Departure Day

Yesterday we returned from our final adventure in Bhutan, formally moved out of our apartment, and moved into a hotel in Gurgaon for one final night.

At some point, I promise, there's going to be actual new content added to the blog (I'm WAY behind) but I wanted to make sure I posted something today. It's a big day; a milestone day. I'm about seven hours from leaving India (that is, if American Airlines accepts all 9 of our checked bags).

Thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, or at least granting me the illusion that people were interested in the over-privileged, run-of-the-mill, corporate expat's life in India. That being said, I still have more to say and reflect upon and will keep posting. I also plan to start a "repat" blog (any ideas for titles are greatly appreciated; the leader in the clubhouse is "Good Bye Delhi, Hello Disney").

December will be a busy month. We land Friday morning in Chicago at 5:00am, move out of our townhouse next week, close on a house in Orlando on December 13th (keeping our fingers crossed), travel back to Illinois for the holidays (and a couple of parties) on the 17th, and ultimately end up in Orlando on December 28th.

More to come! Cheers!

Life is Busy (aka, My Excuse for Not Writing)

I recognize my posts have been fewer and further between the past few weeks but I like to think I have an excuse. Since Lindsay went to Orlando just two weeks ago, we've been busy. We've visited Varanasi, purchased a house (that I've only seen in pictures), had a going away party, hosted a visitor from the office in the U.S., made a mad dash to the Taj Mahal, attended the American Women's Association mela, packed an apartment, had a near cardiac event when Lindsay lost her FRRO papers (not something that would be easy to replace), had a joyous reunion between Lindsay and her FRRO papers three hours later, and had movers move our stuff out of that apartment - all while trying to finish up our respective jobs here in India.

Our final roadtrip, a 90 minute stop at the Taj Mahal on Saturday (in hindsight based on the reflections in the pool, there was probably a pretty cool photo op if not for the two of us blocking it)

Tomorrow is our last official day of work. This week we leave for a trek in Bhutan, where we'll be meeting my Dad. He left sometime on Sunday in the U.S., has some sort of tour planned in Bangkok tomorrow, and greets us in Paro on Wednesday. It was hard to believe he was leaving for his trip before I had even started to pack an apartment I was moving out of before joining him on that same trip. We fly back to Delhi on November 30th and ultimately leave the country just after midnight on December 2nd. Lindsay's visa expires on December 3rd. Nothing like cutting it close.

I feel like I still have a lot to write about India and still plan to write it; it's just going to have to wait until December. I'm sure in 20 years I'll regret not writing it as it happened as it's never quite as good in hindsight, but it's the deal I've made with myself in order to retain sanity in the midst of everything going on these days.

In addition, I plan to start some sort of repatriation/transplantation blog about moving back to my home country in a new city. Again, it's probably something I should have started as we began the process but there's only so much I can handle (which is probably a lot less than most people can handle).

Any ideas for a title more original than "Mr. (and Mrs.) Luth Go to Orlando" would be greatly appreciated. I might just be lazy enough to start a genre.

Mr. (and Mrs.) Luth Go to Orlando

December in Chicago still has the novelty of Christmas and is typically not unpleasant; whereas, January and February are absolutely miserable. Why, you must be thinking, is this important?

For the past couple months, when someone has asked me how I feel about going back to Chicago in the middle of the winter, I've answered with a bit of a sheepish smirk and responded with something like, "yep, it's going to be awfully tough to get used to snow again." Why the smirk? I've had a secret. I only have the novelty of the Christmas portion of winter in front of me. Shortly after the new year, Mrs. Luth and I will pack our bags (again) and head south. The title of this post is misleading.

We're not just going to Orlando; we're moving there.

In fact, the wife arrived there Monday to meet her new team, start her new job, and initiate the home search. It's a quick trip. She's back in India on Friday night.

My only time at Disney was Epcot's 15th anniversary...

Delhi's culture is a deeply woven fabric, carefully crafted over the course of centuries. It could be argued that there's no more "real" place in the world, which is odd because we always refer to our life here as quite unreal and returning one day to the "real" world in the states. If Delhi's culture is a deeply woven fabric, Orlando's is deeply fabricated. I'm sure I'm insulting some of my soon-to-be-fellow-Orlandoans (is that the right term? I should probably check on that...) but outside the deserts of Dubai and Vegas, there may not be a less authentic place on earth than Orlando.

...strangely, the wife was also there (love the matching belt lines)

As we've told a few people about the move, the first reaction is almost always, "Disney, huh?" Yeah, I guess. I've never been one to ooh and aah over Disney; in fact, I've threatened Lindsay that I'd rather not "waste" a vacation when we have kids and that the "Disney" trip would be better served (and longer remembered) if we replaced it with a national park. I know, I'm heartless.

The second reaction is almost always, "There are a lot of chain restaurants there. Like a LOT of chain restaurants." Outside the occasional trip to Chili's for their delicious boneless wings, I despise chain restaurants. However, since we haven't cooked for ourselves in the past two years, the novelty of, [gasp], being in the kitchen and preparing our own food should mitigate whatever chain restaurant overload that may have otherwise ensued.

Even with Disney and the chain restaurants, I'm looking forward to the change. Something tells me that going back to our old lives in suburban Chicago would have been, well, boring. With this move, I get to explore a part of the country I'm not terribly familiar with. I've been to Orlando a grand total of 3 times; once as a kid to Disney and twice for short work trips. I've never visited with the lens of, "what would it be like to live in this place." In many ways, I had a better idea of what living in India would be like this time around than what living in Florida will be like.

Even if you call Orlando fake or plastic (Phil Jackson's word, not mine) or whatever, it's going to be new to me. I'm going to explore. I'm going to keep writing about it. I'm going to ignore the fact that the highest point above sea level is something like 120 feet (that number is approximate but is based on my continuous childhood examination of the Rand McNally Road Atlas).

Repatriating is always tough; the least I can do is try it in decent weather.

One Month Warning

As you may or may not have noticed, the month of October has been a little light in the "new posts" department. What October has lacked in written record has been more than made up for with visitors' experiences. Over the four weekends of this month we've had two sets of visitors, first Lindsay's best friend from childhood Melissa and her husband Jeremy (whom I had never met) and then my college roommates Brian and Tommie (yes, it ends in "ie"; Brian and I still don't know exactly why) and their wives Kelly and Jen. Hosting can be exhausting but whatever exhaustion results is more than offset by people's reactions and insights into this place we call home.

Udaipur with Jeremy and Melissa

Munnar with Jen, Kelly, Brian, and Tommie

Whatever joy I may have stolen from you by not writing much the past few weeks (and I still have some posts in the hopper, I just need to find the time and creative energy), can be more than made up by checking out my friend Brian's new blog about their visit, Wandering Yankee 76. I'll share additional links as he posts about the remainder of his experience but his first post, Politely Stinky, outlines his expectations (or lack thereof) and his journey over which included a brush with India's greatest WWE star. His second post, the aptly titled Full Immersion recounts his first full day in Delhi (and in India, for that matter) when his first steps outside the car were toward Jama Masjid during the call to Friday prayer.

Welcome to Delhi

It's hard to believe, but we have only three weekends left in India. Next weekend is a much needed rest and organization weekend in Delhi, the following weekend is a likely trip to Varanasi (which I'm not terribly excited for but have been told it's something we must do), and the final weekend we need to squeeze in a trip to the Taj Mahal. We've been here two years and still haven't been able to refresh our pictures from November 2004's trip to the Taj. We leave India temporarily on November 23 for a trek in Bhutan (where my Dad will be meeting us), stop back in Delhi for two days, and fly out for good on December 2. Somewhere in the middle of all that, the wife is making a short work-related trip to the United States and we both need to find a way to transition to new jobs and pack our crap here. As busy as October was, it's safe to say November will be worse.

I'm also making a personal commitment to write more; not just about catching up on October but also what lies ahead. This transition month will be fun-filled, stress-inducing, and in ten or twenty years, I'll be disappointed if I take the easy road out and just let this blog slowly die. It's difficult to believe the end is near and that in four short weeks this space transforms from an expat blog to a repatriation (does the term "repat" exist?) blog. No worries though, I promise a repat blog with a surprise twist. 

Lakhs and Crores

There are, to the American ear, odd units of measure in India that are generally accepted and widely used especially when it relates to money. If you don't understand these measures, then, well, you really haven't spent much time in India.

The Lakh
A lakh is equal to a hundred thousand. If someone were to make one million rupees in a year, they wouldn't say, "my salary is one million rupees." Instead, they would say, "my salary is ten lakh." Since one U.S. dollar is currently worth 48.94 rupees, one lakh rupees is equal to $2,043. One of the easiest ways to gain credibility with a salesman in some sort of higher end store (like for a rug or jewelry or whatever) is to ask for prices in rupees and to subsequently not bat an eye when they quote a price of something like 1.2 lakh rupees. Granted, I try to stay away from such stores, but it's a good skill set to have nonetheless.

(Quick note, I would appreciate if no one would tell my wife the exchange rate has shifted so far in the U.S. dollar's favor (I know I'm not going to). It's hovered around the 45:1 mark for the past two years. Whenever she's trying to justify purchasing something, she uses an exchange rate of 50:1 in her head and then says, "see, this isn't so bad". Me, being ever the practical one, tries to get her to use a very conservative exchange rate of 40:1. If she still wants that something at a conservative 40:1 rate, it seems like a good purchase.)

One final thing about the lakh; based on the unit of measure, you'll often see commas in weird spots in Indian numbers. Rather than writing 500,000, they will write 5,00,000 to highlight that half a million is really five lakhs.

The Crore
Not nearly as widely used, primarily based on the denomination, is the crore. A crore is equal to one hundred lakh, which is to say that a crore is ten million. Following the same conversion rate from above, one crore rupees is equal to $204,300. The most common uses for this denomination are to describe corporate earnings, expensive real estate, levels of corruption in the economy, or the winnings of the kid in Slumdog Millionaire.

Lakhs seem much more natural to me, which I'm sure is based on the frequency of usage. Crores are still a little foreign, even though the general rule is "multiply a lakh by a hundred." I just hope I'm smart enough, if given the opportunity, to use a a term like 1.2 crore appropriately rather than telling someone it's 120 lakhs.

Productivity or Dependency?

I seem to be getting forgetful. Today I forgot my laptop. Thankfully, it was locked in my office at work. Unfortunately, that didn't really help much considering I had worked there earlier in the day and traveled twenty minutes to our other office in Gurgaon (which doubles as the office that once gave me the shortest commute in India). When I passed through the security check at work, it may have been the first time something has ever been found (or not found) by the guard. Regardless, I neither had the desire nor the time to partake in the 45 minute exercise that would have been going back to my office to retrieve my computer.

Fortunately, this is India. With one instruction and one well placed phone call, I was able to send my driver back, authorize someone to unlock my office, give the laptop to my driver (my other trusty driver, Ashok, not to be confused with my trusty driver Kailash), and have him bring it back to me. The net result was that my computer was waiting for me when I finished the meeting that required me to go to the other office in the first place. Ahhhhhh, Incredible India!

These aspects of the India experience make me feel like both the most productive and most overly dependent person in the world. Such is life in this land of extremes.

The Friendly Disclaimer

I had a return appointment at the hospital today to check the healing progress on my spider bite (more commonly referred to as a "hair follicle infection" by my doctor). Again, the process was more efficient than expected. The total time for the point (round trip from the office)? 35 minutes. Fifteen of which were in the car. While driving back, I noticed an interesting disclaimer at the bottom of my prescription receipt:

"Error in billing, if any, is an oversight and unintentional."

So basically the receipt is saying, "We very well may try and overcharge or otherwise attempt to swindle you; if you catch us, it was an accident. Seriously. We swear."

It doesn't exactly inspire confidence in the billing process, now does it? On the bright side, as long as the billing errors aren't of a ridiculous order of magnitude, it's easier and cheaper to just pay out of pocket than to worry about figuring out how to get my American insurance policy to reimburse me.

(And yes, I double checked my bill; 100% accurate.)

The Indian Kennedys

In America, we have the Kennedys. In India? The Gandhis. If you're not aware of the parallels, let me try and recreate the explanation our friend Swata provided last night. Please note that Swata is from Baltimore, but her last name is coincidentally Gandhi. Though much like Mohandas, she has no dircet blood relation to the confusing family web described in the next paragraph.

It all started with Jawaharlal Nehru, who was the first Prime Minister of India after independence from Britain. Nehru's only daughter was Indira Gandhi, who had two stints as prime minister before being assassinated in 1984. Her elder son Rajiv succeeded he lost an election and was later assassinated in 1991. Her other son, Sanjay, also had a ton of political power but never held office and died in a plane crash in 1980. Rajiv's wife Sonia then became involved in politics and now leads the Congress Party in India. Many believe she's the most powerful person in the country. Her son, Rahul, is the heir apparent to this political dynasty and is currently a prominent member of parliament.

If you couldn't keep that straight, Wikipedia has a family tree.

I'm sure we could spend all kinds of time trying to equate different family members between the two, but suffice to say that both families are politically connected, powerful, and have the unfortunate draw of death before their time.

I know less about Indian politics than a person who's lived here for two years should know; however, I've seen enough of Rahul in the papers and on TV that you'd think I'd recognize him. Not so much. Last night we were fortunate enough to be invited to the pub at the Delhi Golf Club for dinner and drinks on the patio overlooking the practice green. There were two surprises. The first, that a golf course could smell like a golf course in the middle of Delhi, and the second, an unexpected close-up celebrity sighting which is my second while here (the first being Ranbir Kapoor filming a movie at Hauz Khas Village). Midway through our meal, our host Sonem motioned to a table of unassuming people near us and said, "That guy that just walked in wearing the black t-shirt; that's Rahul Gandhi."

Now the thing that was odd about that statement was that he was wearing a t-shirt yet we were at a country club. As you may or may not be aware, country clubs as institutions frown upon shirts without collars. Delhi Golf Club is no different. Apparently, Rahul, who spent his day addressing parliament on the anti-corruption Lokpal bill, wasn't above this rule. Someone brought him a golf shirt. Continuing his unassuming routine for the night; one minute he was wearing a black t-shirt and the next he was wearing a gray golf shirt. I didn't even notice the change.

The Actual Rug Story

For me, shopping for rugs is a little like shopping for furniture, which is to say that 95% is total crap, and you basically know what you're going to buy when you see it. Even though we found that 5% at the first store we visited last weekend, we still performed a little due diligence by visiting a second establishment that, if nothing else, gave me the story I'll tell my grandchildren about the rug they'll be admiring many decades from now.

On Saturday, Lindsay went back to the first rug shop, negotiated a deal, and made the purchase. She's excited about the rug because it "looks traditional without looking too traditional." It was further described to her as a rug "with Persian influence yet modern colors." Lindsay eats this stuff up (even if it sounds like it's coming from a J. Peterman catalog). Speaking of catalogs, she also learned that the rug type she selected was featured on one of Stickley furniture catalogs a couple years back. What's Stickley? Only my mother's favorite furniture manufacturer. I guess this rug was meant to be. It also means that I could have bought this rug in the U.S. I'm not sure how I feel about this. If I get back and find it cheaper, I'm going to have issues.

Lindsay surveys her selection

Regardless, we're happy with our decision and the rug was delivered promptly this morning at 11am. Since the rug clashes horribly with our rented furniture and we saw no real need to accidentally destroy it before getting home, we decided to have them roll and package it so that it could be easily added to our container when we head back in a few months.

The packing process was more interesting than expected. They tightly rolled the rug, wrapped it in plastic, and then cut a thick muslin material to wrap surround the plastic. The material looks like it was used for "The Others" outfits in "Lost." The material was literally hand stitched around the rug with a huge needle and some coarse twine. The sewing process took about fifteen minutes and the rug now lays on top of a long wardrobe in our guest bedroom.

Ready for shipment

By the time we get home, I'm sure we will have forgotten what the rug looks like. Let's hope we still like it. 

Apartment Tragedy Averted

When Lindsay's Mom was in town, I wrote about the first thing that had fallen to the ground from our apartment; the laundry. Tonight, a second item fell.

I arrived home around 9pm. Yashoda, our cook, heard me come into the apartment and immediately approached. Two things had happened that day. The first, quite minor, was that she had run out of cooking gas while making dinner. The net result of that was that dinner would now consist of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which I actually like, so not a big deal. The second, could have had a disastrous impact to the family that lives below us, unlike the time a wet pair of jeans was blown down to their patio.

Yashoda heard a large crash outside, had no idea what had happened, and decided to come into the apartment to make sure everything was fine. It wasn't. The window air conditioning unit, which in hindsight, always appeared to be precariously perched in our guest bedroom decided its perch was just a little too precarious. She found an empty hole with warm, humid flowing in where cold, refreshing air was once produced.

The tragedy-free end result

Thankfully, and I really mean thankfully, there was no one outside below our apartment. We live on the first floor (yes, the "British" first floor, that's how we do things in India) so there was "only" one family at risk. I can't imagine if we had been on the twelfth or thirteenth floor (yes, our unlike most hotels and other buildings, we actually have a floor labeled "13" in our building). Had this happened a month or two ago, we would have had someone staying in the room and they would have had a much more colorful firsthand account. No one was hurt, and that's the important part.

By the time I returned home, the hole had been temporarily filled with cardboard which is another reason we're glad we selected a "serviced" apartment for our two year stint (things either just get fixed or there's one number to call to get it fixed, and usually quickly). Supposedly, a new unit will be in place today and it will be good as new.

This entire episode was probably not necessarily worth an entire post and all together not that interesting; however, it beat out the stray horse I saw wandering the streets of Gurgaon yesterday afternoon, which I believe was the first stray horse I've seen. See, the air conditioning unit isn't so unexciting after all.

The IPA Quest Completed

For the past 18+ months, I've been on a quest to find an actual India Pale Ale (IPA) in India. For the past 18+ months, I have failed, including a disappointing stop at The Come Drink Beer Cafe which had only Corona and IMFL selections. The first time I drank an IPA in India it had been imported in the sock of a visiting friend. Since that time I had only seen it on a menu once (at a place called The Beer Cafe at Ambience Mall in Vasant Kunj) but, not surprisingly, it wasn't in stock. Last night our friend Kristin wanted to try a new place out at that same mall (and no, we don't make a habit off going out in malls frequently, but the mall subculture emerging in India is a little fascinating). Before hitting Skybar, which is unsurprisingly a rooftop lounge, we decided to try The Beer Cafe.

The first thing the waitress said when she approached our table was that there was an issue with the supplier and that they only had 14 beers in stock. Not a good first sign. There was some sort of licensing issue that limited what was in stock, and there was an actual sign that explained the problem. The first time we had actually received any sort of explanation why something wasn't on the menu (at most places you get something like "I'm sorry, sir, but that is not in stock" but you have no idea why 75% of the menu doesn't seem to be available. Of course, if you call yourself The Beer Cafe, it probably makes sense to explain why there's so little choice.

She then started on the beers they did have. First, the beers on tap, which are set up as self serve at the table. Self serve taps are a cool idea, though to control the amount you drink, you purchase a card and put money on it and place the card on a reader before pouring. They didn't do a great job of describing how that process worked and we felt like they were trying to get us to prepay and lock us into a certain amount. At the end of the day, it turns out this was just a way to create a small line of credit with the restaurant and wasn't a big deal, but it seemed unnecessarily confusing.

Shouldn't it be cheaper if you do it yourself?

Once the tap and card process was described in painstaking and ineffective length, she started going through the bottles. Much to my surprise and delight, she mentioned a few Belgium wheats that were in-stock and then, almost in passing, said that they had the IPA. I immediately started repeating, "IPA IPA IPA". My order was set.

A few minutes later they set the beer in front of me. The elusive IPA was captured. It was a Brooklyn Brewery IPA that, based on the markings on the label had been imported via some Middle Eastern country. It's not a beer I'm familiar with, but I wasn't in a position to get too picky. Overall, it was decent and less hoppy than I prefer my IPA's to be. Not a beer I'd necessarily go back to if I were in the states, but given the situation it tasted pretty good.

As we were leaving the bar, one of the waiters who had seen my jubilant reaction when learning it was available assured me that it would always be in stock, whenever I returned. While I appreciated that, something tells me that his guarantee had something to do with a lack of demand rather than a consistently restocked fresh supply.

My First Pedicure

For years my wife has bothered me relentlessly to get a pedicure, even threatening to schedule one as she schedules her own. I must admit, I have disgusting feet. Even so, I always had the same response, "not gonna happen, don't even bother." So you can imagine my surprise when our trekking friends arrived in Delhi and both Judith and Glenn were excited about the prospect of a massage and pedicure after we returned from our Ladakh trek (which believe me, there will be multiple posts in the coming days on the trip). Never one to shy away from a massage, I was in for that; however, after reflecting if it's good enough for Glenn (who is a typically obnoxious and funny North American male that I don't have the chance to interact with nearly enough while here) that it was certainly good enough for me. Using that and the fact that I was spending ten days walking 150 kilometers up and down passes as high as 16,500 feet as the two excuses, I finally relented and "allowed" Lindsay to schedule a treatment. If ever there was a time, this seemed to be it. I hadn't seen her this giddy since our engagement.

Here's the thing, and I know I'm going to take a load of crap about this from my buddies, it was awesome. In fact, I firmly believe if they simply changed the name from "pedicure" to something more manly like "foot pummeling" or "intense foot massage" and changed the venue to include sports on TV (kind of like those haircut places in the states) and some sort of alcoholic beverages, the industry would open itself up to an entirely new and mostly untapped demographic. In fact, I'd be shocked in this hasn't already happened.

For all those years, Lindsay had simply said, "I want you to get a pedicure." Wrong strategy. Had she said, "I want you to get a 45 minute intense and focused foot and calf massage where they may also touch your toe (without polish) and remove the callouses from the tips of your toes (note, like I said, I have disgusting feet)," her requests may have had a slightly different outcome.

Do I need this service on a weekly or even monthly basis? No. Am I glad to know it's there? Absolutely. Make fun of me all you want, but I may just be a convert. Deal with it.

Like I said, much more to come on the awesome Ladakh adventure, including hiking high passes and unreal landscapes, watching our dinner get caught, an aborted landing when arriving back in Delhi, trying to figure out the point when Ladakhis look their age, the wonders of Diamox (an altitude drug), comparing life on a Ladakh trek to life on a Nepalese trek, and a day-by-day account of the trip; however, I felt it important to start with the story of my first intense foot pummeling.

The Supporting Cast

In life there are people that you don't really know but interact with on a daily basis. It might be your mailman, it might be your coffee barista. They're the people that make your life easier or simply give you a familiar smile each day. There are no shortage of these characters in my life in India; in fact, they seem more prevalent here than at home. Perhaps it's the comfort of learning a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. Perhaps it's just a coping mechanism to make myself feel more a part of this place.

I often ramble on and on about my trusty driver Kailash (and he'll be mentioned a time or two); these are the other "characters" that make up part of the supporting cast of my daily life.

The Yo Dimsum! Guy
At work there's a guy that mans the Yo Dimsum! momo stand. He speaks more English than I do Hindi but not by much. When he sees me approaching, he can pretty much guess my order by the time of the day. If it's before 2pm, he knows I've forgotten to bring my lunch and will be ordering chicken manchurian and a Diet Coke. If after 2pm, it's only a Diet Coke. He knows I want the coldest Diet Coke possible. He had a new helper one day that pulled a Diet Coke from the fridge. Yo Dimsum! Guy quickly pulled the soda from his hand an fished around for the coldest can in the back of the cooler. He also has the coldest Diet Coke and he knows the only American in the office is an easy target. I also appreciate the trust we've built. At any given time, depending on the availability of change (which is always in question) we have a plus or minus 5 rupee line of credit, and he actually remembers when he owes me.

The Little Caesars Guy
Before I made the obvious realization that Yo Dimsum took a lot less time than pizza, my food vendor of choice was the Little Caesars Guy. In India, in addition to chili flakes and oregano, it's not uncommon for people to put ketchup on pizza. I find this ridiculous and wrong on a number of levels. Little Caesars Guy knows that I find this ridiculous. Yet any time I order a pizza, he'll start to laugh and hand me the bottle of ketchup. I respect that.

The Head Locker Room Attendant
This guy is one of my favorites. He greets me every morning with a smile, polite nod, and a "good morning, sir." After I empty my bag into a locker and turn to head for the treadmill, he passes a hand towel to me in stride. He's very efficient. After my workout, he'll place a towel near my locker as I get ready to hit the shower. When I return from the shower he empties my belongings from the locker onto the bench, waits for me to dry my feet, and then dries my flip-flops before packing my bag. My Dad witnessed this entire scene when he visited in March, and I could see him visibly shaking his head with a "I can't believe my son's life has come to this" kind of look on his face.

The Head Locker Room Attendant's Helper
To make it even more ridiculous, he has a helper. The helper is equally friendly and always gives me a smile. The helper has taken it upon himself to basically be my dopp kit concierge. He'll take my dopp kit from the shower to the sink and routinely wipe off my shaving cream bottle for me. I never asked for this nor did I ever expect it. But who would I be to turn down this type of service? He recently took some time away from work (I would assume he went back to his home village which seems to be the usual reason given for extended absences). After about the third day of him not being there, I felt this strange void. He was part of my routine and it had abruptly ended. I had no explanation nor would I ever get one. Finally last week, he was back. And I was genuinely happy to see him again.

The Building Maintenance Guy
My apartment building has a general maintenance guy that does odd jobs around the building, keeps the hallways clean, and empties the trash. He'll frequently greet me with "good morning, sir" (yes, everyone calls me sir; it's just the way it is, I can't change that) and then will switch over to Hindi with "ab ka se ho" (how are you?) before he starts a friendly laugh, knowing that I can respond to that and not much else. I've got my trusty driver Kailash to thank for telling this guy he was trying to teach me Hindi.

Birendra the Guard
There's a rotation of five or six guards at our building. Some are friendlier and engage a little more readily than others. As a result, you tend to create "favorites". Birendra was unquestionably the favorite of both Lindsay and myself. He always had a smile, always made sure to either hold or give our drivers any delivered packages, and just had "that" look that made you think he was a genuinely good person. We hadn't seen Birendra around in a couple weeks. I asked Kailash, who may know more about the inner workings of our apartment complex than any other human, where Birendra had been. Fortunately for Birendra, he had found a better job in Lucknow, which is much closer to his hometown where he could live with family. Unfortunately for us, we never got to say good bye. Something tells me, his fortune is more important than our disfortune (if that's a word).

Birendra with Lindsay

In addition to the friends we've made and the professional relationships we've built, when we leave India at the end of the year, there's a whole host of other people that will more or less disappear from our lives. It's not much different than what happens when you move at home or simply change your daily routine; however, for some reason it seems more significant here. And you're probably thinking, "maybe it seems more significant because there's a person in your life that dries your flip-flops." While that's entirely possible, that person is simply performing a personal service like your mailman or your preferred Starbucks barista, it's just a personal service that, out of context, seems ridiculous. OK, it's actually a little ridiculous in context as well.

"Today is a Good Day, Sir"

My morning routine is fairly straightforward. I wake up, eat, read the news or any number of social media for a while, and by around 9:45am I head to the gym (I'm not that unmotivated professionally, I just work later hours). While on this drive to the gym I ask my trusty driver Kailash how he's doing (either in English or Hindi as this is one of my six Hindi phrases). His response usually varies from being fine to the weather. Often, he'll quickly follow up his response with a question that begins with the phrase, "Excuse me, sir, in your country..." where he's curious about how life in "my country" compares to India.

Yesterday, his response varied in the slightest. Yesterday he responded, "I am fine today. Today is a good day, sir" (emphasizing the "good"). A response like this was sure to pique my interest so I asked him why it was such a good day.

By 9:45am, in the amount of time I had woken up, made two or three witty responses (in my clouded just-waking up-mind, at least) to status updates on Facebook, and played a couple rounds of Words with Friends, Kailash had had his mind set on more serious matters. He had set his wedding date.

On November 16, Kailash will marry his fiance Aarti. Will we be invited? Would we attend? I really hope we get invited as it's a wedding invitation that we'd keep forever; unfortunately, assuming we are invited it might be a tough event to attend since it's taking place on a Wednesday in a small village outside Khajuraho in Madhya Pradesh (not exactly easy to get to from Gurgaon in the middle of the week).

Even though he'll be greatly missed for the middle of November, a time right before we end this assignment and head back to the states, I couldn't help but appreciate how genuinely happy he was as he told me his news. Yesterday was definitely a good day.

"New" Experiences

After sleeping seven hours on the flight home, waking up at what would be around midnight central time, landing five hours later, and keeping myself moving through the day (including a jog, a late breakfast with the in-laws, free Starbucks, and a outdoors clothing shopping), I’m happy to report that I’m not yet suffering the effects of jet lag. It will come; I know it will. It’s just a matter of time; however, I’ll take what I can get. To further stave off the moment when my body just quits for the day, here’s a quick list of twelve experiences from by my first twelve hours home that I hadn’t experienced since I last left American soil:

• Drank milk that was refrigerated at the time of purchase
• Emptied a dishwasher
• Ate at a restaurant specializing in breakfast
• Placed clothes in a washing machine
• Dropped clothes at a drycleaner
• Drove on the right side of the road (the only driving I’ve done in the past six months was in Bali, Indoensia which is like India andf a left side drive)
• Opened a sunroof
• Entered a garage
• Recieved a hug from a child
• Listened to the radio in a car
• Purchased a The North Face product
• Updated my resume (to any colleagues who may be reading, this is entirely for exploring internal opportunities after the assignment)

All in all, a pretty eventful and "normal" first twelve hours.

The Two Week Itch

Wednesday after work I head back to Chicago for my second of two home leaves during this assignment. It's my last planned trip before the end of the year. The build up to the trip feels different; something is missing. Two weeks before every time I've left India, whether it be to go home or just for a vacation out of country, I get the itch. For whatever reason, two weeks before I leave I typically have the distinct desire, which quickly escalates into a "need", to get out of the country as soon as possible.

Wednesday's plane should be a little bigger, but you get the idea....

Typically, every little thing about the country bothers me. The traffic becomes unbearably chaotic, elevators skipping past my floor annoy me, the strategically placed speed bumps come more frequently, beggars are more attracted to my car than usual, all the beer starts to taste like Miller Lite (not a good thing), and the locals' English becomes more difficult to understand (not that I've tried to improve my Hindi).

This trip? No itch. None of those things are bothering me; well, except maybe the beer.

While I'm happy that I get to go home to reconnect with friends and family, for the first time I don't feel like I "have" to go back. Maybe I finally see India as home. Maybe it's the fact my parents were here in March and Lindsay's Mom was here in February. Maybe it's the visitors and travels planned through the rest of the year.  Maybe work is just busy and there's a lot to get done. Maybe I'm running out of time in India, and it signals the start of "the end."

So it's a short week of work, a week of family and friends in Chicago and Moline, a weekend with my buddies in Memphis, and three days in the office in the U.S. (you know, it's never a bad thing to show your face in your home office every few months). It's going to be a fun trip home, but I've got to admit, I think I'll be ready to board that flight back home to India on May 19.

ICC Cricket World Cup

In a country where cricket is king winning the cricket world cup is understandably a big deal. Last night India did just that on home turf in Mumbai.

Cricket is still a sport where the highest level of the game is played at the national team level and country matters first. India is also a country where there no other sports. Hypothetically, in the US, the national basketball team could only be as big of a deal if:

• the best players consistently played on the team rather than only when public pressure built to the point where they're basically forced
• players' careers were measured in titles won with the national team instead of a club team
• there were no other sports to watch
• the population of the US suddenly quadrupled

Saturday's final seemed a little like the US ice hockey team at the 1980 Olympics. Casual sports fans remember the US beating Russia and that the US won the gold. Those casual fans don't realize that the US actually won the gold with the next game by beating Finland. It's not that India anything like the underdog that the US was; it's that this cup will be more remembered for the game that got them to the final than the final itself. Wednesday's semi-final just seemed bigger. It was more anticipated and, let's be honest, just had the feel of a bigger event.

On Wednesday, India played Pakistan. I joked on Facebook that this rivalry was a little like the sports rivalry between New York and Boston if only both cities felt they had a right to Rhode Island and Connecticut. With all due respect to the Yankees/Red Sox, Ohio State/Michigan's and Duke/North Carolina's out there, I'm not sure there's a more heated rivalry in all of sports. There certainly isn't a rivalry that unites more people (I know, there are 1.2 billion people in India; however, how often do you get 99%+ of any number of people to agree on anything much less 1.2 billion people).

The format of the world cup was basic One Day International (ODI) rules, which amounts to a 50 over match. An "over" is a set of 6 bowls (i.e., pitches), so in effect each team gets 300 attempts to score. As a result, the match typically takes around 8 hours to play. Yep, 8 hours. All the matches started at 2:30pm IST, which for Wednesday's Pakistan match was right in the middle of the work day. To try and stem absenteeism, large screens were placed in the cafeterias. It worked to some extent but safe to assume that productivity was low. All afternoon, from three floors above the cafeteria, I constantly heard cheers erupting whenever India scored.

Personally, I left the office around 6:30pm when India had finished batting to watch Pakistan chase from home (unlike baseball where teams alternate batting throughout the game; in cricket one team bats their entire game, called "innings", and then the other team tries to chase). Even the apartment complex had a feeling of community as a large screen was set up on the lawn to accomodate the expected crowd. We filled a cooler with some beverages and headed down with our friends to watch.

Wednesday evening at our complex

The lawn was divided into two primary groups. A set of tables and chairs for the residents near the screen and a section of drivers, off duty guards, and other domestic help sitting on a small knoll in the back. Unfortunately, very class centric. It was on this knoll where both our drivers watched the game. I think they were just relieved that we were also watching so that they could as well (for Saturday's final, Kailash very politely probed about what our plans were that day and seemed quite relieved that I told him he'd be finished in time to watch the second half of the match).

Our driver's Kailash and Ashok, India captured a wicket seconds after this shot, explaining Ashok's refusal to look at the camera

In what I'm hoping was the drivers and guards attempt to stick it to the rich people, they were listening on radio. The television feed was on about a three second delay. As a result, anytime something good happened, they would erupt prematurely before those in the front would react. I loved it.

Obviously, India won that match and then successfully chased down Sri Lanka last night. Well I have no long-term allegiance to the Indian cricket team, I'm most anticipating how excited everyone at the office will be on Monday. While I'm by no means a cricket expert, it's amazing how much more enjoyable it is to watch when you understand the basic rules and scoring. Do I need to go sit in the stands for a 5-day test match? Probably not. Would I go see a quick 20 over Indian Premiere League match this spring? Absolutely.

Party Planning Made Easy

I'm feeling extremely lazy and perhaps a little more guilty about that laziness than usual. This weekend, tomorrow to be exact, is Lindsay's birthday. Our friend Kristin and I are co-hosting a party tonight for both Lindsay and another friend, Sukhraj, whose birthday was Tuesday. Hosting a party here takes a slightly different effort level than hosting a party in the states.

In the past when I've hosted birthday parties for Lindsay, they've been extremely busy affairs where I've spent the entire day prepping for the party. That prep would start with trips to Costco, the grocery store, and Binny's Beverage Depot. It continues with a day of cooking (back when I used to do that) with Lindsay's Mom and finish by getting the house set up and ready to go. Busy days, to say the least, but I'm going to pat myself on the should and say that I typically do a pretty good job.

Not exactly the same here.

Today, the cook is dealing with all of the food purchasing and preparation. She appears to have a helper (whom I believe is her sister-in-law) in the kitchen with her, so I'm glad someone can help her out. My trusty driver Kailash has been kind enough to find a cooler (in hindsight, probably should have just thrown an extra cooler in the shipment from home) for me and also scout where we need to go to purchase ice. At first he mentioned thinking we'd need to go to the "Toll Plaza Market" (which to be honest, I had never heard of) but found a wine shop at Galleria that would save us some until later in the evening. He also found time to stop and by the wife flowers. I thought it would be a nice touch, you know, since I've been so busy.

While all this has been going on, I've been busy writing and trying to figure out how to organize pictures. We're also expecting a delivery from Sharma Farm, so I can use that as an excuse for why I need to stay close to home. At this point they're two hours late and claiming to just realize that we live in Gurgaon and not Delhi, so I'm thinking that delivery might not take place today.

Regardless, I'm looking forward to a fun party tonight. I'm just glad I could do so much to help get ready for it.

What's It Like to Have a Cook?

In a word? Awesome.

The title of this post is invariably one of the first questions people from home ask about life in India (it's usually preceded or directly followed by some comment about how difficult it will be for me to adjust to life in the states when this thing is over).

Our cook, Yashoda

The services our cook provides are basically (we don't have a contract or anything, but this is the generally agreed upon workload):

• One prepared meal per day, Monday through Saturday
• One pot of coffee each morning with breakfast items set out, Monday through Saturday
• Laundry (up to but not including putting items in closets) as demand dictates

I recognize laundry isn't technically a cooking service, but we cut a deal. In India, you'll find any number of different combinations of services with domestic help. The services listed above are provided for a reasonable enough monthly expense (which I'm not going to disclose here as there's a chance I'm way overpaying and don't want to look like a complete sap). Said another way, if you're a middle-class American and someone offered you these services for that same reasonable enough monthly expense, you wouldn't bat an eye and you'd sign on the dotted line. Every one of you.

Our schedule is, to say the least, screwy while here on assignment. Our general work hours are noon - 9pm so that we have at least some overlap time with our counterparts in the United States. That being said, there are rare days when we're home earlier, many days when we're home slightly later, some days when we're home significantly later, and fewer days when we get home at the same time. Yashoda, our fearless cook, then has the flexibility to cook at any point in the day and we simply heat up whatever she's made when we get home. And yes, I recognize eating that late at night isn't the healthiest of eating habits. I've come to terms with that.

The second most asked question (and probably the most asked question from people here) is, "What kind of food does she make?" This is a roundabout way for Indians to find out whether or not I'm eating Indian food at home.

She typically will make Indian twice a week or so and some sort of more Western dish the rest. Her vegetarian / non-veg split is probably something like 1/3 compared to 2/3. We didn't really give her any direction before she started and basically said, "just start cooking and we'll tell if you we don't like it." There are definitely things I haven't liked (pizza = excruciatingly bad) and things I like better than others; however, for the most part, she does a very nice job.

She makes her own tortillas (not really that different from Indian breads) so she frequently makes fajitas (we brought a nice little supply of seasoning packets). Other staples include baked macaroni and cheese, butter chicken (her version is really more of a butter chicken / Thai red curry hybrid; regardless, it's delicious), and pasta with homemade sauce. Last week she made bagels. Really good bagels. Last night she made gnocchi. It's tough to compare it to my favorite gnocchi (DiPiero's in Lake Zurich which is likely to never be topped) but I've been at restaurants and had much, much worse gnocchi than what she produced in my kitchen last night.

As a whole, Lindsay and I were extremely lucky to find Yashoda (she was a neighbor's nanny just looking to pick up a mid-day job while she had a break). She speaks excellent English, can read recipes, and can write. These may seem like basic skills that most of us take for granted, but based on some of the other horror stories I've heard and read about domestic help, I couldn't be more grateful. Bottom line, she takes excellent care of us. We're very lucky.

This kind of takes me back to the comment people often make when asking about the cook and the adjustment to "normal" life I'll be forced to make at some point. My reaction to that? I'll appreciate the added time to my days and worry about that when the time comes. I mean, it's still ten months away, plenty of time to worry about that whole adjustment thing.

The Newly Discovered Option

I have an iPod. It was purchased in 2004. It doesn't have video. It has a gray screen. It stores 20GB, which seemed like an unlimited supply of music when it was purchased. It still works and for that I am grateful. It is, however, old. When you put it next to a new iPod it looks like an Apple IIc sitting next to a Mac PowerBook. All that said, I didn't realize exactly how old it was until the other day.

Even my playlists are old, though just wait when the college kids hear about this band.

The car provided to us here is the Honda City, which is basically a mini Honda Civic. They're relatively new and clean yet fairly basic modes of transport with few frills. Regardless, they get the job done. I recently learned that if you flipped the face of the radio down, it opened a secret compartment with a USB cable. We never really listen to Indian radio so this cable was the opening to a whole new world of listening to music while in the car. To be honest, when you're always in the car with another person, lack of music doesn't really seem like that big of a thing; however, any new discovery (even something as mundane as a USB cable) seems like a bigger deal here than it really is.

My trusty driver Kailash piloting the Honda City

I plugged my iPod into the car and expected instant gratification. The display on the radio said, "Loading...", which as you might expect I took as a good sign. A few seconds later the display switched. It read "Old iPod" and was followed by silence. My dream was dashed. Temporarily.

Not to be defeated, a few days later I remembered (I can be a little slow at times) that the wife had a slightly newer iPod. I went through the routine again. After the display read, "Loading", something magical happened. The iPod started to play. It would only play the playlist that was previously playing but alas there was music. I was fairly certain I could at least change the song by hitting the "forward" button the radio, but when you're being chauffered around, it can be a little awkward to reach into the front seat. Plus, I can't say "next song" in Hindi and didn't feel like I really needed to bother the driver to change the song. Regardless, I was happy to just have music in the car, even though I really hadn't missed it.

On Sunday we headed into Delhi and I figured I'd bring the iPod along for the ride. Ashok, our Sunday driver and the driver I consider to be Lindsay's, stepped out of the vehicle to call for directions to Sharma Farms (more on that in the next couple days) and I took the opportunity to plug the iPod into the USB. When Ashok hopped back in the car, he seemed surprised that there was music playing. He immediately flipped down the radio cover, pulled out a small object, and said, "Here, sir." Surprised, he handed me a remote control. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I was surprised that there was a remote or that my trusty driver Kailash (with whom we had made the working iPod revelation) had neglected to tell me about the remote the day before.

The remote (with Ashok safely navigating a roundabout in the background) 

I'm just relieved that my "stuck on one playlist/song" issue that I discovered the day before had magically disappeared. Such are the issues you encounter when you're stuck riding in the back of a car seat for two years.