First entry

As I struggled to get my mind around this hit song today I remembered why I love it here. One ear glued to a Hindu bajan, the other to Fifty Cent, India comes across as this cacophonous insanity. People have this impulse to separate everything and distinguish aspects as being British or Muslim or whatever, but in the end it just is what it is.

I'm here though. For real. As many of you know, housing has been quite the debacle. I decided to live with a girl that is also ion my Hindi class. She is quite a bit older than I am and is extremely successful and I continuously seem to prove my immaturity and provincialism while around her. A typical Anu/Becky/Gautam (the third guy in my class who invented and marketed this microsensor sponge thing) conversation goes like this:
Anu: While I was working for "X" prestegious organization in X European city
Becky: Wait, where is that
Gautam: (rolls eyes) On the border of Switzerland and Italy
Becky: Oh, like where Genovia would be if it existed.
(Genovia, for those of you who don't know, is where Mia discovers she's the princess of in the Princess Diaries)

Aside from making occasional references to movies for prepubescent girls, I have also been proving my tendency to be insufferably standard-less . "Becky, I am ten years out of college," she says like it's her maha-mantra when I make college-y suggestions like maybe we can just eat cereal and milk or live without hot water for a day. Anyways, because of this, we are living in an estate in Shanti Kunj. I bet you've never heard of it ? Neither has any of New Delhi.

For the past week I was trying to figure out why I couldn't find our colony on the most intricate of maps. I finally asked my
teacher, "What's with Shanti Kunj?" He kept on trying to talk to me and the conversation felt really circular. Then Gautam entered in and was like, "It's illegal no?" Here's the inside scoop: The Government of India has made it illegal to buy out farm land. With such a high percentage of the rural population being so impoverished, it sounds like a good idea to protect them from rich people who want to buy out their land because it's quiet and pretty, right? Well it sounds like a good idea, but luckily for my landlord the Gov't doesn't care that much. He has planted a lovely little cabbage patch ruse to indicate that we are in fact living on farm land. When I showed my disgust for the entire situation, my teacher assured me "Don't worry, you won't be demolished. You are our guest! It is only the property owners who will be fined."


We are cast off far far far. Like close to Lahore. Our neighbors are lots and lots of rich people whom I never see, because their homes are behind nine foot high gates. The only confirmation of my their identity are tiny placards that say things like "High Comissioner to Namibia" (I'm not kidding) or the occasional man in a sweater vest walking a Scottie. Oh, and their dozens of servants that actually do things. The place is nice. Too nice. As much as I have the urge to watch Malayalam soap operas on one of our 150 cable channels at 3 in the morning, I really don't need this and I am trying to get out ASAP. I will let you know what happens.

After housing, the second most important aspect of my life are the ubiquitous lamination machines. This is an institution that I did not take proper advantage of the last time that I was here. Like temples and urinals, lamination machines dot every corner. Like everything worthwhile here, these machines are run by 85 lb. toothless men in tiny little stands with aluminum siding. For less than a quarter, I can take any silly piece of paper and make it into a waterproof creation. Because of my lack of social life or really any life to speak of aside from learning Hindi, my having things laminated is on the verging on becoming a hobby. Since discovering this one guy in Defence Colony (where I go to school) I have taken a new passport copy, driver's license copy or map to him every day. The best part is that now I don't have to buy place mats when I come back to the U.S.

Things are so much easier this time around. Yesterday I needed to go to Jaipur to register with the Foreigner Registration Office there. Two years ago a round trip from Delhi to Jaipur would have felt like an Oregon Trail style journey complete with buffalo hunting and bouts cholera. However, I just went to the bus station and hopped on, got off at my stop and attended to my business at the computer-less non nonsensical Government office and came back (laminating the documents saying that I am a legal resident of India of course). I forgot how much I love Jaipur and it's changed a bunch (there's a mall next to Bapna land!)

I have a cell and I have Internet. To call me you dial 001 92 100 94533. E-mailing and Skype are just the same as before.

I have also realized that a number of you have virtually no idea as to what I am doing here (my own mom didn't really know until Thanksgiving, the week before I left). Basically I am learning/practicing Hindi through a Critical Language fellowship (the only reasonably decent institution Bush has funded during his term) with the American Institute of Indian Studies in Delhi until February/March and then I start my Fulbright project. I have attached my proposal for your perusal (relax, it's only 2 pages) and these will probably be the only academic details that I will bore you with unless further asked (and then I will go on for a very long time).

I miss you all.

Love and plastic coated papers,