Smoggy days and silly ways

Divali has come and gone, and we still have fireworks to spare. They were too cheap to pass up, and there is always New Years Eve right? We spent Saturday evening with a group of street kids that live under a nearby flyover or giant overpass. After nearly getting lost because of a bicycle rickshaw driver who didn't speak any English, and our Hindi being really bad, we met the kids, and Dave and Anna's friends Saji and Bindu and their kids, in a park not too far from here. We played some games and ate some snacks. Pretty much all last week Marc had been attempting to make his fire poi out of whatever we could find in the local markets. Apparently they don't have Kevlar wick, so cotton socks, string and wire had to do the trick. After some trial and error on the roof, he succeeded in making a set that wouldn't throw burning bits of string and sock into the crowds. It proved to be rather amusing watching the faces of the kids and passers by as he skillfully and artfully swung around the kerosene soaked flaming masses hanging from the ends of the rough chain. Definitely impressed many! I wanted to take pictures, and I had my camera in the backpack, but there wasn't a moment in the entire hour and a half that I didn't have a child climbing all over me, gently stroking my hair and fair skin. The thought of bringing out a giant high tech camera brought visions of even more attention directed at me and not the leaders. To end the spectacular show, the older boys and Marc proceeded to light off around 30 bottle rockets, and equally as many other various colourful explosives. We had a blast! Marc has been lovingly named the "Ag Wallah", roughly meaning "One who makes fire".

All other weekdays have since been spent in more non-dramatic ways. Some shopping here and there and dealings with the bakery and the various companies, manufacturers, and government offices unfortunately necessary in getting this thing off the ground. Nearly all the equipment is in now, and just needs to be put in its proper places. David and Anna are currently scouting out furniture for the office, and I believe today is the day the construction workers are supposed to be leaving. Two and a half weeks late. It seems as though everyone here works on a clock that they set to go as slow as they please. It's tough to adjust to. When a bloke states he will meet you at say 4:00 pm, you can be sure that he will be sitting somewhere at four, on the other side of the city, lazily gazing into the interminable distance. He will see a clock that says that it is now past four, and he will think to himself, "Huuuhhh, I was to meet them at Red Moon Bakery about now. Maybe I should grab a rickshaw." But He won't call to tell you he will be over an hour late, you will be left to sit and watch the cows graze on garbage piles and deposit lovely packages on your brand new Endeavour’s doorstep. After some time has passed and several dogs and cows have too, you call to find out where in the world this guy has gone to, and why you have been unwillingly forced to do the "Indian Vacant Stare" into the distance for the past 45 minutes. He answers his mobile and happily declares that he is five minutes away. He will show up in twenty. Silly ways.

Yesterday we went furniture shopping for a few pieces to outfit downstairs. We have officially moved to our own flat! The layout is exactly the same as Dave and Anna's place here, apart from some exterior door placements. After sharing this space for nearly three weeks, the silence and solitude is strange. Alright so there's hardly a moment of true silence, so it's more the solitude and lack of cable and internet and AC that's so much different. And the fact that when the power shuts off everyday from 10:00am to 12:00pm and 5:00pm to 6:00pm we have no backup generator to give us a few lights and fans. Thankfully it's getting a bit cooler now, and the absence of air-conditioning and fans don't send us reeling uncontrollably into the unbearable heat as in the summer months. Anyway, back to the furniture shops. Tucked away amidst shanties and dirt roads running with sewage and water, sits what appears to be a couple of hole-in-the-wall furniture places where the carpenters sit outside the front door staining and carving, planing and hammering. We saunter past the barefoot men into the building, and have to get someone to turn on the lights so we can see the maze of furniture we are about to get lost in. The pace is exceedingly deceiving. There are four floors, all fairly large for a Delhi retail outlet. I would attempt a square footage estimate, but I believe I can safely say that's impossible because you cannot see any walls, let alone from one to another to estimate a distance. There are about 10 to 15 rows of all types of furniture stacked to the ceiling, with a two and a half foot aisle between each. It's mind boggling. I took a video, because pictures wouldn't do it justice. I still hope to be able to post a bunch of videos I've taken so far, of here and the bakery, and traffic and bollywood. We managed to find a TV stand and a couple of nightstands, all handcrafted solid local wood. Total cost? About $200. Insanity I tell you. You would pay at least quadruple that at home.

Well, since this is getting a tad bit lengthy, I shall wrap it up with an anecdote about Indian McDonalds. We dined at said fine joint last evening, and had the usual. Their McChicken. (One of the few edible items on the menu in my books...) But it has a faint Indian curry taste to it that I still haven't quite acquired the taste for, so I went next door and tried Subway. Still not the same, but bearable. We've been roped into the wonderful world of "soft-serves" from McD's though. For Rs. 10, or 25 cents, you can get a small ice cream or a small sundae type thing. Marc came back to the table yesterday chuckling, with an ice cream in one hand and a strawberry sundae in the other. He explained how the young man behind the counter with a glazed over look in his eyes, robotically took his order and preceded to hand him the ice cream cone, and put the lone sundae on a large tray with a spoon a napkin and a packet of ketchup. Marc just picked up the dish and the spoon, told the fella to keep the ketchup and walked away. The bemused employee looked at him puzzled, and went back to taking orders. We had a good laugh. Hey, maybe Indians like their strawberry sundaes with a good dose of Ketchup!