1 Out of 2 Ain't Bad

The dynamic duo showed up a good 2 hours late...but at least they came. It was the maid-boy and the "electrician" that was here once before to tell me I could expect to get 2 liters of hot water for one shower. He's got longish, wavy hair and wears tight jeans. He looks like he could be a long lost member of the band Menudo. He sort of flips his head like he's trying to keep the hair out of his eyes but I suspect he uses some sort of product to do that job.

The maid-boy came in first and when I went to shut the door behind him he said, "oh, no ma'am. Don Juan is coming up." (Only the maid-boy used his real name that I forget.) In he comes to survey the place like it's the first time he's been here. He sees the two large boxes in the middle of the room and takes a closer look at them. He turns the boxes around to see all sides and then just starts tearing into the one with the dryer. He opens the top with scissors and pulls out the Styrofoam that is cushioning the the dryer and throws it on the floor. He then looks at it as if he's thinking, "I can't pull this out of the box. How ever shall I do this?" He steps on the Styrofoam breaking it into small white chunks, cuts something on the bottom of the box (I think) and then is pulling the box up over the dryer. The dryer was sitting on a bed of Styrofoam so he lifts the dryer up and pushes the Styrofoam out. All of this work he is doing unusually quickly and almost like he's in a bad mood. He's stepping all over everything and making quite a mess. He pulls the plastic wrap off the dryer and then moves to the water cooler. Again he tears the box open and lifts it up over the cooler. There are two separate pieces resting on top and he lifts them up to check them out which is about the time that Rico Suave enters. "Hello, nice to see you again, ma'am."
"You too. So you're going to install my appliances?"
"Yes, where do you want?" He points to the water cooler.
"I was hoping their in the the corner but I didn't see a plug. And we were thinking the dryer could go on top of the washer." I point back to the washer and he nods.
"Yes, the dryer will go there. "
"So you can put it on top of the washer?" I wasn't sure they would go for that.
"Yes, it'll fit back there." He then takes a minute to look around where I want the water cooler. He stands back with one arm on his waist holding up the other arm to his chin. Then the maid boy says something to which the electrician replies, "ah, yes, yes. Good. Ok."
They brought and extension cord.

Then the electrician crouches down next to the cooler and starts fiddling with the hot and cold levers as if he's never seen anything like it. He looks at the stray pieces the were resting on top and gives a look (to no one in particular) like, "I wonder what these are for." He gets more comfortable and is sitting on the floor and with the directions in his hand. He spends a few minutes flipping through the book, occasionally taking a minute to check something on the actual water cooler. There is a funnel-type piece that seems particularly troubling to him. He walks over to the sink where we have our old water "cooler" (which is just the jug with another jug of water on top.) The container on top is about half way full so he pulls it off, spilling surprisingly little. He then takes the jug on the bottom and dumps the water from there into the other container. He calls to the maid-boy who has gone back to the dryer, only this time, he is reassembling it in the box. He has put the plastic cover over the dryer and put it back on it's now mangled bed of Styrofoam. And I can tell it is going to be back in the box shortly. But first, he goes to the sink for a conference.

"I don't really have any idea what I'm doing, maid-boy. But don't I look good in these acid-wash jeans?"
"Why yes, you do. And I have come in my USA hat and put in on backwards like I saw on Friends. Perhaps this will please ma'am and make it ok that we have no idea what we are doing."
"Probably, just keep smiling and say no problem when she speaks."
And then there is the laughter. They certainly enjoy their work.

They go back to the water cooler and again take the funnel-type piece and try to fit it somewhere. Then the maid-boy seems to have a stroke of genius and says something. They go back to the sink to get the jug of water. The electrician is holding the funnel and the maid is slowly pouring water into the machine, every few seconds looking at the bottom (hoping it's not leaking?). He then stops and tells the electrician it is time for the funnel piece to go in. After that seems secure, he dumps the rest of the jug on the top of the cooler, splashing the entire wall and floor behind it with water. They take another look at the bottom to make sure the water is not going right through the cooler. Satisfied with their work, the electrician then says to me, "there are two switches in the back. This one is for hot. This one is for cold." On the front of the machine there is another setting titled, "keep warm." So I ask, "and what about this light that says 'keep warm'?"
"Yes, well, don't worry about that one. Only if you want warm."
Don't worry about it? This really may have been the first time he's seen a water cooler.

"My dryer is not going to be installed today, is it?"
He smiles trying to charm me, "no. Not today."
"Why?"
"I don't know but they told me to leave the dryer alone. You see they want to replace the washer." He points to the area where just a few short minutes ago he said he would put my dryer and says, "That washer is good but I don't know what their plans are. They told me they need one more day to figure it out."
"One more day? But we're happy with the washer. We don't really need a new one."
"Yes, but they are going to replace it. I think. I was only to do this," he says pointing to the water cooler he had mastered. "Tomorrow they will come."
Right. Tomorrow.

Then he just looks at me and smiles, "so you do meditation?"
There is this chant that we do in yoga that I am growing to like. Vivian had a copy of the song on CD so she let me borrow it. I was downloading it when they walked in so I said, "oh, because of the music..."
He said yes, "very popular chant."
"Well, I've been taking some yoga classes. But I don't really like the meditation part."
"Oh yes, well, Indians aren't really into meditation," I think is what he said.
"They're not? They seem to be to me," I say.
"Well, I guess with the yoga," still smiling. So you are here by yourself?"
"You mean, like in India?" I asked thinking that maybe he meant in the apartment although I knew that isn't really what he meant.
"Yes," with a tilt of the head.
"Oh no, my husband is at work."
"Ah, yes, your husband. You work for the same company?"
"No. I don't work." (I'm just a trailing spouse, ok? There's nothing wrong with it either.)
"Oh, no?"
"No. Well, thanks for the water cooler."
He stood around for a few more awkward moments, like he wanted to say more but he left with just a "great to see you ma'am."
Sure, say hello to Ricky Martin for me o(former member f Menudo).

The maid-boy stayed and I tried to ask him about the water I asked the manager to send over today. I told him I called John Paul around 9:30 asking when someone would be coming to install the dryer and water cooler and asked that they also come with more water. I told him I was glad he came but he didn't bring water. I knew he wouldn't get such a lengthy description but sometimes I like to go on just for fun. The maid-boy listened politely and smiled. So I cut back to "more water."
"Yes, tomorrow ma'am."
"No, tomorrow is Saturday so you won't come. Today."
"Tomorrow we come."
"No, I need it today."
"Ok, no problem. Today."

Do you think I will get more water today?

We have a water cooler but are running out of water. A brand new dryer we can't use. And a perfectly good washer that we can use but that they may be taking away. All in all, not a bad week.

The Trailing Spouse

There is a phrase that is common among the "ex-pat" crowd for people like me: "the trailing spouse." People who have come to live abroad trailing their spouses who hold a job. Since I've been running with the OWC crowd, I've met more than a few women (primarily) that take offense to this title. They scoff at the idea that they are just tagging along and assert that they have the burden of organizing the "house staff" and taking care of day-to-day chores. Without them, their spouses would not be able to live and work abroad. They like to call themselves the "leading spouse." The first time I heard this, I remember thinking these women needed to relax. The fact is (for most of us), it's true. And is that so bad, that you are taking advantage of a great opportunity? But today, I met a woman who has been in Bangalore for about 6 months but has just joined the OWC because she was working. She is still working but her hours are more flexible now. At one point, she referred to me as the "trailing spouse." I don't remember exactly what we were talking about because I was immediately put off by it and stopped listening. And since then, what I've been realizing is that I am becoming one of those how-dare-you-call-me-a- trailing-spouse (and no, I am NOT being defensive about it) women. And I'm not sure I like it.

I should also note though that the Overseas Women's Club has been a huge help - for very practical purposes but also for morale. Our experiences since moving to India, as crazy as they have seemed, have been quite common. So I mean no disrespect but I can feel it happening. I am becoming one of those women. I'm now helping out with the Christmas Bizarre. It sounds so...Carol Brady. Heather (who reminds me of the girl from Grease) somehow talked me into saying I would help with the Lighting and Sound Committee. She really wanted me to be the Santa Village Committee Coordinator. All I would have to do is to find some photographers and coordinate a schedule for them and the Santas (which she already has volunteers for so it'll be easy!). I'm sorry, but I can't even coordinate the same maid-boy to come on a regular basis. (Yet somehow I think I can do solid work with lightening and sound? I just hope I don't reduce her to tears when no one can hear the Christmas Bizarre auctioneer or see the 10,000 sparkling Christmas lights.)

Still, I am becoming one of those women. I call my driver in the morning to take me to a social gathering for coffee, where maybe I'll meet up with some people who would like to go out to lunch while, he (my driver), waits in the parking garage. And after that, maybe he could take me to a few stores so I can buy something for the house or a silk scarf for tomorrow's happy hour (he'll help carry my bags if necessary). Oh, and if I don't get around to it (or don't feel like it), I'll just hand the dry cleaning to him and ask him to take care of it. On the one hand, what's not to like about a day like that? But on the other hand, really, who do I think I am? Next thing you know, I'll be going for my weekly manicures and massage.

I don't really want to be this purposeless, trailing spouse. But I also don't really want to work. And I don't really want to be the Valentine's Day Cupid Coordinator. But then again, I don't want to be a snobby, ungrateful ex-pat either.

So, as I sit, waiting for my maid-boy(s) to show up. And for someone to come take our dryer and water cooler out of their boxes and maybe, just maybe, install them, I am thinking about my purpose here. Even though you've all been reading the blog, will you still buy the book if it comes out? When I write things like, guess who is organizing the Easter egg hunt...will you comment and tell me maybe my time is better spent helping the kids without shoes and diapers that I pass every day? When I complain that Chandan made me wait for 5 whole minutes in the sun, leaving me susceptible to the beggars and maybe we should find better help...will you remind me I have a driver?

There are other women though, that I have found, like Vivian and Vanessa and Kala (which I was mispronouncing Karla) and this other women I met today Adelle (I think) that are about my age, no kids, no jobs and just happy to be experiencing something different and trying to really appreciate it. So I think if I just keep hanging out with them, I won't mind being considered the trailing spouse.

Besides, I also have to pull my weight as a travel agent. We booked our flights to the Taj Mahal yesterday. George has to be in Delhi for a meeting on Friday, Oct. 12 so I'm going to trail him and meet him there later. Then we'll drive out to Agra on Sat. and come back to Bangalore on Sunday.

We couldn't get tickets to the big cricket match this Saturday against Australia. I think their big win on Monday didn't help our cause. Instead, Vivian has invited to a dumpling party on Saturday. She's going to teach us how to make traditional Chinese dumplings. She's invited about 30 people - in a little apartment like ours. But she's quite the cook. Last night, before we went off to yoga, she brought down some chicken and potatoes for George. She's making me look bad so I told her she'll have to start giving me lessons.

It's nearly 6pm. I don't think my maid-boy is coming and I don't think my dryer and water cooler are moving today.

Christmas in September

Two maid-boys, a dvd player, a working internet connection...I thought last week was a big week. Yesterday it was like Christmas Day. Like the jingle bells on a sleigh, when my new maid-boy came ringing, it was like Santa and his elves arrived. They came complete with a trash bag full of presents, a power drill, and a long white pole. We stumbled through a quick game of charades but I quickly understood that the pole would soon be my curtain rods. All I really needed were two tension rods. I wasn't really expecting any drilling or sawing but as my niece and nephew are well aware, you get what you get and you don't get upset. I explain to the man with the drill where I want the curtain rods. I still speak to them like they can understand what I'm saying and they still nod like they understand everything I'm saying even though we all know it's a circus in here most days.

The guy with the drill climbs up on the sink to begin work. Again though, all he seemed to have was his drill and screws - nothing to measure or mark where he wanted to drill. As he is busy drilling, the maid-boy starts pulling things out of the bag he brought. Some napkins and toilet paper and what's this? It appears to be a rag. It's a dirty-white with very thin blue or black stripes in it - almost like dash marks. It's a very long rag. It looks to be a very wide rag...no wait, that's not a rag.

Not only did I get curtain rods, but the nice people at the Landlord North Pole sent my St. Nick with curtains. There is the long white one with the stripes and a shorter burnt orange curtain, equally grungy and wrinkled. As far as I can tell there isn't a matching set. At this point, I figure I have two options. 1. Just let them put up the curtains and then take them down once I buy the ones I want. Or, 2. Try to explain that I'd prefer to buy my own. Option one seemed like more work so I said to the maid boy, "Oh, thank you but I'm going to buy some curtains." He smiles but I know he has no idea what I said. Maybe I should have gone with option 1. He calls to the guy with the drill and I say, "Thank you," and point to the curtains then shake my head no, (as in no, I don't want those) and say, "I'll use my own." More clueless smiles. I point to the other curtains I bought and repeat, "I will buy my own. Just the bar please." They exchange some words and I see it's phone a friend time. They hand the phone to me and I explain that I'd prefer to use my own curtains. "No curtains," says the voice on the other end.
"Well, yes, they brought curtains but I prefer to use my own," I explain.
"Your own? No curtains?"
"I just need the bar. I'm going to buy some curtains. "
"Oh, ok. I see, I see," he says. "You still want the curtain rod."
I say, "yes" and hand the phone back.

With that settled, the drilling continues. With just the drill and the saw, he cut the pole to the right lengths and everything appears to be straight and secure, right where I wanted. I swear, he didn't measure anything or mark anywhere on the walls.

In the midst of all this, the doorbell rang and the maid-boy motioned for the door like, "oh, that's for me." Of course, why would it be for me? I just live here. It was the cable guy (with a friend). He and the maid-boy said hello and shared some words, like they were old friends, and the cable guy said hello to me as he walked toward the kitchen. The maid-boy then pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and paid the bill. The cable guy then turns to me and says, "I need to come back and connect that cable in the back bedroom. Will you be here around 5?" I give him a look like, haven't we been over the fact that we don't use that TV multiple times, but I just say fine. He leaves and the phone rings.
"Hello, House of Fun."
"Yes, ma'am. Did they deliver a dryer?"
"A clothes dryer? No," I hesitate, "not yet."
"Ok."
Click.

So I ask Mr. Kind-of-a-Big-Deal-George, if we are getting a dryer. He says he asked for one and I repeat the phone call. We start talking about what else we should ask for. Another hour or so passes and the phone rings again.
"They are going to deliver a dryer to you around 4. Will you be there?"
"For a dryer? Absolutely."

I settle in with my book thinking 4 probably means 7 or 8, so I have some time to kill. But just when I think I'm starting to get how things work here, a dryer arrives at my door right at 4 pm. As if that's not enough, there are TWO big boxes - a dryer and a water cooler! A real - press the blue button for chilled water and the red button for hot water - water cooler. They are still in their boxes in the living room - the delivery people don't install. When I asked the maid-boy if he would install, he just sort of looked at them and said, "oh, ok." This could mean anything from, "oh, ok, you have two big boxes." Or, "oh, ok, I'll send for someone to come install them." Or, "oh, ok, I can do it." But still, a dryer and a water-cooler. I think Ganesh is coming through for us.

Last night was the last night of the Festival of Ganesh. In Mumbai they have a big celebration where they take all there Ganesh statues that have been on display on the streets and send them out into the ocean. (This is apparently, a Mumbai tradition.)

You may or may not also be aware that India won a HUGE cricket match against Pakistan the other night to become the new world champions. On the way home from yoga, we noticed crowds of people standing outside and electronics store watching one of the TVs but didn't realize until I came home and George was watching, that it was a big cricket match. As soon as the last ball was caught, our whole apartment erupted in cheers. Fireworks starting going off all around the city and you could hear people shouting everywhere. This went on for much of the night. Yesterday a parade, consisting of a pick up truck decorated with flowers, a few men with drums in all brown uniforms, and other men in plain clothes, came marching down the street. The men walking we followed by another truck playing loud Indian music that with the drums was rather cacophonous. But the celebrations continue for our World Champions.

I tried again with the monkey videos - it's not looking good...

Nandi Hills

I'm not sure if Bangalore is ever going to be one of those cities where I'll feel like, "ok, I've got it figured out." So, while we've been enjoying our weekends trying to get to know the place better, we were also looking for a little reprieve from the noise and pollution. I had read about Nandi Hills in one of our books and it seemed like a good first trip out of the city. I asked Chandan on Friday if he's ever been. "Oh, yes, ma'am."
"How far is it?"
"It'll take about an hour to get across the city and then another 45 minutes or so. It's about 60 km."
"Well, is it nice? Is it worth a trip?"
"It's a hill with a temple on the top. Not much for us but the foreigners go. Remember that college I took you to (the Mastery School) it's about 45 minutes beyond there."
"Ok, well we are thinking of going tomorrow."
"Ok, ma'am."

With that exciting review, we decided to head out at about 10 on Saturday morning. It did take us about an hour to get across the city and reinforced the fact that I definitely made the right decision about not taking that teaching job.

Here, let me pause to fill you in on a piece of advice I overheard on a plane once. The flight:
Aer Lingus - New York to Shannon, Ireland. George and I are sitting in front on our friends Colleen and Alex. Colleen, who can't not talk to someone who has been kind enough to talk to her, made friends with a young gent on the plane. His name was Chris and while he was a mere 23 years old, he was wise beyond his years. He fancied himself as a jet-setting executive with equal amounts of time and money to spoil his model fiance. (Although he share that he was not gay but there was that one night...) In the span of 4 hours, he claimed to be from every state that Colleen mentioned and also spent lots of time in Ireland and we could be sure any questions we had about Ireland (or the US or business or life), he knew the answer. He gave us answers to questions we didn't even have. One of his best pearls of wisdom was about the roads in Ireland. He said not to worry about driving in Ireland because "it is just like driving on the New Jersey Turnpike only with one lane." Ninety percent of what he said was absurd and after 4 hours, that's alot of nonsense.

Perhaps that story is not translating as funny as it was but in thinking about how to explain the road out to Nandi Hills, I guess some might say it was just like driving on the New Jersey turnpike only with speed bumps every few hundred yards, service stations in the form of road-side stands and lots of open space and cows. I was surprised by how nice the road remained - it was both wide and paved. The speed bumps are also common in the city but seemed a little unnecessary once we got beyond the city. I think since they seem to not have much control over the "rules" of the road, at least they can keep people's speed down. We passed by construction of the new international airport which is so far outside of town, it will add at least another hour onto your travel time. It looked like they were building some sort of tram but trying to use the train tracks already in use.

When we got closer to the hills, we passed a couple of small villages with men, women and children selling grapes on the side of the road. Beyond their "houses" which were more like small, pinkish-orange, cinder block shacks, were vineyards and cow pastures. There were women leading cows around on leashes made of rope. We passed one cow on the side of the road, attached to a truck with a man in the back. Forgive me for being so crude but...there was water - like buckets of - coming out of the cows rear end. It was definitely a clear liquid and a bit startling. Beyond that there were lots of small store fronts (more like the size of a news-stand) with mostly men hanging around out front. But they all seemed to have plenty of Lays potato chips.

We drove up the hill on a very curvy road. Around each bend someone had painted in the rock, "curve 1, curve 2, etc." I think the last curve was about 42. We had read about how you could walk up part of the way but Chandan ended up driving us most of the way. I don't think he understood that we wanted to do some walking. When we got to the top we saw monkeys! And lots of them! And sadly - no, tragically - the movies I took of them did not come out. We think maybe the memory was full. They got surprisingly close to people but were very cute swinging from the trees and (pun intended) monkeying around.

As soon as we left Chandan (who's friend was coincidentally also driving someone up), we had lots of new friends eager to give us a "tour," naturally. They just start walking next to us and talking about the temple and when it was built. After we shooed a few away, like Chandan said, it really was just a hill with a temple on top. (However, most of the people there seemed to be Indian not foreigners.) Apparently, as the legend goes, they used to throw prisoners and other degenerates of society off the cliff at the top. The temple was...old. Once you walked in, it was larger than it appeared from the outside and there were some interesting carvings on one wall. We walked around the grounds for a bit, saw a dead (thank God) scorpion and more monkeys but there didn't appear to be a ton of trails to do much walking.

We had read about a restaurant at the top of the hill over looking the city which was more like a run down diner than a "restaurant." It was the kind of place where I couldn't bring myself to use the restroom. They had sinks but no soap but that wasn't the worst of it.

After that, there wasn't much to do so we found Chandan and made our way back. On the way out we saw a little boy who couldn't have been more than 6 or 7, riding an adult male bike. Because he was so small he actually had to put his left leg (and almost his entire body under the top bar of the bicycle. He stuck his head out next to the bar and was reaching up to the handle bars. He was actually going a pretty good speed but looked a little wobbly.

Another thing that has struck us both about India (but that I don't like to think about too much) is the construction. They are doing a ton of building. Scaffolding, even in the US, never looks particularly sturdy to me but here the scaffolding is just branches, tied together somehow. There are no platforms for workers to stand on, they just stand on the branches (I guess). I saw a group of teenagers one day, shoeless and in regular trousers and shirts (not like a uniform), climbing up the scaffolding like you climb up monkey bars. We've also seen men and women form an assembly line with people on the ground and then people on every "floor" of the scaffolding, and finally another couple of people on the top of the building they are working on. The women on the ground (dressed in their saris) fill shallow bowls with dirt or rock lift it over their heads and hand it to the first person on the scaffolding. That person takes the bowl, lifts it over their head to the person above them until it reaches the top where presumably they are laying down flooring (or roofing?). I have no idea how to build a building but this seems rather time consuming.

They are are building a sidewalk around the corner from our apartment and again, this is mostly women who seem to be spending alot of time moving dirt and rock in these bowls while the men put larger stones into place on the ground. They don't appear to have any tools other than maybe a shovel, nothing to measure, to level, secure anything in place. The women also sweep the streets with these small brooms that require them to hunch over. The brooms, including the handle, are maybe 3 feet long.

Anyway, I'm sure OSHA would approve and it's all very safe. After all, these are the same people who put entire families on scooters - one child in front, father (usually the only one with a helmet), and mother cradling another infant on the back. And we mock Britney Spears for not using a car seat...

There are more pictures attached and I'm still hoping that our monkey videos will magically work...

India is a funny place

Last Thursday, our maid-boy did not show up. He was supposed to bring me two curtain rods for the kitchen and a light bulb for a new light I bought. I was out most of the day but he has a key to get in the front door. Friday, it was getting to be almost noon and still no curtain rods and no maid -boy. So I call John Paul - the new "manager" who materialized last week. He assured me someone was on the way. About 15 minute later, there is a knock at the door. I see a familiar face through the peephole but can't quite place him. It's not until I open the door and see the green index cards and a cable cord that I remember this is the same man who was looking for money for the cable bill a few weeks back. I say hello and he says, "John is here," like he's asking a question. I said no and he said he just spoke to him and he's supposed to be here. I said I wasn't sure what he was talking about and tried to muster my most confused look. He then starts dialing a number on his phone from the lobby.

A few minutes later, he's back at the door with our old maid-boy, who's holding a DVD player, and our new(er) maid-boy. The three of them come in and the cable guy and I have the same exact conversation we had two weeks ago.
"You need cable in all three rooms," again this comes out kind of like a question.
"No, we only watch TV in the living room," I say.
He points to the TV in the back bedroom we've been using as storage and says, "you don't want cable there?"
"No. We don't use that TV."
The old maid-boy has gone to work connecting the DVD player and the new maid-boy is just standing, watching. The old maid-boy seems quite surprised and amused when he finds a DVD in the DVD player. He and the new maid-boy exchange a few words and laugh. I wonder if it was something like, "hey, there's a DVD in here. Where'd this come from?"
"Well, I took this DVD player from some other apartment I clean. I didn't think they used it."
"Ha, ha, ha, stupid foreigners."

But anyway, the cable guy says something to the new maid-boy which makes the new maid-boy start dialing his phone. He says something to whoever he's called (presumably the "manager") and hands the phone to the cable guy. The cable guy then starts talking in the phone very quickly and very loudly. I can make out that they are talking about rupees so I assume it has something to do with money. The last time the cable guy was here, he had talked about how if we don't use the back TV, we should disconnect the cable because it costs more to have both TVs connected. He hands the phone back to the new maid-boy who has now been joined by the old maid-boy. The new maid-boy talks to whoever is on the phone and hands the phone back to the cable guy. At this point, the cable guy must say something like, "No, I'm not talking" (to whoever is on the phone) and the cable guy and the maid-boys then appeared to be arguing. Voices were raised and the cable guy was visibly agitated. They hang up the phone and the three of them continuing talking all at the same time. The cable guy says to me again, "so you don't use that TV," pointing to the one in the bedroom we don't use. "I say, no. We've never used that TV."

I'm starting to realize that the cable guy is not affiliated with the cleaning staff but his English is better than the maid-boys' so I start asking him about the curtain rods I was supposed to be getting. At this point, the maid-boy is on the phone again says something and gives it back to the cable guy. I'm hoping my query about the curtain rods is being discussed but again it appears they are talking about the cable and billing. The cable guy starts yelling in the phone again for another 2 minutes (with the maid-boys chiming in every so often) and finally the cable guy says into the phone, "ok, ok, ok, ok. Sure," and hangs up.

He still has the cable cord he entered with, goes to the back bedroom, fiddles around with the back of the TV and returns with the same cable cord in hand and says, "ok, thank you, ma'am." I say, "you're all set?"
He replies, "yes."
"...and my curtain rods?"
The cable guy says, "they brought them yesterday but you weren't here. They'll bring them tomorrow." And out the door he goes.

The maid-boy then looks at me all smiles and says, "problem solved."

Flash forward to Sunday...who comes knocking on the door around 11 AM but the cable guy. He is looking for his money. The landlord apparently said he would pay him but hasn't yet. "If I don't get the money, I have to disconnect your cable."
George says, "yes, we had this conversation 2 weeks ago. We don't pay the bill. It's included in our rent. The landlord pays it."
"Well, he hasn't paid it."
"Ok, well, we can send him an email tomorrow," George says.
"He said he was going to pay it on Friday. Will you please call him and tell him he has to pay or you won't have cable? If I ask, he will keep just saying yes."
"Yes, we'll send him an email Monday."
"Ok or else I have to turn off your cable."

Lessons learned:
1. For all of the oodles of paperwork they generate, they don't seem to like sending bills. They just show up at your door looking to collect money. The phone company has been here a few times looking for money too.
2. When George asks for things (DVD player, water cooler, toaster) we seem to get them. When I ask (curtain rods, light bulbs), no such luck.

Amazing world records

Honestly, I can’t make this up. There is a show here called Guinness Primetime – as in the Guinness Book of World Records. The host is American so it must be the brain child of some suit who has his pulse on what the people all over the globe really want to watch. The premise is showing people breaking records. Every time we find it, we end up asking ourselves, “why are we watching this?” In one fascinating episode, some professional biker (as in BMX not Harley Davidson) attempted to do the fastest front and back wheel-y. There were out in the desert somewhere and he followed an SUV to pick up a tail wind and twenty nail-biting minutes later he does a 3 second back wheely at 80 mph. Amazingly, he broke the record making his families and friends so proud because he can now say he has the Guinness World Record beating out (presumably) countless others who have dared such a stunt. You’d think I’d learn that in those 20 minutes I could have put in and folded a load of laundry. I could’ve read a chapter in my book. I could have better used that time shoving a pencil in my thigh. But no, I caught another 10 minutes today. This time, I can’t believe it, but I actually saw the fastest aerial pencil sharpening EVER. Some smart and talented helicopter pilot decided to spend an entire day trying to sharpen a pencil. He rigged a metal arm with a metal clasp at the end off of the landing bar of the helicopter. He then conned some schmuck to drive a limo with a tripod sticking out of the sunroof. On the top of the tripod, they secured an electric pencil sharpener. The pilot flew the helicopter just over the limo as he tried and tried (for 10 hours) to stick the pencil, clasped in the metal arm of the helicopter, into the pencil sharpener. I almost feel bad telling you about it because you really missed out. He finally did it, just as they were going to have to call it a day because the sun was going down. Now that's drama. It might come as a surprise, but that stunt had never before been attempted. Another proud owner of a new Guinness World Record - the fastest aerial pencil sharpening.

I can't believe they made multiple episodes of this show.

Happy Hour

A really slow internet connection is the best India can do. This is pretty much the explanation I got from the modem tech. help line. "It will take a long time for pages with a lot of pictures or video to load." I repeat this to George who says, "oh, so like the entire internet." So our fancy wireless internet cards really have not put us ahead. How am I supposed to catch up on LC and "The Hills" when I can't download shows from MTV?

Since we were going to our fancy happy hour at the ultra-exclusive "Sutra Lounge" I decided to wear some jewelry. I've been keeping it locked in my suitcase since the last round of Krishn's strange men were in the flat. Last night, I went to open my suitcase and the lock was still locked but the zipper was broken. It definitely wasn't broken the last time I used it. Luckily, everything was still there and nothing looked like it had been touched. So then I started thinking. Our maid-boy didn't come yesterday even though I had asked him too. But when he was here the other day, I left after he had been here about a half hour. I came back about 45 minutes later and he was still here and looked a little surprised to see me. He was just sort of standing around talking on his phone. Now, I'm not accusing anyone of anything right now but these are the facts as I know them. I'm either going to go back to not leaving him alone or just keep the back bedroom locked and clean the bathroom myself. I did scrub our bedroom floor - it took me 2 days but I must say, it looks amazing.

So we went to a place called Sutra Lounge last night (in the hotel where we had dinner overlooking the city). It was organized by the OWC for members and their spouses. When we walked in, we had to "register." Luckily, they did not ask for passport sized photos. But they were looking for a business card. This is something I've been noticing alot lately. Everyone carries business cards - even women who are not currently associated with any business. The other day I was at the Home Stop store and on the way out a man stopped to ask me a few questions. From what I gathered, they are looking to get a better idea of who shops there and what they buy for marketing purposes. After he finished with his questions he said, "can I have your visiting card?"
"My visiting card?" I wasn't sure if he was saying "visiting."
"Yes, you know, you're card." He made a invisible box with his index fingers.
"You mean, my passport?"
"Yes, visiting card."
"I don't have my passport with me. Do you mean my FRO form?" (The FRO form is the paper that says we are registered foreigners.) All I had with me was my OWC card so I pull that out and he looks at me like I'm an idiot.
"No, no for your contact information," he says like he is talking to an idiot.
"Oh, I don't have a business card."
"Ok. Thank you."
But now that I'm meeting more people, I'm realizing that everyone carries business cards.

But back to the happy hour. There were probably 100 or so people and when we walked in, I recognized a group of people from the IBM coffee last week. Before we could make our way over there, snap! There was a camera in our face and we were standing with the general manager of the hotel. No idea who took the picture or where it will surface. But we found the IBM group and I introduced George and we got another lead on a possible mattress that is more than 2 inches thick. We met a woman who moved to Bangalore from Stamford, CT. She had cropped blond hair with dark roots that looked like it wouldn't move if she stepped out into a monsoon. Her head looked like it had been shellacked. She kept talking about how "gorgeous" her house in Stamford is (they are currently renting it) and how it's "up by the parkway on 2 acres. You know how hard it is to find two acres in Fairfield County." And she had just done large renovations on the whole house and had the most gorgeous granite counter-tops put in. George then mentions something about wanting a scooter and she launches into these horrific stories of a man who got hit by a bus and other fatal accidents that the Indians just gloss over. George thought she was on some sort of drugs.

We left the IBM crowd to talk to Vivian and my other Singaporean friend Karla. Vivian (who also lives in our building) was telling us a story about how she needed to get more gas for her range. She had to call about 20 different people and it took about 3 weeks. I said, "well, that's another reason why I don't cook here." (as if adding the "here" would lead her to believe that I cook at home). So we shared our hungrybangalore.com find and said they should try ordering out more. Snap! Another photo of the four of us.

I also saw another woman who was at the Mastery International School with me the other day. She said, "did Ava (the interviewer) ask you any questions about your experience?"
"Nope. Come to think of it, I had to ask her if she wanted to see a resume."
She said, "it was the strangest interview I've been on. She was just looking for someone white."
And I can't say I disagree. So I think I made the right decision saying no. Then a women who seemed like she couldn't decide if she wanted to be from Singapore or Australia came over to talk to us. She kept switching where she was from and she looked more like she was from Singapore but she sounded more like she was from Australia. Snap! Another picture of us.

Throughout the night, there were many people with cameras taking pictures. Some were for the OWC newsletter but one man said he was from the Deccan Herald. So if we can find them online, I'll give you the link. We did feel like quite the rock stars though.

I also went to my weekly OWC coffee yesterday morning with Vivian. I saw Vanessa there and she said, "did you get my texts?" Apparently she sent me TWO text messages I never got. One was about how she didn't have any more information on the Friday morning walks she told me about and one was about having lunch. So I told her I wasn't being rude, I just never got the messages. Then she started talking about how she just got tickets to the India/Australia cricket match being played in Bangalore. I said that George was talking about it but heard tickets were hard to come by. She said, "no, you can get them but they are expensive." But I think we're going to try to get tickets. Going to India and not seeing a cricket match is like going to the US and not seeing a baseball game. It's the national pastime. Then I met Heather. Heather is from San Francisco and couldn't shake my hand because she has a cold and didn't want to spread germs. She laughed alot even when nothing funny was said and every time she laughed she leaned back. She reminded me of the girl in the movie Grease who was hyper-active and got Sandy involved in cheerleading - only I think Heather was probably involved in cheerleading and drama club. Heather is organizing this year's Christmas bizarre and she could really use all the help she can get. It's going to be a "spectacular" event. After her plug for help, she also launched into a story about an American woman living in New Delhi who was driving she and her child somewhere and accidentally hit a Muslim child who darted into the street. "Well, as soon as she got out of the car and they saw that she was white, it turned into mass chaos." And with all of her drama skills, she became very serious. "Do you know what the crowd did?" She paused for just a minute, the suspense building..."They went into her car and killed her child." Weren't we just talking about how there will be a Santa and Christmas village for the kids to play in?

Tomorrow we're going to see about venturing outside the city to a place called Nandi Hills. It's supposed to be scenic and is a good place for hiking - although we'll see what that means in India.

We've been without the internet...

Our connection to the internet has been down for a couple of days. My connection to the real world had been severed. Is it awful to feel that way? That somehow, I’m not in the “real” world? Of course I know this is absolutely not true. The real world is one where some people live in high rises with pools and some people live in a 50 square foot box maybe with a window. Where some people ride in SUVs and others squeeze into a filthy bus so over crowded that limbs literally hang out of open windows and doors. The poverty, it seems, has been on my mind.

I know it’s just the way of the world – some people are rich and some are poor and there are lots in between. I’ve been trying to believe that even those who seemingly live a meager existence, the people of Bangalore seem happy. Or that maybe they don’t realize (or particularly care) how much money some people have. As George said once, “if you’ve never had a hot shower, you just don’t know any different.” I guess this is true but I’m really starting to understand “gratitude” in a whole different light. On the way home from yoga, Vivian and I pass by this street that during the day is a street market and at night smells (and looks) like a garbage bin. The other night, I saw a man with a bag, picking through the discarded fruits and vegetables (along with the stray dogs and cows) and put the food in his bag.

On a lighter note, we obviously got our internets fixed (sort of) with the help of the ever-efficient Indian technology geniuses. Sir tagged teamed into the Geek Squad and set us up with these cards that allow us to connect to the internet "anytime, anywhere." Three trips to the store later, we have an extraordinarily slow connection but a connection nonetheless. I went with him on the first trip but did not go back the second and third times. But he came home the second day and said, “today, was very frustrating.” With that I will tell you the story as I have seen and heard it…

Saturday, we went to see if we could purchase one of these cards (the size of a credit card). Thinking this would be a quick in and out (ha ha), I decided to wait in the car with Chandan. We are getting these cards through the same company we got our cell phones which was fittingly a production – at first we couldn’t call internationally, then we were on the wrong plan, then we couldn’t pay the bill online. As George put it, “I used 54 minutes since we’ve been here and 52 have been to the phone company.” The pessimists reading will think, “well, you should’ve expected this to be a hassle.” The optimists however, “since, you’ve already been dealing with these people on a regular basis, perhaps you have already gone through much of the red tape.” Pessimists win this one.

A half hour later, George emerges, no cards (and no bruises) but with about four forms. Oh, how Indians love their paperwork. As it turns out, we need to fill out these forms that ask for everything from our address and phone number to passport numbers, to the name of a friend, and of course, they need passport sized photos. They require photos for everything – to get a phone, a gym pass, basically anything that also requires a signature. There are enough passport size photos of us floating around this country to cover every existing milk carton.

So, he goes back on Tuesday armed with the forms, photos, passport, marriage license, blood donor card, Blockbuster card – very well prepared. There is someone ahead of him but apparently, they brush that person aside to help George. He ends up working with like three different people who ask him to fill out more paperwork, all essentially asking the same information. I should also mention that these forms have carbon copies – like old school, slip the blue paper underneath the paper you are writing on to make copies. (Most stores, in addition to the cash register receipt, will also hand write a receipt on carbon copy paper. Just in case you lose one?) An hour later, he ends up with two cards and these other separate chips that go in each card and a folder full of papers.

As it turns out, the card works on his computer but is not compatible with mine…so, he made his third trip last night. It should come as a shock to no one that they weren't going to take the card back but, what a charmer that George. Because we had taken everything out of the package, they said they couldn't re-sell it. But he and two other employees worked out a deal where the company will try to re-sell it at a discount and if they can't within 2 weeks time, George has to take it back and will try to sell it at work. Only in India. To make a long story short, the internet is back but it is REALLY slow - like we are using a dial-up which defeats the purpose of buying the stupid cards anyway. After speaking to multiple tech-support people, we have a "reference number" for a complaint and they are supposed to be resetting something so we have normal connection speeds.

Other than that drama, I decided not to work at that international school. It took me about and hour and 15 minutes to get there yesterday and it just opened a few weeks ago. Visiting there, I realized that I really do miss teaching more than I thought but I also know that if I said yes, I would be spending all my time planning and reading up on my 8^th grade math and science. Oh, and maybe I would be interested in taking both the 7^th and 8^th grade and teaching them “holistically.” I still don’t know exactly what she meant by that. (There are less than 20 students between both grades but still.) She would require lesson plans to be turned in in advance. And she’s really looking for Western teachers to take on more of a mentor role to some of the “associate” teachers. Logistically, it would be hard to get there with one driver at which point the women said, “Well that’s not a problem. You can ride the bus.” (Which she later mentioned also means you are the supervisor responsible for any "issues in transit.") They are also a quasi-Montessori school which in theory, I’m not opposed to but I don’t really know enough about it. I just got the feeling that this would be turning in to way more of a commitment than this lady of leisure was looking for. That sounds awfully spoiled and terrible, doesn’t it? But I would end up being the girl who goes to India and ends up saying, “That’s ok, you go to the Taj Mahal. I have to correct papers and get my lesson plans ready for next week.” Besides, there are still tutoring opportunities I’d like to explore…

Oh and I don't think we're going to move. I don't know if either of us can handle another round of "settling in." A new man called yesterday asking if he could come up and have 5 minutes of my time. "To discuss what exactly," I ask.
"Your passes."
"Our passes?"
"Yes, ma'am to use the facilities."
"Um, sure. Come on up."
His name is John Paul and he introduced himself as the "manager" but I don't know if he meant the manager of the entire building or just our flat...his card lists an entirely different apartment complex (the Diamond District where we also looked). We know there is a woman who actually owns the flat and we met the "landlord" on the first day. I think Krishn is the landlord's #2 and then he appears to have a staff. So I don't know where John Paul fits in but, his English was excellent and he was wearing a tie. He gave me a form to fill out with our names, addresses, etc. and yes, when I have completed the forms, I should return with 3 photos of each of us. (But these have to be "stamp size," passport sized will be too big.) This would be to get us access to the gym and pool. (Have I mentioned that I was barred from going to the gym one day because our flat number wasn't on the right list? This form apparently gets us on the list.) He said he would bring me a curtain rod for the kitchen and "really, anything else you need is no problem." I've replaced the living room curtains and got a plant. So, I think with some more love we can turn this place around. We do like the location and it is far enough from the main road that it's not too noisy.

There is a happy hour tonight for members of the OWC and their spouses at one of the fancier hotels tonight. It should be interesting.

Festival of Ganesh

There was a gecko-sighting Friday night. He was at the front door when we were on our way out to dinner. We told him it was nice to meet him and we're glad he could stay for a while but we understood he needed to be going. So we showed him the way out and think he might've headed next door.

Most of my lady friends in the OWC frequent the hotel restaurants and card-carrying members (like myself) get discounts at certain restaurants - most of which are in hotels. We've never had a bad experience but I'm beginning to wonder if eating there is like eating at chain restaurants in the US. The meals are usually good but there is nothing really authentic about the experience like say, eating with your hands, off banana leaves or with a rat running around. We don't want to be the American couple that only eats in fancy hotels but sometimes a good clean atmosphere and not so spicy food is ok. So Friday night we went to an Italian restaurant in a hotel. We learned that even in hotels, you really should ask if you're unsure what a menu item is. That way, when you and your vegetarian friends order an appetizer to share you can be sure the dish does not have some kind of fancy bologna in it. Other than that, the meal was good.

Saturday marked the first day of the Festival of Ganesh - which is supposed to last 10 days. From what we gather, this is a time to celebrate the God who is the "remover of obstacles" by putting countless gaudy statues out on the streets, going to presumably the only Temple of Ganesh in Bangalore and to eventually make an offering to the God and according to Chandan, a time to hold "competitions." I think these competitions include things like, gather the most stray dogs together without a fight, obstacle courses modeled around cow dung and garbage and perhaps games that include some form of conning or staring at the white people but I can't be sure.

There aren't many tourist "sights" to see in Bangalore but one of the few is the "Bull Temple" (which happens to be next to the Temple of Ganesh). The city's founder is a man by the name of Kempe Gowda and in the 16th century he decided it would be a good idea to build a temple with a massive bull inside. This Nandi bull is made of grey granite but actually looks black because they have covered it with charcoal and oil. The Nandi bull is the bull that Shiva - the destroyer - rides and the gatekeeper to this god. The first thing we noticed as we approached the Temple was the crowds. We had second thoughts about getting out to see the bull because the line appeared to snake all the way down the street and around the corner but Chandan told us the line was for the Ganesh temple. So we jump out with our tell-tale tourist sneakers and backpack and head up a small hill flanked by food stalls, people selling miniature Ganesh statues, keychains and other must-haves, and of course, the beggars. Honestly, how many people are really buying toy snakes, mini-chess sets and large maps of India?

As we approach the Bull Temple we see piles of dusty sandals outside the door to the temple and a very old, very hunched over, very dirty-looking man motions for us to take our shoes off. As I bend down to untie my shoes, I notice the army of red ants frantically moving - "we've got a white one coming, move!" - and I decide to keep my socks on. There was so much going on outside the temple that you almost forget that this is sacred ground and how beautifully interesting (or tacky?) these temples are. Again, as we walk in, it's not at all like you are walking into a cathedral where everyone is quiet and subdued and it is so small, there is really nowhere to stop for a prayer or even a quiet moment. Very much like a cathedral, they are more than willing to take a donation. And of course, there was a teenager who was more than willing to start explaining the significance of the bull and temple - none of which we could really understand with his accent. But still, we walked nearly single-file around the bull and he told us we could touch it here for good luck but not take pictures of it. It felt cool and slimy. The bull takes up the entire tiny temple so after we circled it, we were outside again and the nice Indian fella asked us to follow him around the back of the temple for more of the "tour". Realizing this would not be free, we declined to which he said, "ok, 200 rupees for the tour." We (and by we, I mean George here) argued for a minute, gave him 10 and we went to get our shoes. Not that 200 rupees is alot but we didn't ask for a tour nor did we get any value from him leading us in a circle around a bull. I did feel like red ants were crawling on me the rest of the day though. (They weren't.)

Saturday night we took our first auto-richshaw and although, I had ridden in one with Vivian, she did all the talking and navigating. We only went up to the mall and had read that you shouldn't get in a rickshaw unless they are running the meter. The gentleman who stopped for us said he would take us for 20 rupees which seemed like a fair deal (even though the meter wasn't running). Plus, we had the added bonus of blinking, colored Christmas lights - we think for Ganesh but they added a nice ambiance to the ride. We ate in an Indian restaurant in the mall that is designed to look like an old train car complete with waiters dressed in brown conductor uniforms. We're having a hard time deciding which restaurant we've tried that's the best. On the way home, one of the rickshaw drivers asked for 200 rupees. We declined and ended up going with another driver for 50. The rates increase after 10pm.

One of the women I met on Friday, said that they were looking for teachers at a new school that opened up and put me in touch with someone there. I spoke to her this morning and what she's really looking for is a full-time, 8th grade math and science teacher. I think I operate on about a 5th grade math level and I get gecko and alligators confused so I'm not sure it's going to work out. She seemed desperate though for help - "I can maybe rearrange some things so you teach all subjects..." - so I'm supposed to go see the school tomorrow. We'll see.

Things appear to be slowing down...

Gecko-watch 2007 continues. No more sightings.

Rat-watch 2007 however, is a bit more exciting. After yoga last night with my new friend Vivian, it was pouring. We were the only two in the class - probably because it's from 7-8 pm which wouldn't be my first pick of time but it's all that is open right now supposedly. We took an auto-rickshaw to class which was fun. Vivian does not have driver so she was pro at navigating the streets and the rickshaw driver which made her seem infinitely more cosmopolitan than I. The driving seems alot more dangerous in the rickshaw than in a car. You can actually touch the other cars and scooters in the rickshaw and you sit surprisingly higher than in a car. But anyway, since it was pouring after class, and the studio/spa is set back from the street, we decided to wait to see if the rain would let up before catching a rickshaw back. The rain was not letting up so I called Chandan. Now, when it rains, some of the scooter drivers pull over and seek shelter. So a family of four had joined Vivian, me, the yoga instructor and a guard in the yoga place. I see a rat run by the door and just thank God it's outside. But then Vivian goes to open the door to see how hard it's raining and out of nowhere, the rat is running inside. She and I jump ten feet and the Indians just laugh at us. It scurries to the opposite side of the lobby and waits behind a garbage can, every now and then peaking out. Vivian and I move outside because getting wet seemed like the lesser evil. We're up to 3 rats seen alive, 2 dead.

When Chandan did come, he had to take 2 detours because the streets were so flooded. It was nearly 9 before we got home which is way too late. I think I can find another yoga class to join.

As my sister Laura might say, the whore of India was at it again today (see her comment from yesterday). There was a coffee for IBM employees and their spouses. And yes, I got more numbers. It was good to meet them but a bit intense as well. First of all, the woman hosting the party, Ilsa, lives in a 3 story, gorgeous house with her husband and I think 3 kids. When I told people we were living at St. John's Woods, they all said, "so where will you be living permanently?" Most of them - 95% - had kids so they all lived in this area just outside the city in houses. They starting asking me if he was on a "STTR" assignment or an "IRA" assignment, or "XYPDQ" assignment... I don't remember the initials specifically but i felt a little silly saying, "I'm not really sure." From what I gathered, the type of assignment determines what kind of allowances you get for housing and things. But realizing our situation is a little different (no kids), some people understood that we wanted to be in the city, didn't need a ton of space and didn't need to worry about being near a good school. But they all seemed to suggest there are nicer places out there. In the end, I got the names of a place not far from where we are that I think we'd like to see. I'm not sure either of us really feels like moving now that we are just starting to feel a little settled but it can't hurt to look.

I met a woman named Heather who is from Michigan and very nice. She said, "I'm used to getting stares in the US so I've really been getting them here." She was at least 6'1" with blond hair and light skin. She is here with her husband and three kids and was very down-to-earth and friendly. So I scored her digits. I also met another woman with 2 names, Mary Louise or Anne Margaret something Irish-Catholic sounding. She is also here with her husband who is Indian but is an American citizen and their 2 kids. They have been here for 4 years. Somehow it came out that she is one of like 11 children and was one of those people you instantly feel comfortable around. I actually did not get her digits but hope we run into her again. I did get the number of a woman Liz, who is married to a man named Marcel, who may have the name of another yoga place and another apartment complex. She and Marcel were into cycling in the US so we bonded over there being no place to bike or run

Many of you have been emailing me about the weather and what I've been wearing. It is actually very pleasant. It does not get hot, hot here like it does in the north (how counter-intuitive, no?). The first week we were here it was pretty cloudy and usually in the 70s - jeans and t-shirts were fine. It's been getting sunnier so it's also been warmer - in the 80s. It's been too hot for jeans and since shorts are a no-no for women, I've been living in the 2 pairs of capris I own and bought a third pair. I also have a couple of skirts that are below the knee that I wear. Although today is cool and rainy. Chandan says the rainy season lasts until the end of September, then it's "winter" but still he said doesn't go much below 15 (or 60 Fahrenheit) . We are on the Deccan Plateau which they say, is the reason why it doesn't get too hot or too cold.

So this was kind of a boring post...I fear our time of entertaining stories is going to be slowing down a bit in the coming days/weeks. I even had, dare I say, an uneventful trip to the grocery store. (Aside from my personal space being violated on multiple occasions and the cows, dogs and men doing their business that we passed on the way there.)

Unless, of course, we do decide to move...

We have a guest...

I kept calling it a salamander but we think it's actually a gecko - I think it was the lack of a British accent that was throwing me off. I noticed him yesterday afternoon at about 4:30 on the wall and proclaimed it a baby alligator. Then I said to myself, "don't be ridiculous, it's not an alligator. It's a crocodile." It's only about two inches long but still big enough that there was no way I was going to kill it. Instead, I decided I would capture it. I grabbed a Tupperware container and lid and held it against the wall. As soon as it started moving though, I flinched (and by flinch I mean, jumped and ran to the other side of the room). I tried again and failed and now it was resting behind the TV. So I decided to just watch it for a while. I got up every 10 minutes or so to check to see it was still there and it was. At some point it made it's way from behind the TV to the back of the TV where it remained until Sir came home. But he proved to be no better at animal control than I. He rushed the gecko under the TV stand where it stayed (or has since found it's way back from wherever it came. We haven't seen it since. At least, these are the only two possible scenarios I will allow myself to consider.

I am now a card carrying member of the OWC and membership does have its privileges. I didn't see Pam or the woman who got bit by the stray dog. I did give a wave to Gordon but we were on opposite sides of the room and didn't really chat. When I joined, the woman who took all my information told me about someone else who lives in our building and said she would point her out to me. So l left her and went to get some tea and to see if I could find Vanessa. On the way, I met a woman from Switzerland with a 4 year old son. The two of us were chatting when all of the sudden Amy appears, hand extended, "Hi, I'm Amy. I saw you have a US passport," she says to me, nearly breaking my pinky finger with her cobra grip. So, I say, "Yes, I'm from CT," and introduce her to the woman from Switzerland. Amy tell us that she's also new to Bangalore but she's used to moving around. She and her husband used to live in Tawain, where she is from, but they've been living in Boston because he just finished a Master's program at Harvard and we have 3 children all under the age of 3 - twins and a infant. And she's so used to have so much help that she is just aghast that she can't find a live-in nanny. "We've always had one for the children." Well, what she'd really like is a "proper governess." I'm not really sure what she meant by that but I wasn't going to ask. She and the other woman start talking about schools for their kids and Amy asks me if I have any children. I say no. She says, "So are you working?" No. "Well, so what are you going to do? I mean, I'm not working but I have three children and barely have time to go grocery shopping." I tell her I was a teacher and would be interested in part time work or volunteering but we are also looking forward to taking long weekends to travel and I can't work with my Visa right now anyway. She starts to tell me how easy it is to change your Visa status and rattles off about 4 names of schools that she's just sure are in need of "people with my skills." She kept looking at me disapprovingly, like "aren't you going to write any of this down?" Of course, she was going to look for some part-time work just as soon as things settle down. And off she went to go pick up her kids from pre-school.

Then I saw Vanessa, who just happened to be sitting where they were selling the "In and Out of Bangalore" guide that I wanted to buy so I made my way over. She was talking to a Polish woman who says she's really considers herself from New Zealand because that's where she grew up but, her family was just living in Tokyo for the past 4 years. Her name was something like, Grasha. I think she repeated it 3 times and I'm still not sure what it is. I liked her very much and hoped she couldn't tell I was having trouble looking her with her pretty, green, lazy eye. She was also a teacher but hasn't worked since she's had kids. Vanessa and I then started talking about our experiences in the park and she (Vanessa) mentioned that one of her friends goes walking with a group on Friday mornings and if I'm interested I should give her my number. Well of course, my NVBF! Then I met Vivian who lives in my building. She's from Singapore but was previously living in France with her fiance. She's been in Bangalore since April and she was so nice I think she could be my second NVBF. She's been going to yoga's in the evening and I said I was interested so taking me with her tonight! My third favorite person was a women originally from Cypress but has lived in the UK for 30 years, Androulla. She was with her daughter who was visiting from London. Her husband works in the tea business but I didn't catch for which company. She had just come back from a trip to Sri Lanka and was quite excited to talk about an elephant orphanage she visited. She wants to meet for coffee. In total, I got 5 new numbers, have one yoga date, one coffee date, one lunch date pending for next week (with Vanessa and this other woman Anne) and a potential weekly Friday morning walking date. I was quite the Casanova.

On our way to dinner last night, we past a fairly large building all lit up with rows of colored lights and lots of people milling around. We could hear what sounded like a band, though we did not actually see the band. You could see inside the building and it appeared to go back quite a bit because there were rows and rows of chairs set up. Chandan said it was a wedding. I was hoping we'd get to see the bride and/or groom but we didn't. Supposedly weddings last for multiple days and since it was near our apartment, I'm hoping we still have a chance to see them.

We had another great meal last night. They brought out our main dishes and made a motion to start serving us before they brought out our plates, or so I thought. Instead, they opened the folded banana leaf that was already on the table (I thought was just a place mat) and we ate right off the banana leaf.

You'll never, never, never guess who I bumped into in the park yesterday!

No, it was no one famous but keep reading.

I went to the Lalbagh Botanical Gardens yesterday. In the center there is a glass house and according to our guidebook, "is modelled on London's Crystal Palace and one of Kempegowda's watchtowers." Pictures are attached. But alas, a day at the park in India is no "day at the park." When we (Chandan and I) got to the entrance, I paid my 10 rupees to get in and was immediately accosted by a man who looked like he had a brochure he wanted to kindly give me. So I listened while he pointed to the paper in his hand and said I would learn about all there is to see in the park. How nice that for 10 rupees I will get a pamphlet telling me about the gardens. I put my hand out to get a pamphlet and then the man starts getting in the car! Chandan starts yelling in Hindi and the man starts yelling back and Chandan says to me, "you don't want a tour." And I say, "no, I do not." And Chandan repeats something and I think I get that look that babies get when they fall down but they aren't sure if they are hurt yet (somewhere between a laugh and cry) as the big scary man walks away and we drive up to the entrance. Three cheers for Chandan.

I confirm with Chandan that I can just walk around by myself, at my own pace, and he says, "yes, ma'am." The first thing you see is this big area of rock and I notice a older couple - both white - who ask me where I'm from. They were Australian and just here "on holiday." The grumpy gentlemen I think snickered when I said I'd just moved here. "For good??" I said, no just a year. They wished me luck and I continued walking and was stopped by an Indian teenager and presumably his girlfriend who ask me where I'm from and my name. My name? "Yes, what is your name?" I was too busy wondering why they would want to know my name that, I just tell the truth. But as they walked away, I started running through all the other people I could be and all the other places I could be from - Pippa from New Zealand, Annika from Norway, etc. Then I started hoping someone would ask me again. Instead, I got LOTS of stares and would say that 75% of the people there, were male. Never did I feel threatened or scared but definitely uncomfortable. As if the staring wasn't enough, then I heard someone say, "hello," and when I turned every so slightly to nod, he snapped my picture with his camera-phone! (This is not the person I was excited to run into.) I walk a little further, suddenly very put off by all the attention, and decided to acknowledge and smile at no one. Not even the stray dogs I kept dodging. There was one main paved area but many different paths you could take so as soon as a mangy Lassie came my direction, I smoothly moved the opposite direction.

I decided to have a seat on a bench and took out my book to read with one eye always on who and what was approaching. There was a group of teenagers that were lingering around for about 5 minutes before one of them finally approached me and asked, "You can take a picture?" Thinking he wanted me to take a picture of he and his friends, I sort of half nod. He clarifies, "we sit to take picture with you?" In an instant, I saw my sweet, innocent face, on some sketchy website or God knows where and just said no. Not "no thank you" - in India I think that translates as, "I'd rather not, but sure! Go ahead!" The boys just said "ok" and moved on. In total, I think I was approach 4 times with similar offers, not discounting the one who has me in his camera. None of these people I was excited to bump into.

But it was, in fact, my new very best friend I saw at the OWC last week but never really got the chance to tell her she was my NVBF!!! Her name is Vanessa and she is Australian. We passed each and then kind of did a double take. We both stopped and said we'd seen each other last Thurs. And then we chatted about how we'd both been getting harassed with picture requests. She said she'd just come back from a three week holiday with one of her friends from England. I asked her if she was working and she said no. And I said no, I was not either. And then she asked if I was looking and I said not really. And she laughed and said she thinks it would be too difficult with her Visa. We chatted a bit more about places she's visited since she's been here (about 2 months) and we said we'd see each other Thursday. We did not exchange phone numbers. I didn't want to come off as desperate...the horror. But I'm hoping she'll ask Thursday on our second date.

Shortly thereafter, I saw another rat, picking at a well-eaten ear of corn. We're at two and two.

In other news:
We did get our passports back on Monday - at around 8 pm but still. And we are permitted to stay here until next August. So that seems to be sorted out.

My buddy Krishn came Monday (alone!) instead of our regular house cleaner and I asked him to please spray for bugs again because we noticed some more over the weekend. Of course this was no problem, and God love him, he just starts spraying - everything (counters, the outside of our cabinets, the range...We have our silverware on top of the counter because the drawers are scary, and he sprayed all over them - whistling all the while while I choked on the fumes not two feet away. Needless to say, I then had to ask him to please wash the silverware. No problem. (Only I then re-washed them again after he left.) We also needed more water and he said he would be back in two hours but he would definitely be back. Sure enough, 4 hours later he returned with a friend and our water. He started to grow on me like moss on a pond.
He also brought us a brand new toaster (as well as 3 other new "helpers") and someone to look at our hot water situation. We were wondering if maybe, just maybe, it was possible to get more than 2 minutes of hot water in the shower. This "electrician" said that we should be keeping the hot water switch off until about 10 minutes before we shower. (We find keeping it on all the time gets us more hot water but whatever.) He then started telling me how much hot water we should get in liters, as opposed to minutes. So, I have no new insight there. But with a bright smile and can do attitude he proclaimed to Krishn, "no problem. All set."

Krishn introduced one of the others with him as our new cleaner. "His English not very good but he understand (and he started to make sweeping gestures). You need anything, you have my number. We come fix."

Moss on a pond can be quite pretty.

Bangalore by Foot

We have been seeing most of Bangalore from the back of our Ford Ikon. And while I like it because it's safe, cool (as in air-conditioned) and clean, it can take forever to go just a few blocks. So "ma'am and sir" were looking forward to getting out on foot. Chandan will only refer to me as "ma'am" and George as "sir" which we can't help but laugh about. If he is talking to me about George, he'll say, "ok, I will give this to sir," or to George: "will ma'am need me today?" We feel so far from being a "ma'am" and "sir."

But anyway, we set out about 10 am on Sunday and headed out of our complex. Not 500 feet into our walk we met our first cow. It's one thing to pass them in the car but on foot, your instinct is to want to tread very lightly and not act like you are scared. Animals can smell fear - or so I've heard. But she barely even moved, as if she knows she is sacred and an untouchable. The "sidewalk" we walked on is really just large slabs of rock put together over a ditch that I think would normally hold pipes but here, just seem to collect garbage and rain water. Every few steps one of the slabs of rock will be missing or broken and you can see right into the ditch. Some sections are better than others.

Our destination was the Forum Mall which proved to be closer than we thought. We passed a dead rat on the way and I tallied another dead in my head. It's two to one by my count (two dead, one living large at Sunny's restaurant). Once we got through the security check in front of the mall it was like we were stepping into any mall, in any town, in any country - complete with a McDonald's, a food court and a multiplex cinema. It was clean, air-conditioned and crowded - like Dec. 20th crowded. Next to the mall is a store called the "Big Bazaar" with everything from appliances to toys to food to clothes. It's cheap like Walmart, only not as nice. It was crowded and hot and dirty. There was a lively gentlemen who would make announcements about sales of the day (or the moment): "Ladies, attention ladies, right now, we are selling all women's western clothes at 50% off! Unbelievable but true. Buy any item in the western dress section and get 50% off! This offer won't last forever, act now."

I can't say that's exactly what the announcer said but he was busy the entire 15 minutes we were there talking about unbelievable deals. Most of the department stores have separate sections for traditional Indian clothes and Western clothes but smaller stores just seem to have one or the other. After the bizarre bazaar, we explored a little more of our neighborhood. We found the restaurant we went to on Friday and were happy to find it is walkable. After a few more blocks, I decided what the soft pretzel is to NYC streets, corn on the cob is to Bangalore. You can get an ear of corn on any street only it is beyond yellow and almost orange in color. We have not yet tested our systems on it but we'll let you know.

We made our way back to the mall and sat outside for a while to people watch. We started playing "count the grown men without mustaches" and started noticing that most of the younger generation of Indians are going without but, there is rarely a man over 35/40 without one. I tried to make the generalization that most of the younger Indian girls/teenagers wear Western clothes while the women all wear saris but then we saw some of the opposite so I need to do some more research on that. It is more rare to see men in traditional Indian clothes - usually only men in their 60s - and I am attributing it to the growth of Western jobs (at least in a city like Bangalore). But I think all this raises all sorts of questions about what is fashionable and how do you know? And who decides? I think the majority of women in their colorful saris look rather fashionable and elegant so why hasn't that look caught on in the West? I guess I sort of think of it like: why is it okay for women to wear pants but not for a man to wear a skirt (in most circles)?

But I digress. After a good people watching session, we headed back into the mall to see what movies were playing. Sadly, I don't either of us will really ever be huge fans of Bollywood. I really wish I liked it. I want so badly to appreciate it. But I don't. Not yet. Nothing of interest was playing but we did stumble across our first pub (yes, in the mall). It was dark and smelled of smoke just as a good pub should. The next thing we noticed was the music. Kool & the Gang welcomed us with a little "Get Down on It." Later songs included: "Ghostbusters," Madonna's "Holiday" with an early rap remix, and "The Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News. The decor seemed to match the playlist but they had a good bar menu and it is relatively close to our apartment. So, we may have found, as my father likes to say, "our local gin mill."

On our way home, we encountered our neighborhood cow again. This time it was crossing the road, we missed the actual crossing but here is a short clip of traffic passing it. There are also some more pictures from our walk in the links section.

First Weekend in the Apartment

No new entries this weekend, we were busying acclimating. What continues to strike me the most is how extreme Bangalore is. Obviously, there are huge gaps between rich and poor in the US - and even in places like Norwalk you can see how each half lives. Here though, it somehow seems more in-your-face. There are constant reminders of how rich and poor this city is and how modern and backwards it is. You never know what you are going to get which makes it exciting and fascinating but sometimes frustrating as well.

Friday night we went to a restaurant called Gramin that took about 45 minutes to get to in the car but as we found out on Sunday, is only about a 15 minute walk. I did some online research Friday afternoon and it had been recommended by a few people so we decided to try it. I knew there was seating because I called to make a reservation and they didn't laugh at me on the other end. Still, you never can be sure exactly what you are going to get here. On the way there, we kept passing these places with limited or no seating or just small windows to get food - like fast food places. I began to wonder if maybe I wasn't taking us to India's version of Applebee's . We pulled up to what looked like a strip mall-type area when Chandan announced, "it is here, sir." Gramin was small - but did have comfortable seating. There were maybe 7 tables downstairs and a few more on an upper level and plenty of seating in an atrium area to wait. It gets so crowded that they'll actually take your order while you are waiting so once you are seated, you only wait a few minutes.

The other potential "problem" with eating out is that some menus don't describe what is in particular dishes. This menu was about 5 pages long with no descriptions of anything only a green dot to signify "veg" and a little red chili to signify "spicy." I flip through the menu - desperately looking for a cheat sheet and look at George who seems to be doing the same. We recognize the names of some meals we've had before but are looking to try something different. We know some staple ingredients like paneer, which they often describe as a cottage cheese but I would say has more of the consistency of a muenster - softer than cheddar but not spreadable. I sometimes mistake it for tofu because it doesn't really have a strong taste. We recognized that we have ordered "aloo gobi" before but "is that the potato dish we like or does it have cauliflower?" We couldn't remember.

At this point the waiter has brought us two copper cups with no handles and asks us if we wanted bottled water. George says yes and tries to order a Kingfisher - the local beer - to which the waiter replies "No Kingfisher." We make do with the water that now has a metallic taste from the cup. We ask the waiter for something with spinach and something with potatoes and nothing too spicy. EVERYTHING is spicy so you just have to ask for "not too spicy" which is usually just a little too spicy for me. Although I am convinced after two weeks, my taste buds are getting stronger (or are just numb). I start drinking out of the bottle and notice a large party behind us. They have ordered what look like small plates of nachos and I wonder what they are celebrating because they are clearly celebrating something.

They bring out our two dishes in small bowls and two medium sized, round cookies sheets with just a half inch or so of lip around the edges - not deep enough to make a pie but not truly flat like a cookie sheet either. No matter what type of restaurant we go to - cheap or more expensive, the waiters always serve you your meals which continues to feel strange to me. They give us a dollop of the spinach dish which also has corn mixed in, the potato dish that is in a tomato puree sauce and a slice of naan (flat bread) we ordered instead of rice. The only utensil we have is a spoon. We dig in with our hands and I am trying to be conscious of the fact that they do not eat with their left hands. (The left hand is the hand they use for other things...) But I have trouble with just my right and switch between both hands. I hope the party behind me forgives this as a "foreigner mistake." After dinner they bring you a small bowl with warm water and a piece of lime to wash your hands. It was the best $6 dinner we've ever had.

Saturday we ran some more errands. We did go to a mattress store that had been recommended to George but we weren't all that impressed. They are all very thin and very firm nor are they particularly cheap so no real resolution there. Much like George tries to insist our shower situation is just a like fancy cold water spa treatment, I'm trying to convince myself that these mattresses are good for the back and will do wonders for my posture. We also encountered other "firsts" since we've been here.

• On our way out, we saw a man on a camel walking down the street.
• We found a grocery store that sells Doritos for the low, low price of $6 - which is ridiculous even if we didn't spend the same amount on dinner.
• We saw two bulls lounging by the curb.

Saturday night we had a nice dinner on the sixth floor of one of the nicer hotels here. We had a view overlooking the city and we're treated to the Indian-jazz music of a live band.

Most of the things we see are in the car so it makes it difficult to get a picture but camels and bulls, and dinners in fancy hotels overlooking the city - that's Bangalore. Sunday we made our first trek through the city on foot...

P.S. I'm watching "Doogie Howser, M.D." It follows the "Wonder Years."

Registering as Foreign Residents

I don't know how long ago now but I remember reading about how foreigners living in the US no longer wanted to be considered US aliens. They didn't like the connotation of the word "alien." At the time, I remember thinking they had a valid argument but if I were to be considered an Indian "alien," I think I might welcome the title because sometimes it does feel like I might as well come from (or be on) Mars.

As part of our Visa requirements, we were to register as foreign residents within 14 days of our arrival in India. Luckily, IBM uses a service to help international assignees with their Visas, so getting the Visas was surprisingly hassle free. Surprisingly, so was registering as foreign residents. However, while it was relatively hassle free the whole event was full of an air of corruption. (There are many points in this story where things could have gone drastically wrong so I thought I'd just come clean in the beginning - nothing went drastically wrong. Also evidence of this - the fact that we have not yet been deported.)

In order to get our Visas, we had to submit all our personal documents, including our passports, copies of our marriage license, addresses, etc. So Friday morning, when we went to the Police Commissioners Office for our FRO (Foreign Registration Office meeting), we had copies of all this information in addition to extra passport photos and of course, our actual passports.

Thursday night, George got a text message from an unknown number saying, "I need your father's name for tomorrow's FRO meeting." We've gotten used to so many people needing so much random information from us, without thinking twice, he replied. For example, I have not yet included the various hassles we have had trying to get our cell phones set up in addition to various calls from random people about the apartment. What I have deduced from all this is either: A - nothing is really centralized or terribly efficient, or B - we have grossly underestimated our ability to communicate, or C - Both A and B are correct.)

George had been told to not to bother arriving at the Commissioners Office until after 10 because they don't get moving much before then. So we arrive shortly after 10 and pull into what looks like a little neighborhood. We pull down a small road with about 8 buildings on either side all well labeled, but still impossible to figure out exactly what goes on in each building - labels like "Photos, " "Single Window," and "Amusement." There was also a food stand and a coffee stand at the end of the road as well as unmarked buildings which may or may not have been a part of the Commissioners compound. Chandan dropped us by the coffee stand but did not really point us is any direction. We got out of the car, looked around, shrugged our shoulders and walked away from the food stands. We passed a guard dressed up with his white pants, ankle guards, fancy plaid hat - like the guards we saw at the hotel - only these guards had rifles.

Out of the shadows, appeared an ordinary looking Indian man - drab clothes, mustache, dark hair - approached us and said, "George?" He carried a black backpack and had a stack of papers held together by a small binder clip. He did not look like a business man, did not show us any sort of ID. (Note: this would be the first point when things could have gone drastically wrong.) He directed us to a lobby with another small room beyond it. In the lobby area, to the left, was a counter where he placed our papers and asked for our passport-sized photos. He then began gluing George's picture on my documents before George pointed this out. Looking annoyed at George for calling his attention to it, he flipped through his small book of papers and found one with George's name on it. He glued each of our pictures on the top and bottom of about 4 of the papers. Then he asked me to sign what felt like 25 pages - copies of my passport info., our address, my reason for being in India, etc. Then George had to sign everything. Then, he took our passports. Still in the lobby we turned around to face two men behind a desk - one who was clearly in charge.

People continued to meander in and out of both the lobby and the room beyond the lobby with no rhyme nor reason. A man came in, sat in one of the chairs in the larger room for about 5 minutes and then just got up and left. No one said anything to him nor did he say anything to anyone. Meanwhile, our new mustached friend takes our paperwork, all properly signed and with color photos attached, and hands it to the man in charge. George and I are standing about three feet behind just listening to them talk and occasionally point to something on the paper. The guy behind the desk, who has begun belching regularly with no shame or explanation, then hands our friend our passports. Our friend then just smiles and leaves the building with our passports. George had deduced they copied his old visa (from his trip here last fall). I couldn't help but think he was going to get a price check on American passports in the black market.

Everything to this point (but mostly the burping) is too much - it fills me with the giggles. George gives me the, "stop it," nudge but that just makes me want to laugh more. I tell him I can't help it and he says, "do you want to get us deported?" Everyone is very serious in this building and they don't seem the types to look kindly on giggling, blond Americans. I do my best to think of sad thoughts and turn my attention to the chipping paint, artificial fluorescent light and dirty walls of this building that looks like it once was probably quite impressive.

Sure enough, our mustached aide came back, passports in hand only to be turned away again by the belcher because the copies were "too dark." When he returns the second time from who knows where, we get the signature we need from the belcher (who, from here on out, will be referred to as "Person in Charge #1). With our newly signed documents, our mustached friend motions for us to follow him. He leaves this building, turns the corner and enters a second building through a large garage-sized door that has been opened. Now it feels like we are at the DMV (or passport agency for those of you who've had the pleasure). In the back, where we entered, there is one long table with chairs around it. Beyond the tables are about 4 more rows of chairs (sans tables) and beyond that, is an area separated by a counter with glass running to the ceiling - similar to when you see someone on TV going to visit a prisoner. In the partitioned area, there are more desks beyond the counter area set up like a regular office. There is also an open door connecting the "office" area to another building. On one side of the waiting area in back, there is an office guarded by a man whose outfit does not really distinguish him as a guard. He is wearing no badge, no label shirt, but he keeps turning people away and sending them to the chairs - a pseudo-guard. Nothing in this building in marked. There are no stickers on the window partition saying, "here is where you file a complaint." "here's where we steal your identity," "here's where we accept bribes." There are no signs on the wall telling you what you are waiting for or how long you might have to wait.

George and I are sitting in chairs at the table. We have now lost our mustached aide who is still carrying our passports and all our documents. Perhaps he is at some mysterious copier in some unknown area. We begin to wonder sympathetically if this is how immigrants in the United States feel when they have to do anything government related. Most of the seats are filled with people holding passports and papers, just waiting. However, there is also a steady stream of people getting up (and coming into the building) trying to get beyond the pseudo-guard. Our aide has reappeared and says something to the pseudo-guard. After waiting for about 10 minutes, our aide motions us to get up. He has not said more than 5 words to us all morning - George, passports, too dark - I think that's it. We follow him to the guarded office to see Person in Charge #2. This gentleman is sitting at a cluttered desk and there are pictures on the wall behind him. (I make note of this only because the rest of the entire decrepit building is stark.) There are about 10 chairs in two rows opposite his desk. We sit, anticipating we will be there a while but our aide puts our papers in front of him, he looks up to give us a half smile and signs. We are then motioned to get up and follow. We politely thank him as three more people are filing into the office. Every time we were motioned to move, we moved quickly which added to the feeling something very shady was taking place and we needed to get in and get out as fast as possible.

We go back to the first building only this time move into the larger waiting area. Again, there is a counter and glass partition. This area is smaller and feels more like being at the bank. There are 5 windows. The first 2 are marked "for office use only," the third window is for a gun license, the fourth one might be something for Indian residents and the fifth window is for foreign residents. From here, you can also see the door that led to the other "office" clearly marked, "do not enter," although no one seems to adhere to the sign. We keep thinking, imagine trying to navigate through this experience without an aide - like the man holding a Tanzanian passport we keep passing at every new waiting area. Our aide then muscled his way past two others to the front of the line for foreign residents, said something to the man behind the counter (Person in Charge #3) and slid our papers on the counter. We were then summoned to the counter to sign a paper stating we were residents. We signed the paper once with a carbon copy and then the same paper a second time but this time with no carbon copy. No questions asked on either our part or theirs. The man behind the counter takes our passports and our aide starts walking out. We ask him about our passports and he says, "I return them to you Monday." George makes sure he has our address and phone numbers and we blindly trust we have just fully complied with the law.

On our way back to the car, we passed one of the smaller buildings and inside were hanging colored lights like it was mid-December and what looked like some sort of card game taking place. But we did not linger to get a better look.

When we finally pulled out of the complex, we saw our aide crossing the road from the opposite side - like he had already left the compound and was coming back. Where he would've gone is as clear as the murky waters of the Ganges.

Throughout the entire morning, no one asked us any questions about where we work, where we live, if we have rabies, cooties, ties to the mafia - nothing. We have no idea why we were able to clearly "cut" many others who were in line before us and clearly waiting longer than us. We don't know why we needed the signatures of Persons in Charge #1, 2 or 3 and we are assuming our passports will be returned with the proper documentation today. What we do know is:
1. We would have been totally lost if we hadn't had someone us helping us through the process.
2. No one was in the "gun license" line which can't be bad.
3. In terms of what is socially acceptable for men, I think the rule is "anything goes."
4. We came home and promptly registered with the US Embassy in New Delhi.