B-School Studio

India: At the Starbucks, or the Starbucks, or the Starbucks, or the Starbucks

2012-12-09T08:32:00.001-06:00

Anyone get that reference in the post title? If not, catch up here. While Mumbai, and all of India, for that matter, is a long way from being like Arlington, Starbucks has arrived and is multiplying across town.

I'm still mildly disappointed in myself for seeking out this ubiquitous American enterprise. See, on my first trip here I had to bitterly accept that India is a tea, not coffee, nation. On the second trip, my willingness to drink everything from weak Americanos to Nescafe all for the caffeine hit was a badge of honor. I also kind of enjoyed the fact that India was one of the last corners of the Earth to not have green mermaids swimming about everywhere. That all changed when Starbucks and Tata finally came to an agreement a few months ago. More on Tata's ubiquity later; it makes Starbucks look like your local mom-and-pop shop.

Anyway, Matt's hankering for better-than-passable coffee led us to Starbucks in Horniman Circle. This place is absolutely huge and I'll admit it was also a fair amount of curiosity that drew us in. Like McDonald's french fries, would Starbucks coffee taste the same the world around? Answer: yes. But how you get that coffee is a much different experience. Let's review.

Chances are most of you get your coffee hit in less than 60 seconds' time. Your cup is tattooed with your preferred brew and you have probably mastered putting your credit card away with one hand as you dump cream and sugar in your drink with the other. None of this is holds in India.

Matt and I placed orders for short and grande brewed coffees. Simple order, yes? It required filling out a form. I'm not kidding. India has proven itself to be the king of "Sign here, press hard, third copy's yours" paperwork, where everything is handwritten and done in triplicate. Apparently, even Starbucks, the company that pioneered paperwork on paper cups, can't avoid this kind of documentation.

Here, short has replaced tall and porcelain mugs are the go-tos instead of paper cups. We know this
because one of the eight people behind this counter (there were two other stations inside) whispered to the barista taking our orders, "They're Americans, they probably want paper." Only Matt heard this and I don't know if he interjected but we ended up with porcelain mugs anyway.

After you get your form from Barista #1, step over four paces and give it to the cashier, Barista #2. Pay. Then go somewhere else to wait. Your drip coffee will be brought to you in "just two minutes."

Some time later, your coffee shows up. Invariably, you start looking for the cream and sugar stand. Good luck finding it! After wandering about I was intercepted by another barista from one of the other coffee bars asking if I would like milk for my coffee.

-Yes, indeed I would.

- Hot or cold, I'm asked.

- Hot. Let's kill off anything questionable.

- Sure, just two minutes, madam.

Some time later, your hot milk shows up. You might be looking for a stir stick or something but recall that the cream and sugar stand, which also holds stir sticks, doesn't exist. May as well just have a seat and hope a gentle swirling of your cup does the trick.

So, what's the verdict? After one or two quick hits, I mean sips, Matt appears sated. And, for today's nerdy term, let's throw out Purchasing Power Parity. In a land where most food is comparatively cheap and alcohol is horrifyingly expensive (see also: Yellow Tail wine at $36 a bottle), a 12 oz. cup of Starbucks coffee will set you back Rs. 95, or roughly $1.74.

Finally, I'll share a picture of the hand painted Starbucks logo on the shop window. This caught my eye because I've noticed that in India, more often than not, signage is hand painted and hand lettered. Peel-and-stick vinyl graphics aren't huge here for reasons unknown to me. Might be the whole labor situation: people are still cheaper than automated manufacturing. In any case, even Starbucks went local on this account. The picture doesn't do it justice, but the craftsmanship on the giant logo was more beautiful than the other pseudo-artwork throughout the shop!

India: Weekday Outing - Elephanta Island

2012-12-06T05:00:00.000-06:00

Are you all ready for this shake-up? A weekDAY outing instead of a weekEND outing. I know, crazy, but that's what happens when you go on vacation, apparently. You can do stuff during the week!

Thursday morning brought me right back into my Mumbai routine: morning run along Marine Drive, breakfast at Frangipani, then pack up the adult diaper bag and head out for a day of sightseeing/getting lost in the city. The fun addition this go around was of getting to do this with someone else, save for the running on Marine Drive. Matt welcomed the opportunity to sleep more while I tested how many faces I recognized in saris and tennis shoes. Answer? A surprisingly high amount!

Our destination du jour was Elephanta Island, which you reach by taking any number of rickety old wooden boats on a ride 45 minutes across the bay. I'd tell you about the island's history but alas, we did not hire a "tour guide" nor did we buy a "guide book" while there. And yes, those quotation marks are to be read in a mocking tone. Instead, we came, we saw, then Matt Wikipedia-ed it. Good enough for who it's for.

As we embarked on our trip, Matt delivered one of the better lines of the trip:

Oh nice, a wooden hull boat. It would take one big rock to smash this thing in and capsize us. Of course, the good news is there would be a rock for all of us to stand on.

Sound and optimistic logic, indeed.

We made it across the bay without running into any rocks. Upon reaching the island, you walk alongside tons of locals selling all sorts of goodies and trinkets. Spiced pickles appeared to be the favored treat and a cow, goat, monkey, rooster, or stray dog will gladly take your leftovers. You're also kindly asked to keep your elephanta clean. This is humorous for a couple of reasons, not the least of which is the trash dump located within sight of the requesting signage. And then there's just something funny about being asked to keep your elephanta clean, no?

At the end of the pier, you reach the equivalent of an outdoor strip mall perched along both sides of a massive set of stairs that one must climb to get to the ticketing office. Perhaps you'll be so delighted by the trinkets that you don't even make it to the apex? Whatever floats your wooden hull boat, I guess.

We climbed and climbed and then huffed and puffed before buying tickets. That transaction entailed giving one guy on the side of a shack our money and in return, he gave us paper tickets. Next, we turned 90 degrees, walked 5 paces, and gave said paper tickets to another guy. He took them, passed them to guy number three, and guy number three nodded us through the gate while he passed the paper back to guy number one. Ahh, the whole toll booth staffing strategy appears to be consistent throughout this nation.

Once through the gate, you are free to walk about the paths and explore five caves in various stages of restoration (read: recreation through modern-day concrete and re-bar).

Even if authenticity wasn't the wow factor, the scale of some of the caves certainly gave you pause. While we enjoyed wandering through the caves, we found ourselves more interested in yet another hike up a hillside to two old canons. I'd share a picture of the view but Mumbai smog plus a modest camera lens didn't amount to much.

Now, before we leave the island, note that I mentioned monkeys at the beginning of this tale. Elephanta is known for its hordes of monkeys and they were everywhere. So much so, in fact, that signs warned visitors to beware of them! We did see a few aggressive ones go after tourists' lunches. Given my track record with monkeys and cameras, you'd think that I'd finally capitalize on the chance to get a monkey photo without being harassed. I guess I do better under pressure because the below image is all I got. Weak. I promise you there are monkeys in the shot.

After a full day of hiking and boating, we returned to South Mumbai and went to The Strand for rooftop beer and snacks. Under a full moon and with a raucous wedding band providing the soundtrack, you can't ask for a better way to end the night!

India: A Whole Lotta Culture

2012-12-04T22:32:00.000-06:00

By Tuesday morning it was time to wrap up our sightseeing, say goodbye to Anil, and head south to Pune for Chinmay's wedding before ultimately making it to Mumbai. Candidly, I was also ready to stop feeling like a chauffeured tourist and wanted to blur into the background (as best one can when still clearly a foreigner). Heading out of Jaipur airport gave us the first opportunity of the trip to just run with things.

No need to fully retell the domestic flying experience but I will say that the security process did not fail to baffle us. Thank goodness we had a three hour layover in Ahmedabad because you must fully exit the airport, walk outside, come back inside, go through security, and then come back upstairs only to return to the gate that you literally just walked out of from the incoming plane. No joke. Oh, and remember my amusement at Indigo's in-flight magazine? I have been vindicated, friends, because as soon as the flight attendant announced its name on the PA system, Matt turned to me and said, "Wait, what's the name? 'Hello 6E'? Like, 'Hello, sexy?'" Bwahahahahahaha! Yes! I'm not the only one who cracks up at this!

Amusement aside, we arrived in Pune exactly on time and all checked baggage was in tact. Serious victory! A car from the hotel picked us up and off we went. I had never been to Pune before and it's not exactly a touristy town, lovely as it may be. Before dinner, Matt and I went out wandering around and completely stuck out from the crowd. Whereas in Mumbai and Delhi you get a fair amount of Westerners roaming about for work or holiday, that didn't appear to be the case in Pune. We had a great time partaking in one of my favorite games in India: let's see if we can get lost. After an hour or so of wandering aimlessly we hailed a tuk-tuk for the short ride back to the hotel.

Kids, these things are total deathtraps and yet so much fun. Remember all the very cool things we had just seen in the North? Well, that's all fine and good but Matt's ongoing requests to commandeer a tuk-tuk for future transportation needs clearly exposed this as the highlight of his trip so far.

Wednesday morning we awoke to Pune commuters racing to the trains. A Central Railway station was directly across from our hotel and provided an active play outside our window.

Following breakfast, it was time to assemble ourselves for the wedding. And I do mean "assemble." Matt had a kurta, pyjamas, and scarf to don while I had a sari that needed professional draping. No amount of YouTubing was going to get all that fabric where it needed to be so I enlisted the help of a duty manager named Elizabeth. Twenty minutes and four discreetly placed safety pins later, we were ready to roll. Ta da!

As soon as we arrived at the wedding Chinmay's dad greeted us at the front of the wedding hall and pulled us inside. Within moments, Matt was in a corner of the room having his head wrapped up in a traditional hat (if you call it that?) that all the men on the groom's side wore. The bride's side wore a similar confection but in different colors and one of Chinmay's uncles explained to us that the hats were analogous to wearing boutonnieres in Western weddings. Do I need to declare that Matt loved his hat or does the huge grin give it away?

As for the wedding itself, it was a spectacle. Stimulation overload, like India in general. Music's blaring non-stop, flowers are hanging throughout the space, spices from lunch are wafting through the air, color is exploding on the floor in sand art and in the hundreds of saris swishing about.

I wish I could tell you about everything that was happening and what it all meant but Matt and I were generally lost on that front. Another uncle graciously explained the rituals and the traditions as they took place but there was so much happening at once and so many people buzzing about we only captured about a quarter of what he told us. But here again, even though we stuck out wildly (as demonstrated by the handfuls of other guests covertly or not-so-covertly taking pictures of us), we also felt warmly welcomed and wholly included in the day's events.

While Kirti and Chinmay participated in the rituals, guests hovered around the altar/stage and snapped endless photos while talking and laughing. People were dressed in their finery or in jeans - it didn't seem to matter! Later on I decided that in the US, we seem to convey a wedding's importance through its formality: processionals with classical (and sometimes somber sounding) music, no talking or moving around during the ceremony, everyone in their fancy clothes, prescribed seating arrangements at dinner, and on and on. Throw all that out the window in India but don't let the revelry fool you into thinking this isn't a serious affair.

The wedding and receiving line/picture taking extravaganza concluded in the early afternoon and shortly thereafter, Matt and I hopped in a car and embarked on the four hour drive to Mumbai. Along the way we talked about all that we had just seen and experienced, marveling at marriage in India. Chinmay and Kirti had a love marriage as opposed to the more common, but dwindling, arranged marriage. I always feel strange labeling one person's marriage as "love" versus "arranged," as if to say the latter is void of the former's emotions, but this is common parlance here. Anil talked to us about marriage after he learned we were attending a wedding. To him, arranged marriages are a lottery and if you win, it's okay. But if you don't win, it's also okay. Matt politely chuckled at this statement and while I also smiled, I was more taken by the idea that in India, you are encouraged to apply this line of thinking to pretty much everything: either way, in the end, it's okay.

By the way, Anil never told us if he had won the lottery in his arranged marriage and we weren't about to ask.

India: Jaipur in Pictures

2012-12-02T20:00:00.000-06:00

We're going to keep rolling with the pictures rather than the words because Jaipur was equally, but differently, as stunning as what we saw in Agra. Some quick notes before we get to those, though.

Jaipur is in the neighboring state of Rajasthan and is about another 5 hour car ride from Agra. It is often called the Pink City (you'll see why below) and if I were to compare it to another city, it reminds me of St. Petersburg, Russia: Imperial architecture in ice cream colors, a vibrant culture, and is fairly easily to navigate due to urban planning foresight. We reached the city Sunday evening, checked into our hotel, and passed out. Monday morning we planned to meet Anil at 9 am and then headed out for a handful of sites: Amber Fort, City Palace, Jai Mahal, and some shops. Handicrafts are big in Jaipur and hand-knotted carpets, jewelry, and textiles rule the city. We really enjoyed our time in Jaipur and were glad we gave that city the biggest chunk of our time while in the north.

To the pictures!

Oh, you know, just a camel on the side of the road.

School kids on a field trip to Amber Fort.

Amber Fort.

You can walk to the top...

...or ride an elephant!

The line for elephants was crazy long so we walked - and got just as close to the animals as the riders!

City of Amber viewed from the fort.

Entry court, elephant valet in background.

Elephants are kind of a big deal in this country. Note the elephant tusk detail in the column corbel.

Palace gardens.

Elephant traffic jam. Elephants don't stay in their lanes in India, either.

Walls of the "Pleasure Palace" room. An early form of air-conditioning was designed in this space using evaporative cooling.

Across the way, a hall made of millions of mirror fragments.

Jali

Jai Mahal. You can look but not touch.

Handknotting a rug. Estimated date of completion? June 2013.

Wool yarn hung above and pulled as needed.

Jaipur city and one of the many gates surrounding it.

Inside the City Palace.

More painted spaces inside City Palace.

Architecture nerd term of the day: enfilade.

As Matt pointed out, even 21st century royalty needs DirecTV.

*******
IF YOU GO: We stayed at the ITC Rajputana hotel and it was excellent. The audio guides at the major monuments are more than satisfactory so stick with those over the live versions. We spent over 3 hours exploring Amber Fort on our own and didn't feel slighted in the least.

India: Agra in Pictures

2012-12-02T05:00:00.000-06:00

Sunday afternoon, following hours in the car and a monkey incident, we reached Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. In short, it is as magnificent as you have been led to believe. Maybe more so. I love when architecture has the power to elicit a common response and you would be hard-pressed to find someone at the Taj Mahal who didn't utter "Wow" at least once. And, while you are free to walk through the palace itself as we did, Matt and I decided it is most impressive upon first glance through the entry gate.

I won't bog down this post with too much text because millions of others have written about the place more descriptively and eloquently than I will. Millions have also taken better pictures so file these under "Yes, we were there!" rather than "National Geographic contenders."

Approaching the entry gate

Looking through the gate, Taj Mahal beyond

Behold!

A picture of all the people taking pictures.

Fun fact: Indian nationals now account for 75% of visitors and foreigners are 25%. 10 years ago, this was the opposite.

Marble inlay.

Possibly the worst "We were there!" photo ever, courtesy of our tour guide. He should stick to words instead of pictures. :)

*******
IF YOU GO: You could probably plan to spend a full day and night in Agra seeing some of the other monuments but you can also get in and get out in a day. We weren't going to get a tour guide because so many of them are using the term "guide" liberally. But, Anil set us up with someone who provided just enough info as to make it a worthwhile partnership for an hour.

India: Life is a Highway

2012-12-01T05:14:00.000-06:00

Our first full day in India was slated to be an exhausting one but what better way to fight jet-lag than by spending 11+ hours in a car, riding along bumpy roads that don't really allow you to fall asleep too early in the day?

In order to get around northern India, I did some googling a few weeks ago for information on hired car services. One of Matt's coworkers, who happens to be Indian, asked if we were renting a car on our trip. When he said, "yes," apparently she took this to mean we were insane enough to rent a car that we would then drive. No chance. So to clarify, I booked a driver through a guy I found on a forum thread about Indian hired drivers on lonelyplanet.com. How's that for a proverbial stab in the dark?

After some email negotiation (haggling doesn't stop with the street vendors or cab drivers), I had arranged for a three day driver to pick us up in Delhi, drive to Agra so we could see the Taj Mahal, then continue on in the same day to Jaipur. In a place where the roads are covered in a menagerie more varied than your standard American zoo, covering 400 km in a day was a fairly aggressive goal. But we lived to tell the tale.

Anil, our driver, met us at the hotel at 6 am sharp, just as planned. I let out a small sigh of relief, as being stranded would not have been a good start to vacation. Shortly into our drive Anil mentioned that one needs to have three things when driving in India:

1. Good brakes

2. Good horn

3. Good luck

How's that for a word of encouragement from some total internet stranger who now holds your safety and destination in his hands? Anil was actually a wonderful driver who always met us when and where he said he would, was incredibly pleasant, and made sure we didn't starve along the way.

Ok, so we're on the road to Agra for the next 5 hours and regardless of how tired you are, there is so much happening right outside your window that it's hard to shut your eyes. Driving through the rural parts of India was a new experience for both Matt and me and, at the risk of sounding insensitive, the best way I know how to describe the roadside activity is it is as if a natural history museum diorama has sprung to life before your eyes (dust and all). If you think about it, when you travel the interstate in the US, you don't see people washing clothes, cutting wood, hand-smooshing cow patties (yes), or kids running around playing. Heck, you don't really see people except for those in the cars passing by you. Such is not the case in Uttar Pradesh, Agra's state. If you do travel through the Golden Triangle, know that this is one place where the journey is just as fascinating as the destination.

By now you're probably saying, yeah great, where are the pictures? Apologies, but I think I was so captivated by "what's coming next?!" that I failed to get any photos along the way. Well, except one.

Oh yes, that is a monkey hanging out on Matt's window.

When we drove over the state line between Haryana and Uttar Pradesh, Anil had to leave the car to go pay taxes of some sort. Not two seconds later this little guy jumped up on the car window and gave us a good show. Out came the iPhone.

Click.

Then pounding on the windows.

Dammit.

For the next five minutes or so, Matt and I were treated to two very large men with very big hands pounding on the windows and demanding money for the monkey photo. For a brief moment it was funny and then both of us were covertly locking car doors with our toes while eagerly scanning the horizon for Anil. As it turns out, it's a lot easier to evade a monkey woman on the street in Mumbai than it is to hide from two dudes in the most crime-ridden state of India.

While we're waiting for these frightening minutes to play out, I take the time to teach Matt an important lesson in India: if you don't like it, ignore it fully rather than say "no." No is acknowledgment and that's almost worse than saying "yes." So, we sat and stared straight ahead. I think we both felt like two bugs under a glass at the hands of a nap-deprived toddler. At least I know I did.

Like I said earlier, Anil proved himself to be a reliable fellow and he soon returned. The monkey men actually got bored with us and left before Anil came back to claim us but nonetheless, we were thrilled to see him. Just before Anil opened his car door, Matt turns to me and says, "Were you trying to give me the full India experience? Because you should know better when it comes to monkey pictures." And he's right, I should. But this is still a pretty awesome vacation picture, no?

********
IF YOU GO: The driver service we used was www.indiaprivatedriver.com and Bunty is the owner. As mentioned above, our driver was Anil and we highly recommend his services.

India: First Impressions

2012-11-29T06:30:00.001-06:00

It has been a whirlwind series of days, y'all. Thanksgiving leftovers were still warm in the fridge by the time we started packing our things in Virginia and headed out for the airport on our journey over to India.

Sidenote: I should probably give a quick history on the genesis of this trip. The project that brought me here initially has gone on hold for "just two minutes." A return for work seemed less and less likely but that also meant Matt probably wouldn't get to travel here, which was a promise I had made to him back in January. Then, there was another promise I made when I returned home in May, which was to come back to India in November for Chinmay's wedding, regardless of work assignments. Hey, I keep my promises, so here we are! Being a full-on tourist and the queen of logistics has been a totally new experience and I'll share some lessons learned as we go, in case any of you out there find yourselves visiting India. Now, back to our tale.

Mercifully, the flight over was on time and probably as painless as it could be when you're camping in 4.5 square feet of real estate for 15 hours. We touched down in Delhi around 9 pm on Saturday evening and within minutes of taxiing, eau de India permeated the cabin. Talk about smoke gets in your eyes. Blog veterans know we've discussed Delhi's atmosphere but time and distance got the better of me; the smoke this go-around seems worse than I recall.

Though I had warned Matt that we were spending our first night in a rather polluted city, I don't think he quite grasped what I was saying until we exited the airport and he looked around, only to remark, "That's the air?" Roughly translated, he thought the short distance he could see was some part of the airport building itself but no, it was the wall of Delhi smog.

We hopped in a taxi and soon were riding along the traffic lanes, not between them, of course. Matt's next comment, "Um, okay..." as he reached for the handle on the roof of the car, the one that typically holds your dry cleaning and not your white-knuckled man hands. Then he continues, "This is like Pac-Man!" as our taxi swallowed up dashes on the lane markings.

Our hotel was located in New Delhi proper in a section called Connaught Circus. Very British sounding and, when shrouded in the dark of night and dust, it kind of looked like London. But not for long. Insert Matt observation #3: "If this is what New Delhi looks like, what is even left of old Delhi?" Touche.

This was a question I could not answer. To be fair, I haven't given Delhi, new or old, much of a chance. But first impressions are a tough thing to abandon and Delhi hasn't wooed me, once, twice, or now thrice. We had just a few days before the wedding and that meant one of our city visits in The Golden Triangle had to be short so I nominated Delhi to take one for the team. Matt didn't feel slighted as we pulled away from our hotel the next morning at 6 am. The sun was just coming up but it illuminated enough for both of us to say, "On to Agra!"

India: Third time's a charm (we hope!)

2012-11-23T15:26:00.000-06:00

Greetings from Norfolk airport! Please forgive the typos surely coming your way as I knock this out on my phone.

Happy Thanksgiving, one day late. You know, it was right after another major holiday when I scribed one of these "here we go again" posts. Been a very busy summer and fall which is why it's been radio silence in these parts. With all that work, though, it's time for some fun. Matt and I are off to the sub-continent and this time it's vacation! More specifically, it's the "bucket list of India" trip.

Major items on the agenda include:
- seeing the Taj Mahal
- touring a fort in Jaipur, and hopefully with the assistance of an elephant
- finally riding a tuk tuk (auto rickshaw) to continue rounding out my portfolio of transportation modes
- attending a friend's wedding
- which also means donning a sari (!!!)
- exploring some caves off of Mumbai's coast
- watching Matt take in all that is India

So friends, for those of you who come (came?) here for the travel posts more so than the sewing posts, today and the next two weeks are your days. But first, 15 hours in coach. Pass the wine, will you?

Gasp! Some Pattern Reviews!

2012-08-06T14:55:00.004-05:00

I’m so wickedly out of practice with blogging, it feels, that I’ll apologize in advance for what will likely be a haphazard and not very descriptive post. Gotta start somewhere, right?

As mentioned before, there has been some sewing going on in these parts. The focus was on dresses (because it’s been absurdly hot) of the knit variety (because they’re easier to wash ‘n wear, particularly when packing).

The first frock is Vogue 8663, which is all over sewingreview.com, should you be seeking a full write-up. In sum, I went down a size in the bodice and if you’re anything larger than a B-cup you will likely need to do a FBA. As usual, I added 1.5” to the torso and that brought the skirt to the perfect length on my 5’7” frame. I wish I could have gotten some shots on the dress form but due to this bodice being very fitted and the shoulders on the form immovable, the hanger will have to do!

The fabric I used was some discount black mesh knit from Joann’s clearance aisle. It’s a modern dot that I then underlined with white bamboo knit. The bodice is also lined with black tricot so I could finish things off around the back zipper I added. Truth be told, I think I might take the zipper out. It’s purely ornamental and it’s not one of my better installations so perhaps it should go.

All in all, I love this dress. It’s very comfortable to wear and the sleeveless style has an incredibly flattering cut around the shoulders and neckline, I find. This is the second time I’ve used this pattern; coincidentally, I made this exact dress a few winters ago, same fabric and all!

Moving right along, next up is my “Am I a retro flight attendant on a Jetsons’ airline?” dress. What do you think? It kind of has a retro, space-age vibe, no? Especially with that monster collar, which I adore.

Here we have yet another knit dress (double knit, to be exact) that hails from McCall’s 5746, now out of print. It was my first time working with double knit and I must say I’m hooked! This pattern is meant for wovens and a few years ago I did a muslin of it with moderate success. I never made the real deal, though, and it was partially because of the billions of darts you have to contend with. However, make it in a knit and you cut the dart count in half by not having to line it – score!

Construction-wise I’d say there’s nothing remarkable about this pattern and it probably looks infinitely more complicated than it really is. I made an 8 in the bodice and graded out to somewhere between a 10 and 12 in the hips. Even though this is a knit I did put an invisible zipper in so as to not stress the fabric too much when getting in and out of the dress.

Y’all, that’s the story. These are fun and easy dresses for jazzing up the summer working wardrobe. Is it really time to start thinking about fall?

Anyone out there?

2012-07-16T11:35:00.000-05:00

Greetings!

Wow, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Almost 7 weeks, I think. Matt pointed out to me that this is the longest continuous stretch I’ve been home in 2012 so far. Kind of a bizarre thought.

During the radio silence a few of you have sent some emails my way to say “hi” or to see if I was still alive. Thanks! It’s so nice to have a fan club, however miniscule it may be. I thought I’d hop on here to provide a brief update on things and hopefully get myself back into blogging form. So, in loose chronological order, here’s what’s been shaking on this end:

As soon as the plane wheels touched down on US soil I was gearing up for a weekend in Virginia to attend Matt’s ten year college reunion. My jet lag was mercifully in control pretty quickly and it was a fantastic few days in one of our favorite places.
The following weekend, I ran and completed the half marathon. And, I beat my target pace. Hooray!
In our “Summer To-Do List,” we’ve checked off a Cubs’ game, an outdoor concert at Ravinia, fireworks on the beach, hours of dogs and Frisbees on the beach, and lots of dinners/drinks with friends of all sorts.
Work’s been all over the place project-wise but geographically in Chicago for now.
On a related note, should you be missing stories of India, may I direct your attention to this story from last weekend’s NY Times? It’s a bit softer than the tales you normally find here but it’s an enjoyable read. “...that patch of idiosyncratic wonder, Mumbai,” is one of the best ways I’ve heard the city described so far.
On a separate note, should you be missing stories of sewing, may I ask that you come back in a few days? Yes! That’s right, there’s been some sewing going on lately and I’ve got stuff to share.
However, patience is needed because right now the big thing on my radar is another architect registration exam. I’ve been trying to plow through these as long as I’m home; tomorrow will be the second of four I hope to knock out before getting on a plane again. Where’s a Ganesha when I need one?

Let’s chat again soon.

India: Somebody get me a Walkman...

2012-05-30T07:39:00.000-05:00

...because I have an old Boyz II Men cassette tape that needs to be played. I'm thinking, "It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday," is most appropriate.

Maybe not. That would swing things on the "sap" pendulum way too far.

But seriously, as I type from the confines of the United Club at Newark Airport, I will confess that leaving Mumbai this time around was hard. Really hard. I cried no fewer than five times on my last day in Mumbai and one of those teary moments came while I was running on Marine Drive. Crying while running! Who does that? Thank goodness I was sweating enough for all that saltwater to blend together and not give me away. :)

Forgive the stream of consciousness that is about to unfold but I get the sense that you guys like hearing both the good and bad, the agony and the ecstasy of business travel, so I'll stay true to that.

I didn't want to go on this trip. I tried to get out of it up until the very last minute. The morning I left, I took my first architect registration exam. Do you realize what that meant? It meant I would rather sit through a standardized exam in a windowless room if it allowed me to (mentally) postpone my departure to India.

Then I got to Mumbai and saw some familiar faces. I still wasn't jazzed about being there because I was fully preparing myself for seven weeks of just trying to get by, doing my thing, and doing it all by myself. I knew it could be a very lonely, though fulfilling, seven weeks.

In what would later prove to be some ironic foreshadowing, recall that I wrote in a couple of early posts that I am slow to warm up to people. That hasn't changed. For some reason, though, I gave in on this trip. I decided to let go and warm up. I gave in at the hotel, I gave in at work, I gave in everywhere. And it was so, so fun.

What wasn't fun was saying goodbye. It's tough to say goodbye to people, even at the basic level of displaying common courtesy, right? Nobody wants to be on the receiving end of a curt, "Peace out!" so you best put some genuine emotion into your departure. But I've found it was really difficult this time around because there were many competing emotions. Should I say goodbye to India for good, since I don't know if/when I'll return? I need closure on things and there was no closure to be had, anywhere, dammit! Why am I so sad about leaving India when leaving means returning home to my real life? Wait, what is my real life at this point? If I recognize that I've changed in some ways does that mean others will not recognize me because of said changes?

(I told you, stream of consciousness.)

All this erosion of barriers has me feeling vulnerable in ways I tend to shy away from. It's a paradoxical state of mind when you spend your day on stage, exuding confidence and autonomy to lead your team, only to then have to ask for help when it comes time to do something as simple as feed yourself. Eventually this dual-existence will catch up with you.

Just to give you an idea of how this caught up with me, I went to bid adieu to Brian, a restaurant manager who crafted my special menu. I told him, "Thanks for taking such good care of me," to which he replied, "Thanks for letting us take care of you." Kids, I lost it. A bawling mess of tears and suitcases right in the Trident lobby. You've probably discerned from many of my posts that India has been tough on independent me because I don't naturally "let" people take care of me. Yet Brian was right; I had let them take care of me and am so grateful for it, exposed nerves and all.

This is the good, bad, and ugly of leaving your spouse, family, home, and office behind in pursuit of new experiences that will hopefully pay off in the end, not only for you but for all those other people left in your wake.

The question of the day yesterday was, "So, when will you return?" There is no answer to that question as of yet. So, in classic Indian fashion, we'll pick up on this story again, "in just two minutes." Until then!

India: Cause and Effect

2012-05-29T22:00:00.000-05:00

I got promoted a couple of weeks ago, so this happened.

For those wondering, yes, I led the effort. Spreading American culture, one conference table at a time.

India: Let's pack...to stay connected

2012-05-29T00:48:00.000-05:00

If this post were a Sesame Street episode, it would be brought to you by the letters H and P and the number 12. And, after seven weeks of living abroad, I’ve determined that neither the letters nor the number are the ideal sponsors. To make the magic seen on this blog I need a whole lotta gadgets. Ok, fine, I need a lot of gadgets for work and daily living, too. My dependency on them is a little surprising; I’ve never been a gadget person! But my long run on Sunday morning just about killed my trusty iPod and that’s got me thinking about replacing the entire set of techie toys below with the full Apple suite when I return home. Having every item “talk” to one another? Remarkable! So, speaking of sponsors, anyone feeling generous?

HP laptop. Work issued and not really adored. This thing is big, bulky, weighs a ton, and is not at all easy to juggle when running through foreign airports. I’ve never given much thought to laptop size until now but to illustrate how bad this one is, it is tearing the straps off my six week-old bag.
Mini mouse. Not the Disney kind.
Tata Photon Stick. This is quite possibly my least favorite item in the bunch. Hotel internet is exorbitantly priced so we use dial up – yes, dial up – internet sticks to connect anywhere outside of work. 1998 called and it wants its connection speed back.
Plug adapters. I have a small stash of these but find that I rarely need to use them. Most places have universal outlets that handle US plugs just fine, even if there is a sizeable spark each time I go to use them.
iPod Nano, first generation. Oh, iPod, how you’ve seen me through so much. Long runs, slow weekends, noisy flights, open-air office conversations. I really don’t know how I lived without you.
Blackberry Curve. Oh, Blackberry, I do know how I live without you and it’s because you take too many steps to do any one simple task. This archaic item has me seriously contemplating a proper international cell phone plan at my own expense just to avoid the hassle. Most people do nothing but SMS/text here so it’s not like I’d need a lot of voice minutes anyway. (Sidebar: SMSing here is taken as seriously as Americans take email, meaning, if you commit to something in SMS it’s about as good as blood on paper. This has taken some getting used to because I’m not really one to conduct business via text message. And, don’t get me started on the degeneration of proper communication thanks to emoticons – from grown adults! I’ve fallen so far into the SMSing culture that I’m ashamed to say smiley faces have weaseled their way into my texted parlance. Oh, the shame of it all. )
iPhone, not pictured. Is it sad that one of my favorite moments in the return trip home is the second those airplane wheels touch down and I get to go back to using my iPhone for things other than pictures?
Kindle Fire. This item is also known as your guaranteed dinner date when traveling alone. I didn’t think I’d take to an e-reader and I still don’t adore the reading experience it provides. However, the convenience and ease of getting almost anything I want to read is unmatched. My alternative looks like this and trust me, this “bookstore” isn’t what I would call user-friendly.
Headphones and USB. Nothing fancy, just necessary.
iTunes. Did you know the world wide web isn’t truly world wide? I cannot stream American TV shows from network websites or even rent movies from Amazon.com, which means the Kindle is only good for reading while the laptop is the TV stand-in.

There it is, kids. A full Best Buy worth of plastic buttons and screens, all in the name of keeping up with life while you leave it behind.

India: Outing to Alibag

2012-05-26T03:46:00.001-05:00

The monsoons are expected any day now. Indian Summer is winding down and by early or mid-June the country will be awash in steamy rain. When the rains come, the storied Alphonso mangoes, grown in Maharashtra state, will be gone for the year. Y'all, you have no idea what a mango is supposed to taste like until you have an Alphonso. I will never eat a Mexican mango again.

Why the talk of mangoes? Several weeks ago an opportunity arose to head out to "the country" for a couple of days to visit with a coworker's family and to tour their mango grove. Prajakt, my coworker, had invited us to his grandparents' farm in Alibag. We were to meet his extended family and have lunch with them before continuing on to another village for a couple of days' rest. (You'll only read about Alibag and lunch in this post because I ended up cutting the mini-vacay short due to bad water, as hinted at in the "Staying well" post. Wah-wah.)

Ok, so off we go!

I was pretty pumped about our journey to Alibag because it meant I was going to expand my transportation experiences. We've covered planes, trains, and automobiles. I've also done a touristy carriage ride. This trip involved a boat and a bus. I'm conquering the Indian landscape, one vehicle at a time.

We caught a ferry early one morning from the Gateway of India. See the hills in the background? That's where we were headed. Given that you can see the hills through the Mumbai smog, you can correctly assume that Alibag isn't too far from Mumbai. Our ferry ride lasted approximately 45 minutes.

Take a look above the guy's head in the middle of the foreground. See the building with the dome and then a high tower to its right? That's the Taj Palace hotel. My office is two city blocks to the left of the hotel.

The ferry lands in Mandwa at a busy dock. Just like the train system, tons of people use the ferries every day going back and forth across the bay to work and home.

At the end of the pier were a few buses waiting to take ferry passengers into Alibag proper. Alibag is a town serving as the main hub for many, many outlying villages relying on agriculture for their livelihood. Our bus ride added another 45 min to the journey and, though hot and sticky, it was a fascinating ride through comparatively rural India; up until this mini trip I had only seen major metropolises here.

We exited the bus in the middle of the road because proper bus stops are unnecessary! While I was turning my head in all directions to avoid oncoming traffic, Prajakt was already running ahead to find a particular shop. I wasn't sure what he was after but Carson clued me in: we were looking for a small gift to bring to Prajakt's grandparents. Hostess gifts here are at the same heightened level of formality as the business card exchange. Yes, we partake in these activities in the States but here the hostess gift and business card exchanges are far more personal, which means we couldn't show up with just any ol' thing.

Where did that leave us? A "sweet snacks" and "fried stuff" shop! Prajakt's grandmother has a sweet tooth so we stocked up accordingly.

I wish I could tell you what all these things are but I have no idea other than to say they almost all taste the same to me: lots of raw cane sugar with slight undertones of varying nuts or condensed milk.

In the bins behind the counter were the "fried stuff" salty snacks. I'd imagine that this place would make a killing if located in a college town.

Here we have more sweet snacks. They caught my eye because it looked like a type of kids' cereal I'd probably buy and eat multiple bowls of in one sitting.

Have I mentioned yet that it was super hot? Oppressively so. The heat ratchets up until the rain comes. Despite the soaring temps, this guy is seated at a deep fat fryer in jeans and a somewhat thick shirt. I could hardly stand by long enough to take the picture.

After finishing up at the sweet shop, we marched back to the road to find our hired driver for the weekend. Add "private car" to the aforementioned transportation list. Also add another 45 minutes to our journey, for we were on our way to Prajakt's grandparents' house, which is really more of a compound.

We have arrived! Isn't this door wonderfully cheerful? The family compound was made up of three or four modest homes that were sprinkled about the property. Mango trees provided much needed shade.

The man of the trip, Prajakt! (Sidebar: Prajakt is an amazingly skilled photographer and spends his weekends working with children in Mumbai's slums to teach them social skills through play. If you have a minute, go here and read up. It's very inspiring, I find.)

In addition to mangoes there were pineapples, bananas, lemongrass, sweet lime, and jack fruit.

Blech. Just thinking of the jack fruit (ping-pong ball-sized pods of fruit are inside that are dry-ish, fibrous, and sweet but not strong) makes my mouth water in an unpleasant way. This might be the first thing I've tried in India that I vow to never eat again!

We worked up a decent appetite that was then completely satisfied with lunch. The ladies of the house had spent all morning cooking up the meal and they outdid themselves. 12 of these plates were served! Let me fill you in on the goodies, starting at 12 o'clock on the beige plate: a vanilla/banana type pudding; a mash of potatoes, almonds, and spices that is eating with roti (bread); dal (like a lentil soup that gets poured on the white rice in center); another vegetable mash with onions, I think; roti; some other type of crepe-like bread that had a powdery, sweet filling; mango chutney; white rice. And the crispy sheets in the separate bowl are pappadums, which are made from lentil flour.

I don't have too many pictures of our time with the family because taking pictures at all made me rather uncomfortable. I already felt a bit like a voyeur and then feelings of unjustified superiority (maybe? I can't really articulate) got layered on top of that. You see, when it came time to eat, the family all sat on mats on the floor while a table was pulled out of nowhere and set beside a bed in the living room; this is where Carson, Raju, and I were to eat. And when I say the "family" sat on the floor I mean the men did. The women in the house didn't eat with us but instead very attentively refilled plates as needed. It was another instance of "me and the boys" and this smacked me in the face. Men and women clearly had their places in the home and I found myself wanting to be with the women because they were part of the background and not on a (literal) raised platform. Instead, I ate lunch with my right hand while my favored left sat idle. Did I need to? I don't know! But I wanted to blend in as best I could. I'll tell you one place that forced me to assimilate: the Eastern toilet. Too much information?

Later on, Carson and I talked about how lunch was served and he tried to explain to me that this is typical hospitality and urged me not to pass judgment. I don't think my feelings at lunch were due to being judgmental. Rather, lunch was such a clear depiction of everyday life in a very different, very established culture that it simply caught me off guard as I realized that I'm pretty sheltered in my hotel/office world. I haven't been exposed to this very intimate side of Indian life in Mumbai/Delhi/Calcutta and suddenly I had an appreciation for the common claim that Mumbai is the most cosmopolitan place in the country. It's all relative, isn't it?

India: Speaking of staying healthy

2012-05-22T23:33:00.000-05:00

After more than three full months of India stories, I figured it was high time I share some pictures that hopefully illustrate the true task at hand. Come along for a look inside Indian hospitals, some of which are the best of the best, the Johns Hopkinses or Mayo Clinics of the country.

Hospital bed tower

A coworker asked me what I thought after seeing one of the hospitals. I knew he was asking about my opinion from an operational sense: what did I think of seeing patient rooms that housed not one or two patients but 60 - aren't they more efficient from a space standpoint? And how about the way outpatient clinics were run - no appointments, just show up and wait?

Queue for outpatient department at 8:30am

I didn't - and couldn't - give an answer about care delivery. Everybody has their opinions on how to take care of the sick. While I also have an opinion, I could only offer emotional reactions, not operational assessments. To tour these facilities is sobering, heartbreaking, inspiring, overstimulating, frightening. And while I won't say I think the US system is perfect, I will say that after seeing the general state of Indian facilities, we have a lot to be thankful for.

Trauma unit, Emergency Department.

Outdoor hallway to other hospital departments.

Waiting room for Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.

Inpatient ward.

Treatment room.

And just to make the contrast a little more stark...

Private patient room, US.

General patient ward, India.

Dhanyavad (Thank you)

2012-05-20T01:00:00.000-05:00

Readers,
This is a quick post to say thank you for both your comments or the emails you've sent, particularly regarding the post on doing business in India. It's so fun to hear from readers and I genuinely appreciated the feedback on what was a rather exposing post. Also, this thing works both ways - if there's any particular subject you'd like to hear more about, please let me know. My time left in India on this trip is down to single digit days so pipe up! :)
Best,
Catherine

India: Let's pack...to stay healthy and clean

2012-05-20T00:33:00.002-05:00

One day, out of nowhere, my coworker asked me what I thought of Indian advertising on television. Not sure where she was going with this, I gave a reserved answer and said, "Oh, well, I guess I don't have much to say because many commercials are in Hindi so I don't really know what the message is. Overall, they seem to be simpler than American ads." She nodded her head and agreed, for she had lived in the US for a few years and felt that advertising in the States is more sophisticated than in India.

Her next question is what struck me. "But do you notice what the ads are for in the US compared to India? I remember thinking that there was nothing but commercials for drugs and pharmaceuticals in the US. Every other commercial was for some new medication." And then I thought about it. She's absolutely right; I've never seen a print or television ad for medication here. Accordingly, buying medication, or any sort of health maintenance product for that matter, isn't very easy.

Hole-in-the-wall "chemists" sell individual blister packs of pills and everything is packaged under different names so you really have to know what you need in order to get the right thing. My drug-conscious American self learned the last go-around that it's better to pack your own pharmacy than to seek one out here. Doing so paid dividends this week when I went on a quick jaunt to the Indian countryside (upcoming post) and returned sicker than I've ever been here. I've used every single item below in the last 48 hours.

Traveling pharmacy

Immodium.
Bottled water. If you stray from this, you'll be needing copious amounts of #1.
Zyrtec. Summer is in full swing right now and the breezes are blowing across the dry landscape. Dust is everywhere and pollen from the flowering trees will assault your nose like no other.
After Bite. The mosquitoes are out in full force, too. I am quite prone to being eaten alive, even if I slather on #5.
Off with Deet. Now, the naturalists in the audience may say, "Heck no, Deet is nasty stuff." And you'd be right. But malaria is nastier in my book.
Ear plugs. During the quick trip to the country I was sharing a hotel room with a coworker. A coworker who snores in a very loud and irregular fashion. If it's not the perpetual car horns blaring out your window then there will be some other noise to disrupt the precious sleep you can capture. Fight back!
Band-aids and alcohol wipes. I got this nifty little kit during the first week of grad school when companies were throwing their products at you left and right. Yay, marketing! Since then I've kept the case and refilled the bandage stock inside. It works well for keeping these items dry and collected.
Sunblock for the face and
Sunblock for the body. This might shock you, but finding high SPF sunblock, or any sunblock for that matter, is next to impossible.
Purple pill = kids' multivitamin.
Pink pill = Azithromycin antibiotic. Also known as your knight in shining intestinal armor.
Brown pill, big = Atovaquone, to prevent malaria.
Brown pill, small = Ibuprofen, for the hangovers from not so good Indian wine.
White pill = Melatonin, natural sleep agent. Gives you wild dreams but it really does help with jet lag.
Red pill = Antihistamine. Used more for countering my reaction to bug bites than allergies.

Comprehensive pharmacy, right? It doesn't stop there, y'all. I have a whole arsenal just for dental hygiene. Before India I'd say I was pretty good about dental care. Brushed twice daily and flossed, um, a few times a week. That all changed during the last few days of the January/February trip. My teeth showed increasing stains to the point that I didn't even want to smile I was so embarrassed by the encroaching brown. I know, ew. During two hour-long cleanings I was told this is pretty normal and that the diet of high acid, lots of spices, and non-fluoridated water all work against you. So when the dentist suggested I make a few changes to the dental routine I marched right in line.

Traveling dentist

Regular toothpaste, not the whitening kind. Apparently the whitening kind causes more harm than good as it erodes your enamel to achieve the (temporary) whitening. Due to the acid/spices/water combo above, my enamel is already taking a hit so I should avoid a full-on assault.
Floss. Especially important for getting all the spice particles out.
Blue Listerine. Preferred flavor for mouth rinsing.
Brown Listerine. Picked up in Mumbai for retainer rinsing.
Electric toothbrush. Mine is a Sonicare travel model. This was the biggest recommendation from the dentist, as the vibrating brush would do a better job at knocking the nasties off the teeth than anything else. So far, no stains.
Regular toothbrush. Just in case I forget to charge the Sonicare.

Okay, so are we done yet in the bathroom department? NO! As I mentioned during my last trip, the diet here also does a number on your personal smell. Add to that the millions of unidentified particles floating in the air and you will find yourself walking through a thick soup of smells that later show up as grime on your washcloth. Lovely!

Traveling cleansers

Dove bar of soap and travel case. This might sound funny, but I brought full-sized bars of soap from home because they feel more permanent to me, like I'm taking a regular shower as opposed to a hotel shower. I'm here for almost two months so I may as well feel like I'm taking normal showers and not living off hotel toiletries. So as to not sacrifice full bars each time I move hotels, I learned to bring a travel case along.
Perfume. I rarely wear perfume at home but here I wear it daily. Fight fire with fire!
Facial wipes, travel pack. These sit in my purse. Often, we'll go out for a group dinner after a late night at the office and we tend to walk to the restaurant. The facial wipes go a long way in the "freshening up" department.
Tweezers and
Nail polish remover pads and
Nail clippers. I have yet to find a nail care section in any store here. I don't have polished nails or fancy hands. Instead, it's the diet (again!) that necessitates these items. You eat many meals with your hands here and that food will collect underneath your nails and cuticles. The saffron and curry often stain your fingertips. Thus, I'm doing finger clean-up long after the finger bowls have disappeared from the table.
Make-up brush cleaner. Here too is something I never did before but it stands to reason that if my face is dirty then the brushes used on said face get dirty, as well.
Q-tips. Yeah, whatever stuff doesn't stick to your face is surely accumulating in your ears.

Phew! That's it. I hope I didn't lose you halfway through this longer-than-expected post. This is a mess o' medications and things to pack but is there anything worse than getting sick and not being able to make it better? I think not.

India: Calcutta (with a coworker on a stick)

2012-05-16T00:55:00.001-05:00

As we were wrapping up meetings last week, I subtly reached into my bag to pull out MR on a stick. He had to "visit" our cancer hospital project! Thinking that my live-and-in-the-flesh coworker would see me as crazier than he already does, I wanted to do this quickly and without drawing too much attention. That failed. Instead, Raju saw what I was doing and immediately got in on the game! Raju was so enthusiastic about taking MR on a stick out around town that we postponed our work plans to later in the evening just so we could get pictures while there was still daylight. Behold!

MR in the hospital courtyard.

MR at the hospital main entry.

MR and I (and MR in my hand!) at the main entry.

MR on the bridge over the Hooghly River in Calcutta.

Promenade outside the hotel.

MR the taxi mechanic!

Watch out, MR! That guy behind you is seeking a little "relief."

MR on the road.

MR and his namesake signage!

Raju and I stood in this intersection at the peak of rush hour trying to get the right "MR with the MR sign" picture. I've never had so many people blatantly staring at me but surely we looked crazy.

MR in traffic. Calcutta has more modes of transportation in everyday use (14) than any other city on the planet . Or at least Raju tells me this, as it was his thesis topic.

MR at the grain shop. See the scale?

MR at the tiffin/dabba shop.

MR goes to the bar....

More hustle and bustle.

Watch out for the street food, MR!

Oooh, pretty bangles! I bought 12 for Rs. 20. Raju is a master negotiator.

MR in Chaplin Square, complete with trademark hat!

Brief notes on Calcutta/Kolkata:

Holy hell is it hot there. 100*F every day. But there was a decent breeze and the humidity was lower than expected.
Calcutta is one of the most densely populated cities in India but it has a surprising amount of green space and parks, which were incorporated during British reign. Farmland still peppers the main roads throughout downtown Calcutta itself and its surrounding suburbs.
The city is in the West Bengal state and due to its close proximity to the Bay of Bengal, fish plays a prominent role in the east Indian diet. One traditional preparation involves steaming a filet in a banana leaf and smothering it with a spicy mustard. Delicious!
In the analogy department, Mumbai:New York, Delhi::Washington, DC, Kolkata::Miami. It's a lush city in many parts and there are small lakes and lagoons that run up alongside villages and/or new mega condominium complexes. It was not unusual to see people bathing in the rivers and farming the fields while luxury cars idled at a stop light nearby.
I feel like Kolkata is representative of all the things outsiders expect from India: lots of growth and development as clear indications of emerging wealth but no shortage of livestock in the streets, bathing with a bucket, and simple living by its people. I rather enjoyed visiting!

View from hospital to new business sector.

Gardens on one side of the hospital...

Cows in the back yard of the hospital!

View from new shopping mall.

India: Weekend Update

2012-05-15T04:11:00.002-05:00

After Carson and I returned from Calcutta the two of us were completely whipped. We had worked the weekend before and there is no accurate anticipation of how exhausting business-within-business travel really is. So we put a moratorium on working or doing much of anything, really. Here's how I spent part of the weekend.

And you all thought this wasn't a sewing blog anymore... :) More to come on this, but Calcutta pictures will be next.

Hope you all had a pleasant, restful weekend, too!

India: Getting Down To Business

2012-05-12T07:37:00.000-05:00

I made two serendipitous decisions as an eighteen year old that have proven to be instrumental in defining how I conduct my professional life. What were they?

1. Joining the men’s crew team as a coxswain (a.k.a. the one who yells at the stern of the boat).

Throwing myself into an all-male arena was unusual. I had one boyfriend in high school and I also had (still have?) a solid reputation as a goody goody. Crew taught me how to flip back and forth from being “just one of the guys” to being the woman confidently in charge and getting the guys to follow my lead.

2. Rushing and joining a classically feminine sorority (a.k.a. the girls in pearls).

Sorority life taught me how to bullshit my way through any conversation and when to lay on the charm to close the deal, and I’m not talking the salacious ones. I didn’t really embrace sorority life but I’m serious when I say I’m grateful for the experience. At the time it all felt superficial and much of it was. Yet, I look back and acknowledge that it really taught me social skills I use daily.

We know life in India is a life of extremes. In professional matters, the extremes play out in gender roles. I have learned to navigate through working here with the lessons from the social extremes of men’s crew and women’s Greek life. With those bits of information as a framework, let’s get down to business. Literally.

Just me and the boys. Like always.

Everyday Life

All of my seatmates on the international flights over have been men. I’m driven everywhere by men, served food by men, have my beauty routines done by men. In-country business travel is with only men from our office. Client meetings are 90% male populated. I am the only woman from our US team who comes and stays for long periods of time. It’s a boys’ club. All. The. Time. If I want to have any sort of social life outside of work it means I better like crass jokes, crude language, and beer. And you know what? That’s okay. It can be a lot of fun and I can be pretty good at it, particularly the swearing part. My crew coach took me aside one day just to teach me how to curse with vigor so I could be more convincing in the heat of a race. Watch out in this post!

I’m not super proud of my occasional sailor mouth but I’ve also never liked being handled gently because I’m of the fairer sex. Coworkers know this well but demonstrating it to clients or others outside of the office can be tricky. Yet I take the risk because proving I can be one of the guys often opens doors that would otherwise stay closed. Take, for example, the other day when a doctor asked if I could eat Indian food for lunch or would it upset my delicate system? I flat out told him, “Yes, I can eat Indian food. I’m not as fragile as I look.” A bit abrupt for someone who is called “Sir” by his direct reports? Maybe. But from there we quickly developed a pleasant and straightforward rapport. Soon he was connecting me with all sorts of knowledgeable people at the project site who had the feedback I needed to collect. If I’m tough enough for Indian spice then I must be tough enough for Indian critiques.

If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen.

Work Life

Overpopulation and a hierarchical, deferential, caste-based society lead to a fight to the top that is simply unbelievable until you witness it yourself. I have never felt the buzz of testosterone or the intensity of ego-driven behavior as much as I do in conference rooms here, despite my years working with egomaniacal neurosurgeons and orthopedic surgeons. That is saying something, y’all. It is amusing, alarming, fascinating, and, I’ll confess, sometimes intoxicating.

At first, I thought my answer to this should be a crew team-like response, that I should try to assimilate. But I’ve concluded that is a bad idea. I’ll never be “one of the guys” in a conference room. And why should I? Sometimes it can seem like my sole purpose at meetings is to be the visible token woman on the team. That may sound deplorable for a modern American company but it happens everywhere to everyone. My feeling is I can get upset and feel used/objectified or I can turn the tables and play it to my advantage. Why fight among all the boys when I can set myself apart rather easily?

At the surface level this means skirt suits as much as possible. A full face of make-up. The highest heels I own. Impeccable hair, nails, teeth. Charm, charm, charm. Smile, smile, smile. But it can’t stop with appearances. If you stop there then you are nothing but a token, a cute sorority girl, and I take my work too seriously to play that game. Instead, I use femininity in a few strategic ways.

Pearls look good with scrubs, right?

All that testosterone virtually guarantees a pissing contest will happen in every meeting. I've watched in internal and external gatherings alike. When that moment comes and a conversation gets particularly heated, I jump at the chance to temper the mood and demonstrate I’m more than just a pair of heels. I’ve noticed that my male partners are so intensely business-focused that they can miss connecting on a personal level and by now you should all have some indication as to how personal every relationship is here, business or otherwise. Keeping quiet until a carefully timed moment can be very powerful. In a flash you can go from being the gentle bystander in the skirt to having all the boys in the boat chilled out enough to get back to pulling in the same direction. The key is knowing what to say.

Working in healthcare suggests a life of altruistic pursuits and many genuinely are. But let’s be real. The golden wheel of capitalism turns as everyone acts in their own best interests. Figure out what those personal interests are, play into them without exposing people for what they’re really after, and boom! You too will get what is in your best interest. I learned this first in sorority life and then refined it when working in hospital administration with the surgeons. Here’s an example: We had one major goal for recent business, which was to get a set of information from a client representative. The client rep didn’t want to share that information with us because he favors another consultant for the project, against whom we’re competing. The rep had given the information to the favored consultant and kept insisting we should just get the data from that guy instead of himself. Right, because that’s realistic. My project director pulled out every logical business reason as to why we needed the data from the rep himself, to the point where he was getting red in the face and visibly flustered. So I cut my manager off. Then I calmly suggested to the rep that if we had the information today we would be better prepared when we eventually met the other consultant, thereby cutting down on wasting his friend’s time and ensuring we would be of greater help to the other guy. Seconds later, the prized document was in my hands.

Playing the game can feel manipulative at first, but to be trite, it is what it is. You know the most gratifying part of that whole meeting? It wasn't winning the paper fight. It was having my project director and a principal see me in action and then acknowledge that I controlled that meeting from start to finish, handling the client in a polite but firm manner to ultimately get what we needed. You don't get those moments by acquiescing to the idea that you're nothing more than a token.

Stranger Danger

When I'm not the chick in the conference room then I’m the oddball woman who is eating dinner by herself (or any number of other activities). On my 30^th birthday, after being tormented by my coworker endlessly about getting old, what happened? A guy at the pool asked me out to dinner. Flattering, right? Now I’ll tell you that he was old enough to be my father. Don’t you know my coworker loved that one.

But the thing is, that wasn’t the last time some random guy approached me. Admittedly, after the third or fourth time this happened I was starting to feel pretty good about myself, even if the men were all several years (decades, even) my senior. Then I took an honest look around and realized I’m the only freaking single woman in sight. And I have a wedding ring on. Do these guys not give a damn and thus hold true to stereotypes of philandering businessmen?

So I asked one of the guys at work one day how I should respond to such friendly behavior from total strangers. Long story short, he said, “Don’t be stupid, but also know that Indians are very social people and are huge on networking. You’re only as valuable as the people you know. They’re just trying to extend their networks.” I was wary (and still am) but my coworker’s comments paired well with another Indian I knew.

Dipak Jain was the dean of the Kellogg School of Management when I graduated and he loved telling stories (often over and over again). Every story had a lesson; he was like Aesop of Kellogg. One of those lessons was don’t shy away from talking to your seatmate on an airplane, or any other stranger, really, because you never know with whom you’ll end up chatting. Just like my coworker, Jain stressed that networks are powerful so never miss an opportunity to strengthen yours.

This has been a little tough for me to adopt because I don’t love networking. I loathe it, really. But, thanks to sorority life, I can carry on a non-committal five minute conversation like a champ all in the name of being polite. You’re probably thinking, “Or, you could just shut the conversation down and walk away.” That’s true, and I often do. But I’ve pushed myself to at least chat for a minute or two. Because, while I don’t need another man in my life, everyone can always use a new client. We are submitting a project proposal to one of these “strangers” later this week. Of course every random conversation won’t turn into a new building yet many of them do result in an interesting way to spend an hour or share a meal. At the risk of sounding cocky, here’s the running tally:

breakfast with a Bollywood film producer
lobby chat with South African Cricket player
lobby chat with German diamond dealer
chat across dining tables with an American healthcare professor partnering with Indian medical schools
dinner with the CEO of multi-billion dollar company
birthday cake with Indian and Israeli real estate developers

Very cool people, right?

Mr. Real Estate was trying to feed me birthday cake, per Indian tradition. That freaked me out.

The Takeaway Message

So there it is, y’all. What it’s like to do business halfway around the world and as a heavily outnumbered minority. Some of it probably sounded glamorous but mostly it can be quite lonely and frustrating. And I have a feeling that I have come across as arrogant and self-congratulating. I sincerely hope not. But perhaps that's the most important lesson I've learned from all these men: they don't apologize for being who they are, particularly when they are the star student of the day. Neither should women.

India: Check these pictures out!

2012-05-11T06:00:00.000-05:00

Very cool photos from British India 100+ years ago. Happy Friday!

India: Let's pack...to stay fit

2012-05-10T12:41:00.001-05:00

I don't think it takes much persuasion that it's easy to pack on a few el-bees when working abroad for extended periods of time. On my last trip I made vigorous and regular use out of the waterfront walking path but this soon felt like one of my few escapes was rather confining. Not cool! This go around I made a conscious effort to plot out a workout routine that incorporated things other than running. If anything, the increased summer temperatures have kept me inside past the hour of 9am.

First on my list is something that's not even pictured: a personal trainer. While home I decided to splurge and I bought four sessions with a trainer at my neighborhood gym. By coincidence she happens to work with a lot of people who travel for work and are looking for routines they can do in modest hotel gyms. Score! And so a solid partnership was born. She loaded me up with four different workouts, all of which use only one piece of equipment. Ladies and gentlemen, the unsung hero is item #1.

A resistance band (and bonus "Fit-Stik" from Reebok). People, go to Marshall's or TJMaxx and buy yourself one or twenty of these. They take almost no space in a suitcase and you can get a legitimate workout in even if all you have is a doorknob to wrap the band around. Honestly, no gym equipment required.
My workout clothes get a serious, um, workout. I wear them about two or three times before sending them to the laundry. Yes, it's kind of gross but so too are the laundry charges. This tank in particular works double time in combating laundry expenses. The top has a built-in sports bra to cut down on item counts in both suitcases and laundry bags. It also is made of a moisture-wicking material that works great when on (and sweating) but also works quite well when dripping dry. Literally, it drips dry when hanging on a closet door. I kind of disgusted myself when I realized why there was a puddle on my floor the other morning. But, I got one more use out of the top!
Tennis shoes.
Fit-Stik workout DVD. A bonus item in the $8 kit from Marshall's. Surprisingly, it's a tough 20 minute routine! Great for doing in your hotel room when time is short.

The other thing that has been tremendously helpful in keeping me sane and feeling pretty a-okay is my paid registration for the North Shore half marathon. In other words, I've sold myself to 13.1 miles. When life around me is crazy hectic and wildly unpredictable, I love having the half marathon training routine to bring some structure to my week.

*****

Quick parting story. Last weekend I had a 9 mile run scheduled so I left my hotel at 6:45 am and headed out. I know South Mumbai rather well and figured that if I ran to the northern edge of South Mumbai I'd probably come close to my needed distance. Long story short, I took a fork in the road that led me past the "other side of the tracks" and through some very dense and, ahem, colorful neighborhoods.

Later that day, I asked my coworker Raju where exactly I had been on my run, mapping it out for him on Google Earth. He took a quick glance at my route and then looked at me. Something incredible happened next. Instead of getting the standard ambiguous Indian head bobble I got a full on back-and-forth nod, not an up-and-down. This shocked me! Where had I gone that he was so vehemently opposed?

Raju: No, no, no, Catherine. You have gone too far. Don't go there again. You went through the red light district.

Noted.

India: Let's pack...an American tiffin

2012-05-07T23:47:00.000-05:00

*Editor’s note: I know I promised the next post would be about business matters but I’m traveling to Kolkata (Calcutta) today. In preparation, I’ve been told no skirts because Kolkata is not as cosmopolitan as Mumbai. This should work out well given the 100*F temperatures. Since I’ve had to pack up my Mumbai hotel room, packing has been on the mind. I’m going to share a few more packing posts while working in Kolkata; I hope these aren’t getting too boring for you. Then we’ll return to chatting business when I’m allowed to put on a skirt again.

I think I’ve touched on (or rather beaten into the ground) this uncomfortable feeling of being helpless and dependent when it comes to everyday activities, like feeding yourself. When I was packing up at home I decided one way to combat some of these emotions would be to stock up on dry goods that require nothing more than hot water to make. That way, I could make a quick bowl of Easy Mac or oatmeal and successfully feed myself without having to get room service involved. That strategy translated to a stash of items that I imagine to be not that different from packing for the woods or even the moon. Hell, in some ways, packing for India is like putting yourself in a similarly remote place. Don’t judge me on the nutritional value of these items – many of you, dear friends, work for these companies!

About a week into this trip I dropped in on Mumbai’s “Target” to pick up a couple more items. I couldn’t live off freeze-dried carbs indefinitely, even if my cereal devotion would suggest otherwise. In this batch I selected things like beverages and yogurt to keep the mini-bar charges in check.

Yet my savviest acquisitions came first from the housewares section. I was hunting for cheap cutlery to keep in my hotel room so I wouldn’t have to call room service every time I wanted to eat a cup of yogurt. While I failed in the single spoon task I struck gold on the plastics shelf. Right before me stood a selection of plastic tiffins and one seemed perfectly proportioned to hold a sandwich and two small portions of fruit, cookies, or whatever else one wanted. Bingo!

Pleased as punch, I went back to the grocery section and picked up a loaf of bread, peanut butter, jelly, bell peppers, grapes, and a handful of other American lunch time staples. I’ve probably made this process sound rather easy but truly, to find all of those items in one place, a place within walking distance of my hotel, made me feel like I had just summitted Everest. I had won the lunch time battle.

No more pecking through take-away menus trying to find fast food options not covered in mayo (a holdover from British rule?), not covered in butter, and not huge in portion sizes. No more eating Indian food for many consecutive meals and paying for that a few days later. No more sweating out curry and tikka spices from oversaturation. The food is scrumptious but everything in moderation, please! You have no idea how diverse (if imperfect) the American diet is until you’re not eating it anymore.

Assembling my own American tiffin was fairly easy to do in my hotel room. I’ve converted a drawer in the wardrobe to be my pantry and moved out mini-bar items to free up refrigerator space. Seriously, y’all, I’ve never been so happy to pack a lunch the night before work.

The next day I arrived in the office and happily marched my tiffin back to the mini-fridge for safe keeping. When lunch rolled around and I had not placed an order for take-out, mouths dropped. I had brought my lunch? How? With what? Demonstrating that I could successfully find my own food was a surprise to one and all. And now the lunch table had turned; I got to offer up food that I brought from “home” instead of just taking what everyone else offered me! Here are some of the responses to American lunch fare:

Peanut butter and jelly is a huge hit so whenever I make a sandwich I always bring at least one extra half
Raw bell pepper and grapes on the same day caused someone to ask me if I was on a diet. This candidly illustrates my claim that people here don’t eat fruit unless covered in sugar or vegetables unless cooked beyond the point of recognition.
Oreos are winners, always.
Macaroni and Cheese? No takers! Only the people who have spent years (and I mean decades) in the US like the fake orange stuff.
Hotel leftovers, consisting of an Asian-style steak salad, were admired for the ingenuity but not sampled. It was cow, after all.
Starbucks VIA packets with hotel-supplied creamers surprised the office guys at first but now it’s hot water rather than masala chai each day. Win!

There you have it. How to keep your GI system happy, your independence from getting rusty, and your Indian friends intrigued.

India: Let's pack...for a client meeting

2012-05-02T03:34:00.000-05:00

I’ve been watching a lot of season four of Mad Men lately, mostly due to the fact that it’s one of the few American TV shows that air in the evenings here. Secondly, because it’s a great show that I can rewatch and always see something new.

An episode I caught the other day involved Faye Miller explaining to Don that she wears a fake wedding ring to client engagements so that they can all just get down to business.

So let’s talk about doing business here as a woman in an incredibly male-dominated industry, culture, country. Judge all you want; in the next post I’ll attempt to validate the commentary below.

1. Enormous bag. I lug around an 8lb HP laptop and because it needs to run heavy graphics software the screen is huge. Finding a bag that will fit a 17” laptop is pain; finding one that will zip closed once said laptop is inside is a monumental task. But that’s the key – the bag must zip shut. You walk a lot of places here. Be smart about your belongings.

2. Receipt pouch. You live your life out of a suitcase and your finances (mostly) out of the company’s wallet. It’s one thing to misplace a few receipts for a couple of days’ worth of travel. It’s another thing to lose almost two months of expenses. A friend gave me a chic set of travel accessories a few years ago and they are winning my heart over every day. It’s easier to keep receipts out of my wallet since many bills of sale are full sheets of paper.

3. ID/Credit card holder: Same deal as discussed in packing for a weekend outing.

4. Memory stick: This little gadget has saved the day multiple times. I’ve found that at many client sites the company does not want you to plug your computer into their systems, or their electrical outlets don’t have adapters, or your adapters don’t work. You can’t always rely on an internet connection here so emailing is out. Circumvent those technical difficulties and bring a memory stick as the pinch hitter.

5. Lip stain. I put the stain on before the meeting then heavily blot. The color saturates the lips enough that you can wipe away almost all of the product itself. This cuts down on the chances of having lipstick on your teeth. (Shown here is Clinique Bitter Honey. I love the name as much as the make-up.)

6. Business card holder: Trading business cards here is a bigger deal than at home. It’s almost ceremonial. Since presenting cards is important you don’t want to be the slob of the bunch. As such, just stuffing some in your bag won’t work; they’re bound to get soiled. A sturdy card case will pay dividends. Mine was a gift from a another friend when I changed jobs. It’s engraved with my initials, which is super sweet, but perhaps the best thing about this case is that its reflective surface doubles as a mirror. Tea and biscuits are served at every meeting. Sometimes twice. Eating in front of people can be tricky but to not partake would be rude. So, when I’m looking down to pull out cards I pretend I’m smiling at something someone has said. Really, though, I’m doing a quick teeth check.

7. High heels. It’s no secret that most, if not all, women sport a particular pair of power heels when they need to get their point across in a meeting. I wear these heels a lot, even to those meetings where I know I won’t say a word. Plus, they double as noise makers to scare off rats when going up and down the stairs.

8. Rings. See Faye Miller reference above. But more so because I promised to wear them. :)

India: Getting My Hair Did

2012-05-01T01:12:00.002-05:00

I take mostly calculated risks in life. Actually, they are very calculated risks, to the point where you might not even be able to call such things "risks" anymore. Being in India has certainly forced me to lighten up a bit in this arena because one rarely has all, or even half, of the information needed to make an "informed" decision. Despite my previously mentioned adventures, I'd say this past Sunday upped the ante on entertainment mixed with fear. I had my hair dyed at the hotel salon.

Couldn't this have waited another month until I returned to the safety of my stylist's hands back in Chicago? I thought so. But after having to get dolled up for a client meeting on Friday I was not feeling 100% polished, and frankly, sometimes that is the biggest value I'm bringing to the board room table here (but more on that later). Between the India-acquired gray hairs and the brassy tone bequeathed to me by the very questionable water, the 'do was looking underdone.

The salon is adjacent to the hotel gym so after a workout I dropped in to see if they offered hair coloring services. Indeed, the do. Yet I was in the market for semi-permanent color only. If the color ended up being a total disaster at least let's pick a product that will wash out within weeks (or maybe days, given the water potency.)

Confirming that I could get semi-permanent color was the first of many vignettes that illustrated this was not your average American salon experience. For starters, the only woman in the whole shop was the person working the front desk. This is the exact opposite of any nail bar you visit in the States, right? I thought she'd be able to answer my color question but she was utterly clueless. Well, thank goodness for Amit. Our first few sentences had me double- and triple-thinking my color pursuit but he soon emerged as a very knowledgeable colorist. So knowledgeable, in fact, that within seconds I was in the salon chair and color was being mixed.

While Amit is slathering color on my "very soft hair" he asks me if I'm sure I want to go darker than what I'm currently sporting. I gently tell him we're past the point of determining future hair color since half my scalp is dark with gel. He laughs and then says, "Oh, it's just that all the foreign women always want lighter hair, blonde, you know. They all want lighter." All the foreign women except this one! I'm not ready for that kind of hair risk here!

Amit continues to apply color. I suddenly feel someone taking off my shoes. Sunil has dropped by to give me a pedicure. I've had a pedicure here before and once you get past the 50 year old man painting your toenails, it's a rather good end product, as pedicures go. But here's the thing with pedicures by 50 year old men: they are not the least bit relaxing or gentle. So at one end I have Amit pulling my very soft hair left and right while at the other end I've got Sunil using 25 grit sandpaper as a stand-in for a pumice stone.

Eventually it's time to wash out the color. In steps Rajesh because Amit is now occupied with three madams who are getting all done up for some event - anything from going to lunch or perhaps a big wedding. First, let's cover the madams.

Madam #1 is wearing hideously gaudy jewelz, yes, with a "z." That's the best way to classify them. She's in a rather nice dress, though, and is also having her hair colored. Hers looks pretty nice so I'm starting to get my hopes up about mine. All in all, she's pretty tame.
Madam #2 looks to be a daughter. She's got hair that's three feet long and stick straight. She's in the salon to have a blow-out. Who is doing her hair? A child. Seriously, this kid could not have been a day over 12. He could hardly reach the top of her head and #2's impatience got the best of her. In short order she was taking the brush out of the boy's hand, styling her own locks, and commandeering other salon guys to bring her styling tools from other stations. I'm too scared to even touch my hair after my Chicago stylist has done her thing but here's #2 having no issue with basically telling everyone they suck at their jobs. After all this fuss to get the hair straight she immediately piles it in a bun on top of her head. What the hell.
Madam #3 is the Indian equivalent of a country club tennis wife. She's in some horrible shift dress that you know she paid way too much for, which made her all the happier. She's got on Jackie O sunglasses - in the WINDOWLESS salon - and is wandering about. I really don't know what she was getting done but she was amusing to watch, nonetheless.

Now back to Rajesh and me. He's tossing my head about in the shampoo sink bowl like it's a football. Arguably, the best part of getting your hair done is the shampooing. But not with a 50 year old man at the helm. I think I may have come away with a bruised neck. His quick head and neck massage in the chair might have soothed the pain but that was just as forceful as the shampooing. Did I mention that while this was happening Sunil was back to finish the pedicure? I thought of what this must look like to a fly on the wall. Ridiculous, for starters. And secondly, I was beginning to feel a bit like a kept woman who spends her days waltzing about the hotel and having multiple members of the hotel staff finessing her appearance. I get it. This is Asian hospitality at its peak and some people adore it. I'm just trying to get by while still maintaining some sense of independence.

Rajesh finishes assaulting my head. Sunil has scrubbed my feet to layers of flesh pinker than Matt's polo shirts. (To be fair, walking these streets requires serious clean-up.) Amit waves me back to his station and now the moment of truth: hair drying to reveal the final color.

My toes practically sparkled as I left the salon with the richest looking dye job and the most perfectly coiffed blow out I have ever had. I guess I'm really ready for the board room now.