Mr. Smith Goes To Delhi

Feelin' Hot Hot Hot!

2009-06-27T04:34:00.000-07:00

Oh man is it hot. I had a nice long post started about our visitors from the US and our annual trek home, but the truth is it is just too hot to think about any of those things. I know I am taking a real risk talking about the heat, because a large portion of my readers (if there are any of you left) are in Arizona. Arizonans usually roll their eyes or zone out completely when anyone outside of the Grand Canyon State complains about heat, but please, bear with me.

Most people here don't believe me when I tell them I come from a city where it gets even hotter than New Delhi. It is true though. One day, back in 1990, it hit 122 degrees Fahrenheit, or 50 degrees Celsius, in my home town. I have had the soles of my shoes begin to melt. I have had the heels of my high heeled shoes sink into the melted street surface. I am familiar with hot weather. But this is going to kill me.

The problem with the heat here is that it brings power failures along with it, which means no air conditioning. It is true that we have a generator back up, but as the power dips, stops and surges back every few minutes for hours on end, the A/C units stop trying to keep up and just start blowing warm air. Plus, as the weeks of heat take their toll on the window units, (there is no central air) they stop working, one by one. Despite several repairs and assurances from the repairmen that they have been fixed, they still fail to blow anything but hot air.

The refrigerator and freezer can't keep our food or water cold. Water just pumped from the bore well provides a hot shower without the help of the water heater. Everything radiates heat, especially my children who insist on always being within six inches of me. Last night as Mr. Smith and I dragged ourselves into bed, we realized that even our mattress was radiating heat. Remembering a childhood trick I turned my pillow over looking for "the cold side". To my dismay I realized my choices were the hot side, or the sweaty side. Blech. We laid awake until 3:30am when the power finally stayed on long enough to cool the room to a bearable level.

But do you know what I hate the most? The one thing that really irritates me? As I complain about the heat that is making me cranky, I know that the vast majority of the people around me, even those living in the other beautiful homes on my street, have it far worse than I do, and that makes me feel like a spoiled child. Seriously...I can't even enjoy a good pout.

Say Cheese!

2009-04-08T01:05:00.000-07:00

The past month and a half of my life has been focused solely on getting six of the seven Smith kids back in school. Six of seven days of the week were filled with it. There was paperwork, school visits, extra math lessons, paperwork, extra handwriting practice, doctor visits, paperwork, clothing and supply shopping, placement tests and, say it with me, more paperwork. Don't get me wrong, I am used to doing every form of paperwork in multiples, but this has tested my mettle. Today's discussion will not, however, be about the actual filling out of every form ever. Today I would like to discuss an obsession that has India tightly in it's grasp. It is the menace known as...The Passport Photo!

Doesn't sound too scary you say? Fool, I say. Picture this, you are new to the country and you walk into one of several mobile phone stores in your new town's large market place. You are planning to buy a mobile (never say "cell phone", nobody will know what you are talking about) so that you can be connected to the strange world around you. It seems easy enough. Things are going well until the shopkeeper asks for your passport photos. What? You panic a little. No one told you that you would need one, is it a scam? (New comers are always suspicious.) Luckily, you remember you have one in your wallet, leftover from your passport and visa applications, so you hand it over. Whew, that was easy. Until your bank asks for one, then the Residents Welfare Association in your neighborhood wants one, your employer needs three, the appliance sales guy takes another, the dentist and the doctor each demand their due, your children's new school wants three just for the application and before you know it there are hundreds of little thumb sized photos of you and your loved ones floating around the country!

The photos required to enroll our children in school nearly pushed me over the edge. (Watch the running total.) We had to hand in five photos of the child (5), one of Mr. Smith and one of me (7) with every application (42). Then, days before school actually started, twelve more of Mr. Smith (54), Number One Son (66) and I (78), plus two more of each child (90), for ID cards. Are we done? No way! On the first day of school, Almanacs were sent home with each student. These serve as a sort of appointment book for the year and the daily source of communication between parent and teacher. Each book requires two more pictures of the student (102), their parents (126) and their older brother who might pick them up from school at some point in the future (138). Are you catching a glimpse of the mania?

This evening when Mr. Smith gets home from a long day at work, guess where we are going? To get new photos taken, of course! The well has run dry and we wouldn't want to be caught without.

Item - Admittance to school for six children
Cost - 138 passport photos
Item - Knowing my kids are being educated plus a couple of quiet hours to read and write blog posts
Cost - Priceless

Way More Than A Thousand Words

2009-03-15T22:34:00.000-07:00

As I have no new ideas for posts, I have decided to look through our pictures from the last few months and share a few of the best. I hope you all enjoy it! First up is our Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. In December I found myself unprepared for a Christmas in India. We had assumed that we would always be in the US for our holiday season, but a couple of unplanned trips home last year changed our plans, as well as our budget. With the knowledge that I had to buy gifts, a tree and a complete set of decorations, I will admit that I skimped on the tree. When we pulled the tree out to assemble it, I realized that it was far too small for our large room and high ceilings. Next I noticed that the middle section was actually smaller than the rest of the tree! Apparently some other Christmas tree in India has our middle section. On top of all that, it seems that the photographer had a little too much non-alcoholic eggnog and couldn't focus the automatic camera! But we all loved the tree and by Dec 25 we had convinced ourselves that it was beautiful. Having said that, I am sure that next year our Indian decorations will look gorgeous on a new tree.

Now, you know we got a puppy for Christmas

But did you know we already had an unofficial pet?

This is Jenny. Jenny is a stray who spends most of his time just outside of our gate. Yes, I said "his". When we first arrived, my kids named him Jenny. Soon after, it was pointed out that Jerome might be a more suitable name, but it was too late. Jenny stuck. Jenny was much smaller and much skinnier back then, but after a month or so of eating our leftovers, Jenny's ribs disappeared and my kids had a loyal friend.

Earlier this year Mr. Smith and I went away for a weekend in Mumbai (Bombay). I met some great people and saw some amazing sights, but my favorite was...

The Laundry!

And To The Right, More Laundry!

This laundry facility services the hotels and the hospitals in Mumbai. I never ever want a job there, but it is an amazing sight to see.

It's good to know that after being here for two years there are still new things to see and try. I have no idea what this fruit is called, but it was super, super sweet and kind of buttery tasting. It was too rich for me and to be honest, the sliminess was a little off putting. I have kind of a thing with food textures. If any of my readers happen to know what this is called, please, clue me in.

It Is A Thing Of Beauty

Church has been an adventure here. You might remember that last September I mentioned a few problems we had been having. Before that, we were meeting in our home. This month we have started meeting in a building that is in a market area, not a residential neighborhood, and one that is actually outfitted like a church.

Next To Shawn Bradley, Even Number One Son Looks Small!

You May Remember That Last Year Dennis The Menace Was Not Into Holi...

This Year He Felt Differently

The final picture comes with a bit of an announcement. The six school age Smith kids are going back to school! We have many reason for this decision: We found a new school, our kids are more comfortable here now, I am no good at homeschooling and finally...

My Kids Have Way Too Much Time On Their Hands!

Men Can Be Sparkly Too!

2009-02-18T08:27:00.000-08:00

When I was new to India I suffered from sensory overload on a daily basis. Is it any wonder that men's fashion took a while to get through the visual clutter? Forget about the fact that I had a whole new country and it's culture to take in. Women's fashion alone was enough to eclipse the men for months. I mean, think for a minute what they are competing with. The women here wear the brightest, most vivid colors imaginable on a daily basis and top it off with stunning jewelry on every visible part of their body. Seriously, fingers, toes, wrists, ankles, noses, foreheads and even eyebrows. Think I am exaggerating? Consider the wedding photo of Mr. Smiths Indian sister.

Who is going to notice any man in the vicinity? Now it is true that these are only worn all together on weddings days, but I see them individually everyday. Maybe not the chandelier bracelets, but the rest of it for sure. Eventually, though, the gorgeous attire of the women became familiar and other things made their way in. At first I noticed the things you would expect to see.

Turbans, Dhotis, Kurta Pyjamas and Curly Toed Shoes

Then Winter rolled around again and for the first time I noticed The Sweater. Any American who has spent a winter here knows just which sweater I am talking about. I have heard it referred to as fuzzy, furry, grassy and sparkly, but they all mean the same sweater. I give you India's version Winter Wear.

Note Mr Smith's attention to detail in providing us with a close up so that you can fully appreciate the Easter Grass nature of the sweaters.

In the beginning I mistakenly believed that some unfortunate man was cold and only had his wife's sweater to use. Then I saw another...and another...and another! I soon realized that these bright sparkly sweater vests were meant for men. Any man showing up to work sporting one of these babies in the US would be in for years of ridicule (just ask Mr Smith about the time he lost a bet and had to wear a dress to work) and any young boy in a US school would become the prettiest punching bag on campus. Here, however, they are so common that I sent Mr. Smith to work with instructions to get a picture of a fuzzy sweater and he sent me four to choose from almost immediately.

As you can see, a variety of colors are available and, trust me when I tell you, this is just the tip of the sweater iceberg. After a little questioning the young man in the middle admitted that he had in fact bought his sweater in the women's section of the store. What was the give away? Not the pink color, that is one of the most popular colors. No, it was the long sleeves that gave his secret away. Despite their liberal views on color and sparkles, in India, real men wear sweater vests!

Look What Santa Brought

2009-02-02T02:31:00.000-08:00

On Christmas Eve a package was delivered to our home. The package was very tiny, very sweet and had four very short legs. The first Christmas gift of the year was a black and tan Dachshund. A sweet little girl that we named Shanti Pria. She was instantly loved and spoiled by seven children. Luckily, in the weeks following her arrival, that love has not diminished. Shanti is also very smart, hence, her training is going very well. So far she has mastered the art of paper training (for the most part), come (when a treat is involved) and sit (if you happen to yell "sit" just as she is sitting). Once in a while I can even get her to play dead. The real trick is not to say it loud enough to wake her up. Her best trick by far though, is her ability to find someone willing to hold her on their lap. She can find a willing lap any time, any where. It is a very useful skill and we are all very proud.

If only the rest of the Christmas arrivals had been as cute. Just after Christmas Mr. Smith noticed that Star On Stage was scratching her head often and with gusto. Mr. Smith suggested washing her hair, thinking that perhaps an excess of dirt and oil on the scalp was the culprit. However, a clean head did not stop the scratching. Reluctantly I called Star On Stage over and looked through her hair. Yeah...you know what is coming. You're probably scratching your head right now.

Is it on me? It feels like it's on me!

Star On Stage had lice. Of course this announcement sent the family into chaos. Number One Son grabbed Dennis The Menace and off they went to the barber. Their thinking? You can't get lice if you have no hair. I have no idea if that is true, but either way, 30 minutes later the young men in our family returned home with no hair. The girls scratched a lot and tried to count how many times in the last few weeks they had come into direct contact with Star On Stage's head, pillow, brush, play wigs, hats or scarves. For the next several hours we researched methods of de-lousing, ripped off bedding for washing and started the long process of louse hunting. The first night we found an even 50. All on one head. Everyone take a moment to get over your heebie-jeebies...ok, let's continue.

Poor Star On Stage suddenly became persona non grata as far as all of her siblings were concerned. You can't blame them, really. It is hard to hug someone good night that just had 50 bugs crawling around her head. Not to worry, ever the caring parent, I sat down with her and explained that they were just afraid that they too might end up with lice. She admitted that she would have felt the same way had it been another child with lice. Then, in a final show of solidarity, I bit the bullet and hugged my mega infested child. Then I scratched my head...

Over the course of the next few weeks the lice count dropped, more hair was cut, other kids were checked, re-checked and cleared. Finally, the lice count was zero...except on my head. Yes, I had a creepy crawly resident on my scalp. Fortunately, the level of paranoia that existed in our house lead to an early detection and a quick eradication of my unwanted guests.

Mr. Smith will no doubt be pleased to see that I have finally come out of my low tech hermit cave and have once again joined the cyber-world. However, he has already decided that one post will not be enough to make amends for my neglect. He has, therefore, decreed that two posts are required this week by way of penance. Later this week...Men's Fashion.

A Variation On Where's Waldo

2009-01-21T07:29:00.000-08:00

I am sure that many of you are familiar with the book series "Where's Waldo" in which Waldo, the title character and protagonist, as it were, is hiding amidst the crowd in many different situations and different crowds of people.

For today's blog posting, I give you, "Where's mrs smith", an exciting search for the legendary, yet lately absent, author of this wildly popular blog. So please, enjoy the search and, if you miss her regular ramblings, make a comment and let her know.

Good luck!!

mr smith

The Eye Of The Beholder

2008-12-17T09:26:00.001-08:00

I wonder what your first reaction was to seeing this symbol on my blog. When I first arrived in India I was shocked when I saw my first swastika. I could tell it was different than the one I had seen in movies and history books, the one that meant evil and hatred and danger, the one that marked everything it touched as repugnant. The angle was different (although I didn't realize that until Number One Son pointed it out), the black field was gone and the block-ish shape had been replaced with an artistic flair. I knew that if it graced homes and cars and store front signs that it had to mean something else here, in this land that was so new to me. Despite the fact that my logical brain picked up on all of these things, my stomach still turned every time I saw it. My eye would slide around it, as if not looking directly at it would make me feel better about it.

When we got the van that we would be driving for the next few years, some kind soul decorated it for us. In India, buying a new car is something to celebrate. You bring sweets to your friends and co-workers and you decorate your car. On the hood there was a beautiful red ribbon (sorry, no bow) and right there, front and center, was a bright red swastika. For weeks as we drove around the city I felt like ducking so that no one would see me in the swastika car.

This isn't something you can ignore for long in India. It is everywhere. Clothing, wrapping paper, even sidewalks. They come in all shapes and sizes and are made with all different mediums. They also often have four dots included with them, like the one below.

Even our neighbors house is decorated with them.

I decided to try to find out just what this particular geometric pattern represented in Indian culture and as usual found that there were several different opinions. The ones that came up the most were, a blessing of wealth, good luck and general well being. I think it is so interesting that one symbol could have such diametrically opposed meanings, depending on where you were raised.

I admit that after almost two years I have lost a lot of the old emotional reactions that I had, but I still don't choose keepsakes with swastikas on it and I don't see that changing anytime soon.

Number One Son

2008-12-03T07:55:00.000-08:00

Number One Son is nothing if not interesting. He is a crazy mix of intelligence and bad judgement, of kindness and narcissism, of maturity and rashness. He has provided Mr. Smith and I with countless stories and a number of sleepless nights. Two new stories cropped up just this week and so, of course, I have decided to use them for this week's post along with a couple others thrown in. I think all good bloggers should exploit their children for material, let them earn their keep.

Number One Son has a fascination with buttons and knobs. He cannot see a button and not push it to find out what it does. That is how he learns, he just jumps in and tries. One day, soon after we arrived in India, I heard a frightened sounding yelp from the direction of his room. I rushed towards his door only to meet him as he shot out and announced, "I have been violated by India!" It seems that while "sitting in the bathroom" he noticed that there was a faucet like knob on the wall next to him, but no corresponding faucet. So, being Number One Son, he reached out and gave it a good turn. The startled yelp came when the cold February water shot out of the bidet attachment that was controlled by the mystery knob on the wall and hit him where the sun doesn't generally shine, so to speak.

Number One Son is a bit of a compulsive shopper. Of course Mr. Smith and I would never allow such a character flaw in ourselves and so we are bewildered as to where he could have gotten such a loathsome habit. The $1,500 we spent on a set of Encyclopedias two months after we were married was an investment in our future. Well, it was. Upon Number One Son's return from his extended stay in the US this summer, we discovered that one of the things he had purchased during his days of freedom was a book, "Stuff White People Like" by Christian Lander. Not only was I annoyed that he had bought one more completely frivolous thing, but for some reason the title annoyed me. It turns out the joke was on me. A few weeks later Mr. Smith and I were discussing the fact that when we see other white people in public we want to run over and introduce ourselves and find out what brought them to India, but they seem to want to pretend they don't see us. We were debating various theories to explain this phenomenon when Number One Son jumped up and ran out of the room, only to return a minute later with the book. It seems section #71, Being the Only White Person Around says, "In most situations, white people are very comforted by seeing their own kind. However, when they are eating at a new ethnic restaurant or traveling to a foreign nation, nothing spoils their fun more than seeing another white person." Whew! I thought we had B.O.

Number One Son doesn't always think things through. This week's compulsive purchase was three black ski masks. You know the kind, two holes for eyes and one for your mouth. This is always a silly purchase in balmy New Delhi, but in light of last week's events and the fact that all of India is on high alert, it seems to me like a particularly dangerous one. "Gee mom, I can't understand why our driver was so nervous when I put the ski mask on while we were driving through traffic." Um, perhaps he was afraid you would both be dragged from the car and beaten to death? Just a thought.

Number One Son is...well he is who he is. A couple of days ago Mr. Smith and I left Number One Son in charge of his six siblings. While we were away, Number One Son decided to make himself some microwave popcorn to enjoy while he carried out his duties. As usual he placed the bag in the microwave and set it for an undetermined amount of time, then stood next to it, listening to the popping sound so as to catch it at the exact moment when the bag reached that delicate balance of mostly popped, but not yet burned. Unfortunately something distracted him and pulled him out of the kitchen. The popcorn was completely forgotten until almost thirteen minutes later when the smell of smoke caught his attention. Number One Son rushed back to the abandoned microwave and opened the door only to find his popcorn engulfed in flames. He ran through his fire fighting options and decided the situation was bad enough to warrant the use of the fire extinguisher, which fulfilled its destiny beautifully.

I thought all fire extinguishers were filled with foam, but it turns out that some are filled with yellow powder. I only regret that I was too stunned when I got home to think of taking a picture. Yellow powder covered every surface and every object in our kitchen. Here is my lame version. Lame as it is, it's pretty darn close.

Make no mistake, Number One Son is still number one in the line up and number one in our hearts. Well...he is at least in a seven way tie for number one.

Conversational Confusion

2008-11-29T04:59:00.000-08:00

This week has been a tragic one in India. I don't feel like I can ignore the situation without being disrespectful, however I also don't think I can do justice to the subject. Instead I will provide a link for those of you who may be interested in reading about it, but as for my small corner of the Internet, I will try to provide a little distracting comfort with the silly and the trivial.

In the past couple of weeks we have had several repairmen in our house. I am sure you have noticed that this is a recurring theme. Things here look real nice, but require a lot of upkeep. I am not sure why. In the past two weeks the following things have required repair or replacement:

Kitchen hot water heater
Upstairs hot water heater
Upstairs bathroom ceiling fan
Downstairs bathroom ceiling fan
Washing machine
Dryer door
Electric tea kettle
One wall outlet
Generator automatic on/off thingy-ma-jigger (sorry for the technical terms)
Oven door
Stove controls
The still ongoing stone replacement on the outside of the house

One of the things that always presents a problem when I am trying to facilitate the repair of anything is communication. I speak Englindi and they speak Hinglish. Each of us speaking just enough of the other's language to cause problems and confuse the situation even more. For instance, if I ask when they will return to complete the repair they always, always, always answer "kul." Now, "kul" translates as "tomorrow". It can also be translated as yesterday, but since I don't think they plan on using a time machine to repair my washing machine yesterday (which would be very convenient), I assume they mean tomorrow. Unfortunately, in reality it seems to mean, "Sometime in the near or distant future, or perhaps when you have called us several times but absolutely under no circumstances will I be back tomorrow." You can see why this would be confusing.

Next on the list of confusing customs is the question sentence. The question sentence is a sentence that disguises itself as a question. Imagine that you are in the 2nd grade and your teacher says, "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the...?" Her voice goes up on the word "the" just as 25 children's hands shoot into the air. The lucky chosen child answers, "plain!" However, in the question sentence the repairman might say, "The lock on your dryer needs to be...?" At this point he pauses just long enough to have my inner 2nd grader bouncing in her seat yelling out, "Repaired! Retooled! Reworked!...Re-purposed!" But before I can even draw a breath he says, "replaced." The other day I was listening to a lovely woman who was speaking completely in question sentences. It sounded something like this, "I was going to the? Market. I needed to buy? Bread. I couldn't walk to the market because because my knee was? Paining. The traffic was so bad, that I couldn't even get a? Rickshaw." It was exhausting. No matter how many times I told myself that she was not asking me to guess the last word of her sentences, my brain just kept trying.

The final and most famous Indian conversational wonder is the head bobble. Come on. You know the one. If you haven't seen it first hand, then you have seen it imitated. You've even tried it yourself. No? Not even in the bathroom mirror? Liar. In a typical conversation this can mean yes, no, maybe, of course, I'm listening, I have no idea and finally, what are you talking about you crazy American. The trick is figuring out which head bobble you are looking at. I have heard countless theories and systems that other Americans living in Delhi have come up with to differentiate between the many varieties, but eventually they all fail. You can spot the new arrivals to India because they actually try to get a translation. Mr. Smith spent his first three months in the office doing something like this:

Mr. Smith - This job is for a very important customer, it must be on time. Will it be finished on time?
Office worker - *head bobble*
Mr. Smith - Is that a yes or a no?
Office worker - *head bobble*
Mr. Smith - Wait, does that mean it will be on time?
Office worker - *head bobble*
Mr. Smith - (Eye begins to twitch.)

See? Confusing, right? After a while you do begin to get the hang of it. Some foreigners have even incorporated the head bobble into their body language vocabulary. Not me though. I know when I'm in too deep.

At this point I should probably apologise for my spotty posting. Mr. Smith has been really nagging me about it lately. So, right know, in front of witnesses, I promise that I will post again...kul.

Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Big political news from the US!

2008-11-07T20:49:00.000-08:00

This morning, like every other morning, Mr. Smith pulled apart the newspaper and sat down to enjoy his breakfast. I had a couple of minutes, so I sat next to him and started reading along with him. I wasn't committing to anything, just sort of scanning the back of the pages he was reading. Reading the paper here is always interesting. Sometimes it is the "English as a second language" grammar that catches my eye. Other days it is the world view that is so different from the one I get at home.

Today it was a reminder that the majority of the people here have a vastly different belief system than I do and therefor consider different things to be newsworthy. In the world news section of the Times of India today there was an article answering the pressing question "Who was Barack Obama in his past life?" For those inquiring minds out there that want to know, "...Barack Obama is the reincarnation of Lyman Trumbull, an Illinois Democratic senator and the principal author of the Thirteenth Amendment, which put an end to slavery in the US." If only this article had been published two years ago. Think of the time that would have been saved if the "He's not experienced enough" argument had been eliminated. He was an aide to President Lincoln for crying out loud! Can't get much more experience than that.

The man who made this announcement goes on to say "If we accept the case of Trumbull having reincarnated as Obama, it also sends out an important message that individuals can change race from one incarnation to another," Really? That's the important message? Since Hindu's believe you can change species from one incarnation to another, I don't see race as being such a big barrier.

The newspaper isn't the only time the local belief system trips me up. For example, math and science is a big deal in educational circles here. Medicine and computers are the fields that most people seem to "encourage" their children to consider. This might lead one to believe that science and logic are highly valued. One might then expect to see evidence of that in other areas of life. One would, as usual, be wrong. One is always wrong, isn't she? Because although math and science and medicine and computers are important, so are star charts. Especially when a marriage is being arranged. Star charts that aren't compatible (or whatever it is they are checking for) can be a deal breaker. The stars can also have an impact on what day the wedding is held. Some days are more auspicious than others, astrologically speaking. (Things being auspicious is very important.)

As usual though, while I confidently sit in judgement of the people and things around me, some part of my brain scans my own life for similar contradictions. Dang it! There they are. To me, my faith and religious beliefs are in complete harmony with science, maybe not every scientific theory, but science as a whole. I am sure, however, that there are those who would consider my beliefs to be outlandish, fanciful and down right baffling.

Knowing all this, why was I surprised that that Barack Obama's past lives were deemed newsworthy? I don't know, but I was. One of these days I will get everything figured out. When I do, I'll let you know.

Belcome to Bollywood

2008-11-01T00:20:00.000-07:00

Remember when mrs smith used to write blog posts? Man, those were good times... Until she chooses to grace us with her presence further, I thought we could entertain ourselves with a little discussion about Bollywood and Bollywood music.

Movies and music are cultural necessities these days, or so it seems. But the cultural lines are blurred here in India (ok, probably everywhere, but we notice them here more easily because we are immersed in it). At first it seemed that everything was so different and separate from our American culture. Then we saw the influence of the west in clothing, business practices, restaurants (one can't cross the street without tripping over a McDonald's) and many other areas. One of those areas is the entertainment industry.

The largest movie industry in the world is based in Mumbai, India. Worldwide it is referred to as Bollywood, and Bollywood is larger than life. Here, the musical is alive and well. The romantic comedy is big as is the action film. The tragic love story is wildly popular as people live out their fantasies vicariously through their favorite film star. It is actually quite juxtaposed with cultural norms and realities. In Mumbai, the seat of Bollywood, last year a school banned any physical displays between boys and girls. In other words, no hugs or hand holding or anything else, for that matter. But on the silver screen anything can happen, and people attend movies here - rich and poor alike - to escape into that fantasy world.

One of the unique characteristics of Bollywood films and music is that the stars crossover all the time. In fact, in a music video from a film song you will not see the singer of the song, but the Bollywood actor from the film lip syncing and dancing to it. Sometimes the videos come straight from the films themselves. That happens at home too, but the previous way doesn't. I always feel bad for the singers who get heard but not seen, while the actors get seen and seen and seen... In any event, these things have enriched our lives here immeasurably.

Below is a collection of Bollywood music videos from various films. We have come to love the music, its passion and depth, and the fun nature of the sights and sounds, so I thought it would be fun to share some of it with you. Number One Son is quite an afficionado now, so he might be able to tell you more if you want to know. And try to ignore the contrast between the booty shaking, the outfits, and the lawsuit filed by some local people when Richard Gere kissed Shilpa Shetty on stage last year. Some things I just don't get... ENJOY!

First, a music video starring my favorite Bollywood actor - Akshay Kumar:

This next video snippet is from Singh is Kinng (yep - double "n") - a movie also starring Akshay Kumar and Katrina Kaif (they are an oft-paired bollywood duo). It is almost enough to get me to tie on a turban. :o)

This next song I actually sang at a company event. It was a lot of fun, and I sang it for the employees who attended, as well as some of my visiting company representatives. And yes, I sang it in Hindi. It was a lot of fun. Unfortunately, it has pigeonholed me a bit as I am now asked to sing it everytime the company in India gathers for any reason. So I am learning another song...:

The next video is from Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na, a popular movie that is filled with fun music, This song is currently very popular and may be my next hindi music performance:

This video is just fun to watch in any language. It has Akshay again, Ritesh Deshmukh (at least, I think that is who it is) and the guy that makes the grand entrance in the end is the current king of Bollywood, Shah Rukh Khan:

This last one is just fun, and because mrs smith looks cute doing the little hands together head bobble Kareena Kapoor does in the song:

mr smith

Rollin' On The River

2008-09-30T09:26:00.000-07:00

Traffic in Delhi is very different from anything I ever saw in Arizona. I have been told that a former expat, who lived here until just over a year ago, once said that traffic in the US is like a production line in a factory while traffic in India is more like a river. Now, he was a pretty smart and eloquent guy, so I am sure it sounded a lot better when he said it, but the message is still true. It really doesn't matter where the lines are, whether or not there is a traffic light, or even if a small child is selling magazines in the middle of the road, everything just flows around it.

I have always loved people watching, and on the streets of Delhi there is always something to see. I have actually considered keeping a camera in the car to document some of the bizarre things we see everyday as we move about the city, but, just like Alice in Wonderland, although I give myself such very good advice, I very rarely follow it. Luckily, it seems that almost every electronic gadget has a camera in it, so we have caught a few good ones.

This first one is a video I stole from YouTube. It isn't here in Delhi, you can tell because if it was in Delhi there would be about a thousand more cars and several cows, but it is a good example of the free for all driving that is common here.

We were recently sideswiped by...

An ox cart! No lie.

This is a very common sight.

(See the leg from passenger number 4 poking out?

Don't even get me started on the whole side saddle thing!)

If you study very hard while you are here...

Perhaps you can land a job here!

Speaking of jobs, I don't see this one in my future.

(Of course with the market being the way it is, who knows?)

Despite the spelling being a little off, the thought of an automated mohel had

Mr. Smith crossing his legs.

Speaking of the spelling being off...

I hope you enjoyed our little show. Maybe I'll put that camera in the car after all.

P.S. I hope you like the special October pictures over on the left. Don't worry, I still hate Halloween.

"Things That Go CRASH In The Night" or "What Did You Say?!" as told by Mrs. Smith

2008-09-23T03:42:00.000-07:00

It was a dark and stormy night, the wind howled angrily as lightening flashed across the sky. Suddenly, Mr. and Mrs. Smith heard a loud rumble followed by several ear splitting crashes! Knowing from experience that this could only mean that large stone tiles had fallen off the side of the house, Mrs. Smith ran out into the violent storm yelling, "Where is the guard?! Find the guard!" You see, Mrs. Smith secretly feared that one day a stone tile would fall and crush the poor guard who often placed his chair up against the house. Luckily the guard had taken refuge from the storm in the utility room and was safe and sound. "Thank goodness!" said Mrs. Smith.

A few days later some very nice men came to replace the broken tiles. Some other men brought large pieces of stone to be cut into tiles and still others brought a large pile of dirt to help make a magic glue that would hold those silly stones on the wall.

"But wait," one man said, "even this magic glue made of dirt will not hold these large pieces of stone up. We need something stronger."

"Hmmm..." said the men who brought the dirt.

"Hmmm..." said the men who brought the stone.

"Hmmm..." said the men who came to replace the broken tiles.

Finally someone came up with a brilliant idea. "Let us drill a hole...

in every corner...

of every tile...

over the whole house.

Then, we can put a post in every hole in every corner of every tile over the whole house to make it a very strong house indeed!"

"Yes, let's!" cried the men who brought the dirt.

"Yes, let's!" cried the men who brought the stone.

"Yes, let's!" cried the men who came to replace the broken tiles.

So, that is what they did. They drilled, and they drilled, and they drilled... and they drilled. Soon, people in the neighborhood began to wonder why that nice American family up the street all looked so cranky and why they were all plugging their ears, but mostly the people wondered why they had all developed eye ticks. "Those funny Americans," all the people exclaimed, "they really are too amusing! What would we do without them to entertain us with their crazy antics?"

The moral of this story is two fold. First, when living in India one should always own a reliable pair of ear plugs, and second, American Sign Language is awfully useful.

The End. (What? You couldn't hear me over all the drilling?)

The End!

The E... Oh forget it!

In the mean time, Skater Girl wants to make sure everyone knows that tiles aren't the only things that have been falling out of place aroung the Smith household.

Skater Girl's current stats: 5 teeth lost, 1 grown back, 1 loose.

Mrs. Smith's Wish List

2008-09-18T13:54:00.000-07:00

I wish I didn't have to write this post. I knew several days ago that I was going to write it, but I put it off because it presented me with two problems: First, it deals in part with subjects that I have purposely avoided on this blog. Second, I find it difficult to write about the evil that men do.

I wish I was surprised. On Saturday evening a total of five bombs went off in three market places in Delhi. Markets that we like to visit, but luckily were nowhere near. More than 20 people were killed and many more injured. In the last year there have been bombings in several major cities around India, so it was only a matter of time before they hit Delhi. Actually, according to the local paper it has been going on for three years and it was in October of 2005, almost three years ago exactly, that Delhi had it's last large bombing. This latest one was claimed by the Indian Mujahideen who says the bombings were in retaliation for the oppression of Muslims in India.

Before we become too comfortable with our stereotypes, there is a group of militant Hindus that are causing just as much death and destruction in southern India. Everyday we read about beatings, stonings and church burnings. Those responsible say that their actions are in response to forced conversions of Hindus to Christianity. Obviously India is experiencing religious unrest on a large scale right now.

I wish my story ended there. It seems we are experiencing some religious unrest on a small scale in our neighborhood. My family belongs to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, also known as the Mormon church. For the first several months of our stay in India we attended church in Delhi. Eventually we were asked to hold meetings in our home. The hope was that having services outside of Delhi would make it easier for those who lived further out to attend. A few months ago we outgrew our living room and the church rented a building for us to meet in. I was excited about the new building because it was within walking distance of our home but not actually in our home. (The only thing harder than getting a bunch of kids up and ready for church is keeping your house spotless while you do it.) We knew that we might have some problems establishing a new Christian congregation in a country that is 80% Hindu, but we were still surprised when the problems started.

I wish violence was not a political tool. First it was our sign. Most Mormon buildings have a plaque on an outside wall identifying it as a church. Within 20 minutes of putting our plaque up, we received a call from our landlord saying that he was receiving complaints from the neighborhood watch group. We knew the sign fell well within the rules for signs in the neighborhood, but we also knew it was a fight we would not win, so we removed the plaque. Next came rumours about what our members and our missionaries were doing. The rumours were false, but I am sure they hit their mark before we were able to set the record straight.

Finally, last Sunday, as we were gathering, a woman approached the church and told those in front of our building that we had to stop holding meetings. According to her there were those that wished us harm. She claimed to have stopped two such people already. She assured us that if we tried to meet this coming week, the rocks would fly and she would be unable to stop them. After a little investigation into the situation, it appears that someone hopes to gain local political power by using the ousting of our small congregation as a rallying point.

I wish it wasn't true. Religion and violence seem to be linked, despite the fact that most religions preach against it. I wonder how much of it is justified and how much is caused by ignorance and misunderstandings. For example, I considered including three pictures at the top of this post. First, a picture of Ganesh, second, a picture of Jesus and third, a picture of Muhammad. As I looked for images I was surprised by how few pictures there were of Muhammad. The explanation I eventually found was this, Muslims don't have images of anything with a soul because it could lead to idolatry. If that is true, how many people might have I offended with my innocent banner?

I wish I didn't know. Now as I walk around the neighborhood I find myself wondering about the people I see. Would the boy who sells us bread throw a rock? Would the men who say hello to us in the park turn a blind eye? Would the women who smile and nod when we pass in the street come to defend my children? It hurts to think that the people with whom we have tried to become friendly, could turn to violence with a few emotionally charged phrases.

I wish I understood.

The Gangrene Gang

2008-08-31T02:16:00.000-07:00

When Glamour Girl told me on Monday evening that her stomach was hurting, I must admit, I thought it was a ploy to postpone going to bed. Perhaps she had noticed that the phantom backache she had been complaining about for the past two months wasn't bringing in the sympathy that it used to, but as the night moved on and the tears continued, I started to doubt the accuracy of my "baloney" divining rod. I was never very good at using it anyway.

One skill I have acquired in my 17 years of motherhood is the ability to check for rebound pain. I knew one day that one of my children was going to develop appendicitis, and when they did, I was going to be ready. So when I quickly pulled my hand off of Glamour Girl's abdomen and she cringed big time, I knew it was show time. Mr. Smith came home from work only to turn right around and take us to the Emergency Room.

Unfortunately the hospital was full (as was the ER) and the doctor that looked at her wasn't totally convinced. Two hours later we were headed home for the night. When Glamour Girl vomited in the parking lot, we probably should have turned around, but the doctors had assured us that there was no emergency, and we were all exhausted, so we went home.

The following morning we woke up early and sang Happy Birthday to Book Lover who was turning 13. We could tell that Glamour Girl hadn't improved, so we passed out the gifts, we oo'd and ahh'd over them, then we headed back to the hospital. This time we were more determined. When they informed us at 9:30am that there were no hospital beds available we stuck like glue. When gurney after gurney was lined up next to Glamour Girl's, we stuck. When they continued to run tests and the afternoon got hotter, we stuck. Finally, finally, after standing in the ever shrinking spot next to our daughter for seven and a half hours, we were informed that there was a bed for her and surgery was scheduled for the next morning. Even then the surgeon came around and told us he still wasn't convinced because her pain wasn't very severe and it seemed to be all over the place.

I knew better. I knew that Glamour Girl had inherited a trait from me. She wants to please the people around her. This means that when she is sick she masks the pain in front of the doctor so he doesn't think she's a baby, and her need to give the right answer makes her overthink her response when the doctor asks "Does it hurt here? How about over here?" So... I coached her. I felt a little guilty, but at no time did I tell her to misrepresent her pain. Mostly I just said, "When the doctor comes in to check on you tomorrow morning, if it hurts when he pushes on your tummy, say 'Ow! That hurts!' Now, let's practice."

I guess our little practice session worked because Wednesday morning Glamour Girl was wheeled into the Operating Theater (despite it's fancy name, we were not allowed to watch and no popcorn was served). Mr. Smith and I were ushered into a small, stuffy waiting room.

Let's fast forward a little, shall we?

The surgery ran long enough that Mr. Smith and I had time to imagine all kinds of terrible things, but it was successful and Glamour Girl came through like a champ and slept for the rest of the day. On Thursday morning the surgeon came around to check on his patient and to inform Mr. Smith that it had indeed been appendicitis. When Mr. Smith told me that the words Acute Gangrenous Appendicitis and Acute Pelvic Peritonitis had been used, I no longer felt guilty for coaching. Gangrene is never a word a mother wants to have associated with her children (even the naughty ones) unless they are referring to the Gangreen Gang from The Powerpuff Girls, which is spelled differently, but pronounced the same.

On Saturday evening Glamour Girl was finally released with plenty of medication to take home. We were all glad to have her home safe and sound. Oh, and guess what? The phantom backache I had been rolling my eyes at for two months? It's gone. It seems to have left along with the gangrenous appendix. Great... now I feel guilty again.

I Say Humor, They Say Humour!

2008-08-24T00:03:00.000-07:00

Humor is important to me, very important. It always has been. The truth is, in school, I always had a crush on the funny ones. Not necessarily the class clown, but the quiet, intelligent ones that made me laugh. For instance, in 5th grade I had a long term substitute teacher named Ms. Bennet, who will always be my most hated teacher because she was the only one that ever found it necessary to tell me to shut up. She actually used those words. I was crushed and humiliated. Luckily for me Jason Williams was sitting next to me that day. Jason Williams had blond curly hair, blue eyes and an awesome digital watch with a calculator in it. Justin Timberlake, only manly. As Ms. Bennet turned around to write a math problem on the board Jason leaned over and whispered, "See how she crosses her sevens? That's how the Nazi's wrote their sevens. I knew she was evil!" I giggled, and loved Jason Williams for the rest of the year.

As a mother it is always fun to see my children developing a sense of humor. This week Number One Son has returned home to us and brought a lot of laughter with him. Yesterday he was trying to shove his very slender sister, Glamour Girl, off the couch. He grunted and groaned and made a big show of it, then collapsed, exhausted. This is the exchange that followed.

I can't move you, you're just too fat!

It's my super power.

So......you're super fat?

It's more useful than you think.

See? I love that!

One of the problems we face here is that very few people understand our jokes. Those of you who know Mr. Smith can imagine how this kills him. Two years ago when just the two of us were here for a "take a look and see what you think" trip we had a beautiful guide named Ambika taking us around. Now, Mr. Smith loves any audience, but the number of jokes he tells per minute increases in direct relation to the hotness of the women around him. With Ambika in the car for 7 days he was in fine form. Jokes left and right on any subject, I half expected to see him pull out a hat and cane and begin to tap dance. But the best part? Poor Ambika didn't get a single joke. Not one. On one of our final days in India, after one more joke had failed to hit it's mark, Mr. Smith and I were sitting quietly in the middle seat of the van while Ambika was discussing our next stop with the driver in the front. I leaned over and whispered, "It's just killing you isn't?" "What?" he replied, defensively. "The fact that there is a beautiful woman in this car who doesn't think you are funny. Personally, I'm loving every minute of it!"

To be fair, Mr. Smith is not the only one who has suffered. We Smith's tend to think of ourselves as fairly funny people and we find it disconcerting to live in a country where the majority of the people just don't get us. Number One Son was recently visiting Red Fort with Mr. and Mrs. Jones (our summer visitors) and a sweet, intelligent, young woman from around here named Leeza. Number One Son and Mr. Jones were lamenting the fact that, by and large, Indians did not understand sarcastic humor. Leeza took exception to this and defended her countrymen, and their sense of humor, admirably. Number One Son and Mr. Jones apologised and politely let the subject drop...for about 30 seconds, at which point Number One Son looked at the acres of red stone buildings around him and asked, "So why do they call this 'Red Fort' anyway?" Leeza, suspecting nothing, immediately answered, "Because the stones used to build the fort are red in color." Really?

Today Is Raksha Bandhan!

2008-08-16T08:21:00.000-07:00

After we had been in here for a while we noticed that Indians celebrate a lot of holidays. I mean A Lot. So many that they all start to slide by in a blur that hardly catches your attention. Raksha Bandhan is not one of those holidays. Right from the start you can tell that this is an important day.

In a nutshell, today is the day that sisters honor and express their love for their brothers. If a woman is married and lives in a different town, she will often leave her husband's family's house and go back to her parent's house for the few days surrounding this holiday. (Personally I think this has a lot to do with the popularity of the holiday, but that's just me.) You can easily spot the brothers that have been honored by their sisters because they are wearing a Rakhi. Go ahead. You can ask. Remember, their are no dumb questions. (Mrs. Smith, what is a Rackhi?) I'm so glad you asked! According to Raksha-Bandhan.com - A Rakhi or Raksha is a sacred thread embellished with sister's love and affection for her brother. On the day of Raksha Bandhan sisters tie Rakhi on their brother's wrist and express their love for him. By accepting a Rakhi from a sister a brother gladly takes on the responsibility of protecting his sister. In Indian tradition the frail thread of Rakhi is considered stronger than iron chains as it binds brothers and sisters in an inseparable bond of love and trust. Nice, huh?

Last year on this day, during a normal conversation at the office, a young lady asked Mr. Smith how he was doing. "Oh Shashi," he said, "I am so sad today because I have no sisters." Immediately the young women told him to come over to her desk. When he arrived she pulled out a Rakhi and tied it around his wrist. "From now on, I will be your sister!" she declared, and thus, Mr. Smith gained a beautiful (you'll see what I mean in a minute) new sibling.

So today, being Raksha Bandhan again, Mr. Smith's sister, Shashi, invited the two of us to her parent's home to celebrate.

First She Blessed Him

Then She Decorated Him

Then She Fed Him

(just one bite, cuz, well, that could get awkward)

We had a wonderful time, although it made me miss my own two brothers a bit. They are both tall and handsome and provided me with lots of fun stories to tell about my childhood. Someone told me that one of my older sisters who was still single at the time (I won't tell which one) once said that none of the boys she met had turned out as well as her brothers. High praise indeed. On a whim a couple of weeks ago I actually bought them each a Rakhi, but I couldn't think of a reasonable way to get them to Arizona in time. So, for now, they will have to settle for a virtual Rakhi. I'll let them decide who's is who's. No fighting!

Good Grief!

2008-08-06T07:01:00.000-07:00

I seem to be channeling Charlie Brown this week. You would too, in my position.

While in the US last month Mr. Smith and I were under a bit of pressure. Grandpa Smith hadn't decided whether or not he was going to "go into the light" and each day he seemed to lean a different direction. Grandma Smith was doing better, but still not great. I was on large amounts of pain killers and looked liked I had lost a fight with a car grill (which I had) and our kids were cranky because they were spending a lot of time babysitting each other and not much else. Then came The Letters. Dun dun duuuuuh!

Mr. Smith and I each received our own copy of a letter from our old friends at the Eye. Are. Ess., if you know what I mean. (Sorry for the code but there is no way Google is going to get me on that one!) It seems that our mid-April bill collector wanted to take a closer look at our numbers for the year 2006. Particularly the number of dependants.

What? Isn't seven kids the norm?

Oddly enough the same thing happened last year. We received a letter asking for the same information for 2005. We called the gentleman assigned to our case and explained to him that we couldn't make our scheduled appointment with him, and we certainly couldn't bring our kids and the documents to prove they had lived with us in 2005, because we were currently living in India and most of our documents would be living in a storage pod for two more years. We all had a good chuckle, he approved our 2005 return and the case was closed.

Until this year. Once again we crossed our fingers and called the woman assigned to our new case, hoping to have the same pleasant, yet short, conversation. No such luck. She was very understanding about our situation and agreed that we couldn't show up in person...however, she still wanted us to magically produce documents proving that our seven little deductions existed, were ours, had the Social Security Numbers we said they did, and had lived at the same address we did during 2006. Lovely.

(Excuse me for a moment while I compose myself and control the urge to rant and rave against a very powerful agency in very a public forum.)

So, this week we have spent hours upon hours searching, scanning, emailing and faxing every scrap of paper that has a child's name and a 2006 date on it and generally trying not to have a nervous breakdown. I think we may have pulled it off.

Until next year.

What We've Been Doing - Part Two

2008-07-29T04:05:00.000-07:00

If you are joining us late and missed part one, scroll down and read that first. If you've already read it or just don't care, then let's get on with the stories.

Hanging Out In The US

This part of our trip was not so fun. Mostly we went through mail, paid bills and wondered what else we could do to help those in the hospital. We did get to see most of our family which was great. We both come from wonderful families, so seeing them is a treat. The kids were in cousin heaven.

Another bright spot came in the form of a check. We received a tax refund that we had been waiting for. It was deposited right away, but because they are mad with power, the bank put a hold on it. On the very day that the funds were released I had a small but painful accident. I was walking on a completely smooth sidewalk with no obstacles whatsoever in my way, yet this small task proved to be too much for me and I tripped myself. Sadly I happened to be a few feet in front of our parked rental car at the time. After a face plant into the grill of the car I fell onto the asphalt and laid there trying to breath, or speak, or something. Well, I thought I was trying to speak, but Mr. Smith informs me that as I laid there in the parking lot I was swearing like a sailor. This is strange for two reasons. First, I have no memory of that at all and second, I do not swear. Mr. Smith helped me to my feet and started making arrangements to take me to the emergency room. Trust me, I hurt bad enough that I probably should have gone, but instead I grabbed his arm and whispered, "I am not going to the ER! They are not getting that refund check!" Ahhh. Priorities.

A few hours later, when I was fully medicated and had ice on all of the swelling spots, I compared notes with Mr. Smith. Both of us had the same first thought when I fell, "Oh no! Three people for Mr. Smith to visit in the hospital!" I am happy to report, however, that although my face was lopsided and a strange color for the next two weeks, ibuprofen saw me through and no medical attention was needed.

Seeing London

After two weeks in Arizona it was time to head back. Mom and Dad Smith were still in the hospital, but they were both on the mend. Since we always fly through London, we decided to stop there for a few days and see the sights. Our days in London were a lot of fun. The first day was a little rough, though. We made the mistake of thinking we could navigate the underground with all of our luggage and our kids. So dumb. So very, very, dumb.

We made it onto the first train alright and rode for about twenty minutes without killing Dennis The Menace or loosing any bags. Then we went to transfer to our second train. We didn't realize that at this station, the stops were very fast. Our second train pulled in and half of us got on with our bags when the doors started to close. I put my leg through, thinking that the door would just bounce back open, but it just kept trying to close! I wedged my whole body into the door and started to yell for our daughters, Skater Girl and Star On Stage, to get in before the train pulled away. You should have seen the panicked chaos. Luckily, two men were on the platform and saw our struggle. They pulled the doors open and practically tossed the girls and their carry-ons onto the train! Relieved, we all settled in for another leg of our journey. Of course Dennis was a little more bold on this trip and was very excited about the fact that you could stand up and hold a pole while the train was moving. After another 20 minutes our stop was coming up. I grabbed all the kids and threw them off the train while Mr. Smith tossed all of the luggage out. As we were looking at the map to see which train was next, (we had two more to go) I was paged to the office. When you have only been in a country for two hours and they are already paging you, it can't be a good thing.

It turned out that I had left my purse on the last train. We had to take an extra train to go pick up my purse, at which point my kind and brilliant husband walked out of the tube station and hired two taxi's to take us the rest of the way to our hotel. Secure in the knowledge that all of my children were strapped into locked vehicles I leaned back, closed my eyes, and listened to the familiar sounds of Hindi being spoken as our taxi driver in London communicated over the radio with the cab company. What a small world.

What We've Been Doing - Part One

2008-07-28T05:24:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. Sorry about that. Here is what we have been doing (hence, the first half of the title).

Making Friends

One Sunday, close to the beginning of June, we went to church and I noticed another American couple attending. Now, you would think that since there are only about 30 people each week in our little congregation I could have made my way over to introduce myself. Nope. Not me. I'm kind of a loser that way. Luckily for me Mr. Smith had fewer kids circling him and has better manners. He met the very nice, very young couple on the left and invited them to lunch...and to stay in our guest room for the next for the next 2 months. This is the part of the story where I started to panic. I silently listed all the things we would have to stop doing, and all of the things we would have to pretend we always did, while we had company. It was an embarrassingly long list. But I got over my hermit ways and created a guest room for Mr. and Mrs. Jones. (Smith and Jones, get it?) Boy am I ever glad I did! What a blessing they turned out to be. Mrs. Jones works everyday with the World Health Organization and in the mornings Mr. Jones is teaching English to children at a local village school.

Mr. Jones and Number One Son got along so well that they were soon roaming the city together during the week. On the weekends the Jones' invited him to roam around the country with them as well. I was so relieved that he finally got to see many of the things he has wanted to see and I didn't have to drag all the rest of the kids around the country. More than the travel services they provide, it has been a lot of fun having Mr. and Mrs. Jones around. Now we are nearing the end of their stay and we are all going to miss them.

Traveling

Towards the middle of June, Mr. Smith's father back in the US became ill and had to go into the hospital. While he was in the hospital, Mr. Smith's mother had a bad fall (thankfully she has been put back together again) and also went to the hospital. As the Indians would say, "What to do?" Mr. Smith caught the first flight out. Over the next 10 days, while Mr. Smith and his brother were running back and forth between hospital rooms, I rescheduled our trip that was planned for September and encouraged Number One Son to pack his things as he was moving back the the states for good. Panic attack number 2 hit when I realized I was going to have to fly to the other side of the world with 7 kids. Breathe in...breathe out...in...out.

Armed with a well traveled 17 year old and lots of snack food in our carry-ons we set out. The first flight went well, mostly because we slept the whole way. Then came the real test, a seven hour lay over in Heathrow Airport. That's right. Seven hours, seven kids, and seven thousand witnesses to ensure that my kids would choose to do humiliating things that I would be powerless to stop. But what is this? Some beautifully ingenious person (I say person, but I feel certain it was a woman) decided to put play areas in the airport! I don't mean some lame mats thrown around with germ covered broken toys either, this was an actual play area. Dennis The Menace was in his element. He played hard for seven hours straight. At one point a Norwegian family joined us. As fate would have it they had a young boy that was equally as active. Dennis and his Norwegian counterpart had tons of fun with only one small hick-up. Our new young friend brought out a small, squishy, soccer ball and threw it into the ring the two of them were playing in. "Want to play football?" he asked, dreaming of David Beckham. "Yah!" Dennis answered, promptly picking up the ball and firing off a beautiful spiral way over the boys head. Then they just stared at each other. One wondering why his friend would throw the ball, the other wondering why his friend didn't try to catch it. That was the end of the "football" game.

This is running longer than I intended, so I think I will post the rest in a couple of days (hence, the second half of the title).

I Hope They Don't Come In Threes!

2008-06-09T20:14:00.000-07:00

It has been an interesting couple of weeks here. Aside from almost moving home (don't even get me started) we had a couple of almost, maybe, sort of (if you squint and turn your head sideways) close calls.

Close Call #1 - First we will start with the Gujjars. The Gujjars are a class of people here in India that started out as mostly farmers. They are just high enough on the social scale that they do not qualify for the Indian version of affirmative action. This makes them very angry. Last year they protested close to my neighborhood and had a few incidents of pulling people out of their cars and beating them. When they protest out in the villages people usually die, here in Delhi they just get injured. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago they were, once again, protesting near me. They cut off my suburb from Delhi, which meant that Mr. Smith had to stay home that day. Too bad, so sad! So to celebrate my lucky day I decided to go out and pick up some KFC for lunch and take Dennis The Menace with me. While we were in the restaurant they rolled the security screen down over the store front about half way and all of the employees kept checking out the window. Finally it struck me. What the heck was I doing out getting chicken when there were protests going on?

Finally my chicken arrived and I could go, cuz let's face it, after paying for it there was no way I was going to leave my chicken there. Anyhoo, three KFC employees surround me and my son and we all ducked out of the store. My driver slipped out of the car, keeping his head low, and shooed me quickly into the car saying, "Hurry, please hurry!" We all got in and locked our doors, unfortunately we had to go right through the tail end of the march to get out. Slowly we inched forward, trying to not call attention to ourselves. Never once in the 16 months that we have been here have I been in the car without several pairs of eyes being on me and my family. People just stare, every single time. But, I am telling you, not a single pair of eyes turned towards our car as we slipped through the end of the group. They all parted and just kept looking forward, not a single person even glanced sideways! All the way home I couldn't believe what a dufus I was. Going out for chicken while a protest was going on?! Really?! I apologised to our driver for my extreme stupidity and sent him home for the day, knowing we were not leaving the house again. Luckily, he also made it home safely.

Close Call #2 - Mr. Smith decided to stop by the mall on his way home from work the other day. He wanted to pick up a couple of books at our favorite bookstore. While he was inside, our driver saw two girls rush the mall entrance and shove past the purse search and "wand once over" that everyone goes through to get into the mall. A few minutes later as Scott was exiting the mall he noticed that a whole wing of the ground floor was dark, filled with smoke, had water pouring from the ceiling and was blocked off by real security, as opposed to fake mall security! Crazy!

So now, as I have barricaded myself into the Smith compound, I am looking into the legalities of forming a militia. I mean really, what could go wrong with a compound and a personal militia? That always ends well right?

Visitors From Home

2008-05-27T07:39:00.000-07:00

For the last little while we have been enjoying some visitors from home. Who finally braved a trip to the spot where the Middle East meets Asia, you ask? Lizards!

In Arizona lizards are everywhere. They come in all sizes and all colors. People even use images of lizards to decorate. Wear it around your neck, put it on your wall, whatever.
The fact is that I like lizards. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't hold one, pet one or call one George, but I don't kill them either. That's saying something, trust me. I'm slightly blood thirsty when it comes to critters in my house. One of my first fights with Mr. Smith began when we returned home from work one night to find a scorpion on our kitchen floor. I squealed and told Mr. Smith to defend me from the awful beast. He quickly grabbed a newspaper from the counter and proceeded to scoop up the scorpion and set it gently in the plants out front. I stood there agog. "Mr. Smith! You have to kill it or it might come back in!" I yelled. "Oh no," he replied, "there was no reason to kill him. He's out of our house now. You are safe and so is he." At this point I became the official Kritter Killer of the family. My philosophy is this, if they stay outside I will leave them in peace, but once they cross that threshold, they are as good as dead.

For some reason though, this does not hold true for lizards. If I see one on the wall I will generally watch it for a while and then leave it alone. Now, it's true that I have never seen a super large one. I suppose I might show a big one the door, but the little ones are welcome.

As one does with any guest, Mr. Smith has been snapping a few photos to document their stay with us.

The More The Merrier

So Nice Of Them To Help Out Around The House

This morning Mr. Smith commented that he thought it was strange that the thought of mice turned me into a crazed, violent lunatic, but that I was totally comfortable with lizards. Well, duh. One is gross and vile and the other is kind of cute and way cool. What does he know anyway? Scorpion hugger.

Everyday Miracle

2008-05-12T13:22:00.000-07:00

In 2001 we moved to a tiny town in Southern Utah. It was just outside Zion National Park, which means the the scenery was beautiful, and the town was full of the kindest people a person could hope to meet. I, however, was miserable everyday of the year and a half that we lived there because we had mice. No amount of traps and cats could keep up with the mouse population in that house. I was never able to get used to it. One day when I found Mr. Smith looking at a job posting with his former (and now current) employer, I burst into tears at the thought that we could move out of the mouse house.

Fast forward to 2006. When we told our friends and family that we were moving to India, almost everyone mentioned rats. Apparently the two are permanently linked in the minds of Americans. After being here just over 15 months, I have to say, there might be a reason for that.

One day, a few weeks into our stay, I was on the phone with Mr. Smith and suddenly he dropped the phone and was making sounds of distress. Next I heard him saying, "Did you see what just ran through here? It was this big! Did you see it?" Mr. Smith explained to me that a large rat had run by his office door, but the truly disturbing part was that nobody cared. Evidently this was an everyday occurrence for the people in the office. That did not bode well for me.

Since then rat sightings have become a normal occurrence. In the cafeteria at work, near the food stands that line the markets, out on the street, they are everywhere. Yet I have not seen a single one. Not one. In my book, everyday that I don't see a rat is a miracle. Knowing that we have promised to stay at least three years, perhaps a Benevolent Being has blinded me to those particularly nasty things. The day I actually see one of them, we may have to begin contract renegotiations!

A few days ago I signed into my email and found that Mr. Smith had sent me a message. I opened it, eager to read what sweet, mushy note he had sent. Instead I found a picture of a little trophy left outside our gate that morning by our unofficially adopted stray dog.

I think Mr. Smith wears a size 12 shoe.

The Voices I Hear

2008-05-01T12:53:00.000-07:00

As a mother of seven I have become quite adept at tuning voices in or out at will. As a woman I have learned to follow several conversations at once. All of this has given me a skill, a super power if you will. I can hear the voices of people speaking a foreign language and know what they are saying (you can relax by the way, they are all talking bout me). My children will tell you a different story. They will say that I never hear anything, that I need my hearing checked. The truth is I'm usually just ignoring them. Can you blame me? There's a lot of them!

Living in New Delhi as an American who doesn't know a lick of Hindi would be frustrating for the average person. Luckily my super power allows me to understand what the people around me are saying. Of course, I pretend not to understand them in order to preserve my secret identity. Here are a few examples of what I hear when I am out and about.

The men selling me yogurt -

What is she wearing on her feet?
They're called Crocs, I hear they are very comfortable.
I don't care how comfortable they are, she looks like an idiot! Who leaves the house like that?

The men at the dry cleaner -

Awww shoot! I haven't even started this ladies clothes and she is here to pick them up!
Tell her there was some kind of Holiday and she will have to come back tomorrow.
Good one! No foreigner can keep track of our Holidays, there's too many of them.

The electricians "fixing" the short in my living room -

Dude, did you see that football game last night? Liverpool got the snot beat out of them.
No, I missed it. No TV.
Me neither, but I was fixing some guys A/C who was watching it, so I took my time.
I don't think you should be poking that screw driver into the wires like that, are you even an electrician?
No. You?
No. But it's way cooler in here.

Our driver to the person from whom he is getting directions -

Man, you've got to help me! Is there a short cut to this address? These kids are so noisy I think I'm developing a tick, and see that little one? He gets car sick. I'm telling you he's going to blow any second! Please! Nobody should have to listen to the song "Banana Phone" this many times!

The Ladies in the park -

Are all of those kids hers?
Doesn't she know what causes that?

Nonsense, Smith Style

2008-04-26T05:27:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know our family know that we have an ability to create and enjoy endless amounts of nonsense. We love nonsense. Don't knock it, nonsense appeals to us for for two big reasons. One, it's entertaining and two, it's usually free. Since we have been here rickshaws, both the auto and the bicycle versions, have been the focus of a lot of our silly jokes and crazy ideas. The following are a few of my favorites.

Pimp My Rickshaw: Much like the MTV show Pimp My Ride, Pimp My Rickshaw would surprise rickshaw drivers with tricked out versions of their old vehicles. Along with a few things that are cool and helpful would be a bunch of ridiculous things that would only manage to make the rickshaw less useful. Here is our first try. As you can see it started out extremely old and worn out. After a few days at Mumbai Auto (our garage of choice for custom jobs) it came out with a new super cool look.

True, it won't keep you dry in the rain and it won't shield you from the sun, but you will be the coolest driver on the road. If you get bored while waiting for a customer you no longer have to choose between napping and staring! You can watch a movie on one of your three fold down TV screens or play video games on the Wii system we hooked up in the trunk! (I hope the artist, Jitish Kallat, doesn't mind me using a picture of this piece.)

One Month: We would have called it 30 Days, but the very smart people at FX already thought of that for their show with Super Size Me documentary maker, Morgan Spurlock. In One Month our Number One Son would spend a month as a bicycle rickshaw driver and (here is the fun part) live off of what he makes!

Before you get upset with me and start telling me what a bad parent I am I would like to state that this was his idea. Plus, I promise not to let him starve to death. Other than that, I see this as a win win situation. First, he is out of the house for a month. Second, when he comes back he will be far more grateful to me for all the things I do for him. See? I win twice! That isn't what a win win situation is? Are you sure? Hmm.

The Price Is Right, For You: In this fun new game show, everyday we send out a first time American tourist to ride an auto rickshaw from New Friends Colony to the American Embassy. The viewers at home will text (standard text messaging rates apply) us the amount they think the passenger is going to be over charged. Then we all get to sit back and enjoy the looks of terror on the passenger's face as the auto makes it's way through Delhi. Finally, at the end of the show, when the price is announced by that day's unscrupulous driver, we will send all of the viewers who guessed correctly a toy rickshaw of their very own!

Of Flies And Fools

2008-04-21T20:37:00.000-07:00

First, the flies. One of the hardest parts of living in India is that everything, everything is different than it is in the US. Sometimes during the first couple of months I would lay in bed in the morning and wish I could stay there because the thought of another day in a place where nothing was familiar seemed too daunting.

Within a few days of living here, we noticed that even the flies were different. Up till then all I knew about flies was that they vomited every time they landed. I had heard this in grade school and it had stuck with me. At this point I tell myself this is an urban myth, like the story about Ricky Schroeder dying when he washed his Pop Rocks down with a cola. I tell myself this because fooling myself is easier than running to a sink a scrubbing every time a fly lands on me.
Anyway, the flies in India are more sedate. They fly slower, they take off slower, they seem to do everything slower. At home when a pesky fly came around, one swish of my hand was enough to send the fly scurrying of for a couple of minutes of wild flight. Here, no such luck. When they land, they want to stay. "Go ahead and swish that hand around," they seem to say, "it's creating a refreshing breeze for me. I think I'll sit here and enjoy it." Sometimes you actually have to brush or flick them off. You know, make contact with the flies (it's an urban myth, it's an urban myth, it's an urban myth).

Then, last night I was reading the end of my latest novel, The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. In a passage describing a memory of the main character's father who had just immigrated to the US, it said this, "...Baba started grumbling about American flies. He'd sit at the kitchen table with his flyswatter, watch the flies darting from wall to wall, buzzing here, buzzing there, harried and rushed. 'In this country, even flies are pressed for time,' he'd groan." I had to take a minute and laugh at how differently we all perceive things.

On to the fools. I seem to have jinxed myself. Perhaps after I wrote this post about our guards, I should have knocked on some wood. A few weeks ago our driver, Kirpa Shankar, arrived at the house early in the morning and found Pushpindar bathing behind the house. Kirpa Shankar pointed out that this was not a good place for a man to wash himself because the children or I might walk out or look out our window and see him. Pushpindar was offended by this rebuke and wanted to fight. Thankfully Kirpa Shankar was mature enough to avoid fighting. This morning when Kirpa Shankar arrived at the house, he once again found Pushpindar bathing. When he reminded Pushpindar that this was a bad place to wash, the guard became very angry and threatened to find Kirpa Shankar on his way home tonight and shoot him.

I had convinced myself that what I can only think to call the "macho mentality" was not present in our employees. This idea that any disagreement is considered an insult and that it can only be resolved by asserting one's manhood through violence. I know it is prevalent here. I read about it in the newspaper daily, but I just couldn't see it in this meek seemingly kind hearted boy.
Now we are faced with the task of letting both of our guards go. They are brothers remember? I can only hope that our new guards are better, as they may actually have something to guard us from.

So, who are the fools? Pushpindar, for macho-ing himself and his newly married brother out of their jobs, and me, for fooling myself into believing I knew him.

Letters About India, Part 3

2008-04-14T13:41:00.000-07:00

We went to a wedding this weekend. It was the wedding of Mr. Smith's unofficially adopted sister, Shashi. This was the smallest wedding that we have been to so far, but easily the most fun. I think the difference was that we finally took our kids. They walked in and saw the dance floor and knew what they wanted to do all night. The only blight on the evening was an encounter with a bad mannered guest. It was this encounter that led to the following letter. If you are sick of the letters, just scroll passed it to see the pictures.

Dear Drunk Man At The Wedding,

Fondling women that don't want to be fondled is rude! I am surprised that your mother never taught you that. I am sorry that I didn't do a better job of teaching you myself last night. Unfortunately I am naturally over polite and afraid of making a scene. I have vowed to do a better job next time, should our paths cross again.

When you first approached me I thought you were one of the many people who like to test their English skills by holding a basic yet polite conversation. This is something I generally enjoy and I often, in turn, show off the few Hindi phrases I have mastered. But it soon became clear that this was not a casual chat. You asked me to dance, I smiled and said no. You asked again and I explained that I needed to stay with my children and that I don't dance, as a general rule. You started to coax, I became insistent. You began to grab for my hand to pull me away, I began to signal to my husband. Then you casually (in an innocent way) brushed my chest. On the third pass, which was more of a poke, I gathered my children and walked away.

You, of course, followed. Lucky for me Mr. Smith was now within my reach. I quickly asked him to remove you and he did, no questions asked. See why I love him? You should learn from him. He protects women rather than harassing them. He escorted you to the dance floor in a friendly yet firm manner, then explained that you needed to find a different partner, and fast.
In a twisted way, I am glad that we met. Most of the expat women here in Delhi have a story about being groped in some way, so I knew it was coming. Now that it has happened I can quit worrying. But you should be warned, I've thought it over and decided that the next time we meet I won't be so meek.

Mrs. Smith

Letters About India, Part 2

2008-04-12T13:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Men In India,

I was wondering, is it possible for you to go to the bathroom somewhere besides alongside the road? I realize that there is not an indoor bathroom available at all times, but there are buildings, trees, bushes and garbage cans. Pee behind one of them. Also, if people can "hold" number two all day just to use the bathrooms in their own homes, perhaps you could time it so that you at least waited until after dark? Maybe even just walk a little further from the street?

Not only does this practice of going where ever you happen to be totally gross out my daughters and I, but I have a 5 year old son that I have to take back to live in the US someday. If for some crazy reason he decides that it is O.K. to "cop a squat" any old place, it could prove quite embarrassing.

Let's not forget the cleanliness factor. Well there really is too much to get into here on this particular issue. Let's just say there is a very high "Ick Factor" for this practice and leave it at that.

As a last ditch effort, here is an idea I had. Perhaps you and some of your friends could work together and form human walls for each other. Think of it as a team building activity. Something, anything, please.

Thanks,

Mrs. Smith

Letters About India

2008-04-08T13:53:00.000-07:00

In the comments of Mr. Smith's last post, the subject of NaBloPoMo came up. NaBloPoMo stands for National Blog Posting Month. Basically every month crazy people like me sign up to write a blog post everyday. That is it. You can post almost anything, as long as you post at least once a day, everyday, for the month. I signed up for April. Since the theme for April is letters, I decided to write one letter a day. Some of them are about life in India. Just for fun I think I will post the ones that deal with India here as well. If you want to read the others, follow the link on the side bar. The following letter was my post for April 7th.

Dear Crazy Crazy Landlord,

I've had a lot of landlords over the last seventeen years, but you take the cake. I mean it. I've had professional landlords, inexperienced landlords, efficient landlords, unorganized landlords, pushover landlords, no nonsense landlords, generous landlords, even a mean, greedy, dishonest, SOB of a landlord (may he rest in peace); but you, Mr. Crazy Crazy Landlord, are my first lunatic.

Let's review shall we?

We've come home to find you watching TV in the frontroom.
You've shown up unannounced time and time again.
You've entered our house without so much as a knock on the door.
You've given several guided tours of our house.
You almost included my bathing daughter in one of your guided tours.
You sent a group of 20-something year old men wearing cannabis T-shirts to tour the house.
You demanded we give you our oven.
You demanded we give you your microwave.
You demanded we pay additional rent for your microwave when I refused to give it to you.
You demanded (and took) the company's stove top.
You come at odd hours to check the outside lights.
You grill our guards at length every time you visit, in a language you know we don't speak.

Sadly, all of these seem merely quirky when compared to this evening's events. Tonight you came, once again, to check on those all important outside lights. I imagine you were quit relieved to see them burning brightly...illuminating our security guard...in our gated courtyard...in our gated (and guarded) community. But one wonders, Mr. Crazy Crazy Landlord, with all of these lights and gates and guards, why did you feel it necessary to bring a heavy with a shoulder holster?

Get help,

Mrs. Smith

mr smith takes yet another turn

2008-04-05T07:18:00.000-07:00

As mrs smith is suffering from a case of "blogger's block" combined with a little "Delhi belly", I thought I would try my hand at posting on the blog. I know I am not nearly as entertaining as she is, nor as good lookin', but bear with me...

I took a couple of days off this week to rest and relax. My job is stressful at times (as some of you know all too well) and it has been nice to turn off the "crackberry" and just hang out with the family. As we are in India for an ever-decreasing amount of time, there is a lot of pressure to go places and see things. Now any of you who have any children, not necessarily seven, know that travelling with kids is not always relaxing. Heck, sitting in the house with the kids can be stressful enough. Recognizing that this is true for them and for me, and mrs smith being ever so wise (she knows I hate to just sit around and am miserable - creating misery for others too - when I have nothing to do), we decided to go ahead and see some of the local sites. India is rich in culture and history, and Delhi itself is also full of those same things. So, being the brave adventurers we are, we decided to go to one of India's cultural symbols... The National Rail Museum!

http://www.nationalrailmuseum.org/new_nrm/index.htm

It was so much fun. We got to ride the "Joy Train" which is a little train that runs around the museum grounds. I didn't get to sit with my family on this ride as I had met a young man named Saurav who had decided to stick to us like glue. I bought him a ticket on the Joy Train and he proceeded to guide me to a car in which we could sit. I had number one son and "Dennis the Menace" with me, but Dennis decided he trusted mom more than dad (smart kid) and bolted to her car with number one son in tow. So my new friend Saurav and I toured the grounds in the train.

The great thing about this place is that the kids could climb on the trains and explore freely. They ran everywhere and wore themselves out climbing on engines from the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

We also toured inside the museum, where they had models of everything, maps of India's extensive rail system and even the skull of an elephant that had been killed in a rail accident. And yes, the train won...

All in all it was a great deal of fun for everyone. And for 48 rupees admission (just over a US dollar) you can't go wrong. Unfortunately, then we decided to go to Ruby Tuesday for lunch. That was substantially more expensive, which balanced out the rail museum nicely. Plus, I got to spend enough that I felt like we went somewhere, but without all the inconvenience of a road trip.

Holi Holidays Batman! It's been a long time!

2008-03-25T03:27:00.000-07:00

I'm guessing I won't get my usual four posts in this month. Sorry about that. Now, for those of you that were kind enough to wander back and check out this page again, let's get down to business.

Holi!

Last Saturday was Holi. If you want to know the Hows and Whys of the celebration, click here. Frankly I am just too lazy to explain it all. The lazy girl's version is this: Every business shuts down, everyone gets drunk (the traditional drink of the day is called Thandai , which is often made with marijuana) and throws colored powder, water and eggs at everyone else. Fun, huh? Last year we were all still wearing our "deer in the headlights" look, so we stayed home. This year we were slightly braver. We went to a Mormon Holi party. Hey! I said slightly. All of the fun, none of the liquid pot or eggs.

As we walked in the gate we were greeted with a dousing of water and some really loud drums. At this point our 5 yr old son decided he was all funned out and went inside our very understanding hosts' house to find the toys. The rest of us stayed out to play.

Welcome To The Party!

Dance To My Very Loud Drum, Dance I Say!

Is It Time To Go Home Yet?

Oddly, This Wasn't As Easy To Wash Out As I Would Have Hoped.

When our kids had had all the fun they could take, we headed home. Mr. Smith and I went out to cover every surface of the car with old sheets and towels before we let the kids get in, and were the victims of a drive by egging! Luckily the egg hit me in the...well, let's just say a well padded area, and bounced off of me, to break harmlessly on the street. Our car fared only slightly worse. It's my fault, really. I neglected to devise a way to affix an old bed sheet to the ceiling of the car and so there are a few colorful smudges to remind us of our day.

The next day (Easter Sunday) we all went to church looking a little bit like Easter eggs. The ends of my hair are still bright green. Mr. Smith says "it's hot". See why I married him? My girls say it looks like I got my hair tipped, which instantly makes me 5 to 10 points cooler in their book. At least until it finally washes out.

As I have complained about before, water only runs to the house twice a day. While it is running we fill our underground tank, then we pump it up to the rooftop tanks which supply the house with water for the rest of the day. Apparently our hosts have the same set up. By the time we left their house they were out of water. There are currently about 15 people living at their house. All weekend I was wondering how long they all had to wait for baths. Have I mentioned what wonderful, gracious, fun loving, good sports they are?

A Ray Of Hope

2008-02-21T06:05:00.000-08:00

Great minds think alike. This saying must be true because just now as I was signing on to begin this post, I noticed that Mr. Smith had left a comment on my last post mentioning the very subject I plan to write about. Is he good or what?

The large white building in this picture is the dairy. See the little blue topped shack to the left? That is the house of the family on the corner that I mentioned in the last post. My purpose for showing this picture, though, is to let you see the vacant lot across the street. This is how it has looked for the last year. Every once in a while the garbage would pile up and have to be removed, but for the most part this is how it has looked. Don't think it was going to waste though, oh no. It was a very handy public bathroom for all of the construction workers next door. Recently, however, a woman in our neighborhood has decided that she could put it to better use. With the permission of the Indian equivalent of the Home Owners Association and the financial support of those in the neighborhood, she has taken over this piece of land to make a school. For now they are only meeting after school to help those who have nowhere to go after school or those who need help with their homework. After all, if your parents can't read, they aren't going to be much help on your homework. When the buildings are completed they will meet all day for those who aren't even in the free public schools.

As you can see, the buildings are humble. They are also very inexpensive, and fast and easy to erect. Apparently not fast enough though. As of this afternoon they have 46 children enrolled and are meeting in the park across the street until the buildings are done! I love this woman and what she is doing for the kids in our small corner of India. I am looking forward to helping in any way she sees fit. I also plan on involving the Smith kids, because seriously, can you think of a better learning experience for them?

P.S. On a totally unrelated topic, check out Merinda's comment about TP on "A Taste Of The Everyday". It's good to get a new perspective on these things.

The Family On The Corner

2008-02-15T03:53:00.000-08:00

In August of '06 Mr. Smith and I came to India, without our kids, to look around. We stayed in the company guest house, about 25 minutes from the office. The seven days of that first trip were busy from early morning to late in the night. By the time we headed back to the guest house at the end of each day I was exhausted and wanted to fall into bed. It was on this trip that I first noticed the family on the corner. A man and his wife and their three children. They lived in a semi permanent shack with three walls and a roof that was erected next to the neighborhood dairy market. I noticed them for two reasons. Number one, it was my first close look at real poverty and number two, when I saw them out the car window it meant we were almost home for the night.

In February of '07 we ended up moving into that same guest house for our three year stay. At that point I became more familiar with this family. We buy our bread from a guy who sets up his bread stand every morning right in front of their shack. With as many kids as we have, we go through a lot of bread, so I see them fairly regularly. I learned that they do not speak any English. I learned that the father supports his little family as a tailor. I have seen him sewing away on one of those foot operated sewing machines while his wife ironed the clothes with the an iron that heats up over a fire. Can you even imagining having a fire in your shack all summer so that you can iron? It is mind boggling. I have watched their littlest child grow from infant to toddler. At night I have seen them all sleeping in a row in their ten by ten foot space. I have often wondered what I could do to help this little family, but they were working and living the same way that a large part of the population here does and they usually seemed cheerful, so I stopped worrying.

Last week I heard that the two oldest daughters (grade school ages) were caught digging through some garbage in an area that was fenced off to keep kids out. When asked what they were doing, they replied that they were looking for pencils they could use in school. They attend a free public school and while the books and teachers are available at the school, any other supplies must be provided by the student's family. As I thought about how often I went to the stationary store and just how many pencils and erasers our family had used in the last year, I vowed to find away to give some school supplies to the family on the corner without offending the parents.

Apparently I waited a little too long. Yesterday Uday told me that for the last few days the father has been coming to our gate asking for financial help because his wife has died and he is struggling. Uday finally told me about it because he came four times in one day. Since that conversation I can not get that family out of my head. It seems a lifetime has passed since the days when I expected life to be fair, but this one is hard for me. Why am I living the way I am while the family on the corner has almost nothing, not even a mother?

A Taste Of The Everyday

2008-02-11T03:20:00.000-08:00

When my rebellious/passive-aggressive nature doesn't get in my way, I try to listen to the good advice that is offered to me. This week I am going to listen to my internet friend, the Suburbancorrespondent. She mentioned that sometimes the everyday things are interesting. I am completely willing to test this theory. So this past week I roamed around my house and tried to think of all the things that are different enough to be semi-interesting.
First comes our temple. Every Indian home has one, whether it is a room of it's own, an alcove or a shelf. We considered many options for our temple, from the sacrilegious to the down right silly. One of our favorite ideas was a temple dedicated to my husbands employer. After all, they provide our current home and it is definitely how the bulk of Mr. Smith's time is spent. In the end, we were afraid some might not find our jokes funny, so we decided to fulfill one of Mr. Smith's long standing dreams by creating a library/reading corner instead. Mr. Smith is a bit of a bibliophile. He only brought two boxes of books to India (a major sacrifice), but he has already started to add to the collection. In fact the people at the three book stores we frequent all recognize us and always have new books to show us when we walk in. I am sure that we will out grow our little book nook before we go home, but for now it is a pleasant place to be.
Next in line are the Indian house cleaning basics. The broom type thing has it's ups and downs. The short handle means that the sweeper either has to bend way over or squat. The first gets tiring and the second is just not going to happen if it's me. On the other hand, it misses nothing and it reaches under, around and behind everything! The squeegee/mop is actually perfect for marble floors. When there is a water mess to clean, you just squeegee it all to the nearest drain or out the nearest door. Very handy. When actual mopping is needed, a wet cloth is wrapped around the squeegee and, viola! Une mop extraordinaire!
Third is the thing voted most likely to kill us all. We have a gas stove and oven. The best thing about it is the fact that we don't need electricity. No matter what the power supply is doing, dinner is on time. The worst part is the big tank of fuel in my kitchen. Can you say, "yikes"? Twice I have walked into my kitchen and smelled gas. Once was because of a leaky connection that was immediately replaced. The second time was a burner that had been turned on and not lit by a certain 5 year old boy. Now the gas supply is shut off at the tank when not in use and the 5 year old would not turn on a burner if you paid him. The red basket on top of the tank is our produce basket. I forgot to move it before I took the picture. Sorry.
Although I certainly wouldn't want to live without number four, I won't miss this particular style when I return to the US. Up in the corner of the kitchen and every bathroom is a little hot water heater. This means that about 20 minutes before you are going to need hot water, you have to turn on the heater. Plus, because of it's size, showering quickly is a must. Filling up a sink with hot water has to be done in stages and don't even think about filling a tub, it just isn't going to happen, which is a shame because we have a couple of beautiful tubs.
Although number five has a very high "eewww" factor, no discussion of Indian homes would be complete without it. The fact of the matter is that most homes in India are not stocked with toilet paper. If a public bathroom has it, it is probably passed out by the bathroom attendant to Caucasians or those who ask for it. What, you may ask, do they use in lieu of paper? (Pun totally intended, just by the way.) They use the little faucet, bucket and drain found to the side of every toilet, western or eastern style. Without going into too much detail, there is a reason that any social interaction and most eating is done with the right hand. Luckily for us, TP fits nicely into our budget, despite it's premium price.
Well, there you have it. Five things that seemed bizarre a year ago but that are now a part of our everyday life. Perhaps I could convince Mr. Smith to show some of the everyday things in the office. Perhaps not, busy season for the financial printing industry is upon us. Perhaps at the end of May.

Better Than Nothing (I Hope)

2008-02-03T23:13:00.000-08:00

Just in case anyone noticed, I haven't posted much lately. Not only have I, and several members of my family, been sick (we are all on antibiotics now) but I have been suffering from something much, much worse. Blogger Block. The alliteration makes it sound cute, but believe me, it is a very serious condition! It isn't that I had no ideas, it's that I had a lot of little dumb ones. So in place of a quality post, I am going to post a few of the dumb ideas that I had. Lucky you!

First of all, you may have noticed that I have posted our first video! Ta Da! For those of you who wanted to see the mohawk that "number one son" sported for a week or so, here it is. The video is short but noisy, so turn down the volume. It's just airport noise, nothing important. The hair had a bed head look because we were in the middle of a very long layover between two very long flights, but, it is a good view of the whole thing. Ignore the aviators. Seriously, why do guys think girls are impressed by aviators?

The second idea was about India's new coins. India has started printing one and two Rupee coins with hands printed on them to show their worth. I can't decide if this is for the illiterate, or if, like everything else being done in India, it is in preparation for the Commonwealth Games that India is hosting in 2010. I didn't ever think about the fact that languages with a different alphabet than ours might also use a different number system. How eurocentric am I? Anyway, this was the best picture I could get, which is one of the reasons I didn't do a post about this.

Idea number three was concerning our neighbor's construction. About a month after we moved in our neighbor decided to tear down the existing house and build flats instead. Construction in India is a very different thing than I am used to seeing in the US. (Duh.) There are no electric or power tools of any kind. None. All ladders and scaffolding are made from bamboo poles. Some of the workers live on-site and it takes for ever. First came the demolition. They soaked every thing down with water to soften the the cement, then hammered and chiseled for months. I am not kidding. Unfortunately our wall is touching their wall, so our wall has been soaked down continually for almost a year. Doesn't that seem like a bad thing? When I mentioned this to the office they made sure that the neighbor was going to pay for repainting when the construction was done. It seems to me that there might be a larger issue here, but apparently not. The best part is the constant sound of hammering. It is much better now that they are constructing rather than demolishing, but what are we going to do when they are done? How will we know that we are home if we can't hear someone hammering on the other side of our wall? How will we sleep without the insomniac construction worker lulling us to sleep with the song of his hammer?

Last but not least (because let's face it the three previous ideas were pretty lame so how could this one possibly be "least") on February 1, 2008 we hit our one year mark. Theoretically we only have two more to go. I can totally do this two more times! I might even enjoy myself, but don't tell anyone, contentment is very unfunny and therefore very un-blog-worthy.

So, have you been dazzled by the video, pictures and link all in one post? No? Fine. Starting right now I am doing some serious brain storming to come up with something good for next week. Be ready to laugh and cry and learn something awesome.

Never Judge A Book By Her Tone Of Voice

2008-01-21T18:21:00.000-08:00

When we first moved to India I met a woman who, like me, had left her homeland to come live in India for a while. She was very kind to me but I noticed that when she spoke to Indians she often used a harsher, no nonsense tone of voice. To my ear it sounded mean and bossy. I decided that this woman had been here too long and needed to go back to her country if she could no longer be civil to the people who lived here. I vowed to not let myself become jaded and bitter like she obviously was.

What a difference a year makes. I realize now that she wasn't rude or jaded. Her problem was that she was a woman. Please don't misunderstand me. I recognise that there are sexist attitudes everywhere, and in some ways India is doing better than a lot of places. For instance, in July a woman took over the office of President. Indira Gandhi was the Prime Minister for 11 years starting in 1966 and for 4 more years starting in 1980. Women are educated and expected to have a career. Of course there are certain groups here that have terrible views and traditions concerning women, but the areas that I frequent have a fairly modern view.

Unless you want something done. When it comes to giving instructions or asking for a service of some kind, you had better be a man. If you are competing with men for the attention of a shop keeper you might as well get comfortable. If you happen to have a man standing next to you while you are making a request they will look to the man for confirmation. Even if that man is your 16 year old son. I find this extremely irritating. Surely if they new anything about my 16 year old son they would realize that he is the last person anyone should take instructions from. At a party earlier this month he allowed some pretty girls to give him a burgundy mohawk. He believes that shoving the entire contents of his bedroom into his closet constitutes cleaning it. He begged for a month for the DVD of Napoleon Dynamite. Napoleon Dynamite people! After eating a meal on the couch he believes that sliding the dirty plate under the couch is the right thing to do. Once he opened the freezer door while standing too close and smacked himself in the head with it. Then he came over to where Mr. Smith and I were sitting and, while demonstrating what had just happened, he banged his head on the corner of the wall. Not the brightest bulb in the marquee, if you know what I mean. But apparently he is the authority.

In response to this, my naturally sissy-ish attitude has begun to dissolve. I recently I found myself being rude to the dry cleaner. I was demanding, sarcastic and a tiny bit shrill. I sounded just like the woman I mentioned at the beginning of this post. At first I was a little embarrassed and ashamed. The next day when the clothes that had been promised to us finally arrived...I was downright proud of myself.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jog!

2008-01-15T00:33:00.000-08:00

It has been a while since my last posting, so let's summarize, shall we? American stores are awesome, Disneyland is indeed the happiest place on earth, our families are well, so many people to visit - so little time, the holiday's were merry, everyone got sick so we stayed three extra days, packing after Christmas was a chore, farewell sweet root beer, 7 hours in an airport is too long - way too long, and finally...oh man is good to be home! That's right, after a year of complaining I was actually relieved to get here.

Don't get me wrong, I will happily move back to the US after our time is up, but, for now at least, this is home. When we stepped off the plane, I waited for the smell of India to hit me. I was braced for it. But you know what? It wasn't the terrible smell that I remembered it being. It was just familiar. Comforting even. The sights and sounds of the city as we drove home were welcoming instead of depressing. Now if someone would just unpack for me. Blech!

I am very grateful to India for giving me 3 days to deal with jet lag before having a little fun at my expense. This morning we had several power surges that were very entertaining. Lights buzzing at maximum brightness, popping sounds all over, bulbs going out and everyone generally fearing for their lives. My favorite, though, was was the gate bell.

We have a bell at our gate. Visitors can choose between two buttons. The first sounds like a bell and activates the intercom. The second sounds like a bird chirping and just works as a doorbell. For some reason, one of the power surges started the electronic bird chirping. At first it was soft and slow. Then the chirping started getting faster and louder. Nothing we did would stop it. Not even unplugging the intercom box. You can only listen to a hyper active bird chirping for so long before you start to have violent thoughts. That, combined with the frequent and freaky power surges, had us turning off the power to the house this morning for about an hour. After an hour I knew the electrician would be showing up soon so I turned it back on so he could see what was going on. Can anyone guess what I am going to say next? Everything had stopped. No surges, no chirping, nothing.

Don't you just love it when you look like an idiot? I explained everything to the electrician and he looked around to be nice. Soon he was packing up to leave and I felt like a fool. Fortunately, just as he was about to leave, there was a rush of power and the chirping started again. Thank goodness. He looked very perplexed and started taking the intercom apart. About 30 minutes later he informed me that he had fixed the problem and all was well. This is almost never true, but the bird was silent, so, I was too.

Then, with comic timing worthy of Monty Python, the sound of the the door closing behind the departing electrician was met with the sound of the bird chirping. Again. Even as I type, the little bird is singing to me. He's taunting me. He sings, "All chirping and no quiet makes Amy go crazy!" But I'll get him yet. I know where Uday keeps the wire cutters and I'm not afraid to use them. Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp *snip*.....ahhhhh.

Vacation Observations

2007-12-31T17:23:00.000-08:00

Being back in the US for a few weeks is interesting. I see things differently.

First of all, Wal-mart is totally and completely forgiven for being an evil empire. I know I know, they put people out of business and they are terrible to their employees and their customer service skills leave something to be desired, but have you seen how clean and organized it is in there? There is so much space in there and there are soooo many products to choose from and I can actually return something if I don't like it. No haggling, no emotional blackmail just a shelf full of stuff and price stickers. Beeeea-utiful.

Disney is also forgiven for being an evil empire despite the fact that a large chunk of our vacation money now sits in the Disney wallet. We spent 3 days at Disneyland and not one person asked to take pictures with our kids. You may be mentally pointing out to me that we were Americans in America, so who would want our picture, right? Well nobody was asking any nationality for their pictures. There is something to be said for being in a place where people are largely self absorbed. I also noticed that the lines were orderly and every one stood in them politely (lines generally don't exist in India).

Next on the list, traffic. I just love how people drive in one lane at a time. They use their blinkers a lot more than they use their horns and by and large there are no cattle on the big roads. And guess what people do at the red lights? They stop! It is so cool! I am aware that there are those who break all of the rules, but honestly, it is so much better.

Have I mentioned how lovely America smells? Even LA seemed like clean fresh air to us. Scary, huh?

Of course not all the observations are favorable. America could stand to lose some weight. There are the really fat (I am one of those) and then there are the people that I used to consider thin. Even they could stand to lose 20 pounds. Don't get me wrong, I don't want everyone to be as skinny as your average Indian, but I am surprised at how "well padded" most Americans are. I now believe all the statistics I used to roll my eyes at about how many Americans are overweight.

I remember now why we were always flat broke. Everything is so expensive here! Honestly, I am afraid for when we return in 2010. I forgot just how much it costs to feed 9 people in the US. Two income families have very little to do with equality and a lot more to do with necessity.

I am most surprised by how little I am enjoying the food that I have been looking forward to. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my first Quarter-Pounder with Cheese an awful lot, but I grew tired of it all very quickly. The one exception has been the root beer. I love root beer. I have been drinking so much root beer I am going to have brown eyes soon. I probably smell like root beer. That stain on my shirt? Root beer. Why, oh why, doesn't India have root beer. They have satellite TV, surely they could work out root beer!

Being here has made me ask myself two interesting questions: 1. How on Earth am I going to make it two more years? 2. Is it time to go home to Noida yet? Vacation is wearing me out!

Half Way Around The World In 80 Hours

2007-12-18T13:32:00.000-08:00

Despite 2 weeks of planning, I was still packing three hours before we were supposed to leave for the airport. I think someone should invent disposable clothes for your family to wear while you do vacation laundry. Seriously, how are you supposed to wash and pack your family's clothes when they insist on wearing them? Then there is the constant debate over what gets packed and what gets left behind. No you may not bring 5 stuffed animals. Yes you must pack clean underwear. No we are not packing your remote control car. Yes you can bring a book, no not all 7 Harry Potter books. No electric guitars. What do you mean your dad already said yes? If your dad said yes, then why are you asking me? Are you toying with me? I could snap at any moment you know...

Finally we were packed and we even had time for one hour of sleep before it was time to go. At 2am we piled in to 2 vans and hit the road. By 3:15 we were in line waiting to have our luggage x-rayed. Behind us was probably the drunkest man I have ever seen. He was weepy and kept apologising for something. I was thinking, Is he apologising because he is going to kill us all and his conscience is bothering him? I was saying, "Don't be nervous, he is just sad about leaving his family. I am sure he is a nice man who is just sad." Thinking, Please don't kill us! Here is where I would like to thank the wise and watchful people at British Airways for not letting that man fly. Although he would have had plenty of time to sober up.

After waiting a couple of hours it was time to board the plane. I was very excited that we were only about 20 minutes late. We got all 9 of us in our seats and all of our carry on luggage stowed in an overhead compartment or under the seat in front of us and waited for take off. And waited...and waited...getting a picture here? We sat on the runway for four and a half hours! Not a good beginning. Luckily we were able to make up an hour and a half in the air, unfortunately, we still missed our connecting flight to Phoenix by about an hour and a half. Here is where I would like to ask British Airways why they choose to fill a plane with passengers and then begin the repairs that are necessary in order for the plane to fly.

After many wrong turns we managed to find our way through Heathrow Airport and make it to the hotel that we were put in for our unexpected stay in London. The next morning we went back to the airport, back through security (where 3 of my daughters set off the metal detectors and had to be searched for the 3rd time) and back on to the plane. 9 hours later we finally landed in Phoenix and even found our luggage waiting for us. Yeah! Then we had to go through customs. Boo! They asked us if we had any seeds or plants and we told the truth. Sometimes it is annoying being an honest person. I had planned just which seeds to bring back for a family member's garden and felt like crying as I watched the customs guy toss them into a box as he explained that the law had recently changed and that I had to get a certificate from the Embassy in Delhi in order to bring the seeds into the country. Sure the law changed, he just wanted my seeds. I bet he is laughing it up right now as he plants his red carrots and his musk melons. Hmph! I am on to him!

Before you feel too bad for me, one step into the clean, orderly spacious neighborhood Super Wal-Mart made the whole ordeal fade away. "Oh-oh say, can you see..."

Dinner & A Movie

2007-12-09T21:10:00.000-08:00

The makings for my favorite date night.

Everyone in our family is looking forward to different foods when we are back in the US for our vacation. But I was thinking, why not throw in some movies and make it complete? I mean dinner by itself is just Wednesday night, but dinner and a movie is a party, right? Don't get me wrong, we have enjoyed watching some Bollywood films. But I am so excited to see American films again, I can hardly stand it. The problem is, I have no idea what movies I have missed.

So, you tell me what I should see. What DVDs have come out since January that I need to rent? What movies shall I make Mr. Smith take me to see in the theater? What DVDs should I buy? My only requests are these: Nothing racier than PG-13 and they must have a happy ending. And none of this "they're not together anymore, but they are better off and stronger" crap! I want Happy Endings! I know this is shallow, and I am sure that I will miss seeing some great films, but I only have three weeks. Here is a general guideline:

Loved The Notebook - Hated Titanic
Loved Somewhere In Time (I know, I'm old) - Hated Titanic
Loved Notting Hill - Hated The Break Up
Loved The Wedding Singer - Hated Little Nicky
Loved Ever After - Hated Never Been Kissed
Loved Tommy Boy - Hated Hated Hated Napoleon Dynamite

In general I also like feel good sports movies and pretty much anything with Dwayne Johnson (The Rock) in it. Please don't mock me. Have you seen him?

Oh yeah, since I do have a husband and some kids you can also include movies that they might like. I want lots of suggestions, so if you read this post, you had better leave a comment with a recommendation! (You can stay anonymous if you must. Big chicken.)

Short, Sweet and Superstitious

2007-12-01T23:52:00.000-08:00

***************Mr. Smith is normally a hard working, level headed man who is blessed with a good sense of humor. Once in a while though, his superstitious side crops up. For the first several years of our marriage Mr. Smith was convinced that the birthmark on the inside of his right knee was in the shape of Africa. He liked this thought because he served his mission in South Africa. In the last few years, however, he has decided that it is actually shaped like India. This really tickles his fancy (for obvious reasons) and is often brought up in conversation. I must admit that the resemblance to India is definitely stronger than Africa. It does become a little annoying though, when I feel like complaining about India or being homesick and Mr. Smith smugly points to his knee as if to say (use big ominous voice) "Do not argue with The Birthmark!" But, generally speaking, it is cute and endearing. Since nothing interesting happened this week I thought I would share this with you.

P.S. In the interest of preserving my current state of marital bliss I would like to point out that the adjective "Short" in the title of this post should be applied to the length of this post and not to Mr. Smith who is 6 feet tall. Clearly nobody would ever refer to him as short, although sweet and superstitious are certainly applicable. Thank you.

One more pushkar picture

2007-11-28T22:43:00.000-08:00

I received this picture of the festival crowd and had to post it - notice Mrs Smith jammed in there... (photo courtesy of Praveen Beesa - Melissa Tours and Travels - http://www.melissa-travels.com/index.html) The crowds were truly insane and exhausting, but it was the experience of a lifetime.

Mr Smith

Pushkar or Bust!

2007-11-26T10:49:00.000-08:00

Our first Indian vacation started out like any other, with my alarm getting me up 2 hours after I went to bed. I then ran around like a mad woman trying to do the 137 little things that I left for myself to do right before we left. Luckily, Mr. Smith is a champion PB&J maker and so we were only 20 minutes late leaving, which is a family best.

10 hours, 9PB&J's, 2 boxes of cookies, 1 pit stop and 1 episode of car sickness later we arrived at the Royal Desert Camp. At this point I am bound by marital contract to inform you that Mr. Smith was correct when he told our driver that the camp was to the right. The arrow on the sign, the Indians in town, our usually trusty driver and I were all very, very wrong when we all said that we should go left. We all owe Mr. Smith an apology for ever doubting him. He is great. Now let's move on.

I have to admit that the camp was an impressive sight. All of the desert shrubbery had been removed and tons of soft sand had been trucked in and spread around. I can't even imagine how much sand this would require. The common area consisted of 3 restaurants, 3 registration offices, 1 gift shop and a large open area for the nightly entertainment. All of this, set up in tents! Then came the guest tents. We estimated that there were just over 350 tents set up for guests. But these were not just regular tents my friend. Oh no. These had electricity and plumbing. My daughter, Book Lover, called them Hotents. No, there were no ho's in sight (shame on you!) but because they were tents that look like hotel rooms, get it? Hotents.

The first night we were entertained by a dancer/contortionist, a fire eater and a puppet show. It was a good way to end a day of travel. The next day was our day at the festival, and what a day it was. The festival was in town so we took a camel drawn cart in from the camp. That was as close as most of my family came to riding a camel. When it came down to it, only Mr. Smith, Number One Son and Star On Stage were brave enough to try. The rest of us enjoyed the cart.

The festival itself was intense. The crowd was overwhelming and aggressive, everything was for sale and every price was negotiable. As soon as we stepped off the cart we were rushed by a small crowd of vendors eager to be the first ones to dip into our vacation money. Two particularly tricky girls engaged two of my kids, Book Lover and Dennis The Menace, in a harmless conversation while shaking their hands. Before we had regrouped these two girls had flipped their grip and decorated my kid's palms with henna, then informed me that I now owed them Rs. 500 each. Uh...I don't think so. After arguing I agreed to give each of them Rs.50 just to get them to leave. Wrong choice. The sight of me pulling out my purse sent every vendor in a 50 ft. radius into a feeding frenzy. At this point I grabbed my kid's hands and started plowing through the crowd yelling, "No thank you, no thank you, no! One of the women followed us while yelling that I had not paid her, that I had given the money to the wrong person. Such a huge lie. I couldn't believe that this woman was looking right at me saying something that we both knew was a complete and total lie! Unfortunately taking a stand was in direct conflict with the "flight" instinct that had taken control, so I threw a second Rs. 50 at her and ran. Luckily the cavalry (in the form of Mr. Smith) arrived at that point and we were rescued. The rest of the morning was spent wondering through the crowds and just looking at everything. By the time 1 o'clock rolled around we were exhausted so we headed back to camp. Our final tally was: one strangers hand in Book Lover's pocket, 2 empty plastic bags stolen from a pocket in my backpack (ha ha!), Rs. 100 swiped from Number One Son's pocket and a crazy fun morning.

The rest of the day was spent playing in the sand and watching puppet shows put on by my kids. All in all a good vacation. Short and sweet. As usual Mr. Smith took some amazing pictures, I am just going to pick a few and post them without explanation. You might notice that there are none of the day spent in town. Sorry, but there was no way we were stopping to pull out a camera in that place!

Someone To Watch Over Me

2007-11-19T04:23:00.000-08:00

I have been wanting to talk about guards for a long time. They are a unique breed here in India. Most businesses have one. They open the door for you, they might glare at you, check your bag, or even ask you to leave something with them (a shopping bag or camera, for instance) just to remind you that they are a guard. Some of them have guns. Nothing too threatening. In fact, most of them look like left over riffles from WWI or WWII and I find it hard to believe that anyone actually pays for bullets. The upscale houses all have one or two guards. I think their main function is to visit with the other guards and drivers in the neighborhood. If you drive down any residential street you will see groups of men by the roadside, visiting in what is obviously their usual place.

I have been putting off posting about guards because I wanted to include a picture one of ours fast asleep. I find them like this once in a while. When I am without my camera I can answer the bell at the gate, go get the key, open the gate, hold a conversation, re-lock the gate and go back inside without ever disturbing them, but alas, when I have my camera in hand they seem to wake up instantly.

When I was informed that we would have guards I balked. Honestly, who were we that we needed to be guarded? Then I read the newspaper. It seems that kidnapping for ransom is fairly common here. Since we are thought of as "rich Americans" (so not true that it is actually funny) the company thought we might become targets. Usually the ransom is paid and the children are returned safely. Unfortunately, right before we arrived there were a few cases in our city where the children were killed before the ransom note was even delivered. Suddenly the thought of guards made perfect sense. I've secretly always wanted a guard anyway, who wouldn't?

As usual things were a little bumpy at first. We started with a day guard named Opdais and a night guard named Mohinder. One day we realized that Opdais had been working for 36 hours straight (we were told Mohinder was ill) and gave him Rs. 500 ($12.50) for his trouble. Soon this started happening quite often and we found out that Opdais was sending the night guard away when he showed up, telling him that we had requested that Opdais stay because we liked him so well. This lead to arguments between Opdais and Mohinder. And the best part? Mohinder's name was actually Partak! We had all been calling him by the wrong name for about two months! Mohinder/Partak eventually quit. I wonder why. Eventually Opdais butted heads with our cook and housekeeper. Not smart. When forced to choose between the couple who feed us and clean our house and the kid who answers the gate, care to guess who we picked? Adios Opdais! (Oops, I forgot I'm living in India.) अलविदा Opdais!

Since then we have cycled through a few more guards and we have finally landed on two that we call keepers. They are (left to right) Pushpindar and Kaushel Kumar. They are brothers and get along very well. They work long, boring hours and only have a day off when one agrees to cover for the other and works a 36 hour shift, (the security company's policy, not ours) which they do for each other once a week. They help us keep our children safe and we are very grateful to them. Even when we catch them snoozing.

Holidays, House Cleaning and Weddings, Oh My!

2007-11-10T09:30:00.000-08:00

Happy Diwali!

Friday was Diwali. I was planning to tell you about the meaning of this Holiday (you know, show how smart I am) but the truth is there are so many meanings that it would take too long. Since I would just be plagiarizing Wikipedia anyway, you can read the article yourself. Here is the link. It bears a strong resemblance to Christmas in that people put lights on their houses and give gifts. The most noticeable difference to the casual observer is all the fireworks. Fireworks are legal and cheap here. As soon as it got dark, the light show started. We spent a good deal of the evening on our terrace. People up and down our street and all over the city were sending up some amazing fireworks. What it lacked in organization and music it made up for in longevity. It was cool. Dangerous, but cool.

House Cleaning

Well, I am about half way through the laundry and about two-thirds of the way through with all the cupboards and drawers. Do not worry, I will persist. We have a house guest for a couple of days. This means that my cleaning will have to be done on the sly and with much less task mastering (bossing my kids around), but I will finish!

Wedding

Last night (Sunday) we went to a Hindu wedding. They are beautiful and fun. My goal is to stay long enough at one to actually see the wedding ceremony. This time we made it to around midnight. While Mr. Smith made the rounds (he is the social butterfly, I am more like a social lady bug) I parked myself at a table near the dance floor and watched. I love people watching. All of the brides friends (who work together in a very stressful industry) cut loose when the music started. I have to tell you, Indian women can dance! There is something about the way they move that so amazing. Even the preteens that claimed a corner of the floor were already working on that special hip twitch that is so fascinating. There is nothing that would make a person blush about the way they dance, but there was a line of men standing off to the side watching every move. It has been a few years since I have been to a club in the US, but I think we could learn a few things from the women here. We forgot our camera so we have no pictures of the bride and groom which is a shame because Annie (the bride) was gorgeous! I do have one picture of Mr. Smith in a Sherwani. Handsome, don't you think? Anyway, I think that I will end this post by wishing a long and happy marriage to Annie and Vishal who will soon be living in wedded bliss in the US. Good luck!

My Disclaimer

2007-11-08T04:18:00.001-08:00

It has come to my attention that several people from my husband's company (not the one he owns, because that one doesn't exist, but the one that employs him which has existed for more than 230 years) have started to read this blog. (Hi Aaron!) For this reason I would like to issue the following disclaimer.

Mrs. Smith and the Smith children are not as silly, stupid, wimpy, whiny, clumsy, careless, inept or unintelligent as the stories on this blog make it seem. We are witty, well mannered, urbane and graceful. Just the kind of people you would want to represent your company in a foreign country. These stories are meant to entertain our family and friends in the US and in no way reflect our actual life. We are way cooler than the people in these stories. I swear!

Maid in India

2007-11-04T05:25:00.000-08:00

Did you know that having a maid does not solve all of your housekeeping problems? Nine months ago I would have slapped anyone that would dare to utter such a ridiculous phrase in my presence, but alas, it is true. Having a maid does not make up for the fact that I am a terrible housekeeper!

I was raised in a clean house and when I was first married I managed to keep a cleanish house. With each new child my housekeeping abilities seemed to get worse and worse. Finally, with my last pregnancy (twins) I gave up the pretense all together. I just gave up. Now some would defend me by saying that my kids were to blame, but I think we all know this is not the case. Don't we all know someone with lots of kids whose house still looks nice almost all the time? I have a dear friend that I will call Sarah. I will call her that because that is her name. Sarah and I are at opposite ends of the housekeeping spectrum. On two separate occasions I was forced to call Sarah before 7 am. The first time she was outside weeding her back lawn. The second time she was mopping the kitchen floor. No joke. Before 7am on a school day! I refrained from telling dear, sweet Sarah that she didn't need to weed the back lawn because nobody would see it but her family. I had a harder time stopping myself from telling her it was pointless to mop her kitchen floor before breakfast because someone would spill milk on it, but I managed to hold my tongue. Sarah is the proof that my kids are not totally to blame.

They aren't totally innocent either. In the US, I could always tell when the school (or conscientious cartoon) had talked about recycling because my kids would screech in horror if I tried to throw away a milk jug. Didn't I know that the jug could be turned into a fun toy or an art project? Yes I did, but I really wanted to throw it away. I would try to explain that I was putting it in the recycle bin and that was just as good. No sale. They would not buy it. Even on normal days my kids had a hard time deciding what to keep and what to let go. To be fair, they came by this pack rat tendency honestly. They inherited it. I won't say who they inherited it from because my mother-in-law reads my blog and I wouldn't want to offend her (hint, hint).

I will say that nine months ago we arrived with suitcases full of clothes and very few possessions. Now we have every cupboard and drawer full of, well...crap! Where did all this stuff come from? And the closets are worse. Empty hangers on the rod while on the floor of the closet is a system of piles (understood only by the creator of the system) keeping clean and dirty clothes separate. As long as all drawers, cupboards and closets are closed, our house is picture perfect. I keep waiting for the day that I open a closet and am covered by an avalanche of stuff followed up by the inevitable bowling ball on the head.

As I was raised to continually set goals, then pretend to strive to reach them, I am going to set a goal for myself. Right here in public where lots of people will read about it and expect an accounting from me next week. This week I will do all the laundry (not just the bare essentials), and I will clean out every drawer, cupboard and closet in the house! Wish me luck, I am going in!

Boo! Humbug!

2007-10-30T19:41:00.000-07:00

I must begin this post with an apology, I am sorry to my family,who has heard this all before. My family has heard my rantings and ravings on Halloween and has born it with love and patience. I would also like to state at the beginning of this post that the following paragraphs contain my personal opinions on Halloween and in no way reflect the beliefs or feelings of the rest of my family or blogger.

I hate Halloween! This is a bone deep hatred. You might assume that this is some kind of theological problem. That perhaps I object to this day because it seems to be celebration of all things evil. No! This is a purely selfish hatred. I hate what Halloween requires of me.

I have not always hated Halloween. As a kid I thought it was great. My neighborhood was a good place for Halloween. It was well established, we knew everyone, and the Coleman's house could always be counted on to scare the kids thoroughly. No my hatred for Halloween didn't begin until somewhere around child number three. By the last week of October we couldn't afford candy, not to mention costumes. For a few years we were able to get away with things like Cowboys or Football Players, costumes we could pull together with things we already had. But eventually we had to go to Wal-Mart and choose from the poor quality, over priced selection offered every year in every large chain across the nation.

This is where somebody usually says, "Why don't you make their costumes?" I'll tell you why, smarty pants,because I have no talent for sewing or costume making of any kind. None. Plus, I have never talked to a single person who doesn't end up spending more on home made costumes than on store bought ones. You know it is true. But one year, out of motherly guilt, I gave into the pressure and sewed ghost costumes for three of my children. We had absolutely zero money for costumes that year, so I told my kids to think of things they could do with what we had at home. For three of them I actually cut up old bed sheets and tried to sew ghost costumes. Do you know what else people used to make out of bed sheets? Here is a hint...as we were walking into the Halloween party Mr. Smith asks, "Where are their burning crosses?" How nice of him to pick that moment to point out to me that I was sending my kids to an elementary school party dressed as bigots. Luckily the hats stayed on for about two minutes, then were promptly handed off to me for the remainder of the evening. In my defense, I had five kids, I was seven months pregnant with twins, and although I wouldn't know it for about another month, I was in severe heart failure. Looking back, I think it was a miracle that everyone made it out the door with pants on. I am 97% percent sure we all had pants on.

Next comes the candy portion of the event. Trick-or-Treating just isn't what it used to be. Four out of five houses are dark so you have to walk forever to get a decent haul. Plus, now you feel guilty if you let your children accept candy from someone you don't know really well. But as inconvenient and annoying as I find Trick-or-Treating, it is nothing compared to the week that follows. Those who plow through their candy in two days are sick, then later, angry that their siblings won't share. The ones who stretch out their candy seem to enjoy torturing the others with the fact that they still have candy. Then there is the candy itself. Wrappers and half eaten candy in every corner of the house. By the second week of November I feel violent tendencies fighting to be free every time I step on a piece of wet, sticky candy.

This is one of the days that I am completely content to live in India. This year we are celebrating Halloween with candy I provide. Costumes are optional and are to be created by the wearer of said costume. One scary, yet child friendly movie will be provided for the evening's entertainment and bedtime is extended to midnight. Not bad.

Happy Halloween to all, and to all a frightening night!

Forget Kilts, What Do They Wear Under Their Saree?

2007-10-28T11:22:00.000-07:00

The inaugural post on this blog includes a rather unfortunate picture of me in a saree at my first Hindu wedding. There is a story that goes along with that saree that I have not shared with anyone. Not Anyone. After reading a few of my posts (particularly the one where I was accosted by a masseuse, or the one where my pants fell down) you might wonder, "What on earth could be too embarrassing for this girl to write about?" Well, quit being so impatient and I will tell you.
One of the women that my husband worked with was getting married. I was very nervous about this wedding for a number of reasons. 1. We were still new to India and I had no idea what to expect or what was expected of me. 2. It was my first unofficial Indian corporate shindig. 3. Mr. Smith bought me a saree to wear. Men have a thing about sarees. Sadly, I am fat and would never go into public with my midriff showing (you're welcome), but just try to explain that to the tailor who in his whole life has never heard anything so silly as a saree where the stomach is covered. 4. I had no idea how to put on a saree and the woman who could help me was a very new employee. Asking someone you hardly know and who hardly knows English to help you get dressed is a hard conversation to have. Plus, I really prefer clothes that I can put on all by myself. Having someone dress me is a little too 1800's for my taste. But I was determined to be a good sport and so I asked Camla to come upstairs in 20 minutes and help me put on my saree.

Ever wondered how a saree stays on? I figured it was some ancient Indian folding technique passed down from mother to daughter. Maybe a few safety pins thrown in for good measure. No, there is a secret that nobody tells you. Not the people who sell you the saree, not the tailor who makes the blouse to go with it, not even your American friends who are supposed to be smarter than you. They wear a petticoat! They tuck the saree into the drawstring waistband of the petticoat! My only contact with a petticoat up to this point in my life was "Petticoat Junction", an old show that I used to watch the reruns of as a kid. I could sing the theme song for you, but that's not really pertinent.

Twenty minutes passed and Camla came upstairs to help me make a dress out of a huge piece of fabric and I was waiting for her in my blouse and my underwear. That's right. Poor Camla, she was so embarrassed and just didn't know how to explain to me that I was missing a vital part of the whole saree ensemble. Finally she flipped up the end of her own saree to show me her petticoat. I was mortified. Eventually we found something that would work for the night and off I went. "Why is she telling us this?" you might ask. You are just full of questions today! This week Mr. Smith received another invitation to another wedding. This time my saree will be green, as will my brand new petticoat.

My Very First Movie Review

2007-10-22T04:38:00.000-07:00

Lately Mr. Smith and I watched an Indian film called "Guru". This film was released early this year and was a big hit. The fact that it stars Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai had a lot to do with the success, I am sure. They are India's version of Bruce and Demi or Brad and Jennifer, except that they are still together. We were very excited to see this film because we had heard such good things about it.

It starts out well. A young ambitious man, Gurukant Desai, works hard, looks for opportunities and begins to succeed. When he tries to break into the world of big business he finds that corruption has closed all the doors for the average man. Through determination and his wits he is able to break through. Unfortunately, to increase his success he eventually becomes just as corrupt as the men he fought at the beginning. Bribes, false financial documents and all kinds of illegal business practices become his new way of life.

Finally he is brought up on charges and I thought, "Aha! Here is where he regrets what he has become and returns to his honest ways." No such luck. Instead he is portrayed, once again, being unfairly targeted by the establishment. He even compares himself to "another man that was called a criminal" Mahatma Gandhi. That's right. Wouldn't all those former CEO's in the US who served time for many of these same crimes be glad to know that they are actually heroic figures? That they were only practicing that long celebrated tradition of Civil Disobedience?

Don't get me wrong, I know not all movies portray actual good guys as "the good guys". I love a good heist film. I like revenge films. I even like it when a hero is shown to be a flawed human being, as long as what he/she did to become a hero was actually heroic. But this film starts out like It's a Wonderful Life, and ends with George Bailey beating Mr. Potter by becoming Mr. Potter. Not exactly the triumphant, feel good ending it's presented as.

The artistic quailties of the film are good and the characters are interesting, unfortunately the disappointing story line ruins it for me. I guess the film in my first film review gets one out of five stars.

Snips and Snails...

2007-10-15T01:14:00.000-07:00

One of the things that makes living in India difficult is that it seems everything is different. Absolutely everything. Sometimes, in the morning, the thought of having to do everything in a slightly different way is overwhelming. Of course there are some things that are different and good. We love Limca. It is a lime soda (forget that tag-along lemon) that we all like. We will actually miss it when we go home. And some of the differences,while slightly disturbing, are just entertaining.

For instance, a couple of weeks ago we went to the mall as a family. This almost never happens because a visit to the mall with seven kids is generally more "fun" than I am up for. Nevertheless, there we were. Before heading home we stopped into the toy store. We gave the kids a limit and let them each pick something small. One of daughters (who has asked to remain nameless) picked out a baby doll. This doll appeared to be the run of the mill, super cheap, take in the tub kind of doll, and believe it or not, I thought it was just that.

I know. Your thinking "Silly, sweet, slow learning, slack witted girl. Don't you read your own blog? Nothing is ever what you expect!" That day we learned some interesting facts about baby doll's in India. They are boys and they are anatomically correct...ish. Enjoy the picture!

Water Water Everywhere!

2007-10-05T06:21:00.000-07:00

Those of you who have read my blog for a while might have noticed that water is a continual issue here. For one reason or another, I have a water related problem almost everyday. Here are a few of them from the last 8 months.

4 year olds don't get that they can't drink tap water

4 year olds don't get that they can't use tap water to brush teeth

4 year olds are afraid of the bath water (Can you blame them?)

Tanks aren't filling from city

Illegal well water is no longer fit for use

Pump won't work

Faucets won't work because the screens are full of sediment

Gross water making laundry look dirtier than before I washed it

Heavy rain making sewage back up in downstairs bathrooms

Rain is coming in the house, forming a waterfall down the stairs

Dennis The Menace turned on the actual waterfall (yes we have one in the house)

Dennis The Menace broke the waterfall (solved previous problem nicely)

Water from construction next door making one whole wall of house wet, inside

Paint peeling off wet wall

Mold growing in corner of wet wall

Puddle on roof next door breeding mosquitoes

"Filtered" drinking water has sand and dead bug in it

Out of bottled water

And finally, the most recent...too much bottled water!

My kids have a habit of opening a bottle of water, taking a few sips, then abandoning it as undrinkable. Their defense of this practice is that while they weren't looking, somebody might have taken a drink. The somebody they are referring to is the previously mentioned 4 year old, Dennis The Menace. As well as being a bit of a rascal, Dennis seems to always have an abundance of saliva in the general area of his face. So, nobody drinks after him. Nobody. Over a period of a couple of weeks I noticed that the partially empty water bottles were piling up. One day I decided that it was getting a little embarrassing, so after Uday and Camla left the house, I recruited all of my kids to gather the abandoned bottles. I was stunned. Then I ran for my camera so that you could enjoy the craziness.

Anybody want to count them? I keep losing my place. There were also four or five unopened bottles that were returned to the fridge. Needless to say, we tightened up water bottle security. We still waste some water bottles, but not as many. Luckily, bottled water is relatively cheap here. Now I'm thirsty, but I promise to finish off the bottle!

Notice the unopened box of water just waiting for us?

I wonder what the raddiwallah thought.

Tell Me How You Really Feel

2007-10-01T21:30:00.000-07:00

First, as it is a holiday here in India, I must take a minute to say, "Happy Birthday Gandhi-Ji!"

Now, on with the show. Recently Mr. Smith has decided to grow a beard. This is something that he does about once a year. It starts out as a full beard, then it is whittled down to a sort of "follow the jawline" kind of beard, then it becomes a goatee. At this point it usually goes away. Once in a while it becomes a mustache or soul patch for a day before disappearing altogether. The reason I bring up Mr. Smith's facial hair is that it started a conversation he and I had about how blunt people are here. His beard has received mixed reviews. As usual, the negative responses are the most entertaining.

Every morning Mr. Smith walks past a desk with a guard or two behind it on his way up to his office. They usually salute sharply and leave it at that. The beard, however, was too much for one guard to let go without a comment. "Why do you grow this? It is for the uncivilized." This is an interesting opinion in a country where facial hair is often tied to religious traditions, and where most men at least grow a mustache.

I wish I could say this was the first such incident. Oh no. Our size often produces those warm and fuzzy comments that make you feel extra confident throughout your day. Here are a few of my favorite: "We have yoga in the park every morning, if you joined us you would not be so fat." "As a Doctor I will tell you that you must walk every morning. I do everyday and you can see I am very slim." "You are a very big man, but you move so well. Where do you get so much energy?" "Have you ever considered reducing?" Why, no! I have never considered 'reducing' before, thank goodness you mentioned it. You have changed my life forever! How I long for the days in the states where people just looked pointedly at the ice cream in my shopping cart.

One day I was invited to a neighbors house for tea. While I drank my warm, unpasteurized, unhomogenized, whole milk, I was informed that only uneducated people have more than one or two children, the school we had chosen for our daughters was sub-par, our generator was too noisy and polluting, and the furniture that had been provided for us was cheap and tacky. Oddly, we have not become bosom buddies.

Even at our favorite restaurant we are not safe. There is a Chinese restaurant here that we love. Mr. Smith and I generally go there for our date night. It always starts well, they bring us menus. We peruse the menu and choose what we would like to try. Then the waiter comes with a pad in hand as if he is going to take our order. He listens politely and sometimes even writes things down. At this point, he informs us why our order is wrong and what he will order instead. Someday I am going to ask why they bother giving us menus.

I can only hope that this habit of brutal honesty has not rubbed off on my children, as if kids aren't embarrassingly honest enough. This could make for some awkward moments when we return to the US.

The Raddiwallah

2007-09-22T08:46:00.000-07:00

One of the first things I learned about how a household is run in India is that the garbage collector comes every morning around 10am. This seemed straight forward and convenient.

I was so naive back then. My first surprise was that the garbage collector does not drive a truck. Don't get me wrong, I didn't expect the barrel lifting mammoths that I see in the US, but I did a expect a motorized vehicle. Instead I saw a very skinny man, riding a very old bicycle, with a very big bag of garbage on the back. Seriously, how does that thing stay on? My elementary school book bag often threw me off balance, that garbage bag is way beyond my skill level. Even with the third wheel, one good corner would finish me off.

But I think we must go back a step or two. Uday takes our dust bin outside around 9:00 or 9:30 every morning. On a couple of occasions I have noticed that he will pluck something out and hand it to Camla who will go set it out back, to be taken upstairs with them later. Then, while the dust bin waits outside for the garbage collector, the guard has a look. He will often set aside 2 liter pop bottles, bags in good condition, or any kind of electronic component. We once had a guard who picked out a few scratched CD's and decorated his bicycle. Then comes the garbage man. Here he is called a raddiwallah, or garbage vendor. He presorts the garbage at his cart, then he takes the garbage from the neighborhood to a shack on the corner where he and several other men (members of his family I believe) sort it into larger piles. The piles seem to go something like this: recyclables, things that can be salvaged, things that can be burned, things that can be fed to dogs and the rest. Since we only pay him $1 a month for picking up our garbage, I assume the rest of his money comes from selling the recyclable and salvageable things.

I have to admit that this has made me paranoid about what I throw out. For the next week, every time you are about to drop something in the garbage, think about how you would feel if the people in your neighborhood were going to see it and know where it came from. The letters and papers that I should have been shredding for years are finally getting shredded. Receipts for embarrassing amounts of money (anything over Rs. 1000, or $25) are destroyed. When I throw out food that we didn't eat before it went bad I wonder what they will think of us. When I am getting rid of old t-shirts that have too many stains, I put them in plastic bags so they won't get gross. Did I need any more guilt or neurosis in my life? Not really.

Think Pink

2007-09-16T05:28:00.000-07:00

I recognize that this is my third post in one week. It is not my fault, until tomorrow when Mr. Smith returns, I have more down time than I am used to. Besides, after my last post I thought you all deserved a laugh.

Several times a week, before Uday says goodnight, he calls me into the kitchen to show me what he is leaving us for dessert. 90% of the time it is very good. But I have learned that Uday is the kind of cook that does not use recipes. Each time he makes rolls, or cakes or what ever, it tastes just a little different than the last time. One thing I really wish that he would get a recipe for is pudding. It is almost never good. I don't think he "gets" pudding. I think pudding must not translate into the Indian psyche. To be fair, I am sure that if I took milk, curdled it, squeezed it into a ball, deep fried it and then served it with really thick syrup it would not be good either. But we are not talking about me.

Two nights ago Uday showed me a bowl of very pink pudding. I knew instantly that Her Majesty would love it to pieces. I was equally sure that after her one bowl, the rest would go down the drain. But, after Uday had left, I called the kids in to ask them if they wanted any dessert.

"It looks like Pepto Bismol."

"No," I assured them, "it's pretty and it smells yummy."

"Do you think he used Pepto Bismol?"

"No, of course not. Come on lets give it a try." Not willing to commit to whole bowls of pudding just yet, we all grabbed spoons and tried it. Uh....yeah, it was Pepto Bismol Pudding. I quickly checked the bottle of Pepto Bismol on the counter and was not so surprised to see that it's contents were visibly reduced.

I really can't blame Uday for this mistake. Unlike all the other medicine, which is kept in a cupboard in my bedroom, the Pepto Bismol has been on the kitchen counter for three or four weeks. Two of our children have tender tummies and I find it easier to keep it within reach. It is not hard to believe that after watching it's contents disappear slowly over several weeks, Uday decided that it was something we enjoyed. Surprisingly, not so much in pudding form. I still shudder just looking at the picture. Needless to say the Pepto Bismol has been put back into the medicine cupboard.

Homesick

2007-09-14T03:55:00.000-07:00

Seven and a half months into our relocation, I would have to say that I have been very lucky as far as being homesick goes. I communicate with my family through various computer-aided avenues (this being one of them) on a regular basis, the people I would miss the most are here with me, and finally, our situation here allows me to hide from "cultural experiences" on days when I feel like India is too much to deal with. So far, so good.

But being in India while Mr. Smith is in the US was never part of the deal.

On a normal day Mr. Smith wakes up, gets ready for work, wakes me up to tell me goodbye, then leaves. Twelve to fourteen hours later he comes home, eats his reheated dinner, begins one of several conference calls then falls asleep after sitting on the couch with me for twenty minutes. Honestly I didn't think I would miss him too terribly much if he went to the states for ten days. Silly, silly girl. I missed him so much. Then I started thinking about where he was and what he was doing and I started to miss Arizona and all of the people there.

News from home hasn't helped. It's back to school time. I love back to school time. I love buying new pencils, folders, notebooks and endless boxes of tissue. And crayons. I love crayons. But this school year was going to be special. I have been looking forward to this school year for a long time, 16 years to be exact. If I lived in the states I would have four child free hours everyday. The possibilities make me giddy with girlish glee. My four year old twins are old enough to qualify for the public school preschool offered in our neighborhood. Every morning at 7:30 am a bus would pick them up and not bring them back until 11:45 or so. However, since we are in India, I am instead homeschooling all seven children.

I was already feeling sorry for myself when I made the terrible mistake of surfing the Internet. This is not a skill I have naturally. Normally I get on the computer, check two or three things, then get off. But I needed something to distract me and I was hoping the Internet would have it. Instead I saw a pop-up add for the new fall line up. I love the new fall line up. I love season premieres of the shows I watched last season. I love seeing the pilot episodes of all the new shows and guessing which ones would be canceled (easy, the ones I like) and which ones would be huge hits. I love it all. And I'm missing it all.

Don't worry too much. Mr. Smith will be home in three days and I can live without TV. The school thing is a little harder to get over, but I will get over it, and now that I have whined and complained, I feel better. Thanks for the free therapy!

Middle Name Game

2007-09-13T03:20:00.000-07:00

I'm it. Laural over at Pound for Pound tagged me with this middle name game. My middle name is Jo.

Here are the rules: 1. You have to post these rules before you give the facts. 2. Players, you must list one fact that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of your middle name in a blog post. If you don’t have a middle name, use the middle name you would have liked to have had. 3. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose one person for each letter of your middle name to tag. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

J is for Jocular. Not only do I like to make others laugh, but I also love it when others make me laugh. Women are instantly nicer and men are suddenly more handsome if they can make me laugh. Smart humor is better, but really anything will do. While I was engaged to Mr. Smith, my mother told me that she knew he was the one for me because I laughed at his jokes more than I laughed at my own. Ahhh, true love.

O is for....hmmmmm. My kids would say Oppressive, my husband would say Obstinate, I would say Obliging. They are probably all true, does that make me an Oddity?

This is the part I hate. Now I am supposed to tag two other bloggers. Sadly I know relatively few, and many of them have already been tagged with this one. I will tag Beth at Hunnydu this...Hunnydu that... because she doesn't mind talking about herself and she doesn't mind telling me "No". (Plus she loves me too much to stay mad.) I will also tag Rachel at Three Day Blog because she seems like a forgiving person and if she isn't, well she lives really, really far away.

Word Verification

2007-09-09T05:27:00.000-07:00

The next time you want to post a comment on this blog you will notice a new step. I am sorry if it makes it more difficult for any of you. This is my way of avoiding blog spam that I have started to receive.

The Great Big Killer Blue Line (as opposed to the thin one that protects us)

2007-09-08T06:44:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week in Delhi a teenage boy, who was on his way to buy fruit for his mom, was hit and killed by a bus when it decided to make a speedy (and illegal) U-turn. That alone makes it a tragedy. The fact that this is the 79th person killed by a Blueline bus in Delhi this year, makes it a travesty. I believe this is how the system works. A business man buys a permit for a bus route. He is then completely responsible for maintaining the buses and hiring the drivers, and has little or no supervision from the government. Often the buses are driven by men with no licenses, usually relatives of the permit holder, who know that the more passengers their bus can carry in a day, the more money they make. The result of this is a city full of over crowded, speeding buses hurling through the streets trying to squeeze in as many people and routes as possible before 10pm. They make NYC taxi drivers look like sissies. At one point when the Blueline had a particularly bad week and the public outcry was too loud to ignore, the city stopped all the privately run buses, vowing to fix the system. Unfortunately the next morning when those who were crying out tried to get to work, fixing the system lost it's public support. If you want to know more about this story in general, type "Delhi Blueline bus deaths" into your favorite search engine. It is not pleasant reading.

This became a much more personal story to me a couple of days ago when Number One Son told me that he and Star On Stage had a very near miss with a Blueline while they were in a bicycle rickshaw (like the one on the left). Like the teenager above, they were out running an errand for their mother. Apparently it was close enough to scare even the rickshaw driver. Now THAT scares me. The only thing crazier than bus drivers are rickshaw drivers, they're just less deadly. Luckily for us, most of our traveling is done in a minivan that is driven by the only man in India who follows all of the traffic laws. I am sure this is for our benefit. I have no doubt whatsoever that after he drops us off at home he drives through the city without stopping for a single red light and on whatever side of the street offers the most room. I am not sure, however, that even our sturdy minivan and dependable driver is enough to keep us safe. I recently read the following: "Where is the safest place to be when there is a Blueline bus on the road?......Riding inside of it."

Mr. Smith Takes Another Turn

2007-09-01T00:24:00.000-07:00

To say that living in India is an adventure is overstating it on most days. There are days filled with it, don't get me wrong. Days like when the transformer caught on fire (the electrical one that affects the power supply to our neighborhood, not the autobot/decepticon kind - they usually repair themselves), or when Mrs. Smith tried to have a heart attack and leave me a widower with seven children - admittedly not the most marketable of men even in the best of times - something we are still working through and I keep reminding her about as my husbandly duty. But most days are humdrum days where I go to the office and come home to a room full of people watching TV or fighting over who gets to be next on the computer. One person that never fails to bring a tad more adventure to the house is our landlord. I believe Mrs Smith has made mention of him previously, so I will offer a brief recap for those who might not have read that part - came into the house uninvited with his wife and said "hello?" as we were gathered at the dinner table; came into the house uninvited with his son and two friends to inspect the termite damage; came in uninvited to inspect the termite damage and forced his way into the bedroom while two of our daughters were bathing in that room's bathroom and then tried to go into the bathroom; brought multiple people into the house to show it to them - prospective investors, and still uninvited - completely unannounced. I'll leave it at that. After 5 months of constant intrusion and badgering, he has finally stopped coming in (we renegotiated the contract to give him more money and stipulated 24 hours notice before coming to the house). Until yesterday...

In all fairness, he didn't actually come into the house. In truth I wasn't even present as I was entertaining a colleague from Hong Kong at Bukhara (an Indian restaurant in Delhi that is number 37 on the current list of the S.Pellegrino World's 50 Best Restaurants - I tried to find a website for them but only found a copycat restaurant in Cape Town and lots of reviews, so google them and check out the reviews - they are amazing) so the story all comes from Mrs Smith, who dealt with it amazingly well.

He came to the gate and wanted to see that the lights were all working on the outside of the house. Why, I am not sure, but I imagine he wanted to be able to see the house lit up and have others see it as well. That should be good for our $325 dollar monthly electric bill (some things are cheaper here, but not housing or electricity - or electronics, or dinner at Bukhara for that matter). Anyway, he then proceeded to come to the side door of the house and spoke to the cook, demanding the oven. Yes, that's right. He wanted to take the oven. So Uday came to Mrs Smith and told her that he wanted the oven (thinking he wanted the oven that we bought, Mrs Smith AND the cook both became rather indignant about that and said no) but then he made clear that it was the microwave oven he wanted. Um... still no. We use that. Then he said that if we were going to use it we needed to pay him rent for it. Last I checked, the $3000 plus dollars he gets in rent included the microwave. Which reminds me of a story.

In 1992 when Mrs. Smith and I were attending BrighamYoung University (rise and shout...) we lived in a cute little 2 bedroom apartment in Provo, Utah. It was on the third floor of a small apartment complex that was filled almost entirely with married students. It was a great little apartment. It really was. We had so much fun gathering at the railing in front of the apartment and talking with the other couples in the complex on warm summer evenings. It was a pleasant place to live and we remember it fondly. It even had a dishwasher in it. We were not allowed to use the dishwasher, however, because we were not willing to pay the landlord the extra money he asked for after he installed it. We were paying $350 a month, and when he installed the dishwasher he wanted an extra $25 a month (maybe $50 - Mrs Smith will know). They taped it shut with security tape and checked it regularly to make sure it wasn't compromised. I should have known then that people are ridiculously stupid. Really. We are. All of us. Remember when we elected Dubya the first time? When we almost elected Al Gore instead? Case in point...

So our current landlord is at the side door demanding the oven, and the cook is telling him no. Frustrated by the refusal of the microwave by the mighty Uday Singh, he then demands the hotplate that was in the house when we moved in. It was set aside when we bought the oven (the range with the oven and the stovetop, not the microwave) and hasn't been used for months, so the cook pulls that down and gives it to the landlord who takes the hotplate and leaves, presumably to cook something but I don't really know because he didn't take the cylinder of propane (the propane sits inside the house next to the oven connected loosely by a rubber hose without a clamp - but that is another blog entry) so maybe he was going to steal someone else's propane. About this time, Mrs Smith decides to check the house register to see if the hotplate was provided by the landlord. This register lists everything in the house and who provided it, some by the landlord and some by the company. Lo and behold, the landlord stole the company's hotplate.

Needless to say we may be looking for a new home. Then again, there are never any guarantees that the landlord there will be any better. After all, remember the whole people are stupid thing. Need more evidence? We elected Dubya again last time and we're looking at Hillary for next time. Maybe we should just elect our landlord (who actually happens to be a local politician). His slogan could be "put your hotplates in a lockbox," or "the ever present president," or maybe "vote for me or I'll steal your hotplate". How about "I invented the internet and environmentalism"? I think that one's taken though...

Common Sense Is Not So Common

2007-08-26T10:37:00.000-07:00

Something that Mr. Smith and I have noticed is that while a lot of the people in India are highly educated, things that are common sense seem to escape them as a whole. This is something that has provided some entertainment and much frustration during our stay. For instance, we bought a battery back up for our computer this week. Basically you plug all the parts of your computer into the UPS (Uninterrupted Power Supply) and then plug the UPS into the wall. Now when the power goes out, our computer won't shut down while the generator kicks in. Pretty smart huh? Unfortunately all the outlets into the UPS are too close together, the result is that you can only actually use every other outlet. Grrr. While we are on the subject of outlets and such, there seems to be only a basic guideline as to the size of the prongs on your plugs. Some plugs fit well, some are too snug, some are so loose they fall out. These are not old and new things. These are all electronics that have been recently purchased.

Here is another strange practice; when you go shopping in a department store, as you choose things to purchase, they don't actually let you take them. They give you a slip, you go and pay, then you come back with your receipt to pick up your purchases. I understand that this is to safeguard against shoplifting, but come on! Yesterday we were shopping for our daughter's 12th birthday and had to make several stops on several different floors after we had shopped and paid, to pick up her gifts. It is really annoying.

As usual there is a reason for the subject of this post. Last week our cook pointed out that there was no vent in the kitchen. He was hoping that we could arrange to have one put in. What Uday didn't know is that there is a vent in the kitchen. Kind of. There is a fan and there is a pipe from the fan to the window... a window that does not open. With bars on the inside that also do not open. So the pipe ends about four inches short of the bars and glass. Not a very effective set up if you want to actually get the hot air and smoke out of the kitchen. "Not to worry!" said we. "Surely the office will send someone to fix this silly set up if we point it out." And they did. Work men came, they looked, they discussed, they measured, they cut a hole in the glass and they left. Now the system works like this: Fan, pipe, four inches of open space, metal bars, one inch of open space, 5 x 5 inch square hole in the glass, the great outdoors. Not only is this a completely ridiculous way to solve the problem, but it is also a fabulous entrance for the gazillion mosquitoes that are outside. And right during Dengue season too. Sweet! Now our kitchen is still hot and smokey and Skater Girl looks like she has polka dots. Even on her forehead. I don't know what it is about this girl that the bugs love so much, but we are all safe while she is in the room.

Tomorrow round two of the great kitchen vent adventure will begin. Perhaps this time they will put in a screen to keep all the bugs out. Of course they will have to cut a hole in it, in case some of the hot air and smoke wants to show itself out.

To Tip, Or Not To Tip, That Is The Question

2007-08-21T04:04:00.000-07:00

When we first arrived in India we were beholden to the restaurants that delivered for our survival. At that point we continued the American practice of tipping between 15-20%. We were informed by a good friend that even 10% is considered generous. Since then Uday has come into our lives, now we order out about once a week. So, for the last 7 months when our food is delivered we have tipped 10%. Sometimes the delivery boy looks very surprised, usually they look happy, once in a while they look guilty.

A few weeks ago when our McDonalds arrived, a manager had come along for the ride. He politely explained that tipping is not encouraged. Apparently there were fights at the restaurant over who got to deliver the food every time a call came in from our address. "Please!" he said, "you must stop tipping, it is causing me many big problems." I apologised to him and to the delivery boy who would not be getting his tip and slunk back into my house. Since then I have stopped tipping the McDonald's delivery boys.

Yesterday I went to the Indian version of a supermarket. Every time I go I buy about 10 bags full of stuff. Some poor kid grabs all 10 bags and goes out into the street and finds my car. It is not an easy street to navigate because it is always packed with traffic and there are no sidewalks. I usually give this brave soul Rs. 100, or $2.50. Lately I have noticed that when my shopping cart is almost full, the grocery baggers start jockeying for position to get me into their lane. I really didn't think it was a big deal. But once again I was approached by the manager. This one was neither so nervous, nor so polite. "You must stop giving the boys money!" No explanation, just the order. Perhaps this was all his English would allow, but I doubt it. Either way, when we made it to the car I didn't tip the young man who had carried out all of the groceries.

Today, however, I am wondering if I did the right thing. It is my natural inclination to follow the rules, but if $2.50 is enough to make a measurable difference in the week of these boys, should I stop giving it to them just to avoid inconveniencing the managers? I honestly don't know. So I am asking you, what do you think?

Jaya He!

2007-08-20T07:05:00.000-07:00

Last week India celebrated 60 years of independence from Great Britain. I knew that I had to have a post on this subject, but I was stumped. I started many times and from many different angles, usually critical. It is not hard to find fault with India. Drive through Delhi on any given day and you can easily see many of the problems through your window. But I wasn't able to finish any of these posts and feel good about it. After all India has gained its independence at a very different time in world history from my own country and it really wouldn't be fair to compare them. Not to mention the fact that the India has been independent for 60 years, not 231 and I am biased, no country can compare to my own.

So, I have instead decided to congratulate India on her Independence. (I am sure she is relieved.) Learning to govern yourself with such a huge population, crushing poverty, religious and linguistic diversity, and uneasy neighbors, all under the scrutiny of the "Global Village" cannot be easy. And yet it seems that India will succeed where so many others have floundered. And so I will instead add my voice to the 1.1 billion Indians chanting "Jaya He!" or in my own language"Victory To Thee!"

ER - India Style!

2007-08-11T11:38:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't know me well I must preface this post with a little information. In 2002 while I was pregnant with twins, I developed a couple of fairly serious heart problems. As a result I take a lot of medication and have a low energy level, not that I was ever considered hyper active. I am generally a decent heart patient, not great, but not the worst. However, since we moved to India I have been a textbook rebellious heart patient. I haven't been taking medication or seeing a cardiologist. So, on Tuesday when I was taking clothes out of the dryer and had some pretty severe chest pains, I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.

In the interest of getting to the important part I will summarize the next two hours. I took a dose of medication for the first time in a long time (dumb), I took a low dose aspirin (smart), I laid down and hoped it would go away by its self (dumb), I called my husband for a ride to the hospital (smart) and I decided that if I was going to the hospital I had better shower (dumb). Despite the New Delhi rush hour traffic, and my own stupidity, I made it to the hospital alive.

One of the interesting things about Indian medicine is that your medical records really are yours. You take them home with you. They leave them next to you while you are in the hospital and no one blinks if you pick them up and flip through them. So during the down time that comes in every trip to the hospital, Mr. Smith and I amused ourselves by looking at what the staff had written about me. It was all pretty normal until we got to a line that said "State of Mind of Patient: Psychotic Violent Combative" and the nurse had circled "Combative". Combative?! Me?! I am so not combative. The worst you could call me is stubborn, or even passive aggressive. Honestly though, that is only to my husband. To everyone else I am nice to the point of being a pushover. Luckily this gave me something besides the current situation to obsess about. Since I am all about ignoring a problem until it goes away, that worked for me. So here are the three possible explanations that I came up with for my being erroneously labeled combative.

1. My Fault. Upon arriving at the hospital the diuretic (a medication that helps my body get rid of the fluid my heart can no longer pump off) I took kicked in and I suddenly had to go to the bathroom very badly. Now, everyone knows about the paperwork that must be filled out when you check into a hospital, and normally I have no problem answering all the questions about myself, my parents, my habits, my religion, my choice of shampoo, whatever. But, have I mentioned that I had to go? So as the sweet nurse, then the doctor, then some guy with a stethoscope, all took their turn asking me seven hundred and thirteen questions in broken English, I might have mentioned a couple of times that I really had to go. All right it was more than a couple of times and I eventually became a bit insistent, extremely polite, but insistent. Truly, I was only looking out for them. Did they want to change the sheets and mop the floor? I don't think so. Finally the paperwork was complete and a wheelchair was found and I was wheeled to the bathroom about 50 feet away. After that, I didn't ask. I just got up and walked to the bathroom. Perhaps my initial insistence, or the fact that I wouldn't wait for the wheelchair after that, came across as combative.

2. Mr. Smith's Fault. Mr. Smith is on the large side. He is tall and wide and has the ability to look a little scary and when someone he loves is in danger he becomes all business. On my second trip to the bathroom (and all subsequent trips) he walked beside me and stood outside the door with his arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his face. People in the ER waiting room must have wondered who I was that I needed a bodyguard just to go to the bathroom. Then he got in a little tiff with a guy at the desk. First, the guy showed him a list of room types that he could choose from for me. Suite, deluxe private, private, shared, etc. Mr. Smith chose one, only to have the guy inform him that only shared were available. To his credit, Mr. Smith made no comment at this point. Then the guy told him that there were no beds ready at all, and that it would take "some time" to get one for me. Mr. Smith asked if "some time" meant that they were preparing one and it would be half an hour, or if it meant that we had to wait for someone to checkout in the morning or die to get a bed. The guy said that it was best if he didn't commit to a time frame, in case he was wrong. This is where the tiff came in. There was no yelling and no cursing, which in my book means that Mr. Smith behaved himself, but nobody at the desk was under the impression that he was pleased. Finally the nurse took pity on Mr. Smith and told us that it would be morning at the earliest, at which point I sent him home.

3. The Nurse's Fault. This one is my favorite for obvious reasons. I think her lack of English skills played a part in this. Perhaps she thought that this line had to be filled in, so she chose one at random, or, if she knew what the words meant, picked the lessor of three evils. I like this explanation the best and choose to believe it. It fits in nicely with the image I have of myself.

As for everything else, I am home and doing just fine. I have been scared straight and promise to follow all the rules in the heart patient handbook.

Silly Signs

2007-08-05T12:51:00.000-07:00

One of the entertaining things about living in a foreign country is some of the signs that we see. English, although known by most educated people here, is still a foreign language which leads to some funny mistakes. I also think the British influence causes problems. Recently a new mall opened up nearby with underground parking. As you pass the security check there is a sign like this...

This has been a favorite of my kids and is always the cause of stifled giggles. We tried to get an actual picture, but alas, no luck. I noticed this week that they had written " CAR^ " in front of the word Dicky. This of course made me wonder what exactly some poor confused mall goer had opened.

Now there is a new favorite. Today is Friendship Day, so for the last week or so there have been several billboards around Delhi advertising it like this...

I'm not sure if this is supposed to represent mending an old friendship, or if "The Bird" means something different here than it does in the US, or if someone just really misunderstood what this gesture means. Either way, being flipped off by a 20 foot rainbow covered hand is down right funny in my book.

I know this is a short post, but I think I will start posting more examples of the language mess ups and culture confusion that we see. We always get a good laugh out of them.

10 Things I Love About Living In India

2007-07-29T04:07:00.000-07:00

Here they are, as promised. Believe it or not this list was easier to come up with! I have tried to include pictures where I can. Once again, in no particular order....

1. Our Employees - I am really uncomfortable with this issue. I have huge guilt issues. I hate that people refer to them as servants, I hate that they live in the servants quarters. I hate the whole thing. But I absolutely love these people. I seriously would not live here without them.

Uday cooks wonderful dinners and yummy treats. Every day with no effort on my part a fabulous dinner appears on our table at 6:30 pm and by 7:30pm it is cleaned up. If that means that sometimes we pretend to like something we don't, so what! If I occasionally have to send jello with fruit in it down the drain when no one is around, who cares!

Camla keeps our house spic and span. It is true that every morning we get up and straighten up the house and make the beds, but she does the rest. I have not cleaned a toilet in six months. "How is that different from when you lived in the US?" some of you may be asking. I'll tell you, now my bathroom is clean instead of scary! But that is not all she does. She seems to actually like my children. She helps them and plays with them, and after our Hindi lessons she asks them what their names are in Hindi. She is a very sweet person.

Kirpa Shankar is the man! I spell his name a different way every time I mention him, but we love him all the same. He tells us what is going on when we miss something. He knows where everything is, and if he doesn't know, he finds it anyway. He follows the traffic laws when no one else does. He keeps his eye on us when we are in public. I honestly believe he would help us if we were in danger. He is truly a good man.

2. Salwar Kameez - I love these outfits. I actually had Mr. Smith take a picture of me in mine, but I couldn't bring myself to post it. But, can you see why I would love them? You can buy them off the rack (if you are the size of the average Indian woman) or you can have them made. Now I can always to find 3/4 length sleeves! To me these are better than Saris. You might think they would be too hot, but for some reason they really aren't.

3. Fruit And Vegetable Market - The fruit here is so yummy and sweet. Some of it is new and some is familiar, but it is all good. Everyday there is fruit for sale at roadside markets, but Thursday is the big one. A main road near our house fills up with carts and stalls and tables brimming with every kind of fruit and vegetable imaginable. Don't even try to drive down this road in a normal amount of time because there are just too many people, some people just stop and buy things through their car window. I don't know where the market in this picture is, but it was as close as I could get to ours. Some Thursday I'll be brave and send Mr. Smith out to take a picture of ours.

4. American Women - The women that I have met here are so cool. I am truly a home body. I consider the women in my family my friends, and if left to my own devices, they would be the only friends I ever had. Luckily these women are outgoing and have pulled me into their circle. I will be grateful to them forever for the kindness and camaraderie they have shown me. I only have a picture of one of them (the unofficial ring leader) but there are about 6 all together.

5. New Sights To See - I love that there are such cool things to see in India. Some of them we see everyday, like the Lotus Temple. Some we have to make an effort to see, like the Taj Mahal. But I must say, it is worth the effort, and never in my life did I ever think I would see the Taj Mahal!

6. Trees In The Road - I do not even pretend to understand the logic. Can someone explain to me what makes a person decide to simply leave the tree in the road? Not curve the road around the tree. Not remove the tree from the path of the road. Just lay the road and leave the tree. Please don't think this is a rare thing, we had 3 or 4 to choose from in our suburb alone. I don't understand it, but I love it. It gives me a chuckle every time we swerve around one.

7. Store 18 - Store 18 is like a super market without the produce. The reason that I love it is because they import things from the US. I can buy fruit roll ups and peanut butter there. Lately they have had Pringles and Doritos. Once they even had M&M's. They were stale and gross, but it was exciting anyway.

8. Learning Hindi - Seriously, when would I have ever learned Hindi? We just started, but already the kids and I are enjoying it. My goal is to be able to understand what people are saying about me in public places. I know they are talking about me. They all are.

9. Ice Cream - There is a company here called Mother's Dairy. Luckily they have a store right around the block from us. They have the best ice cream ever. If I could think of a way to transport a gallon of their Vanilla home for my dad, that is the gift I would bring him from India. I just noticed that 4 of my 10 items deal with food in some way. Do you think I have issues with comfort food? Hmmm.

10. My Computer - I love Skype and gmail and Blogger and MyFamily.com and all the ways this computer helps me keep in touch with the people I love. The fact that I can live in India and not feel lonely is a miracle too me.

Me? Did she say Me?

2007-07-26T03:38:00.000-07:00

Shauna at Up In The Night gave me this very cute award. Since this is as close as I will ever get to winning anything ever, I will pull out the speech I have been practising in the bathroom mirror for years.

I am very honored. I would like to thank those who made this moment possible. My kids for providing funny stories. My mother in law and her sister, for reading when I was a nobody. My sisters and Beth for keeping my sarcasm at it's best. Anyone who has ever read or commented, because the fans are the most important part of this work. Wait! Don't start the music, I'm not done! Finally, I would like to thank my sweet husband for moving me to India and giving me things to write about! Thank you! (smooch) Thank you! (smooch) Thank you! (smooch)

10 Things I hate About Living In India

2007-07-24T04:18:00.000-07:00

I have fallen into a bad habit of posting something about every eight days. I really do mean to post more often. The problem I face is that I am trying to keep this blog about our family's experiences in India. So for instance today I shouldn't write about how much I loved Harry Potter 7. It isn't an India related topic. But I really did love it.

As I was fretting over what to post this week I had several small ideas, but no big ones. So I have decided to compile a list. Now I recognise that this is not a positive or uplifting list, so next week I will even the score with "10 Things I Love About Living In India". For now, here are the things I hate in no particular order.....

1. Water Supply - How I miss drinking from the tap. How great it would be to shower and not worry if some water seeps into your mouth. How fabulous to rinse your toothbrush out in running sink water instead of bottled. Do you have any idea how hard it is to retrain yourself not to rinse your toothbrush out in the sink water? It's hard!

2. After Rain Smell - You know how it always smells so good after it rains? Not here. Here when you walk outside after a good rain, it just smells like wet garbage. I had no idea this would effect me emotionally, but I really miss that smell.

3. Water Problems - We have had more problems with water since we got here than in the previous 17 years of marriage! The latest one is a large (and getting larger) wet spot on our Living Room wall. It took us several tries to get someone to take this seriously. I think when the two shades of fuzzy mold (or mildew) started cropping up, it really helped our case.

4. Indian Sweets - It seems that a lot of Indian sweets and desserts are based on curdled milk. I am not kidding. Frankly, they are just plain nasty. Seriously how does one come to the decision that balling up a lump of curdled milk and pouring syrup over it will be a good thing?

5. News Paper Articles - News articles here are written in a very annoying way. I will make up an example for you. It was reported that the young girl was seen dancing around the pool and acting very strangely. "She was dancing around the pool and acting very strangely." said Deepak Sihng. This happens in every article. I once read an advice column where the first three paragraphs of the answer was the advice guru restating the situation in three slightly different ways. By the time I read the actual advice I had heard the problem four times (including the original letter asking for help). It is a silly thing, but after 5 months, it starts to get on your nerves.

6. Begging - Begging is huge here. They come out into traffic to knock on your window. The children try to hold your hand as you walk down the street. Some will actually try to block your car door as you are getting in so that you can't get in until you have given them money. And if you do give them something you had better run. Every beggar within 100 yards will be on you in a flash. Don't even think about turning them down after you gave to someone else. And, it had better be the same amount or more or you will have some very angry beggars.

7. Naked Men - Actually I should say "Seeing naked men with 7 kids in the car". You would not believe the ruckus that follows a naked man sighting. "EWWWWW!" "That man was naked!" "Oh gross!" "I saw his you-know-what!" "He was pooping outside!" "Did you see that?" "What?! I missed it!" "Look. Right there, see the guy with the basket on his head? Right behind him. See? You can see his 'hmm-hmm'" "Oh! Now I see it! Mom, do you see it?" I am just waiting for the day my four year old son drops trow and squats at the park. We all know it is coming, it's really just a question of when.

8. Beautiful Women - I am telling you, India got more than their fair share of beautiful women. Not only are they gorgeous, but they do not leave the house unless they look fabulous. Hair, make-up, jewelry, clothes, cute matching shoes, all must be in place. I swear, I think they even iron their perfectly factory faded jeans for casual days. And only men wear tennis shoes. These women wear spiked heels everywhere. And the jewelry! Don't even get me started on the jewelry! I seriously don't need this kind of pressure.

9. A Company Life - I am sure that it is worse for us because we are here for work and we live in a company house. However, it seems that employers have a lot to do with their employee's personal lives. They want to be the one to take you to the doctor. The doctor tells them how you are doing. They have the guards call the office directly when there is a problem instead of telling us. It's almost as if they are keeping tabs on us. We found out a while ago that they record and listen to all phone calls made to or from the office and the calls made on the cell phone that Mr. Smith got through them. I have wondered if they have access to our computer since they arranged for our Internet and set up our computer for us. Hi guys!

10. Indian Stretchable Time - The cable company in the US has got nothing on these guys. We broke a glass shower door. A man came to the house and measured the door and said he would be back tomorrow with the glass. About a month later he showed up with the glass. Everyone swears they will be back tomorrow to finish the job and they never are. I am not exaggerating. In all the time we have been here we have never had someone actually show up on the day they say they are going to.

Is There A Doctor In The House?

2007-07-16T04:03:00.000-07:00

Today instead of missing root beer, which I pine for nightly, I am missing pharmaceuticals that I know and love. Lovely sounding things like Phenergan and NyQuil. Oh how I miss those beautiful gel caps. But since I am thinking about the health care system, I decided to write about it as well.

As we were planning to move here my sweet mother-in-law expressed concern for our health. I told her she had nothing to worry about, so many of the good doctors in Arizona were from India, it would stand to reason that there were good doctors in India. The thing is, I wasn't sure I believed it. So before we left the states we took care of all the medical things we could think of. We single handedly paid for our pediatric dentist's Christmas vacation, I am sure. We also took care of glasses and an ingrown toenail and anything else we could think of. Once we got here we quickly learned that we had wasted a substantial sum of money!

Our first brush with illness was our 8 year old, Star On Stage. We called a popular pediatrician expecting to be put off until the following week. He said to come in that afternoon. When he heard we were from Arizona, he said, "I practiced in Phoenix for 10 years!" (What do you know, I was right!) At the end of the visit he charged us 600 Rupees or about $12 for the visit! This was our "initial visit", a phrase which usually costs an extra $100 in the US. As if that weren't enough, later in the week the doctor called to make sure Star On Stage was doing well. Since then we've had: A midnight emergency room visit for an asthma attack - $16; a doctor visit and x-ray on arm after a spill down the stairs - $19; a consultation, surgery and follow up visits for the previously mentioned (and "fixed") ingrown toenail - less than $150; and the most expensive..... ER visit, x-ray, MRI and 6 physical therapy sessions for a painful back injury - $290!

Now we are trying to think of all the things we could do before we go back to the US. How many kids can we get through braces in three years? What about Lasik for Mr. Smith and I? Does anyone want a nose job? Tummy tuck? Face lift? This is the time!

My favorite thing about Indian medicine is that medicine is cheap and you don't need a prescription! There is a family that used to live here that still comes back once a year for business. Before they leave the US they get a list of all the things their friends in Delhi want. In return, their friends procure a year supply of all the prescription medication this family will need. During the visit they swap goods and money and everyone is happy.

Now that I think about it, I could probably get something with codine in it....See Ya! I'm off to the chemist!

This entry is not for men, or women who offend easily!

2007-07-07T10:23:00.000-07:00

More than a week since my last entry? Bad blogger! Bad, bad blogger! Unfortunately there has been precious little to write about. We did have a flood caused by our poor plumbing, but I am tired of water stories. I am happy to announce that both the plumbing and my washer were fixed quickly. Now, on to this week's story.

I have a hard time finding hairdressers that I like. I am indecisive, so I need someone who doesn't mind making suggestions; but I am also picky, so they must have good taste and skill. It is not a job for the faint hearted. I was in need of a hair cut when we got here in February, and this being July, you can imagine how badly I needed to find a salon. It is not hard to find a salon here, there are lots of them around. The problem is that they all look kind of icky, and I assume that no one speaks English. This wouldn't work for me. When I see the finished product, I often feel as if the person who cut my hair didn't understand a thing I told them anyway, but I would like to think there was at least a chance.

Yesterday Mr. Smith noticed that a new salon/day spa had opened in the shopping complex nearby. After scoping it out for me, he made me an appointment for this morning. I admit, I was excited. I decided that I would have a cut and color. Then I started thinking about the "day spa" portion of the business. After much internal debate, I decided to go for a facial too. My face has not felt clean since we got here, and my breakouts were increasing. When I got there they went into high pressure sales mode. After looking at all the services they offered, I picked a more extensive facial and I chose to have my eyebrows threaded as well. I have plucked my eyebrows exactly once in my life, so they were definitely bushy, and it was only 40 rupees which translates to $1.

Just by the way, threading hurts. If you were one of the unfortunate people who tried an Epi Lady, imagine a tiny one made just for eyebrows. Basically they twist up a long thread, then use it to rip out hairs as they twist and untwist it. Now, common sense told me this was going to hurt, but I had forgotten why I had only plucked my eyebrows once in my life: because I'm a baby, and it hurts like a son of a motherless goat!

The facial was an interesting experience. Several goopy substances were smeared on, massaged in, then wiped off my face. Twice I felt an electric current being sent through my face. The first time by some kind of wand, the second, by special gloves. Weird, yet cool. At the end, a VERY thick goop was applied to my face, effectively sealing my mouth and eyes shut. This was left on for about 20 minutes while the girl massaged lotion into my hands, arms, shoulders, neck and then WHAM!...she went to second base! I am going to assume that this is normal, surprising, yet normal.

The interesting part for me is that through the whole thing I was totally terrified someone might try to touch my feet. The marble floors dry out my feet big time, so my heels are cracked and no matter how hard I scrub, my feet no longer look clean. So, essentially, what I have learned about myself is this: It's O.K. with me if you want to have a go at my girls (a term I picked up from my niece-in-law), but if you want to see my feet, I'm going to have to know you better. This is a revelation to say the least.

All in all, the score card looks like this:
Five hours away from the kids: Good
Hair color: Fabulous
Hair style: Cute
Eyebrows: Neat and trim
Facial skin: Not a big, blocked pore in sight
Embarrassment factor: High - Next time I will opt for the less extensive facial

The Saga Of The Schools

2007-06-28T03:08:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have heard that we have decided to home school our kids. I thought that I would use this space to explain why. When we got here we knew that one of our first decisions needed to be about about schools. We heard from the Americans that if we could swing the American Embassy School, that was really the way to go. They warned us that Indian schools were super structured, very high pressure and strict. We also heard that slapping and name calling were used as motivational tools. From the Indians we heard that they had a very advanced curriculum. They told us that foreign students often had a hard time keeping up, but that if they did, they would receive a superior education.

Obviously we looked into the Embassy school. Unfortunately it is extremely expensive. For Number One Son's Junior year it would have cost us $20,000. Mr. Smith's company would have covered 75% of that leaving us with only $5000. Unfortunately this would have maxed out our education money from the company, leaving us with %100 of the other six kids costs to cover! Next came the Indian schools. There were some very nice ones. We chose an international school with a good reputation, we thought that they would not have the same problems as other Indian schools. The classes were taught in English. All of the staff spoke English. We were assured that our children would be loved, protected and taught. Immediately our kids started complaining. Not a big surprise. But, with the exception of Skater Girl, it never got better. Star On Stage was constantly having stomach aches. Star On Stage and Glamour Girl both would spend time in the nurses office weeping. Homework always brought tears and concerns of doing something wrong. I kept assuring them that their teachers wouldn't get angry if something was wrong on their homework. I assured them that everyone understood that they didn't know Hindi and that it would take a while for them to catch up. My girls would not be consoled, and often after I put them on the bus I would go home and cry.

During the six week break for summer I asked my kids lots of specific questions about their class. Instead of asking "Do you like school?" I would ask, "Can you give me some examples of things that you hate about school? What things do you like about it?" Some of the answers I got were funny and some were serious, but after all of them, I just couldn't send my kids back.

First, the funny ones. Star On Stage had an art teacher that would constantly get after the students for using foul language. Curse words were simply not allowed in her class. Unfortunately this only applied to Hindi curse words. The kids regularly used the D word and the SH word and any form of the Lord's name that their creative little minds could come up with. The best though, was that the teacher herself did not even blink at using the F word! Another of the funnier problems was that my girls were very popular. Sort of. Every day girls would approach them, introduce themselves the say something to the effect of, "Let's be best friends!" "O.K." my girls would reply. Then the new "Best Friend" would run off, never to be seen again. A couple of times when I would go to the school, girls in the hall would stop me and ask if I was the mother of the Smith girls. After I told them that I was indeed the Smith girls' mother they would say, "Oh, I am their friend Manvie!" Only to later find out that none of them knew anyone by that name.

Now we come to the more serious problems. Star On Stage's Hindi teacher could not understand why she could not catch up to the other kids in Hindi. The teacher would send home worksheets to do that had the instructions all written in Hindi, then scold Star On Stage for not completing them. I explained that she didn't even know the alphabet and that perhaps she should be working out of a Kindergarten book. No problem. Except that the teacher never took any time to actually teach her out of it. She just kept assigning Star On Stage the same 2nd grade work. Finally I took out the Kindergarten book, ready to figure it out. Like the books in English, there would be a Hindi character next to a picture of a clown. Well, that only helps if the person reading the book ALREADY KNOWS the Hindi word for clown! Errrggg! Perhaps, if they are going to call themselves an international school and court students from other countries, they should have a Hindi as a second language program. You think? Next comes the slapping. Star On Stage was slapped for poor hand writing in Math, Glamour Girl was slapped for not learning a Hindi song fast enough, and Book Lover was slapped for losing her balance while learning an Indian dance. But as much as I hated the slapping, it was not, in my opinion, the worst part. The worst thing, in my opinion, was the labels that started to be applied to my kids. Book Lover's P.E. teacher would call her too fat in front of the class. You know how P.E. teachers are, they stand off to the side and yell encouragement, or advice. Everything is said loudly out of necessity, even the fact that he thought Book Lover was too fat. Star On Stage was told to stop being lazy about learning her Hindi. No matter that she showed no tendency toward laziness in any other area, it must be her lazy nature that was keeping her from learning Hindi. I finally concluded that you can take teachers out of the Indian schools, but you can't take the Indian school out of the teachers.

This entry is running long so I will end here. In a later post I will talk about our plans for schooling them at home. Wish us luck. Seriously.

Hello Bucket My Old Friend

2007-06-24T11:39:00.000-07:00

This evening (if you consider 11:00 pm the evening) I went upstairs to put the Monday morning laundry in the washer. This is a terrible habit I have had for about six years. Occasionally it backfires on me, as it did tonight. At about 11:15 I realized that while my washer was going through the cycle, it wasn't spinning at all. The washer would fill up, then 15 minutes later it would drain. Then it would fill up, then 15 minutes later it would drain again. With our vast combined mechanical knowledge, Mr. Smith and I figured it must be a broken belt. Good grief!

Out came the bucket we used for the first couple of months we lived here. As I sat down to do the laundry, India style, my sweet husband came in at sat down on the opposite side of the tub and prepared to rinse. Is he a keeper or what? So we sat there washing and complaining to each other. Luckily complaining to each other is one of our favorite pastimes. A few minutes later we were joined by Skater Girl, our six year old daughter. Of course I told her to go get back in bed and of course she ignored me completely. Right then I didn't care much. After a few minutes of quiet observation she commented, "I can't wait to be a mom, being a mom is fun, huh mom." Mr. Smith and I looked at the laundry bucket and at each other and laughed. "It sure is sweetheart, would you like to help?" So Skater Girl grabbed the front edge of the tub (it is a large round tub) and helped us finish up. As we were cleaning up the mess that doing laundry in a bucket makes, Mr. Smith said, "Now don't think I'm weird or stupid, but this is a nice way to end the day." I have to admit that I agree. It was nice to talk to him relatively uninterrupted. That doesn't happen much. Plus, Mr. Smith is always in a good mood when he is working, which makes him an excellent partner for projects.

I can see the appeal of going to the stream with your daughters and meeting the other women doing their laundry with their daughters. It is the perfect mindless work for conversation. I imagine a lot of gossip was passed around at the laundry spot. Don't worry though, I won't be making any trips to the river anytime soon. It's much dirtier than our illegal well water. I am sure that we will have our washer repaired and running sometime in the next week or so. In the mean time, I've got my bucket!

Things To Ponder

2007-06-19T10:53:00.000-07:00

Lately in India they have been passing some new rules at the schools. First, colleges in the southern part of the country passed rules against male and female students sitting together in class. Colleges, mind you. Next, sex education was taken out of schools in several states. Frankly I was surprised to hear that it was ever in the schools. Most recently, two Mumbai schools banned boys and girls from touching each other on school grounds. No hugs, no holding hands, no high fives, no hand shakes. Nothing. They will even be penalised for accidental contact.

This is an interesting subject for me. I admit that I have conflicting feelings. At first it seems absurd. It even seems a little scary because it makes me wonder what, or rather who, is influencing such changes. As fanatical religious factions try to gain a hold in the country, this seems to be a sign of success. When the initial upset over the new rules dies down, what will be next? Will the girls' hair or faces be considered too much of a distraction? Perhaps they shouldn't be in school at all.

By the same token, many people consider me a religious fanatic. After all, I actually expect my children to abstain from sex until after they are married. I have all manner of rules that I expect them to follow during their youth that most people in the western hemisphere would consider unreasonable, or at least unrealistic. In this light I feel that I should be particularly careful when judging actions taken in the name of morality, or religious beliefs. Unfortunately religion and politics are so often intertwined (or disguised as one another), it is difficult to trust that the motives are so simple.

Finally, on a purely cultural level, I really don't get India. Most single adults live with their parents. There is little if any dating. Most marriages are arranged. They have laws against kissing in public, men and women don't even hold hands in public. Aspiring judges make names for themselves by making headline grabbing decisions, such as issuing an arrest warrant for Richard Gere after he kissed Shilpa Shetty. The vast majority of films don't even have kissing. The few that do are very controversial. Modesty is a must. Midriffs can be exposed, but legs are covered. In some parts of the country it can be down right dangerous to be seen in what is considered immodest clothing. Yet they have perfected the art of every other type of almost-sexual behavior. In films, the leads dance or romp, often while soaking wet, in such a way as to leave no doubt as to what is being represented. Commercials and print ads are so suggestive in the manner of dress and poses of the models that even I, a desensitized American, was surprised. Apparently modesty and morality don't apply if commerce is involved, but then, that is nothing new.

I know that the US is full of it's own unique contradictions, but they are the contradictions that I am used to. It is very interesting to see things from the outside. It leaves me wondering how foreigners in America see our culture. Perhaps one of them has a blog I could read....

Rainy Days and Mondays

2007-06-17T23:58:00.000-07:00

Someone who was familiar with 70's pop might think that the title of this blog entry means that I am feeling a little down. Not at all. I am actually quite happy. The only things that should be deduced from the title are: 1. It is raining. 2. It is Monday. & 3. I recently spent $16 on iTunes purchasing Carpenter's songs. I don't really have any feelings on the subject of Mondays, but I love the rain and I love The Carpenter's, so today, life is good.

It is my firm belief that the rainy season has started. You might think that my first clue was all the rain. Not so. My first clue was that when I stepped out of our house to go to church, my glasses fogged over completely. It was like coming out of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride without someone asking me to remain seated in four different languages. Luckily my lenses cleared in time for me to find my way to the car without any injuries. Surely my second clue was the rain. Unfortunately no. I seem to be a tad slow. No, the second thing

that clued me into the change in the season were the beautiful blooms on the potted plants on our porch. I had no idea the these plants were anything other than nice green plants. They didn't look like anything that would bloom. But as you can see they do bloom and they are dramatic and lovely, befitting their home in the jungle.

Finally we come to the rain. Much like the rain in Arizona, it starts quickly. It will be a bright and clear day, then within thirty minutes it is dark and the rain starts. Some times it lasts a few minutes, sometimes a few hours. It is really quite fabulous. The weather cools and all my kids run out to the porch to play in the rain. Of course it causes it's fair share of problems too. For instance, we have a door on our roof that lets the rain in. It streams down about 5 steps, then pours over the side of the spiral staircase, forming a charming waterfall for those on the first and second floor. While this is nice to look at, it is a bit dangerous because marble is very slippery when it's wet. Not so good on stairs. So far we have had no serious injuries. On the up side marble is also very easy to clean. The yuckiest problem by far is that two of our bathrooms have floor drains that back up with sewage when it rains hard for very long. Eeew. Once again, I am very glad that marble is so easy to clean.

I would like to thank Mr. Smith for the great picture of the blossoms. And while I would like to thank him for the cool picture of the rain in Delhi, the actual photographer might not appreciate it, who ever he or she is. I found that one on the Internet.

Really, That's Just Too Kind.

2007-06-10T10:32:00.000-07:00

The people of India are so kind and accommodating. Seriously. I have been thinking for some time that I need to write an entry about the electricity here, but I just didn't have that much material. So the Indian people got together and provided us with some fabulous stuff.

It all started last week when I went out to dinner with other American/Mormon women in the area. We do this about once a month and though there are about 10 of us, usually about 6 show up. One of them (a new girl) started telling us her harrowing story about a fire they had in their electrical box. After listening politely, we told her that we had all had a fire in our electrical boxes, and that it would probably happen again. That is the nice thing about these dinners. Nothing is new to them. They understand the craziness and can tell you how to deal with it or tell you to get used to it. But either way, you feel better knowing that they have all done it.

So the next night around 11 o'clock, there was this loud popping sound outside and our electricity started to fluctuate. Then I saw the sparks. Mr. Smith and I ran outside to see what was going on. The power line right across the road from or house had snapped and was jumping around, throwing off sparks. Eventually it dropped and was laying across a parked car. We made some calls, but they just don't have the 24 hour hot line like they do in the US. (Ironic for a country full of call centers, eh?) At some point one of the people we called told our guard to keep an eye on the line through the night, and they would notify some one in the morning.

The next morning we heard the popping and the power started to fluctuate again, so we all ran out on to the balcony. The transformer around the corner was sparking and on fire, and so were the many bushes around it. The volunteer fireman in Mr. Smith had him out the door and around the corner in no time, but luckily there were several men (including two policemen) near by when it started, so the fire was already out. Mr. Smith told the officers about the downed line by our house, but of course they couldn't understand him so they started to leave. Kirpashankar (our driver) stopped them and explained. Soon there were men guarding the transformer and the downed line and all the power to the Sector was shut off.

This was just the most recent event. When we visited India last August we actually stayed in this house. That was when we had our fire in the electrical box. Another time Number One Son was plugging in our TV and was shocked bad enough to throw him back a bit. A few weeks ago our house keeper was cleaning a ceiling fan that was, of course, turned off, but it still managed to shock her pretty badly. And, on a daily basis there are some outlets that when you plug something in you always hear a sizzle or a pop. Once every couple of weeks an electrician comes to the house to see if everything is working. Last time the twins room had no lights. The breaker was on, but still no electricity. I told my dad that if we get home without someone being electrocuted it will be a miracle.

P.S. When I ran a spell check on this entry I found that I had spelled the word "electricity" several different ways, all of them wrong. I guess there is a short in my brain!

Pick A Euphemism

2007-06-06T02:43:00.000-07:00

Among our expat friends (others who have left their homelands to come to India) there are a few phrases that describe the kind of day I am having. India day, cultural experience, and opportunity for growth are my favorite. They all mean the same thing: Today is the day I wish I lived somewhere with DVRs and root beer. Netflix at the very least. There is no catastrophe, just several little things that are all so much easier in the US.

I noticed that there was no water upstairs, no big deal, I just headed downstairs to turn on the pump. Camla (our housekeeper) had beat me to it. Cool. So I went into the front room where there is an AC and tried to cool down. Then a few minutes later Uday came in in to get me. He wanted to show me something, but what? "No water" he said. Hmmmm. "Is there water in the underground tank?" I asked. Blink, blink. So I headed out to check the underground tank. Unfortunately there were discarded bathroom cupboards on the lid to the tank. Then Uday started gesturing towards an outlet near by. I'm not sure why, because it is not hooked to the pump and, as far as I can tell, there is no connection to water and this outlet. He started explaining in what he was sure was English, and I was equally sure was nothing close to English. Then someone on the roof started yelling something about "bani" which is water, so Uday said, "is O.K., is O.K." What's O.K., do we have water now ? I don't know and no one can explain it to me, so I smiled and went inside. Later I discovered there was still no water, so I made Mr. Smith move the cupboards and we looked in the underground tank. It is full of water, that's good news. The water's full of termites, both alive and dead, that's less good. And the pump doesn't work, bad, bad, bad.

After some phone calls a man from the office comes. I try in broken English and charades to explain that the pump isn't working correctly and that even if it were, the water is full of termites, so using it for cooking or laundry really isn't going to be a good thing. Then our guard, Kossel, comes running back and speaking to the man and gesturing to the mystery outlet again. Seriously, what is up with the outlet? No one can tell me, so, having done my part I smile and go inside. Eventually all is well, water is running. I am assured that the pump was working the whole time (this is a lie that they tell me to keep me happy) and that there was sediment (I'm guessing termite bodies, but sediment sounds nicer) in the faucet screens. The explanation seems to be over at this point, so I smile and I walk inside. As soon as I am out of sight, the man from the office starts explaining something to Uday and Kossel in a hushed voice, so just for fun I poke my head back out and sure enough, they are gathered around the damned outlet! Come on! They all look up guiltily, I still smile and I still walk back inside (what else?) but this time I roll my eyes real big while I'm walking.

After the man from the office left, I went to see Uday. He and our driver will always tell us what actually happened. Everyone else gives us the version that they think will cause them the least trouble. The pump has been fixed, and all three of our water tanks will be cleaned. Soon. And the outlet? The switch next to it turns on the hidden pump to our illegal well. Ah ha!

Dear Mother In Law, Don't Read This Post!

2007-05-30T21:59:00.000-07:00

India is very proud of it's accomplishments. Just ask any educated person here in Delhi. The large cities are flourishing. New business is pouring in, the rupee is gaining on the dollar, real estate is booming, education is a priority and the arts are revered. Everyone is happy to tell you about the changes to the area as they prepare for the Common Wealth games in 2010. Not to mention the increased attention to athletics in the schools over the last several years to make sure India didn't put on a good show, only to be embarrassed in the games themselves. If you spend time talking to the affluent and educated in the city you get a picture of India that is diverse, beautiful and hopeful. The new money along with the history and traditions of India seem to give the upper class a feeling of superiority and a sense of getting the recognition that they have deserved for a long time.

The society that I find myself a part of is very based on appearances. Bragging is part of every introduction and most conversations. New cars sport ribbons on the hood for months. School programs are high pressure affairs and are practiced for months with an eye towards making the school look good. Everything is turned into an auspicious occasion with important and honored guests. But he truth is that this is still a third world country with a violent streak, and the longer I live here, the more I wonder how much longer they can fool themselves.

This is a recent example. In the US if a married man sent out invitations for his wedding to a second wife, he would be arrested and probably sued by at least one person. In India it went down like this: The groom, who had been separated from his first wife for many years, gladly excepted a proposed match, made by his aunt, to a beautiful 18 year old girl. An agreement was reached between the families and the wedding was planned. On the day of the wedding, right before the actual ceremony was about to take place (which I think I have mentioned is about 3 days into the whole affair and about 8 hours into that days events) several men in the party decide that having two wives is morally wrong. So they grab the groom and beat him brutally. Then they find the aunt who made the match and beat her for her part. I can only be grateful that it was a man taking a second spouse, because I can guarantee that if it was a woman, she would not have survived the affair.

Hindu beliefs teach that it is wrong to want to improve your station in life. This has held the caste system in place for many years. But how long will the lower classes allow the rich to get richer without demanding some of it for themselves? Not much longer. And in a country where violence, although preached against, is so much a part of the culture, I can't imagine that it will be a quiet or polite request for equality. Everyday there are stories of riots, or protests in the rural areas that went wrong. How long before this battle reaches the city?

Put Me In The Zoo!

2007-05-24T03:31:00.000-07:00

The first of our Monday excursions is complete! I don't know if it was successful, but it is complete. We wanted to do something kid friendly before we hit the historical or more cultural sights. The girls picked the zoo. Oh yeah. The truth is, I have never liked the zoo, and with the exception of the time the orangutan threw poop at a date I had decided I didn't like, my memories of the zoo aren't fond ones.

It didn't start well, it was hot (duh) and the first several attractions were different types of....
Deer! Unfortunately, I spent a year and a half in southern Utah, driving white knuckled, while praying that no deer decided to leap in front of me. That was enough to take the "Bambi" polish off deer forever! Plus, there was the usual crowd we draw when we walk outside. When the kids and I would stop to wait for Mr. Smith (who took all the lovely pictures) the crowd generally stopped with us. Of course they also wanted pictures of our family and of the twins. I have to admit that I was working myself up into a real tizzy. But then I noticed two things. First I noticed the pure joy on Dennis The Menace's face as he imitated the bear. How he gleefully roared at the people around him and how they happily roared back. Then I noticed that my husband was taking picture of the animals, and also of the Indian children. What was I so uptight about? For the rest of the time I relaxed and tried to enjoy myself. Admittedly there wasn't much time left, but it was the best part. I decided to post a few of my favorite pictures. The last one is for JRM.

Temples, Temples, Temples!

2007-05-18T00:50:00.000-07:00

Star On Stage has made a good friend in India. A while ago she came home from a long day at her friend's house and burst into sobs the second the door was safely shut behind her. She ran up to me and said, as quietly as her sobs would allow, " Something bad has happened! I have to tell you about it in your room right now!" As you can imagine the absolute worst case scenarios were running through my head. I walked calmly upstairs and was as loving and patient as I could be as she slowly managed to get the story out. It seems Star On Stage was at the park with her friend and her friend's nanny. Suddenly it was decided that they should show Star On Stage the local Hindu Temple. So off they went. Inside the temple she was overwhelmed by the many ornate statues, the smells of incense, the loud music, the prayers being sung, and someone marking her face and forehead with ash. Toward the end she was given some "food of the gods" and was told she must eat it. She slipped it in her pocket instead.

So far in her young life, church has consisted of song's, activities, and lessons all geared to children. No real rituals with the exception of the sacrament every Sunday and her own baptism 4 months ago. After this experience she was sure she had done something wrong, that she had somehow offended God by allowing them to put ash on her face and by not standing up and proclaiming the things she knew to be true in front of Ganesh! I chuckled and held her in my arms while she calmed down. I assured her that it was good to learn about other people's beliefs and that Heavenly Father would never be angry with her for that. I also told her that there were times and places to tell people about the things she believed, but that a Hindu temple wasn't that time or place. Then I remembered about the food of the God's in her pocket. We shared it while she told me about the temple and the bicycle rickshaw she got to ride home in. It was all very exciting, now that she knew her immortal soul was not in danger. In case you are wondering, food of the god's consists of little beads of sugar in the shape of rose blooms, and some kind of peanut.

Something else exciting has happened. We have new neighbors. I think that it is just a man and his wife, no children. But wait! That is not the exciting part. It seems that they holding a Pujah in their new home to bless it. We can go there to worship or to learn about Lord Krishna and what he has done for mankind. This morning was the first of, I believe eight days. About two hours of singing and praying over a PA system. I believe that this will happen every day, twice a day. Exciting! Add to that the construction at our other neighbors and my kids, and you have one sweet little piece of heaven on Earth. Visitors should know that my house is now B.Y.O.E.P. - Bring Your Own Ear Plugs!

Idle Hands & Butts

2007-05-14T00:44:00.000-07:00

As you can see from this lovely picture that Skater Girl (6) took of Glamour Girl (10), summer boredom has set in hard in the Smith house. What on earth are you supposed to do with 7 kids for 6 weeks? Indian schools are very different and just a little strange, like everything else here. School started in April, then it ran for 6 weeks, and now they have a 6 week break during the hottest part of the summer. Apparently, between the heat, the power outages that the heat brings, and the travel to escape the heat, absenteeism is a big problem. So.... close the schools, problem solved!!! Well we are dealing with it in a few ways, First we are sending Number One Son (our teenager) to the US for a couple of months. Despite the loss of a babysitter, which is a terrible blow, I think we will all be happier without a bored and mopey 16 year old boy around. I know he'll be happier. Second, starting next Monday we are going to see the sights of Delhi. One each week. I think we will start with something kid friendly like the zoo or the aquarium and then move on to more cultural things like the Lotus Temple. Third, well there is no third, unless you count TV and Disney movies, which of course I don't. I mean, I use them, I just don't count it!

Luckily, we have creative children and marble floors. Just add water and you have yourself one heck of a slip-n-slide! This is how all the kids but our oldest spent Sunday evening and most of Monday afternoon! I have to admit that on Sunday I was oblivious to the water works and probably would have nixed it. This afternoon though, well, I'm not that great of a mom anyway so I said yes. Luckily, because we don't live in the US for now, I won't have to make my kids wear long pants for the next two weeks to cover the bruises left by all the fun! Here, if someone sees one of my kids with a leg full of bruises they'll just think, "Hmm, you'd think he/she would be better behaved!"

Well suitcases need packing and Mr. Smith's boss is coming for dinner so all the kids need a large dose of Benedryl.... Kidding! I would never drug my children! But they do all need baths. Does a slip-n-slide count as a bath? Not even in India? Fine!!!

Mr. Smith Takes a Turn

2007-05-12T07:56:00.000-07:00

I took this picture on my way to the office one morning. This wagon was attached to a tractor and it was packed with people - mostly children. This little girl was such a cutie, and she turned just as I was taking the picture so I missed her face. Because I was in my car, we sped off and they were left behind to go heaven-knows-where.

There are so many people here that it is truly difficult to comprehend. 1.1 billion. Soon India will overtake China as the world's most populous country (we thought that might happen when our family arrived and boosted the population...). With so many people in one place, there is a sense of anonymity. Well, for most people. For a 6-foot, 330 pound caucasian man, anonymity is just not a concept to be enjoyed in India. But once you push past the staring, the pointing, and even the occasional laughing, you discover that this truly is a wonderful place filled with warm and wonderful people.

One of our goals while here for the next three years is to travel around India and see what this country has to offer. But with such beautiful children around us (as shown in these photos), and so many amazing things to see, even that thought is overwhelming. I have been to Mumbai (Bombay) twice. I went again yesterday in another whirlwind visit for our business. That is a very different place from Delhi. I had two eunuchs - in this case men dressed in sarees as women - try to get to me in our car so they could extort some money. They were at an intersection waiting for cars to stop. Like I said, I don't exactly cut a concealable figure compared to those around me here, so they came at me fast and furious. Man, eunuchs get angry. You would think that guys with no - um, male "motivation" - wouldn't be so aggressive. But I think they were just dressed that way for the money. And no, I didn't check...

Good Days and Bad Days

2007-05-09T01:58:00.000-07:00

Most days I would say that we are pretty settled here. There are still challenges, but we've come to expect them and we deal with them. Most days I would even be bold enough to say we are happy here. Today would not be one of those days.

Every school day I walk down the street and around the corner and wait for the school bus four times. When I step outside our gate I immediately become the focus of attention for about 3/4 of the people on the street. Since there are a billion people here, even in our little neighborhood that is usually between 50-150 people at all times. Staring is not considered rude in India and they do it openly. I am not the kind of person who likes attention and this was hard for me to get comfortable with, but I did. So this morning I took my three oldest girls to the bus and headed home. About 10 yards from my gate my ankle turned out and I dropped flat on my face in the middle of the street! I laid there for a minute, rolled over, and managed to get myself up. As I looked around I saw that 20 people had stopped what ever work they were doing and were now silently watching me brush myself off and limp to my gate.

As usual I managed to hold myself together until some one I love says something nice. This time is was Number One Son. It went something like this, I walk in the door and he says, "Mom! what happened?! Are you O.K.?" "Yah,... ha ha,.... I'm fine. I just fe.. fe.. waaaaaaahhhhhh!" I bawled for a few minutes, then I pulled myself together. Until I was reading the wheat flakes box over my cereal and saw the slogan, "Fit in a Fortnight". This made me chuckle, then giggle,then laugh, then laugh hysterically, then bawl again. At which point Mr. Smith turns to Number One Son and says, "Son, this is what is called a Mood Swing." Which just makes me laugh and then cry some more. I now realize that a full fledged break down is coming so I quickly get Skater Girl ready for school, have Number One Son take her to the bus and shut myself in my room for a good long cry followed by a good long nap.

Now I have successfully navigated the remaining two trips to the bus stop, and if asked I would say, "Yes, we enjoy it here. We are adjusting slowly but surely."

They're just jeans, right?

2007-05-07T21:54:00.000-07:00

I am about to seriously date myself. I miss The Miller's Outpost! For those of you who aren't familiar with The Miller's Outpost it was a fabulous store dedicated primarily to jeans. Along the whole back wall were square cubby holes full of jeans. I think they were all from the 500 series from Levi's. Just pick your favorite number (Mr. Smith's were 501's, mine were 550's) then find your waist size and length and you are good to go! And my favorite part? They looked like new jeans! Don't get me wrong, they had the circle racks on the floor full of the designer brands, or stone washed, or ripped. It was the 80's after all. But the standard, nice, new looking jeans were always available.

This last week we have been looking for jeans for Number One Son. Unfortunately at 6'5" he is larger than the average 16 year old Asian. We can't find anything that fits this kid here. Most of his things are being replaced this summer in the US, but the jeans couldn't wait. Finally we found a Levi's store in Delhi. Ah, the promised land. I hoped.

I admit that it has been a while since I have been in a Levi's store, but this was depressing. All the jeans looked like they were already 5 years old, and from experience I know that the distressed jeans don't last long at all. And the prices? The cheapest, no frills, only slightly distressed Levi's started at $50! Forget Millers Outpost, I miss Wal-Mart!

Despite my complete annoyance at the jeans styles (when did boys start wearing girls pants?) we did find some jeans that fit Number One Son. So tonight I will count my blessings and repent for the things that I have been thinking about the fashion industry, well, for some of them anyway.

Whites & Brights

2007-05-03T09:55:00.000-07:00

I know why women in India wear such bright colors....whites are too hard to clean here! Laundry has been a source of annoyance since we first arrived in India. The first few weeks we had no washer. We were assured that one was on the way (Indian Stretchable Time is a subject for another entry) but in the mean time we used a "Tide Bar". Who knew such a thing existed? It is what it sounds like, an over sized soap bar made of Tide. Fill up a bucket and scrub your clothes.....for nine people. We did finally get a washer, problem solved right? Obviously not or I wouldn't be writing. The first hitch was learning about the washer. A normal load takes about 2 hours and 45 minutes. Very inconvenient, but imagine how clean your clothes must get.....huh, not so much. Clothes that never ran, now ran and everything was looking dingy by the second wash.
About two months into our stay a wonderful man named Uday came to work for us. He has no front teeth and what seems to be a wrist and a thumb on his right arm, but he smiles constantly and knows everything you need to know to live in India. One of the first things he brought to our attention was that our water tanks needed cleaning. Water tanks? I learned we had three, one under ground and two on the roof. The water from the city only runs twice a day, so during that time you fill up your tanks. Good to know. Can you guess which bottle contains water from our tanks?

Eureka! The great dingy laundry mystery has been solved! So now our tanks are sparkling clean...ish, and our laundry is getting clean...ish. Hey, it's India, what do you expect? Besides white shirts are boring, I've always loved hot pink. And there is an upside. Tide for your washer that costs about $14 in the US runs about $1.50 here!

Socialites and PB&J

2007-04-30T22:49:00.000-07:00

So there are some real advantages to living in India. First, the no brainer - money. The same salary that didn't quit support us in America is enough and more here. That is a nice change. Second - weight loss. We have good food, but it is a different kind. Fewer orders of Super Nachos and more salad. Fewer 64 oz. Mountain Dews and more bottles of water. All my clothes are very baggy and I am going to have to start buying clothes here. Not easy, but still, nice. Third - social standing. Being the boss here means everything. Being the American boss is just that much more prestigious. Fourth - the novelty factor. Being the large American family in the neighborhood means everyone wants to meet us. Now I know that the third and fourth things will eventually fade and we will be just 9 more people out of the billion already here, but in the mean time it is easy to get carried away.

Yesterday, for example. Star On Stage was invited to a new friends house and I was invited to come along for tea. This house was huge and gorgeous, I mean Architectural Digest gorgeous. There was one other mother there who was from Canada. The three of us had a very nice time and talked about all kinds of things. Had we found good help, did we belong to this club or that club, what functions had we attended at the embassy, what did our husbands do, what trips had we planned, blah, blah, blah. The amazing thing was that I was totally comfortable with these conversations and these people.

So as I am sitting there in this palatial house sipping mint lemonade and daintily eating a cucumber finger sandwich all while discussing highly social things, I start to think, "Hey, I'm fitting in. This is my new social circle and it is the popular kids! I'm Cool!" But it is getting late and Star On Stage has school in the morning, so we start to make our exit. As I pick up her swimming towel my arm brushes something strange down by my hip so I glance down and discover to my horror that my pants are unhooked and unzipped! They are wide open and sliding down my hips! If I hadn't noticed at that moment I would have found them around my ankles. I immediately start thinking back trying to decide if there is any way they didn't notice. No, there is no way. In the car on the way home I feel like bawling in humiliation, and then I realize....I am still me. These pants I am wearing? I bought them four years ago, and I replaced the hook at the waist with a saftey pin 18 months ago. It is one of the two pair of pants that I own. I get home to my husband and six other kids and within two minutes I have gravy on my pants and a dirty face smudge on my shirt. "Oh that's right, I am not a socialite!" (I shake off the illusion and thunk my forehead to clear my vision.) Oh well, every girl needs to go to a tea party once in a while. Gotta go, there are peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that need making!

Saree There Aren't More Of These Pictures

2007-04-24T03:04:00.000-07:00

Mrs. Smith had her first real immersion into Indian fashion in this lovely designer saree which she wore to our first Indian wedding. She was so nervous about wearing it, but I think she was stunningly beautiful - and she stood head and shoulders above the rest of the attendees. Maybe I should try one...

Mr. Smith

Mrs. Smith's First

2007-04-23T02:52:00.000-07:00

I thought the first post should include the story of how we came to live in India. Mr. Smith agreed. So, for better or worse, here it goes.
In January or February of 2006 Mr. Smith came to the conclusion that his job, and many others with it, would eventually be outsourced to India. This was not a problem for him in theory, he understands what drives business decisions, but the reality was worrisome for him and his many direct reports. Because Mr. Smith is a man of faith, he made it a matter of prayer. After some time it came to him very clearly that with more open business associations between the west and India, the gospel would have a better opportunity to become more widely accepted. This calmed his mind and he was able to set it aside. Then a few days later (I am not sure of the timing) he had a dream that our family moved to India. Mr. Smith has dreams like we all do, but every once in a while he has a "dream" that means more. This was apparently one of those dreams. Being a smart guy, he didn't mention it to me right away. I do remember him mentioning it in a very off-handed, silly sort of way. I responded in a "not in a million years would I move to India" sort of way. April 1st rolled around and we played a fun trick on the kids and told them that Mr. Smith had been asked to move us to India. They were dumbfounded, except Number One Son who was excited. All of them were very relieved to learn that we weren't actually going (again, except Number One Son) and Mr. Smith and I congratulated each other for pulling off such a good prank.
Eventually Mr. Smith told me about the dream and a feeling he had that he needed to approach his boss about outsourcing. I could tell he was worried about my answer, but I told him that if he had the feeling again, he should do it.
Frank has been Mr. Smith's boss for over 10 years. Well, to call him his boss is fudging a little because there has always been 2 or 3 bosses between them, but Frank is the kind of man who recognizes his employees and calls them by name. He has always recognized the potential in Mr. Smith and has been very generous in providing him with opportunities for growth. One day Mr. Smith was in Frank's office when he was overwhelmed with the thought that this was the time to bring up outsourcing. When he did, Frank was shocked. "We have just decided that we need someone in India to represent us. We would love it if you were that person, but we didn't think you would consider it because of the size of your family." For the next seven months our family went through many rounds of prayers. For the girls the answer was always a feeling of comfort, for me it was always a knowledge that my family would be cared for. Thankfully, so far they have been.
Many people have said that they can't believe that we would move here at all, let alone with seven children in tow. I will tell them what I told my dad before we left, I would never move to India for money or career advancement. The only thing in this world that would convince me to move to my family to India is the Lord telling me to go. So we moved.