The Cat of Nine Tails

I received my first dose of chastisement during school yesterday (that’s right, on Saturday—we have school on Saturday). It was the end of my Health Economics class, and everyone was packing up their things and talking amongst themselves. I was putting things into my backpack and whistling to myself, when I hear my professor start hissing at me. I look over at him and he motions for me to come over to him. “Why are you whistling?” he asks me angrily. I’m stunned, of course, but my background in national television interviewing has taught me to think on my feet. “Uh, I’m very sorry, Sir. It will never happen again.” I stammer. “Whistling is not allowed!” he confirms, “Now return to your seat!”

I passed him in the hall later that day, and was again summoned with a barrage of sharp hisses. When I turned around, he gave a couple snaps of his finger to indicate the pressing nature of his beckon. I let out a long sigh secretly in my head and marched over to him. The conversation went as follows:

Professor: What do you have to say for yourself?

Me: I’m very sorry, Sir (assuming he was referring to that morning’s incident).

Professor: What you have done in the class is a serious offense! Whistling will not be tolerated!

Me: Yes, Sir. It will never happen again.

Professor: Did you think this would be tolerated?

Me: Well, Sir, actually I was not aware of that rule, but I know now, Sir, and it will never happen again.

Professor: You must be aware in the classroom!

Me: Yes, Sir.

At this point, he grunted loudly for good measure and walked away. When I told my Indian friends, they laughed at me, but confirmed that whistling doesn’t violate some cultural law of India. I’m assuming he just hates children.

While I certainly plan on watching my step in the future, the whole ordeal was absolutely hilarious and definitely worth the beating.

In the Midst of the Action

We had school off a couple days ago and took the opportunity to visit the city of Mysore (about 91 miles Southwest of Bangalore). Among other things, we visited the gorgeous Mysore Palace—previously the official residence of the former royal family of Mysore. The palace is quite unique in that it can be illuminated at night in a variety of ways: with spot lights, as seen here, or with over 10,000 actual bulbs lining the walls, as seen here. Other palace novelties include courtyard tours on a beast of your choice. For $2.50, I rode the elephant.

Our fun was far from over, however. After a decision by the government of Kashmir to award a section of protected forest land to a group of Hindu pilgrims, a week of violent protests by Muslim activists ensued throughout the state. The decision was rescinded, which then caused the Hindu-nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) to call for a nationwide strike to put pressure on the state government. The violence was much more contained down here in southern India, but we still saw evidence of the protests. We were in the middle of enjoying a delicious lunch on the way to Mysore when suddenly this crowd of BJP members swarmed the restaurant and forced the owner to shut down. Fortunately our adviser from the college was traveling with us and knew what was happening. The second he saw them coming he said, "Children! Finish eating right now, we go!"

When we got into Mysore, our van had to make a U turn because government buses were being attacked by drunk protesters throwing rocks on the road ahead. We took another street. When we finally reached the hotel, we arrived to find that it had already been closed. The van drove around to the back though, and we entered through the back door of an attached restaurant. I never really felt like I was in danger, but we were instructed to only use the stairs because the elevator could be seen from the street. It was pretty exciting, to say the least.

Anyway, I'm safe and sound, so don't worry.

Nandi Hills

This past weekend, a few of us decided to visit Nandi Hills. Because of its steep sides, it was an ideal fortress for Mysore sultans for hundreds of years. The site is named for the ancient Nandi temple that is located there (in which a thousand year old sculpture of Nandi is housed).

To make the trip from Bangalore, it takes about three hours by bus. We had to make a stop in the town of Chickballapur to transfer buses. Our second bus (pictured here) was quite a bit smaller than the first. This didn't seem to be any cause for concern, however, because the Indians are accustomed to packing like sardines into absolutely anything; I'm not kidding, seeing 8 people in a small four-door car or 3 people on a motorcycle or bike is not uncommon. This particular bus had seats for about 20 people with some standing room in the front. We piled in, but because it was so full, two of us ended up on some make-shift seats in the front window next to the driver.

As the bus headed up the steep, windy hills, more and more people continued to pile in with each successive stop. Before long, every cubic inch was was occupied, and people were overflowing into the door well. One guy was fortunate enough to find a seat straddling the gear box, but he soon discovered he wasn't going to be able to relax, considering each shift into 1st, 3rd, or 5th gear put his testicles in considerable peril. As we drove, Joey, who had fallen asleep near the window, awakened to find that he could no longer raise his drooping head because several people were using the space above him to brace themselves. Consequently, he spent the rest of the trip with his spine curled like a slice of onion.

Due to our considerable overload, the bus could only do about 10 mph up the hill. It sounded pretty stressed, and the guy on the gear box had to stand up because his bum was getting burned. When we eventually arrived, I made a point to count how many people actually got off the bus. In addition to the 10 people I later discovered had been riding ON TOP, 49 passengers got out.

The return trip was a bit more fun because it was all downhill, and we asked if we could sit on top of the bus. Besides the occasional power line or tree branch that we ducked for, it was fairly reminiscent of a roller coaster. The whole "I might die right now" aspect was pretty exhilarating.

I'm Going to be Famous

Well, Joey and I are going to be on Indian MTV next week. They were interviewing foreign students yesterday to get a general sense of how they like the country and the school system. Then the camera crew followed me to my classroom and did some "life in the classroom" shots. It was kind of embarrassing because they walked in and said, "Hey, we're from MTV (class begins cheering). We'll mostly be filming Elliot because he's the star (class cheers again)." All I did was pretend to take notes.

I can't stand MTV, by the way, but the prospect of being on national television is still exciting. It's kind of like meeting the president--even if you think he's an idiot, you're still meeting the president.

Joey and I are the only two who haven't died of dysentery fallen prey to illness yet on this journey. One girl woke up vomiting and had diarrhea, another has a peculiar eye infection (which has come and gone for several days now), and a third was hospitalized for 3 days due to tonsillitis. We're crossing our fingers and washing our hands, but in all likelihood, it's only a matter of time.

Prepotency and Otherwise

Yesterday was my first day of class. Unlike liberal arts schools in the US where you can pick each individual class, Christ College uses a system called “threads”. I signed up for the 500 level PES thread, which means my classes fall under the topics of Psychology, Economics, and Sociology. Rather than changing classrooms throughout the day, the other PES students and I remain in a homeroom and our teachers come to us. It’s like elementary school again.

Because the same students are in all of my classes, the dynamics of each class depend completely on the instructor who is teaching it. In my Abnormal Psyc class, the teacher has absolutely no control over anything. Despite her best efforts to quiet the class by yelling and banging a piece of wood on her desk, the students could not be pacified. They talked and laughed amongst themselves for an hour while the instructor continued teaching loudly over them.

Things were a bit different in Econ and Sociology. I heard both instructors referred to as “Hitler”, and my classmates were completely silent and attentive during their classes. You stand when they enter at the beginning of the period, and if you’re late, you remain at the door until they acknowledge you. Also, my Sociology teacher makes students stand on their desk if they are caught talking. Although I suspect they are secretly warm and good-natured, in the classroom, they command the submission of banshees, demons, and other mystical terrors.

Short excerpts from the day:

(A student is caught daydreaming)
Instructor: Why are you looking out the window?!
Student: Uh, I’m sorry, Sir.
Instructor: Good. What’s out there, a monkey? Pay attention!

(A student enters late)
Instructor: Why are you late?
Student: There was traffic, Sir.
Instructor: That is a bad excuse; you should have left earlier. Go sit down.

(It is discovered that a student did not complete her assignment from the previous day)
Instructor: Get out of here. Go stand outside.

(A student is caught sneaking a drink of water)
Instructor: What do you have there?!
Student: A bottle of water, Mam.
Instructor: Come up here. Now go outside and fill it to the top.
(Student leaves the class, then returns)
Instructor: Now stand there and drink it.
(Student stands in front of the class and chugs the entire one liter bottle)

(Student caught smiling while the teacher is giving his lecture)
Instructor: You! Why are you smiling?
Student: No reason, Sir.
(Instructor stares the student down)
Instructor: There will be no unnecessary smiling in my class.

(A student is caught whispering to another student)
Instructor: You! What is your name?
Student: Zeeshan, Sir.
Instructor: Come to the front of the class!
(Student walks forward)
Instructor: What did you get in your Economics course last semester?
Student: 74, Sir.
Instructor: That is a poor score, go sit down.

My first day was awesome. I made some cool friends, and I can’t wait to go back tomorrow.

Oh, and I ran into my Econ professor on campus later that day. He insisted we have tea, and turned out to be a great guy.

Bureaucracy and Lubrication

When you first arrive in India from the United States, you are required to register at the local police commissioner’s office within 14 days. To save time at the office, our program leader Jacob John (a Bangalore resident), acquired all the paperwork in advance. As we filled them out, he told us, “Even if you’ve served in the military, indicate that you haven’t. They will think you are a spy and give you problems.” We had to have ID photos taken at a local photo shop, and affix one to every single page in the packet (a bit unnecessary, considering the packet is stapled together as one file).

We didn’t save time. Evidently, new forms had been adopted since Jacob received them, which (according to the police commissioner) rendered our forms invalid. The sweeping changes in the paperwork consisted of a move in the “attach photo here” box from the left side of the form to the right side.

As it turned out, we were forced to copy all of our information onto the new forms, find a store in the area to make 5 new photocopies, and buy glue to transfer our photos to the new forms. Furthermore, Jacob had to drive back to the college (45 minutes each direction) and print new documents.

Needless to say, it was a long day. What could have been finished in an hour ended up taking 7 hours. We experienced an extra 1.5 hour delay because the cops decided to close the office for their lunch break just as we were nearing the last few people to register. We’ll be going back tomorrow (again, 45 minutes each way) to fetch our “Temporary Residence” papers (which, for whatever reason, they couldn’t give us today).

Ironically, Jacob John told us yesterday that the cops would be giving us less trouble because he pays them well. These bribes (or “lubrication”, as he calls it), keep the police from “causing problems”.
The whole thing was pretty funny, so I guess you could say it was a great day.

Safe Arrival

Three quick bits:

I have arrived safely. The food is awesome. The traffic is torrential.

With every street I cross, I gamble with my life. There are no cross walks, and the traffic doesn't stop for anything. Except cows. If you've ever played the game Frogger, you should have a pretty good idea of things.