Month in Mexico: Part 1

I have been back 12 hours and I have met a ton of people who ask, “Tell me everything about Mexico”. It’s hard to believe that a month or so ago, none of this had happened, because now it feels like such a big part of my life. I promised each of them that I would tell the story right. This is my attempt. It’s not gonna be short and it’s not gonna be too interesting unless you have deep love for me. Also, I’d like it to be acknowledged that with the “M” screaming at me, I didn’t use “Memoirs” in the title.  Yes, it was hard.

“Why Mexico?” is a common question. As much as I wanna give some romantic notion of Mexico beckoning me, the reasons I picked Mexico were more practical than anything else; Developing country prices, no visa, cheap tickets. In fact, the whole summer was mostly about California and Mexico was just injected as an afterthought when I realized that my budget can only sustain me for so long in Californian money. I was so excited about California that, I kid you not; I didn’t know ANYTHING about Mexico until I was already on my way to Cancun from San Francisco. Thanks to the Lonely Planet I was reading on the flight, I figured out how to get to the Downtown with the cheapest way and that was all the info in my head. Cancun airport is great because you have lines of kiosks where government appointment people help you shit tons with all the info you need. And they make it clear that they aren’t trying to sell you stuff so you actually feel very reassured. However, that guy asking me, “How many times have you been here? You know a lot already (Lonely Planet told me exactly how much the bus would cost, where it would drop me and exactly which sidewalk it would wait at)” gave me this false sense of confidence about the rest of my night. I also had a very false notion that my being brown would make all the difference in blending in. NOPE. The minute I left the airport, I realized that I clearly didn’t look as Mexican as I thought and in fact, with a complete lack of Indian tourists in Mexico, drew way more attention. My first few hours in Cancun were hell. I had way over packed from California and I walked around the city with everyone giving me contradicting directions. It didn’t help that the city was not stroller bag friendly at all and not a single soul spoke English. Also, it was dark and dusty and I was completely expecting the bus to drop me off at some gorgeous beach. After around an hour of walking around a city which looked like my least favorite parts of India, I finally just entered an internet café and told the owner to dial the hostel. I was nearly hysterical and thankfully he agreed to come and fetch me. The hostel itself was decent. The people were nice. I managed to get two weeks’ worth of clothes laundered for dirt cheap so I was pretty decently happy. I walked across the street and got a meal of chicken quesadillas, which after a month, still happen to be the best quesadillas I’ve ever had. Cilantro sauce, I love you. The hostel was nice but very quiet. Also it was FREAKING HOT. I didn’t sleep a wink all night because it was my first night in another country and I was also really uncomfortable because of the heat. I also have this habit to sleep with my laptop if I feel scared or lonely, so I was sleeping with my laptop and all night I had nightmares of it getting stolen. Finally, in true hostel fashion, the last people came in at 1, and the first people to leave were up at 5, so it was just a bad night overall.

Quesadillas at Cancun

First Night in Cancun

I woke up the next day at 8 and decided that I’m gonna make Mexico awesome no matter what it took me. So I headed to the kitchen with full gusto, in high spirits, to grab the free breakfast. After a month in Mexico, I realize that the breakfast they served was a freaking feast. But I had been spoiled by hostels in Indonesia with their proper cooked breakfasts with three or four options served buffet style. So my expectations were cosmos high. Here was a jar of Jam, some butter, a toast and a toaster. Also, some bananas. I was so bummed. I grudgingly ate a piece of toast and headed to the beach. Finding the beach and getting there was easy and cheap enough (8 pesos of a bus ride each way). It’s called Delphines beach and to get there it takes 20 mins of crossing the fanciest palatial resorts you’ll ever see. Delphines is a nice enough beach but they have all these beach lounge chairs right by the water with the umbrellas. The minute I fell asleep on the chair, this guy wakes me up and after 5 minutes of really frustrated hand gesturing and attempt at communicating, I realized that he wanted me to pay 200 pesos to use that stupid chair. So I had to get out of the cozy shade of the umbrella and lie in the sun. My mood wasn’t helped by the fact that I was carrying my Kindle so I couldn’t get into the water leaving my stuff on the sand. So I just sat there for a bit baking in the sun. It was still gorgeous no doubt, but it wasn’t feeling right yet. After a few hours on the beach, I knew I’d had my fill of Cancun and decided to move on to this place everyone couldn’t stop talking about: Tulum.



Between Cancun and Tulum is a city called Playa del Carmen. From everything I had heard, Playa was also a very touristy place like Cancun and I decided I’d had my fill of that. So I just took the next bus from Playa to Tulum without staying too long. I reached Tulum when it was slightly getting dark so I decided to just treat myself to nice cab ride directly to my hostel. I picked the hostel with the best breakfast and the highest ratings and I was so excited. I show up at the hostel (which was significantly outside the city) and it was shut! After seeing me trying to break in (I really wanted to stay there), the owner comes out and tells me they are renovating. I was far from the city, had just paid for the taxi ride to get there and I wasn’t getting the breakfast everyone was raving about. I was really getting tired of this. The owner recommended the place next door and it was the shittiest place in the world. I got a room (BLAZING HOT) and tried to make the best of it. I asked the owner where I could get some dinner and he said that there were NO food places nearby. I see a gas station across the street and eat a Cornetto for dinner. The hostel guy then gives me a 30 min speech which could have conveyed the same information in 5 mins. It was dark by then but he convinces me that it’s a great time to go to the beach. He gives me directions and basically said that I need to cut through Mangrove forests and then I’d see tons of restaurants, coffee shops and what not. Here I am imagining Waikiki in my head and imagine chilling in some beachside bar with a cocktail. I get a bike from the hostel and set off on the freeway. After two seconds I realized that the bike had no freaking brakes. Thankfully the realization came before I was trying to cross the interstate. I went back to the hostel guy who taught me that the brakes are on the pedals and not on the handlebars. He, for good measure, also acted like every moron should have that information. I set off again without realizing that retraining my mind on how to stop the bike was much harder than I thought. I reached the forest and that’s what it was, a freaking forest. There are guards at the beginning of the forest who casually wave me in, so I’m thinking it was a normal occurrence for people to cycle through the forest in the pitch black. I have directions and I keep biking through forests so dark that I can’t see my own hands. If freaking out was an option, trust me I would have screamed out my lungs after 10 minutes. But I was scared that me screaming would only attract animals so I just continued to bike, looking confident and determined, without letting the animals sense my fear. After struggling through a steep slope with no fucking brakes, I finally made it to the beach. It was white shining sand and fucking gorgeous. It was so quaint; White dunes of sand, coconut trees, fisherman’s boats and white tents. There were also no lights or bars or cocktails. I was the only one for as far as I could see on the beach and while it sounds magical now, I was terrified. I was walking around a bit (cos the alternative was to go back into the dense iguana infested jungle) and this guy comes and shines the torch in my face. I have imagined this scene a million times in my life. I am suddenly alarmed by a guy. I grab his arm, trip his leg, and with one swift movement he is flat on his back. Obviously, then he happens to be telling me that I dropped something and we fall in love. But I completely digress. The point being, the first time, I was finally alarmed by a guy for real, I pretty much froze and all my thoughts were based on the fact that my parents are gonna kill me if I die here. Thankfully, again after much much frustration, I figured out that he wanted to rent out one of the cabanas on the beach. Here is a somewhat, in retrospect, funny part. I kept telling him that I wanted to check out the inside of the cabana. So I kept miming, “you, me, cabana, walk, show”. I dunno if you can see how this can convey wrong information. But basically he finallyyyyy took me to show a cabana. Turned out it happened to be his and he thought that’s what I wanted. I can safely say that I have never pedaled faster through a Mangrove forest in the middle of the night before. I reached the hostel and yelled my lungs out at the hostel guy for recommending that. To give him credit, he insisted it would have been heavenly had I waited for the full moon to come out. My rest of day two in Mexico mainly consisted of boiling in the heat, all hostel mates speaking in Spanish, hearing a guy poop right next to me while I showered, and seeing a cockroach near my bed. 

Delphines Beach

Those damn umbrellas.

Trying to have an abstract pic.

Horrible Tulum Hostel

I'm REALLY traumatized that there was a guy pooping next to me while I showered. It didn't help that this was the sign on the door. 

Wants

I want a cat I want a dog

I want to stay thin how much ever I hog.

I want a huge self-making bed

I want Heath Ledger to be undead

I want to live in New York Town

I want my skin an even brown

I want a closet that choses clothes

I want the power to teleport

I want nutella in peanut-butter cups

I want to do twenty push-ups

I want F.R.I.E.N.D.S to have never ceased

And yes, don’t pout, I want world peace.

The problem though will always be

My grass I’ll never see as green

So all I’ll get, but want I’ll still

No such thing as wants fulfilled

So to get out of this vicious ball

I need the want that rules them all

I want one want (though it’s a bore)

I want to stop wanting for more.

Good things are happening too.

So everyone who knows me, knows that I can be very vocal about issues in India. Especially those related to bureaucracy and attitudes towards women. But something amazing happened on my trip to India that I forgot to share.

I bought two TVs on my trip to Singapore. (side note: Indians buying TVs in Singapore and taking it back to India is a thing! There was a separate aisle on the airport to stack the TVs. ). So, according to the website, the two TVs were within the allowed custom limit and I wouldn't have to pay the fees. But sooooo many people told me that if you have two TVs, the custom officers will make you pay a fee and there is no way to get around it. The logic being that someone who is buying two LCD TVs is rich enough to pay a hefty bribe.

My dad told me that the standard norm was to roll two Rs. 1000 notes in my hand and smoothly give it to the security guard and just walk out confidently. He warned me repeatedly not to get any funny ideas in my head about ideals. I think his parting words were pretty much, "don't fuck this up". I reach the airport and convert my last $40 into 2000 Indian rupees (at the worst exchange rate ever). As I am walking confidently into the "green channel", I realized that my dad completely missed the biggest loophole in the plan; I don't know how to give a bribe!! 

So I am walking by the all these custom officials and within seconds they are like, "Ma'am two TVs? Please go through the red channel". I am frantically looking for the supposed security guard (the one who I had to bribe) who was supposed to come rescue me. I didn't know who the heck I was supposed to give the money to! I then see him, and it was unmistakable. The sleazy sly grin. I am pushed towards the red channel by the other custom officer and I quickly circle around and come back determined to finish the task assigned to me. I approach the bribe-guard directly and he sees the money in my hand. So he knows it, and I know it. Now here is the problem, I am scared to cross the one foot distance between our hands to give it to him. The guard says in Hindi, " Poor little girl like you with two big TVs. Surely you need help and I can give it to you". The custom officer comes back, "Is there a reason this lady is wandering around lost? Ma'am, please go to the red channel". The guard goes, "Sir, let me help her. It seems like she needs help." The security guard comes and stand right next to me again and all I had to do was barely extend my hand and my ordeal would be over. I couldn't. 

I trudge back indignantly to the red channel hoping I can pay with my credit card and my dad will never have to know that I failed. The custom officer at the red channel was nothing like I expected. He was very polite, spoke crisp English, asked about my trip and promptly gave me the permission slip to pass by without paying anything. I couldn't believe it! Here I was "the weaker sex" flashing two LCD TVs in his face and he actually treated me with complete respect. He then asks me, "You're clearly within the allowed limit, then why did you keep going back and forth?" The honest answer was that in this situation, my country hadn't failed me, I had failed my country.

I remember once being super stressed about shit and bitching to my friend. He simply texted back.. "Chill.. good things are happening too." That line really struck a chord. Stayed with me. I feel like this is something I haven't been acknowledging when it comes to my country. So many things are changing for the better. Homosexuality was decriminalized just a few years ago. The people are making a stand against corruption.  Just yesterday, a normal guy from Mizoram wrote in his blog about how he felt bad that a Mumbai cop called him "Nepali", and within the day, the Mumbai police sent him a letter apologizing and invited him to join the investigation to find the offending cop. It's giving me a warm fuzzy feeling inside :)... kinda like when I marched triumphantly out of the airport, gave the crumpled money to my dad and said proudly, "Trust the system, dad. Good things are happening too". 

Rishikesh!!

A couchsurfer that I met in San Francisco told me that his favorite Indian city was Rishikesh. I had nothing to add to his comment because I have never given much thought to Rishikesh. It's a small holy town on the banks of the Ganges (or Ganga). The one time I had visited Rishikesh was when I was around 12 and the only thing I remember was that the water was freezing and the bathrooms were terrible. Thanks to the CSer's comment, I decided to tag along with my dad on his business trip there.

Rishikesh was a 5-6ish hour long drive from Delhi. The drive there was pretty unremarkable. Tons of dhabas (food stalls) on the way but I didn't eat there cos of my delicate digestion. At first sight, Rishikesh was everything that I expected from a small sized north-indian town. Traffic, dust, trucks everywhere. Our hotel was in a shitty part of town with nothing to offer. I was very ready to spend the next three days in the hotel with my book. However, since my parents hate to see me being lazy (read: comfortable), my mom dragged me out to explore the city.

Rishikesh was a revelation. Thankfully we were visting in the off season so the town was deserted for me to explore. The city lies on both sides of the river Ganges. The first shock to me was to see that the river was so clean! The water was completely clear and freezing cold. The town was sooooo clean too. There were cows everywhere (and cow droppings too) but I was shocked to see that the streets were litter free. The town was hilly ups and downs of quaint by-lanes and small stores. We started at this bridge called Ram-Jhula which is an awesome suspension bridge. This HUGE bridge was actually moving when I was jumping on it.. and it was filled with monkeys. I think I was exceptionally brave to walk across the narrow bridge without freaking out and the monkeys also co-operated by not attacking me.

The most amazing part of Rishikesh is so hard to describe. Imagine a city with ancient roots. It is filled with ashrams where people across the world come to meditate and to learn yoga. This is where yoga began. Everywhere in the city you see schools teachings different forms of dance, music and instruments. The air is thick with culture. This is what the city is all about. To top it off, it rests in the lap of Himalayas, surrounded by forests with the gorgeous Ganga gurgling by. The sidelines are dotted with the city's namesake, rishis (sages), who I bet have incredible experiences to share. I actually saw this Rishi put this hands under a urinating cow and wash his wound. We drove through the forests (called the Rajaji National Park) and while the roads along the mountain cliffs were terrifying, the drive was still delightful. Another real nice feature of Rishikesh was these adorable little cafes dotting the banks of the Ganga. Most of these very bohemian eclectic with varied cuisines on the menu and sporting breathtaking river views. I tried Yak cheese (it is as brave as I could get in the mostly vegetarian town of Rishikesh) and it tasted fresh and un-weird. The cafes were filled with friendly travelers from across the world. I identified some French, German, Russian and American English being spoken but no clue about the rest. I figured my parents wouldn't be comfortable with me socializing with strangers so I didn't really talk to them.

Rishikesh is also the hub for adventure sports. Tons of companies are offering rafting and camping trips along the banks of Ganga. I couldn't do this as I needed to stick with my dad but the camps are truly gorgeous. They also have Asia's highest bungee jump (or so they claim : 83 m) and something called flyingfox (no clue what that is). It's also filled with real spas and places claiming to be spas with Ananda Spa being one of the world's best spas (and accordingly priced at around $500 per night).

Being a girl in India sucks ass.

I am patriotic. Inspite of what the title might indicate, I madly love India. With the good stuff and the acceptable bad stuff. However, some of the bad stuff is not acceptable anymore. I feel pride at India Gate, I can eat more pani-puris than anyone, and I cried when India won the World Cup (finally!).

I still hate coming back here.

India guys know they are special the minute they are born. They are treated differently because the society demands it. My brother and I always had different curfews as kids.  Even today at age 27, I can't leave home without my brother as an escort and he knows this. It is completely unheard of for an Indian girl to openly smoke a cigarette or buy booze. We always need to ask guys to help us for these simple pleasures. Just like every any male who gets treated like God, my brother assumes that this gives him some kind of power over me. The other day we had a fight in which he told me, "Stay in your place". This is not some "labor-class" uneducated person that we as a country love to blame for all crimes in the city. This is a guy that had the same education as me but believes that he is superior to me because I need him to drive me to buy a recharge-card. And whether we like to admit it or not, this is the pervasive attitude in this male-freaking-dominated society.

Sexual harassment is so common in India that we don't even know it is happening. From the auto-driver adjusting his mirror to stare at you, to the shop-keeper slimily touching your hands while returning the change, it’s a part of life. (By age 20, I noticed that I automatically put the money down on the counter every time). I don't think I have ever walked on a street without constantly expecting someone's hand to brush my ass. Each time that I visit home, I have a set of "India-clothes" that I have to wear. The clothes can't be above my shins, well-fitted or basically flattering in any way. The whole point is to not draw attention. The first time I visited home from the U.S., all-female empowered, I fought with my dad about his. He replied, "Is it too much to ask that my daughter is safe?" Every Indian girl is taught that preventing misconduct is somehow her responsibility. If we don't "ask for it", we don't get shit. I remember when I was 16, some creep in the building wrote some lewd comments about me all over the walls. I wasn't bothered or upset when I read it. By age 16, we are immune to sexual harassment. The only impact that it had on my life that was that my freedom was restricted. That asshole wrote something about how he sees me buying bread at the grocery store 100 feet away from our apartments, and my bread-buying privileges were revoked. When I was 15, a guy in my class always touched girls inappropriately. I confronted him threatening to complain but deep down I knew that the teacher would blame that my school uniform (which was fashionably just above my knee) was too short. A yoga instructor molested me in a class of 50 people just because he knew he had the same immunity. He was right. I didn't complain because I knew that the only thing that would change is that I wouldn't be allowed to go to such classes in the future.  I don't blame my parents or my teacher, I know they were just afraid for my safety, but I also refuse to accept this as normal behavior.

Where I live right now is the most sexually frustrated pocket of India (Haryana), so things are a little extreme and most Indians won't agree with the restrictions. But even living in a metropolitan city, we CONSTANTLY face the same discrimination, probably in subtler forms. I remember that my friend once got into a minor accident, and the cops' entire demeanor changed when they saw that I was wearing shorts. He kept focusing on the "type" of girl I was ( I wasn't even driving) and such "type" of girls always get into trouble. I was being punished for wearing shorts! This just one of a zillion examples where it is routine to treat a girl like shit based on “morality”.  And all the so-called "moral police" are the most sexually frustrated of the bunch.

The only reason that today the whole country is in an uproar about the girl who got gang-raped is because she followed all the rules and it didn't work. She was returning from a movie and not from a club, she was accompanied by a male friend, and the media probably couldn't find fault in the clothes that she was wearing. If the same girl was returning home drunk alone wearing a skirt, SHE would be the one to blame.

So yep, as much as I love India, I won't deny that I am happy to leave.

P.S. I realized like it sounds like a rant against my parents. I am having an amazing time with my loving parents who treat me like a princess on my visits here. I just am ready to be treated as a human by society in general.

What is my Diwali like?

So it's another Diwali away from home and all I have are memories of all the years celebrating the 'Indian Christmas". With all the international friends I have made over the past years, I am dying to show them what Diwali is like at home in India. What I grew up with. The real deal. But since I can't, this is my next best attempt.

The prep for Diwali would start days before. So every year most families exchange boxes of dry-fruits and sweets. Everywhere across the country you get boxes of assorted dry-fruits packed beautifully (see pic). But these didn't have the best quality dry-fruits, so weeks earlier my mom would buy it all individually and we would all sit around the dining table, with piles of dry-fruit and all of would pack it in pretty boxes. I remember that we were allowed unlimited access to munch on all the dry-fruits by my mom but all I could think of was how expensive the dry-fruits were so I would keep monitoring how much my bro n sis were eating (I am the family miser). We would also send cards to all the family/friends a few weeks before. Luckily for us, my mom n dad believed that we should all wear new clothes on Diwali.. so ka-ching! All of us would go shopping before every Diwali for new clothes. Diwali is the festival of lights and everyone decorates their homes with tiny oil lamps. My mom, sis and I would paint all these pottery lamps indivisually in the days preceding the big day.

Diwali is spread over 3 days. The first day (2 days before Diwali) is called "Dhanteras". This is a day when all businesses start new account books and it's the holiest day of the year to buy silver (not sure why). So every dhanteras, all we did was a tiny worship ceremony in the evening and then we would all go shop for some tiny silverware just to follow tradition. We were allowed to light one lamp on this night.. the significance of which I have completely forgotton. The day before is called "Small Diwali".. we didn't do anything special really on this day except that we were allowed to burst some of the fireworks and we were allowed to light one lamp in every room. So the reason people light lamps on Diwali is because the myth is that Goddess Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, visits your home on this day and she won't enter if it's dark.. so yep.. it's all about the money :P

The main day today is simply called Diwali or "Big Diwali" translated in Hindi. This is celebrated (very broadly) because one of the main dudes in Hindu mythology returned home after 14 years of exile. This guy is super loved so it's a really big deal to Hindus. I'm not gonna include too much of the history lesson cos I want this to be about my Diwali experience each year. The first memory of every Diwali is my mom using that excuse to wake us up early.."get up early.. it's Diwali.. you need to look fresh on Diwali". My mom and dad are OBSESSED with us taking a shower. The nano-second I wake up, it's the only thing that they can think of. And on Diwali, they milk the "holiness" of the day to fulfill this obsession. Then we go shop for fresh flowers to decorate the house. The yellow marigold is the standard flower that everyone uses to decorate all the doorways and the balcony at home. The rest of the day would just be spent chilling at home. eating amazing food, and gorging on the insane amount of sweets that other people sent over. Around 7 pm in the evening, we have the "pooja" or the worship at home. Most families have a very elaborate ceremony on Diwali. As a family, 5 of us would just crowd in our tiny kitchen and try to muddle our way through what the ceremony should be. We sing some hymns and then my dad would lead us in saying thanks. Everytime we have this prayer, I would love to open my eyes and observe how everyone else is behaving. My brother would always have this intense expression like he is summoning Goddess Lakshmi with all the personal favor he can manage, my mom just seemed like she is lost in her world of devotion.. my sister looked pretty normal .. and my dad looked super calm and peaceful. Some of the hymns were soooooo long and I would just wait for the magic words of the last paragraph. I remember feeling like a long distance runner in the final sprint everytime I heard that. Anybody could sense the renewed energy the minute we hit that paragraph :P Also right after the worship was the elaborate and special Diwali meal that my mom made.. so that occupied a lot of my thoughts.

So after the meal is the social part of Diwali. This is when people finally get together and celebrate with everyone else. Our muslim neighbors would visit us to wish us. We would all head to the terrace on my building and all the neighbors would be there. Everyone bursts crackers (fireworks).. with the boys going for the bombs and the girls doing all the ones with the pretty lights. I have many memories of narrow escapes with bombs. Most of my night would be spent with my fingers in my ears. It's so gorgeous to stand on the terrace and watch the whole city erupting with fireworks at the same time. It also came with dense layers of air pollution and a whole night of sound pollution. This is why some Diwalis ago, my family decided to stop doing the fireworks (also I could pocket the firework money). But we would still stand in the balcony for hours and watch our city light up around us :)

Happy Diwali everyone :) 

How people line their houses with lamps.

This is the usual level of floor decoration with flowers and lamps

The lamps called "diyas" that we would hand-paint

The dry fruit boxes we would pack :P

Why it doesn't suck to leave Singapore?

Since I've booked my tickets, I keep having mini panic attacks through the day at the thought of leaving. I keep trying to think of all the zen stuff.."change is inevitable" but that's clearly not helping. 'Who moved my cheese' was a life-changing book until I actually need it to change my life. So I'm just resorting to what I do best.. make lists.. so here goes (in no order):

1) NACHOS!

2) Can wear boots again.

3) Get to spend Dads birthday with him after years.

4) Can hang out at Purdue with Rob.

5) Can cook for real.. will have oven again!

6) Cheap alcohol!!

7)  Affordable shopping!

8) Can attend classes again!

9) Group ex classes

10) Can visit Mansha and Sameer in their new married home. 

11) Can organize cool events for the West Lafayette CS community. 

12) I don't wanna go back :(

13) Can have access to all my shoes!!

14) Free bowling at Rob's place with lots of nacho cheese and chips.

15) Can probably bug Zherui into teachiing some cooking. 

16) Can finally graduate and get a real job.

17) Can save more money and go to Europe.

18) Kelly's baby boy!!

19) ...

20)..

21).

I don't wanna go back!!!!