Get Lost 2009 - New Delhi, Jan. 1, 2010

What is the lesson of being lost?

Some people set New Year's resolutions... none for the Lost Nav, thanks. I set resolutions nearly everyday. Over every cup of coffee, every sunny day in the park, I walk, I sit, drink, think... The Lost Nav fixes his position constantly, checks his speed, time, fuel, makes little corrections. Stay lost, I say, but stay close to course. Stay close, but not so close such that the other paths are obstructed.

The lucky are those who see to the end of their path, those who know what they want, have what they want... or are they? They're too close to course, too pleased with their own ability to stay on that black line. To a Lost Nav it sounds like complacency; the same brand of success repeated over and over again. It's time for a new route to fly.

To a Lost Nav the fun is in finding new things you never knew you wanted, in finding what you might have missed otherwise. The point is working toward a goal, even an impossible goal, just for the joy and the challenge in the journey.

In pursuit of a far off target and because of some rough seas of red tape; I spent nearly half of 2009 couch surfing. And take it from a surfer... the best part is not finally coming to shore, it's barely hanging on, it's the controlled chaos of just being able to stay up on that wave.

Back on dry land, as 2009 began, I had a pretty stable little existence. It was a temporary stopover on the voyage.

I had a steady routine of a job, great friends, possibly the greatest apartment in New York City; but it was also the right time to carry on with it. I had reached a plateau and it was time to get moving. I had that application pending with the Peace Corps. It was a good feeling to know something was over the horizon.

I'd encourage anyone to chase the dream on the wind, but would never tell anyone to do it without a plan. That's what napkins and coffee were made for. Not every moment of life is right to shove off, but have a plan. Have a plan to go and have a plan to come back. Take it waypoint by waypoint, but the most important thing is trust your instruments... that is to say: Take advice, learn from experience, listen to what this person and that person thinks, digest it, process, but don't follow it blindly. The path shifts, rivers dry, winds change, the way never looks the same as it did once before, but people will try to chart a course for you. It is probably well-intentioned, it could be over-cautious or misunderstood, it may be out of the fear of others' success; but whatever it is they don't see what you see, their compass isn't slewed to your compass. Steer your own ship. Steer it so when you arrive you can say that you did it, not someone else. Make every success and setback your own or you'll have nothing at all. You'll be the hollow reflection of those around you. A Lost Nav is always responsible for his own navigation.

Join me out here, in your own way. Find a challenge, a mountain top and a far-off shore; find a new map. Look beyond your own corner of the world; look beyond yourself. Never run from things; only run to them. And even if you never get there, make sure that you enjoy the ride. Playing the game is better than holding the trophy and climbing the mountain is better than sitting at the top. The top is lonely and it's cold and there's usually no place good to sit anyway.

It's difficult to get up and leave; but it should be harder to stay, to give up another opportunity to improve just a little, to learn, to see, to live. The only wrong direction is no direction at all.

Happy travels in 2010. If you see me out here, be sure to wave.

-The Lost Nav

Home & Garden with the Lost Nav - New Delhi, Dec. 30, 2009

Kunal shows off as he cooks up a pot of tea on a cool morning. He has been serving chai on Delhi's Main Bazaar for 15 years, he says.

Travel log:

Intrepid travelers make their way around the world in search of whatever it is they cannot find at home.

Some of the smart ones, especially the New Yorkers, realize that there there are some pretty good things that were available at home the whole time.

One thing that is not often found at the neighborhood coffee shop (but should be) is an Indian staple... Masala tea. The sharply spiced stuff is sold at restaurants, but the better brews are found on street carts for just Rs. 5.

The tea, missing from New York, is good enough for the Lost Nav to break character and hang a post featuring a recipe.

INGREDIENTS

6 cups water

6 heaping teaspoons of strong black tea

6 oz. crushed ginger root

5 cardamom pods

5 cloves

2 cinnamon sticks

Milk, sugar as desired

PREPARATION

Bring water to rolling boil. Add crushed, mashed, chopped spices and milk. Cook for 1 minute over high flame, 2 minutes over low flame.

Strain, cool and serve.

The previous recipe is for entertainment purposes only. The Lost Nav takes no responsibility for the quality of the tea or any unforeseen side-effects.

All are welcome here - New Delhi, Dec. 29, 2009

Travel log:

Indians are known for their hospitality toward theirs guests.

The friendly attitude attracts many Israelis who need to get away... to places where their passports are welcome. Israel is surrounded by Muslim neighbors who are not as accommodating.

Germans make another group of frequent tourists. The historical Indo-Aryan link is still strong. Some museums here hang signs acknowledging the support of the Republic of Germany.

The common history begins in Central Europe to Eurasia about 4,000 years ago. The Aryans conquered their way from Europe all the way down to the Indian subcontinent leaving religion and language in their wake. The Germanic languages (including English), the Romance languages as well as Greek, Farsi and Hindi are all come from this common heritage.

One of the Aryan religious traditions which remains very common in India is the swastika. It is an Aryan symbol usually hung for luck. Even in the United States it was thought of this way until the rise of the German National Socialists, especially among a small superstitious lot called aviators. The Finnish Air Force still uses the symbol today.

Still, for the "Allies," there is no avoiding the thought of the hakenkreus in the black, white and red all over German Imperial colors. The Nazis chose the symbol in honor of their Aryan heritage and added the dignity of the traditional imperial standard.

Today, India's bazaars and markets sell swastika trinkets and souvenirs, as well as the occasional copy of the less conspicuous Mein Kampf.

Shopkeepers say that Germans do buy swastika decorated items and copies of the book banned to them back home. Laws in Germany and Austria forbid the possession of Mein Kampf and other 'unconstitutional' material, save for use in academic settings.

Whether those items frequently make it back to Germany is unclear, but India seems to be a place where Germans, with a soft spot for their Nazi past, and Israelis can feel comfortable.

How's that for Kumbaya? Ja...

Hostel territory - New Delhi, Dec. 27, 2009

Travel log:

New Delhi is a planned city for its residents and its tourists.

Neighborhoods spread out and are connected by broad thoroughfares and highway overpasses.

(Old) Delhi is a byzantine labyrinth of muddy streets, stalls, shops and hawkers.

The winter brings a harshness to a newcomer. It's somehow asymmetric for the mind to see the locals are wrapped in blankets and jackets to keep warm while a Northerner's body is comfortable in the mild enough 55F. The weather is just cold enough to keep standing water in the streets packed with two-, three- and four-wheeled vehicles and two- and four-legged creatures.

The hawkers are more persistent with their better English than in Mumbai.

The frequent call of "yes, boss?" in Mumbai change in Delhi's Main Bazar. Rows and rows of saree shops, shoe stores, spice/teas stands are lined with slick English-speakers who follow the foreigners: "Hey, where you from, mate?" "What're you lookin' for?" "Need rickshaw?" "Hey New York, nice cap, where'd you get it?" "Where from? Deutchland, ja?" "Hey, why don't you wanna talk to me, c'mon, where you from?"

Most are offering rides by bicycle or autorickshaw to tourist attractions, others sell hash and others who knows what.

Coming from the Ramakrishna Ashram Marg metro station take a left at the open air urinals just off the main road on Gali Chandiwali. At the end of the alley you'll find Hotel The Spot.

Tread carefully as the narrow lane is just wide enough to fit a motorcycle or bicycle and the locals will try. Fear not the smell from the public urinal stalls at the corner; clouds of incense waft from snack stalls selling tea, chocolates, peanuts and packaged crisps.

Nestled between two internet cafes, both with unfinished basement decor, is the hotel. $10 per night buys a tourist a gritty and earthy room which really lends the feeling of finding a bargain. The fourth floor walk-up boasts a minimally functional shower and Western-style toilet. (Toilet paper is available for purchase at the front desk.) A guest must call 10 minutes ahead for the hot water to be turned on.

The dirty room with its stained sheets, pillow cases and towels features no closet or chest of drawers. A television with some Western cable selections sits under an air conditioner that vents not into a window, but an air shaft.

Most items on the room service menu are serviceable and are usually available, according to the staff which frequently pushes alcoholic beverages with any order.

"What, buddy you don't drink?"

As always in India, exact change is very appreciated. Do be sure to wipe clean the silverware before use... to say nothing of the plates.

A sleeping bag in the hallway is also available for the frugal traveler. Check with reception for rates. For all the guests, please try to keep the snoring to a minimum.

The Spot is close to public transportation, but remember to ask for a business card which features a small map. No taxi or rickshaw driver will be able to find this little gem.

Rating: 4 of 5 dead roaches.

So long Bombay - New Delhi, Dec. 26, 2009

Log margin notes:
"Frenzy" best describes it. There is occassionally an order to it, but the idea is that a person has to fight for scraps from dinner.

There are hazards at every turn. Traffic, pollution, constant car horns, men spitting tobacco, shoving commuters, a lack of street signs or addresses all make getting around exhausting. Like any large city, people are friendly if the order is not disturbed. Foreigners are made to feel very welcome, until they start asking funny questions (as reporters do.) Then the friendly attitude toward guests unfortunately gives way to a terror-inspired and often unreasonable over-cautiousness.

Still, once the dangers have subsided, what you've got in Mumbai is a true 24-hour city. You'll want for nothing. Snack stands run well past working hours and there is always a crowd of men standing around a cart with its bubbling pot of Rs. 5 masala tea. The sharp gingered stuff is served in a dixie cup-sized glass which is returned to the vendor to be scrubbed out with wash water and a finger.

The small cup of tea leaves an American to be very American; in need of a larger portion and frustrated over English language abilities of others. I can't pronounce "tea." The signs are all in English so I feel sort of invited to use it. As I was able to pick up... "tea" is best pronounced with the tongue against the teeth, such as: "dtee." This all sounds very similar to me, but I'm not a tea vendor answering calls for thousands of cups of "dtee" or "tea."

Things work there only for the initiated. It's a hard lesson before you find your way. The city frequently lacks that European sense and appreciation for order which you find in the U.S. A crook in the States may be quick to forget about any laws prohibiting the many kinds of fraud and theft, but he'll stop at a red light. It's just how it's done. Those rules of law and order seem a little more flexible in Mumbai. Still, it is very possible that just one month is not enough time to chart all of the currents and learn their patterns.

There are some patterns of ebb and flow... contradictions which are even comforting. They are after all a pattern and illustrate familiar dilemmas. There is an obsession, or at least a fad in glamour. Dreams of singing, dancing and acting in Bollywood seem to far outstrip the desire of the average American to make it in Hollywood or on Broadway. Skin whitening creams are sold constantly to both men and women. Tummy tucks and miracle diets are advertized everywhere.

Conversely, the impression Americans carry that the average vegetarian diet here is health gets crushed everyday by different shapes of fried, doughy and overly sugared snacks and beverages at all times of the day.

Elsewhere, the culture is very oriented towards marriange and family, which is fine. It's also fine that men feel comfortable walking arm in arm or holding hand. It doesn't fit American sensibilites, but it's not bothering anyone... unless they're walking slowly in front of you. On top of that (for lack of a better description) is the "kissie sound." The lip squeaking is used, predominantly by men, to get people's attention, the way an American would shout: "Hey!" Finally, it is also common for men (not as acceptable for women) to stare at the white boy as he walks down the street or eats in a restaurant. The combination of the above took some getting used to and wasn't helped by the clearly transvestite prostitutes who walk the trains and insist on touching anyone who does not meet their eyes in order to get rid of them. I tried the ostrich school of problem avoidance, but had to resort to the angry glare and stern "no" school.

As for contradictions, there is also the booming wealth and the flat-busted poverty. It's tough to deal with when you've grown up with the Western standards. You tell yourself, you can't solve the whole problem alone. If I wanted, I could martyr myself in a fit of populism and give away everything I have; nothing would change. The real answer is that it's a societal problem and a society has to find an answer, not one person. It's bigger than that.

It was easy to hide behind things like "society's problem" and the fact that no one around me seemed to be pouring over the situation as the maimed beggars trooped the lines at the train station ticket windows. You'd tell yourself: it's just some racket, like in Slumdog Millionaire. They take their collections for the day to some mafia boss. That's how it's done... I'm on to you.

Respites from the frenzy were available as time allowed and always welcome. When the weather topped 90F, Kingfisher beer was often the only really cold drink that was sold and always came in the 650 ml (20 oz) bottle. There was so much to learn, understand and process. The times spent talking with friends or just drinking coffee were completely necessary. I had to transcribe the imprints on my brain, like wringing out a sponge in preparation for the next chore. It was satisfying even though the work was never over; and I was glad for that. I'd hate to be a dried sponge ready for the waste heap.

I took a few days in Pune to give the old stinking sponge a good wringing before pushing north. My neighbor from New York, Kaveri, and her generous family were nice enough to accommodate, humor me and show me around. We saw temples, forts and markets, but most importantly we just hung around a bit in parks, cafes and coffee shops. It was just what I needed.

The next waypoint approaches...

The only way to travel - Mumbai, Dec. 16, 2009

Log margin notes:

The sights and the museums and Western-style restaurants can't match it. To get the actual feeling of place, go as a reporter, I say.

I admit that publishing has been a hefty challenge in these first few weeks (a trend which looks to continue), but the struggle has been all the fun.

After waiting a few days for help on an article reviewing of the city's lacking ambulance services, I took up the cause on my own.

Last week, a new friend, Amey Polekar, from a television station new what I was working on and asked if I was interested in attending a conference, Hinduja Hospital's second annual Conference on Healthcare @2020. He sent over a company car to pick me up and burrow through traffic to get me there. Just riding in a car that wasn't a taxi was a luxury as we passed by all of the pedestrians who were forced to squeeze in the narrow lane between the parked cars and the moving cars.

Once I made my way upstairs I found a seat in the conference room.

At a passing glance, I was sitting in a darkened room with a bunch of suits (and sarees) listening to PowerPoint lectures; but with a closer look, this was a small piece of how this huge country is really just beginning to tackle its own healthcare puzzle. These were the people who would make decisions and lay the foundation of this basic need of the world's most populous democracy.

The best part is that the puzzle of healthcare is still in its early stages where real noticeable progress is within reach.

Ideas came out about organizing healthcare malls containing dozens of individual specialists, clinics and pharmacies so that records could be used by all. A movie presentation showed the value of electronic record-keeping which could be viewed remotely and not only by personal physicians, but by research doctors who would have easy access to countless new bits of data.

During a break in the conference, I was able to pin down the hospital's CEO for a fast interview for my ambulance story. I spoke to another physician as well.

The two confirmed what I had been hearing. There's no central, recognizable number like the U.S. has 911. Each competing company has it's own number and sets its own standard of quality. People are also unaware of what companies offer or how to reach them. Sometimes, the companies don't answer the phone at all, I heard anecdotally.

While at my local coffee shop I asked a girl, Blossom, what she would do if she needed an ambulance. She said she would have to call the city's information line, 022 8888 8888, and ask for a number of an ambulance company.

The Hinduja CEO and others also complained that drivers were often poorly trained and much of the public views ambulances as a hearse. Most are only equipped with an oxygen bottle and a first aid kit, so there's not much to be done anyway by the un-uniformed and often tobacco-spitting drivers.

Plenty of people just use taxis and public transportation for emergencies, the hospital staff said.

I saw first-hand the future of the city's services the next Tuesday when I rode with one of the city's modern ambulance companies: 1298.

1298 has a training partnership with NY Presbyterian Hospital (where the Lost Nav would drop patients during days working with the Central Park Medical Unit) so the staff was happy to have me along.

I was concerned not to hold up the crew, so my nerves ran high when cab drivers refused to go one neighborhood away the morning of my shift. It's tough to tell if they can't understand me or if they're just refusing to go for a 15 minute ride. Finally, I found one guy who would go, but insisted on a no-meter Rs. 150 ride. That steep price comes in at just over $3 so I agreed. As it is typical, when drivers leave their usual surroundings they have to ask people on the street for directions. Many buildings do not really have addresses and "landmarks" are very important. It's difficult to depend on people who expect me to know my way around a new city, but that's the only option I had.

We finally arrived on time, but I had already missed the first call. When Dr. Saeed (an actual doctor, not just a paramedic) returned with his green-shirt clad crew of one attendant and one driver, I introduced myself and we started rolling around.

Their second call came just a few minutes after. We flipped on the siren, but it was no help to push aside Mumbai's infamous, smog blasting traffic. People still drove and ran out in front of us as we crawled along. It took 35 minutes.

It was a transport job, an old woman on a ventilator. I hopped out behind Dr. Saeed and headed to the door where I saw a big hap-hazard pile of shoes (mostly loafers.)

"I have to take my shoes off?" I asked Saeed, as he took of his own and the answer became obvious.

I was glad I had a decent pair of socks on and slid along the tile floor down the narrow dimly lit hallway to the patient.

Saeed was given a handover brief on the woman's condition by the attending physician Dr. Anees.

While the nurses made ready for the transfer, I was able to ask Dr. Anees what he thought of the city's ambulance services.

He agreed (with me) that 1298 is the best in town, but did not give the whole system a perfect bill of health. Still, I began to feel like people were reluctant to tell a foreigner what they really thought of the city's system. Maybe they didn't have an American reference point as I did.

The patient and her family were loaded on board. Saeed kept an eye on her oxygen saturation which dwindled at a hypoxic 90%. Even in America we don't trust those "pulse-ox" meters, but he was satisfied with the reading.

At the receiving hospital we waited a long time for a manually operated elevator to take us directly to the ICU. (Typically, U.S. EMTs do not find themselves that deep inside a hospital and it was shoes off again... more typical for an ICU in the States.)

I stood around with the doctors and nurses for observation purposes although no one seemed to know what I was doing there (dressed in a navy long-sleeve t-shirt tucked into cargo pants.) A doctor finally asked me who I was and I told him I was an "observer from the U.S." and an EMT. He asked if EMTs are trained to ausculatate lung sounds as part of our patient assessments. I said we are.

He picked up a recently used stethoscope from the old lady's new bed and handed it to me.

"Tell me what you hear," he said.

I tried to politely refuse (the strange new earwax), but he insisted so I asked if he had any alcohol swabs.

"You're right, you're right..." he nodded and cleaned them off with something or other.

I figured that was good enough and found clear sounds on the left, stridor on the right. (Stridor is a whistling sound, not unlike an asthmatic wheeze, but upon inhaling.) Another doctor wondered what I was doing and I said: "Clear on the left, stridor on the right."

"That's because of her condition," he said.

"Thanks doc," I thought to myself.

We were back on the road after waiting a similarly long time for the elevator again. The Marathi-speaking driver insisted that I have a tour of the new white Bandra-Worli sealink, the fourth longest sealink in the world.

We drove around, got some lunch and sat around like ambulance crews do. Saeed is not severely religious, but he left for mosque and came back after his afternoon prayers.

Saeed and I were busy shooting the breeze while the driver and attendant slept. We spoke about politics and an American's impression of India. I dwelled more on the interesting part rather than the polluted and congested part.

People, seeing my old age, often ask if I'm married. I usually say something about not being a very good husband if I were, by being here in India. They consider and agree that a wife would not let her husband come to India by himself.

"So you've decided not to get married?" Saeed asked.

"No, we'd say in America, that I haven't decided to get married yet," I said.

I read (in a book on India that I found while waiting to speak to the police commissioner) that marriage (and within your own caste) is for many Hindus is the only expression of religion they practice. In the way that some Catholics only go to Mass on Christmas and Easter.

The conversation went on and the afternoon ended. Time was getting short in Mumbai and I wanted to get the ambulance story wrapped up. There were still a few more people to talk to.

The next day, while snapping a few shots of ambulances in action, another great new friend, Kaustubh Kulkarni, from the same television station called. He said he could get me into Boeing's press brief following the maiden flight of the 787 Dreamliner, if I was interested.

I went just out of interest in aviation. I didn't think any news services (other than the Lost Nav) would be interested in anything I could get on the new jet.

Again, Kaustubh came along in the company car and we got to the outskirts of town at the posh Marriott.

I listened and took the opportunity to follow another story. An editor had asked me if I could find anything on rumors that India was fielding a Marine Corps. I asked the India Boeing chief if he was competing for any Marine Corps contracts, since in the course of his comments he did mention a few airframes that the USMC flies.

"No, India does not have a Marine Corps," he said. I guess I couldn't get any great state secrets out of him either.

After a quick briefing, they insisted I have a few of the free refreshments. (Some) reporters try to limit their appetites when PR types are paying, but with the way the are here about "guests," I ate a little. The polite small talk went on between the reporters and PR people and one Boeing woman asked: "From what country do you come, Germany?"

I said: "No, America; but what made you think that?"

"Or if you prefer I can continue on like this," I said in a (pretty good, I think) German accent which is based on an old friend and German exchange officer at NAS Pensacola.

She didn't even flinch and could not pick up the accent.

It was time to go and Kaustubh with his crew dropped me a little way from my place since traffic makes it easier by foot (and they had to get back to file.) I thought it was no problem and wandered around a new side of town for a few minutes as it got dark. The Lost Nav had to guess at a few turns and took a dead end. As it often happens, I was glad I did.

I hit the gate of a slum next to a Catholic cemetery and when I turned around to retrace the street I saw that the adjacent cemetery was Jewish. A few of the stones dated about 100 years back, but most were fairly recent.

I walked through to pay a few respects and leave some rocks at the rarely visited graves (as is the tradition.)

I thought it would be alright to take a few pictures, but a local woman walked right over to me to ask in Hindi what I was doing.

I wasn't in the mood to answer any questions so I reached back to an experience earlier in the day and said: "Ich bin Judisch." That got rid of her. I did it again after a few kids, who actually spoke English well, came to stare at me and my camera.

I thought that this is the only way to travel.

In the past few days I had gotten some insight into the city and the country's healthcare mystery, rode in an ambulance, heard about the future of Indian civilian and military aviation, had free car service around town, got free food and then dropped off in an interesting part of town. (Real reporters actually get paid to do this... I'm told.)

Tourism is great, but traveling as a journalist is really the way to go... if you can afford it.

NEWS BRIEF - Mumbai, Dec. 16, 2009

Boeing's 787 flies - 37 on order to India

The new Boeing 787 Dreamliner jumped off for its three-hour maiden flight from Paine Field in Everet, Wash. on Wednesday.

India's national airline, Air India, has placed orders for 27 planes while Jet Airways ordered 10.

"India has a significant role to play in the historic 787 program," said Dinesh Keskar, president of Boeing India.

The new jet will run on 20% less fuel thanks to its light-weight composite material.

"It's an environmentally friendly airplane," Keskar said, but the savings will help off-set recent losses in the suffering industry.

In 2008 and 2009, "too much capacity was chasing too few passengers," Keskar said, but "I think the worst is behind us."

The 787 is less expensive than the recent 777 model, with a similar seating capacity, but the 787 will not cut into the 777's market share, he said.

The 787 provides regional service, but cannot provide long-range service from India to the United States, for example.

Despite its shorter range, Boeing is confident that passengers will seek out its new platform.

The lighter material allowed engineers to cut larger windows to allow passengers to see more of what is happening around them.

Research indicates that it is largely a lack of awareness that contributes to people's fear of flying, Keskar said.

Another new feature is the mile-high cabin altitude.

Typically, while a jet flies over 30,000 feet, the pressure and air quality in the cabin matches the outside air at 8,000 feet. The 787 offers a cabin altitude equivalent to 6,000', which will leave passengers feeling more refreshed with less chance of airsickness.

So far Boeing has received contracts to sell 840 of the new Dreamliners making it the fastest selling new commercial jet in history, according to a Boeing press statement.

Out of Smokes - Sanjay Gandhi Nat Park, Dec. 12, 2009

Log margin notes:

Apparently, weather reports which reach the United States usually list Mumbai as over 30C and "smokey."

It means "smoggy" and it sounds funny to anyone who has never been here. The air is heavy. It has a taste and a smell and a feel and none of it is good. The dust and dirt hangs in the motionless atmosphere both inside and outside. It dries lungs and eyes and anecdotally sets off a huge asthma problem in the city's children. People here claim to be used to it, which is just as well because there is no escaping it.

That is, except for Sanjay Gandhi National Park.

The only national park within city limits in the country is about an hour north of city center and well worth the hour-long train ride.

There are a few sights to see including some hilltop caves which were carved by Buddhist monks for use as a monestary around 2,000 years ago. That was impressive, but breathing some fresh air, panoramic views and wildlife beyong stray dogs and pigeons was probably the greater thrill.

In the city it [shouldn't be, but it] seems mildly acceptable to stand or walk in other people's way, but it is equally as acceptable to give someone a gentle shove out of the way. Politely fighting for position is all just a part of getting somewhere.

In the park there is no need for that.

Ride to the sights by car or motorcycle for about $20. The breeze carried more oxygen molecules than dust particles and the oppressive heat retreated about 5C.

The first of the tourist attractions were the monkeys. Everyone loves the little guys. I carried on snapping away with the camera and getting closer and closer until one of the bigger ones had enough of me and jumped awfully close to let me know it. For the monkey's information, he wasn't nearly as freightening as the buffalo who didn't like having his picture taken back in Oklahoma a few years ago.

I intended to write-up the whole experience in the park for some travel magazine or another, but after a shoeless walk around a Jain temple, I realized that I had very little idea of what I was talking about. Later reviews of the internet were not helpful.

What I did know about the temple was that there was a lot of very well-carved and well-polished marble. The three large statues at the top of the first landing looked like something from the original Star Trek.

The lack of knowledge about the Jain religion and its icons reinforced another lesson... other people must think my culture is as strange as I do theirs... most illogical.

Continuing up the hills my guide and I found the Kanheri caves which were carved by the Buddhist monks. Monks made more sense to my modern mind, but the amount of time it must have taken to bore into that much rock with hammer and chisel was mind-blowing. Despite the screaming school kids running from cave to cave and meditaion room to meeting hall, I felt a little zen. This far above a forested valley, this far from the city... how could I not?

The caves ended three-quarters of the way from the top of the hill. I couldn't suffer that. I knew my guide was anxious to end the trip and pick up another fare so I chugged up the steepest stretch of the rock to make sure I got a view from the top. There's something about "near the top" that just won't do. It was really the same view as before, but the clean air rushed a bit faster and there was a very slight sense of accomplishment that has been missing since I've been here... and not publishing anything.

Despite the 2,000 year old carvings, I secretly was more excited to see the big cats; the last of the touristy stops.

Back to the old ways of public transportation... I waited for one full safari bus to leave and had to shove families out of the way to get onto the second. I was able to get a good seat by the barred window in order to make a few tricky attempts at pictures of the lions and tigers which are couped up in their own pens.

My driver left me off at the main gate again and stopped me when I walked away from the gate. I told him I hadn't had enough yet and I walked back to section of the park frequented by more of the locals. There was a boat pond for the couples and a few grassy patches for soccer and cricket.

For the sake of my supposed travel article, I wanted to see the mini-train I had read about. I found it easily, but I found it during the "engineer's" lunch break. The train typically leaves every 30min, but I was looking at a minimum 45min wait. I saw a few people start to walk down the tracks. It seemed fitting enough as everyone is perfectly comfortable to walk in the city's streets and bump shoulders with traffic.

I walked passed a few more pens containing small spotted deer, including a few pint-sized six-point bucks.

I felt intrepid and continued on down the tracks far passed where the rest of the crowd lost interest. I was walking by myself in a secluded and strange place, but I had a similarly surreal feeling as on the hilltop.

They might have been dopey narrow gauge mini-train tracks, but there's something about train tracks and hilltops that have such a poetic quality. I walked along thinking about life gone by and what was up ahead. No major break-throughs were reached, but using the ol' brain in that way has an actual good feeling and with all that has been going on, it had been too long since I'd felt it.

Before long I turned a 20min kiddie train ride into an hour-long walk. I made my way back to the train station and skipped my stop. I grabbed some early dinner at a dairy/cafe in town and after some more walking, called it a day.

It was a big relief just to do something other than making phone calls, burrowing through Google and sitting at my friendly neighborhood diner.

A brief night's sleep preceded what looked to be my last week in Mumbai. There were still a few tricks to try before I skipped town for Pune.

[Stay tuned for that attempt at a formal travel article featuring the park. It will be up sooner or later, depending on its success with the world's editor populaton.]

Just one of those days - Mumbai, Dec.12, 2009

Travel log:
In Christian countries Chanukah rides on the momentum of Santa's sleigh, not in India.
A Saturday night Havdalah service made only passing mention of the "not-Christmas" holiday celebrated in the English-speaking world.
Many congregants few there at the 125 year old Keneseth Eliyahoo Synagogue are decedents of the Bene Israel Jews who landed 2,100 years ago (and if your math is any good, this was just before the time of Jesus Christ; whose birthday is celebrated on... Christmas.)
The story goes that a ship carrying seven Jewish families wrecked on the Indian coast near what is now Mumbai. The families grew into a larger community which was accepted by the locals and called the "Saturday oil-pressers." The oil-pressers largely assimilated and began to speak Marathi, the language of the state of Maharastra.
After the creation of the State of Israel in 1948, a year after India's independence, many Jews headed back to the Holy Land and the numbers dwindled.
On this Chanukah, in the old impressive synagogue with its well-worn, comforting elegance, Rabbi Solomon Sopher conducted a standard Hebrew-only orthodox service.
It seemed like some people had forgotten when the service ended and he called the 16 congregants to gather around for the lighting of an ornate gold Chanukah menorah.
There were no presents, no latkes, no dradles, no snow, no cold; and there was no sense of missing all of the Christmas fun.
Six candles left and there goes another holiday.

To Slay a Dragon - Mumbai, Dec. 10, 2009

Travel log:

All over town, Muslims celebrated during the Oru [sp] Festival held this week. On the night of Dec. 9 a procession went by Bandra Station complete with sparkling tinseled floats, cows decked out in their finest party streamers and what party would be complete without kids blowing 150 proof fireballs?

But wait! This is a Muslim festival, could it really be alcohol? Why, naturally it's kerosene.

Thursday and Friday another sort of (non-fire breathing) get together was scheduled at Hinduja Hospital in Mumbai.

A collection of the nation's healthcare leaders met to discuss how to manage the growth of the nation's mushrooming healthcare system. The money is available for improvements, but what are the most efficient ways to grow and how should the poor be included?

It's a monster of a problem. Still, the healthcare debate in the United States, by comparison is in the late rounds. The vast majority of people get healthcare one way or another, even if it's through Medicaid. The questions being tackled in India gave the feeling that there is enough left to do so that basic and early successes are within reach.

The medical community is only beginning to organize its thoughts and is hoping for a government buy-in.

The government has recently offered a lot of subsidy and assistance to what it considers infrasturcture industries, said Dr. Gustad Daver, director of professional services at Hinduja Hospital.

Improving roadways, airports and energy facilities is big business, he said, but "healthcare should get infrastructure status."

Many of the speakers at the conference agreed that the government can do more, but it is held back by a lack of unified leadership in healthcare. There is no single agency that could easily assume responsibility for healthcare and one needs to be appointed or created, speakers said.

Once the government takes on the problem in earnest a Public-Private Partnership (PPP) may be the next step. The government would provide land for medical facilities run by private investors with public oversight.

Doctors would also like to see the government help to create a system of digital record keeping, but government agencies have balked. Digitizing records would cut numerous redundancies in administration as well as ensure that doctors have the most current information about their patients. Better information would also allow for a huge increase in the data available to researchers who are constantly looking for eligible test subjects.

Government officials at the state and national levels insist that the problem of organizing records is too large a task to manage.

Perhaps the most glaring problem is bringing healthcare services to the far reaches of the countryside.

Nearly 72% of the population lives in the countryside, but 80% of the doctors, 75% of the dispensaries and 60% of the hospitals are in cities, said Charu Sehgal, senior director of Deloitte & Touche Tohmatsu India.

The problem is the lack of investment. In the cities the wealthy, better paying patients can (and do) help subsidize treatment for the poor; in the country "the margins are lost," she said.

Despite the enormity of the problems, nearly every presenter spoke with notes of optimism that change is coming. The simple fact that ideas and opportunities are beginning to be discussed is a large step forward.

For anyone who accidentally swallows a mouth full of kerosene... doctors recommend no spicy foods for a few days.

Notice to readers - Mumbai, Dec. 9, 2009

Some (by last count seven) of you may have noticed that there are some slight changes to the look of the ol' blog. There are ads here now.
I initially hesitated to do it in the spirit of keeping the Big Brother ad machine away from every facet of life. One feature I do like is that I can now see how many hits per day the site gets. That information may one day be worth putting on a resume... if I turn out to be any good.
I figured I'd poll the audience to see if the trade-off was worth the annoying ads, but then I realized that I could turn this into a principled attempt to stand up for paid content, intellectual property and writers earning enough to eat.
So that is why there are ads here now. I'm not happy about it either, but maybe when I'm rich I can buy some new righteousness.
-The Lost Nav

Rules - Mumbai, Dec. 8, 2009

Travel log:

[Warning: Revolting language]

In life, there are rules. When travelling, some rules you bring with you and some you find when you arrive.


In Mumbai, for example, it is not permissible to piss on the outer wall of the Government of India Mint. It is also not permissible to take pictures of the sign on the wall of the Government of India Mint which prohibits the pissing.

Rule: Chance favors the bold

One thing that is obvious upon arrival here is that foot and vehicle traffic has made its own set of rules. The Lost Nav has not been able to independently confirm that there are traffic laws on the books, but if they do exist; they only serve as a jumping off point for great negotiation of man and machine.

A game called Chicken has one simple rule... the last person to fear for their safety wins. This may be the only possible way to cross streets during certain times of the day. If a driver or pedestrian intends to wait until traffic has become reasonably clear, that person should have a full tank of gas or be familiar with the location of a tea house in order to spend a few hours, respectively. Ear-splitting, teeth-rattling car and the higher-pitched motorcycle horns are also the rule and not the exception where the average decibel level is concerned.

Rule: Exact change preferred

Actually, it's not only preferred; very often it is required. This policy goes farther than bus fare and carnival tickets. Change (whether in coin or paper form) is coveted here. The Government of India Mint may be too busy handling its urinary problems and has neglected to print or strike new rupee denominations from Rs. 5 coins to Rs. 10, 20 and 50 bills. (45 IDR = 1 USD)

ATMs distribute crispy new Rs. 1,000, 500 and 100 denominations, but try to find a new small bill. It's as though they haven't been printed in years. Clerks will almost always ask for exact change and act as though they are doing you a favor by changing even an Rs. 500 note. Just today, the Lost Nav was stuck in a ticket line at the train station because an African man was arguing with the clerks. He wanted to pay for a Rs. 6 ticket (or possibly an Rs. 52 first class ticket) with a Rs. 500 note.

"You get me change!" he shouted, waving the bill over his head. "I want to pay!"

The Lost Nav has no doubt that a train station which serves thousands of people per day can find change for Rs. 500.

Taxi drivers have upped fares to accommodate their supposed lack of change. This is not surprising. What is surprising is that they have also cut fares due to their lack of change.

"Never enough coins," a cashier said, when the Lost Nav finally tried to ask why people seemed so ravenous over their coins.

Rule: Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to

'Where is the toilet?' is a great question to ask before setting out to walk through an unfamiliar city. This question is best asked at hotels and restaurants frequented and recommended to tourists.

The Lost Nav was busy futilely observing the rules of The Waiting Game in the hopes of meeting a contact from the Times of India in order to work on a story. During the Waiting Game's early rounds, a stop was made at the Britannia. The supposed 1940s Iranian-styled cafe was recommended by a travel guide and was well-located in the historic Colaba district of Mumbai.

I found a seat in the high-ceilinged and comfortably worn cafe that was still sparsely filled at noon. A breeze from the bay was helped by overhead fans which cooled the few customers and large wait staff.

An early lunch of egg masala consisted of four hard-boiled egg halves in a spicy sauce accompanied by a chapati (Western hemisphere dwellers may think tortilla). Iranian cafes are usually known for tea, but the grandfatherly waiter was forced to apologize as the cafe does not serve either tea or coffee. He recommended a fresh lime soda, with an especially charming emphasis on 'fresh.' I could not refuse a local favorite and was happy to find the soda less sweet than nearly every other beverage the country offers.

When the brief meal ended, I asked another waiter if the toilet was upstairs. He said 'no,' and nodded his head toward the front of the room where a hefty wait captain sat behind his slightly elevated desk like a king on his throne between the two sun-filled entrance ways.

With a backhanded flick of the wait captain's wrist I was escorted to the back of the restaurant expecting to see a bathroom to the side of the kitchen. Instead, we walked right through the kitchen into the back room.

Anyone who has ever seen most restaurant kitchens knows that the sight is usually enough to turn the heartiest eater into a meek nibbler. In this kitchen, grease stains and grime inches thick was frosted with dust and cobwebs at the corners. The hatless, gloveless, tank-topped and largely barefoot staff slaved away over bubbling cauldrons and corroded counters.

In the back room piles of trash and used glass made a home for a particularly long-tailed rat which scurried behind the bottles. A mixer churned some sort of vegetable dish in the opposite corner. Next to the bathroom was a two-headed shower room where the people who apparently live in the backroom were washing up... thankfully in their "shower bathing suits." A bowl of pasta was brought into the shower room to drain.

I thought of running, but I was stunned and fascinated by what I saw; I stayed. The double-doors to the bathroom remained closed for a while despite the shouts of the staff to open up. It is another rule that the longer you have to wait for the bathroom, the less likely you are to want the use of the bathroom.

Finally, the doors swung and I found out what was meant by 'squat toilet.' It is, as advertised, a hole in the ground. This oblong 24 inch hole was cut in the tile floor and had a slope toward the drain side of the "toilet." To my great surprise, it did not smell at all and was actually comforting after seeing the rest of the kitchen. There was no toilet paper in the bathroom, but for this moment that was irrelevant.

I left the bathroom and pushed my way through the tight quarters of the kitchen in order to make my escape. I headed for the door of the Britannia, but was stopped by the waiter who directed me to a small sink on the side of the busboy's station. I briefly washed my hands and went straight for my hand sanitizer after I left the restaurant.

Rule: What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger

I hoped my lunch would make me stronger.

NEWSFLASH - Mumbai, Dec. 7, 2009

Mumbai sits in smog as government heads to Copenhagen

By: Aaron Hochman-Zimmerman

The air is think in Mumbai; smog blocks the view across the city's famous Back Bay.

Exhaust fumes, construction, dust and traffic are an accepted part of life here.

"They've developed a tolerance for it," said professor Virendra Sethi, head of the Center for Environmental Science and Engineering at the Indian Institute of Technology Bombay.

In Mumbai, "the overall problem is dust," he said, "but that doesn't mean it's toxic."

Still, the scientific community in India is only beginning to organize and discuss the problem.

"What should be the standard for India is still really up in the air," he said.

The government's actions promoting renewable energy and cutting emissions have been positive steps, but the real work needs to involve information sharing and large groups within the scientific community advising the government.

"That hasn't happened yet," he said.

Political forces which favor economic development and fighting poverty push for resources to be funneled into their own causes.

"It's largely an urban issue," Sethi said, the rural areas deal with a separate set of problems.

Also, "there's a cultural problem," he said, in many ways people are not ready to take on large, long-term challenges when the will not see immediate effects on their own lives.

"We've gotten to the point where the tasks are so huge," he said.

Meanwhile, the government prepared to take on the problem at the international level as its delegation arrived in Copenhagen for the United Nations Conference on Climate Change.

Before the announcement that Prime Minister Manmohan Singh would attend, Greenpeace had pushed hard to get him to commit to attend.

"We actually got him a ticket," said Deven Digwal, public engagement campaigner for Greenpeace, Mumbai, "although economy class."

There is always more that can be done, but Greenpeace would be satisfied with the Copenhagen talks if India agrees to cut its carbon dioxide emissions by 30 percent to 35 percent, Digwal said, as well as incorporate a serious plan for the use of renewable energy.

The government has paid lip service to the problem, but "nothing" has been done, said Ashok Datar, chairman of the Mumbai Environmental Social Network. "It's a lot of words."

In Mumbai, clean air comes in from the Arabian Sea and gets dirty as it passes over the city, he said; "it's getting worse."

Locally, "it's basically a traffic issue," professor Sethi said and a government report agrees.

"Transport ... has been a victim of ignorance, neglect and confusion," according to the Ministry of Environment and Forests' 2009 State of Environment report.

Mumbai's air contains the country's highest content of sulfur dioxide at over 10 micrograms per cubic meter. The number has steadily increased since 2004. The air is also burdened with over 45 micrograms per cubic meter of nitrogen dioxide, second in the country to Kolkata. Levels have increased since 2002.

Mumbai residents also suffer with over 100 micrograms per cubic meter of respirable suspended particulate matter or forms of dust which have increased since 2003, according to the State of Environment report.

There have been some successes. Both particulates and sulfur dioxide levels are lower than samples taken in the mid-1990s.

The Environment and Forests Ministry credits tighter government restrictions on emissions for the improvements.

However, Datar is frustrated that more is not done about the traffic policies in Mumbai.

"I don't want to have more cars in my city," he said, but he understands that owning a car is an aspiration for people living in this rising economic power.

In the last 25 years, cars have increased on the Mumbai streets by 11 percent per year to 700,000; buses have increased at a rate of less than two percent per year to 3,300, he said.

What must be done is to adjust the price of owning a car, he said.

Taxes, registration and parking fees can be used to make owning a car and even loftier aspirations and would help to decongest Mumbai's streets.

Automobiles are cheap and apartments are expensive, he said, even some people living in slums own cars. "It's totally way out of proportion."

On the national level, India's government has been working to reduce its already relatively low environmental impact, compared per capita to the rest of the world.

India produces five percent of the world's carbon dioxide, compared to China's 16 percent and the United States' 22 percent, according to government figures.

For the government, the issues are "coming into the forefront," said Satish Sinha, head of the climate change and energy program of the World Wildlife Fund in New Delhi.

"Our expectations are still very high," he said about the Copenhagen summit.

"What we really need is for some form of legally binding agreement to happen," he said and with broad international cooperation.

The United States and other major players must contribute to the effort, although "the numbers we're hearing from the U.S. are not very encouraging," he said.

The United States has had its economic trouble, but the world needs a "more ambitious roadmap" from the Obama Administration.

"He can certainly to more," Sinha said about President Barack Obama.

Domestically, New Delhi's National Action Plan shows promise, if enacted, he said.

Details of the program can be found at http://moef.nic.in.downloads/home/pg01-52.pdf. The document details some of the governments priorities for the use of solar, wind, more efficient fossil fuels as well as conservation programs.

"Renewable energy is becoming mandatory," Sinha said.

There has also been "interesting" research into the controversial notion of clean coal technology, he said.

India is still developing economically and has to expand its use of energy to serve its people, he said.

"A large section of the population does not have access to basic lighting," he said and "coal would still play a dominant role in India."

The country must use "all practical sources of energy," he said.

Notice to Readers - Mumbai, Dec. 6, 2009

As I've said... it's amazing what you find when you're lost.
On this voyage I seem to have found my way into the Modern Age, digitally speaking.
As of today, I will provide a new photo service at http://flickr.com/photos/lostnav
At this moment only some shots representing my first impressions of India are available, but more will surely follow in the coming days.
I hope you're finding some of this as interesting as I do.
-Lost Nav

NEWS BRIEF - Mumbai, Dec. 4, 2009

Rumors that India intends to field a Marine Corps were refuted by the Indian Ministry of Defence.
The tip came from Helmand Province, Afghanistan, where an American Marine Corps colonel, who recently finished a training stint in India, spoke to the South Asia-desk editor of a major American news service.
The Indian Navy's chief public relations officer denied any plans to organize a Marine Corps.
"We have marine commandos, but not a Marine Corps like the United States," Navy Captain Manohar Nambiar told the Lost Nav in a telephone interview.
The United States Marine Corps reports to the Secretary of the Navy.
However, the Indian Coast Guard is considered a military branch and reports to the Defence Minister, while the United States Coast Guard reports to the Department of Homeland Security.

Shave and a Haircut - Mumbai, Dec. 3, 2009

Log margin notes:

It's been quiet in the past few days. A routine is developing.

After what felt like a futile fury of reporting on the 26/11 attacks and then trying to come up with something on the environment ahead of the Copenhagen meeting, I've had a few days to play the waiting game.

Monday I managed to schedule and interview with a traffic expert. My story on the environment is naturally related to the traffic problem here, but his focus was primarily on congestion and less on the impact to the Earth. At least it felt like some progress towards something about the local pollution levels with the backdrop of India's commitment to a deal at Copenhagen.

On Tuesday I got a haircut at a fairly sanitary and cozy spot (18' x 6') I saw when I had been hanging around police headquarters. I was chasing rabbits along the trail of a 26/11 story. The haircut cost a touch more than two-bits, but at Rs.30 or 66 cents, it was a decent bargain. I skipped the shave after the hatchet job done to me back in NY by a guy who I believe to be an expert barber (at least the vintage 1920s look of the guy told me so.)

That was Tuesday and later that day I walked through town waiting to hear from a guy I met at the Times of India.

I met him the week previous when we were both waiting to see the commissioner of police. As we talked I told him about my idea to write a story on the improvements made by the local ambulance services. He asked if we could work together; he had intended to do one of the same. I said I'd be happy to.

That weekend we had some dinner with some of his friends and he brought me over to the press club.

Now, after my haircut, I was busy drinking Rs. 5 or 8 cent Nescafe coffees which come in a dixie cup at the train station. I wandered around the neighborhood of the station and Times of India building, waiting around to meet him. By the end of the day he was too busy and said he'd call me back to reschedule. More waiting and waiting.

Wednesday, another interview. Two cab drivers could not find the office in the Santa Cruz (East) neighborhood. One drove me to Santa Cruz and more-or-less said...

"OK Santa Cruz."

Not good enough I told him and stopped to ask for directions. No one could help. I paid him for as far as he took me and not a rupee more, although I think he was expecting some kind of tip.

I realized he didn't even take me to the east side of the tracks. I know my way around better than this guy? Really?

I found the train station and took the foot-bridge over the tracks and looked for 3rd Ln... which as I've learned, may or may not be next to either 2nd or 4th Ln.

I got into an autorickshaw as time approached my appointment. He drove passed a 5th Rd. That was encouraging. He finally stopped and pointed as if to say... "just down that way." I've seen this routine before. Again, I paid him his Rs. 10 and nothing more.

I walked around a bit and headed back toward 5th Rd. I saw 2nd Ln. and as it should be, I saw 3rd Ln. I actually made it on time with minimal help from two cab drivers. That and the lack of roadsigns have to be some kind of impediment to growth, I figured.

I met with a guy from Greenpeace who also had little hard data on the environmental conditions in Mumbai. After stepping out of traffic, I could tell him they're pretty poor. It's dusty enough to make the Marlboro Man look like James Bond.

He did say that Greenpeace's new campaign will be against the use of genetically engineered foods. It sounded interesting, but I had my mission for the day. I still tried to get a hold of this professor at the Institute of Technology in Mumbai for data on the air quality. No luck. Time was running short again.

I brought myself back to my new neighborhood and sat at my American-style diner drinking coffee and trying to do some work on my accidentally pink computer. No one says anything about it, by the way. I was again locked out until 830p by my battle ax landlady who thinks I have to live my life based on her schedule.

Another part of my routine has been daily arguments with her. I don't really take it to heart. I care too little about her opinion of me. I'll take an interest if she thinks she's keeping any of my deposit, but there's only a need to worry about that in a few weeks.

Just today she threatened to charge me for electricity since my computer has been often plugged in. I said we never made any arrangement about the electric bill.

"I did not know you would be using all the time," she yelled.

"I didn't know you'd be out until 830 p.m. almost every night," I said.

In case anyone is still asking the obvious question: Why don't I have a key? ...the answer is that I never asked if I would get a key; I just assumed I'd get a key. I thought she didn't have it ready and I would get it the day after I moved in, but then she tells me that since I'd only be here for a month, I wouldn't get one.

I said as long as she's there to open the door, it makes no difference to me; but she goes out... and I get locked out.

She also finds at least one thing to yell at me for per day. Yesterday she told me not to leave the remote control on the bed because it might break and that would cost her money..?

"No, it won't break," I said.

Once I came back at 2 p.m. after leaving in the morning. She answered the door shouting that...

"Your timing is wrong! People sleep in the afternoon!"

"No, people work in the afternoon; people sleep at night," I said, and added yet again: "This wouldn't happen if I had a key."

"How can I give key if you're only here one month?"

"How can you rent a room and not give someone a key?" I asked... rhetorically.

I'm really not that upset about the situation, although I probably have a right to be. I will become upset if she thinks she's keeping any bit of my deposit.

So that's become a routine.

Today was Thursday. I met with a professor of environmental sciences and finished off that story on the air around here. I sent it to an editor at the Hindustan Times. He was nice enough to forward it to the Bombay editor. We'll see and it'll be posted right here as soon as I know what's happening with it. I offered to rewrite is as a wrap-up of Copenhagen.

Now that I've got a routine it's time to break it. I'll figure something out.

L'Chaim - Mumbai, Nov. 29, 2009

Log margin notes:
Yesterday I spent the morning at the local synagogue. The building itself is very impressive; the service itself was orthodox, nice and fairly normal. I was welcomed many times over by the regulars there. (See previous entry.)
Afterwards there was a kiddish lunch served of traditional Indian vegetable dishes as well as rice, chicken and fruit.
In true Jewish fashion, a heated discussion broke out between a few of the regulars and a friend of the local Chabad House where four people were killed a year earlier in the attacks.
The locals insisted that the money collected from around the world should be used for the local community, but Chabad has its eyes on the world.
The rabbi was able to calm the situation and the occasion remained peaceful meal. Then, with an invitation from the Chabadnicks who attended the service, I went to the Chabad House... for another lunch.
I was given a tour of the, still under construction, Nariman House by an Israeli who is affiliated, but not a Chabadnick himself.
The bullet holes were obvious and as he explained, mostly from police who were not well-trained in counter-terror tactics. They had clearly been firing around corners. He showed me the section of wall missing where Maharastra state commandos broke through to combat the gunmen. In what would be the rabbis' office, a grenade blast had smashed the tiles on the floor.
He also showed me the room where a young rabbi Gavriel, his wife Rifka and their son Moishe were killed.
"Death is everywhere," the Israeli said.
Finally, I was showed to a modest lunch table at around 12:30 p.m. and was asked to sit. I was clearly welcome, but for me only in the uncomfortable way which is possible in a foreign country where I'm very familiar with neither the local language or the Hebrew which was spoken. Lunch began and I was implored to "say l'chaim" (to life) many times. In honor of the rabbi and his family, I was in no condition to refuse. I finally chose "the yellow," which is known to the rest of the world as "The Glenlivet." The other option, "the white," is known to the world as "Absolut."
I said "l'chaim."
Lunch number two was salad, chick peas, olives, pot roast and potatoes. Many prayers and stories went around the table which were translated into English for me and one other. After each, a round of l'chaims.
If not for any ability in Hebrew, I was respected for my ability to say "l'chaim." I was surprised how quickly some of the others at the table were soon asleep... on the table.
After hours of this, I had to escape to meet a new friend at the Times of India. We were supposed to meet and possibly begin work on a story about the city's ambulance services. I tried to escape, but was held back in a very religious way. I was #10.
To say a prayer called Kaddish over lost loved ones a group of 10 men is required. I agreed to stay for another 10 minutes, which I did. It felt good to be there for them to say Kaddish. It was a small sacrifice on my part, but I figure it meant a lot to them.
After the prayers dancing broke out and I broke away to find my way from far down in the historic section of Colaba to near the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST) across from the Times of India building.
"The yellow" had sharpened my navigational senses. I was late and decided on short-cuts. I made no wrong turns and showed on time.
I met Sudharak, of the Times, for the first time while I was sitting in police headquarters earlier in the week. I was waiting to speak to the commissioner about an ill-fated 26/11 story (see Nov. 26 posting). Sudharak was somewhat planning an ambulance story of his own and was intrigued when I told him about my own ambulance experience back in New York.
However, this day we met with a few other of his friends for yet another meal, biryani. After dinner we went to the local press club chatted for a while over some more snacks and decided to meet again on the next Tuesday to work on the ambulance story.
I had eaten a lot that day, but had to rush home to pay for the dinner which is delivered to my room every night for Rs. 70 or a modest $1.55.
I didn't make it, but I did call ahead and avoided another scrap with my battle ax landlady. I at the food at the next day's breakfast.
The scrap finally came when she insisted I was one day behind (again) on my payments to the food delivery people. She had the wrong date. I was not behind, but call it yet another run in with the old dragon.
I also couldn't believe that she asked me if I planned to stay in the room beyond the one month I already paid for. I was disappointed that she doesn't hate me enough to want me out.
I sleep easy there. I'm sure I'm more her problem than she is mine, but I won't stay there any longer than necessary.
Besides, I can't stagnate in one place too long. I've got a country to see here.

Facing West - Mumbai, Nov. 28, 2009

Travel log:

The 17 men around the bema said the Amidah facing West at the Kenneseth Eliyahoo Synagoge in the Colaba section of South Mumbai.

It was the first time I said the prayer facing any other direction but East, in order to face the Western Wall of the former Temple in Jerusalem.

The service, in the 125-year-old orthodox synagogue, was attended by about 17 men and six women, mostly of local Marathi-speaking Mumbaikars. Some Ashkenazi Chabadnicks filled the pews to ensure the congregation had a 10-man minyan for the service which was conducted in a traditional Sephardic Hebrew with an English sermon.

Both inside and outside, the shul is coated in a soft, but distinct baby blue paint in an otherwise polluted city. The bema stands in the middle of the sanctuary, below gold painted chandeliers. The ark is in the traditional place at the front of the room, below the array of colors which are barely contained within a two-story stainglass window.

Corinthian columns support the balcony and separate two rows of pews, one close to the center and one along the wall. The pews in the farther row, along the wall, sat below the open windows which provided a modest, but necessary breeze.

Outside armed police guards stand on the streets of a bustling and predominantly Muslim neighborhood.

Tourists may enter at any time with a valid passport and Rs. 100 for photography priviledges.

To enter for services I was asked by a non-English speaking employee: "Jew?" and "Passport?" Another non-English speaker attempted to ask me: "Come where?" I guessed and said: "New York." With those solid credentials I was welcomed in and showed to a seat.

NEWS BRIEF - Mumbai, Nov. 26, 2009

Demonstrators sang, chanted and picketted for peace near the Gateway of India in the shadow of the Taj Mahal Hotel

Foreign and local media crowed the Mumbai Chabad House where a restricted memorial was held

Throughout the day, memorials and vigils were held at sites where some of the over 170 people were killed by the 10 terrorist attackers.

NEWS BRIEF - Mumbai, Nov. 26, 2009

Mumbai police rolled out new armored and rapid response vehicles to combat the ongoing terror threat

Police officers march along Marine Drive in a show of force on the anniversary of the 26/11/08 attacks

Mumbai police units paraded along with new combat vehicles and security commandos along the waterfront on the one-year anniversary of the 26/11 terrorist attacks.

The parade followed Marine Drive from Nariman Point to Chowpatty Beach where the public was allowed to inspect the department's new terror and crime fighting equipment.

Chief minister Ashok Chavan of the state of Maharastra presided over the parade which is expected to become an annual event.

(More pictures to follow.)

NEWSFLASH - Mumbai, Nov. 26, 2009

Mumbai police bulk up, make contacts in seaside slum, terrorist landing point

By: Aaron Hochman-Zimmerman

Mumbai, Nov. 25 - One year ago 10 foreign terrorists guided their small craft to a Mumbai waterfront slum called the Fishermen's Colony; they spread across the city and killed over 170 people.

Life is about the same in the slum since the attacks of 26/11.

Shacks and residents are still huddled together in the Cuffe Parade section of Mumbai near the polluted Back Bay. Residents cook kettles of prawns and other small fish. Laundry hangs over the sandy Earth. The bathroom for some is little more than the far end of the shore near the waterline.

Nearby are wealthy neighborhoods, tourist attractions and the heart of the city's financial center.

A few police officers chatted near the entranceway of the ghetto, but shortly moved on.

Some at the colony noticed the strangers come ashore the day of the attacks, but communication with police is what was lacking, said Police Commissioner D. Shivanandhan.

What has changed in the colony, according to Shivanandhan, is the degree of the contact between the residents and the police.

Without divulging details, he said that the situation has been rectified.

There is little in the way of noticeably electronic security or even mobile phones, but "poverty does not affect the security situation," he said. "We can protect all those landing points."

Earlier, on the other side of the bay, the Mumbai Police Department rehearsed for a parade scheduled for the morning of the one-year anniversary of the attacks. Similar parades are likely to become an annual event in Mumbai and will act as a yearly demonstration of the city's law enforcement capabilities.

During the drill, the police department's traditional parade units were followed by the debut of new armored all-terrain vehicles and armored personnel carriers fitted with machine gun turrets as well as an outfit of specialized security commandos.

"I'm in charge of the security for the city ... one is duty-bound," said Shivanandhan, who replaced former-Commissioner Hasan Gafoor.

Gafoor is currently involved in a scandal stemming from allegations that he accused other senior policemen of shirking their duty during the attacks.

Despite the circumstances of his predecessor, "I have no mandate," Shivanandhan said, other than what the law requires. "My job is to give confidence to the people."

To that end, the department has held 30 to 40 training exercises simulating different attack scenarios within recent months, Shivanandhan said.

Still, from the point of view of the people, much work needs to be done.

"No change," said Mumbai resident Amal Thakue who came out to watch parade practice. Mumbai [is] not safe, very dangerous," he said.

"The morale of the people may be a little different, but the morale of the policemen is very high," Shivanandhan said.

At the top level, Shivanandhan and his officers have studied the lessons from the attacks dated 9/11, 7/7 and others, and are committed to the safety of the city.

"I, as a leader, pledge myself to give complete security to the Mumbai people," Shivanandhan said.

Also, from the beyond the edge of the city, the Indian Coast Guard has increased patrols, said spokesman Commandant Kulpreet Yadov.

"Good steady progress is being made," he said.

Call it a Victory? - Nov. 25, 2009, Mumbai, India Nov. 25, 2009

Log margin notes:

[WARNING: Adult (and revolting) Language]

I wrote a story today... my first one of the trip. I sent it to the Huffington Post so I'll hang it up on the blog on Thursday (the actual anniversary of the 26/11 attacks, which is the subject of the story.)

For now, I'm happy to go on and on about how I actually got this big scoop.

I was told by a local journalist, who is one of my contacts through a friend in New York, that this seaside slum called the Fishermen's Colony (where the terrorists infiltrated the city from small craft) has not changed at all since the attack.

I made every attempt to get a hold of various police officials on Monday and Tuesday. I answered the dumb questions of speed-bump functionaries who finally let me in to wait for someone who could talk to me. He said he'd be happy to talk on Monday... four days after the anniversary of the attacks. I was beginning to understand that I had missed the opportunity, although through another journalist I met in the hallway introduced me to the Commissioner himself. He said he may have a minute late on Wednesday. That would have to be good enough. (See Nov. 23, 2009 post for more.)

Still, I didn't give up and set out the next morning to get my pictures of the colony even if I wouldn't be able to speak to a police official. The person who told me about the colony in the first place said I probably shouldn't go in there alone. I didn't have enough time for all that. I got on a train.

On my way to the seaside slum I heard drumming and saw a lot of police activity. I was determined not to be distracted, but I stumbled onto a police parade rehearsal in preparation for the big show of force on 26/11.

I got a few pictures and found out that the Commissioner was around. I couldn't find him, but spoke to another reporter who said the Fishermen's Colony was really no big deal. I could go alone.

After a bit more walking I found the place. If I had tried I could have followed the smell... a sour waste smell burned my nose from the road. To this Long Islander, the more familiar stink of low tide was a cheap, but welcome cologne on top of the other odors. Just inside the gate from the main shoreline road, shacks stand next to fishing boats. People were milling around and not overly interested in me or my camera. The residents were busy cooking over small burners sitting in the soil or hanging laundry outside of their patchwork shelters.

I walked 50 yards down to the waterline to find a shot from the perspective of the attackers who landed there. More people began to notice me as I stood with my shoes just submerged in the filthy water. As I looked around the beach for another perspective I walked over a line strung seemingly for no reason from the gate to the beach. All of a sudden I noticed I had narrowly missed a few piles of shit. It was too big to be dog shit and then I saw that the people squatting beyond me were not looking for bait fish in the shallows. I was standing in the shitter. I did not recognize the originating animal, at first, as the poop (shall we say) lost its form as it was washed over by the tide... which I imagine was the intent of the poopers.

I'd had about enough of that and went to see if I could speak to some of the people there. I thought English might be a problem and I was right. I started to leave and saw some elderly ladies sitting around big buckets of fish on the sidewalk. I still had my camera out and went for a shot.

One old lady seemed like she was motioning me to 'come over' to buy some of the fly-swarmed seafood. Seemingly annoyed by the camera she made as though she would throw a fish at me. I figured I'd had enough altogether of the Fishermen's Colony. I had what I went for.

The next step was going back to my room to drop off the camera because I could not take it into the police station.

I ran out and back from the 'burbs and sat until I finally met the Commissioner. He pretty well killed my story by telling me that the poop, um, poor conditions at the colony had nothing to do with the terrorists ability to come ashore. Even the poop didn't keep them away. What else ya gonna do?!

I went back after giving up on a story that didn't seem to exist and figured I'd write what I had. I couldn't do that before I had words with my landlady about the her not giving me a key. She said I could 'come and go as I pleased' when we agreed that I'd rent the place. I assumed I'd get the key the next day or something. How could I not get a key, right?

As it turned out I get no key because I'm only here for a month. I said as long as she's there to open the door, what do I care? But now it seems that she thinks I can only come and go when it suits her schedule. This is gonna be testy for the next three weeks.

No big deal. I'm otherwise feeling fine. I've got the actual 26/11 parade to cover tomorrow and who doesn't love a parade?

Goodnight everyone.