Christmas in Delhi

If Delhi's got something over Hyderabad on Christmas, it's that it's pretty darn cold so at least it actually feels like Christmas! (for me, anyway... Tyler spends his Christmases in LA with his family and the Christmas tree lot, so perhaps Hyderabad feels more like home to him!)

We woke up early on Sunday, spoke to my cousins over Skype, and then headed to Christmas mass.  I've never quite thought about this before, but the Vatican (Holy See) has an embassy in Delhi -- not too far from the Pakistani embassy and down the street from the American and Chinese embassies.  This is the only embassy I've been to where there hasn't been insane security (we laughed at the huge gun sitting unmanned as you walk inside).  We enjoyed Christmas mass in a cozy little chapel, presided by two Latin priests who sang quite a lot of hymns in Latin.  We blasted out Joy to the World and O Come Let Us Adore Him.

Later that day, we finally broke out our brand new tandoor oven (well, new from about three months ago; we figured Christmas was a pretty good excuse to finally take it out of the box!)  Of course, things don't come straight from the box to use very easily in India.  Our brand new power strip sparked out while the tandoor was smoking and clearing all kinds of enamel and other debris.

Since our power strip died, our tandoor now needed to compete with our fridge -- only one could be plugged in at any one time.  With my new Punjabi khana cookbook in hand, we lovingly prepared the marinate to soak all the vegetables in.  We couldn't wait to eat our delicious Christmas meal!!

Note to self: perhaps it's not the best idea to open presents while the food is cooking, especially when one of the presents is a new Kindle that we both became obsessed with exploring!

Christmas dinner got a little burnt... who's up for TGI Fridays?

Thoughts for the New Year

"When you have come to the edge
Of all the light you know,

And are about to step off
Into the darkness of the unknown,

Faith is knowing
One of two things will happen:

There will be something solid to stand on,
Or you will be taught how to fly."

-Anonymous poet


Here's to welcoming the new year with renewed faith (in the universe, in ourselves, and in each other) and much joy.

What's in a name?

Tyler got me a Kindle for Christmas (and not only a Kindle, but one pre-loaded with lots of fun travel books for our upcoming trip to Istanbul, and a subscription to the New York Times!).  Since then, the Kindle has scarcely left my side (it's like the commercial from when we were little: "My buddy...my buddy... wherever I go, he goes too! -- my buddy and me!")

I'm officially hooked.

Today on my Kindle, I read an interesting op-ed in the Times on changing one's name.  Now, this is an area I have thought a lot about for a year and a half now, beginning soon after Tyler and I had become engaged.  As the wedding approached, I talked to tons of girlfriends about their choice of keeping vs. changing their name and more importantly, the factors that went into their decision.  I had always assumed I would change my name, yet as our wedding approached, I started to acquire the undeniable symptoms of separation anxiety.  I mean, I liked my last name.  At the same time, I did like the feeling of "one-ness" and unity that having one last name implies.

Who knew that India would provide a year's extension in which to work out my internal neuroses -- as my passport, visa, and all things legal are in my maiden name (and good luck trying to convince the folks at immigration why your names do not match up across documents).

Fast-forward to the article in today's Times.  The author writes, "Twelve years ago, I changed my name to Alina Simone... When I think back to my old self, I think of an entirely different person, not altogether likable, whose singular distinguishing characteristic was the chronic inability to follow through with anything she said she would do.  I picked up and abandoned projects with great regularity back then, careful to always avoid the frightening terrain where my true ambitions lay.

Then I changed my name and it changed me.  In my new incarnation as Alina Simone, I had no reputation, no history of unmet expectations, nothing to lose.  I started singing; I formed a band.  I poured my best self into my new name."

The thing is though, that I like who I am as Tricia Morente.  Sure, there are habits I'd like to stop and habits I'd like to start, but by and large, there's no desire to run away from who I am.  

Although, it is an interesting thought: What would you be in a new incarnation?  Who would you be in your best self?

Perhaps I've been looking at it all wrong: rather than losing who I've been, perhaps a change in name can ultimately be a means towards becoming the person I truly want to be.

And with that, I think of a friend's recent email, looking ahead to the new year.  He writes:

I have a strong feeling about 2012.  It is not just another leap year.  I look forward to seeing it unfold -- for each one of us and for the globe as a whole.

Enjoy the leap -- of faith, of consciousness, of everything that is.

Our Christmas Eve Day in Pictures

Our stockings are up Contrary to what you might think, Christmas in India is actually very similar to Christmas back home, with a few minor modifications...

Santa's just a bit scarier here, with his plastic mask and all...

Instead of Christmas carolers, we have Hare Krishna revelers...

Christmas trees are a bit skinnier...

And instead of chestnuts roasting on an open fire, we have potatoes and lime on every street corner...

Not quite the Christmases we remember, but also one we won't forget soon.  Sending everyone a very Merry Christmas!!  We miss you!

The Rage

I hate to say it, but I am precariously close to the brink of intense road rage, the like of which cannot be remotely fathomed unless one has spent a reasonable amount of time in an Indian metro.

I realize violence isn't the answer, and especially as we're three days away from the anniversary of the birth of Christ.  But I don't think an environment has quite stirred me up as much as our ten block radius.

I used to play a game of how many times cars would honk at me during the ten minute walk from my house to the metro station, but I would lose count after about 15 or so.  It's quite incredible, and I just keep telling myself that they actually think it's good driving to honk so many times needlessly (when my friend, Priya, was getting her driver's license in Hyderabad, her instructor kept yelling at her because she wouldn't honk the horn enough!)  It's become too easy of a joke to say how much cars honk (even when all alone on the road at 4:15am, my cab would honk every five minutes or so, as though to make sure his horns were indeed working fine since the last time he checked).

But telling yourself these stories only helps so much when the horns honk so loudly and directly in your ear that you just want to yell yourself (or throw whatever you happen to be holding)!  I was teasing Tyler that he doesn't have as many stray dog friends in our new neighborhood versus his old one, and he remarked that the dogs here just seem so stressed all the time with all the cars honking in every direction!

So instead, I focus on the positives.  That's the thing with India.  One second you feel intense anger at the car that honked right in your ear; literally the next, you spot laughing schoolchildren, crossing the street with their arms wrapped around each other, and can't help but smile. (It works the other way too.  I was just emailing Tyler how excited I was for dal, murgh makhani (butter chicken) and garlic naan tonight, then spotted bloodied fish being sold on our sidewalk (as in, literally displayed on a single newspaper upon the sidewalk, blood dripping and attracting flies and dogs from all directions... that's one way to kill an appetite!)

As much as the walk to and from the metro station infuriates me, it's also quite magical -- passing crumbling architectural structures, I imagine from the 18th century or so.  Always, there's cricket to be played (I wonder whether the children realize the magic of playing cricket amidst these gorgeous structures).  The animals make me smile as well.  There are dogs who pop out from the dumpster, looking embarrassed they've been discovered; or serene-looking cows acting like kings of their castle.

And that's the beauty with India.  Everything happens all at once; you can't have the magic without the mayhem; the serenity without the noise.  Perhaps there's really no juxtaposition at all -- it's the yin and the yang, combined, that gives one a fullness in life.

Still.  I really think I could do without the honks.

True phone call, about 10 seconds ago

Ring, ring...

Me: Hello?

Caller: Hello?

Me: Hello?

Caller: Hello?

Me: Who is this?

Caller: Is this 99109 92924?

Me: I'm sorry, what?

Caller: I'm calling to ask if this is your number: Is this 99109 92924?

Me: Yes. How can I help you?

Caller: Yes, I am calling this number.

Me: Yes?

[The caller then hangs up, only to call back 30 seconds later... Only to hang up after I pick up.]  

I just have to laugh.  Phone etiquette here is quite funny.  At best, it's highly efficient.  I call someone, and they pick up and tersely say: "Yes, tell me."  There's no chit chat, just straight to the point (funny because I have to remind myself not to do that when I'm speaking to American colleagues!)

Perhaps the funniest though is telephone etiquette in Hyderabad.  When I first moved to India and called someone, it was not uncommon for the recipient to pick up and say: "Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello?" (this is not an exaggeration)  Each time I would start to speak and say who I am, the recipient would say another, "Hello?"  I remember one time when ordering pizza, I had to just say: "Stop!" so we could get past the salutations and I could place my order!

This trend was actually so pervasive, that for a while, my then roommate, Jack, would start to pick up his cell phone when friends call, answering: "Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello?"- and then just hang up.  

It would be a bit silly, if it also weren't so true.

Fear-based Leadership

I came to India four years ago with a hypothesis, born out of my time working with Katzenbach: that the true challenge to social enterprises scaling up is around talent -- much more so than financial constraints to scale.  This is not, of course, to belittle the need for capital that is aligned with the organization's social goals.  Yet in my experience, this aspect, while challenging, is also much more straight-forward than recruiting/developing/retaining talent.  So often, what I've seen in India is an inspiring entrepreneur, intent on growing his or her idea.  Yet the challenge soon becomes building not only the leadership team, but the front lines -- which becomes much more difficult with scale.

Lately, I've been doing a lot of thinking about leadership styles -- particularly with the a plethora of articles being written about fear-based leadership in the US, based on uncertainty and the economic environment.  When I first got to India, I got feedback that I was being too "nice" to people who reported to me; that I needed to instill more fear.

I recently did some consulting work for a Delhi-based organization whose staff was so fearful of the CEO that no one would speak up at meetings (not so uncommon in Asian organizations, as I saw this trend in Thailand as well, when I wrote a business school case on a leading conglomerate there).

In thinking through these cultural differences, as well as the current trend in US management styles to veer towards fear-based leadership, I found this Strategy & Business interview with Meg Wheatley particularly interesting.

In part, she says:

"I notice that when I ask people how much time they spend thinking together with colleagues, reflecting on what they’ve learned from their most recent efforts, they just stare back blankly at me. It’s getting hard to remember what it felt like to manage reflectively — to take time to figure things out together and to learn from experience...

In most companies, we do not have (and I believe won’t have for the foreseeable future) the money to fund the work that we have to do. Leaders have two choices. One, they can tap the invisible resource of people who become self-motivated when invited to engage together. This approach has well-documented results in higher productivity, innovation, and motivation, but it requires a shift from a fear-based approach to a belief in the capacity of most people to contribute, to be creative, and to be motivated internally. Alternatively, they can continue to slash and burn, tightening controls, and using coercive methods to enforce the cuts. This destroys capacity, yet it is the more common approach these days.

Around the time I began writing Perseverance, I read a book by Laurence Gonzales called Deep Survival: Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why: True Stories of Miraculous Endurance and Sudden Death [W.W. Norton, 2003]. Gonzalez says that when people are truly lost in the wilderness, they go through predictable stages. First, they deny they’re lost; they keep doing what they’ve always done but with a greater sense of urgency. Then, when they begin to realize that they’re lost, they search frantically for any shred of evidence that would indicate that they’re not. Next they deteriorate, both physically and mentally. Their frantic search for the familiar, and their inability to recognize that their current maps aren’t working, leads to the ultimate moment when they realize they are close to death. If they don’t acknowledge that they’re lost and that they need new information to construct an accurate read on their situation, they will die.

When I read this, I thought, “That’s exactly what I see in organizations (and in our political leaders).” Too many leaders fail to realize that the old ways, their mental maps, aren’t giving them the information they need. But instead of acknowledging that, they push on more frantically, desperate to have the old ways work. When human beings work from fear and panic, we lose nearly all of our best reasoning capacities. We can’t see patterns, think about the future, or make moral judgments.

This leads to a terrible cycle, a death spiral. People in fear look for someone to blame; so leaders blame their staff, and staff blame their leaders. A climate of blame leads to self-protective behaviors. People take fewer risks; creativity and participation disappear. New rules and regulations appear, with unintended but predictable consequences: more staff disengagement, more wasted time, more chaos. People spend all their time trying to cope or writing reports to confirm that they aren’t to blame. When I’m speaking with a group and comment about the number of reports people have to write today, or the number of measures they have to track, the audience members roll their eyes and groan...

When you’re lost in the wilderness, the only way to survive is to admit that you’re lost — and to stop looking for signs that might confirm that you know where you are. Your old ways of doing things won’t get you out of this situation. Once you realize this, you can look clearly around you, and seek information that will help you rethink what to do. You don’t have to change the situation you’re in; you have to change your mind about it.

For any situation where the old maps are failing, you need to call together everyone who might have information that’s needed to construct a new map. This includes people at all levels of the system — anyone who plays a role that’s relevant. Especially as you face increasingly complex problems that have no easy answers, you need to be brave enough to seek out perspectives from all parts of the system. It takes a lot of courage for a leader to say, “Our problems were caused by complex interactions. I don’t know what to do, but I know we can figure it out together.”

The Entrepreneurial Bug

Easily one of the most exciting aspects of living in India is how entrepreneurial it is here.  Whereas the economy back home in NY still feels drenched in fear and conservatism, opportunity abounds here in India.  It's inspiring to have so many of our friends starting businesses and embracing the entrepreneurial spirit.  There's my former co-worker and good friend who started her own company in Hyderabad -- essentially a marketing platform for micro-entrepreneurs and service workers.  There's another girlfriend in Bangalore heading an inspiring social enterprise focused on newborn health.  Tyler recently had drinks with a future business school classmate of his, who started a healthcare foundation in India a few years ago.

An unindented consequence of moving to Delhi is how much our social circle has expanded beyond social enterprise.  In Hyderabad, if you are an expat, in 99% of cases, you are either working in social enterprise or in IT (and both "camps" live on opposite sides of the sprawling city, entrenching the insularism of both tribes).  In Delhi, our circle has expanded to include aspiring politicians, journalists, socialites, and bankers.  And of course, there's the diversification of businesses that our friends are starting.

Today, we served as tasters for two friends, who are opening a chain of healthy fast food Mexican joints called Picante.  The two friends, both Indian and schooled in the US, went to Darden Business School and essentially lived off Chipotle for most of their two years in Virginia (understandably!)  One went off to McKinsey after school, but couldn't help thinking that this idea could take off in India.  When his friend and future business partner finished b-school a year later, they decided to head back together and give it a shot.

Heading to the tasting this afternoon proved to be quite an adventure in itself.  An hour and forty-five minutes on the motorcycle, we went from posh South Delhi, to historical North Delhi and the Delhi University area, passing forts and crumbling Mughal palaces along the way... to what felt like the wild west.  Large trucks abounded, carrying all sorts of items/food/people.  One huge truck was open in the back, stacked to the brim with onions, with five men sitting on top of the piles of onions, bopping along the way.  Needless to say, cows and all sorts of animals lined the roads.  It didn't help that we didn't know the area.  Google maps could only help so much (and navigating with Tyler's smartphone while we're driving on the motorcycle ranks on my list of favorite activities lower than cleaning the bathtub).

As is always the case in India, just when you think you're insanely lost, somehow you stumble upon what you're looking for.  We're grateful for our perseverance, for once we get inside, there's a giant spread of the most beautiful Mexican food we've seen in all our years in India: roasted chicken, black beans, spanish rice, corn salsa, guacamole, and three types of fresh salsas.  We dig in, then spend time giving feedback around taste, appearance, texture, smell, and overall recommendations.

Picante opens up in Gurgaon on Christmas Day.  Keep your eye out.  It's sure to be a hit! -- India's ready for it (and if not, there's a good chance that Tyler and I ourselves will keep it in business with all our visits there!)

Work Life Balance

I don't mean to brag, but I had quite possibly the most perfect, ordinary day.  Sure, it helps that it's Friday, but it's also much more than that.

I wake up early and head to Hindi class.  Afterwards, I walk about 5 minutes to the gym -- which, in India, is the rarest of rare delights.  Of all the things I miss from NY, walking from place to place is surprisingly up there on my list.

The gym is nice and empty, as folks are heading into the office.  I snag an elliptical with a TV and plug in my headphones (such an upgrade from our last gym, where I was just thrilled an elliptical would be working!)  Fresh from Hindi class, I tune into the government Hindi news channel, but find an inverse correlation to how hard I'd concentrate on the Hindi vs. my speed on the elliptical.

I decide to get more realistic.  Eureka!  I stumble upon quite possibly the best channel to learn Hindi and work out: a channel of karaoke Bollywood music!!  I turn it up and soak in the Bollywood dance moves, while mouthing the Hindi I'm reading down below.  The verb "karna" (to do) is amazingly flexible... you can stick any word in front of it and turn that word into a verb.  In one song, there are about 5 different uses for [x] "karna", like "party karta hai" and "world travel karta hai".  It's great.  You, too, can speak Hindi!

Afterwards, I head back to the Hindi class/school and study a bit on my own.  Then it's off to my first Indian cooking class!  I head to Nita Mehta's -- sort-of the Indian Rachael Ray.  She has books galore, and the class is essentially a classroom with a giant stovetop and kitchen, with cameras hovering over the pots, projecting to televisions around the room.  For a class of only eight of us, it feels like quite a production.  We learn all sorts of ways to cook paneer, essentially the Indian version of tofu -- in that it's high in protein, has absolutely no taste, but goes well with everything.

I look around the room, and my fellow students are either very young women (no doubt taking cooking classes to become more marriage marketable), or old matrons (one complaints that her husband doesn't like her cooking at all).  It's easy to say that the best part of the class comes at the end, when we get to eat all the paneer dishes she's been demonstrating.  I feel like I'm part of the studio live audience, and almost clap when the food starts getting passed around.

It's now 3pm, and time to start work.  I put in a few good hours working on a deliverable due to our funder next week; then get on the phone for a conference call.  It's an amazing mix of being super engaged and interested in my work, but not having it take over my life (quite possibly the first time this has happened!)  Working part-time certainly has its benefits!

As I close this, I'm about to finish watching a Bollywood DVD I started yesterday and have dinner with Tyler, before we head over to a Holiday "White" party at a bar/club nearby.  If this isn't amazing work/life balance, I'm not sure what is.  I'll have to remember to re-read this at some point when we've moved back to NYC, and remember that indeed, it is possible.

Inspired

Harvard's early action decisions go out today. One interesting reflection is how different my interviews have been in Long Island versus here in India. It's impossible not to feel like you're in a bubble in Long Island -- everybody on the same track, trying to get into the same schools, with very similar extracurricular activities.

I'm not sure if times have changed, or just my geography (or clearly both), but I've found my Harvard undergrad interviews here in India nothing short of inspiring. There's the high school senior living in a rural area, who drives two hours each way to take classes to improve his English. There's another, living in the outskirts of a jungle, who is so passionate about saving tigers that he invented a contraption to find traps that hunters have set. They have experiences that I can't imagine having had back when I was in high school. For instance, one American who has been living in India told me about giving left-over food away to a street child, whose mother then asked him to keep her daughter: "If you can feed her, you can keep her."

Whether or not they get into Harvard, these kids are among the most inspiring young people I've met. Next month, Harvard's President, Drew Gilpin Faust, will visit India, to "highlight the increasingly vital role of India and South Asia at Harvard." There's still a long way to go. Last year, Harvard only accepted four students from India, into a freshman undergraduate class of 1600.

I'm still in touch with my two interviewees who got into Harvard last year. Among the biggest culture shocks? Primal scream, which they experienced earlier this week, wherein undergrads streak around Harvard Yard butt-naked, in freezing weather, the night before exams start. I can only imagine what their mothers back in India must be thinking...

Morning Rituals

Our apartment has the singular distinction of having the worst working shower I've ever experienced.

I say "working shower" to clearly differentiate between the many non-working showers (e.g. using buckets or ducking under the low bathtub faucet) I've had during my four years in India. For Tyler's entire year living in Hyderabad, he would fill up a large bucket and bring this to his "shower" corner in his bathroom. Since his faucet did not have hot water, he would take (no joke) an electric hod rod and stick it in the bucket of water until the water warmed up.

Come to think of it, my first year in Hyderabad was without hot water as well, although I was thankful to at least have a shower where I could stand upright (for most of the year). The funny thing is that you don't realize what you actually need in Hyderabad is a "cold" water faucet. My bedroom did not have air conditioner either (brutal in 110 degree weather in May and June!) Often I would just hop into the shower to cool down... but the pipes made the water feel just about as hot as the air, and just about as refreshing.

So compared with that, we're both grateful to have a working shower here in Delhi. The problem is that it just doesn't exactly "work" all that well. Sure, water comes out. But the first ten minutes of every shower is spent waiting for the hot water to come. Then once it does, it comes full force, and in random, powerful spurts. So then comes another 5-7 minutes of tweaking with the cold and scorching water -- it's never the same consistency each day. Often by the time I get the temperature just right so I can begin shampooing, the hot water runs out. Today, the temperature just kept getting hotter. Either way, I always end up getting out of the shower sooner than intended, either because the hot water has run out or it is scorching and can't compete with the cold water on full blast.

I read an article a while ago saying that one of the greatest predictors of daily happiness is your commute to work (with another being your relationship to your boss). Well, I've got the commute part covered. But I do think there's something about daily rituals and daily habits, and how the relative ease of these affects your daily happiness. In that way, the shower and I have some working things out to do.

But in the meantime, I suppose I should just enjoy it. I'm sure I'll think my shower back in NYC is just plain old boring after this.

The dangers of Hindi

So I'm sitting here at this trendy cafe, reading my "Chota Rajkumar" (The Little Prince). I've brought my trusty giant Hindi-English dictionary with me -- more because it's so heavy that it actually guilts me into doing my Hindi homework, having lugged it around everywhere.

Looking words up in Hindi takes me twice as long as it should, since, having mastered the actual letters, I've now forgotten what order these letters come in. So in looking up one word, I flip the pages front to back; and then back to front (repeating as necessary), until I finally come to the letter I'm looking for.

Within each letter, I go through roughly the same process. In particular, flags above and below the letters throw me off more, and I found myself spending literally about 10 minutes trying to look up "akarshak". Tyler's gone off to get his hair cut; his haircut is done and I've read about three sentences.

Frustrated and almost convinced it's just not in the dictionary, I point to the word and ask my waiter what it means.

He blushes.

Oh no.

"Maydam, it means 'attractive'," he says, blushing more and avoiding all eye contact. He smiles coyly.

Great, now the waiter thinks I'm flirting with him.

That'll show me to take the easy way out...

Historical Tour Fever

And on the subject of historical tours, I stumbled upon this in the Wall Street Journal: a tour of Imperial Delhi. Culturally, it's an exciting time to be living in Delhi. As the city celebrates its 100th anniversary as India's capital, it is also applying to be listed as a UNESCO heritage city.

Here's the tour that the Journal recommends:

1. Start from Coronation Park, the site of the 1911 Durbar, when King George V announced the capital would move to Delhi. The park, long neglected, is where the king’s statue was moved after Independence.

2. Hop on an autorickshaw to see where the British lived before New Delhi was completed. Head first to the Vice Chancellor’s Office at Delhi University, where the British Viceroy lived before Government House, now Rashtrapati Bhavan, was complete.

3. While you’re in the area, it’s worth visiting the Mutiny Memorial, built by the British to commemorate the British soldiers who died in the 1857 Indian Mutiny, an event also known as the first war of independence.

4. During the building of New Delhi, British administrators and their families lived in Civil Lines. The residential area is where many of the city’s earliest colonial houses can still be found. Among them is Maidens Hotel. Built at the turn of the century, this is where lead architect Edwin Lutyens lived during the building of the new city. When the capital was moved to Delhi, the city’s center shifted south.

5. Don’t miss St. James’ Church. Built in the 1830s, it is one of the oldest surviving British buildings in the city.

6. From Civil Lines, get on an auto-rickshaw and head south brushing past Old Delhi and down Vivekananda Road to reach one of New Delhi’s most famous landmarks: Connaught Place. From here, you can walk.

7. Few shops remain from the days Connaught Place was first completed. One of them is Wenger’s, a popular bakery and a good place to stop for a quick bite to eat.

8. From Connaught Place walk southward on Janpath, a tree-lined avenue where many colonial-era bungalows and buildings can still be seen. They include Western Court and The Imperial, a hotel completed in the 1930s. No Raj tour of Delhi is complete if you haven’t had tea at the Imperial.

9. Stroll to India Gate, a war memorial designed by Lutyens, and one of New Delhi’s most famous landmarks. There you’ll see a suspiciously empty gazebo: it used to house the statue of King George V before it was moved out of sight to Coronation Park.

10. From India Gate head to Rajpath. Formerly King’s Way, it is now independent India’s foremost ceremonial avenue. Rajpath leads to the government buildings on Raisina Hill, a vista that was central to Lutyens’s original design.

11. Walk uphill to Rashtrapathi Bhavan, or Government House, the jewel in the crown of New Delhi. This is the finest example of Lutyens’s architectural vision, inspired by European and Indian styles. Intended to house the British Viceroy and his administration, the monumental red and cream sandstone building is now the official residence of the President of India. (Note: Rashtrapathi Bhavan is not open to the public. Visits can be arranged in advance through the President’s Office)

12. Rashtrapathi Bhavan’s impressive Mughal Gardens, also designed by Lutyens, are open to the public in blooming season, between February and March.

13. Flanking Rashtrapathi Bhavan are the more conventional, but still impressive, secretariat buildings. They were designed by Herbert Baker, New Delhi’s other lead architect. Known as North Block and South Block, they now house government offices, including that of the Prime Minister.

14. Parliament House, designed by Baker and Lutyens, is a short walk away. Originally built as Council House, it now houses India’s two chambers of parliament – the Lok Sabha and the Rajya Sabha – are located there.

15. Finally, head further south to Teen Murti Bhavan. Originally built for the Commander-in-Chief of the British Indian Army, it then became the residence of Jawaharlal Nehru, the first prime minister of Independent India. It was built by Robert Tor Russel, one of New Delhi’s unsung architects. Now a museum, Teen Murti Bhavan is open to the public. Some of the rooms have been left intact from the time Nehru lived there.

A Walk in the Park

One of the added benefits of Tyler going to Columbia is that it has spurred me to become re-engaged with the alumni community. It really is quite incredible getting emails each week of various alumni events happening all over the world.

This past weekend, I organized a heritage walking tour for CBS alumni of one of our favorite places in Delhi: Lodi Gardens. In many ways, it's become our equivalent of Central Park. It's one of the few places in Delhi that has become a true oasis for us, and we love spending our Sunday mornings just walking around there. It's incredible just strolling around amidst Indo-Islamic architectural works from the 15th century.

The weather was just about perfect (cool, crisp, and sunny), and it was fun meeting recent and older alumni, learning about the various things they're now doing in India.

Led by a history professor working with the Indian National Trust for Art & Cultural Heritage (INTACH), we learned about the history of the gardens. Turns out my favorite structure is not Lodi at all, but rather the tomb of Mohammed Shah, the last of the Sayyid dynasty rulers and built in 1444.

Nearby structures were from the Lodi period (interestingly, rulers of different dynasties chose to be buried in the same place, due to proximity with Nizzamudin and the tomb of a Sufi saint -- deemed to be incredibly holy). We walked to the Sheesh Gumbad (meaning, "glazed dome"), with remnants of its beautiful blue mosaic work still seen on parts of the structure. Opposite this tomb is a mosque, as well as a structure whose history no one seems to know; the best educated guess is that it was used as a gate.

After the Lodi dynasties, villages grew around the monuments (which is quite difficult to imagine today, but the same could also be said about Central Park). The British created the gardens in 1936, naming it Lady Wellington Park (after the wife of the Governor-General of India). After Partition, refugees flocked to Delhi, many of them setting up settlements in the park itself. In the 1950s, the Indian government took the park over, and it became Lodi Gardens.

A few pictures of our morning:

All my bags are packed and I'm ready to go...

It's been a busy few weeks of traveling. I'm not complaining; a good chunk of this was our recent long weekend in Sri Lanka. But I'm also really excited just to stay put for a little while.

Last week, I was up at 4am for a day trip to Bangalore. What made that morning surprisingly fun was that Tyler also had a 6:30am flight - this time to Chennai. It was a bit of a stressful evening before, since he found out about his trip about 12 hours before actually boarding the flight.

Although we were incredibly tired, I had to laugh at the situation. "Love is taking a cab together to the airport at 4:15 in the morning." We had breakfast together at the airport, then went our separate ways. It's a funny day and age when romance is having your husband walk you to your departure gate.

When we were enjoying a leisurely lunch in Sri Lanka, we scarily both recognized the King Fisher theme song playing the background. You know you travel a bit too much when...

This week, our travel schedules were a bit off: I went to Hyderabad Wednesday and Thursday, and Tyler was off to Coimbature and Bangalore Thursday and Friday. He came back Friday evening (which also happened to be our five month anniversary).

As we headed out to dinner, he instinctively reached for his suitcase, about to bring it along.

We both had to laugh, and be grateful for the start of a weekend just chillin' at home in Delhi.

In search of the perfect sari

You wouldn't think it would be so difficult to buy a beautiful sari in India. My first experience was for the second Indian wedding I attended (I went to my first wedding two days after arriving in India -- I wore the most colorful garments I packed, but coming from NYC, that ain't sayin' much).

I dragged my friend Apoorva shopping with me. We found a beautiful silk sage green sari, with maroon/violet trimmings. To me, it felt a bit like curtain shopping -- tons of fabric, folded up on hangers to peruse. I must say, it was entirely liberating to be freed of looking for a size that fits. All saris, no matter who is wearing them, is the same length fabric. The only thing that must be measured is the sari blouse, or choli. These are always tailored to fit.

Sari in hand, I head up to my colleague's wedding in Calcutta. I have no idea how to tie a sari, but I figure there would be more than enough people at the hotel to help me. One hour before the wedding is to start, I make my way downstairs to find a woman who could help. Somehow, everyone at the hotel is a man; there are no women working there, and I can't find a grandmotherly guest to help! So here I am, going down the streets of Calcutta, half-dressed in a sari (wearing my jeans underneath), and looking for someone to help me get dressed! Down the street, an old woman has pity on me and ties me up.

A good hour later, I finally head to the wedding (good thing weddings here never start on time). If nothing else, I'm just proud to be wearing a sari!... until I get there, and find that everyone is wearing Western clothing. More than that, they're all wearing... jeans.

Fast forward a few years later. I had a sari made for my wedding this past summer, which was, surprisingly, a delightful experience. I would go to my sari-maker's house in Lodi Colony, and sit and have chai while we discussed various sari styles. Remembering how long it took to tie my sari last time, we worked together to design a "fake" sari, or more affectionally known as a "half-sari". Essentially, rather than one giant piece of cloth that wraps up, a half-sari consists of a skirt connected with a long piece of cloth that you drape around your back and across your shoulder. As a sari-maker for the past forty years, it absolutely killed my sari-maker to do this "shortcut." Instead, she kept trying to show me how to tie a sari. After watching me a few times though, and with the prospect of my sari falling off in the middle of my wedding, she finally succumbed.

We chose the colors and the materials...and a few months later, it was completed. Gorgeous in many ways, but also a bit off. The color wasn't quite right, the decorations a bit too much. Needless to say, I loved it for my wedding, but in returning to Delhi, I was excited to have another one made that wasn't so... pink.

About a month ago, I came back to Shilu, my sari-maker, and together we designed another sari. Midnight blue, this time. I pictured myself wearing it to black-tie weddings in the US and other formal affairs. Not wanting it to be too gaudy, we chose silver instead of gold trims. Since Shilu's son is getting married this month, she said she would make it "extra special" so I could wear it to the wedding.

Between a crazy day of meetings today, I stopped by Shilu's to pick it up. It was a special treat between the mania of my day, and I arrived with excited anticipation to pick it up.

"It's perfect!!" -- Shilu beamed. "I made it extra special for the wedding!" Excited, I walked over to her living room to take a look and try it on.

And then I stopped in my tracks.

Midnight blue, yes. And silver, yes, as well. If by silver, you mean big silver stars all over the blue background. "It's not so bad, it's not so bad," I kept telling myself. I put on a smile and tried it on.

Looking at the mirror, there was no denying it. I looked like an American flag. All that was missing was a cape of red. I looked over to Shilu, who was beaming, and forced a smile.

Next time, I'll have to be careful of what "extra special" means.