Another day in India, another notice from my bank that my account is going to be frozen...

Perhaps I should not have relied so heavily on the globalization of financial markets. But, on balance, I think it is still probably easier to periodically have no money in India than to open a bank account here. It's what the locals do, anyhow.

I have started my interviewing of Indian MPs. This is surprisingly easy to schedule because MPs all have not only their home phone numbers but their mobile phone numbers on the Parliamentary website. Second, they mostly answer their own phone, and always their mobile. Third, their secretaries are happy to give you other numbers you might try—say, if they are out of town—even before you have done your whole “bright young thing from Stanford” talk. Fourth, although they do go to legislative sessions, time constraints still seem largely soft. I get a lot of “Okay, do you want to come over now?” To which the answer is, “Well, no. You see, I was actually making this call not only unshowered and still in my pajamas but without having finished an interview script because I thought I would be begging your secretary for a date three weeks from now.” I don’t know whether to admire the accessibility of India’s political class, thank the dissertation gods, or to just ask the guy on the other end of the line “isn’t there something else you could be doing right now?”

When I’m not pursuing that, I’m still going to the National Archives. Next week, though, I’m going to try to get into the Parliamentary Library because I have about finished with what is really useful here. I only hope the library staff spends more time at the office than the MPs do.

…

Of the many dualisms India presents, one of the most interesting to me is the middle class’s enthusiasm for both imported technologies and a revivalist Indian folklore. The first is the kind of gung-ho materialism mixed with enthusiasm for scientific innovation that I associate with 1950s America. It’s the desire for home appliances, SUVs, slimming programs, and nuclear weapons. It is the enormous popularity of coffee shops despite the fact that most Indians—raised, as they are, on chai sweeter than liquefied CareBears—appear to dislike coffee and so almost the whole menu of such a café has to be devoted to ice cream drinks (YUM!). Yet all of that exists in parallel with an anxiety that local culture is being diluted and a resultant maudlin nostalgia for a potpourri of Hindu folkways. It has a certain vapid quality, incorporating only what is most convenient from the past, but no more so the chubby Pilgrim & Indian decorations of Thanksgiving.

Exhibit 1: Indian QVC has a special program devoted to the sale of household gods and goddesses (“This exquisite, individually numbered bronze Kali can be yours for not Rs. 2500, not Rs. 2000 but Rs. 1449. Now, we only have a few left…”) but, to avoid blasphemy, a very reputable-looking guru opens and closes each episode with a blessing, and makes short, edifying explanations of the spiritual import of the various items for sale. I should admit that by reputable-looking I mean old, with a long beard, and a yellowish-orange dot of something on his forehead. Whatever, I’m not a religious studies scholar.

Exhibit 2: Last week was Little Lord Krishna’s birthday and, to celebrate, a new cartoon about his childhood adventures was aired, in which he looked remarkably like a bright blue addition to the animated Gummi Bears clan. I have no idea if he had unusual powers of bouncing. I suspect not, as I seem to remember that the gummy berries so essential to bouncing elixir grew in deciduous forests.

Exhibit 3: This week I had a RiteBite Smart nutrition bar, which not only has PowerBar-esque packaging, it contains Shankhpushpi (“Over the centuries, this herb found in the northern plains of India is believed to help improve memory.” Though, since I’ll be lucky to live one century I’m not quite sure Shankhpushpi is going to work for me.); Brahmi, an herb to improve the intellect; and Ashvagandha, a root extract that will increase one’s sense of well-being. Makes that Vitamin Water you’re drinking seem pretty lame-o, doesn’t it?

Correction: I unfairly maligned Bank of America and I apologize. My latest email was a fake, I learned when I called in. Not only was Bank of America not trying to cut me off, this is evidence that their concern was, in fact, warranted.
I think there is a dissertation to be written about how Nigeria can possibly be so poor when the country has such a verifiably an enterprising people.