by Jeanne M.Eck

It is often difficult to know if someone is nodding their head in disagreement, agreement or confusion. Indians do not nod up and down the way we do or shrug their shoulders, rather they bob their heads sideways as a blind pianist does or roll their head and neck until they've created an outline of the symbol for infinity.

Because there are over one-hundred native dialects, English is becoming the common language people use to communicate throughout India. It isn't unusual to hear a mother speaking in English and Hindi (the prevalent native language of Mumbai) to her children. But to those of us whose native language is English, it is often a challenge to try and understand what some Indians are saying, particularly over the phone. English is often spoken so quickly it seems as if all the words run together. The softness of the Indian voice and lack of Western inflection compounds the difficulty in communicating. Over time it becomes easier to understand them, but for me, there are always words I can't decipher, no matter how many times I ask that they be repeated.

Yesterday I spent morning till evening in several areas of South Mumbai. At Mumbai's most southern tip, one reaches the Gateway of India, a huge stone archway that has greeted visitors to Mumbai for several hundred years. Ten or fifteen minutes' drive before the gateway are areas called Breech Candy, Kemps Corner and Malibar Hills. A growing number of expats have chosen to live there. Situated on the sea (as so much of Mumbai is because it is really a series of islands that have been connected by small bridges or landfills) the unobstructed view of the lava-beached sea from many apartment buildings is breathtaking.

My first stop was a lecture about programs to rehabilitate slum dwellings. Organizations are working with the government, developers and other charity groups to build low income housing. I was surprised to learn that many of the residents of these new building will be, by Indian standards, middle class. The speaker explained that because housing is so outrageously expensive in Mumbai and other major Indian cities (where huge blocks of living units are mob owned and controlled), unless a family flat or bungalow (bungalow is used to describe single-family homes no matter how mean or palatial) is available to share, today, most Indians cannot afford to purchase or rent anything approximating what we would consider minimally acceptable. Therefore, the only place they can afford to live is in a slum or shanty town where rents are low and there is little or no running water, toilets or electricity.

Before the lecture, I met a lovely woman who just arrived from the U.S. This is their first overseas assignment. I immediately recognized the deer-in-the-headlights look of stark terror and frustration we all wear when we first arrive, but hers was so palpable, I feared the look would thaw into insanity or tears. A miscommunication had her on the edge of falling apart. She had the courage to travel for over an hour to a place she didn't know in the hope of meeting women she prayed would welcome her. Thus far, her morning had been a disaster. A facilitator for her husband's company had arranged with the hostess of the event to circumvent the organization's rules of guests needing to be accompanied by a member, but she hadn't told the committee co-chairwoman. So when the newcomer introduced herself to the co-chair who was greeting members and guests, she was told that she wasn't welcome. I bumped into them in a stairwell. If I had known what had transpired, I would have taken the newcomer's hand and found a coffee shop where we could talk.