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.