Hinjewstan

Flower Uncle

2008-12-04T11:50:00.007+05:30

This scene always fills my daughter with delight.

We walk up and down this sidewalk at least 5 times a week (to drop in at the bookstore and see the 'octipus'*, to pick up fresh veggies, or just to walk around). We drive past it at least once a day.

Every single time the kiddo sees this place, she lights up.

And it's not just because of the two puppies, or the tabby cat that roam freely.

It's because of this guy.

This is Flower Uncle.

He sits outside his flower shop and does floral arrangments in the mornings, and sits inside the shop and sips chai and naps in the afternoons.

And every time we see him, the kiddo leaves with a little something.**

*This is a long story.

**Once, we were stuck in traffic outside his shop, and he came up to our car to give the kiddo a pink carnation.

No words.

2008-12-03T14:33:00.004+05:30

I've tried to write a post about the attacks of last week several times. Nothing has really been publishable.

Instead, here are some pictures of my meager balcony garden.

Diwali

2008-12-03T14:28:00.004+05:30

I stole these pictures of our Diwali celebrations from my mom.

We had a fantastic time. So glad my family was in here!

The long goodbye

2008-10-08T12:33:00.004+05:30

Most people who read this know we have had our issues with separation anxiety. The kiddo loves school, but for a very long time would only tolerate it if I were to sit in her classroom with her. School is 3 hours a day. This got old fast. I sat there for 2 months.

Then 2 weeks ago, there was a new rule (agreed upon by all parties, except the kiddo), that Mommy doesn't go to school anymore.

The first week she screamed bloody murder. For an hour. And had to sit in the garden. And I went and worked out at the local park (close by, because I lacked guts).

The second week I had to physically drag her* into school where she would then scream bloody murder. For 15 minutes. And then played well with the other kids. And I went and worked out at the club (farther away, gaining confidence).

And today....

Today I dropped the kiddo off and she waved to me, said: "Bye Mommy! OK, now say, 'Bye Sweetie!' " I obliged and said: "Bye Sweetie!" And she took off her shoes and went inside.

Without a tear.

And I sat poolside at the club and slowly sipped my way through two cappuccinos.

(To be fair, school is 3 hours, and she is only staying 1 1/2 hours thus far, but I will most definitely take it.)

* If you have never had to physically drag your child anywhere, pry their fingers and toes off of you, and then smile and cheerfully say, "Bye Sweetie! See you in a little bit!", turn and run out the door while hearing the kid scream as if wild dogs were feasting on their toes...consider yourself lucky.

Exactly how young do I look?

2008-08-29T19:39:00.003+05:30

To whom it may concern:

I am not the yoga instructor, nor am I the preschool teacher's assistant*, and please (PLEASE) stop asking me to relay messages to the child's mother (I AM THE CHILD'S MOTHER!**).

Thank you.
Hinjewstan

* To be fair, this makes the most sense, seeing as I spend so much time at the kiddo's preschool. Still, the average age of the assistants is 20 and I am pushing 30. Gah...

** And I have the stretch marks, PICC line scar, and large, vertical C-section scar to prove it.

Toddler Patriotism

2008-08-26T21:01:00.005+05:30

Scene: Indian Independence Day at the kiddo's preschool. A teacher has herded all the kids into (semi) straight lines, "just like good little soldiers" and managed to remain blissfully ignorant of my pointed stare upon hearing this. The older children have been practising several patriotic songs (including the Indian national anthem), and the entire school is now supposed to sing. The younger children (my kiddo being the absolute youngest of the lot) seem generally dismayed and bored.

Singing commences and the older children sing with gusto. Younger children pick their noses and buttcracks with similar gusto.

My kiddo looks around with initial dismay, then slight interest, then a certain gleam hits her eye...and the first thought that enters my mind is...Oh shi.....

Kiddo takes in the scene, all the older (cooler) kids lined up, singing a song she knows nothing about....opens her mouth...and lets forth...LOUDLY:

"OLD MACDONALD HAD A FARM!...."

She is cut off by me slapping a hand over her mouth and whispering in a not so gentle tone, "We're listening now!" in her ear. Eventually I stop gagging her and try to send her subliminal vibes of patriotism and appropriate behavior. She stands quietly until, during an especially moving interlude she lets forth:

"THE ITSY BITSY SPIDER..."

This time when I gag her she gives me a true teen aged Mom, you're embarrassing me look. I pick her up (thus breaking solider formation, but I think everyone was grateful) and distract her for the rest of the 'ceremony'.

The End.

Just to state the obvious...

2008-07-12T14:24:00.003+05:30

If you happen to stop on the way to the pool to pick up some veggies from the local vendors and are dressed in a short sun dress, swim suit, and wedge heels...you will not be able to haggle.

To my credit, I did not pay the laughably high initial quote, but barely got them down from the second offer.

What exactly are they selling?

2008-05-02T19:23:00.003+05:30

Since moving here, two advertisements in particular have caught my attention.

The first was a billboard advert (unfortunately, I never caught a picture of it to post). I first spotted it during the car ride from the airport upon our arrival to Mumbai. I guess it was an ad meant to play on the everyday stress in the Indian woman's life; I can't seem to recall exactly what it was selling, but the ad itself remains memorable. It read: "Daughter, wife, mother...Smile manager." I read this on our arrival to Mumbai and promptly turned to my husband and said, "Smile WHAT?" (The ranking order of duties also caught my attention.) The ad ran on buses and billboards for about a month, and each time we saw it the hubster and I would have some variation of the following lines:

"We need to talk about your Smile Management evals. I think there's room for improvement."

"You're Smile Manager just quit. She's spoken with several different firms, and they are offering positions without Smile Management criteria. And benefits."

"Where does one gain Smile Management experience, anyway?"
"It can't be taught, it's something you're born with."

The second ad that caught my attention was a radio spot that ran quite frequently during that same month. I would hear it at least once a day, normally during my morning outing with the kiddo while stuck in traffic. It started with a female voice describing how she had snapped at her husband and couldn't focus on her daughter or her work today because she was so distracted by what happened last night. Then a male voice would come on and say, "Don't let an unplanned pregnancy ruin your life." He would then go on to describe the morning after pill and let you know that it is available at all your local chemists.

What struck me about both ads was that neither of them would probably run in the States. Just for very, very different reasons.

At the playdate...

2008-04-19T19:30:00.003+05:30

I had a friend over a few days ago along with her 2 1/2 year old son. About an hour into the playdate the boy comes running into the living room shouting: "Mumma, Auntie! They're...singing...calling! They're calling! Someone's calling!"

The other Mum and I look around the flat and listen, and suddenly I realize, "Oh...that's the Imam, it's the call to prayer."*

The other Mum, to her son: "Well, you're right...they are calling..."

*We live very close to two mosques, and one temple (thus the near daily fireworks and revelry.

It's not a contest...

2008-04-14T20:00:00.001+05:30

How often are there fireworks at your place?

I have so got you beat.

(Don't worry, you pay way less for cat food.)

The Hardest Thing (or....one of them)

2008-04-05T19:48:00.004+05:30

For some reason, whenever people ask me what the hardest part of adjusting to life in India is, one of the first things that comes to mind is: 'Speaking about the help'. Not dealing with the help, but talking about them. It's a common topic that comes up when people learn you've just moved (right after, 'Have you found a place, yet?'), people ask if you've found servants, how they're working out, how did you find them, do they speak English, etc. And for good reason, the adage is true, good help really is hard to find.

We found our help through a moving consultant, they all speak English and overall we are very pleased with them (hopefully, they are with us as well). We have a mother/daughter team who do the cleaning, cooking, and help play with the kid, and a driver. They all work exclusively for us, but don't live in. (The mother/daughter have one day off a week, the driver works all week with breaks during the day to go home, and several nights off.) This seems to be a normal expat arrangement, but the variation seems to differ up (as in more help) rather than down (some have a designated Ayah, others live in).

Finding staff that you get along with, that fill your needs, and keeping them happy is a major step in the India relocation game, so it's natural for people to ask about it. Yet, it's only in the past few weeks that I've gotten used to speaking about them, and I still trip up when talking to Americans or people who aren't used to "help". I liken it to the first few times I had to introduce my husband as my "Husband". It didn't flow off the tongue very easily, sounded stilted and odd. That's what my "Staff" sounds like to me now.

I've never had 'help' of my own before (we had a woman come and clean our apartment three times when we were in Europe, the cost was prohibitive, and she was so assertive that I never actually felt 'in charge' of the situation), so I guess this is natural. But there's a underlying anxiety also, that people (non-Indians) will perceive me differently. That suddenly I'll be seen as bossy, mean, spoiled, or lazy. Indians understand how necessary servants are, and exactly how useful (and not so useful) they can be. For example, it is an absolute necessity to have your flat cleaned each day, top to bottom, to rid off roaches and dust. However, is also virtually impossible to get an Indian Ayah to give a child a time out.

Having staff is certainly a luxurious perk (after all, it is fantastic to not have to scrub a toilet). But like so many other parts of life in India, it is not easy, and does not always make your life easier.

I leave you now with two tidbits of conversation between me and our Cook/Ayah.

Scene 1: At the park

Cook/Ayah: Madame! She just hugged a cat! Oh my goodness!

Me: ...a wild cat...here...at...the...park...?

Cook/Ayah: Yes! Just here! Oh! I was so scared!

Me (searching for disinfectant wipes in my bag): ...so...why didn't you stop her?*

Cook/Ayah: (stares blankly)

Scene 2: Date Night, at home, about to leave

Me: So, you have our numbers, we won't be too late. Call with any problems.

Cook/Ayah (whispering): Madame! Aren't you going to...[mimes brushing her hair]?

Me: ...uh...no....why...?

Cook/Ayah: (stares blankly)

*When I brought this tidbit up at an expat playgroup later in the day, the other Mums' reaction was best summed up by: "Well of course she wouldn't stop your kid! The kid might cry!"