As live gets busier I sometimes think there is less to blog about. And then the simple controversy of that sentence makes me think about the last days until I find all the moments that are funny, sad, simply Indian but in any case remarkable. Maybe I have found myself some sort of therapy here. Franky once said sometimes we say exactly what we need to hear. And sometimes I just need to stop whining and make it work.

India woman goat in the streets

Small Episode from the Streets

I was walking home from the supermarket when I was about to reach my favourite slaughter house. I would never shop there. But since I love animals I always hope there are a few goats in front of it. I am used to pet those quickly before I walk on. This time no goats but without stopping I am about to throw some plastic in the blue barrel in front of the store when I suddenly jumped back. About a dozen eyes were staring at me. Not even including all the Indians starring at the jumping white dude in front of the slaughter house. Big black fish were swimming in dirty water just waiting to be killed and hoping no one would darken their last hours by throwing trash amongst them. The other day I was in a park about to throw my empty water bottle (one of four this day) in a big bin when I suddenly realized that bin was a store and the guy next to it was selling crunchy breads. I never got in a fight here but I guess throwing my trash on his food would have been a good start. This is probably why all Indians simply throw their thrash on the streets.

I live as a Paying GuestPG sleeping on the floor

The guy supposed to take care of the house is some really nice 19 year old kid who does not speak a word English but like to get drunk on Mondays and ends up chatting in my room. In Hindi. Once I kind of complained that my room was dirty. The owner got so harsh on the poor boy that he wanted to make sure my room is clean every day. That is why he started waking me up in the morning and is whipping the floor around my bed while I am still in the sheets covering my head just leaving out one eye to make sure he doesn’t steal anything. Than later he and his friends are casually lying in the halls sleeping. When I walk in and they wake up the wave and smile and then their heads sink back to their pillows. It is absolutely incredible how the Indians manage to sleep everywhere in the heat, dirty, crowds and traffic. Everywhere are sleeping people. And at the same time my colleagues can’t believe I manage to sleep without and Air-condition.

Fun in the Agencymy colleague in cake

Work is getting better and better as me and my colleagues slowly find towards each other. I learn many Indian names and forget some but thanks good I got assigned to edit the pictures for the team section of our website so I am slowly building up a wonderful archive of faces and names. We got another cake incident at work. One of the funny colleagues had birthday and as it is common they would come to him to feed him a piece of cake and get one fed. Our boss starts. And he always gets calls. In every single meeting and conversation. So whilst he is discussing with client he is slowly feeding piece by piece to my colleague who, of course, tried very hard to stuff the bosses face whilst he is on the phone. Then all the other got started. The guys fed the lucky birthday kid and started spreading the cake over his face, neck, hair, shirt and I don’t even want to know where else. For about 20 minutes the office was full of laughing men chasing each other to ruin all our shirts with cake and laughing women taking pictures of their oh-so-mature colleagues. My Birthday in June. Good or bad?

Weekend Highs and Lows.

When you work 6 days a week there is one precious evening to go out. One. Easy count. Ek! In Hindi. It sucks so much to get dumped that ek evening. Since I struggle meeting people here I post in groups and try to arrange a few people. This time I just managed one. Hold it. Zero. She didn’t show up and I ended up walking between the clubs of Haus Khaz Village alone for the second time. Every time I make my posts in Facebook and Couchsurfing groups I note down all positive responses so my list of approachable people is growing. It gets lonely here by times and I am determined to find ways and friends. My colleagues always hold me to be very careful and they are right. I meet many nice people and so many weirdoes. My alarm signals are bad English, very personal questions and the ones that directly ask for my phone number. India is full of people. Many great ones. Many weird ones. But I need to assume that those people blog about the weird German that posts online to find a clique to go out with.

On Sunday I visited the amazing Lotus Temple. Super cool lotus_temple_delhiand super crowded. It is a temple for all
religions made to bring people together in peace. And to attract as many domestic tourists as possible. As I am sitting outside the temple reflecting on my life in a mood for meditation some Indian slowly walk by sneaks out his phone and take a picture of me like I am some freak on display. I might get used to people asking for selfies on day but at least those people ask!  In the crowded streets that lead to the temple you can get airbrush tattoos like in Germany or Holland. Just in India its not airbrush. It a real tattoos. Done on the dusty floor of the streets in between the tarffic. The guy gets out a razor blade. Shaves a bit. Takes a bit of soap and the fun begins. No wonders so many Indians have bad tattoos on bad spots.

tattoo streets india

I knew my time in India would be calmer than the roaring days of Breda. And I embrace it in many ways. I find time for myself to think about life and career, time for the gym and books and a more structured routine. But I do realize that I meet less people than I expected.  So I work on both enjoying time alone more and making sure the weekends are flourished with people, adventures and nights to remember and blog about.

And one more thing. Down the street a new seller has spread her carpets over the dust if the street. An old lady is selling here goods. She is smoking, spitting like a real dude and selling cow shit. Yap. Dried, well packed quality cow shit. Anybody in need? I ll send it to your ex or mother-in-law and for a couple of bucks extra I ll wrap a ribbon around it. Comes with love.

Soundtrack of my life: Regina Spector – The Call