My grandmom and I are moving into our apartment tomorrow. We just got back from there, had to meet the landlady and sign some papers. The place is a mess, but we decided we're going to tackle that tomorrow and not tonight... Tonight we're back at my parents' farm house. Nani is watching some Hindi soap opera and I'm sitting by the heater typing this blog. I probably wouldn't have internet for a few days... still in the process of proving "proof of residence" to the internet guys, but wanted to post an email I just wrote to a friend:
"Guess what?? Just met the landlady for our apartment and she lives with her elderly widowed dad-in-law. He is so so so cute, I just don't know what to do with myself. They live directly below us (wonder if he and my grandmom will become great friends?) and when I was leaving I asked him: 'Should I call you by your first name or by your last name?' and he said, 'Call me Dadoo'...which means grandfather in Hindi."
I think I'm in love.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
It's a Miracle!
I have a phone, an actual working phone!!! Yaay, yaay, yaay (I just jumped up and down). And now the cell phone guy and I are great friends... my first friend in Delhi. Can this day get any better?
"Ms. Doomsday" and Chickens, Eggs, Hills & Dales
I have a new name for my mother--Ms. Doomsday. The lady can find a worst-case scenario not only in a best-case scenario but even in a no-case scenario. See example below:
Me: (Quietly looking out car window, minding my own business.)
Mama: You have to take care of your skin doubly well in Delhi--clean it, moisturize it. The pollution is horrendous here...People age five times as fast as anywhere else in the world. I read in the papers. And stay out of the sun...it causes cancer. Move your face away from the window. Is your door locked? I read in the papers that hooligans these days are grabbing girls out of cars at traffic-lights. Don't trust anyone in this city, not a soul. And don't smile too much. Not even at the old people. Just yesterday they caught an 80-year-old who was running a sex-slave ring out of his little village...don't you ever read the papers??
I'm sure this dialogue would be different if my mom were writing this blog and not me. Her version might go something like this:
Me: (Rushing into oncoming traffic.)
Mama: Piya, I think it is unwise to cross the street without looking both ways.
Jokes aside, despite her doomsday ways, I'm truly thankful my mom is here because I honestly don't know how we'd get anything done without her. Everything is so circular, it's comical. For instance, to get a bank account or a new cell phone you need this mysterious and elusive thing called "proof of residence" which is almost impossible to prove because to prove "proof of residence" you need a bank account or cell phone. Finally, after endless debates, arguments, cajoling, and some foot-stamping a kind stranger let us in on the secret solution.
The Notary. One way to establish "proof of residence" is to drive to a random street where a bunch of lawyers sit under random trees (see photo above) and for 300 rupees they will notarize and "officially" stamp a special piece of paper with a government seal on it that says absolutely whatever you want it to say. My paper said (I'm not joking):
DELHI-AFFIDAVIT
Piya Kochhar, daughter of Shri Nippi Kochhar and Shrimati Rita Kochhar, do hereby solemnly swear, affirm and declare as under:-
1) That I am residing at the following residence in Delhi (list apartment address).
2) That I am an Indian Citizen.
3) That I am applying for Telephone & Internet connection at the above said premises.
4) That this is my true statement.
VERIFICATION DEPONENT (signature)
Verified in New Delhi on this 24th day of January 2007 that the contents of the above affidavit are true and correct to the best of my knowledge and belief.
DEPONENT (signature & stamp)
Back at the cell phone office this special paper worked like a charm--I had a cell phone in no time. It's another matter that they later had to retract my phone number because the cell phone guy authorized it without proper clearance from his boss and it's been almost a week and I still don't have a phone... I'm not bothered at all. Atleast I have proof of residence.
Me: (Quietly looking out car window, minding my own business.)
Mama: You have to take care of your skin doubly well in Delhi--clean it, moisturize it. The pollution is horrendous here...People age five times as fast as anywhere else in the world. I read in the papers. And stay out of the sun...it causes cancer. Move your face away from the window. Is your door locked? I read in the papers that hooligans these days are grabbing girls out of cars at traffic-lights. Don't trust anyone in this city, not a soul. And don't smile too much. Not even at the old people. Just yesterday they caught an 80-year-old who was running a sex-slave ring out of his little village...don't you ever read the papers??
I'm sure this dialogue would be different if my mom were writing this blog and not me. Her version might go something like this:
Me: (Rushing into oncoming traffic.)
Mama: Piya, I think it is unwise to cross the street without looking both ways.
Jokes aside, despite her doomsday ways, I'm truly thankful my mom is here because I honestly don't know how we'd get anything done without her. Everything is so circular, it's comical. For instance, to get a bank account or a new cell phone you need this mysterious and elusive thing called "proof of residence" which is almost impossible to prove because to prove "proof of residence" you need a bank account or cell phone. Finally, after endless debates, arguments, cajoling, and some foot-stamping a kind stranger let us in on the secret solution.
The Notary. One way to establish "proof of residence" is to drive to a random street where a bunch of lawyers sit under random trees (see photo above) and for 300 rupees they will notarize and "officially" stamp a special piece of paper with a government seal on it that says absolutely whatever you want it to say. My paper said (I'm not joking):
DELHI-AFFIDAVIT
Piya Kochhar, daughter of Shri Nippi Kochhar and Shrimati Rita Kochhar, do hereby solemnly swear, affirm and declare as under:-
1) That I am residing at the following residence in Delhi (list apartment address).
2) That I am an Indian Citizen.
3) That I am applying for Telephone & Internet connection at the above said premises.
4) That this is my true statement.
VERIFICATION DEPONENT (signature)
Verified in New Delhi on this 24th day of January 2007 that the contents of the above affidavit are true and correct to the best of my knowledge and belief.
DEPONENT (signature & stamp)
Back at the cell phone office this special paper worked like a charm--I had a cell phone in no time. It's another matter that they later had to retract my phone number because the cell phone guy authorized it without proper clearance from his boss and it's been almost a week and I still don't have a phone... I'm not bothered at all. Atleast I have proof of residence.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Good Morning
1/24/07, 10:47 am
"Feeling much better this morning. I saw my apartment yesterday and it has the feel of one of those sitcoms where everyone in the building knows everyone else. Met two ladies-- Raj and Nina. Nina wears jeans, has short short hair, chain-smokes and has a dry sense of humor and sensibility. I like her. The apt is ok, lots of windows. India currently feels so foreign to me. Haven't really been here for five years, or ever really lived here, and I feel out of my depth and overwhelmed...especially yesterday. A scary proposition to think how I'm going to make this feel like home. It feels like I'm doing everything for the first time. Good. This will keep my spirit sharp. My gut says that India's going to be tough but in the end, for the first time in my life, I will feel entirely full and rich with experience and life. I have no idea how any of this is going to happen, or what to expect at all... what twists and turns...but I have full faith it will and full faith that this is the right decision even though right now it is the scariest, uneasiest thing I've ever done. I just have to remind myself to keep breathing and let life unfold as it will...those tiny clicks and clacks turning and setting into motion a chain reaction of events I couldn't even imagine in their intricacy and beauty and surprise and depth."
"Feeling much better this morning. I saw my apartment yesterday and it has the feel of one of those sitcoms where everyone in the building knows everyone else. Met two ladies-- Raj and Nina. Nina wears jeans, has short short hair, chain-smokes and has a dry sense of humor and sensibility. I like her. The apt is ok, lots of windows. India currently feels so foreign to me. Haven't really been here for five years, or ever really lived here, and I feel out of my depth and overwhelmed...especially yesterday. A scary proposition to think how I'm going to make this feel like home. It feels like I'm doing everything for the first time. Good. This will keep my spirit sharp. My gut says that India's going to be tough but in the end, for the first time in my life, I will feel entirely full and rich with experience and life. I have no idea how any of this is going to happen, or what to expect at all... what twists and turns...but I have full faith it will and full faith that this is the right decision even though right now it is the scariest, uneasiest thing I've ever done. I just have to remind myself to keep breathing and let life unfold as it will...those tiny clicks and clacks turning and setting into motion a chain reaction of events I couldn't even imagine in their intricacy and beauty and surprise and depth."
New Delhi
Some notes from my first day...1/23/07
5:04 am:
Plane boarding. Feeling all these emotions welling up in me. I don't think excitement, more like bittersweetness and it hurts my throat. Living with Nani in Delhi has been a dream for so long and now here I am three hours away from it and... I'm scared and wondrous. Is this really happening? Am I actually really doing this??
6:33 am:
HOLY SHIT. It just struck me, I don't have any friends in Delhi. They're all in NYC or in other parts of the globe. And I don't have a job. Oh boy. Is this a mistake? Just going to breathe deep and sip my orange juice from this very very small glass.
7:41 am:
We're landing. Person beside me has window down... Delhi looks very small, aren't there any high buildings? This truly feels unreal. I'm looking out the window and I feel nothing, like looking at chopped liver. I remember when Dadoo was alive this was my favorite part of the journey. I'd look out and Delhi would be all these tiny lights like jewels and I'd have to hug myself to stop from squealing with excitement. Wow. Things change.
7:58 am:
Ok, now the tears are coming, nose is leaking. Why am I crying? Relief or sorrow or both? Have no idea.
2:15 pm:
Mama is driving me crazy. I'm glad she's here to help me settle in...but geez. She's not giving me a second to process anything. We've been doing all these boring jobs straight from the airport. Haven't even had a chance to call Nani. I feel like a 14-year-old (make that seven) who wants to stamp her feet and throw a tantrum. Instead, I'm sitting here in this stupid bank sulking and writing in my diary while mama is having a circular and completely pointless conversation with the bank manager that goes something like this:
Mama- We'd like to open an account for my daughter?
Manager- Sure ma'am. We'll need proof of residence.
Mama- Here's her passport.
Manager- That's not sufficient ma'am. Do you have an electricity bill? A phone bill?
Mama- She just moved to the country this morning. She doesn't have a phone yet. She's not even moved into her apartment. Will a rental lease do?
Mananger- No ma'am. We need proof of residence... An electricity bill? A phone bill?
Mama- Look, to get the telephone setup they said she needs proof of residence, like a bank account. So how do you suggest we do this? This is a chicken and egg story... ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous.
Manager- I'm sorry ma'am. We need proof of residence.
Mama- Here's her passport. It says she's Indian...
Manager- That's not sufficient ma'am... (and repeat whole conversation again at least 4 times)
4:35 pm:
Saw apartment. Very dusty. Lots of daddy long-leg spiders and one small lizard. Lots of windows, also a nice gym nearby. Thank God. Why is everything feeling so unreal?
6:37 pm:
Drove by the road that leads to Vasant Vihar street and where Dadoo used to live. Gave me a jolt to see something so familiar out of the car window. Shut my eyes tight till we passed. I'm such a baby.
6:52 pm:
This is not the Delhi I spent my summers and winters in with Dadoo. I want to turn the car around and go back to NYC. I think this is a huge mistake. Feeling very uneasy, hard to breathe.
8:47 pm:
We're back at mama and papa's farm house. Staying here till apartment is set-up. Had a warm shower. Just talked to Nani. She sounds really excited. Cheered me up hearing from her. I'm so tired. Think I'll send some emails and then crash.
1:49 am (part of an email to a good friend):
"Just got back to Delhi. Being here is strange. It's like all my old memories and feelings were for another Delhi, and this Delhi is an entirely clean slate. For the first time in my life I don't know how to feel because I truly don't know what to expect."
5:04 am:
Plane boarding. Feeling all these emotions welling up in me. I don't think excitement, more like bittersweetness and it hurts my throat. Living with Nani in Delhi has been a dream for so long and now here I am three hours away from it and... I'm scared and wondrous. Is this really happening? Am I actually really doing this??
6:33 am:
HOLY SHIT. It just struck me, I don't have any friends in Delhi. They're all in NYC or in other parts of the globe. And I don't have a job. Oh boy. Is this a mistake? Just going to breathe deep and sip my orange juice from this very very small glass.
7:41 am:
We're landing. Person beside me has window down... Delhi looks very small, aren't there any high buildings? This truly feels unreal. I'm looking out the window and I feel nothing, like looking at chopped liver. I remember when Dadoo was alive this was my favorite part of the journey. I'd look out and Delhi would be all these tiny lights like jewels and I'd have to hug myself to stop from squealing with excitement. Wow. Things change.
7:58 am:
Ok, now the tears are coming, nose is leaking. Why am I crying? Relief or sorrow or both? Have no idea.
2:15 pm:
Mama is driving me crazy. I'm glad she's here to help me settle in...but geez. She's not giving me a second to process anything. We've been doing all these boring jobs straight from the airport. Haven't even had a chance to call Nani. I feel like a 14-year-old (make that seven) who wants to stamp her feet and throw a tantrum. Instead, I'm sitting here in this stupid bank sulking and writing in my diary while mama is having a circular and completely pointless conversation with the bank manager that goes something like this:
Mama- We'd like to open an account for my daughter?
Manager- Sure ma'am. We'll need proof of residence.
Mama- Here's her passport.
Manager- That's not sufficient ma'am. Do you have an electricity bill? A phone bill?
Mama- She just moved to the country this morning. She doesn't have a phone yet. She's not even moved into her apartment. Will a rental lease do?
Mananger- No ma'am. We need proof of residence... An electricity bill? A phone bill?
Mama- Look, to get the telephone setup they said she needs proof of residence, like a bank account. So how do you suggest we do this? This is a chicken and egg story... ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous.
Manager- I'm sorry ma'am. We need proof of residence.
Mama- Here's her passport. It says she's Indian...
Manager- That's not sufficient ma'am... (and repeat whole conversation again at least 4 times)
4:35 pm:
Saw apartment. Very dusty. Lots of daddy long-leg spiders and one small lizard. Lots of windows, also a nice gym nearby. Thank God. Why is everything feeling so unreal?
6:37 pm:
Drove by the road that leads to Vasant Vihar street and where Dadoo used to live. Gave me a jolt to see something so familiar out of the car window. Shut my eyes tight till we passed. I'm such a baby.
6:52 pm:
This is not the Delhi I spent my summers and winters in with Dadoo. I want to turn the car around and go back to NYC. I think this is a huge mistake. Feeling very uneasy, hard to breathe.
8:47 pm:
We're back at mama and papa's farm house. Staying here till apartment is set-up. Had a warm shower. Just talked to Nani. She sounds really excited. Cheered me up hearing from her. I'm so tired. Think I'll send some emails and then crash.
1:49 am (part of an email to a good friend):
"Just got back to Delhi. Being here is strange. It's like all my old memories and feelings were for another Delhi, and this Delhi is an entirely clean slate. For the first time in my life I don't know how to feel because I truly don't know what to expect."
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Here we go!
It's 2:30 am. It's my last night in Dubai. In a couple of minutes I'm going to be heading to the airport and in another couple of hours I'll be in Delhi. Wow. I have no idea how this year is going to play out, or what my days will be like once I reach India... I know I'll brush my teeth in the mornings, but from there it's all an open field. I do know one thing for sure--this is going to be one grand adventure. Stay posted. Oh, the doorbell just rang, the car's here. Gotta go!
It's a Small, Strange World
McDonalds at the Al Khaleej Center, Dubai, U.A.E.
Western Union near Spice Market, Dubai, U.A.E.
Ikea at Dubai Festival City, Dubai, U.A.E.
Little Caeser's Pizza near Ibn Battuta Mall, Dubai, U.A.E.
Starbucks Coffee at the Ibn Battuta Mall, Dubai, U.A.E.
Subway sign near Old Souk Abra Station, Dubai, U.A.E.
Central Perk Coffee at The Global Village, Dubai, U.A.E.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Stevie and "The Pyramids"
I've known Stevie since we were kids (that's him and his wife Sapna in the photo above). Even though these days Stevie appears to be a perfectly respectable adult, to me he'll always remain the kid who'd alternately horrify and disgust my little sister and I with an endless repertoire of ghost stories and vomit jokes. So imagine my delight when my parents mentioned that he and Sapna live and work in Dubai (he's a banker and she's a lawyer).
Sapna and Stevie were kind enough to introduce me to Dubai's raging night life. Like everything else in this city, it's slightly strange and wonderful all at the same time. We drove to this ritzy building called "The Pyramids," so named because of the glittering pyramids on the roof and the mummies in the entrance. There are also a bunch of bars and lounges inside. I felt like I'd stepped into a James Bond flick or one of those Bombay Sapphire ads where everyone's super dapper and beautiful and having a ridiculously good time. If you look carefully in the photo above, you'll see a guy in a black jacket who's grabbing this other guy's neck playfully. Ten minutes before this photo was taken he was actually standing on a table, giving a toast and saying, "Pip pip!" to a cheering crowd. Unlike other places in the middle-east, it is legal to drink alcohol in Dubai. You need a liquor license to drink though (not unlike how you need a gun permit to own a gun in the States), and you can't be Muslim. There's also a 30 percent tax when you buy alcohol here, even though nothing else in this city is taxed. Anyways, if you ever happen to be in Dubai in a bar called "Ginseng" in a building known as "The Pyramids," I recommend you order the lychee martini. It's very good.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
"We're not in Kansas anymore..."
Camel Crossing sign on highway, Dubai, U.A.E.
Men's Prayer Room sign in Al Khaleej Center, Dubai, U.A.E.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
A Beautiful Day
Today is a beautiful day. The sky is gray, there's a light breeze, and the trees and flowers look super green. What I love about being home (home being where my parent's are) is looking through old photos and letters. My mom saves everything. A couple of summer's back I found a big file folder filled with letters my dad wrote to his parents spanning 20 years starting from the age of five. My granddad filed every single letter and passed the folder onto my mom for safe-keeping. It was amazing reading through them. For as long as I've known him, my dad is a serious, logical, banker-type. But in those letters he was a different person-- a romantic soul who wrote cheesy poems about life and love. Now I know where I get that gene from! Anyways, I came across this ancient birthday card I made for my grandfather when I was seven. Can't believe my mom still has it.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Kiran and "Old Dubai"
A surprise perk about visiting Dubai is reconnecting with old friends such as Kiran. Kiran's the girl holding the camera in the photograph. We knew each other as teenagers when my parents were posted in Indonesia. After all these years we met up again (she's visiting family in Dubai too) and spent a wonderful day catching up on life and love. Kiran's now a professional photographer who lives with her husband in Montreal! Check out her website at: www.kiranambwani.com. She and I photographed the nooks and crannies of what's known as "Old Dubai"... she on her professional, big camera and me on my tiny, Sony digital. In the photo above, Kiran is taking a picture of a vendor in Dubai's "Spice Market." Below are some more shots of the market...
Right next to the Spice Market is the Gold Souk, which consists of an endless row of crammed stores brimming over with gold and silver jewelry. People from all over hustle and bustle while bored-looking store owners sit behind glass windows and watch the world go by.
The Mall
Angad tells me that the mall is *the* major hangout here in Dubai for locals and expats alike. It's like the town square, the promenade, the gathering point for people of all ages. Though everyone at the mall gets along pretty well, I've heard that it's very important for expat kids to have "backing" from locals...otherwise they'll get beatup. So interesting. Also, did you know there's a new sect in highschools these days called "Emos?" The "Emos" are hyper sensitive kids who listen to sad songs and wear black eyeliner. They hang out at the mall too. The photo above shows one of Dubai's largest malls--The Mall of Emirates. It's like the Mall of America in Arabia. That strange silver, slide-shaped thing on the roof is an indoor ski-slope. No joke. I decided to investigate.
On the second floor by the foodcourt there's this huge glass wall, and behind the wall this is what I saw:
"Ski Dubai" covers 22,500 square meters (3 football fields), has 5 ski-slopes going up to 25 stories high and 6,000 tons of real snow created year round. Visitors can buy a skiing day pass for 230 Dirhams (about $62). Right next to the ski slope is the "St. Moritz Cafe" which has wood walls, bear-skin rugs, and a faux fireplace. People eat and drink while watching the skiers on the other side of the glass window. To make it all the more authentic, while I was sipping my coffee a group of children had a snowball fight and excitedly slid around on snowboards. This European guy on the table beside me couldn't stop mumbling to himself, "Thees eeezz crazy...just crazy..."
Monday, January 15, 2007
Angad and "The Global Village"
I've made friends with a 16-year-old kid named Angad, who also lives in the Arabian Ranches. He's one funny guy, and he's become my unoffical tour guide because he knows all the weird little facts and features, ins and outs, of this city. That's him in the picture above. It was taken at this World Fair type thing called "The Global Village" that comes to Dubai every year for a month.
"The Global Village" is right near the Arabian Ranches and Angad convinced me to go, saying it was a sight to see. He wasn't kidding. It's a big bustling fair and all these countries create elaborate stalls with samplings of their culture. There's fun rides and lots of icecream and musical fountain shows... It's a blast. It's also very very weird. As you walk through you slowly start realizing that these aren't your typical stalls. Sure there's the Japan stall and the London stall and the Thailand stall, but there's also the Kuwait stall...
And the Afghanistan stall...
And the Palestine stall...
And the Rwanda stall...
And spookily, the Iraq stall...which had a bunch of people hanging around outside, but was completely deserted from inside.
Arabian Ranches
Dubai has a population of 1.4 million. About 60 percent of that figure is made up of "expats" or foreigners who are working here with multinationals. There's a lot of British and Indian people here and most of them live in "compounds," which are these huge gated communities that are almost little cities inside complete with shopping malls, gyms, polo clubs, schools, medical centers and restaurants! Many compounds have names and slogans that crack me up such as: "Falcon City--Live the Legend" or "Al Barari Villas--Your Sanctuary For Life." My parents live in the "Arabian Ranches" and you can see their street in the picture above. To give you an idea of how huge this place is, there are atleast 2000 villas in the compound...and all the houses look exactly the same. When I go for my evening run I almost always get lost and end up running longer than intended. Somehow asking passersby, "Excuse me, do you know where the brown villa by the palm tree is?" just doesn't cut it.
Though the compound scares me, I have to say that whoever designed this place certainly knew how to create a good backyard. When I'm not exploring the city, I lie down on my mom's cushiony swinging-chair with a stash of trashy magazines and listen to my ipod. This is truly one of life's perfect pleasures.
Dubai, United Arab Emirates
I've been in Dubai a week now and the most striking thing about it is how it's traditional and modern, western and middle-eastern, barren and cosmopolitan all at the same time. It's got these mammoth malls with every designer-make you can imagine, right alongside old crumbling markets that sell spices and gold. Sometimes when I'm in the car, we'll pass a herd of camels and a second later a young arab kid will zoom by in his porsche. And unlike other middle-eastern countries, women here have the freedom to dress however they like. Some dress in short skirts, while others are all covered up with black veils. It seems anything goes in this city...you can find whatever you're looking for. In the photo above, notice the stock-exchange ticker running under the big "Dubai-City of Gold" board.
People joke that Dubai's national bird is the crain, like the machine, because there's always some new building under construction here. In fact, as I type, the city's in the process of building what will be the world's tallest skyscraper (it's now 100 floors high, and they're still going higher). In the photo below you can see Dubai's modern skyline in the background, as a lady in a traditional "burkha" waits for an old-school, gondola-like water taxi called an "abra." Many Dubai locals use abras as transportation, even today.
That's the thing about Dubai. Sometimes when I'm sipping coffee at the Starbucks, I'll feel like I'm in the U.S. and then suddenly I'll be reminded that I'm not. For instance, weekdays run different here. They go from Sunday to Thursday, with Friday and Saturday off. Or, I'll see all these ritzy buildings but also at every corner beautiful ancient mosques...
I took this photo when we went for dinner to my parent's friends' house. Imagine a row of houses like you'd find in suburban New Jersey, and literally across the street was this sight! The boat shaped hotel right next to the mosque is a world-famous 7-star hotel called "The Burj"--it's shaped after Dubai's olden-day shipping vessels. You can't enter this hotel unless you're a guest, or you've paid a hefty entry fee, or you've been specially invited by the Sheikh of Dubai. They say the taps are made of solid gold and the walls are papered with pure gold sheets. So odd.
And speaking of odd, I saw this funny window display while out shopping with my mom.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Dawn of a New Day
Oh my god, I've cracked jetlag! It's a break-through! It's 6 a.m. and I just woke up, so I made it through the night. Took exactly a week. Wow. And it couldn't have happened at a better time...just yesterday my little sister emailed begging me to stop blogging in the early hours because it was putting her to sleep (to which I promptly replied I wished it were putting me to sleep because then I wouldn't be writing these boring blogs that are putting her to sleep). Ok, gotta go. Going downstairs and making myself some coffee like normal people do in the morning. I feel like I've joined the land of the living after a long exile. Too bad nobody's actually awake to witness this momentous occasion.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
It's True
Well, I now know atleast one thing for certain. Things do seem funnier, more profound and better at 4 a.m.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Good Ol 4 a.m.
So, here's what I'm wondering:
1) What's the opposite of "Dog?"
a) God b) Cat
2) You know how on a train you can either sit facing forward (and see where the train is going) or sit facing backward (and see where it's passed)? Does where a person prefer to sit indicate something about their personality--like they're more "nostalgia oriented" or more "forward thinking?" Does it even make a difference really? They're still sitting down and looking out the window, right? The train's still going, isn't it?? Someone used this as a metaphor while discussing my future with me today, and I woke up this bright and early morning wondering about it....hmmmm.
3) Do you think things seem funnier, more profound and better at 4 a.m.?
4) Did you know there's the Dubai International Marathon being held here on Friday (only a week after I arrived)? And did you know that a week after I arrive in Delhi, they're holding the Delhi International Marathon? And did you know that only recently I myself ran a marathon in New York City? Coincidence? I think not.
5) Where do all the bad, I mean really bad, American sitcoms go? By any chance, are they sent overseas to random channels like "Tunisia TV" where people with jetlag who are awake really late at night have no choice but to watch them because there's nothing else on television despite the 500 channels on Dubai's cable network? And if that's the case, isn't that really wrong of the U.S.? Kind of like dumping pollution or garbage on the third world? Though then again, maybe these sitcoms will be a hit in some other culture, so why shouldn't they be given their fair shot at success? And speaking of success, isn't this a great quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson?
"To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty; To find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived; This is to have succeeded."
1) What's the opposite of "Dog?"
a) God b) Cat
2) You know how on a train you can either sit facing forward (and see where the train is going) or sit facing backward (and see where it's passed)? Does where a person prefer to sit indicate something about their personality--like they're more "nostalgia oriented" or more "forward thinking?" Does it even make a difference really? They're still sitting down and looking out the window, right? The train's still going, isn't it?? Someone used this as a metaphor while discussing my future with me today, and I woke up this bright and early morning wondering about it....hmmmm.
3) Do you think things seem funnier, more profound and better at 4 a.m.?
4) Did you know there's the Dubai International Marathon being held here on Friday (only a week after I arrived)? And did you know that a week after I arrive in Delhi, they're holding the Delhi International Marathon? And did you know that only recently I myself ran a marathon in New York City? Coincidence? I think not.
5) Where do all the bad, I mean really bad, American sitcoms go? By any chance, are they sent overseas to random channels like "Tunisia TV" where people with jetlag who are awake really late at night have no choice but to watch them because there's nothing else on television despite the 500 channels on Dubai's cable network? And if that's the case, isn't that really wrong of the U.S.? Kind of like dumping pollution or garbage on the third world? Though then again, maybe these sitcoms will be a hit in some other culture, so why shouldn't they be given their fair shot at success? And speaking of success, isn't this a great quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson?
"To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty; To find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived; This is to have succeeded."
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Gulp
It's 3 a.m. I'm in Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. I have jet-lag. Just a few days ago I was at a bar in Manhattan sipping a whiskey soda, taking the subway home to my window-filled apartment in Brooklyn. And now here I am, for a brief stop-over at my parents' house in Dubai, and then off and away to New Delhi, India where I plan to stay...a year? Indefinitely? Who knows?
I'll write more about why I'm making this move in a later blog... but for now, late at night when everyone's asleep and I'm the only one awake, I'm thinking about weird abstract things like, "What exactly does 'home' mean??" It suddenly feels like a really strange concept that I can't quite get a handle on.
I feel like I have so many places I consider home, and at the same time I don't have any place to call a home. Because of my dad's job as a banker my family moved from country to country every few years... all of these places feel like home in my memory, but I guess if I really had to pick a place, I'd pick the small white house on a tree-lined street in New Delhi. This street was called Vasant Vihar (translates to "The Green way") and the house was my grandad's. My family returned to him and my grandmom every summer and winter no matter where in the world we were posted.
I loved getting off the plane and smelling that unique Indian airport smell of cloth and burning fires and wet paper and hot tea. I loved how my grandad and his house-keeper Krishen would be waiting for us outside of the terminal, and I'd always spot my grandad first because he always wore this furry brown cap and a hunting vest and sandles that showed his plump clean toes.
I remember how it would usually be late late at night (like it is right now), and as we drove home the streets would be empty, except for a few sleeping dogs who would wake up and chase our car half-heartedly. I remember the gates to our street had two garbage dumpsters on each end... and I even loved that smell of rotting vegetables because it meant that in just a few moments we'd be driving down the street to the smallest, oldest house in the row of big shiny houses, and Krishen would be opening the old black gate, and we'd be driving under the steel awning with the hanging dense green vines, and the car would go silent and I'd hear a key turn in the doorway upstairs (my grandmom eagerly awaiting) and the sound of crickets and the scent of night flowers blooming and the soft scrape of suitcases being unloaded and my grandfather's wheezing breathing as he smiled and turned to me silently saying, "We're home."
I also loved waking up that first morning back in Vasant Vihar. I'd feel the light on my face from the big open windows in my grandparent's room. My sister and I would be on a mattress on the floor by their bed. My grandmom would have on religious gazals playing from an old tape-recorder. I could hear her in the kitchen, and smell the fresh oranges from which Kirshen squeezed us all juice that was such a rich deep color it was almost a shame to drink it. Even before opening my eyes, I'd hear my grandfather breathing and chewing his tobacco and the scratchy sound of his pencil doing the crossword in the newspaper. I loved this moment so much I'd keep my eyes closed just a little longer and from outside I'd hear the vegetable vendors screaming from their bikes, "tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes...fresh, fresh, fresh." And the crows and the cars passing... wow, even as I'm writing this I feel like I'm there.
Sadly, that house doesn't exist anymore. My granddad passed away two years ago, and my dad sold the house and I hear it's been turned into an apartment building. I haven't been back since my granddad's funeral... and I guess that's where the "gulp" part of this entry comes in.
I'm excited about going back to Delhi. I have some grand plans to rescue my grandma (from my mom's side) from her alcoholic son and embark on a series of adventures with her in which we watch lots of romantic Hindi movies and eat lots of delicious snacks. My grandma and I are going to live in a small 2-bedroom apartment with lots of windows...which is good. She doesn't know this, but I'm planning on finding her a suitor who will come over in the evenings to drink tea with her and tell her she's beautiful (which she is--the woman has the most amazing skin I've ever seen). I've also found out that our neighbor is a firecracker of an old lady named "Thoshi"... she's 80-years-old and she lives by herself because her no-good son ran the family business into the ground. I have a feeling Thoshi, my grandma and I will be great friends.
Anways--what I'm nervous about, and I've not really verbalized it before, is going back and finally knowing for sure that my home in Vasant Vihar is no longer there, that my grandfather is really gone. I think until now I could still somehow pretend like everything was the same. It's not the same. And I guess part of life is accepting that and moving on and creating new memories... I'm looking forward to that, the creating of new memories and the creating of new places to call home.
I'm also really proud and amazed to call New York my home. I don't know how that happened. When I first came to New York I hated it and I left it, and then I came back to it and didn't plan to stay long but ended up staying 3 years...and somewhere along the way I fell in love with it and now I will always consider it my home.
I guess that's what I'm hoping to do by returning to India--to make it feel like home again too. I think maybe in my life I will have many places I call home. I want these places to be filled with a diverse group of friends I love and who inspire me, and with little quiet coffee-shops I hang out in, and bars in little nooks that not many people know about but where the bartender knows my drink. I want home to be a place where I can walk out the door and randomly talk to a stranger who randomly tells me a story that I'll remember for days if not a lifetime to come. I think a park, and lots of greenery, and a way to leave the city and find some water and flowers...that should also be a part of any place I call home. I also have a fantasy of becoming friends with some crotchety old man who owns a musty bookstore...wow, if that's part of home that would be amazing!! But I'm not going to be too unrealistic... he doesn't have to own a bookstore.
Ok, this entry is way way too long. I loved writing it though. I think I'm really going to like this whole blog thing... makes jet lag alot more fun.
Good night (well actually, i'm not sleepy as yet. think i'll go watch some tv)
I'll write more about why I'm making this move in a later blog... but for now, late at night when everyone's asleep and I'm the only one awake, I'm thinking about weird abstract things like, "What exactly does 'home' mean??" It suddenly feels like a really strange concept that I can't quite get a handle on.
I feel like I have so many places I consider home, and at the same time I don't have any place to call a home. Because of my dad's job as a banker my family moved from country to country every few years... all of these places feel like home in my memory, but I guess if I really had to pick a place, I'd pick the small white house on a tree-lined street in New Delhi. This street was called Vasant Vihar (translates to "The Green way") and the house was my grandad's. My family returned to him and my grandmom every summer and winter no matter where in the world we were posted.
I loved getting off the plane and smelling that unique Indian airport smell of cloth and burning fires and wet paper and hot tea. I loved how my grandad and his house-keeper Krishen would be waiting for us outside of the terminal, and I'd always spot my grandad first because he always wore this furry brown cap and a hunting vest and sandles that showed his plump clean toes.
I remember how it would usually be late late at night (like it is right now), and as we drove home the streets would be empty, except for a few sleeping dogs who would wake up and chase our car half-heartedly. I remember the gates to our street had two garbage dumpsters on each end... and I even loved that smell of rotting vegetables because it meant that in just a few moments we'd be driving down the street to the smallest, oldest house in the row of big shiny houses, and Krishen would be opening the old black gate, and we'd be driving under the steel awning with the hanging dense green vines, and the car would go silent and I'd hear a key turn in the doorway upstairs (my grandmom eagerly awaiting) and the sound of crickets and the scent of night flowers blooming and the soft scrape of suitcases being unloaded and my grandfather's wheezing breathing as he smiled and turned to me silently saying, "We're home."
I also loved waking up that first morning back in Vasant Vihar. I'd feel the light on my face from the big open windows in my grandparent's room. My sister and I would be on a mattress on the floor by their bed. My grandmom would have on religious gazals playing from an old tape-recorder. I could hear her in the kitchen, and smell the fresh oranges from which Kirshen squeezed us all juice that was such a rich deep color it was almost a shame to drink it. Even before opening my eyes, I'd hear my grandfather breathing and chewing his tobacco and the scratchy sound of his pencil doing the crossword in the newspaper. I loved this moment so much I'd keep my eyes closed just a little longer and from outside I'd hear the vegetable vendors screaming from their bikes, "tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes...fresh, fresh, fresh." And the crows and the cars passing... wow, even as I'm writing this I feel like I'm there.
Sadly, that house doesn't exist anymore. My granddad passed away two years ago, and my dad sold the house and I hear it's been turned into an apartment building. I haven't been back since my granddad's funeral... and I guess that's where the "gulp" part of this entry comes in.
I'm excited about going back to Delhi. I have some grand plans to rescue my grandma (from my mom's side) from her alcoholic son and embark on a series of adventures with her in which we watch lots of romantic Hindi movies and eat lots of delicious snacks. My grandma and I are going to live in a small 2-bedroom apartment with lots of windows...which is good. She doesn't know this, but I'm planning on finding her a suitor who will come over in the evenings to drink tea with her and tell her she's beautiful (which she is--the woman has the most amazing skin I've ever seen). I've also found out that our neighbor is a firecracker of an old lady named "Thoshi"... she's 80-years-old and she lives by herself because her no-good son ran the family business into the ground. I have a feeling Thoshi, my grandma and I will be great friends.
Anways--what I'm nervous about, and I've not really verbalized it before, is going back and finally knowing for sure that my home in Vasant Vihar is no longer there, that my grandfather is really gone. I think until now I could still somehow pretend like everything was the same. It's not the same. And I guess part of life is accepting that and moving on and creating new memories... I'm looking forward to that, the creating of new memories and the creating of new places to call home.
I'm also really proud and amazed to call New York my home. I don't know how that happened. When I first came to New York I hated it and I left it, and then I came back to it and didn't plan to stay long but ended up staying 3 years...and somewhere along the way I fell in love with it and now I will always consider it my home.
I guess that's what I'm hoping to do by returning to India--to make it feel like home again too. I think maybe in my life I will have many places I call home. I want these places to be filled with a diverse group of friends I love and who inspire me, and with little quiet coffee-shops I hang out in, and bars in little nooks that not many people know about but where the bartender knows my drink. I want home to be a place where I can walk out the door and randomly talk to a stranger who randomly tells me a story that I'll remember for days if not a lifetime to come. I think a park, and lots of greenery, and a way to leave the city and find some water and flowers...that should also be a part of any place I call home. I also have a fantasy of becoming friends with some crotchety old man who owns a musty bookstore...wow, if that's part of home that would be amazing!! But I'm not going to be too unrealistic... he doesn't have to own a bookstore.
Ok, this entry is way way too long. I loved writing it though. I think I'm really going to like this whole blog thing... makes jet lag alot more fun.
Good night (well actually, i'm not sleepy as yet. think i'll go watch some tv)
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