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.

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.

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 . . .)