It was at the end of September 2010 that we had agreed to vacated our house in Anand Niketan.
Papaji seemed fine with it as he was with initiating the check-out process a few days before we moved out. But once again, he forgot his promise. "I need to see the house in running condition," he said. "It won't take much time".
"Don't worry about your security deposit," chimed Auntieji. "Papaji is not-money minded. He is always giving money to charities."
As it turned out, Papaji was untraceable even when we were all packed up and ready to leave - on the D-day.
The phone-calls went unanswered as did the knocks on the passageway door. It was only on ringing the door-bell repeatedly that Papaji stepped out. "We could not co-ordinate with you because our phone has died," he said, even before I mentioned making repeated calls to his number.
A little while later, Papaji arrived with his Man Friday. Socket by socket and switch by switch, they started the inspection process. I didn't remember the house being handed over to us this way. "Everything is new and everything works", both Papaji and Auntieji had said in tandem. "Don't worry about the living room. Our sofa is arriving from Kashmir and will be there soon. And yes, the main bedroom will have a bed."
Man Friday kept checking for current in every socket and counted the number of bulbs that were fused in every room.
Until he came to the spare bedroom. The air-conditioner isn't working. Nor is the fan. Or the light. It's the same in the dining area - no fans or lights working here either.
Hang on, I thought. My little girl was playing here just a moment ago and the fan was definitely working.
"Sorry, looks like there is no current, " Man Friday sheepishly admitted.
After nearly an hour of checking if the water-heaters were dispensing hot water, the washing machine was working, the refrigerator was cool and almost putting his hand on the electric hot-plate (God bless him), Papaji went down for his calculations.
About 45 minutes later, I knocked on the door. "Give me some more time," Papaji said. "We are just checking if there has been a major damage to the property".
A major damage to the property? There was no major damage to the property. Didn't we just have an inspection?
Papaji and Man Friday was back in again soon after. Another round of inspections. Are the keys to all the doors there? Can the cupboards be locked up? Is the Water Purifier playing music when switched on? What about that hidden bulb? Does it work? Papaji still couldn't find any major damage.
After nearly three hours, Papaji had his list ready. Lots of plug-points needed replacement. All the bulbs and tube lights needed to change. The Water Purifier and Washing Machine needed mending. And some deductions needed to be made for bills unpaid. That, along with some earlier expenses, would come to 10,000 INR.
This didn't seem like the charitable man Auntieji had reassured me about. Unfortunately, she had suddenly taken ill and couldn't get out of bed on the day.
I told Papaji that the bulbs could not and never did work together. The wiring in the house was so old that an attempt to do this could blow up the house. As for the plug-points, they are exactly as they were when we moved in. In fact, a lot of those had to be changed by us as they posed a risk to our electrical appliances. The Water Purifier and Washing Machine never worked, and all the bills have been paid already.
What? The Water Purifier and Washing Machine were not working? You never told us. By this time Auntieji had come in too. She joined Papaji in expressing shock at the Water Purifier and Washing Machine situation.
My better half, who was patiently until this point, just walked off in a huff. That is blatant lying. Why would we buy water worth hundreds of rupees every month if the Purifier worked? And do I really need to remind you about time spent on Washing Machine?
This was the opportunity Auntieji was looking for. "You are nice man. Papaji always talks highly of you. But your better-half should not have walked away like this".
I reminded her of the kind of things that cause anger. Remember the sofa that had set out from Kashmir? It hasn't reached the house even a year after it allegedly reached Gurgaon (some 20 kilometres from the house). "Oh, that. That will never reach here. We were thinking of knocking down the house and turning it into a multi-storey building".
Needless to add, it was pointless to continue arguing. It had already been four hours since we packed up and day had moved into late-evening.
After some more haggling and digging my heels in, we brought the deduction down by 50%.
Suddenly, I could understand why "the previous tenant all his money back, only for Papaji to discover he had broken a few things in the house". The more plausible explanation seemed to be that the tenant just lost it after Papaji refused to return his money, and got his revenge by breaking a few thing!!
29 September 2010
20 September 2010
Shall we play Commonwealth Games?
"I enjoy reading your updates," a friend remarked recently. "But there seems to be a tinge of negativism in them".
This is something my better half has said too. No, she doesn't read this blog. Her impression is based on commiserations from common friends about our time in India. "Sorry to hear that you guys are having a tough time," one of them had said.
Call it human nature, but we seem to make more fuss about unfortunate episodes in our lives and tend to ignore the good ones. Why? We are just too busy having a good time.
This isn't an attempt to redress that skew. It is merely an attempt to try and balance the view - if what I hear is indeed the impression readers of this blog carry.
As I mentioned to a friend recently, "I have a love-hate relationship with Delhi, but it is my city - a city I am familiar with and where my family and friends are".
There are many other things I love about Delhi - its green spaces, its long and visible history, the ethnic mix of people, the way it has beaten Mumbai as the preferred destination of those who dream of success.
It is most definitely a city where frustration turns into anger, anger into hope and hope into excitement, rather quickly.
Like with the Commonwealth Games. For months, one only read or saw TV reports of rampant favouritism and corruption in the organisation of the games. Over the last week or so, everyone seems to be pulling together for Delhi's moment of glory.
Even my little one. She declared the Commonwealth Games open on Sunday morning. The first thing she said on waking up was, "Daddy, shall we play Commonwealth Games?"
I am sure you wouldn't blame me for the panic it caused. She is too young to learn about bending the rules, beating the system and making loads of money in the process. I am not even sure if the makers of Monopoly have sought to make an Indian version of their game.
Some of the panic was misplaced. All that the little one had in mind were a few races, covering the length and breadth of our living room.
"Whoever wins, gets a metal", she said. No, darling. The winner gets a medal. No, the winner gets a metal. You are right. The medals are made of metals, but they are still medals. No, it is metal. Fine then. We are in agreement.
First on the agenda was the sprint. Daddy, you have to walk slowly. I can run as fast as I want to. Hang on, wasn't this the kind of rule-bending that organisers of CWG were being accused of? Stop being cynical, I told myself. Go with the flow and enjoy the spirit of the game.
After being presented with a gold metal and waving at the crowds, we moved on to the next event - a hopping race.
The little one had set the rules for this one as well. She could hop or run at will, but I had to stick to hopping. I could suddenly visualise her turning into an able Indian sports administrator. Let me qualify that. A sports administrator in India.
Event by event, I was hammered. "I am the winner. You are the loser," she sang. I tried to reason with her that sports wasn't about winning or losing. It was about participating and enjoying the experience.
But then again, the CWG2010 anthem isn't too kind to losers. It insists that everyone should rise, move forward and win. The chorus goes: "Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't lose. Don't lose. Don't lose."
It does say, however, that victory should be attained by playing with passion and within rules.
And to be honest, though she bent the rules a wee bit, the passion was there. The first day of the games at Anand Niketan ended with the biggest metal haul for one participant. My girl won nearly a hundred of them - all gold, of course.
This morning too, she came, gave me a hug and said: "Daddy, shall we play Commonwealth Games?" Today being a weekday, another day of sporting events was not possible.
However, we don't want this enthusiasm for sports to disappear. So serious thinking is on at our household to buy tickets for events that the little one would like to see.
This is something my better half has said too. No, she doesn't read this blog. Her impression is based on commiserations from common friends about our time in India. "Sorry to hear that you guys are having a tough time," one of them had said.
Call it human nature, but we seem to make more fuss about unfortunate episodes in our lives and tend to ignore the good ones. Why? We are just too busy having a good time.
This isn't an attempt to redress that skew. It is merely an attempt to try and balance the view - if what I hear is indeed the impression readers of this blog carry.
As I mentioned to a friend recently, "I have a love-hate relationship with Delhi, but it is my city - a city I am familiar with and where my family and friends are".
There are many other things I love about Delhi - its green spaces, its long and visible history, the ethnic mix of people, the way it has beaten Mumbai as the preferred destination of those who dream of success.
It is most definitely a city where frustration turns into anger, anger into hope and hope into excitement, rather quickly.
Like with the Commonwealth Games. For months, one only read or saw TV reports of rampant favouritism and corruption in the organisation of the games. Over the last week or so, everyone seems to be pulling together for Delhi's moment of glory.
Even my little one. She declared the Commonwealth Games open on Sunday morning. The first thing she said on waking up was, "Daddy, shall we play Commonwealth Games?"
I am sure you wouldn't blame me for the panic it caused. She is too young to learn about bending the rules, beating the system and making loads of money in the process. I am not even sure if the makers of Monopoly have sought to make an Indian version of their game.
Some of the panic was misplaced. All that the little one had in mind were a few races, covering the length and breadth of our living room.
"Whoever wins, gets a metal", she said. No, darling. The winner gets a medal. No, the winner gets a metal. You are right. The medals are made of metals, but they are still medals. No, it is metal. Fine then. We are in agreement.
First on the agenda was the sprint. Daddy, you have to walk slowly. I can run as fast as I want to. Hang on, wasn't this the kind of rule-bending that organisers of CWG were being accused of? Stop being cynical, I told myself. Go with the flow and enjoy the spirit of the game.
After being presented with a gold metal and waving at the crowds, we moved on to the next event - a hopping race.
The little one had set the rules for this one as well. She could hop or run at will, but I had to stick to hopping. I could suddenly visualise her turning into an able Indian sports administrator. Let me qualify that. A sports administrator in India.
Event by event, I was hammered. "I am the winner. You are the loser," she sang. I tried to reason with her that sports wasn't about winning or losing. It was about participating and enjoying the experience.
But then again, the CWG2010 anthem isn't too kind to losers. It insists that everyone should rise, move forward and win. The chorus goes: "Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't lose. Don't lose. Don't lose."
It does say, however, that victory should be attained by playing with passion and within rules.
And to be honest, though she bent the rules a wee bit, the passion was there. The first day of the games at Anand Niketan ended with the biggest metal haul for one participant. My girl won nearly a hundred of them - all gold, of course.
This morning too, she came, gave me a hug and said: "Daddy, shall we play Commonwealth Games?" Today being a weekday, another day of sporting events was not possible.
However, we don't want this enthusiasm for sports to disappear. So serious thinking is on at our household to buy tickets for events that the little one would like to see.
17 September 2010
The dilemma of schooling
So here's a dilemma. A real tricky one.
With the countdown to our return to the UK having begun, a big question is the little one's education.
You may recall weeks spent last year applying for a place in a good Delhi school. The results were 50-50 - four successes and four failures. The little one got through in No.1 (Shri Ram School) and No. 2 (Springdales School) schools of South-West Delhi.
Though Springdales was closer to our place, Shri Ram was where friends from the little one's play-school were. More importantly, it was "the new Harvard" according to a Delhi-based American journalist.
In about two weeks' time, my girl would finish her tenure in the school. She has enjoyed going to the school and made many friends. Her class-teachers adore her and say "she is all her class-mates' best friend".
Each week, she has made sure she carries a "Show & Tell Bag" - sometimes two or three. And if a bag can't be arranged, she needs to know words related to the alphabet she is learning.
Drawing was her favourite activity when she started school. Learning new words - dozens of them every day - is the favourite activity now.
At dinner time, she loves to play the teacher. Mum belongs to the 'Girls' Team' and Dad belongs to the 'Boys' Team'. She chooses the alphabet. The teams come up with related words. You get a point - and occasionally, a high-five - for a right answer. For speaking without raising your hand, you lose a point.
The empty chairs on the dining table are occupied by invisible classmates. Mum and Dad can't hog the answers and credit. The invisible classmates need to have their moment of glory too.
It may just be a fear of the unknown, but her new school is likely to be one that doesn't fare too well in the League Tables.
The admission process in English schools is long over, and places in all the good schools allocated. Our application will be an In-Year Admission To Primary School - which generally results in a place in schools that still have places.
For us, it could very well be Thameside Primary School. The school is within minutes of our new accommodation and has where some of the little one's playmates from Caversham have enrolled.
The Office for Standards in Education, Children’s Services and Skills or OFSTED reported in 2006 that Thameside is "situated in a relatively prosperous area of Caversham, but mainly serves pupils whose social conditions may not be favourable".
The report gave the school 3 (Satisfactory) on Overall Effectiveness, Achievements & Standards, The Quality of Provision and Leadership & Management. The only 2 (Good) it scored was on Personal Development & Well-being.
Not much has changed since then on any of those accounts. Earlier this year, The Guardian placed Thameside at 25th position (out of 34 Reading schools) in Average Point Score list and 20th on the Value Added Measure. The latter is a measure of the school's success in shaping up a pupil from Age 7 to Age 11.
A middle-of-the-table existence isn't totally bad, but then again it doesn't inspire much confidence either. The Guardian recommends we don't break into a sweat - "League tables show only part of the picture of a school. The Sats tests as a method for assessing schools have long been controversial ".
The newspaper's advice to the parents is to talk to other parents and seek more information before judging and choosing a school.
Unfortunately, we are not in a position to choose. And how Thameside shapes up the little one - and nurtures her desire to learn - is something we will have to wait and see.
As a friend remarked cheekily, "I look forward to hearing your views on moving the girl from a First-Rated School in Third World to a Third-Rated School in First World"!!
With the countdown to our return to the UK having begun, a big question is the little one's education.
You may recall weeks spent last year applying for a place in a good Delhi school. The results were 50-50 - four successes and four failures. The little one got through in No.1 (Shri Ram School) and No. 2 (Springdales School) schools of South-West Delhi.
Though Springdales was closer to our place, Shri Ram was where friends from the little one's play-school were. More importantly, it was "the new Harvard" according to a Delhi-based American journalist.
In about two weeks' time, my girl would finish her tenure in the school. She has enjoyed going to the school and made many friends. Her class-teachers adore her and say "she is all her class-mates' best friend".
Each week, she has made sure she carries a "Show & Tell Bag" - sometimes two or three. And if a bag can't be arranged, she needs to know words related to the alphabet she is learning.
Drawing was her favourite activity when she started school. Learning new words - dozens of them every day - is the favourite activity now.
At dinner time, she loves to play the teacher. Mum belongs to the 'Girls' Team' and Dad belongs to the 'Boys' Team'. She chooses the alphabet. The teams come up with related words. You get a point - and occasionally, a high-five - for a right answer. For speaking without raising your hand, you lose a point.
The empty chairs on the dining table are occupied by invisible classmates. Mum and Dad can't hog the answers and credit. The invisible classmates need to have their moment of glory too.
It may just be a fear of the unknown, but her new school is likely to be one that doesn't fare too well in the League Tables.
The admission process in English schools is long over, and places in all the good schools allocated. Our application will be an In-Year Admission To Primary School - which generally results in a place in schools that still have places.
For us, it could very well be Thameside Primary School. The school is within minutes of our new accommodation and has where some of the little one's playmates from Caversham have enrolled.
The Office for Standards in Education, Children’s Services and Skills or OFSTED reported in 2006 that Thameside is "situated in a relatively prosperous area of Caversham, but mainly serves pupils whose social conditions may not be favourable".
The report gave the school 3 (Satisfactory) on Overall Effectiveness, Achievements & Standards, The Quality of Provision and Leadership & Management. The only 2 (Good) it scored was on Personal Development & Well-being.
Not much has changed since then on any of those accounts. Earlier this year, The Guardian placed Thameside at 25th position (out of 34 Reading schools) in Average Point Score list and 20th on the Value Added Measure. The latter is a measure of the school's success in shaping up a pupil from Age 7 to Age 11.
A middle-of-the-table existence isn't totally bad, but then again it doesn't inspire much confidence either. The Guardian recommends we don't break into a sweat - "League tables show only part of the picture of a school. The Sats tests as a method for assessing schools have long been controversial ".
The newspaper's advice to the parents is to talk to other parents and seek more information before judging and choosing a school.
Unfortunately, we are not in a position to choose. And how Thameside shapes up the little one - and nurtures her desire to learn - is something we will have to wait and see.
As a friend remarked cheekily, "I look forward to hearing your views on moving the girl from a First-Rated School in Third World to a Third-Rated School in First World"!!
16 September 2010
Where is the chicken in this?
A few days ago, my wife happened to be in Connaught Place for some work.
With rains having cooled down Delhi, it seemed like a good opportunity to have lunch together.
I toyed with the idea of meeting up at Parikrama, a restaurant next to our office. At 240 feet, it claims to be "India's highest and Delhi's solitary revolving restaurant". Having been there twice this year, I can vouch for the breath-taking view that it provides of the city.
We landed up at Tao instead. It is located at a premises long occupied by Bercos, a popular Chinese restaurant and its promoters have "the experience of serving people since four generations".
Familiarity with group restaurants, like Zen and Chungwa, weighed heavily in our decision to visit the restaurant. Both the named restaurants serve nice Indian Chinese cuisine.
The restaurant menu described itself thus:
TAO is something elusive and evasive and yet it contains within itself, a substance.
It is a path or a road that leads you to a goal.
TAO is not the end but the means to the end.
The destination is determined by the path you adopt to reach it yet it.
As my better half looked at the menu, I looked around myself. The place seemed comfortable and spacious, though a bit more light would have helped.
The menu looked delectable and we ordered Sweet & Sour Soup, to followed by Pan Fried Chef's Special Chicken, Stir Fried Bean Curd With Vegetables Hunan Style and Vegetarian Hakka Noodles.
The soup came with a liberal sprinkling of some green leafy substance. On tasting, it turned out to be coriander leaves. I have to admit this is the first Chinese dish (yes, that includes every Indian Chinese meal I have had so far) that had coriander leaves in it.
On enquiring with the waiter, I was told "customers like an Indian taste in their dishes". He smiled when I said coriander leaves don't work with Chinese sauces.
The table next to ours was occupied by a young family. I didn't catch what they ordered, but the man suddenly screamed - "Where is the chicken in this soup? I had ordered a chicken soup? Ask the kitchen staff to get me a bowl of chicken pieces."
Quite different from our gentle query, this reaction attracted instant attention. The waiter rushed to the kitchen to order warm chicken shreds for the soup.
"And yes, make sure the main course has plenty of chicken too," the moment the waiter returned.
This customer was quite clear on what he wanted of the dish - irrespective of how the restaurant imagined it to be.
Unfortunately, it was a bit late to do anything about our order. The Pan Fried Chef's Special Chicken turned out to be spicy chicken in an onion, tomato and coriander gravy. There was nothing pan-fried or Chinese about this dish. The vegetarian dish of Hunanese origin also had to make merry with onion and tomato.
Thankfully, the Hakka noodles were along expected lines and none of the dishes tasted obviously of the flavour enhancer MSG. MSG is hard to miss in most Chinese restaurants in Delhi.
Our neighbour, meanwhile, was ordering the waiters around. "Hey, this doesn't seem to have any chili in it? And where are the vegetables in this dish?"
In the end, he didn't each much of what he ordered and asked for it to be packed. As did we.
The packing reflected the same professionalism and care that the food did. The restaurant didn't seem to have boxes, and put the leftover in cheap-looking white plastic bags.
Wish I had read the preamble a bit more carefully:
TAO is something elusive and evasive and yet it contains within itself, a substance.
It is a path or a road that leads you to a goal.
TAO is not the end but the means to the end.
The destination is determined by the path you adopt to reach it yet it.
I could have at least taken a path that avoided the restaurant completely!!
With rains having cooled down Delhi, it seemed like a good opportunity to have lunch together.
I toyed with the idea of meeting up at Parikrama, a restaurant next to our office. At 240 feet, it claims to be "India's highest and Delhi's solitary revolving restaurant". Having been there twice this year, I can vouch for the breath-taking view that it provides of the city.
We landed up at Tao instead. It is located at a premises long occupied by Bercos, a popular Chinese restaurant and its promoters have "the experience of serving people since four generations".
Familiarity with group restaurants, like Zen and Chungwa, weighed heavily in our decision to visit the restaurant. Both the named restaurants serve nice Indian Chinese cuisine.
The restaurant menu described itself thus:
TAO is something elusive and evasive and yet it contains within itself, a substance.
It is a path or a road that leads you to a goal.
TAO is not the end but the means to the end.
The destination is determined by the path you adopt to reach it yet it.
As my better half looked at the menu, I looked around myself. The place seemed comfortable and spacious, though a bit more light would have helped.
The menu looked delectable and we ordered Sweet & Sour Soup, to followed by Pan Fried Chef's Special Chicken, Stir Fried Bean Curd With Vegetables Hunan Style and Vegetarian Hakka Noodles.
The soup came with a liberal sprinkling of some green leafy substance. On tasting, it turned out to be coriander leaves. I have to admit this is the first Chinese dish (yes, that includes every Indian Chinese meal I have had so far) that had coriander leaves in it.
On enquiring with the waiter, I was told "customers like an Indian taste in their dishes". He smiled when I said coriander leaves don't work with Chinese sauces.
The table next to ours was occupied by a young family. I didn't catch what they ordered, but the man suddenly screamed - "Where is the chicken in this soup? I had ordered a chicken soup? Ask the kitchen staff to get me a bowl of chicken pieces."
Quite different from our gentle query, this reaction attracted instant attention. The waiter rushed to the kitchen to order warm chicken shreds for the soup.
"And yes, make sure the main course has plenty of chicken too," the moment the waiter returned.
This customer was quite clear on what he wanted of the dish - irrespective of how the restaurant imagined it to be.
Unfortunately, it was a bit late to do anything about our order. The Pan Fried Chef's Special Chicken turned out to be spicy chicken in an onion, tomato and coriander gravy. There was nothing pan-fried or Chinese about this dish. The vegetarian dish of Hunanese origin also had to make merry with onion and tomato.
Thankfully, the Hakka noodles were along expected lines and none of the dishes tasted obviously of the flavour enhancer MSG. MSG is hard to miss in most Chinese restaurants in Delhi.
Our neighbour, meanwhile, was ordering the waiters around. "Hey, this doesn't seem to have any chili in it? And where are the vegetables in this dish?"
In the end, he didn't each much of what he ordered and asked for it to be packed. As did we.
The packing reflected the same professionalism and care that the food did. The restaurant didn't seem to have boxes, and put the leftover in cheap-looking white plastic bags.
Wish I had read the preamble a bit more carefully:
TAO is something elusive and evasive and yet it contains within itself, a substance.
It is a path or a road that leads you to a goal.
TAO is not the end but the means to the end.
The destination is determined by the path you adopt to reach it yet it.
I could have at least taken a path that avoided the restaurant completely!!
15 September 2010
Call me 'Rosebud'
"Call me Rosebud", the little one chirped yesterday.
When I asked her why, she informed me that everyone has to have a nickname. But why Rosebud?
Because this is a nice name. I like it.
The little one gets quite talkative when she goes to bed. Nudge her anytime earlier and she has forgotten what her day was like.
Not at bedtime. Then she wants to talk about who she played with, who she had a fight with and what all she learned during the day.
Her Hindi has developed remarkably in the 11 months she has spent in Delhi. Her vocabulary is quite extensive as she hears Hindi at home, with friends and in school.
Such is her confidence that I am frequently corrected when telling a bedtime story - Lion nahin Sher" (It's Sher, not Lion), "Clever nahin Chaalak" (It's Chaalak, not Clever) and Dark nahin Andhera (It's Andhera, not Dark).
People of my generation grew up caught between Hindi and English. The former was the language you grew up with; the latter you had to learn to do well in life.
Somewhere, our language turned into HinGlish - with the structure and shape of Hindi but peppered liberally with English words.
This has since taken shape of HinUrGlish, bringing Urdu into the mix as well. Hindi TV channels have been a big promoter of this. Quite often, it results in presenters using Hindi or Urdu words where they make no sense or distort the sense.
However, this hasn't dampened the enthusiasm for the language. It now is part of the popular culture, shaping some of best marketing slogans - like Youngistan Ka Wow (Pepsi), Taste Bhi Health Bhi (Nestle) and Khushiyon Ki Home Delivery (Dominos).
So how come my little one is swimming in a different direction?
Probably because at her age, the capacity to learn is immense. At school, she is being taught both Hindi and English. Phonetic English is as close as it goes to teaching Hindi. The alphabets are taught the way they are pronounced and the words come together based on sounds of individual alphabets.
For us, it was A, B, C. For her, it is Aa, Ba, Ka. Just like Hindi, where the alphabet are identified in the same way they are pronounced. So, CAT happens when the sounds Ka-Aa-T come together, not because of See, Aye and Tee.
With the structure and sound so similar, it seems her brain has created two compartments. One for Hindi and the other for English. Any unfamiliar sound, as in the use of a Hindi word in English or vice-versa, seems jarrring to her - assuming she knows the equivalent Hindi word.
An interesting side-effect is that her British English diction has nearly disappeared. It is an interesting mix of American and Indian English dictions.
I forgot to ask her whether her new nick-name will be Rose-bud or a Rrrrrrose-buuudd?
When I asked her why, she informed me that everyone has to have a nickname. But why Rosebud?
Because this is a nice name. I like it.
The little one gets quite talkative when she goes to bed. Nudge her anytime earlier and she has forgotten what her day was like.
Not at bedtime. Then she wants to talk about who she played with, who she had a fight with and what all she learned during the day.
Her Hindi has developed remarkably in the 11 months she has spent in Delhi. Her vocabulary is quite extensive as she hears Hindi at home, with friends and in school.
Such is her confidence that I am frequently corrected when telling a bedtime story - Lion nahin Sher" (It's Sher, not Lion), "Clever nahin Chaalak" (It's Chaalak, not Clever) and Dark nahin Andhera (It's Andhera, not Dark).
People of my generation grew up caught between Hindi and English. The former was the language you grew up with; the latter you had to learn to do well in life.
Somewhere, our language turned into HinGlish - with the structure and shape of Hindi but peppered liberally with English words.
This has since taken shape of HinUrGlish, bringing Urdu into the mix as well. Hindi TV channels have been a big promoter of this. Quite often, it results in presenters using Hindi or Urdu words where they make no sense or distort the sense.
However, this hasn't dampened the enthusiasm for the language. It now is part of the popular culture, shaping some of best marketing slogans - like Youngistan Ka Wow (Pepsi), Taste Bhi Health Bhi (Nestle) and Khushiyon Ki Home Delivery (Dominos).
So how come my little one is swimming in a different direction?
Probably because at her age, the capacity to learn is immense. At school, she is being taught both Hindi and English. Phonetic English is as close as it goes to teaching Hindi. The alphabets are taught the way they are pronounced and the words come together based on sounds of individual alphabets.
For us, it was A, B, C. For her, it is Aa, Ba, Ka. Just like Hindi, where the alphabet are identified in the same way they are pronounced. So, CAT happens when the sounds Ka-Aa-T come together, not because of See, Aye and Tee.
With the structure and sound so similar, it seems her brain has created two compartments. One for Hindi and the other for English. Any unfamiliar sound, as in the use of a Hindi word in English or vice-versa, seems jarrring to her - assuming she knows the equivalent Hindi word.
An interesting side-effect is that her British English diction has nearly disappeared. It is an interesting mix of American and Indian English dictions.
I forgot to ask her whether her new nick-name will be Rose-bud or a Rrrrrrose-buuudd?
13 September 2010
To break law, turn here
If there is one successful social media experiment from the Indian government, it is the Delhi Traffic Police's Facebook page.
It is the closest police and public come to working together. The Delhi Traffic Police provides regular updates and warns motorists of traffic jams. In turn, the motorists report broken traffic signals or traffic jams they spot along their journey.
No wonder, it is quite popular. At last count, 27,729 people liked Delhi Traffic Police's Facebook page - five of them my real friends (Yes, I am still uneasy about virtual friends).
The community is rather active in establishing the rule of law, having posted some 7,075 photos so far. From illegal parking to fancy number plates to driving on the wrong side to driving a two-wheeler without helmet to driving a car with tinted windows, they provide documentary evidence of all kinds of breaches.
Every now and then, there are photos of men in uniform committing the same offences. Mostly, it is driving a two-wheeler without helmet and/or talking on a mobile phone while driving.
I guess this is what Western politicians mean when they talk about "participative democracy". And in a city with virtually no respect for traffic laws, a definite force for good - citizens working together to bring about better civic sense and respect for traffic laws among fellow-citizens.
The only problem is that even in the virtual world, Delhi Traffic Police seems unable to shed its real-life double standards.
Like on the streets, it is quick to send out penalty notices to motorists reported on Facebook. "Kind Attention ! The following vehicles/owners have been prosecuted by issuing notice on the basis of the photographs upload on Facebook DLXXXXXXXXXXXXX".
However, there is a deafening silence when it comes to prosecuting men in uniform or lawmakers.
Last week, I uploaded two photos of law-makers breaking law. The first was a Government of India car occupying a pedestrian pavement bang under a No Parking/No Stopping sign. The second was of the car of a Member of Parliament driving in the wrong lane, taken some months ago.
As expected, the photos were followed by messages of encouragement from some of Delhi Traffic Police's Facebook fans. "DTP will not take any action.....because its politician car not of a common man," said one. "Dear DTP..i understand ur incompetency in this case...but plz u can even tell this gentleman ploitician about this incident....and facebook too..and let him think......a bad message is going to public," said another.
The Delhi Traffic Police, however, kept a studied silence. Not even an acknowledgement. Maybe it was my phone, but for a brief while it was difficult to located the pages I uploaded.
It made me wonder if those issued penalty notices could challenge these on the grounds that the use of Facebook evidence was discriminatory. After all, all citizens are equal before law. And if one can be prosecuted based on evidence provided my a member of public, the other should be too.
If my journalist friends weren't too busy spreading flood panic among unsuspecting public, I would have sought their help. Or maybe requested them to put in a Right to Information request - to get a sense of how many lawmakers have been punished for their transgressions.
Or maybe this message missed out a key word - "Managing traffic in Delhi during the Commonwealth Games will be a big challange* as well as a great opportunity. Delhi Traffic Police cannot possibly succeed without the active cooperation, participation and support ofall* ordinary citizens".
AN UPDATE : The Government of India vehicle has now been issued a penalty notice. I stand corrected.
* The spellings are Delhi Traffic Police's, not mine
It is the closest police and public come to working together. The Delhi Traffic Police provides regular updates and warns motorists of traffic jams. In turn, the motorists report broken traffic signals or traffic jams they spot along their journey.
No wonder, it is quite popular. At last count, 27,729 people liked Delhi Traffic Police's Facebook page - five of them my real friends (Yes, I am still uneasy about virtual friends).
The community is rather active in establishing the rule of law, having posted some 7,075 photos so far. From illegal parking to fancy number plates to driving on the wrong side to driving a two-wheeler without helmet to driving a car with tinted windows, they provide documentary evidence of all kinds of breaches.
Every now and then, there are photos of men in uniform committing the same offences. Mostly, it is driving a two-wheeler without helmet and/or talking on a mobile phone while driving.
I guess this is what Western politicians mean when they talk about "participative democracy". And in a city with virtually no respect for traffic laws, a definite force for good - citizens working together to bring about better civic sense and respect for traffic laws among fellow-citizens.
The only problem is that even in the virtual world, Delhi Traffic Police seems unable to shed its real-life double standards.
Like on the streets, it is quick to send out penalty notices to motorists reported on Facebook. "Kind Attention ! The following vehicles/owners have been prosecuted by issuing notice on the basis of the photographs upload on Facebook DLXXXXXXXXXXXXX".
However, there is a deafening silence when it comes to prosecuting men in uniform or lawmakers.
Last week, I uploaded two photos of law-makers breaking law. The first was a Government of India car occupying a pedestrian pavement bang under a No Parking/No Stopping sign. The second was of the car of a Member of Parliament driving in the wrong lane, taken some months ago.
As expected, the photos were followed by messages of encouragement from some of Delhi Traffic Police's Facebook fans. "DTP will not take any action.....because its politician car not of a common man," said one. "Dear DTP..i understand ur incompetency in this case...but plz u can even tell this gentleman ploitician about this incident....and facebook too..and let him think......a bad message is going to public," said another.
The Delhi Traffic Police, however, kept a studied silence. Not even an acknowledgement. Maybe it was my phone, but for a brief while it was difficult to located the pages I uploaded.
It made me wonder if those issued penalty notices could challenge these on the grounds that the use of Facebook evidence was discriminatory. After all, all citizens are equal before law. And if one can be prosecuted based on evidence provided my a member of public, the other should be too.
If my journalist friends weren't too busy spreading flood panic among unsuspecting public, I would have sought their help. Or maybe requested them to put in a Right to Information request - to get a sense of how many lawmakers have been punished for their transgressions.
Or maybe this message missed out a key word - "Managing traffic in Delhi during the Commonwealth Games will be a big challange* as well as a great opportunity. Delhi Traffic Police cannot possibly succeed without the active cooperation, participation and support ofall* ordinary citizens".
AN UPDATE : The Government of India vehicle has now been issued a penalty notice. I stand corrected.
* The spellings are Delhi Traffic Police's, not mine
Delhi's newest tourist attraction
Trust me, this isn't intentional. It is just coincidence that I end up posting updates to this blog on a Monday.
Rains continue to lash down the capital city, with almost the entire weekend being wet. The fearful have stayed indoors, but the faithful have found a new tourist attraction - River Yamuna.
As mentioned in a previous post, Yamuna resembles a dirty stream at most times. Over the years, it has been steadily giving way - with humans moving in with their houses, livestock and crops.
This is prime real-estate and if the occupier is willing to reconcile with the risk of flooding, he/she may end up owning a piece of fertile land.
The increasing temperatures of the past decades have shrunk the river and dissipated the risk of flood dramatically. And if all you had was a few bits of personal belonging, this place offered a chance to set up home.
Or a luxury home - with modern kitchens, furniture, shared swimming and gymnasium - if you had some cash to splash. Which is what the CWG Organising Committee thought, when it planned the Games Village. This block of flats would be worth its weight in gold after a fortnight of playing host to the athletes.
River Yamuna is having a laugh now. Record rains have forced neighbouring states to let water flow on to the national capital - allowing it to claim back the land that always belonged to it. The risk isn't distant any more.
On Sunday evening, the water level stood at 206.35 metres - nearly 1.5 metres above the danger mark. The last time Yamuna caused havoc in the city was in 1978, flooding the capital's northern and eastern districts.
While those with few personal belongings have moved upwards to safe areas, the Games Village resembles an island, surrounded by water. The rains haven't decided to move away yet, but Delhi's residents are coming in hordes to see the river in its full glory.
On most bridges across Yamuna, you can spot stationary cars, motorbikes and buses - as their owners line the edges of the bridges. It almost feels like the floods are a bigger spectator sport than anything that the CWG Organising Committee will be able to conjure up.
This is welcome relief for TV news channels too. Floods in Pakistan were a bit too distant to connect with, but floods in Delhi make wonderful televisual experience. Egged on by creative producers and news directors, young reporters have waded as deep into the river as would be safe.
Of course, it isn't an attempt at sensational or anything. Just an attempt to reflect the "concern ordinary people feel at being swept away by the might of Yamuna".
Ordinary people, meanwhile, watch bemused from the safety of over-bridges!!
Driving across the river yesterday, for my niece's birthday, and driving back - after tea/snacks at a friend's place - I didn't feel the car would suddenly turn into an amphibious vehicle. Those collecting toll at one of the expressways also didn't betray a concern at being swept away.
It was almost 10 in the night, but the tourists were still around. Their cars and bikes parked along the expressway.
Surely, this unpredictable flow of nature is far more exciting than the predictable corruption and failure involved in organising the Commonwealth Games.
Rains continue to lash down the capital city, with almost the entire weekend being wet. The fearful have stayed indoors, but the faithful have found a new tourist attraction - River Yamuna.
As mentioned in a previous post, Yamuna resembles a dirty stream at most times. Over the years, it has been steadily giving way - with humans moving in with their houses, livestock and crops.
This is prime real-estate and if the occupier is willing to reconcile with the risk of flooding, he/she may end up owning a piece of fertile land.
The increasing temperatures of the past decades have shrunk the river and dissipated the risk of flood dramatically. And if all you had was a few bits of personal belonging, this place offered a chance to set up home.
Or a luxury home - with modern kitchens, furniture, shared swimming and gymnasium - if you had some cash to splash. Which is what the CWG Organising Committee thought, when it planned the Games Village. This block of flats would be worth its weight in gold after a fortnight of playing host to the athletes.
River Yamuna is having a laugh now. Record rains have forced neighbouring states to let water flow on to the national capital - allowing it to claim back the land that always belonged to it. The risk isn't distant any more.
On Sunday evening, the water level stood at 206.35 metres - nearly 1.5 metres above the danger mark. The last time Yamuna caused havoc in the city was in 1978, flooding the capital's northern and eastern districts.
While those with few personal belongings have moved upwards to safe areas, the Games Village resembles an island, surrounded by water. The rains haven't decided to move away yet, but Delhi's residents are coming in hordes to see the river in its full glory.
On most bridges across Yamuna, you can spot stationary cars, motorbikes and buses - as their owners line the edges of the bridges. It almost feels like the floods are a bigger spectator sport than anything that the CWG Organising Committee will be able to conjure up.
This is welcome relief for TV news channels too. Floods in Pakistan were a bit too distant to connect with, but floods in Delhi make wonderful televisual experience. Egged on by creative producers and news directors, young reporters have waded as deep into the river as would be safe.
Of course, it isn't an attempt at sensational or anything. Just an attempt to reflect the "concern ordinary people feel at being swept away by the might of Yamuna".
Ordinary people, meanwhile, watch bemused from the safety of over-bridges!!
Driving across the river yesterday, for my niece's birthday, and driving back - after tea/snacks at a friend's place - I didn't feel the car would suddenly turn into an amphibious vehicle. Those collecting toll at one of the expressways also didn't betray a concern at being swept away.
It was almost 10 in the night, but the tourists were still around. Their cars and bikes parked along the expressway.
Surely, this unpredictable flow of nature is far more exciting than the predictable corruption and failure involved in organising the Commonwealth Games.
6 September 2010
You've been boxed up!
As mentioned in the previous post, the first week of September turned out to be a rather short one.Apart from public holidays, it also involved some time off to prepare for the journey back to the United Kingdom.
Packing and removal of our personal effects was the first step. This happened on Tuesday when - after six weeks of chasing, assessing, bidding and finalising - representatives of the removals company turned up at my doorstep. Nearly half-a-dozen of them. Some were in the removals company's red t-shirts. Some in plain clothes.
They brought along enough packing material - boxes, packing paper, bubble-wrap, thermocol sheets - to pack the entire house. Quite different from those who came to remove our stuff in the UK. They had to eventually borrow boxes, cello tape, newspaper and old bubble wraps from us.
But then again, there were just two of them to do everything.
In Delhi, we had a supervisor, five packers, three helpers and a driver of the removal van.
The work started at about 9.30 in the morning. Mr Supervisor could that I was nervous about the quality of their packing. "We are FIAM and FIDI certified, and have been doing this for years", he said as I kept an eye on the old man packing the fragile stuff. "In fact, our boss is based out of the United Kingdom".
We have regular work from embassies and multinational companies like P&G. Please don't worry about your stuff. It will reach UK safely."
The old man most definitely knew his stuff. He not only handled the fragile stuff well, but used the packing material liberally to cushion it. Mindful of the ongoing monsoon in Delhi, his colleague put in plastic sheets to water-proof the packed stuff.
Their work didn't betray any sense of urgency. It seemed like this was the only job for the day. Quietly and carefully, they wrapped our life in Delhi - bundle after bundle, box after box. Whenever one of them tried to cut a corner, the supervisor would gently wrap the guilt person's knuckles.
Mr Supervisor was professional, someone who seemed to have rised up the ranks. He most certainly knew packing and was quite methodical with his labelling. Each box was labelled with a summary of its contents, before being stacked up in a corner of the living room.
We had chosen a weekday so that the little one was at school while the packing was happening. But the relaxed pace of work meant she was back before the packers could finish off with the delicate stuff.
The day hadn't begun all that well. Our domestic help had managed to break a couple of glasses before the packers arrived. The packers, though, handled these well and carefully packaged and boxed it.
Like in the UK, the initial assessment turned out to be conservative. The supervisor thought all the stuff would be packed in about 60-65 boxes. In the end, it was nearly 70-odd boxes that our personal effects occupied.
It was nearly 6 in the evening when the packing got over. The driver was instructed to bring the removal van to our gate and, one by one, they started taking the boxes away.
That was when they committed their only mistake. In the rush to finish off the job, a removal guy manage to break a flowerpot of the Landlady. To be honest, I didn't feel too bad. Served her right for what she done to the little one for Janmasthami cultural function!!
After they left, the house felt like it did before our stuff arrived from UK last December. Bare walls. Bare minimum utensils. Bare minimum clothes. No TV. No music. No computer. No toys for the little one.
But I wanted to be Radha!
Delhi had its own long weekend this past week.
Not an yearly one like the United Kingdom, but one that comes about only once in a long while.
On Thursday, it was Lord Krishna's birthday. This was followed by a day marked as Teachers' Day all over the country and then the regular weekend.
When we were young, Krishna Janmasthami (Lord Krishna's birthday) - was a day to look forward to. It was a day of fasting, praying and feasting.
The morning would start with a resolve to fast and to only have fruits during the day. But the moment the local halwai (sweetmaker) started making samosas, pakoras or dosa, that resolve just melted away.
In any case, it was a day of hard work. Early in the morning, some of us would set out in search of grey sand, red sand and bricks to make a model based on the life on Krishna. Almost always, this would be Krishna's father, Vasudeva - negotiating a flooded River Yamuna - to protect his newborn from the threat of Krishna's murderous uncle, Kansa.
Local shopkeepers sold models of the Vasudeva, Krishna and other key characters of this episode, but one had to put together the river, the bridge, the forest and houses around the river. And to put a baby swing, with an idol of Krishna, which people could rock before offering money or sweets.
Slightly embarrassed to admit it, but the possibility of collecting money was a big attraction for us and other kids in the locality. That could buy us new badminton rackets or cricket balls or tennis balls.
So, the different sands came in handy for landscaping and the saplings, picked up from the park, made for trees. The bricks would mark the inner sanctum of our model temple.
And praying, well, that was left to the grown-ups. After all, they were the only ones with money to back up their religious convictions.
The festival would be over at midnight, when we would get to eat all the home-made goodies prepared by our families.
One of us kept the collection, for accounting the following day. Once the costs related to the model temple were reimbursed, it was time to decide on the shopping list.
This year, the little one had an opportunity to participate in the festival. "I would be Radha. I would be Radha", she chirped from three days before.
The Landlady had asked if she was interested in being Krishna's lady love and the little one was quite excited. Her Mum got together a nice dress and ornaments for the big day.
After having spent most of the day practising dance (our Landlady seems to be Local Cultural Coordinator), the little one was ready for the evening.
Like most social functions in Delhi, this one too had a tent, microphones, loudspeakers, pedestals, chairs and a devotional band to sing praises of the Lord.
The lead singer peppered his bhajans, some based on popular Hindi film numbers, with sermons on the value of religious education to the little ones.
Apart from the old residents of the neighbourhood, most of those in attendance were parents of the kids participating in the cultural function.
The Cultural Coordinator had spent days preparing for the function. But it is the monsoon season, and you can never be completely sure. So, she had arranged for multiple Krishnas and Radhas.
Our little was surprised to see another Radha when the kids' show began. Given the build-up of the preceding days, she was heart-broken. But I wanted to be Radha. I am looking so pretty, so why do they have another Radha?, she sobbed while her Mum comforted her.
It dawned later that there were some last-minute adjustments to the cast. To keep the local residents' association is good humour, the Landlady had made the grand-daughter of the President, Krishna, and that of another office-bearer, Radha.
She did not deem it necessary to inform the other girls. So, our Radha turned into one of Radha's four mates.
But that was only a temporary setback. She was soon on her own, dancing to the Cultural Coordinator's slightly off-key music collection. Some steps she remembered from her practice. Some she made up.
The little one loves dancing. She enjoyed being in the limelight so much that she forgot the disappointment of not being Radha. With Mum and Dad busy taking pictures and video, she felt encouraged.
It was only the lure of a packet of crisps and chocolate bar that drew her away.
Not an yearly one like the United Kingdom, but one that comes about only once in a long while.
On Thursday, it was Lord Krishna's birthday. This was followed by a day marked as Teachers' Day all over the country and then the regular weekend.
When we were young, Krishna Janmasthami (Lord Krishna's birthday) - was a day to look forward to. It was a day of fasting, praying and feasting.
The morning would start with a resolve to fast and to only have fruits during the day. But the moment the local halwai (sweetmaker) started making samosas, pakoras or dosa, that resolve just melted away.
In any case, it was a day of hard work. Early in the morning, some of us would set out in search of grey sand, red sand and bricks to make a model based on the life on Krishna. Almost always, this would be Krishna's father, Vasudeva - negotiating a flooded River Yamuna - to protect his newborn from the threat of Krishna's murderous uncle, Kansa.
Local shopkeepers sold models of the Vasudeva, Krishna and other key characters of this episode, but one had to put together the river, the bridge, the forest and houses around the river. And to put a baby swing, with an idol of Krishna, which people could rock before offering money or sweets.
Slightly embarrassed to admit it, but the possibility of collecting money was a big attraction for us and other kids in the locality. That could buy us new badminton rackets or cricket balls or tennis balls.
So, the different sands came in handy for landscaping and the saplings, picked up from the park, made for trees. The bricks would mark the inner sanctum of our model temple.
And praying, well, that was left to the grown-ups. After all, they were the only ones with money to back up their religious convictions.
The festival would be over at midnight, when we would get to eat all the home-made goodies prepared by our families.
One of us kept the collection, for accounting the following day. Once the costs related to the model temple were reimbursed, it was time to decide on the shopping list.
This year, the little one had an opportunity to participate in the festival. "I would be Radha. I would be Radha", she chirped from three days before.
The Landlady had asked if she was interested in being Krishna's lady love and the little one was quite excited. Her Mum got together a nice dress and ornaments for the big day.
After having spent most of the day practising dance (our Landlady seems to be Local Cultural Coordinator), the little one was ready for the evening.
Like most social functions in Delhi, this one too had a tent, microphones, loudspeakers, pedestals, chairs and a devotional band to sing praises of the Lord.
The lead singer peppered his bhajans, some based on popular Hindi film numbers, with sermons on the value of religious education to the little ones.
Apart from the old residents of the neighbourhood, most of those in attendance were parents of the kids participating in the cultural function.
The Cultural Coordinator had spent days preparing for the function. But it is the monsoon season, and you can never be completely sure. So, she had arranged for multiple Krishnas and Radhas.
Our little was surprised to see another Radha when the kids' show began. Given the build-up of the preceding days, she was heart-broken. But I wanted to be Radha. I am looking so pretty, so why do they have another Radha?, she sobbed while her Mum comforted her.
It dawned later that there were some last-minute adjustments to the cast. To keep the local residents' association is good humour, the Landlady had made the grand-daughter of the President, Krishna, and that of another office-bearer, Radha.
She did not deem it necessary to inform the other girls. So, our Radha turned into one of Radha's four mates.
But that was only a temporary setback. She was soon on her own, dancing to the Cultural Coordinator's slightly off-key music collection. Some steps she remembered from her practice. Some she made up.
The little one loves dancing. She enjoyed being in the limelight so much that she forgot the disappointment of not being Radha. With Mum and Dad busy taking pictures and video, she felt encouraged.
It was only the lure of a packet of crisps and chocolate bar that drew her away.
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