Not so good news

What a difference a day can make. The pops couldn't handle the rehab place and was transferred back to a hospital - not the one he was at for the last couple of months, but one that was closer (so much for continuity of care). As we speak, he's been in the emergency room for close to six hours, on the ventilator but stable, just waiting to be admitted to his room. Ritesh and his mom and his younger brother are there with him. The older brother had been there since this morning and finally went home exhausted. And yours truly is not down there, but at home in bed and in so much pain that I'm actually looking forward to the upcoming surgery just to finally put an end to this. Not a good day for anyone.

Health Update

This week, the pops was finally discharged from the ICU after about 76 days, if I'm counting correctly. He was transferred (by ambulance, mind you), to a rehab facility about 30 miles away from Ritesh's mom's house but actually a little closer for us. It's near the seaside, not in an idyllic beachy kind of way, but in a major cargo port kind of way. But somehow, him having been a marine engineer and spent many years on his life on cargo boats, it seems somehow fitting and we're hoping he'll recover well there.

He is still fed through a tube, still on the ventilator so can't talk, and has lost the use of all his muscles so will have to learn to walk again. But he's conscious and aware and smiles and can sit up in a cardiac chair for a few hours a day (on a good day), plus, eyewitnesses tell me, he can pick his own nose, so progress is undeniable and we're optimistic.

Festival Week: ColCoa, IFFLA, Depeche Mode, Anil Kapoor

Sorry I've been incommunicado all week - too much going on. For starters, my car died on the way to work one day and required getting towed to the mechanic (had to make up the hours missed at work) and then picked up again, outside of work hours, of course. Then I've dealt with a lot of my surgery prep and it looks like I'll have a surgery date to communicate next Tuesday, knock on wood.

But the biggest time drain this week, and in a good way, were the ongoing film festivals, with the concomitant cross-town driving and late nights! I saw two films that I really liked at the French Film Festival ColCoa - short for City of Lights (which would be Paris) City of Angels (that would be us), which happens every year at the Directors Guild in Hollywood.

I won't dwell on this much but if you have the opportunity, check out Le premier jour du reste de ta vie , a moving dark family comedy with the fabulous Zabou Breitman, Jacques Gamblin and Marc-Andre Grondin, and the fascinating Les Bureaux de Dieu, a Cannes selection about a Paris family planning center based on real interviews, but with such abortion counselors as the stunning Nathalie Baye, whom I love, and the scandalous Beatrice Dalle, she of Jean-Jacques Beineix 1986 classic 37°2 le matin (released in the US under the title Betty Blue).

IFFLA is the Indian Film Festival Los Angeles, and we caught a film there that we had missed in Mumbai: Little Zizou, about the Parsi community in Mumbai, directed by Sooni Tarapolevala, who is the co-writer on Mira Nair's movies. It was ok.

What really made the trip to the Arclight worthwhile that night was that free concert that Depeche Mode was playing just a couple of blocks away, at the storied intersection of Hollywood and Vine, for the release of their new album. Hollywood Boulevard had been closed off, with the stage placed just east of Vine. We only caught one song before we had to turn around so as not to miss the beginning of the movie, and we could see precious nothing because we were on the wrong side of the stage...
... but of course the music was booming and that one song we heard in its entirety was the opening song Never Let Me Down Again, so it worked out great and I was very happy.
There are lots of crappy videos of the event on YouTube. Thankfully, I only had my iPhone with me, otherwise I'm sure I couldn't have resisted and would have added some myself.

Anyway, as part of the Indian Film Festival, I also attended a seminar ominously entitled Hollywood's Spotlight on India, with a bunch of panel discussions on such engaging topics as The State of the Indian Entertainment Industry, Film Financing: Co-productions and Alternatives and Producing Indian content for the Indian and International Market, the latter affording the opportunity to brush shoulders with Anil Kapoor, who was on that panel (he's the show host in Slumdog Millionaire). And since people keep asking me if he's short, let me tell you that I can vouch for the fact that he is as tall as I am, which is a reasonably respectable 1.72m.

And to round off the week, we're trekking to the Polish Film Festival today (what a stroke of programming genius to have all three festivals happen at the same time). Greg's former roommate, a Polish guy by the name of Przemek, who studied film in LA and then went back to Poland, has a short movie showing there today, and he's in town himself, so that should make for a happy reunion....

The night before it happened

A fantastic tortilla soup, at Don Antonio's, with my friend Cam, her husband Cesar, and Ritesh. We also had some serious margaritas!

Cam had us cracking up all night with stories from her last trip back to England to visit her folks (Cam is hilarious).

After dinner, we got soaked running to the car. It was pouring that night and we were giggling like kids as we were skipping over the puddles. This was the night of Friday, Feb 6. We didn't know it then but this was the last night of carefree goofing around and hanging out just for the hell of it that we would have. Less than 12h later, the pops would have his heart attack, and we'd be on our way to the hospital, our lives changed for good.

Presidential Soft Drinks

Another unposted post from the week of the pop's heart attack:

I have it from an authoritative source (Time Magazine, no less) that in his first week in office, Obama had the White House refrigerators stocked with bottles of Honest Tea in his two favorite flavors: Black Forest Berry and Green Dragon. I'm no friend of bottled drinks, what with all that assciated trash, but I'm as susceptible to some decent product placement as the next person, so I hurried out and tried to get me some of that tea, rationalizing that at least it comes in glass bottles, not plastic, all the way to Whole Foods.

However, wouldn't you know it, I can't have been the only one to have read that Time article because from all the shelves of Honest Teas I inspected, these two flavors were suspiciously missing. A gaping void above the product tag - sold out. I tried several Whole Foods in my area, as well as Gelson's and Pavilion's, but lo and behold, it took about a week and a half before I finally got my hands on some. Ta da!

But between you and me, they're really just ok. There's nothing much to write home about except maybe the fact that we have a president who turns to organic and raw cane-sugar sweetened green tea rather than Coke when he hits a sugar low during the day...

Cake!

I've been cleaning up around here and found this post that never got posted from the carefree days back in early February just before the pops had his heart attack. Here it is unchanged and unedited:

Cecy, who is the nicest and kindest, got me this for no apparent reason at all: a delicious fruit tart from the legendary Cuban bakery Porto's, in the valley. Loved it - thanks so much, Cecy! I went outside to enjoy it in the sun, away from my desk, that's how special it was...

One of my Cuban-American co-workers, who in a reassuring confirmation of stereotypes bears the illustrious last name of Castro, got married recently and was sent off home to Florida with a nice wedding reception involving champagne and a luscious wedding cake. Yes, we had champagne in the middle of the afternoon, in a conference room at work, and it did wonders for morale...

I have a newly developed banana-pie radar and scored a delicious specimen for Ritesh at Amandine, my favorite French-Japanese neighborhood bakery: a great crust topped with a mousse-textured vanilla pudding, a layer of caramelized bananas and walnuts and a top layer of caramel-infused whipped cream, plus some caramel swirls on top. This was quite something. I think I'm getting really into this whole banana pie thing...

Vegan Sacher Torte from the macrobiotic M Cafe de Chaya

Fancy Wedding

Just a couple of glimpses at the set up for what looked like a pretty extravagant wedding at a certain five star hotel in Mumbai.... We've seen our share of Indian weddings and are not so easily impressed, but what was amazing about this one was the use of flowers -these curtains, for instance, are made entirely out of real, fresh flowers, innumerable little blossoms strung up on pieces of string...

More flower curtains. God knows how many hours and how many hands it took to get this done. And you have to imagine the smell, too - just beautiful.

Kitchen staff hard at work on some fabulous desserts

and a few humble watermelons awaiting their turn in the kitchen hallway...

Freida Pinto

Before her breakout performance in Slumdog Millionaire, the lovely Freida Pinto appeared in a number of ads, including this one for She brand sanitary pads. This was apparently a few years ago already, but the brains at She are of course re-releasing these ads now to cash in on her new-found fame. This one is from the Mumbai Times or Mumbai Mirror, I forget which (they always arrived together in the morning).

And here's an entire billboard at a bus stop near Dockyard Road....

Mumbai or Bombay?

In case you're wondering why I've come to use Mumbai and Bombay pretty much interchangeably, here's my attempt at an explanation: Officially, the city's name was changed from Bombay to Mumbai in 1996, although it wasn't accepted by the AP until 2006. Initially, I was of course in favor of this eradication of British-Raj era names, done in an apparent attempt to re-claim the city's identity from its colonial heritage. I assumed that calling the city Mumbai was the politically correct thing to do. However, once we got to Mumbai I was surprised to hear a lot of people continuing to call it Bombay. Same thing for the main train station, formerly and ongoingly called Victoria Terminus (VT), although officially it is Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST), the Prince of Wales Museum (now officially Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya - quite a mouthful that one) and a number of street names, including the one that Ritesh used to live on (Coppersmith Road - no idea what the official name is now). People either just continue to use the old name or at most use both interchangeably. Old habits die hard, you might say. However, there is a deeper, political reason for this ambivalence. It has to do with the fact that the party responsible for these name changes, the Shiv Sena, is very far right, violently pro-Hindu (i.e. anti-Muslim) and aggressively pro-Maharashtran (i.e. anti-everything else, be that Gujarati, Bengali, Punjabi, Tamil or foreigner) meaning that large swaths of the population don't identify with it and feel excluded if not openly discriminated against. In that light, calling the city Bombay can actually be seen as a rejection of the Shiv Sena's extremist and anti-outsider policies, which is certainly a decent stand to take. So basically you have a choice between two names that each carry their own unfortunate connotations, a choice between sounding like a pro-colonial jingoist or a Maharasthran Hindu extremist. Which is why I do what most Bombayites and Mumbaikars tend to do - I just use both.

Random Mumbai

The western end of Chowpatty Beach, with South Bombay in the background, on the other side of the bay.

a roadside temple in Mandvejust outside Dharavi slum, with the minarets of a mosque (wish I knew which one) sticking out above the roofs

stairwell in the public hospital near Dharavi slum

back in South Mumbai - Churchgate Train Station

early morning in the neighbor's courtyard, seen from our hotel window

stately bird in the Mumbai Port Authority Garden in Colabaslums and highrises in Colaba

side street of Cuffe Parade in Colabaoutside some Christian building on Cuffe Parade
little Swayam fell asleep on the train and woke up to find himself on Marine Drive, in front of the Express Towers...

...but at least he got a view of this... Queen's Necklace by day

Haji Ali

Just a passing shot of Haji Ali, a mosque and dargah (tomb) and one of Mumbai's most stunning landmarks, located as it is on an island just off the shoreline of Worli. It is connected to to the shore by a 500 yard long narrow bridge/causeway that has no railing, so it is only accessible during low tide. It was built in 1431 in memory of Haji Ali, who was by varying accounts either an Islamic preacher or a Muslim merchant traveling the world and giving up all worldly goods before his pilgrimage to Mecca. Although it is a Muslim site, it is apparently also very popular with Hindus who like to come and get the blessings of the saint buried here. We didn't make it there on this trip as we weren't aware that it was open to non-Muslims, but I definitely want to visit when we're back later this year.

Mumbai Azaan

One thing I really liked about Mumbai was that in many parts of the city, you can hear the azaan, the Muslim call to prayer. It's something that I've always really enjoyed listening to, partly because I just like the way it sounds, but partly also because of the way it makes me feel, somewhere between meditative and respectful (except maybe for that 5am one, ahem). I wonder why I've never heard it in Germany of France, what with all the mosques that are around. There must be a 'see, don't hear' policy or something (funny how that doesn't apply to church bells though). In LA, there's not even church bells.

This is on our first trip to Andheri, snacking on the roof top with Ritesh's cousin's family just after sunset. Masjid Al Haraam it ain't but it's still beautiful. Sorry I didn't quite know where to point the camera as I was recording...

This one is in a garden near Ritesh's old house by Dockyard Road Station. The path we're on is called 'joggers' circle' and we're trailing a couple of ladies, one of them in her sneakers, working out with the azaan in the background. As a bonus, you get a chorus of the omnipresent crows that are louder than anything, really...

Harley Street

More on the street that yours truly hadn't heard of until a couple of weeks ago...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harley_Street
Seems like the place even had an eponymous TV medical drama dedicated to it. Which was axed after like three episodes. Ah well.

Medical London - Harley Street

My first morning in London was a busy one. Before going into work and before even getting my hair done, I had another appointment - a doctor's appointment that Delia had made for me. Not for the food poisoning, mind you, but for that cyst which needs surgery and which I've been so badly procrastinating on. Some day in the future perhaps I'll write a post chronicling my unfortunate experiences at the UCLA medical center which resulted in my just wanting to stick my head in the sand and not deal with this issue, but for now because suffice it to say that I didn't have the guts to fire a doctor who was not trustworthy and that there was too much else going on these last few months, what with the pops in the ICU and the overwork and the sleep deprivation and then the India trip, for me to focus on the bigger picture. Meanwhile, Delia - who's a great friend and a supremely practical person - realized that I was in no shape to move forward on this, so she did it for me.

So here I am. This, unlikely as it may seem to the eye accustomed to American functionality, is a doctor's office in London. On Harley Street no less - Delia is not one to mess around.

The rest of the waiting room. Not what I remember health care looking like when I lived here. But then again - this is outside the NHS, as of course I'm no longer a resident.

The hallway up to the treatment rooms. The doctor himself was fantastic. He answered all my questions, resolved the thorny issues that had me stuck, all while exposing the UCLA doctor as the unsavory character he is without even trying. I was very impressed. This London doctor was so competent and sensible and straight forward and reassuring that I'm very tempted to go back and have my surgery done here. Need I add that the cost here is a fraction of what it would be in the States?

And after the appointment, when I went to settle my bill, it turned out that not only had Delia booked the appointment, she had also paid for it. And wouldn't let me reimburse her. Can you believe it? I was so touched by her thoughtfulness and generosity that I just about started bawling right there in the doctor's office (I get weepy when I'm sick and jetlagged). It didn't help my composure that the office manager declared "You have a very good friend here", and then went off about the importance of the heart in living a good life. All this to say, thank you so much, Delia! This was one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me, and I appreciate it more than words can say.

Random London

I was very badly in need of a haircut before rolling into our London office, so Deli got me an appointment with her stylist, Ethal, at Mad Lillies. Ethal is a fabulous and openly gay Gujarati (don't hear these three words together very often...) from Leicester, where apparently 25% of the population is Asian. He says when he goes back to India, people can tell right away he's not from there - no kidding, with that Robert-Smith hairdo he's sporting! Really great guy, though - and great haircut, too! Unfortunately, I have no picture to show of either Ethal or the haircut, but I do have one of my empty tea cup. Ahem.

Yours truly in the tube, still ailing and frail from the food poisoning on this my first day in London, but at least with the importantables (i.e. hair) in place...

Spring time in London! Told you this was going to be random...

Dinner at Jen Kichi (right up the street from Mad Lillies) w/ Deli and Matthias, the night before Ritesh arrived.

Still Life at Delia's

Love Delia's dining area - bay windows, lots of light, Magnolia tree in bloom outside...

And for comparative purposes, the iPhone version from the day before....

and just outside the window, little Jos really, really, REALLY not wanting to go to pre-school...

and finally getting whisked away by Dad. Ah, the heartbreak. Would have loved to spend the morning with him...

Inglorious Bastards

Bit of a surprise this week: I was emailing with a client in London about work-related stuff when it occurred to me that it was past midnight his time. So I asked him what he was doing, working so late. And the answer I got was this:

Deadlines.

MRS. HIMMELSTEIN
Good. A basterd's work is never done.

This seemed funny in a sort of cryptic way, until I looked up and noticed there was an attachment. And in the attachment was nothing other than the complete screenplay of Quentin Tarantino's new flick, Inglorious Bastards (or Inglourious Basterds, as Mr. Tarantino likes to spell it). The Mrs. Himmelstein line turned out to be a quote from the script, which the gentleman I was emailing with very kindly attached to his email so yours truly would get the joke. I was floored. I mean, this is a movie that's going to premiere at Cannes in May and not going to be released stateside until August. Vanity Fair is going to publish parts from the script in May, as an exclusive. So I was hyperventilating about this thing on my screen and I emailed him back saying - ok, I'm assuming this is confidential and I'm supposed to delete it? And he goes, naa, it's pretty widely available. So I checked online, and indeed it seems the script was leaked a while ago and there are reviews of it on several websites. Which is why I feel it's ok for me to mention this publicly, and also to disclose that yes, indeed, I went ahead and read the whole thing, all 157 pages of it.
Now I'm no fan of Mr. Tarantino, although I will confess that the screenplay of Pulp Fiction was the first thing I purchased on my first trip to LA when I was still scoping out grad schools out here. But I think he's gone way downhill since then, so I'm not one of the disciples who've been waiting for this for the decade that it has been floating around. But it was a good read. Full of Mr. Tarantino's trademarks, of course: insane, over-the-top violence and that verbal logorrhea that can be both really funny and really exasperating. It's set during WWII in German-occupied France and chronicles the exploits of a group of ass-kicking American-Jewish motherf***s who are out to personally take revenge on the Nazi regime by killing (and scalping, mind you) as many Nazis as they can get their hands on, all while discussing German film of the 1930s vs. German film under Goebbels. In the end, after spectacular shoot-outs, fires and explosions, it seems most everyone ends up dead. You'll have to see it for yourself to find out if Brad Pitt's character survives...
All I will say for now is that I agree with the commentator on one of the websites reviewing the script who said:

Quentin Tarantino spells like a third grader. Just sayin'.

Slumdog Millionaire

When people ask me about Mumbai, one question that comes up a lot is: Is it like in Slumdog Millionaire? Apparently, everyone and their mother has seen the recent Oscar winner which seems to have firmly superseded Mira Nair’s 1984 Salaam Bombay! as the main cultural reference point for Mumbai in the popular imagination of Westerners. Slumdog Millionaire was of course shot in Mumbai and tells the story of a Mumbai slum dweller, based on a novel that was written by someone who wasn’t born in Mumbai but is at least Indian and has hopefully spent some time in Mumbai (he’s now the Indian Deputy High Commissioner to South Africa). But to what extent it actually shows the real Mumbai is a thorny question. My first instinct is to say – not at all. It couldn’t, possibly.

For one, the real Mumbai is not art-designed and cinematically enhanced. The colors are not this vibrant and intense, the light is not this warm and golden, and whatever lense the cinematographer used to cut through the polluted haze – I want one to add to my sunglasses! The real Mumbai, particularly in the slums, is more muted, has more shades of gray and black and grime, and the pollution is such that the sky never really looks as blue as it does in the movie. The screen shot above is one of the few that looks unaltered and gives a true impression. (And as an aside, if I ever hear anyone complain again about bad air in LA, I’m going to punch them on the nose).

Then there’s the smell, the all-encompassing, hovering stench of a city where millions of people don’t have access to proper sanitation and where open sewage runs between slum dwellings – a smell that is characteristic not just of Mumbai but any city with this problem, and something that you’re spared when you watch the movie. Watching the movie is a sanitized, non-visceral, comfortable, consumer-friendly experience – everything that the real Mumbai isn’t.

And then there’s the story itself, which every Mumbaikar will point out to you “could never happen here”. Ah, where to start. I remember seeing the movie for the first time in LA, dragging Ritesh to the theater on opening weekend with a giddy anticipation based on nothing but the promising combination of “Danny Boyle” and “Mumbai”. I was excited, and I was bowled away. I loved it, everything about it. The energy, the verve, the intensity, the way it grips you from the first frame and doesn’t let go, whirling you along an emotional rollercoaster to the final, very satisfying resolution. Of course, the camerawork is superb, the editing is stellar, the children are cute, the tunes are catchy, a likeable underdog overcomes all obstacles fighting for his one true love – what’s not to like? Ritesh, however, who is of a more sober nature and less susceptible to getting carried away over pretty images and a good yarn, left the theater uneasy and a little put off. He didn’t appreciate the poverty-porn depiction of slum life, felt the film was glossing over unfathomable social realities, was too unrealistic and even exploitative of the people it presented.

It’s a fairy tale, obviously, and that’s what a lot of people outside of Mumbai respond to. In the US, it is considered and marketed as a feel-good movie because it makes people living reasonably comfortable lives feel better about all the other people who don’t – if one orphaned slum kid can make it in life thanks to nothing but his own resourcefulness and a good heart, there’s hope for everyone out there and the world really isn’t that bad a place after all, right? Everyone loves a good rags-to-riches story. However, when you’re actually in Mumbai, with the realities of the city all around you, you can’t buy into the movie that easily. Which may be why the movie didn’t do so well in India. The fairy tale is just too painfully untrue.



We saw the movie for the second time when we were in Mumbai , with Ritesh’s cousin and her husband, who were both underwhelmed and a little annoyed with it. They assured us that no slum dweller would be able to win this show, or even be allowed to win – the police would not mess around interrogating him but put him away or have him disappear, period. Also, as a minor point, they felt it was totally incredible that after a win that was supposedly witnessed by millions countrywide, Jamal Malik could sit comfortably and undisturbed in the city’s major train station waiting for Latika and not be mobbed by throngs of people wanting a share of his cash. They agreed that the only way he could live after that win would be by leaving the country. And with regard to the depictions of slum life, they felt, like Ritesh did, that the movie glorified it, and they didn’t quite see the point of watching a movie about something this unpleasant that already intrudes on their life on a daily basis (there is a slum right next to their house). On some level, I think, from the beginning, Ritesh saw the movie as a Mumbaikar and I saw it as an outsider, clueless and oblivious.

I saw the movie again upon leaving Mumbai, on the Virgin Atlantic flight to London. I watched it twice in a row – the minute the closing credits were done, I started over, letting the images wash over me in a numb haze while trying to figure out how the film related to what I had just experienced in this city, and how I felt about it all. And to be honest, I cried. The ridiculousness of it all was now cringe-inducing. Here’s this cute 18 year old British TV actor with his thinly disguised English accent pretending to be an uneducated chai wallah getting everything he wants in a city that really doesn’t do any favors and that, on some days, I was convinced, must have its own circle in hell. A city, though, in which I now have family, a city that I will return to not just to visit but to live. A city that my parents wouldn’t be able to handle and will never visit me in but a city that will be my home and that has already started becoming part of the fabric of my life, for better or for worse. I can’t say how I feel about any of it. But the movie still gets to me. It still pulls at my heartstrings and it still triggers the feelings and images it stirred up first, images of Mumbai as a vibrant, exciting, energetic place where anything is possible. A place that’s as beautiful as it is horrid, as loving as it is cruel, a place that's constantly changing and re-inventing itself and that doesn't turn anyone away, offering some sort of home to millions of refugees from all over the country, and the world.

The Mumbai of Slumdog Millionaire may not be the real Mumbai, but it’s a Mumbai that lodges itself in your imagination and stays there, an alternative reality that is a lot more valid and a lot less escapist than anything Bollywood might churn out. And as such, it adds a layer to the experience of the city that I wouldn't miss for anything - a layer of poetic perception of the kind that helps you live, at least if you're a clueless and oblivious outsider.

Meanwhile in the Dominican Republic...

... one of the storms / sand storms my brother and his girlfriend were reporting...

At work in London

While in London, I got to visit our local office and spend some time with my lovely coworkers - some of whom I hadn't even met although we email every day. It was a real treat - everyone was wonderful and gracious, they all chipped in to take me out to a great lunch at the Med Kitchen (thanks, guys!!), and I got a tour of the gorgeous, spacious new offices, which are little short of mindblowing. Located in the West End right between Leicester Square and Covent Garden, and a few flights of stairs up, they have the most stunning views, too.

I've been hesitant to post these pictures because they were taken with my iPhone and just don't look that great, but what the hell, they're enough to give an impression...This is the view from the conference room...

...and here's a close up - check out the London Eye, Big Ben, Houses of Parliament, Nelson's Column...

They even have a nice aquarium in the office!

I wish I'd taken more pictures, even crappy iPhone ones... The only other one I can show you is of Camisa's on Old Compton Street (near Wardour), which is just a skip and a jump away from the office, and one of my old-time favorites. When I was an undergraduate, we would end up here on every single trip to London, the main reason being their anchovy-filled olives. They are out of this world. Seriously. If you're ever in London, check them out.

This just found on someone else's blog

Ritesh, yours truly and James Hebert, a professor of epidemiology at South Carolina, whose company we very much enjoyed, on our day trip from Mumbai to the beach. James is currently a Fulbrighter in India, and writes this wonderfully reflective blog about his experience.

This just in: Ritesh is a Fulbright Scholar!

This has been a long time coming, but the big news is finally here, and it's official:

Ritesh is now a Fulbright Scholar!

CONGRATULATIONS, LOVE!

For those of you who are not familiar with the Fulbright, it's a "program of grants for international educational exchange for scholars, educators, graduate students and professionals, founded by U.S. Senator J. William Fulbright. " And I continue to quote from wikipedia: "The Fulbright Program is one of the most prestigious awards programs worldwide, operating in 144 countries and with 51 commissions." And get this: "More Fulbright alumni have won Nobel Prizes than those of any other academic program, including two in 2002." (No pressure, Ritesh!)

He got the confrmation letter yesterday - bear with me if I go a little overboard and transcribe parts of it - it's a beautiful letter, and if I'm quoting it at length, it's as much for you present readers as it is for our future selves next year in Mumbai. There are bound to be some frustrations and some difficult times ahead, and it will be good to have this to come back to and remember why we're there:

On behalf of the J.William Fulbright Foreign Scholarship Board (FSB), I am pleased to congratulate you on your selection as a Fulbright scholar grantee to India. The FSB is the Presidentially appointed 12-member Board that is responsible for establishing worldwide policies for the Program and for selection of Fulbright recipients. Your grant is made possible through funds that are appropriated annually by the U.S. Congress and, in many cases, by contributions from partner countries and/or the private sector. (...)
Your selection for a Fulbright award is, in itself, an achievement for which you can be justly proud. (...) As a Fulbright grantee, you will join the ranks of distinguished participants in the Program. Fulbright alumni have become heads of state, judges, ambassadors, cabinet ministers, CEO's, university presidents, journalists, artists, professors and teachers. They have been awarded 39 Nobel Prizes since its inception more than 60 years ago.
Developing international understanding requires a commitment on the part of the Fulbright grantees (and their spouses, if I may say so myself) to establish open communication and long-term cooperative relationships. In that way, Fulbrighters enrich the educational, political, economic, social and cultural lives of countries around the world. We expect that you, too, will (...) demonstrate the qualities of service, excellence and leadership that have been the hallmarks of this program. (...) As a representative of your country in India, you will help fulfil the principal purpose of the Fulbright program, which is to increase mutual understandng between the people of the United States and the people of the over 150 contries that currently participate in the Fulbright Program

There is some talk about research clearance and medical clearance and visas, and then they wrap it up with:

The Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs of the United States Department of State, which oversees the operations of this program throughout the world, joins the Board in congratulating you. (...) We hope that your Fulbright experience will be highly rewarding professionally and personally, and that you will share the knowledge you gain as a Fulbrighter with many others throughout your life.

CONGRATULATIONS, RITESH! WE ARE ALL SO PROUD OF YOU!

And Mumbai - here we come!