saturday night struggles

I like electronic music and dubstep and D&B, and I love going to concerts (in case my post about seeing David Guetta couldn't tip you off). I was really excited to be in Delhi by myself so that I could see some shows here, but that hasn't been the case for a bunch of reasons. For example, last weekend was shot because I was in the hospital, but I was hoping that this weekend would be different. This weekend, I thought, I was going to grab the bull by the horns and go out.

To get more "in touch" with the music scene here, I liked a couple of pages on Facebook because that's how it's done these days or something. Most notable is BASSFoundation, which bills itself as, "a collective of DJs, producers and MCs promoting Drum & Bass, Dubstep in Delhi and India." Great. Totally up my alley. And they just posted this status, which I'm posting below.

Now here's the thing. I looked at their website, and Zook is right by my house; it's no more than a fifteen minute ride by auto. It's also would be so much fun to go and see a DJ in Delhi, and I would love to get out of the house and do something a little bit different. The one catch is the 11:30PM start time because I can't be out of the house at 11:30PM by myself. In fact, I'm terrified to be alone in Delhi at a bar at 11:30PM. If I was in Boston or in New York, I would have no issues with hoofing out on my own to see a DJ at 11:30PM on a Saturday night, but it's a totally different story here.

While I've been here, there have been a couple of high-profile rape cases in Gurgaon, a city that's 18 miles south of New Delhi. Basically, a 23-year old woman was by herself at a pub and was gang raped. Although that in of itself is frightening, what's even more frightening to me is the response from police. Essentially, their answer to this problem was to ban women from going out past 8PM. Granted, New Delhi isn't Gurgaon, but the two cities are very close. To create an analogy that my readers would understand, the relationship between New Delhi and Gurgaon is like that between Boston and Cambridge. They're technically different cities, but if you spend the day in Cambridge and say you were visiting Boston, you wouldn't necessarily be wrong.

I'm in a bit of a pickle, because I really want to go to this show. It sounds like a lot of fun and I'd love the opportunity to meet young people in Delhi who are interested the same music that I am. But the 11:30PM start time is a deal breaker, especially considering the fact that I would be going by myself and going anywhere by myself in this city is an invitation to be harassed and catcalled even in broad daylight. The worst part is when I think, "If I was a boy, I could go by myself with no problems." That's just not a productive way to think, and I know that, but I often wish there was a way for me to fly under the radar, to go places without being on the defensive. My two least favorite sounds are when men smack their lips at me like you would when you're calling for your dog and when they say, "Ma'am! Oh, madam!" in a vain attempt to grab my attention for whatever reason.

But back to the main point. It boils down to the fact that I can't take the risk of going out by myself as a foreign woman in New Delhi on a Saturday night, and it's absolutely killing me that I can't do what I want, when I want to do it because there's a safety risk or because it's socially inappropriate, which in turn causes a safety risk. I need to trust my gut on this one though, and my gut is telling me to stay in tonight.

So that's exactly what I'm going to do. I bought "The Dirty Picture" on DVD today, so I'll be watching that and eating Oreos with peanut butter. I wish I could go to that concert, but the benefits aren't worth the costs. I need to grit my teeth and remind myself that there's nothing I can do, that I'm making the responsible decision, but that doesn't make it any easier or any fairer.

"hey man were rotating whats good with u?"

I bought a guidebook from "Time Out - Delhi" when I first decided that I was coming to the city for study abroad. The book is pocket-size and it's just pages of lists of restaurants and bars and clubs and shops. There's one listing that's stood out among all of the rest since day one, and you only need two words from the description to understand why I was so excited about it: rotating restaurant.

View of Connaught Place from the rotating restaurant.

I've been trying to make moves to this place for months now, and we finally went on Saturday night (after the whole Qutub Minar photograph incident). We were warned that the food wasn't that good, so we just wanted to get drinks and appetizers and rotate for a while before getting dinner at a less expensive, better quality restaurant. But rotating restaurants are awesome. Sarah and I arrived at sunset, and three of our friends met up with us later on. We were overlooking Connaught Place and could see a lot of the city's major sites, save for the dense layer of smog.

There were other uniquely Indian problems with this restaurant, besides the smog. Like when the rotating floor stopped rotating because of a brief power surge. Those are common in Delhi, and realizing that a rotating restaurant can't rotate because of power surges is a curious manifestation of a very serious problem. We also kept on losing cell phone service at strange intervals, and I'm pretty convinced that we were rotating in and out of dead zones.

The food was as mediocre as we had been warned, but the Kingfishers were cold which is really the important thing. It was nice to get together in a small group and just rotate over Delhi. Just a some quiet moments to reflect on the two and a half months we've had in this city.

There was also a silk rose on the table, for that touch of class. Obviously this meant that we needed to take some photographs.

in which i see the qutub minar and yell at an indian man about consent

Our friend Gabe fell out of a tree a few weeks ago and bruised some bone in his ankle and has been on crutches ever since. He's getting the cast off on Monday, and he should be totally fine. It's just sort of a hassle to crutch around New Delhi, especially since sidewalks aren't really a thing here. He and Sarah called me around 1PM and asked if I wanted to join them at the Qutub Minar, which I did. I arrive there an hour later, and I see Gabe standing there on one leg with Sarah. He looks at me and simply says, "I left my crutches in the auto." This is problematic because Gabe cannot walk without crutches right now. He can hobble and he can hop, but walking? Not so much.

Sarah and I went to the ticket counter, leaving the immobile Gabe under a shady tree, and we asked if they had a wheelchair. If you are traveling with a handicapped individual, you will be glad to know that you can get a wheelchair at the Qutub Minar if you need one. In fact, there are many ramps to facilitate the movement of said wheelchair. But cobblestones complicate the whole matter.

We were a sight to behold. One gringo in a wheelchair being wheeled around by two gringas in floral print dresses. There were definitely some curious stares, but there were also some photographs. The three of us were looking at someone's tomb, and a man comes up to Sarah and me and asks, "to take a picture." We both assumed he meant to take a picture of him and his family so Sarah said, "Sure!" And then he tried to shuttle us into the photograph so that we could be in a picture with him. We shook our heads and said no as soon as we realized the misunderstanding.

Another man came up and asked to take a picture, to which I firmly responded, "Nahi!" There were some surreptitious picture takers and some who weren't so sneaky. Gabe, Sarah and I were standing by an iron pole, which does have a deeper significance that I read about on a sign but can't exactly remember right now, and this man, who is standing no more than four feet away, just snaps a picture on his phone. I sort of lost it at this point and just walked up to the man. Sarah told me after the fact that she and Gabe sort of turned away in embarrassment.

"Show me your camera. You just took a photo of us. Show me your camera. Show me the photo. Show me the photo. You took a picture! I saw you just take a photograph of us."

He was pretty sheepish, and at first pretended that his phone didn't have a camera. I kept on insisting though. And when I finally got him to show me the pictures, he said something along the lines of, "No pictures of you. Here. Look." At which point I grabbed his phone and started scrolling through his pictures. Lo and behold, there was a photo of me and Gabe and Sarah. It wasn't a picture that we happened to be in. We were clearly the subjects, with me in the middle, flanked by Gabe and Sarah.

"Delete it. I'm not moving until you delete that photo. Delete it!" He deleted it, and I know he deleted it because I watched him delete it. Then I walked away, wheeling Gabe with me. Gabe's response to my outburst was along the lines of, "You gotta do what you gotta do."

In retrospect, this was maybe not the smartest move on my part. I just want to know what these guys get out of taking photographs of us. Are they going to take them and show them to their friends? Tell them stories about how they totally hooked up with us or something equally absurd? Or are we really that much of a novelty? In any of these cases, it makes me entirely uncomfortable to think that someone is taking my picture without my consent. It makes me feel like an object, like I'm as much of an attraction as the Qutub Minar itself.

But the Qutub Minar was still really cool. I took a lot of pictures of crumbling ruins and intricately carved stone. I did not, however, take photographs of people without their consent because, as we've learned, that's inappropriate and makes people uncomfortable.

the final countdown

You know that feeling you get during the last week of school? You've got final projects and final papers and final exams, so you really have to be studying. But concentration is all but impossible because it feels like your face and your brain are melting from the heat. You also want to spend as much time with friends as possible because you'll all be scattered for months during summer vacation. Besides, how can you concentrate when a long break with minimal responsibilities and all of the fun is fast-approaching?

That's where I'm at right now. It's the last week of classes, and it's brutal. We had an eight-page paper due yesterday, and we've got a revision of another paper due on Thursday. There's a Hindi written exam on Wednesday, coupled with an oral exam. I have to book train tickets to Varanasi and find somewhere to stay. There's e-mails to write and Skype interviews to be conducted. It's already hot and humid outside, even though it's barely April.

There's a light at the end of the tunnel though, and that light is the independent study project. The ISP is the capstone of the SIT study abroad experience, in which each sets out on her own to conduct fieldwork on the topic of hey choice in the location of her choice. I'm staying in Delhi, and I'm researching barriers to accessing water in urban slums. (This interest in water infrastructure explains why I spent a good forty minutes on Sunday climbing on my host family's roof like a madwoman, taking dozens pictures of their rooftop water storage system that's hooked up to the municipal water system.)

Starting next Monday, I'll be staying in a hostel in Parharganj, a neighborhood in Delhi that's known as a hub for travelers and backpackers. It'll be a much different experience than the one I've been having with my host family and although my host family is lovely and hospitable and warm and caring and wonderful, I'm ready to be on my own again. I think it's just the control freak in me that's been panicking with this loss of autonomy that's part and parcel with moving into a homestay after living on my own for the last three years and enrolling in this program.

But all of that independence is coming back to me, and it's coming back so soon! I just have to make it through this week, then I'll be free. I should add here that "free" is a relative term. I still have to check in with the program, and I still have responsibilities to uphold. What's refreshing is the opportunity to be on my own schedule once again, to have the opportunity to study what I want in the way that I want. I'm even getting excited about the simple thought of being able to eat the food that I want to eat, when I want to eat it.

I've had my ups and downs with this program, but my love for Delhi has remained constant. I'm excited to explore more of the city and to do it on my own time. First I need to pass my Hindi final, though.

Just one more week.

haute couture, indian style

I'm secretly not-so-secretly obsessed with high fashion. I purchase American Vogue every month and spend an hour or so flipping through the pages longingly, wishing I had legs like Karlie Kloss or an artistic vision like Grace Coddington.

I was inspired by my friend Kelsey to take this burning desire to be a part of the high fashion world and make it reality, Desi style. Labor is cheap in India, and tailors are on every corner. Fabric is also inexpensive, and this includes beautiful silk with intricate patterns embroidered in dazzling colors. Kelsey has grabbed this opportunity by the horns and run with it, to mix my metaphors. She had purchased fabric to make curtains, a duvet cover, a couple of silk ties for her boyfriend and her father, and a blazer.

Ever since this seed has been implanted in my mind, I've been dreaming of a beautiful camel-colored suit. I've always pined for an Yves Saint Laurent suit, but that's entirely unreasonable since they cost literally thousands of dollars. But imagine this design in camel; I dare you not to swoon --

You swooned, didn't you. I was stoked for Saturday, we all went to the Lajpat Nagar Central Market in search for fabric for blazers and suits. I was determined to find the fabric of my dreams on this shopping excursion, and I was not going to leave disappointed. We went to a small stall that had some fabric, and I picked up a light dove grey material for a looser blazer. I found the style that I want on the Topshop website, and you can see the vision below --

Unfortunately, that stall did not carry the beautiful caramel color that I could so clearly envision. But then I went next door, and among all of the dozens of bolts of fabric, I spotted it on the bottom shelp. A beautiful creamy color that wasn't too dark or too brown. It was a magical moment, and I exclaimed - with tears in my eyes and a grin on my face - "I think this is what it'll feel like when I find my wedding dress." What can I say? I was excited. Both bolts of fabric cost me a little less than 2000INR, or $40. Totally reasonable price for a full suit and a blazer.

But the problem is that I'm sort of obsessed with this now. I went to a silk store that Kelsey recommended and adeptly wrote about on her own blog, and I bought some more fabric. One is what the salesman called an "ethnic" print. It's brown with orange paisley embroidery; it looks sort of 1970's, but it's totally unique and was only 600INR for three yards. I also bought a simple navy cotton fabric.

After scouring the Barney's CO-OP website and Shopbop.com and J.Crew and Anthropologie, I decided what I wanted to do with the fabric. I found a tailor, showed him the designs of what I wanted, and he took my measurements and sent me on my way. He also had me e-mail him the pictures of the dresses so that he could reference them. Here's what I'm going to have tailored for a total of 2350INR --

For the 1970's print material, using a design from Barney's CO-OP.

For the navy cotton fabric, style courtesy of J.Crew.

Basically what I'm getting at here is that I'm going to have five beautiful custom-designed pieces created in the near future for not that much money, considering the quality of the material and the fact that they're tailored to fit my exact body size. These pieces would cost hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars in the States. I'm going to be so fly in my custom-made pieces. I just want it to be April 4 so that I can pick up my dresses from Klassic Designs. (I picked the tailor based on the name, actually. There's this brand called Kwality and they sell ice cream, and it's actually delicious even though you think that a brand that misspells "quality" so atrociously would be totally janky. It was the same sort of thought process with this. "They spell 'classic' with a 'K?' Yeah, that's got to be really legitimate." No jokes.) The fashionista within me is swooning and wants to be wearing these beautiful garments! I just want to go back to America so that I can show off my legs again.

in which all of my culinary dreams come true

It doesn't matter that I went to the National Museum today and saw corporeal remains of Buddha. It doesn't matter that we saw a Buddhist monk take pictures of aforementioned corporeal remains of Buddha with an iPad. It doesn't matter that I sat and watched cricket with my host mom for a bit. It doesn't even matter that my roommate is getting her nose pierced this evening. You know why none of that matters? 

Because I had a salad today. A delicious, simple green salad with cheese and olives and a vinaigrette dressing. No extra spices. No frills. Just a salad. (And I'm on these antibiotics or whatever sort of medication it is for a few more days, so any bacteria that I may or may not have ingested by eating this salad will be wiped out of my system momentarily. I really threw caution to the wind on this one, but it was at a restaurant in Khan Market, which is known for it's primarily Western clientele so I'm hoping I'm in the clear.)

Just let me bask in the glory of lettuce, complete with coconut water as a refreshment.

guetta on my level

A few weeks ago, my roommate and I were strolling around Khan Market when we spotted a sign that said, "David Guetta. HUDA Grounds. March 8. Buy your tickets at Turtle Café in Khan Market." We ran to the café and -- after doing our due diligence by asking about the price of the tickets and checking our syllabi to make sure that we were going to be in town on that day -- purchased two tickets. Unfortunately, none of our classmates wanted to Guetta on our level, so it was just the two of us.


Today was the day we were scheduled to Guetta it on, and we were pumped but also a little frightened. We had heard stories of a fateful Metallica concert on the same grounds, but it got cancelled because the crowd was too rowdy and aggressive. We had been getting e-mails about what not to bring. One of my favorite e-mails said, "Well-practiced dance moves and well-rehearsed lyrics will also contribute greatly to a better festival experience, for all." The "festival" started at 5PM and went on until 10PM, but there was no easily available information about who was performing between 5PM and 8PM, when Guetta went on. So really, I didn't know what to expect.


Let me tell you, folks. It was awesome.

Picture by the ever lovely Sarah Rose.

First of all, there were two DJs on before Guetta. One was an Indian guy with an electric guitar who did this cover of Skrillex's "Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites" that included some interesting beats behind it. That was sort of weird, but I also hate Skrillex after a traumatic experience at a music festival that included losing my car keys in the mud and many, many false drops of "Cinema." He also played that Etta James sample that's everywhere now but was featured prominently in Pretty Lights's "Finally Moving." All the Indians in the audience could totally sing along to that riff, though. Overall, this guy's set was less than notable.

Grainy, over-saturated and small photo of Guetta. Do you Guetta it?!

Next was a DJ named Nucleya. Never heard of him before, but he's apparently based in New Delhi. He ruled. Like really played some danceable beats and dropped a new song that was simultaneously dubby (as in dub, not dubstep) and chill and dirty. But he also dropped "Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites." Twice. Nucleya made up for it by playing "No Beef" by Steve Aoki and Afrojack, which is one of my all-time favorite songs. However, I was apparently the only on in the audience who knew that song -- which is a real shame because it's a banger -- and was the only one singing or dancing. This is probably part of the reason that he started getting booed off stage and chants of "Guetta! Guetta!" started.

David Guetta made his triumphant entrance onstage and started his set. In the interest of full disclosure, I should say here that the only David Guetta song I know is, "Sexy B*tch." Embarrassing, I know, but it brings back such fond memories of freshman year nights out in fraternity houses. The main reason that I really wanted to go to this concert was to see what a concert was like in New Delhi and because it was David Guetta's first time (ever) performing in India. Basically a music milestone, akin to the Band's Last Waltz or that time the Beatles played Shea Stadium.

Everyone else in the crowd loved David Guetta. They knew all the words to every song and all of the names of all the songs. Even Guetta was surprised saying, "I didn't think people in India liked my music." But everyone was grooving, hard and fast, for the hour and a half that we stayed of the two hour long set. He played "Sexy B*tch," and we bounced.

Here's how the concert-going experience differed from what I'm used to in the States. The guy to girl ratio was way skewed. It was probably twenty men for each girl in the crowd, which was a little nerve-racking for Sarah and me. But there's also something deliciously ironic about being surrounded by dozens of sweaty Indian college boys who are all singing, at the top of their lungs, "Where dem girls at?!" when you know the answer is, "There really aren't that many here." Also, the festival was sponsored by a liquor company but they didn't serve any alcohol at the venue.

Overall the crowd, despite the weird ratios, was surprisingly tame. We definitely didn't have to deal with Metallica 2.0. We left a little early to be on the safe side and made it home at a reasonable hour. We're now studying for our Hindi oral midterm tomorrow, and I drank two Red Bulls before the concert so I'm probably not going to bed anytime soon. Hopefully I have enough of a voice to say anything tomorrow, least of all in a foreign language.

Even if I don't have a voice, I can say that my chakras feel realigned after this concert. My giardia is pretty taken care of at this point, which is great and I have more energy than I've had in weeks. Going to concerts also always helps me re-orient myself, cheesy as that sounds. It's always fun and cathartic about live music, and I've really missed just going to shows with friends.

P.S. In the interest of shameless self-promotion, I'm going to hype my articles and concert reviews on the WMFO Blog. My primary hobby is going to concerts, and I write about them often. If you liked this post, you'll probably enjoy what I have to say over there, too.

in which we cross something off the bucket list

My roommate Sarah and I realized how little time we have left in Delhi, especially considering the fact that we spend so much of our time doing Hindi homework and going on excursions with the program. This led us to spend our valuable time (and I will not confirm or deny that this valuable time may or may not have occurred during one of our lectures this week) making a Delhi Bucket List. It is, if I may say so myself, a beautiful list and very well-written and designed.

Today we had a holiday from classes because of Holi tomorrow, so Sarah and I took the opportunity to cross some things off today. Specifically, we went to Lodhi Gardens and then a nearby American-style diner that I found on the Internet the other day. Neither activity disappointed.

The gardens were stunning. I had no idea that there was so much green space within Delhi. There were beautiful monuments, palm trees, green parrots, dogs, benches and flowers. We found a nice bench next to a little lake and studied Hindi until a sort of creepy man came up to us and started asking us questions about our Hindi homework. I think he was trying to help, but he was more of a distraction than anything else.

We then found some monkey bars. Sarah did some flips and I failed - yet again - at doing a single pull-up. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted some boys playing Holi. Holi, for those of you who are unaware, is the festival of colors. You celebrate by throwing colored powder over all of your friends. The main day of the festival is tomorrow, but that hasn't stopped anyone from started the festivities a day or two early. These boys were chucking powder left and right, and we very willing to have their picture taken...but I also had to pose for a picture with them in return. That made me uncomfortable, but a deal's a deal.

in which i would really kill for some cheese with this whine

Today, in a word, sucked.

in which i don't actually meet with an indian university professor

A couple of weeks back, I shot off an e-mail to a professor at the illustrious Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi regarding his article about diarrheal diseases in urban slums. Basically, I wanted to meet up with him and talk about poop. (This is becoming a more common occurrence in my life than I would like to admit, by the way.) We set a date for a meeting -- that day being today at 2PM -- in his office at JNU. I jetted out of class by 1PM and haggled with a couple of auto-rickshaw guys and by 1:15PM, I was on the road. I felt like I was racing the clock, trying to get to this unknown university on time for this meeting with this mysterious man (whose picture I have seen on the JNU website and all I knew was the fact that he had a mustache).

I arrived on the campus at 1:53PM. I know this because I was checking my watch every minute to make sure that I would make it to this professor's office somewhat on time. From what I understand about Indian culture, it's not even close to a cardinal sin to be late. But for me, being on time is being late and being early is on time, so I always make it a point to be places at least on time -- Indian culture be damned.