Category Archives: Daily Life

Daily Life, Michigan, On the Road

Twelve Years of Christmas

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I just dug through 701 email messages and pages of old blog posts, as well as photo albums uploaded willy-nilly on shutterfly, picasa and flickr to reconstruct my memory of the last 12 Christmases. I knew for sure that we hadn’t spent a single Christmas in the States, but I couldn’t remember exactly where we HAD spent them. Now I know. And I’m documenting the details here so I’ll be able to find it easily next time. If you traveled with us and/or think I got some of this wrong, please let me know!

When we lived in Turkey, we didn’t actually get a break for Christmas, so we attended and hosted parties (and even flew to Germany for the weekend once) to rouse some holiday spirit. Here’s the run-down on our post-Christmas semester breaks:
2001-02 – Cappedocia and Ephesus, Turkey, with Koc School colleagues Marcos, Renee, Steph and Sarah.
2002-03 – Koh Samui, Bangkok, and Chiang Mai, Thailand, with Marcos and Amber.
2003-04 – Cairo and a Nile cruise in Egypt with Lisa.
2004-05 – Miami and Carnival Cruise with Lisa, followed by the job fair at the University of Northern Iowa.

After moving to China, our two-week semester breaks coincided with Christmas.
2005-06 – Phuket, Thailand.
2006-07 – Malaysian Borneo with Scott and Amy.
2007-08 – Dickinson family reunion in Ramstein, Germany.
2008-09 – Yangshuo, China, followed by the job fair in Bangkok.

During our two years in Laos, we got a whole month off for the semester break!
2009-10 – Krabi, Thailand, followed by a visit from my sister Megan, who traveled with me to Cambodia and Luang Prabang, Laos.
2010-11 – played host in Vientiane to house guests Scott, Amy and Blake, and then headed to the Bangkok job fair.

So far in India, our semester break has been 3 weeks.
2011-12 – Garmish, Germany, with my parents, brother and sis-in-law.

And that brings me to NOW. After all that, I can confidently say we spent Christmas 2012 in the United States for the first time since moving abroad. Why would we do that?

Here’s the short answer:
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His name is William Augustus Warren, and he is the latest addition to my nephew collection. Will, aka Guster, aka Love Bucket, was born Sept. 29 to my sister Megan and her hubby, Britt. The devastating loss of their first son, Benjamin, made William’s arrival all the more poignant and powerful. I simply couldn’t wait till summer to meet this little guy. A bit shy at first, he quickly warmed up to all the Dickinson chaos. I cuddled the stuffing out of him, and my eyes more often than not teared up with love. Tony enjoyed bouncing him while singing inappropriate lullabies (such as “Two Beavers are Better Than One” from the TV show, “How I Met Your Mother”). By the end of our two-week visit, William had changed so much! He gained more control over his wobbly head, and he began to kick and wave with gusto. His wide blue eyes started tracking to whoever cooed the loudest … or to whichever ceiling fan caught his fancy. Best of all, he started smiling! Big, gummy, perfect smiles!

Here are a few more shots of that sweet doll baby.

Of course, I cherished every minute with my other two nephews, Nico and Paul, too. Hilarious, curious, talented and cute as can be, those two little guys rock my world. Stay tuned … I have heaps more Christmas coverage to come …

Daily Life, India, Teaching

Winter break is here! Halleluiah!

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It’s the last day of the semester, and only a half day at that. You know what that means! Lots of squirrely, excited teachers students. Kids shared their travels plans – from Alaska to Australia and everywhere in between, said their good-byes to children moving on permanently, made play dates with friends who were spending the holiday in Delhi, watched movies and discussed their holiday traditions.

For many international students and teachers, winter break is especially anticipated. Some of us chose this lifestyle for the opportunity to see the world, and this is our longest vacation of the school year – three weeks of travel time. Some of us struggle with living so far away from our loved ones, and this holiday season is a time for reunions. Some of us just need a break from all things unfamiliar and frustrating.

That sappy stuff doesn’t stop kids from being kids, though.

First thing this morning, I went to my usual third-grade classroom where I chatted with the teacher while students arrived. A burst of giggling got our attention, so we both turned to see what was so funny. Two boys had curled into balls, stretched their hoodies over their entire bodies, pulled the drawstrings closed and were now rolling around the floor, bumping into desk legs and eliciting howls of laughter from onlookers. The teacher and I couldn’t help but crack up. Yep, it’s time for vacation!

Later I headed next door to see my other morning group of third graders. Remember those three little boys who had the deep discussion about U.S. presidents a few months ago? During “free choice” writing time this morning, they decided to write comic books. I sat down with them to admire the creative collaboration. Brilliant stuff.

Boy 1: Look! We’re starting every comic book like this, “I was walking down the street when suddenly…” And then something exciting is gonna happen!
Boy 2: We’re all different superheroes, but we’re like a superhero team.
Me: What are your super powers?
Boy 1: I can shoot ice out of my hands.
Boy 2: I can jump really far.
Boy 3: I can teleport.
Boy 1 to Boy 2: Oh! You can be rainbow colored, so when you jump really far, you make a big rainbow and the bad guys will be all “ooooh, look at the rainbow!” and then I’ll shoot ice at them and freeze them.
Boy 2 to Boy 3: And then you can grab the bad guys and teleport them to another dimension. Like they could be trapped in Captain America’s shield!
Boy 3: Yeah!

In 11 hours, Tony and I will be heading to the airport for our long journey back to the States. This is our first family Christmas in America since we moved overseas 12 years ago! Man, I sure wish I could teleport.

Bye-bye, kiddos! See ya in 2013!
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Daily Life, India

Tibetan spiritual leader tells students in search of peace: Just relax

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The most important Tibetan spiritual leader, after the Dalai Lama, visited our school today as part of our Peace and Global Citizens initiatives. His Holiness the 17th Gyalwang Karmapa arrived with little pomp and sat in the theatre, answering questions from students. Born into a family of nomads in Tibet, Ogyen Trinley Dorje was recognized as the 17th Karmapa as a young child. In 1999, at the age of 14, he left Tibet to meet the exiled Dalai Lama and other teachers in India.

According to the website kagyu.org,

In the case of an enlightened being, rebirths are taken consciously, motivated by a desire to benefit all living beings and made possible by the depth and clarity of an individual’s realization. The first such reincarnation (tulku) was recognized in thirteenth-century Tibet. His name was the Gyalwa Karmapa, “The Victorious One of Enlightened Activity.” Thereafter, he continued to return, generation after generation, until the present seventeenth Karmapa. The Karmapa is said to embody the activity of all the buddhas of the past, present, and future. Citing ancient texts, traditional histories trace his lives back for eons and continue it forward into the distant future.

The Karmapa held several Q&A sessions with students from all grade levels; I attended his session with some middle school kids. The Karmapa leaned forward in his chair to address the students, carefully mulling over each question.

One student asked, “What is the most important value of the Tibetan culture?” The Karmapa responded in a low voice, interspersed with English words, and shared with the audience by a translator, Sister Damcho, an American who lives in a Dharamsala nunnery and frequently works with the Karmapa. “The life that we live is a pretty simple life,” she quoted. “We put at the center of our life altruism, the wish to benefit others. We’re pretty direct and straightforward. I think if you look at Tibetan culture, the most important values at the center of our culture are loving kindness and compassion, and we develop these feelings not just for other human beings but for all forms of life. Whatever we do, whatever activities we engage in, whatever studies we do, we always try to put the value of other beings in the center.”

He was open about neither choosing nor necessarily having fun in his role as Karmapa. In response to the question, “How did you decide to be a Karmapa?” he shook his head and laughed. “Decide?”
Sister Damcho translated: “So actually, I did not decide to be a Karmapa. In the west, people have a lot of choice and generally you decide what you want to study and when you finish your studies, you decide what job or career you want to have, but that was not the case with me. When I was 8 years old, I was just a normal boy. I played with other kids. I had a normal boy’s life. Then some people came and they told me, ‘You’re the Karmapa.’ At that time, I didn’t even understand what the Karmapa was … I thought, if I’m the Karmapa, I’ll probably get a lot of toys. I found out later being a Karmapa is not all that fun. It’s a lot of work and a lot of responsibility and a lot of studying. So becoming the Karmapa was not something I decided. It was more like something that just fell from the sky.”

My favorite bit of advice was the Karmapa’s response to the question, “What can we do to maintain peace?”
“We have so many different things that we’re constantly doing, and there are all these changes going on all the time, so it’s really not that easy, is it? I would say, to put it simply, just relax. Just relax and stay quiet. Generally speaking, this is a difficult question. For you, as kids, to be able to make peace, maybe don’t make it too complicated. Make it simple. Just relax.”

Arriving at AES, the Karmapa gets mobbed by the paparazzi (aka our director, principals and other interested onlookers).
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Getting escorted to the theatre.
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Speaking to the students.
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I feel privileged and grateful today for my school and its commitment to fostering peace. What an honor to share a bit of time with this humble man.

Daily Life, India

Oh, say can you see … how weird Delhi is?

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Not too far from my neighborhood, there’s a fab Japanese restaurant, Kylin, that offers an amazing deal on an upscale Sunday lunch. We celebrated my friend Nancy’s birthday at Kylin last weekend. As we gorged on tempura, satay, tasty salads and dim sum, we jammed to 80s rock, techno dance tracks, mellow flute-y tunes and other random musical selections blasting from their loudspeakers. Nothing distracted us from socializing … until THIS! As you can see, the Canadians at our table are thrilled. Peter tried to interject “O Canada” to no avail, and you can hear his daughter ask, “Is this their national anthem?” I’m sure the waiters thought a table of expats would appreciate the “Star Spangled Banner,” never mind their nationalities.
Just a typical day in New Delhi.

Daily Life, India

Dastkar Nature Bazaar – my first mela of the season

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Woo hoo! It’s mela season in New Delhi!

“Mela” is a Sanskrit word meaning “gathering,” and it’s used to describe all kinds of get-togethers in India. One upcoming mela is the Kumbh Mela, held every twelve years. More than 60 million people gathered in January 2001, making it the largest gathering anywhere in the world, according to Wikipedia. I’m skipping that one for obvious reasons (although some of my friends are going). The melas I’m excited about are big markets of handicrafts, home decor, clothing, food and random tchochkes. I’ve even planned my parents’ visit to India around my favorite New Delhi mela in February.

Nearly everything produced in India stimulates at least one of the senses. Silky soft scarves, quirky colorful bags, organic oils and soaps, music for chillaxing, and all sorts of tantalizing treats. (Much of the time, India OVERstimulates our senses–particularly with sounds and smells–but the melas are much more pleasant than daily life. I’m digressing…)

This morning, I drove to the Dastkar Nature Bazaar (almost 10 kilometers, the farthest I’ve driven in Delhi so far, by the way) with my friend Nancy. We arrived just as the mela was opening, so we enjoyed a peaceful stroll through the booths. The Dastkar organization does good work in this country to support and promote Indian crafts.
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I still haven’t bought a new camera, and whenever I took out my phone to take pictures, I set it down at a booth and nearly forgot to take it. So eventually I stopped shooting. Anyway, here’s what I got.
Pretty ceramics.
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Dangly things in a doorway seem to be good luck here, so you see them everywhere. I love them.
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These little magnets of Indian men and women cracked us up, but we had an even bigger laugh when we saw they were stuck on a Hannah Montana board.
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Vendors enjoying a snack.
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I spent a LOT of money at this booth. The dried fruit and other snacks are so delish! Does anyone need any Hing Goli?
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This guy demonstrated how to decorate wooden spoon handles with lacquer designs. He stuck the dowel in a little lathe and spun it with a sort of bow while rubbing lacquer on the wood. Every time I watch someone make something, I feel compelled to buy it. Savvy craftsman!
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Nancy and I shopped so much, we had to make a trip to the car halfway through our mela circuit to unload some of our bags. Speaking of the car, getting out of the parking lot was no small feat. Let’s just say a tree, a tuk-tuk and a man sorting garbage were all involved. It worked out though, and with Nancy as my trusty navigator, I actually got us home with no problems.

The next mela is next week! Again, woo hoo!

Daily Life, India

Dengue Fever – no dang fun

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This is the (insert string of expletives here) type of mosquito that infected me with Dengue Fever and made the last two weeks so miserable.
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Check out the World Health Organization fact sheet on dengue for lots of fascinating facts, like these: The Aedes aegypti mosquito lives in urban habitats and breeds mostly in man-made containers. Unlike other mosquitoes Ae. aegypti is a daytime feeder; its peak biting periods are early in the morning and in the evening before dusk. Female Ae. aegypti bites multiple people during each feeding period.

I know exactly where and when the little bastard got me. I was just sitting down to dinner with two girlfriends at one of my favorite little restaurants in the funky Hauz Khas neighborhood when I felt the suspicious itch of a new mosquito bite on my ankle. Just as predicted by WHO, symptoms started about a week later. As usual, I had doused myself in mosquito repellant, joking that I was statistically more likely to get DEET poisoning than any mosquito-borne tropical illness. I double-jinxed myself with the stupid quip that dengue would make a cool blog post. Let me make it clear up front that the opportunity to share my first-hand account of dengue in NO WAY redeems the experience.

Here’s how it played out.
Sunday, Oct. 14, I was goofing around at my computer, when suddenly, my back felt like someone had just bashed it with a lead pipe. It came on that fast. One second, I was sitting up tall, feeling fine. The next second, I was crumpled on the bed. Dengue is sometimes called “broken bone disease,” and now I know why. If any part of my body made contact with any surface, the pain was unbearable. I couldn’t lie down or even sit in a cushy chair, but I didn’t have the strength to hold myself upright. It truly felt like all my bones were broken. That lasted for two days.

My temperature hovered around 102 degrees for several days, but I thought I was well enough by Thursday, Oct. 18, to attend parent conferences at school. I muddled through four meetings and then conceded I wasn’t strong enough to return for the next day’s conferences. I contacted Martin, the phlebotomist recommended by our school, who came to my house to take blood for the dengue test. It came back negative, and another test two days later also returned a negative report. Our school doctor suggested I might just have some random virus.

On Friday, a couple new symptoms started. A rash blanketed my chest and back but didn’t bother me too much. However, the palms of my hands felt like electrical worms were burrowing around, causing spastic jolts of intense burning. Ice packs provided the only relief, but you can’t just cling to ice. It gets too cold, and you have to take a break. But the minute I would let go, the stabs of fire would start again. Even if I held on for dear life, the ice eventually melted, and I had to get out of bed to put the packs back in the freezer. I spent two sleepless nights sobbing with fiery hands.

The middle school play took my mind off my symptoms for a few hours on Friday and Saturday. I had organized the make-up crew, but because of my illness I had missed the dress rehearsal. I know they would have been just fine without me, but I couldn’t stand to skip the shows. Friday, I helped the make-up crew set up their supplies, and I stuck around till the curtain call to supervise their work and clean-up. By Saturday, I knew I wasn’t up for a repeat performance. I trudged in for the matinee, got the group started and then headed home before intermission. From all accounts it went fine, but I felt so frustrated not to participate 100 percent.

A week after the symptoms started, I dragged myself out of the house for a second opinion. I visited the office of Dr. Chawla, a gentle Sikh physician, who gave me hard-core antihistamines to stop the electric worms and administered another blood test, which came back positive for dengue. He phoned me later and warned that my blood platelets were low, so I returned to his office on Monday for more blood work. Fortunately, that test showed my platelets rebounding.

During the first 10 days or so, I couldn’t even sit up in bed. I couldn’t read. I couldn’t check my email. I tried to FaceTime and Skype with friends and family, but I couldn’t hold up the iPad for more than a few minutes, and the constant headache behind my eyes made conversation uncomfortable. I had to force myself to eat and drink. At one point, I slept for about 18 hours. Tony came home from work and had trouble rousing me.

Now, two weeks later, I have minor burning in my hands and my energy level is nearly nonexistent. I can’t imagine how I’ll get up for school tomorrow after missing two weeks. The crazy thing is I had a fairly MILD case of dengue! We have friends here and in Laos who suffered far, far worse symptoms than I had. My parents had a driver in Saudi Arabia, whose young daughter died of dengue in Sri Lanka. I escaped relatively unscathed.

As of yesterday, New Delhi had reported 835 cases of dengue, including two deaths, this year so far. The “dengue season” generally extends from the end of the monsoon in September, when standing water provides prime mosquito breeding areas, until temperatures drop enough to discourage mosquito reproduction, which should be in the next few weeks.

There is no vaccine or cure, although Indians offer plenty of ayurvedic treatments for the symptoms. For example, I am drinking liquified papaya tree leaves each morning in the hopes it will restore my strength. It’s worth a shot!

Daily Life, India

You can dress her up, but you can’t take her out

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The last fun experience I had (before dengue smacked me down) combined two of my favorite things: Canadians and Thanksgiving!
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The 2012 Canadian Thanksgiving Ball took place Oct. 13 at the home of the Canadian High Commissioner in New Delhi. The annual event raises money for CanAssist, a local fundraising society that supports organizations and groups working to promote the self-sufficiency of women and children through health and educational initiatives.

Despite a bruised toe that prompted a last-minute exchange of my stunning 5-inch Steve Maddens for a pair of bejeweled flats, I still enjoyed puttin’ on the ritz. Formal events in India get eclectic with western-style gowns mixed with elegant saris, tuxedos mingling with beaded kurtas. An occasional kilt and/or red dinner jacket lent a true Canadian vibe.
Posers at the entrance.
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So elegant.
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Token Canadians at our table.
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Lovely ladies.
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Bustin’ a move.
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I did learn a valuable lesson on this night. Well, it’s a lesson I’ve “learned” many times but haven’t seemed to actually internalize. Here it is: You can’t slam glass after glass of champagne, eat everything on the buffet table (including all six desserts) and then immediately pounce out to the dance floor to flaunt your most spectacular moves in front of a massive fan to AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long.” Especially when you’re wearing heavy Indian earrings.

Unfortunately, the belly bouncing took its toll, so I headed home, nauseated and with very sore earlobes, well before midnight. I could blame Dengue Fever, which hit me with full force the following afternoon, but I’m sure it was the second piece of pumpkin pie. Or maybe the chocolate torte.

Happy Thanksgiving, Canada!

Daily Life, India

Wacky wall painting brings smiles to all who enter

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This is the first time I’ve sat up at my computer for more than 10 minutes since I was smacked in the face with Dengue Fever. I’ll write more about that experience later, but I figure I’ve got the strength to crank out one post, and I want to show you our spectacular wall painting.

Browsing at the Surajkund Mela last February, I enjoyed everything the handicrafts fair had to offer. I was especially attracted to Madhubani Painting, a colorful 2-dimensional folk art from the Indian state of Bihar. Many artists had their work on display, but I was drawn to the paintings of Sarita Devi, whose card listed a studio not far from our Delhi home.

After the furniture delivery debacle that gouged up our foyer wall a few months ago, I dug out Sarita Devi’s card and wrote an email asking if she would be interested in painting our wall. Someone with broken English wrote back with a collection of paintings to consider. I picked my favorite parts of several different paintings and then invited the artist to visit our home.

Thinking Sarita Devi was coming, I was surprised to get a phone call from a young man asking, “Please tell me the landmark to find your house.” I tried to explain, but that phrase was apparently the extent of his English. Ultimately, I walked a couple blocks to meet him at a restaurant. Two men – early 20s, I guessed – approached me. “Are you …?” I didn’t want to plant the seed if these were just random men, but one of them finally finished my sentence. “We are from Mithila Madhubani Painting.” OK.
“So, are you the artist?” I asked one of the boys.
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you also an artist?” I asked the other.
“Yes,” he said.
I think I could have asked anything, and they would have said, “yes.”
“Umm… I thought Sarita Devi was coming,” I said.
“Yes, my mother,” said one of the boys, whose name was Neeraj.
At my house, Neeraj looked at the printouts of the paintings, and I showed him the wall to be painted.
Tony and I tried with minimal success to discuss the project with the two young men. We figured out Neeraj’s friend was along as a translator, but his English was only marginally better than my nonexistent Hindi. I couldn’t help wondering if these guys were actually just casing our apartment (expat paranoia often steps in to fill the void created by an insurmountable language barrier). Ultimately, we scheduled another visit for a time when my housekeeper Raji would be there. That visit turned out to be more fruitful. Raji clarified our expectations and helped create a schedule for the artists.

Sarita Devi, Neeraj, and usually two or three others crouched in our narrow foyer for up to 10 hours a day, sketching and painting the elaborate scene. One day I got an email from Neeraj asking if they could add some squirrels. Why not?

Tony and I loved coming home every day to see what they had accomplished. The whole painting took 10 days.
They did a great job working around this ugly light switch and the clunky doorbell.
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That’s Sarita Devi in the back, painting with her daughter.
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The artists pose with the finished wall. Sarita Devi with her three kids, Deepa, Ashish and Neeraj.
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This is what you see when you walk in our front door.
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One of the squirrels. Ha!
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Love the fish.
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The pink circles are nests, and the jellybeans are actually mangoes. “It’s a mango tree,” Neeraj explained.
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He pointed to this black bird and said, “Crow.” Pointing to the two fancy birds in the middle, he said, “Peacock.” When I asked about all the other birds, he pointed to each one and said, “Bird, bird, bird.” Ohhhhh … duh.
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The light switch practically disappeared into the scene!
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Sarita Devi signed the wall with her name, the date and … phone number.
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We know we can’t take this artwork with us when we leave India (although we have the mock-up painting on paper). However, every time we come home to our Delhi apartment, that crazy wall of whimsy makes us smile.

Daily Life, India

Celebrating 20 years with an imperial anniversary

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In an unprecedented splurge, Tony and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary this weekend with two nights at the Imperial Hotel in New Delhi. We relaxed, soaked up the decadence, and ate and ate and ate. I actually gained two kilos in two days.

The hotel brought a little cake to our room, but I never even took a bite. There were too many other yummy temptations!
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Friday night, we dined at Spice Route. It was named one one of the top 10 restaurants in the world by Condé Nast Traveler. All I know is the meal ranks among the top 10 in my life. Here’s the description from the hotel’s website. I really couldn’t say it any better:

Heralded as one of the top ten restaurants in the world by Condé Nast Traveler, The Spice Route is poetry in design. The renowned restaurant mesmerizes all your senses enrapturing you with its sensuous exotica. Designed by Rajeev Sethi, the celebrated cultural czar of India, The Spice Route reflects the journey of spices from the Malabar Coast in Kerala through Sri Lanka, Myanmar, Malaysia, and Indonesia to Thailand and Vietnam. The restaurant is an overwhelming visual depiction of the art and culture that travelled with the spices through these regions, presented in a folk, religious and cultural fantasy of the Orient. The Restaurant, that was seven years in the making, is completely hand painted with vegetable and flower dyes by mural painters brought in especially from a temple in Guruvayur in Kerala with a tradition dating back to 3000 years. Designed on the principles of Feng Shui, The Spice Route is a treasure trove of antiques and is divided into nine different sections, each depicting part of the journey of life. Besides the stunning décor, The Spice Route boasts a menu that ensnares the taste buds of a seasoned food connoisseur. The Spice Route Courtyard transports the guests to the wonderful world of Southeast Asia. Adorned with traditional Thai sculptures from the Chiang Mai region in northern Thailand, the Courtyard is a visual spectacle. A picture perfect water body with floating candles and thoughtfully strewn petals forms the center of the Courtyard. The far end of the pavilion has traditional Khantok seating for six under an Oriental pagoda.

I tried to take photos, but it was too dark. This photo is from the hotel’s website.
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Here’s a pic of the set menu we enjoyed. Can you spot the typo? Doh!
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On Saturday, we gorged at the stunning buffet breakfast. I was still so full from our late dinner that I couldn’t fully take advantage of all the delicacies on display. I skipped the fresh bread, soft cheeses and thinly sliced meats altogether! That’s not like me. To avoid a repeat of this poor performance, we planned our day accordingly. No lunch. Late afternoon high tea. No dinner.

In a vain attempt to burn some calories, we went for a walk around the neighborhood and stumbled on the Jantar Mantar. The name rang a bell, but I had no idea it was a collection of structures used as astronomy instruments in the 1700s. So fascinating! Right in the heart of the city. I love this kind of stuff.

Here’s the scoop on Jantar Mantar from the website Delhi Capital.

Jantar Mantar is also called Delhi Observatory. It is maintained by the Jaipur government because it was built by Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II of Jaipur (in 1727). It is a remarkable structure which consists of fourteen geometric devices used for measuring time, forecasting weather changes, predicting behaviour of planets and finding extraterrestrial altitude. All these devices are fixed structures and point to a specific direction. The largest device or instrument is the Samrat Jantar which is 90 feet high and its shadow is plotted in such a manner so that is shows the exact time of the day. Any weather change or the onset of monsoons can be ascertained by the Hindu Chhatri, which is a small domed structure. The whole structure is made of stone and marble with each of then having an engraved astronomical scale. Jantar Mantar finally got the status of a national monument in 1948. It has always attracted architects, historians and scientists from all over the world. Maharaja Jai Singh was a fanatical astronomer himself who studied various works from Hindu, Muslim and European astronomy. He had the perception that the tables used by the pundits were deceptive and the actual planetary changes and predictions of eclipses would not have been possible through these measuring parameters. So he thought that he would find an improved and efficient means through which exact prediction could be made. It was his own inspiration and foresightedness that gave shape to such an instrument. He built other observatories at Jaipur, Ujjain, Benares and Mathura to have an exact calculation. It took almost seven years before the whole structure was fully operational because he wanted to be fully satisfied with the accuracy of the instruments at Jantar Mantar.

I also found an interesting pdf compiled by a Cornell University professor. You can link to it here.

I had to skip out for a few hours and snap back to reality: Middle School play practice. I’m one of the make-up crew coordinators, so I drove to school, did my part, and then zipped back to the Imperial, where the formally clad doorman with a handlebar mustache greeted me: “Welcome home, madam.” I wish.

Delhi’s temperatures continue to climb into the mid-90s, so Tony and I took a refreshing dip in the expansive blue-tiled pool. Lounging in the shade, we watched weary tourists climb out of their buses to snap photos of our historic hotel, making us feel even more grateful for the opportunity to stay there.

High tea was a highlight of the weekend. Sunlight flooded the hotel’s atrium, where we sat on wicker chairs with thick orange cushions and sipped sea from fine china. Elegant white vases with a single bird-of-paradise graced each table. The buffet featured mini muffins, scones with jam and clotted cream and typical teatime treats, but we also loaded up our plates with goat cheese samosas, bruschetta with prosciutto ham and artichoke hearts, mini sandwiches with chorizo, and other savories.
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Sunday morning’s breakfast buffet was bittersweet. We lingered as long as we could, but there was no denying the end of our fairytale weekend. Lately we’ve spent a lot of time pondering our 20-plus years together and marveling at all we have done and seen. Sometimes we start to reminisce about an adventure and it takes both our memories to fully reconstruct the experience. There have been countless ridiculous inside jokes, so much laughter, but also tears as we have leaned on each other in times of unfathomable heartache. Our travels have brought us closer together and oftentimes pushed us apart, but we always find our way home. I treasure our history together, and I happily add this Imperial weekend to my scrapbook of memories.

Daily Life, India

Juggling juxtapositions in Hauz Khas Village

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Time Out Delhi, a weekly magazine about the goings-on around town, ran a small story this week on a new gelato truck that parks in one of my favorite neighborhoods – Hauz Khas Village. I already enjoy poking around the HKV shops and checking out the trendy restaurants. Now there’s a gelato truck? Say no more. I had a plan for my Sunday afternoon.

After memorizing the google map, I felt confident I could drive there. (It’s just 15 minutes and two left turns from my ‘hood.) Katrina and Tony patiently rode along, gently encouraging me for the most part. Only HKV residents can park in the community, so we found a spot on the street and walked uphill into the jumbled mess of trendiness. I searched in vain for the gelato truck. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up!

At first glance, HKV looks more like a crumbling slum than one of Delhi’s most affluent, artsy, hipster destinations. Like mismatched stacked legos, the buildings rise up precariously and jut out into the path at odd angles. Electrical wires snake across the outer walls, meet in massive tangled balls and trail off in various directions. Tiny retail spaces wedge into dark alleys with haute couture boutiques side-by-side with ramshackle kitschy knick-knack shops.

Walking from the car to the restaurant, we passed the flagship store for one of India’s premier designers; tentatively hopped over a stream of sewage; trekked down a steep path lined with art galleries and hobbit-sized shops selling hand-made paper products, high-end baby clothes, jewelry, antique furniture and Bollywood posters; admired the graffiti in an empty lot full of broken glass and scrap metal; sidestepped a pile of dog doo (which some good Samaritan later covered with a piece of plywood); cringed when water dripped on us from above (… just assume it’s from at air conditioner …); and finally stepped in to the Grey Garden, a teeny eatery with room for 12 patrons and a little kitchen. Hard to believe such a nasty path could lead to such a cool spot.
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After a refreshing summer salad, thin-crust pizza and lemonade, we set our sights on some Hauz Khas history.
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Indeed, this funky metropolis overlooks the ruins of a medieval city. The area’s name – “Hauz Khas” in Urdu – translates to “royal reservoir” and stems from the large water tank first dug in the 13th century. It eventually dried up but was rebuilt by 14th-century Emperor Feroz Shah Tughlaq, who is also buried here.
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In 1352, Feroz Shah established a “madrasa” or Islamic university, which was staffed with “scholars of note” and attracted the brightest students. Today, students continue to flock here, but mostly just to canoodle in the ancient doorways overlooking the lake.
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Tony was too nervous to canoodle when he saw the drop-off.
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Climbing around above the reservoir.
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Katrina and I wanted to stroll lakeside a bit to see the ruins from below. To reach the reservoir, we could have jumped off a high stone wall and then climbed over a spiked gate (like many of the locals) or walked a little out of the way to an access path. We chose the latter plan, although it meant we had to edge along a narrow wall to avoid stepping in the sewage stream. Down by the water, we shot a few photos, dodged a few monkeys and then climbed back up the hill to meet Tony.
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After reuniting with Tony, we were heading to the car when something caught my eye and made me jump with glee. The gelato truck! We met Michael, the genius Italian guy behind Gelato Roma, and expressed our enthusiasm for his new business. We eagerly picked out our flavors – I had chocolate, roasted almond and lemon sorbet.
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Parked next to the gelato truck was another snack stand: corn. Ummm … no, thank you. I’m pretty sure this kid is saying, “Stupid gelato truck, stealing all my business.”
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For more info on HKV, check out these articles.
New York Times Travel, 2011
CNN-GO, 2011
Wikipedia’s take on the ruins