Sari For The Mess

Interdependence Day

2009-07-05T21:49:00.000-07:00

No sarcasm or wild stories of reverse culture shock for today. Right now it's just so good to be home.

The End

2009-06-29T10:26:00.000-07:00

There is only one real way to end one's assignment in Hyderabad, and that is on the back of a scooter through heavy traffic at night with no helmet. Thanks Hayley!

Or maybe it's the last auto-rick ride through the heat.

Or just maybe it is realizing that you're still booking yourself conference rooms in HYD well past your departure date.

Then again, it could be peeling off the dried henna paste to reveal your beautiful mehendi designs, reflecting on how much you're going to stick out at the 4th of July fireworks.

Could be a variety of ways to bring this experience to an end, I suppose. For now, let's just pray it doesn't involve flight delays.

Waiting For The Bearded Man

2009-06-29T04:57:00.000-07:00

Spent my final weekend in Hyderabad seeing the sights I missed along the way. First stop on the tour was Salar Jung museum, which had a great many delightful items on display, the most remarkable being the statue of Mephistopheles and Margaretta. When looked at from the front, you see the devil's agent who was sent to collect the soul of the scholar in the Faust legend (mind explosion). Viewed through the mirror as part of the same sculpture, one can see Margaretta, the devout Christian girl seduced by Methampetamine, er Mephistuff--, 'Mephy'.

It's strange what we hype up, though. While Mephy and Marge could be observed for hours on end with no hassle of crowds, we hustled to see Salar Jung's 'finest treasure'...the 'Musical Clock manufactured by Cook and Kelvey 19th century England, blah blah blah'. So follow me on this. The crowd gathers to get 'good seats' around a grandfather clock with large plasma screens on either side. We're all waiting like children in anticipation of this phenomenon. 15 minutes pass, and loads of people have gathered...we stare intently at the clock as the miniature blacksmith incessantly strikes the seconds against his anvil. Hayley and Jyotsna inform me that we're waiting for 'the bearded man'...three minutes to the hour...and our hero arrives...there's a gasp from the audience as we lean forward...the TV screens zoom in on the top part of the clock as we all sit and stare as a miniature man comes out, strikes the bell with a miniature hammer 12 times, then promptly slams his miniature door shut behind him. My miniature curiosity deflates. I look around in disbelief as the crowd begins to disband. That's it. And here's what it looks like, in case this has left you riveted.

Funny what wonders we all overlook, and the ones we choose to bestow wonder upon.

The Great Vegetable Battle of 2009

2009-06-23T08:47:00.000-07:00

IPP's log. June. 24th. 2009.

It's been nearly three months, and I find myself in a stalemate with the man at the salad counter. For days on end, I've had to fight courageously to keep the salt and other spices off of my mixed vegetables. This 'Nutritional Gatekeeper' happily provides me with peas, carrots, mushrooms, and the like...and then it happens. We reach the end of the counter. I look him square in the eye, as I have for the last 83 days, and say, 'No salt.'

We stand there like Wild West gunslingers. A look of confusion crosses his face as he tries to process this request. Well surely, he thinks, she must have misunderstood me, asking again..."Salt?"

"No, that's it", I reiterate firmly, as his gloved hand then points to various bowls of turmeric, pepper, cardamom, or paprika with the desperation of Chris Columbus hoping to satisfy Queen Isabella. I stand my ground, and the man at the counter stirs the contents of the bowl once or twice and adds it to my plate with a smirk on his face. I walk away, triumphant over the snickers and utter disbelief of his colleagues, who cannot fathom that someone would want to eat spice-less veggies.

Not sure how much longer I can put up this fight. I've almost buckled several times, only to have my resilience returned to me at the thought of saffron-covered green peppers. Send reinforcements soon.

Last Hurrah Haiku

2009-06-22T04:28:00.000-07:00

So this was Jaipur
big camels, snake charmers, and
men guarding the jugs

'The Pink City' was a knock-down drag-out spectacle of a trip. Oh yes! We took the train at 4am...Oh yes! We rode elephants to the top of Amber Palace... Oh yes! We saw snake charmers...Oh yes! We went on a client visit...And yes! We did a 'stick dance' with traditional Rajasthani dancers at the Rambagh Palace Hotel.

Total sensory overload, packed into about 18 hours between Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon. Somebody pinch me. It's back to work this week, and all I can think about is that I was on a elephant yesterday, being serenaded by men selling handmade sitars.

Oh, and a major by the way....if you're ever in Jaipur (you know, like you do) you must must MUST stay at Girisadan, where Captain SK Singh and his wife, Giri, will treat you to a most amazing stay. Alright, I need to come down a few pegs and put my feet back on the ground.

Thoughts Turn To Home

2009-06-15T23:23:00.000-07:00

In my last two weeks, the prolific words of Ice Cube have echoed in my mind, pinpointing my emotional state.

"All I wanna do is have fun with my loved ones
Spend a hun on my loved ones
Make a run with my loved ones
My relatives and my cousins"

We're closing in on single digit countdown, ladies and gentlemen. I must say that this purgatory of reluctance and despair about leaving, coupled with a strong desire to reunite with 'my people' is wearing on me. Strange how travel always highlights how good I have it in my world. But then imagination overstays its welcome, and I end up becoming nostalgic for things I've never even done at home.

- Fix a meal from ingredients entirely purchased at the Farmers Market
- Ride all the way into Chelsea for coffee (RAGBRAI Cycglers, get ready)
- Catch a show at the Blind Pig
- Patio sangria at Dominicks (and you call yourself an Ann Arborite -- Blasphemy!)
- Throw a 'Best Travel Pic' party (everyone bring one photo and a story)
- Spend a weekend trail running (not just a quick jog -- a proper camp-out)
- Tend a garden (Neil, we should talk)

These ambitions and more are mucking about in my mind, but I can't bring myself to sketch out the details just yet. So much more quality time to spend with the phenomenal people I've met here in India.

Just What The Ladakh-tor Ordered

2009-06-14T09:05:00.001-07:00

I'm sitting here replaying moments of our trip to Leh-Ladakh this week, and you know what? Just see this one for yourself.

Wait, Did He Just 'Meow' At Us?

2009-06-12T23:16:00.000-07:00

The salesman at the jewelry and handicrafts shop in Leh was not 'Selling the Google way', but he certainly employed his own manner of sales tactics. Greg and I entered his shop looking for picture frames, and the guy brings out his selection.

Mr. Glengary Glenross: These finest artwork in Ladakh. Hand-painted.
Greg: Who handpaints them?
Mr. Glengary: My sister. Very elaborate. You not find these anywhere. They painted with --meow-- cat. You know --meow--? Very nice. Very beautiful.
[Kate and Greg exchange glances to make sure that just happened]

Lured then to the jewelry counter. Again, the antics prevail and Mr. Glengary goes to start his generator so we can view the merchandise.

Mr. Glengary: Madam, this bracelet is ruby. See it sparkle. [Noting my disinterest, he rushes to the next item] And this! [brandishes a ring] This one is cat's eye. Meow...cat eye (you know?)
Me: Yes, I know.

Needless to say, we leave with two frames, a ring, and a pair of earrings. All of which were sold through the employment of feline noises. It reminded me of old 866 days where Ben and Joe would compete to slip the 'word of the day' into commonplace troubleshooting. For instance, my favorite word of the day; bonanza. As in, "Sir, the MCC can house a veritable BONANZA of child accounts." Or maybe it reminds me more of Super Troopers.

Tarnishing Reputations of American Women Everywhere

2009-06-11T22:56:00.000-07:00

A young guy and his buddy struck up a conversation with me as I flew back to Hyderabad from Mumbai. They were both in the textile business, importing from wholesalers and then selling to specialty boutiques. I was intrigued, and we all had a nice chat as we asked about each others' lives, reasons for being in Mumbai, etc. By the end of the flight, the engaged guy had invited me to his wedding if I was still in India in October (a not uncommon gesture-- 'more the merrier' is an understatement to most Indians I've met) The other guy and I traded numbers and talked about going sight-seeing.

So a week goes by, and one night I'm late for the time I'd arranged my driver pick-up (Editor's note: Yes, I realize how conceited that sounds. Thank You.) As I rushed out the door, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. Believing it to be my driver, curious as to my whereabouts, I picked up, and the following dialogue ensued...

Me: Yeah, hi! I'm on my way down.
Dude On The Phone: What? Oh...okay...
Me: I'm just on my way out the door, but I'll get my purse and be out. You ready?
DOTP: Um, yes? (still unsure)

Once I get downstairs, I head out with profuse apologies to my driver. 15 minutes later over dinner with friends, I get another call from the previous number...

DOTP: Hi, are you at work?
Me: (really perplexed now) Uh, no. You just dropped me at the restaurant.
DOTP: Huh? This is Fitu...from the plane?
Me: Oooohhh...Fitu...yes, hi. I (pause -- can't possible say 'I thought you were my driver') thought you were someone else. I'm out to dinner with friends, can I call you later?
Fitu: Yeah, sure.

Now. Picture the first phone exchange, and you're Fitu. You meet a nice American girl on the plane, strike up a conversation. You get her number, so things are going well in your mind. You give it the requisite 'I-am-not-desperate' few days before you call, but when you do, she picks up instantly, sounds happy to hear from you, and promises you she'll be right down. Flabbergasted by how easy this all was, you now make a mental note that all American girls must be equally as quick on the draw.

Sorry ladies, I really messed this one up. And for the record, I still have yet to call him back. It's best to leave this one well enough alone.

Rain!

2009-06-07T20:40:00.000-07:00

The monsoons I was promised have finally come, and the relief from the heat has been a religious experience. Okay, I exaggerate, but this weekend in Bangalore found me frolicking like Fraulein Maria on the hilltop through the many parks of the 'Garden City'. See Fig. 1B as a reference table.

A - Darjeeling/Bangalore : The cities I would consider moving to if relocation to India were ever in the cards.

B - Kerala : The outlier. Even though it was damn hot and muggy, we just kind of rolled with it. We were on a boat. In the backwaters. Drinking out of coconuts. Tolerance prevailed.

C - Rishikesh : Moderate temps, but distracted by Class 4 rapids and the threat of 'Death by Ganges'.

D - Hyderabad : April-May only, June is quickly redeeming itself.

E - Delhi : Felt my eyeballs melting. The hottest I've ever been in my life. Had my sister in Arizona by 4 degrees on one day (105F)

F - Agra : Delhi heat paired with panic after the A/C died and our car overheated, leaving us to bake in the 'fishbowl' as villagers stared in at us.

Bangarang Bangalore

2009-06-06T22:30:00.000-07:00

Highlights:

- Hospitality from fellow India Partner, Raina's, family. We shared delicious meals, laughs, and puja on Sunday morning. Raina's mother helped explain about some aspects of the puja, my favorite being the blowing of the conch shell, whose vibrations apparently eradicate negative energy from the house, while clearing out the lungs of the blower. There was some debate between Raina and her mother over whether the vibrations remove bacteria from the house :P Like Hindu Lysol, I guess.

- A wonderful lunch with the Hartley's, then a fire drill as we realized we'd been trading stories so long that I was about to miss my flight.

- SHOPPING. Shopping...shopping. MG Road, Brigade Rd., Commercial Street. Gift tally is 98% complete. Budget 170% complete.

- Watching my life flash before my eyes while crossing Bangalore's equivalent of I-96 with Kiran

- Meeting up with Ashoka Fellow, Sunil Abraham, who is doing incredible work for the Indian voluntary sector. He'd begun his career after his mentor asked him if he knew what the Internet was. This was in '89, and Sunil didn't at the time. Entirely self-taught, he now pushes for web accessibility and has some super cool projects going on in the slums and other under-served communities around the country. I'm hoping to get him a Google Grant and bring him in for a Tech Talk.

- Green parks (finally!), lions, and goofing off

All Dressed Up And Nowhere To Go That's Not On Red Alert

2009-06-04T07:24:00.000-07:00

I'd made plans to go out tonight to Bottles and Chimney with some of the girls. So I'm sitting here, making my travel plans for Leh after getting all ready, when Hayley pings to say that the city is on red alert due to bomb threats. Not wise to be out in public places. Ashamedly, my first thought is, "But I got my hair dryer to cooperate for the first time in two months!"

Alas, plans dampened by terrorists. This is a little unusual. The last time I was prevented from going out in Ann Arbor it was because I couldn't find the right shoes. Another kick in the face about the realities of the world we live in. Sigh, pass the remote, looks like a night in.

You Have Much Happiness

2009-06-01T11:29:00.001-07:00

This is precisely what our Mumbai cabbie, Mr. Rashid, had to say about the shops he would take us to on Sunday before we split town. My cynical inner monologue wondered how happy Mr. Rashid would be, having made a commission off of bringing in the foreigners with deep pockets. Yet in a way, he was right. If you're lucky, the gift I bring home for you, dear reader, may have been purchased in Mumbai.

Greg and I had decided to live large this past weekend, and this brought us to the Taj Presidents Hotel. I am a Rose, and therefore not built for luxury, but I will tell you that this weekend I made an exception. We 'did the city' in the span of about 4 hours, from the Hanging Gardens to the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya Museum, formerly 'Prince of Wales Museum'. Or, as I like to call it, 'P-dubbs'.

The must-see for me was Mani Bhavan, the home Gandhi stayed in when he made trips to Bombay. No words for how moving it was to be there. The house has been converted into a museum, and downstairs it has a massive library, with books and pamphlets from all over which were influenced directly by Gandhi, or by his ideas. The other floors have photo montages of his life, dioramas of the great things he did, and finally his room, pretty much as he left it. On display by the photos were two of his letters, one written to Adolf Hitler to insist that he stop the violence, the other addressed to Teddy Roosevelt to ask that we not go to war. Both written in language so polite, tactful, and completely lacking from fluffy sycophancy, that it was hard to remember that this is the guy who rid India of British rule. Pass the cotton loom, please.

We took a peak inside the Taj Palace and Hotel (a step up from the Presidents), and it possesses one of my favorite stories gleaned from the travel guides. JS Tata, of the uber-conglomerate (owns everything from telecomm to the Prime Minister, I'm sure), had built the Taj after he was denied entry to another European hotel for being 'a native'. I don't think Gandhi had 5-star hotels in his equation for civil disobedience, but I feel that this applies.

Off some recommendations from Becky and her husband, Vivek, we checked out Trishna for dinner, where they bring the seafood live to your table for your selection before you eat it. Greg showed perserverance in his crab-cracking.

Thanks for the memories, Bombay. Er, Mumbai. I have much happiness.

The Things I Haven't Written About

2009-05-29T05:19:00.000-07:00

Thus far, the tone of my writing has matched the emotions of my time in India; exhilarating, rewarding -- often shocking -- but generally all good-natured. This is because I am fascinated by India, and she shares many beautiful things with those who stop resisting and just go with it. I've held back on writing with complete honesty for fear of coming across negative or misrepresenting the country. Frequent readers of this blog will forgive me then, this one post, as I wanted to include some of India's other realities that have hit me like a ton of bricks, especially after our trip to Mumbai last weekend.

'The Things I Haven't Written About' include...

- Poverty like nothing I've ever seen before -- slums which stretch on for miles beneath billboards selling Blackberries and private schools
- The way tour guides or others in public defer all decisions to the male in our group
- The fact that, had I been home in the States, I would have read about 20K civilians murdered in the Sri Lankan conflict as a byline on BBC, then gone ahead with my day...twenty thousand
- The advertisers that fly off the handle about Indian support and reveal the entire spectrum of ignorance and intolerance
- How uncomfortable it makes me to be called 'Madam' and for there to be a servant class at all
- The commercials on TV for skin whitening lotions, which associate fairness with beauty
- The little kids that live in garbage and knock on your car windows to beg every time you stop at a light. Even worse, knowing that money you would give them wouldn't go towards a meal for that child, but could be funding the whole begging operation
- The men with shriveled legs that drag themselves along the ground to survive

To further deny these without comment would be naive of me.

The 'Excess' of 'Ten D'

2009-05-22T04:09:00.000-07:00

Sticking around the city the last couple weekends has afforded me many different perspectives to Hyderabadi life. Angela's last night in India gave us a taste of the nightlife, and to be honest, I'm not sure I could handle a full-size portion. Begin at Ten Downing, a pub where we watched Deccan Chargers move on into the Finals, set to the soothing sounds of 'Retro Night'. On to 'Excess', the club at Novotel around 1am, where I'm convinced I lost 25% of my hearing to some excellent house music. After-party cruising the streets of Secunderabad to find some tiny little side street where there was known to be all-night dosas and schwarma stands. A-mazing, though I kept hearing Dr. Craig's cautionary note about street food vendors all the while. Stumble in exhaustion back to Jayabheri as the sun peaked over the horizon at 5am, closing out our 'evening'.

That night, Anup brokedown the three HYD expat groups one is likely to encounter around town. (Not dissimilar to the 'sportos, motorheads, geeks, bloods, waistoids, and dweebies theory of social stratification found in any John Hughes movie.)

1. Deloitte-ies : Well meaning, on assignment for short periods of time, and therefore generally out of control. Drinking games at the Novotel pool can quickly turn your Sunday brunch into SPRING BREAK Cancun circa 1993.
2. Do-Gooders : The micro-finance and NGO crowd, usually found waxing poetic on the values of social change, but typically just here to put something noble on their resumes, catch a few ashrams, and then return to the States for B-school.
3. Googlers : Warm and welcoming, yet so omnipresent that if you're among their ranks, watch what you do. Gossip and Facebook are a clear-cut formula for career suicide. Allegedly.

All This Fuss Over A Mollusk

2009-05-21T03:27:00.000-07:00

Ahhh...Hyderabad. Images of rickshaws, forts, sarees, and world-reknowned for...pearls. Surely not! An inland state capital with only a smattering of bodies of water, the majority being man-made lakes. Hmm. I guess if I were a city and wanted to be known for something, I would pick something rare, too. But the road signs outside of town would probably be more like, 'Turn Around! You Just Missed The Life-Size Jello Statues!'

This week, Komal and Sandhya took us to the best pearl shop in town, Amarsons. The pearls are graded according to their sheen, glaze, shape, size, luster and uniformity, much like the contestants on 'America's Next Top Model'.

Call Me Milton. Milton Bradley.

2009-05-20T08:57:00.000-07:00

It's in its early stages of development, but at Angela's behest, I figured I would share the game I'd thought up to play on Indian road trips. We've dubbed it, 'Poopy Rupee'.

4-6 players (or a carload...which in India can be up to 25)
* Each player begins with 3 coins. The game is over when the last person is down to their last coin. That coin becomes the 'poopy rupee' because it means the game is over. With me so far? Terrific, you'll do well here. Player with the most points when we reach the 'poopy rupee' wins.

[Points Are Awarded When Somebody Spots...]
- a cow: 5 points
- a stray dog: 1 point
- a motorcycle w/ more than 4 people: 15 points (nobody wearing a helmet? take an additional 5 points for each person on the bike)
- a sugar cane vendor: the last person to shout 'Theek!' loses a coin
- a funny street sign: 5 points (requires group consensus) see example below
- a man peeing roadside: 5 points, if you can answer a trivia question correctly (see below)
- dung hut: 10 points if you read a passage from Lonely Planet (someone's bound to have one handy) in the voice of Sean Connery
- Vodafone billboard or ad: everybody rochambeau!, winner loses a coin (but why would the winner lose a coin, Kate? This is India.)

[Trivia Questions]
1) What is the symbol in the center of the Indian flag called? A: the Chakra
2) The Taj Mahal was built in how many years? A: 22
3) Shiva is the Hindu god of what? A: destruction
4) DAILY DOUBLE! What are the five things baptised Sikhs carry at all times? A: a ceremonial dagger, uncut hair, wooden comb, iron bracelet, cotton boxers
5) Who is the current Indian Prime Minister? A: Manmohan Singh

© 2009

Warm Fuzzies

2009-05-17T21:21:00.000-07:00

Once again, I find myself reeling from the limitless generosity, kindness, and inclusive spirit of people here in India. At my manager's invitation, I went to church on Sunday night with his family to see how India does Catholicism. David was brought up in St. Mary's Church in Secunderabad, a 162 year old beauty of a place. There I met David's lovely wife, Anu, and their too-adorable-for-words baby daughter, Michelle (meaning 'gift of God').

Somehow, it doesn't matter how far in the world I travel, nor the fact that I'm an infrequent churchgoer back home. There is something familiar, peaceful, and all around soul-quenching about attending a Christian service. My mom and I have joked that executing effective church-hopping is all about muttering your way through that one part of the Lord's Prayer ("forgiving our debtors, our trespassers, or our jazzercisers as we forgive those who jazzercise against us"). Beyond that, you're golden. All the rest are hymns you can swing with, up/down calisthenics where you can follow the congregation's lead, or sitting and absorbing Scripture passages you've heard interpreted to death since you were 4.

The pastor of the Nathan's church was very charismatic, and I really enjoyed the mass. Afterwards, I met the rest of David's family; uncles, aunties, sisters, cousins, all of them so accepting and welcoming. They were headed to dinner at David's aunties' house, and a very warm invitation was extended to me to join them. I was hesitant to impose on family time, but 'Auntie' insisted, and there I found myself in the center of what seemed to me like Thanksgiving. Instead of watching the Lions lose, however, everyone was gathered around the cricket match.

There were kids everywhere, and the whole family doted on Michelle. David and Anu took great care to make sure that I was comfortable (the heat and spice always top of mind for us weak Americans :) At this point in the trip, a month and a half away, seeing how tightly-knit this family is was just what I needed.

Auntie can COOK, let me just say that. I hoped that I didn't offend her by not being able to finish my plate, but it was all so good and filling. I would slaughter the real names of the dishes, but we had some delicious chickpea salad w/ curd, some rice, baked fish with a delicious array of spices, tasty chicken, and to round it off, a frozen mango dessert that would knock your socks off.

More generosity:
- David's older sister and I quickly bonded, and she was so concerned about me getting home, we had to reassure her that I had a driver to take me back safely.
- David's cousins invited me out to this pub called Ten Downing, where they have karaoke nights, and they DJ.
- Anu gave me shopping tips on where to find the best bangles and jewelry, and said that she would have to have me over to teach me to cook.

I <3 the Nathans.

Snoop Dogg, Representin' That Punjabi

2009-05-16T00:58:00.000-07:00

I'd asked the team shortly after I got here for some good Indian tunes. Clearly, there are several genres to cover, so that's a pretty tall order. All the same, the suggestions I got on Bollywood jams are fabulous, and I've included a playlist for you below.

But before we get into the good stuff, how is it possible that I missed Snoop Dogg's collaboration with Akshay Kumar in 'Singh Is King'? This is pure 'clash of cultures' brilliance. The intro is a minute long, so have patience, it's so worth it.

Sample lyrics:
Watch me zoom by,
Make it boom by,
Wat up to all the ladies,
Hanging out in Mumbai,
Cheese make dollars,
east west masala,
singh is the king,
so you all have to follow..

(Check 4:26 to see the guys I'm hiring for my next house party)

[The Playlist]
Om Shanti Om- from Om Shanti Om
Jai Ho- from Slumdog Millionaire
Dil Laga Na- from Dhoom 2
Ek Nazar Mein Bhi- from Taxi No. 9211
Kabhi Kabhi Aditi Zindagi- from Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na
Lucky Boy- from Bachna Ae Haseeno
Mauja Hi Mauja- from Jab We Met
Dekho Na- from Fanaa
Tere Naina- from Chandni Chowk To China
Naina Thag Lenge - from Omkara
Mar Jawaan - from Fashion
Masakalli - from Dekhi 6
Phir Dekhiye - from Rock on
Pyar karke - from Pyaar ke side effects
Bheegi bheegi - from Gangster
Alvida - from Dasvidaniyan
Dost - from Yuvvraj

Danger, Intrigue, and 'Burrtos'

2009-05-11T02:24:00.000-07:00

Northern India chewed me up and spit me out this week. I'm pretty much a walking mosquito buffet with a wicked sunburn, achy muscles, and the energy of a sloth. We spent the week working out of the Gurgaon office, which has been an absolute delight (ignore that girl who just told you it was rough, she needs thicker skin). What really got me was the trip to Rishikesh during our "India Partner All-Hands (On Deck)" Power Weekend! Throw some Dew in the Innova, change my name to 'JJ' and hit the road. EXTREME!

Before we push play on the Rob Zombie and roll the Picasa album, a quick note on queuing, for context. There are still vestiges of the British empire here in India, but the Art and Science Of The Queue is one that has expired (or perhaps never took hold). This results in people making a mad dash for the doors when you get off an airplane (only to wait 15 more minutes than you would have if we'd all behaved ourselves), a mandatory elbows-out 'no blood no foul' ordering system at any food counter, and (my personal favorite), playing chicken with the transport buses in oncoming traffic instead of waiting in a jam.

Okay, context painted. Imagine this same attitude towards order and you're at a railroad crossing with 300 other motorists. The train has gone through, both directions of traffic have maneuvered themselves into a solid front on either side, and the gates lift. (If you've seen the Battle of Stirling in Braveheart, you'll have a perfect mental image of it.) Everybody pushes their way through, and bam...gridlock. Becky's getting claustrophobic as close as we are to the other cars, and we're all inching towards the crossing. Soon enough, we're right over the tracks and no longer moving. Minutes pass, and Greg and Becky spy a light in the distance. That light belongs to another of Delhi's finest passenger steam engines fast approaching, and it's time to bail. Like rats from a sinking ship, we all pile out of the van and push our way to safety. Mahender has no idea why he's been abandoned, and eventually powers through to pick us back up on the other side.

That set the tone for the rest of the weekend, which was mainly occupied by whitewater rafting on the Ganges' Class 3+ rapids, some shopping amongst the ashram hippies, and 16 total hours in the car, singing along to Mahender's favorite song, 'Puff the Magic Dragon'. Nevertheless, we rewarded ourselves Saturday night at Ganga Guest House, which offered a full range of 'Maxican' food, complete with 'burrtos', 'ice cerms', and 'chimchannas'. But see it for yourself.

But if you try sometimes, you just might find...

2009-05-05T07:57:00.000-07:00

In communication, it's well known that it doesn't matter what you say, but how you say it. Today, we put this theory under the microscope.

Since arriving in Gurgaon, I'd felt a very strong compulsion to get in my weekly swim to loosen up the muscles, unwind, feel groovy, etc. Problem: the pool at the GGN housing has lain stagnant for about three months, and a quick dip would be an invitation for spinal meningitis. Solution: one of the nicer hotels in the area is called the Oberoi. We'd been there once for a very nice brunch, and it met the expat stamp of approval. As you walk through the lobby, you get a great view of the pool. A 22 metre long, sparkling infinity pool with cushy lounge chairs in full sunshine.

I came back to the Oberoi on a Wednesday night, 'Superman-ed' into my swimsuit in the lobby bathroom, and walked down the spiral staircase. One guy stood between me and my swim, so I asked him (voice dripping with pretentiousness), 'Pardon me, but is there a pool for guests only?' I may or may not have accompanied the word 'guests' with a quick flip of the hand towards myself -- which may or may not be implied as a gesture of inclusion into said group.

Pool Boy: (on his best behavior) Why yes, madam. This pool here is strictly for guests.
Me: (looking around with an air of inspection) I see, and are the guests to bring towels from their rooms, or are they provided?
Pool Boy: No, madam, they are provided. Just there in the wicker baskets.

Collecting my towel, I find a lounge chair for my bag and dive in. Not a soul around, and I spend the next 30 minutes in aquatic bliss. After my nice little workout, I see that the pool attendants have seen it in their hearts to bring me chilled mineral water and some designer sunscreen. Bless their hearts.

Meanwhile, I'm watching other guests come out to the pool area from a side entrance that I didn't notice before. While I'm collecting my things, one of the attendants asks my room number. I glance up (as if in deep concentration, but really just counting the hotel floors) and figure that '312' would be a safe response, stated with complete confidence. He seems satisfied with this and wishes me a good evening.

A good evening, indeed. I go through the side entrance to find a 'spa-like' changing area, fetch a cotton robe fresh from the laundry, and take a shower with the candles lit and the scent of sandalwood surrounding me. Nirvana.

I reluctantly leave the Oberoi before any more questions are asked, wondering if I should press my luck and inquire if there's any mail for room 312 (just to see if my guess was right). But it's getting late, and it's time to be a good citizen again, and not a female Frank Abagnale.

POST-POST UPDATE:
My friend Nicole is quick to remind me that this was exactly the kind of stunt that allowed the Thai authorities to put Claire Danes' moral character on trial in Brokedown Palace. Thanks, Nic, for keeping me on the straight and narrow.

Breakdown In Uttar Pradesh

2009-05-03T04:55:00.001-07:00

Things had been running too smoothly. We'd experienced some minor flight delays, had no problems with the drivers, and generally found our accommodations pleasant. Luck ran out this weekend on the way to the Taj Mahal.

It would have been enough that Mahender left the vehicle to pay a toll and the car was assaulted by monkey wranglers. Scared Angela half to death when they jumped onto the windows and stuck their mangy faces to the glass. Then, a couple hours out of Gurgaon, the hood began to rattle and the A/C cut out. 3 minutes go by...it's getting warmer...5 minutes and I'm weighing our options, soaked in sweat...6 minutes and Angela takes action.

"Mahender, the A/C is broken. I'm calling Bhumika (transport coordinator)." We pull over once to find a steaming car hood and a busted belt. We then go 1/2 a kilometer up the road to a 'mechanic' who takes a cursory glance towards the engine, shrugs and shakes his head.

Meanwhile, Angela and I are being gawked at through the windows, trying to find the humor in all of this. "Now I know how animals feel at the zoo", Angela says. Yeah, the ones they keep in Easy-Bake Ovens.

We arrange for another car to pick us up and spend 2 hours killing time at a 'mall' in Chhata. There's a coffee shop where I settle in and watch bugs live out their last moments before the zapper gets them, while Akon's new CD plays in an endless loop, restarting each time the power goes out (every 20 minutes or so). It's like Indian Groundhog Day. We are 20 minutes drive from the birthplace of Krishna, and I'm reflecting on the irony of our human suffering. Ever one to make lemonade in a situation like this, Angela refutes this inevitability and quickly repairs to the nearest nail salon for a pedicure.

Once on the road again, we complete the trip to Agra and are rewarded with the Taj Mahal. Damn the naysayers who said it would be too hot. Had we not had our little breakdown, we would have been sweltering in the mid-day sun before this world wonder. And yet, 4:30pm brought us a perfectly tolerable 90 degrees with a breeze, and we were alive enough to cover all the cheesy photo ops.

Jiminy Cricket

2009-05-01T04:52:00.000-07:00

The office was abuzz with cricket fever this week, people yelling and cheering the screens in Cafe d'Art. It was a Delhi/Hyderabad showdown between the Delhi Daredevils and the Deccan Chargers.

Distance running is my sport. No one needs to explain running. It's one foot in front of the other, first one to the line wins. Or what about the pure simplicity of the game of basketball? Five guys a side, team that puts the ball through the net most wins.

Put off by the complexity of cricket while in London, I had not needed to revisit the rules in awhile. But, with all this excitement around the game and me not knowing the difference between an 'Over' and an Ovaltine, I thought I would do some research.

Where to start? I'm a visual learner, so YouTube should have been my best bet. I got all geared up to watch 'Pure's cricket tutorial', but alas, I was instructed on the handglide freeze instead of anything about the sport.

Next, I found a promising glossary of terminology and pictures. Check out this beauty, meant to 'explain' the placement of players on the field. Good gravy, it's a bunch of men in starchy clothing milling about.

Jaswant did his best to explain the basics to me, and I'm told the number of Overs has been reduced to 20 (over 50!) just this season. This means that instead of 5-day long games, we're looking at one-day matches. This does make it more tolerable, but for a girl who can't sit through one inning of MLB, I'm a hopeless case.

The More You Know...

2009-04-30T03:10:00.000-07:00

Surprisingly, lunchtime has been my most enlightening period of the day. The time where we stop talking about work, and I really get a chance to hear about my coworker's lives and explore the differences and similarities in our cultures. A few epiphanies thus far:

1) There are 32 ways to wear a sari (at least according to Abhi), each of which represents a different region of birth, marital status, and Coke/Pepsi preference.

2) I should marry an Indian man for the following reasons: he'll never leave me, I can have spicy food all the time, and I can spend the rest of my life interpreting his head bobble.

3) South Indian women typically take their husband's first names as their last name in marriage. This works fine if you marry a Michael or a Paul, but what if you end up as 'Katherine Jane Bob'?

4) Don't pick up the rice with your rhoti. It's just not right. What's wrong with you?

5) If I paid heed to the advice of my coworkers in my travels, I would spend the next three months sitting under the A/C like Jabba the Hut because, according to everybody and their grandmother, it's, "Far too hot to travel"...anywhere. Come back in December.

Okay, great. I'll do the needful. Most welcome.

Kerala, God's Own Country

2009-04-27T03:38:00.000-07:00

I knew this was going to be a good trip from the first order of business:

1) Find a native Malayalam speaker in the office to negotiate the houseboat tour.

And Kerala delivered. In a big way.

Eureka!

2009-04-23T20:15:00.000-07:00

I've discovered the recipe behind Indian productivity. Impossible? Blasphemy, you say? Doubt all you want, but it's a diabolical formula, and I've uncovered its nuances as the weeks have gone by.

One part taking the time to sit down and eat a nutritious breakfast in the company of your co-workers before you begin your day. Two parts getting the blood flowing with frequent head bobbles.** (A mannerism that takes seconds to observe, years to master)

Sprinkle in a dash of relaxation and self-reflection each time the power goes out. Simmer in the dry heat of an Indian summer, turning every hour or so to marinate with chai, and BAM! A delicious brew of efficiency and motivation. The Taj Mahal was built by 20,000 workers out of white marble. Believe the hype.

**The Head Bobble (a sub-post)

Former visitors to India have probably been patiently awaiting commentary on the curious matter of the head bobble... In the course of conversation, most Indians will shake their head from side to side (some draw a figure eight with the tops of their heads, some shake side to side and appear as if they disagree completely with everything you're saying when they're actually in total agreement, and in some it's more dramatic, with the ignorant traveler left wondering if they suffer from an inner ear problem)

Meanings I've gathered so far:
- "Yes, I'm listening."
- "It's neither here nor there."
- "No. Don't be stupid."
- "Why yes, I do feel that the socio-economic ramifications of community farming would be monumental to low-income areas, but think of the other implications, Kate."

...Why isn't there Rosetta Stone for the Hindi Head Bobble?

Kings & Queens of Jayabheri

2009-04-19T07:00:00.000-07:00

When you're not traveling and seeing what India has to offer as a Google expat, you get to feeling a little stifled in Hyderabad. There's the apartment, the office, and a few places within walking distance. If you're bold enough to play Frogger with the rickshaws, stray dogs, and oxen, you reach your destination relatively unscathed. Beyond that, you arrange for a driver. No complaints, but the freedom and independence are not the same.

So I've begun calling Jayabheri 'The Compound', simply because your every need is taken care of within its walls, but there's an odd sense of dependence that I'm not used to. And the best example of this dependency? The Book.

'The Book' is a log of requests from past and present expats to the staff here. It dates back to 2005 for Beta 4-12, and has some real gems that I'd like to share with you.

Food Requests
- Frosties cereal
- watermelon smoothie for Jenni (my my, Jenni, aren't we special?)
- Bacardi Breezers, beer (Kingfisher, Sand Piper, Royal Challenge), brie, chocolate ice cream (all in one request, somebody's planning a good weekend)

Maintenance
- Water leak behind my toilet. Pls fix.
- Wasps in the house!!!! We threw out 12.
- Flea bugs in my bed, I got 20 bites last night, pls spray

General Frivolity
-Please don't have staff meetings in our apartment with the staff, it makes us uncomfortable
- There is a gecko in my bathroom
- Someone else's undergarments are on my desk
- Would it be possible for you to help inflate my sharky? (What?!?)

We all pretend to 'roll with the punches' of the quirks here in India, but show our true colors when we're waited on hand and foot. I'm no Mother Theresa, either. I've already plotted my list of demands:

- 2 suitcases of $10K each, small unmarked bills
- 3 copies 'Vogue' magazine, circa 1958
- pogo stick, RED pls!
- one 7m run outdoors with the wind in my hair and no horns honking

Attack of the 50 Ft Woman!

2009-04-15T22:57:00.000-07:00

I'm a tall white girl in a sea of small Indians. I get that. But I didn't quite anticipate being gawked at this often. I'm slowly becoming accustomed to the staring in public places (outside the office, of course), and often I'll return the onlooker's gaze because I'm just as curious about them.

But this weekend in Darjeeling, I decided to run a social experiment. The rest of my traveling crew was inside Nathmulls, a fantastic tea shop, but I'd purchased mine and was outside people-watching (hypocrite). Over the course of the day, I'd noticed that all the shop mannequins were Caucasian-looking. Pair this with the fact that we'd passed a mountaineering outfitter store up the street, and I hatched an idea. Clad in my North Face jacket and jeans, I leaned one shoulder against the window as I stood outside of Nathmulls, crossed my legs (fashionably), and froze like a Las Vegas human statue.

It took about 3 minutes before an old man coming up the road looked me over to see if I was real. He would look at me, then look away, look back at me, check around to see if anybody else noticed, shook his head and walked away.

The second gawker was a small child who was bolder than the old man. He came right up to me, and was about to tug on my jacket when I had a tickle in my nose that I just couldn't stand. When I moved to scratch my nose, the little guy jumped and then laughed as he walked away.

Next, a whole family was strolling by, and this one ran like a 'candid camera' show. The dad had his hands in his pockets, but slowed his stride as they approached. The wife pointed to me and said something to her husband in Nepali, and he shook his head, as if to say, 'Don't be silly.' The kids seemed oblivious, as I just blended into the general street landscape. My right leg beginning to cramp, I waited until they had juuust passed me and were about to give up on the mystery before stretching out my legs, turning their way, and smiling ear to ear.

David Blaine, eat your heart out.

Darjeeling Unlimited

2009-04-13T23:01:00.000-07:00

What better way to celebrate Easter than touring Buddhist monasteries and sipping tea in the Himalayas? This past weekend in Darjeeling flew by in a blur of travel, stunning views, and startling contrasts. Here are some of the highlights:

- Sherpa training at the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, where men were schlepping 100 pound bags of cement strapped across their foreheads uphill and reflecting on the fact that they'd be doing this in the harshest conditions on the planet

- Drumming at the Japanese peace pagoda, which felt very sacred until the woman leading the chant and the beat started texting on her cell (to: Siddhartha re: Enlightenment body: whr RU?)

- Standing outside the Druk Sangag Choling monastery after a prayer session let out, and being swallowed in a sea of burgundy robes and flashes of yellow

- Dining on thentuk and momos (noodle soup and potstickers) at Kunga Restaurant, and promising myself I would find Tibetan cuisine in Ann Arbor else open my own establishment

Next round of pictures are up, just follow any of the links. Hope everybody back home had a fabulous Easter, I was thinking of you!

Flushing deep and softly paling

2009-04-08T02:54:00.000-07:00

Major props to my alma mater this week, go green! I hadn't turned on my t.v. since I got here, but on Tuesday morning, I flipped from channel to channel, ignorantly searching for some tournament coverage. Here is what I saw....

cricket....cricket...hilariously dubbed Spongebob SquarePants, "Namaste Mr. Crab!"...Indian version of Hannah Montana...cricket...

And then the power cut out, as it has a tendency to do around here.

Resigned, I jumped onto ncaa.com, only to find that, while my Spartans had waged a noble battle, the Tarheels were victorious. The website listed merchandise for both teams (never miss a marketing opportunity). For UNC, all the Final Four gear you could stomach, and for MSU? An array of football jerseys and cheerleader outfits, as if to say..."There's always next season." Argh.

On a more philosophical note, what is it about travel that makes us appreciate everything so much more? Last night a spectacular summer thunderstorm rolled through Hyderabad, and I spent a good hour watching it from our balcony. An hour. I can't recall the last time something held my attention at home for an hour.

For the record, the post title is part of our 'MSU Alma Mater', which 60% of MSU grads fake the lyrics to while we're arm in arm at football games.

M.S.U. we love thy shadows when twilight silence falls,
Flushing deep and softly paling O'er ivy covered halls;
Beneath the pines we'll gather To give our faith so true,
Sing our love for Alma Mater And thy praises M.S.U.

Hot 'Nuff For Ya?

2009-04-06T00:43:00.000-07:00

The reception I received from the Hyderabad team has been incredibly warm (both literally and figuratively). Everyone is full of travel ideas, tips for being in India, or ready to share a good laugh. I've been asked how I'm handling the weather or the spicy food nearly every day now, and I've come to realize that the question is actually designed to solicit a reaction. So, for the entertainment of the inquirer, I've resorted to saying (melodramatically), "Oh. my. word. HOW DO YOU STAND IT? IT'S SO UNBELIEVABLY SCORCHING, IT CAN'T POSSIBLE GET ANY HOTTER?!?!?"

This seems to be the best response. I've A/B tested with, "Quite manageable given the AC" but it just doesn't have the same affect. Adarsh (formerly of Team Cha Cha Cha) said that Ann Arbor Googlers would do the same for him with regards to the cold in Michigan. It seems we all just want to feel that the conditions we live under are special and/or unbearable to outsiders.

One Mississippi, Tw--

2009-04-04T03:00:00.000-07:00

Let's talk traffic. Using the roads in Hyderabad is intense, regardless of whether you're a pedestrian, auto-rickshaw operator, or a bus driver. It's this sweet ballet of chaos, wherein, if you silenced all the horns and played the 'Blue Danube Waltz' you would discover the artistry and grace of it, rather than fearing for your life and pondering the frailty of human existence.

And the beauty of it is that it's good wholesome fun for the entire family.

On a side note, I've learned to use my camera and the first round of pictures are up through the same link as above. Enjoy the tour of our apartment, a few shots of the office, and our first outing.

NWA - 12, Kate and Angela - 0

2009-04-02T03:20:00.000-07:00

Travel Lesson #537: When there's an unidentified bag tucked under your seat, do NOT give it a few good tugs while you determine whether or not it belongs to someone. It is a life raft, and will inflate with the slightest provocation. (Thankfully, Angela and I wised up before a small child was left plastered to the window seat.)

We've finally arrived in Hyderabad, but not without first hearing 'fasten your seatbelt low and tight across the waist' in four different languages. My favorite, of course, being in the Netherlands, 'Maak uw veiligheidsgordeldieptepunt en strak over de taille vast'. Color ME culturally insensitive, but in my jetlagged state, I swear there was a 'bork bork bork' in there somewhere.

We rounded out our excursion with a smooth jazz rendition of 'Silent Night' and other holiday hits on Jet Airways out of Mumbai.

P.S. I am in awe of everything I've seen today, but haven't the mental energy to put it into words.

Something's Awry

2009-03-30T18:09:00.000-07:00

So... I think I'm finished packing, but everything fits into one big suitcase and my messenger bag. When Samira comes to pick me up for the airport tomorrow, she's going to take one look at my half-assed luggage and tell me to go back inside and pack again. My only defense will be that I don't have that many shoes.

If India doesn't work out, I can always open a small pharmacy.

Next stop: Amsterdam, coincidentally.

Foods of Stark Contrast

2009-03-22T12:17:00.000-07:00

Ventured to 'Foods of India' on Broadway this afternoon to seek a few Bollywood movie titles that had been recommended to me.

I stuck out like a soccer mom at a death metal concert.

Nevertheless, I managed to evade the scrutiny and get my totally-legit-how-could-you-even-think-that-this-was-bootlegged-the-
cover-art-is-supposed-to-look-like-MS Word
copy of 'Dilwale dulhaniya le jayenge'. Viewing party tonight!

Fun With Immunization

2009-03-15T21:00:00.000-07:00

My first of three visits to the travel clinic is complete. I realize that, by law, the doctor is mandated to inform you of all possible risks and precautions. But I got a little shaken up after this dialogue...

Doc: ...alright, so that's Japanese encephalitis. Is everything clear?
Me: [inner monologue: I need a higher concentration of DEET] Yes, perfect.
Doc: You also need to be aware that you'll encounter more stray animals during your time in India, and that these animals may be carrying rabies. Let's say, for instance, that you are visiting a temple, and a monkey comes by and bites you on the arm.
Me: [nodding knowingly, as if she'd suggested that there was a possibility that I might trip on the sidewalk during my time in India]
Doc: A blood test cannot conclude whether you or the creature have rabies. From the time of the bite, you have 48 hours to begin treatment. Now, there's been a global shortage of the rabies vaccine for some time. If you walk back into a Hyderabad clinic and they tell you they have no rabies vaccine, you say, 'Frankfurt sounds nice...or Paris...or whichever city you can fly to in the next 48 hours that does have rabies vaccine.'
Me: I see.
Doc: Very good, now let's move on to Hepatitis.

I'm beginning to realize that these 'preparation' posts are outrageously paranoid and make India out to be a country of danger with the potential of death around every corner. But we're Americans... fear is our M.O. Right behind 'state-gery'. When I show up with my Steri-pen (which SCREAMS tourist to me), the locals will know just what assumptions to make of me.

In other news, I have a better idea of the projects that I will be working on in Q2. Continue Q1 IP Sherry Zarabi's work in AM training, sprinkle in a bit of Renaissance training ("Hyderabad, meet S.C.O.P.E."), and identify areas where we can improve communication and collaboration with our iDCS teams. I'm going to be working across all verticals, but of course, there's a special bias to build stronger bonds with my BIMmers.

Preparations

2009-03-08T18:48:00.000-07:00

Exciting tidbits from the State Dept's website on traveling to India:

- On Indian roads, might makes right, and buses and trucks epitomize this fact. Frequent use of one's horn or flashing of headlights to announce one's presence is both customary and wise.

- If a driver hits a pedestrian or a cow, the vehicle and its occupants are at risk of being attacked by passersby.

- Mobs have attacked Indian and American missionaries and social workers as such activity provokes strong reactions in some areas. Conversion of Hindus is illegal in some states of India and acts of conversion often become flash points for violent Hindu nationalist feelings.

- For health care received in India, you will most likely need to pay up front and be reimbursed later for expenses you incur during treatment. (Read: you will be paying out of pocket to treat your Avian bird flu)

I believe my takeaways here include; holding on for dear life while in a vehicle, fleeing the scene ASAP if my driver hits anybody, keeping the 'Good News' to myself, and giving the good folks at CIGNA a ring first thing tomorrow morning.

In my 'research', I also discovered this delightful video which, aside from some expat choreography, shows the Internets what our Approval Bin looks like. Externally-safe? Methinks not.

Oh, and this video puts a goofy grin of excitement on my face.

So It Begins...

2009-03-05T15:32:00.001-08:00

I knew two things yesterday.

1) I'd been accepted into the India Partner Program.
2) I'd be spending Q2 working in the Hyderabad office.

I learned several more things today.

1) Larium malaria pills cause 25% of people to dream vividly or flat out hallucinate.
2) Getting a work visa requires patience, strength, and reference letters from your boss, your grocer, and your orthodontist.
3) The monkeys can be vicious.

Conclusion: Ignorance is bliss.