emilyintrivandrum?

I was intending to use this time to write about my amazing weekend in Bangalore, but something insane happened today. So you'll just have to wait to hear about my pyrotechnic adventures (gotta love Diwali!).

To give some background first: I'm not happy with my current project and in my current "area," to use TERI lingo (basically my department), so I've been talking to other areas about their projects. Today I met with the "Area Convener" (department head) of another area, because he said he had a great project for me. A new project is starting up that requires a ton of time doing field work in villages, and he said that, as the only person interested in social issues with a technical background, I would be able to play a major role and contribute a lot of meaningful work (unlike now; I'm pretty much an editing bitch in my current department. I understand the need for editing and wouldn't have a problem with it if they actually gave me other work to do too!).

The catch? I would have to relocate to Trivandrum, Kerala. For the entire year. Moving in two or three weeks. (Trivandrum is at the southern tip of India. Check a map here.)

I actually like Delhi now. I feel settled. I have a routine, a great apartment, and a small group of friends. Plus you can't beat Delhi's location for easy weekend trips; a huge variety of amazing locations are just a train or bus ride away. And, maybe this seems like an odd thing to say, but my favorite thing about Delhi is that I can practice Hindi. I really love learning Hindi. Unfortunately, Malayalam (the language of Kerala) is notoriously the most difficult language to learn in India, if not one of the toughest in the entire world. Let's just say that even Angela, who speaks more languages than any other person I know, including three Dravidian languages (Malayalam is Dravidian as well), thinks Malayam is difficult!! Even with a tutor I would not be able to pick up much. The Indian colleagues who would join me in Kerala (2 from the Delhi office and 2 from the Bangalore office) aren't even going to try.

So I don't know what to do. I don't want to leave Delhi, but I hate work right now and this opportunity seems really great. I'm going to ask if it would be possible to split up my time between Delhi and Kerala. But if it's not, I really don't know what I'm going to do...

(I am fully aware I did not describe the project to you. It kinda requires a long explanation and I was lazy. If I decide to work on this project, I will tell you more about it.)

FAQ

People keep asking me the same questions, so now I'm going to answer them.

How is work?
Let's just say there is a reason I haven't discussed work on my blog: some of my coworkers have discovered it. I have been unhappy with the project I'm assigned to for a variety of reasons I really shouldn't post online. However, I had a good meeting with my boss today and I think things are going to improve. When they do, I'll blog about work.

How is your roommate?
Sam (short for Samantha) is awesome. She's from Berkeley, graduated Princeton in 2008 and spent this past year getting a masters in War Studies at King's College in London. She studied insurgencies and terrorism (yup, she's pretty badass). She is in Delhi to work for the Center for Policy Research and is looking at Lashkar-e-Taiba, the Pakistani terrorist group that carried out the attacks on Mumbai last November. Her father is Mexican, mom Jewish. It's pretty funny that we're both Jewish, and we hope to host some Friday night Shabbos dinners. Someone should send us matzah ball mix! And she is ridiculously tall: 5'10" (we look pretty silly standing next to each other). Is that enough information for you?

We get along really great, or at least I think so. She has never been to India before, and I have been really impressed with how well she's handled the culture shock (much better than I did my first time, for sure). I love that she is super open to learning everything she can about India, even though she came here knowing relatively little (or so she claims). I think we're going to have a fun time living together!

Is your Hindi improving?
My auto Hindi is pretty good. I can bargain completely in Hindi with an autowallah. However, that is about the only Hindi I get to practice and otherwise it hasn't improved much. Yesterday, I started Hindi lessons. I now have two-hour lessons three times a week (twice at 7am before work, which means waking up at 6! but I think it's worth it).

What is your daily routine?
8:00am: Alarm goes off. Hit snooze.
8:05am: Hit snooze.
8:10am: Hit snooze.
8:15am: Drag myself out of bed. Take a shower and get ready for work.
9:10am: Get an auto. My regular autowallah disappeared, but there is still a minimal exchange of words. Katrina, another American who works at TERI and lives in Jangpura, often shares the auto with me. The autowallahs recognize us.
9:25am: Arrive at work. (The workday starts at 9:30am).
9:28-9:45am: Check email.
9:45am-1:00pm: "Work." Often involves a trip to the first floor (I'm on the second floor) to chat with Will, Anand, or Joel (the Canadian) and gchatting with both American friends and coworkers (everyone is on gchat all the time. It's really bad). Plus some actual work in between.
1:00pm-1:40pm: Lunch time. It's really only supposed to be until 1:30pm, but most people take a little longer. I often go to a place in the market behind the India Habitat Center (IHC, where TERI is located) with Katrina. The dal there is incredible. Or I can order a tiffin to be delivered to TERI and eat with a bunch of coworkers in the office.
1:40pm-5:30pm: "Work." See above.
On some days, at some point during the "work" time, I take a tea break with some of my coworkers, usually Will, Anand, and Jay. But I have yet to actually drink tea because I keep forgetting to bring a mug to work. So I just hang out or bring my water bottle and get made fun of for not drinking tea.
5:37pm: Leave building. Go to the street to get an auto. This can take anywhere from 2 to 45 minutes. I'm usually home by 6:30pm.

My nights vary a lot. I spend some parked in front of the TV watching Friends, going out with Sareeta, on Skype, or going to a cultural event (Ramlila during Navratri, for example, or to a show, such as classical Indian music, at the IHC). But I probably spend most nights at home. I like to do absolutely nothing after work.

What do you eat? Do you cook?
Unfortunately, no, I still don't cook. But I really want to learn! I have been eating a lot of bread and peanut butter, crackers and cheese, and cereal. Some nights I order Indian food to be delivered, because almost every restaurant will deliver to your door free of charge. I bought dosa batter and hope to cook masala dosa one day soon.

Is the pollution really that bad?
Yes. Delhi is dirty--pollution and dust to the extreme. I often find it difficult to breathe, and I can feel that my skin is coated in a layer of grime. My face has turned into a strawberry with ginormous blackheads, and I often break out into coughing fits. My mom sent me a carbon-filter mask for pollution, and I wear that in an auto (as I think I mentioned in a previous post, when you are sitting in traffic the open sides provide zero protection against the pollution). I think it helps a little bit, but unclear how useful it really is.

What about the poverty? Is it totally in your face?
Yes and no. The poverty doesn't feel as in-my-face as in other places in India. But there are beggars everywhere. With malnourished, possibly-dying babies or purposely-mutilated children. Coming up to my auto and sticking their hands into the vehicle. The most difficult part of my day is taking the auto home from work and concentrating on the back of the autowallah’s head so as not to turn around to acknowledge the beggar—because it’s too painful to look at their emaciated bodies, unwashed hair, dirty clothes, and worst of all, sick babies. It really pains me to know I’m forcing myself to become immune to them and their suffering, like I did my first time in India. It makes me feel so inhuman. But I don’t think I could go on living my life in India without going insane if I dwelled on it. Do I ever give them money? No, because what you saw in Slumdog Millionaire is often true: many beggars give their money to gangs, and that would only perpetuate the problem. If you want to help, give your money to an appropriate NGO instead. One time I did give a woman with a malnourished baby a bottle of water, and another time I gave a granola bar. I think giving food is ok, but I do not give money. But more often than not I try my hardest to ignore them (or at least act as if I’m ignoring them so they go away). Honestly, though, I don't think the poverty is as bad in South Delhi as in other parts of Delhi (South Delhi is mostly a very nice area), or as bad in Delhi as in other parts of India.

Any traveling?
I went to Orchha and Gwalior for Gandhi's birthday weekend (see previous posts). I'm heading to Bangalore this weekend to celebrate Diwali with Angela and hang out with Pema, a friend from Bhutan. Next weekend I'm taking PiA is paying for me to take their first gap-year student (between high school and college) to Agra (can you say free trip to the Taj?). The following weekend I have Monday off for Guru Nanak's birthday, so I'm trying to go somewhere in the Himalayas for the three-day weekend. After that, I have no concrete plans. At some point I will visit Prashanth in the village he's working in (he works for an NGO in a village near Indore, Madhya Pradesh) and meet up with Angela again, this time in her original hometown of Hyderabad. In December or January I might go to Chennai for the annual music/dance festival and to meet up with some Pondy Uni friends. So, even though I have zero vacation time for the first six months, I am managing to fill up some weekends with travel.

Can I visit?
YES!! Please do! (Ok, I made up this FAQ. No one has asked me that. But you really should!)

I hope I have answered all the questions. Keep 'em coming!

Gwalior

Ok, this is going to be a short post because I'm feeling lazy and there isn't that much to say. I went to a fort and walked around Old Town. The fort was cool because it was on a big rocky hill above the town, so there are great views of the entire town from the fort. And, since it was above the town, I could breathe (almost) fresh air up there!! On the walk up to the fort, you pass some interesting Jain carvings. The palace inside the fort has yellow rubber duckies painted on the side, so that was pretty funny. Most of the buildings have a spooky abandoned-warehouse feel. There were even bats! A lot of local Gwalior residents utilize the fort as a park. I talked to a few high school students who say they go up there every weekend to hang out and climb all over the abandoned buildings.

Though there wasn't much to see in Old Town, I enjoyed walking around. For some reason it reminded me of all the reasons I love India, so that made me really happy.

If you want to see pictures of Gwalior, go to my Picasa page: http://picasaweb.google.com/egorbaty/Gwalior#

The Attack of the Henna Warriors

I've been meaning to post about my three-day weekend (for Gandhi's birthday) trip to Orchha and Gwalior in Madhya Pradesh for a while now. So here is Part I: Orchha...

It rained almost my entire time in Orchha, so I didn't do much sightseeing. The streets turned into shin-high rivers and stairs into waterfalls. I visited one palace and that was about it (though there was another palace, a few temples, and chhaatris (cenotaphs)). Oh well. For pictures of the palace and other pictures of Orchha, visit my Picasa page: http://picasaweb.google.com/egorbaty/Orchha#

While walking around the village, a 10-year-old girl came up to me trying to sell me things. This is not unusual at all, but she wouldn't leave me alone. So I decided to change the subject away from her souvenirs. I asked her if she went to school, and she said yes. She got so excited by my interest in her schooling that she took me to her street and went inside her house to get her books and show me. She then asked me if I liked henna,* and I said of course! Well, this was a mistake. She ran around the corner and returned with eight more children, one of which was armed with a henna* cone. Without asking if I wanted any henna,* she and a few others grabbed my hand. I tried to protest, but there were so many kids and there was nothing I could do about it.

After the henna* attack, one of the girls invited everyone to her father's restaurant for chai (and by restaurant, I mean the grungy hole-in-the-wall type). On our walk over, a few other kids came up to me to try to sell me souvenirs. But the henna* warriors told them not to bother me, because "yeh humari dost hai!" (she is our friend). It was very cute. And then the chai was excellent. Unfortunately, however, the chai pit stop gave the henna* time to dry (I had intended to wash it off ASAP) so that I am now stuck with the world's worst henna on my skin.

Some of the children who attacked me with henna.* There were a few more not pictured.


Lesson learned: do not allow children to doodle on your skin with henna.* ...It doesn't wash off.
(Regarding the frizz: your hair wouldn't look any better after an overnight train + bus ride + strong winds + endless rain)

Because it was raining too hard to sightsee, I decided to go hole-in-the-wall hopping. I went from one place to another, trying a samosa in one, poori in another, chai in another, talking to the cooks and waiters in Hindi (or, rather, attempting to). Until, to my surprise, I ran into this:

That is Korean. In an Indian village. Curious, I went inside and asked to see a menu. This too was in Korean, complete with cutesy Korean-style rainbow and clouds:

I tried to explain in Hindi that my friend was studying Korean and spent her summer in Korea, but the waiter seemed unexcited. So I changed my story and said my friend was from Korea--even though she is from Kuwait--and he was much more excited about this. (It apparently didn't matter that a Korean spending her summer learning Korean made no sense.) I asked him why he had Korean signs and a Korean menu (complete with "gimchee," which I assume is kimchi), and he said that Orchha sees a lot of Korean tourists. And alas, as I was leaving, a Korean woman walked in.

A post about Gwalior is up next, so stay tuned.

*I do not know the difference between henna and mehndi. I used the term henna here because that is what we tend to say in the West, but I actually do not know which term is correct.

The Indian Art of Hair Removal

Today I decided to get rid of my 'stache and trim my eyebrow forest, so I went to Girl Talk, a beauty salon in Defence Colony to wax my upper lip and thread my eyebrows. (Male readers, get over it. This is my blog and I can blog about whatever I want!)

When I walked into Girl Talk, I started saying that I wanted my upper lip waxed. Before I could say "and my eyebrows threaded," the woman I was talking to said, "are you sure that's it?" and points to her eyebrows. It's great to know how terrible my eyebrows looked.

She started with the threading. I had been threaded once before, in Bangalore with Angela. At that time, it was incredibly painful. It felt like little knives cutting up my skin. This time, though, it wasn't nearly that bad. (And at the time Angie had said that place just did a bad job.) For those of you unfamiliar with threading: one woman stretches your skin tight while another woman holding thread in a triangle with her mouth and two hands wraps the thread around your hairs and moves the thread back and forth to pull out the hairs. They get rid of the hair on the top of your eyebrows, which they don't always do in the US (I usually leave those hairs), and the shape is different. I feel like my eyebrows are too thin and straight, not arched enough and a little unnatural-looking. (It is also possible that this particular person didn't do a great job, so I shouldn't assume this is what Indian threading always looks like.) I like my usual shape better, but at least I'm cleaned up.

Then we moved on to waxing. I was more than surprised when the woman approached me with a butter knife dripping with wax. She proceeded to smear the wax on my face like she would smear butter on bread. She put A LOT of wax on, more than at home. And then she waxed it a second time (not sure why; I didn't feel any additional hairs being pulled out). You know how at home they clean up the stray hairs with a tweezer? Well, here they did it with a thread.

So that is how all my extraneous facial hair will be removed this year. And for super cheap! Brows and lip for the equivalent of one US dollar.

"Why Indian Men Are Still Boys"

This is too good not to post:

http://www.tehelka.com/story_main42.asp?filename=Ne010809coverstory.asp

If you're still unconvinced you should click on the link, here's the first paragraph:

"A few years ago, a group of young men, all Bengaluru-based lawyers, were asked who bought their underwear. Their answer bears out the seemingly arbitrary nature of this intrusion. Of the five men, all in their late twenties, all wellgroomed and intelligent, all given to the unconventional in their personal and political lives, only one bought his own underwear. For the rest, this was the first time they were thinking about why their mothers were the ones still picking out their boxers and briefs."

How to get an auto in Delhi

It is important that you know what an auto (short for autorickshaw) is, since they are an integral part of my daily life and I complain about them a lot. So, for those of you who don't know what an auto is, here is a picture of the three-wheeled devil I stole from Google Images:



The man (and yes, it is always a man) who drives the auto is called an "autowallah." You will have to bargain with this man. Your bargaining might go as follows:

Autowallah pulls over, leans his body toward me while still clutching the steering handlebars with both hands, and lifts his chin (kinda like an American guy head nod but faster and jerkier) to indicate that I should tell him my desired destination.


Me: Jangpura.


Autowallah: Jangpura Extension?


Me, now holding onto the vertical bar next to the meter so that he does not drive away: Haan. G-block, Birbal Park ke pas. [Yes. G-block, near Birbal Park.]


Autowallah: 70 rupiye. [70 rupees.]


Me: 70 rupiye?! 70 rupiye bahut mahenge hain!! Chaalis rupiye. [70 rupees?! 70 rupees is very expensive!! 40 rupees.]


Autowallah, laughing: Nahin, nahin. 70 rupiye sirf. [No, no. 70 rupees only.]


Me: Lekin Jangpura yahaan se dur nahin! Pachaas rupiye. [But Jangpura is not far from here! 50 rupees.]


Autowallah speaks really fast in Hindi (presumably because the few words I have uttered convinced him I actually understand Hindi--which I don't) and I have no idea what he says, but I hear the words “traffic” and “70 rupiye” somewhere in there.


Me: Lekin har roz traffic hai! 60 rupiye. [But everyday there is traffic! 60 rupees.]


Autowallah does the ambiguous Indian head wobble.


Me (trying to confirm due to the ambiguity of head wobble): 60 rupiye? Thik hai? [60 rupees? Ok?]


Autowallah repeats ambiguous Indian head wobble and very briefly extends his hand backwards toward the seat to indicate I should sit down.


This whole conversation of course assumes that the autowallah is willing to take you to your desired destination. Sometimes they hear your destination, shake their head and immediately drive off.

The autowallahs at the Birbal Park auto stand now recognize me. It's sort of unfortunate, because I know they are ripping me off and there is nothing I can do about it. They have all banded together and refuse to take me to work at the India Habitat Center for anything less than Rs 40 (even though the one day I managed to convince an autowallah to use his meter on my way home from work it only cost Rs 23--the ones who take me home don't know me). It has reached the point where words are no longer exchanged. I walk up to the auto stand, one of the autowallahs motions to me to come over to his auto, I get in without saying my destination, and I pay him Rs 40 when I arrive at work. We don't even need to utter a single word to each other.

Sometimes the autowallahs try to have conversations with me. Since they don't speak any English, it's actually the most Hindi practice I get. Usually we talk about my lack of a husband, and the autowallah compliments my Hindi. Often they talk really fast and I have no idea what they are saying. In those situations I do the ambiguous Indian head wobble and they think I'm following. One time an autowallah even gave me a piece of candy! (But be warned: the vast majority are not that friendly).

Autowallahs will drive everywhere: directly into oncoming traffic, in bicycle lanes, and even on pedestrian-filled sidewalks. Needless to say, some rides can be pretty nerve-wracking. But I trust the autowallah and actually have fun sometimes. Really, the worst part of taking an auto is not the crazy driving, but the open sides (see above picture) that allow all the road pollution to go straight into my lungs.

So I guess I have a love-hate relationship with autos and autowallahs. Most of the time it's hate, but in those moments of love, it's a lot of love.

KABOOM!

This post would really be best with pictures, but I don't have them with me in this Internet cafe here in Orchha. I uploaded them to my laptop to free up space on my memory cards. Plus my camera died before the most explosive events, so I am waiting to get the pictures from my friend. But when I get back to Delhi, I promise to upload these pictures! Here are the events the pictures are of:

This past Monday was Durga Puja for Bengalis and Dussehra for everyone else (well, Hindus, anyway). Both end the 9-day fast of Navratri (fast during the day and eat at night, Ramadan-style). Durga Puja focuses on the goddess Durga and Dussehra celebrates the victory of Ram over Ravana representing the triumph of good over evil.

For Durga Puja, the Bengali community puts on several events in CR Park, a neighborhood full of Bengalis and where Sareeta, the other Delhi PiAer, lives. They are pretty much all the same: lots of booths with delicious Bengali food (I’m a big fan of kathi rolls), a huge Durga idol, and classical Bengali music on a big stage. I found it funny that the stage's backdrop was a sexy woman, as displayed in a picture I will post next time.

Every night of Navratri, an act of the Ramayana is performed in what is called a Ramlila. The Ramlila comes to a very fiery conclusion on Dussehra. As Ram fights Ravana, there are ridiculous amounts of fireworks that burst immediately overhead. Have you ever seen fireworks literally above your head, not in front of you? It is a little scary. They also have spinning fireworks on the ground that look like giant pinwheels of long sparks. When Ram kills Ravana, three giant effigies of Ravana and his brothers are burned. No, “burn” is the wrong word. Exploded is a better word. The effigies are stuffed with fireworks and dry straw. To set these effigies on fire and trigger their internal fireworks, a brave man touches a giant sparkler on the end of a long rod to the extremely combustible bodies and additional fireworks are shot directly at them. Once lit and bombarded by firecrackers, a ton of noisy, bright fireworks rocket out of the huge body and then KABOOM! the biggest fire I have ever seen in my life shoots up where the effigy used to be as the frame of the statue keels over and collapses. Even though I was a “safe” distance away, I could feel the intense heat of the multistory-tall flame on my face. It was terrifying and I instinctively ducked with each KABOOM!


Unfortunately my camera’s batteries died before the hair-raising spectacle, so I could not take a video as planned. But I will post pictures from a friend, I promise!


While we are on the topic of fireworks, I have been hearing firecrackers nonstop from my apartment. It’s a little disconcerting. I don’t even know what holiday it is. Unless there will be firecrackers nonstop from Dussehra until Diwali (October 17)? I really hope not, because firecrackers are LOUD.

जन्मदिन मुबारक हो, गांधीजी! (Happy birthday Gandhi!)

I have today (Friday) off because it's Gandhi's birthday. So I took this long weekend opportunity to travel to Orchha and Gwalior in Madhya Pradesh. These locations were chosen solely because all trains and buses to the Himalayas were sold out, and it is monsoon season in my other regions of interest. Orchha is supposed to have some "hidden" palaces and temples (hidden among the brush, I assume), and I wanted to go there when I went to Khajuraho (they are only a few hours apart) but didn't have time. And Gwalior has a fort. Probably not as epic as Rajasthani forts, but it should be interesting.

I'm in Orchha now, but it's raining and all the site are outdoors. So while I wait for the rain to pass (it's only supposed to last an hour or so, as it is not monsoon season here), I figured I'd update my blog...

To get to Orchha I had to take a 7-hour train to Jhansi, which is actually in Uttar Pradesh (it sorta sticks into Madhya Pradesh), and then switch to a 30-minute bus. I had forgotten how much I love trains in India! I practiced Hindi with my compartment-mates, who of course got a kick out of a गोरी (white person) speaking Hindi. We drank chai together when the chaiwallah came by (train chai is second only to street chai). It was like a cute Indian tea time in my compartment. There was a really adorable, surprisingly not-annoying 3-year-old whose mother gave everyone delicious home-cooked parathas (and his dad was HOT) (not the reason I love Indian trains, in case you were wondering. a hot guy on a train is a pretty rare encounter). There were two guys who spoke English (neither of them were the hot dad), and things got a little weird when they insisted on buying me a boxing glove keychain from some keychain-wallah walking through the car. As much as I would love a boxing glove keychain (um, what??), I turned down their offer. I was pretty relieved when my stop was only 10 minutes later.

This was my second time in Jhansi, because I had to take the train there to get to Khajuraho almost two years ago. But this was the first time I saw it in daylight (I had arrived late at night, around 1:30am, and then took a 5:30am bus to Khajuraho). A place really looks completely different in the day! It felt like I was in Jhansi for the first time. But, as it really is only a transport town, there isn't much to see and I was outta there pretty quickly again. I was mostly struck by how incredibly dusty it was. I know I always complain about the dust in Delhi, but this was much, much worse. Plus it was windy so the dust was swirling everywhere.

Ok, it is still raining, so I'm going to write another post... I really hope the rain stops soon!

Crossing the tracks

I am going to start this entry with a video:


http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=136011048574


(you do not need to have Facebook to see it.)


This commercial is on all the time. And is 100% based on reality. Actually, not 100%. That girl would not stop that guy. She would follow him. Or try to cut him off and get under the gate first.


There are railroad tracks separating Jangpura, my neighborhood, from Lajpat Nagar. The fastest way to Lajpat is to cross these tracks rather than going around on the Defence Colony Flyover. Well, faster if there are no trains (which seems to be rare), or if you get off your motorbike and duck under the gate, like in that commercial. Otherwise you could be sitting at the gate waiting for five 60-car trains to pass by. (That takes about an hour and a half, if you were wondering.)


The first time I was returning from shopping in Lajpat, the gate was down (I have now been to that rail crossing four times, and not once has the gate been open). I took a cycle-rickshaw because I was pretty close to home and didn’t think an auto was necessary. Unfortunately for rickshaw-wallahs, cycle-rickshaws cannot fit under the gate. My rickshaw-wallah got off the rickshaw and ran under the gate and to the other side of the tracks. I had no idea what he was doing. When he came back (yes, he crossed the tracks a second time), he told me that he found another rickshaw on the other side of the tracks and that I should cross and get in it, because the gate would be down for a while (or at least this is what I thought he said; he was speaking in Hindi and I couldn’t understand everything). At this point I could actually hear the train coming. I yelled in Hindi, “nahin! relgari aa rahi hai!” (no! a train is coming!) (Even the loud horn tooting, or whatever that train noise is, didn’t stop people from crossing.) And then the train came. It had an endless amount of cars, and then it just stopped. In the middle of the road crossing. So of course I gave up on the cycle-rickshaw and got into an auto that went around on the flyover.


Another time I was at this crossing going in the other direction, people got stuck in the middle between two trains. The train heading west, on the far side from Jangpura, was already at the road crossing with people waiting for it to pass when a train heading east, trapping the people and motorbikes and fruit carts in the middle. …and there isn’t much space there.


Oh, and the other day I saw 2 decorated camels and 2 painted elephants on the Outer Ring Road (kinda like Delhi’s version of a beltway). Not to mention the dozens of cows I see everyday, of course.


Welcome to the roads of Delhi.

Juice from Concentrate (or, finally, a post about work)

Here, faithful readers (er, Mom), is the long-awaited post about work.

My first two days went something like this:

Day 1
- 2 hours of filling out paperwork
- 1.5 hours of waiting and staring at ceiling for 1.5 hours
- "Induction" with HR person (rundown of the history and "organizational culture" of TERI)
- Lunch break
- 3.5 hours of checking my "mails" (as the secretary called email) because no 'seniors' from my department were in the office to talk to me or give me something to do

Day 2
- Met my seniors, who left the office again, and told I would be working primarily on concentrating solar power (CSP)
- Met my fellow juniors, one of them gave me 3 textbooks about CSP to read (one of which is called "Juice from Concentrate")
- Read one of said textbooks for remaining 7.5 hours of the day

Work has improved since then. I have started getting to know some of the guys in my research group, or “area” in TERI lingo, Renewable Energy Technology Applications (RETA). Anand from Mumbai works on solar thermal, William from Goa works on whatever project is randomly assigned to him, and Jay(achandra) from Tirupati, Andhra Pradesh focuses on photovoltaics, Alok is the wind energy guy, and Ishan concentrates on concentrating solar power (he’s the person I’m supposed to be working with). Rumor has it there is another person--a female!--in our group, but I have yet to see her. No one in our group is over 30 except our boss, so it’s pretty easy to talk to everyone. And almost all of them are IIT grads.


William and Anand mentioned to me that there is a new project on diversifying energy technology in Bhutan (because it’s only hydropower) starting in October if funding from the Asian Development Bank (ADB) comes through. My immediate reaction was, of course, I have to get on that project. During a birthday party for RETA’s secretary (named Rita, coincidentally), I sweet-talked RETA’s director about the Bhutan project, and he told me to talk to wind energy guy Alok, the Principal Investigator (PI). So the next day, since I had finished all my reading, I talked to Alok about my research and experience in Bhutan and asked to read the proposal and all relevant documents. I read everything and I came back to him with my thoughts (one part of the project was exactly my research question from last year) and some questions about the proposal. He was so excited about my enthusiasm that he said I could “definitely” work on this project. Now I hope the funding comes through!! Oh, and the project is in Eastern Bhutan, so hopefully I would be able to visit Lhuentse. SCORE!


(Bhutan-related tangent: Kencho told me a funny story. I had mailed gifts to the kids in my host family: an Asian doll for Yueden, soccer ball for Jigme, and Twister for Meto. Twister became so popular that the Dzongda paid Meto 1000 ngultrum (~US$20) to use Twister in the tsechu, the traditional festival with chaam (mask dancing) that takes place in the monastery part of the dzong. I’m pretty sure I only paid $7 for the game, so he rented it for more than twice the price!! Ridiculous. But what is even more ridiculous is that Lhuentse, one of the most traditional regions of Bhutan, had Twister at their tsechu. Just imagine you are a wide-eyed foreigner super-psyched about seeing one of the most traditional festivals in remote eastern Bhutan, and you see people playing Twister. …I think I single-handedly corrupted Lhuentse.)


While I’m waiting to hear about the ADB funding, I am working on Ishan’s project looking at financing a concentrating solar power plant in Barmer, Rajasthan (with a possible field visit?) for the HSBC bank. But since he's been on leave, I've been helping Anand with his report for the Norwegian government about the barriers to solar thermal power market growth (I would think Norway’s latitude is a pretty big barrier!).


I mostly hang out with William and Anand, who are closest in age to me (they are both 24). Jay found out that I’m into dosas, so as the resident South Indian he felt it his responsibility to take me to the best dosa place close to work, Hotel Madras, and Anand tagged along. Best dosa I’ve had in Delhi so far! And now Anand and I are on a mission to find some good pav bhaji (a Mumbai chaat). I need to ask William for some good Goan seafood places. …food is definitely one of the top reasons I love India. :)


Speaking of food, I better go buy some. I don’t have anything in my apartment yet.

Apartment: Check. Foreigner Registration: Check. I am legally a resident of India!

And I have a Residential Permit to prove it!


The apartment hunt was pretty stressful and complicated, but it ended with a nice 2-bedroom apartment and a possible roommate who is coming to Delhi in October (well, hopefully. She’s having employment visa issues… sound familiar?).


I started looking on Yuni-Net and DelhiNet, two mostly expat forums, but I got few good responses. I managed to visit two studios in Defence Colony, but they were pretty small and felt like dorm rooms (basically only a bed and desk). I tried Craigslist and emailed some people who had posted they were looking for roommates, but they never responded. Then I checked out some Classifieds websites, 99acres.com, magicbricks.com, and indiaproperty.com, as well as the Classified sections of the Hindustan Times and Times of India. I visited some of these apartments, but they were awful. Indian squat toilets, no showerhead, a glass wall between the apartment and a family’s home so that the family could see and hear everything, no windows, etc. Really, it wasn’t that I was being overly picky; these are legitimate complaints.


Ultimately, I had to do what everyone, both expat and Indian, warned me against: I called a broker. I started with TERI’s broker, but he was terrible. He wasn’t even listening to me. He showed me places that were double my budget, in locations I didn’t want, etc. So I searched on IndiaMike.com to find a recommended broker, and here I am in my new apartment! The broker was pretty annoying and I had to pay a broker fee, but at least I found a place to live (after seeing over 20 apartments). Phew!


My apartment is on the third floor (Indian counting; fourth floor American counting). Basically, you keep walking up stairs until there are no more stairs. I live in Jangpura, which is north of Lajpat Nagar (great shopping) and east of Defence Colony (great restaurants). It is a nice quiet neighborhood with a bunch of parks. I thought I was within walking distance of a movie theater (so my amazing 250-page Delhi map book tells me), but when I walked over there I found it is closed for renovations. But I’m pretty sure there is a theater in Lajpat, so I will easily get my fill of Bollywood.


If you want to send me mail, my address is:


G-9, Third Floor
Jangpura Extension
New Delhi 110014
India


Come visit me!!


I live on the same street as “Dr. P.P. Singh (Urologist).” I’m not even kidding, there is actually a sign that says that. One day soon I will walk around my neighborhood with a camera and take a picture of that sign.


After I got my apartment and signed a lease, I had all my documents in order to go to the FRRO (Foreigners Regional Registration Office). The FRRO is supposed to be a really awful experience and a lot of foreigners have to go back multiple times, but it went pretty smoothly for me. Basically you wait in line for hours, a guy checks out your documents and gives you a number, and when your number is called you go up to a counter with a guy who registers you.


Before I continue the story, it is important to share with you that I had not had a drink of water since lunchtime the day before. I had moved into my apartment the night before and did not yet have any cups, even though I did have a water filter. And I had sweat profusely while lugging my bags up four flights of stairs. I would also like to note that taking autorickshaws really dries out my throat and gives me cottonmouth (all that polluted, dusty air). So I was feeling pretty damn thirsty and dehydrated.


After standing on my feet for two and a half hours in a sweaty, not-air-conditioned hallway, the number-giver told me my lease was not notarized and therefore not a valid proof of address for registration. At first he refused to give me a number, but I yelled at him with my gross cottonmouth voice until he gave me a number, and I ran as fast as I could out of there to find a notary. I saw an autorickshaw and yelled “Mujhe notarization chahiye! Mujhe mere lease par stamp chahiye!” (I need notarization! I need a stamp on my lease!) at him. To my surprise, he knew exactly what I meant and where to go. Well, he was waiting outside the FRRO, so maybe this is a common problem he knows about.


When we arrived at the complex with the notary, I dashed out of the rickshaw and up a few flights of stairs to the notary. I didn’t have the original lease with me since I only needed to submit a copy, and at first the notary guy wouldn’t stamp it. After some convincing, he gave me the stamps. Then I ran to a copy place so the registration guy would never know the notarization was not on the original. (But I will get the original notarized soon.)


At this point I started getting light-headed and realized I was probably about to pass out, probably because I hadn’t had any water in 24 hours and in those 24 hours I had perspired a lot more than usual (moving luggage down and up several flights of stairs, all the running in Indian heat in Western work clothes, etc). I asked the copy boy, “pani kahan hai?” (Where is water?) because I couldn’t think straight enough to say “where can I buy water?” (which would be “main kahan pani kharid sakti hoon?”) Instead of telling me where to go, he said “you don’t look so good” and ran out to get me water. He came back with what I’m pretty sure was not clean water, but I felt so awful I just grabbed it and drank the whole thing.


Feeling reenergized from the sketchy water, I ran back to the auto and back to the FRRO. When I entered the room, my number was on the board. I went up to the counter and asked how long my number had been up there, and luckily it had just popped up. Just in the nick of time! And I got my resident’s permit without any more issues.


…yes, that is considered going smoothly.


Lesson learned: I now have cups and I bring a bottle of water (I keep all the bottles I buy and fill them up with filtered water) to work every day.


Wow, that was a long post. That’s what happens when you don’t update in a while. Oh, and I swear, a post about work really is coming soon.

Better than (Bhutanese?) rice

Kencho is visiting Delhi!! (For those of you who don't know: Kencho was my host sister and translator in Bhutan.) I haven't seen her since I left Bhutan a year ago, so it's been really fun to hang out with her again.

Kencho works for the Rajasthan-based NGO Barefoot College now, and her job is to recruit Bhutanese village women--most of whom had never even been to Thimphu, Bhutan's capital and only real town--to come to India for some sort of training (I think small women's business groups or something). So far she has led one team of 34 women, and she is going to bring another group over in early October. They will spend 3 days in Delhi and then head to Barefoot's main campus in Rajasthan. She also makes trips to Delhi without the groups to meet with Barefoot, so hopefully I'll be seeing her somewhat regularly!

She told me some kind of funny, yet sort of sad, stories about these women's visit to India. Everything we take for granted was completely new and terrifying to them. They had never been in an airplane before, and when the plane took off, the women started shrieking and crying out of fear. In Delhi they stayed at the Oberoi, one of the fanciest hotels in India (no NGO would have wasted funds on this; the Indian government paid for it). The women had never seen a Western toilet before. They stood on the toilet seat and squatted, and then couldn't figure out how to flush it. They complained to Kencho that no bucket was provided (they usually throw water down their holes to "flush"). They had never seen a showerhead either and could not figure out how to bathe. They couldn't operate the elevators and kept locking themselves out because they didn't understand the card key. At the super-fancy hotel restaurant, they ate with their hands because they did not know how to use the silverware. Furthermore, Delhi's pollution was too much for women used to pure mountain air, and many of them got sick (I can't really blame them. I can actually feel the particulate matter coating the back of my throat and am on the hunt for a carbon-filter/pollution mask). Not to mention how shocking the sheer numbers of people and vehicles must have been--they come from villages of about 20 households and no roads, and Thimphu doesn't even have enough traffic for a traffic light. Delhi must have been a completely alien world, like landing on another planet, for these village women.

On a related note, I gave Kencho some new Americanish experiences these past few days. Two nights ago we went to Cocoberry, a trendy frozen yogurt place like Pinkberry, Fraiche, Red Mango, etc popping up all over the US, in Defence Colony. Kencho had never eaten frozen yogurt before! She couldn't really grasp that it wasn't the same as ice cream, and she had never seen a machine dispense "ice cream" that way before. The concept of toppings was totally confusing to her (and the whole point of these places is the toppings). She was a bit overwhelmed and just ended up ordering the same thing as me. The Cocoberry employees were pretty amused by her awe.

Kencho enjoying her first cup of frozen yogurt


Post-yogurt smiles

Tonight we were walking down Janpath in Connaught Place (CP) when we passed a Pizza Hut. We were actually in search of a Tibetan restaurant, but I casually asked Kencho if she liked pizza. To my surprise, she responded that she had never eaten pizza before!! I then realized that Bhutan doesn't have pizza, but I guess I had assumed she would have had pizza at some point in her life, maybe when she was abroad in India (she went to college in Chandigarh), Nepal (worked for an NGO there), or Thailand (free ticket on Druk Air from her flight attendant brother). So we changed our plans from Tibetan to Pizza Hut. The girl needed to try pizza!

Pizza Hut was more overwhelming than Cocoberry. If you thought choosing frozen yogurt toppings were difficult, imagine trying to choose pizza toppings! Especially when you add Indian choices like paneer tikka and masala pepperoni (yes, there are quite a few Indian varieties of pizza). As intrigued as I was by the paneer tikka pizza, I decided it would be best to start her off with the basics and ordered a cheese pizza. After her first bite, she exclaimed, "Oh my God! This is better than RICE!!" I immediately burst into laughter so loud that the entire restaurant turned around to stare at us. It was amazing. Plus our waiter Ajay was awesome. He was hilarious and had a lot of fun introducing Kencho to pizza.

Kencho's first-ever bite of pizza!


Kencho is too into her pizza to look at the camera. Seriously, I couldn't get her to pay attention.

When we came back from CP, I met the Bhutanese couple Kencho is staying with (by coincidence Kencho and I are on the same street, within a 5-minute walk of each other. In a city of 16 million people. Amazing). Kencho is staying with Karma's sister (Karma is Kencho's cousin and the mother of Meto, Jigme, and Yueden). I told her that I stayed in her family's house in Gangzur, and she laughed that she knew all about it. She and her husband have lived in Delhi for 6 years and offered to help me out if I ever needed anything, because, in their words, I'm like extended family. I love Bhutanese people.

I will probably see Kencho again tomorrow, and I can't wait to introduce her to something else new! I wonder what it will be...

In other news, the apartment hunt continues, thus far unsuccessfully. For now I am crashing at a fellow TERI foreigner's apartment. And I will post about work later.

(PS: As you may have noticed in these pictures, I have reverted to putting my hair up everyday. It's just way too hot and humid to wear it down.)

I feel like an infant again.

I need to learn how to talk. English is definitely not sufficient. I need to step up my Hindi.

I need to learn how to walk. One eye on the ground (jagged sidewalks, potholes, dung, paan, etc), one eye on the street (people, animal, and vehicle traffic).

I need to learn how to cross the street due to aforementioned traffic. Plus people/animals/vehicles don't exactly follow traffic laws here.

I need nap time due to jet lag. Good night!

नमस्ते भारत! (Hello India!)

I'm finally in India! I arrived last night, and I'm staying with Sareeta, the other PiA fellow, in CR Park. I've been here less than 24 hours, and already my nose is tingling from the polluted air (my snot is probably black) and I can feel the dust seeping into my pores.

The plane ride was long but I got to sleep and watch Wolverine and a few episodes of The Office. Boarding was hilarious. The Continental agent called boarding and all of a sudden all the Indians started pushing to get in line. People were sort of violent and paying no attention to the fact that we were boarding by rows. There was a group of American high-school-age kids (maybe there is a high school study abroad program?) and they all looked terrified. The Continental agent even threatened not to allow boarding at all if people didn't stop shoving and wait their turn. I felt like I was in India already!

I remembered that the first time I landed in India, I was immediately slapped in the face by the heat/humidity and the smell. I couldn't remember which came first, so I paid special attention this time. Well, the smell definitely hit me first! And the heat followed almost instantly. Welcome to India!

Aaahh, the smell of India. So hard to describe, and so unpleasant. Fortunately--or unfortunately?--I will get used to it. I would say the smell is some combination of exhaust/air pollution, fecal matter, paan (betel nut), spices, a lot of dust, and animals.

Speaking of animals, I am very relieved to say that I have not seen any menacing monkeys yet.

...yet.

Yes!

...is the answer to the previous question. Today I got an email from Travisa Outsourcing saying my visa was issued and in the mail. It took 5 weeks, but I'm finally going to India!! :)