I’ve begun to read Siddhartha – the epic journey of a man’s attempt to find tranquility (nirvana) in his life. What he discovers in his journeying is that it is not the teachings of the holy men, nor the teaching of Buddha – the being who has transcended this life and founded ultimate nirvana himself – that can give him his insight into bliss. It is only through patience, and self-discovery that his insights can come; can he rid himself of suffering, of pain, of hunger, of worldly distresses.

I have just followed Siddhartha’s path through life in Herman Hesses’ novels. Hesse, attempting to examine the spirituality of India, did so not as a fellow Hindu or Buddhist but as a Westerner raised in Christian Germany. His path is intriguing, and the focus of much of Siddhartha’s journey on requisite patience which can drive a man, especially a Western man, crazy. I find myself now trying to find inner strength enough to wait, to be patient; comfortable in not knowing precisely what I will be doing tomorrow, next week, or next month.

There are countless dualities which continue to define the nature of man. Good and bad; Evil and Holy. The Aztecs saw the duality in their Jaguar Gods of Night and Day. The Yin and Yang served the same purpose and definition in the East. In the West, Heaven and Hell, Angel and Demon, Craven and Courageous all define that same dichotomy within which all men and women are seen. Perhaps we need it to be this way, the Night and Day relationship so ingrained in our psyche that it characterizes our vision and understanding of the world.

Of great importance to me, is that diametrically opposed view that symbolizes East and West – another duality that continues to define the way we see the World. Black and White, East and West, Them and Us. These are the terms we continue to see the world, the international system built upon those dualities that transcend generations and yet remain compartmentalized by Geo-political boundary.

China and Russia are backing Iran. International economic blocs are uniting along these geo-political boundaries that have nothing to do with interest but everything to with mentality. It is again the West vs. East as it was during the Cold War. Hu Jintao and Medvedev backing Ahmadinejad. Iran + Russia + China = WIN?. If we continue to approach these same nations, these same cultures, these same leaders with the mentality of Westerner’s as did Herman Hesse approach the wanderings of an ascetic;  Can we truly be able to move beyond thinking of dualities to develop a unification? Is duality so ingrained within all people that it is impossible to overcome for peace and prosperity.

Ultimately the teachings of Gautma require patience, inevitability, and self-acceptance to move beyond pain, suffering, and condemnation. How do we become comfortable letting the “Others” develop while we wait and see? I wonder….

HGMW

Foreign aid is the act of bringing in money that may be intended to be repaid or not, but more generally is recognized as meant to stabilize or build a nation. Globally, foreign aid is used as a method similar to the treatment of a critical patient in the ICU– to stabilize the nation when it cannot stabilize itself. As it works, however, is to pay for a cycle of fund allocation within the nations

As African nations well know, often-underdeveloped nations will have very specific national industries that are highly competitive. In the form of cashew plantations, coffee plantations, timber, aluminum, or diamonds these industries are national resources. In the forms of car manufacturing, steel mills, or textiles the industries are secondary or intermediary business profiles. In either case the industries are generally the best paid, most stable, and highest in revenues for the undeveloped nations; these are seen as wise investments with the largest payouts to tax and rebuild infrastructure or maintain stable employment. These industries are also the most corrupt – run by government – nationalized – and used to market the smaller countries to the world.

Those nationalized industries become the poster child of the countries, and are protected from competition through policies that provide incentives and non-competition pacts. Expensive export tariffs are placed upon the products of these smaller nations, and the funds redistributed from those tariffs to the other programs. However, if the tariffs are so great as to make those industries uncompetitive they will falter and the entire nation falters. The delivered aid is that catalyst promoting redirection of funds; it only makes things worse.

As the international aid rolls in, the tariffs increase because the money allocations necessary for running the country are lower. The government hurts the industry of the nation, and investment does not occur – it only lining the pockets of the leaders – not reinvested into the nation as it should. The foreign aid goes into programs that are normally used to run the nation and there is no benefit; no social surplus. Most importantly however, the foreign aid is not meant to be repaid.

American Aid?

The American home is now seeing this same trend but instead of aid we receive loans – still, I argue,  that will never be repaid. As the industries began to fail, the US government nationalized them – much like we see in underdeveloped nations. The financial industry failed through poor government policy – two of the largest lenders were nationalized. The auto-industry failed and yet was bailed out by the government – those that failed are now owned and operated by the national government. The money that is being used to bail out those industries is paid for, not by taxpayers, but by China. We cannot pay for them, the US budget is in a multi-trillion dollar deficit. What we see are the same phenomenon that appear in those African nations – foreign aid comes in, industries used to employ and sustain the nation are nationalized as they begin to fail because they are not internationally competitive, and the aid can’t be repaid – as no social surplus is increased, inefficiencies largely remain, and the industry is left in the red. The nation suffers.

Dilemma

So, what do we do with our debt to China – our outstanding bonds especially? Well, we don’t repay it. We can’t repay it. This is the danger. What happens when the Chinese finally understand that we cannot repay our debt to them? Will loans dry up when our bonds are forfeited on or we will just print more money? Will there be war? I’m not so sure… all I can say is that the United States is taking aid from an aggressive and antagonistic country that is beginning to look more like a knee-cap breaking Mafioso than a neutral nation nurturing our nepitism; currently the policies are the same – in the future our debt becomes our failures. Don’t believe me? Well look at the rhetoric coming from the People’s Army in China in response to our sale of military technology to Taiwan: They want to SELL our debt! Economic warfare at its finest everyone. The Chinese leaders are now threatening to sell our bonds back in order to help “increase defense spending.” Our dollars, loaned from their Yuan, will pay for those new age fighters the US can’t pay for in order to threaten our antiquated air force in Taiwan – Oh how the tables are turning. Oh, and with what money do we repay that debt? With the dollars that don’t even need to be printed – the dollars that can simply be digitally created with those beautiful 1s and 0s.

A Voice of Reason

Now, I’ve been listening to Peter Schiff for a little while thanks to my roommate’s suggestion, and I must encourage any and all people to check him out. From either sides of the aisle, this guy makes sense. He draws attention to the fiscal policies of the US and the ramifications for the future. Schiff identified the coming housing-bubble, identified correctly the massive currency crisis we now face, and has some insights for the future that may shed insight to America’s long-term situation. His speeches at the Mises Institute are fascinating, funny, and expansive.

I encourage everyone to follow the link provided. Please, if you disagree with my statements above reply, and let’s discuss!

HGMW

A lot is happening in good old California. The Dodgers are in the National League Championship Series, Tech stocks are beginning to recover, and the returning champion Lakers are starting their new season – hell even the Niners aren’t looking too bad! With the economy recovering, and the sun shining after an early Fall rain – could we be seeing the revitalization of California; a return to the days of Golden State pride, and an entrepreneurial spirit?

Well, no. Even with the upturn in national indexes and the continued feeling of Hope that our boy Obama rode into the White house, we simply can’t believe that this economic disaster we call 2008 is behind us. Sure, we’re above 10,000 and housing prices have stopped that free fall into poverty that put so many Americans upside down. Sure, sports revenues are up, commodity prices are lowering, and the world hasn’t ceased to exist by simultaneous nuclear devastation at the whims of one Middle Eastern Mad Man or that short Asian dude in one of the Koreas. We’re not through it yet – maybe for the better.

The question each American should ask our self – are we living any differently than before? Purchasing trends haven’t changed, % of income used for non-essentials has not shown signs of dropping, and the over leveraging of our livelihoods hasn’t changed. The spirit of America – work hard, work for yourself and family, support yourself and your community – isn’t showing signs of returning. People aren’t changing, the economy won’t either. What we are seeing instead of the “self-made man” is the “government run Robin Hood.”

The Obama Education

While I am the first to admit that I don’t believe interventionism is the key to successful management of the economic structures that characterize a free and efficient democratic market; I will also be the first to say that Obama’s address to schools was not out-of-place, and the more I think about it, is exactly what our society needs. On the face, without knowledge of what he said, Obama seems to be invading the sanctity of American education – the government’s ability to indoctrinate the populace if it address the younger generations is simply not to be trusted. The President’s address to children, was, however, far  from the indoctrination that most pundits demonized it as. The President, in what I consider his best moment yet (and perhaps only), gave the kids exactly what our culture of consumerism and celebrities denies – a valuation of hard work, a reminder that one does not get ahead without demanding more from yourself before you demand more from others. Obama gave so many kids what their parents have failed to offer. This is the scariest part. He delivered a necessary comment, devoid of politics, to a generation that has been forgotten by their community that no longer exists.

If those spending trends and over leveraging haven’t changed even through economic encouragement that occurs once in a generation, perhaps it’s the wrong generation. Perhaps the kids of television became the adults of overspending, maybe the Denizens of Disney became the Debutantes of Decadence. Perhaps, our generation is too far gone; this is the assumption that drove the President to talk with the children; an uncorrupted youth being dangled the dreams of Reality television and after-school programs without parental interaction or a friendly neighborhood with which to rely.

I offer what scares myself and the majority of our intelligentsia in America.

When someone takes a role in a community, the human response is to rely on that person for whatever it is they provide. Quickly, that person is looked too for whatever it is they provide – it becomes not an addiction, but an acquiescence of responsibility. We know that person will be there; that need will be taken care of – the community forgets how to provide on their own. This situation is fine in small communities where accountability and punishment ensured that particular need was attained. What happens when the person or entity providing that necessity is far away?  A dissociation occurs; the need is taken care of, no need to worry – no need to even think about it.

Here is the main political dilemma that has been debated for centuries, and its incarnation exists today in all realms of our lives. It is too bad that finally, and subtly, the situation has devolved into a foreseen need for our President to guide the children – it is through necessity, not partisanship, that we arrived here.

How it Happened

We relied on Disney movies, TGIF, Urkle, Full House, and more to deliver the principles of life – but that was okay as long as the principles were fine, morality upheld – grounded in lessons of hard work, love, and communal living. The slippery slope has now led to the Reality television, worthless celebrity with no skills able to get rich quick on game shows, celebrity living, and “The Real World.” The social structure – the definition of principles that hold our people together – no longer values community, no longer demands hard work, no longer offers solace in the knowledge that devotion and commitment are valuable. We have become a global  community idolizing talentless Gods, devoid of talent, and utterly worthless in their narcissism. Our life is a narcissistic experiment. We have become a society that NEEDS OUR GOVERNMENT TO INTERVENE, AND EDUCATE OUR CHILDREN! It shouldn’t demonize our President, it should demand more from ourselves.

The Golden State

California cannot become the State of Dreams and Opportunity without understanding what we need; not what we want. The economic crises was a clue that hasn’t finished in its ultimate price of overspending, over-leveraging, interventionism, and reliance on government management. We are yet to see the impact of our de-evolution.

Stay tuned folks, maybe we’ll find out together.

My friends came to visit me all the way from Malibu!!!!

sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes you throw that hand up only to have it slapped on the wrist like a gangly kid on Space Mountain. Yah, that’s right; adventures can be amazingly bad or amazingly grand; as long they are amazing you’re doing alright.

I’m covering two stories today in the span of one blog. They aren’t the same scouting or seeking, realizations or renegade antics. These aren’t on the caliber of riding the train in a lightning storm while the guards call from behind. These adventurous are the kind that sneak up on you; when you can  reason or rationalize – shut it or stumble forward. These are the adventures that are very hard to enjoy, hard to find as you can easily talk yourself out of it. These are often the most fun, the most rewarding, the most enjoyable – and usually less dangerous than the rest. Usually…

The Americans

I meandered with the goal of finding some delicious food at the top of my hotel; Morimoto’s Wasabi beckons every night with the promise of Eel Rolls and Salmon Toro calling like the siren to a sailor; with the same salty taste of a briny deep. The waves but an elevator, the churning depths simply the over indulgence in the sweetest Green Tea Ice Cream imaginable. My biggest question that night was what time to head on up. India eats at around 9:00pm.

Best... Ice Cream... Ever

America eats whenever it darn well pleases, hoorah! – usually between 6:00 and 8:00pm. I decided, this time, to head up as the Indians do – the first decision which would lead me to one of the best nights of my life.

Sitting at the sushi bar, surrounded by suits and sawed fish, I was suddenly surrounded by Bostonians from JP Morgan. This fellowship of financials spoke English with the rapidity that defines the Eastern Sea Board and offered to me new friends and a new opportunity. I struck up a conversation and by the end of the night we were yelling across the sushi as only those who have found friendship abroad can. The new found friends that we were, I opted to invite myself along with them on their night out. After some cajoling and my “new friend sales pitch,” we left with their drivers for North Mumbai; little did I know it was an hour and a half to our destination. Don’t forget we were leaving my hotel around 10:00pm. I had time to think it over…

The traffic stopped us dead numerous times and by the time we made it to the swank Bombay nightclub the clock hit Cinderella’s bedtime; usually mine too. “C’est le vie” I said as we ran downstairs to met up with New Zealanders and

The Grand Hyatt - Raining

Hindi stars; the rich and the regal. While we saw no Bollywood starlets this night, we would next time we visited.

Later this night, I left the Grand Hyatt and jumped in cab. “Back to the Taj” I said. “Tikka, tikka, Acha” He replied and sped forward. Now, I must say, 3:00am is an odd time to see India, especially from and a cab, and most specifically aboard the star lit new bridge. The new bridge, barely finished still with support construction struts,  is exactly where I would sit, above the river for a good hour – with great trepidation and a bit scared for my wellbeing. It was ok, I made it back to write this blog didn’t I?

The short story, that I want to tell, is that the cab driver pulled over on the newest bridge in India. We pulled over to help a woman and her driver fix a flat after being waved down. I didn’t really have a choice – it was the kind of

The bridge on the way to the North Mumbai

adventure that just happens. An hour later, we pulled into the Taj, 4:00am and feeling pretty good about ourselves. The cab driver, waving goodbye, drove off. We both knew we had shared a moment in Mumbai. I won’t ever forget it. Find me in person to hear more about this one – there are many details I’d like to add but my hand cramps so easily these days…

The “Businessman”

As you know I’ve been reading Shantaram – the book that details the lives, love, and losses of “Lin” in Bombay. It is set mostly in the streets surrounding my hotel and it is constantly in my mind. The smoking, the sounds, the stories, and the smiles swirl through my vision all day, every day. I think that’s why this particular sequence happened at all.

The life of this book is in the smiles. The author constantly acknowledges the types of smiles people have, and how they affect him. I became that way on this trip. I can pick out a man who I will or won’t talk to by his smile, his swagger.  One man I picked out because he gave me, and everyone he met, the innocent smile of the Buddha – making friends and making business with each handshake and greeting. I know that’s all he has in this world are his few dirty shirts, his cross-eyed wife, and his childlike grin. Whenever I go out now, I find him to help me. His presence is never missing from the street outside the Taj.

He has helped me buy a suit, cufflinks, souvenirs, and more. He gets a little cash for bringing in business, and I get the privilege of knowing I have helped him out a bit. This man is a good man; you can tell in the smile. I don’t know his name.

My Good Friend

Today, though, I met a man who took advantage; at least I think. It was so recent that I can’t quite make up my mind. My lunch hour struck and I sprang from my desk. I was heading to McDonalds – I know, I know, but let me say I have not tried it and I think I should before leaving: a culinary adventure if you will.

On the way to lunch I was waylaid by an Indian businessman. “Aaron, Aaron. How are you? Let’s go have lunch!” He said excitedly, offering his hand and smiling with a mischievous grin. “Huh..” I was stunned, almost mumbling by his friendly assault, “ I’m not Aaron.. I’m Harrison.” Darn I thought, already used my real name, and I don’t know him – travel mistake numero uno. His clothes disarmed my usual traveling senses. “Ok, Richard. Well I met some nice British men yesterday and they look like you. Where are you headed?” “I am headed to lunch, McDonalds.” I replied

“Oh no, we will go to Barrista it is much better.” He started walking me off. I don’t know what it was but I went; with alarm bells going off all over. Our conversation centered on me – . Every time I asked him a question of himself, his business, he replied in vagaries and subject changes – ok I get the picture. After he had finished

The Poolside Courtyard - My Thinking Spot

bragging about knowing the CEOs of my company, he let me know he would  put in a good word with Mr. Tata. “Right” I thought, “thanks.” When the bill came, I paid. He made a show of offering to treat “next time,”  to which I thanked him and offered the casual “Namaste.” We parted ways and I came away with a terrible feeling – he had my Indian cell phone number and I had just awoken from the hypnosis of the man’s disarming smile. Had I been swindled into giving up my cell number, my name, and a cup of coffee to be put in a worse spot later or was it just a friendly chat with a new friend in a coffee shop? 3 days left, I guess we’ll find out later.

Fin

So they may not seem “crazy” or “amazing” too you, but these instances are both examples of what can come from simply going with flow, jumping at new opportunities, and getting out of that comfort zone. This summer was one that wrenched me from my comfort zone and cauterized the wound. Sure, it can be hard to adjust, but with the right support structure back home and the excellent people of Taj, Pepperdine, and the best family there is; any adventure will be a good one.

My advice? Well, not to sound like a Nike ad but…. JUST DO IT! The majority of life is showing up, the rest is throwing that hand in the air, and yelling “I’ll do it, you can count on me!” Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t… but you’ll always have a good story.

I hope that's not Facebook at work... PROJECTS DONE!!!

Until next time…

The Hindu Trinity - Brahma, Vishnu, and Lakshmi

There are many journeys that man can take. He can find himself. He can find Love. He can find a reason to live. Some say he can find God. I have been traveling now for nearly 4 months – adjusting and re-adjusting to new people, new places, and new lifestyles. In Bangladesh I found the serenity that comes only when surrounded by the love and acceptance of the urban poor. Home for a month I could not help but examine the complex systems that so well contrast the freedom in poverty that is found in much of South Asia. Now, in India – a guest of Taj and and acting as a curriculum consultant – I live far away from the slums; a place hard to find that personal growth that everyone exclaims comes with a journey to India; or so I thought. Sometimes, personal growth comes at the most unexpected times and through little known people rather than the big philosophers. Today, I’ll show you how India – thus, far – has impacted my life through the writings and realizations of fictional Brahmin and an inarguably real Australian ex-con.

The River of Life? No, just the journey to Elephanta Island

I started this trip reading Siddhartha, the journey and self-realization story of a wandering Brahmin who meets the meandering Buddha. He is a man, throughout the journey, alone and yet one with his path. His personal story, one that mirrors the ancient Hindu stories of holy men, comes to focus on one very real, and ultimately satisfying notion: that no man can explain the truth, the oneness of god, and the meaning of reality; a person must discover that truth for himself. While many men, including Siddhartha’s own best friend, choose to follow the holiest of men; Siddhartha realizes that his journey through the river of life must not be of following, but of being taken. He must surrender himself unto God before he can come to that ultimate realization. While this literary piece was informative, and quite stimulating, another book really has captured my mind and guided my place in India. This is the story of Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts.

Act 1: The Lost and Peaceful Mind

Shantaram follows the true story, written three times from the cells of prisons, of Gregory David Roberts – an escaped convict from Australia’s dirtiest and most corrupted prison. His escape drives him to India, fleeing the Western world and finding a home in the darkness and mystery that pervades the day and night of Bombay. He is not taken in so much as he survives on the streets of India following one guiding principle:That in India it is far better to be led by the heart than the mind.

The street where I work. Also where Leopold's is, and the sight of frequent black market dealings (not at my work).

The writing is superb, but the heart that is found in this epic journey is what makes the adventure incredible. The love and growth in the underbelly of the darkest city can’t help but fascinate the reader; it has greatly affected me in many ways.

The reason I write this blog – focusing on the literary journey – is because I want someone else to read it. It would be selfish of me not to try and pass on this book too as many people as I can. If I ever become a philosophy professor, able to design my own curriculum, this will be required reading. The following are a few of my favorite quotations. I hope they entice you to read, and to grow, as much as I have from this man’s journey – a journey that starts in Australia, drives into the slums of Bombay, wanders to the Afghani battle grounds with the, and is captured once more in the mafia of Mumbai.

Act 2: Reckoning

“The only force more ruthless and cynical than the business of big politics is the politics of big business.”

“Well, “ he puffed, “a man has to draw the line somewhere. Civilization, after all, is defined by what we forbid, more than what we permit.”

“…I couldn’t respond. My culture has taught me all the wrong things well. So I lay completely still, and gave no reaction at all. But the soul has no culture. The soul has no nations. The soul has no colour or accent or way of life. The soul is forever. The soul is one. And when the heart has its moment of truth and sorrow, the soul can’t be stilled.”

“Dider once told me, in a rambling, midnight dissertation, that a dream is the place where a wish and a fear meet. When the wish and the fear are exactly the same, he said, we call the dream a nightmare.”

“In this way is justice done… because justice is a judgment that is both fair and forgiving. Justice is not done until everyone is satisfied, even those who offend us and must be punished by us. You can see, by what we have done with these two boys, that justice is not only the way we punish those who do wrong. It is also the way we try to save them.”

“It’s such a huge arrogance, to love someone, and there’s too much of it around. There’s too much love in the world. Sometimes I think that’s what heaven is – a place where everybody is happy because nobody loves anybody else, ever.”

Act 3: The Climax

Mumbai Never Looked so Calm - Returning from Elephants Island

“All the loneliness and all the love I knew collected and combined in me, until my heart was as swollen with love for her as the clouds above were swollen with their mass of rain…”

“Prisons are the temples where devils learn to prey. Every time we turn the key we twist the knife of fate, because every time we cage a man we close him in with hate.”

“Anarchists… No political philosophy I ever heard of loves the human race much as anarchism. Every other way of looking at the world says that people have to be controlled, and ordered around, and governed. Only the anarchists trust human beings enough to let them work it out for themselves. And I used to be that optimistic once…”

Prologue

So far I am on page 509 of 900 and something. The journey is not nearly over. I hope at least one person reads this blog and picks up this novel.

Leopold's - Just missed the picture of Roberts.

Before I leave you, I want to tell you that only yesterday the author pulled up to Leopold’s – the café frequented often in this novel, and the first site of the Mumbai November attacks of 2008. He rode up on his Harley, got off, and went to the many Colaba Causeway gift sellers found lining the streets; he is one of them, he greets them not as a foreigner but as a friend – just as he does in the book. This is the tale of a man lost to the world; finding himself in the slums and darkness of humanity’s most loving city.

Lastly, Here is a LINK to the Amazon.com for sale page for those convinced to enjoy this journey on your own.

Until next time,

Thanks for reading.

Bombay is a city of history. Originally a Portuguese base – well ok, digression; I say “originally” in the sense of European influence area. The Portuguese who had taken trading posts along the Southern Coast of India took the chain of islands by force in 1534 – naming the grouping of Islands “Bom Baia;” or Good Island.

7 Disjointed Islands - Lucky Number 7!

The islands would be developed, planting Roman Catholic churches – which I have visited updates of – throughout the area. In 1662 the islands were endowed to Prince Charles the II in a marriage between he and Princess Catherine of Braganza. In 1668, only 6 years after England took possession, the East India Trading Company acquired the lease for 10 Pounds per year, and began trading operations immediately. Promptly, the name was changed to Bombay, a corruption of the Portuguese name; this is name is still the most commonly used, though Mumbai is the official name – once again named for Mumbadevi, one of the many Hindu gods honored in temples throughout Mumbai. The city has changed hands – and cultures – many times. The name has changed often. The sense of spirituality and moving forward to continues.

So life goes on here in Mumbai. The city, renamed to the original Indian name for the port city, is actually a conglomerate of about 5 islands linked together by overpasses, trains, and ferries – there used be 7, but through reclamation 5 are now visible. The islands are Colaba, Mazagaon, Old Woman’s Island, Wadala, Mahim, Parel, and Matunga-Sion.  Each region has a different name – usually for some British landmark, though there are Indian named areas as well. I live in Colaba – an island. I am walking distance from Fort Area, Church Hill, the Apollo Pier, and Oxford Street. I live in Maharashtra – the smaller city area. It is not at all confusing after a few days.

To say that each time the land has changed possession or name it starts a new would be… off base. Just as 1066 saw the creation of a multilayered England, so have multiple layers of religion, language, and lifestyles been left behind. When the Zoroastrian priests and people fled from the Islamic oligarchies taking over Iran 900 years ago, they came to India.

Parsi Tower of Silence

They brought wealth, a new – ancient – spirituality that has become as welcome as any Hindu. These are the Parsi people of India.

The cultures of centuries are never replaced here. The same buildings have existed for centuries, amid new structures and traffic. New cultures arrive, while ancient peoples move forward. The temples remain, the religions remain, and the layers of life build as in nothing I have ever seen in America. Sometimes I wonder if this is the only place in the World that has not been repeatedly destroyed – leaving history as simply dust. The Portuguese came and left. The British came and left. The Muslims came and left. Many have come and gone; the spirit of India moves forward changed and yet unchanged – reminiscent of Siddhartha’s “River of life.”

The Language of a People

I was educated today; I was not expecting it. A colleague of mine with Taj started asking about my adventures around town – quickly asking what languages I spoke. A bit embarrassed, and typifying the general American, I replied that I spoke English well; only a tiny bit of French – perhaps some Bangla and Spanish. My colleague laughed a bit, but explained that because he does business in Bombay, it is inevitable that he speaks upwards of five languages. He speaks English “of course,” Hindi the Indian National language, Marathi the official language of Bombay, and Gujarati the language of commerce.

One of the oldest buildings in Mumbai

He also speaks the mother tongue of his small home village – which currently I forget the name of. He went on to explain that anyone who does not speak Gujarati will inevitably be charged higher prices, will find it harder to acquire services and products in high demand, or will simply be ignored in many business environments in Bombay. Further, there are certain parts of the city that will only speak Marathi – or will at least treat you differently for not speaking it. I guess that gives a new meaning to “speaking the language” of business, huh?

A Word on Terrorism

I do not want to dwell on terrorism, and while I might bring it up a few times before the end of the month, it will not be my focus. I do want to take a moment and talk about the Taj, Tata, and overcoming the most evil of acts. The Taj Mahal Palace Hotel was attacked on November 26^th, 2009. 173 people were killed; the hotel damaged in many areas. What these people did was kill innocent men and women, and attempt to destroy the shining light that the hotel has been for over a century. The oldest licensed bar – owning a license marked with a “1” – was destroyed; royalty, rubes, and rock stars memories’ wiped away. They destroyed the finest Japanese food restaurant in India; top 40 in Asia named Wasabi.

Wasabi before the attack

Those wings of the hotel are still unopened; repair is going on away from guests’ sights.

What these terrorists were not able to do was destroy the spirit of the Taj, nor extinguish the light that it represents. The restaurants are being rebuilt, and the bar will open once again with that famous license. The waiters and workers of the Taj are excited, even anxious for it to open so they can once again work in the positions they have worked for some now 25 years. Lancy, the bartender who has 27 years under his belt, looks forward to finally stepping behind the mahogany and leather where he has stood for over two decades. Mashir looks forward to serving in the Chinese food place that was taken from the Taj in the blasts. Mashir helped guests escape on that night, as they ran from the restaurant and out the backdoor – an unnamed hero among the chaos.

I have talked to many, but not with my prompting. The urge to talk about the horrible acts, and the faith they have in Taj is inspiring. Just as courageous is Tata’s rebuilding of the Taj so quickly – declaring that the restaurants will open all at once, on the same day, one-year from the day the attacks occurred.

The Majesty of the Taj

Each employee who has offered sinsight has concluded by adding the faith and admiration they have for Taj in rebuilding, and reopening in a signal of strength, unity, and determination.

I did not see the lives lost. I did not witness the heat, and explosions. I do see the new regulations in front of the Gateway to India, preventing people from going inside; where men and women have stood for over a century. I do see the increased police presence, and the bullet holes in the Leopold Café – the café where the attacks started. I can walk the perimeter of the hotel and see the numerous crews of workers moving in with the morning, out in the night like the ebb of a sullen tide.

My Projects

My projects continue; remaining challenging and time consuming throughout the day. I am using more of my capacity in this position than in any other – matching the analytical requirements of a McAllister paper with the hand strength of a Kaufman. The topics are interesting and relevant as business continues to require brand differentiation in the eyes of consumers, and good karma for the spirit of the planet. Without the work Tata and Taj are doing for consumer social responsibility, many would go without work, and the private hospitality industry would see a shortfall in required skilled labor. These Private-Public Partnerships are a unique, and complex answer to the very old question: What is the government’s role in industry skills education, and how can private industry best be involved.

Until next time… Thanks for reading.

In Honor of Raksha Bandhan - Brother/Sister Festival - Here are Pictures of my Sibilings and I

An internship should probably include work. Lounging by the pool, stewing in the steam room, and enjoying world-class food spitting distance from a wonder of the modern world while sitting in a quite literal palace just doesn’t fulfill the internship requirements of Pepperdine University. So, with a heavy heart and a full stomach I made myself available to the Taj Hotel and Palaces corporate offices. Before I begin, some background on South Asian work structures might be helpful.

Large companies operating in heavily populated places, where a caste system is heavily entrenched in millennia of history, don’t see the world in the same way that Westerners do. During the very first discussion with the Director of Corporate Sustainability – my boss, a warm and inspiring leader Vassant Ayyappan – I learned of the dissimilarities between the vision one finds as you move “East from Pakistan.”

The world changes, yes he admitted, but the underpinnings, the important facts that push business, lifestyles, and society remain much the same. It is important to remember this in India where huge business towers above streets filled with starving dogs, and flea ridden people. While the markets change, the society does not – the “untouchables” exist as they did centuries ago.

Victoria Terminus

First thing in the morning is between 9:15 and 10:00 in my Mumbai corporate office, with finishing time between 18:30 and 19:30. The day is long but there are some bonuses. The rooftop, three floors up and ensconced within a green-house, is the cafeteria’s location where at lunch most employees find a free, traditional Indian delicatessen; a respite from their paperwork and phone calls.

The cubicle I share is right near the front door on the 2^nd floor and outlined in glass so that I can perfectly see anyone who comes in without being noticed; you cannot imagine how many times I look up to see a friendly face obviously wondering, “What in tar nations is that fella doing there?” or something to that sentiment.

Office Space

Any time in the day men with brown uniforms walk around waiting for eye contact to be made. The eye-contact is an order for your favorite tea, coffee, and cookies or any combination thereof. The work environment is amazing. Each manager on my floor embraces an “open door policy” for interruptions – it is a rare meeting too important for an interruption regarding work. I was told that hassling someone is not only expected, but encouraged as the mind of a manager can be flooded with projects; the work of an intern does not exactly demand the highest level of continuous thought by the Director.

That brings me to my projects.

CSR: Not Customer Service Representative

My projects are absolutely fascinating, and will give my work here meaning and challenge. The two projects I am working on are related, however each requires a great deal of personal familiarity in the form of research as well as time sensitive program development. I am working as a Corporate Social Responsibility consultant for Taj, and as such I am expected to understand the intricacies of corporate sustainability as it pertains to business growth and development.

Drafting in Public Policy can be oh so Important!

It is a good thing I majored in business management and program analysis at Cal Poly. It is perfect for me because it is hard. It is interesting. It demands creativity, problem solving, and promises to impact a very important and socially conscious company.

Nothing to do with the Blog - but I Love the Architecture Here!

Project 1: Corporate Social Responsibility Manual

Currently there is a need for a CSR manual to direct Hotel Management throughout the world. This manual will need to include how and when to incorporate CSR activities into the hotel business model, what types of CSR endeavors are appropriate, why it is important to seek out these community sustainability projects in terms of long-term business goals, and how exactly Taj Hotels and Palaces are in a unique position to help beyond donation. While TATA group, the holding company of Taj Hotels, has been a global leader in philanthropic endeavors and is actually defined by their profoundly unique 60% charitable trust system, a movement away from donation and towards active participation is requisite.

Ready for work - no friends to help with a picture

This manual does not exist; yet. I am creating the content and structure of the manual under the direction and collaboration of my director and direct manager. Within the next few months this manual for internal and external operations will be envisioned, developed, published, and hopefully implemented.

Project 2: Industrial Technique Institute Course Curriculum

The second project  I am tasked with is to develop both macro and micro course curriculum for initially one Private-Public Partnership (PPP) in India, and inevitably applied as a general curriculum replicated throughout India. The Industrial Technique Institutes (ITIs) are partnerships between the Indian government and private industry, in this case Taj Hotels, in order to create vocational training that is both inexpensive for the rural workers, and effective in teaching industry standards for different employment markets. ITIs have existed for decades, however their education has not been updated and the skills that are being taught are often decades out of date; forcing the students to require further education at great cost. The new PPP between Taj Hotels and Palaces and the Indian Government will teach hospitality industry standards within one year; culminating in government sanctioned certification of skills – leading to good work in the hospitality industry.

So, where do I come in? Well, the role of the Government is to provide the funding for the educational centers – the resources, the staff, the facilities, etc. What Taj Hotels is responsible for is providing the best curriculum possible in order to achieve a high level of proficiency in restaurant, housekeeping, and other “soft-skills” desired by the hospitality industry in India. We must take into account as well, the level of education the students might have, how to attract potential students, what saturation of information can students be expected to absorb, what will constitute a failing grade, how to divide classroom and laboratory time, and what type of practicum to have.

Further, I must decide what type of model to base the vocational training techniques on. Do I use a model based on vocational training after World War II, or current NGO models? Are there models in the US that might be helpful?

Once we design the basic model for the course curriculum, the intricacies of the curriculum must be created. How many students to have, how long with the classes last, and the length of terms are all questions we must answer. The work is quite interesting, and I am excited to be able to contribute in these ways.

Oh, and did I mention that class sessions are known as Practicals, while overarching subjects are called Modules? Well, I do Now.

Coming Up

Well, so far that is it. I have started going over the well of articles, academic journals, and business magazine excerpts describing CSR practices. I have read through and edited much of the content that has been collected over the last decade within TATA and Taj Hotels and Palaces. The next step will be to create a macro-design for the structure of the Manual.

I hope this work is as interesting to you as it is to me. If you have any questions about it, or any resources you think might be helpful feel free to comment.

As you will see, I think that Corporate Sustainability – as it unites business with the greater global community – is not merely important but also vital in directing a positive corporate life-span. This is not welfare. These are not donations. This a symbiotic relationship benefiting both private industry and public welfare – a unique vehicle in the fight against poverty and socially unacceptable caste systems. It is also the near future of successful business.

More street cricket

–> Before we start: More pictures to come <–

Comparing Bangladesh and India seemed like a great idea. I have visited both, they are in the same region for political and economic purposes, and both come from a similar British colonial background. I figured the conditions would be similar, the spirituality about the same, and the overall feeling of my experiences within the same inner-quartile range (Extra Credit for Stats lingo?). I was dead wrong.

I arrived at night; 9:30 PM onboard a Continental Flight from New Jersey. Two new places in one trip! Newark may be my next vacation destination… Who knows?

The rain poured hard upon Mumbai airport as my driver stood, waiting to pick me up among hundreds of others standing anxiously in a crowd. Immigration completed, forms checked out, and luggage attained I spied the sign held by my driver; the first person I would meet in India.

It’s raining now as I look outside; no not raining – monsooning. The Gateway to India, 100 yards outside of my hotel, is covered in tide. Four hundred-sixty seven people have died from flood within the last month.

Though the rain pours, the view intrigues. The same rooftop vantage point from this hotel offers high-rises, clean streets, palm trees, a spectrum of colors, and a plethora of dry alcoves. There are no clouds so much as puffs of white amidst a mat of textured grey – no sun, no stars at night. Unlike Bangladesh’s hammering of heat and humidity, Mumbai’s air is cool and dry during the break in the rains. No mosquitos, no roaches, no problems.

Currently I’m waiting to call the office of those who know where I will be working and when I should start. To say I am a tad nervous is an understatement on par with declaring the moon landing a small exercise in the willpower of mankind. I’ve never been asked to call a Vice-President of anything, let alone a Senior Vice-President. I mean, I knew it would happen eventually… just not in such a foreign environment.

What is mind-boggling is not calling a person with such an important position or title so much as the level of formality required. I will say right now, my internship was not one in which a long application process was required, nor really detailed ahead of time. This internship came about through the simple idea of a few at Pepperdine, the business relationships and friendships of a few people, and the generosity of many; through their time, work, or donations.

In international business – where I find myself now – the proper etiquette is paramount. When someone says “don’t mention it,” you don’t mention it; this phrase is not like that in the US where generally the person won’t mind a bit of more gracious appreciation. Determining what time to call someone is very important and can be frustrating; wondering how many times to call a person without having a call returned is also frustrating and different than in the US. These small, yet important, distinctions are what make calling management so intimidating – home or abroad. Then again, these might be the most important lessons to learn… I am a student in spades.

What still occupies my mind? Is it living up to the work standard of a professional business travel? Well, of course. Before that however, I want to know where I will be staying two nights – the question is still being posed. It is good I know that everything will work itself out. See, I’m learning from the Buddha already. Reading Siddhartha by Herman Hesse coming in handy already.

Time to Explore

I worked through the India stomach on the second day – all day. The jet lag is still with me, though I can finally stay awake beyond 18:00 PM and now plan to eat a real dinner.

I finished off my weekend  with an introductory self-guided walking/bussing tour through Mumbai. Ghandi’s house carried a thick feeling of struggle and overcoming – the Tower of Silence and the Janai Temple accepted my homage and offered a place to sit; to mingle with the spirituality of India. The slums stank of rot; the people begged.

Finishing my tour today brought me back to reality. Reality? we’ll see… I have one final anecdote to share before I leave you today.

Buffet Rock

My life seems at harmony with music. At the Taj Mahal Palace and Tower Hotel buffet – a buffet that would make the Paris Hotels’ attempts seem childish – I sat, listening to an Indian woman and husband playing guitar and singing English songs. I noticed another family, sitting next to me and enjoying an oyster shooter and champagne, watching and smiling vehemently at the ensemble. It happened that the daughter, about the age of 12, was singing with the girl in the ensemble – karaoke style. When she returned I jovially clapped and said, “Very good, you made my lunch…”

The father, with a hard British accent, invited me to join them at their table. One thing led to another and I was sharing my lunch, and eventually the Elvis Presley song “Jail House Rock,” with a vacationing British High Commision(er) to India. We finished with coffee, and talk of business and travel. His wife was very interested in colleges for their eldest daughter finishing up her secondary education in Mumbai. I had a blast, and eventually we parted ways. Of the adventures so far, this was one of the most accidental and exhilarating so far.

A lesson reinforced – Talk to people, do things. If any opportunity arises jump at it. I guess that’s kind of how I got here at all….

Let the adventures begin a new! That’s right, I’m heading out once more, gallivanting around the globe, exploring the sub-continent in the name of wandering, enlightenment, economic discovery. So, where to this time? Will it be Bangladesh again, perhaps Pakistan or Malaysia? Is Cambodia calling to my soul? Is it an urge to explore the ruins of Angkorwat or dive with the sea turtles in Thailand? No. Tomorrow I will land in Mumbai  – the birthplace of Bollywood; the center of South Asian commerce and travel destination for hundreds of thousands every year.

Well, what to expect? I have no idea. In fact, as of just yesterday and with the help of numerous people in America and India, I finalized my internship appointment. The most likely positions for this wayward wanderer projected my study and employment with the largest company in India – TATA Group – or with one of the finest hotel companies in the world – Taj Hotels, Mumbai. Both positions would be phenomenal offering differing insights into the world of economics and politics, both promising the gift of further international enlightenment and personal growth. India – the home of Siddhartha, Hinduism; the land of embraced Zoroastrian thought and culture.

It is decided. My appointment with Taj Hotel will be an exciting, visually stunning, physically demanding, and spiritually developing experience. In the midst of the hullabaloo of India, Taj Hotels stand as a tranquil while professional, relaxing while modern oasis throughout the globe. Run by Tata Group, Taj offers great insights into international economics, as well as current security and information policy. Taj offers the chance to influence public policy decisions within a multi-cultural marketplace. Yes, these hotels are part of the chain that were attacked in the infamous Mumbai attacks. Working in a setting still recovering from a heinous terrorist attack hits home; moving ahead in life, developing international relations, and standing forthright in the fight against terror is something I believe in very strongly – Taj does that everyday.

Bangladesh and India

Every so often I will refer back to Bangladesh, and the lessons I learned there.

Bangladesh offers capitalism in the shadow of neighbors. It is somewhat protected, non-threatening in geo-politics, but thrives as a successful Muslim nation thriving to grow. It is state of modern character among ancient civilizations, and India foils it well.

The Indian nation is growing at tremendous rates; paralleling China in terms of growth within the next decade. The capitalist roots and appreciation for freedom instilled in the Indian culture is evident in every discussion with Indians in the media, in policy, and in person. While the culture is ancient – the religions far older than any Western prayer – the modernization of India presses on. Every person in Bangladesh acknowledges that India is at least 30 years ahead of the Banglas. I will not be exploring the same land, culture, people, or commerce. This trip is far different; promising more adventures – a path less taken once again.

Before I submit and publish this new start, I offer a few personal goals as  I set out to explore, yet again, the land of darkness, mystique, jungle, Hinduism, Shiva, Brahma – the Oldest World.

Well, here they are:

1. … to explore the most current policy issues relating to South Asian economics – especially within the hospitality sector.

2. … to strengthen the relationship between Tata, Taj Hotels, and Pepperdine University.

3. … to explore the spirituality of India – understanding with greater clarity the cultural impact that religion can have on international relations theory – Hinduism, Islam, and the variances in capitalism that characterize both.

Thank you again for following my internship exploits.

One last thing, I would like to thank Michael Warder and Jody Brightman for their endless help dealing with confusions, logistical problems, date changes, and more.

So, until next time…

Walking the Path of Life

Well, it has been a while since my last post. The tumultuous life in Bangladesh that seems to both cramp the spirit while opening the mind, finally assaulted my stomach to such an extent that praying to the porcelain gods would be an understatement of epic proportions. What would I be praying for? Well, actually, I can’t tell you. I simply asked for the stomach cramping to end for trips and meetings that I had planned – far more important to me than the everyday policy research at Grameen Bank. Would I be granted my wish as I shook hands with those individuals that helped get me here, and help the world reach prosperity and security? Actually, I would.

The adventures to follow are a collection intended to explore both my personal endeavors and introduce you to the “movers and shakers” in Bangladesh. The life is much different than those on the streets, begging or selling; slumming and slacking. What is obvious, however, is the passion and integrity the people I have met share. Our benefactor, whom will remain nameless, is truly a man who explores the world and promotes international understanding while remaining true to his Bangladeshi roots – glowing with pride of his forefathers and the life that Bangladesh has come to be; he beams with the prospect of where the country can go. Dr. Yunus, the great founder of the Grameen Family is another impacting, highly intelligent and caring man whose love for humanity, and dedication to alleviating poverty has led to success and great help to the Globe.

Dr. Yunus and Yours Truly

Finally, the Ambassador of Bangladesh with the United States Department of State, is inspirational; willing to share his experiences with interns between day long meetings of high pressure and concern.

These individuals are just a few examples of those that shared their time with this inspired, and humbled, Pepperdine University student. Please read on so I might share a glimpse of these wonderful people.

Our Benefactor

The S.A. Enlightenment Fellowship changed my life; without funding I could never have traveled such a great distance for no pay. Without the necessity to study in a “predominantly Muslim nation,” I would not have chosen to work in

A Path I Followed Alone

Bangladesh – my life would have remained static; another DC internship would not have, neigh could not have, opened my mind as this experience has. It is difficult to explain what – precisely – I feel right now. It is not excitement to be leaving. I leave in two days. It is not disappointment; my love for America, and my life there, has not changed. No, something entirely different from normal “end of a trip” experiences exists.

While an education in micro-finance was always an important aspect of my trip – a free-market solution to political inequality is perhaps the greatest experiment of our time – I really needed to discover something completely different. Growing up in California, I really had no idea of struggle or poverty; pulling one’s self up by the bootstraps seemed applicable throughout the world. I want to be a writer to some degree; to discuss man’s conflict and harsh realities bounded in stories is something so ancient, and elementary to society that writing’s appeal is a chance to explore the mind and body of past, present, and future.

Comfort Levels In California

Without a better understanding of that struggle I felt a fraud; life in Malibu is simply not conducive to an unmediated reality. Yet, Malibu would be my gateway in the guise of a very generous and proud person; proud of his father, proud of America, and proud of Bangladesh.

To the S.A. Enlightenment Fellowship I dedicate my experiences. Without the generosity of donors, our benefactor most specifically, the growth I feel as an individual would never have occurred. I am much more aware of the blight of the poor than ever before. When I thought of poverty, it was always in the form of lack of money – even a lack of will to succeed and move upwards. I never thought

Slums - One Street Over From Dhaka's Computer City

of the disfigurements, or the cyclical and hereditary lives of beggars. I had no images of “slums,” or the smell that comes with rotting garbage being burned. Roaches were “icky” not a way of life – the least of concerns in a world filled with rot and hazard.

Beyond poverty, I can conjure images of hard work such that I had never known. The men and women pulling rickshaws, statistically dieing at younger ages than the rest of the population, work everyday 12 – 14 hours to earn enough to eat themselves – no savings; all hand to mouth. No minimum wage laws allow the employment of hundreds of thousands of individuals; their jobs to stand and be ready to do one task or call another person to do that one task – boredom is nothing when you have no other options and the pay is more than nil. I have come to understand that Americans are not blessed by being the hardest working, most dedicated people on the planet. America is blessed by generally good leadership, a stable democratic history with good traditions and moral beliefs, and the understanding that if you work hard, and you don’t hurt your neighbor, you too can prosper.

Those Crazy Canucks!

With the help of our Benefactor here in Bangladesh, Shannon and I were able to schedule a meeting with the US Ambassador to Bangladesh, James F. Moriarty. While we weren’t allowed to bring cameras into the embassy, I can assure you that yes, in fact, we did meet with him and his personal aide Jon Danilowizc. The embassy, always busy, is located roughly an hour and a half from our hotel in Gulshan 2 – an insatiable drive in the midday heat; a fitting goodbye to Bangladesh.

Dressed up to the nines, Shannon and I were very early to our appointment, and in the 35 Celsius weather – for those of you who can’t figure it out, thank the American education system; we learn abstract calculus, but not how to do Fahrenheit/Celsius translation – we desperately searched for a place to cool off. To our chagrin all we could find was the Canadian embassy. Walking around the outside of the Canadian embassy, where everyone is oh so friendly and wearing big Canadian hats, a door presented itself, staffed by two smiling, heavily armed guards wearing bright red maple leaf hats. This was the legendary Canadian Club for Canadian citizens and High Commission Officers only. After gaining access to the Canadian Club, and having a few drinks, we moved to the American embassy; passing through 4 checkpoints with guide. Immediately, the Ambassador and his aide greeted us.

The conversation with the Ambassador and Jon was fascinating, and very rewarding. They shared their experiences at home and abroad in the Foreign Service, as well as the good that Grameen Bank and Dr. Yunus are doing. We learned of the impact that micro-credit financing has had on the general population and politics through the eyes of the most expert and experienced political oriented serviceman and diplomat possible. The intricacies of Bangladeshi politics are extensive; the insight into life here extended by this final discussion. We left his office, had lunch with Jon at the embassy, and enjoyed our ride home in the hot afternoon sun.

Farewell

Shannon and Charmin

In two days I leave. I want to keep this Blog updated with stories of exploration I haven’t quite recalled, and explanations of micro-credit without offer thus far. If you have any questions about Bangladesh, traveling, adventure, or micro-finance please ask; I will answer.

Before we depart, I wanted to impart some quintessential moment of clarity and truth that might explain my adventures, wrap them into a nice little bow, and offer them to you for personal growth and experimentation; I can’t. The experiences here are so complex and subtly altering that attempting to give some sort of canned description is both inadequate and insulting. All I can is this: I am not the same person I was before, and I never will be again. I am better off for it.

The Path I Follow Now

I thank my parents and family for my past. I thank Pepperdine and the S.A. Enlightenment Fellowship for my present. I thank Bangladesh for my future (as well as these mosquito bites).

The Path We Follow Together is The Most Rewarding

Sound Check!

The night before the exciting adventure I had a personally amazing experience. If you know me, you know I love music; I am a drummer through and through embracing rhythm, tone, tenor, grace, skill, phrase, and whatever else my music theory teachers tried to tell me as I fell asleep in class – heh, Im a drummer not a percussionist (Booyah!). Any who, I had my WORLD PREMIER ON DRUM SET!!! Yes, that’s right. Getting wind of my ability and interest to play, a Bangladeshi band asked me to play for them –  a Bangladeshi cover band. So, after a night of Korean sushi in Dhaka, and with drumsticks in hand, I sound checked and late out the funky tunes to “Lean on Me.” I’ve been asked to play again for them on June 3rd –  a longer set, maybe full set! This night rocked, and the German ladies from the German Technical Institute totally loved it….

Lean on me!!!!

What a night to leave dhaka on! How could it get any better? Read on!

I almost missed the trip to Sylette, but with the cyclones down south our planned scuba trip to St. Martin’s Island and visit to Chittagong had to be postponed for at least a week. As one door closes, another opens. My trip dissolved in front of me; I was really looking forward to diving, and yet out of the ashes came the greatest experience in Bangladesh thus far. Five French interns invited me along on their trip to Sylette – the tea plantation area of Bangladesh. We would travel by train for six or seven hours, and stay in guesthouses in Srimangal. The guesthouses would be our launching point for tea plantations visits, trips into the countryside, and whatever else came our way. While this sounded enticing I did not – nay, could not – imagine the adventures to be had.

The Trip Begins

We left on the 14:00 hour train to Srimangal – first class, foreigner class.

Train 717

The train, 23 cars long and striped like the British railways that criss-cross India, was very pleasant. While jostled to and fro along the tracks, and crammed in among the general population of Bangladesh, the train sped through countryside so beautiful and pristine I could not help but envision the marshes and jungles of an Indiana Jones movie, greener than any place I had ever been. While nestled in a more private compartment in first class with one other intern and a family of six Bangladeshis was “cozy,” the invitation from Abel – a close intern friend – to join him and a few others on the roof of the train offered more sights, sounds, and airflow.

The process of getting on the roof for the interns is interesting. When we boarded the train we had joked about trying it, but now that people actually wanted to do it, instinctual trepidation took over. Hell, we are men though –  we can show no signs of weakness. Let’s go on up.

Outside every 4^th window is a metal slat welded to the upper window sill- on the very edge of the curved tin roof. This is the place to grab hold and lift one’s self up. First, though, one person at a time, you stick your whole person from the waist up out of the window. From there you can hook your arms through the inside of the window to create leverage. Next, pull your feet up so you can stand on the window bringing one arm outside to push yourself up and reach the metal vertical slat. Grab hold with both hands and pull yourself up using your upper body strength and gather whatever leverage you can from your feet on the window. Finally, wrap your leg around the metal slat and slide onto the roof. Hopefully the train is not moving by now. Once up you should lie down with your feet outward, and simply enjoy the view with friends.

While this may sound dangerous, and it somewhat is, a person of sound mind and situational awareness can enjoy one of the most spectacular experiences of their lives.

The train ride took roughly six and one half hours; we arrived in Srimangal at about 20:30.

Off the Train - My Feet! - Also the Metal Slat

As often happens, I was moving ahead of our group, and with our decision to purchase return tickets rather than wait until the conclusion of our trip, I was ushered into a private room in front of the long line at the window. I purchased the tickets for the group, ten tickets in total for 1350 BDT (roughly 20 dollars US), and emerged to find an angry mob of Bangladeshis cursing and yelling about “Illegalities” and “unfair treatment” as we were brought in front of the line. We didn’t stick around. The group, sixteen people all together, found cars sent to meet us and headed to the guesthouses.

The Nyrala Guest Houses were amazing. Hot showers! Air conditioning! Sitting Room! Central location! This place had it all. With three to a room we paid 400 BDT per night, and I enjoyed two of the most comfortable sleeping nights of the Bangladesh trip.

Sylette – Day 1

Experiencing the countryside is unique. It is much different than being led around by Grameen Bank and vastly superior to staying in Dhaka. The heat doesn’t beat you down; the dirt does not clog your nostrils, nor burn your eyes. The sky here is beautiful – even the rain seems refreshing.  In the morning we opted to rent bikes – renting sixteen bikes in a small town with little tourism and less money is not small task I assure you.

Outside of the Bike Shop

When the bike shop had finally finished putting together the final four bikes for our group – 12:00 ish – we left for a tour of the jungle, tea yards, and rural Bangladesh.

I simply can’t fit all that happened into one blog entry. So, let me just hit the highlights and provide some pictorial evidence. On the way we stopped at the “World Famous 7 Color Tea Shop” where we enjoyed a sampling of supposedly seven-colored tea – I could only count four maybe five colors max. In Bangladesh sometimes you have settle for less than advertised. The trip went on through the jungles, stopping every so often as we conquered hills, or lost our guide. Our group met along the way another two interns who had left us earlier to rent a rickshaw for the day, to experience driving it – it would come in very handy on our return. F

The Jungle - Our Group

inally, we arrived at Lawarasha National Forest seeing monkeys, greenery, and superb vantage points.

We headed back; many were tired. The first incident occurred when one of our interns suffered from a bout of asthma and opted to ride in the rickshaw – offering her bike to one of the two who had rented the tri-cycle chariot. The second unfortunate event – an intern’s bike chain failed and we spent 30 minutes trying to fix it; until a truck passed by with the appropriate wrench in hand. Third, Simon a Canadian with us – had his brakes fail as a truck pushed him off the road and into a ditch; his arms and legs were badly road rashed and as I write this he sits in the local hospital for a fungal infection in his wounds.

Traffic Jam Caused by Simon's Wreck

We gambled with the gods on this trip and some of us took a hit; the rest of us had no other choice but to head forward, deeper in to the country to find the tribal village we had been promised.

As the sky grew greyer, threatening rain and lightning, a second group of us decided it was time to head back – they left us. I would be in the next group to head back at a fork in the road. The choice to return home was a wise one. The rain began to pour, and us on broken, jangky, bikes rented in Bangladesh from a shop willing to put anything on wheels to make a buck.

Pulled Over During Rain - A Mosque in the Storm

We slid, and many fell, but eventually we made it home through the worst of conditions. Everyone made it back safely at that point. After dinner at a local place we slipped into our beds for the night.

Day 2 – Tea and Eh?

The second day brought not bike riding, but a visit to the local tea plantations, lemon groves, and pineapple groves. We swam in a near by

Tea Forests

lake, littered with flotsam in the form of Hindu reed god statutes floating in the lily pads. Leeches? Who cares – we can survive anything.

The return trip home was just as exciting – if not more – than the previous day. This time we convinced two girls to join us on the roof, and as the guards tried to “convince” us that the area was restricted, we made it up and settled on the roof. We did not realize however that the first stop would be over an hour down the line. One French Canadian was particularly scared on the trip; finishing his sentences – while drenched – with “Eh?”

The Crazy Jumpers Impressing the Foreigners!

It was quite funny – so cliché. The best part however, was the endless singing with the Bangladeshis on the top of the train; including “America the Beautiful,” “Grand Old Flag, “Basket Case,” ‘I Kissed a Girl,” and “Singh is King.”

The rain rolled in, the thunder sounded, and the lightning drew near as the train dove further into the storm ahead. We were soaked, winded, and having the best time of our lives as we descended back into the cabin where a conductor and friend held off the hordes of Bangladeshis trying to crowd into our economy class train car.

Seven hours steamed by; Dhaka greeted us with the smell of rot and dirt. For the first time I had felt like I could do anything; conquer any challenge in a foreign land. The bike ride, the train ride, the food, the sleep… the trip to Sylette was unlike any other.

Hindu God Lake!

Thank you for reading.

Poolside - Prince Hotel

“Bug bites be damned! I need a western night,” I told myself; it was time to break this repetitive cycle that I had fallen into.

Life at the hotel, like anything, can become stale – and oh it had over the last month; I’m now half way through my stay, 4 weeks in. In the beginning, each day, every moment is exquisite, yet just a month later what seemed unique and brand new is mild and tame. Such is life, it just takes more willpower to find that new adventure. In a city of cars, and busses, not walks and bikes, adventure seems hard to find.

Before I go on, there is one point I’d like to make. When the city is as large and wild as Dhaka, it is difficult to simply “wander.” The US Embassy e-mail alias that warns travelers of unsafe areas or conditions – “The Dhaka Warden” – recently warned that it is unsafe to use CNG, public busses, or taxi cabs and that if you decide to take a rickshaw you should not go far –  you must sit on top of all your valuables so as not to lose something to vandal passing by. The same e-mail warned that walking should only be done in large groups and never at night; check, walking or riding anywhere at night – not ok. Dhaka is a city that hammers you with heat during the day, and threatens with improbable insecurities reinforced by warnings from abroad. If I listened to these warnings I wouldn’t be able to leave my hotel room. I’m almost sure some intern for the Department of State gets bored and decides to send out these e-mails to show their advisor they’re doing something productive – Where is Mr. .

The point – you don’t just wander around aimlessly; you pick a destination and you go, walk around, and return. Maybe you do some shopping at the largest shopping mall in Asia; gorgeous, entertaining, an afternoon. New Market tomorrow; shopping, walking, talking, return. Out of destinations? What to do? Where to go? The weeks pile up – claustrophobia sets in.

It was time to hit the reset button; I needed some western comforts!

Party, Pool, Prada

Culture is funny. What’s good for the goose is not necessarily good for the rich, upper society, more western gander. On a night when I was looking for western comforts – to alleviate that “closed in feel” – I found that and much more; a party, a pool, and Prada sunglasses. Let explain.

Bangladesh, one more time, is a Muslim country. I hear the call to prayer from my room; we are surrounded at the hotel by at least four Mosques with huge prayer towers dressed with speakers that actively shout the Imam’s beckoning five times per day.

The Alley Beside the Hotel - Notice Prayer Tower with Speakers

I wake up to the Imam’s calls. Everywhere I explore, the women are dressed very conservatively; always in Sari, fully dressed in black or dark face coverings, or at the very least dressed in baggy, formless, coverings. The women to do not dance, smile, laugh, or smoke where the men do on the streets. The women are not touched on the street – the men hold hands and hug, the women walk with a purpose, or beg; there is no in between. This is the Bangladesh I have come to know – apparently a sub-culture exists that I was invited into, and met last night.

Italian Food in Uptown Dhaka

Enough rice! Enough sauce! Enough spice! I need some pasta, pizza, garlic bread… hell get me some ice! I really don’t mean to seem ungrateful or unchanged to the new cultures, foods, and lifestyles I have been exposed to. Likewise, I hate to come off as unthankful for what I have now, or back at home, but SOMETIMES a man just wants a taste of home. I found it.

The night began with a romp to Gulshan – Quick lesson in Geography: Gulshan is roughly 45 minutes by taxi without traffic. It should have taken about 45 minutes in our little taxi with A/C (a god send in our current heat wave) but took about 2 hours with our navigator leading the way; another intern claiming to speak Bengali. The goal of our outing? An Italian restaurant named Spaghetti Jazz – a Jazz music themed restaurant. A tad pricey, but with supposedly amazing food; the Lonely Planet Guide Book was SPOT ON!

My lasagna was amazing – homemade, great meat and cheese. The garlic bread resembled crisp flat bread with garlic butter side dressing; Bangladesh’s spin on a classic side, delicious even so. Most Remarkable? I saw my first piece of ice in my iced-tea; a drink like the divine ambrosia – cold, crisp, sweet, delicious. The dinner was amazing; it hit my reset button and my attitude has been reinvigorated by a small taste of home with a Bangladeshi flair.

The night did not end with fine dining in a cross-cultural collision of Italy and South-Asia. The next stop was imported Swiss gelato from Movenpick down the block, and up the culinary ladder. While the ice cream isn’t anything to write home about – if you’ll excuse the pun – the setting is. This rather large parlor – white walls, tile floors, and ice cream refrigeration along the back wall – was crammed with the rich, flamboyantly dressed, western echelons of society. These were not tourists; there is no tourism in Bangladesh. These men and women, dressed in fine jackets, tight clothing, and fantastic jewelry with heads not covered save for make-up, resembled twenty-somethings in Europe – not the constrictive Muslim culture here. It would be a prelude to our next stop; the “Rainmaker DJ Party at the Regency.”

DJs in the Mist

Samir and I left the ice cream parlor, and I waved goodbye to Shannon as she returned to our hotel, and I for our party. The Rainmaker Party – supposedly the best party of the month, touted as having every DJ in Dhaka – was offered at a considerable discount to myself and the other interns at Grameen through the party coordinator; a roommate of the program director Samir for International Programs. We had become friends, and this party was a perk. For 500 BDT – about 8 American dollars – we had full admission to both the “Wet Zone” and the “Dry Zone.” Aptly named, you’ll see why.

Samir and I jumped onto a passing buss, paid 2 Taka, and crammed into the run-away coffin. Standing with maybe 60 others, in a bus meant for 30, we steamed full speed towards the Regency Hotel -  “a five star establishment.” The people around me, touching me, crowding around, were the working class. The same men I saw everyday on the streets could not afford the transportation I was used to paying for – Rickshaw, CNG, Taxi. These busses crowded but efficient, are the lifeblood of Dhaka. The differences between these people and those I would see later impacts me still.

Arriving at our destination for 4 Taka total – rather than the 300 it would have cost by CNG or Taxi – we headed up stairs; through the metal detectors, ahead of all the lines, and into the party. The air clogged the lungs with acrid smoke, but unlike the normal scene on the streets, no one starred at the foreigners who had just entered. The alcohol table – a nest of maybe five bottles of booze, rather than the American bar’s hundred – set along the opposite wall; the cigarette stand displaying Benson and Hedges for 100 Taka. No one gawked or turned as we walked in and perched in our little group; awkward but enamored by the scene in front of us. Women danced with men. Men smoked and danced. In circles of four to five men for every girl they danced; to music in English – Lil’ Wayne, Kanye, Eminem, techno songs I had never heard but actually understood. The thump of the music grew loud, the pounding music beckoning the dancers to writhe in motion. This was not the culture I had become accustomed to in Dhaka; this was something new and familiar at the same time.

The women were dressed in tight clothing; leather, pleather, form fitting silks, and no head coverings. The men donned silk collared shirts, slacks, gold-chains, and popped collars.

To Fit In - A Local Dance Move is Mandatory!

Everyone smoked; the men and women puffed away inside and out. Prostitutes swayed in and out of the crowd; offering numbers to men who may or may not call later. The scene unimaginable if I had not been there myself; twenty stories up, the street offered a different reality than of those below.

The smoke became so thick we wandered into the “elite” area that our party coordinator friend had granted us access to. We peered around; we were now on the roof. We peered to the right; a swimming pool flanked by DJ stands, above it the dance floor and exposed wiring that would never be legal in the US – I could imagine the law suits now, no business would have ever allowed this setup. To the left; another alcohol table with the same assortment of drinks as before – I bought a Coca-Cola, until now only Pepsi; I can tell the difference and I did not come to Bangladesh to drink booze. Guests reclined in padded chairs strewn across the rest of the hotel rooftop – smoking hookah, cigarettes, cigars, and actually kissing in public. I almost cried out in astonishment.

Not Cold - Shivering with Amazement

The party quickly moved upstairs; Duh… we were there, how could it not? People started crowding in, and the music started pumping louder and louder. Suddenly, it got wet. Two men flanking the pools turned on hoses with nozzles that sprayed water in all directions. People started jumping – fully clothed – into the pool. They pulled and tore off their shirts. The scene was almost mystical as if the men and women before me were actually tearing away convention, and jumping into a baptism of freedom… or maybe they were just hot, sweaty, and wanted to cool off. Either way, the experience was intense. I had to join in. That’s right; along with many other interns and pressed on by the crowd yours truly jumped, fully clothed, into the pool while the music blared and the crowd danced in near fantastical rhythm.

The clock struck 4 AM and our group of interns got tired. After writing down the personal number of the main party coordinator on the card he had given us – Jihad Mohammed; I kid you not – we danced our way down to the lobby and flagged down a CNG. The party was over but the experience remains fresh in my mind. By 5 AM we returned home after our extreme cultural research – I grew more in that night than perhaps in any single day in a village. My understanding of Islamic culture in Dhaka is vastly different having experienced now the upper level of society – the young, wealthy dancers able to afford the extravagance of 1000 BDT entry fees, and 200 BDT cigarettes.

Author’s Notes:

This Night of Western Comforts maybe my most interesting experience so far. When I walk the streets of Dhaka I see a culture rife with poverty, work, and a Muslim experience more in line with my original perception of the Islamic World. As I moved from the Swiss gelato, to the Rainmaker party, I glimpsed a different reality. This new world was one of tight clothing, sexuality, unisex smoking habits, and openness without face covering. I apologize if anyone felt this entry was too vulgar, or uninteresting, but I felt I had to share it for it truly changed my understanding of Muslim culture. There is a duality of life here, a double existence that separates the haves and the have-nots. Much like back home, where nightclub raves or dinner shows are frequented by the wealthy, the same dichotomy exists in the extremely impoverished Muslim World. This is not Dubai, and yet… wealth finds a way to differentiate cultures and separate the Top from the World below.

The most ironic part of the whole charade for me… the head party coordinator was named Jihad Mohammed.

A picture of the Interns! French, German, American, Spanish, Bangladeshi - All Represented

Until next time, Thank you for reading.

The Top 10 Bangladesh Parallels

10. Exclusive – Members Only – Gymnasium

Notice the extravagance – the top-level workout equipment – a pristine treadmill with broken motor and scale that doesn’t reset to zero. Gander at the weights that only allow for one arm workout at a time. Truly, the members of this gym are invited to workout in some of the best conditions in Bangladesh. Gold’s Gym and 24 Hour Fitness eat your hearts out – this is the workout regime that endeavors to create the next Mr. Universe – ME! Oh also notice the blocked entrance and exit routes littered with trash and furniture shops.

9. The Greyhound

The bus system here is as structured and systematic as any I have ever seen. In fact, there is only one rule one needs to know for intercity transit – jump on the bus as it slows down. Oh! Also, it only goes one way – so you never need to ask where the bus line goes. What more comfort could you ask for crammed in with thirty plus riders, never REALLY stopping just slowing down – the rthythmic sway of the transit is both enthralling and invigorating. For long distance bus rides I recommend the non-AC bus rides for the comfort and real tropical feel. You will stop every so often for the specific CNG fill ups, and handpicked bathroom stops.

8. Baseball

The baseball of South Asia has been renamed Cricket for some odd reason. While baseball in America is fought on a diamond shaped field flanked by grass outfields, the baseball played in Bangladesh is set on an oblong field, without outs but overs, and the pitcher or “bowler” seems to always hit the ground rather than the strike zone. I tried telling the locals they were playing this game incorrectly, but they weren’t really open to it. I guess they just need more “juice” ala Manny Ramirez or A-Rod.

7. Construction Yard and Brickyard

Ahh, yes. Bangladeshi construction. You might say that construction is all that goes on in Dhaka if you only recognized the skyline. The glorious sights of unfinished buildings, bare concrete, and rebar reaching for the skies glint in the moonlight. The construction yards are often neatly spaced with piles of bricks, piles of dry concrete, and coils of that rebar so necessary in this growing city. The brick yards are much the same – spilling the fumes and smoke from working stacks into the air.

6. DHL

A global society needs top quality delivery service, and none are more advanced or efficient as the DHL workers of Bangladesh. These wooden pulled carts, laden with boxes, may be late. They may also ask for a small “gift” for their troubles getting your packages through customs, but eventually your package will arrive – more than likely unopen and contents in less than three pieces. Maybe this is why it took me 3 weeks to get a computer power cable from Apple… notice the man sleeping on the DHL truck to the right.

5. Pet Shop

The pet shops of New Market offer, well, not the most inspiring scene, but it does offer unique gifts for the intern or traveler. Need a pet monkey? 3,000 BDT. Need a pet Dalmatian? 2,000 BDT. Fish? You got it! Sure, the conditions are horrible. Yes, the birds may give you bird flu, but when you finally train your monkey to do back flips for bokshish – Arabic word for gifts – you will appreciate the Bangladeshi version of the American Petsmart.

4. Bathroom

Hole in the ground. Called a squatter. Where the traditional “longi” for comfort, access, and cleanliness. Beware of giant spiders that like to live in the non flushing pipe. Don’t forget to wash your hand… your LEFT hand!

3. Emergency Brake

The rickshaws are bicycles with boxes attached to them – the modern day chariot pulled by man. Even on the flat streets of Dhaka, these rickshaws offer quick transit, and the ultimate in safety precautions – when stopped, when peddled, and preferably stationary on the slightest grade. The wheels are greased, the seats are comfy, and the parking brakes designed by modern Bangladeshi engineering PhDs from a local university. To ride on a rickshaw is of the utmost in Bangladeshi comfort.

2. Barber

Trained in the finest cosmology institutions in all of South Asia, these craftsmen of their trades offer the latest styles. The haircuts may look like they military grade –

their style books are from around the 1971 revolution; the army’s finest – but remember how shaggy you look. You’re an intern; away from home and who cares about your looks. Just step on up like any other Supercuts and don’t worry about how close that rusty looking straight razor may look – I’m sure you had your TB test…

1. Mapquest

Finally, the number one recognizable similarity found in Bangladesh – well you already know from the title just above- MAPQUEST! That’s right, here they have their own version. A rickshaw driver, or more likely a CNG, will stop roll over and ask for directions. Remember, even though a driver knows where, exactly, you are going and quotes a price… it will change; be ready. Stopping and asking for directions is very common, in fact a prerequisite. Dhaka is big!

Summation:

So remember… interns, travelers, and office chair adventurers… Bangladesh may be different, but the similarities are there if you are willing to look.

From the Dirty Desh… this is your excited guide bidding you farewell until next time!

Thanks for reading.