It's Not Exactly Easter Eggs...

At first glance, they look like they might be packets of candy.  They suddenly appeared in Chemist's shops last week, brightly-colored bags with cheerful designs on them, taped together in packets of four. When squeezed, they may leak a small amount of pink or purple or green powder - organic water-soluble dyes. It's not until you notice they are being sold with toy waterguns and water cannons, that their real purpose becomes clear.

India celebrates the festival of Holi this weekend.  Holi involves one of two things: either you stay indoors and hide, or you venture out and get painted.  Not gently painted, painted.  Handfuls of paint, water balloons of paint, water cannons of paint, buckets of paint.  This being India, there are no subtle colors in the palatte:  you will be turned red, or yellow, or lavender.  I am told that I may have coworkers reporting to work on Tuesday with streaks of bright green in their hair.  Actually, on Friday afternoon, a few gentlemen left the office in their trim button downs, bright pink. 


 Just think of how well pink would show up on a head of blonde hair.


 Just think of what a good target a head of blonde hair presents.


Update:  7 pm on Friday evening, and your correspondent is now purple.
Happy Holi!

Spot Lights

Picture this: the start of a busy workday, in the middle of a bustling office, editors calmly going about their business.  All of a sudden, the power goes out. Across the office, one after the other, laptops screech as they convert to battery mode.  Screech! Screech!Screech! Scree-eech! Lights flicker and are extinguished.  All that is visible is dimly illuminated by computer screens.

If you’re an American, your natural reaction is to look up, maybe even jump up, turn your head in all directions, grab at your bleeping laptop to make sure it’s not damaged, turn towards the door, and possibly even make a run for it if you’ve already had your coffee.

If you’re an American who’s been working in India for a few weeks, you may not even look up anymore.

The screeching never stops being funny, though.  It’s like a little laptop chorus. And don't worry - the lights come back on in a minute or two.




Update: As Fabulinus pointed out, the lights only come on because our building has a backup generator.  Across Noida, businesses and residents may actually be left in the dark ... A sobering thought.  (Thanks for the comment--I'm sorry I took it down because it had my real name in it and I'm keeping this blog private.  I appreciate hearing from you, though!)

A Quick Hinglish Lesson

The following are a list of important Hindi words and their most common usage:

Acha.  Means "OK".  Commonly used like this: "Acha acha acha acha acha."

Tiika.  Also means "OK".  Commonly used like this: "Tiika tiika tiika tiika tiika."

Kitne.  The most important word you'll need at an Indian bazaar.  Means "How much".  Easy for me to remember because it's pronounced like the last name of a certain ex-Detroit Lions quarterback.

Haa.  Means "Yes", although it's important to make the distinction between the American "Yes" and the Indian "Yes".  In America, "Yes" is used as an affirmative.  In India, "Yes" is commonly used to say "I hear you and I understand".  Just because someone says "Yes" does not mean that they agree with you.  "Yes" does not mean they think you're right.  "Yes" just acknowledges that you're speaking at all.

Certain Indian accents also add a bit of a nasal overtone to haa so that to the American ear it sounds a bit like a honk or "hnnn".  Perhaps a better comparison would be a question: “heeeeeh?”.  Other Indian accents draw the aa's very clearly.  In my diverse office full of Indian editors conducting business over the phone, an American hears half of the room asking "huh?", while the other half  is constantly, mirthlessly laughing.

Combine the Indian definition of "Yes" with the Indian head-wobble and you might appreciate why your correspondent occasionally hesitant in conversation.  The Indian head-wobble looks like this: ear to shoulder, ear to shoulder, ear to shoulder.  Wobble wobble wobble wobble wobble.  The Indian head-wobble is used to say, again, "I hear you and I understand".  My driver, JP, has a particularly vivid wobble.  The more strenuously that you agree, the more vigorous the wobble; unfortunately, the more vigorous the wobble, the more you seem to an American to be shaking your head no.

It leaves one baffled American, then, as I carry on an enjoyable conversation with a colleague only to have them shake their head and fake a laugh.  We all speak the same language, but it's funny how often we still need translation..

Not in My Backyard

Without comment or judgement:

India and Pakistan are neighbors.  Neighbors with a bit of a property dispute, to say the least.  As one example of how seriously they take the conflict, in this week's The Economist, someone (probably government-related) opened your correspondent's copy and stamped in a disclaimer:

When publishing the same article in The Hindustan Times, they change the map entirely so as to leave the disputed area out:

Things certainly look different when you're not an ocean away.

Trickle Down

My shower ran out of water this morning.
 
To be specific, my shower ran out of water just after I had lathered conditioner into my hair. Nothing feels as impotent as one standing under a dry faucet, turning the handle as far as it goes, and still getting—silence. Not having hot water is a reality I’ve learned to deal with. Not having any water is a whole new ballgame.

Last year, apparently, the monsoon failed in India. Three or four months of what should have been constant rain turned out to be only a mild trickle. What’s worse, from October to July India can expect very little additional rainfall. What looks dry now will only get worse as the mercury climbs (and it will—soon, and quickly).

Life on the farm tends to get romanticized in America. Wide-open spaces and the frontier and all that. Even in the heart of Nebraska, no one expects to find rudimentary housing without running water. Driving through the state of Rajasthan between Delhi and Keoladeo National Park, one can see huts made of water buffalo dung interspersed between fields of rice and sugarcane. Do people really live there? Probably. What do they do without the monsoon? We’re not in Kansas anymore.

Keoladeo itself paints an extreme picture of how strong the effects of drought can be.  What once looked like this:

... now looks a little ... well, sparse:

Thousands of cranes used to come to the marshlands of Keoladeo in their yearly migration from Siberia. Now, almost none can be found. Man-made “islands” are simply hills in the middle of dry scrubland. Water has to be pumped in to keep the birds that live there year-round from being completely deprived of a habitat.

This isn’t to say that life is dreadful everywhere in India; quite the contrary, my own water shortage was probably caused by a broken water pump. Still, even after only one month my expectations about basic needs have been drastically changed. When more people live on the margins of society, there is lesser margin for error. Rajasthan is just one example of how vulnerable life is to running out of room.

This morning I solved my own problem by pouring the remains of my water bottle on my head. If sudsy hair is the worst of it, I have a lot more to be thankful for.

Top of a Hill and Bottom of a Hole

Last weekend I took a daytrip to Neemrana, a fort-palace in Rajasthan.  Though quite a drive away, it was nice to get a day far away from the city.

Neemrana is a fort-palace from the 15th century which has been converted into an opulent hotel.  The first thing we did after arriving from our long journey was stop for a gigantic lunch buffet.  I've had some pretty amazing meals in India, but this one was easily the best so far.

Afterwards we explored the grounds and looked through the eleven stories of passageways, courtyards, verandas, and terraces.  It smelled heavenly from all the flowers, and we were surrounded constantly by the sights and sounds of exotic birds.

It was nice to go and get a different perspective on the ruins dotted all over India.  Instead of hushed, crumbling walls, this hotel was bustling and full of life.  It was interesting to think: this is probably not unlike it was when originally built and occupied by the Mughals.

On the way home, we took a tip from the locals and stopped by an 18th-century step well.  It wasn't on any maps or listed in any guidebooks, so imagine our surprise to come across this huge structure buried nine stories deep in the desert:

Of course, this being India, they didn't mind if you climbed right in!

Higher Education

"There is a humor," he says.

The round little professor had been patiently waiting for us when we breathlessly arrived from our harried journey across Delhi.  After being stuck in meetings in Noida, we had all but given up on making our four o'clock meeting, until he let us know he would be available until five.  We slung our laptop bags over our shoulders and hit the road, stewing in traffic until we reached his campus and were able to climb the three flights of stairs to his office.

He takes a moment to fish out his card, then sits back in his chair and says simply, "Tell." We discuss the new sales curriculum he's been developing, a chance for me to see how universities work from the inside out.  It's not until we're standing up to leave that he finally turns to me and asks, "You are from what office?"

When he learns I'm based in Boston, he smiles and says, "There is a humor..."

He goes on to tell a classic Harvard vs. MIT joke (although instead of MIT, he calls it "Massachusetts"): It seems that one of them is qualitative, one of them is quantitative.  A professor walks up to the 10-items-or-less aisle at a supermarket. The cashier asks, "Are you from Harvard or MIT?"  When the professor doesn't understand, she explains, "Are you from the school who can't read, or the school who can't see?"

 ----

On our way out of the meeting, my coworker makes a hurried detour to the elementary school next door to campus.  I'm unsure why, until I notice a small list posted on a stand just outside the front gate.  It's a list of students to be admitted to its preschool the following year.

We scan the paper together until I notice his last name.  "Your daughter?" I ask.  He grins mightily.

"Proud papa," I say.  "Yes," he agrees.  "Proud papa."

Some things are the same no matter where you go.