A Rolling Pin Saves My Day

This morning I became yet another unfortunate case study about how used to convenience I've become. The coffee grinder broke. This disappointed me because we're about three weeks from leaving and it's not worth buying another coffee grinder with one of those funny Indian plugs. I had resigned myself to the fact that I would be forced to overpay for some ground coffee at one of the import grocery stores. I was prepared to pay whatever price was asked; it was worth it to not go without coffee for my final three weeks.

Then something happened. I heard a weird crunching sound in the kitchen. Thinking that maybe our cook Yashoda was trying to fix the grinder, I went in to stop her, telling her that I'd go out and buy some ground coffee today. Much to my surprise, she was nowhere near the grinder. She was busy crushing beans with a rolling pin. In my clouded, decaffeinated head, I had entirely forgot there might be another solution; well, that and the fact I had never thought to grind coffee with a rolling pin.

Many thanks to Yashoda for her resourcefulness and, more imporantly, mitigating what would have been a crankier than average day.

(Sadly, this is only the second most interesting thing I've seen a rolling pin used for during this assignment. The most interesting, and it's an entirely different story but one with pictures that I would need to request permission to publish (there's nothing indecent about them, it's just a little weird), involves kneading out tight muscles during the trek in Ladakh. Judith, just give me permission. I'm sure people want to see.)

Ignoring Rule One

As a first general rule, I ignore children. Well, at least the children that see my white face behind my car window and immediately expect I want to give them money. The "tap, tap, tap" with a sad or hungry looking face is one of the first thing that shocks you about this country and is, invariably, one of the first things to which you become desensitized. 

As a second general rule, when I ignore the first rule and for some reason want to take a photograph of the sad or hungry looking child, I will give them money. Mind you, I don't ignore the first general rule often. On Sunday, while playing with my new camera from the back seat of the car, I decided to break that first rule.

There's a fine line between the children that want their picture taken for money and the children that want their picture taken so they can see their image on the screen. This kid, obviously fell in the former category. As soon as you take a picture like this, your immediate reaction is guilt. It feels like you're exploiting or encouraging the behavior. The more I think about it, I would never stick a camera in the face of a beggar on the streets of Chicago so it's probably more exploitative than I care to admit. As soon as a street child sees that big DSLR in a car, much less pointed at her, she immediately thinks money. And she's right. If I'm going to take advantage of her situation, the least I could do is pay for the situation.

In my head, I had decided that the photograph was "worth" 10 rupees. I have no idea if this is comically high or comically low, and I can't explain how I arrived at that figure; it just seemed "right". Unfortunately, after taking this picture I realized I didn't have any small bills handy. I immediately turned to Lindsay, but all she had was a fifty. In my head, that seemed inappropriately high. I fumbled some more into my pockets to make sure I didn't have a small bill. I didn't. I then, starting to panic a bit, asked my trusty driver Kailash if he had any small bills. He didn't have a ten but did have a five. I rolled the window down a bit and handed the girl the five, feeling guilty that I hadn't give enough. I then asked Lindsay if she had any coins. Since the girl saw us fumbling, she knew she had a better chance getting more money from us than moving to the next car. Lindsay found three 2-rupee coins, so I rolled the window back down a crack and gave the girl the additional money. Eleven rupees seemed more than fair. Unfortunately, by this time, the stoplight had turned back to red, which just meant that she'd keep us company for another couple minutes.

Stoplights can be annoying long. This type of situation only amplifies the length of time that red light seems to stay red. After what seemed like a good eight minutes, the light turned green and we were finally on our way. In total, I felt guilty that about acting like a tourist. I felt guilty for exploiting a street child for the benefit of a photograph, and I felt guilty that I had to have my driver fund that endeavor. At the next stoplight, I ended up giving Kailash the fifty note to pay him back for the five he had given me; a pretty good investment on his part, in the end, he may have been the real winner.

The All-American Diner

People often ask, "what food do you miss most?" There's any range of answers to that question depending on my day and mood. While not so much a "food", one of the eating experiences I do miss is going out for breakfast on a Saturday or Sunday morning. The concept of going to a restaurant or diner, sitting down with a newspaper, eating something not entirely healthy, and drinking a bottomless cup of coffee just hasn't taken off in India. Sunday, we found the closest thing.

Part of the issue is that it's just a "later" culture here; people stay up late, get up late, and before you know it the morning is gone. You can imagine our surprise when we were invited out for "brunch" with a co-worker and his wife and were asked if we could meet them at 10am. Nothing starts at 10am in India. (Note, the Sunday brunches in India that we've been known to frequent start at 1pm and consist of foods like sushi, crab legs, and momo's; not exactly bacon and omelets).

That changed on Sunday when we went to The All-American Diner at the India Habitat Centre. For all intents and purposes, they've recreated exactly what the name would imply. Unlike so many restaurants in India that try and serve a little bit of everything and don't really master anything, this diner had a purpose. Omelets and bacon? Yep. Burgers and fries? Yep. Nope. Malts and shakes? Yep. Hot dogs and onion rings? Yep. Murgh malai tikka and pasta? Nope.

Reminded me a little of a Steak and Shake on the inside

I was shocked to find a place that was not only full by 10am but required us to wait at least 30 minutes to get a table. Overall, the food was really good. I went with a "Sante Fe Skillet", which wasn't exactly what you'd get in the US (it was scrambled eggs with green chilis, chicken sausage, and a hash brown); however, I've got to admit it was the best breakfast food I've had in India. Lindsay had some sort of omelet and declared it the best she's had as well. I think she was relieved to not have to order the omelet "well done" (which is usually the case when ordering at a hotel else you end up with an egg dish that's cooked on the outside and still liquid on the inside).

Sante Fe Skillet

In a country known for noise and chaos, the one thing the diner was missing was noise and chaos. There was no pushy waitress trying to turn as many tables as possible to increase her tips. There weren't lurkers hovering for the next open table. There weren't the sounds and smells of an open kitchen behind the stools. Even without that part of the experience, for what it was, The All-American Diner was as good an American restaurant in India as most Chinese restaurants probably are in the US that are trying to bring another cuisine halfway around the world. 

I Hate Emporiums

One thing I really hate about India is the emporiums. If you're on some sort of guided tour or have hired a driver, they invariably want to take you to one. If you've been to India, you've likely visited one of these horrible establishments. Often it starts as a demonstration where you see how the local tradesmen labor to produce the local handicraft of future heirloom. Shortly after the demonstration you're ushered into a showroom where you're presented the option to purchase any and all of your Indian souvenir desires, from overpriced elephant statues to overpriced "real" pashminas to overpriced silk rugs to overpriced inlaid marble tables.

Phase One, the demonstration

So why would anyone go there? It's easy (and probably obvious): commissions.

Let's say I was hypothetically having a conversation with a driver. Let's say hypothetically he offered up what his commission is when he takes customers into emporiums when traveling. I always knew the concept existed but had no idea exactly how it worked. Yesterday, I hypothetically found out (I'm sure if a driver were to actually give away this secret, they'd be blackballed from the hypothetical drivers' union, kind of like when a magician gives away how tricks are performed.)

With commissions, there's nothing too magical. It's a fairly simply two-tiered commission approach. For getting a customer in the door, the driver receives Rs. 200 (about $4.50). That's Rs. 200 for the entire car, not per person. For any item purchased, the driver receives 20% of the sales price.

This explains the drivers' incentive for hauling customers into these shops. There's a relatively rich reward (while Rs. 200 might not sound like much to you, it actually makes a difference to a driver) just for getting someone there. In the off chance the driver is lucky enough to have someone purchase something, the reward quickly escalates into weeks or even months (if there's a particularly gullible mark) of wages.

While I still hate emporiums, I now see limited value. If you have a driver that you particularly like, emporiums become an easy (and cost effective way) to put a little something extra in their pocket. Just make sure you walk in, feign interest for no more than five minutes, and walk straight back out.

Just don't spend too much time. There are far better things to see in India than the inside of an overpriced store full of knick-knacks.

The Shortest Commute in India

For the past 17 months, I've had the shortest commute in India.

That's not scientifically proven, mind you, but for those that work outside the home, I would put my commute up against just about anyone. I can see my apartment building from the men's room. I timed my walk home one day: seven minutes from desk to door. And I had to wait for an elevator. I'm a lazy enough expat that you'd expect I might call a driver for a ride. Unfortunately, with the way Indian roads work, you have to turn the wrong direction, drive a half mile, pull a U-turn, drive a mile the other way, pull another U-turn at a roundabout, and then drive back up to get to our apartment complex entrance, which sits not more than 50 yards from my office. Believe me, walking is just easier.

My claim to the shortest commute in India ends soon. I was recently told that I'd be shifting offices to my company's other facility in Gurgaon. While my new commute of fifteen to twenty minutes actually makes business sense and isn't bad my most standards (including what I was used to in the Chicago suburbs and especially compared to some of the horror stories I hear from others at work where total commute time regularly tops 90 minutes each direction), I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss that walk home each night.

Granted, there's something to be said for some separation between work and personal life where you neither see your apartment from the wash room nor your office each time you leave your home. However, the lack of traffic stress (really not that much stress in the grand scheme of things) and basically zero commute (especially on those days I work well into the US shift), has been an unexpected indirect benefit of this experience. For the past 17 months, I've been spoiled (and playfully remind others that I can simply walk home; they'd expect nothing less from me), we'll see how it goes when I have a "normal" length commute which is still abnormally short by "new" Indian standards.

Something tells me that any complaints will go ignored.

yTravel Blog Interview

Every couple weeks one of the general purpose travel blogs I follow closely, yTravelBlog, has a "post your URL" Facebook gimmick where they invite followers to post a comment with a short description of their travel blogs. I've found it a great resource to find new and often like-minded travelers to follow. Of all the URL's posted, they select one at random and invite them to answer a few questions about their blog, background, and current location. As luck (I wish I could have said it was talent, but it was definitely luck) would have it, my number was selected a couple weeks ago.

Here's my attempt at sharing with a slightly wider audience what my expat life is like in India. And yes, I complain about the ironic lack of IPA and make reference to the fictional greater Chicagoland area, which if nothing else will make Jim Heenan laugh.

yTravelBlog is the brainchild of Craig and Caz Makepeace, an Australian couple that has spent the past 14 years traveling and living abroad. They've created a great resource for travelers, including deals, ideas, photographs, and dialogue (though most importantly, they just seem the type that would be fun to run into at the end of the day to swap stories over a nice cold one).

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).

The Ease of Indian Air Travel

One underrated aspect of Indian travel is that most airline tickets are refundable. Not entirely refundable, but with a reasonable fee (typically somewhere between Rs. 250 - 1000 per direction), you can get out of a ticket. With the Indian Airlines faction of the Air India pilots striking, this refundable property came in quite handy over the weekend.

I bought tickets for a quick day trip up to Amritsar to hit the two major sites in and around the Punjabi city: the Golden Temple and the Wagah ceremony at the Pakistani border. We were scheduled on JetLite (the discount version of Jet Airways) for the trip there and Air India for the return. Originally, I had decided on the Air India flight because it was just under Rs. 1500 (like $35 per ticket), and it's just fun to say you can buy a one-way ticket for $35 so I jumped at the opportunity. Unfortunately, on Wednesday came the strike.

In light of the strike, which hit random flights, the group I was buying tickets for (which consisted of the wife, my Indian boss, and my American boss, also known as three people I should probably try to keep happy) decided to error on the side of "let's make sure we get back to Delhi on Saturday night". Thankfully, for around $20 per person, we were able to make the switch and get onto a Kingfisher flight back an hour earlier. The most surprising thing was that Kingfisher had done the right thing and elected not to gouge potential customers. Even buying the ticket the day before the flight, the price remained constant (about Rs. 4000) to the one I had ignored ten days previously in favor of Air India.

The airport seemed busier than usual. The non-Air India counters were full so it took more time than usual, but it was faster than it could have been since my Indian boss somehow talked his way to a shorter line and we jumped over after were quickly checked in and through security. Our JetLite flight was ultimately delayed about 90 minutes, which was annoying but wasn't the end of the world. The dude I ultimately sat next to on the plane was headed back home to Amritsar for the first time in two years after working as a laborer in Australia. He had arrived in Delhi from Australia last night, had his Air India flight canceled, and was still in good spirits after spending the night in the airport and a fresh delay from a new airline.

Even with all these challenges, I've got to admit, the entire air travel process in India is easier and more customer friendly than that of the United States; that is, as long as you're fine with getting frisked, an act which is performed on 100% of air travelers in India.

Running Out of Time?

I was a swimmer in high school, or at least I tried to be. Because there's not much else to do while under water and I, ahem, tend to be the cerebral sort, each evening (and most mornings) at practice I'd count the laps and calculate in my head how far through a set I was. If I was on the fifth fifty in a twenty fifty set on the minute (for those unfamiliar with the ins and outs of high school swimming, this is a fairly typical warm-up of 1000 yards, or at least it was in my day), I knew I was 25% of the way there. Or in my head, I knew that I still had to swim three times as far as I had already come. For some reason, this only consumed my thoughts for the first half of any particular set.

The first year of this two year assignment was similar. After two months, I told myself, "OK, now I just need to do that eleven more times and this little thing is over." Once you cross the halfway point, however, a strange thing happens. Your mindset changes from being a certain proportion of the way through the assignment to "oh crap, I only have eight months left." Considering my first experience in India in 2005 lasted six months in total and seemed an eternity at the time (in a good way), eight months should more than suffice.

But it doesn't. I'm running out of time.

You start to more carefully plan your weekends. You take a more critical look at the places you want to travel. You selfishly plan visitors' travel around your plans because, hey, they probably don't know better and are just happy to be in India. You start to consume your imported food a little less carefully because there's no point in taking it back where it came from. You make sure you actually go to that restaurant you've been wanting to try or back to that old favorite you "need" to try again.

This may also be because the wife and I tend to be planners. The year is basically planned out (knowing that we still need to find time to, you know, work and fulfill the formal reason why we're here in the first place):

• May - Home leave for two weeks and then a weekend in Ranthambore
• June - Visitors the second half of the month
• July - Trek in Ladakh for the first half of the month
• September - Long weekend in UAE (still not totally decided but Lindsay REALLY wants to go; something tells me we'll go)
• October - Two sets of visitors across all four weekends
• November - Some sort of short going away trip in this part of the world where the sole criteria is "crystal clear water"

When you get that volume of stuff (and I have no complaints, it's all going to be amazing stuff) on the calendar and throw in the fact that we need to find time to move back to the states, it doesn't leave as much time as eight months might otherwise suggest. In a way, it's good. It forces you to do new things because the opportunity will only be there for so long; however, at some point the expat experience becomes less about travel and more about living. I'm no going to lie, it becomes difficult to balance finding new opportunities with the need to re-experience things more familiar.

The Short Demise of the Pink Auto Rickshaw

In mid-February, I saw my first pink covered auto-rickshaw. I wrote this post wondering exactly what the deal was.

As you can tell from the photo, the purported "intent" was to provide a gender-specific (and seemingly safe) mode of transport. Fast forward two months and I've seen the pink rickshaws out and about again in the streets of Gurgaon. With one slight change. The "womens only" markings have been removed and now it's just a funny looking plain green auto-rickshaw with a pink lid.

Apparently, the little experiment failed. I think that's a good thing. In one tiny little way, it seems like the women of Gurgaon are safer. At the least, there isn't a blinking sign indicating that there's a woman on board these cheap little modes of transport.

A Fast 28 Days

When my parents first started talking about how long they'd like to come to India, I must admit, I was a little worried. Twenty eight days is a long time. However, after dropping them off at the airport one last time (which my Dad was proud to say was the sixth time he had been there in the past month), it's amazing how quickly those twenty eight days went by.

Sunrise camel ride at Manvar

From all accounts (or at least from what I could tell), they truly enjoyed and appreciated their India experience. India is an odd place; it either endears itself to visitors or chews them up and spits them out. Thankfully, my parents fit into the former category.

It certainly helped that in twenty eight days, they experienced exactly zero travel issues. No delayed flights, no drivers that didn't show, no hotels that had no idea they were coming. The closest thing they came to a travel issue was when I realized that my trusty driver Kailash was visiting his family in Khujaraho and not set to get back on his train until 4:30am when he was supposed to leave at 6:00am to take my parents to Agra. Ashok, Lindsay's driver, without us knowing helped save the day as he picked up Kailash from the train station and got him to our apartment in time. Even Kailash's train was on time. That never happens.

Jain temple at Jaisalmer Fort

In some respects, it will be nice to get back to a "normal" schedule (if such a thing exists here); however, I'm going to admit, I missed it a little this morning when I walked out of my bedroom and they weren't sitting in the living room reading the paper and drinking coffee (I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure they went the full time without actually making a pot of coffee; let's just say they seemed to settle in with the Indian expat level of domestic help without much trouble).

Train platform at Jaipur, yes I wore that blue shirt a lot

On my drive to work this morning, Kailash, who gets more talkative when there are fewer people in the car, lead in with his usual, "Excuse me, sir..." (which is how he gets my attention when he wants to talk). What followed pretty much sums up my parents. "Your mother said she was going to get me some books with English lessons." If you know my Mom, this act wouldn't surprise you. He then said, "And your Dad. He's very much like you. His face looks like you. And he smiles a lot like you too." I'm not so sure I smile THAT much, but months like the last one sure help a person realize how lucky they are to have so much to smile about.

Enough of the sentimental stuff, I'm pretty sure Kailash just liked my Dad, a life-long employee of John Deere, because somehow they had a very in depth and highly developed 90 minute conversation about tractors on the way back from the Taj Mahal. "In depth" as in, Kailash was letting my Dad know what manufacturers were most popular in certain regions of India. Suffice to say, Dad was a little surprised by Kailash's knowledge of farm implements.

It's green and yellow but might not run like a Deere.

The Other Mr. and Mrs. Luth Go to India

We're nearing the halfway mark of my parents near March-long visit to India. While we're not spending the entire time with them, the wife definitely deserves consideration for some sort of "daughter-in-law of the year" award for agreeing to a 28 day on-again-off-again visit. When all is said and done, they'll get a nice cross section of the country, including trips to Kerala, Agra, and Varanasi on their own and a quick tour through Rajasthan with Lindsay and myself that starts in the morning (Jaipur, Jodhpur, and Jaisalmer). In addition to the travel, we're also attempting to initiate them to our slightly ridiculous lives in Gurgaon.

Our cook Yashoda surprised them with a traditional 5-star hotel welcome.

My biggest worry about their visit was how quickly they might adapt and that they'd feel comfortable moving about Delhi and Gurgaon on their own. That worry has entirely subsided. Not only are they moving freely about the sites and markets of Delhi (with, of course, the assistance of my trusty driver Kailash, whom my mother has yet to pronounce his name the same way twice), but quotes (or slight paraphrases) I've heard include:

• "I could get pretty used to this driver thing."
• "This weather is just like San Diego!"
• "What do you mean we're not planning to go to brunch this Sunday?"
• "The driver helped bargain for fresh flowers!"
• "Thanks for the lunch recommendation but there were just too many tourists at the restaurant." (followed by them relocating on their own accord to the Imperial Hotel)
• "John, you guys are such great hosts, do you think Lindsay would mind if we extended two or three weeks?"
• "This bag of Dorito's cost ten dollars?!?"

Yep, they seem to have adapted to the expat lifestyle in India just fine.

The "good" Sunday (brunch at Set'z).

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.

Outsourced - Episode 1

The "India" that serves the purpose of the set for Outsourced is very much the environment the organizers of the Commonwealth Games want the world to perceive as India. It's sterilized, organized, and seemingly efficient. The unfortunate truth is that that India doesn't exist. One of the reasons Slumdog Milllionaire was so popular in America was that it gave a fairly decent representation of what urban India actually looks like, including the office where the star was a pantry boy serving tea (yes, that job really exists). That reality is also one of the reasons I believe it's not a terribly popular movie in India. In fact, the only time I've heard it mentioned is in conjunction with AR Rahman and the music he produced for the film.

My point is this, if you're going to produce a show about an American working in India, at least make it look like he's working in India.

In addition, if you're going to produce a show about an American working in India, don't consume all the stereotype jokes in one episode. In fact, you could center entire episodes around a single stereotype and address then in balanced, informed, and funny manner. Arranged marriages? There's an episode. Religious head wear? Another episode. Food? Probably two or three episodes. Personal space? Traffic? Another couple episodes. Cows? Yep, you guessed it, yet another episode. The reality is that differences in culture creates a healthy curiousity which could easily be explored in a manner which is funny without going for the obvious jokes that cater to the lower end of the comedic spectrum.

That being said, I could identify with bits and pieces of the show. Building relationships (i.e., eating with the team) isn't the worst decision you can make. I too, when eating the Indian food at the office (which is admittedly rare), still tend to base my selections on color: I consider red good, yellow average, and green bad (just my personal preference).

The most accurate part of the episode from a business standpoint was when one of the characters was asking about the context of mistletoe as it relates to Christmas. Without that context, these items are simply items. It's easy enough to tell someone from another culture what a thing is, but without also teaching them context, that thing has absolutely no meaning. Of course, the writers took the opportunity to create a mistletoe belt that could be worn for novelty purposes to to try and garner a kiss "down there". The only bright side to this entire exchange was that lead to the only funny line of the episode, when the character responded, "This is how you celebrate the birth of your God?"

Bottom line, the show just wasn't very funny. As mentioned above, there's any number of topics this show could explore around living and working in another country that could prove insightful while still being extremely funny. The producers and writers of this show seem to have taken the easy way have fairly low expectations of what Americans might think is funny. Daniel Fienberg made the best observation I've read about what the show could have been in his review:

"On one imaginary hand, you could have a show about a young American worker who's so grateful to have a job and so intrigued by the idea of moving to a foreign country that he embarks to India determined to eagerly experience a foreign country and having a professional adventure while he's still young enough to enjoy it. Maybe he doesn't love everything he discovers there, but he's constantly having his expectations challenged and he knows that when he returns to the States in a few years, he'll have the sort of stories and experiences you can't pay for. Some weeks he could laugh at the Indians. Some weeks they could laugh at him. Occasionally the writers would have to do a bit of research to learn something about the country they were setting their show in. I would watch this show."

At the end of the day, the premise of this show has potential, and who knows, maybe future episodes will take advantage of that; however, the filtered view it presents of today's India will limit its appeal (and it's longevity). Plus, it just isn't funny.

Shooting at Jama Masjid

When you live in a foreign land and stick out based on your physical appearance, you tend to generally raise your overall awareness of your environment and situations in which you might find yourself. I'm no different. Recognizing that everyone's personal definition of comfort and security is different, I can say with great confidence that I've never been scared for my personal security in India. Uncomfortable? Sure, but that's part of the experience.

While sitting in the protected expat bubble that is Sunday brunch, I looked down at my Blackberry and noticed an "alert" email, which is something I receive a couple times a week. Typically, these emails are about some sort of fuel strike, demonstration, or general security alert. Sunday's was different: two Taiwanese tourists were shot as they were getting onto a tourist bus outside Jama Masjid mosque.

If you've been to Delhi as a tourist, you've likely been to Jama Masjid. It's one of the primary sights in Old Delhi located near Red Fort. I was last there at the beginning of August.

The stairs leading up to Gate 2 of Jama Masjid

A group, the India Mujahideen has claimed responsibility; however, the culprits were able
to get away by motorcycle. Which, if you've been to that area, is not a huge surprise. In August, we explored the maze of side streets (on the opposite side of the mosque where the attack took place) near the mosque. Even with all the kind people we came across in the alleys (including an older man that pointed out my friend, who was ironically here studying terrorism, having dropped money and a young boy that escorted us to the main street while refusing a tip), it would be an easy place to disappear (intentionally or not).

Inside Jama Masjid

The scary part of this situation, which is the very reason terrorism is so "effective", is the random nature of the attack. Something tells me that no matter how aware I remain of my surroundings, I likely wouldn't have thought that passing motorcycle to be a threat as I boarded a bus.

That being said, I worry about people jumping to conclusions on what this means and I don't want to minimize what happened on Sunday morning. Obviously, I'll remain vigilant and maintain a heightened sense of awareness, but this shouldn't be an indictment on the generalized safety level in India specifically. It's unfortunate, but these types of things can and do happen throughout the world. It's unfortunate, but it's a risk we all live with most days.

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.

Slowly Learning Hindi - Update #2

On the way to the office this morning, I received one of the more thoughtful gifts in some time that didn't involve multiple flavors of Crystal Light from a very surprising source. My trusty driver Kailesh, whose English courses the wife decided we'd help subsidize (she's far more charitable than myself), slowed the car and reached to the passenger seat, producing a small Hindi-English phrasebook. Initially, I thought he was just showing me a book he had purchased as part of his course, but it quickly became obvious that the book was a "thank you" for the support and intended to aid the painfully flat learning curve associated with my Hindi skills.

More important than the gift (though it was much needed and even more appreciated), was the absolute joy Kailesh expressed when offering it. He stopped the car and quickly opened the book, picked a page, and read: "English word, 'My name is Robert, I have a  reservation here'; Hindi word, 'mera nam Robert hai, yaham mere nam se kamra araksit hai.' Now your turn!" After I struggled through the translation a time or two (and yes, I absolutely had to go back to the book to get the Hindi translation), he seemed content with my progress and drove the final way to work.

As an expat, there are ups and there are downs. Admittedly, it's much more fun to write about the good and, in India, the quirky and frustrating. It's also more difficult and admittedly rare to express what can sometimes be considered the outright bad,. But it's moments like the drive to work this morning that help on those difficult days and help make this entire experience worthwhile.

Kailesh, ap gari accha chala chelo.

(Hopefully, that's a real sentence.)

Slowly Learning Hindi - Update #1

I'm halfway through the first week of my recommitment to learn at least some Hindi. It's safe to assume that the "informal tier" described in this recent post will be the most effective tier (and yes, it's also the only tier that's been put in motion). For those unwilling to read the prior post, it's my agreement with Kailesh, my trusty driver, to teach me Hindi as he's honing his English, which is actually quite good for someone I can only assume has learned what he knows completely on his own. However, it seems in preparation for the English class in which he enrolled he's taken it upon himself to start my Hindi lessons early.

After three or four days I'm making a little progress but no part of my control or understanding of any part of the language could qualify as even sub-rudimentary. He's focusing on teaching me how to tell him where I need to go. In fact, I can now tell him to take me someplace fairly politely, "Kailesh, Palms Club jana eh" ("Kailesh, I'm going to the Palms Club") or as more of a command, "Kailesh, Palms Club chalo" ("Kailesh, take me to the Palms Club!"). He does seem to appreciate when I get back in the car from the Palms Club and say, "Kailesh, gur jana eh" ("Kailesh, I'm going home"). As you can tell, my command of the word "jana eh" is exemplary and will become my most overused verb.

I actually appreciate him focusing on this part of the language. Not only will I have a chance to communicate with (or surprise) any unruly taxi drivers, but I can also show off in front of unsuspecting visitors when picking them up from the airport.

My primary concern is that my capacity for learning might not meet Kailesh's high expectations. As he dropped me off at the office this morning, he was obviously quite excited with my progress (in the spirit of full disclosure, he mentioned that I seem to be a slightly better pupil than the wife) and started saying something to the effect of, "You must now practice your new words. Today at work, there will be people that speak Hindi. You must practice with them!" I didn't realize I had signed up for homework assignments courtesy of the driver.

Tomorrow I may need to start taking notes....

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.

To Learn or Not to Learn

On the drive to the gym this morning, my driver Kailesh informed me that he was planning to begin an English language course in September and that, if the wife and I were OK with it, he'd be unavailable from 6:00am - 7:00am each day for three months. Considering his shift doesn't typically begin until 8:00am; no complaints. If it had interfered, totally different story...

I'm kidding, of course. I think the wife may have actually agreed to pay for the course, which may have been Kailesh's strategy all along. It's safe to say we would have found a way to work around it if the time wasn't so convenient. Though, special points go to the ingenuity of whoever is offering an English course targeted at drivers and the like as the 6:00am - 7:00am time slot, based on my experience, is pretty much an open slot in the Indian culture.

The reason I write of this is that it really raises a question which is, not surprisingly, more selfish: Why exactly haven't I put forth the effort to learn Hindi?

Granted, Kailesh arguably has a lot more to gain economically from his decision than I would to learn Hindi, but let's be honest, I'm living in a country (for two years after having lived here six months previously) and have made zero effort. It's embarrassing. There really is no good answer.

I've determined a three tiered approach will work best: formal education, informal conversation, and bribery. For formal education, I'll be dusting off the Rosetta Stone from the laptop hard drive. The two times I tried it, it actually seemed an effective learning method for me. For informal conversation, I've made a deal with Kailesh that he'll start to teach me as he learns English better. Of course, I'm basically his boss so I have the power to revoke this at any time. Finally, for the bribery piece I'm going to put some sort of candy bowl at my desk at work. Indians, in my experience at work, love candy. The deal will be simple, take a piece of candy, teach me a word or phrase in Hindi and write it on a note card, English on one side, phonetic Hindi on the other so I have some way to remember it.

Of course, if this is the last you hear of my three tiered learning approach, just assume I'm a unilingual ignoramus being chauffeured around by an English speaking driver. Man, I hope he doesn't quit....