Also, over lunch yesterday, I learned an interesting thing from Hari about South Indian names. I guess in South India, many people don't have last names, just first names and one or more initials signifying the names of their father, grandfather, and/or hometown. So Hari's name is V S Hariharan, but since nobody who keeps records allows for him to be called simply, "Hariharan," he had to enter "V S" as his last name on his employment paperwork, resulting in his name being listed in the company directory as "Hariharan Vs," which he noted looks like it's missing the person he's facing off against at the end. Similarly, Sujoy's name is just Sujoy, or actually J Sujoy.
A funny thing that I passed on the way to work the other day was a shop offering funeral arrangements, which had a sign out front with the irreverently punny line, "Dead Center of Town." I unfortunately did not get to snap a picture, but here's a less amusing fabric shop storefront, to give you an idea of the open-air shop setup that is so common here:
Also on the way to work the past few days, I've noticed a lady who sits on the sidewalk at a particular intersection each morning with a pile of grass and a cow tied to a fence by the road on either side of her. Passersby from time to time stop and pick up some grass and feed it to one of the cows. I don't totally understand the ritual, but it's one of the more idyllic-seeming sights during my morning commute.
And since I mentioned him yesterday, I snapped a photo of Sri Sai Baba as a decal on the back window of a cab. The cabs are quite decorative here and often have decorative painting or decals on them. Sri Sai Baba's face didn't come out very well, nor did the much smaller Ganesha to the right of him, but you get the idea:
Up until now, I've talked more about my commute than about Hamid, my driver. I have had an ever-increasing sense of weirdness about having a driver, especially as I've seen the class interaction dynamics here. People in service positions are spoken to pretty brusquely, so I find myself wanting to hand Hamid cash and bring him cake whenever I see him. This to make up for the class system in general, but more specifically to make up for the fact that he has to come pick me up every morning at 8:30, drive me through aggressive traffic for 45 minutes, then park the car and find something to do with himself until 6:15, when I am ready to leave and he drives me back home for 45 minutes to an hour. Oh, and did I mention he leaves the car here and (I assume) takes public transit home after that? Ugh. And on top of that, he's really nice and doesn't seem to resent me at all. One of my favorite things about riding with him is that he is really helpful in suggesting photo opportunities, and he is especially engrossed with the huge bridge that is under construction to connect the suburb of Bandra to the Worli neighborhood in Mumbai proper:
It may not look super impressive in this photo, as it's off in the distance and kind of hard to see (the guy in the foreground doesn't help matters), but it's pretty huge, and the city doesn't really have any other bridges on this scale -- so Hamid's fascination is understandable. Plus, it might just make the repetition of driving back and forth from Bandra to Parel a bit quicker, or at least different. Hamid's been driving for various people in my company for the past few years, so he gets bored. An alternate route can't hurt.
To end tonight, I thought I'd leave you with one of the funnier billboards I've seen here. It's for a new show on the Sony network called Arslaan. The online synopsis I found says, "It is a coming of age magical story of a young boy who goes on to become a Superhero Arslaan! It is set in the olden times, 3000 years ago in the past. His quest for identity takes him on a journey that brings out the superhero within. His supernatural powers ultimately help him in vanquishing the evil lord (Zaakfaar), to reinstate goodness in this world.” As far as I can tell, it involves plenty of long-haired men in loin cloths and capes swinging maces at each other. What more could you ask for?
