Carpet Party

First carpet Party tonight at the director's lovely home, which is like a museum of his world travels.  Bob Hetzel invited Mr. Khan, whose family has been in the business of traveling and collecting carpets from Afghanistan, Uzbechistan, and Iran for generations, to show the newbies some prizes: silk, wool, cotton - beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.  This large one is now in our living room, and the stack of carpets I'm sitting on are distributed throughout our home. 

We spent an earlier part of the day crushed in a room full of foreigners seeking visas from the Dept of Immigration.  We were shoulder to shoulder with the kin of the people who made these carpets, as well from a plethora of other nations.  The traditional garb, the facial features, the languages and gestures - it was a feast during which I sat transfixed for three hours.  There were peoples from the west and Asia and places I'm not sure I could find on a map.  Indians themselves are so diverse, they so easily absorb all us foreigners.  We feel so welcome, but unnecessary.

Mr. Sagar Laroya, Lt. Col Indian Navy (Ret'd)

This is the name of our landlord as it appears on the brass nameplate at the entrance to his lovely garden.  Each morning he put out birdseed and lingers in the garden, sometimes wandering into the  street to talk to neighbors.  There are several elderly men who take walks in their salmar kalmeez and others who jog in the park.  Sagar (he asked us to call him by his first name) invites us for salty lime or sweet lime soda, and he tells us everything we need to know.  His house guest, Profesor Kajima, an economist researching transport and communication her, also joins.  Sagar  told us he just barely survived the Partition of 1947.  His parents had both died when he was young and he was leaving the Punjab with his uncle by convoy, heading to Delhi, when their truck broke down and blocked the following vehicles.  Those ahead continued, and where the road forked around Lahore, they went north.  Later, when the truck was repaired they proceeded south around Lahore.  When they reached the meeting place, no one was there. The convoy had been attacked and every man, woman and child was killed - over 2,000 people.  Sagar's uncle eventually built this house, in 1952, when the place was still jungle.  His wife died 22 years ago from cancer, and today he volunteers his time at hospitals giving comfort to the dying. He is an elegant, articulate gentleman, and I've wiled several interesting hours listening to his stories. 

July 29, 2008

We had to go to a doctor's appointment today, and just like in Canada, the wait was long but the cost inexpensive, about $30. The facilities in the area were top rate, some construction being done by ladies in saris while their children hung out nearby, right on the road side.  We stopped by an upscale market for a meal on the way home, this time Lebanese.  We've had great Asian, South Indian, Punjabi and other tastes, and even the cafeteria at school has wonderful local food, but this was a dive.  It was a hip and cool place for young adults to smoke the hookah, which Evan thought was pretty interesting.   The market was full of expensive shops, even by US standards, and full of cows as well. We stopped by a pharmacy to pick up hand-sanitizer, and the salesperson wanted to sell us a small delicate amount for $24, until I said the brand name of an aruyvedic product recommended by an Indian colleague: it was only 35 rupees: about 80 cents.  Our taxi cab was not air conditioned, but with the windows down, and little traffic, it is quite tolerable, despite the 35 degree temps.  It turns out we've had this same taxi driver three times, and each time he goes to restart, the dear old car doesn't want to turn over. It seems a peculiar site to wandering passersby, these three foreigners sitting in an old jalopy.  But this driver is so competent in what seems impossible driving conditions, weaving bare millimeters around traffic, and he waits for us for hours at a time.  I know there's a lot more out there like him, with AC and engines that work, but it brings a wry smile to my face when he is the one who shows up at the curb. 

  The American Embassy School has been providing trips for shopping and sightseeing. Here Evan is exploring a market with new friends newbies like him.  One highlight was seeing an elephant on the road enroute to the Gandhi Memorial - pictured here is the eternal flame.  People from everywhere in the world come, and everyone enters barefoot. 

The Arts and Crafts Museum has an extensive collection representing every state of India, every medium.  There's been parties with wonderful foods almost everyday - yeah , we've skipped a few in order to retreat to our 'enclave', which is feeling more like home everyday.  

The apartment seemed barren and sterile when we first arrived,  scantily furnished with school-issue.  We are to have everything upholstered (every two years) and curtains made.  I've managed so far to pick up a few swatches of fabric, but so far have hired no upholsterers.  They apparently come and sit in your house for 3 days or so. There's been others traipsing through as well: installing electrical back up and finishing installation of  air conditioners and appliances.  Where one or two might come for an hour or so in North America, three or four show up for hours.  

We arrived at 2am to be greeted with wreaths of flowers and whisked off without delay to our apartment in the Diplomatic Enclave.  It seemed stark and empty, just the school issued furniture and basics, but flowers lined the stairway: traditional cele