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