Sad Day in India

Last Wednesday night, Olga left for the US to begin working again at least for a few months.  We had discussed the option of her returning a few months back, but the plan never seemed real until roughly last Monday and then it seemed all too real.


When we decided to come to India, Olga left her job on a 1 year Leave of Absence.  Really not knowing how this opportunity would unfold, we wanted to take all the precautions necessary to ensure that if we needed to make a speedy getaway, we had something on which to fall back.  After a year, we still are not sure, so it seemed prudent for Olga to return to work for a few months and earn another year's worth of Leave of Absence.  Now her LOA and my contract will expire together giving us the flexibility to make the right decision for our next assignment.


This all is logical and makes perfect sense on paper, but as we were driving to the airport for her flight to freedom, it made less sense to me.  India is a hard assignment. You have the people, the heat and general craziness that surrounds you every day, but the one thing that keeps you going is knowing that your best friend was always waiting at home to listen to your crazy stories and frustrated tales.


As I look at the next three months, these will be the hardest for me in India. Although my routine does not necessarily change too drastically - work, swim, eat, sleep - it will be a lot less fun without someone to share the agony.  Misery loves company and I do love the company I married!

Car - The Saga Continues

As I always say, nothing in India is what first appears to be. We got the car back on a Monday and Kailash, wisely, drove directly home to pick up my wife for her "errands." A few hours later, my assistant charily came into my office to inform me that the air conditioning in the car had ceased to work on the way back to the office.



I was incensed. It is 115 degrees and the car has no air? You must be joking!  The car just came back from service! Ugh!!! My decisions were either ride in the car for the 30 minutes home in the heat or take a taxi with the intoxicating smell of unwiped ass. Have I mentioned that I am “living the dream?”


I opted for the heat and we set off for home. Now, I am old enough to remember cars without air conditioning. As a matter of fact, I owned one in college (a 1980 Renault 5 – otherwise known as the LeCar). I remember being hot, but I also remember that when you rolled down the windows, the breeze was usually sufficient to keep you relatively comfortable. Armed with these memories, I climbed into my car.


Within 2 minutes I knew I had made a gross miscalculation. Even though I lived a summer with my Renault in Washington DC which is known for the stiflingly hot summers, Washington is not New Delhi. At 120 degrees, the breeze coming through the window is so hot that it feels like standing in front of a hairdryer on full heat. It actually burns your nose as it rushes past your face creating an infernal tempest within the vehicle. It is simply not possible to drive with the windows down. By the time I reached home, I not only had to remove my tie, but I had taken off my shirt and was soaked through my undershirt.


Having had enough of that, I opted the next morning for the taxi whilst my driver took the car in to the shop, Harpreet Ford. With my limited, albeit not completely useless, knowledge of engines cultivated over many hours stuck in the middle of Chautauqua Lake with a dead motor, I deducted that we were probably having belt issues - my biggest clue was the screeching of the belt every time the air conditioner was turned on.


About 11:00am the report came in from the driver that the workshop had identified the compressor as the issue and it would need replaced. This was a major part and it would need to be ordered. The car would need to be in the shop for a least three additional days. I asked the driver to insist on having the belts tightened before we committed to a new compressor and, interestingly enough, after the workshop reluctantly did the work, the air conditioner sprung back to life. Hum? The Workshop, though, was still adamant that the compressor was the culprit and tried desperately to convince Kailash that after several hours it would again fail rendering the air conditioner useless. I ordered the car back to the office, post haste.


A few days later the belts began to squeal again, but the air conditioner continued to work, so we used the car through the weekend and sent it to another Ford workshop, NCR Ford, across town on Monday. They not only confirmed that the compressor was fine, but they discovered that the wrong belts had been installed during the service and this was the root of the problem. I now boiled over... quite literally!


I found out the name of the Managing Director of Ford in India, as well as the financial group that owned the dealership and workshop and sent two scathing emails about unethical behavior and brand reputation. I received an immediate response from both, as well as a call from the workshop manager a few minutes later. Apparently the arrow hit its mark.


This is India, though, so you almost never get the response you anticipate. The manager was acrimonious in his tone and completely obstinate in his position that the compressor was the issue. He was basically doubling down on the lie. I asked him to explain the wrong belts and why the air conditioner has worked flawlessly since the car left the shop, but he was unyielding in his answers. He actually told me to come down and replace the compressor and this would prove that he was right. Apparently in his world, replacing a good part with another good part to solve a problem that no longer exists is proof that his solution was correct in the first place. There is definitely a village in India missing their idiot! In the end, we opted not to replace the compressor and the car has been running fine for the last week. 


I still, though, have one more email to draft to Ford and the financial group describing the service manager's response, attitude and his desperate need for replacement!

The Saga of the Car

Two weeks ago my car, a 3 year old Ford Endeavor, started making odd noises. After some investigation, my driver and I concluded that it was the clutch assembly and would need to be addressed immediately. The next morning, after dropping me off at work, he trundled (loudly) down to the local Ford Workshop for the repairs.



As with everything in India, getting your car fixed is neither straightforward nor easy. Yes, you take it to the local Ford authorized repair facility, but that is where the similarities and, for the most part, the sanity ends. To add further irritation, most drivers can be bullied into unnecessary repairs (due to their position in the food chain) and therefore have to call the boss to authorize any work adding more time to the already arduous process. Just to add insult to injury, the workshops do not stock any parts, so once they have diagnosed the issue, you must wait several days for the delivery of the correct part. This can turn an hour job into a week without a car. Lastly, like all jobs in India, people may be “certified” to do their job, but no one actually has any training.


But the impact is not restricted to just frustration of the process, it takes a personal toll as well. When the car is in the shop, I am forced to take a taxi and my wife is forced to stay home. These may seem like little things on the surface, but they are deal-breakers when it comes to surviving in India. Firstly, even though the taxis are arranged by the office through a vetted taxi service, the drivers are unfamiliar with where you are going and, worst yet, for the most part, have severe hygiene issues. There is nothing quite like a 30 minute ride in a cab with a guy that smells like 2 parts body odor and 1 part urine. Depending on how bad it is, you can actually arrive at your destination physically ill from the stench. Secondly, and more importantly, India is only survivable for spouses because of their network of friends and activities. Remove their means to get to their “functions” and their tolerance for your decision to uproot their lives and bring them to Hades goes down considerably. Combine a 30 minute taxi ride with a guy that smells like an armpit and a cooped up spouse and you will do anything to get the car back!


None of the aforementioned would be the exception for this case.


Kailash, the driver, took the car in on a Thursday morning and the workshop attributed the issue as predicted the clutch assembly. While it was in, we thought we would also have the scheduled service done – you know, oil, belts, etc. Two birds with one wrench, so to speak. After the usual telephone tag between the workshop, the driver and the office, we settled on a plan and a timetable and they went to work. They ordered the parts with an arrival date on Saturday and they predicted that by the end of that day, we would have our car back. Good news! Well… again in India, things are not so simple.


In order to pay for the car, we would need to cut them a check. Simply enough, right? Tell us the total, we will cut you the check on Friday and give it to you when you are done on Saturday. Not in India. The cost of the repairs can only be calculated when the job is completed which would be on Saturday. Saturday is also the day the office is closed and no one is in to cut the check. Hum? So we added another 2 days to the process. In the end, a job that actually took 4 hours to complete ended up taking 4 days.


Finally, Monday afternoon, the car was finished and I was finally picked up in my own, non-smelly air-conditioned, car.


Well, actually not…… but that is a whole other story for tomorrow!

iPad2 & Me

Very rarely does something come along that has an impact on your quality of life in a meaningful way.  For me, the delivery of my iPad2 is just such an event.  I don’t mean to be melodramatic about, but when you live in Delhi, anything that provides even the slightest venue for escape has an impact.

We already have an iPad in the house.  It was purchased last year before we left for Olga who made the acquisition a term of coming to India.  I felt that it was simply a gadget and had not value, but who was I to argue.  Once the iPad was up and running, I quickly saw the genius in its gadgety goodness and for the last year the iPad has spent its time being snatched out of the others hands at the first sign of idleness. 

As time went on, I realized that I used the iPad more for reading, than anything else and since I was not allowed to remove the thing from the house during work hours, I was not maximizing my potential or its.  I concluded that I needed an iPad of my own!

Seizing the opportunity of most of my company coming to Shanghai, I asked a colleague to pick me up one.  She did and after spending 2 hours in line at the apple store, she successful acquired one for me.  That is a true friend!

Since our return from China, I now sit quietly in the back of the SUV reading my book and listening to the iPod feature – typically to the soothing sounds of Sinatra and Martin – and ignoring the outside world.  I rarely even notice the tap, tap, tap on the window of the beggars and almost never realize when someone makes a right turn from the left lane backing up traffic for days.  Gone are all the frustrations of the commute and I simply take the time, whether 20 minutes of 2 hours, to enjoy a good read and great music. 

iPad2                                                                 $799.00

iTunes download of Dean Martin’s greatest hits           $14.99

iBooks download of favorite book                             $12.99

Peace of mind                                                     Priceless

Blowing Dust

You know how some weather reports make you feel upbeat and happy, like “sunny” or “clear skies”, while others are just what you wanted to hear, like “chance of rain” in a drought or “snow” on Christmas?  Well in Delhi at this time of year we get roughly two reports and neither are very good:  “Hazy” and “Blowing Dust!”

Hazy typically means that the temperature will cross the 110 degree mark by 11:00am and that it will get so hot that the city will generate its own biosphere with a combination of pollution, dust and heat that will all but obscure any thought of a blue sky.  This is the typical Delhi day. 

Blowing Dust is an entirely different animal.  This weather phenomenon is generated somewhere in the surrounding wasteland, where a good, strong wind crosses the arid countryside and arrives in Delhi with the sole intention of blowing all the accumulated crap around.  It gathers up all the dust that has been settling since our last rain and blows it through the streets like pellets shot from a cannon.   The wind can be so strong that it knocks down barricades, so the transported dust & trash are pushed into every nook and cranny in the city.

In the apartment, the fine dust and dirt from the wind finds its way around every window and door to creates a lovely, albeit invisible film across the marble floor.  Only when the maid begins to sweep it up can you see the cumulative impact from the storm.  In the following days, the maid will work extra hard to ensure the apartment is free from the dusty invader and just when it is all clean, the weather report will read “Blowing Dust” and you begin again.  

Cell Out

Last night, as Olga and I were leaving the club, we tried to call the driver to pick us up, but the phone would not connect.  After several frustrated attempts, Olga handed the phone over to me in which I attempted the ancient marriage ritual of doing exactly what your spouse tried expecting it to magically work.  It did not.  There was something wrong with the cell phone service in Delhi. 

I will digress for a moment here and wax poetically on the complete incompetence of Indian companies - yet again.  I mean, what cell phone company allows its entire system to crash, particularly in a country in which no one has a landline.  Airtel, the cell phone provider, is the same company that also provides my internet service and, if you have been following the blog, you know in what esteem I hold them.  This level of idiocy, though, even surprised me.  At what level of incompetency do you have to operate to allow your entire network to crash.

B-O-N-E-H-E-A-D-S!

Anyway, cell phone networks crashing presents a unique problem in Delhi when you live as an expat.  It is not about not being able to call your friends or receive texts (neither of which I do), but when your cell phone is out, you have no way to contact your driver which means you are stuck. You might as well have run out of gas!  The way the driver - drivee relationship works here is that the driver diligently drops you at the door or entrance to where ever it is you would like to go.  You enter and enjoy yourself and when you are ready to go, you call and he magically appears.  When all goes well, this is the extent of your reality.  The driver's reality is a bit different.  Yes, he drops you off, but while you are inside enjoying your air-conditioned meal, he has parked the car in some forsaken pad of dirt in the vicinity and is waiting for you in 110-degree heat.  The issue last night was that we had no idea where this pad of dirt was located and, since it is the embassy area, we knew it was not close. 

We dialed and dialed, but had no success, so we thought we would just grab dinner where we were and wait it out.  We munched down our dinner and tried again, but to no avail.  It was getting on 9:00pm now and I had begun to curse this wasteland of incompetence called India. The reality was that we had two choices:  1) grab a taxi and hope that the driver eventually figures out that we have gone and returns home before I need to leave for work the next morning or 2) walk around the area and look for the driver.  I opted for 1, but with the hope that maybe the driver had recognized the situation and taken measures. In a last ditch effort, we walked to the end of the street and there, against all odds, was my resourceful driver nervously waiting for us in a no parking zone.  Happy to see us, he bolted across the street to escort us to the safety of our vehicle. 

Apparently, he had recognized the gravity of the situation several hours prior and was making regular passes by the entrance of the club to ensure we were not waiting.  In addition, he left word with the taxi stand at the entrance that if we tried to take a cab, they should direct us around the corner. 

After we got home, I realized that maybe my driver’s talents are wasted behind the wheel and I should recommend him to Airtel to run their cell phone and internet division.  My hesitation was simply that I would lose the only competent driver in India.   

Indian Validation or Over-Reaction?

While the news that Osama bin laden was killed by US Navy Seals broke worldwide, in India, it had a different emphasis.  Yes, Osama was killed, but that was only a byline to the big story – “Pakistan was harboring Osama bin laden.”  You see in India, the only good news is news that paints their neighbors to the west in a bad light and this was really good news!

For the last several days, newspapers and TV news shows have showcased and validated what every Indian already “knew” – that Pakistan is a terrorist state.  Every broadcast and article highlights this and I have yet to see an opportunity lost in conversation or correspondence to reinforce it.  It has become a national obsession. 

The Indian dislike for Pakistan, and the visceral hate with which the Pakistanis reciprocate, is not without history.  Since the 15th of August 1947 when the partition of India was made official by the creation of the Dominion of Pakistan, Indians and Pakistanis alike have shared this contempt.  Maybe it is because they are so alike that they have kept this distain, but it has had serious consequences over the last 60 years including the uprooting of 25 million people as each religion, Hindu and Muslim, resettled in their newly formed, respective countries.  In the years that followed, there were mass killings on both sides, an on-going argument over Kashmir and 4 open wars in 1947, 1965, 1971 and 1999.  Most recently, on November 26, 2008 the Taj Hotel was attacked in Mumbai by Islamic militants that are widely believed to still be hiding in Pakistan. 

Since the Mumbai attack, Indians have been screaming to the world that Pakistan has been harboring terrorist.  The recent events have only served to validate these allegations and India is now clamoring for full revenge.  While the world celebrates the death of the number 1 terrorist, one should be keeping a weather eye out for how these two nuclear-armed adversaries deal with this news, as the results could be disastrous.