tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45227317704758713172024-02-15T02:25:21.633+05:30The Random MemorandumI work in hell...with fluorescent lighting.
Please consider this my complaint department and suggestion box all rolled up into one.Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.comBlogger384125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-189709896479331282011-10-06T20:53:00.000+05:302011-10-06T20:53:55.957+05:30Navaratri...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">…is a nine day festival that celebrates the Mother Goddess in all of her manifestations; each is worshiped for three days. First is Durga who destroys negative tendencies. Then Lakshmi who bestows good virtues and fortune. Last is Saraswati who instills wisdom and spiritual knowledge. Worship and fasting take place during the day and the nights are filled with feasting and dancing. The festival ends on the tenth day with the victory of good over evil. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">We attended the hoopla taking place in our complex on Tuesday night with the promise of a much larger crowd on Wednesday. The night we attended there were a couple of hundred people in attendance, but when the rains came last night we thought it would be cancelled. Alas, no. This festival, from what I heard, is a big one. Astro turf was laid out over the muddy lawn and tarps thrown over the DJ’s equipment. The show must go on, as they say.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I looked down 12 stories from my balcony and saw the crowd…the women in their brightly colored clothes, swirling their skirts and dancing with each other and their sticks…ah, sticks are a part of this festival’s dance. They hit them together and against one another’s as they sway and bow and turn. Anyhoopla, I wanted to be a part of it, but it was almost midnight…and whoever the god or goddess of rain is was still making an appearance, so I watched from afar.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The night we did attend I noticed that dancing aside, it was also about togetherness and community. People mingled…and they mingled with us, the outsiders. There were booths set up along the sideline run not only by local businesses, but by children. We saw one such booth with the typical carnival game of cups stacked in a pyramid where the participant had to knock them down by throwing tennis balls. The problem was that the cups were set up on the table that all the people were walking past, not on a second table in the background. As one young girl laid down her rupees and was ready to throw, the masses kept walking by and blocking her shot. Not the best plan by the kids who thought this up, but she managed to have her chance as Paul stood on one side of the crowd and I and another young boy the other. I would have liked to have gone back down last night to see if they rectified that problem or just let it be…I'm guessing the set up was the same. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The following video quality is really bad, but you get the general idea of people dancing in small groups.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxL-kpHB1umoOWMzWQqSCPjChJ7ecrwz_3W4XOWPRAPdtHrRjytswKN39jgWFk6MNF9qFTKlTOZuw8HtlqN7w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
Also, here are a few of the photos Paul took that night.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfODftF55TyHj66vK2a0DHUN6XcanpHbvnLQrOD9wRm7I1AlNjY9LRGbuO-ikU2iErbHUUbDMPOjCfKm7JZxwx99QEe4AUuOJLCfzoiWqctyvoTmPeYMLREAr74OrDBBC73oJV5motew0/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfODftF55TyHj66vK2a0DHUN6XcanpHbvnLQrOD9wRm7I1AlNjY9LRGbuO-ikU2iErbHUUbDMPOjCfKm7JZxwx99QEe4AUuOJLCfzoiWqctyvoTmPeYMLREAr74OrDBBC73oJV5motew0/s400/8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-67388633860605772652011-10-05T23:25:00.000+05:302011-10-05T23:25:22.652+05:30We're Back in India...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal">…and apparently for a while. After our trip to Italy where I spent two days of it on my own while Paul was flown first on a private jet and then on a helicopter to Romania where the location had been changed to the last minute, we find that India is still our home for a bit longer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Italy was beautiful and wonderful and amazing. It was hard to leave, but India welcomed us back with open arms and for good measure, a slap in the face. We arrived at our flat at 2:00 a.m. to find that our power had been shut off. A mistake on the electric company’s behalf, but that didn’t help the fact that it was hot and stuffy; about 90 degrees…and that the stench of rotting meat permeating the air from the freezer. We opened the only two windows with screens and slept on the sofa and loveseat. Not so bad, except for the fact that we had been cramped on a plane for nine hours prior.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Paul woke early, went to work, and had the driver bring our paid receipt to the electric office. I scrubbed the inside of both the refrigerator and freezer with Lysol, bleach and baking soda…none of which really helped; and then went grocery shopping. Of course I got in the line with the new cashier. Not only did he not know how to turn on the conveyor belt, he moved like molasses. On second thought, it was slower than that. I think he may actually have been moving back in time. He picked up each item with his right hand and then transferred it to his left, at which point he would pick up the scanning gun, use it and then set it back down. He did this with every.single.item. Keep in mind I was not only shopping for the week, but replacing everything I had to throw out. Let’s just say my frozen items were no longer so by the time I left. In hindsight I wish I would have pulled out my phone and videotaped it; then again I don’t think my phone could handle ten plus minutes of video.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That was Monday, but then we lost power for several hours on Tuesday. Apparently between load sharing and yada, yada we can expect these outages to continue through October 20<sup>th</sup>. On a good note, Monsoon Season is nearing its end. We did have a big rain this evening, which I thought would interrupt the festival going on, but no. There’s no stopping Indians and their festivals; especially when they include dancing! Tonight is the eighth day of Navaratri, which I will share with you in a day or two. I know I’ve barely posted anything in months, but I was busy…FYI busy = lazy. But pinky swear, I will. No really, I will. I broke my pinky toe years ago and it hurt like a bitch, so I don’t want to jinx myself.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On another note I want to give a big shout out to my son and grandson who have birthdays today. Both born on the 5<sup>th</sup> of October, at the same hospital and both are left handed…go figure. Anyway, Happy Birthday to my boys! Here’s a picture of the three of us…from a couple of years ago, but it’s the only one I have.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHw6s79HSS3aj-lREy4z6VckdhdiYUqedKcHFGozcaqZA448DBeRBzaFIl6G8ohU98mreMA_THQBCiez0C4RQycyhwH6Q8Z2v1_aPNewDwOz66bV1BRdlUzXTvzeGMdeYwN4l32KATzeI/s1600/Jeremy%252C-Drew-and-Me-2008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHw6s79HSS3aj-lREy4z6VckdhdiYUqedKcHFGozcaqZA448DBeRBzaFIl6G8ohU98mreMA_THQBCiez0C4RQycyhwH6Q8Z2v1_aPNewDwOz66bV1BRdlUzXTvzeGMdeYwN4l32KATzeI/s400/Jeremy%252C-Drew-and-Me-2008.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-76906726949858791042011-09-18T23:07:00.001+05:302011-09-18T23:08:01.433+05:30I'm Back...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Yes, I know I haven’t posted in awhile. The last time was when I hurt my foot at a Pot Luck dinner we hosted. Update: I made a trip to the states a week later and had my foot x-rayed again. It wasn’t broken, but the injury was treated as such. I sported a cumbersome walking boot for six weeks and the bruising took almost as long to dissipate. The bottle didn’t break the skin so there aren’t any scars, but I still have a bump where it hit. Let me tell you that there have been many times when I have suffered the consequences of a bottle of wine the morning after, and times the entire next day, but never for six weeks! <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">So a week after the bottle incident Paul and I were at Mumbai International Airport bound for the U.S. As I hobbled with one foot in an elastic bandage and the other a flip flop, I wondered why no one offered a wheel chair. But then I remembered I was at an airport in India (silly me), and kept limping along. After snaking our way through the long queue for immigration I went through with a mere glance at my passport and proceeded towards security. While thinking ahead about how I needed to pull my laptop out, and trying not to think about how bad my foot was throbbing, I almost missed that Paul was being held up. Apparently after letting him through for a year and a half without having registered in India with the FRRO (Foreigner Regional Registration Office) they finally chose to follow protocol. I back tracked and waited on one foot, with nothing to hold on to, for about twenty minutes. Right about the time I thought I couldn’t stand one second longer, they escorted him into an office. Part of me thought this wasn’t a good sign, but the other part was just thankful because there were chairs. As numerous personnel from immigration were telling Paul that he should have registered, he pointed out that his visa was stamped otherwise. As they told him it was a mistake, he countered with how it was their problem and not his; if the Indian Consulate in Chicago was stamping passports incorrectly they should rectify it. At one point someone glanced at my foot and asked Paul if I was able to travel without him. Paul looked at me and knew my answer, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Hell yes. I’ll see you in a couple of days, honey.” </i>After much hoopla they let him through with the promise he would register upon returning and we proceeded to the gate where the plane was already boarding.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That was over two months ago. Paul has since registered with the FRRO, as have I. It was an arduous process, and unfortunately it didn’t end there. Our visas expire in a few days. After being told that we do not need to go home, or even to New Dehli, to renew them we have spent numerous hours over several days at the infamous FRRO in the last two weeks. Our fingers are crossed that everything goes smoothly and our passports will get the appropriate stamp in the next two days. If it doesn’t happen we have to go back to the U.S. to get it done. I know a lot of people reading this would think that wouldn’t be so bad. It’s a visit home with family and friends, a chance to replenish supplies and a break from India; but we have a trip to Italy on the horizon. A trip that includes meetings with Paul’s employer to decide our fate…</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-46367868468150266192011-06-23T15:34:00.000+05:302011-06-23T15:34:47.569+05:30Ouch...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vy__VJIC8uk4lvsnFZ8QQ-BA4Ty_A_K1UbsuBShhKj4FaOPSDG9YLaSde_e6A8fg49W8LEbvKHsVDVpfl-lOVgNh2UcrtqFQEFomMRf6AaQ8vkH2WwvHF2E_w9T_v1lOW4dcIX7u8lY/s1600/2011-06-21-13.26.44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vy__VJIC8uk4lvsnFZ8QQ-BA4Ty_A_K1UbsuBShhKj4FaOPSDG9YLaSde_e6A8fg49W8LEbvKHsVDVpfl-lOVgNh2UcrtqFQEFomMRf6AaQ8vkH2WwvHF2E_w9T_v1lOW4dcIX7u8lY/s400/2011-06-21-13.26.44.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Last Saturday night Paul and I hosted a Pot Luck dinner for the expats in our area. There were a total of 20 adults and three children in attendance, representing several different countries. It was a wonderful evening filled with good food and even better company. The only snafu was when a wine bottle fell on my foot. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The swelling set in almost immediately. After applying ice for ten minutes, I self medicated with <a href="http://www.kingfisherworld.com/cheers.aspx">Kingfisher</a> and hobbled for the rest of the evening. By Tuesday, the swelling had not gone down and my foot was a nice shade of blurple (yes, that would be blue and purple). I made some inquiries, and decided to go to Hiranandani Hospital in Vashi. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once there, we were sent to the second floor where I took a seat as Paul stood in line. After a few minutes he came back with a receipt (apparently you have to prepay for services) and the name of the doctor I was to see. We then moved to the appropriate area to wait our turn…except there were no turns. There was no one to keep track of who was next. Evidently you are to watch the door that has your doctor’s name on it and move at the speed of sound when it starts to open. That, or plant your body in front of it, thereby blocking any other patients from getting in ahead of you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once I had had my consultation with the doctor, Paul got back in line to prepay for my x-ray as I got wheeled to radiology. Yes, after limping around for almost an hour, I finally got a wheelchair. Thankfully, the x-ray showed no fracture so I was wheeled back to the doctor’s office to get an elastic bandage…but not before Paul got back in line to pay for it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Consultation: 425 Rupees</div><div class="MsoNormal">X-ray: 500 Rupees</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ace Bandage: 170 Rupees</div><div class="MsoNormal">Experience: Priceless</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh, and for those of you wondering how much 1,095 Rupees is…it’s under $25.00.</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-79294841160242290432011-06-13T10:02:00.002+05:302011-06-13T10:02:17.315+05:30While in India...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">…I’ve been making an effort to sample some of the produce available here. Some is similar to what I’ve had in the U.S.; and some not so much. Here are a few of the recent things I’ve tried that I remembered to take pictures of.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dragon Fruit:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5U609Z12HiLnElDyU_Z6Dy7yrTjdROcLxwUJ1jQddO-tToE9eoRWSnuCSwEzPRFmhKnVdLy26r6XK_9RyookU0WFreDnNdldar6BwkSZEEfwGE3tctFZrCzQD4w2B7jb8Z6O3H_ZV28M/s1600/Dragon-Fruit--1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5U609Z12HiLnElDyU_Z6Dy7yrTjdROcLxwUJ1jQddO-tToE9eoRWSnuCSwEzPRFmhKnVdLy26r6XK_9RyookU0WFreDnNdldar6BwkSZEEfwGE3tctFZrCzQD4w2B7jb8Z6O3H_ZV28M/s400/Dragon-Fruit--1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">To me, it tastes like a cross between a kiwi and a pear. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSND8vIrn6_GOVE0aL8oRgy7l433I4hfkJwH-u8UbC2xUXXNaV7m8I2WbhMKE1XXlMEnARO193p73SQT1N2u6U1E2S6YMPWxXo9TEgks39POTA3J94c3ubRscByeWZW26C78AZVMXQfR0/s1600/Dragon-Fruit-2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSND8vIrn6_GOVE0aL8oRgy7l433I4hfkJwH-u8UbC2xUXXNaV7m8I2WbhMKE1XXlMEnARO193p73SQT1N2u6U1E2S6YMPWxXo9TEgks39POTA3J94c3ubRscByeWZW26C78AZVMXQfR0/s400/Dragon-Fruit-2.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Custard Apple:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgycNI-2nnN73avXZPDKcTa5FGGVuBzLuYubxaUA88FlvLth12qwJc6Ixc1nMlFDkBtpTj9wHVVDUvSzSMhSJn2G2VoTxkmHDJdzXLh6qDI43qlCKIT9sUNL9gIeTlTThz5pjc1c1mIQ/s1600/Custard-Apple.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgycNI-2nnN73avXZPDKcTa5FGGVuBzLuYubxaUA88FlvLth12qwJc6Ixc1nMlFDkBtpTj9wHVVDUvSzSMhSJn2G2VoTxkmHDJdzXLh6qDI43qlCKIT9sUNL9gIeTlTThz5pjc1c1mIQ/s400/Custard-Apple.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">I scooped out the pulp with a spoon to eat it, spitting out the seeds. True to its name, it has the consistency of custard and taste similar to an apple. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesnEiMymUWmu5o7q9hdKMt_igKJvWxbJ4inHhwFWGjCF25oNI3No8_C6EBljTFS8zseoPf5fwB3nb6dmL0_xCFn8hS9BJStj77r61HyqjpfQRjbYDCLPngKT_kysKqL4dVS0e8imYTW8/s1600/Custard-Apple-2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesnEiMymUWmu5o7q9hdKMt_igKJvWxbJ4inHhwFWGjCF25oNI3No8_C6EBljTFS8zseoPf5fwB3nb6dmL0_xCFn8hS9BJStj77r61HyqjpfQRjbYDCLPngKT_kysKqL4dVS0e8imYTW8/s400/Custard-Apple-2.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Kharbuja Melon:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOD0mXnmcsEW4krYheRQLHSCxefitktC6t1t6FFH9dcPgUAyIRKFtVinbY_HAxgYkh8IkK_5yJfGXm58P-5sY4iymEBPjTbF08WU01f5FyoFrltlMKO2oChAqKmueHmH99gdIR8k8BD4A/s1600/Kharbuja-Melon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOD0mXnmcsEW4krYheRQLHSCxefitktC6t1t6FFH9dcPgUAyIRKFtVinbY_HAxgYkh8IkK_5yJfGXm58P-5sY4iymEBPjTbF08WU01f5FyoFrltlMKO2oChAqKmueHmH99gdIR8k8BD4A/s400/Kharbuja-Melon.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">It was the size of a grapefruit and tasted similar to honeydew melon. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-y6BhoE_fzx5otvS-kJKPcWxH1SZeAFWP4S1yPD3O3TpLAkLZJFhALoq7E5gyr8XBz3wVWYYgB_OtsCTsAEBp5UHDMa70hvXLUtoR0bopFeGNxkQ8xRAuHzZwztLqe6x77zbUoKjbJ0/s1600/Kharbuja-Melon-2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-y6BhoE_fzx5otvS-kJKPcWxH1SZeAFWP4S1yPD3O3TpLAkLZJFhALoq7E5gyr8XBz3wVWYYgB_OtsCTsAEBp5UHDMa70hvXLUtoR0bopFeGNxkQ8xRAuHzZwztLqe6x77zbUoKjbJ0/s400/Kharbuja-Melon-2.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lychee (or Litchi): </div><div class="MsoNormal">I posted these photographs in another post…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF36rhDY0V8ix632zngE0ryxQOahEubUQPb0vYy084DlvOTn3eDIQtCh30QnhWLJChEDdu2zVdU65ZdzGvhI4lriJvyl0UkT85NGdZ251uwEd0iNRtM81ydu9y6PtG0h0U1EgtOV_Aqyg/s1600/Lychee.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF36rhDY0V8ix632zngE0ryxQOahEubUQPb0vYy084DlvOTn3eDIQtCh30QnhWLJChEDdu2zVdU65ZdzGvhI4lriJvyl0UkT85NGdZ251uwEd0iNRtM81ydu9y6PtG0h0U1EgtOV_Aqyg/s400/Lychee.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcpS72bIGHl27NYJFrswcYWnQBHeLOKeeDkplgqu5ylcGr9-OOyL24UiEBhSRg7s_IiP02ZBMMRnQEy7EuRG-2W68s5hp6U5z-3K6b8irdRX8KavmkxSHNy5Ga-6eKFv6xt5W6_1aK-PM/s1600/Lychee-2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcpS72bIGHl27NYJFrswcYWnQBHeLOKeeDkplgqu5ylcGr9-OOyL24UiEBhSRg7s_IiP02ZBMMRnQEy7EuRG-2W68s5hp6U5z-3K6b8irdRX8KavmkxSHNy5Ga-6eKFv6xt5W6_1aK-PM/s400/Lychee-2.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">…but here’s one that looks quite a bit different: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uRMQNZzjWG1BYZt2tfZ4bZRsQ8hyTpkoZm2jvr9A5BfxKsltWM-Y8vxj3_PeIQqQ7coSsNj1nvUekL-VduPSr4HrygAA4z24l4zicGPU6uRAxkw2dWC8bZAg_8ICkOORwnH1TgMW1LE/s1600/Lychee-1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uRMQNZzjWG1BYZt2tfZ4bZRsQ8hyTpkoZm2jvr9A5BfxKsltWM-Y8vxj3_PeIQqQ7coSsNj1nvUekL-VduPSr4HrygAA4z24l4zicGPU6uRAxkw2dWC8bZAg_8ICkOORwnH1TgMW1LE/s400/Lychee-1.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">The texture is similar to a grape and it tastes like…perfume. I’ve never actually tasted perfume, but if you could put a flavor to it I think it would be this. </div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sweet Potato:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf5sZ9TvLAVx0WiS6zyelW1tD87urgxzqsFmBv-ULX9hDgCFta2v4GgN5W2K6XyYkH9uAw4WS-vhiBOfopE4V1kZQ0qd0Oemm0_4u8fHYvvZwRowi3K1Yy9m1HIoiJKeA1N1mNy24TpuA/s1600/Sweet-Potato.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf5sZ9TvLAVx0WiS6zyelW1tD87urgxzqsFmBv-ULX9hDgCFta2v4GgN5W2K6XyYkH9uAw4WS-vhiBOfopE4V1kZQ0qd0Oemm0_4u8fHYvvZwRowi3K1Yy9m1HIoiJKeA1N1mNy24TpuA/s400/Sweet-Potato.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">I forgot to take a picture of the inside, but it was white. After baking it for quite some time, it did not get as soft as the sweet potatoes I’m used to, and was not as sweet. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thai Guava</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wx-iWmcBMGMLEiOHjo5Uf0Dcf87IdY64gvhnHA7cDlr0rAJecRNjJxub4hXYegCdahT_06Ml3aY7ffZYNb-2HakLuAOXf-FZ-sAX5dW0iwQ9FPnB5iU4ukO7tGQBKIG35aHmIG-MIlE/s1600/2011-06-11-18.48.14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3wx-iWmcBMGMLEiOHjo5Uf0Dcf87IdY64gvhnHA7cDlr0rAJecRNjJxub4hXYegCdahT_06Ml3aY7ffZYNb-2HakLuAOXf-FZ-sAX5dW0iwQ9FPnB5iU4ukO7tGQBKIG35aHmIG-MIlE/s400/2011-06-11-18.48.14.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">The way the seeds looked on the inside, it reminded me of an eggplant. The texture was that of a firm pear…but I’m not sure if it was ripe yet. The taste was like an unripe pear, but then again it may not have been ripe. I think I’ll have to revisit this one. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxsjhPdv4M8AF_3mQbqbsniFPhneGOQRhykEhKLKxDCaSCJ7HeEw1fNXv6eCycOoRmo4nthBzJA-Qy1CB_yttgF9dt16wtvW5ukfTkDnHIbBt0lpS2R4xjzaOfVLI35aLYiEWFBH7WvM/s1600/2011-06-11-18.52.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxsjhPdv4M8AF_3mQbqbsniFPhneGOQRhykEhKLKxDCaSCJ7HeEw1fNXv6eCycOoRmo4nthBzJA-Qy1CB_yttgF9dt16wtvW5ukfTkDnHIbBt0lpS2R4xjzaOfVLI35aLYiEWFBH7WvM/s400/2011-06-11-18.52.47.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-72717308674835243942011-06-12T23:00:00.025+05:302011-06-12T23:00:01.270+05:30Three Years…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">It’s been three years since I started this blog. So, Happy Blogiversary to me. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I went back and looked at my first post…I actually forgot what I had written. You can click ‘<span style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% yellow;"></span><a href="http://www.randommemo.com/2008/06/numero-uno-my-first-post-hmm-what-to.html">here</a>’ to see it, but apparently I conducted an interview with myself. I’ve reposted it below (bolded and in italics); along with some updates:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><b><i>Why did you start this blog?</i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i>I’ve followed some great blogs for awhile and thought I’d like to give it a try. I don’t lead the most interesting life or have any experience in writing (other than business crap for work). But why not give it the old college try (I don’t have a degree either).</i></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Also, it’s something to do when I have down time at work (hehe).</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, I guess two things have changed. First, I think I am now living an interesting life; and second, I’m no longer a Nine to Fiver.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What will you write about?</i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i>I have no friggin’ idea. I’m sure there will be no rhyme or reason to my thoughts or the season (wait, that was a rhyme!). Basically…um…next question please.</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I still don’t know from post to post what I’m going to write about; which is why I’m glad I named this blog The Random Memorandum.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Male or female?</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Isn’t that apparent when you look at the Barbie secretary at the top of the screen?</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fine, female, for those of you driving on the right side of the road.</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My first template was really generic and I used to have a cartoon of Secretary Barbie on the sidebar. As far as the second part of my answer…I have no idea what I meant. But I can say that while we’re living in India, we are driving on the left side of the road.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How old are you?</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A lady never tells her age. Alright, we’ve established that I’m female, but not a</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘lady’. I’m forty-six.</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yeah, I’m still not a ‘lady’, I drink beer straight from the bottle. Obviously since it’s been three years, I’m 49.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where do you live?</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I live in suburbia where people cut down all the trees and name streets after them.</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Big change from three years ago! Good-bye manicured lawns and street signs. Hello Navi Mumbai, India.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Can you tell us a little about yourself?</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A little? I’m 5’2”.</i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m still 5’2”…but here in India I’m tall!</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-60491593807088062672011-06-11T10:38:00.001+05:302011-06-11T11:37:52.124+05:30Raindrops…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">...keep falling on my <s>head</s> bedroom floor. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwLTWO-HWZw8xwYK0vAZ9Ss5N0M7IlCXvbYB97sVCZbsIxIey9ufXKfzZndDSgN0TCLO3uqqal6hazujmkx6A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last night we listened to a <s>symphony</s> cacophony of drips and drops. As I lay there, I wondered which of these two scenarios was worse: Putting up with the leaks for the next few months, or having the guy come out to do more waterproofing.<br />
<br />
</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-35300945659866588862011-06-08T21:49:00.000+05:302011-06-08T21:49:28.159+05:30Brushetta...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I was able to purchase some fresh mozzarella here the other day and it reminded me that I took pictures last December for a Brushetta recipe that I wanted to share. It’s fairly easy and you can prepare it a day in advance and assemble right before serving.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here’s what you’ll need: French Bread, Olive Oil, Tomatoes, Red Onion, Red Pepper, Garlic, Fresh Basil, Fresh Mozzarella, Ground Pepper, Sea Salt.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVGZusEp5ka8dqlnHdHG1YNoQrAmA18HIp255v6SeWYDVDyv6q1L-08Ae63B60PdSKh9919Tds9ct3zM-DIETM-qqhCF9lBKyt3d3UDARS4nwtXt5N0AbFdmn-7xtI5I4TQuCbHEFq9H8/s1600/1-Ingredients.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVGZusEp5ka8dqlnHdHG1YNoQrAmA18HIp255v6SeWYDVDyv6q1L-08Ae63B60PdSKh9919Tds9ct3zM-DIETM-qqhCF9lBKyt3d3UDARS4nwtXt5N0AbFdmn-7xtI5I4TQuCbHEFq9H8/s400/1-Ingredients.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Slice the bread about ¾” thick and lightly brush both sides with olive oil. Toast in a 300º (150º C) oven for about 30 minutes, or until no longer soft inside. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5z5sgo5-Y3HvuvtXuLP-6R6twDqqEHxZoWqs_t8QzY2UYTp7WuPdGqO4AAhr5FXv-ZbYP1btRHOgmsBaTmLA1b9Ir1qLfSEuPkzw8LimjIYH-W797794tHaW5rx9NrMtj20t9K7_DUeA/s1600/2-Slice-and-Brush-with-Olive-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5z5sgo5-Y3HvuvtXuLP-6R6twDqqEHxZoWqs_t8QzY2UYTp7WuPdGqO4AAhr5FXv-ZbYP1btRHOgmsBaTmLA1b9Ir1qLfSEuPkzw8LimjIYH-W797794tHaW5rx9NrMtj20t9K7_DUeA/s400/2-Slice-and-Brush-with-Olive-.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Roast the red pepper over an open flame, or under a broiler; turning it as the skin browns. Place it in either a paper or plastic bag and wait for it to cool. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3RL-aGvbhtC5-d5zXoGexzTE4nZlv2GRXsjQaAgFF6SYketvjbxJcOCUSF0d0QLpOA5qzZacd_uyrsuR5npErKR7vgEObkSSbu5ZmmPDvC7Go-yrIr1NZPAQCoSdiYEbjz5zNNmHAuoY/s1600/3-Roast-Red-Pepper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3RL-aGvbhtC5-d5zXoGexzTE4nZlv2GRXsjQaAgFF6SYketvjbxJcOCUSF0d0QLpOA5qzZacd_uyrsuR5npErKR7vgEObkSSbu5ZmmPDvC7Go-yrIr1NZPAQCoSdiYEbjz5zNNmHAuoY/s400/3-Roast-Red-Pepper.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Once the pepper cools; peel the skin off, remove the seeds and membrane, and slice into 1/4” slices. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGt_RCITNMrZUyr3Ld_sYq-CDA2HnY7a2Hqu7vpXklIggU8FlahWEfmuzNzV_GoA25QXgOk_4lo8WyPi1cPKX9pHDX5YuhIeaahKQZ0Bua9qVB8UTQ9sbXRlJp6AJU7cG-2lMitg2ncI/s1600/4-Slice-red-Pepper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGt_RCITNMrZUyr3Ld_sYq-CDA2HnY7a2Hqu7vpXklIggU8FlahWEfmuzNzV_GoA25QXgOk_4lo8WyPi1cPKX9pHDX5YuhIeaahKQZ0Bua9qVB8UTQ9sbXRlJp6AJU7cG-2lMitg2ncI/s400/4-Slice-red-Pepper.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">While the bread is being toasted and the pepper roasted; combine the following ingredients in a bowl. (Note: Though you can make this and serve it right away, the flavor is better if you refrigerate it for a few hours or overnight first.) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">3 Medium, Ripe Tomatoes (seeds removed and finely chopped)</div><div class="MsoNormal">1/3 to 1/2 Cup Red Onion (finely chopped)</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 ½ Teaspoons Finely Chopped Garlic *</div><div class="MsoNormal">Fresh, Finely Chopped Basil (approximately 1/3 cup) </div><div class="MsoNormal">About 2 Teaspoons Olive Oil, plus additional to brush on bread </div><div class="MsoNormal">Ground Black Pepper (about 10 turns of the pepper mill; or to taste) *</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sea Salt (to taste) *</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdTOoUmFfBBxgGtVQY0XWoWSHnTZ-8P_XKubWDsNShpOx4cCtJZGPFPwIjyYnK8okAOP4g4NQnQgMW8o16Phs1pyQyk3X81sU5H4LOKFiP5q3ZPVCJWHbQOk1BrWaIKrTYWIfXJ-GcB4/s1600/5-Combine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcdTOoUmFfBBxgGtVQY0XWoWSHnTZ-8P_XKubWDsNShpOx4cCtJZGPFPwIjyYnK8okAOP4g4NQnQgMW8o16Phs1pyQyk3X81sU5H4LOKFiP5q3ZPVCJWHbQOk1BrWaIKrTYWIfXJ-GcB4/s400/5-Combine.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Top the toasted bread with the tomato mixture.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcX-ONG91cf_KjOOWEwyodOZWsmBqtIqrZykzBjveSJlr-WIc2YN3-d8wVGwplg6C2DexWF7NcrX03aRWji_2tonFH4vUhp_IdpG0X20EV-daAbRvVMBe_wM7-QTF1_-vqQiLaSc24pw0/s1600/6-Top-with-misture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcX-ONG91cf_KjOOWEwyodOZWsmBqtIqrZykzBjveSJlr-WIc2YN3-d8wVGwplg6C2DexWF7NcrX03aRWji_2tonFH4vUhp_IdpG0X20EV-daAbRvVMBe_wM7-QTF1_-vqQiLaSc24pw0/s400/6-Top-with-misture.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Place a slice of fresh mozzarella on top of the tomato mixture.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyFND-MYGTrAmstazJ-Q8wqh2vsq2Zf_14QFjgIGssardsSjMJbWMiww8ysd7ZrbzmFhkZ-oiaAWr_PzOtSeCJy_ssvgszQGWNMC4ZnVjfLByGsvHhfd6hCX4mts0eD-Zuv2iEuXdlhk/s1600/7-Top-with-fresh-mozzarella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyFND-MYGTrAmstazJ-Q8wqh2vsq2Zf_14QFjgIGssardsSjMJbWMiww8ysd7ZrbzmFhkZ-oiaAWr_PzOtSeCJy_ssvgszQGWNMC4ZnVjfLByGsvHhfd6hCX4mts0eD-Zuv2iEuXdlhk/s400/7-Top-with-fresh-mozzarella.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Criss-cross two slices of the roasted red pepper on top…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXVAoHc53f4zLEqTBww4XjeR2jg6mWswgAaXU3E9U2uPFCFRLrX0KlRycSbRe3OyiZ51S6o1RvTDXmEk65oWuvnM7QnD4GMEIiHWI9KQNo3UzYQcOi5QD9rgFwenQrqZ2clU1LboIu2A/s1600/8-Criss-cross-with-roasted-re.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXVAoHc53f4zLEqTBww4XjeR2jg6mWswgAaXU3E9U2uPFCFRLrX0KlRycSbRe3OyiZ51S6o1RvTDXmEk65oWuvnM7QnD4GMEIiHWI9KQNo3UzYQcOi5QD9rgFwenQrqZ2clU1LboIu2A/s400/8-Criss-cross-with-roasted-re.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div>…and enjoy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2bUqVz6hzkQQQpRmg4CghMvgJJ2xyrta0ActSq9BDnjR2g94br5lIwcXdiOmspMi_lji7GLKgL0YmlvYXdnXyyeQgcbzMa1PuFFgA43yu1kPb9wejfvX3J6MhYzC4SyhGnQoA91eWzc/s1600/9-Big-Thumbs-Up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix2bUqVz6hzkQQQpRmg4CghMvgJJ2xyrta0ActSq9BDnjR2g94br5lIwcXdiOmspMi_lji7GLKgL0YmlvYXdnXyyeQgcbzMa1PuFFgA43yu1kPb9wejfvX3J6MhYzC4SyhGnQoA91eWzc/s400/9-Big-Thumbs-Up.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Ingredients:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One Loaf of French Bread (or a few smaller rolls)</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 Red Pepper</div><div class="MsoNormal">3 Medium, Ripe Tomatoes (seeds removed and finely chopped)</div><div class="MsoNormal">1/3 to 1/2 Cup Red Onion (finely chopped)</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 ½ Teaspoons Finely Chopped Garlic *</div><div class="MsoNormal">Fresh, Finely Chopped Basil (approximately 1/3 cup)</div><div class="MsoNormal">About 2 Teaspoons Olive Oil, plus additional to brush on bread</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ground Black Pepper (about 10 turns of the pepper mill; or to taste) *</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sea Salt (to taste) *</div><div class="MsoNormal">About ½ lb. Fresh Mozzarella (sliced about ¼” thick)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">* You can substitute regular salt and pepper.</div><div class="MsoNormal">* You can also use either fresh or store bought jar garlic.</div><div class="MsoNormal">* Although I didn’t use it when I made these, you can add a dash or three of Balsamic Vinegar.</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-31071484740787157882011-06-03T18:03:00.000+05:302011-06-03T18:03:23.921+05:30Video Tour: The The Third Bedroom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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This is the last of the videos of our apartment. If you've missed the others and are curious, you can click on the links below:<br />
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<a href="http://www.randommemo.com/2011/02/video-tour-living-room.html">Living Room</a><br />
<a href="http://www.randommemo.com/2011/02/video-tour-dining-room.html">Dining Room</a><br />
<a href="http://www.randommemo.com/2011/02/video-tour-kitchen.html">Kitchen</a><br />
<a href="http://www.randommemo.com/2011/02/video-tour-bathroom.html">Bathroom</a><br />
<a href="http://www.randommemo.com/2011/03/video-tour-master-bedroom.html">Master Bedroom</a><br />
<a href="http://www.randommemo.com/2011/04/video-tour-second-bedroom.html">Second Bedroom</a><br />
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</div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-82949370600587335892011-06-02T16:00:00.000+05:302011-06-02T16:00:41.473+05:30Driver Wanted...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Deepak quit. He didn’t call or give notice, he just stopped showing up. After several days of trying to reach him, Paul finally got through yesterday. Apparently he found a better job driving for a large corporation. So we’re back to square one…or would that be square two, since we already have the car? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Any-hire, I hope that we’ll find one soon. There are a few ads (found online through the expat community here) that we’re following up on and Paul has also contacted an agency. Though the situation is quite frustrating, I’m trying to look on the bright side. Maybe we’ll find a better driver. Though Deepak was quite good at remembering a place he had already driven to; he usually had a hard time finding it in the first place. Take, for example, the first time I went to the children’s shelter. After stopping four times to ask for directions, I made him call on my cell phone. He then stopped two more times, even though we were only a block and a half away. The next time I went there he not only remembered where to go, but took a short cut. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Keep your fingers crossed, because at some point in the near future I’ll need a ride to the grocery store. I can get by for a bit with the little shops at the front of our complex, but eventually I’ll run out of toilet paper. Though Paul has been driving himself to work, I don’t want get in the car with him behind the wheel. It’s not that I don’t trust his driving skills…I just don’t trust them in Indian traffic. This video I took awhile back might help explain why.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwv9C345xpik5QsIMzqEJ5HR-YEsuxg4mQdloq7YfLCKDiZuvtXqplxV4KMZo7iG_RRAVe2NeJKVYV90_ofIg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-38300512612639042472011-05-27T12:45:00.000+05:302011-05-27T12:45:49.504+05:30Is Four O’Clock….<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">...on a Tuesday, too early to make one’s self a stiff drink? Well yes, probably. That is why I waited until 5:00. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The same young man (I’ll call him the Worker) that waterproofed the terrace on Monday returned the next day at noon. He climbed out onto the tiled roof, just outside our kitchen and dining room windows, and appeared to access the situation. When he didn’t come back in after 10 minutes I took a peek. There he sat, leaning up against the wall, on his cell phone…where he continued to stay for another 20 minutes. He finally came in, made the hand motion for eating, and left. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now when the Worker first arrived, his Supervisor was with him and he communicated that the work should be completed about 3:30; at which time I would have to pay 2,500 Rupees. (Note: Our landlord had already couriered over the agreed upon amount of 2,000.) I corrected him and he replied with the standard tilting of his head from side to side, otherwise known as the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Head_bobble">head bobble</a> .</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So there I was, at 12:30, wondering how in the world the roof would get cleaned, have time to dry, and then have any cracks filled and sealed in three hours…with the Worker at lunch. I quickly brushed that thought aside because I knew, even if it wasn’t until the next day, it would get done. What I then turned my attention to was ‘how’ it was going to get done; how would the Worker clean the years of dirt and bird excrement off the roof without a water source nearby? After contemplating this for a bit I guessed at what he would do and then came up with a solution. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Worker returned about 2:00, went out on the terrace, and proceeded to fill a bucket with water. He then walked through the apartment, climbed out the window and threw it onto the roof…and this is exactly what I presumed he would do. Now I can only guess at how many buckets it would take to rinse the area, but to actually get it clean? I grabbed the garden hose from the terrace, rigged it to the spigot in the kitchen, and put the other end through the kitchen window…along with a scrub brush. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now one would think he would take the hose and spray while scrubbing. Alas, no. He put the hose into the bucket. Frustrated, I climbed out onto the roof and demonstrated how he could hold the hose with one hand, while brushing with the other. After climbing back in, I turned to watch and what did I see? The hose in the bucket. What’s another word for ‘frustrated’? Perhaps exasperated? Whatever it is, I was. I climbed back onto the roof, took the bucket and emptied it, and then threw it into the dining room. I then climbed back in and left him to figure it out...and no, I wasn’t at the point of wanting that drink yet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Close to an hour later, after it was reasonably clean, he came in and motioned for the bucket. I didn’t think he needed it, but conceded. After a few fills and tosses he seemed happy and came in to wait for it to dry. Now because I had let him watch TV the day before while the terrace dried, he assumed it was okay to do so again. He got himself settled on the sofa and changed the channel. (Uh, I was watching something!?!) At 3:50 the roof looked dry so I ‘interrupted’ him and communicated this. He got up, took a look and said ‘nay’. Apparently it needed another 10 minutes, which just happened to coincide with when his show ended. It’s around this time that I start thinking of making myself a drink.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He quickly filled the gaps, came back in and started talking in Hindi. Having no clue as to what he was saying, I called Paul at the office to put someone on the line to translate. After a back-and-forth I was told that he was finished and I just needed to pay for the work. I gave him the money, had him sign a receipt and tried to escort him to the door; but he wouldn’t leave. Instead he smiled, pointed at the staircase and said something in Hindi. I shrugged my shoulders with my hands out, indicating I didn’t understand. He then started going down the stairs to where our bedrooms are. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is at this point that I am ready for a stiff one…and not from him. I yelled, “Nay!” and pointed toward the door. As he was walking up the stairs I opened the door and waved my arm indicating for him to leave, which he did. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now I know this story is a bit lengthy, but I’m not quite done. Five minutes later, the doorbell rings. It is the Worker and the Supervisor. Apparently the sealer still needed to be applied to the areas that had been filled. I grudgingly let them in and leave the door to my apartment open. The job is quickly done, but before they leave the Supervisor puts his thumb to his mouth (the gesture for drinking) and says, “Pani”. I gave him a bottle of water and ushered them out the door. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is now 5:00. I grabbed the bottle of vodka from the cabinet and poured some into a glass…and then I added a bit more. </div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-15887857617329318772011-05-23T18:29:00.001+05:302011-05-23T19:49:14.761+05:30The Rains...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal">…they are a coming. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Up until a few days ago, I have not seen a drop of rain since the beginning of last November. Come the first week of June, and continuing through mid September, we can expect to see it everyday; we can also expect not to see the sun. Welcome to Monsoon Season.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In preparation, I have workers coming to our flat this week to do some waterproofing in several areas. Today they are working on the terrace. Apparently the grout between the tiles needs to be filled and sealed to prevent pooled water from dripping down into our bedroom. Two men arrived at 11:00 this morning; one (the supervisor) showed the other one what to do, and then left. The man remaining didn’t speak a word of English. When you combine that with my very limited Hindi vocabulary, it makes for some interesting attempts at communication. What I found funny was that even though we couldn’t understand a word of what the other was saying, we still kept talking while using hand gestures. (On a side note: I learned that holding your little finger up means you need to urinate…and yes, I verified that through Google!)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After cleaning the grout he had to wait over an hour for it to dry; which he did while sitting on my sofa watching TV. This was at my suggestion; before that he was just standing in the doorway and watching me on my laptop. Can you say, ‘Uncomfortable’?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At 6:00 p.m. I peeked outside to access the progress and he was napping. I assumed that he was finished and waiting for his supervisor to come back and pick him up. Just now (it’s almost 6:30), I took another look and he was working again. Ah, India! I have a sneaking feeling that this is going to be a very long week.<br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">**Update at 7:45 p.m.</div><div class="MsoNormal">He finished up around 7:15, went into the bathroom and took a shower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, you read that correctly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ah, Incredible India!</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For those of you unfamiliar with Mumbai, it has a tropical wet and dry climate, with high humidity and four seasons: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Winter (December -February)</div><div class="MsoNormal">Summer (March – May)</div><div class="MsoNormal">Monsoon (June – September)</div><div class="MsoNormal">Post Monsoon (October – December).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The temperatures average between 18º and 30º Celsius (65º and 86º Fahrenheit)…though these are slightly higher where we live in Navi Mumbai. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The average precipitation for the year is 242.2 cm (95.35 inches). To give you an idea of how much that is, the average in Chicago is 38 inches and in Miami it is 60 inches. Now imagine getting the majority of it in three months!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Damn! Now I’ve got that song by The Carpenters stuck in my head….except the words are: ‘Rainy days and monsoons always get me down…’</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-69917122473919115912011-05-17T16:39:00.000+05:302011-05-17T16:39:23.316+05:30Changes...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal">Back in the day, when I started this blog, I chose to go by the moniker of Employee No. 3699.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, almost three years later, I find the need to change that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m currently not employed; actually it's been over ten months since I’ve whined: “I don’t want to go to work today.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So since I’m living in India…and who knows where after this…I’ve decided to go with Expat No. 3699.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-5720663218555154332011-05-15T14:52:00.000+05:302011-05-15T14:53:12.899+05:30Yes, I Know….<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">...it’s going on almost a month since the last time I’ve posted. Not that I’m being lazy…well maybe a little; and not because I have nothing to write about….because I do. It’s simply that I’ve been busy. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are two reasons for this spike in my activity. The first is that we have our car back (good as new, just missing the antennae) and we have a driver. His name is Deepak and he is a nice young man; married with two small boys. I haven’t seen Vikram, the rickshaw driver, but Paul tells me he’s going to hire him for two men that are coming here from Boston in a week. Anyway, I have a car and driver <s>to haul my ass around</s> so I’ve been getting out more.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The second reason for my flurry of activity is that I’ve made some friends here. Wait. That sentence didn’t fully convey my emotions, so let me type part of it again. I MADE SOME FRIENDS HERE!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve gone from nudging Paul at the mall and saying in my best Haley Joel Osment voice, “I see white people”; to actually meeting some. Thus far I’ve become acquainted with some very nice people from the U.S., England, New Zealand, Australia and the Netherlands. In addition to being able to share information (which is helpful beyond words when you live abroad); I’ve been able to socialize. We were invited to a barbeque one Friday evening and hosted a get together at our place the following weekend. I’ve gone shopping a few times with a woman that lives in my complex, and met another for coffee the other day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A couple of weeks ago I hosted a luncheon and another is planned for the 26<sup>th</sup> of this month at a local restaurant, where I’ll have the opportunity to meet two more women. One is from the U.S. and the other is an Indian woman who also lives in the same complex as me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Another thing I recently started doing is volunteering at a children’s shelter. One of the women I’ve met, along with her husband, run a non profit organization that rescues and rehabilitates street children and commercial sex workers. This couple is amazing and I am grateful for the opportunity to help, if even in a very small way. If you’d like to check it out you can go here: <a href="http://www.tenderhands.org/">www.tenderhands.org</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That’s all for now. It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m going to join Paul on the terrace and enjoy the heat (not!) and a nice cold beer (cheers!) from our cooler (called an Eskie in Australia or Chilly Box in the U.K. or New Zealand) on our new patio furniture.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-19233704829811288132011-04-22T23:56:00.000+05:302011-04-22T23:56:30.141+05:30I’m Back in India…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">…after my visit home.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Home.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Is it where your heart is or where you lay your head at night? Anyhearth, I’ve been back for two weeks. The airline didn’t lose any of my bags this time, but somehow I seem to have lost my words, which is why I haven’t been posting. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s been hot here. Really hot and it’s not even summer yet…which doesn’t mix well with a woman going through menopause. I don’t know why I bother putting on pajamas when I go to bed because during the night they just end up on the floor. My first morning back did not bode well for Paul. Let’s just say the sheet over him that normally resembles a pup tent turned into the big top when he realized I was naked. Imagine his surprise when he reached for me expectantly and my response was, “You can join me in the shower, but it’ll be a cold one for both our sakes.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The heat is doable with air conditioning, but when the power goes out it’s another story. On my second night back it went out about 2:00 a.m. Normally our battery back up would kick in and we’d still have power in the master bedroom, but that wasn’t the case. Oddly, the power was only on in the living room, which is not hooked up to the back up. When morning came, Paul asked our neighbor if she had power. She did, and then explained how our units have more than one phase and we obviously had some phases out and the ‘Society’ (aka Home Owner’s Association) needed to be contacted. She made the call for us; thank goodness, and an electrician showed up about an hour later. I could bore you with all the details…or summarize:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">A main breaker was replaced on the first floor of our building.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">The breakers in our electrical box were then checked.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">One of them sparked and when removed had water dripping from it.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">A plumber had to be called.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Apparently the cleaning person, who decided to clean the stairwell that morning, left the water running on the terrace above us.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Apparently said water dripped down into our electrical box.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Thank goodness the breaker went out the night before, otherwise the water issue would not have been realized until…who knows when or what.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Someone from the Society, the plumber, the electrician, the cleaning person and the guard for our building came to my apartment.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">I asked my neighbor to come over to translate.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Rags were stuffed into my electrical box and a hair dryer applied.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Everyone left for the day to allow the wires and such to dry.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">The electrician came back the next morning and replaced the wet breaker.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Half an hour after my power was finally restored, the power went out in the entire building for the next six hours.</li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;">Welcome back to India…</li>
</ul><div class="MsoNormal">On another note, Christmas movies are still being run on TV here. Why? I can only speculate. Maybe because there are so many Hindi holidays and festivals that are celebrated they don’t want the scant percentage of Christians here to feel left out? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today is Good Friday and ‘The Ten Commandments’ was on. Mayhaps they’ll change the line up and replace “Elf” and such with “Easter Parade” and “The Greatest Story Ever Told”. One can only hope….not.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With my track record of late and a shopping expedition tomorrow (yeah) and a luncheon on Monday (double yeah), I probably won’t post again for a few days. Happy Easter to all and please enjoy every bite of ham or lamb you ingest for me. My option for Easter dinner at the grocery store other than chicken is leg of goat. I’m not sure what sound a goat makes, but if it’s ‘bah’, it’s just one letter off from bad. If it’s ‘nay’, nay is the word for ‘no’ in Hindi. If it’s ‘mah’, it translates to “Is mah table ready?” when I go to Hard Rock Café.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Namaste~</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-82709862341381245902011-04-17T21:07:00.000+05:302011-04-17T21:07:21.963+05:30Video Tour: The Second Bedroom...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxPVHgfT4LawcEFPz1ZPpKzgxFYNZpcfZdJcXmmswYS8aw01z94Z5864Ydfg8V8nbEksyxYf8lca5t6EEZE2Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
</div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-57585339778476011142011-04-12T22:57:00.000+05:302011-04-12T22:57:57.033+05:30Oh Wait….<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">...things look a bit different here; am I on the right blog? <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Why yes, yes you are. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I found out that I was moving to India I knew that I would need to update my template and leave the moniker of ‘Employee No. 3699’ behind. At the time part of me moved forward, but a bigger part of me procrastinated; we’re talking like 90% procrastination. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because it’s hard to say good-bye to the past. Maybe because it’s hard to look into the future. Maybe because ‘Y’ is a crooked letter. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Whatever the case, over six months later the changes have finally been made.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’d now like to point out a few features I didn’t have before. On the sidebar to the right you can see the time here in India as you read (and the date if you place your mouse over the time). You can also see the current weather just below that. If you’d like to subscribe to my blog and have new posts show up in your Google Reader or Email, there is a link for that too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have to give props to my husband, Paul, for the pictures in the header. If you’d like to see more of his talent, just click on the “Chasing the Sun Photography’ link also on the sidebar. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">None of these changes would have been possible if not for the talent (and patience) of Mike aka <a href="http://www.thebadassgeek.com/">BadAss Geek</a>.I love you bunches, Mike.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Namaste~</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-23080955126281265802011-03-24T08:09:00.000+05:302011-03-24T08:09:16.625+05:30Video Tour: The Master Bedroom...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxHVl5u203cll3qbWBz0NpOnmaqpJAjdUkCMbfF1K6IhAV4g8AjnihMURUYPQfm3cYnJDpm3gLIduxUeC0' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
</div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-79206221509276596992011-03-20T09:06:00.000+05:302011-03-20T09:06:43.813+05:30Things To Do…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">…places to go and people to see. I’ve been busy, busy during the first week of my visit home. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Phone calls to make, packages to mail, and appointments to keep. It’s been a tad overwhelming and I’m not near done. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For those of you waiting for a package, I promise I’ll get things out on Monday. For anyone I haven’t called, I’ll pick up the phone next week, but please feel free to call me first. For all of you that said we should ‘do lunch’ or ‘coffee’ or whatever; I’m having an open house on Saturday, March 26<sup>th</sup>, at 6:00. Drinks and Indian food are planned…please let me know if you can attend.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the meantime, since I’m too busy to think and write a post, I give you my son-in-law Danny. This is a video I took tonight to send to Paul, but I thought I would share it with all of you.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyt1639ZHCKTkQibXsqBtx3CIM7yyYvFdmFT6bFJM69gILUfSHMh7jeKFdl2pFe7_JpNr3PmN98YrplaFLG' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-19081283025302324092011-03-16T20:22:00.000+05:302011-03-16T20:23:07.480+05:30Give-Away: The Winners Are…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Patty Sanchez Glikis</div><div class="MsoNormal">LceeL</div><div class="MsoNormal">Karra</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Please forward your mailing information to Lfabsits(at)Yahoo(dot)Com.</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-47248492827068128442011-03-13T11:50:00.001+05:302011-03-13T11:50:46.047+05:30Give-Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">I made it back to the U.S.; however my glasses are still on an Air France plane in the front pocket of seat 39K. Duh, me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As much as it sucks that I have to go for an eye exam and get new glasses during my short visit home it makes for the perfect segue to this Give-Away.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRS3mVgmya-B1ioyWlN6fz5OgQOd9oNAA3M8NXyruzAKGCZEphNf4-SyluXiWWHx04zIX8Y_t4zkD-91GtObZ6LnJpteS06HA5Xh5vedvNprj5aKsm277DC3NMR552gLoRTFbEIFAZdBw/s1600/DSCN3007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRS3mVgmya-B1ioyWlN6fz5OgQOd9oNAA3M8NXyruzAKGCZEphNf4-SyluXiWWHx04zIX8Y_t4zkD-91GtObZ6LnJpteS06HA5Xh5vedvNprj5aKsm277DC3NMR552gLoRTFbEIFAZdBw/s400/DSCN3007.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We found these at a craft market in Vashi and aren’t they nifty? They’re perfect for those of us that put our glasses down and then have a hard time finding them. I have one in our flat so I know where to find mine….and in hindsight it probably would have been wise to bring it on the plane. That aside, wouldn’t it be cool if you could get them custom carved; with say a Hilter mustache, a Jay Leno chin or Angelina Jolie lips? I wish I could but I can’t; but what I can do is pass on these three of you. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In order to qualify for this Give-Away you need to either leave me a comment here or on my FaceBook, or email me at Lfabsits (at) Yahoo (dot) com. Comments can consist of praise and adoration, questions about my life in India or simply a ‘What’s up?’ I’m giving you until Tuesday 9:00 pm CST to do so. Winners will be randomly picked through a very scientific process, which basically means that all the names will be put in a hat/bowl and drawn by one of my grandchildren.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you don’t wear glasses or sunglasses, or this wooden carving simply won’t fit in with your décor, don’t fret. I have at least one more Give-Away planned in the next three weeks.</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-25676728835964651562011-03-11T15:00:00.038+05:302011-03-11T15:00:00.465+05:30Hair-Brained Idea...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Though the curling iron I brought to India from the states is rated 120/240V, believe me when I say it’s not. When I plug it in it becomes so hot that the only thing it’s good for is making grill marks on my chicken dinner to give the illusion that we have a barbecue grill or branding some of these free roaming cows.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After going au natural for much too long, I broke down and bought a new one. Take a look at it; can you see the flaw in its design?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUKJox-LWX9JEYpd3wpbq7lIbjByTf9kw1_CPafZRP5vLnGJSCbV7Cd1xqIRfwp3i4x5uAa3rLVSLj4HK95fRiYubC8Ng9s2NiaVrZeM3iGnXYtvZnqj0s389S669qv8jAWtsGEme8zuw/s1600/Curling-Iron-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUKJox-LWX9JEYpd3wpbq7lIbjByTf9kw1_CPafZRP5vLnGJSCbV7Cd1xqIRfwp3i4x5uAa3rLVSLj4HK95fRiYubC8Ng9s2NiaVrZeM3iGnXYtvZnqj0s389S669qv8jAWtsGEme8zuw/s400/Curling-Iron-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">No? Let me show you again. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuXOxKmubQI4p9F7F753nGYd-oWZ6kxN8iJuLWzXvjFs3ThXK7Nom6p0B27jmBZdkFP9q3Isvakxj6_Xcl7EI7GUtLJQIfCzHzaq93y9deDMDbypEwGjufJAAtOC4HjfJPv0hfkep3BU/s1600/Curling-Iron-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuXOxKmubQI4p9F7F753nGYd-oWZ6kxN8iJuLWzXvjFs3ThXK7Nom6p0B27jmBZdkFP9q3Isvakxj6_Xcl7EI7GUtLJQIfCzHzaq93y9deDMDbypEwGjufJAAtOC4HjfJPv0hfkep3BU/s400/Curling-Iron-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">If you still don't see it, the clip should run the length of the barrel.<br />
<br />
Can someone please tell me, especially since Indian women are known for having long, thick hair; what kind of stooge came up with this...and no, I'm sure it wasn't Curly.</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-64443373987322286602011-03-10T16:20:00.001+05:302011-03-10T16:26:32.822+05:30Where’s The Beef???<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll be back in the states in a day and a half and I know where to find it there. It’s at grocery and convenience stores, restaurants and fast food chains, even some gas stations. If I was so inclined I could pick up a bag of kibbles and bits containing beef at the local pet store…the point is I don’t have to look very hard. The same cannot be said for India. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s here and there; but far from everywhere. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So where can beef be found in India? One place that is apparently hidden in plain sight is the Hard Rock Café. Yes, Hard Rock has come to India with five locations.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_v4646JbYsYLZnmhKDoyL9iEQ9piY4ZJwZOPfT8Ixy0_lcTC-2svCkc-aBjGRlBlV8fgELWv48GsZtrsRfic3iGw-GJvd6YnQO03NU9e807Wq_VZBqHYN92044ZK9g9hJhrrwR-BoIc/s1600/_DSC1634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe_v4646JbYsYLZnmhKDoyL9iEQ9piY4ZJwZOPfT8Ixy0_lcTC-2svCkc-aBjGRlBlV8fgELWv48GsZtrsRfic3iGw-GJvd6YnQO03NU9e807Wq_VZBqHYN92044ZK9g9hJhrrwR-BoIc/s400/_DSC1634.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">We visited the one in Mumbai a few weeks ago after our outing to <a href="http://www.randommemo.com/2011/03/crawford-market.html">Crawford Market</a>. Let me tell you it was a hard choice deciding between a “USDA corn-fed, 21-day-aged, center-cut USDA Choice steak” and a cheeseburger with bacon. Most people probably would have gone for the steak, but pork is just as hard to come by in India as beef, maybe even harder. Therefore I decided to kill two birds with one stone and went for the latter.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now this past weekend while in Hyderabad, what do you think was only a five minute rickshaw ride away? You guessed it, another Hard Rock Café. If you’re wondering if I chose the steak this time, I didn’t. No worries, I had one the next night though it wasn’t at Hard Rock. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This local, and typical, roadside establishment was a mere two minute walk from our hotel.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2I4gvr2vlLqBKOHd7OIqlRfRLA2_vMEVQkn5pPJW3BMtdI_lCWn-S31kvjhytPx-fGE_a-4OI9iq_5U6-2d_wGbJlhdWt1okXtEcmxGCvD2gOWAMkwV2D_hT0UpTk_XlluLp2GaBJk4/s1600/_DSC1802.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR2I4gvr2vlLqBKOHd7OIqlRfRLA2_vMEVQkn5pPJW3BMtdI_lCWn-S31kvjhytPx-fGE_a-4OI9iq_5U6-2d_wGbJlhdWt1okXtEcmxGCvD2gOWAMkwV2D_hT0UpTk_XlluLp2GaBJk4/s400/_DSC1802.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Now some of you make be shaking your head and questioning our better judgment, but let me tell you; nothing ventured, nothing gained. Let me also ease your mind and admit that we read a brief write up on the place before going there. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we walked over we learned that the chef/owner wouldn’t be there for half an hour. After giving the place a once over we decided to go back to the hotel and wait; and also consume some liquid courage while doing so. Forty five minutes later I was introducing myself to Chef Inam and asking him where he got his beef from. He told he had it flown in (from where I can’t recall) and that he had to spend a month teaching the local butcher how to cut it properly.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We briefly perused the menu and decided to ask the chef what he recommended. After assuring us he’d make something good, he showed us inside.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLxZPNUVpT06RaC9iFkC8a-0XLVAxajX_sj7bgZSOk3bvTaiLo702jv2XQ7tslo9lgrkAseJ6l7-Y0ntRMg3BLrfBgSDIJ6OKoKbd0106P-j61i8kXeOmMAdxDtb8b4lUQvxFGnm1j1I/s1600/_DSC1807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLxZPNUVpT06RaC9iFkC8a-0XLVAxajX_sj7bgZSOk3bvTaiLo702jv2XQ7tslo9lgrkAseJ6l7-Y0ntRMg3BLrfBgSDIJ6OKoKbd0106P-j61i8kXeOmMAdxDtb8b4lUQvxFGnm1j1I/s400/_DSC1807.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">The interior was small; only four tables with a capacity for 16 diners. Drinks consisted of bottled water or soda from an upright cooler and the plates were plastic (mine needing a quick swab of a wet wipe from my purse). There was no restroom and the kitchen was a large barbeque station set up out front.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx8M5M1jk-AczuNMC1P3dJHLk7PDSEpHyuLGdQzmsx2lTcYOgeSRUsY8AQiY4wc6KMZzyMcpHvPnSB8cpY4gc2G4xesi5WTd77k6OrpofHC_Rx165Dm8k9TVBwL77tnokoyvgSSW92Bsk/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx8M5M1jk-AczuNMC1P3dJHLk7PDSEpHyuLGdQzmsx2lTcYOgeSRUsY8AQiY4wc6KMZzyMcpHvPnSB8cpY4gc2G4xesi5WTd77k6OrpofHC_Rx165Dm8k9TVBwL77tnokoyvgSSW92Bsk/s400/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhujqwp0FgM3cbwpd1SEg2xfvBEzGqvuzZVvDcOWQ3UAvjYdCuNSGr2VsrGN7_zBehDJRsk8tFT2J4YSgSuIsXFlTVv5uEbs4VPSYgh1HOfBmLPxFcBY-Tq3q2Yi5y7gFCs75G8RX3HFjM/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhujqwp0FgM3cbwpd1SEg2xfvBEzGqvuzZVvDcOWQ3UAvjYdCuNSGr2VsrGN7_zBehDJRsk8tFT2J4YSgSuIsXFlTVv5uEbs4VPSYgh1HOfBmLPxFcBY-Tq3q2Yi5y7gFCs75G8RX3HFjM/s400/1.jpg" width="307" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSYo8lbcTUF0sWHH0w2aAmj_Pze0-POVju3zNXpO6WnI-jX56-Lck6rEL2wX6MBjHjKtspVWSUnd78HJpPlo-uh2PpnhYcv5ZkaKuDVMW4t7a8SeKtVVMWcSOi14Qpbhg5JkZN0yUpa0/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSYo8lbcTUF0sWHH0w2aAmj_Pze0-POVju3zNXpO6WnI-jX56-Lck6rEL2wX6MBjHjKtspVWSUnd78HJpPlo-uh2PpnhYcv5ZkaKuDVMW4t7a8SeKtVVMWcSOi14Qpbhg5JkZN0yUpa0/s400/2.jpg" width="322" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx8M5M1jk-AczuNMC1P3dJHLk7PDSEpHyuLGdQzmsx2lTcYOgeSRUsY8AQiY4wc6KMZzyMcpHvPnSB8cpY4gc2G4xesi5WTd77k6OrpofHC_Rx165Dm8k9TVBwL77tnokoyvgSSW92Bsk/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">After a half an hour wait this is what we were served. A nice salad with cucumber, tomato and baby corn…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcw1_44tDwYdeVvwIlL8-Bk6FANoWdjQJ3AQAJaxf_fEvSIXJV38JevlWxK_qWLgLBchmncol1m-n_-XfBAfIVh9-MrCvWXAlcWSORxuCDI1UpWD2fqLmqRAZrWSVjsP_KRYZtYbVRqKw/s1600/_DSC1809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcw1_44tDwYdeVvwIlL8-Bk6FANoWdjQJ3AQAJaxf_fEvSIXJV38JevlWxK_qWLgLBchmncol1m-n_-XfBAfIVh9-MrCvWXAlcWSORxuCDI1UpWD2fqLmqRAZrWSVjsP_KRYZtYbVRqKw/s400/_DSC1809.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">…and a platter of meat with potatoes and bread. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWC96inIoTZQLVg_xyusWqRrCdjo0OulyFKdLe2nT6-e1HmKcO4rpA334oRuX4AKMSBt92fDJ3jACO0aeAAK8FOHSN_indqNc21qjf6iQaSoQ_2TDR5Ie6Sayfoil2Z8k9f34IbZPRJOw/s1600/2011-03-05-21.55.27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWC96inIoTZQLVg_xyusWqRrCdjo0OulyFKdLe2nT6-e1HmKcO4rpA334oRuX4AKMSBt92fDJ3jACO0aeAAK8FOHSN_indqNc21qjf6iQaSoQ_2TDR5Ie6Sayfoil2Z8k9f34IbZPRJOw/s400/2011-03-05-21.55.27.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">In addition to two beef tenderloins there was chicken and lamb. It was all very good and I can honestly say that the steak was the best I’ve had all year. Of course that may have something to do with the fact that it was the only steak I’ve had this year.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Chef Inam’s Steakhouse 1</div><div class="MsoNormal">(Near Golkanda Hotel)</div><div class="MsoNormal">Masab Tank</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hyderabad, India</div><div class="MsoNormal">Contact: 9966932677</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-29490602638082552772011-03-08T11:51:00.001+05:302011-03-08T11:51:54.925+05:30Update on the Car...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">In my last post I told you about how we <i>finally</i> got our car, only to have it damaged three days later. Paul had left the vehicle at his office so that his accountant, Dhananjay, could use it while we were away for the weekend in Hyderabad. What the accountant had neglected to tell Paul was that he had never driven a car before. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On Friday afternoon Dhananjay had the man that works in the warehouse give him his first, and probably last, driving lesson. With both men in the car, Dhananjay put the car in gear and slowly proceeded forward. The next part of the story is a little sketchy, but somehow the steering wheel locked up. In a panic, with the wheels turned sharply to the right, he put the pedal to the metal. They proceeded up and over a dirt embankment on the side of the road. Because the entire office was watching Paul’s not sure whose account of the story to believe, but saying they took flight would be a fairly accurate description. Some say the car flew 30 feet in the air and others say fifty. When it landed, after rolling over twice, it was resting upside down on a water pipe three feet in diameter. Both men were unscathed, thank goodness; and the car, according to the dealership, is repairable. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Knowing Dhanajay is Hindu I’m sure he believes in Karma, but he doesn’t have to worry about any type of retribution because he is a good man and this was an accident. I do, however, think he may want to start putting some faith in Murphy’s Law.</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4522731770475871317.post-84612573836271495632011-03-06T20:54:00.000+05:302011-03-06T20:54:42.260+05:30Easy Come…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">We got our new car this past Tuesday; a blue Hyundai I20. Paul drove it home, and I admit that I was a bit freaked out. Not only did he have to drive on the opposite side of the road which is different than what he’s used to, but he also had to use his left hand to shift as opposed to his right. Oh, and let me point out the fact that the roads here are insane; trucks, buses, cars, rickshaws, motorcycles, pedestrians and cows sharing a small space in a kind of chaotic harmony…with my husband driving off key.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anymoo he made it home in one piece as did the car, which sat in our parking lot until Thursday morning; Wednesday being a holiday. Note: For those of you that have been following, he informed his rickshaw driver, Vikram, that his services would no longer be required and that he needn’t worry about the money he had advanced him for the month of March. We both wish him well and hope he finds another benefactor.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We finally had a car and it would just be a short time before a driver was hired. On Thursday morning Paul drove to work, while I cringed at the thought. After half a day he returned to pick me up with a taxi as we were flying to Hyderabad for a long weekend. We left for the airport with an air of excitement around us. Paul was looking forward to conducting interviews for a new sales rep in Hyderabad and we both were anticipating the rest of the weekend to be relaxing yet fun filled. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The car was left at the office with Paul’s accountant, and right hand man, having permission to use it until Monday. Knowing this man is married with two children, and only a motorcycle to get them around, Paul wanted to make a kind gesture. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On Friday evening, after the interviews, Paul was finishing up his weekly reports so we could enjoy the rest of the weekend, but while checking his email he came upon this:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Subject: Car Damaged</i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Dear Sir,</i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>I am very regret to inform you that I have did very irresponsible mistake which is not forgivable to me.</i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Our car has get damaged and sent back to showroom for repairing. </i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Mr Vikram (auto driver) will give us the service till receiving our car from showroom again.</i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>I am guilty and ready to accept your punishment for the said inconvenience.</i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>I apologize for the inconvenience.</i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Best Regards,</i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Dhananjay</span> </i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I asked Paul to call him right away to find out what the damage was and how it happened, but he wanted to wait until Monday to find out. Thankfully, he called him when we got back to Mumbai a couple of hours ago. I agree with Paul that it is just a car and it can be fixed, and the important thing is that no one was hurt; but after reading that email I’m sure this guy has been worried and losing sleep. “Just call him and put his mind at ease.” I said. So he did. Paul’s not clear as to what exactly happened or where…or even the extent of the damage, but he does know that it will take 10 to 15 days for the repairs.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We’ve been without our own car and driver for this long…this long being well over a year for Paul…so what’s another couple of weeks?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Stay tuned for an upcoming post about us eating beef in India…Yes, BEEF! Three times in two weeks. Yes, the good does outweigh the bad.</div></div>Expat No. 3699http://www.blogger.com/profile/13023652840187420920noreply@blogger.com5