Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.

I've been quite busy lately, and I apologize for not being diligent about this blog over the past month.

As part of my position here at the hedge fund, I've been focusing on one of my firm's deals to finance a few major infrastructure improvements throughout India. Without going into details, I'll say that it's quite large and has required an enormous amount of time in the due diligence phase, which has been going on for about a month.

Since the last post, I've spent roughly two weeks camped out at the Hilton Towers in Mumbai; my days have been punctuated by deliveries of legal documents and financial models and my evenings by the novelty of a company expense account.

While I wish I could report that I had a chance to enjoy the wonders of the city, I regret (from a traveler's perspective) to say that I spent most of my time in conference rooms, data rooms, and hotel restaurants.

So, to sum it up, since my last post I've learned an enormous amount about business, accounting, finance, and contracts, but I have not had a chance to do much of the touristy stuff that normally makes for good stories on this page.

Still, here are my broad observations on Mumbai based on my limited exposure:

1) It's really crowded.

You don't need to hear statistics from the Indian census bureau to understand this -- just try crossing the street in Nariman Point at rush hour. One of my coworkers asked me during a cab ride whether or not I had had a chance to ride the metro subway. When I told him I hadn't, he suggested I try it after a long day at work. "It's great for a few reasons -- it's cheap, you don't need a seat, and you get a free full body massage." He was referring to the way that Mumbai commuters pack themselves into the trains like sardines.

2) In terms of personal wealth, the city is quite polarized.

Some of the country's richest people live in Mumbai. They earn their keep working white collar jobs for major corporations or entities like the Bombay Stock Exchange. The hotels are luxurious, and real estate there ranks among the most expensive in the world. But flying into the city, one cannot help but notice the vast slums on the north end of the metropolis. People live in shacks made of corrugated aluminum and plastic, this constituting their only shelter from the elements. I've only been in India during "winter" (I put winter in quotes because I don't think it ever got to be less than 60 degrees) but one can only imagine what it's like to live through an Indian summer in a metal box.

3) It could be a world-class travel destination (if you could somehow get rid of all the excess people and the pollution and the poverty).

The architecture in Mumbai is like nothing else in India. Heavily influenced by the British Raj era, the buildings in the financial hub are all built and designed in a stunning Gothic style and, from the street, seem to be in good condition. On their own, I guess these buildings don't have any features you couldn't see in London, Paris, or Prague. But what's interesting is that they're smack in the middle of South Asia.

Like so much else in India, the only thing standing between Mumbai and greatness is some infrastructure improvement -- good roads, clean water, reliable electricity, and affordable housing.

Today is Holi

The entire country stops for the Holi celebration this weekend.

Read more about it here.

Pictured are the colors that we will mix with water and fling at passers-by. This is all to commemorate the start of the summer planting season here in India.

I'll have more pictures and stories later. For now, it's time to get dressed.

An Evening with Titou (part III)

"Before the Taj Mahal was built, this was the landmark, the face of India to the world," explained a tour guide I hired for a few hundred rupees.

Carbon dating has revealed that the foundation of the Qutub Minar was probably constructed between 100 and 200 years before the birth of Christ. That's not to say that tower construction began at that time, because it was built on the foundations of Jain and Hindu temples. The tower was constructed over the centuries (starting in the 12th), with each level (of which there are 5) added by successive kings as a monument to themselves.

It's truly marvelous. When viewed from the air, the tower looks like an inverted lotus, which is a common cosmetic detail in Indian architecture. The tower is also a functional sun dial.

Delhi has been struck by massive earthquakes since the construction of the tower, but it is one of the only remaining structures because of its assembly method. Analogous to LEGOs, all of the bricks in the tower interlock with one another; there is no mortar, cement, or other substance binding the bricks -- just gravity.

Happy to have seen this engineering feat, Titou and I set out on the long and windy road back to Sunder Nagar.

Thoughts on Language and Sly Stallone

The difference between a westernized Indian accent and a true Indian accent, I think, is encapsulated in the pronunciation of the letter "R." An Indian with a western accent will pronounce it fully, whereas an Indian without the accent will add a very soft "d" after every word ending in "r" -- making it sound as if they said the "r" but then lassoed it back into their mouth at the last second and replaced it with a "d" ("Yes, sir(d)").

This dawned on me when I hopped in a tuk-tuk on my way back from Khan Market one day.

The driver, Rakesh, was trying his best to get some recurring business with my deep, non-discerning American pockets. To do this, he spoke in the best American accent he could muster, faking a very deep voice and over-pronouncing his "R"s. "Yes sir(rrrr), I would be happy to take you back to Sunder(rrr) Nagar(rrr)," he said after I asked him for a ride.

We chatted for a while, and I figured that his familiarity with English could be an asset one weekend if Titou were unavailable to take me out. So I asked Rakesh for his name and number.

"Oh, thank you sir(rrr). I would be happy to give you my number(rrr). It's [blah blah blah]."

"And your name?" I asked.

"Rocky."

"Rocky?" I asked. "Really?"

"Yeah, like the movie."

Rocky and his silly accent have my business.

Saturday in the Park -- Lodhi Gardens

On Long Island, archaeologists get excited when they uncover the foundation to a building of an eighteenth century whaling village on the East End. To further illustrate it's infancy, on Long Island, you'd make the most meaningful distinction by identifying "pre-war" buildings as those constructed before WWII.

So, I've found it refreshing to come to India and completely overhaul my personal definition of "old". There were great civilizations here while the French were still running around half-naked flinging croissants at one another (I read about the croissants in a book -- it must be true). Heck, India is where Alexander the Great met his match and reasoned that 'enough is enough.' Even right here in Delhi, within walking distance of my house, there are structures that predate Jesus Christ.

The city's stewards over the centuries (Indian kings, Mughals, Brits, etc.) demonstrated great wisdom and foresight when the decided to link and preserve 5 very old monuments within the confines of one great park in the middle of the city called Lodhi (rhymes with "Brody") Gardens. Four of the monuments are tombs or cenotaphs (a tomb without a body), and the fifth is an ancient mosque (pictured at right).

This park is very popular among city residents. In the times I've been there, I see lots of people picnicking, jogging, playing with dogs, or just enjoying the spring weather. It's also, from what I can surmise, a popular make out spot; I've always feel compelled to tell them to find a room, or an alley, or something more private.

The landscape is stunning. Beautiful, exotic plant life grow everywhere, and all kinds of parakeets, hawks, vultures, and other birds call the park home. Much of the green areas slopes down to a body of water that was once part of a city river that has since been artificially diverted.

Park goers are permitted in every corner of each of the monuments -- there are no roped off areas or guards telling you not to bring food or beverages in. What would otherwise be a breathtaking landscape in its own right is augmented by the presence of these buildings. New Delhi residents are lucky to have it.

Europe invades the Barbarian Gym (grr)

With a rather oppressive work schedule at the office (Mon-Sat from about 9 am to 9 pm, with every other Saturday off), I noticed that I had been getting little or no exercise. Luckily for me, a gym opened up right in the Sunder Nagar market -- literally a stone's throw from where I'm staying.

The Barbarian Gym (pictured) is not much different from an American gym, except that it's probably a little more expensive (any outfit like this has high costs from the extortionate import duties on machinery such as gym equipment -- same goes for electronics and furniture).

I went to the gym early one morning last week with my iPod in hand. The membership is low because the gym is very new, so I was one of perhaps three people working out in the whole three story complex.

Headphones on, I went straight up to the treadmill in the cardio area. I turned on a dance melody I've had for a while -- it has Indian lyrics and distinctively Indian beats. I felt it appropriate given my setting, and it was a nice change of pace from my usual gym mix consisting of cheap power ballads and one choice song by Eminem (nominated for a Grammy, I might add).

As the music started to fade out, signalling the end of the Indian dance beat, the gym's music system became more and more audible.

What was playing?

The Final Countdown

Even in the middle of a south-Asian country, I can't get away from crappy 80s music by Europe.

Afternoon Naps in Sunder Nagar

Enjoying the sun and a cool breeze in the market garden.

A stray enjoying the heat of the warm pavement after
what was probably a chilly night.

An Evening with Titou (Part Deux): Humayun's Tomb and a Delhi Right of Passage

Read part 1 of this story

"You go pay, and I'll be here when you come out" said Titou as we pulled up to the gate of Humayun's Tomb.

As I approached the ticket booth, I noticed that they charge more to foreigners than they do to Indians. In fact, it's a 1000% markup. I guess the monument, which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is meant to be a park for the Indians who work in the area and as a tourist attraction for foreigners.

As I passed under through the deep gateway tunnel, I gazed upon the Tomb for the first time. It's beautiful in pictures; to be in its presence is indescribable (see picture).

Humayun's Tomb is a textbook example of 16th Century Mughal-era Indian architecture, similar in style to the Taj Mahal (in fact, it's believed that this tomb was the inspiration for the Taj Mahal). The Tomb is built on a pedestal roughly 15 feet in height that meets the earth with an arcade on the perimeter. Anyone can enter into the arches and climb one of eight sets of steep, dangerously weathered staircases to reach the entrance to the grave.

The cube-like Tomb is topped with a dome; it's flanked on four corners by Chharti, or ornamental dome pavilions. Humayun's Tomb is set among a Charbagh, which is a grid-form garden bearing symbolic reference to the rivers of Islamic paradise. There were lots of families having picnics, and young couples getting cozy (Titou would later inform me that they recently had to install gates in order to close the park at night because of "frisky" young couples).

I took it as an opportunity to practice photography, as I walked around trying to capture the setting sunlight reflecting off the marble and red sandstone facade. My attempts are shown at right, but probably the best of them all is in the first post in this series.

After leaving, I wanted to check out the Qutub Minar, another famous Delhi landmark.

Titou graciously obliged, but not without a stop along the way.

Arts and Crafts

"T.K. I take you to this place, eh?" he confirmed, pointing to the postcard of the Qutub Minar.

"Yes that would be great."

"But first, I take you shopping!" he blurted as he turned on the motor of his tuk-tuk. Before I could voice my opposition, we were already on our way, and the beeping of the traffic was too loud for me to speak over it and tell him that I had zero interest in shopping.

We pulled up to the Padma Arts & Crafts center which is apparently "on the way" to the Qutub Minar. "T.K. (Hinglish for "okay") You go shop for 10 minutes, and then we go to Minar," he bargained.

"Ya know, Titou. I'm just not interested, and we're losing sunlight quickly. Can we please just go?"

"You shop."

Not one to argue with authority (at least in this setting), I went in for a look. This place had a wide variety of what one could only call "stuff." Lots of cloths and trinkets and nik naks and chachkhas. I went deeper into the store, checked out a couple of rugs, and then retreated to the Tuk-Tuk.

"You buy anything?"

"No." I replied.

Dismayed, Titou backed up the tuk-tuk (he did this by pushing, because they don't have a reverse gear). I hopped in, and he made some gesture to the doorkeeper at the shop that, if I had to guess, was disrespectful.

"He didn't give me a gift. You didn't stay long enough," he said with a smile.

Realizing that I had just been duped out of 5 precious minutes of precious daytime, I felt a tad annoyed. That was quickly replaced by an internal celebration over the fact that I had just gone through a sort of right of passage: I had been mildly swindled by a tuk-tuk driver. I was almost glad to take part in it.

We continued on to the Qutub Minar.

(to be continued . . .)

Super Stop & Shop . . . Delhi Style

Rodeo Drive. 54th & 5th. Khan Market?

Resting on top of the most expensive commercial real estate in all of India (and 24th globally), Khan Market (pictured) has a most unorthodox way of filling up high-priced FSI.

Peaking at a measly two stories, Khan Market serves up anything and everything for a portion of the Delhi population. I like to think of it as a big box retailer without a box (it's set up like a strip mall). When I initially arrived in India, I was dismayed to learn that Wal-Mart had not made any inroads with the Indian economy. Say what you want about this. I'm not really interested in debating why I wanted there to be a Wal-Mart here. It's not that I particularly enjoy or patronize the store while I'm at home; however, you can always count on it to get inexpensive necessities if you're in an unfamiliar area. When I arrived, India certainly met that qualification, but the closest Wal-Mart is in China.

Without Wal-Mart, where is the discerning shopper to go?

Mark to Market

I didn't know what to expect when Aarti (one of the friends with whom I'm staying) and I pulled up to all the confusion of the market. After a couple of visits, I can confidently say that if one were to visit the various storefronts, each no more than 10 or 12 feet wide, every necessity is available. One store sells only prescription medication. Another sells only bath and shower needs. There's a fruit stand, a butcher (sans beef), a sunglasses shop, book stores, a coffee shop, a baby shop, a dogfood store, cafes, a McDonald's (also, to my frustration, sans beef), a United Colors of Benetton, a hardware store, and general grocery stores (pictured at right), a magazine shop, etc. There's a small ice cream shop called The Big Chill, named after that stupid movie with that guy from Jurassic Park and that lady that was in Fatal Attraction.

The method of shopping is a little different than what a westerner is used to. While everyone is indeed permitted to browse the stores, I'd hesitate to say that they're encouraged to -- this is not a great idea because of the cramped floorspace. So, capitalizing on the insanely cheap labor in India, shop owners hire employees to fetch lists of items for local residents. If one were to go into a Stop & Shop looking for a certain brand of deodorant, a stock boy would tell you to "check in aisle nine." Here, a worker knows instantly whether or not they carry a product (because the inventories are so small) and they save you the hassle of finding it by going and fetching the item for you. The'll do that for an entire list if you'd like. After you pay, they'll carry your purchases out to your car, bike, tuk-tuk, elephant, or other mode of transportation (Kidding about the elephants . . . but not really. I see people riding them in the middle of the street all the time).

There's nothing earth-shattering about this market, except when you consider the knowledge that it's the most expensive real estate in India. American shopping centers on expensive real estate generally cater only to the rich, appending expensive label premiums to items of questionable utility and real value (see: Gucci, Maserati, Bang & Olfusen, etc). Whereas in India, the most expensive real estate caters not to the tastes of the uber-rich (they all go to America and Europe to shop) but to the necessities of the middle class.

Thots?

An Evening with Titou: Part I

"You like Bollywood?" asked my tuk-tuk driver as he whisked me away from the Rashtrapati Bhavan, or Presidential Palace (pictured at right).

"I'm not so sure," I replied. "There's a little too much singing and dancing for my taste, but the ones I've seen have had their charms."

"Ah!" exclaimed Titou. "You're from California! You like Hollywood?!"

"I've seen my fair share of movies, yes," I replied, grossly understating my familiarity with American films and declining to correct him on my home state (New York) for the third time in under five minutes.

"Ah. Me too," he said proudly. "I've seen many American film. You seen Titanic?!"

Such was the conversation during the better part of my evening with Titou, a Sikh tuk-tuk driver in his late 50's who charged Rs.100 per hour (roughly US $2) to drive me to all his favorite tourist attractions in New Delhi.

Racial Profiling

Prior to the aforementioned exchange, Titou (read: TEE-too)drove up to me outside the Rashtrapati Bhavan. Looking back, I guess I had set myself up to be targeted by trekking out with a Jack Baueresque manbag slung over one shoulder, a camera in one hand, and an Eyewitness guide to New Delhi in the other.

Titou shut his motor off and coasted to the gate of the palace as he approached, I guess to maintain stealth capability.

"You look like you're from California," he blurted, while consequently scaring the dahl out of me.

I corrected him, informing him that, no, I am actually from New York, and anticipated his next question by saying that I needn't hire a tuk-tuk right now, but thank you.

"Here," he said, showing me a tattered book full of postcards from a gift shop. "How long do you have?"

"A few hours."

"How about I bring you to these places?" The postcards pictured the parliament house (which I had already seen), Humayun's tomb (pictured at left), the Qutub Minar, and a smattering of other Delhi landmarks.

I initially hesitated to take him up on the offer, probably because he seemed like such a nice guy. You can chalk that reaction up to a New York upbringing ("He can't really be this nice. There must be some sort of ulterior motive! Maybe he needs a lobotomy?"). Still, I weighed my options, and decided that, given my utter lack of familiarity with the local tongue, I was better off getting mildly extorted by an English-speaking driver than by a non-English-speaking one.

So, manbag in hand, Titou and I embarked on our three-hour tour.

The Sikh Gurudwara

Titou brought me to a very well-known Gurudwara, a Sikh house of worship. In India, these temples are often gilded in gold leaf.

Before approaching the Gurudwara, which is built atop a tall, marble pedestal, we went into an anteroom for western visitors. There, we removed our shoes and socks, I covered my head with an orange scarf, and a temple employee gave me a brief introduction to proper etiquette.

Just short of the stairs was a very shallow pool where we washed our feet and hands. As Titou climbed the stairs, he would kiss his hand, and then touch each step. At the top step, he lowered himself so that he was parallel to the slope of the stairs, and kissed the top step. He repeated the ritual every time we climbed a step within the confines of the temple grounds.

As we walked across the marble pediment, barefoot along with everyone else, Titou explained how the temple offers a wide variety of basic human services to anyone who is willing to partake. Worshipers volunteer to make vegetarian food for anyone who wants a hot meal, no matter their religion, race, nationality, or even economic status. Additionally, they have hostels offered virtually free of charge (about $1 per night) all over the country. At a reflecting pool outside the temple, anyone can take a bath in safe water (photos at right).

As we entered the temple, it became apparent to me that he was not bringing me here solely for my own benefit. I read in a pamphlet something I did not know: Sikhs are required to visit the Gurudwara daily. I was coming as a tourist, but Titou was coming as a daily worshiper. This knowledge made the experience seem more authentic.

We passed the Granth Sahib (otherwise known as a Sikh holy book) which was covered and draped in fine cloth and covered by a golden arch about 15 feet high (similar in adornment to that of a Catholic tabernacle).

"Muslims, they make women sit in another room. Christians, they only let other Christians participate in their ceremonies. In Sikh religion, everyone is equal. There is only one authority, and that is the book," Titou explained with a great sense of pride.

Indeed, the entire temple, plushly carpeted with an intricate red and gold design, was populated with all different types of people. I spotted a few westerners praying amongst a multitude of Indians -- men, women, and children.

Following our excursion to the temple, I decided to surrender my itinerary for the rest of the day to Titou, having been very satisfied with his choice of bringing me to the temple. This was a blessing and, in two minor ways, a curse.

(part II to follow . . .)

Update 7/22: Part Deux

Right about now . . .

Today marks the beginning of my fifth week here in Delhi. In my time here on the other side of the world I've seen many things. The more positive elements can be described with words like "glorious," "breathtaking," "life-changing." The less positive elements arouse feelings of horror, pity, and overall confusion.

The goal of this page is to document my experience here India, with a keen interest in outlining the reasons that many journalists call this place a "country of dichotomies."

However, don't be quick to judge this as haughty observations of some self-loving angrezi (the cook's name for me, as "Ryan" has apparently proven too complex. It literally translates to the noun "British", but is used colloquially to mean "foreigner") with an overinflated sense of self importance. I'm primarily going to use this as an outlet for any and all observations I have over the next couple of months-- some may be serious in nature, but most (like many things I do) will inevitably be perceived as foolish. Stick around, as I'm sure there will be something for everyone.