Mumbai

We are safe and sound in Delhi after a tragic weekend for India. Actually, we were in Rajasthan for the Thanksgiving weekend--in dusty hilltop resorts with few televisions and no internet--and didn't follow the unfolding events in South Mumbai the way I remember following 9/11 from the morning of the attacks on the World Trade Center to some three days later (watching almost uninterrupted). Seeing the newspapers slowly reveal the specifics of the story from the Taj and Oberoi is ever more chilling--the mindless carnage. I can't get over how little these bully commandos couched their mayhem in any articulated message or purpose. Perhaps that's why I love movies with a smart villain who, while evil, at least has a fully formed agenda and a sense of propriety, however skewed. Maybe life isn't like the movies?

We are being cautious here. I have to admit to ducking in the back seat of the car last night leaving my office building, as we drove by a nest of motorcycles and auto rickshaws. Can't get over the gnawing fear that one of them will blow up. But really, I am not sure how much safer I would be in Seattle or New York. I am concerned for Jennifer and Isaac and have pressed for more security details from the school. In the meantime, we don't focus on the fear.

Andrea Zittel's Words of Wisdom

This is old, but something that crops up in my mind often. I keep this on my handheld (ironically) and reference it when things are particularly hectic. In India, everything is hectic, so their meditation traditions serve to calm the chaos (and also may have helped deal with heat, with motionless silence). In any event, Jennifer and I were in Vancouver, B.C. several years ago and came across an Andrea Zittel exhibition at the Vancouver Museum of Art. It was a moving and beautiful show, mostly of these simple, functional living space. Almost the kind you envisioned as a kid making a house with a large cardboard appliance box, though with much finer workmanship to say the least. On one of the walls of the gallery, she had stencilled her wisdomifications, towit:

Andrea Zittel: These things I know for sure:

1. It is a human trait to want to organize things into categories. Inventing categories creates an illusion that there is an overriding rationale in the way that the world works.

2. Surfaces that are "easy to clean" also show dirt more. In reality a surface that camouflages dirt is much more practical than one that is easy to clean.

3. Maintenance takes time and energy that can sometimes impede other forms of progress such as learning about new things.

4. All materials ultimately deteriorate and show signs of wear. It is therefore important to create designs that will look better after years of distress.

5. A perfected filing system can sometimes decrease efficiency. For instance, when letters and bills are filed away too quickly, it is easy to forget to respond to them.

6. Many "progressive" designs actually hark back towards a lost idea of nature or a more "original form."

7. Ambiguity in visual design ultimately leads to a greater variety of functions than designs that are functionally fixed.

8. No matter how many options there are, it is human nature to always narrow things down to two polar, yet inextricably linked choices.

9. The creation of rules is more creative than the destruction of them. Creation demands a higher level of reasoning and draws connections between cause and effect. The best rules are never stable or permanent, but evolve naturally according to context or need.

10. What makes us feel liberated is not total freedom, but rather living in a set of limitations that we have created and prescribed for ourselves.

11. Things that we think are liberating can ultimately become restrictive, and things that we initially think are controlling can sometimes give us a sense of comfort and security.

12. Ideas seem to gestate best in a void—when that void is filled, it is more difficult to access them. In our consumption-driven society, almost all voids are filled, blocking moments of greater clarity and creativity. Things that block voids are called "avoids."

13. Sometimes if you can’t change a situation, you just have to change the way that you think about the situation.

14. People are most happy when they are moving forwards towards something not quite yet attained. (I also wonder if this extends as well to the sensation of physical motion in space. I believe that I am happier when I am in a plane or car because I am moving towards an identifiable and attainable goal.)

—Andrea Zittel (as of Spring 2005)

November 18 - Lunch. I bring lunch in my tiffin most days. Office staff delivers it hot and plated to my office, so that I can work right on through the day. Luxury? Working through lunch? On the plate, some rice with a hint of saffron. Butter chicken in a velvety mild curry sauce. Dal Makhani, the dark lentils in a rich buttery masala base with ginger, garlic, onions, garam masala, tomatoes, dried mango powder, and plenty of butter or cream. Then creamy raita, the tangy yogurt-based side dish that brightens up the whole meal. Then a Diet Coke, because I'd like to teach the world to sing.

November 18 - I’m hacking away through first real feelings of discomfort here in Delhi, and not at all the concern I expected (but should have guessed). The air quality has turned nasty since Diwali—really since the temperature started dropping with the onset of autumn. Temperatures in the daytime and evening have dropped to the 60-80s, compared to the heat of the summer when the middle of the night sweltered at an almost constant mid- to high-90s. As a result of temperature drops, Delhi is shrouded in a good old fashioned inversion layer, meaning colder upper air traps the warm air nearer the ground—air that is loaded with woodsmoke, coal smoke, industrial emissions, car exhaust, breathing green plants, and who knows what else. The ozone levels are alarmingly unhealthy during peak commuting times. Dust and particulates are a worse problem, with so much construction, sweeping, and stale air. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but I always thought inversion layers were associated with valleys or plains near mountains. Delhi is fixed on a plain, and there are mountains to the far north, but not close enough to hold in the bad air—or so I would think. However, since Monsoon season is over, there has been no precipitation and not even a hint of wind in the past month or more.
So the air is thick with smoke. I walked out of my office building and could see the grey pall over the city. The Lotus Temple, no more than a quarter mile from my building, was almost invisible through the early evening haze. And I am breathing shallowly, avoiding the acrid gummy hack sticking at my sternum. The last time I felt like this was in Southern California in the 70’s when we visited my Aunt Jaroldeen and her family and we took a mid-week, mid-day trip to Huntington library. The smog there was yellow-grey, but I remember feeling suffocated, choked and uneasy.

I am mostly concerned for Isaac, who has asthma issues from when he was little. I can tell it still affects him sometimes. This air has to be hard on his system. Jagsir (our driver) says that this is unusual, even for post-Diwali. He has the same hack but attributes it (just as they did in Brazil, I recall) to changes in temperature. Diwali, the festival of lights, has a fireworks tradition that leaves the air thick with burnt powder. It no doubt contributes to the pall but can’t be the real culprit. I figure more and more cars on the road. Most of the tuk tuks and buses here run on Compressed Natural Gas—I just don’t know if that minimizes the impacts or has different kind of bad actors. I can’t even imagine what it would be like if they didn’t use CNG.

I am checking with the American School to see what they do about unhealthy air days and the kids. Early indications are that they don’t do anything. Now I am scheduled to speak to the Board of Trustees on air pollution and school policies. I fear turning into a helicopter parent, if I’m not one already, but this is a serious health issue that needs attention. I also wonder if the school can’t exert some influence beyond its protective walls to advocate for the health of Delhi school kids generally, who are the most at risk. Right now, I will just focus on giving the school an idea of my concerns and some resources for at the very least getting sensitive to the issues and risk.

It gets dark early these days, not as early as Seattle, of course. The shops along the route home are lit up. It is so intimate because you see into these shops that don’t so much have doors—they are fully open to the street and the wares are all visible. Slack-jawed salesmen peer out at the traffic, dogs recline on the front walk. The rising full moon looks orange and milky like a curry. Air pollution has a few beautiful side effects—a smoggy silver lining. Namste.

The Trouble with Travel Blogs

November 13 - Just yesterday my favorite travel writer--Paul Theroux--confirmed for me why this business of writing an Indian blog is so tough.  He says, in his newish book:

"Most writing about travel takes the form of jumping to conclusions, and so most travel books are superfluous, the thinnest, most transparent monologuing.  Little better than a license to bore, travel writing is the lowest form of literary self-indulgence: dishonest, complaining, creative mendacity, pointless heroics, and chronic posturing, much of it distorted with Munchausen syndrome.

Of course, it's much harder to stay at home and be polite to people and face things, but where's the book in that?  Better the boastful charade of pretending to be an adventurer:  

Yes, swagger the nut-strewn roads, 
Crouch in the fo'c'sle 
Stubbly with goodness

in a lusty 'Look at me!' in exotic landscapes."

From "Ghost Train to the Eastern Star"

Granted, I am not traveling so much as relocating, so there must be a difference in that.  But does it make a difference in the writing?  Certainly gracious friends that encourage me to write in the first place have assured me that just writing about the mundane day-to-day is what they want most--where I am "being polite to people and facing things."  But at the same time there is so much about our comfy conditions that feels self-indulgent--that is self-indulgent, for heaven's sake.    

November 2 - I never published this post but will now.

I am just back from a long business trip to Abu Dhabi. It was very much a last minute trip, which took me away from Delhi and India during the week of Diwali, the highest of Hindu holidays. I say, highest, but really just the most festive--the most commercial, too. Diwali celebrates the return to India of Lord Ram, who had vanquished a particularly difficult foe in Sri Lanka, the evil demon-king Ravan. Apparently, Ravan was evil but also quite brilliant and studied. In addition to having killed Ravan, Ram was in exile in a deep forest and his nighttime return at a new moon was heralded by his subjects with lighted rows (avali) of lamps (deepa), hence Deepvali or Diwali. The Sikhs, Jains, and Buddhists also attach their own mythology to the holiday, indicative of a multitude of cultural and religious influences in India and how easy they blend together and share their history.


Well whatever, my work in the Middle East didn't blend well with the celebrations. I listened to the fireworks through the phone, as Jennifer danced on the driveway to passing brass bands, gypsies, and revelers. The pall from fireworks settles over Delhi for days after the celebration, not helped by the inversion layer that settles over the city during the cooler autumn months.


Not unlike Christmas in the West, Diwali is now mostly a commercial festival. Gift giving is essential. Stores and melas (seasonal bazaars) are open early and late, selling lanterns, strings of lights, fruits and nuts, handicrafts, everything. Sweet shops with glass cases stacked with Indian sweets sell colorful boxes of assorted sweets. Appliance stores do very big business--selling fridges, stereos, phones, air conditioners, plasma TVs (or at least you would think it from the ads on television.

September 23 - I am sitting in Heathrow, waiting for a connection to Seattle, then to Arizona, then to Utah and then back to Delhi. I have been watching a British Airways 747 get prepped for a trip somewhere exotic. The size of the plane. The nerve to get to the point of making something that big fly--with people and packages! Just amazingly nervy. I am in awe.

I haven't commented on the terrorist attacks in Delhi. Jennifer and I were getting ready for a Saturday night date, Jennifer was in the shower or putting on make-up when our driver, Jagsir, rang the doorbell and came down telling us (about as passionately as Jagsir can get--he is very understated) to turn on the tv news. They were reporting the bombs, which went off in at least two of the places we had been considering for our date (India Gate and Connaught Place). The original reports were not as devastating as what we learned in the days after--the number of dead! However, we knew better than to go out in public. But, we still went out to a smaller enclave with sleepy store fronts and a nice Punjab-inspired restaurants, Moti Mahel.

In subsequent days, this last Monday in fact, the bombers were taken out in a High Noon shootout. Thumb drives and hand scrawled documents revealed that their next target was my office building. All indications now are that the group has been thwarted, although the local press has done everything in its power to venerate the terrorists, without necessarily trying to. Stories of their lives, their ambitions, their wasted talents. Details of their burials, photos of them and detailed accounts of their day-to-day movements. How can there not be others who dream of such recognition, however fleeting--especially in our celebrity culture?

Am I scared? I am concerned. I am still convinced that the changes are much greater that I die in a car wreck than at the hands of a terrorist. And bearing the awful daily burden of fear would kill me in the end--just the weight of constant and consuming vigilance. So I choose not be be afraid. But I take precautions--precautions I would likely take in any event. So there is so much more to focus on here, and I choose that.

Just a Picture

The Few Things I Miss

Somone e-mailed asking what I missed being in India.  The list is small--I am not missing much of anything.  Granted, being an expat these days is much different than it was 14 years ago when Jennifer and I were in Brazil.  The internet and e-mail changes everything.  So much that I might have missed a decade or more ago is a click away, so I always feel connected.

I recall being in Brazil in 1994.  E-mail was still pretty young, but it was a crucial connection for me even then.  I actually communicated more with some of my old company colleagues through e-mail then than I had when I was with them in California.  It is sometimes the same now.

Here are some things I miss (besides friends and family, of course--I am focusing here on the fleeting things that I miss--query why I focus on these before the more important things):

1. Burritos and Tacos (Must be wet and cheesy)

2. Topography (ocean mostly, and then mountains--Delhi is flat flat)

3.  NPR (and the sound pieces, with lapping water or tilling sounds in the background)

4. Football (or perhaps SportsCenter is all I need)

5. Playing Loud, Ugly, Sloppy Rock and Roll

6. Playing Ice Hockey

Only two or three are in fact things I really miss.   I am pleased that the list is so short and manageable.  

A Day In The Life

August 23 - So I'll share a normal work day, from start to mostly finish.  I am up around 6:30, wrestling our constantly (but imperceptibly) leaking Coleman blow up bed, still waiting for a sea container full of essential beds, furniture and gadgets (and other things that somehow fill a sea container).  I eat a little breakfast--I found these sweetish bran flakes and I pour lassi over them--lassi is a sweet-tart yogurt drink, try a Mango lassi at an Indian restaurant next time.

My driver arrives by motorcycle (a Royal Enfield) at 7:20--Jennifer has been walking me down the driveway to the gate and sends me off.  Isaac follows on the school bus at 8:00.  My getting out by 7:30 is crucial, since school traffic (lots of schools here--everyone goes to school and our neighborhood is near schools and universities, even a lot for India) starts paralyzing the roads.

I sit in the back seat and take calls or read or work.  I am trying to figure out a way to set up a computer desk or table--but maybe it's better to use the time to read.  Our car is a diesel SUV.  Relatively good  gas mileage and mostly needed for the third row of seats--for our many visitors and friends.

Thirty minutes to the office over rough roads.  Rough for lots of reasons.  Now mostly because of a city-wide subway project that has almost every major road diverted--they are gearing up for the 2010 Commonwealth Games and want the subway ready to go.  Then there's the latest roads scandal.  All the major road construction firms are under investigation for corrupt practices, including diluting their concrete with up to 50 percent sand--the the pavement seizes or just falls away to fine rubble.

I tend to be one of the first in the office at 8:00.  It's quiet.  Once the office staff  show up, it's bustling and full of energy.  Lots of laughing, arguing, storyelling, kibitzing, gabbing.

Near lunchtime, an office assistant (called an office boy, but I just can't bring myself to say it) comes to my office--his name is Prakash--and asks if I am ready for my lunch.  If I'm ready, he heats up the vittles I bring in my tiffin.  A tiffen is a cooler stacked with 3 or 4 individual containers (can be made of tin or pastic).  They are stacked neatly in a cylindrical pouch, either rigid plastic and vacuum sealed or insulated cordura-type nylon.  The Office Assistant warms up the food (which I pack the night before) and arranges it on office dinner ware--real settings.  I eat in my office, or with others in their office or in a conference room.   Later in the afternoon, my clean tiffen stealthily reappears in my office, next to my briefcase and ready for home.  Food is whatever we had the night before--which is always good.

I call my driver at 5:00 to pick me up.  I have to get home for dinner by 6:00--and also need to get ready for calls and more calls after 7:00--which is when my sleepy U.S. colleagues are finishing breakfast.  The evening traffic is bad--but I miss the worst of it by leaving at 5:00.  It has been a boon to be home for a sit down dinner almost every night I am in town.  This assignment will be worth it for that alone--time with family around a good meal.

I am aware most of the time that I am somewhere different, but more and more oblivious to the differences.  Not sure how I feel about that.  A shame, in some ways, but also an indication that things here are basically as familiar as they are exotic.  At church, visitors often talk about how nice it is to attend a Mormon meeting, because whereever you are in the world, it feels like home.   Honestly, that is true of the human condition generally.  It is equally true about the way we work, play and spend most of our days--not just how we worship 

There Are No Good Blogs or Bad Blogs - Only Blogs

August 17, 2008 - Saying goodbye is such a hard thing for me.  Leaving Seattle--leaving the U.S.--for India was tough, especially when there was so much to do, so many loose ends and tighter deadlines.  So in earnest I promised a blog of my adventures.  Easy, no?  Perhaps for some, but being from a generation (yes, I am old enough to pitifully glom on to a generation) that would say most anything, but hardly everything--and not to everyone--this is a challenge.  But even now, this post is so much cute navel-gazing and "how do I start this whole Blog process?"  I am already too busy looking at myself looking at everyone looking at what I write.  Nonsense, enough.

Sunday night, I am sitting in my home office.  Middle of the Indian Monsoons.  Today it rained for an hour with pound down ferocity.  A hot steamy rain.  It soaks clothing so quickly that I'm startled.  I had to get money out of an ATM and ran from the cover of our car to the outside strip mall (worn from use, smelly, and every bit the hub of local activity).  I ran through inches deep brown water, hiking up my pants and trying not to fall on the wet marble--perhaps the cracks, ruts and divots prevented slippage.  I was soaked the minute I left the car, feeling greasy from the humid rain and the brown water.  But the water is welcomed in Delhi--the source of sustenance through the more arid fall and winter months, until the mountain snows of the Himalayas swell the rivers and flood plains.  So it's just fine, and I am quickly back in a dry, cool car, with my family.

I have some new furniture in my office.  New old furniture.  It's Burmese Teak and it has a fragrance that is all around Delhi.  Isaac has a bookshelf that smells like a scrubbed skunk.  At first it repels and then it sinks in and spices the back of your throat and feels substantial.