Law, Partially

As is apparent from some prior entries, I’ve become a wanderer. St. Louis, Columbia, Paris, New York, Michigan, Iowa, St. Louis, Pittsburgh, Bombay, who knows where else will be next. I don’t like to let the grass grow under my feet. Running around the world is exciting, but part of me longs to stand still and settle in the Midwest. On the one hand, I’ve become real good at making friends – I mean, you always have to make new friends when you move to a new place. On the other hand, I have so many friends spread so far around, any of whom I may never see again. And in a few years I’ll leave these Pittsburgh friends behind too. I bought a book in Delhi written by the famous British explorer Sir Richard Burton – not the actor, but a man with a fascinating biography nonetheless ( link here - the first entry is not the same guy, but the rest are). Sir Richard was a wanderer in the first degree, exploring the entirety of India and Africa for the Queen. He also posed as a Muslim and snuck in

This is a travel blog. Now I’m back in Pittsburgh. What I mean is, I am not traveling currently. So this blog is sort of on hiatus until I travel again and that travel experience is interesting enough to warrant blog entry. I do foresee a trip to New York City in October, and I also foresee a trip to the Seattle-Tacoma area around New Years. That trip would be to visit my good friend Josh, aka the MFG, an army man who just this summer began his station there. I sort of doubt much intellectual will happen there worthy of blogging. However, I’ll probably be going somewhere interesting next summer, but who knows where this place will be: London, Paris, Singapore, the afterlife. Namaste until then…

What was the number one highlight? Let’s say it was my trip to the villages around Latur. I gave a harrowing speech about the U.S. education system and how when there is no discrimination, children can study to become whatever they want to be: engineer, doctor, lawyer, pilot, astronaut. I also sang the Star Spangled Banner to a gathering of 25 village leaders, and yes, I fell flat on all the high notes. I was so drunk on my success with that song, I followed it up with Redemption Song by Bob Marley. I asked my CRY friends to tell the leaders in Marathi (the language the villagers understand) that Redemption Song is a song about the Jamaican people’s struggle. These village leaders were Dalits and embroiled in their own struggle – ie the struggle for basic human rights in their communities. And all weekend, the villagers treated me like the most revered celebrity. Maybe I will move out there for a short period of time – to write a report for CRY.

I don’t know if any Mariconians (as those who work for Marico fondly call themselves) will ever read this blog, but I’d like to throw a thank you their way. They gave me a desk, a computer, and a paycheck this summer to study whatever areas of Indian law fascinated me. I learned more than I expected to learn, not just about the whole of the Indian legal system, but some American law too. I exit India with a much greater love of the law than with which I entered India. And I wasn’t just learning Indian law, I was learning the entire Indian legal system as my Marico lawyer colleagues took me to the Bombay High Court, set me up with the senior advocate in Delhi (many thank yous also to Mr. Pratab – I hope to meet again someday) to set in on a session of the Indian Supreme Court, and all took time from their busy days to entertain my queries about Indian law and India. On my last day of work, knowing my fondness for that fat god with the elephant head who has a wife and rides a rat, my col

To anybody who read the Indian portion of my blog and didn’t comment, thank you very much for reading. I didn’t think any of my law student comrades were reading because none were commenting. I was pleased and surprised to return to Pittsburgh and learn that a few had actually been following my mild adventures. I thought I had been forgotten about…

I’ve been back in the States for two weeks now. Some Indian reflections are in order. Consider this closure. I think I’ve done all the things in the States that I had been dreaming of all summer. I’m drinking red European wine and eating European cheese as I type. (American wine and cheese were also dreamed about, but it just so happens that I’m going European tonight.) These items are prohibitively expensive in India, but at Costco in the U.S., they’re just the right price. I ate Mexican food at El Maguey. I saw friends and family. I spoke English, and everyone understood. As I type this, I’m thinking, being back home sounds underwhelming, and actually it probably is. I have unfinished business, it feels, in India. Eleven weeks just wasn’t enough time. I was intimidated by India when I first arrived there. What shocked and scared me most at first was the madness of the streets. People were walking on highways. Also on highways there were roadside stalls set up. People didn’t stop at r

This turned to be a pretty funny day, and I still shudder when I think how lucky I am I ended the day on a plane headed west. My last day in Bombay was Saturday. Friday night I stayed to work until 10:30pm trying to finish my work (especially since I had taken a 5 hour lunch break on Thursday with Christine). I even went in to work on Saturday morning, just to make sure my work was done enough. Actually, I have some significant portions to finish here in the States. I have no time for this, but I’ll make time. I was originally supposed to stay at Marico for another 4 weeks, back in those heady days where I thought I was traveling onward to Hong Kong from India. Had I stayed those 4 weeks, I would have finished more of my project. I am rather tired of Indian food, but just because I hadn’t eaten pav bahji very much and because it’s the last time I’ll have it in a while, I went to my office building’s cafeteria to get some pav bahji. Pav Bahji is a spicy tomato-based thick liquid eaten w

These are the ruins of an ancient mosque south of Delhi called Qutab Minar. It was one of my favorite sites in India. It's built in an Afghan style, and this huge tower has Arabic script carved on parts of its surface -- but it's the background that's carved away, leaving the script to be protruding. I just liked the way this tower looked. It was in a different style than the tens of Mughal mausoleums (like the Taj) and forts I'd been visiting in Delhi and Agra. Qutab Minar is red, but there's not supposed to be such a pinkish tint in the bottom left. My camera is broken, and the accuracy of photos is erratic -- this is why I gave it to Amar. This is the Raj Ghat, the place where Gandhi was cremated in Delhi. I really liked this memorial. It's just a block of marble, and such a simple memorial seems fitting for the man. I also went to his house in Delhi. It's now a museum, and it was probably my favorite museum in India. This is Babalu, my driver in De

Remember my shoe shine friend Amand? His name is actually Amar, I just misunderstood with his accent when first introduced. He’s tripled his earnings now that he shines shoes in a railway station with his shoe shine box. His mother and sister don’t have to beg anymore. Instead his mom goes to gossip with the other neighborhood ladies during the day – a common pastime for Indian women, as I guess it is for all women everywhere. My mom gave me some money to give to Amar, so I did, and Amar is so happy that he now calls me every day. I’m not kidding. He also says he’s going to go to the airport with me on Sunday even though my flight leaves at 5:55am. He and I spent Sunday at Juhu Beach. Juhu Beach is the most crowded beach I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s dirty, the sand is rocky, but it was good times, even though the heat from the sun (which is always directly overhead here – it’s not in the south like it is in the U.S.) made my skin red, white, blotchy, and itchy. Amar and I ate a spic

My last two weeks were such a whirlwind, I won’t know what to make of them until I’m safely back in the States, which will be this Sunday night for those keeping track. I’ve largely finished my project at work. I detailed the legal aspects involved in regards to Marico’s commodity import portfolio. That sounds so jargoned. But Marico imports edible oils and oil seeds. I detailed where law comes into this technical process. I made a 7 page comparative study of Indian and U.S. intellectual property law. I’ve only briefly studied American IP (intellectual property) law, so really I was newly learning laws of two countries. I finished the project despite taking a five hour lunch break today, arriving at work yesterday at 2:30pm then leaving at 7, getting tipsy last night with my Sikh friend in Chembur, a suburb more distant than Bandra, and leaving work at 3pm on Tuesday. Why am I slacking at work? Because I am a man involved with many projects past my legal education. Disclaimer: I hope t

It's a shame, but it's not surprising. A building in Mumbai has collapsed , killing 24. Most buildings here are junky looking, and then builders are corrupt and will put extra stories on them without making the necessary structural changes, so they can make extra money. I also would imagine that corruption prevents many buildings from receiving the rigorous safety inspections that American buildings get. But I wasn't in the collapsed building or anywhere near it, and although I am at work now, I'm pretty sure my apartment building is still standing.

My neighbor kind of looks like Gandhi. He's skinny, old, bald, and Indian. He usually wears loose fitting white pants and no shirt. He invited me in for breakfast and tea this morning. I'd already eaten breakfast, but I had some tea. It's my policy to nearly always accept invitations because you never know what may come of them, even though there is a chance that only awkwardness will come. This morning wasn't too awkward. My neighbor is called Aziz. He went to JJ Art School in Mumbai, which he says is the biggest art school in Mumbai. He said he'd worked many years as a graphic artist. The paintings lining his home looked like what I'll call Indian Impressionism -- bright colors, cloudy shapes, but with traditionally painted Indian people -- simplified facial features and bodies, big eyes. His children are in the U.S., and he lived in New Jersey for a number of years. He worked in a warehouse. It's hard to believe this because he showed me a picture of him

All six of my regular readers are probably wondering how my trip to Jaipur, Agra, and Delhi went. I am, however, flooded at work trying to finish this project in my last week and a half, and I just don't have the luxurious time to be writing these overly-extensive blog entries for which Law, Partially is renowned. But here goes... Jaipur is famous for its handicrafts. In Jaipur I spent the whole day hanging out with some middle age Indian men who took me workshops for all these handicrafts. This definitely is not on the normal tourist itinerary. I saw a jeweler make a ruby pendant. I saw rugs being knotted. I went to a private art gallery and an art college. I went to a cloth manufacturer. And I kind of missed out on exploring too much of the ancient walled city, but there just wasn't time for everything. I took an overnight bus to Agra and didn't sleep much because the ride was so rough. I man also got into bed with me, and I was like fine, there's enough room, but the

Se Cathedral in Old Goa. All that's left of the formerly grand city of Old Goa are a splattering of giant churches like this. With so many huge churches, this must have been a pretty full town back in its day. This is the waterfront of Old Goa. Check out how red that water is. I'm guessing it's because there's iron down there, or maybe some other mineral that makes it red. Not much left of the waterfront today, just this modern junky metal dock. All that's left now is a ship salvaging operation. These huge rusting ships could contribute to the red of the water, but water was red everywhere, not just here. This wide river would have been great for those Portuguese sailing ships to slide up. My hotel, the Panjim Inn in the restored Portuguese mansion in Panjim, Goa's capital city. My tour guide at the Spice Farm in front of the scraggly looking cinnamon tree. Women bent over in rice paddies. This picture was taken from the back of a motorcycle taxi whi

pictures tk -- tomorrow

I sit writing in the lobby of the Taj Land’s End in Bandra. There’s a pianist playing a grand piano, and strolling through the lobby are mainly young and trendy, well-dressed Indians in designer jeans. There are a few white people scattered about. It appears they’re mainly Western businessmen. There are restaurants and a bar in the Taj, and I’m guessing a lot of people are coming here for those. I will not be drinking any coffee. Yes, I drank two delicious cups of coffee at Mocha, no milk, no sugar. I also ate a vegetarian panini that was pretty tasty but doused in oil (surprise surprise – everything in India is doused in oil it seems). And now my gastro-intestinal track, sensitized by India’s abuses and my own indiscretion in eating and drinking, is in disrepair. I’m hoping this isn’t a return of Delhi Belly, just an overdose of black coffee, something of which I have not drank in almost two months. I feel like crap, but my stomach isn’t pained like it was during bouts of Delhi Belly.

At the top right of the front page was an ad for the Sunday magazine: "I would sleep with..." where a gay fashion designer lists who he would sleep with. Homosexuality is illegal in India, btw. "Naughty gifts for gennext: Sex is just a joy toy away." Even though sex toys are illegal in India, according to today's paper urban Indians in the 18 to 21 year age bracket are gifting them to each other. Mehul Shah, a 20-year-old engineering student had this to say: "I found out about the variety of sex toys from the Internet and, on a trip to Amsterdam I bought an inflatable doll." I wonder if Mehul really said this or if the quote was made up. At M we used to make up quotes, and I don't find Indian journalism to be of the highest standards and wouldn’t be surprised if it was made up. But really, why would any real person want to say something like this for the public record? Many in India want the country to be conservative, but what’s true in the U.S. i

With Melissa and Sanjay from CRY Mumbai and towing along my three Singapore friends, I ventured 14 hours from Mumbai into the interiors of Maharashtra. I went to villages and met Dalit farmers who are collectivizing and working together and claiming the human dignity that they’ve never had the wherewithal to claim before. Traditionally, a farmer Dalit wouldn’t even look his landowner employer in the eye, let alone request a living wage, let alone request anything. Nobody really spoke much English except for our CRY companions who provided some spotty translation. And never before in my life have I been treated as such an absolute celebrity. I would sit on the ground in these villages and just have children staring and smiling at me the whole time. I like CRY because CRY doesn’t just roll through villages throwing out money like the U.S. and the U.N. used to do. This old strategy achieved very bad results, especially in Africa where increased foreign aid has increased the wealth of dict

During my Pittsburgh Spring, when I was never sleeping enough or studying enough, I had vague ideas of what my summer in India would be like. I knew there are a lot of hungry people in India. I also knew there are a lot of rich people in India. But in the few moments I had to speculate about what my life this summer would be like, I never imagined I would come to India and get fat. Well, the process is beginning. Mainly it happens because Indians love to see me overeat and take third helpings. The lawyers place bets at lunch about how much I’ll eat. I also feel obligated to finish all my food because so many children on the streets beg me for food. And because my gym partner is unreliable – I haven’t been to the gym in two weeks, although I have woken up at 5:50 to go the gym nearly every morning and he doesn’t show – I went jogging this morning on the Bandra Sea Face. It’s embarrassing for me to go jogging because so few people jog, and the white guy in shorts running on the streets g

Seeing and listening to the rosy picture painted for us in the villages around Latur, I was reminded of statements I’ve often heard in the U.S. For example, a celebrity spends a day with some disadvantaged children and then says something like, “their strength and determination is an inspiration to me,” and this celebrity gets a pat on the back for caring. Paris Hilton gets out of jail and is inspired to party less and live a life devoted to helping prison women. How selfless of Paris. You can throw some money at the disadvantaged and leave. You can build them a house and then roll out of town. But these things don’t really get to the roots of why these people are disadvantaged in the first place. The house is likely to be taken care of poorly and the money spent imprudently. People tend to appreciate things a lot more if they have earned it themselves through their own work. I think this is why CRY goes about this development work the right way, empowering people through education and

Because in addition to being a legal trainee, I am also a journalist, I need to devote this weekend toward writing some articles and doing extra legal research. My trips to Mocha, the coffee shop (“coffees and conversations”), usually suck. It’s crowded. It takes 30 minutes to get a cup of coffee if a waiter even comes to your table. But I was awake early today, and I ventured to Mocha hoping to find free tables. So here I am at Mocha. It’s not crowded on this early Sunday afternoon. It took a long time for my ordered coffee to arrive at my table, but… The coffee, I am overwhelmed with joy to report, is better than Starbucks. I have always found Starbucks to be mediocre coffee, but in law school it became my standard cup. Today I drank some Malabar Monsoon coffee. The Malabar Coast is the Indian coast from Goa south to the extreme southern tip of India: in the modern state of Kerala. Mocha’s menu reports that European sailing vessels would bring coffee from the Malabar Coast to Europe,

I can't believe Hamas let this guy go. Alan Johnston was the last foreign journalist left in Gaza. Journalists all left Gaza because it was too dangerous. I remember listening to Alan Johnston on the BBC reporting on the civil war in Gaza, and he would often read essays on From Our Own Correspondent about life in Gaza. I would think to myself, damn that this guy has got balls, and the BBC can keep him there because the BBC is a famous Israel-hater. He was constantly reporting on foreigners being kidnapped, and then he himself was kidnapped in the Spring. He was kidnapped by some heretofore unknown organization, and there had been no proof offered that he was actually alive in captivity (but I've been out of the loop here in India, and it's possible that since I left the States in May some proof was made). I would listen to the BBC in Pittsburgh, and all the time the news would say, "Still missing. Hamas says he's alive, but no word from him." At one point the

Amand, my shoe-shining friend who I bought the box for, reappeared in my life today. I was supposed to meet him last week, but I was sick, and I never had the ambition to make it over to Linking Rd., and then I went to Goa. It’s a pretty big hassle for me to get to Linking Rd. after work because after work I have to come home and work on writing my blog and writing for Jurist. Plus, I usually stay at work for 10 or 11 hours. I wasn’t sure if Amand would still be at Linking Rd. He’s supposed to start shining shoes at a train station. But I went there today, and there he was at McDonalds. He saw me, and he was real excited to see me. He wasn’t doing very well. He said he hadn’t been making much money since the rains have started so heavily. He said no one wants their shoes shined on Linking Rd. in the rain, but they would want their shoes shined in a train station. He said he got his license from the railway company, but now he needed the blue shirt. Blue pants and blue shirts are the un