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“An Indian-German Business Affair”

Published at December 21, 2009 in feature. 3 Comments


Impressions for a new project  -  part 2

 

 

Mumbai. Later in the afternoon I go along a street in Andheri and suddenly a huge class of 8 to 10 year old kids are sitting under a tree on a square doing their homework. A lady in a beautiful dark red-green sari smiles at me, by the way not many people smile in Mumbai in comparison to Goa where they smile all the time. She tells me that these are kids, whose parents can’t take care of them in the afternoon. So they do some work with them, homework, paintings, counting. I am really sorry that I can’t speak Hindi; I would have loved to tell them stories about Europe. But they can’t speak English and me… Can you imagine in Europe women taking care of 30 - 40 kids without being paid? No way. The kids were so happy seeing me, laughing, making fun and looking at my purple silk stockings and skirt. They were more open than the kids in the orphanage in Goa, about whom I wanted to make a film. But the kids in Goa got a very authoritarian education. So they were stiff, shy, behaving like in a military camp and scared about what they said, constantly looking to the owner of the orphanage, who made them do, what he wanted them to do. - Mumbai sweets sitting in the street, doing their homework, painting or calculating how many people may live in Mumbai?

 

Full moon in Mumbai - Following my way along little stores with fruits, vegetables and cloths, I arrive at a huge stable. Can you imagine cow stables in the middle of a city? I was excited. Big black, heavy cows eating their hay under a roof, looking at me. You could even buy fresh milk! The last time I drank fresh milk from a cow is 30 years ago or more. The cow stares at me, and a man refilling their hay, stares at me like I stare at him and the cows - Full moon in Mumbai - I continue my way along the little huts, where they repair cars, turn taxis upside down, sell you toilets, window glasses, cakes, jewelry or sugar cane juice, whose smell mixes with some incense sticks and lots of cars and taxis. I gave up smoking; with the car pollution I smoke two packets of cigarettes anyhow. One thing for sure, there should be more blondes walking along the streets of Mumbai, so they don’t stare at you anymore. For sure purple stockings and a skirt it’s not the best offer in between women in a burka. But what does it matter, the eyes tell anyhow the story of your life.

 

Full moon in Mumbai ends in discussions about and if a Christian woman may get married to a Muslim, if a Muslim may get married to a Hindu. It makes me sad how we have developed backwards again. In the 80′ies and 90′ies in Paris and Berlin there was a development to less question these questions anymore, even 200 years back my ancestors married in between different religions, in Berlin they had no choice anyhow. And now in modern times with cool products, stylized fashion models, exquisite cars, expensive exotic furniture, where globalization determines more your life then anybody else, they build up walls because of religion. I couldn’t believe. But I know it became a general problem, wherever you go, wherever you are. It gains too much power over the people, building up walls, where there shouldn’t be walls anymore - Full moon in Mumbai.

“An Indian-German Business Affair”

Published at December 5, 2009 in news. 6 Comments

Impressions for a new project

(My Indian contact no.  0091-9930560083)

Mumbai. The first things I see are palm trees, the incarnation of beauty. The taxi driver doesn’t understand me but I smile. He stops in the middle of nowhere and I smile. He drives to a filling station and I continue smile. A long travel begins. Already the different smells make me happy. How does Berlin smell? Anything else but cars? Here it changes from charcoal to all other smells of the world. We drive along construction sites, passing by office buildings, higher and higher up into the sky. The taxi driver doesn’t speak English and my Hindi is worth a dime. I have the impression that he doesn’t know where we have to go. Suddenly he stops at a corner, lost, I ask another taxi driver where we are, and suddenly the Hotel is there, in the dark, closed with chains. Why the hell did I write that I would arrive late? I shout out loud, what the heck is going on here. Finally somebody comes. I can’t sleep. But the next day is warm like it’s never in Berlin. In the tender mist of the morning sunlight I have a marvelous view over the roofs of Mumbai. The cars honk; the crows are talking and shouting to each other. How much I love these sounds of India. Berlin is calm, Berlin is a village, Berlin neither smells nor sings. Mumbai is a symphony of sounds, Berlin is a folk song.

 

Why are they all staring at me? Is something wrong? Are my wrinkles too big? Shouldn’t I sit here and drink tea? I think I’m pretty normal for India? But I am the only woman in the Café of Girgaon, moreover blonde. The waiter is slightly arrogant, but slowly he becomes nicer, when I order a coffee after my second tea. The people still stare at me. Do they know that my greatest dream was to have long, black, curly hair and dark brown eyes? Unfortunately I failed. Everything in the Café becomes lively, it’s 8.30. They eat, drink, chat and make business. You feel a community in between the people, which I rarely experience in Germany. They have a different attitude towards partnership. For us Europeans it doesn’t mean too much, you change quickly. It has no meaning. A woman doesn’t honor a man and vice versa. Human relations have no worth, because everything what counts is money, your profession, career and social status. But to honor a man or a woman, what for a strange idea?

 

After I have done my office stuff, I jump into the city. What for a beautiful architecture! I discover arcades of a beauty I never saw in Paris or Milan, more beautiful then in Vienna. Little paintings and ornaments tell stories of couples and goddesses. A soft, tender light falls onto the floor, reflections of Mimosa leaves intermingle, creating an impressionist painting. Everybody looks so serious in his or her conservative cloths. I have a long conversation with a bookseller, who was once rich but now he is poor. His parents had to leave Pakistan, so nothing is left. I continue my way along the high pillars of this old beauty and come to a huge square. Again I discover Mimosa and Bougainville trees in the middle of a city. The palm trees add a natural elegance to this ensemble. What’s going on in Mumbai, no cliché fits? I walk into some neo-gothic English architecture from the 19th century, entering the High-Court of Maharashtra. It’s pure theater over 4 floors. In every floor they discuss the newest topics, politics, economics, from happiness to despair. How many destinies have been decided in this impressive building? How many people had great hopes and failed in the end or won, who knows? Piles of papers and old files are piling up in the offices and in the long corridor on the floor, telling the stories of their lives.

 

This morning I had really trouble to bear this poverty visible at any corner of Mumbai. My depression and my own poverty become apparent. I have trouble to live with it. Everywhere in the dark you see people sleeping, hiding under old blankets. It is difficult and scary to me, because I could end up there, too. Who knows what happens in this world in 10 years? At the Taj Hotel a little girl approaches, telling me that she is not allowed to be here, but she would love to make me a present, because I’m such a nice lady. She gives me a white flower bracelet out of jasmine, which smells seductively. I insist that I don’t want them but finally I accept. It’s just a present, which will bring luck to me. Then she starts telling me, that she has a bad husband, who treats her full of despise. She was pregnant before she got married so her mother chassed her away. Now she is ill and can’t give any milk to her baby. She asks me if I could buy some milk for her baby? Sure I can’t say no. Finally we end up in a little store, where she wants to buy 2 packages of rice and 2 boxes of milk powder. The guy charges me 1200 Rupees. What do you think, I’m a millionaire or what? Ok… I’ll pay you one package of rice and one box of milk powder. Then she started discussing, that her friend will starve and that… No, sorry, I am not a millionaire; my hotel room costs half the price. I leave her, back to the Gateway of India. Again people asks me if I want my shoes cleaned, buying some water… Two young guys made photos of me, but they couldn’t speak English. When I gave them my dictionary they even didn’t find the word of their occupation. Can’t they read? Finally I look at the gateway, asking myself, why people admire a gate, which honors King George and his wife when they conquered India. Why do people admire a gate, which was build by their invaders, conquering their country for centuries?

 

Rush hour in Mumbai. Don’t try to swim against the flow. At 6 pm, masses of people come from the center of Mumbai, from all their offices, running fast towards the subway. Nobody takes care of the others, nobody looks at each other. Everybody is just running and running, it’s me, it’s me, I want to go home, I want to have peace, I have to take care of my wife, I want to see my son. Don’t try to swim against the current, you will be run over, you won’t survive. Anyhow a lot of women in India don’t work, they stay at home with their family and kids. Then entering the train, everybody stares at me, but really everybody. It was an unusual feeling to me. Didn’t you ever see a blonde? I don’t wear high heels, no mini-skirt, no make up, nothing special, really I am not a beauty queen! But they don’t stop staring at me. You know to be honest, I loved black hair. I always wanted to have long, curled black hair and the first wish I could have at 10 was to get a black wig. At 20 finally I tainted my hair and lost so much, that I gave up this dream…

 

Back in the old hotel in Girgaon they were asking me, how old I am? 46 - Whow I wouldn’t have thought, you look much younger! You are beautiful. Mmh, thank you for the compliment. Are you totally on your own? Yes. But I have many friends here and at my home in Europe. He stared at me, at 46 you’re not married? You know in the West we are very much used to be on our own. Family structures got destroyed in particular in Germany because of the 3rd Reich and the revolt against anything, which brought this kind of society. We didn’t want anymore this oppressive structure where the father is the absolute authority and you’re worth nothing! A kid has to submit and obey, has to keep his mouth shut and kneel. No love, no tenderness, no support, you are nothing, serving your father and the system. No, then I prefer to stay on my own. Anyhow I have too much work to do, it would boring for somebody else. But be careful not loosing your passport, then you won’t get into any hotel.

 

Yesterday at the cricket field I was lying in the grass, checking where I was and where I wanted to go. The security guard chassed the Indian people away but not me…? Then I was drinking one of these delicious lemon juices with sugar and salt. The seller was a little sceptical (scared) towards me, but finally he was laughing… I started talking to 2 young lads, who went to college. They want to become a chartered accountant. The one, who was more confident of himself, told me that he is gong to become Bill Gates. - Then you have to do computer science. - Oh, they do this, too. They are going to do their MBA. And their favorite actor is Shah Rukh Khan. But when I remark that he’s not such a good actor giving them an example, they changed fast their mind. I can only say that in the West we look more for quality work in acting. Everybody can act a little bit, pretty good. But not many can act exquisitely good, this takes a big effort. Look at Al Pacino, Sean Penn, Heath Ledger, can you compare them to SRK? Yes they are convinced but still they like his superficial films and he is taller than Aamir Khan… Ah, this counts? You know the most famous actors I know are 1m50/60.

 

An Indian friend from Ohio explained me that in many Bollywood /Indian films you always have a little bit of comedy, a little bit of romance, a little bit of action and some drama. It must be spicy and hot. My friend from Mumbai/Ohio is shocked about the violence in the States. Mumbai and anywhere in India it’s really peaceful in comparison to the States. Everybody from the age of 12 can buy a gun, everybody has a gun and everybody uses his gun - one day or another. Constantly there are shootings in his neighborhood. He told his wife to be at home before 10! It’s too dangerous…

 

But I also met another guy at the next splendid, hot cricket field. Again I was drinking this cold salty, sweet lemon juice… running down my throat. This time he started talking to me. What am I doing? If I’m on my own. He is a teacher in biology. But he loves to coach people. So they don’t repeat the same mistakes again and again. Most people run always for the perfect love, they will never find. Everybody is longing for love and rarely they find it and stay unhappy all their live. He is convinced that India is and will become a very strong country. He thinks I am a nice person, he could approach. While he was on his mobile phone, he was much more arrogant with a slight despise. He treated the young man with arrogance while he was preparing the sandwich with tomatoes, potatoes and cucumbers. Only with me he was suddenly nice. Later I discovered that he was doing import-export and mainly the cases where there is trouble. He is the trouble shooter for the money lenders, he is the debt collector. He plays on very charming and how intelligent he is, but revealing was his behavior towards the poor guy, who made the cooking and serving for him. That’s why I have trouble believing his charming behavior towards me.