Tap, Tap, Tap

Yesterday I was on the hunt for a new Tokyo sweet shop that had opened in Gurgaon. I was excited because a friend of mine had told me about a wonderful chocolate, banana crepe that they made and I was desperate to try one.

My driver parked our car at this local outdoor shopping area called the Vashant Lok. I get out of the car and start to wander around the market looking for the store when I suddenly feel a tap, tap, tap on my arm. I look down and I have been surrounded by about 5 little girls. They have dirty faces, hallow eyes, and seeking hands.

My driver has warned me about children like this whose parents send them to the local markets to beg for money from the people that are shopping there. Sushil, my driver, said that most of these people get more money if their children do the begging than if they worked a regular job. The parents lounge in the shade while the children do the work. Many of the parents even train the kids on how to pick pockets. Several other friends of ours have said that if you offer the parents a job (like gardening, etc) for you that they will decline because they make more money begging. They let the kids beg for them because it is harder to turn down a child....which definitely is the case. The parents are probably standing over to side watching this as their children beg me for money.

Very quickly the 5 children turn into 10 little faces. I am trying to get away. I have my bag strung cross body to keep the kids from grabbing it and I keep trying to shoo them away but they will not leave me alone. They tap on my hands (my rings and bracelets). They tap on top of my bag. They tap my clothes. Tap, tap, tap.

I keep walking and try to shoo them away. I realize that no one else is getting attacked like this. The other people are looking at me but none of them are being pestered in this manner. It occurs to me that I am the only white lady in this market hence why I was the target. I sternly turn around and say "No." Several of the children leave. The rest follow me for a while until I find my sweet store and head in. An Indian lady comes into the shop right behind me and tells me in her beautiful English that I did the right thing. "Those kids will steal from you if you let them. Trust me they are a menace. Whatever happens do not give them money or they will never let you leave."

I am heart broken by this. Those poor children. Tap, tap, tap. Hungry faces. Tap, tap, tap. Thieving hands. Tap, tap, tap. I start to think that India is making me cold hearted. In the moment I was concerned for myself (specifically my purse and jewelry). Heart broken by their little faces but would could I do. Give them money and I would have been pick pocketed as I dug into my purse for sure. Give them food from the sweet shop and the parents would have been the only beneficiaries. It nagged me for hours afterwards.

Later I shared this with a friend of mine who said, "Lisa you have to be careful here. Some people in India, not all, will try to take advantage of you and not think anything about taking things from you outright."

I have lived in India long enough to know this but in the US I was the lady who gave money to the guy on the street corner holding the home made sign asking for help (yes I know he might have used it to buy alcohol but what if he didn't). I built houses for Habitat for Humanity and cooked meals for the elder care program "Meals on Wheels." I set up volunteer programs in the workplace. Maybe I did that because there was a time my family struggled too and needed a little help.

I do volunteer here in Gurgaon as well but something tells me those little kids (and their shady parents) from the local market will continue to nag at me for days to come. Tap, tap, tapping at the back of my mind. Always there. Always present.

Down the Hatch

A few days ago I made a big mistake!

I have these oil burners all over my house. You add a little water and some concentrated oils (I prefer jasmine, lemon verbena, or lavender) and your house smells fantastic. As I was starting on a new painting I hoped to notice that my living room burner was a little low on water. So I went into the bathroom and put some tap water into a used water bottle to transport the water to the burner. After filling up the burner with tap water I left the bottle sitting out. Now that was stupid!

A few hours later I was walking through my living room and thought, 'Gosh I am thirsty.' I then noticed the water bottle sitting on the back of the sofa by the burner. Without thinking I quickly swiped the bottle and took a big swig. A big mouth full went down the hatch. As the water was sliding down my throat I realized that the water was unfiltered tap water. UNFILTERED tap water in India. Oh God!

I started to choke. I ran to the bathroom to try to remove the water from my stomach. I even tried sticking my fingers down my throat to try and provoke myself to vomit up the water. Nothing came up. (I guess it is a good thing I can't make myself vomit on command or anything.) Visions flew through my mind of sitting on the toilet for the next few days as the water works its way homeward. Ugh!

All that evening I kept thinking....its coming....the nausea, the vomiting, the diarrhea. But alas after 4 days nothing has happened. No upset stomach...nothing. So either 1) my stomach and bowels are made of iron (yeah!) or 2) my tap water is not that bad. Either way I am thrilled I haven't been sick. Let's hope it continues. 

The best part to this story is that early that day I had been reading this book about a lady who travels to Bali for a yoga retreat and gets really sick off the tap water and I was thinking, 'how could someone be so stupid as to drink the water?' Bottled water is the way to go. I thought, 'I would NEVER drink the water in a country that is known for having unsanitary water sources.' Um...then I do the same thing a few hours later. Ah, pride goes before the fall doesn't it. 

Corpse Pose and a Loving Husband

Before coming to India my husband was unsure about all this yoga stuff. I would do my yoga poses and meditation in the evenings after he went to bed because I knew he wasn't sure he felt comfortable with the yoga stuff. Is it exercise or is it religion? He is a very good man though because he never once asked me NOT to do it. Every now and then I would catch him laying in bed awake a night watching me out of the corner of his eye doing my practice and I could tell he was showing interest in what I was doing but he never once asked me to stop! God bless him. He knew what it meant to me.

Then we moved to India. Within the first few months of living here he would come home at night and say things like "everyone here does yoga" and "some of the guys I work with were talking about how relaxing it is" and "you know I did some yoga in college as part of a physical education class." I would nod my head and smile at him knowing what was coming. He was really trying to encourage himself that yoga for men was ok and that mixing yoga into his gym workout would be a good thing to do. My husband is well over 6 feet tall, dark skinned (Native American and German blood), dark haired, green eyes, with wide shoulders and strong arms. A manly man. He works out 5 days of the week.

Now, I am not a pragmatic sort of person about yoga. I eat meat. I drink wine often (well not like every day but like once a week). I admit I sometimes curse. I sometimes think negative thoughts about people (although I try not to). Yoga, or I should say the American version of yoga, can sometimes become too much for me. Some women behave like "see how evolved and enlightened I am" while they wear high dollar designer yoga clothes and use expansive trendy mats. Personally, I practice yoga for the exercise, to calm my mind, to push my body, to find my solitude. I do read a lot of yoga material (Rodney Yee, Rolf Gates, Yoga Journal, even sections of the Gita) but something in me finds sections of it a bit to 'cultish' for me. Something false lies there. Something hidden. I was raised Lutheran after all.

One day several weeks ago my husband asked me to show him some yoga moves. Afterwards he went right to sleep and slept like the dead that night. He woke up the next day and stated that he wanted to do yoga once a week with me in our house. I was thrilled. Now every Sunday evening we practice together. Candles, calming music, me helping him with his poses. It is lovely.

Last night was the best! We were lying there at the end of our practice in "Corpse Pose" where we were sinking into our mats. We had been in that position for about 5 minutes when my husband gently reaches over and takes my hand. Softly, calmly, lovingly. It made me want to cry. We were finally sharing this together in India. No more uncomfortable "what is this yoga all about ." He got it and it was beautiful.

Pizza Without the Dough???

Yesterday I went to a world cuisine grocery store. You know one of those stores that sells all kinds of world wide products. For me it usually means finding some good sauces, mixes, and comforts of home. I was excited as I entered the store and saw a handy mix that you could use to make pizza dough (among other items). I thought 'homemade pizza sure sounds good. I think I will get that.' I cruise the rest of the store and find some more nice toppings for homemade pizza and I am really started to get excited. Really good mushrooms, pepperonis, olives, grated mozzarella end up in my basket. Yum.

So I get up to the counter to pay for my goods feeling all excited that my dinner plans tonight will include all of my dinner guests getting to make their own individual little pizzas with whatever toppings they prefer when the cashier informs me he can not find the pizza dough mix in the computer. He calls over a manager to look too but alas no code for that item in their little computer. I sit there for like 5 minutes before the manager tells the cashier to ring up the other items while he looks. So the cashier scans the mushrooms, pepperonis, olives, mozzarella, etc while the manager looks for the pizza dough.

Another 5 minutes passes and the manager comes back and says, "Sorry mam, we can not find this item. Did you still want the pizza dough. I can just put it back."

I laugh and declare, "Yes, I still want the pizza dough!"

He stares at me, "We can not ring it up."

I know I was looking at him like he was an idiot or something. I sigh and say back, "Well then I will not need the rest of the toppings." I turn to leave the store.

He yells after me in a slightly distressed voice, "You do not want the rest of your food items?"

Really I mean what was I going to do with all these toppings without the pizza dough. For a funny moment I contemplate serving pizza sauce mixed with mushrooms and olives right out of my hand. People could just lick the pizza toppings up instead of eating them off dough like normal people do.

I know what you are thinking...maybe he didn't know how to make pizza but they literally have a pizza place on every street corner here...everyone eats pizza...so he knew!

To make a long story short...a moment later he finally found the code. I made my pizzas that night. Life was good. But every time I think about those pizzas I think about serving them without the dough. Just a mash of pizza toppings you have to scoop into your hand. Funny!  :) And of course I had to tell our friends at dinner how close they came to just having toppings for dinner instead of pizza. :)

"Bleep" on the Beef

Last night Lance and I were watching one of our favorite cooking shows (David Rocco's show "Dolce Vita"). The show was a good one about making homemade pesto and sauces for pasta and meats. Although Lance and I could not focus on the recipes because every time David said the term "beef" they would bleep it out! Seriously, beef is apparently as bad a word as "prostitute" or "sex" here which are bleeped out on every show which basically makes American shows very hard to watch here. Too much bleeping. :)

Anyways it was so funny....every few seconds he would say something like, "when you enjoy this "bleep" dish the "bleep" flavors will just melt in your mouth."

So for the rest of the night Lance and I would take turns saying things like.....
I am hungry for a "bleep" burger.
Do you want me to make some "bleep" steaks tomorrow for dinner?
Did you see how he made that delicious "bleep" sauce? Yum.

Caulking with a Roll of Trash Bag Ties

Lance and I met our neighbors several doors down a few nights ago. They are a pleasant couple from the UK who happened to be walking the trail behind our house and stopped by to say hello. They turned out to be lovely people who adore wine and laughter. After a pleasant and spontaneous evening of food and fun the lady of the home mentions to me that their house (which is the exact replica of our house) cost them $800,000 US dollars to purchase. My mouth dropped and shock was apparent on my face. I had no idea because Lance and I rent our home. NOTE: Blog readers I do not share this amount with you to startle you in some way I share this with as it deeply relates to my "caulk" story that follows.

We returned home in the early evening discussing how nice the day had turned out to be and the new couple we had met. As we entered our home Lance and I turned the discussion to the amount of dust that was accumulating in certain rooms in our house. It was noticeable in the kitchen above the sink and in all the bathrooms. We had noticed this several weeks ago and had brought this up to the attention of the company that maintains the property and they mentioned that all homes have gaps like these and there was nothing to fix. You see the exhaust fans (which are basically fans crudely installed into the walls of the kitchen and the bathrooms) were never caulked to keep the dust from coming in around them. About a 2-3 mm gap could be found around all of the exhaust fans.

Thus, Lance and I had decided to do this fix ourselves. We had purchased a caulking gun and a tub of caulk from the local hardware market. So after our lovely evening, we settled into the task of caulking holes in our home. We quickly discovered upon the first pull of the trigger that the gun was made of an aluminum composite. The trigger bent right in half when the first pressure was exerted on it. My husband pronounces "Good grief, this thing is a piece of junk." So goes India. :)

Realizing the gun was not going to work and that we would never find another caulking gun in Gurgaon....we searched the house for something we could use to push the caulk out of the tube and something else to smear the caulk into place.

We ended up using a long, narrow roll of connected trash bag ties for the smearing tool and a knife for the pushing implement. It was surely a funny sight to see. Me standing on my counter using trash bag ties to smear caulk into gaping holes above my sink and my husband using all his strength to push a tube of caulk up with a knife. Once the caulk appeared on the tube he would take my tool (trash bag ties) and smear the caulk on it for me to use.

In a house worth $800,000 who knew we'd have a problem like this.

That's India for you. As you deal with problems like this you start to see why the people in India sometimes use such strange short cuts for the problems they encounter. They have to because they wouldn't be able to find the proper tools to get the job done well.

Living here has taught me to deal about learning to accept problems as they arise. Learning to live with imperfections. Learning to laugh about problems instead of dwelling on them. Learning to find something that will work because the item you need isn't always available. Thank you India for these lessons and more to come.

Highs and Lows

I had a gentleman who works for my husband's company tell me during our expatriate orientation that all expats go through a typical emotional cycle when they move to a foreign country. Typically they are first excited at the prospect of moving to a new country. Then overwhelmed once they get there and reality sets in that living in a foreign country is not vacation all the time but actual work. Next is the rampant depression as they fight the desire to run for the next flight home so they can enjoy the comforts of familiarity. In the last phase, they either learn to accept the life they created or reject it and flee back to their native land.

As a counselor I was interested at how our emotional roller coast gets reduced to a few quick lines of explanation from someone who has never lived in a foreign country. A handy piece of paper with an emotional cycle charted out gets used to explain a very complex process of acceptance or rejection. While I understand why he uses this chart I have to say that EVERY day in India is a roller coaster for me full of highs and lows and sometimes with no rhyme or reason. And no I am not bi-polar! My day just unfolds before me.

For instance, yesterday....

In the morning, my house cleaner calls me into the guest bathroom so I can see the huge puddle of water resulting from a water leak under the toilet. Definitely a LOW. But that's India for you. Something is always breaking but you learn to not freak out about it. After a well placed phone call it was fixed within 2 hours. Water cleaned up. Life moving on.

Then I headed to my local coffee shop for a lovely early afternoon iced tea and chocolate cake. HIGH! Definitely a HIGH. I mean come on it is chocolate cake for goodness sake!!! :)

Then I frown staring into my glass as I start to worry that the ice in my tea is going to give me 'Delhi Belly' later....LOW. :(

Enjoying my new book and the cold air conditioning...HIGH.

Next a text message from the salon where I get my hair done. 'Are you still coming to your appointment at 1 pm?' it read. I state out loud "Crap!" for it was already 1:20 and I was all the way across town. One very fast drive over and I arrive a sparkling 30 minutes late. LOW.

My hairdresser is from France and we have a lovely conversation about the "Crazy Horse" show in Paris and Las Vegas (my old stomping grounds). Fun to swap stories with someone who has also been there and done that. A typical hour and 45 minute hair appointment became a 3 hour event but it was fun to chat! HIGH.

Getting home with a new hair cut and seeing that my dog has decided to drag the trash can and it's contents all over the floor out of her extreme boredom. LOW. After a quick cleanup, I took her out for a much needed evening walk.

Making a good Italian dinner for my husband and sharing a bottle of wine together. HIGH.

No, I am not fleeing back to the US anytime soon but every day is not a vacation here either. People really do live and work here. Normal everyday stuff happens. Tomorrow will bring more highs and lows. All you can do is ride the day out and see what funny things will happen to you in India.

Red Fort, Delhi, India, March 2012