Bangalore

Our next destination was Bangalore, the IT hub of India. This city didn’t attract us particularly but a friend of the family Anneke used to nanny for in London had invited us to stay with them, and we were curious as to what sort of life they live over here. The couple and their 3 children, one born in India, had been living in the city for the past 5 years or so. After hearing that their DRIVER would pick us up from the train station at 6am, it was all a little bit exciting. 

So, talk about extremes. We started our journey being picked up by the family’s driver who kept calling us ma’am and drove extremely slowly and carefully through the traffic with the air conditioning blasting. As we looked out the window we were amazed at how all of a sudden we were in a little bubble of clean air and quiet, watching the craziness of the streets as if on a muted TV screen. This just got even stranger when we reached the ‘gated community’, a guard opened the door and we drove up to complete mansion. The house itself was amazing: a luxury property with marble floors, floor to ceiling windows, giant carved furniture and beautiful art all over the walls. The sprawling garden was tended to by a flurry of gardeners. Our bedroom, if you can call it that, was like a self-contained 5 star hotel room with about 17 pillows and an actual mattress! (not just layers of a strange plant matting substance that we have become accustomed to). As we arrived, the kids were in the middle of the morning rush, eating breakfast and getting ready for school while chatting away in a cute English-Indian accent. Hang on a minute… These kids were eating Cheerios cereal and peanut butter on toast. As the maid cleared away the plates and brushed the children’s teeth, we were informed that the cook was away at a wedding for the weekend so our host showed us around the kitchen, telling us we could help ourselves to anything. The kitchen was fascinating. It was a complete replica of an English kitchen, right down to the brands of soap and cleaning products.  Our dirty clothes were whisked away and came back freshly laundered in English washing detergent and fabric softener. Most of the products in the house were imported in giant container loads from England. Wow.

While we marvelled at this, the couple generously offered to give us their driver for the day to show us around the city. We excitedly accepted and devised a long list of things to do. In reality, we spent the entire day in one small street shopping with fervour. It was so exciting. My first purchase within 5 mins was 15 pairs of earrings at one stall and it just got crazier from there. We would ask each other ‘Do I really need two saris in identical fabric?’ The answer- ‘No not really, but they are so cheap you could wear one (?) and make cushions out of the other one!’… Seriously, this line of reasoning was used. And worked. Ditto, when purchasing 3 pairs of shoes of the same style. ‘You could probably find them back home…. But not for $2!, (maybe put the 4^th pair back though)’ conveniently forgetting that these damn shoes would have to fit into an already overstretched backpack for the next god knows how long, and then fall apart the first time I wore them. We had only done half the street when we realised it was time to go back. I did feel sorry for our driver who was literally waiting at the other end of the street for hours, and ready with the yes ma’am and no ma’am as soon as we saw him again. But it was certainly nice to step back into the air conditioned, quiet and pleasant smelling car for the drive home.

The family took us out to dinner at an Italian restaurant that night which was one of the most fancy and amazing restaurants in the city. Despite this, the meals were hovering around the $8 mark, THAT’S how cheap it is over here! We were driven to our destination in the car, as if it as was some sort of limo on the Bangalore city tour, sipping on glasses of wine and feeling very important (actually I lie, they were the children’s tommy tippie plastic mugs, to prevent spillage, but don’t let this minor detail distract you from the glamour of the occasion). Wine is so expensive over here that we hadn’t tasted it in weeks! We arrived at the rooftop restaurant and ate pasta and seafood and imported cheese – that wasn’t even processed! It was amazing. The next night we decided to check out the nightlife so finding the only suitable outfits in our packs, we went out to a bar in the IT district, or should I say we were driven to a bar. It was an awesome night but one person we met in particular was hilarious and I feel the urge to share with you our little encounter, even if it was one of those kinda-have-to-be-there moments. He introduced himself as Gabrielle. How many Indian men do you know named Gabrielle? Let’s call him Derek ‘Gabrielle’ Zoolander. 

Anneke and I were standing at the bar sipping on what were supposed to be margaritas but tasted more like chlorine. A guy walked in, half a metre taller than anyone else in the room and looking very beefy and proud of himself, I said to Anneke ‘I bet that guy is a heartthrob around here’. He saw us, came straight over and said ‘hello’ and we started chatting (clearly a male model wouldn’t immediately approach us in Sydney but remember, over here we are celebrities!). Everything about this guy screamed DEREK ZOOLANDER, from the way he ordered his vodka and soda then folded a napkin in half, long nails bent slightly upward, little finger pointing out and wrapped his fingers around the drink with this napkin to avoid getting condensation on his skin. To the way he checked himself out in the mirror behind the bar in various poses while mid conversation. He was with a short dumpy guy who he vaguely introduced as his brother. His brother stammered ‘h…hhhhello’ and then remained silent, being cut off by Gabrielle whenever he tried to speak again – probably only in tow to make Gabrielle feel better about himself. After a while we were both fighting the unbearable urge to crack up as if watching a bizarre comedy unfolding right before our eyes, but somehow I managed to ask with sincerity ‘So – what do you do?’.  It was like he had been waiting for this question all night… before I had even finished speaking, the word ‘Model’ confidently escaped from his mouth and corresponded to the single-movement extraction of his palm pilot from back pocket and flick open of the cover, with a twist of the wrist, to a photo of... himself (of course) walking down a catwalk (an impressive move I must say, most likely practised for hours in front of the mirror in true Derek Zoolander style). ‘See?’ He said flicking the touch screen across with a swish of his long fingernail.’ See?’ Cue photo slideshow: Gabrielle doing the actual literal blue steel at ‘Kerala Fashion Week’, Gabrielle doing the actual literal blue steel at a photoshoot in Malaysia, Gabrielle doing the actual literal blue steel in a restaurant with his friends who were all smiling normally, Gabrielle doing the actual literal blue steel on the beach at Goa with his dumpy brother who was frowning. ‘See? See??’ He said. more flicking…. Gabrielle doing the blue steel with a 50 year old European woman who was smiling in a confused manner… ‘Germany!’ He said… ‘My friend’… (smugly) ‘See?’ flick flick, ‘See?’ ‘AUSTRALIA’ … ‘My friend’…. ‘See?’ flick flick ‘Another Australia!, See!?’ 

Yes Derek ‘Gabrielle’ Zoolander, we do see, and thank you for enlightening us to the eventual outcome of all these photos we have posed for. Hahahaha.

Post Gabrielle, we met lots of other people, lots of middle class Indian people our age who were working in IT. They had all travelled loads and worked overseas, and were pretty cashed up, drinking cocktails and pricey wine all night. Their favourite food was pizza, a western novelty, and their favourite city in India was Delhi – for the nightlife apparently. We were given a dozen drunken recommendations on where to go out there which I immediately and annoyingly forgot. The rest of the night consisted of more chlorine cocktails, more meeting people and even some dancing (Gabrielle left at this stage because he didn’t like the DJ), and all this before the ridiculously early, government imposed, closing time of 11.30, after which our half-finished cocktails were poured into plastic cups to take away. We were considering going to an after party with our new friends but then we remembered our driver was waiting outside for us and had been all night. So we said goodbye and found our him, asleep in the back seat, all the way home telling the poor guy all about our hilarious night to which he replied ‘yes ma’am’ to everything we rambled on about as we collapsed into fits of laughter. He was probably thinking about how he would have to stay overnight in the servants quarters of the family house that night due to the wild dogs on his route home that attack him on his motorbike (true story).

All in all, Bangalore ended up being a luxury break on our backpacking journey. Our clothes had never felt cleaner, we got to have a night out with middle class Indian kids, and we both developed abs by laughing about Gabrielle so much for the rest of the week. On a serious note, the experience did emphasise the massive, massive disparity between rich and poor in this country which I’m still getting my head around. Those in the lower castes are often suck in a life of servitude, partially through the Hindu religious system that stratifies society and preaches that the only way to move up the hierarchy is through living dutifully within ones caste with the hope of being reincarnated into a higher caste. The cycle of poverty further prevents people from breaking out and receiving the education or living the future they may want to, as it does elsewhere in the world. On the other hand, Bangalore was also awash with young people making money, having fun and loving their country. Hmmm. The verdict: Bangalore: A new perspective on India. 

Guy on a rickshaw

Dude manning his 'Nighty Shop'

Public phone

Soft toy stall, strangely displayed on motorbikes

Sari purchase in progress!