Tagore

Christine, the British film fellow next door, invited me to join her and her colleague to attend the Rabindrath Tagore (father of Indian lit and artist after the age of 70) festival at the Indian International Center. First we headed to the National Gallery to see the original Tagores. There was an art class happening right in one of the rooms with Tagore's pals hanging on the walls. The kids were so focused and paint marked the floors--a wonderful creative space! Then we headed to the IIC for lunch—in the lovely 3-sided windowed lounge with huge fountains in the garden just outside, where the intellectuals of Delhi come to see one another. Apparently there is a long waiting list to become a member—and a sizeable fee. The room was full of beautiful saris and kurtas—everyone knew everyone it seemed. Many joined us to see a Tagore film and then outside near the fountains for Bengali singing and dancing to celebrate the Bengali New Year and the beginning of summer.

Mosquitos

The mosquitos are getting thick. At yoga each body has at least 5 flying about at we sit in a meditative pose. Everyone else seems less effected by these pests—that also bite me with abandon. Strangely though I have never been bitten during yoga. Norbert sat in on a class, a Literary Theory class, this past week and the mosquitos were thick. No one else seemed to notice at all. Still we understand that most people sleep with a mosquito net and get these little electrical plug in devices that emit some sort of invisible spray into the air and are supposed to kill the mosquitos. We took this advice and maybe see a few less mosquitos in our apartment. However, in the last 24 hours they seem to have gotten worse. This morning was particularly funny. We have gotten into the habit of making French toast on Sunday, and just as we were enjoying a little taste of home, a mosquito dropped into Norbert’s French toast. Yea, straight out of the air—I guess the plug in mosquito killer is sort of working.

Settling In in the Bush Forest

Shubra showed up at our apartment today with the wonderful spontaneity that I sometimes wish was part of my life in Long Beach . She just said, “I’ll be in your neighborhood, how about if I drop by to give you something. Here's a picture of one of the campus roads near our place that Shubra drove up to come see us today.


She arrived with a little cloth shopping bag with a few carrots, a couple little potatoes,10 green beans, two small red onions and some fresh coriander and a 1/2 cup of red lentils and announced that she would teach me how to make dal (cooked lentils eaten with rice or bread) on the spot. I’d actually tried in a pot a couple times and it came out ok, but getting a proper cooking lesson was definitely in order. My biggest problem was using a pressure cooker, which was provided but makes me a little bit nervous. I remember using one in Spain, but I haven’t had one in my kitchen ever since.

Shubra instructed me to cut the vegetables into chunks—saying that any vegetables you had would work. Then we put the chopped up potatoes, the dal, some salt and a tablespoon of oil in the pressure cooker and set it to high heat—having lifted up the little metal thing on top and dropping it down again—until a rush of air squirts out at the top—it took like 4 minutes. At that point we lowered the heat and let it cook for 3-4 more minutes. Then we put the pot under cold water and released the pressure and added the other veggies, plus cumin, and put it back on high heat for 3 or 4 minutes until it shot out hot air again. That’s it!

We feel so lucky to know Shubra, as she is a wealth of knowledge and very generous with her time. She’s teaching at Delhi University, grading all the time and working on a manuscript…but she makes time like this.

Ursula (a British woman living here with her missionary husband and 2 little kids and working on a book about Anglo-Indian art) tells us about the joys of a bucket bath—get a big, big plastic pitcher (the one provided for us is kind of measely) and pour the whole bucket over you head at the end—2 seconds of pure joy, she says. I’ve been looking for someone to talk about why the bucket bath is superior—as it seems preferred by many, so I was particularly happy to hear her rave about them!

Here's picture I took of campus while we were having tea with Ursula and a couple of art history professors after her talk. The university is officially on a nature preserve, a bush forest to be exact, and they make a concerted effort to keep it looking very nice.

Delhi Professionals

Last night I chipped another tooth. You might know that I did this in London as well—eating chips with a little rock in them! Weird luck, huh?! In this case, I was eating something with nuts. Wow, I must really be getting old, and my teeth are all crumbling away. Anyway, as you can imagine, one gets a little nervous being in a foreign country and not knowing a good dentist. Luckily we’ve met a couple Dehliwallahs in the past few weeks. I was able to get a hold of Shubra who suggested that we go to Holy Angels hospital near campus. We’d heard before that it’s an outstanding hospital and that if we had an emergency we should feel very confident going there. But I had no idea they had a dentist in residence. So this morning we took an autorickshaw to Holy Angels and found the dentist in the basement. When I mentioned to the reception that I had a dental emergency she said to go right in to the dentist’s office.

There we were greeted by Dr. Sanjay Mehta, a fifty-something grinning guy. Luckily my tooth was not hurting, but of course I worried that if I didn’t do something is would hurt soon. He laughed and said, “No, but do you want it to hurt?” I have to say he was the most relaxed and confidence inspiring dentist I have ever encountered—and we have a really good one in Long Beach. He has this high tech camera that he puts in your mouth and you can watch the inside of your mouth on a screen right in front of you. He snaps pictures somehow and then saves them on the screen, so he can show different angles and explain exactly what is going on with your tooth. Very cool. He showed me how all he needed to do was smooth out the rough edges a bit. And he assured me that if it gets worse it will not hurt. Well, I almost believe him ;-). Anyway, he chatted with us quite a lot and told us about clients that were coming to see him today. A business woman, one of his regular patients, who is flying in from Darfur and would see him this afternoon. While we were there his cell phone rang and it was the police chief of Calcutta, who said, “Hey, I want to come over today and show you my teeth!” Apparently, he’s been Dr. Mehta’s patient for a long time. After he’d looked at my teeth, he suggested we come and sit at his desk so we could talk about what I should do. He worked out a price to get the whole thing repaired—probably 25% what we’d pay in the US. (We paid $12 for this visit.) But he was not at all pushing to have him do the work. Whatever I wanted—I could wait until the end of the year and do it in the US with no problem. He talked about his good life here in Delhi—working just 4 hours every day and 3 nights a week. He plays badminton every morning on the JNU campus, and he invited us to join him anytime. While we were there, the police chief showed up and we all chatted for a few minutes and then we were off. Talk about an enjoyable dentist visit!

Here are a few pictures of the audience at the India International Center (added later). IN this first one, Dr. Mehta would have fit right in. I just thought you'd like to see a few others too.





















8:05 pm—as I sit here at my desk working, I hear a little thump at the window right near me. I look over to the ledge outside and an eight-inch gecko is licking his lips (do gecko’s have lips?). It feels like he’s staring at me, but in fact he’s contemplating his next kill. Apparently the fact that I haven’t noticed that it’s now been dark for quite awhile and shut the curtains has provided him with a glorious feast. The light in here is attracting the moths. He just grabbed another moth with the lightening-fast snap of his neck, and now he’s racing up the window. For some reason I find geckos particularly amusing and was in fact not too bothered to find that one now lives in here with us. Occasionally we notice something move—and it makes us jump. We usually only manage to catch his tail flick, as he slithers to his next dark hideout.

Threads

The JNU art professor I met at the housewarming party offered to take me shopping today to help me find salwar kameez more easily. There is such a variety and I am obsessed with finding something cool—ie very lightweight cotton. Did I mention that it’s getting up to 95 here? Also, I am not much of a brocade, sequins and gold kind of person, and this is primarily what I was offered when I went on my own. She’d heard my troubles and offered to help. But a day of shopping needed some preliminary fortification.

We started off at the National Gallery seeing a very successful Indian photographer, Raghu Rai, who had an amazing knack for capturing life on the streets of India. If you really want to see India, ignore my lame pictures and get any of his many, many books!

After lunch we headed to Lajpat Nagar, a market that N and I visited a few weeks ago. But she knew the shops and we went straight in and got down to business looking at reams and reams of fabrics. It was quickly determined that I had been asking for the wrong thing—not light cotton, but muslin. And she recommended buying the fabric there and then getting it sewn at a tailors. Apparently the sewing will only cost about $4. So I got fabric for two “salwar” (the pants) and three “short kurtas” (the top).

I don't have any pictures of Lajpat Nagar yet. But here's a typical street scene in the Civil Lines area of Delhi. I took this in January when it was still cold here. Notice people are wearing sweaters. About a week ago many people were still wearing sweaters when it was 85 degrees. That's when we knew we were really in trouble.

Colorful Holi

Today is Holi—one of the main Indian festivals of the year. The colorful powder pyramids you see in the header are what make Holi exciting. It’s celebrated to mark the beginning of summer, with the intention of ridding oneself of the old and transgressing boundaries..yep, all in one. Purists save up papers from the past year and burn them in a large bonfire. But everyone seems to participate in the crossing boundaries bit. If you’ve seen an Indian movie where people throw bright powdered colors on one another, this is it. The bright powder is sold on the street starting at least a month in advance in these very eye-catching cone shapes. During this day of the year those from lower positions are able to get back. So a woman from a lower caste might throw colors—or even fire a colored-water squirt gun—at a man from an upper caste. Or students might go into a teacher’s house and eat all the food in the fridge. People in positions of authority might be forced to sit on a donkey and be mocked. Apparently this can get all a bit out of hand, but for the most part it doesn’t.

This is particularly interesting in a country where caste is still important. One professor we’ve met told us that caste is still an important factor in choosing a spouse. And a fifteen-minute drive through the city will reveal the wide range of socio-economic positions. A NY Times travel article recently reminded visitors to Delhi to “gird yourself for wretching scenes of destitution.” The architecture reveals some of these stark contrasts. Here is a picture of India Gate built by the British with this expansive road designed to inspire a sense of grandeur. Contrast this with the ancient architecture built long before the British, which struggles to survive on a more typical bustling street and amidst the needs of people who themselves are struggling to make a living. The blue tarp on the right is a make-shift shop, which is a common sight on most streets in India--often there are many sort of leaning up against each other. I can’t bring myself to take pictures of the “wretching scenes of destitution.”



We had been warned to be careful on this day. So we stayed near home, heading to the main quad in the early evening—assuming things would just be getting started. Unfortunately we had not realized that the real action takes place in the morning. So instead what we saw were the after effects…lots of people with red died hands and faces…and some with what looked like tie died clothes of every color. There were powdered colors sprinkled on the streets and people were generally in an upbeat mood. We even saw an auto rickshaw whose side was entirely sprayed in various colors. Apparently it takes several days to fade the colors of Holi.

Devotion

I’m intrigued by the little altars that business owners set up in a prominent position in their shop. Many have relatively fresh strung flowers and usually incense burning. We noticed that many of the tiny little shops in markets have some form of plant or flower hanging above the entrance—again to represent a prayer, I assume for good business…but I need to ask more questions about this. This devotional practice somehow sunk into my memory when I noticed one of these altars in a place that felt familiar to me, a totally perfect replica of a Levis store I’ve frequented in the US. And there behind the computerized cash register was a little altar and a string of almost fresh flowers. I can’t stop thinking about the guy (and I do assume it’s a guy—but maybe that’s wrong of me) who tends this altar…answering to his higher power—Corporate Office.

Professors Party in Salwar Kameez

So I already have an occasion to wear my new salwar kameez-- to a housewarming party at a professor’s home on campus. As you can see, though, I opted not to wear the dupatta (the scarf). Some women do, some don't. And I am just not a scarf person. But the dupatta is the traditional way and it came with the ensemble.

Another party with no wine…but I am getting used to it. Those Indians that do drink alcohol don’t seem to have taken to it. However, there was a wonderful variety of interesting drinks. I am learning—yes at the ripe age of 40!—that I like gin in my juice, slightly more than vodka. In this case I got a bit of gin in a juice from a fruit in the Himilayas called Seabuckthorn (a small orange smooth skinned wonder). And one of the guests whipped up a mean batch of Bloody Mary’s. Fresh lime soda is another popular drink here...with salt or sugar. The sweet variety is spectacular in my humble opinion. And there were a few varieties of Indian beer (Kingfisher and Cobra) too. These served with a fabulous spread of wonderfully spiced vegetables, rice and lentils—all Bengali style. All kinds of dishes I’d never had before…made by the resident cook, who is in training, and supervised by one of the professors. All professors seem to have a cook, as well as someone who cleans, and (someone else?) who does the shopping. This certainly makes entertaining easier!

It was a lovely gathering of 10 or so, lots of laughter. These friends have known each other for quite awhile. Since most professors live near one another here on campus, it does make for a tight (and I would guess sometimes tense) community. Two couples that both have lived a long time on campus. Although the one set has retired and thus had to move away. They all agreed this was a huge adjustment for everyone. The nineteen year old son of the other couple joined us for a little while, “to observe with amusement the strange behaviour of adults,” as the host so warmly put it. An art professor about my age who mentioned that she snuck away from her 4 year old and husband to celebrate this auspicious occasion. She complained about the elaborate birthday parties planned for four year olds. Across the planet from here, my friends with kids are burdened with the same task. The parties sounds almost exactly the same, including the requisite goody bag at the end.

One, midwestern American professor who has been coming to India for her research for twenty years or so, was especially helpful in explaining her “rules” for dressing here. She prefers the longer salwar kameez—at least a foot longer than the one I was wearing—the one I bought on Saturday (my first time in public!)--and says that it’s still what’s worn by women over fifty. I noticed the woman my age at the party also had one that long. (Am I still being scandalous?!) And always bangles, when she first started coming people thought something was wrong if you didn’t wear them. She’d prefer to wear a salwar kameez at her small liberal arts college, because it’s so comfortable. However, her Indian students don’t think it’s appropriate, so she wears western clothes. I have to say these salwar kameez are brilliant—if you get this light cotton kind they are shockingly cool and comfortable—I wonder what I’ll say though when it’s 100!

Shopping Day

We had a long list of errands to run that we have been putting off forever, so we decided to rent a car and driver for eight hours—a $25 event, but the only way to get to a number of places around the city all in one day. We started out doing something a bit fun—that we needed a car for--at the gardens at the residence of India’s President Patel—a woman, just for the record. They are only opened for about a month once a year, as the security must be very tight. You cannot take anything in, no camera, no bag, not even a memory stick in your pocket—as Norbert learned. It’s too bad about the camera as these gardens are exquisitely maintained…flower gardens, herb gardens (each marked with the herb name in English and the illness it will remedy), and fountains—some even timed to music. The place was teaming with visitors—although there were few foreigners. We walked behind a dressed up family with three little ones who ran onto the grass to pick up the huge red flowers off a tree I’ve begun to notice on campus. It has no leaves but millions of these enormous thick leaved red flowers. The mother noticed us smiling, as the kids were not supposed to be running on the grass, and she walked back to us and handed us a flower. A kind gesture, but it also reminds me how much we stick out here.

Whereas these guys totally belong.


From there we went up to Panchkuian Road, where we’d been told we could find a lamp. I am missing not having decent lighting beside my bed to read at night. This is a huge furniture market--here are a few pics of the furniture being built-- and we found a few shops that sold lamps. But the selection was small and we ended up getting a new invention—the shop keeper told us. He put a flexible light (with a light bulb in it—I am getting pretty tired of the fluorescent lights we’ve got in our place) on a tall pole, so that the light would reach over the bed. It looks sort of silly, but we thought it would work.




Then we headed to Sarojini Nagar, where we’d heard one could buy a good salwar kameez. I figure I should at least try wearing what all women here wear. It’s supposed to be very cool and comfortable. But shopping for these turned out to be a serious challenge to my way of shopping. One cannot just browse, since you are immediately accosted by a salesperson as you walk past the tiny entrance to each shop. You tell them what you are looking for—in my case very light cotton (many are made of polyester or very heavy cotton) and plain colors and in seconds you are escorted to a bench that sits parallel to a raised platform where many salwar kameez are pulled out of packages and strewn in front of you. I am a very picky shopper and almost never like the first 100 things I see. So I walked out of many shops having put a lot of people to work and not bought anything. Another problem is that I am apparently a giant here—as the few things that I saw that I liked were way too small. I was ready to give up, but N urged me on. I did end up finding something, but one does not get to try them on. It was only $8, so I decided to take a risk. Also, the sleeves are optional—so since I wanted them, I was escorted into the parking lot after purchasing… to a guy sitting at a sewing machine. For 25 cents he sewed on my sleeves. Then the salesperson waved me in another direction where I could buy the string to hold the pants up. This cost another $1.20, which I think was probably evidence of the “white tax” that we often notice we are being charged. So here's me in my first salwar kameez--with the sleeves sewed on by this busy guy.




From there we headed to Nehru Place, where all manner of computer hardware and software are sold. It’s quite an adventure too, since there are a massive tangle of little stalls in a two story strip mall all selling laptops, or webcams or memory sticks or some combination of computer things. But we made our way upstairs, where we were told we could find a hard drive. (We’ve taken so many pictures that we have a bit of a back-up dilemma). Eventually we found a shop where the salesperson spoke enough English to inspire confidence, and his price seemed competitive with the others we’d seen. For $80 we go at 80GB harddrive.

This day was quite exhausting, as shopping here requires a lot of calm. Horns are honking, people are often packed into tight spaces, vendors are shouting, and occasionally you are accosted by someone selling handkerchiefs or strings of beads. Our driver did not know his way around the city and stopped at least 15 times throughout the day to ask directions. We were stuck in traffic several times too. So we were pretty worn out—with about 40 minutes left of our 8 hour deal. So we were thrilled to see a sign for MacDonalds, where we knew we could get some familiar food—we are still a bit leary of street food, as our stomachs are still touchy. MacDonalds has adapted to the Indian ways and there is no chance of getting a beef burger. I’m still trying to accept this. But this branch did have a south Indian favorite of mine—cold coffee, which is just a sweet, milky coffee—somehow better then an iced latte. We sat in the luxury of air-conditioning and happily wolfed down a bunch of food that I would not be nearly so thrilled with in the US.

When we got home we realized that there was no switch to turn the new lamp on,and there’s no plug at all near the bed. So the whole thing is likely not going to work. Ugh. How can you sell a lamp without a switch on it! How can we be so dumb not to notice!

Luckily, I was distracted by an invitation from Indeever to show me the liquour store near JNU. I have not had any red wine for what seems like an eternity, and apparently buying liquour is quite frowned upon here. Indeever picked me up and we drove about 10 minutes to another market I didn’t know about near us—C Block. When we got near the sign for the store, another store owner directed us to walk around the back. Apparently, they keep the place a bit hidden. It’s a small warehouse with about 10 varieties of liquour and another 10 of wine and a couple brands of Indian beer. I got what he thought was the best of the Indian (Sula) for $11—the only non-Indian was an Italian for $25. Where’s 2 Buck Chuck when you need it!! Turns out the Cabernet Sauvignon I bought is drinkable.

Socializing

Finally we have met some Dehliwallahs that want to hang out with us. Tonight we went with a group of Doud’s friends—history professors who live here on campus—for a Thai dinner out at the member's-only club at the India Habitat Center. Thai food seems to be a favorite among this group, and we had some of the best Thai food I’ve had—since Thailand. We were joined by Kunal, a history professor here at JNU, Shubra, his wife, a history professor at Delhi University, and their 19 year-old son, Boishak, a sophmore history major at St. Stephen’s, the most prestigious college there and their family friend, Indiver, also a history professor at JNU and the one who is a member at the club. We had a lovely night—hearing hilarious stories about the misbehaviour of Helene Cixous when she visited JNU and getting advice on places to travel in India. Shubra is a wealth of knowledge and seems very willing to help us out with anything we need. By the end of the evening she was inviting us over for dinner this coming Wednesday—a goodbye for Doud. Suddenly we have a social life!

Here's a picture I accidently took of 2 of our 7 waiters.

Learning the Ropes

We spent the afternoon in Daryagang—visiting publisher’s bookshops. There is one street in Old Delhi where Oxford, Cambridge and the big Indian distributor, Manohar, have their shops. These stores are packed with books—many of which are suffering from the massive amounts of dust that plague this city. Daud knows all these booksellers as he spends quite a bit of time here whenever he comes, and we had fun just poking around the shelves. Even here the books are only organized by topic, not by author.

From here we had difficulty finding an auto rickshaw to take us to the Siri Fort area, apparently they thought it was too far away. We’ve had this trouble once before, and it makes you wonder what the drivers are after. Short distances would seem to earn them less money. I’ve heard that in some Old Delhi areas auto rickshaws are banned because they clog up traffic. And maybe there are some rules about picking up people, even if you are driving through. However, it reminds us that we need to have a better sense of the city, since we always assume that we will have transportation home. Ultimately we did find someone who would take us to Kahn market to meet up with Daud’s friend, Nilanjan. He had a car and driver, and he was surprised that we were trying to get around by auto-rickshaw. He is an editor for Routledge and has lived for long stretches in England. It was incredibly helpful to talk to an Indian with such excellent English, who could help us sort out some of the interactions we’ve had with people here. He explained that the average Indian is primarily only accustomed to private interactions, with friends and those s/he lives near. So the kind of chit chat and social lubricating that we are used to is not as common here. This would explain the silences in exchanges between customers and service people at banks, chemists, markets…even my hair dresser. It would also explain the seeming socially acceptable staring that we find uncomfortable and the close sitting young woman at the Book Fair. And this moment at Firoz Shah Kotla, the pre-mughal ancient city that is now a tourist destination, when the guy who was painting the fence saw my camera and wanted me to take his picture. He indicated this without a single word, and then he just barely smiled. Yet I could sense his pride in his work and his happiness at seeing himself on the screen of my camera afterwards.

I’ve often felt here that my habit of immediately smiling at people when I come into contact with them is somehow out of place. My white face, a neon sign with a bunch of glaring teeth—like me! Talk to me! My smile comes too quick here, and it seems superficial.

Academic Socializing at Home

There was a Medieval India conference here in our building yesterday and today. Since it isn’t really our area and we are both busy with projects, we didn’t go. But as we walked out to go to the market—vegetables only last a couple days here-- this eve, we were accosted by several organizers and virtually required to have a drink. I’ve been dying for wine, as it’s really crazily expensive here…but sadly there was none at this event either. Indian wine I’ve heard is not at all worth the price, and I really haven’t seen any other kind so far. So I opted for a Sprite, thinking I’d have some beer with dinner--Hard liquour seemed to be most popular. Upon hearing that I was drinking Sprite, the organizer exclaimed, “What kind of an American are you that you…bah!” He was quite disappointed and pointed it out again later in the evening too.

The event was in fact much more grand than I had realized—perhaps I wasn’t being as celebratory as was expected. Clearly there had been a large financial commitment, and there were many well-known participants. They had set up a huge white tent, with maroon and gold brocaded decoration lining the canopy, in the parking lot just to the right of our windows. And in a secreted tent behind lunch and dinner were prepared each day on open fires. The tent comfortably accommodated 20 eight-person tables and a huge buffet, and carpets were laid on the blacktop to span the entire area. It was quite impressive. The whole affair lasted all night. We met an historian at JNU, Joy (who studies Christianity and identity in her home state of Mizoram---an entirely Christian Indian state, converted by Welsh protestants in the 19th? century, which borders Burma), and a Portuguese couple who lived in Mozambique during the war of independence. He was an admiral, and she raised their kids and wrote her first book about their experiences there. She said, “You don’t have to be a writer to write that kind of book. Our daily experiences were enough to make it a best seller.” They were shot at pretty regularly apparently. She’s now working on her third novel.

Carlile's Rules

Susan Carlile’s rules of correct behaviour are often violated here. And almost always it ends up being humorous. We were running late to meet some friends and our rickshaw driver—after having agreed on a price to take us there—decided that he needed gas. Without saying a word he pulled into a gas station—with a significant line…where we proceeded to wait. As we got closer, he waved us out and onto the curb. Then when he’d finally gotten to the pump and filled up, no one seemed to have change (a common problem), and so we waited some more while many people pitched in and eventually made it right (an admirable quality that appears with regular frequency, that perhaps should make up for the waiting ;-). Sheer improvisation is a wonder here. Rickshaw drivers often don’t know the names of major streets or landmarks, but they never hesitate or seem at all embarrassed to pull over and ask directions. I could certainly take a lesson or two in taking things as they come.

Of course, then something happens that makes me question the “take it as it comes mentality.” We were walking in a more upscale (by Delhi standards) section of the city (in Defense Colony) and being surprised by the 15 or so boutique-like shops, that we haven’t seen anywhere else. I was admiring carefully selected fashionable clothes and antiques when suddenly a clod of drying cement hit me on the head. After I moved on, nursing my dented head and dusting cement off my clothes, I could see what happened. A guy laying cement 3 stories above on a make-shift scaffolding--wooden poles tied together with twine—was positioned just above the street. Here’s a picture of another construction scene that gives you an idea just how precarious it all looks. But lots of buildings get built this way!

We started the window unit air conditioner in our little apartment—and it’s a dream. Lucky, lucky us. Let’s hope the electricity holds out as things start to heat up. It must have been 95 today. The heat has made all the bougainvillea bloom on campus. It's really beautiful.

The Ancient in the Modern

I learned two Indian English expressions that I like. One is “Please do the needful”—when someone is requesting that all things are prepared as they should be. The other is “I would like to avail myself of this scheme,” which I guess is fairly clear, but we’d say, “I’d like to take advantage of this deal.” I can’t imagine hearing either of these in 21st century England. But I wonder if you might have heard them in the 1930s? Then again I also think I have a lot to learn about the development of Indian English.

This reminds me of the striking contrasts between the old and the new here. So here are a few pictures to demonstrate. The nice garden is the residence of the president of Delhi University. The cellphone guy on the street is another "common" scene. The arch is Sheesh Mahal in Shalimar Gardens, also in the north of the city, and the painting on it up close.

More Surprises

My French yoga friend, who's been to different parts of India four different times, says that it takes a least month before you will start to get to know Indians. That’s when she notices that they will begin to introduce themselves. Turns out that she wasn’t far off. Today (5 weeks after we arrived) was the first day that someone in yoga class approached me to inquire what I was doing here. Yogesh (his name actually means God of Yoga) is a Rajistani Ph.D. student doing cancer research, mostly in Sweden, but he’s at JNU for a short time.

Every night for the past month it seems we have heard (and sometimes seen) fireworks around 9 or 10 pm. It took us awhile to figure out what they were all about. It turns out that this has been the wedding season and that fireworks are a prerequisite for every wedding.