Contemplation of a Permanent Return

Contemplation of a Permanent Return

Call it what you will – the afterglow of a great vacation in Mysore, the recognition of my husband’s happiness after spending so much time with his childhood friends, or the gastrical comfort of delicious vegetarian food wherever we go…I started to really think about what it would be like if we moved back to India.

On our second date, my husband and I discussed our interest (or on his part, lack thereof) on a permanent return. He had spent 9 years away from India, had only gone back once or twice, and was happily making plans for a permanent stay in the United States, on the road to a green card. I teased him, asking him if the reason he hadn’t gone back is that he had broken too many hearts in India and had to head over to a new continent…

But how time and life can change what you think is a serious, unchangeable perspective completely 180. After being forced to live in Bangalore for more than a year, G* began to enjoy the pleasures of living in a place where he had so much history. Truth be told, Washington DC has had a hard time competing with G*’s comfort with Bangalore, his love for his parents, and perhaps the biggest competitor, his old, childhood friends.

His return to me in the US was so wonderful. I still think, almost three years later, that waking up next to him every morning is heaven. But India does seem to call to us sometimes.

After my glorious mini-yoga and writing retreat with my mom in Mysore, on the train ride back to Bangalore, I began to contemplate a return. Only in India could I (easily) afford the Executive Class compartment on the fastest transportation method between Mysore and Bangalore – the Shadabdi. The train compartment was half-empty – almost unheard of in India, where other trains, between any two destinations in India, were always packed to the gills, with people even taking turns standing and sitting in their seats. The compartment was full of youngish good looking people that all seemed to know each other. The group of friends sitting across from me looked like they came straight out of a glamour magazine, wearing skinny jeans, heels and sleek haircuts. The wife called several salons in Bangalore with her iPhone 6, inquiring on availability of mani-pedis for her and her husband, and specifically a gel manicure for her.

My cousin S* met me at the train station. We loaded his car with my luggage, and he asked his driver to take us to UB City, this ultra-high end mall in the middle of Bangalore, that would even be considered high-end in any modern developed country-city. We chose a middle eastern restaurant that was half in the sun, half enclosed, enjoying the warm-ish December Bangalore weather. There, we ordered Indian champagne (me) and a fruity cocktail with a sliced chili as a garnish (him) and skipped from topic to topic – we hadn’t met up in a few years and there was a bit to catch up on. But as he is single, S* had a unique perspective on life – it was really centered on two things – business/investments and travel.

The first intrigued me. Every conversation we seemed to have with our friends and relatives – especially G*’s school cohorts – almost everyone has started a business here. And though not everyone has been successful, some have lost quite a bit of money and had to start over, many, perhaps 60% were finding success, with *some* profitability.  India seems to be booming.

Since the election of the BJP as the majority party with Narendra Modi, the Indian economy has seen a lot of optimism. Commenters are bullish on the market, as is the stockmarket. The drastic reduction in oil prices (India imports 80% of its oil) spells fabulous in the short term, at least. The Diplomat even says, “the International Monetary Fund released an update to its World Economic Outlook report predicting that India’s economy will overtake China in terms of its annual growth rate by 2016. The IMF released estimates predict that India’s economy will grow at 6.3 and 6.5 percent respectively over the next two years. This puts India’s projected growth in 2016 ahead of the organization’s estimates for China (which stand at 6.8 and 6.3 percent for 2015 and 2016, respectively), leaving India the fastest growing major emerging economy in the world. The IMF’s projections represent a substantial increase from the actual growth rates of the Indian economy in 2013 and 2014, when the economy grew by 5 and 5.8 percent respectively. The IMF’s World Economic Outlook (WEO) projects global economic growth at 3.5 and 3.7 percent in 2015 and 2016 respectively.”

Since I was a little girl, I had always looked up to S* as a big brother – though this glow had waxed and waned through the years, his role as a “connector” and a a very well-networked guy has been a constant. He, in many ways, was very familiar with “the pulse” of business in Bangalore, if not India. I asked S* if he knew of any ABCDs (American Born Confused Desis) like me, who had come back to live and work in Bangalore. He shook his head no – most people that had moved back were more like G*, being born and raised in India, going to the US for a long or short time, and then returning.

S* then reflected on the business environments for entrepreneurs here in India – he said starting a business in Mumbai was very difficult. “They are very business-oriented there”, he said. I asked him to tell me more. “They are very competitive – many of the entrepreneurs are from cultures like Gujarat – that are very entrepreneurial. Your employee could be your business competitor after a year, or may come up with an even better idea. There is so much competition that if you come to that market with a good idea, there could be 5 copycats within a few months.”

“Delhi is different – the people that come to live there want a job. Preferably a salaried job. They don’t want the headache of running and owning their own business. So it is easier to start there – but fewer people are willing to take a chance on someone new.”

“Bangalore – well, most of the companies here are tech-related. If you aren’t in tech and you are starting an enterprise here, it is tough. But the thing that is different about Bangalore is the networks of support that exist here. I belong to at least 5 Whatsapp groups of entrepreneurs that one can plug into for advice, references, and support. That doesn’t really exist elsewhere”

I asked him to tell me more – “In Bangalore, businesses are more willing to try working with a new business, or a start-up – while in other places if you aren’t an established business, most don’t want to give you a chance.”

So the came my inevitable next question, “Why? What makes Bangalore different and drives entrepreneurs to be more collaborative here?”.

This stumped him.

*******

My last day in India, I went to my favorite salon, which had just opened a branch close to my in-law’s house in north Bangalore. The salon was a gorgeous 3-story facility with an interior décor of a place I could never afford in the United States on a daily basis. I took an Uber-like cab service back to the house…and got stuck in the insane traffic that is the bane of Bangalore’s newish existence as an Indian Metro City.

The dust, the pollution, the abject poverty next to the decadent rich – this all still exists in Bangalore. There are definite pros and cons, as there always have been for those considering the return. I’m just not sure the calculations are as easy to do against the new life one can live there as the calculations twenty years ago.

I’d love to hear your thoughts, as you are reading through this – why do you think Bangalore might be more collaborative? What is that special sauce?

And…drum roll please…do you think we should move to India?

Mysore Morning

I woke up early yesterday, not in time for the daily yoga sessions mom has with her neighbor and best friend but early enough to merit a morning excursion to the 60+ year old Gayatri Tiffin Room – a long standing breakfast institution in Mysore that has arguably the best idli/vada/sambars and dosas and other breakfast food in Mysore.

I quickly got dressed, wearing a long kameez and jeans – my leftover rebellion towards a complete set of traditional clothes (salvar, kameez, chunni) that my mother secretly prefers that I wear, especially when I’m in mysore. We found a rickshaw on the main roads and mom directed the driver to wind the rick through the grid of our suburban neighborhood in Saraswatipuram.

I gazed on the houses and morning activity, smells and sounds that are normal for the morning in Mysore. We seemed to be at “rangoli” time. All the aunties, of all shapes and sizes were bending down at the front of their houses and gates, with bowls and cups full of chalk powder, drawing the lines and shapes that would eventually become intricately simple rangoli drawings to protect their houses from the evil eye, evil spirits, and the like.

It was colder than I had expected. My mother smiled and knowingly offered her chunni to me – to protect against the cold air blowing through the rick in our short trip to GTR. I waved her off, not feeling a need for it. I have to continually remind myself that my mother is nearing 70 and it should be me taking care of her and not her of me. Though the switch was made clear a few years ago after my father’s death, I still sometimes have to give myself a good shake and remind myself to wake up to 2015.

We arrived to GTR and it looked like what it probably looked like when mom was a 6 year old girl. The main room has several long tables with long benches as seats, like a school cafeteria. You can see into the kitchen, where cooks are busy cooking, waiters are busy giving and taking orders, and things are generally bustling. Mom walks through this room, but doesn’t stop there. She walks directly into a room on the left – as I follow her I look to the entryway, and on top of the door it is written in English, “To be used only for women who come with other women”.

I imagine the room to be full of women packed into every table, like I see in the women’s sections of buses in Bangalore and Delhi. I walk in, and it is a smallish room, with four more large long tables and benches. There are mostly women, but also a few men, here with their mothers, sisters, friends or relatives. It is a bit quieter than the main room and two of the four tables are empty. Mom over-orders for us and I don’t argue. They serve me hot, hot, sweet coffee in a little metal cup with a broad bowl as a sort of saucer I can use to cool the coffee down. This is seriously one of my favorite things about visiting India.

As I drink the coffee, mom regales me with stories of her childhood. Her chickamma and chickappa (aunt and uncle) sort of adopted her from years 7-11 and she lived in mysore, not so far away from GTR. Her Chickappa, with a tendency to spoil little Nagu, would whisper to her to meet him at the corner of GTR, and would take her for dosas or vadas (her chickamma did NOT approve of such indulgences). I asked if/when she started drinking coffee. She told me that they didn’t really have money for milk – and they drank water, not coffee. Though mom had shared many stories about her impoverished childhood and  special time with her aunt and uncle in Mysore, she had never shared this tidbit.

Mom and I split the last coffee (classic one-by-two), packed up what we couldn’t eat, and left. We walked out onto the street, where there were ricks lined up across the way, waiting for us. It was still morning by Mysore standards and most of the shops were closed. While many neighborhoods have changed a lot and modernized in Mysore (including ours), the neighborhood around GTR still seemed mostly the same as the last 10-15 years I had visited. You could take a picture, give it a sepia filter and I’m not sure if one would know the difference.