Word on the street is...

...some Dutch chick is reading this blog and has failed to acknowledge her presence. The Dutch are, notably, known for their voyeuristic fetishism...so I've been told by the sworn enemy of the Dutch, the Belgians. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised then...not all that much. Don't creep in the shadows, not when we can hear your clogs.

You know who you are. Put down those tulips and get to writing.

Gunfire, Car Bomb or Indian Wedding?

Ah yes...long day at work and I'm exhausted. Kids are in bed, so it's time to relax and unwind with a good book (mediocre really, but that doesn't paint the same picture). Lounging in the armchair, I feel the tension and stress of my day slowly ebb from my body.

And then...loud, I mean LOUD, bursts, repetitive and close.

Pop quiz, hot shot?!? Gunfire or Indian Wedding? Well, it was close...very close, but I haven't heard any screaming or yelling or shouts for help or shouts in general, which one might expect to hear after a shooting. The number of people in Delhi almost guarantees multiple witnesses to any event, criminal or otherwise...to the point where men won't even bother to piss behind a tree on the roadside because there's sure to be at least someone behind the same tree, so why not piss out in the open. I digress. The absence of screaming, yelling and/or shouting...probably not gunfire. Indian Wedding? Perhaps.

My nerves settle somewhat...I mean, I was pretty relaxed until all of that. I get back to my book (which is sliding from mediocre to outright crap). Thankfully, before I can read the next ridiculous plot twist, I'm interrupted by a loud BOOM...loud enough and BOOM-Y enough that objects in the house rattle.

Pop quiz, hot shot?!? Car bomb or Indian Wedding? Well, it too was close...very, very close. I'm not dead nor am I covered in anything or anyone that appears dead nor am I covered in debris, soot, portions of wall or vehicle parts, so it probably wasn't a car bomb. Nevertheless, just to be safe, I walk to the window (maybe not safe in retrospect) to make sure their wasn't a gaping hole in our perimeter wall. The last thing I would have liked to see at 9:30 p.m. on a Thursday night...other than ER (which couldn't be saved if George Clooney and "Goose" tongue-kissed for an entire episode -- not that I'd want to see that, but at least it would make interesting TV). I digress. No hole in the wall. No missing limbs. Evidence that we were not under attack. Indian Wedding? Very likely.

I pick my book up from the floor and I go to the bathroom, not because I was that frightened by the noise, I just figured if I finally relaxed again and heard another loud BOOM...well, I didn't want to take any chances. Figured clearing the ole system wasn't a bad idea. I then settle back into the armchair and find the place where I left off in my book...just after some alien-octopus-like things burst from some lady's body - I mean, does Scott Sigler have an original thought in his head...who isn't published these days? Perhaps I should send the grocery list off to Random House. Then, ever-so faintly..."Gasolina" starts to play from the street...yes, "Gasolina." The last time I heard that was at my cousin's Long Island Bar Mitzvah. From the street, drums chime in, off-beat of course...trumpets blare out-of-tune, and "Gasolina" is played repeatedly. A cacophony (yes, I just used that word) of voices, yells, cheers...of Hindi, erupts from the other side of our wall. Noise, NOISE, NOISE!!! Just noise...in celebration of a beautiful union. It nearly brought a tear to my eye...not from happy-sadness, but a mixture of annoyance and anger and frustration (if you wake up my damn kids, I swear to Ganesh!).

Pop quiz, hot shot?!? Indian Wedding? You bet. Desensitizing all of us to the very real threat of gunfire and car bombs in Delhi? Without question.

But, you know, it's all worth it when an hour and a half later Vijay and Pooja were able to call one another "Man and Wife." Of course, they could call each other that all they want...but could they hear it?

Delhi...OUT!!

ROADTRIP: Jaipur

Jaipur, the fabled Pink City! The maharaja responsible for the Pink City of Jaipur actually built it terracotta; however, wanting to impress and play host to the visiting Brits, the maharaja painted the city pink. I suppose you could chalk that up to "Live and Learn."


Jaipur is a colorful and bustling city approximately 3.5 hours southwest of New Delhi, depending on the number of truck vs. car, truck vs. ditch, truck vs. median, truck vs. itself or truck vs. camel accidents you run across along the way. We started our long weekend with a quick breakfast run at a roadside McDonald's, and then drove straight through to Jaipur.
The city of Jaipur itself isn't that old, by India standards. Older than America? Sure, but not old, old. The Old City/Pink City is teeming with tuck-tucks, monkeys, camels and roving marching bands. The Pink City is divided into bazaars or markets, each selling different wares. I can tell you, walking by the pepper vendors brought back too many vivid memories of training. The vendors have their stands just off the streets, separated from the hustle by a narrow sidewalk and a culvert which runs sewage (natural, human and otherwise) out of the city or so we presumed. The Pink City had many landmarks to visit and we (I) dragged the kids to each and everyone...the minar (kids pictured to the right posing in its internal spiral ramp/staircase & a view from the minar, below), the Wind Palace (pictured top, right), the City Palace (which we actually didn't visit because it just didn't sound that cool) and Jantar Mantar (related to the New Delhi Jantar Mantar, built by the same maharaja and in fact the grandest of all the sites - and the only one that still functions as it was designed). We met Sheik, the all-around, go-to guy while walking around Jaipur. He provided us with transportation our first day...in a large tuck-tuck. The kids first (and maybe last) tuck-tuck experience. Safe? Enhhhh. They seemed to enjoy it though. Sheik, born in Calcutta (when it was Calcutta) spoke nearly flawless English, and managed in multiple other languages. We were suspicious, certainly, but he remained our official tour guide and minded his questions. We visited a cotton dyeing/block-printing/carpet-weaving business...friends of Sheik's no doubt, but it was a neat experience. Julie is pictured to the right, walking through cotton that was dyed white and drying. We also visited an antique business, a famous one at that (so said the pictures featuring Prince Charles and Richard Gere), where I bought a hand-carved chess set. It was a family business, owned and operated for over 80 years, and managed by the son, named Lucky (that's how he pronounced it).

We then traveled (by car, this day) to the Amber Fort (actually spelled Amer Fort, but pronounced "Amber"). As we'd already had our ox-cart and camel rides the day before, we opted for a car to drive us up the mountainside. The trip up didn't take long and the kids had plenty to see, as we were dodging elephants left and right. The fort was as we'd envisioned Jaipur...where the Pink City was old, the fort was older and it's architecture and lore painted the picture that we'd held in our minds, that we believed "was India." The forts stone walkways, narrow, dimly lit corridors, and elaborate painted archways (Hello, Ganesh!!) were incredible. From one of the towers, we peeked out and saw three large elephants bearing their loads away from the fort. We eventually grew tired and wandered into a traditional Cafe, where we watered up with mochas and treated the kids to ice cream sundaes (it was Valentine's Day, afterall)...Yes, a Cafe (a barista chain throughout India) had established itself at Amber Fort...we were really okay with that. After the cafe, we watched a man play a jazz piece to two swingin' daddy'o cobras. On our way back to the hotel, we passed the Lake Palace, a palace built to house royalty in the excruciatingly warm summer months. An entire level of the palace is built below the surface of the water, so that the water can act to cool the walls and those inside.

We drove back to Delhi the next morning. National Highway 8 is little more than a four-lane divided roadway...accidents weren't the problem on the way home...instead, we fought to pass a northern migration of sorts. Jeep after jeep, carrying more men than is lawful, traveled northbound toward Delhi. When one or more of these men, in one or more of these jeeps, decided that it was time to urinate...did the driver pull off the roadway? Nope. Traffic would be backed up for miles because one or more of these jeeps had stopped in the left-hand travel lane...just stopped and idled as its occupants vacated to vacate. Amazing.

Anywho. It was a great weekend and a good experience. Eli rode a camel, Olivia an ox-cart, monkeys and elephants galore, and none of us picked up a case of dysentery...all-in-all, a successful long weekend.

Delhi...OUT!!

"Tony," "Pointy," and "O"

The three stooges. Our beautiful stooges. Here's an update...

Eli, the billionaire-industrialist-playboy (he's still somewhat obsessed with Iron Man, hence the Tony Stark reference), is potty-trained...has been for about a month now. Thankfully, the fire hose isn't that big yet nor the stream too powerful because he doesn't quite grasp that he'll need to eventually hold onto things down there. We're going to institute some games of skill into the potty routine like "Bulls-Eye" with cheerios and "Shoot the Fly/Cigarette Butt" when going in public toilets. We have applied to a school for Eli, but there isn't an opening until August. In the meantime, we're looking for other options. Julie is enjoying her time at home with him, but Eli really needs a pal his own age.

Alise, AKA "Pointy," has a full head of hair forever at attention. She's made the transition officially from ball o' cuddle to interactive baby...she talks and coos, giggles, and rolls over. She could watch Eli and Olivia play and laugh all day long, and they always bring a smile to her face. We're spoiling her, as we have the other two, and we'll no doubt pay. I'll no doubt pay.

O-o-o-o-o-livia!! She is beautiful and stubborn and dramatic...bright and creative and emotional. She's adjusting better, has made some friends at school, and has a few playdates scheduled. She's learning tons at school, and really seems to be enjoying things now, for the most part. She's prone to tantrums that can last hours...and she defines "fickle." But beautiful...so amazing.

We took a road-trip to Jaipur over the long weekend and have a couple hundred pictures to show for it (and I'm willing to bet the camel gave me fleas). I will update the blog with Tales from Jaipur shortly.

Delhi...OUT!!

You asked about traffic in Delhi?!?

If you were curious...think of road travel in Delhi in this manner -

Chicken. Millions of drivers in millions of cars playing chicken with every other vehicle on the road, to include the vehicles traveling in the opposite direction they are. First one to the corner, wins! First one into the traffic circle, wins! First one into the opposing traffic lane, wins! First one to edge the nose of their vehicle an inch ahead of the other vehicle, wins!

Surprisingly, it seems to work. A well-choreographed game of chicken. The amount of attention required while driving though is preposterous. There's no cell phone, no texting, no eating while driving, no make-up...just driving. Why? Because you have to focus...you have to tune in to the consciousness of every other driver on the road in order to figure out what their next move will be...and, more importantly, if they're the kind of driver that will slow down as you cut them off on the curve or if they'll push right through you. I've only seen a handful of accidents where one or both of the drivers were apparently incorrect.

Delhi...OUT!!

How a Blog Works (or at least My Blog)

I've intended the Blog as a means to provide information about our goings-on, about our life here in Delhi...updates en masse. This allows us to "send one email" versus "multiple emails." Just as with email, if we blog, then responses are always nice...updates in return. It's a ghost town out there, nothing but frogs and crickets. We thank those who've responded with comments and updates...those who haven't, you know who you are and you should be ashamed. Deeply ashamed. Like maybe consider dyeing/cutting your hair, growing facial hair (if possible), relocating to a small New England/Pacific Northwest town, and becoming that "one guy/gal that keeps to themself and never talks to no one no how." All of that can be avoided if you occasionally respond with news of your own. The choice is your own...choose wisely or choose plaid.

Delhi...OUT!!