Having just opened an account with one of those "social networking" sites, I was reminded about the importance of written expression. And that it made no sense at all to write fragments here and there when all you really write are fragments anyway - yes, it makes sense to me...
By the looks of this blog, 2009 was a down year. And indeed it was. The rollercoaster of job, life, health and personal self-expression dance in independent yet confluent ways. 2009 was just such a year. On top of this, the guilt of visiting the page and seeing the empty space; the lack of time to express more than sound bites; and the dreaded fear of the blank page... All can get too big - too powerful.
I've never been a real diary type guy. Indeed I was always attracted to the tools of the trade: the stationary, the pens, the bound journals. But in the end, the only ones that have persisted have been those associated with work or a log I keep with my computer. The former to be able to avoid the endless scraps of paper which people use to take notes during meetings - my solution was to find "journals" like those we were taught to use in engineering school. Here in India, paper products are pretty good and I found some perfect-bound 500 page lined journals that fit the bill well. As for the latter, with age and increasing complexity comes the frequeny question: "How did I do that?". My answer has been to use a book that I keep in the home office so that I can write down how I installed the content filtering system to prevent my child from the big bad wolves of the internet, what was the esoteric command I used to compare files, etc.
Of course, in the end it is not only getting the tools right and finding the time, but most importantly stumbling upon the inspiration to feel compelled to write something.
Part of my "transition solution" to moving from Switzerland to India was to bring the smallest, most "value dense", "comfort-oriented" material that I could put together so that I could "feel at home" in what promised to be a very foreign land. We were not moving house, so to speak; rather temporarily relocating the family to embark upon an adventure. My survival kit consisted of, inter alia, my wife's laptop, a 500GB hard drive with all our music and a wireless MP3 music player. Once in India, all I needed to purchase would be a wireless router and eventually a desktop and - obviously - speakers.
Within two days of arrival I had snatched an apartment; and by Saturday morning my boss picked me up at the hotel and drove me to install myself in my new place. On the way we passed by Khahn Market - an up-scale market in an up-scale part of the city. Consider it part of the obligatory ex-pat "tour de ville" to identify those isles of western civilization where I could get things like European cheeses, meats, peanut butter, olive oil, imported coffee, chocolate and all sorts of food products NOT "contaminated" with Indian spices. Believe it or not, many western brands are "adapted" to the local tastes which can be a real shock especially if you are desperate for comfort. I will always remember the time I purchase some Act I popcorn only to find out that it was laced with hot peppers, paprika and curry... Poah...
As we passed store after store of western goods, I spotted an electronics shop that had a JBL Creature II speaker in the window. The Creature II has to be one of the nicest sounding computer speakers for under $150. I was already a devoted follower, having already purchased three of these little marvels in Switzerland. Matched with a music source (preferably a wireless MP3 player), you have a instant, reasonable quality music point wherever you can get the power and signal. I knew what I had to do and quickly made my purchase. Now I must have made an impression on the boss - I mean my first priority (even before toilet paper) was to pick up speakers?! Indeed these speakers are so good at what they do that several colleagues have followed my lead and purchased their own, indicating they have "transformed their listening".
One year on and three more JBL Creature II's in my possession (though not comparable to the Dynaudio Contours aminated by Krell amplification that I was used to) I felt we were nonetheless is pretty good shape acoustic-entertainment point of view. That was until I went into a clothing store in Vasant Vihar which had what was arguable the best in-store music systems I've ever heard. B..O..S..E..
Now I had visited the BOSE store in New Delhi. And I did the "demonstration" - it brought tears to my eyes. No doubt as much due to the carefully designed demo film as much as the sound of the music. Compelling, until I saw the prices of the top-end systems in India. At almost double the price of that in the US, one effectively would be purchasing one audio system for oneself and one set for the Indian tax man. No thank you. That was until I went to the clothing store.
The store had what appeared to be four Acoustimass 5 III systems running in parallel - two downstairs (front and rear) and the same upstairs. Believe it or not, the sound was so good that it didn't bother me a bit that my wife was shopping.
So this weekend, with the family off for the hot and humid Indian summer I had to go out and get the Bose Acoustimass 5 III speakers. I know their not audiophile quality, but their not audiophile priced nor do they require a Krell/Goldmund/Carver or other similar amplifier. And, most importantly, my wife will like them as they are visually minimalist. According to some ravers on the web, they could have been sonically "minimal" too - but fortunately not. In the Bose store they sounded excellent. But make no mistake, these are "I want to listen to music and live" type speakers; not "I want to listen and hear the breathing of the players in the orchestra".
They need an amp and Bose does not like selling their amps unless you purchase a very expensive system from them. One system for you; one for the tax man. Fuck that.
My solution was to go to Lajpat Rai - the local electronics neighborhood - and try to pick up an amp. Ideally, I wanted a minimalist tube amp, but the high-end audio market is virtually nonexistent in Delhi. Even finding an integrated amp is difficult and expensive. So I decided I was looking in the wrong places. Lajpat Rai was a good candidate spot to look. Furthermore, it would be my first venture into Old Delhi. My wife refused to ever go with me to Old Delhi. It has to be the most dense parts of the city and is filled with panhandlers, beggars, hucksters, people wanting to help you and to be your friend. As I'm an American, I was born looking like a tourist, so I would have to go it alone. No better time.
I counted about 30 seconds I was "on the ground" (i.e., outside the protection of my car) than a little street girl came up and started asking for money for food. I've graduated to the stage of virtually ignoring this type of activity. The girl was persistent and followed me through the twisting passages, narrow alleys and small streets that make up the electronics market in Old Delhi. She said "watch out" when I approached a ladder; and when I looked at her, she said "car that way" as she pointed in a direction that I would not have intuitively attributed to the location of my vehicle. And it was in this gesture that she got herself a job. If I was going to really explore the market, I did not want to have to pay attention to where I was going, so her job was to help me find my car.
Over the next hour I sized up about 50 stores and another 50 stalls and entered some 10-15. Finally I settled on this one store with amplifiers. Indeed many of the stores carried amplifiers. Pretty much all locally assembled in the same factory but with different labeling. The big choice: transistor vs. IC. Transistor models were more expensive than the integrated circuit models. Since I wanted to push power out, I opted for the transistor model. Cheap components, potentiometers that stick, cases that don't fit quite right - take your pick. I had the fellow fire up two models and finally opted for the one with the larger transformer. It cost about USD 31 and sounds OK. Of course when the music gets complex, the amp produces the sonic equivalent of oatmeal. But thankfully techno is forgiving... By the way, the Bose speakers sound just fine ;-)
Well, after some four months of sitting on the fence about what kind of car to get, we finally bought our Ambi. Her name is "Betty" - short for "betty, betty good, Sir." You can figure it out.
Four months - it's a long time. But the choices are several and, of course, there was the peer pressure of virtually all my colleagues owning India Scorpios - a rather popular 4x4 (well, virtually all of them are 2x4, but that's not what counts). On Indian roads, size counts for alot.
That's what Peter told me when he was giving me advice about the challenges of bicycle riding in New Delhi. "They don't look behind." I didn't quite get it. I heard the words; I thought I understood.
But there is nothing like a first-hand, visceral experience to crystallize the intellectualisms into something pure and understandable - something that you just know. Like "Duh - now I get it!"
This is what happened when I took the wheel for the first time in India. We had been looking for a vehicle to purchase and I had gone for "test rides" as a passenger. But even though the price of taxis is probably as low as it can get anywhere, the desire to get out of the city and drive is starting to catch up with me. Also, taking taxis all the time does have it's drawbacks. Each time a new driver. Will it be "the Zen master" (quite, careful driver, never available); or will it be "grumpy old man" who only speaks Hindi and never knows where anything is; or will it be "Suicide Sanjeeb on Speed and Chew" a young driver who's naturally aggressive driving habits, amplified by lack of sleep and addiction to chewing tobacco, made it so that the taxi company never send him out alone - that is until he became our de facto daily chauffeur.
Alternatively there are other concerns in a driver so important that you may not wish leave to chance. For instance, will the driver have his pants on? This is no joke - it happened. Thank God my daughter still prefers to speak in French. As we were sitting in the back seat of the cab, Laodice piped up and laughed "Regarde maman, le monsieur n'a pas de pantalones!" After living in India for a couple of months you no longer questions these things - kinda like "Oh, of course, today is a no pants day." The reason is believe it or not quite explicable and, viewed from the "India perspective" not unexpected. It lies in the fact that the majority of these fellows live at their respective taxi stand under make-shift lean-tos and on traditional Indian farmer beds. Washing, cleaning and toilet facilities are about as sophisticated as they are in your favorite rustic camp site. And just forget about that "wardrobe space" - just does not exist. So what does a working fellow do when he has to wash his pants?
All this means that, cost of transport apart, there are other considerations that strongly favour (1) having your own vehicle and (2) a good, courteous driver - with a superior command of the English language; and (3) a pair of pants.
We are at step 1: getting the car.
So, our first test drive was on a Mahindra Bolero. A cheap Jeep-like vehicle with high ground clearance and a price tag that won't make you cry when the car gets its first nick, scratch, dent, etc. I say cheap because in addition to being inexpensive, it is cheap. Not luxurious, but all-Indian, easy to repair and supposedly rugged. However, the finishing touches are indeed "cheap"; the a/c only barely adequate and the radio probably not worth it - best to put in one's own. But then these are the reasons to take a test drive.
So off we went to test drive the car. The salesman took a fellow with us and he drove to get some fuel. Just afterwards it was my turn to drive. Now you have to understand that I've never driven on the left-side of the road. But that is really only a minor issue when it comes to driving in Delhi. You see, driving in India is like a dance of mutual adjustment and ego management - Brownian motion in action but not with molecules but with heavy metal vehicles, dancing in the less than perfect Delhi streets along with other vehicles, motor cycles, scooters, bicycles, motor rickshaws, bicycle rickshaws, tractors, people, horses, camels, cows, sheep, goats, elephants, donkeys (and I'm just talking about what I've seen in Delhi) - trust me - it gets "better" when you leave the city.
Of course what you can't miss, as a western driver, when you take the wheel is the fact that the side-view mirrors are folded up. This is so they don't get torn off by passing vehicles. Indeed on a "good" traffic day, two lane divided roadway (with a breakdown lane) fits anywhere from 4-6 vehicles across. I now know why the Indian's like the cars with sliding doors - you just can't get out of your car when stopped in average Delhi traffic. If there was enough space, it would be quickly filled with a scooter or motor cycle or whatever vehicle or animal would fit. Hence, the folded side-view mirrors.
The next experience I had was navigating in the flow of traffic. You see, unlike in Europe and North America people tend to stay in their lanes - a concept the Indian's refer to as "lane discipline". In India the concept exists but the practice does not. You find this out quite shortly after driving in the streets. This is where the mutual adjustment comes in - and it is awesome. What I mean to say is that Indian drivers are probably the most responsive and careful that I've seen. I'm not kidding. To be able to drive the way they do (i.e., no "lane discipline") with anything less than major road accidents is nothing short of a miracle. I know that all the cars are banged to hell, but would you expect any less?
Anyway, the point is that either Indian brains are evolutionarily adapted to sophisticated and challenging driving conditions or they are like the rest of us and they make sacrifices elsewhere. I believe the answer lies in the latter - they just do not use the rear-view and side view mirrors like we in the West do. Indeed all their attention is forward and to about 45 degrees to straight ahead. This focus allows them to successfully navigate in the "flow" (a.k.a. chaos) that is Indian road traffic.
As for the Bolero, we found it too "cheap" a car and kept on looking. And looking forward to the next test drive.
It's a little after 11:00 am on a Sunday morning here in Delhi. I've put on some music to listen to whilst playing cards with the little one. Bébé Lily (one or my daughter's favorites) has been repeating for the last hour or so. As my daughter is now watching Sunday morning cartoons (OK they are 24-sur-24 here on the Cartoon Network). Yet another impact of globalization on our former cultural references... So, I'm now checking updating some photos, checking e-mails and wanting to listen to something different; time for a change...
I start to browse the Squeezebox web menu for the what music we have available. Unfortunately, since I've now got the system setup on a Linux workstation, I've not yet quite figured out how to get the library to be recognized like it was under Window$.
So, that means I have to browse the music folder for the CDs we have. I've organized our CDs by artist - alphabetic order. First page pops up and Captain Beefheart catches my eye. I have Trout Mask Replica. If there was ever a Captain Beefheart album to have, it's this one. Just ask Roger.
Anyway, I put this on and continued reading e-mails and getting photos in order. And then it happened. It slipped out of the air, into my ears and struck my brain. It was clear. If there was ever a place where this music "fit in" (if Captain Beefheart can fit in anywhere) it would be here - in Delhi. I can't explain it. I just know it. Like a philosopher who proves that a concept is innate, a priori, I know Captain Beefheart was made for Delhi.
Kathmandu is a much cooler place than Delhi. Even though it is raining, I'm immediately attracted by the cooler temperature, the more human scale of things (only 3m people vs 16m for Delhi). The buildings are quainter. I have not yet seen one person urinate in public - and I've been here for three days. There appear to be lots of quaint little shops scattered here and there. And... The surrounding mountains (even through largely blocked by clouds) look inviting. Such in the initial impression of Kathmandu.
After three days, I ready to leave. Student protests are planned for the day of departure. We had planned on leaving shortly after noontime; however, our colleagues listening to the radio confirm that the altercations between student groups are heating up and it is decided best to leave for the airport as soon as possible...
We leave the safety of the office compound and we find police at intersections with rifles and canes. We move on further and the road is "blocked" with tires burning in the streets. There are lots of people in the streets - many with bandanas covering their faces; some are menacing passers-by and vehicules with rocks and bottles with an unspecified clear liquid inside.
We're in a convoy of three vehicules heading out of the center of town towards the airport - the most barricaded route. This is the big "au revoir" from Kathmandu.
As I see a rock hurrled at the lead vehicule, I'm hoping that we get out of the city without incident.
I'm also hoping that the flight to Delhi is not cancelled; otherwise we may have to return on the same route back to the hotel in the city-center to stay the night until we can take the next day flight.
At last in the safety of the airport, we wait... Flight delayed... Finally... we board... we take-off...
Being in a new environment gives a certain space for reflection and discovery. After almost two weeks in Delhi and I am now sure of :
1) my deep appreciation of the lady or gentleman who invented toilet paper; 2) I want to buy a 4x4 with good suspension; 3) why Western society is losing its "brain work" to outsourced contracts in India; 4) that 30°C can actually feel cool
Having just opened an account with one of those "social networking" sites, I was reminded about the importance of written expression. And that it made no sense at all to write fragments here and there when all you really write are fragments anyway - yes, it makes sense to me...
