Institute Football League, Fresh Juice, and Cold Showers: Mar 7 to Mar 10

On Thursday night (3/9), I met my friend Kuntal from the H13 football team as I was walking out of the mess after eating dinner. He asked me if I was playing in the IFL (Institute Football League), and I responded, “Yes, I signed up last week!” This league is one where teams are mixed undergrad and grad students. There are four teams, each with a certain number of points, and there is an “auction” where the managers bid their points against one another to get the players they want on their team. When I had signed up for the league one week prior, the online payment website did not take international cards, so I had called the organizer and told him I would pay the Rs. 400 in cash. I had not yet organized this payment and had thought that its timing was not important, as have been the timing of most payments in India. Back to Kuntal (the manager of one team in the IFL): he told me that the auction was that night, beginning in 30 minutes. If I did not talk to the organizer and get him the money, I would be crossed off the list of players and not put on a team. How lucky that I randomly ran into Kuntal!

I quickly called the league organizer and told him I could come pay him now, as the auction was beginning. He said that all he needed was “assurance that I would pay,” not that I needed to necessarily pay tonight. I went to the auction anyway because it sounded fun; I gave the league organizer a 500 Rupee bill, and he said he did not have change, so I could just pay him at the first game. I guess this payment also falls into the “not so urgent” category so long as I expressed my intention to actually pay.

The auction was fun to watch; players were announced in order of their skill level and the four managers bid their points against one another to hire players. There were three league players, including me, who were present at the auction. The managers bid wildly over the three of us who were present—I think my high bid was a combination of my football skill and good looks. I am on Kuntal’s team, Bayern Munich, and am looking forward to the games starting next weekend.

This incident reminded me of the time in February when I heard word-of-mouth that I needed to tie a ribbon around my bike to indicate that it was in use or else it would be taken away by security. I never received any official notice about the bike marking, nor about needing to pay. In India, this type of situation has a way of working itself out; somehow, the network of information sharing through person-to-person contact is robust enough to ensure that generally people do not slip through the cracks. There have been incidents here, especially related to official paperwork, where it has been frustratingly difficult to figure out what information I need or who to talk to. I have regularly been sent back and forth to different offices repeating a phrase something like “so-and-so told me to talk to you about this,” to which I am told, “no, I don’t know anything about this; you need to go back and talk to so-and-so again.” I have chalked this up to bureaucratic regulations; the method of information sharing in this sector, whether through email or human contact, is much weaker than for informal activities such as the IFL or bike security.

Juice in India is served in small glasses of 6-8 oz. and is relatively expensive, compared to food. This high cost is because the juice is always made fresh, and it tastes great. One day last week I met Sumit after a run on the field and he asked if I wanted to get a juice at Campus Hub, a café on the main road near the field. I have passed Campus Hub many times in the last two months but have never bothered to stop. Upon examining the menu, I learned that they have a variety of juices available—mosambi, pineapple, pomegranate, lime—for Rs. 20-50. I like the mosambi juice a lot; mosambi is a small commonly-juiced citrus fruit in India. After discovering the convenience of Campus Hub, I have made it a habit to walk after dinner for juice every other night or so. Juice like this back in the US costs at least $4 a glass, so I have to enjoy it while I can.

The weather here has been fluctuating week-to-week with highs between 30°C and 37°C. At the lower end of this range, it is reasonable and I can spend a decent amount of time outside during the heat of the day. At the upper end of this range, the ten-minute bike ride to my office is draining. I have experienced India during April and May before, but then I was in hotels with AC and traveling everywhere on an air-conditioned bus. Over a billion people live here and make it through the hot months every year; I know it is doable, but nevertheless the heat is daunting. I have not taken a hot bucket shower in at least 3 weeks; I have been sticking to cold showers. If I shower right after exercising, it feels great; if I do not, it is somewhat uncomfortable but better than a hot shower would. I think the drains in the bathroom shower stalls are built to handle bucket showers, not overhead showers, as they drain at a much slower rate than the water comes out. Depending on which stall I choose, this can lead to minor flooding on the floor of the bathroom. If this happened in my room at Northeastern, I would have submitted a work order months ago to get the drain fixed. Here, it does not matter. Just like the chipped paint and haphazard sidewalks, the slow shower drain does not have a large effect on the functionality of the overall system (the bathroom, in this case), so it is ignored. Indian people know what is essential to fix and what is simply a convenience or cosmetic consideration.

Cows on campus in the late afternoon

View of Powai Lake from the lakeside path on campus