We're living in the embassy district, with the embassies of China, Russia, Bulgaria, Germany, Thailand, and Saudi Arabia (pictured) nearby.  They are all multi-hectare plots walled and gardened.  The American Embassy has a pool, bowling alley, a couple of bars and restaurants, an espresso bar (where you can view the Olymics from the American perspective), and a grocery store.  It's also a hangout for teens and happy hour teachers seeking burgers and camraderie.  It's pretty happening on a Friday evening.  As faculty of AES, we can shop at the commisary in the embassy, but we're not allowed to purchase the tax free alcohol.  The Russians have filled a nitch here in a relatively 'dry' country by providing a black market booze delivery service.  Make a quick call, and they are at the door in 10 minutes.  

The other scenes are of our neighborhood.  The garden is the one across the street from our place.  I figured out why it's kept so trimmed and pristine, unlike several of the other gardens around us, which are lovely green spaces, but refuse and untended plants and pathways are typical.  One evening, the elderly Mr Singh introduced himself during his ritualistic stroll. He was very approving that I was Canadian, as he has many friends there, and has made several visits. At 84, the most traveling he does now, he explained, is around this park.  He proceeded to name many species of birds and flowers, as if it were his own private garden.  He has introduced himself to me three times now, as he suffers a bit from Alzheimers.  Each time I learn a little more about the local flora and fauna, and each time I'm affirmed for being Canadian.   I wonder if I told him I'm American how the lesson would go. Anyway, I learned that he was a senator for 7 years, and as such, has the government catering to him for the rest of his life, including the care of his favorite garden.  He is driven around in the traditional white Indian-made Ambassador, a reliable car whose styling hasn't altered since the the 1950s.  They are everywhere in this sector of the city, as we are only moments away from the monumental parliament and government ministries.  Government chaps are well looked after, assures our neighbor Sagar.

We enjoy walking to school each day, barely a five minute venture, and we've all become quite adept at dodging traffic at the one intersection we have to cross.  AES has hired a crossing guard, but his hours seem patchy, and no one pays any attention to him anyway.  We simply time it so that we all get over to the median safely, take a breath and go for the final dash.  We used to run across, then jog, now we stride without breaking our pace, timing it like all the others to slip behind the speeding cars and ahead of the three wheeled taxis and motorcycles.  Middle class school children in ironed pink and gray uniforms meet us on the way to their own schools in our neighborhood.  They're walking, or if very young, riding on the bar of their families' servants' bicycles. Wealthy executives from the Norwegian, Israeli, Korean, and Italian corporations (my students) have their children dropped off at AES by their drivers in luxury sedans and four wheel drives. And the very poor children enter the rear gate of the school walking in barefeet to accompany their mothers as they head to their jobs of carrying bricks and mortar on their heads for the construction of the new high school facility. All classes converge at this crossroads.

Evan turned 15 yesterday.  I was worried about having a party, since he would have been in a new school only a couple of weeks, and he wouldn't really have enough friends to constitute a real party.  But we went ahead and planned a pool party at AES, catered by the cafeteria.  It has been downpouring lately, but Saturday was a sunny, balmy day.  Craig and I were worried though - what if only one or two kids show up?  Well, twenty-four came!  Talk about your friendly, accepting crowd, and from so many different countries.  

Often birthday parties around here involve an elephant.  You can hire an elephant to come for rides for about $50.  We knew Evan would love that, but apparently it is like having a clown at your party -  it isn't done after a certain age.  It isn't uncommon here to spot elephants on the street dressed in full regalia on their way to entertain at parties.  

Household Help and Indian Independence

This is Deepa, our cook, cleaner, and laundresse.  These jobs are usually highly specialized and we'd be expected to hire one each.  For example, when many plants I had purchased arrived at our home, Deepa inquired when I would be hiring a gardener.  But managing a household of workers has little appeal for me and others, and we are expecting more and paying more.  Deepa currently earns approximately $165/month, working 6 days a week, 8 hours a day.  She travels 90 minutes to work and takes 3 buses to get here.  She takes holidays: Today is Indian Independence Day, so she won't be coming today nor tomorrow. She decides on the menu for the week, goes to the market, and prepares our evening meal.  So far it's been a lot of chicken and dal, but this week she made a curry lamb dish that was wonderful.  I'm pleased with anything someone prepares for me at the end of the day, however Craig and Evan have been less than enthusiastic some days. As far as I'm concerned, ironed shirts, clean floors, made beds, and a warm meal everyday....she is my goddess.

Indian Independence Day doesn't get too many people excited: It's too hot and rainy for parades so the only ceremony is the Prime Minister unfurling the flag atop the Red Fort, the old mogul fort in Old Delhi, where it was first unfurled 60 years ago.  There will be a televised 'state of the nation' speech, and Delhiites will escape the city for the long weekend. However, AES (American Embassy School) invites classical dancers from the Punjab each year to put on a performance in the school gym. At the end of their 40 minute show, they invited everyone to 

join them on the floor and it was quite a party. 

This morning I got up early to get some milk down the street at our little neighborhood dairy, "Mother Dairy", where you can buy raw milk and fill your own can.  It's also the local hangout for the lower working class in the area - the dairy bar. The stuff is pretty delicious, though most of the expat community wouldn't know that because they steer clear.  But I had breakfast with Sagar, my landlord, who provided samosas grilled like a croque monsieur, a bowl of oatmeal with fresh papaya alongwith several other fruits, a cup of delectable tea, and of course a big glass of creamy unpasteurized milk. And all this when I had just dropped in. He later took me and his house guest Kojima-san, the Japanese professor, to his favorite fresh produce vendor, and schooled us in what fair prices ought to resemble. Three mango for 35 rupees, about 25 cents each.  One kilo of tomatoes, about a dollar.  It's understood that foreigners should pay a premium, but not 'get fleeced' as Sagar contends. 

I've eaten irresistible street food and am brushing my teeth with tap water.  Hence I'm considered to be living in a high risk zone.  But I also rub shoulders with locals who twitter at the expats' precautions.  Their glowing skin and hair seems affirmation that whatever is in the water is okay by them.  I've also come to learn that these instructional assistants, one for every teacher, are often just as well-educated as the foreign hires, but get a fraction of the pay and benefits. They are mostly grateful, as am I, to be working in such a wonderful facility, but they gracefully acknowledge the inequity. 

Below are a couple of shots of my neighborhood, one of the poshest in Delhi, with typical rents for a two bedroom in excess of $3000/month, and several tony restaurants just a block away from us. My apartment as seen from the park across the lane - ours is on the second floor, or 'first floor' here. It's a lovely leafy green place, yet there is garbage strewn at every crossroad, and broken concrete piles, meandering dogs and cats and barefoot children.  The exhortation to USE ME written on garbage cans in the diplomatic core seem petulant and hopeless, when more garbage surrounds the can than has actually found its way in. But just as often flower petals strewn my path, and scents of jasmine are still more common than putrid ones. 

We're easing into the place more and more.  

So we finally visited the centre of New Delhi, Connaught Place - a grand circle of grand edifices forming concentric circles around a huge park underwhich the new metro is being constructed. Each block has a 'verandah' with doric columns and endless variety and quality of shops. There's a Nike or Reebok store on every block, United Benneton and the like, but interspersed are shops run by families for generations - interesting little holes in the wall: some literally. Check out the shot of the 'book shop' - the seller perched precariously atop stacks of his wares. Don't let the appearance dissuade you: there were great titles at great prices. The Baskin Robbins was no way paying franchise fees, and the ice cream was much better! The ice creams sellers are ubiquitous here, and the stuff is fresh and creamy. Fantastic chocolate too, also fresh - must be refrigerated or will melt in front of you.