Where in the World

I was just having a little fantasy shopping in Louis Vuitton, Tod's, and Canali, and forgot for a moment where I was.  New York?  London?  Paris?  No, good old Bangalore!  And if that's not enough, Tiffany and Stella McCartney are opening in the same mall!  That tipped me over the edge.  When we arrived a couple of years ago, we got over excited at the tiny Marks and Spencer here.  No more, now you can go and splash out on shoes, bags, and jewelry much the same as your former colleagues are doing in London and New York.  The prices are comparable - i.e., high - plus a 12.5% tax but if the Dollar/Rupee exchange keeps going in our favour, who's gonna grumble!  Well, I do of course have one small grumble.  Small being the operative word.  I've never been able to buy shoes in Bangalore that weren't handmade because Indian women have tiny feet, certainly not the size of my plates.  Tod's could offer me a 38 in the shoe I liked; I need a 43...  Apparently big sizes are on their way... ah, one can dream.

In Hot Water

Hot water is a bit of a luxury in India; we don't have it in the kitchen or in our bathroom sinks, but we do have it in two out of the three showers, provided by the ever reliable 'geyser.'  In the UK/India, a geyser, pronounced 'geezer,' is your water heating system, a small tank of water that you have to switch on to heat about 15 minutes before you need to bathe.  However, in the US, a geyser is pronouned 'geye-zer,' and is a gushing hot spring.

Well our Indian geyser was certainly a gushing hot spring today; in fact, in less than 90 minutes of us being out of the house, it had erupted and gushed gallons of water an inch deep in virtually every room in the apartment.  Thank god for tiled floors.  Thank god for inexpensive rugs.  And thank god for saddle blankets which soaked up a lot of it in one of the rooms!  It's not the first time the geyser has erupted, but it's certainly the most dramatic.  In the course of two years in this apartment, we've probably had each one repaired in some manner about half a dozen times.  And we will again on Monday!

The whole drama reminded me of the confusion over the US/English word geyser/geezer and its pronunciation:  Our friend Ben was visiting NYC from the UK and couldn't stop laughing when he saw the brand of water 'Crystal Geyser.'  Pronouncing it the US way, geye-zer, it doesn't sound funny; switch it to the UK way, geezer, and pair it with the word's other meaning, 'old man,' and you can see why Ben decided it was a great name for a bad drag queen.  I have to agree, although the name of the world famous Tupperware sales person, drag queen 'Dixie Longate' is certainly high up on the list.  Say it a few times and you'll get it...

(Just a Little) Sex and the City

Last night I went to my first Indian movie premiere, well, I guess you would call it a Bangalore movie premiere, which was in fact my first time inside an Indian movie theater.  Not that I don't like the movies, but with good quality fake DVD's readily available at $1 each, sometimes it's not worth the hassle.  But last night, friends and I went to see the eagerly anticipated premiere of "Sex and the City" and it was quite entertaining - both the movie and the experience.  For starters, there were more men flooding into the 10pm screening than you would EVER see in the UK/US; my husband wouldn't be rushing to see SATC anytime soon.  So, assuming they weren't there for the "City" aspect of the movie, I assume they were there for the "Sex."  In Bollywood movies, it's still mainly taboo for actors and actresses to even kiss, let alone swing virtually naked from a sex-swing as we've seen Samantha do in the past, so the skimpy outfits on screen last night would be near-porn for the censors here.  Which leads me to another thing.  I'm not sure if we actually saw the whole movie because of the censorship issue; there were definite jumps and stops and starts in the soundtrack which led me to believe that either too foul language or sexier scenes were cut, despite the fact that some of the movie was still quite risque, as you would expect.  Something I wasn't expecting was the on screen instruction at the beginning of the movie to "Stand for the National Anthem" which was then sung by a host of celebrities... Being British, it felt like it was time to go to bed as when I was a kid, they'd play the National Anthem on TV at the end of the evening's broadcasting (pre-24 hour TV, of course!)  This was followed by the obligatory movie trailers and an hour and a half of movie, before an unexpected interval:  the film stopped abruptly, everyone rushed out for a pee/ice-cream or both, then headed back for a second round of movie trailers and an equally abrupt resumption of the movie.  The last time I was at the movies and they had an interval was during "Out of Africa" which was about 9 hours long!  The trailers were quite entertaining:  really good trailers for some likely bad US movies and some really bad trailers for what could be good Indian movies (one was touting the fact that some actor was playing 10 parts in one movie; I guess he's the Indian equivalent of Eddie Murphy!)  SATC itself was entertaining enough to keep me awake, unlike the premiere of "Star Wars:  The Phantom Menace" in Leicester Square, London, at which I managed to sleep through the "most exciting section" of the movie, the pod race.  I can only blame that on too much pre-movie champagne, a humiliating stagger down the longest red-carpet in history (with people wondering, "who the hell is she?"), and a less than compelling story-line; I'm Star Wars old school.  So, back to last night.  Whilst there was no red carpet or champagne (no liquor licence) we enjoyed a free pepsi and popcorn, but bought our own Baskin Robbins.  All in all it was a great fun evening and a real 'taste of home' for those who miss the "City" that never sleeps.  Speaking of which, having got home at 1:30am (how can movie theaters stay open that late but bars and restaurants close at 11pm???) I desperately need some sleep before I head off to buy the fake DVD that is sure to be on-sale already.

Do They Know It's Fake-mas At All?

I have tried getting into the Christmas spirit.  I spent hours on our Holiday newsletter and Christmas Card.  I listened to my Christmas music compilation over and over, from The Ramones to Bing Crosby and even Wizzard and Mud for the 70's Glam Rock fans.  I even bought a 4ft fake tree (made in Madras).  But it hasn't hit me yet.  It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit when it's 80 degrees outside and the only Santa you might see here is a skinny fellow dressed in a red crushed velvet suit.  Not that I like Santa, but you get the drift.  And the drift.  There IS no snow drift here.  I miss waking up in Manhattan to 3ft of snow excitedly thinking that I can't get to work, but knowing that NYC transit is so efficient that there's no excuse. Unless you are commuting from Canada.  I even miss the time we spent seven hours delayed on the tarmac at JFK on Christmas Day - without a drink or even a bit of tinsel to raise the festivities.  Our Fake-mas Day, it's been decided, will be spent at Olive Beach, our favourite mediterranean restaurant, where we will dine al fresco on a buffet of unlimited turkey, ham, and eggnog (I'm told).  It's $50 per head, expensive here, but a bargain in the west, and am determined to drink every cent in alcohol.  And then some.  But I miss Starbucks Eggnog, and the surly assistant who once told me that he couldn't make it 'extra hot' as the egg would cook... I doubt that the Egg in Nog is really Egg, just fake egg.  I even bought some DVD's to watch in my blissful stupor that evening; of course, they're fake, from the fake DVD store, but where else can you get movies that have only only JUST been released in the cinema?  I've done all my shopping:  a mad dash round Marks and Spencers in Leeds for the UK family; an extravagant couple of hours in Terminal 4 Duty Free for Tom; and hours online at Amazon and the like for the US tribe.  Not quite Fifth Avenue and Regent Street!  I actually miss spending hours ramming Christmas cards and cash into envelopes to pay Christmas tips to the garage attendants (all 24 of them, most of whom we didn't know), hairdresser, dry cleaner, building superintendent, garbage men, mailmen, etc., etc.  I actually do it here too but it's an exercise that I completed just a month ago as most of our staff and 'service workers' are Hindu and celebrate Diwali, not Christmas.  Until Christmas comes, then suddenly, it's amazing how many Christians come out of the woodwork!  There's much debate here over 'how much is enough' and I play by the 'one month's salary at Diwali' and 'half a month's salary at Christmas.'  I figure that buys me enough good Karma with the Christians AND Hindus for the rest of the year.  So the driver, the maid, the flower lady, the ironing guy, the apartment staff, and our 'stylists' will all benefit.  We even donated enough to buy Christmas gifts for 10 people at the NGO I teach at.  That made me feel the Christmas spirit.  For a minute.  So, as I struggle with the tree tonight and string up the Christmas cards - all four of them - I will continue desperately to get into the mood.  But know that there is nothing more I miss than a rerun of The Morecambe and Wise Christmas Show, a real Christmas Pudding, some Crackers, and, of course, being with our family to eat, drink, and be merry - and then fall asleep in front of the TV!

Three Bugs Does Not An Infestation Make...

I don't like bugs.  Any kind of bugs.  Large or small.  Foreign or domestic.  Forget it.  I only have to see one and I'm calling Rentokil and preparing to move out of the apartment.  We never got bugs in the UK, just spiders in the bath tub; my first exposure was in NYC where bugs, and sometimes mice, were common place, always a result of 'building works disturbing them from another place in the block...'  I distinctly remember opening my kitchen cupboard one evening to see a lovely little family hanging out on my cans of tuna and promptly trying to kill them with a hammer.  My fuzzy logic was that the hammer was about the same size as the bug; now I realize bigger is better.  I go for a size 10 shoe every time.  This prompted an urgent trip to Gracious Home where I asked the guy behind the counter for something to take care of a 'German water bug infestation.'  In polite society they're water bugs, to you and I, roaches.  When the assistant asked, how many do you have, and I replied disgustedly, three, he and Tom shared a look that basically suggested I was nuts and clearly they must humour me immediately.  The assistant couldn't help but smirk and tell me that 300 would form an infestation; I guess three were just passing through.  Fast forward to India... I found one small 'German water bug' when we moved into this apartment, maybe a hangover from the previous tenant, or just camping out til the new owners arrived.  He was quickly despatched with the size 10.  Eighteen months later, and no sightings inbetween, we come back from a trip away, and there, on my first day back, while slowly adjusting to Indian culture after a month of the western world, was the distant cousin of the first 'German water bug.'  He had to go.  And the next day, another.  Infestation or passing through???  By the end of the week, I'd seen a grand total of three.  My lucky number.  A combination of lethal poisons were brought into the apartment including deadly banned-in-the-USA chalk, whose lines the bugs do not cross, but difficult to use given I didn't know whether they were coming from the inside or outside - was I chalking them in or keeping them out??  Next, 75 cent poison spray with long nozzle for easy access into difficult to reach places.  I sprayed this everywhere and anywhere probably ingesting enough to kill an entire colony of cockroaches, sorry, German water bugs.  No more seen.  Until today.  As our maid unpacked a new box of Kinley bottled water, there they were, about a dozen, in the bottom of the box, kicking back and waiting to be delivered to a new home.  The box was removed to the stairwell where I instructed the maid to squash and remove all sign of them NOW!  'Now' is an interesting concept in India which ranges from somewhere in the next hour to sometime in the next millennium.  The scream of my 'NOW' left the maid in no doubt that I wanted it done in the next hour - or sooner.... She did make me feel MUCH happier when she told me that all the other apartments she sees have bugs in them - ours was the only one that didn't.  My good friend Karen also kindly pointed out that the boxes of water were brought home in the car.... great, now I have housebound AND traveling German water bugs!  This afternoon's project for our driver?  A complete clean out and disinfection of the car, equipped with a can of toxic spray.  It's a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it.  And I'm BUGgered if it's me!!!

The Bottom Line

Having returned to Bangalore from a month-long trip to the US and the UK, I can now reflect fondly on one of the more bizarre activities I undertook, namely colonic irrigation, or 'colon hydrotherapy' as it is more trendily known now.  The practice of cleansing one's colon gently with water has been practiced for centuries, but probably came to prominence in the '90s went many celebrities, e.g., Madonna, extoiled its virtues.  I've also known 'real' people to have amazing results; a couple friend of mine who were getting married undertook a series of three sessions each (less painful than a pre-nup, perhaps?) and waxed lyrical about its weight-loss, skin-purifying, and all-round-invigorating properties.  So when my New York friend was raving about her experience at The Great Jones Spa and urging me to try it, who was I to 'poo-poo' it?

The process goes like this:  Arrive at fabulous downtown spa, get in robe, go to small room equipped with bed, 'poop-removing machine', and curtained-off toilet, switch robe around so it opens at the back (don't be alarmed, the PR says, "Client modesty will be preserved at all times...'), swing up onto afore mentioned bed in foetal position and get ready for 'warm water to be gently infused into the colon while your therapist uses special massage techniques to stimulate the release of stored matter...'  Of course, to get to this point, a very sterile, brand spanking new poop removing pipe (not official terminology) has to be inserted into your butt.  Enough said.

I am told that the process - which lasts up to an hour - can be quite relaxing, cathartic, and even enjoyable.  My first experience left me wanting to curl back up into the foetal position and go home.  But I stuck with it.  And came back for a second time.  And a third time - at which point, I'm told, the real old stuff that's clogging up your colon will start to come away.  By this time, I was an old-pro and having many successful 'releases', as the therapist calls them.

It's an odd feeling laying there with a tube up your butt as someone massages your tummy, talks about dairy producing 'toxic mucus', and watches bits of you float past at high speed through the window on 'poop-removing machine'.  

What is in there?  I've heard stories about parasites as long as your arm coming out (none seen by colonic-expert of many years, Brigit Krome), or whole mushrooms appearing more than a week after consumption, and even twizzler-type shapes whizzing past (hence the more affectionate term used by me to describe this activity - twizzling).  The scariest moment had to be when I used the in-room loo pre-my first session, only to see a whole Metrocard down the pan!  If that's not the strangest thing to come out of someone, I don't know what it.  Man, that must have been hard to pass.  Sadly, I think it really fell out of someone's back pocket, but we can dream...

So, after all this twizzling, what were the end results you might ask?  Well, with the help of this and some aptly named supplements called 'The Mover' things are going pretty well in the bathroom department.  Note: Brigit says you should go after EVERY meal...  And I honestly do feel lighter. The fact that after a month of traveling, no real exercise, drinking every day, and eating out, I haven't put one lb on will vouch for that.  

Would I do it again?  You can bet your bottom dollar!

Home Sweet Home

After a whirlwind two and a half weeks, I'm finally leaving the US to head to the UK for another couple of weeks. It is always bitter sweet visiting the US, NYC particularly. While I consider it 'home' as it's the last place we lived before we moved to India, it's fraught with memories of crazy work schedules, stressed out work-weeks, manic weekends, and not much time for each other. We did get a lot done in this time - visits with family, friends, new babies, bigger babies, shopping, eating (including Le Bernardin, very nice, and Les Halles, okay), a three-day work trip to Chicago, concerts (The Police rock!), even flu shots - but it's still nice to think we are heading back to 'our home' in Bangalore soon. 'First World' living is great, but comes at a price - financially and emotionally. I was taking a relaxed walk down the upper west side, our old neighborhood, and was really enjoying the sights and sounds of it all, but all I could think was that if we lived back here, I wouldn't be as relaxed, I wouldn't be a visitor, I'd be a resident, and with that comes all the day to day issues that arise wherever you live in the world. So, Bengaluru beckons us back for a little while longer at least. Someone asked me what the best thing about living in India is, and while initially I said 'my horse,' it really is the time that my husband and I get to spend together, vs. our crazy NYC schedules that left us frazzled and fraught by the weekend. That's what matters and that's why home will be wherever we are - together.

End of the Travesty

So, part three of the triple tragedy with Travisa sees a happy ending to the saga... but not without complications, of course. We checked online this morning to get our 'status update' and were surprised to learn that while my visa was approved at 10am, Tom's was not yet, which was a little odd as mine is contingent on his being granted and was supposed to take three to five days .... fast forward two hours, when we are even more surprised to see that according to the online status, Tom has collected his in person, despite being in New Jersey, an hour and a half's drive away! After a long boring repetitive phone call, someone at the Travesty office advised us that it was indeed a mistake and that we could collect our visa's in person any time that afternoon.... and we did! Shockingly, they were ready, albeit three days after the promised deadline, but allowing us enough time to go and grab a glass of fizz at the Waldorf before Tom headed off for his flight. One member of staff, who told us he was a 'contractor' conceded that the system might not be in business long.... my only hope is that this happens before we have to renew our visa again in 12 months!

Celebrity Sightings

So, it's normal when I get to the first world to have a few celebrity sightings... this week was no exception, with the mixed bag comprising the very good looking Matt Dillon on 81st and Columbus, the elegant Ivana Trump and young buck boyfriend outside their Park Avenue place, and jogging through Central Park, the taller than expected Hank Azaria, former husband of Helen Hunt and one time love interest of Phoebe on Friends. You just don't get this in Bangalore!

No Visa, No Clue... Many Worries!

As an addendum to my Friday post, we still have no visa! We waited until 8pm (the office is supposed to close at 6pm...) while another two or three suitcases of passports were transported (by cab) from the Indian Embassy to the offices of Useless & Useless, Inc. Tom's was not among them, despite having a delivery date of Friday and his receipt. "Oh, that's not guaranteed," advised one apathetic employee. Great! His suggestion? "Come back Monday... I'll do you a favor, speed it up..." How?? I'm not sure what he did other than mumble and shuffle off with our receipt. He couldn't care less as I demanded to know what time, what we could do to expedite further, whether we should go to the Embassy ourselves, or the fact that we had a flight on Monday! The chaos in the office was palpable. Plastic buckets alphabetized and passports slung into them; bundles of passports grabbed willy-nilly from who knows where, waiting for who knows what; the seemingly helpless attitude of the staff... I have to go back later in the week to collect mine... and live through this mini-hell all over again. My big concern is that if neither visa is process, and we need to get our passports back, how will they find them? My urge to leap over the counter and search through the chaos myself may not be containable!! The system - I use the term loosely - started on October 1st; it will be interesting to see if it lasts without imploding until November 1st.

The Travesty of Travisa...

So, Tom and I are sitting on a Friday evening in the 'outsourced' Indian visa office, run by TRAVISA, waiting to pick up his passport, along with about 50 other folk all in the same boat. And the police are here. Tempers have frayed as the pick up time for passports is 4.30pm to 6pm, but it's now 7pm and we're still waiting for some to be sent back from the Embassy! Despite getting here on time, the 'suitcase' of passports didn't arrive til 5.30pm and at 6pm, desperate staff just started shouting out names on the passports that arrived, and people stepped forward to pick them up. Those that weren't there, got on line, and waited and waited for more to arrive. During this, there was a scuffle and allegedly some woman was manhandled in the office and flung out on the floor! Crazy! Then there are the line cutters - typical Indian style is not really to queue, but we're in New York City my friends, so I joined in the tirade to get the offenders to the back of the line... While things in India do take some time, and processing paperwork can be slow, I'll be the first to admit that the old visa system in New York worked a treat - drop off at 9am at the Indian Embassy, take a walk round Central Park, grab a coffee, and pick up at 12:30pm. No problems. It would seem that India is a victim of its own outsourcing success, but maybe the problem is that they outsourced this operation to Americans, instead of their own citizens!