Naturalisation

Many kind readers have taken the time to send me gently scolding emails asking what has happened to the blog.

Well, I think it has come to an end. It's been an amazing journey and I've got a wonderful catalogue of memories, but as I complete my second year in India, I've found that the bonkers has become the norm. I've lost the urge to blog.

Of course, I'm not saying this is the final curtain. Madness lurks around every corner and I may once again be called upon to use the blog cathartic needful. Until then . . .

5 Star Bucket

Getting my hair done for a fancy do is a necessity not a luxury. If I have any hope of presenting myself and representing my country in public I need assistance. 

Attended the US Marine Corp Ball a few weeks ago. We decided to call upon the trusted name of The Oberoi New Delhi for a wash and blow dry to clean off the dust and tame the frizz so as not to scare the soldiers. 

Except, things at The Oberoi were not operating under normal service. Their salon was being renovated and we were ushered towards a temporary site in, well frankly, I have no idea where. Down some twisting path into the bowels of Old Delhi. Never mind, it's all about the hair wash. I decided to gratefully receive their offer of a head massage and enjoyed being kneaded for a few minutes. When my hair was filled with the optimum amount of oil, the manager decided this would be the perfect moment to inform me that there was no running water. 

Excuse me?

Yes madam, no water, 10 minutes Madam.

10 minutes, 20 minutes, 30 minutes later? Still no water. Time was ticking along but I was determined that I shall go to the ball. 

I snapped into action mode and convinced the team to think outside of the box. Find me a bucket. Knock on the door of the neighbouring building and get some fresh water. Now help me rinse this gunk out of my hair. Go Go Go! 

Mission successful. 

Wii Fat

I've been busy. 

There has been a lot to do. Work whirlwind. Lots of visitors. Pre-Christmas socialising. Exercise has not been prioritised. I feel guilty enough about this avoidance without having it rubbed in my face.

The Wii has betrayed my confidence and told tales on me. Exposed by my console nemesis. For shame. 

Overkill Drill?

Everyone is adjusting to life after the terrible events in Mumbai. 

Suddenly the normal is second-guessed. My first visit to a 5* hotel afterwards saw my dining colleagues and I spend the first 10 minutes of our meal discussing our tactics for escape should the unthinkable happen (get outside or head for the kitchens, FYI). Our office now has a policeman stationed outside, armed with an old rifle. 

Even The Tower is getting in on the act. This poster greeted me when I got to the lift lobby this evening. 

Gap in the Service

Not many chucklesome topics to blog about recently ... sorry.

Thick Skin

Bring on the amusing comments re: my choice of hat. 

My life takes me down some very strange paths. On a mission to find a new office. In India, there are different considerations. Today found out that we can be supplied with a snake-charming service in case a mischevious serpent decides to mess with us. 

Maid of Honour?

Trouble across the hall; my neighbours have evicted their maid.

I came out of the lifts yesterday and stumbled into a very tense scene on the 14th floor landing. My neighbour, two security sprites and an unidentified serious man had surrounded a maid. She was clearly being thrown out of my neighbour's flat as she was dressed in many layers and carrying a small suitcase. 

The security goons made her open the case and they roughly searched it for stolen items. I didn't recognise the maid so perhaps she was new. The relationship between householder and maid is tense, very tense. Some get along like life-long friends, partnering up with symbiotic understanding and care. A few maids are dishonest. Many householders are beastly to their maids. Treating them brutally and without a sense of humanity. At least once a month The Times of India tells a grizzly tale of a maid who snaps and slaughters the householder in a fit of bloody revenge.

However, no such drama on the 14th floor. The maid meekly submitted to the search, nothing was found, she departed, escorted into the service elevator, and I could stop spying through the keyhole.  

Kingfisher and Camel

Stumbled out of a restaurant, ended up facing a camel. As you do. Watch out, they spit. 

Class, Gold Class

A new cinematic experience has come to The Gurg. Gold Class.

A normal cinema but instead of normal chairs, you get a reclining lounger and table service. What finer way to see the new Bond movie; although a bit distracting when you receive your order and bill for food just when Bond is about to dispatch another group of hapless henchmen. 

Rung Out

The wee boy who lives across the hall is a terror. 

At least once a week I am 'treated' to the cacophony of a hissy fit where he displays his petulance in a dance of shrieks across the hall. 'F*** Off and do it in the privacy of your apartment' I think. The parents and two maids are not only content to let him tantrum around the communal areas but they also think it is acceptable for him to use my door bell as a play toy. 

As long-term readers can testify, I haven't enjoyed the best of luck with doorbells. And once again, I've got a new one. The dervish boy, in another fit of attention seeking behaviour, was pressing it continuously, as well as kicking and banging my front door [which isn't exactly robust following a previous incident]. I didn't want to answer a) as I didn't want to give him any excuse to do it again and b) I wasn't sure exactly how to help him understand not to do it again. 

He was not to be deterred and pressed so long that the doorbell exploded! The little box inside emitted a loud bang and a wisp of smoke came out. The sprites were quick on the repair but have brought in a rather dull grey box as opposed to my soothing pastoral scene of old. 

Rajasthani Sunsets

A weekend in Udaipur

Beat Booze Ban

An astonishing piece of journalism in The Times of India on Saturday.

On the front page was an article advising citizens of how to BEAT a breathaliser test. Never mind, don't drink and drive, this message was go ahead and get drunk and here is how you can take the wheel and not get caught.

Their advise was to have a very fat or very tall person drive as their body mass bonus means they can absorb more booze.

Extraordinary. 

Foggy Memories

As winter approaches, so does the fog.

Delhi is cloaked in a brown ming in the winter months as cold air traps pollution and smoke from fires in a brown cloak above the city. 

Witness the visibility at Delhi airport on Saturday morning. 

Created a lovely orange sunrise though. 

The 6 stages of the mosquito bite

1. The Bite

Barely noticeable at the time. Usually somewhere at the edge of clothes. Ankle is prime location.

2. The Tingle

A subtle needling tingle begins on the affected area. Before you know it, you are absently mindedly scratching, increasing in ferocity, before you realise what you are doing and inspect the area of your attentions. You will notice a white bump surrounded by an angry red blush.

3. The Retreat

After the intial tingle, the bite retreats for one day. No sign. No pain. It waits

4. The Itch

The bite is back and this time brings with it an incontrollable need for you to rip the skin off your body just to make the crawling, relentless itch disappear.

If you can control your urges at this crucial stage, the bite is over for you. You are the winner. However, if you cave then you proceed to:

5. The scratch

Blessed relief through digging nails. Only temporary as the scratching stops, the buzzing in your body returns, more irritating than before. The harder the scratch, the more intense the revenge. 

6. The cut

Too much scratching leads to blood being drawn which in turn leads to ...

6. The scab

A crusty reminder not to scratch in the first place. 

Shell-Shocked

It's Diwali right now.

Like Christmas in the West, there is a tradition of present giving. I've not had much in the way of corporate gifts in the past but received a fancy box upon my return to work. Inside, a glass clam shell and oyster paperweight. It's about the size of my fist. Quite remarkable.

and another one . . .

Super Size

Caught sight of the new Airbus superjumbo at Heathrow last week.

It's big man; really, really big. It dwarfed my own plane. It's not the best picture, but you can still see it hulking on the tarmac. looming in the window like some mournful Diplodocus. It needed two different air bridges to board, one which sloped up to the higher deck. Like I said, it's big.

I am not keen to be boarding it just yet. I'll wait a while and see how she gets on.

No Idea

Saw this fantastic ad in a magazine in Japan. It's for a new flexible screen. To showcase this wonder, they have decided to go for a proposition showing how it can benefit you if you are an outdoors type who comes across an injured deer. That's right, you can roll out your computer and google deer first aid. The beast is bandaged and you can go on your way, pleased at the contribution you have made to Mother Nature.

What? Who is this aimed at? Are injured deer something that large numbers of early adopter people worry about?

6 Days in Japan

Yes, Yes, I realise that flying from Delhi to London and then London to Tokyo is a foolish way to holiday, but what the heck.

I've always wanted to go to Japan and I wasn't disappointed. It's ace. Manic, yet ordered. Crazy yet, zen.

Native of Nowhere

I've been away for a long time. 3 weeks in fact. Strange being back. The UK is gripped in a fatalistic frenzy over the recession / credit crunch / economic slowdown. Doom and gloom on every page on every channel. I was happy to get out of there.

I was a bit country mouse when in London at first. Things move so fast. I was intimidated going on the tube and failing to have the co-ordination to get my Oyster card swiped, pocket it, skip down the escalators and change the volume on my iPod before effortlessly swishing into the carriage. Of course at the end of the two weeks I was back in the swing of things. And tutting viciously at befuddled tourists who were in my way.

Good evening London!

Ah, it feels very, very good.

Pub Art

Been gigging since my return to London. It's my chance to purge my system of Glen Medeiros and Boyzone as is the norm in The Gurg.

At The Astoria lasty night. The very definition of a scuzzy London gig venue. Falling to pieces, filthy dirty but oozing atmosphere. We tend to meet at equally scuzzy boozer The Blue Posts. I love sitting outside this pub as opposite is a massive wall-sized Banksy painting. Not only is the painting fun to look at but it also creates amusing passer-by behaviour. People stop, stare, realise what they are looking out and then whip out the camera phone. I am no exception, obviously.

Customer Service?

Just received a strange phone call.

I'm flying to London today. Mty mobile rang a few minutes ago:

Me: Hello

Hello this is Shiva from Delhi Airport

Me: [fearing the worst, delay, cancellation ...) Yes?

SfDA: Ma'am, I just want to inform you that your flight is on time today

Me: [baffled] I'm sorry, what?

SfDA: Yes, Ma'am the flight is leaving as scheduled. What time do you think you will be getting to the airport?

Me: [completely taken aback] Erm, about 11:30 I think

SfDA: good Ma'am.

Me: [attempting to make sense of this] Do you normally phone passengers?

SfDA: [as if I have asked the most stupid question in the world] Of course Ma'am

Me: Right. 

So, there you go. In all the times I have flown out of Delhi I have never been phoned before. It was a real person too, as opposed to an automated system. He didn't elaborate as to whether this was an airport service or a Virgin Atlantic business service. Imagine if you got a phone call from Heathrow or Chicago O'Hare? 

I am still highly confused and to be honest, a little suspicious. The guy was ringing from a mobile. What if it some burglar gang checking that I will be out of town? I've locked my irn bru in a cupboard just in case. 

Update: I just called his number and Shiva answered and there were aiport noises in the background so I feel a little more assured. 

Birthday Girl

It was my birthday on Wednesday.

We went for dinner at The Fox and were treated to their special brand of musical entertainment. They even belted out Happy Birthday for me but my embarrassment was tempered by the nice cake that accompanied the tune.

Later, I also received a special present. 4 cans of irn bru and a multi-pack of Walkers crisps. More than I could ever have asked for.

Sinister Simians

The monkey threat is back.

They have been quiet for months. Not spotted on the streets of Delhi. But on Sunday, there they were. Amassed in greater numbers than ever before. And this time, they have a gun.

They've got artillery. We're doomed.