Proud of my audacity - This morning I walked to the nearby Indian International Center (IIC)

for back to back showings of two older Indian films.  The walk was less pleasant than normal as the piles of excrement of unidentified origin were prolific and forced focus on my feet.  When I did manage to lift my gaze it was to notice that two new kinds of tree are flowering: one with a gentle white umbrella of blooms and the other with amazing powder puff pink and white exotic spheres.

When I turned onto Max Mueller Marg (where the IIC is) I fell into step behind a young man carrying a plastic bucket with what looked like chopped onion and lentils.  Curiosity increased with every step.   Max Mueller Marg is the location for all kinds of foundations and non-profits: World Wildlife Fund, Ford Foundation, Alliance Francaise, to name a few.  My young delivery man stopped to ask someone directions and then continued on.  Finally he met two others and I could catch up and get a good look at the bucket.  As it was broad daylight and there were passersby in full view I pulled out some small change and gesticulated that I'd like to photograph them.  They looked suitably distressed by the westerner flashing money about (albeit 20cent notes) and somewhat relieved when they realized I was interested in their buckets.  I hope you can spot the styrofoam dividers in the bucket separating chopped onions from cooked chickpeas, and something else I am not sure of.  One of the other boys had a similar bucket and the third chap had a large pot of tea with a stove.  There are no roadside stands on this street, so my guess is that some local kitchen hired out the chopping and just did the cooking themselves.  From the number of hot chili peppers in the bucket I'd guess that it was an Indian organization's kitchen.  I bought one tiny handful of those green chilis the first week we moved in and they are so hot that only Bert really enjoys them.  I fear tht my small handful will rot before I actually finish using them.

All 5 senses constantly stimulated - 

 

Seeing: Exquisite beauty of people, architecture, flowers, birds, sculpture, light playing through screens and leaves and the opposite extreme of desperate hovels and dirt ingrained in faces, hands, and feet, piles of garbage, deep unhappiness etched in some faces, anger in others, naked children playing beside their road-building parents, wealthy children being dropped at tennis in their chauffeur driven cars.

 

Feeling: cold a/c; hot dusty streets; crowds jostling; grainy texture of the Kashmiri pears, significant 'happening' in muscles being stretched in exercise class (instructor asks 'is anything happening in your hamstring?  Can you feel it?), vibrations of almost constant street traffic; bumps in the rickshaw; washing machine spinning as though ready for take off.

 

Hearing: blaring horns, the call to Muslim prayer, worship music flowing from the church next to our suite, birds, the sitar  and dulcimer players in the hotel foyer, water splashing gently in hotel fountain or running in the channels, beggars knocking on car window 'Madam, madam, baby, food', washing machine rattling in its spin cycle.

Tasting: curry (often just beyond my comfort zone!), pomegranates, sweet pears, delicious high tea offerings and the o so comfortable flavour of spaghetti and tomato sauce.

Smelling:  Exotic flowers (jasmine and tuber rose and roses), masala tea, curry, hot cooking oil, nauseating sewage, rotting meat, goats, dust and traffic exhaust, the swimming pool after the hot dusty outdoors.

Non-stop and sudden contrasts.

Putting the record straight - It has been gnawing at my conscience that my earliest rainfall blog was rubbish!  I don't know much about rain: it gets me wet, is good for the garden, can cause serious flooding. The numbers being thrown around when we arrived were a bit like the values of rupees (it all sounded like Monopoly to me).  So after making notes to myself for several weeks to look up hard data I went to the India Meteorological Department 'End of Season Report.' 

From the experts: The average rainfall for Central India is 991.5mm and apparently they had 1027.9mm this year.  43% of the country had more than average rain.

I was entertained that the end of season report congratulated itself repeatedly that its mathematical models ahead of time predicted rainfall accurately within the coefficient of variation (but the COV itself varied between 8-19).  I suspect these modelers may be related to some others of hockey stick fame.

Incidentally, the India Met also has an ambiguous address of Lodhi Road.  I wonder if they also have a non-existent meteorological museum at the same precise address.  Perhaps I will go hunting.

Glad to have got that off my chest.

Juntar Muntar -  Just south of Connaught Place is an extraordinary collection of buildings which measure the positions of various celestial bodies. From some angles the collection resembles a skate board park or something out of a science fiction novel, while the freedom the public has to clamber all over it also gives the impression that it is an over sized playground.  It was all built in 1710 by the Maharajh of Jaipur!!  I took the opportunity to use it as a backdrop for my Bollywood publicity shot.  As with all these great Indian historic sites, admission for Indian nationals is minimal and like all the parks this spot also provided a great place for courting couples to be in a public spot but out from the crowded space and watchful eyes of their families. You can tell all the courting couples - they are the ones holding hands.  I am not sure that married people exhibit any signs of affection in public.  I am very aware that Bert and I are an anomaly as we stroll hand in hand.  A retired man who used to work in the park offered us his guidance around the instruments and then intimated we would like to pay him "I would not suggest, but perhaps you would reward me." 

Heading north on foot out of Jantar Mantar, despite my Bollywood superstar disguise we were singled out for attention from a young man who was delegated to direct any likely suspects to the Indian craft shop that happened to be open on a Sunday and when we had profusely thanked him and headed in the opposite direction he followed us and then 'handed us off' to another young man who just happened to make the same suggestion about visiting the same  emporium, with wonderful directions, and then as we bumped back into the original chap he feigned shock "O hello!  What a surprise."  I was beginning to feel a bit like a scene out a Hitchcock movie and wondered whether it was only commission these fellows were after.

We hailed a rickshaw and sped away without negotiating a fair price (read=paid far too much - although Bert argues that he did us great service getting us into the church grounds and building) towards St. James church.  We skirted the incredibly congested narrow streets around Turkman gate and Bert snapped these two incongruous pictures.  What that little chap was doing in the middle of that vast junction on his bike with training wheels is truly a mystery (how Bert snapped at a moment when the junction wasn't log jammed is also extraordinary) and how that goat herd was getting forty winks on the side of a four/six-lane road is also beyond belief. 

St. James and the Yamuna- William Dalrymple's writing made me want to see St. James church north of the old city center.  It was built (1826-1836) in thanksgiving for surviving a military campaign by James Skinner, son of an Englishman and a noble Indian woman, who never was fully accepted by the British despite his brilliant military skills.  It lies, a lovely peaceful green oasis, in the midst of the Kashmiri Gate quarter which is dark and greasy with hundreds of motor parts shops.  The church and grounds were officially closed to visitors on Sunday afternoons but our tuktuk driver persuaded the gate keeper that we were harmless and we were able to enter.  I particularly enjoyed the gatekeeper's spare trousers drying on the strategically placed bush.

On our way home I asked if we could drive past the river as I haven't seen much of it.  It is hard to believe that a month ago this railway bridge was almost under water.  The monsoon changes the nature of the rivers drastically.  This picture only hints at the amount of garbage in the river.  As the rivers are venerated many things are dipped into it and dispatched into it and the last round of festivals caused logjams of floating images in several places.  I am not sure I could be persuaded to put a toe in the Yamuna.

Heavy shower - I came back to our hotel after a particularly exhausting afternoon at a craft bazaar showcasing Indian crafts and a trip to a shop my rickshaw driver wanted me to see* (hoping for commission on any sale I might make).  It was 4 p.m. and very muggy and dark.  As I strolled down the colonnade to our suite I thought 'if this were somewhere else I'd say it felt as though we were in for a storm.'  It grew darker,  then came lightning flashes and some thunder and then, gratifyingly, it poured and poured for about 30 minutes.  It seemed like good news to me - the dust was settled, the leaves looked fresh, all the plants got a watering and the air was cleared.  However, this gives the mosquitoes an extension of their breeding time - definitely not good, and there are masses of events planned for outdoors after the monsoon, so no doubt many folks were scrambling tonight with their sale goods exposed and dance troupes ready to perform on outdoor stages. . .

* I am the customer, yes, and I don't need to go anywhere I don't want to, yes! :)  However it is a little more complicated: it is really nice having a couple of rickshaw or taxi drivers who we can trust and who will look out for us - for instance when I don't have my body guards along for the adventure I like knowing that Mr. Singh expects me to show up and he would probably come looking for me because I haven't yet paid him. :)

Mr. Singh's mother died almost two weeks ago, so he hasn't been able to do business for a bit.  Last week Elaine and I got dropped at the local Khan market at 10:30 not realizing that most of the shops weren't open until 11.  An enterprising tuktuk driver happening by realized our mistake and immediately stopped and said he'd take us to an ATM and a chemist (the two items on our list).  Today as I strode off hoping to find a tuktuk an empty one drove by in the wrong direction on the other side of the median and five minutes later he was pulling up beside me.  It was THE SAME enterprising chap from Khan market!  and more uncanny he works with our Mr. Rangeet Singh and knew ALL about us.  Eek!  Those crazy westerners who live in that swank hotel who bought a carpet the first time Mr.Singh picked them up (very late wedding present for Bert's nephew - Bert managed to get it to Virginia, but still not yet to the nephew. :)).  Well Mr. Samanar clearly knows we are Mr. Singh's clients and Mr. Singh will be back on his beat very soon so it would be nice if we made a few more purchases before Mr. Singh takes the helm again, so wouldn't I like to see this shop?  OK, but I don't have much money with me today, so I will probably only be looking.  No problem, Madam, no money?  They bring to the hotel and you pay there.  Well, my husband and I have an agreement that I don't make any big purchases without him.  Very good.  Tomorrow holiday.  Your husband free?  :)  I have to admire them even if I do need a nap after every excursion.   I look forward to Mr. Singh's return: Mr Samanar takes the speed bumps too fast for his passengers. :)

Walking in Delhi - Our hotel is near a very big junction and sometimes at rush hour it is hard to pick up a rickshaw (tuktuk - pronounced took-took) and so I'll walk a block to a less frenzied corner to flag one down, or on occasion I am soooo tired of bargaining for everything that I cannot face the game of negotiating the fare (should I pay 50c or 75c when an Indian would probably only pay 40c?) that I just walk.  This week I think I needed to walk and ended up doing close to 4 or 5 miles during the early afternoon.  I wish I had had a camera- and will probably go back over the route with one.

In many places there is a good pedestrian path but people choose instead to walk in the congested street.  I have been trying to understand this and have the following hypotheses:
a) any piece of wall seems an invitation to the menial workers/tuktuk drivers to relieve themselves in broad daylight - thus the closer to the wall the more intense the smell;
b) dogs wander all over the place and are undiscriminating in where they leave their piles - however, they wouldn't dream of relieving themselves in the stream of traffic;
c) there are frequent (inexplicable) major excavations in the middle of the the pedestrian route;
d) some places have marble or tiled paths that could be treacherous; and
e) trees sprouting up in the middle of the path seem to get right of way - paving around them rather than digging them out.

The Indian Habitat Center (IHC) scheduling - We have this splendid spot just down the road that is a cultural center/hotel/conference center/collection of restaurants (including a diner with authentic Elvis memorabilia).  It really is a 12 minute walk and was the venue for our famous classical dance performance (that was meant to be a sitar recital).  I love to scan the papers for what is happening at IHC as the majority of their events are free,sound very interesting and are close by.  Today the paper announced a fictional film about pressures on individuals in villages which we thought sounded pretty good and as IHC is also prime exhibition space we knew there would be several new art exhibits too.  Bert and I strolled up the road noticing that the wild dogs are coming back (they were impounded before the Commonwealth Games).  We took some time scouting for the day's offerings on the various notice boards at IHC and were not too surprised that our Mirch Masala movie wasn't listed.:)  We decided that an interesting fall back would be the lecture on early Bollywood singers to be followed with performance of some of those early hits.

Not too surprisingly this event shared some of the same characteristics as the dance performance.  People wandered in over the first half hour of the event and eventually close to 100 people were there.  Several people overlooked  silencing, or deliberately kept on, their phones, and unlike the US, there was no announcement asking people to switch off phones.  Someone even took a call as the performer was getting ready to start his first song.  Perhaps because it is an accepted custom to talk during performances, or because this audience was largely elderly and perhaps no longer had such good hearing, the volume was up high.  There was no mouse competing with the lecturer or the singer but I was entertained that the drummer, sitting cross legged and waiting to accompany the singer, wriggled his mobile phone out of his pocket and gave it a quick read as the singer started up.  The singer also accompanied himself on a small hand pumped organ.  Left hand pumping gently and right hand playing several strands of melody.

The lecture was short and enthusiastic and full of great nuggets:  All the early singers had to be good actors AND singers; most were classically trained;  early talkies came to India in 1931; and Calcutta was the movie centre then.  The lecture was followed by 15 minutes of ancient recordings of those early artists and then two young music students performed several songs to an enthusiastic audience.  It was a sedate and pleasantly musical offering with a lot less hyperactivity than today's Bollywood.

The moral of the story seems to be that no matter when we go to IHC, there will be something worthwhile going on, but we had better not get our hearts too set on any particular event.

Tomorrow we are trying for a dance performance in front of some very lovely ruins in Purana Qila.  We'll see how they do with their scheduling.

Qawwali Sitting Position

Festivals: Festivals are many and confusing here.  You may think that the sales in the west come with far too great frequency, but I don't think I have been shopping yet when I haven't been told that 'today is an auspicious day and I have authority to give you great discount.' :) Yesterday 9 days of festival marked with fasting from meat and onions and garlic ended with Dusshera which focuses on the retelling of the old story of Rama getting his wife back from the villain who stole her (echoes of Helen of Troy).


In time for the festival season film producer Ketan Mehta released a cartoon version of the Rama story: Ramayan.  Instead of the usual depictions of the Gods this movie version has them sporting very muscly torsoes.  One actor commented that to help children establish a connect with the gods, a contemporary look will be helpful. "We have to bring the Gods to the next generation in such a way that when children see them, they should say 'this is God!' kids wouldn't like simple Gods, they want super Gods."'  I hoped this might be a great part of Felix's Indian education and so lobbied to have all three of us go and see it yesterday.  Our wonderful front desk fellow advised which cinema to go to and we made our way to a thriving American style mall (teeming with locals and a slightly higher than normal proportion of non Indians).  Tickets for the matinee were about RS220 each (close to $5) and we were virtually the only chaps there without small children. The movie volume was intense and I was delighted to pull out my earplugs and listen in virtual comfort in the plush reclining seat.  Had we wanted we could have had food delivered to our seats.  Felix finally beat us down to allow him a chicken dog with crispy onions and gherkin, but he fetched it himself in the intermission.  We don't understand more than a few words of Hindi and there were no subtitles, but I think we got most of the story.  Unlike the American Avatar, however, all the avatars in this film didn't have pointed ears, so I am sure we missed many of the subplots.  No doubt at all: the good guy got his girl back and evil was vanquished.  Interestingly this film was billed as a 3D movie.  It was, but somehow in keeping with the ancient story and its historic depictions, the 3D was several 2D layers on top of one another, a bit like those dioramas we used to make in elementary school before anyone knew about computer presentations
Times of India article with pictures
The final day of these nine days is celebrated with a great bonfire and fireworks when the bad guy is ceremoniously incinerated and some famous person gets to shoot off a flaming arrow into the wickerwork figure.  The explosions went on for a few hours around us last night as the evil wife stealer was repeatedly dispatched at different local parks and stadia.

Our hotel has started putting in extra floor decorations in preparation for Diwali (coming up soon).  These are made with marigold flowers, petals and coloured sawdust.  I believe similar pictures are made in the south using coloured sand.  The visual delights are splendid, but I am a bit concerned about Diwali - apparently it is a time to give gifts to everyone - Bert's colleagues need to ensure that investors get gifts and most of our serving staff will expect discrete (actually often very ornate) envelopes too. I wonder if the banks have to issue more crisp new notes at this time of year.  I think for some it is the equivalent of Christmas shopping - the newspapers are full of gift idea.  I should be very grateful, because they only started pushing this idea a  couple of weeks ago.

Pre-notary stamp

In from Poland: This is the PRE-notary stamp of previous post that was kindly photographed in Poland and sent on.  This was the inexpensive portion.  :)  It is about half a regular 81/2 x 11 inch page.

A day and a half in a bird sanctuary: About an hour west of Agra (Taj Mahal) there is a bird sanctuary, Keoladeo National Park.  The bird life was sensational and our guide an extraordinary well-informed naturalist whose excitement was evident as we spotted unexpected delights.  

The birds:  Some of the birds were dramatic and beautiful, painted storks and kingfishers , some defied logic, the sarus crane is the largest flying bird in the world, some wonderfully easy to identify, the snake bird obligingly wriggles his neck in serpentine waves, others kindly sat and conversed with us, the spotted owlets at one point seemed to be doing Japanese bowing to us [perhaps to scare us off, rather than politely greet] while others eluded us for hours, brown-headed barbet.  All my photos were taken with our camera with a zoom, but the guide had perfected the art of placing a small digital in front of his telescope to zoom in for stunningly clear close ups. 

Amazing facts: One group of nests is used by three successive sets of birds.  We didn't establish where this chain began or whether the same nests are used each year or new ones built, but in the regular year the honey buzzards nest April-June, the woolly-necked storks then occupy the vacant nests August and September and then the dusky eagle-owl takes residence for its young October-February.  Isn't this delightfully sensible?

Cuckoos are cuckoos around the world and I managed to snap this shot of a family of jungle babblers with two young magpies in their midst.  The delinquent pied cuckoo parent had deposited her eggs in the babbler nest and the babblers  had kindly assumed parental roles of the intruders when they hatched.

Our guide, Deepak, was a slight fellow with a boyish look and a very reedy voice, at times making us wonder whether he had yet passed into adulthood, with a deep and wide and enthusiastic knowledge of the local flora and fauna.  Our curiosity was piqued, but Elaine was far more controlled than I, so it was left to me through the course of our 6:30a.m.-7:00p.m. day of scouting to casually ply him with questions.  Deepak had been working as a naturalist for 15 years and continued his education by visiting other parks and listening keenly to others.  He had had a six month government training before he got his uniform for the park.  The going rate for a naturalist is about RS150 an hour (close to $3) and many of the guides stood about most of the day. Deepak was brilliant at keeping us out of the blazing sun and yet continuing to show us new birds, butterflies, animals, bees and beetles and when things were a bit slow on discovery he had fascinating tidbits to share.  It turned out that he is a married man with two small sons (5 years old and about a week old). He did a great job balancing the telescope and tripod on his shoulder as we cycled about.  Altogether a man who is very good at his job.

Added excitement: It seems that a tiger decided to look for adventure outside the further south and west Ranthambhor National Park and headed east and north scaring several villages en route.  He landed in our little bird sanctuary and while were were there he helped himself to a young antelope and a wild boar so the more overgrown portions of the park were off limits to us and the park rather busy with park officials setting up bait and cameras to determine what to do with the guest.  When we got back to Delhi  Elaine and I sought out the wildlife books from the library at the hotel and one of the headmen at the front desk noticed our interest.  It turns out that his father is the director of Ranthambhor National Park!  I'll know who to ask next time I'm looking for a naturalist in Delhi.

Uniforms, uniforms, uniforms: - I still don't have answers to my uniform questions: does a uniform represent job security?  health benefits? a pension? encourage employee loyalty?  I am starting to make a list of all the uniforms that the staff in our hotel complex have.  The inside chaps (front desk and butler services and housekeeping) have beautiful long  neutral brown colour linen tunics over linen trousers and very smart, but comfortable looking, leather clog/sandals.  The head butler also gets a Nehru waistcoat over the top (poor chap, he has to perspire more for the privilege).  It is an extraordinarily flattering outfit for even the 'healthier' staff (of whom there are few).  Anyone wearing this uniform has considerable or excellent mastery of English.  Then there are the restaurant staff and they have long white linen tunics over the neutral coloured linen trousers (a notch less flattering) - also great English.  The outside garden staff have white cotton or linen long smocks over black trousers (must check on their footwear).  The engineers and their assistants who have an army brown short jacket/shirt and trousers and provide their own black shoes, 'good morning, Ma'am' vocabulary.  The window washing chaps just have white shirts and black trousers.  The security guards are different again and the drivers also have their own outfits.  Lounge waiters have lovely red and white striped shirts in black trousers and long, long, Italian white aprons. :)  Ladies' spa personnel have white mid length tunics over white trousers and the gym attendants and trainers as well as the poolside attendants have a sporty linen blend training suit.  I am sure I've missed some. 

There is definitely some connection between uniform and role and hierarchy.  A couple of weeks ago Bert and I were in one of the coffee places when the young waiter lost his balance and poured one of our cold drinks over Bert and our table.  Young chap was clearly embarrassed but made no move to help us, clean us up, or clean up the area.  Bert and I shifted to another table using napkins to clean up the worst and wondered how things would unfold.  It was a busy afternoon, customers were looking for places to sit, yet it was fully five minutes before a young man appeared (not in a waiter's uniform) with mop and bucket.  Our young waiter reappeared with a replacement drink for Bert, but there was no further mention of the event or any suggestion that we get the replacement free. :)

The exercise instructor is paid to give instruction so he stands on ceremony when the room hasn't been set up and finds people to order about causing our sessions start 10 minutes later, rather than doing the minor preparations himself.

The head butler (with Nehru jacket) was the first on the scene when our careless young mouse attached himself to the nasty sticky trap.  It would have been easy for him to remove the unpleasant spectacle, but instead he called up a regular housekeeping staff member (without Nehru jacket) so that he could watch someone else complete the task and we enjoyed the mouse just a bit longer.

My western sensibilities would prefer the customer to come ahead of the rigorous protocol. :)

Hair India II -  Hair India showed up again on my regular desk in the library/lounge so I had another look at it.  The subtitle explains why there are so many men featured in it: Guide to the bizarre beards and magnificent moustaches of Hindustan. :)  Extraordinary variety of styles and colours.

12 feet long and still growing-  Our hotel has the most wonderful lounge where guests can sit and order tea, coffee, light lunch or the most amazing high tea (the only reasonably priced item in the whole hotel).  The lounge also boasts a beautiful collection of picture books on India.  Some are exquisite and some comical.  I recently glanced in Hair India which is a photographic essay on Indian hair.  Interestingly, and in contrast to other parts of the world, the photos are mainly of Indian men.  My favourite is of Ram Singh Chauhal from Jaipur.  He has a 12 foot long moustache that he has been cultivating for more than 25 years.  It has earned him a spot in the Guiness Book of Records, a cameo in Octopussy, and the front cover of one edition of the Lonely Planet.  Perhaps we'll be lucky enough to get a sighting when we visit Jaipure later this year.

The National Police Museum -  I believe in exploring the area around where we live and trying out all the offerings that are free (at least once).  With that in mind I've been trawling the internet looking at things on Google Maps and trying to take advantage of our neighborhood.  One of the items that came up was the National Police Museum which was listed as being in the CBI building on Lodhi Road.  Not that I am drastically interested in police work, but I thought some of our male contingent might be: perhaps they had some exhibits along the lines of the spy museum.  The web article mentioned that visitors might experience the 'frison' of excitement viewing some of the exhibits!!  I set off ready to be surprised.

CBI building on Lodhi Road?  Our hotel is on Lodhi Road so I asked the wonderful front desk staff.  The younger staff looked baffled, but an older man confidently told me it was just 'backside of the hotel' - not five minutes.  I thought I headed in the westerly direction he pointed - there are only east or west after all and the hotel is at the eastern end of the road with only two buildings to the corner.  Wrong.  The men at the petrol station shook their heads vehemently and pointed me in the opposite direction behind the hotel.

Start again: smiling and bowing again to the hotel guards at the entrance I had to pass again. :) OK, so I'd have to actually go south on the road by the side of the hotel to try and get 'backside' of the hotel.  Nothing doing: well, yes I could keep going south, but there were absolutely no roads to the backside of the hotel.  I plodded on southwards in the increasing heat and dust and past a few chaps sleeping on the pavement in the shade and a few more looking slightly belligerently at me.  Small streets sprouted on the side but they were so uninviting I didn't dare risk wandering in on my own.  About half a mile from the hotel there was a large road with fine looking office buildings.  I asked the guards posted here for the CBI (Central Bureau of Investigation) and they pointed me down the road.  On another half mile and at least four more guards I questioned hopefully, and winding through  intricate office blocks and their over full parking areas, I arrived at a fairly shabby government building teeming with police, lawyers in their black and white short ties and unhappy sober people.  So much for 'backside' and 'only five minutes away'!

I asked the check-in clerk of the CBI building the way to the museum and he looked very surprised.  He could understand my questions, but didn't have enough English to explain more than 'no museum.'  No there was no museum here, and there never had been!  I pulled out my map hopefully and he looked thoughtful and then bewildered and finally called on another man who was in heated conversation with two other men.

The second chap pulled away from his heated discussion to help me out and pointed to the road MILES out of the city to another town where the museum had actually been located.  Having politely dealt with me in his very good English he then turned abruptly and continued his heated Hindi exchange.

Disappointed hot and dusty trudge home.  I'm doing a bit more research before venturing out these days. :)
Just because the internet says something exists doesn't mean it does and apparently a building doesn't have to be on a road to use that road as its postal address! 

Let the games begin - Yes, well, some of them began a couple of weeks ago:

Traffic It is hard getting around Delhi and so the city came up with the scheme that arteries to the athletes' village and to the various stadia would have one lane designated ONLY for CMG officials or competitors.  Thus, weeks ago the chronic jams started as the lanes were tested and the decision was made to close schools for the two weeks of the games to diminish congestion.  Mr. Singh (our famous rickshaw driver) refers to these backed up roads as those 'on the handicapped list,' and he chuckles as he takes some obscure back route to avoid the jams. To add to the disincentives of using the CMG lanes police are levying hefty fines on the spot and impounding vehicles - it's working: the lanes remain empty most of the day.

Rickshaws and taxis Not that we can blame them for trying, but it is irritating to find that all the drivers (Mr. Singh excepted) have doubled their rates in anticipation of a new group of gullible tourists in town.  Today Felix and I took rides to and from a nearby market to stock up (Felix comes as my coolie to lift the litres of milk and juice).  We've made the journey several times before.  The first chap had clearly no intention of driving directly and the meter clicked away until we finally got to the market on the wrong side of the road.  Felix and I got out and handed the driver exactly what the meter said - already more than we had anticipated paying and the driver pulled out an official piece of paper with prices on it to try and persuade us we needed to pay more.  I am now so seasoned that I just strode off with Felix leading the way.  The driver followed us a short distance hoping to persuade us yet, but gave up swiftly.  The return trip the driver actually refused to zero his meter and so we said, OK we'll agree on a price.  We agreed on 40  rupees and then when I paid him the 40 exactly (already over the usual payment) he too pulled out his well worn piece of official paper.  He looked disgusted that we were unmoved by his supplications.

Volunteers Thousands of 'volunteers' have arrived to help out with the CWG.  They have each been issued with beautiful bright red and white track suits and we can spot them all over town.  I've wondered several times what a volunteer is doing people watching in the shade at some cafe far from any CWG venue.  Apparently quite a few volunteers collected their spiffy new outfits and disappeared.   Its been quite a challenge briefing volunteers for their various jobs and there have been a number of reports of the blind leading the blind.

Street sweeping  The main arteries are being swept from dawn into the dark and all the street sweepers (there are about 4 times as many as usual) have been issued jolly smart new bibs and baseball caps.

Traffic police We generally have lots of traffic police standing about, but at present the junctions around the stadia look like the visual for some Irish/Polish joke:  how many traffic police does it take to manage an Indian junction?  Absolutely no exaggeration that one junction today had the regular 4 traffic police and 8 extra chaps in it.  Maybe they act like one of those Nascar crews who take off wheels in a split second: if the traffic cop has trouble with someone, perhaps the extras rush in and immobilize the vehicle? :)

Extra security  All around the city there is increased police presence.  They have built small forts with sandbags at every point where people assemble (markets, stadia entrances, railways, national monuments) behind which about 4 armed security personnel can take some shelter and fire at would be assailants.

British outfits for opening ceremony  Very elegant  red Nehru  sleeveless jackets over white!  They got my vote for the most tasteful and appropriate. All the athletes have been ordered not to wear any national costume outside the village for fear of making themselves targets.

No events today as the opening party went quite late with lots of great noise and fireworks.  The Indians are rightfully proud of how well the opening ceremony went. 

Commonwealth Games Opening - The opening ceremonies of the Commonwealth Games are being held down the road from us.  The whole road has been completely closed to anyone but Commonwealth official traffic.  Felix, coming home from a softball game today, had to walk the length of the road home when the rickshaw dropped him at the end of Lodhi Road.  He found armed soldiers or policeman every ten yards down the almost mile home.  He was spot checked once - ID required and he was frisked - and almost again if the first policeman hadn't indicated he had already been cleared.  Tonight Felix has the honour of being part of the colourful opening ceremonies as he was offered a pass to be in the audience.  He has been texting excitedly from the sixth row in the JLN Stadium.  I hope he'll have some good tales to tell later.

The Delhi folk are super excited and proud to be hosting the games.  May there be absolutely no terrorist attacks and much good that comes for India and Delhi specifically.

Lodhi Gardens - We are a pleasant walk straight down our road  from the Lodhi gardens (named after the 15the century Indian rulers who established the garden).  The garden is a real mixture of botanical garden, monument park and fitness guru's exercise venue.  I've been there several times now at different times of day and it seems a different place each time.

My first visit was with Felix at the end of the day about an hour before dusk.  We came through the main gate which opens onto a narrow ashoka tree avenue and the noise of the roosting green parrots was tremendous.  We have noticed that green parrots like old buildings in India, so there are often flocks of them in parks surrounding tombs.  After we got through the short avenue we noticed the masses of people.  The park was teeming with different groups.  Many, many men clearly walking through the park after work with their briefcases still in hand companionably talking.  Others had changed into their jogging gear and were either gently jogging or briskly walking in small groups on the designated jogging 'track.'  Some individual young people were walking rather large pure bred dogs or plugged into ipods deliberately getting some exercise, but in general people were in groups.  The generous green areas had some serious athletes doing vigorous calisthenics together and some yoga practitioners focused on their contortions while a group of elderly men clad in white sat together in, what looked like, profound conversation on one side of the green expanse, and on the other side, another group of white clad elderly woman chatted peacefully.  Did the white represent something?  Were the two elderly groups related to one another?  This first visit Felix and I were actually looking for a restaurant and so had little time to focus on the buildings (I'm sure you remember how urgent food is for a 17 year-old), but we did notice there is a bonsai garden and masses and masses of cuttings being rooted and large areas that look like nursery.

The second visit was in the early afternoon when Bert and I went to discover a pleasant route through the gardens to the Khan Market and had our walk cut short by the abrupt arrival of one of the last monsoon showers.  In contrast to the first impression the garden seemed quite empty and the primary beneficiaries of the lush surroundings were courting couples.  We discovered two tombs and extensive walls of a third before the rain hurried us on to the Khan market.

My third visit this week with Elaine was a very slowly, leisurely affair in the earlier part of the day.  Now the most visible people were the masses of garden staff.  Even the weeding women seem to have a light blue sari uniform for their duties.  Perhaps there are different levels of garden employee - some of the men had similar light blue pyjama like outfits, but others were without uniform.  It was stunning to witness one women over hours bent double to do her weeding. I would have chosen to either kneel or squat.   We never did see her upright.

We looked at three of the five tombs (really walled monuments housing smaller tombs) in the garden and they are magnificent despite the inevitable mildew that the humidity brings with each monsoon season.  There are hints of how glorious they must have looked at one time with fragments of coloured tiles left in a few spots, but the shapes and the layout are still clear and dramatic.  Elaine is a sketcher and bird  and butterfly watcher so we sat for twenty minutes at a time and it was a delight to discover more birds as we sat still in the shade. The butterflies were a lot more exhausting because they enjoy full sunshine, so although we did see some glorious examples I much preferred the less demanding ornithological study from the shade.  As we sat in one place we received attention from two different Indian men - one a young man who thought we might be interested in visiting his church, and the other  older man who was clearly thrilled to practice his English on someone. 

In one part of the garden that hosted many flowering plants that attracted butterflies we found a large tree with masses of roots dangling down from its branches being trained into wide bamboo poles.  I've discovered that the bunyan tree has its seeds scattered by birds onto other trees and the bunyan then germinates in the crevice of another tree's branch and from there sends down these long dangling roots to the ground.  I haven't discovered what the gardeners were doing in training these roots through the bamboo pipes though!

Looking forward to more Lodhi discoveries.

A sitar concert - or not? - On Thursday night we thought we'd find out how the local Indian Habitat Center (IHC) concerts proceed.  The newspaper advertised a two man sitar concert.  My schoolfriend, Elaine, who works for Faber and Faber, London, in music publishing, was with us and we all thought the musical experience would be refreshing and highly appropriate for our context.  The newspaper had a start time, but no contact number or ticket information.  I asked the hotel staff for illumination in the ticket procedure.  No illumination, but great willingness to procure information by sending up a driver to ask around!  As our road, Lodhi Road, is one of those that has been reduced from three lanes to two lanes (several main arteries have been narrowed in this way to provide special lanes for Commonwealth Games athletes and officials to get quickly from place to place) the jams have been awful and I knew I could walk up to the Habitat Center faster than a driver could get there, so I declined the kind offer.  Instead we thought we'd just take our chances and walk up ourselves around six o'clock.  If we didn't get into the concert then we could always look at some of the art exhibits which would be open until 10 p.m.

When we got to the IHC we found a whole sheet of offerings for the evening  posted.  Our concert was unticketed and free in one of the theatres.  We asked for directions to the theatre and then had to wait for the doors to open.  We continued our fact finding mission by trying refreshments at the "Diner."  Great refreshments in very authentic 1960s Elvis memorabilia.  Service was a little slow so we actually rolled through the theatre doors minutes before the concert was due to start.  We saw no signs and so quickly checked at the inner doors "Is this the sitar recital?"  "No, no, this is the dance recital!"  Bert, Elaine and I glanced at one another.  Silent affirmative shrugs. :) "May we see it?"  "Yes, yes, please."

We found ourselves in a small theatre with slightly reclining seats and a steadily growing audience.  Five musicians sat cross legged on the left of the stage: a violinist holding his violin almost like an inverted cello, a bamboo flute player, the primary vocalist, a percussionist/vocalist, a drummer.  The young dancer, Pallavi Saran Mathur, was an extraordinarily lithe, disciplined and articulate performer.  She came on stage before each dance to explain the story line or history of each piece and then danced with only very short pauses between each.  Her stamina, control, and flexibility were awe-inspiring.  Her costume and make up were worthy of a study in themselves:  Her traditional trousers had a stunning pleated front that opened like a peacock's tail when she plieed and her hands and feet were painted red to draw our attention to specific gestures.  Her eyes had heavy, Egyptian like liner to accent facial expression and her long black hair was plaited and firmly tied to her waist with a dramtic pompon to form a striking black line down her red and gold costume.  The visual aspects of the costume very deliberately developed to emphasize the dance movements. Either there is a very set pattern to these dances, or the musicians and dancer knew one another well, because the interpretation and the music were exquisitely synchronized and the musical movements beautifully tied to the dance moves to make one very integrated performance.

Others in the audience clearly were familiary with IHC arrangements and the audience grew steadily and then gently decreased through the performance as people came to enjoy a change of pace or had to take their children to bed after a couple of dances.  It was entertaining to count the number of blackberries or mobile phones that lit up between dances in the short intervals and somewhat horrifying that some chap actually took a phone call during one of the dances!

Elaine and I have a childhood memory of sitting in art in Miss Langsdale's class in the second form and laughing and laughing about something.  Miss Langsdale was not happy.  In the second dance of the evening I found myself needing to turn away from Elaine in case I should catch her eye and start to laugh uncontrollably: a rodent had decided to take the limelight behind our skillful dancer and ran  from stage left all the way across to exit stage right.  Five minutes later Elaine and I were both shaking with supressed giggles as TWO rodents decided to join Miss Mathur on stage again: enter stage right and exit stage left, this time.  We were left a little nervous that we'd see a reappearance later in the show, but thankfully that was it for this evening's performance.

We still don't know whether there was a change in the programme, or whether we were directed to the wrong theatre, but we'll be back for more.  It was a sensational performance.