Settling in, venturing out

It seems that suddenly I've been here for a week. The fact that my days begin 12.5 hours ahead of the people I talk to back in Seattle made it such that Friday kind of snuck up on me.

In any case, the past few days have been moderately eventful. Yesterday and today there was more beauracracy to deal with, but I am officially here now, and I think that I will not have to deal with so much in the future. Unless I want something like internet in my apartment or a cell phone or to go trekking in a restricted area.

Yesterday's work was really just preparation for this morning. I was driven to the office where foreigners must go to register and dropped off at around 10am. I signed the first of four log books in the foyer, went up three flights of stairs, waited in line, signed another log book, and waited in line some more to talk to the person who would let me into the next waiting room. She wanted to see the same letter that the consulate in San Francisco had wanted to see, but I parried that with the research visa in my passport. The consul in San Francisco must have put a magic mark somewhere on there, because it works surprisingly well at deflecting these sorts of inquiries. So I moved on into the next waiting room.

This room was air conditioned and had a flat screen TV bolted to the wall showing Mumbai's version of CNN. Among other news, it seems that an Indian bomb squad didn't want to be shown up by the folks from Ohio who took out a bike because it was sporting a "this bike is a pipe bomb" sticker, and go for a Darwin award at the same time. It seems that the squad in question exploded a mine while trying to open it with a hammer and chisel. The bomb, which was buried alongside a road in West Bengal responded to this brilliant move by killing 2 bomb squadders and injuring 29 more people, including 7 reporters. They showed a video of the whole thing on TV. First they yanked it out of the ground with a hook on a string. Then this guy in shirt sleeves goes at it with a hammer and chisel. Then it blows up and all hell breaks loose. I respect the fact that it is tragic, but come on, it's a bomb! Don't try to open it with a hammer!

Anyway, I was in this room for an hour or so, with a few visits to the desk in the next room where the fourth log book was signed. Eventually all was in order, they had my forms in triplicate and I have a nice little book with my picture in it and lots of stamps.

So besides dealing with the paperwork involved with living here for a year...

Sukhendu and I decided to venture out into the city last night, so we hopped a TIFR bus (there is a loop that a bus runs from the institute through the city) and hopped off at the first stop, just a couple miles out. We walked around for a while, stopping in at the Sassoon Library, and the Taj Hotel, by the Flora Fountain, and the Gateway of India. Then, even though neither of us had proved the requisite theorem, we had dinner at Khyber. (Shah told us how to get to the area, he was directing us to another restaurant but that one was closed for a private party, and used Khyber as a landmark, but said that it was the sort of place where one goes after proving a theorem.) The food was good and the ambiance well done. It was not as expensive as a meal at the Taj, but definitely on the US or European price scale.



I've decided to try to keep two conversion rates going in my head. the conversion value of the Rupee in terms of dollars is roughly 50:1, and this is nice to keep in mind when occasionally going out to eat or buying a nice notebook. But for most of life, a conversion rate of 5:1 is a better guide. A meal at the institute's cafeteria is 10-20 Rs., and at Khyber, about 700 Rs. The inequity here is amazing. On the way to the station this morning we drove past a slum where children were using the side of the road as their toilet. Next to the station was a similar slum. Walking through the city on the way to Khyber last night, we saw scenes like this as well. A dog with all of its bones in stark relief showing through its skin stood next to a ring of people, sitting by the road cooking on a fire and playing cards. It makes me feel indescribably lucky to be sitting here in my air conditioned office, while I know that one mile away, a room this size made of scraps houses a family of seven. This city has both extremes though.



This evening presented us with another beautiful low tide sunset. One of the first year students was walking about in the courtyard with the dazed look of having spent too much time studying. We walked along the ocean and chatted about Bombay and mathematics and such. He grew up in this city, and as we looked over at Malabar Hill, he commented that the apartments there are some of the most expensive in the world, but that in some intangible manner, they are the property of all Bombay, like the sunset.

Afterwards, I headed back to my apartment. It seemed like a good time to try out riding in the city. So I put a little more air in the tires and headed out. When I stepped out of Jagdish, I had to step over a snail who was crossing the threshold. Thank you snail for reminding me to go slow and be safe. Vivek and a few other students were at the gates of the colony, they wished me well and reminded me to be careful.

I rode down Homi Bhabha Road to the circle and turned left onto Colaba Causeway. The traffic was not bad, and I had little trouble joining the flow. Traffic in Mumbai tends to move more slowly than in Seattle. The constant use of horns and chaotic movements of all sorts of transport can seem aggressive or forceful, nobody wants to hurt anyone, and the horns are just to announce oneself. It just takes a little getting used to.



I rode along to a large intersection in Colaba where we were the night before, and from there down towards the Gateway of India. Circling the Gateway, my bike and I got a number of looks. I don't think there are many westerners on bikes, or any bikes quite like mine here. With one gear and a flat black frame, it isn't too out of place, but it is clearly not of the local sort. We were definitely noticed.

From the Gateway, I wound my way into Colaba Market, where I picked up a few orbiting urchins who were very interested in my bike. In particular, the fact that there was only one brake was very strange. The crowd was thick enough that I dismounted and walked. Before long, all but one of my young entourage had seen enough, but this one small boy with a red hat and shiny white teeth kept along with me, pointing out various things ("Fish, there is fish ... Look, coconut...") and chattering along about I'm not sure what - it was a busy market and the accents here are still really hard for me. Before too long, we were joined by a older man with a beard and a smile and a small round Muslim cap. He was also interested in my bike, and noted several features, such as the fixed gear and the clipless pedals (these he just said were "small"). We talked a little, but it was starting to get dark and I wanted to get back. He asked if I would come back so that we could go riding around the city together. A local guide like this would potentially be quite useful, and a lot of fun. Trust is always an issue in things like this though. We'll see, perhaps.

Returning was easy enough. I find it easy to match the speed of the motorized traffic on many of the roads around here, and can follow the lead of the motorcycles or the other fast bicycles. Or I can ride along with the slow bikes. Traffic flows much more organically here. There is not so much rules (though traffic signal lights are generally obeyed) as there are customs. As time goes on, I'll come to understand it better, but for a first foray, it was a good one.

Ok, that was a long one. Either I have to stop having such an interesting time, or I have to figure out how to write faster. On a side note, it's interesting being online in the evening here. The little dots on the left side of my gmail window wink on and tell me who has come online for the morning.