Home

When you're in a foreign country, riding around on a bus, spending all day and night with the same small group of people...things are bound to get deep. So it's only natural that in the course of our trip the topic of conversation turned to the concept of home (ok, ok I brought it up). I was moved and surprised by some of the definitions offered to me by my fellow travelers.

"Home":

1) The place you always return to.
2) Where you feel comfortable living alone.
3) Where your people are.
4) Where it's not about bricks and buildings, but spirit and soul.
5) Where you can get a good night's sleep.

When I returned home to Delhi at 3 a.m., for a moment I forgot time and space. It was like I was back in the old Delhi of my childhood-- walking off the plane, clearing customs, taking in the familiar airport scents and sounds, the humid summer air, the sleepy excitement as I exit the terminal searching the crowd for my granddad... Then I remembered how things have changed and I got ready to hail myself a taxi, when who should I see sitting beside the guard right at the exit of the airport gate? Nani in a pretty pink salwar kameez. It was like old times, but new.

Sky Walk

In honor of Himanshu's awe-inspiring love, I too decided to do the 'Sky Walk', which is a Macau original (you can't do this anywhere else in the world). Since we weren't allowed to take photos on the ledge, (only Sky Walk employees can, and then they charge you for the picture), one of my fellow journalists kindly offered to take a snapshot of me just before I stepped outside:

Born Romantic

For my 22-year old colleague Himanshu, who is in love for the first time, Macau presented opportunity upon opportunity to demonstrate his undying devotion for his beloved back home. When we visited Macau's tallest building (and the world's highest bungee jumping spot), Himanshu put aside his fear of heights and decided to do the 'Sky Walk' around the tower's open-air ledge 233 meters above ground...all for love.

When Aloo took us all to a nearby island resort with a beautiful beach, Himanshu used the moment to write his loved one's name in the sand.

Each night we went on a scavenger hunt to 7-11s trying unfruitfully to find Himanshu a calling card. On one such jaunt we saw a group of mopeds at a red light and Himanshu promptly decided he wanted to immigrate to Macau, buy a moped, and ride around town with his gal. He wasn't joking.

There's something incredible about this kid's all-out, heart-on-his-sleeve, unabashed, unapologetic, love... and I for one am rooting for him all the way.

Sleepy Days

Though Macau comes alive at night with the sound of rolling dice (metaphorically speaking), during the day it's a sleepy, quaint little town filled with churches, temples and row after row of pawn shops... which were completely empty as we walked past them.

According to our tour-guide Aloo, these places buzz with business in the wee hours of the night when desperate gamblers come in ready to sell off their wedding rings just so that they can play another hand. But during the day it's a different story. In the photo above, one of the sales-girls is actually fast asleep.

At another shop, a lady listlessly watched a Chinese soap opera and even her caged birds were silent. The only sign of vitality was at a small jewelry store in Macau's Chinese quarter, where an elderly gent sipped tea with a good friend and flashed a huge smile for the camera. He was the highlight of my trip.

Golden Nights

Macau is connected to China and nearby islands with a series of elaborate bridges that light up golden at night...

Journalists at Work

In the elevators...

In the parks...

On the streets...

Aloo & The Motley Crew

My four days in Macau felt like a mix between a school fieldtrip and a beautiful surreal dream. Our tour guide's name was Alorino, or "Aloo" for short (which means "potato" in Hindi). Aloo grew up in India but moved to Macau 24 years ago for love. Even though this city is now his home, over lunch after some glasses of Portuguese wine, he'll tell you that his heart belongs to India and he'll regale you with stories about the year, way back when, that he spent traveling around Punjab.

There were 12 of us Indian journalists on this journey, each with our own story: a garrulous author of a book called "Surviving Women", a soft-spoken spiritualist with sayings like "Put a green bough in your heart and a song will come", a tone-deaf photojournalist who'd covered Iraq and liked to break into Hindi song at random moments, an elderly travel writer who looked like a little gnome with her big glasses and tiny sari-clad frame...

Each morning, Aloo would meet us at the hotel lobby and we'd roam around Macau in a small white bus with a clock that only showed time between 1 and 3:20 p.m., after which it would rotate back and start all over again.

In the evenings, we'd return to "The Grand Emperor" hotel, a chandelier-filled paradise with a casino on the second floor, 81 real gold bricks laid into the entrance, and stern looking British guards out front-- although, after careful observation and some discreet conversation, we found out that the guards were actually Romanian and had a habit of following with their eyes every pretty girl who walked by.

Wow Macau

Macau is a small city off the coast of Hong Kong with a population of 500,000-- you can literally walk from one end to the other within a few hours.

The city used to be under Portuguese rule but now belongs to China. Along with Hong Kong, it’s considered a "Special Administrative Region", which means it retains a certain level of independence from "the motherland".

Macau is a mosaic of churches and casinos, Portuguese streets and Chinese stalls, old-world charm and over-the-top glamour. It's like an adolescent that's poised to become something, but no one's quite sure as yet what.

Gambling is a major source of revenue, and the government actually receives about 40 percent of all proceeds from the various international casinos located here. In fact, Macau recently out-did Las Vegas in gambling money!

At the kind bequest of the Macau Government Tourism Office, which wants to promote its city to Indians, my colleague Himanshu and I were invited for a four day “sight-see” along with a small group of Indian journalists from various publications (pictured above).

This was Himanshu's first visit abroad and he took a photo of every single thing, including a blurry snapshot of the water as the ferry transporting us from Hong Kong to Macau began its journey.

Did you know...

...that Macau is like the Vegas of China?

It's 4:30 a.m. here in Delhi, and I've just crammed a back-pack full of socks, underwear, and jeans. Am heading to the airport for a six hour journey to Hong Kong. From there I'm told we'll be boarding a ferry to Macau. After scanning the itinerery provided by the Macau Government Tourism Office, it looks like we'll be sight-seeing atleast five zillion churches per day (I'm exaggerating only a little bit), followed by evenings of gambling and 'leisure time'. I think I'm going to like this trip!

Just your typical day

The magazine I work at feels like another world. Just to give you an example, yesterday my schedule consisted of the following:

1) Go to the spa at the Radisson Hotel and experience a 60 minute, full-body "green tea" massage for the "Spa for your Soul" article we're writing in the next issue.

2) After the spa, head to the "Federation of Indian Chambers of Commerce and Industry" where the "Young Federation Ladies Organization" is holding a talk on battling Domestic Violence and HIV in India. Very inspiring.

3) Return to the office where my editor, with a very serious face, asks me to step outside. I think I'm about to get fired, but instead she asks if I'd be willing to go for an all-expense paid trip to Macau and write an article about it. I say yes, casually, inside I'm jumping up and down.

Not a bad job, huh? I could get used to this but the question is, do I want to? I wish I knew what it is I'm searching for in my career. I think the Gods (or whoever's in charge of these big-picture, vocation-type things) should drop me a hint... I'm definitely due one.

New York to New Delhi (via Szeged)

I’ve been feeling a little homesick for New York these days, so a friend kindly decided to visit me, and even mapquested the route he’d take. See excerpt from email below:

“Almost made it to India. See step 24...

1 Head southeast on Chambers St toward Broadway 0.2 mi
2. Turn right at Centre St 0.1 mi
3. Slight left at Park Row 210 ft
4. Sharp left at Frankfort St 0.3 mi
5. Turn left at Pearl St 56 ft
6. Turn right onto the F.D.R. Dr N ramp 0.4 mi
7. Merge onto FDR Dr N 7.7 mi
8. Take exit 17 on the left for Triboro Bridge/Grand Central Pkwy toward I-278/Bruckner Expy 0.4 mi
9. Merge onto Triborough Bridge Partial toll road 0.4 mi
10. Merge onto I-278 E via the ramp to I-87 N/Bronx/Upstate N Y/New England 0.6 mi
11. Take exit 47 to merge onto Bruckner Expy/I-278 E toward New Haven 1.9 mi
12. Take the I-278 E exit toward New Haven 0.3 mi
13. Merge onto Bruckner Expy 5.0 mi
14. Continue on I-95 N Partial toll road Entering Connecticut 62.1 mi
15. Take exit 48 on the left to merge onto I-91 N toward Hartford 36.8 mi
16. Take exit 29 for US-5 N/CT-15 toward I-84/E Hartford/Boston 0.4 mi
17. Merge onto CT-15 N 1.7 mi
18. Merge onto I-84 E Partial toll road Entering Massachusetts 40.7 mi
19. Take the exit onto I-90 E/Mass Pike/Massachusetts Turnpike toward N.H.-Maine/Boston Partial toll road 56.0 mi
20. Take exit 24 A-B-C on the left toward I-93 N/Concord NH/S Station/I 93 S/Quincy 0.4 mi
21. Merge onto Atlantic Ave 0.8 mi
22. Turn right at Central St 0.1 mi
23. Turn right at Long Wharf 0.1 mi
24. Swim across the Atlantic Ocean 3,462 mi
25. Slight right at E05 0.5 mi
26. At the roundabout, take the 2nd exit onto E05/Pont Vauban 0.1 mi....
56. Take the exit onto A4/E60/Ost-Autobahn toward Bratislava/Budapest 36.1 mi
57. Continue straight onto E60/M1 Entering Hungary 96.8 mi
58. Take the exit toward E75/M0 417 ft
62. At the roundabout, take the 1st exit onto 5/E75 4.1 mi
63. Turn left at Párizsi körút 0.3 mi
64. Continue on 43/E68 0.6 mi
65. Turn right at Tímár utca 262 ft To: Szeged, Hungary

Oh and by the way, it is possible to swim the atlantic: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benoit_Lecomte"

Dolled Up

Nani, resplendent in her new buttercup yellow salwar kameez, stitched by her favorite seamstress Bholla, from Eves Tailor Shop.

Finding an Old Friend

Recently, I went with Nani to pick up some salwar suits that she'd given for tailoring. On our way to Eves Tailor Shop, Nani suddenly told the taxi driver to turn into an alleyway lined with fading houses. It turns out one of her old-time friends lived here, but Nani hadn't been in touch for over 10 years. She didn't even remember the exact address, nor did she have a phone number. "It's the house with the three Bhala brothers, the yellow one by the park," Nani told me and the driver. "But everything's changed; the streets don't look the same."

We stopped at a corner grocery and asked the grocer if he knew where the Bhala brothers lived. He didn't have a clue, but by chance a man walking by overheard and he pointed us to another alleyway, also crammed with houses and also by a park. We circled the park, asking a random bicyclist, a lady hanging her laundry, an old man sitting in his verandah... but no luck. Then, we came upon a man fixing his air-conditioner with his daughter. He hadn't heard of the brothers, but he did know of another nearby park in another alleyway. So we drove there, (by now it had been an hour roaming this random neighborhood), and we asked another corner grocer if he knew of the Bhala brothers... and to my absolute shock, he did. They lived in the yellow house by the park, just as Nani had remembered.

We spent a wonderful afternoon with the Bhala family, amidst lots of tears and laughter and catching up. More than the fact that Nani actually found her old friend, I was filled with wonder at the kindness of strangers. At how in India it's absolutely ok to try and find a place without a phone number or an address, and everyone will go out of their way to help you. Delhi is a big city, but it retains these sudden surprising moments of old-world charm.

Deadlines, Drudgery, and Luxury

Wow. Since getting back to Delhi, I've been on constant deadline at the magazine. Somehow, in some bizarre twist, I'm in charge of putting together a "Luxury Booklet". How did this happen??? By the way, here's a little tid-bit: did you know the word "luxury" is derived from the the Latin word "luxus", which means indulgence of the senses regardless of the cost?

Hmmm...which gets me thinking. What's my definition of luxury? Oh yes. Hanging out in a true-blue pool with a new best friend... talking about life, boys, the universe... drinking fresh lemonade... playing a game of 'Marco Polo' with two seven and ten year old sisters who seem to live in the water like baby mermaids... in the evening, going for a bike ride through a fisherman's village...dodging lazy frogs hopping across a red-dirt path... and finally at night, looking up at a sky so clear you think you can see the galaxy.

Sparkys

Before heading back to Delhi, we spent a day in Chennai. Here, we visited Chennai's only All-American diner called "Sparkys". This place was recommended to me by my competitive-eater friend Dale Boone, who's a top-ranking member of the International Federation of Competitive Eating. Dale spends half the year in Chennai making movies and the other half in the States competing in competitions like NYC's "Nathan's Hotdog Eating Competition". He's a regular at Sparkys because it has an all-you-can-eat buffet on weekends. I fell in love with the place instantly too.

Outside, the awning says, "Never trust a skinny chef". Inside, the place is crammed with U.S. license plates, photos of famous American celebrities, and the various booths are dedicated to each of the 50 states. We talked with Tom, the owner and chef (who's not skinny), and who's originally from Hawaii but has lived in Chennai for over 30 years. He is a natural story-teller and life-adventurer. Philippa and I sat at the "New Orleans" table. She ate a meatball sub, and I had country-fried chicken with gravy and mashed potatoes. All the while, Ella Fitzgerald and Charlie Bird Parker played in the background. This was one of the strangest, most wonderful meals I've ever eaten.

Sunburn

The Kailash has the most perfect pool. The water is blue and warm, and in various nooks and crannies you'll find ceramic steps of various gradations to lounge on in-between laps. Philippa and I spent a whole day by the pool-side swapping life stories (she took the photo above while lounging on a recliner)... We also ended up making friends with other pool-goers, namely two young sisters aged seven and ten, who taught us how to do underwater back-flips and handstands. The sun in Pondicherry is brutal though, and I got my first sunburn in 23 years. The last time was on a family vacation to Mexico when I was seven! Below is a shot of the Kailash pool at night...

The Puducherry Auto-Rickshaw Drivers' Association

On my way back from Auroville, I came across an intriguing sight. A group of men standing next to a billboard with a photo of Sonia Gandhi on it. Turns out this is the Puducherry Auto-Rickshaw Drivers' Association, a political society, inaugurated on February 7, 2007. This BJP government sponsored club for auto-rickshaw drivers (auto-rickshaws are a type of Indian scooter-taxi) consists pretty much of the sign, under which drivers gather on the street corner in-between shifts to swap news and views of the day, and play endless games of Carrom (an Indian boardgame that's a mixture between billiards and checkers). The gentleman in the white, Sebastian, is the current reigning champ. These guys are a friendly bunch, and let me join in on their game which brought back fun memories. I used to play Carrom as a kid when I'd visit my granddad during those long-ago childhood summers.

Auroville

While in Pondicherry, my editor asked me to write a story about a place called Auroville, a self-sustaining Utopian society built 50 years ago on the outskirts of Pondicherry. If you visit Auroville's website (www.auroville.org) it says: "Auroville wants to be a universal town where men and women of all countries are able to live in peace and progressive harmony above all creeds, all politics and all nationalities. The purpose of Auroville is to realise human unity." Started under a banyan tree on February 28th, 1968 with some 5000 people, today Auroville has a population of 1,700 people from 35 different nations living as neighbors in homes built amidst the jungle (about 1/3 of Aurovillians are Indian). Auroville even has its own school (an examless place called "The Last School"), cafeterias, pizza-shops, a temple, and various community centers.

I interviewed a gentleman named Dilip, (who grew up here), and his 12-year-old daughter, Ayesha, who's half-German. Ayesha took me to her neighbor's peacock farm, where we gathered peacock feathers while she told me about her best-friends, a Korean brother and sister duo named Hansal and Danbi, and a French girl named Sisilia. Later, I chatted with her dad in their beautiful home (pictured above), about growing up in Auroville. In some ways, the people here are really cosmpolitan. They know alot about the world because they live amidst so many nationalities, and many people who live here make yearly visits to friends and family in big cities across the globe. But in other ways, Aurovillians retain a certain innocence, "They're so secluded; they live in an ivory tower", says Dilip. His older son, who's a Rhode Scholar and who went to Harvard, gave up a cushy job at a top-bank and moved back to Auroville where he's writing a book. Dilip said about the kids who grow up here, "They have a hard time in the material world, but they're also very adaptable. They learn to be independent in how they live; they're not interested in going out and getting a job and doing the typical things. My son told me when he moved back here, 'I blame you; you've made me unfit to live a normal life!'"

Lost in Pondicherry

Philippa and I decided to explore downtown Pondicherry, an intricate network of streets lined with flower-filled homes, beautiful cathedrals, shops, parks, and hotels. We ended up getting thoroughly lost in the French Quarter's maze of quaint "rues", and as we tried to find our way, we uncoverd and discovered all sorts of small, beautiful, ordinary things that filled us with delight and left us in awe. For instance, while walking along the promenade, a big strip of pavement running parallel to the startlingly blue ocean, we saw large ceramic rabbits hugging garbage bins...

We stumbled onto a street so white it reminded me of a fairy-tale...

I saw a pink elephant tucked away inside crumbling walls...

The heat in Pondicherry, especially during mid-morning, is blazing, and at random corners, under lush green trees, old men standing behind wooden carts squeezed out fresh lemonade from lemons the color of the sun...

On another street corner, we saw a parrot playing cards and gambling with a group of school-aged children who seemed suspiciously like they were skipping class...

As we walked, we passed tiny temples with roof-top etchings of colorful Gods and animals; and, along alley-ways, we found small antique stores with beautifully carved sculptures of horses and lions...

Even the run-down doors and crumbling buildings in Pondicherry are beautiful, many of them relics of French colonial life.

The Beach Nextdoor

As soon as we put our bags away, we decided to explore the beautiful beach right outside the gates of The Kailash. Below are some photos Philippa, photographer extraordinaire, took. In fact, she's a fellow blogger too, and you can read about her three months in India on her wonderful blog: www.pippalehar.com/indiablog

You can't see them, but the beach was filled with translucent crabs scuttling about.

As we walked farther down, we met a large family from the nearby fishing village who were enjoying an evening swim. They spoke Tamil, Hindi, French and English! We all had fun posing for photos together. That's one of the odd quirks about India. People love to get themselves photographed, regardless of whether they get a copy of the photo or not. It seems all the magic and fun lies simply in taking the picture.

The Kailash

In Pondicherry, we're staying at a place called The Kailash. It's tucked away at the end of a dusty road that runs through a fishing and farming village on the outskirts of the town.

Philippa (pictured above) stayed here in the beginning of her trip to India and she couldn't stop raving about it. It's even better than I'd imagined.

The Kailash is a pink-walled haven, filled with the scent of a thousand flowers, greenery at every step, a big blue pool, and the sound of the ocean nearby. It's owned by a wild-haired gentleman named Raj, who's Indian but has a French accent and who spent a large part of his childhood in Vietnam. Raj meant for The Kailash to be a small home for himself and his wife, but then turned it into a resort. He and his Argentinian friend Dara (who looks after the property) treat their guests like old friends, and during dinner in the lamp-lit patio it's not uncommon for them to join you at your table and tell stories about life and love.

Magical Pondicherry

I've finally made a friend here in India. Philippa's from Boston, and has been visiting the sub-continent for the past three months due to her job. She works in publishing and came to India to meet some of the Indian vendors her company works with. My dear college friend Nitasha put us in touch, since she thought I might be able to show Philippa around. Turns out, Philippa's seen more of India than I have, even in her short time here!

When we first met in February, she told me about this magical place in South India called Pondicherry. I've always wanted to visit, so as a fun farewell to Philippa's last week in India, we decided to take an impromptu break from hectic Delhi life and visit somewhere wonderful.

Pondicherry, now renamed "Puducherry" as a way to throw off the last vestiges of colonialism, has a population of 900,000 but retains the innocence and charm of a small village. There are no airports in this once-upon-a-time French Colonial town, so you have to drive three hours from Chennai (the nearest city) along a coastal road lined with palm trees and beaches.

All along our drive there, we passed these huge billboards advertising Pondicherry and the various resorts in it. My two favorites were: "Pondicherry-- Give Time a Break" and "Pondicherry--Restless and Yet so Calming." Our taxi-driver was a small Tamil man who spoke no English, had a shy smile, and a cell-phone with a ringer that sounded like a rooster crowing!

Just going by the drive, Pondicherry is a place like no other.

Color

Photo Postcard to a Friend:


"Yesterday Nani and I went to her favorite tailor shop, "Eves." Nani hadn't been there in six years. The mission was to get her some salwar kameezes (an indian dress--long shirt and baggy pants) made in pretty colors. Nani's been wearing brown, black, gray and white for the past couple of years.

So we went to Eve's with swathes of cloth----rose pink, lemon yellow, white with pink paisly, and dewy blue...The place was a riot of color itself. it's run by this family (mom, dad, daughter) and they have all these men stitching on old machines in a small room in the back.

The owner ("Bholla" is her name) remembered Nani and even had all her measurements carefully recorded from years back (which have increased a little since). The best part is when Nani uses her age as a bargaining tool. She'll say in her sweetest, oldest sounding voice, "Bholla, daughter, I'm an old lady. I don't have any money. Make it 1000 rupees..." and then she'll actually put her hand on Bholla's hand as she's writing the bill and make kissing sounds and say, "No, daughter, no, don't make it so much." Nani is evil! I'm attaching her "game face" aka "bargaining face" below..."