The illusion of normality

India is different in many aspects. It's poorer, more chaotic, friendlier, often happier, warmer, more humid, spicier and in desperate need of small change. I come to think about my Moscow days, when, with pockets full of nothing but 1,000 ruble bills thanks to the well-to-do target clientele of the Radisson SAS teller machin, I desperately tried to stuff my shopping basket full of biscuits, crisps, expensive Belgian chocolates and other sweets simply to avoid the social stigma of asking for more than 100 rubles in change at my local grocery store. The local chemist here once awarded me some rupees worth of Mentos, as their local balance sheet didn't have enough cash at hand to support operations, at least not of the appropriate very small values.

There are, though, places of conceived normality (from a Western person's perspective). These are the Ahmedabad malls, which look fairly similar to their distant Western cousins. Their supermarkets at first sight should leave nobody disappointed. They're huge and well stocked, with everything from clothes to groceries, kitchenware, sports equipment and electronics on display. Now this might all seem well enough and like a place to discreetly run away to when the need to experience something home-like (at least if you squint somewhat) sets in. An illusion, indeed. The bubble first bursts at about the time when you have successfully acquired a bottle of shampoo, then asks for some body wash to go with it. "I'm sorry, we're out of it." 16 different kinds of shampoo and not a single bottle of body wash spell supply chain management 101 utter failure like nothing else. Disregarding the sudden disappointment you then quickly try to pull the illusion back together again, however the project almost instantly fails beyond recovery with the following short dialogue: "Excuse me, do you have toilet paper?" "No."

Bought an electric kettle, though. And there was much rejoicing.

A reminder of things better not to think about

A gentle reminder was offered us today that not everything about India evolves around economic development, a truly multi-cultural democracy and happy, smiling children. The following email reached all of us today:

"As you all must be aware, the verdict in the Ayodhya case is due tomorrow at 3:30PM. In the light of that, it is advised to everyone that please do NOT go out of campus after today evening till you are sure that the situation is normal after the verdict has been pronounced.

Exchange students: we would advise you to take special care and make any travel plans (inside Ahmedabad or even outside over the weekend) after consulting a local person who would be able to tell you more about the situation."

The Ayodhya case is about a plot of land, where once a mosque and before that a Hindu temple stood. The Babri mosque was burnt by a Hindu mob in 1992 and in the violence that followed some 2000 people died. The verdict spoken of will determine whether the previous Hindu temple was demolished for the mosque to be built, or whether it was simply modified. Apparently, this will decide what might consequently be rebuilt, thus the anxiety.

Ahmedabad has sizable Hindu and Muslim populations and has seen riots before. In 2002, roughly 1000 people were killed as the result of communal violence in the state of Gujarat and many Ahmedabad buildings were then set on fire. The riots were the result of some 58 Hindus, mostly women and children,murdered by a mob attacking the train they were travelling in. All in all, the possibility of renewed violence should not be discounted. I, for one, will remain on campus doing some much-needed reading.

The picture shows the Babri mosque and has been downloaded from Wikipedia.

Dorm naming ceremony

One of the really good things about IIMA is the fact that all students reside in dorms in groups of some 25 people. Not only don't you have to bother about finding your own accommodation, they also have people come clean your room, do your laundry (albeit for a small fee) and frequently spray the corridors against mosquitos. I'm not sure about the cost-benefit analysis when it comes to that last thing, as the hallways after this always resemble a scene straight from the Battle of Lützen in 1632 with myself as a later version of Gustavus Adolphus Magnus [sic!] attempting to make it back from enemy lines (the communal bathroom) without too much superfluous inhaling. The smell is distinct, that's for sure.

Another good thing about living in a dorm (in this particular case, no 15) is the dorm culture, which is extremely friendly and helpful in all sorts of ways. There are parties and dinners, cinema visits and traditions. One tradition is the dorm naming ceremony. All residents here go under a particular name, which obviously wouldn't be the one they were given as children and, as obviously, not one of their own choice. I received mine yesterday in a most intricate ceremony, which I have no intention of describing in any detail as that could ruin the experience for any future student here. Let's just say there was water and screaming in Hindi (that would be me... several times).

The dorm name is supposed to be based on a story about yourself; I chose the one in which friends of mine (by accident I'd assume...) abandoned me at a St. Petersburg underground station, causing me to almost (a matter of centimetres) miss the night express to Moscow. Based on this incident, my new dorm name, a combination of English and Hindi, is... dam-da-da-dam: RusTy. Not only based on one of the defining moments of my life, it also corresponds with the colour of my hair.

Fruit freak show

Siamese banana twins - not for sale in the European Union

The Indian cellphone ordeal

There are a few things I'm unable to grasp when it comes to India. Admittedly, many things here are different from the way they are at home, but that doesn't change the fact that most things can be understood on at least some level. At this particular moment I find the cellphone issue a little bit extra incomprehensible.

Getting a prepaid sim card is more complicated than at home, however still quite manageable, as long as you have a passport size photo of yourself and haven't forgotten your dorm address in Ahmedabad, your permanent address in your home country and your father's name. Yes, for some reason beyond my imagination you have to fill in your dad's name, information about whom has now been filed in what I imagine is the very large archive of Airtel.

After all this work one could at least hope to have as little as possible to do with one's network provider, as any contacts would most likely result in further paperwork. Yesterday I had to top up my sim card, so I went to the Airtel kiosk on campus expecting it to be a rather straightforward process. I gave my phone to the people on duty, who then made a phone call and texted some messages, using sometimes mine, sometimes their own phone. They then told me that the company had for some reason deactivated my card, making all calls and texting impossible. Imagine my surprise as I received this information as I had been texting people that same day. They then told me to wait ten minutes. Now, it's been activated again, they said.

Now, this would have been good news of course had they been true. You see, the same evening as I attempted to text Lovisa I was suddenly unable to text or phone anybody. (Mind you, everything had worked brilliantly up until the point when I first tried to make use of Airtel's services, which they of course charge for.) Somewhat restless I returned to the kiosk after today's lunch and did my best to explain that I was now perfectly able to receive any incoming messages that came my way, however unable to return the favour. The woman then yet again made some phone calls and texted some messages. After ten minutes she said: "Now, it's working again." I'd better cherish the moment.

An Ahmedabad cappuccino

This week has so far been pretty, dare I say very, calm. Most days I only have one class; the exception being today, when I had none. This is because I've made a few changes to my schedule - dropped a few courses and added others. Some of my courses haven't even started yet, which contributes to the rather sleepy situation here. This Saturday will, however, see the beginning of Mergers & Acquisitions and Corporate Restructuring, which is known to be a killer even among Indian students. It's also known to be one of the best courses on offer, so even if it's bound to bring with it a substantial workload, I'm still looking forward to it.

Today we did a few excursions, first to the wonderful café Chocolate House, which really is exactly what it sounds like. It was good indeed, however as with everything western in Ahmedabad they try desperately to get it right, yet somehow fail every time. It's too spicy (almost everything), too salty (pesto penne), too watery (brownies, hot chocolate, mocktails), too sweet (coffee) or too really anything. Therefore, imagine my surprise when we discovered a Lavazza café at the Iscon Mall, which served an almost decent cappuccino - a taste of home in the same sense as the occasional sip of Indian whisky mixed with Pepsi. I was also able to get my hands on the last copy of Joe Sacco's comic book Footnotes in Gaza, and that at a pleasant 15% discount.

Speaking of food and drink - I've been desperately losing weight ever since I arrived, to the very much so expressed concern of Lovisa, my girlfriend. It seems I've now been able to halt the development, assisted by some protein supplements. I shall, though, be careful not to make any alterations to the carefully composed mix of sugary biscuits and fatty crisps I regularly consume at night, so not to jeopardize my recovery.

The intricate decorations of a 16th century Ahmedabad mosque on picture.

Ganesh Visarjan

Today marked the end of Ganesh Chaturthi, the Hindu festival of the god Ganesh (the famous one with an elephant head). It's called Ganesh Visarjan and was celebrated on campus, first with a priest singing various hymns in front of a Ganesh statue outside the mess; this was then followed by a procession around campus, accompanied by drums and dancing. For reasons of tempo we then took a number of rickshaws to the Sabarmati River to immerse the statue and say farewell to it. We were, though, not the only ones. A number of similar processions were spotted on the way and the river bank was covered in people. Many were children (exceptionally happy ones) and apparently the funniest thing in the world is to have your picture taken by a Westerner. We were happy to comply.

Of course, the Swedish election doesn't go unnoticed here. Charlotte and I will have a fun all-nighter clicking the refresh button on various Swedish news sites, while eating biscuits.