बाजार

Dear Diary,

What adventures I'm having in India!  Sorry I'm not updating so often anymore--I've been occupied with math projects, now that my Pune interview is over.  I've been getting into a routine:  the sun wakes me up in my apartment, I try to snap a photo of the lizard (more on that later), I watch some Indian television, I go to the canteen for cereal with boiling hot milk, I go to the library to do math, I go to the canteen for rice and curried vegetables, then more math, then I go to the canteen for chai and cakes, more math, maybe a seminar, I go to the canteen for chapatis, rice, and dahl, then I cross the street and go back to my apartment for the night.  See?  You haven't missed much.

Except you may want to about what it's like to randomly wander around Mumbai.  Alright, well the other day I ran out of soap.  There's one store that's in the TIFR Housing Complex, but doesn't have much.  I had previously purchased laundry detergent and some weird cookies from there.  So, I needed to get on a bus and go "downtown", walk into the right store, grab what I needed and then split.  How hard could this be?

What I do to go "downtown" is take the free TIFR bus, and get out when anyone else does.  This seems to always be the Victoria train station.  So I've gone there a couple times and have walked around a bit to familiarize myself with the area.  Which is evidently called "Churchgate".  I had earlier eaten at a nice restaurant (Shivana) I found in this way.  This time I wanted to pick up several things, so I had eaten beforehand to prepare myself for a lengthy quest.

So here's what was like, at first.  There seem to always be lots of people hanging out on the sidewalks in groups.  This makes sense, since the weather is very nice when it's not raining, and perhaps employment is scarce.  As I walked along the sidewalks, I passed by lots of little stands with folks selling shoes, watches, food, kids' stuff, and cigarettes, but nothing I was really interested in.  I had heard stories of tourists being overwhelmed by beggars, swindlers, and Artful Dodgers, but noone really paid me any mind.  Of course, I've lived in cities for much of my life and I probably don't look like a target.  And, you know, they are probably used to foreigners in Colaba.  Still, most of the time I didn't see anyone who looked like me on the streets, and the ones I did see were clearly not from the States.

So I didn't buy anything from the stands; I was looking for stores I could walk into and put things into a basket.  Well, my first couple of efforts put me into (guarded) stores which sold nothing but saris.  Later I found a nice looking pharmacy which seemed to have what I wanted.  I saw a box of tissues locked in a cabinet, so I told a woman behind the counter that I wanted to buy it.  She said I had to ask someone else to unlock it.  It was not clear who that was.  But someone eventually unlocked it and I had to purchase it right then.  I saw some soap in the display under the counter, and I told the woman I wanted to buy it.  She said, you should try this special soap-free cleaning bar.  I said I wanted some soap.  Perhaps I should mention here that the locals have trouble with my english.  Dearest Diary, I hope you will forgive me when I admit that I purchased this special cleaning bar because of this woman's stubbornness.  It was about ३०० rupees.  She went on about how great soap-free products are and I signed her form to get advertisements about more expensive merchandise.   Anyway I got my "soap".

I wandered around some more, bought a notebook from another cabinet, and found a yoga mat at an exercise store.  The mat had a pricetag of ४५० rupees, but when I asked for it, the guy finally actually gave it to me for ३५० rupees.  Am I supposed to haggle, even when there is a pricetag?...

After this, I wasn't sure exactly where the train station was.  The streets aren't in a nice grid like in, say, Philadelphia.  Now I could have asked someone for directions at this point, but I thought I'd be adventurous and try to figure it out myself.  So I wandered around with a vague idea of where north was, and a vague idea that the station was to the north.  Eventually I was truly in the classic "marketplace" scene or bazaar which one associates with India and maybe some middleeastern countries.  More shoes, watches, food, kids' stuff, and cigarettes.  There was a long street full of paper stores, but they didn't seem to sell notebooks...

I constantly had to decide whether I would walk on the sidewalks, which were very crowded, or on the street.  The streets were really unpleasant due to the parade of cars which honked their way through the mass of people.  Probably there's some social class thing going on there.  But the sidewalks had their troubles: at one point I was somehow in an alley packed tightly with delivery trucks, and stuck singlefile in a line of deliverymen carrying heavy loads on their heads.  The path I was stuck on had an increasing amount of bad water which I had to sidestep while moving along.  For a little while I followed a poor old soul carrying a huge wagon behind him, until he got in someone's way and got yelled at.

At any rate I was impressed at how endless the Colaba Market is, and totally lost.  At some point I asked some folks where Victoria Station "VT" was, and they pointed me in the right direction.  I later found out I was significantly northwest of VT.  It was tough getting there; there were several large streets I did not want to cross, even though other people were weaving through the traffic full of faith.  Not many walk signals.  I discovered a "subway" area where pedestrians can walk underground; this was extremely helpful, and I made my way to the station.

From there, I took the red bus home, where I discovered I had lost my key.

पुणे

This is my entry about my trip to IISER Pune (http://www.iiserpune.ac.in/).  It continues from when I got off the train from Mumbai.

I wasn't sure where to find the driver who would take me to Pune, but I took my luggage and hurried along with the other passengers wherever they were going.  Very quickly a man approached me and showed me my name on a piece of paper.   He led to me the car and we were off.  As we were on the road, I remarked that I must have been easy to find.  He said nothing, so we quietly made our way to the Guest House.  The smog was quite strong, even from inside the car with the windows up.  Blech.  It didn't seem to bother the dozens of motorcyclists we passed by without as much as a handkerchief on their faces.  Nor did it bother passengers sitting casually on the rear wheels of those motorcycles, usually at right angles to the driver, and certainly without seatbelts.   At one point we turned and went up a shaky dirt road.  We went through another guarded gate and I was at the Guest House.

The Guest House was quite new and modern.  Certainly moreso than my apartment in Mumbai.  There was an overzealous waitstaff who prepared three meals a day, and personally came to our rooms inviting us to each meal... Over dinner I met the wife of one of the new statistics professors at IISER, who is studying English literature.  She was able to understand my accent more than anyone else, so we chatted.  I worked a little on my talk, and settled down for the night.  Unfortunately I was kept up by a couple evasive mosquitos; talk of malaria has me paranoid of the little creeps.  The next morning I woke up as usual with the sun (still no alarm clock), had their breakfast, and went with some other folks to the Institute.

The Institute was renting another modern building.  It was more like a corporation building; the offices had large glass windows, presumably so that they can watch each other work.  The internet was heavily censored, for example I could not visit any social networking sites, or comic sites to kill time.  They are planning to move out.

Soon enough, I found the director Shashi and my friend Raghuram from Oklahoma, who will later be the math director.  We chatted a little bit, for instance about an earlier policy to make all undergraduate students at IISER write genuine research papers.  Then I sat in the visitor room while members of the department were encouraged to come in to meet me.  I met another number theorist, an analyst in PDEs who was a friend of Acushla's, a topologist, a mathematical biologist, and a cryptographer. It's a young department, only a few years old, and with nascent faculty.  I also met Sujatha, an older established mathematician who acts as their mentor, and drops by occasionally to set them straight.  She had just arrived in Pune that morning; my visit was to coincide with hers.

Later we went to the newer campus for lunch.  It's being built right now; here is a picture of the math building under construction:

If we build it, they will come.

I met some more folks then, including the three brave new students who were spearheading the PhD program, another director, and Sreekar.  Sreekar is notable historically, because he was one of an audience of six for the first math seminar I'd ever been invited to give, back in 2004 in Michigan.  I also met Avinash Khare, whose son Apoorva I knew from grad school.  In fact Avinash was also staying at the Guest House, in the same suite no less.  It was a fun lunch, it seemed like the whole department came out.  (Not just for me; I think it was to bring in the new semester and welcome Sujatha...)

Afterwards I gave my talk, on my "Oklahoma project".  I had rehearsed it enough, and there were several questions, so it was fun.  I then killed some time using the boring version of the internet.  Afterwards I talked to Shashi for a bit.  They were interested!  The main obstacle, it seems, is pushing the paperwork through the government, since I'm a foreigner.  I suggested a five-year-plan which made sense to him as well.  So, things are on track.  By the way, there weren't any formal interview questions during the whole process, even though I had some formal interview answers in mind.

Later I went back to the Guest House and had dinner and later breakfast with some IISER folks, as it turns out.  Here are pictures of us having breakfast.

Aren't math people fun?

A Spanish mathematician wanted to take my photo too.

To me left is the English literature student, and the other woman is Sujatha.  Sujatha is sitting between her grad student Somatha and Avinash.

The next morning I got a ride back from the same driver as before.  We didn't speak, but he gave me a "good morning" nod, and I gave him a "goodbye" nod when he dropped me off at the station.

Next:  बाजार

ट्रेन

Last Thursday I embarked on my first Indian train ride.  Well ahead of time, I took the TIFR bus to the Victoria Station, carrying with me a little suitcase and a big backpack.

Here's a picture of Victoria Station which I did not take: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mak999/417506259/

The huge building and throngs of hurrying people were a bit overwhelming, but eventually I asked enough security guards to figure out where my train was and where to sit.

I was in a "sleeper car", which meant that it was possible for a fraction of the passengers to lie down.  Here was the setup:  Each row had a booth holding ६ passengers (३ facing ३), an aisle, and then another pair of opposing seats.  There were two opposing perches above each booth, and a perch above the opposing seats.  These three perches could either hold luggage, or a sleeping person.  The ceiling held several fans; there was no air conditioning.  I had a window seat, and learned how to operate the window very quickly.  It was a rainy day, and the window needed to be locked in the downward position when it was raining, and locked in the upward position when it wasn't.  There were several vertical bars on each.  People toss their garbage out the window without a thought.
 
I arrived quite early for my ride, and sat across from a tired-looking gent.  While we waited he got bored and pulled out two treasured bouncy balls which had a snow globe effect, and Disney characters (Winnie the Pooh and Mickey) suspended therein.  Later he took a nap.

Many people walked by the aisle, and against the window asking for money.  There were the standard vendors of food and chai, but much more.   Many of them were blind; I guess walking down the aisle of a train is much easier than other things they could be doing.  Anyway people were selling flashlights and chains and noisemakers and henna tattoos and Ganesha coloring books (his face looked a lot like that of a certain Disney flying elephant character).  At one point two men walked by singing, the second person blind with his hand on the other's shoulders.  One unfortunate sight you'll sometimes see is a woman with a baby who will come look at you.  From outside the train, they'll even reach in through the window and tap you on the shoulder.  Finally, I should mention a bizarre sight that I don't quite comprehend.  An older fellow was doing something like a crab walk, in which his knees were extremely bent and his head was about the level of my seat.  I'm not sure if he is a contortion artist or had a medical condition; some kind of carney I guess.  Anyway he also wanted money.

The view from the train was much more interesting than from American train's I've ridden.  As we raced along at ५० kilometers an hour, I saw an abundance of people, animals, and plants.  Tons of people were walking along train tracks beside us, often with umbrellas.  It is evidently not a big deal for a gentleman to relieve himself in public, as long as he is facing away from the nearby train.  I also saw many goats, cattle, and dogs.  We passed through a mountain and got to look down into a beautiful valley, the grandeur of which my simple camera could not respectably capture.

Here is a video of a vagrant puppy hanging out by a station.  I filmed him from my window seat.

Eventually I arrived at Pune.  My interview there is a tale for my next post; this one is about trains.

For the ride back I only had a ticket to an intermediate city Kalyan.  I was to purchase a local train ticket from there to Mumbai in person.  The train to Kalyan was much more crowded.  There were seats for १०० people per car, but it seemed like an additional ५० were in the aisle at any given time.  I had a window seat again. I should mention that at no point in my travels did anyone ask me for a ticket, although nearby passengers were very much aware of who had a right to sit where.  People were traveling in groups, and switching seats quite often.  At one point when it was particularly crowded I found myself surrounded by women.  Perhaps this was a makeshift "Ladies' Booth" to protect them from the squirming men in the aisle, but I did not participate...

At Kalyan I saw some horribly long lines, and I wasn't quite sure which ones to stand in.  I did my usual trick of asking the security guy for help.  He wound up taking me to a man operating a ticket machine, so that I didn't have to wait... The local train back to Mumbai wasn't bad, but it was extremely slow.  The view was interesting, but there was only so much I could process.  Back at the Victoria Station, I took the Number ३ bus back home.  Just for fun I did some aggressive squeezing to board it with my luggage.

Next:  पुणे.

सप्ताह १

Before I embark on my journey to Pune, I must submit one more post, to take stock of my progress thus far.  The bulk of my time has been spent on quests for a series of valuable items, which need to be procured in a certain order, like the legendary "Link".  For example, rupees.  I now have my ID card, my Visa has been registered, clothes have been washed, and I believe I am ready for my trip today.  I'm starting to learn my way around Colaba, the region of Mumbai surrounding the campus.  My sleep schedule, which had been in two fragments, has coalesced into a normal one, about 11pm-7am.  I was a bit overzealous with the food for the first ५ days, and now I'm eating a lot of junk food (cakes, pudding, cookies...) to assuage the spiciness overload.  Of course, eating sweets all the time has its longterm effects as well, so I hope my body will be able to handle the masala soon.  Although it has been "Monsoon season" since I arrived, I haven't been caught in more than a drizzle, even though I've been sporting some new special waterproof sneakers...

The weirdness of being a minority has passed, and I'm feeling like my old self walking around campus.  I've figured out that mosquitos can't reach my ६th floor room, so I've kept the windows open at night to cool off. On the other hand, I still don't have a cellphone, or a good idea about how to get more supplies like tissues or an alarm clock for my apartment.  The television in my room is just filling up space.   I have yet to make an excursion to downtown Colaba by myself.  I've been jotting down little notes now and then for DAI; here are two vignettes I've prepared:

Yoga, First Attempt:

In the foyer of the recreation center of the TIFR, there is a bulletin board with a sign for "Gents Yoga Class 7:30-8:30 M-F", evidently separate from the "Ladies Yoga Class", held in the "Ladies Gym".  On Tuesday I showed up, wearing my yoga pants beneath my khakis.  I showed up a little early, and there was a man in the room on a computer.  He told me that to participate in rec center activities, I would need to fill out a two page form, give someone २ photos of myself, and pay २० Rupees a month.  However he went ahead and gave me a freebie for that morning.

So I was in.  I took a mat and rug from a pile; he said I could put it anywhere I wanted, and practice any way I wanted.  Then he left the room.  I did my yoga thing.  Alone.  I meditated on whether it was better than doing it at my apartment where I have privacy and a better view and don't need to fill out forms.  Was I paying to stop him from computer surfing?  Anyway starting at 8:15 two older women (!) came in and did some yoga too.  Probably, I should look for alternatives off-campus.  In any case it's a shame that ladies and gents can't do yoga together, because I'm pretty sure the ladies' section has some attendance.

Party:

There is another foreign representation theorist in town named Volker.  He's from Germany although he lives with his French wife in France.  For a while Volker assumed that I was Loren Spice, a friend of mine from grad school in the same field.   Volker brought with him his son Marc who is about १०.  Marc only speaks French and German, so he doesn't fit in very well in India.  He mostly plays his Nintendo DS all day in his dad's office.  I haven't seen him eat much Indian food either.  They'll be here for ३ weeks.   Anyway, with two rep theorists around, our host Dipendra threw an informal little party at his apartment on Monday.   Volker, Marc, and I enjoyed a homemade spice-free Indian dinner with custard apple for dessert.  Do you know what custard apple is?  It's a fruit that I've never had before, and it's um, neither custard nor an apple...it was pretty tasty!

During the party I asked Dipendra if there is a Hindi class on campus.  He got particularly excited about this notion, because it turns out that he is the chair of TIFR's Hindi language committee, which is trying to standardize Hindi as a language in the area.  He was concerned that I might not feel comfortable being in a class with "bus drivers and such", because I might get too much attention...I told him it was worth a try for a couple weeks.  Perhaps next week I'll know where it is and start going.  (Surely it wouldn't hurt to know a few locals.)

So yeah poor Marc refused most of the dinner.  I exercised my rusty German with Marc and Volker, which seemed to cheer them up a little.  Dipendra's school-aged daughter was also there doing her homework, not super excited in our conversation.  In hindsight, I really should have done a little show for the kids.  At the next party I'll bring my juggling balls, as it were.

Next:  ट्रेन.

अकुशला

Almost seventeen years ago (about half a lifetime), I had made another big move.  This was from my family's home in Presidential Lakes, New Jersey to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to go to college.  It was a journey of about 37 miles; I could easily go back on the weekends.  I made many interesting friends there, especially among the math people and, for whatever reason, international students.  I got along particularly well with an Indian math student named Acushla.  We spent much time together, walking around Philadelphia and eating from the food trucks.  She even visited my family once, including my late grandmother.  But alas the nature of academia is that friends must often part ways; I moved to Chicago and she moved back to India.

Of course I e-mailed her immediately when I found out I was coming here.  She now studies differential geometry at the University of Mumbai, not far away.  Some years ago, she was even a grad student at TIFR.  We made plans to meet up; she met me at TIFR and we went to catch a bus.

As we waited for the bus she informed me that I was going to have to learn my Hindi numerals in order to use it properly, since the buses are all marked with such.  Also, the signs for the stations are in Hindi.  This means that loyal DAI readers are going to learn them as well.  Here they are: the first nine natural numbers १२३४५६७८९, and then zero ०, one of the great inventions in mathematics.  I will henceforth use them frequently in DAI without comment.

(Pssst!  Don't remind Acushla but she already tried to teach me these numerals before in the Math Undergrad Room at Penn one evening!  We had been discussing alphabets back then, and where mathematicians might look next after using up all the Greek and Latin letters.  She suggested the Hindi alphabet...)

The moment the bus came to a halt, I saw an amazing sight.  Imagine watching someone jumping into a bus door from some distance, rather than simply stepping into it.  Now image watching ४ people attempting that simultaneously, while ५ more are jostling to enter in the usual anarchic way.  Now on the one hand, this is obviously a bit intimidating.  On the other hand, it wasn't particularly violent, more competitive.  Dear Diary I must confess that a baser part of me might enjoy that sport myself, like I might enjoy playing football with people my size or stagediving.  Perhaps not while being traveling with a lady however... 

The bus ride was shaky and moderately crowded.  When the ticketman told me the price, I swear he made the Hindi numeral ७ with his finger.  Now I had been given some advice before coming here, that I should always keep my hand on my wallet while on the bus.  It turns out that this can be difficult to do, while squeezing your way to the front of the shaky bus while also holding your ticket.

We got out at a moderately crowded downtown area.  Several times I was asked if I wanted some new drums.  I didn't buy them.  I got myself some shoes for my upcoming interview, and we had dinner at the Leopold Cafe.  I had the Penne Arabiatta and she had the Fussilli Alfredo.  (I was laying off of Indian food for a while.)

Do I look like I want to buy drums?

Acushla

It was really yummy, but the restaurant was a bit noisy; I suppose I'll get used to speaking up a little louder in public places.  Our two meals came to ७७० Rupees.  We left ८०० Rupees; the ३० Rupee tip is about the price of a vegetarian meal back at the (subsidized) Canteen.

See you next week Acushla!

TIFR

The driver dropped me off at the TIFR (Tata Institute for Fundamental Research) Housing Complex Tuesday afternoon.  Without much trouble I got my keys and was shown to my quarters.  I then made two little videos for you to watch right now:

As you can see it's furnished.  I believe these rooms also function as hotel rooms for temporary guests.  As with most new apartments, there turned out to be a couple problems:  there were some leaks, the water heater for the shower wasn't working, and the (large) TV didn't have a signal.  Soon, my host Dipendra Prasad ( http://www.math.tifr.res.in/~dprasad/ ) met me at my apartment.  He led me past the security guards to the TIFR complex and I met my friend Raghuram.  Dipendra handed me his cell phone so I could call my parents at some weird hour, and we went to tea.  I met Dipendra's student Arnab, had dinner with him at the canteen, and then crashed soon after.

Okay, so wow.  The campus grounds are like nothing I've ever seen.  There are huge beautiful trees, including a Banyan tree and many palm trees with clusters of ripening coconuts.  From most places you have a nice view of the ocean.  Dogs and cats roam around freely, and the whole place is constantly patrolled by security guards.  Indoors the hallways are filled with valuable pieces of art: murals, paintings, statues, that I'm afraid I don't properly appreciate.  There are often little groups of people crowding around these artworks, as if there are regularly tours going on.  Much of the office furniture and computers has a nostalgic 80's quality.  

You may never be able to judge TIFR for yourself, because  the security is intense.  I can't take any pictures.  Only people registered with TIFR ID cards can pass freely through the troop of guards at the gate.   So we're pretty isolated.  It's not unlike living on some eccentric billionaire's island, a billionaire who is paying yours truly to do mathematics all day on his island for a year.  There should be more of these.

After this I had a large number of errands to do.  I needed an ID card.   I spent about three days being escorted around showing documents to people in different offices (what, another administrator has the copy of your PhD?), talking about my medical history (what, you don't know your eyeglass lens prescription?), getting photographed (what, you didn't bring an ID card photo?), getting bloodwork done (what, you ate breakfast first?), filling out lots of forms (what, you don't know your bloodtype? what, you don't have an Indian cellphone number?), et cetera.  I had to repeat myself a lot, and ask others to do the same, because our accents are very different.  I met lots of people, didn't really understand their names, but then was later asked to go to their offices and give them paperworks.  But wan't so hard:  at one point I asked a maintenance worker for a direction, and he walked with me almost the whole way.  As I write this entry on Saturday, I sadly still do not have a ID card, although I finally got some salary on Friday.  (Amri and Dipendra lent me some money in the meanwhile, which was much more than what I needed.)

The jetlag wasn't bad at all really.  I've been going to sleep around 9pm and waking up inexplicably around 1am.  At this time I get up and either read a little, do a little DAI blogging, or reflect on the past day.  I may nap a bit more and then wake up for the day around 7am or so.

I've been eating all my meals at the TIFR canteens (what you might call cafeterias), which are subsidized by the Institute.  They are extremely cheap, especially for vegetarians, and presumably suitably hygenic for foreigners.  It's not particularly spicy, but it is Indian food.  During the week I ate large volumes of it, since I really like it.  However since yesterday evening my body has started to...complain.  So today I'm focusing on the little cakes they have during tea, and fasting a little.  (This does not violate Intention #1, since it's for health reasons.)

Alright, so it is...interesting being one of few non-Indians at TIFR.  On my first few trips to the canteen, I felt like everyone there processed the fact that a new white person was among them.  I have a slight background in performance, so I can handle being watched, but it has certainly made me more "present" during mealtimes.  Unfortunately due to TIFR restrictions I haven't produced a "training montage"-type video in which I learn the customs for eating at the canteens.

Since I've moved around so much, I have some understanding of how to make friends in new places.  Patience is key; real friendships take time to develop, and so you have to lower your expectations when you move somewhere new.  I've had a lot of "me" time, and I'm okay with that.  I try to present myself as friendly and approachable, for example I prop my office door open (with a rolling chair!) when I wouldn't mind company.  There are other basic strategies, but for now I'd like to secure things like that Photo ID before messing around socially.

Oh, regarding the apartment:  I complained about the above problems.  They came and fixed the heater right away, and the leak is now quite manageable.  Still waiting on the TV.  It would also be nice to have internet at home...
Anyway that's my report for now.  I'm meeting with an old friend soon to explore a little outside the compound, and next week I plan to register my visa, and interview in Pune.

Next: अकुशला. 

चेन्नई

The ride from the airport was my first chance to observe Indian city driving.  Traffic here is a different organism than U.S. traffic, and I don't just mean that we drive on the left side of the road.  The vehicles actively move between lanes, and honk whenever they get close to another car.  To give an idea, it seems like a driver here might honk about as often as an American driver would push the brake pedal, when driving in the city.  For a moment I wondered whether one is meant to drive on the lane dividers here rather than between them...

Finally, we arrived at the housing compound, a gated off area with a pair of sleepy security guards.  I logged in at 1:10am and was given keys to my padlocked room in the Guest House.  My quarters had versions of the usual hotel fare, with two beds, a television, a bathroom, and two lockable storage areas.  No Gideon Bible.

The plan was to meet my friend in the morning at 9am.   I spent some time trying to set an alarm on the clock, which seemed to be a feature of the telephone.   There were several buttons, two marked "Alarm" and "Set".  I couldn't figure out how to leave "Set" mode without the phone somehow redialing a previous number.  Also, i could enter in times (in fact I could enter in about 4 separate times), but when I tested them the alarm didn't go off.  Eventually I gave that up and went to sleep sans alarm, trusting that things would work out.

In fact, I woke up by myself around 5:30am. The shower was another puzzle, with four knobs, a bucket, a pitcher, and a water heater.  I'm happy to report that my years of training with videogames paid off (alarm setting troubles notwithstanding) and I took my first shower here.  I then killed time by watching some television.  There were many channels, some with gurus probably giving a sermon, some showing a panorama of spiritual activity set to music, along with the usual stuff.  One show seemed to depict the scene in the Mahabharata in which we meet the character Drona.  One station held an image like a comic strip panel, representing a scene from the movie Sholay.  Specifically, it showed a manacled cartoon Verru shouting "Basanti, don't dance for those dogs!" via a word balloon (for at least an hour).   I did a quick yoga practice set to the spiritual activity channel and rested until breakfast time.

Breakfast was not hard to find.  It was in a canteen; there was a little stand inside with breakfast items, a man there to serve the food, and a cashier.  I purchased a banana, an egg, an omelette, some dahl, and a box of orange juice with the the rupees that my friend Ravi gave me in Norman.  It was decent.   Afterwards I hung out on a plastic chair on the porch of the Guest House.

From the porch I could see a cricket field and the main road passing by the compound.  Folks seemed generally sleepy.  At some point five ladies with brightly colored saris walked by sweeping away leaves from the path with bundles of stiff fibers (not unlike brooms).  Around 9:30 I met my friend Amri.

Here he is.

Amritanshu Prasad and I were grad students at Chicago together.  He was a few years ahead of me, but we had the same adviser and were fairly sociable so we knew each other well.  He is now married with a son and doesn't travel very often.  I was surprised to find out that he has a paper  http://tandfprod.literatumonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/00927870902747266 which solved a problem I had been curious about a few years ago, and has been working in this area.  He seemed interested in some directions I had considered, and I now have a good (academic) reason to visit Chennai later in the year.  I got a little tour of the facilities, met some other representation theorists (I study representation theory, by the way), and got a ride to the airport.

I arrived at the airport early enough to solve some more puzzles, and soon arrived in Mumbai.  Again I found a driver holding my name on a placard.  This time I used a cart for my luggage, and the crowd was less daunting, but the ride was longer.

Next: TIFR.

यात्रा

On July 31st my dad took me to New York City.  We had our traditional breakfast together at a local diner, and took a Greyhound Bus together to the Port Authority Station in Manhattan.  I was having allergies the whole time, and needed a steady supply of tissues and water.  We brought with us a large backpack, a large rolling suitcase, and a big piece of rolling luggage which was essentially a glorified gym bag.  Shipping to India is quite expensive, so I carried as much as I could along.  In fact, my baggage was essentially bubble-wrapped math books, juggling equipment, a water purifying device, and some clothing.

We parted at the shuttle bus to the JFK Airport.  As I boarded the vehicle, it seemed that I entered the world of "International"; the other passengers were speaking foreign tongues and were evidently traveling out of the country.   The bus drove along 42nd Street; I looked out and tried to imprint Manhattan's version of melting pot as my last vision of America for a while.

My two pieces of luggage were each about 45 pounds, from the 50 pound weight limit.  The ticket agent asked if I had a girlfriend in India; I wonder how much of that reaction I'm going to get.  Although long, the flight to India was pretty straightforward.  I watched a Bollywood movie, did a couple (Bourbaki) math problems, ate, slept, blew my nose, wrote up a draft of the previous DAI entry, and read a little travel guide to Indian culture.  I had trouble understanding the accent of one of the flight attendants, but she summed me up pretty well by remarking, "Studying?  Too much, maybe."  The kids were running around a bit more than I've seen on other planes.  There seems to be a custom that all the Indian kids on a flight go around meeting each other!

I actually had two plane tickets; one from New York to Chennai, with a stop in Brussels, and another from Chennai to Mumbai the next day.  The plan was to spend the night at the Institute of Mathematical Sciences in Chennai (IMSc) where an old friend of mine from grad school is a math professor.   After Brussels the passengers were mainly Indian, and I started to feel like I was becoming a curiosity, for instance when I made my trips to the restroom (I was still having allergies and was drinking plenty of water for this).

At Chennai the Europeans dispersed and I suppose I was in India's version of "International".  Customs was pretty trivial; it was midnight and the agent didn't have the zeal for a rousing interrogation.  The baggage claim was moderately crowded, but on the other hand, the person on my right gladly helped me retrieve the suitcase as it was going past.  At this point I was pretty tired, and made a slight error.  Somehow instead of rechecking my luggage I took a wrong turn and was stuck going to the exit gate before I could get rid of it.

This was when I truly entered "India".  There was a mighty throng of animated people on both sides of the exit lane behind the gates, waiting to escort friends and family home.  I felt oddly like a Hollywood celebrity walking down the red carpet as I towed all of my belongings behind me (next time I would use a cart).   Sure enough, there was a driver holding  a placard which bore my name.   At the end of the "red carpet" I turned down a few taxi invitations, and boarded the Institute vehicle.

Next:  चेन्नई.