A Quickie
Not much new to report here.
Steve's colleague Audrey is here visiting for a few days; she's trying to get access to some manuscripts at the LD (the library Steve's been doing work at) and then we're all off to Baroda (Vadodara is an alternate, newer spelling) for a few days. From what I've read, is a pretty enlightened, modern city.
We continue we wage war on the pigeons; I suspect, on the sheer amount of pigeon turd on the balcony, they are winning. In a similar manner, it appears we are waging a battle against our domestic help, who cannot seem to show up in a timely manner or with some regularity. I know, I know, I know. Hold up a titch, you're saying. Domestic help?
Here's the short version of the story. We have a girl (some times a pair of girls) who come to our flat four days a week (Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday) to clean and do laundry. Nothing big, and definitely nothing I wouldn't do myself (and probably should do myself but...). I mean, she does dishes, and if you know me, you know how much I hate doing this particular chore!
So Mrs. Shah arranged for the chokidar's (a chokidar is a watchman of sorts, he monitors who gets in and out of the building) daughter for us. This girl/young lady is supposed to come four days a week. We originally requested that she come, as stated, every other week day and once on the weekend and either at or around 10 a.m. or after 6 p.m. We've repeated this desire a few times, she has acknowledged and even repeated our instruction. However, she continues to show up sometime around 2 p.m. in the afternoon. This wouldn't be a problem if I were okay with being a bored "housewife" chained to my flat and glued to the TV all day. But I am not--I like to get out, I like to go to the LD (Steve's "office"--the library) and work in its cool, mosquito free bowels. So sometimes she comes early, sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes, she doesn't show up at all.
This past weekend, we had plans to go to Karsan-bhai's (the librarian) house for dinner. The girls didn't show on Friday, so Steve, fed up, called early in the day. She indicated that she would be right up. So we waited... and waited... and waited. So Steve called a second time. And then a third. Finally, our girl showed up--about hour before we needed to leave--and Steve LOST it. He yelled, loudly and with wild gesticulations. While he fumed (and in his defense, rightfully so as we are paying this girl--handsomely I might add--to provide a service and in a timely manner)--she cleaned. She apologized afterward, pulling her ears in contrition, and agreed to show up today (Sunday) to clean prior to our guest getting here. I have never seen our place so spic and span.
So we wait. And hope that we have reached some kind of detente.
Steve's colleague Audrey is here visiting for a few days; she's trying to get access to some manuscripts at the LD (the library Steve's been doing work at) and then we're all off to Baroda (Vadodara is an alternate, newer spelling) for a few days. From what I've read, is a pretty enlightened, modern city.
We continue we wage war on the pigeons; I suspect, on the sheer amount of pigeon turd on the balcony, they are winning. In a similar manner, it appears we are waging a battle against our domestic help, who cannot seem to show up in a timely manner or with some regularity. I know, I know, I know. Hold up a titch, you're saying. Domestic help?
Here's the short version of the story. We have a girl (some times a pair of girls) who come to our flat four days a week (Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday) to clean and do laundry. Nothing big, and definitely nothing I wouldn't do myself (and probably should do myself but...). I mean, she does dishes, and if you know me, you know how much I hate doing this particular chore!
So Mrs. Shah arranged for the chokidar's (a chokidar is a watchman of sorts, he monitors who gets in and out of the building) daughter for us. This girl/young lady is supposed to come four days a week. We originally requested that she come, as stated, every other week day and once on the weekend and either at or around 10 a.m. or after 6 p.m. We've repeated this desire a few times, she has acknowledged and even repeated our instruction. However, she continues to show up sometime around 2 p.m. in the afternoon. This wouldn't be a problem if I were okay with being a bored "housewife" chained to my flat and glued to the TV all day. But I am not--I like to get out, I like to go to the LD (Steve's "office"--the library) and work in its cool, mosquito free bowels. So sometimes she comes early, sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes, she doesn't show up at all.
This past weekend, we had plans to go to Karsan-bhai's (the librarian) house for dinner. The girls didn't show on Friday, so Steve, fed up, called early in the day. She indicated that she would be right up. So we waited... and waited... and waited. So Steve called a second time. And then a third. Finally, our girl showed up--about hour before we needed to leave--and Steve LOST it. He yelled, loudly and with wild gesticulations. While he fumed (and in his defense, rightfully so as we are paying this girl--handsomely I might add--to provide a service and in a timely manner)--she cleaned. She apologized afterward, pulling her ears in contrition, and agreed to show up today (Sunday) to clean prior to our guest getting here. I have never seen our place so spic and span.
So we wait. And hope that we have reached some kind of detente.
Out and About
Finally made it out of the house today--no late-showing cleaning crew, no upset belly, no excuses. I put on the flops, grabbed the (new) bag, and high-tailed it out of the apartment. And it was... liberating. Mind you, I just walked around the corner, past Law Garden and down to V-Mart (which does not sell anything worth buying), back down pass Law Garden, and caught a rickshaw to Reliance Fresh for some grocery shopping. Nothing really to report--saw some traffic (dodged some traffic), saw some guys doing whatever it guys do, and this bad boy making his way down the street:
In other news, the local neighborhood boys (probably about 8-14 years old) have "adopted us. Steve attempted to make Poha one day (a mixture of potatoes, peas, peanuts, flat rice, and various spices) and botched the whole thing. We saved it to feed to the Three amigos (a trio of adolescent puppies that live across the road from us) as I WILL make friends with them, they will not bark at or skirt me every single time I walk out the door... but I digress. We couldn't find them--we searched up and down the road. Then we saw them playing in the courtyard in the building across the way. Now, I'm not one to trespass on others' properties (okay, when drunk, I may "know" and "take" certain shortcuts that involve hopping fences and dashing under windows but still...) so Steve and I stood, scorched poha in hand, peering at the dogs, hemming and hawing about feeding these little monsters when three little boys ask us, "You want to feed the dogs?"
After some initial mis-communication, the boys lead us inside. The dogs, two golden colored, one black, all curly tailed, scatter when they see us (I am used to this by now). We put the poha down on the ground and wait. The black dog (Puppyrati--because he yodels and sings vs. barks) comes out first. He is friendly and has let me scratch his ears before. They boys bring us a dish to dump the poha into. It occurs to me that these dogs, unlike most of the dogs we see wandering the streets, are actually taken care of. While belonging to no one, they've found shelter and people who will feed and socialize them. They are used to and friendly enough with the boys that the dogs let the boys pick them up. The boys tell us that the puppies' mother came there with them one day, left, and didn't come back. Since then, the whole complex has taken care of the dogs--feeding them, playing with them.
These boys are also curious about us--they want to know where we are from, what we are doing, if we speak Gujarati. They tell us their names and some other details before being called in for diner. Before they leave, the one that speaks (and understands) English the best instructs us that he and his friends will be available daily only at 6 p.m. Over the course of the next couple days (including today), this boy has introduced more friends to us, invited us to play, and shown me a open/closed electric circuit his friend made a school using wire, an remote controlled car motor, and a AA battery. He left only after securing a promise to meet them at 6 p.m. tomorrow to learn how to play cards.
In other news, the local neighborhood boys (probably about 8-14 years old) have "adopted us. Steve attempted to make Poha one day (a mixture of potatoes, peas, peanuts, flat rice, and various spices) and botched the whole thing. We saved it to feed to the Three amigos (a trio of adolescent puppies that live across the road from us) as I WILL make friends with them, they will not bark at or skirt me every single time I walk out the door... but I digress. We couldn't find them--we searched up and down the road. Then we saw them playing in the courtyard in the building across the way. Now, I'm not one to trespass on others' properties (okay, when drunk, I may "know" and "take" certain shortcuts that involve hopping fences and dashing under windows but still...) so Steve and I stood, scorched poha in hand, peering at the dogs, hemming and hawing about feeding these little monsters when three little boys ask us, "You want to feed the dogs?"
After some initial mis-communication, the boys lead us inside. The dogs, two golden colored, one black, all curly tailed, scatter when they see us (I am used to this by now). We put the poha down on the ground and wait. The black dog (Puppyrati--because he yodels and sings vs. barks) comes out first. He is friendly and has let me scratch his ears before. They boys bring us a dish to dump the poha into. It occurs to me that these dogs, unlike most of the dogs we see wandering the streets, are actually taken care of. While belonging to no one, they've found shelter and people who will feed and socialize them. They are used to and friendly enough with the boys that the dogs let the boys pick them up. The boys tell us that the puppies' mother came there with them one day, left, and didn't come back. Since then, the whole complex has taken care of the dogs--feeding them, playing with them.
These boys are also curious about us--they want to know where we are from, what we are doing, if we speak Gujarati. They tell us their names and some other details before being called in for diner. Before they leave, the one that speaks (and understands) English the best instructs us that he and his friends will be available daily only at 6 p.m. Over the course of the next couple days (including today), this boy has introduced more friends to us, invited us to play, and shown me a open/closed electric circuit his friend made a school using wire, an remote controlled car motor, and a AA battery. He left only after securing a promise to meet them at 6 p.m. tomorrow to learn how to play cards.
Be It Ever So Humble...
What a week(ish)! About a week ago we moved into our Raj Palace flat (our spacious, three bedroom, three bath flat). It was, to say the least, a total mess when we arrived. The place had been abandoned for about eight months and looked it. The floors were dirty, the dust thick on everything it touched, one of the bathroom doors was literally rotting off the hinges, the front balcony was covered in a layer of bird dookey and the back balcony was inhabited by two baby pigeons in a box layered with about an inch of bird feces. And yet we were ecstatic to move in, roll up our sleeves and start making it into a home.
Flash forward one week--a week of feverish cleaning defined by Cinderella style floor scrubbing (yes, I mean hands and knees, with a scrub brush and a bucket of hot soapy water), furniture moving, and decoration ogling. The basics are in place--couch and two chairs (furnished by the Shah's), television (complete with a zillion channels of cable--three quarters of which are in some dialect or another of Hindi and thus, practically unwatchable, but hey, its cheap at $100 for the entire year), and the piece de resistance: A HINCHKO (aka porch swing). So yeah, its swank (or at least will be) and we're sitting pretty. We'll probably get it just perfect in time to leave for the states.
Other than that, things are settling down into a rhythm. Steve and I are apparently creatures of the night and can't get to sleep prior to 2 a.m., which makes the pre-alarm wake-up (aka pigeons crash landing on the air conditioner) at 8 a.m. a bit rough. I've begun to wage war on the pigeons--those flying sacks of poop and disease--and have managed to aggressively dissuade them from lighting on or in any outside space EXCEPT this air conditioner in our room. Every morning I swear the same two or three pigeons glide in with buckets on their feet and land on this air-conditioner and commence bickering and b*tch slapping each other with their wings, causing me to rocket out of bed and rap the glass. Of course, by the time I blearily fling open the curtains, they're gone, two shadows lifting off and scoffing at the crazy human banging on the window.
However, once Steve and I do drag ourselves out of bed (usually around 9-10 a.m.) we fix breakfast, take a "tubby" (aka bathe out of a bucket as the shower-head is hooked up to the cold water only), and Steve heads out for the day. I putz around--sometimes writing, sometimes reading, mostly working up the courage to step out into the world by myself (I know, I know, grow a pair Tina!)--and wait for Steve to come home. This, I assure you, I plan to change... once I shrug off my shut-in status.
Once Steve returns, we usually catch up on the day, maybe go shopping for groceries, and then fix food. And let me tell you--I love cooking here. Its quick, mostly easy (except for the rice), and delicious. So far we've made Channa Masala (chickpeas in "gravy"), stir fry (our first dinner--see below), Alloo Matar (potatos and peas), Gajar Matar (carrots and peas), Ghobi of my own creation (cauliflower), and Paneer Capiscum (a sort of tofu-like cheese and green pepper stir-fry). Some learning experiences along the way (i.e. prepare everything ahead of time as actual cooking time is roughly 10 minutes, thus one does not have time to prep while cooking), and I am begrudgingly beginning to enjoy the pressure cooker (it makes a bit too much noise for my liking, and it spits at me).
Other than that... not much to report just yet. Most still settling in and gettin' used to the place. I am determined to make friends with the local stray dogs (one I have named Pavarati because he does not bark, rather he yodels and sings--the others do nothing but bark at me because I look and sound strange, which of course makes the neighbors laugh) and the veggie lady who comes by every morning. She seems amiable enough...
Flash forward one week--a week of feverish cleaning defined by Cinderella style floor scrubbing (yes, I mean hands and knees, with a scrub brush and a bucket of hot soapy water), furniture moving, and decoration ogling. The basics are in place--couch and two chairs (furnished by the Shah's), television (complete with a zillion channels of cable--three quarters of which are in some dialect or another of Hindi and thus, practically unwatchable, but hey, its cheap at $100 for the entire year), and the piece de resistance: A HINCHKO (aka porch swing). So yeah, its swank (or at least will be) and we're sitting pretty. We'll probably get it just perfect in time to leave for the states.
Other than that, things are settling down into a rhythm. Steve and I are apparently creatures of the night and can't get to sleep prior to 2 a.m., which makes the pre-alarm wake-up (aka pigeons crash landing on the air conditioner) at 8 a.m. a bit rough. I've begun to wage war on the pigeons--those flying sacks of poop and disease--and have managed to aggressively dissuade them from lighting on or in any outside space EXCEPT this air conditioner in our room. Every morning I swear the same two or three pigeons glide in with buckets on their feet and land on this air-conditioner and commence bickering and b*tch slapping each other with their wings, causing me to rocket out of bed and rap the glass. Of course, by the time I blearily fling open the curtains, they're gone, two shadows lifting off and scoffing at the crazy human banging on the window.
However, once Steve and I do drag ourselves out of bed (usually around 9-10 a.m.) we fix breakfast, take a "tubby" (aka bathe out of a bucket as the shower-head is hooked up to the cold water only), and Steve heads out for the day. I putz around--sometimes writing, sometimes reading, mostly working up the courage to step out into the world by myself (I know, I know, grow a pair Tina!)--and wait for Steve to come home. This, I assure you, I plan to change... once I shrug off my shut-in status.
Once Steve returns, we usually catch up on the day, maybe go shopping for groceries, and then fix food. And let me tell you--I love cooking here. Its quick, mostly easy (except for the rice), and delicious. So far we've made Channa Masala (chickpeas in "gravy"), stir fry (our first dinner--see below), Alloo Matar (potatos and peas), Gajar Matar (carrots and peas), Ghobi of my own creation (cauliflower), and Paneer Capiscum (a sort of tofu-like cheese and green pepper stir-fry). Some learning experiences along the way (i.e. prepare everything ahead of time as actual cooking time is roughly 10 minutes, thus one does not have time to prep while cooking), and I am begrudgingly beginning to enjoy the pressure cooker (it makes a bit too much noise for my liking, and it spits at me).
Other than that... not much to report just yet. Most still settling in and gettin' used to the place. I am determined to make friends with the local stray dogs (one I have named Pavarati because he does not bark, rather he yodels and sings--the others do nothing but bark at me because I look and sound strange, which of course makes the neighbors laugh) and the veggie lady who comes by every morning. She seems amiable enough...
