Bollywood Bash

Last night the local expat group, Gurgaon Connection, sponsored one of its frequent parties, known around these parts as a "bash." Typically, these bashes have some sort of theme (like "red" on Valentine's Day or a beach party); however, last night was the much anticipated second annual Bollywood Bash. Hosted at the Kingdom of Dreams (which is a new multi-purpose facility that is part Bollywood-infused-Broadway musical and part really nice food court) it's the one party of the year when the expats of Gurgaon don their newly purchased Indian apparel, apparel which they all convince themselves they're going to wear again at home but likely never do.

Boring (but exceeding tan for some reason) John at last year's bash

At last year's bash, I was one of very few boring people that decided against wearing Indian clothing. I couldn't have that happen again. I had planned to buy some sort of basic sherwani and wear with the turban I had purchased in Jodhpur on my birthday. However, while sari shopping for Lindsay, I stepped into a store and not ten minutes later had purchased the full bridegroom's sherwani, complete with scarf, turban, and some sort of pin with a feather in it.

Reactions were positive to my new look. Comments ranged from "you look great" to "sir, you look like you are looking for a new wife" (that last one came courtesy of my trusty driver Kailash).

Lindsay's goal this year was to make a purchase that was "wearable" for a nice wedding or function once we return home (i.e., she was one of those expats I mentioned in my opening paragraph). Only time will tell whether or not that's the case, but regardless, she looked fit for Bollywood last night. On the other hand, I'm fairly certain the only other time I will be donning my Indian wedding duds will be, at most, annually and on the last day of October.

Gurgaon in the New York Times

I woke up this morning to an article shared on my Facebook wall from a friend Lindsay and I met while traveling in Turkey last year. Our friend is American but of Indian descent so it's been fun to remain in contact with her as we've progressed through our assignment.

Jim Yardley's NYT article, published June 8, 2011

If the caption under the first picture from the article doesn't draw you in, I'm not sure anything will:

"A booming suburb of New Delhi has become the model for development in India. And it would seem to have everything, except a functioning citywide sewer, reliable electricity or water, or decent roads."

I often write about the quirky and fun aspects of living in India; the servants, the drivers, the travel. Basically an extravagant expat life. This article does a phenomenal job of detailing some of the issues that plague the suburb of Delhi where we reside, Gurgaon. It's a city that is often used to embody the "new" India of corporate parks and malls. Well folks, I hate to break it to you and this isn't news, but even the "new" India has issues.

For all of those people that think government is inherently bad or think it shouldn't exist, read this article. I'm not a fan of big government but Gurgaon is a perfect case study of what happens to a city when there's 1.5 million residents (and growing) and no central plan.

Enjoy the article, it's a fascinating read (and I'm still convinced there are more than 26 malls in this town).

Roadside Flowers

For months I've ridden past the small stalls and shops that line most of the streets in Gurgaon from the relative comfort of the backseat of my Honda City. In our part of town, barbers, fruit stalls, key makers, and florists seem to make up the bulk of commerce. Intrigued by the idea of a roadside haircut yet fearful of the impact of getting knicked by a stray blade, having found other means to acquire fresh fruit, and having a full supply of the necessary keys, my most logical entrance into the roadside economy was the florist.

Traditional view of roadside florist from the backseat of speeding car

On the way home from, interestingly enough, a haircut over the weekend, I asked my trusty driver Kailash, "Kailash, where would we go to buy flowers for ma'am?" He thought for a second, went straight past the apartment, took a U-turn at the golf course, and stopped the car at the closest possible shop. Unfortunately, the flowers were there but the florist was nowhere to be seen. Strike one. Kailash thought again and headed toward Super Mart-I to the stall set up on the main road just outside the shopping center. He parked on the road and we both approached to check out what was being offered (I wanted to participate to some extent but figured the pricing structure might be a little different if Kailash negotiated; though I'm sure his ability was somewhat limited when flanked by a tall, goofy white dude).

Kailash quickly learned the stems I liked were offered at INR 12 per (around $0.25). Seemed fair enough so we told the guy to start a bundle. A few minutes later he had prepared a bouquet, complete with ribbon tied around the stems. The full price? INR 150.

$3 bouquet next to our Christmas decoration

The lesson learned? For a little over three bucks, I can get a legitimately nice bouquet of flowers to take home for the wife. I have no idea why it's taken me this long to realize this fact.

The Freezing Point

At work yesterday, someone told me the upcoming weather in Delhi included low temperatures that dipped below freezing. Skeptical, I decided to check the ten day forecast. Thankfully, he was wrong (at least according to the 10-day forecast). The lowest listed temperature was 55 degrees Fahrenheit, well above the magical mark.

The balmy temperatures not withstanding (it's still typically around 80 here during the days), his comment sparked a little curiousity. Has it ever snowed in Delhi or Gurgaon? What would happen if it did? Based on short research, the closest thing I could find was a morning frost in 2006, which was the first in 70 years.

As a result of this event, weight issues on the power lines caused power cuts across the city and schools were shut down for three days. Slightly more dramatic than the first unexpected frost in Illinois, where the largest victim might be the uncovered flowers in my Mom's garden. Without central heat, it makes a little more sense why such drastic measures are necessary. Based on my short winter in the apartment last year (after living in a hotel with central heat for much of January), I had to admit that 50 degrees in Delhi feels a lot different than 50 degrees in Chicago. While this winter I still probably won't break out the "woolens" quite as regularly as the locals, there will be far fewer sarcastic comments about the thick sweaters and stocking caps in 50 degree weather.

As far as snow goes in Delhi, I'm still not sure it's ever happened. If it does, the two things I'd want to witness would be (1) the locals initial reaction, many of which have probably never seen the white stuff and (2) the traffic.

To stereotype, drivers in the northern U.S. (take me, for instance) and especially those living in mountainous regions consider themselves expert drivers in the snow; whereas, they consider drivers in the warmer southern states to be far inferior when driving in snow and ice based on their exposure to the elements (I'm sure southerners question northerners decision to live in a climate where it's even an issue). Regardless, I can't imagine people that have never seen snow would fare much better than those stereotyped southerners.

Of course, I'm sure the Indian reaction would be much the same: why develop an unneeded skill?

The Commute

For residents of the national capital region (NCR) that work outside the home, it's safe to assume I have one of the shorter and luckier commutes. My apartment complex is adjacent to my office complex. The net result? Even though I live at the far end of the apartment complex: a seven minute walk from desk to door; that is, if I have to wait for the elevator at the office.

Yesterday, on the other hand, my luck ran out. My company has three offices in the NCR; the one described above, the one where the Wife works which is about a fifteen minute drive and still in Gurgaon (southwest of Delhi), and the one located in Noida, which is the "other" suburb of Delhi on the east side of the capital. Yesterday, I finally went to Noida.

Making matters worse, the hours I needed to be in the office (basically 10 - 6) necessitated hitting the worst of the Delhi rush hour on both ends. Having spent six months commuting from the Taj Palace Hotel in Delhi to Gurgaon during my first assignment in 2004, I'm quite familiar with the flow of Indian traffic jams; the close quarters created when a road designed for two lanes of traffic is stuffed full of vehicles inches apart with motorcycles and scooters filling in the gaps. That, I'm used to and while, frustrating, completely met my expectations. What I couldn't figure out was the traffic in Noida. Here is a city so new that its name is an acronym (New Okhla Industrial Development Authority), yet the traffic pattern lead to 45 minutes in traffic inching forward to get off the highway and into town. The roads seemed wide enough to handle the volume, yet at random intervals along the road, the all too common police barriers were set up, basically chicaning the eager commuters and delaying their progress to the glass and steel towers of Noida. No construction, no evident reason, just people getting delayed for the sake of getting delayed. Based on the amount of open space waiting for development, the problem is going to get a lot worse before it gets any better.

A fairly typical scene in Delhi traffic

Days like yesterday make me realize how lucky I am to spend ten minutes a day commuting rather than the four hours I spent patiently riding through the streets of Delhi and sitting in the traffic mess that is Noida. And yes, I recognize a seven minute walk in both directions would technically be 14 minutes of commuting, but you don't expect me to actually walk both directions, do you?

The Visa Verification

After we visited the FRRO last week, we knew there was a next step involving a constable visiting our apartment to verify we were who we said we were and we lived where we said we lived. Based on what our immigration people had said, we wouldn't go through that step until after we returned from the U.S. at the end of October. The immigration people were wrong.

On the way home from the gym this morning, my trusty driver Kailesh politely mentioned that he had received a call from our other driver that the police had been there to visit this morning. He said that the guards had told the policeman to come back when ma'am and sir returned, likely around 9pm. When I arrived at the apartment, the guards mentioned that the constable had gone to another unit and was likely still in the complex. Thankfully, he was able to contact the cop and that he was willing to come back. At this point, I called the wife, who was busy at the salon correcting a highlight nightmare she had been living since the weekend. Not knowing if her presence was necessary, but assuming that it was, I suggested she hurry back.

A few minutes later the doorbell rang, and unsurprisingly, it was the constable (it just sounds fancier than "cop", right?). I had no idea what documentation I was supposed to have or what exactly he was there to verify but it seemed the polite thing to do to invite him into the apartment. He motioned that I sit (always nice to be told where to sit in your own home), and he started fumbling through some paper files. His English, while still infinitely better than my Hindi, was limited (I later learned from my HR guy at work who had the pleasure to speak to him on the phone that his Hindi was somewhat garbled as well). From his first question, I understood that he wanted two copies of the lease and copies of our passports. Thankfully, we keep a copy in the safe, though only one of each. When I brought it back, I basically said, "sorry dude, only have one copy".

He seemed content for the time being and started asking some basic questions like "Nationality?" and started to write up his very official looking verification report. This official looking document started as a blank 8-1/2 by 11 sheet of paper and gradually was built into a fairly official looking piece of paper; that is, as official as a handwritten piece of paper can look. After he finished the first page, he looked at me and said, "Two copies of lease. Need to neighbors or Indians to verify who you are." Seeing as the only neighbors we knew moved out last week, I responded, "Can I go get the guards?" He didn't seem to like that response. He asked, "Can any colleagues or HR people from work come?" Based on this question, the light finally went on. I actually had resources that could help me with this situation.

I called my HR guy, explained the situation, and handed the phone to the constable. They spoke for a few minutes and I was handed back the phone. Ramen told me that he'd connect with someone at the office and send a couple copies of the lease over with some people that could "verify" me. He also made the astute recommendation to offer the guy a Coke or something. I hung up and turned to the constable, saying that people from the office would be there within five minutes (it is actually very close). He feigned annoyance (something tells me he was just fine sitting there for as long as it took) and we waited in silence.

Finally, Lindsay made her way back to the apartment, but I'm not sure she technically needed to be there. I decided not to let her know until after she arrived. Immediately upon her arrival, the mood changed in the room. He started asking questions about us, were we married (he wasn't sure because we had separate applications), did we have kids, etc. Upon answering "no" to the kid question, he motioned over to the pictures we have of our nieces on the entry table and Lindsay explained, gushing (of course) about how cute they were. He seemed to like this exchange and the topic quickly turned to the Commonwealth Games with Lindsay mentioning how great the opening ceremonies were and how the constable should be proud. From that point forward, I decided she would do the talking.

The doorbell then rang again and our HR contacts arrived from the office. After pleasantries, they two guys were able to sign the official looking verification papers (now actually looking somewhat official) and copies of the lease. I'm still not sure why they had to sign the lease. At that point, I thought we were done. But one of the HR guys and the constable began engaging in a discussion in Hindi. I really had no idea what was taking place, but my colleague then pulled out his wallet, drew Rs. 200 (about $4.50), and handed it to the constable.

A "donation"!

The constable, now satisfied, took one last swig of Diet Coke (it's entirely possible he disliked me simply because I didn't have regular Coke), and abruptly left the apartment. Our colleague turned to us and said, "Sometimes, in the third world, 'donations' are just the way it works. But for $4 or $5, it didn't seem too bad." Relieved the verification was over, we thanked our colleagues profusely, reimbursed the donation, and let them go about their day.

Things like this don't happen EVERY day in India, but I felt like I had been on a bit of a cold streak lately. As I embark on my first trip back to the U.S. tomorrow night, this was a great reminder that I still have a lot to experience, witness, and learn when I return at the end of October.

FRRO, Part 2

If you've ever wanted to experience pure, unbridled Indian bureaucracy, the FRRO (Foreigner Regional Registration Office) is probably about as close as most foreigners will ever come. It's a little like going to get your driver's license renewed, except it's paper-based, there's no official queue, no air-conditioning, and lots of people sitting around and/or literally sleeping on the job.

For a detailed and balanced account of everything required for an FRRO registration, check out this link from a Wall Street Journal affiliate. For slightly more disgruntled (yet equally accurate) accounts, you can find in nearly any expat's blog in India.

Based on our type of visa (Employment), we were first required to visit the FRRO within 14 days of entering the country. Since we only have a one-year visa that expires in December, it was time to start the renewal process. Fortunately, we have the help of immigration attorneys as part of our expat package so we literally just have to appear there in person, sign a couple things, and our handlers do the rest.

While it's nice to have the handlers, it certainly cuts down on the number of interesting things you can witness. In fact, I think the most startling thing I learned yesterday at the office was that both of our handlers were Mormons. Of all the religious diversity in this country, I have to admit these were the first Mormoms I had met. Upon doing a little research on the information superhighway, I learned that, as of mid-2009, there were 7,500 Mormons in India. While that's 7,500 more than I expected, it still seemed noteworthy.

My other impression of the experience was my general comfort level being at the office. In all honesty, the building in January seemed cold and intimidating, if not a little scary. After nearly nine months, it just seemed like another place to go and another errand to run (thanks to the handlers). Sure we were stared at while we walked the halls, but that tends to happen here from time to time.

While there are any number of (fairly obvious) ways the Indian government could make this an easier and more inviting process that gave a better initial impression of the country, they don't, which is entirely their choice and right. And until they do, all of us foreigners will just have to deal with it.

Imported American Leisure

Shocking as this may sound, I dare say the average American grew up spending a lot more time than the average Indian on leisurely Western pursuits that can be enjoyed while consuming frosty beverages.

During the past couple weeks, I've been on what was basically the same work outing twice; starting with simulator golf and ending with bowling. I grew up playing golf and like to still think I'm a bogey golfer, which is to say my score typically goes something like "double-double-par-par-par-bogey-birdie-triple-bogey" on nine holes. And I'm a decent bowler, which is to say that I understand how it's scored and bowl over 100. However, you tend to forget that those are basically Western activities that are just now making their way to places like India for mass consumption.

As a result, with golf in particular, these outings were the first time that many of my colleagues had ever picked up a club. If you ever think it's outrageous that someone from a foreign country doesn't understand a sport, I highly recommend either, (1) explaining the rules of that sport to a person that is a blank slate or (2) actually trying to get that person to play that sport. The net result, especially with number one, is the exact reason Americans don't like cricket and also why sports like baseball and American football are limited to America (I know, baseball is played other places, but you get what I'm saying). I think of this often while on the treadmill if I happen to catch a baseball game. Baseball, if you haven't grown up with it, makes no sense. Seriously. Try and explain what's going on to someone who's never seen it before. And I'm not talking about your wife or girlfriend or someone that chooses not to watch it. Try and explain it to someone who's had absolutely zero exposure to the game. If you actually listen to yourself explain it, you'll wonder why it's even remotely interesting to so many people.

Golf, falls into the second category as the fundamental rules are fairly straight forward but actually striking the ball is not. I just kind of take for granted that I can walk up to a golf ball, properly address it, and take a swing that, while still severely flawed, generally makes the ball do what it's supposed to do. On the other hand, if you're over the age of 25, have never picked up a club or even watched it on television, receive three minutes of basic instruction, you're going to struggle to make the ball go more than twenty or thirty yards (at when hitting into the screen of the simulator).

One of the most enjoyable parts of the day, other than my triumphant victory against the inexperienced competition, was seeing how quickly people were able to improve. I was also impressed with their patience. Something tells me that the average American wouldn't have the patience to take a 21 on the first hole and a 19 on the second. That being said, it does help that in the controlled world of simulator golf, you don't have a foursome hitting into you.

Cow Tapping

It took over 8.5 months, but my driver and I had our first contact in the car this evening with a cow. And before I continue, you'll be relieved to know that it wasn't serious. In fact, it seemed much less serious than the time he hit a stray dog.

We were weaving through back roads in Gurgaon to stay away from traffic. Upon coming to a narrow part of the road (the road really wasn't that narrow but there was only one passable path since the roads have basically disintegrated in the monsoon rains the past couple weeks). A cow was on the left, standing parallel to the car. As Kailesh slowly navigated the potholes, the cow turned its head, and well, the car's windshield tapped the cow. I happened to be on the front end of a conference call and the contact surprised me enough that I exclaimed, "Oh Shit!"

When asked what happened (it was a familiar enough group that the profanity was, while unprofessional, not totally unacceptable), I told the truth. Safe to assume it wasn't what they expected to hear. It's also safe to assume this is a scene that has at least been considered in the minds of the writers for an upcoming episode of NBC's Outsourced. Though from the reviews I've read, the show is apparently insultingly awful enough that it sounds unlikely to make it out of October. More to come on that after it premieres tonight.

No cows were harmed during the act described in this short post. Upon tapping the cow, the author looked back to see the animal still standing unfazed in the middle of the road.

Commonwealth Practice

Next month marks Delhi's "arrival" on the international sports scene when the Commonwealth Games begin. While these games aren't the Olympics, they're similar in nature and require the same types of logistics, planning, and construction, albeit on a smaller scale. If you remember news stories about Athens preparedness for the 2000 Summer Olympics, it's been much the same here. Unfortunately, with Athens many of those stories were a year or so before the games. We're 24 days from the start of the games and there is still a lot of work to do. Venues are still not finished, subways and mass transit systems are behind schedule, "beautification projects" aren't finished, some new venues are already deemed unfit to fill to capacity for risk to the structure, and there's a new story in the paper each day about some sort of corruption. In other words, it's kind of a mess.

While I have no plans to go to any events (I'll actually only be in-country the first four days), I am curious to see how they make Delhi look during the games as a showpiece to the rest of the world (or at least as a showpiece to the rest of the former British empire). I've got a feeling that it will look the way the government wants the world to think India should look, much like the way Augusta National flies in flowers to make The Masters look the way people expect it to look. My guess is that the "beautification projects" (my word, not an official term) will be finished in time when the cameras are rolling.

My experience with the Commonwealth Games will likely be with how it effects the commute. Thankfully, I live close to the office. Like a seven minute walk. As a result, it won't impact my day personally, but I worry that others that travel one to two hours per day under normal circumstances will have a very rough couple weeks during the games. Yesterday there was a "traffic police practice day," basically a dry run for the police to get their patterns down. The impact, even on the streets of Gurgaon, was obvious. Roads were plugged, and travel times skyrocketed. It doesn't exactly inspire a lot of confidence that getting around from October 3 - 14 will be much fun.

The Wounded Rickshaw

While waiting for the car yesterday, I saw a bicycle rickshaw slowing pedal past that was hauling a rickshaw that had obviously been involved in some sort of accident. The wheel was bent to hell, kind of like what a bike looks like in the "after" shot from an accident on TV. The driver didn't seem hurt, which is good, but I couldn't help but feel bad for the guy. His likely sole source of income was the rickshaw. And while it wasn't destroyed, his livelihood had temporarily been taken from him. While wishing the driver well in my head, I couldn't help but start to think through what was actually represented with the scene before me:

• Was this just a Good Samaritan helping out a competitor?
• Is there an unwritten code of bicycle rickshaw drivers that they help another driver in need?
• Had the driver of the wounded rickshaw hired the other to haul him?
• If he had been hired, is there a pricing premium based on the situation and/or awkward size of the load?
• Had the driver of the wounded rickshaw hired the other to haul him working off the cost by pedaling?

I know, I'm lazy and simply watched the guy pedal past, but these are the things I think.

Indian Poker

While on our "looksie" trip in November, the wife and I were playing an innocent game of gin rummy in the Crowne Plaza lobby and were quickly told to put the cards away as it was basically considered gambling. As a result, I had no intention of finding a poker game while here and didn't even bringing a set of chips with me from home. So you can imagine my surprise when I received an email at 10:09pm on Friday night from a friend from home, Paul Williams, who's randomly here in Gurgaon for a two-week work trip. The email read simply:

This is going to sound strange but I found a local poker game with some co-workers tonight - interested?

Um, interested? Even with the inferiority complex of having been in India for over seven months with not so much as hearing the word "poker" while Paul had been here for all of six days, of course I was interested. However, I knew the wife had had a very long week and figured I'd better be served playing the part of supportive husband. When she arrived home a few minutes later, I mentioned in passing what Paul had offered and she looked at me crazy and said, "Yeah, of course you've got to go." To emphasize her point, she called the driver and said, "Ashok, sorry, but can you come back? Sir needs to go someplace." Who was I to complain? She's pretty awesome. A few minutes later Ashok was back at the apartment and I was handing a slip of paper with a random address to find my first poker game.

After getting close enough in the car, I walked around a locked gate and found my way to the correct house, which ended up being a guest house owned by a friend of one of Paul's co-workers. It felt a little like a cross between a safe house and a sparsely furnished bachelor pad. Pretty much the perfect place for a card game.

If there had been college football playing in the background, it could have just as easily have been a game in my basement in Lake Zurich. Well, except at the games in Lake Zurich there aren't houseboys scurrying around to bring plates of fried appetizers. In no way was I surprised when they starting bringing out chafing dishes at midnight to prepare the buffet table. From here on, I'm just going to assume that if I'm invited to a social gathering of any kind that is hosted by an Indian that I can pretty much count on a full meal served after midnight. I'm pretty sure that's just the way it is.

The game itself was enjoyable; as in most casual games, there was a variety of characters; including the guy that just looks at the game as means for social interaction that cares little about the money, the guy who's sort of part of the group but is obviously a much better player than the rest and knows he's going home with money in his pocket, and the first-timer that doesn't understand the game, likes it a little too much, and keeps throwing money out of wallet to try and learn the game. Plus, at this game there were two random Americans keenly observing the entire scene and situation.

That scene lasted until around 2:30am when I determined it was probably best to make an exit and minimize the silent disapproval I'd receive from the driver when getting picked up. In all honesty, if someone had pulled on me what I had pulled on him, I'd be a little upset. Basically, he thought he was being released from duty 90 minutes early, was called back shortly after being released, and then had to finish out his shift and work 3 or 4 hours of overtime. If this had happened in America, I would have received a big "EF YOU" right around the time the phone call was made to request him to return to duty.

While I felt guilty and bad for Ashok, I must admit it was nice to just act like a retarded dude for the first time in nearly eight months.

The Staple Comfort Foods

This post is in no way a formal solicitation for family, friends, or strangers to send any of the items listed below. However, if you were to do so, there would certainly be no complaints.

Like any college freshman, the self-respecting expat enjoys the occasional care package stocked full of comfort items from home. Thankfully, we're fortunate enough that people have either mailed packages to us (we're pretty sure they've all arrived since Lindsay Luth went postal) or have had friends from work that have used their second piece of checked luggage as a de facto care package. While the specific contents of those packages obviously vary, we've been able to maintain a basic stock of some very specific and familiar staple items. Some of the items you can actually find here, but either they seem price prohibitive (imported food is extremely expensive, like $6 for a pack of El Paso flour tortillas) or aren't quite the exact same. In no particular order, here's a list of the staple items we try and maintain and have been able to do so with the help of family and friends.

Kraft Mac 'n Cheese

It's the wife's "I haven't felt well but am feeling better but still claim to be sick and just need something familiar" food. It can actually be found in the stores but costs about $3 - $4 per box, which just seems too much when it's consumed more frequently than the initial reason stated.

Coffee

For a coffee producing country, whole bean coffee is extraordinarily difficult to find in Gurgaon. Maybe it has something to do with the India's love affair with tea. Coffee hasn't been an issue as I imported 15 pounds of whole bean coffee from a friend's coffee shop, Coffee Please, in Madeira, Ohio. We're still working our way through the first 5 pound bag. Even though we've increased our coffee consumption at home as of late, I'm thinking it pulls us through until at least the summer of 2011.

Crystal Light

The filtered water is entirely safe to drink but for some reason it seems safer with a packet of Crystal Light, preferably a packet of Cranberry Apple Crystal Light. I thought we had a comically large supply of this, including the "to go" packs I take to work. That supply is dwindling and will be a major part of the restocking operation when we go home in October. No substitute currently exists though there are single serving packets of Gatorade to pour into water.

"Real World" Chocolate

The chocolate in India deserves its own post (and I'll run out of topics at some point and actually post it), but suffice to say that it's not nearly as sweet. It's the climate's fault. American chocolate (or as I've heard it called, chocolate from the "real world") melts at a much lower temperature than Indian chocolate. As a result, chocolate should only be brought over in carry-on baggage or shipped during winter months.

Lawry's Fajita/Taco Seasoning Packets

Though it insults some people to use seasoning packets, the reality is that you can produce fairly close to the same chicken-based Mexican food here as long as you have the seasoning packets, which unfortunately, you can't find in stores and helps explain why there are no decent Mexican restaurants here even though Indians seem to like Mexican when they eat the award winning (no joke) Mexican restaurant in town, TGI Friday's. Quick word of advice: If there are any budding restauranteurs out there in Delhi, find a way to open a slightly below average Mexican restaurant and charge whatever you want. You will make money.

Graham Crackers

A fairly basic snack that we've been unable to find here. These also aren't exactly the easiest items to transport so they are, perhaps, more of delicacy than one would traditionally think. In addition, we've yet to find anything close to resembling a substitute, so the mystique only grows.

Peanut Butter

The all American item most widely quoted as the item to bring or that people miss is actually available at grocery stores here. The price is steep, around $5 for a 16 ounce jar, but it's Skippy, which is good enough (I'm a Jif man, but beggars can't be choosers). With a substitute that readily available and a price that is expensive but not THAT expensive, it will be one of the first items cut from the list when we come back in October if baggage weight becomes an issue.

Oats and Chocolate Fiber One Bars

Not only do these bars make a delicious treat, they also contain actual chocolate chips from the "real world" so you get a little bit of that chocolate fix as well. Plus, fiber is good right? We have four large boxes from Costco (30 bars each) in the cabinet but it's safe to assume we go through 1 - 1.5 boxes per month (I eat one at work each day) so a restock is in order. The only substitutable item here are imported granola bars; not worth the price for an item that isn't as good.

Heinz Ketchup

I was quite excited when I saw Heinz ketchup in the grocery store. I was less excited when I tasted the substance inside the Heinz ketchup bottle. I was very relieved when our shipping crate arrived and I had three large bottles of Heinz from the pre-departure Costco run which should be more than enough to take me through the end of next year.

Jack Links Turkey Jerky

The mother-in-law sent a care package with some jerky and I had forgotten how delightful it was. I'm not a huge consumer or jerky at home, but any time you can have meat as a snack, you'd have to consider it a  good time. I'm fairly careful to request turkey jerky because (1) it's "healthier" and (2) I'm not sure if there are laws against importing packaged beef products.

The Grumpy Camel

Much like the average six year old, the wife still maintains a "favorite animal." Luckily for her, that animal is the camel and there's no shortage of sightings in our current environment. After dinner last night as we were waiting for Kailesh to pick us up, we sighted a fully dressed camel sitting on the side of the road, obviously there for economic purposes. Not surprisingly, Lindsay wanted her picture taken, so I handed her a Rs. 20 note (around $0.50) to offer the camel's master in the event he requested money for a picture. While I'm not typically a huge fan of exploiting animals, I make an exception for camels due to Lindsay's affinity for them and the fact that it's basically a domesticated animal in these parts. I also make an exception for elephants, because let's face it, who's going to turn down an opportunity to ride an elephant when it presents itself?

Would you want a picture with this sinister looking camel?

Last night, however, all Lindsay wanted was a basic picture with a camel, which I can only assume was destined to become her new Facebook profile picture; however, it became quickly obvious that the camel wasn't in the mood. He just looked grumpy. As she approached, he snapped at her. Always the stubborn one, she tried again with the help of the young boy in charge of the camel. Still no luck and a a second snap at Lindsay. On the third attempt, she tried to put her hand out, which was nearly removed from her arm. On the fourth attempt, she finally decided to call it quits.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to capture this all on film and was only able to get the two photos you see below. I am still kicking myself that I inexplicably missed the left side of her face in the second shot. No excuses; I flat out failed.

Attempt 3; she could almost be accused of taunting the camel at this point

Attempt 4; the camel's revenge

Our First House Guest

Twelve hours after our arrival from Turkey we welcomed our first house guest, a good friend from childhood, Luke Gerdes. Luke is two-thirds through a two-month trip to complete research for his doctoral dissertation, passing through Delhi for six nights. I'm not sure whether he actually got what he needed while here academically, but I can say we enjoyed our time together. In all honestly, it almost seemed like he was more in need of seeing and talking with familiar faces than we were, which can probably be expected as he had been traveling the previous six weeks, spending no more than four of five nights in any given country.

Luke's and my family are close friends (in fact, his parents are considering an India/Nepal loop with my parents early next year), and Luke and I had grown up together but the frequency of our meetings had basically dwindled to a beer or two the day of Christmas Eve as my Dad and I make the rounds to family friends (actually one of my favorite traditions, though the Gerdes house is the only stop that guarantees a frosty beverage).

The other thing to know about the Gerdes family is that while growing up, and still to this day, my family refers to Luke's mom, Sue, as the "Domestic Goddess." In fact, Martha Stewart may very well be the "Sue Gerdes of Connecticut." Thankfully, he learned something from his mother and volunteered to fix what was easily the best freshly prepared Mexican meal made from scratch in India last week, which would have been the case even if likely not the only entry in that category. What made this feat all the more impressive was that he successfully navigated four grocery stores alone in Gurgaon finding fresh avocados for guacamole. Needless to say, he set a high bar for future guests to follow.

Since he had done quite a bit of travel in the developing world and had spent a few days in Mumbai, he was more immune to the shock value that greets many visitors to Delhi. As a result, we were able to do fun things like eat at Karim's and get lost in alleys in Chadni Chowk. Getting lost in alleys might seem dangerous, and we were careful to keep Lindsay between us at all times, but in hindsight, it was a fairly safe place to be. In one instance, some local men stopped us because some rupees had fallen out of Luke's pocket and they wanted to make sure we found. Not five minutes later, a young boy who had self-appointed himself our guide to a main street tried to refuse a tip from Luke. Luke tried to hand the kid Rs. 50, which I can only guess is a LOT of money for this kid, and it took Luke's continual insistence for the kid to actually accept the money. Sometimes, India can pleasantly surprise you.

Later on Saturday night, we had planned to relax at our favorite rooftop establishment in a mall, Vapour, but received a phone call from a friend's landlord who we've met socially. He invited us to a housewarming party some of his friends were having, which isn't the type of invitation you'd want to turn down if you were interested in experiencing new things. The party didn't disappoint. The topic of conversation quickly turned to politics and had quite the diverse cast of characters, including an imbibing Muslim, a Hindu businessman that held American citizenship and sold quite a few pairs of jeans to a certain retailer based in Arkansas, a clean-shaven Sikh, our friend the landlord, and the host, a gentleman that appeared in an Apple computer print ad in the mid-80's. Needless to say, the addition of a couple of Americans that were a few cocktails in, and it was a spirited conversation. They remembered our names by saying, "Luke and John? Like the Bible?" Well, sort of, I guess. Luke ultimately earned extra points and the respect of the other guests since he was apparently the first person to verbally disagree with the blue jean baron in some time. I literally sat there and laughed for two hours. Not surprisingly, as we were getting ready to leave around 12:30am, dinner was served. An hour and many worthwhile and tasty calories later, we finally said our good byes.

I'd have to say it was a successful first house guest. Surprisingly, by the sixth night we weren't ready to kick him out and I don't think he was entirely sick of us either. It was a great chance to share a little of our adopted home, share new Indian experiences, and get to know one of my oldest friends better (if that makes sense). And if he thinks his invitation to us to spend some time at his family's fishing cabin in Canada upon our return was simply a courtesy invite; well, then he doesn't know the wife and I quite well enough.

Monkey Watch 2010

Upon the return from vacation, I found this letter posted near the elevator in our complex:

While I'm sure the monkeys are likely a nuisance, it's a little presumptuous that the Estate Manager categorically states that they're a nuisance to all residents. I must admit I'm anticipating my first encounter with a monkey in the complex. I can only hope I have the camera when the time comes. I also hope that, when that time comes, the monkey hasn't found a way into our unit. That would not be good.

It's a little scary to think that "no permanent solution can be found" but guess it's a good thing that they're making efforts to find a Langoorwala (a google search turned up all of 38 results). From what I'm able to gather, it's either some sort of monkey wrangler or monkey trainer. Based on the tone of the note, I'm going to assume they're looking for more of a wrangler than a trainer.

The Second Layer

The wife arrived back from the U.S. late last night. As any good husband would do, I told her the driver would be there to pick her up. And then decided to tag along to surprise her. This post isn't about her arrival so much as it is about what we witnessed upon getting home.

Many apartment complexes in Gurgaon have a couple security layers. First, a guarded gate to enter the actual premises and, second, a guarded desk for entrance into the actual building (much like an RA at a college dorm). Our's is no exception. The guards are friendly enough though I still find it odd that they salute me (no, I don't salute back).

At 1:30am the second layer might not be terribly effective. Upon driving up to our building, the station wasn't manned (which isn't all that different because the guards often sit in close proximity to the entrance where I suspect the ventilation is better). The guards were sitting in their secondary position, illuminated by the headlights as we pulled into the apartment. They didn't move. In fact, based on their body language and the apparent deep slumber, they could have been roofied (or as the other Doug in The Hangover suggested, "flooried") The headlights didn't wake them, us talking didn't wake them, and the doors and trunk slamming didn't make them. Not exactly a rousing endorsement for complex security.

Lindsay suggested a picture (she had her camera handy; and let's be honest this post would have been more interesting with pictures), but I figured that some things translate fairly easily, including the concept of "we're mocking you by taking your picture and hoping the flash doesn't wake you up". While being mocked (I mean, being documented) had been fully earned and was completely deserved, I guess I'd rather keep the guards on our good side.

Of course, upon getting into the apartment, I triple checked to make sure the door was double dead-bolted.

The Monsoon Arrives

In India, they say things like, "the Monsoon will arrive in Delhi on June 29." And yes, I capitalized the word because the way people describe it, you'd think they were expecting the arrival of some long lost relative. Since the country gets around 80 percent of its annual water from the Monsoon, it almost seems appropriate to turn it into a proper noun. In the states, we have general seasons (i.e., hurricane season, tornado season) Yeah, I know, we tend to get specific with hurricanes as they form and get close, but it's nothing like this.

Apparently the monsoon has stalled a bit this year or isn't producing as much rain as typical. If things don't pick up it could, at best, lead to higher food prices and, at worst, spell utter disaster and drought, so you can understand why it's kind of a big deal.

In Delhi and Gurgaon, the Monsoon first hit a couple days late on July 1. For the most part, it rains for a very small portion of the day but when it does, it's complete armageddon, with quickly darkening skies that dump and blow sheets of water into an environment ill-equipped to handle such an event. The net result is localized flooding because the drainage simply can't handle the volume of water and some streets turn into shallow streams. The streets turning into streams has pretty much the effect you'd expect on traffic. It took the driver approximately 90 minutes to get from our apartment to Lindsay's office, which is about 6 km and typically takes ten to fifteen minutes.

When you think about it, it's a small inconvenience given everything that's at stake but another gentle reminder that even with the amount of development and increased infrastructure in India over the past few years that it is very much still a developing country.

Strike!

Working for an American company that basically follows American holidays (with the exception of a couple of the major Indian holidays), today is an off day. I elected not to travel for the long weekend in part so I could attend the Fourth of July celebration and in part because if I traveled next weekend I could have back-to-back three day weekends, which isn't the worst thing in the world. In hindsight and completely on accident, that was a wise decision.

There's a 12-hour general strike today in protest of a rise in fuel prices.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/world/south_asia/10505004.stm

If I had chosen to travel this weekend, it's a pretty good bet that I would have either been stuck where I was going an extra day or been stuck in Delhi upon arriving. I really didn't think it would impact me until I received a phone call around 9:00am from the car company. Either our drivers are on strike or they were unable to cross the border from Delhi into Haryana. I mentioned that this would have been a good thing to know more than an hour before expecting the car to arrive. He didn't apologize. Either way, I'm stuck finding my own transport if I care to venture out today.

On the bright side, there's nothing I absolutely need to go out and do today, but I had planned to take advantage of the day off and explore some sights in Delhi, including a search for Karim's in old Delhi which is supposedly once of the more authentic and delicious Indian culinary experiences in town. At the least, I could have gone out and taken some pictures that would have made this post more interesting.

On the bright side, I'm not stuck in some random place in India, or worse, stuck in Delhi with no way to cross the border. Plus, this gives me a little free time to start my "test the water" experiment.

Maybe I'm Not so Smrt

I went out to lunch with some co-workers in the oldest part of the newly developed Gurgaon, DLF Phase 1. The restuarant, Yumz!, was in an older shopping arcade called Qutab Plaza. It's not a place I would take Lindsay and probably not a place I would have chosen to venture on my own, but I was up for a little adventure. In addition, based on my slim efforts to learn Hindi, the primary means for me to earn credibility in the office is to basically eat anywhere and eat anything people deem appropriate for a meal. Upon arriving at the restuarant and not surprisingly, someone volunteered to do the ordering. I stated my requisite, "I'll taste anything once; if I don't like it after that, I won't eat it." Little did I know his plan for the appetizer was....fried sheep brain. 

Upon hearing the order and thinking I might be able to add to the conversation with some edible sheep part experience, I described the one time I've had Rocky Mountain oysters. All of the others, including the one that had just ordered the brain of an animal, looked at me like I was describing how the average American revels in a nice New York strip done medium rare. Little did they know that the sheep brain actually more resembled that you'd expect the Rocky Mountain oysters to look like. From a taste standpoint, the brain itself wasn't anything too terribly different. It was fried, so it kind of tasted like fried stuff and had the general consistency of a hush puppy. 

Surprisingly, that wasn't the most dangerous part of the meal. For desert, we ordered, philri, which is a rice and milk-based dish. It was an odd yellow color and had flecks of the shiny film associated with many Indian sweets. The shiny film doesn't taste like much but looks like a shiny fish scale. Appetizing. At any rate, I dug into the philri which basically tastes like rice pudding. I didn't particularly enjoy it but knew I pretty much had to finish the bowl. One of my co-workers quickly said, "Stop! Don't take another bite, I think the heat has gotten to it." Awesome. I was at least two bites in. At this point if I happened to get sick, there was now no way to tell whether the culprit was the mutton brain or the rancid philri. 

We decided to skip dessert at Yumz! and instead headed out to try and find gulab jamun (delightful dough balls soaked in sugary goodness). While the establishment where we stopped wasn't technically a street vendor, it was probably about as close as you can get. Bottom line, I still haven't sampled the street food, but based on today's lunch, I think we're inching closer and closer in that direction.