As many of you know, I had a butler while living in Delhi. His name is James Xavier. Having a butler is one of the more outrageous things I’ve experienced. As an American, one of my main points of reference for butlers is from the Seinfeld episode when George and Jerry pitch their sitcom idea to network execs. In George and Jerry’s show, a judge sentences a man who has hit Jerry’s car to be his butler. It’s unusual to think of butlers in America. To be fair, many Americans have hired “help” in the US, but very few people have a “butler.”

I hired James on a full-time basis, and it was a great decision in terms of improving my time in India. James cooked amazing, spicy Indian food, cleaned, did laundry, worked as my personal Hindi translator, ran errands and most importantly, ALWAYS had my back.

Arguing and haggling is a way of life in India. Some arguments, as was the case with my landlord, extend beyond a single person and manage to include entire families. I can be pretty persuasive, but I’m no match when it comes to negotiating with seven people born into three different generations. No match, that is, until I enlisted James’ help. Every time I got into a rickshaw with James, I started to negotiate. One of the worst parts of traveling around Delhi is dealing with rickshaw drivers. You are almost always forced to argue with the driver, insisting that he use the meter, something that he (and it is always a man) is already legally required to do. James played good cop to my bad cop.

I would typically stand over the rickshaw driver and give him the Johnson Treatment, while James reasoned with him in Hindi. I’d come to each negotiation guns blazin’, yelling something to the effect of, ‘You are shaming your entire family by trying to cheat me.’ Then James would pipe in with, ‘You are cheat! This man is cheat!’ He would yell a little more in Hindi, and then we’d get a fair price.

At other times, when I needed a pick-me-up, James was always there to agree with me, regardless of what he thought. A great example was how I tolerated (or rather, didn’t at all) the heat. Every morning, I would wake up, take a shower and have my coffee outside on my porch. Generally, I would start to walk outside before being hit by a massive wave of choking heat. I’d yell out, ‘OH MY GOD, IT IS SO F***ING HOT HERE.’ James would then come out with my coffee, agreeing faithfully, ‘SO HOT, SO F***ING HOT Mr. Rob.’ If I ever confided to him that someone was being very friendly or perhaps being a jerk, James was always there to agree with me.

I love spicy food and to my surprise, the food in India (or Thailand) was not all that spicy. I sent James to a special Western market to get Frank’s Hot Sauce, my personal condiment of choice. He would always compliment me by saying how brave I was and how I was a very special person for eating such ‘chilly chilly food.’ James had cooked for a number of Europeans before working with me and assumed that Westerners didn’t eat spicy food. He was afraid to add spices, because he thought I would get upset with him.

I didn’t exactly need a person to help me on a full-time basis, but I wanted to make sure that James was around to translate as situations presented themselves. This left James with a lot of free time. At the beginning, he would occupy his time by pretending to do work or by simply relearning things. After insisting a hundred times to him that he was welcome to do whatever he wanted if he didn’t have work to do, he finally started to listen. At first James would make himself Chai and hang out on my living room couch, reading his Bible. If I didn’t mention it, James was a devout God-fearing Christian, not a Hindu. Later, after he realized that he had what he described as a ‘job like dream,’ he began to occupy himself by preening and grooming in front of the mirror. He did this for hours at a time. I learned that if I needed James, I should first look to the mirror in my bedroom, then to the mirror in the hall bathroom. James Xavier, the butler, loved looking at himself.

Once I decided to leave Delhi, I honored my promise to James by creating a website for him to market his services. You can check out his website here: Chef James Xavier. He received scores of calls and in the end, his whole family managed to get new jobs from the site. Incidentally, he also made me take multiple pictures until he got the perfect shot that truly ‘captured’ him.

Before I left, I asked James to record his thoughts about working with me. I promised I would not listen to them until he left. I’m posting his audio here: Link to Audio in New Window

My favorite things about the audio recording:

1. James acted as though my MP3 recorder was a phone. Stating at the beginning “I am James calling.”

This, by the way, was how our phone conversations went:
James: “Hello.”
Rob: “What’s up James? It’s Rob.”
James: “I am James.”
Long pause while I try to figure out what this means.
Rob: “Hey James, I need you to pick up coffee from the market.”
James: “I am James.”
Rob: “OK, are we clear?”
James: “Hello, sir.”
Rob: “OK, so you are going to pick up coffee?”
James: “OK, sir.”

2. The non sequitur nature of James’ thoughts.

3. James’ declaration that I am “1 in 100 man,” followed by the reconsideration that I am maybe “1 in 10 or 20 man.”

4. James’ saying that he is so sad that I am leaving. It makes me a little sad right now, thinking back on it.

I have gotten the most comments and calls about this section. It seems people love it, so I’m going to share a few more stories.

Indian Pool:

Just like Indian roads, there are no rules. I went swimming in an upscale Olympic-sized pool at a fitness club in Delhi. It was a nice pool, and though there were a lot of people swimming, the crowd would’ve been reasonable with the assistance of a few lanes. This pool, however, had no lanes. There were lines on the bottom of the pool. That was it. It was a regular Indian free-for-all. Some people swam lengthwise, while others swam widthwise, and others just in circles. Some people seemed to avoid all direction in general and concentrated simply on colliding with other swimmers. Lanes and rules would have solved this issue.

Family on a Bike:

As in Thailand, it will never cease to amaze me when I see an entire family of four on a scooter together. It just doesn’t get old.

Internet:

Incidentally, four of these hotspots are TGI Friday’s franchises. According to TGIF India, ribs are around $30! That is nuts. You may also be interested to know that even if you’re in Delhi, you don’t have go without helpings of fried macaroni and cheese or loaded potato skins. And word-to-the-wise: After ordering ribs or chicken soaked in Jack Daniels, it isn’t advisable to hop on your bicycle-made-for-four.

I’ve heard from colleagues who have hired recent Indian tech grads claiming zero real world experience using an actual computer. Courses are taught largely from textbooks with almost no supplementary practical application.

I am authoring this post from one of the places I have found that does offer WiFi. In order to use it, I had to show my passport; they copied down the number and other relevant information—including my father’s name. Indian national or foreigner: it’s standard operating procedure here.

Monkeys:

Monkeys are unbelievably mean. I had heard the story of the deputy mayor of Delhi falling to his death from his balcony after being chased off by a monkey. Until this moment, I didn’t understand how that could ever happen. The raging monkeys are a specific species of smaller brown monkeys. In Dharamsala, I saw a giant Snow Monkey jump out of a tree and fight with a dog for a few minutes. I have heard but not seen that those monkeys are exceptionally cool and never mess with humans. I have also heard that the Snow Monkeys will lay beat downs on the smaller brown monkeys if they get out of line. This made me happy after being outgunned by one of the small monkeys on my own turf.

I was invited by Daniel Pepper and his parents, who happen to be visiting India, to go on a short, three-day trip with them to Kashmir. It was an action-packed trip to a part of India that was fascinating and very different from what I had seen in Delhi. Kashmir is an absolutely gorgeous place. Upon entering the Kashmir Valley, you are greeted with a sign that says, “Welcome to Heaven on Earth.” It was a very beautiful and, I am sure at one point, tranquil place.

Being a Westerner born in 1979, my central understanding of Kashmir is it is a conflict zone. Daniel assured his parents and me that this period had ended. I guess that if your frame of reference is that of a war journalist, the violence is over. To the average tourist, however, this is not the case. The entire region is a veritable military base; the Indian army patrol empty wheat fields. It was a little over-the-top.

Our accommodations, however, were amazing. Luminaries such as George Harrison and Nelson Rockefeller once stayed in the same series of houseboats on greater Dal Lake in Srinagar. The houseboat’s proprietor was the gushing and gregarious Mr. Butts. Mr. Butts was similar to Newhart’s innkeeper Dick Loudon after drinking one quart of strong coffee and another quart of low quality whiskey. He was probably the moodiest man I have ever encountered. This innate emotionalism was exacerbated by the fact that his entire livelihood relied on the tourism industry in a recovering war zone. The accommodations were something special. The grand boats were sculpted from carved wood and were docked in a lake in the middle of the mountains. At night, we slept in beds with hot water bottles. It was certainly a throwback to older and better times for the Kashmir tourism industry.

The next day was interesting as well. Daniel and I were in the center of the state capital Srinagar, browsing through a local bazaar, when we heard an earsplitting blast. Having lived through a much closer bomb blast in Israel in 1997, I was pretty sure that’s what it was. We debated for fifteen seconds as to whether it was actually a bomb blast. I said yes; Dan said no. Suddenly, we saw every person in the area running away from the blast—well, everyone save one, lone man, clutching a camera and running towards the source of the sound. Like any first-rate photojournalist, Dan immediately sprinted toward the blast. The bomb exploded around a half kilometer from where we were standing and hurt a few people in the crowd. One person eventually died from his injuries. Following the blast, everyone we asked in Kashmir and at the houseboat assured us that everything was OK and that this was not a big deal. There was a huge difference in what they wanted to show us, as tourists, and the harsher reality that they preferred to hide.

My favorite experience in Kashmir was our skiing trip in the Himalayas. I went with Daniel, who has not skied since adolescence, and a guide. Daniel gets big props for even attempting this feat. I have posted some of the pictures. The experience was unlike any skiing I have previously done. Skiing while listening to music is one of my all-time favorite things to do, and having the entire mountain to myself with almost no other skiers was a once in a lifetime experience. To scale the mountain, we took a gondola to the top of a 13,500-foot peak. The gondola was relatively crowded with Indian tourists; many were simply going to the top of the mountain to enjoy the view. The ride down was totally empty and peaceful. The experience was a far cry from skiing anywhere in the US.

At one point, our guide stopped me as we went down the mountain; he pointed across the valley to a range around 13,000 to 15,000 feet high. Above the range was a layer of cloud cover. Pointing out the cloud cover, he said, “How beautiful is that?” And he was right. It was an amazing sight. Then he slowly lifted his ski pole and drew a line through the cloud cover, showing me a mountaintop that was 2.5 times higher than the 13,000-foot range across the valley. It was Nanga Parbat, the ninth highest mountain in the world. I’ve never seen anything that could compare to Nanga Parbat; the mountain was visible just above the cloud line and extended into the sky. Just as I regained control of my jaw, he pointed out a more distant peak—K-2, the second highest mountain in the world.

The skiing was unusual, because the mountains are not groomed at all. Toward the end of the day, we got a fresh layer of powder which made the skiing that much more enjoyable.

Thanks to everyone who has so kindly called to check and make sure I’m doing OK.

India is a mind-boggling place. I rented an apartment and set up an office in Delhi, which means two things: (1) Most of my travel from now until mid-July will be based from New Delhi; and (2) I can now explore everything this city has to offer. I’m going to attempt to start at the beginning of the month and fill in all of the details. For the time being, my blog will have a more topical format and will be less chronological.

Arrival:
An acrid fume wafted into the cabin as soon as the doors of the plane opened, while we sat on the New Delhi Airport tarmac. It instantly affected me, and I noticed how difficult it was becoming to breathe. It only worsened as I walked outside. It was nighttime, but dust and pollution hung like a haze in the air. Pollution in Bangkok and Mexico City pales in comparison to this.

Daniel Pepper, an old friend from Cleveland and an extremely talented photojournalist, hosted me until I came up with a game plan for India. Dan was a kind and gracious host, and it was good to catch up with him.

The day after I arrived, Daniel left for Bombay. I was on my own, save for some great advice from Daniel, to explore Delhi. Delhi is a complicated place that I am still struggling to understand.

I want to share a few things that have struck me about this place:

Poverty and Economy:
Although I happened to be staying in a relatively upscale neighborhood, it was instantly apparent to me that the level of poverty in Delhi is staggering. There are people coming out of the woodwork from every possible place. The enormous population of this country comes into play at every level. There are people to do everything and anything. I’m interested in the rapidly growing Indian economy and the environmental landscape for new business. By considering the country from a business perspective, however, I was rudely awakened by the reality.

In the US, labor is expensive and imported goods are cheap. It is typically more efficient to replace old or broken goods than to have an item fixed. In India, goods are more expensive, while labor is low-priced.

As a result,there is a laborer to fix all broken goods, though people who are skilled professionals may not be the ones making the repairs. Goods are shoddily produced and repaired.It seems as if the economic culture itself is in a state of disrepair. I’ve found that goods aren’t even created or designed properly from the outset.

For example, I went desk shopping earlier this month. It’s a process that would usually take me several days. I talked to around 20 different proprietors at a disaggregated furniture market. The desks at the market were both low quality and expensive. On Daniel’s advice, I found a furniture maker to build my desk from scratch using teak wood. Because labor was so cheap, the desk was less expensive and far nicer in quality.

I asked to tour the place where the desks were made. On a scooter with two others, I was taken about a kilometer away to a cement basement building with 20 people working on furniture in various states of completion. A four-foot high pile of wood shavings covered in varnish and oil was adjacent to a room with a live fire blazing. It made me think of urban labor conditions in the US during the industrial revolution. While the economy here is growing at 9% annually, significant changes must be made to get the Indian economic “lion to roar.”

Bogal Market
A few days into the trip, I developed a severe throat infection, probably from Thailand, and spent the next five days resting and recovering. During that time, I ventured out into many of the local markets, including one in the neighborhood called Boghul Market. Boghul is an authentic middle class Indian market. Complete with Chai hawkers, wild chickens, goat carcasses, cell phone shops, and sock stores, it’s a massive conglomeration on a 10-block radius in the middle of a residential area. I was welcomed during my first trip into the market by a plastic bag of muddy water thrown at my feet. I thought I had been targeted based on my being an outsider. That assumption stayed with me until my next visit when I witnessed two Indian women walking together; one woman was smacked squarely in the face with a full water balloon. As I looked on in horror, I realized something bigger must be at play.

After a few inquiries I found out this was related to the upcoming festival of Holi.

Holi:
From a visitor’s perspective, Holi is more of a free-for-all where at any moment you could be doused with water and then covered in powdered dye. Everyone is on alert for the few weeks preceding this melee. I loved it. You can see from my pictures the net result. Even at the time of this writing, my hair is still dyed magenta. All the colors have finally come out of my skin (after a week of five to six showers per day), but my blond hair was apparently starved for color and doesn’t want to let go. All over India now, I am signaling to everyone I meet that someone may have gone a little too far in celebrating Holi. The only other people I see still dyed are kids ages five to seven, so I feel a little silly waiting for my hair to grow out. Unfortunately, my auto rickshaw prices, which have to be negotiated every time, have gone up by about 25% as I look like a complete tourist without a clue.

Here are some things I like or find amazing about India:
The voice recognition software used by companies for telephone customer service will not work with my accent. I could not even talk to a customer care rep to get my phone setup. I ended up solving this problem by doing my best to talk in a terrible imitation of an Indian accent. I know nowtospeak to customer care only when I am all alone and no one can hear me.

• Tipping: Affluent people in India only go to a store once. While there, they take in what the store offers, get a card or number and from that moment on, use delivery. It is possible to never leave your home, provided you have all the right numbers. The result is an endless supply of delivery boys. These kids almost never get a tip for running or biking all over town. I always make sure to give them something. A 10-rupee tip (around 25 cents) is like a hundred dollars to them. I am almost inclined to order things only so that I can give tips. The ability to make someone’s day by only giving a small amount doesn’t get old. Tipping in Dehli is probably one of my favorite things to do.

• The Gym: This is more about India and Thailand. I joined a gym here called Stamina, which managed to be both expensive and not very nice. Nonetheless, I am by far the strongest person in the gym. This was also true in all the places I went in Thailand. Many of you know that I have a serious shoulder injury and have had multiple surgeries. I started an intensive strength training program a few years ago, knowing that no matter what I did, I would never be strong compared to other people who work out as often as I do.That is not true here. (1) I max out the weight bench and all of the machines. For those of you who lift in the US, you can guess how gratifying this is. (2) When I am getting toward the end of my sets, I look up to find that I have an audience watching me put up the weight. This is funny, considering how much I groan, grunt, make faces and turn red. I am a spectacle in the gym. (3) There are spotters/workout assistants in the gym. In the US, people workout in pairs or have to ask for help spotting. In India, there is a person who just sits in the gym and helps all day. Because I am lifting so much for Indian standards, it takes three of these people to spot me. This, by itself, is awesome.
• Friends hold hands: Here, as in many parts of the Middle East, if two men are friends and are walking together down the street, they may decide to hold hands. Every time I see this, which is frequently, I think of how outrageous this would be to do with my friends in the US. I can imagine how visibly uncomfortable Grant Keating, Matt Youngner, or Ned Sackman would be if I reached out to hold their hands while heading out to a bar. I think Dan Riffle would be up for it, though, so I hope he’s ready.
• Actually: Many Indians who don’t speak perfect English choose to start or insert the word “actually” into every sentence—sometimes more than once. It’s the equivalent of a 14-year-old girl saying “like” between every word. At first it really threw me off because it seemed unnecessarily confrontational.
  Here are a few examples:Me: How much is that carton of milk?

  Store Owner: Actually, its 20 rupees.

  It’s as if I claimed that the milk was 10 rupees, but he was correcting me.

  ***

  Me: Is this seat being used?

  Person on Plane: Actually, this seat is not presently being used.

  ***

  Me: How much is the rent?

  Broker: Actually, the rent is being 50,000 rupees.

  Me: OK, fine I never said it was anything else, I was only asking how much it was.

  Broker: Actually, this is a very good price for the neighborhood and all of the furnishings.

  Me: OK, fine I never said it wasn’t.

  Broker: Actually, how much are you willing to pay for it? You give me a price.

  Me: I never said I was interested. This is nuts!