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.

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.

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.

Still raining in Delhi

More than a month since I last wrote. In that time, it has been raining constantly in Delhi. Much worse downpour than the one mentioned in my last post.

Haven't seen this much rain in a long time in the last 15 years, a colleague remarked at this morning's editorial meeting.

River Yamuna - which resembles a dirty stream most of the time - is flowing above the danger mark. The civic infrastructure in Delhi is creaking under the pressure of nature. Flooded roads. Traffic jams. Outbreak of monsoon-related illnesses. Even in the neighbouring, millennium city of Gurgaon, the living rooms of some posh addresses have turned into paddling pools and the roads resemble dirt-tracks in some Indian village.

Even the Commonwealth Games have not been spared. Conspiracy theorists suggest it is nature's way of getting back at the reported corruption in the organising of this Games. Supporters suggest the nature is helping with rigorous quality tests for the Commonwealth Games infrastructure!!

Civil authorities are confused. If they spend time sorting out problems raised by Delhi's residents, work related to the Commonwealth Games suffers. If work related to the Games suffers, the nation's prestige takes a battering.

The other day, I took a friend for a lunch to Connaught Place. This pride of Delhi has been like a war-zone for over a year. Municipal authorities wanted to turn it into a pedestrians' paradise, but turned it into a hazard-perception game, instead.

The only missing link were subways, connecting Connaught Place to the arterial roads outside. The subways have been around for long, but used sparingly because they are dirty and provide shelter to unsavoury characters. Municipal authorities put these "under repair" too, leaving pedestrians with only one option - sprint through the traffic to get to Connaught Place.

My friend is in her sixties and doesn't have the athletic prowess to master this course. So, getting to the restaurant in Connaught Place's outer circle and then making her way to an airline office took two hours - instead of the 25 minutes or so before the municipal authorities started their work.

At home, our little daughter is enjoying Delhi rain. Unlike the all-season drizzle of the UK, rains in Delhi follow months of heat and feels nice on your skin. And the little one is making the most of it. If it is raining on a weekend, she is likely to be found drenching herself and dancing in the balcony.

Would have loved to post the pictures and videos of her in the rain, but one has to be careful with such things on the internet.

There is something endearing about her fascination and love for rains. As a child, I used to be excited about monsoons. There was something fun about reaching school soaked, getting permission to take the shoes/socks and walking barefoot in classrooms.

Not anymore. Schools expect parents to bring in their wards clean and dry. And the grown-ups just wishes that it stopped raining. Or that it rained at convenient times, like when everyone is asleep.

The trouble is there is no planning in this urban construction boom, a friend's father said over the weekend. A city like Delhi generally needs a sewage system and a network of storm drains. If you look around, storm drains in every locality have been covered up by ramps, tiny gardens or parking space. Since these drains are not visible, no one cleans or desilts them. So when it rains, the drains clog up and sewage system isn't capable of draining out a sudden and massive downpour.

The man should know. He spent his working life with Delhi's main municipal body and helped plan some of the areas.If the sanctioning authorities had their way, every conceivable inch of green space would have a building on it. And the malls - don't forget the malls - as residents in all localities seem to want them. They recently proposed that half the public park next to our house be given up for a shopping complex. It only stopped because the residents challenged it.

So what about the storm-drains? Are the local residents doing something about it? Not exactly. I am ashamed to say this, but the storm-drain even outside my own house is covered by a ramp.

It's yesterday once more!!

Bumped into a really old acquaintance at a marketing conference yesterday.

He used to head a big music label in north India, and I was fresh to journalism - reviewing music in my spare time.

Back in those days, there were only five serious players in the music business. And his company was the biggest with a massively rich catalogue. The trouble was making a mark with the current trends and music.

This is where Mr Music came in. He was very talented - and often very loud - marketeer. Through acquisition of music rights for films and bringing together artists from across the border for albums, he helped bring the company more in sync with times.

I met up with him every week to collect the week's releases for review. While the company arranged for the cassettes, Mr Music would talk about all the clever things he had done and how he was the messiah of the music industry.

On one such visit, he was quite angry. What have you written about the album of Dogri devotional songs? he thundered, as soon I walked in. Just that it was an average album, as I said. To be honest, it was much worse than that but I couldn't say that. Who do you think you are? If I had to get the music reviewed, I would have given it to someone else. That hurt but I wasn't willing to take it. I expressed awareness of the politician, but said he was a bad singer - even of devotional songs.

That was the end of my interest in reporting music and entertainment. The buzz of seeing the music industry from this close was great, but I was determined to work on my own terms. And at that time, there was simply too much compliance. For a free cassette. For a free movie ticket. For an exclusive interview. For a junket to a film shoot. For invites to parties.

So, where do you work now? he woke me up from my flashback. I mentioned my current workplace. You were too serious for that tabloid and I knew you would move on. This was the first time he was being complimentary to me. Had the man changed? Did he have some kind of transformative experience?

I was wrong. He was soon rattling off his achievements. I left that music company many years ago. Music business is doomed. Moved on to start the first Punjabi language channel. Recently, I have written coffee table books on 'Collectors of Modern and Contemporary Art' and 'Clubs of India'. You know, each of those books is worth 15,000 INR (approx £220). Soon I am starting my own publishing house.

The conference was about to start, so I walked away to my table.

By lunchtime, he was with me again. So, the lunch has been sponsored by your company? That is what the list of sponsors said, but I wasn't sure who in my company had paid the money.

Do you still write? I said that being in a managerial role meant the writing was done more for love than for work. Most of the time it is boring documents and proposals that I write.

So, did he miss the music business? Not at all. I did lots of things that were trail-blazers. I made stars out of many singers. I initiated the process to get public establishments to pay for music they played. I got my own company to come up with a competitive pricing strategy.

I am an entrepreneur. I did music. I launched and sold a TV channel. I have written and published books. Now, I am keen on starting my own publishing house. Possibly a marketing magazine and another magazine for expatriate Indians. Don't you miss writing?

I knew where this might lead, so chose to stay quiet. He continued. I don't know why these people waste time exchanging cards and networking at these events. You can call anyone and get to meet them. I have never had problems of access. The topmost industrialists and art-collectors opened the doors to their collections for my book. For my Club book, I have a rare picture of cricketer Sunil Gavaskar that even the club wasn't aware of.

There was a time when I could walk into the room of Sonia Gandhi. For those not aware, she is as close to royalty as modern India comes to. The trouble with these young guys is they have no enthusiasm. They call themselves marketeers, but don't have a rounded understanding of the business.

Thankfully, the lunch break got over soon. After attending a couple of sessions, I got out before he could catch me again.

Not monsoon yet

...but the showers have cooled down Delhi.

The little one simply adores India Gate. She insisted on being taken there on Monday afternoon.

Though the water in the fountain and around was dirty, the little one and other kids and grown-ups loved being in it.

After weeks of high temperatures, who could blame them.

This morning too, a pleasant drizzle soaked Delhi in the first half of the day.

Met guys say this freak shower is because of the weakening Cyclone Phet. The sun should be out in its full glory on Wednesday.

For now though, it feels good. Here are some pictures from my Nokia E71.

Papa ji's statement of account

Papa ji wanted to speak with you, the landlady said I walked in to hand over the monthly rent.

It was almost 10 in the night and I wasn't expecting the old man to be awake at this hour.

He wakes up early to run the local shakha of Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh. With a flag-pole in one hand and a milk-container in the other, I have seen Papa ji go to the local park every morning. There, he is joined by other old men in khaki shorts and white shirts. They do light exercises before the old man goes to the local dairy to pick up milk.

Papa ji was saying his prayers in a shoe-cupboard-turned-temple, just by the dining table. I have prepared a statement of account, he said pointing towards the table. Please have a look.

The file reflect a lifetime spent creating and pushing files in a government department. On one side was stapled an A4 sheet detailing expenditure related to our floor, with a summary of Advance Paid, Expenditure, Money Owed and a request for Further Advance. On the other side, were bills to illustrate the statement of account.

The last line of the statement caught my attention. Almost three grand for maintenance and refilling of gas for the air-conditioners.

That work had happened earlier in the evening. When I returned home, two guys were busy washing the air-conditioners in the house. The bathroom was covered in black soot and they were asking for more water. Looks like these air-conditioners haven't been serviced for a while, one of them said. The AC in living room was was nearly out of gas and the ones in the bedrooms are so dirty.

We had suspected a problem with the living room AC. Even hours after being switched on, it would hardly cool the room.

Purely by chance, the landlady called in some guys to service her air-conditioners this week. The ACs haven't been cooling the room so we are getting them serviced, she told my better-half. On being asked if the upstairs ACs could be looked at too, the landlady reluctantly agreed.

Now the old man wanted me to pick up the tab for that. And for the electrician's effort at mending a fan that wasn't working and had sparked off following his intervention. And for the door-bell that sparked off with the malfunctioning fan. And for the new fan that replaced the old one.

Can you please explain why should I pay for the servicing of air-conditioners? Because it has run out of gas due to your use. You must be joking. An AC doesn't run out of gas after just 20-odd days of use. Since you are using the AC, you must pay for any work on it. Sorry, I am only responsible for running costs like water, gas and electricity and for mending things which malfunction because of our misuse. Then, you must talk to Krishan.

Krishan? Who the hell was Krishan? And why should I talk to him? But before I could blurt these questions out, I realised it must be Mr Raina - the pudgy son of Papa ji. The landlady always refers to him as "Mr Raina, who works out of Jammu & Kashmir".

In my eight months in this house, I have rarely interacted with Mr Raina (Krishan). Whenever he is in town, he keeps to the house - watching religious programmes on TV channels or listening to religious songs.

He may be employed with the Indian government, as his name doesn't appear on any of the leases we have signed. The rent goes in the name of Papa ji, the landlady and her college-going son. I reckon none of them have any income apart from the rent, and are extremely unlikely to be paying tax.

But back to the statement of account. As I have mentioned in earlier posts, Papa ji is a hard of hearing - more so, when questioned about his financial demands.

Take the file with you as I have the photocopies, he said. When Krishan comes, you can discuss the payments with him.

It seemed sensible as I didn't wanted to spend the night talking to an almost-deaf man.

On returning upstairs, I noticed other gems in the statement. We are supposed to pick up the water costs of the entire property, and contribute towards the costs of plumber who comes in primarily to do the landlord's work!!

That was quite rude, Mister!

I was told off by my better-half over the weekend. That was quite rude.

The remark related to my phone conversation with an old friend. I had called her up on Friday evening to ask if she would like to come over for lunch. She was at a work party and promised to get back to me later in the evening.

Prior to this, I had spoken with her husband - also a good friend - who said it was fine with him, but that he would need to consult with the wife. Don't worry, I will call her myself to check, I said.

The lunch was over by the time she called up late afternoon on Saturday. My guests were still around, so I didn't pick up the phone. A part of me was also miffed.

On Sunday, my better-half's phone rang. It was my friend and she wanted to speak to me. You didn't pick up your phone on Saturday? Well, the lunch was over and I was with my guests. Yes, but you could have picked up the phone and told me you'll call later. I could have, but understood it to be a routine chat which could wait. But you didn't call me. You called me up before I could. Yes, but it is nearly a day after my call. I know, but your call also came a day after it was promised.

My friend said that I had become "combative" of late, and my better half seemed to agree. That was quite rude of you. You shouldn't have said some of the things you did.

No excuses, but the anger seem to emanate from yet another effort gone waste. This was my third or fourth attempt at inviting our friend over, and like all previous attempts this one ended in disappointment too.

Life seems to be very hectic in Delhi. The weeks go by in a flash and planning the weekend is difficult. Give people too much notice and they will commit and forget. Give them reasonable notice and they will commit and have other commitments too. Give them short notice and they will take forever to refuse or confirm the invite.

Let's get together seems to be an oft-heard resolve. But the resolve to get together seems battered by distances, traffic chaos and - in summer months - extremely warm days.

Quite different from how weekends in UK were. There was always a plan and we knew the when, where, how and for how long at least a week in advance. Spontaneous get-together happened too as we had a reasonably good idea of our spare time.

My friend did mention that she may need to go somewhere, but it would have been helpful to hear either YES or NO. In the absence of either, we were left wondering if they were on or not.

Which is what probably blew my fuse. Should have exercised restraint, but the heat eventually gets to you.

A birthday party

It was my better half's birthday over the weekend.

Had been planning for quite a while for a surprise birthday party. Before you ask, NO, she hasn't reached a milestone age. It was just an effort to mark the day a bit differently.

After years of entering the day with just a Birthday Card in hand and no concrete plan, it was time to make amends. A leisurely afternoon in the company of close friends seemed like a good idea, so I set about planning one.

Delhi has many north Indian restaurants selling Chinese cuisine, and many Chinese restaurants selling north Indian cuisine. In fact, those are the main cuisines you will find wherever you go - around the country, in your city, in your neighbourhood and in people's home. You can't miss that Gobhi Manchurian and Chilli Paneer sit comfortably with Mutter Paneer and Chicken Curry on offer.

A quick search on the internet brought up restaurants in south Delhi offering other international cuisines - Japanese, Russian, Italian, Mediterranean and even Korean. The menus of Japanese and Korean restaurants looked frighteningly like that of a Chinese restaurant. Unless one was willing to shell out the dollars for an authentic experience in one of the five-star hotels. The Russian cuisine didn't look too appetising and the Italian lacked imagination.

So, it was Mediterranean cuisine that I settled on. Shalom had a nice website and declared proudly that it had won the Best Lebanese Restaurant in Delhi award for four years running. The photographs indicated an informal decor and the menu was interesting. Though the prices were on the high side, it was the most important day in the life of one of the most important people in my life.

Further searches revealed positive experience of those who had visited the restaurant. Friends too had good things to say about Shalom. It may be sensible to book a table as it is a popular restaurant.

I followed the advice and booked a table for 10. Friends had confirmed they would reach the restaurant by 12.30 and one even volunteered to pick up the birthday cake on her way in.

Call it my fear or the fear of getting bugged by me, they did actually start early from their homes. By the time we reached Shalom, it was almost 1 pm. The little one accompanied us too, and was quite excited about the party.

The place did have an informal feel too it. Our friends had occupied a nice little corner, with thick mattresses for seating and colourful cushions to support the back. Low-lying tables provided space to put glasses and plate.

The thing about Delhi that I had forgotten in the past decade is that the day starts late and ends late. So, quite a few had skipped breakfast to reach the venue in time. We ordered some beers and starters immediately.

The Veg Mezze Platter had nice and warm Falafel, Spinach Stick, Cheese Samosas and Pitta Bread, but the Babaganoush, Hummus and Tabbouleh were slightly thickset. The Shish Kebabs were better and sat on a combination of spicy pastes. Shalom definitely isn't the Sofra's of Covent Garden, but it is most definitely different.

For main course, a combination of Vegetable Moussaka, Grilled Fish With Orange Chilli Sauce, Chicken With Paprika and Morrocan Lamb Stew With Wild Rice. Paprika Chicken was the best dish of the lot, with some nice grilled vegetables with it.

The one big disappointment was the Service at the restaurant. It seemed to have borrowed the informality of the place. As we ordered beers and food, the tiny tables became clogged - but the staff wouldn't clear them unless asked specifically to do so.

When it was time for the cake, the staff brought the box out, took out the cake from it, opened the box of candles and started putting the candles one by one. All in the full view of my better half. No effort at even pretending to surprise the birthday girl.

Before the cake could reach our table, the little one had extinguished all the candles and was ready to slice the cake. Dad. On your birthday, we will get a different cake. Right?

Some friends had other commitments, so they excused themselves. By about 2.15 or so, everyone had left and the lunch was over. There was no point sitting by ourselves, so I asked for the bill.

Conscious that the birthday party had ended before it started, we hatched another plan. After putting the little one to sleep in the evening, we went off to Greater Kailash-2 in south Delhi. A friend suggested had Chungwa, an old and established Chinese Restaurant. They offer booze at reasonable prices and since you have already had dinner, it is a much better option.

Pakistan were playing New Zealand in T20 Cricket Match and all the tables around the bar were occupied. Well-fed Punjabi uncles, aunties and enjoying Chinese food and the cricket match. There was still some time to go before the match would end, and they were in no hurry to leave.

So, we ordered a couple of Mojitos and parked ourselves a cosy little table. Soon we were joined by some of our other friends.

We stayed at Chungwa until well past midnight and even managed to work our way through Chilli Chicken Dry. Needless to add, the dish was well prepared and was delicious.

I guess it is always a better idea to stick to north Indian and Chinese cuisine when in Delhi.

With friends like these

Had just walked into my house the other day when I heard a little girl crying.

At first, it sound like my own. But when I walked into the room, it was one of the girls of the local ironing lady.

Komal is what her name means, delicate. She is stick-thin with a pale skin, unkempt hair, sad eyes but a lovely smile. Komal and her older sister, Sunaina, have been my little girl's friends since we moved into this accommodation.

At first, a big attraction for the girls was chocolates or sweets or fruits. But over days and weeks, they started enjoyed playing with each other.

Sunaina is street-smart and goes to school. Komal spends the day either in the small shack, that her Mum operates out of, or in the park behind it. She is joined by her sister in the park when she returns from school.

On this evening, the two sisters were playing in the park with my little one. As it started getting darker, both sets of Mums asked the girls to come back home. In her rush to come back quickly, Komal tripped on a boy's legs - who, in turn, fell over her.

Her shoulder turned around in an instant and she started wailing. My better half rushed Komal to her Mum, who was busy wrapping up for the day. She looked to her grandma, who said: "Go away. You keep injuring yourself every few days".

The girl was probably just looking for a cuddle. Or a show of concern. But neither Mum nor Grandmum had time for her. You need to take her to a doctor, my better half said. Neither said a word. Where is her Dad? He is still stuck at work and can't come anytime soon.

Do you want to come upstairs? my better half asked. Komal didn't say a word or stop crying, but held her hands and walked up.

She was still in a lot of discomfort. It's hurting quite a bit. It is hurting quite a bit. I don't want the doctor to give me an injection. I don't want the doctor to give me an injection.

To distract her from the pain, my better half asked if Komal wanted milk. Yes. Did she want a toast or biscuit? Biscuit. She was quite obviously hungry and finished off her snack very quickly. Every now and then, she would cry out - It's hurting quite a bit. I don't want the doctor to give me injection.

Sunaina didn't know what to do. You know? When someone moves her hand, it hurts her. She is not careful. She gets hurt very often.

It was a bit sad to see little Komal lying in someone else's house with an injury. Her family works really hard to earn a living. Dad is a driver, but helps out with the ironing when he is not busy. But the little girls spend their time without any adult supervision.

Despite two lovely daughters, Komal's Mum is pregnant with her third child. I so wish it is a boy this time around, Komal's Grandma keeps saying. When asked if Komal could be provided medication, Grandma shot back: What is the point in buying medicines? She will waste our money and hurt herself again. Even her Mum said she wanted Vitamins and hasn't had even one tablet until now.

Once Dad returned from work, he took Komal and Sunaina with him.

The next day I saw Komal, she was quiet and sad. She didn't say a word when I asked how she felt. It was Grandma again: We took her to a wrestler who knows how to adjust bones. He had pulled the shoulder back in the socket and put on a bandage. He feels there might be a fracture in the collar bone but that it might heal.

For days that followed, she kept sitting quietly on one of the benches her Mum uses to keep ironed clothed. Any attempt to talk to her or find out how she was feeling went unresponded.

Until Tuesday evening, that is. Uncle, can we come up to play? she asked me as I returned home.

It was nice to see her smiling again - even though it was a feeble and weak smile.

Settling into the Delhi NCR groove

Looks like we are slowly settling into the Delhi (or Delhi NCR) groove.

On Saturday, six of us from college had planned to meet up along with wives and kids. The day started out fine, but thunderstorms in the evening - followed by rain and drizzle in some parts - resulted in the last-minute cancellation of the plan.

So, what is your plan for the evening? a friend called to ask. I told him my only plan had just been cancelled and the evening didn't look too promising. Why don't you come over to Noida? I am going to RP's. I asked if RP knew that we would be coming. Don't worry, I call him up just now. This was nearly six in the evening.

RP is an old and common friend of ours and we have spent many evenings at his house. He used to be a journalist; then got interested in politics; then developed an interest in psephology; then caught the travel bug and visited different parts of India; then tried his hands at journalism again before shacking up with a political party's strategy unit.

He told me and the other friends - at this impromptu dinner - many interesting stories. Like this bunch of Tibetans who have been settled on a a plateau in Chattisgarh which is miles away from anywhere. Or this tribe that lives in the middle of the Gir Lion Sanctuary and is credited by some as playing an important role in the survival of the big beast there.

The stories were as fascinating as the ones I got to hear from my better half recently. She had gone to the border of Andhra Pradesh-Chhattisgarh on a mentoring project. The place is affected by the Maoist insurgency and she got to experience the "other India" from really up close - an India messed about with by those who govern and by those who claim to fight for the people.

Unfortunately, India media doesn't have much time for such stories. Neither the advertisers nor the marketers are interested. If TV News=TRP, News Programme Schedule = Sleaze, Sex, Crime. It is difficult to imagine the plight of those working in 50-plus degrees of temperature from the cool confines of 20-plus degrees TV studio. But then again, India is never in short supply of tantalising stories - Sania-Shoaib Wedding, Trouble At The Indian Premier League and now the Honour Killing Of A Young Journalist.

Anyway, that is a bit of digression. RP's house is undergoing renovation, but he made space wherever possible. The kids took over the only functional bedroom with TV. Some of us took over the functional part of the living. Some went over to the balcony and the rest to the functional part of the roof.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening and we left RP's house nearly half past midnight.

Sunday brought another unplanned do. This time, my friend invited us to his house. He is my closest friend and we speak almost every day. We have met quite frequently but, in my seven months in Delhi, I haven't been to his house once. This would have never happened on my annual visit.

So, what are you up to today? he asked me. On hearing something that sounded like nothing much, he invited us over. I will call NR as well. He has a young girl and your little one can play with her.

The little one was excited by another day in the company of a kid. Because of her poor health, most of her last week was spent at home. And that does get really boring after a while.

Unfortunately, the friend could not make it till later in the day. So, the little one had to spend a couple of hours playing Bubble Breaker on my phone or watching kids' television.

As for us, we spoke on a range of things - including including domestic help. We would have four or five people working for us, my friend said. One maid does the cooking and cleaning. One maid dusts and mops up the house. Another maid comes to do the laundry and a guy comes to collect the clothes for ironing. Then there are handymen who I pay something extra to come in at short notice and do a good job.

The multiplicity of domestic help is obvious elsewhere in Delhi too. At any social function or on a trip to a park or a mall, families are always accompanied by maid/maids. At the school one morning, one of the Mums was asking another Mum: Why have you got two maids with you? The Mum replied: Oh, they will come on alternate days to pick up my kid. So, I need them to know the drill."

As more and more people join the workforce in India, time has become scarce and money comes in abundance. Apart from the usual housing and transportation costs, there is still enough left to engage individuals who could take the everyday pressures of life off you.

NR arrived with his wife later in the afternoon. Sorry, I couldn't get my daughter along as she was sleeping. The little one was crestfallen. You lied to me again. It was back to Bubble Breaker and kids TV for her as we got busy talking. Finding kids to play with is a much bigger problem in Delhi than it ever was in London/Reading.

Thankfully, the friend's daughter woke up reasonably quickly and was carted in. She is here, she is here - the little one chirped. There was finally someone to play with her. Helped by the grown-ups, the two girls played hide-and-seek for a little while.

The next day was Monday and we had planned to get back home early. As it turned out, the lunch invitation extended into a dinner invitation as well. My friend ordered some Chinese takeaway as NR got busy making a cocktail of Martini and Scotch.

It was nearly 10 or so in the night when we got back home.

Two birthdays and three birthday parties!

Apologies for missing from this blog for almost a week. I had been busy with two birthdays and three birthday parties.

My little one was born three years and a day after one of her cousins. So, the festivities started on Thursday with the cousin's birthday. It was a weekday, so we opted to attend the friends-and-family do on Saturday.

Friday was the little one's birthday. I had planned to take the day off, but she had a party at her play-school. We (actually my wife) decided to have a little dinner for parents in the evening where all of us could get together.

As luck would have it, an interview request I had put in for an IT major came through on Friday evening. Unfortunately, he can only do this time and then he is off for three weeks. Don't worry, we will start at 6.30 pm and wrap up by 7.00 pm. For sure.

Braving the peak-hour traffic between Delhi and Gurgaon (which is one of the Indian home of the big IT majors), we got to the venue on time. He is on an important conference call. Do you want to set up your equipment and he'll join you soon. Soon turned out to be almost an hour late.

The interview jokingly suggested that I make a dart-board with his picture on it. You can tell your daughter that this is the man who delayed your Dad. But his spin-doctor had other ideas. Here is a little something from us. The little something was a USB Storage Device, just the kind of thing you would give a four-year-old.

Thankfully, the little one was still awake when I got in around 8.45 pm. We got to spend some time together and celebrate the occasion.

Saturday was the cousin's birthday party in Gurgaon. It was scheduled for 12.00 pm and we were there 20 or so minutes late. Yet again, we were the first guests to arrive. Most guests started floating in around 1.00-1.30 pm - with one coming around 3.00 pm.

On our way back, I had a unique experience. I was driving on the fastest lane on the NH-8, which connects Gurgaon and Delhi. Suddenly, the red brake lights of the car in front of me flashed. I braked immediately to avoid running into that car.

There were about six or seven cars in front of me, all having braked with a feet or less of each other. Worried that someone had had a bad accident, I inched forward carefully.

It was nothing of the sort. A man had missed one of exits on the 80 km per hour motorway and wanted to reverse 200 hundred yards to get to the exit. You could have killed someone with your stupidity, I told the man. He was totally unperturbed and busy reversing his car.

Sunday was our 'party in the park' for the little one. She wanted a Nemo Cake and Pizzas at her party. Delhi weather has improved in the last few days and it seemed like an idea we could deliver on. After toying with Nehru Park and Lodhi Gardens, we settled on the park in the front of our house.

Notices displayed all over the park warn against gambling, drinking, throwing garbage and ball games but don't say anything about get-together. And it has a lot of benches for people to sit and enjoy the sun on.

To my surprise, the guests started arriving well before the schedule start time of 12.00. After taking them to the corner we had identified for the party, I headed off to pick up the Nemo cake. While I was away, my wife got summoned by an elderly neighbour - Organising parties in the park is not allowed. Ever since some foreigners did it, the environment has been spoiled.

No, the foreigners didn't leave any toxic waste in the park. They had a get-together with friends for a kid's birthday. They left the park in the same condition they found it, didn't talk loudly, didn't organise loud music that blared late into the night and didn't take up parking lots allocated to the residents.

Isn't that what parks are meant for? For use by residents who pay for and care for the park and aren't fond of putting up tents and offer matar-paneer, daal makhani, pulao and naan to celebrate something?

Luckily, my better half took the more sensible route out of this - by playing the we are new to this locality card.

The elderly lady chose not to take the matter any further. It was a lovely sunny day and my better half had organised face-painting, pass the parcel, bubble-makers and a balloon-seller for the party. The first three were a hit but the last one didn't attract too much interest.

The pizzas arrived at 1.30, as did a couple of small bottles of Coke - to mess up our no-fizzy-drinks resolve. The little one soon discovered it, as did some grown-ups. I had to give in and get a big bottle to allow some refills.

Some considerate guests and the eager gardener helped us return the park to its original self within minutes. The remaining guests moved upstairs to our house to continue the party.

I haven't bumped into the elderly lady yet, but am sure stories are going around about the foreigners who are spoiling the environment!!

A visit to the Children's Park

A friend remarked today - "Do you plan on keeping busy with the landlady, washing machine and PAN card or will you have other social interactions as well?"

He is an old and dear friend, who has seen more of me in Delhi through this blog than in flesh and blood.

My apologies if I have given that impression. Even though all the above have taken a lot of my time, we have still had time to invite friends or go over to their places.

As of this weekend, we started acquainting ourselves with the family-friendly Delhi.

The first stop, on Sunday was the Children's Park. Located next to India Gate, it is definitely ones of most well-resourced and spacious park for children in Delhi.

It has been a big draw for the city's children. The lure of spending some time running around in the park, having a go on the swings and slides, followed by a picnic on the India Gate Lawns has been too strong.

I hadn't been there for more than two decades, but thought it would be a good place to introduce the little one to.

At the turn of the millennium the maintenance of the park was overtaken by a major Indian automobile manufacturer. It has modernised an upgraded the park - including an amphitheatre, a library, a science centre and other new additions like musical fountains and theme-based water works on the Jungle Book.......And it still doesn't cost anything to enter and use the park.

My Mum-in-law, who is visiting us these days, decided to take a siesta in the park, while the little one and I went ahead to explore the park.

The little one has always preferred the swing. It requires minimum effort on her part and doesn't involve the unpleasantness of jostling for space on a slide or monkey bar or climbing frame. The latter being very important on the day as busloads of school-kids had come to enjoy the park.

It was both sad and overwhelming to see the excitement these kids had about the park. Sad because even after all these years, Children's Park is the only free option for kids from different parts of Delhi. Overwhelming because kids love being outdoors given an option.

For a few hours, the park resembled a dust bowl as kids ran from swings to slides to monkey-bars to climbing frames in search of excitement. They did what kids do - push others to have a go on their favourite thing; tug at each others' shirts and trousers to scare each other and wanting to use every second of their time in the park productively.

Amidst all this, the little one retained firm control of the swing as her mother and I took turns at pushing her.

After a few hours of play, it was time for lunch. We hadn't brought along picnic, so the next best option seemed to be Andhra Bhawan. It is walking distance from the Children's Park and has a fantastic canteen.

The canteen offers eat-as-much-as-you-can lunch on the table for 80 rupees (or one British Pound). The food is fresh, tasty and filling and the place attracts strong patronage. Even India's prime-minister-in-waiting Rahul Gandhi is believed to be fan.

It being a weekend day, we had to wait for a little while before a table got free. But the food was well worth it. My little one couldn't get her favourite 'idli' (steamed rice-flour cakes), but did enjoy the fresh yogurt and rice - while we devoured the lentils, vegetables, sambar, rasam, pooris, rice, pickles and sweets.

We haven't decided where we'll go this weekend, but I'll keep you posted.

Banking in Delhi

"It was so much simpler in the old days," a colleague remarked this morning. "You would go to the bank. Wait for an hour or so before someone would speak with you. They would get you to fill up multiple copies of a form for any request. And you'd be able to get the passbook updated with most recent transactions".

He was fuming at his bank unilaterally deciding to send him an electronic statement, "following a request from you". The request had never been made, but the bank could charge Rs 200 for the privilege.

Banking has never been a pleasant experience in Delhi, but it has gotten worse with the arrival of private banks.

They have nicely dressed individuals and very open and welcoming feel to their branches. But they are far more clueless and almost as reluctant to help as government banks of the olden days. At least that is what my impression has been.

Before I reached Delhi, there were all kinds of stories about bank. You sign up to a different minimum balance and within months it is a much higher amount. They penalise you for everything - often creating excuses to do that. They lost track of a bank transfer and it required days of effort to trace the money.

I researched and deliberated on which bank to go with, eventually ignoring a convenient relationship that my bank had for a new bank.

The initial experience wasn't too great. The first two times that I walked into their branch, someone was calling upon the sisters or mothers of the employees and threatening to do bad things. On the first occasions, the man was escorted out of the branch. On the second occasion, the man was very close to being shoved out.

I decided to go back to the familiar territory of managing my money over the internet. The less interaction you have with people, the less irritated you are likely to be.

But this morning, I had to go to my bank. Opening an account through work has been a long haul. For over a month, it has been happening today or tomorrow or the day after. I didn't feel like waiting any more.

Don't know whether being the first one (apart from the staff that is) at the bank did the trick, but it was such a smooth sailing that I couldn't believe it. Bank account? Yes, that can be done. How much time will it take? Shouldn't be more than 30 minutes. Can you do it now? Yes, sir. Do you need identity documents? No, we have those - just need the PAN Card. Will it be operational straightaway. Of course, it will be. How much time will the Debit Card, Cheque Book etc will take? About 7-10 working days. Can it be delivered to my parents' house? Most certainly.

True to her word, she crossed off the bits that I didn't need to fill up. I provided information that was needed, while she took photocopy of my PAN card. Then, she disappeared for 15-minutes or so and was back with an account number and asked for the initial deposit.

The deposit made, I had a new bank account which would facilitate deposits made in Indian currency. I felt like kicking myself. Why didn't I do this weeks ago? Up until I visited the branch, I didn't realise that even if you don't have a PAN card, you can put in a self-declaration that you don't have tax liabilities in India.

So, based on today's experience - I am a bit more positive about private banks. And to sweeten the taste in my mouth, the bank was even offering candies - which I couldn't help helping myself to.

Up until the next time, then. Hope I am not the one to be chucked out next time.

Don't go to the family

Bumped into an exceptionally talkative autorickshaw driver last evening.

It was all my fault. I could have got an auto from just outside my office, but it was rush hour and getting a good rate was difficult.

I can take you to Anand Niketan for 80 rupees, he said. But that is 10 rupees more than what was being quoted 10 minutes and half-a-kilometre earlier. Sir, there is a big traffic-jam near Anand Niketan at this time. There is no way I was going to settle for that rate. OK, I will take you for 70 rupees - only because I like you. Just let me finish my coffee.

No sooner had we started, he asked - Where from, sir? Bihar. Shake hands. Myself from Bihar too. Yes, I had guessed it. How? From the way you talk. You mean my personality. Thank you.

Suddenly the cosy auto into a mobile gym as well. Every few minutes, the autorickshaw driver did some stretching exercises. Do you think I have strong muscles? I suppose so. You don't think I am heavy? Not exactly. How old you think I am? I thought putting an absurd number would put an end to the conversation. 24-25, I guess. No, sir. I am 36. I drink half-litre milk every morning, eat salad and only home-made food. That is really good. Keep it up.

I have three bad habits, though. Politeness demanded that I asked what. I like to be clean. I like to drink coffee. And I like to be with my family.

There is nothing wrong with that, I said. If you like cleanliness, you will feel healthy and your customers will be happy. If you drink coffee in moderation, there is no harm. And surely your family would be happy to be see you around.

He continued stretching, as he drove and talked. But we shouldn't go to family every day. If we do, then we feel like doing it regularly. I do it every other night and it makes me feel weaker.

I suddenly realised what he meant by family. You know, doing it causes all sorts of problems. It causes backache and your muscles feel weak. I know a bodybuilder who didn't go to his family for six months. When he did, he got into a fight with this guy and picked him up by the scruff of his neck. What strength!

Hmm, I mumbled, hopeful this would end soon. In fact, the other day my mother was saying. You know how mothers are. They don't say anything directly. She hinted that it is a good thing not to go to the family regularly. Then again, the family also likes to have it regularly. So, I need to do it for her as well.

The stretching continued. How do I look? Strong? I need to build those muscles. When the winter sets in, I will go to the gym. What exercises should I be doing? In fact, I also want to buy a good perfume - to use on myself and for the auto.

Looks like a bad jam, I said, trying to steer - and, possibly, end - the conversation. Yes, I told you. I generally don't take customers to East Delhi or West Delhi at this time of the day. You spend too much time waiting rather than moving. Nothing can tempt me to make these journeys. Unless the person is willing to pay me thrice the fare.

I don't want to drive autos all my life. I will buy a taxi soon. Drive it for a little bit and then buy myself a 4x4 and employ drivers. And I will change my watch. You see this watch? Expensive, but only for driving the auto. When I drive car, I will get a new watch. And goggles (sunglasses). Do you think my personality will look good in my expensive goggles and watch driving the 4x4?

That's my house. Right there. Yes, by that red car. Can you stop the auto there? Before he could say anything, I handed him the money and ran to my flat.

Busy with chatth

You have missed your blog deadline, by the way!

This was a friend who has read (or least gives me the impression) every post I have written. Thanks, mate. You are probably the only one who does and gives me the motivation to carry on.

So, where was I the last couple of days? Not looking for play-schools, I am afraid, but at my parents' for chatth - one of the most important festivals in my native state, Bihar. For over 10 years, my Mum fasts for 36 hours during the chatth festival for the well-being of her family. But it was for first time, she had all her kids (me and my three sisters), their spouses and respective kids to help out and provide moral support.

In that time, chatth has become really big in Delhi. Most parts of the city (especially East and West Delhi) come to a halt as thousands of people from Biharis celebrate the festival. Many more come to India Gate to pray to Surya (Sun) {Here are some stunning pictures from India Gate, taken by Mayank Austen Soofi.}

It was an interesting festival to participate in, and observe. My Mum and an old lady were the only ones fasting, but there were many more who wanted to route their offerings through the two. After all, it is much easier being religious when you don't have to undertake the hard rituals that go with it. Chatth requires people to fast without food or water for 36 hours and to make offering to sun while standing almost knee-deep in water. The last bit is difficult since the weather is cold enough to numb your legs.

In its move to the big cities, the festival has adapted quite a lot. The water-sources have moved from being rivers and lakes to a boat canal at India Gate and a 4 ft x 4ft tank at one end of a housing society. But it seems heated pool are still out of bounds.

Anyway, Mum was brave as she went through the fasting. Even with all the rackets the little ones made (five of them, include two under two years), she kept a smile on her face. Helped by a couple of neighbours, she made baskets-full of goodies and other things for the festival. Like us, when we were younger, the kids wanted to eat these things immediately. Like us, they were told to be patient until the offering had been made to the sun.

Me and my sisters had got together after such a long time, so there was loads to catch up on. Every now and then, a panic would set in when one of the kids went missing. Mostly, it was my daughter. Mostly, she was found at the home of a particular Didi (elder sister). It seems the little girl has discovered a passion for aimless wandering. She can do that for hours without getting tired.

It must have been 10.30 pm when we all went off to sleep. Much earlier than usual, but we all had to bath and get ready by 5.00 am. I knocked off straightaway and don't remember much of Saturday night. However, my brother-in-law woke up around two and found Mum busy lighting the earthen lamps that were to be taken to the temple. He advised Mum to have some shut-eye as it was still some hours before sunrise, but the lack of food and water had started hitting her hard.

She persisted with the task at hand and within an hour or so, others had started waking up as well. By 4.30 or so, we were all ready.

I was tasked with taking a bunch of sugarcanes to the temple, while Dad took the cane basket with all the goodies in it. Dad and Mum walked barefoot, but I chose to have footwear as I was wary of being struck by a sharp object in the dark. On walking out, it seemed a good decision as it was a rather chilly morning.

Our local priest had the temple cleaned up by the time we reached, and was getting the 4ftx4ft water-tank filled up. I don't know how the tank copes when there are more than two women, but seem to provide ample space on this occasion.

It seemed like an eternity before the sun rose, but a good-sized crowd had gather by then. I was impressed with their dedication, but realised soon it was to collect their prasada, within minutes of it being offered to the sun.

Mum was supposed to make the offering, get out of the cold water, change into a different saree, break her fast with ginger-and-jaggery and some warm water, followed by proper food. But those around would have none of it. The moment Mum stepped out of the water, they queued up to get their prasada so could get away quickly.

Everyone was taken in by the moment, apart from me. My antennas were less focused on the occasion, but more on making sure Mum was warm and had something to eat. Someone in the crowd remarked "foreign mein rahta hai to ekdum foreign hee bun gaya hai" (he stays abroad and has become a foreigner), but I couldn't care less.

If someone could be patient for 36 hours without food or water for her religious beliefs, the others could wait for 15 minutes for their's.

Or maybe I have become a foreigner in my own country!

How month are we going back?

"Daddy. How month are we going back to Reading?" asks my daughter every alternate day.

I start by correcting her that it is "which month" and then her it is an year-long assignment that will finish next September.

"Can we have a party when we go back to Reading and invite all my friends to it? And can we get a bouncy-castle and do face-painting?"

Sure, my angel.

They say kids are the quickest to adjust to a newer place, while grown ups can never fully adjust even at a familiar place. Both I and my wife have a history in the city, while the little one is totally alien to it.

Making new friendships will take time. Like most eastern countries, kids sleep late in India. They wake up early to go to school. Once back, they catch up on sleep and are only out and about after six in the evening.

My girl still goes to sleep at 8.00-8.30 in the night and is up and about from 7 in the morning. She wants to go out and play but there are hardly any kids about. By the time they come out to play, it is a couple of hours until bedtime for her. And then most of her games are different from those of the kids in Delhi.

She does know hide-and-seek, but isn't aware that it is called chupan-chupai in Hindi. She knows catch-me-if-you-can, but doesn't know it as pakadam-pakdaai. The kids are impressed with her English, but struggle to continue speaking in the language themselves.

The little girl definitely misses her park in Reading. And the swing. And the slide. And the booya. And the sandpit. And the paddling pool. And I miss these things too.

Delhi always was a green city. Even even with relentless contruction and ever-growing number of cars, each locality still has more than one park.

Conducive weather (lots of rain and overcast skies) keeps the parks in the UK lush green. The parks are maitained by the local council, and paid for by tax-payers. In Delhi, it is a labour of love by tax-paying residents of different localities.

Like civic amenities, security, transport and education, most public parks are also privately maintained. Local residents spend on a park to be watered. They spend on keeping it clean. They spend on keeping it well lit-up. They spennd to have a jogger's/walker's track along the periphery of the park. They spend on maintaining the swings, slides and monkey-bars for children. And one has to admit, they are doing a pretty good job of it.

But 10 years of Health & Safety have taken away the spirit of 25 years of rough and tumble. As children, we would always have cuts and bruises. And before these could heal, we would pick up newer bruises.

Not my own child. It was one thing letting her go on the monkey-bars and see her fall on loose sand in the park at Caversham. A big cry, a few tears, a cuddle and she would be back to playing again. A fall here would be on hardened soil and that is bound to leave a bruise.

There are also the screws protruding out of the slides. And the swing looks a bit rusty......OK, now I am talking like a paranoid parent!

Being a labour of love, Delhi parks miss the variety my little one was used to in Caversham. She could play on the swings or let her imagination flow in the sand or just take a dip in the paddling pool, if the day was warm. In Delhi, you'll mostly get a monkey-bar, a swing and a slide.

The parks also reflect an interesting change in India. In middle-class localities, children (as young as three) run around for hours without any adult keeping an eye. In well-off areas, the maids and drivers bring the children to play in an air-conditioned car. The parents are completely missing from the scene, with strict instructions that their kids should not be mixing with unknown people or kids.

In the park in front of our flat, there are only three kids supervised by their parents. My daughter and the two girls of an ironing lady who works by the park. Komal and Didi are my little girl's best friends at the moment.

She is yet to figure out Delhi (or, shall I say, the general inequalities of life). Mum, my friends' house isn't very nice - it is broken. Mum, their Mum forgot to put their shoes on. Mum, their clothes are dirty and broken. Why don't they wear nice clothes?

Every morning, she heads straight to the balcony to check whether Komal and Didi have come. She wants to share her sweets, snacks and toys with the girls. She thinks they are good girls and don't do her tang (bother her).

But will this friendship last once she starts going to nursery/childcare?

A posting on our (more specifically, my wife's) search for a nursery tomorrow.

House-hunting in Delhi

Finding accommodation in Delhi was one of our first tasks.

Before leaving the UK, we had arranged to visit a flat in Nizamuddin East rented for a long time by the organisation. The landlord was keen that the tradition continue. He is based in the US and feels safer with the flat being used by a proper person with a proper job in a proper organisation.

The flat was nice and the landlord seemed more than willing to accommodate us. You want the third room too? No problem. A place to put boxes that may not be opened? No problem, I have a room upstairs. Want to move into the flat quickly? No problem.

When the office accountant called up to finalise the deal, the landlord mentioned the terms. Not only did he want a higher rent, but that the organisation pick up his tax liability and provide accommodation as the third room was used by him - once or twice a year, for a couple of nights - during his trips from US to Kashmir and back.

It seemed totally unreasonable and we started proper house-hunting straightaway. Friends suggested some estate agents, and the phone started buzzing immediately. Where do you want to live, Sir? Nizamuddin East, Defence Colony, Panchsheel Park. And you want a furnished accommodation? We would prefer that. OK, Sir. We will call back soon.

One of the first flats we saw was recently done up unfurnished accommodation in Nizamuddin East. The landlady asked how long we wanted to rent the flat for. "One year," both me and my wife said. The landlady went silent. When we stepped out, the agent said, "Sir, aapne game bigaad diya" (You spoilt the game). You should have told her you need the house for two years. Once you had the house, you could have left it at one month's notice". All our protestations about being honest in the transaction didn't work. "This won't work here, sir".

There were two other houses in the same place. The first one was nice and furnished and the landlord was a Sikh gentleman. The rent seemed affordable and we were keen to sign up quickly. "I would need the two months' advance and rent in cash," he said. So what proof do I have of the deposit or of paying you a rent? "You have to trust my word". Trust your word with so much money?

The next one was still under construction. It had one of those big medical storage refrigerators apart from loads of sawdust and construction-workers around. "This flat isn't ready, is it" we asked. This one is, but the upper floors are still being constructed. And how long do you think this will take? Can't tell you, but can check with the landlord.

Thereafter, started a longer hop-on hop-off house-hunting trip across South Delhi - most of it done by my wife. She saw a house which seemed to have borrowed its furniture from wedding organisers. The furniture had thick decorative golden edges, red-black upholstery and a throne-like structure to it. Another house was opened to her for inspection by the landlord - unaware that his wife was sitting stark naked on the toilet. My wife ran straight out.

Another landlord asked what her caste was. A "furnished house" just had a refrigerator and a few chairs in it. Where are the beds? To which the estate agent, said - "Don't worry, madam. That can be organised for a little more money. Just look at this place as an accommodation". Yes, that is precisely what I am looking at this as.

A house in Nizamuddin West seemed newly-built. "We have the ground floor and second floor flat available for rent," the care-taker said. The ground floor seemed nice and spacious but wasn't furnished. "The second-floor flat is furnished". As we walk to the stairs, the care-taker insisted, "Please take the lift". When the doors closed, it was completely dark. There was no light in the lift. Reaching the second floor seemed to take forever, especially with a scared three-year old.

The second floor looked good too. So we asked to see the landlord. He is on his way. 15 minutes later. He is on his way. 25 minutes later. He is on his way. What does he do? He works. Where does he work? He works in different places. Who does he work for? Can't tell you.

Then one of the agents called up excitedly - Does it suit you to have an accommodation near Khan Market or Jantar Mantar? Of course, it does. "Shall we meet at the first property by 3.00 pm? Sure. Half-an-hour of waiting and no one turns up. The estate agent is as clueless as me. We got the reference through another broker. He said the care-taker would be here. Do you want to see the other flat? Yes. But are you sure that isn't locked as well? Absolutely sure, sir.

Not exactly. After waiting for 10 minutes, I couldn't take any more. As I turned to go, the caretaker magically arrived. The flat was bang in the heart of Delhi - just 15 minutes' walk from the office. There was just one problem. It was being used as an office in the past and the main bathroom had a series of men's urinals. I mean, at one level it looks really cool. A bathroom like no one else's. But you surely can't invite families to a flat like that.

It wasn't looking promising. So, we decided to push ahead with our really short shorlist of two houses - shown to us by the only "professional" estate agent. She arranged for us to see the landlords and we decided to go for Anand Niketan. It is just across the road from the best parts of Delhi, has some really good schools around it and is not too far away from my parents.

More importantly, and so I hear, the locality has some Israeli nationals living there. "So there are a lot of plain-clothes Mossad men keeping an eye," a journalist friend whispered to us.

The place sure has a lot of guards, hired by individual house-owners - but I am yet to come across a Mossad man.