Things I See Along the Way

My commute to work is usually about 45 minutes.  I have subscribed to the Times of India.  It's a pretty good newspaper.  Well written with a pretty good editorial page.  It provides a good indo-view of the world.  Some mornings I barely look at the paper.  I'm too busy watching the sites. Some mornings I even take my camera and try to capture some of what I am seeing.  I am discreet because folks in this part of the world don't like to have their pictures taken.  Since this is a culture prone to mob violence I would hate to snap something while stalled in traffic and start a riot.  I'm pretty sure that's an exaggeration but still I am discreet.  This fascination with the sights along the way will likely end before my tenure is up and I will go back to the paper in earnest.

I see things from time-to-time that make me stop and think.  My Indian friends have all told me that I will see things I am not accoustomed to.  That has certainly been true.  Here are a few pix I snapped a couple of commutes ago.

This shot has provoked a lot of thought.  I have looked back on it several times.  This woman looks poor.  But she also looks defiant.  She looks in charge and appears to have the power of 10,000 gods, to quote a line from Bukowski.  I had to wonder if she lived in that tent in the background.

Building projects are unusual.  Here is an example.  This is a closeup shot of a scaffold.  It is constructed out of sticks that are apparently bound together by hand.  I see a lot of construction sites where excavation is going on by hand, one shovel-full at a time and carried away in what looks like a small wok on top of a woman's head.  I am told that anything in India that involves people is cheap.

This is a common site.  There are a lot of little stalls on the side of the road, sometimes they almost seem as though they are set up in traffic.  They are constructed of lots of different things.  Blue tarps are common.  This one seems up scale with its cotton canvas covering.

People do not like to have their pictures taken.  In the top photo I had the window rolled down and they saw that I was taking their pictures.  Later on in the bottom photo we had snuck up on them.  They look despondant to me.  They are riding in the back of a truck, probablly on their way to carry dirt at a building project or sort garbage on Brigade road.  Who knows?

I snapped this because of what this guy was carrying on the back of a scooter.  I don't know what it is.  Maybe a fender.  I should start a series devoted to the stuff I see on scooters and three-wheelers.  I have seen pieces of furniture, great stacks of firewood, piles of large white sacks containing who knows what. 

This next picture shows a building we go by every morning.  I snapped this because of the triangular windows.  I think that is unusual and likely a hindu influence on the architecture. 

And finally this. She is here every morning selling fruit. 

Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

This is a little different than Sunday morning in Nashville.  I didn't reach for my "cleanest dirty shirt" because my housekeeper has kept up with the laundry.  The streets were quiet and peaceful and the morning sun gave the scene a nice glow.  Hardly a Sunday morning goes by that I don't think about the lyrics of that song.  In a good way.  The panorama is sunrise from the balcony of my flat.  It felt like a good time for a short walk in the "hood" to snap some pix and share it with you.

These guys are the gate guards, they guard the gate from the outside.  The real guards won't let them inside the compound.  Unfair don't you think?

This is the street the dogs are guarding, looking sort of north east from the entry gate.  I didn't focus on it but there is trash everywhere.  There is not the discipline in sanitation that we are accoustomed to.  According to what I read there is a large contingent in the middle class that would like to see that change.  It is not a state of affairs that most Indians are happy about.  There are several ingredients that consprire to bring this about.  The one most publicized deals with the pervasive corruption in politics here.

This is the neighborhood council.  They are getting ready to convene and set the agenda for the day.  From this photo it should be evident who the alderman is.  These guys are always on duty.  They forage in the trash piles and sleep on the sidewalks.  They have their occasional disputes but for the most part they are quite docile.  They never show any interest in passersby. 

This is the peanut gallery.  If they disrupt the meeting they will be in big trouble.  In fact, just after I snapped this these guys ran right into the middle of the gathering and got a fierce snarling from the alderman.

I am fascinated by these two scenes.  This is directly across the street from the entrance to my compound.  It's a farm; maybe 10 acres.  There are about a half a dozen dairy cattle that graze in this little pasture.  All this is virtually in the center of a city of 6.5 million.  My friend, Vish, commented on this.  He believes there is a land dispute.   No doubt there is given what this little pasture worth.  I am told that here in India there is a strong farm lobby.  This would suggest it.

The farm I described it right behind me as I snap this photo of the entrance to my compound.

This is a snap of the building where I live, taken from the street.  The gate guards are just to the right.  My flat is just below the tree line.  I am looking at the easterly end of the building.  All of the flats run throught the building so that there are balconies on each end.  There are two flats on each floor. 

I am starting to get settled.  There are still a few things that require adjustment.   The sanitation issue I mentioned is one.  The other is the level of bureaucray and heirarchy that inserts itself into everything.  I opened an account in a local bank this week.  Passport, residence permit, visa.  I had copies of all these docs but the bank clerk had to see each original and take her own copy.  She could not accept my copy.  She took her own and I had to sign each copy in black ink.  I would have thought blue ink would have made the bureaucratic redundancy more effective but the suggestion box was no where in sight.  The only address that could appear on my account was the address on the residence permit.  In my case it was the Taj hotel where I was staying while my flat was being readied.  The compromise was to list my work address on the account which also appeared on the permit.  In order to have the address where I live listed on my account and I presume on my checks, I must have the residency permit ammended.  That will require a call to the law firm here in Bangalore that has been assigned my immigration case.  No doubt additional fees will be charged and another trip down the the FRRO could be in my future if I want this corrected.  I have managed to remain calm for all these dealings.  There have been a couple of times when composure has required some concentration.

The traffic here is amazing.  Like a lot of things here in India what appears on the outside to be utter chaos is actually quite organized after you watch for awhile.  There are rules albeit informal ones.  The formal ones are largely ignored.  The basic dance steps are the "barge and yeild"  followed by the "drift and merge".  All this executed with utmost precision, with the absence of any road rage and done in the framework of "what pedestrians?"  I have mentioned this earlier but it took me awhile to learn to cross the street.  Actually I am still learning.  The most effective strategy is to blend with a group of Indians and cross with them.  It is largely a game of chicken.  So far I haven't lost any feathers.  Probablly the most effective safety factor is applied to all this by virtue of the fact that since the traffic is so dense, nobody can drive very fast.

Cattle graze in the traffic here.  Every conceivable mode of transport joins the production.  Cars, trucks, two-wheelers, three-wheelers, bicycles, pushed carts, ox carts and horse-drawn carts.  Even the occasional emergency vehicle.  I am still discovering what can actually be transported on a two-wheeler.  Amazing stufff piled six feet hign and somehow secured to the back seat.  Three, four and I have even seen five folks on a motorcylce.  Dad driving, mom on the back side saddle in her sari and three kiddos stuffed in the open spaces.  The only one with a helmet is Dad who is driving.  The other morning I saw a two wheeler coming the other way.  Dad was holding his seven-year-old daughter in front.  She was probablly standing on the scooter in front of her dad.  The wind was in her face and she was covering her eyes with her hands.  That scene tugged at my heart strings.  I should add that the wind in your face here is not like the wind in your face in Western Kansas or in the Ozarks.  Here is full of dust particles.  So dense at times it looks like a fog and folks wearing dust masks is a common sight.  She should have had one.

This afternoon I am going to the "club" to hang out with Dr. Vish and his friends.  I am looking forward to this.  It should be interesting.

Paan Marsala, My Favorite Indian Confection

Paan, from the word pan in Hindi: पान, is an Indian and South East Asian tradition of chewing betel leaf (Piper betle) with areca nut and slaked lime paste. There are many regional and local variations.

Paan is chewed as a palate cleanser, a breath freshener, and for digestive purposes as well. It is offered to guests and visitors as a sign of hospitality (after meals at both personal and social occasions) and at the beginning of social events. It has a symbolic value at ceremonies and cultural events in India and southeast Asia. Paan makers may use mukhwas or tobacco in paan fillings. Most paan contains areca nuts as a filling. Other types include what is called sweet paan, where sugar, candied fruit and multi-colored, sweetened, candy-like fennel seeds are used.

This is what Wikipedia has to say about paan.  The paan I like is the paan marsala or sweet paan.  I had my first paan during a trip to India back in the spring of 2006.  My boss at the time took me to a pandori restaurant here in Bangalore.  At the end of the meal they served these strange triangular leaf packets they called paan.  I popped it in my mouth and ate the whole thing.  What a surprise that was.  I can't describe the sensations except to say there were many and it felt like I was eating sweet novicane.  It made my mouth tingle and it was literally layered with many flavors.  I loved it.  Later in that same trip my boss and I took all the Indian engineers to lunch in a restaurant district of Bangalore called "Church Street".  I have returned there many times since.

After our lunch one of the engineers came up to me and said, "I heard you like paan.  You want one?"
"Sure."
I followed him and about five others into the streets.  We booked down the main street, down a narrow side street, around a corner and popped out onto a very busy main street in front of a small stall.  A paan stall.  He bought us each one.  These were different but still good.  For a while anyway because this paan made me sick and I was sick, or rather uncomfortable, for about three days.

On the next two trips I avoided paans off the street.  They were served after dinner at the Taj hotel where we have stayed.  They were good but not as good as that first one.  Some would say that the first and newest experience with something that takes you by surprise can never be duplicated.  Maybe so but recently I have come close.

I think I have mentioned my new friend, Dr. Vish, whom I met in line at the FRRO when I was registering.  He called me one day shortly after and invited me to dinner.  We went to a local blue collar south Indian restaurant called Nagarjuna.  Great food.  We had a famous south Indian dish, Chili Chicken with Chicken Briani.  Good eats.  After dinner we left the restaurant and outside was a small paan stand.  Vish asked if I wanted a paan.  I recalled how sick I had been and said no.  He had one.  It looked good.  I was with a doctor for cryin' out loud.  I was suddenly back in that Tandori restaurant and the Church street memory was fading fast.  Ok.  I'll have one.  I did.  It was great.  Very close to that first experience.  I didn't get sick!

Since that time I have discovered a similar paan stand here in my neighborhood.  They are as good as the paans we had outside Nagarjuna.  Tonight, Dr Vish was over for dinner.  My housekeeper fixed Chili Chicken and Veg Briani.  It was great.  After dinner Dr. Vish and I walked up and had a paan.  The preparation involves so many ingredients; maybe twelve or more.  It is fascinating.  Tonight I took my camera along and recorded the preparation so I could share the images.

By the way, contrary to what the jar in foreground might suggest, there is no nazi influence applied to the Betel leaf.  I don't think Hitler every ate a paan and if he had the world might be a very different place.

Floor Polishing at Prestige Exotica or How I Learned About Indian Standard Time

I think I have mentioned this but the name of my apartment complex is "Prestige Exotica."  This is a picture taken through the front door of my building.  This picture does not suggest it, but living in India feels a lot like living in Mad Magazine.  But, hey, when I was a kid I loved mad magazine.  I just never dreamed I would have the opportunity to live it.

This is my flat before the floors were polished.  This is the main room looking east toward the living area.  Behind me is the dining area.  These are beautiful marble floors.  They were filthy.  I complained about this to the management. 

Their response was, "you could have them polished." 

"Good idea," I thought.

Let me elaborate on "the management".  There are two high rises in this complex.  Prestige was the builder.  They sold off the units.  Condoed them if you will.  I don't know exactly how many owners there are but they are many because there are about forty flats in the two buildings.  They are managed by a management company whose name I don't know.  There is a head guy and there is a chain of command and a pretty large staff.  The head guy is an ex Indian Air Force Engineering Officer who spent a lot of time in the Rajastani desert.  He introduced himself as "Commander Vishwanathi Ragamurthyjayahari" or some such Indian name which I could never repeat and made up here for the sake of the story. 

I asked the logical question, "What should I call you?"

"Commander!"

Ok, I like that.  I heard it.  I can remember it.  The second in command is a regular Indian guy named Pramesh and the third is Manju.  These are the guys you go through when you need something.  They are for all the world a reincarnation of the three stooges in classic Hindu style.  Commander is gruff and to the point. Always reminding me that his job is to make me comfortable.  They all sit in a little office smaller than a WalMart men's room and similarly appointed.  Pramesh is laid back and pretty normal.  Manju is a deer in the headlights always saying yes to what ever you ask and nodding his head "no" and smiling large.  Commander is Larry, Pramesh is Moe and Manju is Curly even down to the "no hair" detail.  So Larry barks orders, Moe ignores them, and Curly scurries around.  In a splendid example of Indian heirarcy at work, all the orders start with Commander and roll down hill to Manju.

The floor polishing suggestion originally came from Pramesh. 

"How Much?" was my first question.

"11,500 INR (about $255 USD)".  he quotes. 

I gulped.  "10,000"  I say. 

"I'll call you back."

 He calls back.  10,000 INR is the agreed on price.  All this is done with cash and they want half up front.  Commander introduces me to the floor polisher.  His name is Chakrapani which commander points out is "King of Kings" in some Indian dialect.  King of Kings speaks no engish and smiles alot.  He is shown here in the foreground with his helper, his smile clearly erased by the presence of the camera.

We meet in my flat for the down payment.  By this time my driver, Nagaraj is with me along with another guy, Fayaz, who understands more english than he speaks.  I know Fayaz.  He is an agent of the firm who is helping me relocate.  He helped when I was here in Jan.  Of course King of Kings and his helper are also present.  I have this huge handful of INR which I am about to give to someone I don't know in a situation I am not entirely comfortable with.  So I tell Fayaz I will require a receipt.  Fayaz takes my journal, opens to blank page and writes the payment details down.  I ask when this will be done.  "Two days" comes back.  I tell Fayaz to also include in the receipt about to be signed by King of Kings a penalty clause.  100 INR per day deducted for every day after Wednesday.  "Three days" comes back.  OK.  Write down 100 INR per day to be deducted for every day after Thursday.  What you are missing is this conversation in Hindi, Kanada and English with all the embelishments, intonations and facial expressions.  I love these conversations.  I say something in English to Fayaz like, "Ask him how long" and Fayaz speaks in Hindi for five or six paragraphs with great arm waving and King of Kings replies in a like manner,  four or five paragraphs and much arm waving.  All the time I'm thinking, "I said all that?"

Negotiations were completed, receipts signed, payments made and floors polished on time.  After is shown below with the partial delegation, Nagaraj, King of Kings, his helper and a security guy from the staff here. Fayaz is not shown. 

I wasn't real happy with this $220 job and it had dawned on me that I really hadn't negotiated much of a discount.  But what's an expat to do?  They did look better.  However what happened next is not entirely clear to me.  They installed the TV on the wall to right in the picture above and when I came in the floors were totally trashed.  It looked like someone had held a square dance clinic in my living room. 

As I pointed out above I was already having misgivings and now I was convinced I had been screwed by Alfred E Newman.  I complained to Commander. 

"No problem, Mr. Robert, King of Kings will return and fix the problem." 

"No extra charge?" 

"No, no extra charge." 

"When? "

"Saturday." 

"Good."

Saturday comes.  It dawns on me I don't know when King of Kings is coming and I have to be there.  I track down Manju. 

"When is King of Kings coming?" 

 "You want him come today?"  shaking his head "no" and smiling large.

 "Yes, today, actually now." 

"Can't come now." 

 "When?" 

 "2:00" 

"I won't be here." 

"Come Sunday?" shaking his head "no" and smiling large.

I had a commitment on Sunday around noon.

"10:00" I offer.

"OK, 10," shaking his head "no" and smiling large.

I'm learning about "Indian Standard Time."  I was concerned that King of Kings would no show up at 10:00.  He would be late and collide with my committment.  I love this twist.  Saturday night I go to dinner at a very high end Bangalore Mall and get a mild case of food poisoning.  I wake up Sunday morning nauseated, cramping, with a low-grade fever and greasin' my drawers .  There's good news and bad news here.  I have already covered the bad news.  I hate greasy drawers.  The good news is I will be here whenever King of Kings decides it's 10:00 'cause I'm not going anyplace anytime soon.

He never came.  It turns out noone is allowed to work in the complex on Sundays.  I laid there til about 12:00 feeling like shit with the American in me wantin' to kick some ass and the expat in me saying," you volunteered for this."  I was ok when it dawned on me after calling Pramesh that Sunday was not the day.  Monday at 10:00.  No problem.  Monday was to be the first day for Silvia, my new housekeeper and I wouldn't have to be there.  King of Kings showed up Mon at 11:30 according to Silvia and worked until 2:30.  The floors look better, I am over my food poisoning and now understand a little more about "Indian Standard Time."  And, yes, I did volunteer.

My Morning Commute

Ganesha is adorned this morning.

No concrete pumps in use here.

Selling in traffic.  At stoplights these folks wander through traffic holding up items for sale.  Of course they always spend extra time tapping on my window. 

My driver, Nagaraj

Street scene.

Elaborate signage which seems light years removed from the reality of the surroundings.

Roadside stand.

Somebody didn't get to bed very early.

OK.  Now I get it.  You're posed to honk in traffic

Hmmmmmm

Everyone talks on cell phones all the time and everywhere

Girl on Bus

Chicken Tandoori anyone?

Come to me my little chickadees

More signage.

Rajarajeshwari Gate

Buying Kasmiri Carpets or Why Buying a Used Car is a Walk in the Park

My apartment is unfurnished.  I had both options and I chose unfurnished.  I have started furnishing with the notion to get some carpets I really like and then build the rest of the flat around them.  The center of my flat is a large living dining area about 15'x45' with balconies on each end.  The floors are marble.  Perfect for large area rugs. 

I set out to buy carpets.  I had actually started the process last Jan when I was here looking at housing.  I happened into a Kasmiri silk shop on MG road and enquired about carpets.  The shopkeeper took me to another shop where I looked at some carpets.  I remembered that little shop.

That is not where I started.  I started with the head of security at my office.  He recommended one of the office clerks.  A fellow named Negendra who had been the managing director's driver.  A person who knows Bangalore in and out.  Negendra took me to another Kasmiri carpet shop on Cunningham Road not far from my flat. Mobashir was at my service (shown here on the left).  Very slick guy.  I spent about an hour drinking tea and looking at carpets.  I have described some of that conversation in an earlier post.  Two 9x12 and one 7x10;  $6500 USD.  Not today.  Not even tomorrow.  I told him $4000 was as good as I could do.  "Don't worry about price," Mobashir tells me.  I left the shop.

I hunted down the silk shop I had visited previously.  Got the address of the shop he had taken me to and headed out with my driver.  One dimension of this adventure has to do with a certain tradition in Bangalore involving an arrangement between shopkeepers and drivers.  Any driver, car or auto rick, who brings a foreigner to a shop is paid a fee by the shopkeeper.  This is why every rick driver insists on taking you to a craft shop.  He is paid whether you buy or not.  In some cases the drivers get a cut (up to 15% some say) of what you buy.

I arrived at the second shop prepared to spend some time.  This time I was dealing with Yaseen, shown here on the right.  His shop was smaller and he didn't have the selection that Mobashir had.  I showed him Mobahir's card.  Of course he knew Mobashir.  He said Mobashir was in a bigger shop and therefore had to make more money.  His approach to price was different.  He took that position that money was not important.  What is important is what you love.  After all he had lost over $200,000 last year.  It's only money.  It comes and goes. 

Yaseen's story about carpets was much different than Mobashir's.  His technical details strayed further from what I had read on the internet than did Mobahir's.  Mobashir didn't align exactly with what I had read but it was close.  I left Yaseen's shop.  I had decided to do business with Mobashir. 

I went back to his shop.  He laid out more carpets and I picked out some.  He agreed to bring a dozen or so to my flat so I could make my choice there.  It was now time to talk price.  I asked Mobashir if he knew what kind of engineer I was.  I told him I was an engineer who designed airplanes.  I then told him the lowest paid engineers in the states were the ones who designed airplanes because everyone wanted to do that and consequently it didnt pay well.  I claimed that the high paid engineers were the petroleum engineers.  I elaborated further.  I admitted I had offered him $4000USD.  I then explained how I had gone home and added up all that I had to buy.  How I had discussed this with my family and the most I could pay for the three carpets was $3000USD.  Mobashir pleads, "could you do any better?  Even if it is only a little better."  I rubbed my head.  I stared at the ceiling.  Mobashir walked away.  I took out a piece of paper and wrote down $3400. When Mobashir returned I showed him the figure.  He took one look and said OK.  Oh no, I'm thinking, I've been had.

At the end of the day I'm sure all my histrionics had little effect but I had fun.  There's no way I could get ahead of a guy like that.  I never knew where I was in the deal because I didn't know enough about carpets.  I can say that I believe the price was better than I could have gotten in the states and I do love the carpets.  They really do tie the room together.

O yes.  When we set up a time for him to bring carpets to my flat he was adamant that  my driver not be there.  He made me promise to send him away.  He also insisted that I not tell him where I got the rugs.  He went over this several times.

Sarookh, No Limits

East End of Living-Dining Area

Hamadan, Lucky Friend or Windows of Paradise

West End of Living-Dining

Khatgras, Pillars of Wisdom

Master Bedroom

Tonight I'm Likin' India

Today I drove around alot rounding up stuff for my flat and buying rugs.  I saw this sign and thought it was interesting.  It looks like it could be a play on MacDonalds done in a way that their lawyers couldn't take a bite out of.  I don't know.  Maybe not.

I was sitting in my room watching a cricket game when it suddenly dawned on me that I was hungry.  It was 9:15.  I left my hotel and headed up Brigade toward Church street. As I wound my way through the cacophony of horns, ricks, cars and two wheelers it seemed like every third person was talking on a cell phone.  The sidewalks were jam packed.

I'm learning to cross the street.  It's a game of chicken.  So far I haven't lost any feathers.

Church street is a street with a lot of restaurants and couple of interesting used book stores.  It runs parallel to MG Road.  Instead of turning up Church street I went on up to MG.  My original plan was to visit a veg restaurant on MG Road that advertises itself as the only "true" vegitarian restaurant on MG Road.  It was closed.  I went on over to Church street and visited an Andra restaurant that I am familiar with.  Hot food. Hot as in spicy.  I love it.  Tonight I had a dish listed on the menu as "Veg Hyderbadi" and some Chippati (Indian flat bread).  It was delightfully spicy and hot.  There were some very dark red chilis in among some veggies all bound together with a delicious dahl (lintel) gravy.  $5.00.  After I ate I had the traditional Indian dinner finisher.  It varies from place to place but usually always includes some form of puffed or baked or sweetened anise seed.  Sometimes this is combined with rock sugar and other aromatic items I have never seen and can't identify.  My Indian friends tell me what they are.  I still don't understand.  I do understand that these finishing treats are a great way to cap off a spicy meal.  They are dry and usually dispensed right in the palm of your hand with a spoon.

I walked back to the hotel feeling smug.  I'd had a good dinner.  I had enjoyed the walk.  I was enjoying the street.  I thought to myself, "tonight I am liking India."

Morning Walk

My hotel is on Residency Road very near its intersection with Brigade Road (how British is that?).  To get a feel for the location go to Google maps and enter Bangalore, India.  When that comes up, enter "Taj Gateway".  That is my hotel.  There you will see the intersection I am talking about.  You will also see the short stretch of Brigade Road that runs up to MG Road (MG is short for Mahatma Ghandi).  After about noon that piece of Brigade Road is jam packed.  But early in the morning around 9:00 AM it is as deserted as any Bangalore street ever gets.  Municipal workers, sleeping security guards, street people, the dogs, and a few early birds are going about their business.
A morning walk got started over laundry.  When I was here in January I had some laundry done here at the hotel.  I thought it was a medium batch.  When the bill came back it was $100. No more hotel laundry, even if the company pays. This time I found a laundry almost at the intersection of Brigade Road and MG road.  It's a short walk from the hotel and they dryclean a pair of trousers for $0.75.  Actually, I discovered three dry cleaners on the walk up Brigade Road.  The one I am using opens at 8:30 and I like the walk.

My usual companion for the first part of this walk is a street person, an auto rick driver named Syeduman, shown here on the left.  He offers a 10 Rs rick ride to do sight seeing and visit shops.  I have found these folks to be polite.  Persistent but polite and usually very friendly.  Syeduman has a little edge of despiration about him suggesting he may be trying to support a large family.  I have decided, with some caution, to be laid back with these folks when they approach me.  Caution about being taken advantage of but also open to some conversation and maybe a little understanding of the view they see.  I am finding Indians in general to be friendly in the streets. Not only is there panhandling going on but there are folks who want to connect on a little higher level.  I should note that people quite often stare at me.  Today in traffic (and understand that "in traffic" often suggests very close quarters)  I was being stared at.  I smiled.  The young man in the car next to me smiled back.  His companion smiled and they both waved.  I waved and he rolled his window down and handed me his business card.  Connection.  G7 InfoTech.  http://www.g7infotech.in/.  I looked up the site.  It's a software company.

Syeduman usually breaks off after some pleasant conversation and my polite refusals to go anywhere with him.  Futher up Brigade at the MG intersection I encountered these guys.  On the right is Mani.  Ravi is on the left and Kumar is in the center.  These guys are also rick drivers. Mani told me that he has worked this corner for ten years.  Kumar made the same claim.  These guys were more laid back than Syeduman.  I gave them each 10 Rs (a quarter each) to take this picture.  They smiled and told me I didn't need to pay them just to take their picture.  They were very friendly, especially Mani.  Again, however, I am guarded and I have been warned by Satish Kumar, the Writer Corp rep who is helping me with housing, that the modus operandi is to be friendly and then violate your trust.  These guys are street people.  That is what they do.  But unlike street people I have encountered in the states they seem a lot smoother.  They hide most of their despiration and will carry on a conversation with you and tell you things about themselves.  By the way just before I took this picture there was some excitement.  The streets of Bangalore are full of dogs.  At this intersection there were about 8 or 9 milling around and a huge dog fight broke out.  It was brief, it was intense, it was noisy.  It was brief because Mani jumped in the middle and kicked dog ass.
On my way back I stopped at an ATM at the intersection with Residency Road.  Syeduman came over and tried again.  Yesterday I had asked him if I could take his picture and he said no.  This morning he volunteered.  Then he told me he could take me where I could photograph some really poor people; poor and terribly deformed.  OMG was my reaction.  I can only imagine what I would encounter.  I asked him if they would mind having their pictures taken.  No, no he says.  Right Syeduman.  I'm sure they would be delighted to pose for my camera.  They probablly have agents.  He is persistent.  Anything for a rupee.

Just outside the hotel gate was this guy, shown below.  His name is Raphi.  I know him from previous trips.  He is a little more organized than Syeduman, Mani and the others.  He has a business card listing his services along with his cell number.  Last time I was here he took me around a few places until I realized he wasn't licensed.  I quit riding with him when I noticed that and told him why.  This morning he showed me his license.  I may use him.

Here are some morning scenes along this short stretch of Brigade road as it wakes up.

I love the colorful saris Indian women wear.

The shoes lined up along the curb.  Don't ask.  I have no idea.

These guys art sorting trash by hand, literally emptying the plastic trash bags they pick up and putting recyclables in those blue bins and white bags.  Discoverie's dirty jobs star should come here and do a show with these guys.  This is a dirty job.

I just thought this was an interesting building.

A fruit stand.  How can this not be worth a picture?

Finally, Taco Bell.  Yeah babe, Mexico!  And for that price, why not?