It has been brought to my attention...

...that there is a phallic symbol in the lobby of the place where I work (the Le Meridien hotel). Can you spot it?

Joining The Ranks & Interviewing the Baron

You know that feeling when you board a plane and you have to walk through first class, past those plush roomy seats, all the way back, back, back to economy? That's pretty much what my walk to work is like. The magazine I've joined has its office in a 5-star hotel called Le Meridien. The hotel is filled with every kind of luxury you can imagine, including a television by the elevators playing cartoons so that the guests don't get bored while waiting.

I walk past all of this opulence to a cramped little office on the second floor, jammed between a row of kitschy jewelry and clothing shops.

On my first day of work I showed up at 10 a.m. only to find the place completely deserted...



Turns out everyone worked really late the night before (on deadline for the March Issue) so people only began trickling in by 11 a.m. After that, the place buzzed with energy and by my second day I was assigned my first article: a profile of a liquor baron attending a conference at a hotel nearby. I expected the interview to be really boring and the perfectly coiffed PR lady who was sitting beside him in the hotel coffee shop, didn't give me much hope...what she gave me was 10 minutes. I blanked on all of my carefully thought-out questions and instead asked the first thing that popped into my mind. "When was the first time you got drunk?" To my astonishment the liquor baron chuckled, looked down at his wine glass (white wine), and wistfully replied, "It was in the back of a Fiat car. I was 16. We were swigging from this cheap brand of scotch, my friends and this girl I liked...The night ended with me trying to kiss her and getting slapped!" Go figure. Here I was expecting some bland answer and instead this gentleman hit me with total human honesty. People are constantly a surprise.

All the Forgotten Things

There's a little girl in line behind me for the bathroom at the coffee shop. She's jumping up and down, hopping side to side, tapping her feet. She has to go and she makes me nostalgic for a time when I felt the same. What does it feel like to have to pee so bad you're dancing? When is the last time I felt that so vividly?

It was on a school-trip. We'd taken a three-hour bus-ride to some waterfall and on the trip back I felt the beginnings of having to go, but it wasn't anything terrible. I was sitting next to Gavin. He had a crush on me, and I had a crush on Chris Smith, who was sitting behind me and who always smelled like lemons and made me dizzy when he stood too close.

I remember about two hours into the trip feeling like the world was going to end. I had to go to the bathroom so bad that I folded my head in front of me, my leg shaking to a fast beat, praying to God, promising him anything and everything to let me make it to the bathroom without peeing on the seat so that the liquid would trickle to Chris Smith's feet. That's the last time I remember feeling that strongly about peeing...

Which makes me think of my grandfather and the catheter he'd carry around with him as he went grocery shopping; or to the hospital to pick up medicine for my grandmother; or on his little evening drives in which he, and his grouchy driver Peter, and me in the back-seat, and his whiskey bottle and glass carefully stashed away in a picnic basket by his sandaled feet, would head out in a little white car to dusty side roads lined with fading trees and hidden birds that made so much noise I felt as though my ears would explode.

And the three of us would just sit there with the windows down; me staring at the back of Dadoo's head-- his crumpled neck and sagging shoulders and little white hairs and wheezing breathing. And him lost in some long-ago thought, every once in a while barking orders at poor Peter to roll the window a little more up or a little more down, or to pour a little more or a little less whiskey. Whatever Peter did, it was never just right...and did I mention we'd be listening to music? Yes, old Hindi love songs from tapes so old and dusty that I'm surprised they didn't disintegrate midway through the song, leaving us all in silence, in our own thoughts, in that hot and humid car on the dusty road with the fading trees that I don't even think exist anymore... because most of the things I've written about are gone. They're over.

The Worst Case of Insomnia In the Entire Galaxy...

…is happening right here, right now, to me. I just can't sleep and instead have gained acutely sensitive hearing. Here are the sounds I'm picking up on:

1) Sunita and/or Nani snoring in the room next door.
2) What sounds like at least 200 stray dogs barking to each other as though in deep conference (There's something kind of wondrous about it. I think they're seriously solving the mysteries of the universe out there).
3) A guard outside blowing his whistle and tap-tapping up and down through the streets.
4) A man from the village next door-(whom I've heard before)-vomiting his heart out.
5) Same man knocking on a door that is not opening.
6) The wind through the leaves.
7) A planet slowly turning. (Ok, ok, so I can't hear that... but it sounds really poetic to write it, especially at two in the morning).

PS: Also, in one of those strange twists (and I'm still kind of in a daze about it), this week I turned down what I thought was my dream job (with an upcoming radio channel) and instead have accepted a job today with a newly created "lifestyle" magazine. I'm starting Monday (though it's for a grace period of 20 days after which we'll confirm). It's a small team and the people who work there are really quirky but also super intelligent and human. It's the first place I've interviewed at where the thought of going in to work each morning doesn't give me heart palpitations and make me break out in a serious sweat. Which I think is a good sign.

Excerpt of an email to a friend:

"I don't know...I'm making all my decisions based on my gut... I sure as hell hope it knows what it's doing! Sometimes it feels like I'm living through a crazy screenplay if that makes any sense... like this is all a narrative. Do you know that when I interviewed with the editor, bits of the ceiling from upstairs kept falling down on us through the water sprinkler (they were doing contstruction upstairs)?? He's this hip-looking Indian guy with a thick accent and pictures of his grandma and grandpa up on the wall beside him. He keeps saying, "I want this magazine to be outside the box; I want people who think
different..." I admire these guys because they decided to create a magazine...and then they just created it...even though they have no experience. And when they say they believe in treating their employees fairly, I believe it. Am realizing at the age of 31, that people are the only thing that make anything worth it or anything good. I truly believe that if the people
creating a project aren't full-proof then the project wouldn't be either. We produce what we are...

Enjoy your weekend...You made it to friday!"

Life With a Capital "L"

Excerpt from an email to a close friend:

"Have had an interesting couple of days. Been going out more and meeting a range of people doing all sorts of interesting things. Been on a couple of job interviews, including one at an upcoming radio channel! Have joined a writing group... so things are good, but it's hard being back here some days (am really really working on going with the flow...some days I'm better at it than others). Yesterday was rough. I saw the house (my granddad’s old house) and it's been torn down and is now the Embassy for the Ivory Coast... this ugly brown building where our home used to be. It actually makes my stomach hurt thinking about it.


The good stuff is: there are 26,000 weddings in the city today and literally the streets are filled with lights and dancing.

Infact, there's one going on outside my window right now and they're singing songs all night long! Also, I saw a hotdog vendor in Old Delhi, with a little cart that said "Hotdogs for Sale"...the cutest sight, made me miss New York. I'm going for my first writing group tomorrow. My grandmom fills my heart with love till it hurts... I'm sending you a photo of her with her doctor... And another photo that I think will make you smile: of the "STD Booths" all over Delhi. These are public phone booths where people can make long distance calls, no one here gives the funny name a second thought...

You asked me for a word to sum up Delhi and I think that word is "Life" with a capital L. You're never on auto-pilot here. You're always--through the good and the bad--on your toes, on the edge of your seat, Living."

Nani, Her Doc, & Our Two Delhis

Each morning, our apartment receives two versions of one of Delhi's leading newspapers, The Hindustan Times-- one in English (for me since I can barely read Hindi) and one in Hindi (for Nani since she can barely read English). And each morning over breakfast, Nani and I swap notes on the news of the day. It's amazing because it's like we're living in two different Delhis. In my Delhi: We have a GDP growth of 9.2%, the highest in India's history; The Shiv Sena (a fundamentalist political group) is making a stink about Valentine's Day; and Scarlet Johannson is in town for a charity event. In Nani's Delhi: A huge earthquake is going to hit this city according to a famous astrologer; some kid stabbed a girl on V-Day because she rejected his flowers; and there's a new miracle drug on the market that cures knee pain as well as makes you thin all in one go... Nani was so excited about this new drug that she decided to visit her favorite doc, Dr. Amitabh Parikh. They share a deeply mutual friendship (bordering on love) based on Nani's chronic hypochondria and Dr. Parikh's ability to instantly prescribe a pill for her every ache, pain, lump and bump. Below is a photo sequence of their visit:






As of this blog entry, Nani takes 13 pills each morning at breakfast (excluding vitamins).

Oh Boy

It just struck me that the average age of the people I hang out with here in Delhi is 80. Which is great for the life-wisdom and story-hearing part of things, but doesn't bode so well for my romantic life. I mentioned this to my grandmom who promptly replied, "The problem is you don't smile enough." To which I replied that my mom thinks I smile too much. To which Nani said, "Leave your mother out of this. She's hopeless." To which I said, "Anyways what's smiling got to do with anything?" To which Nani said, "The next time you see a nice boy smile sweetly and with sweetness in your voice say, 'I like your buttons.'" To which I said, "...his buttons??" To which Nani said, "Piya, these are truths from the old days... no one's going to tell you these things anymore... do you trust me? Have I ever told you anything wrong? Just do what I'm telling you and see what happens." Hmmm...now if I could just find a nice boy wearing a shirt with some nice buttons.

Birdsongs on a rainy Sunday morning...

Prem Singh & "Greenways"

I love running errands with my grandmom. She only shops at old family-owned businesses she's been frequenting for over 60 years and I see all these hidden parts of Delhi I never knew existed. Bright and early on this Friday morning, Nani decided she wants to knit a peach-colored baby-sweater for one of my dearest friends in the States (she's having a baby-girl). So we went to "Greenways."

Greenways used to be a yarn-shop filled with rows and rows of every kind of wool, stacks of knitting books, and boxes of buttons of every shape, size, and color. Today, it's mostly a women's clothing store and the wool section has been relegated to a few boxes upstairs, tucked away on a bottom shelf and lovingly looked after by a gentleman named Prem Singh ("Prem" means "love" in hindi), who can tell the quality of wool by sight because he's been working here for over 45 years.

Prem Singh is a small gnome of a man who seems grouchy and mean until he smiles, and then he looks like a shy, little boy. He and Nani swapped notes on how Greenways has changed over the years. "Nobody knits anymore," Nani tutted. Prem Singh nodded, "There's only one company left that still sells us wool...all the others are now making sweaters or importing clothes." He showed Nani and I old, faded knitting books he's saved from the 1950s, filled with British models wearing flower-patterned sweaters. He took out a tattered box of buttons he's carefully acquired from various people and places, "I got this one from a Japanese sailor," he said proudly pointing to a shiny square button in the box. Listening to him and Nani talk, I felt like I'd entered another world filled with stories and history... a world I could visit and revisit forever.

In Recap

1) Best moment of my three hour job interview:


2) Prettiest thing I've seen this week (afternoon sunlight through the curtains):


3) Thing that made me smile on a bad day (funny food stand at departure terminal of Delhi International Airport):


4) Most endearing sight (nani shopping for a temple):


5) Moment when I was reminded that life is beautiful, even when it's not (man on scooter with bushel of roses behind him):

Job Interview & The Black Book of Expenditures

I've finally begun job hunting and recently went for my first interview here in Delhi (see photo above). It was with the digital version of a major English-language newspaper and it lasted 3 hours! Pictured below is the room I spent the majority of that time in:

My main take away from this interview (apart from meeting some really interesting people) was this: I have no concept about the value of money in India. For me, money in India means asking my grandfather for 21 Rs so I can buy a Nirula's Hot Chocolate Fudge Sunday, or bargaining with the booksellers at the neighborhood market to sell me two romance novels for the price of one. I still view this city through a child's eye, because that's how I've known it all these years. So ask me how much money goes into gas per month, or the average cost of groceries for a two-person household, or what salary I should be asking for at a job interview...and I'm at a total loss.

To remedy this situation I've decided to keep a little black notebook and write down everything nani and I spend, so I can get an idea of how much things cost and what we'll need to survive per month. Here are a few entries:

2/3/07-
* 580 Rs, to plumber for washing-machine fixing equipment
* 200 Rs, bribe to MTNL guys
* 200 Rs, bribe to electrician
* 15 Rs, for Internet surfing at cafe
* 100 Rs, Barista Coffee
* 18 Rs, 1 kilo low-fat milk

2/4/07-
*100 Rs, bribe to another MTNL guy
*358 Rs, Sohn Lal ki Puris (got some extra for Thoshi Dadi)
*95 Rs, green sandals for Sunita & Parachute hair oil
*650 Rs, 5 eyedrop medicines for nani
*410 Rs, various steel utensils (2 glasses, 2 bowls, juicer, small bowl for nani's prayers)
*350 Rs, huge crate of oranges and one papaya

2/5/07-
*230 Rs, 2 dish drains to keep cockroaches out, stool, nails
*100 Rs, dish rack
*22 Rs, 1 kilo full-fat milk
*23 Rs, cockroach killer, headache medicine
*1500 Rs, gas
*210 Rs, fruits and vegetables from stand
*450 Rs, miniature wooden temple for nani's room
*290 Rs, for polishing small silver statues of various Gods
*36 Rs, 2 almond milkshakes from Om Sweets

Sohn Lal Ki Puris

This blog is dedicated to my running buddy, Jim, a former chef and food junkie, who's been very curious about hole-in-the wall food joints in Delhi. "Sohn Lal ki Puris," now known as "Bille di Hutti," is one of the oldest in the lot. Located in what's known as Old Delhi, this no-frills brunch spot has been around since 1952--right after the India/Pakistan partition. It began with Raja Ram, and then was taken over by his son Sohn Lal, and then by Sohn Lal's son Bille, and now by Bille's two sons...that's four generations! What's more, my nani knew Raja Ram way back before the partition when they all lived in Lahore, Pakistan. If you look carefully at the photo above, you'll see the sign says "Of Laho-" The "R" and "E" are missing.

One of my favorite childhood memories is visiting Nani's home in Old Delhi (she lived there for over 40 years), and waiting excitedly for my uncle to bring back freshly made puris (fried fluffy bread) and channas (a spicy chickpea curry) from Sohn Lal's. For desert we'd have halva, a semolina pudding flavored with saffron, raisins, and cashew nuts. I remember everything would be piping hot and carefully tucked away in paperbags made from old Hindi newspapers.

Though I've grown up on Sohn Lal's unbelievably delicious food, this was my first time eating at the joint itself. It was jam-packed and men holding steal trays crammed with food floated around as people shouted out how many puris or plates of channas they wanted. This place is not for the feint of heart. You almost have to take a leap of faith that your stomach will survive the unhygienic kitchen from which the heavenly food emerges (see photo above). Still, I'd suffer through two--no make that three-- bouts of the infamous "Delhi Belly," just for a taste of Sohn Lal ki Puris.

Mama Leaves, Chaos Comes

Excerpt from an email to a good friend:

"It's one a.m. over here and it's been a disastrous day until this very second. My mom left this morning, and everything went haywire. The MTNL phone guys came to the apartment to fix my connection. All these people flooded my room, staring intently at my computer, and four hours later they kept mentioning how they needed a "special wire" before they could make the final connection.



Turns out the term "special wire" was actually a polite way of asking for a bribe. Paid them 200 rupees. Then, the washing machine went crazy and actually started hopping up and down and shattered some glasses that were lying on a shelf.

I called the local plumber and he said he needed to get some "special equipment" to fix everything. I thought he was asking for a bribe, but turns out he's a decent chap and actually needed special equipment... so I ended up insulting him (because I offered him a bribe). AND the cable TV conked out so nani couldn't see her favorite soap... AND despite all the bribes and hours of fiddling with "special wires," the MTNL guys said I wouldn't have a connection until next week...

I felt like crawling into my bed and pulling the covers over my head (or calling my mom and telling her to tackle this crazy world while I hide behind her legs and peep out occasionally)... but instead went to the gym, had a really nice chat with my grandmom, and we decided we're going to go for brunch to our favorite spot in Old Delhi tomorrow. And then guess what?? Couldn't sleep, so just now opened my computer to import some photos, and to my total astonishment (awe, wonder, mystification and joy) a little green light started blinking on the MTNL box and I am… connected! I don't know how because those guys said the box had to be replaced, but I am truly thankful! Wow. Delhi has a way of making you not take anything for granted--not a connection, or a clean towel, or life-- and maybe that's one good thing about living here.

ps: I told my nani that you thought she was AMAZING (I showed her your all caps) and she giggled like a school girl and kissed the computer (as in she's sending a kiss your way). Do you know that anytime I compliment her she blows a kiss up to the sky? And when I ask her why she says she's thanking God since he made her. She's so funny!"

Home (kind of, sort of, fingers crossed)

It just struck me that this is the first time since highschool that I've had all my things in one place. Until now, I had random boxes stored with my mom, or with my grandad...and now they're all here and it's fun unpacking and rediscovering them. For instance, I found this beautiful painting (in photo above) that my sister painted for me years ago as a birthday present. I came across a faded "Hong Kong" stamp I'd carefully tucked into a box with cotton as a keepsake. All my beloved books are on one bookshelf and I can now revisit them whenever I want. My lucky maroon sweater with all its threads hanging out is now folded and ironed in my cupboard. I mentioned this to my longtime friend Dinh and she said something beautiful, "It's as though you found this envelope that was sealed for so long and is filled with so many beautiful things that you'd forgotten were yours...and now you're finding them like new."

Thoshi Dadi

We finally met our neighbor-- Thoshi Dadi ("Dadi" means grandmom in Hindi), an 80-year old fire-cracker of a lady with thick, long hair coiled into an elegant bun. She lives alone with her butler and young maid and is fiercly independent. Despite still recuperating from a stroke that's left her partially paralyzed, she believes in the "Power of Positive Thinking" and the "Triumph of Spirit over Age." When Nani asked her if she knew of any good doctors in the area she declared, "Oh forget the silly doctors! We can't let old age get us down! We've spent our youth laughing, why should our old-age be any different??"

Thoshi Dadi and Nani couldn't be more different. Whereas my grandmom, on first meeting, seems like a soft-spoken old lady and only those close to her know of the many wicked thoughts running behind that sweet smile...Thoshi Dadi appears regal and commanding and voices her opinion on everything. And yet I think their friendship will work beautifully because they're both sweethearts (just yesterday Thoshi Dadi sent over her butler with some DVDs for Nani and I to watch), and they're both on the same page about one crucial topic: their respective granddaughters and how useless young girls these days are at finding a good boy and settling down. I smoothly stepped into the conversation at this point and mentioned that I knew of a very wonderful and tall boy from Canada (whom I've never met but whom my grandmom mentions wistfully every once in a while) that I thought would be *just perfect* for Thoshi Dadi's 28-year-old granddaughter, and I'd be happy to pass on his email to her. I know, I know... it's evil to dump my set-up on this poor girl whom I've never met, but hey, all's fair in love and war, and dodging my grandmom's matchmaking takes the skill of a jedi master... but that's a different blog all together.

Room With a View

The first thing I see when I wake up is this:

My room has a tiny verandah with a view of the small village neighboring our apartment building.

Most of the people living here are construction workers who help build some of Delhi's numerous flyovers and high-rises. When I go out on my verandah, there's a whole life drama unfolding before my eyes. I hear people singing, I've seen a fuzzy white dog chasing mice on the roof, a man stitching his pants while smiling shyly at a girl passing by, an old lady who sits in the sun and eats oranges...and at night, Hindi music playing softly from a transistor radio.

Sunita

Sunita is my grandmother's Girl Friday, confidante, protector, and best friend. She lives with us, sleeps with my grandma in her double-bed, cooks, cleans, and tells Nani stories that make her laugh uproariously. They've known each other more than a decade and Nani loves to tell of how Sunita warded off a mob of angry village men who'd come to steal her father's land after he died. Her voice filled with pride, Nani often says Sunita is like a man (which means "courageous" in Nani lingo).

One of Nani's and Sunita's favorite past-times (when they're not telling each other wildly hyperbolic stories about their respective childhoods) is religiously watching Hindi soap operas. Every evening starting at 8:30 sharp, they both sit side-by-side, unmoving, in front of the T.V. From what I've been able to piece together, their favorite soap involves a young lady who is pushed off a mountain by her wicked friend (the friend is in love with the lady's fiancé). The lady miraculously survives, receives reconstructive plastic-surgery from a famous British doctor, and then, with an entirely new and very attractive face, she returns to her fiancé's house incognito as a maid and discovers that her friend is engaged to her fiancé. Nearly every episode for the past year is about the incredibly slow process of it dawning on the fiancé that the maid is in fact his "dead" lost-love and each show ends with him almost finding out... and then not. I'm embarrassed to admit this, but it's riveting stuff.

Beauty Regimes

For as long as I've known her (all of my 31 years), my grandmother has always had a host of "secret" beauty tips and tricks. For instance, decades ago Nani met a 101-year-old lady with sparkling eyes. She asked her what her secret was, and the lady whipped out a small green bottle from her purse. This bottle, also known as "Cineraria Maritima Schwabe," is a homeopathic eye solution made in Germany by a Dr. Willmar Schwabe Karlsrue, and can only be found at a tiny family-owned pharmacy in Old Delhi called "Homeopathic Home." Nani's been applying two drops every night for the past 60 years and she swears it's the reason she doesn't have cataracts and why her eyes still hold the "powers of attraction" (as she puts it). Nani also does 15 minutes of "top secret" hip and butt exercises each morning that look suspiciously like pilates, but she swears there's a magic twist to them that speeds up the toning process. Her real beauty secret though, is what she does every night after dinner. She disappears into her bathroom for half an hour taking with her a bowl of secret ingredients from the kitchen. I promised Nani I wouldn't divulge them, but I will say this: yoghurt plays a large part in this regime. Nani scrubs her face with these ingredients in a complicated series of hand movements and massages...she's never used soap or face creams or anything her whole life. And I have to say, she's 78-years-old but her skin is soft and luminous like a child's. If it wasn't for the overwhelming smell of dairy, I think Nani could have made a real fortune selling her "top secret" face regime.

First Night: Prayers, Peas & Pizza

1/31/07...

Our first night in the new apartment, the place was bursting with bags and boxes. Nani went straight to work making it all feel like home.

She called the "tailor-master" to stitch some curtains and cushions.

She went grocery shopping.

She set up a make-shift prayer shelf in her closet and blessed the house.

She shelled some peas to be frozen for future meals.

In the next room, my mom hammered together furniture in a frenzy...

I stared at the mess that is my room and read through old papers tucked away in old boxes.

Later, we ordered Dominos pizza to celebrate our first night in this new, (but now slightly less new and much more cozy), place.