Lajpat Nagar: My new favorite place!

I wrote this one last thursday (1st march), will post about my bday weekend soon......

I’m writing from a coffee shop in a neighbourhood called Lajpat Nagar. This neighbourhood is quite far from where I stay (in India, stay = live) but for whatever reason it is my third time here in a week, and I only started coming here last Saturday. The coffee shop I’m sitting in is a chain called Cafe Coffee Day, whose tagline is “a lot can happen over a cup of coffee.” For whatever reason, I find that amusing. They seem to serve more fancy drinks (milkshakes, their version of a frappachino, etc) than regular coffee. I ordered a hot chocolate. There is no Hindi word for hot chocolate (or at least not that I know of) but I had to repeat myself like 5 times and the guy taking my order just stared at me and told me that wasn’t an Indian word. Which is ironic because I had ordered a hot chocolate in this same cafe earlier this week with no problem. Luckily the guy standing next to him knew what I was talking about and I now have an extremely fancy looking hot chocolate next to me.

Lajpat Nagar is a really crowded neighbourhood famous for its central market where you can buy all sorts of cheap things, but what most people come for are cheap women’s Indian clothes. When I came to India the only Indian clothes I had were fancy ones for parties and weddings, and with summer approaching it is time to stock up on light weight kurtas (longer shirts) and salvaar kamiz (Indian women’s clothes—leggings, long shirt, duptata). I should add that the weather is already highs in the 80s, lows in the 50s and this is spring weather. I am dreading summer, where it can reach up to 115, and lows are 80s/90s. Anyways, I digress.

So I need Indian clothes because in Delhi you have to cover up (no one shows legs) and for office appropriate clothing you have to have sleeves, so the obvious solution is Indian clothes as the summer versions are made from extremely thin material and very comfortable and also considered professional. So last Saturday my co-worker Sunanda, her Aunt and I went to the Lajpat Nagar central market. It was so crowded and crazy and super fun to buy Indian clothes (and they were cheap)!

There were basically two kinds of stores. First are the fixed price stores (no bargaining allowed). I actually bought most of my stuff in these kinds of stores because the quality is better and you get what you pay for. The way it works is that you go into a shop, you tell them what you’re looking for and your size, and they proceed to show you lots of options. In some stores you try them on and take them if they fit (normal shopping). In other stores, they measure you and then a tailor who is right there adjusts the kurta (top) so that it is custom made to fit you. Once you have picked your kurta they will match it to leggings. Tight ones are called ‘churidar’, loose ones (think hammer pants) people just refer to as normal. As in ‘you want churidar or normal?’ Then you can also pick out a matching dupata. Most people probably don’t have to do this for all kurta tops they get, but as I don’t have a drawer full of leggings and dupatas at home, everyone I got came with matching churidar and dupata. Some kurta can go with jeans, particularly ones that are shorter. I still have no idea how to decide if something goes with jeans or leggings, but fortunately I have an office full of female co-workers who are more than happy to share their opinions.

The second kind of store that was in the market wasn’t really a store but more a man with a pile (or a table) of kurtas and you dig through the pile, find your size and then the bargaining begins! There were also a bunch of guys standing around yelling “say-lay” (sale). Super fun! I didn’t actually end up getting any from these because Sunanda wouldn’t let me (not nice enough for the office). They actually did look quite cheap so I wasn’t too disappointed. Sunanda just came from LA (she spends half the year there and half in Delhi) and she helps me a lot with navigating Indian life and office. So with Sunanda in hand I also now have a few Indian style cotton and linen shirts and several Indian outfits, perfect for summer and office and meet her approval.

There are also some stores that just sell fabric and you can then take the fabric to a tailor to custom make you an outfit. I prefer to get ‘ready-made’ (basically, Indian clothes that are already sewn like everything I have described above), but Sunanda was picking up some fabric she had had dyed. Basically she had been there the week before, saw some pattern she liked, but had a colour in mind she wanted that they didn’t have on hand so they just dyed it to match! We were in that store quite a while, and I ended up emerging with some fabric of my own. The latest fashion is to get fabric with people on them (prints of women’s faces, Indian gods, etc, all usually looking like they’re from Indian paintings). Not quite what I feel like wearing so I ended up with one that had flowers and fruit that looked like pomegranates. I haven’t taken it to a tailor yet, but will probably take it to the tailor in Pitampura that my Bhuas go to because I am always looking for activities to do with them that don’t involve feeding me.  

Beyond that it was fun shopping I have been trying to figure out what it is about Lajpat Nagar I like so much, and I have decided it is both the vibe (much more energetic with lots of young people) and that no one stares at me here. In my cousin’s neighbourhood where I live right now, it is more families, I get stared at everywhere I go (how can they tell I’m not from there?) and I don’t feel particularly safe walking by myself at night. There seem to be a lot more foreigners that live here and in the next neighbourhood over (Defence Colony) so that might also be it, plus the central market is a tourist hotspot. If you come visit (not so subtle hint) I will take you here on a Saturday for all the craziness.

Pictures of the market coming soon!

Living In India.....

WHAT SOCIETY THINKS I DO

WHAT MY FRIENDS & FAMILY THINK I DO

WHAT MY INDIAN RELATIVES THINK I DO

WHAT I TELL MYSELF I DO

WHAT I ACTUALLY DO

Photos: First few weeks

Here are some photos of my first few weeks in India.....

My Bhuas (Aunts)

Delhi rooftops at sunset

Some of my cousins kids 

At an engagement party - with Rhea (cousin's daughter).....I get to live with this much fun :)

Vishal & Ramona (cousin and his wife) - who I live with right now

Wedding desserts....not hotdogs! (Gulab Jamin, gajer ka hulva)

A wedding! I'm related to the groom somehow. 

Buying sheets and blankets at a shop in Agra. 

How many Luthras does it take to fly a kite?

Things India has taught me so far

1.     I am my mother’s daughter

Well yes, duh. But literally most of my relatives have commented over and over how I look like my mom, or especially how I look like my maternal grandmother or aunt Margaret (both of whom they all met in 1982, when my Aunt was around my age). And I find myself adapting to the Indian style of saying American words (puma = pyuma, oregano like you say origami (oh-rey-gaan-oh), calling parties "functions", etc). This reminds me of my mother using the word "better" as "beheter" and my sisters and I laughing at this. We all become our mothers eventually, hai na?

2.     I am not Indian

Most people are surprised to learn I am PIO (person of Indian origin). They generally say things like, “your name sounds Indian, why?” (hello people!) I refilled my metro card tonight and the guy just stared at me for a bit and then told me that I wasn’t Indian. Last point—there was an auto driver who tried to jack up the price way high and I told him in Hindi to give us a fair price and then gave directions. One we were driving he apologized and told me he didn’t realize I was Indian, thought I was a foreigner, sorry about the price. Ha!

3.     I am Indian.

           Other people I have no idea I’m American. I went to a wedding, and when my uncle saw me
           in my Indian clothes he just laughed and said that now all the American was gone and only
           the Indian was left.

4.     Snatch!

I originally thought that the key to surviving India was being pushy. My cousin Rajan explained that it is not just being pushy, but the key in his opinion is “snatch.” With this many people, you have to be proactive. While this kind of mentality generally makes me feel guilty (thoughts of “the first shall be last and the last shall be first” run through my mind), eventually, generally in the metro, the need to be on time for work kicks in, and I find myself ‘snatching’ for a spot. 

5.     Taboo is relative

           There are certain topics we don’t seem to talk about in the states. Those rules do not apply
           here.  Your weight, diet, appearance, etc are all fair game. I knew this was the case before
           among family members, but it also extends to the work place. There is even a joke at work
           about “how fat is [leaving name out because it’s still taboo to me] today?”

6.     Height is relative

I am not short in India. In fact sometimes I’m a giant! This is mostly illustrated to me by the morning metro ride. Despite the crowd, I can see over most heads in the ladies department, as I am taller than most. I am also the tallest (related) female among all of my cousins and their kids.

7.     Everyone is a relative!

Or at least that’s how it seems. My relatives’ relatives are mine too. We all go to each other’s families weddings, birthday parties, funerals, etc. If you come to visit (and I hope you do!) you will also be a relative. Something to look forward to? 

Delhi Belly

Well thanks to my friend Carolyn, what we like to call the “dirt diet” actually works and the only delhi belly I have to worry about is my expanding one.

Reasons for possible expansion include:

-food is delicious

-4+ cups of chai per day (1 at breakfast, 2+ at work, 1 after work at home)

-being new, everyone makes me try a bite of everything

-Most substantial reason? FORCE FEEDING! Feeding is love. I am feeling the love. Two notable case studies come to mind.

Case Study 1: The Bhuas

The bhuas are my dad’s three older sisters, who now in their widow-hood all live together in a neighborhood called Pitampura. (we often also refer to them as Pitampura). They show their love by feeding you, and despite the fact that I and others have stressed that I am here for a long time and thus they can spread out their love (previous trips you get four years of love fed to you in 2 weeks), they are still winning the food battle.

For example, I came to their place a few weeks ago from about 3pm to 9pm. Within that time I was fed: large lunch, lunch dessert, fruit, chai, buscuits (cookies), coffee, and nuts.

My Vinod Bhua went out to buy another snack for me around 6pm. She wanted to by one thing (I forget what) and another Bhua wanted her to get samoas.  I told her I wasn’t hungry, so need to by samoas (or anything for that matter). What did she return with? Her choice of snack, several large samoas…..and a CAKE! Yes, a cake. Another cousin, Shanti, and his wife Vandana showed up around then, as well as my cousin Rajan, his wife Ritu and their 2 kids, so another round of chai/coffee was made and the feeding continued. I tried to not eat anything too much until Rajan politely informed me that I should be seen eating the cake, so I ate the cake too.

My bhuas often tell me that I can eat when I like and not when I don’t like and that they aren’t forcing me. However, when I do try to decline something, generally because I am already so full, there is subsequent conversation (in Hindi to each other) about how I must not like it, and then they try to figure out what I do like, and then various other options appear and in the end I end up being forced to eat more food than I originally tried to turn down.

Case Study 2: Agra

Three weekends ago I went to Agra to visit my Uncle (dad’s brother), Aunt and Rajan and his family. They live in a joint house (common in India), with my uncle and aunt downstairs and Rajan and family upstairs. They were very happy I was there and demonstrated this again via food. 

Here is how one of the days went. I was fed it all between 11am-11pm

-chai + buiscuits upstairs 11am

-breakfast upstairs 11:30am

-go downstairs to say good morning, where I am given more chai and a second breakfast. I can’t say no because they made it especially for me: 12:30pm

-lunch downstairs 2pm (had again just gone to hang out)

-lunch upstairs (again, made for me, one of my favorite meals—I think it was gajer mutter sabzee) 2:30p,

-upstairs snack (maybe chai as well?)

-snack at a market (6pm): fried potato snack, dalh chat, and pow bhaji. All good things.

-mcdonalds at a mall (8pm). Made me reminisce about Rhea and the fry incident, which she admits to remembering too!

-first round of snacks at Agra club (like a country club, but I don’t think there is golf) (9:30pm). Snacks include things like tandoori fish, pizza, cheese balls, paneer.

-at this point no one is hungry and we have dinner reservations, so we make a group decision to forego dinner and just order another round of snacks: 10:30pm.

I decided that next time I go to Agra I am making a schedule, because both my aunt and Ritu are great cooks and wanted to cook for me and don’t bother to coordinate with each other—hence the double meals. 

Driving to Jaipur or how I spent new years in a car

India is known for its crazy traffic, both the style of driving (no rules enforced, except more or less red lights) and the sheer amount of cars on the road. And the noise—so much honking! I think I read 10,000 cars are being added each month to the roads in Delhi, although that could be more of an Indian wide stat. Well on new years weekend, I got to be part of some of the worst traffic I have ever seen.

In addition to the above factors, north india in the winter experiences some of the worst fog you can imagine. Sets in about 9pm and stays until 10 or 11am the next day. Some days it lasts longer or can start earlier. People drive with their hazard lights flashing to add to their visibility. New years eve we are driving to Jaipur, about 230km away from Delhi. I think this is relatively comparable to driving from Seattle to Portland, perhaps a bit longer.

How long did it take? 9 hours!!!! Yes, 9 hours! So many traffic jams, so much fog, so many trucks! There’s not as much of the ‘slow drivers stay right’ kind of mentality (or left in this case), due to the fact that on the sides of the road there are also bikes, tractors, autos, animal carts, ppl walking, etc—and this is on major highways. So big trucks often stay to inside of the highway, but not exclusively, so you find yourself doing a lot of weaving. The worst parts are when the road is more or less two lanes, and slow vehicles are trying to pass the even slower vehicles so you just can’t seem to get anywhere. Add the fog and low visibility, and that passing takes places at incredibly close distances, and you get a fun adventure.

So we left  Delhi at 8am, and reached by 5pm. Celebrated new years, and then the next day, we head to another city, Ajhmeer. I’ll save the details of that visit for another post, but the important detail is that it was another 100 km past Jaipur. We left Jaipur at 11am, reached Ajhmeer at 2, left by 5, headed back toward Jaipur, and on to Delhi. We reached Delhi at 2am!!! So all in all, in 42 hours, we spent over 20 in the car in traffic! (New years eve was fun though J)

The Hunger Games (otherwise known as my commute)

Commuting by metro is kind of like the hunger games (thanks Tracy!). Basically a fight to the death and you never know what to expect. You also have no real allies. Main difference? Rather than 24 young players, I am now one of the over 3 million Delhites that uses the Delhi metro daily.

My commute can basically be dived into 5 parts, and takes an hour in the morning.

Part 1: Racing out of the house (I’m running late, shocking), and walking to the metro, which takes about 5 minutes. Avoid getting hit by car, scooter, bike, person, etc. By the time I’ve reached the metro, climbed all the stairs up (my station is above ground), gone through the security check, and am waiting for the train, I am sweating. It doesn’t help that I am wearing a thick coat and shawl, which are necessary for part 5 (see below).

Part 2: First metro. I always try to go in the ladies only car—first car of every train. While the last 4-5 cars are crammed full of men who are jealous they don’t have their own special designated car, the ladies only car during rush hour (which lasts about 8-11am), is no picnic either. It is generally quite full, and people don’t move away from the door to let you in so you have to shove your way in, even if it isn’t completely full. I’ve become more confident at running at the train and jumping in even if it looks full and the doors are about to close.  Then I travel 5 stops t Rajiv Chowk (Connaught Place), the busiest station in Delhi.

Part 3: Rajiv Chowk: At the stop before this, people start crowding toward the doors in anticipation of the mad exit. At the station, fortunately there are people regulating the metros and rails with openings designating metro doors. Those wanting to board the metro sare crowded on either side of the doors, which the authorities yelling and blowing whistles, forcing them to leave an opening for those disembarking. When the doors finally open, you push and shove your way out of the metro. It is important to be off relatively soon, because those waiting to get on will eventually shove their way in, and I’ve seen people trying to get off that don’t make it do to the force shoving their way in. I’ve heard it said that you need ten human touches or contact a day to be a happy/health person. I am already set for the year, thank you very much Delhi Metro Transit.

After I am off the first metro train it is imperative to move as quickly as possible to get down to the lower platform to catch my next train, where I become part of the crowd trying to shove my way on.

Transferring has been accomplished in as little as 3-4 minutes, but can often take 10+ minutes. Once it took 20. Why, you might ask? A plethora of reasons.

First of all, about every third train is one compartment short. Rather than stopping at the same spot, it stops short, which forces all of the men waiting for the 2^nd compartment and the women waiting for the first compartment to have to migrate (stampede) down to get into the train. The authorities are pretty good about keeping men from boarding the women’s train, so it really is a mad dash. About half the people attempt the dash and the other half use this as an opportunity to get to the front of the ‘line’. My strategy in the beginning was the latter. However, this ill fated morning (when I wasn’t running late for once), there were a few short trains in a row, and then three times I attempted to get onto the normal train but wasn’t close enough to the front to fit (and trust me, I tried—mostly just by being pushed forward by those pushing behind me.

So after the third time, when I clearly am now going to be late for work I decide to try the short train strategy, and go and wait in between the women’s line and the men’s, and lo and behold the next train is a short one, and I run for it and get on (very helpful that the authority guy is blowing his whistle and forcing the men to part the sea and allow women to board. Since then, this has been my strategy and it is working well.

Part 4: Once on this train, I have 9 stops to go to my station, Haus Khaz. As you might guess given the rush to get on, the train is absolutely packed. In fact, I have no discovered that I no longer think of the train as crowded unless I am being pressed against on all sides. If I’m mostly untouched, not so bad!  I have not once gotten a seat on my commute, except for the time I ran for it and ended up in a regular compartment and then men let me sit down. After a few stops we reach another transfer station where most of the crowd gets off, so it’s not so bad after that. I have even begun to not notice the crowd so much and have taken to reading books during my commute.

Party 5: Auto-rickshaw. Once I get off the metro, I have to still go quickly, as I need to get an auto, and want to beat the crowd to make sure I get one right away. Usually not a problem, as they are generally waiting at the top of the metro and approach you. Thus the haggling begins. I know how to say in Hindi where I want to go and how much I want to pay. I’ve all but once gotten my price, and have now mastered the literally 1 left turn it takes to get from the metro to the office. I’ve even learned which way to not go (alternate route), because it has a right turn, and keeps you waiting at a light, and generally with my luck, behind a bus breathing in the fumes for 5 minutes.

The auto ride takes about 10 minutes and is quite breezy—hence the thick jacket and shawl for my head—keeps my hair in place and me from breathing in all of the pollution. Once however, on another day where I was going to actually be early, I got an auto driver who either didn’t like breeze or maybe the auto had seen better days, and it took us 20 minutes, plus he went the alternate route way and I was late and smelled like bus exhaust. But my hair was in perfect shape so that was a plus. 

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Evening commute: Reverse these steps, except that the office driver often drops us at the metro, which is a plus because the traffic is such it takes about 20+ minutes to get to the metro, which makes my final commute about 1 hour 15 minutes, and I usually get home about 7:15/7:30. Quite a change from my days on the 48! (or let’s be honest, getting late and driving in).