"Yes, Master"

Since some friends are out of town for the next few weeks, and in the interest of taking a faux vacation from my industrial-esque company apartment, a friend and I moved into their warm, cozy home, playing the role of a house, dog, and servant-sitter.

Obviously, the main purpose of my house-squatting is to take care of the obese food-obsessed dog, but this house-sitting gig has other perks as I'm slowly realizing how weird, twisted, complicated the world of employing domestic help really is.

Typical of most middle-class Indian families, the couple has a full-time maid/cook/dog-nanny. Also, slightly more luxuriously, they have a car and driver. Both employees are reasonably friendly, say "yes mam" approximately 2,000 times a day, and gush about how much they love their vacationing employers. Kinda strange.

Despite the occasional crisis of consciousness that I’m single-handedly perpetuating the caste system and promoting inequality of human beings, driving to work with car and driver is simply amazing. I’ve momentarily forgotten the trials and tribulations of my usual commute in Indian public buses, as I’m now lost in the Bangalore Expat Chauffered world of luxurious faux-leather seats, abundant leg, elbow and head room, and-- of course—the most magnificent invention of the modern world, Air Conditioning.

(As I couldn’t possibly do justice to the full, aromatic, rollercoaster experiences which color my daily bus commute, I’ll save the full description for a more detail-laden account later.)

Really, having the driver is great. Having cook/maid is fine too, and as soon as figure out what she actually does during the day, I’m sure I’ll appreciate her much more.

Due to her “real” employer’s absence, I think she’s also taking a break in her duties and probably half-wondering what the hell us strangers are doing in her house, spoiling her vacation. Nothing is really clean (all the towels are musty and there’s no toilet paper to be found) and I’ve enjoyed her home-cooked meals only 3 times this week.

One morning, after assuming we had already left for work, she switched on the TV to a local soap opera, and from what I’ve been told from an eyewitness, began to settle in. (I’m sure she was just about to break out the Chardonnay, the 700-page Vogue Summer Edition, and manicure kit too for a full day of spa-like relaxation.)

When we eventually wandered into the living room, catching her red-handed with the remote, pure horror and petrified confusion ricocheted through the 1,300 sq ft apartment.

It was a very awkward morning, to say the least.

Actually, it’s just an overall awkward relationship, with zero hope of normalcy.

As its been described by an anonymous source: “My relationship with the maid/cook is mostly based entirely on histrionics... if she comes late, she'll make up some story about how she was actually there at 6 am walking the dog.... then I have to make up some story about how we really like her food, but are eating at a restaurant for dinner.”

The driver also may have gone on vacation, as he went completely MIA this morning. (I’m hoping he comes back tomorrow, but his phone is off and we have no way to contact him.)

When he didn’t show up this morning, the cook/maid took it upon herself to investigate and call on his "cousin brother" who works down the street. She came back to the apartment 5 min later, breathless and hyper, with an overly complicated story about the "cousin brother" being "gone, gone. no one was in home or in office who he works for holiday" -- which I still haven't quite deciphered.

I think she was secretly proud of his inexplicable disappearance, consequently elevating her to the hotly contested position of "Most Favored #1 servant" by virtue of doing absolutely nothing.

As a careful student and observer of the lives of aristocrats (Beauty and the Beast, Gosford Park) I expected the world of full-time domestic help to be much more fulfilling and glamorous. Sadly (or thankfully), it takes a certain kind of finesse I just don’t have.

Krrish

Superman has come to Bollywood.

Besides skyscraper jumping, effortless flying, possessing Herculaneum strength, and the rest of the played-out, tired, typical superhero attributes... the world's latest superhero will now chirp out Hindi love songs while rhythmically boogieing a la Ricky Martin.

Famous Bollywood producer Rakesh Roshan reinvents the "Western Superhero" for millions (billions?) for young comic book- fantasy- superhero enthusiasts. I can sense the excitement in the crowded malls, sandy Foodworld parking lots (see previous post) and even in faces of fellow gridlocked companions at interminable traffic lights.

Yes, in two weeks I will be among the legions of sweaty pre-teen gawky boys and die-hard movie geeks clamoring for tickets to KRRISH, the first Bollywood superhero movie. It will be awesome.

From the NY Times Movie Review:


"A typical Hindi film hero can sing, dance and play musical instruments as he single-handedly beats up 10 men, barely breaking a sweat. Urbane city audiences now demand at least a modicum of realism, but as Connie Haham, who has written a book about Bollywood, put it, "Even when films became more modern and supposedly secular, there was always an otherworldliness to the hero's powers."

To create a homegrown superhero, the Roshans had to start from scratch. A crucial question: What would this hero wear? Six months of trials and fittings ultimately led to the rejection of tights and a lungi (a skirtlike garment, worn mainly by men) in favor of a more modern all-black-leather ensemble. Some 70 designs for masks were tested. Both avatars of the hero, Krrish and Krishna, are strength personified. (No room here for Peter Parker-type angst.) So Hrithik weight-trained and dieted for two months, gaining more than 15 pounds of muscle."


Despite being a fan of latex shiny superhero costumes (maybe not Superman’s fire-engine red disco boots, but Batman Begins black neoprene-titanium apparel was indescribably cool), I would have loved to see a superhero swathed in a Lungi-- a generously large, strategically folded linen cloth draped over his super hero thighs.

Maybe they’ll be a sequel?

The things kids do.

After I jumped off the bus on my way home from work yesterday, I stumbled into an interesting scene.

Outside the newly constructed Food World (grocery store) near my apartment, a couple of 8 year old uniformed school boys were milling about the sandy parking lot. With huge grins, they playfully bounced about the parked motorcycles and shouted Kannada phrases to each other-- which I'm sure would translate into something like "Power Rangers: ninja force is better than Power Rangers: space force!" or "Let's play at Vijaya's house later!"

As I usually have an aversion to the largely obnoxious, ill-behaved children between the ages of 0-17, I was a little surprised when found myself pleasantly enjoying their lack of ritalin.

That is, until after they switched into english banter and began arguing who's new Ipod nano was better. Somehow, they resolved this by simultaneously taking a collective pee right in front of me. As in so close to me, I felt droplets of back-splatter.

I froze in horror, trying to quickly process this scene- Shameless Consumerism? Shameless Urination?

I may not have a Ipod Nano, but I have sufficient social manners. Gross!

BLANK NOISE PROJECT: ONE DAY IN THE COUNTRY: BANGALORE

BLANK NOISE PROJECT: ONE DAY IN THE COUNTRY: BANGALORE