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The Hog’s Ride

Just a normal day, hopping into a rickshaw to get home after work. I am riding on the IIT flyover when I see two guys on a motorbike...Normal…with what looks like a dead hog in the middle of them…Not Normal. The guy in the back has the hog on its back arched over his lap and he seems to be tickling its neck when all of the sudden the thing starts kicking and wiggling. The driver tries to maintain focus and balance as this thing is thrashing about and the little man holding it is desperately trying to calm it before they all topple over. I was transfixed. I watched helplessly and could not turn away. Were they going to crash, would my auto stop in time to avoid hitting them? Does no one else find this strange or disturbing?

Finally, somehow the man was able to suppress the hog and the driving went back to normal and they proceeded out of my sight.

These are the days that I appreciate how strange of a place that I am in.

What Do You Mean?

This question seems to haunt my life here. I think that I am getting along fine until I realize how many times a day I ask this question. You don’t realize how much you are learning on a daily basis even when you are not trying to. India just bombards your mind and senses and it is no wonder that I am so mentally exhausted by the end of the day even when I didn’t think that I accomplished much.

I look around the office and no one is working and upon inquiring I find out that it is another holiday. What this time? Oh, it is some Guru/God/famous persons’ birthday/death/great accomplishment. If you haven’t noticed the trend in my blogs Indians are always celebrating something, and I am always goggling/wiking to figure out what the heck is going on. I think it is just as an excuse not to work… Just yesterday I found out that they used to celebrate thanksgiving in the office. I asked if they knew what Thanksgiving was…Nope…like I mentioned just another excuse to celebrate.

In a normal day I am lost and confused at least 20 separate times and need to ask for clarifications. I constantly break Indian nuances and superstitions and they just assume that I know these things. For instance, you are not supposed to hand someone scissors because if you do, it means that you will fight in the future. What I thought was a simple question: What is the Indian equivalent of a Sophomore and Junior? A 10 minute discussion ensues.

I recently ordered a book called “Speaking to Indians.” Chapter 1: Yes means Yes, or Maybe, or No…how to tell

I was a Speech Communication Major in college for goodness sake. I studied small group and interpersonal communication. In the states I am clear and concise. In India, no matter how many times I repeat myself, speak slowly, and make analogies to my main point – the Indian mind cannot grasp my intensions and I can’t decipher their codes and hidden meaning either. Makes for difficult meetings, and boy is that frustrating.

Happy Birthday Grandma!

Today is my Grandma's 87th Birthday, and she is an amazing woman! She inspired me to travel from an early age by enchanting me with stories of following Tennis around the world. I admire her adventurous spirt and I never tire of hearing about how she helicoptered over the glaciers of Alaska only a few years back against warnings and recommendations that she should not. Hopefully one day I will get to do the same. Happy Birthday Grandma! I love you!

Brutally Honest

Sometimes the honesty is nice. Especially when it is a compliment because you know it it genuine. But sometimes it is just too much. Questions that Americans would find too personal are just openly asked, such as, "Are you married? No, Why Not?" Although not directly asked to me yet, it is apparently not rude to ask how much a person makes for their salary.

I have been told, "Oh, you don't look so good today." or "When you were wearing the sari I noticed that you are skinny. You don't look that way at work, you must just wear big clothes."

The comments on the floor to me today were, "Why is your nose so red?" Ummmm...the weather is changing and my skin is dry...awk #1. Then followed later in the day with, "Oh, what happened to your face?" (gesturing to my chin). Oh, that's just a zit...awk #2. Really. Can't you see that it is just a pimple, can't I be allowed to have one without being called out at work!

Drugs, Techno Music and Serial Killers

Wondering what I am going to write about in this one? The other option for this blog title was going to be... "Nothing Like a Serial Killer to Ruin your Fun."

These are just three of the things that Goa has been in the news for recently. I went to Goa on Diwali weekend to escape the non-stop booming of fireworks and firecrackers that continue day and night for the entire weekend. It is a time for you to be with your family, and if you are not, well, it is just really loud.

The night before I was about to leave for my weekend in Goa, my flatmate came into my room and causally asked me if I had gotten a chance to read the news article that he sent to me at work..nope. He strongly suggested that I did because Goa was in the news, and not for a good reason. That night it was Thursday. It turns out that since the Sunday before there were 10 people killed in Goa, one of the smallest states in India known for its drug scene, hippies, beaches, and all night long beach techno music parties.

I was not planning on going away for any of the above reasons except for the beach and some relaxation from the busy city, but I also didn't want to live in fear that if I fell asleep that I would be strangled. I immediately called Alison and suggested that we be open to canceling the trip if we didn't feel completely comfortable and if I couldn't find out more information. I didn't know if it was locals, tourists or just the media making this a big deal.

After hours of scouring the net, I learned that it was three related murders of locals, two suicides and another murdering of a family that was involved in some kind of bad situation. No tourists. Didn't make it any easier to read about, but we decided to go, avoid the parties and just be very aware and cautious. We also were going off season and not staying in the party-central area.

* * * * *

I am glad that we made the decision that we did. We walked the beaches and relaxed and it was so nice to swim and get some exercise. We ate fresh fish and met some great people at our hotel. It was so quite in comparison to Delhi and just being there made my muscles relax.

I bought a ton of those Aladdin pants and they are my new favorite thing...and the best part was that I rented a scooter for the long weekend and drove around everywhere we needed to go with Alison on back. I was a little nervous at first since I have never driven a moped or motorcycle before, I had someone on back, I was on the wrong side of the road and I was dodging cattle left and right, but I picked it up quickly and I am definitely investing in one when I return back to the states. To have one in Delhi would just be a death wish.

Posing with our Scooter

Elephant at the Spice Plantation

Diwali

Yes, it is yet again another holiday. Diwali, pronounced D-vul-E. The festival of lights, where streets are transformed into pieces of art and there are candles glowing and fireworks cracking throughout the night. Diwali is celebrated in north India similarly to how we celebrate Christmas. It is a big production with lots of gifts and shopping and holiday cheer. I have been avoiding the markets for the last two weeks because on top of the fact that there are tons of people in India, they also leave everything until the last minute. Think of the worst, crowded, chaotic mall you have ever been in during the holidays...now multiply that by 9.

We had our office celebration today and luckily the women took care of me and dressed me in a Sari, again. I better learn how to put one on before the novelty wears off. We worked for the morning, and then we had an elaborate Puja (prayer) set up. They all said that it was small, but the time and efforts that people put into setting them up was anything less than amazing. They did the puja, lit the candles, incense, prayed, and then we all went out for a nice lunch at the Hayatt.

It is so funny to me because every time that I go to one of these nice hotels I get so confused. It is almost like you are not in India anymore. There are all these foreigners and they are perfectly taken care of. You can tell that they feel like they are being really adventurous and getting out to see the real india, but they will see it only long enough to start to feel bad before they run back to their protective 5 star hotel bubble. Then they catch a glimpse of me and their look completely changes. I am American too, in the same hotel, yet wearing a sari, and hanging out with a group of 25 indians. Joking, hugging and wishing happy Diwali. They now are starting at me too. Wondering who I am. My co-workers comment on it, and I just laugh, because the lesson that I have gained is that I will not fit in anywhere while I am in India. But don't worry, I don't mind it, because now I stare too! I only notice it when I am around other foreigners. When I see someone who doesn't belong, I find myself so mesmerized and wondering what the heck they are here that I don't realize that I am starting until I am 5 minutes deep.

for my EFers!

picture time

Just in case you are not on facebook, click on the links below to see photo Albums:

A Taste of Delhi

Sariska Tiger Reserve and Alwar

Shimla

Karva Chauth

Today was another festival. It was called Karva Chauth. It is the day where the women fast for the long life of their husbands. So all of the women in my office today came in all dressed up in fancy suits with their bindis and bangles and looking gorgeous. I commented and they said that it was because of the special day. The women are not supposed to even drink water if they are observing properly. When the moon rises they are supposed to pray to the moon and then look at there husband while they are having their first drink of water for the day.

One of the girls brought in an extra pair or bangles for me and it matched my outfit perfectly. They are sparkly and made of glass and every time I moved they would jingle. It was really distracting and hard to get used to. Everyone was talking about marriage all day long and their husbands or wives all day long. One of the guys in the office noticed that I was wearing the bangles and he said, "do you like the Indian culture?" I said yes, and then he said, "do you want to marry an Indian man?" I responded..."I don't think my boyfriend would be to happy if I did." They all laughed and they are just so amused that I am willing to try all of the things in their culture.

Fat Fee and Gasping Lungs

Just like when on a long flight at high altitude your feet start to swell…well mine have yet to return to a normal state after the long drive at high altitude to Shimla this weekend.

Highlights of Shimla:

1. Checked off my first India page in the “1000 Things to See Before you Die” book.
2. Seeing a man with an entire refrigerator strapped to his back, brand new in the box with the new customers following behind.
3. Horseback riding up a mountain
4. Spending 1.5 hours in the local Police Station

Shilma is a hill station north of Delhi by a 10 hour car ride, longer if you hit traffic. It took 12 hours up and 9 on the way down. Gravity and flying down the hills helped the return situation. It was settled by the British in the 1840s. It looked like a little colonial village transplanted to the hills of rural China. Figures that it would look that way since I wasn’t too far from the boarder. It was much cooler than Delhi and I def didn’t pack properly or warm enough.

If it seems like I have been traveling a lot recently, you are correct. It is the holiday season here in India and Friday was Gandhi’s birthday so it was a national holiday. I found myself waking up at 5:30 after I was up until 2:00am while Todd hacked into my computer and tried to remotely fix my still sadly broken iPhone. Wha! I jumped into the car with the brother of the driver that we had last weekend and we took off of a long journey north of the city and into the hills.

When we hit the hills we started winding and skidding up the switchbacks flying by huge trucks and squeezing into places that I never though possible. We had only 5 near-death experiences and I was really wishing that I had a seatbelt. I know – not what you want to hear mom but at least he wasn’t wearing one either. Funny how I am glad that he was not wearing one. If he was and I was not I would feel much more vulnerable. I find a disturbing comfort in the fact that if we crash he would be launched further than me, so in my mind he is going to make sure to drive safely.

To make the driving situation even better, half-way up the mountains it starts torrentially down pouring. I was distracted by the side window and trying to see the sights through it when Alex started to ask me, “what you call those things that fall from the sky, the little balls of snow.” I reluctantly said, “hail?” “Yeah,” he said, “that’s what it is doing right now.” I looked at the huge droplets and sure enough it was hailing.

As soon as we pulled into the city our Driver Amrik asked us where we were staying…like I said we didn’t really plan this out too well or have a guide so we said we didn’t know and to have someone recommend one. Either a good move or dangerous one depending on the locals deals with the hotels. You can get scammed pretty easily this way, but we took a chance. Two guys, one in his 40 and maybe his father took our stuff and started leading us up these tiny stairways and through the streets of the markets. We had to walk quickly to keep up and make sure that they didn’t take off with our stuff. Luckily they stopped and waited when the flow of people would allow and made sure that the huffing and puffing tourists were still behind them. This is a good time to remind you that we were at a significantly high altitude and my asthma and Alex’s smoker lungs were both struggling.

We tried about 4 hotels and most of them either didn’t have space or they only had the super expensive presidential suites. It was a holiday long weekend and the pickings were slim. We finally decided on a place that had a great view but only a bucket shower (you pour the water out of the spicket and use a pouring cup to shower). Checking in is always something I dread. You have to have your passport and go through an interrogation…where are you from, when did you get here what is your passport number, visa number, husband’s or father’s name, relation to the person you are with…married…to avoid awkward stares and judgments. It was per Saabira’s advice. Then the next step, your address. “Delhi? You live here?” Citizenship – American. The hotel guy said, “no, you can’t have a Dehli address…are you Indian?” “no, American, but I live here.” “No you can’t, you are Indian then?” “No I am American, but I live here.” This went on for far too long and is always more difficult than needs to be.

We were the most excited for Jakhu hill the highest point in Shimla where there is a temple to the monkey god Hanuman. We struggled up the climb while men in their 50’s where shuffling by with grace and their tongues still in their mouths. The top was well worth it with the morning light hitting the orange and red flags. It was also perfectly accentuated with tons of menacing monkeys. Locals actually carried sticks to bang on the ground and scare them away. I was convinced that they were going to jump and attack me and for the first time I was regretting not getting my third rabies shot.

There was one local kid about 17 years old who was obsessed with Alex and me. He introduced himself and then his father, and then asked if we would take his picture. After we did he shook each of our hands followed by a bear-hug. I wasn’t expecting that at all and he kind of knocked the wind out of me. Later in the day he found us again heading down the hill. He grabbed my hand again and started jogging down the mountain. I started running with him at first, but fearing crashing on my face I was able to wriggle my hand out of his. I needed a distraction to stop running before I tripped so I asked him if I could take his picture. He immediately bear-hugged me again and then asked for a kiss on the cheek. I thought it was strange, but humored him and then he turned his other cheek and pointed to it for Alex to kiss! He did. The boy was so happy, that he laughed and went off running down the mountain smiling. I don’t know what happened there, but I think that we made his year

At this point it was only 9:30 so we called our driver and he took us to Kurfi where we could see a higher vantage point. I turned out to be a huge tourist trap and before long Alex and I were seated on horses and headed up a hill. Don’t ask. It was a fun experience trudging up the side of a muddy cliff. Alex’s horse was old and had to basically be dragged while mine led the way and ran into other horses almost knocking me off a few times. All in a day’s fun.

When we got the to top as always there were tons and tons of people asking to take photos of us. At this point we both decided that it was just that people were curious and there was no real harm. Right as we were leaving tired and ready to go home one guy asked for a photo. I said yes, and the next thing I know there were 15 people around Alex and I posing. I had my camera bag on my back…can you guess where this is going…when the picture was done I went to call the driver and my camera bag was unzipped and my phone (my flatmates borrowed phone) was gone.

That was the first time that I felt violated here. I had let down my guard since I had been in so many pictures and there were no repercussions. I was just frustrated and more than anything just felt really guilty for losing my flatmates phone. It was our only contact with our driver and every single car here is white or silver. Luckily I have pretty good attention to detail and was able to hike through three parking lots and identify our car.

We tried to go to the Kurfi police to fill out a report, but they were very unhelpful and didn’t believe me. They kept saying, “you lost it? Are you sure it didn’t fall out on the ride? What about your driver, could he have snatched it?” No, no, no, it was stolen! I tried to call it with Alex’s phone and whoever had it turned it off so I couldn’t get through. I then had to drive down the mountain and go to the Dhalli police station. I walked into a room of 7 people sitting around, only 2 in uniform and told them the story. Together they came up with the right questions and had my write out on a piece of paper so they could type it up. They kept saying that they were going to start the investigation tomorrow and that I had to come back up and it was going to be difficult because there were no suspects to identify. There was an obvious communication block. I didn’t expect to see the phone again, I just wanted an official and stamped piece of paper saying that it was stolen to take to the phone company and to insurance if anything could be covered. 1.5 hours later I left with a stamped paper, and 7 new friends who were apologizing for the experience.

On the way home we decided to drive up to Summer Hill where Gandhi used to live when he was in Shimla. On the hill is the gorgeous old Viceregal Lodge that is part of the Indian Institute of Advanced Studies. It is where the old British Government would spend the summer months. 6 months in Shimla and 6 months in Bombay/Mumbai. It was just too hot in Mumbai in the summers so they headed to the hills. I really wanted to see this place, but we left Shimla at 6 am and the place didn’t open until 9:30. Luckily our driver picked up a local guide on the way and he talked his way into showing us around. He came in and gave us a tour since he convinced the guards that we were his visitors. He showed us around and didn’t even ask for any money in return. What a nice way to end a great trip.

We left the weekend on such a high note feeling rejuvenated by the mountains and fresh air, aka the light headedness of altitude sickness…no it was so beautiful and an amazing experience and I would love to go back there in the future. But for now, back to the hustle, bustle and pollution of the busy city.

Thoughts from the Car

It hits me at strange times. I am sitting in a car on the ride up to Shimla readin my book and not knowing whether the main character is really dead or not. At this heavy section of my book I feel that I need a break to digest, so I took a deep breath in and look around to see my surroundings. India. I look over to Alex asleep in the seat next to me thinking how funny it is that I am here. Who would have thought that in all this time I would end up living in India. Making new friends through random circumstances and feeling strangly comforted by the lack of familiarity.

When Life Gives you Lemons…

This weekend was my first weekend trip outside of the city. My roommates and I have been planning for some time now to go to a city in Rajasthan called Udaipur. It is the “City of Lakes” and called the Venice of India. We bought our train tickets and were preparing ourselves for our first Indian overnight train. I heard was a complete experience in its own. We get to the train station early only to find out that our tickets say that we are waitlisted and there is absolutely no space on the train to upgrade or downgrade. Nothing. We stood there and watched as our train and our weekend plans chug, chugged away from us.

Determined to make something of the weekend we all went home, all grabbed our computers and guidebooks and sat in my room calling friends, and researching places that we could get to see enough of and return home in two days and still be close enough to Jaipur where Saabria was meeting her parents on Monday. Not the easiest project. We decided on Sariska Tiger Park. We called a service, found a driver and arranged for an early 6 am pick-up.

We got about an hour outside of Delhi when we hit a major traffic jam. There was a queue of brightly painted and decorated trucks pulled to the side of the road for miles. We tried to go around them by finding back roads but just ran into a blocked road every way we went. Our driver Mansihgn was asking everyone he could for alternative routes and what is one person’s business is everyone’s business. People were all listening to the issue and throwing out suggestions. Everyone was willing to help. It was great. Finally we t-boned an auto (rickshaw) driver and he offered to lead the way. He was local and also needed to get through the traffic. He is navigating these little routes until we found ourselves driving through the middle of a market! In traffic no rules apply. Desperate not to fall behind our new traffic savior Mansighn jumped out of the car and moved a table below the tent that we were driving under to get by.

Once back on the main road there were random people from the town who had jumped out onto the road to direct the traffic. It was such a mess. The thing is, that there are so many people and a traffic jam just creates something for many people to do so strangers are more than willing to help. In a strange way I started to feel like part of a community with these random people and their kind deeds.

The roads are such a mess and there is a whole form of communication that I quickly learned. If you are behind a truck you will go onto the other side of the road to pass it. A honk behind the truck means you are going to pass it. Many honks when you are beside the truck means either you are pushing me off the road or you need to slow down so I can cut in front before I hit this car head on. If you are on the correct side of the road going with the flow of traffic and you flash your lights you are acknowledging that you see that car coming at you. If you flash your lights when you are on the wrong side of the road it means that you are telling the car in front of you that you are heading at them and they better slow down and not hit you before you can cut over. We slammed on the breaks and avoided being smashed by trucks more times than I would like to admit, but somehow these crazy drivers are so skilled that you start to relax. I mean, I did so much that I fell asleep for a majority of the ride.

The lives of the people in the country are so different than those of the people in the city. You see the women in their colorful saris carrying grass, sticks, and tools on their heads while the men are sleeping the day away…okay not all, but it is known that in the poor communities it is the women who do the manual labor and the men have an easier situation. Of course this is a complete generalization, but Alex said that he wanted us to point it out to him if we see one man lifting anything…and we couldn’t the entire ride.

We got to the park at 12:30 after a long ride of horrible roads and found out that our 5 year old lonely planet had wrong info and the park closed at 4 and there were no safari’s until the season started next weekend. Saabira just looked at us and said, “this is just not our weekend” It was starting to feel that way until we headed to the park and drove around seeing Monkeys, Peacocks and a Leopard! It was so wild and kind of scary even though we were in a car. I wasn’t expecting that at all since there were rumors that there were no more tigers living in Sariska because of poaching. It totally redeemed the weekend for everyone in the car!

From there we headed to Siliserh where there was a lake to relax at. We went out on a paddle boat ride to watch the sun set. It was so calming and it was a nice way to end the night. After reading in the guide book that there were hotels that said, “single women will feel uncomfortable here” we decided to ask more locals for recommendations. We found a great hotel with a great terrace and we settled down for the night.

The next morning we read about a fort (Bala Quila) up in the hills the next town over in Alwar. Little did we know that this was going to be a trip less about the destination and more about a cultural experience. It was a religious holiday weekend and we were headed to a place with not one, but two temples on it. We walked for hours flanked on all sides at all times with an entourage of 20-30 people following us; old and young, men and women. Although it was always the men who were trying to talk and laugh. If ever encountered alone or asked a question that they don’t know, trust me the group confidence quickly subsides into embarrassment. The attention was funny at first, but by the third hour of it, I didn’t want to be asked what country I was from, if Alex with his long blonde hair was a boy or girl or if was I “enjoying?” I just wanted to walk in peace and stop being harassed and having my picture taken. Motorbikes were driving too close and honking and I just wanted out. Saabira was frustrated that she couldn’t go anywhere with her flatmates without all of the attention. It really can stop you from enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.

All in all it was an interesting weekend to say the least. We didn’t want to just let one slow rolling train ride off with our fun, so we made the best of the situation and ended up having a great weekend. I will tell you one thing. I will never go back to Alwar and their non-touristy area. It was just too much attention and I am all set with the celebrity life for quite some time.

Off the Grid

Well, I received frustrating news today...

Last Saturday while relaxing at my house I decided to give my computer the bi-weekly allowance of downloading all of it's updates. Included was one for my iPhone. Great! I love new developments and software updates for my beloved pink phone. So I download it and hit install. Instantly my phone starts syncing and then my screen goes white with a message on my iTunes that I have illegally unlocked my phone and that they have taken the liberty to locked it again.

Okay, so granted I had to take my phone somewhere to activate it to the indian cell service, but I am living here for goodness sake. It's not like it is an affordable option to make long distance calls on the american international plan. I didn't even realize that it was not allowed. I just thought that you ran some risk of things not working properly.

So I gave my phone to someone in my office to take back to the original place to Unlock it again. I gave him my phone on Monday, it is now Thursday and I still don't have it. Last time it only took an afternoon...never a good sign. So I inquired after my phone, and found out that somehow my computer betrayed me and sent some message behind my back to the apple police. What! I thought this was my computer. I didn't invest a bunch of money into a Mac to have it tell on me! Back-stabbing piece of finely crafted aluminum. Jack, can you do anything about this!

The reason for this, is that the the iPhone in India costs $700 and the cell service is much cheaper. They shut down phones like mine to avoid american iPhones from being brought over illegally and sold for significantly lower prices. I get it, but it still doesn't make me any less upset.

I always used to talk about how I like to be off the grid and I hated being available to everyone at all times, but I have become so reliant on my cell phone...google maps lets me know if a rickshaw driver is going the wrong way, note pad lets me jot down ideas for my blog. I can't effectively meet up with anyone, and if they are running late, how am I supposed to know. Life without my iPhone is a lonely vulnerable place. I know - dramatic, but I miss it and I am angry at Apple for limited my global opportunities.

Smelly Delhi

I know it is not nice to call names, but Delhi is just smelly! I am not quite sure what it is, but you will be riding around and then you come by one of the most foul smells causing you to want to hold your breath until you pass out. People litter and oh, it makes me so so so angry! I want to get out of the car and throw the trash back in their faces. But I don't think that is where the smells come from. I think it is the foul, spoiled food on the streets and the Cows and the stray dogs. I am not sure.

The people just don't respect the land around them. They are constantly spitting everywhere - while walking, out of rickshaws and on the sidewalks. I find my klutzy self always looking down to avoid the hazards of the sidewalk: uneven pavement, slippery marble walkways, spit, trash, food, dog poop, and puddles. I will contort my body mid-step to avoid the puddles. You never know what it is. I think I walked through puke yesterday. I know TMI.

So perfect segue from the puddles is that the men Pee anywhere and everywhere! There is no discretion. If you have to go, you just go. People will just hop off their bikes and go on the side walk. I am still not used to it and I pass at least 2-3 people on my way to work each morning, if not more. No wonder people are so religious about taking their shoes off when they get into their houses. It is just disgusting!

I am Legal!

The FRRO (Foreign Regional Registration Office) is one of the most torturous experiences. I had been warned ahead of time to bring snacks, water and comfortable shoes because it is an all day affair. I thought that people we exaggerating, but not so much.

It all started when Alison told me that I had to get registered. I knew that I had to, but I kind of brushed it off. I had to gather all of this paperwork to get it taken care of and she said that it was an awful process that took her three visits to get right. To spare me of this pain she wrote down all of the papers that I needed. The most difficult one to get was my lease from my Landlady. It only took a month from when I moved in. Like I said, it is really efficient here...not!

Luckily my company arranged for me to have a driver bring me to the FRRO in the morning since I had no clue where it was and I needed to get there early. It opened at 9:30, so as I was advised I was picked up at 7:30 and arrived to a bunch of Expats sitting around a courtyard at 7:45. I sat down and someone motioned to me that I had to put my name on a list. So I walk up the ramp to the wrong list, find the right list, don't have a pen, have the only other American give me a pen, write down my name as # 24, and then sit down. Meanwhile, I realize that my driver who I cannot communicate with at all is waiting around and probably thinks that he has to stay until I am done and bring me to the office. I start trying to explain to him that he can go and I will take and auto home, but he doesn't understand. So he grabs this other guy who still can't translate and then the only other American comes to my rescue once again...turns out he speaks Hindi. From helping me twice we soon connected over the fact that we firstly both spoke english, and secondly we were in a miserable situation.

As 9:00 rolled around, it was so hot and there was no shade. They lined us up in the order that we arrived and we stood in line for another 40 minutes until the doors opened. As we waited we started talking about the horror stories of people having to come back multiple times and not getting the paperwork, or waiting only to find out that you have the wrong stuff. We went through our checklists only to learn the Mike had forgotten his passport photos at home (and you needed 4 for the process). It then took another hour to get to the woman who took my passport and gave me a number so that I could stand in another line. I at least was out of the sun. So as I am standing in this corridor I am looking around and I see that everyone has a paper that they are filling out and that they neglected to give to me. I had to hunt this down, but no one was willing to help. I couldn't even ask Mike to translate because he was running around trying to find a photo shop (not too difficult - one was set up across the street to take advantage of situations like this).

I finally got the paper and start filling it out - people cutting and on top of each other, all grabbing for the glue and sharing pens. I get to the head of the line breaking out in nervous sweat to find out if I am going to be rejected. There were four men sitting behind the counter. One checking paper, one occasionally writing down the directions to places were people could find the info they were missing and the other two were just hanging out. For a place that is run so inefficiently you would think that they would use the extra hands on deck to actually do some work. There were arguments and people going up to the man that had the "In Charge" sign hanging over his head and complaining. I looked at him, handed him my passport, then my application, my work contract, my letter saying that I worked at the office, the letter saying that if I got in trouble that my job would take responsibility, my 4 passport photos, and then my lease...my lease that took a month to get was not Notarized. I was rejected. After 4 hours of waiting I was rejected. I couldn't believe it. I started to ask what I had to do and he was not surprisingly very rude and unhelpful. I argued and told him that he had to give me a number and that I would be able to get the notary before I was called in the line. He said fine, put me in the queue. I asked for the address of the Notary. He sighed frustratedly, turned to the guy next to him, said something in Hindi and I was handed a paper that said, "Delhi Public Notary." No address or directions...Thanks for the help!

I look at Mike who has to make photocopies after nearly making it through the process on his study visa and we venture back out into the heat. We are wandering aimlessly asking people for directions and no one knows where the DPN is. Finally we say those words and this old man on the street looks at us knowingly gesturing for us to follow him. He starts walking quickly through a maze of people then through another maze of markets and shops. I have no clue where we are but he knows were we have to go. Desperately not wanting to miss out on our place in line we chase after him. He was very quick for someone I would say was 70+ and I had trouble keeping up, and we all know I am a fast walker. We finally end at a Notary. I pay 150 rupees to get some stamps on a piece of paper -- they didn't even look at what was written on it or take any type of identifications (just a giant waste of time and money)! Then the man leads us to a photocopier, waits for us to finsih and leads us back to where we came from. We thanked him, gave him 50 rupees and headed back to the FRRO. While this was happening all I could think about was...only in India...

We got back to the FRRO and proceeded to sit for another 2 hours only hoping that we would have everything correct for the next step. I made it through the gauntlet and thanked Alison 100 times for the pre-info and Mike got rejected. He had to get paperwork sent to him from a town 40 minutes away so that he could get the info processed and head to Jaipur that weekend. What a mess!

Even though it is a highly annoying and inefficient process, the one good thing is that everyone who is here 6 months or longer has to go through it. You can't cut the line no matter who you are and you have to be present. Even if you are paying someone to stand in line for you, you have to show up and sit so you are present when you are handing in the paperwork. I cannot believe that I might have to do this all over again when I renew my visa. Here is hoping that I can avoid it by some chance.

Despite Everything...I feel proud to say that I am now an official resident of New Delhi, India

Don't Yuck My Yum

This is a long awaited post for some of my foodie friends out there who have been asking me since day one...what have you been eating. I hope that this post satisfies your curiosity, but there is still have a huge gastronomical expedition ahead of me.

Commonly asked questions about my food habits:

1. Are you a vegetarian?

Yes, one that eats all meat :) I get stereotyped often as a vegetarian, because I love tofu, granola, and could live off of vegetables for the rest of my life, but if a steak looks great, it is on my plate. I love lentils but I live for Bacon. The way that I describe it is I am a very non-picky eater who prefers veg dishes and takes advantage when going to a place famous for it's meat like Karims where I went with my roommates the first week of Delhi that is known as a "non-vegetarian delight"

2. Do you like Indian Food?

Love it! The only time I got sick of it was right before I left Boston when everyone who I told that I was moving to Delhi wanted to take me out to an Indian restaurant to celebrate. I have since learned that the only kind of Indian food that I had tried at home was Northern Indian. I have also discovered a much different version of Southern Indian which I also love.

3. Does India have anything besides Indian food?

Yes, Delhi has many different types of food, but that doesn't mean that it is prepared well. The mexican was less than average and didn't even come close to comparing to Anna's or the food that I had in San Diego the month before I came here. I have had plenty of Thai, there is seafood, sushi (which I haven't had yet) and Subway, McDonalds, PizzaHut...and the like. I have not had McD's yet, but the Subway is right next to work and on a typical day I would get an Aloo Patty or Corn and Peas sub with one type of cheese...cheese. Yeah, I know, doesn't sound that appetizing huh? Well, I resisted for a while and when I tried it, it wasn't that bad.

3. Are you scared that you will get sick?

Been there done that...Not too badly in India yet. They commonly refer to it as the "Delhi Belly" and I hear that when it hits, you know. I was sick for almost a month in Costa Rica and I almost died in Budapest with some Goulash gone bad landing me in the hospital. Thanks for the ride to the ER that day Jack. I still owe you! So needless to say, I have convinced myself that I have been sick so many times that I have built up a little bit of resistance to play with.

Let me continue by saying that I am no food expert. I may or may not have waited (I did) until restaurant week was over in Boston before moving here, but I have just started learning about French cuisine and terms like " amuse bouche" and how to say french fries in the fancy way...frites. But I do like to think of myself as an adventurous eater. I think that started when I was a little kid. With my parents not allowing me to leave the table without trying whatever they were eating. How was I supposed to know if I liked it without trying it. I have learned that I like things spicy, and if they are a little dangerous or weird it just makes it even more fun. I still have to find something more strange than crispy caterpillars to beat Jeff. The worst part is that he had to pick the legs out of his teeth when he was done. What can one-up that?

So back to the Indian cuisine. The indian that you are used to in Boston and elsewhere in the states is typically Northern Indian foods like Palak Paneer, Chicken Tandori, Tiki Masala and Dal. It is heavier and it is usually meat or veg in some sort of gravy(sauce) and delicious. The Southern Indian food is more like Dosas and Uttappam. Southern Indian food is generally eaten with your hand and I am getting good at scooping the rice in three fingers and using my thumb to push it into my mouth.

Within the two cuisines I have tried all sorts of things. Usually I go into a restaurant and look at the menu, that looks something like below:

Murg is Chicken

and I just ask for something that I have no clue what it is and learn if I like it or not. It sometimes works and sometimes has been a disappointment. I also ask for their recommendations and see what is brought to the table. For those who are indecisive a great option is a Thali this is a bunch of little samples of many different types of food. It usually comes with rice and a few roti to eat all sorts of delectable. After one such southern indian meal I was asked if I wanted Paan.

Thali and a Lassi in the background

Alison and I eating our Dosas

paan

I didn't know since I had never had it, so I said sure. It was explained to me that is was a bunch of spices wrapped up in a leaf that is eaten to cleanse the palate after a meal. I could def benefited from one of these so when it came to the table I popped it in my mouth, chewed for about 30 seconds before it became unbearable and I embarrassedly spit it out. I learned that day that I do not like Paan.

Bread is another adventure. There are so many different kids that you can choose from. There is Naan, Roti, Chapati, Appam and I am sure many more, but those are the ones that I eat most oftenly. I describe the Appam as the squishy one shaped like a bowl. I really like Naan and I have Chapati's for dinner every day.

Which leads me to another great point...what do I eat for dinner you ask? Well that was a question that my very concerned and interested team asked me today. I been lucky enough to have my maid Punita cook for our house 5 times a week. We, meaning Saabria my Indian roommate and the only person in the house who can speak Hindi orders the veggies and then based on what we have Punita will cook up something delicious. She made Aloo Gobi two days ago and I loved it, and today we had a Okra Curry, which I scarfed down. Alex and Saabs get their meats form the market or have the chicken place deliver to the house. They have been eating these delicious, seasoned and spiced chicken kebabs.

something Punita made thrown in with some of Alex's chicken Kebabs and Meatballs

I have been being told since day one...don't eat the street food. You don't know how long it has been there and how sanitary it is, so of course I couldn't resist. I was at the Sarojini Nagar Market the first time I tried Gol Gappa. I was kind of hungry and with my roommate Saabs who said casually, want to try this? Trustingly I was hoping that she wouldn't put my stomach or health in danger, so I said yes. The guy gave us two little tin bowls and he took a tiny puff pastry, shoved something that looked like potatoes inside, and then dunked it in broth and served it bare-handed to our bowls. Saabs looks at me and says pop the whole thing in your mouth at once like sushi. I did and it was quite good. I thought we were just getting one, but I soon found that as soon as you were finished he would just pop another on in the tin. I think that we got 6 each not a bad deal.

So there is still so much to try and I haven't even ventured that far into the options. I am sure there will be many more delicious tries and some that will be disastrous, but for now good night, and remember don't ever yuck someones yum, especially if you haven't tried it yourself.

Not Giving into Peer Pressure

I am so incredibly inspired by my new job. I know that I am working for the same company, but it is a whole different ball game and I am so intrigued by every little aspect of it. It was exactly what I needed, a new challenge thrown in my face. I just want to learn as much as possible so that I can excel. I am going back to the basics and I feel like such a nerd. My room is filled with books about India. I play with Google maps every night and stand in front of my Delhi city map on my was pronouncing the names of the markets and areas. My roommate has already told me on multiple occasions that my Hindi pronunciations are horrendous and I should be ashamed.

I just read the Namesake in three days, I am looking into Rosetta Stone to learn Hindi and tonight I decided not to go out dancing and drinking so I could stay in and read articles on negotiation and business to business selling…like I said, I am really cool!! (I thought that deserved two). But it’s strange; I just can’t get enough learning about it all. I want to know the culture; I want to figure out the art of bartering and being able to completely connect so I can get the sale. How am I supposed to teach it, and at that – confidently if I don’t know that I myself can do it. So here begins my journey.

Many of the schools are for-profit businesses and they see every thing that is presented to them as an opportunity to make money and better their business. Principals want to know what they can get out of it and management wants to make sure that the tours are really going to make them more marketable to the students and the parents who pay the tuition that they are all competing for. This is different than in the states, where “it’s for the children” In Boston we trash talk the greedy teachers who are doing it to make money, secretly admiring their gusto. Here in India where it is expected that everything is negotiable, it is expected that when we present a price, the school will push back saying, "okay I see that. Is this the Price that you give to all of the schools? Now what can you do for me." What is the answer to this? Well what I am quickly learning is that it does really depend on the school, their prestige and how we can use their name in our next sales pitch.

After going to the market for the weekend with my new roommate I am learning that she is a fierce negotiator - and Hindi isn't even her first language. I now have a goal to have her come work for my company. Either that; or she will have to teach me everything that she knows. I asked her what her secret is. She said that she just says no. I followed up by saying well what if you don’t know what the cost is, and she said that you just have to learn over time and trust your judgment of whether they are cheating you or not. The only problem she continued, is that when they are being honest and you try to bargain too much it will teach them to have a higher price at the start. It's a vicious cycle because everyone thinks that they are being cheated and no one trusts anyone. That's why relationships and referrals are so important here.

Okay, well I am off to read my “Getting to Yes” book by Fisher, Ury and Patton Second Edition that I bought at the Harvard Coop and brought all the way here with me just in case I found myself in a position like I am in tonight. Feeling like a nerd!

A Few Quirks

There are some things here that just make me laugh because my reactions are so ingrained by society, and I didn't notice the strange things around me or that I do until the behaviors are not the norm of the people around you.

1. Tight, Decorated Pants. As we know back home, this is a normal thing for women who are going out or maybe trying to look good on the weekend. The more stitching and design, usually the more designer and expensive. They are tight and showy, and we think that they look good...and so do the men here :) So most of the women in their day to day life either wear saris or loose fitting suits (Pant and long shirt sets) and it is the men who wear tighter pants. It cracks me up! It is not everyone, but many of the men that I drive by in the mornings on my way to work have bum-hugging designed jeans and they are so skinny that their belts wrap one and a half times around them. As promised, when I finally get around to it, a picture will be posted.

2. No Bless You. I didn't realize how ingrained in the American culture that when someone sneezes, at least one person yells out "Bless You" or it's considered rude. So of course the first week of being in the office, I loudly said bless you, and no one else responded. I totally called myself out saying, "oh, you guys don't say that here, huh?" They tried to make me feel better by saying that they do sometimes, but since then, every time I sneeze no one blesses me.

3. Being Called Ma'am. I don't know if I am ever going to get used to this one. It is like, "Good Morning Ma'am. How are you doing Ma'am. Sure Ma'am. That's 40 rupees ma'am." and so on. I just want to say, "Just call me Quinnen!" But I think that would be rude. It makes me feel a mixture between being and old lady, but mostly awkward like I have some superior status.

4. No longer thinking that 89 degrees is hot. My AC has been broken for the last week or so, but luckily as everyone has been telling me, "It hasn't been hot recently." I agree, only sweating a little bit in comparison to when I first got here. It was 93 degrees today.

5. Touching Water and Beer before it is served. One thing that I was warned about was to check the seal on water before drinking it. I knew to look for that, but when I ordered a bottle of water at a table and they presented it to me like a bottle of wine, I didn't know what to do. I nodded, and then Alison quickly reached out her hand and touched it. She explained that I have to touch it and tell them that it is acceptably cold before they will pour it.

6. Testing out appliances before buying. Similarly, when buying an appliance at a store or market, everyone opens everything, removes it from its packaging and presents it to you for your inspection. They plug it in and show that it works and allow you to quickly turn it away, only to have to pack everything up all over again before the next customer. I just take for granted the trust that we have for our stores in America.

Run and Jump

I went to a market today after work and got stuck in rickshaw traffic so it gave me plenty of time to sit back and observe the happenings around me. I am still shocked after riding around all of this time that the roads somehow work. I thought that my vehicle was going to squeeze out a motorbike or I was going to get crushed by a bus multiple times, but man do these rickshaws stop on a dime. If they get in a jam. The just get out and push them where they need to be re-corrected. So far I have only seen one accident, and I wouldn't even call it that by any standards.

So speaking of Vehicles, the busses particularly fascinate me, even more than the auto or bike rickshaws. I had been warned before coming to never take a bus and I didn't quite understand why until I saw one. The local busses are packed like sardines. I know that is an expression, but seriously, I have never seen this before. There are so many people that half of them are hanging off the end or the side or the bus. I haven't even figured out how they get off when it is their stop.

But the best thing about these busses are that when people see them and they are running late, the traffic is so slow that they can just run and jump. I watched in disbelief on my first day, saw it happen many more times, and then just today to inspire this blog. Seriously, I think that this system should be adopted in more cities. Don't worry about the safety standard and let the person who is running make the judgement call. If they miss and fall, their fault for trying. If Boston adopted this there would have been many less days of me running, panting, knocking on the door of the bus at the stop light, being rejected, yelling, and then late to work Quinnen. I am just saying that maybe safety rules aren't all they are cracked up to be.

Wedding, Marriage, and Family

These are three things that are super important to most of the Indians that I have encountered. I think that I was asked by almost everyone in the office if I was married within my first week. At my age I should be married. I should at least be wondering why I am not, or telling my parents that I don't want to be arranged. I think at my age, a fresh, young 26 year old that I am on the boarder of old maid, or at least by 30 I would be. At least I can say that I have a boyfriend and that sees good enough for most people.

Indians wear a lot of rings and a lot of jewelry, but no wedding band. So one day I asked, "who in the office is married?" and the answer was, "just assume everyone."

It has been so interesting learning about arranged marriages and the whole process, because it is nothing like I thought. My understanding was that the two getting married were complete strangers and the woman has absolutely no say in the matter and it is the saddest time of her life because she is generally going to be moving far away from her family. Although this does still happen with certain people, more of the poor or little tribal towns, it is less common in the bigger cities.

I was talking to one woman who after asking me if I was married she said straight out, "I was arranged." Okay, I thought, how am I supposed to answer - was she happy, was she not, was she just trying to teach me about the culture? So, I just asked. Were you happy about that? She said that she is because she got a good guy. She explained that when she was ready to find a husband her family put an ad in the paper and then a bunch of men would respond with their credentials. Out of the ones whom she was interested in, she would meet them and their families and then it would be decided upon. They way she described it is that she very much had a say, but the families are really involved and in arranged marriages, often the couple doesn't meet more than a few times before they decide.

Love marriages are becoming much more common and women are starting to refuse to be arranged. This only works if the family allows it, like I mentioned earlier. The bride's family has to give a huge dowery, but then they no longer have to support the daughter, so that is why it is better to have them married off. The men on the other hand, chose their bride and then get married and then I think often live with the man's family.

Since the man receives the dowery and the family doesn't have to pay for the weddings, having a male son is seen as a cause to celebrate. The weddings are set up in a very similar fashion. And just to remind you, I went to a North Indian Wedding which is much different than a South Indian Wedding. The traditions are just different. I got all dressed up in my Sari from the holiday party purchased in the US. So, come to find that it is incredibly plain and not a wedding Sari. This means that there is no sparkle or jewels or beading in the material. The girl that was getting me ready kept saying that it doesn't matter what I wear, just the fact that I am wearing a Sari is great!

I showed up and there were fireworks and a small marching band and people holing lights and in the middle of the music players was the family, drenched in sweat, dancing right in front of the main attraction. The Groom on a horse. He is sitting up there with a little boy. Who is this little boy you might wonder, well again from what I understand is that since the Groom is having such fortune, there are evil spirits that want to ruin that so it is a good omen to have a little boy to distract the spirits. I am not too sure about this one, it was really loud when I was hearing the explanation.

So the grooms family and friends get in side of this tunnel that the band has created and dance all the way down the street for a couple of hours to to reception place where the brides family is. The Grooms' family is supposed to be happy and dancing because he is getting the bride and the Bride and her party are supposed to be sad. I think I left at 11:30 and the ceremonies had just started. They were going to be officially married at 1:00 in the morning and only the close family stays for that. Everyone else just comes, dances, eats and leaves. Also, a lot of people don't eat meat on Tuesdays because of their religion, so it was all veg food.

One thing that the girls were trying to explain to me is that there is a crying ceremony where the girl officially leaves her family and becomes part of the Groom's family. I was asking if it is a love match, then is there still this part and they said yes. That they are supposed to be sad to be leaving your family even if you are really happy to be with your husband. One girl who was a love match said that she was really happy and her family was telling her that she had to cry, to show that she was going to miss them. It is all so interesting to me.

I don't know exactly all what I thought about it. I was trying to pick up some of the indian dance moves, and I just felt like a fool. Everyone was again looking at me because I was the only white person at the wedding. The only one. So anytime I tried something new they were all like, "Oh, look at the cute little white girl trying to dance Bollywood. Oh, look at the white girl trying new foods. Oh, look at the white girl wearing a Sari."

Ok...we know I really liked it, and I loved seeing everyone all dressed up and I hope that I get to go to another one again before I leave.

Me and Sandesha. She helped me get dressed before the wedding.

The Grooms Party dancing up a storm

Sabby on his horse before entering the main building.