A four hour marathon to get a notarized signature: Tales of Dickens – Last week Bert had to get some paperwork notarized.  Now, in America this is simple: almost every bank, and most organizations, have a notary public who will, for a very small fee, notarize papers.  In Germany you can find notaries easily and they charge you an arm and a leg and the outrageous prices are well known.  There is a lot more mystery to it here.  Neither of Bert's Indian associates  (H and S) knew exactly how to get a document notarized.  They knew that notaries existed near the law courts in downtown Delhi. The junior associate (S) had some lawyer friends who said they could get this sorted, and so off Bert and S went to the law courts in one of Delhi’s last days of the 2010 monsoon.  H wisely surmised that his time would be better used at the office.

 The law courts were swarming with people moving in all directions but unwilling, or unable, to help.  It first took Bert and S 30 minutes to find the right gate to the Delhi High Court to enter—with cars and mud blocking progress in all directions.  When they entered, they were greeted by an odd combination of Dickensian England, Kafka, and present day Bollywood: many young and serious looking lawyers, wearing no wigs but a kind of false subfusc front—as if they were all going to final exams at Oxford. Some of the women lawyers wore black and white saris with this subfusc tie of sorts on the front—everything was in black and white, with some of the larger lawyers sweating in the humidity with their pinstriped worsted trousers and the subfusc tie.  After a series of false leads Bert and S found a sign pointing to “oaths commissioner.”  The doorway it pointed to was entrance to a muddy courtyard with a bungalow planted in it—with only two feet between it and the ancient looking High Court building.  To make matters worse, there were Styrofoam trays with half eaten thalis on the ground, puddles everywhere, and the building occupying this courtyard was in complete scaffolding.  They uncertainly circled the building, trying to avoid the puddles, food remnants, scaffolding bars, and scurrying  lawyers and their assistants,  and they found the only door showing the way to the “Typing Pool”. Inside were even more scurrying people with desks all around the perimeter.  Giant Remington typewrites still clacked their way through 4 carbon copies while nervous petitioners waited respectfully.  A few typists had computers vintage 2000—and all around young silent servants were bringing tea.

S luckily found one typist who was typing with the sign of the bank which S’s father is currently heading.  Tentatively, he asked the man (60 years old, quite “healthy” and very officiously busy) if he could help notarize something for his boss out of the US (mention of the US often helps).  Notarize?  Not the right department, the man said and went back to his work.  Very luckily, however, S seemed to recognize the man. He commented, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"  This man is a relative of S's extended family and his daughter is getting married to one of S’s cousins.  S kindly asked the right questions about the upcoming nuptials and the man was suddenly helpful—even more as he recognized that S’s father was the head of the bank for which he was in some way the official typist in the Delhi High Court. He demanded we sit down amidst the hubbub of typing and perspiration of others trying to find a way into the power structure that is India’s legal system. After procuring tea, the man was able to obtain a beautifully ornate enormous (half a legal page) 'stamp' with a 50 Rupees nominal price, which apparently had to be affixed to our document to be notarized.  He added various stamps and scribbles while an ancient British barrister was lurking at the man’s shoulder with an urgent request. However, there was nothing doing before the affixing of the stamp.  The typist then summoned another earnest servant with very fashionable black shoes, curved either out of fashion sense or as a result of too many puddles from this monsoon season.  He was assigned to lead us to a notary—who had additional mystical tasks to fulfill.

The notary, however, was in a completely different building and hall—Bert and S set off to try to keep up with the new servant, who scurried away.  When they finally found the notary’s office, it was bolted shut with three separate locks.  The servant shaking the door was clearly not going to bring anything, so S called on his mobile (I have to think that the mobile phone has transformed the red tape of India’s Kipling era bureaucracy into a foe that can, at least  occasionally, be beaten) to another lawyer friend.  The suggestion was made to go to Delhi’s district courts—about a kilometer away—so off they went to get out of the huge and swarming complex to the road where S’s driver could find them and on to the next stage of the quest.  On arriving there, they had to find another lawyer without subfusc tie (was he a demoted or fallen lawyer?) who led us to a very correct lady notary, sitting under a tent with  a wooden desk and grubby books detailing the successes of previous applicants. As rain dripped all around, she affixed various red wax seals and many new stamps (nothing nearly as impressive as the pre-notary stamp affixed  30 minutes earlier)—going away on two occasions and with the accompanying lawyer charging a fee  (apparently arbitrary) that competed with the German notaries.  The bold adventurers took their valuable document and headed to McDonalds to revive themselves after this bewildering experience.  It is amazing what a Maharaja Mac or Paneer Salsa Wrap  can do to revive the body and soul!. :)

The valuable document was FedExed to Poland before I could take a picture of the amazing pre-notary stamp to impress everyone.  :(

Local Fauna - Our hotel suite is immaculate - I have never stayed in a place so beautifully maintained and serviced, so our run ins with some of the local wildlife are a reminder that we are in Asia, and not everything can be tamed or come under the influence of advanced technology.  (I am reminded  that in northern Virginia I've been more than challenged keeping the rats out of my compost bins :), so it is not just in Asia that some creatures resist our attempts to control them.)

Dogs, dogs, dogs everywhere.  They don't appear unfriendly or rabid - though we are under strict orders not to touch any - few look starved though most look dirty and uncared for and they all have a vague family resemblance from generations without arranged marriages: long legged, short haired, curled tail Labrador like faces.  Although the paths are swept daily on our big road (Lodhi Road) we have to make sure we keep our eyes on where we are walking because of the piles left by the dogs or the uneven pavement.  Interestingly stray dogs and cows don't seem to find the very, very wealthy areas attractive!

Cows - well I haven't seen so many yet, but the one in the middle of a nice mall was a bit of a shock.  We've had an occasional traffic jam because of a couple of leisurely cows, but not many yet.

We have dark wood panelling throughout our suite and instead of blinds or curtains we have the same dark wooden sliding door panels to close the windows.  Last week I was closing up the living area when the sliding door provided a dramatic back drop for a 6" pink lizard.  We observed one another for several seconds before he decided he preferred the darkness of the sliding door opening.  I don't have much history with lizards so I calmly phoned the 'butler' service and asked:  is it normal to have lizards in the room?  Do they carry disease?  Will they go after my food?  The butler was totally unfazed so I guess the lizard is a semi-permanent resident and he certainly doesn't like my food and I haven't seen him again.

A couple of days ago Felix rushed into our room because something  heavy had scampered across his leg.  Regrettably we have still not been able to identify this specific visitor.  We like to know who we are entertaining.

Sunday afternoon Bert and I were enjoying a cup of masala tea together when a dark haired foolish young mouse decided to scurry across the room against the white wall (his mama didn't teach him about camouflage) and into the kitchen. I was very grateful that Bert saw him too.  I think I am worried that people will think I am exaggerating, so a witness is always reassuring.  Our trusty butler service came immediately and within minutes we had one of those horrible glue pads in place with some delicious tempting morsel on it.  Our inexperienced young visitor fell for the trap within two hours and was escorted from our premises by an apologetic butler's assistant.  How this guy got in is a mystery, but the whole city is probably enjoying new animal activity as so much building has been going on for the Commonwealth Games.  When you disrupt a rodent's home he has to find a new one. . .no wonder the athletes' village is finding cobras and mice!

For good measure housekeeping put another glue trap under my sink. . .I hate checking it regularly.  Why does it make me more squeamish to open the door and check to see if something has got stuck on the board, than it did to actually see the mouse?

Security increased sixfold - 4 days ago our gatekeeping security folks got reinforcements: grey safari suited and green clad soldier types.  The green uniformed ones had machine guns slung over their shoulders and generally looked aimable, the grey fellows looked a bit more sinister and never permitted smiles or greetings.  Normally when cars drive up to the hotel one guard uses a slanted mirror on a 3 ft pole to check the bottom of vehicles and the second guard checks the inside of the vehicle and the luggage space.  Now soldiers' guns shadowed each car into the guard stop and four or five men were checking vehicles.  The regular staff apologetically attempted to maintain their usual upbeat friendliness - afterall we have worn their wellies, we do have a special bond.

The athletes for the Commonwealth Games have started to arrive and not all the facilities in the athletes' village are up to snuff.  In fact, some of it has looked a bit grim and so various groups were farmed out to 5 star hotels.  We are guessing from their caucasian appearance and their red and white track suits that we got part of the Canadian group.  I doubt the athletes' village can compete with our hotel's facilities so perhaps the Canadians will find a cobra or rat in their rooms to enable them to shift back to our premises.  The security types (including the fellow stationed to overlook the walled garden) all disappeared along with the red suited athletes yesterday.

I am sure the hotel enjoyed the extra income, but what a security headache.  I hope we don't get Prince Charles and his wife or Mr. O and his.  I like our guards' normal cheerful dispositions.

Colour, noise and traffic jam- these components seem to fit a lot of celebrations here. Earlier this week Bert and I got caught in the last of the monsoon showers at the Khan Market - lots of little shops in a very compact area primarily serving the expatriot community (read, expensive). You can find everything at the Khan Market: Levi jeans, Heinz ketchup, McDonalds, Pumpernickel, imported Japanese melons. There isn't much parking and it is usually noisy with lots of hooting as people maneuver in and out of tight spaces and drivers wait for the Ma'am to do her shopping and load up the car. We arrived just as a tremendously noisy procession completely jammed the whole area with lorries festooned with marigold, loaded with grinning men, blarring a mixture of noise and announcement inched its way through the tight market. Men leaped off the lorries and handed out boxes with little cakes and bottles of water. More echoes of the Sikh good will to all? None of the shopkeepers we asked could tell us "It's just the end of some festival. Nothing to worry about." I wasn't worried, just interested. :)

Sikh Temple and the Friday Mosque - It seems that there is something vaguely humiliating about what the pious faithful require the infidel to wear in order to enter sacred spaces.
The Friday Mosque, Jama Masjid, has an enormous impressive courtyard with colonnades on three sides and a wall of raised areas for prayer under five impressive cupolas/domes that face Mecca. There is something medieval about the way the surrounding city presses in on the walls of the mosque area and business is furious in the narrow streets that feed to the steps to the three entries. The day after we were there some misguided individual drove by the spot where Felix is sitting and fired a couple of shots that hit two Japanese tourists. It is hard to imagine how the perpetrators could made a swift exit, but apparently they were on a motorbike. The unfortunate Japanese tourists are stable. Felix fairly shocked.

Mr. Singh, rickshaw driver of good repute, took us to see the Sikh temple, Gurdwara Bangla Sahib. A guru was murdered on the spot by a particularly unpleasant Mogul emperor, Aurangzeb, and the guru's tomb and the very holy book are venerated here along with neon flashing signs. We had a lengthy, very articulate explanation of Sikh philosophy which raised more questions than it answered, and were amazed by the vast kitchen and lunch facilities. Apparently every Sikh temple cooks to feed everyone at lunch. Rich or poor, regardless of their faith, everyone is welcome. Bert, not one to refuse good food, partook. Felix and I were not so brave. We'll have to seek out further enlightenment as the explanation for this generosity was not clear.

The Muslim call to prayer - It still comes as a shock each time I am outside at the appointed hour for Muslim prayer. In my imaginings I had thought of their call to prayer as a haunting and melodious, or at worst, a strident, invitation. In reality, the call in this part of New Delhi, sounds like the caterwauling of numerous lovesick tomcats to their female counterparts in a ghastly discordant cacophony.

Rain, rain, rain! - Apparently it is the third straight Sunday that there has been torrential rain. Our hotel complex is adjacent to a Methodist church so we are taking this as a sign that that is where we are meant to head on Sundays. We have a 2 minute walk, well perhaps 4 minute walk. The doorman at the hotel kindly lent us a second umbrella as we headed out to church at 7:55a.m. in the drizzle. There is a downward sloping drive to the gate of the hotel and then a slight incline again to get onto the street about 15 yards away. By the time we got to the church door we were grateful for the second umbrella. Rain had started to come down more heavily and proceeded to increase in volume and intensity throughout the service. There was a steady drip onto the pew ahead of us which kept that area clear--or perhaps it was Bert's singing! By the end of the service the street was awash. Water doesn't seem to be able to run off and sits for a while imobilizing everyone. I don't know if we made a conscious decision to run for it, but once out in it and with wet shoes there didn't seem any point turning back. Our 4 minute walk back to the hotel gate was almost entirely under an inch of water. Once we got there we really had a dilemma: the valley at the driveway to the hotel was almost 12 inches under water - we knew because one of the gate keepers was standing in his waterproof and wellies and indicating that we should not try in loafers and sneakers. Felix slipped off his shoes and got through effortlessly in his shorts. I started rolling up my trousers thinking my sandals could handle it. The second gate keeper waved Bert and myself back and came out carefully with an additional pair of wellies for Bert. Umbrella and Bibles in my hands I nearly toppled Bert as he changed from loafers to wellies. Not sure whether it was laughter or the depth of the water, but we nearly came down again in the deepest part of the gully. It was with a great deal of relief and more shared laughter that we handed the wellies back to the gate keeper on the hotel side of the flood. I wonder if the extra wellies are always there in case some guest gets marooned on the wrong side of a sudden torrent.

English words with different nuances - If this guy was carrying a suitcase or two I (as a good Indian) might tell you that this healthy man was shifting, and if he took off his helmet I might be able to tell whether he suffers from hair fall. I might also mention that the professor has timings at 9-10 every Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings. If I mentioned to you that I was running for elected office you might reply "It's not happening."

healthy = over weight

shifting = moving house/office

hair fall = hair loss

timings= office/surgery hours

It's not happening = not likely/ no way! :)

Wallah - a man, Walli - a woman - There are tea wallahs, laundry wallahs, rickshaw wallahs, Old Delhi wallahs. This is lovely photographic piece on Mumbai wallahs: www.cnngo.com/mumbai/play/streets-your-city-mumbais-pavement-purveyors-908254.

On Saturday we drove for a couple of hours through the old Delhi streets. Old Delhi is a little like the way East Germany used to be before re-unification: untouched since the second world war in many places. Old Delhi looks as though everything has decayed since Partition, 1947. Where once Mughul houses and courtyards stood is now a layrinth of narrow streets seething with bodies and wires strung between cobbled together makeshifts little stores. The fragrance of well -tended gardens replaced with constant assaults on the olfactory nerves. What was stunning in the midst of the litter and slums was that there were laundry wallahs doing big business there. Laundry was strung out back and forth over several 'blocks' and large pieces of white laundry laid out to dry on what I would have assumed was filthy pavement! Not at all keen on sending any of my laundry out to any wallah if that's where it is going to dry, but perhaps this is the laundry central for New Delhi? (Very grateful our suite comes with a washing machine!)

As we searched for somewhere to live two weeks ago we looked at several properties in the Defense Colony (another section of the city south east of the government center) and on the open street we saw an ironing wallah. He must have run an extension chord from someone's home and set up some kind of trestle table in a shady spot on the street. Households brought him their clean dry laundry to press in the open air. I don't think the hotel would tolerate that, but that's certainly an option I'd go for.

Mr. Singh - rickshaw driver - Today we reconnected with our Mr. Singh. We asked him to drive us around the old Delhi, the center of the Moghul capital, where we wanted to stop and look at the 'Friday Mosque.' Mr. Singh was thrilled to have employment for 3 1/2 solid hours. He was a little less talkative today than on our first meeting, but still tossed out tidbits for us as he sped through the city manoevering as though he thought himself 007. After particularly narrow misses (we had at least a dozen) he let out a delighted throaty chuckle. Mr. Singh's version of Extreme Sport? :) A big consolation is that he can't get up to very high speeds with the moped motor and lugging the three of us around.

Amazingly, there is no reverse on the rickshaw. Perhaps it isn't so amazing, there is no reverse on a moped either! It still strikes us as such a contrast with the speedy handling when Mr. Singh puts his foot outside the rickshaw and pushes the conveyance back a few feet to enable him to wriggle his way out forwards at a better angle. There is something reminiscent of the Flintstones about it.

Mr. Singh must have earned some brownie points today: he took us today to see his friend/connection with the state approved travel agency on 'Imperial backside' (read: on street behind the Imperial hotel) who specializes on tours to Rajasthan; AND he guided us round a large Sikh temple in the old town. The photo is taken in the Sikh dining hall and all visitors are required to take off their shoes and wash feet and hands and wear the attractive head coverings. Mr. Singh is the one with the more dignified head covering. :)

Our intrepid driver had great relish in introducing us to INA market today. He was correct: they had everything in the cramped stalls that we can find in the two other markets that cater to expatriots, but at a better price. More of Mr. Singh's entrepreneurial spirit inspiring him to provide more value to his customers. We are grateful beneficiaries.

He refused to put the taxi meter on for the afternoon's jaunt stating that we were his guests. :) It was a pleasure to see his satisfaction in our payment. I think we'll be seeing a lot more of Mr. Singh over the next months.

Humayun's Tomb workers - There is a large sign at Humayun's Tomb saying that the Aga Khan Fund has donated money to restore the gardens. I wonder where the Aga Khan has invested that his fund continues to fund masses of projects around the world. Race horses are probably a far better bet than subprime mortgages.

There are miles of brick water canals which have been repaired and 20 acres of garden to tend. There seemed to easily be 60 men employed in the gardens and working on resetting flagstones at the tomb.

The first group appeared to be taking a tea break and were seated on a wall just watching the tourists stream in.

The second group and largest group of men were working on the terrace of the tomb. It was incredibly labor intensive and the terrace swarmed with men lifting the large flagstones, chipping off cement like matter, pouring new material to lay the flagstones again and replacing the stones or bringing new ones.

The third group was the most aesthetically pleasing: they were a human elevator. They sat most of the time and occasionally moved into action as something needed to be lifted from the ground up to the terrace of the tomb. They were much more pleasing to observe than the black conveyor belt we usually associate with building projects on upper floors. :)

Humayun's Tomb- Our waking hours aren't so convenient for connecting with the rest of the world so we actually do a great portion of emailing and phone calls first thing in the day and again in the evening. I am learning that if I want some time with Bert then late afternoon is a good bet. On Wednesday we headed to Humayun's Tomb (which we could actually see from our temporary hotel room) while Felix headed in the opposite direction to coach Little League within the American Embassy complex.

The ten minute ride to the tomb complex was about 10 minutes and cost us about 50 rupees/bucks. Entrance to the tomb's 20 acre garden cost us, as foreigners, 250 ruppes each! It isn't that the cost is so outrageous when translated into dollars (about $6), but the comparative cost of sightseeing to transportation stuns me.

Humayun's tomb is the first of the Mughal garden tomb's and it's clear that the Taj Mahal is modeled on this earlier tomb. It was finished 1573 and even then they brought in all the laborers to live in a small village in the gardens during the construction and more amazingly, the deceased emperor's chief widow lived in the village supervising the building until complete. Wouldn't it be impressive if the bureaucrats who launch enormous building schemes in our cities got to live on the building site until the work was complete. :) I'd quite like to send some VDOT official to camp on the median of 495 for a few months!

We reflected that although the building is spectacular, and the gardens beautifully peaceful, it seems such a waste. If you want to honor someone why not create something that generates life or capital in some way, make it a living legacy. Hope our children get the memo: scratch the sandstone inlaid with black and white marble and replace with school or something creative!

Street Beggars - Today I was saddened to realize that I have already lost count of how many badly disabled beggars have hobbled alongside our rickshaws at red lights. Our first week driving in and out of the city during business hours I didn't spot any. Now that we are living in the city and going out at all times of day and early evening I am noticing them more. Perhaps they too make rational economic decisions: traffic is heavier during rush hour and therefore more people can be appealed to later in the day. It is terrifying to see some of them propel themselves on their hands and one foot (the other leg is oddly amputated) between the filthy, loud, uncaring traffic. It is so hard to know what to do. Any donation is surely encouraging this, and no one could think this is a good option for such individuals. Avoiding eye contact trying to wish them out of the junction fast is my normal response. I ask for God's blessing on them and wonder if I haven't in return just been cursed for my perceived lack of generosity.

The various amputations are alarming: they raise the question of whether someone deliberately maimed a small child.

I am very grateful that I have only seen one young child with his naked younger sibling tapping frenetically on car windows. I hope the children are older than they look (about 5 years old with 9 month old baby on hip) but it still seems monstrous to plant them in the midst of 6-8 lanes of traffic.

May we not become hardened to these sights.

Mr. Singh, rickshaw driver

Wanting to try and find a cheaper alternative to the taxis around our hotel Bert and I set off on foot across an ENORMOUS junction with no functioning traffic lights to look for a nearby taxi stand. The helpful hotel attendant explained to us carefully how to find it. Twice. We ended up walking down a one way tree lined road by the side of piece of wild looking park with a passover on our left. I inadvertently discovered that the wild parkland was the local 'purification' area when I spotted some naked buttocks being re-clad and then realized a procession of men where busy. (I appreciate that the women are far more discrete about their business.)

As we tried to avert our eyes and look for the taxis (we never did find them on this trip) a rickshaw pulled up behind us. He leaped from his conveyance and started to tell us how the whole city was likely to be jammed with all the festivals going on, the end of Ramadan as well as a Hindu festival, and wouldn't we be interested in seeing some Indian crafts. We are suckers for entrepreneurial spirit and this jovial Sikh, Mr Singh, was a treat. We climbed in and he promptly drove down the one way street the wrong way and navigated smoothly across the unlit junction and sped on to the Indian craft bazaar. We heard about Mr. Singh's relatives in New York City and his cousin who runs a car service out of the center of Delhi, and wouldn't we like to meet him to plan our touring? Mr. Singh was an enthusiastic tour guide, pointing out and naming places he thought we should know. He drove us past Prime Minister Singh's residence and commented on how honest he was and even laughed uproariously when I asked if Prime Minister Singh was also his relative.

We've got his phone number for future reference. I hope we meet again.

1. Imperialism and UN food drops -Reading the Siege of Krishnapur (by J. G. Farrell) this week I was reminded of how precious sugar was (even before the seige).I thought of my tour around Mount Vernon when the guide explained about sugar arriving in wrapped cones from England and being kept under lock and key। Today there is a vast amouont of sugar in traditional Indian sweets. This week I think I'll do some digging to find out when these 'traditional' Indian recipes originated. Before white sugar, before white flour? Were these treats made with ground lentils or wholewheat flour and with honey instead of sugar syrup? Checking out today's jalebi recipe is pretty hair-raising: white flour, corn flour, oil and sugar with a bit of yogurt.
   
   My interest in the historicity is connected to the short time I was in the Sudan in January. At that time the rural communities were at the end of their food stores and there was little available in local shops so their staples were provided through UN food drops. The food drops consisted of vegetable oil, white flour, white sugar and white rice. None of these foods were known in the area 40 years ago, but now the Dinka people cannot imagine life without them
   
   Lots of good things Imperialists and UN might have brought, but a taste for refined foods isn't one of them.

Labour is cheap

With so many people competing for every job it is easy to understand how labour can be so cheap. There is no incentive to buy sophisticated machinery when you can hire workers for a fraction of the cost and get the job done quite quickly. The city is one great big work site in preparation for the Commonwealth Games, now only a couple of weeks away, and the city is swarming with manual laborers laying brick pavement and footpaths, repainting walls, planting medians, fixing broken walls, re-plastering columns. There are colonies of temporary 'housing' for the workers who have moved close to this opportunity for employment and they sleep under tarps slung on ropes between trees on the pavement. Whole families seem to have come together. Women carry sand, gravel, cement or debris in broad shallow bowls balanced on their heads on top of some fabric cushion and children run from puddle to puddle with little sticks or the occasional filthy toy.

The narrow and absolutely crammed household goods shop over in the Defense Colony area had a surly owner sitting behind the counter. He was responsible for adding up the items. The chief assistant, clearly paid the most, was the fluent English speaker and he sped up and down the narrow emporium swiftly finding options for our new kitchen, to which we'll be 'shifting' on Friday. He had a junior assistant who could also deal with the Hindi speakers and then there was a 14 year-old who ran errands and boxed items and carried them to your 'conveyance' and a much smaller boy who was good for sending up into the rickety and very stuffed attic (reached through a tiny and precarious opening in the shop ceiling). When two more customers came in we were almost standing on one another. Each of those guys were glad to have their jobs, even though I'm guessing the owner isn't very nice to them, and I keep thinking how many of the employees would be out of luck if a minimum wage was enforced. It is those guys at the bottom who get hit the hardest.

Our phenomenal hotel also has an astounding number of employees. The grass is mowed by a narrow mower and the edges trimmed with shears by two or three gardeners. The hedges get more trims than movie stars and someone has the job of daily placing and then removing the floating candles in the large water filled urns filled with marigold petals. There are two greeters at the restaurant door so that one is always available to walk you to your table while another waiter brings the menu and three more bring the delicious food to the table. The gym has at least two full time trainers in it to ensure that someone is always at the door to hand you the headset for the media, your towel and a bottle of water and if you happen to drape your towel on a lounge chair by the side of the pool someone will come and lay your towel out and place a refreshing, aromatic, warm face cloth with a bottle of water for you. Perhaps I should also mention the daily musicians in various spots in the hotel. :)

Ladders and Scaffolding – Should I be delighted at the environmentally friendly aspects and lightness of, or terrified by the irregularity and danger of, New Delhi's bamboo ladders and scaffolding (up to three stories high!)?

Constant contrasts -As we expect to move into our new, amazing, accommodation tomorrow, I thought I should take photos of where we are. The contrasts are so vivid here. Our host reported that he saw a brand new Nano parked next to a brand new Rolls Royce outside his building last week. (Nano, apparently has had some overheating issues and the new budget vehicles are not as evident as we hoped!). So my snapshots show the height of luxury and best in modern architecture and technology next to tiny shacks (temporary housing put up for constructions workers to live close to the work site) and wild pigs. It is a good place to remember who is in control and to focus on the part delegated to each of us to play within His big plan.

Roundabout Childcare -A young couple working on planting of a roundabout circle have caught my eye two days in a row as they have their tiny little boy with them. What a world this little one is seeing daily from the center of the roundabout. The continuous stream of vehicles of different shapes, state of repair, and price range is probably a good metaphor for the population of India too. Is there hope for this little boy to have more nurturing conditions for his children’s early development? I recognize that father and mother are producing income and although none of the family had any spare fat on them, neither did any one look malnourished. This little boy was also in the immediate care of his parents which was a far better position than some small children of immigrant workers in Fairfax county who I know of through social services. Tuesday, the little guy only had a shirt on, Wednesday he was wearing both shorts and shirt so I felt his dignity was somewhat restored and he suddenly looked a year or so older. After I spotted this chap I noticed two other older boys (probably 5 or 6) playing alongside their mothers on road building sites. A great contrast with the conventional western childcare arrangements. All examples of that basic economic truth: choices impose costs. These subsistence level parents are making rational choices.

Roadside beautification? -Yesterday the hour long journey, from the southern suburb we are guests in, to the city center took two hours and I had ample opportunity to look more closely at our surroundings. It seems a big contrast with New Delhi three years ago that there are far fewer vendors and beggars on the streets at major intersections. I hope this is an indication of improved conditions for everyone, but have a suspicion that it is part of a concerted cleanup effort ahead of the Commonwealth Games this month. Perhaps more so in Mumbai, but I remember underpasses being a refuge and temporary housing for many and now the underpasses around town are freshly planted with attractive greenery. The thought went through my mind that plantings may do well in the monsoon, but what about after that? Will there be an effort to water during the dry season or is this really only seen as a short term beautification measure and are the former residents expected to resume occupancy after the games?

After the Monsoon – Well we were meant to arrive after the monsoon! It isn’t our fault though. We got here a week later than expected and the monsoon continues (though clearly lessening) with record volumes of rain falling. From the safety and security of an air-conditioned luxury apartment the sudden rains just seem like a delightful scene out of Singing in the Rain as the deluge hits suddenly and lifts as suddenly. Zooming in on the less fortunate residents and motorists shows less entertaining aspects of poor drainage. Early monsoon was light and there was fear of not sufficient rain and now there have been heavy and longer rains. Season total predicted at about 175cm. Imagine what Arizona or Colorado could do with that.