately! And since he wants to show off his English he even tells them on the phone the job is for a "foreigner" - to translate as "hurry up, there are easy bucks to make here"... And I don't even mind!!
Take the other day for instance. Pedro overcharged me (I estimate at triple the normal price) and I was too tired (and relieved the job was done) to discuss so I hand over the notes with a face saying clearly "I know you are fucking me man!". And guess what, he gave me a hundred back!! Sometime I feel I could find faith in humanity again...

And now meet Pedro!

     I wanted to take a picture when he was posing drilling the wall - the noise would have covered the click - but I didn't dare so I stole his whatsap picture. You wish you had a Pedro don't you??!!         

By the way his real name is Sameer... He got that nickname from my bro. Pedro/John Rowland, Plumber/Gardener, India/USA Same same but different!       
 

I take off from Mumbai on December 19^th and land in Paris just on time (8h10) after a good night sleep… It’s snowing…Yeeeeeeees !!

But… 4 hours later… We are still here: 

8h20: Pilot announcement: « An aircraft is stationed in our parking lot. We have to wait for it to go. »

8h45: Pilot announcement: « The aircraft is still stationed and we have no idea when it will leave. »

9h10: Pilot announcement: « The stationed aircraft is not going to leave, the parking is full, they are sending us far, very far. »

10h00: Pilot announcement: « Last turn. » (lol: we have been driving for 45 minutes like a turtle)

10h20: Pilot announcement: « Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our parking spot. We know have to wait for the staircase. »

11h00: Pilot announcement: « The staircase they sent us is too small for our aircraft. »

11h30: Pilot announcement: « The staircase is fixed. We now have to wait for the ground staff. And, good news, the buses are already waiting for us. »

12h00: Pilot announcement: « They were not our buses and we don’t know when ours will be sent... »

During this time…

The staff is scraping the ice from the stairs with meal trays… (Truly!)

And I am watching a documentary on polar bears, to stay in tune…

12h30: Pilot announcement: « We are inviting passengers from row 1 to 7 to get down. » Good news: since at every announcement we were getting up only to sit down a few minutes later, I have gone from row 9 to row 7. And one passenger from row 8 who tries to get down gets pushed back: you don’t kid with Air France staff…

We get on a bus

12h45: Driver announcement: « Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We are in the staff bus and since the driver is not allowed to drive passengers, I am going with you till the airport. »

Then we had to walk and walk from one terminal to the other to get to the luggage place.

Following the wise advice of our captain, we went straight to the luggage service to get the bags sent home directly. At the business counter: 2 hours to wait (for only 5 people queuing!); at the economy counter: there is no more form, send us a fax!

A grandma (from the same flight), right after leaving the toilets, spots her bag on a belt. A Christmas miracle… She was the only one, with the staff, to get her bag!

Luggage delivery:

Update on the Internet website from December 19^th till date: NIL.

Important: having no luggage during Christmas is certainly the most cruel time: no warm clothes when it is minus 5 and no presents!!  

I have never gone home lighter on the train – my dad had left, he did not want to get stuck by the snow at the airport. So I had just my handbag!

December 26^th: after calling the luggage service, I am told that one out of 3 pieces of luggage has been found and sent back to India. Whaaaaaaat? And why would you do that? I filled a form asking to be called after the 23rd and my return ticket in on 2^nd!

We ask the guy whether we should go and pick up the bags ourselves and his answer : « If you come, you will understand why you don’t have your luggage. » Noted.

15 days later, they still had 15 000 bags to dispatch!

December 27^th: after calling the luggage service, I am told that 3 out of 3 pieces of luggage have been found and sent back to India. From good to better…

December 30^th: one bag is delivered in Paris in the evening.

December 31^st: a second bag is delivered in Paris in the morning, with broken gifts inside.

January 2^nd: when leaving France, the luggage service confirms that my bag is waiting for me at Mumbai airport. I arrive. Yes it is in the system that I have to pick up my bag but the such bag is nowhere to be found. I go home. Get a call the day later, at 12H30 at night. Do I want my bag immediately? Okay, the time is wrong but at least they communicate, unlike the French!

Apart from that, I had a blast in France!!

My job change, effective on March 1^st, led to further upheavals. Like moving to… Gurgaon! And this is not nothing... To tell you, I even almost did not go to the interview when I saw that the job was there. Gurgaon.
Gurgaon is on the outskirts of Delhi. Already living in Delhi is not easy when you come from Mumbai: the freezing cold winter, sweltering summer, power cuts, lack of neighborhood life – others would add pollution and insecurity but I have not experienced any of them personally during my year there.
But the suburbs... Especially for a girl born and brought up in Paris... It’s a bit of a stretch...

But hey, you have to put a little water in your wine. And as my husband was game, we packed our suitcases! A few weeks before the big day, we went on a small expedition looking for a place. During which I discovered that Gurgaon was not a suburb as a Parisian would understand it. It is a city by itself.
It’s a new and ‘young’ town that came out of the ground ten years ago. It has managed to attract multinational corporations, malls and bars that brew their own beer (there are dozens of them).
But hey, it's still paradise either. First of all, there are these towers of flats which are really upscale with their swimming pools, sport grounds etc., but remind me of hives. Also you have to take your car to run any errand. And especially this mushroom sprung in the desert so cuts (water and electricity) are common.

That said, Gurgaon offers friendly enough housing options, for instance villas with private pool in a complex, which ensures safety and continuity of water and electricity supply and offers play areas for children and sport grounds. We have seen worse! Gurgaon thus became much sexier after visiting one of these villas!

A few weeks later we moved in...
And we immediately got into the difficulties of managing house staff. Especially in a society where watchmen-cleaning ladies-cooks-drivers-etc. are organized into a mafia and take advantage of the “isolation” to impose their will.
We are far from Mumbai! First maids. Here one cleans the floor, another one comes to dust, another one to cook. Beyond the cost, it becomes a lot to manage... Especially when you always have had one person to do everything! Fortunately, when you want you can, and we found a way. Beside this whole cleaning lady thing, there was the nanny thing. Being a little prejudiced, I brought my nanny Mumbai! I had tried to find a local one before moving, but whoever I asked only warned me, against nanny agencies, against leaving a baby alone with a nanny. I didn’t hesitate long… (in Mumbai there are a lot of Christian (hence English speaking) ladies who do a great job but this ‘species’ does not exist in Delhi and the best option seems to hire a Nepali girl).
Then the driver. When you ask for a contact, you are again warned: “first, before hiring him, you need to check his police record and register him with the police”, “it’s hard to find someone you trust”. Moreover, as recently as last week a driver burgled the house of his mega-millionaires employers. So, I saved myself the headache for later and I’m driving. And you should know that in Gurgaon, people drive like PIGS. If you think that Indians in general have an archaic driving behaviour, you have not seen anything until you’ve come to Gurgaon. Pigs I tell you.

Then there are all these little joys of moving in: running after the carpenter to barricade the pool, after the air conditioning guy, the plumber to fix the leaking toilets or insulate a wall. Even if you don’t pay them until the job is finished, they just take weeks before coming back to finish the job and get their money! This is madness…