Running in Mumbai (Part Two)

Here I was again. In the back of a car driving through the streets of Mumbai. Running very late for the airport. Running low on sleep. Lost in my thoughts. Feeling a bit off. My colleague interrupts my internal dialog and says, “Do you know why we never give money to the beggars on the street here?”. I say that I do not. “They are part of the mafia. When they are young they are crippled by the mob”, he says in a low and knowing voice. Of course I think about the scenes from “Slumdog Millionaire” and all I can say is “Really?”, I thought that was just in the movie …”.

It had been exactly seven months since I had last been in Mumbai and had a bit of déjà vu since I wrote about my driver experience (see this post). Coincidentally, those were also the days that the recruitment started in earnest from Microsoft and little did I know that it would be three months later to my start date and then just four more months that I would be back.

On January 20th this year, I was in the middle of my last trip to India, after having spent some days in Delhi just before. I watched the Obama Innaguration from my hotel room in Mumbai and awoke to a call from the recruiting firm in California. “Microsoft would like to have an exploratory discussion with you over the phone. How is 1pm tomorrow?”. I kindly explained that would be 230am my time in India – but sure I would do that.

So at about 230 in the morning I had a conversation with the HR executive recruiter from Microsoft. I hung up thinking that this might be pretty interesting and was excited. By the next day when I was getting ready to leave, I read on the internet that Microsoft is laying off around 10,000 employees. And my youngest son calls me as I am walking out of my hotel room to ask me if I’d seen the news. “Thanks Nick,” I say, “yes I did”.

Little did I know that six weeks from then I would have my first interview on the phone with my new boss.

I’m reflecting on all of this as we are stuck in endless traffic tonight. As in previous trips, the delta between immense poverty and business discussions that take place in luxury hotels is massive. My flight to Singapore is due to depart at 2330 and just make a connecting flight to Jakarta. We’re not moving anywhere in endless traffic and the blare of horns, the smell of rotting fish and raindrops pitter-pattering on the car are creating a cacophony in my head. I’m replaying the amount of information taken in today in the business reviews and customer meetings.

Until a young boy taps on the window where I am sitting. I try to ignore and look the other way. He taps again and I just can’t look. I just wait for the moment where he will move on to another car. I don’t want to see if he has an eye burned out or half an arm. I try to put it in perspective and think that I’m a pretty lucky guy. I think back to the driver in January who said I was a nice man.

After getting back to the hotel and packing in about 8 minutes, I figure the chance of making my flight is about nil but we try anyway. Every kilometer in Mumbai is well-earned and we eventually get to the terminal where the traffic stops. Dead stopped. My local colleague says “let’s get out and run”. So in sweltering nighttime heat and humidity, still in our suits, we get out of the car and run to the door where he is pulling my luggage and I’m swinging my laptop bag.

When we get to the airport entry doors, there is a queue for checkpoint and he just pushes us through some people and as I start to walk in the airport, I see one the guys that we pushed through start yelling at him. I say that we are really sorry and say goodbye and start my journey in the airport.

Ahead of me in the passport line is a 30ish Caucasian red-headed woman carrying what appears to be an adopted girl of about 2 years old. She is traveling alone and has tons of papers for the girl. I think “oh” and I imagine that this little girl is one less beggar on the streets here and lucky to have a new mom, (plus some other interconnected thoughts).

I make my flight with minutes to spare and as I settle in to my upgraded flat-bed, flat-screen, full-service suite, I can just breathe a heavy sigh and try to rationalize again in my head how in one part of the world someone is offering me champagne and when I would like my seat-bed made up and would I like to know how to find movies in the digital entertainment system, while kids are being crippled to make money for someone else.

All I can do is close my eyes. Close my thoughts. Open my heart. And think how did I end up here?. Seven months later. Four months later. It’s like the scene in Saving Private Ryan where after Tom Hanks and the guys take Omaha and kill the last of the Nazis on the beach, one of the American soldiers just turns around and collapses to his knees. He doesn’t want his mates to see the emotion on this face or to know how affected he is. I have that momentary flashback. I think of the later scene in Private Ryan. After one of their own gets killed and they have a bunch of infighting, Tom Hanks breaks the tension by asking them how much the pool is up to and he tells them he was a school teacher. Then he says “How will I be able to tell them about days like this?”.

I close the lid of the laptop. Drink the last of the champagne. Get ready to turn-off the reading light.