Male Only Check

My husband and I decided to eat at a local restaurant this past Saturday. It is a really good place with a global cuisine menu so you can pretty much get whatever kind of food you are craving.

You have to pass through a security check to get into the mall to eat at this restaurant so that was what we did on Saturday. As we walked through the doors the male security guard waves me on in but stops Lance to then pass the "wand" over him to ensure has no crazy things on him like metal items, guns, or knives which of course he doesn't carry. What struck me as odd was that I was carrying my usual gargantuan sized purse that could have had anything in it but because I was a woman, and thus un-wandable, I was not searched or even asked to open the bag.

This happens all over India. If you are women and you are going into a mall, hotel, whatever and there is not a female guard on duty (to search your person and purse) then no one checks you over because a male security guard can not wand a women in India nor can he search her bag. It is true! Sometimes you go into a mall and there is a female only security screening area that forces you to go behind this flimsy, little screen to be wanded so the men passing through their own security check don't see and get all "flustered" or something...because lets face it a security check is so interesting right! :)

In airports in India they have completely separate lines for men and women to pass through. And for once, the women's line is always shorter than the men's (I think that is because less women seem to travel in India or maybe it is because they really take their time checking out the men to be sure they are safe).

Anyways, thus I have come to believe that we (women) just can't do something evil like bring in something illegal into the building.

So I laugh whenever this happens to Lance and he is the only one of  us that is searched. I just say in an accusatory tone while pointing at him, "You men are so evil! See how they always have to search you! You should be ashamed of your gender."

He just laughs and looks down at me out of the corner of his eye while raising his eyebrow and says, "They don't know my wife!"

(Of course neither one of us would break the rules and he is kidding but it is funny none the less.)

Wash...boss...same thing.

A few days ago I had a big misunderstanding. You know that whole....you don't speak the same language as me thing and I don't understand your accent. It all started with my driver calling me up while I was doing my morning yoga routine and asked me, "Mam, are you going out this afternoon?"

I responded with, "Yes, around 2 pm I will head over to the market to buy some groceries and later meet a friend for coffee."

He was quiet for a moment while he thought. Then he stated, "I need to take wash."

I thought, 'Oh gosh, I really don't need to know that!' I responded to Sushil by stating, "Ok, do what you need to do. I will be out around 2 pm."

He sounded confused but just agreed with a simple, "Yes mam."

When we hung up I finished my yoga while thinking well that was strange. I got ready to head out for a full afternoon of errands and spending time with friends. I hopped in the car around 2 pm and told my driver to take me to the market. I asked him, "Did you get everything done that you needed to?" (I was eluding to the wash thing earlier.)

He responded a bit hesitantly, "Yes, mam." I could tell he was unsure of something. We were both quiet.

A few minutes later my husband calls and says, "Are you with Sushil?"

"Yes, why?"

He says, "Because I needed him at 1:45 to take me over to do some store visits."

Oh goodness...I realized what he had meant earlier....when he said 'take wash' he meant 'TAKE THE BOSS (meaning my husband)' I just hadn't understood my driver's accent. I tell my husband we are on our way over to get him right now. Later I would apologize to Sushil. It wasn't his fault that both Lance and I needed him at the same time and he didn't know what to do. He didn't want to disappoint either of us. Anyways, wash....boss....same thing.  Sort of!  :)

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

DOWN. NOT UP! WOMAN!

A few weeks ago Lance and I headed to Goa on the Indian Ocean for a long weekend getaway. As we arrived at the airport we immediately felt relaxed. Fresh air. Beautiful palm trees. Ready for 5 days of respite and quiet on the beach...

We get into the airport to collect our single piece of luggage and there is a gentleman at the top of the escalator directing traffic down to baggage claim. Lance is walking two steps behind me when I ask the airport attendant where you pick up the luggage from our particular flight. He waves me down the escalator with his hand. Lance quickly sees the sign for our airline over the gentleman's head and yells out my name, "Lisa!" and points over to another door heading away from the escalator. In a second I realize I don't need to go down the escalator so I quickly turn back up to take the ONE step back up to meet back up with Lance to get our luggage from the correct baggage area when the gentleman who directed me to the wrong place starts yelling at me in Hindi and waving me down stairs. I am like, "but..." and motion towards the other pickup area.

He then proceeds to start yelling at me in English..."This is the down escalator. You MUST go down."

I state loudly, "There was one step between me and the top of the stairs." I am down founded and by this point I am half way down the escalator. My husband is watching this interaction with his mouth hanging open.

So the guy keeps yelling at me..."DOWN. NOT UP! DOWN. NOT UP! DOWN. NOT UP!" He just keeps yelling and repeating it to me like I am the dumbest person he has ever seen. He is hounding me like I am a criminal and as though there are strict rules in this country for riding an escalator. Everyone is turning to stare at me and they are shaming me with their Indian eyes. I finally am at the bottom of the very long escalator and have to take the stairs to get back to my husband who is still standing at the top of the stairs.  So on my way back up the guy has the gall to meet me in the middle of the stairs to proclaim again directly into my face, "DOWN. NOT UP. It is dangerous to go the wrong way, WOMAN."

'Woman!' I see my husband sign and close his eyes...like 'Oh God dude what have you done!'

I have had enough of this interaction with the airport attendant. So I yell "OH SURE, I am doing something illegal here with the escalator (pointing over my shoulder at the contraption) but your whole country drives cars like a maniac with no rules or respect for other people and that is legal! And don't call me woman, MAN. I have had enough of your male macho crap!" His eyes widen and he stares at me as though he has no come back to that remark or he has never been spoken to by a woman like this before. Either way he shut up!

Later I would laugh with my husband about my little snarky comments. I don't know where it came from but good grief it was just an escalator! No one was in danger or anything!

Another example of how I sometimes don't understand this country!  :)

Indian Driving "Lesson"

It appears that rules for driving in India are more like guidelines. And no one really pays attention to the guidelines either. They pretty much drive where and how they want!

For instance, a few Friday nights ago we were heading out for some dinner at our favorite Chinese place when we found ourselves in the middle of the 8 pm traffic rush on a Friday night. Cars everwhere. My husband leans over and comments, "Did you notice that there are 7 lanes of traffic on a 4 lane road." I look around. Good grief he is right. There are cars, rickshaws, motorcyles, trucks, and bicycles moving in the same general direction but squished together into more lanes of traffic than it appears the road can handle. But in true Indian fashion it does work... somehow.

The other day I was driving over to pick up some shirts from the dry cleaner for my husband. We were heading along with the traffic on a very busy road when a young woman walked directly in front of my car and stuck her hand out in a stop sign fashion. There were about 20 other cars around and behind us when she did this and we all came screeching to a halt. She never once looked up from under her dupatta (a long scarf worn over the head). Then about 15 goats begin to cross the road with, who I am guessing to be, her husband following behind them. No one honks during the whole ordeal. Everyone just waited. I sat there with my mouth hanging open waiting for my driver to honk. Nothing happens as it is very normal for a herd of goats to cross a road in a large metro area of over 27 million people. I was amazed.

In general...

If there is a red light people still go.

If there is a curb seperating two sides of the road people just drive over it as though it is not there.

If there is a round-about in an intersection people just drive directly across it. Literally!

If a car is turning onto a street then it is the responsiblity of the other drivers to look for him as he will not be looking for them.

And the most terrifing thing you experience here is if you need to get to the other side of the road but only one opening in the median is available within the next block your driver will simply cross over to the oncoming lanes of traffic and drive on the wrong side of the road...honking his horn and blinking his lights.  Really!

So that folks is why Lance and I do not drive in India.  :)

Goa (Indian Ocean) Vacation 2012

Blue Skies and 90 degrees = Life of a Yogi

It was beautiful here today. Sure it was warm (90 degrees F) but really pretty.

Around noon today I was doing my hour long yoga practice on the top floor of my house.  The curtains were open to the balcony. I opened the door to let the heat into the house while I practiced and the sun was shining from the skylight on the roof. I was trying some very difficult poses, focusing very hard on not falling down as I have been trying to learn some inversions (hand stands and shoulder stands). I was enjoying the difficulty of the various positions and feeling pleased with myself for the successes I had been having as of late. I finished my session with some quiet meditation and let my mind relax. 

During my peaceful contemplation I was focusing on my body. Feeling how strong my shoulders were becoming. How my legs felt and how my arm muscles were coming back after years of neglect. I could sense that my dog had come into the room and had lain down on her mat beside me. After a few more minutes, I opened my eyes and  noticed how blue the sky was. The air in my city had cleared out along with most of the dust that seems to float around consistently. How nice the call of the birds in my back yard were and how lovely the dragonflies looked while they graced my balcony with their presence. My dog Bella was lightly dozing beside me.

I looked around my yoga space and noticed how sparse it looked. Nothing on the white walls. Just a red mat on the floor with a purple blanket I had purhcased in Mexico like 8 years ago. There was an extra plushy blanket on the floor for my dog to sleep on while I practiced. In the corner were my yoga blocks and straps. On the ceiling was a basic, plain white fan set on high speed on this hot day. My room needed nothing more!

I started thinking about a yoga quote I had read in a book recently. It basically said that when you feel your life is lacking look inside and you will find peace. Today it made more sense to me than ever before. I found peace in the heat, the emptiness of my yoga space, the sound of my dog sleeping beside me on the floor.

My wish for you is that you find peace today. In your clean life. Your empty spaces. Your connection with yourself. The love of your dog. The sunny heat.  

The Haggle and the Hairy Rug

So in India if you want to purchase an item at a local market or small family owned store you have to learn to haggle...something I thought I wasn't good at doing but I guess all you need is practice.

Our friend's girlfriend (who is from Japan) happened to come into town this week to visit her man. She wanted to spruce up his flat a bit so she asked me to take her around to the local stores and purchase a "few" items for his house. Notice I said a few!

Anyways, so I pick her up around noon on Monday and for the next 5 hours we do nothing but shop non-stop for his house. Half way through the day we head to the carpet store to haggle for a rug she wanted to purchase for the living room. My friend had a specific amount of money she wanted to spend but she didn't want to haggle so she asked me to do this for her. She is very timid in true Japanese culture. Now, I hadn't haggled in India before but thought...hey you gotta learn sometime.

We arrived at the carpet store and the first thing I noticed was that the store had rugs from all over in all different shapes and sizes and colors. They put any US selection I have ever seen to shame!!!

So we approach the shop owner and I state very loudly, "My friend was in yesterday and looked at a rug. You gave her this card with the price of the rug on the back. It is too much. We want a better price."

The shop keeper looks shocked. I am sure he was thinking who is this pushy American!!! He looks at my Japanese friend and says, "You were in yesterday and I offered you the best price...8,500 rupees."

I respond, "Well it isn't good enough. 4,500 is closer to the amount we want to pay."

He steps back from me. He looks me up and down clearly sizing me up. I put on my best 'don't think you can push me around' face. We have a little stare off for a moment. Then he laughs and declares "4,500 is stealing from me. Need 7,000 to get this carpet."

I say back, "4,900."

He says, "6,700."

I pause to consider and then turn to my friend and say "Let's go." She looks from him to me and we start to walk out. She whispers to me in a desperate tone, "but I really want that carpet."

The shop keeper pipes up, "You have come in twice to look at this carpet. I will take 6,300 for it!"

My friend spins on her heals and declares "Sold" with a truimphant wave. My friend and I are smiling ear to ear. The shop keeper is grumbling under this breath. I am sure he grumbles every time a carpet is sold in his store. He probably uses the same words to grumble at everyone.

I start to congratulate myself on being a good haggler. I begin to think about all the great deals I will get in the future. I realize that I should have haggled earlier in my first days in  India. I think back to the plants I bought for the back yard and probably overpaid for. I think about the wooden statue I just purchased for the living room and think ' good grief, I probably overpaid on that too.'

And just as I am feeling bad about not haggling for better discounts in the past....the rug comes out....and DEAR GOD WAS IT UGLY. It was a good thing I hadn't seen the rug before I started the haggling or I might have started at like 5 rupees. :) It was brown and hairy. I mean really hairy!!!  Like don't touch me or I will growl at you hairy. Anyways, I hide my distaste and smile at my friend. She is smiling broudly while admiring her purchase. She is very happy with the carpet and so I am very happy for her. We head to the next shop to haggle some more.

I vow to practice the art of haggling as often as possible during my time in India even if it is to purchase a rug that growls. The haggle is definetly part of the culture here.

National Zoological Park, New Delhi

Lance and I went to the Zoo today. Here are a few pictures.

Q and As

Lots of our friends/family reacted strongly when they found out we were moving to India. Here were a few of their reactions, concerns, and questions (minus the names of course).

"So, you are only going because your husband got promoted, right?"
My answer: First off, there is a glaring assumption in this one that means no one would move to India unless it involved work and lots of money. I will say that it helped my husband's career that he got promoted. It meant I didn't have to work while we live in India. But no, I personally wanted to move to India to learn how to need less stuff in my life to make me happy. How to use the resources I have already gained (for example: clothes, food, books) and only purchase items when I need them. I might be channeling Gandhi a little bit there. My husband moved to India to learn about a new and quickly growing population of shoppers and how to fulfill the basic needs of a population in a single retail location...which by its self is quite ambitious and interesting to hear about each day.

"What are YOU going to do ALL DAY?"
My answer: Stare into space. Just kidding. I was asked this question every day for the first month we announced we were leaving the US to move to India. My answer was always the same... to do lots and lots of whatever I want to do. Yoga. Painting. Reading. Cooking. Volunterring. Basically whatever I could have done in the US but my excuses kept getting in my way. I really hope when I return to the US I will keep doing all these great things I have been devoting time to during my days here. Note: It is funny but I had supplies for most of these hobbies already but just hadn't used them until moving here. What do you have in your closet you have been meaning to do or try?

"Aren't you worried you'll get malaria?"
My answer: Dear God...they have malaria here...no one told me about the malaria!!! Just kidding. If you take the anti-malaria pills and stay diligent about killing mosquitos daily you are fine. Kill em when you see em and don't leave doors/windows open at night without screens on them.

"You better enjoy beef now cause you won't have any over there."
My answer: Well I see cows everywhere in India. On the streets, in fields, beside office buildings. Everywhere. Sometimes I run up to them, pour on some A-1 sauce, and just bite 'em on the rump. That fufills my need for beef. :) No? You knew I was kidding on that one. There are lots of American/European restaurants here for a person to enjoy beef or pork on a regular basis.

"Where/How will you buy groceries?"
My answer: Easy, just like you do....at the grocery store. :) Just remember to take along a reusable grocery bag ( I have a HUGE canvas one that I purchased from LL Bean years ago that I used in the US that works like a charm here too. Everything fits in that one big bag!!!) In India if you don't bring a bag you have to pay for a reusable cloth one. I think the US needs to start this practice! Side note: Then the saying would change from "paper or plastic?" to "your bag or...your bag?"

"You had better take lots of food, clothes, and bedding. You can't find those over there."
My answer: Have you been to India! This place has a mall on every street corner.

"How many people will be working for you at your house?"
My answer: One. My husband. Just kidding! (Lance will laugh when he reads that!!!) No, this is a good question. We have a hand full of security guards outside of our house (these are required by my husband's employer). We have one gardener and one pool cleaner (to keep the yard looking good as required by the neighborhood association people). We have two drivers (also required by my husband's employer so we don't kill ourselves while trying to drive here....which I am sad to say would happen if we tried). So the only additional help is the cleaner who helps keep the house in shape from the torrential amount of dust that tries to invade our home daily. The cleaner was my only stated request. :)

"Wow, it sounds like an easy life for you."
My answer: It is easier in many ways AND it is harder than living in the US in other ways. Many challenges were not what I was expecting at all (for an example you can read back to the earlier post about trying to find a plunger or learn how to take a 3 minute shower). I will write a post about the harder differences one of these days.

"What do you think about how you will contribute to the caste system and crippling poverty over there?"
My answer: How you are contributing to it where you live? What are you doing to change things in your home town? It is everywhere in the world. It just manifests in different ways and at different levels. The only thing you can do is try to be a good person no matter where you live (show compassion, pay people what you owe them, help others when you can, educate when someone willingly gives you the opportunity, and volunteer your time/energy).

Freud on a Street Corner....

All over India the unemployment rate is very high so many folks do what they have to do make a living here. So while driving around Gurgaon yesterday I happened upon a major intersection where many people are working to see their goods (newspapers, flowers, balloons, books) right in the road or on the street corners. I admire their diligence.

While waiting to turn right a gentleman approaches my window. I glance over to see what kinds of things he is selling and there was a huge (and I mean HUGE) copy of the complete works of Sigmund Freud. I start laughing. The book seller and my driver don't understand why I am laughing. I do not purchase the book.

It just struck me as a funny. Sigmund Freud on a street corner in India!

Now my friends back home know that I was a counselor and studied Sigmund Freud in Graduate School while working on my Masters Degree. But I am guessing that the gentleman selling these books 1) didn't know what the book was about; 2) wouldn't appreciate the whole Oedipus Complex (where young male children are secretly in love with their mothers); and 3) doesn't know that it isn't a easy, fun read. You really don't hear anyone here (or in the US for that matter) saying, "Hey, I just need to run to the book store (or street corner) right quick and grab a copy of Sigmund Freud. I heard it was a great read!"  Not gonna happen!

Anyways, thought it was funny and wanted to share.

If You Can't Laugh at Yourself....

Perhaps one of the funniest things that I have ever done I did yesterday. I hope you get a good laugh out of it.

So as you have already read I have a driver, Sushil. But on Thursdays I have a different driver, Sonu, so Suhil can have the day off to spend with family and friends or do whatever. On Wednesday afternoon of this week Suhil tells me, "Mam? We need to get the car serviced soon."

I say sure and explain that Lance would tell him when we can do this based on his schedule. I then ask him, "Do we get a loaner car while the car is being serviced so I am not stuck at home all day without transportation?"

Sushil reponds, "Yes, mam. The boss' office will supply one." (Boss means Lance by the way.)

That night I inform Lance that we need to get the car serviced in the next few days. He agrees to ask about it in the morning and set it up.

On Thursday morning my driver, Sonu, and my normal car, a Toyota, show up at 8 am. I go out around 9 am to tell my driver I won't need him today. I know that all the drivers enjoy hanging out at the office waiting for the other expats to finish work and that the drivers are all good friends who like to share gossip. So I send Sonu back to the office to hang out with them. He leaves.

Around 6:00 pm that night I get an email from Lance saying Sonu is waiting to pick me up outside the house so we can head out to dinner at our favorite Indian restaurant, "The Corriander Leaf." I am thrilled and responded back with, "That is a great idea. See you in about 20 minutes at your office."

So I get ready and head outside. Now, I immediately notice that there is a different car parked directly in front of my house this time. It is a lovely, maroon colored Honda with beautiful leather interior. It looks like Sonu in the driver side seat and my security gaurd is sitting in the front passenger seat. So I think to myself, 'Oh, Lance must have had the car serviced today and this is the loaner car. That's pretty nice for a loaner car.' I head on over to get in.

(Sigh) Do you see where this is going?

My guard gets out of the front seat just as I hop into the back. The gentleman in the front seat turns around and IT ISN'T SONU. My smile fades and I state, "Oh God!" We look at each other for a moment.

Just then my security guard opens the door and says "Mam, this is the neighbor's car." He is trying not to laugh at me. I see a smile hiding behind his hand. The driver just looks confused. I am too.

I get out quickly and mumble "Sorry. I was confused." I repeat this several times. I feel like an idiot. Really!!! I stand there mumbling and apologizing.

Then my neighbor comes outside! I think, 'Oh great, this just keeps getting better and better!' We haven't officially met yet so this is not a GREAT first impression. I appologize to her and claim it has been one of those days and with the cars and drivers changing I just assumed it was my loaner car. Now mind you there are not many expats in my neighborhood so I am sure they all thought that crazy American doesn't even know which car is her's. Which in retrospect I really didn't. I go inside glad it is dark out so no one can see my bright red face.

My driver Sonu shows up about 2 minutes later and from the front window of my house I can see my guard telling him the story. I walk out and try to smile at all of them. I get in the car with a sheepish look on my face...like a child who was caught trying to steal an extra cookie or something. Sonu smiles from the corner of his mouth and says, "Hello Mam."

On the way to the office I say nothing. I am too embarassed and he knows why. About half way there, in true Indian style, he starts making small talk...most unlike him to chat away while driving...and I realize he is trying to get my mind off of my mistake. I know this trick and appreciate his effort greatly.

Later that night at dinner I tell Lance my embarrasing story. He laughs hysterically out loud. Everyone in the restaraunt turns to stare and he says loudly, "You have to share that on your blog. It is too funny." He then tells me he would have made the same mistake and not to worry about it.

So if you can't laugh at yourself....then please don't move to a foreign country where you don't speak the language. Otherwise it will be very bumpy ride indeed and I am not talking about the roads.  :)

An Angry Yogi

I don't know if many of my friends know this but I am a yogi. An avid fan of the yoga. So every day at around 11:30 am here in India I do my yoga practice for about an hour. Some days more than an hour. Some days less. Afterwards  I feel lighter, stronger, and much more relaxed. For those fellow practicers of this exercise you understand this feeling.

So let me explain how yoga helped me yesterday. First off, I was frustrated!

The gentleman who cleans my house for me every day informs me that starting next month his new rate will be $20 US dollars more. I was shocked. There was no negotiation. No request for a raise. I was dumbfounded and extremely upset. He just states it as a fact. Thoughts fill my brain about how he shows up late almost every day (last week in fact he was an hour late and Saturday he didn't show up at all). I think about firing him on the spot but all in all he does pretty good work. So I politely smile and say that my husband and I will have to discuss that and get back with him.

He leaves promptly at 11:00 am like normal. By 11:30 I am on my yoga mat ready to focus on "living and breathing in the moment." BUT I CAN'T. I AM PISSED. You see in the US we don't demand a raise we ask for it. Maybe it is because I spent so many years in Human Resources but this is really struck a nerve with  me so I get up from my mat and call Lance at work. While pacing back and forth I explain the problem and he says, "Let me ask a few folks around here how the house cleaner raise thing works." You see in India everyone has a house cleaner. Many house cleaners actually live with the family for whom they clean. Others come for 8 hours a day and leave at the end of their shift. I have only requested that my help come for 2 hours a day in the morning. Not a bad gig...right. Less work than most for the same amount of money. I tell Lance, "We have already been overpaying him for the 2 hours of work he does for us every day." We hang up.

So I go back to my mat. I am still mad.

I try to relax. Stretch my body into Downard Facing Dog. Then I realize this isn't working. I need to do some flows. So I contort my body into a full 15 minutes of Sun Salutations. That isn't working either. Why am I letting this get to me so much!

So, I stop the yoga for the day disappointed in myself for not accomplishing my goal while living in India of doing a full yoga practice each day. Now my anger at my house cleaner has passed on to anger at myself. I reach for my trusted friend...."Meditations from the Mat." This is a fantastic book about practicing yoga and generally being a better person. And wouldn't you know the lesson for the day is titled "The prize is in the process." I read the rest of the lesson and understand that I need to return to my mat to work through the process of being upset.

So I meditate in a cross legged position. I think about my house cleaner. I send him good will and happy thoughts. I focus on thoughts like "He is a good person. He has a family to support. Every problem has a solution. " I leave my mat after 20 minutes feeling much better and smiling.

Lance comes home that evening at 6:30 like normal and wouldn't you know it...the problem has been solved. One of the local people who works with Lance (and speaks Hindi) called our house cleaner and explained that it is normal for the house keeper to ask for a raise after 9 months to a year of work not after 3 months of service and that the home owner would decide if the raise was warranted. The cleaner said he understood. And Lance confirmed with him. Problem solved. The next day my house cleaner was 15 minutes early and had a smile on his face. We had reached an agreement to wait on the raise.

"He is a good person. He has a family to support. Every problem has a solution."

Send good thoughts to the person who is making you angry today!
It just might help (in more ways than one.)

Hanuman

I met Hanuman the other day.

That is suppose to be funny by the way since he is a Hindu god of monkeys.   

Appartently he has been hiding in plain site for some time without my noticing.

I was riding along in my car this week on an extremely bumpy road heading to a local market to buy groceries. I was bouncing along minding my own business while taking in the sites around me including the people, cars, rickshaws, bicycles, elephants, cows, sheep, goats, pigs, dogs, trash, smells....etc when there he was...right in front me for weeks. Hanging from the rear view mirror in fact. I look at Hanuman, who I did not know at the time, and he is smiling in his mischievous way holding onto 2 strange looking items (one sort of roundish shape on a stick and the other item triangular). He is faded from the sun but happy none the less. I think to myself, 'Should I know who this strange monkey man is that gets to hang about doing nothing all day in my car.' I decide to ask Sushil who is my extremly skilled and talented driver (I will save the driving stories for another post as it boggles the mind how one drives in a town of 27 million people).

So I ask, "Who is that?"

Sushil responds, "Who mam?" 

I respond while pointing, "That little monkey man hanging from my mirror."

Sushil smiles ear to ear. I realize that smile is the same smile exactly as the one plastered on the monkey man's face. My mouth gaps open. The similarity is striking. Sushil says "Hanuman."

I keep looking at him. "And that is?"

Sushil, who is still smiling at me simply states "The monkey god, mam."

So I respond "Ah" in a very direct way implying that I know him well.  In reality I don't understand at all. For the rest of the drive I find my eyes wondering over to the monkey god. Who is he? What does he do hanging there all day? Why is he smiling like that?

That night I go home and look up "Hindu Monkey God" on the internet and there he is...Hanuman. He is usually represented with two items in his hands. One is a mountain (the triangle shape noted earlier) and the other is a club. These two items represent his many battles and triumphs over evil. He teaches Hindus about the  unlimited power that lies unused within each person. In fact on Tuesdays, and in some places in India on Saturdays too, many people fast in honour of Hanuman and give him special offerings. I am impressed with his strength, apparent happy attitude, and diligent following of Hindus. I state aloud "Well you go little monkey man!"



So Hanuman will stay hanging from my rear view mirror. For I am not a Hindu, but in this traffic one is glad to have the champion of "GOOD" hanging about smiling at the other drivers rushing past you.

Hunger

Today I saw a 5 year old begging for a banana on the street corner. Begging desperately!

If you have food today please enjoy it and stop wasting it. Find a way to use that scrap of dried out bread or eat that apple before it goes bad. Eat what you have instead of accumulating more than you need.

Hunger is more real when you are staring it in the face every day.

Nothing witty from me today folks!  

A Hole in the Floor

Over the weekend Lance and I headed into New Delhi to check out some more of the sites. Our Saturday consisted of spending several hours wondering around the National Museum. This building houses one of India's largest collections of artifacts from all over the country. I found it interesting, as I was wondering about looking at pottery that was made 2,000 years before Christ was born, that in all the other museums I have be in around the world you never see artifacts from this particular country yet its history is so very ancient. Sure you see artifacts from the Mayans and Aztecs in the Americas, Natives in the US, Egyptians and of course the Chinese but never anything from India. It occurs to me that this country (fairly new at standing on its own two feet with indepenence occurring in 1947) has either lost many of its antiquities to other countries (England, China, France, Spain, etc) or just chooses to protect them by keeping them in country. Either way the collection at the National Museum is impressive and I wish they would choose to share some of these amazing items with the world as I am certain it would boost tourism here with its intriguing array of paintings, pottery, and statues.

I am in awe at the art. But as usual something FUNNY always has to happen to me in India.

On my way out of the building I decide to use the ladies washroom (don't call it a bathroom or no one will know what you are talking about in India as you don't really use this room to bath). Anyways, I head into the "washroom" and there is an attendant there who shows me to a stall. I thank her for her direction before turning into my designated stall....and there it is folks....my first experience with what I like to call "a hole in the floor."

For those of you who have never traveled much, most of the world does not use a porcelain toilet complete with toilet paper and a comfy seat for resting one's backside. They use a simple porcelain (sometimes metal or earthen) hole in the floor for you to....well you know....use the toilet. A "hole in the floor" friends! Now, I do realize that my ancestors (by the way who were wild Scots and Irish folk), and yours for that matter, used holes in the ground to take a needed break for many centuries but I am still appalled. It's 2012 people! Maybe it just because I am a spoiled American and I know it. (Sigh, I'll return to my story.)

So the hole looks at me. I look at the hole. I sigh and say a silent pray "Dear God, please don't let me spray on myself!" I enter the room and proceed with business. Upon completion I look for the toilet paper. I gasp. No paper! NO PAPER! I am desperate and make a small squeaking sound similar to a distressed mouse. The attendant hears and gently suggests in broken English...."paper mam?" I say "YES" much louder than I had intended and a small hand comes under the door holding my wonderful modern body cleansing parchment. I thank her and complete my transaction. The paper goes down. All is well. 

As I am leaving the restroom Lance makes a face at me. I have been married long enough to this man to know what that means. It is code for "Was it gross?  You were in there a long time." I nod once and use one simple statemtent to sum it up. "A hole in the floor." He grimaces. We do not mention it again. 

Best Birthday Present: Meat

My birthday was February 1st.

Lance asked me what I wanted for my birthday and I said, "Well if we were in the US I would say jewelry but since we are in India I am gonna say...MEAT. You know like lamb, beef, anything but more chicken." He just laughed.

Two days later on my birthday I got a lovely new green amethyst ring from my loving husband. So sweet! I thought the gifts were over but that night after work Lance tells me he has another gift for me...dinner. So we head to "Wildfire." We walk in the door to the restaurant and my face lights up. Tears begin to fall from my eyes. In front of me are open wood burning grills where lovely skewers of delicious meats are slowly rotating. My mouth waters. My stomach growls. I smell beef. Lots and lots of beef. I hug my husband and thank him over and over again. Who knew I would be more excited about beef than a new ring.  He'll know better next year and just feed me!

The waiter comes over and I order the biggest order of meat on the menu. It included 5 skewers of lamb, salmon, chicken, prawns, and BEEF. There are sauces for each kind of meat and a salad bar with breads. Lance orders the same. We proceed to spend the next 3 hours eating the fantastic meal and downing a bottle of wine together. It was delicious.

I started feeling a slow beef high begining to hit my brain (could have been the overindulgence in the wine but I'm gonna say it was the medium-well cooked cow!). My legs are mushy. My heart is light. I am laughing like a silly girl. Then Lance gets the bill....turns out in India a good meal will cost you a fortune just like in the US. He wouldn't tell me how much but he did say that it was over 10,000 rupees. Ouch!

Overall it was the perfect birthday.
Thank you honey! I won't forget it when your birthday comes around.
Wildfire night #2 here we come!

Lance, Lance, and the Indian Dance

So they had a business meeting this week for the Merchandising team and asked Lance to get up with his boss (who is in the middle in the black jacket) and do a traditional dance. Funny stuff!!! I just had to share a picture.

The Art of the 3 Minute Shower

My first few weeks in India did not go well for one simple reason. The HOT showers were not long enough!

While living in our beautiful home has it perks there is one down side. Image trying to shave your legs when  you only have 3 minutes of hot to luke warm water. How does one accomplish everything that needs to occur in the shower when you only have 3 minutes. Really people....that's not enough time for a woman. Scrubbing, shampooing, shaving. The 3 major S's of the shower require more than a meer few minutes of hot water.

I was frustrated and tried everything to extend the life of the shower. I tried wetting my hair and turning off the water to conserve the precious resource. That just left me shivering in a cold bath room while gritting my teeth and cursing the shower gods. I tried using the extremly large bath tub but alas it didn't fill up with much hot water so shaving became painfully bumpy as my goose bumps began to crop up. I even tried shaving one body part a day. Me: Right leg today. Left leg tomorrow. Underarms next day. Ok, so it sounds funny but I began hiding my body under long sleeves and long pants. Finally one day, Lance just asks...."Ok, what's up with all the long clothes? Are you cold?" I simply explain, "No! I don't have enough hot water for my normal routine." He laughs and walks me into the bathroom and turns on the faucet. "Turn the dial half way to hot. Then only open up the flow like one-third of the way. It makes the hot water last longer." My eyes light up! I say, "THANK GOD! I was worried I was going to become one of those hairy European women who can braid their under arm hair!"

Later on I would get mad that my husband had not told me about the proper hot water saving procedures. I think he had been secretly waiting to see if I would let myself go! Perhaps there are hairy women all over India who just accept this natural part of life hairy legs and all. Or perhaps they just know the secret to conserving the hot water.

Now I enjoy my 20 minute bath. I have time to scrub everything. I can properly shampoo my hair. I can shave my legs...really...all in the same bath. I have time to work on feeling like my normal self again. Yeah! And just when I was working so hard to make the 3 minute shower work for me. I will not miss you cold water. I will not miss you hairy legs.

Pictures of Lodi Garden, Republic Day

Down the Drain...

Imagine, if you will, your toilet is clogged up with the usual toilet debris. You need to unclog it so you go to your local Walmart or hardware type store and purchase a plunger to remove the obstruction. A few quick pumps and presto everything heads "down the drain."

That is the US way.

So we had a clogged drain in the toilet. I go to my local Walmart store (known here as an Easy Day) and we don't sell plungers. I ask the store people and they are confused. Apparently in India they don't call it a plunger. So, I go to two other stores and nothing. I am getting frustrated. I tell Lance to ask his fellow expats at work where to find a plunger. They say "have your driver find one!" Now that is a new idea. Having someone else run errands for you. I am in LOVE with the idea already. I start thinking of all the time I will save. Anyways, I am getting ahead of myself. So I ask our driver, Sushil, to assist me in finding a plunger for the toilet. He doesn't understand so I provide a quick demonstration of what the problem is and and the needed implement. Needless to say the demonstration included me making the "stinky nose" face and pointing at the toilet and a making a strange sort of "up and down" pumping motion that in the US would have REALLY gotten me into trouble in the sexual harrassment department. He simply smiles kindly and says "Yes."  The next day he takes me to the several local (Indian only) markets and tells me "Mam, please stay in the car" while he heads out to search for the needed implement. Apparently buying plungers in India is dangerous work indeed! (That was me using humor to make light of a real danager in being thought of as an wealthy, English woman in the local market who is safe to pickpocket.) So I watch while my driver makes the same funny, yet highly descriptive "up and down" motion while speaking in Hindi. Nothing. We head to two more locations only to come up empty handed.

The next day at 8 am my security guard rings the front door bell. I answer and he has two plungers in a plastic bag with a price tag on each for 50 rupees or $1 (for all you mathematicians that's $2 total). I am thrilled and hug the bag while standing in my pjs on the front porch. He is smiling ear to ear, happy to see me happy. I realize I look ridiculous and that my friends in the US would understand my excitement and my need to hug things! I thank him and pay him his 100 rupees.

The story doesn't end there because everything didn't go "down the drain." It came out the toilet the other way. UGH! So I tell Lance, "Call someone. Do something!!! I am freaking out here!!!"

The next day a plumber shows up to fix the problem. To make the story short he has to take the toilet off the fixture to remove the obstruction. He calls me in after an hours worth of work to show me a pile of toilet paper (and other stuff which shall not be mentioned here). I am mortified. I appologize. He stares at the paper with confusion on this face. We are both silent for a moment...and then he points at the hose to the geyser. You see they don't use toilet paper in India. They use a water sprayer. Paper is very expensive here (8 tiny rolls will cost you $14).

So, as the saying goes "When in ROME...."
never mind....I can't bring myself to use "the hose."

McDonalds and the Bouncing Child

I headed to McDonalds yesterday becuase I had a "hankerin" for some good old fashioned french fries. I am happy to report that my entire lunch cost me $2.40 for a McChicken, medium fry, and a diet coke (in a can). I was thrilled. I thought to myself I could make this a daily trip...maybe not...my butt might get very big indeed if I did that.

Anyways, so I am enjoying my meal, watching the other patrons, and writing in my journal when the cutest kid I have ever seen in my life comes in wearing an adorable home knit hat, complete with animal ears. He is with his father and they head up to the counter. I see them a few moments later as they take a seat a few tables down from me, and wouldn't you know his dad had bought him a happy meal. The handle had the two perfect McDonalds arches, and don't worry folks, creepy Ronald McDonald the clown is alive and well in India and on prominent display. (Never did like that guy. )

So the kid, who is about three years old, begins to eat his "chicken" something sandwich and a starts to bounce. You know... that happy bounce kids do when they are really, REALLY excited about what they are eating. I smiled and realized that this is one of those non-verbal cues that crosses all cultures that means I am happy and content with my life today. I make a decision right then and there to bounce a few times today in honor of the tradition.

As I leave McDonalds later I run into my friend Ronald in the lobby. He has his red curly hair and stark white face, and the biggest grin. Just then a mother and daughter go up to Ronald (the statue) and the little girl hugs him. I then realize that my hatered of the scary clown needs to be reconsidered. Maybe I like the guy after all....hmmmm.

Typical Day in India--a personal perspective

Today is Thursday and I started my morning by drinking 2 cups of hot Jasmine tea and eating a fresh banana for breakfast. Delicious!!! I feel healthier already.

The house cleaner showed up at 9:30 (typical start time for Indian jobs appartently). Everyone at work thinks Lance is an exceptionally freaky person for being at the office by 7:30 am which is a full 2 hours ahead of anyone else. Anyways, so the cleaner comes in and I ask (rather show him) that today we need to vacuum the rugs and dust. He doesn't speak much English but looks at me like I am from the moon, which probably isn't too far from the truth. He slowly takes up the broom and tries to sweep the rug. I look on dumbfounded. My American mannerisms have a direct effect. He stops and we share a few moments staring at each other and I try to figure out how to bridge the divide without a common language. I show him the vacuum cleaner. He takes two steps back from it like it is a Cobra about to strike. I look at its funny head and realize that to someone who hasn't used one before it must be a strange site indead. So I plug the hose into the central vacuum and the snake comes alive. He smiles ear to ear and keeps saying "Thak u mam." He then proceeds to use it on everything for the next 2 hours of cleaning...baseboards, stairs, curtains, marble floors, rugs. He loved it!!! I am not sure who he cleaned for before the Twittys arrived but appartently they didn't use a vacuum cleaner.

Now it is time for my afternoon yoga upstairs so as the saying goes...
"Get to your mat. Swim from your shore." Will you swim today or camp out on your shore?