The Indian Sweater Vest

If I were more of an *$$ I would have pictures of the vast array of sweater vests I see on the men in Gurgaon (if not all of India). I'm not sure if it's a winter thing, but they are everywhere. What makes them so incredibly special are the wild colors. When I refer to the colors, I'm not talking about your 'run of the mill' Indian colors of deep purples and greens and beautiful blues and yellows. I'm talking about the in your face day-glo purple pinks, mustards with gold metallic threads woven through, swimming pool blue. And the cable of the sweaters! Thick, patterned, almost home-knitted looking. Where do the men get these sweaters? At Big Bazaar (I'll search next time I'm there...)? Gifts from their mothers? Their girlfriends? Do these disco sweaters catch the eyes of these men on the rack, outshining the sweatshirts, the button downs, the graphic T's? What is it all about?

If I learn anything in India, it must be the mystery of the sweater vest!

On that same note, I'm absolutely excited to go to Egypt and to test my theory on why on their canned sodas the tab pulls off instead of opens into the cans (as one finds in the US and most of the world). I believe it's to prevent any part of the outside can to go into the consumable beverage...there are rampant germs and bacteria in this world. I think it's kind of genius, but I want to know the TRUE reason! I guess I'll find out in a few weeks :)

(next post will have pictures...I promise!)

India 2012: Tampon shopping, a very bling bling experience

Depending on what part of the world you're in, finding tampons is sometimes an exhausting experience, and when a girl wants to be comfortable tampons are the way to go (yes girls, you understand me). So you can imagine my chagrin when I realized that I'd have to go on a quest to find the little buggers here in India. Grrr

First, I called the concierge at the front desk to see if there was a pharmacy nearby (in my experience, the pharmacy is usually the place to go. Nope. Out of luck, no pharmacy in the huge mall right next door to the hotel. I'd have to take a car and ask a driver to go to the nearest one. However, I learned that if I wanted, I could call down and arrange for someone to pick up anything I wanted at the pharmacy. Now that's just ludicrous I thought...No, I'd call down again and ask a girl, woman to woman, where in the world did one find tampons.

The next time I called down, I struck gold! Not only did I get a girl, but she directed me to the mall next door where there was a big department cum grocery store, where I could find all of those goodies. So I slipped on a pair of shoes, threw on my Club Monaco camel wool cardigan with suede elbow patches (thanks Scott!) the very same garment in which I nearly passed out in the back of a cab from heat exhaustion earlier that evening, and took a jaunt to the mall.

The malls in Gurgaon are intense. There are many malls with many stores. After going every which way for a while (I learned here that most people who work in stores just really don't know where other stores or amenities are other than their store), I found Big Bazaar. And even better, I found a whole shelf of pads -- surrounded by aisles of clothes, trinkets and electronics. 'Hmm straaaange,' I thought but at least I was on the right track. A man behind a counter asked if he could help me, to which I replied,

- "Yes, do you also sell tampons or just pads?"

- "Yes there are pads behind you?

- "Yes but do you also sell tampons? Not just pads?" Gesture to the piles of pads on the shelf

- "They are right there" Gesture to the same humongous pile of pads on the shelf

- "Yes but those are pads, do you also sell tampons"

- "You want diapers?"

- "No, not diapers. I'm looking for tampons. You know...pads and tampons"

- "Ohh Whisper brand, yes they are in the grocery section"

- "No, not a brand, tampons. I want tampons"

- "Maybe if you can explain their function to me...?"

(To which point I thought...'Should I really say, you know every month women stick them into themselves to stop the flow of blood....usually men are kind of grossed out by the whole process but since you asked...')

- "Ermmm same function as pads," I decided to stay instead

- "OHHH yes, they are also in the grocery section to the left. So how about you look at some jewelry. It's 60% off."

- "Jewelry??? No I don't want to look at jewelry"

- "But very nice jewelry, good sale. I show you jewelry now. 60% off"

exit Kiyomi

But at least I found them AND discovered a treasure trove of grocery goodies under the Ambiance mall:

Buy this container AND receive a free kilo of sugar! Now that's what I call a deal!

Every samosa seller's dream: 5 gallon jugs of sunflower oil

Rice by the kilo flavored with mother hands, baby hands manly hands, store clerk hands, everyone's hands!

And I found a mini photo studio which does passport size photos. Even more amazing (spoiler alert if you have a birthday coming up soon), I can get my face printed on a heart shaped pillow!!! Amazing. Sigh, India is great. So ridiculous and fun. And I've successfully avoided the 12 day "welcome to India" present of digestive track issues. And since I just wrote this, I'll probably get sick tomorrow :)

Mumbai, but I digress

Not sure what this little Assyrian Bull is doing holding up a building in Colaba, but I loves these guys!

After a whirlwind day in Mumbai, which constituted my very first day in India all those years ago (about 1.1 years to be exact), I once again found myself in this rather charming (South Bombay) city, where relics of past centuries and rulers are strewn across the landscape and tall, imposing (not to mention slightly eerie) apartment buildings overlook slums. It is a mix, Mumbai is, which describes India well in many ways.

Thanks to WWII strength blackout curtains, I didn't wake up until 11:45am on Saturday! I don't remember the last time I slept in that late, but maybe my body was telling me 'sleeeeeeep', or maybe it was because I found this pretty awesome site, The India Tube, and spent hours looking up cool , hip places to see in India. Oops.

I have no idea why I thought I could walk the 12km from Parel to Colaba; the doubt in my Indian friend's words so heavy, I could feel it across the Internet and countless time zones away (how do you count a half time zone anyway? I'm 10.5 hrs off from New York for anyone who cares). And he was right. Unless you're in Colaba and a few other parts of town, Mumbai is just not a walking city. India is not a walking country. It just isn't done. I already touched upon this topic before, so I won't go into detail, but the infrastructure just isn't set up in a manner that allows for easy walking, easy public transportation for that matter.

After weaving my way through a few bric-a-brac market places, past stalls selling samosas freshly fried in deep pans of oil, I found myself on the most depressing, busy street ever, a street that follows the train track, the metro track-word to the wise: the doors of the metro don't close-corrugated metal sided and roof shacks and a whole bunch of wood paneling/floor shops. At least I know where to go to get hardwood floors if I ever decide to redo an apartment in Mumbai, but after passing the fifth shop, my resolve to get some exercise died, along with all of the spare fresh air in my lungs, and I hailed a taxi. BEST DECISION OF MY LIFE

Colaba is what one sees of Mumbai when one is a tourist. This by no means detracts from the true beauty of the place, however. There are some quite amazing buildings in the area, left over from British colonial times, blackened, which only makes the buildings look cooler. Trees shade the sidewalks, their branches reaching down like tentacles that gentle brush the heads of passerby-ers. Those coupled with heavy stone paved roadwork, well how could it not invoke the feeling of being in another era. This Mumbai, South Bombay, well it pulsates with pedestrian life and perhaps that is why a like it so much. I like walking cities. I like to meander, to explore, to aimlessly wander, without too much risk of being hit by an oncoming bus or sideswiped by a kamikaze rickshaw.

As for food, well if you're going to India not as a backpacker (because this meal cost more than 3 or 4 nights of backpacker accommodations) and are DYING for a salad, go to Indigo near Taj Mahal Hotel. They also do what looks like decent desserts and bakery items, pastas, etc. My new love are sprouts. Not like the bean sprouts with white semi-translucent stems, but sprouted beans and lentils of various sorts (it reminds me of my grade school science project: 'The Effect of MSG on Mung Bean Sprouts'. Summary of findings: Not good). Furthermore, try their chickoo shake.

Next I did some high fashion shopping at Bombay Electric. The first time around I failed to find this little boutique and instead found the intense, sprawling slums that are a little south of Taj Mahal. Bombay Electric is Mumbai's equivalent to Opening Ceremony, promoting modern, edgy, avant garde-y fashion design. It was a cool store, but unless I missed something, quite small with limited inventory. Or maybe I'm a spoiled New Yorker. One thing that I did successfully find there was the magazine, Motherland. It's associated with The India Tube and is a bi-monthly magazine that brings a fresh perspective on trends, issues, etc. in India. I truly look forward to their next issue.

After my shopping expedition (which required some sleuthing on my part to locate a paper shop, that's praises I overheard while sitting in the courtyard of BE), I made my way to Britannia, a Persian-Indian restaurant. Once I got there, I realized my stupid mistake, it being Saturday, and Britannia of course being closed. SIGH

But no matter because a cab appeared out of nowhere to whisk me 'home'. And that's when I realized:

A FREAKING BIRD, whose cousins I so deftly avoided all day, SHAT ON ME. And not only shat on me, but on my new white cotton-silk shirt. Literally seconds before I hopped into the cab. SHAT ON ME. As I snapped out of my paralysis of seeing the mess on my arm, my senses went into overload. First thing registered: oh my god, I can feel the wetness on my arm. Second thoughts, 'GET IT OFF! KFC the bird! Flying Rat, bird diseases'. I was so close to wiping it onto the nearest thing (re: nuclear green upholstery of the car), but stopped myself in time. Luckily the driver conjured up some ominous looking rags that no more gained nor lost from the addition of one more substance.

'Crap,' I thought. 'Crap crap crap!' (literally) So much for my being an adult who can wear adult clothes. But then again, perhaps a delicate white shirt was not exactly the best choice to wear during a Mumbai adventure. Case in point:

1. A bird shat on me

2. My black backpack, rubbed black dye into my shirt

3. Other mysterious speckles made its way on my shirt through the course of the day

4. In Mumbai you sweat and there are a lot of cars/dirt around. This combination comes off onto your clothes (not to be gross but I think I've crossed that point already so no matter)

= ruined shirt, or a shirt that at least the hotel's dry cleaning services could do nothing for. Absolutely no single stain was removed. Last hope is go back to New York, whenever I actually get to go back, and take it to the very best.

But I digress...no I don't! That's what I find so amazing about being in new places, or experiencing in general. All the little things, the mundane but absolutelyfreakinghilarious. A bird shat on me. When I finally get something dry cleaned-in the land of silk saris-it doesn't work. I over paid a rickshaw driver x4 to get to me to correct airport terminal after making an almost fatal (travel-wise) mistake-after having to take taxi the last km to the airport because my first rickshaw broke down. One thing about overpaying is that the driver drives FAST. He made my day, for he got me there on time, and I made his by grossly overpaying him, and in the end gladly overpaying him especially as he touched the fare to his meter and said what was probably a little pray of thanks. Even taking a bite of an ominous looking and tasting airplane dessert and thinking, 'this is probably going to haunt me later,' but still eating a bit more: hilarious. I mean, why not. It's really what life is anywhere, and I can only hope that I will always be able to see the ridiculousness of situations, experiences, people, MYSELF! I can only hope that I will never take myself too seriously, will never not be able to laugh at something later, even though it boils my blood now. Life: take it with a grain of salt, right?

(oh yeah, so I'm being horrible with pictures and even worse will long rambly posts that next to no one will read. But I realized that at least I'll be able to remember all the little things about my trip here :D )

India 2012: Food and TV Commercials

Okay first of all...yeah yeah I need to take some better, more interesting pictures. Okay okay. But I decided to pack 'light' and not bring my digital camera, after not using it once in South East Asia. However, I did bring my backpacker's backpack, my heavy duty hiking boots, and a rain jacket, 'just in case' I went somewhere fun. Now I'm kind of regretting not bringing my waterproof pants since I'm itching to go to NEPAL for a weekend (as in a day and a half). YES! But I'm not sure how I'm going to explain my unusual carry on to my colleagues.

Anyway, back on topic. My favorite dish I've had so far in India is tandoori jhinga (prawns)--giant Cochin prawns. Maybe I've mentioned these little critters before, but they are THAT GOOD! But you know what I really want; raw veggies. As in a salad.

A pure, simple salad. My arugula salad with pear, thinly sliced onions, and shaved parmigiano reggiano, dressed with balsamic vinegar/olive oil and salt and pepper. Delicious sweet, syrupy balsamic and liquid gold olive oil. MMM that's really want I want. This trip around, I'm 'braving' it and am eating raw vegetables. I'm sure that eventually my luck with run out and I'll have a terrible night, morning, night and morning, since it's always hotel food that gets you sick; you let your guard down and then the food brings you down looooowwww.

Food Discoveries (from India and Beyond):

- Papaya is DELICIOUS! It doesn't smell like dead bodies when it's actually fresh

- Dragon fruit is quite possibly the most anticlimactic fruit ever. It's beautiful on the outside, beautiful on the inside, and tasteless all around. SIGH. And I was so excited to see that they're a dollar in South East Asia. I thought I'd GORGE.

- You can never eat too much papad

Commercials! India Style!

Commercials in India are hilarious. Lots of cultural specific references, lots of making fun of Indian stereotypes, lots of singing and dancing!

I guess a good song and dance can sell anything. Nope it's not just contained in Bollywood movies (okay not really the legit thing but you get the gist). FANTASTIC FUN! HA

And you know how lightening and whitening creams are all the rage. Well ever heard of whitening deodorant? This isn't even the first commercial I've seen. Dove is jumping on the bandwagon, following in the whitening and brightening deodorant footsteps of Nivea. Hmm wonder if it works HAHA

India: The Familiar, the Funny, The Fantastic

So in my last post I was going to talk about the differences and similarities between this 'trip' and my previous one, and I kind of forgot to talk about the similarities.

India does not feel like home; it is not a familiar place. Yet oddly enough I find myself falling into bouts of nostalgia from time to time from the little things that I see or experience.

One of the most memorable scenes I have of India are men getting shaves on the side of the road. Noses tipped in the air, these men nonchalantly expose their necks to deadly sharp straight razors as people closely pass by, not giving any notice to this manly ritual taking place. Every time I see this I think "hmm now I could use a a shave on the back of my neck," but then I remind myself that I am indeed growing out my hair, a shave being rather contradictory to those plans.

And a little more than a year after I first arrive to India, I find myself back in Pune to attend another wedding-related festivity within the same family (yes people did wonder, "This girl again? Where does she keep popping up from!?") It's kind of incredible that I totally remembered a lot of members of the family, I remembered the house, I even remembered a little bit of the geography of Pune...I was even going to go back to Vaishali, a well touted eatery, but the sleepies got the best of me, and I slept a good part of Saturday. And you know what! I saw CAMELS! walking on the street. The first thing I saw in Pune last time was an ELEPHANT! HA! Oh city wildlife

Perhaps the most fun, exhilarating everyday experience comes from taking auto-rickshaws around town. Auto drivers have a special language. Driving shouldn't work in India in theory, but these drivers are so seasoned, are so adept in navigating cow and pedestrian strewn roads, that somehow they get their passengers to their destinations in one, jolty piece. If a foreigner ever tried to drive, it'd bring down the whole driving system!

In other news, I'm finding Indian news to be uber sensational. Top stories in the headlines:

- Baby Falak is undergoing more surgery after being brought in severely abused. There is daily updates on her condition

- An Indian general is being forced to retire after 1. being found to have lied about the year he was born, 2. after it was determined that he was born in 1950 not 1951 (not sure about the cutoff...62??)

- Members of the government have been suspended after other members of the government used their phones to video taped them watching porn on their mobile phones.

Literally the news is full of these three topics!

And finally, since I'm in India, I get these security warnings updating me about all the potential threats I can face while here (thank our upgraded travel services for that one). And what did I get a few days ago:

"Warning: Valentine's Day Unrest!!!"

Apparently a small minority of religiously conservative people have launched attacks on all things Valentine's including ransacking stores selling offensive red and pink goodies, ripping up V-day cards, and assaulting couples in love. It's in response to the ever more popular trend of celebrating this commercial, foreign holiday...kind of brings the whole Anti-Valentine's Day sentiments that plague pessimistic New Yorkers to a new level. (I gotta say, I just got a notice about the car bomb that went off in front of the Israeli embassy...so I guess these notices are more useful that I first thought)

More later. I'm off to bed!

India 2012: Week 1

A room with a view of one's own

India. Ahh India. So foreign but oddly familiar too. For one, working in India is very different than backpacking in India.

Backpacking, you're in the hustle and bustle. You're flagging down auto-rickshaws and negotiating fares. You're surrounded by people, you're breathing in smoke and smog, exhaust and exhaustion. You're soaking up the vivacity of the cities, the energy. You're hot and sweaty and dusty and stressed. It's very intense, this India, it's harrowing, but you're definitely in the center of Indian life.

Working, you're chauffeured and coddled. Cars are booked for you ahead of time, hotels are arranged for you, tea is poured for you, and even toast is buttered for you. Any means of public transportation is unthinkable, instead BMWs pick you up from the airport. You hire a driver and car for the whole day; a driver who waits for you in the parking lot until you call to indicate your next destination. Cookies are waiting for you at your hotel 'home' and food from around the world can be ordered up.

Work India seems like you lead life in a sterile plastic bubble, it's seems like a faker India. But, reflecting upon work life more, I'm starting to believe that it's not a faker India but a different side of India. And one that is probably, in more sense than one, a lot more authentic than the Backpacker India.

In Work India, I'm not looked upon like another tourist dollar. I'm a resource, I'm a worker, I'm a person of some suspicion but also interest. I am a foreign consultant who is here to do something yet unknown. But isn't that how all projects start? Aren't all consultants suspicious characters to a degree? And I realize, I'm not in any way receiving special treatment. Chai-wallas are a way of life. My colleagues and clients don't traipse around the city, death defyingly making their way through the mass of weaving cars on the road. No, they take a car to from one building to the next, buildings that essentially face each other across a street. Because that's what one does.

This life may be easier, but it's also not a show put on for a foreigner's pleasure. It's not staged nor rehearsed. It's just everyday comings and goings by people who are trying to make a living. And that, I've come to realize is something that I can appreciate. I've always maintained that I want to work in another country and be a working, contributing member of society, and I suppose I could say that I'm doing just that, if on a short term basis.

Work India may not be as 'culturally interesting' as Backpacker India, but then again, maybe it is. It's incredibly fascinating and stimulating to work in a place where knowing cultural nuances is important. And I've come to realize that while street food in South East Asia is quite possibly the best dishes one can find in these countries, there's something to be said about quality ingredients found is more established, well, establishments in India.

I can't wait to see some more of India, an opportunity I'm fortunate to have over these next few months. And I can only hope I obtain an even better understanding of the many cultures, societies, foods, and maybe even languages that make up this great country.

(and for those who wonder, the picture is from my room window. A WEDDING procession. Five days in India, and I've already bore witness to a wedding! HEHE)

India 2012: The Beginnings

So it all started with an email chain. A chain that started with an innocent inquiry of where I'd be located come the end of my vacation in late January 2012.

After three and a half weeks in South East Asia (more on that in a later non chronological post), I was getting a bit anxious of knowing if I'd be in London in a hotel, London in a corporate apartment, back in Bangkok or Vietnam. To my surprise surprise SURPRISE, I found out: Plano, TX.

Okay I thought, that's definitely not the guaranteed international location that I had been promised for my next project. Sure, Texas is most definitely a whole different world than what I know, but erm, let's just say not as exciting of a place than I had expected.

After a strew of "Kiyomi freak out iMessages" to a certain, very patient someone in Nigeria, I wrote a back to the stress inducing email, which set off a game of phone tag during a series of Vietnamese bus rides.

And then it came: India. India for 4 months. Delhi for 4 months. And after accepting, I found out Gurgaon (40km from Delhi) for 4 months. Hmm, I thought, well at least it'll be an adventure. And plus I know getting a visa is relatively painless. And at least I love the food. But there goes my dreams of either 1. finally getting custom made suits in SEA or 2. seeing all my friends in Europe (after what seems like years! Yes, I miss you guys!)

So after a WAY too short two weeks at home (HOW I LOVE YOU NEW YORK), I found myself flying to Delhi via Frankfurt over a mild winter weekend and here I am!

More on India: second first impressions next!