Goodbye readers, goodbye India!

Guys, I know--I just sort of disappeared on you for the past two months with nary a word. I'm sorry, I do feel really bad about that. Of course, I have a bazillion excuses; I was at home for three weeks, I was busy preparing for a barrage of job interviews; I've been running around like crazy trying to prepare my move back. But, in fact, there is no justification for a disappearing act. Sorry-so-sorry!

But, the fact of the matter is that I have accepted a job back in the States and will shortly be heading home(ish. Not quite "home", but close enough). I'm tremendously excited to be moving back to the land of sidewalks and hamburgers, though expect to miss the confusion, color and chaos that envigorated my life here on a daily basis.

The point is, the time has just about come to say goodbye to Delhi, and to this blog. I hope you have all enjoyed reading about my time here as much as I've enjoyed writing about it. And, to see this blog off properly, let me close with a list of ten things I've learned to love about this crazy place.

1. Smooth, cold temple floors in the summer heat
2.  Monkeys banging against closed windows close enough for me to observe them
3. That moment when you get in an auto-rickshaw and the driver automatically turns on the meter
4. Wearing a sari and feeling so elegant
5. The carpe diem mentality of so many Indians
6. Gol gappa
7. The full embrace of the chaos, and the ability to detect patterns in the madness
8. Bright clothing in a dusty landscape
9. The peculiar meshing of ancient customs with modern ways of life
10. Endless, ripe, perfect mangos

 

The Stop and Stare

I have never been to a country where the Stop and Stare move is as ubiquitous as India. This is a close cousin, of course, to the Stop and Assist move, but...not quite the same. What do I mean by the Stop and Stare move? Well, any time there has been an accident, an injury or a bizarre and negative happening masses of passerbys will stop what they're doing, crowd the scene and bear witness.

Now, in the USA we are no strangers to the Stop and Stare move. In fact, this probably explains about 95% of all traffic jams which occur around the scene of an accident--passing motorists slow down to view the grisly scene. (And, I even fear that some poorly-mannered folk in the USA are developing a new move, called the Stop and Take and Selfie in Front of an Accident to be Later Shared on Facebook move). Indeed, to a certain extent I think it's in human nature* to Stop and Stare; we are curious beings, after all. But here in India, it has been taken to a new level.

Evidence #1: a few weeks ago I was playing in a soccer tournament where a girl on the another team has her nose broken. The entirety of her team, and most members on other teams, circled the wounded girl closely, literally hovering above her and pressing in inches away from  the sobbing, blood-splattered player. There was one person next to her, trying to help. The other 30 were just . . . watching.

Evidence #2: Last Thursday, as I was going to work in an autorickshaw, two cars got into a minor fender bender in front of me. (Really minor--in fact, I'm not even sure the two cars made contact. It's possible the driver of the second car was just really upset that the first car had stopped so suddenly in front of him.) One of the drivers got out of his car to yell at the other driver.  What did my autowallah do? He parked his auto in the middle of the road, about 5 feet away from the screaming action, so he could Stop and Stare. I was like "Hey Mr. Autowallah, I need to get to work so, can we not do this?" He ignored me, so involved in the Stop and Stare was he. It wasn't until I threatened to get out of the auto and not pay him that the driver turned the car back on. I mean, come on!

I have no theories as to why the Stop and Stare is so commonplace  in India. So, if anyone has any ideas, I'd love to hear them.

*Actually, this isn't in New Yorkers' nature. I've never seen a New Yorker pull a Stop and Stare. We, on the other hand, have perfected (possibly even invented) the I Don't Even Notice or Care about this Amazing/Crazy/Ridiculous/Unbelievable Thing Going On Right in Front of Me Because I Gots to Keep It Moving move.

Seen in Varanasi

What can I say, the man just likes to show off for the ladies. I was suitably impressed

Seen in Delhi

In Delhi, family is everything.

Actually, this ad is almost identical to about half of the personals in the daily papers.

Karmically dammed

I have a heavy karmic debt stemming from a past life. My current life will be filled with hardship, but I’m a survivor. I’m also very stubborn and very loyal. I am attracted to the number 4, but because this number carries its own karmic baggage, I’d be well-advised to stay away from people, places and things baring this number.

At least so says a friend of mine, who is an active believer in the power of astrology and numerology. Where did he get the above personality description? Well, it stems from the fact that I was born on May 17. May means that I’m a Taurus, the earth sign whose defining characteristics are intractability and loyalty. 1 + 7 = 8, and persons who were born on days adding up to 8 are karmically dammed. Well, maybe not dammed per se, but apparently we have some pretty epic shit to make up for in a past life. “Like, you may have killed someone in a past life,” says my friend.

Not all birthdates are so tainted. Another friend who was born on the 1^st of the month is proclaimed to be a natural leader. Those born on dates that add up to 4 do have some karmic payoffs to make, but by and large can sail through life unconcerned with past murders.
 
I asked my friend if there was any good news associated with my birth date. He says, “Oh sure. See that #1 over there? Yeah, maybe she’s a born leader but when the going gets tough she might not make it through. You, on the other hand, are like the energizer bunny. You just keep trekking!”

I pointed out to my friend that, actually, my life so far has not really be filled with hardships. Born to a loving and supportive family, constantly surrounded by amazing friends, healthy and remarkably good-looking. Why, some might even say I’ve lived quite a charmed existence.

My friend scratched his head, “What was building number where you grew up?”

 I answer, “239.”

 
My friend does the math: 2 + 3 + 9 = 14. Then, 1+ 4 = 5. He says, “So you grew up in a 5 building. Very clever of your parents to keep you away from any number 8. No wonder you’ve had a nice childhood. Just be sure to stay away from living in any 8-marked place going forward.”

Yep, will do.

I mean, how cute am I in Indian threads? (And jewels)?

Guys, I don't do this often--but look how cute my new Indian clothing is!

First, my new Nehru vest, bought at India's famous khadi store.  (Khadi just means a kind of homespun cloth that Gandhi made the center of his anti-colonial "Buy Indian" campaign. This vest is actually made out of wool, but came from store selling only Indian locally-made products. Anyway, Nehru vests are very in this year--actually every year. All of the Indian power players wear them.

Next up, my first piece of real Indian jewelry! By which I mean, it's big, very shiny, and can be worn absolutely nowhere except maybe a wedding with a rhinestone studded sari. But seriously, Indian's love this kind of jewelry--my colleagues at work were so impressed with my good taste!

And the best part? The enameling on the back means it's shiny from every direction!

Of course, this wouldn’t be an Indian fashion blog post if I didn’t include one picture of me rocking the kurta pajama look. Here it is, in action, at the office.

And finally, gorgeous, hand-embroidered shawls which probably took three generations of women in a Kashmiri family 2 weeks to complete but can be had for the price of like, 10 minutes of a first year big law attorney's hourly billable rate!

Aren't they gorgeous? I bought two. And see below for a detail on the hand embroidery.

One can say alotta things about India, but one must also say this: this country has the best shopping in the world!

Summer is coming

Summer is coming.

They say it as if they were Paul Revere warning of the advent of the British.

 Summer is coming, and it’s coming soon.

 Yes, I remember summer in Delhi. Steaming hot, sticky wet, dripping smells of ripe body odor and roasting garbage on the pavement. The city slows down, the daytime streets cleared of anyone who can afford not to be out and about. Languishing forms drape over every surface—rickshaw cyclists curled up in their carriage, ice-cream vendors asleep over their refrigerated wares, shoe-shiners passed out over their tools. We sleep to conserve energy and to sweat a little less. But even that rarely works.

Summer is coming, and it’s coming for us all.

Those of us with air conditioners spend our days inside, backs pressed up against the vents with ice-packs stored in the fridge—hoping against hope that these frozen sacks of peas will get us through the next power cut. Then, the power cuts and we lie naked on the stone floors with frozen peas piled on our chests, foreheads and stomachs. The coolness of the floor helps…for a little while. But we pray to every air-conditioning god there is to turn the power back on. There are no atheists in a power cut.

Bathrooms and kitchens aren’t air-conditioned. So, we try to pee less. We eat only those foods which can be prepared hastily, and then retreat back into our air conditioned sanctuaries.

At work, I sit around with my colleagues and argue about who has it worst:

“The power cuts in my neighborhood are so frequent.”

“I have no air-conditioning in my living room.”

“I have no air-conditioning in my bedroom.”

“I have no air-conditioning in my house!”

She wins. Those without air-conditioning always have it the worst.  But there are those even worse off—the poor unfortunate souls living in apartments or slums even without fans. Those living under a tin-roof which radiates heat. Those living under a tarp which radiates everything. Those living without any shelter at all. And those poor, darling children who sell knickknacks to motorists at traffic lights all day in the blazing sun, without shade and without shoes on the burning pavement. Summer is coming for them too.

Summer is coming for the food of Delhi, which will no longer be safe to eat unless prepared seconds before you eat it.

Summer is coming for the justice of Delhi, as the court house shuts down in June on account of heat.

Who will escape? There are those, few—oh, lucky few!—with private power generators and air-conditioned cars. The rich businessmen, the well-connected diplomats, the powerful politicians. But even these blessed folk will still be changing their sweat-stained shirts after each dash from house to car, from car to office.

The only ones who truly escape are those who leave the city.

Today the heat is forecasted to reach 97 degrees Fahrenheit, and it’s not even April yet.

Truly and truly, summer is coming.