curry gurry

I feel like I forgot how to speak correctly.

Thu, 11 Mar 2010 19:14:31 +0530

I feel like I forgot how to speak correctly.

me: Yeah?

Sun, 07 Mar 2010 23:43:17 +0530

me: Yeah?
me: That's... awkward.
kt: yeah...
me: Yeah...
kt: so...
me: I guess...
kt: I mean...
me: Maybe...
kt: Y'know...
me: But...
kt: However...
me: What if...
kt: Sometimes...
me: Therefore...
kt: Four score and seven years ago...
me: Henceforth...
kt: Heretofore...
me: DAMMIT.
kt: YES YES YES
me: I wanted that one!
kt: AH HA
kt: but really...

Yesterday, I went to a fish spa where hundreds of little fishies...

Sun, 28 Feb 2010 17:22:08 +0530

Yesterday, I went to a fish spa where hundreds of little fishies ate the dead skin off of my feet. For the first couple minutes, I couldn’t keep myself from giggling like a little girl, but once the ticklishness wore off, it was very relaxing. Afterward, my feet felt like clouds.

I recommend this to anyone, especially if you’re ticklish.

Drunken Holi.

Sun, 28 Feb 2010 01:33:13 +0530

Drunken Holi.

These are matchboxes I often get in Bangalore. They are so...

Sat, 27 Feb 2010 16:10:00 +0530

These are matchboxes I often get in Bangalore.

They are so freakin’ cute.

Photo

Sat, 27 Feb 2010 15:45:50 +0530

The first night I had officially moved into my apartment, I was...

Thu, 25 Feb 2010 22:02:32 +0530

The first night I had officially moved into my apartment, I was boiling over with excitement. I brought bags of groceries, and was going to have my first foray in Indian cooking (with proper guidance, of course). I unpack everything, and head into my bathroom for the first time ever, only to find the floors, sink, mirror, and walls spotted with dark brownish red ants.

Whatever, I thought. No big deal. Living in New York and LA familiarized me quite well with cockroaches, and I guess I naturally have a stomach for these kind of things. Later on, I come back with some insect spray, and give the bathroom a cursory mist. No sense in getting out of control.

As a final precaution, I open up the cupboard beneath the sink and give it a quick spray. And then I see the drain — a small netted drain leading to who knows what (a small improvement over most American apartments that typically only have wood beneath the sink, that ultimately grows dank and moldy and requires constant maintenance, and eventually replacement). Seeing the many ants that are roaming around it, I tilt the spray can down and give the drain a healthy drenching.

Bad idea.

Within second, hundreds, if not thousands of ants, are fleeing for their lives, spreading across the bathroom floor like the inmates of an overpopulated prison making their big break through a newly found hole in the fence.

Now, seriously, I’m not baby when it comes to insects. Ants, spiders, roaches, multi-legged creatures — they’re all no big deal. But this? My stomach turned a bit. By the time I finished dousing the bathroom, maybe two or three thousand ants blanketed the ground. If I took a single step into the bathroom, I would have crushed fifty to one hundred ants with one foot. They were simply everywhere.

I closed the door, and boarded it up with a towel and some books, and gave up on dinner. Having squelched the excitement of a new and beautiful apartment beneath my ant-encrusted foot, I had little energy to entertain the prospect of cooking food.

Afterward, I told the apartment owner (who was also surprised to see so many ants), and went back to my hotel (I couldn’t have been happier I still had the room booked for a few more days while I settled/fumigated). A few days later, the issue was resolved, and the ants (and weird, red flies) were no more.

Well, not completely, as you can clearly see. Still, I find the occasional ant making its way around my apartment. (In fact, one was just crawled by on the curtain beside me.) And what do I do when I find one? I cripple it ever so gently, and feed it to the spider living in my shower, who I have not the heart to kill ever since I found him taking care of the ant problem of his own volition.

The above is clearly a picture of my spider friend, who is not yet named. I think I called him Wilbur once, which was almost certainly due to a lingering attachment to Charlotte’s Web. Maybe it’ll stick, despite being somewhat misplaced.

And, for the record, my first foray into Indian cooking was an absolute nightmare. I need not blame the ants, as they only delayed the inevitable.

A typical Monday in Bangalore.

Tue, 23 Feb 2010 00:21:46 +0530

Today I woke up just like any other day. I didn’t feel much like eating, so I prepared for work and left my apartment around 10AM. I had no problem getting a rickshaw to the office (for the white-guy bargain of meter-plus-twenty, a special treatment to which I’ve grown quite accustomed).

The driver sped off in the wrong direction. Who would have thought there were multiple IBM offices in Bangalore? Funny thing is I don’t even work for IBM, it’s just that mentioning the company is usually the quickest way to get a driver to acknowledge where I need to go. We corrected our direction and continued onward.

What is usually a ten-minute ride soon became a 15-minute wait on a small side street connecting to 100 Feet Road. The driver waited patiently, sighing on occasion, and talking something in Kannada to adjacent rickshaw drivers. In the twenty minutes we waited there, I was approached by two hookers. All before 10:30AM.

The first one tiptoed toward me, garnering the sultry sashay of a catwalk, and tenderly gripped the rickshaw. Her voice was about three octaves lower than mine when she spoke. Whatever she said, I didn’t understand, but I couldn’t help but laugh — especially since the driver now had his head on the handlebars and was silently chuckling to himself.

I her, or, him, to go away by shyly muttering some Kannada, and thought I was in the clear. A minute later, another woman, or maybe another man, approached me, smiled coyly, and walked away after softly running her fingers across my trembling knee.

The driver looked up, still laughing, and I asked him, “The first one was man, right?” He didn’t understand a word I said, but I think the sentiment got across.

Traffic started to move, and we slowly crawled across 100 Feet Road, which we would usually take to the flyover, except there were half a dozen police officers in their starched white shirts and cowboy hats forcing us directly across the street. It was probably best that way, especially since 100 Feet Road was backed with cars like vomit trickling out of its gaping mouth.

We began slithering through more side streets, trying to find a way back to 100 Feet Road, but they were just as congested. Cars were going the opposite way down one-way streets, which didn’t help. People were, like always, everywhere, which also didn’t help.

We came to another corner of a small street and 100 Feet Road where I saw a familiar face, a ghostly white guy with bright red hair who I believe works in the Microsoft office in the same building as mine. He looked a little lost. I’m not sure if he was looking for a rickshaw, but we drove by him too quickly for me to ask him to hop in.

Back on 100 Feet Road, heading south (directions don’t exist in Bangalore, by the way, only landmarks, like malls, police stations, statues, fire hydrants, dirt piles, holes in the ground, etc.), we found that traffic was still completely stuck. It had now been about 45 minutes since I first got in. The meter was slightly over 20 rupees.

We crept along a little bit more, and finally came to a complete standstill. Nothing moved. The rickshaws were silent. People’s cars were turned off. There wasn’t a horn to be heard. The driver tried to tell me something about the route, and, again, I really don’t know what he said, but I knew the quickest route to work that didn’t involve the fly over, so I thought I would just have to wait this out.

After we went back and forth a bit, he made it quite clear by offering to find me another rickshaw (to sit in traffic, presumably). When his search turned up no other drivers, he politely kicked me out of the rickshaw — after I paid him, of course.

I wasn’t too far from my office, but I was slightly disoriented being on my feet in this area for the first time. I knew how to navigate to work by driving, but walking was totally foreign to me. I should mention now that walking in Bangalore is similar to a precarious trek up an untrodden mountainside.

Due south of me was the flyover, and I’d be damned if I walked over it. I would have been as red as a tomato by the time I reached the other side, not to mention drenched from head to toe, which was inevitable at this point as my body refuses to get adjusted to the heat. What can I say? I sweat a little bit, and it just so happens to gather in my hair like a sponge.

I began walking, but opted to take the lower roads, hoping to find a way under the flyover, maybe through the mud field I see every day, the one with the blue tarp tents lined up perfectly in the shade. I quickly found myself on what I can only call a highway off-ramp. Fearing my life, I called my office and said something along the lines of, “I know where I am, and I’m trying to get to work, but I might die, and I just wanted you to know.”

I kept on, doing my best to stay close to the rails (on the inside, of course), and kept my arms closely at my side every time a car, rickshaw, or truck drove passed. I made it safely, eventually, but found myself in an entirely new predicament — crossing Old Airport Road, a road typically busy with a heavy flow of traffic only now augmented by other cars seeking an alternate route.

A quick dash brought me to the median, where I surveyed the oncoming traffic. A car stopped, trying to make a u-turn, and the bus behind it appeared to be slowing down. It was my chance, but was also risky, as I couldn’t see what was waiting for me on the other side of the bus, since, well, it was a bus. But I had no choice — I didn’t know how long it would take to find another break in traffic, and the sweat was already trickling down my cheeks.

I hopped out in front of the bus, but instead of slowing down, it sped up. I had no choice but to continue on. As soon as I cleared the bus, I was met by another bus.

Imagine a waffle stuck in a toaster oven, rigidly frozen at full attention, basking in the heat of the oven, the sweat of melting ice dribbling down its entire body. That was me.

When I opened my eyes, they had both passed, and I had become a human obstacle for the other drives, all of which were expressing their consternation with my existence with a cacophony of horn-honking. I wriggled to the other side, took a breath of relief, of victory, and — an empty auto!

I flagged him down and said, “Please, just take me down Inner Ring Road.” I didn’t even want to bargain with him, but my desperation must have spoken loudly enough, because once I crumbled in the back seat he flipped on the meter without me even asking. Didn’t even tell me plus-ten, or plus-twenty.

The rest of the ride was typically calm — bumper-to-bumper traffic, symphonic horn-honking, blistering heat. I arrived at the office campus around 11, and entered good ol’ Pebble Beach Block B, and — what the hell?

The Irish-looking Microsoft guy was hanging out at the elevators. I didn’t bother asking, but every time I see him, I’ll now wonder how in the world he made it to the office before me, and in such dry and tidy condition.

On the way back from Nandi Hills.

Sat, 20 Feb 2010 00:26:33 +0530

On the way back from Nandi Hills.

I just discovered the secret to nuclear prawn curry.

Fri, 19 Feb 2010 21:09:01 +0530

I just discovered the secret to nuclear prawn curry.

Oh, and today, this little rascal flew inside.

Fri, 19 Feb 2010 20:20:37 +0530

Oh, and today, this little rascal flew inside.

Just some pictures of my apartment. I could go into the pros and...

Fri, 19 Feb 2010 20:16:21 +0530

Just some pictures of my apartment. I could go into the pros and cons of Indian apartments, or do a comparison of the apartments I’ve lived in, but it’s kind of unnecessary. I think this apartment, with its spaciousness and design, speaks for itself.

I only wish I had a longer time in or, or that I could find a similar apartment elsewhere — for a reasonable price, of course.

I finally have an internet connection in my apartment. I will now resume blogging. Shortlist of...

Thu, 18 Feb 2010 21:45:18 +0530

I finally have an internet connection in my apartment. I will now resume blogging.

Shortlist of updates:

In late January, I moved into an apartment in a neighborhood called Cambridge Layout. Pictures will come shortly. I suppose I am officially living in Bangalore.
I finished watching all of Lost Seasons 1-5 before the premiere of Season 6. All in one month. I’ll spare everyone the pic spam.
I am experimenting, failing, and succeeding in cooking Indian food one recipe at a time.

That’s all for now.

Even though I still don’t have a stable internet connection, I dare say today was the best day...

Tue, 16 Feb 2010 23:22:38 +0530

Even though I still don’t have a stable internet connection, I dare say today was the best day I’ve had yet this year.

I almost feel like I’m living a stable life again.

I woke up today and felt awful. The tinny grumble of the rickshaw taking me to the office shook...

Mon, 08 Feb 2010 23:21:44 +0530

I woke up today and felt awful. The tinny grumble of the rickshaw taking me to the office shook every hair follicle on my body. I stared at a mixture of leaves and trash on the ground, and the driver interrupted me by saying in broken English, “Traffic. Big jam.”

I looked at the pandemonium ahead, a mess of yellow-and-black rickshaws buzzing like angry bees through a cluster of motorcycles and pint-sized cars, all sprawled across the 100 Feet Road fly over heading toward Koramangala.

“Everyday,” I said.

Pictures - Sneaky Sound System

Tue, 26 Jan 2010 18:32:54 +0530

Pictures - Sneaky Sound System

I saw you do that, and it suddenly disappeared! Then, I just laughed a little.

Tue, 26 Jan 2010 00:54:54 +0530

I saw you do that, and it suddenly disappeared! Then, I just laughed a little.

Lily at Lalbagh

Tue, 26 Jan 2010 00:25:53 +0530

Lily at Lalbagh

Trees at Lalbagh

Tue, 26 Jan 2010 00:25:45 +0530

Trees at Lalbagh

Flower Expo at Lalbagh

Tue, 26 Jan 2010 00:24:32 +0530

Flower Expo at Lalbagh