Things I miss

Yes, I am Spammy McSpamsalot today. This is what I do when I feel freakishly out of touch with all that is good and familiar, deal with it. Even though I underwent a mostly successful attitude adjustment as mentioned in my last spam post, I still spent quite a bit of time today thinking about the things I miss from home. That's not to say that everything that's here isn't wonderful, or to negate all the pleasure and joy of everything I'm doing. These are all things I miss in spite of all that is good and wonderful.

First, assume that people and pets are at the top of the list. Duh. My folks, K, and the pets, as well as my precious few RL friends, are all missed to the point of distraction. Everything else that I miss falls into one of six categories. They are, in order from most missed to least, as follows:

Communication – English is ubiquitous in India, even more so than in the rest of the world, what with it only being 57 years since the British left. Signs, books, newspapers and magazines, TV shows, billboards, everything, they're all in English. English is the language of instruction in the schools. Which is great, except that education is not universally free & compulsory, and the people who are cooking you meals, selling you stuff, and driving you around didn't necessary spend much time there. Plus, there are still hundreds of other languages and dialects spoken, so there are still lots of people who speak English poorly or not at all, and I am absolutely useless beyond my 15 words of Hindi. I take three shots with everyone, and they all do pretty much the same thing with me. It goes like this:

“Kwrioju ,wrnm cvoiutr qeerokxv.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Kjtrynqp voiopnmqe opdifgnw ovip”
“I"m sorry, I still didn't catch that. One more time?”
“Kljertlkj poermxp0oi qmlrnt”
“Yes”.

When in doubt, “yes” seems to get the job done. I don’t know what I’m saying yes to half the time, but it always seems to end the conversation and it gives the other party something to do. The same thing happens on the other side, too. When I get a "yes" in response to something like "What time will X happen?", that's my signal that it's time to give up. I thank the gods that my driver speaks English as well as he does, but even so, we have the extra degree of difficulty of regularly making our arrangements over the phone. This pretty much consists of me calling him, both of us yelling nonsensically for about 30 seconds, as if volume will help, then hanging up and hoping for the best. And don't get me started about the conversational gymnastics required to order a chicken sandwich for delivery. I don't begrudge anyone an imperfect grasp of English; mainly I am just embarassed that I am uni-lingual and can't even meet them halfway. I miss effortless communication.

Anonymity – I am Crazy White Lady. I am interesting and worthy of further study. Please, monitor my movements. There are fewer obsequious staffers at the guest house than there were at the hotel, but there are still at least 15 house boys doing the work of perhaps 3, so there are a lot of people lurking about. Plus, I live in a residential neighborhood now, so I’m away from all the rest of the Westerners. It's not just at home, it's on the street, in the store, at the office. No one is hostile or unwelcoming in any way, I just miss blending in. Two guys a couple of weeks ago asked for my autograph. People at tourist spots want to get their pictures taken with me. Schoolkids are actually the upside, because they are small and they smile more, and how could you not be charmed by those little uniforms? They'll generally lurk in a semi-circle about three or four meters away, smiling and staring. When they reach critical mass, when the group is a dozen or so strong, one of them - usually the littlest boy - will get pushed out in front of the group. This little guy will hesitate at first, then stride confidently forward and thrust out his hand to be shaken. And all I have to do is smile and wave like a big dork when I leave. Which I'm happy to do because it almost makes up for feeling like such a freak show around the adults.

Independence – I am a very capable woman. I can carry a six-pack of soda up to my room, I assure you. I don’t need your help. I can carry my own backpack into the office - on my back, as it were. Trust me. I can get my own glass of water. I can pick up the spoon in front of me and scoop some food on to my plate. Here's where a huge difference in cultural values comes into play, and I recognize that the DIY American emphasis on bootstrapping and making your own way is not universal. I am hugely independent, and I just plain miss doing things for myself. I miss making my own breakfast, cutting my own fruit. If I refuse the offer of a ride and attempt to walk in broad daylight along a nice pedestrian boulevard, it produces shock and fear on the level of the apocalypse (see Crazy White Lady, above). Last Sunday, my driver learned that I was going to walk to the health club in the morning (in place of my treadmill warm-up), and came to get me anyway even though I gave him the day off, then sat there in the parking lot for two hours while I worked out, so that I wouldn’t have to walk the half-frigging-kilometer. I miss getting in my car and bringing myself where I want to go, whenever I want. I like having the chance to look out the window at everything that’s going on around me, and I would never ever get behind the wheel of any vehicle in this country, but I miss being in charge. Plus, whenever an autorickshaw with 9 people inside pulls up to me at an intersection, and someone catches my eye as I sit there doing nothing in the huge air-conditioned sedan all by myself (except for the driver up front), I feel like a symptom of everything that’s wrong in the world. Even if they smile back.

Selection – I think about the aisles of the huge Safeway grocery store by my apartment, and my mind boggles. I can't imagine entire aisles of bread. Or soda. Or frozen things. Or dairy products. Or any of it. I would not be surprised if a side-by-side comparison between the inventory of that one Safeway store and the combined inventory of every grocery store in Hyderabad showed that the Safeway store had more stuff in every measure - variety, volume, you name it. The Caffeine-Free Diet Cherry Vanilla Lemon Lime Grape Dr. Pepper phenomenon is still the distant future. You want milk? Here: milk. It doesn't matter whether it’s whole milk or skim, or whether it's cow or goat or buffalo. It's milk. That's what you wanted, right? I think about Office Depot, and I yearn. There are no file folders here - seriously. You don't want to know how many people were sent out for manilla folders and came back empty. It became sort of a rite of passage for The New Guy. No shipping supplies in nice tidy stacks. No rows of pens to choose from – you’ll take this one and like it. There are no throw blankets. No deck chairs or lawn furniture. Instead, there are 25 furniture stores in one section of town, but every one of them has the identical inventory as every other. Ditto book stores, music stores, etc.

Stuff – For the most part, I packed well. No huge, glaring holes. But still, this is a long time to live with only the things I could fit into a couple of suitcases – even if one of those suitcases was very, very large. I want to look things up in books I don’t have here. I want to watch DVDs I didn’t bring. I am tired of these clothes and would like some different ones now, and I didn’t bring enough socks. I want to wear my kicky boots. I want my bed. Oh dear god, I miss my bed. I want my pillows, and my down comforter, and my featherbed.

Tastes – The food is exquisite, and the range of American chains here is fairly extensive, but I still miss things from home. I want a big juicy steak, for starters. Then I want an overpriced coffee drink from Tully’s. A bagel with cream cheese. Homemade pasta & alfredo sauce. Homemade pizza. Okay, homemade anything. Taco night. Kraft Mac-n-cheese. Progresso soup and grilled cheese sandwiches (or really, any cheeses of any kind). Burgers. Ribs. Pot roast. Ham and swiss melt sandwiches on dill rye bread. Peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Peanut butter of any kind. I even miss fast food – McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, Jack in the Box… anything would do.

The roof is on fire

The weather today has been gorgeous, and I finally made use of the quiet corner I carved out for myself up on the roof, which looks like this, by the way:

This was in no way the furniture I wanted to buy, but it was the furniture I could find and therefore was enough. I spent four hours last Saturday visiting no fewer than 20 stores looking for a pool lounger (anything even remotely like this). I feel confident saying there are none to be had in this city. In fact, this three-piece set was the *only* piece of outdoor furniture I could buy from any store anywhere (except for the dime-a-dozen molded plastic chairs you can get by the gross at your local Target store, which, no). So I bought. They're quite comfy to sit in, and the removable cushions can make a nice little make-shift lounger right on the floor. Thus, I make lemonade.

I may need to call this the Corner of Attitude Adjustments, as I feel much better after two hours baking in the sun and wasting time breathing in and out. I feel like a kid on summer break. I read some of Emma (which I'm loving, though not as much as Pride and Prejudice), I knit, I painted my toenails and then my fingernails, I laid down with the cool new sunglasses and my good friend iPod, and let the music drift away. The iPod was particularly cracktastic this afternoon, shuffling all over the map. Though... hmmm... now that I think of it, of the 16 songs played, 5 were from soundtracks, 3 were sung in Italian, and 2 were covers. Yep, that's pretty much me.

I'm a tiny bit sunburned, but I must still have a good base even though it's been a few weeks since I spent a lot of time outside, because I mainly just feel refreshed. Finally, this white girl can spend two hours in the sun and not regret it for days afterward. We takes our victories where we finds them.

Very Important Poll: Please don't Feed the Bears

India has a lot of street dogs. Most of them look like this guy, but slightly more dingo-like (with bigger ears than this guy's). There's a remarkable sameness to the dogs from one place to another, as they clearly do a lot of interbreeding, and the conditions seem to favor dogs of a certain shape and build for survival.

I think a golden lab had his way with the neighborhood at one point in the not-too-distant past, however, because the dogs in Jubilee Hills all look very similar to one another and very different from the rest of the dogs around the country.



I understand that these are wild creatures and not pets. I understand that they are mostly disease-ridden beasts, and must be pretty fierce to survive at all, and that for both these reasons I should not approach them or pet them. But I miss Joxer terribly and still feel a dog owner's reflexive desire to shelter and care for them, albeit from a healthy distance. Especially since there's a tiny puppy that hangs around our house and just breaks my heart. He looks to be about 8 weeks old and is so skinny I could cry.

My colleage who's spent more time here than anyone else (and who I usually listen to on such matters) is also a dog lover, and in the past has set out trays of dog food for the neighborhood animals wherever he's living. And so, last night I came home from the grocery store with a plastic bowl and a bag of Pedigree dog food. However, K. tactfully asked the same question that's been lurking in the back of my mind... is it really helping anyone to feed these animals?

I know it's probably not a good thing in the long run - we don't need to encourage the dogs to hang around this house if I'm leaving in four months, training them for dependency is wrong, training them to trust humans is wrong, and healthy dogs will live longer and therefore breed more, and frankly no one needs that. But on the other hand, they're dogs! I love dogs! And they're malnourished and sad and it's not like they're not already breeding as it is, and I can't see them and not want to alleviate their suffering.

So I am turning to you, the online community, to advise me on this dilemma. What is the right thing to do? Elaboration in comments would be most appreciated, but gut instinct responses are encouraged as well.

Should I really be feeding stray dogs?

1. Yes, it's the humane thing to do.
   
2. No, it exacerbates the problem and will make things worse for both the neighborhood and the dogs when you leave.
   
3. I am ambivalent. Both yes and no sound right to me, so you're on your own with this one.
   
4. I can't believe that in a country with so much human suffering, you're worrying about the damned dogs. Get your priorities straight.

Thanks!

Life good

I had more to say when I was more awake, but then I was doing all these awakey things that made me tired.

I joined a health club today. There's a brand-new state-of-the-art health center a half-kilometer down the road that just opened this month. I took a tour today, and fell in love even though they lack my #1 requirement (a swimming pool - theirs won't open until next year). They have all the same cardio machines as home, different-but-similar strength training machines, and excellent staff. In addition to the regular membership, I signed up for one month of "all you can eat" private yoga training sessions, and am considering a personal trainer for the rest of it. Because despite being brand new and state-of-the-art, it's still dirt cheap.

They also have a spa inside the club that rivals any US spa for cushiness. Except that here, a pedicure will cost you $15, and an hour-long ayurvedic massage runs $22. And since, you know, the people of this country invented ayurveda, I'm pretty excited to try it out. But they also do five other massages as well as a full panel of facials, wraps, scrubs, etc., so I will definitely be spending a fair amount of time there. The spa was a big selling point for me. You don't have to be a member to get an appointment, but members do get a good discount.

I met the personal trainer I may be working with, and she's already shown herself to be very effective at making me keep going when I want to give up (which is what I need). Instead of the gonzo cheerleader positive reinforcement approach that I generally expect from a PT, her manner is quite Indian. She's all sweetness and light and formal "Please, ma'am, just two more minutes. It's only a very small time." in that beautiful endearing sing-song that I can never resist.

For dinner tonight, we test-drove a local southwestern restaurant ("Senor Pepe's Tex-Mex") and, lo, it was good. Like, seriously mind-bogglingly good. Its goodness may have had something to do with the fact that I'd missed lunch and actually gotten some exercise, and thus was really freaking hungry, but I can't be sure. I'm happy to test that theory by going back again. And again and again. I love Mexican food above almost all others (excepting, of course, the Italians), but didn't have high hopes for Mexican food in India. In my experience, Indians don't get American food any more "right" than we do theirs, and they know a lot more about American culture than they do Mexican for darn sure. I don't know that I'd call what they served "authentic", but it was at least as authentic as the Mexican food they served me in the Midwestern US (but spicier!) as I was growing up, which means it was close enough to carry me through.

What I really wanted most of all was a margarita, but, alas, I was thwarted on that front. Senior Pepe, he has no liquor license. Woe! I guess the quest for the perfect Indian Margarita must continue. Such is my cross to bear.

Photos: Golconda Fort

As I mentioned the other night, I managed to steal a couple of hours of free time away from work last weekend, and followed my driver's advice to visit Golconda Fort. Like the other person in my party who visited a few weeks ago, I was completely blown away by the site and have vowed to get an education about its history and then return. I had no idea it would be so amazing, and was completely unprepared for both its size and scale. It was awesome, and these ten pictures don't begin to do it justice.

It's hardly even fair to call this a fort. Forts conjure images for me of spartan military barracks, while Golconda Fort encompasses the ruins of a complete town. There's a long, narrow wall that surrounds the ruins of the city, and dozens of building remnants within. We refused all offers from the crowd of men at the front offering tour guides for a small fee, a decision I only slightly regretted once inside and starting to burn with curiousity about what I was seeing.


I understand that the city / town / fort / whatever was built over several centuries, beginning in the 13th. Obviously, you can see quite a bit of Hyderabad's evolution in these walls.


The most incredible part of the fort is this huge building at the top of a very high, very distant hill. As I understand it, there are something like 400 steps from the base to the top. And these are no wussy civilized steps. Oh no, these are huge stone steps, each one twelve to fifteen inches above the other. You have to really want to climb these steps to do so. Unfortunately, the sun was directly facing me as I took this picture, which washed out the image. But you can see a some of the tiny little people up at the top if you squint.


Interestingly, the stairway pictured here, and the one at the foreground of the last picture, do not lead to that structure at the top of the hill. Now imagine that it's the middle of the day, 95 degrees with 1000% humidity, and you've found that out the hard way. Woe is to me. Luckily, I encouraged a colleague (who is in far better physical shape than I) to scamper ahead, saving me from burning much-needed calories in the effort.






In actuality, the stairs to the top were found way on the other end of the fort. But the stairs I did climb afforded a nice view of some pretty crumbling.


Below the walls shown above, at ground level, there are some dark, arched caverns that, it turns out, photograph quite nicely.


Saving the best for last, this and the next are my favorite images of the day.


I like this one because it has the decorated peaks of the mosque on one side, and the crumbling walls on the rest, with the city and hills in the background. I think it really captures the diversity of the site well.

Raksha Bandhan

One nice thing about India - they need never look far to find an excuse to party. This is a country that understands the value of ritual and tradition, and the bonds of community, and they're always ready to celebrate one or the other at the drop of a hat. It makes sense that this would be so: in a place where government and social organizations are unequal to the task of looking after the populace, the blood ties of family and familiar ties of community are what protect and support people in sickness and health.

Even so, I'm continually amazed and humbled at the primacy of family and kinship, and the celebration of each unique relationship within the family. For example, much like the Eskimos and their nine billion words for snow, the langauges here often seem to have a separate word for each type of cousin (sister's oldest son, brother's middle daughter, etc.) or aunt (mother's youngest sister, father's only sister, etc.).

Tomorrow is a festival day here in India, and one whose idea I like very much. The day is called Raksha Bandhan, and its whole purpose is to celebrate the enduring bond of affection between a brother and sister. On Raksha Bandhan, the sister ties a sacred thread (a rakhi) around the brother's wrist to ward off evil influences, and he in turn renews a promise to protect her from all manner of harm. Despite my warm feelings for him, I can't imagine engaging in such a tender display of mutual affection with my brother. This is really a shame, and reflects poorly on both me and my culture.

The symbolism of the event - the particular flavor of love shared between siblings, the offering and receiving of protection - often extends the festival beyond the sister / brother border into opposite sex relationships of other types. Women sometimes use the tying of a rakhi to clarify non-sexual feelings ("I love you only as a brother") towards men in their lives, but it also can extend to male/female friendships in general, and non-friendship situations that carry an element of protection (soldiers, political figures, etc.).

If you want to read more, there's an interesting article that gives a good overview (including the feminist implications and gender politics of submission and protection) at the Manas website, and another decent summary at hindusim.about.com.

Free at last... but not too free

Whoa, I went quiet for a whole lot of days there. Sorry 'bout that. Things at work got busy and I have been working 7 days a week for a while. However, the project I am here in India to launch has launched, so it's now a matter of keeping it going and training the local staff. I worked my ass off for this project, but I'm still shocked at what a smashing success it's been. So far, anyway. Two months down, four to go!

In the middle of this, I still found time last Sunday to spend two hours climbing the stairs at an incredible 13th century fort just outside of town, so please don't think I've been a complete stick-in-the-mud. I'll get my own photos of the day posted this weekend. It was amazing; one of the best historical sites I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot.

The biggest news I have to share on a personal front is that last night I moved out of my hotel! The obsequious service is good for a few weeks, but really wears after a while. I wanted more independence than I could get in a posh hotel, but not quite as much independence than I'd have living entirely on my own (I am terrified by the very idea of having to hire and manage my own servants), so I found a perfect middle ground - a guest house.

My company has rented out a free-standing home with four separate suites for less than they were paying per night for me in the hotel. Each suite has a lock on the door, and its own bathroom, own TV, and own high-speed internet access. There is laundry & room cleaning service, as well as meal service, but I also have access to a full kitchen (including microwave & fridge) so I can do my own thing too. And perhaps the best thing is that it's QUIET (we're at the end of our own quiet little residential street) and a half-block away from a fantastic coffee shop. No, wait, the best part is the rooftop terrace that I will be outfitting with a lounge chair & umbrella this weekend to build my own down-time hang-out spot. The smokers get the front porch; I get the roof. Oh heck, it's all the best part. I moved in last night, and I am in heaven.

It's not posh like a five-star hotel, but it feels like I actually *live* somewhere. I am not just in limbo anymore. I need to go buy myself some nice feather pillows and down comforter for the bed, and a few pieces of small furniture for the room, but the Company is paying for them and that makes it even more fun. The bed is rock-hard - feels like I'm sleeping on plywood and not much else - but I prefer too-hard to too-soft, so I'm okay. I may look for a featherbed to make it absolutely perfect, but that's lower on the priority list. Ooh, and I need to buy a coffee-maker too - all the guest house serves is this powdered nescafe crap, which, blech. And an alarm clock. Oh bloody hell, I need to go make a list. Ta!

Yesterday at the mall

I spent a good chunk of yesterday at the Hyderabad Central mall pictured from the outside in one of yesterday's posts. It was an experience. Imagine the busiest department store you've ever seen. Picture it during the height of the Christmas shopping frenzy, at the end of a long day when all the shelves have been ransacked by hungry shoppers. Now take that level of crowded chaos and triple it. Cut the width of the aisles in half, and quadruple the amount of products on display. Add loud music. Add a cheerful female announcer shouting over the music to run contests and pimp specials in the Happiness sale. And make it very, very hot.

Hyderabad Central is actually sort of a hybrid cross between a mall and a department store. Imagine a department store with occasional little stand-alone boutiques inside, and you're close. It's got five levels, served by two tiny elevators and a lot of stairs. Thankfully, I had nothing in particular to accomplish, so I could just smile and laugh and let myself get carried along in the craziness. At one point fighting my way through a crowded staircase, I shouted to my companion, "There had better be spawning at the end of this!", which I thought was funny even though we were doing down the stairs instead of up.

They have a good mix of stuff, and I may go back if I ever get to move into my @#*&$! apartment and need some housewares and decorations. The products seem to be equal parts major western brands (Levi's, Revlon, Apple, etc.), non-brand westernized goods, and high-end Indian merch.

They offer shopping bags to load up as you move through the store - I think Mervyn's and Kohl's in the US do something similiar, but I could be mis-remembering. However, you are not supposed to carry your bag in your hand or loop the long handles over your shoulder. No, the bag has tiny wheels on the bottom, and you are supposed to set it on the ground and tug it along behind you. This wouldn't be a bad idea, except that the wheels are about an inch in diameter and don't roll well, so you drag it more than roll it. And the bag is extremely floppy, so anything you put inside forms a misshapen lump on one side of the bag or another, throwing off the balance. And the handles are not quite long enough to do the job, requiring even relatively short people to hunch over ever so slightly to keep the wheels on the ground. I would laugh if it wasn't so typically, characteristically close, but no cigar.

All the mannequins were white people with light brown hair, which was disturbing. But they were all wearing clown noses so the subtext made it okay by me.

New favorite image

Kids minding a fruit stand on a Saturday afternoon. This is my new favorite image of India. I was terribly shy about asking them to take their picture; I should know better. Almost everyone is eager to pose for a photo, especially if you show the image on your camera's monitor afterwards. Even passersby wanted to see how the picture came out.

Great lies revealed

Apparently, what we've always been told is a lie. You can buy happiness after all, and at the Hyderabad Central mall in India you can get it at a discount.