The Great Purge

Three years ago, my wife and I arrived in Minneapolis to start our new life in the mid-west after 2 ½ years in the Pacific Northwest.  We had built, lived in and sold a beautiful house in Oregon that was clearly too large for two people, but made perfect sense at the time (Doesn’t it always).  Over the time we lived there, we managed to fill the house with all sorts of things that we did not need, but, again, made perfect sense at the time.  When we left Oregon, we filled a 53-foot moving trailer from stem to stern. 

The Oregon Homestead

Upon arrival, we found the Minneapolis housing market markedly different than the Oregon housing market in both size and price.  We opted for a 1930s, Art Deco house in South Minneapolis that was less than half the size and twice the price of our Oregon homestead.  It also had quaint (read small) 1930s doors through which modern furniture does not easily fit (or fit at all).   The larger items found a home in the garage, while the more reasonable sized items made their way to various storage areas throughout the new house. 

The Minneapolis House

Over the next few years, we shifted and re-stuffed the remaining items into every corner of the house.  We also incessantly complained that homes built during the depression had no storage.  We even went as far as to have plans drawn up to renovate the basement and garage to add more storage.  One never knows when you might need some of this stuff, I rationed.  I mean, you just never know if VHS tapes will make a come-back and then, jeez, won’t I feel the rube for throwing out a perfectly good VCR?    

A few months ago, we were told we would be moving overseas.  The deal was that the company would provide a 1000lb air-shipment and a 20ft sea container.  Anything that did not make it on the aforementioned transport would be put into storage at my own expense.  “My Expense?” This was finally the motivation I needed to review the collection of “all things 1980s” which was my basement. 

In the basement, there were four major storage spaces: a backroom vault, a bottom of the stairs storage closet, an under-stair hideaway and 20 feet of wall space that was stacked up to the roof.   We hit it in earnest!  Over the next several weeks, we hauled 30+ bags/boxes to the local charity and filled so many garbage bags that we actually received warnings from the garbage collectors.  I found boxes from my move from Scotland that had not been opened since the move in 1992.  There was also a lot of “ah, that’s where that has been.”  It was pretty damn cathartic!     

Based on some early successes and the realization that the earth did not stop rotating when I threw out my boarding school economics paper and college accounting textbooks, we moved into the rest of the house.  We tackled the closets, makeshift storage spaces and all general areas that may be hiding potential loot for Goodwill.  Our purges were so extensive and efficient, Joseph Stalin himself would have been jealous.  By the time I left for India in June, we felt we had the situation under control.  Family, no need to worry, unlike some siblings, I will not be sending each one of you a package with crap I do not want (you know who you are).

The Container

Upon returning, we decided to take a more intense approach to the cleansing.  We went back through each room and re-evaluated everything.  This time, things that made the cut a few weeks ago with great deliberation were disposed of without thought.  The specter of paying to store this crap was becoming a reality and tough decisions needed to be made. This began another round of purges that took the last two weeks and culminated an additional 18 bags/boxes for charity and so many garbage bags it warranted another nasty note from the world’s wimpiest garbage men.

Our Accomplishment!

All in all, we arrived in Minnesota with 53-foot trailer and departed in a 20-foot container and 900lbs of storage.  Mission accomplished.  

Airshipment Away

Yesterday was a huge milestone in the process of moving overseas - the initial airshipment was packed and loaded.  We are given 1000lbs to airship in order to get some stuff in the flat to assist in living a normal life earlier in the process. The is a huge benefit, since the sea shipment can take as long as 6 weeks to arrive.  We have had a lot of angst over this shipment, since we had no idea how much 1000lb of our stuff really was.


Over the next two days, we went room to room organizing clothes and kitchen to ensure that we had prioritized all the right things to make our life easier upon returning to the subcontinent.  The trick is to pack all the essential items without handicapping yourself in the existing house for the next two weeks.  We moved clothes into specific airshipment designated closets and splayed out all the appropriate kitchen items on the dinning room table.  We checked and rechecked and prayed that we had not exceeded the allotted 1000lbs.


At 9:00am on the nose, the movers arrived.  We gave them the traditional tour of the items that would be packed.  There was a lot of writing and calculating until he looked up with a puzzled grin.  I re-walked him through the house until he was sure that he had rechecked everything.  "I think it is about 500lbs." he said, "just like the estimate."  500lbs!   Estimate - Smestimate!  I need 1000lbs of crap on that plane!  I asked if it would be OK just to keep packing until we reached the allotted weight.  He agreed, but said he needed more packing material and left to obtain more.  These guys were actually pretty cool!


The first guy continued to pack while the other guy went to get more material.  The guy was a packing machine.  He tore through the kitchen like Lindsey Lohan in a liquor store.  He did a great job of ensuring everything was packed properly, but at a lightning pace.  Clearly, not this guy's first rodeo.


Eventually, the other mover returned and we started the process of re-evaulating the house for more crap to pack.  We packed more dishes, more towels, more linens.  We packed the carpets, the winter clothes and pillows. It was like a scavenger hunt looking for treasures that would make our lives easier on the other end.  Finally, he called out that we had crossed north of 900lbs.  I was content that I was getting my money's worth and we called it a day.  


We signed a few papers, filled out the survey and the two guys left with our stuff.  As I stood on my stoop on that perfect 80 degree Minneapolis summer day, I thought to myself about the next time I would see my awesome toaster.   I pictured it on the counter in our new flat. My wife looking for the perfect place to put it as she lovingly begins to unpack. . . . and then my thoughts turned to me standing behind her desperately trying to get the air conditioner to cool the kitchen below 95 degree as sweat pours off my forehead.  I got a little depressed.  

Out of India

Tonight began the journey out of India.  It started innocently enough, leaving the apartment around 7:30pm for my 10:50pm flight to Newark. The traffic was light (remember everything is relative) and the air heavy with a mixture of humidity and exhaust.  A perfect Delhi evening.  I arrived at the airport right on time, unloaded the bags onto the trolley and began to make my way to the terminal.  That was the last semblance of sanity I remember. 

The Delhi airport is old, so old in fact that they have built a new one, but it sits idle next door unable to open due to some last minute, unforeseen oversights – like waterproofing the roof.  So we are still using the old one for now.  The old terminal is like any other built in the 1960s – a long semi-circle drive up, culminating with multiple doors leading into a single, large, dimly lit check-in area.  But, like all of India, things are not what they initially seem.

I pushed my trolley to the door in front of where I disembarked and was promptly stopped by the guard. He asked me what airline I was flying and I told him Continental. He grunted and spat out that I can not use his door.  Hum. After a brief pause, I point out that all doors lead to the same hall, but he remains undeterred by my logic (and actually looked slightly annoyed).  He simply pointed me towards the remaining battery of doors and sat back down with his newspaper.  Since none of the doors are actually marked in any way, you must go from door to door and repeat the experience until you find the correct door (Monte Hall would be so proud).  In retrospect it should have been easy to identify my door as while all the other doors were barren, there was one door with a massive mob scene around it.   

I pushed through the line and finally had my face to face with the guard.  He asked the usually qualifying airline question and then asked to see my ticket.  I explained that it was an eticket and that the woman sitting behind the counter probably has it.  He looked perplexed and asked see my itinerary.  I dug through my bag and finally produced it.  He confusingly looked over it for almost a minute and finally waved me through.  These are the little details that in India are so well thought through.  I have no idea how a terrorist could possibly get through this crack Indian security detail. I mean it is not everyone that could create a formatted itinerary on a plain sheet of paper on an everyday printer - that would take the skills of a master forger - or a 6 year old.  I felt much safer having been “screened.”

The next encounter with absurdity came as I approached the check-in desk.  About 5 yards in front of the desk, I was cut off by Continental's crack security team who are still asking who packed your bag and has it been in your possession the entire time.  I am so grateful that India still uses this tactic, as I totally forgot about the brick of C4 and remote detonator that was given to me by a strange mullah outside a mosque on the way to the airport.  I would have never suspected foul play, but Sanjeev’s evolved investigative skills alerted me to the potential danger.  Idiot!

After my encounter with Inspector Clouseau, I made my way up to the counter and handed over my passport.  The woman behind the counter did her check-in thing, but before the luggage could safely be conveyored away, Inspector Not-So-Bright reappears with paper luggage tags that must be filled out.  I explain that I already have fully completed paper luggage tags on my bags, but he insists that I must put these luggage tags on my check-in and carry on.  I asked him if they were magical luggage tags – he did not find this funny in the least.

So checked in, I walked over to passport control.  You need an exit form to leave India, so I stopped at the table filled out my formed and actually breezed through this area.  I was a little shocked, but decided not to celebrate too much as I needed to focus on the next challenge: security screening.  Surprisingly, this also was relatively painless.  As you pass through security, they stamp ‘Cleared” on your ticket and your magical luggage tag on your carry–on.  Other than that it is the usual removal of laptops, shoes, etc . Easy-peezy – lemon squeezy.  I passed though quickly and efficiently and was starting to feel sanity had returned.  This momentary feeling, though was shattered when I caught a glance of the business class lounge – tucked away in the corner on the backside of security. Yes, the lounge was thoughtfully located in the no-man’s land between security and passport control which meant I was on the wrong side of security.  Son-of-a-monkey!  Could have used that little piece of information at the check in counter instead of the lecture on magical baggage tags. 

I asked the security official how I get there.  He pointed me to a desk with a few more soldier/security guys. The security guy gave me a disgusted look, stamped my ticket cancelled, ripped my magic luggage tag off my bag and escorted me rather abruptly through the metal detector. 

About an hour later and many small potato wrap-thingys, the flight was called and I made my way down to the security line once again. Having just gone through this, I confidently pulled my laptop out of my bag, sent it through and waited on the other side.  This time, though, we had an issue.  As it came out, the guard asked me if I had any other electronic items in my bag, like a camera, cell phone, iPod? I said yes to all of the above (because that is where you put them since you cannot have them in your pockets).  Knowing when to keep my sarcastic mouth shut (I am a continuous learner), I began to silently disassemble my bag and put the items in the trays laid out in front of me.  As I opened each compartment, the vigilant guard continued to identify other high-risk items that needed to be removed like sunglasses, pens and the always dangerous crossword puzzle book.  He then sent the empty bag back though security, but never once checked any of the items pulled out (you know, the ones with all the electronic wiring in them).  Apparently the bag itself posed the security risk.  This evolution took almost 30 minutes and I was slowly edging into boiling point territory. 

After another 10 minutes of repacking, it was off to the gate .... kinda.  It took me a few minutes to find my gate as the sign said gates 1-7 to the left and 9-12 to the right.  I needed gate 8 which apparently can only been seen if you have the magical luggage tags.  I walked around in circles for a while and finally picked a direction.  It proved to be correct.  As I got closer to my gate, though,  I noticed there was a mob forming.  Boarding had begun and apparently it was not by rows.  I got in line only to discover that I was queuing for another, you guessed it, full security screening.  The entire plane had to pass though another baggage scan and metal detector, because apparently the anal probing Captain Punet gave us roughly 10 minutes ago proved inconclusive. Really?

I was finally through the most ridiculous airport security in world and was ready for 15 hours of lay-flat seat, business class comfort on my Continental flight as advertised.  I stepped into the cabin, only to find that we must have been part of an historic flight event, because I believe the plane was the first 777 in the Continental fleet – from 15 years ago when they were introduced.  No lay flat seats, no 20” TV, no huge partition between me and the rest of the plane.  These were the old type of seats that recline in a sort of a dentist-chair, not-quite-straight kind of way.  These little sadistic inventions feel like they were designed in a committee of Dr. Mengele, Pol Pot, and Lady Gaga.  They are just straight enough to lull you to sleep before you begin the great slide downward and in the process get your pants shoved up your ass in an atomic sized, global wedgy!  Anyone who has flown in these seats knows exactly about what I speak.  They are the scorn of the business class world and I had thought that all self-respecting carriers had banished them.  

I settled in, rather annoyed, but mostly relieved to put the Indira Gandhi international Airport Extravaganza behind me.  So relieved, in fact, that I was able to get 15 whole minutes of sleep!

Morning After - Update

The next day, I returned to the apartment to find that the hum continued its relentless mockery of my investigative skills.  I employed the help of Mr. Gupta the building superintendent (well, more like the landlord's man Friday) and the brother of the landlord who lives in the apartment beneath me.  The posse set out and investigated the entire building from top to bottom, but we found no trace of the noise outside my apartment.  


That night, through simple shear exhaustion, I was able to get some sleep, but not much and of no quality of which to speak.  The next morning, I called the landlord and she brought in the building Structural Engineer and Electrician to reconnoiter the building for the elusive source.  After an all day investigation, the two engineers finally discovered the source.


The way the buildings are set up in Delhi, water is brought in from the city into a large holding tank under the structure.  It is then pumped to the roof into individual tanks for each apartment.  These tanks are fairly large and sit on top of the elevator housing above the terrace.  Each tank, then, has a separate pump to assist the water pressure, so that you do not take a gravity-feed, drippy shower (this pump is unusual in Delhi, but was installed as an extra benefit).  Apparently, one of the pumps was stuck in the on position and was continuously running.  These pumps are very quiet, but this particular one sits right on one of the building's main support walls was not insulated.  The constant running of this pump and its uninsulated location combined to make the perfect amplification in my flat.


They have fixed the bad pump and insulated the fixture, so we should be good in the future.  When I returned from work that day, all you could hear was the faint sounds of Delhi gridlock and the growl in my stomach as I thought about returning to the US and eating a large steak!

The Morning After

As of this morning, I have officially spent 1 full night in my new apartment.  When you see newness in the excitement of the daylight, things tend to look a great deal better than in the middle of the night. They are snazzy, bright and full of hope.  It is only after you have had to spend a few hours alone with them in the darkness that you begin to question you ability to make good choices.   I believe this is how you can explain people who bought the Pontiac Aztek, David Hasselhoff’s stardom and the election of Barak Obama. 

First off, if I have not mentioned it, Delhi is dusty – really dusty.  This dust gets into everything.  If you leave you door open just for a moment, it will get into you home.  It is very typical to have your servants clean the floors twice a day.  You can image how much of this dust got into my flat while it was being worked on.  I believe none of it was ever removed. My mistake was I assumed that the apartment was cleaned, because it looked clean.  What tricked me was that all the floors are beige Italian marble and the dust in Delhi is roughly the same color. Indistinguishable until you do a lap in black socks – or should I say, formally black socks. 

I was determined, though, not to let this bother me.  After all, a Puja had just been preformed and all was right with the universe.  I choose a room and began setting up.  I am not sure if I mentioned that the third bag that caused me so much angst at the airport in Minneapolis was actually packed with an airbed.  The master plan was to get an apartment and move in before my return to Minnesota to ensure everything was in top working order for the arrival of my bride (Happy wife – happy transition).  In order to do this properly, I would need to actually sleep there.  I have moved around enough to know that you must plan for this, so I hauled a deluxe, queen size airbed and pillow from the Mid-West to the Sub-Continent.  Who of you just muttered, “that was actually pretty smart!”  No rookie here. 

Anyway, with no curtains to speak of, I choose the back bedroom with the small windows and began inflating my super deluxe new bed.  It has a self-contained pump and I brought a transformer, so it was up in less than 5 minutes.  It is so super deluxe, that it raises you about a foot and a half off the floor – just like a real bed. 

So with bed inflated, I crawled under the sheet for a restful slumber and closed my eyes to dream of seeing my wonderful wife in three days.  As I settle in, a slight hum began to make itself known.  You hear it slightly at first, but then for some reason the sound sticks to your ears like the orange coating from pizza goldfish.  I tried to ignore it, but it was just the right frequency to bug the crap out of you, so I got up to investigate.   I checked the air conditioner, the fan, and the bathroom.  No luck.  I then expanded the search to the rest of the flat.  Nothing, still.  I unplugged everything, switched off the outlets and even stepped outside to see if it may be originating from another building.  Nothing.  Frustrated, I climbed back on my pillow-topped balloon and tried to sleep.  It did not come – at all.  All night, I tossed and turned listening to the hum.  About 5:00am, I decided to do an ever more expanding search around the building.  Nada. 

Tired and frustrated, I realize that I am going to have to let this one go, because it is time to take my first shower.  For those of you who have never left the comforts of central air conditioning and a full-sized basement water heater, please let me explain how the rest of the world does things.  First of all, electricity is expensive everywhere outside of the US – really expensive.  To save money, everything in the home is set up in a decentralized manner. Each room will have its own air conditioner, outlets have switches on them and each bathroom has its own water heater.  Water heaters are the mother-of-all energy consumers, so you do not leave them on.  You turn them on only when you need them.  The rub is that this all takes planning, since one of these geysers (real name) takes about 30 minutes to get up to the right temp. 

The other element is air conditioning.  Whilst my bedroom had been cooled all night, the master-bedroom, in which I would like to take my shower (it is the only remotely clean bathroom) had not been.  My room was a temperate 78 degrees, while the rest of the flat was …. well …..  ass-sweat hot and humid.  This means that I was taking a lukewarm shower in a steambath.  What was the point?  To add insult to the already hot and sweaty injury, I had completely forgotten all bathing products in the hotel.  Winner, winner – chicken dinner!

So the flat is hot, the shower is not and I have no soap anyway.  I soooo wanted to just check back into my suite at the hotel and forgot I ever agreed to come to India. 

Welcome to my first night in my new cage!

The Puja

Last night I moved in with all the Hindu glory of assuming residence of a new place.  We conducted the traditional Puja exactly at 6:00pm as designated by the Hindu Priest conducting the ceremony.  The Puja is a traditional Indian ceremony that is performed in a new dwelling to ensure health, happiness and prosperity.   I had no idea what to expect, but I never imagined that I would be part of the main event. 

The Puja began with me sitting cross-legged on a mat of straw in front of an elaborately decorated framed painting of the appropriate god..  Around her was a garland of jasmine and roses.  To the left there was a swastika (not the Nazi one, but one with the points reversed) made of white sand surrounded by a jasmine garland in the shape of a square with roses decorating the inside in a symmetrically pattern.  There were plates of fruits, mangos, bananas and coconuts, as well as a lantern set squarely in front of me.  Behind me. my guests we also seated on mats and the entire scene looked like something out of a Bollywood movie. 

It begins with some instruction

I begin with lighting and placing the lantern

The actual ceremony began with me lighting the lantern and placing it in the middle of the swastika as the two priests on either side of me began to chant.  I must admit that these two priests in an empty room of blank walls and marble made a sound that you cannot describe.  It was like something from the travel channel.  The attached video does not do it justice.  The main priest on my left had a deep and raspy voice that made the walls vibrate.  It was pretty incredible.  For my part, I mostly threw rose pedals at the picture when signaled.  There was the occasional water drinking and offerings of other types, but mostly I waiting for the priest to put rose peddles in my hand and I threw them. About 30 minutes through the ceremony, the priest said to me that for the next 25 minutes he was going to chant the incarnations of the aforementioned god.  By this time, my legs had actually gone to sleep and most motor functions in my feet had ceased operation.  He stressed that it was important to meditate to the chat.  I squirmed a little, got the blood moving and was ready for the last 25 minutes of the most intense chanting I have ever heard.  Both priest chanted, sometimes together, sometimes differently, but always in perfect harmony.  I was so mesmerized by it, I actually forgot I had no feeling in either of my legs.

More instruction

The chanting begins

This continued for abut 25 minutes

The ceremony ended with a large plate of orange gruel-like stuff (again, I am sure there is a more technical name) being carved up and spooned into the right hand of all the attendees.  For what was left, I needed to roam the neighborhood and offer the orange stuff to all that crossed my path.  Apparently, everyone knows the orange stuff, as in short order, I had a line of workers, servants and neighbors on the street waiting for a spoonful of orange goodness.

The icon and all the flowers need to stay in the location for 24 hours.  I will need clean it up tomorrow night and sprinkle the flowers around a “people tree.”  The “people tree” is a tree that emits more oxygen than any other, but a night emits carbon dioxide, so you are not supposed to sleep under it.  In the mean time, the apartment smells of jasmine and roses and that alone should give it positive energy!

Sightseeing in Hell

We had some visitors from HQ on Friday.  Actually, the guy that came over used to work for me and was following up on some business that we had started in my old role.  He is a good guy and an adventurous traveler.  We visited a factory on Friday and, it being his first visit to Delhi, asked if we could sightsee on Saturday before his flight left at 11:30pm.

All flights to anywhere out of India leave in the middle of the night.  Flights to the US need to catch their European connections in the mid-morning and flights to Asia fly overnight.  It just is the way it is.  Because all flights leave at these ungodly hours, hotels will actually allow you to book a half day until 9:00pm.  It does not, though, cost you half of a full day, but more like 3/4 of a normal room rate.

So anyway, his flight was not until freak'n midnight, so we had the entire day to tool around Delhi.  I warned him that he might not want to do this as it is averaging close to 100 degrees with humidity in the 90% range, but this may be his only time to come to Delhi, so off we went.

There were four of us.  The aforementioned Product Manager from America, my Sourcing Managing (who was to be our guide), a Sourcing Director from our China office and me.  We set off around 9:00am into an already inferno-like morning.

We started off with Qutb Minar.  This is a huge tower that was started in the 1193 by one of the 1st muslim rulers of India, but took roughly 200 years to complete.  It stands 237 feet and is the worlds largest brick structure.  Pretty cool, eh?  The tower stands in a complex that dates back even further than the tower and there are some unbelievable ruins to see.  We spent about 30 minutes roaming around the area until the heat got to us and we retreated to the air conditioned car.

Qutb Minar 

The Iron Pillar of Delhi - has withstood 1600 years without any rust!

Thirty minutes in the Delhi sun.  This does not sound like much, but it can do serious damage if left unchecked.  I, being of sound mind and no hair, never leave the house without sunscreen and a hat, but my fellow travelers underestimated satan's little grow-lamp and by the time we returned to the car they were already showing signs of good old fashion burning.  I offered my lotion and we got back on track.

The next stop was Delhi Haat.  This is a cool little market full of crafts from around India.  Each artist is from a different part of India and their crafts reflect the workmanship and materials from that region. There are paper mache animals, marble candle holders, and sandalwood..... well .... sandalwood everything. This is the best place to by your Hindu Icons like Ganesha (man body, elephant head).  It is not really expensive and everything is negotiable.  We tooled around there for about an hour and set off for Old Delhi.

Old Delhi has been around since the 1600s and has not really changed all that much.  it is a very compact city with tiny alleyways lined with shops that sell everything from spices to clothes.  There are a few notable mosques in the area, as well as a very famous fort, the Red Fort. The city is surrounded by a wall and entry is limited by the gates as it was 400 years ago.  The main reason people come to Old Delhi, though, is for the food.  This is a foodies cornucopia.  You can get everything here and it is as authentic as it gets.  Tourist should be leery as authentic in these parts can translate to blowing mud for a week - they call it Delhi Belly and it is real.

Renting rickshaws is the only way to see Old Delhi.  When I say it is the only way to see Old Delhi, I do not mean, "it is the best experience, don't miss it."  I actually mean it is the only means of transportation available if you want to cover any ground in this part of the city.  The streets are too narrow for anything else.  A rickshaw is basically a bicycle attached to a cart on which you sit - and not comfortably I may add.  This is not for the faint of heart, but is really a great adventure - albeit not in 100 degree heat.

Riding through Old Delhi on my rickshaw

Apparently even a rickshaw is too big for some streets

Anyway we rented two of these contraptions for the entire afternoon for roughly $6.50.  They would take us to each sight and wait patiently outside as we toured the many great sights of Old Delhi.  We went to a mosque, rode through the narrow alleys, ate a great meal and saw the Red Fort.  We arrived at the Red Fort around 2:00pm just as the heat was at its worst.  I was really hoping to find a place with no shade to stand in a security line for 45 minutes in 100 degree heat!  The Fort is really interesting, though, and would be worth another visit in, lets say, November.  It was built in the 17th century and was used by everyone that invaded Delhi, including the British.  If it were not a gagillion degrees, I might have actually enjoyed it, but by the time we got through security I could actually feel the sweat running from my neck all the way down my leg.  We all had reached our limit for the heat and after about 30 minutes of perusing the fort, made a Bee-line for the car.

Red Fort

It was the hottest, most uncomfortable day I had ever spent outside.  The day was so hot that Delhi set power consumption records and tripped two power stations from the overuse.  It was hell on earth, but an interesting hell, never the less.

Appliances

As I referenced in the last blog, we stopped en route to the final apartment summit to look at appliances. I think I may mentioned this, but in Delhi, an unfurnished apartment has nothing in it.  No refrigerator, no appliances, nothing.  Typically, they do not even have light fixtures or air conditioning installed.  One of the huge bonuses of this place was that the air conditioners (and lights) were installed and the kitchen had the minimum requirements including a cooktop.  I only had to supply the refrigerator, oven, microwave, water purifier, dishwasher, and washing machine.  So basically, all the really expensive bits of a good kitchen remodel.  


Delhi's shopping is divided into markets which, for the most part, specialize in specific products.  There is a market for clothing, a market for fabric, a market for home furnishings, a market for weddings and, of course, a market for appliances.  


There are actually a few markets for appliances, but we went to the one Amrita, the consultant, felt would give us the best price.  We started off in the brand showrooms which is the process here.  These are shops that are sponsored by a particular brand and have all the products from said brand - from TVs to dishwashers to irons.  All the big names are in India, Samsung, LG, Whirlpool, but there are some lessor known brands, as well.  One uses these larger stores to get a feel for what is out there (in the absence of an Indian Consumer Report), but they do not really negotiate deeply, so they tend to be more expensive than the local shops.  You always have the malls, though, but you will pay 20% more without a doubt. 


So, we looked at the Samsung, Miele and LG showroom and I got an idea of what I needed and what I would be paying.  It was not pretty, but cheaper than eating out for 2 years. Appliances here are roughly 60-100% higher than what you would pay in the states.  A basic microwave is roughly $200 and an electric kettle will set you back about $80.  As well, some of the items that we take for granted are rare and outragously expensive here.  A very basic refrigerator with one crisper drawer is roughly $800, but if you want the fancy features insides, you just moved yourself into the $1200+ range.  The big price move, though, is from a two door (freezer on top) to a side-by-side.  The same features in a side by side will cast you 1/3 more just for the design.  Needless to say, we went for a basic fridge.


The washing machine is another gem.  There is no room to put a dryer in a Delhi apartment, so most people hang their clothes to dry.  If you want a dryer, you need to buy a combo washer/dryer that washes, then changes the cycle to dry.  There are only two companies that have this product available in Delhi, LG and Miele and the Miele combo is $5000.  So we went with the LG.  Ironically, it looks the same as the LG we have our basement currently.  Right now, they only sell the larger 9kg LG combo in India, but the smaller one, 6kg, will be available on July 14th.  I plunked down my money to hold it and it should be delivered before I leave.  


I decided to hold off on the oven until the boss arrives, so that she could help with the decision making processes.  You have two options - you can go with a separate oven and microwave or you can go with a convention microwave.  The latter is a neat little gadget that allows you to cook as a separate oven or microwave or combine them to cook more quickly with the ability to brown.  As well, some of the nicer models have halogen heating elements (radiant heat) which are very quick and efficient (no preheating).  One actually has a feature that you can scan the barcode of the product and it knows exactly how to cook it.  These ain't cheap, though, so we will see what the wife wants. 


So I picked out my products and went to pay. I whipped out my credit card and received a big, fat and slightly embarrassing - Denied!   I so should have seen this one coming.  I may have forgot to tell the credit card company that I was moving to India and apparently a few thousand dollar charge from a developing nation sends up some flags.  I would be disappointed if it didn't.  I called the number on the back of the card and walked through the 450 automated menus until I finally got a human (who was probably in the building next to me).  I told him the issue and we went through the obligatory 50 questions to verify who I was.  Then, in the interest of customer service he decided this was a great time to update my personal information.  I took the first couple questions in stride, but when we got to the mailing address and would it be OK if he sent me Credit Card offers, I snapped.  I loudly explained to him that I was in an appliance shop in New Delhi India, it was 109 degrees and I was on a cell phone.  I wanted to buy my appliances and go home.  His response? -  "I totally understand sir, there are only a few more questions."  Really, that was the answer! "Are you trying to piss me off," I retorted.   I asked to speak to a supervisor which I thought would help, but only drew out the process.  The supervisor, adding insult to injury, wanted to review my last 5 purchases to ensure they were legitimate.  Finally, the ordeal ended and the card was cleared.  A nasty email to Capital One will be forthcoming.  


In the end I bought the appliances and went home to take a well needed shower. 


Another check off my list.  

The Apartment - The Final Chapter

Wednesday morning arrived like a long anticipated stone being passed:  I knew it was going to be a long day; I knew it was going to hurt; but I knew I would be relieved when it was over.  I checked my email and was pleased to find that our legal team had finished their changes to the lease and my company had authorized the local office to do everything in its power to make this happen.  This was great news.   Everything we could do on our end was done.  There was a brief moment of euphoria and then the feeling of utter helplessness as I realized that the fate of my living quarters now rested on the shoulders of the local, outsourced relocation team.   

The way it works is that the relocation company is hired by my company to act on behalf on me.  They collect a set fee for each client and are supposed to ensure that everything stays above board and moves forward expeditiously.  They, in turn, have contract consultants that spend their time in the field liaising between the clients and the local realtors. They set up the appointments, manage the paperwork and look out for the general well-being of the client.  As well, they will ensure all services (gas, electric, etc) are hooked up, take you shopping for appliances and furnishings, orient you to the city and even take your wife shopping for appropriate, local clothes if needed (and it is usually needed when foreigners come to India).  Mostly, though, the consultant is the overseer of all communications.  Every move we make is recorded, signed and sent to a litany of people from both the relocation company and my company.  


The final piece of this cryptogram is the realtor.  They serve the traditional purpose of a real estate agent - both the good and the bad!  In India, agents only show properties which they have listed, so you need a multitude of agents to see all the properties in Delhi.  This is not for the weak, as no matter what you tell them you want, they will try to show you their entire listing.  The realtor is also the only one who can communicate with the landlord directly as anyone else would surely only be doing so to usurp their commission.  

So first thing upon arriving in the office, I started off the most unbelievable paper trail in the history of paper trails.  I sent the draft of the lease to my consultant, Amrita, who then forwarded it to all the appropriate people in the communication chain.... including back to me and my HR director from whom I received it in the first place.  The relocation company then reviewed the lease and forwarded it to the realtor who also reviewed it.  The relator forwarded it to the landlord who does a read-through and makes any changes she feels is appropriate.  She, then, sent it back to the realtor and .......  you get the picture.  Not Expeditious!  


And so it goes, from 9:00am until noon.  Finally, a draft that we made is approved by the landlord.  The unchanged draft, though, still has to be returned to the drafter who will approve the draft that they originally created - even though no actual changes have been made.  Holy Crap!

The highlight (read: most absurd evolution) of the entire process was that every legal document in India needs the father's name on it.   Yes, something so simple -  yet in India is a major component of every legal proceeding - including getting a visa.  Every document, from a lease to enrolling you children in school requires verification of your father's name.  My situation really threw them as both my father and I have the same name.  This is nonsensical to Indians.  What kind of a nut would name their kid the same name?  How would you call one and not get both to answer? Even through we have different suffixes, people really struggled with this.  I got calls from my HR team, the consultant, the relocation company and the realtor about this. It had to be verified ad re-verified at least 7 times. They could not get past that it was not a typo.  Oy Vey!

Once the lease was approved, the realtor had to go to the local certified, stamped paper shop (I am sure there is a technical name for it) and buy stamped paper.  This is the legal paper on which all leases must be printed.  It basically has an official and registered stamp embedded into the first page.  The lease is logged into a journal with the names of the participants and the stamp number.   The lease is then printed on this special paper and is ready for signing!

So, we finally got everyone's approvals, the lease was printed on the stamped paper and we were off to the apartment for the lease signing.  After a few stops to look at some household appliances (that will require its own blog entry), we arrived at the apartment for the lease signing. It was now 5:30pm.  In attendance was the landlord, the realtor, the consultant and myself.  There were two copies of the lease which was only about 10 pages.   Both the landlord and I had to sign at the bottom of every page and the appropriate signature boxes, while the realtor and consultant had to sign as witnesses. This took all but 2 minutes and we were done.  


I had my apartment!


Below are some additional photos of our new place 

Our private rooftop terrace - in the distance the new stadium for the Commonwealth Games in October

Master Bedroom closet - all drawers lock and there is a built-in safe in the box on the left

Guest Bath - lots of cabinets and drawers.  This will no doubt be my bathroom

Guest Shower - Note the hose on the side of the toilet (an Indian style bidet).  I'll stick with paper

Master Bath

View from the Master Bedroom - I should probably get curtains sooner than later

Large living room - to put it in perspective, that is a 40" TV

The study - but it too has its own full bath

Monsoons Have Arrived

In India, there are six seasons of which I have experienced two, Grishma which I believe is Hindu for "Welcome to hell on Earth" and the newest arrival, Varsha, or Monsoon. When you grow up in a western, temperate climate, you have images of a monsoon - high winds, endless, driving rains, flooding and mudslides, but you would be wrong - the winds are not really that high.  The rest, though, is pretty spot on.

So on Sunday, the monsoons arrived.  The rain was so hard on Sunday morning, it actually woke me up.  It beat against the glass for several hours until it finally let up around noon.  By that time, the unbelievable dry land (remember it has been 110 degrees for two months with no rain) completely rejected the water and instead created huge lakes throughout the city.  For a city that gets hit with this every year, you would think they would have install some drains.  It would be like Minneapolis not buying snowplows and then each winter wondering when the road were impassable.  Ridicules! This also makes the already challenging traffic even more so, because it closes down entire lanes with flooding chocking the over-taxed thoroughfares even further.  A good monsoon can turn a 20 minute commute into a 3 hour affair.

I am learning that everything in India is a compromise and the monsoons are no different. The rains bring three great benefits to the city.  The first is they wash all the dirt and grim of the previous two months away.  All the dust and pollution that has lingered in the air is gone and, although I would not say that there is a rain-fresh scent in the air, the sky does seem a little more clear.

The second is the the rain has electrified the city's foliage back to life.  Delhi actually has a great deal of green space thanks to the British. Most streets are treelined and the city has an overabundance of parks.  About a week ago, I was wondering if they were going to make it.  They looked droopy and dirty.  The trees along the streets were lifeless and desperate.  The grass in the parks were brown and the flower beds were bare.  In two days of rain, the city's greenery has recovered and the city looks almost flush.

The last benefit is that the rains lower the temperature significantly.  Today barely broke 90.  That is a twenty degree difference from a week ago.  This is also where the compromise comes in.  While 109 degrees is hot, it was a dry hot (like your oven).  Humidity levels hovered around 20% - Arizona style.  With the rain comes the humidity.  After the deluge, the sun likes to pop itself out for a few hours and bake the groundwater into a wonderful, steamy funk.  Although we are grateful for the cooler temperatures, 90 degrees is still freak'n hot!  And so, India plays another cruel game and rather than simply cooking us, she is now going to steam us to death!

I gleefully await the onset of Sharat, the next season, in September!

The Apartment - One Step Closer

So Monday finally rolled around!  For 24+ hours I have been vexing over this damn apartment.  Will the landlord go with the Germans?  Will we get into a bidding war?  Will I have to go back out into the heat and look for more apartments?  Ugh!  That makes for a long Sunday.

Anyway, Monday morning rolled around and I called my agent to tell her that I would be willing to wire money personally while my company processes what it need to process.  I told her that I have no issue wiring a token sum or if needed, the entire security deposit (which is 4 months rent).  Whatever it would take to secure this property.  She called the landlord and came to an agreement that a token sum would be enough, but it would need to be in the form of a check and needed to be delivered to her by 5:00pm.  Hum, a check.

I hesitantly called my Director of Finance and explained the situation.  He smiled at me like I was an idiot for thinking this was an issue and went to cut the check.  This guy rocks!  Ten minutes later, I had the check in my hand and the driver pulling the car around.  We were off.

I arrived at the apartment about 20 minutes later to an army of workers around the very large back-up generator.  This may need a little explaining.  You see, power is a luxury in India and even in the more modern cities such as Delhi, a constant flow of electricity is not guaranteed.  As a matter of fact, the power goes off in the office roughly 3-4 times a day.  How you get around this is having either an interverter or a back-up generator.  In inverter is a battery back-up that will recharge off of the normal power (when it is on).  The upside to an inverter is it requires no maintenance or fuel and is completely silent.  The downside is that it will only run a few emergency lights - not your air conditioning (remember it is 109 degrees here). The generator, on the other hand, will run everything in your apartment for as long as you put gas in it.  The downside is it requires maintenance like any gas powered apparatus and it can be loud.  Typically, if you want a generator, you have to buy it, install it and maintain it yourself.  The good ones are large and expensive.   One of the reasons that I really liked this apartment was that the landlord had installed a ginormous generator for the entire building on the ground floor that she would maintain.  A serious bonus.

So I arrived at the apartment with an army of workers huddled around the generator with tools.  Hum, I thought, they are probably working on the generator ..... and then got in the electricity powered elevator.   I am usually pretty good and putting two and two together and being alert for little signs of trouble, but my myopic focus on getting this apartment got the best of me.  Up I go - floor one, floor two, floor three, floor .... power out!  Mother-puss-buckets!  The added benefit is that with the power goes the air.  It is amazing how quickly that little space heats up.  Luckily, the elevator has an emergency sequence that kicks in after about 10 minutes and it returns silently to the ground floor and with the last ounce of stored power opens the doors.  Very reassuring, because the thing is 2x2 and I was getting a little claustrophobic.

So I trudged up the 5 floors (again, the apartment is on the 4th floor, but the 1st floor is the technically the ground floor) and find the landlord.  To my surprise, she is genuinely happy to see me.  She wanted to rent the apartment to me, but the German's agent had been calling her every 10 minutes since 9am slowly wearing down her resistance.  She actually showed me the call log on the phone - apparently, they were in a bit of a panic over losing the property and having to start the search all over again (I can relate and feel a tab bit sorry for them, but you schlaf, you lose!).  With the deposit, though, she was now, with a degree of comfort, able to send them on their way and stop the madness.

And so it is done.  Well, almost done.  The lease now has to go back to my company and be approved by the lawyers and security has to vet the location.  We has asked for this to be expedited, because if the landlord does not get the lease back in a timely manner, she may change her mind.

And so we wait......

Happy 4th of July!

A few days ago, I registered with the US Embassy here to ensure that in case of civil revolution, natural disaster or other miscellaneous insurrections, they would find me and whisk me to safety (this is the same Government that recently announced issuing unemployment checks was the best way to stimulate the economy, so I am not putting too much stock in them saving me).  We do have a private security service that will actually do the aforementioned, but I thought the more the merrier.

Anyway, after I registered, the website sent me to the local embassy website.  On it, there was a bit about a 4th of July party at the American Center.  The photos from last year look encouraging and it promised food - which I am always up for.  I envisioned a small gathering of State Department Officials and ex-pats discoursing on all the aspects of living in India.  More importantly, I imagined beef and beer.  I am learning quickly to manage my expectations.

I arrived at the American Center around 8:00pm to a cacophony of music and people emanating from behind the wall.  The security that was tighter than most airports.  I had to show a photo idea, go through a metal detector, get wanded and patted down.  I went through the vertical steel turnstile into a massive crowd of ........ Indians.  There was nary an American to be found - just hundreds of Indians.  There was no beer and there certainly was no beef!  Apparently, this little gathering was for the Indians, not Americans.  The entire shin-dig was to build better relations with the local population.  Crap!

After getting over my initial beef-disappointment, I realized that this was a really interesting opportunity to watch Indians en mass in an element that was not entirely their own (to be honest, it is not like I had anything else to do).  The American Center has a large, secure, courtyard within the gates that is about the size of half a football field.  At one end, they had a Country and Western Band which was playing some older, twangy country music and at the other side was free Domino's pizza (exactly the image we would like to project overseas).  In between, a throng of Indians meandering between the two areas.  It was hot and humid (shocker), but there were huge fans with spritzers which were actually keeping the area relatively comfortable.  Relatively!

I thought I would brave the mob around the pizza, as I had not had dinner in anticipation of copious amount of beef.  The poor people serving the Pizza were desperately trying to keep the crowd in 4 orderly lines, but these are Indians and the idea of an orderly line makes no sense to them.  Time and time again, a group would push in sideways only to be rejected by the server and told to go to the back of the line.  The "cutters" would get a confused look and just stand there.  The servers would then serve around them for a few slices until they got the messages and the "cutters" would vacate.  This went on for an hour until all the pizza was gone.  By the way, Indians love pizza.

I hung around for about an hour observing this mini circus. You could not turn away - hundreds of Indians shuttling between the pizza mob and the country music. It was as odd as seeing a Brit with a full set of teeth. Finally, the pizza ran out and the place cleared out with an unusual efficiency leaving only some Indian Country Music fans and some low-level State Department personnel.

Happy 4th of July from India!

House Hunting - Day 3 (the limit is reached)

Another day out in the sweltering heat looking for someplace to live.  I am really starting to hate this process.  It is the same drill. I am dragged through 30 apartments of which I like 0.  It is hot - waiting for the key to come is hot, the stairwell to the apartment is hot, the apartment is hot, and then we reverse the process back to the car.  You do this 30 or 40 times in 109 degree heat and you start wondering what you were complaining about this winter while standing in a -30 snow storm.  How I long for the Minnesota winters!

Today, though, we actually found an apartment that was, well, pretty damn awesome.  It was a total rebuild from the ground up and was done tastefully.  The landlord is the wife of an Indian Diplomat who has just returned from the US.  She is very familiar with my company (It sometime works in my favor to work for an awesome company) and understood the needs of expats.  The place was about 2000 square feet, very modern, great kitchen with a place for an oven.  Not actually installed, but a place for it.  I about fell over.  It has 3 large bedrooms all with their own very well appointed bathrooms and a 4th 1/2 bath in the main hall.  The bedrooms all had built in wardrobes and curtain rods already installed.  There was even an honest to goodness linen closet.  The kicker was that it comes with its own private terrace on the roof.  So when do I move it, right?

Note the clean lines - something rarely seem in Delhi

The is a hole for a dishwasher under the counter on the right and two shelves for a microwave and a regular oven on the left

An actual bath tube - without mold!

Well remember this is India, so nothing is as simple as it seems.  Apparently, there is a German family that also like the place and had spoken to the landlord earlier in the week.  They had not, though, given a commitment.  Apparently, this is a serious mistake.  I spoke with the landlord and gave her my personal guarantee that we would be processing the paperwork ASAP and I am 100% committed to making this happen (I was very convincing).  Since she does not know me from Adam, my personal guarantee is worth about as much as Obama's plan to recover the economy - Nothing, Nil, Nada!  Rupees (the Indian currency) on the other hand, works wonders for closing a deal (I would need roughly $8000 worth which I have currently $198 worth).  Although she looked me straight in the eyes and said it was mine, I believe the race is on.  This is an extremely desirable apartment is one of Delhi's most prestigious neighborhoods and these Germans are not going to go quietly.  They never do.    

So, starting Monday, it is me against the Germans in a fight to the death over the Best Apartment Ever! (And me never having to go out and look for an apartment again - dare to dream.)

My Morning

I have been here a week and am getting into a routine.  I get up at 6:00am, go for a little walk, come back to the room and take a shower and shave.  I put on the same khakis and polo shirt and wonder over to the breakfast lounge.

The breakfast lounge is set up as a mini buffet, so that in theory you can come in a grab what you need quickly and get back to whatever it is you do.  This is India, though, so there is a slight deviation.  I approach the buffet plate in hand, but every time I reach for something, the item is snagged before I can get it and placed on my plate.  So much for self-service.  I ask for decaf coffee (more to distract them, but they do make a mean cup of Joe!), I get some fruit, a piece of toast (which I am apparently unable to toast myself due to the high degree of difficulty in toasting) and whatever flavor of yogurt they are serving.  I eat my breakfast while watching the BCC news and meander back to the room.  It is at this point, that I must get dressed for the day.  I suit up, put on the tie and wait for the call.

At 8:05 sharp, Munna, the driver, calls and tells me he is here.  The ring used to scare the crap out of me, because when you live alone and something breaks the silence of your own thoughts, it can be a bit jarring.  I have since changed his ringtone to something soothing, so I remain zen with my morning.

I exit the room, down the hall and take the elevator to the ground floor.  The lobby at 8:00am is still just waking up from the night.  Indians are not morning people and getting up any time before 7:30 is a serious violation of national pride.  Anyway, I trek through the lobby to a symphony of "good morning, Mr. Wood" and "did you sleep well, Mr. Wood?" with the all too prevalent "is there anything we can get you Mr. Wood?" Enough already!  I step out into the morning heat (yes, at 8:00am it is just rounding 90) and Munna darts out of his parking place and pulls up lining the back door directly and efficiently to where I am standing.

Now comes the Indian part.  Each morning, Kaptan, the door man, who is dressed like a Sikh warrior, sports a huge handlebar mustache and is about 6'5" attempts to open and car door for me while Munna, 5'6  and 100 lbs wet, comes running around the car to do the same.  Kaptan always gets it done before Munna can clear the back of the car, but you have to admire his persistence.  He has been doing this for a week with no sign of yielding to the large door warrior.

My car is a Ford Endeavor.  This is an Explorer sized SUV,  but slightly better looking and doesn't flip from having the wrong tires.  It is white with tan leather interior and is quite comfortable, if not a tab bit bumpy.  Understand, this is no car chassis with a large body on it as many American SUV have become.  This is the real deal - a truck with 4 wheel drive, safari suspension and a big diesel engine. Whoa!  While other executives are whisked around Delhi in their wimpy Toyota vans, I have been equipped with a tank (thanks to our crack corporate security team - safety first!)  There are advantages, though, to having such a vehicle outside of the obvious (the obvious being the need to drive to Bhutan).  You sit up high and people get the f@#k out of your way!  Both of these are really comforting to have in Delhi traffic.

Munna sprinting around the truck to get the door open before I arrive!

Check out the safari roof-rack and running boards - Oh yea!

Anyway, I climb (I literally mean climb - there is a running board and I have to use it) in the back seat and Munna and I are off to the office.  I greet him with a "how are you this morning?" which usually sends him into a panic for and answer as Munna does not speak great English.  He stutters for a few seconds and retorts with "good sir, and you?"  I answer "good" and we are off!

The drive to work is not bad from the Hotel.  Peak traffic does not really kick up until 8:45am, so we miss most of the drama in the morning.  There is still more traffic than most major cities see during their rush hours, but I am learning everything in Delhi is given in degrees.  Relative to peak traffic, Munna and I do not see much traffic.

We arrive at the office about 20 minutes later where we pull up to the front door and Munna jumps out to get my door before I can open it.  Sometimes I fiddle around with my ID badge a little to give him a fighting chance.  The first couple mornings, I tried to take my briefcase with me, but Munna would have none of that.  Now I just leave it on the seat and Munna magically appears with it 10 minutes later in my office doorway.

I enter the building and the entire reception area stands and greets me with more "good morning, Mr Wood." The guards actually pop to attention, picking up a leg and slamming it down in the British Army style salute.  Very impressive.  So I get on the elevator and go to the 2nd floor (which is actually the 3rd floor, because the 1st floor is the ground floor).  I arrive at my office reception to more of the same saluting, standing and door opening.   I finally arrive in my office and can relax...... not quite!

As I settle in, Denesh, the Chaiwalla, awkwardly approaches the threshold of the door to find out what my morning drink will be. He seems genuinely scared of entering my office and it always occurs to me to jump out of my chair and scare the crap out of him.  I am afraid, though, he would actually poop his pants, so I order a decaf coffee instead.  He scurries off to exceed my expectations.

The final evolution of my morning is the arrival if Ambika, my secretary.  She arrives around 9:00 with a big smile and comes in to see if I need anything to start off the day.  At this point, I have nothing, so we chat for a minute and she returns to her desk.

I am finally alone!