The Great Indian Stare

Ever watched Russel Peters? He has this fantastic one about how all Indians, well desis in general, will stop and stare at other desis on the street, as if in amazement that others exist. We, apparently, haven't got it into our heads that there are actually more than a billion of us on this planet. I fall prey to this constantly, and I know for a fact that other desis do this too.

Anyway. I never really understand why we do it. Having only been here for a couple days, I still haven't figured it out. That being said, today I was subjected to the Great Indian Stare multiplied by 300. I was one of the first to get off the last bus heading to our plane. I walked up the stairs, went into the plane and turned right to walk down the aisle, towards my seat. And all I saw were 150 pairs of male eyes staring at me as if I'd just gotten off a UFO. It was unnerving, but all I could think of was Russel and how he would have loved to be in my position. Laughing, well trying to hide my laughter, I headed to my seat and sat down.

In Vino Veritas - Or Something Like That

I'm currently sitting on the seat of the toilet in my bathroom at the Taj Palace Hotel, New Delhi. Random place to sit and blog - I know. Usually, people sit with the lid up, but that's not my style. I'm sitting like this because I called my language program director last night to ask what time we were heading to the airport for our flight to Lucknow and he told me to be in the lobby by 4:45am. So, the insomniac that I am, I went to bed at midnight and was up by 3:15am (although, I had actually wanted to be up at 4:10am). I finished packing, woke up my roommate in the process (who has to leave the hotel at 7am) and opened the door to take my luggage downstairs. For some random reason, which I can no  longer remember (probably to check the time, because I can't read the time on my analog watch), I looked at my phone. There was a text message from Khan-sahab telling me that we were now meeting in the lobby at 6am. I thought about going back to sleep, but given my fear of being late and knowing that all I'd do is toss and turn, I decided to turn on my laptop. I didn't want to wake-up my roommate again, so decided that the quietest place to type from would be the bathroom.

Yesterday was a pretty awesome day. I was up at 5:45am and then HK (my roommate) and I headed down to breakfast at 7am. We had our language orientation right after breakfast and I got to meet a bunch of the people learning Urdu in Lucknow. Afterwards, I came back to the hotel, made a fool of myself in front of the WiFi help desk (I couldn't figure out why my internet wasn't working - turns out I was putting my room number in the last name box and vice-versa), and relaxed until a friend of mine showed up. We went for coffee in the tea place downstairs and I had this absolutely fantastic "Istanbul coffee." I thought it would be thick, like Turkish coffee, but, instead, it had cardamom powder in it. The server was really sweet and, when we were leaving, came up to me to ask how I had liked the coffee. I replied that it was fantastic and that I had loved the cardamom touch. She was ecstatic and was like, 'Ma'am, can I ask you a question? You're Indian right?' I smiled, and said 'yes.' (Sorry Shalimar and Yogi).

Anyway, so after exchanging some money, which was an experience (good) in itself, my friend and I headed to Hauz Khas. It was so cool! I had no idea there was a mini-lake/reservoir in the middle of the city, and was totally amazed by the greenery. We wandered through the ruins and park near Hauz Khas village, saw Tughlaq's tomb (we think...), and then headed back to the village for dinner/drinks. The place we went to was pretty 'funky,' and it totally didn't feel as if I was in Delhi. As I said to my friend, it could have been in the middle of NYC (the Central Park-esque feeling that I got from the reservoir area totally helped). Anyway, so we decided to try out an Indian wine. I had heard pretty good things about Indian wines and neither of us had tried any. I ordered the Zinfandel. I think his was a Cabernet Shiraz. Anyway. Getting to the point. Our wine arrived and I took my first sip, expecting something good. It was disgusting.

The wine was way too warm, was really acidic, and had a horrible taste that was nothing like Zinfandel. I was mad. One thing I hate, apart from bad service (that's what you get when you grow up in a family that's in the hospitality business - high expectations), is bad food/wine (that's what you get when you grow up in a family that is famous in your community for its great cooks). I debated whether or not to call the waiter and snap at him, or to shut up and share my friend's glass of wine, which according to him wasn't that bad (until he got his whiskey - and then he admitted that his wine had been quite crappy as well). I decided to call the waiter...

He arrived. "Yes ma'am?" The poor guy. I told him off in Hindi and told him the wine was horrible and they had no business serving wine if they didn't know how to serve it, and what temperature to serve it at. He responded, "but ma'am, we can't refrigerate the wine." To which I responded that it didn't matter and that they had to store it properly, otherwise it would turn into shit-wine (which it had). Anyway, he talked to his manager, and they agreed to change our drinks. The Kingfisher was much better.

What was great about the entire exchange though was how it all happened in Hindi and how, by the end of it, the guy was convinced that I was a 'native.' Given the ease with which people here can tell that you're not really one of them, I was surprised and delighted.

Hello Motherland – It’s Been A While:

11 June 2010 - 11:19am

It’s the season before the monsoons, and like the lovers of yore I have returned after a ten-year long viraha. It doesn’t seem like I’d ever left. It doesn’t seem as if I’m in a different country. Surprisingly, it feels completely natural: from the lota usage in the morning (although, some things are easier to do with a lota than others – and I’ve never used a lota before this morning), to aunty’s aloo paratha with makhan and chai, to the cold shower, to sitting on the bed in the 35 degree Celsius heat with the fan humming.

Hello Ghaziabad/Delhi.

I arrived at the airport after a 24-hour journey at 1:45am. By the time I got through customs, which took longer than it should have because of my customary post-airplane washroom break, and got my luggage it was 2:40am. I had to wait for a friend to come pick me up, so I sat in the arrivals lounge and wrote in my travel journal. By the way – these posts will be quite different from the journal, for obvious reasons, but will draw from my journal entries as needed. Anyway, my friend showed up at 3am, and after a scare that involved me thinking my suitcase had been stolen, we headed to his house in Ghaziabad. It was a pretty cool journey. Imagine Delhi at 3am, completely quiet except for truckers on the road. I saw this one truck full of small red potatoes, another full of chickens. I’ve never seen a live chicken before. Now I’ve seen hundreds. Poor chickens. They were all squashed up in tiny cages. Their bills, is that what you call them? The flappy thingies. I’ll call them bills – you can see how ignorant I am about poultry – anyway, the bills were this bright red colour. Well, they looked bright red in the hazey darkness.

Once we got to his house, he showed me to the room and I went to sleep – or at least tried to. I started freaking out because I saw a mosquito in the room (more on my mosquito hate/love relationship later). It was also really hot, so he turned on the A/C and the fan. I tried going to sleep, but couldn’t. I can’t sleep in noise, or light, or heat. Looks like I won’t be getting much sleep while I’m here…

Anyway. So after about an hour of trying to sleep with the A/C and fan on, I turned them both off – and woke up, sweating (because I also can’t sleep without a blanket) at 6am. I had to go to the washroom, so I went – and then decided to turn on the fan (even though I have this fear of fans falling on me while I’m asleep – I’m weird. Yes. I know). I went back to sleep and was woken up by my father texting me at 9am and aunty ringing the bell as she did her morning pooja on the landing outside my room. I brushed my teeth, ate aunty’s wonderful aloo parathas with butter and had a really amazing cold shower. Having grown up in V-city, where it’s cold and rarely over 27 degrees Celsius, I’d never experienced the amazing-ness of cold showers in the heat. Oh. They are simply amazing. Culture shock? Not really. Cultural amazement? Yes.

Before I finish up this disjointed and somewhat random post, one last thing. As a Canadian, I have this thing about following ‘the law,’ or ‘the rules.’ We Canadians do it a bit much, I think. But anyway, it’s ingrained in our systems. I was leaving the airport and had some things to declare. I didn’t really want to, because the monetary amount was significantly less than the maximum and because I didn’t feel like dealing with Indian bureaucracy as soon as I had landed (and while I was still semi-groggy from sleeping on the plane). I asked one of the airport ‘officials’ – this really friendly-looking 20-something year old lady- whether I had to actually go through ‘customs’. She looked at me, smiled and sort of laughed. Her answer was fascinating. She said,

Why do you want to trouble yourself? Don’t go through it. If they want to stop you, they’ll stop you. Otherwise, why take the risk of having to deal with them? Just go through the ‘nothing to declare’ line.

It made sense, and Canadian passport in hand, I went through the ‘nothing to declare’ line, handed the official (a lady in one of those khakee saris) my declaration form, saw her put it into the pile without even glancing at it to make sure it had been filled in, and walked through the doors into the arrival lounge.

Juicy, Juicy Mangoes

11 June 2010 - 11:40pm

Today I had my first Indian mango (in India).

That's all

An Indian Summer

As I said in my last post, I'll be blogging - or at least trying to blog - from India. I'm not sure what my internet connection will be like, so I'll be posting multiple entries at the same time. That being said, I'll also write down when I wrote the post - for your sake and mine, of course.

Right. Scroll upwards to read the first one.

Cheers from Delhi,

N

A Thousand Apologies

Idea of a thousand apologies stolen from fantastic British comedy called 'Mind Your Language.'

Anyway. Am moving to India for the Summer and am hellishly busy trying to sort out my life in preparation for the move.

Will be blogging in India, hopefully.

Until then - be well.