Old Delhi in Pictures

Old Delhi must be the place people think of when they talk about the heat, crowds, and poverty of India.  It was founded in 1639 as the capital of the Mughal empire, and it's got some of the most cramped, crowded streets in the city - and that's saying a lot.

We began with a walk down Chandi Chowk, then turned South and toured Jawal Masjid, the largest mosque in India.  I knew in advance that they would ask us to thoroughly cover up to enter, but I was unprepared for the horrific fashion statement they asked of all Western women who didn't have their own cover-all robe.

Really, now.

Despite our pastels, the mosque was amazing.  During worship, it can fit as many as 25,000 prostrate bodies at a time.  Three great gates, four towers, and two minarets 40 m high each.

After jostling our way through the crowds, we were relieved to duck into a side street and marvel at the wide array of goods available at the Spice Market.  I got heartburn just from inhaling.

Of course, no visit to inner Delhi would be complete without at least three or four wandering cows.  Unlike the specimens on my street, these seemed to have no owners and just stood around on the pavement all day.

How now, brown cow?

There were obviously a million more pictures taken of the day which weren't posted here.  I've started a Flickr Photostream for anyone who's more interested in a visual trip through India (and who wants to ignore my blabbering).  The link is here, or in the sidebar, along with links to my YouTube page.

Your Daily Delhi Delight

This gentleman ...

... has a car bumper tied to his back with red twine.

With green twine, he has the car bumper tied to his motorcycle.

Really, this is how you transport car parts in India?  What happens when there's no one to detach you when you get where your going?  And what if it's windy?

Through the System

The startup period has been a bit more protracted than I'm used to, due to some particularly difficult logistics.  In the U.S., I'm used walking to and from the office.  Now, to rush home a tummy-troubled editor, it's a huge ordeal to contact a cab, make sure the guy whose car you get into is the one you've called, stew through an hour and a half of weaving through traffic, and then settle with a driver who may or may not speak English.  One result is that drivers tend to show up even when they haven't been called, or take odd routes and end up getting lost.  Last Saturday at 11 am, a driver I hadn't met knocked on my door holding a payment slip with my name on it, and he thought I was ready to go to work.  Whatever gave him that idea?

The other problem is the lack of independent movement that comes from having so much surrounding you. Things are crowded.  People are everywhere.  There isn't much of the personal space we're used to out West.  This means you have to negotiate through a whole city of competing bodies. No wonder the roads are so snarled.  No wonder drivers creep up into every inch of available space.  If they were to politely defer to each of their neighbors, they would never get anywhere.

Your correspondent is both a victim and a complicating factor.  I may find it annoying to have to sit in a car every morning, but I have to notice the effort it takes to get me from one place to another.  A case of "Delhi-belly" is frustrating, as is the missed time at work, but how frustrating is it to be the team who needs my signature for the visa paperwork?  How frustrating is it that they can't even hand off my mobile phone so I can call them when I'm home sick?

Eventually the routine will fall into place, and I'll get used to the atmosphere enough to reach my previous level of production.  In the meantime, it's just working through the system.  The only cure is patience and time.

... Clearly

Power Surge and Shock

Living in India, you learn quickly not to take things for granted.  Even essential services like the power supply are notoriously inconsistent.  Despite a concerted effort for more renewable resources, power cuts are frequent in big cities and smaller localities have it even worse.  Many outlets have special generators to even out the surges, so your electronics won't be zapped if, for instance, you turn on your hairdryer just as somebody else is turning off their bedside lamp.

Your correspondent is subject to the same ebb and flow as the power in Delhi.  With immersion into an entirely new culture, taking in every detail requires a lot of energy.  It's not hard to feel a little over-stimulated after a few days.  Yesterday's Republic Day break was a good chance to shut down, recharge the batteries, and refuel for the long stay ahead.

Unfortunately, this is easier said than done. It's tiring to shoo off every rickshaw-wallah who assumes the blonde woman in the street is lost. An American sitting in a park will attract attention from almost everybody - especially small children, who aren't afraid to walk right up to stare and giggle.  Unlike in America, where we've worked very hard to cultivate assimilation, in India an expatriate can still be a surprise. You may get used to your surroundings but I'm not sure that your surroundings get used to you.

This is not to say that the people here aren't friendly. Merely talking to one of those children will make her entire face light up.  The point is, it's a culture shock I hadn't considered.  Every day is still full of new and exciting things, but to avoid burnout a person so far from home needs a mental adapter.  It takes a little bit of extra power just to turn 'off'.

Four Things I Wasn't Expecting To Do Today

1) Head to McDonald's for lunch with my coworkers and order a McAloo Tikki from the veg menu.
2) Say, "You really shouldn't be driving into oncoming traffic" and sincerely mean it.
3) Use the phrase "Sport Utility Rickshaw".
4) Enjoy a huge Indian dinner at a deer park with a lovely group of British expat editors.  Happy birthday, John!

How Bazaar

The five most dangerous words in the American vocabulary are: "Favorable exchange rate. Look, discounts!".

After finally getting over jetlag, I ventured out today to my first bazaar.  I cut my teeth on Dilli Haat, a market which is unique because it's run by the state of India and each of the vendors is rotated out every fifteen days.  You pay a small fee to enter, there are fewer touts, and every region of India is represented by food tents, textiles, handcrafts, jewelry, and anything else you can think of.

At an Indian bazaar, the object is to haggle.  The merchants are shocked, almost a little insulted, if you're silly enough to accept the first price you're quoted.  By the end of the day, I realized I would quickly have to get over the buzz of so many shawls on sale for so little.  By Indian standards, it wasn't an inexpensive excursion at all!  If you count up the total in dollars, on the other hand, I make out like a bandit, and had a delicious lunch as well.

Best of all, I got to meet this fine gentleman, representing the deserts of Rajasthan.  Well worth the basheesh.

Traffic in Delhi (and a side note on How the Indian Publishing Model Blew My Mind)

The commute from South Delhi to my office in Noida takes no less than an hour without traffic.  I'd like to know who came up with that figure, because there doesn't seem to be a traffic-less moment in India.  So many cars are on the road that Indian drivers develop precise spatial awareness.  I've gotten buzzed too many times to count, but have stopped worrying whether or not the driver knows to avoid me.  He does.  He's honking to let me know he's there, not to ask me to move.  The only way to get run over is to flinch, because that's a movement they don't anticipate.


Not very comforting.


During yesterday's commute, we were at a standstill with our engine off (not for the first time) and I noticed the funniest thing.  The guy next to us gave us a calculating look, then slowly rolled down his window and pulled in his side mirror.  I knew a mile away what was coming next.  As soon as the traffic moved, he gunned it, and you know what? He won.


If you don't care about publishing and would rather I talk about elephants, here's your way out.  If you want to hear how this is a metaphor for the work I'm going to be doing...

Why is an House-Wallah Like an Italian Mother?

... Because according to them you never eat enough.  Neverending paranthas!  First thing in the morning!

Come Downstairs and Say Hello

It's 9 PM and I'm just getting back from my first day at the office.  The good news is, I am no longer operating on U.S. time.  The bad news is, I am just plain jetlagged now and subject to random fits of brownout.  A few cases of the weepy-fits never hurt anyone, though, and while waiting for my desk to be set up I had plenty of time to steal away the odd nap in a dark corner.  I should be right as rain by Sunday night. 

Despite my foggy head, I managed to strike up some great conversations with the other editors here.  No one was shy to walk up to the new blonde and ask her what she was doing.  I was offered some sweet and some salty home-cooked Indian food by a group of development editors, and a deep-fried cheese sandwich by an acquisitions editor.  I accepted everything on pure principle.  The only disappointment was the sandwich's red sauce, which turned out to be ... ketchup.

Between you and me, I hate ketchup.  If I'm actually putting it on food, it's a clear sign that I'm really having an adventure.

Welcome to the Neighborhood

I decided against walking down the street holding a camera in front of me, and instead casually stashed my little camcorder in my front pocket while walking home from the shop.  The result is a lot of ground - sky - ground - sky - ground - sky ...

... - and then, yeah, that's a cow.

Good morning, Delhi!

I arrived at 1 am IST last night, in the middle of a blinding fog.  My notes from the trip are full of gibberish, things like, "WHY DOESN'T CHARLES DE GAULLE TURN ANY LIGHTS ON IN TERMINAL C" and "I feel like I'm in a dehumidifier".  They're mostly illegible.  The only thing I remember with any clarity is seeing two elephants walking in single file on the highway.  The taxi driver said, "Hey, it's the elephant Tour de France!"

So I guess it's real.  Oh my.

12:30 pm Update: Yes, it's definitely real.

In the Air Tonight (and Tomorrow Morning. And Tomorrow Night.)

One suitcase, less than 50 lbs (checked).  One heavy-duty trekker's pack, less than 50 lbs (checked).  One brand-new Columbia knapsack (on my back).  One briefcase (on my arm).  One Cross bag of plane food (on my other arm, and missing one jar of peanut butter thanks to airport security.  Who knew that even Extra Crunchy style counts as a liquid?).

For in-flight entertainment, I have one hardcover copy of Woe is I, one copy of this week's The Economist, three Esquire magazines, two iPods, and a netbook full of videos.  I ended up scrapping my decision to buy a Kindle, and instead opted for one copy of Infinite Jest, already read but which should nevertheless take me a full four months to pore through again.


A quick word about my netbook: it is probably the most important piece of hardware I'm taking.  I quizzed several friends about the best model, and ended up getting an Asus for less than $350, with more RAM and hard drive space than my preexisting laptop.  The best part is?  It's less than three lbs and extremely portable. Photographic evidence of both the netbook's amazing size and your correspondent's alarmingly large hands:

 

That's my status as of 4:30 on this snowy Tuesday evening.  In half an hour I board and fly to India until Thursday. In the meantime, I leave you with the best travelling music I know how.  Take it away, Phil.

Networking

I have never emailed so many strangers in such a short time ever in my life.

Two days ago I was finally able to announce the details of my assignment to my coworkers, colleagues, and - most importantly - Facebook friends. The response has been phenomenal.  On the one hand, a lot of people were surprised -- moving to Delhi isn't something most people consider a normal part of a publishing career.  (Ask my mother and she'll tell you it's not a SANE part of a publishing career.)  At the same time, everyone seems to know someone who's lived in Delhi, worked in Delhi, visited Delhi.  Their first question is, "Do you want me to put you in touch?"

I'm not too shy to seek out other expats, and I'm definitely not too shy to solicit recommendations on the best chaat stands.  My inbox is full of well-wishes and helpful hints.  It's a great feeling: even though I travel to Delhi by myself, I'm certainly not alone.  That's one of the benefits to the wired world we live in, and I intend to take advantage of it as best I can.

She's Got A Ticket To Ride

We are now so official that I'm beginning the malaria meds.  The first side effect is "night terrors", so this could get interesting ...

I'm an avid reader of The Economist, and this year's holiday special edition was remarkably done.  This article in particular got my attention.  Essentially, it says that being foreign is no longer as difficult or as novel as it used to be, and looks at the psychology of staying home vs. moving elsewhere.  It concludes:

The dilemma of foreignness comes down to one of liberty versus fraternity—the pleasures of freedom versus the pleasures of belonging. The homebody chooses the pleasures of belonging. The foreigner chooses the pleasures of freedom, and the pains that go with them.

A sobering thourght for someone about to relocate to India.  On the other hand, I'd even argue that there is nowadays an expectation to go abroad for talent, especially when that talent is young and mobile.  Very few companies these days operate from one office in one country.  Outsourcing is the norm rather than the aberration. The side effect is that brave souls need to physically jump the ocean every so often, and that's where you have me.

I've been blessed with a network of supportive friends, family, and one very understanding boyfriend.  I'll be able to communicate by webcam on my loneliest days.  Right now I'm not feeling so bad, but as I was saying at my sendoff dinner last night: I don't even know what I don't know.  I'll probably have to wait for my first encounter with an elephant, or a monkey, or a wandering cow, before it really sinks in.

Getting Across

Visa now in hand, I am ten days away from leaving for India.
Allegedly.

The only trouble is, my company has still been unable to book my ticket.

So, while I'm in the process of collecting malaria prescriptions and ordering a new netbook for my journey, we're still kind of up in the air about the details.  It's a tax issue; we want to make sure that everything is paid for by Americans but we're unsure which line of the budget to put it under.
It's a lot of red tape, but the good news is that I'm very nearly there.  As a visual metaphor for what this whole process has been like, I give you: Crossing The Street in India.