Caught in the Act

Just like in a movie. I was obviously the last one to know. The unsuspecting victim who should have seen it coming, but instead chose denial. I should have paid more attention. I have only myself to blame. It was right there in his eyes and I chose not to see it. To make matters worse, it was happening right under my nose. In my own home. Whoever said what we don’t know can’t hurt us has obviously never been in my shoes. What we don’t know can sometimes be our worst nightmare.


The house was unusually still and suddenly I could feel the icy chill run down my spine. Something was wrong. My gut knotted as I walked toward the door. I thought I might be sick but managed to keep my composure. I knew it was happening right on the other side. Just the thought was almost paralytic. I didn’t know what to do. I could keep the door closed and continue to live in my semi-polished Swarovksi-esque bubble of a world, or open it up and shatter my world, smash my dreams and have my trust broken beyond repair. My body tensed with fear and I thought my knees might give out. I knew things like this happened, but I never thought it would happen to me. I never thought I would be a statistic. I decided it was time for action. Time to rip the band-aid off the wound and just get it over with. Yes it would hurt and yes, perhaps I may not see an immediate reason to go on, but I knew I would survive, that I’d learn how to stay alive. I took a deep yogic breath, reached for the handle and opened the door quietly. If I was going to catch him, I wanted to see everything. I wanted to catch him in action.

And there he was, Manuel, just as I suspected. He looked me right in the eye and with no disregard for my feelings told me he ran his fingers around his eyes, applying my MAC MoistureLush Eye Cream. Of course I had seen the signs, the odd finger smudges in the cream early in the morning, coming home to find the container left slightly out of place. But suddenly it was all real. Manuel, fingers gouging out heaps and heaps of cream, smearing it with abandon all about the eyes. And he didn’t even bother to do it in a different bathroom. He defiled my personal morning pull-myself-together space as if it were nothing more than a cold slab of granite.

Me: What the HELL is going on in here?
Manuel: This is really good eye cream
Me: I know. It’s mine! Why are you using it?
Manuel: I ran out of mine and this is really good.
Me: I know. But M-I-N-E. I'm 41, you're 29. You don’t need it. Why?
Manuel: (slapping another layer on his eyes) I do so my eyes don’t get like yours.

But this wasn’t the first time he had strayed. Just a few weeks back I caught him red handed with my Lakme Pure Defense Anti-Pollution Detoxifying Facial Wash. He told me it meant nothing and that I was blowing everything out of proportion. I took him at his word, fool that I am. And what am I supposed to do now? How can I trust him when I see how he looks at my MAC Microfine Refinisher?

My Coerced Posting

I just received an SMS asking me to post something more cheerful than that last post… Hmmmm… The pressure of having to write under pressure is a lot of pressure. I hope I don’t buckle under the weight of exceptional expectations… I don’t really have anything to say, but I was raised to obey orders and so I will be making this up as I go along. So if this post sucks, then blame the guy who sent me the SMS, not me. This is not my fault. I am a victim, a pawn, a prisoner in an alphabetical Guantanemo of my own making.


First off, let me start with an update – Manuel and I are doing much better and things seem to be on a very good track and going in a good direction, and for now, that’s all I will say about my relationship.

Blogging is a strange thing and at times I find myself at odds with my life, what is on my mind and what I write about in my blog. When I first started, I wanted to write funny stories, I wanted to make people laugh. I wrote things that sometimes made me laugh as I was reading them. I would often write for a specific person and imagine their laughs or comments or looks of shock. Christina, Marco, Ulco, Joe, Nik, Laura, and many, many others were often the inspiration behind a story just because I know their sense of humor, I know what will make them laugh and if I knew someone was going through a hard time, I would write to cheer them up in my own little way. It's also my way of spending time with people that are way too many time zones away from me.

And all the while, life happens and many times it happens in a way other than I want it to be happening. Then I have to decide if I want to fake it and be funny or witty, write the truth about my feelings and thoughts, or avoid it all together by not writing. I broke one of my rules recently about not being too personal, especially if someone else was involved in any negative way. I was scared to do it and scared of what people might think, but getting it all out was hugely therapeutic and it let me examine my thoughts in a different way. And then the question arises of how personal I can get without getting too personal and giving away my life. And then there is the question of what type of writing I want to do… Do I just write according to what my mood is and what’s going on (maybe it will be funny, maybe it will be depressing, maybe it will just be) or do I force myself to keep it on the lighter side. I also have no idea what everyone likes to read - and when I say everyone, I mean the three people that visit my blog – Hiya mom!

So, why don’t you tell me. What would/do you prefer?

Manuel's Visa

When last we left Manuel, he was having a bit of a holiday in Paris brought about by his need to renew his visa. As he is from Spain and holds a Spanish passport, his visa takes five working days to process and so he decided to give himself some buffer time and stay in Paris for two weeks. The first time he had his visa done in The Hague, it took just two days. The second time he had it done in The Hague, we submitted it on a Monday and picked it up on Friday. This time, he applied in Paris a week ago Monday and still no visa. We don’t know why and we don’t know how and when that will get sorted. His flight is due to leave Paris tomorrow, but if he does not get his visa today, then he has to change his flight… But to what date? Please keep your fingers crossed that it all works out.

Our first house guests are arriving on Saturday, just hours after Manuel is scheduled to make an appearance here in Delhi. Two girls from Paris that are planning to backpack around the country for a few weeks. I am jealous. I want to backpack for a few weeks. As much as I love me some luxury hotels and champagne brunches, I also enjoy just going budget, finding cool yet inexpensive places to stay, letting the winds of chance blow us where they may. I have had some pretty amazing experiences that ay. Yes, it means going out of my comfort zone, sometimes so far out that I almost need a compass to return. I am ready to just pack up a bag, go to the train station and just get on a train. Any train, going anywhere and just seeing what will happen. I still have about thirty holiday days left this year (Eat your heart out America! THIRTY days. More days than most people have fingers and toes combined – I can see the green glow of envy from here) and perhaps I will use some of those to do just that type of adventure.

Manuel and Me

This past week has been a bit surreal for me. Manuel is in Paris and for the couple of days before he left we were having some pretty heated and intense conversations. Not fights, just heated conversations. I had been questioning if Manuel was actually happy living in India and a couple of times suggested he take a bit longer in Europe to consider if India is really a place he wants to be. I think what Manuel heard is that I anted him to stay in Paris and so after a bit of a tense phone conversation the day before he left, Manuel asked me if I wanted him to come back. I started my sentence with “I don’t know…” and was planning on finishing it with something along the lines of only if it is what he wanted and if things would change and we would get our life back to how it was when he first arrived.

When Manuel first came to India, we spent our weekends exploring the city, wandering aimlessly through streets and neighborhoods taking in all the local sights and sounds. We would usually follow that up with a trip to Aqua or QBA for cocktails or perhaps 360 at the Oberoi or Ploof for dinner. Lately we have fallen into that trap of sitting in front of the TV, not really talking and life has become something that happens elsewhere. I’m not sure how we went from not watching any TV to becoming non-communicating couch potatoes. It was that realization that prompted the trip to Jaipur a couple of weeks ago. I felt we needed a bit of an adventure injection and was hoping that would help kick-start things in a different direction.

Before coming to India, Manuel and I didn’t really know each other. We had met in January 2007, just a week or so before I left for India – I will save that story for another post in the coming days. We spent months chatting on MSN and having the phone calls here and there, but after that initial 24 hours together, we didn’t see each other until he arrived in Amsterdam and from that moment, we were living together. It might seem hasty, but it was the only way to give it a go. Having done the long distance relationship thing once before – and that was only with 200 or so kilometers between us and living in the same time zone – I was not up for it again. So, we both jumped in without really knowing the other person apart from those initial hours and some online chats. As anyone online knows, a persons online and offline personality can be very different. Fortunately for us, we clicked immediately when we saw each other again in Amsterdam and I don’t have a moment of regret.

So when Manuel heard the “I don’t know…” part, he responded quickly by saying he was going to stay in Paris. I was stunned. I had suggested he stay in Paris a few weeks and think things through, reconnect with friends and maybe see some family, but I hadn’t meant that he should stay there, unless he decided India (or I) were not for him. When I got home that evening, I couldn’t even talk to him. I as angry and hurt and felt quite betrayed. Eventually we started talking and that made things a bit worse. I get very emotional and am a person who vents. I talk, I write, I discuss things. Manuel completely shuts down and doesn’t say anything and then an hour or two later, sometimes the next day, he comes back with his point of view. So what I feel should be a conversation turns out to be first my download, followed by Manuel’s sometime later and then we gradually get into conversation mode. That coupled with my complete lack of patience – Yes, I have been known to be a bit impatient every now and again – can easily lead to hurt feelings on both sides. And if I am feeling hurt, then I want the other person to feel as miserable as I am. I have been both blessed and cursed with a very quick mind that can form and deliver some pretty intense zingers in micro-seconds, often with some pretty devastating consequences. It's something I have learned to keep in check, but when emotions flare, out they fly.

Manuel shocked me with a statement he made before he left that has been on my mind since he mentioned it. He told me he didn’t think I was happy in India. I thought I was, but I realized I wasn’t as happy about it as I liked to pretend. The main reason is that here I am something of a second class citizen. On the one hand, an expat here gets fabulous benefits, a great salary, invitations to parties, etc. But on the other hand, can’t get a credit card, can’t invest, can’t participate in any programs to cut taxes and save money, can’t buy property, can’t exchange money into any foreign currency, etc. So life is something of a half-life and all the while I pay a ton of money in taxes. These things are really getting on my nerves, perhaps more than I should let them.

But I may have just stumbled across not only a solution to that issue, but also something that could lead to a whole new life. I was in a meeting yesterday working a pitch we are doing for a new client in the area of investments. I mentioned I was pretty out of touch with that world in India as I can’t even get a basic credit card and someone told me to just set myself up as a company. It costs about 40 US Dollars and then I need to have about 200 US dollars in an account as capital. That will give me the rights to own property (I can own for less than I am paying now) and get a credit card. In addition, I have also come across a fabulous business opportunity with a very good friend of mine that I think is going to change a lot of things. More on that later as things develop.

So now Manuel is in Paris and he is coming back on the first of August. I miss him and am looking forward to him coming back. I am also looking forward to getting everything back on track. The good news is, that all the things that weren’t so good between us, are easy things to fix. At the core, we love each other and enjoy each other. We each need to tweak a few things and then I think everything will be great. I am so looking forward to it!

Road to Jaipur

Last Friday I was sitting in my office when suddenly I had a brilliant idea, a road trip to Jaipur. I have been wanting to visit Jaipur since arriving in India 18 months ago and for some reason or other, never actually did it. Manuel had a birthday party Friday night, so we started out at 6 on Saturday morning, our driver Ashok looking alert as always. For the 5 hour trip, about an hour is spent just getting out of the Delhi area, but once out, everything changes. The landscape is greener and the hills are almost surprising after being used to the flat terrain of Delhi. That is also the same area when the camels start appearing with regularity.

When I was growing up, we did a lot of road trips and would often pass the time looking for out-of-state plates or we would make lists of things to find on the journey and the person who saw the most things on the list was the winner. In between those games, we would play the games of children like “Don’t touch me” and “Don’t look out my window” – Manuel passed his time pointing out camels.

Ooooh, there’s a camel there.

I kept myself occupied on Twitter via my iPhone. The great thing about something like Twitter, is that it lets me share a trip like that with my best friend (or anyone else who cares to follow, for that matter) even when he is 12 ½ time zones away. Sometimes that is the hard part of living abroad. I see so many wonderful things that I know certain people would just love to see. So, I decided to take them along with me and it was great. The next best thing to having them here. And the best part, it is all instant and live. If I saw something I knew someone would like, I immediately sent it and a minute later I had a response. Brilliant!

Look, there’s another camel.

About two hours into the trip we decided to stop for breakfast. The original plan was to stop at Neemrana Fort, but there as a wedding happening and so the place was fully booked and they were not accepting non-guests for breakfast or even a coffee, so we stopped at a roadside place to stretch and have a bite and 20minutes later we were speeding down highway toward Jaipur.

A camel… I like it to see the camels on the road like this.

Oh my God, there’s a naked man walking on the road.

I turned around in time to see the backside of naked walking man. Just the sight of him was enough to keep Manuel buzzing for about ten minutes. The rest of the drive down was often interrupted with comments like “I don’t understand why the man he was walking down the street without the clothes” or “I can’t believe the man was just walking with no clothes!”

One would think he had never seen a naked man strolling down the highway before.

Call Now!

Manuel has a new little hobby. He likes to watch infomercials. In Hindi. Not that he speaks or understands a word of it, he just gets mesmerized the second he flicks a channel and intercepts one… I have seen the inflatable sofa bed being driven over by a truck and, guess what? It doesn’t puncture. Then we have some capsule shaped food processing device. The Sauna Belt for all those wanting to sweat off the weight without the inconvenient hassles of going to gym or a simple change in diet. And it’s a great product which can be worn under a suit to the office or under a slip dress when out on a date. There is a also a device that gives all the benefits of jogging and all you have to do is lie flat on the floor and put your feet into the special machine that moves the lower body around like a snake. A few short weeks later and, surprise, six-pack abs.

And at this very moment in front of me, there is a formerly dark skinned person on the screen enthusiastically telling everyone how much better their life will be if they just bleach their skin. In fact, it goes so far as to convince women they have a better chance of landing a husband if they can just shed a few unwanted shades of brown. The visual references are such that there is nothing lost in the language barrier.

Not that I have anything against infomercials. I am a big fan of Rapid White Pro which made my teeth three shades lighter and made me irresistably popular. I also have a stunningly beautiful friend named Ann who looks eerily like Nicole Kidman and who once made an infomercial for a vitamin drink - and it was so tasty too, just like candy. It was while I was living in Amsterdam. At one point she was looking for a name to use for the taping. We were both kind of worried that it might come back to haunt her, and if she had an alias then she could always deny it was her. After all, she had no distinguishing marks or facial tattoos. Who would know? We tossed a bunch of names around and I suggested she go with either Britney Houston or Whitney Spears. Those were my idea and the ones I personally liked best. She politely denied and ended up using her own name. I still think that was a missed opportunity. At the time she was single and a big, I mean BIG smoker. And there she was on television talking about healthy eating and pushing the product with all her might. The whole thing culminated in the one line none of us will ever let her live down: “And as a mother, I wouldn’t be without it!”

One Thursday Ann and I were on one of our usual label collecting tours of the Hague. She was into Chanel and I thought it was just a bit too “little old lady” and so we went out and got her some Versace and Prada. It was while trying on a full-length shaved mink coat that felt like buttah that one of the sales people approached and asked of Ann “have I seen you on television?” Ann smiled not so coyly, brushed her fallen bangs behind her ear and said “Yes, you have.” She then bought everything the sales person showed her and became a piece of furniture at the shop.

The next Monday I had a stack of brochures on my desk. Ann was incredibly photogenic and she had been ont he cover of a number of our internal communciation pieces. And there they all were in a stack on my desk, each one personalised just for me.

Upon each one was written “Good luck with your career. Lot’s of love, Ann”

Manuel's Mess-Up

Last Saturday evening, an Indian guy approached me at the gate of my house. He was asking if I knew where “Martin” or “Marvin” lived. I told him I had absolutely no idea. Then he asks “¿Hablas tu Espanol?” as he thrusts a piece of paper under my nose. I see Manuel’s handwriting and mobile number and assuming the guy is a colleague of Manuel’s from the Spanish embassy, I invite the guy upstairs. Manuel seemed a bit surprised to see him but they immediately began chatting and I thought nothing of it.

Soon, I was getting hungry and needed to make dinner. The problem was, the guy didn’t seem to be ready to leave anytime soon, and I did not have enough food for the three of us. On top of that, he seemed to be naturally aromatic in the most non-inviting kind of way. At one point, Manuel asked me what time my friends were coming over and being clueless as I am, I said that nobody would be stopping by. After all, I was trying to accommodate Manuel and his embassy friend.

Some time later, the guy finally left and the story comes pouring out of Manuel. A few evenings earlier, Manuel had gone to a play with some friends from the embassy and after the play, they were all standing outside speaking Spanish. A guy walks up and says he speaks Spanish too and asks for Manuel’s mobile number. Manuel didn’t want to give it to him, but didn’t want to be rude, so wrote the number wrong by one digit. Then, for reasons I shall never be able to explain or understand, he suffers a temporary yet highly debilitating brain freeze and gives the guy our address. Our real address. So what happened? The guy calls Manuel and can’t get through and so shows up at our gate. Why he gave any address at all is beyond me, but to give our correct address? He may as well have given the guy rickshaw fair and a map. Anyway, Manuel mentions none of this to me in advance, so when I see this Spanish speaking guy asking for Manuel, no alarm bells go off.

Two days later Manuel receives an SMS from the guy that reads “I love you” which means now that Manuel most likely has a stalker. That is at least how all my stalkers here began – except the one I had originally hired as a driver who turned out to be a sociopath. Fortunately for us, we are moving to a new flat over the next couple of weeks, so he will not know where we live, but I have a sneaking feeling we have not seen the last of him. He has Manuel’s number and he knows Manuel works at the Spanish Embassy. And apparently, he’s in love.

Group Sex

It was in the fall of 2006 that I had my last group Sex. It was during one of my then regular weekends in Brussels and a group of us were in Nik’s flat, lounging all over place, eating pizza from Momma Roma and shaking cocktails like there was no tomorrow. There we were, pillows scattered all over the floor, relaxing after an exhausting day of exercise, which in those days often consisted of trying on tons of overly expensive designer clothes and then doing cocktail curls at Fontaines.

Nik didn’t have a television, instead he had a beamer, a huge empty wall and a great sound system that made watching even the most mediocre of commercials a cinematic experience so we decided to raid his video collection for something to watch. Someone suggested the “L-Word” which I immediately shot down. I was in no mood for flat shoes and flannel shirts. Suddenly someone shouted “How about Sex?!” And as usual, Sex won.

“Sex and the City” has just been released in India and Manuel, Ankit and I made plans months ago to make it a group experience. And in my opinion, nothing goes better with group Sex than red leather. OK, a Cosmo would have been nice, but this is India and alcohol and cinemas don’t mix. I was just happy they didn’t edit all the risqué parts out, leaving us with a movie only slightly longer than the trailer, although there were a few moments of really abrupt editing. Yes, there we were, six of us in the PVR Gold cinema, once again stretched out in our over-stuffed red leather recliners. Our seats were in the front and second row and all I could think was “Oh my God, It’s HUGE!” Ankit, Manuel and I were joined by Poul, who stand about 2 meters tall and was happy to at last be in a cinema were his knees aren’t shoved up under his chin, Doug and his wife Sarah who was the lone girl among us. It was very Samantha of her. Sarah came like a professional. Not only did she immediately curl up in her recliner, but she became the envy of us all when she covered herself in a pashmina and tucked in for the film. Next time I am taking a teddy bear.

The movie started out great, but just as things started getting a bit intense, we were faced with film slippage and suddenly the faces were cut off on the bottom of the screen while at the top of the screen, mics kept appearing. The first time the mic appeared, I thought it was an editing issue. Then when it kept happening, I thought maybe it was some sort of weird dream sequence, and like Pamela Ewing before her, she would wake up and we would learn that none of this had actually happened and everything had been a dream. Finally Ankit went and got it sorted.

All-in-all, I really liked it. Manuel wasn’t so keen, Ankit was less enthusiastic than I would have imagined. I think he was jealous about the Lacroix. It wouldn’t surprise me if he spent a good portion of the film thinking “that would look so much better on me with my coloring.” I won’t give away anything about the movie as I hate it when people do that. People that spoil things like that for others should be stepped on by an elephant...

But one thing that surprised me was how people had aged. They all aged well, it was just the fact that they aged. And if they aged, that means I have as well and that is just not possible. Manuel and I just re-watched season 6 a few weeks back and suddenly, in the movie, everyone is older. And we are all at that age where every month starts leaving its mark so as to be remembered. Thank God for Botox-induced amnesia, which I have decided is going to be one of my little birthday presents to myself, and I will get it done on August 1, so I can be smooth as a thirty-something for my birthday. I am certain that a less wrinkled face will go so much better with the Hermes watch with the wrap-around band that I am planning to slap on my wrist come mid August.

Cinema and the City

One evening in 1986 found a much less wrinkled version of me in a small screening room on the lot of 20th Century Fox in Los Angeles. I was there to see the not-yet-released-soon-to-bomb film “Wisdom” with Emilio Estevez and Demi Moore. My friend JoAnna - who worked on the "Late Show with Joan Rivers" and got us seats whenever anybody interesting was on - and I were the only ones in the cinema for about 30 or so people which was kitted out with overstuffed seats equipped with their own phones. I had never seen such a place before.

This was before the day when everyone brought their own phones into the theatre treating us all to the requisite once-every-movie experience of “I can’t talk right now, I’m in the cinema… Ironman… Not bad… I can’t talk right now… Blowing stuff up… Yeah… Uh-huh… I can’t talk right now… What are you saying??!!” No, these were phones that would be used to summon the likes of Scorsese and DeMille, to order yummy treats from Spago. I wanted to pick one up and scream into it “You GO Demi, girl… You're gonna be huge. HUGE I say!” I had been a Demi fan since she started as Jackie Templeton on "General Hospital" and had run into her a few times at the Beverly Center in Beverly Hills, waiting for her to drop a crumb I could sweep up and call my own. I once tried to hold open the door for her as she left a store in Century City, but instead she changed her mind and went to look at something while a rude Christina Ferrare walked through in her place without so much as a "thanks" and then as fate would have it, I never saw Demi in person again, but I ran into Christina almost everywhere I went for about a month. Tell me, is there anything worse than repeat B-list celebrity moments.

That screening at 20th Century Fox was an amazing experience that ended with a stroll through the New York City stage - which was so much better than that sky wall that greeted everyone entering the Paramount lot, although I never got tired of seeing it loom over me as I stopped at the security booth for my pass - and was the first and last time I was in such a luxurious cinematic setting...

…Until last Saturday, that is. Against my better judgement I went to see “Prince Caspian” with Manuel. I had not been too impressed by the first one. I loved the books, I just think the story worked better on paper and in the imagination rather than on a big screen. But whenever we would pass by a poster of Prince Caspian, Manuel would start foaming at the mouth and in an awe-filled tone say things like “that has to be amazing!” So when the movie finally came out, I caved in and off we went to the PVR at Select Citywalk, already voted Mall of the Year for 2008. A bit presumptuous, but who am I to say anything.

At the PVR Citywalk, there are two counters around which people crowd, PVR and PVR Gold. We had no idea what PVR Gold was all about, so decided to ticket up and check it out. We entered the theater and were directed downstairs to a low-light lounge type bar to wait for the concierge to come and seat us. About 10 minutes before the start of the film, Manuel and I were taken into the cinema that has only 48 chairs. And these weren’t just any chairs, they were overstuffed red leather electronic recliners. I took off my shoes and pressed the button to raise the leg rest. If the button is pressed long enough, the chair completely stretches out into a very inviting nap-time position. There is a small table shared by each pair of chairs which the concierge then places a flute of bubbles.

Surprised, we yanked up our glasses and almost smashed them as we enthusiastically clincked and toasted our new cinematic discovery. And to make the situation even better, we each had a call button and without that inconvenient airline hassle of having to reach up over your heads. Nope, these buttons are located right next to the twitchy fingers longing to order up some popcorn, nachos, fries, wraps and mocktails, all delivered to the seat and put on the tab for our own convenience. Seemingly miles away from out closest neighbors, it was like watching a film in our private screening room. Of course, these tickets don’t come cheap. As the normal ticket prices are about Rs. 150, these are Rs. 750 each, about the cost of cinema tickets in Europe.

The only downside is that there are only 2 of these in Delhi, so the movie opportunities are not huge, but we are hoping to be cheering and raising our Mock-o-politans to Carrie and the girls from our incredibly luxurious seats.

Ode to Horton

In the heat of the day and nowhere near a pool,
In the middle of Delhi and quite far from Nool,
We took an old rickshaw to a mall that’s quite groovy,
With one goal in mind, the new “Horton” movie.

We sat in the rickshaw, just Manuel and me,
And looking around, oh the sights we did see!
Two painted elephants out on the street,
Stomping and stomping atop their flat feet,

They hobbled and wobbled and danced a small jig,
Led by the one in the front with a twig.
The driver said “hmmmpff” as he as quite grumpy,
And I have to concur that the road was quite bumpy.

We bounced up and bounced down,
We bounced here and bounced there,
And I am sure more than once,
We flew through right through the air,

But we finally arrived and we sat in our seats,
With Pepsi and popcorn and sugary treats,
Ankit had joined us looking quite floral,
In a colorful kurta of purple and coral.

And then there on the screen was our hero from Nool
In the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool,
He was splashing… enjoying the jungle’s great joys…
When Horton the elephant heard a small noise.

I was glued to my seat, I stayed put in my chair,
As that small speck of dust blew about through the air,
Whatever will happen? Will the speck come to harm?
Those are the questions I asked in alarm.

What would happen to Who-ville and every last Who?
I wondered and wondered what Horton would do,
But he saved all the folks, he’s a very fine friend,
He saved all the folks on the dust speck no end.

He saved all the houses, the ceilings and floors,
He saved all the churches and groceries stores.
Horton never gave up, he believed in them all,
For a person’s a person, no matter how small.

He meant what he said and he said what he meant,
An elephant's faithful one hundred percent.

Fire!

Like Kevin McCallister before him, Manuel should never be home alone.

I learned this the hard way. Manuel arrived back in Delhi one week before me and that seven days proved just to be a tad too long for him to go unsupervised. When we were in Amsterdam, we stopped by the Iittala store where we got 2 temperature resistant glasses for coffee, tea or other very hot beverages. As Manuel had a higher luggage allowance than I did (thanks Swiss Air!) he brought the glasses back. Once back, he decided to make himself a nice hot cup of coffee. But, does he use the heat resistant glasses? No. Does he use the bone china coffee cups? No. Does he use the stone carved cups? No. We have this really nice set of thick purple glasses. Four of them to be exact. The purple glasses are amazing and usually kept in the freezer, waiting to be pulled out and filled with beer. Manuel had other ideas for one of them. Manuel decided to shun the coffee designated dishes for something a bit more colorful. He boiled his milk (he hates coffee made with water) and added the coffee and poured the whole thing into the purple glass. That made the glass very unhappy and so it exploded, sending purple glass and coffee all over the kitchen.

After cleaning that up, he decided to do a bit of redecorating with the speakers from the cinema surround-sound system we have. Keep in mind that we are in a rented flat with rented furniture and have no idea what the place will look like in a month or two, or where anything in the flat will be. Manuel decided that certain speakers should be mounted to the wall. So, he takes some instrument designed to make a hole in the wall (I am a bit to scared to ask what he used) and realizes we do not have a hammer. Does he use a brick? No. Does he use the sole of a shoe? No. He decides to use one of the stone carved mugs we have. A nice set of four bought about 6 months ago at a craft market here in Delhi. We were told it was made from stone and virtually unbreakable. 2 weeks later the handle just popped off the teapot. So we were down one teapot, but had four large mugs, four smaller mugs and a little serving dish in the even we ever felt like serving anything in a civilized and Bree van de Kamp like manner. Manuel, unable to find a hammer or any substitute for a hammer instead grabs one of the large stone mugs and uses that to beat the screw or nail into the wall. About three or four millimeters into the wall, the bigger hole appears in the mug itself which then has to be tossed in the trash. The mission to redecorate abandoned and all we have left to show for it are stone fragments and a small grey hole in a white wall. It almost looks like it would be a peephole in some tit-flashing teen flick. He told me all of this in a low voice on my way from the airport to the house last week.

Last Friday evening on the way home from work, I noticed a huge cloud of smoke rising over the buildings of Lajpat Nagar, the area just across from Defence Colony, where I live. However, as I got closer to the house, I was more able to pinpoint where the fire was. It was not coming from Lajpat Nagar, but from Defence Colony. And then panic hit. The fire wasn’t just anywhere in Defence Colony, it was coming from the area where I live. I phoned Manuel who had just left the house and asked him where the fire was. “What fire?” was all he had to say and so I told him to look up. Then he screamed into the phone “Oh my God, it’s our house!!! Our house is on fire!!!” I screamed back into the phone and then he started laughing.

I didn’t see the humor then and I don’t see it as of yet. Perhaps later in the week.

Adventures in España

I was soon speeding to Paris for my flight to Sevilla. Check-in is supposed to start two hours before the flight, but it was half an hour later before the woman in her "welcome aboard" pumps arrived at the desk. And when I say "welcome aboard" pumps, I mean just that. Those shoes went way beyond the traditional "Fuck Me" pumps. I am sure they carried a group discount, or at least came with their own frequent flier program. Bit pumps aside, I was soon on the plane and heading south to sunny Spain where I landed under grey skies. I was the first one to check in at the airport and for that was rewarded by my suitcase being the very last one onto the baggage belt. Everyone else had left and the last few actually gave me a sad look that said my luggage was probably in a different geographic locale. Suddenly between the last people leaving and panic starting to set in, my bag came sluggishly onto the belt and I was soon in a taxi with Manuel and we were heading off to the hotel in Sevilla.

The first thing we did in Sevilla was grab a beer and a bite to eat. Something that has so far not stopped the entire time I have been in Spain. We walked from restaurant to restaurant passing by the cathedral, the city hall, the Torre de Oro (Tower of Gold), Plaza de España (better known to some as Queen Amadala´s palace in Star Wars Episode 1), and the Plaza de Toro (Bullring).

In spite of Manual finally eating himself sick and me feeding myself into the largest size I have ever been in my life, I have managed to get hooked on a few other activities in Spain. Namely¨the television shows "Se Llama Copla" which is an Idols like show for aspiring Flamenco singers and "Fama ¡A bailar!" an Idols like show for dancers. I have also become completely intrigued with bull fighting. Seriously.

I had always thought bullfighting was one matador "fought" the bull with his red cape. I knew that the bull was ultimately killed, but for the rest, the details I had were shaky. I have since learned through my visit to the Plaza de Toros and also via watchin bullfights on the television that I was very wrong. A bullfight is one in a few stages. First, a matador does his traditional dance with the bull and the cape. That lasts about 5 minutes. After that time, a picadore comes out on horseback who then stabs the bull on the muscle on the back of the neck - this is the first wounds the bull receives. After that, the bandillero has to place a total of 6 bandalerras, which are hooked and decorated sticks into the back of the bull - these further weaken and also excite the bull. Once those staged are completed, the matador enters the ring again with his cape and sword. He has to get the bull in just the right position so he can perform the estocada - thrusting the sword between the bulls shoulder blades and through his heart, killing him instantly. If the matador is good, he can do this in one go. If not, then the sword is removed and the bull is killed by either someone else cutting the back of his neck or the matador delivering another blow at the base of the neck. If the bull fights a good fight, the president of the association will pardon the bull, and he will be released into pasture, never to fight again. Oten the bulls ultimately die of the wounds inflicted during the fight. If they survive, they are used to breed. If a bull kills a matador then the bull and the mother of the bull are put to death. Depending on how good the matador is, he gets a prize at the end of the fight. Either one or both of the bulls ears and perhaps also it´s tail. After death, the bull ends up on tables across spain as food, his head most likely mounted on a wall someplace.

In between talent contests, eating and bullfights, Christmas arrived. Christmas in Spain in a simple affair with no gifts exchanging hands. Gift giving is done on January 6, the day of the Three Kings. I spent Christmas in a bit of a down an sad mood. After spending over a week in Spain, I was tired of being excluded from everything. I know only a few words and sentences in Spanish and here in Almonte, nobody - and I do mean NOBODY - speaks English. That means I am excluded from everything. If we are out with Manuel´s friends, I sit listening to music or watching TV I do not understand. I think that is why the Idols like shows have become faves for me to watch. I can laugh at bad singers and dancers and appreciate a good voice, even if I have no idea what is being said. There are no channels in Enlgish here, no CNN and no BBC. It may come as a bit of a surprise, but I like being the center of attention. Here I am not even on the radar screen. I can´t contribute to single conversation. The bookstores do not sell English books. It is a very lonely and isolating feeling. All of that combined with the holidays and being away from everything familiar, it was all a bit overwhelming. I just wanted to cry, to crawl under the covers and wait for it all to pass. On top of all of that, staying with Manuel´s family also takes a bit of a toll. I am not used to having no personal space of my own, no place to go to to just get away or to regroup. In India I can always camp out at home when things get to be too much. Here I do not have that luxury. I also can´t expect Manuel to keep translating everything to me.

Manuel and I finally decided to take a few days away and off we went to Granada. And what an amazing place that is, smashed against the foot of the Sierra Nevadas, with snowcapped peaks dwarfing the city. We spent the better part of a day at the Alhambra, which is just a spectacular place to see. For more information on Alhambra, click here. I will leave the historical details to the experts and just say that it is one of the most amazing places I have seen. So much so, that I was too busy taking in all the details and beauty around me that I stepped smack into a center of a small but incredibly cold fountain. I was lucky enough that it happened toward the end of the visit and had only to walk a relatively short distance with a numbing foot. Instead of offering me his dry shoes and socks, Manuel just laughed at me.

We arrived back at the hotel and upon exiting the elevator on our floor, we were immediately confronted with screams. And not just any screams, mind you, but the screams of a woman in the middle of what sounded like some pretty damn good sex. Her moans filled the halls and as we walked toward our room, they got louder and louder. Not because she was getting louder, but due to the fact that their room, number 301, was next to ours, 302, and we had to pass by their door. We couldn´t help but pause outside their door and giggle. Immature I know, but believe me, you would have done exactly the same thing. There are sounds you don´t really want to hear, but when you do, you just have to stop and listen. We went to our room where the insulation in our shared wall only managed to slightly muffle her moans. By now we had discerned a clear pattern coming from the woman which was sounding a bit like a sexual Morse Code, 2 medium, one long and five short. It went something like this: Aaaah, aaaah, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah... and then repeat. He was a little less predictable; Oh God... Oh... Oh... Oooooh yeeeaaaaahhhh... and on the chorus went. As if the sound quality wasn´t good enough, Manuel went into the bathroom, grabbed a glass and put it against the wall for an even finer level of detail. After what seemed like an unnatural length of time, we heard one final OOOH MYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOOOD and then it was all over. It made me want to say "Olé!" Manuel confirmed this by stepping away from the wall, setting down the glass and telling me he heard them kiss. Exhausted and relieved, I decided to take a bit of a nap only to be rudely interrupted by Act 2, which was soon followed by Act 3. Manuel and I debated knocking on the door and shaking the guys hand. Viagra or not, we were definately impressed, if not a bit jealous.

On our last night in Granada, it was the festival of the Three Kings. The whole city lines the street for the parade which features bands and floats loaded with people throwing candy in every possible direction while all the people that lined the route worked themselves into a frenzy trying to collect as much as possible. Some people came prepared with boxes, bags, umbrellas held upside down, anything is expand the possible catch territory. Being the uneducated gringo I am, I used only my hands before realising my jacket has a rather good sized pocket in the front center. That quickly became my candy catcher. The parade went on until the last of the Three Kings (the black one) rolled by followed by a Ronald McDonald who was kept company by the dancing fries and soft drink.