Tweeting In Tuk-Tuks: Digital Enlightenment In India E-Book

Stefan Mey

• Herausgeber: Stefan Mey
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Tweeting In Tuk-Tuks: Digital Enlightenment In India

Leseprobe

Tweeting in Tuk-Tuks: Digital Enlightenment in India

Stefan Mey

––––––––

Translated by Anthea Heyes 

“Tweeting in Tuk-Tuks: Digital Enlightenment in India”

Written By Stefan Mey

Copyright © 2015 Stefan Mey

All rights reserved

Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

www.babelcube.com

Translated by Anthea Heyes

Cover Design © 2015 JANIELESCUETA via fiverr.com

“Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Preface

Before the trip | I’m emigrating!

Skype is globalisation personified

Final preparations

The first cycle – Mumbai, Bangalore, Delhi, Gujarat | Arrival in Mumbai

3G in your trouser pocket

Cloudy prospects

Good-bye neo-imperialism!

True leapfrogging

Bangalore – Silicon Valley without the glitz

An oasis of calm

A rude awakening

Resigning in an inter-cultural context

How indische-wirtschaft.de came about

Bangalore: Viennese waiters 2.0

Arrived

Frogs and freaks

Test drive: The Bangalore metro

A place for art

Metallica rock Bangalore

Ayurveda as the solution?

I’ve become a wimp

Goodbye, Bangalore

The luxury flat share

A week of Delhi

How to extend a journalist visa in India

Salvation

World Book Fair: Are you a northern Indian?

Rules, and how to break them

Indian conferences are different

Indian traffic regulations

From Delhi back to Mumbai, via Gujarat

An Indian wedding

An interlude: The beginning of the interludes

The second cycle: Mumbai, Matheran, Goa, Kerala | The Hub in Mumbai

Ms. K. and the Golden Girls

An interlude: Cyber road sweepers

Three scarves and an oil lamp

An interlude: Indian street dogs

Indian trade fairs are different

Tea - Mystical, delicious, complicated

An interlude: A family outing

Matheran calling

An interlude: In the cheap seats

City youth in my childhood paradise

Ghosts of the jungle

What I’ve learnt in Matheran

An interlude: the shop

The small world

Krishna and credit cards

Bertram, the blogger from Bandra

An interlude: it’s nearly Christmas

Indian rock music

An interlude: The pavement is there for sleeping

Globalisation isn’t everywhere

An interlude: Swimming in the sea

An interlude: Mad cow disease

Christmas Eve in the Mahalakshmi Temple

With the temple robbers

An interlude: The middle classes in Mondegar

Departing for the South

An interlude: Arrival in Goa

A digital hippie life

Jo-Alter, the entrepreneur

The Tuborg meditation

Spiritual newspaper reading under the banyan tree

Middle class Indians at the beach

Victim of a crime

An interlude: Faded love

Goa‘s new drugs

Indian Improvisation: A ditch for a driveway

In Communist Kerala

An interlude: An elephant in the traffic

The quiet nature of the backwaters

In an ashram: enlightenment guaranteed?

While I was on holiday, the Wolf wrote a book

The third cycle: Mumbai, India and back

How I came by my flat in Khar

An interlude: Strip club?

Devdutt – a mythologist explains

Exit? I’m selling my start-up for 100 grand

Storytelling for beginners

An Interlude: A slum tour

Hanging out with the boys

An Interlude: A café in Pondichery

Indian middle class daily life

Call Centre: Please stay at home

Pune: It’s not all that easy

Pune: Gandhi‘s ashes

Pune: Visit to the sex guru

The start of the third cycle

Chennai: Real India

Chennai start-up centre: Zombies and power cuts

Cockroaches: Resistance is futile

An interlude: Music on the bus

The Indian Guadeloupe

An encounter at the beach

100 rupees quickly earned

Beach chats: Let’s talk about sex

Gay India

Lakshmi and a good Ashram

Auroville: The endless experiment

I hear the OM

Suitcase issues in Mahabalipuram

Travelling through India by car

Back in the temple where he was born

Precautions against mosquitoes and cockroaches

An interlude: a smile without legs

Coimbatore zoo

Coimbatore: Where do they sell tea?

An interlude: Ganesh solves everything

Going out in Coimbatore

On a sustainable farm

Working with a time lag

An interlude: Small talk on the radio

Unsolicited post

An exit agreement

Let’s have a real party

Departure from Bangalore

An offer at the airport

A rickshaw driver and his deals

Epiphany in the holy city

Mumbai: Unspectacular final days

An interlude: Two worlds

An interlude: Eagles among the high-rise buildings

The end of the cycles

Appendix: Important links

About the author

Your Review and Word-of-Mouth Recommendations Will Make a Difference

Are You Looking For Other Great Reads?

Preface

This book tells the story of someone who went to India to work, and then found something entirely different. That might sound rather familiar to you – after all, no shortage of books have been written, films made and stories told about a Westerner going to the Far East in the search for enlightenment. But don’t worry – this book is guaranteed to be different. That’s because it came about more or less by accident. It started with tweets and Facebook posts, which the author wanted to use to tell the world of his experiences; then a blog followed - and when, on his return to the West, he noticed how the eyes of even the most patient and loyal friends glazed over when the question “So, how was India?” let to a four-hour monologue about Shiva and street dogs, he resolved to pour all his experiences into a book. Mainly so that his friends will no longer have to listen to him.

As a result of its unconventional origins, this book can’t be read in the same way as conventional travel literature. You see, “Tweeting in Tuk-Tuks” is like a bar of chocolate. In other words, you can enjoy it in three different ways: you can either devour it faithfully from start to finish, as you learnt to do at school, or you can break into it at any point and begin your enjoyment there. That’s because the short chapters of this “social media book of self-discovery” can be regarded as short anecdotes rather than a comprehensive and complete story; you can jump around at will, from the previous tweet to the next email. After all, we’re simply moving with the times here - in an era when YouTube videos shouldn’t last longer than 90 seconds, the average media consumer has the attention span of a flea.

And then, of course, there’s always the third option – you read the book, buy yourself a ticket, and set off on your own adventure of a lifetime. The links at the end of the book should be of use here, and the jam-packed pages of this digital guide should help give a broad cultural overview of something of which it’s probably impossible for anyone to really gain an overview – bustling India.

That’s because the following pages - as the reader should be made aware to conclude the preface – contain highly subjective descriptions. This is virtually unavoidable when describing India. No other country in the world manages to grip the traveller’s soul quite like this, and confront him with himself, so that he can recognise his true self, and see the path destined for him alone – and besides, crazy numbers of people live there. So all this basically means that, if you drop two people in Mumbai at the same time and leave them facing in two different directions, they’ll return home with different stories because the country’s diversity allows for such endless scope for interpretation.

With this in mind, I hope you enjoy reading this book. And in case you’re currently aspiring to a trip to India yourself: Good Luck! You’ll need it.

Before the trip

I’m emigrating!

Enough of the secretiveness of the past few weeks. Enough, too, of the questions as to why my blog is bilingual. Why I now often tweet in English, not just German. Why I’m booking crazy flights. And why, for the moment, I’ve stopped buying winter clothes. It’s time to make it all official: From October, I’ll be spending six months as editor-in-chief at an online media company in Bangalore.

How did this come about? It’s hard to say. It’s a long-held dream – very long-held, in fact. As the son of a German diplomat, I lived in Mumbai for four years, ran around the school playground and played at being a reporter. Back then, I wanted to be a journalist – ideally right here in this Indian school playground. This dream has always remained with me, sometimes more vividly, sometimes less so. Then, when I was on holiday in India in 2008, I thought to myself, “You know, you’re somehow at home here; you want to live here for a while; though not as a hippie, but rather to combine life with a job in India”.

The outcome was the blog www.indische-wirtschaft.de (which is German for “Indian economy” and has – despite phonetic similarities – no connection to witchcraft), which I write together with Wolfgang Bergthaler – nicknamed “the Wolf”.

Almost three years after this idea, my dream became reality – a text message on Easter Monday. From Wolfgang, in India: “Let’s emigrate. I’ve got us two cool jobs”. Of course, I was sceptical, but also curious. In response to my question about what this was, and where, I received an offer I could hardly refuse: “Journalism in Bangalore. The topics are tech, entrepreneurship and social business”. Bingo.

The job suited me down to the ground. Journalism, in India, with the topics I’ve been covering over the past few years in Austria. And I’ve also got the go-ahead from my current employer – as a foreign correspondent, I’ll send content for their online publication from the most exciting place in the known universe.

And so we’re off – the dream is coming true. And starting in October! The Wolf has already found accommodation in Bangalore; I’ll book my flight in the next few days. I still need to get a visa. And a temporary tenant for my flat in Ottakring, Vienna. And organise lots of minor details. But....they’re just small hurdles, and the path is clear.

So, new experiences are awaiting me, an entirely broadened horizon, fantastic contacts – and the best food in the world. And a warm winter in India – the cold will only be awaiting me on my return to Austria. Yes, because that’s one final thing I should mention – it’s a fixed-term move. I’ll be back on 1st April 2012 – just in time for the birthday of the best person in the world.

It’s all so wonderful. Thank you, dear God. Whichever one You are. There are many of You, after all.

Skype is globalisation personified

“Sag alles ab” (“Call everything off”). The Hamburger Tocotronic, heroes of my post-pubescent phase of self-discovery, made this sentence into a furious rock song about denial of motivation of any kind, and they printed the song’s title on a t-shirt which I, as a true fan, of course own. It became a mini aim in my life to wear this t-shirt to a job interview sometime, and still get the job in spite of it. My dream became reality about two months ago, when I met the owner of my new company for a Skype interview. Luckily for me, she doesn’t speak German, and so that’s how, as of October, I’ll be editor-in-chief of an Indian online media company, despite my little prank.

And honestly, I think it’s great. Not just the thing about the t-shirt itself, but the fact that I can chat via video with the whole world for free - and at the same time also get an insight into my interlocutor’s way of life. That same day, I also talked to Wolfgang Bergthaler, and saw his flat. And to Thomas F. in Germany, whose adorable little daughter pushed her way into the picture to tell Daddy he shouldn’t talk so loudly because she wants to watch CBeebies. And to my parents, who are currently having to cope with 40 degrees in the shade.

And today I spoke to Tokyo. An old school friend is living there at the moment, but wants to use my flat during my Indian adventure. And since Japan isn’t exactly next-door, she didn’t want to come to view the flat in person – so we did the tour via Skype. “Ha, I used to have a bookcase like that too”, she commented, right at the start of the conversation – you can usually see the piece of Ikea furniture behind me when I’m skyping. I then picked up the laptop and showed her around the flat. I had the screen pointing forwards, so my computer was basically her eyes and ears. “Turn left a bit”, and “now take a couple of steps back” were her typical comments. And when I sometimes leant over to check that the video was all ok, suddenly a loud chuckle, “I can see up your nose!”

Ok, I admit it – sometimes Skype makes for rather too much intimacy. But it somehow brings people together too, when a woman in Tokyo can see into the cranial passages of a man in Vienna. That’s just globalisation in a different form. And wonderfully human.

Final preparations

Flat rented out. Flight booked. Suitcase packed. Visa applied for. I’ll soon be off, and I’m excited, but also a little anxious – “Somehow I constantly feel as though I’ve forgotten something important”, I say to another journalist, at an event in Vienna. He reassures me, “Don’t worry – nerves like that are entirely normal before a long trip, and everything is bound to turn out ok”. He may well be right – but I can’t escape the feeling that something important really is missing.

And, lo and behold, an hour later I get a phone call from the Indian Embassy – it seems that there are problems with my visa. As a freelance journalist – which is what I am now – it appears that I’m a potential threat, and new visa regulations dictate that such people can only get a short-term visa, limited to three months. “Are you sure you don’t have a permanent position?” asks the woman at the other end of the phone, helpfully. “But yes”, I respond, happily, “of course I’ve got a job – it’s just not with the Austrian publication I’ll be working for as a sideline as a foreign correspondent, but at an Indian online media company”. “What? You want to work for an Indian company?” she asks, horrified, “we’d better keep quiet about that, for the sake of simplicity”. Although I’d already mentioned the Indian media company on my application form, I make a mental note not to mention it again in future correspondence with the authorities.

“So what happens now?” I plead. “My contract is for six months, but you only want to give me three.” It’s 3pm on Friday, and the chance of getting the authorities to agree to a compromise before my departure on Monday is pretty slim. “I’ve asked my boss”, the woman tells me, honestly, “and he said that our colleagues in Delhi should deal with it”. She explains what this entails – I’ll have to make a pilgrimage to the authorities in the Indian capital, with forms and documents, to apply there for an extension of my visa. The prospect of an intensive discussion with yet more officials doesn’t exactly thrill me, and my nervousness can probably be felt down the telephone line. “Don’t worry, you’re such a nice guy”, says the advisor, “so I’ll pray to God that He grants you an extension of your visa”.

Having God on your side can’t do any harm. But to be on the safe side, I also get a letter from the main editorial office confirming that I really am being sent from Austria as a foreign correspondent. With lots of colourful stamps on the paper. That can never hurt.

The first cycle – Mumbai, Bangalore, Delhi, Gujarat

Arrival in Mumbai

Day one of my journey through the up-and-coming IT world of the growth market.

Disembark from the plane. I’ve got a slight chill because it’s been so cold in Vienna for the past few days – but the European autumn is quickly forgotten. The heat hits you as soon as you step out of the plane and onto Indian soil. It’s hot and humid. You could cut the air with a knife, and Mumbai (formerly Bombay) airport is still of a style which would probably have been considered outdated in the West even in the 80s. It smells funny – as only Mumbai can smell, like no other city in the world – a mix of exhaust fumes, sweat, urine, cigarette ends and spices.

As I leave the airport someone takes my suitcase from me. He drags it five metres before I can wrestle my luggage back from him. He wants ten rupees (about 16 US cents) for his services. Ok. The taxi sets off, and stops as it leaves the airport; beggars surround the car. It’s 11 o’clock at night, and it’s still 35 degrees.

We drive to the hotel. In a badly-sprung car, past people sleeping on a traffic island. And cows, and dogs. And past shops, still open at this late hour – 94 percent of trade in India is carried out in the informal sector, where there is no such thing as statutory opening times.

We arrive at the hotel. There’s a wild Bollywood party in full swing below our room; outside, the trains rattle by. For a surcharge of 1,000 rupees (16 USD) you get a room without cockroaches. In the morning, once I’m up, I watch the commuters travelling into work from the suburbs, on overcrowded trains. Mumbai may be noisy and dirty, but the metropolis of 16 million inhabitants has some of the most expensive property in the world.

This is India. The world’s largest democracy. The country with economic growth of almost nine percent. With cities like Bangalore, which is known as the Silicon Valley of India. Where IT, entrepreneurship and mobile communications are real boom markets. I’ll immerse myself here over the coming months, research beyond the PR-dominated press tours and the sterilised expat Hilton world, and write about India’s up-and-coming IT world.

“How will this work?” I ask myself as I lie, sweating, on the bed and watch a couple of Bollywood videos – until they are interrupted by an advert for the new Blackberry – and a glance at the Times of India reveals that pre-orders for the new iPhone 4S are really taking off here. There really is hi-tech and innovation here. Just somewhere among the dirt, the heat and the people sleeping on the streets.

3G in your trouser pocket

Since yesterday, I’ve been feeling half complete again. I’m now re-equipped with a mobile phone number, including a 3G contract, so I can comfortably surf the web or write e-mails, even during daring rickshaw trips through the monsoon. But the path to get there is far from smooth.

Whereas back home you can get a pre-paid mobile phone without any form of ID, in India you have to take a whole stack of documents with you. Just to get the voice rate, I went to one of these plentiful corner shops offering mobile phone packages. The salesman asked me for:  a copy of my passport, a copy of my visa, my official registration certificate or a current hotel bill, and a passport photo. I didn’t have the latter, so I went straight to another corner shop, where I had eight photos taken for about 50 rupees (about 80 US-cents).

Back with the mobile phone Indian, I once again gave him all the documents, including the passport photo. His colleague tapped something into his Nokia device and announced that I’d be able to make phone calls in half an hour. I then asked whether I could also have 3G. First of all, they said I’d have to wait 48 hours before I could apply for 3G. Then he glanced at my Smartphone – an HTC Desire – and announced, confidently, that this wasn’t, in fact, 3G compatible.

Since I know better, I yesterday also went to a Vodafone shop. Not a corner shop this time, but an air-conditioned Point of Sale, which is comparable with European standards.  I had to take a number and wait, and then finally a friendly employee told me I needed to send a text message to a telephone number, and then load my pre-paid credit – but this, admittedly, with a different employee, since payment and service are usually separate in India in order to prevent corruption. I waited again, then paid in cash.

Today it bleeped at 8am – a text message to say my 3G is activated. Hurrah! Still, the experience makes you think – about the fact that mobile communication is booming at such a rate in India, in spite of the administrative outlay. But on the other hand, if pre-paid cards aren’t used for a while they expire; and roaming charges apply within the individual states if you travel to a different region – we, too, now carry around countless SIM cards belonging to various non-Indian friends registered in different states, in order to keep them active.

So probably at least a quarter of the boom is due to business people travelling to and within India – and not wanting to have to re-register at a corner shop every couple of months.

Cloudy prospects

Well, I’m not here just to enjoy myself, but to work. And since IT is a key topic both for me and for the Indian online publication, Wolfgang Bergthaler – the Wolf – drags me along to a conference all about “Cloud Computing in India”. A brief explanation here for the less tech-savvy readers – this means that data are no longer uploaded to your own computer, but to that of a specialist company. From here, they can be accessed anytime and anywhere. Popular examples, familiar to everyone, are photos stored on Facebook, or webmail services like Gmail or Hotmail.

The conference room has been cooled down to what feels like ten degrees, whereas it’s almost 40 degrees outside. This means that I wear a scarf inside the building, but when I step outside during the lunch break my glasses steam up because of the dramatic temperature difference and the extreme humidity. In fact, just like what would happen when I came home from a walk during the winter in Vienna, only the other way round. I notice the spreading symptoms of a cold – an illness I’d probably least expected in India, notorious as it is for malaria and dengue fever.

I nonetheless find the event fascinating. I listen to presentations about cloud computing, and conduct interesting interviews with the speakers. Security and redundancy are the topics which most concern the participants, as well as fair contracts and technical details – at least, that’s what I’m told during an interview with a senior manager at Deloitte. I ask whether there are additional problems in India which you don’t encounter in other countries. A shortage of power, for instance? Or high cooling costs?

Written down, as text, the answer is “no”. And it’s accompanied by this gesture which you see only in India – a head movement which the layman initially interprets as a shake of the head but which, in most cases, actually means “yes”. Or rather, “yes, no, maybe. Ye-no”. This gesture is particularly popular with rickshaw drivers in response to the question of whether they can find a particular street – yes, they’ll find it. But they may also have to make a detour.

Thus, the Deloitte manager’s response to the question of whether power cuts are a risk for cloud computing should be interpreted in the same way – yes, no. You just have to bear this in mind. But all the same, it’s not a problem. But just to be sure, you should run a small power plant yourself, to guarantee fail-safe operations.

So, all rather confusing really. And I somehow get the impression that there may be significant inter-cultural misunderstandings over the coming months. What means yes, what means no? How self-critical are these people? How modern, how traditional? And, despite modern technology, what roles do traditional values like family and religion play?

My misgivings are reinforced when I send the interview – in my opinion, ready to publish – to my employer’s head quarters in Bangalore, and receive a curt, unfriendly “This needs massive editing” in reply. What? Is my journalism really that bad? Did I upset someone by mentioning problems such as security and power shortages? One thing is clear – it’s high time for the Wolf and me to go to Bangalore and talk to our colleagues in person. In the meantime, we post the interview on our blog www.indische-wirtschaft.de, where you can still read it today.