The Morbid Fascination

Locals almost seem morbidly fascinated with the scorching temperatures here and tend to wear it with a badge of pride. When they see a sweating Westerner like myself whom they assume is uncomfortable beyond belief, the first question from their mouth is almost always, "How are you liking the weather?" Translated, this means, "I can tell by the sweat dripping profusely from your head that you are in no way enjoying this country; how are you possibly surviving this heat which is but a slight nuisance to me?"

But here's the thing, it's my second year. I know what it's like. I expect high temperatures. And I never thought I'd say this (and I'm sure it will be followed up with a complaining post later this summer), but it's not that bad. In fact, when I get the "weather" question, my stock response has become, "it's not as bad as last year." I've yet to feel the "hair dryer" effect when walking out of the office at night, though I'm not sure if it's just not that hot or my expectations have changed. Granted, I've only been back in country six days.  Apparently there were a couple hot days while we were gone (46 or 47 Celsius, which in American terms is 115 to 117; I knew it was hot when a colleague responded to my comment from an instant message where I mentioned I was looking forward to returning with the simple phrase, "John, it is hot here").

Sure, when we returned the peanut butter was melting in the cupboard, the hand soap had settled into segmented layers, and it took three days for the air conditioning to actually cool the apartment to a core temperature where it felt like it was working, but these things now seem like slight nuisances. The scorching temperatures have become a morbid fascination.

Again, I've been back six days; the morbid fascination will slowly and surely turn to incessant complaining.

The Laundry Casualty

Since I'm a reasonably fit person, I typically choose to walk the seven minutes it takes to get from my office to the apartment. So when the wife called this evening and asked if I needed a ride home, I told her without a thought that she could go ahead and release the driver.

After my last meeting, I texted Lindsay to let her know I was on my way home. Two minutes later I was set to walk out the door but was greeted by an unseasonable monsoon-ish downpour. This is my third February in the Delhi area. It's the first time I've seen it rain at this time of year. As you might imagine, I wasn't expecting to wait out a heavy downpour before beginning my walk home, but wait it out I was forced to do. I thought I might have left a rain coat in my office so went back upstairs to check. I hadn't. However, when I got back downstairs the rain had decreased in intensity from torrential downpour (which I'm sure flooded streets in Gurgaon) to mild rain shower. Not knowing when it would stop for good, I decided to start my seven minute walk.

The walk itself was incident free. After arriving at home, I was welcomed by Lindsay. She asked, not knowing that the rain had slowed, "How did you get home?" I explained and she responded meekly, "Well, we've had a casualty from the storm. A laundry casualty."

Like most people in India, we don't have a clothes dryer so we hang dry. When you first move here you think it's the biggest inconvenience but the reality is that you just get used to it and plan your laundry needs accordingly. In other words, there's a two day minimum cycle to get items washed, dried, and folded. That cycle can easily extend in the cold winter months. Seeing as how my interaction with the laundry is limited to putting it in a laundry basket when dirty and putting away when folded, it's tough to complain about the extended lead time.

Last night Lindsay had decided to hang the laundry (I'm still not sure why she was doing it but maybe since her Mom is here she wanted to show that we still can occasionally do domestic things; in the spirit of full disclosure, I actually cooked breakfast on Saturday). We hang the laundry on the guest room patio where her Mom is staying. Her Mom, still adjusting somewhat to the time, went to bed early, was awakened by the storm, and heard something on the patio. She and Lindsay checked what was going on and Lindsay noticed an item was missing. My favorite pair of jeans. Thus the laundry casualty.

We live on the first floor (the Indian/British first floor, which is the second floor in America; by the way, I've converted to the Indian way, it makes much more sense, just trust me) so it wasn't a long fall. Lindsay decided she'd go outside in the storm to try and find them. She was soaked immediately and had no luck.

So when I was greeted at the door with the news that my jeans had flown overboard, I grimly changed clothes, grabbed a flashlight (thanks to my friend O'Neill for the going-away gift), and started my search. The guards looked at me a little strange and I all I could do was hope my downstairs neighbors didn't see me snooping around their property in search of a soaked pair of jeans that I had purchased at a Turkish outlet store. After a few minutes without luck, thinking that the jeans had been blown off the deck and hadn't fallen directly down, I flashed the light on my neighbors patio directly below mine. There, sitting in a jumbled blue mess, were my beloved jeans. I quickly turned my light out, trespassed, and grabbed my pants.

I'm not sure there's really a lesson to what's probably the longest story you've ever read about missing laundry; however, if you're ever driving around see people's laundry hanging from their patios, rest assured that the answer to the thought rolling around your head ("I wonder if it ever blows off the drying rack?") is "yep, sure does".

The "No Heat Chill" Factor

Note: All temperatures in this post are in Fahrenheit. I realize I should learn to convert but can only do that when it's at or near freezing or blazing hot in India (the former because I've been to school where, even in America, they teach you that zero equals thirty-two, the latter because it makes me sound like I know what I'm talking about with co-workers in the summer). Also, I wrote a little about this a couple weeks ago; obviously it's not getting better.

Having lived my entire life in a climate where it can go weeks without getting above freezing, I shouldn't be cold in India. I see posts on Facebook from friends complaining about below freezing temperatures and snow storms. They talk about the wind chill factor to give some idea on how cold it really feels because as we all know 6 sounds colder than 16. The same phenomenon occurs here, but instead of the "wind chill" factor we have the "no heat chill " factor. I'm not exactly sure how to calculate this completely fabricated concept, but my best estimate would cut an additional twenty to thirty degrees from the thermometer.

I get the irony of being the same person that once complained of the "hair dryer effect" when walking outside a building in the summer now being chilled to the bone by the mere thought of a slight wind when walking home on a 50 degree evening. I expect no sympathy from those in cold weather places, and I completely understand the sentiment they'll have upon reading this: I'm a weather wuss. To put things in perspective, as I type this, I'm bundled up in fleece, drinking coffee, and utilizing the heat from my laptop to keep myself warm. Go ahead, make fun of me. I would do the same. It's 50 degrees.

Part of my warmth issue stems from the fact I refuse to admit it's cold. Basically, I treat every 50 degree day here like the first 50 degree day of the year in Chicago. If you live in a cold weather place, you know what this means, you under dress just a bit because "it's now warm" (note, I'm not one of those people on the first "warm" day that feels the need to pull out shorts). Friday night we went to a party that we knew was going to partially be outside on a patio. I wore a sweater, a light jacket, sat next to an open fire pit, and had a couple warm German gluhweins. I was still cold. Having imported a down jacket for a trek next summer, I found myself wishing I had broken it out for the evening.

One morning this week it was 50 degrees in my adopted home of Gurgaon while it was 13 degrees in my actual home of Lake Zurich, IL. I'd be crazy to say that I prefer the Chicagoland winters over anything experienced here, in fact, I would gladly take 50 degree mornings in Chicago in December. However, as you've probably gathered, Delhi isn't like Chicago. The reason? This time, at least, it's the lack of central heat.

When here during the winter of 2004-2005 I was admittedly confused by the people huddled in the streets, wrapped in blankets, braving the winter chill dressed in their woolens. I was dressed in a plain button down dress shirt, cracking jokes about how they couldn't handle the cold. Of course, I was coming from the comfort of a centrally heated hotel while they, in all likelihood, were not. I now (sort of) understand their plight. Other than my laptop, the primary source of heat in our apartment is space heaters that we were smart enough to buy from our neighbors that moved back to Holland. While we could have bought them in an actual store, I have a feeling that trying to buy space heaters in the winter here is a little like buying a snow shovel in Chicago after a huge winter storm; in other words, think ahead because supply is probably an issue. Regardless, we're lucky enough to have two.

Now that we have the heaters, I don't actually use them. It's one of those things where I worry that we'll use them, get used to the warmth, it will get colder (you know, like 40 degrees), and I will once again be cold. And yes, I realize how ridiculous this sounds.

Stay warm, Chicago, and I'll try and do the same. It's more difficult than you'd think.

The Freezing Point

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Monsoon Arrives

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

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

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

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

Top 10 Ways You Know It's Hot in India

WARNING: Portions of this post will be plagiarized by ESPN.com's Rick Reilly in the event he ever visits India in the summer.

In other words, it's predictable and basically writes itself. And yes, I recognize what follows is basically a Letterman Top 10 List; but that seemed better than copying Jeff Foxworthy and creating a "You might be hot if...." routine. Without further ado, here are the Top 10 Ways You Know It's Hot in India.

(10) You haven't been to the pool in weeks.

(9) Rather than allowing your red wine to breathe, you allow it to come down to an acceptable temperature  by refrigerating it a few minutes before consumption.

(8) You hear the constant buzz of vuvuzelas. Oh wait, sorry about that, I got slightly confused with the 1st, 4th, and 10th things Rick Reilly would predictably change about the World Cup (I have no qualms linking to his article, not exactly a lot of free publicity coming from this site).

(7) There's no need use the geyser in the bathroom for a hot shower.

(6) Your driver greets you in the morning with, "It's hot".

(5) The peanut butter in the cupboard has the consistency of honey.

(4) The undershirts in your closet have that same comfy feel as when you remove them from the dryer.

(3) You seriously consider weekend trips to locations in the heart of monsoon season.

(2) You think you feel a cool breeze, check the temperature, and realize it's still 91 degrees. At 10pm in the evening.

And the number one reason you know it's hot in India (yep, totally stealing from Letterman)....

You constantly think about ways to draw comparisons for folks at home between the actual Indian summer and the racially biased yet infinitely more pleasant "Indian summer" of your midwestern American youth (I'm not sure exactly how Reilly would tie this in, but it's a fairly safe assumption he'd save it for the number one position).

I'm almost ashamed I created this list. Almost.

Probably the Most Romantic Weekend Trip

We're headed to Udaipur this weekend, which is a mid-sized Indian city located in southwestern Rajasthan, about a ninety minute flight from Delhi. If the overgeneralized picture in your head of India includes deserts, camels, vibant-colored turbans, maharajas, and their palaces, then you're pretty much thinking of the state of Rajasthan. It might seem strange to head toward the desert at this time of the year. In fact, upon telling people at work where we're going, the unanimous reaction has included some flavor of, "It's in Rajasthan. You know it's going to be hot there, right?" What they don't seem to believe when I tell them is - it's actually hotter in Delhi than the desert (or at least the part of the desert where Udaipur is located). Of course, I'm probably wrong and will suffer through the excruciating heat; but worst case, we'll explore in the morning and spend the hot afternoons by the pool.

Udaipur is set on Lake Pichola and might be most noteworthy to Americans as one of the filming locations for the movie "Octopussy". In real life, it's most famous landmark is the Taj Lake Palace hotel. It's a white marble palace that appears to float on the lake. One website, http://www.nivalink.com/tajlakepalace/index.html, describes it as "probably the most romantic hotel in the world". I'm not sure what they're basing that on, but I like the semi-authoritative nature of the statement. Regardless, we're not staying there. But we are planning to have dinner there which I can only predict I will be describing as "probably the most romantic dinner we've ever had" when we return on Monday.

Welcome to Summer

Apparently, yesterday was the hottest day in the month of March in some 65 years in Delhi. The mercury hit 39.2 degrees Celsius, or as it’s more commonly known, 103 degrees. After what many are describing as the coldest winter in recent memory, everyone at work is expecting a hotter summer than normal. Having still not lived through a real Indian summer (the term “Indian summer” is much more politically correct in these parts but not nearly as pleasant), I keep telling myself it’s going to be just like the winter in Chicago (i.e., you’re really only outside to get from point A to point B but not for much else). On the bright side, a co-worker told me it tends to cool down by around 11:00 pm each night.

Call me crazy, but I’m going to say that just living here in the summer is probably good for five or six pounds.