The ENT at Sadr Bazaar

It is December and winter is upon us. I cannot believe I looked forward to this during the 120 degree days of summer. But here it is. And along with it, as they say in Delhi, "meri to bolti band ho gaye" - roughly translated it means I've lost my voice. Acute uppper respiratory stress. I can neither laugh nor speak without coughing.

This happened to me 2 years ago - what seemed like a benign cough in Nov that did not leave until Feb. Lots of people go around Delhi assuming this is how it is to be. A cold is a natural part of winter. Silly me - I like to laugh, i like to talk and I think I'm entitled to a healthy respiratory system.

So I went along with the usual cockail of meds in my medicine chest - Tylenol, Nyquil, Motrin, Benadryl.......... and when 2 days later things seeemed worse rather than better, I called my cousin Bana to ask her what I should do. Go to the impressive Privat Hospital next door ?

She and Amit were unanimous - go see the ENT Specialist that they consult. They have tried a number of different ENTs over the years, and they have found this one to be the best.

So yesterday morning I went to see the ENT. Bana came along cos she was convinced I would not find the place. After seeing the place, I wonder if it was because she thought that left to myself I would not enter the building / clinic. It certainly was not the kind of place suited to my NRI sensibilities.

Dr. Gera runs his practice in a crowded building on the main street running through Sadr Bazaar the old part of Gurgaon. This is the place that until 5 years ago, was the heart of Gurgaon - a hub for the local villagers to come in for supplies and essentials.

A set of rickety steps leads to his clinic. The waiting room was about 12 feet long by 8 feet. It had 3 rows of benches running the length of the hall, with a reception table in one corner. There were 2 guys huddled over the reception desk.

The waiting hall was jam packed. Bana said not to worry - she would poke her head in first chance she got. The people waiting their turn ranged from laborers to tribal people. The domestic staff at Beverly Park or in DLF Phase 2 for that matter are all more sophisticated than the people in that hallway. Traffic in and out of the doctor's cubicle was fast - the line of some 10 people vanished right in front of us and before Bana had a chance to poke her head in we were being ushered in.

The office itself was about 8 feet wide and no more than 4 feet deep. The doc sat facing a computer and his testing equipment in the corner. The desk with 2 waiting chairs remaining largely unused. He asked me to sit on his examination stool. The exam was finished in 1 minute. He spent the remaining 9 minutes catching up with Bana, telling us about the comparitive merits of the Paras Hospital vs the brand new Alchemist. . About how Paras made a consulting physician waste their time because they opened their OT so late... how is a doctor to make any money if he cannot get to his dispensary on time ? Interspersed with that were questions about my medical history and explanations of my symptoms.

Several times the "compounder" poked his head in, each time with a more agitated look on his face. We finally took our leave.

They would not take my INR 300 professional courtesy - what with Bana being a doctor and all.

I had noticed all the other patients being charged between 200 and 600. At an average of 1 patient every 5 minutes (and there was certainly the traffic to sustain that) and office hours some 5 hours a day, 6 days a week - that would come out to some 72,000 INR a month a little shy of US$2000 . Maybe my math is wrong ? Maybe he has another source of income ?

While we were inside, the line had grown to standing room only, so I am sure the guys at the reception desk were happy to see us leave.

The pharmacy was adjacent to the doctor's office. They had everything but the cough syrup... and surprisingly, there was another pharmacy 2 doors down that had it.

So in one stop and in under 30 mins I had consulted with a specialist got all my meds and was on my way back home. Amazing - sometimes I've waited that long in the GP's examination room, in Poughkeepsie, waiting for the doctor to show up.

And once again I am amazed by the efficiency of resource utilization and private enterprise in India.

And yes, the meds he recommeded are working - I am on the mend. By the end of the week I may even have my bolti back.

Shopping along Gurgaon's Killer Highway

NH-8 which connects Delhi to Jaipur runs through Gurgaon. The Haldiram factory with its beautiful lawns is a place at which most tourists stop for a breakfast of puri and aloo subzi on their way. In the last 2 years this has gone from being a 4 lane parking lot to a modern 8 lane highway.

On most parts of the highway anyway. In the old city of Gurgaon by the Rajeev Gandhi Chowk and the Hero Honda factory it is still a very densely populated 4 lane parking lot. Humanity teems onto the street in cars, trucks, buses, auto and cycle rickshaws, bicycles and other 2 wheelers, and on foot. Cows, dogs, sheep, goats all join them in the migratory path towards Rajasthan. As a matter of fact, the shepherds and cowherds of Rajasthan used to travel up this road to the Gurgaon region in search of green pastures. You see the herds grazing on the various open spaces outside the city.

Earlier this used to be just a very irritating road to traverse. Now it has turned deadly. The wide luxurious highway has been welcomed by the people of this region with enthusiasm and joy. People zip down this road at 100 or 120 KMPH. The most frequent cause of car fatalities then occurs as the car spins out of control as its tires burst ! The 2nd most frequent cause is when they ram at full speed into a stalled vehicle on the highway. The third is when the pedestrians bravely attempt to cross the highway. In the crowded Hero Honda chowk area it is still the old fashioned speeding truck mowing down the plucky pedestrian, or the little car that gets jammed between 2 larger slow moving vehicles. And hence the term "Killer Highway".

I was travelling along this highway earlier this week - returning from the Manesar Heritage Village - it used to be a resort literally in the middle of nowhere and gained popularity as a venue for corporate training programs. Now Manesar is turning into a full fledged technology park as people relocate there in the quest for some fresh air.

I was returning from our StepUP training program there - and for a change this was in broad daylight. As the traffic slowed in the semi-urban area of the Hero Honda chowk i started to examine the shops lining the highway. This is what in Haldwani we call the Bajaar.

First thing I saw was a Milk Dairy. Now having seen the herds along the way, and recognizing that this was a rural area - I was looking for a Goregaon style tabela replete with cows / buffaloes and fresh milk being sold out the store front. Alas - no cows - just big containers of milk. Perhaps the cows were further away.

Krishna Greens with the picture of a beautiful lawn on the signboard caught my attention next. I tried to figure out what they might be selling. As I looked down towards the counter I saw they were actually selling greens - leafy green bhajis of different kinds, cabbages, cauliflowers...... I thought my mind was playing tricks with me - how could the villagers of Gurgaon be buying greens - and the picture looked like lawns - was it grass seed ? Why would they buy it in a store. It was only when I saw the 3rd one that I realized that Krishna Greens was in the business of installing lawns. The vegetable stall owner probably made more money from the advertising revenue .

Past usual chai, mithai and samosa shops was a sign that had me catch my breath - SAIL shop. Not boat but SAIL. There are frequent sightings of camels - the ship of the desert - in this part of the world - but a SAIL shop. And they weren't stocked with any sailboats as far I could see. Across the street was another, larger SAIL shop - and that is when I realized - SAIL is the Steel Authority of India Ltd - SAIL is a "brand" of Steel - distinct from the one sold by Tata Steel.

Away from Rajeev Chowk and as one approaches the urban, modern Gurgaon you see the tribal people of Rajasthan who have set out their very colorful and beautiful pieces of hand thrown blue pottery. They set their shop up in the dirt by the side of the road. Finally, something I can relate to!!! And then before I know it I am turning into IFFCO Chowk and onto MG Road home of the big glitzy malls. Just as crowded and chaotic as the Bajaar near the Hero Honda plant - but oh so much more expensive !!

Suspended Time

24 hours after I have left my home in Gurgaon, I arrive tired and rumpled at my home in Stormville. Sure enough the weeds have taken over the garden. The deer have broken down the protective mesh which is now strewn on the walkway. The reeds have grown in nicely in the back - but the bushes by the garage are way overgrown. A few rays of sunlight make it through the clouds. It is a freezing 37 degrees.

There is not a soul around. Nor another car in sight. Just a bunch of quiet houses, with lots of green yards and lots of grey sky.

I feel a sense of quiet and peace that I have not been able to experience at any yoga or meditation session. I am home.

I wrestle my suitcase up the driveway (no Mukesh to carry it) and up the steps, fumble for the keys and unlock the front door. Ahh yes, I'd set the temperature inside at 50 degrees - warmer than the outside - so why are my teeth chattering.

I spot my favorite blue rug, I walk into my office with all the books I have left behind......I move onto the kitchen with the big old table that we've had happy family get togethers around - can someone please tell me why I live in Gurgaon again ?

Later in the afternoon, I drive down to the gas station - a full 3 miles away - to pick up some milk and bread - its great to be home but there is no edible food in this house. Again that sense of complete freedom - when I drive myself to pick up my own stuff to run my errands without having to depend on someone else . Later I will cook my own food, exactly the way I like it, with the utensils I have collected painstakingly over the years. I shall lay in front of the giant TV and while away the evening doing absolutely nothing, answerable to absolutely no one. Yes....... this is the good life !

Well that was about a week ago. 2 days of peace and quiet and I was ready for some shopping action. I spent the day in town cruising through all my favorite stores - completing my various errands. Then I spent another day lazing around.

And suddenly I am done. I am ready to join the land of the living - reconnect with family and friends, even do a PM Cadence call - hmm was I really missing work ? Good timing - had to get to Toledo to see Grandpa and the rest of the family.

3 days in Toledo in the warmth of family. And now once again I am back at the airport waiting to board a flight back to Gurgaon. Rejuvenated and ready to take on the world !!

Homeward Bound!

“I’m sitting at the railway station, got a ticket for my destination… hmmm
For going I’m a homeward bound…Ho-o-omeward bound ….”

I’ve forgotten the words to the old Simon and Garfunkel hit but the tune and the sentiment resonate – deep – as I sit at the promised to soon be renovated Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi. Something about sitting on my suitcase, holding my guitar and other stuff in my hand, and I don’t really care cos I am homeward bound.

So this is probably the 5th or 6th trip I am making from Delhi to Chicago in 30 months. And yet the sentiment holds. I don’t really know why. I am leaving a pleasant sunny climate for a freezing cold place. I will go home to a house that has sat empty with the heat turned off since I was last there in May. The garden I installed with such anticipation will be overrun by weeds. There will be no chauffeur, there will be no maids – I will have to fend for myself. So what is it about going home that fills me with such optimism and anticipation?

Surely, it isn’t the Delhi Airport – On my way over I was talking to my cousin Bana – I was giving her a yard by yard traffic report – telling her about how I was going to have to fight my way into the airport – past the people with the big NRI-sized suitcases and the throngs of weeping relatives. I told her I thought these people came to see their relatives off in buses. Even as I said it I thought I was being a little unreasonable. But then I saw this green bus in front of me. And another one in front of it. And what do you know – there were busloads of villagers climbing out – several were working their way into the airport !!

I managed to find a fast path in – don’t ask how, I will never be able to recall all the steps – but before I knew it – between my suitcase and my feet wide apart stance I was covering a wide area of the entry way and had become difficult to go past – imagine me – blocking all the high octane NRI sized suitcase wallahs out, elbowing and edging with the best of them.

I entered the airport and made a beeline for the baggage screening machine. This time I only waited till the 3rd guy shoved his bags onto the conveyor out of line – before asking the attendant ‘exactly which queuing algorithm was being followed here’ – I’ve been grumpy lately – am tired of people taking advantage of my good will – I suspect the long dormant asli original Indian Hema – the one that got snuffed out by the polite refinement of pardes - is getting ready to emerge. Needless to say – my bag made it in next.

I checked in – and made my way up to the lounge that American Airlines uses – as usual more people there than chairs - some smoking. I decided the lounge invite was not worth the paper it was printed on and made my way through immigration and security instead. Miraculously empty. First time I’ve strolled through both at Delhi – no waiting no fuss.

I try to spend some money in the shops. For some reason I cannot. I am tired of the same old marble plates, ganesh statues and jewelry. I wonder if this is again my basic bania instinct kicking in – or just the asli Hema emerging.

I find a seat in the waiting hall and look around. The mosquitoes are out in force this evening. Is malaria inevitable ? I’ve been bitten more in the last 6 months than I’ve been my whole life.

There are a lot of kids at the airport.. and mothers. Lots of foreigners too. I try to sit there minding my own business – but that is not to be. People walking up to me and asking if the seat is taken – uh the one I am sitting in ?

So I pull out my laptop and start to write this blog. The crowds are getting thicker. There is a very long line for the AA flight. I wonder if I will get upgraded to first. Thank God I was able to get a seat in Business class. I still shudder to think of the Thanksgiving trip 2 years ago – I got the last seat on the airplane – literally. It was in coach - the middle seat in the last row – adjacent to the bathrooms, despite being willing to pay for business class. 15 hours in the middle seat next to the bathroom. Shudder shudder – American Hema very much here and present.

I am sitting on an end seat. There is a flight to SGP leaving from the gate on my left. There is my flight leaving from the gate to my right. People have queued up on both sides. In a strange twist the 2 queues run the length of the hall and cross somewhere in the middle. So you have to cut through the SGP line to get to the AA line. This is just like the crowd at the Sikandarpur intersection in Gurgaon – traffic coming to a standstill in the junction as cars try to traverse an X.

It is midnight now – and I am fighting to stay awake. A tiny part of me wonders how I will ever make it to the plane – there are so many people in front of me and the line looks like it is moving in a circle. Another part says just go to sleep. And the guju says you’re traveling premium class, your bags are checked in – they will come look for you. Who knows ?

So I am back to my question – what is it about going home ? As a matter of fact where is home ? San Diego –the place I want to live in when I am ready to die ? Stormville – the place in the middle of the jungle where I keep most of my worldly belongings ? My parents home in Kandivali? The place I rent in Gurgaon where Salyani keeps all her worldly belongings ? The Grand Hyatt in Mumbai where I spend several nights each week ? Marina del Rey, CA ? Toledo, Oh ? Memphis Tn ? Rochester, NY where I should have made my home ? Bandra where I spent the first 20+ years of my life ? The airport where I spend a good part of my life ? And I stumble upon it. … Home is where I am.

So why am I so excited about going home ? I don’t know. I just know I am willing to put up with whatever it takes – crowded Delhi airport, unruly passengers, an oversold flight, al the work that will pile up – to get home. I haven't a clue. All I know is that I am homeward bound and there's a song in my heart and a lightness in my step that I haven't felt since the last time.

Gap Analysis Delhi-ishtyle

I first learnt about gap analysis on I-5 on the wide freeway that runs through Southern California. On the long ride from Los Angeles to San Diego - one can keep an eye on the beach or one can watch for all the gaps or variances in traffic patterns in any particular lane. These variances or gaps offer you the opportunity to pull ahead of the crowd.

According to Salim, the master of gap analysis on the CA Freeways, gap analysis makes the otherwise long and stressful drive a game, a challenge that makes the time melt away.

By the way, I disagree. I think gap analysis and its consequences take away from the sheer pleasure of driving along the coast - but then that is only the opinion of a passenger.

As is the following - cos even after having lived in Delhi for 2.5 years I will not drive on the streets of Delhi. Though I must say I am starting to become increasingly familiar with how things work.

But first a word about ishtlye - yes you might find buried in there the word style - but that is just the way the high faluting anglicized minority say it. If you are a true local that went to the is-school, then you have ish-style and ish-attitude and ish-savvy (ok plain attitude and savvy) that helps you survive and thrive in this city. The only thing that I as an outsider have is envy for the people who do.

So back to Gap Analysis. In Southern California - the highway has a median, 10 clearly marked lanes, and a homogenous collection of traffic - hondas, chevys, fords, toyotas, pickup trucks, sedans, buses, SUVs, freight trucks. There is a lot of opportunity for gaps, and it is upto the watchful driver to find and take advantage of the same.

In Delhi - Gap Analysis goes to a whole new level.

It isn't like there is 1 extra dimension , or even 2 . yes, there are 10 lanes - none of them clearly marked.

As a matter of fact only 2 are clearly marked - the rest are created by ingenious drivers. Some of them are not even paved and may include driving over emergency lanes, sidewalks, bike paths, dirt, rocks, stones, garbage and sometimes , regretably, a dog or cow. The rows resemble a brick wall more so than they do a traffic lane as cars wedge themselves into every available spot. The lanes are not discernible from the ground - but I am sure you would see them if you flew high enough up into the air.

The traffic is homogenous - trucks, sedans, SUVs, buses (killer and DTC) and then for a twist - motorcycles, scooters, bicycles (motorized and not), auto rickshaws, cycle rickshaws, hand carts, push carts, jugaads (locomotive engine attached to a container to hold people. animals or material), people.

This is compounded by the fact that some of Delhi's legal and illegal encroachments try to compete for a space on the road with the automobiles. Perhaps some ambitious person hopes to get these to participate in the traffic as well. The government has other plans and is trying to condemn and demolish them.

So in this complex sea of automobiles... pulling ahead, making right turns, exiting and entering a highway - all these would be huge challenges for the uninitiated. But there is a syshtem.. that takes my breath away (literally).

Just as in the jungle every type of animal has a role to play in the overall ecosystem, so it is on the streets of Delhi.

So for example consider how a right turn is made. The big truck or SUV inches towards the intersection offering blockage from people trying to pass on the right. The smaller cars line up to its right forming another barrier that extends a little ahead and behind. To its right the motorcycles, scooters and bicycles pull forward forcing the oncoming traffic to slow down - then the big guys all pull into the intersection and you have flow !!!

Everybody moves at about 5 mph (yes lots of burnt clutch plates in this city) so if there is a little nick here a dent there - no big deal - no real risk to life. Occasionally a limb gets entangled - but that is the price you pay.

Similarly the gaps - the little guys work in tandem with the big guys to create and open up the pathways - blaze new trails - and magically all available (sometimes unavailable) space is consumed forcing the traffic forward.

And they are all very comfortable with this friendly mix operating in chorus. Take one of the pieces away and you have utter chaos.

Like the one day I saw this motorcycle landlocked in a sea of buses. It was astounding... motorcycles and bikes usually manage to get out of everything but the buses were wedged so tight there wasn't anyway the bike could get out short of hoisting it atop a bus.

The problem we realized was that traffic had been very light that morning. In fact there was no traffic on the opposite side of the road. So a few people decided that that just was not right. It was far too big a gap to waste. The road had to be filled. And so they decided to travel north on a south-bound highway. This worked extremely well until some south bound cars entered the south highway. This raised the game to yet another level as now south and north bound cars traversed both sides of the highway and we had grid lock. Then a bunch of civic minded citizens had to get into the intersection and help the traffic cops sort it out.

Fortunately this is not a frequent occurrence - about 4 times in 2.5 years !!! Yes Gap Analysis in Delhi is a far more sophisticated excercise than anything in Southern California. It will be years before the Americans comprehend or catch up with it !!

Computers and the Raj

Everytime I see someone whip out their cell phone, I am reminded of the role I play in the incredible change sweeping over this country. When I hear talk of a INR 1lakh car, I know that the work I am doing is making a difference.

But I know that I am really really pushing my luck when I hear a government official talk about computerizing every single tax office in every single district, in every single state in the country.

Yes indeed - the government has embarked upon an ambitious plan to electronize (is that a word) the country's tax system. And they have awarded the contract to the best in the business, the only people who can do it.

The taxnet project is sponsored by the Finance Minister. It is executed by the senior most bureaucrat in the Ministry - the Secretary of the Revenue department. Governments come and go. The project outlasts all administrations.


Recently I had the opportunity to interact with the senior bureaucrat that was an integral part of designing and developing this project. He sits in the North Block - the set of offices located right outside the gates of the Presidential Palace - and across from the Lok Sabha. The entire complex was constructed by the British, the Presidential Palace having once served as the official residence of Lord Mountbatten. The external structure is quite impressive. Inside it is dark and cavernous. The furniture, aside from the computer, looks like it has been there since Independence.

After getting past the technical challenges, we started to talk about the challenges ahead. The member (as the Revenue Sec'y is often referred to) talked about the atmosphere when he first joined the administration 40 years ago...... within a few decades of the departure of the colonial masters.

"We had fewer people, and are hand written ledgers were more meticulous. .. The supervisor sat on a raised dais in the middle of the room keeping a watch on all the clerks much like an exam proctor. Clerks could not talk to each other without being noticed by the supervisor. If they needed a new pencil, theyhad to bring the old one in. Things have become much less disciplined them, and the quantity of work has increased."

Transforming this population to use computers with the ease of a pencil and register will be a very big challenge - and a very rewarding one indeed.

Delhi's Killing Machines

I have had no illusions about what a harsh city Delhi is. And today that truth hit home again.

The weather is brutal - intolerably hot in the summer, bitter cold in the winter. When it rains, there is flooding in the streets bringing traffic to a grinding halt.

Yes there are the beautiful broad tree lined avenues and the majestic buidlings of Lutyen's Delhi. There is also the incredible Red Fort sitting across the very serene Jama Masjid. There is the historic Qutub Minar and the Tughlakabad Fort.

And yet the common, and not so common man must fight with his fellow man, woman, cow, dog car, bus, bicycle for a spot to stand in this city, for a spot to park their car, for a spot in front of the bank cashier.

Aggression and fighting come naturally to the Delhi-ite - it is an essential ingredient for survival. The gentle politeness cultivated in other cities is looked upon with scorn in this city where it has the same chance of survival as an ice cube in the desert on a summer afternoon.

The metro has made a welcome difference to Delhi's appalling public transport system. Clean, shiny and reliable it is fast gaining popularity with Delhi-ites.

However - many still rely on the putrid green buses also known as the Blueline service to ferry them around the city. The drivers of Delhi are lawless and reckless , masters at gap analysis and often a little too optimistic about their ability to fit into a gap, and aggressive to the core. The Blueline bus drivers are all of this and often driving under the influence.

One frequently hears of them driving too fast down a heavily populated street and running over an innocent bystander. The drivers and conductors get paid based upon the amount of money they collect in a day. The faster they make it from point A to point B - the more ground they will cover. So everyday for them it is a desperate dash to get through the city.

For weeks now we've been hearing about the killer buses. Pedestrians run over in a crowded bus by a driver rushing through the city. My driver says that the blue line buses have been running over people for as long as he has been in the city. He thinks the news is being played up in the media because the government wants to get rid of the blue line. It wants to replace it with new buses more appropriate for the Commonwealth Games to be staged here soon.

There is a group of concerned citizens who are petitioning the government to eliminate the blue line from the city. There have been calls to impound these killer machines. There have been calls for the resignation of the transportation minister. And yet there is no talk of restructuring the $4/day salary that these drivers make, no talk of breathalyzers or compliance to traffic law.

Yesterday, a blue line bus ploughed through a crowd waiting at a bus stop. It ran over 16 people, 8 of whom died on the spot. The other 8 are in serious condition in the hospital.

How does a bus plough through 16 people and not stop ? The driver continued on leaving the destruction in his wake. They caught up with him further up the street, the crowd dragged him out and beat him up. He is now in police custody. His accomplices escaped.

There was rioting in the streets. Politicians came out with strong speeches. They shut down the Delhi-Agra highway. There have been new calls to eliminate the Blueline.

24 hours later the city is back to its usual business. Here is what one young person of delhi thinks about all this http://jayant7k.blogspot.com/2007/08/killer-blue-line-buses-in-delhi.html

1 bus ... 16 people..........how is it possible ? In one of the most densely populated cities in the world, a city that has been reduced to ashes 7 times in the course of its documented history, a city that has risen again each time, stronger and more vibrant than before. Human life just seems like another perishable, dispensable commodity.

Indeed this seems a phenomena in the region. Ministers and their entourages are known to zip through the city. Armed with a little red light atop the vehicle and a special horn, these groups rush through the city warning people and cars to get out of their way. One such entourage ran through the city of Aligarh in UP some 150KM from Delhi. They ran over an unfortunate fellow who did not make it out in time. There are numerous stories of drunken celebrities running over people sleeping on the pavements at night in their motor bikes or other killing machines.

And you cannot help but wonder - when will it stop ? What will it take to raise the level of consciousness, to elevate the concern for human life... all human life..

Oh Beijing!!!

I've been to Beijing twice now. And I loved it both times.

The first time we went there were about 14 of my colleagues from India aboard the same Singapore Airlines plane. For all of us this was our very first trip to China.

There were thunderstorms over Beijing - obviously they hadn't quite perfected the chemicals they were to shoot in the air to prevent showers ; or perhaps our arrival was not deemed to be as important as the opening of the Olympic games - our flight was diverted to a little airport, whose name I shall never know, for 4 hours. It was a mere 30 mins away from Beijing and had no storms. It was a very large airport, but we could not disembark as it did not have an immigration and customs facility there. So 4 hours later we finally landed in Beijing.

As an American citizen, I was very nervous about coming to a communist state. I kept my hands in full view at all times, and tried to follow whatever rules I could. We arrived at the immigration counter - same chaotic mess as in Delhi. More flights than counters, lines snaking around the arrival hall - and stern looking immigration officials...

With a slight twist - they had little boxes on their counters which lit up and allowed you to let the Chinese goverrnment know what you thought of the immigration officer .... not quite ready to believe that they had actually decided to put the customer first - I went with the politically correct 5 out of 5. I was rewarded with a stamped passport and a blank stare.

The cabs were nice big Hyundai Sonatas. Hyundai ? China ? Whatever... The streets were well-maintained, wide - just like the American highways, planted with lots of trees. Traffic moved in an orderly pattern. Beijing is getting ready to put up a fine show for the Olympics. Sigh! How would I ever live in Delhi after this ?

Eventually we arrived at our very nice Starwood Hotel which looked just like any other hotel anywhere in the world - Are we in China yet ?

A couple of vegetarians decided they would take no risks eating the local food - they ventured out on foot looking for a grocery store at which to buy fruits and vegetables that they could peel, cut and eat - and be certain that it was not contaminated by any living creature. On their way back they were accosted by some rather aggressive ladies of the night. They returned to the hotel with their honor and fruits and vegetables intact. But no one protested, nor trotted out the fruits, when I volunteered to find them vegetarian food at the local restaurant. As the only woman in the group, I found my company sought after - not for my legendary charm, but because I would discourage their aggressors from approaching me !!!!!

Work was relatively easy since we had the office address printed in Chinese and the doorman made sure the cab driver knew where to bring us and most people in the office speak English. The folks at work knew where to bring us to lunch and what to order - so we had some of the finest chinese feasts - mostly vegetarian. I did try the famous Peking duck (Beijing duck just isn't the same) - definitely a highly cultivated culture experience if you ask me.

Across from the office was a shopping center.. jam packed with shops selling apparel, sports shoes, toys, traditional chinese gift items, porcelain, tea sets, prayer beads, pearls, silk fabric, electronics and my favorite - Grade 1 and 3 Rolex watches. We had been warned, prices quoted will be about 4x what you should pay. We spent many hours and many more Yuan there.

We bargained with gusto - releasing a spate of emotion from the young sales women. My colleague thought it was peculiar that there were only women working in the stores - after much speculation - we asked a chinese colleague - who came up with my favorite theory (untested for authenticity or feminism) - Women are far more outgoing and friendly - they are better at sales than the men, who tend to do the heavy lifting and carrying from the markets. That is why you don't see any men in the front of the house.

My boss - who is rumored to have a colourful life after hours - insisted on treating me to a foot massage. I was a little suspicious until he promised that this is where his wife went. It was the best foot massage I've ever had... and I'm an expert - having had massages in Singapore, Australia, Thailand, several places in India, California, Phoenix, Scottsdale and Las Vegas. PHENOMENAL!

On Saturday we took a conducted tour that included a visit to Tianmien Square - I stood in awed silence looking upon a square that could stand half a million people and people's republic dining hall that could serve a sit down banquet to over 10,000. From there we traipsed through the Forbidden City - grand despite the feverish activity to renovate it prior to the Games and then onto the Great Wall.

Never have I anticipated something so much, only to be totally let down. I am not big on historical monuments, but living in India, I've started to develop a healthy interest - the Great Wall was just that - a great big wall in the middle of spectacular scenery - an ugly reminder of the battles fought and the pains to which people must go to protect their way of life. Yes it is a wonder of engineering and carto-something-ing. But I am in no hurry to climb it or get to the other side. Like the Taj Mahal, it looks exactly like the picture - just no great love story to tease the imagination.

No trip can be complete without a trip to an Indian restaurant - after 10 days of Chinese vegetables - even the bad Indian food tasted good !

No trip to China is complete without a trip to the theatre. Our tour guide got us tickets to a spectacular show - combination of acrobatics and gymnastics. I have never seen anything like it !!!!!!!! INcredible stuff that defies the imagination.

And in 2007 no trip to China is complete without viewing the spectacular Bird's Nest - the steel structure in which the opening ceremony will be held next year - or the Cube of Water which will host the swimming events.

China in 2007 is a vibrant, exciting place. I met a colleague on assignment from the US who told me that a Fauchon had just opened up in her neighborhood. No the Rolex she was wearing was real, and yes there were plenty of people in China who did that and rode in Mercs and Beemers! You are no longer in Kansas.. nor Poughkeepsie!

Daddy's Little Princess

So on the way back from Bejing, I stopped in Singapore and visited Dhana's family. I have worked with Dhana for almost 3 years now. Our friendship is based on mutual trust and respect and the fact that we'd both fail in our jobs if we did not get along. Dhana manages new account transitions - all the new accounts are happening in my region. I am his main customer, he is my right hand.

Anyway, given our close association, I've heard all about his family, and his family knows all about me. But this was the first time in 3 years, that I was going to be in Singapore the same time that Dhana was there. To be accurate we both arrived in Singapore at 6am that Saturday - me from Bejing, Dhana from India - where he'd been working on another new account for me.

Dhana has 2 kids - a little boy about 6 months old, and the cutest little almost 3 year old daughter. His wife made CIO in a multi-national and juggles home and work while Dhana goes globetrotting. They picked me up from the airport, and we travelled into the city to take the 3 year old to drama and elocution class. Why ? I asked Dhana - "oh because she speaks Singlish (singapore english) and we need her to speak properly" - reminded me of my childhood where my family spoke to me in English cos they wanted to be sure that I spoke well.

On the way back, she was acting up, and Dhana and his wife tried to get her to settle down. Dhana's favorite line was "You are my little princess aren't you. That is not what Little Princesses do..." It worked a couple of times, until the little one piped up with "I don't want to be a princess". There was a stunned silence. She had not been known to be quite so rebellious.

...I want to be king!!

Of all the things I had expected, that wasn't one of them. We were all thrilled, and marvelled at her being able to grasp the nuance and know exatly what she wanted. Yes little girl - may you grow up to be king! No doubt the kingdom will be better off for that.

No More Shopping Please !!

They say that "Never is a very long time" and you are only limited by your own imagination. The truth of both of those hit me hard yesterday as I arrived in Singapore on my way back from a memorable trip to Bejing.

There are great sales going on in Singapore, which until recently I had considered to be the haven of shopping and spas. All I wanted to do was sit in a cool spot, drink a tall cold glass of water and have a conversation with Dhana's family. I never thought there would come a day when I was all shopped out and all massaged out. And it was a good feeling!

So what did I get in Bejing one might ask - pearls, rolex (or colex) silk jackets, olympic memorabilia, a teapot, jasmine tea.. and a great eye-opening , propaganda reversing education on modern day China and an organized approach to managing large scale and volume.

Nightlife in Gurgaon

Friday night, heading back from Pune, flight is late because of torrential rains in Pune. Plane doors finally open at 11:15pm to another hot Delhi evening.
Mukesh has decided to take advantage of my long absences from Delhi to moonlight at Hertz - he did not make it back in time to pick me up from the airport. So there is another Hertz car waiting to pick me up.

We head out onto the still under construction but usable National Highway 8 for the short ride to Gurgaon. We pass an accident - a brand new car - looks like a Honda Accord - does not even have a pukka license plate - the front part wedged under a truck all the way to the wind screen. Parked on the other side of the road is a Qualis with a loose fender, packed with what appear to be call center employees. Hard to tell if this is all part of the same accident or not. We do our share of pointless rubber necking and continue.

Make the left turn off IFFCO chowk. In the little space between the NH8 and MG Road (Meherauli Gurgaon, not Mahatma Gandhi which I mistook it for initially) between the ditch and the road on a small triangle covered with dirt, sit some 30-40 cycle rickshaws. They are crammed in tightly together slightly away from the road. The drivers are all asleep - crouched in various positions on the 24x9 inch seat. I wonder what they would do if it rains. The driver says they would just raise the little shades - but this is Delhi it hardly ever rains. .... Right - just sandstorms and hailstones and buckets and buckets of rain - but that is only 3-4 times a year.. so maybe they can just grin and bear it... worse things can happen here than being caught in a little rain. I think about it for a minute - yeah that is quite true.

As we round the corner - I see the traffic cop making a valiant effort to contain the traffic mess - he has got to be the bravest, most optimistic fellow in the world. Armed with nothing more than a uniform and a whistle he is hoping to control the big truck drivers, unruly cars, bicycles, scooters, motorbikes, pedestrians, cows and dogs. Even the mildest, sweetest people turn into the wildest people when armed with a steering wheel and a form of automation.

We pass the 3 construction sites on MG Road near Privat Hospital. These had been mere pits 8 months ago. At midnight work is in full swing - the facades are going up - in another 3 months these will be opening for business. Another inexplicable contradiction in a state and business known for dragging things out on the slightest pretext.

The road outside MGF Mall - the center of major activity and traffic jams during the day is littered and empty - its energy spent - humanity has retreated for the night. A couple of people asleep on a ledge around a tree, on a pushcart - but mostly just dogs - even they are tired.

At the gates of BPII I ask the driver to slow down so the guard can complete his visual identification test - if I was a bad guy - we could crash through the barrier, I could get out of the car, stomp my feet wield a knife or other weapon and coerce him to open the door - but I am a law abiding resident of the complex - he waves us through.

We pass what must be an NRI (non-resident Indian) or FRI - (foreign returned Indian) cos ou have to have travelled outside the country to acquire so much self confidence - dressed in full gym gear wearing the noise reducing Bose headsets (the big heavy ones)- briskly walking around the complex - I know what Bana would say... "only in BPII.."

We continue over the speed bumps past the now abandoned tennis courts and basketball court to the entrance to my building. After an interminable 10 minutes in which the driver makes up my bill - I open the gate using my electronic access card and ferry myself up.

Salyani is wide awake - "Do you know what happened today ?" What happened ? Some NRI in the other tower he was shooting at the police. Huh ? Why ? Don't know - then the police went in and took all his stuff out and arrested him and the media were all here - Media - how do you know the word media - oh the guard called them the media - they had cameras and all......... I found out the next morning - some landlord got fed up of his tenant refusing to vacate his expensive apartment had finally forcibly evicted him. I had missed all the drama. Thank God !

Kishore Bhuvan

Kishore Bhuvan - literally Kishore's World.. I don't know who Kishore was - perhaps he was the son of the owner from whom my maternal ancestors rented an apartment in Bhuleshwar since the mid 1920s - Kishore himself is irrelevant to this story .....

For to all of us cousins, Kishore Bhuvan constitutes a world of a large family. A world with lots of uncles and aunts, lots of cousins coming together to celebrate raksha bandhan, chopda poojan and bestu varas and spending the summer holidays together.

A world in which 1 person could surreptitiously consume more chicken in a single afternoon than a family of 4 could consume; summer holidays spent at my paternal grandfather's farm with a horde of cousins from both sides of the family........... a safe cocoon, a special experience that we will treasure for the rest of our lives.

A world in which your business was every one else's business - whether you liked it or not. And where the older people lorded it over the younger ones (atleast that is what we who werent the oldest always maintained).

Yes Kishore Bhuvan is a world of family, familiarity, warmth and safety. It is a world of the family misunderstanding, and many kid fights. A world of tradition, and a word that immediately transports you to a special place where whether you like the rules or not, whether you think they are fair or otherwise, you know for a fact that the rules will always remain the same.

My maternal grandparents raised their 11 children there and lived there for over 50 years. Like Grand Central, it was also the launching pad for most cousins coming to Mumbai to make their fortunes.

We had our own pecking order and power structure - and yet we were all secure in knowing that we belonged, that we had our own place and that we would never want for friendship and camraderie.

But time moved on. We all grew up, several of us left the city and country, today the ancestral home has been sold, we no longer have any family in Kishore Bhuvan, indeed none of the family lives in Bhuleshwar.

It is a memory that is hard to recreate in this world of nuclear 2-children families. It is a concept that is hard to explain to the new generation - the one that never had cousins and aunts and uncles and an extended family, that expanded and contracted at a drop of a hat.

Or so I thought. Until an uncle and cousin had the brilliant idea of putting together this family reunion. Now the people of Kishore Bhuvan are all very clear on what they want and how things should be done. They are great leaders, very good at planning, defining, commanding. Their ability to execute, especially details, takes a long second to these abilities. Thank God for the in-laws. A cousin's wife took charge of the logistics - the brothers-in-law took charge of the menu. And we had a wonderful time - full of happy moments, drama, tension, intrigue and laughter.

Will there be another ? Who knows - I think the cousins in-law are still recovering from the last one.

Planning to Retire

Ever since I found out what it is I want to be when I grow up, I've switched to thinking about what I want to do wihen I retire. Somewhere along the way I realized, that when I'm grown up, all I want to be is young again... but since I haven't figured out how to get off this train where I am growing old, I keep thinking about what I will do when I retire.

It seems to me the biggest problem with retiring which in my mind equates to discontinuing traditional employment is what am I to do with all my free time.

I have an uncanny knack of spending money like it is going out of style - working actually helps me keep my retail habit in check. So this retirement thing could really work out to be prohibitively expensive. Besides I have this ambition to finish seeing the world, and with all the elite frequent flyer status I've been qualifying for, I am getting used to the good life.. travelling coach will be a major hardship.

Retirement was starting to seem like a nuisance until I met the Sheths. The Sheths had just retired from AT&T after some 30 years of service. They were both in relatively good health, and wanted to experience different cultures.

So here they were on a 1 year contract with my company living and working in New Delhi. They went to new employee orientation with 22 year olds. And then came to work with gusto - Absent of any political affiliations or career ambitions, the Sheths had loyalty only to the integrity of their deliverables. And man, did they have a great time. They turned out some of the best work on the project, they saw every play in the city, attended every musical recital they were interested in and accompanied me to the Ananda spa. They made more friends in 12 months then i think I have in the last 5 years.

Every one of their friends in the US leveraged their presence in Delhi to complete a tour of the Golden Triangle, using the Sheths home as headquarters. 12 months later, after having sampled all that the city had to offer, the Sheths packed their bags and returned to their home in NJ to reconnect with family and friends. 3 months ago they did a stint in Australia, and now they are on their way to Denmark.

I now know what i want to do when I grow up (or retire) - I want to live like the Sheths - picking the country I want to visit - and going there to live and work like a local for a full 6-12 months rather than being a tourist.

Of course there are a few things I still need to learn from the Sheths. Though I've been living in Delhi for a full 2 years and speaking like a local, shopping at the usual malls and local markets - I have yet to see a play or go to a music recital. But I have many years to learn that.

The Dream Degenerates (Read Living the Dream, then The Dream Gone Sour and then this one)

Living and working in Inda - albeit for 2 years already, and perhaps for several more months is very much like dreaming.. sometimes it is more nightmare than dream..but definitely a transitory break from reality.

Now here's where I cannot tell whether the dream has crossed over into being a nightmare.......... its definitely not the same dream......

The alarm goes off at 4:45am . I step out of bed, hop into the shower, get dressed, pick up my "light briefcase" and head downstairs. Mukesh is waiting with the "commuter car" he uses to ferry himself from his home near the airport to work - which in his case is my home in Gurgaon.

My suitcase, packed the previous night by Salyani, for an overnight trip, is already sitting in the front seat (the trunk is too small for the suitcase). We make it to the airport in about 15-20 mins, and I battle my way in to catch my flight to Mumbai, Pune or Bangalore as the case may be for that particular day.

Thankfully, Lekhni has telechecked me in the previous night.. so I am assured of an aisle seat. You are only allowed one bag in the cabin. However, I had the foresight to acquire a dainty briefcase (yes a dainty briefcase, imagine me with a dainty briefcase) that could pass off for a large, ostentatious purse. So I stick my regular purse into the suitcase, and avoid the baggage check-in process. I wrestle my way through getting a boarding pass, and through security and onto the coach that takes me to the airplane.

I settle into my aisle seat, convert my versatile dupatta into a blanket and go back to sleep. I arrive at my destination, find my driver, and get to wherever I am supposed to work that day. Some places are good, others so-so. Arrive back at the hotel - quake at the ransom the company pays for you to sleep in a good hotel, go to sleep, hit the snooze bar a few times and wish you could sleep several more hours.

You return to work in another, not so strange anymore, city, fondly thinking of Gurgaon as home, and of the days when you actually excercised, rode a bike and pretended to be learning how to swim.. whatever happened to all that ?

When the Dream Goes Sour! (Read after you've read "Living the Dream")

Living and working in Gurgaon - albeit for 2 years already, and perhaps for several more months is very much like dreaming.. sometimes it is more nightmare than dream..but definitely a transitory break from reality.

Now for the same dream - gone sour!

The alarm goes off at 5:30am every morning. I hit the snooze bar, turn over and sleep some more..several times. Doorbell rings, persistently at 6;30 (Archana's been struggling with waking up too) and a sleepy Salyani opens the door for Archana, as I hastily change into my workout clothes. I moan and groan my way through an increasingly less taxing workout, and tell myself it is better than not working out at all.. When Archana leaves, I lay on the floor in Shava Asana and tell myself this is so I can wake up fully refreshed.

I scare Salyani who comes in with my cup of tea - cos she can't tell whether this is a really shava(corpse) that she is looking at, or me doing an asana. I attempt to revive myself, have some dysfunctional chats with my colleagues overseas, get engrossed in mail and before I know it it is 9am.

I rush through the shower and find that the 1 outfit out of about 30 that I wanted to wear, is in the wash... so I wear something else, scramble thru breakfast and rush downstairs. I have to carry my own briefcase (it wasnt packed when mukesh came for it), and my own lunch box (cos I've developed a contrary streak and want to carry it myself)

Mukesh the chauffeur comes after I call him on his cell phone - guard told him he couldnt idle that long outside the front door, so he had to go back to the car park.

Get to the office - same work, except now my ace resource comes into tell me that he is tired of India and wants to return home. The 2nd guy says that the competitor has offered him 3x the salary I pay him, he loves working for me, but not that much. The next guy comes into tell me that his team lead has called in sick with dengue. Forget about coping with new work, I am struggling to hang onto what I've already committed to do !

At the end of the day, I call my driver Mukesh, who again pulls the car to the door, and we head back home. We arrive at BPII where all I have to do is haul myself out of the car and take the elevator up. Mukesh follows with my briefcase and now empty lunchbox.

Salyani makes me hot rotli and sabji, I watch my favorite soaps while eating dinner, I worry about all the work that did not get done today, try to keep doing it until I fall asleep in the middle of composing an email. I pick myself up, check that the alarm is still set for 5:30 and retire to my bedroom.

At 2pm , I get a message that one of the critical servers has not come back up, and we cannot find a technician to resolve the problem. I wake up, make phone calls, somewhere somehow the server comes back up, I go to sleep.

On weekends, Archana or one of her colleagues, will stop by mid-day and administer what they call an accupressure massage. The rest of the weekend I hurt from the impact of the pressure.

Yes that too can happen!

Living the Dream!!!

Living and working in Gurgaon - albeit for 2 years already, and perhaps for several more months is very much like dreaming.. sometimes it is more nightmare than dream..but definitely a transitory break from reality.

So here is how the good dream goes.

The alarm goes off at 5:30am every morning. I step out of bed, looking forward to the day. I complete my morning ablutions, change into my workout clothes - the ones that show off my newly emerging muscles - and by 6:15 my trainer Archana arrives. We go through a varied routine every morning - some cardio, some breathing, some crunches, some stretches.. and by the time she leaves an hour later - I am energized and ready to face anything the day will bring forward.

The first thing the day brings forward, is Salyani with my tea. I drink my tea while I scan my mail and chat with colleagues in other countries, perhaps finish up a conference call or 2.

Tea finished, I get ready for the office. I pick out my clothes from the cupboard, where Salyani has hung them after washing, mending and ironing after the last time I wore them. After eating my freshly made wholesome breakfast - roti , sabji and chaash, I go downstairs.

Mukesh the chauffeur is waiting with the car right outside. In the car are my briefcase and lunch box. Lunch box packed with fresh cut fruit in an ice pack, and a water bottle wrapped in another ice pouch.

I go to the office, where my assistant - Tanuja in Okhla, Lekhni in Gurgaon, have my day organized for me - and I work. Work is mostly about figuring out how to cope with the increased business coming our way - staffing, training, streamlining, improving process and so on.

In contrast, my colleagues in other countries are worrying about how to reduce cost, how to protect their staffs from being laid off and find productive work for them, how to do more with less.

At the end of the day, I call my driver Mukesh, who again pulls the car to the door, and we head back home. We arrive at BPII where all I have to do is haul myself out of the car and take the elevator up. Mukesh follows with my briefcase and now empty lunchbox.

Salyani makes me hot rotli and sabji, I watch my favorite soaps while eating dinner and go to sleep.

On weekends, Archana or one of her colleagues, will stop by mid-day and administer what they call an accupressure massage. Occasionally I will visit my cousins, and or take my nephews to the movies.

Such is the stuff that dreams are made of.

The Heat is On On!!

You may have heard a jubilant singer belt out this song (from the 70s ? 60s ?)... I cannot remember any more of it.. but let me tell you.. these days, in Delhi.. the Heat is definitely On.On.. Oh yes it is!!

And there is nothing to rejoice about it. Unless you are a shredded mango, anxiously awaiting your transformation into chhunda, or cookie dough looking to be saved from certain spoilage by being transformed into a cookie.

Last night I returned to Delhi after a multi-city business trip. As on most business trips - the city was irrelevant - you go from plane to ac car to office to hotel etc. I was really looking forward to returning to my Delhi lifestyle (another blog).

As we prepared for landing they announced that the weather in Delhi was 44 degrees Celsius.....this was at 10pm at night. I have never lived in a place that gets this hot. 44 degrees Celsius - 111F - is the low setting in my oven in Poughkeepsie when I want to toast almonds and poha. !

The hot wind hit me as I stepped off the plane and onto the air stairs to the even more heat exuding coach that was waiting to ferry us into the terminal. Good thing I have a little more substance than poha or an almond, else I would surely be toast.

Fortunately the ac in the car works very well... and Mukesh remembers to spray the car for mosquitoes and cool the car down while he is waiting to pick me up.. so it is a relatively blissful journey home, until I step out of the car to enter the building and ferry myself up to the apartment. All of this takes less than the requisite 10-15 mins - so no cookie.. just irritated cookie dough.

I step into the apartment - had called ahead to ask Salyani to turn on the ac, the living room is like a blazing furnace, especially with the fan going full speed... the loose cable from which the AC switch has been dangling ever since I moved in - by the way this is typical in Delhi - why screw the thing in when you might need to unscrew it again in a few days - had decided to pop out this evening. So living room completely out of commission.

It is late so I decide to just retire to the bedroom with the nice split AC and go to sleep. Amazing - I step out of the bedroom about 30 mins later - what a difference between the cooled room and the rest of the apartment!

Thankfully, I turn in for the night......in my not stifling hot bedroom, then we lose power. Thankfully, even as I scream in frustration, the genset kicks in.. and the AC comes back on. Somewhere in the middle of the night power is restored.

And I wonder - how the folks who have no gensets, no ACs, no fans, no roofs - the ones that live on the kerb - how they must make it through each hot summer in Delhi, when I with my heavily pampered lifestyle am barely making it.

Sudoku

I first discovered Sudoku when browsing a book store in Gurgaon on a Sunday afternoon - over a year ago. I thought I was discovering something brand new rather than stumbling upon a phenomenon that every newspaper reader in most countries had already been exposed to (yes there are some disadvantages to getting all your news from the web or TV - even if accumulating a big pile of raddi newspapers is not one of them).

I bought my first Sudoku book that evening thinking this was crochet for the mind - a repetitive, low energy activity, that provided a mindless purpose for a short period of time, slightly addictive with a slight element of "intellectual" or geeky superiority... and one that would not do a number on your wrist and elbow as computer games sometimes do.

The big advantage sudoku has over crochet is that it does not require mountains of wool, nor does it result in piles of blankets sitting all around embarassing the beholders to acknowledge and admire them.

Sudoku puzzle books are also more compact and much easier to get rid of than crochet blankets - though I wonder how someone would react if I offered them a used sudoku puzzle book over an almost expert hand knit crotchet blanket. The disposition of used sudoku books does not involve the participation of a 3rd party and thereby satisfies my desire for independence.

So Sudoku has been my mental poison of choice for a little over a year now - I religiously complete a puzzle a day - often more. And I have learnt some important lessons from this game. I summarize them below:

1. It helps you practice total concentration - When you are doing a sudoku puzzle, there is little room for anything else in your mind. I was trying to call it meditation, until someone pointed out that I was confusing it with obsession - Obsession being a state in which your mind is captived by a single thought, idea or activity and meditation being a state in which your mind is devoid of thought, idea or activity - Clearly I have some ways to go before I get this meditation stuff down and approach nirvana.

2. Its a great conversation starter - it helps you connect with other sudoku enthusiasts when you indulge in sudoku in public places like book stores, airplanes etc. Like all conversation starters, sometimes it is good - sometimes not so good.

3. Every puzzle has a solution - irrespective of whether you will ever find it in your lifetime or not (if you dont believe me, just look in the back of the puzzle book)

4. The numbers remaining to be placed matter, but only slightly - it is the numbers that are missing in a given row, column or block that will prevail - making the difference between a solved and an unsolved puzzle.

This last one hit me while I was working on a puzzle this morning as it collided with the other problem I was pondering - the obsession of potential recruits with the "seniority" of the role rather than the deliverables and measurements of the positon.

I realized it does not matter how exciting a job I may have to offer someone, unless it fulfils his or her needs; of their being able to make it sound like a significant career jump amongst their social circle, it just isn't going to fly. That in this world I live in - accomplishments and business results are only significant if they are ratified by the social and peer group. They are relevant only if they translate into the artifacts that this society recognizes. Sigh!You'd think I'd remember after have been a star recruiter for Perfect Placement. Some people just have to keep learning.

Now for some of you stretching lessons from one activity to another may be very commonplace - but for me this is still very new, wondrous and fascinating.

Dev Bhumi

I was born and raised in a Hindu family. I went to a Catholic school. I have Jewish and Christian relatives, and some of the dearest people in my life are Muslims. I have experienced peace and the presence of a greater being at the Vatican in Rome , the Jama Masjid in Delhi, the Aarti in Haridwar and at the Suvarna Mandir in Amritsar. Religion has never taken center stage in my life. And I'd be hard pressed to tell you whether I am an agnostic or a Hindu.

All I know is that I take pleasure in doing the surya namaskar each morning - greatful for a new dawn, even as the namaskar sends the blood coursing to muscles that are only now making their presence felt. The surya namaskar always makes me feel warm and out of breath as I struggle through the transition from pose 7 to 8.

India - more so than any other country has been witness to religion turning neighbor against neighbor. And yet all these great religions coexist here in harmony. There is a large Hindu temple and a Gurudwara of great significance within walking distance of the great Jama Masjid. Places of worship seem to be clustered together rather than pigeonholed in different neigborhoods. Is this coincidence or part of a diabolical plan to ensure that no one religion stakes its claim on a neighborhood ? I don't know.

The other peculiar thing I noticed is that though India is a secular country, with Hindus being the vast majority..... every rickshaw driver, every truck driver will bow his head to a place of worship irrespective of his faith.

Personally, I have yet to get comfortable saying Jai Srikrishna, Khuda Hafiz, Shalom or Sat Sri Akal - to recognize these as acknowledgements of the other's religion rather than a committment to a specific faith.

Last year, I had the opportunity to visit Haridwar - Hari (God) - dwar (door). It is located at the point at which the holy Ganges - Gangaji or Ganga ma - emerges from the mountains into the plains.

We'd really gone to Ananda in the Himalayas - a spa designed to make you believe in something... I am not sure what - perhaps to make you believe that it is worth working very hard and accumulating a lot of wealth so that you can then afford to vacation at Ananda. Ananda was everything the brochures said and far more. Up on a hill - far away from the dirt, noise and bustle, surrounded by luxury, rose petals, elegance and abundance - it was very easy to believe you were god, or certainly very close to God.

After a full 24 hours of this and other treatments... we descended to Haridwar. We gathered at the Har-ki-Podi (the feet of the Gods) along with other devotees to witness the aarti. To say that I was a non-believer and very skeptical of the goings-on around me would be an understatement. But you've got to witness the aarti once in your life, and this was my turn.

The lamps were lit. The horns were sounded. The images of the Gods were prepared for the night. The chanting began and the aarti blared over the loudspeakers. Money was collected for prayers. Baskets of flowers with lamps were sold. I decided to participate - I bought some prayers and some lights and floated them along with hundreds of other devotees. Believer or non-believer, that was a truly moving and magical experience.

The next morning we took a cable car to the top of one of the surrounding hills, to the temple of Mansa Devi. People say that if there is something you really want, ask Mansa Devi and your wish will come true. I asked for stability at my data center (i had had many sleepless nights as our systems kept going under..and this was truly what I wanted most). The first week upon my return we had an outage, and I thought perhaps it was because I lacked faith.. but in the next few weeks things started to shape up. Some people say it is because of the focus and discipline I brought in. Sometimes I think it was just sheer luck. Other times I think it is because I really wanted the stability. But always I think, that perhaps, just perhaps Mansa Devi had something to do with it.

It suited me to believe it was Mansa Devi - so a few weeks ago I went back to Haridwar and the Temple of Mansa Devi. The idea was to go back and offer thanks, and perhaps ask for something else. All the way there - I kept trying to decide on the one thing I wanted most. There were so many and prioritization was not easy. When I made it to the front of the line, my elevator speech abandoned me - all I could do was acknowledge her presence in my world and ask her to watch over me.

Living in this Dev Bhumi (God's land) perhaps I too have become a believer.

Kajra Re

"Kajra Re, Kajra Re, Tere kale kale naina...." I first heard this song at Bana's house. Her then 2 year old son reacts well to lively music - this was a guaranteed to distract away the tears kind of tune.

Now I must state up front that I have never been a fan of Bollywood, nor have I been particularly fond of dancing. My parents enrolled me in dance class when I was in the 2nd standard. 3 classes later, I informed them that I was done. I preferred reading and elocution. I was the classic wallflower at every party I ever went to.

So never in a zillion years did I think I'd be writing a blog carrying the same title as a popular Hindi song... then again I did not know what a blog is - so maybe this is also a limit of my imagination.

Now I have this cousin (actually that sounds like the name of another blog I've been thinking of) who is a very accomplished dancer. She trained with the Padma Shree Birju Maharaj and is rated as a Class 1 artist by Doordarshan.

Parul (the cousin) was part of the "Diwali at Hema's Space Station" event in 2005 essentially . I had recently acquired a new music system but I did not have very good music - and I had NO hindi music. So DD - who wanted to go to the mall more than she wanted to listen to music - volunteered to walk to the mall and pick up some music for us. In the stack she brought back was Kajra Re.

Parul danced to all of the music for us, encouraging us wallflowers to participate. She has a graceful flowing style, and there is nothing she enjoys more than sharing her art form with the people around her. The classical moves were well beyond my abilities, but this free form bollywood style - this I could do. Parul took it upon herself to teach me to dance. We danced all weekend long. And when our 1-year old grand-niece - Dhruvbhai's granddaughter Pia came to visit - we danced with her.

Kajra Re has now become my signature song - everytime I hear it I just have to get up and start dancing. On occasion I have also used it as a fairly effective threat - Listening to the song does become a little complicated when I am listening to it while sitting in the back of my car on my way to work... after all it would be very inappropriate to scare the chauffeur.

Seriously though - it is a great song with great visuals, great sound, beat, dance moves.. but I think I like it most because it reminds me of the wonderful time we had that Diwali, and all the wonderful times I continue to have since then.

Today I rode the bike again

No, no this is not going to turn into a journal of bike riding, though come to think of it, what is wrong with that ?

This morning, Archana, my yoga teacher said we were going to ride my bike.

Okay bike riding is not exactly Yoga, but then Archana is more fitness trainer than yoga teacher. She told me the other day that I could lose weight with breathing excercises, but it was likely to take longer than her and my lifetime put together.

Archana rings my bell at 6:30 every morning (and this is our winter schedule - in the summer it was 6am) . Every morning when I wake up somewhere between 5:45 and 6:15 I have this crazy urge to send her an SMS asking to skip the class, and huddle back under the covers. I have done it once maybe twice under dire circumstances. More often, I drag my feet at the beginning of the class, and Archana is constantly looking for ways to snap me out of it.

We did tubes one morning (loved it.. but hurt like hell for days), gym ball a few times, dumb bells... I am amazed at the repertoire she carries in her gym bag. And we havent even got to basket ball and swimming yet. Swimming wont happen for a long time cos they've drained the BPII pool following the dengue scare. Besides its too cold to swim right now. Who knows what place I will be in in life by the time they fill that pool again. Besides I dont know that I have the physical and moral fortitude to swim.

So anyway, the biggest quandary after acquiring the bike on Saturday and learning how to ride it on Sunday was how would I practice so that it became second nature, and I could lose some of my inhibitions. Besides, the fact is that I can ride a bike, but I need help starting it, I panic like hell when I see another car, bike, human or animal (yes you have to worry about them too in Delhi) alongside me; I struggle with the brakes and until this morning I could not turn. So okay, "I rode a bike" "I can ride a bike" all these would be slight euphemisms. Best case I would have to wait till next Saturday to ride the bike.

So I was thrilled when Archana said we would ride the bike today. But then reality hit me. The forecast had been for a frigid night... so chances were it would be pretty cold in the morning. And it was still dark out. The good news is that most of Delhi is asleep at 6:30 in the morning. I was not likely to make a spectacle of myself at that hour - Archana's biggest dread is that I will run into another of her clients who will comment on the excercise. (She had told one of her other clients she was teaching me to ride a bike, and the comment back was "Why ? Doesn't she have a car ? Why would she want to ride a bicycle at her age ?"- this from an upper middle class resident of BPII who pays a personal trainer to come excercise her every day - Archana who herself had ridden her scootie from her home some 5 kms away, and who is always freezing, said it was not so cold. So I said "in that case to hell with what the neighbors think".

It was dark and cold downstairs. But the chauffeurs - the biggest gossip network in town - and the cars were not up and about. Archana held the bike steady issuing instructions in Hindi.

First thing that passed us was 2 women who looked like they were in their 40s. They were talking about me!!! When I got closer one of them cheered me on, and said "Hey if you learn to ride a bike, maybe we too will be inspired to do the same!" Does anybody in this city know how to ride a bike ??????? Ok so I exaggerate - my cousin Bana from down the street and her 6 almost 7 year old son are avid bikers, and I have an invite to come ride my bike down their street any day. Right Bana... so a precocious 7 year old and a 3 year old on a tricycle can roll on the floor laughing as they watch me wrestle the bike for control.

Anyway - I rode the bike - I panicked when I saw a car coming out of the garage - struggled with the brakes, struggled with the restart.....blah blah blah.. I completed 4 rounds of BPII - 3 of them without Archana . Status - I think I've figured out how to apply the brakes instead of trying to stop the bike with my feet, I can make 90 degree turns - next time I have to try circles - though why would anyone want to go around in circles ? - and I still panic (but I do that even when I drive a car - and I've been driving a car for 20 years so maybe that isnt going anywhere for a while ? ) . It was exhilirating, and I cannot wait to ride again.

Fine Wine Anyone ?

18 months is a long time. I have many things to write about. I will probably never write all of them, but I will try to capture the highlights. This is something that happened around Independendence Day the previous year (Aug 15th 2005).

I had been in India less than 3 months. I still followed the instructions of the travel doctor in Poughkeepsie to the T. "Every morning after you shower, slather on the mosquito repellent, when that dries slather on the SPF 90 to prevent sunburn." Wear sunglasses and a hat, light colored or white clothes. And if you want to absolutely avoid sunburn and insect bites, try not to leave the hotel room.. -okay that last bit was part of my strategy. I did not eat raw fruits and vegetables, only drank bottled water and clutched my passport with both hands at all times. However, I was still enamored by Indian food, and made it a point to never eat anything else, except perhaps American Chop Suey at the Chinese restaurant.

I was on a business trip to Bangalore. A friend was going to be meeting me there the next day, and we were going to travel on to Ooty where we would stay at the home of someone whom I had perhaps met before, though neither of us could swear to it. We would be staying there courtesy the friend who was meeting me in Bangalore.

I was a captive at the Park hotel, having dismissed the Hertz car for the evening. So I decided to check out the restaurants in the hotel. After much back and forth, it seemed that the Italian restaurant was my best option. Having eaten in some of the finest Italian restaurants on the Atlantic and Pacific seaboard, my expectations of food, quality, service etc were low.

So I was very surprised when they brought me a wine list. I opened it , very patronizingly, thinking the concept of a wine list at a Italian restaurant in Bangalore was nothing short of absurd.

Imagine then, my surprise, when the very first wine on the list was a beautiful Burgundy from Casa d'Estronel in the South of France, with a whopping price tag of some INR 12,000 or about US$270. Now do not for a moment get the impression that I am deeply acquainted with wines or am able to quote memorable wines. I just happened to have had this wine at a very special celebration in Feb of 2005 at the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park. The CIA has a very well stocked cellar and they do a very fine job of pairing the right wines with the right food and ambience. We had enjoyed the wine so much that I had gone looking for this wine in various stores and on the internet.

Now I was in a dilemma. I had finally found this wine. If I did my math right, I really could afford the wine - so what if it was more than the salaries of all my household staff put together. If I was brutally honest, I could not afford the wine. After all, wealth, poverty aren't these all states of mind..? And when would I ever be presumptuous enough to think I could buy such an expensive bottle of mind.

It was clear that I lacked the strength to buy the bottle that very evening. It was also clear that I lacked the moral conviction to decide I would not buy the bottle at all. It was time to secure both options.

The helpful staff explained that the restaurant opened at 1pm - well after my scheduled departure. Just as I was starting to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking that perhaps I will not have the option to buy it after all - they informed me that they could leave it with the coffee shop. Aaah but we will not have glasses - " Oh do not worry madame, we will get you glasses. ....And yes we take American Express."

I really did have the option to buy this bottle of wine. I decided to test my conviction by sleeping over the decision.

It was a long night during which I made a phone call to the US, many trips to the Internet and asked myself over and over again if I had the nerve . Morning came, and I was as undecided as I had ever been.

I related the entire story to my friend. "That is just a little more than I would spend on a bottle of wine myself". "Yes, it is a lot of money.. but what the heck... why am I here working so hard if I cannot buy myself this indulgence.. after all this is a bottle of wine I've been looking for for a while..." "Well we don't have glasses... " "Yeah but they will give us some..." "Alright lets do it - but only if they give us the good glasses"

So we sought out the coffee shop waiter, and asked if he could fetch us the bottle of wine. The coffee shop had no instructions from the restaurant, who clearly must have encountered many clients like me. "But wait, let me make some few phone calls". 15 minutes later the whole thing had been sorted out, and the bottle was presented for our inspection. The maitre'd packed a pair of glasses, took my American Express card and handed us the bottle of wine.

While they were packing the glasses we struck up a conversation with the maitre'd. They only had the 1 bottle of this special wine. They sold about 1 every year. This was the first they had sold in as long as he could remember. He was sure we would really enjoy it.

We decided not to share it with the friends in Ooty - after all, I might have met the wife ... but I could not remember what she looked like. She did not remember me either. This turned out to be a very good decision , since the couple turned out to be teetotallers.

We decided to save the bottle for my next trip to Mumbai.

Today I rode a bicycle

Today I rode a bicycle without falling off !! For the very first time in my life. It was exhilirating and liberating but only after I got over the fear of falling down.

My last attempt to ride a bike was when I was about 7 years old. I recall vividly - my 3 brothers taking me to the compound of a local municipal school. We rented a bike from the bike shop across from New Talkies. It was a little bike - to match my height, emerald green in color. I remember falling down multiple times, despite my brothers efforts. And I remember after the nth fall, my brothers saying it was time to call it a day and that I really did not need to learn how to ride a bike.

I do not remember exactly how I felt - but it could not have been too bad, given that I had not attempted to mount a bike since. Over the years, I've ridden stationary bikes in the gym and cars have been a pretty satisfactory means of transport. But in the last few years I've thought about learning how to ride a bike - especially after I heard about all the biking vacations and how much fun those could be.

Sadly, I was too embarassed to admit that I could not ride a bike. Unfortunately such an admission is the key to getting started with the bikes. I was further embarassed after I mentioned this to Salyani. Salyani is a young woman in her late teens, who cooks and cleans for me. She was born and raised in a remote part of Assam. She had not seen a TV set or a movie prior to coming to Delhi. I gave her her first paying job. There are many things Salyani has not had exposure to, but she too rides a bike.

About 2 months ago, the young niece with the indomitable spirit that persuaded me to start blogging, posted a blog on biking to the waterfronts of Mumbai on Saturday morning. And I recall thinking that that was an incredible way to see the city I love. And I thought it was pretty sad that I could not bike. But when she blogged about biking around Pondicherry, and getting a valet to park her bike.. .I knew I could not put this off much longer.

Teaching me how to ride a bike became the big project in my household. Mukesh - my chauffeur and Archana the Yoga teacher came with me to the bike shop to help pick out a bike - both complained about the price of bikes these days. We brought the bike home and parked it outside the apartment. Last night Salyani watched over me as I rode the bike in the long hallway of my apartment, and tried hard not to laugh.

This afternoon Archana and her colleague took me to an alley behind Beverly Park II where they held the bike steady as I attempted to ride it. Thre were a handful of spectators. I did not notice anyone I knew.. but there are many people I do not know who seem to know me.

I was doing well until I noticed Archana running alongside me - she was not holding the bike. I almost fell off. After I steadied myself and had been riding around for a bit. Archana asked me to go take a break and rest up a bit. Then she started teaching Aarti how to ride..... So much for me thinking I was the only one on the planet that could not ride.

New Years Day 2007

In 2005, I let the legendary Delhi fog and the associated snafus keep me from venturing out. Consequently New Years Day 2006 was a very cold, lonely and depressing. The hangover from the night spent drinking and celebrating with people much younger than I, underscored the folly of my decision and I only brightened up when I landed in the Ahmedabad sunshine for Utran in the middle of January. But that was 2005.

So this year - I snapped up the first invite I got to go to warm Mumbai, and rushed out of town. I purchased tickets such that I was only travelling in daylight. That way the fog would not stop me.

The plans worked out very well.. and the entire weekend was a whirlwind of activities, new experiences, old friends, good company, and mostly warm not hot, not cold, just warm - sunshine. No hangover, despite the plentiful Sula Brut, just the great warm feeling of a weekend spent among loved ones. Lots of drama and enjoyment - but that is not the topic of this post.

I caught a late afternoon flight, designed to arrive in Delhi right before the fog rolled in. We departed Mumbai on schedule and had an uneventful ride until our descent into Delhi. I started to congratulate myself on my great luck. And then, just like that , right after I could see the traffic on NH8, the airplane ascended and flew away from Delhi. Visibility had just dropped to an unacceptable level, and ours was the first flight to be turned away. The flight 70 seconds ahead of us was allowed to land. Clearly my calculations were in need of a little more calibration if I was to stay on the edge rather than fall over it.....

I braced myself for the nightmare ahead even as I reminded myself it would be more fun if I pretended it was an adventure.

A couple of hours later we alighted at Jaipur airport. We actually landed there an hour later, but they kept us on the plane for an extra hour. There was the usual mad melee of sorting out what was to happen next as 300 Type A passengers tried to find their luggage, the coach that would take them to Delhi or a coach that would take them to their hotel. There was a government official on board who had someone carry his bag for him. There were several folks returning from a New Year's Eve Party in Mumbai.... There was a smart young woman and her colleague who had a car waiting to take them to Gajraula that evening - I never could figure out what business she was in, but it sounded very very intriguing. It seemed that everyone was determined to get to work the next morning. There was much talk of taking the coach to Delhi.

I messaged my various well wishers and minders - some of whom were already aware of the fact that my flight had been diverted and had started making hotel reservations for me. I was advised not to attempt to drive into Delhi as the fog had turned really ugly and we could be stranded on the road.

I was impressed by the Jet Airways staff - they were polite, calm and collected. Not particularly organized - come to think of it I was itching to help them get the logistics together but very polite and unflappable. So I got my name on a list for the hotel and boarded the coach for the hotel, and sat in the seat right by the door so I could be the first one to get off. Silly me, I thought that would help me get the first room when we got to the hotel.

There was yet another unflappable, courteous and equally disorganized gentleman at the hotel counter. The general way of assigning rooms was to allow everyone to stand around and stick their boarding passes at him. Priority was given to people holding multiple boarding passes, as it was assumed that these would be people sharing rooms. Room after room was assigned to families and couples. But after the young lady from Gajraula finished getting her 2 rooms - 1 for the colleague and 1 for herself - "cos I cannot possibly share the room with a man" - I could not stop myself.

I asked the young man behind the counter to explain the system he was using to prioritize the allocation of rooms. The man picked up on my foreign accent, and decided it was too much trouble to explain - he just grabbed my boarding pass and assigned the next room to me. Relieved I went upstairs to my assigned room. Despite the modern lobby and the pretty christmas lights, the room was shabby - I got the distinct impression that the hotel was under renovation. For a while I was persuaded to spread my shawl on the sheets so I did not have to make contact with them. I told myself to get over it. The bathroom had all the appropriate plumbing fixtures, it even had 2 towels and 2 tiny bars of soap.

I went down to the buffet dinner that had been prepared for us. It looked like the stranded passengers were the only guests at this hotel. While we were eating the guy from the front desk came in and aggressively and tactlessly tried to get people to share rooms with some of the folks who had not been assigned a room yet. I left before he spotted me and decided to ask me to share.

At 5:45 am they knocked on our doors, and told us breakfast was ready, and the coach would depart at 6:30. Not having learnt my lesson - I was the first person on the coach at 6:20. I had the prize seat again and when the coach finally arrived at Jaipur airport at 8am - it did not leave till 7:30- I was the first one in line waiting to get my boarding pass for Delhi. When I got to the counter , it was the same lady from the previous night who politely asked me to wait till they closed the flight to Mumbai.

I hovered, and a young man politely asked me to make way for the folks going to Mumbai. Finally the Mumbai flight was closed and once again I joined the line. Meanwhile my co-passengers from the previous night had all lined up at a different counter. When I finally got to the counter they redirected me to the other line. I stood in line for an hour. When a passenger 2 places ahead of me got to the counter, they told him the Delhi flight was full and they did not have a seat left for him .

While the rest of the passengers engaged in a shouting match, I stepped aside and sought the help of one of my well wishers to get me a car to drive me to Delhi. She undiplomatically informed me that had I taken the car at 6:30 instead of now, I'd have been arriving in Delhi around now. After that I had a pleasant uneventful ride arriving home a full 24 hours after I'd left my parents home in Mumbai. New Years Day was almost over. The rest of the year can only get better.

About Poisonwood - Desidiary

For 2 years now, I've sat on the sidelines envying the bloggers that share, document and sometimes entertain with their uninhibited expression of feelings and opinions. Today, thanks to the unrelenting persuasive efforts of a niece with an indomitable spirit , I join their ranks with my first post.

So lets start with the name of this blog - Poisonwood - Desidiary. Why such a complicated name ? Because - all the cute names I could think of are taken. Seriously though -

I learnt about Poisonwood from Barbara Kingsolver's novel "The Poisonwood Bible" - a very unappealing title - until I needed to read it to impress someone.

The lesson of the poisonwood is one of the most relevant and powerful lessons I took away from the book : It does not matter how successful and smart you think you are. It is presumptous, indeed perilous, to believe that you can affect the lives of people that seem less successful and smart than you, until you have achieved success by the the rules of the environment they live in. And oh by the way - they may actually be far more successful than you first thought, perhaps more so than you.

Desidiary : Perhaps it is my age, or the place I am at in life... or it is just the incredible experience that is India - but every single day here is remarkable - every single day my life is enriched by a experience, nuance, subtlety that takes my breath away.

And so welcome to this - my diary of my experience in my desh -to which I thought I had returned to teach the local people a thing or two.......and 18 months later I find that the balance of trade is still very much in my favor.