Reflections on South Dakota, Beijing, New Delhi, & Bangalore

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It all started with barbeque wings in a bowling alley in South Dakota. We were playing “dares” over drinks after a speech to the University of South Dakota on for their annual entrepreneurship event. So there he went, dared to do a swan dive onto the slick bowling lane. And then, she, dared to exchanged shirts with the guy at the table next to us. Next, he was given a dollar for every belt he could get from someone he didn’t know within 120 seconds. He got 6. Ahh it was fun to act my age for once.

After a late night of dancing and fried cheese balls in Vermillion, back to Omaha we went for a 4:30am arrival at the hotel. The next morning, I flew the common Omaha to Chicago and then Chicago to Beijing route.

7,000 miles and an Excedrin with caffeine later, I took a taxi to Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. I walked around, only to be duped and fooled by two Chinese students wanting to practice their English as they led me into a unexpected $300 tea ceremony.

Ego humbled, I had six meetings the next day in Beijing with some brilliant EO expats, only to hurry to the Olympic-sized overexpanded Beijing International TC3 terminal. Next stop: The most beautiful skyline in the east, Hong Kong Island.

I checked into my hotel in Kowloon at 10pm, just a Star Ferry ride away from HK proper. I met up with my old friend David Sui, who proceeded to show me what a traditional Chinese massage was (yes, they do step on you) and then what it was like to do business in Hong Kong. Yes, it involves lots of Karaoke.

After five meetings with customers and EO members and a three hour meal of Dim Sum, I was off to New Delhi, India.

The orphans in the dirt under the highway surprised me, but shouldn’t have. The beggars in beautiful Saris didn’t. The four person motorcycles and the green and yellow three-wheel taxis allowed three lanes to be made into five. The kid entrepreneurs in the streets were omnipresent. The hotel security at code red. And the chaos. It was expected, but not at that level. The roundabouts confused. The traffic was *almost* as crazy as Uganda—and nothing can hold a candle to Ugandan traffic.

The complex disparity of rich India and poor India was clear. Only clearer was the need for continued large investment in education and infrastructure and what was possible for India. The subcontinent was bursting with intellect and potential. Sachin Duggal of Nivio (the desktop OS in the cloud), Sanjay Gupta of Mobisolv, and Mohit Maheswari of New Media Guru represent the future of India. As does Raul Gandhi, the 37 year old future prime minister so many believe.

After seven meetings in New Delhi, off to Bangalore I went. From the old domestic airport of New Delhi to the shiny Bengalaru International. The Aero Show 2009 pierced supersonic while the horns chorused. The police protected in their cowboy hats. After meeting with Kunal David of Directory Maximizer and the brilliant young Sudeep Aditya, I was ready to sleep—but Kunal insisted we go out. It was Valentines Day, and we had to protest the banning of dancing in Bangalore clubs (yes, they actually have banned dancing in Bangalore pubs and clubs). The hip hop dancer in me shed a tear.

A fundamentalist conservative Hindu group called Sri Rama Sene led by Pramod Mutalik had attacked couples holding hands in public and trashed greeting card stores that day. They had already banned dancing and wanted to ban love. The 15 year old rebel with red hair inside wanted to start a protest with an organically organized street team.

The flight back from Bangalore to New Delhi was on the “Good Times” airline Kingfisher. But an unexpected challenge followed for me in Delhi. The flight from Bangalore arrived at the domestic terminal. I had to get to the International terminal and had four hours to do it. No big deal, right?

Unfortunately the International Terminal of Indira Gandhi International airport is 20 minutes away from the Domestic Terminal and they wouldn’t let me on the transfer shuttle as I didn’t yet have my ticket printed out and couldn’t as there wasn’t an American Airlines desk in the domestic terminal.

And so, back to the streets of Delhi I went with my ‘pre-paid taxi’ driver. This guy was exceptionally aggressive. You must know, these taxis in Delhi don’t have seatbelts, making the ride exceptionally adrenaline-filled. He in fact hit another car after running a red light and it didn’t seem to phase him.

After passing the sandbagged automatic rifled soldiers and machine gun turrets on top of armored vehicles, I attempted to enter the International Terminal, but they wouldn’t let me enter without a ticket, which I couldn’t get without going inside to get it. A logical circle of death. I wasn’t getting anywhere with this policeman.

They directed me to an office building across the street, to room number 23 in corridor number 2. I found a shut padlocked door. They told me to wait until the representative came back. I found this to be bad advice, so I kept asking and finally found the actual American Airlines office in another building, with a sign on the front that said open from 1000 to 2000 hrs. It was 9:30pm (2130 hrs of course), but they let me in and I finally got my ticket printed. I wonder how many people this happens to.

And so I sit, on the last hour of the 15 hour flight from American Airlines from New Delhi to Chicago, glad, yet somewhat nostalgic, that it will be some time before I ever again get asked for my meal choice, “Vegetarian or Non-Vegetarian?”

Ahh America, the land of non-roaming 3G and potable tap water.

Here’s to having a fuller perspective of two other cultures, appreciation of the complexity of life, and awareness of the great potential of these countries. They are two rocks held back in a giant slingshot.