What's in a name?

It's not a Facebook message you get every day: "Hi! My name is Tricia Morente too. Let's be friends."

And so for the last two years, I have been FB buddies with the only other Tricia Morente I know (with messages trying to figure out if/how we're related).

In yet another example of "It's a small world", she and I just happened to be at the same social enterprise conference in Manila! Sadly, we missed each other, but perhaps even funnier was realizing the other Tricia was there as well.

I had previously set up a meeting to speak with Mark Ruiz, founder of Hapinoy -- a social enterprise consolidating the collective power of individual sari-sari stores. So, apparently, had the other Tricia Morente, who is a reporter in Manila. So imagine my surprise when I text Mark introducing myself, and asking where in the conference he is. "Which Tricia Morente is this?" -- as he had meetings scheduled with both of us the same day!

Determined to find my namesake, I went up to the registration desk, and asked whether Tricia Morente had arrived yet. Confused, the conference manager looked at my name tag, then appeared to debate whether she should alert a psychiatrist, or answer my question in the affirmative.

Today, Tricia's article on the "Business of Social Change" came out in the Manila Bulletin: for full article, click here.

She writes:

From agrarian reform advocate to diversified agribusiness; from environmental activism to sustainable community-based tourism; from protecting indigenous people’s rights to distributing organic rice—these are just some examples of the growing number of social enterprises mushrooming across the country.

On the subject of names, perhaps what I've found most interesting in comparing Indian and Philippine social enterprise is the definition of social enterprise itself. In India, the term tends to apply to for-profit ventures that serve the "bottom of the pyramid", commonly defined as consumers making $4 or less per day. So Acumen investments such as LifeSpring, 1298, and AyurVAID are easy examples.

In the Philippines, the definition is much more vague. Social enterprise there can be anything from Jollibee wanting better quality onions, and thus organizing onion farmer cooperatives and paying them a higher set price (something, incidentally that McDonalds was forced to do in India to get quality potatoes for their french fries -- but all under the banner of good business)... to traditional NGOs looking for revenue-generating opportunities now that grant funding is harder to come by. For-profit social ventures such as Hapinoy are few and far between.

That said, it's an exciting time to be watching Philippine social enterprise, as the space is starting to slowly grow. Three social enterprise incubators have started in the last two years -- one of these focused on healthcare ventures and partnering with the Ayala Foundation.

As for the other Tricia Morente, we have still never met. But I did get a huge smile on my face when I saw her name pop up with her article on social enterprise.

The Development Set

Having recently returned from a social enterprise conference at the beautiful Intercontinental Hotel in Manila, where we discussed how to reach poor Filipino farmers through market means, this poem that my friend Ajay sent seems apropos:

The Development Set
by Ross Coggins

Excuse me, friends, I must catch my jet
I’m off to join the Development Set;
My bags are packed, and I’ve had all my shots
I have traveller’s checks and pills for the trots!

The Development Set is bright and noble
Our thoughts are deep and our vision global;
Although we move with the better classes
Our thoughts are always with the masses.

In Sheraton Hotels in scattered nations
We damn multi-national corporations;
injustice seems easy to protest
In such seething hotbeds of social rest.

We discuss malnutrition over steaks
And plan hunger talks during coffee breaks.
Whether Asian floods or African drought,
We face each issue with open mouth.

We bring in consultants whose circumlocution
Raises difficulties for every solution –
Thus guaranteeing continued good eating
By showing the need for another meeting.

The language of the Development Set
Stretches the English alphabet;
We use swell words like “epigenetic”
“Micro”, “macro”, and “logarithmetic”

It pleasures us to be esoteric –
It’s so intellectually atmospheric!
And although establishments may be unmoved,
Our vocabularies are much improved.

When the talk gets deep and you’re feeling numb,
You can keep your shame to a minimum:
To show that you, too, are intelligent
Smugly ask, “Is it really development?”

Or say, “That’s fine in practice, but don’t you see:
It doesn’t work out in theory!”
A few may find this incomprehensible,
But most will admire you as deep and sensible.

Development set homes are extremely chic,
Full of carvings, curios, and draped with batik.
Eye-level photographs subtly assure
That your host is at home with the great and the poor.

Enough of these verses – on with the mission!
Our task is as broad as the human condition!
Just pray god the biblical promise is true:
The poor ye shall always have with you.

Delhi Weather Report

We stare at the weather report incredulously: 79 degrees and smoke?! What does that even mean?

As we head out to a friend's Diwali party, we find out that it means exactly that: smoke. Smoke from the thousands of fireworks and firecrackers that have gone off in the city to celebrate Diwali, and are continuing to go off during our drive. One girl on our block starts to light firecrackers in the middle of the street as we're driving down on our motorcycle; we weave around to make sure we don't get hit as it goes off. As is everything celebratory in a developing country, there's celebration tinged with a bit of menace.

Once I stop fearing that we'll be hit by a firecracker, the drive is simply magical. Fireworks going off in the distance; all the houses we pass are decorated with festive lights, with lines of candles in front of every doorway. Everyone is out in their best sarees. I've been in India for Diwali before, but I've never seen it celebrated as big as this in Delhi.

We of course get lost trying to find our friend's house. But like everything in India, somehow it all just works out -- we take a random turn, and the first house we find is the right place. Inside, the party is well under way; an incredibly diverse group of nationalities and professions. There's the Filipino who works at the World Health Organization - freshly returned from East Timor and just happens to be a fantastic chef; the Indian dancer who splits her time between Delhi and NY; the Canadian who helped with the Commonwealth Games. Somewhere around 11pm, it all just turns into a giant dance party (we still have a soft spot for "Desi Girl" from our wedding!)

We head home to still more fireworks, and the colored smoke surrounding us feels like a dreamland. Happy Diwali, one and all.

Festival of Lights?

It's a bit ironic that on Diwali, the festival of lights, there's no power in Delhi.

It's only for an hour or so, and by now, Tyler and I have gotten used to it -- shifting from our computers to just walking around our apartment, talking. During my first year in India, my good friend, roommate, and co-Acumen Fellow, John Tucker, helped me reframe the daily power outages. After one of my usual tirades about "How can any work get done in this country?!" when the power consistently went out in the middle of the working day (although never at the same time, so you could never just plan for it) -- he suggested just taking it all in stride. "Have a cup of chai and just talk to your colleagues."

Four years later, I have finally started coming close to exhibiting chalta hai -- the Indian sense of "it is what it is" -- so just make do.

There's a recent Financial Times blog post appropriately titled: "Life in Mumbai: blackouts, floods, deadly disease, and other opportunities" discussing the dichotomy between Mumbai becoming a global financial hub (with housing prices rivaling London and NY), yet still enduring daily blackouts and other not-so-insignificant nuisances. I remember Chris Walker talking about his daily commutes to work, having to wade through knee-high water but also not knowing if there were huge potholes on the ground.

The FT writer blogs:

"A few powerless hours in Mumbai aren't unheard of either. But prolonged blackouts like Sunday's are a vivid reminder of how India's shoddy infrastructure -- even in its most economically vibrant city -- does not match up to the country's ambitious as a global economic leader.

After all, how do you do business in a city where, on a given day, you might be stuck in traffic for two hours just to travel 15 km, be trapped for days by rising floodwaters, or contract a deadly disease in the comfort of your own home?

Those things tend not to happen in London or New York or Singapore. Even China, India's closest rival, has urban infrastructure that largely rivals that of the West.

But Mumbaikers -- they make do."

So, I should add, do Delhi-ites.

Choti Diwali

On the second day of Diwali, my true love gave to me...

There's no denying, we're fully in festival season. And tomorrow is the festival of festivals: Diwali. To give you a sense of how big this is in India, it's basically like Christmas, New Years, and Fourth of July... all rolled into one. The entire city of Delhi is adorned with lights, and endless store banners announce Diwali sales. Tonight, everyone will light diya candles at their house, and celebrate with fireworks (which are already starting to go off now, and it's only 6pm!)

Diwali is the "festival of lights" and begins with Dhanteras. Symbolically, Diwali represents the triumph of good over evil, light over darkness. When I went to the bank yesterday morning, all the workers chanted a hymn to start the day, and at sunset, Hindus are meant to take a bath and offer a diya lamp to Yama Raj, the Lord of Death, for protection.

Today is Choti Diwali, "Little Diwali". Choti Diwali represents the victory of Lord Krishna against the devil Narakasur. Driving around the city, it just feels festive (and meeting with clients today, the work environment is certainly bubbling with pre-holiday excitement). There's much more traffic than usual, and all markets are entirely packed with last-minute shoppers. Even beggars on the street ask for money "Diwali key pahs" (for Diwali).

What I didn't realize until today is that Diwali is actually a five day festival. Tomorrow is the biggest celebration, which includes family get-togethers and the worshipping of Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth and prosperity.

A colleague joked that we wouldn't schedule meetings on Thursday, as it's "Boxing Day" here. More accurately, it's a day for worshipping Govardhan -- particularly in the northern states of Punjab, Haryana, Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. Here's what I found in researching the holiday:

In this pooja, there is a tradition of building cow dung hillocks, which symbolize the Mount Govardhan, the mountain which was once lifted by Lord Krishna. After making such hillocks people decorate them with flowers and then worship them. They move in a circle all round the cow dung hillocks and offer prayers to Lord Govardhan.

There simply are no words...

Finally, Friday is Bhalya Duj, a day for brothers and sisters. Sisters place vermillion on her brothers' forehead and prays for a long life, while brothers give sisters presents and pray that she gets the best of things in life.

Interestingly, it's also festival season in the Philippines! As I learned on this trip, the Christmas season there starts in September and ends sometime around Chinese New Year (around February, depending on the lunar cycle). Everywhere I went, Christmas music was playing, and trees were already up.

Stores must love it. Traffic was particularly bad when I was there, and multiple people told me that it's because Filipinos get paid on the 1st and 15th of each month... there's a noticeable increase in traffic then, as people rush to the stores to spend their money -- especially in Christmastime!

Falalalala....lalalala.

State of Mind

There's a Seinfeld episode in which George discovers the secret to appearing busy, and therefore, important: look angry. It's actually quite comical; people come into his office, and he looks angrily at his computer. They figure he's really busy, and walk away.

A more real-life parallel that I often experience is feeling stressed, as though to emphasize internally that what you're working on is important. I remember it was quite an epiphany realizing that I could still get a particular deliverable done -- but I could either do it in a way that I was serious and stressed... or I could do the same work and be more lighthearted and fun. The latter never seemed "professional" to me, yet clearly this is when the most creativity happens, and therefore one's best work.

Even outside work, it's amazing how many things we consider "chores" -- rather than something we want to do. Take cooking. This used to be something fun when done once in a while... then much more of a chore, the more often I would cook... By just shifting my mindset today into cooking as a way to wind down after work -- rather than just something else on my daily checklist -- it became super fun and almost meditative.

It's a lesson I hope to bring to all parts of my life. I spent half of today trying (unsuccessfully) to secure a visa to my upcoming trip to Ghana. This meant half my day was spent extremely stressed, and I could feel my blood pressure rising as I waited on interminable lines at (insert place here: bank/copier/visa office) to bring exactly the materials they list on their website, only to finally be told that I did not have the proper documentation.

At some point, I just took a deep breath and realized that the outcome would likely be the same, regardless of whether my muscles were all tensed up, or if I just relaxed -- maybe even turning it all into a game.

After all, we create our own realities, and what's it all for if you're not having fun?

The National Pastime

Americans may be focused on the World Series right now, but the national pastime of the Philippines is blindingly clear: karaoke.

All self-respecting bars and restaurants in Manila have karaoke (including, I hear, the Hobbit Hole, which was started by a Peace Corps volunteer in the 1970s, where the waitstaff is all midgets -- which I never quite made it to). In the Philippines, karaoke is apparently even enough to get you killed, as my favorite New York Times article discusses, here. Note to self: don't sing Frank Sinatra in the Philippines!

In Pinamalayan (population: 43,521 in 2010), where both my parents grew up, karaoke is a nightly event. My uncle, who immigrated from the Philippines to California, returned a few years ago and introduced videoke to the province -- thus launching a business as well as a local craze. A videoke machine is an all-in-one karaoke machine, which includes the monitor, microphone and songs.

Embodying the entrepreneurism that Asians are known for, one new restaurant in Pinamalayan had a piano man and "song menu", where you could perform live. In the three days that I spent with my family in Pinamalayan, all three nights were spent karaoking! The last song before I left (requested by Aris) was appropriate: Empire State of Mind.

Some pics with the del Mundo brothers: Renoir, Piolo, and Gig -- my cousin Myla's handsome sons.

The Airport Index

Everyone has heard of the Big Mac Index, published by the Economist as a way of measuring purchasing power parity (PPP) across countries. There's now also a school of thought that uses the average length of women's skirts as a leading indicator of economic growth, and another school using men's receding hair lines as a lagging indicator.

Sitting here in Kuala Lumpur en route back to India, I now have my own: the airport index, as a relative indicator of GDP per capita for a given country. The way this index works is this: the greater the number of markings/stickers/tags/highlights on your airline ticket by the time you actually board your flight, the lower the GDP per capita of the country you're in.

For instance, in leaving Manila this morning, I had to pass through five separate gateways, where my ticket was inspected, something or other circled and signed, and sticker stuck. There was the initial security check, with the line extending 50 passengers outside the actual airport (which could be avoided by bribing the Philippine security guards, which I saw happen three times during a 20 minute wait -- twice by western businessmen, and once by a Filipino family).

Then of course check in, where you get your luggage tag. Yet another security check where your actual gate is circled by the guard who also checks that your name matches your passport. I see immigration and I think I'm all cleared... except for the terminal fee of 750 pesos before I can even line up for immigration. Here, I get both a sticker on my ticket, as well as a receipt.

Finally, passing immigration, I get another signature on my ticket. Oh and that's right, one last security check right at the gate, involving the guard highlighting my terminal fee sticker.

This actually isn't that far off from India, although to be fair, it depends which airport you're in. In a place like Jharkhand, tickets are not even printed by machine. Therefore, the ticketing agent has a whole stack of blank tickets, which at some point before checking in, they fill in your name with magic marker.

It doesn't appear that this stack is then alphabetized in any order, for it takes at least fifteen minutes to find one's ticket once check in actually happens -- during which point the passenger is repeatedly asked whether they do indeed have a ticket on this flight. Then come the numerous security checks (even for a domestic flight), that by the time you board, your ticket looks like a pre-school project!! There's red and blue circles and signatures, as well as highlights.

In India, the process is actually worse, as each piece of carry-on requires a tag, which you must get stamped at security. Nevermind that logically speaking, a piece of carry-on can't be brought on board if it doesn't pass security -- India requires the additional guarantee of a stamped tag.

The problem here is that the tags are so cheap and flimsy, that they easily fall off, and then you are in huge trouble trying to board (this happened to me once flying from Delhi to Hyderabad, and I almost missed my flight because I had to go back to security from all the way from the gate!)

Contrast this to a country like the US. I was shocked when I came home a few years ago and saw passengers not even printing a ticket from their e-ticket. Rather, the scanners at the gate could just scan one's Blackberry or smart phone directly!!

I can only imagine what travel must be like in Qatar or Luxembourg! -- the two richest countries by GDP per capita!

A Walk

I gotta say, the area where I'm staying feels a bit like Epcot Center. And I'm not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing. As an American tourist, I'd hate it... TGIFriday's, Starbucks, big malls... But as an expat in India, it's TGIFriday's, Starbucks, big malls!!!!

Starbucks is a bit surreal. It feels like stepping into any other Starbucks in NYC -- only nicer, as there is tons of outdoor seating, in perfect 80-degree weather. Everything feels, looks, and tastes like any other Starbucks, which I know is precisely the point. I do love the small bits of customization, though. For instance, I always got a kick of Starbucks' in Shanghai, with the option of putting "pearl tea" ("bubble tea") balls in your beverage. Here in Manila, it is less about beverage customization, but more about including local pastries, such as empaynada. Perhaps my favorite sign in Starbucks: "New breakfast sandwich! Spam bagel sandwich!! (double orders of spam also available)". There are also more kitchy paraphernalia for sale -- like small Starbucks cups to strap onto your cell phone.

The cashier is super friendly, joking around with me and trying to convince me that I want something to eat with my latte. This type of jovial action and friendly banter with strangers is certainly something I miss in India, and is such a welcome change when I come back to the US. Tyler and I talk a lot about how roles are much more fluid in the US than they are in India -- being a waiter is a job (usually a part-time job), and not necessarily a defining peg in the social hierarchy, like it tends to be in India. At least in my small amount of time in Manila, I see the same level of confidence and friendliness in Filipinos.

But lest I start thinking Filipino social structure is much more flat than Indian culture, I notice a funny site leaving Starbucks. It takes me a couple seconds to piece it all together -- it just looks so weird. A very well-dressed woman in designer sunglasses walks ahead, barely looking back as she crosses the street like it's a runway.

Meanwhile, two older Filipina women dressed in matching light green uniforms push two strollers a few feet behind. I realize they are her maids! (and clearly she wants everyone else knowing as well, by how they are dressed).

Just when you start thinking you can analyzing a culture, something throws you off and you're back where you started.

The Motherland

I never thought I'd say this, but there really is something magical about Manila. I certainly didn't feel that way the first time I came to the Philippines when I was 19. Back then, Manila was smoggy and dirty and loud and crowded. And I'm sure it still is - especially someone coming from crisp and clean New England.

But coming from Delhi, I've never seen Manila so clear and clean, with bright blue skies and infrastructure that just works. The airport was insanely efficient. Even with immigration I went from leaving the plane to getting in a car in literally fifteen minutes! (granted, I didn't have any bags to claim, but there also weren't random luggage checks and extra security clearances!)

By just comparing the two capital cities, you wouldn't think that India and the Philippines have a similar GDP per capita (adjusted for PPP): $3920 for the Philippines (125th, just below Mongolia, according to the IMF, 2010) vs. $3408 for India (129th, just below Tuvalu in Polynesia). In terms of infrastructure and buildings themselves, Manila just feels so much more incredibly advanced.

Shockingly, the hotel car is equipped with WiFi, and I'm actually able to call Tyler from Skype! As we drive through Manila, I can't help but notice how good the roads were, how cars follow rules, and how many international brands there are everywhere (Starbucks! California Pizza Kitchen!)

But the Philippines will always be the Philippines. Before entering the hotel, I stop to pet the adorably cute "drug dog", who really is more of a puppy looking for love than an intimidating dog sniffing for drugs. After playing with him him for a while, I stand up to leave... but not before his handler immediately sprays copious amounts of disinfectant all over my hand!!

Well, I'm now off to explore (read: buy a cafe latte and purchase a sim card). Mabuhay!!!

Procrastination Tool

There are lots of tough decisions that will inevitably happen as Tyler applies for business school and we plan our move back to the US: What's the best fit? How far is it from NY? What will I do in [insert non-NY city/town here]?

So it's nice to just be able to laugh at the options: video.

Words Unsaid

To get ready for my upcoming trip to the Philippines, Ali and I spent yesterday's Hindi lesson translating Tagalog phrases into Hindi (thanks to a pretty nifty website called Quizlet).

While the basic translation of words was pretty straightforward, what struck me was the various word-order sentence structures in Hindi, English, and Tagalog. English, of course, starts with the subject; and the word that begins the sentence is usually regarded as most important (e.g. "I am going to the store.")

In Hindi, this structure is pretty much turned on its head: "Store to I am going." (Dukan ko may ja rahathee oo) The last word (always the verb) is the most important aspect of the sentence. As Ali says: "Hindi speakers don't let you drift away while they speak. You have to wait until the very end to hear the whole reason for the sentence."

Tagalog is somewhere in between: "Going I to the store" (Papunta ako sa store).

What's fascinating to me is what words are given most importance in each of the various languages, and how this relates with culture itself. In America, it's all about the person, the subject; active voice is always preferable. In Hindi, sentence structures are much more passive; commands often take the form: "Please ensure a car will come" (without directly asking the person to call for a car himself). Tagalog values actions themselves; it appears less important who's actually doing them.

Another aspect of language I find fascinating is the long list of English words and phrases that simply don't exist in other languages. There's no "I'm sorry" in Tagalog. In Hindi, one could write an entire book about words that don't appear in the language: "excited" or "weekend" to start with.

More existentially, no one "owns" anything in Hindi; instead, it is a version of "with me". Gurus point to this impermanence as one of the roots of spirituality -- everything comes and goes -- it's just "with us" in the moment.

Almost comically, there is also no Hindi word for "privacy." From the types of questions I am constantly inundated with (Are you married? How much money do you make? How much did you buy that for?), I didn't have to learn that in a textbook!

The new hipsters

It was the most unlikely grouping I have seen in a while. Delhi socialites, social entrepreneurs and impact investors, heads of foundations, and haute couture.

... sipping on Moet champagne (are we really still in Delhi?)

... in a shoe store.

But that statement in itself is likely sacrilege, as it wasn't just any shoe store, but Ferragamo.

For the last year, Ferragamo has partnered with Acumen Fund around a new line of socially-responsible men's shoes (think more eco-friendly materials, more responsible practices, etc). Ferragamo is donating 5% of worldwide revenues from this line to Acumen India.

And that includes LifeSpring as part of the overall ecosystem. This past Sunday, Ferragamo's CEO visited our hospitals in Hyderabad and met with Anant. Although the link between maternity hospitals and men's designer shoes is not an obvious one to say the least, the LifeSpring team seemed incredibly impressed by the knowledge and passion that Ferragamo's CEO had around our mission.

Social enterprise never seemed so hip! [video of NYC Ferragamo/Acumen launch]

Shower kharab hai

My mornings are invariably spent pleading for some appliance to work. This morning, it was the shower. When we first saw our apartment, one of the most exciting features was the enormous shower head -- such a luxury in India, where my first "shower" was using a bucket and pail to pour water over my head. I still love our shower, but it seems to be completely random when it happens to work amazingly (all weekend), and when it's like the little engine that could (this morning).

When Tyler and I watched "Rome" this weekend, I smirked watching the characters plead to the gods to bestow curses on their enemies. Yet here I was this morning, literally talking to my shower head, willing it to work. As if heading my words, the water began gushing out of the shower head as though finally released, but then disappeared to literally two drops after the three-second outpour.

This past weekend, our pleading was towards our washing machine, which lately has been wavering between not working at all, and "working" at 1000x its normal speed -- resulting in the most violent shaking that's reminiscent of poltergeist.

One of the first Hindi words I learned through osmosis is "kharab", or "broken". "Meter kharab hai", "toaster kharab hai" -- the possibilities are endless. What always struck me was how passive these phrases are; as though the autorickshaw meter mysteriously just decided not to work. There's also never a sense of, "but don't worry, it will be fixed soon."

In thinking about appliances, I laugh thinking about a discussion I had with one of my colleagues shortly after I got here. He could not believe that I bought an iron to iron my own clothes, when I could easily have them ironed by someone else. When another colleague longingly remarked, "Americans have so many appliances!", this first colleague quickly pipped: "Yea, but then you actually have to do everything yourself instead of having it done for you." He ended the conversation with: "Ah, you weird Americans."

And that was before he knew I talked to my appliances...

The Joy of Doing Things Badly: Adventures in Hindi

Another big change in moving from Hyderabad to Delhi is the language of daily life. It has become cliche to say that India is made up of individual countries, but it many ways, it certainly feels that way. There are 18 official languages, and individual states are free to decide their own language for administration and education. The Indian census goes further to say that there are 114 languages with more than 10,000 speakers; while the Ethnologue Report estimates that there are 850 languages in daily use in India.

So it is no surprise that Hyderabad (in the south) speaks a different language than the capital city of Delhi. During my first few weeks in Hyderabad, I traded Telugu lessons for French lessons. My teacher (who did not wear shoes even though we met at a coffee shop in the mall) liked to say that Telugu is the "Italian of the east." In a way, I could see what he meant. There's something lyrical about Telugu. At the same time, it always reminded me of blowing bubbles. A colleague who moved to Hyderabad from Delhi (and doesn't speak any Telugu) says that he often just adds "alloo" or "wadamaloo" to Hindi words and it comes close enough to Telugu. Case in point: Danyavad (or, thank you, in Hindi) becomes danyavadamaloo in Telugu. I remember both my eagerness to learn Telugu and my disappointment my first day in Hyderabad: "Six syllables to say thank you?!"

I never did make it past the basics of Telugu: telling a mother at LifeSpring that her baby is beautiful; directions for an autowalla to take me home...

So I've resolved in my last year in India to learn Hindi enough to be conversational (above a 7-year old ability, which is where my Tagalog is). And I've learned a secret: the joy of doing things badly! Last year when I first started Hindi lessons, I barely used Hindi outside the classroom, cognizant that I would surely mess up. For a recovering perfectionist like myself, putting yourself out there before something is absolutely perfect is a difficult task.

But with the joy of doing things badly, who cares if you mess up? It reminds me of a New Yorker article I read about dealing with decision paralysis. The author now knows she will choose badly at a restaurant, so instead of internally debating, she just chooses right away and is done with it. It's a lot less stressful and also more fun.

I actually think part of the reason auto drivers are now being so nice to me is that they see the effort I'm putting into Hindi. Either they're impressed and use the meter instead of citing an outrageous sum, or they're amused and do the same.

Besides getting closer to the culture on a day-to-day level, learning Hindi also presents a unique insight into the Indian mind. First, there are the superficial differences. In India, one "drinks" cigarettes and "best friends" are called "special friends." But then, there are deeper ones as well. There is no word for "weekend" (many companies work Saturdays). My personal favorite revolves around time. Whereas time is linear in the west, it is circular in India. Perhaps this stems from the Hindu concept of reincarnation. People go through rebirth and rebirth, in a way that bends time to be circular. Case in point: in Hindi, the word for "yesterday" is also the same word as "tomorrow" (kal). "The day before yesterday" and "the day after tomorrow" are again the same word: parson.

In Dreaming in Hindi, the author writes something that rings especially true:

"The delight of defamiliarization is one of the genuine pleasures of languaging. Forcing yourself back to the start, finding names again for everything, requires you to look at everything fresh: sky, dirt, air, your feet. In bhram, in the sweet illusion you get without words, nothing in the world can remain what it was. Nothing can possibly stay ordinary."

And with that, back to my Hindi flashcards...

Adventures in Indian Fashion

An unintended benefit of moving to Delhi is I now get to wear jeans outside my flat, without stares and looks as though I'm a girl of loose morals.

Hyderabad is one of the more conservative cities I've experienced in India. Women do not expose their legs nor their shoulders; at times I would feel self-conscious wearing a long skirt if the skirt did not go down to my feet. And unless I were in the gym, I would never wear a sleeveless top.

Contrast this with a city like Bombay. When Tyler and I went to a friend's wedding, we couldn't help but ogle at the red carpet fashion statements: jewel-encrusted saree tops that looked more like bikinis, with gorgeous fabric scooped seductively, leaving bare backs.

I have never seen anything remotely resembling this in Hyderabad. A friend of mine was working out in the gym in usual t-shirt and sweatpants gym attire. Two women came up to her to tell her to pull her t-shirt down -- while jogging, [gasp!] she was exposing an inch of skin on her lower back!

I remember when I myself just started working out in Hyderabad. I was all but ostracized my first day, when I wore a tank top and shorts to work out. On the treadmill next to me, a woman wore a full burka. I saw our reflections in the mirror and decided I would need to buy different workout clothes...

Comfort and style aside, fashion in India is fascinating, in part, because it lends a different window through which to view change and the ubiquitous push and pull between tradition and modernity.

So given that, this ad made me smile:

From the NYT Blog, 9/29/11.