An idea a day

Before I moved to Hyderabad, I had heard how India is now such a vibrant economy, and full of opportunities; but I hadn't realized the extent of the opportunity until I started living here. Now my mind is constantly coming up with new ideas. Everywhere you look, there is something that can be done to make people's lives easier.

I guess you really have to immerse your self into a country to solve it's problems. You can't do it from a distance. Just yesterday I was sitting at a traffic light and even before the light turned green, people behind us started honking. Having grown up in India, I should be used to it, but incessant and pointless honking makes my blood boil. And it made me wonder, wouldn't it be nice if every time you used the horn, the steering wheel gave you a shock. You can't really take the horn away, but you can take steps to reduce its use. With an electric shock you can still honk if you had to, but it makes sure you will do it only in case of an emergency or if you really really really had to.

I know what you are thinking - this idea is not going to be implemented anytime soon unless the Junta takes over in India. There are other ideas though, that are lot more practical. For example, I hired a maid who believes in a 5 day work week and finds the most creative ways to get out of coming to work on Saturdays and Sundays. In the 3 weeks since I hired her, she fell sick one weekend, had here birthday on the 2nd weekend (yes she took time off for her birthday :)), and was hit by an auto rickshaw this Friday. I know, that if true, I should be a lot more sympathetic on the last one, but I have just finished moping the floors and I am not willing to believe a word of what she had to said.

The house help in India has turned the tables on their employers. A growing number of households in India are now dual income and for some of the 2nd tier cities like Hyderabad there just isn't enough help available. With both husband and wife working, there is no other option but to tolerate the whims of the help. Almost anyone I talk to is upset with their house help situation but are unable to do anything about it.

It made me wonder why there is no Roomba like cleaner available in India. Most houses have marble or some other stone flooring so the traditional vacuum cleaners, that work so well on carpets, can't really work in India. You need something that can do jharoo-poncha - basically something that picks up the dust, followed by something that washes the floor with a water-detergent combination, and then something that dries the floor. A slow moving Roomba like bot could easily do the task.

India does have a tendency to go with cheap manual labor, instead of opting for automation. I guess when you have a billion people, it more important to keep people employed rather than worry about things like productivity and efficiency. Better to have them do almost nothing instead of creating trouble. I wonder though, at want point will the need for convenience override such concerns. Until then, I'll just have to mop my own floors.

King of Kings

This is a post about something that happened almost a month back, but I think it is still worth blogging about especially given that I was so excited when it happened that I actually took pictures :).

Summer time in India is synonymous with two things - paralyzing heat, and one special nectar oozing fruit of the Gods, the mango. If mango is the king of fruits, then Alfonso is the king of mangoes. Also called Hapus or Haapoos, these one of a kind mangoes arrive during the very early part of mango season in April. I am not sure whether it is because they the one of the first mangoes to arrive or because their taste is indeed so unique, but the Alphonsoes are one special mango.

To celebrate Ayza'a arrival (congrats Tarim and Mahj), I decided to bring home a box. I realize that a box of twelve is a lot of mangoes for one person, but these mangoes are not sold any other way. It was clear to the shopkeeper that I was a first time Alphonso buyer when I asked him, "Bhaiya, how much for a kilo?" He smiled and replied softly in a Yoda like voice, "The measure of an Alphonso is not in its weight babuji, but the unique experience that each and every piece provides. Kilos and grams, these are concepts for your average mangoes like Langra, or Dashehri. This is an Alphonso."



Alphonsoes only travel first class. They come in their own box of 12, packed with ample padding and leg room to make sure they don't face any discomfort as they travel to their destination. The mangoes were duly washed, individually dried, and kept in the refrigerator for a little over two hours before my patience ran out and I sank my teeth into the first batch. All I have to say is, I can now die in peace.

B2B: Back to Blogging

So I finally get a chance to blog again after nearly a month. Was busy launching something that I have been working on since I moved here to Hyderabad. It is something really small, but it is amazing how many people found it and that too without any announcement or blog post from us.

I used to say that it doesn't matter what other people think as long as you love what you are doing. Wrong! It absolutely matters. When you have spent so much time and effort into something, you really want the work to have an impact. You can't help but care about whether people use it, and like it. Acceptance must be a big part of the satisfaction you derive from your work and I am glad that I work for someone who gives me a chance to have this kind of impact.

Anyway, after I was done launching this tiny feature, I took a much needed vacation. Spent a week in Darjeeling with mum and dad. A very relaxed vacation with a bit of trekking thrown in, but more on that later. I am back in Hyderabad now and ready to start blogging again, so expect a whole lot blogs this weekend.

Al Gore I heard you dude

OK, I'll confess. I am no longer homeless. In fact, I have had an apartment for 2 weeks now, but I am telling you only now. I did let the cat out of the bag for some of you, and as expected, you guys demanded pictures. Well, I finally decided to take pictures today and put them up.

Two weeks ago I moved into an apartment that I'll be calling home for at least the next year. The apartment complex is a short walk of about 100 yards from the Google office, and hence the Al Gore reference. Contrary to my expectations, the 2 minute walk has done nothing to improve the time I make it into the office. I still stroll in around 10:30 - 11. It has, however, helped me leave work at a decent hour and make it to the gym on a regular basis.

The complex has 3 buildings - Alpha, Beta, and you guessed it, Gamma. I am in Beta. The address will be sent via email soon after I post this blog. The apartment has a pool which is frequented by cameramen and film crew more often than it sees any action from actual swimmers. I am sure the coming summer vacation will change all that. The complex also has a gym, squash courts, and badminton courts that residents can use for a small fee.



The apartments itself is quite spacious. Marble floors, a large kitchen, balconies, and decent sized bathrooms make it quite a treat to live in. I just don't know what to do with all this space though. The 2 guest rooms are still waiting to be utilized, so you guys need to come visit soon. Yes, that last line was an invitation to visit me here in Hyderabad. If you looking for a more formal invitation, that too can be arranged.




I have a house boy, Ramarao, who takes care of the dishes, the laundry, and the cleaning. I started to teach him how to cook, but soon lowered my expectations to him just chopping vegetables, and even that requires some amount of training and supervision. Even putting the clothes in the washer requires some supervision, for he hasn't quite figured out separating the whites and colors yet. Despite these limitations, he insists on charging me the expat rate. Yeah he is not as dumb as he sounds. I would have fired his ass, but I just love the way he makes the bed (see below); plus I haven't had time to look for a replacement, so I keep telling myself that he is still way cheaper than a weekly maid service in the US. Besides, if I didn't have him, I am sure I would have "died under a mountain of my own filth".



I think I have said enough about the house. The rest you need to come see for yourself. More pictures can be found here. I'll add pictures of the pool etc in a few days.

Hyderabad Apartment

Golf in Hyderabad is in ruins

I found this golf course in Hyderabad, about 20 minutes from Hi Tech City, that doesn't require me to fight traffic to get there. While it was the traffic that attracted me to the course, it is the course, situated in Tollichowki with the backdrop of Qutb Shahi Tombs itself, that will keep bringing me back.



The course has a few big limitations, the biggest being that only 3 of the 18 holes have been built so far. However I soon realized that this was a "feature" of the course, not a limitation. I played 9 holes (Holes 1 to 3, three times) and my score improved significantly in the later part of the course :)

But I can't wait for the course to be completely. The other 15 holes will be inside the Naya Quila (New Fort) - yes, inside the damn fort. There is something grand and majestic about playing on a course built inside a fortress. Even today, as you tee off the range, even a poor shot is rewarded with a view of the fort wall. You know that you are in a country with history and a rich heritage when even golf courses are built amongst ruins that are over 400 years old.

Where we landing again?

Apparently someone besides you has been reading this blog; someone from the Indian government. They heard me complain about the Hyderabad airport and they changed the airport on me. Four days ago, I left Hyderabad from the dilapidated old Begupmet airport. On my return I find Hyderabad has brand spanking new airport - Shamshabad.


The only drawback - it is 30 kms from Hyderabad. I know what you are thinking, "30kms , 18miles, 30 minutes tops". Think again young man. It took me an hour last night, with no traffic. They were supposed to build an expressway to connect the city to the airport, but that is not ready yet; it'll take at least another year. The airport was ready, so they opened that.

I have to say though, it is pretty impressive. Glass and steel building with palm trees lining the entrance to the walkway to the parking lot. Can't really tell from the lousy picture below, but when you visit, you'll see.



btw - I have a replacement camera. More pictures are on their way.

Google Goa: Part 3 - The best laid plans of men and bamboo often go awry

The bamboos had arrived. All we had to do was get them to the 5th floor, drive in a few nails, tie a few knots and the beach shack would be done; or so we thought. Our first miscalculation was that the 12 and 15 feet pieces didn't fit in the elevators. We tried the stairs, but they we closed on account of construction (apparently we were not the only ones building something at the complex). The solution around the problem was to solicit the help of 3 other people so that there was one person standing on the balcony of each floor. I picked up bamboo on the ground floor and passed it to Shailen on the first floor, who in turn passed it to someone on the second floor, till it eventually ended in a pile on the 5th floor. The chain got so good at some point that we had 3 pieces going up simultaneously, which was kinda scary for the guy at the bottom.

The rest of the stuff was easy enough to carry up in the elevators. The receptionist propped the door open for us with a smile that suggested that she was thinking something like "Boy, you must be two kinds of crazy". It took us several trips to get everything up, and on every trip, everyone who saw us was both curious as well helpful in getting the stuff to the top.

As soon as we started building we realized our 2nd mistake - the cross cut saw. It all looks easy when the carpenter does it but none of us had the skills required to make the saw go in both directions. Maybe the facilities folks in the building had a hacksaw. So off we went to find the building carpenter. He didn't have a hacksaw, but what he did have was an electrical drill. Score! The facilities manager suggested that the carpenter could nail everything in for us, but we wanted to do it on our own, a concept he found extremely confounding. Home Depot would be a complete failure in India.

Off we went with the drill, thinking that if we drilled a hole through the bamboo, we could pass a rope through it and that would make for a better joint. On the very first attempt, the drill made a beautiful round hole, but the hole was too small. 0 for 3. An attempt to widen the hole by moving the drill around led to disaster - the bit (needle) broke. 0 for 4. It was time to make a trip to the hardware store to get a replacement drill bit and the a hacksaw. Yes, the very same hacksaw that was earlier shunned as being too small for this grand project.

Little did we know that the breaking of the drill bit would be such a fortuotus event. As we searched for the saw and drill bit, we found screws. Nuts and bolt to be exact. With the right size hole and the proper nut and bolt to go with it, why do we even need to use rope. We could bolt everything together. We had finally caught a break. The tide had tuned. It was all going to work out fine.

And it did. The hacksaw took some effort but at least it worked. The drill and the bolts worked like a charm. In just a couple of hours we had a basic frame in place. Any place that the sticks overlapped was drilled into place. Even at the T junctions, we split a bamboo piece into two and bolted the connector to both bamboo pieces.

For three days, every afternoon around 4, the office was converted to a construction site, with the noise and the sawdust from the drilling bringing work at the office to a grinding halt. Work continued till 10:30 - 11 each night with only a small break for dinner. We had enough burns and scratches on our arms that had it not been for the shack, people would have thought that we were mainlining it.

Three days later though we had a beautiful shack. Tonya took some pictures on one of the days - I'll ask her to upload them somewhere that everyone can see them. The shack looks awesome, if I may say so myself. If you were ever on a deserted island, your best shot at surviving the elements would be to have us there; assuming of course that you had an electrical drill, electricity and a hardware store.

Google Goa - Part 2: The bamboo store

Having figured out where our bamboo and the other raw material will come from, it was time to find tools. We headed towards Krishna Nagar as suggested by the bamboo shop carpenter, a thin old man whose skin had tuned black and rubbery from years under the sun. There we made our first purchase - a hammer, a cross cut saw, a tape measure, and 250 grams of nails. There was a hack saw there too but it just seemed a little too small and unprofessional for our grand plans.

Back at the office, after an hour of making measurements and then putting Pythagoras theorem to good use, we finally had the lengths for the bamboo pieces that we needed. All lengths were rounded up to the nearest foot, mainly to reduce the vast diversity of lengths that was needed. The quantity of each was also given a 20% padding for the *rare* occasion when we messed up.

The list in hand, I returned to the bamboo store the following morning. This time I was able to negotiate the price of the poles down from 75 to 50 Rupees, which I am sure was still a lot higher than the what the regulars and locals are charged. I may have tried to negotiate lower but I had run out of shops that I could walk out; plus the fear of doing the arithmetic 45 times 17 got the better or me. Over the next hour or so the bamboo poles were chopped into various quantities of 4, 7, 12 and 15 feet pieces. Ten thatching sheets of 4x6 and rope were added to the mix. The goods were ready to be shipped to the office.

An auto rickshaw had been converted to a truck by adding an open trunk to it. The auto driver wanted 300 Rupees for transporting things 6 kilometers away for a load that was lighter than light. I offered 200 and he started showing me a chalaan (traffic ticket) for 200 Rupees. I told him I'll give him 200 and I'll take care of any traffic tickets if a cop stopped him. After living through years of Alert Level Orange and other Republican fear tactics, I can pretty easily tell when someone is using fear to pull a fast one on me.

It was time to settle my bills with the old man who had for the past hour and a half toiled in the sun, rummaged through the pile of bamboos to find the straightest, greenest bamboo poles and then cut them to pieces of just the right lengths. As I gave him 300 Rupees instead of the 100 I had promised him, a look of disbelief and then a thankful smile appeared from under the layers of dust. Made me feel really sad though. Here I was spending 2000 Rupees a person for decorating a cube, the bamboo shop owner just sat around and made a small fortune, the auto rickshaw guy would make a decent profit for less than a 20 minute drive, and all this old man got for his hard work in the sun was a paltry sum.

The departure of the auto rickshaw from the bamboo store came just in time to save me from my growing guilt. We followed behind the auto in the car, partly because the auto driver was not sure where our office was. Addresses don't mean much here in Hyderabad; everything works by landmarks, and the auto driver was not sure of the landmarks we had told him. Fifteen minutes later, we were at the Google office. He dumped all the bamboo on the ground floor and left. There was of course no traffic tickets on the way.

Google Goa - Part 1: Gathering data

Looks like another eon has passed since I last blogged. I haven't posted any pictures either coz someone stole my camera. Don't worry, a replacement is on it's way but it arrives March 17th so bear with me a little longer. Substitute pictures will be taken for whatever I can but I am afraid some moments have been lost forever :(

A lot has happened in the last few weeks, but I'll update you guys on the most significant development. I arrived at our Hyderabad office only to find an "Office Space" nightmare - a matrix of cubicles that were indistinguishable from the next, despite the splattering of Google green, red, and yellow sideboards. Every time I went for a drink I could never find my way back. I would end up at the cube either to my right or my left, but never ever to my own cube. As a result of this sameness, there was no energy in the office, there was no hallway chatter, and the whole office was as dry and boring as this blog so far.

An Office Decoration Contest seemed like just the right way to improve the vibe of the office. We each had a budget of 50 dollars (Getting the budget increased from 500 Rupees to 50 dollars is now officially the first major accomplishment of the new Eng Ambassadors). Apparently this was not enough motivation because not a finger was lifted in decorating the cubes for the first 3 days. There was still no trash talking, no jabs about each other's efforts - the energy we had hoped for was still missing.

Fearing that our first event might turn out to be a failure, last Tuesday, we decided to take matters into out own hands. A decision was made to build a beach shack - a prototype for our proposed new offices in Goa. A phone call made to Ismail, a man who can procure anything and everything. "Hey Ismail, where can we find bamboo?". "Take a right from the Jubilee checkpost sir; I'll explain it to the driver." Most conversations with Ismail seem to fit this pattern. He always knows where to find whatever crazy thing we are looking for, and we always seem to get in the way of Ismail communicating the correct directions to the driver.

Rizwaan, our driver, took Douwe, Shailen, and I to the bamboo store. Our 4th office mate was out sick, but it our intention that the beach shack will fully occupy his cube. Hence his share of the budget will also be fully utilized in the construction, and so it seemed fair to at least mention him, even if it is not by name.

Bamboo heaven was exactly where Ismail has promised it would be. The dusty old corner stores, which acted as the source for building material for all construction work in the area, had never seen 3 grown men running around their premises. After the initial climbing of bamboo ladders and other horsing arounds, we started talking to each other about what all we could build. Since we had no plan to speak of, it was decided that it is best to regroup back at the office and come up with a plan there.

However, before we leave, it was time to find out how much each of the materials cost so that we had some idea of how much our grand plan was going to cost us. Given my turban, my knowledge of Hindi, and my perceived experience in these matters, the job of haggling was given to me. The key to haggling, I had learned, is putting on a look of disgust at the price you were just quoted, telling the guy that you were not born yesterday, and then walking out. The closer you are to the exit sign, the better the price gets.

I greeted each quote with my best imitation of Hyderabadi Hindi "Aare bhai, tum logan toa ajeeb baat karta hain" (You guys are just talking silly). After ten minutes of this back and forth, which was aimed more at price gathering than price haggling, I promptly walked over to the shop next door. The prices were communicated between the shops through some back door channels because we were quoted exactly the same prices that I had negotiated down at the previous shop. However, we did like his bamboo a lot more. The bamboo was greener, which while not great for a construction site, had the makings of a more aesthetically pleasing beach hut.

A decision was made to return to this shop and get the green bamboo.

Celebrate good times

Went to a hookah bar on Friday night in Jubilee Hills, Celebrations. Akhi, a high school and college buddy, was visiting from Delhi and "getting drunk with a bunch of blokes" so figured I'd go join him.

Despite a slightly younger crowd that made me feel like I was seventy three, the place was really nice. An ocean of city lights glimmering in the distance makes for an amazing view from this rooftop restaurant, and finally some proof that Jubilee Hills was in fact, a hill. I had had a full meal with mom and dad at Peshawari a few hours earlier, so didn't get a chance to taste the food here but I will be back for a full restaurant review.

Personalized service was what this place was about. There was one guy dedicated to our table and his sole job was to make sure that hookah kept going with one interesting flavor after another. My favorite was Pan Pasand, a flavor that brought back memories of the candy from way back when.

If the personalized service wasn't enough, the place had a Rajasthani folk singer who came to your table with his sarangi and sang any song you requested. Since we couldn't think of anything, he sang his favorites. The guy had an amazing voice which more than made up for his Rajasthani affliction of converting "sh" to "s"; a voice like that and you are allowed to pronounce mushkill as muskill or anything else you want it to be.

I had seen a funny ad on TV recently about Rudaalis, which reminded me of the movie, so a song from Rudaali the movie was requested. He didn't know the lyrics so he asked me to sing the song while he played the sarangi. After singing just one verse I realized this was bad idea - these guys were drunk, not deaf. The singing from this point on would be left to the professionals.

The rest of the evening was spent talking about old times and sharing jokes. The reminiscing was left to the old folk, Akhi and I; college was all too recent for the rest. The jokes were a little to racy and sexist for a blog, but I will be sure to use some of them in less than polite company. And it was a very interesting bunch - two of them had never had any formal English education but you would never be able to tell by talking to them. They went to Telegu medium schools and picked up English just by interacting with others - very impressive. The whole group was very down to earth and the conversation very refreshing.

There was still coal in the hookah and still jokes left in the tank, but it was getting late for the old folks in the group. By the the time we were done, it was well past my bed time.

A taste of Little Italy

Just realized I have like a bazillion posts in draft mode, so I'll try and post as many of them as possible this morning. So brace for the flood.

Last Thursday night, went to this nice Italian place called Little Italy. The place is all vegetarian but had the largest selection of vegetarian Italian dishes that I have ever seen. And the food was excellent.

We arrived there a little after 8, prime dinner time in India, and were seated immediately. The place was busy though, so I am making reservations next time. The decor was modern yet warm, with dark brown (wenge, yes wenge :)) wooden panels and tables. Candles on each table along with soft hidden lighting made for a great setting. Not a great place for a date though, it was loud. There were five of us and I couldn't hear a thing being said on the other end.

The one thing that I have found interesting about restaurants in Hyderabad is that everything is multi-cuisine. Little Italy was no exception. Two pages of Antipasti, then pasta, then pizzas, desert - and bang, Mexican. Eh, Italian, Mexican; what's the difference - same latitude. The same latitude theory did suffer a setback from the lack of Indian dishes on the menu.

If only the multi-cuisine episode would end there. Apparently, the place has two restaurants and you can order from either menu. The other restaurant, Bean Me Up, which I initially assumed to be a Start Trek themed restaurant, offers a delectable array of soy bean salads and dishes. The wait staff must have had instructions to push this soy stuff pretty hard coz we got 3 Bean Me Up menus and only 1 for Little Italy. We politely sent the soy menu back and asked for some more menus with the Italian offerings.

Satya, my friend from high school, and Douwe, the other Engineering ambassador for Hyderabad, ordered beer, which in itself was an adventure (everything is at this point :)). The restaurant didn't have Kingfisher, a beer that Douwe has a bit of history with. It was the first beer he had when he crossed over from Pakistan into India on his trip from Europe to India, by bus. Back to the beer. The choices were Fugherers or Rowyul Shalenge. What? Fukkers or Ruey'all Shalange. I'm Sorry, what was that again. Ooooh, I get it , Foster's or Royal Challenge. Two RCs please. I gave the ladies company with water.

The food started showing up shortly, in somewhat of a random order. First came an appetizer with bruschetta style bread and a mushroom sauce - so good. Then the Nawabi Pizza, a thin crust pizza an amazing tomato sauce and corn. The Caprese was to die for; the mozzarella was fantastic, and plum tomatoes were farm fresh and sweet, the likes of which you can only find in India. We had everything family style, which gave it a feel of being in small plates restaurant; and I am glad we did it that way since everything we ordered was fantastic, and it was good to be able to try out everything.

Will need to come back here to try a few more dishes. And next time I will remember to save room for desert. We had had way too much food to even think about desert. Overall, a great place for my first real meal out in Hyderabad.

Note to self: Need to start taking pictures

PetPuja Rating
------------------
Ambience: 8/10
Food: 10/10
Service: 6/10
Value for money: Good 500-700 per person with the beer.
Good for Groups: Yes
Date Scene: Above Average
Verdict: Will definitely be back for more.

More stick, less carrot

It's day 4 and I finally have a working desktop and a phone at my desk. I had heard horror stories of people having to wait weeks before getting a desktop, so I had started bothering people from day 1. What do you know, the nagging helped and I had a desktop and two monitors on my desk by the end of the first day. The nice IT guy told me that the appropriate DNS entries and MAC address mappings will take a few hours so things should be active by the morning. I stopped by the tech stop and thanked them for getting this done so quickly. Positive reinforcement and all; after all I would still need a lot of other things from these folks. Sometimes people just India a bad name. That was so easy. I'll be up and running faster than when I joined in Mountain View.

Not so fast, young Skywalker. Getting a desktop doesn't always mean it is a working desktop. First my hostname was not registered, then I couldn't log on, then ... To make a long story short (not really), it took me three days of constant nagging to get a working computer.

The phone is another story - they ran out of licenses. Honest mistake. We just didn't anticipate that we'll be hiring any more people with Q4 numbers not meeting expectations and all.

I shouldn't complain. It's all coming together, slowly. The fact that I am productive in less than a week's time far exceeds even the most optimistic of my expectations. Now about that apartment and cell phone.

I am rich, bitch!

Made my first ATM withdrawal today; a pretty normal transaction except for that transaction receipt. Along with the usual information like amount withdrawn it also had my remaining balance, converted into Rupees. Damn! That's a lot of digits.

When I mentioned this to someone, I learned something else - there are no ATM fees in India. Bank of America will of course charge me an arm and a leg for using a non bank ATM, give me a poor exchange rate, and then add a finance charge for the currency exchange, but for transactions within India charging an ATM is illegal. The Supreme Court (of India) made this ruling to protect consumers.

Another thing that they did was made sure that Excise tax is paid on the actual price, not the sale price. This is how it was explained to me. With consumerism coming to India in a big way, there were a lot of "deals" to be found. Ads like "90% off", "Buy 1 get 5 Free" made it difficult for the consumer to figure out what was a good value from what was just a gimmick - the manufacturer just coming up with a phoney MSRP just so that they can give these amazing looking discounts. Often these "discounted" prices were higher than the normal price from another manufacturer. Stop this bullshit said the courts and stop confusing the consumer. You can offer the ridiculous deals if you want to, but you will pay a price for it; the excise tax paid by the manufacturer will be on your inflated MSRP.

Now I am pretty sure it was not the Court that came up with this mechanism of charging excise, for that is not the role of the judiciary. The might have just made a ruling on a case brought up by the Excise department, but the nonetheless it resulted in a win for the consumer. I am not even sure that any of it is even true. However, what I found fascinating the respect and reverence for the courts. It was an optimism about the "system", that was missing a decade ago. The story, even if it was made up, reflected a belief that things are getting better.

Satya to the rescuse

I was barely done with my morning run and ironing episode when a high school friend, Satya, pinged me on IM. It turns out, he and his wife were in a guest house in the same colony, just 2 streets down. I knew that he too had moved to Hyderabad a little less than a month ago, but to find him living just 2 streets away was a very pleasant surprise.

10 minutes after the IM, he was at my guest house with Matilda and Xena, who looked as healthy as ever. If anything the pups had added a little padding on their trip from San Diego; or maybe it was the Indian hospitality that had done it's magic in less than a month.

The dogs greeted me with great enthusiasm. After the initial jumping and licking, Xena went about doing her own thing and Matilda's ADD (Attention Demanding Disorder) kicked in. She'll stand perfectly still as long as you keep petting her, but heaven forbid you stop for a moment. I was really surprised to see that they recognized me. Satya brought me down to earth by telling me that they meet every stranger with the same enthusiasm. Thanks man!

We hung out again in the evening. Saw his new place, which given the lack of neighbors has definite badminton potential. Two poles and a few hydrogen lamps and I can see a lot of badminton being played here along with any other games we come up with, just like we used to when we were younger.

Upon returning to the guest house, we played pool and carrom board while we waited for his wife Nayna, who was still at work (she works too hard and something will soon need to be done about that). I was terrible at both games but I blamed the performance on the jet lag and vouched that I would soon have my revenge.

We did do to a place called Chutney (I think) for some South India food, but I don't remember much more of the evening as I was literally falling asleep. Will need to go there again to really find out how good it is.

Thus ended a long first day in Hyderabad, with Cinderella turning in well before midnight. It was an eventful, busy day and I was glad that there was at least one familiar face to see me through it. Thanks Satya!

I found my 'jugaar'

As I opened my suitcase (piece 1 of 2 according to the customs officer), it was evident that my clothes, having traveled some 10,000 miles, were showing sign of fatigue that is to be expected after such a long and arduous journey. They were is no shape to go out like this. What they needed was a quick ironing.

The guest house does provide a free laundry and ironing service, and while this was clearly the way to go in the long run, the turn around time of two days did create a dilemma for day one and two. The staff, equipped for every eventuality but a guest wanting to do his own ironing, scurried around in search of an iron, and 10 minutes later produced a pretty impressive looking Black and Decker steam press.

The turban of the day, a sickly blue from years of washing, was folded into multiple layers and then spread over the computer desk to form the ironing board. The steam press worked like a charm, until that is, it started leaving large spots of water behind. My iron had a sprung a leak. Did I say leak, it was in fact more like it's anagram, a lake, that better describes the collection of water right around the spot where the iron was resting on the table while I tended to the fashion emergency.

As I used the heat to get rid of one water stain, a larger one started to form approximately one iron length away. Within minutes my khaki had been transformed. Large water spots all over the pants would not only leave the wearer soaked to his bone, but also convince any observer that I had had an accident. I could already picture myself standing in the middle of the street, shouting out my defense that no one was interested in; "It's no accident this. It was the iron, I swear."

Just when it seemed that all was lost, my Indian-ness returned to me. The Hussain Sagar Lake that had formed on the table was quickly soaked up by the bathroom towel and the lake's source was headed straight towards the bathroom. There, in the sink, as every last drop of water was being drained from it, a word came to my mind - jugaar. In India, nothing is ever broken, it just needs a jugaar (a fix). If the iron has sprung a leak, you don't buy a new iron, you find a way around it; you find a jugaar. There was still enough water left in those pants and as long as this iron no longer had any water, I could still use it as a steam press. I had just found a juggar.

Never ask an Indian for directions (or distance)

The first morning in Hyderabad came with the realization that I had forgotten a lot about India and there was a lot of relearning that would happen over the next few weeks. I woke up, still jet lagged, around 6 in the morning. Buoyed by the fact that I had managed to get 4 hours of sleep, I decided to get some exercise. After 10 minutes of trying to plug-in the stationary bike at the guest house gym, I ended the futility by deciding to go for a run.

It was a beautiful, warm morning, and not a spot of cloud in the sky. I was out in a T-shirt and shorts towards the end of January; why in the world had I wanted to run indoors. As I headed out the iron gates of the guest house, I asked our security guard, a teddy bear of a man called Sri, if there was a park around. His answer was the traditional South Indian head bob followed the words "Yes sir, 500 meters, straight sir"

About the only essential I had decided to carry with me rather than get it shipped from the US, my white running shoes, started pounding the paved road with the confidence. Clearly this pair knew what it was doing; they somehow knew these roads, this must be their hometown. The only thing that cast a doubt over this shoes from Hyderabad theory was the fact the blue Nike symbol matched perfectly with my blue "Ithaca is Gorges" T-shirt, which RJ had picked up for me on his last recruiting trip to Ithaca. But honestly how many people here know that and who was paying that much attention anyway.

(The discerning and knowing reader may have noticed that some people's name have been changed. After all this is public domain and using alternate names will not only help protected their identity but also provide me with the luxury of shamelessly crossing the boundaries between fact and fiction. I'll be using alternate names for most people, but you know who you are. I just hope I keep it all straight.)

But I digress; back to the story. Having run for what must have been about a kilometer, I realized there was still no sign of the park. The road was getting wider and busier, and it merged into an even bigger roadway. This should have been a warning sign but my brain, still reeling from the effects of the jet lag, was determined to find the damn park. The legs were starting to mumble something under their breath but the captain disregarded all concerns and decided to plow on through.

A little farther in the run, I passed by a place with a huge Tex-Mex sign. Day one and I was already craving Mexican food. The place looked pretty run down though. Whether this was an attempt at authenticity or an added flavor of the old West, I don't know, but I wasn't going to find out on day one; a couple of weeks later maybe, after my stomach is a bit more acclimatised.

With still no sign of the park, the captain too was starting to get worried. After all there is only so much the crew will take before land must be sighted. A stop was made to ask for directions and distance. Another head bob and another 500 meters came the prompt reply. Two more inquiries later the captain was beginning to lose control, rebellion seemed imminent. This time however, I decided to ask a more reliable source. A man, sweating, presumably from running, was a much better source than the idiots I had asked for directions so far. He increased the distance to the park to 1 kilometer, which I was more inclined to believe, if for no other reason than the fact that it was not 500 meters.

A parking lot, a gate, and then a red clay pathway soon made an appearance. I was finally on the right track and off the main road. People, of mostly the rotund variety, were out for their morning walk. Well, walk is a bit of an exaggeration, it was more of a gentle amble. Why exert yourself seemed to be the motto here. There were aunties in white sneakers and ornate saris which was a clear indication that they were on their way to a wedding ceremony -- the park just happened to be on the way; a few youngsters in branded jogging suits who clearly knew what they were doing; and surprisingly no dogs. Note to self: Need to find out why there were no dogs - this is South India not South Korea.

I decided to follow the most interesting character of the lot - the man in the monkey cap. I was soon rewarded for my decision with a sign that read "KBR Park, Main Entrance, 800 meters". 800 meters later and almost out of gas, I arrived at the grand entrance of the park, which I discovered, to my great surprise, is also a National Park. It said so on the board - Kasu B-something Reddy National Park. Just as my excitement had reached it's peak, a blue sign dashed my dream in an instant. There was a membership fee to get into this park. 600 Rupees for 6 months and 200 for a monthly pass. I didn't have my wallet on me, coz honestly, how often are you asked to pay toll on a run. This running expedition was over.

I ambled back to the guest house as fast as my tired and unmotivated legs would carry me, gave the guard a dirty look on arrival, and went upstairs to get ready for work, armed with a valuable lesson - never ask a man on the street for how far some place is. The answer will invariably be a work of fiction or a wildly inaccurate approximation.

Customs on arrival was a joke

My first reaction on arriving at Hyderabad International Airport, "Oh God, I took the wrong flight from Frankfurt. I think this is Kampala -- in the 1980s". Agreed, I was never in Uganda in the 1980s, but I am pretty sure this is what it would have felt like. For a city know for high tech, the airport was as low tech as it gets. The advertisment for Satyam being the official IT partner of the FIFA world cup was the only sign that I was in the right city.

Having said all that, the arrival into Hyderabad was fairly smooth, with none of the problems people had warned me about. The customs official looked at me, then at my passport, then my bags and commented "Sardarji, come from US in 1 piece, but baggage 2 piece". I obliged with a a hearty laugh, and he returned the favor by waving me though the green channel. That was Lesson No. 1 - laughing at jokes by customs officials makes for a much easier time through the green channel.

My driver, a soft spoken young man named Zameer, was already waiting for me. I tried to help him load my bags, but he would have none of it. I felt a little guilty about letting this scrawny little man lift these bags that I had some 24 hours earlier filled with all the rocks I could find in the Bay Area, but I was too tired to protest and my back was too thankful that he was there to load them into the car.

It took us 20 minutes to get to the lovely guest house (more on that later). Disguised as discussions about accommodations in the city, a flyover accident last year, and his Urdu medium education, I brushed up on my Hindi conversation skills. As I hit the pillow, still thinking about our conversation, I cold hear a voice in my head say "Yup, still got it".